Written for Azzie (Inkfire)'s 'rewriting' challenge at xoxLewrahxox's forum.
Prompt: pick a specific element or a storyline from either a myth, a tale or any piece of literary work, and use it within a Harry Potter story.
Based on the myth "Branwen, Ferch Llyr", from The Mabinogion.
7,200 words
Many infinite, passionate thanks go to Jasper (The Psychotic House-Elf) for being the most amazing beta in the history of the universe. There aren't enough words to describe his absolute brilliance.
Also, a WARNING. This story is dark. There is explicit violence, character death, and animal cruelty.
The Difethiad
"He sliced their lips back to their teeth, and their ears back to their heads, and their tails to their backs - and wherever he could get a grip on their eyelids, he would cut these back to the bone."
-Anon, "Branwen, Ferch Llyr"
•••
"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Abraxas asked. "If it's really what you think is best, I won't stand in your way, nor will your mother, but neither of us believe you've thought this through, Lucius. The Blacks are not the sort of family you want to be involved with."
"Father, I've told you a hundred times – I am going to marry Narcissa. The Blacks have the purest blood –"
"Through inbreeding!" his father snapped. "You know the sort of madness that causes. For Salazar's sake, Lucius, you work with Bellatrix Lestrange and that Regulus boy – of all people you should know that not one of those children is sane!"
"Narcissa is sane, and I'm marrying her. Not Bellatrix, not Regulus, Narcissa."
"When you marry one Black, you marry them all. If this is really how you feel, so be it. But when this doesn't work out –"
"That's enough, Father," Lucius cut him off. "Whether you approve or not, Narcissa and I will be married."
"Don't take that tone with me, Lucius –"
"Goodbye, Father," he said, tossing a handful of powder into the Floo and stepping in. "Black Manor!"
•••
The assemblage in the parlour of Black Manor surprised Lucius – not only were Narcissa, Bellatrix, and their parents present, but Orion and Walburga as well.
"Lucius," Cygnus said gravely. "Welcome."
Narcissa flicked her eyes upwards, gazing at Lucius through her eyelashes and gracing him with a sweet and timid smile. Bellatrix, beside her sister, remained stone-faced; her dislike of him did not wane with the prospect of becoming his sister-in-law.
"Sit down with us, Lucius," Druella said. "I'll have an elf bring you a tea. How do you take it? Dipsy!" The elf appeared with a pop. "Dipsy, get a tea for young Mr Malfoy. How do you take it, Lucius?"
"One sugar, no milk."
The elf bowed deeply. "Right away, sir!"
"So, Lucius, how have you been?" Walburga asked politely, once the elf had gone.
"I've been well, thank you…"
Some three quarters of an hour of polite conversation followed, until, at a suitable opening, Lucius, taking a steadying breath, stood up and said,
"Cygnus, Druella, thank you so much for letting me into your home." Here Druella smiled politely and inclined her head. "I presume," he continued, "that you know why I have come. I am here to beg the hand of your most beautiful, most charming daughter Narcissa in marriage, in the hopes that this union will not only fulfill the love in our souls, but will also aid in the peaceful unification of our families for the present, and future generations. With your permission, and Narcissa's consent, I should like to make her Mrs Malfoy."
He ran his eyes across the audience of Blacks looking up at him. Narcissa was smiling, a bit red in the cheeks, and Druella looked pleased. The others, with the exception of Bellatrix, whose eyes were frigid and unfriendly, remained impassive.
Walburga was the first to speak. "I cannot deny that the addition of a Malfoy to the family tree would be quite illustrious." She glanced at Cygnus and Druella.
"The Malfoys are a pure and noble family," Druella said, "and if Narcissa wishes it, I will have no qualms with this marriage."
Cygnus stood. "Well, Master Malfoy, the women have spoken, and I am inclined to agree with them." There was a heavy pause. "I hereby give you my permission to marry Narcissa, if she so chooses," he continued, his voice deep and booming. "Narcissa?"
She beamed, got up, and said, "Lucius, I would be honoured to be your wife." Her smile was dazzling, and Lucius couldn't help but find it infectious. He smiled back at her, and took her by the hand.
No one noticed the vaguely sickened expression of displeasure gracing Bellatrix's face.
"With your permission," Lucius said, "I have brought a small token of my affection for Narcissa, currently housed in your stables," he gave a slight nod to Cygnus, who inclined his head as well. "Should you permit it, I would be honoured to present it to Narcissa now."
Druella beamed. "I believe that sounds like an excellent idea."
•••
Regulus woke late in the day to an empty house. He roused himself from sleep when the sun breaking through the window was a dagger at his throat. He creaked slowly out of bed, still tired, and made his way downstairs, where he was met with no one.
