Saturday, 7 September 1995
"You told Fudge that Sirius was at King's Cross?" Narcissa asked her husband with a small frown as she studied the paper. It was early evening and Lucius had already been through the Prophetat breakfast. For the first time in her life, she'd started reading it thoroughly as well— given everything going on in the world, she felt it important to know of what precisely the public was aware so she could separate that knowledge from what her husband shared, thus ensuring that she did not make a revealing slip. "'A reliable source...' I assume that was you?"
"Yes," Lucius replied, sounding supremely unconcerned. He sat across from her in her private drawing room and was studying a Ministry pamphlet of some sort, occasionally making a note or scratching something out. "I told him I'd come by the tip secondhand and only that he was in London though, so I didn't need to share how I knew..."
"And I see they've finally made Podmore's arrest public, no mention of his connection to Dumbledore though." When he did not reply, she asked instead, "What are you working on? Perhaps you ought to go to your study and sit at your desk, I'll be terribly irritated if you get ink on that silk cushion."
Lucius rolled his eyes, correctly guessing that she was more bothered by the lack of attention he was paying her than the risk of damage to her upholstery, but obligingly set the quill and page aside nonetheless.
"It's a new Educational Decree that will be announced tomorrow. I was just adding some last minute marginalia— a reporter will be coming by shortly to discuss my thoughts on the matter."
"And what matter is that?" Narcissa asked, primarily because she could sense he was eager to tell her.
"Dolores Umbridge will be named the High Inquisitor at Hogwarts. She'll inspect the other professors, and have the ability to sack those who aren't up to scratch. Her authority will supersede even the headmaster's in this regard. Incidentally, Griselda Marchbanks resigned her seat in the Wizengamot over the matter. Hardly a surprise, you heard how she went on and own about the injustice being paid to Dumbledore when she was over for supper in July. She'll still be overseeing Draco's O.W.L's though, so I suppose it wasn't an entirely wasted evening."
"Well, thank Merlin someone will finally do something about that half-breed savage that let Draco get mauled in his class," sniffed Narcissa, still irate at the memory.
"Hagrid still hasn't come back from his tryst with the giants over the summer," Lucius informed her smugly. "With any luck, he's decided to go live with them permanently in the mountains; he'd certainly be better suited for that than life among decent wizards."
Narcissa hummed in agreement and turned her attention back to the paper in her lap. A short while later, the bell chimed to signify a visitor and driven by a nagging curiosity, she followed him to the front door.
Narcissa did not recognise the reporter from the Prophet that wandered into the entry hall of the manor after her husband, looking rather starry-eyed at the opulent surroundings, so it seemed that Rita was indeed taking a sabbatical from writing. Narcissa felt this quite tidily solved the problem of Draco wishing to stay involved with the goings-on at the Ministry, though of course Lucius had a myriad of contacts in the press and Rita's strange departure from reporting did not pose any inconvenience to him. She greeted the man with cool civility, and then retreated back to the drawing room as the two men turned instead into Lucius's study. She would not sit for an interview, she had long held a deep mistrust for anyone who wrote down the words on another and twisted them into a tale that served any purpose other than her own. Not for the first time, however, she wondered at Rita's unusual silence since the last task of the Triwizard Tournament. Had Dumbledore somehow stilled her vicious quill? If so, he certainly had not been able to quiet the Propheton the whole.
Narcissa shook her head to clear it. She had more important things to worry about than the absence of a reporter from whom she did not wish to hear regardless.
The following morning Narcissa did not have to search long for her husband's words as they sat down to breakfast. "You're quoted on the front page, darling," she pointed out needlessly. "Thisis Dolores Umbridge?" she added, staring with fascinated repulsion at the hideous woman whose photograph was plastered across the article. Her husband had been spending an inordinate amount of time with this witch and Fudge over the past year, and despite herself, the corner of her mouth curled up unkindly as she stared at the flaccid, pouchy visage. Not that she'd been jealous, of course, but there was nothing wrong in finding reassurance that he'd been courting Umbridge's attention strictly for business purposes. "She seems... positively lovely."
Lucius flicked a half-amused, half-exasperated glance in her direction. "Generous as always, my dear."
Narcissa's mouth stretched into a grin that she bit her lip to suppress. "I mean it!" she insisted unconvincingly. "I'm simply thrilled that she'll be overseeing Ministry interests at Hogwarts. Some of the staffing choices Dumbledore has been permitted to instate... I mean, a werewolf..." she paused before tutting under her breath, "although to replace him with a toad..."
Lucius muffled a rather undignified snort with his napkin. "She's a very valuable ally," he scolded, albeit with a smirk. "Do try to rein in you shallow impressions should you meet her in person."
"Yes, Lucius," she agreed sweetly. "I look forward to reading Draco's thoughts on his new professor in his next owl."
