Posted: 12/12/15
Beta: the artful scribbler
A Bedtime Story
23rd September, 1998
"You need to have a talk with Draco."
Narcissa was in her husband's lap. She'd straddled him, her legs dangling down from either side of the ivory, oval-backed fauteuil with burnished silver trim which matched her vanity. She was using her wand to reshape his eyebrows. This was something she'd wanted to do ever since he'd come home from prison.
"A talk about what?"
Lucius was being a lamb. Ever since the misfortune in the Nook he had been deferring to her every whim. She had given him two facials, a manicure, and she'd even gotten him to let her give him a pedicure. Before Azkaban, she had administered these sorts of pampering applications on a weekly basis, without fail, but since he had been returned to her his interest in his appearance had taken such a deplorable dip. He would simply mutter something about there being no point and then ran off to his study to find a stiff drink. But now he was so drenched with guilt that he would probably let her paint his toenails pink if she asked.
"I saw him looking at Agnes yesterday."
Severus had invited himself over for supper with them this evening, and Narcissa was determined that they should all look their best for their master's right-hand man, even if he was just a half-blood. She still wasn't sure whether or not Bellatrix would be joining them, as she had only sidled and balked every time Narcissa tried to pin her down. So the seating arrangement was contingent and this was very irritating, for Narcissa wanted everything to be perfect. Of course, it couldn't be ideal, no matter how well-groomed they were or how appealingly the table was laid out, for Jane would be dining with them as well. And consequently, they would not be supping until almost nine, or later - depending on how long Jane was working.
Narcissa had told Severus that supper at six would be best, for then Jane would be in the spare room trying to slip away, but Severus said specifically that he would like her to be present. Narcissa wouldn't examine too closely any of his potential motives for this odd petition. He was probably just curious about the ghastly thing and might even want to try casting some spells at her…or something. After all, Snape was a scholastically-minded man. And it was remarkable how thoroughly Narcissa was ignoring certain facts about Severus Snape - who was a man who had never been known to talk about women, let alone look at them. He probably preferred the company of men, though no evidence to support this suspicion had ever been latched-on to by the most tenacious gossips. But even if his interest in that small, dark-skinned freak went to a much murkier place than a purely academic one, she didn't care. If the Dark Lord gave his permission, Severus was more than welcome to take Jane to a back bedroom and have his way with her all night long, and Narcissa wouldn't lose a wink of sleep over it. After the debacle in the Nook, when she considered that Jane had seen them all so abject, had stayed to the side, then swooped in at the last minute to save them, she no longer felt any inclination to concern herself over Jane's fate.
"I don't think looking at someone signifies a talking to."
Narcissa tilted her head slightly to the side and fastened her baby-blues on him, silently expressing everything that she was thinking.
Lucius sighed and then feigned astonishment. "Really?"
"I know. I was quite surprised, myself. She's such a dense, homely thing." Narcissa sighed, thinking that she would never understand the male psyche. "She's so cock-eyed, I'm never sure when's she looking at me or the person standing two feet to the side of me."
They both laughed at this unkind observation.
"Well, she is not pretty, it's true," Lucius said out loud. What he was thinking was that Agnes had a good figure, though a little too pumplish for his taste, and he had seen Draco noticing it more than once. However, he was surprised that his cautious son hadn't taken greater pains to conceal his only-natural interest in it from his mother.
"I am not saying I am worried he'll start courting her, of course."
"Of course."
"But you should talk to him just the same."
"Should I tell him that it bothers you when he looks at her?" Lucius wanted to know, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
She wasn't amused. "Lucius."
She reached out and took up a blue bottle of moisturizer from the top of her dressing table, delicately shook some into her hand and began massaging little dabs of it into his papery skin.
If her husband's incarceration had aged Narcissa, it was nothing compared to what Azkaban had wreaked on him. He had come home cocooned in a layer of pancake-thick grime and reeking of decay, sunken-chested and juiceless, with bleeding malnourished gums, rotting teeth, lank crispy hair, wrinkled stringy hands, a gaunt face and haunted eyes. For the first week all he had done was sleep and eat; he took his meals off a tray in the bed, and Narcissa wanted to weep when she had to watch him shambling like a hunched, wispy septuagenarian just to make it into the bath or to the toilet. She had spoon-fed and bathed him like a child. She had rubbed healing oils into his sore-ridden feet and back, applied restoring polishes to his teeth, and forced him to chew bitter medicinal herbs to firm his soggy, putrid gums. Narcissa had never experienced the affects of proximity to a Dementor, but when Lucius came home she could not imagine anything as inhumane as not having access to a bath and a toothbrush for an entire year. Narcissa had cleansed and exfoliated him, moisturized and polished him back to health. But all of her tender nursing couldn't reinstate what they had truly lost from his abbreviated sentence in wizard's prison - their dignity and peace of mind.
The most ironic thing about their predicament was that it had all just been a private joke to them before. The Malfoy reputation. They glided through everything - charity luncheons and fund-raising suppers, ministry-related galas and Pure-blood-only balls, teas, and card parties - with a sneering indifference for the rich idiots with whom they had surrounded themselves. They had all the right friends, in all the right places; they said all the proper things to everybody who mattered. And, once home, they tore them to verbal shreds with vicious glee. They had worried and fretted about taking Jane to Diagon Alley, come up with silly, unlikely stories about her, and it had been for naught. Nobody had asked them about her; nobody had asked them anything. They both realized that the few people who had bothered speaking to them at all, had done so out of fear and a stout sense of self-preservation, not a sincere desire to inquire after their well-being. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, the fashion pinnacles of their coterie, sashaying through the peak echelons of society, whom everyone turned to take affably, admiringly in when they chose to grace them all with their presence. Narcissa was the epitome of beauty, taste, and pampered grace, and Lucius the formidable husband who was a handsome force to be reckoned with. They had considered their respectability to be a birthright, exactly like the fair skin they'd been born in, but it wasn't. Lucius and Narcissa only understood how brittle it was, had always been, now that it was broken.
