Round 10 - Music Through the Decades

BEATER 2: 1950's: Mack the Knife — Bobby Darin

Optional prompts: (word) blend, (emotion) fear

Word count: 1607

Disclaimer: I am not JK so I don't own author rights to the HP series nor Bobby Darin's song.

A/N: Listen to the song while reading or before or read the lyrics. Especially, if you don't know it.

The Hidden Knife

Sometimes, Augusta wondered if one's life could be built around a song; sometimes, she felt like her life was traversing the decorative lines of a mandala and that the middle of her mandala was the Mack the Knife song.

Augusta remembered exactly when she had first heard the song. How could she ever forget? She remembered perfectly every single new rendition of it she had ever heard.

All of them marked a defining moment of her life. Up till now.

She looked at her grandson's chubby face, so peaceful in his sleep, and quietly sung like her mother did that first time.

Und der Haifisch, der hat Zähne

Und die trägt er im Gesicht

Und Macheath, der hat ein Messer

Doch das Messer sieht man nicht.

But the German words were all wrong in her mouth. It was that wrongness that brought her back. Augusta blinked at the baby in her arms and softly called for Libby. Libby, thankfully, took the baby away without questions and reappeared moments later with a hot kettle of tea and a bottle of good whisky.

Narcissa smiled at Lucius; the man was so cute, like a child playing dress-up. There was — honest to Merlin — a hidden blade in his walking stick and his hands were clad in snow-white gloves. Narcissa let him twirl her around, laughing in delight.

Her Lucius, who always reminded her of the song her mother so adored. She would have the recording with Bobby Daring's version playing every other night, but when Narcissa wouldn't go to sleep, she'd tell her of the time she had heard the other, more delightfully ambiguous version.

Her father would sigh every time he heard Mother had it playing again, whispering to her theatrically that Fitzgerald's version was better.

When her mother stopped recognising her, she'd scouted every version of the song she could find as a side project. The translation charm stole away certain enchanting qualities of the song, but she found herself agreeing with her mother. Neither of the English versions was as good as those with the word Messer in their name. But Darin's voice was like balm to her soul; it always put her mind and heart at ease.

Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear

And it shows them pearly white

Just a jackknife has old MacHeath, babe

And he keeps it, ah, out of sight

Ya know when that shark bites with his teeth, babe

Scarlet billows start to spread

Fancy gloves, oh, wears old MacHeath, babe

So there's never, never a trace of red

So she laughed, dancing to the song, and for a moment, she forgot all her worries as she lost herself in that wonderful voice and the feeling of her husband's strong arms.

* * * * * time skip * * * * *

The night before Lucius' trial, Narcissa sat in her baby's room after her little darling woke her up, reminiscing. When she was little, she hadn't understood what her mother meant when she said that the shark was fearsome, too. So what, she had thought, if it had impressive teeth? It showed off its strengths without thought and left itself wide open, whereas Mickie McHeat could be the most powerful wizard alive and all anyone had come to suspect was a hidden knife. When she was older, she thought Lucius could make a wonderful McHeat for her. She had learned then what mother meant about the shark; Voldemort was a shark. A brutal player sewing fear in the hearts of men, he had too much power to be ignored but lacked any finesse. His lack of style hardly mattered — she learned — when fear made everyone hold their tongue.

But now, the shark was gone, and her husband was no McHeat. He lost that by allying himself with that monster. Oh, he looked so cute trying so hard to pretend he could still be that man, but the secrecy, the mask of upstanding, law-obedient citizenship — those were McHeat's strengths. Lucius, if he was lucky, would be forevermore kept under watchful eye, forever doubted. In the best case scenario, his mask was cracked. If he wasn't lucky — Narcissa swallowed. No, it would not come to that. Lucius had taken that mark to protect her.

Nothing seemed quite as harmless as housewife, did it?

