Wednesday, 19 June 1996
It was daybreak in Wiltshire and at last, Malfoy Manor was quiet.
Narcissa stood in the foyer, unmoving and staring at the closed oak front door through which the last Auror had just vanished. Her hands were clasped loosely before her, spine straight and shoulders back. Her neck ached and her ears buzzed but her face was still; unreadable now as it had been for hours, ever since she had opened this same door to admit a dozen Ministry employees. Blank as it had been when John Dawlish had introduced himself and handed her a warrant to search her home and confiscate any Dark objects or evidence of her husband's involvement with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Blank as it had been when she had sent an elf to follow the thieves and note everything they took with them— "and please see to it that my jewels and family silver are not accidentally deemed to be Dark Artifacts"— for further examination in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
It had been painful to remain silent and impassive as her house was searched with Dark Detectors, though she was comforted by the knowledge that it would be a largely fruitless endeavor. Lucius had been much more careful after Arthur Weasley's bumbling raids three years ago about displaying dangerous artifacts. He kept very few in the Manor now, and whatever he did keep here would not be revealed by a simple Probity Probe. The Secrecy Sensors would have been of slightly more concern if it weren't for the fact they appeared to be malfunctioning: they had been vibrating since the moment the Aurors had set foot on the grounds. Narcissa overheard one complaining to another that they were likely detecting concealment everywhere since they were on the property without the owner's consent. If this was true she was glad for it; though in fact she thought it more likely that every inch of Malfoy Manor contained something that ought to be concealed.
When at last they began to file out, taking with them their ill-gotten gains, she could wait in silence no longer and had approached Dawlish.
"Please tell me," she spoke in clipped tones, ostensibly asking but in truth demanding, "of precisely what crime it is that my husband is being accused?"
"Your husband was found and apprehended amongst a number of other Death Eaters—"
"That is not what I asked," she cut in. "What are the specific charges?" Had he killed an Auror? Tortured one of Dumbledore's men?
Dawlish glanced at one of his companions and cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Trespassing and attempted theft."
The bands of iron that had been gripping Narcissa's lungs for the past several hours eased fractionally. "Well. That hardly seems to merit an immediate sentence in Azkaban. Surely it would make more sense to hold him at the Ministry until we have a chance to sort this out. If you let me speak with him and the Minister, I'm certain we can come to an understanding."
Dawlish was still unwilling to meet her gaze, staring instead at another Auror who was sorting through a mountain of parchment he'd poached from Lucius's study. Narcissa swallowed her rage at the sight, her nostrils flaring but otherwise keeping her face mask-like. "Mrs. Malfoy," he replied at last, "your husband is currently en route to Aberdeen with the rest of the criminals apprehended at the Ministry tonight. Tomorrow they will be transported to the prison and will remain there until the Ministry has concluded gathering and evaluating all the evidence in the case."
"And then there will be a trial scheduled?" asked Narcissa tightly. Dawlish shrugged, a crude gesture of helplessness that Narcissa abhorred.
"I doubt it. Not while You-Know-Who remains an active threat... too dangerous to bring his supporters back to London."
Narcissa could scarcely comprehend the idiocy of the statement. The Dark Lord had freed a dozen of his closest supporters from Azkaban less than a year ago; why did the Ministry believe for a moment he would be unable to do so again if he so wished?
"Speaking of..." Dawlish went on, looking if possible even more uncomfortable, "Bellatrix Lestrange was at the Ministry with the group we captured tonight, but she escaped. If you see her or hear from her, it is absolutely imperative that you notify the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at once."
"I have not seen my sister in a decade and a half," Narcissa lied automatically. "I certainly do not anticipate receiving her for tea given that she is a fugitive twice over."
Dawlish gave her a rather shrewd look, meeting her eye squarely at last and seeming to summon confidence from a hiterto untapped source. "It's funny. Your husband was told to report any contact from her when she first escaped Azkaban and said much the same thing: that he hadn't heard from her in many years. And yet tonight they were found together—"
"I hope you aren't suggesting there is anything untoward or improper between my husband and sister," Narcissa interrupted icily, deliberately misinterpreting the Auror's words. As she hoped, Dawlish was thrown by this insinuation and flushed as he assured her he'd meant nothing of the sort. In her home, while she had any command of it, domesticity would always triumph. For a moment she could make him forget that he brought news of sedition to her doorstep if she presented the far more intimate embarrassment of implied infidelity.
