Epilogue

Narcissa did not want to look at the Daily Prophet. It lay on the dining room table, mocking her silently. She didn't think she could bear reading one more horror story. Every morning, the owl brought news printed in joyous blocks, announcing victories for the side of the 'good' and the 'righteous'.

Bella and Rodolphus were in Azkaban. There would be no appeal. They had only just avoided the Kiss, and Narcissa suspected that had more to do with the draining of the Lestrange family fortune into the pockets of greedy jurors than any sort of goodwill. There was no foreseeable escape, and they were being kept in the highest security cells. Narcissa could not go visit; not without casting suspicion upon her husband, and any current shadow could easily result in an identical fate for Lucius.

Rabastan was with them. Snatched out of her life permanently. A very public divorce had followed his sentencing- Lysandra had cut her losses and escaped to America in the aftermath of his trial.

Severus... a hero? A traitor? Narcissa wished she knew. He was a brilliant young man... had he betrayed the Dark Lord, and all of his friends? It would be unwise to attempt to contact him and find out.

In a bloody and spectacular battle with Aurors, Evan Rosier was brutally killed. Upon hearing the news, sweet, gentle Caroline's heart finally failed, and she died only hours later.

Rodtimer, in a flagrant act of cowardice, had disappeared the night the Dark Lord fell. He had been under suspicion for weeks. Unable to handle the abandonment, and subsequent pressure by Bartemius Crouch Senior, his wife committed suicide.

All of this, in the paper. Narcissa didn't want to look today.

Lucius swept silently into the room. Without a word or beat of hesitation, he snatched up the Prophet and began to read, eyes moving quickly to gather the most important news. He flipped through the pages briskly, and Narcissa stared at her plate.

"Don't read it," he said at last, tossing it aside and lifting his fork. Narcissa's stomach lurched.

"Who?" she breathed anxiously.

"No one new. There are riots outside the Ministry. I assure you, you won't want to worry about the details."

Narcissa swallowed. "They want Bella dead, don't they?"

He nodded curtly. "Don't read it," he repeated.

She obeyed, though she suspected later, when he was locked in his study poring over letters or meeting with mysterious visitors from the Ministry, she would be drawn to the article, tear through every word and be sick.

"Mama."

Narcissa turned to smile reassuringly at Draco, who she could have sworn was watching her with suspicion from his highchair. "Baby," she cooed, stroking his cheek tenderly. Content, he resumed nibbling on the small pieces of apple before him. Here was her hope and her heart, often the the sole reason she got out of bed each morning.

"What are your plans for today?" she asked Lucius quietly, not expecting a real answer.

Lucius, knowing this, sighed and set his fork down. "Nothing to concern you."

It was only a tiny sting now. His vague answers worried her, but he had assured her, somewhat distantly, that her her ignorance was for her own protection, in case 'something were to go wrong'. She reached out to touch his hand, and he squeezed it gently before drawing away.

Just a little cold. Just a little removed. You deserve this, she reminded herself forcefully. In fact, she deserved far worse. Since the night he had tortured Lysandra, there had been no more talk of ending their marriage, but Narcissa feared that it was constantly there, lurking beneath the veneer of his calm politeness. The kiss that had followed her passionate claim that their love was meant to last seemed to have been a fluke; months had passed, and he had not kissed her once since. That might have had something to do with the fact that, upon waking the next morning, every drop of alcohol had been removed from the Malfoy Manor- he cleared out the prestigious wine cellar and the bottles of expensive liquor, and had not consumed a drop since. She wondered, if he were to get drunk again, if he would gift her with another revelation... but she doubted it. Even if he ever decided to drink again, she felt there was no revelation to be had. He was angry. He was hurt. She had damaged their marriage- she could only pray that she had not done so irreparably.

Occasionally she tried to reach out to him, but she was consistently, though calmly, rebuffed. If she threw her arms around him, he would not shove her away; he would merely allow her a moment of unreciprocated contact before carefully drawing back.

It won't always be like this, she told herself yet again. He just needed time. Needed to see that she was never going to push him away again. Needed to forgive her.

A resounding knock at the front door broke the uncomfortable silence. Narcissa made to rose, grateful for the distraction. Lucius's hand flew out and curled around her wrist with such force that she gasped.

"What are you-"

"Just listen." His tone gave her chills. "Outside that door are six Aurors with a warrant for my arrest."

Narcissa felt her intestines turn to stone. The moment she had been dreading- the nightmare that had been stealing any hope for respite for months- had arrived.

"What if you-"

"Stop. I will not resist, although they expect me to. The private meetings that I've been attending over the past few weeks have been strategic sessions in preparation for this event."

"You knew-"

"Let me finish," he cut her off icily. "I have seen to it that the right people will be paid. The Kiss will not be brought up as a possibility at trial, and if my plans are followed carefully, I do not expect a life sentence. In fact, I believe I could, optimistically, be facing fifteen years."

