[Wednesday one-shots]: Narcissa Secretive, PG-13, H/D preslash, Lucius/Narcissa, 2.1/7
Title: Narcissa Secretive
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Lucius/Narcissa, Harry/Draco pre-slash
Rating: PG-13
Content Notes: Angst, crack, violence, minor character death, AU
Wordcount: This part 3500
Summary: As Draco heads into his second year of school, Narcissa learns more about her husband’s allegiance to the Dark Lord-and what it might take to change that. Of course, it involves killing. But then, so does keeping Draco’s life smooth.
Author’s Notes: The next in the “Narcissa Militant” series; read the first fic before trying to read this one. This will have a second part, to be posted next week.
Narcissa Secretive
Narcissa felt the Dark magic around the book the instant Lucius brought it out of the library.
Of course, she didn’t let on that she had. She only watched the thin black object from the corner of her eye as they ate breakfast and Draco chattered away about the school supplies he and Harry were going to get in Diagon Alley that day. Lucius didn’t seem distracted, which meant this object wasn’t a source of anxiety.
Not newly-acquired. Not one he was dying to get rid of. Of course, with the chaos that had followed the Headmaster’s death in the spring, the Ministry still hadn’t managed to get organized enough to conduct the frequent raids on Dark families that they’d been planning at the start of the year.
Which meant the object had been here. In the house. With her son.
“And I want to make sure that Harry gets a Nimbus 2001!” Draco declared.
Narcissa studied the look on Draco’s face, and smiled a little. That he wanted the broom for Harry and not himself was just another sign of how good Harry was for her son. “Of course,” she said smoothly. “And no doubt, Harry, you will put it to good use making sure the Slytherin Quidditch team cannot win this year?”
Harry blushed. “Well, I mean, I am a Gryffindor, Mrs. Mal-”
“Narcissa. Or Mother, if you can manage it.”
Harry dropped his toast on his plate and stared at her. Narcissa smiled. “You didn’t insist on that before,” Harry noted cautiously.
“I am not insisting on it now. Only if you can manage it.”
Draco was scowling. Narcissa suspected she knew why. She would speak to him later. For the moment, a challenge would be good for him. She leaned forwards, across the table, and patted Harry's hand when he only spluttered. “You’ve lived with us all summer. Surely you don’t need to call me by my last name?”
“The last name you could share, if you wanted to,” Draco muttered.
“Um-Narcissa,” said Harry. “I’m sorry, but calling someone else Mother is…”
“Of course,” Narcissa said softly. While she could not feel much sympathy for many of those dead in the first war-they would have survived if they’d been better fighters-she did honor Lily Potter, who had died fighting for her son in the only way that Narcissa could imagine doing. “My first name will do well.”
Both boys ran off soon after that, with Draco already telling Harry that they should get to the broom shop early before it filled up with eager customers. Lucius started to stand and picked up the book from the chair.
Narcissa’s throwing knife went between the splayed fingers of his hand and affixed the book to the upholstery. Lucius looked ill for a second. Narcissa knew it couldn’t be because she had barely missed him. He knew enough about her skill to know that if she had meant to hit him, she would have.
“Narcissa! This belonged to him.”
“You were hiding it in my house. Without my permission. With Draco around.”
Lucius turned white. “Technically, Malfoy Manor is the home of my ancestors,” he started.
“Which you were on the verge of losing until my successful assassinations saved it.” Narcissa moved towards him with her hair and robes rippling behind her. “Lucius. What is that object?”
“A bo-” Perhaps Lucius could tell from the look in her eyes that it was better for him not to mouth off to her today. He swallowed weakly, and muttered, “I don’t know. Just that it’s important to him, and he told me to keep it safe.”
“That is not all he told you, Lucius.”
“Nar-”
“I will not have sex with you ever again.”
Lucius snapped horrified eyes to her. Narcissa waited. She had looked into far more despairing faces than his. In the end, Lucius was the one to look away, swallowing nervously.
“He told me that it would return to Hogwarts, and make a student there open the Chamber of the Secrets,” he whispered. “The Heir of Slytherin. The school would finally be cleansed of Mud-”
Narcissa stared at him. He cut himself off. With Harry in the house, Narcissa had forbidden the speaking of that word.
And what Narcissa forbade stayed forbidden.
“Give me the book,” Narcissa said, and extended her hand.
