Here's the seventh chapter! This is just as long as Dustland now – but no worries, it's not stopping here ;)

The Vanishing curse theory comes partly from various Harry Potter Internet pages, and partly from my own brain – I tweaked it around so it would fit what I wanted to evoke, lol. Besides, chapter title is from the IAMX song and… that's all I have to say for now =) enjoy!

"No, no, NO!"

Narcissa let out a short, shrill scream of frustration. Angrily, she pressed her fingers to her forehead, glaring at the little mouse she'd been practising on; instead of kindly vanishing, which really wasn't that difficult a task, if you think about it, the stupid animal, curled into a ball, was shaking in a rather concerning manner. She could have felt sorry for the tiny thing, in a way, maybe, if it hadn't been both a blatant proof of her own deficiency, and a courtesy of McGonagall – yet another recipient for her overwhelming suppressed aggressivity. As she watched, the light brown fur slowly started smoking, and the rodent stirred and began running in circles, emitting a panicked and rather nerve-wracking squeaking sound. Well, it could sense the fury radiating from her, it seemed. Her magic couldn't be that out of control. It really couldn't.

Travers punched the wall.

"What the devil are you thinking of? The dress you wore yesterday?"

"You are rubbish at explaining!" Narcissa snapped, enraged. A migraine was slowly building, throbbing in her temples, and she hardly cared about being fair any longer. Most of all, she was furious because of her repeated failure, humiliated and anxious and frustrated and she had to blame someone.

"Yeah right," Travers snorted. "Honestly! I've been helping you out for weeks, months even, and you get more hopeless by the hour. You were decent when the year started, quite good even, now it seems like your brain started self-destructing."

"You are being horrible and you make it impossible to concentrate with your pointless and aggressive comments," Cissy growled, "and you are not explaining well."

"Right." He breathed deeply through his nose. "I spelled it out to you four times, the theoretical approach, the parallel approach, the step-by-step method and nearly bloody drawing you a diagram. What more is there? Should I hold your wand while I'm at it, or perhaps you need a fanclub to cheer you on? A house-elf at your beck and call? A choir chanting spell names to set the mood? What is it you need, please enlighten me. I'm desperate to know."

"Stop being vicious!" Cissy screeched, utterly at her wits' end. Her eyes scanned the room for a chair in which she might dramatically collapse, but the furniture had all been pushed against the walls; she ended up sinking to the ground exhaustedly, only to find herself fussing over the dust that her robes were sure to gather.

Merciless, Travers glared down at her from his standing position, his wand rigid in his taut fist. To be fair, Narcissa had begged him for help, had dragged him here time and time again to practise, and had ended up blaming her failure on him. To hell with fairness, the girl brooded as she gave her boyfriend the evil eye right back. He'd been supposed to assist her – his explanations hadn't made anything clearer at all, and his frustration, that became more obvious by the minute, made her feel like a dolt – a dolt under pressure at that. "You may go," she told him haughtily.

"I may go?" he repeated incredulously. "Why, thank you, dearie, but I'm not your bloody house-elf. You can't just treat me like this."

"Where I was brought up, one says 'You may go' to people," she corrected him in an icy tone. "Elves obey on gestures or sharper orders, and should they fail to comprehend, a curse does the job as well." Of course she would never lower herself so far as to curse her frustrations out on a house-elf. Still.

"Oh, but I am delighted to hear that," Travers snarled. "Unfortunately, it doesn't change anything to the issue of you patronizing me. Though don't get me wrong, I am overjoyed to hear that you do consider me as a human being. Then again, I'd like to see you try to curse me, so I suppose this explains that. I don't even know why I'm wasting my time with you… I shall go indeed – good luck with the practising, and don't fling yourself from the window in rage. Oh wait, how's that my business?"

His rant finished, he turned his back on her, leaving Cissy hovering between guilt and wrath. "I'll go back, too," she called to the nape of his neck, rising from the floor. "This is really useless."

The slamming of the door was his only response.

Narcissa sighed, rubbing her temples tiredly. Now her eyes were starting to sting, and she bit her lip hard, fiercely refusing to just give in and cry. This was ludicrous – she would end up managing somehow, and it would be all right. Picking up her wand, which she had left on the floor, she stalked to the exit and headed back to the common room, her jaw tightly set.

