| I haven't forgotten this fic! |
[Sep. 8th, 2007|12:03 am] |
The whole thing has been safely in my head from the moment I started writing.
....and very strangely, the act of writing it down seemingly set into motion some very dynamic energies in my personal life. I live a whole new beautiful life now, and much of my time is currently taken up by my precious new baby as well as my two older kids. For me, this story turned out to be nothing less than an unconscious work of magic.
It's so great to think that this story has touched even one person out there, and I fully intend to transcribe the rest of this. Someday soon, hopefully. Be patient with me, please! :) |
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| Love's Willing Prey - Despair |
[Jun. 21st, 2006|03:08 pm] |
| [ | Music |
| | HIM - Deep Shadows & Brilliant Highlights | ] |
Chapter One--Despair
Narcissa Malfoy sat staring out blankly at the grey September sky. Her pale blue eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed from crying, and her body seemed anchored to the crushed velvet armchair she was sitting in, a relic of happier times. Far from the picture of beauty that she once was, Narcissa’s long blonde hair now hung limply at the sides of her face, and her porcelain skin had taken on the pinched, peaky look of illness. Narcissa knew she was letting herself go, but in light of recent events, nothing mattered to her anymore.
As a mournful rain pattered the thick glass windowpanes like heavenly tears, it vaguely registered with Narcissa that she felt almost too miserable to cry. She took another unsteady gulp of her Firewhiskey.
Narcissa’s precariously crafted affluent lifestyle had slowly begun to crumble around her since Lucius’ arrest last year. As if enduring the humiliation of her husband’s imprisonment in Azkaban wasn’t difficult enough already, she was now suffering from the greatest loss a mother could ever sustain. In ruthless vengeance, the Dark Lord had given Draco an impossible task, and then murdered him in cold blood for not completing it. Her son’s beautiful face was a near-constant companion these days, if only in her thoughts.
Narcissa shifted her unseeing gaze from the intensifying rainfall outside to her resplendent yet disorganized surroundings, looking for something. Malfoy Manor had always been meticulously well-kept, but when Lucius was sent to prison, they were forced to release their new house-elf to the Ministry of Magic, “for questioning”. Of course, Lucius had forbidden the elf to divulge a whit of compelling information to those Muggle-loving fools. Narcissa lamented no longer having continual household help. Thus, the manor was gradually falling into disrepute, this time even worse than it had five years ago when that meddlesome Harry Potter had lost them their original house elf.
Most of Narcissa’s time was spent languishing in the master bedroom these days, so unsurprisingly it looked the worst. A hand-embroidered, green and black silk bedspread, under which she and Lucius had spent many memorable nights together, was now rumpled carelessly around the bottom bedposts. The crystal chandeliers that used to lend such delicate ambiance to the room hadn’t been lit in months. The polished grey marble floor was currently littered with empty Firewhiskey bottles, discarded clothes and old Daily Prophets.
Narcissa barely had the resolve to read through any of the slanted Prophet articles, but she scanned them daily to see if there was anything printed about those she cared about. If the Aurors were to capture Bellatrix Lestrange, for instance, that would surely be headline news; however, thus far it seemed that her sister was safe and in hiding. After Albus Dumbledore’s murder, Narcissa was sure that it would be a mere matter of time before they would announce Severus Snape as the killer with a one hundred thousand Galleon price tag on his head, but apparently Severus was one step ahead of them somehow. It was reported that Dumbledore’s death was not a murder after all, but the details were being kept quiet “as a matter of security”. Narcissa couldn’t imagine what that meant, but she was very glad that Severus had managed to avoid Azkaban.
Narcissa’s somber thoughts ground to a halt as she finally noticed what she had been looking for: a smallish, dragon-skin bound photograph album, haphazardly lying open in a dusty corner. With a shudder and a sigh, Narcissa then recalled that the album was lying there because she had hurled it across the room in a sullen fit. The sight of Draco’s smiling face in the photographs simply overwhelmed her with grief. That particular surge of emotion had occurred several days ago, while Narcissa was recovering from a particularly bad hangover. She had long since realized that her least stable moments came when she was sober. Firewhiskey seemed to be her closest companion these days.
Rising heavily from the velvet armchair, Narcissa crossed the room and retrieved the album from the corner with trembling hands. She felt sick, vulnerable, and helpless at the sight of her precious son again; however, these were feelings unbecoming of a Malfoy. Draco looked so innocent in the photos, blissfully unaware of the fate that was to befall him so early in life. Barely-constrained tears threatened to slide down Narcissa’s porcelain cheeks as the harsh reality came down on her yet again: Draco was dead. She would never again see the spark of mischief in his eye as he smiled, never smell the sweetness of his skin as she hugged him, never hear his delicate drawling voice echo through the manor halls. Her precious son had become just another casual victim of the Dark Lord’s war. Narcissa doubted the Ministry even knew he was missing, but then she reminded herself disgustedly that the Ministry seemed to care more for house-elf rights than the son of a hateful Death Eater.
As she lingered on photo after photo of Draco, full of happiness and ambition, Narcissa let out a dry sob. She recalled how Draco hadn’t objected in the least when he was assigned the task and then branded with the Dark Mark only last year; he had been eager to prove himself and supremely unconcerned with the possibility of failure.
The naive reaction of youth, Narcissa thought dully.
The other Death Eaters, including her sister Bellatrix, were more than willing to accept the Dark Lord’s justification for Draco’s execution. After all, Draco had not succeeded in killing Dumbledore. In the face of young master Malfoy’s failure, Dumbledore’s successful murder was apparently irrelevant to them.
“If you want to place blame on anyone, blame Snape for his interference!” Bellatrix had retorted indignantly when Narcissa had been in agony over the Dark Lord‘s decision to murder Draco.
Narcissa knew that her sister had never liked Severus, but it was he alone who had done his best to protect Draco right up until the end. The Malfoys were expected to stand by, powerless, as the Dark Lord exacted his revenge. It seemed that all these years of Lucius’ fierce and unwavering loyalty meant very little to the Dark Lord. Even in hindsight, Narcissa did not regret asking Severus to protect Draco. Narcissa knew that treachery against the Dark Lord would be punishable by death, but her only son was worth the risk a thousand times over. Regardless of whatever Narcissa was supposed to think as the wife of a loyal Death Eater, she could not deny that her only son was infinitely more precious to her than pure-blood ideals and superficial allegiances.
Bellatrix, on the other hand, had actually claimed that she was sorry she didn’t have any sons to sacrifice for the Dark Lord. Narcissa suspected that her husband held similarly morbid views on the matter, and she was positive that if Lucius knew what she had done in making the Unbreakable Vow, he would be appalled and ashamed of her. Lucius Malfoy had always appeared indifferent and cold toward their son.
Over the course of several short months, Narcissa’s family had been torn apart and her reputation, as an upstanding member of the Wizarding community, shattered. She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed heavily; despair and disgrace had abruptly preempted the boundless future Narcissa had always imagined for herself and her family.
As her attention turned longingly to her bottle of liquor, Narcissa realized that she had drained it at least an hour ago. She grabbed her wand clumsily off the end table and pointed it in the general direction of the once plenteous bar.
"Accio Firewhiskey," said Narcissa hoarsely, but a few seconds passed and none came.
“Accio Firewhiskey!” she said again, wishing more than ever that she still had a house-elf around.
Narcissa looked at her wand with annoyance, then let out a frustrated growl as she realized why the charm wasn’t working: Malfoy Manor must have finally run out of her emotion-numbing beverage of choice.
She heaved herself unsteadily from the armchair again, and went over to her wardrobe to get dressed. Being alone here with all these painful memories did nothing to improve her mood anyway, and Narcissa reasoned that restocking her bar was as good a reason as any to go out. Hoping wearily that this would be a quick and uneventful trip, Narcissa grabbed her wand and headed down the Manor stairs, ready to Apparate to Hogsmeade.
A/N: Many thanks to Ravensgryff from MuggleNet, and Sara B from Leaky--my two awesome betas and good friends. |
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| Love's Willing Prey - The Hog's Head |
[Jun. 20th, 2006|04:20 pm] |
Chapter Two--The Hog's Head
Even though Hogsmeade was a fair distance away from the Wiltshire Manor, Narcissa didn’t expect the weather to be much different. Septembers were always rainy and chill here, tonight perhaps more so. Narcissa pulled her traveling cloak tighter around her as she took in the quaint surroundings and then started up the dark, deserted cobblestone street, towards the Hog’s Head pub.
Narcissa noticed that many of the once-cheery shops were now boarded up, and huge WANTED posters had been hung in the blank windows. She was unsurprised to see her sister Bellatrix glowering down at her; there were also some faces she vaguely recognized on a poster proclaiming "Death Eaters Still At Large". Narcissa smirked humorlessly to herself--she probably recognized them because they'd been to the Manor for dinner at Lucius’ invitation. Lucius never explicitly told his wife anything about his duties to the Dark Lord, as it wasn‘t her place to know. She had often wondered which of Lucius’ friends were also Death Eaters while mingling at the frequent social events they had attended together.
As Narcissa approached the stone steps leading into the Hog’s Head, she thought she noticed a dark figure moving down by the stile at the end of the road. On second glance, however, it had vanished, and Narcissa stepped inside thinking she must have imagined it.
The Hog’s Head had never been a cheery place, but Narcissa noticed instantly how markedly different it was from the last time she had been here. As she made her way towards the bar, she noticed that all but one of the pub’s grimy windows had been boarded up. The rough wood-and-stone walls now held Ministry-issued posters of known Death Eaters, guidelines explaining safe traveling procedure, and how to recognize a victim of the Imperius curse. There were a few cloaked and hooded figures seated at tables nearby; their eyes all turned shamelessly to appraise the new arrival amongst them. Indignant fury lashed Narcissa’s insides, but she simply averted her gaze. Probably Mudblood scum, the lot of them, Narcissa thought disgustedly. At one time they would have been keen to pay a Malfoy some respect, but now they sit there, bold as brass, as if they’re....better than I.
Narcissa then realized that the barkeep had edged out of the back room and was looking expectantly at her over the top of his rather smudged glasses. He had a generous amount of long greying hair and a mangy beard as well. The man reminded her of someone, but at the moment she couldn’t think who.
“A bottle of firewhiskey, sir,”--she had difficulty keeping the contempt from her voice--“and have a case delivered to the Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire.” She spoke the last part in little more than a whisper, but her eyes flashed defiantly, almost daring the man to question her. The name Malfoy, instead of commanding respect and dignity, was now something of a stigma to bear for Narcissa, but she refused to allow people to take advantage of this. However, if the barkeep was surprised to register her name, it did not show. He waved his wand almost lazily as a dusty glass and large corked bottle of firewhiskey appeared before Narcissa. The barkeep silently gestured toward the bottle with his wand.
“Please,” Narcissa said curtly as she sank down onto a barstool, displaying a measure of grace that belied her current state of existence. She then noticed that the barkeep had outstretched his hand and was looking at her expectantly, rather than opening the bottle straightaway. He had the audacity to demand payment first! Narcissa gave him a piercing, contemptuous look as she reached into her cloak - the barkeep’s eyes widened ever so slightly - and slammed two gold Galleons roughly onto the counter with a barely suppressed smirk. Did the fool think she was going to pull out her wand and curse him? The barkeep then sank into a half-bow and unsealed the bottle with a loud pop; Narcissa deeply inhaled the liquor’s sharp smell.
She had apparently made her feelings clear enough to the barkeep; he had sidled into the back room again without a word, leaving her gratefully alone. Narcissa took a disdainful glance at the grimy glass before taking a long draught directly from the long-necked bottle. She let her eyes close slightly as the chilled firewhiskey slid down her throat.
The other patrons had by now grown tired of staring, and the low din of conversation gradually came over the pub. As Narcissa took another much-needed drink, she noticed a rather plump woman sitting at a table positioned near the furthest end of the bar. She was a laughable sight, dressed in gaudy robes of many colors and her chest draped in dozens of fine strands of beads. There was a chipped crystal ball balanced on the table, a deck of Tarot cards, and a crudely hand-painted sign that read:
“FORTUNE TELLER: One Galleon Unveils Your Future!”
Narcissa wondered why they allowed such an obvious fraud to solicit here, but upon considering the barkeep, she decided that they were a well-matched pair. They were clearly two pathetic old fools that had never amounted to anything in life. Narcissa almost felt pity for them beneath her callous exterior.
As Narcissa downed her firewhiskey gratefully, she started to relax and let her mind wander. She was loath to imagine what Lucius would say about the way she had been treated by these Mudbloods. Before the Dark Lord’s return, Narcissa hardly had reason to dignify a place such as this with her refined presence, but now she was stared at like an outcast--or worse, a commoner. She seethed at the injustice of it.
Eventually, her thoughts turned once again to Draco, and Narcissa found herself wondering whether her son hadn't been treated with similar disrespect in his last year at Hogwarts. Lucius’ arrest was hardly kept private--both the Prophet and the Ministry had gleefully sensationalized the whole embarrassing fiasco, and Draco had found their hateful assertions against his family particularly hard to bear. Hogwarts was apparently quite successful at spawning blood traitors, thanks in part to the attitude of their late headmaster. Lucius had always maintained that Dumbledore had never been any good for that school... Albus Dumbledore, that champion of Mudbloods...and the reason my son is dead, Narcissa thought bitterly.
She felt her emotions running high again and hastily gulped more of her drink. Narcissa Malfoy was not going to allow herself to be seen crying by anyone, least of all the filth in this place. She debated silently as to whether she could make a graceful exit while the firewhiskey still had full effect... Suddenly, Narcissa felt a cold, thin-fingered hand close around her bare upper arm--her chest tightened convulsively with fear. However, before she could even turn around, she heard a deep voice that brought back old, buried memories.
“Straight from the bottle, Narcissa?”
She slammed down her firewhiskey in indignation as Severus Snape came round to face her, a slight smirk playing around his face.
“Severus! What are you doing here?!” Narcissa asked, an involuntary flush creeping up on her already-reddened cheeks as he smiled in greeting. “I...didn’t hear you come in,” she said quietly, her eyes darting toward the other patrons. They had taken to staring again, now that she had company.
“Prudence dictates that one should keep a low profile in troubled times,” Snape said dryly, leveling an annoyed glare at the batty old Fortune Teller.
"Anything for you sir?" the old barkeep interrupted, startling Narcissa slightly.
"Ah, a small scotch, Aberforth," Snape said almost amiably. The man produced another grimy glass from behind the counter, waved his wand, and filled it with scotch. He bowed as he took the several sickles that Snape had lain on the countertop.
"Aberforth, I couldn't help noticing your...new addition," Snape said to the barkeep, his eyes still fixed upon the fortune teller lady, his lip curling. "Whatever is she doing here, old man?"
The barkeep eyed the woman for a moment before he spoke. "Oh, she may well be of some use. One never knows what the future holds," he muttered evasively. The man gave a slight wink and retreated to the back room again, humming to himself.
"Well," Snape leaned in conspiratorially towards Narcissa, "whatever the future holds, I doubt very much that she could tell us." Snape raised one eyebrow derisively, and Narcissa allowed herself a small chuckle at the woman's expense.
"I didn't realize you were on such friendly terms with the barkeep, Severus," Narcissa commented wryly. "Do you come in here often?"
Snape sipped his scotch thoughtfully. "Aberforth is the brother of the late Hogwarts Headmaster. He is merely an acquaintance from my teaching work."
Narcissa nodded absently, becoming increasingly self-conscious as Snape’s eyes seemed to bore into her even more intently than those of the impudent pub patrons’.
“It’s a pleasant surprise to see you here, Narcissa.” Snape glanced rather pointedly at her large firewhiskey bottle and asked, “How have you been?”
Narcissa didn’t answer but looked away uncomfortably as she took another draught of her liquor. Apart from the obnoxious stares, meeting someone familiar was precisely the kind of situation she had been hoping to avoid tonight.
“Oh, I’ve been alright,” she said, somewhat unconvincingly, as she was resolutely peeling the label from her liquor bottle instead of meeting Snape’s eyes. Her arm still tingled where he had grabbed it by way of a greeting. She hadn't recalled his touch eliciting such a reaction the last time they met, although she had admittedly been overwhelmed with worry and fear that evening.
“I’ve been intending to stop by the Manor for some time,” Snape began tentatively.
Narcissa looked up at him, surprised.
“There is much to talk about, but this is hardly the place to do so,” he said quietly, “would you...be able to come with me?”
"Now?" Narcissa asked blankly.
She didn’t think there was much to talk about at all. After all, she was very grateful for Severus’ help last year, but in the end, it mattered very little. Draco was gone forever, Lucius was in prison indefinitely, and the Dark Lord couldn’t possibly care about her. At any rate, Narcissa wanted to be alone. She had no desire for anyone, even Snape, to try and heal her wounds--not now, when the pain was still so raw and fresh inside.
“Ah, Severus--thank you, that’s very nice--but I really was just about to head home.” Narcissa explained delicately; she didn’t want to snub him.
