Everyone who was anyone in the wizarding world — the only society that mattered — knew Malfoy Manor was a well-protected fortress that housed the cream of the magical crop. They may not know where it was located, as a wizard's home was a very private matter, but they knew it would be both beautiful and deadly. And it was truly beautiful: it rose from the countryside with graceful wings, surrounded by gardens and hedges, made all the more lovely by housing peacocks and breeding swans. But it was not a place anyone would want to trespass upon… or to be brought to against their will.
At the moment, however, late morning on New Year's Eve, it was not an example of wizarding might. The protective wards had been relaxed, the sitting rooms tinkled with tea cups and feminine laughter, and upon the long table in the formal dining room was not a house-elf catered meal, but a pile of presents and a modestly-sized cake made of self-cleaning nappies.
The hostess herself was gloating over her well-planned, well-executed, and very well-attended party when the guest of honor brought her directly into the witchlight.
"And when," said Camilla Greengrass, settling her porcelain teacup on its saucer, "will Narcissa be in bloom?"
She did not say this quietly; in fact, it was spoken loud enough that the other witches sitting in the parlor at Malfoy Manor quieted, swiveling their heads toward two women, one of whom was a Malfoy by birth, and the other a Malfoy by marriage. Narcissa fixed the smile on her face.
"In time," she said, tranquil and sure.
Camilla patted her belly in the self-satisfied way of a soon-to-be first-time mother. "It would be good for this little one to have a cousin his or her own age."
"What difference would a year or two make?" Narcissa asked lightly. The back of her neck prickled, and she swept her hair over her shoulder.
"Difference indeed," said Bellatrix, leaning forward and into the conversation. The light streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows caught her eyes just so, making a fire burn in the dark of her iris. "I happen to think our world will be quite, quite different in a year or two."
"May it be so," murmured Narcissa, folding her hands in her lap. "What a hopeful thought, Bellatrix."
Bellatrix twitched her robes. "It is more than hope." Over the last years, Narcissa had watched her older sister become more and more fervent in her service to the Dark Lord, though that was hardly at all public knowledge. It was there, though, in the room with them. It spiced the air. Even more discussions quieted. Perhaps Bellatrix was not confirmed a member of the Dark Lord's inner circle, but that scent — of danger, purpose, and devotion — clung to her most of all. The witches attending Camilla Malfoy Greengrass's baby shower could smell it.
"Indeed," said Narcissa.
Her gaze touched on Bellatrix's. There was to be more than one festivity for them that same day. As gracious and well-appointed this one was, hosted as it was at Malfoy Manor by Narcissa herself, there was to be an even more important event later that night, as one year passed into another.
The two sisters shared a small laugh.
As one, the other witches seemed to sigh.
The house elf, Dobby, snuffled into the room, carrying a tray from the kitchen piled high with cucumber sandwiches. In a smooth motion, Narcissa stood, brushing down her pale lavender robes. "I would rather bloom with these," she gestured, smiling at her guests. "Camilla, surely one baby a year is enough for the Malfoy grandparents?"
Camilla's mother-in-law raised her teacup. "And the Greengrasses," she said.
"Ah," said Narcissa's own mother, "But will anyone think of the Blacks?"
"Cissy will give you your first grandchild in due time, Mother," Bellatrix said smoothly. Her features blurred for a single moment, giving her the fleeting appearance of Andromeda, the third sister, of whom they didn't speak. The child of Andromeda's stupidity was spoken of even less. "I'm confident of it."
"And what of you, Bellatrix?" Camilla ventured. The bravado was now gone; the hand on her belly seemed less bragging and more protective. "Will you and your husband…?"
Bellatrix merely stared at her, her heavily-lidded eyes further narrowed. "I have quite a bit going on at the moment," she said.
"You're just like Regulus," said Aunt Walburga, mournful and proud.
Narcissa was the only one who noticed the flicker of annoyance cross Bellatrix's face before it melted back into a conviviality that Narcissa was sure was mostly feigned. Bellatrix was here, at a party thrown by Narcissa to celebrate her sister-in-law, because the older witches would not have understood why she was not there. But in the last year or so, Narcissa's sister had blossomed under the hand of the Dark Lord.
"He is teaching me," Bellatrix said gloatingly. "I am his most fervent student… I've even outstripped Regulus."
Regulus, their talented cousin, whom they had all looked up to, even Bellatrix, who was closest to his own age, had been the first of their generation to stand by the Dark Lord's side. The depths of his talent had grown nearly as fathomless as the Dark Lord's, and when it had come to penetrating Nurmengard itself, under the protection of hordes of Aurors, it had been to Regulus that that task had been given.
But ever since Regulus had come back with a mirror that had done nothing to bring Albus Dumbledore to defeat, the title of favorite had undergone a transformation from Regulus to Bellatrix. It was not in any way too obvious: she was merely given more of his counsel, and he asked of her slightly more than he did the others. It bothered Lucius more than it did Regulus, Narcissa thought.