There was no sign of Travers anywhere when she arrived. Relieved, and yet even more flustered somehow, Cissy headed for the table where she had left her things. Her boyfriend's were gone, anyway – he was probably off sulking somewhere, with Greengrass, perhaps. Narcissa found her heart beating a bit faster as she gathered her books, a nervous, edgy expectation spreading through her whole body, forming knots in her stomach, burning up to her forehead and tingling till her toes. Her fingers trembled, moving hastily – there it was, a small piece of parchment, neatly folded and innocent-looking. She stuffed it into her pocket.

Once she had retreated to the relative calmness of her dormitory, Narcissa hovered for a while, made reluctant to read her note by the other girls' presence. Cassandra was writing a letter, and appeared superbly oblivious to her, as she had for nearly six months now; however, it still left her unnerved to have her quite perceptive former best friend in the periphery of her vision. Worse still, Alcyone was holding a salon around her bed with her airheaded cronies. So much for intimacy, Cissy thought, fussing over her bag hopelessly. Of course there was still the possibility of retreating to her canopy, curtains drawn, to read the note, but this was simply obvious and she was positive Alcyone would come up with some pretext to disturb her. There seemed to be no way she could safely discover the contents of Lucius' message to her, as she wasn't just about to flee to a bathroom stall for that purpose. Unless… Of course. The library.

Narcissa nearly flew across the castle, settling in a secluded corner and artfully spreading books and pieces of parchment on the table in front of her until she was positive that she would be able to rapidly conceal the true object of her focus if anybody happened to come too near. This being done, she took out, at long last, Lucius' note, which she unfolded and smoothed over neatly, enjoying the feeling of expectation. Missive after missive, she had found her reticences dwindling down almost to nothingness, and by that point she couldn't quite pretend anymore that she hadn't grown terribly fond of this odd way of interaction.

She liked his penmanship, neat and elegant without being overly fancy. She liked the unsettling simplicity with which he spoke of himself and inquired about her; finally, she could feel that they communicated on equal grounds, contrary to her previous anxieties of ridiculing herself. A bond was creating, slowly. Lucius told her about the languages he spoke and the countries he found interesting; they had evoked France and the French before, her passion for refinement and decoration – they had discussed several subjects, so smoothly that it all felt like a thrilling blur to her, that swept her away from everything.

Up above in the regular Hogwarts world, someone cleared their throat quietly. Narcissa violently jumped, her hands flying to shield the note; so taken had she been in her reading that the approach of somebody had gone quite unnoticed – somebody who now stood but a few feet away, calmly smiling down at her. Her fear eased briefly before nervousness took over again. It was Lucius.

"Hello," he said pleasantly and she braced herself to respond without stuttering. "Hello!" she managed, and his smile widened ever-so-slightly.

"I was just leaving when I saw you sitting there," he told her lightly, "I thought I would greet you." He nodded to her books. "I should hope I am not distracting you too much with my desire for correspondence. OWLs year is a difficult time to go through."

"Oh, that is quite all right," Narcissa found herself replying breezily, "I am not too worried… I've been doing fine. Everything should go quite well."

"I wouldn't doubt that." The gleam of his eyes made her giddy. Narcissa willed her brain to function suitably. "I won't bother you too much – I was on my way out." He paused. "Just for your personal knowledge, your boyfriend is out at the back near the Restricted Section, working like a fiend." He bowed his head to her. "Have a good day."

"You too," she stammered under her breath, taken off guard.

Dearest sister,

I've long come home with Rodolphus. Indeed, we had marvelous weather – I'm sure you would have been amazed – and Italy was pretty. It was also pretty uneventful. But never mind – we're back. The journey went well. Everything did. I was bored silly.

I am actually quite busy now – the life of newlyweds is a thrilling one, you just can't imagine how much. Rod and I settled in, and everything's going smoothly now.

I don't really have much more to tell you – actually, I have to go. Oh, and don't worry about OWLs, silly. People go through that each year, and as far as I know, there's been no deaths in Hogwarts yet.

With love,

Bella.

PS: I have no idea about the pictures – you know I have that knack for conveniently forgetting the things I find despairingly tedious. Ask Rod if you're so desperate.

"I just can't believe this," Narcissa snarled. "I can't believe it! I simply can't!" She rounded on Travers, who was writing rapidly and not looking at her. Not letting that unsettling detail stop her, she vented on: "Honestly! Is it me being mad or unreasonable, or is she just being…!"

