Tainted Love
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines. The name 'Poldark' is used in homage of Winston Graham's delightful Cornish family saga.
N/B: Proofread by Kirixchi.
A/N: I do apologise for the long delay between posts, however, as much as I love writing this story, TL is very clearly not my day job. It takes a huge amount of time and effort to work through several drafts of a chapter and to then have the final draft edited. If there is a delay between posts it is simply because Kirixchi and I sadly do not have a limitless amount of free hours to dedicate to a story that I'm writing for fun. Thank you so much for your patience and understanding - Catherine.
Tainted Love
Chapter Twenty: The First of September
Narcissa Malfoy lay down her quill, and glanced at the carriage clock that was sitting on her escritoire. It was late afternoon. Draco would be well on his way to Hogwarts by now - ensconced in a carriage, surrounded by his Slytherin schoolmates. She was sorry to have seen him off on the train that morning; the house always seemed so much bigger, so much emptier when he was away at school. It was strange really, how the lost of one person in a residence the size of the Manor could have such an effect.
But… though the rooms echoed with Draco's absence, Narcissa could not deny that she remained uncharacteristically cheerful. Disrespectful thought it no doubt was, she had been in an uncommonly happy mood ever since returning from her mother's funeral a few days beforehand. No doubt relief that it was finally all over played a part in her good humour, but Narcissa was well aware of what, or rather, of who, had really placed a near permanent smile on her face.
Lucius.
She sighed distractedly. He had been… incredible that day at Tintagel. Even when he had finally snapped, as Narcissa had known he eventually would, it had not been with her, it had been for her. She didn't think her father had ever looked more shocked than in the spilt second before his son-in-law knocked him out cold. Narcissa could not help but laugh softly.
She supposed that she should disapprove of Lucius' reaction to her father's incessant provocation, but she just… couldn't somehow. Her father had always been a man to use his fists before his wand, and so, to see him taken care of so effortlessly by her husband had been really rather thrilling, and, if she was honest, more than a little satisfying. She was waiting, of course, for Adrian Varvara to strike back, but in the meantime, she was enjoying their little victory. She intended to let Lucius know exactly how grateful she was that evening, now that they had the house to themselves.
Narcissa smiled softly, and then absent-mindedly read over the letter she had just written to her late mother's solicitor. She sealed it in the same preoccupied manner and then rang a little silver bell that was sitting on the writing desk. The tiny clapper made no sound as it struck the bell-side, but there was an immediate crack, and a battered looking house elf appeared.
The Malfoy's house elves had experienced a rather bad run of luck since losing their associate Dobby. Sickened by the mere sight of his wretched servants, Lucius had employed a number of human workers to replace the elves in all public roles of servitude, in an effort that the family could be spared any reminder of their treacherous ex-servant. However, Narcissa was fast running out of patience with the new staff. They were utterly incompetent. So she had taken to calling on the elves when Lucius was out of the house. The miserable little creature in question was prostrating itself on the carpet, awaiting its mistress's orders.
"Get up," Narcissa commanded impatiently.
With many wet snuffles the trembling elf got to its feet. "W-what can Podge be doing for the Mistress?" the seemingly male elf asked dolefully.
"Tea."
The elf's droopy ears pricked with relief. He clicked his bandaged fingers and a pretty china tea service appeared in a puff of purple smoke. Teapot, teacup, a dainty milk jug, and a pot of hot water, all sat innocently on the tray that Podge placed on a Rococo console table, accompanied by a not quite so innocent phial of violet potion. Narcissa reached for this first, and drank it in a resigned fashion while the elf fixed her tea.
Podge quickly handed the milky beverage to his mistress, and then collected the empty phial from where Narcissa had placed it on the writing desk.
"Is Mistress wanting anything else?" he squeaked hesitantly, wringing his bandaged hands.
"No, that will-" Narcissa paused and frowned.
There was a rather large owl tapping on her sitting room window. Draco's owl to be precise. Narcissa's eyes flicked towards the ceiling. What had he forgotten this time? Every year without fail he left something behind. He couldn't have even reached Hogwarts yet!
"Well?" she hissed in the elf's direction. "Let it in."
Podge gave a small squeak of terror and ran across the room. He tripped over the rag of a pillowcase that he was wearing and propelled himself into the wall with a nasty crack. Narcissa bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from cursing. Perhaps Lucius did have a valid point about the elves after all?
Once the creature had recovered, he picked himself up, stumbled and opened the window. Draco's handsome eagle owl swooped into the room and dropped a scrap of parchment in front of Narcissa. She unfolded the paper, motioning with an inattentive wave of her hand for the elf to take care of the bird while she read:
Mother,
I'm still on the Hogwarts Express, (I really don't see why we have to use such a slow form of transport) but I had to let you know what's happened! The train was boarded by Dementors!!! I didn't think they were allowed to leave Azkaban? Flint says they're standing guard over the school, something to do with Black. Do you or father know what's going on? It was so strange when they came into the carriage. Almost like – all the happiness had gone out of the world, like we'd never be happy again – if that makes any sense? Well anyway, I must say, at least none of the Slytherin's fainted like that idiot Potter!
