Tainted Love
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.
N/B: Proofread by Kirixchi.
Tainted Love
Chapter Fourteen: Half-Hidden Secrets
If silence could ever take a physical form, then in the instant following the announcement of Elaine Varvara's passing, it would have looked like a carnival's hall of mirrors: distorted, artificial and horribly surreal.
Narcissa was still staring at Lucius; she could not stop. His hard, cold gaze drilled into her as he waited for a reaction. By his mother's side, Draco was projecting a softened imitation of his father's stare. His hand was still linked with Narcissa's own. She felt unbearably self-conscious under the weight of their combined scrutiny. What were they expecting? She had known this news would come.
Narcissa did not believe a person could prepare for death. It was beyond all mortal comprehension. Therefore, she had fearfully anticipated what her own feelings would be. She was afraid that she might suddenly be hit by a wave of regret or sorrow…or even love, but when the moment came, all that she felt was the same old anger. Elaine had let her down again. Narcissa had hoped, so very desperately, that her mother would have one ace to play before her game was over, but there was no grand finale, no intrepid last stand, there was nothing.
She expelled a bitter sigh; well at least she was displaying a dignified front, casting a polished appearance of self-assurance, which countered the earlier display of weakness that she was still smarting from!
"So it was my mother's Fetch," she breathed, loosening her fingers and permitting Draco to gently reclaim his hand. She glanced at her son fleetingly, finding his presence to be an unexpected comfort. Once Narcissa was conscious of this fact, she tucked the knowledge away safely and then turned back to await her husband's response.
"You don't have the Sight, Narcissa," Lucius said crisply. His tone made it clear that this was not a subject he wished to revisit.
"That is why I didn't know who the Fetch belonged to," Narcissa persisted, not heeding the warning tones in Lucius' tired voice. "Why it was so distorted, so…violent," she added hoarsely.
Narcissa winced at the memory and let her eyes flicker shut for a moment. For the rest of her life she would be haunted by that wailing cry! Why would the precursor of her mother's death appear to her? Her gaze fell pensively on the blanket covering her lap. What had Elaine suffered in her final moments to warrant such an omen?
"What's a Fetch?" Draco asked quietly. He felt curiously privileged to be allowed to witness this strange adult conversation, but his father held up a hand to silence him.
"Now is not the time, Draco," he said brusquely. He watched his son submit to the light reprimand and was reminded of the unfinished business that lingered between them, but kept his attention on his wife a moment longer. "Will you go to the hospital?" he asked sharply.
Narcissa looked up at him. Her eyes were uncharacteristically blank.
"Why?"
The harsh bluntness of her question took Lucius aback. Was she feigning this sudden show of audacity for his benefit, or did she truly not care that Elaine was dead? He couldn't quite believe it was the latter; he too had lost a mother. Intuition, coupled with this experience, told him that Narcissa would be tormented by unanswered questions of her own if she missed this opportunity to lay some ghosts to rest.
Lucius refocused his gaze on his wife. He was weary and letting his thoughts wander; Narcissa was still waiting expectantly for an answer to her question.
"I think you should go," he advised slowly.
"Like this?" she exclaimed, as if Lucius had taken leave of his senses! She would be mistaken for a patient if she went to St Mungo's in her current state. "My father would love that!" Narcissa snarled under her breath. She would not run the risk of seeing him. "No, I will not go," she declared firmly.
"Very well," sighed Lucius casually, careful to hide his true feelings. In light of her physical condition he suppressed the argument that a part of him still wanted to voice. "Then take some rest. I've some business to deal with."
A rapid reply began forming itself on Narcissa's tongue. She didn't want to rest. She wanted to do something - anything - but a whisper of prudence reached her. Lucius had been very good to her, too good. She wouldn't cross him so soon after receiving his clemency. Besides, a few moments alone might prove welcome after the news he'd brought her and give her time to think. Narcissa bowed her head with the forced submissive air that always grated on her nerves. She saw Lucius' satisfied nod, but missed the knowing smile he swallowed.
"Come, Draco," he said, his voice commanding. "I think it's time we had a little chat."
Narcissa could sense Draco's body grow taut. She felt for him, despite the injury he'd done her. It was impossible for Narcissa to forget the way he had championed her the day before. It was also impossible to forget the fear that had paralysed her when she'd thought he was in danger. She watched him walk away from her towards his father. His shoulders were slightly hunched as if in preparation to endure the coming of a storm.
