Previously in the Darklyverse: Canada declared war on Britain. Narcissa reached out to Andromeda about switching sides.

xx

January 25th, 1983: Narcissa Malfoy

Wars between wizarding nations are a funny thing. There are no armies, for one: they're typically fought with governments targeting governments. The British Ministry fortified the hell out of its building the second Canada declared war, making the Ministry building inaccessible to any foreign agents and warding it against attacks, and Narcissa is guessing that the Canadian Ministry did all the same things. Since large gatherings of Ministry officials are now glaring targets for Canadian attack, Narcissa and Lucius have taken the same protections against Malfoy Manor, which remains the Death Eaters' usual meeting place, and others in Lucius's administration have done the same to their own homes, lest they fall victim to what they themselves did to those Canadians yesterday.

Lucius keeps asking her to get more involved in the war effort—to at least fight on Britain's behalf even if not on the Death Eaters'. He insists on differentiating between the two, since the British Ministry isn't officially behind the terrorist attacks that constitute Britain's civil war. For her part, however, Narcissa increasingly sees no difference between them.

The flash and bang of a camera shuttering distracts her from her train of thought. She's in the Atrium of the Ministry building at a press conference for Lucius, where it's her job to nod and simper and act like she isn't waiting on tenterhooks to hear back from the resistance movement. She doesn't understand why Lucius hasn't called her out yet on how cagey she's been acting lately about his politics. No, scratch that: Narcissa knows exactly why he hasn't called her out, and it's because he's too busy instilling fear in this country to notice.

"I want to thank all the great witches and wizards of Britain for their tenacity in the face of this crisis," Lucius says now. Narcissa can sense a badly-timed tantrum coming on from red-faced Draco, whom she shushes and starts to bounce beseechingly on her hip. Lucius continues, "We're now at the end of the second day of the war with Canada. We've bolstered the wards on the Ministry building, but I'm sorry to report five more British casualties today: Albert Eldar, Lenka Korn, Jackson Malte, Autumn McLaggen, and Camilla Vane. Four of the five were Aurors, whom it appears the Canadians have decided to target, while Jackson was a Hit Wizard.

"Make no mistake: your Ministry will not stand for this military interventionism. The vigilantes Canada is harboring remain a danger to the integrity of our society as long as they go free. We will not tolerate Canada's attempts to interfere in our lawful punishment both of those who mass escaped from Azkaban and of Albus Dumbledore, who, as the leader of the vigilante movement, violated dozens of laws and whose fate should be determined by no foreign government.

"So let me make this appeal to the Canadian Ministry of Magic: withdraw now, and we will give you amnesty. Withdraw now, and we will uphold the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy that you so desperately cling to. Quietus."

Lucius gives a coy, curt nod to the press and ignores the questions they shout at him as he steps off to the side, up to Narcissa and Draco, and kisses her on the cheek. "Minister Malfoy! Does this mean Britain is threatening to violate the Statute of Secrecy if Canada doesn't surrender?" she can hear one reporter calling after them. "How much consideration has the Ministry of Magic given to the consequences of revealing ourselves to the Muggles? What do you have to say to those who would argue that dominance over Muggles is exactly what You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters want?"

Lucius lays a hand on the small of her back and steers her and Draco toward the fireplaces. "Ignore them," he says in a low voice. "Better to leave Canada afraid of how far we'll go."

The Canadians aren't the only ones afraid of how far Lucius will go, Narcissa thinks bitterly. She puts her free hand in her pocket and fingers the edge of the blank sheaf of parchment that arrived in the owl post this morning. She doesn't pull it out, but she's memorized exactly what it says: a time and the address of a house on the west coast of Canada. There's no signature, but the handwriting, when revealed, is a perfect match for Andy's—and Andy is one of only three people left alive in the world who know the spell that Narcissa used to make the writing appear on the parchment this morning.

