Chapter 29
Lost Lights
A/N: Sorry, you guys, for the delay. I have no excuse other than being busy. But I know it is lame.
And I have a minor trigger warning: a Game of Thrones quote/reference/whatever. It's because I'm really intrigued by Cersei Lannister and really adore the way she's being written. Sorry.
It was, like her mother used to say, a dark place they were in. Whatever it was they were trying to find so hard, it kept slipping past their grasp. Like trying to hold water in their palm, they were left with nothing, only a sensation of wetness to bear witness to their failure.
Contacting the Muggles had proven to be quite the tricky task. In the end, Narcissa and Dolohov found themselves sitting idly in the kitchen, staring wordlessly at each other, lost in their own thoughts.
It was already late in the evening and the shadows had grown long. Somewhere in the distance there were rain clouds building up, an autumn torment slowly creeping its way towards them. Narcissa scratched her chin and looked in the direction of the window. She could see the neighboring house, the lights golden it its windows. That had her stomach clenching. She was reminded, as though the sight was a trigger of sorts, of her childhood and that peculiarly cozy, homely feeling that would grow within her the moment she would see those warm lights. When the skies grew dark and the air became chilly, autumn winds wailing and first droplets of rain falling heavily from above, those lights were the very symbol of warmth and safety. She loved sitting by the window, her back towards the fireplace, and watching the cold, cold world outside.
And then Samhain would arrive, the festive that ended up horribly twisted and renamed Halloween. Her mother would, however, respect the ways of the elder. They would prepare a feast, for days on end, House Elves would strain themselves with preparation. Then, on the eve of the first of November, all the guests would arrive. This night they would feast and talk of their dead, tell ghost stories and her grandfather would say that the night of Samhain is endless, as it belongs neither to this year nor to the next. A night when the thin veil between the living and the dead would be torn, a night when all the otherworldly places would become available to mortals, a night when one could find immense treasures. And then they would all go to sleep: every guest would stay for the night, as traveling was something unwise, with all the dead and all the creatures prowling the world. They would, however, leave fireplaces alight and leave food on the tables, leaving the doors unlocked would enable the dead to step into their home, warm themselves up by the fire and feast on human food.
And even though she would feel slightly frightened, she would revel in the sensation of being warm and full of delicious food - and would think of winding rivers and howling moors, of paths that ran through forests, of great kings of the past coming back to their land, of how cold and scary the outside was while she was indoors and safe and warm and loved.
Now, however, she felt nothing. Nothing of that sort. And even though Samhain was approaching rapidly, no one bothered with it. Indeed the world she had known had come to an end. And she felt desperately sad.
How do you live your life after everything you cherished and live for had come crumbling down? How do you carry on living if you have lost the very meaning of your life? How do you re-mold yourself?
And here they were, two strangers, each of them alienated by their own past. A shadow stretching between them, a certain shroud created by things they could never say out loud.
It was easier with Hermione. It was easier, because the woman was silent most of the time and her silence was oddly comforting. And every time Narcissa looked into those dark, hollow eyes, she could see something burning within. A resolution, passion, or something completely different, but something she could draw her strength from. And now the woman was gone, heading north, miles stretching vastly between them, a distance of fields, forests, water, roads and cities.
It was Dolohov, the low grumble of his voice, that shook her out of her musings.
'What do we do now?' he asked, weariness coloring his tone. She shifted and looked at the man, he was still handsome, in that rugged, thinned manner. He watched her watch him and smiled, a thin, pale twist of his lips and suddenly she found herself sympathetic to him.
'I don't know.' she admitted softly and suddenly she felt a pang of a powerful sensation: camaraderie. She was not alone. He was right there, with her, a cast-away stranded in a world so huge that terrifying.
'We must do something.' he said and it felt as though he was speaking to himself 'I'm so lost.' the admission was soft and almost broken and was so un-Dolohov. She had known a stranger. This man was different. Wearier and more honest.
'Yes. But what?' she shook her head slowly, once again thinking frantically.
But there was no one, not a trace to hold on to.
'Would you fancy a cigarette?' he asked all of the sudden and she looked at him with huge eyes.
'Excuse me?'
'It's a Muggle thing. Hermione's shown me.'
'Let's try it then, shall we?' she smiled almost despite her bitter mood and the smile was true.
'Let's head outside. It does smell a little bit.'
She almost snorted.