Snape frowned as he said, “I understand, Narcissa.”
Narcissa thought that those words should have angered her--how could anybody understand? However, she was strangely comforted by the feeling that Severus did understand.
He touched her arm lightly again, and Narcissa suppressed a shudder.
“In any case, please do consider stopping by my home sometime. What I have to discuss with you is...urgent.” He paused to look into her eyes, and Narcissa was stunned to find herself so easily transported back to her Hogwarts days by the strange glitter of his piercing gaze.
“Please grant me the honour of your presence...tomorrow, perhaps?” He got up swiftly from the barstool, suddenly took up her free hand and pressed his lips gently to it.
Narcissa felt oddly detached from reality as she pondered the feeling his touch brought on. She hoped her undignified reaction didn’t register on her face.
"Thank you Severus, I will,” Narcissa heard herself saying almost eagerly. Did I really just say that? It must be the firewhiskey...
Acutely aware of the onlookers’ gazes, Snape intoned formally, “You are always welcome, Mrs. Malfoy.” He inclined his head slightly in a bow, and swept out of the pub without a backward glance. |
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| Love's Willing Prey - A Dark Stranger |
[Jun. 19th, 2006|04:21 pm] |
| [ | Music |
| | HIM - Love Metal | ] |
Chapter Three--A Dark Stranger
Narcissa hurried home last night, eager to sleep and put the taxing experience at the pub behind her. Severus’ sudden arrival - and request - had been particularly unexpected. Now that it was morning and Narcissa had a massive headache, rather than a bottle in her hand, she was fairly sure that she didn’t want to visit Severus today after all. As she tried to sit up, the heavy pounding feeling in her head became more pronounced--the familiar symptoms of hangover.
She shut her eyes tightly against the irksome sunlight, trying to remember her dreams. Usually Narcissa had not so much dreams as nightmares, but she could hardly remember them by morning. Today, however, she had a lingering feeling that her dreams had been uncommonly pleasant. She buried her head under the blankets and tried to go back to sleep, but it was no good. As idle thoughts tumbled over each other in her aggrieved mind, Narcissa found herself thinking of Severus.
He had always been difficult to understand, and Narcissa's feelings toward him persistently defied logic or reason. If she was honest with herself, she had been startled at the unfamiliar emotions that were stirred by his presence last night. She hadn’t been that close to Severus in a very long time.
Narcissa was in her sixth year at Hogwarts when she first noticed Severus--a thin, dark-haired fifth year who hung around her cousin Regulus, and barely ever took his nose out of his books except to stare at her. Narcissa had enjoyed the attention, and almost unconsciously, began to act differently whenever he was around. She would linger in the library to watch him; she would meet his stares whenever she thought no one was looking, and then smirk to herself when he’d hurriedly look away.
Narcissa found herself thinking of the Yuletide Celebration at Hogwarts that year, where she first met a dark stranger. She tucked her throbbing head under the covers to block out the light, and her thoughts merged almost imperceptibly back into sleep...
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Narcissa recalled the evening’s dull prospect of dancing and a banquet; these formalities had never been overly important or enjoyable to her. She was sitting disinterestedly on the sidelines when her date came over to her, with two of her friends and her sister Bellatrix in tow.
“Hello, Rodolphus,” Narcissa said, somewhat irritably.
“See?” Rodolphus said teasingly. “She’s already cross with me, aren't you, Narcissa?”
Narcissa looked up to smile at him, but before she could protest, her sister interrupted.
“Of course she’s not cross! You’re not upset at all, are you, Cissy?” Bellatrix asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Nah, she just doesn’t care for dancing much.” She nodded to Rodolphus. “You won’t mind if I steal him from you, right?” Bellatrix smiled broadly, and Narcissa merely shrugged and tried not to look as disinterested as she felt.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Rodolphus asked, his eyes flickering back to Bellatrix.
“No, not at all. Really....go ahead.”
Truth be told, it was not so much dancing that Narcissa didn’t care for, but Rodolphus.
Bellatrix gave her a wink as she pulled her sister’s date onto the dance floor, both of them laughing and breathless with excitement. Narcissa watched them sulkily, and wondered why she found virtually every boy at Hogwarts to be unappealing. It wasn’t that she found them unattractive; Narcissa could have chosen anyone to go to the Yuletide Celebration with. Rodolphus Lestrange was indeed a catch, but when Narcissa really thought about it, she wondered whether Rodolphus wasn’t simply interested in her because of her noble family lineage. At any rate, he was undeniably having a good time out there with her sister...
Quite unexpectedly, she felt a long-fingered hand place itself on her bare shoulder--she drew breath sharply as a smooth, deep voice purred in her ear, “If you’re bored, you are welcome to meet me outside--I‘ll be waiting.”
No sooner had Narcissa caught her breath and turned around then the stranger was gone. She thought she caught a glimpse of a black cloak hem fluttering around the corner, but as she blinked even that disappeared. Narcissa looked around curiously, but no one else in the Great Hall seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. Her heart started pounding as she contemplated what to do.
Narcissa hadn't a clue who that could have been, and following a faceless stranger out into the evening solitude didn’t seem very prudent. The Wizarding world was at war, after all, and the students were constantly reminded that danger could be lurking anywhere. Her skin still tingled where the stranger’s cool fingers had rested only moments before. Narcissa reasoned that Hogwarts was quite safe from the war, and surely no harm could come from a brief walk in the moonlight. After a few seconds of deliberation, she quietly slipped out of the Great Hall and headed towards the weathered oak doors of Hogwarts castle, her cheeks flushed with anticipation.
She eased the door open just wide enough to slip out and looked around curiously, but the courtyard seemed deserted. Narcissa shivered as a cool breeze blew over the grounds. She began walking slowly down one of the many cobbled garden paths, and the cold night air began to make her skin prickle uncomfortably. She was starting to wonder whether someone hadn’t been simply playing a joke on her.
Narcissa suddenly heard his voice again, as she felt something deliciously warm and thick wrap around her.
“You shouldn’t come outside in this chill without a cloak.”
A thrill of foreboding came over her as she took in the stranger’s appearance for the first time--he was tall, dressed all in black with a heavy, hooded cloak. She could hardly discern his facial features in the dim moonlight, but he swiftly took her trembling hand in his and pressed it to his lips. In spite of wanting to be cautious, Narcissa found herself transported by his chivalry; she felt any fears she had been entertaining leave her.
“Thank you...” she murmured, as she clutched the cloak he had given her more tightly around her shoulders.
“Shall we walk?” asked the stranger, and proffered his arm, which Narcissa took tentatively.
“Ah, I’m Narcissa, by the way, Narcissa Black.”
“I know,” said the stranger simply, in that deep, slow voice. She watched as the slightest of smirks played around his mouth. “I’ve known who you are for some time,” the stranger continued, “and I couldn’t help noticing how utterly dejected you looked in there--lonely, almost.”
Narcissa was nearly mesmerized by his voice, but at this, she felt slightly offended.
“I wasn’t lonely. I--I had a date tonight....and...how do you know who I am?” she demanded haughtily.
Ignoring her query completely, he softly said, “Yes, but sometimes we feel most alone in the midst of our friends.”
She knew instinctively that he hadn’t meant any harm, but those words stung. Narcissa was momentarily silenced--it was almost as if he had read her mind. Narcissa was indeed popular, but she had never felt any deep connection with her so-called friends. Moreover, when he had come to fetch her from the Great Hall, hadn’t she just been thinking about how most of the boys at Hogwarts weren’t able to hold her interest? She did consider Rodolphus to be just a friend, but she didn’t recall telling anyone that, including Rodolphus.
Before she could think of anything to say, she realized that the stranger had stopped walking along the path curved away from the side of the castle, and was now leading her wordlessly through a slight break in the camellia bushes. Narcissa was surprised to find a small alcove beyond them that was almost completely obscured by an old arbor of Wisteria. The arbor was bare in this season, but it was so overgrown that even the moonlight had trouble penetrating the bare vines overhead. The heavy scent of the camellia blossoms perfumed the air here, giving this little hideaway an almost ethereal quality.
Narcissa realized that she could still hear the music playing in the Great Hall--
...with every step I take the less I know myself
every vow I break on my way towards your heart
countless times I've prayed for forgiveness
but gods just laugh at my face...
“So far as I know, only the fairies know of this place,” the stranger said quietly, watching Narcissa take in the hidden beauty around them, his eyes flashing from the shadows of his hood. “I found it in first year, but I hadn’t thought of a good use for it until tonight.” Narcissa looked back at the stranger, thoroughly impressed.
He offered an outstretched hand and inquired, “Would you care to dance?”
Narcissa took his hand delicately, as if she was a little girl pretending to be a princess again. He drew her closer and they began to dance slowly, gracefully, by the dappled light of the moon. She was surprised at his eagerness to dance (unlike most of the boys she knew), and was dually impressed with his skill.
...and this path remains
leading me into solitude's arms
I see through the darkness
my way back home
the journey seems endless
but I'll carry on...
Narcissa’s mind was buzzing with curiosity; this boy - no, this man - was unlike any of the others at Hogwarts. She rested her head on his shoulder, taking in the delicious musky scent that seemed to linger about him, and wondered who he could possibly be. He had said he knew her...and yet, Narcissa felt quite sure she didn’t know any boys at Hogwarts who would even notice that she was bored at a school celebration, much less go to such great lengths to rescue her away--or be able to dazzle her like this.
...amidst all the tears there's a smile
that all angels greet with an envious song
one look into stranger's eyes
and I know where I belong...
As the song came to an end, the couple seemed unwilling to stop dancing, although their movements had devolved to little more than a gentle, rhythmic sway. The stranger let go first, and immediately sank into a bow before her.
“Thank you for the dance,” he purred, and Narcissa merely nodded in agreement. He motioned towards a roughly carved stone bench at the far end of the alcove that she had not noticed before.
The chill in the night air was increasing now. Narcissa noticed thin silvery clouds pass over the waxing moon; she shivered as she leaned into the dark stranger, seeking warmth. He held out his hand as if to say “after you,” and Narcissa sat down, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Normally she had no trouble talking to anyone; why was she having such trouble finding her voice now?
The stranger made to pull her cloak tighter, but then he shifted closer and slid his arm around her waist. Naricssa felt a shiver run through her that had nothing to do with the night air.
This had gone on long enough--she had to know who he was.
“You know, sir,” she said in a mock-serious tone to hide her nervousness, “you still haven’t told me your name.” On a sudden playful inspiration, she added, “Why don’t you...let me pull back your hood?”
Almost compulsively, the stranger pulled away from her, his eyes averted from her gaze.
“Are you not enjoying yourself?” the stranger intoned curtly.
Narcissa was hurt; what had she done to upset him? “Oh, no - I mean, yes - yes I’m....I’m having a wonderful time with you tonight,” she finished with some difficulty.
“Then trust me,” he avowed, “and you need never be lonely again.”
Whatever Narcissa had expected him to say, she was unprepared for a such a grand pronouncement as this. He swiftly turned to face her, and for the first time their eyes locked in the dappled silver moonlight. There was a fleeting moment of deliberation on his part before he leaned in and kissed her.
Wait, I know those black eyes! Narcissa thought suddenly, but then she found herself quite distracted by his kiss. It wasn’t her first kiss, but it was the most tender, passionate one she had ever known.
At first, Narcissa was startled by this sudden advance, but instead of pulling away she deepened the kiss, enjoying the unfamiliar taste of his lips. Almost instinctively, her hands pulled out from under the warmth of her borrowed cloak, and she reached out to touch his face. He tensed slightly, but instead of taking off his hood, Narcissa slipped her hands under it, respecting his apparent wishes. He had long sleek hair that was hidden from view by his cloak, and she wound her fingers into it tenderly. She felt his chest rise as he took a breath, and he pulled her closer. Those long stealthy fingers that had earlier given her chills were now expertly tracing a path across her collarbone.
Narcissa’s mind was alive with thoughts...this man wasn’t a stranger after all, for she was sure she’d seen those chilling black eyes before. His almost imperceptible smirk was strangely familiar as well...but who could it be? As they sat there under the moonlight, the warmth of their closeness protected against the piercing winter cold. Their kisses became more passionate and hungry, and the curious (if reckless) thought occurred to Narcissa that she didn’t really mind not knowing. This man was amazing, and nothing else could possibly matter beyond this moment...
Narcissa was still enjoying herself immensely when, suddenly, applause could be heard rising from the Great Hall, and the couple reluctantly broke apart. The Yuletide Celebration was coming to a close. The Headmaster would give a short speech, and Narcissa knew that her friends and sister would comment on her conspicuous absence if she didn’t return very soon.
Before Narcissa had realized he’d moved, she felt his arm snake around her again, this time from behind, and his deep voice purred into her ear.
“Don’t forget about tonight.”
“I won’t,” she breathed.
Narcissa was still contemplating the exquisite feel of his warm breath on her neck when she realized he had gone. She looked all around curiously for a clue as to who the man might be, but there wasn’t a trace. She was alone in the night’s solitude, wrapped in a stranger’s cloak.
A/N: Lyrics to "The Path" written by Ville Valo for HIM, from the album Love Metal. |
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| Love's Willing Prey - Fickle Emotions |
[Jun. 17th, 2006|04:22 pm] |
| [ | Music |
| | HIM - Razorblade Romance | ] |
Chapter Four--Fickle Emotions
Narcissa wrapped the blankets around her in reminiscence as her dreams shifted regretfully back to reality. Looking back, it seemed so obvious that the mystery man at the Yuletide Celebration had in fact been the dark quiet fifth year boy whom she so enjoyed teasing. She hadn’t been able to put two and two together until later that week, however, when she had sensed someone staring at her. Instead of the dark-haired boy looking away as usual, he had met her eyes intently with a knowing, almost imperceptible smirk.
No, Narcissa never did forget that night; indeed, they had had many more like it before she left Hogwarts.
She gradually opened her eyes to the afternoon sun, glad to find that she had slept off most of her hangover. Narcissa chastised herself for thinking so longingly of the past. Whatever she had had with Severus when they were younger, it didn’t mean anything now.
Sometimes Narcissa even wondered how much of it was real, as she had never told anyone about herself and Severus. Something that had started out so private was better kept private, she had reasoned. Moreover, it was common knowledge that the Blacks would never have approved of anyone with questionable blood status trying to court one of their daughters. Not even Lucius suspected that there had ever been more than the briefest acquaintance between his lovely wife and the reserved Hogwarts potions master.
Then again, maybe there never was, Narcissa thought irritably.
Narcissa’s family couldn’t have been more pleased to introduce her to Lucius Malfoy shortly before she left Hogwarts. Rumor had it that the rich, gorgeous bachelor was looking to settle down and start a family.
Youthful naïveté again, for me to have believed love could be so simple, so absolute...so painless.
Narcissa’s Slytherin ambition coupled with her beauty (and traceably pure bloodline) had been more than enough to gain the attentions of Mr. Malfoy, but at the time, she was still convinced that she loved another.
As a Black, Narcissa was often reminded that it was her duty to put feelings aside (fickle things they were) for “the greater good,” which really meant “the honor of the Black family name.” It had caused her much disquiet to snub Severus in favor of Mr. Malfoy; however, Narcissa could never have brought herself to explain the stance of her family, or her timid unwillingness to challenge them, to Severus.
Narcissa mused wryly that she had never been able to decide what was most attractive about Lucius Malfoy: his hilltop manor and Galleon-lined pockets, or his commanding demeanor and regal good looks. Once they met, it didn’t take long for Narcissa to realize that the rumors had been true--Mr. Malfoy was indeed looking for a wife, and Narcissa’s family was utterly delighted.
Slowly, the charm, wit, and expensive gifts of Lucius Malfoy had swayed Narcissa into a strong yet fleeting sense of contentment. At the time, it had simply been easier to permit Lucius to believe that she loved him, rather than endeavoring to sort out her true feelings and abide by them.
When the Blacks and Malfoys publicly announced the engagement, Severus was inscrutable as always. If he had been upset in the slightest by Narcissa’s sudden change of heart, he had never let on.
Although Narcissa had been excited to get married, she had privately entertained her fair share of misgivings.
“Remember, Cissy, marriage isn‘t about love, and no man can truly make you happy,” her mother and sisters had repeatedly admonished as they busied themselves with the extravagant wedding preparations. Before the fresh euphoria of romance had passed, a magnificent ceremony had taken place at the Malfoy manor, and Narcissa was with child.
Regretfully, it was only then that she finally grasped how true the rumors had been. Indeed, Lucius had wanted to start a family, but his idea of family responsibility turned out to be quite different from hers. Lucius needed an heir to the Malfoy estate, and more to the point, a son to follow in his footsteps as a Death Eater. She wished she would have realized that bearing Lucius Malfoy’s child was in a way, tantamount to bearing a child for the Dark Lord. Draco had been destined to a cursed existence from the start simply by being his father’s son.
“Accio Firewhiskey,” Narcissa said almost automatically, barely registering that it was past midday--too early to be drinking, and very late to still be lounging in bed.