Perhaps they would not have felt it so acutely if they weren't in the doldrums with the Dark Lord. But they knew now that, even with his grace, it would never be the same as what they had taken for granted during their golden age. He was a merciless devil who considered everyone his house-elves, especially the Malfoys. Narcissa's eye for textures and color-coordination, Lucius's preternatural ability to almost magically turn knuts into galleons, none of that mattered to the master. To please him, all that was needed was a drop or more of pure blood, no compunctions about extinguishing life, a boot-licking nature and an enthusiasm for genuflection, and plenty of luck.
Though they didn't say it, didn't have to, both Lucius and Narcissa longed for their old life.
Now, in his lap, she was inexpressibly pleased to know that he was at last letting her get on with the thankless task of re-beautifying him. Lucius rested his long hands lightly on her hips.
"How do so many men come to be so adroit at overlooking the vital reasons which would prevent a woman from sleeping with a man?"
Lucius laughed uncomfortably. "What do you mean?" he dissimulated.
"Don't pretend you don't understand what I'm talking about," she said, narrowing her eyes at him a bit. "It baffles me the way some men seem quite capable of putting their male parts into almost anything that has a pulse and the correct anatomy. Or sometimes even the last bit's negotiable," she said in a voice saturated with disgust and bemusement.
Lucius was shocked. Not so much about her knowledge but at her barefaced expression of it. She continued, "Even Poissonhas managed to attract a few licentious looks.
"How?" she insisted.
Lucius wriggled in his seat a bit, and darted a dark look at the wall. He had a pretty good idea what had instigated this conversation. It wasn't just what had happened in the Nook, or even her glimpse of their son lusting after the troll-brained, comely-curved Agnes.
Since the Dark Lord's irrefutable reign had taken root in their home, the Malfoys had been subjected to some disturbing facts about a shockingly large number of his followers. Lucius had seen some of this in the last war, but now, with Dumbledore out of the way at last, it all seemed to be coming to a head. Things were being circulated, unearthed, and now men who had always indulged their proclivities under darkest cloaks of secrecy, were stripping away their shackles of shame. And although they might have to endure some sneering taunts, hardly anybody had enough power, or even pure enough tastes of their own to make judgments. And the truth was nobody really gave a damn.
Was it wrong to have sex with a Muggle? Lucius thought so. To him it would be the equivalent of taking himself out to a pasture and finding a ewe to get off with. Since they were basically animals, then could taking a Muggle without its consent be classified as rape, technically? If it wasn't rape, then did it make a difference if it was a male or female? Venison or veal? These types of high-minded, ethical questions could be asked by philosophers; if they felt like wasting their time on it, and were prudent enough to refrain from loudly proclaiming or publishing any opinions which clashed with the Dark Lord's and his Death Eaters'. Lucius didn't have any desire to try to answer them. Why would he bother? It was all happening with or without his approval. So there was no point in worrying about whether Muggles were human enough to be given the sort of basic rights that would make forcing them to have sex against their will to be categorized as rape. Besides, Lucius had better things to expend his thoughts and energy on.
These days that was mainly revenge.
"How should I know? Ask Macnair or Rookwood," he advised her. "You're the only woman I've so much as looked at in over two decades," he lied with a suggestive smile, making an attempt to charm her away from this unsavory topic. After all, the Unbreakable Vow that he'd made with his wife on their wedding night prevented him from sleeping with other women, not desiring them.
His beguiling words did their job as she smiled back at him and then leaned down and started kissing him. She opened her mouth and began to flick his lips lightly with her tongue, entreating entry. He obliged, and she opened wide and went in deep, forcing his mouth to stretch into her besiegement. Narcissa edged her body forward and she began rocking her hips hungrily against him, digging her deprived sex into his. She brought her long, slim fingers up and entwined them in his cornsilk locks. Her pent-up sensual energy caused her magic to pulse out of her, and the assortment of frosted-glass perfume and lotion bottles, and the pots of creams and powders on the vanity began to vibrate and shake. They made a tinkling music like a wind-chime on a warm spring day. It was quite aggressive, for her. But after a moment Lucius gently, yet firmly, broke his mouth off from hers, pushed her shoulders back, and mumbled something mostly incoherent about his hair getting mussed.
As though she was broken Narcissa deflated on him, draping her arms around him, and resting her head on Lucius's shoulder. He heaved a great sigh of sadness and wrapped his arms around her. Lucius planted a delicate kiss on her hair, and then he began to stroke it in a timid, tender fashion.
He wanted to make love to her, but didn't feel that he could. It was as if a year with the Dementors had sucked away all his desire for such things.
After a few minutes of embracing and gentle caresses she seemed somewhat appeased. She sat up and Lucius did his best to not see her dejectedness as she continued her treatments to his skin and hair.
"So you'll talk to Draco then," she stated a few moments later.
"About not looking at Agnes?"