"Lucius," she found herself saying. Her husband's distant gaze fell upon her. He suddenly seemed so indifferent, but his detached manner was still familiar and she believed it to be genuine. It did not hide a deeper rage. Lucius' anger, like himself, had been given time to cool. The plea she was going to make on Draco's behalf no longer seemed necessary. Lucius' eyes lingered on her, impatiently expectant. "Thank you," she heard herself whisper instead. The words felt unexpected and alien on her lips, and immediately triggered a torrent of disbelief! She was as surprised by those two words of gratitude as Lucius himself, because for once in her life they were not part of a ploy or a trick. She truly meant them. Narcissa thought she saw her husband's aloof veil slip a fraction, but she couldn't be sure, as he chose this exact moment to turn his head away and open the door.
Lucius ushered Draco out of the room, taking a moment to compose himself, before glancing back at Narcissa.
"Get some rest," he repeated the request, his voice husky with an emotion she couldn't quite place. Her eyes pursued him as he followed their son, until she was staring foolishly at nothing but the white, painted wood of the door.
Hadn't she regained full control over herself yet? Narcissa couldn't help but wonder. She and her husband seemed to be teetering on the edge of something, and she didn't know whether to push forwards or pull back. She did however know the type of man her husband was, even if he was still able to surprise her from time to time with an unexpected action or a gesture. Lucius Malfoy could be interrupted a hundred different ways, but that didn't change the facts. He was an unstoppable force, cruel and ruthless, even if he was inexplicably dear to her. He would find a way to take advantage of this situation. She would do well to stop freely handing him weapons that he could turn against her!
Narcissa shook her head in self-loathing. Elaine was dead. It was high time she regained her composure! She was all that remained of the le Fays. The line would die with her, winning her some notoriety perhaps? A sardonic smile tugged at Narcissa's mouth. Long ago she had accepted that fate, she reminded herself. Spurred on by this thought, Narcissa pushed off the bedclothes with a new surge of determination and tried to stand unaided. She wobbled slightly as if she had not eaten in days, but caught hold of the bedside table and thankfully stayed vertical.
The le Fay jewel would pass to her, she would at last bring something of worth to the Malfoy dynasty, and perhaps Lucius would finally reveal all that the Dark Lord had told him about the legendary gem?
Draco silently followed his father through the passageways of the Manor. They seemed to be walking towards the small library that Lucius used in lieu of a study. Once there, Lucius pushed the door open and entered the room, while Draco hovered in the doorway until his father noticed his hesitation. Lucius raised one fractious eyebrow and lifted his eyes temporarily to the high ceiling.
"Come in and shut the door," he ordered testily.
Draco reluctantly obeyed; he slunk inside the room and pulled the door closed. Meanwhile, with a flick of his wand, Lucius drew back the heavy curtains to let in the dawn, then turned back to his son. He folded his arm loosely across his chest and regarded Draco silently for a few moments.
"Well, do you have anything to say for yourself?" Lucius asked rhetorically, each word was cool and sharp. Much had happened since the day before, when Isabelle had revealed that Narcissa had taken Draco to St. Mungo's against his will. Lucius clenched his jaw. The pair of them had happily lied to him for weeks about this outing!
"I'm sorry, father." Draco mumbled the apology into his chest.
"Sorry you were caught," Lucius countered mercilessly.
Draco raised his eyes for a moment. His father noticed that they were the washed-out grey of an overcast sky and was reminded that the last twenty-four hours had not been easy for any of them, least of all his son, who was little more than a child. He had a habit of forgetting that fact.
"Sit down, Draco," said Lucius stiffly, as he took a seat himself.
Draco settled tensely onto the edge of a chair opposite the desk that Lucius was seated behind and waited for his father to speak again. What kind of punishment would he receive for lying to his father? Fear of finding out the answer to that question had kept him awake for most of the night!
Lucius appeared in no hurry to end his son's misery.
"You know, there is still one thing I don't quite understand regarding this little conspiracy you and your mother were carrying out behind my back," he admitted with slow deliberation. His words were icy, and chilled his son to the very bone. He rested his elbows on the desk in front of him and arched his fingers, as his wintry eyes glittered formidably. "Forgive me, Draco," he continued slyly, "but I find it difficult to believe that you wanted to visit your grandmother for the sheer sake of it," Lucius reasoned innately, "therefore I'm forced to wonder, what was in this for you?"
Draco gulped and considered his options. He immediately encountered a problem. There seemed to be only one option open to him: a truthful confession.
"A Firebolt," he muttered reluctantly, as he stared blankly at the floor.
"A Firebolt?" Lucius repeated, openly surprised. He cleared his throat to hide a short laugh. That must have incensed Narcissa, what with her irrational hatred of everything Quidditch related! He very much doubted she'd banked on buying her son a brand new broomstick when she set this scheme in motion. "And this was your mother's suggestion?" he couldn't help asking with curious smile.