No qualifier would fit. Cissy waited for Travers to suggest one, and was quickly disappointed. "Come on," she growled. "What was that? She's busy! Too busy to talk to me! She just complained about being bored! It doesn't make sense and she's just… ugh!" Narcissa had a sharp intake of breath, struggling to keep her voice low enough not to draw a crowd. "Say something."

"Shut the hell up," he replied right on cue, as though in a knee-jerk reaction.

Narcissa gasped. "What did you just say?" she demanded. Her hands were shaking as they kneaded the letter, ready to tear it to pieces.

At long last, slowly, Travers looked up. "Cissy, I said shut up," he responded dangerously. "You spent months whining about your sister not writing back, and now that she did, you're upset because she doesn't care to correspond. Couldn't you figure that out long ago? She's busy. You always said she was bad at letters. Suck it up and throw your hissy fit when you next see her. I did nothing and I've had enough."

He went back to his book, then paused again. "Oh, and in case you need a reminder, you begged me to work with you, again. So don't you just tell me I can go away if I so please."

Cissy was speechless. She remained quiet for a few minutes, then leaned forward. "So you think that's normal?" she asked. "You think I should just accept that she's got nothing to say to me? That she's bored, and taking it out on me?"

The look Travers shot her next was close to pitying. "Cissy, your sister has things going on – things she doesn't want to tell you about," he told her. "That's perfectly obvious, from everything you've told me. And you know it. You've known for a long time – you just prefer pretending you don't notice."

Narcissa felt dizzy. It was like Travers had just drawn back the veil to something dark and dangerous lurking deep. Secrets. The letter tore quietly under her fingers, tortured paper moaning low. She paid it no mind.

"I'll ask when I next see her," she murmured, lips numb. But she would deny, deny everything. "It won't be at Easter, though," she added, struggling to get a grip again. "I'm not going home then. I've got work to do – practise. I have to think about myself."

"Sure thing," Travers muttered under his breath. Then he looked up. "That'll be without me, by the way."

"I'm sorry?" Cissy responded, dumbstruck.

"I'll be going home this time, for the holidays," he clarified. "I need to escape the castle… and the pre-OWLs hysteria."

"Abandon me, why don't you!"

Travers stared her down. "No offense, Cissy, but I think I will. You've been quite crazed lately and I honestly need a break if I am to stand you till June without wringing your throat."

Narcissa tried to find the words to convey her shock, to little avail. "I see," she eventually spoke. "Fine. Be that way."

"Don't guilt-trip me," he warned her. "I'm your boyfriend, not your personal tutor. If you think there's a chance you might chill a little and stop being a nervous wreck, you can come along, you're invited. If not… well, stay here and practise."

"I think I'll do just that," she shot back icily. Standing up, she started hastily gathering her things. If he thought that she needed him, he was quite mistaken. "Even if I felt any liking for the idea, that would hardly be proper behaviour."

Travers had a low, bitter laugh. "Fine. Be that way," he quoted darkly.

Narcissa strode away, not quite knowing where she was going. On her way to her dormitory, she got a glimpse of Lucius Malfoy. Sitting with his friends near the fireplace, he seemed oblivious to her presence. But as she was about to disappear into the lower levels, he briefly glanced up and met her gaze, just for one second.

Alone in the empty room, Cissy dropped her things on her bed and grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill.

Would you mind if I asked for a bit of help? she scribbled.

"So," he said, "the Vanishing curse?"

Narcissa nodded, slightly unsure. It felt odd to be standing in a classroom with Lucius Malfoy, especially the same classroom she had been practising in with Travers previously. "Yes, that's the one," she told him. "I can't seem to master it." She bit her lip in shame.

"I see," he commented lightly. "And having McGonagall watching you like a hawk must not be helpful at all, I expect."

Cissy bobbed her head, slightly more at ease. "Really, Miss Black, if you would only focus!" she mimicked. "I am quite sure she hates me. I have no idea why – certainly, I am better at Charms, but it is still utterly unfair."

"I doubt you are to blame for McGonagall's whims and dislikes," he said smoothly, and Cissy allowed herself a daring little smile. "Now, the curse," he began. "It is a subtle one, no doubt. Understanding the theory is very important if you are to master it, and yet in itself it won't suffice – you have to feel it, and channel your magic accordingly."

Narcissa chewed on her lower lip, reminded of Travers. "Feel it," she repeated docilely. "I understand."

The corner of Lucius' mouth curved upwards a little. "Vanishing," he continued, "is not as straightforward as simply transfiguring. You do not simply shift the form – you will it into oblivion. You must focus on it, fully take it in with your mind and magic, and then let it go."