"Kreacher!" he snapped.
The elf appeared before him in an instant. "Kreacher is here to serve, Master Regulus."
"Get me a coffee," he said. "Black."
"Yes Master. Is there anything else Kreacher can do?"
"Where are my parents?"
"Mr and Mrs Black are at Black Manor."
"Why?"
"They did not tell Kreacher. But …" here he lowered his raspy voice, "Kreacher overheard them say it was about a marriage."
His eyes darkened. "Whose marriage?"
Kreacher shook his head. "Kreacher does not know."
"Get me my coffee," he said brusquely, turning around to go back to his rooms.
Regulus dressed mechanically, fastening the icy silver buttons of his robes with deft fingers. When he returned to the kitchen, his coffee was waiting, steaming, on the table. He swallowed most of it in one mouthful, hissing as it burned his down his throat.
"Coffee was to your liking, Master Regulus?" Kreacher said obsequiously, having appeared from a corner and now standing, half in a bow, by his leg.
"It was too hot. Try not to scald me with it next time."
Kreacher's eyes widened. "Kreacher is sorry, sir! Kreacher did not mean to hurt Master Regulus! Not ever! Ooh!" He let out a howl of anguish and reached for a heavy pan sitting on the stove.
"Shut up, Kreacher," Regulus snapped.
"Kreacher must punish himself! Kreacher must –"
"I said shut up. And stop it. If you want to do something, make it something productive. Now I'm going out. And if you start abusing yourself with those pans and making an awful racket because I'm not here, I'll really give you something to moan about."
"Oh, Master Regulus, you are so kind –"
Regulus flicked his eyes dangerously to Kreacher. "Be quiet."
He swallowed the last of the coffee, depositing the cup on the table, and closed his eyes; with a loud and thundering crack, he Disapparated.
Thin mist was coiling around Black Manor, making details indeterminate. The grass beneath his feet was wet, pearled with droplets. He stared up at the house for a long moment, drinking in the sight of its ominous grandiosity, before crossing to the stables.
An elf, as he had expected, was attending to the horses.
"What is going on?"
"S-sir?" the elf stuttered, peering timidly around a roan stallion's leg.
"Answer my question, elf. What is happening here today?"
"Here…here where? In the stables, sir?"
Regulus slammed his hand against the door to a stall, causing the horse inside to whinny in alarm. "Do I look like my business is in the stables, elf? What's going on inside? Who's here?"
"Sitty apologizes, sir! Sitty did not know what sir meant. Inside are the Blacks and Master Malfoy."
"Which Blacks?"
"All of them, sir. All the Blacks are inside."
His face hardened, and he began to cross through the stable, running a calloused hand along the stall doors. He froze upon reaching the largest, gazing into it. Finally, he turned around. "What is this?"
"Sir?"
"Are you really so stupid, elf? What did you think I would be talking about?"
"Sitty does not know, sir!"
"Then come here and figure it out," Regulus said coldly.
The elf approached, and, upon seeing what Regulus was looking at, said, "That, sir! That is Master Malfoy's unicorn! Master Malfoy brought it for Miss Narcissa."
"And why did he do that?"
Sitty hesitated a moment. "Sitty is not sure … Sitty does not know if Sitty is allowed to say …"
"Malfoy isn't your master. Say it."
The logic seemed to confuse the elf into compliance. "Master Malfoy brought the unicorn as an engagement present. Master Malfoy and Miss Narcissa are going to be married."
"And that's why they're all inside? To discuss whether or not she should marry him?"
"No sir, no. They are already engaged. It happened this morning, sir."
Regulus's lips curled back. "Leave, elf."
"Sitty cannot do that, sir. Sitty is ordered to tend to the horses."
"Who are your masters, elf?"
"The Blacks are, sir. Sitty is proud to serve the Black family!"
"Good," he said, "Because I'm a Black. Regulus."
The elf's already large eyes widened. "Sitty did not know! Sitty is sorry! Oh, Sitty must punish –"
"Shut up, elf. You're giving me a headache."
"Sitty is sorry! Sitty did not –" An icy look from Regulus silenced him.
"Leave. Now."
The elf bowed and did so, nearly tripping over himself in his haste.
Regulus turned slowly back to the stall, watching the animal inside. It shifted nervously, dancing as far from the door as possible, flicking its silvery tail in distress. It shook its head and let out a soft whinny, stamping its feet.
"Come here, little unicorn," he murmured. "I won't hurt you …" He unlatched the door and stepped in.
The unicorn could back away no further from him. In its distress, it let out series of frantic neighs and reared. Regulus had to leap away to avoid being hit by the beast's iridescent hooves.
