Love's Odyssey in Death's Design
IX
Killing Teeny had not been part of the initial plan, but the Elf had simply seen and heard too much. Narcissa would have much preferred to set the creature free, but the risk of exposure was far too great. All it might take was a kind word, a simpering grin, or the offer of a very important task and the House Elf would surely sing like a canary. They were known to be loyal to their masters, but the youngest Black sister had learned from an early age that only family could be trusted and even then, to an extent; as her own actions against her eldest sister had proven just hours before, she thought to herself with a bitter chuckle that effectively masked a sob. Still, the poison had been fast acting and painless, a draught she had brewed herself sometime after the Dark Lord's occupation of the manor, kept in a safe place just in case she needed to permanently remove herself and her son from the sorcerer's overzealous endeavors. There had been no need for cruelty. Teeny had merely fallen asleep upon imbibing of the potion at her Mistress' behest, the Elf's heartbeat slowing gently until it had stopped altogether. And of course the body had been properly disposed of, providing an additional and quite clever measure of security.
All that was left now was to get rid of the memory of her disguised sister's impromptu visit. Though trained in the art of Occlumency by one of the best Legilimens she had ever known, Bellatrix herself, every precaution had to be taken. It was not a matter of if, but when would the Ministry's Aurors swarm her home like ravenous locusts on the word of Hermione Granger, the Wizarding World's precious Golden Girl. She was not as naive as Bella had for the longest time seemed to believe she was. Verily, the image of the pampered daughter and wife of the Pureblood aristocracy with her lifelong epithet of being merely 'the pretty one' had been violently stripped away from her only to reveal a witch who had seen more pain, mental anguish, fear, and betrayal than most could attest to ever experiencing. Narcissa Malfoy knew that when one was tasked with the duty of protecting and saving their family, any and all means were deemed necessary. Even if that meant the turning away of a once beloved sister and the death of an innocent servant.
The process of extracting a memory was usually uncomfortable, sometimes painful for the spell caster and as Narcissa stood in her chambers, an uncorked vial at the ready and her wand pressed firmly against her temple, she paused to brace herself for the withdrawal.
"Mother."
The sound of her son's voice behind her after the weeks of constant silence simultaneously chilled and warmed the Lady Malfoy to the core. A flinch-like twitch and a subtle tremble of her lower lip were the only indications of being affected by it that managed to trickle through the cracks of her renowned glacial composure however, and the blonde haired witch drew a steady pull of oxygen in through her nose, schooling her features with a well practiced air before turning around to lay eyes on Draco for what felt like the first time since the war had ended, her wand clutched in her right hand tightly enough to leave an imprint as she slowly lowered it down to her side.
"Yes, darling?"
She could tell immediately the term of endearment took him aback by the quirk of his brows. He was so much like Lucius, it stung to look at him. Narcissa was in there as well though - the cheekbones and the angularity of his facial features were characteristic of the Noble House of Black. Funny how she had been a Malfoy for so many years, it was almost a shocking realization that Draco was just as much a Black as she, her sisters, and their father had been. The awkward shifting of his body weight from one foot to the other alerted his mother to the fact that he had spoken and she blinked to clear her mind.
"I'm sorry?"
"What's happened?" Draco's tone was flat, his eyes dulled horridly, no longer their gleaming silver grey. The muscles in his jaw were tense, so too were the ones in his shoulders as if he were attempting to draw himself to his full height and curl in around himself at the same time. He appeared to be already anticipating the worst in the way that only someone who had seen the worst could do. Narcissa would give her life to alleviate her son of that strain.
Lying was out of the question as was telling the complete truth. "The Aurors are coming here. I have taken care of everything, you are not to worry. If anything unexpected should happen, Draco, you know what to do."
'What to do' being the plan the three of them had made before Lucius' sentencing, the plan that ensured their sole heir would be safe and financially capable to leave behind the tatters of their former life. It was a last resort, though not to the same extreme as the potion had been. Neither she nor Lucius had wanted their son to become a pariah due to their choices and ideals and leaving England for a chance at a clean slate seemed like the best course of action as far as she and her husband were concerned.
Narcissa could read the displeasure and the desire to protest plainly on Draco's face before he even said a word. "I am not leaving you behind, mother, I don't care what happens. If there has been a situation and our safety has been compromised, we should leave now."
