Tainted Love
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.
N/B: Proofread by Kirixchi.
Acknowledgement(s): Kirixchi, for sorting out Narcissa's reaction in the third paragraph and designing the drawing room. Michelle, for helping Lucius escape. ;c)
Tainted Love
Chapter Seventeen: Eternally Bound
Latent silence filled the bedroom. Lucius expected to hear Narcissa reject his declaration, question his sincerity, proclaim her independence. She had done so countless times before. His wife had never welcomed, or indeed trusted, his protection. Lucius lifted his mouth from her hand, listened with smug satisfaction to her soft mew of protest, but then he waited without hope. He prepared himself to hear Narcissa profess her own strength, her own capabilities… and in doing so brand him wholly dispensable… but his wife remained uncharacteristically quiet.
Her eyes rested on his face, oddly bright, seemingly trying to judge the truth of his words. Her lips parted, as if she desperately wanted to speak, but she said nothing. Lucius raised a quizzical, taunting eyebrow at her dumbstruck silence, but Narcissa wasn't baited. She frowned and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She was trapped between two polar reactions. She didn't want to admit her dependency, she had never wanted that, but then, her husband had never offered his support so unconditionally before.
"Lucius, I-" Narcissa stammered awkwardly.
Without volition her free hand reached towards him, desperate for his touch. She was shocked by the impulse that seized her - to throw her arms around him and lose herself in the chimera of concern that he had offered. No. Narcissa forced her searching limb to still. She had suffered too much to take Lucius' words to heart. She carried too many battle scars to risk being rejected. Narcissa lowered her lids, and failed to see the breathless gleam of…something…in her husband's eyes. She steadied herself, and then let her hand drop onto a nearby book.
"I hate it when you tease me," she breathed, regressing, blinking sadly as she tugged her other hand free from his grasp. She heard Lucius' heavy sigh, and looked up to see the light in her husband's eyes flicker indecipherably before his gaze frosted over completely. Something buried deep within her screamed impotently, but Narcissa simply tried to ignore this wretched pang.
"I never meant to be such a bother, Lucius," she began at length, hardening her voice, her poise, her entire aura, as she drew her body up proudly. It would be all right. Her eyes glittered defiantly; she had found a way to rectify all of her recent mistakes. They could go back to how things had been, couldn't they? That was what she wanted after all, Narcissa told herself firmly. "Besides you won't have to bother about me for very much longer," she said aloud.
"What do you mean by that?" Lucius snapped, almost concealing the raw concern that suddenly wanted to fill his voice. Narcissa's well-being was something he knew that he would 'bother' himself with until the grim spectre of Death parted them.
However, ignorant of her husband's grave thoughts Narcissa simply frowned mildly. She stared at him in confusion because she couldn't fail to read the masked tension filling his body.
"Well, that's what the books are for," she said matter-of-factly. Narcissa drew a little further away from Lucius and let her eyes wander over the various tomes scattered about the bed. "I'm looking for a couple of potions."
"What for?" Lucius growled.
"For me of course!" Narcissa exclaimed with a frown, as if this was obvious and she couldn't understand why Lucius hadn't been able to reach this conclusion by himself. "To counteract the effects of the Fetch," she paused, "and to suppress my nightmares, now that I know they annoy you."
"They don't 'annoy' me, they-" Lucius broke off abruptly. Narcissa was truly back on form, clinical self-assurance radiated from her. Perversely, he had rather enjoyed being allowed to look after her for once. He wasn't entirely certain that he wanted to lose her reliance. "I'm not sure that I'm happy about you taking anything that hasn't been prescribed," he commented churlishly, but was then momentarily distracted by a tatty little text that he had just noticed, almost hidden amide the larger books that his wife had gathered about herself. He reached for it curiously, but Narcissa's frown had darkened and halted the pleasure that had been about to curve his lips into a smile.
"Really Lucius, what's the worst that can happen?" she demanded tartly. "I'll find the right potions and, assuming that we have the correct ingredients, I'll mix them today," she finished with unwavering confidence, but Lucius looked far from pleased.
"I could ask Snape-" he began slowly, but was viciously interrupted by his wife.
"I would sooner drink poison than a potion brewed by that man!"
