Tainted Love
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.
N/B: Proofread by Kirixchi.
Tainted Love
Chapter Thirteen: Dragons & Degradation
Pain. Sharp and searing, it cut through the night like Death's very scythe. Narcissa's eyes shot open; her body was petrified, crippled with this sudden inexplicable hurt. She couldn't move, nor make a sound. With every gulping breath she felt a thousand needles stab into her heart, until breathing itself became almost too much of a torment to endure. Was she dreaming again? Her gasps became shallower, faster, but then, through the pall of her suffering, Narcissa heard someone scream her name.
Who? Who was it that cried out so desperately for her in the midst of the night? Their voice seemed neither physical nor cerebral; no tangible being could make such a sound, but no phantom either! It was the combined cry of the two, body and soul, being ripped apart.
Sobbing dry tears, Narcissa fought herself and forced her breaking body to move. The arms that held her no longer offered their former protection. She was conscious after all, but Lucius was still sleeping. So deeply, so calmly, it was as though the troubles of the waking world were but a dream to him. Sweet relief managed to penetrate Narcissa's panic, but was soon replaced by an even deeper dread. Draco? What of her son?
With a surge of effort, disproportional to the simple task ahead of her, Narcissa swung her legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. All she achieved was to collapse with a cry of pain filled frustration! What in the name of the Gods was wrong with her?
Two pinpricks of pale colour flared into life as Lucius opened his eyes. Hazy confusion cleared quickly from their drowsy depths when he noticed the empty space by his side. A flash of potent anger filled him. Mere hours earlier he had taken Narcissa and given himself to her in return. Where had she scurried off to now? Didn't she understand him at all? Before this burning question had had time to properly evolve, he heard the rasping laborious breaths.
Lucius moved across the bed with a show speed he rarely revealed. He was momentarily stunned by the physical pang he felt at the first realisation that those hoarse gasps had come from Narcissa, who was hunched over in a contortion of agony on the floor. In the silver moonlight he could see the beads of sweat glistening on her face, the paleness of her lips and the glassy quality of her eyes. Was another of her nightmares causing this devastating seizure?
"Narcissa?" he choked, appalled by the jarring sound of his voice. He did not expect a response if indeed she was just dreaming, so when her eyes focused on him, wide and terrified, he didn't know quite what to feel. He was by her side in a heartbeat, caring nothing for his state of undress. "Narcissa?" Her name alone seemed to have lodged itself in this throat.
"L-Lu-" she stammered. Her slender body was wracked by shudders she couldn't stop; they prevented her from calling out for her husband.
Lucius stared mutely at his wife, never in his life had he felt so utterly powerless! What could he do to help her? He had no notion of the fact that his presence alone was enough to abate the very worst of his wife's fears. He was unharmed. Two syllables were forming themselves on Narcissa's deadened tongue as she concentrated on manipulating her parched mouth.
"Draco!" she slurred her son's name and then slumped slightly because of the effort it had cost her.
Lucius studied her, paralysed by the indecision that rendered him useless. He understood her meaning, her request - her command. But how could he leave her? The house felt the same to him, strong, impenetrable, nothing was wrong, bar whatever madness held his wife prisoner. He couldn't deal with this on top of everything else! He could not, would not lose Narcissa in this way!
"Narcissa!" He grabbed her by the arms and shook her roughly. Her grey eyes again focused on him, steely and lucid, they eased his suffering. Her mind was still coherent, even if her body was not within her control. If that were the case, if insanity did not call to her, if her intuition truly had not left her, then he would be guided by her judgment. Lucius narrowed his troubled eyes as the implications of his reasoning hit him. Draco!
Narcissa felt her husband's presence vanish from her side. She was alone, totally and utterly, with only the demons inside her head for company.
Time seemed to stretch out infinitely, the minutes dragged by as she waited desperately for Lucius to return. At least as the seconds ticked by the pain ravaging Narcissa's body began to seep from her slowly, like blood being wrung from a tourniquet. The night air chilled her damp, naked skin until she started to shiver. Little by little she dragged herself back into the bed and under the already cooling covers.
Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that she had forgotten something. Nevertheless, she felt reassured; Lucius would protect Draco. The night before, he had said that Narcissa would die for their son. He only knew this because they shared the same Achilles' heel. If only she was in a fit state to follow him! She would not let Lucius fight alone; she never had, but doubt suddenly raised its ugly head and jeered cruelly at Narcissa.
Was there really anything for Draco to be protected from? As her pain subsided feelings of foolishness and embarrassment began creeping over Narcissa. Her fear was irrational and her actions had been weak, driven by passion she had been unable to quench. It was the kind of behaviour Lucius despised – that she herself despised! What had possessed her to act in such a manner? She had been overcome with emotions beyond her control! Would Lucius even bother to return to her after such a disgraceful display? Would he send one of the servants to deal with her instead? Lying on her side, her knees drawn into her body, Narcissa continued to shake. She felt empty, hollow, as if she would never again be whole. She didn't like it; she didn't understand it!
Her eyes fell shut, her lids forming a feeble barrier against the dull pounding inside her head. Sleep enticed her, but she couldn't give in to it, not yet, not until she was absolutely certain that everything was all right. She forced her eyes to open. Where was her wand? There must be some spell she could cast, something she could do to right her skewed senses! She hated the feeling of helplessness engulfing her! If only she could be positive that everything was well, if only she had the power to erase the whole, shameful episode from their memories; she would have done so without a second thought! If she could just gather enough energy… but once again her eyes drifted shut.
"Narcissa?"
With a start and a gasp Narcissa roused herself once more. Lucius had returned to her after all. He was kneeling by the side of the bed staring at her. The unease in his voice was nothing to the blatant worry she could read in his gaze. He wasn't trying to hide it from her; he probably didn't think she was mindful enough to understand him.
"Draco?" she breathed. The word was a mere sigh; she was unable to convey the desperation still gnawing at her.
"Draco's fine. He's asleep. Everything's fine," replied Lucius stiltedly.
Narcissa's relief was short lived; her lips twitched in what would have been a bitter smile if only she could have managed it. 'Everything's fine, except me,' she thought, finishing her husband's sentence for him. 'What possible use am I to him in this state?' Narcissa wondered.
This irrational fear clawed at her heart. It tore open the box containing all of her secret doubts, which she had managed to lock away the night before. She had lost herself and her senses in her husband's ardent embrace. His body might hunger for her, but that was nothing more than animal lust, she reflected grimly. He had once craved Isabelle in just the same way. The thought of Lucius, her Lucius, passionately entwined with another woman was enough to make Narcissa retch! She buried her head in the pillows and moaned softly. Why was she letting herself fall apart?
A warm, steady hand coaxed her out of hiding while another was pressed against her forehead, as Lucius checked for a fever. Narcissa swallowed a second moan. He could bestow or withhold such pleasure with those hands! Why had this had to happen to her now? When the picture of his old lover: beautiful, vibrant and dignified, had to be so fresh in his mind.
Narcissa couldn't help but notice that Lucius had grabbed his black dressing gown from their room. It was knotted loosely around his waist. So, he would not even get into bed with her now! Had she lost that appeal already?
The silence between them dragged out, twisted and redoubled upon itself, before Lucius finally spoke.
"Can you move?" he asked quietly.
A confused frown perched itself on his wife's brow. Lucius seemed to take her continued silence as a no. He picked up her own white night robe, which she hadn't noticed he'd brought and proceeded to dress her like a child.
"Don't-" Narcissa begged stiffly. She cringed at this further loss of dignity, but Lucius brushed aside her protest without a thought. However, she was amazed by the care with which he completed his task. She had expected irritation and impatience on her husband's part, but he treated her instead with what she haltingly recognised as…compassion. How could he stand to touch her? He didn't need to do this. She knew a flick of his wand would clothe her, but for some strange reason he ignored this simple solution. His actions seemed to suggest that he actually wanted to share this primal, physical contact with her.
