Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters or anything remotely related to it. It is all the property of the genius that is J.K. Rowling and I am simply borrowing the characters for a little fun. I make absolutely no profit from this story.
A/N: It has been a long time since I posted anything - 4 years, to be precise. If any of my 'old' followers are still around, I apologize for my absence and hope you enjoy this new entry. To any new readers, I hope you like this, and look forward to reading your opinions. This is my first ever attempt at a Harry Potter story, it's just something that popped into my head when I was supposed to be studying for finals and centers on my favorite Slytherins.
Please enjoy and let me know what you think.
Innocent:
Bellatrix did not scream, did not groan; did not utter a single sound.
Having given birth to her own son, Narcissa was unsure whether to be in awe of her elder sister or terrified of her. No one should look as apathetic while giving birth. No one.
She was not sure which unsettled her more – her sister's total lack of interest or the fact that the pain seemed to have no effect on her. Could it be that she was so desensitized to the intricacies of human suffering that she was unable to feel even her own pain?
"You're almost there, Bella," Narcissa said in a soothing voice, unsure her sister was even listening to her.
The Malfoy's latest house elf, one whose name still escaped her, stood before Bellatrix, her little hands shaking in excitement at welcoming a new Master or Mistress to the world.
"I sees it, Mistress, I sees it!" the tiny creature squealed excitedly, "Its has Mistress Lestrange's hair!"
For a brief moment Narcissa wondered whose hair the poor child could have possibly inherited instead, it wasn't as if …
"I hases it!"
Looking to the house elf, Narcissa watched as the small, still form of a baby rested in the creature's hands. It did, indeed, have a thick head of black hair, much like her sister's but other than that all Narcissa could see was a disgusting film of white mucus splattered with red and pink on what looked to be a small baby girl.
"It ises not crying!" the elf screeched, gently shaking the baby in its hands, but to no avail.
"Oh, for fuck's sake" came the deep drawl of the only other person to have remained silent through the whole ordeal, "give it here!"
In two long strides, Severus moved from his place against the back wall and took the still unmoving infant from the elf. His eyes showing disgust, not just at the slippery texture of the unclean newborn, but, Narcissa was sure, at its very existence.
Turning the baby in his hands, face down and head slightly to the floor, Severus patted the child's back until a soft mewl emanated from the now writhing infant.
Narcissa was thankful he was the only member of the inner circle with any knowledge of healing. She wasn't sure any of the others would have given the child's lack of response two thoughts.
They, of course, did not know.
And Severus did.
Which was why he looked so revolted. Which was why he had to ensure it lived.
"Take it," he handed the child back to the elf and gave it no more thought as the elf rushed to wrap its new Mistress in as many blankets as it could find.
"Bella?" Narcissa called to her sister as she noticed her eyes following the elf.
"What is it?" she asked. There was no feeling, no real curiosity; no interest.
"A girl," Narcissa tried to smile. Nothing about this situation made her want to smile.
"You must inform the Dark Lord," the dark haired woman said her eyes back on her parted legs, "and get that worthless creature to finish whatever else is left!" her eyes finally seemed to light up, "I must return to the Dark Lord. He will have need of me. We must capture the boy, we must …"
She began her usual incoherent mumbling.
Severus found it a wonder that the legendary pain of delivering a child did nothing to this woman, but the prospect of sniveling at her master's feet and catering to his every whim had her lose all coherence.
Once the child was acceptably clean and wrapped, Narcissa approached it as the elf returned to Bellatrix.
"Take it!" Bellatrix practically screamed at her sister, "Take it to the Dark Lord!"
Picking up the sleeping bundle, Narcissa exited the room without a second look at anyone. She wasn't sure what she was more terrified of – her delusional sister or informing the Dark Lord that his daughter had been born.
"My Lord," Narcissa bowed low as she stood before him.
They were in the dining room at Malfoy Manor – her home which she held no authority over – where her husband sat practically quivering, the broad shoulders and self-assured confidence she'd fallen in love with so long ago replaced by a slouch and a look of pitiful cowardice that made him the butt of every joke; the target of every hex.
"The child has been born," she spoke as she straightened, trying not to flinch at the serpentine eyes on her, "Bellatrix did well."
She bowed her head again as she held the child up for the Dark Lord to inspect.
"What is it?" he asked with interest.
"A girl, My Lord," she replied, head still bowed.
"Bellatrix 'did well' you say," he sneered, malice dripping from his words, "dispose of that thing and return Bellatrix to me. We have no time to waste."
With that, he dismissed Narcissa without a second look and returned to her husband, surely preparing some retribution for yet another disappointment from their family.
