TWENTY-FOUR: Headmistress
Narcissa Malfoy stood at the top of the Astronomy Tower and peered down.
Wisps of cloud and fog carpeted the ground below, but it was still easy to feel just how high up she was from the way that the wind blew, and the way the fog swirled just enough to occasionally reveal a patch of earth. The view was a bit dizzying, but Narcissa liked it very well, otherwise. Even at this time of the year, it was too cold and remote for anyone else to find very interesting, and too macabre for any of the faculty to attempt to find her there.
Or so she'd thought. Hurrying steps now sounded on the stair several meters behind her, echoing up through the stone stairwell and carrying easily to her ear. She turned to face the approaching figure, setting her features in stern lines, relaxing only slightly when she saw it was Charity.
Charity paused at the mouth of the stairs, brought up short, as though she were surprised to have found Narcissa there. But, unless Narcissa was mistaken – and she did not believe she was – Charity's haste meant she'd been looking for Narcissa. How surprising could it be to have found her?
"Well, Charity?" Narcissa inquired, folding her hands patiently. "What has you seeking out my company at this unseemly hour of the morning?"
Charity blinked, her redgold, wild hair tangling in the wind. "Death Eaters!" she blurted. "Headmistress," she tacked on, with ducked head and a bit of a bend at the knee, and if that wasn't progress, Narcissa didn't know what was.
"Death Eaters," Narcissa echoed. "Have there been hexes fired?"
Charity lowered her eyes. "No, ma'am."
"No? No one – no one else – is dead, I presume?"
Charity's gaze flickered over helplessly to the edge of the Tower and out into the mist. "No, ma'am."
"Then let us comport ourselves with dignity," Narcissa replied. "Do you know whether our guests have introduced themselves?"
Charity shook her head, breathless. "They haven't announced themselves at all, Headmistress. They waltzed in through the front doors, and no one knows they're here, yet. No one but us."
"Us," Narcissa said. That, too, was progress, though of a different sort.
Charity seemed to believe she'd made some sort of error. "You, I mean, Headmistress. My opinion doesn't matter."
"I've told you that it does," Narcissa snapped. "In private, at least."
"Only, I can't behave one way in private and another way in public, Headmistress," Charity said, eyes still lowered. "I'm not so clever as you are."
Narcissa held back a snort. Charity was playing some kind of long game, and while she respected the attempt, she had little time for it. "Well, then, do go on. Did you recognize any of them?" And did any of them see you?
"Yes, Headmistress. The Carrow brother and sister. Alecto and Amycus. And there was another with them, but I didn't see his face."
"Very good that you found me so quickly," Narcissa said. She looked down at her clothing: robes her own royal blue-purple, with a matching diaphanous cloak draped over her shoulders, stitched with a pattern in narrow, meandering velvet ribbon. She stepped into the alcove of the stairwell; and perhaps Narcissa had paid rather too much attention to her coture because Charity anticipated her, tucking strands of blonde curls back into place and charming them to stick. "How did you find me so quickly?"
"I asked Selyas, and she told me you'd gone here," Charity said. "That you always did around this hour of the morning."
Narcissa tsked. "Selyas should guard her tongue."
"Selyas knows who's on your side," Charity replied, and the hint of a rebuke in the words rather pleased Narcissa.
Still, "hrm," was all she said before beginning to descend the winding stair that led from the Tower.
Selyas was crouched by the riverbank within one of the older portraits, painted blonde plaits swaying in an artistic wind.
"What a darling you are, helping locate me for Charity," Narcissa said. She could practically feel Charity twitching at her side, vibrating with impatience; but if the past few weeks had taught Narcissa anything, it was that her allies needed as much careful cultivation as one of her prize roses, or each would wither on the vine in its turn. "Would you mind calling on Dobby the House Elf as well? There's that lovely picture of fruit, right by the kitchen door for you to call from; tell him he is to bring our guests whatever they desire. At Dobby's discretion, of course," she added, causing Charity to shoot her a startled glance.
