There are many things for me to disclaim: I do not own, I do not profit, I just write to fill empty space on the internet.

A Pre-emptive A/N:
The story sits alongside, but has no bearing on the events in my other story, Magical Royalty. So what happens here won't make it into the plot there. If you haven't been following MR, you don't need to read it through. If you have, this will probably still make no sense. I promise nothing. This was written just for fun, to give a certain reviewer, HarryPGinnyW4eva, what she wants and has been bugging me for since the early days… I give full credit to my inspiration:
"Narcissa is caught like a fly in a web. She needs to suffer more than a bit for all she's done and I haven't forgotten that. Plus, if she hurts or upsets Hermione's parents, I will just have to enter the story and strangle her myself. HP GW 4eva"
Hopefully this will tide things over…
Read on at Narcissa's peril…


Narcissa Malfoy patted down her long blonde and watched as her reflection in the mirror did the same. Checking her reflection critically, she sighed. It wasn't her usual immaculate image, but it would have to do. Usually she would have a small team of witches assisting her preparations for even the smallest and most informal of gatherings. Tonight, despite the very public ceremony of the occasion, she needed to be alone to collect her thoughts.

It was a shame, really, because adept as she was with glamour charms and beauty spells it was always much simpler to have someone else do the work for you. And these witches could do their work with a minimum of fuss and bother that Narcissa had not noticed of servants elsewhere. She had made sure that everyone who worked in the castle swiftly learnt how even small missteps would be punished severely. Still, despite her knowledge that they would, of course, expend extra effort to perform their work quickly, quietly and faultlessly as it concerned Narcissa herself, she really couldn't have the witches flitting around distracting her. In truth she didn't trust herself not to get overexcited and send a few malicious spells at the women. Being around servants, even very well trained servants, made Narcissa feel uncomfortable; where the women would shriek, stop their work and their eyes would tear up when she sent stinging hexes their way, House Elves had simply thanked her obsequiously and not even paused in their task.

In order for things to proceed as she had planned, Narcissa needed to be calm, methodical and entirely uncompromising. No. As amusing as it would prove to be, firing off petty hexes wouldn't serve her purpose tonight. She consoled herself with the thought that there would be plenty of time for it in the future.

Pulling a hand mirror off the table, she was transfixed by the slightly feral grin and feverish gleam in the eyes of her reflection. Despite their opposite colourings, at that moment the similarities between the Black sisters couldn't have been more obvious. Thinking of Bellatrix, she thought it was a particular shame that her sister hadn't been able to eradicate this problem so long ago, before it even had the chance to develop a problem. She watched as her expression slowly faded back to the Malfoy mask she had taken to assuming after her marriage. Lucius too had been unable to solve the problem while he lived, poor man; he had been unable to do so many things. Her expression changed again, softening slightly, her eyes misting over. The small, gold rimmed mirror gave a low, lewd whistle that shocked her out of her thoughts of the past and for the future. She raised a brow imperiously and heedless of the value the small item constituted, threw the cheeky mirror across the room where it crashed spectacularly into the wall. It was getting to be that even the most expensive domestic devices acted ill-mannered these days… Swinging her head, she checked both sides of her profile in the large mirror; daintily, she dabbed at the colour on her lips.

No matter. She would be successful; she would make up for their weaknesses and their spectacular failings. Narcissa Malfoy née Black would eclipse them all.

Rising from her seat in front of the dressing table, she adjusted the fastenings of her formal robe so they lay flat. Her pale lips lifted in the approximation of a smile as she mentally chided herself for her vanity; her appearance wasn't the imperative tonight, her purpose was. She was going to solve her son's biggest problem; she was going to destroy Hermione Granger. This whole time Narcissa had been that he would come to his senses, either of his own accord or perhaps with a little nudging on her part. It hurt a great deal her to admit that he hadn't. Draco remained adamant that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with that low-born Muggle tramp. Assuming that he would realise his station in life and discard her like the rubbish she was, and perhaps underestimated the girl's cunning, she had delayed the inevitable. Today was the day of the wedding, but it was not yet too late. She had only to turn up and start the fireworks before the ceremony ended.

She turned her attention to the mirror again, waving her wand lazily in front of her and watching with morbid interest as her reflection cowered and whimpered in fear. Once she let herself loose on those unsuspecting blood traitors and fool Muggles that her son's… chosen bride… counted as friends and family, the rest of the wedding guests would all be too busy trying to avoid the magnified curses she would be throwing every which way to notice her less than perfect appearance. Not that she looked anything less than magnificent, of course, just not up to her usual standard. At least the excitement lent some colour to her cheeks and a glimmer to her eye. Slipping her wand into an out of the way pocket, and donning an over-cloak Narcissa reached up to her ears and fastened the silver and diamond clips that would complete her ensemble.

Her hands were thus occupied, and her wand out of reach, when she heard a faint rustle off to the corner of the room.

"Who's there?"

There was no response. The wind, perhaps? All this secret plotting must be affecting her. She was jumping at shadows and small noises. Never mind, soon it would all be over. Revenge, in its best form, was a cold blooded plan calculated to psychologically destroy enemies and ruin lives. The Muggle-mistake, as Narcissa liked to refer to her, would be gone. She would leave this place, utterly heartbroken. So would her friends and parents, but their's would be a much more final journey. A tiny, icy smile graced her still smooth features. Her son would recover, he was resilient even if he lacked to strength to resist the–

"Cassesalso!"

Halfway turned back to the mirror, Narcissa was caught entirely be surprise when several strands of a thick, sticky substance encased her tightly from head to toe.

A figure emerged from the same dark corner from which the 'wind' had emanated.

