This Beastly Salvation
Chapter Twenty-Five: No Peace in the Darkness
October 21st, 1996
"Don't get too excited to see me, mutt," Lucius grunted as he pulled the gate-made-door open with his free hand. "We're not going out."
"Why?" the werewolf asked, pulling himself up from where he'd been lounging on his bed. Lucius had to admit that Lupin was already looking better—maybe it was the fact that he appeared to have had a proper night's sleep, or just the fact that he was in daylight rather than the shadowy cellar, but it was noticeable.
"Mission's done," Lucius replied, striding over to the coffee table and setting down a plate. A sandwich and chips, no utensils included, all on a paper plate he'd forced Wormtail to go pick up for days such as this.
"Already?" Lupin asked, a slight notch in his voice. Lucius glanced up, furrowing his brows.
"Should it have taken longer?"
"No, I just—"
"They were scouting it out, not launching a full-scale attack. Don't get your knickers in a twist."
"Fine," Lupin frowned, eyes already flickering over to his food. "If you say so. Did you already eat?"
The question threw Lucius off, and he stood still for a moment, watching Lupin stand up and stretch.
"I ate one meal with you. What makes you think I would ever do that again?"
Lupin looked at him, cocking an eyebrow.
"No reason, sir."
Lucius bristled, guessing at the multiple answers the werewolf might've given if he'd been in a more self-destructive mood. As it was, Lupin seemed content to wander over to his food and sit down.
"I'm sure you can keep yourself entertained in here," Lucius sighed, turning and heading back to the door. He'd left it open in his haste—and Lupin had not run past him. His grip tightened around his wand. "I'll return when I can."
For a moment, the new cell was filled with a sort of charged silence, triggered by the brief inhale that indicated that Lupin might have something to say. Lucius paused, waiting.
"Alright," Lupin finally spat out a few seconds later. His voice was dulled, almost disappointed. "Thank you for the food, sir."
Lucius grunted his acknowledgement and locked the cell behind him, keeping his eyes trained to the ground.
He had lied, of course. The others absolutely shouldn't have been back already. The sound of their clamouring arrival had caused him to rush out of the house much faster than he'd meant to, wanting to get Lupin's food to him before Lucius was waylaid by whatever their prompt arrival meant.
His concerns, attempts at figuring out what might've cut the Death Eaters' trip short, carried Lucius all the way back to the manor and into the entry hall, where he could see enough muddy footprints to suggest that the Death Eaters had already trampled their way through.
Lucius lifted his gaze, trying to find where they'd all gone off to.
"Lucius?"
He looked over his shoulder to find Narcissa standing near the stairs, hands fidgeting but eyes steely.
"Cissy?"
The pet name felt foreign in his mouth, somehow, as if he'd lost his privileges to use it.
"Y—you've just missed them," Narcissa answered, drawing herself up to her full height and squaring her shoulders.
"They've gone out again? Why? Back to the portkey?"
"No, Lucius," she replied. Her words were heavy with implied meaning.
"What are you talking about?"
"The…" she hesitated, looked down at her hands, pinched her lips together. "The werewolf's tip didn't pan out, Lucius. There was nothing there. Not even a storage yard. There's certainly no portkey there now, if there ever was one."
Lucius felt as though cold ice water was being poured down his back.
"What—did they go to the right place?"
"Don't be an idiot, Lucius," Narcissa sighed, bringing up a hand to pinch her nose. "We don't have time for this. They're gone. The Dark Lord…"
Her face darkened for a moment.
"The Dark Lord is rightfully furious with you," Narcissa began, and she raised a hand to stop Lucius when he opened his mouth, trying to protest. "No, Lucius, let me talk. You can't say anything that's going to fix this. He told me to let you know that you will not be permitted to see the werewolf again until the full moon. Someone else will be tending to his needs between now and then."
"What are you talking about?" Lucius snapped. It was everything he could do to keep his mouth from gaping open. "Why isn't the Dark Lord telling me this himself?"
"Because you're not worth his time, Lucius," Narcissa spat, and Lucius realized that her whole body was shaking now. "You're lucky it isn't worse."