Wednesday, 22 November 1995
"Potter attacked our son again!" Narcissa snarled, slamming the letter down before her husband. "Again, Lucius! Surely at some point his repeated attacks must be grounds for expulsion? A Muggle duel this time, Potter and two of the Weasley brats. Three against one! That those boys had the audacity to assault Draco on the Quidditch pitch, in front of the entire school and its professors— it's unconscionable. Potter's never had to face any consequences for his actions under Dumbledore's supervision, and as such he feels confident in blatantly abusing our son! Something must be done, this cannot happen again!"
"Well, you're the one who insisted he attend Hogwarts," Lucius snapped, lifting the parchment.
Narcissa did not dignify this jab with a response; she was breathing rather quickly, her cheeks bright with colour, and her gaze glittered with righteous fury as her husband read over the note.
"There wereconsequences," Lucius pointed out after several moments with heavy satisfaction in his voice. "At last something is being done to keep Dumbledore and his favourites in line, thanks to Umbridge. Look," he indicated to a line of writing, "she's given them a lifetime ban from playing Quidditch."
"Who cares about Quidditch!" Narcissa exploded. Lucius's eyes narrowed.
"Potter does, an immense amount from what I gather. And moreover, so does our son. I daresay to Draco's mind, a few blows are well-worth eliminating Potter as a competitor on the field."
Narcissa sat down abruptly, her mouth twisting as though she tasted something bitter. "Nothing is worth the price of Draco's safety. Can Umbridge not do more? She ought to have Potter expelled, his wand snapped."
"If Hogwarts expelled every student that duelled with another, there would be very few qualified wizards," he reminded her, though she imagined it painful to him to concede the point. He exhaled and drummed his fingers on the gleaming wood of his desk. After some time, he spoke again. "It is of more significance than you might imagine, making Potter feel... isolated. Making him feel as though perhaps he is going mad, as the papers say. Taking away the things the bring him joy and security. He is well-protected at Hogwarts, and when he is out of school, by an ancient magic that even the Dark Lord is unable to circumvent.
"But you see, if Potter feels alone, miserable, confused... he will be more likely to take risks, lash out in foolish ways, make mistakes that even Dumbledore will not be able to foresee and prevent. It is crucial that the Dark Lord learn all that he can about Potter, so he is better able to manipulate and control him without risking his current position."
"He's just an insignificant boy," Narcissa dissented, "how much can there possibly be to know? He has average grades, pitiable connections, and no great achievements to his name. It seems to me that the Dark Lord ought to focus his efforts on these protectors rather than on Potter himself."
"He is considering those as well, naturally" Lucius told her firmly. "But it has become clear that the two are, for reasons yet unknown, inextricably linked. Given the difficulties he's faced thus far in getting rid of the boy, the Dark Lord would certainly prefer the task accomplished before he is a fully qualified wizard. And how much easier would it be to kill Potter in, say, an open field field that he's snuck off to to play Quidditch because it is forbidden to him at Hogwarts? You understand."
"I suppose," she agreed reluctantly. "Why is he so certain though, that Potter must die? He's only risking his position by going after the thing Dumbledore appears to hold dearest; Potter himself appears to pose no real threat to the Dark Lord." The threat he seemed to pose to her son, however, was much more tangible, and so she did not entirely protest the notion that he must be eliminated.
Lucius hesitated before answering the question. "Do you remember the prophecy I mentioned over the summer?" he asked at last, and she nodded. Lucius exhaled rather sharply, running an agitated hand through his hair. "Sixteen years ago... Severus overheard the beginning of it. Only the start of what was undoubtedly a very significant prediction: 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches; born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies,'" he quoted grimly. "The Dark Lord is certain that, once he is able to hear the rest, he will be armed with the knowledge necessary to finish Potter off once and for all— for you see, it is clear that it is not Dumbledore, nor the Order, nor the Ministry that can bring about the downfall of the most powerful warlock who has ever lived... for some reason, it is this unassuming, insignificant child."
Narcissa sat slowly, silent as she processed the information. "How long have you known that?"
"Severus told me what he'd heard, and why the Dark Lord had tried to kill the Potters, shortly after his disappearance. It seemed then that it had been fulfilled; that Potter did indeed possess some great power, and hadvanquished the Dark Lord, as had been foretold... but now it is clear that we must discover what that power is and how it can be overcome, lest the Dark Lord fall once more."
"And Severus has no idea? He teaches Potter, surely if he possesses some extraordinary ability it ought to be apparent by now?"
"You would think," Lucius agreed drily. "But you've heard yourself from our son— Harry Potter is a middling student, his marks below Draco's in nearly every class, and no doubt he'd be below average if he didn't have that Mudblood girl helping him. Even those that wish to see him succeed cannot claim he is in any special for an reason besides the scar upon his forehead and the ability to cast a corporeal Patronus at an unusually young age."
Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed and brow creased. She imagined he'd turned the words of countless times in his own mind and with Severus and the Dark Lord, and she had no new theories to offer on what the power might be.
