Part III

III.

Winter, Spring

1997

'Any word from Lucius?' asked Severus.

'I write every week, but I've had no answers. I don't think they're giving him my letters. And they still won't let me see him,' she said. 'The Ministry has misplaced three separate Portkey applications. I've the feeling they're trying to punish me as well as him.'

'I suppose that's hardly surprising.'

'The Ministry does want its pound of flesh. Sextus has managed to see him twice, but they never held a trial. After what they did to Bella, I expected them to at least put on a show trial, but they simply convicted Lucius without bothering to try him. Can they really wonder that we've risen up against them? Every Wizarding community in the world understands the necessity of fair trials and a competent criminal justice system in a civilised society. Even Muggles acknowledge it. And yes, I realise it's impolitic to admit that Muggles might have got something right...I'm only pointing out that Scrimgeour's government, just like Fudge's government before it, hasn't the sense of our inferiors.' She glanced over at him and noted his expression. 'I'm babbling, aren't I?'

Severus, who had never viewed a battlefield from an ivory tower, tried to guide her back to the topic at hand. 'What did Sextus say?'

'That Lucius is holding up. He told me the Ministry has ordered all suspected Death Eaters to be kept separated, but he was awfully vague. I had the impression he was trying to spare me ...'

Severus nodded. He supposed he would have done the same in the advocate's place.

'In any case,' Narcissa continued, 'I took that to mean they've separated my husband from members of his own class and thrown him in with a bunch of common criminals.' She looked at Severus as if asking him to deny it.

He nearly snorted. If he knew Lucius, the man even now had murderers and thieves fetching and carrying for him. He did not say as much to Narcissa. Instead he said, 'Lucius is a powerful wizard and an able soldier. He can take care of himself.'

'You're right, of course.' She paused, as if he had reminded her of something. 'Is it true ... what they were saying tonight?'

The evening's entertainment had included a game of reminiscences on the Dark deeds of Lucius Malfoy, instigated by Bellatrix...probably for the fun of watching her sister squirm. But Narcissa did not crack, and though she could not be innocent of what the Dark Lord required from his disciples, Severus knew the unsubtle hints dropped tonight about Lucius's escapades in the Dark Lord's service included many things Lucius had never told his wife.

(Did Lucius ever lift her hair away from her neck and breathe her scent to cancel the foetor of spilt blood? Or did he always, as Severus had seen him do, shed his darkness like a cloak at the door, kiss his wife's cheek, ruffle his son's hair and calmly ask what they were having for tea?)

'They were trying to provoke you.'

'Yes, but...'

He wanted to close off this line of inquiry, concern for Lucius's wishes making him more abrupt than necessary. 'It is a war, Narcissa. It was a war fifteen years ago, and it is a war now.'

He held his breath and hoped she would not push for details, because some things were not meant to be discussed. If Lucius had tried to protect his family from them, Severus could understand that. He knew what it was to look into the dark mirror of the past and feel shame spread hot and sticky over the calloused skin of his conscience.

Narcissa nodded and rubbed her temples. The tightness around her eyes made her look stricken, and Severus felt a kind of apprehension for her. If he should chance to notice her distress, the Dark Lord would tap the vein and drink until he reached the fountain of her misery, simply because it would amuse him to break something Lucius treasured.

She said, 'I'm just tired. It's been a bit of a rough day. I was sparring with Bella this afternoon, and it rather wore me out.'

This piqued Severus's interest. 'You were duelling?'

'She's spent fourteen years in Azkaban. She needs to get back on form.' That Narcissa could utter these words with no hint of irony astonished him. 'Why are you looking at me like that?' she asked.

'I mean no disrespect, but you realise that there are those who would say that duelling with Bellatrix is foolish to the point of being suicidal?'

Narcissa was unruffled. 'Yes. In fact, I had noticed that none of the Dark Lord's subjects will volunteer to spar with her.' Contempt danced lightly on her exhaled breath. 'Bella is certainly an exceptional duellist, but I assure you that if I couldn't hold my own against her, I wouldn't have survived adolescence. Mother used to make us practise together, you know. I hate the fact that my sister insists on fighting in a war, but it's her choice. We're family; I'm bound to make sure she's prepared. It's not as if we'd actually hurt each other.' He did not quite catch the last thing she said; it could have been either 'not badly anyway' or 'not that way anyway'.

And what of Sirius Black? thought Severus. A different code must apply to family traitors.

'I confess myself ... surprised.'

'Honestly, Severus, what's all the fuss about?' She was smiling. 'How useless do you think I am?'

'I never said you were useless. I just didn't know ...' She continued to regard him evenly, refusing to fill in the blank. '... that you sparred,' he finished feebly.

Her eyes rolled skyward, as if she couldn't be bothered to voice her thoughts on the matter, but she did not appear to be truly offended. Just as he was beginning to wish he'd never expressed disbelief about her willingness to tempt death, Narcissa suddenly held up a hand and whispered, 'Do you hear that?'

Severus cocked his head to the side and listened. Hesitantly at first, and then with greater confidence, someone was playing a tune. He cast about for the source of the sound. 'What is it?'

A grin was slowly tugging at the corner of her mouth. 'It's Bella.' In the lull of the conversation, a melody emerged to take flight, beautiful in its simplicity.

'Do you mean to say...?'

'I do, indeed. My sister is testing her Christmas present, unless my ears deceive me.' She looked positively gleeful.

'Your sister plays the harpsichord?'