The maturity in the statement even spoken around that deadened tone filled the witch with pride. Her baby boy, her little dragon had without her even realizing it become a man, and while her heart did ache to see it occur so soon, she was proud nonethless. Setting her wand and the vial on her vanity table, she strode forward and embraced her son, holding him to her for a long while, ignoring the way he tensed initially, holding on until he eventually relaxed and allowed her to kiss his hair. Stepping back several moments later, Lady Malfoy realized she was crying when a warm drop of moisture rolled down her cheek. She took Draco's face between her hands.
"They will come and we don't want to arouse suspicion, do we? You will stay out of sight and at the ready and if need be I will give you our signal and we will go. Do you understand?"
Draco nodded, his expression determined despite the lackluster of his eyes. With all she had in her, Narcissa vowed she would return the glimmer he had lost a hundredfold.
"Now let me finish this please, little dragon, they will be here soon."
Left alone, the Lady Malfoy retrieved her wand and the vial with a steadiness in her hands that had not been present before. Whatever should happen now, it did not matter. She and her son would be safe.
Hermione's heart was pounding so hard in her chest, she was sure everyone could hear it. It was not from fear though, but anticipation. More than anything, perhaps even more than she hoped the Aurors would find Bellatrix Lestrange at Malfoy Manor, she wanted a drink. A shot of vodka, a sip of firewhiskey, even a glass of wine might take the edge off of the tumultous emotions that stormed violently in her head. She longed for the burn that accompanied the first swallow, and the numbness that followed on its heels. The buzzing chatter that filled the air, the Weasleys, the Aurors, Harry, and Kingsley, it was beginning to grate on her nerves. It seemed as though they had gone over every plan, every strategy, every drawback backwards and forwards. And the questions. How many times did they expect her to answer the same sodding questions? She felt like a scratched CD, replaying the same idiotic line from an even more idiotic song. The brunette felt as if her head just might pop clean off of her shoulders, and in her withdrawal fueled ire, she longed for such a thing to happen as it was certain to put an abrupt end to the lunacy.
She scratched absentmindedly at the scar on her arm, shifting her weight from one leg to the next, trying desperately to suppress the urge to scream. If she started, she was sure she might not stop. Perhaps this was how Bellatrix felt. Like a caged tiger in the zoo with hoards of shrieking snot nosed brats and their burned out overweight parents gawking and pointing while it lounged in its artifical habitat, dreaming of nothing but mauling its captors and their guests to death. Hermione shook her head in an attempt to clear it. Empathizing with Bellatrix Lestrange in even the smallest of ways could not be at all good for her mental psyche.
"Hermione?" Molly Weasley asked in a soft but steady tone, effectively and thankfully derailing the brunette's train of thought, "Are you ready dear? Its time."
Bloody finally. Finally the restlessness would have an outlet. Meeting the gazes of the witches and wizards eying her with rather annoying looks, Hermione gave a sharp nod. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner she could be nursing a bottle in the Leaky Cauldron, with one less thing to worry about. It was all just so much. Ron's death and the vexing emotions that had plagued her since, her parents being missing, fribbling away their days in Australia with no clue they even had daughter. The nightmares that all involved screams, bloodshed, flashes of green light, and mad, high pitched cackles. The fact that she no longer was and never again would be the know it all Muggleborn Hermione Granger but forever and always one half of the Golden Trio who had helped bring about the demise of the darkest wizard of all time. With Bellatrix captured, it had to at least help lessen the buckling weight of those burdens.
Or at least that was what she had to tell herself in order to press on and take hold of someone's hand - it may have been Harry's, might have been one of the Auror's, it could have even been the interim Minster for Magic's himself - and surrender to the sickening feeling if side along Apparating to the grounds of Malfoy Manor.
It was ironic. The place had haunted her nightmares most prominently in the first few months after the torture. Now, when those scenes flashed in between the other dreams, they were almost like a reprieve. She could deal with and would take the memory of being tortured over the memory of seeing one of her dearest friends and boyfriend burn alive, or the castle that had nurtured her growing mind for six years reduced to rubble. Would prefer it to reaching out into the void for a mother and a father who would sooner recognize a passing stranger on the street before they did her.
The front gate of the manor was exactly the same as she remembered it, intricately curved wrought iron, thrumming with the pulse of magical wards. The face that emerged from the misty shadows of the interior however, was not the same. Where there had been tangles of ebony curls, now there were tresses of sleek blonde. Where there had been eyes carved from obsidian, there were now eyes forged from steel. Even the arrogant jut of the chin was different. Hermione could not fathom in that moment how sisters so close could be oh so starkly different.