"I won't hurt you," he whispered, crossing to the side and putting out a gentle hand to stroke its rippling flanks.
It calmed enough to settle on all fours, but its tail continued to switch in agitation, and the soft flesh beneath his fingers shuddered under his caresses as it let out a few soft snorts.
Regulus reached for something hidden within the folds of his robes. The unicorn noticed and tossed its head, snorting more loudly, but Regulus continued to stoke its flanks until it calmed.
"No, I won't hurt you …" His voice was nearly a growl.
The knife's blade shone in the light of the stables, and the unicorn's high-pitched squeal caused a few horses to let out noises of alarm.
It reared again, kicking out its hooves to keep Regulus at bay, but a softly whispered incantation – the one he had long ago learned to use to keep his horses in line – settled it, albeit against the animal's will. Its eyes rolled frantically, and its thin lips were pulled back from its teeth as it squealed.
He started with the tail, taking a fistful of the silver hair and cutting it off, letting the shining tendrils fall to the floor, abandoned. A little further – a little closer – right to the skin – right beyond. It screamed in wild fear, struggling against the magic that kept it from rearing, kicking, anything. Silver blood trickled along the blade and onto the ground.
Next were the ears. A rough hand twisted fingers into its mane, pulling down hard and forcing the head down with it. It screamed as the knife was met with the soft flesh at the top of its head, red and garish flesh, swirled with the mercuric shimmer of its blood, ears falling, flapping, useless, to the floor. His hands were stained with blood. Impure purity.
Then the lips – already pulled back to bare its teeth as it screamed – were excised. A garish and bloody permanent grin, blood tricking down Regulus's arms, into the unicorn's mouth. Its screams were frantic, desperate, while spit and blood oozed brightly from its mouth.
It screamed and screamed, shaking against its invisible bonds, eyes rolling, head tossing as much as it could, desperately trying to gain some control, any at all. The other horses let their squeals of fear join the cacophony.
And then the eyelids. With the sparkling tip of the blade, glittering with the unicorn's blood, he took the eyelid that he pulled away from the frantically rolling eye and slowly, carefully, cut to the bone. A little twitch, barely anything at all, and Regulus's grip on the slickened blade slipped; a cut on the eye that bled, trickling down along its face. He stopped a moment, letting the eyelid, half cut, dangle uselessly like a lampshade set askew, or a badly hung curtain. He couldn't help but laugh, though the low and unpleasant mirth that bubbled from his mouth could barely be heard over the animal's desperate shrieks.
He pulled and cut, then pulled and cut again, until he had reached the bone and the unicorn couldn't help but stare unblinkingly at him, grinning as it screamed and screamed.
•••
By the time the party of Blacks and Lucius Malfoy made their winding way to the stables to watch Narcissa ride the beast therein, Regulus had cleaned himself up suitably well. His robes were immaculate, though his hair was too long, and hung before his eyes. They found him leaning casually by the stable doors, twirling his wand like a baton between his fingers, and humming some song or other.
"Regulus?" Walburga said, sounding almost scandalized by her son's presence. "My darling, what are you doing here?"
He smiled, but otherwise ignored her, and instead addressed himself to Lucius. "I hear congratulations are in order, Malfoy."
"Regulus." Lucius gave a stiff half bow. "Thank you. I'm sure Narcissa and I will be very happy together."
"Oh, I'm certain of it as well. My dear little cousin adores you. Isn't that right, Cissy? She can't wait to give up her illustrious name for yours. Of course," he continued, "being a Malfoy is certainly a worthy second to being a Black. Perhaps the blood isn't quite as pure, but the money –"
"Regulus!" Walburga cried.
"Is there a problem, Mother?"
Her eyes sparked with fire. "You've said quite enough, dear. I'm sure Narcissa is simply dying to see what her wonderful," here she looked meaningfully at Lucius, "fiancé has brought for her. Aren't you, Narcissa, dear?"
She tightened her grip on Lucius's hand momentarily. "Yes, Aunt Walburga."
Druella laughed pleasantly and smiled, and said, "Well darling, what are we waiting for? You must be the first to see it – in you go, Narcissa."
Narcissa smiled, and, keeping her fingers twined within Lucius's, she made her way into the stables. The others followed, Regulus trailing behind with Bellatrix.
"You can't say you're happy about this," he muttered to her.
"Of course I'm not. Lucius Malfoy is the most –" She was cut off by Narcissa's hysterical scream. Her head, which had been bowed in clandestine conversation, shot up. "Cissy?" she cried, rushing to see what had caused the screams.
By this time, the unicorn had stopped screaming, but it continued to shudder in visible pain, letting out whimpers as it shook and bled.
