Part II

II.

Autumn

1996

On the appointed day, if not quite the appointed hour, he willed himself into being just outside the gate and, as was his custom, waited to be allowed entry. The gate recognised him at once.

'Good evening, Professor. The lady of the house will see you in the library.'

Automatically, his eyes scanned the house's facade. Torches were lit in the ground-floor hall, but on the first floor only a low light shone in a distant window. It did not look as though anyone were in the library. Odd. The gate swung open, allowing him to proceed down the gravelled drive; he noted an air of vacancy, the unlit downstairs windows. He supposed it was a natural consequence of things. As far as he knew, the lady of the house and her sister were now the only occupants.

He used the time it took to walk the length of the drive to consider what he should say to her.

Five steps led to the front door, which opened as if by unseen hands the moment his foot touched the bottom step. A house-elf waited inside, silent as all the elves in this household, and made him a low bow. He handed off his cloak and climbed the stairs to the first floor, taking no note of the portraits, whose mute, indifferent occupants...having watched him come and go through the house for two decades...took no note of him in return. There was a new stillness about the house, a collective held breath that precedes a thunderstorm, or perhaps a wake. His thoughts returned to the matter at hand.

The thing he had always respected about Narcissa Malfoy was her ability to hold her tongue.

Though they had known each other for years, they saw each other only infrequently, and thus it had required several years and a spy's instinct for information gathering before Severus had realised the reason why Narcissa spoke so rarely and why she moved through social gatherings with an expression of alternating disdain and apprehension. She was, in fact, extremely shy.

In one-on-one conversations, she was perfectly pleasant, polite and gracious, if occasionally a bit stiff. She even had an agreeably dry sense of humour which shone through intermittently. In larger groups, she generally did not engage in the sort of endless prattle towards which most women of his acquaintance tended (which he counted as a point in her favour), nor was she inclined to displays of emotion. Rather, she was somehow distant, and she did not share confidences. Clearly, Lucius was the family socialite, and under his influence Severus had watched Narcissa become less reserved but no less discreet in social settings over the years. For these reasons, Severus had always rather admired her.

It was also for these reasons that her behaviour of late had troubled him. Others in their circle would not have failed to notice that the Malfoys' recent fortunes seemed to have thrown her into turmoil which she seemed incapable of coming to grips with. There had been no repeat of her behaviour at Spinner's End, which had been alarmingly out of character, but all was certainly not as it should be, either. This was one of the matters weighing on his mind as he arrived at his destination.

The double doors to the Malfoy library bore a carving of an open book, whose pages were charmed to move as if blown by a breeze. The doors opened along the book's spine. He entered, as always, a penitent stepping into a cathedral, pausing just inside with head bowed to breathe in the scent of parchment and binding glue mixed with leather and dry dust.

It was a great, vaulted-ceilinged cavern of a room, built with two levels. The windows on the far wall stretched floor-to-ceiling, two storeys high, punctuated by bookshelves. A gallery ran along the second level, allowing enough space for two browsers to pass each other. Between the first and second levels, the room held a collection to rival that of the Hogwarts library; it might, in fact, have been the largest library of magic in Britain. As for potions texts in particular, the Malfoy library outstripped Hogwarts by a clear margin. Severus knew this because he had catalogued the volumes over the course of a summer in his eighteenth year, and every purchase made since then had been on his recommendation. Upon his entry, Severus's gaze rested involuntarily on the corner of the library furthest from the door on the right, and his fingers itched for the chance to pick up the newest acquisitions, which would have been waiting for him since before Lucius was incarcerated. Today, however, there was no time.

He glanced about for Narcissa, expecting to find her seated before the fireplace in one of the wing chairs where he usually sat with Lucius, but was surprised to discover, well as he knew the library, that off to his left lay a room he had never seen before, connected to the library by a door, fronted with bookshelves, which now stood open. Through the doorway, he spotted the person he had come to see, seated at an enormous desk with rolls of parchment ranged about her in neat bundles as darkness gathered beyond the windows at her back. She was scribbling furiously with an elegant black quill, a pair of reading spectacles balanced on her nose. He had also never seen Lucius's wife wearing spectacles.

He approached the open door, taking no care to cover the noise of his footsteps. She did not look up. Severus cleared his throat to announce his presence. 'Hello, Narcissa.'

She looked up quickly from her parchment as if startled; a slight, weary smile bloomed on her face. Her expression was tired but welcoming. 'Severus. Please, come in. Give me just a moment.'

He remained just outside the door. 'I seem to have interrupted you,' he noted. 'Is this a bad time?'