Draco
Narcissa lay the letter down on the writing table with faintly trembling hands. Dementors. At Hogwarts? Draco, her son, her baby, had been exposed to those… monsters… those things. She drew a ragged breath and pushed herself to her feet. How was it possible that she and Lucius had not known about this? Why hadn't they been told? Why hadn't their permission been asked? As parents with a child at the school surely they had some say in the matter!
Her eyes narrowed, suddenly suspicious. Lucius would not have given his permission without consulting her first, would he?
Narcissa's first reaction was a vehement, no, but the more she thought about it the more uncertain she became. She had hardly been feeling herself lately. Perhaps Lucius had not trusted her to have a say in the matter? Because, regardless of whether or not there had been a letter from the school, she was absolutely certain that her husband's connections at the Ministry could not have left him ignorant of the Dementors appointment at Hogwarts! Which could only mean one thing - he had chosen not to tell her!
Narcissa stormed out of the sitting room, muttering a few choice words beneath her breath. She had never let Lucius go unpunished for leaving her in the dark before, and she certainly wasn't going to alter the habit of a lifetime when her son's safety was in question!
She was far too angry to stop and think, far too angry to even pause and collect her cloak. Narcissa swept into the Manor's imposing entrance hall and made for the large stone hearth that dominated the wall opposite the broad staircase. She snatched up a handful of floo powder, tossed it into the fireplace, and stepped into the emerald flames without pause, hissing as she did so:
"Ministry of Magic, Department of International Magic Cooperation!"
The dizzily spinning grates flashing before the slits of Narcissa's eyes did nothing to settle her tempter. Indeed, by the time she stepped out of the grate and into the reception area of the Department of International Magic Cooperation she had cracked her elbow twice against a rough stone chimneybreast, caught a burning ember in her eye, and had an expression like thunder emblazoned across her soot-smudged face.
"Ugh, M-Mrs Malfoy, Mrs Malfoy can I- can I help you?"
The middle-aged receptionist sitting behind the front desk stammered madly as Narcissa marched straight by her, towards the I.M.C. offices without pausing to utter a single word.
..ooOOoo..
Lucius didn't immediately look up from his desk on hearing his door burst open. He did, however, immediately contemplate reaching for his wand and casting a solid hex on the unwanted intruder. He thought better of it in the end; the Ministry was so funny about that kind of thing. It wasn't worth the paper work, and on glancing up, Lucius was immensely relieved that temperance had ultimately won out. He raised a curious, and not wholly un-amused eyebrow as his somewhat dishevelled wife stormed into the room.
"Narcissa," Lucius drawled, getting to his feet, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"How dare you?" she exploded without warning, advancing on the desk and resting her hands on it antagonistically.
An expanse of cluttered paperwork was all that separated her from her husband. Lucius looked quite genuinely taken aback by her outburst, but Narcissa was in no mood to notice. All she saw was one condescending eyebrow lift as her husband icily repeated:
"How dare I what?"
"Draco sent me an owl!" she exclaimed, voice much louder than was mannerly. Her cheeks were flushed as she continued: "How you thought I'd ever let you get away with-"
"Narcissa!" Lucius snapped, cutting off her tirade. His height gave him an advantage as he glowered across the desk at his wife, eyes narrowed dangerously. "What are you talking about?" he demanded furiously.
"Guess," she hissed cruelly, "unless you make a habit of betraying me?"
"I think," Lucius began, straining to keep his voice void of any revealing trace of emotion, "that you had best explain yourself while I am still prepared to listen to you, Narcissa."
"I know about the Dementors," she railed, slamming a fist down upon the table the top in an exceptionally rare display of physical aggression.
"You know what about the Dementors?" Lucius asked, a ghostly chill entering his voice. It seemed to sap some of his fury. A haunted flame had flickered to life in the depths of his eyes, ignited by the inescapable, all consuming terror that lay dormant in the souls of all men who had been held captive by the hellish guards of Azkaban.
Narcissa tried desperately to ignore the disturbed look that clouded her husband's eyes in an attempt to sustain her anger.
"I know that they've been stationed at Hogwarts. I know that they boarded the Hogwarts Express this afternoon. Draco was on that train, Lucius!" she exclaimed, her voice finally cracking with a desperately raw kind of fear. She laid her hands flat on the desk again and stared up at her husband, waiting for him to try to justify his actions.
Except he didn't…
Narcissa had rarely seen the colour drain from Lucius' face, but she watched, lips slightly parted, as his skin greyed. He didn't know, or rather, he hadn't, not until that very second. She felt something akin to a very heavy blow strike the pit of her stomach. He hadn't known. And she'd- she'd- Her eyes clenched shut.
"How could you not know?" Narcissa asked weakly, her implicit belief in his importance creeping into her words. "You hear about everything that goes on inside the Ministry."