"How may I help you Minister?"
Even the two voices were not the same. The other's had encapsulated the heat of wildfire, was laced with thick smoke, while the one that had just spoken held the chill of the winter frost and was as brittle as thin ice.
"Madam Malfoy, we have strong reason to believe you are harboring a fugitive" Shacklebolt sated, his tone not harsh but steady and leaving no room for argument, "By the power bestowed upon me as the interim Minister for Magic, I request that we be permitted to search your home and grounds for Bellatrix Lestrange."
Through the bars of the gate, Narcissa Malfoy for a moment looked as if she had been simultaneously slapped in the face and struck in the chest. It was fleeting, the expression, gone before anyone who had not been diligently guaging her face for a reaction could have seen.
"By all means, Minister," the blonde witch relented, deactivating the wards with a flick of her wand, "You may carry out your search."
It took nary but a few minutes to discern that Bellatrix was nowhere on the premises. Narcissa stood back as the Aurors and those that had accompanied them convened into the drawing room, the very place where the skirmish had occured months prior.
"I trust you did not find anything, Minister?" she murmured and Hermione could detect a trace of the renowned Malfoy smugness seeping through the statement.
"That's because you've hidden her somewhere else," the brunette spat, striding furiously toward the lady of the house, shrugging away from a hand that meant to still or calm her, "I know she was here, I brought her here myself. Tell us where she is right now or you'll be rotting in a cell right next to your dear husband."
"How dare you," Narcissa uttered on a lethal purr, "You come into my home, harassing me about my deceased sister and you insult my husband. Your filthy Muggle heritage is showing, Miss Granger."
"Madam Malfoy, your sister's body was never accounted for among the casualites after the battle," Kingsley cut in before the tossing of insults could continue.
"I was not aware it was a crime for the next of kin to recover the remains of their family members," Narcissa countered, slowly walking to the marble mantle of the room's ornate fireplace and placing a deceivingly delicate alabaster hand atop what appeared to be an antique jar. "If you wish to arrest my sister, I ask that you leave the urn. A Black family heirloom, you see, even if just a little morbid to be called such."
The stunned silence that followed the blonde's revelation was nearly palpable. There were even expressions of what looked suspiciously like pity. As if the majority of those who were supposed to be here to capture a criminal were actually taking the nonsnese that Narcissa Malfoy was dishing out and swallowing it whole.
"Are you all daft?" Hermione all but screeched, her voice, shrill with anger and disbelief, "She is lying! I brought that evil woman here last night, right here! She is not dead! She's as alive as alive can be and while we're all standing here being made fools of by the same person who managed to blatantly and convingingly lie to bloody Voldemort, Bellatrix Lestrange is at large!"
The grey of Narcissa's eyes flashed like sharpened knives and she lifted her chin in a display of haughty arrogance as she stared the brunette down. "Word travels rather quickly nowadays, Miss Granger, what with the Dark Lord gone and the reputations of the most prominent Pureblood families reduced to shreds. Are you quite sure it was my dead sister you claim you saw? Andromeda favors her greatly and dark hair is not all that uncommon is it? Perhaps you made a simple error, yes? Overindulgence in alcohol can do that to a person."
The next moment was a blur, all jumbled together like a child's jigsaw puzzle. Looking back on it, Hermione would guess that maybe she had blacked out or had simply snapped. She was aware of a loud, manaical scream coming from deep within her, reverberating against the drawing room's high ceilings. She would remember her hands grabbing at flaxen hair and several other hands grabbing at her in an attempt to pull her away. She would remember the way her screams melded together to form one word that got stuck on repeat, "Liar! Liar! Liar!" and the statement that followed, laced with a desperation she did not understand, "I needed you!"
Author's Note: Hello my lovely readers! I hope everyone has enjoyed their summer and the last few weeks left of it. I've been insanely busy myself and finally found some time to post the next installment of LODD. Don't worry, there will not be such a long wait for the next update. Well as you can see things are starting to get real...and Hermione is getting dangerously close to some kind of breaking point, if she hasn't reached it alreaady. I mean, attacking Narcissa has got to have some repercussions, no? What's going to happen now? Stay tuned, please stay tuned. Even with the two and a half month wait, the love this story has received is truly inspiring. Thank you all so much for the support and until next time! bellanoire, over and out!