"It matters naught," he continued at last. "Either way, Potter must die. And the Dark Lord is the far superior warlock of the two; if he can kill him soon, this supposed great power may never have the opportunity to manifest. It is more likely that his continued survival has been luck." He shook his head and picked up the letter once more. "This school year is going exceedingly well for Draco, this one duel notwithstanding. It is how it ought to have been this whole time, and at last we see an end to Dumbledore's mismanagement of Hogwarts. Soon it may even be an upstanding institution once again."
He tapped the parchment. "Umbridge has this under control. There is no need for me to step in and intervene any longer; she is doing a fine handling the situation, and I have more pressing matters to deal with."
Thursday, 21 December 1995
"What are your plans for the day?" Narcissa asked brightly over breakfast. Draco would be coming home tomorrow, and her spirits had been increasingly jovial all week. Even now, she was very nearly on the verge of humming carols along with the singing holly she'd enchanted to levitate around the chandelier. Lucius, however, sent her an irritated glance over the top of the Daily Prophet.
"I have to go to Knockturn Alley this morning."
"Oh, some last minute Christmas shopping?" she guessed with a sardonic little twitch of her lips.
"No... I'm buying a cutting of Devil's Snare."
"That will look positively dreadful in the garden," she protested playfully, but he did not crack a smile at her jest.
"Broderick Bode is regaining the ability to speak. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to kill someone on a closed ward? Any decent Healer can spot poison from a mile away."
"Couldn't you just have someone under the Imperius curse walk in and throttle him? It's hardly subtle, but as long as you curse someone that won't recognise you..."
Lucius was already shaking his head. "The enchanted glass at the entrance works as the Thief's Downfall in Gringotts does. I'd have to curse someone once inside, and that would be far too risky, performing Dark Magic triggers all sorts of alarms in the building."
"Oh, very well, but do get a pair. We'll keep one here and take a cutting from it in a few weeks. On the off chance anyone finds out you've purchased the same type of plant responsible for Bode's death over the next month or so, we'll be able to show that you were cultivating them here for personal reasons. Aesthetic, if you like."
He quirked a brow at her and a wry smile curled the corner of his mouth upwards. "They'll kill your peacocks."
"We'll keep it in the cellar, they grow well out of the sun."
"Very shrewd, Mrs. Malfoy," he agreed, rising from his seat to leave but pausing to place a brief peck to her temple before exiting. "What will you do today?"
"Some more garlands are being delivered by noon, and I want to add icicles to the tree... do you think I ought to get live fairies this year? I do like the ambiance and Draco was mesmerised by them when he was small but I don't get the feeling he cares one way or another anymore..."
"And nor do I," Lucius replied breezily, sweeping from the room. She rolled her eyes in exasperation and rose as well, thinking to herself that she'd go ahead with the fairies anyway as she headed towards her music room. However she'd only just sat down at her piano when she thought she heard an odd rustling. She glanced about the room and, finding nothing amiss, placed her fingers on the keys.
"Miss Cissy," croaked a deeply unpleasant, jarringly familiar but long-lost voice, as though from a dream of a lifetime past...
"Kreacher?" she asked, turning slowly in disbelief. She'd not thought about the elf in years; if she had, she would have assumed him to be long dead. He was in dreadful shape, knobbled and decrepit and filthy as he inched into her line of sight from behind a chaise. At once he hunched over into a deep bow. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"Kreacher has been waiting since the early hours of the morning to see Miss Cissy, since Master told Kreacher 'out,'" he replied with what might have been a sly smile. "Not freed and banished from his family home, no, but allowed to go out, and Kreacher wanted to see Mistress's true family, not the boy his Mistress disowned and Kreacher must now call 'Master'..." he drifted off, a strangely hopeful look on his ugly little face.
Her aunt and uncle were long gone, and Regulus had died before even they. Dreadful though it was, there was no other option.
"Sirius?" she guessed in a harsh whisper. "If you're still serving the Black family, and he's the last Black, you must be serving Sirius?"
Kreacher nodded solemnly.
"Still in your family home, you said? But then that must mean he's hiding at..." Narcissa began eagerly, but then felt as though a strange fog filled her mind. She could picture her aunt's house clearly: it was not one easily forgotten. House elf heads had lined the corridors, the family tapestry was proudly displayed in the drawing room... was this the marking of old age? Why could she not recall the address? She remembered only vaguely that it was in London... or perhaps a nearby suburb? Panic darted through her. Was she losing her mind?
"If you've come here from Sirius's side," she spoke slowly and deliberately, "if you're still in the Black family home, that must mean that Sirius is hiding at..."
Kreacher was watching her closely, his gnarled hands wringing together in anticipation.
Narcissa closed her eyes and tried to swallow her alarm at this lapse of memory. Her own photograph was neatly displayed next to one of Bellatrix on a bookshelf in the library. Regulus had shown her the mural of the Black family crest he'd painted over his bed, smiling with shy pride when she'd effused over his artistic ability. And Sirius and Regulus had lived with her Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion at...
She pressed her trembling fingertips to her temples. "Why can't I...?"
