Tainted Love
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.
Tainted Love
Chapter Five: Hospital Visitor
It was a horrid, grey morning that didn't quite know what to do with itself. A light drizzle was falling outside. The weak sun was trying half-heartedly to break through the clouds, which were masking a washed-out sky.
Narcissa's eyes fluttered open as the mattress beneath her shifted. She yawned sleepily and then stretched in a somewhat feline manner. There was only empty space by her side, but the bed was still warm from where Lucius had been lying and Narcissa could hear the soothing sound of running water coming from their en-suite bathroom.
She reached for her night robe, which was hung carelessly over the end of the bed, and then shrugged it on and knotted it tightly around her waist. It was early; the morn chorus had only just started to sing, apparently unperturbed by the weather. Narcissa propped a pillow up against the mahogany headboard and leant back into it. She drew her knees up to her chin, a deceivingly innocent habit of hers, and let her thoughts run away with her.
Lucius stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later, to see his wife still lost in thought. She could be incredibly pensive at times. He sometimes wondered what it was like inside the enigma of her mind. He shook his head and glanced absently in the full-length mirror. He was dressed in crisp, clean robes, not a hair dared stir out of place. However, in sheer contrast to her husband, Narcissa was in a state of disarray. Her legs were bare, her night robe was crumpled and her hair hung in wavy tangles, but Lucius preferred her like this, when her pedantic mask slipped.
"You look alarmingly preoccupied," was all he allowed himself to say.
She shook herself out of her trancelike state.
"What have you done to yourself?" she asked softly, instead of making the sharp quip that he had been expecting. A mild frown had settled on her face, and she was staring at his neatly bandaged hand.
"Nothing," he replied brusquely.
Narcissa swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up.
"Nothing? Lucius-" she began as she walked over to him.
"Don't fuss, Narcissa." He shot her down and then left the bedroom.
She dug her hands into the pockets of her robe and pouted briefly at the door before marching into the bathroom, slamming its door violently behind her.
Lucius was still near enough the bedroom to feel the walls tremble. Despite the number of times that she had cleaned his wounds, and vice versa, he was always reluctant to drop his guard that extra fraction and let her in. She was exactly the same. Nevertheless, he could still recall in vivid detail the very first time that he had seen Narcissa's beautiful face stained with her own blood.
He had been expecting it, after all he had seen that idiot Longbottom tear her cheek open with his stupid attack. Lucius walked through the cool corridors of Hogwarts with his black-haired companion trailing behind him. He remembered quite clearly the shameful desire to strike Miss Varvara's Gryffindor opponent with a curse of his own. It had been a completely irrational impulse, and one that he was trying very hard to forget.
"Can't we wait until tonight's celebration? Why must we see her now, darling?" whined the stunning, raven-haired witch.
"Because I wish to," replied Lucius curtly. "You needn't come, Isabelle."
"Oh but I wouldn't miss this for the world."
The woman Isabelle smiled menacingly, but just as she was linking her arm with his, a door crashed open at the top of the flight of stairs that they were approaching. A tall man in his late forties thundered down the set of steps. To Isabelle's utter outrage he practically knocked her aside as he fumed passed.
"Well really!" she exclaimed furiously. "You would think that the Varvaras could afford better manners!"
"The Varvaras?" repeated Lucius, for the first time taking note of what she was saying. He was even looking after the dark-haired gentleman curiously.
"Still what can you expect," sniffed Isabelle snootily "New money."
"Old blood," countered Lucius, and he began to climb the stairs towards the hospital wing without her.
"If you believe the rumours!" snapped Isabelle pointedly, but Lucius wasn't listening, he was waiting though, his hand was resting on the handle of the door that led into the infirmary.
"Shall we?" he asked sardonically. He let her take his arm again as he pushed open the door.
There were two rows of hospital beds in the infirmary and two of them were occupied. A rather old nurse was treating Frank Longbottom in a bed close to the door. She glanced up on hearing them enter, but didn't say anything to stop them. Lucius' eyes promptly fell on Narcissa. She was sitting on a bed next to the high window at the other end of the ward. Her head was hung in what he interpreted as a very sombre pose. A curtain of honey-coloured hair hid her face from him. She must have heard them approach, but she didn't lift her gaze.