Her features had paled and her eyes shone with malice, but even though this new burst of anger was directed straight at him, Lucius had to admit - he found it extremely gratifying that Narcissa's old alliance with Severus Snape had been irrevocably broken. Not that he had ever felt seriously threatened by his wife's old school friend, he reminded himself swiftly.
"You weren't always so averse to accepting his help," Lucius found himself adding coolly, despite his previous reasoning.
"He left me to die, Lucius!" Narcissa exclaimed furiously. Her eyes were blazing, but her husband's next assertion dowsed their flames.
"I know. I was there."
Narcissa felt her anger seep away, only to be replaced by a great gaping chasm of regret. How many times had Lucius rescued her? She ridiculed and tormented him because he had been forced to rely upon her to save him from Azkaban, and yet he never used such weapons against her. Narcissa glanced across the bed at her husband, confused and guilty, and at a loss to understand him.
"What if you hadn't have been, Lucius?" she whispered, more to herself than to him. She drew her knees up under her chin as her eyes misted over with the memory of that fateful night.
OOoo..ooOO
She had woken with a breathless start.
Shadows and fear had haunted her dreams.
Shadows and fear… and a reassuring presence.
Narcissa's eyes flickered dimly around her surroundings as if drugged. She was lying in the centre of a plush bed, but the room was too softly lit for her to see properly. Her mind was hazy, muddled enough to let her lie in the unfamiliar space without panicking as she fought to find her memories. The last thing that she could remember was the strangest sensation of searing pain. Hot and aching it had seemed to radiate from her side until it filled her whole being. Her fingers searched her body hesitantly for the injury. There was a hole in the fabric of her simple black robes, but no wound at all, not even the lingering trace of a scar.
Slowly fragments of her memory began to return like missing pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. She had gone to London with Severus, to take part in a covert operation for Lord Voldemort. It had been her very first assignment, and had taken her completely by surprise. She had had no prior warning of what was coming. She had been given no time to think, to dwell upon what she was being asked to do. Severus had simply arrived at Cotehele and they'd left for London almost immediately. Apparently, Lord Voldemort did not feel the need to inform her of anything else.
Refusing the order had never occurred to Narcissa. She had gone to discover exactly what it meant to be a supporter of the Dark Lord. Severus had told her that Lucius would probably be there. She was worried by the strength that this lure had upon her, but not until she'd heard the cool drawl of his voice had she let herself fully believe that he would be present.
As she lay in the unfamiliar bed, Narcissa couldn't stop an excited shiver from passing over her body. She had seen how powerful Lucius really was now, how commanding and completely unflappable when put under pressure. Her lips curled into a slow, desirous smile. She couldn't help but wonder what it would take to break that composure, to strip away his reserve, to uncover the real man beneath the decadent mask.
She expelled her breath in a soft relaxed sigh, but then gasped as a new memory resurfaced. Something in London had gone wrong. She had been shot. Again her hand flew to her side; that was what had happen to her. A Muggle had shot her! And then. she had killed those men. Ice flooded her veins. She had killed those men. Narcissa screwed her eyes shut. They were only Muggles - they didn't matter. She had to believe that if she was to live with herself.
She pushed herself up into a sitting position as she struggled to come to terms with the fact that she was a murderer. She hadn't even learnt how to cast Avada Kedavra yet. She'd been forced to use one of her old duelling spells. If they couldn't block that then they deserved to die, she reason scornfully, forcefully… desperately. They were far too weak to survive, and weakness was fatal in the world that Narcissa Varvara inhabited.
Nevertheless, she could still be sent to Azkaban for her crimes. Narcissa trembled; she couldn't be sent to prison. She'd rather die. The rumours that she'd heard about Azkaban pierced her soul. There was no force in Heaven or Hell that would compel her to cross the threshold of the wizard prison!
However she didn't have time to dwell upon these fears. She had to find out where she was, but more importantly, she had to find her wand. Her mind was beginning to sharpen. Panic and fear were starting to make their presence felt. She slipped out of the bed, fumbled her way across the dark room towards the faint outline of a window and tugged at the heavy curtains. The weak light of a late summer's evening seeped into the room just as something in her peripheral vision moved. Narcissa let out a sharp gasp and spun around.
