Chapter 40
*looks around* 40? Oh help! SOMEBODY STOP ME!!!!!!! Lol, okay, okay. I'm calm. Will now proceed to write chapter. ^^ Thanks again for reviews and reviewers, esp. Alya Pascal, Pervert Bitch, the Puck and Blonde Ditz. And ?, (weird). You are all wonderful, wonderful people. Oh, and WARNING: kind of very feeble suggestions of femmeslash. . .nothing more than kissing, but I thought I'd better warn you. . . Alysun.
Six Weeks.
Narcissa woke up the next morning feeling decidedly ruffled. Since Lucius' murder, everything seemed to have being going horribly wrong. . .when she had planned it, it had been perfect. There was no way of proving that Severus was innocent, and even if there was, the jurors would send him down anyway, thanks to Seneca's talents. Severus wasn't supposed to sleep with Draco, and Draco wasn't supposed to like it! No. . .and then, Severus wasn't supposed to realise that she had killed Lucius, however little evidence there was. And Voldemort wasn't supposed to want Draco as his new assistant. She shivered slightly, despite the warmth of the room. Wormtail had visited yesterday to tell her. There was something undeniably disgusting about him - the way he cowered at a single word from her and flinched when she moved near him, yet still managed to keep a sneering, superior tone to his stutter. However much he infuriated her, she couldn't touch him while he was Voldemort's servant, and Wormtail knew it. She felt the beginnings of a headache and swung herself out of bed in search of a headache cure. She reached her bathroom and rifled through the various bottles and containers in the cupboard, carefully ignoring her reflection in the mirror. She did not look her best in the early morning. Besides, the mirror was a sarcastic so-and-so, when it wanted to be. . . She yawned and wiped the sleep out of her eyes. Blinking once or twice, she stared at the collection of pills and potions that she had gathered up over the years. She really should clear it out. Maybe later. She searched again for something that cured headaches, but found only three empty bottles of the substance that she chased after. . . She made an expressive snort and tossed her hair out of her eyes. This was so damn stupid! All she wanted was a damn cure for her damn headache and she couldn't even get that! Why could nothing go to plan? Why?! She abandoned the bathroom, slamming the door behind her and stormed back into the adjoining room, her bedroom. She sat down heavily at the end of the bed, crossed her arms and sulked like a child. Not fair! Nothing was right! Draco, stupid, stupid, stupid boy had to go and spoil everything. . . no. Not Draco's fault. Snape's. Snape. He was the one who had perverted her Lucius, and then her Draco! Hers! Not his! Queer bastard. . .she had never liked him, the way he crept around in his dungeons. . .he wasn't right in the head. Queer little git. Stealing her husband and then her only son, what kind of game was that to play? Her only son! And the amount of work she had put into getting Draco. . . She scowled darkly. Her sense told her now that both her son and her husband were as 'queer' as Snape, and were as much to blame as he was. Narcissa, however, had never been one for sense. Her son, her Lucius. . .all hers. Not Snape's. HERS! She relaxed a little thinking of this. Snape was safely locked up in Azkaban, him and all his perversions, safely hidden away from Draco. Lucius was resting, safe at last from Snape's poisoned grip. Things were looking up. . .especially with Seneca to clear up the last of the sickness from Draco. Yes, things were starting to look up. . . She smiled and started to dress for breakfast (well. She glanced at the carriage clock on her bedside table. Maybe lunch), remembering that Draco was still not to eat much, for his operation later that day. It helped her to think of it as an operation.
~~
Draco woke up in the bed that Hermione had transfigured for him, down in the dark dungeons of Hogwarts. It took him a moment to realise where he was, and how he had got there in the first place. He was running, hiding from Seneca and Voldemort - not to mention his mother and her twisted ideas about was good for him. He shivered, and pulled the covers closer round him. They were not as good a quality as he was used to, but they were still warm and comforting to him as he sat, curled into a ball, thinking dark thoughts. It was all his fault. It was all his damn fault, his fault that he had gone to Snape all those months ago, his fault that he had tried to push Snape too far, his fault that Snape was in Azkaban. . . He shivered again, and then glanced at his watch. Half twelve, apparently. It still felt like early morning, but then, day and night was hard to distinguish in the gloom of the dungeons. True, light filtered through the deep set windows, but it was hardly enough to see clearly by, let alone to judge the time by. So. What should he do now? His stomach rumbled, telling him quite clearly what it thought he should do. . . would Granger bring him some food any time soon? It was about lunch time at any rate. . . On a more long term train of mind, how long could he practically stay down here? Would his mother panic when she found him gone and demand for a search of the castle? He didn't put it past her to do so, but he sincerely hoped not. But what if she did? Granger had better have some sort of a plan in that eventuality. There was a quiet knock on the door of the classroom that made him freeze. Who was it? What should he do?! Silently, the door was pushed open, and a head peered in past it before he could do anything. "Draco?" Hermione hissed into the half darkness. "Close the bloody door!" he hissed back in way of reply. She slipped in and did so, carrying with her a big plate of sandwiches and a jug of pumpkin juice. "Here you are," she said more clearly, and moved across the room and dumped the tray and jug on the end bench next to Draco's bed. "How are you?" "Starving. Thank you," Draco murmured indiscreetly, with a sandwich in his hand already. "Good. I'm fine too, by the way," she replied, just a little disapproving. "Nobody has asked me any questions or anything, so I think we can safely assume you're safe for a little while at least. Of course, your disappearance will be in the newspapers when your mother finds you gone, but that can't be helped. I know a place you can go if they want to explore the castle. Any idea why your mother hasn't reported you missing already?" Draco didn't answer for a minute, trying to let his brain catch up with Granger's ready flow of chatter. "Probably hasn't even woken up yet. She'll see I'm gone at lunch time, which is about one o'clock in our household," he said and reached out for another sandwich. "Oh," answered Granger and looked a little put out. Then she said, "Doesn't she check up on you or anything like that?" Draco's mouth twisted into a smile. "My mother? Lord, no. I think that falls under the classification of 'mothering' which she doesn't do. As soon as I was old enough to look after myself and didn't need a nanny any more, I was left pretty much to myself as far as my mother was concerned. I was much closer with father than I will ever be with mother." "Oh," she said again, and rubbed her nose, as if in confusion. She didn't say any more, however, for which Draco was grateful for at least. He didn't want to be questioned on his home life right then. Hermione sat on the edge of the bench next to Draco's bed and said "So what do you want to do now you're out of the Manor? You can't stay here forever you know. . ." Draco sighed. Before answering, he transfigured an abandoned potions beaker into a glass and poured himself a drink. "How long do you reckon I can stay down here for?" he asked at length. She shrugged. "I'd say. . .maybe ten weeks at the very most. No-one ever comes down here any more, not even Filch or the ghosts. Even the Slytherins steer clear from it, or so I've heard. No-one likes to think about Professor Snape now that he's gone." Draco scowled at her last line. Turncoats! Just because he had gone didn't mean he wouldn't ever help them. . . Not that he could, really, not now he was in Azkaban. Not now that he had put him in Azkaban. The scowl slid from his face leaving him look like himself, for once. Young, worried and ever so slightly insecure. He quickly smothered the look with the calm composed mask he had perfected long before he had reached Hogwarts, hoping that Granger hadn't noticed. He had been too late, judging by the look on her face. "It's not your fault, you know," she said softly. His face turned stony, but he refused to answer, knowing that it was pointless to try and convince her that it was. "It's really not," she said again, earnestly. "I don't know what went on exactly, but I'm guessing you found out about him and your father, right?" Draco said nothing but continued to stare at the bedspread as though it was the most fascinating thing he had ever come across, hoping that she would just go away, or that the angry words in his head would drown out her lies. But they didn't and her words drilled on into his mind, invoking feelings and emotions that he didn't want. She took the silence as an affirmation that yes, he had found out about Lucius and Snape. She went on, not oblivious to his iron cast look, but knowing that these were words he had to hear for his own sanity. "So you found out about Professor Snape and your father. You were angry. Of course you were angry, Draco! You wouldn't be human not to be! He should have told you before, he should have let you know before then. So you turned on him in anger, and the results were. . .well, a little drastic and very, umm. . .well, definite. . .but it wasn't your fault!" He turned his cold gaze to meet her chocolate stare. The dark eyes offered sympathy and understanding, and he couldn't bear it. She didn't understand. She couldn't understand! And there was no way of making her see that she was wrong. . . So he just shrugged and looked away. "Ten weeks, you said?" he said, changing the subject abruptly. She sighed and agreed. "Yes. But that's at the very most. . .I think eight weeks would be possibly more realistic, but I can't really judge. It depends on whether or not people start using the dungeons again. They probably won't, since we have potions on the fourth floor now, but you never know. . I'll keep an ear out for