"About not touching her."
"It's difficult for teenage boys, Cissa."
"It can't be that difficult," she told him firmly. "Do you want a grandchild already?"
Lucius affected a little laugh, trying to clear away the tension. "He is smarter than that."
"He should not touch her, Lucius," Narcissa insisted. "She is too far beneath him."
"She is a pure-blood."
"Show me her tapestrial credentials and I shall show you my belief in her blood purity."
"Narcissa," Lucius stated, frustrated. "He has no access to anything better at the moment."
"Then he can wait until he does. It is not as if he will explode."
"He might," Lucius said, in a teasingly didactic tone. "I read an article about a young wizard who went on an expedition to study unicorns all the way up in Siberia-"
Narcissa put her hand over his mouth while she started to giggle. "Stop!"
Grinning, he pulled her hand away. "No, it's true! He damaged one of his hands on some rocks he was climbing and then there was a bad case of frost-bite on the other- "
"Shh!" she told him, still laughing and still trying to cover his mouth while he gently held onto her thin arm.
"There was an explosion one night and the other fellows he was with went to investigate. They found his entire tent in pieces and there were tiny bits of blood-soaked tea leaves and bones everywhere!"
She buried her face in his shoulder while she convulsed in quiet laughter.
"It's not conducive to any man's health, Cissa. He needs an outlet."
Narcissa pulled herself together, and wiped tears off of her cheeks before she answered him. "Seriously, though, Lucius. He needs to wait until he is married to a nice, respectable girl."
"Narcissa, you do not understand how cruel that is," Lucius insisted. "I remember how hard it was when I his age. You don't know what it is like to be an eighteen-year-old man. Sex is all you can think about sometimes."
"I was not obsessed with it when I was his age," she said matter-of-factly.
And that was true. When Narcissa was Draco's age she'd been curious about sex, even masturbated occasionally, but had felt no urgent need to lose her virginity to any of the men that had asked her to date them. Of which there had been plenty.
"Of course you weren't," Lucius concurred. "That is why you do not understand what it is like for him. Why, when I was his age, I could get stimulated by the most mundane things."
"Like what?" she asked archly.
"Like anything, dear, anything at all. A mere cup of tea has the power to arouse you, when you are that age.
"A cup of tea?" she asked, with an unmistakable note of scepticism.
"I am not exaggerating," he responded, his eyes and voice equally grave.
"Men," she huffed.
"Still, Lucius, I think he should wait," she persevered. "I can not abide the idea of Draco diddling the maid. It is so…debasing, isn't it? Besides," she added, trying to found her opinions on practical objections rather than mere sentimental ones, "he will probably impregnate her."
"It is not as if he would be doing it in front of us, Cissa. And I can talk to him about contraceptives."
"Teenagers are not renowned for their caution, Lucius. Young people tend to get careless in the heat of the moment. If we turn a blind eye to this, chances are he'll have her in the family way within a few months."
"So?" he asked, giving her a hard look. "Nobody would listen to her."
"House-elves and Homespells," she retorted.
"We haven't got a house-elf anymore," he muttered.
"The truth will out," she insisted. "We do have Homespells."
"Look, if I have a serious discussion with Draco, I doubt that he'd be careless enough to get a child on her. But even if he did, I am sure they would be more than happy to accept a stipend for it."
"Did that ever happen to you?"
"You would have heard if it had."
"So it doesn't matter? You think our son's prospects are so grim?"
"No," Lucius replied swiftly. "Of course I don't think that. But what is he supposed to do, Narcissa? He is trapped in this house, for who knows how long, and who else is there for him to…" He trailed off. "It's not as if he has access to future prospects at the moment. Or even a good-time girl," he uttered resentfully.
Narcissa didn't really know how to respond to this.
Why did everybody act like it was okay for men? As though they had absolutely no self-control, and everyone should simply look the other way. It was such an infuriating double-standard. And then girls like Agnes always got shunted to the wayside.
If impoverished, young, simple-minded Agnes was approached by somebody of Draco's wealth and stature, it would surely be difficult for her to resist. And if she was too weak to stand her ground, and too stupid to use contraceptives (because Hecate knew she wasn't likely to get any from her baby-making mother), then that was all very lamentable. But why should she be doubted, shunned, ruined - all for engaging in the exact same behaviors in which the man had participated? Why?
"Lucius," she said firmly, "I want you to tell our son that he isn't to touch Agnes."
Lucius had his eyes at her midriff for a moment, but then he looked up at her, and, as much as it pained him to do so, resolutely told his wife, "I'm not going to do that."
Lucius could see that Narcissa was getting very agitated by this conversation, but it couldn't be helped. If he hadn't made such a mess of their lives then Draco would have the same freedom as his peers and he could make trips to Knockturn Alley and visit certain establishments that were exactly suited to cater to his hormone-saturated genitals. In fact, Lucius would like nothing more than to escort his son to these places; not because he was so eager to introduce him to it, but, as a matter of duty, he felt compelled to guide him and give him some sound advice. He might not know from personal experience anymore, but he certainly knew from hearsay, which were the safest and most professional brothels to patronize. His own father had never bothered to do that for him, and Lucius had almost been entangled in some scandalously close calls. He'd vowed long ago, when blessed with his own son, he would not force him to flounder his way through that turbid world in the dark.
"I'll talk to Draco and give him some…," and Lucius blushed a bit. All his potions were over two years old by now, and had most definitely expired. "I'll show him my book of contraceptive potions and make sure he knows how to brew them, dear. I promise."
