Tainted Love

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.

N/B: Proofread by Kirixchi. Ratings change – this fanfic is now classified R.

Acknowledgements(s): Kirixchi, for writing the first half of the flashback and then allowing me to Aulizia-ify it, and for distilling the punch into some incredibly apt lines. ;c)

IMPORTANT A/N: Due to 's clampdown on incorrectly classified fanfics I have decided to err on the side of caution and increase TL's rating, given its adult themes and very occasionally profane language it's now rated R.

Tainted Love

Chapter Nineteen: Fear & Fury

Draco sat down on a granite boulder and stared out over the edge of the cliff. He was alone. Almost everyone else had left Tintagel. His distant cousins had gone, along with their parents and most of the other adults who had attended his grandmother's funeral. There were a few Druids still wandering around; Draco kept catching glimpses of them gliding among the ruins, but no one was paying him any attention.

He kicked at the mossy ground with the heel of his shoe. He didn't know where his parents were. Draco supposed that he could ask one of the lingering Druids. He got the uncanny impression that any one of them would be able to tell him exactly where his mother or father was, but for some unknown reason he was reluctant to do so. With a heavy sigh, he picked absently at the lichen growing on the rock beneath him and wondered what to do.

"Draco."

The teenage wizard tensed as someone behind him quietly uttered his name. The speaker had a cold, eerie, voice. His father's voice was often icy, but never… hollow. It was always imbued with substance and the faint possibility of a thaw, and this voice was not. Draco turned around reluctantly, to find that he was staring up into the face of his grandfather. He gulped uneasily; he didn't think that he had ever had to encounter his mother's father on his own before.

"I'm sorry she died," Draco blurted, when the silence lingered and he could think of nothing else to say. Adrian Varvara's face momentarily contorted in an ugly sneer.

"Don't be," he growled. "Death was a release."

Draco's grey eyes narrowed a fraction. That was a very strange thing to say, he reasoned slowly. His brow knotted in a frown as he stared up at his grandfather, trying very hard to unravel a little of the mystery surrounding the old man. He was desperate to know what his grandfather had done to earn his parents contempt.

"You look like your father when you make that face," Mr Varvara snorted disdainfully, strolling closer to where his grandson was sat. Draco got nervously to his feet as his grandfather's dark eyes bore into him. "I suppose you hear that you take after him quite often?"

"Sometimes."

Mr Varvara shook his head firmly. "You don't."

"Don't what?" Draco exclaimed with a start. His stomach began to twist. Hadn't he already guessed that he was a disappointment to his parents? Didn't he already know he would never live up to the impossibly high standards his father had set for him to follow?

"Don't take after your father," Mr Varvara clarified, "you may look like him, but that is not the same thing. Narcissa looks very much like her late mother, and yet there could not have been two women who were more different." He glanced down at his hands broodingly, and then his gaze returned to Draco. "I am not saying this to hurt you," Mr Varvara supplied smoothly. "I am saying it because you need to hear the truth. You are only half Malfoy. Just as all of this," he waved his hand around at Tintagel in a condescending manner, "is only half of who your mother is - she is more Varvara than she is willing to admit, as, much more importantly, are you."

"I don't know anything about the Varvaras," Draco argued quickly.

"Would you like to?" Adrian asked silkily.

"I don't-" Draco began, he had been about to say: I don't think my father would approve of that, but abruptly broke off. Why shouldn't he know about the Varvaras? He was sick and tired of his parents constantly keeping him in the dark! "I don't know," he corrected himself carefully. "What is there to know?"

"Oh a fair amount," Mr Varvara supplied lazily. "My own father, for a start, was a world famous racing broom designer." Draco's interest was piqued. He wondered if this had anything to do with his mother's dislike of Quidditch? "But I'm sure you knew that?" Adrian added slyly, watching as Draco shifted uneasily.

"Of course," he lied. Mr Varvara smiled shrewdly.

"And me? What have you heard about your old grandfather?" he pressed, lifting his eyes skyward so his grandson could not read the malice glittering in their depths.

Once again, Draco shifted uncomfortably; his grandfather was the only Varvara he had ever really heard his parents discuss, and never in very favourable terms.

