Friday, 13 November 1981
"Dada," Draco cooed in delight when Lucius drifted into the dining room a quarter of an hour after breakfast had begun. Narcissa watched him carefully as he moved, unsmiling, around the table, touching his son's blond head with absentminded affection before taking his own seat.
"You didn't come to bed last night," Narcissa said quietly. It was the fifth night in a row he'd failed to do so. There was no accusation in her tone, just gentle concern. "Did you get any sleep at all?"
"Ah... an hour or two in my study," he muttered, groping for a few slices of dry toast. She watched with some consternation as he took a bite and began to chew slowly, staring blindly at the headline of the morning Prophet. Despite the fact that nothing it contained was news to him— he was well informed and aware of captures and arrests before the general public— she still had an elf lay it out each morning for a sense of normalcy. Nearly a minute had passed and his glazed eyes were still fixed on the front page headline as he continued to chew the same bland bite of toast, his hands resting in loose fits on the table. With a surge of something between anxiety and pity, Narcissa wordlessly slid his plate towards her to spread bitter orange marmalade— his favourite— on the bread and then pushed it back in front of him. When he finally took a second bite, he did not seem to notice the difference.
"I'd like to go see my sister today," she murmured after the silence had stretched on to a nearly unbearable length. "If you think that's alright. She sent an owl last night saying that they were back at Vengeson, for the day at least."
"Erm..." Lucius dragged his gaze to her face at last, blinking as he considered her words. "Yes, that's probably a good idea. Take a carriage and go directly there and then come straight back. Leave Draco here." His instructions were mechanical. "Find out where they've been over the past two weeks, and what they've learned."
Fourteen days prior, the Dark Lord had vanished. Two days after that, Igor Karkaroff had been arrested. This news had sent Lucius to his study to begin combing through records of their correspondence to seek any extant incriminating evidence linking them. Karkaroff had been found in the company of Antonin Dolohov, a known Death Eater who had been on the run since the killing of the Prewett twins several months prior, and both were sent to Azkaban without trial.
Ten days ago, Evan Rosier had died at the hands of Alastor Moody. It was a mercy that Lucius had been able to learn the news before it was published, as he could consequently tell Narcissa of her cousin's death in private and permit her to cope however she saw fit. She had thanked him for letting her know and departed at once to inform her mother; she'd spent the day at Grimsden Hall with her parents but returned by suppertime, perfectly composed albeit quite pale.
Seven days hence, Lucius had begun sending a series of carefully worded missives to a number of key members of the Ministry. Ostensibly these owls made no demands, but each was an elegantly crafted and flawlessly executed reminder; be it of a favor he'd once bestowed upon the recipient, or a sensitive piece of personal information he possessed, or, in one or two instances, of harm that might still befall the family of the reader should Lucius be implicated in any testimony regarding the Dark Lord and brought before the Wizengamot.
This letter writing campaign had not yet reached its conclusion, and was the thing keeping him in such a state of preoccupation. Though he was by now confident that he had secured a majority in his favour should he be brought up on charges, this was only a failsafe— it was essential that he not be brought before the court and the Malfoy name remain pristine. He held no sway with Crouch and dared not attempt to curry the older man's good graces at such an uncertain time, but he was still able to find new allies outside of the Auror department who were not afraid of of Crouch. The Head of the Improper Use of Magic had reached out to him, entirely unsolicited, offering her opinion that she thought it "just simply dreadful that old, respectable families such as ours are being scrutinised so closely; being anti-Muggle is hardly the same as supporting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, after all!" Though he'd frowned at the hideous rose-colored letterhead, and was fairly confident the only other Umbridge he'd ever heard of had been a low-level worker in the Department of Magical Maintenance, he was hardly in a position to eschew aid from any Ministry sympathiser and he'd sent her a reply that was polite enough to nearly be construed at friendly.
Lucius was shaken from his musings by a shuffling near his elbow. "Master, these is just arriving in the post for you, sir."
He snatched the parchments from his elf and read over them quickly, his attention suddenly sharp and focussed. He swore quietly under his breath and rose to his feet to leave; Narcissa gave the neglected toast a worried glance. Food and rest seemed no longer to rank amongst her husband's priorities, but she was certain he could not continue at this pace.
"Lucius..." she began haltingly, and stood as well. "I've invited a few people over this evening for supper, but if you aren't feeling up to it I'll cancel."
At once his brow drew downward sharply into a scowl. "I've told you it's too risky to be gathering in any numbers right now for no perceivable reason. And your social calendar is not quite a valid enough cause. Cancel it." He turned and resumed his exit from the chamber.
"But there is a reason," she insisted quickly, wiping a smear of mashed fruit from Draco's chin before lifting him to her hip and following Lucius from the dining room. "It's your birthday."
He scarcely paused at these words. "I'm not really in the mood to celebrate," he snapped dismissively.
"I didn't think you'd want to celebrate," she responded, tone remarkably level in the face of his coldness. "But you'd mentioned wanting to speak openly with Severus and Edward and finding no way to do so that was impervious to interception. I thought this could be the entirely free-from-suspicion opportunity to do so." She pressed her lips together then added, "I sent them invitations to a surprise party. If the owls were intercepted, the reader would not be inclined to believe you were even aware they'd be visiting."