'At the moment, yes. But it's one of those new models that becomes a piano or a clavichord at the tap of a wand, even if you're rubbish at Transfiguration, which Bella isn't. It's self-tuning, too.' Narcissa looked as if she were congratulating herself on a job well done.

Having no idea what to say to that, Severus resorted to the bland. 'She must have been very pleased.'

'Nonsense. She feigned complete disinterest. But I knew she'd not be able to resist, so I spelled the music room to pipe sound into this room, and here's my proof. She's good, isn't she?'

'I am hardly in a position to judge,' he said noncommittally, though certainly the sound was not unpleasant. Had he not known who was playing, he might even have said it was agreeable.

'She could have been a professional, you know. Was all set to be, in fact. But then she decided on another career track. Rather like you.'

'What do you mean?' His tone was sharp. The thought that he and Bellatrix Lestrange could be considered in any way alike was unspeakably offensive.

Narcissa smiled as if she knew a secret. 'You wanted to be a healer once, as I recall. Do you ever wonder how your life might have turned out if you'd continued on that path?'

'I never dwell on the past,' he said briskly.

Narcissa said, 'Anyway, I thought perhaps rediscovering an old hobby might keep Bella occupied when she's here. A productive hobby, I mean. She's taken up knife-throwing, but that makes me nervous. I do hope she keeps this up.'

They listened for a few moments more as the melody changed, turned more fantastical, with greater flourish. Where before Narcissa had seemed distressed, she now looked almost content, or at least well distracted. Severus marvelled at her ability to ignore the fact that her sister was a criminal and a pit viper. Was this really what passed for loyalty among purebloods? From the outside it looked very like folly.

He was so occupied gauging the play of emotion across Narcissa's features that he was almost startled when suddenly she said, 'I know there's no love lost between the two of you, but Bella has her good points.'

He ignored the last part of that statement, which was categorically not true, competent musician or no. 'That is certainly putting it mildly.'

'She's only nasty to you because the Dark Lord trusts you so,' she countered. 'Surely you see that. Bella's not the easiest person to get along with, I know. Then again, neither are you.'

'I cannot think what I might have done to deserve that,' he responded drily.

'Severus, how long have we known each other?'

Though it was obviously a rhetorical question, he thought on it. Then, almost without his being aware of it, he was saying, 'Twenty-odd years.'

She looked up at the ceiling, as if trying to remember. 'Not counting school,' she added.

'No, we didn't socialise much at school, as I recall. Mostly because you terrified me.'

'Terrified you? What rubbish! You've never been terrified of anything in your life.'

'Not true, I assure you.'

'I never terrified you.'

'All right. You intimidated me, then.'

'How is that remotely possible?'

He thought, Because your kind represented everything that a scrawny half-blood charity-case wanted and could never have.

He replied, 'You were the imposing seventh-year girl who never spoke, except to Regulus. I thought you standoffish,' he said. 'This was before I realised that you were merely very shy.'

She looked thoughtful. 'I was impossibly shy, especially at school. Growing up in Bella's shadow and all that. She was the beautiful one, the brilliant one. She could always bend the situation to suit herself, always knew what to say. People were simply drawn to her. In comparison, I just faded into the wallpaper.'

He nearly snorted, wondering how women could be so transparent in soliciting compliments. He remembered fragments of conversation, things said by boys in other houses as they watched her walk away ('Now there's a ride, eh?', 'Stuck up bitch, if you ask me. But yeah, still a ride.'), things the Slytherin boys wouldn't have dared to say back then because, first, she was a Black and, second, she belonged to a Malfoy. It was curious how the same comments were now, after Lucius's fall from grace, making the rounds in post-meeting conversation, when Bellatrix was not present of course...no Death Eater was that foolish. It seemed some boys never grew up.

He settled on saying, 'I'm sure that's not true either.' This conversation was becoming too personal, and there were things he had meant to discuss with her.

Severus asked, 'Has anyone asked you for certain information, about your finances?'

Had she gone suddenly pale, or was it his imagination?

'Pardon?' she asked.

He considered, again, how best to say what he meant to say. 'Something I overheard. It seems Lucius told the Dark Lord he would provide a kind of list. Of all his assets. As proof of his loyalty.'

'How much proof does he need?'

`

'Narcissa,' he said, warningly.

'Severus, I assure you that I understand the gravity of the situation, but I don't understand his reasoning.' Narcissa asked, 'With powers like his, what does the Dark Lord care for gold?'

He does not care for gold, Severus might have answered. He merely wants entrance to every aspect of your lives, until you have no privacy and no protected space, until he has absolute, utter control. Like all tyrants, he wants everything, whether or not you have it to give.

'It is not for us to ask his reasons,' he said.

Narcissa frowned. 'No one has asked me anything like that,' she said. 'We would give it if he asked, of course. Does he think we're holding something back?'

'If you so much as tried, he would know.'

'I know, which is why everything we have is at his disposal,' Narcissa said pointedly, her eyes on his. Severus wondered if this was true, and though he was unsure what he would do with the information, he decided to push against her mind to find out. He expected to encounter a thought that either supported or disproved her willingness to fund this war from her own pocket. Instead he found something else.

She was wondering what it would be like to kiss him. Or rather, based on the image floating on the surface of her mind, she was wondering what it would be like to crawl into his lap and begin unbuttoning his robes as she kissed him.

Severus averted his eyes and tried to breathe steadily. His chest suddenly felt tight. After a moment had passed, he said, 'It's late, and I have lessons tomorrow.' He stood, hoping she would not read too much into a quick departure.

