Malfoy Residence, Evening, July 28th
Narcissa sat in the small library on the second floor, a cup of tea cooling at her elbow. Though it was growing dark she had yet to light a candle; in point of fact, she hadn't really noticed the deepening shadows. Perhaps the darkness was a kind of substitute for what she sorely missed, like a cloak of gauze one could pretend was wool--at least until the wind blew. It hid the details of her surroundings and let her mind wander.
There was no safety any more, nor had there been, not for so very long.
Lucius was drifting again, withdrawn and reticent about matters that seemed to her utterly insignificant. She’d asked him where he’d gone on an afternoon walk one day. His eyes had cut to her sharply and then he’d mumbled something non-committal. She’d asked where the roses she’d had set out in the parlour had gone. He’d said he didn’t know and then left the room after a book she was perfectly aware he’d finished reading a week ago.
She knew he’d gone to meet the Potter boy, but he’d refused to tell her the location of the rendezvous. She hadn't pushed. She didn’t really want to know. Anything she knew could be pulled from her, if the Dark Lord ever cared to make the effort. The thought terrified her, but her sister was gone Circe knew where, and with her the hope of learning how to shut Him out.
And Draco. He was at the heart of it all. Narcissa closed her eyes and smiled. She knew her son often felt he was the center of the world, and it amused her-bitterly-that he seemed to find no evidence of it in what she and his father had done.
Sighing, she reached for her wand and gave herself some light, then picked up the quill she’d toyed with for twenty minutes before finally setting it aside.
Dear Draco,
However are you doing, darling? It’s very quiet here without you-pleasant in some ways, as I no longer have to hear the very particular clamour made by two Malfoy men arguing, but if I'm to be perfectly honest, there are times I would rather hear the clamour than the silence that took its place.
I suppose it is too much to expect that you might owl me back the sort of chatty letter full of inconsequentialities that I used to adore, but it would please your mother very much if you sent her whatever semblance of one you could manage.
I love you.
Mother
There was no safety any more, nor had there been, not for so very long.
Lucius was drifting again, withdrawn and reticent about matters that seemed to her utterly insignificant. She’d asked him where he’d gone on an afternoon walk one day. His eyes had cut to her sharply and then he’d mumbled something non-committal. She’d asked where the roses she’d had set out in the parlour had gone. He’d said he didn’t know and then left the room after a book she was perfectly aware he’d finished reading a week ago.
She knew he’d gone to meet the Potter boy, but he’d refused to tell her the location of the rendezvous. She hadn't pushed. She didn’t really want to know. Anything she knew could be pulled from her, if the Dark Lord ever cared to make the effort. The thought terrified her, but her sister was gone Circe knew where, and with her the hope of learning how to shut Him out.
And Draco. He was at the heart of it all. Narcissa closed her eyes and smiled. She knew her son often felt he was the center of the world, and it amused her-bitterly-that he seemed to find no evidence of it in what she and his father had done.
Sighing, she reached for her wand and gave herself some light, then picked up the quill she’d toyed with for twenty minutes before finally setting it aside.
Dear Draco,
However are you doing, darling? It’s very quiet here without you-pleasant in some ways, as I no longer have to hear the very particular clamour made by two Malfoy men arguing, but if I'm to be perfectly honest, there are times I would rather hear the clamour than the silence that took its place.
I suppose it is too much to expect that you might owl me back the sort of chatty letter full of inconsequentialities that I used to adore, but it would please your mother very much if you sent her whatever semblance of one you could manage.
I love you.
Mother