any rumours." Again, Draco felt an uncomfortable twinge of guilt as she mentioned Snape's absence. "Good. I'll try and think of something I can do. . .there is nowhere - and I mean nowhere to go any more. I was thinking that maybe one of my father's more open minded friends would look after me for a while. . . maybe even Crabbe's family, or perhaps Goyle's, but I can't even do that now. . ." Granger gave him a puzzled look and he sighed inwardly. Of course, she didn't know. . . "Why can't you go?" she inevitably asked him. "Because they are Death Eaters, each and every one of them. And now the Dark Lord wants. . ." Draco broke off, suddenly finding it hard to talk in the bleak realisation that he was entirely alone. . . "Wants?" Hermione coaxed. "Me." "You?!" she gasped, her eyes wide. Damn silly innocent, Draco thought grimly. She may think that's bad, but she really has no idea. . ."Yes, me. He wants me to be his 'personal assistant', according to Wormtail and my dear mother," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Personal assistant?" she asked, sounding slightly faint. "Yes, Granger. That is what I said. Personal assistant. Blood, pain, death, rape. All the good stuff," he snapped sardonically "And won't that be fun?!" She bit her lip and looked at him. She was really worried now. . .to hide him from his mother and some other witch was bad enough, but from Him. . .it made her want to hide behind something just to think about it! But overall, he was right. There was nowhere he could go now. . .and besides, all things taken into consideration, Hogwarts was probably the safest place from him. "Well. . .Hogwarts is probably the best place for you to be. . .I mean, You- Know-Who wouldn't dare openly attack Dumbledore, would he?" Draco shrugged grimly. "I don't know. I really don't know. When he rose again, he was restored back to the state he was in before Potter destroyed him. . .except that Potter was vulnerable to him again. Since then? I don't know. Father was . . .well, favoured by the Dark Lord, certainly, so he probably knew about that kind of thing. He hinted to me once or twice that he was getting stronger again, but said nothing definite. . ." Hermione chewed on her lip again, and tugged a strand of hair in her discomfort. "But do you think he could actually attack Hogwarts?" Draco sighed unhappily. "I wish I could say. I don't think so. . .but then, on saying that, it doesn't really matter if he could, in my case. I can't see him risking a whole bunch of Death Eaters, just to get at me. Potter maybe, but not me." Hermione decided to ignore the little suggestion of jealousy that had showed through in Draco's voice. What could they do? What should she do? Go to Dumbledore. She must tell him all this. . . it was essential for him to know! "Malfoy, I don't care what you think, but Dumbledore has to know about this!" Malfoy looked at her as if she was mad. "You what?!" Oh, why couldn't he just make this easy for himself? "You heard me. We have to tell Dumbledore! All this is important, you know, Malfoy. If You-Know- Who is looking for you, and finds out that you're at Hogwarts, then he might just to kill two birds with one stone and get you and Harry both at once!" she cried, her voice rising in worry. He scowled again. She just refused to see it, didn't she? Why in hell did she have to make it so damn hard for him? "Don't you see it, you stupid girl? He won't know I'm here! He has no spies in Hogwarts, which is probably why he's so anxious to get at me. He won't launch an open attack on Hogwarts just yet because, whatever you may think, he is not bloody stupid! Evil, sadistic, cruel, heartless, merciless and sick, yes, but stupid and foolish, no. Before now, he might have, and relied on Snape and his fear to get them a free entrance into the school, but he hasn't even got that now! But if he had me. . .that would change it again. I am the turning point here, the fate of all and everything lies. . . on. . me," he said, ending very slowly, as though talking to an idiot. "Yes, I know that, Malfoy! But if we told Dumbledore. . ." "If we told Dumbledore, then he would know, and probably tell Fudge, the Minister of Magic. Fudge would tell his offices, and Granger, I assure you, some of the members of his offices are not loyal to Fudge. Far from it." For a moment, Granger was silent, thinking. Seeing this, he fell back, exhausted onto the bed. Sometimes, he thought to himself, Gryffindors were so bloody honourable and utterly thick, it was hard to differentiate them from Hufflepuffs. . . "But if we explained to Dumbledore. . ." "NO, Granger. The more people who know I'm here, the more danger I'm in. Can't you see that?" She nodded miserably in acceptance that he was right, and Draco heaved a sigh of relief. She stood up to leave. "I'd better go, before I'm missed. The plate and the jug will re-fill themselves indefinitely, but I'll try and visit you tomorrow some time. Anything you want?" Draco considered the offer for a moment. "My freedom, the past few months of my life never to have happened, Snape to be freed, and perhaps, for the Dark Lord to accidentally poison himself on some vile concoction that was supposed to make him immortal, and maybe, if it's at all possible, a book about Dementors, if you please." Hermione pulled a face at him and said, "That isn't funny, you know. I'll get you the book for tomorrow." Draco looked at her seriously. "I know it's not funny, Granger. It's hilarious." She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and sniffed. "I don't know why I said I'd help you, I really don't. See you tomorrow, Malfoy. " Draco smiled slowly to himself as the door clicked shut. Nothing better than winding up Gryffindors. . .especially Gryffindors like Granger. Just so long as she didn't go running to any of the Professors. . .
Narcissa made her way up to the library, cursing the Manor's architect for making any route to the place impossibly long. She clicked her tongue irately as she mounted the last set of stairs. All this to see Seneca. A bag of coins clinked gently at her side. She had got them out of her vault in Gringrott's the previous day, and was carrying them round with her to keep them safe. 7500 galleons. 7500 glorious, gleaming, glimmering, golden galleons. All for the boy. . .she sighed again and pushed the library door open. "Seneca?" she called into the infinite gloom. She hated libraries. Big, dull boring places full of row upon row, shelf upon shelf of books. Books! Who needed them, really? What did they do? Nothing. Her husband had always wanted her to be more literary minded, but she had never managed it, despite his best efforts. She just found reading anything beyond the gossip columns in the newspaper plain boring. "Narcissa, dear," came Seneca's voice, softly, softly. . .it was hypnotic in itself. . . beautifully soft, silky smooth. . . She snapped herself out of it, and tossed her head resolutely. Seneca would never try anything like that on her. . .not even if someone was paying her. But still. . .the softness of the voice was deceiving, and Narcissa fought a shiver out of her system. Seneca was her friend. She was Seneca's friend. She was. "Ah, I see you've come to pay back. . .your debts. . ." Seneca murmured, spotting the bulging leather pouch with sharp yet apparently languid eyes. . . "Yes. For Draco, tonight. I'll pay you when you're done, like always. . ." "Ah-ah-ahh. . . Narcissa, dearest, I need my security as much as you do. Pay me now, or I might just find myself . . .forgetting. . ." the silken voice came, the threat not even touching the soft, soft tone of her voice, padded by the slow relaxation of the pauses. Narcissa fought with herself. The more delicate, romantic side of her had already given in to the soft persuasion of the gentle voice, but the hardened, colder side that had earned her a place in Slytherin resisted, mistrusted the sheathed dagger that was surely hidden in the soft feather light beauty of the voice. . . Before she could stop herself, she found her hand on the fastening of the purse, fumbling to undo it, gently urged by the calming, soothing sound of the voice. . . "That's it, Narcissa, dearest, you know you're right. . ." She made a strangled noise as she tore her hand away from the purse. "Tonight," she said harshly, her voice so hard, so grating to her ears in comparison to the sweet, liquid honey that spoke to her. . . "Now, now, Narcissa. . .all the things I do for you and you won't allow me this one little extra? I thought we were friends, Narcissa . . ." the voice saddened, softened until it was hard to hear. Out of nowhere, Narcissa felt guilt like she had never felt before. She had failed the voice! The voice was so sad, and it was all her fault. . .sweet voice, so warm, so unlike anything else she had ever heard. . .sweet, soft, soft voice. . .the voice that had been there for her, when she had needed it so much. . .beautiful voice. . . She hung her head in shame, unexpected tears in her eyes. She unbuckled the purse easily and held it out to the voice, finding herself on her knees, as though making an offering to a god. The Slytherin side of her rebelled screaming the insanity of it, trying to get its attention, but was downed out easily, by a chuckle from the voice. "Narcissa, you are so sweet sometimes. . ." the weight of the bag vanished as a hand came down and took it from her. The scream of sense was merely a muffled shout by now. The voice had said she was sweet! Happiness sent a thrill through her, making her want to sing and dance around the library, to laugh with sheer joy. Instead she dared to look up at the voice, her eyes big and resembled closely those of a begging puppy dog. She saw a face, pale, aquiline and amused. And beautiful. . .so beautiful. So beautiful that it had to belong to the voice. . .the mouth of the face moved, and voice flowed from it, like a trickling flow of sparkling water in a brook. She watched the mouth move transfixed, the voice softly bending her will to fit its words. "Oh, of course. . .stand up, Narcissa, darling, stand and come to me. . ." In a dream like state, Narcissa stood up, barefoot - barefoot? She must have kicked them off when she knelt down - and moved shyly towards to face, never taking her eyes of the sensual, warm red of the moving mouth that uttered such sweet, sweet words in such a soft, soft voice. . .she would do anything