Dobby was apparently possessed of a modicum of better judgement, which was more than she could say for most of the staff. She trusted him to appease the Death Eaters without acceding to any desire that went beyond good sense. After all, he'd been perfectly capable of such when he'd served Death Eaters at the Manor.
"Come, Charity," Narcissa ordered, and swept down stairwell after stairwell until she arrived at the stair that rose directly above the Entrance Hall. Then she paused, and observed.
Alecto and Amycus Carrow were easy to spot. Narcissa had always been good at aura-reading, and theirs was so foul it identified them immediately as Death Eaters in general, and as themselves in particular. The third –
Oh, sweet Merlin above.
It was the Dark Lord, himself.
Narcissa darted a glance to Charity. Dared she hide her? No, no – the Dark Lord surely knew of Charity's existence, surely knew that Narcissa had taken her in, perhaps even knew her to be fond of the girl. Her absence would be conspicuous and therefore suspicious.
Oh, no. Oh, no.
How could she have thought herself his equal? How could she have dared be so audacious?
"My Lord," she said.
Voldemort's snakelike gaze lifted to hers. Narcissa hoped against hope that Charity would follow her gracefully, read her body language correctly. Did they yet know one another so well?
Narcissa schooled her features into pleased lines and strode elegantly down the stair, her long, diaphanous cloak dragging the steps behind her. That was, until Charity scooped up both robe and cloak, eyes lowered, allowing them to pool slightly in the middle, but not permitting them to sweep the floor. When Narcissa stopped several feet away from their guests, she could feel a few light tugs on her robes, then nothing more, as Charity lay them artistically behind her.
"My Lord," she said again, once she had his undivided attention. "What a pleasant surprise." Narcissa was surprised when her words emerged sounding pleased.
"As lovely as always," Voldemort replied in a voice that prickled down her spine and out her toes. "I thought I might come with Alecto and Amycus to inspect my holdings. As any Lord worth his salt ought to do."
Narcissa smiled, charmed. She had to be charmed; she had to feel charmed, so she thought of the sentence as charming. Loudly.
She did not allow herself to consider that a Lord such as Voldemort had the lowliest of upbringings, and probably knew what little he did about lordship from books and fairy stories; at least, not for more than a fraction of an instant.
"Alecto. Amycus," Narcissa said, allowing a small measure of the distaste she felt to enter her tone. As well it should; no matter their status as Death Eaters, Alecto and Amycus were ill-favoured, evil creatures, and they were rank. She could smell them from where she stood. "My Lord, I cannot help but wonder why you have brought servants with you. Surely you knew I would be pleased to provide for you, with my own hands, if necessary?"
"I notice you've got a pretty little handmaiden yourself, Malfoy," Alecto said, one side of her mouth pulling back into a sneer. "A little meat on the bone, though; is that to your taste, then? Gives you something to hold onto, I expect…" she added as her brother hissed a horrible, wheezing laugh at her side. "The only good Mudblood is a dead one, I say, but if you make other use of them, each to her own, I suppose…"
Narcissa's lips thinned, but Voldemort held his own hand up in the air and Alecto shrunk back as though he'd drawn his wand.
"Some women carry their pets wherever they go," he said. "A harmless affectation, if it pleases her. So long as she is house-trained. Is she, Narcissa?"
Narcissa bowed her head and bent her knee. "My Lord. I should never dare to bring anything but a… well-behaved creature into your presence. I was hoping…" Narcissa bit her lower lip. "I was hoping I might have more such girls. For training. Shouldn't every pureblooded girl have a Mudblood to see to her needs? So much more useful than a House Elf, they can even provide conversation so long as they remember their place." She raised her eyes hopefully, but did not rise from her crouch.
The Dark Lord laughed, chucking a finger beneath her chin. "You are a clever, handy little thing to have around, aren't you? Well, there are millions of Muggles and Mudbloods, and even if we should set every witch and wizard in the world to casting Incendio after Incendio, it should take us decades to be rid of them all. I will give your idea due consideration."
"Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord," Narcissa said, and rose.
"As a matter of fact, I brought Alecto and Amycus to serve you in their own way," the Dark Lord said.