Bellatrix stared. Narcissa was shaking, weeping into her father's chest as he held her. Druella and Walburga had their backs turned to the scene, and Druella had a few tears running down her cheeks. Lucius fixed his gaze blindly on the unicorn, fists clenched.
"Who did this?" he said finally. He turned around. "Who did this?" He was shaking with ill-concealed rage.
Narcissa began to sob harder. Cygnus held her tighter.
"Well," Regulus said, emerging seemingly from nowhere. "This is certainly a shame. I suppose this must mean someone or other doesn't quite approve of this marriage …"
Narcissa wrenched herself from her father's grasp. "You!" she shrieked. "You did this! Oh how could you? Regulus you – you –! I hate you! I hate you!"
"Narcissa …" Druella murmured through her tears.
Lucius's face twisted in disgust. "My father was right – you're mad, all of you," he spat.
"Lucius –!" Narcissa cried. But he ignored her and stormed out.
Cygnus put a hand on his daughter's shoulder while Orion turned to his son, eyes aflame.
"Do you know what you've done, boy?"
Regulus smiled blandly. "Of course I do, Father."
Orion's hand was on his wand. "No, I really don't think you do, because –"
"Come, Bella, there are things I need to talk to you about," Regulus said. He took her by the arm and began to lead her away, but she wrenched herself from his grip and slapped him fiercely.
"You're sick. Don't ever touch me, I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Have it your way, then. Let your sister marry that filth." With another unpleasant smile, he Disapparated, shattering the air with the sound.
Narcissa whirled to face her father. "Oh Daddy, Daddy, please, do something!" Tears were streaming down her face as she implored him. "Please, Daddy, Lucius won't marry me – I have to marry him, Daddy! I love him, Daddy! Oh, please!"
Druella was too startled, too disturbed, to chastise her daughter for her behaviour – no one minded Narcissa's outburst in the wake of such a horrifying sight.
"I'll do whatever I can, Cissa," he said solemnly. "Come, we had best go back inside."
•••
Bellatrix found Regulus lounging on a settee, absently twirling his wand.
"What are you doing here? This isn't your house," she said coldly.
"No, it's not." Silence consumed the space between them for a long moment. "You should be glad, Bella."
Her eye flashed with fire. "Glad? Glad that you mutilated a unicorn and made Cissy cry? You don't know what you've done to her."
"I've saved her from a life with Malfoy. You should be happy about that. You hate him! Everyone hates him. He's no one. His blood is … sullied. Narcissa should be a Black. And anyway, it's just a unicorn." He waved a hand flippantly.
"You could have just killed it," she said. "If you wanted to do something so badly, you should have just killed it."
He shrugged. "I thought of all people, Bella, you'd understand."
She didn't respond for a long time.
"One day I might do the same to you," was her eventual, quiet response, before turning away.
•••
Narcissa was inconsolable, and it wasn't until three days later that her father had managed to coax Lucius, deeply offended and beginning to feel his parents may have been right about the Blacks, back to the Manor.
The circumstances were extenuating, and Cygnus knew that there wasn't much hope of saving the marriage, but Narcissa had cried and begged and pleaded, and Cygnus determined to do the best he could.
"Lucius," Cygnus said, shaking his hand firmly. "Thank you for coming."
He gave a wary but polite half nod. "Thank you for inviting me," he said, though they both knew he only said it out of necessity.
"Please, join me in my study," Cygnus said, leading him to a large and warmly furnished room. "I hope you will forgive the informality of this discussion, but I feel it would be best that we spoke alone, away from … from situations which may be somewhat more emotional." His words were mangled, but Lucius understood what he meant. "Please, sit." He motioned to a deep leather chair.
Lucius did so, albeit stiffly.
"Mr Black, I hope you will not take this badly, but your nephew's actions were …" he sighed, "they were some of the most heinous actions I have ever had the misfortune of seeing. And done, I don't believe it is presumptuous to assume, in direct antagonism to myself. It is unfortunate to have to say this, as I do love your daughter, but following these events, I am deeply hesitant to allow this engagement to continue."
Cygnus bowed his head. "Yes, Lucius, I had assumed you would say something of the sort. I know my statements cannot truly assure you, but I was as horrified and, yes, disgusted, as you were by my nephew's acts. His crimes were heinous, and if I were his father, he would be in Azkaban now. Orion is … Orion does not wish to lose anoth– his son. Nevertheless, we have determined to keep him as far from yourself and Narcissa as we can, in future. Furthermore, I must add that my daughter is quite fond of you, and would be quite hurt were the marriage to be called off. As her father, it is my job to ensure that she does not experience such pain, which is in part why I have called you here today."
Lucius felt a slight twinge in his stomach at the mention of Narcissa.
