Tainted Love
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.
N/B: Proofread by Kirixchi.
Tainted Love
Chapter Eighteen: Tintagel Castle
"Tintagel castle was built atop the high cliffs of southwest Albion fourteen centuries ago. Founded on a rocky peninsula the fortress's natural barriers made it virtually impregnable. Indeed, only one man ever succeeded in breaching its defences, and it is believed by many scholars that this was only achieved due to a very powerful enchantment (see index for references to 'Merlin' and 'Uther Pendragon').
This desolate castle was to be the birthplace of Arthur, who would live to unite the kingdom, but, before the future king's birth was even a shadow in the minds of the greatest Seers of this forgotten age, another child was born to the Lady of Tintagel. The Lady Igraine bore a daughter, and she called the child Morgaine. Whom legend would ascribed the name Morgan le Fay."
Lucius snapped the book shut. He was rather disgusted with himself for surrendering to the desire to reacquaint himself with one or two selectively forgotten facts. He had been told all about the legends of Tintagel as a boy, but he had never been to the ruins before. He knew no one that had been permitted to the hidden druidical realm of the castle… apart from Narcissa and she never spoke of it… not that he ever asked her to...
It remained a subject of some tension between them. Tintagel and the Druids encompassed an aspect of Narcissa's life that was alien to her husband. They represented to Lucius the different life that Narcissa could have led had she never married him. The life she had alluded to after being told about her mother's funeral. With a visible grimace he slid the offending text back into its allotted place on the mantelpiece, turning away just as the door to the yellow sitting room swung open and admitted his wife.
Narcissa gave a little start of surprise on finding her husband in the chamber. Her footsteps faltered to a halt. While she did not consider the room to be 'hers', in the same sense that the small library belonged to Lucius, it was nevertheless the room from which she wrote her correspondence and managed the daily running of the Manor. To the best of her knowledge Lucius did not usually enter it alone.
She frowned and felt… invaded, but swiftly reminded herself that she had little justification for feeling thus. Lucius was the master of the Manor - everything in the house belonged to him. Narcissa rarely let herself forget that fact, even if it was a point that had never been enforced and even if she had taken liberties in the past.
"I didn't know you were in here," she said softly, regarding him suspiciously as she spoke.
"I wasn't aware that the fact needed to be broadcast," Lucius replied dryly.
In truth, his sarcastic response was born more from his own awkwardness at being found in what he considered to be Narcissa's sitting room, very nearly caught rummaging through her books, than any real irritation with Narcissa herself, but his wife could not know that, and consequently was regarding him coldly.
"Don't. Not today, Lucius." She hissed the warning.
Habit made her glance in the direction of the window, before she belatedly realised that the curtains remained drawn. It was still dark outside, well before dawn. There would be no view of the rose garden to help clear her mind this morning – the morning of Elaine Varvara's funeral. Narcissa shivered, she knew that she needed to compose herself to the point of flawless perfection if she was to survive the difficult ordeal that awaited her. Her eyes narrowed; she really did not need to start the day off with a confrontation with her husband.
However, Lucius had made no reply to her admonition. The disappointment in her voice had been enough to silence him. He was failing her already. Furious with himself he moved across to the upright piano, which stood in one corner of the cosy, candlelit room, picked up the leather gloves that were lying there and tugged them on violently.
No mistakes. Not today. Not in front of them; not in front of him. He hated the feeling permeating his senses. The concept that he was being judged, that he had to prove himself worthy of his wife, was not one that sat at all well with Lucius Malfoy.
Narcissa watched her husband's armouring dolefully. She wanted to reach out and stop him. She knew, though it frightened her, that she wanted to feel the steady, intimate warmth of his hand on her arm as he guided her through her mother's funeral service - not the supple softness of impersonal black leather. A ridiculous desire, she told herself firmly, neither etiquette nor Lucius would allow it.
Narcissa hesitated for a moment, and shot an uncertain glance in his direction before giving her head a little shake. Her strength was beginning to wane, but that was no excuse to let Lucius see her falter. She had expected to snatch a few moments alone, but asking her husband to leave the sitting room was not a thought that crossed her mind. Even if it had, and even if she had been prepared to invoke his anger, she would not have said anything; she was not about to sacrifice the luxury of his company.
Narcissa moved across the room to a walnut cabinet, fully aware that her husband's profound gaze was now following her. She was still slightly reluctant to do so, but she would have to go about things with him present. She opened one of its glass fronted doors and pulled a crystal decanter filled with violet liquid from the inside shelf.
"Your miracle cure?" Lucius sneered.
He watched Narcissa tense. He had meant to offer her his unconditional support today, but Lucius was still feeling vexed at being discovered in the yellow sitting room. On top of which, he still wanted Narcissa to go and see a professional medi-wizard – a desire he did not consider unreasonable. His wife merely shot him an annoyed glance. She reached back into the cabinet for a tiny glass, and filled it with a draught of the purple liquid.
Lucius watched, jaw clenched in frustration, as she raised the potion to her lips and swallowed it in a one short swig. Narcissa grimaced at the horrid taste, braced her body against the assault on its senses, and then placed the empty glass down on the sideboard carefully as a warm numbness replaced the tired aching of her limbs.
"Do you know if Draco's ready?" she asked with a hoarse cough, waiting impatiently for her body's equilibrium to return.
Her question was ignored, but a second later Narcissa found that a tumbler of water was being pressed into her hand. She glanced up into Lucius' eyes. He was standing over her, looking down, his face clouded with such mixed emotions that Narcissa could not even begin to guess his mood. She took a small sip of water and wished a thousand thoughts that did no good. The most recurrent of which was that she really didn't have the time to try and unravel the mystery of her husband today. She smiled wryly to herself, as if that mystery could be unravelled even if she had all the time in the world.
"You look pale," Lucius affirmed slowly, running his eyes critically over her pallid features. He should have noticed earlier. The only hint of colour that touched Narcissa's face was drawn out by the make up she had carefully applied before quitting their bedroom, and that could no longer disguise her lacklustre appearance from her husband's keen gaze.
"It's the candlelight," Narcissa replied dismissively, as she ran a finger around the rim of her glass uncomfortably. "That and these horrid black clothes," she added with a sigh, wandering across the room so that she could stare at herself disapprovingly in the large gilt mirror that hung over the fireplace.
"No. It's not," said Lucius, his voice was low but even.
His easy contradiction caught Narcissa off guard. She allowed her features to darken in a troubled frown as she placed the glass of water down. A moment later she distractedly smoothed the black fabric of her mourning dress over the curve of her hips. Narcissa knew very well that her husband was not a man to give compliments freely, but she could usually sense his general approval of her appearance, and even in spite of her ill health she really hadn't thought that she warranted any criticism that morning. She did not want to encounter her father looking anything less than perfect.
Lucius could hardly help but notice his wife's downcast expression. He frowned grimly and then slowly walked over to where she was standing. With heavy sigh he attributed her unhappy silence to the trials that awaited her that day. He glanced over Narcissa's shoulder into the mirror, stopping behind her and resting a hand lightly on her waist. She had been watching his advance in the looking glass, but Lucius still heard Narcissa's breath catch in her throat when he touched her. He had to fight extremely hard to suppress the sudden urge that gripped him – the urge to encircle her safely in his arms as every fibre of his being crackled with the need to protect her.
"I will not let you do this alone, Narcissa," he breathed forcefully alongside her ear, unable to temper his desires completely.
