Chapter Four: Of Storms Too Hot For Keeping

Chapter Four: Of Storms Too Hot For Keeping

"Better to walk forth in the frozen air

It ran too small to spare one drop for dreaming."

-John Crowe Ransom, Winter Remembered

"Damn him!" Lucius exclaims. Behind him several bottles shatter on their shelves, and a sudden high-pitched wailing announces that he's woken his son and heir. The noise itself is not enough to have roused the child, and Lucius' annoyance is curbed briefly by the fact that Draco was most likely disturbed by the magical vibrations as Lucius' fury had peaked into wandless magic. It is an excellent sign, even from a child with blood as pure as Draco's.

His son's precociousness is not enough to stem his anger for long, however, and this time it finds its release in a series of well-aimed hexes that destroy the better part of the group of china figurines that his mother had brought back from Belgium after her tenth anniversary. The remaining figurines wail in grief and terror, and hide behind the Ming vase. Lucius aims his wand at the vase, but the dragon on it rears up in warning, hissing painted fire along the curve of the vessel, and Lucius turns his wand instead on the cringing house-elf sweeping up shards of china from the floor. The vase, after all, is priceless.

"Perfero!" he hisses, unwilling to expend the energy required for Cruciatus on the creature. The milder version of the incantation is just as effective on such vermin, and not actually... mild at all. Lucius has broken Aurors before using nothing but the Perfero curse. He considers the writhing house-elf almost lazily, the worst of his anger spent, and renews the curse with a casual flick of his wand.

"Lucius!" Narcissa's voice interrupts his thoughts, and he lifts the curse as he turns to her, one eyebrow lifting at the note of exasperation in her voice. "I realize that things are difficult at the moment, but must you terrorize the help? They're becoming skittish and passing the mood on to Draco. It took nearly half an hour to put him to down for his nap, and now--" both of them wince at a particularly vocal wail from upstairs "--who knows how long it will take Linny to get him to sleep again?"

"We could always use Somnis on the little brat," Lucius suggests, more for the pleasure of seeing her eyes narrow with irritation than in actual seriousness. "Honestly, darling, I'm sorry. I just received some bad news, but I shouldn't have woken Draco." He takes her hand in his and kisses the back of it gently. "Forgive me?" Her eyes soften, and her lips curve into a smile that he greets with a kiss of its own.

"Just this once, perhaps," she says playfully, then sobers. "What was the bad news?"

"Rodolphus. He and your sister, my love, are becoming an inconvenience. He was here a few minutes ago – as though the Aurors aren't watching every connection they can attach a spell to – talking all sorts of wild nonsense about going in search of the Dark Lord." He realizes that Narcissa is watching him carefully, grey eyes intent through the casual sweep of her pale eyelashes.

"What did you tell him?" she asks, voice as emotionless as her eyes fail to be.

"That the man is dead," he says, watching her as carefully as she is watching him. "I'm not entirely certain that it's true," he allows, "but he is certainly powerless, so long as no one seeks him out."

"What about us? The Ministry is going to be seeking some form of retribution."

"I can cover my actions by claiming Imperius, or some other form of Dominatum spell. The Malfoy name still counts for something." The flicker of relief in her eyes is the emotion that he is looking for.

"Then why this anger over what Rodolphus and Bellatrix choose to do with themselves?" she asks.

"Because Rodolphus, in his infinitesimal wisdom, has decided that the best way to start his search for our vanished leader is by locating the Potters' Secret Keeper. He's planning on going after your errant cousin."

"Sirius?" Narcissa's surprise is palpable. "He wasn't the Secret Keeper."

"We know that, darling, as do Black, the Dark Lord, and the now-deceased Potters. The question then becomes, at least to Rodolphus' increasingly diseased mind – who was the Secret Keeper?" Lucius shrugs elegantly. "The most logical choice is Pettigrew. He's the only one of our number who was close enough to Potter to be a logical alternate. And who was the last person to see Pettigrew alive?"

"Sirius," Narcissa says, understanding.