She murmured, 'Time does get away from us, does it not? Thank you.'

'For what?' he asked, abrupt in his haste to leave.

'For being candid with me.'

He acknowledged this with a nod, unable to look at her, and stepped towards the fireplace. Nodding toward the urn of Floo powder on the mantel, he asked, as was polite, 'May I?'

'Of course. Good-bye, Severus.'

He merely nodded and named his destination as her figure wavered on the other side of the fire and then guttered out.

He stepped into his office, thinking she must be mad. Or exceedingly sex-starved after months of separation from Lucius. Because there was no earthly reason for Narcissa Malfoy to have been thinking such thoughts. He had completely forgotten to tell her about the poisoned mead.

He'd withstood the whispers...or in Draco's case, shouts...about the nature of his relationship with Narcissa and not discouraged the gossip, finding it convenient to let others in the Dark Lord's service believe he had a prior claim on her. Thus he had protected the mother as well as the son. Though he didn't suppose Lucius would necessarily approve of his methods, he did imagine Lucius would appreciate the fact that up until now no one had tried to take liberties with his wife, because certainly there were those who would have done, given half a chance. And Severus had protected her because it had never once occurred to him that Narcissa herself might want more than his protection.

He spent the next day vacillating: perhaps he had not seen what he thought he had seen (then why was the image so vivid?); then again, perhaps that was really what she wanted (but why would she?). The best thing to do would be nothing, Severus knew. If Narcissa needed affection, or release, or whatever, she could find someone else, or wait for her husband's return. In the meantime, if he needed to relay information about her son, he could find a way that did not involve actually seeing her. This was a distraction neither of them could afford, and so, yes, the best thing to do would be nothing.

Certainly, doing nothing would be so much easier if he could have stopped picturing the splay of his fingers over the backs of her thighs.

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

Another letter never written: A creeping expropriation has begun. Once I worried about the Ministry, its raids and its avarice. Yet now, bit by bit, our home is being occupied by another force entirely. First a meeting once in a while, then Bella annexed the storage room, then one or two people moved into spare rooms. The meetings are now almost weekly occurrences, and soon ... what can I say? It is the Dark Lord's will.

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

'What are you doing, Cissy?'

Narcissa looked up to find Bella in the doorway between her bedroom and dressing room. She turned back to her task, keeping her eyes on her sister in the mirror that hung opposite the door, hoping Bella had not noted the tiny jump she had not been able to suppress. It drove her absolutely mad the way Bella would simply materialise out of thin air with no respect for anyone's privacy.

'What are you doing, sneaking into my dressing room?' Narcissa asked mildly.

'I don't sneak, I prowl.'

Narcissa thought, Typical Bella. I should hang a bell round her neck so I can hear her coming. 'I see,' she said. 'In future, would you mind knocking first before you prowl into my rooms?'

'What's interesting about that? You didn't answer my question.'

Narcissa tried to recall the question. Ah, yes. 'I am packing,' she said, gesturing to her favourite portmanteau...Opaleye skin, in a gorgeous shade of lavender...which sat on a four-sided chest of drawers in the middle of the room.

Bella approached and peered down into the bag, which contained a built-in cupboard with room enough to hang two weeks' worth of robes, as well as drawers for other necessities. 'Handy,' she remarked. 'Where are you going?'

'Meeting. I told you last week.'

'How long will you be away?'

'One night, possibly two.'

'Leaving me here all alone?'

Narcissa thought, I hate it when you do this.

'Yes. Do try not to burn the house down. Your brother-in-law is rather fond of it.'

'Brother-in-law, brother-in-arms, he is no brother of mine.'

Narcissa Summoned a robe, scrutinized it carefully and sent it back to its place, all the while refusing to look at Bella.

'What is that supposed to mean?' she asked.

'Your husband,' Bella sweetly informed her sister, 'is a disgrace. All those years he had his freedom, and what did he do with it?'

'I suggest you keep your opinions about Lucius to yourself, Bella. I'd rather not hear them.'

Bella conjured herself a comfortable swivelling chair beside the chest of drawers and sat down to watch her sister pack. She crossed her legs at the knee, swinging her foot lazily. Narcissa braced herself. Bella was obviously in a mood.

'You were a true believer once, little sister,' Bella remarked. 'I hope nothing has changed.'

Narcissa turned and looked Bella directly in the eye, enunciating her words carefully so there could be no mistake. 'I am a believer still, Bella.'

Bella hummed thoughtfully, then flicked her wand. Her lips never moved. The robes on the opposite wall rearranged themselves, though the new order was not immediately apparent. Knowing Bella, it was probably reverse alphabetical by designer or something equally obtuse.

'What sort of meeting?' Bella asked.

Narcissa flicked her own wand and said, 'Discessio.' The robes immediately rearranged themselves according to colour and season, as Narcissa preferred. Without looking at her sister, she answered, 'Business, I suppose. Something Lucius would normally handle, but since he's not available, I must go in his place. I think I'm supposed to vote on some resolution or other; I'm sure they'll tell me when I get there.'

'Business,' Bella repeated importantly. 'That reminds me, I came here to relay a message.'

Narcissa Summoned another robe. Charcoal grey cashmere, conservative but not drab. This one would do. At the tap of her wand, the robe tucked itself into her portmanteau. Narcissa peeked in to make sure it had hung itself properly. Her chest tightened when Bella's words sank in. Here it comes, she thought. He said it would happen, and here it comes. 'What message is that?'

