Previously in the Darklyverse: Behind the scenes, Bellatrix Lestrange brutally took over the Death Eaters, positioning her in conflict with Minister of Magic Lucius Malfoy, with Narcissa caught in the middle.

xx

November 26th, 1982: Narcissa Malfoy

"I told you, Narcissa: I don't want Draco around her. She's unhinged and violent and completely unstable."

They're fighting about Bella again because of course they are: with her coming to the house every day for meetings, it would be damn near impossible to avoid the inevitable confrontations that result with Lucius every night. "She's my sister," says Narcissa, her voice quiet but firm. "You don't know what it was like for us growing up—the things she did for me—the things Dad put her through. I can't just leave her."

"She Cruciated me in front of Draco today. Right in front of him. Is that the example you want to set for him? Do you want him to see his parents tortured before his eyes every week? For god's sake, he's only two years old."

"Yes, but you're the one who keeps saying it's not too much for Draco to see and know what you lot do to Mudbloods. If you're going to insist on holding Death Eater meetings here—on involving him in your plans—"

"That's different." Lucius crosses his arms. "He needs to know what he's up against. He needs to know that we're not going to give up power this time."

And Narcissa—she feels a chill run down her spine at Lucius's words. She's sure Lucius didn't mean it this way, but that's the crux of it, isn't it? Narcissa married a Death Eater and supported the Dark Lord because she wants to see the world safe for her child to grow up without fear that Muggles and Mudbloods will take over and subjugate them, but Lucius—

She'd thought he was in it for the same reasons as she was, but ever since he became Minister, something's different, and it's getting stronger the longer the Dark Lord is dead and Bella is running the show. If the Dark Lord were Cruciating people in front of Draco—and it's not like he wouldn't have done—Lucius wouldn't have dared tell Narcissa he wanted to keep them separated: he would have been too terrified to speak out. But Lucius isn't terrified of Bella; Narcissa doesn't think he's terrified of anybody anymore. We're not going to give up power this time, he said, but she doesn't think he was talking about all of them, not really: she thinks he was talking about himself, his personal power as Minister.

"I still don't understand why you won't join us," says Lucius now. "I mean, you pick up enough at meetings when you're serving everyone. You're basically one of us already."

"Don't call me that," Narcissa whispers.

"What, a Death Eater? Why not?"

"I said don't call me that," she repeats, her voice trembling.

"But your husband is a Death Eater," Lucius reminds her. "That sister who embodies everything you say you don't want our son around—whom you won't let go of—is one, too. If you had a problem with Death Eaters—"

"I don't have a problem with Death Eaters. I knew what I was getting into when I married you, Luce, and I stand by it."

"Then come out with us tonight. Let me show you what it's really like out there—what good we're doing. Help us."

She hesitates. Narcissa isn't one to get her hands dirty; she feels safer knowing that there are Death Eaters out there on the front lines doing the tough work so that she and her son won't ever have to. But if she ever wants to understand her husband—to judge whether what he's doing is worth the sacrifice her family makes every day for him—

"One night," she whispers. "One. And I'm not taking the Mark."

"It's not like you'd need to," Lucius scoffs. "There's no Dark Lord left to summon by pressing it."

Narcissa purses her lips.

xx

The mask feels heavy and stifling; it's like the thing is weighing down her entire body. She knows this isn't rational—that she's treating it like a metaphor, a symbol—but she doesn't care: she still doesn't like the way it feels. "I'm going to choke when we get out there," she tells Lucius, picking at the sleeve of her robes. "I don't think I've actually dueled anybody since Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts."

"You'll be fine. Spells stick with you just like riding a broomstick does," Lucius reassures her. He takes her elbows in his hands and steers her to face him—or to face his own mask, anyway. She doesn't like the way it looks on him, either. "Don't try to use Crucio—stick to Confringo and Conjunctivito and Sectumsempra. Especially Sectumsempra: Snape designed it to be effective without any practice. At least he did that much for us before he betrayed us."

"Are we raiding Muggles or Mudbloods tonight?" she asks, tripping over the participle—"torturing" would have been more accurate, but the sound of it is so distasteful to her.

"I figured Muggles would be easier for you. It's not like the Mudbloods fight back much, but they're more capable, and you haven't done this before. I didn't want to make you more nervous than you already must be."

Fighting people who don't fight back—but that sounds like—

—but what did Narcissa expect, really? It's not like every raid on Muggles starts with a grand revelation of the existence of wizards—like the warriors wait to use offensive magic until the Muggles in question voice their vitriol and reveal efforts to stamp the Death Eaters out of existence with their guns and their knives and their hatred. She knows this already, and it would be disingenuous of her to pretend like she doesn't.