"Had he sent me, I would have brought far more than a mirror," claimed Lucius. "It's said Grindelwald had the entire set of the wandering stars. Now those I could have slipped right in my pocket, and the Dark Lord wouldn't have sent someone to Nurmengard for nothing."
That had been a few nights after the incident with the mirror, which had proclaimed that the Master of Death was coming. Mostly, it was now forgotten, as the Dark Lord set his Death Eaters onto different tasks. But Narcissa could not quite get that echoing, stentorious voice out of her head. It had been a year and a half since she'd heard it, but it still came to her in dreams once or twice a month, waking her from a dead sleep.
"Forget about it, Cissy," Bellatrix had commanded, not that long ago, when Narcissa had mentioned it. "It's done. It didn't work. And not because of the Dark Lord; his plan was perfect. Had Grindelwald not fiddled with the charms on that mirror, it would have brought Dumbledore straight into the path of the Dark Lord's wand. Only madmen, children, and Grindelwald only gave two hoots of an owl about 'Master of Death'… And it wasn't even dear Regulus's fault," she'd said, but had been unable to hide a smirk. The Dark Lord did not quite trust Regulus as well anymore, and Bellatrix had benefited from that the most. "The Dark Lord has the patience to sow his plans, and so should you. He doesn't care; he hardly even cares about that doddering old fool. He'll defeat Dumbledore when he's ready."
"Ready," Narcissa whispered. The day could not come soon enough. If only the mirror had worked…
It was not until Aunt Walburga covered Narcissa's hand with hers that Narcissa realized she'd lost herself in her thoughts.
"It's a lovely gathering, Narcissa," she said in her imperious manner.
"Not as lovely as what tonight will bring," Bellatrix murmured.
A small silence fell over the group. A pleased little fizzle of excitement went through Narcissa. She smoothed her robes; beneath the fabric, she felt the garter that Lucius had given her before they married. There was an aura of greatness about the room now; the Dark Lord might have been there with them, standing behind Bella.
Narcissa cleared her throat. "Have you thought about what you might name the baby?" she asked.
Camilla flashed her a smile. "My husband wants Apollo for a boy… as for a girl, I quite like Daphne. I've always wanted to name a daughter Daphne… But," her smile turned rueful, "I do believe Sidron will have his way—"
"—it's a boy," said Narcissa's mother-in-law, gleefully. "All the signs point to this."
The weight of the Dark Lord and his forward movement dissipated. A rousing discussion of names ensued. The only pocket of stillness was Bellatrix, who merely sipped at her tea and stared out the window. Narcissa turned her attention back to the mother-to-be, showering her with attention and accolades until Camilla fairly glowed with it.
"Speaking of names," said Narcissa's youngest sister-in-law, Gloria Malfoy, who was nineteen and highly excitable. Her hair swung into her face, which was now dominated by excitedly popping blue eyes. "I heard that a very old name was brought back."
Narcissa paused. "Which one?" she asked, disconcerted. "One of the Greek names, perhaps?"
"Not a first name," announced Gloria, near to bouncing in her seat. "I heard from Howie Belby who heard from Robin Ellacott who heard from Cornelius Fudge that the Peverell name"—this she pronounced with a snap of her lips—"has not died off after all."
"But—"
Narcissa sat back against her chair, flummoxed.
"An interesting turn of events."
"I don't believe it," scoffed Bellatrix.
"How?"
"The way it usually happens," said Narcissa's mother-in-law. "Some younger son of a younger son gets himself cut from the family tree–"
"Let's not go into that," Aunt Walburga said coldly. The very air in the room grew frigid and frost climbed up the vase in front of her to threaten the blossoms there.
No one spoke for several fraught moments. Aunt Walburga did not want to be reminded of her failure any more than Narcissa's mother – Druella – liked to be reminded of hers. Narcissa's shoulders twitched. Sirius's defection and subsequent blasting off the family tree was a recent wound; Andromeda's was years ago, and yet… there was still an empty seat where Andromeda might have been had she not chosen to sully herself with a Mudblood.
"More tea, anyone?" Narcissa asked, forcing her sister from her thoughts.
NMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNM
Not an hour later, Narcissa excused herself with a polite murmur. There was no more talk of younger sons of younger sons disappearing from a family tree and reappearing later, once everyone else had died off. But as she'd overseen the devouring of the cucumber sandwiches, the opening of the gifts, and the start of Druella and Aunt Walburga preparing to throw a horoscope for the baby, Narcissa had wanted to find her husband more and more.
Aunt Walburga dumped out a bag full of gems, each corresponding with one of the wandering stars – a rather poetic name for the planets – Narcissa slipped out of the room.
She found her husband unerringly: she'd known where he would be.
Lucius sprawled on the divan like a young lion, light hair hanging about his shoulders. Beside him, the house elf scrubbed frantically at his boots. "No marks, servant," he was saying sternly as Narcissa entered the room. "These will tread the Halls of Heritage tonight."
"Yes, Master."
"Lucius," she said.
He turned to her, brow arching. "Ah, my dear," he said. "Has my sister been properly showered?"