"Precisely. Your cousin didn't risk a stop at Gringott's with the Aurors hard on his heels for no reason. He may be a Gryffindor, but he's not an idiot, and Rodolphus - or more likely Bellatrix - is clever enough to see that he has some sort of plan in mind. Unfortunately, they seem to be overlooking the fact that the Dementors are actively in search of Black. They have also underestimated the man's capability for trickery and backhanded dealing. You'd think that Bellatrix at least would know better," he muses. "She did spend three years at school with Black and Potter."

"Juvenile pranks--" Narcissa begins dismissively.

"Underlain by a streak of vicious inventiveness that the Dark Lord wanted very badly to turn to his service at one point. No," he says, "the Ministry is more than ready to retire and lick their wounds. By lying low, we can avoid being one of the loose ends they decide they need to tie up, especially as Crouch has finally reined in that lunatic, Moody. If Bellatrix and Rodolphus go looking for Black, they'll only stir things up, and I haven't got the influence to exculpate them as well as myself. It would be dangerous even to try."

Narcissa brushes a strand of hair back from his face. "That's no reason to tie yourself in knots, darling."

"She's your sister, Narcissa, and Rodolphus is my first cousin. They're family." He doesn't mention that Narcissa has already lost one sister; that he cannot bear to let her lose another.

"No," Narcissa says, "You are family. Draco is family. Bella is a grown woman, Lucius, and my world," she gestures with one elegant hand, "my world is here." She leans in close to his ear, and her next words are a breathy whisper that shivers down his spine. "It's you."

For a moment, Lucius is nearly helpless in the face of his love for his wife and speechless at the luck that made her pure-blooded enough to marry.

"I am the most fortunate of men," he says, the words losing themselves in her soft hair. "I will always," he kisses her, "be grateful," another kiss, "to my father." A third kiss, and her laughter is an echo of their courtship. Lucius gestures imperiously at the house-elf, and the creature vanishes. A quick, soundless charm closes the doors, and when she looks up, startled, he gives her the sharp, lazy smile that never fails to draw an answering one from her. When he casts a Silencing Charm on the room, her face turns bright with half-hidden joy.

"It's three o'clock in the afternoon," she says, tone one of playful protest. "Really, Lucius."

"I can't resist you, my love," he says, then kisses her deeply. They spend several minutes lost in each other, and Lucius is about to transfer things to the sofa when a deep, bell-like sound tolls through the libraryand the fire flares green and bright.

"Now who is it?" he mutters, though he's fairly certain he already knows. Tearing his mouth away from his wife's with reluctance, he says curtly: "Faceo licet." The flames blaze up again, and a figure steps out of the fireplace.

"You're getting a bit careless, Lucius," the newcomer drawls. "What if I'd been Alastor Moody?"

"You know very well that only family can Floo into the library, Bellatrix," he says coldly. Her heavy-lidded eyes rake over him, then over her sister, catching their mutual dishevelment.

"Oh, did I interrupt something?" she asks, the nauseating sweetness in her voice clearly feigned. Lucius turns his head, lip curling slightly in disgust. "I'm dreadfully sorry."

"What do you want, Bella?" Narcissa asks calmly. She hasn't bothered to rise from the sofa, and Lucius feels a warm glow of pride at her icy control.

"I need to borrow your precious husband," Bellatrix replies. Lucius is on the verge of telling her sharply what she can do with her needs in general – the Dark Lord is gone, and she is no longer anyone's favorite – but Narcissa pre-empts him, still perfectly calm.

"I'm afraid we have plans for the day," she says.

"Does your wife dictate your schedule now, Lucius?" Bellatrix's tone is a goad, her eyes sparkling at the promise of confrontation. The strain of madness that runs through the Black family has always been evident in her character, but in recent months it has become increasingly pronounced. She gleams with malice, and Lucius has to be careful to avoid showing her just how unnerving he finds her.

"You were speaking to my wife," he drawls. "Manners alone would seem to dictate that she give you your answer."

