Disclaimer: This story is based on the characters and world created by JK Rowling. Anything you do not recognise is my own creation. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

– CHAPTER SEVEN –

The Fall of the Peacock

Lucius Malfoy stumbles into the gardens of Malfoy Manor, the foil of his surroundings. The grass is freshly mowed; Lucius is unshaven. A carpet of yellows and brown cover the footpath; Lucius wears nothing but a white bathrobe.

A white peacock emerges from the nearby rose bush. Lucius takes one last gulp of his bottle and hurls it at the bird. The peacock ruffles its feathers angrily and struts purposefully away.

'You're not getting away that easily,' slurs Lucius.

Lucius gives chase, slaloming this way and that. He dives at the peacock but misses, landing face-first in the sea of leaves that masks the footpath.

Unbeknownst to the Lord of the Manor, the wrought iron gates creak open. A breeze rolls down the footpath, disturbing the sleepy autumn leaves as it does so. A voice echoes through the air.

'Lucius ... Lucius ...'

Lucius lifts his head. A few leaves remain stuck to his face. He tries to rise to his feet, but falls back. On his second try, he shakily succeeds.

'Who's there?'

The doors to the manor swing open and cast a pearly glow across the footpath. Lucius looks up and sees his darling wife's silhouette at the entrance.

'Narcissa!' he splutters. 'I swear I'm not drinking!'

Narcissa slides inexorably down the footpath. She is dressed in his favourite dressing gown; it ripples with each step like a silvery lake.

She steps out of the light. Her eyes are glazed over and she is holding a knife to her own throat.

'Narcissa!' cries Lucius. His words are clearer now, the alcohol is momentarily held at bay.

'I am commanded here by Death,' she says in a monotone.

'What madness is this? Put the blade down.'

'Tell Death what It needs to know and I will live.'

In his terror, Lucius scrambles for his wand and tries to blast the knife away.

He fails.

Narcissa rolls back the sleeve of her gown. There is a glint of silver as she wrenches the knife across her wrist. Her face is expressionless as crimson erupts from the gash and oozes down her pale hand.

Lucius panics. He raises his wand. A jet of golden fire pierces the night. His wand is no more than a plume of flying splinters.

'Narcissa!' he rasps, staring at where his wand had once been.

'Where is the Resurrection Stone?'

Lucius runs to his stoic wife. He tears off his bathrobe and tries to halt the stream of blood. Narcissa thanks him by slashing her other wrist. He tries to grab the knife but is thrown backwards as if stung by a jolt of electricity.

'Where is the Resurrection Stone?' says Narcissa, placing the dagger once more at her own throat.

'Who is doing this to you, Narcissa? Fight the curse!'

'One last chance, Lucius, or I cut my throat next. Where is the Resurrection Stone?'

'T – The Dark Lord had it!'

'The Dark Lord is dead.' Narcissa begins to cut.

'No! Stop! There is more! Potter dropped it when the Dark Lord hit him with the Killing Curse. The Dark Lord recognised it as part of his own family heirloom. He had it when he met his end!'

'Do not lie to Death.'

'I swear it! On Draco's life, I swear it! In the commotion, I took the Stone from the Dark Lord's body and hid it in the Forbidden Forest; after all, it would not do to be caught with one of the Dark Lord's possessions. When I came to collect it at a later date, it was gone.'

'Gone? Where?'

'My remaining friends in the Ministry suggest it was found in the forest and is now under heavy protection. Now, please, whoever you are, release my wife!'

Narcissa lowers the knife. Lucius sighs in short-lived relief.