I do not own anything related to Harry Potter.
Millicent Bagnold was beginning to consider retirement. Though nothing had been announced, candidates were already beginning to rise out of the woodwork. The two most notable were Augustus Rookwood and Bartemius Crouch, Sr. Both were running on extremely opposite platforms. There was a third party, a Cornelius Fudge, who worked in the emergency spell reversal squad, but no one expected such an unknown neophyte to make any showing at all.
"Rookwood can't be serious," Lucius scoffed as he read his copy of the Daily Prophet over breakfast. "He's got no political skill at all. He should have left it to me."
"You for Minister of Magic?" Narcissa peered up, surprised, over the piece of toast she was buttering.
Lucius rolled his eyes. "Of course not. As soon as I'm elected, the position would go over to the Dark Lord, of course. It's all part of our plan, see? If we run the Ministry . . . well, we run everything. None of this nonsense about blackmailing people into doing what needs to be done. We can just rid the Ministry of bad elements and then carry on."
Narcissa nodded blankly, still buttering the toast. "Do you even understand, Narcissa?" Lucius scowled. "And . . . not so much butter, there. You're going to gain weight."
Narcissa fixed him with an icy glare. "I'm eating for two, Lucius. I'm quite entitled to gain weight while carrying a child."
Lucius took a swig of coffee and turned the pages of his newspaper. "Well, feed the Malfoy heir something a little more wholesome than butter and toast."
Narcissa's lips tightened and she did not speak as she set the toast down and took an egg instead. Lucius went on with his morning commentary, supposedly conversing with Narcissa as she stood silent, thinking about other things. "If Crouch wins, however, that will be the end of our line. The radical wants to end pureblood society, even things out. He hasn't said it yet, but I know it. He plans to confiscate our manors and ransack our titles and probably redistribute it all out to the Mudbloods. He claims our hierarchy is wrong. What is he complaining about, anyway? He's from a fine enough family."
Narcissa nibbled her egg, thinking to herself that it probably meant something if the privileged even complained. She set her fork down, pondering this, but her mind was not on it and it clattered to the floor. Her stomach gave a loud rumble and she leaned to pick it up again.
"Narcissa! What in Merlin's name- DOBBY!" Lucius slammed his fist on the table. The house elf came scampering in. Lucius ordered him to fetch Narcissa a clean fork and then salvage the old. Then he turned back and scolded Narcissa, "I'll not have you stooping to gather things off the floor. Honestly, if even we can't hold on to decency, who can? We've got a house elf- and you had an elf back home, too. Surely you can't tell me you haven't been raised on it."
Narcissa continued to hold her tongue. Dobby returned with the new, clean fork. Then, with a bang, a being arrived by Apparition, their body appearing in the middle of a small service table tucked in the side corner of the Malfoy dining room.
Bellatrix toppled over with the table and shouted when she realized she was stuck in the center of it. "AGGHHH! Narcissa, what did you move this here for? I've been Apparating into this same corner for the past year! You know I do!"
Narcissa turned away, biting her lip subtly and trying not to laugh. That was precisely why she had done it.
"Bellatrix, you really ought to pay attention to where you Apparate to. Isn't that what the test is all about, anyway? You're lucky you weren't splinched." Narcissa turned calmly back towards Bellatrix, who was still writhing on the floor, fumbling to pull her wand from within her robes.
Bellatrix quickly uttered a spell that made the table melt away from her waist and legs, and stood up. "Narcissa, really, that wasn't funny. I come here every day for business, and silly pranks are unappreciated. You're as immature as that blood traitor."
Lucius's eyes flashed and he whipped out his wand. Bellatrix stepped back, but then resumed her sangfroid and smirked. "Lucius, I'm allowed to tease my own little sister. You need not defend your family honor on one of the only who appreciate it."
"You've got enough in your family to insult without insulting the one decent one left," Lucius said coldly.
This time Bellatrix's eyes flashed. "He who lives in a glass house should not throw stones," she said. "Now, we ought to get to the Ministry. Rookwood needs a little help with his . . . eh . . . campaign," she grinned evilly.
Lucius sighed and whisked his wand over himself, his robes swishing into dressier attire fit for the Ministry visit. He stood, and, with a snap, he and Bellatrix were gone.