for that voice, anything. . . Anything for the voice that murmured sweet nothings for her and her alone, in a way Lucius had never done after Draco's birth. . .somehow, both the names and the relevance of the comment where suddenly lost to her. . .Draco? Draco meant nothing, he was the Dark Lord's now, and as for Lucius. . .well, and Lucius belonged with the dead. She smiled shyly at the face, like a nervous twelve-year-old meeting her first date. Who did she, Narcissa belong to? No-one. No-one but the voice. . . "So sweet, Narcissa. . .such beautiful hair. . .let me touch it. . ." the voice uttered, like melted butter sliding into her ears and into her mind, sending tingling happiness through her. She moved closer and bowed her head slightly for the voice to touch her hair. Long, pale fingers reached out at her and stroked the fine blonde hair that Narcissa offered to them, barely touching, but touching enough to make Narcissa shiver in delight. "Such soft hair, Narcissa, such soft, sweet hair. . ." The fingers slid from her hair and caressed her cheek, running up and down lingering maybe longer than they should. They were cool, almost cold, and sent another thrill through Narcissa. "And your skin. . .my, my, Narcissa, so soft to touch, so warm and fresh. . ."the voice came again, this time making her blush with girlish pleasure. The voice appreciated her, touched her so softly, as softly as it sounded. . .the fingers moved from her cheek and traced down to her chin. The touch was so soft, so light. . .it made her nerves tingle as they moved on, making her want to do something, not just stand there. . .jump up and down, scream shout, laugh or cry, she didn't know, but just to stand there was torture. . .but, oh! such pleasurable torture. . . "Do you like that, Narcissa?" the voice breathed as the fingers slid down her throat and ran around to the back of her neck, never anything more than a light trace, but so good. . . Narcissa could only whimper an agreement, no longer hearing the sanity in her Slytherin voice, not hearing her Slytherin side at all. "It's good, isn't it, Narcissa?. . .do you want more? You do? Oh, Narcissa. . ." Narcissa felt so weak now, not wanting to believe what was happening in fear of finding it to be nothing more than a dream. . . The way the voice spoke her name. . .the slight lingering on the 's' s, the gentle tone softening the harsh edges to the 'Nar' at the beginning. . .divine. Divine. . .the voice was divine. The pressure from the fingers that fondled the back of her neck increased ever so slightly, urging her to move closer to the face that stood in front of her. Obediently, Narcissa's feet took her one, two, three paces towards the face, until they were almost nose to nose. . . The face smiled so sweetly at her, the eyes tracing the delicate features of her face so fondly, in a way she had longed for all her life. The lips of the mouth in front of her pursed slightly, a suggestion, a warning of what to was to come. . . Narcissa didn't know, didn't care, not even when the hand on her neck pulled her closer, landing her own mouth on the soft lips that were offered to her. She reacted automatically, parting her lips to let the tongue that uttered the honeyed words into her own mouth, letting it touch, explore, caress, like the fingers had done on her face. So gentle, so melodious in it's own silent way. . . Arms wound themselves around the effortless grace of Narcissa's body. She reacted again, before even considering what she was doing. So warm and so soft, it had to be safe, her security. . .she, in turn, slid her arms around the well formed body before her, pulling her closer, deeper into her mouth, closer to her body. She let her eye lids flutter closed, letting her brain centre its attention on the kiss. Slowly and carefully, the kiss was broken off by the face that was so soft and caring. Narcissa whimpered, not wanting it to end, not now, not ever, the surreal pleasure of it making her head spin. The voice chuckled deeply, fingers stroking her back luxuriously. "You want more still, Narcissa? But I thought you didn't like this sort of thing. . ." Narcissa stared soulfully into the bottomless, caring eyes that were so close to hers. . .she couldn't find it in herself to break the spell by opening her mouth to talk, so she just stared mournfully into the deep, deep eyes. . . And then the arms unwound themselves, and the face moved away from her, prising her hold from the perfect figure. "I think you had better go and think for a while, Narcissa, dear. . ." Gentle fingers forced her out of the darkened library into the relative brightness of the hall, and the door closed quietly but solidly, shutting Narcissa away from the drowning gaze, the gentle touches and the soft, soft voice. . . Confused and lost, she fell to the floor, tears pouring from her eyes, rivulets of sorrow and desire. . .of need. . .she needed someone to hold her, to love her, to want her. . . To love her.
The gong crashed, ringing endlessly through her ears, stamping on her wants and pointing out her needs. She needed to eat. She didn't want to. The voice didn't want her. . . Don't be a damn fool, her Slytherin side snapped, and yet still she sat on the floor, barefoot and whimpering. She never wanted to move, not until the voice called her and said that it wanted her again. . .another tear escaped, running solo down her cheek. Her cheek, the cheek that the voice had complimented. . . The gong crashed again, shaking her out of her self pity a bit more. Why did the voice push her away? Why? "You want more still, Narcissa? But I thought you didn't like this sort of thing. . ." What sort of thing? She didn't like softness, sweetness, gentle touches, light caresses? The gong crashed for a third time. Bloody thing! She snapped, bringing her totally and completely out of herself. She looked around her, gathering her wits as she did so. Her shoes were strewn on the floor, just outside of the door. She stood to retrieve them, noting that she had been on the floor, and crying. She bit her lip and pushed the tears away, annoyed at them. She couldn't even remember the last time she had cried without forcing herself.
She pulled her shoes on and made for the stairway, hurrying down to the dining room where Draco would be waiting impatiently for her. . .the gong crashed again and she set off down the next set of stairs, cursing under her breath as she went. Eventually, she made it to the dining room, unscathed but more than slightly breathless. She stopped outside the room, and straightened her robes and hair before pushing open the door, ready excuses waiting on her tongue to greet Draco with. "Draco dear, I was. . ." she stopped. She was all alone. The table was set for two, but no-one was seated in Draco's chair. Where's the damn boy now? The gong went off again, and Narcissa jerked the bell pull in the corner of the room sharply. Silently, Quarles, the esteemed Malfoy butler, slipped in and bowed slightly to her. "Yes, ma'am?" he murmured, respectfully. "Quarles, do you know where the wretched boy has got to? He doesn't appear to have heard the bell for lunch. . ." "It appears, ma'am, that young Master Malfoy has been absent from the Manor since either last night or this morning. It was assumed that he had been sent out of the Manor, ma'am." Narcissa stared at Quarles unbelievingly. "What?" she asked dumbly, elegance lost in her shock. Quarles looked suitably disapproving at his mistress's lack of manners, but repeated, "Master Malfoy appears to be absent from the Manor, ma'am." She sat down abruptly on the nearest chair, all the colour gone from her face. "Oh gods. . .oh gods, oh help. . ." she whispered. Some days one should just stay in bed. . . Her hand automatically went down to her side in search of comfort in the money that she had carried there, only to find that it had gone. She panicked for a moment, before remembering what had happened barely 15 minutes beforehand. . ."Oh, help. . ." Her eyes glazed over with tears, and Quarles stepped back out of the room respectful as ever of his master's (and mistress') privacy. Tears fell again from Narcissa's eyes, this time in sheer helplessness rather than the misery of before. Nothing would go right today. . .even Seneca had turned against her, playing cruel games with her mind. But. . .but it had been. . .NO! No, no and no. She shuddered and started to drag herself back together, mentally. This would not do. Tears never got anyone anywhere, she told herself firmly. She wiped her tears away again and tossed her hair back with an arrogant shake of her head. She pushed her shoulders back and marched purposefully from the room, into his study where Draco seemed to spend most of his time now. Knowing that he was gone, she didn't even bother to knock, but slammed the door open, brimming with rage. How dare he go?! How dare he? How was she going to explain this to the Dark Lord tonight? She looked around, missing nothing with her laser glare. Nothing had been disturbed, the desk as neat and tidy as ever it had been. There were no signs of a scuffle or fight of any sort and it became increasingly clear that he had left entirely of his own will. Her sharp eyes noticed that the fireplace was not as neatly swept as it should have been. She approached it, and stood over it, examining it minutely, looking for the marks of footprints in the ashes. . .there. . .and there. Yes, Draco must have used the Flo Powder. . . damn him. She would contact the Ministry through some of Lucius's old friends and back up her theory by getting evidence from the Flo Network people. The kept a track of every fireplace that was used, from where to where and when. Hopefully, with that piece of information she should be able to determine exactly where the silly prat had got himself to. She muttered under her breath to herself, quietly cursing the boy. She grabbed a quill and a fresh piece of parchment, and jotted down a letter to one of Lucius's more favourable contacts. After a moment or two, she had completed the note and was hurrying down to the owlery, to send it on its way. She hoped and prayed that she would get some results from this. And that the Daily Prophet heard sight nor sound of Draco's disappearance. . .all that was left to do was to face Seneca and either get her money back or make her come back later to do the job on Draco. That and to inform the Dark