Kreacher's hands fell and he looked crestfallen. "Kreacher was hoping Miss Cissy would come and rid his Mistress's house of the scum," he croaked in a forlorn manner. "But Kreacher is forbidden to even say the name of his own home, and only Master's blood-traitor and Mudblood friends know it and can visit."
Narcissa raised her head sharply, both relieved and further irritated by his words. "A Fidelus Charm, of course." She was not losing her mind after all. "But to go through so much trouble... there's only a few wizards alive who could perform it, why would Dumbledore take such an interest in keeping Sirius so well hidden in his own home?"
Kreacher remained silent, and she continued to speculate aloud: "And if blood-traitors and Mudbloods are stopping by regularly..." Her eyes grew huge as the truth dangled tantalisingly before her, nearly impossible to believe but somehow inevitable that it would be her family's rotten branch that would house the very nest of the opposition. "It's the Order of the Phoenix headquarters, isn't it? Oh, I know you can't say," she added when the elf looked stricken at the question. "But, Merlin, if you could..."
Lucius would be quite beside himself when he returned home, she thought with sweeping satisfaction. "Come, Kreacher," she said kindly, gesturing that he should come closer and silently praying that none of his filth would soil her rug. "Let's catch up, shall we?"
When Lucius returned home, his waspish mood from earlier had fully developed into a towering rage. Narcissa was changing for supper and looked up with a patiently attentive glance as he stormed into their bedroom.
"Have you any idea how many bloody shops I had to visit to find what I was looking for?" he snarled, heading directly for the bath. "And then when I finally found one, the moron running the shop was adamant that I buy the full-grown plant; I argued with him for an hour and then the bloody weed attacked me—" here he held up his right arm, revealing deep purple welts that indicated the Devil's Snare had curled around his forearm and attempted to crush it, "—and the herbologist had to sever the bit that was trying to rip my hand off, and only then was I able to convince him to sell me the cutting that had attacked me. Anyway I'll keep it in the cellar and send it on Christmas, St. Mungo's will be so inundated with owls they won't look too closely... why are you smiling?"
Narcissa quickly rearranged her features into an empathetic mask. "Oh, was I? I'm sorry. You poor darling, let me find you a potion that will take care of those marks." She made no move to do so and he rolled his eyes and vanished into the bath.
"I don't appreciate your mockery, you know," he called, though it was without any real ire. "I'd like to think you would not be overjoyed if I came home missing any limbs."
"They could have reattached it in a moment at St. Mungo's," she reminded him brightly, "and what a good excuse that would've been to smuggle the cutting inside!"
"Very funny," he grumbled, reemerging and tossing her a roll of white linen bandages. Narcissa simpered up at him and obliging began to wrap the arm he'd slathered in an orange salve. "What has you in such cheerful spirits this evening?" he asked at last, and her grin grew into a beam so radiant that he could not help but return it with a bemused smile of his own.
"I had a visitor today," she began in a would-be casual tone, her excitement scarcely contained. "From... well, you might say an old friend."
"Ari?" he guessed, and Narcissa's happy expression flickered.
"No," she replied shortly. "A friend of the family from childhood," she offered again, but this game was serving neither of them: the muscles tightened in Lucius's jaw, and she knew he would not speak aloud the name he was thinking, the name of her former lover, but she could read in his face where his thoughts had taken him.
"Do you remember my Aunt Walburga's house elf, by any chance?" she asked quickly.
"One of the ones with its head on the wall?" he queried with only a hint of disgust.
"Not yet. Kreacher, he's called. He was Reggie's little pet, terribly devoted to my aunt. Anyway, he's stayed in the house all these years. The house, it seems, had fallen into disrepair, but in the past year Sirius has decided to reclaim his birthright and has taken up residence there once more."
Lucius's eyes widened. "You mean to say that your cousin is in—" he started eagerly and then broke off as his mind failed to provide the location.
Because she was a cruel witch, Narcissa let him struggle as she had for several moments, watching with a barely-restrained smirk as his delight melted into confusion and then concern before he asked in a voice of forced calm: "I was only at your aunt's house once or twice... remind me where she lived?"
"I can't," she answered flatly. "I believe that it is being protected by a Fidelus Charm."
Lucius's expression twisted into one of irritation. "Of course would be; one of Dumbledore's favourites."
"And though he'd been forbidden to tell me any specifics, I think it's being used as the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix," she went on, satisfaction drenching her words at his look of incredulous delight.
"Do you?" he asked. "Then I'm sure the protections on the house must extend beyond a Fidelus Charm, it will not be possible to locate with the information an elf can give. Still... the Dark Lord will be very pleased."
He placed a finger beneath her chin, tilting her face up to his. "My clever wife," he purred, and she arched a brow at him.
"Just clever?"
He chuckled softly, drawing her nearer and brushing his lips to hers. "My sensationally beautiful, always resourceful, terriblyclever wife."
"Happy Christmas, darling," she crooned, leaning into his embrace. "I suppose you'll be satisfied with this information in lieu of a present," she taunted, nipping at the lobe of his ear.