It was only a painting. She gave a weak, self-mocking laugh and tried to steady her nerves. The moving picture looked strangely familiar. She squinted and then took a step towards it. It was a dragon. The great beast turned its huge yellow eyes to her and raised its magnificent head. Narcissa's breath caught in her throat and her mouth parted slightly. It was the Pendragon! She stood as still as an ice sculpture, staring in confused disbelief at the creature, until she mustered the strength to take a few more steps towards the artwork.
The floorboards creaked beneath her bare feet as she crossed the room, but she paid little heed to the muted sound. In fact, she was so captivated by the image on the canvas that she failed to notice that the soft creaking didn't cease when she stopped moving. Unbeknown to Narcissa, someone was approaching the bedroom that she had woken in just minutes earlier. A figure was stalking along the adjacent corridor, and after only a few short moments the room's door swung open silently.
From the shadows of the passageway walked a man. He paused for a second. His hooded eyes skated over the back of Narcissa's figure. She was still studying the painting intently, completely oblivious to the fact she was being watched. The wizard's gaze ran over the golden hair tumbling in loose waves down her back, observing its sharp contrast to the oppressive black material of the simple dress she wore. He crossed the room stealthily, knowing the exact route to take and which floorboards to avoid. He stopped just behind Narcissa, and briefly contemplated his next move.
"I see you've finally woken up."
Narcissa's breath escaped her lungs in a sharp hiss, as she listened to the all too familiar voice of Lucius Malfoy speaking alongside her right ear. She froze, unable to turn around and face him, unable to move at all. Her skin prickled under the sudden knowledge that he of all people was standing right behind her, close enough to stir her hair with his breath.
Not knowing quite what to do, Narcissa let instinct take over. She raised her chin defiantly, kept her eyes locked on the painting and stayed silent. Nevertheless a breathless gasp betrayed her when a warm hand was laid against her side.
"How do you feel?" Lucius murmured, as his long fingers gently circled the area where the Muggle bullet had once been lodged.
"Fine," she breathed in a strangled whisper.
"Good."
Narcissa tried to suppress a shiver when she felt his breath against her neck, but failed hopelessly when both of Lucius' hands moved to her waist. His touch was lethally beguiling, for Narcissa suddenly found that she had been eased around to face him. Her dazed gaze flickered over Lucius' features, noting that there were faint shadows etched beneath his brilliant eyes and scratches criss-crossing the left side of his face.
"I-I don't understand," she stammered clumsily, as she continued to stare at him nervously. His whole manner was uncharacteristically soft and subdued, but this docility only served to unnerve Narcissa.
"Don't you? I think you have the advantage over me," he murmured.
He was studying her face closely, and Narcissa had to admit that being the absolute centre of his attention was somewhat overwhelming. She licked her lips hesitantly, and vainly attempted to tell herself than he was no different to any of the other men she knew. She would have taken a disarming backwards step to defuse the situation, but his hands were still resting on the curve of her waist, holding her still.
"What do you mean?" she asked eventually.
"How long have you known what I am?" Lucius demanded roughly. Narcissa flinched. His grip on her waist tightened a fraction, almost as if he was afraid that she would try to flee.
"I don't know exactly," Narcissa said awkwardly. She really didn't want to reveal how deeply embroiled she was just yet; she didn't want Lucius to know that a decision of hers had nearly cost him his life. "A couple of months," she confessed hesitantly, giving a little ground under the weight of Lucius' hard stare. He looked momentarily taken aback.
"That long?" he muttered to himself. "You never said anything," he added accusingly, staring hard at Narcissa.
"What could I have said?" she whispered faintly. Narcissa pulled her gaze away from his and stared blankly at his chest.
"Snape knew all about your involvement though, didn't he?" Lucius demanded with a sneer.
"That's different, Severus-" she stopped mid-sentence. All of her memories had flooded back now. Severus had abandoned her, he had left her to be caught, left her to die. Her eyes rose to meet Lucius'. "He left me," she hissed icily. Lucius frowned darkly and then glanced away. There was a muscle jumping in his suddenly clenched jaw.