Perhaps Narcissa had guessed the truth. Lucius was aware that he was forgetting the boundaries. It had been so long since he had seen Narcissa truly vulnerable that he could not hold back. He hesitated for only a few seconds before drawing the crumpled body of his wife into his arms. It was as if every tender gesture he'd ever secretly shown her in the depths of the night had been a rehearsal for this very moment. He tucked the damp strands of hair falling across her ashen face behind her ears before lifting her off the bed completely. He heard her gasp. Was it in surprise or pain? Lucius couldn't tell nor would he ask.
He could feel her melting in his arms. She was trying to resist him, but they both knew for once she was utterly at his mercy. Narcissa's own instincts to conceal her feelings were useless to her now. Eventually she too surrendered to the strange spell affecting them, and rested her golden head against the muscles of her husband's shoulder, as he made to carry her out of the room.
Lucius knew that two great, painted eyes were following their every movement. For a single moment, his own gaze fell hatefully on the portrait of the red dragon. He could feel the censure radiating from the beast's yellow glare. He would not be blamed for Narcissa's choices…
All the same, Lucius vowed that he would fix whatever was wrong. The occurrences of the day before, the week before, the month before, all faded into obscurity; Lucius was no fool, he knew the void his life would become without Narcissa. As if she had caught a distorted echo of his thoughts, Narcissa squirmed slightly.
"Yesterday-" she murmured listlessly.
"Forget it," he ground out through clenched teeth. It was forgotten, annulled, but for one brief, fleeting moment Lucius did wonder, uncharitably, if this whole incidence was an elaborate hoax of his wife's design, aimed to make him forgive and forget her transgression. 'No,' he banished the thought. Narcissa would rather die than willingly demean herself in such a manner.
"But-" he heard her argue in weak disbelief.
Narcissa couldn't work out the logic behind his actions, especially in light of what had happened the day before! If he was still angry, as he surely was, then she had handed him the perfect opportunity to take his revenge! She had disgraced herself. What finer weapon could Lucius ask for?
"I said, forget it. It doesn't matter now." Lucius' voice was growing harder and colder. The words were clipped and short. It was not in his nature to pardon anyone.
Narcissa moved her head to look at him; she was so confused! What was he saying? It had to be a trick; Lucius Malfoy did not give his forgiveness away! Before she could find the energy to speak she realised that he was putting her down.
If she had possessed the strength Narcissa knew she would have held onto him. 'If only your strength was akin to his,' whispered a defeatist voice inside her head. She hadn't noticed that he had carried her to their bedroom, and was now placing her on their bed. It welcomed Narcissa like an old friend, reassuring and familiar. She found it strangely comforting. Her body was recovering, it was taking place slowly, but her faculties were returning. With those faculties returned her acute pride and shame.
Narcissa was weary of confusion, but she still didn't understand, she had been so very sure that something was sinisterly wrong! She could still taste traces of the awesome fear that had woken her! But what now, she would dismiss it all, if it were not for the weakness still sapping her strength and will!
"What just happened, Lucius?" she whispered reluctantly, a little encouraged by the fact she was able to string a whole sentence together.
"Nothing," Lucius replied, stubborn denial clouded his face.
He pulled a chair from the corner of the room over to the bed and sat down. Narcissa watched him through her own exhaustion, as she sank down into the pillows. Was he going to sit there and watch over her for the remainder of the night? A bubble of pure warmth grew within Narcissa. Starting in the centre of her body it expanded until she tingled to the very tips of her fingers and toes.
"Go to sleep," he commanded.
"Lucius," Narcissa argued gently, with a small smile. She didn't have the strength for a more forceful approach, but so rarely did she see this side of his personality that most of the time she convinced herself it didn't exist!
