Chapter Seven: Reflected in the smoke

Lucius.

I see his arrival from my window. Why am I not surprised? And, behind him, melting from the shadows, my sister Bella. From this distance she looks like Severus' twin, gaunt and angular. Between them, my drenched husband, equally thin. Why do they imagine that their way of life is the right way, when it makes them look so?

Why has he let them in? Why can't he just leave the world locked out?

I draw back from the window as they turn up the driveway. I shift my gaze to my transparent reflection in the glass. Will he see that I am altered? I have washed and changed but still I feel Severus is all over me. And inside me: he left something behind, other than semen and bruises, something indefinably … different.

I feel as if I could scour out my insides, Obliviate myself of these memories. Be strong, be strong.

Draco.

I find him in the garden room, where I know he has been for hours. He is staring at the pages of a book, eyes unseeing. He does not look up when I enter.

"Your father is here."

His heads snaps up. We stare at one another for a long and terrifying moment. I don't know how to read him. I don't know what he will do. There hasn't been the time for him to think, to learn, to grow.

I can feel my plans unravelling around me.

He jumps up, the book goes flying, and rushes towards me, to the door. I stop him with both hands on his shoulders. "I beg you –"

"I bet you do," he snarls, shaking me off.

I follow him at a run as he makes for the front doors. Before we get there, they are flung open and Lucius, Bella and Severus hasten inside with a flurry of raindrops.

The doors bang shut.

"Dad!" Draco squeals.

Lucius holds up his hand, his eyes upon me. Draco falls silent; I can feel his frustration from here and Bella's eyes are upon him, speculatively, too. Lucius, however, appears oblivious. He walks towards me, smiling slightly, arms spread in the gesture of a returning hero. I allow him to take my hands in his freezing, wet ones and press his cold lips to my cheek. Over his shoulder I meet Severus' eyes for a fleeting moment. His expression is inscrutable.

I remember I don't have my wand. Severus has his. Bella has hers. I don't know about Lucius.

Because it may come to this.

To what? I am no longer sure of what I will do. Protect Draco, yes; beyond this … I do not know.

Lucius walks through into the garden room, which is his favourite. Through habit, I go to pour him a drink. He takes it from my hand and grasps my wrist, pulls me to him, and pecks me on the lips. Then he summons Draco. He looks his son up and down. I can see Draco is almost bursting with his tales, but he will wait until he may speak.

Bella pours drinks for herself and Severus and asks me if I would like one. I would. Then she asks Draco. This annoys me, she knows I don't like him drinking, and Draco accepts, knowing this too.

An awkward party we make.

Severus casts a drying spell over the newcomers and Lucius slaps him on the arm. "Severus has told me about all about the night on the Astronomy tower," he says, looking at Draco, whose mouth tightens a little. "I've got to say, Draco, I admire it that you tried."

Our son looks surprised.

"Lucky that Severus stepped in, though. From what Bella tells me, we could all have been done for."

Lucius' face is suddenly hard and mean. I can imagine that Draco is feeling humiliation, and knows it will follow him to his grave: the man cuckolding his father was the man who saved his father's life.

I dare not look at him.

"I've told you, Lucius," Severus says, moving slowly around the room to lean with an arm on the over mantle, "the Dark Lord did not intend Draco to succeed."

"Don't try to defend me," Draco suddenly spits.

"I am merely stating facts," Severus says, arching an unconcerned brow and sipping his whisky, a master of himself where Draco is not.

My guts are like ice. I move to a settee and sink down.

"You feel the snapping teeth of failure, do you?" Lucius says, staring at our son. "Don't worry, our Lord will no doubt have other tasks for you." He smiles. "No doubt you're looking forward to them, eh, Draco? Muggles and Mudbloods to put down, wizards to execute. Perhaps even people you know from school. Are you up to it now?"

For the first time I see a flicker of unease in Draco's features, but at that moment there is a crash and splinter of glass: Severus has dropped an antique crystal tumbler and spilled whisky down himself.

I summon a house elf to clear up the mess whilst Lucius cracks jokes about potions burning away the feeling in Severus' fingertips, but Bella is looking at Severus with narrowed eyes, and I know that he has bought us a little time, that he is asking Draco to listen and think.