Narcissa couldn’t deny that she very much enjoyed the power and prestige associated with being a Malfoy. However, being the wife of a Death Eater was a considerable tradeoff of the worst kind. As Lucius often forcefully reminded her, it was her duty to help him maintain a respectable image in the Wizarding community, and to submit her will to his own. Narcissa often felt that she was merely a trophy, a pretty plaything to Lucius. She had apparently served her main purpose in bearing their son...
WHY?? Damn it all to hell, why did Draco have to die? Narcissa thought bitterly. The rage inside her was unfocused and blind, as there were so many that shared the blame for her son’s sorrowful fate.
All those years of her being an obedient little doll for Lucius, and he couldn’t have bothered to make sure that the most precious person in the world to her was safe from the Dark Lord’s wrath? It was this, more than anything, which led Narcissa to believe that Lucius had never truly loved her.
She sat up in bed and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the painful memories. As Narcissa looked blearily down, she realized that she hadn’t even changed out of her dress from the previous evening.
Oh, crap - Severus - I did say I’d visit him today...
She had nearly forgotten about her hasty, alcohol-induced promise of the night before, but she reasoned that it would be impolite not to keep it. Narcissa heaved herself out of bed, still wondering dimly what Severus could possibly think was so urgent for them to discuss. Before she could bring herself to do anything as tedious as eating or showering, she thought she ought to have another drink. |
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| Love's Willing Prey - The Visit |
[Jun. 16th, 2006|04:24 pm] |
Chapter Five--The Visit
-POP-
Narcissa Apparated alongside the bank of the murky, smelly river that ran alongside Severus’ run-down neighborhood. She couldn’t help but feel glad that he lived in a place where few wizards or witches had ever set foot; it would be somewhat embarrassing for a lady of her status to be seen in such surroundings. Gathering her bearings with some difficulty in the waning twilight, she set off with quick footsteps towards Severus’ house.
I wonder if I should have sent an owl to let him know what time I'd be there, she wondered distractedly. As she stumbled ungracefully over the rocky ground that sloped upward past the riverbank, she wished she hadn’t worn high-heeled shoes. Her cloak hem caught repeatedly on the low brambles; Narcissa tried to pull it up higher on her shoulders several times, but to no avail. She finally took the cloak off altogether and draped it over her left forearm, glad that it was a mild night.
What if he’s in the middle of dinner? It’s late enough already, she thought as she took in the last rays of sunlight creeping over the barren lawns and dilapidated houses, visible now that she was clear of the river.
She made a left here, then a right towards the giant old mill, and finally passed through a filthy, narrow alleyway. Narcissa was now heading up the street called Spinner’s End, just as she had two years ago with Bellatrix in tow. She smirked, imagining what her sister would say if she knew that she was visiting Snape again. Then Narcissa remembered something--did Wormtail still live with Severus? She didn’t know if she would feel more or less nervous with him around, but the phrase “three’s a crowd” automatically came to mind.
As a stark yellowish light appeared from above her, she saw that she had already passed the final streetlight before Severus’ house. Her anxiety peaked as she acknowledged that from this point, it was impossible to discreetly turn back. Most Wizarding homes had Intruder Charms in place to protect against unexpected visitors, and Narcissa knew that Severus’ home would be no exception--he probably already knew she was approaching.
In another moment, she was making her way up the crumbling patio of Severus’ house, and sure enough, the door opened before she could even reach it to knock.
“Narcissa! How pleasant to see you,” Snape intoned as he ushered her inside quickly and snapped the door shut behind them.
“Hello, Severus--”
“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show up.”
“Oh, well, I did say I would come,” Narcissa began somewhat lamely, taking in the relatively unchanged surroundings of Severus’ dimly lit foyer and living room. Snape held out his arm to take her traveling cloak, and Narcissa curled her lip when she spied the brambles and thorns embedded in the cloak’s fine satin hem.
“I daresay, when you agreed to visit last night, you were not in an ideal state to...make promises.” Severus smirked as Narcissa met his eyes and quickly looked away, unable to think of a fitting retort.
“Come, let’s have dinner; it isn’t much, but I normally dine at sunset and thought to prepare extra in the event of your presence.”
“Mmm, thank you, dinner sounds wonderful,” Narcissa exclaimed as she followed Snape through a darkened hallway towards the back of his house, where his dining room must be. “Severus, does Wormtail still stay with you?” Narcissa asked, not particularly caring about the answer, but wanting to avoid any awkward lapses in conversation.
The hallway opened up to reveal what appeared to the kitchen, with a roughly hewn wooden table and two chairs at one end of the dark, cherry-paneled room.
“No, not anymore. He was...resisting my authority, as you might have noticed when you and your dear sister came to call last year.”
Narcissa nodded, watching as Severus drew his wand from his robes and waved it lazily, igniting five stubby candles in a dusty chandelier. The soft golden light illuminated a modestly-sized yet mouthwatering feast awaiting them on the table.
“I did finally inform the Dark Lord of his, ah, newfound thirst for adventure, and he has since been assigned to another task. I value my privacy, and Wormtail’s help was little more than a nuisance anyway.”
“Yes,” Narcissa said absently; her eyes remained fixed upon the table for a moment before turning them on Snape. “Do you cook like this when it’s just for yourself, Severus?”
“Usually,” Snape said dryly. “I see no reason why I should forgo culinary pleasures just because I live alone.” He held out one of the crudely carved chairs for her, and she sat down, feeling slightly wrong-footed at his chivalry. “Why? Did you assume I went to all this trouble for you, Narcissa?”
“Oh--no, of course not!” Narcissa exclaimed, embarrassed. However, she looked across the table to find that Severus’ expression was light and playful as he took the seat opposite her. He flicked his wand and two long-stemmed wineglasses appeared on the table.
“Chianti? Merlot?”
“Actually, I prefer red wines after a meal,” Narcissa said offhandedly, still eyeing the feast; “do you usually drink them with dinner?”
Severus raised an eyebrow wordlessly as he waved his wand and produced a medium-sized bottle of Chenin Blanc for the two of them. Another wand flick and the bottle uncorked itself obligingly; Severus poured each of them a generous measure.
“Thank you,” Narcissa said, and drank deeply before touching her food. There was Bucatini with green beans, tomatoes and olives; braised turnips with chives and parsley; and a Sicilian salad with lemon-garlic dressing. Narcissa waited for Snape to begin eating, then tucked in appreciatively.
“This is delicious, Severus. Wherever did you learn to cook like this?” Narcissa inquired between mouthfuls.
“Self-taught,” Snape said blandly. “As with all things in life, if one wants to excel, one must endeavor to learn by themself.”
As he paused to refill Narcissa’s glass, it occured to her that the last time they had shared a bottle, Severus had toasted the Dark Lord. At the time, she had wondered whether that gesture was due to Bellatrix and Wormtail’s presence more than her own. The lack of a toast this time seemed to confirm her suspicions, and this knowledge came almost as a comfort to her. As far as Narcissa was concerned, the Dark Lord’s treatment of her family was more than enough to drive anyone to disloyalty; she had no desire to raise a glass in his name even before Draco’s death.
They ate in relative, although not uncomfortable, silence. Narcissa hadn’t realized how hungry she had been, and she certainly hadn’t expected Severus to be such an accomplished cook. Not wanting to appear greedy, she laid down her fork before the plate was completely empty and smiled, truly grateful for the unexpected pleasure of a home-cooked meal.
Snape gestured towards Narcissa’s empty wineglass. “Shall I refill you again?”
“Please,” Narcissa said at once, and then found herself somewhat embarrassed by her eagerness. “It’s...not as strong as firewhiskey, you know,” she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.
Snape’s lip curled slightly in what appeared to be amusement. “Perhaps--however, a fresh glass might be more pleasing to the palate.” He waved his wand and cleared the rough-hewn table completely. “My main collection of wines is kept in the living room; you are welcome to select any variety.”
“Oh, okay,” Narcissa agreed timidly as she followed him back towards the foyer. She hadn’t noticed a wine rack visible anywhere when she had entered, but then, Severus’ home was full of hidden secrets...not unlike himself.
Narcissa watched him cross to a nondescript shelf amongst the many bookcases lining the walls. He tapped it once with his wand, and the books slid aside to reveal ornate iron racks that held an impressive variety of wines.
Turning around, Severus beckoned her forward. “Name your pleasure,” he stated gently.
After a careful look, Narcissa indicated a particularly dusty, blood-red bottle at the top of the rack. “Is that Bordeaux?”
“Indeed it is.” Severus’ lips curled into a thin smile as he took the bottle down, along with two fresh wineglasses. “I couldn’t have chosen better myself.”
Narcissa seated herself comfortably on the sofa, even though the room was still relatively dark. She wasn’t really in a mood for deep conversation, but Severus seemed to understand this (or at least, didn’t seem to mind), and she was grateful for that. It was easier to just numb herself to her troubles whenever they came to call. Now that she was here, Narcissa found herself feeling rather glad that she had come. Severus had always proven to be good company, even when company in general was unwanted.
Snape set down the bottle and glasses on the coffee table, then conjured several handfuls of candles to float in midair, giving a comforting glow to the room. Narcissa found herself grinning--typical Capricorn, she thought, so elegant yet understated.
He uncorked the bottle and filled both glasses only partially, leaving room to swirl the wine and appreciate its aroma. Snape handed her the glass with a nod, and she thanked him. Narcissa expected him to sit across from her, but he sank down next to her instead, swirling his glass idly before taking a sip.
“Now then, I’ve been quite curious as to how you’ve been lately,” he began, his eyes suddenly seeming to bore into hers. Narcissa wished he wouldn’t look at her like that, it was as if he could see right through to her pain inside.
“Well, I’ve been...I’ve been okay,” she started weakly, and rather evasively.
“That’s something,” Snape alleged, “especially in present circumstances.” He paused and Narcissa didn‘t reply. “Narcissa, I want you to know how sorry I am--about...Draco.”
Why does he want to talk about this now?
Snape suddenly took up her hand in his, and she looked up at him, rather startled. “I cared about him too, probably more than you realize. I need you to believe that I did all I could to prevent it,” Snape murmured.
“Yes,” she assured him, feeling somewhat confused, “of course I believe you.”
Severus looked intently at her for another moment, and then his expressions softened, as if he could tell she meant what she had said. More to get off the painful subject of Draco than anything, Narcissa took a gulp of wine and began talking about the first thing that came to mind.
“So, is that story the Prophet ran last week true? Do they really think that Dumbledore wasn’t murdered?”
Snape hesitated; for a moment Narcissa thought he wouldn’t allow the subject to be changed so quickly.
“Ah, yes, they do think that,” he began in a somewhat constrained tone of voice, “and the amusing thing is, even Harry Potter believes in my innocence, although he plainly saw me cast the Avada Kedvara.” Snape’s eyes glittered strangely.
“Of course, I take little pleasure in biting the hand that feeds, or more precisely, killing the one whose protection has kept me out of Azkaban all these years,” he pursed his lips slightly as he leaned back into the soft leather. “However, we all have our priorities, and mine were Draco and myself over Dumbledore. The Order has long doubted my fidelity, but the fact is, they need me as much as I need them.”
“But how did you convince them of your innocence?” Narcissa asked, genuinely intrigued now.
“So simple, really. I arranged for the Order of the Phoenix to discover a letter from Dumbledore saying that his death was a planned event, calculated for that moment as a show of faith to the Dark Lord. Thus, I could continue in my role as spy for the Order. The Order has sustained some considerable blows this past year, but they are yet convinced of my loyalty, and they do not detect my hand in the downfalls they have suffered.” Narcissa looked at Severus with admiration, not recognizing his discomfort for what it was.
“They really believe that Dumbledore sacrificed himself willingly?” Narcissa asked, a sneer in her voice. Selflessness and sacrifice were appallingly stupid concepts in the opinion of most Slytherins. “How can they be so easy to manipulate?”
Snape’s dark eyes glittered as he swirled his wine. “Fools that trust blindly are always the first to be deceived,” he said matter-of-factly. Narcissa took another tentative sip of her wine, remembering to swirl it this time and being pleasantly surprised at the difference it made in the flavor and aroma.
“But enough about all that,” Snape continued, his deep voice becoming light again but more passionate. “Narcissa, as the war goes on, I feel that it is my duty to protect you in any way I can, and it so happens that I have realized a perfect means of doing so.”
Narcissa felt a flush creeping onto her cheeks in spite of herself and she cast her eyes downward, onto her unfinished drink. Snape got up, and she watched interestedly as he crossed the room and tapped a sequence of books on the opposite shelf with his wand. This time only one heavy tome slid aside, revealing a small, intricately carved brass door. Severus muttered a barely audible incantation; the door glowed red for a moment and then disappeared altogether.
He plunged his hand into the darkness within, and Narcissa felt her curiosity mounting. She wondered why she was feeling so jittery in his presence, and took another steadying gulp of her Bordeaux.
Snape finally retrieved a dusty black velvet pouch from the small chamber. It looked aged and rather threadbare, but it was tied with a fine braid of golden silk; Severus held it delicately in the palm of his hand as he returned to where Narcissa was seated. She drained her wineglass absently as her eyes traveled from the black pouch to Severus’ face.
“This is a very powerful talisman, a magical object that will grant the wearer utmost protection,” Snape said as he untied the braid of silk and slid a heavy, engraved locket out of the worn velvet and into his outstretched hand.
“Oh, Severus,” Narcissa stammered as she admired the beautiful locket, “where did you get such a thing? Surely that’s too special; you’re not thinking of giving it to me?” He didn’t answer but instead moved behind the couch to fasten the locket around her neck. Narcissa shivered as he moved her long hair out of the way, his fingers brushing her collarbone.
“Where it came from is not important. Suffice it to say that I have my connections,” he said mysteriously. “The important thing is that you keep this locket safe, and it will do the same for you.”
Narcissa tried to bring it closer to her face to get a better look, but found that the chain was too short. This must be at least as expensive as anything Lucius ever bought me... She couldn’t help but wonder where it had come from, how Severus had acquired it, and why he was bestowing it upon her.
“The enchantments only protect the wearer, so I’ll advise you not to take it off.”
She ran her fingers reverently over the locket’s thin chain and deep engravings, noting its heft. Severus could undoubtedly sell such a thing for a good profit at Borgin and Burke’s, and Narcissa was merely the wife of a jailed Death Eater, not really worth protecting--or attacking. Still, she had learned propriety from a tender age--one never looks a gift horse in the mouth.
“Severus, I’m...flattered--how can I ever thank you?”
“By taking care of yourself,“ Severus stipulated gravely. “Listen, Narcissa,” he explained, unexpectedly reaching out for her hand again, “one benefit of my position is that I hear things, and what I’ve been hearing lately has...concerned me...regarding your welfare. Nothing specific, of course,” he added reassuringly at the incredulous fear that had just blazed in Narcissa’s eyes, “but I’ve seen enough tragedy, and this locket can ensure that at least one person is safe from the war.”
Narcissa’s mind was straining--what kind of danger could she possibly be in from the war? The Dark Lord had already ruined her life beyond recognition, and - dare she think it? - death would, in some ways, be as much of a relief as a tragedy.
“This locket has a complex variety of enchantments on it, and it is very old. It may come to be quite...important...in the future, but your protection is my utmost priority,” Snape finished, squeezing her hand in an almost sensual way that elicited a curious shiver down Narcissa’s spine.
She raised her hand to her throat again, appreciating the locket’s coolness against her skin. “Thank you Severus,” she said, nearly breathless as he looked at her tenderly, but with a blazing fierceness in his black eyes.
“Remember, never take it off.”
“I won’t,” she whispered. A strange atmosphere began to spiral around them, and Narcissa felt increasingly uncomfortable being so close to him; she tentatively removed her hand from his, embarrassed yet again.
Severus’ gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, and then he turned around and cleared away the empty wineglasses with a wave of his wand. “It’s getting late,” he said. Narcissa automatically rose from the sofa, still feeling wrong-footed and rather uncomfortable.
“Oh, it’s past ten o’clock! Where did the time go? Yes, you’re quite right, I should be on my way--” Snape turned to give her a piercing look, and Narcissa had the feeling that he could sense every bit of her nervous discomfort.
“Severus, thank you so much...for everything. Dinner was lovely, this locket is utterly breathtaking, and--well, I hadn’t really realized how lonely I’ve been.” They both headed toward the front door where her traveling cloak was hanging, and Narcissa was surprised to note that the irksome brambles that had gotten caught in the hem were no longer present; Severus must have Vanished them without her noticing.
“It’s been really good to see you, Narcissa,” Snape said in his deep, melodic voice as he handed Narcissa her cloak. “I hope you know you’re always welcome to come by, if you‘re feeling lonely.”
Narcissa felt awkward just walking out the door, so she haltingly reached out and grabbed Severus’ hand by way of a farewell. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” - she glanced pointedly at her thorn-free cloak hem - “don’t think anything goes unnoticed.”
