Comfort

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the creation of J.K. Rowling, and I make no money from my fanfiction habit.

Summary: After Lucius' incarceration, and Sirius' death, Remus and Narcissa have nowhere to turn. They make do with each other.

A/N: Het RL/NM with implied SB/RL. I usually do LM/NM, but I'm sure Lucius will forgive me this one time. And this is the first leading role Lupin has had in my fanfiction. Yay!

. . .

The funeral was a fraud. Certainly, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and many others, including himself, had stood up to give moving elegies. People had cried. Flowers were there in plenty.

But they did not have Sirius' body.

Dumbledore had called Remus into his office the day following the disaster in the Department of Mysteries. During one point of the conversation, he had seemed prepared to explain exactly what "beyond the veil" meant. Remus had said, "I do not know where he is, but I know where he isn't. Sir, this single burden is heavy enough." And Dumbledore had dropped the issue.

Remus had scarcely caught a glance of Sirius as he fell through the arch. He had been halfway through a laugh, though his eyes were wide with shock. The overall impression was not pleasant.

Without a body, what did the funeral revolve around? Nothing could be more pointless. His last sight of Sirius should have been as they laid his serene form to rest. Instead, it was that horrid laughing face with the bulging eyes. Meanwhile, everyone stood around and mourned, and pretended that this ridiculous ceremony would give closure to Sirius' mostly unlived life.

He, Remus, was the only surviving member of the Marauders; after all, Peter didn't count any more. The loss of Sirius possibly hurt more than those of James and Lily combined. Remus was quite effectively alone in an ocean of mourners. He had never really gotten used to solitude, even though his lycanthropy had made it frequent, and he'd never experienced loneliness when surrounded by at least a hundred other people, most of whom had known him for years and with whom he shared the common bond of mourning Sirius. One never quite becomes accustomed to the feeling, and Remus' loneliness was painfully intensified by the fact that all his old school friends were not actually lunatics locked in Azkaban, or pathetic heroes blown to pieces; but instead either well and truly dead, or utter traitors.

He wanted Bellatrix's blood. Sharp pain in his palms told him that he was clenching his fists rather too tightly. He didn't care.

"Sir?"

Blinking, he saw an attendant carrying a large bouquet of lilies standing in front of him. Remus belatedly realized that he had been staring into space while the last speaker concluded his lamentation.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "What is it?"

"These just came, sir." The attendant gave him the bouquet and excused himself adroitly.

The white lilies were exceedingly pale; nearly translucent, in fact. They were skillfully arranged, and bound with satin ribbons – Remus guessed this bunch was priced rather more steeply than most. He opened a tag attached to the side, which read: "For the last of the Blacks. In pace requiescat."

The lines were written in a flowing, feminine hand. For a moment, Remus couldn't think who had sent the flowers. Then he knew.

"Who are these from?" Dumbledore had come up behind him.

"Narcissa Malfoy." Remus spat the words out with barely contained fury.

Even Dumbledore had nothing to say to that extraordinary pronouncement.

Remus strode off and threw the bouquet into the nearest garbage can. Dumbledore watched him sadly. Shining tears cut tracks through the faces of both men.

. . .

Two weeks later, Remus received an unusual correspondence. A handsome eagle owl flew into his bedroom, dropped a letter on his desk, and soared back into the night. The crest on the sealing wax was unfamiliar to Remus, but from the prominent M it bore, he could guess where this letter had come from.

In half a mind to burn it, Remus tore the seal and met with, of all things, an invitation to tea at Malfoy Manor at four o'clock that Saturday. It was signed, "Cordially, Narcissa Malfoy."

Remus snarled and tossed the parchment into the fire.

He told no one of the invitation, and, inexplicably, showed up at the Malfoy family home in Wiltshire five minutes past four. Remus was sure that his fashionably late entrance would not go unnoticed by Narcissa.

At the formidable mahogany doors, he raised a heavy brass knocker and barely struck the door once before a female house-elf welcomed him in with much bowing and scraping, and ushered him to the drawing room, where her mistress waited. The halls they passed through were adorned with such ornaments and furniture as Remus could never even dream of affording. The Malfoys' opulence intimidated him.

