Tainted Love
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.
Tainted Love
Chapter Three: Home Life
The short journey from Lucius' library to the dining room was fraught with tension. Narcissa walked a few tenacious steps ahead of her husband and silently began to plot her revenge, but how to take it? Men were so simple, so very controllable. When she had been a girl, adapting to a changing body, she had quickly discovered the power that she had over the opposite sex, and since then she had perfected the art of manipulation through insinuation. It amused her. A sultry smile, an evocative pose; that was all it took to make them jump through hoops for her. But such basic revenge would not inflict nearly enough pain on Lucius. She was his; he could take what he wanted from her whenever he wished. By noosing her finger with his ring she had laid down this particular feminine ace. It didn't matter; she had learnt others.
Lucius followed his wife with a self-satisfied smirk, but as he watched the seductive sway of her hips he knew as well as she that his method of punishment was in fact a double-edged sword. He brushed these thoughts aside with the cold ruthlessness of a dispassionate heart and stepped into the dining room after Narcissa, but did not see quite what he had been expecting.
"Well, where are they?" he asked reluctantly, as he took his seat at the head of the table. Draco was sitting all alone in the room, drumming his fingers impatiently on the white tablecloth.
"If you mean Crabbe and Goyle, father," began Draco sullenly, "mother sent them home." Lucius glanced at Narcissa, who was opening a napkin delicately. She clapped her hands together lightly and a spread of salmon salad, which was laid out in silver dishes, instantly filled the table.
"Find friends who possess the simple ability to eat like civilised human beings and I will gladly welcome them to dinner, Draco," she finally retorted airily.
"Excellent," remarked Lucius dryly, holding back a smile at his wife's candour. "I wanted to speak with you privately anyway." Narcissa watched as her son's shoulders slumped resentfully.
"About what, father?" he asked unenthusiastically, as he helped himself distractedly to some of the salad.
"I should think that even you could guess," Lucius replied coolly. "I dare say you were extremely pleased when the Hogwarts end of year exams were cancelled!" He paused broodingly. "I am seriously considering hiring a tutor to instruct you this summer."
"Father!" whined Draco. "It's not my fault-"
"And I am tiring of your feeble excuses," warned Lucius cuttingly.
"Well father," said Draco, quickly rethinking his strategy, "if I try harder and work over the summer will you buy me a Firebolt when the model's released for general sale?"
"Draco, this is nonnegotiable!" interjected Narcissa sharply. "You do not get rewarded for merely doing what your father and I expected of you!"
Draco glared down at his plate.
"Moreover I seem to recall purchasing you and your entire Quidditch team brand new racing brooms last year."
"For all the good that did," muttered Narcissa through gritted teeth.
"But father, the Firebolt is an international standard broom!"
"And when you play Quidditch at international standard you may have one," said Lucius callously.
Following dinner, which after Lucius' scathing attack on his son had consisted of Draco spearing his food violently with his fork and scowling a lot, Narcissa found that she had taken refuge in the small study to continue with her scheming. But some of the things that Lucius had said that evening began to play on her mind, and hampered her progress.
She hadn't thought about Barty Crouch in years. He had been an unnerving sort of person to be around. There was evil - cold, logical and ruthless, the kind that she had been drawn to in Lucius, the kind that she harboured in her own dark soul, but then there was also passionate, fanatical, irrational evil. That was what she had seen in Barty, it hadn't frightened her exactly, but it had been Barty whom her father had intended her to marry and Narcissa had never had any intention of marrying Mr Crouch's unmanageable son!
"All I ever wanted was a son!" Mr Varvara spat at his seventeen-year-old daughter.
Narcissa barely even flinched. She had heard it a thousand times before, and anyway she had stopped listening to her father's latest tirade. They were standing in an empty Hogwarts classroom. He was absolutely furious that she had reached the final of the Decaduel! For months he had been sending her threatening letters by owl, outlining exactly what he would do to her if she dared sully the family name by continuing to compete in such a common competition. Narcissa had ignored every warning. She couldn't withdraw; the instinct to win was just too strong.
Her father may have been robbed of a son and heir, but he would beat Narcissa into a proper lady if it killed him! However, she had very different, unspoken, ideas on the matter. She could play the role of a lady when it was called for; the wealth, the lifestyle, the power appealed to her greatly, but what was the point of it all, if you were too prim and proper to wield those luxuries?
"Why I was cursed with you I'll never know," Mr Varvara continued, his voice dripped with loathing.
Narcissa let her eyes glaze over as she imagined the day when the balance of power between them shifted. One day it would, until then she would just have to bide her time. Besides, her father's hatred had its own advantages – her mother would walk over hot coals for her. All Narcissa had to do was go to her mother with bruises and crocodile tears and she'd turn night into day if her daughter asked her to…the bruises didn't even have to be real.
"I dread to think what Crouch will think! I can't imagine that any man would want such an unruly, disobedient daughter-in-law!"