"Evidently not," Lucius snarled regaining fragments of his composure. He stalked around the large desk, caught Narcissa by the shoulders and pushed her down into a chair. "You, however, are going to tell me everything."
Narcissa continued to stare up at her husband as he loomed over her. Either he sensed her discomfort, or he simply didn't have the energy to stand any longer, because he suddenly crouched down on his haunches, levelling their eyes as he placed his hands on the armrests of Narcissa's seat. It was the perfect illusion. He was holding her captive - his dominance reigned… except Lucius knew perfectly well that the smallest hint of resistance on Narcissa's part would free her instantly.
"Narcissa," he implored, his voice a very slightly gentler growl. "You must tell me."
She nodded silently, but hardly knew where to begin. She didn't know that much after all, and the little she had learnt was simply Draco's hearsay. Besides, she could hardly bring herself to look at Lucius, let alone speak, after the complete wrongness of her accusations against him.
"Draco sent this," Narcissa forced herself to whisper, pulling her son's crumpled letter from a pocket in her dress. Lucius snatched it away from her without comment. She watched his face as he scanned the note quickly. Anger was steadily returning the colour to his features, but there remained an underlying emptiness in Lucius' eyes that made Narcissa's heart ache. How she yearned to reach out to him and soothe away that deep-rooted pain.
"He saw them."
It was not so much a question as a statement. A chill skated down Narcissa's back at the deadened tones of Lucius' voice. She could only nod helplessly.
"They were close enough to… affect him."
"Yes," Narcissa choked.
Lucius stood, drawing himself up to his full height, shaking his head and muttering darkly under his breath as he did so. Narcissa followed instantly. She couldn't quite catch what he was saying; he had stopped looking at her, but she laid a hand on his arm before he could turn away completely. She needed to keep him close.
"But, at least he seems to have coped?" Narcissa offered gently. "At least he's all right. Draco has no memories that are bad enough to-" her voice gradually trailed off under the incredible harshness of Lucius' stare.
"You think that's any consolation?" he snarled, watching as his wife flinched. "Narcissa, those Dementors could have-"
"Don't!" she begged, eyes wide as her hands balled impotently against his chest. "Please, don't say it," she whispered hoarsely, splaying her fingers against the fabric of Lucius' shirt, seeking out the heat of his skin as she pressing herself against his body. Every point of contact seemed to ease a little warmth back into her chilled limbs.
She felt frozen from the inside out – a faint echo of the memory of Azkaban, but a memory that had to be a hundred times worse for Lucius. He had lived, for much longer than Narcissa cared to remember, with the threat of the Dementor's Kiss hanging over him. It had changed him. The prison had stripped Lucius back to the bone, gone was his roughish charm, quick smile and carefree laugh. When her husband was released he was sterner, colder, harder… but never had he been dearer to Narcissa… And so, to think that their son had been touched, however briefly, by a part of that dark, dangerous world was utterly unbearable.
"You're shaking," Lucius murmured. His voice was surprisingly soft, especially given the strength of his anger only a moment before. He was speaking just beside her ear, his breath whispering against her hair. Narcissa tensed, she hadn't even realised it herself, but pressed flush against Lucius' body her husband could feel every tiny tremble. His hands trailed over her back, moving in soothing circles as he tried to comfort her.
"He's only a child, Lucius," Narcissa whispered. "He should never have been exposed to those things," she hissed bitterly.
"No, he shouldn't have," Lucius growled in agreement, his eyes narrowing with a renewed surge of anger. "Wait here," he commanded gruffly, brushing his lips against the crown of her head. He pulled back, but then he seemed to hesitate.
Narcissa raised her eyes to his in question. "Lucius-"
"Write Draco a reply," he said quickly, not giving Narcissa a chance to respond before he dipped his head low and captured her mouth, unapologetically desperate as he sought to find relief in her touch.
Narcissa gave a small gasp of surprise, opening to her husband's raw exploration. Welcoming it, needing it, revelling in the intimacy of his embrace. She wanted to knot her fingers in his hair, lose herself in his heady, masculine scent, hold him close and keep him near to counteract the evils of that afternoon, but Lucius released her, far sooner than Narcissa would have wished.
"Wait here," he repeated his command breathlessly, taking a moment to compose himself before he forced himself to leave his wife's side.
Narcissa stared at the office door for quite a while after Lucius had left. She raised her fingers distractedly, tracing them slowly, pensively over her swollen lips. It was selfish perhaps, but she did feel a little better after sharing her burden. Still, it was deeply unsettling to see Lucius so very disturbed, she supposed it was her own fault, for allowing herself to become so dependent upon his strength. It wasn't that she thought fear a weakness precisely. It was simply that anything with the power to spook Lucius left her numb with dread.
If only she had been thinking clearly earlier that afternoon! Narcissa cursed herself in disgust. She would have known that her husband was innocent of the charges of which she had cruelly accused him. Lucius would never have been able to contain himself had he known that Draco was to be exposed the guards of Azkaban!