"What did you expect?" he demanded sharply. "Of course he left you."
Narcissa leant her head to one side, and then said, without thinking:
"But you didn't." Almost as if she subconsciously didn't want to think about the implications of her words, she rushed on: "How did you manage to escape?"
Lucius' eyes returned to her face, and then narrowed a fraction. Narcissa watched the tiny reflex action, under the distinct impression that he was judging just how much he thought was safe to reveal to her. To her disappointment his hands slid from her waist as he loosely folded his arms across his chest.
"Things are rarely as they seem," he began slowly. Narcissa raised an unimpressed eyebrow at his trite remark. "How do you suppose we even knew that this meeting was taking place between the Muggle Prime Minster and the late Mr Brocklehurst?" Lucius went on to ask, but he didn't wait for Narcissa to answer. "One of the Aurors has rather divided loyalties." He smirked unpleasantly. "Auror and Death Eater, quite the paradox."
"Who?" Narcissa gasped.
"You wouldn't know him," Lucius replied promptly.
"And it would seem you want to keep it that way," Narcissa responded shrewdly.
"It would seem so."
They stared at one another, Narcissa longing, but not quite daring to press the point, while Lucius hid his amusement as he watched the indecision battle across her face. Once she had conquered her frustrated interest Narcissa remarked mildly:
"So, did the others manage escape too?"
Lucius studied her closely for a moment, trying to gauge whether genuine concern or mere curiosity had prompted the question. He guessed the latter.
"They escaped from the Aurors, but whether the Dark Lord will be willing to overlook a certain mistake remains to be seen," he smirked.
"I see," Narcissa murmured softly. She couldn't help but wonder if she too would be punished. "And now," she sighed distractedly, "I'm at your house." She glanced over her shoulder at the Pendragon painting. Her eyes narrowed apprehensively while Lucius stayed silent for so long that she didn't think he was going to answer.
"My father's for the time being. This is my room though," he remarked, his voice was bland, but Narcissa decided it was safest not to comment on this fact. A small frown crossed her face instead.
"Where's my wand?" she asked. With a half smile Lucius pulled the length of rosewood out of his pocket.
"I didn't want to give you the opportunity of scurrying away without saying goodbye," he said evenly, but his eyes seemed to be laughing. "Powerful little thing, isn't it?" he mused, running his fingers over it thoughtfully. The slender rod of enchanted wood had proven its deadly potential. Lucius' eyes flickered back to its owner, but of course, alone a wand was nothing.
Narcissa was looking indignant.
"Implying what?" she snapped. "That I should have a more delicate, refined wand, more suited to charms than curses?"
Lucius laughed disarmingly. Narcissa scowled and pressed her lips together, only for Lucius' eyes to lessen in a smile.
"You have a wicked temper, Miss Varvara."
"You say that as if it were a compliment!" she cried irritably.
"Perhaps it was, you needn't be quite so defensive," he murmured, handing Narcissa back her wand. Its tip was pointed squarely at his own chest. "I'm not attacking you."
"Not yet," she muttered bleakly. Her fingers coiled around the rosewood handle. She felt strangely empowered. She was armed - Lucius was not. Had he planned that intentionally?
"You're the one hissing and spitting," he pointed out, pausing momentarily before adding, "and all I did was save you."
Narcissa flushed. She lowered her wand, slipped it into the pocket of her dress as her hand curled around her side once more. Her eyes sought out his, wide with the realisation that she might be dead if not for Lucius.
"Why did you?" she whispered shyly.
The atmosphere changed, the lightness vanished and a heavy aching tension was suddenly between them.
"I don't know exactly," he confessed, his voice was rough, his eyes intense. "I-" he faltered.
Narcissa's own eyes widened in wonder. She had never seen him like this - never imagined that anything could undermine his granite composure.
"Lucius?" Narcissa breathed uncertainly. He raised two fingers and pressed them gently against her trembling lips.
"I want to kiss you," he confessed, his voice a low guttural rasp. "I want to take you. I want this over and finished," he growled, "but-"
"But?" Narcissa pressed. His fingers had left her mouth, his hand now cupped her chin.
"But I might have this wrong," he groaned. "I might start something I can't stop."
