Previously in the Darklyverse: Narcissa and Sirius plotted to mass kidnap the Death Eaters as the Order of the Phoenix was forced back into hiding, this time by Canada.

xx

February 9th, 1983: Narcissa Malfoy

Really, all Narcissa wants is for life to return to normal—or to the closest thing Narcissa can call normal, anyway. Lucius was already a Death Eater by the time she married him, of course. In retrospect, it's hard to look back on the early days of their marriage and know what Lucius was already becoming—that he was torturing and killing not to protect the pureblood lines, not to accomplish some sacred duty, but for sport. Still, she longs for that time when Lucius's priority was his family—when she felt she had no reason to question his intentions.

And it's not just Muggles and Mudbloods that Lucius and his ilk are targeting: it's the whole damn Canadian Ministry, and on top of that, it's anybody in the British Ministry who refuses to fight. By now, Narcissa doesn't know what exactly the Death Eaters think the point of all this violence is supposed to be. Doesn't it get tiresome—wear them out—to make kill after kill after kill? By the end of it, if they ever do end all this, who will even be left in the wizarding world for Lucius's administration to subjugate?

Of course, the end of this war is coming up faster, a lot faster, than even Lucius could predict, and that's directly because of Narcissa and her stupid bloody plan to get involved in the Order of the Phoenix. Communication has been increasingly difficult ever since the Order got themselves sealed off from the rest of the world and went into hiding not just from the Death Eaters but from Canada, too. But that doesn't matter: the next letter Narcissa gets will contain instructions on how to Stun everyone at the next Death Eater meeting, and then, the fate of society will be entirely in her hands.

She doesn't like having that responsibility on her shoulders. She especially doesn't like it because she's not sure anymore which side she's supposed to be on. Narcissa can't stand by and condone what Lucius has done to this family—how little he's prioritized Draco lately, the violent example he's set for the son who adores him—but how can she turn right around and support the people who would just as soon see the Muggles turn around and do to wizards what wizards have been doing to them in retaliation?

So when the letter does come in the post one Wednesday morning, Narcissa does the only sensible thing she can think of and stuffs it in her robe pocket after reading it. The next Death Eater meeting isn't until tomorrow evening; there's no reason at all that she should trouble herself worrying about it until then.

But it does trouble her. It troubles her so much that Lucius actually asks her what's wrong later that day, about ten minutes after he gets home from work. "What's the matter with you?" he asks so carelessly that she almost cringes. "Did something happen?"

"No, nothing," she deflects. When Lucius looks like he doesn't believe her, she gives Draco (who's playing with blocks at her feet) a kiss on the forehead and adds without meeting Lucius's eyes, "It's just been hard having you away from home so much every day."

Lucius scowls. "I thought you were with me on this. What I'm doing is important. It's making the world safer for Draco."

But that's just the thing: Narcissa doesn't think anymore that Lucius is making the world safer for Draco. And then it hits her—

She's sure Draco will be harmed by having an absentee father, but she's suddenly even more sure that there are hundreds of helpless eleven-year-old kids out there who are going to find out in September that they and their parents could be killed for something they never asked for, never wanted. Draco may not have to worry about Death Eaters attacking his family, but a lot of other children won't be and haven't been so lucky.

She can feel her lower lip starting to wobble. "Excuse me," she says and ducks out of the room even as Lucius calls after her, "Narcissa? Narcissa!"

How did the wizarding world become such an ugly place? Sure, all Narcissa has wanted for a long time now has been for the violence to stop, and that's included the fear that she and so many other purebloods harbor for the Muggles who would have them burned at the stake if they found out about the existence of witches and wizards. But what if Andy has a point? What if there are Muggles and Muggle-borns out there who don't want to do purebloods in—who want the same world Narcissa wants? What if wizards' would-be Muggle oppressors, just like the Death Eaters, are a slim minority of all of them out there?

She thinks she might start crying if she doesn't find a way to pull herself together, so she reaches into her robe pocket to fish out Andy's letter and reread the instructions on how to use the Mass Stunner and where to Apparate the Death Eaters afterward—

But the letter isn't there. Shit. It's not there.

