Tainted Love
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.
N/B: Proofread by Merlynne.
Tainted Love
Chapter Ten: Voldemort & Varvara
Trapped in the abyss of the soulless night Narcissa knew that she was dreaming. Her eyes were shut tight, against her will as if locked, yet some part of her was still aware of the solidity of the bed beneath her, of the softness of the pillow cradling her head. She held her breath. It was such a very strange sensation, to be caught precariously between the conscious and unconscious - the lucid dream. She could feel herself falling into darkness. Everything solid, everything real was slowly slipping out of her grasp. But as always, she was unable to fight the sinister lure of the beings hidden in the shadows, just as she had been incapable of resisting their power as a girl.
She did not want this dream! Something within Narcissa screamed in dread. She did not want to remember; she did not want the taste of fear and death to overcome her once again!
The feeling of panic only increased as she plunged deeper into the unforgiving blackness, leaving the waking world behind. She reached out a hand, and someone held her, shielded and protected her. Narcissa was never sure, this far ensnared, whether this consoling figure was real or just another dimension of the dream. However, she was sure that it was Lucius, but a Lucius she had never known. Perhaps he was merely a creation of her imagination, an ideal Lucius, the husband that she had been seeking but had never found? He could not save her from the darkness, being also condemned, but he would not let her go.
Narcissa breathed out, relaxed and resigned herself to the fact that the dream was unstoppable. It would not help to fight; it never did. Let Voldemort come, she was stronger, wiser, slyer, and no longer the young woman in the dream.
Narcissa Varvara walked out of her NEWT potions exam looking just as pale and nervous as she had when walking into examination room. Seeing her distressed state Professor McGonagall actually stopped her in the corridor and told the Slytherin girl that she thought she ought to see the school's nurse.
"Why are you in such a state, Miss Varvara?" she sniffed. "It's not as though you lack brains. You always manage to scrape by somehow, although I'm quite sure you're not overexerting yourself with your studies."
"No, Professor," mumbled Narcissa meekly.
"For goodness sake, pull yourself together girl!" snapped McGonagall. Narcissa frowned down at the stone floor beneath her feet. At eighteen she hardly considered herself a 'girl' anymore! "You're not pining over some young man are you?" she suddenly demanded with sharp suspicion.
"No!" exclaimed Narcissa aghast, flushing despite the truthfulness of her statement. "I think-I think I might go and see the nurse after all, Professor," she said awkwardly, desperate to escape.
"Yes, you do look very peaky."
Narcissa nodded weakly and walked with somewhat of a droop in her shoulders until she was sure that she was out of Professor McGonagall's sight.
"Peaky!" Narcissa exclaimed angrily her grey eyes flashed. "I'd love to see how well she looked if she was about to-" sensibly she stopped her verbal tirade right there. One never knew who was listening to you in Hogwarts.
Narcissa had decided to take her Time-Turner into the girls' bathroom on the first floor and use it there; they were normally out of order, and besides no one ever used them so she wouldn't possibly be caught. She pushed open the creaky door to the bathroom, glanced around to check that no one was watching her and then ducked inside.
"You again!" shrieked a shrill voice.
Narcissa groaned and turned to face the squat ghost of a girl. Her miserable face was half hidden behind a curtain of limp hair and large glasses.
"Quiet Myrtle, or I'll flush you down a toilet!" snarled Narcissa.
Moaning Myrtle, a deceased student, sobbed hysterically, and then with a high-pitched wail dove down the plughole of one of the chipped enamel sinks. Very glad to be rid of her, Narcissa stepped into one of the cubicles and pulled the glittering Time-Turner out from under the neck of her robes.
She stared at it uncertainly. A tap was dripping persistently and each drop seemed to add a tiny weight to the heavy wriggling mass that was residing in the pit of her stomach.
"Turn this and that's it," she whispered to herself, holding the Time-Turner between her thumb and forefinger. "It's time to put some of your fine words into action," Narcissa told herself harshly. With a resolute nod and a deep breath she turned the tiny little hourglass over twice.
The bathroom melted away. Narcissa felt as though she was being pulled backwards at great speed, the pressure made her ears pop. A kaleidoscope of colours and shapes blurred her vision. She bit down on her lip to stop herself from crying out –
And then the world stopped spinning. Dizzily Narcissa stumbled forwards, into the wooden door of the cubicle. Everything looked exactly the same! What had gone wrong? She raised a shaky hand to her mouth and wiped away the blood that she had drawn. What was she going to do now? Her heart was beating extremely fast and rather irregularly as she pushed open the door and step out into the bathroom.