Lucius hesitated, because he was not alone in fearing the Dark Lord. But in the end, of course, he broke and handed it to her. He might fear both of them, but Narcissa was the one immediately in front of him.
*
“I don’t see how you can take their side!”
“You’re both my friends, Draco! I’m just trying to keep anyone from being hurt!”
Narcissa stepped in between Harry and Draco with a faint sigh. She had avoided the crowd at the bookshop because crowds made her eager to get out of them. Besides, a promising contract had come up and she had needed to scout out her target from a distance. “Boys,” she said, and led them down a side alley where people were less likely to hear them arguing. “What did I tell you about dissenting in public?”
Harry hesitated and cast down his head, but Draco looked up at her and pointed an accusing finger. “He said that he was my friend, too! He swore it! But then Father and Mr. Weasel started arguing, and Harry took their side!”
I knew I shouldn’t have let Lucius go out without supervision. “What were they arguing about?” Narcissa asked Harry gently, crouching down in front of him.
Harry swallowed and looked up at her. His eyes were green and large and utterly unclouded with guile. Narcissa had never needed Legilimency to read his mind. “He made fun of the Weasleys for being poor. I-I was poor, too. I mean, I thought I was poor until I came to the wizarding world. I never had anything. How could I just stand there and not say something?”
Narcissa considered him carefully. Many thoughts raced and danced in her brain: the perfidy of Muggles, regret that the youngest Weasleys had got to Harry first, how she would have liked to resurrect Albus Dumbledore and kill him again. “You realize that you are not truly poor, Harry?”
“But I still didn’t have anything.”
“How? What?” Draco asked.
Draco didn’t know all the details of Harry’s childhood, and Narcissa didn’t consider this the right time for him to learn them. She gave Draco a mildly scolding glare and looked at Harry. “I promise, Harry, we are going to do all we can to heal you from this.”
“From fighting with the Weasleys, too?” Harry pushed his glasses up his nose, a picture of anguish. “I just want to be friends with everybody. Ron sat with me when no one knew who I was. Hermione lied for me when we defeated the troll. That was a huge deal. She doesn’t ever want to lie to professors! I can’t just abandon them, Mrs. Malfoy.”
Narcissa gave a little sigh and rested a hand on Harry’s forehead, over that scar that throbbed so strangely. “What did I tell you to call me, Harry?”
“Narcissa.” Harry didn’t look up from his shoes now.
“And that remains true,” Narcissa said soothingly, kneeling down next to him and stroking his hair. “You must remember, Harry. I do not know everything until you tell it to me. I don’t know what you’re feeling.”
“I’m-not used to telling people what I think.”
No, he would not be. Narcissa should have anticipated that, truly. She only nodded as if it didn’t matter, and turned to Draco. “We will continue this discussion at home. Home, Draco,” she added, when he opened his mouth.
“We got all the books we needed anyway,” Draco muttered in a sulky way. “I just hope it’s a rumor and not true that that git Lockhart won’t be teaching at Hogwarts.”
“Language, Draco.” But Narcissa drew her son to talk of what had happened in the bookshop on the way home, and thought long of it after they had reached Malfoy Manor and she had had a small talk with Harry in which she promised that no one would force him to give up his friends.
She spent time contemplating Harry, and time, too, contemplating the small black book that Lucius had given her.
*
My name is Tom Riddle. Who are you?
The elegantly penned words formed in the book on their own. Narcissa watched them, and nodded. She had been wise not to write in the book-the diary, it seemed it was-with her own hands. Instead, she had captured a Muggle, placed him under the Imperius, and directed him to write every word she said.
“My name is Melliflua Malfoy.” If her guesses about the spirit bound inside the book were true, then it would have no current knowledge of events, and therefore no way of knowing that Narcissa was using the name of Lucius’s great-grandmother rather than speaking in her own person. And since the Malfoys, like other pureblood lines, frequently repeated names in their family, any knowledge of the previous Melliflua could be easily excused. “Were you a Hogwarts student?”
Yes. Are you?
“Oh, yes! It’s so exciting to be here! And to have a book that talks back! But…wait. I have to ask. You’re not a Mudblood, are you?”
The words this time took a little longer to appear. Narcissa wondered if that was because the book was starting to realize that it had “fallen” into the hands of someone who might be eager to continue the Dark Lord’s work. No, of course not. I was a Slytherin, and as you well know, no one is accepted into our noble House without being able to claim purity of blood.