"Anyway," he concluded in a mumble, "just let us know right away if you do hear from her."
When he followed the others out she realised that the sky had lightened, and dawn was upon them. And now she stood alone in the entryway, and the portraits of Lucius's ancestors were casting sidelong looks at one another. One called out at last to her, asking in a tone that was almost disturbingly like her husband's arrogant drawl what exactly she planned to do about the arrest and unjust incarceration of his thrice-great grandson, but Narcissa was not yet so desperate as to deign to speak to the paintings. She ignored the question and strode from the entry hall as though possessing great purpose, though in reality, she felt utterly unmoored.
Narcissa supposed she must be exhausted, but she was not certain. Surely her body had some need that she could identify and attend to. A bath? Her hands were shaking so she clasped them more securely before her. Perhaps she was hungry? Breakfast ought to be served soon. Usually she woke with the sun. When the weather was pleasant she liked to take her first cup of tea in conservatory and before long Lucius would join her—
But Lucius would not be joining her. Not this morning. This morning he would be on a vessel crossing the North Sea, taking him to—
No.She felt ill. An anti-nausea potion, then? Hopefully there was one in her bathroom cabinet, she didn't think she was up to brewing one at the moment. She could not order one, the standard potions contained baneberry so Lucius had asked Severus to brew her one without... she shook her head abruptly. She'd only needed anti-nausea potions without baneberry while she'd been nursing Draco. Lucius had requested those potions for her a decade and a half ago. Any anti-nausea potion would do now; what an odd lapse for her mind to make.
Had Severus been arrested too? What a scandal that would cause at Hogwarts. Draco's favourite teacher and head of house snatched away as well as his father.
How would she tell Draco? Narcissa staggered, her hand blindly finding a wall against which to support herself. She needed to owl her son: that was the first priority. A course of action at last. Draco idolised his father. What would this do to him? Would her owl find him before the Daily Prophetdid? Would he be surround by judgmental peers and vicious enemies when he learned that his life had ceased to exist as he knew it? To whom could he turn in this moment of crisis? Should she go to the school herself and bring him home? No, the shame of her intervention would only confirm her husband's guilt, and likely place Ministry surveillance outside her home—assuming no Aurors had lingered after their inspection, hoping to catch her smuggling out some damning evidence they'd missed.
Somehow her feet had carried her to her study, and she walked over to her desk and sat, reaching mechanically for a quill and parchment. The words she needed to write to her son were unwilling to come forth but utterly necessary to transcribe. He had assured her that his mail was not being read, but given the state of things, who knew if that was still true? Best to be brief then.
Dear Draco,
Your father has been arrested on charges of trespassing and attempted theft at the Ministry. He is in Azkaban.
Seeing the words on the page made them too real, and she nearly scratched them out. But she would merely have to write them once more if she did so, and so instead she added more words in hopes of dimming their impact and offering some comfort to her son.
I am sure this is simply a misunderstanding. No doubt we will be afforded the opportunity to clear his name of these charges and he will be back home with us soon. I look forward to seeing you in just a few short days. I will be at King's Cross to meet the train.
All my love,
Narcissa tried to re-read what she'd written but found that it was a struggle to do so: her vision was terribly blurred. No matter; she woke her owl and tied the message to its leg, then moved over to the window. The June morning air was soft and warm on her face when she pushed the window open, and she closed it quickly after the bird had taken flight.
It was of no use. The flash of heat had taken its toll and she vomited suddenly, abruptly, upon the floor (towards the corner of the room, upon the gleaming parquet rather than the rug, which would be far easier to clean). There was almost nothing but bile, she hadn't eaten since a sparse supper the evening before. She was sure she never wanted to eat again.