"Not exactly," admitted Draco cautiously, amazed to hear a thread of amusement in his father's voice.
"Ah, I see," murmured Lucius softly, finally grasping the full truth. Evidently Narcissa had not had the easiest of times managing their son. The fact that Draco could prove to be a handful was encouraging, and the fact that it had been Narcissa who'd had her hands full was highly amusing!
Lucius leant back pensively in his chair. It was dawning on him that he couldn't very well pardon Narcissa and then punish Draco; whether she had been blackmailed or not, his wife was clearly the instigator of this offence. He could hold onto this grudge, until the shock waves of his mother-in-law's death ceased to be felt, and then take his revenge. Indeed, if he had been wronged by anyone bar his wife and son then that was the course of action he would have happily followed, but blood binds. Clearly circumstances had taken the matter out of his hands. Within himself Lucius already knew that he had decided to overlook his son's folly.
"I confess, Draco," he began slowly, carefully weighing each word, "despite my better judgement I am actually quite impressed by your ingenuity," he said, shaking his head in what appeared to be disbelief. Draco raised his eyes, hardly daring to breathe. "So, we will mark this unpleasantness down to experience and forget it." Lucius paused briefly to let his son fully appreciate the meaning of his words. "However," he cut in, before Draco had a chance to look too gleeful, "if you lie to me again you will live to regret it, I promise you that," Lucius swore darkly.
Draco swallowed. His father's last warning seemed to have turned his blood to ice, but he nodded in understanding. Despite the overt threat he even felt considerably lighter, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders! He couldn't quite believe his luck, nor could he fully understand why his father was being so merciful. A little black cloud suddenly blocked out Draco's sun. Perhaps his mother's health was a lot worse than he'd feared? His chest tightened painfully as his eyes flew questioningly to his father.
The night before he had witnessed possibly the worst argument he'd ever known his parents have, and this morning he'd woken up to find his mother confined to her bed. Was that a coincidence or something more sinister? Draco felt sick. He had never before had any reason to believe his father might hurt his mother. It did fit though: his mother's mystery illness, his father's strange willingness to forgive – caused by guilt perhaps?
Thankfully, Draco quickly found a reason to stop this alarming train of thought; there was something wrong with the picture he was painting. Some sixth sense told him that if his father raised so much as a finger against his wife then Narcissa would drag herself over broken glass to be rid of him. Draco had observed his parent's intimate rapport that morning and had not noticed any change for the worse. That probably explained why this disturbing explanation had only just occurred to him. He had seen the same closeness, the same respect, the same odd glances that they hid from each other, but didn't think to hide from him. He knew for certain that all of these things would have been lost forever if his father been the cause of his mother's pain.
Draco let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. He'd laid that idea to rest, but he still didn't know what was wrong with his mother! Lucius had risen from his chair, allowing his son to lose himself in the thoughts that had been ready to condemn him. He was moving books on a shelf too high for Draco to see on top of, as if he was looking for something. Draco squirmed in his seat. Was he expected to stay or leave? For once he didn't care; there was something he needed to know, because something else had just occurred to him.
"Father," he began hesitantly. Lucius murmured uncommunicatively to show he was listening, although he didn't stop whatever it was that he was doing. "What's wrong with mother?" Draco asked and this time he noticed that his father stilled completely.
"It's nothing for you to worry about," Lucius said evenly, but he kept his back to Draco, who was frowning, wholly unconvinced.
"That's what she said, but-"
"But what?" Lucius cut in sharply; he wasn't used to having his statements questioned by his son. He turned around, momentarily giving up his search.
"What did grandmother die of?" Draco asked quickly, while he still dared. His grandmother was dead. His mother was ill. What if there was some connection? His heart started doing an uncomfortable drum roll as this new thought occurred to him.
"I wasn't told," Lucius said curtly. He hated not knowing the answers to his son's questions; it made him feel fraudulent as a father. Wasn't he supposed to know everything?
"But then-" exclaimed Draco jarringly. "But then what if that's what's wrong with mum?"
Once again Lucius stopped what he was doing. It had been years since he'd heard Draco call Narcissa anything less formal than "mother". He narrowed his eyes and looked closely at his son, but Draco didn't even seem to realise that he'd said anything out of the ordinary.
"I think that unlikely," reasoned Lucius slowly. He balled one hand into a tight fist. He would not let himself even consider any other scenario! "Your mother is merely unwell."
"But she's never unwell," asserted Draco stubbornly.