Bellatrix's eyes narrow, and she steps close to him, pushing her way into his personal space. "Don't play lord of the manor with me, Malfoy," she says threateningly.

"Sister, dear," he says, smoothly threatening, "I am the lord of the Manor."

She bares her teeth at him, and for an instant it appears that she might attack him anyway. He'd meant his words as a subtle reminder of the dangers of attacking the head of the Malfoy family in his own home, but something in her eyes tells him that she's taken them as a challenge instead. He draws deeply on the blood-magic of the wards, preparing one or two nasty surprises that he doesn't need a wand to employ. Perhaps she feels the gathering power; perhaps his eyes warn her off, but Bellatrix steps back, her grimace turning into the charming smile that stopped fooling him years ago.

"Very well. I can see that the lures of hearth and home have captured you entirely, dear brother. Enjoy your domestic pleasures, then." The pleasant mask falls away, leaving malevolence coiled in every line of her face. "This won't be forgotten, Lucius. Or forgiven." She steps into the fire and away before Lucius can reply.

"Bitch," he says feelingly, as the flames return to their normal levels. His dark mood of earlier has returned in force.

"Don't let her get to you," Narcissa says.

Lucius starts to snarl an answer when he realizes that she's using the same carefully calm tones with him that she'd used with her sister. He returns to the sofa and sits down next to her, taking her hand.

"I'm sorry, love," he says . She is the only person he has voluntarily apologized to in his entire life. Every apology forced from him – first by his father, then by the Dark Lord – has seemed to stick in his throat, but he will humble himself before his wife without a second's hesitation or resentment.

"You let her provoke you," Narcissa tells him, but she squeezes his hand gently as she speaks. "She does it deliberately, you know."

"I know," Lucius says. "That makes it worse."

"What do you suppose she wanted you for?" Narcissa asks.

"It could have been anything," he says. "Rodolphus was yapping about Frank Longbottom earlier – the man's leading the search for your cousin, apparently – but as both Rodolphus and your sister become less predictable by the day, that's only a guess. Either way, I'm glad to be out of it."

"You're not angry with me for...what was it? 'Dictating your schedule'?" she asks. Her voice is perfectly sincere, but the left corner of her mouth is quivering faintly, which means that she is trying very hard not to smile.

"Darling," he says, raising an offended eyebrow, "you know that I'm your willing slave."

"You say that so dispassionately," she observes.

"Would you prefer that I throw myself at your feet?" he asks. "I can, you know."

"I can think of better things for you to do," she says, reaching for him.

***

"It's too much," Remus says. Frank was just a year ahead of him in school, Alice a year behind, and their son Neville is within a month of Harry. It's James and Lily all over again, without time for the first wound to heal. "It's over. It's supposed to be over."

"You know better than that," Moody says, but his voice is a gentler version of his usual growl, and Remus can hear the grief heavy in every syllable.

"Do--" He has to stop for a second, overwhelmed by the sensation of everything falling apart around him.

"They're still alive," Moody says, but that's no blessing at all. It's the day after full moon, and Remus had been on his way out when they brought Frank in, silent-eyed and screaming as though he could not bear not doing so, even if he was no longer sure why.

There had been nothing left in that slack, empty face of the boy that Remus had known at school; nothing of the man he'd come to respect while working for the Order, just a twitching, terrified thing, living like a ghost along Frank's abandoned nerve endings. The mediwizards had worn the solemn, hushed faces that Remus has seen on survivors for the past five years. He left quickly after hearing that Alice was on the next stretcher, and had been sicker in an alley next to St. Mungo's than he'd been since he'd heard that Sirius had betrayed James and Lily.

Moody had found him pale and shaking on his knees behind a trash can with one hand pressed firmly over his mouth, and Remus will always be grateful to the man for not asking if he is all right. Instead Moody is frowning at him, the expression on his face suggesting that Remus will be in for a right kicking if he doesn't pull himself together.

"What happened?" Remus manages at last.

