The very thought of being 'broken' was not one Narcissa Malfoy found herself familiar with. Perhaps they all thought she would have been once The Dark Lord and his horde of simpering sycophants had taken over her home. A creature as well bred as she could not possibly suffer the indignity of watching as day by day every last memory she held of Malfoy Manor was systematically taken from her.
It was in those moments, where nails bit against palms and teeth grinded on edge that the Lady of the house would retreat. Voldemort, let his name be damned for all she cared, may have removed every last trace of magic from her home but there was one thing the Wizard remained unaware of, the ingenuity of Muggle architecture.
"See here..where his hand rests?" Lucius asked, turning keenly back to the young woman behind him, "Cissa" He was scowling, blonde brow furrowed into a look of mild, yet amused irritation, "Here. Press here."
Tentatively, a gloved hand reached out to the place on the tapestry he'd pointed at. It was clear from the look she offered that the Witch found her Fiancés little 'secret' hardly amusing. 'Muggle magic' he called it. She preferred 'cheap trick' and unbeknownst to the young witch, she would continue to refer to the little secret as such for the rest of her life.
A slight application of pressure and Narcissa Black found herself jumping backwards, a little curse hissing its way past her lips. She'd not expected half the tapestry to lurch forward. "Lucius, what on earth-"
Ever impatient, he took his startled Fiancée by the wrist and guided her, ever reluctantly through the musty gloom and into the sitting room. Late afternoon light pouring through two high circular windows became caught in the reflection of dust particles and trickled gently down to where the two were standing. "Uncle Aidoneus' work." The Wizard noted, an edge of pride to his voice, "Father would have never approved of course, so naturally Mother knew." She could hear the hint of sadness creeping up in his voice, uncertain at first but growing with the memory of his departed Matriarch.
"It's beautiful, Lucius." She said, quick to change the topic. It wasn't till Narcissa had taken a turn of the room, small as it was, able to house only two armchairs a writing desk and a small hearth. that she found the truth in her words. "Really, it is."
He'd promised her the room that Autumn afternoon and she'd found herself there well past midnight, staring up at the darkened windows. The Elves must've remembered her penchant for visiting. Expecting to find it cold and abandoned, Mrs. Malfoy was pleasantly surprised by the gentle warmth that greeted her when she clicked the door closed behind her. The hearth stocked, cushions fluffed and not an ounce of dust in sight. Not that it would have bothered her to find their secret place abandoned and neglected. She could still smell him there. The slightest whiff of cologne escaping his armchair as she placed herself in it.
Decorum was for all intent and purpose, Narcissa Malfoy's strongest talent. She'd been fed it since the crib. Against the flickering light of the fire, with only the sound of yelling from downstairs to punctuate the silence, she found herself abandoning it for a cacophony of whispered, desperate curses, the like of which her own Husband would have cringed at.