Adrian chuckled darkly. "You needn't try to be diplomatic on my account. I am well aware your father dislikes me." He gave a deliberately indifferent shrug. "I only ever wanted the best for my little girl." He forced a heavy sigh. "No man was good enough for my daughter, not even the Malfoy heir. I am sorry to say that your father has never forgiven me for that."

"Dad can hold grudges," Draco conceded reluctantly, speaking slowly as if he was rather reluctant to do so.

"Well, that is not so much what pains me," Mr Varvara sighed again, suppressing a sneering quirk of his lips. "I only wish he had not taken his anger out on Narcissa." He watched his grandson's reaction very closely.

"What?" Draco started, and his eyes widened in troubled surprise.

"He refused to allow her to visit her mother and I at Cotehele, and Narcissa did so love Cotehele." His eyes glinted. "It was her sanctuary."

"Curious," a new voice interrupted softly, "I always considered Narcissa Varvara to have spirit enough to match any Malfoy man, even at the tender age of seventeen." Adrian turned on his heel, followed closely by his grandson. "I have never heard or seen anything to alter my initial opinion."

"Dumbledore," Mr Varvara spat.

"Draco, I believe your father is looking for you," Albus Dumbledore announced quite amiably. "I suggest you go and find him."

Draco could only stare opened mouthed at his headmaster. "Where is-" he began uncertainly, but his grandfather interrupted.

"I will help Draco find my son-in-law," Adrian snarled.

"How good of you, Mr Varvara." Dumbledore smiled. His blue eyes twinkled rather kindly at Draco, but darkened when he look back at Adrian. "I believe he is down by the caverns, waiting for your daughter."

"Sir?" Draco queried.

"Your mother has had to partake in an ancient ritual, Master Malfoy," Dumbledore explained. "However, she should not be too much longer. I am sure she would like you to be there when she returns from her ordeal." He paused thoughtfully. "Yes, I am quite certain she would like that."

..ooOOoo..

It was cold, so very cold, in the labyrinth of tunnels under Tintagel, cold and wet and dark. The ground was slippery and uneven underfoot, dropping away without warning. It would be all too easy to stumble and fall, and find oneself separated, lost and alone, easy prey for the creatures that inhabited the caverns to feast upon.

For this reason, no human was permitted to enter the caves without a direct descendant of Morgan le Fay. The beasts lay quiet when an heiress of their mistress was near. All the same, only the Druids were admitted into the caves even then. Narcissa wished it wasn't so. She didn't know exactly what she would find at the end of the murky, winding tunnels, and she wasn't entirely certain that she wanted to find out alone. It was a treacherous thought, one that Narcissa tried to quash, but she could not quite disregard the fact that she had wished it nonetheless...

She suppressed a shiver and tried to concentrate on taking a few deep, calming breaths in order to tempter her agitation. There was an unearthly sadness lingering about the place. The stale air hurt her throat and chilled her lungs, but was not high on her list of concerns. She had heard her late mother speak of the part she was to play in her funeral many, many years beforehand when her grandmother had passed away. As a young girl it had seemed a far distant event to Narcissa, something pushed to the very back of her mind and rarely thought on, something she never really expected to take part in…

She had never expected her mother to die. It was a ludicrous notion, but nevertheless it was also somehow true. Her mother had been a part of her life forever - never dependable, never loving, rarely even physically present, but always there –a strange but invariable constant. It was odd to think that she was really gone. Odd, Narcissa conceded, but not terribly upsetting. She could not truly miss something she had never experienced. If she was mourning anything it was the lost of an idea, an unrealised dream, and nothing more.

Narcissa shook her head, dismissing her musings so that she might concentrate on the moment at hand. The old Druid who had given the rites was a step behind her, and behind him, levitating her mother's body, two subservient members of the Order. The sound of their footsteps echoed horribly around the cavernous chambers, playing tricks on the mind so that it sounding like a whole army was descending into the inky black depths beneath the castle. Added to this, Narcissa was certain that she could hear the sea pounding against the cliffs. She wondered if they had dropped below the waterline, wondered how many tonnes of Cornish granite were held above her head.

She was trapped. Her chest tightened. She hated enclosed spaces. They reminded her too strongly of… of Azkaban. A melancholy wave hit Narcissa, and her breath caught in her throat as her shoulder bumped against the jagged side of the tunnel. The walls were closing in - she stumbled to a halt.