"Whatever do you mean?" she remarked, attempting to be offhand in her reply, but the way her fingers were fiddling with a chain that hung beneath the high collar of her dress betrayed her agitation. Her husband's gloved hand snaked its way around her body and closed around her restless digits, holding them captive.
"Do not push me aside," Lucius warned coolly, looking into the reflected eyes of his wife. He could lose himself in those glassy orbs. He wondered - if he studied them for long enough could he unravel all of her secrets or would he only find a distorted echo of her true self? He wasn't afforded the opportunity to find out; Narcissa's lids had closed.
"That's a very gallant sentiment, Lucius," she whispered difficultly. "But really, what do you intend to do? What can you do?" she continued swiftly, eyes reopening, spearing Lucius. "Nothing. There is nothing to be done. This whole-" she paused, struggling breathlessly to find the right word, "fiasco must simply be endured."
Narcissa could feel her body trembling as she finished. She had been doing so well, and didn't now want to start considering everything that could go wrong! Her father was bound to cause a scene. He would undoubtedly provoke Lucius, who would have the Druids insults to contend with too. Lucius could rarely keep his temper as it was, but if he was attacked on two fronts it was surely a lost cause! Narcissa gave an inward groan. Perhaps her wish to take Draco wasn't a sensible idea after all? Perhaps going at all was a mistake? She turned around to face her husband.
"We don't have to go," she said earnestly, laying her hands flat against Lucius' chest.
A moment's silence followed this unexpected outburst, and then the even reply:
"We do."
"What? Why?" Narcissa gasped. She had expected Lucius' wholehearted agreement. They could forget about this ordeal, pretend that it wasn't happening, wasn't that what Lucius wanted after all? Her hands balled into desperate fists as she stared up at him imploringly. A second later she thought she understood. "Can't you think about anything but your blasted reputation, Lucius?" she snarled.
Lucius felt the first sharp prickle of anger at the prejudice of her attack, but he struggled to keep his temper in check.
"We are going because you need to put the past to rest."
Lucius had also lost a mother, although death had not been the initial cause. Jocelyn Malfoy had ostracised herself forever the second that she had dared put her own wants and needs before those of the Malfoy family.
Lucius had gathered such a wealth of hatred against her. During the last year of Jocelyn's life, after her failed escape from her husband – the attempt forever memorialised by the river bridge – her son had avoided her at all costs. It was only after her death that he learnt how his father slowly crushed his fragile wife; breaking what little spirit she retained a piece at a time until she gave up on life.
Jocelyn had never written to her son for help. She had never asked to be rescued and Lucius had never considered saving her. He sometimes wondered what that meant. Intuition, coupled with this experience, told Lucius that Narcissa would be tormented by unanswered questions of her own if she missed this opportunity to exorcise the ghosts of her past.
Narcissa watched some of the pain evoked by these memories flit cross her husband's face. She was drawn to him, without quite realising what she was doing one of her hands moved to dance across his cleanly shaven jaw line. His wife's gentle touch shocked Lucius back to the present moment, but the harsh way his eyes focused on her made her recoil.
"Don't be angry," she begged, now stepping forward, her guard had dropped and she spoke the very first thought that entered her head. She winced and lowered her gaze; this was not the poised start to the day that she had wanted! Hiding behind the excuse of her illness no longer seemed an option, what then was causing her to act in this manner?
"Narcissa." The sound of her name on his lips was enough to lure her eyes back to his face. "I'm n-" Lucius was also speaking without thinking, but a knock interrupted him before he could finish. "Enter," he growled, already annoyed by the unusual number of disruptions upsetting his carefully ordered days.
Draco wandered into the sitting room. The Manor was his home, but he had learnt that there were certain doors and certain times when knocking was warranted.
The young Malfoy yawned; he hadn't been up long and the hour was still unearthly early. His bleary grey gaze flickered between his mother and father. Clearly he had interrupted something. Draco could feel his pale skin begin to colour, but while he was acutely embarrassed at seeing his parents in such intimate proximity, he was also more than a little relieved.
"There's another Druid waiting outside," he announced, hoping that his discomfort wasn't obvious.
"Already?" Narcissa sighed in irritation. She had hoped for more time. "I should go and see him," she said, glancing up at Lucius who was looking severe.
"Yes, we probably should," he remarked pointedly.
Narcissa raised her eyebrows slightly. His assertion had surprised her, but she quickly recovered and said with a cool smile: "Behave, Lucius." She watched his lip curl in a sneer before turning to her son. "And you, Draco. I will not tolerate any show of impropriety today," she finished, glancing sternly between her husband and son.
"Why Narcissa, anyone would think that you didn't trust us," Lucius drawled.
"That would be quite a gamble, don't you think? Daring to trust a Malfoy man?" Narcissa simpered innocently, moving towards the door where Draco was still standing.
Her barbed taunt was a little too raw to be quite typical of their usual banter. Had Narcissa been thinking perfectly clearly then she might not have touched such deep roots. However, Lucius simply smirked unpleasantly, and allowed his wife to think that the taunting tone of her voice had worked, that he could be fooled by her acerbic façade, and that he remained unwounded by her cutting remark. Let her pretend everything was fine, Lucius reasoned silently as he followed; he would keep a keen eye on her, and be ready to act if she should fall.
The family moved out of the sitting room, and began walking towards the front of the house. Narcissa had taken the lead, with her son a step behind. Lucius strolled a few paces after Draco, posture languid, mind alert.
"What's going to happen today?" Draco suddenly asked, to the surprise of one of his parents at least. Lucius watched his wife tense for the second time that morning. Her reaction was only just perceptible, but he noticed the slip.
"Good question," he remarked dryly, giving her time to recover though his harsh words concealed his motive. "Wouldn't we all like to know?"
"It's rather difficult to explain," Narcissa breathed uncomfortably, shooting a fractious glance over her shoulder at husband.
"Why don't you try? " Lucius pressed silkily.
"Fine," Narcissa muttered harshly beneath her breath, but she marched into the entrance hall and snatched her cloak from a waiting servant before continuing. "Draco, I know that your father and I have never told you a great deal about my family-"
"Abridged version, Narcissa," Lucius interjected with a glance at his gold pocket watch. He too was collecting his things: cloak, cane… his gloves were already in place of course. He ignored the way that Narcissa was staring at him, bristling indignantly, and lazily dismissed the maid.
"Draco, I believe what you father is trying to say," Narcissa began curtly, "is that my family- that is, what is not commonly known, or at least, commonly believed about my family, is that my mother-" she paused; she didn't quite know what to say, how to explain. She was stumbling over her words and she hated herself for it.
"Your grandmother's blood is beyond old, Draco," Lucius supplanted neatly. "It's ancient."
Narcissa blinked suspiciously. She could almost have believed that her husband had stepped in and spoken solely to afford her the opportunity to rally her thoughts, if only he hadn't looked quite so stern and forbidding when he was speaking. She sighed inwardly, and tried to push Lucius to the back of her mind; Draco was talking again.
"What does that mean?"
"It means that my mother was a descendant-" she began, but was sharply interrupted.
"That you are a descendant, Narcissa," said Lucius, staring at his wife, "that Draco is a descendant," he added softly. Narcissa stared back at him uncertainly. She could not recall Lucius ever before admitting their son to that privileged circle.
"We're descendants of who?" asked Draco impatiently.
Narcissa dragged her eyes away from Lucius' forbidding gaze and stared at her son. He looked older than his mere thirteen years, the black mourning attire no doubt contributed to the effect. She wished that she had told him sooner. Lucius had never expressly forbidden her from doing so, but it had seemed… disrespectful to the Malfoys to promote her own heritage, a heritage that was as good as dead. She blinked, shook her head, and the name fell bluntly from her lips:
"Morgan le Fay."
