~
Playing GamesIt's over.
Narcissa Malfoy strides through the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic with her head held high, impervious to the stares of the crowd. She's used to being noticed after all, though for once it's not her looks that have attracted the attention. She concentrates on the rhythmic click of her shoes on the tiled floor. Ahead of her she can see the fireplaces of the Floo network that will take her away from this hated place and back to her home.
Back to what remains of her home anyway.
The Ministry Interrogators will no doubt have torn the place to pieces to find the vital evidence that at last convicted Lucius. Narcissa is part of that evidence: once she realised that Lucius had gone too far this time and that no amount of bribery or bullying would convince a court of his innocence, she'd decided that the best course of action would be to save herself. Well what was she supposed to do? Act innocent and pretend she knew nothing of his crimes? The Aurors would never have believed her. They're desperate for vengeance, though they dress it up in talk of justice and rightful punishments.
Lucius is livid with her, of course, but what does that matter now? He'll be in Azkaban for a very long time: today's verdict has assured her of that.
So now Narcissa walks free, though muted gossip and angry glares follow closely behind her. She doesn't care. She joins the queue for the nearest fireplace keen to put as much distance between herself and this hated place as she can.
It's over. You're alone. You're free.
Narcissa's world is suddenly full of possibilities. Of potential. Too long she's waited loyally in the shadow of the man she married when she was barely out of school. Now she is master of her own fate. Now her future is hers and hers alone.
She senses the man's gaze before she spots him in an adjacent queue. He stands tall and indifferent in a sweeping black cloak, his eyes as dark as his shoulder length hair. He favours her with the same expressionless stare that he bestowed on the court this morning. He, too, is free now: absolved forever of his crimes and able to sleep soundly knowing that all those who wish harm on him are either dead or in Azkaban. No more lies, no more sneaking about. Severus Snape is a hero, albeit an unlikely one.
The queue shuffles forward.
Narcissa hasn't spoken to Severus Snape in almost thirty years, not since Hogwarts and a nasty row about being foolish enough to want to be a Death Eater and about being crazy enough to want to marry one. Harsh, hurtful words soiled their friendship, such as it was, and warped it beyond the point of repair. She didn't care much at the time; she was too busy choosing lipstick to match her new dresses and planning her takeover of Malfoy Manor. She didn't need friends. School long forgotten, it was only in later years that she looked back and wondered what she might have missed out on.
She opens her mouth to call him, to invite him for a drink or a walk or something, anything to try and reach out to him and make up for all the time that's passed since she should have apologised and taken back the cruel things she'd said.
But before she can speak the flames flare green again and Severus Snape is gone.
* * * * *
Malfoy Manor is silent and empty when she returns. She was proud of this house once, proud of her role as lady of the house and proud of the fact that she could have anything she wanted whenever she wanted it. But now the house elves have been relocated and dust thickly coats the books scattered across the floor and the furniture moved in search of hidden secrets. She ought to start clearing up, or at least begin the search for a new house elf. Instead she brushes the dust off a nearby armchair and sits down.
There is no sign of Draco. One of her few victories over Lucius has been entrusting the education of her son to Albus Dumbledore rather than Igor Karkaroff. It's not that she likes Dumbledore, and goodness knows a Hogwarts education did not stop Lucius from following in his father's footsteps. But she wanted him to have a chance.
Her gamble has paid off. Draco is currently in Australia working for the Ministry on some obscure project. He has distanced himself from his father both physically and emotionally. Narcissa doesn't know what has brought about this change of heart. She does know that whatever it was has saved her son from sharing an Azkaban cell with his father and for that she is grateful.
She sits for a while, alone, contemplating what to do next. The family portrait hangs above the mantlepiece still. Lucius and Draco scowl superciliously down at her but it isn't either of their faces that she sees in her mind.
The fireplace draws her attention.
* * * * *
The walk from Hogsmeade up to the castle is longer than she remembers, especially in the snow. Minerva McGonagall answers her knock at the door looking as old and tired as Narcissa feels. She's polite but Narcissa can tell she's uneasy about allowing her in.
"I'm here to see Severus Snape," Narcissa tells her.