Lucius stared at her for several seconds, then gave a bitter crack of laughter. "A surprise—? Circe, I'm not turning six." And then he added with a glimmer of genuine amusement, the first she'd seen in a fortnight: "Besides, those two must be the most miserable pair of party guests..." he broke off with a sigh, his good humour lasting only for a flash. "Yes, very well, I do need to speak to both of them in private. Will there be anyone else?"
She shook her head. "I thought I would wait to see how things went this afternoon before inviting the Lestranges."
He nodded once, tersely, and disappeared into his study without a word of farewell. With a small sigh, Narcissa called for an elf to ready a carriage and then send the single remaining nurse to her study to fetch Draco. Lucius had wanted to let the woman go following the Dark Lord's demise— he'd always mistrusted outsiders in his home even when they had far less reason to hide— but Narcissa had persuaded him that the timing would be suspect and he eventually agreed. As a compromise she increased her efforts to assume the entirety of Draco's care so he never had to see the witch at all, and she did not find it burdensome to do so, though on occasions such as this she was grateful for the additional assistance.
Alone on the hour-long flight to Cumbria, Narcissa tried not to allow her thoughts to run amok. She wished fervently that she had her son with her, he was a constant source of comfort, but understood that it would have been unwise to risk his well-being around so volatile a pair as her sister and brother-in-law in such a state. These past two weeks she had been trying her utmost to remain calm and dispassionate for the sake of her husband, setting aside her own feelings until his security was assured, but in times of stillness her nerves felt like a thread stretched too taut, liable to snap at any moment.
When she arrived at the ancestral Lestrange house in the Lakes there was no answer to her knock, but when she tried the handle she was rather surprised to see that the wards permitted her entrance. The entry hall was dark and no elf appeared at her tentative call of greeting, but down the corridor a door stood ajar and she approached it with caution.
"Here for tea, Cissy?" Bellatrix's snide voice drifted through parlour.
Narcissa had never seen her sister looking so terrible. Her hair was wild and unwashed, and deep shadows ringed her eyes. She was muttering alternately to herself and Rodolphus, pacing back and forth in the darkened room. Rodolphus didn't look much better: his elbows rested on his knees and his head in his hands, a growing pile of cigarette butts at his feet and a pile of maps and parchments at his side.
"I came to see... how you are," she answered hesitantly, slipping fully into the chamber. "You left the gala so suddenly and I was concerned... I hoped I might be able to offer my aid if you are still... distressed."
"You're no use to me, little sister," she sighed impatiently, waving a dismissive hand. Narcissa met this announcement with an expressionless inclination of her chin and settled herself onto a nearby divan. After a few moments, Bellatrix continued to speak. "Now, if there was any way you could persuade your idiot of a husband that he's made a terrible mistake... but I suppose that would be asking too much of his affections towards you," she mumbled, half to herself, carelessly discounting whatever regard he held for his wife as sufficient motivation to change his stance.
"Lucius will do anything I tell him to," Narcissa replied softly, with a darkly quiet confidence that made Bellatrix go still and Rodolphus raise haggard eyes to her face.
"Then Cissy, you must help!" Belltrix cried, flinging herself across the room to fall onto the settee beside her sister. "You must help us make him see sense."
Narcissa stared at her, countenance carefully neutral. "And what exactly do you think is 'sense,' Bella?"
"We must find him. We must find the Dark Lord. He isn't gone Cissy, I can feel it. Someone out there has the answers; the Order of the Phoenix, or Auror department, someone knows something and we have to find out. With Lucius's connections in the Ministry he can interrogate top officials there while Rodolphus and Rabastan and I hunt down the remaining Order members—"
Narcissa was unmoved. "He's gone, Bella. I know you're disappointed but I certainly won't ask Lucius to jeopardise his position and his liberty by torturing the Minister for information. Things are tenuous enough as it is, everyone knows the Malfoy family has long championed blood purity." Her hard features softened at her next words. "We have Draco to think about too. It isn't just what Lucius or I want, we have a son we need to raise. What if Lucius were imprisoned, and I had to bring Draco up alone and with the disgrace of—"
"But Cissy," Bellatrix cut in, unable to hold back any longer and seizing Narcissa by her arms. "Any wealth or respectability you manage to maintain will mean nothing, nothing, when the Dark Lord returns. He'll punish Lucius, perhaps even kill him for denying his allegiance, for neglecting to search for him. Don't you understand? A term in Azkaban is well-worth—"
"No!" Narcissa cried, jerking free of her sister's grasp. Bellatrix blinked at her in surprise; she couldn't remember a time since early childhood that her youngest sister had raised her voice. "Enough of this! Nothing is worth a life sentence with the Dementors, going mad for a man who has vanished without a trace. I may not be able to tell you what to decide for yourself, but I can tell you that I will do everything in my power to keep my son out of harm's way. If I thought you would take my advice I would suggest that you do as my husband has chosen to and lie low, deny culpability, and wait for the next viable opportunity to promote a pureblood agenda."