Draco's jaw dropped.
"What?" he exclaimed without thinking. He was unable to hide the shock suddenly stamped across his pale face. "We studied her in school. We-"
"I do not want this discussed in school, Draco," Narcissa said sharply. "This is not another weapon for you to add to your arsenal. I do not want my family mixed up in any of your schoolyard slander. Do you understand?"
Draco nodded his fair head seriously, but a look of clear misunderstanding was crossing his face. This was big, this was noteworthy, every one of his friends was a pureblood, but none of them could claim this kind of ancestry. He frowned and wondered at the secrecy surrounding the matter. A familiar twinge of anger stung him. Why hadn't he been told before? Why was he always left in the dark?
Of course, he glanced at his mother; she was only a Malfoy by marriage, not blood. He couldn't imagine that his father would have wanted to promote the fact that his wife's blood was purer than his own. Draco's frown deepened, and a little of the awe left his face. He was a Malfoy. His mother's family didn't seem to be a part of that somehow.
"I won't say anything," he agreed quietly.
"Besides Draco, you might be less impressed with your mother's pedigree when you meet the people involved in maintaining it," Lucius drawled cruelly.
"You certainly were," Narcissa muttered beneath her breath.
"Well it's hard to like people who hate you," Lucius replied simply.
"Then that explains why you like no one," Narcissa quipped acidly. Her husband merely laughed infuriatingly and moved towards the door.
"Why do they hate you, father?" Draco asked uneasily.
He glanced passed his father, out of the now open doorway, and stared at the shadowy grey figure waiting out in the forecourt. Lucius followed his son's gaze, and said coolly:
"I'm sure they'll fill you in. They do seem to delight in the topic."
Narcissa brushed by Lucius with an audible, irritated little snort, stepping outside first in an effort to distant herself from her husband, who was steadily kindling her anger. The Druid glanced up on hearing the Malfoys quit the Manor. He wasn't the same man who had brought the news of Elaine's funeral two days earlier. He was younger and looked less daunting, although he was clad in the same grey robes and carried a similar, heavy staff.
"My lady," he said in neutral tones, bowing in Narcissa's direction.
Narcissa hesitated at this show of obsequiousness, and suddenly wished that she hadn't stormed out of the house first - that she wasn't effectively on her own, that Lucius wasn't standing a few steps behind her instead of holding her arm. Telling herself sternly not to be such a fool she waited to see if the Druid would extend any show of courtesy to her husband or son.
None was forthcoming.
"I take it you are here to transport us to Tintagel?" Narcissa asked slowly, a deep wintry chill crept into her voice. It was time to begin her act in earnest.
"Yes," the Druid replied tersely.
His gaze travelled disapprovingly over Lucius and Draco, who bore his censure with remarkable restraint, Narcissa noted. She couldn't decide if she was pleased or disappointed. She had been the one who had instructed them to behave themselves, but she hadn't actually expected them to heed her words. Suddenly, she rather wanted to hear Lucius' voice dripping with contempt as he put the young Druid firmly in his place, or to see Draco's features lit by the infuriatingly smug smirk he could summon at will.
"Step inside the circle," the Druid commanded without preamble.
Narcissa was only then aware of the ring he had marked out in the gravel. He was already standing in the centre of the Celtic knot, the circumference of which was drawn in what looked like pale blue chalk.
"I do hope that's not permanent," Lucius drawled idly, as he too regarded the blot on the courtyard. The Druid's pale eyes flashed in his direction. Lucius met their hostile green depths condescendingly. "Archaic way to travel really," he added contemptuously.
"If it were up to me you would not be travelling anywhere. You have no business at Tintagel."
"Then I am pleased it is not up to you," Lucius replied icily, before he continued with a scathing sneer: "you might be an important little minion in the Druidical world, but this is the real world, and though your particular brand of magic might serve you well, it will not serve nearly well enough to escape from my property should I decide to stop you."
"Are you threatening me, Malfoy?" snarled the Druid.
"Why? Do you feel threatened?" Lucius grinned wickedly.
The young Druid looked ready to erupt. Narcissa took a step forward; she was torn between allowing herself the impolite liberty of laughing or displaying the disapproval that she knew she should express. In the end she decided on neither.
"I think we had better go," she announced calmly.
"Indeed!" They stood within the circle, Narcissa's hand on Draco's shoulder her other arm linked with her husband's. "Wísdomes wrþu, wítena frofór," the Druid began to chant, "wisdoms wrþu, wítena frofór…"
It wasn't like Apparating, or travelling by floo, or even like using a Portkey. It was a great mist descending upon the mind and then lifting a moment later, only to reveal that things weren't where they should be; weren't what they should be. It was dreamlike, surreal. It was magic, but not the brash sparkling kind. It was old. Tired. It was the undercurrent forever sustaining the land. It had been, and would be. It was Tintagel, it was Stonehenge, it was Avalon, and Camelot, and places just beyond the looking glass. Myth and legend and magic, it was everything that had been forgotten.
..ooOOoo..
Draco could smell the sea; the morning air was seasoned with its tang. He could hear the harsh cry of seagulls, and feel fine, dry sand shift beneath his feet. Silvery grey eyes blinked groggily as a hazy cloud lifted from his young eyes. He glanced around quickly, and found that he was standing inside a second blue circle with his parents and the Druid. They were situated on a little bay at the foot of a very imposing cliff.
The pre-dawn bathed everything in a surreal purple glow as Draco, ignoring everything else, scanned the craggy rock face. The iridescent light hit the cliff, picking out jagged points and sinister caves. Apart from the occasional call of the gulls and the rhythmic crash of the waves all was eerily silent. There was something strangely uncanny about the place. It was ridiculous, irrational, but Draco could feel a thousand unseen eyes watching him. He was suddenly glad of the warmth of his mother's hand on his shoulder.
"You had best come with me." It was the Druid who broke the strange silence. Draco turned to watch as the man offered his mother his arm as he spoke. "The others will be expecting you."
Narcissa nodded slowly, and freed the hand that had been tucked securely in the crook of her husband's arm. It would be better this way, she reasoned deliberately. She did wonder briefly at Lucius', albeit short-lived, resistance to her effort to free herself; he tightened his grip on her hand for a second, but then seemed to remember himself because he dropped her arm like a leaden weight a moment later.
"Lead the way then," Narcissa simpered mildly, twitching angrily as she watched the Druid flash a smug smile in Lucius' direction as he waited for her to take his arm.
She didn't.
"M'lady?" he said, looking at her questioningly.
"I am capable of walking unaided," she hissed coldly. Would they never learn? She was no marionette in need of a puppeteer to hold her strings! Face flushed, heart pounding, Narcissa marched across the pebbly beach to a dry mud path, which was almost hidden amid the gorse-covered scrubland that skirted the base of the cliff. "This way was it?" she sneeringly called across the sand, looking back at her three spectators: the Druid, Lucius and Draco, they were watching her with markedly different expressions: fury, resignation and very mild amusement could be read upon their faces.
The trek up the cliff was arduous. The pathway was steep and uneven, but Narcissa refused to relinquish her lead. She had decided that she was more than strong enough to prove to Lucius that she could handle this alone. Instead of being tired by the climb she could feel the power of the land rejuvenating her weakened spirits. The fresh scent of the gorse and salt blowing up off the surf filled the air: the forgotten fragrance of her childhood.
