I do not own Harry Potter
Chapter Fifty One We Hold On To What Is Left
Lucius Malfoy held his sobbing wife close to his heart later that evening. As she clung to him, shaking, distraught and frightened, he could not help but feel a little relieved.
He was not suspected.
Dumbledore could give him all the cold looks he wanted; it was nothing more than the same dislike the old man reserved for all former Death Eaters such as himself.
Poor Severus, he thought, always walking the tightrope of a spy. And a tightrope always has more than enough rope to make a noose. He didn't envy his old friend.
But Lucius' heart was heavy, in spite of his relief. He had not wanted any child to get hurt.
The mudbloods in those beds were unfortunate, but disposable. They would be awoken, and he could console himself with that.
But his wife was hurting, and he had caused it. Even grim-faced Cassiopeia had betrayed her feelings during their discussion in the Hospital Wing. And Caroline – and he hated to say it – but poor Caroline. No woman, not even a muggle, deserved this. Not after everything she had already been through.
And Draco.
He had had to have stern words with the boy. Lucius had heard things about him of late that he had not liked. The boy could not cry in public. But at least he had stopped asking about the Chamber of Secrets, now that Lucius had told him that it had been opened once before, long before he was a student.
He kissed his wife's forehead, "I'll do everything to put this right, dearest."
She nodded, "I know you will, you always do."
"And I am so sorry."
"For what?"
"For everything. For every time I have failed you and caused you pain."
She shook her head and held him tighter, "We never speak of those times for a reason, because I have long ago forgiven and forgotten."
...
A day later, Hermione Granger sat in the library, surrounded by books. Every book on all serpent and serpent-related magic and the history of serpents and serpent magic that Hogwarts held was now organised into a list of relevance and importance. She would go through them one by one. She would work out what was happening, even if it was the last thing she ever did.
This couldn't go on any longer.
She never thought that she would see the day when she pitied Draco Malfoy. But she did. She felt sorry for him.
...
It was a cold afternoon. The sun was shining, but the air was freezing. Icicles hung from the archway and although the paths had been cleared, snow covered the grass. A few owls flew overhead, most of them carrying letters home. There had been far more post of late than normal, as parents were desperate to know that their children were safe. Wizarding Britain was teetering on the precipice of mass hysteria. It was rumoured that the Prophet would be running a story soon, even though the Blacks had been trying to keep it out of the papers.
Draco sat alone in the courtyard, reading a long letter from his mother. He rubbed the back of his head and set his jaw. He wouldn't cry anymore. His father had said he must not cry.
Draco massaged his aching neck. He was not sleeping well. Whatever Maia had Seen, had made her run out into the hallway. She would never have been attacked if she had been alone. Of that he was certain.
It was that stupid mudblood's fault.
Ernie could cry all he wanted. Ernie could feel bad for his mudblood all he wanted.
Ernie was soft. Ernie was a traitor.
Draco Malfoy was not a traitor.
And Draco Malfoy did not get cross, he got even.
Justin Finch-Fletchley would live to regret the day he brought harm to Maia Black.
Justin Finch-Fletchley would be punished for bringing pain to the House of Malfoy.
...
It was very late. Lucius slept soundly in the bed next to her, but Narcissa lay awake. It had been three days.
She couldn't quite believe that it had been that long already, even though the days had dragged by. She'd written to Draco so many times that Lucius had finally told her to stop mothering him, although he always thought the was mothering him. A small, sad smile passed across her face.
Poor Caroline, she really didn't deserve this. And Narcissa felt sorry for herself. She was certain that she didn't deserve this either. What had she done that was so very terrible that she was fated to watch her family fall apart and suffer around her over and over again?
She felt like a child once more, and not in a good way. She remembered when Andromeda ran away, when she, Narcissa, had still been in Hogwarts. It had been painful. All she had wanted then was her mother's arms around her and her sister back. But Andromeda had never come back and all Narcissa had got were the stern words that Andromeda was as good as dead to them, and that if she, Narcissa, ever brought such shame on the House of Black, the same fate would befall her.