Lord of Draco's vanishing act. . .she shuddered and started back up to the library. She steeled herself as she knocked sharply on the library door. "Come in," came the silken reply, but with none of the deceiving softness of before. Narcissa pushed open the door and proceeded into the musty air of the library. She wandered slightly between the tall shelves, until she reached the fireplace where Seneca sat, book in hand. "No games, Seneca. I'm here about the boy," Narcissa started briskly, before the dark haired woman could say anything. "But of course Narcissa. . .when did you find that he was gone?" replied Seneca coolly, marking the book and depositing it on the table beside her. "What? You knew? Why didn't you tell me?!" gasped Narcissa, falling back into the other chair feeling rather weak. "Because the boy needs his freedom, Narcissa. He is old enough, by your mortal standards, to stand on his own two feet and decide what he wants. You can't make him into everything you ever wanted Lucius to be, however hard you try." The blonde woman stared at her companion in blatant disbelief. Gone were all traces of Seneca's lingering, soothing tones, replaced by a more natural, practical and brisk voice. "But. . ." she started, at a loss at what to say. "But what, Narcissa? But I agreed to take on the job? Well, I have needs and wants like the rest of you, mostly expensive needs and extravagant wants. That's what immortality does to you. But I am homophobic and disapprove of my son and his tastes? No, I don't disapprove. I couldn't care less. . . I only agreed to have a son because Cydas wanted a heir. When he found out that poor Severus was gay, he couldn't drop the boy fast enough, and I've never had any real feelings for him, so I went along with it. But I'm your friend? I'm a vampire. I don't need mortal friends who die at the blink of an eye. I admit, I get fond of a few who amuse you, like you do, Narcissa, dear, but mostly you're all frightful god-fearing bores. Answered your questions?" Narcissa said nothing, but seemed to deflate within herself, losing all her arrogance and prestige, and looking very disillusioned. On seeing this, Seneca gave a quiet laugh. "Remember, never trust a vampire. We have no needs for humans, other than mere sustenance and a way of passing the centuries. Let the boy go, Narcissa, let him live his own life instead of living it for him." "You. . .you, evil, lying. . .why?!" Narcissa whispered viciously, not wanting to raise her voice. Seneca shrugged. "Why not? Draco needs to believe in himself, believe that he can get free of you, or else he'll end up as a down trodden middle-aged bastard with nothing to show for his past thirty years other than a string of enemies and broken hearts. He's worth more than that. No, don't argue with me, Narcissa, I've lived long enough to know that what I say is true. You've lost Lucius and that's all your fault. Turning Draco into Lucius will get you nowhere. " To that, Narcissa had no answer. She said, more than a little sulkily, "I thought you were supposed to be my friend." "I've explained all that. And anyway, I've been more of a friend by telling you all this and letting Draco free than I would have been otherwise." Narcissa pouted, regaining her old pride more and more by the minute. "But then what did you. . .why did you. . ." she asked, not sure how to phrase her question. "Why did I kiss you earlier?" Seneca asked for her, again, sounding entertained. "Yes." "Because I wanted to show you that I didn't give a damn about homosexuality - that's their business entirely, if that's how they want to be. Besides, I knew that you'd find that Draco was gone soon, and I wanted that money. " "So you won't give it back," stated Narcissa dully. "No. I need it more than you do." Intrigued out of her sulk for a moment, Narcissa inquired, "Why? The Snape name is still supposed to hold a vast fortune to it. You can't tell me that it's all gone already?" "Hardly, dear. But as I said before I have my needs and wants, and they come at a price. I could use the money I got access to by marrying Cydas, but it would have drained the family inheritance horribly. So instead I use other ways and means to acquire money. " Narcissa eyed Seneca suspiciously. "Like what, blackmail? Bribery?" "Amongst other things, yes," came the unconcerned reply. "Still, it's rightfully my money, you know," she challenged. "Well, you going to fight me for it, Narcissa, dear?" Seneca murmured through a half smile that was threatening to be a grin. She decided to stop salting the open wound and moved on. "I suppose you won't help me find Draco now, will you?" "Maybe. At a price," Seneca said, smiling slightly at her words. She sighed. "I hate it when you say that. . .I'm not trusting you any more. I should never have trusted you in the first place. But I have to get him back! The Dark Lord wants him tonight! Tonight!" "No, you shouldn't have trusted me. As for Voldemort (Narcissa flinched at the sound of the name), write and tell him that Draco's gone?" proposed Seneca practically. Again, Narcissa found herself staring at the pale woman that sat in front of her. "Are you insane?! He would kill me! Or at least, torture me at the very least. . .I said that Draco would be here tonight!" "Am I insane? No, just immortal. Would you like me to write and explain? I have no desire to see the boy dead, he could prove to be very useful to me in the future. . ." Seneca asked. "Would you?" asked Narcissa urgently, seeing at least one solution to her many problems. "Oh, yes. After all, it's partly my fault he's in this position. But then, I can make no promises as to the results of this letter. All I would say is that Draco has truly disappeared and that we are searching for him. He knows my name." Narcissa's relieved expression answered everything. "Thank you," she said, gratefully, and a little awkwardly. "No problem. One moment." The room fell silent as a quill and parchment appeared from nowhere and Seneca started to write a letter in her rather cryptic manner. The handwriting sprawled, rather like a spider with broken legs escaped from an ink well. Narcissa watched the quill move across the page, thinking of other things. She had lost her money, that was clear. And Seneca had made herself quite clear that she was not going to fix Draco's mind for her. . .although the situation with the Dark Lord was promising to be a little less disastrous (and painful) than before, which was definitely something. And Seneca said that she might even help to find the boy. . . "There you are," said Seneca, handing over the completed letter. "Thank you," replied Narcissa, rising to leave. "Are you wanting to stay on? You are most welcome to, you know." "I may. I may not. You'll find me gone if I do leave, though I will stay tonight and tomorrow, if that's alright." Wonderful, scowled Narcissa to herself. Bloody vampires. "Perfectly fine, Seneca. Goodbye, for now!" "Goodbye, dear," replied Seneca, unconcerned, then retrieved her book and started reading again. Narcissa swept out of the room and down to the owlery for the second time that day. On reaching it, she found her previous owl sitting waiting for her, a reply tied to its leg. She untied the note carefully, and turned it over before opening it. Yes, defiantly the reply she wanted. She ripped it open and scanned it. "Madam, yes, the fireplace in your husband's study was used last night, at approximately 12:00. The traveller went to "The Three Broomsticks", the local pub in Hogsmeade. It's a public fireplace and open whenever the pub is. Hope to have helped. " Naturally, it had not been signed or addressed, for security reasons. Her contact had obviously had the wits about him to realise that this was important. The remark on her husband's study suggested that Lucius was still alive and was pleasantly misleading in that respect. . . Feeling considerably more cheerful, Narcissa proceeded to the owlery to post Seneca's letter.
~~
Half an hour or so later, the letter arrived on Voldemort's desk, delivered by Wormtail's shaking hand. The owl was dead. "Who is this from, Wormtail? No-one is fool enough to address a letter to me. . ." " I. . .I don't rec-rec-recognise the h-h-handwriting, milord," stuttered Wormtail. "No. You wouldn't," commented Voldemort coolly, and picked up the letter with his long, spindly fingers. "S-s-s-s-sorry, mi-" started Wormtail, red faced and mumbling. "Oh, shut up, Wormtail," said his master, not even bothering to look up, his attention on the letter undivided. Wormtail fell obediently silent. "Hmm. . .from Malfoy Manor, I do believe. . .but not Malfoy handwriting. How odd. Who is staying with the Malfoys, Wormtail?" probed Voldemort lazily. "I-I don't kn-know, milord," stammered his servant. "No, you don't. Do you now why you don't know, Wormtail? Because you are an ignorant fool." "Y-yes, milord," came the miserable answer. "Do you want to know who wrote this letter, Wormtail? Do you want to know who is currently staying at Malfoy Manor?" "Y-yes, milord." "Seneca Snape, Wormtail. What do you make of that?" "O-oh! I-I. . .I. . ." "Quite. Now, let us see. . .why would an ancient vampire of many esteemed values in bribery and corruption, such as herself, be writing to me, Wormtail?" "I-I-I d-don't know, milord ," whimpered the balding man, shaking where he sat on the floor. Voldemort sneered. "No, you don't. You haven't the brains to even entertain the idea. Now shut up, and let me see. . ." Carefully, the long pale digits tore open the letter and unfolded the single sheet of parchment. The blood red eyes read the letter at a meditative pace, unscrambling the scrawl with ease. He ignored the shaky breaths from his slave habitually. "I see. . ." he whispered in an undertone. "Draco Malfoy had gone missing, Wormtail. That is unfortunate, is it not?" "Y-yes, milord," squeaked the little man, not quite hiding his relief. Voldemort's thin lips pressed into a humourless smile. "Very unfortunate. But maybe not so for you, hmm, Wormtail? You hold your post still . . . but for how long I wonder? I am told that Narcissa Malfoy and Seneca Snape are searching for the boy. How long will they take to find him, I wonder? I will give them. . .let us see. . .eight weeks before I take any action. That is reasonable, is it not?" "V-v-very, milord." "Quite. I must be going soft. Six weeks, I think." "Y-y-yes, milord. " "Six weeks. . ."