It was quite disgusting, truth be told. With the first drag, her head started swimming and her lungs burned. She coughed and spluttered and felt utterly ridiculous. But Dolohov never taunted her. Instead, he merely watched her with a small smile etched on his lips, his eyes twinkling with genuine mirth.
'It gets better, you know?' he said quietly.
'Do all Muggles do that?' she breathed at him, her eyes tearing and her cheeks burning slightly.
'No, I don't think the - whatstheirname? The Muggle family of that doctor? Walker? Walken?'
'Walker, I think. What about them?' she regained her equilibrium and took another drag, this time, however, it was tentative.
Think: pipe, she told herself as she inhaled.
'They don't, I don't think they do, at least.' Dolohov started rambling, his face twisting as a variety of emotions shot across his features but she froze.
Walkers. Or whatever their name was.
Muggles.
Muggle contact.
'Walkers!' she exclaimed, letting go off the cigarette. She almost leaped off the step she was sitting on, all dignity forgotten 'How could we've been that stupid?'
'Excuse me?'
But she ignored him, her mind spinning now.
'Walkers.' she repeated, throwing him a curt glance. He was looking up at her, his expression utterly befuddled.
'That is their name, or is this about something else?' he asked, incredulity coloring his voice.
'They're Muggles!' she almost shrieked, forgetting all about her lady-like ways.
'Yes.' Dolohov was genuinely alarmed now, his dark eyes narrowed with worry 'Did that ciga -'
She never let him finish.
'They're Muggles and the father was a Muggle doctor, working for that company, or whatever the hell this thing is called -'
He caught up with her now.
'They might know something?' Dolohov piped in, jumping off the step as well, his grin huge and blinding 'Do you think we can ask them now?'
'It's nearly midnight.' she observed, ever the polite person she had been molded into becoming. 'I don't think it's proper -' she started speaking, but the man cut in, his voice almost childlike in its ferocity.
'I don't care. You're a genius.' suddenly he was in front of her, his face stretched in the broadest, most brilliant grin she had ever seen. 'Narcissa Malfoy, you are the most wonderful woman I've ever come across. I adore you.'
And despite his grin and alleviated mood, she knew he was saying what he actually believed in.
And that had her off her guard.
'Don't be absurd.' she said after a moment, her Black upbringing forcing down her ice-queen mask. The joyful little Cissy was gone now, replaced by Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, a woman proud of her station and mindful about her manners. She stood straight and looked at Dolohov sternly. And her heart cracked slightly, when she saw the joy leave his face, as his shoulders hunched and he took a step back and away from her, she both wanted to call him back and tell him off. In the end she did nothing, letting him walk away.
'You're right.' he said, stopping on the doorstep 'It's too late. It'd be rude. We'll talk to them in the morning. Would that be acceptable?'
She wanted to say something else. Something comforting. Or, at least, bridge-building, for indeed, it had been her behavior that created the chasm between them. In the end, however, she merely snapped 'Yes.'
And with that he was gone and she was standing on stone steps in front of the house as autumn wind toyed with her head, all the happiness she had felt gone, gone with the wind.
Ice queens are proper. But they never get their happy endings. She paced around her bedroom. There was a crack within her, a crack that Hermione had created when appearing on the table - was it months already? - that time ago. And with each passing day, the crack grew larger and larger, leaving her shattered and utterly lost. And through the holes and cracks, all that she had been, was seeping out. And that had her asking herself about things.
And one of those things was Dolohov and ice. She did build a wall around her. Impeccable and distant.
The more people you love, the weaker you become.
Emotions, her parents would say, are a force so wild they bring people down. One ought to control their impulses, master their urges and never react directly. Matters were to be considered, responses were to be pensive and actions calculated. There was no gain in running rampart, only misery and humiliation. Nothing matters in the end, only family and its name. The only thing a human being should love, is their name, for within their name there lies everything that is of value. The rest is immaterial. To cherish feelings is to be a fool. Nothing is worse than an idiot who wears their heart on their sleeve.
And yet she kept losing. Losing life itself, wasting that precious time she had been granted - be it by a Higher Being or merely a coincidence that lead to her mother's insemination - on things that never brought her any joy, if she were to be honest with herself. Of course there was Draco, the boy she loved despite it being a weakness so great. But even though, even though she loved him, her actions had brought misery upon him. Her folly, her calculated, well-planned folly, had broken the boy. The moment he stepped upon the Astronomy Tower that faithful night, his innocence had been snatched away from him. And even though he, in the end, did not kill the man he had been set out to, the entire endeavor had left him shattered, a shadow of his former self.
