The title sounds like something out of a fairy tale... Hint: this is no fairy tale
Also, I have no idea where the end came from, but enjoy!
Chapter 32: Neither the rat nor the lady
Narcissa pretended everything was good – as always.
Just the right amount of self-esteem, just the right amount of caution, just the right amount of fear. The Dark Lord had called for her. It wouldn't do to look too disturbed by the thought, but being absolutely unfazed might make it look like she refused to acknowledge the hazardous situation her family was in, since Lucius' failure.
She was a pureblood, representing two of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. The Blacks, and the Malfoys. She needed to hold her rank.
But at the same time, her family was in disgrace.
Equilibrium.
Narcissa followed Corban Yaxley as he led her to his master – in her own home! But Narcissa could not, would not complain. It wasn't her place, and she didn't have the courage to do it anyway.
Sirius would do it, him, crossed her mind, but she chased the thought away. She couldn't afford to think of Sirius. It was too late for her to even consider going to him for help. She had chosen her side in this war... and even if she hadn't, her husband and her son had, which meant that leaving now would only put them in danger. Lucius was in no position to change sides in Azkaban, and Draco hadn't yet realized that the Dark Lord's assignment for him wasn't at all a good thing.
Still... Sirius wouldn't even have to do it, because the stubborn Gryffindor wouldn't have followed the Dark Lord in the first place. Correction, he hadn't followed the Dark Lord in the first place.
Narcissa wouldn't pretend she wanted to go and join the Order of the Phoenix – that'd be beyond stupid – but perhaps Lucius could have taken a more... neutral stance all these years ago, and now they wouldn't be in this situation. If, instead of becoming a Death Eater, Lucius had just manifested his approval of the Dark Lord in quieter means, like Sirius and Regulus' parents...
It hadn't happened, and Narcissa would have to deal with it.
It was harder now, though. Lucius wasn't here, Draco was in danger even at Hogwarts, and Bellatrix had, in the most surprising manner possible, changed sides. Sirius was obviously an enemy, Regulus seemed to have forgotten everything about who he was supposed to be, and Andromeda was still married to that muggleborn...
Narcissa was alone.
Yaxley followed her into the room the Dark Lord had chosen as his command center, and went to sit next to Thorfinn Rowle and Selwyn – he was the only one of them who'd been part of the inner circle before 1981. Most of the closest followers were currently in Azkaban, and those who weren't there, but were still free, were probably working on some thing or another for their master.
The Dark Lord was sitting further into the room, his seat turned to look through the high windows of Malfoy Manor.
"Narcissa Malfoy..."
Narcissa refrained from gulping. It was not the demeanor a woman such as herself should show – and the Dark Lord might interpret it, not as fear, but as guilt... Even if she had nothing to blame herself for. She didn't want to risk it.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Come here."
She glanced at the three Death Eaters in the room, almost seeking reassurance – but Lucius wasn't here, and Bellatrix wasn't either. The three men were not ones she was close to. There was no point looking at them.
Before the Dark Lord could find her lacking in obedience or enthusiasm, Narcissa joined him at the windows.
He didn't look at her – not directly, but she knew he wasn't missing much in his observation of her reactions – his eyes fixed on the horizon. Probably not admiring the scenery, though. More likely planning how to make everything his – or under his control, if nothing more. His snake, Nagini, was rolled around the base of the seat, its head on the Dark Lord's shoulder.
"I feel as if I should have asked you that question sooner, Narcissa, but now is better than never, isn't it?"
"Certainly, my Lord. What do you want to ask me about?"
A short, inhumane laugh.
Dry of any real happiness.
"Your cousin, of course."
Something froze in Narcissa, but she wasn't sure what – or why – yet. She assumed it was only because of the association – amongst the Dark Lord's followers, it was easy to be found guilty by association. If someone on the other side of the war you were acquainted to did something really, really galling against the Dark Lord, you could expect a cruciatus curse at best, or general distrust at worst.