*looks around* 40? Oh help! SOMEBODY STOP ME!!!!!!! Lol, okay, okay. I'm calm. Will now proceed to write chapter. ^^ Thanks again for reviews and reviewers, esp. Alya Pascal, Pervert Bitch, the Puck and Blonde Ditz. And ?, (weird). You are all wonderful, wonderful people. Oh, and WARNING: kind of very feeble suggestions of femmeslash. . .nothing more than kissing, but I thought I'd better warn you. . . Alysun.
Six Weeks.
Narcissa woke up the next morning feeling decidedly ruffled. Since Lucius' murder, everything seemed to have being going horribly wrong. . .when she had planned it, it had been perfect. There was no way of proving that Severus was innocent, and even if there was, the jurors would send him down anyway, thanks to Seneca's talents. Severus wasn't supposed to sleep with Draco, and Draco wasn't supposed to like it! No. . .and then, Severus wasn't supposed to realise that she had killed Lucius, however little evidence there was. And Voldemort wasn't supposed to want Draco as his new assistant. She shivered slightly, despite the warmth of the room. Wormtail had visited yesterday to tell her. There was something undeniably disgusting about him - the way he cowered at a single word from her and flinched when she moved near him, yet still managed to keep a sneering, superior tone to his stutter. However much he infuriated her, she couldn't touch him while he was Voldemort's servant, and Wormtail knew it. She felt the beginnings of a headache and swung herself out of bed in search of a headache cure. She reached her bathroom and rifled through the various bottles and containers in the cupboard, carefully ignoring her reflection in the mirror. She did not look her best in the early morning. Besides, the mirror was a sarcastic so-and-so, when it wanted to be. . . She yawned and wiped the sleep out of her eyes. Blinking once or twice, she stared at the collection of pills and potions that she had gathered up over the years. She really should clear it out. Maybe later. She searched again for something that cured headaches, but found only three empty bottles of the substance that she chased after. . . She made an expressive snort and tossed her hair out of her eyes. This was so damn stupid! All she wanted was a damn cure for her damn headache and she couldn't even get that! Why could nothing go to plan? Why?! She abandoned the bathroom, slamming the door behind her and stormed back into the adjoining room, her bedroom. She sat down heavily at the end of the bed, crossed her arms and sulked like a child. Not fair! Nothing was right! Draco, stupid, stupid, stupid boy had to go and spoil everything. . . no. Not Draco's fault. Snape's. Snape. He was the one who had perverted her Lucius, and then her Draco! Hers! Not his! Queer bastard. . .she had never liked him, the way he crept around in his dungeons. . .he wasn't right in the head. Queer little git. Stealing her husband and then her only son, what kind of game was that to play? Her only son! And the amount of work she had put into getting Draco. . . She scowled darkly. Her sense told her now that both her son and her husband were as 'queer' as Snape, and were as much to blame as he was. Narcissa, however, had never been one for sense. Her son, her Lucius. . .all hers. Not Snape's. HERS! She relaxed a little thinking of this. Snape was safely locked up in Azkaban, him and all his perversions, safely hidden away from Draco. Lucius was resting, safe at last from Snape's poisoned grip. Things were looking up. . .especially with Seneca to clear up the last of the sickness from Draco. Yes, things were starting to look up. . . She smiled and started to dress for breakfast (well. She glanced at the carriage clock on her bedside table. Maybe lunch), remembering that Draco was still not to eat much, for his operation later that day. It helped her to think of it as an operation.
~~
Draco woke up in the bed that Hermione had transfigured for him, down in the dark dungeons of Hogwarts. It took him a moment to realise where he was, and how he had got there in the first place. He was running, hiding from Seneca and Voldemort - not to mention his mother and her twisted ideas about was good for him. He shivered, and pulled the covers closer round him. They were not as good a quality as he was used to, but they were still warm and comforting to him as he sat, curled into a ball, thinking dark thoughts. It was all his fault. It was all his damn fault, his fault that he had gone to Snape all those months ago, his fault that he had tried to push Snape too far, his fault that Snape was in Azkaban. . . He shivered again, and then glanced at his watch. Half twelve, apparently. It still felt like early morning, but then, day and night was hard to distinguish in the gloom of the dungeons. True, light filtered through the deep set windows, but it was hardly enough to see clearly by, let alone to judge the time by. So. What should he do now? His stomach rumbled, telling him quite clearly what it thought he should do. . . would Granger bring him some food any time soon? It was about lunch time at any rate. . . On a more long term train of mind, how long could he practically stay down here? Would his mother panic when she found him gone and demand for a search of the castle? He didn't put it past her to do so, but he sincerely hoped not. But what if she did? Granger had better have some sort of a plan in that eventuality. There was a quiet knock on the door of the classroom that made him freeze. Who was it? What should he do?! Silently, the door was pushed open, and a head peered in past it before he could do anything. "Draco?" Hermione hissed into the half darkness. "Close the bloody door!" he hissed back in way of reply. She slipped in and did so, carrying with her a big plate of sandwiches and a jug of pumpkin juice. "Here you are," she said more clearly, and moved across the room and dumped the tray and jug on the end bench next to Draco's bed. "How are you?" "Starving. Thank you," Draco murmured indiscreetly, with a sandwich in his hand already. "Good. I'm fine too, by the way," she replied, just a little disapproving. "Nobody has asked me any questions or anything, so I think we can safely assume you're safe for a little while at least. Of course, your disappearance will be in the newspapers when your mother finds you gone, but that can't be helped. I know a place you can go if they want to explore the castle. Any idea why your mother hasn't reported you missing already?" Draco didn't answer for a minute, trying to let his brain catch up with Granger's ready flow of chatter. "Probably hasn't even woken up yet. She'll see I'm gone at lunch time, which is about one o'clock in our household," he said and reached out for another sandwich. "Oh," answered Granger and looked a little put out. Then she said, "Doesn't she check up on you or anything like that?" Draco's mouth twisted into a smile. "My mother? Lord, no. I think that falls under the classification of 'mothering' which she doesn't do. As soon as I was old enough to look after myself and didn't need a nanny any more, I was left pretty much to myself as far as my mother was concerned. I was much closer with father than I will ever be with mother." "Oh," she said again, and rubbed her nose, as if in confusion. She didn't say any more, however, for which Draco was grateful for at least. He didn't want to be questioned on his home life right then. Hermione sat on the edge of the bench next to Draco's bed and said "So what do you want to do now you're out of the Manor? You can't stay here forever you know. . ." Draco sighed. Before answering, he transfigured an abandoned potions beaker into a glass and poured himself a drink. "How long do you reckon I can stay down here for?" he asked at length. She shrugged. "I'd say. . .maybe ten weeks at the very most. No-one ever comes down here any more, not even Filch or the ghosts. Even the Slytherins steer clear from it, or so I've heard. No-one likes to think about Professor Snape now that he's gone." Draco scowled at her last line. Turncoats! Just because he had gone didn't mean he wouldn't ever help them. . . Not that he could, really, not now he was in Azkaban. Not now that he had put him in Azkaban. The scowl slid from his face leaving him look like himself, for once. Young, worried and ever so slightly insecure. He quickly smothered the look with the calm composed mask he had perfected long before he had reached Hogwarts, hoping that Granger hadn't noticed. He had been too late, judging by the look on her face. "It's not your fault, you know," she said softly. His face turned stony, but he refused to answer, knowing that it was pointless to try and convince her that it was. "It's really not," she said again, earnestly. "I don't know what went on exactly, but I'm guessing you found out about him and your father, right?" Draco said nothing but continued to stare at the bedspread as though it was the most fascinating thing he had ever come across, hoping that she would just go away, or that the angry words in his head would drown out her lies. But they didn't and her words drilled on into his mind, invoking feelings and emotions that he didn't want. She took the silence as an affirmation that yes, he had found out about Lucius and Snape. She went on, not oblivious to his iron cast look, but knowing that these were words he had to hear for his own sanity. "So you found out about Professor Snape and your father. You were angry. Of course you were angry, Draco! You wouldn't be human not to be! He should have told you before, he should have let you know before then. So you turned on him in anger, and the results were. . .well, a little drastic and very, umm. . .well, definite. . .but it wasn't your fault!" He turned his cold gaze to meet her chocolate stare. The dark eyes offered sympathy and understanding, and he couldn't bear it. She didn't understand. She couldn't understand! And there was no way of making her see that she was wrong. . . So he just shrugged and looked away. "Ten weeks, you said?" he said, changing the subject abruptly. She sighed and agreed. "Yes. But that's at the very most. . .I think eight weeks would be possibly more realistic, but I can't really judge. It depends on whether or not people start using the dungeons again. They probably won't, since we have potions on the fourth floor now, but you never know. . I'll keep an ear out for any