Narcissa hoped her whole body didn't freeze in place the way her mind just had. "Serve me, my Lord?"
"Serve the school, I suppose," Voldemort said, with an expansive gesture towards the Great Hall, the stairwells in the distance. "Of course, a Mudblood such as your new pet can no longer teach Muggle Studies. And whomever did you have for Defense last year?" He shook his head. "No matter; you're short a Dark Arts professor as well."
Narcissa eyed the Carrows. "And you thought… of Alecto and Amycus, my Lord?"
"Well, not immediately," he allowed, eyeing them in his turn. "But eventually. Once I realized that you might need… a little bit of help."
"Help, my Lord," Narcissa repeated.
"Ah, Narcissa," Voldemort said, hissing the silibants in her name. "Let neither of us put forth the pretence that you are anything but soft-hearted."
"I may be soft-hearted, but I am not soft-headed, my Lord," Narcissa replied firmly. "I know my duty. I shall punish those who deserve punishment."
"Punishment," Voldemort scoffed, and Alecto and Amycus joined him in hideous parodies of laughter. "I know what passes for punishment at this school, Narcissa. Lines. Scrubbing floors. Nothing that will break a child of deleterious habits. And I should know, shouldn't I?"
Narcissa racked her mind for how to answer such a leading question. She knew if she did not continue the conversation, Alecto would do it for her, and she wasn't certain where the odious woman's leadership would take them.
At that moment, Dobby appeared with a full tea service. Narcissa had never been happier to see the small Elf in her life. She almost thanked him before recalling her company.
"Would you care for tea, my Lord, as we discuss the matter?" Narcissa pointedly did not offer Amycus or Alecto any.
"Yes, thank you, Narcissa," he replied.
Narcissa had long since learned how he took it. She poured the tea and led him to the dais in the Great Hall, seated him at her own place. Alecto huffed, sitting at another one of the professorial chairs – Flitwick's, unless Narcissa was mistaken – and propping her filthy, muddy boots up onto the dining table. Amycus left the Great Hall. Narcissa darted a panicky glance at Dobby, who popped out of existence – hopefully to follow the unsavoury man.
Charity stood behind Narcissa, silent and motionless.
"If my Lord did not suppose me strong enough for the position, then why did he choose me to be Headmistress?" Narcissa inquired.
Voldemort lifted the tea in one hand, gently resting the bottom in his cupped palm, and blowing across the surface before sipping. Narcissa stared, because the mannerism was borrowed, and she knew precisely from whom.
Voldemort was playing at being a Lord, and Lucius was his model.
Suddenly a great number of things came together to form a horrifying whole.
"Settle those ruffled feathers, my dear," Voldemort said, lowering his tea to pat her hand – another habit of her husband's. "I am not implying that you haven't the makings of a brilliant Headmistress. Perhaps, however, you need a little help with discipline."
"I am perfectly capable," Narcissa argued.
Argued. She was arguing with the Dark Lord. She could scarcely believe her own temerity.
But letting Alecto and Amycus Carrow have access to a group of schoolchildren and telling them that they were responsible for their discipline? She supposed she could arrange for some accident later, but for both of them? It should look suspicious, no matter how she managed.
"I should rather have Professor Snape for Defense Against the Dark Arts," she said. "We cannot…" She lowered her gaze. "Forgive me my Lord. I never ought to argue with you, or even desire to contradict you. But there is a contrariness in my heart. Help me to understand."
"No, no, my dear," said Voldemort; and now that he'd called her by that appellation once, terrible emerging from his thin lips, he seemed stuck on it. "I like your fire, so long as it is banked. Convince me."
"Well, my Lord," Narcissa said, trying hard to seem tentative, now. "It is only that Severus is ever so much more experienced as a professor. I was counting on his support. On top of that, he knows and understands the students. If we wish to teach them the right way of thinking, we will catch more flies with honey than with vinegar." Calling the Cruciatus 'vinegar' burned on her tongue. "Do you want broken drones stumbling out of Hogwarts in seven years, so fearful that they cannot think? Or do you want bright young minds and passionate hearts, consumed with the love of you, longing to fulfill your every wish because to do otherwise would be anathema?"
