Chapter 7 – Preparation
Narcissa Malfoy was extremely alarmed about the well-being of the collapsed witch before her, not that she would ever let anyone see. She had witnessed both Draco and Lucius's participation in 'The Rite'. A shiver crept up her spine as she remembered Lucius's weak and subservient response in receiving the Mark. He had knelt before the Dark Lord, brushing his lips against the hem of that snake-like monster's robes. She remembered the pure revulsion and distaste she felt at his submission. No longer reminiscent of the strong-willed wizard she had married all those years ago. However, she sniffed with disdain, divorce was nearly impossible in the wizarding world. But, with Draco, her heart had broken. His teeth had been clenched in unspeakable pain as the Mark was cruelly carved into his flesh. Narcissa knew Draco would never admit that his body continued to reject the Mark and that it had truly only been done to prevent any further harm to his family. Narcissa silently regarded the witch before her. Riotous curls fanned around her like a halo. Narcissa took the uninterrupted moment to kneel and examine the supposed magical mark herself. She reached out and briefly hesitated, slightly perturbed at her proximity. Gently, she slipped her hand under their wrist and observed the duel magical marks. The 'mudblood' scar invoked a grimace. Bellatrix may be her sister, but Narcissa was absolutely aghast at her hysterical behavior. No member of the Black family would dare act so disgraceful. Narcissa dismissed the aggravating feelings and lifted the witch's wrist for closer inspection. She raised another finger to trace the shimmering symbol. She paused, recognizing something familiar about it but was unable to place its meaning or origin. Narcissa took a deep breath and placed her hand over the icon, focusing her magical intent on discovering the symbol's identity. A rush of colors and images flashed before Narcissa's eyes and suddenly she was knocked backwards onto the ground in a wave of magic. Narcissa gasped and Ciskey rushed forward to assist.
"Mistress!" Ciskey squeaked in alarm.
Narcissa stared at the petite form in front of her, an incredulous expression dancing across her face.
"Ciskey," Narcissa commanded, quickly standing while smoothing her hair, "Tell no one of this, especially Draco. Please revive the Marked One in preparation of The Rite."
Hermione awoke with a sharp intake of breath at the sight of Malfoy's mother standing over her, arms crossed in displeasure and heels tapping in irritation. Ciskey stood to the side, wringing their small hands.
"Is this a habit of yours?" Mrs. Malfoy snapped, "It's been years since I've seen someone faint so much."
Hermione stared, uncomprehending. Why had she fainted? Wait…. the formal presentation!
"I-… I'm not normally tortured or paraded around like some Death Eater toy." She growled, remembering the lovely gown Ciskey had presented earlier, "I must have missed that particular subject in my academic studies."
Mrs. Malfoy sniffed at Hermione's response and uncrossed her arms.
"You are to be formally presented and unfortunately, I am the only one qualified to properly prepare you. Unless-," she remarked, "You'd prefer my sister, Bellatrix, to assist you?" A smirk forming upon her lips.
Well, now I see where Malfoy gets it from. Hermione thought mockingly.
'It appears I don't have a choice in the matter." Hermione muttered and peered up at the regal and elegant Malfoy matriarch before her. The quick-witted sarcasm was quickly replaced with a somber dullness.
"Mrs. Malfoy," she asked, a tremble to her voice, "Will… will I survive tonight?"
Narcissa froze. Sweet Circe, she thought frantically. The girl was ridiculously blunt, but surprisingly astute to her highly unpleasant situation. Narcissa gave a quick toss of her head and waved her hand as if the question had been a bothersome fly.
"Would I put this much effort into a dead witch?" she responded using derision masking the dread bubbling up in her core. Hermione stood with a dejected sigh.
"No, I suppose not." She admitted, "Mrs. Malfoy, would you be willing to prepare me for what I might face this evening?"
"I cannot as I have not been a part of this particular ceremony," she declared, "However, I can assist in proper presentation etiquette that is expected of dignified and proper Wizarding society. Although, your hair will take immense effort."
Hermione grimaced, already anticipating the attack on her scalp but secretly relieved that Narcissa Malfoy, of all people, had agreed to help her. Maybe, she thought, she might survive whatever this evening might hold.