Trespassing and attempted theft,she repeated the words to herself once more. Men were not killed or Kissed for these crimes. It was true that he would be held on those grounds while they attempted to unearth additional evidence against him, evidence that would convict him of torture and murder and Merlin knew what other offences against the Ministry. The evidence must exist, but it certainly did not reside here, in any of the items the Aurors had confiscated. It was now a race between the efforts of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Dark Lord; or rather, the whims of the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord could free her husband in an instant, but would he chose to do so before Amelia Bones or one of her cretins found proof of her husband's crimes?
And where would they find it? Narcissa straightened up and smoothed her hair back from her face. The search, she knew without needing to view the log of items confiscated, had been fruitless. Lucius hadn't kept anything more dangerous than an Exploding Snap deck in the Manor since Arthur Weasley's snooping. Now, if the Ministry somehow got access to their vault at Gringotts... but they wouldn't dare cross the goblins, not now with the Dark Lord's return, a goblin uprising was the last thing they'd want to deal with...It had been years since she'd visited the Malfoy vault in Gringotts, but she was almost certain there were indelicate items there with which Lucius had been unwilling to part during the raids three years prior. Going now to confirm her suspicions (because that was all they were, she hadn't been to check: she hated dealing with goblins and when she desired gold Lucius was only too happy to hand it over in velvet sacks) might draw more attention than she wanted. It was rare though that she even had to deal with tangible money; all the shops and restaurants she patronised had a line of credit that, as far as she was aware, had no limit and was always paid in a timely manner.
Narcissa walked stiffly back to her desk and stared at its tidy surface. A glittering white peacock feather hovered in a crystal inkwell, and a neat stack of parchment waited handily nearby. In a shop the quill might have cost eight galleons; this one cost much more, because it was from her own bird, and the nib custom cut to best suit her own calligraphic script. Because of this it would be close to impossible to accurately duplicate her hand, should anyone think to try. There were other sundry items placed attractively on the cherry wood: a blotter, a lamp, a block of periwinkle wax and a brass stamp of her initials for sealing scrolls. All so expensive and so beautiful.
With an abrupt sweep of her stiff arm, she sent the fanciful accoutrements crashing to the floor. Nothing on this desk would help her now. She'd spent years at this desk carefully crafting missives to both friends and foes, over matters she'd thought to be exceptionally important at the time. Now nothing mattered besides freeing her husband, and none of her many acquaintances could help her when she truly needed it. The Dark Lord might be able to free him as he had done her sister and her brothers-in-law, but she knew that the Aurors in her home meant that the mission had failed, and it would be some time before she discovered the degree to which Lucius would be held at fault by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Perhaps she could extract him herself. Not by force, but by careful manipulation and bribery of the right person or persons in the Ministry. Lucius had been so adept at pulling strings, coercing just the right acquaintance into saying or doing some small thing that could cascade into a large chain of events, but it had taken him years to perfect his web of influence. He knew who to threaten, who to bribe, and who to cajole. Narcissa had never dirtied her hands with that sort of thing, not directly.
She supposed if she wanted her husband back, however, that she would have to learn. And quickly.
Saturday, 22 June 1996
Had it been only four days since Lucius was arrested? Narcissa could not fathom how such a short amount of time could have encompassed the eternal nights she had spent lying awake, her body turned towards his side of the bed and eyes wide in the darkness, as though she could will him to appear beside her. And had this truly only been the third day she had spent at the Ministry of Magic, using every tool and trick and lie she could think of to secure a meeting with the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? But Amelia Bones would not see her; no, she was far too busy mounting a resistance to the Dark Lord now that he had revealed himself to meet with the wife of criminal. Because that was all Bones and her Aurors considered Lucius Malfoy to be now: a criminal, belonging in the dread dungeons of Azkaban, conveniently out of the way with no chance of returning to his rightful place. After the decades he had spent cultivating relationships and pouring gold into various special interests at the Ministry, they all now avoided her gaze and muttered excuses as though the Malfoy name meant nothing.