Narcissa rolled over onto her back and sat up in bed. She reached over for the wand on her bedside table, and summoned her shawl to her. Wrapping it tightly around herself, she stood up and slipped her feet into the soft slippers waiting for her. The night air was cool and it was clear that winter was drawing near.
She crept out of the room – careful not to wake her sleeping husband who was being so kind to Caroline and so helpful to Cassiopeia – and walked along the corridors. It felt good to walk. It was more relaxing to move than to lie awake in frustration.
She went to the library and opened the window, breathing deeply. The fresh air calmed her more. On the desk was an unfinished letter, the same one she had started every morning and left unfinished every night. She had burned each attempt thus far, and started anew every morning.
Her relationship with her mother had not been good for a few years. They had been strained ever since she had allowed – no, encouraged – Draco to befriend Maia. They had been tense ever since she had allowed – no, wanted – Maia to become Heir over Draco. They had not spoken since Uncle Marius had died.
She looked down and read the letter again. She shook her head and screwed it into a tight ball. That would never do. Sighing, she sat down at the desk and hoped that perhaps the stillness of the night would help her. The rest of the world was asleep, and now it was just her and the paper and the quill and the ink. There would be no interruptions.
Dear Mother,
I write first to assure you that Draco, Lucius and I are all well. As we have not corresponded these past months, to inform you of this is my first duty as a daughter.
I write also to inform you that a great tragedy has befallen the House of Black. You may have heard the rumours, but if not, then I must tell you that muggleborns are being attacked in Hogwarts. They are saying that the Chamber of Secrets has been opened. A few days ago, our Heir, Maia Violetta Black, was attacked. She is currently Petrified in this Hospital Wing. I know that you are not fond or her, and that you disapprove of her, but surely you must understand the pain it must cause all of us to know that one of our own, one of our family, even if they are a half blood, has been attacked?
Under these circumstances, I cannot bear to be on bad terms with you. Family is the most important thing, you always taught me that, and I wish to repair our relationship. In times like this, we must present a united front.
Yours in blood,
Narcissa Malfoy, Lady of the House of Malfoy, Daughter of the House of Black.
She nodded abruptly to herself, and summoned Dobby to deliver it for her. It was now or never. She would only lose her nerve or find a sentence which displeased her in the morning, and then the letter would never be sent.
...
As she had done many times before, Caroline left the room admiring Cassiopeia's energy. She had thrown herself into organising the dispatch of Aurors to Hogwarts. It was a plan still in process, and needed ministerial approval, but Caroline had no doubt that Cassiopeia would secure it. Cassiopeia had also agreed that arrangements should be made for muggle parents to visit their children. As it stood, they could neither locate nor travel to Hogwarts. Cassiopeia had doubted that they had the means to even contact the school. It was something that would have to change, thought Caroline to herself. Although she understood that this was not Cassiopeia's top priority. She was not always the most open-minded woman when she came to muggles, though Caroline was sure that she was also not as close-minded as she was inclined to act. If she was so short-sighted, the two of them would not live together as they did. She was sure.
Caroline wandered up to Maia's room. The trunk sat, untouched, at the foot of her bed. The roses in her window were black, as was the vase. It was as if the room was in mourning, though she knew it was Trixie who had picked them. The poor house elf was so distraught that she had needed two doses of calming draught.
Caroline ran her hand along the bedpost, and knelt before the trunk. She breathed in deeply when she lifted the lid, imagining that a part of Maia was in there.
She lifted out each of the books in turn, tracing the lettering and the binding. She read through Maia's notes from class; she had such beautiful writing. She wrote exactly like Cassiopeia, exactly like Marius. She supposed they had all been taught the same way. Her own handwriting was just as curly, but a lot less neat.
Caroline picked up the star chart and spread it out in front of her, searching for the Taurus constellation.
She sighed, seeing the school robes that came next. But she smiled to herself, at least going through all of Maia's things gave her something to do. And at least she knew that Maia would be coming back to her in the end.
She would hold on to that.
...
Hello! Things are getting very busy with work at the moment, so from now on, I plan to have regular updates every Monday and try and follow a set pattern. I've been thinking that shorter (but regular) chapters are probably the best course of action, but let me know what you think of this. : )
