Guest: Loved your comment in which you wondered about how Draco could be suspicious because I had just finished editing the opening scene of this chapter, in which I (try to) answer that, though I also tried to drop subtle hints leading up to it previously. Anyway, I'd love to know what you think! Thx! (Other review responses at the end as usual.)
All: The last chapter seemed to be pretty unpopular with readers. Fingers crossed this one (which is transitional) puts the fic back on a better path! Thanks to everyone who gave feedback. I appreciate it, even when critical, because it's all constructive and helps me rework upcoming chapters! Thank you!
-AL

Chapter Thirty-eight – Late March, 1998

Friday afternoon, Severus sat in the Headmaster's office staring at a pile of paperwork he had no desire to tackle (while ignoring Dilys Derwent's attempts to engage him in conversation about Narcissa) when a knock on the door provided a welcome interruption.

Welcome, but only for a moment.

He waved his wand, calling "Enter," expecting to see Minerva or Fillius, or perhaps one of the Carrows. He was not expecting it to be Draco Malfoy.

"McGonagall wants me to serve my detention tomorrow," he said. "But it's Quidditch. We're playing Hufflepuff. We have to win this one because we lost to Ravenclaw."

"Not my problem," said Severus, looking back down at the pile of parchment in front of him, quill in hand. "Unless you can convince her to reschedule your detention, you shall miss the match to serve it."

It was strange. Years ago, he would have moved hell and high water to ensure his star student would play in that match, but their relationship had deteriorated drastically during the year leading up to the death of Dumbledore, and the damage was seemingly irrevocable.

Draco nodded, his face expressionless, but did not turn to leave. Severus waited, still staring down at his paperwork, as if unconcerned. He wished he could delve into the boy's mind, but he was a far better Occlumens than he was a Legilimens, and the boy was adept enough at the former to keep him locked out.

"Is there something else?" Severus asked after a too-long pause.

"Yes."

"Well?" said Severus. "What is it?"

Draco walked further into the room, glancing around, conspicuously avoiding looking at the portrait of Dumbledore behind the desk, and settled into one of the chairs facing Severus.

"I want you to stop seeing my mother. Sir." The vitriol with which he'd called Severus "Professor" the other day was not present, as his "Sir" seemed to have been said with more respect than he'd mustered up for his godfather in nearly two years. Severus sat back, looked him over, and cocked an eyebrow, not revealing anything.

"Excuse me?"

"My mother. You know. Narcissa."

"I am aware of the identity of your mother," said Severus dryly. "We've met. What about her?"

"She's… fragile. And under a lot of stress. You saw her last Sunday. You heard her fight with my father. She's not well. And I don't believe you're helping."

"I helped her return to Malfoy Manor because she is unable to apparate onto the grounds. That is all." Severus again lifted his quill and began reading through the forms on his desk. He waved his free hand dismissively. "You may go."

"My father doesn't suspect anything," said Draco, unwilling to let it drop. "But he was in Azkaban when Potter attacked me. He doesn't know that she managed to make it to Hogwarts before anyone but you knew I'd been attacked. How did you communicate with her so quickly?"

"You assume there is something inappropriate going on between your mother and myself because I informed her of your injuries and she responded promptly? I assure you, I was merely doing my job as your Head of House by notifying her and she was merely responding as a frantic mother by rushing to the castle to check on you. As for our method of communication, it may interest you to know that grown witches and wizards have a number of message-sharing options available to us about which you students are unaware, including doing so by corporeal Patronus, so that we can avoid relying on owls, especially in emergencies. Hardly evidence of a scandal."

Draco nodded, but Severus could sense there was more, thus he continued to wait. Finally, Draco broke the silence.

"I saw you leaving, the morning after Dumbledore…" His voice trailed off as he glanced at the portrait of the former headmaster, who was, as usual, snoring lightly. "It was around sunrise. I couldn't sleep. I was drinking tea in the kitchen. I know you… I know you'd spent the night… with her."

Severus regarded his godson emotionlessly, his eyes darkening the way they always did when facing the Dark Lord, when he needed to close and clear his mind. "I won't be presumptuous enough to comment upon what I reckon you believe we were most likely doing…" he began, unsure of where he was winding this overly wordy sentence. Draco cut him off.

"I'm not a child. I know what you were doing."

"Your mother is my friend, Draco, and nothing more," Severus lied. "Your mother and father have been my friends since before you were born, and to assume there is anything untoward…"

Again, Draco cut him off.

"I don't have to assume. My aunt spent half the summer teaching me Legilimency. My skills are rudimentary, but I can read my mother's emotions more easily than those of anyone else. I know how she feels when you're around. I could sense it the day the Dark Lord killed Professor Burbage, and again last week when she looked at you in the parlor. She loves you."

