Omnia Mors Perimit

Narcissa was standing in her dressing room, irresolutely rummaging. She had given in to Lucius' urging after all; she was going to meet the Minister for Magic, whom she thought to be a complete moron, but alas! He was the Minister, and Lucius set great store on the introduction. What was more - Draco was smitten to watch the Quidditch final in the top box, and Fudge had been more than ready to oblige, asking once more if he'd finally meet Mrs Malfoy, and this one didn't like disappointing either her son or her husband. She would go. And if she fell asleep with boredom.

Muggle clothes were mandatory, and she couldn't quite decide what to wear. She had a selection of muggle costumes for different occasions, but the things suitable for a muggle camping lot seemed so very plain... Lucius would want to make an impression on the Minister, wouldn't he? She held up an ice blue suit, with a slim skirt and a high-necked jacket - she wanted to protect herself against the sun as effectively as she could, and she thought that this would do. She chose a blouse, white leather gloves, a hat with a wide brim to shield her face, and for the impressive effect, she put on pearls and the collier with the large sapphire that Lucius had given her for their fifteenth wedding anniversary. He presented her sapphires for all their anniversaries, it was their tradition since he had first put on a ring on her finger.

"What do you think?" She had gone to his study for a second opinion and turned around with a mocking smile.

Lucius wriggled a brow and eyed her legs. Even as a schoolgirl, she had never shown them, always wearing long skirts underneath her uniform. The only times that her own son would ever see her calves was when she was swimming in their pool. "If there's one thing to say in favour of the muggles, it must be that they tailor great clothes!"

"I feel naked."

He got up and walked over to her to seize her close. "Come, petal, let me show you the difference to real nudity!"

One hand on her backside, he opened the top bottom of her jacket and nibbled on her throat. She let him; they had still ample of time. He undressed her with great care, marvelling at her as if he had never seen her body before. When he had got down to her lingerie, he stepped back with a delighted face and she laughed brightly.

"Get down to it, honey!"

"Let's just skip the sodding match and stay in."

"That is a brilliant idea as far as I'm concerned!"

He took her hand, kissed it and lead her over to his desk. She opened and pushed down his robes in turn, unbuttoning his shirt with nimble moves, but before she could finally undo them, he plunged into her already. When they were finished, he carried her over to the sofa and bedded her in his arms, kissing the top of her head.

"I'd really like to stay, you know that?"

"I know, yes. But I also know that Draco would never forgive us, just like I know that Fudge is waiting for us. Come on, sweeting, let's take a shower."

They went into the bathroom; he was playful as ever, unable to keep his hands off her. Only when she meant to strip down his shirt, he winced back. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but he quickly drew her close and kissed her. He was too good at kissing for her to keep on pondering, but when they were standing under the jet of water and he still wore the shirt, tightly sticking to his body now, the thought inevitably came back to her.

"Chéri, it might be useful to take off all your clothes, now at the latest."

He made a wry face. "Possibly..."

She reached out, but he snatched her wrist and brushed a kiss on her palm. "Shhh..." He looked uncomfortable. "That's not such a good idea, I guess."

"You're kidding me!"

"I - there's something - you mustn't see -"

"What?!"

"A pimple, sort of -"

She furrowed her brow. "I am your wife, mon amour, if there was a tentacle sprouting on your back, I still wouldn't mind. Not much, anyhow. Come on, show me."

"No. No, I'd rather not, sorry."

"Lucius, I know you for thirty years and I have never seen as much as a blemish on you! It might be something serious, so give me a look! I told you about this hole in the ozone layer, didn't? Could be a melanoma, or -"

"I promise I see a Healer tomorrow, my love. Don't worry. Just let me keep on my shirt."

She shook her head, snuggled up to him and muttered, "You're crazy, you know that?"

"I'm crazy for you!"

"You're also very corny."

"Your presence befuddles me."

He insisted on watching her when she got dressed again, as slowly as she could, and obediently put on the muggle suit she had picked for him, but not in her presence. "The - uh - thing," he muttered apologetically and fled behind the folding screen.

"Don't be absurd! I've shown you mine, now show me yours!"

"Just a sec -" She saw him hurl the wet shirt over the screen and sneaked over, but too late. The sly fox had already donned the fresh muggle shirt. "Help me buttoning up."

He looked amazing, she found. The suit was anthracite, the shirt was white; still she preferred his wizard attire. It was so much more dignified. Lucius looked down himself and tilted his head. "This is ridiculous. We're seeing the Minister for Magic, and I look like a buffoon."

"Since when do you care for the Minister of Magic? Besides, you always said you'd like this piece."

"For taking some muggles out for dinner in muggle London, but not for showing myself in public!"

"Trust me, the other people will look much more ridiculous. You know what they wear when muggle clothes are demanded."