Feeling anxious and foolish, and quite ready to worry herself to death, Narcissa moved to settle herself in her husband's chair. Once seated, she rooted through the jumble of papers on his desk for a clean piece of parchment. Narcissa had no idea what she was going to write in reply to Draco, but any task seemed preferable to sitting and doing nothing while she waited for Lucius' return. She could guess where he had gone… but could not find it in herself to be angry with him for leaving her behind this time.
Narcissa found it under a stack of folders as she was clearing a space on the desktop - a little crimson memorandum from Minister Fudge that had been hidden away under a backlog of paperwork. It was sealed, but she didn't need to open it to hazard a guess as to what it contained. It simply had to be related to the Dementors stationing at Hogwarts.
Lucius had missed a fair amount of work recently - Narcissa was well aware of whose fault that was - and he had never been one to arrange things in any semblance of order. The memo could have been sitting unread for weeks, but Narcissa rather though that it had arrived sometime during her husband's absence from the Ministry.
She hesitated for an age, but finally Narcissa carefully placed the memo back where she had found it. No doubt Lucius would encounter it sooner or later, and heads were sure to roll when he did, but not today. She wouldn't inflict another blow.
Narcissa had only just finished perfecting the unique disarray of the desk when the office door was thrown open. It rattled dangerously in its frame when Lucius slammed it shut after stepping into the room.
"That was awfully quick," Narcissa sighed unhappily. The way Lucius was glowering made her wonder if silence would have been a safer tactic, but safe or not, she couldn't hold her tongue when he refused to speak. "Well?" she pressed.
"Fudge isn't around, but I did speak briefly with his Deputy Minister," Lucius divulged, his voice dripping with distain as he strolled over to the desk.
Narcissa nodded quickly, urging him to continue, and then, realising she was sitting in his chair immediately moved to stand, except Lucius held up a hand and motioned for her to stay seated.
"It's because of Black's escape," he spat. He walked across the room to stand beside Narcissa, and then leant back against the desk, enabling himself to look down at his wife's face. "They think he's after Potter." He watched as Narcissa's mouth formed a little 'O' of surprise as she absorbed this rather surprising news.
"But why would they think that?" she asked, staring up at Lucius as he shook his head irritably.
"Because of something he was rambling about in Azkaban, I'm told."
"But Lucius," Narcissa said slowly, after a small pause. She was frowning mildly and thinking things through as she spoke. "Sirius Black is no threat to the Potter's boy. Well, not unless Azkaban really has driven him mad, but-"
"Would you like to say that a little clearer, Narcissa?" Lucius interrupted sharply. "I'm sure the Ministry would be most interested in hearing exactly how it is that you know such a things."
Narcissa bowed her fair head, blushing furiously; she was usually perfectly cautious, perfectly clear-headed. It was improbable, but not wholly impossible, that Lucius' office was bugged, and she should really know better than to speak of such perilous subjects outside the safety of the Manor. It was just that it was so utterly terrible to think that Draco was being placed in such danger for no reason! And that she was absolutely powerless to do anything that might improve the situation… Powerless? Narcissa shifted guiltily. Perhaps that was not exactly the right word… she had a choice, she was just choosing self-preservation, wasn't she?
Narcissa stood up slowly, her hands were linked contritely in front of her body, and her head was still bowed, low and dejected.
"Well then, I take it there is little chance of Minister Fudge changing his mind, and removing the Dementors from Hogwarts before Sirius Black has been caught?" she asked softly, attempting to ignore her husband's previous, brusque, chastisement.
"No," Lucius snorted in disgust, utterly unused to finding himself foiled, and not coping too graciously with the change. He folded his arms angrily across his chest and glared at the floor. "He's even gone against Dumbledore to put them in place. He's being uncharacteristically determined. I don't imagine he'll change his mind."
"I see," Narcissa nodded, not because she did exactly - for surely Fudge could be worked upon, all men could be worked upon - but because she felt the need to say something to fend off silence. "Why do you think that is?" she mused aloud. "Because it's Master Potter?"
"Does it matter?" Lucius snapped. He was angry, and growing angrier with himself for taking it out on Narcissa. She lifted her head to stare at him, her eyes steady, reproachful and so unbearably sad that Lucius automatically reached out a hand to draw her near, but he cleared his throat and made a pretence of brushing away a smudge of soot that was still sitting on her cheek when those same sad eyes of hers widened in surprise.
"I should go," Narcissa murmured, moving away. "It looks like you have a lot to get through." She nodded towards the pile of papers that were stacked high on the desk. "And I need some time to… to get used to this," she muttered, shaking her fair head miserably. "I'll write to Draco from home."
Lucius nodded silently, his eyes following his wife closely as she walked towards his office door. She looked terribly weighed down again. It had been so encouraging to see Narcissa's spirits lift over the past few days, even if Lucius had been at a loss to understand precisely why she had been in such a good humour. He hadn't questioned it; given the reaction that he had been expecting from Narcissa after returning from his mother-in-law's funeral, he was more than willing to let sleeping dogs lie. Still, now he wanted to say something, to offer her some comfort, but hollow words of hope had never been suited to them, and so he simply watched, still silent, as Narcissa pulled open the door.