"You will see around you," Cygnus continued, "a number of objects of rare magical potential. As a deepest apology, and in hopes that you might reconsider the annulment of your engagement, I have selected one of these to present to you." He stood and crossed to one of the many locked credenzas that walled the room. He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, unlocking it silently, wandlessly. From the very back, behind a series of delicate silver objects with whirring gears, a glowing orb, and a smoking amethyst, he withdrew a small, unpolished stone.
"This, Lucius, is perhaps one of the most powerful artefacts in my collection, and I wish to present it to you."
He took it gingerly in his hand. "What is it?"
"This is …" he hesitated. "You have heard of the Deathly Hallows, have you not?"
"The children's tale? Yes, I have."
"Then you are familiar with the idea of a resurrection stone?"
Lucius frowned. "You don't mean to tell me that you expect me to believe that I hold Cadmus Peverell's Resurrection Stone in my hand?" he said drily.
Cygnus laughed. "No, Lucius. No. That is just a story. This is, however, a stone with somewhat … similar properties."
He quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"This stone is small, but the power it contains is immense." He sighed. "It is Dark magic. Very Dark, but consider for a moment the power you would wield, should you be able to resurrect an army without the use of the Imperius curse."
Lucius's eyes widened. "You don't mean to say …"
"I do. This is an artefact of extreme power, and I am willing to present it to you, as a sincere apology for the events of three days ago, and in hopes that it might encourage you to continue your engagement with my daughter. Might I ask for your agreement to do so?"
He hesitated, feeling the great weight of the stone in his hands, and contemplating Narcissa – why did she appear more beautiful now? "Yes. Yes, Mr Black, I will marry Narcissa."
•••
Time passed, and the disastrous events of the early autumn were eventually all but forgotten. Their marriage was peaceful and pleasant, and in just under two years' time, Narcissa had a son.
But although Lucius, with the newfound power of his gift, and the beauty of his wife, and the honour of having an heir, was more than happy to ignore the horror that Regulus had wrought, his parents, not having been privy to Cygnus's subtle bribery, were not. "When you marry one Black, you marry them all," Abraxas was fond of murmuring darkly. No – as nice as Narcissa was, she was tarred by the same brush of madness and depravity, as far as they were concerned. Angelic beauty made no difference to them; a Black was a Black.
"We have to get rid of her," his mother hissed to Abraxas in the cold of his study.
"I know that," he said. "But knowing is one thing, and having an idea and a means is quite another."
She shook her head. "I never trusted the Blacks. We should have fought harder – we should have forced him to marry Violetta Parkinson." She sighed. "And that Bellatrix! I've never seen a less ladylike witch in my life; you know I heard she hit her husband – what's his name again? Rudolpho? – right in the middle of Borgin and Burke's."
"Are you going to gossip to me or can we be productive?"
She pursed her lips. "Yes, yes. If we could just figure out a way to get her away from Lucius for a little while, away from Draco …. Do you think he would agree to a separation?"
"I doubt it. He likes to imagine he loves her."
Silence punctuated the space between them.
"If we could just find a way to get her away from him for a few weeks, maybe a month …. Oh!" she cried. "I think I have an idea …"
The following day, she found him in the hall.
"Lucius," his mother said, "I think it's time that we had a serious conversation." He made no move against this. "Darling, it's about Narcissa. I know you love her, but the Blacks can't be trusted – you know this. You're smarter than this. Please, Lucius, for the sake of your son, get rid of her!"
"Mother, you said it yourself – I love Narcissa," he said. "I love her, and I can't –"
"Do you love your son?"
"Yes, of course I do."
"Don't you want him to make an honourable heir? Lucius, don't you want your son to grow up as a proper Malfoy? I'm not saying this is your wife's fault, but darling, you must see the madness even in her. You can't allow that near your son. You can't let little Draco grow up mad."
"And what would you propose I do, Mother? I love Narcissa, and I'm not going to divorce her, I'm not going to send her away!"
"But darling, you don't have to. Let her live elsewhere, away from Draco until he's old enough that he won't be influenced by her. I know the poor boy needs a mother figure, and I'd be more than happy to provide one, you know that. Consider it, Lucius. For the sake of the family. For your son's sake."
Lucius hesitated.
"Didn't Cygnus give her that castle in Wales? What was it called …?"
"Aberffraw," Lucius said. "It was her wedding present."
"Yes, well, that's a lovely little place, isn't it? What if she took a bit of a vacation, darling. Just a short, temporary one, of course. You can visit as much as you like. And after all, I'm sure Narcissa must be in want of a bit of rest, you know. Raising a child is hard work, even with the elves to help."