Narcissa had to admit that was cleverly worded. Claim, indeed. She had sometimes wondered about the Dark Lord’s ancestry, but this was the first solid clue she’d had that it might not be impeccable.
“You’re right, of course, Tom. It’s just that I didn’t recognize your last name.”
My father disagreed with his family, and changed his last name to spite them. He preferred to be the head of a new line rather than continue the one he felt had disgraced him.
“That’s all right, then, Tom. We can talk, right? I mean, you must know lots about Hogwarts. The diary is so old! It seems that you lived a long time ago. So you can tell me all the secret passages and the best way to cheat on exams without being caught, can’t you?”
That’s right, Melliflua. I can see that we will become great friends.
Narcissa laughed behind her hand.
*
I do not understand why I do not feel your magic when I converse with you.
Narcissa leaned over to read the words in the diary, then smiled and went back to reading the letter from Draco. The content made her brow cloud as she read it, though. He was having trouble in Defense Against the Dark Arts, which he blamed entirely on Gilderoy Lockhart giving them quizzes on books that were too boring to read.
Something would have to be done about Lockhart.
“I’m sorry, Tom. I’m undergoing training sessions every day, you see. That means I don’t have much magic left when it comes time to write to you. I’m just so exhausted all the time. I’ll try to do better, I promise!”
What kind of special training sessions?
“Oh, they’re with the Headmaster. Dumbledore. Everyone says that he’s barmy, but he is a great and powerful wizard, you know! And that means he has a lot to teach me. So he’s giving me those lessons every evening, and they’re mostly dueling and running around and defensive magic. Sometimes I wonder that I don’t fall asleep the minute I get back into bed!”
This time, Riddle’s response took a long moment to show up. Narcissa nodded. It seemed those rumors about Dumbledore being the one wizard the Dark Lord had ever feared were true.
Why would the Headmaster need to give you special training sessions?
“It’s because I defeated a Dark Lord when I was a baby. It’s the strangest thing. Everyone calls me the ‘Girl-Who-Lived’ because he tried to use the Killing Curse on me and it rebounded, somehow. It made his body disintegrate. But Dumbledore believes he’ll return someday, so I have to get ready for that day! He’ll want to kill me, of course.”
And what do you believe, Melliflua? Riddle’s line under the fourth word almost went through the page. Do you believe that the Dark Lord is dead?
“No, I suppose I don’t. Sometimes I have strange prophetic dreams about me fighting him. And sometimes my scar hurts. But on the other hand, it’s hard to say exactly when he’ll come back, so I don’t know exactly when I’ll be prepared. For all I know, it could be tomorrow, and then I wouldn’t be ready! It’s so exhausting, sometimes.”
Riddle was quick with sympathy, and then he added, as if casually, What was the name of this Dark Lord you defeated, Melliflua?
“Lord Voldemort. That’s the right spelling, isn’t it? I don’t see it spelled often because everyone is so afraid of saying his name. Did you know him, Tom?”
I did. Let me see what I can remember…
Narcissa turned her attention from the diary as yet another owl came fluttering in, with yet another letter from Draco clutched in its claws. Narcissa frowned as she took it. It was unlike Draco to send a letter when she hadn’t had time to respond to his first one yet. For all he knew, circumstances could have changed and Narcissa would have found a way to defuse whatever problem he was writing about.
But this second letter began with, Harry is ignoring me again.
Narcissa had the Muggle write a hasty farewell, as if someone was coming into “Melliflua’s” room to check on her, and rose. When that situation had happened last year, it had led to Harry nearly dying because he had gone up against the Dark Lord’s possessed host.
It was not going to happen again. Harry was not going to break her son’s heart.
*
“Well, I must say it’s a bit irregular, Mrs. Malfoy, but since you’re the boy’s guardian, of course you can see him in private.”
Narcissa smiled at McGonagall and inclined her head as Harry came through the office door. “Thank you, Headmistress.” She did find McGonagall easier to deal with in all things than Dumbledore. She thought it might be because McGonagall was a woman, and women were inherently more sensible.
More willing to recognize the value of assassin lessons and apply them, for example.
Harry looked up at her warily as he entered, and then frowned as he saw the way McGonagall was getting up to leave. “Headmistress?”
“Mrs. Malfoy came to check on you, Harry. She’s a bit worried by some of the letters your adopted brother-”
I must remember to clarify to Draco that I do not think of them as brothers.