"No," said Severus slowly. He did not wish to have this conversation with Draco, but at the same time he couldn't make the issue go away simply by banishing the boy from his office. He had to formulate a response, and make it a convincing one. "I believe you have misinterpreted her emotional state. A common mistake of the unaccomplished Legilimens. The reality is that your mother feels indebted to me because she credits me with having saved you from being killed – either by Dumbledore or the Dark Lord – and I also kept you from becoming a killer. Perhaps she has, in her mind, equated this with some sort of misplaced affection, which I have not reciprocated, not that it is any of your business. Additionally, it may ease your mind to know the night I had to complete your task for you, while I did remain with your mother for several hours, it was only because she was in – how shall I put this? – a delicate mental state. I was concerned. Your father trusted me to keep both of you alive and safe while he was incarcerated and that is what I did. That is all I did. I have no romantic interest in your mother, she certainly does not love me, and there is nothing going on between us."

"With all due respect, Professor, I think you're lying."

Severus leaned forward, tented his hands, and made deliberate eye contact with his godson, almost impressed by the boy's tenacity and temerity. "You're learning Legilimency? Go ahead. See for yourself."

"You're a skilled Occlumens," said Draco. "You'll just block me."

"I give you my word that I won't fight you," countered Severus. "Try."

Draco stood and leaned over Severus' desk, wand in hand. He whispered the incantation and immediately Severus could feel the intrusion into his mind. Much like his aunt, Draco lacked any subtly in this art. Unlike his aunt, though, his attempts to penetrate the recesses of Severus' mind were weak and easy to block. To give the appearance of transparency, Severus shared a carefully selected memory with the boy, from the night he used the Killing Curse on Dumbledore.

Severus knocked on the bedroom door. Narcissa opened it, clutching her chest dramatically with one hand. She pulled him through the door with the other.

"Please tell me He isn't punishing my son?"

"I don't think so. He seems pleased, even though He wanted Draco to do it and not me. He and Bellatrix are going to flee shortly, but He said to assure you they will return in due time."

"Oh, what a relief," snapped Narcissa. "I'd hate to live for too long under this roof without my criminally insane sister and the man who tried to get my son murdered breathing over me and criticizing my cooking all the damn time." She sighed. "She told me they'd be leaving shortly and I said I'd miss her but… Fuck, Severus. I just want my old bloody life back! I've been pacing since He cast me out and I feel like I'm going to explode or implode or collapse or something. I'm not sure what I'm going to do, but something." She was trembling.

"I'm going on the run, too," he informed her. "No doubt the Ministry will be after me."

Severus chose this point to move Draco along, into another slice of memory, just as innocuous, and then another, all short, all unedited, but all featuring moments between the couple that would lead any observer to believe that their relationship was entirely platonic.

After the fourth, Severus closed his mind to the instrusion.

"Will that suffice?" he asked. "If not, ask your mother. I am a busy man."

"My mother has never learned Occlumency. She would not be able to block me," said Draco, as if challenging the Headmaster. Severus shrugged.

"Then perhaps upon completing your investigation into her mind, you will not look upon her with the doubt and disdain you are currently directing toward me."

"I'll be returning home for Easter break," said Draco. "I'll ask her then."

"Feel free," said Severus. "That is between you and your mother. But I have indulged you in this long enough and will not do so again. You may be an adult Draco, but you are still a student and thereby not my equal. I am the Headmaster of this school and therefore require your respect, for as long as you remain a Hogwarts pupil, understand?"

"I understand."

"I understand, sir," prompted Severus.

"I understand, sir," echoed Draco. He turned to go, but Severus called him back.

"I realize that the last couple of years have been difficult for you, and I know that you no longer trust me, but I am still your godfather, and as such…" He sighed, considering how to end the statement. Emotional moments were not exactly his forte.

"Please don't assure me you're here if I need a shoulder to sob on or any of that rubbish," said Draco, showing shades of the snooty, spoiled child he'd been, a far cry from the young man he was becoming.

"I wouldn't want anyone sobbing on my shoulders," said Severus. "Not even my only godchild… but I will speak to Professor McGonagall about moving your detention to Sunday. And in exchange, you and I shall never speak of this ridiculousness again."

Draco agreed, though he was not entirely convinced of the honesty of the professor he once considered his favorite. Still, when Severus extended his hand, Draco shook it. He left the office already late for Quidditch practice. Severus tried to return to the paperwork on his desk, but could not concentrate. He had no idea how he'd convince Minerva to move the boy's detention, and even more pressingly, he was now worried that Narcissa's open mind had accidentally revealed more to Draco than the boy admitted. He retrieved the enchanted notebook from his top right drawer and the green quill she'd given him. He was working out what to write to her when Dilys Derwent threw in her two sickles.

