Chapter 10 Lady Black of Malfoy Manor August 8th, 1998 Malfoy
Manor Her sharp stilettos clacked against the fresh,
polished tile of the newly reformed ballroom.
Indeed, Narcissa thought that the renovators had done a fine
job with their constructive spell work.
The previously dark and dated black and white tiled ballroom
now gleamed pristine and bright, a modern amalgamation of the
great halls of Beaubaton and Hogwarts schools, naturally with
her own added flair. The walls shone with an electrum
of silver and gold flecks, the floor are polished ashy wood.
High pillars surrounded the room in soft white, marbled with the
same electrum streaks and irradiant chandelier consisting
of hundreds of individually enchanted glass shards hovering
above, dancing and floating about the space.
It felt right to finally make some changes around here.
Change was necessary. She would be sure to recommend
the crew to the sacred House of royal elite witches.
The shrews were fine ladies, if not a little Snooty on occasion.
Though since her undressing in front of all of their husbands,
fathers and sons, she hadn't been invited to a committee
meeting. She tried to dissolve the memory
away and instead focus on Draco and the impossible road ahead of
her dwindling family. But now all she could see was
her son's gaunt and taut face through a horde of ghoulish
grins. Nosisa had been manhandled into
the centre of the foray and was made to be an example of Draco,
had failed the Dark Lord and had arrived home without any
information from Hogwarts last year, information the Dark Lord
was counting on to continue his usurping of the Ministry.
He wouldn't have known, couldn't have known that she would be the
one to pay the price. Lucius hadn't sent her a
comforting glance her way, hadn't donned the calm, clever,
cunning expression that she'd so fallen in love with in their
youths. No, his resolve was as fragile
as his ego, and that had been eviscerated.
She looked Fenrir Grey back in the eye as he stole away her
poise and control. Imperio.
The rest was a haze. She felt a chill and saw her
hands removing her cloak, then skirt, then blouse.
The room moved beneath her as legs that weren't currently her
own travelled into the grotty metal masked crowd.
Her body landed into something, the frame of a woman, straight
black cropped hair, pinkish skin, and she was immediately
thrown in another direction. The men.
It was mostly just the men. They grabbed, they squeezed,
they licked, and with every touch she was brought back into
her body, the body that wasn't even hers.
She belonged to them now, could taste their putrid breaths, feel
their hardened parts. She was a rag doll, a plaything.
Moments later, she'd been torn away by Alistair Avery, who
shoved his tongue so far down her throat that she choked,
smearing blood red lipstick across her pale cheek.
The room laughed and jeered at the Lady of Malfoy Manor.
Humiliated in her own home, Nosissa could handle some
embarrassment. She was Narsissa Malfoy, she
came from Black diamond stock and she could slice a man's
cheek open with naughty but a glare.
No, what pained her more was hearing the delight her sister
took out of it, her sharp cackle scraping across the worn tiles,
a high pitched off note, and the glimpse of her only son wracked
with guilt and shame. Then she was in the arms of
another, the knot boy, and he had held her as though she were
a China doll at risk of breaking, as though there were
even the possibility that she could ever break.
Breaking was not an option, but he cradled her in his boyish
arms so delicately that she thought for a moment if one was
to break, to shatter into pieces, that possibly there was
at least one person in the room able to gather her back up and
put her back together. Let go, he had whispered in her
ear as he stroked her platinum hair.
Take your mind elsewhere, somewhere magical.
You don't need to be here for this.
And she did. She retreated deep within her
mind. Soon the grimy hands turned into
tall reeds. The jeers warped into twittering
warblers, pippets and cuckoos. The sweat merged with the sweet
sense of honeysuckle and lavender.
She was stepping through the golden Meadow at a Black Country
estate where she'd spent so many of her younger years, the rich
summer sun highlighting pollen particles in the air.
The goblins of Gringotts had turned the estate over to her
only this week, upon completing the proper lineage work required
after the death of Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus.
I must remember to send Molly Weasley bouquet once all this is
over. Narcisa hummed to herself as she
crossed into the once drawing room, now sitting room.
Hermione had been with them over a week and Narsissa looked
forward to opening up the new spaces to her.