He paused, letting his words sink in. Narcissa produced another slow, pensive nod. It was nothing she hadn't heard before, what he told her, and yet nothing the same. His eloquence took abstract magical theory and moulded it into something that sounded beautiful and strangely obvious. It provoked no actual epiphany in her thus far, however.

"You've seen others vanish objects, and you've certainly done it yourself." He raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Oh, yes," she hurriedly agreed. "Objects are all right. It is merely animals."

"All right, so the act of vanishing in itself is not a problem. It is the target." He paused again. "How much have you achieved while practising before?"

"I managed snails once or twice, but it would never work sustainedly," she explained. "Mice – not once."

He acquiesced. "What do you think happens to the vanished mice, Narcissa?"

Panic flared within her. "I–I don't know," she stammered, "they disappear."

"Calm down," he told her, "I'm not going to think you are stupid. Let me help." She took a deep breath. "They are beings. What becomes of them?"

"Non-beings," she tried. He smiled at her.

"Very good. Now, you are required to send living objects lapsing into non-being. That is to say, into oblivion. They say that vanished things always reappear sometime, somewhere. They fall back from non-being into our reality." He paused again, looking into her eyes. "You are going to have to take this little mouse, and make it slide all the way into nothingness."

There were two beats of silence. Narcissa pondered and Lucius let her, waiting calmly. Then he went on, "Have you ever experienced anything that evokes the notion of oblivion to you, Narcissa?"

Unvoluntarily, she started. Oblivion. Non-being, emptiness, vacuity. Something gave a hollow vibration deep in the core of her being, where pretences fell away and she was nothing at all. Cissy blinked, suddenly panicked. No. It couldn't be the same. A gaping hole, trapped in a brittle cage of bones.

"Narcissa?"

Lucius was gazing at her, coolly, expectantly. He thought she was thrown because she didn't understand, not that she knew so keenly. He wished to help, not to assess her, he had agreed so selflessly. And yet even as he seemed to behave in an open and harmless way, there was something within her that screamed of a threat. The fear that he would come too close, and it would hurt so very badly when he ended up leaving again.

"I think I see," she spoke through cold, numb lips.

"That's good," he commented politely. "In fact, you need to get in touch with the very thought of non-being. Will your target to disappear, not merely from your sight, not only because OWLs are coming soon or because you risk having points deduced if you fail – but because it must fall into nothingness, cease to be… until the universe sees fit to claim it again."

"I think I can do it," Narcissa murmured. Lucius appeared surprised, but pleased. He smiled and she looked right through him. She could feel it in her hands, in her legs, in her bones. Deep, ringing emptiness. She could not let him see.

"Try it then," he suggested. "Go on. If it doesn't work, we can think some more about the theory, or I will show you."

Narcissa raised her wand, the gesture swift and precise. She aimed it at the mouse McGonagall had left in for practising students. Despite the teacher's threats, destined to prevent any temptation of playing funny with the animal, the poor rodent had certainly been handled more than roughly in the recent past – at least she hadn't been the only one that this curse frustrated to death, noted a distant fraction of her brain – and it stared up at her with frightened, pitiful eyes. Her fingers tightened. It was nothing, it belonged in nothingness.

"Evanesco," she spoke, the syllables falling smoothly from her tongue.

She could see the mouse, feel the mouse, small and alive and insignificant, and she could feel what it was to disappear, what it truly must have felt like. This was it, what she hadn't grasped before. She'd been struggling for the place where she should focus, the aimed-at and longed-for obvious concrete result – from one form of being into another –, growing increasingly flustered as the lack of any such thing made itself clearer and clearer. And while she'd fought, while she'd clung to what she saw and what she knew, she'd let the unknown and the elusive fly from between her fingers, she would never have got it right. There was the void, and she was meant to tumble there, release her magic and create decreation – create loss, with living flesh and the simple, blind strength of her spirit.

"Narcissa!"

There was a hand, around her arm, and it was hard, and it was warm. She felt dizzy. Narcissa opened eyes she couldn't recall closing, blinked, breathed out. Lucius was standing too close. He handled her like a doll, guided her to a chair and forced her to sit, and Cissy understood that he had thought she would pass out. Maybe she would have, she pondered, rubbing her arms absent-mindedly. It hadn't felt like usual. It'd felt like it was what she was going for. What her body wanted, what her magic dictated. Not giving way, embracing.