"I think you and your lady friend ought to tell the boy the truth. She's mad about you, even her son can see it, so why continue to be in denial?"

"Thank you," said Severus, keeping his back to her, "But I do not recall requesting your advice on this matter."

"I think Dilys is right, Severus," said Dumbledore, no longer pretending to snore. "A little more love in the world…"

"Quiet," interjected Phineas Nigellus Black, returning to his portrait after an entire evening away. "I have news. Potter and friends came upon three men later identified as Ted Tonks, Dean Thomas, and Dirk Cresswell. I believe they are hiding in a forest. The trio did not reveal themselves to the men, but overheard their conversation. The men said the Prophet is reporting that Harry Potter is responsible for Dumbledore's murder…"

"We already know that!" said Dilys. Phineas Nigellus glared at her, angry about being cut off. He waited until Severus was facing him, giving full attention, before going on.

"And that the Quibbler is the only publication reporting the truth."

"We already knew that, too!" said Dilys.

Severus held up his hand. "Dilys, please. Is that all, Phineas Nigellus?"

"That is all for now," the man said crossly.

"Keep listening," ordered Severus. "I want to know where they are."

"They won't reveal that to me!" insisted the portrait of the former Headmaster. "And whenever they've got no use for me, that girl throws me most unceremoniously in her bag. I can't see or hear anything in there once she closes it!"

"Keep listening," repeated Severus. "I need to know more. It is imperative."

Phineas Nigellus Black grumbled at this, but he disappeared from the portrait, to await any information he could gather from being in Granger's possession. Once he'd departed Severus opened the notebook, discovering a new message from Narcissa.

My husband has been sent away to complete a task for the Dark Lord. He'll be gone overnight. You should come keep me company. –NM

I can't. Your son has asked that I stopped seeing you. –SS

She didn't respond right away, which likely meant she wasn't in her bedroom at the moment and had written his message earlier in the day. He used the time before her next response to pay Minerva McGonagall a visit in her office, but she was less than willing to change the date.

"Minerva, please, I ask so little of you."

"And yet here you are!" She shot him a severe look, as if he were the one in trouble and not Draco.

"I am the Headmaster," he reminded her. "I could overrule you, but I've come to appeal to you instead. The students haven't much to look forward to, thanks to current circumstances. Didn't we, as a staff, agree to do all we could to create a sense of normalcy for the students? Is that not why we've continued with Quidditch and Hogsmeade visits and the like?"

"A sense of normalcy does not extend beyond letting students escape their punishments so they won't miss Quidditch. I wouldn't have done that a year ago, five years ago, fifteen years ago, or thirty years ago, and I will not do it now."

"Would you have asked it of a professor when you were a student? I have heard stories about your days on the Gryffindor team. Didn't you break your ribs and get a concussion in a match against Slytherin?"

"What does that matter?" she asked, wondering how he even knew.

"When Dumbledore relayed this bit of history for me, he seemed to find most interesting the fact that you were not even supposed to be playing in the match. He had assigned you detention, hadn't he? Detention that he agreed to reschedule because of your insistence that you not miss the match. He later felt guilty because you'd been so badly hurt when you shouldn't have been playing in the first place."

Minerva's eyes narrowed, but the thin line of her lips slacked slightly, giving Severus the impression she was more malleable to the idea than she'd originally seemed. However, when she replied with, "Were Draco as persuasive as I was in my seventh year, he would be here arguing his own case rather than sending you to do it," he employed another tactic.

"On a related note, what did the girl's parents say when you spoke with them about the indiscretion?"

Minerva's steely gaze faltered. "I… I didn't tell them."

"You didn't tell them?" Severus settled himself into one of the chairs in her sparse office. He picked up a framed photograph from her desk, featuring her and Albus smiling at the Yule Ball three years prior. "Why not?"

She snatched the picture from his hands.

"Astoria assured me that they were only talking and that his ex-girlfriend had said otherwise to damage her reputation. She begged me not to make matters worse by informing her parents. I believed her, thus I agreed not to tell. But I still made her serve detention! Yesterday, in my office."

"How is that fair?" Severus crossed one leg over the other, regarding Minerva carefully. "I informed Draco's parents. His mother was rather upset. I believe she cried."

"She cried?"

(He was weakening her resolve; he could tell.)