"I console myself thinking that no one will look at me anyway, when they can have a look at your legs instead."

"One more word and I'll change my mind!"

"I'd love to see you undress again!"

They were late when they finally arrived at the camping lot, but Narcissa wasn't sorry. Lucius' mates had employed their time by getting as drunk as possible, she swiftly said hello and searched for Draco instead. She found him lounging in the pavilion of the Vaiseys alongside his friends, who were just as drunk as their fathers. She suppressed all the snide remarks that she had on the tip of her tongue and smiled at her darling instead. "Can I have a word with you, Draco?"

"Sure, mum!"

He got to his feet, slightly swaying and they stepped aside. "Sweetheart, it's not half past six and you smell as if you had fallen into a whiskey barrel!"

"I'm sorry, mum, but -"

"It's all right. Just make sure that it doesn't get worse. I don't want to see a picture of you in the Daily Prophet, throwing up on the Minister of Magic. Did you use the sun screen ointment I gave to you?"

"Yes, mum."

"Did you have fun?"

He beamed at her. "Yes, mum!"

He had been camping with Graham and his son for the past ten days, not wanting to miss a single match - or party, as she suspected. Lucius had checked on him now and then, but knowing her husband, he had not discouraged his son from acting as 'manly' as he liked. "Anything I need to know?"

"No, we've been very good."

"I'm sure you were, darling. I don't mean to detain you, go back to your friends. Your father and I will come back for you before the match starts."

She heard whistles and appreciative howls from the other boys when she left, and her son sniping at them to shut up at once. She didn't look back; they were just hitting puberty, weren't they, they... They were just as old as Draco, weren't they... Good heavens. Could it be that her little darling was growing up at last? But he was still so young! Last year, he had still taken his Chocolate Frog trading cards collection to school!

"Anything wrong with you, my love?" Lucius asked under his breath when she settled next to him. "Or with Draco?"

She chuckled and winked at him. "No. No, everything's fine. He appears to have the time of his life, pretty much like everybody else." She gazed at Amycus Carrow, who had just stumbled over a barrel and crashed into a side table.

"I'm so sorry for dragging you here. We can leave straight after the match - sooner if you wish."

"Oh no, I will meet this pathetic little man and put an end to his neediness. And you will enjoy yourself with your buddies here. You've got a hard day ahead of you." He looked puzzled, and she added with a frown, "You'll see Healer Flint, Lucius! You've promised!"

"I will, mon amour. Don't agitate yourself."

He shot her a tender glance and poured her a glass of champagne. He knew how she hated all this, and that she was only doing this for him. She didn't care for competitive sports, she despised any such thing as camping, and it was no coincidence on her part to never have met the Minister for Magic before. The guys were getting on her nerves as well, boozing, burping and belting out shanties. She sat there in silence, now and then pulling on her skirt to make sure it didn't slip over her knees and trying her best to ignore it all. Poor darling! He shouldn't have brought her here.

She left directly after the match, kissing him goodbye and admonishing Draco to behave. Lucius was glad; she wouldn't enjoy herself, his mates were getting more drunk yet, and so was he. Macnair, Avery, Yaxley, the inevitable Crabs and Goyle, Algernon Rookwood, Amycus Carrow, Gibbon and Alan Rigby, they were all there, each one equipped with a bottle of Ogden's Fire Whiskey, and no one could say in retrospection how it had happened exactly. Fact was that they were singing - a tad too loudly, maybe - and that the odd muggle camp guard showed up, looking sourly and snapping at them to shut up, or he'd throw them all out at once. They laughed at him, and lazily, Macnair flicked his wand and bewitched the old fool to sport some donkey ears, causing the others to roar out even louder.

But the man didn't even take notice of his new adornment, and snatched the wand from the drunk Macnair, mumbling something about the forbidden use of knives and weapons, and that he'd keep this one as a piece of evidence. He turned on his heels and stormed away, before any of the loaded wizards could have stopped him.

"The jerk's got my wand," Macnair bawled, staggering up to his feet and following the muggle, and by and by, everyone else went after them, too. Macnair was too drunk to listen to reason, and what should he do anyway, without his wand? The next thing Lucius could have said for sure was that they had blasted open the front door of the shabby shack that would accommodate the camp guy and his family, yelling and threatening him, and his wife and children, who had been woken up by the noise.

Silly man, he didn't know with whom he was meddling; he still refused to return Macnair's wand, and his little daughter started to cry, very loudly and very disturbingly. Rigby silenced her with a spell, and this was the moment in which the whole thing finally got out of control. The camp guy plunged at Rigby and tried to beat him up, screaming that no one should dare to harm his child - the present fathers among the wizards saw his point, somehow, but the others didn't, and in the next minute, the camp guy was dangling in mid-air, alongside his whole family.

