Note: Despite the fact that Narcissa is my favourite character, this has proved the hardest of the chapters to write so far. In fact, it went through almost a complete rewrite from the way I first imagined it taking place. I think that's always the way, though. I suppose I'm scared of not doing my favourites justice.

Chapter Eight

The Decay Sets In

Narcissa Malfoy had never before felt like a stranger in her own home, but now there was no denying the uncomfortable sensation as she listened to people moving around her private domain, invading her space, poking their noses into places where they were not welcome, turning over the details of her and her family's lives to scrutiny and ridicule. Oh yes, she had charmed locked doors that had always been open in the past, and she had hidden as much as she could in her limited time, but she had spent enough time around Death Eaters to know that if there was something they wanted, they would get their grubby hands on it by hook or by crook. She dreaded to think how much silverware and alcohol was already going missing; glad that the heart of the Manor remained protected by a magic that was so old and ingrained that even Lucius, Lord and Master of the house, didn't have the means to alter it, and that she had been able to stow her most treasured possessions away within its sacrosanct walls. Photographs, small bits of jewellery with sentimental value; the baby book she had so painstakingly made for Draco; the thin and faded ribbon of green velvet that she had worn on the night of his conception… all things whose loss she could bear only marginally better than the loss of the two men of her household, currently squirreled away in the drawing room below her whilst she had been banished from their meeting. Banished from a room in her own house; made to feel like a stranger in a place where she should always have felt safe. She was not 'one of them', she did not wear that blasted Mark, and as grateful as she was not to be imprisoned by the duties it entailed, Narcissa did not like being kept out of things, not when those things were taking place in her own house and might well involve cold-blooded murder.

She was, to put it perfectly bluntly, terrified. Terrified of being in her own home whilst that… man who had tried so hard and so desperately to break apart her family also occupied the space. Narcissa had been sitting stock still on the sofa for the past two hours, and she would have been perfectly happy not to have moved a muscle until she was certain that the Dark Lord was gone from her drawing room and she could move freely through her own domain once more. She might be able to ignore the lingerers; she might be able to ignore Wormtail poking his rat's nose into everywhere it was not allowed, but the presence of someone who could cause her such unprecedented fear with just one look of those bloodthirsty eyes could not be swept under the rug. She thought of Lucius and Draco, and she wondered what was happening in the meeting. She thought of the way Draco's nervous, constantly moving eyes had caught hers with a pleading look just before he had entered the room; almost as if he was begging her not to let him go, but they both knew that she was powerless to stop him. She remembered the night that Severus had brought him back to the Manor after Dumbledore's death. Narcissa was a mother, and she had seen Draco in distress before, but after a year of his shunning her contact, her worries and seemingly her love itself, it had affected Narcissa deeply to have her son seek comfort in his mother's arms as he had done so many years before. As she had held him, murmuring the sort of meaningless assurances that were designed solely to soothe and calm, she had felt the lion of motherhood roar in her chest and she had reiterated the vow that for as long as he needed her, she would do anything to keep her son safe.

And Lucius… Lucius was a different man; a man who was not quite broken but who was teetering ever more towards the point of shattering irreparably into a million pieces. She had never before thought of him as fragile; why should she when he had managed to sail through his life so far encountering little in the way of resistance or difficulty? But last night, when he had returned and held her so tightly and with such sheer desperation that she could barely breathe, then she knew that he was as vulnerable as any other man to the fears and trepidations that his tenuous position entailed. She had not slept; scared that no matter how tight the hold might be, if she closed her eyes then he might slip away from her again. She knew Lucius felt the same way, and she wondered if either of them would ever be able to get to sleep again.

Suddenly she heard movement below her, and Narcissa twitched in her stiff position. The meeting was over. People were leaving, but the malingering presence who caused her so much unease still remained. Tentatively she stretched out her arms and flexed her fingers, her mind seeming to come heavily back into her body after having been absent in her thoughts for so long. She listened to the sounds, trying to divine whether anything worrying was occurring or if people were simply leaving, as she had originally surmised. More specifically, she listened for some something, anything, that would tell her whether Lucius and Draco were alright.

Her prayer was answered when the sitting room door opened and her husband appeared in the frame, one hand pressed against his head as if he was trying to stop his skull from cleaving in two. Narcissa had, thank Merlin, never been on the receiving end of the Cruciatus curse, but she knew from Severus that Lucius would be feeling the after effects of his relentless punishment for a few days. "The occasional twinge", the former potions master had said with unconcealed bitterness. Narcissa looked at him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, wanting to both comfort her husband and find out her son's whereabouts with equal urgency and not knowing which to do first. Thankfully, Lucius seemed to read her expression.

"Draco went to his room," he said with a slight groan. "He's fine. Just… shaken."

"Aren't we all?" murmured Narcissa, but the relief on hearing these simple words that flooded through her veins prevented her from saying anything else. Lucius waved his wand and summoned the bottle of brandy across from the room before collapsing heavily onto the sofa beside his wife. He uncapped it and went to take a slug, but Narcissa stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder and floated a glass across to him.

"You aren't a drunkard, darling," she said.

"Not yet," muttered Lucius. He closed his eyes as he sipped the brandy, and his next words were spoken with such a simple longing that it rent Narcissa's heart. "My head is killing me, Ciss."