"Not much further." A low voice murmured softly,

Narcissa screwed her eyes shut for a moment. It would never do to reveal her anguish; she could barely understand it. She had only this one last task remaining and then she could return to Lucius and Draco and have them take her home. Home. With a sudden surge of strength she tilted her chin upwards and plunged on stubbornly. She could put this all behind her once she was back at the Manor, she could lock it away with every other unpleasant ordeal she had been made to endure during her lifetime and attempt to forget.

A muted glow illuminated the passage, mapping out the correct path to take as they were led on and on, deeper and deeper. The tunnel had become so narrow that Narcissa had to twist and shuffle along sideways, head bowed so as not to crack it against the sloping ceiling. She did not like to consider how the Druids were managing with her mother. Lucius, with his broad frame, would have found it impossible... but she would cope better if she tried not to think about that, about him. Narcissa proclaimed her independence far too often not to feel considerably unnerved by the way her mind, if left unchecked, longed for her husband's presence and support.

She hadn't realised it, but she hadn't felt truly alone for years. And now that she was, there was an awful, bubbling sense of panic rising through her body, making her stomach turn and her limbs tremble. She needed to see the sky, to breathe fresh air and feel the wind on her face, but, just as Narcissa thought her heart might burst with the pressure of the enclosed space bearing down upon her, she stepped out of the tiny passage into a vast natural chamber, which was lit by the same strange glow as the path that had led them there.

She gulped the air greedily, trying to steady herself, desperate to at least appear composed. Her eyes had long become accustomed to the dark, and so Narcissa scanned the cavern quickly, picking out the ancient stalagmites and stalactites that had formed over the centuries, twisting like distorted fingers that were clawing at the air. A large underground lake formed the foundation of the cavern. It was immense, disappearing into the darkness, and was skirted on all sides by a rocky beach of only a few feet.

"This is it?" Narcissa asked, her voice reverberated around the dank cave, joining the continuous echo of dripping water.

"This is the gateway, yes," supplied the old Druid. He motioned for the other two men to levitate Elaine down to the lake, where, although Narcissa had not at first noticed it, there was a wooden barge laden with flowers that even she could not name.

"The gateway to Avalon," Narcissa breathed quietly, her mother's final resting place. As her feet carried her forward, towards the pool of icy black water, she was aware of the three pairs of eyes that watched her every movement critically.

"You know what must be done."

"But I do not know how," Narcissa argued, a sliver of doubt snaking its way into her voice as she turned to stare up at the Druid.

"All you must do is open the gate," said the old man matter-of-factly.

"And how would you like me to do that?" Narcissa snapped, feeling foolish, as if she was undertaking a test that she had not bothered to prepare for. Perhaps it was just as well that Lucius was not present? If their places were reversed, he would know, he always knew, and he would despise her uncertainty.

"Step into the water and look for the light."

Narcissa raised an incredulous eyebrow, but had no choice other than to obey. She didn't bother to lift her skirts or even to remove her shoes; she simply stepped down into the freezing lake. A sharp hiss escaped her lips as the cold water covered her feet, biting into her ankles with the same intense sting as a knife cut. Wincing and swallowing a cry, Narcissa retreat within herself to escape the pain. She scoured the cave for the illusive light the Druid had mentioned, but finding nothing, dropped her gaze to the surface of water.

There were dots dancing in front of her eyes, so that for a moment Narcissa feared she might actually faint, until she realised that these spots in her vision were actually tiny little lights glowing beneath the surface of the lake. She squinted sceptically and bent a little closer. They looked like trapped stars, and they were scattered throughout the underground pool, but there was a concentrated beam leading off into the darkness. Narcissa followed it with her eyes, from the start of the trail to the furthest most point. She had always been able to manipulate water. It was a skill she had possessed for as long as she could remember, and so, again and again she repeated the gesture until the glassy surface of the water began to ripple.

Narcissa knew that there were fissures in the world, breaks between realities where the paths to lost cities and forgotten lands could be found. They were places of immense, inescapable sadness, for all that was great had passed, all that was renown lost, it was the strangest feeling to pass one of these cracks unwittingly. An inexplicable shadow would descend, and with it an unbearable pressure that bore down upon the heart, lifting only when one left the fractured site - with distance came relief and with relief - dismissal.