Voldemort stared into her eyes, and Narcissa thought of her certainty; filled her mind with happy children praising the name of Lord Voldemort; of little ones in neat little rows, chanting, we love our Lord! Cheerful boys and girls happy to follow their Lord's ideals. And then of Alecto and Amycus's Hogwarts: whips, chains, frightened children, emerging from Hogwarts dull and useless for anything but sullen obedience. Innovation and commerce dying. An obedient, and lifeless populace.
"Very well, I can certainly be brought to see your point of view," Voldemort said, stroking his chin. "But I shall still need to see evidence you can punish those who need punishment."
"I won't disappoint you, my Lord," Narcissa said.
"No," he said. "I believe you shall not." And he nodded towards the door.
Amycus Carrow entered the Great Hall, dragging Minerva McGonagall behind him in a full Body Bind.
Narcissa cast her mind back. When had he left the hall? The moment you started discussing punishment, her merciless memory pointed out. Carrow drew his foot back to kick McGonagall in the shin.
"Well, Narcissa?" the Dark Lord said, offering Narcissa his hand to stand.
When the Dark Lord had first gained young Lucius Malfoy's confidence, lying every other word and spending the entire Black family inheritance on well-placed bribes, she thought she had despised him, but that was nothing to the fire that burned in her, now. He'd backed Narcissa into a corner no matter how she'd danced to escape it; and the idea occurred to her, too late, that he had enjoyed watching her maneuver, knowing that his hounds would tree her in the end.
The fact that he still found her clever and useful and entertaining should have bolstered her, but instead it gave Narcissa a ruinous shiver of shame and self-disgust. She had molded and stretched herself into a new creature for Lord Voldemort, one capable of dancing after him. She feared that, after this was over, she would no longer recognize herself.
Narcissa folded these thoughts away in the time it took for Alecto's smile to grow to a black-toothed grin; then, she took the Dark Lord's hand and allowed him to escort her from the dais to stand before the felled woman.
If she dared sidle away now, Alecto and Amycus would know her for a weakling. They would come back during the schoolyear if they did not simply make camp immediately, and they would terrorize the students and staff, destroying if not murdering the children. She expected that what they lacked in creativity, they would make up for in ruthlessness and sheer, brute force.
Or she could torture Minerva McGonagall, sacrificing her own honor and McGonagall's health as well as any chance of allying with her. Narcissa was well aware of the chance that the elderly witch's heart might give out under the strain.
Narcissa took a breath. It was a choice that was not any choice at all. Still, she gave one last, desperate wriggle away from the necessity of it. "My lord," she said, lowly, in a voice she hoped only Voldemort could hear, "Minerva McGonagall has done me no harm. Ought I to punish a woman who has given no offense? Will that not turn my staff against me, undo all of the hard work I have accompished to earn their trust, in Your name?"
Amycus threw a bundle of something at Narcissa's feet. Charity stooped to it, raising it to Narcissa's hand.
The bundle was, in fact, a stack of unopened envelopes in handwriting Narcissa still recognized from her Transfiguration lessons, opened missives scrawled with other hands below. Dozens of letters, all bound together in waxed string. The tingle against her hands bespoke a shattered Notice-Me-Not on the lot.
"Your Deputy Headmistress plots against you," Voldemort said in her ear, sidling past her and running his bare wand across the bound witch's forehead. "While she bows to you in public, she perches quiet as a spider above you. Some of these," he added, "speak of being rid of you more permanently. Of murder," he said quietly, as though Narcissa needed the elaboration to grasp the full picture. "She even attempts to sway your girl to her side."
Narcissa had no idea the expression that could be decorating her face, now.
"Did you suppose you'd charmed them all?" Voldemort added, voice brimful with poisonous sympathy. "This is why charm does not do, Narcissa. This is why only one thing will do."
"Very well," Narcissa said, drawing her wand: birch, unicorn hair, ten inches. "End the Body-Bind."