So maybe they were wrong? But how, how on Earth, does one rise from the ashes? We humans, we're not phoenixes. We're frail and silly and life is linear and whatever you lose never returns to you. When it's over it's over and no amount of tears can ever return it.
How do you undo it all and learn to live? How do you do that when you're no longer a teenager, no longer a silly twenty-something that believes she's the master of the world? How do you do that when you have lived almost the half of your life as someone else and have buried your husband and sent your son to become an assassin for a man so vile no words could ever describe him? How, how on Earth are you supposed to do that?
In the end she never went to sleep. Tired and sour, she walked down into the kitchen, no epiphany to alleviate her spirits. And the first person she saw, was Draco, her boy, so pale, sitting by the table and looking at her questionably.
'Are you OK?' his question came out small and full of worry.
'Yes.' she smiled, trying to be tender but coming out twisted and saccharine sweet 'It's just that I couldn't sleep.' she tried to amend, but the damage was done and Draco looked away.
'If you say so.' he said, staring at the window, the hurt evident despite his efforts to mask it with indifference.
'I'm sorry.' she said, trying so desperately to build that bridge, to cover the distance, to undo the damage 'I'm tired and worried.'
He turned back to look at her, his eyes serious. 'I know.' he said levelly 'I know. We all are.'
It wasn't a dismissal, she realized after a short while.
'Listen, Draco' she began, not really sure what she was going to say 'I know... I'm- I'm lost. Even more than you.'
'Because you're older? And you followed him for the greater part of your life?' and that had her. She had missed the moment when that boy had become an adult. A wise one at that.
'Yes.' she admitted, trying to think of how should she say the rest of what had been driving her insane, but at that moment, they heard footsteps and turned to look at the doorway. A disheveled Harry Potter appeared moments later, his green eyes puffy and his hair unruly past the point of ridiculousness.
'Morning.' he said with a hearty yawn and the blinked, looking at Narcissa as though he was a deer caught in the headlights 'Mrs. Malfoy, I'm sorry.' his cheeks colored as his hands moved wildly in the air. Whatever he was apologizing for, she had no clue, so instead of letting the situation grow even more uncomfortable, she did the only thing that made sense.
'Would you like some coffee, Harry?' the name left her lips with peculiar ease. The boy started and looked at her with genuine surprise.
'Yes. Please.' he amended his blunder swiftly, green orbs locking with Draco's pale ones. 'Thank you.' he added hastily 'And sorry.'
'Do not apologize, Harry.' she realized she actually enjoyed how his name rolled of her lips 'Do you take milk?'
'Yes, please.' he sat down next to Draco and suddenly Narcissa felt as though she had two sons instead of one. One Lucius' and the other... dark haired as though Dolohov's. And that nearly had her dropping the kettle she was holding.
'Are you alright, Mother?' Draco looked at her questioningly, his eyes round like saucers.
'Yes, quite. Why?' it was a nervous stutter that gave her away, but he let go. Instead, he turned to look at Potter. Harry.
'So, what are the plans for today?' he asked the bespectacled boy, who, in return, shot him a smug smirk.
'I heard from Dolohov your Mum had decided to speak to the Walkers.'
'Clever.' Draco smiled right back and Narcissa poured them their coffees and sat down opposite of them.
'Do you think it makes sense, Harry?' she looked at the boy who blushed even more and suddenly she understood why was he blushing in the first place. Disheveled and dressed in rather awful - what were they called? Punchers? Punches? Boxes?
Boxers.
Anyway, the boy must have been feeling off, so under-dressed in the presence of the always impeccable Malfoys. Knowing the reason was one thing, helping the boy was another. She was lost. So she decided to ignore the state of his undress.
Or the fact that he looked like a skeleton clad in skin.
Which was quite an awful sight.
'I think it's brilliant, Mrs. Malfoy.' he smiled, maybe relived she never commented on the state of his pajamas. 'Would it be OK if Hermione and I came with you? Not that I -' he broke off, cleared his throat 'You know' he smiled, taking a sip of his coffee and instantly burning his lips. He spluttered and coughed and became beet-root, but neither Narcissa nor Draco batted an eyelid.
'You both are familiar with Muggles.' she finished smoothly for him and he nodded gratefully, his face contorted in a rather amusing grimace of pain.
'That's right.' he finally managed to say.
'We'd appreciate it, Harry.' she tried to be warm and motherly. She really did.
But all she managed to do was sound condescending.