Narcissa's brow furrowed and her breathing became heavier as the sights and sounds of other worlds filled her mind: the bells of Lyonesse were tolling, the lights of Atlantis were glowing, the Priests of Avalon were chanting, she was speaking, but she did not understand her own words, and all the while the bittersweet sadness was growing stronger, building, swamping her senses until there was nothing left but blinding whiteness…

Narcissa stumbled backward into waiting arms that caught her clumsily. They stopped her fall, but not her brief slip into the unconscious. Narcissa had known one moment of aching, bittersweet sadness in her life that overweighed every other, and she was about to be forced to relive it…

OOoo..ooOO

She allowed herself to fold up like a concertina the moment she had completed her Apparation. She sat in a little crumpled heap beside the owlery at Cotehele; knees tucked under her chin, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Well what had she expected? Narcissa chided herself furiously, trying to rally even as she fought to ignore the twisting pain that was engulfing her heart. Lucius wasn't her lover! He wasn't even her friend! She had known when she gave herself to him that he was only asking for one night. She had understood that she was trading one moment of happiness for all her hoarded hopes.

But… Narcissa could not deny that she had foolishly clung to denial until the last possible moment… until she had woken that morning. The empty space in the bed beside her had forced Narcissa to accept the terrible truth. Lucius had left her, and was probably waiting in some other part of his house for her to leave, unwilling even to face her. She had done that at least. Narcissa had ensured that she left with her remaining self-respect intact: no demeaning scenes, no pleading, no begging. She had and would cling to her dignity; it was all she had left.

No. That was not entirely true, Narcissa corrected herself hesitantly as she shakily picked herself off the dewy floor - the intimate tenderness of her body a constant reminder, as if she needed one, of what had transpired the night before. She had memories too. They were like flowers pressed between the pages of a book. Someday she would lay them out, remembering each moment one by one, recalling the hours of springtime when they had lived.

Someday – but not today.

Her stilted steps led her up the garden path towards the house. Her house. Her house, but not her home. Narcissa's eyes fluttered shut as she recalled only minutes earlier when she had still been at the Malfoy's Manor, creeping through the kitchen gardens before Apparating back to Cotehele. The Malfoy's house had loomed above her so large that it had seemed to fill the sky, but even so, it had not seemed big enough to contain so much. Everything that she had ever wanted, every dream she could never claim, was locked inside its walls.

She pushed open the back door to Cotehele, tears pricking her eyes as she slunk inside. It had been so long since she had cried, so long since anything or anyone had possessed the power to make her feel. Lucius had brought her to life, but only for a moment, only for one night; now it was all over.

Narcissa crept upstairs. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in a mirror and suddenly paused. She looked… What? Narcissa willed her mind to name the change. Her hair and face and eyes all looked deceptively the same, but there was a glow, a shine, an energy to her body that marked her as a woman who had been… loved? She snorted derisively at the fanciful thought… wanted, for how ever brief a time. Still, Lucius had altered her, like an alchemist muting lead into gold. Her essential nature was changed. He might have taken something from her, but he had also, unwittingly, given something back.

Narcissa shook her head and fought hard against that notion. She wished that she could silence her mind, wished that she could force her whirring thoughts to still, that she could concentrate on the simple mechanical feat of placing one foot in front of the other, on skimming her fingers lightly against the wall as she headed for her room, on anything that would block out the memory of Lucius' skin against her own.

She made it numbly up the two flights of stairs to her bedroom without seeing another living soul, a fact for which Narcissa was immensely glad. She had not had time or energy to think up a plausible excuse for her absence. In fact, she was clinging to the faint hope that she might not have been missed at all.

She was not to be so lucky.

The second Narcissa stepped into her bedroom she could feel his presence. Her father was standing by the window, his back to the door. Narcissa's eyes narrowed suspiciously, he never, ever came up to her room.

"Where have you been?" His voice was frighteningly void of emotion. Narcissa took a backward step.

"With a friend."

"A friend?" Adrian Varvara repeated, turning so that his daughter could see the ugly, flushed colour of his skin. "Do you think me a complete idiot, Narcissa?" he demanded, crossing the room in a few swift steps, watching as his daughter simply shook her head silently. "Do you think I don't know what you've been up to?" he spat, wrenching Narcissa forward by her arm.

"I don't know-" she began defiantly, but a rough shake silenced her.

"I know," he hissed.