"She did. Quite a bit, actually. Which one would think would be punishment enough… but since it is not, I suppose he must miss the match to serve detention… and, to be fair, I must inform the girl's parents, though I'll mention she insists they were only talking…"

"Fine," conceded Minerva. "I will move his detention to Sunday, but not cancel it. He is Head Boy. He was supposed to be patrolling the corridors at the time. He's lucky he hasn't been stripped of the privilege. And I am only doing so in the interest of fairness, not because you've attempted to manipulate me with a literal sob story."

Severus smirked, feeling that manipulating her with a literal sob story was precisely what he'd done. "Then it's settled? He will keep his title and serve detention on Sunday?"

She nodded. "And you won't contact the girl's parents?"

Severus put out his hand, which Minerva shook. "It's a deal."

"Severus?" Minerva moved to the chair behind her desk, returning the photograph to its rightful place on the upper left corner. "Has Dumbledore spoken?"

"It's not him, Minerva. A portrait of a person is a mere memory, preserved in paint."

"A mere memory preserved in paint is better than nothing."

Severus closed his eyes for the briefest moment, remembering how it had felt to see himself beside Lily in the Mirror of Erised several years back. In his reflection he'd seen himself with his left arm around Lily's waist. She was beautiful, and pregnant, with a ginger-haired, dark-eyed toddler son on her hip. Severus had his right arm around an older child, a daughter with his long black hair and Lily's green eyes. A family. The family he'd wanted and couldn't have. Though he knew it was an impossible dream or something that had never been and could never be, he was unable to stop looking, to stop imaginging this as reality. Severus had told Dumbledore at the time, "An image in glass is better than nothing."

Minerva's words had therefore brought his own back to him, prompting him to respond with the same words Dumbledore had said to him (words that, unbeknownst to him, had also been directed toward Harry Potter when he returned to the mirror for the third or fourth night in a row). "Minerva, it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."

"What?" Clearly, based on her perplexed expression, she didn't think this advice sounded like him.

"Just a word of caution from an old friend. Do with it what you will."

She adjusted her tall pointed hat, which had shifted slightly when she leaned forward to place the picture, and asked casually, "Will you ever tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"What happened that night in the Astronomy Tower?"

Slowly, Severus shook his head. "Minerva, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

They had no further business, thus said goodbye and parted ways. Though he had always been a rather solitary man, Severus couldn't help feeling a slight pang for the days when he could talk Quidditch with Minerva, or engage Fillius in a wizards chess game, or eat a quiet meal with Septima Vector in her study (not that he was interested in a physical relationship with her anymore). He even missed the occasional cordial chat with Charity Burbage, Poppy Pomfrey, and Horace Slughorn in the staff room. Allegedly murdering the beloved Headmaster of the school at which they were all employed had a way of separating him from his colleagues.

By the time Severus returned to his office, Narcissa had sent her reply. Replies.

Please tell me that's a joke. –NM

Severus? You're not serious. –NM

What did Draco say? Does he know? How would he know? –NM

Severus! –NM

I told you, Narcissa. He said, "I want you to stop seeing my mother." –SS

Why does he think you're seeing me? –NM

He says he saw me leaving around dawn the morning I completed his task as assigned by the Dark Lord. He also said your sister began teaching him Legilimency over the summer. He couldn't see your memories, but he could sense your emotions, namely the day the Lestranges brought the Muggle Studies professor to Malfoy Manor, and then again last Sunday. –SS

What did YOU say? –NM

I assured him he is mistaken, that he misread your emotions, which is a common error for new practicers of Legilimency. Very few people possess the natural talent for that magic, and of those who do, most will never master it. I haven't, nor has your sister. Even so, we need to work on your Occlumency abilities. There is a Quidditch match tomorrow. The entire school will be in attendance. I missed the last two, thus I do not think anyone will be suspicious if I fail to attend. Is it possible for you to meet me at my home on Spinner's End for a lesson? 2:00. –SS

I don't know. I'm still unable to apparate off the grounds and Lucius was clear that it would be in my best interest to remain home. Can't you come here? Tonight? I'll make it worth the trip. –NM

I cannot, not tonight. The Dark Lord has been very clear that I am to remain on school grounds at night, and just as you do not wish to defy your husband, I do not wish to deny our Master. –SS

The Dark Lord is not my Master. Neither is Lucius. No one is. I had an illuminating week and have come to the conclusion that I am my own master. –NM

This sounds like something I'll be hearing more about. –SS

Yes, you will. I'll meet you tomorrow at your home on Spinner's End at 2. You can hear about it then. –NM

You will? How will you get there? –SS

I don't know. I'll figure out a way. –NM

Narcissa closed her notebook, ignoring whatever response Severus wrote, and tossed it down onto the bed in the room off the nursery, where she'd been sleeping all week. Since her husband was not expected back for at least twenty-four hours, she considered gathering her things and returning to the master bedroom, but decided against it, on principal. She'd said she needed space and she'd meant it.