"It was nothing," repeated Lucius, "just another nightmare," he growled, not noticing his blunder, but his wife did. She blinked slowly; her head was starting to spin.
"Another nightmare?"
Lucius' tired gaze shot back to Narcissa's suddenly pensive face. She was watching him very closely. 'How did she do that?' he marvelled crossly. She was in a state of defenceless vulnerability, and yet she still had the wit to take advantage of his mistakes!
"Go to sleep," he muttered mutedly, for a second time.
"What did you mean, Lucius?" Narcissa pressed. Her voice was fragile and her features pale. Still, there was a glint of her typical determination beneath her frailty. Lucius ran a hand over his brow before answering.
"I may not be as light a sleeper as you, but it is hard to share a bed with someone night after night and fail to hear their screams terror while they thrash around beside you," he replied cuttingly. He would not be made to feel stupid! Narcissa blushed, and it was all the more noticeable given the earlier pallor of her cheeks. Heat coloured her skin, but inside a sudden chill doused her and stole her inner glow.
"I see," she swallowed bowing her head, but after a moment she raised her eyes defiantly. "You are wrong though," she murmured. "My nightmares are only echoes of the past. This was different. I feared it was-" her voice was slow, reluctant and eventually trailed off completely.
"You feared it was what?" demanded Lucius impatiently. He looked forbidding and it was clear he was in no mood for half voiced riddles.
"A Fetch." Narcissa lowered her gaze, and her voice trembled as she spoke. Lucius tensed visibly, he knew enough about the old lore to know that a person's Fetch was the herald of their death.
"You are not a Seer, Narcissa," he reminded her. The calmness of his voice belied his internal unease.
"No," she agreed with a tiny nod, and she relaxed slightly. "You're right." Her tiredness was beginning to catch up with her. Slowly, as if she was still fighting it, her eyes drifted shut. Lucius was safe, Draco was safe; it was as Lucius said - nothing - merely the stress of the night before overflowing into her unconscious mind.
Lucius kept his eyes trained upon his wife. She was succumbing to the allures of slumber, and he was left alone to maintain his vigil. He had done this before. His body ached for sleep but he would not yield. Narcissa may not believe she had the Sight, but whatever he might say, Lucius had his doubts; after all her oldest ancestors had all possessed it…
…Narcissa Varvara had an ancestry that secretly fascinated Lucius Malfoy. Until the night he had seen her at the Glass Slipper he had been forced, because of the beliefs of his father, his friends, Isabelle's beliefs, to dismiss the rumours concerning her family as nonsense. Something subtle had changed that night; she had walked into the restaurant like a queen from a bygone age and revealed proof of her true identity. She was the granddaughter of an inventor, but she was a descendant of royalty. The mere conception of that fact should have been enough to earn her Lucius' contempt. Her blood was mixed with that of the oldest monarchs of Britain, making it purer than his own, but for some unnameable reason he couldn't shake the hold she had on him! Like a connoisseur taking pleasure in another's work, he was proud of her heritage! The sheer idea was lunacy! Damn her to Hades, she had bewitched him!
Lucius suspected, somewhat uneasily, that had he never learnt her name, had she always remained 'the nameless blonde Slytherin' he'd met at Hogwarts, Narcissa would still have haunted his thoughts. He couldn't decide what it was that gave her such an unforgettable air. He had seen it affect Lestrange too. Most men it would seem were susceptible to her, they gathered at her side like bees around a honey pot, but she remained unmoved, detached…untouchable.
'That was the key,' realised Lucius abruptly: she had made herself unobtainable.
He was walking alone through Diagon Alley on an errand of his own, a few days after seeing Narcissa at the restaurant. His stride was marked with a limp so slight it was barely noticeable. Lucius, of course, was keenly aware of this defect. After taking dinner at the 'Slipper he and Lestrange had indulged in a spot of Muggle baiting; Lucius had thought it might prove a welcome diversion after the distractions of the evening.
