Et Nulli Miseretur

She flattered herself thinking that she would have made a venerable actress as well. She had thrown a hysteric fit, cowed over the motionless body of her only child, she had screamed and wailed and aimlessly hurled curses around, until the two Aurors had stunned her. One had called for a Healer, the other - her old acquaintance Mr Williamson - had examined the 'body', and Narcissa had spent the night in St. Mungo's, treated with heavy sedatives. After that, she had been examined for two hours; she had glared at the Aurors, telling them nothing, but repeating over and over, 'Murderer, you have murdered my son!'

She was dismissed at last and went straight back to the Manor, where she - sobbing and swearing revenge under her breath - embalmed Draco and lovingly put him into the coffin that the house-elves had purchased. Unobtrusively, she dripped some more Draught of the Living Dead into his mouth before closing the coffin and leaving again, apparently more composed now, to see The Eel. This offered her for once to spread the awful news among the Death Eaters, and also belonged to the show - she'd need Lucius' signet ring to seal Draco's grave in the family vault, and The Eel's job was to obtain it. She played the grieved mother in denial, and The Eel was far too preoccupied with her décolleté to pay more attention anyway.

In the following night, Bella visited her, worried, dismayed - and a little bit doubtful, Narcissa could tell. She managed to convince her sister in a panache, and in the dark of night, they both crawled through a secret passage right into the family vault - the entrance was surely monitored by Aurors still, who could easily guess that the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange would have something to say on the death of her nephew. The secret passage led into an empty grave, and quivering with dry sobs, Narcissa performed the burial rite alongside her sister.

Bellatrix gazed at Draco's face for ten minutes before allowing Narcissa to close the coffin again - she had claimed that she couldn't endure looking at him, and swore once more that she would 'make them pay, and if it's the last thing I'll ever do!'

They closed the grave and sealed it with wax and Lucius' ring, and Bella whispered, "Have you got word from Lucius?"

Her sister nodded weakly. "Elias... He said... Oh Bella! My child - my only child! Lucius' only son! What - how can we go on after this? How..."

"You will both get the chance to avenge him, Cissy. Mark my word, they will pay with blood!"

Narcissa shivered, and this time, it wasn't an act. "I believe Lucius wants to take down himself the swine who have slain his son... Unless I meet them first!"

"Come and see the Dark Lord, dear. He wants to talk to you anyhow. And he can give you more opportunities for revenge than you could dream of now!"

And that was what Narcissa did. She followed Bella in the same night still, right into the heart of darkness, as she liked to call Voldemort's encampment. This night was to decide everything; not only her own life depended upon her credibility, but also Lucius', and ultimately, Draco's. Severus was well-instructed; he knew where the fake corpse was hidden, the fake signet ring to feign the seal, he knew how to get into the secret cave. But still, it was a risk, and Narcissa had no mind to waste her life tonight and endanger Lucius yet more. That motivation made her strong, stronger than she had dared to hope even.

She let Voldemort intrude her mind. She let him see a blend of images - Draco as a baby in his cradle, Draco lying in state in his coffin, Draco as a toddler learning to walk, Draco toppling on the stairs and crashing down, Draco in his father's arms waving at his mummy, Draco lying on the floor, blood dripping down his forehead and Narcissa on top of him, clutching his lifeless body. She combined these pictures with genuine feelings, just that she hadn't felt them in that night. She let Voldemort feel the hatred she had felt in the night when she had seen Lucius come home, half-dead. She let him sense the sheer horror she had suffered from when learning about Draco's mission. She let him share the few moments of deepest sadness that she had experienced in her otherwise so blissful life - desolation because of Andy leaving home, because of the deaths of her parents, the times when she had believed that Lucius wouldn't truly care for her.

She focused only on that - to mix the ingredients just right; she was an excellent Potioneer after all, wasn't she, and in a way, this wasn't too different from potion-making. It was all about the exact measure, the proper timing, the ideal proportion, and like in potion-making, one must strictly concentrate on the task at hand. After half an hour, perhaps, he let her go - she ought to be grateful to Bella, who had pleaded not to put her miserable sister through even more pain.

"You could have prevented this from happening, Narcissa," Voldemort said quietly.

Self-control would not be believable in such a moment, so she cried, "But Mylord! I -"

"If you had killed those men in time, they couldn't have hounded your child to death."

She gave a shrill wail, clasped her throat and fell to her knees, crying, sobbing, hammering her hands on the floor until Bella relieved her of this rather exhausting act by stunning her, once gain. Narcissa's mourning might have been a sham - and one opening her the exclusive gates of the Dark Order, incidentally - but elsewhere, the tears were real enough.

Pansy Parkinson had just digested the information that her dearest darling wasn't only a servant of You Know Who, but - worse - would never come back to school, so her good mother had hidden away the Daily Prophet announcing the accidental death of said boy. Of course, that wouldn't do - the news made the Wizard Broadcast, too, and poor Pansy had to stay in bed for the next four days, sustaining such a terrible nervous seizure that only constant medication would calm her down.

"One git less," Ron Weasley commented the same headline that had made Mrs Parkinson burn the paper at once.

Hermione replied flatly, "This is awful!"

"No, it isn't. That's what they call 'fictional justice'!"

"It's 'poetic justice', and no, it's not! It is always terrible when someone dies!"

"Oh, come on and get off it! We're talking about Malfoy! Do I have to remind you what that guy's put you through?! You in particular, Hermione!"

"And still you won't see me sneering about his death!"

"Don't you play the little Saint now!"

"Tell me, Ron - if we rejoice about the death of our enemies, too - then what's the difference between us and them any longer?"

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Nil poterit... Nothing brings greater safety than timely flight.