“-was sending home. So you can have a chat, and I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed.” McGonagall squeezed Harry’s shoulder and smiled down at him, then stepped through the door and shut it behind her.
“Hello, Mrs. Malfoy.”
Narcissa sighed and knelt down in front of Harry. “Harry. What did I tell you?”
“That you’re Narcissa.”
“Then please, address me that way.” Narcissa squeezed his hands comfortingly and sat back up in the chair again. “Now, Draco says that you’ve been ignoring him. Can you tell me why?”
“I need-I did something stupid. It made some of my friends think that I’m Slytherin, or maybe Dark, or maybe evil. So they told me that I need to ignore Draco to prove that I’m not.” Harry folded his arms and nudged the leg of the second chair in front of the Headmistress’s desk with his trainer.
“Tell me what this mistake was.” Narcissa was beginning to wonder about the value of preserving Harry’s friends. If they interfered on such a regular basis with the bond between Harry and Draco…
“They found out I can talk to snakes. We were mock-dueling in the common room, and Seamus conjured a snake, and I thought I was just telling it to stop attacking me, but it turns out I was talking Parseltongue to it. Only Dark wizards can speak Parseltongue. Like Salazar Slytherin.”
Narcissa closed her eyes for a moment. Her mind was full of stories she had read to Draco when he was a child, stories about the achievements of Salazar Slytherin and some Dark Lords throughout history. The only thing Draco had envied them for, besides their more powerful curses, was Parseltongue.
Narcissa had always mourned that she could not give him a hereditary gift. But a friend who could speak Parseltongue was the next best thing.
And Narcissa was not going to have Gryffindors making Harry feel ashamed, or worthless, or shutting down his friendship with Draco over it.
“You shouldn’t feel that way,” she said quietly, opening her eyes. “Do you know why Salazar Slytherin was so famous for it?”
“Because he founded Slytherin, and their symbol is a snake?”
“No, Harry. Because it is a sign of power. Think how much magic it must take to communicate with snakes, which can normally never speak to humans. To reach across time and space and connect with another mind. Why would that ever be evil, Harry?”
Harry was quiet for a moment, his eyes turning inwards. Narcissa smoothed his shoulder. She was thinking what she should do about the situation. Gryffindors were easy enough to kill, but…
Children were not a challenge of her abilities. And their deaths would distress Harry, which would probably make him more likely to ignore Draco in his grief. Even the Headmaster’s death had led to a few days of Harry being quiet and withdrawn.
She would think of something else.
“So-you think it would be all right if I went back and told them I don’t feel evil? And if I talked to Draco again? I do miss him. I was just trying to prove that I was a real Gryffindor.”
“If anyone ever doubts you, only tell them about the foolish risks you took with your life last year. I assure you that you will qualify for Gryffindor House.”
Harry grinned at her as if that was a great compliment instead of deadly truth, and said, “Thanks, Mrs-I mean, Narcissa! And-” His chin firmed. “One thing the Sorting Hat talks about is how all the Houses belong together in Hogwarts. And Headmistress McGonagall said something about that at the Feast this year, too. So it could be seen as inter-House unity if I tried to spend time with my Slytherin friends. Right?”
Narcissa kissed his forehead. “I knew you would be clever enough to see the appeal. Go back and talk to them, Harry. I promise you will have their friendship again.” If necessary, I can threaten them into it. That would be enough of a challenge for me, how to be threatening enough without simply making them terrified of Harry.
Harry gave her a quick dash of a hug, and bounced towards the door, looking much lighter than what he’d entered. Narcissa spoke before he could leave. “Draco said that Professor Lockhart is giving him a hard time in class, Harry. Is the same thing happening for you?”
Harry turned around and grimaced. “Well, it’s more that he tries to get photographs with me outside class. And teases me about selling them. And talks to me like he thinks I want to be famous. He told me that we would end up on the front page of the Prophet together, but only because he was there. He’s annoying.”
Narcissa nodded slowly. “I see. Thank you for telling me, Harry. You realize that you can write to me as Draco does? We would be pleased to receive a letter from you.”
“Oh! Okay, yeah. I just never had anyone to write-before.”
Narcissa waved to him as he departed, and took the moment before McGonagall returned to sit back and think.
It was not enough to kill Lockhart. He had humiliated one of her boys.
For that, he would suffer before he died.
