"Forgive my lack of etiquette, Mrs Malfoy. I would be accustomed to wish one a good evening, however, the circumstances of your visit prevent me from doing so."
Narcissa expected no less from somebody of his ilk. Pleasantries had become nothing more than toxic syntax rolling off the tongue and into the ears of the unfortunate recipient. The world of business had created such an atmosphere where one questioned social scripts, and thus the society of manners seemed lost. Narcissa Malfoy, however, did not have time to scrutinise his conversational downfall. The loose tie was the first thing to catch her eye, followed by the speckles of dust on the jacket cuffs, but she was a woman with an important mission.
"A good evening is a good evening, whether I care to agree or not."
The reply came thick and fast, almost acid-tongued. The frosty glare was there to witness, but the businessman did not appear undeterred by Narcissa's hostility. Rising from his own leather chair, he beckoned Narcissa to take the seat opposite him.
"I must decline, for I do not intend to be here long. Dark shadows lurk in every alley, and I am not ignorant to my status as a wanted woman. Please, I would much rather stand."
"As you wish, Madam, but I would much appreciate it if you would accept my offer of a beverage. Nothing heavy, but I always find such matters are best discussed over a light drink."
Narcissa stood partially concealed in the shadows, watching as the man retrieved two wine glasses from his mahogany bureau. The pop of the cork did not startle her, but was a rather obscure form of music to her ears. Having spent a great deal of time in solitude, such mundane sounds reminded her of better and far more glorious days.
"Your husband always talked at great length about your preferences." the businessman said as he advanced towards Narcissa. "A deep, mature red. After all these years, I still happen to remember it."
Narcissa gently took the glass from him, gently rolling the stem between her fingers. The warm, dim glow of the oil lanterns prevented the rich colour of the wine from being seen, but it did not matter, for her eyes were focused on the implements sprawled across his desk. The farthest one from her looked no different from a pebble, but as she scanned each and every item with interest, the seemingly-plain objects appeared to be more and more brutal.
"So," the man said, his voice and words honeyed. "Your son, Draco. Hmmm...I have been watching with great interest. I remember when he was young. Definitely your son, as opposed to Lucius'. An energetic, young boy with thick, blonde hair." he took a sip from his glass, scoffing at the thought. "Polite with a touch of resentment. It intrigues me that Draco, the sharp-tongued boy, is now in such a position of vulnerability. I suppose he was chosen, rather than this whole ordeal having been of a altruistic nature. Brash, but not brave, not in the slightest."
"I believe I pay you for a service." Narcissa said bitterly. "I have heard enough slander in regards to my family from half-wit journalists. If you do not have anything useful to say to me, then I might as well take my leave-"
"Mrs Malfoy, I would not dare to speak of your Draco with such disrespect! No, I think you have mistaken me. It simply fascinates me that he chose somebody with far less evil running through their veins than himself. Yes, applying pressure will appear to provide the perfect resolution, but I know your son. He likes to put on a show, much like his father. Birds of a feather, or however that expression goes. Only a heart full of pure darkness would be able to carry out such a task, and Draco does not possess such a nature to do so."
"Let us speak candidly, Mr Signer. Where my family is concerned, I like to speak clearly and concisely. So, tell me, are you saying he would fail the task he has been chosen to perform?"
Mr Signer looked at Narcissa with no inclination as to his answer. Placing his wine glass down on his desk, he pulled out a thick, black notebook from his top drawer.
"I have observed Draco, as you have requested." Mr Signer flicked to a page somewhere around the mid-point of the notebook. "The tonics allow me to intercept his dreams, which I must say, are usual at the best of times. However, since the initiation, his dreams have taken a rather different turn. In his waking hours, he appears to be very confident, at least at face value, but his mind at night suggests otherwise. This initiation, or however you care to describe it, has been haunting him from the very night it took place. I do not believe your son stands equally within the ranks, Mrs Malfoy. He lacks the thirst for revenge and possesses morals his accomplices could only dream of. This is why I am surprised that your son has been chosen to perform the deed. Unfortunately, he is the only one who has the opportunity to do it so covertly. This, as you can understand, puts him under a great deal of pressure; pressure I do not feel he is able to handle. I promise you, as the year progresses, and his affiliation with dark magic becomes stronger, the cracks will start to appear. It may come in the form of an uncertain glance, or a hesitant reply, but it with manifest itself. So, in response to your question, I believe he shall fail."
A cold, nauseous feeling resided in the pit of Narcissa's stomach, and she could feel her heart sink as the words passed through Signer's lips. The dreaded news had come.
"The deal, Signer. If Draco does not perform the deed, he will die." Narcissa's voice expressed a strong sense of urgency, most unlike her. "What am I supposed to do? I cannot intervene, for I am being watched closely by the Ministry. One grave decision and I risk exposing him."
"This is out of my hands, Mrs Malfoy. My services only stretch so far, but I cannot get involved. You forget that whilst I do private assessments on the side, I am employed and work for the Ministry myself. I, therefore, cannot risk my position in order to help your son. I am afraid it is you that needs to come up with a solution."
"Your position in the Ministry was irrelevant when you offered to analyse my son."
"Your motherly concerns were irrelevant when you agreed to slip him the potions."
"I did it because I was concerned, Signer. Draco refused to speak to me about any of this, and with Lucius in Azkaban, I have no means of finding out what he is thinking. Bellatrix is useless, for I know she wants the glory of a cold-blooded kill, so that left me with very few options. I love my son, and I will do everything in my power to protect him. If there is nothing you are willing to do, then I believe our correspondence is at an end."
Narcissa placed her glass on the table next to her, pushing it away with her fingertips. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a bag of galleons and threw it onto the desk in front of Signer.
"If Lucius were here, he would refuse to pay you, but as I was brought up to give those what they are due, you can take it. I will no longer be requiring your services."
"That is a shame, but I understand. I just hope you can justify your reasons for requiring them in the first place, if the occasion should call for it. Oh, I will not betray your actions to a soul, Mrs Malfoy. A deal is a deal, and I am a man of my word, but do not think that actions can survive without consequences. Poison is poison, no matter what guise it is administered under. Love, I think, can sometimes be the worst poison of all."
Signer casually strolled over to the door. Unlocking the bolt and twisting the knob, he opened the door leading to a set of narrow, twisted stairs.
"Watch your step, Mrs Malfoy. It is a long fall down into the dark."
Narcissa brushed past him without saying a word. As she disappeared into the darkness, Signer closed the door behind her, forcing the bolt across the lock. Grabbing her half-finished glass of wine, Signer returned to his desk. Picking up the notebook, he flicked through some of the entries, recalling some of the more vivid dreams. Deciding the notebook was no longer of any use to him, he threw it into the fireplace, taking great pleasure in watching the flames consume the item with great intensity, followed by Narcissa's glass of wine. The flames seemed to roar back at him with discontent, but Sigler was not listening. Taking hold on the pebble, he began to knock it against the wall. On the third knock, a dark figure manifested itself under the cover of a cloak, lurking in the shadows as it studied its summoner.
"It is a pleasure to see you again."