'Your husband promised the Dark Lord a full accounting of the Malfoy interests. Before he was dragged off to Azkaban, that is.'

'Oh?'

'The Dark Lord would like the promised accounting.'

'Bella, you know as well as I that anything we have is his for the asking.'

Bella nodded. 'Do you think you can get it together by next week, then?'

'I can try.' Narcissa tried to sound noncommittal. In Bella terms...in the Dark Lord's terms...a week was almost alarmingly reasonable. She wondered what he meant by it. 'You know how it is. I'm not sure I know where Lucius keeps all his records. I'll have to do some digging.'

Her underwear drawers were on the wall opposite; she had to go around Bella to get to them, and as she tried, Bella caught her by the wrist.

'Look at your lovely white hands,' said Bella, turning Narcissa's hand palm up and tracing her fingers in a circle over the surface. Surprisingly, it didn't tickle. Bella continued in that voice Narcissa despised, 'Fine hands, and clean. White as ... snow. Never done the Dark Lord's work.'

(Lucius had said, 'You're too precious to fight.')

Narcissa, who knew her sister for a scorpion, fat with poison, tried to hold her hand steady. She looked down into Bella's eyes. There was something like pity there in the darkness, or perhaps only contempt.

Bella said, 'I do hope these pretty hands can stand a bit of digging. Wars do not fund themselves, after all.'

Narcissa's mind worked furiously. Bella dropped her hand, and Narcissa was able to push past her and open the correct drawer. She busied herself with selecting what she needed for her trip.

Bella asked, 'You miss him dreadfully, don't you? Lucius, I mean.'

Narcissa marvelled at the way Bella's mind switched tracks. It was like conversing with the Cheshire Cat. 'Do you not miss Rodolphus?' she countered as her underwear packed itself.

Sprawled in her chair, Bella scanned the ceiling for an answer. 'We're used to living apart, aren't we? We hardly know each other anymore. I couldn't say I miss him.'

For Bella, this was an unusually candid remark. Narcissa folded her arms across her chest and asked, out of honest curiosity, 'Do you love him?'

'Love him?' Bella arched a cynical eyebrow at this, and Narcissa wondered, not for the first time, if her sister had ever consummated her marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange, if she was even capable after what had been done to her. She thought of the hundred ways in which Bella's heart was twisted, how it was hardly any wonder that the one man she had ever truly loved was the one who had never demanded anything carnal from her but had given her the only thing her twisted heart could covet: the power of retribution.

Bella was saying, 'My husband's proven himself rather useful at times, but I wouldn't say I love him. You could say I feel a certain affection toward him.' As though he were merely a loyal dog, thought Narcissa. Bella's tone was almost thoughtful, before it turned derisive. 'Not like you love your husband, I'm sure.'

'I've spent the last two decades with the man.'

'You didn't always.'

Surveying her shoe collection, Narcissa thought, Didn't always love him? That's what you think, Bella. She said, 'I made up my mind to love him, and I have done.' She selected two pairs, which sailed neatly from their rack into the portmanteau.

'That's sweet,' said Bella. 'What do you miss most about him?'

'Oh, I don't know.' There were a hundred things she missed about Lucius, from the way he could never quite manage his own cufflinks to the unaccountably secure feeling of his hand on the small of her back. 'His companionship, I suppose,' said Narcissa, thinking of those conversations about the events of every day as they lay in bed at night before falling asleep.

Bella broke into a wicked smile, and Narcissa knew that she had said the wrong thing.

'Companionship,' Bella murmured. 'Well, if it's companionship you want, there's a whole houseful of men who would be eager to provide it. Or what about Snape? He's practically gagging to be your companion.'

Narcissa tried sound bored. 'Must you be vulgar, Bella?'

'What's vulgar about basic human needs?' Bella asked lightly. 'You're a woman adrift without her husband. You're wealthy, and you've still got your looks, such as they are. And the first thing you did after your beloved husband went to Azkaban was run to Snape for protection.'

'Bella,' Narcissa said warningly.

Bella's contempt was plainly written in her features. 'You threw yourself at his feet. Literally. It was revolting. How do you think I felt, watching my sister grovel for that...' Bella made an unintelligible noise and shuddered, her expression suggesting that the memory nauseated her. 'And now you regularly summon him here on the pretext of discussing your son. What is he supposed to think? Of course he knows what you're really asking for.'

Narcissa felt as if she had been slapped. She had almost forgotten Bella's habit of telling the truth only so as to inflict maximum damage.

'You know exactly why I went to Severus. But by all means, spit it out, Bella. If you're accusing me of something, I'd like you to say it outright.'

Bella stood up then, her eyes suddenly lit with concern. 'I wasn't accusing you of anything,' she said, and no one else would have noted the calculation threading its way through the sincerity in her tone. She brushed a lock of hair away from Narcissa's face, rough fingers skimming her cheek with a whispery touch, and although she knew better, Narcissa found it difficult not to be drawn in.

'You don't need him,' said Bella. 'Haven't I always protected you?'

Narcissa turned her face away. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'Don't do it, Cissy.'

Narcissa crossed her arms over her chest. 'Bella, let me be very clear. Nothing has happened or ever will happen between Severus and me.'

Bella appeared unruffled. She stepped back and countered with: 'I'm merely noting a pattern of behaviour that you seem to be unaware of.'

Narcissa shook her head. 'I've no idea what you're talking about.'

