Tainted Love
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.
N/B: Proofread by Merlynne.
Tainted Love
Chapter Eleven: Family Blackmail
July was swept aside by August, banished to twelfth and last place in the calendar's annual race. The lazy summer days of this new month merged into one another almost indistinguishably, creating the illusion of a single, perpetual sun-filled season. For the Malfoys, within the haven of the Manor, nothing changed and little happened - on the surface at least, but beneath this sound façade a tremor had been felt and noted. The wheels of change were readying themselves to turn; Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban.
It was not fear that made Lucius pick up the Daily Prophet each breakfast-time without fail, nor panic that inspired Narcissa to check scrupulously through the newspaper, even after her husband had assured her that there was nothing of interest to them to be read between the printed lines. It was pure frustration. What exactly was occurring out in the world without their knowledge?
Draco remained happily oblivious to his parents' vigilant efforts; their hushed whispers and furtive glances passed him by completely. He had his own schemes to attend, and he was just a little preoccupied by the end of the summer holidays looming into sight. In all honesty Draco could not say that he was sorry about the prospect of leaving the Manor and returning to Hogwarts, even though he blamed the school unreservedly for his fall from his parents' grace.
Two short weeks before the new term was due to begin Draco was wandering downstairs for a late breakfast pondering his indifference sleepily. He wasn't like other boys, he knew this – he was a Malfoy. It wasn't precisely that he didn't like being at the Manor, as eccentric as his life there was it was still his home, the only one he had ever known. It was just…he was rather untouched, unmoved by it all. He supposed he was complacent, that he took for granted all he had. This didn't worry him, but what did annoy him was the fact that the power he had at Hogwarts was stripped from him when he was at the Manor. At school he was a figure to be feared and respected, at home his parents stole those roles.
Draco pushed open the door to the dining room while staring down sulkily at his feet. A frown marred his features as he reasoned, and not for the first time, that at Hogwarts he could escape from his father's shadow, almost, for there was still Professor Snape to contend with.
He glanced up and stopped abruptly in the doorway of the room. His frown took on a confused air as he looked between his parents. He was rather surprised to find them both still there at such a late hour. Despite the fact his father often worked from home at the weekend he usually retired to his library fairly early, and his mother was normally occupied with errands of her own. He glanced between them suspiciously; they appeared to have stopped speaking the instant they'd heard him enter the room. How he hated the way they excluded him!
"Your letter from Hogwarts arrived this morning," said his mother, smoothly brushing over the uncomfortable silence with practised ease. She handed him a sealed envelope and then turned her attention briefly to the empty cup that sat in front of her. "I'll take you to get your books today," she said, as her son opened the letter.
"Today?" repeated Draco unenthusiastically. He looked up with slow reluctance; that wouldn't quite fit in with his plans!
"Yes, today. Why, does that interfere with your hectic schedule?" Narcissa snapped sarcastically.
Draco didn't dare answer back; the time would come later. He buried his nose in the letter instead, its accompanying booklist and a permission form for visiting Hogsmeade, which he began reading intently. Once he'd finished he looked back up and saw that his father was busy as usual, but his mother looked less occupied, she actually looked strangely ill at ease. Draco picked up a quill that was sitting on the mahogany sideboard in its inkstand. He dipped its tip in the black liquid and then moved back to her side.
"Can you sign this?" he asked. "Please," he added as an after thought.
Narcissa took the pen and slip from her son. Draco watched, his frown never leaving his face, as his mother scanned it distractedly and then signed 'Mrs N. A. Malfoy' in her elegant script. She gave it back to him and asked to see his booklist, which he relinquished. She read this a little more carefully than the Hogsmeade permission slip, before getting to her feet.
"Don't take too long, Draco. I'd like to leave quite soon," she told him, speaking with the same preoccupied air that surrounded her.
Draco had finally taken a seat and started to help himself to some bacon, half an eye still on his mother, who, with a glance at his father, to which Lucius did not respond, left the room. Draco chewed his breakfast thoughtfully. Wonderful, he smiled down at his plate. If his mother were in one of her rare, distant moods she'd be much easier to manipulate!