Narcissa was slightly breathless when she reached the mainland summit, where she paused. The ruins of Tintagel castle were set on a peninsular entirely surrounded by the sea - with the exception of a very narrow causeway that linked it to the mainland. It was here that Narcissa had stopped.
"There are no safety wards," she said softly, once her son, husband and the Druid had caught up with her. "Magic here is… distorted. If you should fall there is little chance of survival."
"How comforting," Lucius remarked wryly, peering languidly over the edge of cliff at the sheer drop below.
Despite her very deliberate show of bravado Narcissa wanted to reach out and pull him back. Her fingers itched to anchor themselves in his robes and drag him away from the cliff edge.
Without warning, Lucius glanced over in her direction, and caught her watching him anxiously. He raised a curious eyebrow, and then, correctly interpreting the concern she could not hide, allowed himself the smallest of smiles. Narcissa flushed, and then bristled indignantly at being caught out in such a manner. She swiftly moved away and struck out across the causeway.
Lucius continued to watch, his face now set grimly, as his wife kept her head up and eyes fixed on the land opposite. The heel of her shoe hit the uneven stone surface causing a little rocky landslide. Lucius' eyes followed the perilous fall of the shale. Instinctual fear flooded his body with adrenaline. If she should fall…
He saw that his son had noticed the little rock slide too, but Draco went after his mother after only a moment's hesitation. Lucius moved to follow his wife and son, but the Druid stepped in front of him and blocked his path.
"You cross last. This is our realm. You have no place here," he announced with great satisfaction.
"And what makes you think they have?" snarled Lucius, nodding in the direction of Narcissa and Draco. He could feel the first real cracks in his composure forming. The Druid smirked.
"You already know the answer to that question." He stepped onto the causeway. The wind, channelled through the chiselled rock, began to howl. The sea was churning and crashing in great foamy waves. "It torments you doesn't it?"
"That is ridiculous," Lucius growled, following the Druid's treacherous path.
"Not really." The Druid murmured, as the two men continued to cross the causeway. "We know a lot about you. We know your ideals. We know how deeply it must pain you to be of such lowly birth in comparison to your son and his mother."
The little chinks threatening Lucius' self-control fractured into full, gaping chasms that ripped his restraint apart. His wand was drawn before he could stop himself. However, the Druid did not turn – did not need to.
"Your particular 'brand of magic' might serve you well, but it will not serve you well enough if you should choose to cross us here," he said in slow, mocking, imitating tones.
Lucius' hands clenched, if the Druids words had not been so painfully true he would have done something, anything, but as it was Lucius resheathed his wand, body tense to the point of breaking with the suppressed rage pulsing through his veins. He stormed across the remaining length of the causeway looking absolutely thunderous. Narcissa brushed by Draco and the Druid to greet her husband when he stepped onto the land of Tintagel.
"What did he say?" she demanded anxiously, careful to keep her voice low.
"Nothing of consequence," he snarled.
"Lucius," Narcissa said gently, fearing that he was already beyond the reach of reason. His eyes focused on her face. For a moment his anger seemed to increase, but a second later he appeared frighteningly distant. "Lucius?" she repeated, the smallest note of panic underpinning her voice. Her anxiety seemed to strike some unknown chord with her husband, because Lucius' expression softened a fraction. He relented and her took her arm.
"Where now?" he asked.
His tone remained clipped, but Narcissa was nevertheless grateful to be able to link her arm with her husband's. She gave a weak smile, which Lucius did not return.
"This way I think," Narcissa sighed, lowering her eyes from Lucius' gaze but nodding in the direction of one of the grass-covered paths that criss-crossed the ruins.
"Correct," the Druid supplied curtly. He had taken up a position between Draco and his parents.
Narcissa watched her son shift uncomfortably from foot to foot as he seemed to deliberate edging passed the man to rejoin her and his father. Pulling Lucius with her, she decided to take matters into her own hands. She moved forward and caught Draco by the shoulder. Her son started somewhat in surprise, but allowed himself to be ushered along the path by his mother.
Nestled between her husband on one side, and her son on the other, Narcissa was suddenly struck by the fact that she had scarcely ever felt so safe, so protected. She sighed inwardly and tried to remind herself that she did not want to feel protected. She could cope on her own.
They walked like this for a short while, following the Druid who had pushed ahead, climbing a gentle slope that wound its way through the crumbling ruins until it emerged in a little grassy courtyard full of people. At least two-dozen pairs of eyes turned to stare in the direction of the Malfoy family. They bore this scrutiny for a moment without faltering, but then a few notable inclusions among the party were observed...
Narcissa first noted Isabelle standing beside her father. A bile-like rage flooded her senses. She struggled to fight against this torrent of wrathful abhorrence lest she allowed herself to be overcome by her hatred of the woman. Her father's presence she could accept, but Isabelle's felt like a deliberate insult. All the same, her old rival was not going to have the pleasure of seeing her lose her temper today! Drawing a deep breath she tried to continue towards the gathering, only to find that Lucius had stopped. She turned her head and blinked up at him enquiringly, stunned by the look of absolute disgust that was etched upon his face.
"What is he doing here?" Lucius demanded viciously.
Narcissa frowned warily, still studying his face. She considered asking whom he meant, but judged it safer to follow his gaze and scan the crowd herself. A sharp gasp lodged itself in her throat; her question had just been rendered redundant. Albus Dumbledore was standing a little to the left of the group of mourners. He was watching the three of them closely, looking terribly severe. Narcissa waited apprehensively for Lucius to announce that he was leaving, for him to turn around and walk away, to prove to her that, when put to the test, his self-sacrificial promises were as hollow as she had always feared.
"Well?" Lucius snapped, when Narcissa didn't answer his question.
"The Druids think very highly of Dumbledore," she said softly, sadly. "I suppose they must have invited him."
"And you didn't feel like warning us?" he asked accusingly. Still standing beside his mother Draco was looking increasingly uneasy.
"I didn't know!"
"Perfect, just perfect," Lucius snarled, as he gripped Narcissa's wrist and stalked toward the mourners.
"You're… staying?" she stammered difficultly.
"Don't try my patience just now, Narcissa," he growled, but somehow his anger seemed not to matter to his wife. He wasn't going anywhere - he wasn't leaving her. Narcissa very nearly smiled, despite the impropriety of the action, but then she caught her father's eye and was robbed of all sense of well-being. He was scowling at her with such a look of dripping loathing that she felt like a girl of fourteen again instead of the woman of thirty-four that she was. She took a guilty step nearer to as their guide led them on and fought the urge to grip Draco's hand as their guide led them on.
"My lady Narcissa."
The old druid who had come to the Manor two days beforehand stepped forward and bowed as they approached. His sharp eyes watched closely as Lucius lifted his eyes skyward and tried not to lose his temper.
"We meet again, Draco," he added slowly, turning to the boy, "and- Lucius it has been many years since we last saw you." Lucius opened his mouth to snarl a retort, but the aged man continued: "it is almost dawn. We should begin."
The cluster of people moved to follow the Druid leader, but he stopped them and then with his staff indicated that they should form a circle. Draco glanced at his parents curiously, but neither offered an explanation. Narcissa sole aim was to stand as far away from her father and Isabelle as possible. In effect this would mean that they would be standing directly opposite one another once the circle had been formed. She endeavoured to execute this plan as innocently as possible, Lucius and Draco still flanking her on either side.
"Ís byþ oferceald," chanted the old Druid without forewarning.