It's just—when Narcissa thinks about Death Eaters, she thinks about talking to Lucius late into the night about establishing a righteous world order without fear, without intimidation, oppressing the Muggles before they have a chance to claim their power back. A world without fear would mean that the Death Eaters themselves weren't inducing any fear in the other side, either—but all they do is deal in fear.

She shouldn't be doing this. She should be staying home with her son, not playing dress-up and going to war.

"How was work?" she asks in a ridiculous pantomime of small talk—in an effort to take her mind off of what she's about to do.

"A nightmare again," sighs Lucius. "With Pyrites running the Auror Office, we've got more control than ever over the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but we can't just come out as Death Eaters to our subordinates—every department is still full of witches and wizards who want somebody from the Light side to come and save the country. Rosier had a time of it getting the Obliviators to wipe the memories of everyone who saw the Dark Lord's body. He had to go above the Head Obliviator to put them on it, you know, and use Imperio to convince most of them to cooperate, and there was one who was a good enough Occlumens that he couldn't get her to do it—had to wipe her memory before he could even send her out."

He's fastening the clasps on his cloak as he says all this; when he's satisfied, he regards himself in the mirror for a moment before reaching for his wand. Narcissa can't see his face under the mask, but she'll bet you anything he's wearing a self-satisfied smirk as he surveys his own appearance. "Take my arm. I'll Side-Along you."

She takes his arm.

Later, she'll only remember this in flashes—

—the steel rasp of Wilkes's voice as he bellows, "MORSMORDRE!" and hurls the Dark Mark, smoky and sneering, into the sky—

—the screams—

—Wilkes's laughter, and Lucius's, too, so familiar yet perverted beyond recognition—

—the way her voice wobbles as she calls out a "Sectumsempra" and watches the blood begin to spurt from slashes in the old man's skin—

—the way no one, not a single person, comes to save him.

"Pity," says Lucius as they leave him there to bleed out and prepare to Disapparate. "Not having the vigilantes here to defend them really sucks the soul out of the thing, don't you agree?"

Wilkes seems to agree, but Narcissa doesn't. Narcissa doesn't know if she can ever look at Lucius the same way again.

xx

She bows out of the meeting after serving dinner the following night, claiming she needs to tend to Draco, but through the thin wall separating the rooms, Narcissa can still hear them. "Shouldn't we be more cautious than this?" Lucius is stammering above the silence. "Public favor may no longer be with the vigilantes, but it's not with the Death Eaters, either. If we go too far, we'll lose our legitimacy, and—"

"Too far? Too far?" Bella squeals in an almost girlish voice. "My Master is dead, and how are we honoring him? By hiding behind Ministry posts and lurking in the shadows? We ought to be proud to put filth in its place—to carry on his legacy!"

"But if we make it law to discriminate—"

"What is the point of being in power if we don't use the power we have? My Master didn't die so that you, Lucius, could hide like a little girl behind your Minister post and watch the Mudbloods run roughshod over us!"

Whatever Lucius may believe about power, leave it to Bella to put him in his place—no matter what he says or does in public, as long as Bella lives, she'll be the one pulling all the Death Eaters' strings. Narcissa, however, does not smile, because Lucius has a point. As far as Narcissa is concerned, this was is supposed to be about taking back control before the Muggles and Mudbloods can steal it, not about lording over them for the sake of it. Isn't it enough that the Mudbloods are living in terror of being attacked, that the Statute of Secrecy keeps purebloods protected from the Muggles? Where does it end?

When does Narcissa get her family back?

Bella breaks out her wand at that moment—Narcissa can hear the incantation and the cries—and it suddenly hits her, not for the first time, that she's been making excuses this whole time for Bella's and even Lucius's behavior out of loyalty when she's done the opposite for Andy, allowing her to rot in Azkaban and subsequently go into hiding for her choices. They haven't been close in a long time, but Andy's still her sister—and she doesn't Cruciate people in front of Draco's eyes. Andy doesn't Cruciate anybody at all: the vigilantes have never allowed themselves to use Unforgivables.

Narcissa's not saying Andy's on the right side of this war, but—maybe, maybe, neither are Bella and Lucius. If it's become about the torture for them instead of about justice… if Narcissa loses her family for them…

She doesn't do anything, not yet, but she allows herself to consider for only a moment the possibility of—

—and then she clears her head of it, brushes her thumb against Draco's cheek, and flashes him the sincerest smile that she can muster. "Everything's going to be okay, my little man," she whispers. "Your mum is going to sort it all out, and you're going to be safe as houses. I swear it."