Again, Bella leaned in close to Narcissa, but the atmosphere had changed completely. 'I've noticed Snape comes round rather more frequently as time goes on. What do you suppose he comes round for?' Bella tilted her head and breathed in, scenting the air. Refusing to back away, Narcissa was conscious of her sister's physical power; magic and cruelty hummed darkly around her. Bella whispered in her sister's ear, 'Does Lucius's lapdog sense a bitch in heat?'

Narcissa would not look at her. 'You need to leave now.'

Bella stepped back, feigned innocence. 'What have I said?'

'Go, Bella.'

Bella, with her dead eyes and her rictus smile, said, 'Don't forget those accounts,' then turned indolently on her heel, hair brushing her back like a dark veil. Disgusted, Narcissa listened to her sister's withdrawing footsteps, waiting for her to be gone.

But Bella paused in the doorway. Without turning around, she asked, 'Do you really think Lucius has always been faithful?'

She vanished, mid-step, as she passed through the door.

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

It wasn't much of a visitors' room. As far as she could tell, the only touch intended for visitors was a pair of daffodil-yellow curtains that framed a window set with opaque glass, probably shatterproof. Standing out as they did against the relentlessly grey walls, the curtains looked almost profane. She dared not touch the table in front of her, with its cracked, scarred surface promising splinters for her trouble. She hadn't even been able to sit down until her escort left the room to fetch Lucius and she could cast a wandless cleaning spell over the well-worn chairs without causing offence.

Of course, they had taken her wand at the entrance. ('Security measures, for your own protection, ma'am. Can't have a prisoner get hold of one, now can we?') As she always did in situations where she felt uncomfortable, she straightened her spine and composed her features into a mask of disdain.

'Exactly what do you think my husband would do to me?' she had asked, ill-tempered, though she knew that these measures were meant for their protection, not hers. The guard had merely shrugged.

Though the Dementors had left Azkaban to join the Dark Lord, their presence here lingered, unmistakeable. The air in the visitors' room was oppressively cold and damp, which made her wonder what the cells were like. Bella never mentioned her time in prison except to brandish it like a weapon at those of her comrades who lacked faith. Narcissa was therefore unsure whether she could trust her sister's description of the accommodations.

All Narcissa's letters, all the money she had spent and waning influence she had brought to bear, and this was to be the fruit of her labours: a hurried meeting with her husband in a dingy room under the supervision of a soulless functionary who would report anything he heard to the proper authorities. She would be unable to touch him, unable to ask him what she really wanted to know or tell him what he needed to hear. Though her pride would scarce allow it, things really had come to this, that she would grovel before her inferiors for just the chance to exchange bland pleasantries over a blistered old tabletop.

A summary of her worries: How changed would he be? How changed would he find her? What had he endured in this place that she couldn't protect him from? Would he see the guilt of that on her face? Had she worn the right robes? What should she say about Draco? What consolation could she offer Lucius, when nothing she and Sextus did seemed to make any difference? What if they had nothing to say to each other?

So caught up was she in these thoughts that it took her a moment to realise the door had opened behind her. Narcissa turned, expecting to see Lucius...probably filthy and ragged as Bella had been when she made her way out, but still himself; instead, she found herself face to face with a baby-faced wizard in governor's robes. He must be new. 'Mrs Malfoy?' he inquired.

'Yes.'

'You were here to see your husband?'

'Yes.'

'My apologies, Mrs Malfoy, and begging your pardon, but he won't come out.'

'I'm sorry?'

'The guards have told him you're here and were all set to bring him round, of course, but' ...here he paused, concerned, apologetic...'he won't come out of his cell.'

Untroubled, she stifled a sigh, more annoyed by his unstudied subterfuge than the fact of his request. She had expected no less. After all, she had come this far, and what was one more petty bureaucrat with his hand out when Lucius was somewhere beyond that door waiting to see her? Experienced in such matters, she was prepared. She stood, fixed a suitably anxious expression on her face and stepped toward him.

'Please,' she said quietly, taking his hand in hers. Her voice struck just the right note: solicitous, imploring even, with a light authoritative edge. 'There must be something you can do.'

She was so well-versed in the sleight of hand these occasions required that his surprise registered on his face when he felt the miniaturised cloth bag in his palm. For a long moment, he looked down at the tiny Gringotts crest, artlessly rolled the little bag between his fingers, felt the coins...probably a months' wages for him...that were his to spend at the touch of a wand. She observed with cynical eyes this deliberation, this submission to avarice. She thought, What a greenhorn you are. Now slip that bag into your pocket, and go get my husband like a good little quill-pusher.

He raised his head slowly and looked at her, a new coldness in his eyes. 'I am sorry, Mrs Malfoy. I think there's been a misunderstanding. There's really nothing I can do. I meant what I said: he won't come out. I couldn't tell you why, but there it is.' He shook his head curtly.

She thought, I have just met the only honest man in the Ministry's employ.

He did not try to hide the bag as he pressed it back into her hand, nor his contempt in doing so. 'You'll be wanting this back, I'm sure.' Unnecessarily, he added, 'The guard will show you out.'

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

The good news was that she needn't worry about further Ministry raids. The bad news, of course, was that Malfoy Manor had finally been occupied.

Though the Dark Lord himself had not taken up residence in the Manor (Where did he sleep? she wondered. Did he sleep at all?) and spent only a few hours a week there at most (He never ate either, did he even need food?), it seemed every Death Eater who had ever existed had more or less moved into her home. It was like living in Kings Cross. They came and went, looking to Bella for direction when the Dark Lord himself was not in, or to Severus when he was around. The lady of the house went largely unnoticed, having learnt to keep out of the way. Narcissa stayed on the first floor nearly all the time now, moving between the library and her rooms, venturing no further. She missed her daily swim, but dared not go down to the lower level of the house. She heard noises at odd hours, banging and shouting. She did not enquire as to their source.