Draco turned his eyes to his father, who was still yet to properly acknowledge his presence. It used to trouble him, but he'd grown patient and tolerant beyond his years, at least where his father was concerned. From where he was sat he could see that the headline of the Daily Prophet read: 'BLACK STILL AT LARGE'. Draco squinted across the table, but couldn't read the small print. He took another bite of bacon, reports of Black's escape from Azkaban, the infamous Wizard prison, had filled the paper for weeks, but Draco wasn't nearly satisfied with what he had been able to find out.
"Who is Sirius Black, father?" he asked bluntly.
He had asked this question numerous times, virtually every time he saw his father in fact, and was yet to get an answer to his liking. At the other end of the table the Daily Prophet was finally laid aside, albeit slowly. Lucius fixed his gaze dispassionately on his son.
"An escaped prisoner, Draco. Really you should pay more attention to the news," he drawled idly.
"But who is he, father?" pressed Draco, for once in little mood to be fobbed off with blasé answers to his questions! He was feeling oddly daring. If Lucius was surprised, impressed, annoyed with his son's persistence he didn't show it. He laced his fingers together deliberately and considered his reply.
"You should already be aware that he murdered thirteen people - twelve Muggles, hardly a great loss, and one wizard." Draco nodded eagerly, sensing one of his father's revelations. "But, what is not commonly known it that it was Black who betrayed the Potters," said Lucius carefully.
"Really?" Draco said slowly, his eyes alighting with glee. "Then-"
"Have you finished?" interrupted Narcissa, who had re-entered the room just in time to hear the last segment of the conversation. Draco looked at her reluctantly, but left the room to get ready to leave. Once their son had gone Narcissa instantly turned on her husband. "Giving him more ammunition, Lucius?" she demanded violently. "I don't want his head filled that with rubbish! Tell him the truth or tell him nothing."
"You would trust Draco with the truth?" asked Lucius sneeringly.
"You just want to know what Potter will do when he gets hold of that information, as you know he surely will now!" she hissed sharply. "You will not use our son as a weapon!"
"Calm down, Narcissa," said Lucius disdainfully, "or Draco will know that something's wrong. He was watching your display of obvious agitation with unusually keen interest earlier." He sipped his coffee. "It's unlike you to be so transparent."
Narcissa glared at him reproachfully. She wandered around the table until her back was to him and she was facing the large bay windows. Light was spilling through them, outwardly turning everything it touched to gold.
"I'm a little tired, that's all," she murmured defensively. She raised her hands to her face as if to rub her eyes, but stopped abruptly as if catching herself off guard.
Lucius put his cup down; he had sensed his wife falter and recover, and he watched her back intently. It was hard to forget that his sleep had also been broken, with increasing frequency, by her nightmares. He had not mentioned this to Narcissa and she had not confided in him. He was on the verge of saying something, but hesitated uncertainly, what could he say? Turning around and catching his troubled frown Narcissa spoke again acidly.
"You needn't look quite so worried. I shan't let you down."
"That is not what I was thinking," Lucius said slowly.
Narcissa raised a cynical eyebrow and looked at him in disbelief. She wavered though, when his eyes met hers, because she couldn't pick out the lie hiding in their profound depths. He stood up and walked towards her, noticing for the first time the very faint shadows etched beneath her own eyes.
"You do look tired."
"Thank you, Lucius," she retorted resentfully. "Then perhaps you would like to take Draco into London for me?"
"I went last year," Lucius responded, once again posed and uncaring as he turned away from Narcissa to sit back down, and what might had been was lost forever.
"Yes, I know," said Narcissa heavily as she moved towards the door. "Besides, I would have liked to have gone last year. It would have been-" she paused to find the correct word, "interesting to finally meet young Mr Potter," she remarked darkly.
"It would have been interesting to meet that imbecile Lockhart you mean," snorted Lucius, turning his attention back to the paper.
"That too," agreed Narcissa tauntingly. She stole a covert glance at her husband, but when he refused to be riled she opened the door, marched out and left him alone.
Lucius waited, rereading the Daily Prophet but not taking in the meaning of the words, until he was sure that his wife and son had left. He then laid the paper aside and stared pensively into space. Narcissa was worrying him. As hard as he found that to admit, it was true. She had had nightmares before, but never with such intensity or frequency. Was it a warning, a premonition? How would he know if he never asked her? He could remember her guidance from years gone by, her help and counsel, although maybe, just maybe, her most valuable piece of advice had been given too late?