"Been keeping the home fires tended for me, Severus?" I hear Lucius say, and Draco visibly tenses.

"Run a hot bath for the master," I tell the elf.

"Your cellars make acceptable work rooms," Severus replies, calm, his long fingers curling around a fresh glass that he has poured himself, returning to his place by the fire. Lucius paces like a trapped beast, pausing to gaze out of windows, turning to stare at the three of us, a million thoughts and words flitting across his face, his eyes, unspoken.

"How did you escape?" Draco asks, plucking at his father's sleeve.

"It wasn't a case of escape." Lucius suddenly downs the fire whisky and tosses the glass to Bella, who catches it with lightening reflex and pours him another. Their synchronisation does not escape Draco. His face, which I know better than I know my own, is masked as, behind the façade, he thinks at speed.

Lucius continues, "The Dark Lord informs me I'm needed for some hard drive against the Muggle committee or whatever they call themselves." He accepts the drink from Bella. "Your aunt Bella came to tell me and, well, I practically walked out of there. Hopeless."

"The Dark Lord is trusting you with a mission?" I ask, my voice shaking.

His eyes meet mine but he closes them almost immediately under the cover of taking more Ogden's. "A chance to redeem myself. Eh, Severus?"

Severus does not reply.

"You'll find this, Draco," Lucius says, blithely. "He orders, you do it. You fail –" he draws his finger across his throat with a gagging sound. Draco is wide-eyed, but there is something else, something happening beneath his mask-like expression. Perhaps Lucius perceives it; he studies his son again with some curiosity, then says, abruptly: "I'll have that bath. Come and sit with me." When Bella stirs, he snaps, "Not you, for pity's sake. I mean Draco."

A chill remains when they have left the room. Bella is glowering into the fireplace: no doubt she had plans of her own for my husband's welcome home, presumptuous that she is. Severus broods into the fireplace also, but he feels me look at him and his gaze flickers over me. I can almost hear his voice in my head, telling me to be calm, be still, and he is right: we can only wait.

"So," says Bella, in her annoying sickly-sweet taunt, crossing her legs, perched on the arm of one of my settees, "How have you two been amusing yourselves, with your husband away and you not safe to leave? Hmm?"

Severus gives a lascivious smirk, and sips his whisky, not even bothering to meet her gaze. Oh, he knows how to play this game.

"Perhaps you'd like a bath too, Bella," I say. "The elves are making your room ready –"

"Want me out of the way, Cissy?" she snipes. This time Severus raises his head and meets her coal-black gaze with his own. Something dark and sexual passes between them, and my pang of jealousy was worth the one mirrored in my sister's eyes. She bares her teeth at him with a smile, they glint in the pale light.

His lips twist, amused. I hate that I am fascinated by him, and that my sister is too. She always wants my men, and often she gets them. I wonder how long it will be before she gets Severus. I think I would like to disfigure her, rake my nails down her pale cheeks, her breasts. Not that she is much to look at anyway, and somehow I don't think looks bother Severus much.

"I think I will have that bath," she says. "Maybe I'll look in on father and son."

Severus and I look at each other as the door closes. He raises a long finger to his lips to silence me, and softly crosses the carpet to where I am standing stock still, as if I had been hexed. He looks down at me, hesitantly, then lays a hand on my shoulder; to my surprise, it is warm. Suddenly, we are in an intimate space, our thoughts colliding and merging and buffeting each other: what if … I know … we can … I have … he won't … believe … trust … good …

"Don't betray me," I whisper.

He does not answer, but his nostrils flare.

"You loved her, and she's dead," I say. "I don't want that to happen to me and Draco. I want to live. I want to trust you."

His fingers tighten on my shoulder, then his hand falls. "Nothing is certain," he says, quietly, sadly, his expression pinched.

I am certain of you!

He squeezes his eyes shut. "Don't …"

I believe! I am standing closer now.

