Tainted Love
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.
Tainted Love
Chapter Six: Broken Woman
Narcissa cradled the bunch of flowers in the crook of one of her arms as she walked through the hospital. She glanced down at her mother's letter and then looked back up grudgingly at a blue hospital sign, which showed the entrance to the ward that her mother had directed her to.
"Here we are then," she remarked unenthusiastically as she refolded the letter crisply. Perhaps bringing Draco hadn't been the greatest idea? Lucius would certainly not like it, but then he wasn't going to find out, so it hardly mattered.
St Mungo's Russell Ward had its own little reception area, and sitting behind the front desk was a girl who looked as if she was about eighteen-years-old. She was chewing the end of a quill, and swinging back on her chair while reading a magazine, completely oblivious to what was happening around her.
Narcissa rolled her eyes at the receptionist in disgust, but didn't wait to be acknowledged by her. She walked straight passed the front desk, followed closely by Draco, but just before they entered the actually ward Narcissa slipped her hand covertly beneath her black cloak and stroked her wand. The faintest hint of a smirk twisted her face. A gasp of fear and then a cry of pain echoed behind them. Draco span around to see the slack receptionist in a heap on the floor; her chair had just collapsed beneath her…
Russell Ward was deathly silent. Elderly witches and wizards filled most of the beds, and on closer inspection many of them looked barely alive. Draco drew just a tiny bit closer to his mother than was normal, while Narcissa's eyes scanned the ward quickly. A rather plump nurse, who was dressed in a royal blue uniform, came out of a little side room and quickly bustled over to the Malfoys when she'd seen them.
"Can I help 'ee, love?" asked the nurse of Narcissa. She had quite a thick Cornish accent, and the years were starting to show on her jovial face.
"Hopefully," drawled Narcissa, who's own enunciation seemed to sharpen. "I'm looking for a patient by the name of Elaine Varvara."
"Oh 'igh'," she nodded. "The dear's in there," finished the nurse. She pointed to a private room that was adjacent to the main ward.
Narcissa nodded her thanks coolly. She placed a hand lightly on Draco's shoulder and steered him towards her mother's room.
Mrs Varvara, Elaine, had not quite reached her sixties, and yet she looked like a woman at Death's door. Once upon a time she had possessed the same glossy blonde hair as her daughter, but it now fell to her shoulders in limp grey waves, as a girl her eyes had shone like sapphires, but were now faded beyond recognition, and her once creamy skin looked oddly grubby, hanging painfully off her delicate little frame.
Narcissa took all of these changes onboard in an instant, but did not comment on them. Her mother's hollowed eyes focused on her, and yet Mrs Varvara's expression did not alter at all. No joy or relief lit her face; her features stayed fixed in the same trampled acceptance that had been her sole expression for more years than she could remember.
"You made it then," she sighed, her lips barely moved and her voice was so weak that a sudden breeze might have stolen it from her.
"With the help of some farmer's wife posing as a nurse," sneered Narcissa with distaste. She dropped the flowers carelessly onto a small bedside table. Her mother sighed breathlessly and sank further into her plump pillows.
"You are forgetting your roots."
Draco frowned at his grandmother's words, and gave his mother a look of surprise that was tinged with obvious distaste.
"Is that why you summoned me, mother? So we could recount the good old days?" Narcissa asked sarcastically.
Mrs Varvara tried to shake her head, but gave up when the effort required overtook her.
Narcissa took off her cloak and laid it over the foot of the bed. Her mother noted that the dress she wore was the mystic blue colour of the midnight sky, with a fitted bodice and a long, fanned skirt it suited her impeccably. For all of her many faults Mrs Varvara could not deny her daughter's beauty, but perhaps that too was a failing? A weapon Narcissa had learnt to wield? Elaine Varvara shut her eyes for a moment, why only now could she see clearly?
