FIC: "A First-Class Follower" (Narcissa, Bellatrix; PG-13)
Title: A First-Class Follower
Author: pen_and_umbra
Characters: Narcissa, Bellatrix
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: 17. This will show your Lordship what a woman can do. -- Artemisia Gentileschi, on sending a painting of hers to one of her patrons.
Disclaimer: Not mine, JKR's. Don't sue.
Summary: Narcissa didn't worry about her sister because she knew her so very well; Bellatrix would come after her, as she always did.
Notes: HBP spoilers abound. My many thanks to my invaluable, irreplaceable beta readers, furiosity and imadra_blue. 1,981 words.
A First-Class Follower
* * *
"Oh, will you snap out of it!"
Narcissa turned. Through her tears and in the gloomy daylight, Bellatrix appeared blurry and indistinct. "Snap out of it? Snap out of it?" she asked, her voice wavering. "This is my son we're talking about -- which makes him your nephew, Bella. I shouldn't need to remind you of that."
Bellatrix rolled her eyes and snapped, "Yes, my nephew, who should consider this a great honour!"
Narcissa gave Bellatrix a look that seemed to subdue her, at least for a moment. Not that Narcissa was surprised at her sister's fanaticism -- that was her sister through and through. Any risk was worth taking if it meant that in the end, the pure-blood way would win.
"Perhaps," Narcissa said, slowly, wiping her tears away. After a deep breath, she felt calmer. "He's not your son, so I don't expect you to understand."
"Oh, you worry too much. As long as he obeys the Dark Lord and follows through with the plan, there should be no danger to him."
Throwing her hands in the air, Narcissa turned around. "Oh, no danger at all. Just aiding and abetting in a mad plot, at the risk of his own life! Not to mention that he has to kill--" She realised her tone was reaching new levels of hysteria, but she didn't care all that much. "Oh, Draco!"
"Killing blood traitors is very easy to get used to. The Dark Lord will honour him for his deeds."
At Bellatrix's offhand words, Narcissa whirled around, feeling both distraught and exasperated. "He's sixteen, Bella! Do you remember what life was like when you were sixteen? His life's great worries should be about girls and homework, not about how to cast an Unforgivable Curse! I don't like Mudbloods or that old doddering fool any more than you do, but I'd rather the Dark Lord not use my child to his own ends."
"Draco volunteered for this, Cissy," Bellatrix said, in a calm, careful voice; Narcissa suspected Bellatrix had finally understood that appealing to her sense of duty for the Dark Lord just wouldn't do the trick. "It's his choice, really. He might not be legally adult yet, but he's old enough to make his own decisions."
"It doesn't make it any easier for me."
"And that doesn't change the fact that it needs to be done. If it hadn't been Draco, it would've been someone else. Goyle's son, if he had the brains. Or young Nott, if he were trustworthy enough."
Running a hand over her forehead, Narcissa took a deep breath. Bellatrix was right, of course: it needed to be done. It was imperative for the Dark Lord's plans, and she considered those plans important for herself as well. With that Muggle-loving old coot Dumbledore dead, they could easily end this conflict once and for all. The Mudbloods and the Muggles wouldn't stand a chance.
"I understand why Draco wants to do it, I really do," Narcissa said -- and she did. He was his father's son, and always had been. "And I know why the Dark Lord asked it of him."
"So why are you complaining then, then?"
Narcissa sighed. She well knew that Draco was perfectly situated to do it, not to mention as hungry for honour as his father. In a small part of her mind, she rather admired her son for his foolhardy courage and his need to prove his worth where his father had failed.
With sudden ache in her chest, Narcissa wished Lucius were with her -- if only to console her.
The sight of Draco, standing tall in front of their Lord, listening to the high-pitched, chilly words that spelled out his important, impossible task, had been forever etched onto her mind. She had seen how pale he had gone, and how much his legs had trembled when he had bowed down before the Dark Lord; she had never seen her son so afraid, yet so determined. He had grown up, that was undeniable.
"It's just that... it's too much. What good is winning if my life is in ruins?"
Bellatrix made a dismissive sound. "Ruins? It's a new and perfect pure-blood world the Dark Lord is building. You really shouldn't complain so much. He's doing this for all of us, you know."