Narcissa bit her tongue and tried very hard to remain calm as her stomach turned over in horror. Exactly what did he know? She wondered frantically, trying to assess the damage that had been wrought. Did he know about Lucius or Voldemort or-

"I had a visit this morning from a very upset Isabelle Zabini." Adrian paused for a moment to let the words sink in. Narcissa felt all of the colour drain from her face, felt the acrid kiss of nausea burn the back of her throat as her father loomed over her. "You filthy little slut," he roared, catching his daughter off guard and striking her hard across the face.

Narcissa fell, heavily, cracking her head against the side of her bed. She whimpered, and then screamed as her father cruelly seized her by the hair and yanked her back onto her feet. Narcissa's hands curled around his, trying to loosen his hold and prevent him from actually scalping her. It didn't seem to be working very well; she could hear strands of hair being torn from her head as he marched her back across the room.

"As if Crouch is going to take soiled goods," Adrian spat, flinging Narcissa through the doorway so she landed in a heap at the top of the stairs. Wincing and writhing, she stayed where she was, wondering weakly how it was possible that Isabelle knew about her night with Lucius. "As if anyone of importance is going to touch you after you whored yourself to Malfoy."

"I didn't-" Narcissa choked, wanting to argue, wanting to explain that it hadn't been the seedy, sleazy affair her father imagined… and yet perhaps it had? What did she know? She had offered Lucius everything she had, everything she was, and he couldn't even bring himself to look at her the morning after.

"Didn't what?" Adrian hissed. His voice was deadly as he dragged his daughter to her feet again. "Didn't let him fuck you?"

Narcissa flinched, but stood her ground, refusing to speak to deny or confirm the accusation. Blood was mingling with the tears trickling down her face, oozing from the cut her bedpost had left on her temple. Even now, Narcissa knew that it had been worth it, even now, she wouldn't go back and change a thing.

"I asked you a question girl," Adrian snarled, as Narcissa's continued silence served only to stoke his anger.

"Adrian! Please, don't!"

Elaine Varvara's voice, from the very bottom of the stairs, sobbed and shrieked and floated up to meet Narcissa's ears. Something within her father seemed to snap on seeing his wife, and before Narcissa could register quite what had happened she was tumbling backwards. Her hands flailed, grasping at thin air as she was thrown violently down the staircase. She fell half way down the stairs before she hit the first hard wooden step, rolling the rest of the way before coming to rest on the wide square of flooring between the two staircases.

She groaned, winded, choking on the blood that was filling her mouth. Her whole body felt like it was being torn apart from the inside out. Her father was going to kill her. Narcissa wondered why he didn't at least use his wand… his wand… her wand. She still had it of course. Her fingers twitched, but the movement sent pain shooting down her side.

She didn't want to fight. She didn't want to die either, but at least then it would all be over. Then she wouldn't have to face the terrifying muted grief that the rest of her life must surely hold in comparison to the fleeting moments that she had spent wrapped in Lucius' arms. Narcissa stifled a sob. Would Lucius care… if she died? That was the thought Narcissa was wondering as the lights began to fade.

Her father was standing over her again, his mouth was moving, but she couldn't understand the words. A woman was screaming. And then she was falling again, only this time she seemed to be watching her body from afar. Narcissa frowned curiously as, like a broken rag doll, she hit every step on the way down the second staircase, landing in a twisted heap on the flagstone floor. She saw her mother sobbing hysterically over her body while red blood pooled beneath…

OOoo..ooOO

Narcissa regained consciousness with a gasp, and for one short terrifying moment she thought she was back in St Mungos. Except… hospitals didn't usually smell of the sea. Narcissa's eyes strained, trying to identify their surroundings, but everything was swathed in darkness. However, the sound of dripping water that met her ears, and the kiss of cold air against her skin, quickly betrayed Narcissa's location; she was still in the caverns, still at Tintagel. Narcissa struggled free from the unfamiliar arms that were holding her up, and then turned sharply to face the old Druid by her side.

"What happened?" she demanded, appalled by the quaver in her voice. They had left the lake. Her mother was gone.

"You fainted." There was the smallest flicker of smug satisfaction in the old man's eyes as he revealed this fact. "That can happen during the ritual to those of a delicate disposition," he smirked.