Fifteen years. Draco would be a young man before getting to know his father, and she practically an old woman before he wrapped his arms around her once more. And what would he be after a decade and a half in Azkaban? Surely only a shell of the man that he was now. The knocker sounded again, and Lucius rose, not relinquishing his crushing grasp on her arm.

"Now, listen carefully Narcissa. I need you to do precisely as I say. You and Draco will remain here. You both will be safe, as long as you do not publicly support my actions, and he will inherit his birthright. You will not flee the country- that would be tantamount to a confession. I am not prepared to dismiss all that the Malfoy family has accomplished over centuries of dedication. You will not be forced to speak at my trial; however, if you think yourself capable, you are to denounce me and my actions. If you cannot, leak stories to the press of your dismay over my actions. Do not try to contact me in any way before the trial. Do not visit afterwards. Do I make myself clear?"

She stared at him dumbly. He couldn't possibly expect her-

"Promise me," he hissed, shaking her slightly.

"I promise," she blurted through numb lips, as the pounding at the door resounded for a third time. Content, Lucius gave a stiff nod and released her.

"I don't trust you," he murmured softly. It was not an accusation or a challenge; he was stating a bleak and unavoidable fact. He rose slowly, his hand extending once more, this time in tenderness, to stroke their son's flaxen hair. "But I hope for his sake you'll keep you word on this. Take Draco upstairs. Goodbye, Narcissa."

He did not turn back to look at her or their happily babbling boy, but Narcissa saw that his fingers trembled ever so slightly as he removed his wand from his pocket and set it on the table. She felt paralyzed as he walked silently out of the room. Her heart throbbed deafening, pounding in her skull as she heard her husband open the heavy, ancient doors.

"Lucius Malfoy," an unfamiliar voice barked, "you are hereby under arrest for-"

"I'm unarmed, there will be no need for that," Lucius informed a captor, his tone terse silk. She suspected they were restraining him excessively, and she tried not to hear the gruff voice enumerating her husbands crimes; terrible crimes, crimes no amount of gold could acquit him of... surely she had heard wrong, he couldn't have murdered that many Muggles...

"Find his wand," another voice ordered.

"There will be no need to tear the house apart, it's on the dining room table."

Heavy footsteps approaching the room finally unfroze Narcissa. She hurried to snatch Draco into a tight embrace, and skirted from a different exit just as the Auror walked in. Heart heart still pounding uncomfortably, she hovered in the corridor of her own home like an intruder, anxious for the men to leave the Manor. A part of her wished Lucius had decided to fight- perhaps her confidence in his skill was too great, but she felt that he could have succeeded and they could have fled the country. But then, he was right; they had to think of Draco's future, and of the Houses of Black and Malfoy. There was too much at stake, they had to move carefully.

But Lucius in Azkaban for fifteen year or longer...

No. It simply would not happen. She wouldn't let it. The slamming of the front door signaled the departure of the Aurors and Lucius, and the vast silence left in their wake drove her into sudden action. She would not live with that silence.

Narcissa marched determinedly to Lucius's study. This scene of such drama in her marriage still made her uneasy, but she set to work immediately, placing Draco on the plush divan, and pulling documents from the many drawers. Most were useless bits of Ministerial drudgery, and she left these in a neat pile... evidence for something, her mind told her, though she had not yet formed a plan. She needed to find the names of the men Lucius had been working with; needed to know who her allies were.

Hours of poring over documents proved to be relatively fruitless. He meticulously kept track of everything, it seemed, that related to his daily life, but nothing touching on his nocturnal activities... wise, of course. It would be foolish to keep a record of his less savory dealings easily accessible. But where was he keeping them?

An impatient rapping on the door pulled her from her reverie. Answering the door at the moment seemed foolish, but the knocking continued. She had put Draco down for a nap some time ago, so he was out of harms way, but she still moved with caution. Wand drawn, she crept into the main foyer, and opened the ancient doors a crack.

"Oh Cissy, thank Merlin, I thought you'd fled the country. Britt just told me and I came right over. You must be devastated." Without invitation, Ari Parkinson pushed the door wider and gave Narcissa a quick hug.

"Is Britt-"

"Oh, he's fine. He was never in the Inner Circle, and he's been very good at covering his tracks. He's not a fighter, not like your Lucius. I love him, Merlin knows why, but he's dull as could be almost all the time. He was mostly involved in information... a glorified bookkeeper. They wouldn't even trust him as a spy. But he's safe," she added, and the obvious relief that she tried to mask for Narcissa's sake caught in her throat for a moment. "Safe and back to being boring as a Bugbear." She rested a reassuring hand on Narcissa's shoulder. "Tell me, how are you coping?"