Narcissa didn't respond; she was quite beyond rationalising the new feelings engulfing her body. She wanted him. She wanted to please him, but she wasn't sure she knew how. He stood wavering on the brink. Should she push him over? She took one small step forwards, moving herself as close to Lucius as possible without actually touching him. She could feel the heat of his body, smell the faint traces of his cologne, it was almost too much to bear.
"Lucius," she begged, revelling in the luxury of speaking his name.
Narcissa lifted her hand to trace the grazes that covered his face. The light caress of her fingers against his skin was enough to shatter Lucius' fragile restraint. With a low growl he dipped his head, and his lips touched hers for the very first time. He heard Narcissa gasp as the unequivocal rightness of the action stole his own breath. The gentlest kiss that he was able to bestow parted Narcissa's mouth and unlocked her to him forever.
His fingers were still curled around her chin, but when Lucius felt her arms slide around his neck his hands moved to the small of her back and coaxed her closer. With a soft, hungry little sigh Narcissa moved against him and felt his body tense. She shouldn't be doing this, but she knotted her fingered in his hair anyway. A guttural moan lodged itself in the back of her throat as Lucius continued to masterfully enslave her lips. She knew all too well that once she gave him what he wanted she would lose any chance of keeping him, but how could she contemplate stopping when her whole life seemed to have been leading up to this very moment?
Lucius' hands travelled up the column of Narcissa's spine and then moved over her body, as he gave himself up her raw, untutored passion. The shaky gasp elicited from her lips drove him on as he guided her across the room.
Narcissa felt the side of the bed press against the back of her legs and a new feeling joined her desire. Fear. She had never lain with a man before. Lucius could read as much in her eyes. He lowered his mouth once more, covering hers, triggering an explosion of sensation that reverberated through her untested body. He wanted to possess her, for that possession would be absolute. She would be his and his alone. The sudden occurrence of this thought terrified Lucius. He was binding himself to her.
"You should stop me," he rasped, even as he eased her down onto the mattress. He held his body over hers, taught with the tension of his leashed desire. Her lips, lush and red, parted uncertainly, but then she blinked and a resolute certainty filled her being.
"I don't want you to stop, Lucius," Narcissa whispered huskily, consenting to her fate.
"What are you thinking about?" Lucius' calm voice enquired curiously.
Narcissa blushed furiously and lowered her head. Everything had changed that night. She had become a part of Lucius in a way that she still didn't fully understand. She had given herself up to him rashly, completely. eternally.
Her husband studied her perceptively for a moment, but he decided not to push her, instead he reached for the tatty little text that had caught his interest earlier. He ran his fingers over the worn spine, and then read the author and title aloud, smiling as he did so:
"Sesruc's Advanced Curses," he drawled deliberately. Narcissa abandoned her own thoughts and turned slowly to face him. "I'm surprised you still have this," he breathed, carefully opening the front cover of the book.
"Why?" Narcissa asked quietly. Did he remember? Surely not, surely he was just teasing her?
"It's practically falling apart for a start," Lucius murmured as he traced a thumb over the neatly scribed name of the seventeen year old girl who would grow up to be his wife. "And I'm sure you must know every curse in here off by heart."
"Perhaps that's not why I've kept it," she confessed softly, assuming that he didn't remember the book's significance, and then, terrified that he would ask her to explain herself, reiterated her earlier question quickly: "What if you hadn't been there?"
Lucius frowned, somewhat surprised by the abrupt change of topic.
"Hadn't been where?"
"If you hadn't been in London," she pressed. Her eyes lingered on his face, what if he hadn't been there, or if she hadn't been shot. or if they hadn't spent that night together? Narcissa drew a shaky breath. Would she even be Mrs Lucius Malfoy if not for that night?
"You think too much, Narcissa," Lucius drawled slowly, but once confronted with the question his mind had to seek an answer. There would have been another London, he reasoned, another time, another place; it seemed to him certain that the woman by his side had been destined to become his own.
"That is not an answer, Lucius," Narcissa sighed in annoyance. "Don't you think that night set things in motion?"
"I think you set things in motion, my dear," he breathed, toying with the book with a meaningful glance in his wife's direction.