This conversation hadn't gone the way Narcissa had planned. It looked like she'd have to find a more circuitous way to deal with this, on her own.
~x~}{~X~
"The roast lamb is delicious," Severus said.
Being sure not to let it make a clinking sound, he carefully rested the tines of his fork on the edge of his plate, in the three o'clock position, and brought up his napkin to wipe his lips. Once on his right side, once on his left, and then back over to the right once more. If he had any food in the middle of his lips he could try to discreetly lick it off. Whoever had invented all of these silly, impractical rules didn't seem to have taken into consideration that someone might get gravy in the center of their mouth. But then, Severus had never encountered much common sense in all of his dealings with wealthy Purebloods. Or with anybody for that matter. Common sense: what an outrageous misnomer.
His Pure-blood mother hadn't taught him these manners, for she had not been brought up in the same elite class as his hosts, but he had, over the past twenty years, made a long and laborious study of these finicky creatures' customs, and he knew how to conduct himself at their table.
As his eyes had so often done this evening, they traveled over Jane. She had gravy all over cheeks and chin, even a little in her hair, her glasses were smudged with grease, she had found a new home for the majority of her peas and carrots in her lap, and she was currently dissecting a cut of prime lamb with her fingers.
For the umpteenth time that evening, noticing where her guest's eyes had rested again, Narcissa leaned over and hissed, "Poisson! Use your fork, you disgusting little piglet!"
"Sorry about that," Lucius apologized for what felt like the fiftieth time. "We haven't any means to discipline It properly. And It has proved impossible to train."
"She's fine, Lucius," he assured them, placing a thin stress on the word 'she'. "What can we really expect from a Muggle?"
"Has your new school year begun well, Professor?" Draco asked him politely.
"Yes, Draco. Thank you. It has gone very well so far."
"Have you had any luck finding and exorcising your pesky insurrectionists?" Lucius inquired cautiously, carefully arranging his features to avid interest, not critical or amused.
"Not yet, Lucius. But Longbottom and his followers can't last much longer," he told them.
"Longbottom!" Draco exclaimed, feeling shocked and slightly jealous. He would almost be willing to go back to Hogwarts as a fugitive just so long as he could be there again and away from this madhouse. His tone a touch querulous, Draco kept his eyes on the slice of meat he was cutting as he inquired, "Is that prat back this year?"
"Unfortunately, Draco," Snape confessed, his eyes rimming with an angry little gleam. "Carrow…Amycus, that is…saw him down in the lower levels of the castle a couple of weeks ago. Longbottom managed to give him the slip." His lip curled. "Again. But we shall capture and purge them in the end. I'm positive."
"Capture, surely, but purge?" Bella queried in a distant, but determined voice. It was as though she was only half with them. Her eyes were glassy and vacant, and though they had been bred into her, the manners she was exhibiting weren't as polished as those of Severus, the half-blood. "Don't you think the Dark Lord will want an example made of them?"
"I think, Bella," he began casually, and slid his eyes over her ill-kempt personage, "that the Dark Lord has entrusted the running of Hogwarts to me. In any way I see fit. The ones who have already come of age, such as Longbottom and Finnigan, will be sent to Azkaban, of course. The others will be expelled."
"I believe the Dark Lord had plans to pass a law to lower the age of accountability for iconoclasts," Bellatrix contributed half-heartedly. That had been on His agenda when she'd last been invited to attend His meetings.
"And still has," Severus informed them. "But he has not accomplished this yet."
Everybody's eyes turned to Jane, who was happily, obliviously humming while she sent an indifferent pea down the slide she had thoughtfully created for it in her mashed potatoes.
Bella released an unrefined snort of disgust, Lucius sighed, Draco rolled his eyes, and Narcissa, her cheeks pinkening up a bit, lowered her head in an uncharacteristically defeatist attitude.
"Well," Bella said coldly, "I think that anybody who displays any opposition to The Dark Lord should be executed immediately."
"Well," Severus returned just as frostily, "luckily the Dark Lord realizes that he wouldn't have many people left to govern if he were to kill everybody who disagrees with his policies. It's a shame everyone is not as long-sighted as he is."
Jane belched loudly at this point, and then she started to make some very wet, unappetizing hawking noises.
"Stop it!" Bella barked at her while she slapped the table so hard that the cutlery jingled, and Severus's fork toppled off of his plate with a clatter.
"I's got somefink in my froats," Jane choked.
Then she got up without being excused and started to leave the sitting room.
"Where do you think you're going, Poisson?" Lucius asked her.
She turned around and told him, "I's gotta go the loo."
"How many times do I have to tell you not to use that word, Poisson?" Narcissa upbraided her.
"Fine then. I's gotta wee." And then she turned again and limped out of the room.
The Malfoys and Bella were shocked when, turning back to the conversation, they saw that Severus had buried his face in his hands and his shoulders were jiggling with silent, yet unmistakable laughter. They'd never seen this closed man displaying such mirth in their entire acquaintanceship with him.
A few moments later he had composed himself once more. "Sorry," he apologized. But the vestiges of his amusement lingered around his eyes and mouth.