"I'm not. I'm not coping because he's not going to Azkaban. He told me... he told me to lie, for Draco's sake. Claim ignorance. But Ari... I can't."

Anyone else would have gently told her the Lucius was right; that he had forged the best path for her and her son prior to his arrest. Ari gave Narcissa a a long, hard stare. "Well then, Cissy, let's get to work."

Narcissa took a deep, fortifying breath. Today was The Day. Lucius had been held without bail for six months and three days. Narcissa had kept busy during this time, yet every hour had dragged on miserably. Beneath it all was the fear that her actions would be futile, and the lingering doubt that her plan might now work, and she should obey her husband's clear request. These doubts would swirl in her mind each night when she laid down to bed, and she would grapple for hours in the dark with her own anguished thoughts, and the constant ache of desperately missing him that she was scarcely able to keep at bay during daylight hours. Each dawn she rose with her purpose reaffirmed. She would do whatever it took to return Lucius to her side.

In the weeks after his arrest, she had feared the worst. Under Bartemius Crouch's reign, it looked unlikely that Lucius would ever be granted a trial. The man had sent his own son to Azkaban along with her sister, brother-in-law, and poor Rabastan. Still, she had worked tirelessly to build her case, one shard of plausible evidence at a time. And then, a breakthrough. Not long after the death of Crouch's son, public opinion began to turn. A carefully worded article in the Daily Prophet (paid for covertly by Narcissa) had opened the public's eyes to the methods and practices of Mr. Crouch. Peace was settling across the nation, but an exposé of the abominable conditions of Azkaban (also funded by Malfoy gold) drove the softhearted witches and wizards of the United Kingdom to demand that trials resume in order to alleviate overcrowding. Crouch had outright refused. He maintained his staunch position for a week, and then an unimaginable miracle occurred. Crouch was fired, shunted off to the Department of International Cooperation. While it had seemed that the man would be Minister and Lucius would be lost forever, Cornelius Fudge took over instead. An unsavory new woman called Dolores Umbridge sat at his side on the Wizengamot. Unpleasant and simpering as she seemed, she had been a Slytherin and her influence was easily bought, and it seemed that she was making sure that all the right people were set free. Including, Narcissa hoped, Lucius.

All the cards are in place. All that was left was for Narcissa to give the performance of a lifetime.

She glanced at Ari, who gave a vigorous nod of support. "Don't you worry about him," she whispered, meaning Draco, who was looking around with bright, curious eyes from the vantage point of Ari's arms. He had grown so much since Lucius had last laid eyes on the boy, and she feared that, despite her best efforts to show him photographs and talk about Lucius, that the boy would not remember his father at all.

They lingered immediately outside of Courtroom Ten. The Wizengamot was assembled. Lucius was inside. Gaining permission to speak first had been almost disgustingly easy- though it was unorthodox, she had met Fudge directly, and he'd been quickly won over by a combination of gold, flirtation, and the promise of courtroom drama.

Right on cue, the doors opened. "Mrs. Malfoy? The court is ready for your testimony."

Narcissa nodded once, coolly, and strode confidently into the foreboding chamber. The faces of the Wizengamot did not frighten her- she was a Malfoy, after all.

"Honorable Witches and Wizards of the Wizengamot," she began in a strong, clear voice. She liked the way her voice rang assuredly in the circular room. "I come before you today with previously unexpressed evidence. When you hear the nature of my remarks, you will understand precisely why this issue has not been previously addressed. But I hope, I know, that when you hear what I have to say, there will be no way you can convict this man without the grave error of your decision weighing on your conscience for the rest of your life." The delivery of her speech would be no problem, she thought almost smugly- until her eyes fell on Lucius.

It was a mistake. How had she forgotten to mentally prepare herself for the condition he would be in after nine months of imprisonment? In her mind he was still the man who had strode lazily to face his captors all those months ago... now, he was a shadow. His robes were rags, his face gaunt, his gleaming hair dirty and bedraggled. Bruise-like shadows darkened the hollows beneath his eyes. His eyes... Narcissa felt her heart unfreeze fractionally. Those were still his sharp, undefeated, blazing grey eyes. He sat straight up in his chains. And he stared at her with such intensity that she swore she could almost hear his words.

If you're going to defy me, then do it right. For Merlin's sake, this had better be good. And then, a barely perceptible movement of his lips, only visible since she was staring so intently at him, words only for her:

I love you.

"There's been a terrible mistake." The tears that filled her eyes and the tightness in her throat were not falsified, though they were not from grief. "My husband was under the Imperius Curse. He was not acting on his own free will. He is innocent of any wrongdoing, although even he may not realize it. You cannot send this man- this father, my loving husband, adored brother and the only son of an outstanding line of wizards who have contributed much to society as we know it today- to prison for crimes he unwilling committed. He had no desire to serve He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I can prove it."