Needless to say, whoever ended up distrusted by the Dark Lord usually also ended up dead in the next weeks. Either because they had been sent on very dangerous – even suicidal – missions, or because they became the new stress-relieving punching bag.
Just like Draco was currently paying for his father's failure.
"Which one, my Lord?"
"Ah, right. There are more than one blood traitor amongst the remaining Blacks. It's interesting how the members of your family are either pure followers, more loyal than almost anyone else, or outright traitors. It must have something to do with your strong personalities."
Half a wince made its way on Narcissa's face, even if she tried to keep it discreet. Strong personalities... That was a way of putting it.
"As you're reminding me, there is two of them I am willing to discuss. Not the auror, though I'd appreciate if that halfblooded niece of yours could be disposed of. No, I was thinking about Lord Black..."
Narcissa's jaws clutched together, but she had been expecting it. Everyone wanted to talk about Sirius, these days – nothing new, in fact – and with everything that had happened lately...
"... But I feel we should start with his brother."
"Regulus?"
There wasn't really a need to ask, but Narcissa felt she had to say something, for fear of being thought suspicious. The least dangerous way to... participate... in the conversation was to go with the most neutral interactions as long as possible.
She wasn't sure she'd be able to completely control her voice, and she absolutely didn't want the Dark Lord to hear anything of her uncertainties.
"Yes, Regulus... I am quite curious, I must say, to the fact that he is being very close to his brother once again. For Bellatrix, I can understand. Her magical bond to her killer is probably influencing her mind more than both of them are aware of. But Regulus... Are we certain he really lost his memories? Or could it be one of his brother's tricks?"
Narcissa didn't comment that, from what she had seen of Bella's ghost, her sister seemed more sound of mind than before her death. That would be suggesting that perhaps Sirius and his friends were right to refuse the Dark Lord's authority, and that wasn't something she'd say out loud.
She wasn't insane.
Point in case, Sirius probably would have said it – but once again, Sirius wouldn't ever have found himself in the situation she was in now.
"I haven't seen Regulus privately, my Lord, but he seems to have genuinely fallen in love with his muggle wife. I suspect that his memory loss is a true story. Not knowing the true nature of the woman, he became someone else, as she took care of his wounded self. Should he remember everything again, I am certain he'd see the errors of his way."
Or not. Narcissa couldn't say she approved of her cousin's marriage, but she knew well enough what it was to love someone, and she had seen the look on Regulus' face when he had left St. Mungo's, Amanda White – Black, she reminded herself, cringing inwardly – at his side.
Then again, she wasn't going to say it out loud.
The Dark Lord nodded slowly, a thoughtful look on his face – and, Dear Merlin, how could he look so dreadfully inhuman? Narcissa, standing where she was, just a bit ahead of the Dark Lord so that he could observe her without taking his eyes off the horizon, had a perfect view of his new, dark-magic-produced body. She tried not to look too closely – it would be rude, and dangerous to anyone who wasn't Bellatrix. But it was hard to ignore.
The pallor, the bones almost visible under the skin, the slitted red eyes, no nose, no hair, no lips. Not so much fragile-looking, however, as simply inhuman.
"Hmm... I fear Regulus might be a bit too smitten with his disgusting wife. If we tried to contact him, to make him see the truth, it could cause him to doubt us more than necessary... But I have an idea on that point. We'll see to it later... Once we'll have dealt with the more pressing issue of his older brother."
The room's door opened with a loud noise, making Narcissa startle. She turned around violently, only to see an angry young woman she hadn't ever seen amongst the Dark Lord's followers pushing around Peter Pettigrew. A new recruit, no doubt, and from her facial features... Probably a long lost cousin of the Crouchs.
"Ah, Medine, you've brought our friend. Good, good. Now, Peter, come here, and let's talk about your former friend, Sirius Black."
Narcissa squinted at the pitiful halfblood, still not seeing what her cousin had seen in him, and clearly disgusted by the individual. She wouldn't admit it, not even to herself, but she'd rather he kept his mouth shut about Sirius, if only because betrayal wasn't something she liked. Her cousin might be on the wrong side, but him, at least, he kept his word.