The meeting was interminable. She could barely bring herself to listen, knowing that if anything important were to happen, Severus would tell her later. Instead she was playing a game in her head, thinking of a number at random then dividing it by twelve, multiplying by thirteen, dividing by fourteen. She did this to keep her mind off the image of her son, bandaged and prone after Potter's attack on him; to avoid considering how only Severus's quick thinking had saved him and what that meant. She kept her eyes on the table top or fixed on the wall opposite, ignoring Yaxley, whose eyes darted her way once or twice and then flicked toward Bella to see if she had noticed. Narcissa declined to glance at Bella or Severus, would not look up at the Dark Lord. Thus, she was caught off guard when the Dark Lord informed the table that before they broke for the evening, he had a gift to present to their hostess.

Narcissa blinked in surprise.

'There is one among us who has provided not only sanctuary, but all the comforts we could wish. She has graciously opened her home to us and deserves our gratitude,' the Dark Lord was saying. A sycophantic murmur of agreement went around the table. All eyes on her, Narcissa felt her cheeks flush uncomfortably. 'For your contribution to our efforts, Narcissa, we offer our thanks and a small token of appreciation.'

Heart thumping wildly, she managed a quiet 'Thank you, my Lord.' Panic threatened to overwhelm her, but she forced herself to look up, bullied her features into a semblance of gratitude as the Dark Lord raised his wand.

Then a snake was twisting its way through the air toward her, a miniature Nagini, thin and lethal. He knows, she thought. Somehow he knows and this is a sort of punishment and my life ends here. It was not a hysterical thought, as she might have expected. She did not in fact panic, but merely froze.

('Bella, let me out! Bella! I won't tell, I promise!')

Her throat constricted. She would have raised her hands to defend herself, but there was no time. The snake wrapped itself once, twice, thrice around her neck, its belly dry and whisper-soft and abhorrent over her collarbone as it sought out her pulse. She fixed her gaze just over the Dark Lord's right shoulder. Her mouth fell open, stupidly, but as she could not breathe, she was fortunately unable to disgrace herself by screaming.

('Please, Bella, I didn't see anything. Please letmeoutletmeoutletmeout!')

Then with a flash of light, the delicate slither of scales stilled, replaced by something hard and motionless. She fought the urge to reach up and rip it off her throat. 'Does that not look lovely?' the Dark Lord asked.

Bella spoke. 'It is beautiful, my Lord. Very becoming on my sister.' Oh, she's so keen to call me her sister now, Narcissa thought bitterly. Another murmur ran the length of the table.

The meeting broke up. For a moment, Narcissa sat stunned as everyone rose and began to disperse. Tellingly, Bella would not look at her. Narcissa caught Severus's eye briefly; his gaze directed her toward the Dark Lord. As if she didn't know what was expected. She was among the last to rise, her mouth still dry, the surge of adrenaline beginning to level off, making her legs tremble. As she rose, she looked toward the Dark Lord, who beckoned her forward and steered her toward the mirror that hung above the drawing room fireplace. There, around her throat, a necklace in the form of a snake biting its own tail gleamed in the torchlight.

The Dark Lord had her by the shoulders, his grip loose and all the more menacing for it. His fingers were cold. His lips barely moved when he spoke. 'It was chosen especially for you, Narcissa. I hope you will want to wear it always.' Heavy as platinum, the snake had two fiery green eyes in its sleek head, which sat just under the hollow of her throat.

('Do not lie to Lord Voldemort.' )

Her eyes in the mirror remained respectfully downcast. 'Thank you, my Lord. Words cannot express my gratitude.'

'You are canny, Narcissa. I want you to know how we value the sacrifices you have made.'

'You honour me, my Lord. I thank you.'

The Dark Lord released her shoulders. 'Wear it well, Narcissa.'

On her way out of the drawing room, Narcissa passed Severus and spared him a glance, but his Lord had gestured to him and he hastened to obey. She went to the library to wait for him, listening as the house quieted around her.

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

He shut the door behind him as he entered. She was standing, as if she had been about to give up and go to bed. When she saw him, she sat back down before the fire without a word, picked up a wine glass from the little table beside her chair and lifted it to her lips before she realised it was empty and set it down again. He took a chair, regarding her steadily.

She looked slightly dishevelled, her hair having partially escaped its pins, robes discarded over the arm of the sofa, so that she wore only a simple, if still elegant, dress. At her throat, the Dark Lord's collar shone with its own light. Her feet, which were now tucked up beside her on the seat, child-like, peeked out from under the hem of her dress, provocatively bare. It was a strange, unconscious intimacy for a woman always so primly and properly dressed. She might have been twenty years old in this light, these circumstances. A pomegranate carelessly split, Persephone at the mouth of the underworld.

'What does it mean, Severus?' she asked at length. 'I take it this'...she gestured at the apparently seamless metal encircling her neck...'can't be removed.'

In response, he shook his head.

'Am I now confined to the house?' she asked.

'Nothing so dramatic. It merely records your comings and goings. The Dark Lord wants to keep track of you, not limit your freedom of movement.' The irony in his tone would have been easily missed by someone who did not know him.

She turned her eyes to him, her expression fearful and defiant. He imagined he saw something feral under the dread. She said, 'So this is my punishment.'