Sighing heavily Lucius sat back down. He felt wrung out. Draco's bond with Narcissa was so markedly different from the relationship he'd shared with his own mother that Lucius was strangely touched by the concern in his son's young eyes. He hoped Narcissa had seen it too at some point. He would hate to think that she considered herself similar to Elaine in that respect; she was not a bad mother!
"Upstairs, you asked what a Fetch was," Lucius reminded his son, feeling strange as he prepared to give information feely for once. Draco nodded with a frown, failing to grasp the connection. "Well that is what your mother believes has caused her ailments."
"A Fetch?" repeated Draco awkwardly. "What's that?" he asked reluctantly, expecting his father to sneer at his ignorance, but Lucius did not look annoyed. This was evidently not a subject that he expected his son to be well versed in. Although Draco didn't know it, it was a book on the old teachings that Lucius had been looking for himself.
"A foreteller of death," he stated grimly, sending a shiver down Draco's spine. "I understand it is usually an apparition of the person whose death it heralds."
Draco was still frowning, trying to follow his father explanation.
"So mother had a vision of grandmother's death?" he volunteered hesitantly.
"Not so much a vision as a-" Lucius broke off. He was being more open with Draco than usual, but he wasn't about to confess the whole truth to the boy. "It doesn't really matter. However, that and not some mystery illness, is what's wrong with your mother," he finished briskly.
Before Draco could question him any further Lucius swiftly changed the conversation's direction. "Now then, I have a job for you," he said promptly. Draco started and suddenly looked very unsure of himself. His father did not normally delegate tasks. "I want you to keep an eye on your mother today," Lucius said seriously. His eyes met his son's and silently impressed the significance of the request upon Draco. Lucius did not plan to leave the house, but he couldn't keep a constant eye on Narcissa himself, she'd find that far too odd!
"All right," said Draco slowly. His father had never asked anything like this of him before, he felt a sudden pressure but he also felt…less alone. "But, I thought you said there was nothing to worry about?" he couldn't stop himself from adding nervously.
"No, I said there was nothing for you to worry about," Lucius corrected him deftly as he stood up and walked towards the door. His son followed, some of the anxiety had returned to his face. "If anything should happen I will deal with it," finished Lucius, exuding the same typical aura of confidence he always did, without internally knowing how he could justify these claims if called to do so. He hated to admit it, but he was relying upon Narcissa's sheer obstinacy to pull her through.
Draco nodded mutely, while noting that the grandfather clock was just starting to chime six o'clock. Together father and son walked back to the foot of the stairs. Lucius watched Draco hesitate before taking the first step.
"I won't know what to say to her," murmured Draco quietly.
Lucius stood behind his son and rested a light hand on his shoulder, before gently coaxing him up the stairs. He silently agreed with Draco's sentiments. He had not wanted to be the one to tell Narcissa that her mother was dead. Never had he once dreamt that the task would fall to him. When he faced Narcissa again he knew he would not be able to mourn for Elaine. For only one thing was Lucius sorry - that they would be dragged, however briefly, back into the world Narcissa had fought so long to escape…
…It had been Midsummer's Eve when he'd entered that world, her real world. For the first time in his life Lucius had found himself looking up at Cotehele. The strong walls of granite and slate looked indestructible. For almost five hundred years they had stood firm and seemed to profess that they would continue to do so for another five hundred to come. The late sun sent a somewhat mystical light down to bathe the Cornish estate, sunbeams danced in between the growing shadows, draping the house and grounds in both darkness and light.
"What am I doing here?" he asked himself, and not for the first time. The answer to this question was not exactly simple. It wound its way back to Severus Snape. Lucius had spoken briefly to the boy, the day he had been discovered by him in the old painting shop. The memory of the discussion they'd shared came back to haunt him. He should have known better than to lead the conversation down the path they'd travelled, but Narcissa Varvara had been so very fresh in his mind that day…
"You said it was obvious my father had never been to Cotehele," Lucius had ventured slowly. "What did you mean by that?"
"Did I say that?" remarked Snape innocently.
"You know you did. Don't play games with me." The warning had been dark and genuine, and had not gone unheeded.
"It's just, there's a very fine ancestry on display at Cotehele. You seem interested in that kind of thing, you should go and take a look."
The slur had not gone unnoticed by Lucius either. He had not had the opportunity to attempt to buy Snape's silence on the matter of the Pendragon painting. He had however quickly learnt that it was Snape's uncle who owned the dusty little shop. Lucius had contemplated subtly pointing out that if word of his purchase should get out then it would be all too easy to relieve this relation of his business.