Severus couldn't believe what he was witnessing. It was though there was a sapling growing out the top of Jane's head, and he was the only one that could see it. It was absolutely brilliant when he thought about it. Utter genius! He'd been meaning to come around to observe her for some time but hadn't an opportunity to do so before now. He was unspeakably – with infinite layers attached to unspeakably - glad that he finally had the opportunity to come here, and he was also profoundly relieved by what he was seeing. He had been quite worried about her, even after Dumbledore's portrait had implied that she might not be as dumb as she seemed.
He was still concerned for her well-being of course. How could he not be when she was working in such close proximity to a person like the Dark Lord? Not to mention sharing quarters with the Malfoys and Bellatrix. They had all made some incredibly unpleasant remarks to her this evening – and they looked at her like she was a bad case of head lice. Of course, if this was her typical behavior with them, he could hardly blame them. But neither could he help wondering whether they'd ever heard that adage about the flies and the honey. Perhaps not, but there was surely some magical equivalent to it. There almost always was.
"Why doesn't she just use the lavatory that adjoins this room?" he asked.
"Please!" Bella huffed. "As if we'd allow It to pollute our toilets with Its nasty excrement."
"Bella," said Cissa, managing to pronounce her sister's name like a reproof. Then Narcissa turned to Severus and composedly educated him, "Of course we do not allow It to use our lavatories, communal or private. We insist that It always use the one in the spare room where It sleeps."
"I see," said Severus, not really seeing at all, but he was wise enough to abstain from dissenting. Was any excrement not nasty? Apparently they believed theirs wasn't.
"Is she always this…laconic?" he asked them.
"Thankfully, yes," Lucius told him.
"We prefer it, of course," Narcissa added. "Although it can be…frustrating at times."
"How so?" he asked.
The Malfoys looked at each other uncertainly for a moment, not sure how to express what they'd all been aggravated by on separate and collective occasions.
"It's…not secretive, really," Lucius began. "It just does not know how to verbalize Itself very well, and, at times, it would be more…convenient if It could. I suppose."
"Has the Dark Lord expressed this as well?" Severus asked them.
"Not to us," Bella muttered.
"Nor in the meetings," he told them. "He never speaks of her. Do you think she's…proving useful…to our cause?"
Lucius glanced at Narcissa before he guardedly answered, "He's only ever questioned It in our presence once. He…never really praises It of course. We- "
"We aren't sure," Bella cut in. "He's never said one way or the other."
"But he does have her spying for him on a regular basis."
The Malfoys, and this time Bella as well, exchanged looks once more. They hadn't expected Severus to ask them such detailed and blunt questions about any of this. Is this why he had come to sup with them?
"Have you discussed this with our master?" Lucius asked.
Severus bestowed him with one his impenetrable looks. "No. I'm discussing it with you."
Lucius wasn't sure what he should or should not tell him. Once upon a happier time he would have simply informed Severus that the Dark Lord's business was nobody's but his own.
"If the Dark Lord wishes you to know what goes on up here, He'll tell you, Severus," Bella said in a scathing voice. "You should know better than to- "
"Bella!" Lucius cut in forcibly.
"Lucius," Bella addressed her brother-in-law with drooping, scornful eyes. "He's being impertinent and he should know better."
"Bella," Narcissa murmured reproachfully.
"What!"
Lucius and Narcissa were both looking curses at Bellatrix. She had no subtlety.
Bella turned back to Severus and said, "I believe the Dark Lord would be most interested to know what you've been asking us this evening."
"By all means," he replied with cool asperity, "tell him."
"The fact is, Severus, we don't know how useful he finds It," Lucius told him.
"What sort of experimentation has he done with her?" he asked.
"Ask Him," Bella hissed.
"There's no harm in telling him that, Bellatrix," Lucius said. "Many of our acquaintance are curious about Its immunity to magic."
"They cast spells at It," Bella amended. Then she turned to Severus and told him, "You are more than welcome to cast some spells at It."
Severus should have asked Narcissa to exclude her sister from this meal.
After the pudding was finished, Severus took the Malfoys off guard when he told them he'd like to take Jane to her bedroom. She was in a chair playing with some of her dolls, her eyelids were slowly dropping and she kept yawning.
"I don't see why not," Lucius said looking to his wife, the expression in his widened eyes directly contradicting his statement.
"Severus," Narcissa said. She stopped, then continued, "Does the Dark Lord know that you wanted to have supper with us and…and see…the mudblood?"
"I didn't mention it to him, no. Is there a problem with me taking her to bed?"
Alarmed by his language, Narcissa and Lucius turned to each other again, and both, by a series of encoded looks, were trying to get the other to ask him to clarify his meaning. Was this meant to be an indication of some heretofore hidden paternal instinct, or was he asking for permission to help Jane change into her nightdress?
"I suppose that depends on what you mean by take It to bed," Bella baldly enlightened him. And with a beacon of delight burning in her eyes, she asked "Did you mean walk It to Its bedroom, or have you decided to at last reveal your…," she raked her eyes up and down him in a highly suggestive manner, "predilections?"
Now it was Severus's turn to blush.
"We don't mean to be indelicate," Narcissa explained. "It's simply that, however much the Dark Lord has distinguished you, we are certain he would be displeased if you…well, if anybody…were to…without his permission."
Merlin's nightgown, he thought to himself. What's the world coming to?
But he already knew the answer to that question. Their endemic world was now ruled by an unscrupulous madman.
"Rest assured that what I said about taking her to bed can only be interpreted literally, rather than…euphemistically."
All three of the Malfoys looked relieved by his answer. It wasn't that Lucius thought Severus would throw a tantrum if he wasn't allowed to have his way with the rank thing, but these days who was he to deny a man of Severus's position what he wanted?