I know. A tear is crushed free from beneath his lashes. He destroys it with a quick, desperate gesture. His black gaze is glassy and angry. "It is now out of my hands," he corrects me. "We have done what we can. Draco will have to decide. If he chooses well, I will do everything I can that is in my power to help you, Narcissa." He pauses, and adds, "You have my word, which is worth more than any magical vow."

My heart leaps, relieved.

But he continues: "Should Draco choose ill, you know that I have more to protect than your lives." His thumb lightly traces the line of my bottom lip. "And I will."

There must be another way!

He looks down at me, his eyes unfathomable. I see an image in my mind's eye of his fingers closing around my throat. He shakes his head. He turns from me and goes to sit in a chair by the window, taking up a book that Draco has discarded. He snorts and lays it down again, and gazes out across the sodden, rain-lashed landscape.

"I have made a potion," he murmurs, and meets my eyes for an instant, then gazes away again.

The Draught of Living Death!

Or another, more deadly?

I sink onto a settee, my thoughts in turmoil, my hands, which are clasped on my lap, shaking. He stares into the dark soot in the fireplace, his hands reposing on the arms of the chair where he is seated. I know what he means, he does not need to say it: our fate is in Draco's hands.

Thus in silence, we wait.

It is not so long before we hear footsteps tread softly and quickly along the hall. The front door opens and closes. I rise and look out of the window: it is Draco, head bent against the rain, striding out across the driveway, then veering off into the trees.

Severus, at my shoulder, says, "I will go after him."

"No," I say, "I will."

I do not look at him: I rush from the room, and I am relieved that I do not hear him follow.

… long fingers pressing the white skin at Draco's throat …

The cold rain casts a grey veil across the landscape. As I pass, I see that the rose garden is ruined. There is an elf sitting alone, drenched, in a muddy flowerbed, head bowed and shoulders shaking. I slip through the trees, taking the path I know leads to the ruined summerhouse. I think I know that this is where Draco will be, but he is not and I fear, with rising anxiety, I have lost him. Everything drips and rustles under the weight of the falling water. I lean back against the trunk of a tree and wipe my hands across my face. Think, Narcissa!

Then I sense something, and look up. My son sits in the tree above me, his hair plastered to his scalp, his clothes stuck to his body. The expression on his face is closed to me. He watches like a cat wary of a stranger.

"Please come down and talk to me," I say.

He chews his lip. Then his features screw and he begins to cry. He puts a hand up to hide his face. Rivulets of watery blood slide over his skin; he has perhaps cut himself climbing. His shoulders shake. He momentarily masters himself, then it begins again. He looks as he did when he was young, a little like when he was toddling and hurt himself, or had been told off and was having a tantrum. Hard lessons make us cry: not to run or we will fall, not to break things or we will be chastised, not to love or we will have our hearts broken, not to show fear or we will be persecuted.

But I don't know what he is learning, what these tears mean. Perhaps they are the tears of a boy who realises his father will not lift a hand to save him, though another man has? Tears that speak of the betrayal of the highest order, of a child's love spurned, of a child's needs, ignored.

The fear of these, and more, roils in my guts. Again, Draco masters control of himself, and slowly lowers his hand, but does not meet my eyes. Blood smears his cheek.

"Have you told him," I whisper.

His bottom lip is protruding, stubbornly, hurt. Eventually, he says, "Told him what?"

I lick the rain from my lips. "Severus' secret."

His eyes snap to mine, and I realise I have hurt him with my question, that he thinks another should have come first. If he realises that in his answer lies our future, it is of less importance to him. "No."

Oh, thank Merlin! "What prevented you?"

He chews his lip again. "He's screwing Bella."

I watch him.

"I don't just mean, now, right at this minute," he continues, "just, you know, they have a thing, an … affair."

There is a long silence, in the midst of the rainfall.

"I didn't think you were telling the truth," he adds, more gravely. Suddenly he turns and slides down the slippery bark. He is soaked and covered in streaks of algae and moss. He holds out his left hand, palm up, and I see that it has been scored through both life and heart lines to the tender skin at his wrist. It is more than superficial, a clean, deliberate incision.