"Oh, will you just look around, Bella?" she said, her voice tight. She waved her hand around, her eyes on Bellatrix because she didn't want to see the ruin of her beautiful house. "Look at it! This was my beautiful home."
As Bellatrix glanced around, all the while compulsively picking at a loose thread on her sleeve, Narcissa closed her eyes. The insides of her eyelids were like hot sand, dry and burning. She didn't need to look around to know what it looked like: a disaster.
The Aurors had come the previous week, unannounced and in force. They had turned over everything, sliced open sofa pillows and ripped down wall hangings, their spells leaving deep, scorched gouges on the walls where they hadn't been able to take down spell-attached paintings. It had been clear from the start that what they didn't destroy by accident, they had broken on purpose. Oops, and a vase fell here; whoopsie, and a glass cabinet toppled over here. It had been a long nightmare of an afternoon but now, in comparison to what Draco had promised to do, it seemed like a minor annoyance.
When she opened her eyes and looked down, her gaze fell on a teacup that lay on the now-stained Persian rug. The cup had broken into three pieces and its saucer, filigreed with gold and the Malfoy family crest, had been thrown a few feet away.
"Reparo," she said, pointing her wand at the cup. It fixed itself and flew onto the sideboard -- one of the few pieces of furniture that hadn't been upturned, though even it had deep scratches and burn marks marring its fine, dark lacquer.
"Why haven't you tidied up here anyway?" Bellatrix said and righted a crooked painting with a flick of her wand. "It's been over a week."
"What good would it do? They're just going to come back and ruin everything again," Narcissa sighed and put her wand away. "I wish... I wish there was some other way. There must be."
Her eyes narrowing, Bellatrix stepped closer. "Are you questioning the Dark Lord's plan?"
"Do you think I shouldn't?"
Bellatrix straightened, her eyes wild. "He's our Lord! His plan will rid us of the Mudbloods and their--"
"What good does a pure-blood world to me, right now? My home is wrecked, and my husband is in Azkaban," Narcissa interrupted, loudly, even as her heart lurched at the thought of Lucius, "and now he wants my son, too. This time, he is asking too much, Bella. Too much!"
Bellatrix face twisted into a mix of shock and fear. "Be quiet," she hissed, making shushing gestures with her hand. "The Dark Lord has ears everywhere."
"Surely not here any more, not after the Aurors did this thorough a job on the house. Unless... unless you're going to tell him."
Paling, Bellatrix came closer. "Cissy--"
"Because that's what you do, isn't it? The good little toady that you are." When she saw the flash of pain in her sister's eyes, Narcissa immediately regretted her words. She stepped closer and grasped Bellatrix's shoulder. "I'm... I'm sorry, Bella. I didn't mean it. You are a loyal follower. The best the Dark Lord has."
For some reason, this seemed to make Bellatrix uncomfortable. Intrigued by her reaction, Narcissa let go of her shoulder. Was all not well in the Dark Lord's inner circle? That did not bode well, and it added to Narcissa's sense of her life being out of control.
From childhood, Bellatrix had been the sister to whom she had been closest. She remembered Andromeda as a pragmatic girl who kept everyone at arm's length, the frigid cow, while Bellatrix was her total opposite: a passionate, headstrong woman whose faith in the pure-blood ideals had been almost manic. Narcissa had always admired Bellatrix for the strength of her spirit and conviction; she had been her hero.
When Bellatrix had been sent to Azkaban, Narcissa remembered how alone she had felt. Andromeda had been lost to them long ago, when she had decided to marry a Muggle-born -- the disgusting thought still made bile rise in Narcissa's throat -- but it was Bellatrix whom she had missed all those years. Then, she had lost her husband just as she had got her sister back.
Though, it really hadn't been her sister who had returned. It had been a ghost, a pale facsimile of her sister. Narcissa glanced away, tears stinging her eyes again. Azkaban hadn't been kind to Bellatrix.
"I'm sorry," Narcissa repeated, forcing herself to look at the gaunt, drawn face of her sister. "I didn't mean it."
For a long moment, Bellatrix was quiet, even as her eyes flicked around, the look in them paranoid and a tad demented. "He is..." she finally said. "It's been difficult. Ever since the Department of Mysteries. He's been in a mood."