"Wait here."
Christmas garlands bedeck the entrance hall: a curious and slightly tasteless mixture of evergreen leaves and magical sparks and bubbles. It's strangely quiet, even for the holidays.
"Mrs Malfoy?"
She turns.
Severus is standing in a nearby doorway frowning irritably.
"Oh, do leave the formalities out, Severus. Narcissa is fine, thank you."
He says nothing but raises an eyebrow.
"I came to wish you a merry Christmas," she continues.
"Really? I'd settle for a quiet Christmas, frankly, but I suppose 'merry' will do. Goodbye."
He turns to leave and Narcissa exhales impatiently. Her optimism is fading fast: it's clear he hasn't changed even in nearly three decades. Perhaps she was foolish to think it worth trying. Perhaps… but she won't give up now.
"A glass of wine would be lovely, thank you," she calls. She shrugs off her travelling cloak and wanders through the open doorway into the Great Hall. It's deserted, of course. Dinner has long since finished. She takes a seat at the end of one of the house benches and waits for him to join her as she knows he will.
"Will it get rid of you?" he enquires snidely.
"Possibly. Try it and you'll find out."
A moment later the bottle materialises on the table with two glasses alongside. Narcissa inspects the label with a critical eye; once satisfied, she nods and opens it. Severus hovers warily nearby.
"How's Lucius enjoying Azkaban?"
"I wouldn't know," she says lightly. "Write and ask him. I'm sure he'd be delighted to hear from an old friend."
This provokes a dry laugh. The ice, if not completely broken, has at least started to thaw. He joins her at the table and takes a sip from the glass she has poured for him.
"Why are you here?" he asks.
There is no aggression in his tone now, only frank curiosity. It unnerves Narcissa slightly and she glances away, remembering again that Severus knows who she really is, or at least who she was when they were at school. Her carefully cultivated façade of perfect nails and immaculate hair does not fool him in the slightest. It annoyed her then; now it excites her to think that there is at least one person who sees her, who sees Narcissa and not 'Lucius' wife'. She wonders what else he can see.
"Well, since Albus Dumbledore is constantly preaching about how we should forget our differences and leave the past behind us, I thought Christmas would be an ideal time to drop by and see how you were."
She smiles coyly, still playing the game even though she knows that he knows that that's all it is. A game.
"I never forgot what you said, you know."
Game over.
"You should have done," Narcissa says quietly. "We both said awful things. And anyway, you proved me wrong, didn't you?"
"In appearances, perhaps. But nothing more."
He drains the last of his wine and stands.
"Bitter, twisted and alone," he sneers loudly. "That's what you said I'd be. And look. Look at me! You were right, Narcissa!"
His words echo loudly around the deserted Hall and he abruptly cuts off. Narcissa looks up at him and sees the anguish in his face and in a flash realises that she is seeing him just he sees her. That he is being honest with her, however ungraciously. That she hurt him more than she ever could have known before.
"You were absolutely right."
For the first time in her life, shame burns Narcissa's cheeks.
"There's still time," she whispers.
"Time? Time for what, exactly?"
His eyes bore into her, challenging her. You think you can save me? Well, fine but don't think it's going to be easy.
I don't expect it to be easy. But I want to try…She stares him down, finishing her wine in slow delicate sips.
And it won't be easy for you either.
"I should be leaving," she says calmly. "Thank you for your hospitality, such as it was."
She scoops up her cloak and heads for the door.
"Wait," he calls after her. "I'd hate to see you have some ghastly accident, walking back to Hogsmeade in the dark. If you must leave in such a rush at least have one of the guest bedrooms until the ice thaws in the morning."
There's irritation in his voice but his eyes tell her a different story.
"If you insist," she murmers.
There's no mistletoe of course: no encouragement is needed in a castle full of adolescent teens. And though it's completely against the rules she can't resist stepping forward and giving him just a taste of what he might be missing, just a soft, chaste kiss that could be between friends just as easily as it could be between lovers.
A little more of the ice melts away.
"Perhaps you might like to stay a while," Severus suggests, feigning indifference.
"Perhaps I might," Narcissa says with a smile.
Game on.