"Who are you?" snivelled a horribly familiar voice. "How dare you sneak into my bathroom?"
Narcissa frowned at Moaning Myrtle, who was sitting on top of one of the cisterns glowering at her.
"You just spoke to me as I walked in," she argued slowly.
"No I didn't!" screeched Myrtle. "Nasty, mean students! Always bullying poor Myrtle, just because I'm ugly and stupid and d-dead!" she sobbed tearfully.
Strangely, Narcissa suddenly beamed up at the ghost. It had worked! It must have done, that was why Myrtle didn't remember talking to her; she hadn't done so yet! She left Myrtle muttering dolefully to herself and slipped out into the corridor.
From the quiet, desolate state of the castle Narcissa guessed that it was well before breakfast time. She hugged her black school cloak tightly about her, and moving like a shadow in a dream she crept through the sleeping castle. What she was doing was forbidden, wicked…exhilarating. She felt an unprecedented sense of freedom and empowerment. With a definite touch of arrogance she felt her fears die away. She marched outside onto the grounds with her head held high; there was no one to see her, she was not going to slink around like a common criminal!
She had been wondering if there were any special enchantments around Hogwarts' grounds to stop pupils from leaving. Perhaps an alarm would go off and wake up the whole school, or she might be transfigured into a frog, or suddenly become covered in boils? A number of horrible scenarios occurred to Narcissa, but when she stepped out of the gates, which weren't even locked, nothing happened. She relaxed a little more after that, and walked the rest of the way to Hogsmeade with a definite spring in her step.
By the time Narcissa was standing outside of the Hog's Head all of her optimism had vanished. The door was locked. Maybe she was early? Maybe she was late! The coil of nervous tension in her stomach returned tenfold. She was silently cursing Severus for his pathetic instructions, and trying to decide whether or not it was safe to knock, when the door opened and someone dragged her roughly inside.
Narcissa tried to reach for her wand, but found that the man had her arms pinned down by her sides.
"You the girl?" he demanded. His voice was very low and gravelly. Narcissa couldn't see anything of his face; it was hidden beneath a heavy black hooded cloak. "Here," he snarled, shoving a similar cloak at Narcissa as he released her, "put this on."
She obeyed, trying not to cough on the day-old smoke that seemed to fill the empty pub. She was alone in a world unknown to her, but her mother had taught her to mask such fear well, indeed to mask all emotions from the naked eye. She straightened her back and lifted her chin, and once concealed by the cloak she felt some of her composure return. The man seemed agitated she noticed, which actually made her feel a little calmer.
"Come on," he said gruffly. He caught Narcissa by the arm and marched her through the deserted, squalid pub to a dingy backroom.
There was a table in the middle of the room and on the table lay a silver ring. Drawn inexplicably to the object Narcissa moved passed the man to get a better look. On closer inspection she saw that it was actually a little coiled snake, hewn from a spiral of strangely iridescent metal.
"It's a Portkey," stated the unnamed man.
Narcissa nodded in silent understanding, so they were going to use this to reach Lord Voldemort. There was no more room for doubt. She waited to be told when to touch the snake, but the man seemed to be too preoccupied to remember this instruction. Had Narcissa not had the presence of mind to reach forward with her fingertips at exactly the same time as the wizard, she would have been left behind. And her life may have been very different…
It happened instantly: the sensation was not dissimilar to what Narcissa had experienced when using the Time-Turner, except this time she was dragged forwards instead of backwards. Her stomach somersaulted. It felt like she was plunging from a great height, almost as if she had just fallen from a broomstick. She closed her eyes until she felt her feet slam into solid ground.
Dully she noticed that they were now standing in the basin of a great valley. Sheer rocky cliffs encircled the vale, but few plants, bar a forest of dead, gnarled trees, graced their slopes and as Narcissa cast her eye up she realised uneasily that there was no path to be found leading either in or out of the stagnant dale. A new presence by her side suddenly caught her attention and made her skin prickle.
"Miss Varvara, welcome."
If Narcissa could have made a sound she would have screamed. It was not a man standing before her, but a demon in human form! His pasty head seemed too large for his thin, skeletal body. Red slits of eyes bore into the void of her hood. He seemed to be caught in the middle of some grotesque transformation. The man who had brought Narcissa into the depths of this nightmare bowed to the repulsive figure.
"My Lord," he said, in his deep, gravelly voice.
Lord Voldemort turned his bloody gaze from Narcissa to the wizard.
"We are nearly ready for you, but you have a little time left. I wish to speak to our newest confederate."
With a second sycophantic bow the man left them. Narcissa wanted to reach out and stop him, to pull him back, to beg him not to leave her alone with this…thing!