"All those parcels in the drawing room and you haven't thought of your husband?" he asked in mock indignation as he nuzzled her throat.
"Oh, alright, perhaps one or two for my poor, neglected husband," she allowed, threading her fingers through his hair and tugging him closer.
"You must told me everything he said. Can you call him back here?"
Narcissa drew back, a bit regretful to do so. "I don't think so. I asked him to come again as soon as he was able to without arousing suspicion, but Merlin knows when that will be."
"I suppose even Sirius is not idiotic enough to forget to forbid him from repeating any Order plans," Lucius drawled, turning away to select a set of robes for supper. "But were you able to find any loopholes? Anything that your cousin did not think to prohibit him from discussing?"
"A great deal," Narcissa assured him. "He ought to have disallowed Kreacher from speaking to anyone outside the Order at all; in neglecting to do that, it was rather obvious that he has not given Kreacher much thought at all these few months. Kreacher did share, for example, that just as he left the house this morning, Potter and most of the Weasley children arrived by Portkey, rather flustered and all in their bedclothes. What do you imagine thatmight be about?"
"I haven't any idea," Lucius admitted, "But I'll try to find out. It seems odd Umbridge would let them leave a day before term ends... in fact I very much doubt she did. Dumbledore must have had some reason to send them out."
"Kreacher seemed to know something but couldn't say, so I do imagine it was related to Order business... although I cannot fathom what Order business would require half a dozen Weasley children in the middle of the night in pyjamas."
"Maybe Arthur Weasley is dead," Lucius suggested, looking cheerful at the thought as he fastened one of the cuffs of his robes.
"We mustn't get our hopes up, dear."
Monday, 8 January 1996
Narcissa spent the afternoon shopping in Diagon Alley, and had a long luncheon in town with Deirbhile Crabbe and Renata Baddock. When she returned home in the early evening Lucius was not at the manor, but this was not unusual. She was a bit surprised when he did not return for supper nor send word, though this in itself was not cause for alarm; he generally remembered to send an owl if he would be dining out, but if she was honest with herself he did forget more than she'd like.
By the time Narcissa retired for the night, she was forced to concede that it was odd she had not heard from him all day. Lucius had not given any indication at breakfast that he'd be gone for so long... but since the Dark Lord had returned, his absences were not as predictable as they had been for the past decade. As she slipped beneath the duvet, she told herself firmly that there was nothing to worry about; not yet. More than likely she'd wake at dawn with her husband soundly asleep beside her. After determinedly reassuring herself of this fact several times, she extinguished the lights and drifted into an uneasy slumber.
It was just past one in the morning when the door to the bedroom opened, and Narcissa knew at once that something was not quite right. Her husband did not begin to undress nor head to the bath; rather, he lingered in the doorway, as though caught in snare of indecision. At last he crossed the room, not to his wardrobe, but to her side of the bed. He sat carefully on its edge.
"Narcissa." His voice was low and grave, and he touched her shoulder gently to rouse her. She was already awake and sat up slowly, hardly daring to breathe.
"Your sister is here," he told her quietly. "I've asked them to wait downstairs... I wanted to prepare you."
Narcissa felt her gut clench with— what? Elation? Terror? Why was she unable to distinguish between the two?
"I'm sure you can imagine, but her appearance is... rather shocking." He was watching her closely, carefully monitoring her reaction to the long-awaited news.
"'Them?'" she echoed, rising unsteadily to her feet and lighting the room with her wand. "Rodolphus and Rabastan are with her?"
"Just Rodolphus. Rabastan went to Vengeson to see if the house is under Ministry observation, and will go to the lodge in Germany afterwards to evaluate its state; it could be of use. He should be here in a few days." He hesitated, then added rather abruptly, "There's something wrong with Rodolphus. He isn't…" he shook his head, looking frustrated. "Well, you'll see. You may even prefer him this way," he added with a bitter attempt at humour, knowing her general dislike towards his prior disposition. "Just be cautious."
A knot of what was now undoubtedly dread tightened in her stomach at the strange announcement, but she merely nodded in acceptance of his warning as she slipped into a robe.
"And will they be staying here with us or go into hiding elsewhere?" she asked as she turned towards the door. Lucius stayed unusually close as they left their bedroom, as though he wished to reach for her hand, or slip an arm around her shoulder. Naturally he refrained from doing any such sentimental thing.
"I don't know yet. It will depend on what the Dark Lord has in mind for them. I imagine they will need to stay here for some time to recover their strength, at the very least."
She nodded again. "Were you there? Did you help free them?" Did she need to fear, in addition to hiding fugitives, that someone might have spotted her husband at the prison?
"No," he answered shortly. "The dementors have joined our purpose. They opened the cell doors and allowed the Lestranges and half a dozen others to walk free. They were even so kind," he added with a wry twist to his lips, "as to allow them to retrieve their wands and arrange transport from the island. I met them on the shores of the Bay of Cruden."
"'Others?'" Narcissa asked tentatively.