"She has," said Narcissa, venturing further into his study. "In fact, she's still being showered." The garter hidden beneath her robes tightened and began to tingle. Her breath caught. Some time after their wedding, he had charmed the fabric to reflect his mood. It did not often take long for her mood to catch on to his. "Lucius… I am the hostess."
He rose, knocking over the house elf, who squawked, nearly drowning out his next words. "Our mothers," he said, "will have it well in hand, you know that."
There was a timbre in his voice that she recognized. Wetness gathered between her thighs. "But I… wanted to tell you…" But did the odd resurgence of the Peverell name truly matter?
When she faltered, he took up her sentence and carried it to a place she had not known she wanted. "You wanted to tell me you have a need for me," he told her. His hand had gone to the front of his light trousers, massaging the lump there. "Poor Narcissa," he murmured. "We didn't have any time at all in bed today, did we? Hardly any at all."
Narcissa swallowed. It was true. Camilla's shower — and the festivities tonight — had taken up all the free space they'd had this morning, when they usually liked spending much of it in bed together, frolicking before they had to attend to other responsibilities. The ache between her thighs reminded her.
"My poor Narcissa," said Lucius. "It's been a lonely day for you, hasn't it?"
Narcissa sighed. "It has, Lucius."
He stroked himself more firmly. The lump had become quite a sizeable bulge; the thin fabric of his trousers, which was meant to be worn beneath robes, left little to the imagination. And Narcissa knew well enough now what it looked like… felt like… tasted like…
The mothers, Narcissa decided, could take the shower in hand. "We have to be fast," she warned.
"We will go at the rhythm we desire," countered Lucius. Then, commanding: "Seal the doors, Dobby. And continue to work on my boots. I want to see my own reflection in them."
Narcissa's fingers went to the fastenings of her robes, undoing them one by one. Lucius paused in his ministrations to himself, eyes growing heavy lidded. Since her marriage, Narcissa had taken to visiting Jennit Alley for their lingerie stores that were known for lovely, unique products. This one was one of her favorites, black swansdown bra and underwear connected together at the sides, but revealing the white curve of her belly. It pleased her to hear him draw in a deep breath.
Her fingers caressed a path down her own body, beginning at her neck, and traveling downward, swirling between her breasts before dipping down to her navel. Camilla and her shower were forgotten; the guests in their home retreated from her thoughts; the cringing house elf muttering over his task might as well not be in the room. There was only Lucius, eyes hot, and the way he stared at her body. Narcissa tucked her hand inside her lingerie and stroked herself, lightly, shivering at the knowledge that it would be Lucius touching her any moment now.
"Come here, Narcissa," he ordered.
And Narcissa fairly flew to him. His arms came around her at once, crushing her to him, and his lips were on hers and his tongue in her mouth. Narcissa let out a small whimper, curling her hand on his chest, just over his heart. It thumped against her palm.
"Are you wet for me, my good girl?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, flushing.
He conducted his own investigation, rubbing her through the swansdown, which was damp from her desire. It had, Narcissa thought, been quite a long day. He toyed with her, rubbing her through the down, thumb unerringly finding the sensitive area around her clitoris, and making small, maddening circles around it.
"Lucius," she moaned.
In reply, he shifted beneath her. "Damn, my wand isn't — Dobby, remove my trousers." It was quite useful to have a house elf in times like these. Dobby had clicked his fingers, and Lucius was naked beneath her, his hard penis nestled right against her core.
Arching against him, moaning, she rocked against him.
"Patience," he laughed. He did not undress her, nor did he order Dobby to do so. Instead, he shifted her underwear to the side, and drove inside her in one upward thrust.
Without his arm anchoring her, she might have fallen. But it was there, holding her tightly, and instead, she moved against him, fast and hard, groaning at the feel of him within her, filling her up. It was not healthy for them to go more than a day without this. Writhing against him, they at last discovered an excellent rhythm.
"That's it, love."
"Yeah," she panted. Yes, this was it. This was everything. "Yeah." His hand came to her breast and squeezed her nipple, hard, and a shriek escaped her. "Yeah!"
"Keep fucking me," he told her. "Just like that."
For long minutes, she obeyed, allowing pleasure to build and spiral between them both. Their bodies grew slick with sweat. No more words were necessary. There was only the sound of gasps and sighs and moans and the shush-shush-shush of the house elf working upon Lucius's boots.
Everything else was forgotten.
NMNMNMNMNMNMNM
At last, dusk had fallen on New Year's Eve. Charmed torches lit with pale blue flames at the exact moment that a group of five snapped into existence at the very edge of the great fen. Narcissa took an immediate step forward, sucking in a breath, tasting the unique taste of Slytherin's fen: Musk rose from the damp earth, carrying with it the smallest hint of sulfur and chilly water. Pockets of the magical plant, adzagoras, grew, adding a sweetness to the air.
It smelled, incongruously, of Narcissa's childhood.