"I could just descend upon the Varvara's I suppose?" he remembered sneering sarcastically.
"Not exactly," had been Snape deliberate reply. "I've got to escort Narcissa to this thing of your father's," he sniffed distastefully. He would never enjoy parties! "You could go then."
"How is it that you are on such an intimate footing with that girl, Snape?" Lucius had found himself asking, none too carefully. Snape had blinked his disconcerting black eyes and answered with a smug smile.
"I listen to what she has to say. She tired a long time ago of being seen but never heard."
That conversation had supplied the means, but not the motive. Isabelle had unwittingly provided that herself. A smirk graced Lucius' mouth; Isabelle had used the guise of his father's ridiculous party to set herself up in semi-permanent residence at the Manor, insisting upon helping Cassius arrange the whole thing! The situation was rapidly grating on her lover's nerves, so much so that he had come to enjoy creating minor annoyances for her. For instance, he knew that she would be dressed in red this evening - a fact that had been impressed upon him several times - Lucius was well aware that he was expected to do the utterly preposterous and wear something to compliment her, so feeling contrary he'd chosen a bottle green cravat to offset the otherwise black dress robes he was wearing.
It needled him, this stifling clinginess. He couldn't stand it! Women had tried to make themselves indispensable to Lucius before. He doubted that Miss Zabini would experience more success than her predecessors. Isabelle could play the role of dutiful hostess, she could even play at being Mrs Malfoy, but that would not bring it into being! She was getting far too presumptuous for Lucius' liking, arriving with Narcissa seemed the perfect way of putting her back in her place.
So, Lucius found himself standing at the end of Cotehele's drive on Midsummer's Eve waiting for Snape to arrive. The scent of the well-tended gardens mingled with the distance babble of flowing water, creating a potion to soothe the senses. He supposed his behaviour wrong; he was taking advantage of both Isabelle and Narcissa, but his guilt was easily ignored. Isabelle was starting to expect things he was not willing to give.
As for Narcissa, he did feel a slight pang, a vague unease, where she was concerned. She had done nothing to deserve his misuse, but still, surely she knew whom she was dealing with? He had even warned her… He would never be prepared to change his life to suit her. He would not change what he was - a dark wizard, a Death Eater. Lucius stifled this line of thought; he had not shared the darkest of his secrets with Isabelle, why was he even considering baring his soul to Narcissa? Other women had caught his fancy before, it had never lasted, and he had no real reason to think Miss Varvara was any different. Lucius was feeling better on this score; he felt he had made sense of her in the last few days and now it was just a matter of time until he worked her out of his system. Coming to Cotehele was part of that; he needed to see the real Narcissa and take her off the pedestal he'd placed her on.
"Here already?" hissed a voice that suddenly appeared by his side. Lucius didn't even flinch; he'd been expecting Snape to make one of his typical Houdini appearances.
"I'd stop doing that if I were you," he drawled pleasantly enough. "Unless you aren't especially particular about retaining the use of your tongue?" he added with an acid smile.
Snape held up his hands submissively. He was dressed in dark navy blue dress robes, and his greasy hair was slicked back. He nodded humbly and then indicated that they should walk up the stone path to the house. Lucius followed with a self-satisfied smile. A pathetic looking House Elf met them after they'd knocked on the large wooden front door.
"My master bids me to say – 'no visitors shall be admitted to Cotehele tonight,' sirs," it squeaked in its high, screechy little voice. Lucius and Snape exchanged a quick glance.
"Hospitable place," Lucius remarked dryly.
"Where's Narcissa?" Snape asked the Elf impatiently
The creature appeared rather flustered by this question.
"Miss Narcissa is…unable to- Miss Narcissa is unavailable at present," the Elf finished in a panic.
Lucius felt the uneasy prickling of some indistinguishable feeling, a feeling that would take him years to correctly identify and label as concern. He brushed passed the tiny House Elf and entered Cotehele, Snape following close behind. The Elf erupted into splutters of protest.
"Sirs can't come in! Sirs must go!"
"Why don't you try and make us," snarled Lucius viciously, barely moving his lips as he hissed the words.
The House Elf whimpered pitifully and soon the sound of footfall joined its snivelling sobs. Lucius turned to greet the owner of the footsteps. His eyes travelled briefly over the grand entrance hall. Evening light flooded into the lofty room. It danced through sheets of stained glass set in the high windows, mottling the marble floor with splashes of colour. It was then, suffused in a rainbow, that Lucius' eyes first fell on Narcissa's family tree. His feet took a half step towards it. His eyes tried to drink in every detail but failed, for a voice spoke softly from the corner of the room.