"Come, Narcissa." Voldemort spoke her name, accentuating the hiss of its letters. "Today you are safe, you are my guest here." He offered her a claw-like hand. Somehow she conquered her revulsion and managed to take it, though touching him was like touching ice.
He started to walk, and for the first time Narcissa began to notice the world around her in more detail. The sky above them was a deep unhealthy purple, like bruised skin, and although she hadn't been aware of it at first they were actually walking across the centre of some sort of pagan circle. It was formed from giant granite pillars, but she couldn't see out of the circle and along the bottom of the vale; black fire blocked every crude archway, but then where had the man gone? Where were they going?
"Do not try to understand." She started. Lord Voldemort seemed amused. "You do not like me inside your head, but you will get used to it."
They kept walking, although the long distance did not correlate with the apparent small size of the circle, but then neither did the stone throne-like chairs that were suddenly before them.
Distortion, Narcissa reasoned, very grand, elaborate, difficult magic, but magic nonetheless which she could explain and understand.
"Sit," commanded Voldemort. Narcissa sat, relieved to be able to escape his grasping clutches. "Now lower you hood." She hesitated. "Lower it," he repeated and this time she obeyed. His red, ember-like eyes watched her frozen, alabaster face. "Who could ever suspect such an angel? Now your arm," he continued. Again Narcissa obeyed, it was a wonderful feeling – not having to think for herself, to just do what she was told. He caught her wrist and pulled back her sleeve. "We shall wait and see if you earn my Mark."
"My Lord?" Narcissa blinked as she listened to the first words that she had spoken, her voice sounded much older.
"No, ask what you really want to know."
"It was you who helped me during the Decaduel, wasn't it?" she said quietly.
"Naturally."
"Why? Why am I here, my Lord?" asked Narcissa cautiously.
"Because I may find a use for you. Your friend, young Mr Snape told me how you attacked your father. He told me how you found out about the Imperius curse, how you used it on your mother one night while your parents were sleeping, how you very nearly gained control over her for long enough to have her murder your father for you."
"But it did not work," stated Narcissa bitterly. The sting of failure was still fresh in her mind.
"Yet she did not suspect you, did she? She thought it all a dream," he said softly. "You are cunning, and you harbour great hatred Narcissa, but you do not yet have a worthy purpose – I will try to change that. But today you are here to witness something which few have seen." Narcissa lifted one apprehensive eyebrow. "Raise your hood."
As she did this Lord Voldemort clapped his hands. The dark fires vanished, revealing the whole of the valley, and a group of men, and possibly some women, in black cloaks entered the stone circle. Two figures walked slightly ahead of the rest. A sense of sudden foreboding overcame Narcissa and she turned her masked face to the Dark Lord.
"The most loyal, the most powerful of my followers are hand picked, but for them to become true Death Eaters there is a little test," said Voldemort proudly, his red eyes glowed eagerly. "You have heard of Avada Kedavra, the killing curse?"
"Yes, my Lord," breathed Narcissa, her mouth very dry.
"There is no counter curse, but it does take a wizard with extremely strong magical power to cast it. Now, my two followers there," he indicated to the two wizards walking slightly apart from the approaching crowd with a wave of his bony hand, "will attempt to perform this curse."
"On who?" Narcissa whispered curiously.
"Why, on each other of course!" laughed Voldemort.
"But they'll both be killed!" exclaimed Narcissa rashly.
"No, only one of them shall die today. They will take it in turns to cast their spells. Of course, whoever goes first has a distinct advantage." His face broke into what could only be described as a smile, Narcissa was glad the hood hid her own expression repulsion.
"But my Lord, if they are both your followers-" she began, trying to understand, but he did not let her finish.
"A waste yes, but we must refine the purity of magic, mustn't we?"
Narcissa dropped her head in a weak nod as the group of wizards finally reached them. He was mad, but she had never dared dream of power such as his! Lord Voldemort stood, Narcissa kept her face averted, she was about to watch someone die, a thrill shot through her body.
"You are ready?"
"Yes, my Lord," one of the two replied. Narcissa jerked her head up; it was the same gruff voice of the man who had met her at the Hog's Head!
"Now," Lord Voldemort suddenly turned back to Narcissa. "Who should go first?" he asked calmly. She froze. "Have a little taste of the power you crave."
Narcissa felt the weight of every unseen face turn to her, and she didn't dislike it. She didn't consider not choosing, she only considered how to pick. She knew one man, however slightly, while the other she did not know at all. She raised a hand and pointed to the gravelly voiced wizard. Voldemort nodded:
"So be it."