Part Two.
This entry was originally posted at http://lomonaaeren.dreamwidth.org/918889.html. Comment wherever you like.
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Lucius/Narcissa, Harry/Draco pre-slash
Rating: PG-13
Content Notes: Angst, crack, violence, minor character death, AU
Wordcount: This part 3500
Summary: As Draco heads into his second year of school, Narcissa learns more about her husband’s allegiance to the Dark Lord-and what it might take to change that. Of course, it involves killing. But then, so does keeping Draco’s life smooth.
Author’s Notes: The next in the “Narcissa Militant” series; read the first fic before trying to read this one. This will have a second part, to be posted next week.
Narcissa Secretive
Narcissa felt the Dark magic around the book the instant Lucius brought it out of the library.
Of course, she didn’t let on that she had. She only watched the thin black object from the corner of her eye as they ate breakfast and Draco chattered away about the school supplies he and Harry were going to get in Diagon Alley that day. Lucius didn’t seem distracted, which meant this object wasn’t a source of anxiety.
Not newly-acquired. Not one he was dying to get rid of. Of course, with the chaos that had followed the Headmaster’s death in the spring, the Ministry still hadn’t managed to get organized enough to conduct the frequent raids on Dark families that they’d been planning at the start of the year.
Which meant the object had been here. In the house. With her son.
“And I want to make sure that Harry gets a Nimbus 2001!” Draco declared.
Narcissa studied the look on Draco’s face, and smiled a little. That he wanted the broom for Harry and not himself was just another sign of how good Harry was for her son. “Of course,” she said smoothly. “And no doubt, Harry, you will put it to good use making sure the Slytherin Quidditch team cannot win this year?”
Harry blushed. “Well, I mean, I am a Gryffindor, Mrs. Mal-”
“Narcissa. Or Mother, if you can manage it.”
Harry dropped his toast on his plate and stared at her. Narcissa smiled. “You didn’t insist on that before,” Harry noted cautiously.
“I am not insisting on it now. Only if you can manage it.”
Draco was scowling. Narcissa suspected she knew why. She would speak to him later. For the moment, a challenge would be good for him. She leaned forwards, across the table, and patted Harry's hand when he only spluttered. “You’ve lived with us all summer. Surely you don’t need to call me by my last name?”
“The last name you could share, if you wanted to,” Draco muttered.
“Um-Narcissa,” said Harry. “I’m sorry, but calling someone else Mother is…”
“Of course,” Narcissa said softly. While she could not feel much sympathy for many of those dead in the first war-they would have survived if they’d been better fighters-she did honor Lily Potter, who had died fighting for her son in the only way that Narcissa could imagine doing. “My first name will do well.”
Both boys ran off soon after that, with Draco already telling Harry that they should get to the broom shop early before it filled up with eager customers. Lucius started to stand and picked up the book from the chair.
Narcissa’s throwing knife went between the splayed fingers of his hand and affixed the book to the upholstery. Lucius looked ill for a second. Narcissa knew it couldn’t be because she had barely missed him. He knew enough about her skill to know that if she had meant to hit him, she would have.
“Narcissa! This belonged to him.”
“You were hiding it in my house. Without my permission. With Draco around.”
Lucius turned white. “Technically, Malfoy Manor is the home of my ancestors,” he started.
“Which you were on the verge of losing until my successful assassinations saved it.” Narcissa moved towards him with her hair and robes rippling behind her. “Lucius. What is that object?”
“A bo-” Perhaps Lucius could tell from the look in her eyes that it was better for him not to mouth off to her today. He swallowed weakly, and muttered, “I don’t know. Just that it’s important to him, and he told me to keep it safe.”
“That is not all he told you, Lucius.”
“Nar-”
“I will not have sex with you ever again.”
Lucius snapped horrified eyes to her. Narcissa waited. She had looked into far more despairing faces than his. In the end, Lucius was the one to look away, swallowing nervously.
“He told me that it would return to Hogwarts, and make a student there open the Chamber of the Secrets,” he whispered. “The Heir of Slytherin. The school would finally be cleansed of Mud-”
Narcissa stared at him. He cut himself off. With Harry in the house, Narcissa had forbidden the speaking of that word.
And what Narcissa forbade stayed forbidden.
“Give me the book,” Narcissa said, and extended her hand.