"Dad did it with his razor," he says, matter-of-fact. "At least when Potter injured me, he had the decency to use magic." His face crumples again. This time I gently fold him into my arms. He resists, but his violent sobs bruise my shoulder.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because he wants me to be something I'm not," my son sobs. "I'm scared, mum, I'm weak, I don't want to die!" He pulls back. His eyes are wide. "I don't want to kill! Dad is right – that's why I couldn't kill D-Dumbledore, or Snape, because I don't have the killer instinct! I can't be like him!"

I wipe the blood from his cheek with my thumb. "That is not necessarily a bad thing, Draco," I say, weeping a little.

"I know." He shudders with sobs again. I need a handkerchief, I dip into his pockets. My fingertip touches something small and hard. I withdraw it. It is a green gem. It tingles against the skin of my palm. We stare at it.

"Where did you find this?" I breathe. I recognise it, and the piece from whence it came.

"What is it?" he asks.

Possibly, our salvation.

I tip it over and think quickly for a moment. Then slip it back into his pocket. My eyes meet his. His eyes are clear and pure. He is my boy, my son, forever a part of me, and I adore him. As I consider these feelings, my chest tightens, my abandoned womb remembering the love, reminding me.

"Mother," he murmurs, uncomfortable under my scrutiny.

"We have a plan," I say, quickly. "Severus has made a potion, Draught of Living Death. We can lie in the family crypt until this is all over. No-one will bother us, and Severus will ensure that we are revived."

Draco looks fearful, and sceptical. "What if he dies?"

"But there is another plan," I whisper, touching his pocket with the green gem in it. "One which we can conceal, even from Severus."

"I thought you liked him," my son remarks.

I do not respond immediately. My feelings are too complex for me just now. Certainly I cannot explain any of them to Draco without scarring him further.

"I trust him," I simply say.

"I hate him," Draco snarls, sulkily, turning away and kicking up the long sodden blades of grass.

"Draco."

He hears the danger in my voice and meets my eyes again.

"You realise – " I break off to clear my throat. "You realise that if you tell your father about Severus, it is the end for us all. You might not like Severus, or Mudbloods, or the Ministry, or Harry Potter, but if you value our lives and you want us to be happy once again, you must play this my way."

He looks at me for a long time and I start to believe that he does not trust me. In a startling moment, I see myself reflected in his eyes: just his mother, who fusses after him and wants him to remain a child; a whore, mistress of an ugly half-blood traitor, his teacher; a beautiful woman, perhaps, who has seen her life become ugly and her ambitions thwarted by those of others. I feel small. His attitude begins to annoy me: does he not realise how much I have sacrificed?

"You must play this my way," I repeat.

He nods, slightly, sharply. "But I don't want to take the potion," he says.

"Then we won't," I assure him.

His hand passes over the pocket containing the green gem. The rain is running in rivulets down our faces. I can't imagine what I must look like.

"Come back to the house," I say.

He shakes his head. "I'll stay out here a while, Mother."

And I know I must let him. This is a tenuous agreement, and I want to go back and set Severus' mind at rest.

I find him where I left him. He is staring out of the small side window that looks onto the now ruined rose garden. He looks expectant, composed, his steely resolve as evident as ever. I close the door and cross the room to where he is, preparing my mind for his intrusion, the image of Draco's affirmation that he had not told his father, and would not, at the fore of my mind.

He must believe me … he must!

ooO The End of Smoke and Mirrors Ooo

This Snape/Narcissa series to be continued!

Others in the series:

Party Night (Chapters: 1)

Sins of the Mother (Chapters: 3)

Dedication: To all who have been reviewing and urging me on, thank you, especially to Thirteen Ravens who has been so persistent and insistent a friend and beta.

Also, I feel I must in some way dedicate this to the comedian and actor Peter Kay. Sitting in the TV station canteen, I was, scribbling away at the plot for this story last year, and I kept glancing up for inspiration, and there the poor man was, in my line of sight; and it seemed, for months after that, that everywhere he was I was. If you ever read this, Peter, I don't fancy you, I was imagining Severus Snape and Narcissa Malfoy shagging in every imaginable position, not the two of us. I just had to clear that up, and I'm sorry if you thought I was stalking you ;-)

Adred x