Lucius stopped, felt for his wand out of sheer habit, let his eyes dart around the hall.
"And you—he didn't hurt you, did he?"
These words seemed to catch Narcissa off guard. She paused, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head back.
"No," she replied, voice closer to a hoarse whisper now. "I'm not the one who's feeding bad intelligence to the Dark Lord."
"Neither am I!" Lucius exclaimed, turning back to his wife. "I should be punishing the creature, not leaving him in there—"
"Being isolated is more than enough punishment, I promise you," Narcissa interrupted, words sharpened and aimed like knives. She very obviously wanted Lucius to know that she was speaking from experience.
"You don't know him like I do, Narcissa—"
"And thank Hecate for that!" she exclaimed, raising her voice and leaning forward. Her knuckles were white where she was clutching to the bannister nearest her, and her cheeks were starting to redden.
"Don't—"
"I'm not interested in hearing it, Lucius. Find a way to entertain yourself. I'm sure the Dark Lord will find some use for you eventually."
"Narcissa, I swear to you—"
"Keep your oaths," she hissed. "I'm not interested."
It wasn't until she was turning and light from the high windows caught on her face that Lucius realized there were tears in her eyes. Again. He had made his wife cry more in the last month than he could remember in the last several years.
Still, Lucius did not follow her. He waited until she was gone before heading to his room, completely unwilling to put himself at risk of running into another human being.
The Death Eater squeezed his eyes shut as soon as he entered his chamber, trying his best to breathe through the wave of enraged, ashamed nausea that was threatening to overtake him. But there was no peace in the darkness, either. Narcissa was still there, along with the Dark Lord.
They were vibrant and clear, looping over and over in the memory he'd been trying so desperately to push away since talking with the werewolf the night before.
Voldemort stood in the window, staring out at the lawn. Lucius couldn't see his face from where he was standing, but the Death Eater knew what was coming. It was always there in the line of his master's shoulders, the way his jaw began to clench and his breath became more shallow. The Dark Lord's outburst was inevitable at this point—it was just a matter of him finding the right words.
"And did you happen to consider, Narcissa, what the consequences of your actions would be?"
"I—"
Lucius reached out to grab his wife's wrist, giving a single, urgent shake of his head. She looked at him for a moment, eyes wide, cheeks reddened. Her pale skin looked ghostly, set off against her dark robes and deep red lipstick.
"I asked you a question, Narcissa," Voldemort hissed, turning around to look at them. His lips and nostrils were trembling with barely contained emotion, like a dog waiting to snap at its prey. Some of his dark hair had fallen out of place.
"I know, my Lord," Narcissa replied, swallowing hard and pulling her hand away from Lucius's. He did his best to ignore the way his stomach dropped.
"And your answer is?" Voldemort took a menacing step toward them.
"I was caught off guard, my Lord, and I… well, there's no justification for it."
Narcissa did her best to keep her tone even and strong, but her words caught in her throat as she finished her confession, staring down at the floor. Several strands of her long blonde hair fell out of place, tracing her jaw as they fell.
"That much, at least, we can agree upon," the Dark Lord snarled, taking another step forward.
"My Lord, you must know it was a mistake—"
"Lucius, don't—" Narcissa was the one reaching out this time, frantically grabbing at Lucius's sleeve.
"Do you think I have any time for mistakes, Lucius?" Voldemort roared, lunging forward and wrenching Narcissa's hand away from her husband. She yelped, stumbling to the side in an effort to keep her hand attached to her arm. Voldemort did not pause to watch her falter, choosing instead to bring his handsome face close enough to Lucius's that the Death Eater could smell the acrid sourness on the Dark Lord's breath.
"Of course not, my Lord," Lucius replied, tilting his head back and looking over Voldemort's shoulder. Away from his wife.
"He—he doesn't know, my Lord," Narcissa cut in, not bothering to hide the way her voice was shaking, now. "He wasn't there. I know what I did. Bella—Bella was right. Our mission was done, successful, and I'm the one who… who put it all at risk."