Lucius hesitated, because he was not alone in fearing the Dark Lord. But in the end, of course, he broke and handed it to her. He might fear both of them, but Narcissa was the one immediately in front of him.
*
“I don’t see how you can take their side!”
“You’re both my friends, Draco! I’m just trying to keep anyone from being hurt!”
Narcissa stepped in between Harry and Draco with a faint sigh. She had avoided the crowd at the bookshop because crowds made her eager to get out of them. Besides, a promising contract had come up and she had needed to scout out her target from a distance. “Boys,” she said, and led them down a side alley where people were less likely to hear them arguing. “What did I tell you about dissenting in public?”
Harry hesitated and cast down his head, but Draco looked up at her and pointed an accusing finger. “He said that he was my friend, too! He swore it! But then Father and Mr. Weasel started arguing, and Harry took their side!”
I knew I shouldn’t have let Lucius go out without supervision. “What were they arguing about?” Narcissa asked Harry gently, crouching down in front of him.
Harry swallowed and looked up at her. His eyes were green and large and utterly unclouded with guile. Narcissa had never needed Legilimency to read his mind. “He made fun of the Weasleys for being poor. I-I was poor, too. I mean, I thought I was poor until I came to the wizarding world. I never had anything. How could I just stand there and not say something?”
Narcissa considered him carefully. Many thoughts raced and danced in her brain: the perfidy of Muggles, regret that the youngest Weasleys had got to Harry first, how she would have liked to resurrect Albus Dumbledore and kill him again. “You realize that you are not truly poor, Harry?”
“But I still didn’t have anything.”
“How? What?” Draco asked.
Draco didn’t know all the details of Harry’s childhood, and Narcissa didn’t consider this the right time for him to learn them. She gave Draco a mildly scolding glare and looked at Harry. “I promise, Harry, we are going to do all we can to heal you from this.”
“From fighting with the Weasleys, too?” Harry pushed his glasses up his nose, a picture of anguish. “I just want to be friends with everybody. Ron sat with me when no one knew who I was. Hermione lied for me when we defeated the troll. That was a huge deal. She doesn’t ever want to lie to professors! I can’t just abandon them, Mrs. Malfoy.”
Narcissa gave a little sigh and rested a hand on Harry’s forehead, over that scar that throbbed so strangely. “What did I tell you to call me, Harry?”
“Narcissa.” Harry didn’t look up from his shoes now.
“And that remains true,” Narcissa said soothingly, kneeling down next to him and stroking his hair. “You must remember, Harry. I do not know everything until you tell it to me. I don’t know what you’re feeling.”
“I’m-not used to telling people what I think.”
No, he would not be. Narcissa should have anticipated that, truly. She only nodded as if it didn’t matter, and turned to Draco. “We will continue this discussion at home. Home, Draco,” she added, when he opened his mouth.
“We got all the books we needed anyway,” Draco muttered in a sulky way. “I just hope it’s a rumor and not true that that git Lockhart won’t be teaching at Hogwarts.”
“Language, Draco.” But Narcissa drew her son to talk of what had happened in the bookshop on the way home, and thought long of it after they had reached Malfoy Manor and she had had a small talk with Harry in which she promised that no one would force him to give up his friends.
She spent time contemplating Harry, and time, too, contemplating the small black book that Lucius had given her.
*
My name is Tom Riddle. Who are you?
The elegantly penned words formed in the book on their own. Narcissa watched them, and nodded. She had been wise not to write in the book-the diary, it seemed it was-with her own hands. Instead, she had captured a Muggle, placed him under the Imperius, and directed him to write every word she said.
“My name is Melliflua Malfoy.” If her guesses about the spirit bound inside the book were true, then it would have no current knowledge of events, and therefore no way of knowing that Narcissa was using the name of Lucius’s great-grandmother rather than speaking in her own person. And since the Malfoys, like other pureblood lines, frequently repeated names in their family, any knowledge of the previous Melliflua could be easily excused. “Were you a Hogwarts student?”
Yes. Are you?
“Oh, yes! It’s so exciting to be here! And to have a book that talks back! But…wait. I have to ask. You’re not a Mudblood, are you?”
The words this time took a little longer to appear. Narcissa wondered if that was because the book was starting to realize that it had “fallen” into the hands of someone who might be eager to continue the Dark Lord’s work. No, of course not. I was a Slytherin, and as you well know, no one is accepted into our noble House without being able to claim purity of blood.