'I was only catching up on my correspondence. I needed a bit of an interruption, actually.'

She removed the spectacles and stood, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Her lips moved soundlessly, and the parchment bundles vanished. She gestured through the door to the pair of wing chairs before the library fire. He regarded her with interest as she crossed the room. She lit a fire in the grate, which provided light but no heat, and they sat.

'So, what can I offer you, Severus?' He scanned her face, but found no trace of artifice there before she continued, 'Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?'

'I'm fine, thank you.'

'It's no trouble. I was just about to have a pot of tea sent up, in fact. Will you join me?'

He relented. 'Perhaps one cup, if it's no trouble.'

She nodded and summoned a house-elf. 'A pot of the Krasnodar,' she told the elf, then turned to Severus. 'You don't take milk or sugar, do you?' Severus shook his head. Narcissa nodded to the elf, who Disapparated with a low bow and a quiet 'yes, Mistress.'

'I wasn't expecting you quite yet, Severus. Isn't there a meeting tonight?'

'Yes, in about an hour. I understood it was supposed to be held here, but security concerns prompted a change of venue.'

Her nose wrinkled slightly. 'The Ministry raided our home on Wednesday. The second time in four months,' she explained. 'Not that I'm sorry about the change, really. I couldn't face them all.'

Severus wondered if Narcissa had been apprised that, on her sister's suggestion, the Dark Lord was considering the Malfoy home as a permanent base of operations. The only snag at the moment was the Ministry's frequent raids.

A tea tray appeared on the table between the two chairs. Narcissa checked the pot and poured tea into the two cups. He reached for his cup too quickly, and his hand brushed hers as she set the pot down. She pulled back with downcast eyes. 'You received my message, then?' she asked.

He took his cup and saucer but did not drink. 'Yes.'

'How is Draco faring?' she asked.

When he looked up at her, he noticed for the first time the darkness beneath her pale eyes. Her anxiety was palpable. Severus told her, 'He's nowhere near succeeding in the task set him.'

'I wonder if I should be pleased or terrified.'

He wondered if she was testing him. 'You speak incautiously, Narcissa.'

She did not appear concerned. 'Anything I say would be incautious these days. The alternative is to keep it all in my own head.'

'You would be well advised to do so.'

Her manner grew cold. 'Forgive me, Severus, I was under the impression you were here to talk about my son, not to chide me.'

'I never meant to chide.' He paused. 'Only to warn.'

Her lips formed a thin line. 'What do you mean?' she asked quietly, refusing to meet his eye.

'It would not do to appear ... indifferent to the Dark Lord's aims.'

She sipped her tea. 'Am I indifferent?' she wondered aloud. 'My husband is in prison, my son has turned would-be assassin, and I understand my home will be commandeered just as soon as the Ministry is under control. Things being what they are, why should I feel anything but enthusiasm for our Lord's aims?'

Well, that answered one question.

'This is precisely what I'm talking about. Narcissa, if I were to repeat to the Dark Lord anything that you have said in the last five minutes, your home, your husband and your child would be the least of your worries.' Noting the sudden flash of apprehension that crossed her face, quickly stifled though it was, he continued, 'Your lack of enthusiasm is gaining you the wrong sort of attention.'

Her voice was level, but her hands trembled slightly as she said, 'And here I thought myself beneath his notice.' She met his eyes and inquired earnestly, 'What am I supposed to do, Severus? I'm under siege.'

Images of Yaxley, whose keen hungry eyes traced her every movement, and the Carrows, whose accents and vocabulary she found vulgar, flitted across her consciousness. She was such easy prey.

'I am not unsympathetic to your position, but...'

'I need to stiffen my upper lip.'

He nodded. 'For want of a better phrase.'

They were silent a moment. Her head rested against the chair back, eyes on the fire. At length, she asked, 'How will I manage it?'

He drank his tea and considered the question. 'Do what you've always done, I suppose. When they arrive, be a gracious hostess. Speak when called upon and laugh at the right moments. But above all, keep your emotions out of it. The Dark Lord has never been motivated by pity.' He paused. 'And close your mind if you can.'

'Is that what you do?'

He kept his eyes on hers. 'My mind is never closed to the Dark Lord, of course. But how else could I spy on Dumbledore? If I let my emotions into it, I'd never have got near enough to him to provide the Dark Lord any information at all.'

'It's all a very carefully balanced act,' she observed.

'It is essential to the success of our efforts. My resolve does not waver, and neither should yours.' He waited a moment before continuing, weighing carefully what he was about to say next, because he had not decided until this moment that it needed to be said. 'I feel compelled to advise you, Narcissa, that he is considering marking you.'