They had gone to one of the Muggle 'motorways', where Lestrange enjoyed jinxing the passing cars, causing their drivers to lose control of their vehicles. Lucius found this more entertaining during the daytime, when the roads were busier and the subsequent crashes larger. He had not really been paying much attention; he was in a foul mood with Lestrange and his thoughts were quick to wander. So, when a huge articulated lorry ploughed through the crash barrier they'd been standing behind he hadn't had much time to react.
The broken bone in his leg Lucius had fixed easily enough, but he suspected that there was some muscle or tissue damage that was beyond his skill to heal. Luckily he knew a discreet healer based near Diagon Alley, who wouldn't ask too many questions if the right price was paid.
Letting his mind dwell on that bloody woman was not a mistake he wanted to repeat, but as hard as he tried to curb them, his thoughts continually wandered in her direction! For the reason that, despite the frigid mask she often used, Lucius was aware that Narcissa had always looked at him with something more than cool indifference. Sceptically, he also knew this was not a sign of any genuine attachment on her part; he was not blind to his assets, he was a wealthy, aristocratic man, attractive enough, with his failings well hidden. Yet, so was Lestrange…and Narcissa had dismissed Rodolphus with less consideration than she had young Barty Crouch!
The memory of Lestrange, infamous for his womanising, for once failing to win the affections of his target still brought a perverse smile to Lucius' face. He had caught a glimpse of the contempt Rodolphus had earned himself in her eyes. The way he had touched her, tainted her, still rattled Lucius. Why did he let her affect him like this? He had been furious with Rodolphus, and even angrier with himself for feeling that way! It was not Narcissa's fault he had nearly been crushed beneath a Muggle lorry; it was his own. What could he do to exorcise her from his mind? She haunted him, and worryingly, over the last few days, the Pendragon crest had also begun to trouble his thoughts for reasons he couldn't determine.
He was just about to force his thoughts down a different path when, by the most unlikely coincidence imaginable, something akin to her necklace presented itself to him. In the window of a shop that he must have walked by a hundred times in his life sat a painting. Lucius stopped walking, and stared at a red dragon caged in a golden picture frame. Curiosity trapped him, so casually he retraced his steps and entered the little shop.
It was rather dusty inside and the light was fairly poor. Lucius strolled over to the counter, careful to hide his niggling injury, as the numerous portraits hanging on the shop's walls watched him closely. The old shopkeeper who was minding the store looked at him suspiciously, surprised perhaps to have such a distinguished customer.
"Can I help, sir?" he wheezed.
"You've a painting in your window I'm rather interested in," drawled Lucius coolly.
"Which one, sir?" the man asked. Lucius noticed that the shopkeeper's shoulders were somewhat hunched and he walked with something of a stoop. The old man moved out from behind the counter to serve his customer.
"The dragon."
"Oh, the dragon," breathed the shopkeeper gruffly, stopping beside Lucius. "Draco, his rightful Latin name, suits him better I think."
"Fascinating," remarked Lucius snidely, but the old man continued.
"The dragon is the same as the serpent, you know. A symbol of wisdom; a Druidical symbol," he said slowly. "But what do you know of this dragon?"
Lucius narrowed his resolute eyes, was this some kind of a test?
"I know I have seen the shadow of its form only once before," he began cautiously, echoing slightly the remark Lestrange had made to Narcissa, "on the pendant of a woman's necklace."
"Now that is interesting," said the man, his eyes glowing hungrily. "Then you probably know this painting is of the Pendragon, 'Greatest Dragon', who graced the banners of Uther, father of King Arthur?"
"Who was in turn the half brother and lover of Morgan le Fay? Or so the stories go," remarked Lucius calmly.
"Ah yes, Morgan le Fay, or rather 'Morgaine of the Fairies'."
"You are learned in many tongues, old man," commented Lucius shrewdly.