"And for what?" Voldemort growled, turning his head back to Narcissa. Lucius hazarded a quick glance, now that the Dark Lord's attention was diverted. Voldemort was still holding Narcissa's hand, tighter now, wrenching it up toward the ceiling, and then he was pushing her backward with a hand on her opposite shoulder.
"For nothing, my Lord," Narcissa replied, shaking her head as the Dark Lord shoved her against the library shelves, books shifting quietly from the force of her impact. "There's no excuse for it."
"For a child," Voldemort pushed on, tightening his grip enough that tears began to well up in Narcissa's eyes. "A child, Narcissa. Are you really so ready and willing to betray me? To risk the success of our endeavours on whether or not a child lives?"
"I'm sorry, my Lord," Narcissa squeezed the words out as carefully as she could, clearly doing her best to keep her eyes trained on the Dark Lord's face despite her fear.
"I was fully prepared to make you one of us, Narcissa, and soon," Voldemort hissed, tightening his hand again. Lucius allowed his eyes to flicker to his wife's wrist, saw the small specks of blood starting to form where the Dark Lord's nails were digging into her skin.
"I know, my Lord," she forced herself to speak. "It's what all of this has been for. To serve you."
"And yet you nearly lost us one of our greatest accomplishments yet—to what? Protect the innocent?"
"I don't know, my Lord," Narcissa replied, and this time she couldn't successfully stifle the sob in her throat. It came out right behind her words, heavy and heartbroken.
"Did you know the child?" the Dark Lord growled, leaning close to her face. Lucius clenched his fists, desperate to go to his wife's rescue, knowing that it could very well cause her death if he did. "Was it one of ours?"
"No," Narcissa sniffled, twisting her shoulders instinctively, as if she might be able to free herself from Voldemort's grip. "No, I didn't know it."
"Was it even magical?"
"I assumed so, my Lord," Narcissa answered, making sharper eye contact than she'd dared to in a few moments. "I would never jeopardize you for Muggle blood."
"Ah, you assumed?" Voldemort snarled, holding his place.
Narcissa nodded, too fast. Lucius swallowed.
"That is a bold assumption, Cissy," Voldemort cooed her family nickname. "One which proves how unfit you are to be a Death Eater."
Narcissa and Lucius both froze. They'd known Voldemort would be enraged, had anticipated that, but this… this would change everything.
"Please, my Lord, with all due respect, I've seen others make far worse mistakes—"
"Have you?" Voldemort sneered as he began to drag his nails down Narcissa's arm, drawing blood as he went.
It was obvious that Narcissa didn't mean to scream. Lucius knew she wouldn't have done it if she could help it, but the involuntary sound did more than enough. Voldemort seemed to become almost effervescent, glowing in his sadistic glee.
"It's not just about jeopardizing our mission, Cissy," Voldemort hissed, twisting his hand so that he could cut a new pattern into her skin. She was openly weeping, now. "It's that you were willing to jeopardize it over something so… useless. So small. You had no guarantee that the child wasn't a Muggle, or a Mudblood. You threw away everything to protect it. You are weak, an example to all women who have never learned their place."
"Their place?" Narcissa nearly howled in her pain and fear. "My own sister serves at your side."
"Your sister would never let her... maternal instincts interfere with her duties to me."
He spat the words out with all the malice and shame of a man who had been abandoned by his own mother. Lucius felt his hand moving dangerously close to his wand.
"I only want Wizarding kind to thrive, my Lord," Narcissa spoke through clenched teeth, even as her blood began to drip down onto her skirt. "I only seek to create the world you've fought for. If I have any instinct, it's to protect Pureblood children and raise them in your service."
Voldemort roared, finally letting go of Narcissa's arm only to grab her by the throat, digging his nails in there and shoving her head against the shelves. Lucius's hand landed on his wand and he took a step forward, but then Narcissa was making eye contact with him and she was screaming at him without words, screaming and begging that he do absolutely nothing. He listened, leaving Voldemort to continue crushing her windpipe, face gone wild with his love of power.
"If that child was a Pureblood, a true Death Eater would've known it by sight—and completely ignored it if it were anything less. You are not a Death Eater, Narcissa. You are not worthy of the name, and you'll never carry our sigil on your arm."