Comforting herself with the thought that Madam Bones could not possibly be long for this world, Narcissa returned home well past supper time after failing once again to speak to anyone who could help her even get a message to her husband. She had to use the visitor floos; when the Aurors had conducted their initial sweep of the Manor, one of their first priorities had been to disconnect Lucius's direct line to Level Six that had been put in place as a special privilege for Septimus Malfoy in 1789. Even when Abraxas had been suspected of involvement in the plot to assassinate Nobby Leach the connection had not been severed; Lucius would be livid when he learned the news.
Travel by grate, particularly a public grate, always left Narcissa feeling rather queasy. The fact that she had not eaten since breakfast did not help matters, and she was so dizzy and lightheaded when she stepped out of the fireplace in Lucius's study that she had to sit for several minutes so as to avoid fainting. She sank into the seat nearest to the hearth. It was his favorite seat, an ancient dragon leather winged armchair. The studs glistened dully in the firelight— they had developed a patina through the ages, but were made from the fangs of the same beast whose hide made upholstery. The old leather felt cool upon her flushed cheek and as she rested there with her eyes closed, she imagined that his scent clung to it. How long before he occupied this spot once more? She would have to go back to the Ministry tomorrow and try to speak with someone again... if not Amelia Bones, then at least a member of the Wizengamot more helpful than the irritating and pompous Junior Undersecretary she'd dealt with this afternoon.
Though she knew she ought to eat, when Narcissa dragged herself to her feet once more all she could think of was getting to her bed. It seemed unlikely she would actually sleep once there with her thoughts racing, but at least it would be cool and dark and still: a semblance of peace.
Standing before the great curved staircase leading to the upper floors, the distance between where she stood and the relief of her pillow seemed insurmountable. What was to stop her from lying down here, on the bottom stair? Draco wouldn't be home for another four days. Lucius wouldn't be home for longer than she cared to contemplate. She'd had no word from neither of them. Her hand rested on the ornate balustrade, and she wondered if the eyes of the serpents carved there amongst the acanthus leaves would record and remember such a display of weakness.
With a great sigh, she dragged her feet up the first stair, and then the next, until her tired body began to carry her on its own accord through the familiar motions. The only way she would survive this ordeal was to maintain her deeply engrained habits and follow the prescribed customs. It felt like an age before she reached the parlour that led into her bed chamber, and when she did enter that darkened room at last, all was not as it had been when she had departed its confines this morning.
Narcissa's heart caught in her throat. The door to Lucius's wardrobe stood open, and though she could not see the rustling figure standing behind the carved mahogany, a wave of relief swept over her that was so powerful it nearly brought her to her knees. He was back.This whole nightmare was ending practically before it had even begun. She would berate him for his carelessness of course, for allowing himself to be captured in the first place, but not until she fell into his arms and felt his body, the solidity and tangibility of his shoulder against her cheek. He was home before Draco's return from Hogwarts; her son would not have to face the fear and confusion of life without his father. Speechless in her joy as she flew across the room, energy flooding back into her leaden limbs, she could have wept.
However, when she drew level to the open door, it became apparent that the figure shuffling through the wardrobe was not in fact her husband at all.
"Bella?"
She did not mean to sound so utterly aghast— in truth, somewhere within her she knew it was a relief that her sister was safe. But she had been so sure it was Lucius standing behind the door that for several seconds she could not clear the devastated disappointment in her expression to something even close to neutrality, let alone happiness at seeing her.
Fortunately, Bellatrix was not paying her much mind. She seemed to be searching the back paneling for a hidden compartment.
"What are you doing in here?" she managed after several seconds, trying not to sound as crushed as she felt, reaching out to touch her sister's arm to both draw her attention and still her movements.
"Oh..." Bellatrix withdrew and swung the doors to the wardrobe closed with a careless bang, looking pensive. "Ages and ages ago... gods, twenty years, maybe? Roddy lost a bet to Lucius over Quidditch... mad, I'm sure you would agree, but he bet something quite valuable and I was hoping to find it. It might be useful now."