Pettigrew wasn't even here because he believed in the cause – a change of heart was comprehensible, desirable, even, but treason for the sheer sake of saving your hide? That was distasteful.
If the pitiful man could hide it at least... But no. He wasn't even trying.
Narcissa almost felt vindictively pleased as she saw the small, rat-like man blanch at the simple mention of Sirius' name. It served him right.
The Dark Lord's eyes followed the fool as he slowly approached his seat, torn between showing proper respect and admiration and staying well away from Nagini.
Narcissa squinted, thoughtful. Didn't these snakes eat rodents all the time?
The thing with having Peter Pettigrew in the room was that she could pass every other emotion off as mere disgust for the dirty-blooded individual. It almost made his presence bearable.
"Sirius Black, Master?"
The Dark Lord looked slightly irritated with the man's manners.
"Yes, Sirius Black. Don't just repeat everything I say, Wormtail. What I want to know, is whether or not you've told me absolutely everything about your friend. If you've left something out, for exemple, something I could use to get him out of the way."
"I... I would never, my Lord..."
The Dark Lord waved the excuses away. It looked weird, Narcissa couldn't help but notice, with his bony arm and his long, thin fingers. Like a skeleton trying to pass itself off as human.
"I am certain you didn't do it on purpose, Wormtail, but I need to know everything. The mere mention of him seems to send you in a frenzy, and I must admit, it puzzles me quite a bit. Why would you be afraid of Sirius Black, when you are working for me?"
There was a menace hidden in there, Narcissa could tell.
Peter Pettigrew strangled an uncomfortable laught.
"I... You don't understand, my Lord, it's not like that... It's..."
Narcissa knew why Pettigrew was so afraid of her cousin, yet she wasn't particularly surprised that the Dark Lord didn't seem to get it. The wizard thought very highly of himself, which he wasn't wrong about, but he apparently had taken to dismissing almost everybody else – except Albus Dumbledore – as a consequence.
Sirius might not be as dangerous as Lord Voldemort, but he certainly should be feared by the one who had betrayed him so terribly. The fact that Pettigrew was more scared of the Dark Lord than of Sirius Black was of no direct consequence as to that fear itself.
It existed. It was there. And Narcissa hoped it wouldn't go away before a long, long time.
"What Pettigrew means, my Lord, is that he knows what Sirus might do to him, should they cross path again. Or rather, he doesn't know what Sirius might do to him, but he knows it wouldn't be pleasant. I know my cousin; while he's not one to use violence without reason, his grudge against this man would certainly count as a reason. And when Sirius uses violent means, he doesn't fear to char his angel wings."
Narcissa gave the small man a look, basically daring him to deny what she had just said.
Pettigrew squirmed, but didn't contradict her.
"I am... I'm certainly afraid of Sirius, Master, but if there is anything I can tell you... Anything that would keep him away from me..."
There was a moment of silence. Then the Dark Lord burst into a laugh. Cold, metallic, even. Narcissa shivered, and the rat recoiled.
"At least, with you, Wormtail, I know why you are doing what you are doing. That being said, is there something you forgot to tell me about? Like you didn't tell me right away that your friends were animagi?"
The Dark Lord looked the rat in the eyes for some time, using perhaps a tad of legilimency, and apparently found nothing worth mentioning... Before turning his crimson eyes onto Narcissa. The witch refrained a shudder of anxiety.
"You, on the other hand... I am quite certain that your family has kept its secrets over the generations, and I do not blame you for keeping them too, Narcissa Black, but perhaps it would be time to reveal how exactly your cousin has such a strange way with magic? I thought nothing of it, years ago, when he first stood against our cause, because it was never as obvious as it is today, but I cannot ignore it any longer. Sirius Black, on top of being a powerful and skilled wizard, also never seems to run out of magic. Each time he is supposed to wear out, he simply keeps fighting. So either he knows ways to replenish I never heard of, or he is his own secret."