"I didn't know if you'd come," she murmured, as she opened her eyes again. "My nurse pressed me into contacting you. I didn't think you'd bring Draco, I scarcely recognise him." She looked passed her daughter to her grandson and attempted a smile. Draco stared at his mother for guidance, but found none.
"That's hardly surprising is it, mother? Giving that you've only seen him a handful of times," shot Narcissa mercilessly. She wanted to unleash some of her pent-up energy, to pace the room, to at least wander over to a window, except there wasn't one. So she stood stock-still, like a slowly boiling kettle.
"Narcissa, I don't want to fight, not anymore." It was virtually a plea. "My time is so very short."
"What do you mean?" asked Narcissa, her eyes narrowed shrewdly. Draco listened intently; the two women had practically forgotten that he was there.
"Why do you think I'm here?" sighed Elaine Varvara, her eyes fluttered shut miserably.
"Because he put you here again," hissed Narcissa venomously. It wasn't a question, but an absolute belief.
"No," whispered her mother, but she bowed her head as if ashamed. "I haven't got long left," she paused. "I'm dying."
Two words, Narcissa barely even blinked. There should have been more. They should have meant more. She knew she should have cried, wept, been hysterical with grief, but all she managed was a resigned little nod and a glance at her own son. Draco was watching her with his father's eyes; maybe he was expecting her to burst into tears? No, neither of them would know how to deal with that.
"They can't treat you?" Narcissa's voice sounded harsh even to her own ears. Perhaps later she would feel…something?
"I don't want them to."
Narcissa stared at her mother hard. So that was where she got it from, she had wondered… There had to be some backbone to the woman she had once called mama. For probably the first time in her life she felt a hint of pride for her mother. Perhaps pride was too strong a word; she felt robbed too, not of love or support or anything of that calibre, but of the comeuppance she had longed to see her mother deliver to her father.
"Why did you want to see me?" Narcissa asked at length.
Mrs Varvara battled to sit up, Narcissa watched her struggle, but did not offer to help. Once the older woman was upright she tried to recapture some of her shattered dignity, unknown to her it had all been lost years ago.
"I'm not stupid, Narcissa," she stated, holding her head as high as she could muster. She looked into her daughter's unblinking eyes and had to lower her gaze almost immediately. "I know why your father still lives."
"Draco, see if you can find a vase for the flowers," commanded Narcissa firmly.
Draco stared at her; they both knew she couldn't care less about the flowers, and even if she had, Narcissa was quite capable of plucking a vase from thin air if she wished. But Draco played along; after all, he was quite certain that he'd be able to turn this set of circumstances to his advantage sooner or later.
"I know why you have never thrown the full weight of the Malfoy name behind destroying him," Elaine Varvara continued breathlessly, once Draco had gone.
"Really?" challenged Narcissa.
"Because for all your bitter coldness, you know that hurting him would hurt me."
"You think so?" smiled Narcissa frostily. A flicker of doubt glimmered in her mother's eyes. "I wanted to give you the opportunity of besting him, just once in your miserable, insignificant life."
"Yes, of course," Elaine smiled, terribly sadly. "But all the same, the outcome has been the same." She seemed to hesitate for a moment. "I think maybe once you even stopped Lucius from breaking your father. I don't know what that must have cost you," she murmured restlessly.
"Why must it have cost me anything?" snapped Narcissa.
"I know Lucius Malfoy!" cried her mother; it was the strongest she had appeared for the entire visit.
"Do you really think so?" asked Narcissa mockingly.
"He is a monster, Narcissa!"
"He is not a monster to me."
"How long will that last?" demanded her mother, her voice faded with every word. "What if Draco had been a girl? Would it have ended then? What about when your looks fade, when your hair greys? What then?"
"You do not understand," muttered Narcissa quietly.
"Please, Narcissa, get out while you can!" begged Mrs Varvara.