"Mmm," nodded the shopkeeper, seeming suddenly reluctant to speak. "A hobby nothing more, besides all of which I speak is just forgotten myth and legend."
"Then you will not mind parting with the painting," pressed Lucius harshly. His sudden irrational need to possess it was overwhelming.
"We won't mind at all, Mr Malfoy," said a new voice from the back of the shop. Lucius turned around, his eyes blazed as they felt upon a familiar face.
"Snape," he hissed, "you have the most unsettling habit of appearing in the most unlikely places."
Severus Snape smiled slowly and bowed his greasy head, as if he had just received a compliment of the highest order…
…Lucius refocused his tired eyes on Narcissa. She was sleeping peacefully as the first hints of dawn began gathering outside. He wondered if he dared discuss her latest episode with Snape. The man was certainly intelligent. At times he seemed to possess the answers to every question ever thought of, but Lucius' opinion of the Hogwarts Professor had decreased in recent years. He no longer trusted Severus Snape. The outside world didn't know this, Snape himself didn't know this, and Lucius was too weary to rethink the reasons behind his changed opinion.
He had summoned Snape to the Manor the previous evening to find out what he knew about Sirius Black's escape. With his own, personal, knowledge of the prison it was very hard for Lucius to believe that Black could have escaped from Azkaban unaided. And Lucius could think of only one person with the power and possible inclination, if he knew the truth, to free Black – Dumbledore.
A few smooth, probing questions and Snape should have told Lucius everything he knew, if indeed he knew anything. But Lucius had forgotten about Snape's own bitter history with Black, and after Isabelle's descent upon the Manor and then his row with Narcissa, Lucius had not been in the best frame of mind to practice gentle coercion. Besides, Black's escape from Azkaban suddenly seemed terribly unimportant.
Lucius stood up, stretched his cramping limbs and decided to dress despite the early hour. With a final glance at Narcissa he made to turn away when the soft padding of footsteps in the passage outside the bedroom caught his attention. A confused frown covered his face. Then realisation washed it away. Draco was certainly going to extraordinary lengths to avoid him! He was painfully aware that this sudden comprehension added its own weight to the wounds that had already been inflicted upon him in recent days.
Draco crept through the dark corridors of the Manor as quietly as he could manage. If only he could remember how to cast the silencing charm his mother had taught him! It didn't really matter, he supposed, because he didn't suspect for a moment that either of his parent's was awake. He planned to take some food from the pantry and then lose himself in the grounds of the Manor for the day, or possibly, if the weather turned out bad, to visit Crabbe or Goyle, although he wasn't especially in the mood for company. He couldn't avoid his father forever, but for the moment it seemed like the best idea.
Draco was quite sure that today was the day of the Macnair's party, therefore when his parent's were out that evening he'd be able to sneak back into the house. Of course they'd notice he was gone, but he didn't imagine that they'd try to search for him. His father would know why he was hiding, and no doubt his mother would rather he stayed out of the way.
In one of the downstairs halls of the Manor there stood a very impressive grandfather clock. Just as Draco walked by it, it began to chime the hour. He jumped, and then felt incredibly stupid. Muttering darkly under his breath Draco carried on his journey towards the kitchens, listening absently as the five tolls were sounded out. They didn't carry upstairs, but echoed heavily around the lower rooms. Just as their ringing ceased two leaden booms filled the house.
Draco span around; someone was pounding on the front door! His heart was gripped with terror; his parent's enemies were far greater than him, a simple schoolboy! The logical thought that they would not be knocking if they meant any harm touched Draco. This was followed immediately by the realisation that this was not quite true; Ministry Officials did not blast their way into people's homes. Was it possible some scheme of his parents' design had finally been successfully uncovered?
Draco stood as still as a statue in the centre of the shadowy corridor. He could feel the racing of his heart and hear his own breathing. Whoever the caller was, they knocked again. The door seemed to rattle on its hinges. Draco took an unwilling step towards the main hall and collided with the new maid, who'd just tiptoed out of a side passage. It was her job to greet visitors, whatever the hour, but she looked even more terrified than Draco!