'Be careful. You are not a man who finds it easy to follow orders, but you must if you want to live. It is like making a pact with the Devil, he will give you what you want, but he will take more than you have to give.'
Narcissa had been so very young when she'd said that to him. He had tried to shrug it off, but he was no fool. He knew the truth of her words, but it was already too late. He leant back in his chair and touched his forearm instinctively, while an icy smile sculpted his mouth. Perhaps it had always been too late for him?
OOoo..ooOO
How Lucius had managed to get home after Voldemort's initiation he would never know. Pride alone no doubt pushed him on, dragging him beyond the bounds of his endurance. It was not possible to Apparate within the walls of the Manor; an ancient, cunning little trick of the Malfoys, but Lucius had still succeeded in reaching one of the formal gardens very close to the house. Once he was there however, he could go no further – with or without the aid of magic.
He collapsed on top of a stone bench, relishing its cold touch. His arm burned with such unrelenting cruelty that he felt as though it was covered in boiling oil. Nothing would cure the scalding flame; it worked itself deeper and deeper into his skin, seeming to char his very bones! He had never experienced such pain before, not the type of pain that causes men to long for death.
Lucius wasn't sure how long he lay there, looking up blindly at the stars while listening to the ceaseless trickle of a water fountain, as ever fibre of his being writhed in agony. It was only when the intensity of this pain began to ebb away a little, or perhaps he was just getting used to it, that conscious thoughts re-entered his head.
What had he done?
There was no simple answer. Lucius drew a deep, ragged breath and tried to ignore the dots that swam before him. He had sided with Lord Voldemort because it was a fundamental necessity; he would not stand against a man who shared so many of his own ideals! He closed his bloodshot eyes he was not an idiot! He knew he was no match for the Dark Lord…at that moment at least. He could hardly dare to admit, even to himself, that the most ambitious part of him would not be suppressed easily.
There was a war coming and sides had to be chosen. But wars were costly, especially for men like him, who on the whole were content with their lot in life. Nevertheless the notion that he could gain more power, more wealth that he could eradicate some of the weakness he so despised in his fellow man was seductive.
Weakness, how he hated it, loathed it above all else! It was inexcusable yet it surrounded him, and all because the Wizarding world refused to obey the simple laws of nature! 'Survival of the fittest, of the strongest', it was an age-old rule that they just brushed aside! Why, instead of following it, were they bound by rules made to protect such inferior beings as Muggles? Muggles, who he could sweep aside like the vermin they were, were left to believe in their own importance, their own superiority. It was truly sickening!
By the time these thoughts had been newly digested, and Lucius considered it feasible to try moving again, a fine misty drizzle had started to fall. He walked with the ginger motion of a man recovering from a long illness. He could remember virtually nothing of the night, wait…there was something, someone? The Dark Lord's new, anonymous collaborator? For some reason he could remember seeing them jump to their feet, but why? The memory was lost to him.
When Lucius finally entered the Manor, damp and pained and wretched, his father, Cassius Malfoy, was waiting to greet him. He stood in the centre of the hall, his stature a few vital inches shorter that his son's.
"I was beginning to think you were dead," he hissed anxiously. Lucius paused indecisively. Surely that was not concern in his father's voice? "Can you imagine what the papers would say?" he added harshly. Anger radiated from him, but his son merely smiled in relief and understanding.
"It would hardly have mattered to me – being dead," Lucius replied carelessly. He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, but regretted it immediately as a wave of hot pain broke over his body.
"Well you should care!" snarled his father. "When I think the future of our great family rests on your shoulders-" he shook his head, his dark brown hair, just a shade lighter than black, was tinged with its first few streaks silver. "You go too far Lucius, you don't know when to draw the line," he sighed. "I only hope it isn't your downfall."
"Our downfall, don't you mean?" Lucius smiled wryly as he moved towards the stairs.
"Mind what I say, Lucius," Cassius said tiredly. "I can no longer protect you."
"It has been a while since you had that power," replied Lucius slowly. He had out grown his father fast, and been forced to grow up even faster, but that was not to say that he didn't heed his father's advice; experience was its own asset. "I do not know if this is the right path, but it is the only one open to me."
"If only I had taught you to step aside and keep to the sidelines." Cassius nodded wearily.
"It wouldn't have made any difference; you know what I am, father." Lucius also knew, in that very instance, that he already hated Voldemort, for breaking him, for branding him, for binding him.