rumours." Again, Draco felt an uncomfortable twinge of guilt as she mentioned Snape's absence. "Good. I'll try and think of something I can do. . .there is nowhere - and I mean nowhere to go any more. I was thinking that maybe one of my father's more open minded friends would look after me for a while. . . maybe even Crabbe's family, or perhaps Goyle's, but I can't even do that now. . ." Granger gave him a puzzled look and he sighed inwardly. Of course, she didn't know. . . "Why can't you go?" she inevitably asked him. "Because they are Death Eaters, each and every one of them. And now the Dark Lord wants. . ." Draco broke off, suddenly finding it hard to talk in the bleak realisation that he was entirely alone. . . "Wants?" Hermione coaxed. "Me." "You?!" she gasped, her eyes wide. Damn silly innocent, Draco thought grimly. She may think that's bad, but she really has no idea. . ."Yes, me. He wants me to be his 'personal assistant', according to Wormtail and my dear mother," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Personal assistant?" she asked, sounding slightly faint. "Yes, Granger. That is what I said. Personal assistant. Blood, pain, death, rape. All the good stuff," he snapped sardonically "And won't that be fun?!" She bit her lip and looked at him. She was really worried now. . .to hide him from his mother and some other witch was bad enough, but from Him. . .it made her want to hide behind something just to think about it! But overall, he was right. There was nowhere he could go now. . .and besides, all things taken into consideration, Hogwarts was probably the safest place from him. "Well. . .Hogwarts is probably the best place for you to be. . .I mean, You- Know-Who wouldn't dare openly attack Dumbledore, would he?" Draco shrugged grimly. "I don't know. I really don't know. When he rose again, he was restored back to the state he was in before Potter destroyed him. . .except that Potter was vulnerable to him again. Since then? I don't know. Father was . . .well, favoured by the Dark Lord, certainly, so he probably knew about that kind of thing. He hinted to me once or twice that he was getting stronger again, but said nothing definite. . ." Hermione chewed on her lip again, and tugged a strand of hair in her discomfort. "But do you think he could actually attack Hogwarts?" Draco sighed unhappily. "I wish I could say. I don't think so. . .but then, on saying that, it doesn't really matter if he could, in my case. I can't see him risking a whole bunch of Death Eaters, just to get at me. Potter maybe, but not me." Hermione decided to ignore the little suggestion of jealousy that had showed through in Draco's voice. What could they do? What should she do? Go to Dumbledore. She must tell him all this. . . it was essential for him to know! "Malfoy, I don't care what you think, but Dumbledore has to know about this!" Malfoy looked at her as if she was mad. "You what?!" Oh, why couldn't he just make this easy for himself? "You heard me. We have to tell Dumbledore! All this is important, you know, Malfoy. If You-Know- Who is looking for you, and finds out that you're at Hogwarts, then he might just to kill two birds with one stone and get you and Harry both at once!" she cried, her voice rising in worry. He scowled again. She just refused to see it, didn't she? Why in hell did she have to make it so damn hard for him? "Don't you see it, you stupid girl? He won't know I'm here! He has no spies in Hogwarts, which is probably why he's so anxious to get at me. He won't launch an open attack on Hogwarts just yet because, whatever you may think, he is not bloody stupid! Evil, sadistic, cruel, heartless, merciless and sick, yes, but stupid and foolish, no. Before now, he might have, and relied on Snape and his fear to get them a free entrance into the school, but he hasn't even got that now! But if he had me. . .that would change it again. I am the turning point here, the fate of all and everything lies. . . on. . me," he said, ending very slowly, as though talking to an idiot. "Yes, I know that, Malfoy! But if we told Dumbledore. . ." "If we told Dumbledore, then he would know, and probably tell Fudge, the Minister of Magic. Fudge would tell his offices, and Granger, I assure you, some of the members of his offices are not loyal to Fudge. Far from it." For a moment, Granger was silent, thinking. Seeing this, he fell back, exhausted onto the bed. Sometimes, he thought to himself, Gryffindors were so bloody honourable and utterly thick, it was hard to differentiate them from Hufflepuffs. . . "But if we explained to Dumbledore. . ." "NO, Granger. The more people who know I'm here, the more danger I'm in. Can't you see that?" She nodded miserably in acceptance that he was right, and Draco heaved a sigh of relief. She stood up to leave. "I'd better go, before I'm missed. The plate and the jug will re-fill themselves indefinitely, but I'll try and visit you tomorrow some time. Anything you want?" Draco considered the offer for a moment. "My freedom, the past few months of my life never to have happened, Snape to be freed, and perhaps, for the Dark Lord to accidentally poison himself on some vile concoction that was supposed to make him immortal, and maybe, if it's at all possible, a book about Dementors, if you please." Hermione pulled a face at him and said, "That isn't funny, you know. I'll get you the book for tomorrow." Draco looked at her seriously. "I know it's not funny, Granger. It's hilarious." She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and sniffed. "I don't know why I said I'd help you, I really don't. See you tomorrow, Malfoy. " Draco smiled slowly to himself as the door clicked shut. Nothing better than winding up Gryffindors. . .especially Gryffindors like Granger. Just so long as she didn't go running to any of the Professors. . .
Narcissa made her way up to the library, cursing the Manor's architect for making any route to the place impossibly long. She clicked her tongue irately as she mounted the last set of stairs. All this to see Seneca. A bag of coins clinked gently at her side. She had got them out of her vault in Gringrott's the previous day, and was carrying them round with her to keep them safe. 7500 galleons. 7500 glorious, gleaming, glimmering, golden galleons. All for the boy. . .she sighed again and pushed the library door open. "Seneca?" she called into the infinite gloom. She hated libraries. Big, dull boring places full of row upon row, shelf upon shelf of books. Books! Who needed them, really? What did they do? Nothing. Her husband had always wanted her to be more literary minded, but she had never managed it, despite his best efforts. She just found reading anything beyond the gossip columns in the newspaper plain boring. "Narcissa, dear," came Seneca's voice, softly, softly. . .it was hypnotic in itself. . . beautifully soft, silky smooth. . . She snapped herself out of it, and tossed her head resolutely. Seneca would never try anything like that on her. . .not even if someone was paying her. But still. . .the softness of the voice was deceiving, and Narcissa fought a shiver out of her system. Seneca was her friend. She was Seneca's friend. She was. "Ah, I see you've come to pay back. . .your debts. . ." Seneca murmured, spotting the bulging leather pouch with sharp yet apparently languid eyes. . . "Yes. For Draco, tonight. I'll pay you when you're done, like always. . ." "Ah-ah-ahh. . . Narcissa, dearest, I need my security as much as you do. Pay me now, or I might just find myself . . .forgetting. . ." the silken voice came, the threat not even touching the soft, soft tone of her voice, padded by the slow relaxation of the pauses. Narcissa fought with herself. The more delicate, romantic side of her had already given in to the soft persuasion of the gentle voice, but the hardened, colder side that had earned her a place in Slytherin resisted, mistrusted the sheathed dagger that was surely hidden in the soft feather light beauty of the voice. . . Before she could stop herself, she found her hand on the fastening of the purse, fumbling to undo it, gently urged by the calming, soothing sound of the voice. . . "That's it, Narcissa, dearest, you know you're right. . ." She made a strangled noise as she tore her hand away from the purse. "Tonight," she said harshly, her voice so hard, so grating to her ears in comparison to the sweet, liquid honey that spoke to her. . . "Now, now, Narcissa. . .all the things I do for you and you won't allow me this one little extra? I thought we were friends, Narcissa . . ." the voice saddened, softened until it was hard to hear. Out of nowhere, Narcissa felt guilt like she had never felt before. She had failed the voice! The voice was so sad, and it was all her fault. . .sweet voice, so warm, so unlike anything else she had ever heard. . .sweet, soft, soft voice. . .the voice that had been there for her, when she had needed it so much. . .beautiful voice. . . She hung her head in shame, unexpected tears in her eyes. She unbuckled the purse easily and held it out to the voice, finding herself on her knees, as though making an offering to a god. The Slytherin side of her rebelled screaming the insanity of it, trying to get its attention, but was downed out easily, by a chuckle from the voice. "Narcissa, you are so sweet sometimes. . ." the weight of the bag vanished as a hand came down and took it from her. The scream of sense was merely a muffled shout by now. The voice had said she was sweet! Happiness sent a thrill through her, making her want to sing and dance around the library, to laugh with sheer joy. Instead she dared to look up at the voice, her eyes big and resembled closely those of a begging puppy dog. She saw a face, pale, aquiline and amused. And beautiful. . .so beautiful. So beautiful that it had to belong to the voice. . .the mouth of the face moved, and voice flowed from it, like a trickling flow of sparkling water in a brook. She watched the mouth move transfixed, the voice softly bending her will to fit its words. "Oh, of course. . .stand up, Narcissa, darling, stand and come to me. . ." In a dream like state, Narcissa stood up, barefoot - barefoot? She must have kicked them off when she knelt down - and moved shyly towards to face, never taking her eyes of the sensual, warm red of the moving mouth that uttered such sweet, sweet words in such a soft, soft voice. . .she would do anything for