Narcissa didn't even think about lying. There was no point in lying; she could already feel the sheer mental pressure of the Dark Lord's legilimency, and he was barely looking at her.
Why would she lie, anyway? It wasn't as if that particular secret would get him anywhere. It wasn't something the Dark Lord could use for himself – Circe, it wasn't something anyone could use for themselves. Sirius had been born that way, he hadn't done anything to have that power.
He'd rather not, Narcissa knew.
Sometimes, she even wondered if the rift between him and the rest of the family wasn't a consequence of having learned the truth, more than the result of a so-called higher morality.
"Narcissa...?"
The way her name was hissed by the Dark Lord had her bit her lower lip, not to react more extremely. It wasn't pleasant, oh no, far from it.
Even if Narcissa could appreciate the cause, and the efforts the Dark Lord made to turn it into a reality, she had a hard time understanding his most loyal followers, like her sister. She had even more difficulty seeing what in him had gotten Bellatrix's unwavering adoration.
She felt the hard taste of blood in her mouth, and forced herself to stop. Her teeth left her lip with an unpleasant feeling of resonance.
She looked the Dark Lord in the eyes.
As if nothing had happened.
"There is a..."
She could feel Pettigrew's eyes on her, but she wouldn't – not even to get him to stop, to look away, to get him away from her – she wouldn't move from her locked eye contact with the Dark Lord.
"...a legend, in the House of Black, that no twins can be born and bear the name of Black, or, more generally, belong to the main family. There haven't been twins since the beginning of our bloodline, two millennia and a half ago. We don't know why, but we know that."
Lord Voldemort seemed enticed with the anecdote; Narcissa could tell she had his attention, and, more importantly, she could tell he was already seeing where this small fact was leading them.
The Dark Lord wasn't the only one listening with redoubled attention. She could have sworn the rat was mumbling something about how Sirius had, in their first years at Hogwarts, been unable to see twins and not flinch. The other Death Eaters in the room were pretending not to be interested, but Narcissa knew how to read they apparent disinterest. They were curious, too, and if anything, wondering if they'd get anything usable against the new Black lord. Just, you know, in case they had to face and murder him any time soon.
"Let me guess, Narcissa. Your cousin is one of two twins?"
"He is. The Blacks can't have twins, but they can conceive twins. From what we know, it's the eight time it happened in the family. Sirius and Adhara Black, a boy and a girl. Only the boy lived. Only one of the two."
"Like the seven previous pairs, I suppose."
Narcissa closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the day her aunt had learned she was pregnant with twins. Narcissa had been, what, five years old? She still remembered that day clearly. The curiosity of it all. The strange reactions from the adults. Was the legend true? Or wasn't it? She had asked her father to explain, and he had taken her and her sisters aside, to tell them the story.
Walburga Black had had a moment of sadness, as she had realized one of her childrens probably wouldn't live to see the light of day... Then the prospect, the possibilities of having one of the twinless twins as her own child had won out.
It had been harder, thought, when they had realized the children were non-identical twins, a boy and a girl. It meant they had to think of two different names, and one of those would never be used. Had it been two boys, or two girls, they could have pretended there was only one baby to begin with. The name would have fit no matter the survivor.
Not this time – second time in the eight times the Blacks had had twins.
Sirius Black, or Adhara Black?
Sirius had lived; Adhara hadn't.
"The Blacks cannot have twins, my Lord. Whenever it happens, one of the children dies in the womb, and the other grow up to be twice as powerful, or rather, with twice as much supplies of magic as they should normally have."
The Dark Lord had a terrible glint in his eyes. Narcissa almost wished she had kept her eyes closed, but that would have been telling. That she cared about the unborn child more than about power. That, perhaps, she pitied Sirius even if he was an enemy. She didn't know what the Dark Lord might think of it, and she didn't want to find out.
Seeing the envy in his eyes was enough of a trial, right now.
Sirius had never thought that his situation was anything to be envious of.
"Fascinating. The surviving twin must have absorbed its sibling, its magic, its life force even..."