"I suppose," he said slowly, "that a little bit of rest away from Draco might be nice for Narcissa."
His mother beamed. "You needn't do a thing, darling. I'll set it all up. All you'll have to do is say goodbye."
In a week's time, Narcissa departed for Aberffraw. The sun was low in the sky as she pressed indulgent kisses onto the top of baby Draco's head.
"I'll miss you, my sweet," she murmured into the feathery wisps of his hair. "Lucius, darling, are you certain you won't need me?"
He shifted uncertainly. It hadn't been his idea to send her away in the first place, and as her departure began to cement into reality, he was less and less comfortable with it. But his mother and father, looming just over his shoulder, prevented any last-minute change of plans.
"I'll miss you, Cissa," he said instead, kissing her on the cheek when he wished – if only his parents would leave! – that he could pull her into his arms and tell her not to go.
"Have a lovely time, dear," Mrs Malfoy said over her son's shoulder. Abraxas only inclined his head.
With a deep breath, she turned away from them, facing the endless gardens, and gripped the slowly wilting flower, letting it pull her away to northern Wales.
•••
Aberffraw was colder than she remembered, high on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. They beat their eternal tattoo against the whitish rocks, breaking into foamy froth far below. It would never be silent there, just above the perpetual roar of the water.
She was lonely. What good were house elves for company? What good was sitting alone in an ancient, crumbling castle, so far from her society, so far from her family? It had seemed so romantic in planning – it would be a perfect and peaceful escape from the busy whirr of society life, the life of a new mother. But it only felt like exile.
More than once she wished it were possible for her to leave early. Cut her month short and Apparate or Floo back to Malfoy Manor – but what would that say about the kindness Abraxas and his wife had bestowed upon her, by granting her this leave? Surely Mrs Malfoy would take it as an insult to her parenting if she returned early claiming Draco as the reason.
Days were torturous, and the nights, without Lucius to hold her, were interminable. She owled Bella every day, but her letters were never answered.
Finally, just when she thought she might go insane if she had to stay any longer, the date of her departure arrived. As expected, one of the Malfoy owls arrived bearing a nearly dead rose to act as a Portkey.
At eleven that morning, she closed her eyes and took it in hand, waiting for the familiar tug behind her navel – but there was none. Had she misunderstood the time? No, there it was, written on the letter, "the Portkey will depart at eleven am."
Surely it was a mistake. She sent the owl back with an explanation, and waited. No return message arrived. Not that day, not the next.
Surely there must be some mistake. Surely something was wrong. There was no Floo powder in the castle – not anywhere. And when she tried to Apparate out, wand in hand, she only reappeared in different rooms.
That night, she decided to walk to town, but when she got to the gates and put her hand out to open it, it disappeared into the far distance. How was that possible? How was it that she was back at the front door again?
She tried again. She tried running at it, like it was the gateway to the Hogwarts Express. She tried creeping up on it very slowly; perhaps she could trick it into thinking she wouldn't try to get out. She tried every spell she knew. She tried to invent her own. She consulted the library, but found it devoid of anything but books of mythology, to which she paid no attention.
She tried frantically to conjure a Patronus – perhaps she could send a message that way – but to no avail. The more frantic she became, the harder it was for her to remember that there was ever any good to her life.
"I'm going insane," she whispered to her mirror, tracing tear-tracks.
The elves said only very little to her. They provided her with meals; they changed her sheets; they brushed her hair, but were of no help otherwise.
No one contacted her. The messages she sent became more frantic. She tried to destroy the castle with the strongest magic she knew, but it resisted any attack.
"They've forgotten me," she told the crumbling tomes in the library.
Every moment was an eternity, until she didn't know how long it was that she spent at Aberffraw.
Eventually at night, before bed, she began to collect her memories. She made a store of every happy moment in her life. She walled them up and kept them locked away, safe from the torture of her daily life, until finally, after what felt like years, and may well have been, she opened the box, and let her Patronus spring forth, a silvery unicorn that wisped from the tip of her wand.
She was awoken in the middle of the night by an earth-shattering explosion. The stone walls rumbled, and bits of plaster crumbled from the ceiling. Like an arrow she flew down the stairs.
"Bella! Oh Bella!" She kissed her sister, cried into her neck, whispered thank you, thank you, oh Merlin thank you, until finally Bellatrix extricated herself and led Narcissa away from her Welsh prison.
In the parlour of Black Manor, Narcissa sat with a steaming mug of cocoa, into which she willed herself not to cry as she heard her sister's tales of the last year and a half.
