Tainted Love
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.
Tainted Love
Chapter Four: Darkness & Duels
The crescent moon sat high in the inky sky. She was the night's faceless grin, doomed to forever reflect the light of her nemesis onto the world below. Beneath her cheerless white light, in the acreage that surrounded the Malfoys' Manor, the creatures of her nighttime reign were stirring.
The surreal calm of those hours of darkness was fractured, but never broken, by the occasional snuffle of a badger, the hoot of an owl or the last desperate cry of a shrew. But then, as midnight drew nearer and one day sorrowfully prepared to give way to the next, the sinister cackle of a hobgoblin shattered the illusionary façade of peace.
Within the house all was still…almost. Lucius was moving around in the moonlit master bedroom. Occasionally he would glance down at his sleeping wife as he quietly slipped back into his clothes. His body felt pleasantly tired and wholly satisfied, but his mind was not quite ready to be tempted by sleep.
Narcissa stirred, but did not wake. Lucius stepped towards the bed where she lay entwined with the sheets. He moved instinctively to pull the blankets up over her naked shoulder, but then he stopped, his hand only a hairs breadth from her body. For a timeless moment he stayed like that, reaching out but never touching her, until something inside him hardened, and he withdrew himself completely.
Lucius turned away and promptly retrieved his wand from where he had let it fall earlier. He stepped out of the bedroom, into the black corridor beyond, and left his sleeping wife with her dreams.
"Lumos," he muttered quietly.
At the tip of his wand shone a soft, silvery light, which illuminated a small section of the corridor with its eerie glow. A visitor to the Manor may have noted that not one ancestral portrait hung in that, or any, corridor. Life was hard when you couldn't even trust your own forefathers. Lucius made his way mechanically through the maze of passageways until he once again reached the small study. Inside the little room the blue fire was still burning; in their impulsive rapture they had forgotten to extinguish it earlier. The maid knew better than to enter this room alone.
"Finite Incantatem," he said idly. The icy blaze vanished in a puff of white smoke. Lucius strolled over to the fireplace and laid a hand on the chiselled stonework. For a mere second he drummed his fingers hesitantly, but then he spoke again. "Alere Flammas." His tone was clear, commanding…and the hearth obeyed him.
It swung open, as if it were two separate pieces of one puzzle, which fitted together more than perfectly. It worked like a set of double doors, but was surrounded by a chilling air of foreboding. The top of a stone stairway could be seen from the room. Lucius stepped into the heart of the fireplace and walked down into the bowels of the house. The opening to the hidden chamber silently fell shut behind him.
His footsteps echoed around the dark labyrinth as he descended. It was musty beneath the house, and somewhere in the gloomy confines of the chamber water could be heard dripping persistently. Other noises, which were much less innocent, also resounded around the cavernous basement; the gentle bubble of simmering cauldrons, the scuffle of pacing, padded, caged feet, and the sniffling, broken little sobs of a Brownie, who was shackled to a wall somewhere in the dark.
When Lucius finally reached the bottom of the stone steps something else was also waiting. A familiar ghostly apparition was there to greet him. She had been a little mute girl. In appearance she was no more than three, yet whole centuries had elapsed since the time of her grisly death. Silent. Nameless. Forever waiting. In life it was still apparent that she had possessed the white-blonde hair that was such a typical trait of the Malfoy family.
Lucius had long ago reached the conclusion that she didn't know she was dead, for what three-year-old really knew what death was? It had taken him a little while, but he had also worked out what it was that she was waiting for – her own parents. Waiting in vain to be reclaimed by whichever Malfoy had entombed her alive, because of her deformity.
Lucius walked by her, she followed him for a little while, but as he journeyed deeper into the hidden vault she hung back and returned to her silent, eternal vigil. Torches hovered near the rough stonewall, they burst to life as Lucius passed them, casting flickering shadows on jars and bottles that were stacked on countless shelves, and on the wooden benches, which were littered with papers and strange little artefacts. Lucius stopped when he reached a chimneyless fireplace and sat down in a green leather armchair that had been placed by the unlit grate.