Draco wished he were drunk. Utterly and profoundly drunk. Maybe that way, he could avoid witnessing the dark fate that would befall Granger tonight. She had no idea that she was being prepared for 'The Rite'. That horrible, cursed event. The Rite was the ritual the Dark Lord used to burn the Dark Mark into his followers' skin and defile their magic. Now, Granger was to receive the same blemish. Didn't she have enough marks on her arms? That blasted carving by his psychotic aunt and the even more cursed shimmering symbol that had caused all this mess.
Yes, he would very much like to be drunk.
However, Severus's words had deeply confused him. Be prepared to leave this place. How would Draco leave this place? How could he leave his mother with a madman and that weak excuse for a father? The Dark Lord had had the Malfoys under house arrest for months and no marked Death Eater could escape the Manor without his knowing. What did his godfather know? This was infuriating!
Draco snatched the crystal bottle of swirling amber liquid and took a deep gulp. If he couldn't be drunk, then he would at least drink the edge off. Sobriety be damned.
"There," a small smile tugging at the corner of Narcissa's thin lips, "You look properly presentable." She gestured for Hermione to turn around to face the mirror.
Hermione gasped and tears instantly sprang to her eyes. She didn't recognize herself. Her unruly curls had been twisted, pinned, and coiffed into an elegant style. A crown of braids and gentle waves brushed the hair from her face while soft ringlets draped down her shoulders and back. Light makeup had also been expertly applied. A rosy blush, a soft charcoal to accentuate her eyes, and a shimmering powder to brighten her complexion. Hermione's wine-colored lips began to tremble. Her reflection was beautiful, but it didn't feel like her.
"Would you prefer to start the makeup process all over again?" a bored and irritated tone asked, interrupting Hermione's revery of her reflection, "Because tears will ruin my efforts and I do despise any waste of my time."
"I am sorry, Mrs. Malfoy." Hermione sniffed, "I just didn't know I could look like this and it's all because of this ridiculous mark." She gestured vaguely to the reflection of her wrist in the mirror.
Narcissa paused and looked carefully at Hermione. Her eyes flicked to the symbol, widened slightly at the symbol's reversed and mirrored reflection, and returned to Hermione's face. The smile dropping from her face.
"I know you have never been presented in society, that much is obvious." Narcissa acknowledged, an edge creeping into her voice, "But I find it very difficult that a young witch like yourself has never been made up before."
Hermione shifted under Mrs. Malfoy's intense scrutiny and begin picking at the edge of the robe she was wearing.
"I did my hair once for the Yule Ball our fourth year and wore a lovely dress that my mum helped me pick out." She admitted, a deep melancholy settling over her words. "Yet, being on the run from a magical zealot doesn't exactly afford many superficial indulgences."
Narcissa chose to ignore the accusatory statement along with the rapidly growing concern for the fate of the young witch in front of her, who very clearly hadn't the faintest idea of what lay ahead. She gestured to the nearby gown.
"This is nothing like the Yule Ball. I can assure you." She scoffed. "Ciskey, will assist you with the clothes. I need to speak with Draco."
Narcissa Malfoy quickly left the room, careful to hide the recognition and fear creeping across her pale blue eyes.
She knew where she had seen that symbol before, and it changed everything.
Narcissa knocked urgently on the door to Draco's bedroom.
"Enter." Came a bored drawl.
Narcissa swiftly shut the door behind her and immediately cast a Muffliato as what she was about to say to Draco would easily bring her death. Draco's eyes narrowed at his mother's spell work and he deliberately set down the empty crystal glass he had been holding.
"So?" he intoned sarcastically, "I assume you've heard the Marked One is to attend the Rite?"
"Quiet, Draco," she commanded softly, "She cannot take the Mark. I-… that witch is of… I won't allow…" she tapered off, looking torn at the words she was struggling to verbalize.
"Cannot allow what Mother?" he carefully probed, "If the Dark Lord wants her to take the Mark, who are we to stop him?" A weary expression snaking its way along his face. "Not even Severus can stop him." He remarked bitterly.
Narcissa snapped her head around at Draco's last statement.
