A/N – Sorry about the delay. I find it harder to continue knowing how it's all going to end. Here is chapter 12, and for the first time I introduce Narcissa into the fic, because I quite like exploring her.

Earlier in this fic, some time in '02, I said that Sirius was the half-blooded son of an Irish muggle conman. That was before I'd heard of the Most Noble House of Black, which gives him, in my opinion, just a little more depth than the high-spirited Gryffindoric prankster I had no use for before. So now I would like to officially change his background to that which JKR outlined in OotP. I might even go back and change the earlier chapter.

Mad-Maudlin-42 – I'm sorry if I confused you. James Potter is most definitely pureblooded. It's only Lily and Kate who are not. (And you identified Churchill! Kudos!)

Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter or any of the canon characters and concepts. All the rest should be mine.

Chapter 12 - Doubts

At the breakfast table, Dominic de Sauvigny watched his cousin with troubled eyes. There did not seem to be anything different in his manner at all, but Dominic thought he could sense an extra tension, a subliminal tightening of the nerves – although he would never be able to truly read Luc, he had picked up some things in his years in Slytherin.

He'd had to. He had been born in a predominantly Gryffindoric Clan: his parents had been Gryffindors, and so had their parents been – he had been as innocent as a newborn babe in his first year at Hogwarts. If it hadn't been for Luc…

He was not a fool.

He knew what Luc had done in accepting him and Michel, acknowledging the blood tie that he could have justifiably ignored – and he was more than grateful for it. But he had heard the rumours going around Slytherin about Marcus Malfoy – that he had refused Augustus Snape's offer, and that he had been slated for further persuasion – and he was worried that the trouble Malfoy had drawn upon himself would reflect on his two sons, and by association anyone in the least connected to them.

He and Michel were too closely entwined with their bastard cousin. Caine would not take them back, now – not even if they went begging on their knees. They had burned their boats too thoroughly, allied themselves too publicly to his main rival in a way that he would never forgive.

If Luc fell, then where would that leave them? Where would it leave all their dreams of a new, rejuvenated House?

Dominic had invested too much time and effort into making his cousin acceptable, too much time discrediting and undermining Caine and courting his peers into supporting Luc, to see it all fail now.

"Even Dominic is caught up in the implications of Father's decision," Lucius said dryly, the day after they received their father's letter. "He sees all his efforts collapsing into nothing." They were sitting alone in their dormitory, snatching some time before the beginning of the day's lessons.

Luc scowled. "What, does he want me to go against our father's express wishes and join just so he can have a live puppet ruler?"

"I don't think he wants a puppet, brother, I think he just wants you alive. Your dear cousin is too rigidly honourable to think like we do."

"But he's not too honourable to suggest that I join Voldemort just to ensure my survival," Luc said darkly.

Lucius looked amused. "Well, it would make certain things much easier…" he began.

"No!" Luc snapped. "Merlin's Balls, no. I will not bend knee to a half-blood just for convenience's sake. And nor will I do it because of any pressure or harassment. If – and I say if – I ever take the Dark Mark, it will be because I choose to, and not before." He looked unusually grim, his brows drawn fiercely together, his eyes hard.

"They've been getting at you, have they?" Lucius asked quietly.

"Yes," Luc sighed. "They've been trying to court me, to intimidate me, to scare me –" he stopped, looked at his brother seriously. "They spoke of Kate."

"Ah."

"As you say." He stood up abruptly, prowled restlessly around the room. "I didn't believe him when Father told me she would become a liability. I still don't – but I can see his reasoning all too clearly, now…"

Lucius frowned, following his restless movements. It was not often that Luc revealed such doubts – usually, he took care to seem supremely unconcerned. "They're threatening her?"

"Threatening her, threatening me – threatening her sister and parents, too. Gods, Lucius, it infuriates me –"

"Father told us her house and family are well protected. The sister can look after herself – or else Potter will protect her – and you yourself are supremely capable of looking after your own. What's the problem?"

Suddenly, Luc stopped pacing, deflated. He turned back to Lucius, his eyes shadowed. "There are times when I wonder…" He trailed off, frowning in deep thought.

"What?" Lucius demanded, unsettled by this new side to his normally impassive brother.

But before Luc could finish, the door banged open and Snape entered, eyeing them both intently with his black, unreadable eyes. Since he had been initiated, Snape had been growing further away from them both – what small measures of trust they had ever had had disappeared, and all that was left was an empty shell held together by habit, irony and an appreciation for each other's intelligence.

His eyes darted to them both, the other boy said nothing, only collected his books in silence and went out, closing the door behind him.

But the moment had already gone, and Luc had resumed his habitual calm. Any inclination he might have had to confide his doubts had vanished – and Lucius could not help but be relieved.

The Slytherin girls were in full, vicious form that morning, their claws sharp and well practiced, their intentions utterly malevolent.