Lucius couldn't help it but chuckle, too funny was the sight of their stunned faces, and he shrugged when Yaxley asked uneasily, "And now?"

"Stop making a fuss, Yax. Nothing now. The Ministry folks will temper with their memories and that's it then!"

"That's precisely what I'm talking about, Lucius! The Ministry! I could lose my license because of this shit!"

Macnair, Avery and Rigby in the meantime saw to drive the floating muggles further on, Lucius rolled his eyes, both with their imprudence and Yaxley's whimpering; hissed that they'd all simply disapparate in case the Ministry showed up, and put on their hoods. It felt like in the old times, only better, on a second thought. This was fun, no labour, no service like it had used to be. Lucius hardly cared for the somersaulting muggles, instead he was greatly amused blasting tents out of their way; their group was joined by more and more wizards, and they had begun to sing again.

Faintly, he thought of Draco - his son couldn't be in one of those tents, could he? But Draco was clever, he'd have got away soon enough, his father was sure - and proud. They strolled along quite aimlessly, having the time of their life, mostly because of the frantic reaction of the other campers, who were a dreary sort of people, lamenting and wailing, clutching their wretched possessions and running off like panicking chicken.

Well, not five minutes later, their own bunch ran off in horror, too, but they had ample reason! Without a warning, the Dark Mark had risen up in the air, and Lucius cast a startled look around to see who of his companions could be so incredibly stupid to conjure it. To have a bit of a joke with some muggles was one thing - not even illegal under certain circumstances - but conjuring the Dark Mark, the symbol of the Dark Lord! To his utmost terror, he realised that it had been none of them, no stray joker with a sick sense of humour, and he disapparated at once, shocked beyond expression.

He emerged before the Manor, and there he realised his most crucial mistake - he could impossibly return to his wife without their son! Damn it! He cursed under his breath, conjured a mirror and restored his robes, vanished his hood and rearranged his neat hairdo. A swift test proved him that he terribly stank of liquor, unsurprisingly, and he took care of this, too, before apparating back to the campsite, giving the show of his life as a concerned father searching for his son in the place of a crime. And he wasn't just putting up an act here - how should he forgive himself if something had happened to Draco? Narcissa would kill him for this!

He came across Fudge, who was predictably dishevelled, and Ludo Bagman, who was at least capable to inform him that he had spotted the young Mr Malfoy on the edge of the forest. Lucius had been very shocked by the sight of the Dark Mark and the horrible pictures that popped into his head of all the things that might have harmed his son, made him suddenly sober up. But there he spotted Draco, thoroughly relaxed and clearly without a clue as to why his father was making such a face.

"You silly boy," Lucius snarled and dragged him away from the people who could overhear them. "Haven't you seen the Dark Mark?!"

"Sure. I've thought it was brilliant - never seen one before -"

"Oh, Merlin, give me patience! Shut up, Draco, you'll disapparate alongside me now!"

He calmed down again, at least in respect to his son. Yes, the boy had never seen the Dark Mark before, and was quite unaware of all its implications. He had believed - like his father at first - that some bloke from the midst of the stampeding crowd had cast it, and watched, head-shaking, the great turmoil that it had caused among the ignorant other campers.

On the way up to the Manor, Lucius silently urged, "You won't tell anything about this to your mother, Draco!"

"That's fine with me, dad, but I reckon the Daily Prophet will cover it nonetheless -"

"Leave that to me. The material point is that you say nothing that could worry her!"

"Like me being alone in all the uproar?" He sneered, and Lucius finally lost his last scratch of patience, grabbing his arm and shaking him.

"Don't you try and be cheeky with me, sonny," he hissed. "You've wanted to get wasted with your infantile friends, and I've allowed you to go. I've thought you'd be mature and smart enough to handle being on your own for two hours, but clearly, I've been mistaken, and I won't make the same mistake again so soon!"

Draco twisted his face, "Come on, dad, I was merely joking! I don't see why you're so mad with me, and I doubt that mum gives a damn what's happened there -"

"You'll go to bed without any further detour, and you're not leaving your room again unless I give you leave. Got me?"

Draco nodded, bewildered and sulking, and Lucius hurried up to his own bedroom. Narcissa was in bed already, murmuring sleepily, "Back so early, mon amour?"

"I've missed you!"

"Nonsense!" She fumbled for her wand on the bedside table and ignited it, pointing the ray of light at him. "Strip for me, sweeting."

He did, grateful that she turned off the light when he took off his shirt. He had a very good reason not to let her see him without it, and it was no pimple. A few days ago - in the middle of a late business meeting with some broker from the States - it had come back. In the first moment when he had felt it, he had instinctively clutched his left arm like a war-disabled veteran, who would sometimes feel a sharp pain jolt into a limb that he had lost a long time ago. He hadn't suffered from the old branding for many, many years; in fact, it had been almost invisible for an unwitting viewer, a galleon-sized, white-fading scar on his anyhow pale white skin.