With a contemptuous glare at her Draco took a few more pride-driven steps towards the front door, but he stopped when he reached the base of the stairs. The maid loitered reluctantly behind her young master as the person outside knocked a third time. The noise seemed far too loud in the silence of the sleeping house! The two of them stood watching the door, as if caught by the glare of a basilisk.
"I've been told it's customary to actually open doors when they're knocked upon," drawled a cold voice idly from the top of the stairs.
Draco turned on his heel and suffered the full force of his father's aloof stare as Lucius descended the staircase. The perverse relief he found in knowing his father was present was strong enough to quash his dread of punishment. Despite the poor light he also had time to notice that his father was already fully dressed and looking uncharacteristically tired.
"Go and sit with your mother, Draco," said Lucius, not unkindly. He'd drawn his wand and was lighting the candles in the hall precisely. "She's-" he hesitated, unable to hide his acute agitation from his son, "-feeling unwell."
Draco didn't need to be told twice. He climbed the stairs, two steps at a time. The mysterious visitor was forgotten; he believed his father was more than capable of taking care of anyone who might call. What was filling Draco's heart with a new sense of alarm was the concept of his mother being ill. He had never known his mother to be unwell! She wasn't like the other rich women he knew of, who suffered regularly from fainting fits and nervous bouts of agitation; she was a Malfoy, resilient and unbreakable!
He simultaneously knocked on and pushed open the door to his parent's bedroom. Narcissa was lying awake on her side of the double bed. She turned her head gingerly; a few hours sleep hadn't healed her completely.
"Draco," she exclaimed with a smile, a real smile, full of happy relief and love. He was safe! "Who's at the door?" she asked, trying to sound casual and very nearly succeeding. Draco shrugged his shoulders as he walked over to her uncertainly. She looked pale and weary, but nothing worse than that. Her eyes were still alert, looking at him in a puzzled fashion. "And why are you dressed at this hour?" she murmured. Her voice was fainter than normal too, Draco noticed anxiously.
"Father says you're sick," he blurted without thinking. His mother raised a fine eyebrow.
"Is that what he says?" she muttered, more to herself than her son. "Sit down, Draco," she said gently, patting the mattress bedside her.
"Are you sick?" pressed Draco, his pale eyes wide and guilty. What if it was something he had done? He knew he took his mother for granted. He also knew he'd added to her stress lately. "What's wrong?"
Narcissa looked at Draco, unsure of how to respond to his questions when she herself didn't really know the answers. He looked so young, so insecure, just a normal boy desperately worried about his mother. That was how she should have felt about Elaine, Narcissa belated realised.
"It's nothing to worry about," she said eventually.
"Do you need anything? Can I get you something?" asked Draco, he didn't look wholly pacified, but the worst of his fears seemed to have been eased. Narcissa laughed gently, was this considerate boy truly her Draco?
"I'm fine," she assured him kindly, sinking back into the pillows she was propped against. She'd try to get up in a few minutes, and present a strong face to Lucius when he returned with news of their visitor; she just needed to collect herself first.
"I wonder who was at the door?" Draco pondered aloud, and there was a hint of nervous apprehension in his voice, as he perched himself on the edge of the bed.
Narcissa didn't answer. She had only let her eyes flutter shut for a couple of minutes when she heard Lucius' reappearance. She and Draco turned to him expectantly. Lucius had looked tired before, but now in the flickering candlelight he looked completely drained. His face was set in a frighteningly grave expression. Narcissa pushed herself off the pillows as she felt the foundations of her world rock; she had never known her husband look like this before! She reached automatically for Draco's hand and he held hers back just as tightly.
"Lucius?" she whispered, fearing the silence, but also fearing to hear him speak.
"It's your mother," he said, and Narcissa instantly knew what was coming. He had never been one to soften the blow of bad news. "She's dead."
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