Her face betrayed no hint of fear, which at least meant she was taking his warning seriously, but the teacup halted halfway to her lips and stayed there. Her eyes returned to the fire. When it came, her response to this pronouncement was cautious, diplomatic.

'The Dark Lord honours only his most trusted followers with the Mark, people like you and Bella. Surely someone as insignificant as myself would not merit such recognition.'

Severus knew that Narcissa's unmarked arm, cradling their infant son, had been a powerful factor in Lucius's release after the first war, along with her compelling testimony about his odd behaviour, which was deemed to be evidence of his having been under the Imperius Curse. She must have counted on not having the Mark as a sort of insurance this time around, which was why the Dark Lord knew he could use it as a threat.

He chose his next words with precision. 'He may not do it to honour you but to ... assure himself of your loyalty. And to remind Draco of his expectations.' He left unspoken the message it would send to Lucius.

She spoke softly, as if to herself. 'Have we not all paid dearly already for my husband's transgressions?'

Severus was silent. Not dearly enough, he thought.

'Does the Dark Lord bid you relay his message?' Narcissa asked.

'No. I speak on my own behalf. At some personal cost, as you may imagine.'

'Then I am in your debt yet again. You have already risked quite a lot on my family's behalf.' She was silent for so long that he could almost have imagined she had forgotten his presence. Before he had made up his mind to remind her, however, she spoke again. 'I can't help but wonder why you would tell me this, if it would displease the Dark Lord.'

'Draco needs no further reminder of the Dark Lord's expectations,' he said. 'And Lucius wouldn't want this for you.'

She nodded slowly. 'Then my path is clear. I shall follow your example, Severus, and be obedient in all things.' Her voice traced the line between sarcasm and earnestness, or perhaps it was his imagination.

Thin-lipped and business-like, he nodded. 'You wanted to discuss your son.'

'Yes,' she said absently, as though she'd forgotten why he was there. 'Right. When I took Draco shopping for his school things this summer, he disappeared during our trip to London and wouldn't tell me where he'd gone. Now I've more or less discovered where he went. I've recently received an invoice. For a necklace.' He felt her tracking his expression, but made no move to respond. She continued, 'As Lucius is in no position to make any purchases, and as I am quite certain I didn't buy it, I am forced to conclude that it was Draco who bought it.'

'A gift for Miss Parkinson, perhaps?' he asked mildly.

'The necklace was purchased at Borgin and Burkes and carries a killing curse. I would hope that Lucius and I have taught our son other ways of resolving relationship difficulties.' She paused. 'I suspect Draco has other plans for it.'

'Yes, rather.'

'I thought I should let you know, since I'm in no position to do anything about it. I can't put this in a letter, and I can't very well storm in to Hogwarts and demand that my son explain himself. He's beyond my reach.' She looked away. 'I'm sure I don't need to tell you how many ways this could possibly go wrong.'

'No.'

'I'd appreciate it very much if you'd have a word with him. This is the kind of thing that Lucius would handle.' A sharp, bitter chuckle escaped her. 'Draco doesn't listen to me anymore, but he'll listen to you.'

'I'll see what I can do.'

'There's something else. During the Ministry's last raid, Arthur Weasley paid particular attention to Draco's room, and I heard him telling his thugs to look for something that 'appears to be broken.' I don't know what that means, but he seems to know something. Does that ring any bells?'

'No. But I shall keep my ears open.'

'Thank you, Severus. You do so much for us. Really. If there's ever anything we can do for you ...'

'I do not forget all that you and Lucius have done for me over the years.' He wanted to wrap this up. 'We'll speak no further of this,' he assured her in a tone that was, for him, almost kind. 'I should go. I have a report to deliver. You will keep in mind what we have discussed?'

She appeared to bristle, but quickly regained her composure. 'I will.'

He finished his tea. 'You did the right thing, telling me,' he said. 'I'll be in touch. I would recommend that you don't mention to Bellatrix that we've spoken. I wouldn't want to raise your sister's curiosity.'

She nodded, mute, and he left her before the cold fire to make his way to his next destination.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I am trying to remain strong without you, to keep my head down and my ears open, to choose my battles wisely. Yet sometimes, she did not write to her husband, I feel like I'm choking on the things I cannot say.

Bella has turned the storage room into a sort of holding cell. I saw her in the corridor as I was going for my morning swim. She was leading the unconscious figure of a man through the door as I reached the bottom of the stairs. His feet dragged the ground, his head lolled. She left the door open, and I peered in as I passed. I couldn't help but look. The room had been cleared. She held him in place with her wand as a pair of chains rose up from the wall and buckled themselves at his wrists. She must have conjured them. There was blood on his chin. I wish I could say he was no one I recognised.