At Voldemort's nod, Amycus cancelled the spell with a slashed Finite unlike anything Narcissa had seen before. Unconventional spellcasting and the element of surprise explained how a seasoned hand such as McGonagall had been taken out by a thug like Carrow.
"You thought to betray us," Narcissa said, chin tilted up, eyes narrowed, wand brought to bear.
Show remorse, she thought, projecting the idea with all her strength. Beg for forgiveness.
But McGonagall rose instead, line of her jaw ticking as she pushed herself to her feet. "I would die to ensure the safety of the children at this school," she said.
"I am uncertain what about dying ensures any such thing," Narcissa said from between clenched teeth. "Diffindo!"
The severing spell sliced the Deputy Headmistress's cloak and gown in two so that it dropped at her feet, leaving only a starched, prim-looking collar and shoulders behind. A shallow slash bloomed across McGonagall's collarbone, blood just beading at the apex and dripping down as she swallowed.
Alecto guffawed into her hand. "You missed, Headmistress!"
"No, I did not," she said. Without turning from McGonagall, she added, "this is a matter between myself and the woman before me… and yourself, of course, my Lord. It is not for the prurient interest of such rabble."
"To the contrary," Voldemort said, eyeing McGonagall with interest. "I do believe Alecto and Amycus may yet learn something from you, my dear. However, they will remove themselves to the dais and keep silent from now on."
"Thank you, my lord," Narcissa said, advancing, feeling rather than seeing the other two wizards retreat. "Well, Deputy Headmistress? How shall we begin?" she inquired, using the end of her wand to tilt the other woman's chin to face her. "Should we skip straight to Crucio, or shall we engage in politer discourse, first?"
"Why be in such a rush?" McGonagall said, although her cheeks were flushed the bright crimson of humiliation.
"You're right," Narcissa agreed. "Best let the lesson sink in. Anapneo!"
McGonagall coughed, choking on air.
Narcissa knew very well how distressing that particular spell could be when cast repeatedly; she flicked her wand, not bothering to incant again, until McGonagall was on her knees, choking and gasping. "Orbis! Accio air! Protego totalum!"
McGonagall gasped as the Hall floor sucked her down like it had turned to quicksand, then held her fast by the waist. Her fists beat against the invisible barrier created by the Protego as she struggled for air. Narcissa estimated she would lose consciousness sooner rather than later, given the way she'd pushed the Anapneo. Just when McGonagall's motions began to flag, Narcissa raised her wand again. "Aqua eructo!"
Water began to pool at McGonagall's chest, conjuring fresh panic in the older witch's face. The water rose until it filled the semi-circular bubble, reaching McGonagall's nose and then eyes. Still Narcissa held, awaiting a sign of capitulation from the older woman.
The witch's mouth opened and bubbles fell out; Narcissa Finite'd her spell, casting so that the spilling water parted before it reached her own skirts. McGonagall coughed and sputtered, taking heaving gulps of air.
Narcissa didn't give her time to regroup. "Defodio!" she encanted.
McGonagall screamed as a gash appeared in her shoulder.
"Defodio!" McGonagall's exposed abdomen. "Defodio!" McGonagall's thigh. "Defodio!" The small of McGonagall's back, barely visible above the floorline.
Narcissa took two steps forward and knelt, just out of the reach of McGonagall's arms; not that she supposed the woman had it in her to resist physically anymore. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Narcissa said. "Anything about these letters, perhaps?" she added, shaking them for emphasis, making sure her voice was warm, gentle. Conversational.
"Surely you must… understand… my desire to protect… the children…" McGonagall gasped.
"Surely you must realize my position," Narcissa said lowly. "If you do not submit – if you do not give all evidence of your criminal activities to me – you will die. Alecto and Amycus Carrow will most certainly teach here, with so many positions open, and the children will suffer. I am forced to wonder whether you refuse because of the children or due to your own pride. Crucio!"
McGonagall's back tried to arch away from the pain, Narcissa noted dispassionately, but she was still stuck fast in the floor.
"Finite. What do you have to say for yourself?" Narcissa echoed.