The other grey-clad figures joined this call a moment later, until it echoed around the shadowy cliffs in an eerie chorus. Narcissa's eyes widened apprehensively she felt the strangest prickling sensation filling her body. Magic. Old magic. She shifted uncomfortably, she did not want to know what was coming next, but she could already guess.
A misty haze filled the centre of the circle. Narcissa wanted to shut her eyes, block out what was happening, but she was compelled to keep them open as the druidical chant resounded around the ruin. Narcissa was curiously grateful that Lucius' hand was resting on the small of her back… but she was not going to reach for him. She wasn't. Even when the fog cleared, even when she saw what the mist was concealing… her mother's pyre.
Narcissa looked from her mother's body to her father and felt her throat begin to tighten. One day this was going to happen to her she realised. One day she was going to lose Lucius. Forever. She drew a shuddering breath and tried to focus in the old Druid's words, but all she could think about was a distant funeral. A different time, a different place, in which it was she who was losing her spouse.
Narcissa blinked, a wet trickle of tears coated her cheeks. She did not raise her hand to wipe them dry, instead she reached out for Lucius. Her fingers intertwined with his own; she could deny herself no longer. From the corner of her eye she watched him turn to her in surprise, she waited, but he did not withdraw the hand that she had claimed.
Instead he observed the proud upward tilt of her chin, so at odds with the glassy vulnerability of her eyes. In all honesty Lucius was amazed to feel her hand nestled beneath his, her fingers laced with his own, but he tightened his grip a fraction as he drew his eyes away from her face. His wintry gaze scanned the crowd - the Druids' contempt, Adrian's hatred, Isabelle's obsession, what had Narcissa done to him that he was willing to endure all of that for her?
OOoo..ooOO
Lucius drew a deep breath, and tried very hard to ignore the soft warmth of the body pressed against his own. He wanted her again. The realisation of this fact was crushing. One night, he had promised himself one night in her arms, one night to taste her, test her, take her, after which he would give her up. His eyes raked over the sleeping face of the beautiful young woman lying beside him. How could he possibly give her up? Was he now supposed to stand back and watch her father toy with her, watch as an imbecile like Crouch seduced her, married her, stole away what he had claimed as his own?
Enough. Lucius tried to temper his intense agitation; whatever he told himself Narcissa was not his, there were obstacles he could not ignore - Isabelle for a start. His eyes narrowed. He brushed the lightest of kisses against Narcissa's temple. She stirred slightly in her sleep, and softly sighed his name. His name. It had the strangest effect on Lucius, for a moment he was filled with such acute pain that he could not move, and when it passed he was left with such an unbearable feeling of emptiness that he leant forwards and, before he could curb the words, whispered into her ear:
"I will find a way to make you mine."
What sounded like the nearby click of a door being snapped shut, followed directly by footsteps in the hall, brought Lucius' mind crashing back from its reverie; whispered promises were so easily broken…
He rolled over, untangling his body from Narcissa's, and stared distractedly at his bedroom door. Distant sounds of slamming and shouting were seeping through the Manor in noxious waves. Something was wrong. But what? A fierce rush of adrenaline flooded Lucius' veins as all manner of worse case scenarios flitted through his mind in answer to this unspoken question.
He left Narcissa in his bed and grabbed his trousers, shirt and wand. Shrugging on his clothes Lucius wondered if he should wake her, but he had brought Narcissa to the Manor to keep her safe. He was not about to fail in that aspiration. If something from the previous day had not been taken care of, as was Lucius' greatest fear, he would find a way to deal with it. He glanced again at Narcissa's still sleeping form… and suddenly he knew… he would protect her whatever the cost.
It was a severe blow, an epiphany, and he fought it hard. Why? Why help her? Hissed a little voiced that Lucius could not ignore. He was a Malfoy. He was not supposed to care for anyone. He was in trouble. He was falling too deep.
Fighting to steel himself against her, in a manner that he had never had to fortify himself against anyone before, Lucius left the bedroom. He cooled his gaze and righted his stance. Clothed decently, if not impeccably, he made his way in the direction that he had heard the commotion.
It had taken him a few moments to dress and now there was only heavy silence permeating the Manor. Growing more confused, and consequently rather annoyed, Lucius wandered into the dining room, where his father was sat calmly eating breakfast. Lucius lingered in the doorway, eyes narrowed in sudden instinctive suspicion.
"Lover's tiff?" Cassius drawled smugly from behind the pages of the Daily Prophet. He didn't glance up after his cryptic comment to see his son's face darken, but when Lucius demonstrated no desire to speak the paper was unhurriedly laid aside. "I take it that is why Miss Zabini was in such a fine rage when I saw her a moment ago?" Cassius enquired slyly. He folded the newspaper in half and looked up smugly at his son.
"Isabelle was here?" Lucius hissed, his lips thinning.
"Didn't you know?" Cassius asked innocently, "I sent her up to see you." He watched with some satisfaction as his son's lip curled in disgust.
"That was childish," Lucius drawled. His expression had suddenly become utterly unreadable, but behind this blank façade his mind was racing… because, if Isabelle knew about Narcissa… "You have brought things rather nicely to a head though, father" he smirked wickedly.
"What?" Cassius snapped. "What are you talking about? Miss Zabini is practically your fiancée. You are going to go after her, although first it might be wise to deal with Miss Varvara, permanently. Isabelle is no fool. She won't refuse you after a triviality like this-"
"Oh I think I could persuade her to," Lucius interrupted silkily.
"Lucius!" Cassius roared, getting to his feet. "This ends here! Isabelle expects a proposal. The Zabini's expect you to make a proposal. The whole of wizarding society is expecting the two of you to marry!"
"All excellent reasons not to embark on such a foolish venture I would have thought," Lucius sneered dryly.
"Don't be smart, boy. You've had your fun, but if you want to have you cake and eat it you'll have to learn to be subtler. Isabelle has the sense to ignore a discreet liaison or two, but throwing it in her face like this-" Cassius tutted, "it's just bad form Lucius. You can't expect her to simply tolerate such an insult."
"Well perhaps stringing Isabelle along is an insult to Narcissa?" Lucius smirked complacently. Cassius went very still.
"I will say again, Lucius, you have had you fun, but you cannot honestly expect me to believe it's any more than that can you?" he demanded. "The Varvara's are not our equals, her mother is an embarrassment, her father is a disgrace, and she - she is trouble, Lucius."
"Undoubtedly," Lucius replied offhand, his lips curving into a distracted smile.
"Well fine," Cassius sighed, misunderstanding, "if that's her only attraction. In that case, do what you will with Miss Zabini. No doubt things can be smoothed over if you really have set your mind against marrying her. I was worried you had it in your head to wed the Varvara girl," he snorted at the absurdity of the idea. "Keep her somewhere discreet until you tire of her and we'll say no more about it." He relaxed back in his chair and picked up the paper again, thinking that the whole matter was settled. "You may find her a suitable mistress, but she will never make a suitable wife for any man of means," he couldn't stop himself from adding.
The temperature in the dinning room dropped noticeably, and whatever else Cassius Malfoy had been about to say froze on his lips. Lucius, unshaven and dressed in rather crumpled clothes, was still managing to exude an aura of deadly power.
Cassius's coffee mug cracked.
"Be careful, father," Lucius hissed blackly, before turning and stalking out of the room.