"Mrs Malfoy told us you disappeared. Something about a lover, she said. That you disappeared to Ireland with some prince with a stupid bloody name. We kept owling you, we sent you messages, we tried everything, but we never got anything back. Mother and Father were at Malfoy Manor almost every day – Salazar, you should have heard the fights. I thought Father was going to kill them all, if I didn't first. They said they hadn't heard from you either, it was all so confusing. Father even contacted the Ministry about it, tried to send Aurors after you, but they kept telling him Ireland wasn't their jurisdiction, and that 'girls ran away to elope all the time'." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "I tortured the lot of them. One of those stupid Aurors can't walk anymore, and there's nothing they can bloody well do about it, because they don't know who did it."
This was designed to make Narcissa feel better, but it didn't. A year and a half had passed her by – and for what?
"What about Draco?"
Bellatrix glowered. "What about him? Mrs Malfoy pampered him into a stupid spoiled brat. Every time we went over he would stick his tongue out at us. I hit him once, when they left me in the room with him."
Narcissa's eyes flashed. "You hit my son?"
"He's more Malfoy than Black," Bellatrix said coldly.
The following morning, Cygnus Apparated to Malfoy Manor and returned shortly thereafter with Lucius, Abraxas, and Draco in tow.
"Draco!" Narcissa cried. "Oh, Draco, Mummy has missed you so much!"
He looked sullen and wary, but eventually gave in to her kisses and frantic embraces. She doted as much, if not more, than Mrs Malfoy, and at that age, his loyalty was fickle, and entirely predicated on the promise of gifts and attention.
She didn't have a chance to speak to Lucius or his father. Cygnus and Bellatrix kept them outside in the gardens, far from Narcissa, who sat in the parlour to play with the son she had missed so deeply. She was glad, for once, that the parlour was situated at the front of the house, and not the back. She would not have been able to bear the sight of the argument that occurred.
An hour of bliss passed like sand through her fingers, and as the clock struck the hour, Narcissa glanced up to see Regulus standing in the doorway.
"This is your son, Narcissa?" Regulus asked. "This is the little Malfoy you had?"
Narcissa stiffened. "You're not supposed to be here, Regulus."
"Is it so awful of me to want to see my little cousin? What did you name him, again? Draculus? Draconian?"
"Draco."
"Ah yes, the little dragon. Can he survive in fires, too?"
Narcissa frowned at him. "Dragons breathe fire. It's salamanders who live in it."
"Perhaps you should have named him Sal."
"That's a horrible name, Regulus."
He smiled bitterly, then crouched down to Draco's level. "Hello there, Sal."
Draco, hiding behind Narcissa's legs and clutching at the folds of her silken robes, peered out at him. "My name is Draco, stupid!"
"Draco!" Narcissa cried. "That's not a nice thing to say!"
He pouted up at her.
"Would you like to play a game, Draco?" Regulus said.
He glared warily. "What game?"
"Oh, it's a very fun one. Narcissa, may I?"
She hesitated, uncertainty colouring her gaze. "Regulus, I really …" She sighed and glanced around. The room was empty save for them. In the brief silence that punctuated her words, she could almost imagine she heard Bellatrix shouting at Lucius from outside – but of course that was impossible, they were much too far away. The couches bore unblinking witness to her hesitation; only the crackling fireplace seemed to be judging her. What could go wrong? it whispered.
She sighed. "Draco, would you like to play a game with your cousin?"
He shook his head. "He's a stupidface! He thinks my name is Sal!"
"Draco! I don't appreciate such language from you. You must be nice to your relatives." She gave him a little push. "Play hide and seek."
"Why don't you play with us, Narcissa?" Regulus asked. The edge of his words was a knife that spoke of danger, but she didn't notice.
"I…"
"Turn around, Narcissa, and count to twenty while the little salamander and I hide."
"I'm not a salamander! I'm a wizard!" Draco cried indignantly.
Regulus's laugh was too indulgent.
Narcissa turned around. "One, two, three …"
"Come, Draco, I know a very good hiding place," Regulus whispered, taking his hand in rough and calloused fingers.
"Six, seven, eight …"
Draco gave a glance at his counting mother before allowing himself to be led across the room.
Regulus's grip was too strong, too fervent. Draco let out a little cry of pain, but was shushed. "Don't let her hear you," he hissed.
The fireplace, standing with its grate open, was like a yawning, hungry mouth. Draco had his back to it, so he didn't see the jagged stone teeth or licking tongue of flames, or the crackling that belied its secretive hunger.
His scream made Narcissa drop her hands from her eyes to her wand and whirl around.
"NO! NO!" She screamed so loudly that each breath felt like a thousand needles along her throat.
There was more than enough room for him in the fireplace, although it hadn't been built as a Floo. The grate was closed and glowing an eerie blue – locked. Regulus leaned against the mantle, but for once he looked anything but relaxed. His eyes were stony and his knuckles were white around his wand.