Breathing in deeply another three times, her gaze lingered with affection on the wide meadow, the trees that grew in clusters, their branches falling to the brush the ground. There were more of them than in other fens: These trees had soaked up enough magic that the best wandmakers were able to harvest from them. Even now, from the closest one, Narcissa could see the wide eyes of a bowtruckle looking back at her.
Unlike the Muggles, who destroyed the lands that gave to them, wizards preserved it.
This time, when she drew in a breath, the scent tickled at her nose, making her sneeze. The aroma of a fen took getting used to.
"Cissy," said Bellatrix, annoyed. "We're ready. Gather up your thoughts and pack them away."
It was something their mother, Druella, used to say; it was far more irritating coming from Bellatrix.
Narcissa shook out her cloak, taking her time at it, allowing it to fall in a short train behind her. Then, taking her husband's arm again, she said: "Are we ready?"
But at the same time, Rabastan said, continuing the conversation from just before they left, "But they have a point, your parents," he told Bellatrix, "Why New Year's Eve? Why not the Solstice?"
For the last five years, the Dark Lord had insisted on a festivity occurring on the last night of the year; the elder Malfoys and Blacks regarded this with some bemusement, as the longest night of the year – the winter solstice – was much a much more traditional night of celebration. Narcissa shared a look with her husband: his eyes were hooded, but within them, she could read the same unease she felt whenever her parents were too flippant about the Dark Lord's decisions.
"The Dark Lord," Narcissa said repressively, "Does what he wants."
"Why question it?" Rodolphus put in, wrapping an arm around Bellatrix.
"I know why he has chosen tonight," said Bellatrix, one corner of her mouth lifting.
Narcissa sighed inwardly. "He has not shared with the rest of us."
"Nor does he need to," Lucius said smoothly, covering Narcissa's hand with his own and squeezing. "Shall we be on, then?"
The older generation was tailing them, but Narcissa and the others did not want to risk the Dark Lord's annoyance. It was with speed that they came to the wooden platform that was the beginning of the only path that led to the Halls of Heritage. Lucius took it in hand, raising it above his head.
It was quite unlike the first time Narcissa had ever been here. She'd been five years old. In her memory, the voice of her mother rang out, a gong being struck.
"Cissy! Bella! Stay on the path!"
"Listen to your mother, girls."
But it was hard – so hard – to stay behind with her parents. The summer sun fell on her, warming her from the inside, bidding her to turn her face up to its warmth. All her life, she'd heard of the Halls of Heritage, but no one had ever told her there would be so many flowers creating streams of color in the sunlight, nor that the path would be woven over little rushes of water from which small creatures peeked at her.
"Cissy!"
Bellatrix's sudden hand on her elbow jerked her around. Her sister's grip was punishing and Narcissa cried out.
"Bella!"
The sunlight had set her sister's face ablaze, giving her a cruel look that startled Narcissa. She took a step backward, only for that grip to tighten.
"Stop," Bella ordered, while Narcissa yelped. "You're about to fall in, Cissy." With another jerk, Narcissa was firmly on the path and her parents were rushing over. Bella seemed to swell with self-importance as she told their parents what had happened. Rubbing her sore arm, scowling, Narcissa didn't say anything.
"Cissy wanted to go the way of the Mudbloods," Bellatrix finished.
"What does that mean?" Andromeda asked.
"There are charms and wards around this area, to keep the fen wild and the Halls of Heritage hidden from their influence," said Druella. "Only people such as us can see this path — the only safe path. The others are lost."
"You'll see what she means, girls," said Cygnus, tapping his cane on the wooden path. Come. Just around this bend. We're almost there."
"Knut for your thoughts?" Lucius asked.
"Ah," said Narcissa, with a glance back at her sister. "They aren't worth that much. I was simply remembering the first time I came here."
"You remember that?" Lucius asked, surprised. "I was only a babe-in-arms."
"Perhaps my parents brought me earlier," allowed Narcissa. "But I don't remember that."
She'd been old enough to remember that the bodies of Muggles had been visible from the path. Andromeda had screamed and started crying, but all Narcissa had seen was a pair of green boots with something white sticking out of it. Older now, she knew it was a bone, and the body had fed the wild fen, providing nourishment to Salazar Slytherin's ancestral home. Green Boots was not the only one; the Muggles had grown more intrepid. They had likely intended to destroy this remaining fen as they had done the others, draining them.
"We're almost there," commented Narcissa, turning away from Green Boots.
It was only a few minutes later that they emerged from the path and found themselves standing before the Halls of Heritage. It rose up from the fen like a serpent striking, a tall, proud structure built to honor magical heritage. Goosebumps swept over Narcissa. It was well lit this night, blue flames lighting every bit of the classical structure, placed perfectly below the gargoyles to highlight their stone bodies.
The interior was even more opulent. House elves scurried to and fro. The large space was usually empty: Today it was filled with tables, two long ones that held food and wine, and other round ones that had elaborate charms as centerpieces, each corresponding with an element. The older generation, thought Narcissa, is going to love that.