"Narcissa."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she mumbled. "Did I succeed?" She looked, peered over Lucius' shoulder. The mouse twitched, she could hear its tiny cries now. It had fallen in an odd posture. Two legs flailed, the others were missing. Nausea rose from within her.

"You did well," Lucius said quickly, "quite well. For a first attempt – after failing the curse for so long – that's impressive, actually." He hadn't let go of her arms yet. He stood above her and leaned in close, watchful. Cissy took slow, deep breaths.

"I'll try again," she uttered. He nodded vaguely.

"Just… wait two minutes," he warned as he straightened up. He seemed quite unsettled and confused, yet he shook his head under her gaze, as though to clear it and get a grip again. Narcissa obediently took another moment's pause before she got to her feet.

"Ready," she muttered. Lucius rapidly vanished her unfortunate guinea pig and went to fetch another from McGonagall's box.

Again and again Narcissa raised her wand, murmured the spell, channelled her magic and then let it go freely. Her temples buzzed, her head throbbed, the mice squeaked and Lucius stood three steps away, watchful. They disappeared, vanished into thin air. The edges of her vision became blurry and faraway. There was nothing but the mice, and the hole, the one-way path into non-being. She pushed her way towards it, into it.

"That's enough," Lucius intervened, "you've managed it, Narcissa."

She turned in his direction. He walked closer slowly, warily. "Well," he spoke again, "it was only a matter of comprehending the curse, after all."

"Thank you," she uttered, remembering that might have been the polite thing to say.

"I did little," he replied dryly, "not quite what I expected."

He was staring fixedly at her now, and it felt quite unnerving. "I'm sorry I bothered you, then," she attempted. He shook his head. Wrong again. Cissy wished she could go back and undo whatever had gone wrong. Make it fall into oblivion, too. There was a lot of vacuity, all of a sudden. It was not satisfied with dwelling in the pit of her any longer, it spread to the shadows of the room, to the slight frown line on Lucius' pale forehead, the edge of his mouth. It was everywhere and it was addictive, like looking down from some great height. Oh, the quiet commanding pull of the emptiness, calling to her, reeling her in.

"Why don't people do this all the time?" she blurted.

Lucius raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

Cissy felt her cheeks blaze aflame. Why had she asked this? She desperately wished she'd be able to backtrack, but he had his steady gaze trained on her, and it would look even more bizarre if she lied now – he could imagine Salazar knew what, then…

"Well," she fumbled, "the… vanishing things." She trailed off, peering up hopefully. He was not looking enlightened at all. "Yes, and?" he prompted.

And to think she could have sworn it would be impossible to get any redder. "It feels addictive," she said. "Sort of. Doesn't it?" She chewed nervously on her lower lip.

"Why, I hadn't seen it this way." At least he did not sound like he now believed she belonged in some sort of special St. Mungo's ward for the mentally challenged. He appeared thoughtful, and his stare level with a slightly inquisitive edge. "It certainly seems to have shaken you greatly."

"How so?" she tried. She was met with a puzzled stare; his eyebrows raised a bit higher and she cringed inside. Trying to pretend that things were entirely normal was evidently no suitable strategy.

"You looked ready to pass out," he remarked pointedly. "I'd never seen anybody snap from utter lack of understanding to intense focus so rapidly before. It was like a wall had gone down in your head."

"Well," she mumbled, "it suddenly seemed clear. You're a good teacher."

"You're a good student," he replied. Narcissa looked down.

"I'm afraid I must be off," he spoke again after a short while. "I have quite a lot of things to do, actually. Do not hesitate if you ever need a hand again, though."

"Yes," she agreed, "I'll write you." Her own open reference to their outlandish style of communication made her feel rather awkward, but Lucius appeared unbothered. "Indeed," he said lightly. "We will be in touch, but you might be busy, so… Good luck with your OWLs."

He smiled pleasantly. "And anyway, I shall see a lot of you in the summer."

She blinked, and something twisted in her chest. The sensation was not unpleasant – quite far from it, actually. The notion of Lucius coming and going in her life seemed uncanny and natural, dangerous and delightful all at the same time. She stored it in a corner of her mind to be dealt with later. "Yes," she agreed in a small voice, "see you in the summer."

Smiling, he departed, and Cissy stood in the room alone, with the idea of the vanished mice hanging in the air she breathed, like the doorway to non-being. She raised her wand, and stared at it numbly. Then she swept around and ran from the classroom, her heart roaring in her frail chest.