Apparently though it was a morning of miracles. For neither Harry nor Draco batted an eyelid at her. It was as though they had all decided to readjust the previous night. And it felt... invigorating. Like one of those morning when the snow thaws and the sun is already high in the sky and there is this delicate, warm wind that smells of spring, of thaw.
And so, two hours late, Narcissa Malfoy, Antonin Dolohov, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger made their way through a Muggle neighborhood to pay a visit to a Muggle family. The rain was lashing down ferociously and the gusts of wind were bone-chilling cold. Indeed, winter was coming. They stopped in front of the house and Harry undid the wards they placed around the house. Hermione kept watch, Dolohov watched Harry and Narcissa shivered.
Not so productive, but quite an engrossing endeavor, truly.
The Walker woman - if that really had been her name - was a shabby little creature that looked as though she was spending her days now wallowing in self-pity and weeping all the time. Her face was blotched and her eyes were puffy. She had the looks and air of someone who suddenly stopped caring about the way she looked: her hair that probably had been fixed by a high-maintenance hair-dresser was now unwashed and unkempt, with loose and greasy strands sticking out in all the odd places, her body was suddenly gaining weight, what once was a careful mask of expensive cosmetics was now gone, revealing an aging skin and chubby cheeks, and her clothes never matched anymore.
She looked at them and blanched, tears instantly pooling in her eyes as though the very sight of them was a reminder of what she had lost.
'Yes?' she croaked out and suddenly Narcissa realized she had no words to say to this woman. She looked around and saw her companions, each and every one of them also at loss.
Her good mood leaving her abruptly, she forced a smile on her face.
'Mrs. Walker, we need to talk.'
The woman sighed and stepped away, letting them inside the house.
It was dark and smelly and messy as well. The woman's mourning was manifesting itself in the surroundings, a dark place, a gloomy place filled with moans and sighs - as depressing as helplessness could be.
'What about?' she never offered them a beverage. Instead, she showed them into something that used to be living room. Now, however, it was just a messy room. 'Sorry' the woman said, taking in her surroundings and probably seeing them through other peoples' eyes for the first time. There must have been something left of her former self, Narcissa realized when she saw an expression of discomfort showing on the woman's face. Soon it was gone, though, replaced by the bitter mask of self-pity.
'Your husband.'
That was a mistake and a dreadful one at that. The woman crumbled in front of them, not caring anymore about any social masks she ought to be wearing. She sunk down upon a stuffy sofa, her frame shaking and her face distorted in a grimace.
'Leave me!' she managed to stutter out, her voice so sad it was almost annoying to hear it.
She wanted to grab the woman by her shoulders and shake her out of that stupor, force her to think, force her to live again. But before she managed to, another person entered the room, a girl, probably Draco's age, her face rather simple and her features quite plain. She wasn't a looker, but the glare she send them was fiercer than anything Narcissa could have ever expected from such an uninteresting creature.
'What do you want? Don't you see you've upset my mum?'
'My poor babies...' the woman was wailing now, her arm reaching out and flapping around like a dying fish. Oddly enough, the daughter never walked towards her mother. Instead, she grimaced as though thoroughly fed up with her mother's behavior, and stared Narcissa dead in the eye.
'Well?' she inquired, her tone suddenly reaching a chilling temperature.
'We wanted to talk about your father.' Dolohov spoke out, oddly timid.
'Oh.' the girl shot her mother a swift look and then furrowed her brows. 'Would you follow me?'
'NO!' the woman shrieked like a banshee 'Don't you see?! Can't you see?! They killed him - it's them? How can you?'
'Mum, it wasn't them.' the girl sighed, exasperation taking hold over her entire exterior. Whatever sympathy she must have felt before, was no gone, replaced by utmost disgust.
'But it's because of them!' the woman shrieked and shook and shot her daughter a nasty look 'Don't you dare walk away with them! Comfort your mother, you ungrateful child!'
The girl swayed, obviously torn between what she felt was her duty - and something else. But before she gave in, Hermione Granger stepped in. She grabbed the girl's arm and gently walked her out of the room, the rest of the following them sharply. Draco closed the door, muffling the woman's wailing.
'Thank you.' said the girl 'Follow me to the kitchen.'
Oddly enough it was the only room that was quite clean. The girl closed the door behind them, walked to the fridge and leaned against it, canting her hips and tilting her head. Her watery blue eyes were sharp and piercing, their gaze oddly resembling Dumbledore's.
'Well?'