"I… I cannot simply –"
"Crucio!" Narcissa barked, her hand steady on her wand. She held the spell a fraction longer the second time, watching as the woman before her writhed as though she was being electrocuted, watching as her movements caused blood to seep through some of her wounds more swiftly, cut blood flow off from others. "Finite!"
She allowed McGonagall a moment a catch her breath. Summoned a glass of water and helped her drink.
"Well? Will you listen to reason?"
McGonagall met her eye. "I see resistance will… do me little good," she rasped.
Narcissa felt jolted, as though from a dream. She bit down on the exclamation of surprise that sat behind her teeth, waiting to be loosed. "So glad you have seen things my way," she said instead, and it was as though she were hearing someone else speak from another room. She stood.
"Dobby!"
Dobby appeared at her side in an instant.
"Dobby, the Deputy Headmistress is injured. Please see her to the Hospital Wing and make certain her wounds are looked after."
Dobby nodded and disappeared with the woman in tow.
Narcissa hadn't known he could do that. At the earliest opportunity, she would have to sit him down and demand an enumeration of all House Elf skills. She had a feeling she would be surprised at what they could accomplish.
"Narcissa," Voldemort said.
Narcissa licked her lips and raised her eyes.
Voldemort did not look avaricious or admiring or triumphant, or anything else that she expected to find writ on his features. His eyes were soft when they gazed on her hands.
Narcissa realized she was still gripping her wand, white-knuckled.
Voldemort prized it from her by loosening her grip one finger at a time. Narcissa flinched when he pried the last digit free, but the Dark Lord merely slipped her wand into her pocket and led her back to seat herself at the dais. Charity materialized at her side with a glass of water and set it down on the dining table with a quiet rasp. Narcissa looked around the Great Hall to find that only she, Charity, and the Dark Lord were present. Voldemort must have ordered the Carrows away.
Narcissa had no memory of it.
"…my lord?"
Voldemort sighed. "Narcissa, you must know I did not wish this on you," he said. "That I was aware of your… dislike for causing others pain. That I hoped the Carrows would be a boon to you. Not a punishment."
Narcissa frowned. "My lord. I – appreciate your concern. But, as you can see…"
Voldemort was silent for a time – how long, Narcissa could not have said – but eventually he spoke again. "Revolution is violent, Narcissa. The tree of liberty must be watered, from time to time, with the blood of patriots, after all. I am resigned to it."
"I am growing resigned to it, my Lord."
"Yes, you are," Voldemort said. "But, you see, there are many who flock to my bannerwho seek blood rather than revolution. Blood for blood's sake. Do you understand?"
"I think so, my Lord," Narcissa said.
"Your idea about the Mudblood girls is a sound one, but it is a thought that would not have occurred to many of my followers. They would rather cut those girls to the ground to watch them bleed. But not you. Not you," he repeated, patting her wand hand. "You strive to do what is best; yet you are strong enough to do what must be done, even when you despise it. That is a quality that is in short supply within my ranks."
"I thank you, my Lord," Narcissa said. She stared down at his cold, dead-white hand over hers. She had a vivid vision of tearing it off his wrist for a dissociative moment.
"When the time comes, you will be at my side," Voldemort went on. "Your reach will stretch so far as your ambitions allow."
"I look forward to that day," she said.
Voldemort sighed, turned from her. "Perhaps Severus Snape will take some of the weight off your shoulders. He is a hard bastard," he commented idly.
"Yes, my lord."
"But Narcissa," he added in a darker voice, "when I send Severus here, you must watch him."
Narcissa jerked her head up, shaken free of her distress.
"Odd events have spiraled around Severus Snape," Voldemort went on. "Evidence that Severus is involved in said events is circumstancial, of course; he is too clever to be linked to any wrongdoing directly. He is clever and resourceful. Like you, Severus is one of my most valuable followers, and I don't wish to be rid of him unless I must. You invite confidences, my dear. Perhaps he will open up to you, if given the right… motivation."
Narcissa blinked at him.
"I do not ask you to do anything that would cause you discomfort," Voldemort said.