She looked over her shoulder at the last possible second. Their eyes locked. There was such a wealth of shared experience in the glance that passed between them that, for once, words actually were unnecessary.
Lucius slumped heavily in his chair as soon as the door closed behind Narcissa. It was happening again. After he had promised himself that he would never again sit in ignorance while someone dear to him was in danger!
OOoo..ooOO
Lucius sat and waited. He was early. But it was always better to err on the side of caution when dealing with the Dark Lord. He looked down at the black summons in his hand and tried to concentrate, tried to recapture the clinical, detached edge that had served him so well in past… in the tranquil days before Narcissa.
Lucius had attempted to exorcise her from his thoughts, but she haunted him mercilessly. He heard her voice, pictured her face and craved her touch. The scent of her perfume seemed to linger in every room of the Manor – in rooms she had never even entered! He thought savagely. She was everywhere and nowhere, and Lucius was in agony.
It had been exactly three days since he had discovered her gone, but Lucius refused to yield. He wasn't going to go after Narcissa. He was going to chase her back to Cotehele and demand the answers that she clearly didn't want to give. He had quickly decided that not being beside her when she woke had something to do with her disappearance, but not to wait? Not to come and find him? To scurry away as if she was ashamed of their night together… as if she regretted it! Lucius locked his jaw. Surely she had felt what he had? He could not believe that he was suffering this freefall alone. He would not believe it.
And yet, did he have any choice? He had heard nothing from Narcissa since she had vanished like a thief in the night. He did not want to imagine what she might have stolen...
"You seem to be making a habit of this, Malfoy. I had no idea you were so punctual. I thought your kind was all for fashionable lateness and the like?"
Lucius lifted his head to look up at the man standing beside him. His composed appearance did not belie his racing mind. Snape? He had thought that Karkaroff's other summons was for Lestrange? Rodolphus was clearly out of favour after the fiasco in London if the younger wizard had been sent for in his stead. It was a dangerous position for Lestrange to find himself, Lucius reflected grimly.
No longer content to remain seated while Snape insisted on standing, Lucius got to his feet and gazed absently around platform 3¼. There were no other passengers - there wasn't even a guard on duty. That was hardly surprising, given that the line technically shouldn't have existed. It had fallen into virtual disuse during the 1930s, and been closed entirely sometime in the late 1960s. Voldemort had taken it upon himself to order its restoration.
The Dark Lord liked to conduct the most secret of his meetings from the safety of a moving train. It was more difficult to track, to bug, to attack. The amount of magic that had gone into concealing the railway from Muggle and Wizard eyes was excessive, but it did mean that the line was one of the most impenetrable areas in Britain.
"She's all right, isn't she?" Snape murmured suddenly, staring hard at his feet. Lucius turned his head slowly, eyes narrowed.
"Who?"
But of course, he knew 'who'. How many women had Snape left to die recently?
"Narcissa. Karkaroff said she was with you."
"She was," Lucius replied, tone clipped as he fought to reveal nothing while remembering everything.
"And still is?" Snape pressed. "She's not at Cotehele."
"What?" Lucius' head snapped to the side, all of his feigned composure forgotten. "What do you mean she's not at Cotehele?" he demanded roughly.
Snape frowned, and scratched his greasy hair. He looked puzzled, but he never had a chance to formulate a reply to Lucius' question. An impressive black steam train rolled silently into the station at just that moment. Both men stiffened, watching with keen eyes as the great engine slowed to a complete stop. It was only coupled to three carriages – the Dark Lord's private quarters, the public area he used for his meetings, and a cordoned off, windowless coach that Lord Voldemort alone entered willingly...
It was the doors of the middle carriage that opened out onto the platform, and those doors that Lucius and Snape approached. They were stopped on entry by two huge, cloaked figures that snatched their summons from their hands and then hauled them inside the train.
Lucius could already feel the tension in his body increasing, his lip curling and pride revolting at this treatment. He tried to stop it, or at the very least, to control it, but his mind was not nearly as focused as it needed to be. It was still dwelling too intently on the face of a pretty blonde, struggling to rationalise her disappearance.
"Lucius. Severus." A voice whispered from the other end of the coach, curling itself around the names like a hissing snake. "My loyal followers. My competent followers."
The two men bowed low, waiting to be beckoned forward before they dared move any further into the dimly lit carriage. They were left standing only a moment, however, before a shadowy arm waved them closer. A jewelled ring flashed like a cat's eye in the dark.
"My Lord."
Lucius and Severus spoke in unison, and sat on hard, low chairs only when it was indicated that they were allowed to do so. Lord Voldemort sat across the table from them. Swathed in a heavy black cloak, its hood raised, his form was almost indiscernible. Lucius didn't know how much longer he could bear to sit in silence. The coach was hot, dark, and filled with a sickly, heavy scent that blurred the mind.
"You know why you are here?"
"No, my Lord," Snape said quickly.