Narcissa's face contorted in a sneer quite worthy of her husband. She wanted to vehemently deny the Druid's taunt, and yet, if she did she would have to explain – and to explain that some of her memories were so terrible that her body physically shut down in a vain attempt to block them out was not something that she was prepared to admit to anyone.

Narcissa tried to smooth the scowl off her face, and then tried to replace it with a look of grief, as a daughter should wear. She wondered if her mother had finally found peace on the little lost isle of Avalon, if her soul was now at rest, or if she was doomed to wander the realm of the living, as miserable in death as she had been in life?

They were walking, Narcissa had hardly realised it until she saw daylight up ahead. She had never been scared of the dark, never been afraid of the night, but in that one fleeting moment she wanted nothing more than to run out into the sun. She didn't, of course; such an act would have been utterly beneath her, but the urge was there nevertheless: to bathe in sunlight, if only for a moment.

Once again she felt painfully hemmed in, each step she took was a little tenser, each breath a little shallower, until, finally, she emerged from the caverns. Narcissa was bowed down by too many weights to notice the pressure of one leave her shoulders, but she did feel warmth creep back into her limbs and stir her sluggish blood. All the same, she had barely let the sun kiss her face before a shadow blocked it out again. Albus Dumbledore was standing in front of her, nodding politely to the Druids as they passed by.

Narcissa's lips pinched into a thin, sour line. She doubted very much that he was here to offer condolences, and she had absolutely no desire to be reminded of the palaver of the last school year, of the diary; she refused to think about that mess and had been more than happy in her state of denial! Admittedly, she did have a sneaky suspicion that Lucius didn't actually mind his removal from the school governors as much as he had protested… Oh, but it was irksome! To have been bested by that beastly Potter boy… her hands clenched as she tried to remind herself that she was attending her mother's funeral and that such subjects were hardly appropriate for conversation.

"Headmaster." Her voice was cold, crisp just shy of being openly disrespectful. "I had no idea you would be joining us this morning."

"Nor did your husband I expect."

"I would not dare speculate on what Mr Malfoy does or does not know," Narcissa simpered innocently.

"Would you not?" Dumbledore mused. His eyebrows arched while his eyes twinkled their infuriatingly knowing twinkle. Narcissa was swept by the sudden urge to claw those blue orbs out of their sockets. "I would have thought there was little, if anything, Mr Malfoy knows which you do not."

Narcissa's breath was released in a quiet little hiss. Her feigned innocence had always been one of the Malfoy's greatest assets, and while the Hogwarts Headmaster seemed to have long suspected this was so, and thus dropped niggling little hints that he was not fooled by their bluff, he had never found any proof to support his theory. There was always a first time, a last time, and Narcissa could not suppress a small clutch of fear.

"I was not aware you knew my mother," she said as calmly as she could manage, ignoring the Headmaster's statement as if it had not been spoken. The indulgent twinkle had turned into more of a dangerous glint, she noted.

"I didn't," he said, in a tone of voice that suggested it was perfectly normal to arrive at the funerals of people one did not know. "But, of course, I knew of her legacy." Narcissa rather thought he enjoyed her annoyed frown. "Your legacy. Tell me, Narcissa-" Dumbledore paused, smiled, and corrected himself, "-forgive me, Mrs Malfoy, who will see you off to Avalon when you pass away?"

"No one," she said shortly, as if nothing could be plainer, "when the time comes, I have every intention of being lain to rest in the Malfoy vault alongside my husband."

Narcissa had given this assertion a surprisingly little amount of thought. She had certainly never spoken about it before. Narcissa did not like to think that she did things by halves, when she had married Lucius she had accepted everything that went along with that life altering decision, even those alternations that would take effect after her death.

Dumbledore nodded his head slowly, and for the shortest time imaginable Narcissa thought she glimpse a grudging flicker of… respect… in his eyes, but then he spoke and it was gone:

"Loyalty, you know, is often thought the very noblest of qualities, but if that loyalty is misplaced it can be the very worst."

"And riddles, Headmaster," Narcissa countered, unabashed, "are a wonderful way of saying the things we fear to state openly."

Dumbledore simply nodded, looking suddenly very old and very wise, while Narcissa felt like a child ignorant of the workings of the world.

"I advise you to keep him out of trouble Narcissa; you will not save him a second time."

..ooOOoo..