Narcissa realized, as she should have fifteen minutes ago, that Voldemort was being careful of her feelings. "I shall do whatever I must in order to advance our cause, my Lord."
Voldemort smiled at her. "As you have so proved," he said, pushing the Head's chair back to stand. "Perhaps the next time we see one another, it shall be under more pleasant circumstances."
"If you will it so, my Lord," Narcissa said, rising.
Voldemort took her hand and kissed it.
Then, he was gone.
For a long moment, Narcissa watched the doorway, fearful that Voldemort should return, or that he had left one of the Carrows behind. When none of the three re-materialized, she let out the breath she had been holding and turned to Charity.
Charity was staring at Narcissa. Her hands trembled at her sides. She said nothing. Narcissa allowed herself a moment to mourn the trust she'd coaxed from the other woman over their short association.
What next? What next? The answer came to her with surprising swiftness. "Come, Charity. We must ensure that the Deputy Headmistress will recover from her ordeal." Narcissa swept her cloak behind her with a flick of one arm and strode swiftly for the Hospital Wing.
Charity kept silent the entire way. Narcissa had been irritated with her new handmaiden's insubordinate chatter only yesterday, but now the silence grated against her skin like a rasp.
Inside the Hospital Wing, Narcissa could see Minerva McGonagall laid out on one of the small student beds, white sheet tucked up under her chin. The clinking of glass-on-glass to Narcissa's right meant that Madam Pomfrey was bustling about in her office. She approached Minerva's bedside, but kept respectfully out of reach.
Minerva's features were slack and pale against the white bedclothes, almost as though the mind that animated her features was departed, entirely.
Suddenly, Narcissa's guts clenched, and she only controlled her roiling stomach through violent force of will. She would not embarrass herself in front of Pomfrey.
"Madam Pomfrey? How is your patient?" Narcissa inquired.
Pomfrey adjusted her nurse's cap in one, jerky motion, then smoothed her apron: a nervous gesture Narcissa had seen once or twice before. "She is as well as can be expected, given her ordeal. I expect her to make a complete recovery in a few days, but we shall have to see about any nervous complications due to the Cruciatus," Pomfrey reported. "She's not a young witch anymore, though she'd curse me for saying it."
"You will keep me up to date on her condition?"
"Of course, Headmistress," Pomfrey said mildly, and Narcissa led the way from the Hospital Wing, Charity following in her wake.
Charity trailed Narcissa back up to her rooms, remembering, for once, to wait at the door until summoned inside.
"Come, help me out of these. They're…" Narcissa said, looking down at her violet gown. The pathways in her mind that once held polite discourse crumbled to fall into some dark ravine, and she paused, wordless.
"Yes, Headmistress," Charity said, and crossed the threshold, pulling the door nearly to the jamb behind her. Her fingers trembled as she attacked the violet robes' many silk-wrapped buttons-and-loops.
"How is Africa sounding now, Miss Burbage?"
Charity's fingers fumbled at the stays. "Very attractive, Headmistress."
"Then you may as well reconsider it," Narcissa said, feeling a pang in her chest as she imagined starting to cultivate another young Muggleborn witch like Charity from scratch.
Charity yanked so tenaciously on one of the stays at Narcissa's waistline that Narcissa jolted forward and back. "No, Headmistress. Thank you. If anything, I am ever more determined to remain in your service."
Narcissa gripped Charity's plucking fingers to still them. "Miss Burbage," she warned. "I am not sure what foolish, romantic notions of valor were instilled in you by the Order, but the danger is very real, and your position at Hogwarts precarious."
Charity gave Narcissa's palms a fierce squeeze. "No, Headmistress; today's demonstration reminded me of the safety of Hogwarts' hallowed halls, and the far reach of your protection."
Narcissa swallowed and ducked her head in shame.
"I mean to say I am better informed of the dangers now than I have ever been," Burbage said in a hush, dark blue eyes intent. "I choose to stay here and to make the difference I can, in the way that I can. As you have," she said stoutly, and returned her attention to Narcissa's soiled gown.