"If you're looking for Narcissa, I'm afraid she's not here."
As Lucius turned around his eyes fell upon a women. For briefest moment he almost thought it was Narcissa, but she was older, much older, shorter too and her waist thicker, but beauty still embraced her. Yet, there was something wrong with the image before him. It took Lucius a moment to discern what was amiss. The eyes that were set in this beautiful doll's face were unbearably faded.
"Mrs Varvara," said Snape with a small nod, but she hardly acknowledged him. Her deadened eyes were locked on Lucius, or they would have been if she could only bring herself to meet his hard stare, her gaze lingered somewhere just behind his left shoulder. An indistinguishable shout suddenly made her recoil.
"Forgive me," she said breathlessly. "You cannot stay here. I must-"
What Elaine Varvara felt she must do Lucius never did find out; she never finished her sentence, but was interrupted by another distant bellow. Like a ghost she darted down one of the corridors leading off from the main hall towards the sound.
Lucius ignored her plea for them to leave and followed, closely pursued by Snape, who was voicing some objection that Lucius also chose to disregard. She had lied. Lucius was not a great master of Legilimency, but even he could peel back the first layers of mind as weak as hers. What he intended to find out was why she had lied about Narcissa.
The House Elf shouted a few words of protest, but vanished with a little cry when Lucius rounded on him brandishing his wand dangerously. They followed the sound of Elaine's quick footsteps, passing through corridors lined with rich tapestries and fine portraits as the noises became less indistinct. It seemed to Lucius to be an argument. He watched Elaine duck into a room but she hovered nervously on its outskirts, while unseen to her Lucius and Snape remained silently in the doorway.
It was a huge chamber, long but almost vacant: an old ballroom. Chairs and tables were stacked neatly around its edges. Two great chandeliers hung from the high ceiling. They were glowing, not through candles, but because of some ethereal light. Down the centre of one of the long walls was an imposing stone fireplace, lit despite the warmth of the evening, and before the fireplace stood two people.
The last time Lucius had seen Narcissa she had been dressed in white, virginal and innocent. The gown she wore now was rich, bold and daring. A close-fitting corset of black velvet formed the bodice of the sleeveless dress. Its low neckline was intricately embroidered with a silver twist, while folds of emerald satin fashioned the skirt. Swath-like cuts in the front of material revealed a black petticoat beneath the satin finish. Her hair was swept back from her face, leaving her shoulders and back completely bare. She looked, quite simply, breathtaking.
Narcissa was standing across the room from Lucius, opposite her father. Adrian Varvara was taller than his daughter. He was broader, his hair dark to her light. For some strange reason, Lucius had the unprecedented urge to march straight across the room and place himself between this man and Narcissa. He quickly suppressed this peculiar desire, and contented himself with lingering in the shadows to listen to the argument in progress.
"Perhaps I'm not making myself clear? You will not be going to the Malfoy's party!" he spat the name as if it were bile choking him. The insult embedded itself within Lucius, lying there to fester. "I will not have my daughter parading around looking like some common whore!" Adrian continued furiously before lashing out at Narcissa with his fist.
She took a quick step backwards and managed moved her face out if his reach, but for once his aim was poor and his fingers caught on the fine chain hanging around Narcissa's throat. The force of his futile blow ripped the necklace clean off her neck. A tiny jolt coursed through Narcissa's body as the chain tore into the delicate skin of her neck, scoring a red line and freeing a trickle of blood.
Lucius had wanted to hurt Frank Longbottom for harming Narcissa.
He wanted to kill Adrian Varvara.
This rage was different to anything he'd ever felt before; as absurd as it sounded, he actually wanted to protect her. Lucius took one step into the room, but a hand on his arm broke this valiant spell. Snape was shaking his head, looking grim but utterly unfazed.
"She won't thank you for interfering," he said softly.
The necklace had hit the hard floor with a gentle chink. Narcissa raised a hand instinctively to her throat, while her eyes fell on the Pendragon pendant. She had worn it for Lucius, hoping against hope that he just might remember it from the night he'd seen her at the Glass Slipper. She made a motion to retrieve it, but her father, seeing that this locket was obviously dear to his daughter, pulled out his wand and said swiftly:
"Accio necklace." The pendant flew to his outstretched hand. "If you want this back you'll send an owl to the Malfoys excusing yourself," he sneered smugly.
From where he stood Lucius noticed Elaine clutch the wall for support, but standing opposite her father Narcissa did not baulk. She lifted her head and stared at him defiantly. Her hands were clenched tightly by her sides.