The woman (somehow, although no outward signs betrayed the sex of the figure, Narcissa knew it was a woman) was difficult to make out. No doubt she was concealing her true identity with some sort of spell of disguise because no detail of her physical appearance could be made out. She appeared to be an indistinct grey blur more than a substantial figure. Narcissa couldn't make out her features; they were all present but hazy and unclear. The woman could have been tall or short, but was more likely somewhere in between; her hair could have been any colour from the lightest blonde to the darkest black, indeed, she could have been bald. There were no identifying features visible at all, yet it was easy enough to recognise the menace in the mystery woman's stance.

"Caught like a fly in a web," the figure laughed.

Narcissa glared up at the grey figure, making small, sharp movement to try a release her bindings. "Release me and leave," she her voice firm and threatening.

"You're in no position to make commands now," the other woman ground out from lips that were neither thick nor thin. Her appearance may have been obscured, but the woman's voice gave one hint to her identity. She had an accent. It was difficult to place it exactly - it could have been Southern, Midwest, East-coast for all Narcissa knew, but it was definitely American.

"You're despicable, Narcissa. We've all waited patiently for Ruby to finish up with you for some time now. She has since proved not to be adequate for the task. You have decided you have caused enough hurt, you have diverted the true course of this story for long enough. I will deal with you myself, it will be my pleasure."

Narcissa did not understand what the woman was speaking of; who was this Ruby person? Her task has something to do with Narcissa, and now this shadowy woman was taking over from her.

"You will be made to suffer for all you have done. I was planning to deal with you quickly and cleanly, but in light of your recent plans, I have to fulfil a promise I made a long while back. I always said that if you so much as threatened Hermione's parents I would be forced to strangle you with my own hands," the figure shook her head regretfully. "I'm sorry. You brought this upon yourself, Mrs. Malfoy."

Narcissa wasn't quite sure what would be worse; dying such an ignoble death rather than facing a wand (plenty of wizards and witches were happy to stain their souls with the blood of innocents, but surely only a Muggle something would be willing to stain their hands?), or the fact that her killer would be one of those loud, obnoxious things... an American.

She shuddered, not even Bellatrix or Lucius had been made to suffer so.

The hazy figure of the woman regarded her for a moment, "Any last words?"

Narcissa sneered, "Muggle-American... thing, I do hope you plan on washing your hands before you touch those dirty things to my neck."

Several minutes later the shadowy figure exited the room. She lent back against the close door and sighed contentedly. "That wasn't so bad, wasn't as hard as I had figured, either…" She flexed her hazy fingers, a rather large grin lit her still indistinct face as she walked confidently down the hall. "Purebloods really do have such delicate little necks."

Already halfway down the long hall, the figure stopped. Placing her hands on her hips, grey and blurrily indistinct as they were, she raised her head to the ceiling.

"Now just you wait a minute," the figure spoke her words upwards, as if to the ceiling, the blur of her forehead appeared to be frowning. "I'm a Muggle, so how did I do magic? That's a fairly major plot hole you've got there…"

A voice rang down from beyond the ceiling embarrassedly, "I was hoping we could all just ignore it."

"Oh, it's fine for you to ignore it… What about me? Am I magical or Muggle? You can't go giving people magic and taking it away for no reason. And what's this with you writing me up to be some sort of psychopathic murderer? I make one empty little threat in a review and you totally take it out of context and start making me kill! With my bare hands! AND ENJOYING IT! I'm going to have to live with the guilt of this all my life…" She looked down at the hazy shapes of her hands in horror.

"And what's with all this indistinct-blurry-grey bullshit? I have facial features you know… and hair!"

"It was easier that way. I wasn't sure what you looked like, and I didn't want to make something up," the voice apologised.

"You're the author here! Geez, make it up… what do I care? Aren't you supposed to have some imagination?"

"So I'm allowed to use my imagination to give you, oh, say, wavy chestnut hair and eyes the colour of sun dappled leaves, but I'm not allowed to imagine you going around killing people?" The voice sounded annoyed. "Where's the fun in that?"

"I won't get arrested for having brown hair and green eyes! Whereas I'm pretty sure the jails are full of murderers!"

"Oh… if you're worried about jail I can take care of it."

"Really?"

"Well, sure. I mean, I'm the author aren't I?"

"Um, thanks, I suppose. I'd really appreciate that."

"No worries. Glad I could help."

The author got to writing:

The mystery woman, who had been a Muggle all along, had somewhere along the way convinced a wizard to help her ambush Narcissa and shout a spell from the curtain at the appropriate moment. She could feel the wizard's spell rendering her completely anonymous dissolve. Obviously the author had just written the wizard out of the story, totally negating his spells. Looking down at her now distinct hands the woman laughed joyously, it had been a good thing she had killed Narcissa the Muggle way. Shaking out her wavy chestnut hair and blinking eyes the colour of sun dappled leaves, the woman skipped happily down the hallway. She felt safe in the knowledge that the one crime she had ever committed had made the world a better place in which to live. Everyone agreed that Narcissa had had it coming and the police and courts agreed to turn a blind eye; the woman felt secure in the knowledge that she would never be arrested or charged for Narcissa's death. She felt no guilt and knew that she would sleep soundly at night.

Draco and Hermione sorted out all their problems and were happily married shortly after. They grew old and had many children as a result of lots of smut-tastic sex scenes the author hasn't got around to writing yet.

The woman returned home and lived happily, feeling fully vindicated when she heard of Draco and Hermione's happiness. Then one day someone wrote somewhere that the government legislated that having wavy chestnut hair and eyes the colour of sun dappled leaves was a felony. Not long after, the woman confirmed her theory about jails and murderers.

The author went on to imagine many more interesting stories… and she did it all at her own pace.

A/N: MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

P.S. If you didn't figure it out, "Ruby" is from my pen name. Subtle, I know...