So Arthur Weasley was searching for this very lair!
Lucius' volatile temper darkened, he snapped his fingers sharply and a small glass of amber liquid appeared. He drank it all in one violent swig. The Weasleys disgusted him! He curled his lip, and clenched his fist so hard that the glass he was holding shattered. The broken splinters bit into the soft flesh of his palm, yet Lucius didn't even flinch. He let the bloody shards fall to the floor as he turned his eyes to the fire that had erupted in the crude hearth.
Firelight burned red in his soulless eyes, one day the Weasleys would be made to pay for their Muggle-loving ways! Until then Lucius would just content himself with toying with them whenever the opportunity arose.
Meanwhile, in the dreamy depths of slumber Narcissa's mind continued its indulgent train of remembrance…it was cold, she recalled, surprisingly cold up there above the Quidditch pitch, and the spring wind had made a nuisance of itself, tugging at their robes and tossing their hair into their eyes. Professor Flitwick had stood between the two Hogwarts combatants while everyone waited expectantly for Dumbledore to speak.
"I know I needn't remind anyone why we are here," began the Headmaster, his voice magically amplified so that it filled the entire stadium. "The Decaduel final is upon us, and I am sure we all agree that Miss Narcissa Varvara and Mr Frank Longbottom are both winners on this momentous day." Spirited cheers filled the arena and a smiling Dumbledore had to wait for them to subside before continuing. "All that remains is for me to wish both of you the very best of luck, and to hand over to our referee, Professor Flitwick."
"Right then," squeaked the Professor excitedly, "let us begin!"
Narcissa drew her wand. Rosewood and dragon heartstrings, fused together they made a truly formidable combination. Longbottom saluted smartly, Narcissa followed his example, although the glint in her eyes was at odds with this overt display of respect. They turned around, walked five set paces and then span back to face each other, wands at the ready.
"On the count of three you may start," said Flitwick merrily.
"…one…" The audience faded away from Narcissa's consciousness. Her father. Lucius Malfoy. The black-haired witch…
"…two…" The wind had died, the cold had gone; all she could feel was her heart beating in her chest.
"…three…" There was no more time, no more thoughts; there was only the power of the magic coursing through her veins.
"Expelliarmus!!!" They both shouted the spell at exactly the same moment. The two powerful blasts of magic ricocheted off each other and erupted in a shower of red and green stars, to the appreciation of the crowd.
"Impedimenta!" yelled Frank.
"Non Dolet." Narcissa countered through clenched teeth. The paralysis caused by his attack gradually subsided as a hazy blue light surrounded and soothed her. Frank frowned, but didn't hesitant for long.
"Nixium!" he yelled. Brilliant icicles shot from his wand like bullets, they flew towards Narcissa, but she was ready for this attack.
"Incendium!" she hissed, instantly a line of blazing red flames filled the raised podium, melting the icicles as they flew, but not quite well enough; one missile found its mark, slicing Narcissa's cheek as she tried to dodge it. Her fingers tightened around her wand. She could feel the warm trickle of blood running down her face. Her lip curled and her eyes darkened. "Fulmentium!!!" she shouted furiously, a bolt of white lightning shot from the end of her wand, straight at Longbottom. It was too fast for him to rebuff and hit him square in the chest. The force of the strike threw him up in the air and hurled him back down onto the raised platform with a sickening thud.
"Stop! Stop!" Professor Flitwick rushed between Narcissa who was breathing heavily and Longbottom who was writhing on the floor in agony. "I'm giving you your first warning, Miss Varvara! For use of excessive force!" shouted Flitwick heatedly as two first aiders rushed over to treat Longbottom. "Break the rules again and I will disqualify you! Is that clear?"
"Crystal," simpered Narcissa with false remorse. Flitwick nodded with some satisfaction and then turned to see if Longbottom was fit to continue.