Their old grounds filled with such blackened memories, ripped
up and replaced with something softer and sweeter.
Narsissa hoped it would help the girl who had taken to eating all
her meals in her room since the 1st dinner.
She also had the feeling that almost every word Hermione spoke
was meticulously curated, as though the sentences themselves
needed to be vetted word by word, by whatever little elves
worked in the cogs of her brain. Narcissa took a turn about the
sitting room. A cosy, tall, pale bricked
fireplace crackled grand and hearty.
It was far too warm to have the fire on, and she cast a cooling
charm around it, preserving the vision of the room she'd
imagined all these years. 3 deep, low fabric sofas decorated
with silver and soft green cushions sat upon a dense cream
rug and arched around the fireplace.
In the corner stood a grand Ebony Steinway piano, while the
walls behind it were lined with bookshelves filled with a mix of
magical and muggle fiction. 1st and collector's editions, of
course. Tall window paned doors drew in
light from the gardens, making this space the brightest room in
the Manor. Now she hoped Hermione would be
able to enjoy it. Not for your thoughts.
Theodore Not leaned in the doorway, hands in his trouser
pockets. How long had he been watching
her? Oh, these thoughts are worth
galleons. She smirked back. 100 galleons
for your thoughts then. He bartered jovially, then
entered the room and made himself far too comfortable on
her brand new cream sofa. Theodore, just because you now
own the entire not estate does not mean you should fritter away
all your money on women. She said primly, pulling a
cushion from behind Theo and plumping it back up again as she
reached over him. Nasya smelled the honeysuckle
and lavender of her childhood home and swallowed down the
arousal from being drawn towards something so familiar and warm.
Had this boy doused himself in a mortensia?
But what if it was just one woman?
He crooked an eyebrow. She pursed her rused lips to
fight the smile from forming this boy.
She tutted inwardly. Narcissa would not acquiesce to
his childish antics. You'll find Draco pacing the
gardens. He is quite concerned about this
evening's congregation. Perhaps instead of flirting with
his mother, you could put your silver tongue to better use.
You really do tee these up for me, don't you?
Don't think I don't know your game, Missus Malfoy.
He wagged a playful finger at her as he rose from the sofa.
The seat cushions were all sunken in now and she would have
to plump them back up again. She thought as she clucked her
tongue. I'll rest this silver tongue for
now. Said Theo as he made his exit
through the windowed doors. It's black by the way.
Hmm. He intoned, looking confused.
Miss Black, my name, I changed it this week.
He nodded at her, a soft knowing not that left her feeling rather
self-conscious at his level of informality as he left through
the doorway, and she immediately bent to straighten the cushions
again. Oh, and Miss Black.
Theo popped his head back through the open door.
Yes, Theo. She responded exasperated,
twirling to see a roguish grin and his delicious devilish eyes
lifting up from the place her derriere resided moments ago.
If you think this is flirting, just you wait and see.
Theo bounced out of the sitting room with a spring in his step.
There wasn't too much in the world at the moment to be happy
about, but being able to put a smile on Narcissus lips just
made his day better. In his young years, his father
would drop him off at the Malfoy's when he'd had enough of
Theo's energy, or more appropriately, when his curses
on Theo had stopped having their intended effect.
He and Draco would tear about the Manor like they were
overdosed on Pepper Up potion, flying under Mr. Malfoy's feet
on their toy broomsticks and getting the Lord of the Manor so
worked up that he would curse at his wife to get those damn
children under control. The real target was Gnosis and
Malfoy, though not that he told Draco that, and not that he had
understood that fully for himself in his more formative
years. One time he put hare mousse in
Missus Malfoy's cappuccino instead of frothy milk, just to
get a rise out of her. Another time he'd convinced
Draco that together they should hide all the toilet paper in the
Manor, only to find that Dobby, their previous rather skittish
elf, had been refilling them all behind the duo like they were
trying to play some sick game on him and get him in trouble.
Theo and Draco had even hidden under her bed once when they
were six or seven to surprise Missus Malfoyer.