Bellatrix rose to her feet and began pacing once more. "Well, we'll still seek him out," she muttered, turning inwards once more. Then, glancing back to her sister, "and you're only Lucius's wife, you're my blood, the Dark Lord may spare you if I beg for your life, though I can't say the same for Draco; naturally he would punish the son of the transgressor—"
"Are you… are you threatening my son?" Her voice had gone very quiet, and her face very white. "Let me make something clear to you, Bellatrix. I would burn the Ministry of Magic to the ground with every member still inside to protect Draco. And I would kill your precious Dark Lord with my own two hands for his sake." The notion of Narcissa having the power to do such a thing was preposterous, but no one laughed; she looked capable of anything in that moment. "My politics stop at the door to my home— my true loyalties lie within and with no one and nothing else."
The ringing slap of Bellatrix's hand against her sister's cheek was met only with further silence from the blonde. "You will not say such things before me, Narcissa. He will rise again, and you'll live to regret your blasphemy."
"Evan is dead for your cause," she spat. "Regulus too— have you forgotten? How much of your heart are you willing to cut away for this man, Bellatrix? Enough is enough. I know I cannot stop you, but I wish I could; and I will not tell Lucius to throw away his life and his name chasing ghosts. I would never encourage him to tear our family apart."
Bellatrix sneered. "Regulus and Evan's deaths were unfortunate but worthy. You always did cling to your pitiful little notions of the perfect storybook romance. But you're an adult now, how can you be so... so stupid as to not realise that there are things in life that are more important? You want him at your side, why— to protect you? He will be crushed like the worm that he is if he fails to act in support of the Dark Lord now."
"By whom, exactly? You cannot deny the Dark Lord is gone. And what trace of him have you uncovered in the past two weeks of searching?"
Bellatrix's lips curled back into a snarl, and for the first time, Rodolphus spoke. "We're confident he isn't in Great Britain any longer. We've scoured forests and towns for any trace of his magic, and it seems very certain that he's left the country. But all that means is that we need to expand the search." His tone was oddly flat, and he took a long drag of his cigarette after he finished speaking.
"Expand it— to what? The rest of the globe? You could spend a lifetime hunting and you don't even know that he's alive!"
"It would be a lifetime well spent," Bellatrix hissed, passion flaring once more. Narcissa could not help but to shake her head in wonder.
"Lucius thinks the Potter boy must be imbued with some sort of previously unknown Dark power," Narcissa divulged, desperate to say anything that might pierce her sister's blind and obsessive fealty. "Instead of wasting decades hunting for a man who may or may not still live, you could wait until the child comes of age, devote yourself to a stronger leader."
"Lucius is a fool," Bellatrix spat dismissively. "There is no wizard more powerful, certainly not an infant. You'd so blindly side with him over your own sister?"
Narcissa smiled then; an odd, chilling smile as she rose slowly to her feet. When she spoke, her tone was light. "I apologise if I have somehow failed to make myself clear: I would choose him over anyone else in the world. Every time." She turned towards the door with an unpleasant laugh. "And honestly, Bella? It isn't even close."
Bellatrix stunned expression quickly morphed into fury. "Faithless to your own blood," she growled. "Just like her."
The blonde's expression hardened to fury, as it always did at the mention of their former sister. "Do not dare to compare me to Andromeda," she hissed. "I have never wavered in my beliefs and values." Narcissa inclined her chin slightly, challenge flaring in her eyes. "You swore you fought for blood purity and the protection of our way of life. There's no reason why you must cease to do so. You mock me for devotion to a living, breathing husband? You have your own, you know," she nodded in the direction of where Rodolphus sat, but did not spare him a glance. "You could still have a child, or children, and Rabastan could still ask for Ghada's hand, and life could still go on... but it won't for you, will it? Because the devotion that you claim to deride exists in you as well, and has devoured you, but not for your husband, not for ideology, but for a man you though was a god but who has died at the hands of an infant! And now you will fling yourself upon his funereal pyre, destroy any chance of a future for yourself. Of course I cannot support your decision. Of course I would never ask my husband to do the same."
Bellatrix's face was very white and her wild eyes starkly black, and for a moment Narcissa thought she would attack her once more. Instead she merely continued to stare, and when she spoke at last, her words were quiet.
"Then we have reached an impasse," she announced slowly. "I don't think we'll see each other again for a long while," Bellatrix told her, the words edged with a threat and, Narcissa believed, genuine sorrow. Bella raised her hand slowly, and Narcissa remained still and alert, only her blue eyes moving as her sister carefully stroked the cheek she'd slapped just minutes before. "Sweet Cissy," she murmured, and then she did something Narcissa could not recall her doing for many years: she surged forward and embraced her. For a moment she was too stunned to react— this was, by far, more shocking then being struck by Bellatrix— but eventually Narcissa raised her arms to rest them around the other woman's waist. The elder of the two was holding on far too tightly, clinging much too fiercely, and she whispered harshly, "Take care of yourself, little sister. You don't have to let Malfoy drag you down with him. You have other options." Then she added gruffly, "and I didn't mean it; you aren't like her. I just never thought I would lose you too."
Narcissa wanted to scream that Bellatrix was losing nothing; rather, she was choosing to throw away her family and her life— but she did not wish to argue any longer, and merely brushed a peck to her cheek as she pulled away. "Goodbye, Bellatrix," she replied softly, and there was no way to escape the finality of her words.