Werewolves usually responded to fear by attacking.

"Good afternoon." Narcissa was strikingly beautiful, though she was pinched and as colorless as her lilies. She looked as if she had been suffering her own sorrows. The thought made Remus want to laugh.

He had never seen Lucius' wife before, and he observed her carefully. Dressed as she was in dark gray robes of a fine material Remus could not name, and her sleek blonde hair up in a bun, the bright necklace at her throat was especially eye-catching. Fear lanced through Remus, but then he realized that Narcissa Malfoy would never wear the silver so lethal to werewolves. It was far too common. Her necklace must be made of the much costlier white gold. Looking at Narcissa's courteous smile, he thought that she had calculated this scare beforehand and his hatred of her grew exponentially.

However, he returned her "Good afternoon" as civilly as he could. He felt an odd urge to bow, but resisted. Knowing Lucius' hatred of people whose breeding was other than repeatedly incestuous (or as he liked to call it, "pureblooded"), Remus fleetingly wondered what he would think of his wife inviting a half-breed into his house. Then, of course, the presence of a Dark creature in Lucius Malfoy's home could hardly be irregular. Remus stifled a snigger, and tried to pull himself together. In his current state, he would probably lose control and start laughing hysterically if he let out so much as a giggle.

"Please sit." Narcissa gestured at the sofa across from the armchair she occupied. "Forgive me, I've taken the liberty of starting on a cup of tea without you."

"I don't mind at all."

"Good. I hope you like Darjeeling?" Narcissa reached over to the tray before them, poised to start pouring.

"It's fine."

As Narcissa leaned over to the teapot, the diamond pendant on her necklace unsettled itself from the hollow of her throat and dangled freely like a pendulum. When Remus' eyes followed, he inadvertently looked past the snug- fitting collar of her robes and at the cleft between her breasts, which were white and shapely, as if they had been carved from alabaster. He coughed and looked away, heat rising in his cheeks.

"Tiddly will be here shortly with the petits fours," said Narcissa, handing him the teacup delicately. Remus winced at it; it was pretty, eggshell thin, and undoubtedly impossible for him to replace. He just knew he was going to break it.

"Is something wrong? Would you like more sugar - ?"

"No, no, the tea's fine," Remus said hastily, blowing the steam away from his face.

At that moment, Tiddly re-entered, bearing a tray with a wide dish of petits fours on it. "The petits fours, Mistress and Mr. Lupin."

"Thank you, Tiddly," Narcissa said, as the house-elf deposited the dish upon the tray which also held their tea.

To his consternation, the little cakes were like everything else in the Malfoy house: lovely, expensive, and foreign to him. Remus was painfully aware of his best dress robes, which were threadbare in places. He reached for a petit four resignedly, following Narcissa's example. The thought that perhaps Narcissa had lured him here to poison him occurred to him vaguely; he brushed it off. It would be bad form, and he could not reconcile the beautiful woman in front of him with such an act of treachery. Had he known how many people had met their ends in the very room where he now sat, done in by an unexpectedly sweet biscuit or musky wine, he might have been wise enough to fear for his life.

Then again, he had not recently much cause to value his life, and his curiosity was overpowering. He wanted very much to know Narcissa's purposes, and he thought Curiosity killed the cat, after all (not the wolf).

"Have you been busy recently?"

Busy, certainly: he'd stayed up till three in the morning many nights, writing speeches for Sirius' funeral, and then crumpling the parchments in despair, because nothing he could write accurately reflected his sorrow. Nothing he wrote could portray Sirius as amazing, and incredible, and perfect as he had been. Afterwards, Remus had spent much time sorting through Sirius' things, for he had not left a will. Dumbledore had discreetly left it to Remus to organize Sirius' possessions. And Remus had been long and inefficient over this task, because each object was a reminder of Sirius, and tore at his heart.

"Yes," he said. "Yes."

"As have I," she replied, "but I thought it fitting that we should have tea together."

She crossed her legs, which were long and slender. Remus could no more control his gaze than he could sleep without having nightmares of Sirius. A sudden upwelling of desire blossomed in the pit of his stomach. Hadn't he heard before that funerals made one want to have sex? Something about one in the eye for death. Damn.