"Lucky then, that I shan't be marrying Mr Crouch's son," simpered Narcissa.
Her response was like a red rag to a bull. She didn't remember him moving to hit her; all she could recall afterwards was the eruption of pain. She thought the side of her face might explode, but even so, a superior smile lifted one corner of her mouth. His reaction, his loss of control, strengthened her resolve. One day she would destroy him.
"I thought I'd find you in here."
Narcissa checked her composure before turning from the window. Night had fallen outside the Manor, cool and calming, and lit by a medley of stars. Lucius stood in the study's doorway, the fire still burned blue from that afternoon; it was the only light in the cold room. He watched as it danced in shadows across his wife's profile. She stood with her hands clasped, her face solemn, she looked like a figure cut from alabaster that watches over a tomb.
"What do you want?" she asked her husband, and her tone was colder than the fire.
"You're still angry," he stated in resignation.
"You should know better than most that I'm quite good at holding grudges."
"I am so very worried," quipped Lucius sardonically.
"Perhaps you should be," hissed Narcissa as she neared him, "you never know, keep this up and I might not be around to help the next time you need saving." He caught her wrist sharply as she moved towards the door. She smiled pitilessly; there, that was her lance through his pride. "Tsk tsk," she breathed steadily, "you should really learn to control that temper."
"Enough," he commanded emphatically.
"A truce? How unlike you, Lucius."
"You are the one who always has to win, who never knows when to retreat," he snarled accusingly.
She had entered the arena with her head held high; the bruises left by her father were completely covered by Mz Hsimelb's Majik Concealor. The Quidditch stadium was doubling for the Decaduel field. A long raised platform had been erected in the middle of the pitch. It stood some fifty feet high, but there were a few safety measures employed if one of the combatants should fall, or be pushed, over the edge.
Red and green, silver and gold; those were the only colours flying that day. The Gryffindor lion and the Slytherin serpent seemed to glower at each other from opposite ends of the pitch. Dumbledore had decided that, as a show of good will between the combatants and their supporters, each finalist would reach the raised platform by walking through their opponent's supporters. Narcissa privately believed that this notion was pure lunacy, but she also knew that the Slytherin crowd would give Longbottom a harder time than the Gryffindors would give her, so it might just work to her advantage.
Steadily she began to climb up one of the high Quidditch towers, which was draped in red. At the top she knew that she would find a shimmering gold bridge that would lead her across to the main platform where the Decaduel final was to take place. Heckles, catcalls and wolf whistles followed her as she went, and then a shout, which was so distinctive that she looked around to seek out the caller.
"Watch it Cissy! Longbottom's going to wipe that smug grin clean off that pretty face of yours!"
"The only reason you're so cocking is because you're safely tucked away up here in the stands, Black," she sneered venomously.
"Is that right?!" yelled the teenager, as he leapt to his feet. "If I was a year older I'd-"
"Leave it Sirius, she's not worth it," said another boy of about sixteen, he had messy black hair and glasses, and was holding his friend back.
Narcissa turned from the duo arrogantly and stepped out onto the golden arch. That was when she saw him, and a millisecond later, her. Lucius was in the teachers' box, and by his side sat a stunningly beautiful witch. Narcissa pulled her gaze away from the woman with locks the colour of the midnight sky and swallowed a smile; victory would taste so much sweeter if she had to win him from a worthy opponent. She finished her walk to the centre of the platform with a new, steely determination; Narcissa had always relished a challenge.
Frank Longbottom and a tiny little man known as Professor Flitwick, who was the new charms teacher at Hogwarts, were already on the platform in their places, waiting for the Slytherin combatant to join them. When she reached the pair Narcissa suddenly realised that she had become so preoccupied with the other battles in her life that she had pushed the real reason why they were all gathered together, the Decaduel final, to the very back of her mind. But as she looked at the confident Gryffindor champion her thoughts immediately focused, and her mind became as sharp and deadly as a razor blade. On that day she was sugar coated poison.
"Now than," squeaked the Professor, before the slightly more ceremonial opening began. "Remember, we all want a nice, clean duel. You're not aiming to maim or ugh kill," he laughed nervously.
"No?" breathed Narcissa, and her eyes flickered briefly between Longbottom's resolute appearance and self-satisfied smile set on the face of the raven-haired witch.
"What is wrong with you today?!"
Narcissa blinked at Lucius, he was frowning at her in complete and utter bewilderment. She held back a smile, so he didn't think that she knew when to admit defeat? Well, that was easily countered; she never backed down because she always won, in the end, one way or another.
"I'm sorry," she murmured softly.
She stepped towards him and eased herself submissively into his arms. When the shock of her yielding to him so completely had passed Lucius held his wife in an uncharacteristically gentle embrace, and so, he couldn't see the sly smile that played on her face as she nestled herself snugly against his chest.
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