If she found the outbound trip difficult, it was nothing compared to the return; Narcissa wept for nearly the first half, but by the time the time she arrived back at the Manor she had herself very much under control. The blotchy redness had either faded or been charmed away and her expression was severe and implacable when she descended from the carriage and sought her husband within their home. It would be of use to no one for him to see her in a state of despair.
When she entered it took Lucius a moment to tear his eyes from the parchment before him. Narcissa was standing in the doorway, drawn to her full height and shoulders squared with a fierce expression on her regal face, its severity accentuated by her pulled-back hair. Clearly she had just returned from her visit to the Lake District, as she still wore her kidskin traveling gloves and dove grey overcloak. He set his quill aside and sat back, wordlessly inviting her to enter. At once she stormed across the study, but did not take a seat across from him or before the hearth. Instead she skirted the desk to come stand directly beside him, her eyes flashing and jaw set, and before he could articulate a query, she took his face in both her hands and kissed him.
It was a hard, demanding kiss, and he was unprepared for it. Her fingertips dug into his jaw and her mouth pressed bruisingly to his. She seemed to be trying to tell him something, or perhaps ask something of him, but she did not linger long enough for him to learn precisely what that was.
She straightened back up and took half a step back. "The Lestranges will not be joining us this evening," she informed him stiffly, placing his quill back in his hand and sweeping from the room.
It was past midnight when Lucius soundlessly entered his bedroom. He saw at once that Narcissa had tried to wait up for him: she lay half-furled on top of the duvet and propped nearly into a seated position by pillows, her long legs bare in the short, silky slip that he was certain was newly purchased but he was in no mood to appreciate it. Her blonde hair spilled around her shoulders, and a book lay open on her stomach. The glow from her lumos charm had not even entirely faded, casting a faint golden hue and creating a chiaroscuro effect over the scene. She was, however, indubitably sound asleep: lips slightly parted as she snored softly. Had his face had not felt leaden he might have smiled at finding her like this, but instead he went to the bath to get ready to sleep in his bed for the first time in nearly a week.
He was quiet, but still his movements still woke her, as she was sitting upright and the book had been set aside when he emerged. Though she watched him with large, questioning eyes, Lucius did not speak as he moved around to the opposite side of the bed and collapsed onto it was a soft groan. Narcissa rolled over at once to stroke the platinum strands from his forehead, nails scratching lightly against his scalp as she leaned over him. He could have fallen asleep in that instant, but forced himself to share the information she was waiting for.
"I don't believe they're at risk of arrest. Dumbledore still believes Severus is loyal to the Order and will protect him." This did not explain why Snape had looked even worse than Lucius felt, but he assumed it was because the younger man had lost his only hope for power with the fall of the Dark Lord. Lucius and Nott, at the very least, had gold and old Pureblood names to fall back on, but Severus, who had been rising swiftly through the ranks and poised to become a widely renowned and respected warlock, was now relegated to relative obscurity once more. "An Auror stopped by to ask Nott some questions last week but didn't seem to have anything concrete." Nott had supported the Dark Lord for longer than any Death Eater still living, it was natural that he would fall under some suspicion. Still, if no specific crime could be tied to the older man, and he very much doubted one could, as Nott was experienced and cautious, he could not be charged merely for being known to be friendly with the wizard once known as Tom Riddle.
"Good," she murmured, pressing her lips tenderly along his cheek and jawline. The hand that had been raking through his hair moved lower, her fingertips skating gently down his throat and chest and then, after a split second hesitation, to his navel.
"Ah... darling," he sighed regretfully, capturing her wrist before she could move any lower and hardly believing the words coming out of his mouth. "I'm exhausted."
"I understand," she agreed at once, sounding a bit embarrassed as she withdrew. "I thought only that I might be able to help you relax," she added shyly. He wanted to reassure her that under normal circumstances he would be thrilled to take her up on such an offer, but was asleep before the words could leave his lips.
In the cover of darkness Narcissa flushed slightly in the face of his rejection— the first of its kind, perhaps, that she'd ever experienced. So inured had she become over the years to his physical attentions (even when other sorts might be lacking), the sudden withdrawal of them caused her greater distress than she was willing to admit. She felt a stab of sudden fury: at the Dark Lord, at the Ministry, at the Potters, at her sister, at everyone and everything that had seemingly conspired to bring her husband to such a state.
But anger was not productive, and she took several slow, deep breaths to suppress it. For the sake of her husband and her son, she would remain unaffected by the events of the past few weeks. She would present the same graceful and serene face to the world that she had spent so many years of her life perfecting. She would not let herself consider her dead cousins, or what horrors might be yet to come. The last thing she wished to do was add her own distress to her husband's list of concerns.
When Lucius woke the next morning, he was rather surprised to find his wife resting her cheek on his chest and arm around his waist. They never slept so entangled, under normal circumstances it was hardly conducive to a restful night, and he imagined only his immense exhaustion had allowed him to sleep despite her nearness. Still, he pressed a brief kiss to the crown of her head before carefully disengaging and dressing for the grey day ahead.
Thursday, 3 December 1981
"Mistress... Dobby is very sorry to disturb you, but there is a visitor for Master."
Narcissa frowned down at the elf, annoyed to be interrupted for something so trivial. "Lucius isn't here. Have the visitor wait in the parlour. You should know what is to be done when we have guests," she added shortly. It was standard procedure: she would no sooner think to entertain her husband's callers than he would sit down to a luncheon with her acquaintances.