Snape inclined his head in a small bow, a smirk playing all around his mouth. Narcissa returned the expression, trying to end the visit on a confident note despite her precarious emotional state.
“Take care of yourself, Cissa,” Snape admonished sternly, but there was a subtle warmth present in his gaze, and a barely suppressed smirk still upon his lips.
“I will,” she said softly, and turned away into the clear breezy night, feeling oddly content yet unsettled at the same time.
A/N: Delicious dinner menu from The Vegan Gourmet cookbook. For the record, the book agrees with Severus that Chianti was an ideal wine to pair with that meal. |
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| Love's Willing Prey - Snape and the Order |
[Jun. 15th, 2006|04:28 pm] |
| [ | Music |
| | HIM - Greatest Lovesongs Vol. 666 | ] |
Chapter Six--Snape and the Order
Snape was sitting in his dimly-lit kitchen, attempting to read today’s Prophet while waiting for his tea to steep, but his mind kept wandering from the task at hand. Narcissa’s visit last night, while undeniably pleasant, presented him with a plethora of new concerns and old feelings to sort out.
He was a bit worried about how much Narcissa seemed to be drinking, and even more worried that she seemed to consider herself immune to further harm from the war. It was not easy for a wizard in Snape’s position to forget that carelessness could prove fatal when dealing with the Dark Lord.
It was, however, an immense relief to know that Narcissa wasn’t somehow blaming him for Draco’s demise. Some of the other Death Eaters, including Bellatrix, had accused him of stealing the glory of Dumbledore’s murder for himself, and it was amongst his greatest fears that Narcissa would also misconstrue his act as one of twisted self-gratification. Although Severus had never truly been able to show it, he really did care about her--more than she knew.
Snape had often wondered what might have transpired if he had been richer, or more importantly, if he hadn’t let Regulus Black know about his bastard of a Muggle father. Regulus was one of the few at Hogwarts whom Snape had told about his boyhood moniker “the Half-Blood Prince,” simply because he had considered him a friend. Regulus, however, promptly reported to the Blacks that his cousin was associating with a half-blood, and Snape found out the hard way that propriety meant more than friendship to him.
Without really paying attention to what he was doing, Snape finished preparing his tea and took a sip. Hideously weak...ah, I forgot the cinnamon again.
Rising heavily out of his chair, teacup in one hand, wand in the other, Snape crossed into the living room. He tapped his wand in a pattern across yet another nondescript expanse of shelving, and this time the books slid apart to reveal a tarnished brass doorknob attached to a small but heavy wooden door. This was his precious potions storeroom, which happened to hold a considerable array of medicinal herbs and cooking spices along with his vast inventory of essential potion ingredients.
Snape found the cinnamon quickly among the rows of assorted jars and decanters, and sprinkled just the right amount over his brimming teacup. Much better--although a bit lukewarm, he thought absently, taking a sip.
He leaned back against the cold metal shelving, savoring the luxury of solitude. Wormtail’s presence would have been obtrusive to any man as self-reliant as Severus Snape. His potions storeroom was full of secrets, and keeping its existence from Wormtail had complicated many things for Severus over the past year, not the greatest of which was getting cinnamon for his morning tea. However, there were now more pressing matters at hand than bland tea or worthless servants...
Snape crossed to the opposite side of the low-ceilinged room, ready to assess the progress of two potions he was brewing--neither of his own volition. The first one was complex and exacting, but he was fairly confident about it. He had brewed this uncommon concoction a handful of times before, and by now it was close enough to completion that he could tell it was progressing acceptably. However, the second potion was quite experimental. It was a poisonous-looking acid green, bubbling jauntily within the stone belly of the cauldron, and smelling putrid thus far. Yellowed, fraying, handwritten books gave only fragmented knowledge of this potion, and obtaining the list of ingredients had been a frightful task in itself. For intellectual purposes, as well as prudence concerning his immediate future, he hoped both potions turned out as expected. For the sake of the Wizarding world at large, he hoped the second one would fail.
As Snape tried to ease his attention back to the mundane, such as his rapidly cooling cup of tea, an obscure passage of text that he had not encountered since he was a very small child randomly entered his mind, unbidden:
“Ever mind the Rule of Three
three times your acts return to thee.
This lesson well, thou must learn
thee only gets what thou dost earn.”
The Rule of Three was an ethical principal that happened to be discussed in several of his mother’s old books, and he had not given it the scantest thought in many years.
Three times your acts return to thee... Reading those words as a child, Severus took them as an easy way to comprehend the merit of one’s actions. Now, however, the Rule of Three seemed quite complicated.
Thee only gets what thou dost earn... What had he earned for himself, all these years of holding his tongue, only doing what was necessary to save his neck or move ahead in life? What, exactly, did his actions add up to? What did he deserve in life?
Obviously not Narcissa...
Snape glanced back at the two faintly simmering potions and pondered the fact that he was a key ally to both sides of the war. Regardless of what I deserve, at least I know that one person will be safe, he thought uneasily, imagining the locket fastened securely around Narcissa’s milky-white throat...
Quite unexpectedly, a giant silvery wolf burst through the wall of his living room, nearly causing Snape to shatter his teacup. It was Nymphadora Tonks’ Patronus, or rather, Nymphadora Lupin’s. With a muttered oath, Snape carefully closed up his Potions storeroom with a wave of his wand and a self-made nonverbal security spell.
He hurried out into the cold dreary morning, cursing himself for letting today’s Order meeting slip his mind.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was Nymphadora who answered the door, with a tired, nervous look about her. “Snape,” she said with a forced smile and showed him in through the hall, locking the door hastily behind them. “Everyone’s already upstairs,” she said quietly, nodding for him to follow her.
Even in the dimly lit hallway, it was evident that Nymphadora had put on weight recently. She and Lupin had announced only two months ago that they were expecting, and Snape could barely contain his disgust. Why, of all the irresponsible things to do, would anyone bring an innocent child into the world during a time of war?
Lupin had always seemed impulsive and optimistic to a fault, but in Snape’s opinion, this was the height of irresponsibility. Both Lupin and Nymphadora were undoubtedly prime targets of the Dark Lord’s, seeing as they were Order members and had been close to Dumbledore. Moreover, Snape strongly suspected that the Death Eaters would show no mercy to a pregnant mother--indeed, that might make them even more likely to torture or kill someone... Snape reached the top of the staircase and as he spotted Lupin amongst the crowd, his lips formed a scowl.
“We were starting to think you weren’t coming, Snape,” said Lupin curtly, an edge to his usually pleasant tone that indicated he had noticed Snape’s expression.
“My apologies, I had a late night,” Snape muttered evasively. The disturbing thought of Death Eaters torturing people was still at the forefront of his mind, yet his lovely evening with Narcissa was being replayed at the back...
“Ahem. Well, it looks like everyone’s here,” Lupin began to the crowd at large, “shall we be seated?”
There was a general murmur of assent, and the odd collection of Order members filed into Number 12 Grimmauld Place’s largest bedroom, where the Order usually met.
Snape took note of Arthur and Molly Weasley, Mad-Eye Moody, and Sturgis Podmore as they each came in and took their seats. Rubeus Hagrid was already seated at the large, round table, and he raised up a large hand in cheerful yet subdued greeting. Snape nodded disinterestedly in return. Hermione Granger and Harry Potter were also there, along with that useless lump, Neville Longbottom.
With Dumbledore gone, Minerva McGonagall was now head of the Order, and she had relented to the children’s ill-advised demands to join. All Gryffindors, Snape noted inwardly; their bravery surpasses even their common sense...
Lupin and McGonagall headed toward the front of the room, casting Imperturbable Charms over each wall, the one tiny window, and finally the door. The scant muttering of voices hushed as they took their places at the table.
“Before we begin,” McGonagall started in a shaky voice, “we shall observe a moment of silence to honor Mr. Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Mr. Ronald Weasley, two valiant and courageous members of the Order of the Phoenix who would be with us today, had their lives not been tragically cut short by the Death Eaters only several short weeks ago. They will not be forgotten.”
Snape bowed his head out of conformity as much as respect. He honestly hadn’t remembered about the Weasley’s son upon arriving, but from what he could see, they were taking the loss fairly well. He wondered how it must feel to lose a son, and with a sudden jolt, he was reminded of Narcissa.
The remaining Order members were still shaken by the battle that had ensued at the site of the 4th horcrux several weeks ago. None of them had expected Hufflepuff’s cup to be enchanted with secrecy sensors that would alert Death Eaters to immediately Apparate to the location.
Snape’s every move had been under constant scrutiny by both sides, and he had had only had a split second’s warning before Bellatrix, Amycus, and several others showed up. Apparently the Dark Lord didn’t trust them enough to tell them why they were summoned there, however. They were hurling hexes blindly in every direction, but remained supremely unconcerned with the cup. With his natural stealth, Snape had been able to steal it undetected while the others were engaged in battle.
Bellatrix had managed to triumph over Kingsley Shacklebolt, which was an unexpected loss given that he was the Order’s most skilled duelist. Ronald Weasley had been so seriously injured in the fight that he was comatose; he passed away in St. Mungo’s several days later. This was the first time they had all been called together since.
Mr. Weasley’s halting voice finally issued into the dull silence. “Ah, well, shall we begin, Minerva?”
There was a shuffling of papers as everyone poised themselves to listen, and it was then that Snape noticed the rough, ragged form of Aberforth Dumbledore, sitting at the opposite end of the table. They met eyes and he nodded in greeting, which Snape returned with interest. It was common knowledge that Aberforth ran the Hog’s Head pub--he was an Order member as well, but Snape couldn’t recall ever seeing his at a meeting before. He wondered why he had chosen to attend this time.
McGonagall spoke, a forcefulness in her voice that was obviously feigned but nevertheless effective. “All right--first, as I am sure you all know, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is remaining closed for this term, but I am confident that with enough support, we will be able to resume classes starting in January. The staff is, as usual before the start of a new school year, incomplete. Therefore, I want to make it known that I am still awaiting applications for the positions of Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions.” McGonagall’s eyes flickered impatiently over the lot of them before lingering on Snape. “It doesn’t take much to realize that without these posts filled, there will be little reason to reopen the school. I urge all of you to consider the responsibility and honor of teaching the Wizarding world’s future generations.”
Snape did not move, although he could feel several pairs of eyes upon him. He had yet to decide whether he should teach again, should the school reopen. It would be foolish to act as if there were none who still believed him guilty, regardless of the letter’s “proof” of his innocence. McGonagall dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief as she sat down, clearly annoyed at her unintentional display of emotion.
“Well, let’s recount the progress that the Order is making in other areas,” she added hastily. “Remus, why don’t you go first?”
“Ah, well,” Lupin began haltingly, “from my undercover work, I can at least report that You-Know-Who isn’t rallying the werewolves for any serious plans at the moment. It seems that the majority of them are, sadly, still enamored with the ideas that Greyback has perpetuated, but lately they’ve been restless. Greyback’s not as respected as he used to be amongst my kind, which is one small step in the right direction.”
“So, have you managed to convince anyone to our side?”
That loud, unpretentious voice could only belong to Harry Potter. He had thoughtlessly interrupted Lupin, not to mention the entire meeting, as if his questions were the most important part. Like father, like son, Snape seethed inwardly, always so arrogant and presumptuous...
“Well, actually, Harry, no.” Lupin sighed, smiling at the irksome boy in a manner that was most irritating to Snape. “Although there are a few who seem receptive, the majority of my kind is still largely mistrustful of me. They have yet to witness me transform, and I decline to participate in attacks with them. They are suspicious because I don’t want to harm anyone if I can help it, which makes it increasingly dangerous for me to continue to associate with my own kind, I’m afraid.”
Potter looked intently at Lupin for a moment, digesting his words. “I wish you wouldn’t call them ‘your kind’,” he finally muttered, looking down as if he did not wish to discuss the topic further. Lupin nodded resignedly and sat down, apparently unable to recognize blatant disrespect when it came from Saint Potter, the Chosen One. The chair next to Snape abruptly moved back, and Mad-Eye Moody rose to speak without waiting to be asked.
“So,” he grumbled, surveying the room with his gnarled visage, “the Daily Prophet’ll have everyone believe that things are gettin’ more and more desperate for the Wizarding world, but what they don’t know is how close we are to You-Know-Who’s defeat. At least one good thing came from our last battle with the filthy Death Eaters--Hufflepuff’s cup!”
Moody spoke with a forcefulness and passion that was hard to mistake. “Once that horcrux is destroyed, we’ll only need to get rid of two more before You-Know-Who’ll be as mortal as the rest of us--‘cept more deservin’ to die...” He leveled a menacing stare across the table that earned several enthusiastic claps from Hagrid before McGonagall shushed him. Potter, however, was glancing indiscreetly between Moody and Snape, and from this, Snape could be reasonably sure where Moody’s electric-blue magical eye was pointing.
“Now, we’ve only got two more horcruxes to track down: that huge, ruddy snake, and Slytherin’s locket.” He sounded weary, yet determined all the more for it. “Snape here tells us that You-Know-Who’s snake is nearly spent already, but we’ve got to be alert--CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” he roared, and several people sat up straighter in their chairs. “Those secrecy sensors all over the place ‘re what brought the Death Eaters to the location--but it turns out, those sensors weren’t always there.”
Snape’s eyes traveled round the room, ascertaining how many of them comprehended what Moody was saying.
“To put it plainly, it looks like You-Know-Who might already know the cup’s gone,” Moody summarized, “and if that’s the case, he’s probably gonna start checking on the other horcruxes shortly.”
“You mean...he knows the horcruxes are gone?” Potter said in a low voice, looking furious and panicked at the same time. Interrupting again...
“Well” - Snape cut in before Moody could answer - “the Dark Lord has been informed that a battle with Order members took place in that location. His suspicions are doubtlessly raised, given the circumstances.”
Potter looked as if he was going to retort, but seemed to change his mind, a dark look of anguish consuming his features. Snape went on, not bothering to stand up, or acknowledge Moody in the least.
“We should not forget that a wizard only needs one horcrux to sustain immortality. The Dark Lord believes that no harm can come to Nagini because of his close proximity to her, but indeed, that is precisely what is speeding the occurrence of her death. Also, he is aware that what remains of his soul is fragile. Therefore--I am not inclined to believe that he will attempt to create replacement horcruxes.”
A strained sigh passed through the room at this pronouncement.
Sturgis Podmore made a motion to speak next, and cleared his throat loudly before beginning. “Yes, ah....well, the Order is fortunate to have inside informants strategically placed within the Ministry. However, the majority of them were...unable to be present today, for fear of blowing their cover,” he blundered on, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
It must feel useless to have nothing to say, Snape mused, not bothering to conceal his disdain.
“I have been able to personally supervise the Minister’s own actions and sources of information,” Podmore continued, “which has, as of late, been a fairly mundane task. Doge, as an Unspeakable, is ideally placed to keep a close watch on the hall of Prophecy--”
“Why?” rang out that same insufferable voice yet again, as if the Order members had nothing better to do than carry on personal conversations with him. “I mean, the prophecy about me and Voldemort smashed, didn’t it? Nothing more to guard.”
All eyes in the room traveled from Potter to Podmore and back again; Podmore looked ruffled, his eyes darted toward the end of the table repeatedly.
“Yes, well, Mr. Potter,” Podmore faltered, “there are...extenuating circumstances that are...not yet widely known to everyone....”
How could anyone properly serve the Order when they couldn’t even finish a report sans interference from an arrogant teenager? Snape thought scathingly. And how could anyone delude themselves into thinking that arrogant teenagers would be an asset to the Order?
“Ahem--may I, Sturgis?” a rough, gravelly voice issued from the opposite end of the table, and Snape, along with everyone else, was surprised to see that Aberforth was speaking.
“Y-yes, thank you--by all means,” tittered Podmore, grateful to resume his seat.
The room had fallen quite silent, and all eyes were on Aberforth.
“Well, several weeks ago,” Aberforth began, his gravelly voice sounding taxed already, “this loopy-soundin’ woman shows up at the Hog’s Head, sayin’ she needs a room for awhile, and could she set up shop tellin’ fortunes in my bar during the evenings. I was inclined to tell her no, but the poor thing looked pretty down on her luck, and I figured it couldn’t hurt nothin’, so I let her.”
Was he speaking of the batty old woman that he and Narcissa had seen two nights ago? Whatever could she have to do with the Order? Snape found himself getting impatient with the old man's storytelling.
“I saw her do a couple o’ people’s fortunes, and didn’ think she had much talent for it. But later that night, when I had already closed up shop, she suddenly went all rigid and looked like she’d fainted, so I went over to try and help--”
He broke off, pulled his wand out of his tattered robes and placed the tip to his temple. As he did so, Mr. Weasley suddenly jumped up and extracted something from underneath his chair--Dumbledore’s Pensieve. Everyone watched with piqued curiosity as Aberforth leaned over and placed the pearly strand of memory inside the stone basin. He gently prodded it with his wand, and up rose the silvery image of a plump, gaudily dressed woman, rotating slowly. She looked as if she was asleep for a moment, then she began convulsing, and a deep harsh voice rang out, echoing ominously around them:
“ONE WHO HAS BETRAYED HIS FELLOWS WILL FALL, AS DID ANOTHER BEFORE HIM...ONE WHO HAS BEEN FALSELY PERSECUTED WILL VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WITH AN UNKNOWN...LOVE...”