She hasn't seen or spoken to Andy in—god, how many years has it been now? Almost ten? They were practically still kids the last time they saw each other: Andy was eighteen, Narcissa seventeen. She wonders what Andy will look like—whether she'll still resemble who she once was or will have dramatically aged or changed. Narcissa can still remember precisely how Andy appeared when they lost contact, and it makes her sad, somehow, to think that the version of Andy Narcissa preserved in her mind no longer exist.

She's not just talking about physical changes, of course. The last time they spoke, Andy couldn't even summon the guts to warn Narcissa that she was about to elope with a Mudblood. Now, Andy apparently was comfortable going so far as to become a vigilante, break dozens of laws, go on the run, and—perhaps most striking of all—face Narcissa again all these years later with her crimes laid bare for Narcissa to see and critique.

Not that Narcissa is planning on criticizing Andy much. She may have made it clear in her letter that she still strongly disagrees with many of Andy's politics, but Narcissa knows full well that she's going to have to bite her tongue and make nice if she wants a chance in hell at Andy doing anything to get Narcissa and Draco out of this mess.

Here's the tricky part: Lucius will be at work, but Draco is always with Narcissa in the afternoons. He's old enough and talking enough now that he could inadvertently reveal where they went to Lucius if Narcissa brings him along to meet Andy. So when Lucius is in his meeting that night, after Narcissa serves everyone dinner, she puts Draco to bed and does a head Floo over to Viola Nott's house, where Narcissa plays up her complaints about never having any time for herself anymore between raising Draco full-time and being the Minister's wife.

"Why don't you bring Draco over for a while later this week?" Viola suggests after about five minutes of nodding and agreeing. "I'm sure Theodore would be happy to see him, and you can take a few hours to take care of yourself."

They make plans for tomorrow around two o'clock, which should give Narcissa enough time to make small talk with Viola to assuage any suspicion before she's got to get to Canada. Three o'clock tomorrow afternoon, she reminds herself. She's just got to wait until three o'clock tomorrow afternoon, and she'll Floo to Vancouver and make plans for something more than this, something better than this, for her son.

xx

Narcissa isn't sure what she was expecting to see when she stumbles out of the hearth into what must be Andy's living room, but it's not what she gets—a spiky pink-haired preteen who takes one look at Narcissa and hollers while staring straight at her, "MUM! DAD! What the hell is the Minister's wife doing in our fireplace? I know there's a war going on, but isn't asylum supposed to mean Mum's crazy family has to leave us alone?"

It's not like Narcissa doesn't remember that Andy had a daughter shortly after she ran off with the Mudblood, but she didn't actually think she'd be confronted with the sight of her the second Narcissa arrived in Canada. Besides, she wasn't expecting Nymphadora to be so—well—punk.

"It's fine, Dora. She's here to see Mum. You better get to the bus stop before you're late to school," calls the voice of a man who Narcissa realizes with a jolt must be Andy's husband, Ted. It takes her a second to connect the dots: if Nymphadora is busing to school instead of Flooing there, she must be enrolled in some Muggle school somewhere.

"Oh, come on," says the girl loudly. "You can't just send me off without an explanation."

"Go on before I take it upon myself to walk with you," the Mudblood calls back.

He's obviously joking—Narcissa can hear it in his voice—but Nymphadora still scowls and grumbles something about being humiliated by him. She still hasn't taken her eyes off of Narcissa but doesn't appear to be in any hurry to otherwise acknowledge her directly.

"Hello," says Narcissa just to break the tension.

"MUM! DAD! Narcissa Malfoy is talking to me!"

"Don't be rude, honey," comes a terribly familiar voice. Narcissa looks up and back to find Andy hurrying around a corner into the room. "That's my job."

Narcissa was expecting to feel sad or something when she saw all the ways Andy has changed, but Andy doesn't look much different than the way Narcissa remembers her—possibly because she still looks so much like Bella, whom Narcissa saw as recently as last night. Andy's soft brown hair is pulled in a sloppy bun at the base of her neck, and her lips are pursed in a frown. "Hello, Cissy."

"Hi, Andy," says Narcissa far too meekly.

