Narcissa Malfoy wakes in the night disoriented by sleep and uncertain what disturbed her. She pushes up onto her elbows and looks around; her eyes touching familiar shadows made by equally familiar objects in her luxurious bedchamber. Lucius is at her side; his sleep entirely unencumbered. What woke her? She can almost swear it was a voice in the darkness. A few years ago, she would have assumed it was Draco who called her from slumber, but he's married and settled now to that Greengrass girl. Narcissa frowns. She supposes he could've done worse, but she'll never say so. What woke me? Her mind repeats. She forces herself to be still and wait. Is one of the servants out of bed? That insufferable Auggie does have a habit of roaming the halls at night. Just when she's about to give it up in favor of returning to sleep, she hears an eerily familiar voice. She can't make out all the words. It's more the cadence, the rhythm of a uniquely personal manner of speaking that she recognizes so easily. Only, it can't be possible. It simply just isn't. Or is it?

Tossing back the duvet, she swings her feet to the floor, blindly searching for her slippers with her toes. She knows the polished marble floor beyond the Persian rug at her feet will be cold this time of night.

"Narcissa?" a quiet singsong voice calls. "Oh Cissa, wakey, wakey."

Either her mind is playing tricks on her, or someone's going to have some serious explaining to do. Leaving her bed, she dons the black satin robe that matches her negligee and deftly lights a candle before she quietly slips from the room. On silent feet, she pads to the opposite end of the second-floor gallery and stares in both extreme annoyance and perplexity at her sister's oil-based portrait. "Bella? What is the meaning of this? How dare you wake me in the middle of the night!"

Bellatrix Lestrange pouts. "Nice to see you too, Cissy."

Ignoring the greeting, Narcissa hisses, her words chilly and callous. The living do sleep; you know. If someone is playing games with your portrait enchantment…"

"No, Cissy. It's me; truly." Bellatrix whispers back her merriment fleetingly dampened.

"But how?" Narcissa steps closer to the painting; staring intently.

"Stolen magic." Bellatrix hisses with renewed glee as she claps her palms together three times in rapid succession before thrumming her elongated fingertips; the left against the right.

Narcissa arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Stolen magic? What magic? I know of no spell or enchantment that allows the dead to communicate with the living through their own portraits after their demise or at least none that allow for conversations of any real substance. Explain yourself, before I decide to have your portrait burned!"

"Relax sister, it's the standard portrait enchantment, mixed with the dark fairy dust, mixed with a little mirror magic."

"Mirror magic? What? Like the Mirror of Erised?"

"Not exactly. We borrowed this particular enchantment from the Evil Queen of the Enchanted Forest Realm."

"We? We who?"

"Me and the Black Fairy. She's running things here in the underworld… Oh, for misery's sake! Narcissa, none of that matters! Now stop asking questions and listen to me. I don't have much time. The veil won't stay parted for long."

"You said you stole magic and then you said you borrowed. Which is it? And who is this evil queen person? If she's going to come knocking on my door, I'd like to be prepared."

"Technically speaking, Fiona, the Black Fairy, borrowed without asking but I sincerely doubt the queen will come looking for you. As I said, she lives in an entirely different realm. And, do tie your sash, Cissa. I'm not Lucius. I have no need to see this much of your chest." Bellatrix smirks and giggles quietly as her sister cinches the sash on her robe severely tight and then places her hands on her hips.

"Better?"

"Much. Now come closer. I have a favor to ask."

"A favor? Oh, for the love of death eaters, Bella! You're dead! What could you possibly need?"

Six weeks later…

Narcissa awaits her departed sister's untimely visit by candlelight across the gallery from the same portrait at precisely 3:30 AM.

At 3:52, she's leaning against the opposite wall with a decided lack of patience; on the verge of declaring Bella a no-show when she finally glides into view meandering slowly as if she hasn't a single worry.

"Oh, goodie gumdrops!" She giggles with barely contained excitement. "You're here!"

Bitterly, Narcissa glares. "You're late Bellatrix. Some of us don't have all of eternity."

"Oh pooh! Don't be such a bore, Cissa. Time moves differently here it's not so easy to gauge the difference. Do you get it? Please say you got it!"

Narcissa sighs in disgust. "Of course, I got it. No small feat by the way. If this works, you owe me; big time! I'm talking huge, Bella. You have no idea the shambles Riddle Manor is in. It's boarded up and in utter disgrace. Disloyal witches and wizards have taken to vandalizing the place. It's falling down despite the fact that Lucius says someone from the ministry is always watching. You have no idea how hard it was to sneak in there, and once that was done it still took me another two hours to find this. Then, I had to sneak back out again."

"Narcissa, please, time is of the essence! Read it to me! If it works, you can yell at me for as long as you like when next we meet, and I promise I won't complain. Not a single peep."

Still, she pauses, with half a mind to walk away. Lucius would not be happy to know what she's up to. For a moment, she watches her sister silently plead and simper. When at last, she straightens to her full height and approaches the painting. coming near enough to whisper, Bellatrix bounces excitedly and fidgets like some eager lunatic child. "You better listen closely, Bella, because I'm only reading this once."

"I'm listening. I'm all ears. Read it! Read it!"

Gently blowing dust away from tattered pages, Narcissa leafs through Lord Voldemort's personal and once-coveted spellbook until she reaches the proper entry and in a hushed, but concise, even, tone begins to recite...

Rise of the Phoenix: A Resurrection Serum

6 drams of chilled unicorn blood (precisely 9° C at time of inclusion)
9 drops of vitreous fluid from the left eye of a newly delivered demigod/goddess.
3 grams of dried lightly salted sea-slug
½ gram of wolf's bane

Bring to a hard, rolling boil; maintain constantly for precisely 16 hours.

Should be ingested orally while warm, not hot, upon the first night of a new moon, immediately following the freshly expelled final breath of one tender-aged mortal witch or wizard (Gender-specific and to be inhaled directly from the source)

The moment she's finished reading, Narcissa snaps the book shut.

"Wait, wait! Was that two or three grams of sea-slug?

Narcissa shrugs and extinguishes her candle as she walks away, putting an abrupt and definite end to their visit by whispering coolly over her shoulder. "Good night, Bellatrix."