They'd gone out to dinner on Sunday, to a Muggle restaurant where there was almost zero chance of running into anyone they knew from the Wizarding world.

Bellatrix was in a lovely mood and completely oblivious to the tension being given off by the three Malfoys. She had brought the long scarf she frequently used to attach the baby to her so she could have her hands free and talked at length about all of the "milestones" her daughter was already hitting – recognizing her mother's voice, calming when held, and sucking on her own hand, none of which Narcissa thought were terribly impressive, but Bella insisted Nova was doing all of these things earlier than other babies, which clearly indicated she must be a genius.

Lucius acted as though nothing was wrong, as if he and his wife hadn't just had the biggest and worst fight of their entire twenty-five year marriage, as if the foundation of their entire relationship hadn't more or less collapsed in on itself after years of barely patched structural damage. Lucius told Draco multiple times that he was both proud of him and glad that he was popular, lamented that his removal from the Board of Governors meant he had no clout and therefore could not help protect his son's position as Head Boy, and assured them all that he was certain he was only one successful assignment away from being back in the Dark Lord's good graces.

Draco tried to set aside his discomfort but could barely eat. He answered a number of questions about school and his friends, and even shared with his father and aunt for the first time his dream to play professional Quidditch someday, but he changed the subject whenever his father tried to press him on the subject of the girls or when his aunt tried to bring up ways he could better serve the Dark Lord, and he hardly looked at his mother at all.

Meanwhile, Narcissa silently fumed for several reasons, not the least of which was the fact that she'd tried to order a glass of red wine with dinner only for her husband to tell the waiter she would have sparkling water instead. She was angry at him for the events of the afternoon and angry with herself for allowing herself to be momentarily placated by memories of a happier time. She was also angry at her son for having sneaked off of school grounds, because if he hadn't been home, he wouldn't have heard. She was even angry at her sister, for seemingly doing a better job at motherhood than she'd done (though her issues hadn't started until Draco was older than Nova).

That night Narcissa and Lucius slept in the same bed, but felt a world apart despite being less than an arms length from each other. The next morning they shared a quiet, early, elf-made breakfast with Draco before sending him back to school, then she returned to the bedroom and began tossing necessities into the carpet bag.

"What are you doing?" asked Lucius, who'd just come in on his way to take a shower.

"I'm sleeping across the hall, indefinitely, in the room off the nursery." In went several nightgowns, a pair of slippers, and undergarments.

"What?" Lucius sat on the edge of the bed. "Why?"

"Because it's the only currently unoccupied bedroom." (The Dark Lord had allowed Wormtail to take the bedroom just vacated by the Rowles.)

"No, I mean why aren't you going to be sleeping here? With me? Your husband."

"You were going to hit me yesterday, Lucius. And that's not even the worst of it. I don't know that I can ever forgive you for what you told Draco. I have never in all my life been so hurt."

"Never? Narcissa, don't you think that's a bit of hyperbole, considering?"

She rounded on him, the fury she'd been burying all night and morning finally brimming up to the surface. "Considering my awful childhood? No. Because I came to expect the sort of hurt I experienced then, but I never expected this. Not from you."

"I'm sorry, Narcissa. I told you I'm sorry!"

She shook her head. "Sorry isn't enough this time, Lucius."

He moved to her, taking the carpet bag from her hands and placing it on the bed. He slid his arms around her waist. "Remember the first fight we had after we got married? Remember how…"

"No! Stop it! This is what you do and I fall for it every damn time. Every damn time I'm angry with you, you ask if I remember something from our past, something that softens me or makes me laugh or reminds me of why I've loved you for so long, and then in the moment I'm pacified and sweet on you and we end up cuddling or kissing or in bed and by the time we're done I've forgotten why I was angry in the first place. That's how it's been for almost thirty years."

"I know," said Lucius, though he stepped away from her. "I like cuddling and kissing and making you forget why you were angry in the first place."

"Well, it won't work this time, Lucius." She retrieved the carpet bag, waved her wand, and levitated several long dresses and robes into it. "It almost worked last night, when you reminded me about Draco in the tapas place, but then you wouldn't let me order my own drink–"

"For your own good, Narcissa! You're an alcoholic!"

"You're a wife beater!"

"I didn't beat you! I didn't even hit you!"

"You were going to!"

He threw up his arms and plopped back on the bed. "You're going to hold against me what I was going to do? For how long? Need I remind you that I didn't hold what you were going to do against you…"

"What I was going to do?" She tossed the bag aggressively onto the dresser, then opened one of the drawers, seeking nylons. "All I did was cower and cry!"