Its... Narcissa didn't comment on making a poor baby the equivalent of an object.
It wouldn't have been wise.
The Dark Lord turned to look at the horizon, once again, and didn't say anything for a time. Nagini slithered over his shoulder, and Narcissa could have sworn the snake was watching the horizon too, like its master. How to conquer these lands, this world...
Just as Pettigrew started to squirm, unable to stay on his own two damn feet – Sirius, Narcissa realized, for all his flaws, had never forgotten how to be someone of importance. He might fool around, and pretend he didn't care, but he still had the gait of a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
He hadn't been tarnished by his associations, that much had to be said.
Not even in his beliefs, his cousin had to admit. Sirius hadn't waited to go to Hogwarts and get himself Sorted in Gryffindor to disagree with his family. He had perhaps been quieter about it back then, but that was it.
Narcissa didn't quite know what to make out of these thoughts, but she couldn't discard them either. There was something to be found there, a truth she couldn't yet word out correctly, she could tell...
But what?
"Wormtail!"
Both Narcissa and the rat started, as the Dark lord suddenly brought them back to attention. She, obviously, managed not to show it too much, but the rat visibly shuddered.
"Yes, my... my Lord?"
"I have a mission for you. Somehing I am certain you'll appreciate, considering both you and Severus must be quite sick of seeing each other everyday..."
Pettigrew wisely didn't comment on that, but that was probably out of survival instinct more than anything else. Complaining about the Dark Lord's assignments wasn't something a prudent person should do, not even if the Dark Lord himself had initiated it.
Also, Narcissa had a feeling that the rat would not appreciate his new mission.
"But that will wait. For now..."
The seat the Dark Lord was sitting in turned on its own. Narcissa and Pettigrew followed, to stay in sight of the wizard, but he was now looking at the other Death Eaters in the room – yes, it was easy to forget, but the pathetic excuse for a wizard that was Pettigrew was actually a Death Eater too.
"Yaxley! Until we find an occasion to be rid of Lord Black definitively, I want you to undermine everything he does, everything he tries at the Ministry for example. If we can keep him busy, he won't be running into our operations so often. As for you, Selwyn, try and figure out a way to destroy him personally. You can't go after him directly, not now that he is a martyr and a hero, but if you can get his friends and allies in difficult situations, it will land him in troubled waters and people might begin to doubt him too. He has a werewolf for a best friend, it shouldn't be too hard to do something with that fact."
Narcissa couldn't say she didn't approve of the strategy, but she remembered a time when the Dark Lord made all his plans himself, instead of making a general decision and letting his henchmen decide of the details. She remembered a time Lord Voldemort truly was a mastermind, and not only a tyrant who only bothered with his personal power, and with punishing the ones who failed him.
She remembered how he was feared, back then.
She wondered if it was only this time, that the Dark Lord would delegate, or if it was going to happen more and more often. If, perhaps, the Battle of the Department of Mysteries hadn't been completely thought out by the Dark Lord, leaving his men to improvise.
If, perhaps, the loss of quality wasn't only a passing and baseless impression she alone was experiencing.
Lord Voldemort had been an exceptional wizard, that no one could stand up to, except Albus Dumbledore. And now he left a teenager – namely, Harry Potter – twist his plans so many times?
Granted, the first time had been a fluke. The baby himself hadn't really done anything, but his mother's sacrifice, on the other hand...
Only, it wasn't once that the Dark Lord had failed, more or less badly, when faced with Harry Potter. Once was a fluke, twice was a coincidence, thrice was suspicious.
Perhaps the Dark Lord had been more damaged by his time without a body than even he thought – though, Narcissa doubted the powerful wizard could even imagine that he might not be entirely efficient intellectually. He was too full of himself for that, too certain of his own superiority.
Yet, he kept losing – if not completely, just enough for it to be telling. Certainly, he had come back, he had made himsef a new body using dark magic, but hadn't the child still managed to escape, more than one year ago, in that graveyard? Hadn't Harry Potter managed to survive the confrontation at the Ministry? How many other encounters between the Dark Lord and the teen had happened, that Narcissa didn't know about?