..ooOOoo..
Draco dug his hands into his pockets and kicked at the ground with the toe of his shoe. A cloud of dust rose into the air as gravel scattered everywhere. He glanced up at the Manor, and wondered whether or not it was safe to go inside. He had been able to forget about everything at Crabbe's, or at least, try to ignore all the things that currently seemed to be going wrong in his life: his mother's illness, his grandmother's death, the fact Blaise's aunt kept popping up and driving a wedge between his parents… and to think, at the beginning of the summer holidays all he'd been worried about was telling his father that he'd almost failed transfiguration!
With a heavy sigh Draco sat down on the ornate stonewall that skirted the Manor's front courtyard. Even if something had gone really wrong between his parents, people of their social stature didn't get divorced, did they? Wizard marriage vows were practically unbreakable anyhow, and besides, Draco didn't think that his father would suffer the slur to the family name. He was actually very glad of this, he almost didn't care whether or not his parents were happy, just as long as they stayed together, as selfish as Draco knew this thought was, it was how he felt.
He smiled sadly, he couldn't imagine a world in which his mother wasn't there to recklessly berate his father, to stand in the eye of a tornado and feel no fear. He almost laughed aloud; neither did he want to contemplate listening to his mother complain about all the time he 'wasted' on Quidditch without his father shooting quelling glances at his wife before assuring Draco that, whatever his mother said, Quidditch was something he was very free to 'waste' his time on. He grinned, so there were one or two things about being home that he didn't mind after all.
Draco was just standing up, having decided that it was time to try and find out if he'd missed anything important the previous evening, when he noticed that there was an old man walking across the courtyard towards him. The stranger looked ancient, he was carrying a heavy wooden staff and was dressed in grey robes that may once have been white. The rare smile slid from Draco's face to be replaced by a hard glare. His cold, silvery eyes narrowed suspiciously as he let the man walk the length of the courtyard without moving.
"You are the son of Narcissa Astolat?" the man asked brusquely.
"I'm the son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy," Draco replied with a sneer and a confused frown. The old man's nostrils flared.
"We are loath to recognise that union," he said. His voice did not betray anger, but Draco sensed that was the emotion running beneath his words. "I need to speak with your mother."
"I don't know if she's fit to see visitors," he replied insolently.
"She will see me."
Draco shifted uneasily. There was something unnerving about the man. It took him a few moments to discern what was amiss. It was his eyes, Draco decided at length, they didn't blink, blue pools that seemed to look straight into his soul. He had only ever seen eyes vaguely like them once before, set in the face of Albus Dumbledore.
"All right," he snapped. "I suppose you'd better come inside."
"No," the old man argued unwaveringly. "I will wait here. I do not wish to enter that house."
"Fine!" Draco snarled, scowling blackly as he stomped off towards the house.
He wrenched open the front doors and stormed into the Manor. What was the man trying to imply? Did he think himself too good for them? Draco felt his temper soar; the man had looked like a tramp of sorts! How dare he imply that the conversing with the Malfoys was beneath him! Draco crashed into the drawing room, intending to cut through to the rooms on the opposite side of the house in search of his mother. The heavy doors groaned on their hinges under the force with which they had been thrown open.
"Doors have handles, Draco, see that you use them," drawled his father's voice.
Draco started; he thought his father would be at work, but for some reason here he was, sitting on a chaise lounge reading an astonishingly tatty old book in the largest of the formal receiving rooms.
The drawing room's high ceiling and grand windows made it one of the most impressive rooms of the whole house. Decorated in ice blue the room's walls were lined with thick wallpaper, intricately decorated with elegant silver motifs. However, Draco, whose frown became a lot less angry and a lot more worried at the sight of his father, observed none of this; he was far too busy wondering if his father's presence meant that his mother had suffered a relapse.
"Is mother worse?" he demanded instantly.
"No," Lucius stated crisply, glancing up from the worn pages of the book, "she's feeling much better actually."
Well enough to go about her potion brewing alone, he added silently. Probably in an attempt to reassert herself, Lucius reasoned wearily. He had offered to help once it became clear to him that Narcissa was not going to be swayed from her little mission, but she had told him that she would manage and then shooed him away, and so now he was wasting the afternoon indulgently reacquainting himself with a number of old curses.