"Not today! I meant when you nearly suffocated our son…"

"Don't!" Narcissa turned away from the dresser, facing Lucius, and pointed a single finger in his direction. "Don't pretend you haven't held that against me! You and I both know you've been holding it against me for over seventeen years! I'm sorry, Lucius! I'm sorry I was a rotten mother. I'm sorry I didn't give you more children. I'm sorry I'm not the same sort of wife to you that your mother was to your father! But I'm not going to let you call me an alcoholic and I'm not going to risk letting you hit me and I'm not going to be cheated on anymore. I'm done! You say your mind isn't the same since Azkaban? Well, mine wasn't the same after childbirth. But I dealt with it and you have to deal with it and while we're dealing with it, I'll be sleeping across the hall!" She grabbed the bag and took it with her into the loo, adding to it her hairbrush and comb and toothbrush.

"I am sorry I hurt you. I am sorry I raised a hand to you. I am sorry I told Draco about the pillow incident. I am sorry for everything, Narcissa. For Juliet, for your niece, for Endora Selwyn, hell, I'm even sorry for Eleanor Nott, and nothing even happened with her! But I am not sorry that I told the waiter to serve you water instead of wine last night. You are an alcoholic, Narcissa. You drink too much and too often. You drink every night before bed. You drink every night with dinner. You wake up with hangovers, you pass out when you've had too much – Squeakers told me you've even been drinking with breakfast on occasion!"

She exited the bathroom, the bag too full to close, and placed it on the bed to shrink some of the contents. "You have the house elf spying on me?"

"For what it's worth, she didn't like doing it. She ironed her own fingers after, as punishment."

"I don't need alcohol," Narcissa insisted as she retrieved several vials of Dreamless Sleep, her recently brewed Draught of Peace, and a Ten Hour Sedative from her top dresser drawer. "Alcoholics need it. I don't need it. I just like it. And I'm not going to let you do this."

"Do what?"

"Turn it around on me. I'm sleeping separately from you because you hurt me, physically and emotionally, not because I have an alcohol problem, and I'm not going to let you make this my fault so that it'll end with me apologizing to you and begging to be let back in my own bedroom. What you told Draco was cruel, Lucius. And what you said to me before it – about being nothing, about being poor and friendless…"

"I already apologized for that! You were never nothing, Narcissa."

"If you said it, a part of you must have meant it."

"I said it because I wanted you to feel as badly as I felt!"

"Well congratulations then, darling, it worked." The vials went into the bag. She was now completely packed. All she needed was a better place to run away to, farther away than across the hall, but there weren't exactly an abundance of options.

"I am sorry, though, Narcissa!" Lucius rose and tried to take his wife's hand but she pulled away. "I am sorry I said it. I'm sorry I raised my hand. I'm sorry I haven't been faithful to you. How many times can I say I'm sorry? In how many ways?"

"Empty words, Lucius."

"Then what do you want from me? I stopped seeing her!"

"It's not about her. Not anymore."

"Then what is it about?"

"You truly don't get it, do you? You think I'm a terrible mother. You think I'm a terrible wife. You've made it abundantly clear that we are not equals, you've treated me horribly, and you think 'I'm sorry' is enough to make it all go away? Why do you even want me to share a room with you, Lucius? To share a bed? You can have better sex with other women. We're not having any more children. Our son is grown. Why do you want me to remain married to you? Why should I want to remain married to you?"

"Because I love you, Narcissa. I love you." Again he tried to take her in his arms. Again she removed herself from his attempted embrace. He sighed. "Don't you love me?"

"At the moment, Lucius, I honestly don't know."

"Very well," he said, clearly defeated. "Sleep in the room adjacent to the nursery, if that's what you think is best. But I love you, and I've stopped seeing her, and I'll figure out a way to make it up to you, alright?"

She zipped the carpet bag, lifted her fluffy, monogrammed bathrobe off its hook, slung it over her arm, and faced him.

"We may be too far gone," she whispered. "I don't know that we can come back from this."

"Didn't you tell me we can't go back?" asked Lucius, looking pained. "Only forward. Let's move forward together, Narcissa."

"I don't know if we can, Lucius. I don't know that I want to. I don't know anything anymore."

They'd barely spoken since.

Narcissa had hardly spoken to anyone, actually. The Rowles had gone, the Lestrange brothers weren't worth her time, and Bellatrix was so entirely consumed by her daughter she didn't seem to notice her sister's sudden distance. She hadn't even been writing to Severus much, until Lucius told her he'd be out for at least twenty-fourh hours and practically begged her to promise to stay home while he was away.

She'd spent her time thinking.

Mostly while baking.

She was becoming a damn good baker.