The first thing she thinks is that she needs to use a Summoning Charm. It'll raise Lucius's suspicions if he's in the same room as the thing and sees a sheaf of parchment hurtling through the air and under the bathroom door to her, but at least that way she'll get a hold of the thing before he stumbles across it on his own and, god forbid, reads it. But Narcissa hasn't got her wand on her—she thinks she left it on the table when she got the blocks out for Draco to play with. She's going to have to go back out there, and if she uses it right in front of Lucius, he's going to think—

She starts retracing her steps mentally, trying to remember exactly which rooms she's been in since putting the letter in her pocket where the thing could have fallen out. Why does she live in such a huge manor? Why couldn't she have done like stupid James Potter and stowed her family's fortune in Gringotts while living in a sensible two-bedroom cottage? Do she, Lucius, and Draco really need all this space?

Narcissa can feel herself starting to panic. She gets up from where she's sitting fully clothed on the toilet to study herself in front of the mirror. There's a blush in her cheeks; her eyes are round with wide pupils; she's breathing rather heavily, and she does everything she can to take controlled breaths in order to slow herself down. Lucius can't find out what she's planning. She can't allow that to happen.

When she has it almost under control—she doesn't think she can get herself fully under control tonight—she unlocks the bathroom door and pads back out to the sitting room where she left her husband and son. Lucius has busied himself playing with Draco, and Narcissa allows herself a moment to just watch them and pretend that it's always like this—that Lucius is always home to raise his son with her and not off killing Muggles or leading covert meetings or getting pulled into last-minute meetings at the Ministry. "Sorry," says Narcissa hesitantly, and Lucius looks up. His face is unreadable. "It's just been hard, you know, being in the house alone with him all day, but I understand what you're trying to say."

The corners of Lucius's mouth turn down. "Malcolm Nott said his wife mentioned that you've told her you've been having trouble lately. Is it anything I need to be worried about?"

Not for the first time, bitterness starts to rise up in her chest. Yes, she thinks. "No," she says instead.

Her eyes fall on what she assumes is Andy's letter, which is lying on the ground some ways behind them near the door that leads into the ballroom. Has Lucius noticed it? Did he open it? She wasn't in the loo long enough for him to read it, drop it again, and busy himself with Draco, was she? Still, Narcissa feels like she can't breathe until, finally, Lucius leaves the room and she can snatch it back up for safekeeping.

All evening, she keeps second-guessing every move Lucius makes, wondering if the stiffness in his lip or his stilted speech is a sign that he knows more about what Narcissa has been up to than he's letting on. But nothing happens.

"You've really outdone yourself," Lucius remarks as he surveys the platters of roast lamb with mint sauce and steamed asparagus that Narcissa lays on the table. "Get Draco settled, will you? I'll get the wine."

He plucks up the two glasses waiting for them on the table and swooshes away. For a moment, Narcissa just stands there and reflects on how bizarre it is that they sit at opposite ends of such a long table every night, as far apart as if there were an ocean between them, and there is one there, isn't there? She wants to get closer to him, but she's too afraid of what he'll do—what he'll find in her. She may not be the person he married anymore, but, well, neither is he.

They used to have so much to say to each other. Now, Narcissa just sips on her wine and pokes at her lamb and asks quietly, "How was work?"

Lucius rolls his eyes. "No better than it ever is these days, but, you know, I think it's going to get a lot better soon. I think there's going to be a shakeup."

She raises her eyebrows: this is news to her. "That's good, right? Maybe it'll be the break you need. What kind of shakeup, exactly?"

"I have you to thank for it, really," says Lucius. There's a sly smile playing at his lips that Narcissa doesn't care for at all. "But I'm just so curious. How long exactly have you been back in contact with your sister?"

He knows. Narcissa freezes. "Bella and I have always—"

"Not Bellatrix. The other one. The one who, up until now, you said was dead to you. What changed?"

She clears her throat—or tries to, anyway. Suddenly, her throat is feeling rather tight, her head light, her chest warm. "The wine," she croaks. "What did you put in the wine?"

"I'm the one asking the questions here," Lucius sneers. "When did you sell out?"

"When I realized what a violent world you wanted to raise our son in," Narcissa whispers. "My loyalty is to him. My—"

She cuts off with a choke. She can't breathe, and she clutches at her throat, wonders whether she can make it to the loo in time to fetch the bezoar they keep in the medicine cabinet, but it's no use; she can barely hold herself upright. Her forehead smacks the table when she slumps over in her seat.

"Goodbye, Narcissa," says Lucius crisply. The last thing she hears is Draco's curious, innocent voice cooing, "Mummy?"