Narcissa smiled, though her mood was entirely devoid of good humour. "He hates to have his plans go to naught, certainly," she said. "And I'm not saying I'm going to stop Draco or defy the Dark Lord -- I'm not an idiot, Bella. I just need... insurance."
"Insurance?"
"A plan to keep Draco safe, if he is to go through with it."
Bellatrix cocked her head, looking bewildered. "What are you going to do?"
Shrugging, Narcissa moved to stand by the fireplace. On the mantelpiece lay shards of priceless vases and a frame with a cracked glass. She lifted the frame upright, cleaned the dust off the engraved silver frame, and with her wand, touched the white starburst crack that obscured half of the photo. It knitted itself together and once more, the glass was spotless.
It was a Christmas photograph, several years old; in the middle, a smiling Lucius was holding the hand of a four-year-old Draco, who was pouting and tugging at Lucius's hand. Around them were a well-dressed collection of their friends and acquaintances, from Macnair to Lucius's colleagues in the Ministry and lurking in the back--
When the idea came to her, in a flash of insight, Narcissa straightened. "Oh, of course," she breathed, her eyes riveted on the photo. It was so simple, and she could do it -- it had always been easy for her to play the part of a distraught mother, tears and all. "That's it."
"You've an idea, don't you?" Bellatrix said, her eyes narrowing and her tone wary. "Usually, when you get that look, I'm going to wind up in trouble. So whatever it is, don't do it."
Narcissa turned, unable to help her smile. She waved her hand at Bellatrix and took her arm, steering her towards the uncluttered centre of the floor.
"Come with me, dear sister. We're going to make a little visit."
"Visit? Where? Why?"
Narcissa stepped back and took out her wand. "To see Snape, of course."
"Snape? You're going to Severus Snape, that traitor, for help? You're mad!"
Narcissa replied with another small smile and a wink. She could see in her mind the overgrown, littered riverbank in the shadow of the crumbling remains of the mill that was her target; she well remembered the runty, untidy house on Spinner's End. Oh yes. It would work.
"See you there, Bella," she said and Disapparated.
Through the pressure and tug of Apparition, Narcissa thought of Bellatrix. She didn't worry about her sister because she knew her so very well; she would come after her, as she always did. After all, she was a first-class follower, too.
* * *
End.
Author: pen_and_umbra
Characters: Narcissa, Bellatrix
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: 17. This will show your Lordship what a woman can do. -- Artemisia Gentileschi, on sending a painting of hers to one of her patrons.
Disclaimer: Not mine, JKR's. Don't sue.
Summary: Narcissa didn't worry about her sister because she knew her so very well; Bellatrix would come after her, as she always did.
Notes: HBP spoilers abound. My many thanks to my invaluable, irreplaceable beta readers, furiosity and imadra_blue. 1,981 words.
A First-Class Follower
* * *
"Oh, will you snap out of it!"
Narcissa turned. Through her tears and in the gloomy daylight, Bellatrix appeared blurry and indistinct. "Snap out of it? Snap out of it?" she asked, her voice wavering. "This is my son we're talking about -- which makes him your nephew, Bella. I shouldn't need to remind you of that."
Bellatrix rolled her eyes and snapped, "Yes, my nephew, who should consider this a great honour!"
Narcissa gave Bellatrix a look that seemed to subdue her, at least for a moment. Not that Narcissa was surprised at her sister's fanaticism -- that was her sister through and through. Any risk was worth taking if it meant that in the end, the pure-blood way would win.
"Perhaps," Narcissa said, slowly, wiping her tears away. After a deep breath, she felt calmer. "He's not your son, so I don't expect you to understand."
"Oh, you worry too much. As long as he obeys the Dark Lord and follows through with the plan, there should be no danger to him."
Throwing her hands in the air, Narcissa turned around. "Oh, no danger at all. Just aiding and abetting in a mad plot, at the risk of his own life! Not to mention that he has to kill--" She realised her tone was reaching new levels of hysteria, but she didn't care all that much. "Oh, Draco!"
"Killing blood traitors is very easy to get used to. The Dark Lord will honour him for his deeds."
At Bellatrix's offhand words, Narcissa whirled around, feeling both distraught and exasperated. "He's sixteen, Bella! Do you remember what life was like when you were sixteen? His life's great worries should be about girls and homework, not about how to cast an Unforgivable Curse! I don't like Mudbloods or that old doddering fool any more than you do, but I'd rather the Dark Lord not use my child to his own ends."