I wonder what she's done with the things that were in that room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Bella avoided the library, or at least, Narcissa had never seen her in there. She preferred to spend her free time outdoors, practicing with her throwing knife or flying. Thus, Narcissa was startled when she entered the library one morning and found her sister seated in Lucius's favourite armchair at the far end, near the windows, a large leather-bound book in her lap. Glancing involuntarily over towards her little study, Narcissa was only slightly relieved to note that the door was firmly shut and did not appear to have been opened; then again, Bella would know how to cover her tracks.

But Bella, a darkling thing that could pull the light from the sky, was staring out the window as if she had not heard anyone enter. She had been gone for four days.

'Good morning, Bella.' Narcissa spoke without thinking, then wondered at the appropriateness of the greeting, when it was apparent that Bella had never gone to sleep last night. Approaching the windows, Narcissa caught a faint whiff of smoke, bergamot and the acrid scent of Unforgivables. Bella's robes were dusty.

Bella remained seated but looked up. 'Cissy,' she said, as if inviting her sister to tea. Then she fell silent, her eyes turned to the window once more.

Narcissa gestured to the book. 'You found it,' she said, unsure whether it had at all been a good idea to leave it in Bella's room, without explanation. She had considered writing a note to go with it, but couldn't think what to say.

Bella looked down at the book, then lifted uncomprehending eyes to Narcissa's face. 'Did you leave this for me?'

Narcissa nodded hopefully. 'Yes.'

Bella blinked. 'Why?' There was nothing accusative in her tone, only detached curiosity.

'I thought you might like to have it. I found it among Mother's things after she passed, when we settled the estate. She was saving it for you, I think.' The last was a lie. Their mother had not believed Bella would ever be released, but there was no harm in letting Bella know Mother had loved her enough to hang onto a bit of her former life. 'Did ... did you have a chance to look at it?'

In answer, Bella nodded. Unusually, she appeared troubled. Normally when she returned from her outings, she was wild-eyed, manic, ferociously happy. Narcissa wondered if things had gone badly for her.

'Mother passed, you said?'

'Yes.'

'When?'

'It's been about ten years now.'

The fingers of Bella's left hand were balled into a fist, her thumb pushing against her curled index finger. She spoke again, slowly. 'Exactly when did she die?'

They had had this conversation before, Narcissa realised. When Bella first returned. Of course, Narcissa had written to her to advise her of their mother's death when it happened, one of the hardest letters Narcissa had ever had to write. And Bella had written back, so Narcissa knew she had been aware of Mother's death, but Bella's memory seemed to be pitted and scarred; there were rabbit holes where details disappeared.

'The thirteenth of March, 1986,' Narcissa answered calmly.

'I should write these things down,' Bella murmured. Then, her voice louder, stronger, she asked Narcissa, 'And is she buried in the family plot?'

'Yes.'

'I should go and see her.'

'You can come with me next month,' offered Narcissa. 'I always go on her birthday.'

'Yes, I think that's best. I need time ...' Bella's voice trailed off. Her left hand uncoiled itself and trailed, unconscious, over the surface of the album. Bella looked down into her lap, as if she had only just noticed the heavy book with the initials 'B & R' tooled on the cover. She opened it to the first page and ran her hand over the formal photographer's portrait affixed there. Her nineteen-year-old self, dressed in gossamer silver robes, standing beside a twenty-three-year-old Rodolphus (rather handsome, in fact, in his black dress robes), blinked back at her.

She continued turning the pages, past the formal family portraits, shots of the ceremony, candid photos of the reception afterwards. When she arrived at the page bearing photos of the after-dinner toasts, Bella looked around, as if assuring herself that she and Narcissa were alone. She pressed her lips into a thin line, knitted her brow. Then she spoke in a whisper,

'Cissy, I can't remember any of this.'

Narcissa watched her sister guardedly. Bella did not look at her, but flipped back to the formal portraits. 'Is that you?' she asked, her finger tracing the outline of one particular picture.

Narcissa tried to see the photo with her sister's eyes. Three girls: two dark-haired, one blonde. Narcissa and Andromeda wore matching blue robes. Bella sat, with her ramrod posture and disastrous beauty, in a high-backed armchair. Narcissa sat on one of the chair's arms, coltish, angular, a set of matchsticks wearing expensive robes. She remembered trying hard not to slouch as the photographer took ages to snap the picture. Andromeda stood behind them, her hands on the chair's back. Sullen and always so secretive, Andromeda must have been planning her betrayal even then. Narcissa wondered if Bella was going to ask about her.