"Augustus Rookwood— the Dark Lord will be pleased to have him back given the issues we've been facing in the Department of Mysteries. I'm sure you remember Antonin Dolohov?"
She did; Antonin had moved in their circles and had been a regular fixture the galas she hosted.
"You likely wouldn't recall Mulciber, he was in Severus's year at school, but he's out too. Tarquin Travers..." He hesitated before adding, "I saw Fenrir Greyback, he took off as soon as the group reached land though. I'm sure he'll resurface sooner rather than later."
"Not here, I hope," Narcissa said sharply.
"I doubt he'd be so brazen," Lucius assured her. They'd reached the entrance to the drawing room. Narcissa managed a false smile to assure him that she was ready, and pushed open the doors.
There was a glowing fire in the hearth and a lone figure stood before it, silhouetted with her back to the room. She turned slowly; perhaps unhurried, or perhaps unable to make any swift movements in her frail condition.
"Hello, Cissy."
Bellatrix looked up with a horrible smile: most of her teeth were missing or rotting, and Narcissa blinked back tears as she forced herself to step forward into the room, and then cross it to take her sister's spotted and rough outstretched hands. "It's been too long." Her voice, once all husky laughter and rich tones, was now a raw rasp. "Don't you look lovely?" Was there a note of accusation in the question? Resentment? Even as she tried to set her guilt aside, Narcissa believed there was.
"Bella," she whispered. "I've missed you." The words felt inadequate; everything felt inadequate. What was one meant to say in such a situation? Narcissa had long ago memorised and perfected the correct words and behaviours for every social situation, but surely this was unprecedented. There were no traditions or appropriate customs to fall back upon. Even with her own sister, she felt lost without them.
Bellatrix tilted her head thoughtfully to the side, a matted hank of hair dropping listlessly over her shoulder like a dead thing. "Have you? You don't look like you've been suffering too terribly in my absence." Her eyes were still the same, if a bit darting, as they moved over Narcissa's silky blonde hair, still-youthful skin, and fine dressing gown. "How soft your hands are, sister," she murmured, staring at the perfect white fingers in her bony, filthy ones with their jagged and cracked nails.
"Let's get you cleaned up," Narcissa suggested. Her tongue felt thick. If she could just restore some semblance of her sister's beauty, perhaps she could recognise her once again. Maybe then she would know what to say. "And something to eat, and then I'm sure you'll want to rest—"
"No," Bellatrix cut in sharply; near the doorway, Lucius shifted forward at her sudden change in tone, alert and ready to step in if necessary. "I want to see him. I must see the Dark Lord."
"I…" Narcissa glanced helplessly towards her husband. "It's very early in the morning, I'm sure there will be time later… And wouldn't you like to bathe before you see him?" She was also determined to find a spell to fix her teeth, at the very least.
Bellatrix, once a paragon of vanity, waved Narcissa's words aside dismissively. "He won't care how I look, Cissy. He'll be so pleased to have his most loyal servant at his side once more." Her eyes shone with a fanatic light, and she grinned horribly once more. "And I don't want to rest, I've been waiting for fourteen years and I can't be still a moment longer."
"You might as well get cleaned up," Lucius drawled, not bothering to hide his disgust at her state. "He knows you're here, and you have no choice but to wait until you are called."
Bellatrix shot him a haughty look of immense dislike, but could not contradict his words. "Very well." She nodded to Narcissa to indicate that she would follow her, and as they turned to leave, a shuffling movement caught Narcissa's attention and she noticed Rodolphus for the first time. She realised then that Lucius had lingered back to situate himself between the other man and the sisters; protective, cautious.
The fact that he had been still and silent up until this point was evidence enough that something was hugely changed in her brother-in-law. Like Bellatrix, he had lost a vast amount of weight, and it was stunning to see his exceedingly tall frame emaciated and skeletal. But it wasn't just that he had diminished in stature— his hands hung limp and still at his sides, and his gaze, always mercurial and sharp in the past, was oddly blank.
"Hello Rodolphus," she spoke after a beat of hesitation. He did not respond. He continued to stand in the corner with his strangely empty eyes fixed on Bellatrix. Narcissa frowned and turned back to her sister. "Was it… the Kiss?" she whispered nervously. Surely if his sentence had been increased it would have made headlines? Bellatrix shrugged, looking unconcerned, but Lucius responded instead.
"No. He wouldn't be up and about on his own volition if he'd been Kissed. He wouldn't remember any of us. I can only guess it's some sort of trauma or state of shock, but it isn't currently safe to bring a Healer here to examine him."
Narcissa nodded uncertainly. "Well, perhaps you could wait with him, Lucius?" she suggested, but when she tried to leave the room with her sister, Rodolphus took a few more shuffling steps, clearly meaning to follow them.
"Wait here, Rodolphus," she said firmly, but she might as well have been a candelabra for all the heed he paid her command. Bellatrix seemed disinclined to come to her aid, drifting out of the room to find a bath on her own, her memories of the manor clearly still sufficient to guide her along the correct path. Lucius reached out to grasp his shoulder and halt his progression after the two women, and in a flash Rodolphus jerked his arm upwards, his elbow making swift and brutal contact with Lucius's face.