Dobby had started clearing the table. Spitefully, Narcissa snatched the pat of butter from the table and with her finger scooped a large dollop of it into her mouth. It tasted slimey and flavorless, but she forced herself to swallow. Then, with a sigh, she conjured up a new service table- this time away from Bellatrix's named corner- and left the dining room.
The house was barren and silent; she, Dobby, and the unborn baby were the only living souls inside. Narcissa strolled along the halls and corridors of the giant manor, longing not for company. It was like this every day. The house itself was old and proud, the roots of ancient pure blood that had remained steadfast for years- yet Narcissa could see the occasional crack in the wood or creaky stair. She pressed her hand to some of the intricate Slytherinesque designs in the wood on the doors and gazed up at the chadeliers and carved ceilings. Her hands passed over both thick green velvet drapes and newver lacey curtains framing windows, and the walls varied between ancient stone and delicate paper. Some of the newer things were so delicate, pale and pure and silent, like herself. It was an odd contrast: the thick wood and stone of age beneath the frills and daintiness of the new.
Having nothing to attend to as Dobby took care of all the cleaning, she slid into the Malfoy library. Her eyes scanned over the rows and rows of books- most of which she had read out of pure boredom, while her husband condescendingly suspecting she did not understand. She did understand, and she appreciated the beauty of some of them- something her husband had never looked for. Every single book was by a wizard or witch; Lucius did not allow Muggle books in the house. It was an unwritten rule, of course, for he never suspected Narcissa would have any desire to read one.
She snapped her fingers and a book appeared from out of midair. She had kept it hidden, disappeared, always- ever since she had been a girl. "Gone With the Wind," it was called. She had first encountered it when she walked in on her sister Andromeda reading it, when the two of them were on summer holiday, back in their schoolgirl days. Andromeda had been caught reading Muggle books before, and she was warned by her parents not to, so when Narcisaa stumbled into her room and interrupted the secret session, Andromeda pleaded with her not to tell. Narcissa asked what the book could possibly be about; what could be so taboo about Muggle books? Did they indoctrinate? If her parents were frightened of Andromeda's reading them, they couldn't simply be stupid, could they? So Andromeda explained: The book took place in a Muggle society that had been extinguished nearly one hundred years ago- a society not unlike their pureblood wizard society. There were strict hierarchical rules, and a few old distinguished families monopolized nearly everything. The age was that of elegance, frivolity, and waste, rooted in old tradition. Andromeda said that the story was a romance, but behind it all was the darker story of a dying way of life. She had asked Narcissa if she though the old wizard ways would die out, too- because this Muggle society had been challenged by newer ideas of equality and its refusal to submit was its undoing.
The entire thought had scared Narcissa so; she had been so comfortable in the elite world of her family, and now her own sister, also comfortable, was suggesting that not only would the old ways die out, they were meant to. The Muggle book was dangerous. Narcissa was still pondering on this when Bellatrix entered the room. She took one look at the book and ran out to tell on Andromeda; Andromeda chased after her. Narcissa, more out of fear of being labeled an accomplice than anything else, had hidden the book. She would save her sister from the terrible notions presented in the book. Relieving her from the wrath of her parents was only a second thought.
She uncovered it again when gathering her things to move into the Malfoy manor. Now able to do more than physically hide it, she put a spell on it so that only she could retrieve it, by pulling it seemingly out of thin air. She had read it through, and quite enjoyed it. The story appealed to her, full of romance and tragedy, and she cried unashamedly at the emotional parts- for she was alone in the manor for hours at a time and had nothing to worry about. Yet it still haunted her, the death of that Muggle civilization. As different as she had always envisioned Muggles to be, the book made it quite clear that they were the same in the most fundamental ways- they loved and lost, and they clung to their old familiarities. Perhaps Andromeda had been right. In that case, Lucius was just fighting nobly for a lost cause.
Narcissa wondered if she should stop reading and worrying about what was inevitable. Her mother and aunt had never sat around alone in the house when their husbands were away. They held tea parties for their female friends or brewed up fantastic concoctions to entertain themselves. Surely the other lonely wives of Death Eaters like her husband needed company just as much as she. Besides, Lucius expected her to be the proper sociable wife. She had to live up to his expectations; it was the way. She sat at the little writing desk in the library and began to write out invitations. The stationary was white and brittle, her quill strokes airy and flourished, her words polite and old-fashioned.
TBC . . .