"Yes, but, Mistress..." the bat-eared creature shifted its weight nervously from one foot to the other. "It is a very important visitor. It is the Minister for Magic, Mistress."
Narcissa sat up at once, eyebrows arching in surprise and then dropping into a scowl. "You should have mentioned that to begin with, Dobby!" She rose to her feet. "Go find Lucius, wherever he is, and tell him he must return home at once. I'll go sit with her in the meantime. Hurry!" She glanced quickly into the mirror above the marble fireplace to ensure she was presentable. It was well past the expected time for callers— she'd finished supper over an hour ago, alone in the dining room yet again— and she tried to remain calm as she hurried towards the formal parlour. Before pushing open the doors she inhaled deeply and then fixed a bright expression on her face.
"Minister Bagnold, it's a pleasure to meet you. I know we haven't been introduced, I hope you can forgive my presumption, but my husband is out of the house at the moment and I did not want to keep you waiting. I've sent the elf to fetch him and I'm sure he'll be along shortly. Can I offer you tea? Or perhaps a glass of wine, given the late hour?" Her tone was warm without sounding obsequious, and the older woman nodded somewhat uneasily.
"Tea would be fine. Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy, it is lovely to meet you at last."
Narcissa gracefully summoned a tea service and poured a cup for the Minister before taking a seat across from her. "Now, let us not speak of politics," she begged with a charming smile, "as you will find me woefully ignorant by comparison to your own knowledge on the subject. Tell me, are you by any chance related to the Cassandra Bagnold that married Everett Burke?"
"Cassandra was, I believe, my second cousin once removed."
"I thought you must be! My great-great aunt Belvina Black was married to Herbert Burke, Everett's father. Such a small world we share!"
Millicent offered only a slightly strained smile in response, and seeing common genealogy would gain her no ground, Narcissa tactfully changed topics. "I know you must be dreadfully busy, but do you enjoy the theatre on your off evenings?"
"I haven't had an off evening for years," Millicent replied rather shortly, but perhaps noticing how rudely the reply might be construed, added, "but I've enjoyed it in the past, yes. Truth be told though I only like the comedies, and I'm more of a sport enthusiast. I prefer my entertainment to be a bit mindless and cheerful, given everything else going on."
"Ah, Quidditch, of course." Narcissa looked slightly crestfallen at this news but pressed on determinedly. "And what team do you favour?"
"I've been a Pride of Portree supporter since I was a young girl," Millicent replied, at last giving a true grin despite herself. "I used to go to all their home games with my father and brother."
"Oh, how lovely," Narcissa answered with a smile of her own. "I'm sure they're thrilled to have your support these days."
"Aye, if only I had a spare moment to see a game, I suppose my seats would be a fair bit better now!" she chuckled and took a sip of tea. "Who do you support?"
"Erm…" Narcissa raised her teacup to her lips as well to buy a moment, mind scrambling desperately to produce the name of a team, any team, but coming up blank. Mercifully, Millicent misread her hesitation and laughed once more.
"Don't tell me— the Magpies! Sworn nemeses of the Prides. Well, I reckon you're in good company, they're of course the reigning champions, but I prefer to root for an underdog."
Narcissa was spared the task of answering by the arrival of her husband. Lucius swept into the room, still in his traveling cloak, cheeks pink from the frigid night air and looking carefully calm. Millicent's smile evaporated at once, a fact that did not go unnoticed by either Malfoy as Narcissa rose to her feet.
"Millicent— er, Minister Bagnold, my apologies for keeping you waiting. I hope you haven't been here long."
"Not at all," she replied, sounding discomfited once more. Lucius had unfastened his cloak and Narcissa eased it helpfully from his shoulders to take with her as she departed the room, when much to her surprise he pressed a swift peck to her cheek. His lips were cold.
"I think I heard Draco, will you look in on him?" he asked in an undertone clearly meant to be overheard. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak as panic began to well in her chest— this display of domesticity was for the Minister's benefit, and she feared that if he felt the need to put on such a wholesome charade, Bagnold was in their home for precisely the reason she had dreaded.
When Narcissa had left the room, Lucius called for a bottle of scotch and two glasses. "I suppose Narcissa only thought to offer tea?" he asked jocularly, the casual tone sounding only slightly forced. Millicent shook her head.
"Unfortunately I'm here on business, despite the late hour, so I can't have a drink with you." Her words were tight.
"This, from the woman who would defy the Statute of Secrecy for... was it our 'right to party,' I believe the Prophet reported? For shame." Lucius could only muster a half-smile as he poured himself a measure and took a deep gulp. "So, what business brings you to Wiltshire tonight?"
"Oh for Circe's sake Lucius, you know why I'm here." She rubbed her face and stared at him looking both angry and forlorn but mostly exhausted. "I've considered you a friend for a long time which is why I've come in person, after working hours, but I can't keep hiding testimonies from the press. Three people have named you complicit in crimes I can't even begin to fathom, and it's been all I could do to keep Crouch from storming the Manor and dragging you in for trial."
Lucius's face remained inscrutable for several moments. "Who, pray tell, is making these accusations?"