Anger pulsing through his veins, he stormed through the downstairs corridors of Manor towards the entrance hall and the main staircase. The unlit candles in the ornate candelabra were spontaneously bursting into flame as he passed them by, but he paid them no heed. He needed to calm down before rejoining Narcissa, needed to extinguish the fire licking at his blood. He couldn't quite understand its source…
The Varvara's were purebloods after all, true, they were not part of the wizarding nobility, but they were certainly part of the gentry, and if the rumours were to be believed, her mother's bloodline could put even the highest families to shame! His father's bigoted attack was all he could concentrate on … until he marched into the entrance hall and found Isabelle being shown back into the house by one of the house elves.
Her eyes focused on him immediately. Lucius was momentarily pleased that Isabelle was not a better witch. He may have actually feared for his life had he thought she knew the proper spells. She swept passed the elf, sending the creature flying, and rounded on Lucius.
"I have decided," she announced, in a tone of voice that suggested she had determined something of global significance, "that I am prepared to forgive this pathetic little dalliance of yours Lucius, provided that you now adhere to a number of nonnegotiable conditions." Lucius raised one cool eyebrow, admittedly rather taken aback, and remained absolutely silent. Isabelle continued:
"Firstly, you are to get rid of the little whore currently curled up asleep in our bed! Secondly, you are to dissuade her of the ludicrous notion that she means anything to you, thirdly, you are not to see her again," Isabelle spat. Each word was loaded with venom and she was counting these conditions off on her fingers. Not a muscle moved in Lucius' face, but his fingers were twitching dangerously. "And last, but certainly not least, you are to publicly announce our engagement," she finished tenaciously.
A cold, callous grimace lifted Lucius' mouth into an insulting smile.
"As tempting an offer as that sounds, Isabelle, I'm afraid I will have to decline."
"What?" she hissed, eyes glittering feverishly. She took a step forward and jabbed a finger violently against his chest. "I don't think you quite appreciate the precariousness of your position, Lucius! I was trying to be lenient!" she cried, her voice steadily increasing in volume. "I was trying to understand this perverse little fetish you seem to have for young girls!"
"She's nineteen," he supplied coolly.
"She's a child!" Isabelle spat.
"No," Lucius smirked unashamedly, "she is most definitely a woman."
"You unfaithful bastard!" Isabelle swore raising her hand to strike him across the face.
Lucius had been expecting the slap, but he did nothing to prevent it, and so, the stinging smack of skin hitting skin filled the entrance hall. He absorbed the blow quite indifferently. His head flinched only a fraction to the side under the force of Isabelle's hand. He corrected his posture deliberately slowly, lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes, stubbornly resisting the urge to raise a hand to his throbbing cheek and absolutely refusing to give her the pleasure of provoking an outburst of rage. Looking calmly dignified, Lucius simply kept his eyes focused on the beautiful witch before him and wondered if she would break. Isabelle did not look like a woman who had just gained a sliver of satisfaction. She seemed like a woman on the edge. Lucius waited to see whether or not she would strike again; she looked ready to claw his eyes out.
"Feeling better now?" he smirked sardonically, once he had grown tired of watching her clenching, unclenching and reclenching her manicured hands.
"It'll take a lot more than that to make me feel better!" she hissed furiously.
"Pity," Lucius drawled dryly, "because that is all I'm willing to give you."
Isabelle stared up at him, momentarily dumbfounded by his insultingly flippant manner. He watched as she tried to gather her wits and think of a retort.
"Lucius, if you don't at least have the common decency to say that you're sorry we're through!" she exclaimed at length. He smiled: a slow predatory smile that made all of the colour seep from Isabelle's face.
"The only problem being that I'm not sorry in the least," Lucius breathed softly, "if anything, I'm glad, which would seem to suggest that you may have precisely the right idea."
"W-what?" Isabelle stammered. She now looked deathly pale. The ghostly hue of her cheeks was all the more evident given the contrast between her skin and the glossy jet locks that framed her face.
"I believe your oh-so-elegant phrasing was 'we're through'," Lucius smirked cruelly. Isabelle stared at him, chest heaving with breathless gasps as her whole body began to shake.
"You're choosing her over me?" she shrieked at last, in complete and utter disbelief.
"Yes, that does appear to be what's happening," Lucius agreed silkily.
"But she's-she's-" Isabelle flailed and failed to find a description vile enough for her taste.
"Indescribable, I agree," Lucius murmured softly, almost distractedly.
"Lucius, you-you cannot be serious!" Isabelle trilled, nearing hysterics. "What about me? What about us?"
He shot her quelling glance, and absentmindedly wondered if Narcissa was given to these self-indulgent little tantrums that all the other women he knew seemed to suffer. He hoped not, he thought not. She seemed far too guarded, far too shrewd. He frowned mildly; did she wear a mask for him too? He would have to find out.
"Come now, Isabelle," he said, reluctantly pushing his thoughts of Narcissa aside. "I'm sure you can concoct any number of elaborate plans to trap yourself another rich man."
"I don't want another rich man. I want you. I love you," she stated emphatically, stamping her foot and provoking Lucius to roll his eyes, and quip drolly:
"That is unfortunate, but I'm sure it will pass."
"Lucius be serious! What are you trying to achieve? You cannot mean to marry this girl!"
"Can I not?" he smiled slowly. "So I keep being told, but I am not so set against the idea myself." Isabelle looked positively aghast, but then tried to rally.
"She only wants you for your money."
"Speaking from experience are we?" he enquired idly.
"The Zabinis have wealth of their own," she sneered. "As you well know. Our union would at least be mutually beneficial." However, Lucius' amused laugh only further reinforced the fact that she was losing ground fast - he watched this realisation flicker across her face. "It won't last," she said desperately, clutching at any means to hurt him. "Once you find out what she's really like."
"I think I've seen a few glimpses of what she's really like," Lucius murmured reflectively.
He had. He was sure he had: outside Hogwarts the evening after she had won the Decaduel… facing her father at Cotehele… the night before, when he had held her in his arms... There were faults in her little masquerade. He just needed to work out exactly how to see through them.
"I think she's far more intriguing than she pretends to be," Lucius sighed deeply.
"You'll regret it." Isabelle fumed. "If you go through with this you'll regret it for the rest of your life." She paused. "After the way you've treated me, I'll make sure that you do!"
Lucius' whole persona altered very slightly. The derisive amusement that he had been drawing on to stem his anger evaporated.
"Think very carefully before crossing me," he warned Isabelle darkly. She failed to notice the change in him and simply continued to glare contemptuously.
"You crossed me first! You'll see," she snorted, "you'll come crawling back when you get bored of the common little slut upstairs, we'll see who-"
Isabelle broke off abruptly when a vice-like hand was clamped around her upper arm. She gasped and looked up into Lucius' face quickly. Her pale cheeks greyed. He had never let her see him angry before, not really, truly, seething; she had never had the power to evoke that strong an emotion.
"Lucius!" she squeaked fearfully as he marched her across the hall towards the front doors. He snapped the fingers of his free hand and the heavy wooden doors crashed open. "Lucius?"
He ignored her whimpering cries and thrust her out through the doorway. Isabelle turned, looking as though she wanted to burst into tears in the face of this callous manhandling, as if this was the only weapon she had left, but one glimpse of the storm raging in the depths of his eyes was enough to keep her silent.
"Goodbye Isabelle."
Lucius heard his own voice, as if from a great distance, as if he was only a spectator in this sphere of his life. Detached from the scene he was struck by the utterly cold, icy tone of his voice; surely it should have better reflected the molten anger coursing through his veins, the passionate hatred he could feel stirring in Narcissa's defence?