Bedtime. That was until they became the
unintended voyeurs of a rather spicy activity and were both
escorted, rather scarred and mortified out of the bedroom by
1/2 naked Mr. Malfoy. Alas, no matter what Theo did to
get her attention, the Lady of Malfoy Manor was unshakeable.
And oh how he wanted to make her shake.
After he turned 13 and the childhood fantasy of her
becoming the mother he never had turned into other, less innocent
desires, he started to keep his distance.
It hurt to be around her, knowing that she would never be
his, could never even want him. He was just a boy.
The summer after his third year at Hogwarts, he skipped the
Hogwarts Express home and took himself on a summer long camping
trip in the Scottish Highlands to avoid two months of inner
turmoil at Malfoy Manor. The Malfoys thought that he was
with his father. His father thought that he was
with the Malfoys, and no one seemed to care enough about
young Theodore not to ask how the boy was doing.
Things got easier after that. Pansy had lit the attention and
adoration he'd showered upon her at the Yule Ball, and he'd
buried himself inside her for a few years.
That was until she got sick of losing him to his new secret
project and he'd just wanted to get away from her and the Death
Eater rhetoric she'd been repeating ad nauseam.
As Theo padded down the stone steps to the side, garden
privacy hedges grown high and maize like, he spotted the surly
git striding around the fountain.
Hey ho, Draco, Theo greeted energetically.
His surly friend always needed to pick me up these days, what
with being all murderous and secretive all the time.
Come to flirt with my mother some more, He said sardonically.
Actually, this time I came to see you.
See if the Dark Commander needs a blowy or a massage, or his
last rites read before the evening's festivities.
He chuckled, patting his friend on the shoulder.
We might both need the latter when I tell you what I found in
Granger's room today. Draco gave him a grave look,
signalling that the time for play had ended.
As Theo's eyes followed, Draco extended his hand and revealed
what lay in his palm. Theo's golden brown eyes went
wide. Draco sighed heavily into the
summer breeze. I imagine you know precisely
what this is. Did I guess right?
Miss must hold still. Greta shrieked at Hermione as
she fastened up her lace corset. I don't see why.
Hermione tried to say as the matriarchal elf practically AB
sailed down her back. The feet of the Elder House elfs
were pressing into her spinal cord as she leveraged all her
weight to pull the corset ribbon taught.
This is so necessary. Hermione finished with a hoof as
the surprisingly nimble senior elf leaped off her back and onto
the Ottoman. Greta had been a curious elf to
befriend. She was sharp and quick witted,
which Hermione expected would mean she'd be amenable to the
SPEW manifesto, but Greta had cut her off before Hermione
could even get the summary of the labour laws out.
Greta knows all about Miss Granger's ideas.
Greta had grimaced at breakfast one morning in a high German
accent. Well, Greta isn't hearing any of
them. Not one nonsense.
Can be spewed to. Greta's grand elf Kip Kip is too
young for a missus. Controversial campaigns.
But Greta, Hermione had beseeched imploringly.
Wouldn't Kip like to create savings for hobbies or outings?
What about books for home? Hermione persisted while Malfoy
had sniggered behind his prophet.
Now, Miss Granger, Greta must put her foot down.
The elf had yelled at, her accent now coming in thick and
fast. While Greta is the matriarch of
this family, no one is paying us and you is not going to discuss
such matters with Poppy Gregor or Kip Grete.
No, Miss Gretta won't be hearing it.
She had fumed while clearing Hermione's toast crumbs and
waving a crooked hand at her. You better heed Gretta's
warnings, Granger. She knows some excellent old
German curses that can freeze your toes in bed for a whole
month. Malfoy had orned playfully.
She still hadn't taken evening meals with the Malfoys since her
first evening at the Manor. Or should she say the Malfoy
Blacks Now she had been eager to keep much distance between her
and Malfoy while she worked on keeping her raging hormones
under control. That's all this was.
Hormones. She was likely just in her
fertile week and in need of some servicing.
At least, that's what she'd been telling herself this whole week.
But Malfoy had taken to joining her for breakfast, schooling her
on what to expect from the first congregation, warning her not to
step out of line. She was to act like the dutiful
house pet she was. Honestly, fuck you, Malfoy, she
thought seethingly as Greta yelled at her from atop the
bedroom Ottoman. Number one.