The house elves were making nuisances of themselves, Lucius had fallen into a conversation with Rodolphus just inside the door, and Narcissa wanted to wander. Instead of gathering with the rest of the crowd, she headed toward the true purpose of the Halls of Heritage: The alcoves that depicted in beautiful tapestries every pureblood in Britain's magical heritage.
It was, of course, full of alcoves and strange turnings. There were few families as old and linear as that of the one Narcissa had been born into. The Black practice of intermarriage had long made them one of the easiest to track.
And her parents had been ensuring she knew where to find her own place since she had been a small girl.
"Let's make a game of it while we wait for them, shall we?" Druella suggested, tucking away her motherly ire and forcing a smile. "Girls. Which of you can find the Rosier family tree first?"
"No fair!" cried Narcissa, pointing at her sisters. "They're older!"
"They'll give you a head start," Cygnus said firmly. "Isn't that right, girls?"
Bellatrix and Andromeda nodded, though both were reluctant. Narcissa smirked at them. Cygnus took out his pocket watch. "You have three minutes, Cissy, go!"
And despite the fact her parents and sisters were just there at the entrance of the Halls of Heritage, with Bella and Andromeda stamping their feet, muttering about little sisters having their way all the time, Narcissa nearly got lost. It was much larger than it appeared. There were family trees in alcoves, in tucked away corners of the hall, and some of them she couldn't even read.
From a great distance, Cygnus called: "All right, girls! Join the hunt!"
Her sisters might have brought the gargoyles with them; they clattered so loudly. The hall echoed with the sound of the footsteps, further confusing Narcissa until she found herself in the oddest alcove she had come across so far. Deeper than the others, it held four family trees, three side by side, and one high above the rest. There was light here: purple flames glinted in a brazier, giving off warmth. "Pev-er-ell," she sounded out, squinting.
Frustrated, she whirled around. Still no Rosier.
It was Bella, of course, who finally let out a shriek. "I've won!" she cried. "I've found it!"
Cygnus strolled over. "Indeed you have."
Narcissa and Andromeda looked at each other, scowling. Bella nearly always won.
"What's my prize?"
"Your prize is that you belong to a family that is represented here," Cygnus told her.
"You gave her that when she was born," said Andromeda, mildly disgusted.
"As I have done for all three of my daughters," said Cygnus. "Now come, your cousins are here."
Narcissa trailed behind them, still peering at the tapestries. Regulus was older even than Bella; he'd already been to Hogwart and had his wand and everything. But Sirius was still just a baby. Pulling a face, Narcissa wished they hadn't even brought him. Aunt Walburga always lumped her in with him even though he wasn't even walking; she'd much rather spend time with Regulus and Bella… surely he had stories of Hogwarts…
Narcissa blinked away the fog of memory, frowning a little to herself. First Andromeda was in her thoughts, and now Sirius, the young idiot who'd just run from home and broken his mother's heart? He'd been an especially annoying baby, and was clearly no better as a man. But still… curiosity held her fast, and she wandered through the throng of waiting guests, headed unerringly toward the Black family tapestry.
It had been a while since she'd gotten lost in the Halls of Heritage, and it only took her a few moments to find the correct alcove.
"Oh!" she said, coming to a halt.
"Ah," said Regulus, turning to smile at her. "Hello, Cissy."
"Reg!" Her hand came over her heart. She tossed out a little laugh. "You startled me… the party is back that way, I didn't think…"
"I was checking in on the family." The expansive gesture he made had an extra flourish, likely due to the steaming drink in his hand.
"I thought to do the same," Narcissa admitted.
"Most of the rest of us are out there," he said. "Is grandfather here yet?"
"Not yet, I don't think. We came ahead."
"Good," he said, smiling.
This surprised a laugh out of her. "Good! Why in Merlin's name are you avoiding Grandfather?" Regulus had always gotten on very well with the grandparents; in fact, she privately thought he was the favorite.
He grimaced lightly. "I… borrowed something of his, and I haven't given it back yet. I will, though." After a long sip of his steaming drink, he added. "I hope I will. In fact," he lowered his voice, "I hope I haven't lost it."
Narcissa clucked her tongue. Favorite or not, Grandfather would hex Regulus if he'd lost one of his things.
"Kreacher was in my rooms… I'd done a little charm to keep it safe…"
But Kreacher, in his zeal for cleaning, had likely erased any sign of where it was concealed. "Say no more," Narcissa said with great sympathy. "Our house elf is just as bad… he's so incompetent. Young, I suppose."
They chatted another moment or two about house elves and then Camille's baby shower before Regulus finished his drink and announced he wanted another — would she like one? After shaking her head, Narcissa drifted away from the center of the party, shaking out her hair. All of Britain's magical heritage was here, their pasts, and she wanted a quiet moment with it.
She was not the only one who had wandered all the way down here. Her heart leapt in her throat when she realized who, exactly, was speaking.
"There's little reason to think it will matter, all these years later."
The Dark Lord was here after all, having a conference with someone who stood in the shadows. Narcissa's eyes widened when she saw whoever it was wore a complete disguise. A disguise! That was hardly necessary here, was it, when everyone was so aligned with their goals. It intrigued her enough she stepped closer in light feet, ducking into the alcove that displayed the lost and lamented Peverells.