Narcissa blinked at her. "What was it?" she asked after a beat, because she could not fathom what else one might say in a situation such as this. "Perhaps I could help you find it. I'm sure Lucius would not have kept it in here, he would never think to put any Dark objects in our bed chamber."
What was it Bellatrix had said that was most distracting in the whole statement? She tried to focus. She didn't care about the wager, gold was nothing. She cared even less about Quidditch. Why were her teeth set on edge by Bellatrix's words? Was it simply because she had invaded the sanctum that her husband so carefully preserved? No, there was something more.
Roddy.
That was it. The affectionate, careless way she'd referred to her husband. She hadn't called him that since... well, certainly since before her escape from Azkaban. Narcissa wasn't entirely sure why she was made so nervous by this, but had no time to dwell on it as Bellatrix spoke once more.
"Oh... you probably wouldn't know, Cissy. It wasn't a Dark object. But I appreciate the offer."
"Could we move our discussion out of the bedroom, Bella?" she prompted, trying to keep the strain from her voice. "Lucius hates having anyone in here, even when Draco was small he felt it a terrible invasion of our privacy."
Bellatrix scoffed but, to Narcissa's relief, moved towards the doorway nonetheless. "It will be a long while before you have to worry about pleasing himanymore."
Narcissa's heart sank, and she managed to ask, "What do you mean?"
"I mean the Dark Lord is in no hurry to release him from Azkaban. He's furious..." some of the nonchalance faded from her tone, and for a moment she looked rather pale and frightened. "I've never seen him so angry. Lucius is rather lucky he has the North Sea between himself and our master's wrath... if not, he'd likely be dead."
Narcissa swallowed the terror that arose at this declaration and queried, "But what happened?"
"Your idiot husband—"
"No," Narcissa interrupted sharply. "Tell me what happened without insulting Lucius or do not speak at all."
Bellatrix twisted her lips as though trying to imagine a creative retelling of events that would not involve defaming the Malfoy name and drawing a blank. "Let's have something to eat, I'm starved and you look dreadful, as if you're about to vanish into thin air. Have you eaten at all since Tuesday?" Bellatrix linked her arm with her younger sister's and began to guide them back downstairs in the direction of the dining room. "I remember when you were a little girl how Mother would fret any time you were tired or ill or just in a temper because you'd stop eating. I suppose you haven't outgrown that."
Narcissa said nothing but scowled a little. Bellatrix went on. "Well, we'll have an elf fix us something and I'll tell you everything."
'Everything' turned out to be a woefully disappointing tale of mismanagement and misfortune. The logic of the whole enterprise would not come to Narcissa, and she failed to see how Lucius could possibly be faulted.
"But Bella I still don't understand," she repeated plaintively, "the Dark Lord didcome to the Ministry, he wasspotted by Fudge and how many others; why did he come only when it seemed certain the retrieval would fail? Why not go himself in the first place and take the prophecy without involving Potter at all?"
"For the last time, he thought it too great a risk to take unless absolutely necessary; if Lucius had done things properly, the Ministry would still be in denial of his return!"
"But if he'd gone in himself, just bewitched the guards and taken it from the shelf, no one would have been any the wiser. If he was willing to come to retrieve you rather than stay hidden, why couldn't he have come in the first place—"
"Enough, Cissy! I won't explain it to you again as you clearly cannot grasp the simplest of facts, and it is not your place to question the Dark Lord's plans to begin with. I am his most trusted, most necessary lieutenant; everyone else is replaceable but the Dark Lord knew that without me his plans could not come to fruition."
Narcissa bit back a sigh and pressed her fingertips to her temple. She could not stomach another bite of her meal.
"Oh, cheer up," Bellatrix snapped. "At least yourhusband is only in prison."
Slowly, Narcissa dragged her eyes from her still nearly full plate to her sister's face. Bellatrix was frowning and pushing peas around like a petulant child. Why had she said it like that? 'Yourhusband;' perhaps implying that her own was worse off?
She sat for several seconds wracking her tired brain for details she'd scoured from the papers over the past two days. Rodolphus dying would have been a headline, wouldn't it? Why would the Ministry want to hide what they would surely view as a victory?