Narcissa's face was changing colours.
"But she is loyal to you my Lord!" Lucius cried out from behind them, unable to stop himself. Rather than causing Voldemort to stop, he tightened his grip, and Narcissa stopped making any sounds at all, her eyes widening.
"I'm frightened of what loyalty might mean to you if this is how you think it looks, Lucius," Voldemort snarled, looking over his shoulder at his follower. "There's only one way I could believe it, now."
"Name it," Lucius begged, "anything, my Lord, we will give you anything."
"You may be willing, Lucius," Voldemort growled, his lips starting to part into an evil grin, "but I'm not sure it would be so easy for your wife."
"Please, my Lord, just name it—"
Voldemort refocused on Narcissa, loosening his grip on her neck just enough that she could take a dragging, crackling breath in. Her eyes were hazy, darting around the room, as if looking for a way to save herself and her husband. Always the saviour, even in this moment, at the brink of her mortality. Narcissa was no Bellatrix, but she was a sister Black, and the Dark Lord had always treated her with the nobility deserving of that title. It was her who had brought Lucius into Voldemort's good graces, for Merlin's sake.
"A life without children. A life devoted to me. Show me you can do that… take those steps…" the Dark Lord's head tilted down, presumably following his eyes down to her abdomen, and Narcissa twisted in panic. Lucius could hear the smirk in the Dark Lord's voice when he finished his thought. "And I will consider inducting you in time."
Lucius hissed in disgust, but Narcissa looked frantic, her fists tightening and eyes suddenly coming to a sharp focus on the Dark Lord's face. What did that reaction mean?
Voldemort shifted his shoulders in annoyance, lifting a thumb up to tilt her chin down so that she was forced to open her tightly clenched mouth. "What do you say?"
Narcissa took a moment to look over the Dark Lord's shoulder to her husband again, and it caused Lucius to feel as though his stomach had leapt into his throat. Why was she—
"It's too late, my Lord."
Both men froze. Lucius leaned in, but Voldemort snarled and let go of her throat so suddenly that she almost lost her footing.
"You're with child," Voldemort hissed. "Now?"
Lucius felt as though all of the wind had been knocked directly out of his lungs.
"For less than three months," Narcissa gasped, trying to pull herself upright, running her hands over her hair in an effort to collect herself and put something right, now that it had all gone so horribly wrong.
"What a joyous occasion," Voldemort nearly growled, turning so that both Lucius and Narcissa could see his disgusted expression.
"Our child will be—it'll be a Pureblood, my Lord. To be raised in your honour."
The words sounded pathetic even to Lucius's partially deafened ears, so loud was the beating of his heart in his own head.
"I'm beginning to doubt that any child of yours could ever outgrow being reared by a failure like you," Voldemort snarled.
This seemed to enrage Narcissa more than the rest of it. She furrowed her brows and drew herself up, clutching her bleeding arm. "The others have children all the time. Why can't we?"
Lucius wanted to scream. What was she thinking? Had the—her condition already driven her mad?
"Because you could've been something special, Narcissa," the Dark Lord snarled, raising a hand as though he were moving to touch her again. She flinched, and he had calmed slightly, lowered it. "You were meant to be special. Pure. Refined. You could've been so much more than this."
"I'm carrying something pure, my Lord," she pleaded. "A child to be shaped to our ways."
"And I will hold it to that expectation for its entire life," Voldemort sneered, casting his hand down and turning to look at Lucius. "Your child will never know peace."
"My Lord—" Lucius started to speak, trying to steal his chance now that the Dark Lord had turned his attention, but he was cut off.
"I'm leaving. I have no interest in speaking with you until that thing has left her body. I don't want to watch her spoil."
To watch her spoil.
"As you wish, my Lord," Lucius replied, stricken, and then the Dark Lord was sweeping out of the room, and Lucius was at his wife's side, and she was collapsing into him, sobbing and letting out great cries of despair.
"I love you," Lucius murmured to her, and she choked, and he whispered it again and again, running his hands along her back and arms, ignoring the way her blood was staining his clothes now too, trying to keep her held together in one piece. "And I will love that child."
And in his way, he did.