Lucius had watched his wife emerge from the caverns from afar, and experienced a surge of relief that was rather troublingly impossible to deny. He had been waiting for over an hour, his body unmoving, his gaze unflinching, studying the cave mouth. Lucius had a fair vantage point from the spot he had chosen, elevated slightly so that he could see but not be seen from below. It would never do to appear as though he was anxiously waiting…

As the minutes ambled by, he had occupied himself by considering the exact nature of Tintagel. It was quite the Muggle tourist trap. Lucius fought off a disgusted sneer. There were incredibly powerful glamours cast over the Druidical realm of the castle to keep the Muggles at bay of course, but why the Druids permitted this obvious taint on such a sacred sight Lucius could not for the life of him understand. Or rather, he could understand, he knew why, he just did not accept the reasoning behind the decision.

It was well known that Tintagel claimed to be the birthplace of King Arthur, a Mudblood who had become the Muggle's king, possibly the greatest king the country had ever known. Arthur was still very much alive in the hearts of the people, and so the Druids insisted that they did not have the right to prevent the non-wizarding population's pilgrimage to Tintagel. Lucius frankly thought they were giving the Muggles far too much credit. He failed to see how they could class an afternoon of brainless sightseeing as anything so sanctified.

Thoroughly irritated by this train of thought, Lucius had turned his full attention back to the cavern that Narcissa had disappeared down. He could not believe that she had gone alone, could not bear that she was beyond his reach…

Lucius's gaze had became riveted so very intently on the cave mouth that he failed to notice a figure moving closer until it was too late to intervene. He became aware of Albus Dumbledore's presence at precisely the same moment as Narcissa. Powerless to avert the meeting Lucius had only been able to play the role of passive spectator.

He was unable to hear what was being said, but Narcissa's body language betrayed her thoughts. If she held herself anymore stiffly she would snap. Lucius clenched his own jaw, griped the silver snakehead crown of his cane tightly, and prepared to wander down the grassy path that led to the cavern's entrance- except he was thwarted.

"Lucius," hissed a decidedly serpentine voice.

"Good morning, Adrian," Lucius sneered, without even turning to look in his father-in-law's direction. There was a chuckle of soft, silky laughter that grated on Lucius' nerves like fingernails running down a blackboard.

"Draco and I-"

This time Lucius' head did snap around to the side, a reaction that caused his father-in-law to pause smugly. Lucius seethed; his son, his son, was standing beside Adrian Varvara. Did the boy need constant supervision to keep him out of trouble? The urge to physically wrench Draco away from the loathsome man was so strong that Lucius' grip on his cane threatened to permanently embed silver and leather in the palm of his hand.

"I was under the impression we had discussed what would happen to you if you approached my son?" he drawled.

"Ah now Lucius, is my seeing, or not seeing, my own grandson really a decision for you to make alone?" Mr Varvara gave a calculated sigh, while the insultingly condescending tone of his voice nearly caused Lucius to choke in disbelief.

"Clearly the grief has gone to your head if you think Narcissa wants you anywhere near Draco," he snarled dangerously, once he had recovered, momentarily satisfied by the hostile scowl that rested on his father-in-law's brow.

"Well perhaps Draco has an opinion of his own on the matter?"

Draco visibly paled as the two men turned to him. He glanced between his father and grandfather; the former was looking absolutely furious, while the latter was smiling in the most frightening manner that Draco had ever seen. He gulped nervously and stayed silent.

A cold smirk twisted Lucius' lips. "Tripping over himself in his eagerness to visit you at Cotehele isn't he?"

"I didn't hear him say that he didn't want to come," Adrian barked.

"I didn't hear him say anything."

Draco sagged and shot his mother a thankful glance. She had just appeared at his side, completing their little circle, standing between him and his father and opposite his grandfather. Draco felt some of the tension seep from his body; he had developed a strange, implicit belief in his mother – if she was present then nothing too bad could happen to him. She had said that she loved him that day at the station, and all of a sudden he understood - he believed her.

"Narcissa," Adrian spat his daughter's name disdainfully.

"I should like to leave now," she announced calmly, turning to Lucius, ignoring her father as if, not only he hadn't spoken, but as if he wasn't even present. Narcissa watched with some relief as her husband nodded, acquiescing to her request, however Lucius was not actually afforded the opportunity to speak.

