The evening did not seem, at the time, to be wholly remarkable. In the scheme of things considered on the grand scale, it really wasn’t. At the time. In years to come the date would not be remembered in history books or with toasts in warmly lit rooms. It would not be learnt by children in schools nor would it be seen as a reason for the gathering of family and friends. In fact, for many years, almost no one would know its significance at all.
On the evening in question the self styled Dark Lord Voldemort, terror of the wizarding world, had been presumed dead for almost two years. This was not taken to be a cause for joy in the household where our story opens. This is not to say that it was taken to be a cause for mourning. Rather, it was seen by the master of the house to be a setback in the world of power and politics where he made his home. It was that and nothing more. It was simply a cause for divergence from the planned route. The ends would be the same. Because of this the day was observed, but not enjoyed. Commemorated, but not commiserated.
However, this day did mark a turning point for the patriarch of the Malfoy family, in whose house the beginning of this tale takes place, though he did not yet know it. Lucius Malfoy, Lord and leader of the Malfoy clan, had finally been cleared of association with the Dark Lord and the less beneficial magical arts.
It had been a long trial, filled with complications, loopholes and more than a few bribes. But now Lucius was finally free. Free to do as he wished, unscrutinised by the law, the media and the public. So, what was a newly unencumbered man to do with himself. Enjoy his freedom of course.
As a Malfoy, Lucius was not given to unseemly celebration. A covert celebration was also out of the question. The ministry may have cleared him but in the eyes of many powerful figures he was anything but an innocent. He must appear to be relieved but not cocky. He must quietly accept his victory as if it had been a foregone conclusion, not deeply in question. To this end he should be seen to be happily ensconced in his family manor, wife and child by his side. Actually spending time with them was out of the question. He had barely set eyes on his treacherous wife since the day she had given birth to their horrible offspring. Perhaps in a few years he would visit the boy, once his tutors had sculpted his mind and his manners. Regardless, this evening it was not to be.
Instead, Lucius had chosen to indulge himself with a glass of brandy and a browse through the artefacts left to him by the Dark Lord in the days before his downfall. A few would fetch wonderfully high bids on the black market. Several more Lucius could not identify and set aside for further study. However, what caught his attention on this fateful evening was a small, black book. It was not specially crafted and he could not detect any recognisable magic on it. What he could detect was immensely powerful but dormant. He flipped through, finding every page blank. He set the book down on the table and sat back, regarding it warily. It appeared to be benign, but he had long ago learnt not to trust the appearance of anything, particularly objects. Particularly objects known to have spent time in the possession of one of the darkest wizards on earth. No, this book would require serious consideration. Suddenly a thought struck him and he clicked his fingers. With a soft pop and small, filthy creature appeared beside him, cowering and tugging on its ears in terror.
“Dobby.” His voice was soft but the effect was immediate. The elf ceased to whimper, ceased almost to breathe, and turned its huge eyes on him.
“Master.” He didn’t take his eyes off the book as he spoke, almost as if he dictated to the air. Almost as if the pitiable creature did not exist, which, for him, it technically did not.
“Fetch me a quill, and some ink.” The elf nodded and vanished once more. Lucius barely had time to tap his fingers once before the creature was back, placing the requested items beside him on the table. It fled without another word. In ordinary circumstances Lucius would have taken a moment to further terrify the creature, but for the moment he was far too intrigued by this new toy. He placed his glass carefully on the table and leant forward, opening the book to the first page and holding in there with one elegant hand. With the other he lifted the quill. His first attempt on the inkwell was unsuccessful, halted by the presence of a cork. For a moment he blinked in incomprehension before cursing softly under his breath and releasing the diary in order to remove the stopper. To his surprise it remained open when he turned back, quill loaded with ink. After a moments hesitation he placed the tip against the paper. What harm could it do after all? It was a book and he was merely writing in it. A simple sentence seemed unlikely to trigger some horrible spell and he might learn more. Little did Lucius Malfoy know how wrong he could be.
Narcissa Malfoy held her son. He stared up at her with his silver eyes, persistently refusing to sleep. She hummed softly in the back of her throat and his lips turned up slightly.
“Mama.” She smiled sadly at him and hugged him close.
“Yes Draco, my little dragon. Your mama will protect you.” From the other end of the house she could almost sense her husbands presence, a malignant tumour, some horrible goblin, waiting to snatch her child away from her.
She hummed a little louder, trying to drown out the knowledge the in a few years he would snatch the child in her arms away and she would not see her little dragon again until he was a cold image of his father.
She sighed softly as Draco’s eyes began to close. He blinked once or twice, fighting to remain alert but the warmth of the room and the soothing embrace of his mother’s arms gradually weighed down his eyelids until he couldn’t fight anymore.
Smiling at his peaceful face, ignoring her minds attempts to superimpose a sneer on the six year olds features, she gently lay him in the huge bed and backed towards the door. She hated leaving him in this cold empty room. Sometimes she woke in the night, terrified that she could hear him crying. On those nights, and sometimes early mornings, she would run through the house, barefoot and freezing in her night clothes, desperate to reach his room before Lucius could.