"I will send no owl," she stated blankly.
Adrian seemed to swell with rage. He hurled the pendent into the lit hearth, watching with vicious satisfaction as the red flames erupted into a purple inferno as they devoured the strange metal of the Pendragon. Elaine let out a stifled cry that made Lucius wonder if the necklace had once been hers. She hid her face in her hands.
Narcissa looked, not afraid, but outraged. Her fingers were twitching as if in longing for her wand, but she didn't draw it. This puzzled Lucius. The sobs that Elaine was no longer able to stifle finally drew her daughter's attention. As her eyes scanned the room to find the source of the noise they fell on Lucius and Severus for the first time. A look of mingled surprise and fury fused itself on her face, rendering her momentarily motionless. When Adrian noticed where her attention lay, he did not waver for so long. He drew his wand again and fixed it on the two young men, who mimicked this action.
Out of the corner of his eye Lucius watched as Narcissa felt for her own wand, concealed beneath the folds of her dress, as her eyes flitting between him and her father, and occasionally Severus. With a bitter sigh she withdrew the sliver of rosewood and pointed it towards her own father.
Lucius felt a wholly new sensation engulf his very soul. She had sided with him against her own blood no less!
"Narcissa, don't!" her mother cried, distraught. Adrian could not cover all three of them. He shifted his eyes from Lucius to his daughter. Her hand was perfectly steady, while her eyes blazed like the coals that had swallowed her necklace.
"If you dare to disobey me, I'll see your life's made a living hell, girl!" Adrian swore wildly, spit flying from his mouth as he lowered his wand. "Walk out of this house tonight and you won't even be able to crawl back in!" He turned and stormed out of the room through a little side door along from the fireplace.
With his departure the oppression in the air of the ballroom lifted. Lucius watched mutely as Narcissa drew a few deep breaths. Her eyes lingered momentarily on her weeping mother, before she turned again to face him. He could see the anger dancing across her features as she crossed the room towards Snape and himself. He had never known a woman harbour such fury before, and now that anger was directed at him. He felt the same thrill as the hunter when confronted with the lioness, that same spark of excitement filled him – the taste of a worthy challenge.
Narcissa marched straight passed them. Instinctively Lucius followed. She led them back through the corridors to the main entrance hall without stopping, and then she pulled open the front door and kept walking.
"Narcissa," Lucius called after her, but she blanked him completely. He quickened his pace to catch up with her. "Narcissa wait!" he shouted, more forcefully. He wanted some answers! He had a right to some answers!
Lucius almost collided with her when, to his surprise, she obeyed. Stopping dead she rounded on him furiously, but beneath that fury there lay something else. She let out a little gasp when she realised just how close he was standing, and for a split second her mask slipped. He could see every fleck of anguish imprinted upon her wide eyes and he could not bear it! Lucius lowered his gaze, and again saw the enflamed red marks around her neck where the Pendragon had hung. He reached out a hand to touch her, but she took a step back, her mask restored.
"You should not have come here!" Narcissa told him heatedly. "I do not need you to take care of me!"
…No, as Narcissa was still fond of reminding him, he had never been designated her protector. Lucius acknowledged this with a wry smile as he rubbed a hand over his weary eyes. Frankly, it didn't matter that she had never asked this of him - that she had gone out of her way to prove her own strength - it was a duty he had voluntarily assumed and was now incapable of shirking.
He wandered away from the bottom of the staircase, through the still corridors and quiet rooms of the Manor until he found himself outside, where the grass was glistening with dew. If Narcissa would not go to St. Mungo's, then he would write on her behalf. He would indulge her denial for the time being, but they needed to know the details: exactly what had happened and what Adrian planned to do.
Lucius spent the entire morning attempting to execute these simple plans, but at every turn he was thwarted! He'd flooed the hospital, sent countless owls, but the only responses he got were swamped in a deluge of bureaucracy. Apparently Adrian had barred the hospital from discussing his wife's death with anyone. This outlandish decision left Lucius highly suspicious and so, reluctantly, he left Narcissa in Draco's care and went to St. Mungo's in person.
After swiftly Apparating to the hospital once he'd settled on this course of action, Lucius made his way into the building's dreary foyer in the hope of finding someone who could tell him something. Of course, he did know one person who had claimed to be involved in his mother-in-law's treatment, but the image of having his fingernails ripped out was more attractive than the thought of appealing to Isabelle!
The sound of Lucius' sure footsteps, accompanied occasionally by the tap of his cane, were muffled by the bustling sounds of hospital life as he crossed St. Mungo's lobby. Paying no heed to anyone or anything that crossed his path, he walked straight towards the main enquiry desk. The man working there looked bored to tears, he raised his head uninterestedly only when Lucius was standing directly in front of him.
