I didn't want it to turn out like this. You have to believe me, Narcie. I would have come back if I could, I swear. You know I would have. I wanted this more than the world, but...
It wasn't like they told us, Narcie. Not any of it.
It seems so obvious in retrospect. All the little things that didn't add up, but I never noticed at the time. How could I have been so stupid!? Hindsight is 20/20 I guess, but still... How could I have not seen something like this?
I know, I know, I'm not making sense. But where to start? The beginning, I guess. That's usually the best, I find.
You already know what the end is; you would not have received this letter otherwise…
Narcissa crumples the scrap of parchment between her bony fingers, wanting nothing to interfere with her last memories of him. She wants to believe that Igor has faked his death. The body that they found in the shack must be a decoy. He was a natural at Transfiguration. He would have known how to transform his coat into a corpse. She throws the mangled letter behind her, then thinks better of it – particularly of what her husband Lucius might say if he found it – unfurls it and continues to read.
…Remember when we met? When I couldn't tell my left hand from my right? When you nearly laughed when you heard my father, and I thought you were smiling at me? When I deprived Andromeda of a teasing opportunity because I didn't have my parents' accent? When Rita's mother wanted to take a photo, and all I wanted to do was hide behind Bellatrix? If I could, I would be laughing at the things we lost sleep over. Then again, I don't think this was when it really began. Too many flippant love stories with impossible triangles and purple prose begin this way…
Narcissa is not laughing. Of course she remembers. There was once a photo of that September morning, but it has been reduced to ashes. Love story? What is he talking about? She moved on years and years and years ago. More than seventeen years ago. But he always wrote a beautiful, poetic letter; he was a Ravenclaw, after all.…We had good times at Hogwarts though. I treasure the hours in the library, devoid of air but congested with dust, trying to teach you Summoning Charms. I love to reminisce about skating on the lake during Christmas, when you were a natural Ice Queen, unusually for an English girl. I can remember you telling me how you looked after your cousin Regulus (and I remember how you said it broke your heart when "your little Regulus" gave up – I can only hope my aberration causes you much less distress)…
Narcissa is disgusted by his use of the present tense. The traitor. She is mollified by the next sentence though, because it makes her smile inside, and she hasn't had that liberty since Draco was inducted into the Death Eaters, making her sick with worry.…You know, for years, I was convinced you were actually Russian? That you'd been adopted? We were so alike in some ways. If you'd been older, I'd have added the more romantic notions that your real parents had been killed by Gellert Grindelwald (mine had no grand story – they simply ran away). Forgive me; I had never before seen three sisters so unalike each other. One as cool as ice, one as restless as running water, and the third with a scalding temper like steam…
She is tempted to stop reading – all he is doing is procrastinating, putting off the explanation she wants. Why he sold his place in the Dark Lord's Circle for a ticket out of Azkaban. Why couldn't he just wait like Rabastan, Rodolphus and Bellatrix?…I suppose it starts with her – Bellatrix. She inflamed me with her ideas, and then warned me that if I didn't agree with them, I would be killed off like the rest of the muggle scum.
I'll never know why The Dark Lord summoned me to Hogsmeade at Easter in my fifth year. A Ravenclaw! When we were all under the impression he was a die-hard Slytherin. Oh, the irony of that adjective; if anyone ever thought death was ignoble, it was him. You know his name means "flight from Death" in French.
Perhaps Bellatrix mentioned a certain prefect to him. But at that time, my OWLs were virtually all I could think of, which was why I begged him to allow me time before joining his legion of – Death Eaters, he called them.
"The Dark Lord does not typically grant wishes," he rasped at me in return. "But, perhaps twenty-five years ago, I would have felt the same, that education must come first."