"It was the Lestranges," Moody tells him. "They're after Black." Remus suddenly understands the urgency in his face and voice. Moody, like everyone else, has always had a soft spot for Sirius.

"Why?" Remus demands, nausea vanishing under a fresh torrent of concern. He's been nearly frantic with terror for Sirius since the funeral. This news and the look on Moody's face threaten to send him to new heights of fear. He can't imagine a reason for Bellatrix to be after Sirius if he is innocent.

"I don't know yet," Moody says gruffly, "but the Lestranges have always been two of Voldemort's most dedicated followers. We're fairly certain that they were behind the Cornwall murders, as well as the incident in Surrey last year, though we've never been able to prove it. We got lucky this time, though," he says, and Remus is suddenly furious that Moody can consider anything about this situation to be lucky, though the anger doesn't last long. Both he and Moody are far too used to salvaging anything they can from disaster. It isn't fair of him to be angry with Moody for being better at it.

"Lucky?" he asks, and if his voice sounds ragged and pained, at least Moody says nothing about it.

"We have a witness." A bitter near-smile twists Moody's features even further, and a part of Remus' mind can't help but wonder how they must look, one scarred old man and one scarred young man, deep in conversation behind a dustbin.

"A living witness?" Remus asks in surprise.

"I was as shocked as you are. From what the Residual Magic people have managed to piece together, the Lestranges came sideways through the wards and somehow left all the protections still in place. They were apparently counting on privacy The only problem was that Frank and Alice have Muggle neighbors, and they'd altered the wards to let them through unharmed. Whichever one of the Lestranges was maintaining the Silencing Charm let it slip. The couple next door heard the screams, and the husband went over on the double to check it out."

"A living Muggle witness?"

"Oh, this is the best part." Moody's thin smile is full of grim enjoyment. "The man supports his family by knocking over banks and armored cars. The Healers have him now, but the initial reports are that he put two bullets into Rodolphus and one in Bellatrix before she hexed him unconscious." He laughs, a short, sharp sound full of dark amusement. "Shot by a Muggle. I wish I could have seen their faces. At any rate, it looks like he and his wife kept Frank and Alice from dying outright, though I'm not sure how much of a mercy that will turn out to be. The wife was on the telephone with their police before he went out the door, of course, so we've got yet another mess for the Obliviators to sort out."

"What about the Lestranges?"

"Made it to the street and Apparated before our people could get there. We've got three Muggle policemen in St. Mungo's with hex damages – apparently they got in the way of Bellatrix's wand. She must have been feeling pretty bad, though. It looks like they're all going to live. The witness is still fairly incoherent, but Shacklebolt's supposed to debrief him as soon as the Healers have finished. I'm going to try and sit in on it, provided Crouch is still tied up with the press. The bastard is still blocking me from access to anything remotely connected to Black." Moody grins. "It's a good thing I trained his entire staff. Shacklebolt will tell me what we want to know, even if Crouch does manage to keep me out."

"That's fortunate," Remus murmurs. He is stunned, reeling, trying desperately to find solid ground. This is chaos on the same level as anything Voldemort ever caused, and despite the fact that he should have seen it coming, it has left him blindsided and uncertain. "Is there anything I can do?" It is evidently the right question, because Moody nods decisively, some invisible layer of tension draining from his shoulders.

"Good lad," he says. "I want someone I can trust to talk to the wife – the one who called the police. Shacklebolt says that she's lowest priority at the moment, mainly because she's the only one who didn't get hexed. Even so, they will get to her eventually, and I doubt that anyone will bother to find out what she knows before wiping her memory. It probably won't be important to anyone but us, anyway."

"All right," Remus agrees. It is a relief to have anything to do, any way to channel the restless energy that has filled him since the funeral and hasn't subsided, even in the aftermath of the worst full moon he's had since fourth year. Moody nods once and limps back towards the hospital entrance, and Remus spares a moment to be grateful to the man for the subtlety of his kindness.

***

a/n: title borrowed without permission from John Crowe Ransom's Dead Boy. My thanks to konishi_zen for beta help.