"Come along now, Jane," Severus called her, his voice commanding.
Narcissa noted Jane's reaction to this, her relaxed stance as she stood up and walked to him. She didn't hesitate or seem in the least bit reluctant to go to her room with him. Her words in the Nook had illuminated at least one indisputable and disruptive fact. The Malfoys now understood that Jane knew things about the people who associated with their master; she probably had dirt on everybody. And Narcissa decided, from watching Jane's detached willingness to be alone with Severus, whatever she might or might not know about him, he had no unnatural interest in pre-pubescent girls.
As soon as Severus and Jane were out of the sitting room, he felt a small warm hand slip into his. He turned to look at her, but her eyes were facing forward.
When they were in her room she got a nightdress from her bureau and then she went into the lavatory and closed the door.
Severus walked around the room, examining her surroundings. It was clean, tidy, spacious, and well-furnished. When he came to the square breakfast-table stationed in the corner of the room, he stopped when he saw that it was packed with art supplies. Small containers of paints were grouped according to color on one side, a modest stack of white paper beside it, there was an empty jar full of different sized, upturned brushes, and there were other jars which held sticks of graphite and pencils, and a thin flat wooden box, when opened, revealed a water-color set. Tiny glass beads rested in miniature pots, and in a thin cardboard box he saw scissors, jars of glue, and a small pack of glittering stickers. All of Jane's things were tidy and organized, the paint brushes were clean, and she'd even taken the time to arrange it all with a sort of symmetry. Severus thought that this was probably a better representation of her true nature than what he'd seen at the supper table earlier.
When he got to the windows he saw that some of her creations had been adhered to the walls and went in for a closer examination of them.
Severus was no expert, or even a connoisseur for that matter, but even he could see the quality in her drawings and paintings. They weren't just surprisingly good, they reflected talent, an observing eye, a steady, coordinated hand, and he found much beauty in what he saw. Jane had made many precise, realistic drawings of the manor, the woods and gardens surrounding it, or sometimes it looked as if she had sketched groups of objects that she had brought together and situated. He was particularly impressed by one with a gilded vase packed with roses and some of the magical, broad-leafed zerdangas from Narcissa's greenhouse, and in the forefront of the picture were a small hinged keepsake box, a gathered sheer embroidered scarf, and an elaborate, three-branched candelabrum. Every little detail had been captured; every shadow shaded, and every slice of light untouched.
There were paintings as well, but many of these were more whimsical. Cartoonish people wearing silly, and often risqué, outfits like the superheroes and villains of Muggle comic books. Some of her paintings weren't of anything at all; they were, at first glance, simple blends of disconnected hues. But Severus looked at them anyway, to try and see what Jane saw when she looked at the world. They were splashed and dashed, blended and bleeding, stroked vibrancy tempered with sobriety. Half-made shapes seemed to fall apart at the seams and run into anonymity - a curly-cue that transfigured to a fleur-de-lis, a silhouette of a woman's full figure that melted to a puddle of blood – or was it a foot? One of them Severus found quite compelling, but he was made uneasy by it as well. It reminded him of Lily. It wasn't a feeling he could have explained or defined; but it was perhaps just the color pallet she had chosen. The apple-pink of her blushing cheek, the rich wine curtain of her hair, and the deep-sea green of her cheerfully somber eyes. He turned away from it – the unexpected longing glaring at him from the place where he kept her in the dark. Lily was only aired out when he couldn't stop it happening.
And as he perused her motley collection, for the first time since he'd laid eyes on her, Severus began to consider that she might very well be much older than she looked. In the wizarding world artists had never been given credit as beings of any valuable talent, tending to be looked down on as people who simply had little magic.
Jane came out of the bathroom in her nightdress and joined him by the window. He noticed that she'd washed her supper off of herself. He also noticed the severely ascetic pattern of her nightdress - white cotton, with nary a ruffle, ribbon, or stitch of lace.
"These are yours?" he asked, sweeping his arm around the decorated alcove.
She nodded.
Severus, a man who believed that compliments were only sincere when they were infrequent, told her, "They are lovely."
"Fanks."
"Has the Dark Lord seen them?"
She nodded.
"Has he ever mentioned them?"
She shook her head.
He found Jane's little art gallery to be more sad, certain proof of humanities promptness at dissecting itself. Misanthropy, thy name is Severus Snape.
"Are you alright, Jane?"
She nodded.
"Will you look at me?"
She complied.
"Are you alright?"
Her large eyes were magnified by the thick lenses of her glasses. He inspected them with care, looking for the person who sat in the corner painting.
She remained empty and unfocused. Then she looked away again and shrugged.
"'E send you?" she asked the window.
"The Dark Lord?"
She looked at him again and this time her eyes were less disengaged from him. She shook her head at him again.
"No. He did ask me to keep an eye on you…when I can. But I came for myself," he told her quietly.
Severus didn't know why he'd come, not exactly. He did want to make sure she wasn't being harmed, in keeping with the promise he'd made to Dumbledore. But he almost wished that she would speak to him. She, like him, was hiding, he was certain of it, and they were the only ones who knew the truth about one another. He felt inexorably drawn to Jane.
"Do you need anything Jane?" he asked sincerely.
She shrugged again.
"Is there anything you'd like me to bring you or- or do for you?"
She nodded.
"What is it?"
She stood there like a stiff animal that was alertly sniffing for a sign of a predator.