"Fitting," he repeated heavily. Where had Narcissa Malfoy learned etiquette, he wanted to know. As he admired her fair, tapered fingers, he automatically forgave her for her lack of decorum. His eyes had their own wills, and drank in Narcissa's loveliness with abandon. One could drown in beauty as much as one could drown in grief, but Remus preferred the former. It was less painful.

Neither one made a sound for several minutes. Tension built up between them.

"Why have you come?" Narcissa spoke at last.

Knowing that she did not want "You invited me" for an answer, Remus replied, "I – I was curious."

She gazed at him evenly with heart-stopping eyes as gray as her husband's. Why did she look at him like that?

"Well," Remus swallowed. "I want to know what you want." He returned her gaze, with a hint of anger building in his expression.

"I think the incident in the Department of Mysteries was very regrettable," she said clearly. "I lost Lucius, and you lost Sirius."

"You're partly responsible for Sirius' death," Remus interrupted, his voice trembling. He set his teacup down with an unnecessary amount of force.

"I am," she acknowledged. "But I did not – I would not have done it if there had been a choice."

"Choice?" Remus wanted to yell at the top of his lungs. The thought that perhaps Narcissa's role in the war was vastly different from his and that her point of view was from an angle he could never be capable of considering did not occur to him.

"I did not send those lilies to mock you." Narcissa's voice and eyes were hard. If it had ever occurred to him, Remus had already forgotten that Narcissa had once too been a Black. In any case, he did not know that old blood ties meant anything to her. He saw her only as a Malfoy, a component of that cruel island of three. And Sirius had never said anything remotely complimentary about her . . .

"Look . . ." Remus paused to gather his thoughts. "Just tell me why you invited me here."

She answered simply, "I don't know."

"What? What do you mean, you don't know?" His anger was increasing steadily.

"I only want to talk with you. We have been . . . similarly affected by the events of two weeks ago."

"I hope you understand if I can't relate," Remus muttered.

Narcissa smiled without any joy.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. I think it might be best if I leave now."

"No!" Her vehemence surprised both of them. "No," she repeated more calmly. "We can discuss other things if you like. But stay a while longer. Please." Her hand went to his. Her palm was warm, and so tenderly smooth that it felt as though a great white flower petal was curled around his wrist.

His startled gaze shot to her face. Narcissa's eyelashes, demurely lowered, tempered the steel of her eyes. As she was looking directly at him, this served to tint her glance with something like respectful admiration, or longing. Remus' pulse quickened, and he was sure she could feel it, for her fingers were still coiled about his hand.

Desperate for anything to say, that she might loosen her grip, Remus blurted, "Where's Draco?"

"Draco?" His words had the effect he'd intended. Narcissa's fingers slipped off, allowing him to breathe normally again. "He - ," she composed herself, her voice relaxing into its usual mellifluous tones. "He's at a friend's house."

"Oh."

"Yes," she said, arching a perfectly crescent-shaped eyebrow. Remus was baffled by how perfect every aspect of Narcissa seemed. She must have some faults, and he would find them, or he would go mad.

"Perhaps we don't need to talk," she said, standing. As Remus turned to look up, she crossed to him. "Some things are beyond human expression."

"What are you talking about?" he asked suspiciously.

"Sometimes human contact is all we need," said Narcissa, sitting beside him and taking his hand again, this time in both of hers.

"No," said Remus a little too quickly. He snatched his hand away.

"Am I unworthy to touch you? Was Sirius the only one could touch you?" Accusation ran rampant in her words.

"No, no, no," he said. It was not clear which of her questions he was answering.

"Were you lovers?" she asked. He glared. "Never mind, it doesn't matter."

Remus nearly fainted when Narcissa pressed her lips to his and kissed him deeply. Both her hands released his, and came up to caress his face. As she leaned over him, she pushed her body insistently into his arms, so that they came up almost reflexively to embrace her. You could never have gotten Remus to admit that he had returned her kisses, but Narcissa would have sworn he did.

Remus shook his head roughly a few minutes later. Red in the face, he pushed her off. They both came away disheveled.