Narcissa composed herself, she relaxed her grip on her wand and raised her other hand to her slashed cheek. Her fingers were sticky and red when she pulled them away. She stared at them, almost fixated, and could not hear the roars of disgust from Longbottom's supporters, nor even the jubilant cries of her own Slytherins.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" breathed a voice inside her head. She gasped sharply, but no one noticed. "The knowledge that you are stronger than him, cleverer than him, better than him," it hissed persuasively. "I can sense the hunger in you. Remember my dear, there is only power and those too weak to seek it. You are not weak."
"Ready?" Flitwick asked.
Narcissa nodded, the voice was gone, but its message remained, or rather His message, because she knew instinctively who it had been. So He had noticed her, hadn't He?
"Then…resume!"
"Gladius Mutare!" cried Longbottom; pure determination was etched across his slightly singed face.
Narcissa wavered when she heard what spell he had cast. A ring of ruby light surrounded his wand and wove a cocoon-like mist around it. What was left behind once the light faded was not a wand, but a sword hewn from glimmering gold. Frank, who everyone in the school teased for his strange fascination with the Muggle sport of fencing, waited. Narcissa groaned inwardly, she was no swordswoman! She could easily blast him off his feet; his sword was no match for her wand, but it wouldn't look right. In the eyes of the spectators it wouldn't be fair, Narcissa gave an inward shudder at the mere thought of the word.
"Gladius Mutare," she sighed, stubbornly refusing to be shown up by a mere Gryffindor! Her wand glowed fierce emerald, and transformed itself into a light, silver rapier.
"You can't beat me with that!" laughed Frank gleefully. "But that obstinate pride of yours won't let you quit!" He charged towards her, his blade poised threateningly. Somehow Narcissa managed to raise her own weapon correctly, causing their swords to connect in an explosion of light. Narcissa was thrown back. She landed with a nasty crack, and moaned softly in pain.
"I know how you can beat him." She blinked. Frank, a true gentleman, was actually giving her the time to collect herself and stand up! "A very simple spell should do the trick. Docere - the spell of learning. It will temporarily teach you whatever you need to know." The voice paused. "For this help you will of course owe me."
Narcissa stood up, her head was bowed and her sword hung down by her side. Her eyes were hidden from Frank Longbottom, but he could see the odd smile shaping her mouth. Her grey gaze suddenly flickered up and pinned him in place.
"Docere Gladius!" she hissed. A violent spasm seized her whole body, but it was gone in a heartbeat, panting she stared at the sword in her hand as if seeing it for the very first time.
"Narcissa?" question Longbottom hesitantly. "You all right?"
"Perfectly," she smiled conceitedly, and then launched her surprise attack.
She fought as if she had been born to do it. For all his skill Frank could not parry every thrust and within seconds a dozen small nicks stung his body. Frank threw himself at her but her riposte was nothing short of perfect. She ripped the sword from his grasp and sent it flying over the edge of the podium. They both stared at it, followed by a thousand more eyes, all of them watching in disbelief. Narcissa was the first to recover.
"Finite Incantatem," she said softly, in a flash her gleaming sword had returned to its original form of supple rosewood. "Expelliarmus," she then breathed softly. Longbottom's wand, which had transformed at the same time as Narcissa's own, stopped falling. It hung in midair for a moment, and then flew to the hand of the person who had summoned it.
"Miss Varvara wins!" exclaimed Flitwick, but he could barely be heard above the mixture of celebration and protestation in the stands.
Narcissa woke with a start, or rather something woke her. She was an incredibly light sleeper, and had even gone so far as to put a silencing charm on all of the clocks within hearing distance of her and Lucius' bedroom, because she found it so hard to fall asleep amid the constant ticking!
She peered around in the dim light. Her eyes came to rest on the back of her husband's head, unaware of both his midnight excursion and the fact that he was actually feigning sleep. She relaxed after a few moments and then, even though he had his back to her and only because she believed he was asleep, she tenderly ran one hand from his shoulder down the contours of his arm before resting against him and returning to sleep.
Two blue eyes shot open, and stayed that way until Narcissa's breathing took on the deep, steady rhythm of sleep. Lucius then rolled over onto his back and turned his head to face his wife. She looked so much happier when she was asleep. A genuine smile almost touched his face. He caught her hand, which she had left on his arm, and held it to his chest.
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