"Draco volunteered for this, Cissy," Bellatrix said, in a calm, careful voice; Narcissa suspected Bellatrix had finally understood that appealing to her sense of duty for the Dark Lord just wouldn't do the trick. "It's his choice, really. He might not be legally adult yet, but he's old enough to make his own decisions."
"It doesn't make it any easier for me."
"And that doesn't change the fact that it needs to be done. If it hadn't been Draco, it would've been someone else. Goyle's son, if he had the brains. Or young Nott, if he were trustworthy enough."
Running a hand over her forehead, Narcissa took a deep breath. Bellatrix was right, of course: it needed to be done. It was imperative for the Dark Lord's plans, and she considered those plans important for herself as well. With that Muggle-loving old coot Dumbledore dead, they could easily end this conflict once and for all. The Mudbloods and the Muggles wouldn't stand a chance.
"I understand why Draco wants to do it, I really do," Narcissa said -- and she did. He was his father's son, and always had been. "And I know why the Dark Lord asked it of him."
"So why are you complaining then, then?"
Narcissa sighed. She well knew that Draco was perfectly situated to do it, not to mention as hungry for honour as his father. In a small part of her mind, she rather admired her son for his foolhardy courage and his need to prove his worth where his father had failed.
With sudden ache in her chest, Narcissa wished Lucius were with her -- if only to console her.
The sight of Draco, standing tall in front of their Lord, listening to the high-pitched, chilly words that spelled out his important, impossible task, had been forever etched onto her mind. She had seen how pale he had gone, and how much his legs had trembled when he had bowed down before the Dark Lord; she had never seen her son so afraid, yet so determined. He had grown up, that was undeniable.
"It's just that... it's too much. What good is winning if my life is in ruins?"
Bellatrix made a dismissive sound. "Ruins? It's a new and perfect pure-blood world the Dark Lord is building. You really shouldn't complain so much. He's doing this for all of us, you know."
"Oh, will you just look around, Bella?" she said, her voice tight. She waved her hand around, her eyes on Bellatrix because she didn't want to see the ruin of her beautiful house. "Look at it! This was my beautiful home."
As Bellatrix glanced around, all the while compulsively picking at a loose thread on her sleeve, Narcissa closed her eyes. The insides of her eyelids were like hot sand, dry and burning. She didn't need to look around to know what it looked like: a disaster.
The Aurors had come the previous week, unannounced and in force. They had turned over everything, sliced open sofa pillows and ripped down wall hangings, their spells leaving deep, scorched gouges on the walls where they hadn't been able to take down spell-attached paintings. It had been clear from the start that what they didn't destroy by accident, they had broken on purpose. Oops, and a vase fell here; whoopsie, and a glass cabinet toppled over here. It had been a long nightmare of an afternoon but now, in comparison to what Draco had promised to do, it seemed like a minor annoyance.
When she opened her eyes and looked down, her gaze fell on a teacup that lay on the now-stained Persian rug. The cup had broken into three pieces and its saucer, filigreed with gold and the Malfoy family crest, had been thrown a few feet away.
"Reparo," she said, pointing her wand at the cup. It fixed itself and flew onto the sideboard -- one of the few pieces of furniture that hadn't been upturned, though even it had deep scratches and burn marks marring its fine, dark lacquer.
"Why haven't you tidied up here anyway?" Bellatrix said and righted a crooked painting with a flick of her wand. "It's been over a week."
"What good would it do? They're just going to come back and ruin everything again," Narcissa sighed and put her wand away. "I wish... I wish there was some other way. There must be."
Her eyes narrowing, Bellatrix stepped closer. "Are you questioning the Dark Lord's plan?"
"Do you think I shouldn't?"
Bellatrix straightened, her eyes wild. "He's our Lord! His plan will rid us of the Mudbloods and their--"
"What good does a pure-blood world to me, right now? My home is wrecked, and my husband is in Azkaban," Narcissa interrupted, loudly, even as her heart lurched at the thought of Lucius, "and now he wants my son, too. This time, he is asking too much, Bella. Too much!"
Bellatrix face twisted into a mix of shock and fear. "Be quiet," she hissed, making shushing gestures with her hand. "The Dark Lord has ears everywhere."