that voice, anything. . . Anything for the voice that murmured sweet nothings for her and her alone, in a way Lucius had never done after Draco's birth. . .somehow, both the names and the relevance of the comment where suddenly lost to her. . .Draco? Draco meant nothing, he was the Dark Lord's now, and as for Lucius. . .well, and Lucius belonged with the dead. She smiled shyly at the face, like a nervous twelve-year-old meeting her first date. Who did she, Narcissa belong to? No-one. No-one but the voice. . . "So sweet, Narcissa. . .such beautiful hair. . .let me touch it. . ." the voice uttered, like melted butter sliding into her ears and into her mind, sending tingling happiness through her. She moved closer and bowed her head slightly for the voice to touch her hair. Long, pale fingers reached out at her and stroked the fine blonde hair that Narcissa offered to them, barely touching, but touching enough to make Narcissa shiver in delight. "Such soft hair, Narcissa, such soft, sweet hair. . ." The fingers slid from her hair and caressed her cheek, running up and down lingering maybe longer than they should. They were cool, almost cold, and sent another thrill through Narcissa. "And your skin. . .my, my, Narcissa, so soft to touch, so warm and fresh. . ."the voice came again, this time making her blush with girlish pleasure. The voice appreciated her, touched her so softly, as softly as it sounded. . .the fingers moved from her cheek and traced down to her chin. The touch was so soft, so light. . .it made her nerves tingle as they moved on, making her want to do something, not just stand there. . .jump up and down, scream shout, laugh or cry, she didn't know, but just to stand there was torture. . .but, oh! such pleasurable torture. . . "Do you like that, Narcissa?" the voice breathed as the fingers slid down her throat and ran around to the back of her neck, never anything more than a light trace, but so good. . . Narcissa could only whimper an agreement, no longer hearing the sanity in her Slytherin voice, not hearing her Slytherin side at all. "It's good, isn't it, Narcissa?. . .do you want more? You do? Oh, Narcissa. . ." Narcissa felt so weak now, not wanting to believe what was happening in fear of finding it to be nothing more than a dream. . . The way the voice spoke her name. . .the slight lingering on the 's' s, the gentle tone softening the harsh edges to the 'Nar' at the beginning. . .divine. Divine. . .the voice was divine. The pressure from the fingers that fondled the back of her neck increased ever so slightly, urging her to move closer to the face that stood in front of her. Obediently, Narcissa's feet took her one, two, three paces towards the face, until they were almost nose to nose. . . The face smiled so sweetly at her, the eyes tracing the delicate features of her face so fondly, in a way she had longed for all her life. The lips of the mouth in front of her pursed slightly, a suggestion, a warning of what to was to come. . . Narcissa didn't know, didn't care, not even when the hand on her neck pulled her closer, landing her own mouth on the soft lips that were offered to her. She reacted automatically, parting her lips to let the tongue that uttered the honeyed words into her own mouth, letting it touch, explore, caress, like the fingers had done on her face. So gentle, so melodious in it's own silent way. . . Arms wound themselves around the effortless grace of Narcissa's body. She reacted again, before even considering what she was doing. So warm and so soft, it had to be safe, her security. . .she, in turn, slid her arms around the well formed body before her, pulling her closer, deeper into her mouth, closer to her body. She let her eye lids flutter closed, letting her brain centre its attention on the kiss. Slowly and carefully, the kiss was broken off by the face that was so soft and caring. Narcissa whimpered, not wanting it to end, not now, not ever, the surreal pleasure of it making her head spin. The voice chuckled deeply, fingers stroking her back luxuriously. "You want more still, Narcissa? But I thought you didn't like this sort of thing. . ." Narcissa stared soulfully into the bottomless, caring eyes that were so close to hers. . .she couldn't find it in herself to break the spell by opening her mouth to talk, so she just stared mournfully into the deep, deep eyes. . . And then the arms unwound themselves, and the face moved away from her, prising her hold from the perfect figure. "I think you had better go and think for a while, Narcissa, dear. . ." Gentle fingers forced her out of the darkened library into the relative brightness of the hall, and the door closed quietly but solidly, shutting Narcissa away from the drowning gaze, the gentle touches and the soft, soft voice. . . Confused and lost, she fell to the floor, tears pouring from her eyes, rivulets of sorrow and desire. . .of need. . .she needed someone to hold her, to love her, to want her. . . To love her.
The gong crashed, ringing endlessly through her ears, stamping on her wants and pointing out her needs. She needed to eat. She didn't want to. The voice didn't want her. . . Don't be a damn fool, her Slytherin side snapped, and yet still she sat on the floor, barefoot and whimpering. She never wanted to move, not until the voice called her and said that it wanted her again. . .another tear escaped, running solo down her cheek. Her cheek, the cheek that the voice had complimented. . . The gong crashed again, shaking her out of her self pity a bit more. Why did the voice push her away? Why? "You want more still, Narcissa? But I thought you didn't like this sort of thing. . ." What sort of thing? She didn't like softness, sweetness, gentle touches, light caresses? The gong crashed for a third time. Bloody thing! She snapped, bringing her totally and completely out of herself. She looked around her, gathering her wits as she did so. Her shoes were strewn on the floor, just outside of the door. She stood to retrieve them, noting that she had been on the floor, and crying. She bit her lip and pushed the tears away, annoyed at them. She couldn't even remember the last time she had cried without forcing herself.
She pulled her shoes on and made for the stairway, hurrying down to the dining room where Draco would be waiting impatiently for her. . .the gong crashed again and she set off down the next set of stairs, cursing under her breath as she went. Eventually, she made it to the dining room, unscathed but more than slightly breathless. She stopped outside the room, and straightened her robes and hair before pushing open the door, ready excuses waiting on her tongue to greet Draco with. "Draco dear, I was. . ." she stopped. She was all alone. The table was set for two, but no-one was seated in Draco's chair. Where's the damn boy now? The gong went off again, and Narcissa jerked the bell pull in the corner of the room sharply. Silently, Quarles, the esteemed Malfoy butler, slipped in and bowed slightly to her. "Yes, ma'am?" he murmured, respectfully. "Quarles, do you know where the wretched boy has got to? He doesn't appear to have heard the bell for lunch. . ." "It appears, ma'am, that young Master Malfoy has been absent from the Manor since either last night or this morning. It was assumed that he had been sent out of the Manor, ma'am." Narcissa stared at Quarles unbelievingly. "What?" she asked dumbly, elegance lost in her shock. Quarles looked suitably disapproving at his mistress's lack of manners, but repeated, "Master Malfoy appears to be absent from the Manor, ma'am." She sat down abruptly on the nearest chair, all the colour gone from her face. "Oh gods. . .oh gods, oh help. . ." she whispered. Some days one should just stay in bed. . . Her hand automatically went down to her side in search of comfort in the money that she had carried there, only to find that it had gone. She panicked for a moment, before remembering what had happened barely 15 minutes beforehand. . ."Oh, help. . ." Her eyes glazed over with tears, and Quarles stepped back out of the room respectful as ever of his master's (and mistress') privacy. Tears fell again from Narcissa's eyes, this time in sheer helplessness rather than the misery of before. Nothing would go right today. . .even Seneca had turned against her, playing cruel games with her mind. But. . .but it had been. . .NO! No, no and no. She shuddered and started to drag herself back together, mentally. This would not do. Tears never got anyone anywhere, she told herself firmly. She wiped her tears away again and tossed her hair back with an arrogant shake of her head. She pushed her shoulders back and marched purposefully from the room, into his study where Draco seemed to spend most of his time now. Knowing that he was gone, she didn't even bother to knock, but slammed the door open, brimming with rage. How dare he go?! How dare he? How was she going to explain this to the Dark Lord tonight? She looked around, missing nothing with her laser glare. Nothing had been disturbed, the desk as neat and tidy as ever it had been. There were no signs of a scuffle or fight of any sort and it became increasingly clear that he had left entirely of his own will. Her sharp eyes noticed that the fireplace was not as neatly swept as it should have been. She approached it, and stood over it, examining it minutely, looking for the marks of footprints in the ashes. . .there. . .and there. Yes, Draco must have used the Flo Powder. . . damn him. She would contact the Ministry through some of Lucius's old friends and back up her theory by getting evidence from the Flo Network people. The kept a track of every fireplace that was used, from where to where and when. Hopefully, with that piece of information she should be able to determine exactly where the silly prat had got himself to. She muttered under her breath to herself, quietly cursing the boy. She grabbed a quill and a fresh piece of parchment, and jotted down a letter to one of Lucius's more favourable contacts. After a moment or two, she had completed the note and was hurrying down to the owlery, to send it on its way. She hoped and prayed that she would get some results from this. And that the Daily Prophet heard sight nor sound of Draco's disappearance. . .all that was left to do was to face Seneca and either get her money back or make her come back later to do the job on Draco. That and to inform the Dark Lord