She'd baked at least one dessert each day, in addition to cooking all of her own meals, which she'd then leave warming in the oven or on the stove for Lucius, who no longer chastised her for her time spent in the kitchen, and Bellatrix, who couldn't be bothered to cook or even to order the house elves to cook for her.

It was on Thursday, while mixing icing for the cake she had just placed in the oven, that Narcissa had a series of small epiphanies while mentally dissecting her present state and all that had led to it.

Until a couple of years ago, her life had been good. Sure, she hadn't like being certain her husband was cheating again. It had bothered her. But ever since the Endora Selwyn disaster, he'd been careful to ensure that his affairs never came home, so to speak. He treated his wife like his wife and his mistresses like they were entirely separate from the life he shared with his wife. For over twenty years, Lucius and Narcissa slept together regularly, complimented each other well, and reveled in both their lifestyle and in their elevated status among the rich and pureblood uppercrust of wizarding society. Behind closed doors, her life was wrapped up in being a better mother to her son than her mother had been to her and her sisters, in part to make up for what she viewed as her exceptional failings in his first eighteen months, but mostly because she loved nothing more than being a mother. Oh, and shopping. She did a lot of shopping.

But in November, 1995, her life began to change. She now knew that that was when her husband had been sleeping with her niece, Nymphadora, on the Dark Lord's command, but at the time she didn't know with whom he was spending his evenings, and it hurt. It hurt because it was the first time since February 1973 that they'd gone an entire month without having marital relations. And then December was the same. And January. And February. And March.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

She could deal with a lack of sex. She generally wasn't in the mood for it, anyway. But the lack of intimacy bothered her. He wasn't holding her while they slept. He wasn't usually home for dinner. He wasn't talking to her about anything that extended beyond surface level – "Have you written to Draco?" "Did you order powdered moonstone?" "Crazy weather, eh?" – and, since the Dark Lord's less-than-successful return, they hadn't been going out or throwing parties. There was a new tension in the air, and it extended from the cemetery in Little Hangleton to their bedroom in Malfoy Manor.

That's why she'd approached Severus. She wasn't simply looking for something physical, as she'd led him to believe. She was lonely. She was lonely and insecure and frustrated.

She'd picked Snape specifically because he was so unlike Lucius. His looks, his mannerisms, his lifestyle, his personality… all as different from her husband as he could be without being on the same side of the spectrum as Walden Macnair or Vincent Crabbe. She considered him a friend and therefore trusted him not to tell, even if he'd ended up turning her down, and she had the feeling he would know how to satisfy a woman even though she rarely saw him with one. Plus she could see herself being attracted to his broad shoulders and mysterious dark eyes, if she overlooked his protruding nose and use of cheap shampoo. And she liked the timbre of his voice.

Only three months later, her husband failed to gather the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, was arrested, and sent to Azkaban. And she's missed him. Desperately. Because despite the last year, she'd loved him, just as he loved her.

When he was released, freed by the Dark Lord, she'd expected to feel relieved, which she was, and she'd expected their lives to go back to the way they were before, which they hadn't. He'd pulled away from her and she'd let him.

Now?

Now she wasn't sure he she'd pulled away from.

She wasn't sure to whom she was married.

Not anymore.

Even more alarming, she didn't know to whom her husband was married.

While mixing the icing, Narcissa realized what she'd sought with Severus was never about sex or even about loneliness. It was more than that. It was about intimacy. The more she got what she needed from Severus, the less she needed it from Lucius, which is ultimately what led to her falling asleep fantasizing about a future with him, envisioning them raising babies they'd never have, living in a home they'd never share, and exchanging words of affection that didn't stop short of "I love you."

Which was wrong.

It was wrong to transfer her affections from Lucius to Severus as if she needed a man to feel as though she had worth. This was, of course, the message her mother had raised her to believe. She'd believed it for 43 years.

43 years and five days.

Not anymore.

"Damn it, Mother," Narcissa said aloud. The tip of her wand lit up and emitted three beeps, indicating the cake could come out of the oven, so she set down the icing and used her wand to levitate the cake from the oven to a trivet on the center of the stove top.

"You frequently curse Mother's name too?" asked Bellatrix, entering the kitchen. "I curse her memory every damn day of my life. Happiest moment of my Azkaban stay was when you visited to tell me she'd croaked. I only wish I could have been there to see her on her deathbed."

"I don't want to talk about Mother." Narcissa pressed the back of her index finger to the cake. Too hot to frost.

"I figure I'm going to raise my daughter by asking myself, 'What would Mother have done?' every time I'm not sure what to do, and then I'll do the opposite of that." Bellatrix, baby-free for a change, settled into a chair at the table and summoned the bowl of icing over. She swiped a bit from the inside of the bowl.