"Tell me, child."
Instead of answering him, he watched in swelling bewilderment as Jane walked to her bed, took up a candelabra from the little table beside it, and using the edge of the bed to carefully lower herself to the floor, she lifted the thick, embroidered bed skirt, and crawled beneath it.
About a minute later she came out from under her bed, but she'd brought something with her. He saw that it was a small, leather-bound, gold-embossed book.
She went to the sofa tucked into the corner opposite her make-shift art station and sat down. She looked at him then and patted the cushion next to herself.
Severus joined her on the sofa as requested, and once he was situated comfortably Jane curled her legs up, burrowed herself under his arm and into his side and rested the book on his leg. She flipped it open to the middle and began to riffle through the pages until she found what she was looking for.
"Read," she commanded him.
Severus wasn't very comfortable with her snuggling against him. He pulled out his wand and cast a spell at her bedroom door, making sure they wouldn't be interrupted without a little warning. He had asked her, though, whether there was anything he might do for her, and intuitively he understood that wanting to hear a bedtime story was merely the subtext. The act of being read to – the kindness instilled in the action – and being unflinchingly embraced – these little gifts were the plot.
Human touch was a foreign country whose borders had been sealed off to Severus ages ago. He had not planned for his visit properly, had squandered his savings for it with stupid choices, had been too distracted trying to accumulate power to memorize the topographical maps and plan his route; he had never bothered to study the language and customs of it, and he was long resigned to the reality that he would never be awed by the majestic sights, never savor the exotic flavors within. There was only one person he'd ever wanted to travel there with anyway, and after her death he had never even bothered renewing his passport. Apparently Jane had not given up on her dreams yet.
The story she had selected was a child's fairy tale, about twenty pages long, with lots of vivid illustrations, many of which, in keeping with traditional children's books in the wizarding world, were rather macabre. Severus had never read or heard this story before. She must have gotten it from somewhere around the manor. He briefly wondered whether the Malfoys knew she had it here, and then he wondered what else she might have hidden under the bed.
"Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful young witch named Elphaba," he began.
She sighed and seemed to melt a little under his arm. She rested her head on his chest, and pressed her ear to it.
By the time the story was finished she was fast asleep. He nudged her awake, walked her swaying to the bed, and helped her climb in. Severus took off her glasses, carefully folded them and set them next to the table by her four-poster, and, sweeping his wand around the room to extinguish all the candles save the ones in the candelabra next to her bed, he left the room.
~x~}{~x~
"It was probably just enjoying the show," Lucius said.
Warm firelight from the table candelabras and wall sconces spilled over the ample sitting room and re-shaped it into a cozy grayish haze. The crystal decanters on the sideboard and the antique ornaments twinkled softly in the shifting flamelight and the all the corners of the room had fallen into a comforting, dusky obscurity.
Severus had left a half hour ago, and the Malfoys and Bellatrix were still in the sitting room having some postprandial drinks and talking about Jane. Again. They'd thoroughly canvassed the topic by this point, but it kept coming up again.
Narcissa, Lucius, and Draco had all recounted what they'd overheard Jane saying to Charles and Daniel in the Nook, but they couldn't make knuts or galleons of it. One was utter nonsense to them and the other couldn't have been English. They had each asked her more than once about what it had meant, but she just kept shrugging at them.
"Of course It enjoyed it," Draco contributed. He was sipping some imported bilberry wine, lounging contentedly in a wingback. Unlike many lanky young men who untidily draped awkward limbs pell-mell, Draco knew how to conduct himself like a gentleman and kept his legs gracefully crossed, and his elbows were tucked neatly in. "I've reckoned It has to have a brutal side after the way It kept pestering me on the day I had to drink the Amorentia. You saw what It was like."
(And Jane had sneezed on him.
A few days ago Jane had asked him some asinine question about two of the portraits that hung on the sitting room wall, and Draco, knowing she'd had a bath that morning, had leaned down to her level and begun to berate her for being stupid and…well, for existing. Without any warning Draco saw her head tilt back and her face scrunch up, and the next thing he knew his whole face was covered in a fine mist of mudblood spittle. He felt it go into his eyes and he was positive that some of it had gone into his mouth.
Jane fastened round, artless eyes on him.
Draco stood there for about an entire minute, internally weighing the pros and cons of hitting her. He'd also contemplated vomiting on her. If she'd spoken to him, even apologized, or if her mouth had so much as twitched he would have lost his control.
Without speaking, Draco had turned around and headed for the door of the sitting room.
"Where are you going?" his mother asked.
"To shower," he'd replied.
Draco brushed his teeth about four times, threw out the toothbrush, opened a new one, and scrubbed his teeth again. Under and on top of his tongue, the roof of his mouth, he scraped the stiff bristles over the sensitive skin of his inner cheeks - he'd brushed bits of his mouth that he'd never bothered with before. Then he'd taken and a long, steaming shower and washed his face and neck so forcefully that he'd accidentally gotten some soap in his eyes. Even though it had stung like hell it was a welcome sort of pain, because he imagined the soap cleansing his eye of her saliva.
It had happened three days ago but he still couldn't shake the feeling of contamination.)
If Lucius and Narcissa had different recollections about what had happened on the Love Potion Day, they would certainly never embarrassed Draco by contradicting him.