Lucius swore and staggered back, pressing the sleeve of his robe to his nose to stem the gush of blood. Rodolphus did not look back at him or watch to see if he would launch a counterattack; he merely increased the speed of his trudge to ensure his wife did not vanish from view.
Narcissa hesitated, torn between guiding her sister and assisting her husband. After a beat she decided on the latter, turning back, drawing her wand and whispering "Episkey" with a gentle tap.
"Why won't he speak?" she murmured as the Lestranges disappeared up the stairs.
"I haven't any idea," he replied irritably, rubbing the remaining blood off his face. "I don't know if we ought to leave them alone though."
With this sentiment Narcissa wholeheartedly agreed, and she headed back into the corridor to follow after the couple.
Bellatrix was not difficult to track down— she had located one of the finest spare rooms in the manor, one that she and her husband had stayed in on more than one occasion over a dozen years prior. When Narcissa caught up to her, she was wandering around the space, running a curious hand over the fine furnishings. Again Narcissa found herself without words, so she moved to the en suite and opened the tap to fill the large tub that resided there. Once it was full, she reemerged into the bedroom to lead Bellatrix in.
Rodophus moved after them.
"No," Lucius said firmly, stepping forward with his wand drawn this time as he approached the other man. "You'll wait out here with me."
For the sake of keeping everyone calm and uninjured, Narcissa left the door to the bath open as she guided her sister inside so Rodophus could see that they had not gone far. It seemed to have worked, as he did not appear in the doorway and there were no sounds of a struggle beyond.
Bellatrix allowed her to peel away the rags clinging to her body, but balked at the edge of the steaming tub that Narcissa had filled.
"It will scald me," she breathed, her words scarcely audible.
"It won't," Narcissa promised, dipping her hand in to demonstrate that the water was not too hot. "It will feel heavenly."
Bellatrix sat slowly on the edge of the bath, gaze fixated on Narcissa's fingers as they drifted invitingly through the surface of the water, creating small eddies in their wake.
"Do you know," she began softly, in a far-away tone, "that the shape of the shoreline and the rocks beneath the waves mimics the maelstroms otherwise seen only at the Lofoten islands? This is no accident; Ekrizdis shaped the earth around his hidden isle to suit his purposes... the sailors who did not die in the whirlpools would be dragged, inexorably, towards the shores of his fortress for him to find."
Her fingertips skated just above the steaming water, not making contact. Narcissa listened as she went on, hardly daring to breathe.
"They make it impossible to leave the island by sea without magic. Of course, they only appear during storms... but storms rage for weeks at a time there, and perhaps leave only an hour or less of calm before the next arrives. Escape by boat is inconceivable. The timing would have to be precise, to the very minute: an outside agent, an expert sailor, would have to be waiting a safe distance from shore and then swoop in, unspotted, and out again before the next storm. It would take a level of coordination that would be unfathomable for an isolated, wandless prisoner.
"I know all of this because we researched Azkaban before we were taken there, as I'm sure you can imagine. We always knew there was a possibility we would be captured. By the time we were arrested, we still had not devised a sound method of escape. We could only have faith that the Dark Lord would come for us. And at last, he has."
With a sharp inhalation, Bellatrix plunged her hand into the bath as though expecting pain. When she found none there she laughed; a horrible, grating sound. "I should like to ask Sirius how he managed it," she added brightly, sliding carelessly now into the deep tub, "before I kill him."
She permitted Narcissa to tend to her for a few minutes, but once her nails were trimmed and body washed she became restless as Narcissa struggled with the mats of her hair.
"Just leave it," she growled as Narcissa painstaking worked at one of the rough, tangled locks with a comb and bottle of Sleekeazy. "I don't care. The Dark Lord won't care."
"At least let me try to cut it a bit shorter, and then perhaps tomorrow we can work on getting it looking nice—"
"I said leave it!" Bellatrix hissed, rising abruptly to her feet and sending grey water slopping across the floor and the front of Narcissa's robes. She snatched at a towel and wrapped it around her shoulders, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind her as she returned to the bedchamber.
"Here," Narcissa hurried after her and pulled open a wardrobe to reveal several long-unworn articles of clothing that had been here stashed out of the way. "Put on one of my robes, it may be a bit small on you but..." Narcissa broke off. Of course it would not be too small on Bellatrix, not any more. Bella resembled nothing so much as a walking skeleton, a cadaverous thing that had been reanimated. Sure enough, when she shoved her arms through the sleeves and wrapped the rich velvet around herself, there was too much fabric everywhere. Her shoulders poked out oddly, her chest seemed to cave inwards on itself, her ribcage was the only thing giving her torso any sort of identifiable shape at all. Narcissa closed her eyes and took a steadying breath.