"So you came after all," she murmured softly, when Lucius stopped at the end of her bed. Her eyes stayed downcast.
"Did you think that I wouldn't?" he asked suavely.
"I didn't give it much thought," Narcissa lied.
Isabelle cleared her throat pointedly.
"Ah yes, Miss Varvara, this is Miss Isabelle Zabini." Lucius' eyes glittered ruthlessly.
"How do you do?" Narcissa enquired politely, and she was forced to raise her head for the first time.
"Better than you it would appear," Isabelle replied with a smug grin.
Narcissa feigned an innocent little inclination of her head, but Lucius was studying her closely. The cut inflicted by Longbottom graced her right cheekbone, but the left side of her face was also heavily bruised and her bottom lip looked like it had been freshly split.
"You didn't leave the tournament looking like that," he stated adamantly.
"Don't be ridiculous, Lucius" snapped Isabelle swiftly.
Narcissa's eyes flickered between the two lovers. Lucius left his position at the end of her bed and walked around to Narcissa's side. He drew up a chair that had been left by the bedside and sat down. He could feel her profound gaze watching him the entire time. There was the looked of a snared animal her eyes. Entranced he reached his hand out, she looked like she wanted to bolt but instead stood her ground, even as he tilted her chin and traced a thumb across her blood-tinged lips. It was the first time he'd touched her. 'Who was taunting who?' he couldn't help but wonder.
"I thought we had come to congratulate the girl," snarled Isabelle bitterly. She rallied her thoughts - she was a lady; Narcissa was a child. She was everything; Narcissa was nothing. "Still, I expect it was rather embarrassing when you lost control of that lightning bolt," she added acidly.
It was Narcissa who had the resolve to pull her head away from Lucius' grasp.
"I don't lose control," she stated emphatically.
"Really?" Isabelle sneered. "So I suppose you meant to kill that boy?"
"No. If I had meant to kill him then he would be dead."
Lucius shrugged himself out of the memory. She had meant it too, really meant it. Seemingly he had reached the breakfast table on autopilot, because that was where he now sat. Footsteps in the passage alerted him to someone's approach, causing him to snatch up the Daily Prophet and open it at a random page. Narcissa strolled in, looking her usual, well-groomed self. Her husband's eyes ran over her neat figure, coming to rest on her slightly glossy lips. He conquered any desire that they might have evoked and concentrated fully on the paper in front of him.
"I've been thinking about this tutor you want to hire for Draco," she said while pouring herself a cup of coffee.
"Mmm?" he murmured, from behind the Daily Prophet. Narcissa drew a deep, calming breath and fought the urge to roll her eyes before continuing.
"Well, I could do it. It's all very well for you; you'll be away at work, but I'll have to cope with a stranger snooping around the house all day and-and are you listening to me, Lucius!"
"Every word, dear," he replied condescendingly, as he turned a page of the newspaper.
"Well?!"
"What about Snape?" he asked lazily.
"Severus? Oh please!"
"You know you have no patience, and Draco certainly has no willingness to learn. You'll be at each others' throats."
"Don't be so melodramatic, Lucius," snapped Narcissa curtly.
At precisely this moment Draco entered the room, carrying the post, both of his parents turned and frowned at him in some bemusement.
"She asked me to bring them in," he explained, meaning the maid and the letters.
"You don't usually do what's asked of you," said Narcissa suspiciously as her son handed her a letter. She broke open the seal and unfolded it carefully. Lucius watched over the top of the paper as a frown settled on her face and gradually darkened as she read the letter.
"Something wrong?" he asked.
"I don't know," she replied slowly. Lucius cocked one eyebrow.
"You don't know or you don't want me to know?"
"It's from my mother," she said reluctantly, as if this were an explanation. Draco's head snapped up and he abandoned the toast that he had been buttering. Lucius even put the newspaper to one side.