Narcissa said, 'Yes, that's me.'

Bella asked, 'How old were you then?'

'Fifteen, I think.'

'You were so pretty.'

Narcissa blinked in shock. 'Thank you, Bella,' she said.

'No breasts though.' Bella looked up at Narcissa. Mischief gleamed in her dark eyes. 'You still haven't grown a pair.'

Narcissa laughed. 'Yes, well, you always had enough for both of us.'

Something like a smile pulled at Bella's mouth. 'We were happy then, weren't we?' she asked, as though she really wanted to know the answer.

'We were.'

Bella flipped forward several pages and fixed her eyes on their Uncle Orion, standing beside their father, glass raised; he had made the evening's most moving toast, as Narcissa recalled. Something about the beauty of a star, burning bright, and a wish for the newlyweds to bask in the brightness of a new, peaceful world. The old hypocrite. On his other side sat Aunt Wallberga, an uncharacteristically cheerful smile on her face. She must have been drunk.

'Dementors,' said Bella, 'steal every happy thought you've ever had, every happy memory. They leave you with only the worst things you can remember or imagine, and they feed off that. They consume your misery. They make you cold.' Bella shuddered. 'They took everything. My thoughts, my memories, any source of comfort.' She shook her head. 'I did it for him, Cissy, and I would do it again, and again. That is how devoted I am. Isn't that dedication?'

'It is,' agreed Narcissa. It was dedication of a sort, after all.

'He has given me so much,' said Bella, quietly, to herself. 'I owe him that devotion.'

Not knowing what to say to that, Narcissa remained silent.

Bella stood, laying the album on a side table, and looked around the room. 'Uncle Orion had a library,' she said. 'A bit like this, but not with so many windows. The carpet was red, do you remember?' She looked at Narcissa for confirmation, but hardly acknowledged the answering nod.

Bella continued, 'He had a library. I used to count the volumes ....' Her eyes were no longer focussed on the room before her. She seemed to still be flipping through photos in a dark room in her own mind. After a moment she said, 'I can remember every detail of that library, but I cannot remember my own wedding day. Cissy, how is that fair?'

Narcissa still did not know how to speak of these things. But from experience she knew that whatever she said, she ran the risk of touching off an explosion. Warily, Narcissa said, 'It's not fair.'

All the softness in Bella had vanished, the sisterly connection severed. 'No. I was faithful, and I was locked away, while those who deserted him, those who collaborated with the Ministry, went free.'

Narcissa braced herself; they had strayed into dangerous territory, and she was not ready for another row. She had heard it said after the trial that Bellatrix Lestrange had no conscience, no sense of morality. That was a lie. Bella's moral code had black areas and white, with no shadow of self-preservation, and her conscience compelled her to act on that. As such, she could never understand why Narcissa and Lucius had done what they did.

Bella had no children.

But the storm did not break. 'No,' said Bella again, her voice still faintly troubled, shaking off her concerns. She moved towards the door, saying, 'I think I'll have something to eat before I go to bed. I'm quite tired, actually.'

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It became a habit of a sort, though nothing so regular as to be remarked on.

('Off to comfort the widow Malfoy, are we? Give her my regards.')

Once a month or so, he would tap on the door to the library and accept a cup of tea. They would sit together, usually to discuss Draco, but often they did not speak at all, and he would peruse her thoughts. Tonight, though she had done an admirable job of masking it, she was troubled. He knew why.

'It was foolhardy in the extreme,' said Narcissa.

'I agree.'

'Has Dumbledore caught on?'

'No. Everyone at Hogwarts considers it an isolated incident.' The lie slid fluently off his tongue, and though he should have lost respect for her for believing it, he found himself merely relieved when she nodded and did not question him further. He realised that he had been expecting her to blame him for the incident with the necklace, but he would not consider why that thought should unsettle him.

'You spoke to Draco, then?' she asked.

'Yes, although it wasn't easy. He avoids me after class, ignores me when I summon him to my office.'

Narcissa appeared surprised. 'That's very unlike him. He's always spoken so highly of you. What did he say?'

'He levelled a host of accusations: that I'm interfering in his life, that I want to "steal his glory",' Severus grumbled, 'that I've usurped his father's position in the Dark Lord's esteem.' He paused before adding, 'And yours.'

('Couldn't wait for my father to be out of the picture, could you?')

Narcissa's eyes widened and flashed. 'How dare he! He has absolutely no reason to say such things.'