As soon as the OWLs finished, I accepted, and he was pleased. Bella and I were so excited; we were only sixteen. By some dark charm, he lifted the Trace on us a year early, so that we were free to perform magic wherever we chose. Of course, we had responsibilities. We were to owl him once a week about happenings at Hogwarts, and during our holidays, we accompanied Death Eaters from the Inner Circle – the elite ones branded with the Mark – on missions.
As early as possible, they wanted to teach us to scour away sentimentality, exorcise emotions and purge ourselves of attachments. But I wonder, is this the way wizardkind should be evolving? Without human relationships, are we any higher than the goblins or giants, who know no real allegiance?
Narcie, he doesn't approve of love between women and men – except for the sake of breeding! Of procreating – of propagating the pureblood line! Once I believed that was a fair price to pay so we could conquer death and be pureblood rulers of the world. Unlike me, Bellatrix could channel her feelings – in her case, for her master – into faith.
And then there's Andromeda. I thought you ought to know – she had nothing to do with my decision to leave the Circle. I know you scorn her enough already…
Alone, Narcissa allows herself a moment of immaturity. She tosses her head back and laughs; Andy was always jealous of her. She had a Russian who was almost royalty; Andy had a mudblood from Hufflepuff.…but you and I both are aware that your middle sister knew she would've been happier with someone else. She needed someone who was entirely forthcoming about everything, and he needed someone with a mind like a magical planner. (What a mixed bag we Ravenclaws are; and they say Hufflepuff is where all the misfits go.)…
That bursts her bubble.…But you know, it was because of you that I did what I did at first. I had a sick fancy that Lucius might have been incarcerated, and I might have walked free, and been able to run free back to you. To this day, I am ashamed. The only pathetic defence I use is that it was before I knew Draco had been born…
Where is Draco now, she asks herself, oblivious now to the revelations of Igor Karkaroff. Draco should be enjoying his summer holiday. But the Dark Lord knows no holidays. Her son's OWL results are due very soon. Does he still care about school?He will turn sixteen soon, but birthdays mean nothing to the Dark Lord. The Trace has already been lifted; there will be nothing to celebrate even when Draco Comes of Age this time next year. So different from his fourteenth birthday, when no-one had forbidden them to throw a party, and they had invited fifty of his friends and decked the Manor in silver.
The Manor feels twice its usual size now that he is never at home. On the rare occasion she catches a glimpse of his white-blonde hair, slowly growing over his eyes, he avoids her gaze. She suspects he is thinner; the amount of food disappearing from the pantry is nowhere near enough to feed a growing boy. And even the Dark Lord can't Conjure a sandwich on the run between jobs.
…and before I saw the two of you together. I said it then, and I will say it again now, I have never seen you as happy as you were when you held Draco. You love him more than Lucius, or me, or yourself. Always, you were so detached, but with him you're smiling and laughing again, just like before you went to school, when I met you.
Look after him, Narcie, he needs you to make him strong. Death Eaters are expected to walk alone, but human beings were never designed that way.
We all dream of glory – and then our dreams turn into nightmares. Every time you are sent on a mission, you must do unspeakable things, and every time you complete a mission, you're not exhilarated, you're exhausted. Every bone in your body hurts, most of all, your skull, when you start to think of what you have done.
I wasn't strong enough.
You noticed it, that last time I saw you before Azkaban – the thinness, the pallor, the long and lank hair, the inability to even force a smile. You will notice it in Draco too, before long.
How could I not have seen it before?
How could I not have known what was in store?
So much for being in Ravenclaw…
Narcissa knows Lucius' life is intact in Azkaban – but does she even know if Draco is alive at this moment? The Dark Lord says he is filling Lucius' gap in the Circle with Draco, because he must have fifteen followers at all times. But Narcissa fears that Draco is just a piece of Spellotape over a gaping hole. A disposable piece of Spellotape. Not only because the Dark Lord values life so cheaply, but because he wishes to punish Lucius for the mistakes at the Ministry.