"My Lord… it is a loose end that may have consequences—"
"Surely you would have foreseen them? It is no matter, then, to me, even should it come to light. Although I see that for you…"
There was the same, special sort of reverence in the disguised man's tone that most people used for the Dark Lord. Whoever it was, it was a Death Eater, though Narcissa did not recognize the voice. "I would not wish to… leave… with this complication upon your shoulders, my Lord."
"Very well," said the Dark Lord, still amused. "Deal with it as you see fit."
"My last act…"
"Come now, night has not yet fallen for you. Come. Enjoy the refreshments."
"My Lord. I would take care of this now." There was a frail edge to this last comment. It caught upward at the end, turning an argument into a question and a plea.
"You will play your role to the last. You please me."
"My Lord… that means everything to me. Even after my suggestion went awry those months ago."
"You forget I know your weaknesses… it was a ploy that may have worked had your previous master not meddled with it. But the time will come when the man will have to come out of the castle. And I will be waiting. And he shall be the last… the foolish resistance will crumble. Grindelwald may have had his obsessions with masters of death, but soon… soon there will be only eaters of death."
Goosebumps erupted on Narcissa's arms, and for some inexplicable reason, her nipples tightened into two hard little points.
The two stepped away from Narcissa, far enough away she could not tell of the Dark Lord answered his servant, who — despite his disguise — was a faithful one; he must be. I will have to remember to tell Lucius, she thought, committing the short conversation to memory.
Her gaze roamed and then caught on the Peverell name again, this time reading the elaborate scripted Latin that was their family motto: Domini Mortis. Misgiving arced through her, and she spun on her heel, staring into the shadows where the Dark Lord and his hidden servant had disappeared. The Peverell family motto means Masters of Death!
The mirror! The one Regulus had gone and retrieved from Nurmengard—
"What are you doing here, Cissy? Checking up on the dead?"
Bellatrix's voice sliced through Narcissa's thoughts, sending them scattering.
"Bella!" Narcissa said urgently. "Look!" she jabbed her finger toward the motto. "Look at their motto!"
"Domini mortis… they were a pretentious lot, weren't they?" Bellatrix sniffed, then smiled coldly. "Didn't serve them well, did it? They've all died out. Masters of death, indeed; they're all moldering in their graves."
"But Bella, the mirror… it said — don't you remember? Masters of death… the mirror said the master of death approaches—"
"The mirror," interrupted Bellatrix, still smiling, "was meant to draw out an old fool." She glanced up at the Peverell family tree again. "But another old fool had corrupted it before the Dark Lord could take advantage of its true purpose." Her nostrils flared. "No wonder he failed. Grindelwald. His head was full of fairy stories."
"But I just heard… the Dark Lord was speaking to one of his servants, and I heard him—"
Her lips snapped shut and would not open, the skin melting together. Narcissa lurched backward, eyes wide and on Bellatrix's wand that was suddenly between them.
"Narcissa," said Bellatrix, lips hardly moving at all, though she was not the one so hexed. "Do not attempt to tell me that you have eavesdropped on the Dark Lord. It would be a lie."
Narcissa clawed at her mouth, breathing through her nose, so swiftly she became lightheaded. Let me out let me out let me out.
"Only people who wish to be outcast — or worse — would listen to a conversation the Dark Lord does not choose to hold publicly, do you understand?" Unbelievably, the cold smile was back on Bellatrix's face. "So, no, Narcissa. You aren't that foolish. So you are lying to me."
Outcast.
Narcissa nodded jerkily. A moment later, she was able to open her mouth again. "You're… right," she managed to say. "But… remember what Gloria said at the party today. Someone's using the name."
"Probably Mudbloods wanting to trade on the prestige,"
said Bellatrix, bored.
"But—"
"Come, Cissy," said Bellatrix. "I hear the orchestra. The party is beginning. He will be here any moment, I'm sure."
He's already here. I heard him speaking. But Narcissa was not foolish enough to beg for a repeat of what had just happened. She liked her lips — Lucius liked her lips. She would not like it if her sister would enact a more permanent change, like what she had done to Andromeda long ago.
Unsettled, Narcissa forced a smile. Was it only a few hours ago that she'd been hosting a baby shower for her sister-in-law? "Just… give me a moment, would you?"
"I'll leave you to the moldering Peverells, then."
Bellatrix whirled away, leaving behind only a cloud of Alchimi perfume. Nostrils twitching, Narcissa slumped against the wall of the alcove and leaned her head against the tapestry. Leave Bellatrix to ruin everything. But… she was right, wasn't she? Grindelwald had indeed tampered with the mirror years ago; he had turned a powerful magical artifact into a parlor trick. Narcissa had been foolish to place importance on it when the Dark Lord did not, when Bellatrix was so contemptuous of it. It was the fairy tale, wasn't it, the one about the three brothers walking along a road at midnight.