Sure, neither Dumbledore nor – shame on the Dark Lord had it happened – Harry Potter had managed to stop him, and, yes, Lord Voldemort was gaining in power again, but it didn't change the fact that each time, both the old wizard and the teenager had walked away too.
Perhaps it was time for Narcissa to acknowledge that the Dark Lord was losing his edge. That he was too obsessed with his need for revenge, with his desire for power, to truly think again.
The Dark Lord turned back to the two people in the room he had called for especially, and Narcissa immediately stopped thinking about her doubts. Because she was aware of the Dark Lord's flaws didn't mean she had stopped fearing him.
If anything, it only made him more dangerous on a personal level.
"Narcissa... I would like you to get closer to Regulus, again, and work on turning him back to our cause. Do that slowly, discreetly, under the cover of caring for a cousin you had thought lost for too long, because whatever his brother is telling him, Regulus won't be amenable as a result. I want him back, but I don't want Sirius Black to notice. He could be an useful spy against the Order through his brother."
Narcissa nodded – but deep down, she felt something stir in her, as if in protest. As if she was supposed to care that this was morally wrong, even if, should she succeed, it would potentially save Regulus' life.
Merlin knew what the Dark Lord had in store for those who desisted him, willingly or not.
Then again, Lord Voldemort wasn't that good to his own people either. Narcissa wondered, when she was alone, a prisoner in her own home, in a sense, if he had always been like that, and she hadn't noticed during the First War, or if it was only that his frustration was now making the pretense disappear, slowly but surely.
Either way, she should have understood sooner that while the Dark Lord did care for blood purity, his main objective was his own power before everything else.
Spotting these people was something a Black was supposed to be able to do with a single glance. On that point, Narcissa had to admit that Sirius and Andromeda had beaten them all. Perhaps because, unlike Bellatrix, Regulus and herself, the two other Black youths had never listened to the Dark Lord's discourse: it had allowed them to focus more on the underlying currents than on the promises.
Narcissa would have laughed at herself, had she been anyone else. Sirius and Andromeda hadn't been the only ones to see through the Dark Lord's motives – Arcturus too had seen it, even as he moderately supported blood purity; Orion, while agreeing with the cause, had been slightly reluctant to get further involved; Alphard had laughed at Narcissa's father when he had started talking about it, and had never explained why exactly.
Now Narcissa knew why.
"As for you..."
The Dark Lord's attention having shifted back onto the rat, Narcissa allowed herself to show a bit more of her current state of mind – what? It did look like contempt for the traitorous Gryffindor.
"I am afraid your mission will bring you quite close to Black, Wormtail, but I am certain it will not be an issue. After all, if you complete this mission successfully, I'll make sure you won't have to see him ever again. What do you think, Pettigrew?"
The rat tried very hard not to squirm at the questioning look the Dark Lord was giving him, fully aware that said dark lord didn't do questioning. Lord Voldemort made suggestive, and threatening, and disguised, but not questioning. If it sounded like it, it probably was a trap.
Pettigrew wasn't completely stupid, and understood that very well.
"I would be ho... honored to do your bidding, my Lord, even if I have to endanger my safety to do so... But I... What is it you want me to do, my Lord?"
The Dark Lord gave the rat an amused smirk, and Narcissa wondered, not for the first time, if he wasn't keeping Pettigrew around for the mere sake of seeing him terrified, and not even willing to hide it. A bit like a court jester, in fact. Only, this one wasn't aware he was the joke everybody was laughing at – or rather, he knew it, but he was also aware that he didn't have much of a choice.
"Regulus' muggle wife will be an obstacle to getting him back, I am well aware of that, because no matter what we think of her and of her descent, her husband is still oblivious to it all. He doesn't understand, and won't understand, as long as she stays alive."
Ah. So the Dark Lord hadn't completely underestimated the bond between her cousin and his wife, then. Narcissa hadn't seen that one coming, she had to acknowledge that much.