But he had been in a meeting, and he had known that he must not take a look at it before he could do so on his own, without witnesses. Strangely enough, he had found the old scar faintly pink, and though far from distinctive - the peculiar shape couldn't be seen, it was merely a small reddened spot - he had been slightly alarmed. After not feeling it for oh-so-long - why would it burn now? Why would it show any colour at all?

He had chosen to ignore it for the time being, but keep an eye on it. The difference was so diminutive that it was hard to decide whether it had got worse or not, and only a random, and very quickly familiar, sting of pain occasionally reminded him that something weird was going on, something that he had no possible explanation for. He wouldn't speak about the odd mark for nearly a fortnight - to whom should he have talked, anyway? The Dark Mark was nothing to consult a Healer, nothing to talk about at dinner parties or business meetings, and by no means, he had wanted to disquiet Narcissa without a very good reason. Some of his former companions had been imprisoned in the time between, others lived abroad, and most of them, he wouldn't have trusted anyway.

After Narcissa had left, and before they had all got too drunk to verbalise properly, he had talked to Yaxley, and Macnair. They, too, were feeling it, and just like him, they hadn't got a clue why. They agreed that He couldn't be back, but like him, they weren't a hundred percent positive either that He was dead. It turned out that Graham, Crabs and the others had it as well, but the only thing they could do was draining a barrel of scotch and try to laugh off their uneasiness.

But now - after that disaster at the World Cup - that would undoubtedly make every paper - he had to tell Narcissa. He could only imagine how upset she would be. On the other hand - she was twice as clever as him - perhaps she'd come up with something - perhaps she could figure out what was going on here... Someone had cast the Dark Mark - the old branding on his arm was visible again, after an absence of thirteen years - and if those two incidents had got anything to do with each other, Merlin have mercy with them all!

But how long could a man keep a secret from his clever, perceptive wife? A secret that would include a glowing scar on his arm? The next morning, she woke up in his arms and spotted the red spot in the rising sunlight suffusing their bedchamber. She got a queasy feeling in her stomach, but wanted to give him the chance to tell her about it in his own terms, so she pulled up the blanket to cover the mark and pretended to have not seen it at all.

He woke up soon after her, pulled her close and rang for coffee. "We're going to stay in bed all morning, honey."

"Are we? Did the kinky muggle costume inspire you so much?"

"Very much, ma belle."

"You just want to avoid going to the Healer, don't you?" She shot him a fake grin, wondering how far she could take it.

"Yes, that's right - ah, there's the coffee. Have a cup, chérie..." She could see him bracing himself for the big revelation. Under different circumstances, she would have been amused, but the Dark Mark was nothing to make fun of. A cold shiver ran down her spine and she pressed herself against him even closer, sipping her coffee. He cleared his throat awkwardly and began, "You've asked me why I've been home so early last night..."

"So you didn't miss me that much, eh?"

He kissed her forehead. "Seriously, Cissa... There's been trouble..." Another shiver, and the queasy feeling grew to outright nausea. Trouble...? "You've seen us - we were loaded - I'm afraid we messed it up..." That was an unexpected turn and Narcissa propped herself up on her elbows to have a better look at him. Without embellishments, he told her everything that had happened, the flying muggles, the burning tents, emphasising that Draco hadn't been in danger at any time, and finally -

"The Dark Mark, Cissa. Someone's cast the Dark Mark, and it wasn't any of us!"

He shot her a quizzical look, but she didn't say anything. She had nothing to say in this moment, she was too confused, and too scared that her worst premonitions could come true. He continued, decidedly avoiding to look into her face. "I've lied to you, Cissa. I got no pimple anywhere..."

"I know," she whispered, wishing he would look at her. "You haven't had a pimple in your whole life."

"It's back. Don't ask me why, don't ask me what it means, all I can say is, it's back." He presented her his left wrist, and though it was no longer a surprise, she was shocked looking at it. "I'm so sorry, love."

"So am I... Look at me, Lucius. Be honest - be very candid with me. Is he - can he be back?"

He told her everything he knew, everything he had thought about and discussed with the other old Death Eaters, not leaving out anything to spare her. When he had finished, she didn't say anything for quite a while. She showed him that she wasn't mad with him though, by crawling up and embracing him very tightly, burying her face in the arch between his head and shoulder. He held her, overwhelmed with movement. He didn't deserve this woman. He had just told her that their life as they it might come to an end, and she? She whispered, "We will make it, my love, together. We will get through this, like we've got through the last time, too."