'Apart from common teenage arrogance,' Severus said, reasonably ignoring how close that blade had come to nicking the artery of truth.

'Severus, I apologise for his behaviour. He was completely out of order. I can't imagine what he was thinking of.'

'I can.' At her puzzled look, he elaborated. 'I was once that age myself, you know. He's trying to avoid me, and so he figures that if he can infuriate me sufficiently, I'll stop calling him to my office. I make a convenient target for his anger. It can't be that he really thinks you and I would ever...behind Lucius's back...'

'I don't care how angry he was...he should never have spoken to you like that.'

'I got that point across.'

'Good.'

'Has your sister been teaching him Occlumency?'

She brushed away a speck of lint from her robes. 'He's been trying to learn. Why? Surely he didn't try to use it against you?'

'Indeed he did, albeit clumsily. I suggest you have Bellatrix step up their lessons over the holidays. Dumbledore must never suspect that he has anything to hide. Draco is over-confident. He must learn to be more subtle.'

For a moment she appeared lost in thought. 'I begin to wonder whether Lucius and I have sheltered Draco too much. And now when he needs his father more than ever, he's on his own, and I have no idea what to do with him. He won't answer my letters. I don't want my son to be a killer, but...' She looked up; her stricken expression suggested she realised the irony of what she was saying. 'I'm sorry, Severus. I don't mean to carry on so.'

'You shouldn't take this so personally. What he said to me...he was merely lashing out.'

'I love my husband.'

'I know.'

'I would never betray him.'

'Neither would I.'

('Are you kidding, Professor? Since I was ten, I've seen how you look at her.')

She nodded at that. 'Have you ever loved someone so much that you'd sacrifice your own happiness for theirs?' she asked suddenly.

'Certainly not. I was hatched from an egg and am therefore unable to feel such mundane human emotions.'

The corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly. She regarded him with sly incredulity. 'Why Severus, if I didn't know better, I would say you just made a joke. At your own expense.' She raised an eyebrow. 'Has this ever happened before?'

'You must be imagining things.'

She laughed then in earnest. 'Indeed I must.' When her laughter quieted, there was a moment when they were both silent. Then Narcissa spoke again, her voice kind. 'But if you ever did, she was a lucky woman.'

Severus exhaled sharply. 'You cannot prove any such thing.'

Again she dissolved in laughter. For a moment she was unable to speak, and he merely watched her, watched the smile that erupted on her face: sudden, beautiful and terrifying as fire from a dragon. He could feel the lines of his own face soften somewhat, but he otherwise did not share her merriment.

'That was brilliant, Severus. Have you any idea how long it's been since I laughed like that?'

'Too long, I expect.'

'That's certainly true. You should make jokes more often. It suits you.'

Despite everything, despite the fact that everyone seemed to consider it a given that he and not Draco should murder Dumbledore, his bitterness that no one would regret the damage to his own soul, he left that evening feeling oddly lighter. He had quite forgotten what it was like to make a woman laugh.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

With Draco home for the Christmas holidays, Narcissa did her best to keep the household running smoothly and maintain some semblance of routine. She had overseen the decoration of the house, prepared menus and done all the gift shopping. She had broken down twice at the thought that Lucius would not be joining them this year...once upon seeing the house-elves open a particular box of Christmas ornaments (Lucius had given her one for every year of their marriage, something Narcissa's father had done for her mother) and once as she had sat down to sign the usual Christmas greeting letters to certain key associates (should she sign them simply in her own name, or should she forge Lucius's signature as if he too were wishing them a happy Christmas?). Stupid, seemingly insignificant details ambushed her, defeated her, reminded her how alone she was. Fortunately, no one had witnessed either episode.

The wrinkle in her plans to maintain her holiday routines, of course, was Bella.

With Bella everything depended on her mood, which depended on the day and the weather, the arrangement of the planets, and above all the Dark Lord...in short, with Bella everything depended on factors completely outside Narcissa's control. If everything was going smoothly, Bella was fine, but generally speaking nothing seemed to go smoothly enough these days, even as this undeclared war seemed to be turning in their favour. And the war effort exerted an irresistible pull over all their lives, as it was the centre around which the Dark Lord himself revolved. The rest of them were moons circling a dark planet. Narcissa knew herself to be the furthest of these moons, the smallest and the coldest.

Bella was only happy when the Dark Lord was happy...and happiest of all when she could disappear for days at a time doing whatever it was she did for him. (Narcissa made a point of not asking.) But on those disagreeable occasions when the Dark Lord disappeared on his own for days...or worse, weeks...at a time, leaving Bella behind at the Manor, she ran the gamut from bored to cagey to vicious, none of which boded well for maintaining family peace at the holidays.