"Of course, It's nothing but a brute, Draco," Bella richly agreed. "Even a child as dim-witted as she is, has to understand that magical people are her betters. That's what makes her getting involved in all this the most shameful. That nasty little thing, snooping around in everybody's business, imagining Itself equal to the witches and wizards that It should be serving. The Dark Lord ought to put a collar on It, have It wear a sheet or a bath towel, and go around serving us supper and refilling our drinks. Not let It sit down to take meals with us. That would teach It It's place posthaste."
"Hear, hear," Lucius seconded and raised his glass of undiluted vermouth to his sister-in-law.
She smiled, raised her glass of dandelion wine in return, and, for once united, Lucius and Bellatrix took a drink together.
Narcissa was pleased to see that they were at last getting along with one another. They'd been speaking to each other quite frequently and amiable lately. She'd spotted them, heads to together, thick as thieves, several times over the last week and a half. Whenever she drew close they hurriedly broke apart and changed the subject. She knew, of course, what they were discussing.
Narcissa was trying to forget not only what Bella had said about Lucius, but also that she had abandoned her in her darkest hour, and forced Narcissa to rely on – of all people – Jane to help her nurse her husband back to health. She hadn't told Lucius or Draco about the way Jane had silently and passively helped her long into that terrifying night, as she didn't want to heap more humiliation on them than they already had. Jane had tended simmering potions, cut and ground magical plants, kept Lucius, flushed and feverish, from overheating by applying cooling washes to his face and bare chest, and made countless trips to the Brewery to fetch books and bottles for her. Of course, as Jane couldn't really read she'd often brought all the things she thought might be what Cissa needed, but luckily she'd always managed to bring her the right thing along with the extraneous.
"That's one thing that has always puzzled me about It, though," Cissa mused. She took a moderate sip of her cherry cordial and said, "It told the Dark Lord that the reason It went to Dumbledore was because the Muggle-scum It lived with were treating It like a house-elf. But It is a house-elf. It has no family, no money or connections, It's so ugly and crippled; It was left on the steps of an orphanage, for the sake of Circe! How did It ever come to the conclusion that It was fit for anything better than serving others?"
"It was because of It's ability to…'slip away'" Lucius told her sagely, even bringing up his hands to add the air quotes.
Narcissa murmured skeptically, "I suppose."
If anybody had asked the Malfoys why they hated Jane even more now than they did before the day in the nook, they probably would have said, with complete honesty, that it was simply because she hadn't helped them sooner. But that was only a small part of it.
She had used her "power" to help them. The Muggle. The deformed, ugly, stupid, ineloquent, dark-skinned, Muggle, with an obscure pedigree, who had a higher status than them. It was also the fact that they now understood that Jane didn't particularly like them. She didn't like them. How could she not adore them? They were everything that she should envy, everything she should aspire to be. Not that she ever could be like them. But still, even if she didn't like them she should still try to make them like her, to please them. However, Jane didn't seem to care one way or another, what they thought of her. And after everything they'd given her, the toys, the clothes, the fine food, and the lavish accommodations, she should at least have a sense of gratitude towards them. Now, of all the trite and derogatory adjectives they used to define Jane, they also had to add uppity and ingrate. It was Dobby all over again.
Another agitating aspect of what she'd done in the Nook was incontrovertibly proven that she knew things…about everybody. Including them, most likely. She'd reluctantly admitted to the Dark Lord that she'd seen his servants in the lavatory and even having sex. They had never discussed this aloud as it was too uncomfortable to reflect on in the privacy of their own minds, much less verbalize with each other. Lucius and Narcissa especially grew terribly uneasy at the idea of Jane watching them in bed together. Before and after Azkaban. Which was worse, her seeing them naked and sweaty, moaning and panting, or her noticing that they didn't anymore? And perhaps even understanding why. For Lucius, the latter prospect was the most mortifying. Narcissa was equally troubled by both scenarios.
Even Draco couldn't help wondering whether Jane had ever seen him in the buff. And then it made him worry about how he measured up. She'd probably seen dozens of male appendages. If Draco was smaller than average in that department then Jane knew it. Draco himself wasn't certain about it, but she might know. He was almost tempted to ask her, but what if she told him yes, that he was exceptionally tiny for a man? He'd rather not know. And Draco was also incredibly jealous of her ability to watch people without them knowing about it. If he had her power, the first place he'd go would be the female dormitories of Hogwarts. All four of them. What a waste that such a gift should have been indiscriminately bestowed on someone like her. Where was the justice in that?
He also worried about whether she'd seen him talking to that ghost while he'd sobbed his bleeding heart out.
Bellatrix wasn't that worried about what Jane may or may not have seen her doing, simply because she had absolutely no shame.
The thing that worried Lucius the most, even more than the sex issue, was the Lindgren baby. Had Jane seen what had happened that night? It was absolutely the most shameful secret that Lucius possessed, and as it had all happened in the company of his sister-in-law and the Dark Lord himself, there was a very good chance she had been there. The events of that disgusting evening followed him around like a diseased dog he'd once been foolish enough to feed. The cries of that child had clanged continuously over every other sound for his entire year with the Dementors.
Although he and his family were frustrated with Jane's refusal to explicate what she knew about the scum that had hurt and humiliated them, Lucius was secretly relieved that Jane wouldn't expound on it. She was demonstrating a discretion that Lucius whole-heartedly welcomed. He only prayed that she would continue keeping her mouth shut. If Narcissa or Draco ever found out about that night, in addition to killing Jane, Lucius doubted he would ever be able to look his wife or son in the eyes again.