"Then leave. Rumour has it you are quite the independent women, I'm sure you don't require an escort. You are not needed here," Adrian continued cruelly, "but Draco and I were having a most enlightening conversation, and things were becoming highly interesting."

"I cannot imagine that my son would have anything to say to you," Narcissa stated coldly, absorbing her father's barbs with at least no outward sign distress, but inside she was bleeding. Lucius had heard that curt dismissal, Draco had witnessed it, and all the while Dumbledore's threat was still echoing inside her head.

"Your son?" Mr Varvara reflected on this while an ugly grimace twisted his lips. "Ironic isn't it, how you required a daughter to continue all of this," he said with a dismissive wave at the ruins, "and yet you got him-" Draco visibly flinched, "-and all I needed was a son and I got saddled with-"

"Enough!" Lucius interrupted his father-in-law furiously. He had listened incredulously to Adrian's onslaught, temporarily unable to speak through his fury. Thankfully he found his voice at this critical moment. "Or are you in a particular hurry to join your wife?" he growled darkly.

"You cannot touch me here, Malfoy," Adrian gloated, but Narcissa could have sworn she saw a faint flicker of fear alight her father's dark eyes. It made her feel slightly better.

"We're going," Lucius snapped, his hand clamped down on his wife's arm, more tightly than was necessary.

"Goodbye Draco," Adrian said pointedly, "do give some thought to what I said earlier. You have potential." He paused, letting the Malfoys walk almost beyond hearing range before adding; "You can't help who your parents are, after all. I pity you your mother, I'm certain she doesn't have a maternal bone in her body-"

Lucius stopped dead. He had been attempting to feign deafness, but there were some lines he would not see crossed! Draco almost walked into him, lost in his own thoughts, but had the sense to step to the side when his father pivoted on the spot, turning to face Mr Varvara.

"-but of course, that's not what you keep her around for, is it Malfoy?"

Lucius attempted to swallow, as if he could somehow maintain control if he could manage to execute that tiny act, as if he could somehow quash down his threatening rage and prevent it from overflowing, but his throat felt tight and his muscles rigid. He swapped his cane from his right hand to his left, balling his fist subconsciously as he stalked back towards his father-in-law.

Narcissa watched the scene unfolding, almost paralysed with dread. Her father looked perfectly confident in the knowledge that his son-in-law had no power within the Druid's realm. As she had told Lucius and Draco earlier, all magic was a mere distorted echo of itself around Tintagel. She bit down on her lip nervously. Her father raised a calm eyebrow as Lucius drew closer before stopping, and then he laughed, he actually laughed.

"I told you, Malfoy, you cannot touch me here."

Lucius dipped his head momentarily to the side; he would kill the man with his bare hands if he had to look at him for another second. When he trusted himself to glare back at Adrian, his face was a mask of forced calm. His lips twisted in the coldest, cruellest smile imaginable, and then he allowed himself to snap.

Adrian's eyes barely had time to widen in shock before the air was filled with the sharp crack of leather on skin. The sound seemed to linger, stretching out endlessly as Lucius's fist connected with Adrian's jaw and the older man's neck snapped back. He fell, inelegantly, sprawled on the grass.

Lucius permitted himself a contemptuous sneer, even as he restrained himself from doing more. He relaxed his fist, dusting the back of his glove as though the mere touch of Adrian Varvara had polluted it. Then, as if unaware of the shocked gasps and stares that followed in his wake - for a number of Druids had happened upon the fight - he twisted on his heel and returned calmly to the side of his wife.

The expression on Narcissa's face was one of complete disbelief. Her eyes were wide and stunned, and her hands were raised to her slightly parted mouth. She looked at Lucius and blinked three times. Once- her hands fell away from her face, twice- her lips closed while her eyes narrowed, three times- she was herself again: utterly unreadable.

The drugging adrenaline that had carried Lucius through the moments before began to fade away, replaced by a tinge of dread. He was not given to brawling in public- save one memorable occasion when he had taken Draco to purchase his schoolbooks the year before, but this was different. This was a punch he had been restraining for fifteen years. It was the first payment on a debt already long overdue.

Now might not be the time for a full accounting, and his method of reckoning was questionable to say the least, but if Narcissa could not at least see that he had been acting with her best interests at heart then Lucius despaired of ever being able to reach her… and he did want to reach her, he realised. He just wasn't sure that he could.

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