"Well, well," he breathed dangerously, "and what does she have to say?"
"She's in hospital," replied Narcissa carefully.
"Again? I cannot imagine why that should be," he said dryly. Narcissa blushed red; she glanced quickly at Draco, but then seemed to visibly pull herself together.
"She wants me to go and visit her."
Lucius stood up without touching the breakfast that had been laid before him. Narcissa watched her husband anxiously.
"Use your own judgement, but do not dare look to me for approval," he said sharply. "Oh and Draco," he added more calmly as he turned to his son. "Good news, your mother has decided to take it upon herself to school you this summer, so, if your grades don't improve next year we'll know who to blame."
Draco glanced warily at his mother, Narcissa looked decidedly pale. Lucius glared at his wife one last time before sweeping out of the room apparently on his way to work. Narcissa drew another deep breath and then sipped the coffee that was still cupped in her hand. She wrinkled her nose in distaste when she realised that it was still black. Sighing she sat down and pushed the bitter beverage aside.
Smothering silence descended upon the room. The damp, dreary morning outside seemed to seep through the walls and infect the house. Narcissa let the minutes slip by as she replaced her mask of frigid sobriety. Her son's eyes never left her face. When she spoke again her voice reflected nothing but serenity.
"Well Draco, do you feel like visiting your grandmother today?"
"But father-"
"Need never know," she interjected calmly. They watched each other guardedly for a moment, but then Draco smiled deviously. It was rather fun, this collusion.
St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was a cheerless place. It tried very hard not to be, it was pleasantly decorated and brightly coloured, but with so much sickness around it was virtually infected itself, and the depressing atmosphere was somewhat inescapable.
Narcissa and Draco were walking through the hospital's foyer, which was skirted by a few over exuberant shops - 'Rewolf's Florist – our flowers need no water and never wilt! Perfect for the bed bound!'' and 'Sweets Galore – nil by mouth? Never fear! Our illusionary sweet taste just like the real thing, but aren't!' Narcissa was eyeing each one cynically when her son suddenly paused and pointed.
"Longbottom? What's he doing here?"
Narcissa glanced in the direction that Draco was indicating. A rather pathetic looking boy was walking by the side of an old woman, who was wearing a tall hat with a grotesque stuffed vulture on top. Narcissa could have recognised the woman without her son's aid.
"Draco, go and buy some flowers for your grandmother," she said casually, reaching into her purse for some money.
"But mother," he moaned.
"Now, Draco," she said firmly. He took the money, and then stomped off into the florist's shop glaring.
Narcissa waited. The old woman hadn't seen her, but she would, and sure enough a few moments later her sad eyes wandered around, they passed Narcissa blankly once before shooting back to her. She seemed to bristle at the mere sight of the blonde witch, and practically dragged Neville over to where she was standing.
"You've got some nerve!" she seethed; her chin was literally quivering with rage.
"Oh?" breathed Narcissa mildly.
"Come to gloat have you!? I know why that evil monster really attacked my son and his darling wife after the fall of the Dark Lord!"
"Gran?" whimpered Neville, who had never seen Narcissa Malfoy before, but who could recognise trouble in all of its seductive forms.
"He was besotted with you! He never forgave Frank for injuring you in that stupid duel!"
"What a truly fanciful theory," remarked Narcissa indulgently.
"Why you-" she began furiously, but stopped when Neville gave a little shriek; he had just noticed Draco coming out of the florists looking livid. He was carrying a bunch of flowers, which he thrust at his mother.
"What are you looking at, Longbottom?" he snarled nastily. Neville hid behind his grandmother, who rounded on Draco.
"How dare you talk to my grandson like that?!" she spat. Narcissa stepped forwards.
"And how dare you talk to my son in such a manner." Her voice was as calm and level as ever, but the temperature seemed to drop several degrees. Neville's grandmother stopped fuming; she paled a little and snatched up her grandson's hand.
"Come on Neville, we're going," she muttered, and with that rushed off.
"What was that about, mother?" asked Draco curiously.
"Nothing important," replied Narcissa, though her voice was decidedly clipped.
-