Narcissa had to admit that was cleverly worded. Claim, indeed. She had sometimes wondered about the Dark Lord’s ancestry, but this was the first solid clue she’d had that it might not be impeccable.
“You’re right, of course, Tom. It’s just that I didn’t recognize your last name.”
My father disagreed with his family, and changed his last name to spite them. He preferred to be the head of a new line rather than continue the one he felt had disgraced him.
“That’s all right, then, Tom. We can talk, right? I mean, you must know lots about Hogwarts. The diary is so old! It seems that you lived a long time ago. So you can tell me all the secret passages and the best way to cheat on exams without being caught, can’t you?”
That’s right, Melliflua. I can see that we will become great friends.
Narcissa laughed behind her hand.
*
I do not understand why I do not feel your magic when I converse with you.
Narcissa leaned over to read the words in the diary, then smiled and went back to reading the letter from Draco. The content made her brow cloud as she read it, though. He was having trouble in Defense Against the Dark Arts, which he blamed entirely on Gilderoy Lockhart giving them quizzes on books that were too boring to read.
Something would have to be done about Lockhart.
“I’m sorry, Tom. I’m undergoing training sessions every day, you see. That means I don’t have much magic left when it comes time to write to you. I’m just so exhausted all the time. I’ll try to do better, I promise!”
What kind of special training sessions?
“Oh, they’re with the Headmaster. Dumbledore. Everyone says that he’s barmy, but he is a great and powerful wizard, you know! And that means he has a lot to teach me. So he’s giving me those lessons every evening, and they’re mostly dueling and running around and defensive magic. Sometimes I wonder that I don’t fall asleep the minute I get back into bed!”
This time, Riddle’s response took a long moment to show up. Narcissa nodded. It seemed those rumors about Dumbledore being the one wizard the Dark Lord had ever feared were true.
Why would the Headmaster need to give you special training sessions?
“It’s because I defeated a Dark Lord when I was a baby. It’s the strangest thing. Everyone calls me the ‘Girl-Who-Lived’ because he tried to use the Killing Curse on me and it rebounded, somehow. It made his body disintegrate. But Dumbledore believes he’ll return someday, so I have to get ready for that day! He’ll want to kill me, of course.”
And what do you believe, Melliflua? Riddle’s line under the fourth word almost went through the page. Do you believe that the Dark Lord is dead?
“No, I suppose I don’t. Sometimes I have strange prophetic dreams about me fighting him. And sometimes my scar hurts. But on the other hand, it’s hard to say exactly when he’ll come back, so I don’t know exactly when I’ll be prepared. For all I know, it could be tomorrow, and then I wouldn’t be ready! It’s so exhausting, sometimes.”
Riddle was quick with sympathy, and then he added, as if casually, What was the name of this Dark Lord you defeated, Melliflua?
“Lord Voldemort. That’s the right spelling, isn’t it? I don’t see it spelled often because everyone is so afraid of saying his name. Did you know him, Tom?”
I did. Let me see what I can remember…
Narcissa turned her attention from the diary as yet another owl came fluttering in, with yet another letter from Draco clutched in its claws. Narcissa frowned as she took it. It was unlike Draco to send a letter when she hadn’t had time to respond to his first one yet. For all he knew, circumstances could have changed and Narcissa would have found a way to defuse whatever problem he was writing about.
But this second letter began with, Harry is ignoring me again.
Narcissa had the Muggle write a hasty farewell, as if someone was coming into “Melliflua’s” room to check on her, and rose. When that situation had happened last year, it had led to Harry nearly dying because he had gone up against the Dark Lord’s possessed host.
It was not going to happen again. Harry was not going to break her son’s heart.
*
“Well, I must say it’s a bit irregular, Mrs. Malfoy, but since you’re the boy’s guardian, of course you can see him in private.”
Narcissa smiled at McGonagall and inclined her head as Harry came through the office door. “Thank you, Headmistress.” She did find McGonagall easier to deal with in all things than Dumbledore. She thought it might be because McGonagall was a woman, and women were inherently more sensible.
More willing to recognize the value of assassin lessons and apply them, for example.
Harry looked up at her warily as he entered, and then frowned as he saw the way McGonagall was getting up to leave. “Headmistress?”
“Mrs. Malfoy came to check on you, Harry. She’s a bit worried by some of the letters your adopted brother-”
I must remember to clarify to Draco that I do not think of them as brothers.