"My Lord," bowed the man Narcissa had just condemned.
She felt a lance pierce her heart as that familiar cool drawl caressed her ears. Perhaps it was not quite so dispassionate in that instance? Before she knew it she was on her feet.
"Now, now," jeered Voldemort, he glanced mockingly at her. "We cannot change our mind."
Narcissa sank back down onto the cold seat. No! She could not have just sentenced Lucius Malfoy to death! It could not be Lucius, she tried to tell herself, she must have been mistaken, she couldn't possibly tell from only two words! But Narcissa couldn't believe her own argument.
The crowd of cloaked wizards formed a ring around the two combatants. She'd kill the man herself, vowed Narcissa recklessly! If he murdered Lucius he was as good as dead. Voldemort took a seat beside his guest. She felt her fear and horror drain away, to be replaced by white molten rage. She was a pawn in a game no one had told her she was playing!
"Interesting," Voldemort hissed by her side. Her eyes flickered towards him, they met his searing gaze, but she did not recoil. "You cannot lie to Lord Voldemort, I know all. I see why you favour him and if he dies you have already thought about killing his opponent. I like that, such unbridled fury."
Narcissa refused to be baited. She kept her eyes locked on the man she believed to be Lucius and willed him to survive without knowing why the prospect of his death terrified her so much. The gravelly voiced wizard drew out his wand from under his cloak. He was taking so long! His hand seemed to be shaking as he tried to get the angle of his wrist just right. Lucius simply stood and waited patiently for death. Narcissa couldn't bear to watch any longer; she felt so very young all of a sudden. She hung her head and stared blankly at her lap just before a voice in front of her spoke the words she was dreading:
"Avada Kedavra."
A blinding flash of green light stung her eyes followed by an explosion of shattering noise. Narcissa didn't know if she dared raise her gaze.
"Excellent, Lucius."
At those words Narcissa's eyes did fly up and she very nearly stopped breathing. The man Lord Voldemort had just confirmed to be Lucius Malfoy was still standing in the centre of the ring of dark wizards. But the other man, the wizard she had met in the Hog's Head, was lying dead, completely unmarked, but dead, at Lucius Malfoy's feet.
"We don't follow rules here, even the one's we set ourselves," said Voldemort, facing Narcissa for a moment before turning back to Lucius. "It is time."
Lucius Malfoy, still hooded and cloaked moved out of the circle and walked up to Lord Voldemort, who stood to greet him.
"Your arm, Lucius," said the Dark Lord.
Narcissa watched anxiously as Lucius bared his forearm. She felt invisible; cloaked in darkness he didn't know who she was. Voldemort drew his own wand for the first time and placed it against Lucius' skin. She heard his sharp intake of breath as the Dark Mark was slowly burnt into his very skin. She squirmed in her seat, sensing his pain, which had to be terrible; his arm muscles were tense and his fist was clenched so tightly that his nails must have been ripping into his palm, because a trickle of blood had seeped through his fingers and started to drip down to the ground.
So this was where Lucius Malfoy had pledged his allegiance. He was bound unbreakably to the Dark Lord now, but Narcissa did not feel her desire for him waver. She had glimpsed the world in which he lived and had not faltered. Who now but she could ever hope to have even the smallest understanding of him? Her soul, her sanity, her self; she would be a part of his life whatever it cost her!
Narcissa sat up with a jolt, although she did not seem to wake. In the darkness Lucius' eyes shot open, it would have been hard to tell whether he had been asleep or not. He held his sleeping wife and gently forced her to lie back down on the mattress. The moonlight seeping through a crack in the curtains highlighted the dormant anguish in his eyes.
"It's all right," he murmured quietly.
Her breathing began to slow down; unbelievably she hadn't woken herself, only him. He lay back down beside her, but kept his gaze on the dusky ceiling, although Narcissa lay on her side facing him. She shifted slightly and rested her head on his shoulder; through sleep she found his forearm and held it in her grasp. Wondering where the night had taken her this time Lucius stroked his wife's hair soothingly as his chest became damp with her silent tears.
He closed his eyes, even coupled with their torture he savoured these hours of darkness. When the morning light rose with the dawn it would banish more than just the shadows. The daytime was infinitely colder than the night for Lucius; walls between himself and his wife, which were hidden in the dark by veils of terror and lust, were revealed with painful clarity in the daylight hours. Forever bound together and yet perpetually divided; that was how they were and how they would remain.
"Lucius?" Narcissa cried his name through the echoes of her nightmare.
"I'm here," he said, though he doubted she could hear. "I shall always be here."
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