"Because you wished it, my Lord," Lucius amended softly.
"Ah, Lucius, never without an answer, never lost for words." There was a flash of red beneath the hood. "That silver tongue of yours may land you in trouble yet. Do not think I will suffer sycophants." Lucius strove not to flinch as the voice of his master echoed inside his head. He fought to stay calm, to keep his mind blank, not to fight back. "You are correct though." Lucius almost slumped in his seat as Voldemort left his mind and continued speaking aloud. "I wished it, and here you are, ready to hear your next orders. After the disappointment of London I have selected the two of you most particularly." The words were snarled so viciously; it hardly seemed possible that a human mouth had formed them.
"We are honoured, my Lord," Snape bowed so low his head almost brushed the tabletop. Lucius' lip curled. If Snape didn't get reprimanded for that after he had been-
"We make allowances for youth, Lucius."
-Lucius sucked in his breath and mentally rebuked himself. He had to stay focused!
"I am confident that Rodolphus will find a way to make amends. Once I have had a few words with him." Lucius could feel Snape's eyes shift. He too was wondering if those 'words' would include spells, curses, hexes… "He has such exceptional potential. If only he could keep his head," Voldemort reflected clinically, "but that will come in time."
Lucius privately doubted that this was true. He had known Lestrange for far too long to believe that he would ever change, but he didn't dare to voice this opinion. In fact he wisely stamped out the thought as soon as he was aware of it forming.
"It is a shame about Miss Varvara though, such a shame," the Dark Lord purred. Lucius stopped breathing. "I had wanted to ask her myself, test her myself - such a pity I won't be able to. She was not wholly lacking in potential either."
"My Lord?" Lucius choked. Voldemort did not permit questions, Lucius knew this, but he still couldn't stop the words falling from his lips. A sneering, smirking laugh emanated from beneath the hood.
"I'm digressing aren't I? You must eager to hear why you are here. That is what's concerning you, isn't it, Mr Malfoy?"
"Of course, my Lord," Lucius breathed quickly.
"You lie." Lucius could feel the sweat beading on his brow, as pain seared through his skull, joining the voice inside his head. "Good," the Dark Lord purred the contradiction aloud. "And so you should be; this is a rather special assignment, requiring intelligence and cunning, and the utmost loyalty to me. There is a jewel, a priceless gem, with exceptionally qualities. It is sitting right under our noses, gentlemen. I want it. And one of you two is going to acquire it for me."
Despite everything, Lucius felt his curiosity stir. An assignment would at least keep his mind occupied… keep his mind from dwelling on her.
"As always, success will be rewarded, failure punished," the Dark Lord whispered, relishing the hiss of the last word, lengthening it grotesquely.
"Where is it kept, this jewel? Gringotts?" Lucius asked, almost satisfied with the almost even tone of his voice. His sharp mind was already racing; Gringotts would be hard to infiltrate, maybe impossible? He would need to get the key first - he would need to know who had the key. Lucius opened his mouth to speak, but the Dark Lord already knew his question.
"It is stored in a vault, under an account that was created in the name of a girl called Elaine Poldark."
"Poldark?" Lucius repeated slowly. He was sure he knew the name. Weren't the Poldarks fairly well to do? Friends of his late mother perhaps? And hadn't he been to school with a couple of their boys? One in Slytherin, but not his year, the other in Ravenclaw?
"Not the Cornish Poldarks?" Snape asked hesitantly.
"Why yes Severus, the Cornish Poldarks." Voldemort sounded as though he was smirking beneath his hood. "A very esteemed Pureblood family. Quite promising in fact."
Lucius could feel the icy trickle of foreboding running down his neck. "You said there was a girl call Elaine-"
"I said she was a girl when her account was created."
"You mean Elaine Varvara don't you?" Snape murmured.
"You mean Narcissa's mother?" Lucius breathed at exactly the same moment.
"I mean the le Fay jewel gentleman, who owns it is irrelevant to me."
..ooOOoo..
It wasn't irrelevant. It was a test. And Lucius didn't want to contemplate the consequences of failure. Four days after the meeting ended the assignment was still weighing heavily on his mind. He had barely eaten. He couldn't sleep. He was still trying to accustom himself with what he was meant to do. Taking this jewel from Elaine wasn't the same as taking it from Narcissa, was it? Besides, it wasn't as if he owed Narcissa anything! Lucius argued savagely. She had left him, and ignored him. Did she honestly think she would escape unscathed? Perhaps this would make a fitting punishment? Perhaps this would prove he could forget?
On the morning of the fifth day after his meeting with the Dark Lord, the morning one week after his night with Narcissa, Lucius was standing with Rodolphus Lestrange in Gringrotts, drumming his fingers irritably on a counter in the bank.
Lestrange raised an exasperated eyebrow at his former friend. They were only in the same room under duress. The Dark Lord's trust was not easily regained. Lucius had been sent along to supervise the other Death Eater even though the business at hand was extremely simple. A cash withdrawal, albeit rather large, to fund one of Lord Voldemort's many projects. Lucius was using the outing as an opportunity to assess the bank. If he couldn't obtain the key to Mrs Varvara's vault he would have to find another way to reach the jewel. Failing to acquire the gem was not an option.