Isabelle simply stared up at him, her pretty pouting mouth slightly open. She remained caught in a numb haze of disbelief and stammered his name once again in question.
He looked back at her for a moment, lips twisting when he realised that he was looking into the face of the beautiful society lady whom so many had believed would be the next Mrs Malfoy. His stomach turned at the mere thought. When he compared the witch before him to the women tangled up in his sheets upstairs, a woman marked so intimately by his possession, he knew that he was right. There was no logic behind this dawning of realisation. Lucius simply felt it, down to the very marrow of his bones.
"Goodbye Isabelle." This time when he spoke the dripping sneer of contempt had returned to his voice. "If I were you, I would hope that we do not meet again soon."
He turned from the door, withdrawing inside the Manor. Isabelle moved to follow, still spluttering indignantly. Lucius could hear her heeled shoes hitting the stone steps. He smirked cruelly as he then heard the creak of hinges as the front doors of the Manor shut themselves, blocking out Isabelle's muffed scream of protest.
Lucius breathed out deeply, and felt a huge weight lift from his shoulders as he turned impatiently towards the staircase. Narcissa. He felt a sudden rush. What was there to stand in his way now? What was left to prevent him claiming her as his own for all the world to see? Provided of course, that she would have him… He frowned mildly at this uncharacteristic note of self-doubt, and was interrupted before he could brush this uncertainty aside.
"Lucius!" His foot was on the second step when his father's voice broke through his musing. "There's an Auror from the Ministry here to see you. Just arrived by floo."
"Not now," Lucius growled, turning to face his father and a second wizard who was standing just behind Cassius. He was slightly taller than his host, and rather thin. His dark hair was already starting to whiten despite the fact he was not a particularly old man.
"Yes now, sir," he inserted hesitantly, glancing uneasily in Cassius Malfoy's direction before added in a hushed whisper, "it's about last night."
Cassius gave a disgruntled snort and shook his head in disgust. Without actually saying another word he made his disapproval known, turning and leaving his son and his visitor without even bothering to excuse himself.
"Igor," Lucius drawled, checking himself. He forced his body to still when every nerve was straining in desperation to return to his young lover. "I thought I told you not to come here?" he hissed, but only once his father had disappeared from view.
"He sent me." Lucius couldn't help but tensed slightly. "He told me to give you this." The Auror, Igor Karkaroff added, pulling a black letter from beneath the folds of his robes. Lucius swore beneath his breath and accepted, but did not open, the letter. "He's not happy about what happened yesterday."
"Yesterday's disaster was hardly my fault," Lucius growled. Karkaroff shrugged, in a manner that seemed to suggest the particulars of the previous day were of very little interest to him.
"How's the girl?"
"She's fine," Lucius supplied slowly. Did Narcissa have a letter too? Was she in trouble, in danger? He mentally rebuked himself; for a man who had never cared a jot for anyone before he was certainly making up for lost time with Narcissa! "Do you have a little black note for her as well?" he drawled, in what he hoped were disinterested tones.
"No." Karkaroff glanced at his watch restlessly. "I only have two letters to deliver."
"Two?" he repeated, frowning.
Karkaroff simply nodded.
Lucius assumed the other was for Lestrange, but why then had Narcissa and Snape escaped a summons, a punishment – he assumed one of the two would be contained within the sealed black parchment – and why on earth did he feel a twinge of relief that Narcissa had escaped an encounter with the Dark Lord when he himself had to suffer one?
"Was that all?" he snapped, ultimately unable to contain his impatience to return to his room, to return to Narcissa and tell her – what exactly? He wasn't sure, but he knew enough to know that he wanted to impress upon her how right, how natural, it felt for her to be an integral part of his life.
"That's all," Igor nodded again. "For now at any rate," he added, with an insipid little smile that drew attention to his rather weak chin.
"One of the elves will show you back to the floo," Lucius called over his shoulder, already mounting the stairs, his visitors forgotten in an instant.
His room was not far, and his steps were hurried. The Dark Lord's letter was still in his hand, unopened, forgotten; Lucius was only conscious of the beating of his heart, the pounding of his blood, the absolute necessity of being in Narcissa's presence again.
He pushed open the door to his room without pausing. His mind had already created a list of what he might find: Narcissa still peacefully asleep, exactly as he had left her, or perhaps she would be just stirring, but still curled upon the bed waiting for his return? In a spilt second he decided both might be overly optimistic. She would probably be wide-awake, dressed no doubt, wondering where he had been and why he had left her.
His feet stopped, his heart stopped; Lucius did not find Narcissa waiting for the answers he was ready and willing to give.
He found nothing.
She was gone.
OOoo..ooOO
Lucius attempted to dismiss the memory, but he could not quite forget the gut wrenching sense of loss and devastation that he had felt on finding his chamber empty. He fought against the urge to tighten his grip on Narcissa's hand, to assure himself that although he had lost her once he had found and reclaimed her. He steeled himself, and forced his mind to try and concentrate on what the Druid was saying about his late mother-in-law.
"Ís byþ oferceald, ungemetum slidor. Glisnaþ glæshlútor, gimmum gelícost, flór forste geworuht, fæger ansíene."
Lucius sighed irritably on realising that that the rites were being given in Anglo-Saxon, and consequently that following them was near impossible. He bowed his head and allowed his mind to clear, but not to wander, while his restless digits moved distractedly over the glistening platinum band that circled his wife's forth finger.
Narcissa had been caught up in following the complexities of the Druid's voice and had nearly forgotten that her hand was entwined snugly with her husband's, so she frowned a little when she noted the caress of soft leather whispering against her skin. She glanced at Lucius out of the corner of her eye and wondered what he was thinking about. He certainly did not seem focused on the present moment.
Distracted by her husband's touch Narcissa allowed her mind to drift away from the Druid's words as her eyes scanned the assembly. Most faces were bowed, Dumbledore's eyes were reverently closed, his head occasionally nodding in agreement with the rites, even her father was staring fixedly at Elaine. Narcissa could not quite determine the expression in his eyes. However, there was one other face, apart from Narcissa's own, which was not focused on the Druid giving the rites, nor on her mother's finally peaceful form.
Isabelle was staring at Lucius. Narcissa suppressed a shiver, and in turn kept her eyes locked on her husband's old lover. She was tired of feeling threatened by the black-haired beauty. She was Lucius' wife, she had borne his son - she had stood the test of time. It was still her company that Lucius sought, still her counsel that he heeded, still her arms that he returned to every night. And yet, Narcissa frowned… he had never really been tested before, had he?
Isabelle apparently felt Narcissa's gaze resting upon her, because her eyes suddenly shifted to meet those of Mrs Malfoy. They stared at each other over Elaine's bier. Isabelle's face contorted in a sneer. Narcissa could clearly read the hatred, the danger, flashing in her eyes. She kept her own face passive, blank, until the whisper of Lucius' fingertips against her skin lifted her lips in a small, smug smile.
So, Narcissa reasoned, Isabelle wanted Lucius, but Lucius, whether he admitted it or not, felt it or not, was bound to her. Narcissa had known it, felt it, for as long as she could remember. She had fought for Lucius before and won. She had not quite known if she was willing to fight Isabelle again, but the occurrences of the past few days had reminded Narcissa of something that she had learnt many, many years previously, something she had never forgotten, but something she kept locked away and hidden… a truth too dangerous to dwell upon.
She took a deep breath and let her eyes flutter shut. It would not do to indulge in that memory. It was enough that she had felt its shadow pass over. Besides, the Druid had stopped speaking and people were beginning to drift away.