"You want to redeem me," laughed Narcissa suddenly. "I can see it in your eyes," she shook her head bitterly. "But I am not like you, mother. I went into my marriage with my eyes wide open. I never tried to make Lucius anything other than what he was," she paused to draw breath, "you failed with father, in whatever it was that you hoped to achieve. You set yourself against him and he broke you. The Malfoys are the same. I need only to think of my predecessor to know that, but they won't destroy me, because I too am like them," she finished defiantly, but then the hardness of her face softened a mere fraction. "Mother, you were too good to mix with the Varvaras or the Malfoys of this world." She stopped and then forced herself to speak again. Her tone was almost tender. "I am sorry for you, mama. Truly." She blinked and saw that Draco was standing in the doorway. 'How long had he been waiting there?' she wondered, but all she said was: "Come, we're leaving."
"Wait, Narcissa!" Her mother's rattling breath gasped after her as she pushed her son out into the main ward. "Please, promise a dying woman that you won't destroy her husband!"
"I can't," replied Narcissa harshly as she turned back. "You lie here dying because you cannot bear to live any longer. Why is that?" she demanded ruthlessly.
"Please Narcissa, if you ever loved me-"
"I do not expect you to understand."
"Please Narcissa-"
"I cannot change what I am."
"Please-"
"No!"
There, it was said. Narcissa knew it would be the last word that she would ever speak to her mother. She felt liberated. No more concealment, no more lies, a fragment of the truth had finally been spoken between them. She turned away for the final time, deaf to the pleas her mother continued to implore of her.
"I don't see a vase," she muttered at Draco, who shrugged.
"I was talking to one of the nurses."
Narcissa wasn't listening; she was marching along the sterile passageways as if her very life depended upon it. Corridors and wards blurred into one hazy entity until they once again stood outside the hospital in the fresh summer air.
They had got to St Mungo's by use of Floo powder, but as Narcissa stood before the public grate, waiting in line to buy a pinch of the powder from the old wizard operating the stand, she suddenly had a change of heart. She needed time to think and reconcile her thoughts.
"Let's get the train home," she said unexpectedly.
Draco stared at his mother in disbelief. It would take longer just to get to the station than it would to get home by Floo powder!
"Why?" he demanded sullenly, but Narcissa did not answer.
In fact, she didn't speak to him again until they had reached the train station, purchased their tickets and found a bench on platform 7½ to sit upon. She was a strange creature, as hard and beautiful as a diamond in one instant, and then as deep and pensive as a philosopher the next.
"Draco, you're not a child anymore," she said distantly. "I need to tell you something."
"About grandmother?" he asked. He didn't seem very interested; the whole day had been a huge disappointment as far as he was concerned!
"I suppose so. In a small way at least," replied Narcissa difficultly. "I'm not sure that I fully realised this morning, but I went to visit my mother today for one reason only: to see if she would say to me what no one ever has." Draco frowned as he at least tried to look as though he was attempting follow his mother's logic. "No that's not what I meant to say. I don't matter, I'm a lost cause," she added softly, in a resigned but not bitter fashion. "I need you to know, whatever I have done, whatever I am yet to do, I love you." She drew a steadying breath, although each move was calculated, and glanced sideways at her son. Draco looked uncomfortable; he opened his mouth hesitantly.
"Mother-"
"Don't say anything," interjected Narcissa awkwardly. "One day, probably when I'm dead and gone, you'll understand why it needed to be said." She looked out across the station, then said, almost to herself: "I've never said those three words to anyone before."
Draco snapped back to his old probing self.
"Not even father?" he demanded.
"No, not even to your father," replied Narcissa slowly.
"Why not?" Draco asked, just as an impressive steam train pulled into the station.
Narcissa welcomed the distraction. For all her manipulative conniving she had spoken too freely, revealed too much. Words were cheap, spoken too tritely, but once said they could not be taken back. Draco could never maintain that his mother had not claimed to love him. He wandered over to the train, his mother a few steps behind him. 'Why not?" the question repeated itself in her mind until she muttered to herself.
"Because he has never said that he loves me."
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