"Surely not here any more, not after the Aurors did this thorough a job on the house. Unless... unless you're going to tell him."
Paling, Bellatrix came closer. "Cissy--"
"Because that's what you do, isn't it? The good little toady that you are." When she saw the flash of pain in her sister's eyes, Narcissa immediately regretted her words. She stepped closer and grasped Bellatrix's shoulder. "I'm... I'm sorry, Bella. I didn't mean it. You are a loyal follower. The best the Dark Lord has."
For some reason, this seemed to make Bellatrix uncomfortable. Intrigued by her reaction, Narcissa let go of her shoulder. Was all not well in the Dark Lord's inner circle? That did not bode well, and it added to Narcissa's sense of her life being out of control.
From childhood, Bellatrix had been the sister to whom she had been closest. She remembered Andromeda as a pragmatic girl who kept everyone at arm's length, the frigid cow, while Bellatrix was her total opposite: a passionate, headstrong woman whose faith in the pure-blood ideals had been almost manic. Narcissa had always admired Bellatrix for the strength of her spirit and conviction; she had been her hero.
When Bellatrix had been sent to Azkaban, Narcissa remembered how alone she had felt. Andromeda had been lost to them long ago, when she had decided to marry a Muggle-born -- the disgusting thought still made bile rise in Narcissa's throat -- but it was Bellatrix whom she had missed all those years. Then, she had lost her husband just as she had got her sister back.
Though, it really hadn't been her sister who had returned. It had been a ghost, a pale facsimile of her sister. Narcissa glanced away, tears stinging her eyes again. Azkaban hadn't been kind to Bellatrix.
"I'm sorry," Narcissa repeated, forcing herself to look at the gaunt, drawn face of her sister. "I didn't mean it."
For a long moment, Bellatrix was quiet, even as her eyes flicked around, the look in them paranoid and a tad demented. "He is..." she finally said. "It's been difficult. Ever since the Department of Mysteries. He's been in a mood."
Narcissa smiled, though her mood was entirely devoid of good humour. "He hates to have his plans go to naught, certainly," she said. "And I'm not saying I'm going to stop Draco or defy the Dark Lord -- I'm not an idiot, Bella. I just need... insurance."
"Insurance?"
"A plan to keep Draco safe, if he is to go through with it."
Bellatrix cocked her head, looking bewildered. "What are you going to do?"
Shrugging, Narcissa moved to stand by the fireplace. On the mantelpiece lay shards of priceless vases and a frame with a cracked glass. She lifted the frame upright, cleaned the dust off the engraved silver frame, and with her wand, touched the white starburst crack that obscured half of the photo. It knitted itself together and once more, the glass was spotless.
It was a Christmas photograph, several years old; in the middle, a smiling Lucius was holding the hand of a four-year-old Draco, who was pouting and tugging at Lucius's hand. Around them were a well-dressed collection of their friends and acquaintances, from Macnair to Lucius's colleagues in the Ministry and lurking in the back--
When the idea came to her, in a flash of insight, Narcissa straightened. "Oh, of course," she breathed, her eyes riveted on the photo. It was so simple, and she could do it -- it had always been easy for her to play the part of a distraught mother, tears and all. "That's it."
"You've an idea, don't you?" Bellatrix said, her eyes narrowing and her tone wary. "Usually, when you get that look, I'm going to wind up in trouble. So whatever it is, don't do it."
Narcissa turned, unable to help her smile. She waved her hand at Bellatrix and took her arm, steering her towards the uncluttered centre of the floor.
"Come with me, dear sister. We're going to make a little visit."
"Visit? Where? Why?"
Narcissa stepped back and took out her wand. "To see Snape, of course."
"Snape? You're going to Severus Snape, that traitor, for help? You're mad!"
Narcissa replied with another small smile and a wink. She could see in her mind the overgrown, littered riverbank in the shadow of the crumbling remains of the mill that was her target; she well remembered the runty, untidy house on Spinner's End. Oh yes. It would work.
"See you there, Bella," she said and Disapparated.
Through the pressure and tug of Apparition, Narcissa thought of Bellatrix. She didn't worry about her sister because she knew her so very well; she would come after her, as she always did. After all, she was a first-class follower, too.
* * *
End.