As, horrified, Narcissa returned to the room from whence she'd come, she was sure she heard her husband's cries of agony as the Dark Lord took his anger out on the easiest target around.
"Was he pleased?" Bellatrix asked from where she now sat on the bed, the house elf adjusting the covers around her, Severus still standing against the back wall.
"He wishes us to …" Narcissa could barely speak the words as her eyes flicked to the sleeping infant in her arms.
One could not say she was a beautiful child. She was still squashed and red and looked more elf-like than human. But so had Draco and he'd grown to be a beautiful child. She was so small, so innocent. How could she, as the Dark Lord so trivially suggested, 'dispose' of her?
"… to dispose of it," she completed as Bellatrix appeared to recoil into the bed, her usual reaction to disappointing her master.
Narcissa knew Bellatrix would happily carry out any action demanded of her by the Dark Lord. She knew the elf was compelled to carry out any order any of them gave it. If she only gave the infant to either, it would be done. It would be simple.
And yet, she found herself turning to Severus.
"Severus, a word?" she motioned for him to follow her out of the room, her niece still in her arms.
"I'm sure Bellatrix would like the honor," he said once they were alone, gesturing to the infant.
He was many things; he was even a murderer. And this child was, as far as he and any sane person were concerned, an abomination. Such a mixture of evil could spawn nothing worthwhile, he was sure. But he would not have a child's blood on his hands. That was more than Dumbledore could demand of him, even from beyond the grave. This order he would not fulfill.
"I'm sure she would," Narcissa replied sadly looking at the baby in her arms as it opened its eyes and looked up into her face, "but I …"
Severus realized she was looking at the damned infant as she had at a young Draco.
"You cannot …"
Narcissa shook her head, "it is not her fault that …"
"The Dark Lord's orders were clear, were they not?" Severus asked, aware that even as he was sure he could not be the one to do it, he was sure it would have to be done.
One did not simply disregard a direct order. Not from the Dark Lord. Not if one wished to live.
"He wished for us to dispose of her, yes," Narcissa nodded, "but who would know if she were only taken away?" she asked looking up at Severus.
"And where, pray tell, would you have me take her?" he looked almost mocking, "To Hogwarts, perhaps? Where Poppy Pomfrey would surely wish to care for the child of the Dark Lord and his most devout servant, or perhaps a ministry orphanage, where surely, the Dark Lord would not discover our betrayal? Or perhaps you wish me to leave her on the Weasley's door step?"
Narcissa didn't seem to appreciate Severus' mocking tone, but his point was valid. There was nowhere that would be safe, for the child or for them, if the Dark Lord ever discovered that they'd plotted to ignore his command.
Even as he listed all the unsuitable options, Severus grew aware of the obvious one. He was the only Death Eater privy to such information. Partly because the Dark Lord did not routinely inform his followers of his upbringing in a muggle orphanage, and partly because it had been Dumbledore to tell him as a member of the Order of the Phoenix.
"A muggle orphanage," he found himself saying. Why couldn't he just walk away and leave the child to its end? Why must he get involved?
Because Narcissa had seen fit to involve him, apparently.
"Severus, I don't …"
"You don't feel a Muggle Orphanage would be an adequate place for the child? You would rather it die today, then?" he asked as if resigned to that. As if he did not care.
And why he did, he did not understand.
"Alright," she agreed after a moment's pause. "You will take her," she nodded, as if to herself, "I will inform Bella that it has been done, and the Dark Lord will never need know."
Severus felt himself nod as the child was thrust into his arms and he was ushered to the entry of the Manor.
Touching the infant's cheek with a finger, Narcissa smiled softly at her. "You will be alright," she nodded, "you will never know any of this. You will be alright."
Severus felt almost touched that Narcissa might care about a child he himself believed should never have been born.
"Leave a note," she said to Severus.
"And what would you wish me to write to the Muggles?" he asked, mocking again.
"Her name," she nodded looking down at the baby, "just her name."
Rolling his eyes, Severus drawled with exaggerated patience, "and that would be?"
"Cassiopeia," Narcissa said with a clear nod, "Cassiopeia Black."
With that, Severus left, disapparating with the child and promptly arriving at the door to a large girl's orphanage in London. Leaving the child there, a note, as promised tucked into her blanket, he disapparated again.
As he traveled back to the Manor, he found his mind on Lily. His Lily, who'd given her life for an infant; who'd died to spare the life of an innocent.
This child, too, was innocent. She had not harmed a single soul. Not in her few short minutes of life. She had not deserved to die, and he had ensured she did not.
Yet he was terrified of what would become of the world when the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange and the Dark Lord returned.
Utterly and truly terrified.
The End
CJS-DEPPendent