"I'm sure we can find a trustworthy tailor that I can take your new measurements to and have robes made that will fit—"
"Will you shut up?" Bellatrix snapped, shrugging past her. "I see the past fourteen years have changed nothing in you, still concerned with only the pettiest and most superficial matters."
"I just..." Narcissa began in a small voice, wounded. "I just don't know what else to do, Bella..."
An elf had brought up a tray with bread and broth, the latter of which Bellatrix lifted and sniffed suspiciously. "This food is hardly more than what they gave us in prison, you know."
"You'll make yourself sick if you don't start with that," Lucius snapped from the far side of the room. The sisters turned, and Narcissa gave a small wince to see that he'd tried, with little success, to make Rodolphus more presentable. He'd cut his hair— allof his hair, close to the skull so that only a dark, patchy fuzz remained, longer in some spots than other in evidence of Lucius's lack of talent as a barber. Most of his beard was gone too, and what little remained showed crumbs and grease clinging from his meal.
So at least he can feed himself, Narcissa thought with some desperate relief before turning back to her sister, even if not neatly. Bellatrix had already finished the bread and was spooning the broth hurriedly into her mouth.
"Would you like a bath, Rodolphus?" Narcissa asked, and found herself speaking in the simple, clear tones one might use when addressing young children, the elderly, or the very hard of hearing. He did not reply, nor even look her way, and she did not press the point.
When Bellatrix finished eating Narcissa thought she might demand more, but instead she pulled the blankets back on the bed and slithered beneath them, turning onto her side with a scowl and then to the other, clearly unable to find a position she found comfortable. She seemed to be whispering to herself.
Lucius came to stand beside her, frowning. "I need to send an owl to Draco," he told her quietly. She nodded in wordless agreement. "You should go get some rest."
Narcissa knew he meant that he did not wish to leave her alone with the Lestranges, but Bellatrix was still turning fitfully, muttering and tugging at the snarls of hair that remained after she'd grown impatient and refused to allow Narcissa to tend to any more of them.
"I'll stay a while longer," she replied with a finality that would permit no argument, and so he placed a hand briefly on her shoulder and squeezed gently before leaving the room.
The sun was rising before Bellatrix finally slept, and Narcissa had no choice but to leave her slumbering beneath the crisp, cool sheets while Rodolphus remained silent and still and damnably awake upon the chair in which Lucius had forced him to remain while she bathed her sister. She was too tired to deal with him now, and whatever was the matter with him ought not to be her responsibility. But Bellatrix acted as though she did not notice him at all, and even if she had, shewas certainly in no condition to cope with him either. Her mind felt disjointed, she was too tired to decide what should be done, and she was so deeply lost in thought that she nearly collided with a figure in the corridor.
Narcissa gave a yelp of shock, leapt backwards, and had already whipped out her wand before she recognised the person she had almost run into.
"Rabastan," she gasped, and he offered her a slight, sad smile as she lowered— but did not pocket—her wand.
"I look a mess, I suppose. I didn't mean to frighten you Cissy, I've only just gotten in."
And despite the filth that covered him, the rags that hung from his emaciated form, and the matted hair growing past his shoulders, he seemed to her the least changed: less foreign by far than his brother or her sister, and so before she could stop herself she'd flung her arms around him and the tears that had been threatening all night spilled forth.
"Lucius said you wouldn't be here for days," she managed thickly, and though he was no more than bones, he still lifted his arms comfortingly around her.
"I may have overestimated my ability to take a journey that long," he admitted. "Scarcely made it back here without falling off the broom Lucius lent me."
His voice was hoarser than it had once been but otherwise the same in its cadence and tone. She drew back shakily and the watery smile she offered him was not forced.
"It's so good to see you," she told him, and it was not a lie. She wiped hastily at her cheeks. "Come, I'll take you to a room so you can rest."
He gave a grateful nod, and as they turned he asked, "Rod hasn't said anything yet, has he?"
Narcissa bit her lip and cast him a worried glance that spoke volumes.
"Never seen him quiet for more than a minute or two if he wasn't asleep," Rabastan said with an attempt at jocularity that was betrayed by his evident apprehension. "Maybe... maybe after a good night's sleep or two then?"
She led him a short spell down the corridor from the bedroom where Bellatrix and Rodolphus resided. Narcissa stopped at the doorway after he entered to allow him privacy. He thanked her and began to shut the door, but after a beat he turned back and opened his mouth, then closed it again. She could tell there was something he wanted to ask of her, but seemed unable to bring himself to speak the words. Though her brain was sluggish from the long, sleepless night, she still realised what it must be before he managed to get the words out.
"Ghada's married. I haven't seen her for years. We don't... keep in touch any longer. She has children... I'm not sure how many. Her father took her out of the country as soon as news of your arrest reached him... I don't think any of the Shafiqs have been back here since."
Rabastan's eyes slid closed, but he lowered his head to indicate that he had heard and understood her.
"Thank you," he said after a moment, not looking up. "For telling me, and for having us here. I know the risk you're taking— I hope our presence won't endanger you and Lucius."
As do I. "Good night, Rabastan. It's... good to see you again."