The misty figure dropped back down inside the Pensieve, and Aberforth carefully extracted it and replaced the memory safely within his mind.
“Now, they’re tryin’ to work out what all that means down at the Department o’ Mysteries, and they don’ particularly want ol’ Scrimgeour to know what they’re up to. So that’s why Doge an’ the others been guardin’ the Hall of Prophecy lately,” Aberforth concluded, surprisingly articulate for someone who didn’t often speak to anyone beside the drunkards and vagrants who frequented his inn.
A deeply uncomfortable silence followed. Snape couldn’t help but notice that Potter and his friends were glancing toward him more often than was natural. As Snape’s eyes circled the room, it seemed that more than one person was looking appraisingly in his direction, or pointedly avoiding his gaze.
“Yes, Snape,” McGonagall said abruptly. “Snape has some more important information to explain, I believe?” she prompted, keen to quickly move on to other topics. It didn’t take skilled Legilimency for Snape to ascertain what everyone was thinking at the moment.
They’re guessing that prophecy’s about me, he seethed, ire churning under his smoothly controlled exterior. ‘One who has betrayed his fellows will fall’...they’re thinking I’m the traitor. Even though they can prove nothing, they still so quickly assume...and hope the worst for me... His thoughts jumbled together in his rage, yet he managed to compose himself enough to address them--his fellows....
“It is obvious, Minerva, that you don’t think Aberforth’s testimony is worthwhile,” Snape began, a schooled expression of detachment on his face as he rose to speak to her, “as I’m sure none of us have forgotten how little store you set in any method of divination.”
McGonagall seemed to stare right through him for a moment before concurring, “Yes--yes, that’s quite right, I’ve always thought divination was a sketchy discipline... At any rate...do go ahead with your report, Snape,” she muttered. Snape surveyed the Order members for a moment, taking a deep breath. What he had to say was at least as unpleasant as Aberforth’s prophecy, and much more disturbing.
“Since the Dark Lord’s rebirth, there have been...rumors...that he has been working on a separate goal besides his own immortality. He intends to continue the Slytherin bloodline.” Snape paused, his gaze resting on Potter. He was looking surly as always, although Snape noted that for once, he was keeping his mouth shut.
“It seems that the Dark Lord is planning to create an heir, one who would possess his abilities and his...disposition...from the beginning. Its soul would be intact and thus more powerful than an immortal yet fractured soul.” The room had gone silent as the grave at this pronouncement. All eyes were wide and turned upon Snape; Nymphadora and Miss Granger were bristling in horror, and Lupin let out a low whistle.
“ ‘Create an heir’, like...a baby?” uttered a clearly disturbed Mrs. Weasley.
“It would seem so,” Snape said, a hint of disgust evident in his voice, which was probably misinterpreted by his audience.
“How?”
Snape had to pause a moment to constrain his anger before addressing Potter’s query to the room at large.
“The Dark Lord calls upon all kinds of magic,” Snape alluded, “the innovative as well as the ancient. We must never underestimate the power of the Dark Arts in the hands of a wizard as skilled as Lord Voldemort.” The Order members exchanged uncomfortable looks, and Snape pressed on.
“However, bear in mind that a child will not be an immediate threat to the Wizarding world,” Snape reiterated, “therefore, it is clear that the Order’s focus should continue to be on the remaining horcruxes.”
Lupin came out of a sort of reverie at this, and interjected, “yes--the Aurors are finally through examining the cup horcrux. It’s been purged of any dangerous spells or enchantments, so it’s now ready for the Lunar Dissolution Potion.” He gave a nod to Snape, who did not return the gesture.
“Eh, Professor Snape,” said a gruff, booming voice, “would yeh mind explainin’ how that potion o’ yours works?” Hagrid was looking expectantly up at him, his dark eyes innocent and trusting. At least he had bothered to wait until Lupin had finished before speaking.
Snape began slowly: “The Lunar Dissolution potion works with the subtle gravitational pull of the moon against the Earth. Once the horcrux is successfully submerged, the dissonant elements of the potion work to separate the encased portion of soul from the non-esoteric matter.” Snape was getting into his stride, and he was amused to see not only Hagrid, but also Potter and Lupin, looking utterly lost already. “The physical force of lunar gravity, coupled with the inherent purifying power of moonlight, causes the soul fragment to rise up, spectre-like, out of the cauldron at the next full moon. From that point, it merely requires a Containment Charm and a little-known variant of the Killing Curse to permanently destroy the soul fragment.”
“Can I help with that?” a strained, rather timid voice inquired suddenly. Snape turned and raised an eyebrow when he saw that it was Miss Granger who had spoken. She was quite clever in her classes, but Snape had never known her to possess bravery of any sort. Indeed, that was one of his initial objections to allowing teenagers such as herself to join the Order--they lacked fortitude. Then again, perhaps Weasley’s death had affected her more profoundly than they realized.
“Did you not understand me, Miss Granger?” Snape said though clenched teeth. The fools he had to suffer... “To destroy a fragment of soul takes a complicated process, and it would be disastrous to have it go...awry.” She looked across the table at him, her eyes blazing but her demeanor helpless.
“Snape’s right, Hermione,” said Moody in an almost gentle voice, “there are other ways for you to make a difference in the war.”
“Ron wouldn’t have wanted you to take unnecessary risks,” added Lupin pointedly. Snape kept his face impassive but was a bit discomfited to see Miss Granger’s eyes fill with tears as she flung herself unceremoniously onto Mrs. Weasley’s shoulder. Now they both looked as if they were going to cry, which was an embarrassing sign of weakness in Snape’s opinion. He was forcibly reminded of Narcissa on the night that she had come to ask for help and cringed inwardly. It was horrid to recall her in that state... Lupin got up, saying he was going to make tea, and Longbottom reached over to rub Miss Granger’s back consolingly.
“Oh...I’m sorry. Please finish, I’ll be okay,” Miss Granger squeaked as she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief, shifting back into her own seat with difficulty. Longbottom and Potter looked at her, unconvinced, and then at Mrs. Weasley, who had covered her face with her hands and bolted from the room after her husband, finally giving way to her sobbing. Moody was the one who spoke first, however.
“It’s all right, I think we were about finished anyhow--is that right, Snape, Minerva?”
“Indeed,” Snape said flatly, and McGonagall merely nodded, her face in a pensive frown.
Lupin had returned to the table carrying a tray laden with a teapot, mugs, and a small bottle of brandy as well. “None for me, thanks, love,” said Nymphadora softly.
“Nor I,” Snape said quickly, sensing an easy out. “I have other matters to attend to, and must be going anyway.”
Potter narrowed his eyes, contempt written all over his features; however, Snape reminded himself that it really mattered very little what any of them thought. He allowed the slightest of smirks to register on his face, which he knew would fuel Potter’s suspicion all the more. Snape gave a curt nod to the group at large, and made his way down the stairs alone.
“Snape!”
He turned to see the enormous form of Hagrid silhouetted on the stairs above him, and he cringed as the furious shrieks of Mrs. Blacks’ portrait were unleashed by the disturbance. Moody and Lupin rushed onto the landing, wands drawn to silence her, and Snape descended the stairs with Hagrid at his heels.
“Professor Snape, I was jus’ thinkin’--”
Isn’t that quaint...
“Yeh haven’ told Professor McGonagall when yeh’ll be comin’ back to teach--”
“I hadn’t decided whether it would be prudent to continue teaching, given the present social climate,” Snape obfuscated.
Hagrid frowned in consternation. “Yeah, I’d heard summat like that, but listen--”
Get on with it already....
“Well, I jus’ wanted yeh to know tha’, tha’ I believe yeh, Professor. Even if it don’ mean much, I jus’ thought I’d let yeh know that...that not ev’ryone thinks yeh’re a traitor.”
Snape’s lip curled. “Why thank you, for those comforting words, Hagrid.” Hagrid suddenly looked sheepish; apparently he’d only just realized that the words hadn’t been delivered as intended. Snape knew what he meant to say, and it was rather touching (especially in light of the fact that he was, technically, a traitor in several ways) but seeing Hagrid feel foolish was simply too enjoyable to ruin. He nodded in farewell, and turned toward the front door, where Moody was already waiting to re-lock it behind him.
Moody and Snape met eyes for a brief second, then Moody growled, “Take care, Snape.”
“Likewise,” Snape demurred, and turned on his heel. He heard the click of the latch and knew that number 12 Grimmauld Place had already disappeared behind him. He was immensely glad to put this tedious monthly adventure behind him. Nobody in the Order appreciated one iota of his hard work or spared a thought to the great personal risks he undertook as a spy. The only thanks he got were suspicious stares and mutters of betrayal.
However, he had to thank the Order for one thing--he was a free man. As far as keeping out of Azkaban, not even the “Chosen One’s” opinion of him mattered in light of Albus Dumbledore’s.
He Apparated back to his empty home, and felt an uncharacteristic stab of something... Loneliness? Although he knew it would always be dangerous for them to associate, he couldn’t help pondering whether Narcissa would fancy another visit anytime soon. |
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| Love's Willing Prey - Bellatrix |
[Jun. 14th, 2006|04:29 pm] |
Chapter Seven--Bellatrix
The past days blended together monotonously for Narcissa. She awoke whenever the sunlight prodded her, and slept away a large part of each day. She was steadily working her way through the case of Firewhiskey that she’d had delivered.
It had already been over a week since she had seen Severus, but his face still crept into her thoughts and dreams with disconcerting regularity. Narcissa was still wearing the locket Severus had given her, although she wasn’t sure how she felt about it...whatever would Lucius say if he knew? Really, it doesn't mean anything, he’s just doing it to protect me...maybe Lucius even contacted the other Death Eaters and asked him to...
She hadn’t had the mental energy to even eat meals with any regularity lately, let alone think about leaving the manor again. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed her visit with Severus, but it had been...awkward somehow, and draining. Likewise, Narcissa certainly didn’t fancy having visitors at the manor, even before Lucius was sent to prison. However, yesterday she had received a very unexpected message via owl, and so today she was out of bed, trying to pull herself together and make the manor presentable.
Bellatrix was coming to visit. She hadn’t specified when or how she would arrive, but she had requested that food be ready. Although it was a relief to hear that her sister was safe, Narcissa rather wished that Bella had given her more warning. She didn’t want Bella to know how desperate she had been since Draco’s death, but she feared that the dire state of Malfoy Manor would betray her, even in spite of an entire afternoon’s cleaning.
Narcissa had been working like a house-elf, and once again she wished that she still had one, especially for cooking. Although she wasn’t the domestic type, by evening she had managed to pull together a respectable dinner, which, Narcissa reminded herself, would probably look like a feast to her sister. Bella now had an even larger price on her head, and she had probably been hiding out in the forests - or worse - for the past year. The hour was already getting late, but Narcissa was still compulsively ridding the parlor’s many chandeliers of cobwebs when the dusty fireplace suddenly ignited with a rush of green flames. A moment later, Bellatrix Lestrange stepped smartly over the hearth and warily glanced around the room before spotting her sister.
“Narcissa!” she exclaimed, and rushed up to her quickly without even bothering to dust the ashes off of her worn cloak.
“Oh, Bella--how good it is to see you!” Narcissa breathed, somewhat flustered by the sudden entrance.
“Mmm, that’s some hunk of jewelry, Cissy,” said Bellatrix, eyeing her locket with an amused expression as they embraced rather tentatively. “Where’d you get it?”
Narcissa felt her cheeks grow warm. “Oh, well, I bumped into Severus the other day and he gave it to me.... It’s got protective charms on it,” she said pointedly. Narcissa knew her sister didn’t trust Severus in the least.
“Hmph. So you still talk to him, do you?” Bella demanded.
“Yes, I do. Because we’re friends,” Narcissa pleaded, “and don’t forget, he did agree to protect Draco, Bella.”
“Yeah, well, that’s water under the bridge now,” Bellatrix said, rather callously. “I still think you’d be better off keeping company with other purebloods.”
Narcissa was hurt by Bella’s cold assessment of her son’s passing, but she was in no state to discuss it with anyone yet, least of all Bellatrix. She knew her sister cared much more about upholding the Black family values than about the actual family.
“So...I didn’t realize you were coming by Floo, how did you manage?” Narcissa asked, hoping to steer the conversation into more neutral territory.
“Simple,” Bella said, not meeting Narcissa’s eyes but looking keenly toward the dining table. “I just broke into an empty Wizarding home...bit safer than Apparating. So whatcha got to eat, Cissy?”
“Oh, I just finished--lasagna and grilled zucchini with garlic bread. I hope it’s ok, I’m not much of a cook without help,” Narcissa said, somewhat annoyed.
Bellatrix didn’t appear to be the least bit concerned with how the food tasted. She crossed to the table without another word and started loading up a plate. Narcissa thought she looked thinner than she had before, and found herself feeling almost sorry for her sister. But then again, she had chosen to join the Dark Lord, and she never seemed at all disturbed or reluctant about what she was asked to do...
“So, how are you?” asked Narcissa, but it took Bellatrix a moment to answer because of how fast she was eating. It almost made Narcissa lose her own appetite to watch.
“Oh, well, how do you think I should be? I’ve been in hiding ever since I got out of Azkaban, and after the Ministry fiasco, they raised the price on my head even more. Can’t go anywhere for fear of being seen--I’m worried there’s Aurors lurking around every corner...at least you get to lead a normal life here,” said Bellatrix, with somewhat of an edge in her voice.
Normal life, Narcissa thought incredulously. My son’s been murdered and my husband’s in prison...how can that bear any semblance to 'normal'? She didn't want these thoughts to show on her face, however--it wasn’t worth the trouble of explaining. Narcissa came round and sat next to Bella, who was finishing off the lasagna with zeal.
“What would you like to drink?” Narcissa asked tentatively. Her sister had never been much of a drinker, but Narcissa suspected the war might have changed that.
“Whatever,” Bella said distractedly as she finished off her food. “Cissy, aren't you going to eat?”
“No, actually, I...I’m not that hungry.” Narcissa cast around for a neutral topic of conversation. “So...I saw in the Prophet that there was a battle several weeks ago, and you were mentioned as ‘evading justice again’--I was so worried about you! I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”
Bellatrix snorted derisively, “I bet they didn’t mention that I took out one of their best Aurors though, did they?”
“Nooo, they didn’t! Who?” Narcissa asked with interest as she got up to grab a fresh bottle of firewhiskey and two glasses.
“Shacklebolt,” Bella said carelessly, leaning back in the chair with a satisfied expression. “He never saw it coming,” she exaggerated, “although I’m sure the Prophet told it different,” she finished with an arrogant sneer. Narcissa rather thought the expression suited Bella as she nodded in response.
“Thanks for dinner, by the way. It must be frustrating to not have an elf to do stuff like cleaning, huh?” Bella looked appraisingly around at the dusty bookshelves and the melted wax on the chandeliers.
“Yeah, it really is,” said Narcissa earnestly, but then she got the feeling that her sister was mocking her slightly. Bellatrix certainly had never had the luxury of chandeliers, let alone a house-elf since she had moved out of their parent’s house before the age of 20. Narcissa suddenly felt rather uncomfortable and changed the subject.
“So where have you been staying all this time?” she asked with concern.
Bellatrix shrugged. “Wherever, mostly empty houses. We have to keep moving around so as not to attract attention to ourselves. It’s no big deal, really--except we don’t always get to eat properly.” Narcissa handed her a glass of Firewhiskey as she gazed concernedly at her sister. Bella took a disinterested sip and then abruptly looked at the glass with a frown.
“This Firewhiskey, Cissy? Since when do you drink the strong stuff?”
“Oh, yeah, sometimes I do,” Narcissa muttered, trying to sound offhand.
Bella narrowed her eyes shrewdly. “You never were a good liar,” she accused. “You’re pretending to be worried about me, when you’re the one who’s in trouble.”
Narcissa looked indignant. “What! I am worried about you!” She insisted, “how could I not worry, you’re my sister! Besides, you’re in constant danger with those Ministry fools after you!” She paused to take a gulp of her drink, hesitated, then added skittishly, “What do you mean I’m in trouble?”
“Cissy, you’ve lived in luxury your whole life,” Bellatrix explained, somewhat irritated. “You’ve never had to lift a finger to take care of yourself. But now you’re alone - probably bitter and scared - anyone can see you’re not dealing with your new independence well,” Bella said matter-of-factly.
Narcissa momentarily swelled with anger, met her sister’s dark eyes, and sighed resolutely. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes.” Bella’s eyes suddenly flashed brightly. “But I know what will make it better...” she said conspiratorially, leaning forward.
Narcissa frowned, utterly confused at this change in Bella’s demeanor. “What?” she said with a frown, and a bite of impatience at her teasing.