Turning, eyes lifting, she searched for the three brothers. Their lines had died out; their daughters had married into other families. The Peverells were dead, now, long gone—
Except.
Narcissa drew backward, hand over her fluttering heart. She stared down at a branch of the family tree she had never noticed before, connected to one of the last Peverells. Bending down, she read the names… these were all dead, except for two… Harry Peverell was linked with silver thread to parents Ron and Hermione. Another, a distant cousin of his, Ginny Peverell was daughter of Arnold and Mary.
But they'd died out…
It wasn't Mudbloods trying to better themselves. No one could add themselves to a family tree like this. They may legally change their name, yes, but the enchantments given to each family were strong, binding, and heavily guarded. If they were on the Peverell family tree, they were Peverells.
Narcissa traced the names with her finger.
Abruptly, she forced herself to stand and turn. Bellatrix is still right, she told herself sternly. What did it matter if there was a branch of that particular tree that had managed to survive and keep the name intact? The years in which the only two remaining were born had betrayed one simple, important fact: these Peverells were children; they would still be in school.
And children were hardly a threat to the Dark Lord at all.
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It was not only the Dark Lord's inner circle that had come to the festivity. He had cast a wider net than that, it seemed. The Halls of Heritage became so crowded that the walls ceased to echo; instead, a low murmur of excited voices. Her parents were there now, arm and arm with her aunt and uncle, all dressed in finery. Jewels gleamed in her mother's pale hair, catching the light, and creating a small, charmed rainbow about her head. It was a favorite trick of Druella's, to catch the eye, outdated though it was.
The Blacks were well-represented, Narcissa was pleased to note. Even her grandparents – who had used Grandmother Melania's ill-health to avoid Camilla's shower earlier in the day – were in evidence, seated beside Abraxan and Edie Malfoy, all four appearing rather withered, though none more so than Abraxan, to whom the pox had not been kind. Even now, a sore was only half-healed on his face.
Damn the Muggles, Narcissa thought, turning away.
She was just in time to witness, through one of the windows, someone whisking away from the Halls of Heritage.
"Narcissa!" said Lucius.
"I–"
But whatever excuse she was about to make was interrupted by a magically loudened voice echoing through the Halls of Heritage.
"Welcome, my friends."
That voice had everyone turning to face it, all in the same moment. Conversation died down. Narcissa forgot her surprise at seeing someone flying away upon a carpet rather than a broom, and walked sideways toward where Lucius stood holding out his hand. Handfast once more – Lucius's palm was slightly sweaty – they looked at the Dark Lord, who had appeared in the form of smoke and was only now coalescing into flesh.
Awe rippled through her. Beside her, Lucius made a satisfied sound.
"Welcome, my friends." This time, the Dark Lord was fully embodied, standing upon the dais, casting a benevolent glance at everyone in attendance. "Thank you for once more joining me this year as we discuss what has happened this past year, and what we will look forward to in the coming year."
"All the Mudbloods out of our places!" shouted someone in a mask.
"All of them!"
"Of course, of course," said the Dark Lord, indulgent and amused. "It may perhaps take more than one year to undo what our ancestors – well-meaning, perhaps, but feeble-minded to allow the filth such a crushing influence on our society." He drew in a breath, and suddenly, all levity was gone. "And never, in any other year, have the filth brought so much crushing loss to us."
"The pox!" roared Narcissa's own grandfather.
"Indeed, the pox," said the Dark Lord. "They encroached in our schools, our homes, our streets, and our hospitals and brought us death." His lip curled.
"There will always be those who wish to tear down institutions such as this, forgetting the history of the Halls of Heritage," said the Dark Lord. "The schoolchildren learn that it was built centuries ago; they do not learn that it was built due to incessant provocation by the Mudbloods. It was a unanimous decision by the Wizengamot to preserve magical heritage. Did they choose the birthplace of Godric Gryffindor? Are we now located in Godric's Hollow, elbow to elbow with Mudbloods? No. It was Salazar Slytherin's birthplace that was chosen. At the time when the Mudbloods were attempting to murder every witch and wizard they could find – and killing many of their own in the process – most of wizarding society realized that Slytherin was more than a founder of a school. He was a prophet."
"He was!" shouted Abraxan Malfoy.
A roar went up. Narcissa's hand tightened on Lucius's as goosebumps erupted on her arms. The halls of heritage echoed with the heart of the dedicated purebloods. Again, her nipples tingled, responding to the sheer passion – not sexual, but that didn't matter, not at the moment. Across from her, Bellatrix had both hands thrust up in victory, a star appearing on the tip of her out-stretched wand. Wolfish grins appeared. Narcissa knew her own grin mirrored theirs.
This was the power of the Dark Lord, surging through the room.
"Too many," continued the Dark Lord, once nearly everyone had quieted, "have forgotten that. But this coming year… let us remind them, my friends."
"Anything, my Lord!" shouted Bellatrix, just one heartbeat ahead of everyone else.
"On that note, on that promise," said the Dark Lord, "allow the festivity to begin."