Opening presents, gloomy affair that it was, had gone well...mostly because Bella had not joined them. Unfortunately, the Christmas dinner which Narcissa had so meticulously planned began to go badly when Bella Apparated directly into the chair next to Draco just when Narcissa had begun to think she would not show up at all.

Draco, who after the summer was accustomed to his aunt's eccentricities, started only slightly. 'Hello, Aunt Bella.'

Narcissa, who had been carrying on a perfectly pleasant conversation with her son (at least, perfectly pleasant under the circumstances), was careful not to look up from her plate. 'Bella, how good of you to join us. I do wish you'd make your entrance with a bit more subtlety, though,' she said drily.

'Startle you, did I? What are we having?'

'Asian-inspired roast turkey breast with steamed vegetables.'

'Asian turkey with what? Do they even have turkeys in Asia? Can we not have a proper, traditional English meal even for fucking Christmas?'

So she does remember what day it is, Narcissa thought unkindly. Realising it was useless to explain her own family's traditions to Bella, and questioning her decision to maintain her carefully planned menu in the face of her sister's capriciousness, Narcissa merely said, 'This is a proper meal. This particular recipe is high in protein and low in fat. It's actually quite tasty, isn't it, Draco?' Narcissa raised an eyebrow at her son, who nodded mechanically. 'You should try it,' she told Bella.

'What is it with you and low fat food, Cissy? You're not starving yourself again, are you? I thought Mother cured you of that when you were fifteen.' Bella plucked the coriander garnish off the serving plate and waved it about. 'What is this?'

Narcissa was fairly certain that it would set a terrible example for her son if his mother were to use an Unforgivable on his aunt at the dinner table on Christmas Day, but that was precisely what she felt like doing. Rather than saying something she might regret, she merely smiled politely in the hope of not letting on her annoyance, which became a sight more difficult when Bella summoned a house-elf and demanded 'plain roast turkey without all that green shit'. When the elf looked briefly at Narcissa for confirmation, Bella set it on fire.

'Aguamenti!'

Narcissa doused the burned, shaken elf, which immediately began cleaning the mess of water and ash. She congratulated herself for sounding only slightly rattled. 'Return to the kitchen,' she told the elf briskly. 'Miss Bella will eat what the rest of us are eating.'

When the elf disappeared, Narcissa asked her sister, 'Bella, how many times must I tell you...when you contradict my orders, the elves get confused, and then no one gets a decent meal.'

'It was being cheeky.' Bella grinned slyly at Draco, who was refusing to look at her. 'I didn't really hurt it.'

Narcissa's eyes narrowed at her sister. Damned if she'd let Bella give her son the impression that this was acceptable behaviour. She said, 'If we give in to every base urge we feel, then we are no better than Mudbloods and no more fit to rule.'

At that, Bella snorted...loudly...which made Narcissa want to cringe. 'Trust you to quote Father at me,' said Bella acidly, as she waved her wand to serve herself a rather generous helping of the turkey.

'Was he wrong?' Narcissa asked.

'Spare me your righteous indignation. Your elves could do with a little more punishment.' Under her breath, Bella added, 'That was one thing your husband was good for.'

Narcissa regarded her sister coldly. 'Pardon?'

Bella acted as though she'd not spoken, and Narcissa seethed but let it go. Bella spread her napkin on her lap and took up her fork...in her right hand...as if this were what she had wanted to eat all along. 'One has to do something to break the monotony around here,' she grumbled, spearing a piece of turkey.

Narcissa watched her sister eat and tried not to frown. Bella's table manners had suffered terribly during her time in prison. She made a frightful amount of noise banging the cutlery against her plate, and she still ate far too quickly. She reminded Narcissa of an animal expecting its food to be stolen mid-meal. It was pitiful to watch.

Feeling suddenly vicious, Narcissa said, 'You're free to find other lodgings if these are too monotonous for your taste. Perhaps you could return to your own house.'

Bella stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth. She looked almost appreciative. 'Cissy, what a very Lucius-like thing to say.'

'Was it?' Though she would not have admitted it to Bella, Narcissa supposed her sister was right. She met Bella's eyes, challenging her. 'Should I apologise?'

Bella grinned knowingly. 'No, seeing as you're not actually sorry. In fact, I'm almost proud of you for it, though I'm positively wounded.' She turned to Draco. 'Isn't your mummy terrible to me?' she asked in the hideous baby voice that Narcissa so despised. Draco stared diplomatically at his plate, having learnt to keep quiet during these exchanges between his mother and aunt.