She didn't like the way this was going one bit.
Even if Amanda White – Amanda Black, as it was – was a muggle.
Narcissa made sure to keep her eyes on Peter Pettigrew as the Dark Lord continued. Refusal would be suicidal, yet she wanted to know how far he'd be willing to go for his own sake.
She already had a pretty good idea of that, but she still wanted confirmation.
"What I want from you, Wormtail, is for you to keep an eye on the muggle; to learn who she is, how she may influence Regulus Black, her relationship with your friend, too. I need you to be able to tell me what Narcissa will have to face, when she'll try, and succeed, I have no doubt of that, to bring Regulus back amongst us."
A quick, but cold look in her direction. Narcissa's back stiffened automatically, and she gave the Dark Lord a confident look. Yes, my Lord, I will succeed... Because if I don't I am well aware of what awaits me and Regulus as a punishment.
Even if she found she didn't truly want to manipulate Regulus.
Pettigrew seemed almost relieved with his assignment, and Narcissa had to give it to him, she too had expected something more... gruesome.
Then the Dark Lord finished his order, and neither the rat nor the lady doubted Lord Voldemort's cruelty anymore.
"In two months, more or less, you will murder Amanda White, Wormtail. You will remove her from Regulus Black's life, and thus you will end her negative influence on his mind. She cannot be allowed to take away such pure blood, and she certainly will not be let to live as a Black's wife."
Pettigrew paled, but still nodded in obedience.
It wouldn't be the first time he killed, in fact, but it was still something else... When he had killed these twelve muggles, after Sirius had found him back, he hadn't actually been trying to commit a murder. They had died, true, and he wasn't feeling overly guilty for that – perhaps a bit, but his relief at having escaped from his former friend swallowed it all – but it hadn't been his objective. They had been... unfortunate collateral damages.
As for James and Lily Potter, well... He had given the Dark Lord their location, but he hadn't been the one holding the murdering wand.
Peter Pettigrew had never killed someone in cold blood before.
But he knew that if he refused – worse, if he accepted but still failed – he'd suffer. Maybe he'd even die. And he didn't want to suffer. And he didn't want to die.
It was all written on his face, and Narcissa had no difficulty reading it. She knew he would do it – or try to, if anything. The rat was more afraid of the Dark Lord than of anyone else – sensible, for once – and besides, he was currently at the wizard's mercy. Refusing would be nothing but sutpid.
She wasn't certain he'd be able to actually do the deed and kill Regulus' wife in cold blood, that he wouldn't freeze at the last minute, but she knew that he'd try.
Because if he didn't, he was a dead rat.
Then again, if he did, he was just as much of a dead rat. Because neither Regulus nor Sirius would let him get away with the murder of Amanda Black – especially not Sirius, especially not a second time.
But right now, the Dark Lord was the one Peter Pettigrew was facing. So Peter Pettigrew would do what was asked of him. Because he didn't want to suffer, because he didn't want to die.
"You will have to wait for some time, Wormtail, before making your move. It would be too obvious if we tried to have her killed right away, they are probably expecting something of the kind. I have been told she hasn't left Black Manor since her husband got out of St. Mungo's... But one day she will walk past the protective gates of the manor, and when that happens, Rat, I want you there. I want you listening, watching, following her discreetly, to decide when and how you will kill her."
The rat nodded again, and the Dark Lord turned back to Narcissa.
"Regulus will be crushed by the loss, and then... Well, it is certain that there are no better moments than moments of distress to shape the mind of an individual, am I wrong?"
This, this was the reason Narcissa would never go against the Dark Lord.
Because he wouldn't hesitate to destroy his followers, if it assured him their entire cooperation. It didn't matter if it twisted them into something they weren't, if it made them broken and unstable – as long as they could fight, as long as they could obey, the Dark Lord would use them, and wear them out. Narcissa had seen it even in Bellatrix – I'm doing it for him, Sister, because it is the right thing to do! – and from there, it had been always a bit more, always a bit further down the rabbit hole.