"Your husband’s coming for you,” she grinned wickedly.
The words echoed in Narcissa’s subconscious over and over, like the crashing of waves. “What...?” She asked, her voice flat and hollow. It was not at all what she had expected to hear.
“I’ve only just found out--that’s why I came today, to tell you!” Bellatrix said excitedly. “They’ll be breaking Lucius out of Azkaban--maybe at soon as next week--and he’s coming to take you away from here.” She smiled encouragingly at her little sister. “The Dark Lord has granted Lucius’ plea for forgiveness, and he’s given him a new assignment...in Scandinavia! Nobody knows the Malfoy name up there, Cissy--it’s a chance to start over!”
Narcissa remained silent for several moments, still reeling. “Scandinavia?” she said blankly, disbelievingly. “But, when...how...why Scandinavia?”
“Cissy, do you not understand me?” Bella asked with raised eyebrows, “You’re gonna have Lucius back!” She reached over and playfully shook Narcissa’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll still be able to come visit you guys up there.”
“Wow,” Narcissa stammered, “I...I don’t know what to say. This is big news, Bella. Are you sure?”
“Yes, of course I’m sure! So, you’d better pull a bag together--no doubt he’ll come at night, and you’ll probably need to leave quickly. It’s a shame you’ll have to abandon the Manor, but the Dark Lord might have plans for it once you’ve gone.”
Bellatrix downed the rest of her Firewhiskey and got up suddenly. “I’ve got to get going, but I just had to tell you the good news in person.... Cissy, are you ok?”
Narcissa was staring blankly ahead of her with an odd, closed expression on her face. The hand holding her drink was white-knuckled because she was gripping it so tightly.
“Me? Oh--yeah. I’m just...really surprised, that’s all,” Narcissa said in a strained voice.
“Oh Cissy.” Bellatrix put an arm around her, “Our lives are so different, but...well, I really am happy for you--you deserve to have a quiet life. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve missed Lucius all this time.”
“Wait!” Narcissa cried, still mentally goggling at the notion that anyone could think her life ‘quiet’ or ‘happy’. “Do you have to go so soon?”
Bellatrix nodded and pulled her sister into a one-armed hug. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you again, but don’t worry about me,” she winked slyly and crossed back to the hearth.
“I--I’ll miss you, Bella!” Narcissa called after her, but Bellatrix had already pulled a handful of Floo powder from a pocket of her cloak and threw it into the fireplace.
“ Take care,” Bella said nonchalantly, and disappeared in a rush of green flames.
As the fire died down again, Narcissa slumped back against the sofa cushions, her head spinning. She downed the rest of her firewhiskey in one gulp, and tried to let the reality of Bella’s news sink in. Did Severus know about this, she wondered? Bella was right--she ought to be elated, looking forward to Lucius’ return, but for some reason the feeling wouldn’t come.
Narcissa Summoned another bottle of her favored drink and retired early that night, feeling more alone than ever. |
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| Love's Willing Prey - Dreamless Sleep Potion |
[Jun. 13th, 2006|04:30 pm] |
| [ | Music |
| | HIM - Razorblade Romance | ] |
Chapter Eight--Dreamless Sleep Potion
Narcissa had sat in stunned silence for at least an hour after Bellatrix’s departure. So, Lucius would finally return. He had been imprisoned for over two years now, and the Ministry had not yet allowed her a visit. She had since learned to function well enough without him, and after Draco’s murder, she did not relish the thought of being so closely affiliated with Death Eaters again.
I wonder if he even knows what happened, Narcissa thought miserably, a cold, sick feeling settling in the pit of her stomach that even Firewhiskey could not abate. How much will I have to explain? Lucius will surely be angry with me for trying to protect Draco, angry at Snape for agreeing to help, angry about Draco‘s ‘failure’....Narcissa’s thoughts trailed off, not wanting to imagine the scene that was bound to transpire upon her husband’s return.
By the next morning, Narcissa’s mind had been thrown into overdrive, and apprehension about Lucius’ return was not the only thing troubling her anymore. Her sister had mentioned a new assignment for them--in Scandinavia. Why there, of all places? What could the Dark Lord want Lucius to do there? After all this time without so much as a whisper concerning her husband, the Dark Lord suddenly saw fit to help him break free from Azkaban? Narcissa couldn’t help but be suspicious of the Dark Lord’s intentions, for she knew, perhaps better than anyone, that he did not forgive readily.
Narcissa found herself retreating to the meager comfort of firewhiskey even more often than usual in the days following her sister’s visit. She tried to meditate on the moment when she would look into her husband’s penetrating grey eyes again--when she’d be able to kiss him, hold him close... However, her thoughts would invariably turn to Draco, and from that point she could only feel hollow inside.
Maybe Bella’s right, Narcissa mused numbly as her insides clenched with dread at what was to come, and then burned in shame for acknowledging it. Perhaps nothing’s ever been good enough for me... If I’m not even grateful for Lucius Malfoy, then what else could possibly satisfy me?
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Narcissa’s eyes fluttered languidly as she turned toward the window. Darkness had fallen, save for a scant few moonbeams invading the drawing room’s solitude. She had completely lost track of the time, and her worried thoughts had once again given way to uneasy and frightful dreams. It seemed that for the past week she could not escape nightmares--of being chased by someone or something, of running naked through a dark forest, exposed and vulnerable...
I wish I knew how to whip up a decent potion for dreamless sleep, she lamented with a shudder, heaving herself unsteadily off the loveseat and Banishing her half-empty firewhiskey bottle to the rubbish bin. Narcissa was a fair hand at potions, but the taste of most of them was enough to make her more ill than she felt already. It seemed that Severus was the only potions master skilled enough to be able to mask any unpleasant flavor without altering the potion’s effects.
She started padding upstairs to her bedroom, hoping to find a bit of solace in a more restful position. Narcissa glimpsed her reflection in one of the ornate mirrors lining the stairway, and found herself startled, transfixed by the hollow, somber look in her bloodshot eyes.
How had this happened to her? Is this what she deserved in life? The image staring back out of the mirror reflected little more than an empty shell, a ghost of the proud and enviable woman she once was. Severus’ locket glinted at her throat, and her stomach clamped with some foreign, vague emotion. Narcissa acknowledged that Lucius would not be pleased with her wearing another’s gift, regardless of what it was meant for--namely, her protection. She would probably have to hide the locket before her husband’s return.
As she slipped uneasily between the rumpled silk sheets of her bed, Narcissa found herself assaulted by unsolvable concerns and uneasy thoughts yet again. She wasn’t tired physically, but sleep was as good an escape as any, and somewhat more respectable than drinking herself into a stupor. If only she could avoid her dreams...
Narcissa pulled the covers over her blonde head at the sound of a faraway owl’s hoot, and tried to focus on clearing her mind... What seemed like hours later, Narcissa had finally drifted into a lucid state of sleep--undoubtedly easier to reach under the influence of liquor.
In this state, her mind was able to roam freely without fears or distractions, and she found herself...back at Hogwarts as a schoolgirl, back to a brief tryst by the Hog’s Head pub, back to the rough-hewn dinner table at Spinner’s End where she had enjoyed such divine cooking....and she felt...peace. Something prodded Narcissa back to consciousness, and she sat bolt upright, a mad idea suddenly overtaking her.
Severus.
All this time--why hadn’t she thought to talk to him? He could probably even brew her some dreamless sleep potion, which was a more tangible reason to drop by for an unexpected visit. According to the clock on the opposite wall, it was now nearly two in the morning. “You are always welcome to come by...” His words from the pub so many nights ago still echoed tauntingly in her mind. If she hurried, it was likely that he would still be awake...
Narcissa dithered for only a moment, then leapt out of bed, feeling more alive then she had in almost a week. As a Black, and even moreso as a Malfoy, she had been admonished that it was weak to ask for help; however, if anyone could keep her secrets, it was Severus.
She threw on her traveling cloak, dashed down the darkened stairway and out the front doors, warding them behind her. She didn’t know precisely what she would say to Severus, but she felt sure that he’d be able to help sort out her feelings. Glancing briefly around as she reached the veranda’s edge, she then stepped down upon the damp ground and Disapparared with a faint pop.
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Narcissa reappeared alongside a murky, familiar river and quickly scrambled up the banks towards a sleepy neighborhood. She weaved her way through the deserted streets until she saw Severus’ house up ahead. Half out of breath from running, she approached the shadowy doorstep, knocked, and waited, a feeling of adrenaline coursing through her.
As she stood there, heart thumping, Narcissa became aware of the feeling that she was being watched. She looked warily behind her, but the only thing that seemed to be moving was the tall grass across the street. Probably just a small animal, she thought with a shiver of apprehension.
There was a sudden scuffling noise behind the door, and a moment later, Narcissa heard the clunk of the deadbolt and the door opened slightly. “Narcissa!” his eyes flashed in the darkness as he hissed, “Hurry, come in!”
Narcissa slipped into the house and Severus hastily locked the door behind them before turning to look at her. He was standing there barefoot, with a black robe thrown hastily around him and a look of mingled incredulity and concern on his face.
“Are you all right--what’s going on?” Snape asked, looking intently into her eyes, not even bothering to turn on a light.
“Er, nothing, actually...” she fumbled, feeling her cheeks grow warm under his gaze. “Just a....well, a potion--a certain potion I was hoping you’d make for me...” Even as the words came out, she felt ashamed--getting him worried and out of bed for something so trivial.
“A potion?” Snape inquired, his tone as relieved as it was bemused. “At two in the morning, Narcissa?”
“Yes--yes, you see--I was having trouble sleeping, and--you did say I could come by sometime, and...oh, I’m sorry, Severus!” She felt hot tears prick the corners of her eyes, and before she knew what she was doing, Narcissa had flung herself forward onto his chest and started to sob. He seemed utterly bewildered, but put his arms gently around her.
He guided her towards the living room, pausing only to draw his wand and conjure a scant fire in the blackened hearth. Snape simply held her for a few moments without saying anything. Narcissa was grateful for this, because after the tears had started flowing, she couldn’t have answered him coherently at any rate. As she settled into the warmth of Severus’ embrace, Narcissa found herself marveling that this position was at least as comforting as a vial of dreamless sleep potion. After several minutes, Snape offered her a handkerchief and gently brushed her hair back, away from her face.
“What’s troubling you, Narcissa?” he intoned gently. “I’m assuming it’s not merely nightmares?” he inquired, a wry smile crossing his lips that Narcissa couldn’t help but weakly return. Narcissa drew a shuddering breath as she dried her cheeks.
“Oh Severus, I’m really sorry to bother you like this...it’s just....well, I’ve actually been having these horrid dreams, and I just can’t tolerate taking potions without that flavor-masking you can do...” She cast her eyes down, feeling sheepish and unreasonably finicky.
“Yes, the draught for dreamless sleep is exceedingly bitter,” Snape conceded lightly. “I have a vial or two that I could spare, and I’d be glad to make you more. Pomegranate is, I believe, your favorite?”
“Oh, yes,” Narcissa nodded gratefully, “it is, actually. Thank you--” He shifted her within his arms so as to better see her face, and Narcissa quailed under his darkened gaze.
“However, unpleasant dreams often signify deeper disharmony...although I expect you already know that, Narcissa.” He paused, then asked in a low whisper of a voice, “is there anything you need to talk about?” Narcissa looked down, not entirely sure if she wanted to admit the overwhelming cause of her anxiety.
“Lucius is breaking out of Azkaban,” she confided, her voice heavy and thick with emotion. Snape frowned slightly but did not speak, so she continued tremulously. “He’s supposed to come for me...soon...and we’re...supposed to go...t-to...Scandinavia!” Narcissa was crying afresh now, her mind racing in the silence that followed.
She did not know why, but now that she’d opened up to Severus, it was as if all her veiled thoughts were suddenly coalescing into sharp, painful certainty, and they were now vying for verbal acknowledgement.
“Severus, you know...I-I don’t think he’s e-ever loved me....and I d-don’t think he loved D-Draco either....a-and...I don’t want to g-go anywhere with h-him!” She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears and leaned into Severus’ loosely robed chest, her thin form quaking with sobs.
Snape paused for a moment, allowing her tears to stem slightly, then asked, “How do you know?”
“B-Bellatrix,” moaned Narcissa, her thoughts still rushing madly. “She c-came over last w-week, acting like she was b-bringing good news, and...oh gods, Severus...I’ve n-never been s-so miserable...” she broke off, her face contorting ruefully as tears splashed randomly down her traveling cloak.
If she had looked up, she would have seen the blazing, hardened look upon Snape’s features...but she was too lost in her own private revelations, and continued blindly. “You know, I-I’ve never been happy with him,” Narcissa confessed, still not thinking to meet Severus’ eyes, but staring blankly into the crackling hearth.
“Maybe I’m not m-meant to be happy,” Narcissa muttered with resignation, and a bit more composure.
“Cissa....” Snape began in a deadly-quiet voice, and Narcissa finally lifted her eyes to face him. She expected him to be stony-faced, to tell her that she and Lucius must obey the Dark Lord’s wishes, that she had no business being miserable. She had been bracing for an even-keeled rebuke of the most predictable sort....
Narcissa did most certainly not expect to behold his deep black eyes glinting sharply, only inches from her own, with an almost passionate fierceness within them...
“You deserve to be happy, Narcissa,” he hissed forcefully, “it’s never too late--”
Without preamble, without further warning, Severus leaned in and kissed her. A jolt of electricity passed through Narcissa’s mind and body as she registered the shock of what he had just done...and that she didn’t want him to stop.
“...We’ve been slaves to this love from the moment we touched and keep begging for more of this resurrection...”
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A/N: Lyrics to "Resurrection" by Ville Valo of HIM for the album "Razorblade Romance".
Narcissa's dreams are purposely misleading--they may be either symbolic, prophetic, or neither. Pomegranates, a fruit almost entirely filled with seeds, are an ancient symbol of fertility--and they smell and taste quite good, too. |
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| Love's Willing Prey - Sweet Revelations |
[Jun. 12th, 2006|04:42 pm] |
| [ | Music |
| | HIM - Deep Shadows & Brilliant Highlights | ] |
Chapter Nine - Sweet Revelations
“Love is a flame that can’t be tamed
and though we are its willing prey
my darling
we are not the ones to blame”
The kiss was brief and chaste, but Narcissa’s eyes widened as the truth behind her emotions came clear. Before she knew it, however, Severus was pulling away, a shuttered expression covering his face. Without thinking, she leaned forward to close the distance between them again, meeting his lips almost desperately. They broke apart once more and Narcissa searched his face for a reaction, but his expression was inscrutable.
“Narcissa,” Severus began, rising suddenly, as if he wanted to put as much distance as possible between them. “I understand how you’re feeling right now...”
Does he? Narcissa mused, intently watching his every move as he paced the floor in front of her.
Severus sighed, an uncharacteristic sound to escape his lips.... Soft, warm, tender lips....
“However, the hour is late--we....” He seemed to be casting about for the right words. “You do not want to make any hasty decisions.”
He didn’t seem to notice that Narcissa was not listening to him.
“Come,” he beckoned, turning towards her again, “It is only prudent to avoid Apparating at this time of night. Allow me to Floo you home.”
Severus stood over Narcissa, holding a hand out to help her up from the sofa. Narcissa did not take it, nor did she look up for several moments.
Her mind was alive with the implications of what had just happened; of what she’d known for so long but had only just realized: She was in love with Severus Snape.
“Kiss me like that again,” she breathed, coming out of her reverie and eagerly taking his hand in both of hers. He regarded her for a moment, then unceremoniously wrenched himself from her grasp.
“Narcissa, I apologize...you are in a worse state than I realized, and....” He broke off, looking alarmed as she rose up, grabbed the front of his robes and looked into his eyes, passion in her own. If she shifted less than an inch, their noses would touch.... Why had it taken so long for her to realize? She had to make him understand.
“Severus...” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with fresh tears. “Look at me. I’ve been stripped of everything that matters. I don’t know what I need anymore, but...can’t you give me what I want?I love you.” It might have sounded like a manipulative thing to say, but Narcissa meant it. At any rate, she didn’t think she could bear spending the rest of the night alone. At these words, Severus froze, a shrewd, appraising look coming over his features as he looked toward her.
Narcissa blinked and in the next moment, found his lips pressed hungrily against hers. Her body tingled with excitement as he enveloped her in his embrace. His touch was not casual or even gentle--it was as though he’d been waiting ages for this moment.
Narcissa parted her lips ever so slowly as she deepened the kiss, wanting to taste him. Severus inhaled slowly, taking in her scent, her taste--and then broke away with difficulty.
“Narcissa...” he whispered as their eyes met in the scant firelight. He realized he could feel her heart beating.
“Mmmhm?”
“I must warn you that you are setting the cat among the pixies, my dear Mrs. Malfoy.” he drawled softly, his mouth curling into a roguish smirk. “Sometimes, it’s not always clear what will make us happy...”