"Bella," she couldn't keep the bewilderment from her tone, "was Rodolphus killed?"
"I know you never liked him, but you needn't be flip about it," Bellatrix snarled, her scowl deepening.
"You said only Sirius died," Narcissa protested, still struggling to fit this new piece of information into the tale she'd just been told.
Now it was Bellatrix's turn to show confusion. "Honestly, what are you going on about? Roddy didn't die in the Department of Mysteries. He's been dead for years."
Narcissa opened her mouth, then closed it again. A dozen questions fought to be voiced at once, but Narcissa was not sure she wanted any of the answers her sister might provide to them, and so they hung, unspoken, in the space between the two women.
She hoped, fervently, that Bellatrix meant only metaphorically that she'd lost Rodolphus years ago to the ravages of Azkaban. If she did not ask her to clarify the strange statement, she could almost convince herself that this what what her sister had intended with her words.
It was what she must believe. Narcissa simply did not have the capacity to consider the alternative.
Wednesday, 26 June 1996
At long last, Draco was coming home.
He hadn't replied to her brief letter, but she did not find him at fault for this. Likely his owl would have been stopped; she had little doubt that he was being closely surveilled by Dumbledore now that Lucius was in prison. Each time he departed for Hogwarts he left a hole in her heart and given the events of the past week she was particularly desperate to confirm his wellbeing with her own eyes, and because of this she arrived at the platform far too early, having been unable to stay in the Manor for a moment longer.
It quickly became apparent that this had been a mistake.
In truth she was no stranger to whispers: she'd endured them since childhood, scandal had followed her like a Grim since Andromeda had left the family. After Andromeda it had been Sirius, and then had followed the suspicions upon her husband after the Dark Lord had vanished, fueled by Rita Skeeter's acid quill. Once that had settled she'd enjoyed a few peaceful years, but Arthur Weasley's vendetta against Lucius had started the rumour mill once more with his invasive raids upon their home. The article in The Quibblerhad alarmed her more than it had Lucius, but it was evident now, as she waited alone at King's Cross station, that the beast of ill-repute had caught up with her at last.
Few bothered to disguise their glares nor lower their tones as they passed her, and she heard snippets of "how dare she stand there, bold as brass"and "wife of a killer, how much do you think she knew?"buzzing around her.
Let them buzz,she thought savagely. Let them burn.These dirty-blooded gossipmongers would be the first to suffer when the Dark Lord took power... no, the second; first she wanted to see the annals of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement purged. Narcissa kept her chin lofted and eyes fixed on the distant point along the tracks where she knew the Hogwarts Express would appear, carrying her son back into her arms. Nothing else mattered. These people were vermin, but she would wade through filth and endure their loathing without batting an eye if it meant seeing her son even a heartbeat sooner.
As the platform grew more crowded, she did not blend into the throng or melt away in the swirling robes around her. No one seemed to want to get too close, as though she carried a contagious curse. Several times she was certain she heard her name, but would not tear her eyes from where the train would materialise to determine who spoke, and no one seemed to want her attention enough to approach her outright.
At last, it arrived. She saw the steam before she saw the vehicle, and in the excitement of its arrival she was no longer an object of scrutiny. As the wheels slowed and gears churned to a stop, the doors opened and children began to pour forth. Draco was normally one of the first to disembark, and easy to spot with his shining white-blond crown, but today he did not immediately appear. She supposed it was prefect duties that delayed him, and she shot a look of warning at a small child that very nearly jostled her in his attempt to reach his family.
But Draco did not appear, even after the last of the students had ceased tricking out and groups had Disapparated or bustled back into Muggle London. Narcissa's heart seemed to be sticking in her throat. The platform was nearly empty now except for... her gut twisted nervously. Except for Darla Goyle and Deirbhile Crabbe. The only reason she had not seen them earlier, she supposed, was because they, like she, had been avoiding meeting the gaze of any other bystander on the platform. In her growing anxiety over her absent son her mind began to grope for more familiar footing: she ought to have owled them— or should she have? What was the correct social nicety when one's husband had been arrested alongside the husband of the recipient? Did it call for a tea or a luncheon?