It was the oldest of the party-goers who returned to the elaborately decorated tables first, melting away with self-satisfied smiles. Druella Black squeezed Narcissa's hand on the way by, helping elderly and pock-marked Abraxan Malfoy back to his seat; her father performed the same office for Grandfather Arcturus, who gave her a wink.
Feeling the pride of her family, Narcissa could not help the smile spread wide across her face. How stupid Sirius and Andromeda were, to abandon the family!
Little by little, there were only a few of them left to ring the Dark Lord.
"Stay," he ordered quietly. "There are more words I want to say – there are things that have been made to light in the last few days – but it is fit for only my dearest of friends. My most trusted ones. Stay until after the others have left, and we will discuss a task I have for you."
Bellatrix's face was shining; she hardly seemed aware that her husband had put his arm around her shoulders. "Yes, my Lord."
"We'll stay until the very end," promised Lucius.
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Many of the guests, in particular the older ones, left before one in the morning. Narcissa, who kept an eye on Grandfather Arcturus and Grandmother Melania, was relieved to note that they were not among the very first to leave. While they had not cared if they were late, neither did they leave early enough to offer an insult to the host. No; the first to leave had been the Parkinsons, who seemed unaware of the social faux pas they had made. And, well, as Lucius said, they were rather a stupid family en masse.
Smothering a laugh as he said it, Narcissa smiled brighter and harder than ever, staying at Lucius's side as though someone had performed a sticking charm on them, and avoiding Bellatrix. Now that she'd had a chance to think, she could hardly comprehend her own stupidity at having eavesdropped on the Dark Lord. There were perhaps three others in attendance who wore their masks, the ones given to them when they had pledged their devotion to the Dark Lord. Narcissa knew it was with the Dark Lord's own approval that they hide their identities: They could be sons and daughters of the enemies in the Ministry; they could be well-known themselves in the Ministry or beyond. Whatever the reason, their identities were hidden so that when the witches and wizards here tonight spoke of this party – and they would, why wouldn't they? – they could not remark upon the attendance of anyone the Dark Lord did not want them to know about.
Narcissa hid her curiosity with cheer and charm. When her grandparents finally left, she farewelled them with hugs and kisses and promises to visit; when Lucius's parents left, an hour later, she did the same thing. Her smile grew brighter and more natural the older the new year grew.
By the time there was only a small group of them, and the Dark Lord was drawing them together into another circle, Narcissa's heart was burning in her breast. One by one, they found themselves circling around him until they made a perfect ring. Narcissa did not have to have it spelled out for her as though she were a child: They made up the Dark Lord's inner circle. They were chosen by him. Narcissa was chosen by him – whether that was because of Lucius or not… Narcissa was part of it.
Her sister's words echoed in her thoughts: You could be outcast, or worse. But she was not. That disaster had been averted. She had decided to put that cursed mirror out of her thoughts. Across the way, she met her cousin Regulus's glance and smiled. She saw the same smile reflected back to her. What did the Peverells matter? There were no more 'masters of death', not really.
There were only eaters of death.
"You have stayed," said the Dark Lord without preamble, "because asked you to stay. Thank you."
Many of them murmured an 'of course'. No one would have left. Who would voluntarily leave this circle?
"The pox was a terrible, terrible event that occurred because we have too long allowed the filthy Mudbloods to bring their sicknesses into our society," said the Dark Lord. For a moment, rage suffused his features; it was there and gone again. "But too many remain unconvinced of this fact. Too many were untouched by the vermin, and are still allowed to convince themselves that Mudbloods have every right to stand with us.
"We know that they do not," he continued. "But certain factions in the Ministry refuse to see. Not like all of you standing here," the Dark Lord added with fierce pride.
Narcissa gripped Lucius's hand even tighter. There was a sense of excitement and urgency that was palpable in the air around them. Whatever glimpse she'd had of the Dark Lord's ire was gone now: There was only calm purpose on his face now. The grin she shared with her husband was not unlike the looks they exchanged during their love-making.
"There are those in the Ministry," the Dark Lord continued, "that would turn everything we have worked for into shambles. They have used the… excuse of having a sacriphant to undo what work we might have achieved last year, when it was so clear to those of us capable of reason that the pox was being spread by those with–"
"Filth in their blood!" shouted Bellatrix.
"Precisely," said the Dark Lord. "For surely, this sacriphant must be a pureblood, misguided though he might be. It is a task I set for all of you, my most faithful. Find this sacriphant for me so that I might meet with him." Then, giving Bellatrix an indulgent look, he added, "Or her."
"My Lord!"
"Do not fail me. Find the sacriphant."
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Author's Note: This one goes out to fizzy, who reminded me of a crucial baby shower detail. And also Lily and M and Willow, who were varying degrees of enthusiastic over reading (yet another) Narcissa POV chapter, but were still willing to read it.
lwlk, loved hearing your thoughts on TOTK and knowing I wasn't alone in my abject terror of the Depths. Actually, I had to stop playing because I had like a full on panic attack lol. So I just watch Zack Scott and Croton play.