"Why do you mention Severus?' she demanded, "I did not speak of him or his plans."
Draco ran a hand through his platinum strands in irritation. How could he have let that slip!? Damned Firewhiskey! He exhaled and recounted the previous night's conversation with his godfather. Narcissa stood still while absorbing the consequences of Severus's instructions. After a minute of silence, she gave Draco a singular nod of acknowledgment.
"It would seem the direction I gave your godfather has been fulfilled." She leveled her gaze at her son, eyes taking in his handsome features, and released a low sigh. "You shall heed his warning and be prepared to leave your ancestral home this evening. I will see that the elves prepare the necessary items."
Narcissa stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Draco, who jerked in surprise at her sudden affection and baffling words.
"Know that you are the final hope of the Malfoy name and the last light of my life, my most cherished son." She whispered into his hair, her voice threatening to break.
Reluctantly, Narcissa released her only child and walked to the door. As she reached for the door handle, she turned back to gaze at his face one last time and gave a tired smile.
"Protect her as you would protect me."
And with that, Narcissa Malfoy disappeared through the door.
Draco stood rooted to the floor as his mother's form retreated down the dark hallway. He was still in shock from the words she had just spoken. Protect her as you would protect me. Draco lurched violently towards the door.
"Mother!" he panted, running down the hallway, "Wait!"
He whipped his head around to make sure she hadn't gone the other direction when he collided into a solid object. A shriek echoed around the dimly hit hall, lamplight flickering across the smooth walls. Draco threw out his arms and looped them around the body he had just slammed into, clutching the soft fabric to prevent them from crashing to the floor. When Draco's silvery-blue eyes met warm amber eyes, the world around him vanished.
She was radiant. Soft waves framed her face, and her lips were shaped in a surprised "O", a blush painted across her cheeks. He felt the wispy tendrils of her mahogany hair brush across his hand, which was wrapped around her willowy waist. His other hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threaded in the intricate braids. Draco drank the sight of her in. She did not appear human, more like a mirage of some painted goddess from the Masters. She was draped in the loveliest of fabrics, the smoky and diaphanous fabric rustling gently. The hollow of her throat adorned with a single blood-red ruby surrounded by tiny seed pearls wrapped in delicate filagree on a thin braided chain and Draco marveled. His eyes traveled down to where an intricately beaded corset pressed up flawless skin that was rising and falling with delicious breaths. Her small hands were braced against his chest and he swore to Merlin that she could feel his heart beating rapidly. The dazzling light reflected from the ornate tiara weaved through her hair threatened to blind him, but he did not care. Draco looked into her eyes, like warm pools of honey, and felt himself inexplicably drawn in. In the smallest of whispers, the being spoke.
"Malfoy?" she breathed.
Draco jerked back.
Granger.
He violently wrenched her upright and pushed her away. She stumbled and caught herself on the wall, terror written across her lovely face. He had been absolutely bewitched by her, a revulsion washing over his body. He had reached for her. Held her. Been enchanted by her.
"Stay away from me." He hissed, through gritted teeth, "You disgust me!"
Hermione stood awkwardly, her mouth hanging open in shock and sheer confusion. A crease briefly appeared in her brow, the hatefulness of his statement gradually sinking in. Regaining her composure, Hermione adjusted the folds of her lovely dress with an ease and grace that surprised Draco.
"No, Malfoy." She replied smoothly, hatred dripping over every syllable of his name, "It is you who disgusts me."
Misery rippled through Draco's core. What had he done and why was he being so cruel to her? Before he could respond, the sound of a throat clearing filtered through the hallway.
"There you are." A deep voice called out, hidden behind a silver mask, "The Dark Lord has summoned us for the Rite. Escort the Marked One to the Grove." The figure then vanished in a flurry of black smoke.
Draco inhaled and mentally steeled himself for what would come next. A quick wave and he was, once again, garbed in the suffocating black robes and heavy metal mask. He carelessly thrust out a gloved hand and turned to the striking witch beside him.
"Come, Marked One." He barked, "We are summoned."
She stared at his gloved hand for a moment and with a dejected sigh, gingerly slipped her hand into his.
Together they walked, in stifling silence, towards the darkness of the Rite.