"Kate Evans?" Narcissa Black tossed her silver-white hair dramatically, eyes narrowed in feline spite. "She's nothing; a hollow reflection…"

For six years, they had had to put up with a mudblood in their dormitory, enchanting all of the most eligible Slytherin males, catching and holding the exclusive attention of Luc Malfoy himself – and now they finally had the chance to attack her, in the full confidence that Luc Malfoy would not – could not – protect her forever.

"Hollow?" her listeners asked, some of them genuinely interested, some of them merely sycophantic. "What do you mean?"

"She has no strength, no spirit of her own – even her opinions and thoughts are echoes of Luc Malfoy's. There is nothing of her beyond that blank mask." Narcissa's mouth set stubbornly. "I will never let a man control me like that…"

If Narcissa saw the swift, sidelong glances some of the girls exchanged at that, she made no mention of it. Her feminist leanings – an overt rebellion against a dictatorial, chauvinistic father – were no secret, but most of Slytherin doubted her ability to actually live up to them. It was a safer rebellion than her cousin Sirius', tolerated with bad grace on the understanding that, once she was married to a rich, eligible High Clan Lord, she would drop such foolishness and become a dutiful, obedient wife –

It was no wonder she hated Kate, really. The mudblood girl had, by automatic right of birth and upbringing, a freedom that Narcissa would never have. And no matter that she put on such a pose of submission to Luc, Narcissa knew that Luc listened to her, respected her, and gave her more freedom under his protection than Narcissa could ever dream of…

"Besides," she went on. "very soon, she'll be nothing at all. You'll see. Soon her beloved protector will come to his senses and abandon her, and then she'll find out what it's like on her own…"

"Well, Albus," Alastor Moody's head said grimly, flickering in the flames of the fireplace in the Headmaster's study later that night, "we're in for it now. Snape's sounded Malfoy out and has been refused."

Dumbledore sighed wearily and smoothed a hand over his beard. "Damn."

Minerva McGonagall looked puzzled. "Did you want to see Malfoy join with these…Death Eaters?" she asked.

"No, my dear," Dumbledore said gently. "But this means that they'll no longer try and sway him to their cause. They'll try and kill him now."

"Yes," Moody growled. "They'll take out the only moderate one in the whole bloody High Clan. And then we'll be in trouble."

"But surely there must be some others who don't support them?"

"Oh, I'm sure there are some," irony grated in Moody's voice, "just look at Harcourt, who came over to us after his father's murder two years ago. But Harcourt's only in the middle ranks – Malfoy has real influence. If they'd managed to get his support, it would have been a huge boost to their legitimacy. As it is, he's now the only one left who has the clout to really oppose them…"

"And you don't believe he can," Dumbledore stated.

"No. So watch those two boys like a hawk, Albus. We can't afford to lose old Marcus, only to have his son join wholeheartedly."

"But if their father dies," McGonagall asked, "won't that turn them the other way, towards us?"

Moody snorted. "Who knows how those bloody high class Slytherins think? I wouldn't put anything past them – they're cold blooded buggers, all of them. Even the children…"

Dumbledore looked troubled, clearly upset by the deep-set prejudice in that statement. But he didn't contradict him: McGonagall would remember that, later, after it had all gone so spectacularly wrong…

The air was so clear, high up in the Astronomy Tower. The night breezes, cooled by the beginnings of Autumn, swirled around the stone battlements and tugged at her hair, whipping it back into her face as she stared blindly out into the darkness. She was not looking at the shadowed buildings and grounds at Hogwarts, but into a future where one of the bulwarks of her life, one of the things she had thought of as absolute could be taken away from her, in the name of expediency, or family loyalty, or her own protection –

Wasn't it enough that she had given him everything she had? That she had done everything he had ever asked of her, given up her independence, her sister, her personality, so that she could stay by his side?

He had sworn to protect her.

But could he afford to?

She heard his footsteps behind her, and was not surprised. She'd known he would come, drawn by the same turmoil that troubled her – they even thought alike, now, after such a long, intimate association. She didn't turn around when his arms came around her, enclosing her in rich, heady, sandalwood scented warmth. His breath stirred her hair, whispered over her temples as he dropped a kiss over her hair.

"They threatened us," she stated quietly, relaxing into his hold.

She could feel his sudden tension, before he forced his muscles to relax. "Yes. I told them what they could do with their threats."

She almost smiled, but it died after only a moment. "You can't hold out against them forever. There will be too much pressure, from too many directions."

His arms tightened around her almost painfully. "I will protect you for as long as I must," he said, his voice hard, flat and utterly determined. "I swore it. Nothing will ever harm you, love, believe me…"

She said nothing.

Oh, love; I could almost believe you, when you say it with such conviction…

A/N – Ah, perhaps Marcus' sons are more pragmatic than he is. Or perhaps they're more innocent, in a way, and don't quite know the extent of what they're talking so casually about.

A canon question – I don't have a copy of Prisoner of Azkaban. Can someone please tell me whether Snape's unfortunate run in with Werewolf!Remus happened in his sixth year or his seventh? Thanks very much. I thought I'd put some Snape angst in the next chapter.

Thanks very much to all my reviewers. All your feedback is greatly welcomed.