"I didn't hate Mother as you did." Narcissa took the bowl back. "Keep out. I need it for the cake."

"Is that chocolate cake?"

Narcissa looked at it cooling on the stove then looked back at Bellatrix. "No, it's lemon."

"Don't go being bitchy with me, Cissy. It's not my fault your husband threw you out."

"He didn't throw me out."

Bella twirled her wand. "I noticed you've been sleeping across the hall."

"He didn't throw me out. I threw myself out."

"Why?"

Narcissa shrugged. She checked the cake again. Not cool enough. Bellatrix again summoned the bowl of icing her way and ate a little more, this time off the spatula her sister had been using to stir. Narcissa stopped her before she stuck it back in.

"You're worse than a child, Bella. Keep out of my icing."

"What good is it if I can't eat it?"

"You can eat it once it's on the cake."

"What if I don't want cake?"

"Please. I know you. You'll want cake. It's chocolate."

"You said it was lemon." Bella smiled. Narcissa couldn't help smiling back.

"I lied."

As soon as the cake was frosted, Bellatrix insisted upon taking a piece, which she brought back to her bedroom, explaining that she needed to check on the baby.

The following day, Friday, the Dark Lord assigned Lucius a new task.

"You have failed me twice. First, when you failed to protect the blank book I'd placed in your possession during the First War. Then, when you failed to retrieve the prophecy. Do not do so again, or it shall be the last thing you do. I do not respond with forgiveness to those who fail me three times."

Narcissa didn't know what Lucius was supposed to be doing or when exactly he'd be back, but she had wished him luck before he left – and she'd packed him a satchel of food, including a sizable piece of the chocolate cake. It was about the nicest gesture she could muster, though she did it out of guilt, not love or loyalty.

Then she'd penned her invite to Severus, hoping he'd spend the night.

He said no.

He said he'd see her tomorrow at Spinner's End instead.

He said they needed to practice Occlumency.

But she needed much more than that.

A/N: Review Responses

Batman from Kawaii – Thanks for your feedback! My intention was for Narcissa to start off weak (but with a snobby exterior) then become stronger over time, leading up to her defiance of the Dark Lord during the Final Battle (sort of the opposite of her sister who seems strong but is ultimately ruled by Voldemort) but your comment made me realize I've probably not had her grow enough to be where she should be at this point, so I moved some later stuff here and fiddled with it with the hope of making her more 'badass' over the next few chapters. I hope it works. If you keep reading, please let me know what you think! Thanks again.

Stefangelina – Sorry! I hope this chapter and the next help to rectify that. I wanted her to have an emotional crisis based on an insecurity/guilt she's been plagued by since Draco was a baby, but my thought is that having it out in the open leads to finally being able to heal and grow from it. I'd like to know what you think after reading the chapters that follow this one (39 & 40). Thanks! :) To your other Q, I edited it to be clearer, but I meant because she's sleeping with two men at the same time, which she views as 'whorish,' because she's having a hard time wanting to be faithful to Severus while also fulfilling her duty as a wife. That'll be more important in Chapter 40 though. I can't stand Lucius at the moment either, which is a problem since he lives and Severus doesn't... *sob*

Harry Hobbit – I don't know where Bella was. Probably doing baby stuff. Lol. Just playin'. Happy Holidays to you, too!

Elphaba – That's precisely what I was going for. She should've seen a Healer, right?!

Guest – Thanks. I hope the Draco explanation answers your question! :)

lala1224 – Thank you! I like the idea of Draco leaving Pansy behind (never liked her… does anyone?) and beginning to form a sweet, more grown up and lasting relationship with Astoria.

Karli1252 – The portraits were my favorite to write. Much fun! Thx!

Everything Hurts – Thanks!

PS: To respond to the note about Narcissa being from a well off family – that's correct, though the way I've constructed the Black sisters' past is that they were born and raised privileged (though certainly not as wealthy as the Malfoys) but after their father's death their mother worried there wasn't enough to keep her in the lifestyle she desired (he hadn't managed his wealth as well has his brother, the father of Sirius and Regulus), thus she remarried for money and security, but upon her second husband's murder, their mother discovered that the girls' stepfather had squandered most of the money, including what her first husband had left, leaving the family with almost nothing. This is partly why it was so important to their mother that her daughters, especially Narcissa, marry wealthy, pureblood men (they didn't want to end up like the Gaunts or others in similar situations, with noble names and nothing to show for it). Anyway, I go into this more in depth in my not-yet-posted fic about their childhood, which is why it's not really a central element here, though I think I alluded to it in this fic a bit and mentioned it in one of the already-posted Bella fics. I might work more in about that here somewhere too. Thx again!

-AL