Without giving him a chance to respond, Bella continued, addressing Narcissa with bright menace, 'Mummy knows perfectly well that the Ministry has confiscated all the property Auntie Bella once possessed.' Her voice turned flat as she returned her gaze to her nephew. 'Did Mummy tell you what they did with my home, Draco? They were going to auction it off to blood traitors, but the house didn't cooperate, so they razed it. Then they built a public park on the site, because why should only one family of blood traitors get to enjoy what was once mine when the Ministry could make it available to all blood traitors and Mudbloods?'

Narcissa thought but did not say, Be grateful you still have your Gringotts vault, thanks to me.

Bella turned to Narcissa. 'But why would I go anywhere else, hmm? You won't send me away, Cissy. Not your dear sister, returned to you from long years of exile.' She batted her lashes exactly the way she used to do when she was ten years old and trying to wheedle some much-desired thing out of Mother or Father, exactly the way Narcissa herself did when trying to get her own way. For the barest of seconds, she could see the girl Bella once was, petulant and fetching, peeking out from a window jagged with broken panes.

Narcissa set down her cutlery, glanced out the window at the dark grounds and changed the subject to one more neutral, which she found to be effective when dealing with her sister. 'I was thinking we might go riding tomorrow if the weather holds.'

Another useful tactic in relations with Bella: keep her occupied at activities that minimised her possibilities to create havoc, preferably those that did not involve conversation.

A stray bit of steamed chestnut flew off of Bella's fork and landed next to Draco's plate. Draco Vanished it discreetly. Observing this, Narcissa couldn't help but feel a prickle of pride in the boy she and Lucius had raised.

Bella, who had noticed nothing, sniffed, 'I don't know if I'll feel like it.'

'Nonsense. You've always loved riding.'

Bella cocked her head to the side as she chewed, which Narcissa took as an expression of indifference. Narcissa pressed on, 'You're just a bit out of practice, that's all.'

Bella's eyes narrowed just a touch and one corner of her mouth turned up in the very faintest of sneers. 'Yes, well. That's not exactly my fault, now is it?'

'No,' Narcissa lied. 'But we'll soon have you back in fine form.' Narcissa turned to her son. 'Will you join us, darling?'

'No, Mother, I'm invited to the Goyles' tomorrow. I won't be back until the day after. Honestly, woman, do you remember nothing that I tell you?'

Narcissa blinked, stung. Of course he had told her that. He had mentioned it when they sat down to dinner, in fact, but Bella's entrance had somehow erased it from her memory. She opened her mouth to chastise him for his cheek when Bella cut in.

'Watch your tone when speaking to your mother, Draco. Just because your father's not around doesn't mean that no one in this house will Cruciate you for your insolence.' Her manner was light and she was smiling, which was so typically Bella. Narcissa watched her son's expression and knew the fear he must be suppressing.

There was no point explaining to Bella that Cruciatus was not part of her parenting repertoire. Thus, Narcissa said lightly, 'That won't be necessary, Bella. Because if my son doesn't keep a civil tongue, all I have to do is have a little chat with Pansy about his childhood nicknames.'

At this, Draco tried to look casual, but she knew he was bluffing. 'You wouldn't, Mother.'

'Care to test me, boo boo bear?'

'Right.' Draco was blushing now. He set his knife and fork on his empty plate and laid his napkin aside. 'Then with your permission, ladies, I'll just excuse myself now before this goes any further.' Under his breath, he added, 'And I'm never inviting Pansy over again.'

'We haven't had pudding yet,' Narcissa objected.

Draco rubbed his temple. 'I'm not much in the mood, Mother.' He sounded exhausted and suddenly looked ten years older. Seeing the look on her face, he was quick to add, 'I couldn't eat another thing after that delicious turkey.'

Narcissa nodded, trying not to look disappointed. She thought of the crackers she had bought for after dinner, then realised that trying to have a normal Christmas celebration this year was like trying to put a tiara on a cockatrice. Draco inclined his head towards his mother and aunt and then headed towards the door.

'Forgetting something, are you, darling?' Narcissa asked.

She knew it was a desperate and transparent ploy, but she refused to forego the only scrap of affection she could reasonably expect these days. Draco stopped, turned around and, with a knowing half-smile, leaned down to kiss her cheek. As he pulled away, she noted that his fingernails were bitten down to the quick, a habit Lucius had managed to break him of before he'd started at Hogwarts. Her heart twisted.

'I wish you wouldn't call me that,' he said with no real irritation.

She thought, I refuse to bury him. She said, 'I know, but I'm your mother. What can you do?'