"What in Lucifer's name is the matter, Malfoy?" Rodolphus demanded when he could endure the incessant tapping no longer.
"Nothing," came the gruff, growling reply.
Rodolphus had known Lucius for far too long not to know how unwise it was to press his blond companion when Malfoy's humour was this black, but he was reluctant to let the matter pass. He had problems of his own - two recently broken kneecaps and an irate fiancée to name but a few - but he wasn't making everyone else's life a living hell because of them! He hadn't heard Lucius utter a civil word for a whole week.
"Look, if you're this upset about Isabelle-"
"I am not upset about Isabelle!" Lucius snarled the interruption. Lestrange held up his hands disarmingly, winced and wobbled precariously on his crutches, as a goblin scurried over to finish dealing with them.
Lucius took a deep breath, listening with only one ear as Rodolphus dealt with the matter. Isabelle had never held this kind of power over him. He had been able to compartmentalise her, whereas Narcissa… Narcissa would touch every area of his life if he let her. There would be no neat lines, no tidy boxes. He knew instinctively that his life would become completely intertwined with hers… and that was dangerous.
In the past Lucius had always shied away from 'real' relationships and genuine attachments. He was solitary. He was content. He had never meant to let anyone in. He had witnessed the handicaps that came hand in hand with sharing a genuine bond with one's partner. His parents had been in love, a strange, perverse, tainted love, but love of a sort… and it had ruined them. Lucius was not even willing to contemplate such a weakness. He knew that he would never let himself fall in love, but even caring slightly for someone was proving to be a risk.
Lucius sighed heavily, oblivious to Lestrange's irritated glare. He had tried to deny it. He had only ever meant for things to last one night… but it was no good. His body yearned for Narcissa, craved her like a drug, and while he could excuse his lust as a passing phase Lucius could not deny that he would settle for just seeing her, speaking to her, spending a few precious moments in her company. Simply knowing for certain that she was safe…
He had written to her. After his meeting with Lord Voldemort. Lucius had penned a simple, elegant, surprising honest letter, enquiring why she had run… and how he might follow. He hadn't received a reply. Wherever she had run – because she wasn't at Cotehele if Snape could be believed – the owl would have found her. It had been nearly a week and he still hadn't received a reply! Lucius had almost reached the point of demeaning himself utterly and storming her house. He released his breath in an aggravated hiss and attempted to lock Miss Varvara away in the very back most recesses of his mind… but then he heard her name.
"-Narcissa Varvara? Are you sure?"
Lucius froze. Two elderly looking witches were pouring over their pension books to the side of the front desk, and talking rather loudly. Lucius physically gripped the side of the counter to stop himself from marching straight over to them and demanding that they tell him anything that they might know about Narcissa. He contented himself for the time being with straining to make out their words.
"Quite sure. I don't think she's regained consciousness once."
Lucius felt his heart slow to a near fatal stop.
"But- but how?" stammered the other witch, looking quite gleefully macabre.
"Well, I spoke Mrs Bulstrode, who heard it from Mrs Parkinson, who spoke to Elaine Varvara herself, and she said that the girl fell down the stairs. However," she paused dramatically, leaving both Lucius and the elderly witch on tender hooks, "my daughter-in-law works at St Mungo's," her voice dropped so low Lucius could hardly hear what was being said, "and she told me that Miss Varvara's injuries were more conducive with being hurled down a few of flights of stairs than simply tripping and falling."
"He couldn't have," Lucius breathed. "He wouldn't…"
Rodolphus turned to stare at Malfoy, clearly looking as though he feared for his comrade's sanity, but Lucius was already striding towards the two witches, past the point of caring how ridiculous he was about to look.
"Excuse me, ladies," he drawled, as calmly as he could manage, but Lucius could hear the slip in his usually perfect enunciation. The two women blinked up at him, rather flustered. "Forgive me, I could not help overhearing you mention Miss Narcissa Varvara. She is-" Lucius paused momentarily, "a very dear friend of mine. I was wondering if you might be able to tell me how she is?"
The witch with the daughter-in-law at St Mungo's looked highly suspicious. "If she was such a dear friend I would have thought you'd have known. She's in hospital. Coma. Her chances of recovery aren't looking too bright," she finished cheerfully.
Lucius was practically running across the foyer of Gringotts bank before the last word had finished falling from the witch's lips. He heard, and ignored, Rodolphus's shout to stop, and was out in the fresh air, wand drawn, preparing to apparate in a matter of seconds.
He hadn't made one conscious decision since hearing Narcissa's name. He simply knew he had to reach her - it was not simply desirable, it was not even optional, it was an absolute necessity.