"Get him out! Regulus! REGULUS!" she screamed through her tears, but he remained tense and unmoving.
Smoke filled the room and her nostrils until she choked as she screamed and cried. "Draco! Draco!"
His own screams were excruciating. His pudgy little fingers clasped tight to the grate. Narcissa ran to him, but finally Regulus took it upon himself to return to motion. His wand sliced the air and Stunned her, very lightly, but enough that she fell to the ground, hitting her head on the edge of a table as she did, staining her hair red.
The fire wasn't very big, and by the time it burned out, long after Regulus had left the room, taking Narcissa with him, there was not a great deal of Draco left, but more than enough to recognize the reddened, bubbled face, with only half his jaw devoured. His fingers remained untouched, still tightly holding the metal grate.
Regulus left Narcissa in her room before going outside. Their shouts were loud and violent, but somehow they had managed not to resort to violence.
Lucius was the first to see him. "You!" he shouted.
Regulus smiled beatifically. "Yes, me. Have you seen your son lately, Lucius?"
"This morning. Why the hell do you ask?"
"Would you like to see your son, Lucius?"
"Your insanity has no place here, nephew. Go home," Cygnus said in his iciest of voices.
"Ah, but that's where you seem to be wrong. Please, permit me to show you why."
"We've had enough of this, Regulus!" Bellatrix snapped. "The adults are talking, and no one wants you here. Go the hell home."
"Oh, but this is really something I think you ought to see."
Finally sensing that they would get no more done until they indulged his whim, they followed him into the parlour.
The smell of it hadn't dissipated, and Abraxas snapped in annoyance, "What is that? Has someone been cooking in here?"
Regulus laughed. "You might say that."
It wasn't clear who noticed first – perhaps they all noticed at the same time – but the cacophony of shouts and aguish that followed brought an odd grin to Regulus's face as he silently ducked out of the room.
He crept upstairs to see Narcissa, but she wasn't in her room. The window was open, with the sheer curtain fluttering in the slight breeze.
When he returned to the parlour, it was to see a mess of spells being shouted. There were a few bloodstains on the floor, and he noted with disinterest that Abraxas's arm was bleeding.
Regulus saw the look on Bellatrix's face – the anger mixed with perfect satisfaction – as Abraxas keeled over, dead.
It stopped everything.
"My father!" Lucius shouted. "It's not enough that you killed my son?" He Disapparated with an explosive shatter, and Regulus slunk into the darkest recesses of the hall.
It wasn't long before something began to break down the door. Undead bodies stumbled in blindly, their vision only functional when faced with what to kill. Flesh hung, rotting, off their bones. The wands they held were made of iron, and were gripped by sinewy digits. They smelled of decay. They could not speak, and had no use for mouths, so they had removed their jaws, leaving bits of skin and muscle hanging over in flaps.
They came in a wave, and overwhelmed father and daughter. Cygnus fell, while Bellatrix screamed and fought and killed, only to see the dead undead rise again.
Lucius was murmuring in the doorway, turning something over in his hands. Regulus watched him for a time, until he realized what it was.
No one saw him crouched on the stairs, so when he aimed the Killing Curse at Lucius Malfoy, no one could stop him. Both so far from the frantic battle, Regulus slipped unnoticed to his body, and plucked the little stone from between his still warm fingers.
Such a little thing, but so heavy, and so powerful.
Only Malfoys were supposed to die.
He closed his eyes and began to whisper. The words came from nowhere and everywhere, and with the soul of his being, he tore the soul from his being, and resurrected the living.
There was the briefest of silences as the stone fell from his fingers. Time stopped, and as Regulus's head was thrown back, mouth open in a silent scream, the stone remained suspended in the air – only for a moment, before the sound escaped his mouth, and the stone plummeted.
The living cannot be resurrected. It is one of the primary rules of Dark magic, and one of the most dangerous to break.
When the stone hit the ground, it shattered with a sound like the gears of the earth grinding and breaking.
Without it, the magic that animated the corpses failed. They tumbled and crumbled to the ground in a fetid heap at Bellatrix Lestrange's feet.
The detonation that shattered the stone shattered Regulus as well, into four distinct pieces. Smaller bits of him stained the walls and the carpet. A chunk of his liver quivered and slid on the marble floors, and somehow a rope of intestines dangled from a crystal chandelier, dripping blood into a small puddle below.
Bellatrix choked. She surveyed the corpses, and the olid mess of the hall.
And she laughed as she screamed.
A note on the title: 'difethiad' is the Welsh word for 'destruction', and in its entirety, the title is a play on 'The Iliad', although the two are related only in terms of length.
Thoughts?