Silently, she put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in closer to her side, allowing his head to droop onto her collar bone. She ran her fingertips through his hair absently, wondering what, if anything, she could do to make it all better. It was a chilling thought, but Narcissa had come to the realisation, during her hours alone in the sitting room, that she was being counted upon to lead the family through this time of crisis. Whereas before she had been angered by her prominent exclusion from the matters taking place in her own home, now she welcomed her segregation, for it kept her just a tiny bit safer. Of course, where… he was concerned, nothing was certain. She would no doubt be the first one that he would turn to when he required Lucius or Draco's unwavering co-operation in something. She was still going to be the bait, the threatened party, but as long as she could keep her distance, she could keep her thoughts to herself. She was free to think, to plan, to try and guide them through with her guile and Slytherin cunning as best she could. It would be suicidal to even think of going against the Dark Lord; she was not stupid enough to think that she could stand up to him even in her own home, but she hoped that she could keep her family safe. That was all that mattered. All they had to do was survive, and once they had survived, they would deal with the other consequences when they arose. All they had to do was survive, and Narcissa was determined to make sure that they did.

A discreet knock on the door pulled her forcibly out of her fierce thoughts, and she cursed the fear that bubbled up in the back of her throat completely of its own accord. She should not have to feel fear in the place she had called home for the last twenty years.

"Enter," she said, doing well to keep the quaver out of her voice, but her fingers went to her wand all the same. Lucius made no move except to press his nose almost imperceptibly into her décolletage in a gesture that conveyed the fact he was thoroughly sick of company.

The door opened silently – Narcissa had yet to decide whether this lack of sound was more or less ominous than a pre-emptory creak would have been – and she looked up to see Severus silhouetted in the doorframe.

"I had a feeling you might be requiring this," he said, holding out a small vial to Lucius as he entered the room. Lucius finally looked up and grimaced on seeing it. The potions master did not miss the look and raised an eyebrow.

"As much as I hate to sound like your mother, Lucius, it will do you far more good than brandy will."

Lucius snorted, obviously doubtful and emptied what remained of the brandy into the glass, but he took the vial and drained it with good grace. Narcissa peered at Severus across the top of his head, knowing what she wanted to ask him but not exactly sure how she could phrase it. She trusted Severus, he was one of few Death Eaters that she did truly trust, and if she was pressed, she would have to admit that it was for no other reason than a gut feeling. He seemed to know what she was thinking – he probably did know what she was thinking – and he shook his head.

"No, the Dark Lord has not left yet. He is speaking to Bellatrix on a private matter."

Narcissa felt a morbid curiosity to discover precisely what was being said in that particular conversation and Severus's expression melted momentarily into one of amusement before his usual blank façade returned.

"May I?" he asked, indicating the brandy. "It's been a… testing few days."

Narcissa took the empty bottle from her husband's grasp and vanished it.

"I'll fetch a new bottle," she announced unnecessarily, and reluctantly Lucius sat upright to allow her to stand. She stretched out the stiffness that had accumulated in her limbs after such a period of sitting so rigidly, and left the room purposefully.

Her thoughts as to the content of Bellatrix's private conversations were not idle speculation. Narcissa knew as well as anyone what her sister was capable of, and she knew that personal interface with the master to whom she was so completely devoted would only serve to unhinge her already disturbed mind even further. Somehow, Narcissa knew that anything they planned together would be worse than anything that the entire rest of the corps combined could mete out to their enemies. If they were planning something, then Narcissa wanted to be prepared. Her family had been hurt too much already. She stole down the stairs and, her heart beating painfully in her mouth, she crept closer to the drawing room. It surprised her that there were no measures in place to keep the conversation therein private. Then again, such was the Dark Lord's arrogance that he probably did not expect anyone to eavesdrop.

"… I am worried about Severus," he was saying, and his cold voice almost froze Narcissa to the spot. "I fear that there may be conflicts in where his loyalties lie."

"Certainly my Lord; it can be no coincidence that Minerva McGonagall chose yesterday evening to move Potter, especially when Snape had been talking to her so shortly beforehand."

Bellatrix's voice was low and purring, the same sort of voice that Narcissa would have expected her to use to Rodolphus in the bedroom. It made her nauseous to think of it.

"Indeed. Perhaps a little test is in order…"

Narcissa had heard enough. She knew what they were planning; to let slip some information and see whether, suddenly, Minerva McGonagall came into possession of it. She slunk away from the door and down into the cellar to fetch the brandy, the cool helping her to gather her opinions in a logical manner. Should she tell Severus that this test of his loyalties was planned? Should she let him puzzle it out for himself? It wouldn't do any harm to let him know what she had heard, would it? If he was loyal to the Dark Lord then it would make no difference, and if he wasn't…

Narcissa thought of Severus, of the man who had protected Draco when she could not, of the man who had rescued Lucius from Azkaban and returned him to her, of the man who had reunited her family and brought them back together once more. She owed him so much, and it did not seem to be quite so wrong to return the many favours that he had granted her over the years with this relatively simple piece of information. If the past months were anything to go by, then Narcissa and her family would need Severus's help again. And, thought Narcissa to herself as she made her way back to the sitting room, these wholly selfish reasons aside, she honestly didn't care anymore. Who cared whether Severus was on their side or the other side? As long as the menace who was threatening her family and her happiness was gone in the end, Narcissa could honestly say that she did not care about the motivations of Lucius's fellows. She did, however, care about the fate of a man who had been a quiet and unassuming rock of support for the Malfoy family for as long as she could remember.

She opened the sitting room door a fraction and peered around it.

"Severus, I need to speak to you for a moment. I have… overheard something I think you ought to be aware of," she said, and as he came towards her she smiled inwardly at what she was about to do. The decay within the ranks was setting in. The insubordination had begun…

Note2: Do not forget Narcissa's thoughts on what a private chinwag between Bellatrix and Voldemort might mean…

And yes, in my timeline Lucius still has his wand at this point in the proceedings… *Kimmeth raises an eyebrow.* God, am I permanently gutter-bound? Onwards to the next chapter!