But then she recalled Darla's husband had not been arrested alongside Sinclair and Lucius. They Goyles had never quite been accepted into the same circles as the Crabbe or Malfoy families, socially or politically. In fact, Narcissa had always rather thought Darla (a Bulstrode by birth) had done herself a disservice by marrying into the Goyle name, though the pair seemed happy enough. Before her marriage, Darla had been included on far more invitation lists than afterwards, although once Draco had befriended her son Narcissa always made sure to graciously include the other woman for the less formal affairs she hosted.
Thus excluded from the hierarchy of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, it seemed too that Timothy Goyle had failed to impress the Dark Lord sufficiently after his return and to be included in the raid on the Department of Mysteries. An embarrassment. A blessing.
She had just begun to take a step forward, ready to board and scour each compartment for him, when Draco tumbled off the train at last. Even she might have not recognised her own son were it not for the shining prefect badge on his uniform. Narcissa did not scream, though she might have wished to as she flew across the platform; fortunately finite incantatumtook care of most of the elementary hexes that had been placed upon him (after all, Dumbledore eschewed curses and any spells that caused real damage in his curriculum). The two monstrous entities that oozed onto the platform after him could only have been Vincent and Gregory, but she paid them no mind; let their own mothers deal with them.
"Draco," she breathed, and he wiped slug mucus impatiently from his cheek with his sleeve.
"It was Potter, Mother, he—"
"Hush," she interrupted; she never interrupted him, but it was not safe now. She gripped his arm and pulled out her wand to Apparate to the lane before the Manor. The carriage would still be waiting for them on the street, and she hate Appartition— usually the risk of splinching was not worth the hour saved, but she. needed to get him off the platform as soon as possible. Quickly she summoned an elf to handle his trunk. Despite her command, Draco was still ranting about the incident on the train at full volume.
"Potter and almost all of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff went after us; Crabbe and Goyle are in worse shape than I am but we hardly stood a chance against an ambush—"
"Quiet for a moment, darling," she whispered, grasping his arm more tightly still and closing her eyes as she carefully envisioned the wrought iron gates that stood at the end of her drive. A horrible moment of suffocation later, she stood with Draco back in Wiltshire.
"Is Father home?" The Apparation seemed to have snapped him out if his need to explain the state she had found him in. "Your letter said it was a misunderstanding, that he'd be out soon; has he been released? Or has the Dark Lord...?"
"No, Draco." She swallowed and forced herself to admit aloud what she had been so desperately attempting to deny with each waking breath of this horrible past week. "I don't think he will be freed for some time yet."
The crushing disappointment upon his face was almost more than she could bear. He ducked his head, and she wondered if it was to hide tears. Her own breath catching, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him tightly to her. "It will be alright," she promised fervently, stroking the back of his head as to comfort him just as she had since he was small. "Everything will be alright. This isn't forever."
Sooner than she would have liked, he pulled away from her and turned to follow the gravel path to the front doors of the Manor. "Is there anything we can do? To get him out?" he asked in a subdued voice, rubbing surreptitiously at his eyes. She graciously pretended not to notice as she walked beside him.
"I've tried speaking with a number of members of the Ministry... Fudge won't last another week, I'm sure you've seen the papers, but Amelia Bones has flat out refused to meet with me." Narcissa felt another stab of fury at the memory of the snub, but reassured herself once more that the horrible woman's days must surely be numbered, even if the Dark Lord had to kill her himself. "I know you must miss your father terribly, and I do as well, but it seems we have no choice but to be patient. The dementors have been abandoning the prison, I don't know if you saw that in the Prophet, but perhaps with fewer of them guarding Azkaban your father might escape..." It was a wild and desperate hope but one of the only ones that remained to her.
She paused when the reached the entrance. "Your Aunt Bella was not captured with your father and the rest. She's continuing her stay with us for the foreseeable future." The doors swung open at her touch and she led the way inside. "But she's been out most days, quite busy now as I'm sure you understand."