'He knows you went to Hogwarts. He is not pleased.'

'How did he find out?'

'Please tell me you did not really expect to keep it secret.'

She sat up, her hands balled into fists. 'Severus, that vicious little criminal tried to murder my son! He put Draco in the hospital wing for Merlin knows how long. You said yourself that Draco had been gravely, almost fatally injured. Any mother would have stormed into Hogwarts under those circumstances. How would it have looked if I hadn't gone?'

'To the hospital wing, certainly. But you did not have to go to Dumbledore's office.' He was playing the devil's advocate, and it pained him to do so, but if it kept her at bay, then...

She looked incredulous. 'You were there, Severus. You know what happened. I demanded Potter's immediate expulsion, and the old bastard refused, which I still don't understand. If Draco had tried to murder Potter, he'd have been expelled inside of a minute.' She held her head in her hands. 'It's not as if I gave away the Dark Lord's deepest secrets,' she said quietly.

'Then why did Dumbledore want to speak to you alone?'

Her voice was heavy with irony. 'My best guess is that he did not particularly care to be upbraided in front of his Potions master.'

'Narcissa.' He used her name as a talisman, a three-syllable lynchpin for his refusal to examine his own motives. 'Did he make you an offer?'

'Pardon?'

He remained silent, watched her calculate a response. Finally she said, 'Why do you ask?'

'Because the man has delusions of saving the world. What did he say?'

'He was clever about it,' she conceded. 'He only said that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask.'

'And what did you say?' he asked, his impatience beginning to show. She regarded him warily. He pressed her. 'Narcissa, outside of your family, I alone know what you are willing to do to protect your son. What did you say?'

'Severus, honestly. Why would I put my faith in a Muggle-loving blood traitor like Albus Dumbledore? What could he do for me?'

There was only one way to know, and though his previous foray into her mind had revealed unwelcome (distracting) information, he pushed and found an image of Narcissa regarding Dumbledore through an impenetrable mask of incredulity, scorn and even pity when she told him she had no earthly idea what he was talking about.

Which, of course, was what had happened. It was also precisely what she wanted him to see.

He was furious at himself for not noticing it earlier, and his fury bled into his speech. Severus admonished the mother as he had admonished the son.

'Going to Dumbledore's office was unbelievably foolish, Narcissa. I hope I need not tell you that you placed yourself in the path of a very accomplished and ruthless Legilimens. The information he could have pulled from your mind...have you any idea what I had to do to assure the Dark Lord of your loyalty?' He left the thought unvoiced, knowing Narcissa would immediately fill in the blank.

She was unrepentant. 'Well, in that case, it's fortunate I had the good sense to tell the barmy old man what to do with his offer.'

('If I weren't in on the plot to kill me, I would never have known she was lying. Severus, why did you never tell me Narcissa Malfoy was such a gifted Occlumens?')

Because I had no idea, Albus. And now I do.

All this time he had spent thinking of her as the wife of Lucius Malfoy, when, he now realised, he should have remembered she was the sister of Bellatrix Lestrange. How much had he missed when they had come calling, side-by-side on his doorstep like a pair of chess pieces, white queen and black, the sun on the meadow and the shadow on the grass.

His anger, fuelled by a sense of betrayal he did not fully understand or wish to explore, turned out to be a flash fire, unexpectedly ignited and now suddenly extinguished. Exhausted by the aftershock, he was both bemused and disturbed to find it had failed to burn away the anxiety that another boy might lose his mother because of Voldemort's whim and his own carelessness.

'Now wherever I go,' she was saying, 'the Dark Lord will know I've been there?'

Defeated, he told her, 'It's better than the Mark.' He spoke from experience, though she could not know that.

With an ironic smile, she said, 'Yes, at least it matches my wedding rings.' She held up her left hand; the emerald on her fourth finger caught the low light. No doubt the Dark Lord had considered that and found it gratifying. 'Did you convince him to go this route rather than the other?' she asked.

'No one convinces the Dark Lord of anything.'

'You should not be telling me any of this, should you?'

'No.'

A slight lift of her eyebrows indicated that she understood, that she acknowledged his role. That she thanked him.

'Does it report what I say back to him, or just where I go?' she asked.

'Just your location. So that you don't scarper.' And that you don't go running off to Hogwarts for asylum, he might have said.

She looked irritated, as if the very thought were ridiculous. 'Where would I go, Severus? Should I run off to the south of France and leave my family to the Dark Lord's tender mercies? Turn myself over to the Order of the Phoenix?'

Her lips twisted into a sardonic smile; he responded by tilting his head very slightly to one side. By this gesture the Dark Lord had revealed how very little he understood Narcissa Malfoy. Another woman would have leapt at Dumbledore's offer.

'I've been effectively collared, just like Lucius,' she said, gesturing toward the glistening snake at her throat. 'I've a horror of snakes, you know. I am irrationally, desperately afraid of them. That's why I avoid those meetings if I can. Nagini ... well. One of the worst things I can think of is to have a snake crawling on my skin. Ironic for a Slytherin, wouldn't you say?'

'I didn't know,' he said, which was not true.

'No, of course not. The only person at that table who knew was Bella. At least, I thought she was.'

Severus did not comment. Never having had a sibling, he could not imagine what it was like to be betrayed by one. Even after overhearing the conversation in which Bellatrix had informed the Dark Lord of Narcissa's snake phobia (due to Bellatrix having locked her five-year-old sister in a cupboard and then, in revenge for a childish transgression long forgotten, having filled the cupboard with live snakes), Severus knew it was not his place to disillusion Narcissa about her sister. This was why conversation that went beyond the perfunctory was best avoided, he mused, because there was no comforting thing he could tell her. One simply cannot say, 'Your sister is a right bitch.'