Mostly she found him dreaming peacefully and even when she found him awake he did not scream, but clung to her silently in the darkness.
She had fought Lucius edict that he was to be moved to the heir’s suite. She still remembered the day he had swept into the nursery and looked over the boy as if he were one of his companies that was yielding a low portfolio. He had then decreed Draco was too old for the nursery attached to Narcissa’s room and would be moved to his own wing. Those had been the first private words Lucius had said to her since Draco had been born.
Humming once more, almost below her breath she wandered aimlessly through the dark and chilly passageways of the manor. Finally, whimsically, her feet brought her to the door of the library. About to enter the room, where she knew a warm fire was waiting amongst shelves of stories in which she could lose herself, she was distracted by a slight glow off to one side. Puzzled, she turned away from the prospect of contented imaginings and followed the light further down the hallway. She came to a rest once more outside to door to her husbands study. She hesitated a moment before her curiosity overcame her dislike of her husband. There was little fear. A man so recently acquitted of such dark crimes as the Malfoy patriarch could not afford to have a beaten wife. Anything that might give the Aurors a foot in the door was too dangerous at the moment and perhaps the threat would keep her safe for years to come.
“Lucius?” She called hesitantly, not willing to enter her husbands den unannounced. When no one replied she tried once more, slightly louder.“Lucius?” Again no reply. Though she did not know it, she would never receive a reply, for Narcissa Malfoy was about to discover herself a widow…of sorts. After the moments of silence that followed her calls she stopped to think. Perhaps he had merely fallen asleep at his desk, in the middle of some undoubtedly vile experiment. She could enter and rouse him to continue his work or move to a more comfortable resting place. Or she could leave him and he would awake in the morning, his experiment ruined by his inattention and his neck muscles painfully misshapen. She allowed herself a small smile and some time to enjoy this thought. The reasoning, she decided was fairly flawless. Lucius would be in pain and annoyed and she did not particularly want to rouse her brute of a husband, in fact she was perfectly happy for him to stay as far away from her and her son as possible for as long as possible, preferably forever.
Suddenly the light within the room winked out. She frowned and tilted her ear towards the slight gap between door and frame. If he was not asleep then why had he not answered her? And if he was asleep then why had the light gone out? Curiosity once more overwhelming common sense she slid her hand into her pocket. With slender fingers thus fixed around her wand she laid the palm of her opposite hand against the wood and gently eased the door open. Utter darkness greeted her. Even the light of from the hall did little to illuminate the large room. Unwilling to light her wand and give away her position she spun herself into the room, intending to remove the target of her silhouette from the doorway and hide in the shadows by the entrance.
This plan fell apart somewhat when she cannoned into someone who seemed to already be ensconced in her hiding spot of choice. There was a soft grunt, too low to be female, as her body met his and then she felt a wand against her throat. She fought the urge to swallow, feeling the cool wood rise and fall against her skin in time with the pulse against which it rested.
“Good evening Mrs Malfoy.” The voice was smooth and slightly higher than she had expected but pleasing to the ear nonetheless. “I assume you are Mrs Malfoy? I know Lucius most likely took lovers but even he would not be so foolish as to keep them in the same house as the woman he married. He was always so dedicated to expanding the ranks of the purebloods.” He chuckled slightly.
“So…who did Lucius take to be his bride. One of the Black sisters I suppose. Not Andromeda, Lucius would never marry someone who had sullied herself at the hands of a muggleborn. I doubt Bella too, she was far too commanding, no where near submissive enough for his taste. Besides, he would have wanted the prettiest of the pick. Narcissa Black then, I presume.” She couldn’t help but gasp slightly as he said her name and he chuckled again. Enraged by this strangers casual intimacy with her family she drove her elbow back hard into his stomach and threw herself away from him. Closing her eyes she called out into the darkness of the room.
“Lumos!” Her tormentor hissed as the light burned his eyes, hissed in an inhuman way, sibilants that could not be produced without the help of a forked tongue slipping from his lips. Once the initial flare had subsided Narcissa opened eyes once more. She blinked slightly but was not blinded as her unwelcome guest had been. He sat on the floor of the room, legs spread out and one hand clutching his stomach as he wheezed for breath, blinking up at her. He smiled briefly.
“Good evening Narcissa.” She blinked again, this time in surprise, taking stock of the man who had held her captive. He was really more of a boy than a man, she decided, but a rakishly handsome one at that. His skin was pale and his eyes stood out an almost glowing blue under his dark hair. His smile was winning in the thin face and as he made to get up she brought her still glowing wand to bear on him.
“Don’t move.” She was pleased to note that, while her voice was slightly thin, it did not tremble and neither did her hand. He chuckled ruefully and held his hands out towards her, showing her that he had lost his wand and he meant no harm. The first was plain to see and he was a fool if he thought she would let him retrieve it, the second she did not believe for one second.
“I see you recognise me then?” She nodded, eyes not wavering as she replied. Though she had never seen photographs and she knew most of his followers did not know his true name, she was a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and they always made a point to research the background of those they associated with. And there was no mistaking the arrogance with which he regarded her.
“Indeed I do, Master Riddle.”