'We need to' Narcissa tried and cleared her throat 'Your father's research. What do you know of it?'
'All that I know' the girl said swiftly, something resembling shame coloring her voice 'is that it was vile. The idea was OK, but what happened - what they did to him - it was vile.'
'They? Who's them?' Hermione piped in and the girl shot her a sharp glance.
'The company. They're working with the government, you know that, don't you? On the outside, they're just part of the health system. You know, vaccines and pharmacy stuff. On the inside they work on bio weapons.'
'Bio weapons?' Dolohov repeated and the girl looked at him as though he was the dumbest person she had ever seen. And that had the sturdy Death Eater blush like a teenage girl.
'Sorry' he said, a cheesy smile playing on his lips, something Narcissa found suddenly endearing. 'I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed.'
'Happens.' the girl shrugged 'Bio weapons is like... like using viruses and bacterias and whatnot for military purposes.'
'What does the government have to do with that?' Hermione suddenly demanded, her voice much sharper than expected.
'Oh no' the girl shook her head 'they work with government on the official level. Medicine supply and stuff. But it's the agency that plays a major role.'
'The agency?'
'One of the MIs.'
'Oh.'
'Why?' the girl suddenly snapped, her eyes darkening as though furious 'Why do you need to know?'
'We want to bring them down.' Harry Potter said in his most serious and honest tones.
Anyone else might have sounded like an idiot. Or a liar. But the Golden Boy had the talent to make even the cheesiest of things sound heroic.
'I'll help you. On one condition.'
'What might that be?'
'You take me with you. I want to see them go down.'
'Fine.' Narcissa said immediately. Maybe it wasn't the smart thing to do. But it was right.
'Very well. I'll give you a phone number to Clarissa Marigold.'
'Wait!' she felt ridiculous now 'She's dead, girl.'
'Oh no. I assure you, she's not.'
A/N:
Right, now to answer some of your lovely reviews. By the way. Your humble servant is as grateful as weary. Thank you.
RandomAnon: Color me embarrassed, but I can't remember. I'll look into that, I swear.
Arial Wolf: Thank you so much for you kind words. The EMP, well... I wanted to bring a little science into the realm, so to speak. Hence all that 'physics'ish' explanation I pulled off. I can't back down from it now, can I? I'll try and make it as plausible as possibly.
AlsethGosia: Thanks! The reason why this off thing had happened was because I posted two chapters in what probably was too short a period of time. Hence it all got mixed up. inqe did really save the day.
CrucioMe: Man, I really love your reviews, you know that, right? Always cheer me up. So thanks. And sorry if my reply is curt, not that I'd not love to talk all the way until the next morning, but I'm kind of very tired. Anyway: yes, I'm pretty sure Young Hermione is pretty interested by her older self. Apart from the whole deal being creepy as fuck (put it like this: if I met my older self one day, I'd probably run screaming to the nearest mental health institute, begging they admit me), she probably is fascinated by her. Right now, however, they don't have any bonding time, do they? Things have gone pretty wild and all they focus on nowadays is survival. I'm sure that the moment there's some spare time, we'll witness some bonding between them. In this clusterfuck they're in all time is precious, and since I don't think we'll be getting a classical happy ending (it would be the most unrealistic thing I've ever seen), we'll see them make the most of their time.
If you have any more questions, remarks, ideas, whatever - I'll be more than happy to listen to them and try to reply in some intelligent manner. This moment is not this one, though, so I'll just stop writing. Before I go overboard and start rambling about things that neither matter nor have anything to do with Future Shocks.
To the rest of you: I'd love to answer each and every review you send my way. I'm just soooo tired. Sorry. So instead I want to thank you all. white-walker89, I love your reviews, you're the faithful one, thanks, Rougesse: you're too kind, thanks so much, wish my reply was more meaningful, really, Darkshadow-lord, you're always so kind to me, thank you, TJK78, I appreciate it, thanks a lot!, maverick66 you might be right. However, I don't know if this whole Maternity Spell thingy I invented for the story would work that way. Older Hermione does come from an altered timeline, whatever marks she bears are the legacy of that timeline. And even though she, being the future of each and every Hermione, is bound to her younger selves, I don't think any un-doing of marks of things that both had and had not come to pass, is possible. Or maybe I'm just too dim. Or too tired. I'll think about that, thanks for pointing it out! secretstranger69 cool, I don't think I would, but neat.
I hope I addressed every single one of you. If I didn't - well, feel free to kick me in the ass. I do deserve it.
Cheers!
