Disclaimer: everyone knows Harry Potter et al belong to J. K. Rowling. OFCs and Dangerverse storyline belong to whydoyouneedtoknow. It's recommended that you read her stories before reading this one, as this one may not make sense alone.
Author Notes: This was written as collaboration between 3 siblings who are addicted to HP fanfic, and are trying to infect the rest of their family. I've borrowed and modified the wording of two different spells, one spell from Wishful Thinking by The Golden Seraphim, and the other from Torches and Old Flames by Miranda.
This chapter veers off from Chapter 20 of whydoyouneedtoknow's Living with Danger.
Chapter 1
Narcissa turned away and left the room without another word.
Danger's vision grayed for a moment, and she stumbled backward. Aletha moved to catch her with her free arm. Must be tireder than I thought.
"Was that you?" Remus asked, looking grave.
"Was what me?"
"You spoke."
"I don't remember saying anything. What did I say?"
"The flower plucks itself; it withers even now," Sirius recited.
"Great, now I don't even have to be asleep to be cryptic."
"We're all half-asleep, I think," Aletha said. She looked at Meghan, then at Hermione and Harry. "Some of us more than others. Let's finish this conversation at home, shall we?"
"Sounds like a good idea."
One by one, they stepped into the fire, called out "The Marauders' Den!" and vanished.
xXxXx
Fragments of broken glass lay on the floor of Narcissa Malfoy's bedroom. A blue liquid dripped from some of them.
There are poisons which act quickly, and poisons which do not. There are even poisons which give their victim a certain, measured term of life, twenty-four hours for instance.
Much can be done in twenty-four hours.
xXxXx
In a darkened house on Grimmauld Place, a being woke. His skin tingled in the special way he dreaded, the way that signified the approaching death of a Black family member. He knew that Mistress was ill with age, but the ember of her lifemagic still sparked at him when he reached out to make certain.
Who, then?
As Kreacher made his way up the creaking stairs to tend to his Mistress, he wondered mentally and wandered magically; testing each link he had been granted when he became head house-elf.
It was commonly known that when inside a home or building, one simply had to call for a house-elf and one would appear - regardless of whether you were a guest or inhabitant - as long as the home or building had a bound house-elf. Many of the Pureblood families went further, binding the house-elves to the family members themselves, not the building. This had the added effect of giving the head house-elf cognizance of the health status of blood family.
Kreacher knew not to bother with the direct line; the younger Master Regulus was dead, and the older… well, if Mistress didn't care for her blood traitor son, then he no longer mattered. The same went for the muggleborn-loving Andromeda Tonks. The only other Blacks close enough in blood were Bellatrix Lestrange, and Narcissa Malfoy.
Mistress had doted on her nieces, pinning all her dreams for Pureblood supremacy on them. She had been pleased with both marriages; and had nearly had a stroke from the paroxysms of delight she felt when both couples had sworn allegiance to the Dark Lord.
But her exhilaration was short-lived: the Dark Lord had been felled somehow, and his followers had either struggled to avoid Azkaban, or searched for him fruitlessly until caught by the Aurors. Mistress was fanatically proud of Bella and Rodolphus for never renouncing Voldemort; even if Azkaban had reduced Bella to a warped and tainted shadow of the dusky beauty she once had been. Mistress was less pleased with Lucius Malfoy and his cowardice, but grudgingly accepted that his freedom enabled him to continue working in the shadows.
When Bella had been imprisoned Kreacher's connection to her had dimmed, most likely a side-effect of the Dementors. So that left the pale princess, Narcissa Malfoy.
Kreacher followed the link, testing constantly, searching for the cause of distress.
There…
Kreacher stiffened as he reached the door of Mistress' room.
Poison! No, Mistress mustn't! Spark still there, but dimming, dying, no no no!