Nymphadora keeps looking avidly between the sisters until Andy sighs, "Go on, Nymphadora. The bus will be on the corner any second now."

Nymphadora huffs but obeys—and then Narcissa is alone with her middle sister for the first time in twelve years. It's strange how little time it feels like has passed as she looks at Andy's kind eyes and hunched posture and hands that fly by habit to her hips, just like they always did when she was eighteen years old and practically still a kid—but she's not still a kid. She betrayed her family twice over and went to Azkaban for it, and Narcissa vowed years ago that she had no sympathy left for Andy, that what Andy did was unforgivable, that she was gone from Narcissa's life—but, for a fleeting second, it feels like they could still be at Hogwarts, sitting together in the Slytherin common room and poking fun at Mum and Dad's latest letter to them.

"You look good," Narcissa stammers.

Andy shrugs.

"I missed you." She didn't, not really, but she thinks she misses Andy enormously now, standing in her living room and trying to imagine what she's thought of Narcissa for all these years.

Andy's face goes beet red; her cheeks puff up as if her yells are hovering on the verge of spilling out, but they don't, not yet, not for a long moment. Finally, she says in a deathly quiet voice, "It's been almost twelve years, Cissy. If I mattered that much to you, you could have picked up a quill."

"You don't know what it was like," she pleads. "It was like you didn't even exist anymore, and not just because of the way they stopped talking about you—you didn't say a word to me about what had happened or any of it. I followed your lead."

"I was scared," Andy hisses, her eyes narrowing. "I didn't know who to trust—whether it was safe to reach out—whether, if I tried, you'd just go running back to Bella with my letters until she agreed to shut me up—"

But Narcissa isn't here to do this. Narcissa is here for a reason, and she can't do a damn thing to protect Draco if she gets on Andy's bad side. She can tell that her nostrils are flaring, but she does her best to swallow her pride and says, "Andy, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that we left you alone. You still… you've always been my sister, even if you—" She breaks off abruptly, fully aware that she's going to alienate Andy further if she says what's on the tip of her tongue. "I'm sorry," she repeats eventually, feebly.

Andy's lips twitch, almost as if she's trying not to smile. "So you want to defect, huh? I have to admit, I didn't see that coming."

"Neither did I," Narcissa admits. "I still… I'm not like you. I can't just ignore or forget everything I ever learned about what makes Muggles dangerous, but what they're doing—what Lucius is doing—it's not about protecting ourselves anymore. I don't want Draco to grow up around the kind of violence that…"

Andy sighs. "You're lying to yourself if you think it was ever about anything other than power. How many times did Mum and Dad preach to us about giving the Muggles a taste of what they used to do to us before the Statute of Secrecy?"

"How could you turn away from it?" asks Narcissa softly. "You know. You know how they used to treat us—what they'd do to us if we exposed ourselves—and you risked your life and broke the law to try to protect them. I don't understand."

Andy gives her a wry smile. "What our kind does to them isn't right, either. Becoming them isn't the answer. I have to believe that there's a better way—a middle ground—and I think you must, too, if you went to the trouble of contacting me."

She looks down. "I don't want Draco growing up around violence."

"I hate to break this to you, Cissy, but there's going to have to be more violence before there can be less. There are only two ways this can end: either Britain wins the war and destroys itself, or Canada wins and punishes the guilty—and it will see Lucius as guilty. In either scenario, the best we can hope for is that the bloodshed will be short and fast before it comes to an end."

Narcissa hesitates. "Draco isn't supposed to grow up without a father."

"Would you really rather he grow up a Death Eater? I mean, that's where he's headed if Britain wins, isn't he?"

"I married a Death Eater."

"Because you love Lucius," says Andy simply. "You love him in spite of his failings—but Draco doesn't have those failings, not yet, and it's in your power to decide what becomes of him."

As much as Narcissa hates to admit it, Andy has a point. She pictures the look that's on Lucius's face every time he comes home from a kill—pictures Draco growing up to wear that same look in those same circumstances. She wavers for a moment, then whispers, "Tell me what you need me to do, and I'll do it."