"Oh, good," Draco said at length, rather surprised, but very pleased that one of his worries seemed to have been alleviated. Nevertheless he decided not to ask why his father was at home if his mother was really fine. "Because there's a man outside who says he wants to see her."
Lucius closed the book. His brow furrowed irritably.
"Outside?"
Draco nodded, and then explained:
"He wouldn't come in, he said- um," Draco faltered slightly. His father's intense stare was resting squarely on him and Draco doubted that he'd appreciate hearing the strangers exact words recounted. "Well, he seems a bit. odd."
"Show me," Lucius said slowly, laying his book aside and getting to his feet. He followed his son across the parquet floor to the window that looked out over the grounds at the front of the house. The old man was still standing where Draco had left him, staff in hand, staring blanking at the Manor.
"Do you know who he is?" Draco asked curiously, glancing up at his father. Lucius was looking grim, but before he could find a suitable answer to his son's question Narcissa entered the room through one of the panelled side doors.
"Whatever are you two doing in here?" she asked curiously, as she rubbed her hands in the damp cloth that she was carrying. The family didn't often use the drawing room, although Lucius had a strange partiality to it that she had never been able to fathom. "And what are you staring at so intently?" she asked a second later, noticing where her husband and son's attention lay.
Narcissa wandered over to join them, wiping her hands clean from the remnants of potion ingredients that covered them. Draco turned first, an unmistakable grin flashing across his face when he observed his mother's confident, healthy countenance.
"There's a Druid here to see you, dearest," Lucius drawled, his tone unreadable. Narcissa's expression was sudden just as indecipherable as her husband's voice.
"I thought one of them would visit sooner or later," she muttered heavily. "What has he said?" Lucius raised a sardonic eyebrow.
"You don't actually think he would speak to me do you?" he sneered. "No, he spoke to Draco."
"Draco?" Narcissa repeated. Her son glanced up at her, was it his imagination or had there been a note of alarm in her usually cool voice?
"He just said that he wants to speak to you, mother."
"That's all he said?" Narcissa asked carefully.
"More or less," Draco replied uneasily, both of his parents turned to him expectantly. Draco hesitated and wondered which of the Druid's remarks was safest to repeat. "Well, he did ask if I was the son of Narcissa Astolat."
"Why am I not surprised?" Lucius snored derisively. Narcissa turned to her husband and failed to suppress a glare.
"Well at least he didn't ask if Draco was the son of Narcissa Varvara, because that really would have infuriated you, Lucius! You need the stamp of ownership that the name Malfoy gives you, don't you?" she spat angrily.
She couldn't bear Lucius' grudging acceptance of her heritage, but her husband looked remarkably unperturbed by her outburst. In fact if Narcissa had taken the time to notice, she may have spotted a glimmer of amusement flicker in the deepest depths of his eyes.
"But it was a name you were very keen to take," he whispered, his voice so low that Draco missed his remark. Narcissa didn't. Her body tensed with embarrassment, but she swiftly decided on a rather different tactic to the hot fury that she usually employed when cornered.
"And one that you were all too eager to give away, my darling," she replied sweetly. She watched a flash of surprise fill her husband's eyes, before they softened in the subtlest of smiles. Watching this unexpected reaction in her husband, Narcissa felt her heart flutter unexpectedly, she almost lost herself in his gaze before she found the resolve to tug herself away as she prepared to face the Druid.
"Do you want me to go with you?" Lucius called after his wife.
"I can cope," Narcissa replied, glancing over her shoulder with a mild shake of her head.
"That wasn't what I asked." Draco heard his father growl beneath his breath as he watched his mother leave the room.
..ooOOoo..
Narcissa stepped outside into the cooling summer air and walked down the steps to the gravelled courtyard in front of her house. There was an unpleasantly strong breeze coming off the river. It chilled her skin and pulled at the loose tendrils of her hair. She brushed a few stray strands out of her eyes, after which her gaze immediately fell upon the Druid. She watched with indifference as he bowed his head reluctantly when he noticed her appearance. Her chin was held high as she strolled over to where he was standing. Her stance was proud and unyielding. Her eyes focused.