“-was sending home. So you can have a chat, and I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed.” McGonagall squeezed Harry’s shoulder and smiled down at him, then stepped through the door and shut it behind her.
“Hello, Mrs. Malfoy.”
Narcissa sighed and knelt down in front of Harry. “Harry. What did I tell you?”
“That you’re Narcissa.”
“Then please, address me that way.” Narcissa squeezed his hands comfortingly and sat back up in the chair again. “Now, Draco says that you’ve been ignoring him. Can you tell me why?”
“I need-I did something stupid. It made some of my friends think that I’m Slytherin, or maybe Dark, or maybe evil. So they told me that I need to ignore Draco to prove that I’m not.” Harry folded his arms and nudged the leg of the second chair in front of the Headmistress’s desk with his trainer.
“Tell me what this mistake was.” Narcissa was beginning to wonder about the value of preserving Harry’s friends. If they interfered on such a regular basis with the bond between Harry and Draco…
“They found out I can talk to snakes. We were mock-dueling in the common room, and Seamus conjured a snake, and I thought I was just telling it to stop attacking me, but it turns out I was talking Parseltongue to it. Only Dark wizards can speak Parseltongue. Like Salazar Slytherin.”
Narcissa closed her eyes for a moment. Her mind was full of stories she had read to Draco when he was a child, stories about the achievements of Salazar Slytherin and some Dark Lords throughout history. The only thing Draco had envied them for, besides their more powerful curses, was Parseltongue.
Narcissa had always mourned that she could not give him a hereditary gift. But a friend who could speak Parseltongue was the next best thing.
And Narcissa was not going to have Gryffindors making Harry feel ashamed, or worthless, or shutting down his friendship with Draco over it.
“You shouldn’t feel that way,” she said quietly, opening her eyes. “Do you know why Salazar Slytherin was so famous for it?”
“Because he founded Slytherin, and their symbol is a snake?”
“No, Harry. Because it is a sign of power. Think how much magic it must take to communicate with snakes, which can normally never speak to humans. To reach across time and space and connect with another mind. Why would that ever be evil, Harry?”
Harry was quiet for a moment, his eyes turning inwards. Narcissa smoothed his shoulder. She was thinking what she should do about the situation. Gryffindors were easy enough to kill, but…
Children were not a challenge of her abilities. And their deaths would distress Harry, which would probably make him more likely to ignore Draco in his grief. Even the Headmaster’s death had led to a few days of Harry being quiet and withdrawn.
She would think of something else.
“So-you think it would be all right if I went back and told them I don’t feel evil? And if I talked to Draco again? I do miss him. I was just trying to prove that I was a real Gryffindor.”
“If anyone ever doubts you, only tell them about the foolish risks you took with your life last year. I assure you that you will qualify for Gryffindor House.”
Harry grinned at her as if that was a great compliment instead of deadly truth, and said, “Thanks, Mrs-I mean, Narcissa! And-” His chin firmed. “One thing the Sorting Hat talks about is how all the Houses belong together in Hogwarts. And Headmistress McGonagall said something about that at the Feast this year, too. So it could be seen as inter-House unity if I tried to spend time with my Slytherin friends. Right?”
Narcissa kissed his forehead. “I knew you would be clever enough to see the appeal. Go back and talk to them, Harry. I promise you will have their friendship again.” If necessary, I can threaten them into it. That would be enough of a challenge for me, how to be threatening enough without simply making them terrified of Harry.
Harry gave her a quick dash of a hug, and bounced towards the door, looking much lighter than what he’d entered. Narcissa spoke before he could leave. “Draco said that Professor Lockhart is giving him a hard time in class, Harry. Is the same thing happening for you?”
Harry turned around and grimaced. “Well, it’s more that he tries to get photographs with me outside class. And teases me about selling them. And talks to me like he thinks I want to be famous. He told me that we would end up on the front page of the Prophet together, but only because he was there. He’s annoying.”
Narcissa nodded slowly. “I see. Thank you for telling me, Harry. You realize that you can write to me as Draco does? We would be pleased to receive a letter from you.”
“Oh! Okay, yeah. I just never had anyone to write-before.”
Narcissa waved to him as he departed, and took the moment before McGonagall returned to sit back and think.
It was not enough to kill Lockhart. He had humiliated one of her boys.
For that, he would suffer before he died.
Part Two.
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