Augusta sat with a tumble of whisky in her hand. The war was over. Or so they said. They started saying it before — Augusta gulped down the whisky — before those monsters tore apart her family. It was just her and her grandson now. And she couldn't bring herself to trust the healers who said that Neville was alright while her son — . How could Neville possibly be alright when his parents...?

Augusta shook her head. The war was not over. The shark was dead, but his army of merry murderers was still mostly at large. She was terrified; how could she not be?

Her little one was so talented. He had gone through such rigorous training, and yet — and yet he suffered a fate worse than death. Those bastards that did it were behind bars, but how many other previously masked men were out there, poisoning their world even as the majority still celebrated its liberation?

Augusta took another gulp of whisky. Today, she'd grieve; tomorrow, she'd see. Ultimately, she'd have to be strong for her grandson, even if she'd seem like a tough but harmless old lady to the rest of world. It wouldn't take much; just wearing the hat that had gone out of fashion the year after her husband died and continuing to wear the robes that were now almost outdated should be enough.

The years went on. Her darling little angel tried emulating his daddy and Narcissa despised it. It wasn't Slytherin of him. Lucius ignored the cracks in his own mask. It was cute at first, but now, it just kept making her own work so much harder.

She just wanted to keep her family safe. She should have realised sooner that she should be protecting them from themselves too.

Alas, she just could not wrap her head around it. Why had he tried to bring that man back? Was it fear? Narcissa remembered fear. That gut-wrenching dread that made your muscles lock in place and your breathing way too shallow. She remembered it as well as those cold, hard ruby eyes.

But why then try to bring the dragon that could imprison you with their gaze alone back? Some preemptive measure, perhaps?

Narcissa sipped her favourite blend of tea as she listened to her son's chatter and Lucius' less than successful attempts to get the boy to censor himself. In the end, it did not matter why Lucius had tried to bring that monster back. The important information was that He wasn't truly gone. That there were still people willing to bring him back.

Inwardly, Narcissa sighed as she wondered how to get Severus to give her more Occlumency lessons without alerting the man to anything.

Augusta took a dainty sip of her tea as she listened to her grandson stuttering through the disturbing tale of what had really happened at the school this year. She had been horrified with herself when she realised that Neville had started believing the lies she spread about him, but now, she was thankful for it. Neville was a strong heir to the house of Longbottom and the fact that everyone — himself included — underestimated him even more than they did her would prove useful one of these days. It might even save his life.

She prayed she was wrong, but she wasn't naive enough to take that chance. It sounded like the shark wasn't truly gone. And even if he was, those who wore the gaudy masks roamed free with their deadly hidden knives. It was best they thought her grandson harmless. Such a mistake could make the difference between life and death.

After breakfast, she allowed him to go to the greenhouses. It gave her the time to disappear for a bit of training before lunch. Training had just moved up on her list of priorities.

Narcissa Malfoy was many things, but stupid wasn't among them. She had read the signs long before the glaringly obvious one that happened at the Quidditch World Cup was even conceivable. However, she was not just watching signs, but those who observed those signs, too.

That was why she told Draco to lay off Longbottom before she told him to lay low.

That was why she made Severus swear that vow.

That was why she compiled her own list of the dead because an old acquaintance was back in town.

Augusta sat at her seat in the Wizengamot, listening to Narcissa's tale and reading between lines.

Reluctantly, she had to admit that the woman impressed her. Narcissa wasn't just as sly as Mackie McHeat; she was also as bold as the singer that sung about the ruler of the underworld and all the crimes that could not be traced back to him.

She had lied to the Dark Lord. She had made everyone underestimated her as she played the deadly game of cloak and dagger to keep her family safe. And when she won that, she turned and bared herself, throwing away her mask, saying, "I am here" and daring them to shoot.

Augusta knew the pragmatic thing would be to get rid of such a threat, but her own mask had been blown away by the war. Neville was strong enough to protect himself now and so she permitted herself to admire the woman instead.

A/N: Fun fact, in Czech version Mackie's knife isn't out of sight but hidden in the walking stick.