Greta asserted the elf enunciating every word with
vigor while she held up a little arthritic.
Finger. Miss Granger is to be presented
to the Dark One tonight. Miss must be dressed like the
Malfoy property. You is number 2.
A second knobbly finger joined the count.
Miss has far too many curves for a girl.
Her size. Too many.
Curves. Must be moderated for your
modesty. She held up a third.
Finger #3 The tighter the garment, the harder it will be
to disrobe. Miss.
Hermione's mouth went dry. Disrobing hadn't even crossed
her mind as one of the possibilities for tonight's
events being tortured. Yes.
Dying, yes. Being divested of her clothes,
no. But Draco had thought of that,
and he was planning against it. That counted for something,
right? When Malfoy had told her that
he'd informed Voldemort of her arrival at Malfoy Manor, a
mixture of relief and dread washed over her.
Relief that the ceasefire could now be enacted and no one else
needed to die in the raids and ongoing skirmishes, and dread
for the next step. She had tried to hold on to the
relief, but the cease-fire had come a day too late.
The last Hope watch she caught announced the death of Augusta
Longbottom, who'd found herself in a head to head against Yaxley
as she returned to her unguarded home for some equipment.
The Death Eater had been waiting for her, and she barely stood a
chance. Hermione thought of Neville now,
Head of a House of One, his parents, minds addled and
spending the remainder of their lives at Saint Mungo's.
She hoped the Order would rally behind him, hoped that he had
someone to cuddle up to at night.
Gosh, she wanted that too. Cruickshanks was a wonderful
companion, but she longed to be held by someone.
Holding on to that need for too long LED her to darker places
she needed to avoid, places where his lips brushed hers ever
so slightly while he held her down by the throat and told her
what he really wanted to do to her.
Had it all truly been a lie? The work they were supposed to
be doing together, The months she couldn't remember where.
He must have ingratiated himself with both her and the order to
the extent that she agreed to act as a symbol for a cease-fire
to live at Malfoy Manor with him.
She had found nothing in his study, which had been on
lockdown ever since, regarding the work that they may have been
carrying out. Now all she had to go on was his
word and her vague notions of the future.
A future where working with the Malfoys had LED her to taking
the only exit route she could find, a one way ticket on an
experimental time Turner to Godric knows when.
The time Turner, she thought, her eyes crossing as she
remembered something from the study.
Theo's letter, the knot emblem, Merlin's pants.
How could she be so stupid? All she had was her memories.
From now she should be analysing them fully, dissecting every
moment to help her take down Malfoy.
And here she was, getting distracted with his intentions
and her desires. She scurried to the bed,
tripping over the lush floor length gown Greta had hoisted
her in, and went to lift up the corner of the mattress when an
unwelcome voice drawled. Ready, Grainger?
Hermione jolted upright. Her chaperone for the evening
had arrived. Malfoy narrowed his eyes,
scrutinizing her with a sharp gaze.
He wore robes of fitted green the colour of spiked holly
leaves, shoulder pads of black leather framing his already
statuesque form, and his collar sat crisp against his neck.
Draco's throat bobbed unexpectedly.
How in Godric's name was she supposed to focus on staying
alive with him looking like that?
Yes, ready as I'll ever be. She stumbled over her words,
following him out of the room and down the corridor, the
dresses gossamer train gliding behind her.
When they reached the gates at the head of the Malfoy estate,
Hermione held her breath. In the past week, the Manor and
its walls had kept the looming dangers of an outside world at
Bay, had kept her safe. She held her hands together by
her knotted stomach. You're going to be made a
spectacle of today, Draco reminded her.
But do you understand why? Above all else, I've insisted
you present yourself this way before the regime.
He fingered at the lace of her gown, lifting up the shoulder
cuff that had fallen loose, and tucked a wild strand of curly
hair behind her ear. He kept his hand by her cheek,
long fingers stretching toward the nape of her neck.
To show them that I am yours. She whispered.
To show them that you are mine, Draco responded and tucking his
other arm around her waist, they disappeared into the belly of
the beast with a crack.