Millicent exhaled sharply. "I shouldn't be telling you this. Oh Merlin… just pour me a glass." She gestured impatiently at the scotch and Lucius acquiesced, his expression remaining very still. "The first was a werewolf called Conrad Bisclavret— most of his testimony was against Fenrir Greyback, but he mentioned meeting you once when he was with Greyback."
Lucius's knuckles were white around his tumbler but his tone was remarkably light. "You're taking the world of a half-breed?"
"No, his claims outside of accusations made against fellow werewolves were largely dismissed. It's well known that werewolves resent wizardkind, any testimony must be considered biased by nature. But the other two…"
Lucius tilted his glass thoughtfully, watching the way the viscous golden liquid moved lazily from one side to the other. "Anyone I know?" he asked mildly, as though the answer were of no consequence to him whatsoever.
"A... a Muggle-born witch who swears it was you who killed her family... her Muggle family, she said it happened years ago, in '76, she came to see them and just as she arrived she saw you cast the Dark Mark and Disapparate... the family wasn't just killed, Lucius, but maimed in unspeakable ways. Brother beheaded, nieces and nephews killed, sister-in-law brutalised in horrific..." she broke off in a strangled voice and Lucius said nothing as he remembered the scene. It had been February of 1976, to be precise, and of course the violence had been largely Rodolphus's doing, but Rodolphus had left shortly before he had. The only reason the night even stood out to him, however, was because it was one of the first days Narcissa had lived with him in the London house; they'd very nearly consummated their marriage before he'd been called away.
"I cannot pretend I hold any fondness for Muggles, Millicent, but it gives me no pleasure to pick them apart as you've described," he drawled, and there was nothing but truth in the statement. The Minister nodded fervently.
"Of course, and she was naturally so distraught at what she found it would be hard to believe her account was untainted by emotion. She admitted that she had been at Hogwarts with you and you two hadn't gotten on well, I wonder if she wasn't just naming one of the few wizards she knew was from an old family and had a contentious relationship with. She said she was too frightened to come forward while she believed you to be under You-Know-Who's protection but now that he's gone..."
"I can imagine what sort of trauma that might inflict upon the mind," Lucius answered, the flippancy of his tone somewhat mitigated by the intensity of his stare. In truth he'd had no warm relationship with any Mudblood in his life, and he he could not imagine which one had so offended the Dark Lord that he'd ordered her family slain. In truth, it did not matter. "You said there were three accusers?"
"Yes." She took a large slug of scotch before blurting, "Gilbert Abbott is the third."
Lucius tilted his chin in acknowledgement, but knew at once he needed to tread far more cautiously here. The Abbotts were not just a pureblooded family— they too were one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
"Is that so?" he asked with delicate slowness. "I daresay I haven't seen Gilbert Abbott in a year or so, I trust he's doing well?" His mind was racing before Millicent could respond. He had not seen Gilbert and Selene Abbott at any of their events for years— but they used to attend, he was sure of it. And the rest of his wife's family, the Fawleys, were still very much involved in their social circle, which meant that something had happened to cause the Abbotts specifically to stop, to create a distance, if he could pinpoint the last time they'd been at the Manor he could narrow it down, Narcissa would of course know immediately...
But Millicent spared him the trouble. "Gilbert, well... he was very diplomatic, of course, naturally he wouldn't think to file an official report at this stage. He only mentioned that he was departing a Michaelmas celebration from your house in London when he unmistakably saw You-Know-Who enter the premise. And then apparently his wife confirmed to him that you had expressed a good deal of support for the Death Eaters in her presence."
His eyes slid closed briefly to disguise the flare of frustration in them. It was true that he did know, or at least at one time had known, Selene quite well— they'd been in the same house and year. They'd slept together on more than one occasion during their school days. He was certain that she had not intentionally shared her thoughts with her husband out of concern or fear, but the woman simply never ceased speaking. Undoubtedly Gilbert had needed only to casually question her on what she knew of Lucius or his political leanings and she would have blithely informed him of every anti-Muggle sentiment Lucius had ever expressed in her presence, and every favourable mention of the Dark Lord. Particularly during his time at Hogwarts, before he'd actually be involved with the Death Eaters, he'd had no qualms in vocally approving of their aims and methods.
"I can't say I recall ever hosting the Dark Lord at any social event," he replied at last, selecting his words with care. "Although, I suppose... that would be expected, would it not?"
Millicent frowned, not following his line of reasoning, so he went on.
"If I had been visited by the Dark Lord," he clarified, "it seems unlikely that I would recall such an event. Memory loss is a common side effect of the Imperius Curse, is it not?"
A strange look flittered across Bagnold's face: surprise, comprehension, and relief. Whether she truly believed in the veracity of his claim was immaterial; she wanted to believe him, and so she chose to do so.
"You... you think yourself to be under the effects of the Imperius Curse?"
"Well, what other explanation could there be?" And then, before she could respond, added sternly: "Tell me, was Dorcas Meadowes so vilely slandered upon witnesses spying the Dark Lord entering her house?"
Millicent blinked, confused. "Dorcas Meadowes was murdered. Horribly."
"And it would seem I and my family were fortunate not to have met the same fate, though we came quite close," he replied vehemently. "What purpose could a Dark wizard have for entering the homes of decent people but malfeasance? It is true that I am not dead, and my wife and son unharmed, thank Merlin, but how near were we to death? How fortunate are we to have avoided tragedy?"