Instead, he offered truthfully, if lamely, 'It's not an uncommon fear.'

'I'm sure it was an accident.' Narcissa was now speaking mostly to herself, her right hand rubbing absently at the back of her left wrist. 'She knows how...she can't have meant it.'

Severus was uncertain whether she was referring to this evening's incident or the one decades past. Either way, he was certain Bellatrix had definitely meant it.

'You did well tonight,' he said, more to prevent any further rumination on the subject than out of any desire to praise her. Knowing what he now knew, he couldn't think why he might have said it.

Distractedly, she murmured, 'Kind of you to say.' She made as if to rise, saying, 'I shouldn't keep you. I'm sure you're anxious to get back.'

He also rose, because this conversation was not over, or he did not want it to be. His mouth was open to say...what? what could he have said?...and suddenly they were standing far too close to one another. He held out a hand as if to stop her pushing past him, but he did not touch her. She stood as she had before the Dark Lord, with her eyes lowered. But now the scent of wine on her breath mingled with a scent he had always associated with this house, and which he now recognised as privilege...a body of musk, polished wood, cut glass and leather...with a bottom note of despair.

There were reasons, he knew, to do nothing about what he had seen the last time he looked into her mind, now he had learnt it was nothing but a smoke screen, a simple trick that had nevertheless taken him in. (Her illusions had tricked him, the master illusionist, leaving him galled and dazzled.)

By now he had spent too many hours turning those reasons over like coins; he had examined their rough surfaces, stacked them on his writing desk and compared them to the reasons for doing something: years of class-conscious slights, a grubby boy's desire to sully something he knows to be precious to a resented other, the feeling of always being used and wanting to use someone else for a change. In the quiet of his office, the do-nothing stack had seemed so much taller by comparison.

(There was the matter of his friendship with Lucius, such as it was; the species of loyalty he felt toward the man who had taught him the value of compartmentalisation, without which he would not have survived his early years as a Death Eater; and the fact that of all those he'd fought alongside on either side of this conflict, Lucius was the only one he would call an equal, for which reason alone Lucius had his respect. And now Lucius was locked away, leaving his wife and son at the Dark Lord's mercy, having asked Severus to look after them if things ever came to this.

But.

There was also the fact that without Lucius as his backer, he would not have reached the inner circle so quickly, perhaps not at all. And if he had never cherished the ambition of reaching the inner circle, would he have handed his best friend over to her executioner?)

He could hardly remember those do-nothing reasons now. In the dark of this library, with the scent of her breath on his face, his only thought could be summarised as: May as well hang for the dragon, too.

He was depending on Narcissa to step back, to turn away, to make the decision for him, so why did she not move aside?

He did not say, 'Wait,' or 'Don't go,' or 'Will you be all right?', or any of the banalities another person might have used to justify close physical proximity to the vulnerable wife of a good friend. With the sense that he was standing on a rampart, tempted to put one foot over the edge just to see what would happen, he waited for her to look at him, which she would not do. Her lower lip was wet, a glassy, inviting curve, separated from her top lip by a few dark millimetres. Seconds ticked by, and he did not step back from the brink. The gap between their bodies was no wider than the spectre of Lucius himself.

Her voice was a pulse, a heartbeat, tell-tale and soft. She told him a secret which he had already guessed:

'I don't need a protector.'

'No,' he replied. 'You are not powerless.'

The gap closed.

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

He had expected that if he were ever to touch her, her skin would be window-glass cool, as her hand that distant night had been cold in its unbreakable grip. But the flesh his fingers met now was fever hot, a cauldron left too long on the fire.

He let her take the lead, let her bruise his lips and claw at his chest, let her manoeuvre him until he found himself on the sofa with his hands full of impotent wrath. He concentrated only on the surprising strength of her fingers on the back of his neck, the sound of her ragged breaths, the sweet-almond scent that clung to her hair.

It was all done with a deftness he never would have anticipated, this inexorable slide, the revelation of a mystery. The contact made him draw a startled breath, but she gave him no time to adjust. Adamant, acquisitive, her mouth distracted him as she drew him in. At first, the resistance he met almost made him push her away, afraid of hurting her, of letting her hurt herself; she was undeterred, and the impasse was resolved in a slick rush. He was at eye level with the collar she now wore, staring into the twinkling emerald eyes that knew the location of the body but not its position. A tremor was building inside her, a storm bubbling forth to beat at the bars of her cage, and he let her spend her rage and frustration like currency, let her scatter it like ash.

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

The noise in her head sounded something like:

(Your husband is a disgrace.)

(Words cannot express my disappointment.)

(My apologies, Mrs Malfoy, and begging your pardon, but he won't come out.)

(The appearance of propriety must be maintained at all times.)

(You're too precious to fight.)

(And Lucius wouldn't want this for you.)

(I'll make him proud.)

(If anything should happen to me, Cissa ...)

(What do you suppose he comes round for?)

(You are not powerless.)

(... bitch in heat ...)

(... go to Severus.)

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

She sat up and pulled on her robes, fiddling with the clasp for too long, fingers inexplicably clumsy. Outside the windows, the gardens were turning from black to deep blue.

'Your Order may be interested in knowing,' she said, 'when Bella is distracted, she overextends her wand arm.'