"How can I help, sir?" he yawned. Through his own exhaustion, Lucius stared at the wizard coldly for a few moments, which seemed to have the desired effect of waking him up considerably.
"I wish to speak with someone concerning the death of a Mrs E. Varvara," Lucius stated at length. The request sounded much more like a command when spoken by him. The hospital clerk coughed a little and rearranged a few piecing of paper distractedly.
"And your name is?" he enquired briskly.
"Lucius Malfoy."
The clerk performed the quick double take that Lucius so often encountered when introducing himself. It still managed to please and amuse him. The man puffed himself up a little, and then shuffled through the neat paperwork on the desk before pulling out a file close to the bottom of the pile. He flicked through this quickly, looked as if was about to say something, when a puzzled frown creased his forehead.
"Is something wrong?" Lucius drawled disdainfully. He had not gone to the trouble of visiting the wretched hospital to be hindered again!
"I'm afraid, Mr Malfoy sir, I am unable to give you any information on that particular patient," the clerk said apprehensively.
Lucius' sharp eyes narrowed a fraction.
"And why might that be?" he hissed dangerously.
"The deceased's spouse has forbidden it, sir," replied the man. Lucius watched him swallow nervously, while his own temper flared.
"This is ridiculous!" he sneered furiously. What was Adrian playing at? Was he trying to be aggravating or did he actually have something to hide? Narcissa had said that Elaine was terminally ill, what was there to conceal? "You can't tell me anything?" Lucius snapped, glaring at the man behind the desk as if everything was his fault.
"No, sir," said the wizard with surprising firmness. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but I'm just doing my job," he added, spurred on by the belief that the conversation would very soon be over.
"How very gratifying for you," Lucius smiled nastily. "Tell me then, what's your name?"
"M-my name?" stammered the man, paling very slightly. Lucius nodded, the same malicious smile playing across his face. "You know," said the clerk quickly, "I did hear that there was a patient on Russell Ward who passed away this morning." Lucius raised one innocent eyebrow.
"Did you now?" he drawled idly. "How interesting," he smirked with a small nod, before turning away.
Russell Ward, that was something at least. Lucius could feel his temper fraying; he was not accustomed to having so much difficulty uncovering such simple information! He left the foyer behind and wove his way through the labyrinth of corridors that made up St. Mungo's, in the direction of the ward in question.
Lucius was walking down one of these busy corridors, vaguely appalled by the surroundings in which he found himself, when a horribly familiar roar of outrage made him stop.
"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy? I made it clear no one was to contact you!"
A rather perverse smile crossed Lucius' face as he turned around to face his father-in-law - for Adrian Varvara was the only person who would dare address Lucius Malfoy in such a manner.
"It's lovely to see you again too, Adrian," Lucius lied smoothly.
"Again? What are you talking about?" snarled Mr Varvara. Lucius continued to smile; the memory charm he'd used certainly seemed to have worked nicely, and his pleasant façade was clearing enraging Adrian.
"I came to find out what's going on," he said lightly. "I am curious as to why you feel the need for such secrecy concerning your wife's demise?"
"I have no wife," Adrian swore.
Lucius tilted his blond head to one side ever so slightly. This was predictable; this was what he had expected from Narcissa's father: no grief, no remorse, simply that old, ever-present anger. It was the only emotion that Adrian seemed to be capable of feeling.
"No, well you never really deserved one, even the one you had," said Lucius silkily.
"I don't know what fantasy world you're living in boy, but you really no better off than me," snarled Adrian as he launched his attack. "You'll end up the same, bitter and alone. Don't delude yourself; Narcissa only married you to spite me!"
"You don't know as much as you think you do, old man," Lucius growled, struggling now to keep a leash on his temper. He would not give Adrian the satisfaction of seeing him truly riled!
"Gentlemen please!" exclaimed a healer, who had been walking with Adrian, and who up until this point had been watching the fiery exchange open-mouthed but silent. "There are patients trying to rest nearby!"
The two wizards continued to glower at each other, as passers-by glanced at them nervously. Pure unadulterated hatred was etched clearly on both of their faces.
If they had not been in the middle of a hospital corridor, if there had not been so many witnesses, if Lucius' promise to Narcissa did not bind his hands, then Adrian Varvara would not have long outlived his poor wife. The contempt Lucius felt towards his father-in-law was almost palpable; it coursed through his veins like poison as Adrian's taunt resounded inside his head. 'Narcissa only married you to spite me.'
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