Narcissa took in a breath that crackled through her lungs like ice. "Thank you, Charity," she said after she was certain her voice would not betray her relief.
"Of course, Headmistress. Would you like to hear your schedule for today?"
"Yes, thank you."
"This morning, you are to breakfast with the faculty. You need to meet with the Constructionist Wizards for a discussion regarding repairs at nine-thirty. You have a lunch meeting with the Minister for Magic at noon, and Professor Sinistra said she would appreciate a word about materials for the Astronomy classes next year. She is willing to do that anytime after lunch… after that, Professor McGonagall…" Charity coughed around the name. "Professor McGonagall wanted to discuss sending letters to the Muggleborn first-years. Whether we… you, the faculty, that is… ought to at all."
Narcissa squared her shoulders. "My midnight-blue robes, then; the ones with the lapels. Dobby?"
Dobby appeared at Narcissa's side. "Yes? What is the Headmistress wanting of Dobby?"
Narcissa firmed her gaze, her chin, her lips. She dared not tremble. "Dobby, I would like every-other-hour reports on Minerva McGonagall's continued recovery. I'm sure you can determine how best to deliver that news surreptitiously. And I want a report from you on everything Elves can do that Wizards cannot do, or have forgotten how to do."
"House Elves is not usually writing these things," Dobby protested.
"I promise to keep your skills close," Narcissa swore, "but I must know of every advantage given me, Dobby. Given us. Do you understand?"
"Dobby is understanding more than Headmistress knows," Dobby said.
"I have a very high opinion, now, of what Dobby knows," Narcissa countered, trying hard to offer him a smile.
"Dobby is getting Mistress some tea, now," Dobby said, exchanging an incomprehensible few paragraphs with Charity solely with eyes and a few, taut gestures.
Charity must've understood him, however, because she nodded, resolute.
Narcissa pursed her lips in faint amused approval, something in her guts settling. Standing between a House Elf and a Mudblooded servant, her fine, bloodstained robes at her feet, Narcissa let a cloak of calm and confidence spill across her shoulders. She might have spilled blood ahead of her and behind her, but standing between these two creatures was the first moment she could kindle a belief in her survival and success, cup it in her palms and blow it to life.
"Very well," she said. "Shall we get to work?"
A/N:
Well helloooo everyone! Hope you enjoyed the chapter.
Narcissa is one of my favorite characters to write in GoG. As readers have commented in the past, it's depressingly rare to come across competent, grown-up female characters of power. Narcissa is having to claw for hers, here. I'd love to know what you think!
In other news, Secret of Slytherin just passed a million hits. I'd laugh in the face of the person who told me such a thing while I was writing it. It's hard to imagine a million clicks, even in a story with about fifty chapters.
Transitioning from fanfiction to fiction is a weird process. If you want to write original work for fun-and-profit, but you want to continue writing fanfiction, just for fun? It may be wise to keep who you are to yourself, or else remove all your fanfiction from the 'net and never write any ever again.
It's that last part that gets me, obviously.
Wondering what I'm talking about? Cassandra Clare, author of the City of Bones series, wrote hysterical H/D fanfiction back in the day. Her stories were briefly available as pdfs and then disappeared entirely. Another authoress, literally my favoritest ever, was infuriated when a friend revealed her fiction-author real name in connection to her fanfiction pseud, because she wants to continue writing fanfiction without being sued. Samstoryteller has also published novels and short stories for profit, but he's self-publishing so maybe it's not as big a deal. Pretty much if you're thinking, "they're amazing writers – why don't they have anything original published?" there's a good chance that the answer is, "actually, they do!"
My niece is helping me write a conlang (a made-up language) for one of the novels I'm working on, and it is SERIOUSLY THE MOST FUN. I mean, I like intellectual pursuits, but I thought this was going to be kind of slog-worthy and instead it is AWESOME. HIGHLY RECOMMEND. Want to try this yourself? There is an excellent tutorial called "The Language Construction Kit" from zompist-dot-com.
So, what's up, longtime readers? How's life? How did you like the chapter? Feedback is both motivation and growth,
-K