"My lady," the Druid said gravely.
"What do you want?" Narcissa asked curtly, not standing on ceremony.
"You know what we want," the old man breathed calmly, as his piercing blue eyes bore into the woman standing opposite him. "We want you to bear a daughter."
Narcissa's diamond gaze hardened, while her lip curling in disgust at the Druid's crude bluntness. By her sides her hands had balled into tight fists to prevent her fingers reaching for her wand. He would not have dared be so forthright if she'd allowed Lucius to join her.
"That is never going to happen," she stated with a resolute sneer. "I made my decision fifteen years ago."
"Unmake it."
"I am a Malfoy now," Narcissa hissed, as if this explained everything, perhaps it did, but the old Druid simply shook his head. He waved his staff in a grand sweeping motion that forced Narcissa to take a backwards step.
"You are a priestess of Avalon," he asserted, stabbing at the ground with the heavy wooden rod.
"I was never ordained," Narcissa spat viciously.
"Your blood is that of the Lady. If you die without an heiress the line dies forever," the Druid paused, and allowed his fathomless gaze to drift over the Manor. "I have seen your Dragon now, your Draco," he murmured pensively.
"Stay away from my son," Narcissa hissed her voice deadly. She didn't know exactly what the Druid was implying but her hackles rose nonetheless.
"Your husband's son. The son he married you for," the Druid argued cuttingly. Narcissa's face contorted in revulsion, but the old man continued to speak. "You gave him a son, but he will not give you a daughter?"
"I don't want a daughter!" Narcissa's shrill exclamation echoed around the grounds.
"That is a lie."
"I think you should leave before I do something you'll regret," Narcissa breathed, her voice icy.
"My lady," murmured the Druid in a surprisingly disarming manner, as if there was nothing he'd rather do, "but I did not only come to repeat our former plea. I came to tell you that your mother's obsequies will take place the dawn after tomorrow at Tintagel."
"Well, you've told me," Narcissa snarled, "now go."
The Druid bowed his head once more, then turned and began to walk away. Narcissa watched his fading silhouette, with every step his shape began more indistinct, as if he was walking into a heavy mist despite the clearness of the afternoon. Narcissa was shaking by the time he disappeared in the celestial hazy completely. How dare he! She was not a broodmare! Narcissa turned around and was confronted with the imposing spectacle of the Manor. She was not, she reiterated, but much more weakly. She was more than Draco's mother, wasn't she?
Narcissa raised a hand to her temple as she walked back towards her home, certain that she could feel the beginnings of a headache. She should have checked to make sure that the combination of potions she was taking didn't have any unwelcome side effects. Of course, that probably wasn't why her head was starting to throb, she reasoned with a sardonic smile. To her surprise the Manor's front door was opened for her when she reached it. Lucius was standing there waiting.
"What did have to say?" he asked with hesitation.
"Nothing of consequence," Narcissa replied as she stepped inside and brushed passed her husband. She could feel his eyes watching her as she walked across the entrance hall away from him.
"For a woman usually so skilled at lying that was a truly abysmal attempt," he called out. Narcissa stopped and turned back to face Lucius.
"He came to tell me when my mother's funeral would be," she related, being typically selective with the truth. She pursed her lips thoughtfully and then wandered back to where Lucius was still standing by the door, stopping only when she was close enough to lay a persuasive hand on his arm. "Lucius," she began softly, "I want Draco to go."
"Why?" Lucius growled, his eyes narrowing.
"I need him there. I need to be sure that I choices I made were the right ones."
Lucius stared at Narcissa. He suddenly felt as thought all the air had just been stolen from his lungs. He wasn't sure he could breathe.
"Aren't you sure?" he demanded raggedly.
"How can I be, Lucius?" Narcissa asked meekly. "When I don't know what else my life could have been?" She watched as her husband scowled bitterly.
No one had the luxury of knowing how their life could have been different- better, Lucius argued silently.
"It would have been a life with Draco or I," he pointed out harshly. Narcissa started, but then to Lucius' surprise, she smiled. She craned her neck and then lightly brushed her lips against his own, murmuring softly as she did so:
"Then about some things I am sure."
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