Narcissa knew that she could not yet leave… but she could snatch a few moments peace with any hope. Still, she made no motion to move. Instead her eyes opened and rested upon her mother's lifeless form. Her head felt strangely empty, abnormally clear. She was detached from her surroundings; there was a buzz around her, a hive of activity of which she was not a part. She was a spectator watching a play, but then the pressure of Lucius' hand turned and jolted her back to reality.
"Now what?" he breathed, his voice low.
"Now we wait," Narcissa sighed. "Or rather I wait," she murmured, reluctantly pulling her hand out of Lucius' grasp, noting that Draco had wandered off to speak to a couple of boys about his age – distant cousins from her mother's father's side of the family she presumed.
"For what?" Lucius snapped. His face was set, but Narcissa was not afforded the opportunity to reply. One of the Druids had moved to join them.
"M'lady, we will be ready for you shortly." He said with a quick bow, before scurrying immediately away to speak with Albus Dumbledore.
"Narcissa?" Lucius growled, but his wife was moving away from him.
"They'll need me to go down into the caverns," she said, praying her voice was steady as she glanced back over her shoulder. Lucius' eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Alone?"
"I can manage, Lucius," she said sharply. "I am not quite as helpless as you seem to believe all of a sudden!" she snapped, eyes flashing as she stormed away from him. Her husband paused momentarily, unable to explain this sudden surge of hostility.
"I don't think you're helpless, Narcissa," he growled, going after her. "I think-"
"Lucius!"
A shrill woman's voice rang out and curdled Narcissa's blood, turning so fast that Lucius almost careened into her she stopped and glared past him at Isabelle. The beautiful witch was walking towards them - a picture-perfect smile sculpting her lips. Narcissa drew a shakily breath, expelling it in a furious hiss.
"I don't believe this!" she spat. "Lucius just-" she had to break off to compose herself, and then said simply: "I will not suffer her today." Narcissa turned away from her husband again and marched off at a furious pace. Stunned into immobility, Isabelle was at Lucius' side before he had a chance to go after his wife.
"Curious service, didn't you think, Lucius?" Isabelle simpered with a dazzling smile. Lucius blinked and willed himself to look away from the retreating figure of his wife. He murmured something indistinct. "Narcissa seems rather upset," she remarked, her voice so neutral that it was suspicious.
"Her mother is dead," Lucius hissed.
"Well yes, but I didn't think they were all that close?" Isabelle probed. Lucius sneered; he was not going to have this conversation with Isabelle Zabini!
"Why are you here?" he asked at length, eyes narrowing sceptically. "You never believed in any of this."
"People change," she smiled. Lucius gave a snort of disbelief. "And well, I did hear some very interesting stories from the late Mrs Varvara. I wanted to come and see things for myself."
Lucius stared at her distrustfully for a moment. His instincts were usually superb, so he was loathed to ignore the little red warning lights flashing inside his head.
"I don't know what game you think you're playing Isabelle, but I do know that you need to stop," he said slowly.
"And why is that, Lucius dear?" Isabelle smiled sweetly, reaching out and trailing a hand down the length of his lapel. A gloved fist was clamped roughly around her wrist as Lucius jerked her wandering fingertips away from his body.
"Because, if you recall, you do not like me when I'm angry, and you are dangerously close to making me very angry," he growled furiously. Isabelle paled, fluttered her eyelashes nervously and quickly snatched her arm out of his grasp. She opened her pretty ruby lips to speak, but Lucius cut her off. "Excuse me," he sneered, "I need to find my wife."
..ooOOoo..
Narcissa was standing at the very edge of the shoreline, just where the waves lapped at the sand, close enough to feel the spray of the surf. She could sense her husband's silent approach without having to look around and see him. Even if her senses had not been heightened she knew she would have felt him. In just the same way that she always knew where her limbs were, even when she closed her eyes - he was an extension of herself. She already regretted snapping at him, pushing him away and leaving him with Isabelle.
Lucius crossed almost the full length of the beach before he stopped. He stood a foot behind his wife, waiting for her to turn – while she stood a little ahead, waiting for him to speak. Neither complied with the other's unspoken request.
"I miss this," Narcissa sighed at length, gazing out at the ocean. Dawn had broken during the rites. Sunlight hit the water and sparkled like jewels. Lucius moved forward until he was by his wife's side, a mild frown resting on his brow.
"The sea?"
"Yes," Narcissa said slowly, and no, it was not just the sea, it was the feel of the place: the sense of being so small in the face of something so vast, the sense of being so helpless in the face of something so powerful.
Narcissa wondered if she should feel afraid; she didn't, she felt incredibly peaceful. Standing there, looking out into endless blue, was like looking on immortality.
"I-" Narcissa began then faltered.
She felt Lucius turn to look at her closely.
"You?" he prompted, when she made no motion to continue.
"I think my mother brought me to this beach once," she murmured softly.
Lucius suppressed a groan. He doubted very much that he was the right person for Narcissa to be having this conversation with; he had no desire to start reminiscing about Elaine Varvara! But… whom else could Narcissa speak to? Who else would he want her to pour her heart out to? No one. He answered his own silent question forcefully.
"Go on?" he drawled, and although his voice was hardly encouraging, it was not entirely without warmth. Narcissa tugged her gaze away from the rolling waves to look up into her husband's face. She studied him carefully for a moment before speaking.
"But I don't know if she really did. If it's a memory or just a dream."
"Which would you prefer?" he asked carefully. She opened her mouth to speak, but then shook her head sharply.
"A dream," she hissed. "That would be the easiest; then I could keep hating her. Absolutely."
"Hating someone takes a lot of energy, Narcissa," Lucius said gently, raising a hand to catch her chin, tilting it so that her eyes were forced to meet his, "let it go."
Elaine should not have been able to hurt Narcissa any longer, but Lucius could not quite trust this reasoning. In theory, she should have lost the power to hurt her daughter long ago, ever since Narcissa had become his wife. He had been forced to watch helplessly as that was proven to be untrue. He released his breath in an angry hiss. "Why do you let them do this to you?" he demanded, his voice suddenly harsh.
"What do you mean?" Narcissa asked warily.
"Your parents. Why do you care what they once did, said, why do you let them wield this power over you?"
"I don't!" Narcissa snapped turning away abruptly. "I don't care anything about them!"
"You do!" Lucius snarled reaching after her and pulling her to stop as he spun her around to face him. "Why?"
She looked up into his face. Her eyes were bright with a mixture of anger and sorrow. How could she answer that? They were her parents, she wanted to cry at him, they were supposed to protect her, cherish her… love her. Love her. They didn't, hadn't - no one ever had, no one ever would.
"It doesn't matter," she whispered bleakly, bowing her head, and then trying, but failing, to escape him.
"You say that too often," Lucius sighed, pulling her suddenly into his arms, before brushing a light kiss atop the crown of her head. "I cannot stand to see how much they hurt you!" He suddenly growled against her hair.
Narcissa heard herself gasp, it was the only reaction she was capable of; what did he mean? What was he saying? That he cared for her? That seemed implicit in his declaration, but what if she was misunderstanding? Could she take that risk? She stared wide-eyed at Lucius' chest and tried desperately to think of something to say. Words had rarely ever failed her before, so why now when she needed them were they so elusive?
"Lucius," she began breathlessly, but never got to finish, because a sudden shout interrupted her.
"My lady?" A druidical voice called across the sand. Narcissa felt Lucius go ridged, and could have wept for the moment she had just let pass. "It is time."
-