She wondered, briefly, if Peter Pettigrew too had been eroded beyond measure. If he had been, once upon a time, a better man – on the wrong side, certainly, but not as pitiful as the rat who was currently standing next to her, even if on the right side. If Sirius had had a reason to be his friend.
It didn't matter, though. Whoever the Peter Pettigrew of the past had been, he didn't exist anymore.
Narcissa didn't shudder, nor she flinched, but she would have, had she been less of an actress.
Since that was how the Dark Lord was treating his allies – a voice in her head hissed, affronted, his servants – how would she even consider changing sides? How could she be expected to be an enemy of his – worse, a traitor?
She had a son to protect, and going to Sirius – even if only to get out of it all, not even to fight against the Dark Lord – would put Draco in danger.
This was her reason to obey.
"I expect you to be there for your cousin, after his terrible loss, Narcissa."
For a moment she was afraid that her face would move into a poor, falsely credible smirk without her consent. That her disgust at the suggestion would be visible. That the Dark Lord would find in her reaction a reason to look through her mind, in search for more felonies.
That he would consider – because he would, that much was a given – her latest thoughts disloyal.
But no. A cold smile fell upon her mouth, twisting her lips into something she couldn't see as anything else than a grimace, even if she knew it was perfectly passionless.
"Of course, my Lord."
The Dark Lord smiled thinly – no lips, still. Disturbing.
Pleased.
He dismissed the rat and the witch, and went back to staring thoughtfully at the horizon, his hand caressing his snake on its head.
Narcissa made a point of walking away slowly, her eyes fixed in condescension on Pettigrew, as the man all but ran away from the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, to disappear back into the darkness from whence he had grovelled – meaning, Severus Snape's den of misery.
She never let it show, but when she walked past the door, she suddenly felt like her legs would give out anytime. She went back to her room, keeping pretence, never even minding the strangers who were walking in her home without her permission – Death Eaters, all of them, but few she actually knew. Witches and wizards who were here because the Dark Lord had made Malfoy Manor his command center, because he had decided...
Narcissa closed the door behind her, and rushed for the bathroom. She didn't know why, she wasn't sure how, but she felt sick with herself, with what people like Pettigrew – like Lucius, her brain whispered, but she ignored it – did for the so-called blood purity. With what the Dark Lord thought acceptable to do, even to pureblooded individuals like herself, Draco, or Regulus. She didn't care much for Regulus' wife, of course – why would she? The woman was only a muggle – but the effects her murder would have on Regulus...
Amanda Black's son, Alshain, might be a halfblood, but he was in Slytherin, like Regulus had been, like Narcissa had been. He was her nephew, too. Did he really deserve to lose his mother, because she wasn't a witch?
Narcissa looked at her reflection in the gilded mirror. There, she saw her face change, literally. Her mask of haughty indifference fell into pieces, revealing her mental state, marring her delicate features. The terror, the anxiety, the disgust – she wasn't a perfect slytherin doll anymore, no.
But her mirror would be the only witness to that change, ever.
Narcissa Black – Narcissa Malfoy was a doll, cold and inhumane, if beautiful, without a word against the one who could destroy her with a single spell. A doll didn't speak – a doll was fragile.
If he wanted, the Dark Lord could break her like an uncaring child would break a doll.
Her eyes were on the mirror, and never left it, not even as she fumbled for the little vial of potion she had hidden in the secret compartment of the sink. She uncorked it with practiced ease, staring at the lack of glow in her eyes, at the lack of life in her gaze. It was fitting, she guessed.
The truth was, she didn't only look sick – she was sick. The potion was making her sick.
But it was better than the contrary. It was better than to let it happen, really. Not as Lucius wasn't here, not as the Dark Lord lived under their roof, not as Draco's life was already being threatened. Not when the war was taking a somber turn, once again.
Narcissa threw up in the sink.
It hadn't been planned, yet perhaps she might have been pleased, in other conditions. But she wasn't going to let a baby come into the world when said world was falling apart.