OOoo..ooOO
Lucius leant back in his chair and stared blindly around his office. He'd wasted a whole week. One hundred and sixty-eight hours had passed, and he hadn't known that Narcissa was lying in St Mungos fighting for her life, and all because he had been too proud, too self-righteous to go after her… She could have died. He could have lost her. Even now, years later, the thought still made his blood run cold.
Now the same thing had happened with Draco. His son might have been snatched away. Lucius held no delusions. He knew he was no model father - his actions from the previous year went to prove that, but he had always, always sought to protect Draco. It was Narcissa who had insisted on having him schooled at Hogwarts, who had flatly refused to have their son attend a school run by Igor Karkaroff, but he had capitulated, rather too willingly probably.
He had known the hidden argument behind Narcissa's words, though she had never stated it openly. Don't send our baby so far away. Lucius had known, because he had shared the same misgivings, however hard he had tried to quash them. No matter how firmly he had tried to tell himself that it would be best to keep Draco out of Hogwarts and away from Albus Dumbledore, he had never been able to forget that the further Draco was from Dumbledore the further he was from home.
Lucius had given in to Narcissa's demands, on the grounds that it would be shame to ruin the family Slytherin tradition. He had never dared ask if she was fooled.
There was a soft rap on his door, followed by a clear: "Mr Malfoy?"
"Come in, Mrs Lovell," Lucius sighed.
His secretary bustled into the room, wearing brown tweed, smelling of peppermint, and carrying a stack of papers that needed to be signed. She had always reminded Lucius of some sort of terrier: small and stocky and never still, forever flapping about something, but she was good at her job and usually knew when to stay out of his way.
"The Japanese delegate called by international floo while Mrs Malfoy was here, sir," Mrs Lovell informed him, rearranging a chair so that it stood at right angles to the desk on her way across the office. "He wanted to reschedule his meeting with you."
"And you told him?"
"That you don't reschedule meetings, Mr Malfoy," she said instantly, but Lucius then watched her waver a fraction. "Although, I did wonder, if you might make an exception in this case, sir?" she added timidly, handing him a few of the forms to sign.
"And why-" began Lucius coldly, trying to drag his mind back to work as he endorsed each document with his signature "-would I want to do that?" he finished.
"I believe Mr Awata's wife is due to give birth any day now, sir," Mrs Lovell pointed out, as bravely as she dared. She harboured a secret suspicion that her employer was not quite the man he was painted, although, even after tens years of working for him, she had scant evidence to support her theory. "I know when my daughters-"
"I shan't be keeping him long," Lucius smiled icily, doing absolutely nothing to discredit his callous reputation. "Send Mrs Awata a bouquet if you must," he smirked, "but tell Mr Awata I will being expecting him at ten precisely."
"Yes, Mr Malfoy." Mrs Lovell nodded before she turned to go, and then stopped suddenly. Lucius raised a disparaging eyebrow as she began sifting through the papers for something. "I almost forgot," she bustled, "a letter just arrived by owl, sir, only I think it's been misdirected. I didn't want to bother you with it but-" She found the letter in question, squinted at the address, and then handed it over to Lucius when he extended his hand to take it from her and look himself.
He turned it upside down, and then back around again. The inscription might have said Malfoy. Lucius frowned irritably, but it might very well have said Morag, Mallory or Manderley for its legibility. He flipped it over to see if the wax seal gave a better clue. Nash and Co Solicitors. His eyes narrowed. He wondered… he slid his finger between the fold and broke the seal.
Nash & Co Solicitors
Beaumont House
Plymouth
1st September 1993
Dear Mrs Malfoy,
In response to your query…
Lucius tore his eyes away from his wife's letter. Of course… he had almost forgotten that Elaine's will had yet to be read. The jewel was still waiting to be claimed.
The Dark Lord's words came back to tempt Lucius. From what he had been told, Lucius knew that the jewel was used first in the seduction of Igraine, and then later taken by Morgan from the hilt of Excalibur. In essence it was rumoured to share the qualities of the polyjuice potion – except in one important regard; while the potion would allow the drink to assume the physical form of another, the jewel would allow the wearer to become another, every memory would be unlocked, every secret revealed. It would be, to all extents and purposes, impossible to detect the impostor.
A truly frightening concept - and one that was finally about to fall into the hands of the Malfoy family.
To be continued…
Thanks
Sadly, given the pressure that I've been under to complete this chapter, I haven't been able to comply the individual list of thank yous that I normally like to compile. (I'll go back to including one at the end of each chapter from the next chapter onwards if you would all like that though?) All the same, I still wanted to say an absolutely huge thank you to everyone who took the time to critique the story and offer comments and suggestions! :cD It never ceases to amaze me how astonishingly well received TL has been, it's gone down so much better than I ever could have dreamed. Also, thank you for your patience and understanding that my real life schedule makes it nearly impossible to publish chapters less than a month or two apart. When I began the story, I was on my gap year and had much more time to dedicate to writing. Currently my university and social obligations prevent faster updates without compromising the quality of the story. Nevertheless, I remain committed to finishing – it may just take a while. You have no idea how very much your support mean to me! Thanks again! Cat