Author's note

The artwork for this project was made by the brilliant and amazingly talented Freya Ishtar, whose works you should read at the earliest opportunity
(or after you have finished mine, at the very least...)

The plot belongs to the inimitable Miss Austen, and the characters were created by the equally magnificent J.K. Rowling.

So what did I do for this endeavour, you wonder?

Why, I brought the two together to create this little frivolity, for no reason but my leisure and your entertainment, and to honour two of my favourite authors.
The result, as a matter of course, is a carefully crafted work of fiction that does credit to neither.

But as it is written, it may as well be published.

1. Sanctimonia Vincet Semper

Lady Narcissa Malfoy of Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire once had many interests to occupy her days, but lately only one thing soothed her nerves and gave her the strength to face the ill fortune the Fates had recently thrown into her path. When the library provided no distractions, the rose garden no comfort, her music room no relief, she would retire to the Heritage Room, where the Malfoy tapestry decorated the walls.

The tapestry traced the ancestry of the family she had married into all the way back to Armand de Malfoi, who left his ancestral home in Brittany to conquer new lands as a trusted advisor to the Muggle King William the Conqueror. Lady Narcissa, herself born from the illustrious House of Black, always could find solace in that room, surrounded by history and successes. Her eyes followed the tree as she recited to herself the names of all the Malfoys that had been before, and the Greengrasses and Yaxleys and Blacks they had married. The steady stream of names calmed her nerves as nothing else could these days, until she arrived at the end of the tree, once so voluminous, now reduced to one surviving branch, and the sight of her husband's name brought tears to her eyes again. She skipped over Lucius Malfoy, ignoring the stab of pain in her heart, and her eyes lingered on the last name, Draco Malfoy, their only son and child.

A son for whom she had once had such high hopes... But no marriage or children had extended the family yet, though there had been talk of Pansy Parkinson once. A marriage contract had even been drawn up, but it was never executed. Draco had refused to comply, and Miss Parkinson had moved to the Continent soon after. It was the only time in over five years he had shown any spirit at all, and though Narcissa rejoiced at the realisation that her beloved son must still be somewhere inside the shell of a man he had become, she regretted it had happened just as they were hoping to settle an alliance with the rich and powerful Parkinson family.

Of course, some would insist it had been an unfavourable time to enter into a marriage. Soon after her son graduated from Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Great Wizarding War had broken out, spiralling the magical population of the British Isles into chaos for five long years. The Malfoys had fought bravely on the side of Lord Riddle, honouring their Pureblood legacy. Like her husband, Narcissa had never wavered in her belief that those born of magical bloodlines should be given the respect and precedence that was their due in magical Society.

Pride was the beginning and end of Narcissa Malfoy, and that pride had kept her from losing her wits as the tables turned on them in the War. Lord Riddle and his supporters had become more and more detestable as their cause blurred from Pureblood support into Muggle subjugation. Narcissa had no patience for Muggles. She began to realise her family had become more and more entangled in atrocities and vicious battles, and only the end of the war would save them. She no longer cared which side won. Her husband had become even more ruthless. Her son, once the apple of her eye and the sun in her life, had become a shadow of his former self. She had forgotten what his laughter sounded like. Her sister was insane. It had to stop.

She was relieved when Harry Potter and his forces had finally defeated Lord Riddle, and her husband and son had survived the last battle. The War was finally over, and they could begin to live again. But then those wretched trials had begun...

Yes, whenever Lady Narcissa wandered the halls of Malfoy Manor these days, she found herself drawn to that same room, one of the few rooms that had never been occupied by Death Eaters, one of the few rooms that held no war memories. There she could sit in peaceful silence and think of her husband, whom she had not seen for almost a year while he was in the custody of the Ministry awaiting trial. There she could worry about her son, still only little more than a ghost, though his eyes were no longer empty and soulless. No, they were hard and unforgiving now, especially when she mentioned his father, the trials or anything even remotely related to the War. This room was the only place she could escape the world that was so unjustly crumbling around her.

She had not been marked by Lord Riddle and had never participated in any battles - it really wasn't a Lady's place to do so - and therefore had escaped conviction, though she was still under house arrest for the duration of Lucius' trial. Draco's hearings had gone by in a whirlwind of emotions. Her indifferent health had kept her from attending the proceedings and since he refused to speak of it, she had no idea what had happened. She did know he was acquitted. She still hadn't seen him smile.

The only communication she had with Lucius was through Mr. Goldstein, the family lawyer. It bothered her that the Ministry had yet to allow her to visit her husband, and she might never see him again. But she had to believe… Because Malfoys never gave up. Malfoys never lost. She had to believe Lucius would join her again soon, and they would take up their place in Society as before, leading the way for Purebloods everywhere. Lady Narcissa let her eyes travel back to her husband's name, elegantly embroidered in green and silver on the massive tree, his branch entwined with her own name. Her fingers delicately traced the embroidery, and for a moment, she felt close to him again.

A house-elf popped into the room, startling her out of her reverie. "Essie is sorry, Mistress, but Master is wanting Mistress to come to the little drawing-room. Master says lawyer is here."

Narcissa merely nodded and dismissed the house-elf with an impatient gesture. She clasped her hands together, closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Finally, news about Lucius' trial. She hurried out of the Heritage Room, anxious to hear what the man had to say.