After only a split second of hesitation, she nodded in agreement. "Very fortunate. I must say I feel reassured to hear you claim innocence, Lucius," she told him somewhat haltingly. Her eyes seemed to settle on everything in the room except his face. Now that he had answered the accusations, Millicent did not seem significantly more at ease. Lucius supposed that the overwhelming desire to trust his words was insufficient to entirely quash the kernel of conviction that he was guilty of all of these and much, much more. He wondered how many others would feel the same unease. In no way was he distressed to see her inner turmoil. If anything, it was gratifying to know that the Minister for Magic herself would prefer to swallow his subterfuge without protest rather than rely upon her own reliable instincts on the matter. It spoke to the power of the Malfoy name and gold. Moreover she could rest easier in her mind knowing she had accepted aid and friendship from a decent man bewitched rather than an unrepentant killer. Most would chose this easier path over the truth.
It would not, however, be of any benefit for him to keep her here now that he had all the information she could or would give, and she had heard his response.
"I am deeply gladdened to hear that you bear me no ill-will. However it's getting rather late, and I should—"
"Right," she agreed hurriedly, rising to her feet at once. "But Lucius, you must go tell Crouch what you've told me tonight. As soon as possible."
"I will pay him a visit first thing in the morning," he assured her smoothly, leading her towards his study to use his private floo. "I do appreciate you taking the time to come here in person, Millicent," he added quietly as they stood by the hearth. He took some powder from the box upon the mantle and tossed it obligingly into the fireplace. "I daresay I am indebted to to you. I will not soon forget the favour."
She met his gaze at last, her expression hard. "You can repay me by making sure I do not regret doing so," she answered rapidly, before turning and stepping into the flames. Once she had vanished in a swirl of green, he very nearly smiled. Tomorrow this whole ordeal would be put to rest at last. With the Minister on his side, even Crouch would not dare drag him before the Wizengamot. The end was within sight.
Narcissa was not in their bedroom, but he did not have to go far to locate her. She was in the nursery, staring down at their son. When he drew closer, he realised with a jolt that unshed tears welled in her eyes and her hands trembled.
"What's going to happen, Lucius?" she whispered harshly, not looking up at his entrance. He stiffened at the severity in her tone, and responded with an aloofness that matched the perceived frigidity of her attitude.
"Nothing will happen to you, you needn't worry," he drawled, crossing his arms and leaning against the frame of the door. "In fact you'd be quite well-off even in the event of my death, I have a rather impressive life insurance policy. I've never mentioned it before because I didn't want you to murder me in my sleep but—"
"How can you treat this matter so flippantly?" she demanded sharply, spinning around and storming across the room to stand before him. "How dare you behave as if this were some sort of a joke?"
"You aren't culpable no matter how any of this plays out, I've made sure of that," he snapped, nettled by what he assumed to be her cynicism.
"You think I care," she hissed, seizing the front of his robes, "about what happens to me? I know I haven't done anything that will land me a life sentence in Azkaban, but what about you? They can't take you, Lucius!" Her voice had risen to near-hysterical levels, and her hands, fisted in the rich fabric across his chest, shook violently as the tears spilled over at last.
"Nothing is going to happen to me," he assured her quickly, the coldness rapidly evaporating from his demeanor, and stunned though he was, his arms moved instinctively around her shoulders. "Gods, Narcissa, nothing is going to happen," he repeated, bewildered but oddly satisfied as she shuddered against him with the force of her sobs. "The Wizengamot is never going to convict me on the word of a werewolf and a Mudblood. Admittedly Gilbert Abbott's testimony cannot be dismissed, but now that I know precisely what he witnessed, I can preemptively claim to have been under the Imperius, and feign incomplete memory for any new accusations that might arise for after that date. I'll go in to talk to Crouch tomorrow, a preemptive confession of bewitchment— for Merlin's sake, Narcissa, pull yourself together, you're going to wake Draco," he commanded, firm but gentle as he took her by the shoulders and pulled her away slightly so he could see her face. She sniffed but nodded in agreement, smoothing her hair back from her face as he guided her into the corridor with a hand on the small of her back. In the brighter lights of hallway, she seemed rather chagrined for her outburst.
"Why, darling wife, I had no idea that your concern for my well-being could reduce you to such a state," he smirked coyly, reaching up to run his fingers through her tidied locks. She stiffened at once.
"Can you fathom what it would be like for Draco, growing up without a father? Or with the humiliation of a father in Azkaban?" she hissed. His smile disappeared and his hand fell to his side. "You despise your own father and he was merely informally shunned from Ministry involvement, just think if you—"
"That's enough," he interrupt icily, any warmth he might have felt at the sight of her concern vanishing. Of course she was concerned only for their son— it was rational that she should be so, but he could not help but to feel unreasonably injured by her words. However she shook her head.
"No," she replied simply, "it's not enough. Me, Draco, alone in this house— it's not enough. I don't care what you have to do. I don't care what lies or truths you have to tell Crouch. Whatever it takes, you go into the Ministry tomorrow and say what you need to, and then come home."
"I will," he replied, unsure whether to be irritated or touched by her insistence. Did she think him inept? What was it, precisely, for which she thought he had been preparing for these past weeks?
