An Affair to Remember
Title: An Affair to Remember
Author: Jinni (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Pairings: NM/SS, W/? (poll to come!!!)
Disclaimer: All things BtVS belong to Joss Whedon, et al. All things HP belong to JK Rowling, et al.
Distribution: The normal places.
Summary: Willow always knew that Sheila and Ira didn’t feel like her ‘real’ parents. . .funny, they turn out not to be.
Notes: This takes place after Book 5, in the HP ‘verse and sometime after “Something Blue” in the BtVS ‘verse.
Six months had come and gone since that fateful night when an Auror knocked on her front door to tell her that the unthinkable had happened – Lucius had been caught.
It had come as something of a shock. He had spent so many years doing his Dark deeds without ever so much as a real inquiry into his actions, and now he was sitting in Azkaban, waiting for the Kiss. She had expected the Ministry to swoop down upon her, to take all that the Malfoy family named encompassed and leave her, and her son, bereft of funds and home.
Yet, they hadn’t. It was a small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless. The home was hers, the funds in her name until such time as her son turned of age. Everything was to go on as normal, except of course that Lucius would no longer be around.
She hadn’t fully understood what that meant, at first. He was never cruel to her, despite what others may have thought. He never raised a hand to harm her person, knowing fully well the full wrath of her Black blood would fall upon him if ever he should even try. Draco fell under that same protection and, though Lucius rarely had a kind word on his lips for either of them, he was not overly horrible, either. She wouldn’t have tolerated it from him.
The house was empty without him around, while Draco was in school. True, Lucius had never been around that much, as it was; but she could always count on looking forward to seeing him once a week. . .perhaps once a month if his dealings got too frantic.
And then there was the lack of parties. She had always known what her husband did during those parties, and as such tried hard not to feel too much of a hole in her heart were that social interaction had once been. How many muggles had died in the secret cellars beneath the manor? How many Muggleborns had been used and then killed with a single, killing curse in those dingy little cells filled with the stench of blood and waste?
Still, the parties had been something of a reprieve for her, a chance to speak with the other wives, the social butterflies of the Dark circle she had been forced to run in.
And now that was all gone, too.
Six long months had passed. Draco was in his sixth year at Hogwarts, well on his way to being named Head Boy in his seventh, and Lucius had been given the Kiss months before.
Which left. . .just her.
Narcissa Malfoy, once known to her Slytherin housemates as Narcissa Black, turned away from the window, shutting the curtains against the light of the sun lest it ruin the delicate paintings on the walls, cause them to fade and draw down their occupants’ wrath upon herself. She had but one thought in her mind as she crossed the room to her closet, opening it so hard that the door slammed against the wood behind it.
She would not be lonely much longer, not if she had anything to say about it. A terrible wrong was still hers to right. A piece of her soul that still could be made whole if she but put forth the effort.
Wand in hand, the blonde haired witch tapped out a pattern on the back wall of the closet, usually hidden by her many robes and gowns. She watched as slowly the ancient wood and plaster slid aside, revealing a small nook containing a little box. She retrieved the box, tapping out the sequence to once again close that most secret of hiding places.
Box in hand, she reentered her bedroom, flopping down unceremoniously on her large, four-post bed. She looked down at it, remembering the day all too well when she had last seen it, nearly nineteen years before. It was plain wood, the simplest thing she had been able to Transfigure that day, when she was so tired and worn thin. She lifted the lid now, trembling fingers reaching out to run delicately along what lay within.
A lock of hair, much like her own pale blonde color. It was still soft and downy, just as it had been when it was cut from a baby, still covered in the juices of her womb.
Narcissa’s lower lip trembled. It had been so long since she even thought of that child. So long since she’d had the liberty to think of the daughter she gave up. A daughter conceived with, not Lucius, but his best friend. Lucius never even suspected that she had been unfaithful, and her partner that austere evening was unaware that their blessed joining had yielded such a result. She could never have told him, if nothing had changed. As long as Lucius lived she couldn’t speak a word of the truth, couldn’t tell the father of her child what had happened.
Lucius may never have hit her, she reasoned, but he would kill her for something like this. No blows would be struck, but she would be just as dead. And her daughter, as well. Perhaps the one that she had loved that night. No one would fall free of the blame in Lucius’ eyes.
But Lucius was dead. Had been for months. And now she was feeling secure enough to do this, to begin to put back the pieces of the life she had once been given the chance to have.
It was time, she told herself sternly. Time to tell Severus once and for all.
And then, together, they could find their daughter.