"Busy now that we're at war?" he asked bluntly, trailing after her as they moved through the great house towards her study. Narcissa frowned a little.
"Well whatever it is, I'm sure it will all be sorted soon enough. The Dark Lord will take control of the Ministry and I'm sure he'll need your father's help in managing it once he has. Come sit with me, darling, and tell me about your O.W.L's."
"I don't want to talk about my bloody O.W.L's!" Draco exploded, and she turned to him in alarm. "It's pointless, Mum," he went on, though softening his tone in deference to her expression. "What does it matter when Father is locked in Azkaban?"
Narcissa did not have an answer ready for this query, and he shook his head. "I'm going to go have a bath and change my robes. I'll be down for supper, alright?"
"Yes, quite alright," she confirmed, fighting bravely to keep the quaver from her voice. She should have known that he would be angry, but she so desperately needed to see him calm and content so she too could feel even a moment of peace that she had hoped to find him so. She would apologise at supper, she resolved, and perhaps once he vented his very justifiable fears and frustrations he might share more of what was going on in his life with her. If she could have just an hour of quotidian normalcy, perhaps she would sleep, perhaps she would no longer feel as though her life had slipped from her grasp.
An hour later and it was time to eat. They'd only just settled in at the dining room when Bellatrix arrived, sweeping in with what Narcissa felt to be an unnecessarily dramatic flair.
"Hello, Draco." Narcissa was startled that Bella acknowledged her son's presence at all, and was even more unnerved when she stood at his side and took his chin in her bony hand, studying him carefully. "You haven't taught him Occlumency at all?" she asked sharply after a moment, and Narcissa felt her stomach pitch with dread. "We'll have to work on that if he's around Snape every day..."
Annoyed and offended, Draco jerked away from his aunt. "What are you talking about? Professor Snape is an—"
"Snape is a traitor, I can feel it in my bones," Bellatrix interrupted abruptly. "It's no matter though. You father, useless as he is, has a natural inclination towards it, and your mummy started schooling herself as a little girl... didn't you Cissy?"
"As soon as I learned what you were up to," Narcissa confirmed irritably, wishing to draw him away from Bellatrix's prying gaze. "Could you please take a seat if you wish to join us for supper? Fortunately Draco has never been a victim of such invasive harassment and there has been no need—"
"Of course there is need!" Bellatrix snarled, turning to glare at her younger sister. "There is every need! I cannot fathom how youof all people could have become so..." But she seemed to think better of calling Narcissa whatever adjective had come to mind, and looked back at Draco. "It is of no matter. It is not too late for him to learn."
Draco made a face at this pronouncement. "I've just finished the term, can learning not be put on hold for the summer?" he griped. Bellatrix arched a disdainful brow.
"Laziness is a very unappealing trait, Draco. I thought you had expressed a desire to help further the Dark Lord's plans, but if a bit of learning is too strenuous, then perhaps you really are just the child your parents think you are."
Both Narcissa and Draco spoke at once; Narcissa to object to the absurd notion that her son, not yet a fully qualified wizard, would think to be involved with the Dark Lord's plans, but Draco was louder.
"I dowant to; let me have a go at Potter for getting my father sent to Azkaban, I could take him easily in a fair fight."
"Potter belongs to the Dark Lord," Bellatrix replied dismissively, but with a hint of approval at last in her sunken features. She rounded the table to take an empty chair beside her sister. "But I'm sure there are other ways you can be of service, now that your father is..." she cast a quick glance at Narcissa's thunderous expression, "... indisposed." She peered more closely at Draco. "But it will be hard work, and it will all be useless if you fail to master Occlumency and leave your thoughts open for your enemies to peruse. There is no point in any other sort of training— no reason to learn proper duelling, poisons, curses— without it."
"Draco," Narcissa cut in, pleading now with her son to see the danger of what her sister was dangling before him. "Please, let us just share a meal together to celebrate the fact that you've come home and not worry about all this tonight." However, her son refused to look at her, staring instead into Bellatrix's entrancing gaze.
"Alright," Draco agreed quietly after a long moment. "When can we begin?"