OOoo..ooOO
The afternoon sunlight bathed the crowded, bustling streets, as summer desperately tried to fight off autumn, who was threatening to arrive before her due time. Carrying numerous parcels of various sizes Draco wandered miserably behind Narcissa as she walked out of Flourish and Blotts onto Diagon Alley.
True to her word, his mother had set aside time each day to coach him through his Hogwarts assignments and any additional work that she thought might prove beneficial. She was a meticulous teacher, and settled for nothing short of his very best! Draco scowled blackly and his gaze bore into the back of his mother's neck. Day after day he had endured her lessons in sacrifice of his holiday, but he still had an ace up his sleeve, and he was just about ready to play it! A nasty little smile crossed his face.
"What teacher in their right mind would set 'The Monster Book of Monsters' as part of their reading list?" Narcissa demanded angrily. "No one competent I'm sure! Your father may have a point about that school."
The assistant in the bookshop had looked mortified when they'd requested a copy. It hadn't been too difficult to see why when they'd noticed a specially constructed cage full of the green books, which were merrily ripping each other to shreds. The poor young man had just barely escaped with all his fingers intact before Narcissa had stepped in and subdued a copy temporarily with a freezing hex.
"Have we got everything now?" whined Draco childishly. He did not find shopping with his mother in the least bit enjoyable.
"I think so," mused Narcissa. She stopped in a shop doorway to consult her list. "Books, robes, stationery…"
"What about Quidditch kit?" Draco prompted. He had been gently steering his mother in the direction of Quality Quidditch Supplies all day. Narcissa looked suddenly pained.
"Are you sure you need-"
"Yes," interrupted Draco forcefully, taking the lead for first time that day.
"Can't you ask your father to take you to that horrid shop?" asked Narcissa unenthusiastically.
"But we're here now," said Draco simply.
With a resigned air of defeat she followed her son, until they were standing right in front of the busy shop, where the smell of polish and leather drifted out onto the street. Narcissa didn't care for brooms or Quidditch or anything that reminded her of her inventor grandfather. Why the Varvara's had had to make their fortune on such a trivial, laughable venture was mystery to her! Scowling she saw that in the shop window sat a rather large plaque, which read 'The Firebolt – Coming Soon!!!' Narcissa glanced down at Draco with a sudden air of understanding.
"No, Draco," she breathed dangerously, but for once her son wasn't going to be cowed into submission. He had wanted to wait until the broom was actually on sale, but now might be the only opportunity he'd get…
"How is grandmother?" he asked lightly, watching his mother's reaction closely in the windowpane. Her eyes flew down to his face, but then she too used the glass as a useful medium.
"Still alive I dare say," replied Narcissa coolly. In fact she had not seen or heard from her mother since their one hospital visit some weeks previously.
"What do you think father would say if I wanted to visit her again to see how she's doing?" asked Draco carefully. He watched his mother's reflection tense visibly.
"We decided to keep your little excursion a secret."
"You decided that, mother," said Draco accusingly. He sighed dramatically. "I must say, constantly lying to my own father is very stressful."
"You won't escape his anger if you tell him," said Narcissa, there was the smallest, tiniest hint of desperation in her voice.
She and Lucius had not really been on the best of terms since his visit to her father. Lucius had been quite irritable and Narcissa was having difficulty explaining his sour mood. Certainly her father did not have the power to influence him so markedly! Yet for some reason he had hardly been able to bear speaking two words to her for days afterwards. When Black's escape had first hit the newspapers it had proven an almost welcome distraction. Narcissa did not need Draco stirring up what could prove to be cataclysmic trouble!
"I will. I'm going back to school in a couple of weeks," smiled her son complacently.
Narcissa clasped her hands together to prevent herself from reaching for her wand and doing something she would later regret. Her own son was blackmailing her; it was laughable! He was obviously more astute than she gave him credit for, all the same, didn't he realise that she was his greatest ally? She couldn't let him get away with this, and yet she could let him tell his father either. Lucius would go ballistic if he ever found out that she'd taken Draco to see her mother, especially as he already knew that she'd run into her father on the way home!
"Very well, Draco," she said composedly. "If that is how you want to play."
Narcissa watched her son's smug smile falter with some satisfaction; perhaps he had just remembered that his mother was not a woman to provoke?
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