Narcissa nodded, and curled her fingers around his hands. "Good." They stood for several seconds more before Narcissa turned, still holding onto him, back towards their rooms.
"You go," he said, attempting to gently disengage himself. "I should write to—"
"No." Her delicate fingers became slim bands of iron around his hand. "Any owl you need to send can wait until the morning. You will not receive a reply before going into the Ministry in either case."
"Perhaps, but—"
"You've done all you can," Narcissa continued in the same granite tone. "And now you are going to come to bed with me. It's been a month," she informed him primly, turning back to him and placing both hands on his chest once more, "and you have scarcely looked at me, let alone touched me."
"I..." It was a rare occasion that Lucius Malfoy had ever in his life been at a loss for words, but it took him several moments to formulate a reply to her observation. It was the very last thing he had expected her to say. "I've been a bit preoccupied—"
"I know," she cut in. "I understand. And I do trust you; if you are not worried about what might transpire at the Ministry tomorrow, I am glad, but tonight I would like to be with my husband, not an empty space in the bed where he ought to lie." She supposed to have any hope of successfully presenting herself as appealing she should be amiable and charming, all coquettish smiles and fluttering caresses. Instead her eyes were hard, as though facing a duelling opponent at wand point, but she had exhausted every ounce of falseness she possessed in the time since the Dark Lord's disappearance. Her hands— soft, white, seemingly-harmless things that had never seen a moment of manual labor— contracted against his chest and her nails became piercing as she stared up at him.
She could hardly blame him for his confusion, of course. Narcissa herself scarcely knew why she was behaving as such. This was not the manner in which she usually expressed herself, nor even was conjugality the manner in which she felt closest to him. She felt closest to her husband when he looked at her— truly looked at her, as though her entire self could be swallowed up in the steel of his eyes and he wanted nothing more than to consume her, devastate her with a tender violence that had nothing at all to do with sex or either of their physical beings. Sometimes, rarely, he looked at her with an intensity that made her certain he wanted to wrench her very soul from her grasp and keep it locked within him.
Did he not know he already had it?
But tonight she did not fear losing that, she had no dread of losing anything intangible between them. Tonight she feared that his body would be taken from her, and so she could content herself with nothing more and nothing less.
His bewilderment did not last for long. At the insistence in her gaze it seemed to Lucius that he had no choice but to draw her swiftly into his arms and crush his lips to hers. Without realising it he'd backed her against the wall of the corridor, and a nearby portrait huffed indignantly at the lack of decorum and stormed off to complain to a neighbour in another wing of the Manor, but neither noticed.
Narcissa did not wish to slow her husband's searching lips or eager hands on her, but she did wish she could slow time itself, take an eternity to savour the fine silk of his hair beneath her fingers, the beating of his heart reverberating in her as he pressed against her. She did not realize that tears had begun to fall from her closed lids once more until he paused to brush them away with his thumb and murmur more mindless reassurances into the hollow beneath her ear, sending chills through her.
He felt drunk with desire. How had he allowed so much time to pass without thinking of her, of this? He drew back only to guide her down the corridor towards their rooms, pausing on occasion to taste her once again, thinking that she very well might permit him to have her here, on the sumptuous burgundy carpet, if he so wished. But she had asked he join her in their bed and he was loath to deny the request, and so he managed to drag them into their private sitting room before peeling the robes from her shoulders, and she was lain across the duvet before he brushed her knees apart and slid into her.
Afterwards, when they lay perspiring in bed with their limbs intertwined and sheets kicked aside and hearts pounding, Lucius allowed himself to confess aloud all that he had hoped for, and all that would never be. He held her tightly and admitted that he'd never foreseen this outcome when considering any possibility for their future.
"You've no idea," he murmured, "the scope of his power, Narcissa. The things he could do. This child that brought about his downfall— I can't even begin to fathom the magnitude of Dark Magic the boy must innately possess." He exhaled slowly, his hand trailing through her hair. "All we can do now it wait, I suppose, for whatever comes next. The Dark Lord may be gone, but I do not believe this is the end."
He did not, however, confess to her what he had only lately admitted to himself. He had had no time to consider the fact that he loved her over the past month. He saw little need to do so now, and even less a need to share the fact with her. Doing so seemed in turns foolishly naïve and starkly unwise.
What would she do with it? It seemed at this point unlikely that she would use the knowledge against him. But to his memory Lucius had never shared such a sentiment with any person or thing; he supposed it was possible he'd babbled the phrase to his parents in early childhood but had no recollection of doing so.
Narcissa, on the other hand, told their son on a daily basis how very much she loved him. She whispered it against the boy's round cheek, giggled it while cradling a chubby foot in her palm, sang it to him as she spun about her study with him in her arms. In the past she had loved another man and freely admitted it in so many words. Logic only followed that the reason she had not expressed her love for him, her husband, was simply that she had no desire to do so as she did not feel such a thing.
Was that the only reasonable explanation? He wondered if perhaps she waited to hear him speak the words first, as he wished she would. But he set the notion aside. It would do no good to wonder.
"Goodnight, Lucius," she puffed sleepily against his chest. He said nothing but held her nearer still, and when Narcissa woke in the morning, she was alone.