"You have no right. Lucius is not dead."

"He might as well be," she said fiercely. She spoke of the stain of Azkaban on her husband's pride. With his reputation gone, Lucius Malfoy was nothing. But that was not all that she meant. "He will die. He has given so much to the Dark Lord that there remains only his life to give."

"There is you." Her forearm was smooth and unmarked.

"Yes," she conceded, giving a half-sob, half-laugh. "Lucius has kept only me for himself."

Remus wondered whether she thought Lucius loving or selfish. He wondered what Lucius really was. He opened his mouth, but Narcissa interrupted him. "We are not so different, you and I. Or am I not good enough for you because I am a Malfoy?"

"I should think it was the other way around. I'm a werewolf."

"Does any of that matter?" Blood was certainly important to Narcissa, but in a very different way than it was to Lucius. It made Lucius want to exterminate millions; it made Narcissa forgive almost instantly a cousin who had never willingly acknowledged her.

Again, Remus opened his mouth, but Narcissa cried, "No more words," and bore him down, pulling at his clothes.

The touch of her skin burned, though Remus could not tell if it was from extreme cold or heat. His traitorous body responded by rising several degrees. He wanted to scream, but her order had sealed his lips as effectively as if it were Imperio. He was stripped of all inhibition and restraint; he clung to Narcissa like a drowning man.

It was wrong in so many different ways.

Yet he did not stop. The sound of their gasps and sighs filled the empty room as Narcissa's robes slid off her legs like water onto the ground.

. . .

In the morning, Remus awoke in a grand bed in a similarly grand chamber. It struck him that as pale and blond and cold as the Malfoys appeared, there were no silver decorations in their bedroom; or anywhere else in the manor, for that matter. Silver and still more silver, he'd thought, was the only possible color scheme for the family. The thought that perhaps Narcissa had taken special care to remove them to allow him, werewolf that he was, a peaceful repose under her roof did not occur to him.

His clothes were folded neatly on a chair at the bedside. A note with handwriting which was fast becoming familiar to him lay on top of his robes.

The house-elves have washed and ironed your robes. Should you have further needs, an elf will attend to you. You may use the bathroom connected to this room, and breakfast is laid out for you downstairs. I trust you will find everything to your liking.

Excuse me for being absent; I regret to say that I have been called away on urgent business with my lawyer.

Remus – while the pleasure of your company has been no small source of comfort to me, the current state of affairs in England leaves us, I am sure, both very busy people. The imminent complications will be resolved only at a very dear cost. Allow me to therefore send you my sincere wishes for your continued well-being. I can do nothing more.

Narcissa

The last sentence was written in an unsteady hand, as if she had been greatly troubled or rushed. Remus guessed both. There, in the letter, she had called him by his first name. He savored the loops of the R and the flourish of her s's with a bittersweet taste in his mouth. It troubled him that he had not ever addressed her by name.

Somehow the letter drove home what he should have known from the moment he first saw her: Narcissa was not perfect, however gorgeous she might be. She had faults in plenty, and was human – as human as he was himself. Strange, that this revelation endeared her to him further.

She was no longer Draco's mother, or Lucius' wife, or Sirius' cousin. She was only Narcissa. The simplicity of it ached.

Slowly, carefully, he folded the letter and placed it in his pocket. He washed and ate a sumptuous breakfast which he did not enjoy at all.

Remus Lupin returned to 12 Grimmauld Place feeling considerably more hollow than he had when he left it. However, he also carried a hope: when the war was over, and he and Narcissa were still alive, a certain eagle owl might fly to him, bearing a scroll with a familiar seal on it.

And nobody knew quite as well as Remus Lupin what a wonderful thing hope was.

. . .

A/N: The constant references to silver are a manifestation of the superstition that werewolves are allergic to silver. Supposedly, bullets made of that metal can be used to kill them.

I find this pairing very interesting . . . what possessed me to write it? Well, I wanted an unusual couple (I think I was setting out for rareslash), and decided that Narcissa had to be one of them. It's hard to do femslash at all in the HP universe, so I settled on het with, yes, Lupin. I'm rather pleased with the end result.

Do review if you feel the same.