of Draco's vanishing act. . .she shuddered and started back up to the library. She steeled herself as she knocked sharply on the library door. "Come in," came the silken reply, but with none of the deceiving softness of before. Narcissa pushed open the door and proceeded into the musty air of the library. She wandered slightly between the tall shelves, until she reached the fireplace where Seneca sat, book in hand. "No games, Seneca. I'm here about the boy," Narcissa started briskly, before the dark haired woman could say anything. "But of course Narcissa. . .when did you find that he was gone?" replied Seneca coolly, marking the book and depositing it on the table beside her. "What? You knew? Why didn't you tell me?!" gasped Narcissa, falling back into the other chair feeling rather weak. "Because the boy needs his freedom, Narcissa. He is old enough, by your mortal standards, to stand on his own two feet and decide what he wants. You can't make him into everything you ever wanted Lucius to be, however hard you try." The blonde woman stared at her companion in blatant disbelief. Gone were all traces of Seneca's lingering, soothing tones, replaced by a more natural, practical and brisk voice. "But. . ." she started, at a loss at what to say. "But what, Narcissa? But I agreed to take on the job? Well, I have needs and wants like the rest of you, mostly expensive needs and extravagant wants. That's what immortality does to you. But I am homophobic and disapprove of my son and his tastes? No, I don't disapprove. I couldn't care less. . . I only agreed to have a son because Cydas wanted a heir. When he found out that poor Severus was gay, he couldn't drop the boy fast enough, and I've never had any real feelings for him, so I went along with it. But I'm your friend? I'm a vampire. I don't need mortal friends who die at the blink of an eye. I admit, I get fond of a few who amuse you, like you do, Narcissa, dear, but mostly you're all frightful god-fearing bores. Answered your questions?" Narcissa said nothing, but seemed to deflate within herself, losing all her arrogance and prestige, and looking very disillusioned. On seeing this, Seneca gave a quiet laugh. "Remember, never trust a vampire. We have no needs for humans, other than mere sustenance and a way of passing the centuries. Let the boy go, Narcissa, let him live his own life instead of living it for him." "You. . .you, evil, lying. . .why?!" Narcissa whispered viciously, not wanting to raise her voice. Seneca shrugged. "Why not? Draco needs to believe in himself, believe that he can get free of you, or else he'll end up as a down trodden middle-aged bastard with nothing to show for his past thirty years other than a string of enemies and broken hearts. He's worth more than that. No, don't argue with me, Narcissa, I've lived long enough to know that what I say is true. You've lost Lucius and that's all your fault. Turning Draco into Lucius will get you nowhere. " To that, Narcissa had no answer. She said, more than a little sulkily, "I thought you were supposed to be my friend." "I've explained all that. And anyway, I've been more of a friend by telling you all this and letting Draco free than I would have been otherwise." Narcissa pouted, regaining her old pride more and more by the minute. "But then what did you. . .why did you. . ." she asked, not sure how to phrase her question. "Why did I kiss you earlier?" Seneca asked for her, again, sounding entertained. "Yes." "Because I wanted to show you that I didn't give a damn about homosexuality - that's their business entirely, if that's how they want to be. Besides, I knew that you'd find that Draco was gone soon, and I wanted that money. " "So you won't give it back," stated Narcissa dully. "No. I need it more than you do." Intrigued out of her sulk for a moment, Narcissa inquired, "Why? The Snape name is still supposed to hold a vast fortune to it. You can't tell me that it's all gone already?" "Hardly, dear. But as I said before I have my needs and wants, and they come at a price. I could use the money I got access to by marrying Cydas, but it would have drained the family inheritance horribly. So instead I use other ways and means to acquire money. " Narcissa eyed Seneca suspiciously. "Like what, blackmail? Bribery?" "Amongst other things, yes," came the unconcerned reply. "Still, it's rightfully my money, you know," she challenged. "Well, you going to fight me for it, Narcissa, dear?" Seneca murmured through a half smile that was threatening to be a grin. She decided to stop salting the open wound and moved on. "I suppose you won't help me find Draco now, will you?" "Maybe. At a price," Seneca said, smiling slightly at her words. She sighed. "I hate it when you say that. . .I'm not trusting you any more. I should never have trusted you in the first place. But I have to get him back! The Dark Lord wants him tonight! Tonight!" "No, you shouldn't have trusted me. As for Voldemort (Narcissa flinched at the sound of the name), write and tell him that Draco's gone?" proposed Seneca practically. Again, Narcissa found herself staring at the pale woman that sat in front of her. "Are you insane?! He would kill me! Or at least, torture me at the very least. . .I said that Draco would be here tonight!" "Am I insane? No, just immortal. Would you like me to write and explain? I have no desire to see the boy dead, he could prove to be very useful to me in the future. . ." Seneca asked. "Would you?" asked Narcissa urgently, seeing at least one solution to her many problems. "Oh, yes. After all, it's partly my fault he's in this position. But then, I can make no promises as to the results of this letter. All I would say is that Draco has truly disappeared and that we are searching for him. He knows my name." Narcissa's relieved expression answered everything. "Thank you," she said, gratefully, and a little awkwardly. "No problem. One moment." The room fell silent as a quill and parchment appeared from nowhere and Seneca started to write a letter in her rather cryptic manner. The handwriting sprawled, rather like a spider with broken legs escaped from an ink well. Narcissa watched the quill move across the page, thinking of other things. She had lost her money, that was clear. And Seneca had made herself quite clear that she was not going to fix Draco's mind for her. . .although the situation with the Dark Lord was promising to be a little less disastrous (and painful) than before, which was definitely something. And Seneca said that she might even help to find the boy. . . "There you are," said Seneca, handing over the completed letter. "Thank you," replied Narcissa, rising to leave. "Are you wanting to stay on? You are most welcome to, you know." "I may. I may not. You'll find me gone if I do leave, though I will stay tonight and tomorrow, if that's alright." Wonderful, scowled Narcissa to herself. Bloody vampires. "Perfectly fine, Seneca. Goodbye, for now!" "Goodbye, dear," replied Seneca, unconcerned, then retrieved her book and started reading again. Narcissa swept out of the room and down to the owlery for the second time that day. On reaching it, she found her previous owl sitting waiting for her, a reply tied to its leg. She untied the note carefully, and turned it over before opening it. Yes, defiantly the reply she wanted. She ripped it open and scanned it. "Madam, yes, the fireplace in your husband's study was used last night, at approximately 12:00. The traveller went to "The Three Broomsticks", the local pub in Hogsmeade. It's a public fireplace and open whenever the pub is. Hope to have helped. " Naturally, it had not been signed or addressed, for security reasons. Her contact had obviously had the wits about him to realise that this was important. The remark on her husband's study suggested that Lucius was still alive and was pleasantly misleading in that respect. . . Feeling considerably more cheerful, Narcissa proceeded to the owlery to post Seneca's letter.
~~
Half an hour or so later, the letter arrived on Voldemort's desk, delivered by Wormtail's shaking hand. The owl was dead. "Who is this from, Wormtail? No-one is fool enough to address a letter to me. . ." " I. . .I don't rec-rec-recognise the h-h-handwriting, milord," stuttered Wormtail. "No. You wouldn't," commented Voldemort coolly, and picked up the letter with his long, spindly fingers. "S-s-s-s-sorry, mi-" started Wormtail, red faced and mumbling. "Oh, shut up, Wormtail," said his master, not even bothering to look up, his attention on the letter undivided. Wormtail fell obediently silent. "Hmm. . .from Malfoy Manor, I do believe. . .but not Malfoy handwriting. How odd. Who is staying with the Malfoys, Wormtail?" probed Voldemort lazily. "I-I don't kn-know, milord," stammered his servant. "No, you don't. Do you now why you don't know, Wormtail? Because you are an ignorant fool." "Y-yes, milord," came the miserable answer. "Do you want to know who wrote this letter, Wormtail? Do you want to know who is currently staying at Malfoy Manor?" "Y-yes, milord." "Seneca Snape, Wormtail. What do you make of that?" "O-oh! I-I. . .I. . ." "Quite. Now, let us see. . .why would an ancient vampire of many esteemed values in bribery and corruption, such as herself, be writing to me, Wormtail?" "I-I-I d-don't know, milord ," whimpered the balding man, shaking where he sat on the floor. Voldemort sneered. "No, you don't. You haven't the brains to even entertain the idea. Now shut up, and let me see. . ." Carefully, the long pale digits tore open the letter and unfolded the single sheet of parchment. The blood red eyes read the letter at a meditative pace, unscrambling the scrawl with ease. He ignored the shaky breaths from his slave habitually. "I see. . ." he whispered in an undertone. "Draco Malfoy had gone missing, Wormtail. That is unfortunate, is it not?" "Y-yes, milord," squeaked the little man, not quite hiding his relief. Voldemort's thin lips pressed into a humourless smile. "Very unfortunate. But maybe not so for you, hmm, Wormtail? You hold your post still . . . but for how long I wonder? I am told that Narcissa Malfoy and Seneca Snape are searching for the boy. How long will they take to find him, I wonder? I will give them. . .let us see. . .eight weeks before I take any action. That is reasonable, is it not?" "V-v-very, milord." "Quite. I must be going soft. Six weeks, I think." "Y-y-yes, milord. " "Six weeks. . ."