“Yes...and sometimes it’s clear that words are quite unnecessary...” she retorted teasingly, very pleased that he didn’t seem inclined to resist anymore.
She kissed him again, running her fingers though his raven hair just as she had done as a teenager at the Yuletide Celebration. There was an indescribable energy emanating from Narcissa that resonated with something small and deeply buried inside Severus. He felt the slightest twinge of guilt for taking advantage of the situation, but waved that away distractedly. He had warned her, but she insisted....
They broke apart once more, and their eyes locked. Severus’ looked predatory, and it suddenly seemed that Narcissa was correct--conversation was highly overrated.
Severus steered them both back towards the sofa, as Narcissa’s agile hands relieved him of the robe he was wearing. Severus’ hands snaked underneath her traveling cloak and down her back, soft yet powerful. Neither of them paid any attention to her cloak as it slipped to the floor in a heap.
Severus suddenly drew his wand and pointed it at her heart, but laid a gentle finger across her lips as she started to protest. “You have been forewarned--Auferio!”
Narcissa’s eyes widened for a moment, and then she smirked in spite of herself--he had used a spell to unclothe her. It was a bit utilitarian, but more interesting as well.
“Wherever did you learn that one?” she quipped nervously, keen to feel the softness of his skin against hers. He released her and leaned back, as if to purposely make her wait.
“Oh, just something I made up,” he demurred silkily, savoring the sight of Narcissa, spread out like a feast before him. She looked so delicate, so vulnerable, lying naked in the firelight.
As Narcissa watched his eyes trail up and down her body, she was startled to feel respected - venerated - like a goddess, rather than stripped and vulnerable like a piece of meat. It seemed effortless and unintentional on his part, yet she couldn’t recall ever feeling so...treasured...under a man’s lustful gaze before.
Severus smoothed back her long hair before running his fingers across her cheek and slowly down her neck. He began trailing delicate kisses across her collarbone, and she arched her back against him, eliciting a sharp intake of breath that she was sure he had tried to cover up.
Narcissa smirked distractedly. “You think you’re...in charge, do you?” she breathed, teasing laughter in her voice.
In lieu of an answer, Severus nipped at the side of her throat, nearly catching the locket’s chain in his teeth and making her gasp in surprise.
“Make no mistake,” he intoned suggestively, “I am.”
In a matter of moments, his hands were everywhere, kissing, caressing... His touch was both gentle and desperate, teasing and deliberate. Narcissa shut her eyes, indulgently breathing in his musky scent. She grazed her lips across Severus’ forehead, and pulled him closer, desire mounting swiftly within her. Before long, it was all Narcissa could do to try and brace herself against the powerful waves of pleasure his touch was giving rise to.
Severus’ mouth curled into a self-satisfied smirk as he watched her growing desperate with want, her back arching, her hips pressing imploringly against his. He wondered if she knew just how much he was enjoying this. After all these years of lusting her in silence, it would be vindicating to see Narcissa beg.
And beg she did, even sooner than he expected--
“Sev--Severus,” she moaned softly, her eyes fluttering open again to meet his. “Oh...please....”
Severus savored the pleasure of reducing Narcissa to a puddle of incoherent desire for only a moment before he gave in to her. Narcissa’s body was flooded with exquisite sensations as she cried out into the emptiness around them. She marveled at the way emotion and pleasure could be so inexplicably intertwined, as she and Severus attuned their bodies to the same divine rhythm.
Narcissa tangled her fingers into his dark hair and couldn’t help but anchor her leg around his body, lost in the rapture of their closeness. Finally, sweet transcendence coursed through both their bodies and souls. Severus felt her muscles shudder and tremble, and he watched in satisfaction as she threw back her head in ecstasy...for him.
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Narcissa faded slowly into consciousness the next morning, breathing in a wonderful, unfamiliar smell in the air. The usual symptoms of hangover were not present for a change, as well as the lingering sense of foreboding that nightmares left upon her.
She felt a happiness that wasn’t immediately traceable.... As she opened her eyes and found herself somewhere other than Malfoy Manor, the previous night’s events came rushing back and Narcissa was delirious with excitement. She instinctively turned over to look behind her, but the other side of the bed was empty.
This must be Severus’ bedroom, she thought, taking in her surroundings with interest. The room was simply furnished, with heavily textured curtains that had been drawn against the early afternoon sunlight. An intricately patterned black and grey quilt covered her--it was a bit thin but quite comfortable.
Narcissa noticed her wand lying on the night table, and next to it was a piece of neatly folded cloth, which she recognized as her dress from the night before. With a start, it occurred to her that the only thing she was wearing under the quilt was the heavy locket that Severus had given her. Narcissa sat up, clutching the covers to her bare chest with one hand as she pulled her dress and wand off the table with the other. Dressing quickly, she then decided to follow the delicious smell that was wafting into the bedroom. Wand placed carefully back on the bedside table, Narcissa eased open the door and continued down a short hallway.
Severus looked up as she entered the kitchen; he was bringing two plates of fried eggs and sausages to the table.
“Good afternoon. Are you hungry?” he asked simply, with that almost imperceptible smirk on his face again.
“Yes I am, thanks,” Narcissa said softly as she made to pull up a chair, but Severus quickly set the plates down and did it for her. Narcissa surveyed the small feast, faintly impressed. “Severus Snape, a gourmet cook? Who knew?” she teased, her voice still light from sleep.
“There are plenty of things a man learns to do when he lives alone,” Severus said lightly, as he conjured utensils for them both with a wave of his wand and began eating.
“I never would have guessed,” she said with a smile as she tucked in appreciatively. “It makes me quite curious to know what other secrets you’ve kept from the world.”
It was an innocent remark on her part, but cause for discomfort nevertheless. Severus decided to change the subject. “Did you sleep well?” he asked. “You were so tired, I...thought you would be most comfortable in my bed,” Severus said delicately, his manner uncommonly warm and gentle.
“Yes, actually, I slept very well,” Narcissa answered, her eyes sparkling.
“And without any potion? Imagine that...” Severus drawled lightly, a placidly innocent expression on his face that Narcissa couldn’t help chuckling at.
“You know - really, Severus - you’ve been so good to me, in so many ways,” Narcissa began, as much to validate her feelings as to impart them to him. “You’ve always been there when I needed help, you’ve always been there to protect me,” she continued, tears beginning to prick the corners of her eyes.
Severus had stopped eating, so as to give her his full attention, but he said nothing--yet.
“I’ll never be able to thank you enough for protecting Draco last year, even....even if--” She choked on those last few words, and took a deep breath to steady herself. “Well, it’s plenty more than Lucius ever did--for either me or my son,” she admitted, dabbing lightly at her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Narcissa...it’s the very least I can do,” Severus asserted simply. Inside, however, turmoil had begun to brew. He was already tormented by guilt over their unexpected rendezvous last night - afraid that he had taken unfair advantage of her - yet here she was, thanking him....
His thoughts drifted towards the two potions concealed in his storeroom, both crucial for their respective sides of the war. He considered the beautiful person before him, an innocent victim of circumstance...and whom he also feared was the Dark Lord’s ultimate target...second only to Potter.
Thee only gets what thou dost earn.... He fervently hoped he was making the right decisions.
“No,” Narcissa countered playfully, “the least you could do is treat me to an encore of last night.”
This effectively drew Severus out of his deliberations, and he looked up to see her hand outstretched, eager to lead him back to the bedroom. For the moment, it seemed as if his guilt had been misallocated. By the hungry look in her eyes, Narcissa had clearly recovered from her brief fit of emotion as well.
She leaned in for a kiss, and as their lips met again, Severus put all other matters firmly out of his mind.
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A/N: First and foremost, my deepest gratitude goes to Slian Martreb, who so sweetly agreed to beta-read the "delicate" part of this chapter for me...and on less than a moment's notice. :)
Lyrics to "Pretending" by Ville Valo of HIM for the album Deep Shadows and Brilliant Highlights. I must admit that the majority of my inspiration for this fic can be traced back to Ville Valo’s profound and poetic lyrics.
Also, the spell Severus uses here is a made-up variation of the Latin aufero, which means either "to carry away or remove"” or alternately, "“to make away with, or steal". I thought either meaning fit the context of this chapter rather appropriately. |
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| Love's Willing Prey - Plotting the Future |
[Jun. 11th, 2006|04:42 pm] |
Chapter 10 - Plotting the Future
Across from a darkened street, unseen by anyone, the tall grass rustled as a small animal dashed quickly through it. It made its way past abandoned take-out boxes and fallen branches, towards a smelly, murky river. It looked around skittishly, then there was a flash of light as the animal morphed into a stooping man with a longish nose, wringing his hands in excitement. A loud crack echoed across the mossy riverbanks as the man called Wormtail Disapparated without so much as a backward glance.
Wormtail reappeared on the edge of a gnarled, scrubby forest that was all but inaccessible to non-wizards. He approached two cloaked, hooded figures haltingly until they paused to look at him. Bellatrix Lestrange sneered at him in silence, but he kept his eyes on Lord Voldemort before bowing so deeply that his face brushed the weeds growing beneath them.
“My--my Lord, I have most interesting news!” Wormtail squeaked nervously.
“Well?” Voldemort said in a chilling voice. He hardly bothered to look at Wormtail; his eyes were blank, blood-red and staring.
“Well--it seems--it seems that Snape received a visitor late last night, my Lord.”
“Who was it, Wormtail?” Voldemort asked sharply. Wormtail must have expected this, because he immediately winced and shrunk back slightly before stuttering, “I--I--I did not see w-who it was, my Lord! It was dark, and...and Snape must have suspected that he was being watched, because he didn’t even turn on his porch light...please--it was all I could see!”
Voldemort merely laughed at Wormtail’s obvious fear of him. “Wormtail, if you cannot even tell me who the person was, you are a worthless spy,” he spat dangerously as Wormtail cowered in front of him, whimpering.
Bellatrix was also intrigued by the possibility of Snape having late-night visitors.
“My Lord," she asked reverently, "do you think it was someone from the Order of the Phoenix? My sister is friendly with Snape, you know, she might be able to get a lot of information on the Order from him...perhaps if we Imperius her,” she added with a manic glint in her dark eyes.
“Bella, Bella, no need for that.” Voldemort said with a twisted smile, looking pensive, as if he was spotting connections that the other two did not.
Voldemort moved closer to Bellatrix, effectively shutting Wormtail out of the conversation. “You say your sister is close with Snape, Bella?”
“Yes my Lord, even though I’ve warned her that he can’t be trusted,” she said with contempt. “As a matter of fact, the last time I saw her, she was wearing a necklace that she said Snape gave her, some old locket of his--”
“What?” Voldemort said sharply, his eyes narrowing.
“Just...a locket, my Lord...she--she said it was enchanted to protect the wearer,” Bellatrix said, somewhat confused at the Dark Lord’s sudden shift in demeanor but aware that it would be utterly disloyal to question him.
The next moment, however, Lord Voldemort appeared to be disinterested in what Bellatrix had said and they discussed other matters. Voldemort then sent them away. He needed to be alone, to refine his plans in light of Bella's interesting new information....
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“Bella, I will speak to you privately after I meet with the others.”
“Yes, of course--I would be honored, my Lord...” Bellatrix bowed to him with a smile on her face.
Was she going to be the one he chose? It was her dearest ambition to serve the Dark Lord in every way possible, and the ultimate way to find favour in his eyes would be to help procure the heir of Slytherin that Lord Voldemort so zealously desired....
Voldemort summoned a cringing Wormtail to his side and yanked him roughly around to reach his left arm. Wormtail gave a barely audible whimper as Voldemort pressed his long white finger into the dark mark that was etched into his flesh. The mark slowly turned a charred shade of black, and wizards began Apparating all around them in the deserted clearing.
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Snape was sitting on the edge of his bed, a drink in his hand, staring blankly at the wall. She had left mere hours ago, but he couldn't quit thinking about her...about them...together. It just seemed too incredible to be happening after all this time.
He had long ago eschewed the indulgence of his emotions, fickle, confounding things they were. From observing his parents, he had long ago decided that only fools wore their hearts on their sleeves. He had given in to his feelings once before, but what had it resulted in? Loneliness, heartbreak, and humiliation.
When Narcissa had married Lucius Malfoy, it cut him to bone. Furthermore, insult was added to injury because she had known that he cared. He had went out on a limb and disclosed his attraction to her, yet the last thing Severus wanted from anyone was pity. Now, however, these painfully final things of the past seemed to have been turned upside down. She had been thinking of him, she had come to him...she had said she loved him....
In truth, Severus had initially been glad at Lucius’ arrest, because the arogant blonde had never treated Cissa nor Draco very well. Severus hadn’t banked on the Dark Lord's wrath extending to the other Malfoys, however. Smirking, Severus had to acknowledge that Lucius had been, in a way, keeping Cissa safe as much as he was keeping her miserable all these years.
His musings were interrupted, however, by a familiar feeling that pierced through his left forearm. Silently cursing himself for being so unprepared, he abandoned his half-finished drink and rushed out the door to answer Lord Voldemort’s call.
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Voldemort paced imperiously around a circle of cloaked hooded men, his Death Eaters, who were all bowing down to him wordlessly, waiting for him to speak.
“Here we are, on the eve of the new moon, my friends. An excellent evening to commence my newest plan,” the Dark Lord began, narrowing his eyes as he caught the barely suppressed shudder that ran through several figures’ bodies.
“Avery, Alecto!” Voldemort called out as the two men stepped forward and bowed again, “I have explained to you what you must do--go now, and be quick about it!” Two cracks sounded through the trees as they Disapparated.
“Tonight, the wizarding world will be regaled by my power in an unprecedented way! You will all witness the creation of Salazar Slytherin‘s next heir: one who will possess the purest, more powerfully magical blood in the wizarding race. One who will have a complete, immortal soul from the moment of creation!”
A few of the Death Eaters could not contain their surprise; Snape heard audible gasps and knew then that the Dark Lord had not chosen to share this information with his comrades until this moment.
“Yes, my friends, this is an accomplishment that testifies to the superiority of pure wizarding blood. It requires a very complicated, ancient magic to recall Slytherin’s pristine blood, and I needed a skilled and accomplished potion-maker to assist in this most formidable task." The Dark Lord paused and the masked faces of his minions followed his gaze, transfixed.
"I must congratulate Severus Snape. He did not disappoint me tonight.” Snape had already stepped forward and bowed low to the ground, wanting to avoid the others’ jealous and prying eyes as the Dark Lord approached him . “You will be most richly rewarded,” Voldemort said quietly, wearing either a sneer or a smile--it was impossible to tell.
“Thank you my Lord," Severus breathed, "I am merely grateful to be able to assist you.”
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Narcissa had been alone all day, but for the first time in ages, she didn't feel at all lonely. She hadn’t even touched a bottle of firewhiskey since she’d returned from Severus’ house, but she had managed to shower. Instead of pulling on the first thing she came across, she took her time getting dressed and retreated to her bedroom, lying there thinking to herself for quite some time....
Narcissa gradually realized that she must have dozed off, because the sun was already going down. She had been having the most pleasant dream...she closed her eyes lazily again and fingered the locket at her neck. In a few hours’ time, Severus would be coming to get her. She smiled dreamily and was very much enjoying herself, imagining what they might do together, when she heard something quite unexpected--voices downstairs.
As comprehension caught up with her senses, Narcissa felt positively strangled with fear and foreboding:
Lucius had returned. |
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| Love's Willing Prey - My Darling Husband |
[Jun. 10th, 2006|02:53 pm] |
| [ | Music |
| | HIM - Greatest Lovesongs Vol. 666 | ] |
Chapter Eleven - My Darling Husband
Narcissa sat up jerkily, wide-eyed and terror-stricken. Her husband was here, and what had once been the far-off future was suddenly happening now. She wasn’t ready for this. Her mind seemed locked on Severus, but she frantically tried to focus on the situation at hand. Lucius couldn't be permitted to guess what was happening in her mind and heart, not if she wanted to live.
As Narcissa heard footsteps coming up the staircase, her mind raced, trying to think of something to say, the proper way to act... The door creaked as it slowly opened, and before she could make a move, Narcissa found herself looking into the cool grey eyes of her husband for the first time in over a year.
Lucius looked ragged. Azkaban had hollowed his face in the same manner as it had Bella’s; his once impeccably sleek hair was dirty and matted, and the robes he was wearing were mere rags compared to the finery Narcissa was accustomed to seeing. For a heart-stopping, unbearable moment, neither spoke.
“Hello, my dear,” Lucius finally drawled, his voice soft yet dangerous as ever as he looked Narcissa up and down intently.
Narcissa had known that Azkaban was hard on anyone, but she hadn’t expected Lucius to look so...broken. Her face flushed with emotions (many that gratefully remained private) as she faltered and found her voice.
“Lucius!” she exclaimed, “Oh, Lucius!” and she rose to embrace him, her face already shining with tears.
He said nothing, but held her close for some time. Narcissa’s mind was swimming with thoughts: Would he suspect her disobedience of both himself and the Dark Lord? Did he expect them to leave for Scandinavia immediately? Did he even know about Draco?