…You have no idea how guilty I feel for giving Crouch the names. I was so lucky that nothing worse came out of my grievous deed, done for all the wrong reasons. I know Severus must struggle to live, loathing himself every day for the rest of his life…
Severus? Why Severus?…I wish I could help Severus. I know he lives and breathes in the name of Lily Evans; he clings to a memory and this will be his undoing…
So Severus is torn, between undying loyalty to the Dark Lord and undying love for Lily Potter, the girl who gave birth to the monster. Severus loathes himself every day because he has devoted his life to the man who killed his first love. It's both as simple, and as convoluted as that.… He is doomed to be misunderstood forever…
She feels a rush of pity for Severus; it is a relief from fretting about Draco. Severus was the little Slytherin boy with no father, and a mind with no boundaries. He is only five years younger than her – barely older than her cousin Regulus, who now only exists as a sixteen-year-old in her memories. Narcissa could not save Regulus when he became disenchanted with the ways of the Death Eaters and was swiftly disposed of. There is no way she is going to let Severus go the same way.
… But I can't help him, unless it's by setting an example…
But what about herself – could she, Narcissa Malfoy help Severus Snape? Can they help each other?…Enough's enough. And so I say, "Sail on, Silver Girl"…
The quote derails her train of thought, because Narcissa remembers that song perfectly. "Bridge Over Troubled Water" by Simon & Garfunkel was top of the muggle charts one month after her fifteenth birthday. They'd never listened to muggle music before, but someone in the Ravenclaw common room had been playing it constantly, so Igor had learnt it by heart.
...Your time has come to shine,
All your dreams are on their way.
See how they shine.
If you need a friend,
I'm sailing right behind,
Like a bridge over troubled water,
I will ease your mind…
Narcissa sets down her quill, entrusts Aquila with the precious cargo and sends her away with a kiss on her feathered head. She puffs herself up a little, pretending to be annoyed, but Narcissa knows that just like Draco, Aquila loves it, but won't admit it.
Hours pass as Narcissa waits for Severus' reply, pacing the room, biting her nails down, exposing a sliver of nail bed. A popping noise behind her makes her pull her hand away.
"Cissy! Didn't our mother ever teach you not to chew your nails?"
Narcissa shrinks from the childhood nickname she believes she has outgrown, uttered by her sister Bellatrix.
Compounding the dreadful timing, Aquila returns with Severus' reply.
"What's that?" asks Bella sharply.
"I'm going to see Severus at Spinner's End," Narcissa says.
"Aren't you going to come to the gathering tonight? We got Igor Karkaroff at last, you know! Thought he could elude us forever…"
The Dementors of Azkaban sucked Bella's happy memories out of her, which is why she has almost no recollection of her Hogwarts days – particularly of the affair between her littlest sister and Igor Karkaroff, since she derived so much enjoyment from teasing them mercilessly.
Meanwhile, Bella has snatched up Severus' letter. "WHAT? You're going to tell him…"
"Accio," says Narcissa, wrapping her travelling cloak around her as it flies out of her wardrobe.
"I'm coming with you," says Bella, who interprets her sister's silence as consent.
The rest of Igor's letter must wait until she has returned from Spinner's End. But it confirms that what she has done is right – to seek out Severus, to make the Unbreakable Vow, to save Draco, and perhaps to save Severus too, should his loyalty ever waver.
Narcie, you might seem a silvery ice statue to anyone who refuses to look past your quiet composure, but I know that under the ice lies a golden heart.
Yours to remember,
Igor
A/N: (Robbie Williams: Something Beautiful)
My writing could do with a miracle
The silence is pitiful
Today
Fanfiction is getting too cynical
Everyone's so inimical
These days
I analyse everyone I read
But get no reply that's in kind
Every night I admit defeat
In crying online
I don't own Harry Potter, or Bridge Over Troubled Water, here's a disclaimer.
My reviews page is vacant outright
I'm so lost, hurt, tired and lonely
Won't you review please and make
my day?