Even as they embraced, Narcissa’s feelings were conflicted. Lucius was a publicly known Death Eater, lower than a common criminal...and for all the Dark Lord’s promises of glory, it was the opposite of what he had brought. The once impeccable persona of Lucius Malfoy was now tainted both inside and out. Narcissa was beginning to feel that he disgusted her. But as they broke apart, Narcissa’s blue eyes met Lucius’ grey ones, and once again her feelings shifted. In that instant, she caught a glimpse of something deeper, and was reminded of the hopes she had once cherished for their future together. Despite all his flaws, Lucius Malfoy had, at least, given her the most precious gift in the world--Draco.
Sweet, precious Draco...she had to tell him now.
“Lucius,” Narcissa began, in a voice that was barely more than a strangled whisper, “Lucius, I...I don’t...” All this time, Narcissa had been loathe to imagine how her husband would react to Draco’s death, but now that those same haunting grey eyes were right here, looking expectantly at her to deliver the kind of truth that no one wants to hear, she broke down completely.
“D--Draco is--” she managed to splutter as she bowed her head and crumpled in a heap at Lucius’ feet. She barely noticed the look of sneering disdain arranging itself on Lucius’ now-weathered features.
“I know,” Lucius said simply; “I know, Narcissa.”
“You--you do?” Narcissa looked up weakly; she had not expected this. “How--how did you find out?”
“I was informed by two of the Dark Lord’s servants as they assisted in my escape,” Lucius said in a monotonously even voice as he stared across the room. Narcissa‘s cheeks were shining with tears as she tried to discern emotion on her husband‘s ragged face, but Lucius turned away irritably.
“Our son’s life was indeed cut short, but ours will go on, Narcissa,” Lucius drawled as he paced the floor regally, his unkempt appearance and ragged clothes betraying his true demeanor.
“We may be consoled, however, by the fact that he died for a noble cause.”
Narcissa looked up slowly as he spoke, his voice casual and calm. Her tears still flowed freely, but she was bristling inside at his expressionless tone and features. Noble cause? Even as she chastised herself for thinking that he would ever react otherwise, she was agog as his resigned acceptance of it all--and she was having trouble concealing it.
Lucius was looking at her appraisingly now; the tenderness that she had imagined in his eyes jut a few moments ago was gone, his characteristic sneer was firmly in place. He doesn’t give a shit, she thought, her shock turning to rage boiling inside her like molten steel. His own son is dead, and he doesn't give a shit. She straightened up and mechanically rearranged her features, tried to hold back the turmoil just under the surface of her cool blue eyes.
“I suppose you're right,” she deferred, taking in a great shuddering breath but stemming the flow of her tears all the same. Thing were no different. Suppression of emotion was a way of life for the Malfoys, and Narcissa had dealt with this for years. She was not about to lose control now, not when there was a possibility of escape in her future for the first time.
But she had forgotten about the locket.
Lucius’ eyes narrowed as they fell upon the heavy pendant encircled around his wife’s throat. Narcissa felt sick with apprehension. For all the locket’s supposed power, she doubted it would be sufficient to protect her from a jealous husband.
“What is that?” he asked slowly. “I don’t recall ever giving you such a necklace...”
He leaned toward her to examine the locket more closely, and Narcissa’s insides squirmed as she frantically tried to think of an explanation that Lucius wouldn‘t be angry about. Wait a moment....yes...so simple...I’ll just tell the truth. After all, Severus did give me the locket as a simple protection. Lucius might speculate all he liked about the true nature of their relationship, but he certainly could not object to something that was keeping his wife safe during his absence.
“Oh, this old thing?” Narcissa gestured toward the locket, trying to sound offhand. “Your dear friend Severus--Snape--gave it to me. It’s enchanted to protect the wearer, you see.”
“I don’t, actually,” Lucius intoned. He arched one eyebrow as he held out his hand expectantly. “So Snape gave you a locket? Quite interesting...yes....”
His eyes glinted malevolently. “Take it off, Narcissa.”
Why does he have to be so suspicious of me? Narcissa thought with frustration. Even as she raised her hands tentatively to the clasp, which she had never yet undone, she thought she must at least try to object. “Snape told me I shouldn’t take it off, you know,”
A smirk crept onto Lucius’ features as he moved closer to his wife; he stood behind her and placed his hands tenderly on her waist. Narcissa couldn’t help thinking that his actions were incongruous with the appraising chill in his eyes.
“Surely, you feel safe now, my dear, now that I’m here to protect you?”
Lucius’ return brought forth some of the most powerful feelings of fear, confusion, and vulnerability that Narcissa could ever recall.
“Yes, of course,” she said with a convincingly droll smile.
“Excellent,” Lucius purred, and without further warning, he snatched the locket right off of Narcissa’s neck, breaking the chain in two and cutting into the side of her neck slightly. As she reached up dazedly to touch the place where the locket’s chain had scraped her, Narcissa noticed Lucius cast the trinket aside with something close to contempt before he attempted to distract her with another passion-filled kiss.
“Now then,” Lucius started, apparently satisfied that his role as head of the family was still intact, “the Ministry of Magic has already been alerted to Azkaban’s breach of security. Thus, we must make other arrangements for the present.”
Narcissa’s stomach was still in knots just thinking about what the Dark Lord had in store for them, about Scandinavia, about any part of her increasingly uncertain future. “Wh--what do you have in mind? Dear?”
“Well, it has come to my attention that many of our so-called allies have snubbed the Malfoy family in recent months,” he sneered contemptuously. “These individuals have proven their hatred of both myself and the Dark Lord." Lucius turned his piercing gaze upon his wife, who quailed slightly.
“However, it seems to you, dear wife, that at least one of our fellows has not abandoned us,” he conceded with a deadly smirk. “I’m sure Severus would love to have the Malfoys by for dinner this evening.”
So, Lucius was a calculating antagonist indeed. Narcissa could only be thankful that Severus possessed a great deal of composure and an equally enviable deadpan. The last thing that a Malfoy needed was to be suspected of adultery. |
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| Love's Willing Prey - Dinner With Snape |
[Jun. 9th, 2006|03:28 pm] |
| [ | Music |
| | HIM - Love Metal | ] |
Chapter Twelve - Dinner With Snape
Lucius was being unnaturally affectionate towards his wife since he had returned...or possibly only since he had spied Snape’s locket against her throat.
It was torturous for Narcissa, having to pretend to enjoy Lucius’ domineering kisses, his hands constantly roving her body. Azkaban must have effectively renewed a craving for human touch in Lucius, because Narcissa was quite taken aback by all of his affection. Years ago she might have enjoyed this, but not now. The irony was incredible.
Although Snape knew that it was only a matter of time before Lucius Malfoy returned to Narcissa, he was admittedly horror-struck when the pair of them arrived unannounced on his doorstep.
After all that had happened between himself and Narcissa, it dredged up wounds of the oldest and most painful kind to see Lucius with her again. Snape was a logical creature, however, and bitterly acknowledged that it would be quite dangerous for Narcissa to do anything other than keep up pretenses. Snape was quite sure that Lucius wasn’t aware of anything delicate that had transpired in his absence, but he had always known the man to behave in an overly possessive manner towards anything that he perceived as his own.
So, Severus served them dinner and they made do with forced small talk, as if they were all upstanding members of society and not a convicted Death Eater, an adulteress, and a double agent...a murderer. As the evening dragged on like some farced drama-act, Snape found himself eternally thankful that he was a Legilimens, and also that Mr. Malfoy was not. A lesser man than Severus would have faltered under the pressure, but the first look into Narcissa’s eyes had told him all he needed to know.
Lucius Malfoy looked physically worse from his time spent in Azkaban, but he had changed very little otherwise. He still conducted himself like royalty.
“Again, you have our deepest gratitude for accepting us into your...humble home...for dinner, Severus. It was such short notice, but given the circumstances--”
“Oh, not at all, not at all, my friend,” Snape replied over his wine glass, a muted feeling of adrenaline coursing through his veins, unbeknownst to his preoccupied dinner guest. “I was glad to be of assistance.”
“Yes, it’s good to be among friends again,“ Lucius drawled. “It seems that many of the Dark Lord’s servants have shown where their true loyalties lie since the Wizarding world has acknowledged his return.” Lucius leaned back magisterially on Snape’s leather sofa and draped a lazy arm around his wife, who was looking at Snape but kept silent.
“Obviously,” Snape began, “some of his servants do not recognize the extent of the Dark Lord‘s power. There are many in the Wizarding world, and quite possibly among our own ranks, that continue to underestimate him,” he added with an angry sneer that was not entirely related to what he was saying, as Lucius had chosen that moment to bestow a kiss upon Narcissa.
“Ah, yes....like that meddlesome fool Dumbledore,” Lucius elaborated, “hiding Harry Potter under his overlong beard all these years, repeatedly overlooking the welfare of the school and hiring the most unsuitable candidates for teaching positions--yourself not implied, of course, Severus,” he added with thinly veiled arrogance.
“Of course,” demurred Snape silkily; he was not about to let Lucius Malfoy get away with insulting him in his own home. “But of course you must have heard while you were in Azkaban, about what happened to Dumbledore?”
“Yes, indeed I did,” Lucius started slowly, “however, I simply must hear it firsthand: so tell us Severus--how did you really get rid of that old fool? And more interestingly, how did you manage to remain a free man? Surely there were witnesses? Why, my own son...”
Their conversation was like a drill, boring into Narcissa’s very heart and soul--how could they be so callous? Both of them! Narcissa could care less about Dumbledore’s hiring practices or even his protecting Harry Potter, but the fact remained that if the Dark Lord had not ordered Draco to kill that man, he might be here with them today.
Draco was offered the unsavory choice of murderer or victim...and then she, Narcissa, had selfishly presented Severus with the same options upon making the Unbreakable Vow with him. Of course, it would all be different if Draco had been alive. Her son was the most precious thing in the world to her; any decent mother would die--or kill--to save their son, she reasoned.
However, Narcissa stared into the crackling fire as she acquiesced that the hands of her lover had been bloodstained indirectly by her. She thought of Severus' soft, caressing touch and shuddered slightly; she thought of the way that her name rolled silkily off his tongue and found that she could barely conceive of him saying those irrevocable words--Avada Kedavra...
Narcissa suspected that Snape didn’t have the contempt that the Dark Lord or even the other Death Eaters had for Dumbledore, and she found herself dwelling on whether it had pained him at all to do it...to kill...
“...Narcissa!”
“Oh, yes? Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Narcissa smiled wanly at the two men, hoping to conceal her precarious mental state. She hoped that they had moved on to more neutral topics of conversation. Lucius shifted agitatedly in his seat; too much wine often gave him a nasty temper. Narcissa eyed the empty wine bottle on the coffee table, and reasoned that after so long in prison, he must have been eager to indulge.
“We were just discussing the finer points of our next few days--were you listening at all?” Lucius asked sharply.
Narcissa shot a furtive glance at Snape, and proceeded with caution; she could tell her husband was drunk. “Darling, I’m so sorry, I must have dropped off for a moment; could you...tell me again, please?”
It was Snape who spoke first, however. “Narcissa, Malfoy manor is the most likely place for the Aurors to look for Lucius, so they are undoubtedly monitoring your Floo, and perhaps even searching your owls. However,” he paused to look at Lucius, “My name is clear; I am a member of the Order of the Phoenix, therefore they would never suspect a person such as myself to harbor a criminal.” Snape smirked amusedly at this, but Narcissa noticed his eyes glittering strangely.
“So, what are you suggesting, that we stay with you now?”
“Damn!” Lucius interjected loudly and they both turned to look at him. “You weren’t listening at all, were you?” Narcissa wanted to run and hide; she doubted Lucius would do anything worse than shout while they were in mixed company, but she was too embarrassed to even look at Severus. However, it was as if Snape knew that Lucius' temper flaring wasn’t a rare occurrence in the Malfoy home, because he continued to address both of them as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“Lucius is going to stay here, while you are to return the manor. That way, you can act as if you know nothing of the prison break. Meanwhile, we can communicate and travel by my Floo, and the Ministry shouldn't suspect a thing.” Snape held Narcissa’s gaze a bit longer than was necessary; he wanted to do something to reassure her.
“Oh.” Narcissa said blankly. “Is that the best thing, then? Should--should I leave now?” She was suddenly craving the warm hazy comfort of a firewhiskey, preferably in solitude.
“You might as well,“ drawled Lucius after holding his icy gaze upon her for several moments. “I am still tired from my journey, and you must have our belongings ready for travel within the next two days--” He broke off because at these words, Narcissa‘s face had become almost panic-stricken and her eyes wide with dread.
“But, surely, your dear sister informed you ages ago about the Dark Lord‘s...new assignment?”
“Yes, of course....” Narcissa said slowly, “but, how did you know Bella told me?”
“Why, she was the one who helped me escape,” Lucius said with an air of...was it smugness? “Oh yes, my dear, your sister and I had plenty of time to catch up. But enough of this--the hour is late, and I would still like to chat with my friend Snape before I retire.” His eyes lingered on Snape for a moment too long before he set down his half-finished glass of wine and rose from the couch. “So, this is goodnight, my dear.”
“Yes,” Narcissa said automatically, and her eyes traveled over to Snape. “Thank you for dinner, for everything, Severus”
Snape’s face was inscrutable as he replied, “Not at all, Mrs. Malfoy.”
Being addressed like that by Severus felt nearly insulting, yet who else could she possibly be but “Mrs. Malfoy” in the presence of Lucius? No, in the shadow of Lucius....under Lucius' thumb....
Snape stood to fetch Narcissa's cloak and bag, while Lucius made a show of kissing her farewell.
I can‘t believe this is happening, Narcissa mused as she tried to close her eyes and imagine that it was Severus that she was kissing and not her husband. As they broke apart, Narcissa forced a smile, and Lucius pulled her into an almost crushing embrace. From over Lucius’ shoulder, she locked eyes with Severus for a moment before he looked deliberately away. Narcissa mentally cursed herself--she never intended anyone to get hurt.
She couldn‘t be sure, but again it seemed that Lucius was being overly affectionate towards her. Was he simply overjoyed to be reunited with his wife again, or was it something more--something she should be worried about?
Narcissa took a hadnful of floo powder and threw it in Snape’s fire without another word. Her gaze lingered heavily on the two men before she said simply, “Good night, Lucius. Good night, Severus.”
“Pleasant dreams, my darling,” Lucius drawled, his eyes piercing her.
"Farewell," Snape said stiffly.
She stepped over the hearth without another word and called out, “Malfoy Manor!”
Narcissa was gone. The green tinged flames hadn’t even fully resumed their normal color before Lucius had drawn his wand and thrust it viciously at Snape’s throat, his eyes alight with fury and vengeance.
Snape staggered backward, falling onto the couch ungracefully, but he had suspected this to be coming: His wand was also drawn and aimed delicately at Lucius‘ heart, although Lucius was not yet aware of this.
“You,” he stated, his voice quiet but full of menace, “You who I called a friend, you who my son looked up to, you dare betray my trust and try to steal what is MINE?!”
Lucius’ voice had grown to a roar, but he raised a quizzical eyebrow and smirked as he felt Snape’s wand pressing in between his ribs. They were equally armed and well-matched; each knew that it was possible to lose - or even die - if they dueled. It was Snape that spoke first.
“Lucius,” Snape began, his voice calm and composed, “whatever are you upset about? Surely not that enchanted locket I gave your wife? I couldn't help but notice that she was not wearing it this evening, despite the fact that I asked her never to remove it.”
Mr. Malfoy got up abruptly and violently straightened his robes. In a dangerously quiet voice, he said, “You admit to this?”
“But of course, Lucius, my friend,” Snape began, his expression politely incredulous, his voice hinting at amusement. “I gave Mrs. Malfoy that locket because she seemed so distraught, and I had hoped to ease her discomfort over your absence.” Snape looked earnestly into the elder Malfoy’s eyes.
“I was merely thinking of you, my friend.” If he only knew what I thought of him....
Lucius looked comforted, if only momentarily. He picked up his wine glass and drained it; Snape took this opportunity to conjure another bottle for the two of them.
“My wife is a beautiful woman, is she not?” Lucius began, a faraway expression on his face as he spoke.
“Someone as powerful and noble-blooded as Lucius Malfoy deserves only the best,” Snape said smoothly.
Lucius smirked as he sipped his glass of wine thoughtfully.
“Yes, you’re quite right old friend,“ he drawled magisterially, “anyone would have to be a fool...to try and take her from me.” His eyes lingered on Snape’s, undoubtedly in an attempt to intimidate, but little did Lucius know that he was merely making it easier for Snape to exploit his thoughts.
“Indeed,” Snape said as he inclined his head in a bow. He raised his glass of wine in a toast.
“To the Malfoys,” Snape said silkily, and Lucius echoed him.
They smiled as they both drained their glasses. Snape was not a man to be intimidated, but Lucius was not one to be easily fooled either. |
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