Fait Accompli

Chapter 4

Narcissa shut the heavy book with a snap, and replaced it on the high shelf where it belonged. She ran a slim finger down the spines of several more books, then decided she had the information she required.

"Did you ever, at any point in time, leave your common room after it started?" She turned to face her son. He was lolled on an antique chaise, one leg thrown over the back carelessly, wearing the same indifferent expression he had since she started her questioning.

"As I've already told you, Mum, Professor Snape sent Nott and I to the dungeons almost immediately. He said it would be best for us to stay out of sight watching the first years. Just in case, you know."

Certainly. Just in case the Death Eaters lost. Severus, always cool under fire, had even been foresighted enough to provide the sons of two Death Eaters with a handy alibi. Just in case. She blessed the right thinking of Severus and his position at the school. Still, there was something in her son's expression... When he had been just a small boy, Draco had never been able to pull one over on her. She trusted that, even with seven years of absence, she still knew him well enough to read him like an open book.

"Mum, when's Dad coming back?" Draco inquired with a degree of impatience. "He promised to tell me all about it. I didn't get to see a thing, and it sounded awfully exciting."

Her heart lurched, and she dodged the question. "It was a means to an end, Draco, and nothing I found worth getting excited over. I'm sure you'll hear all about it soon enough."

With practised discretion, she peeked out the library's curtains and scanned the grounds. Dusk was coming on, and shadows lay as long fingers groping the lawns. They were out there, she knew it, even if she could not see them. Out there waiting. Likely waiting for it to get dark enough to provide cover. She had perhaps another hour at most.

She collected fresh parchment from a desk. It was from her personal supply; thick, cream-coloured and expensive. She withdrew from another drawer a particular quill. It was reserved for only the most important of missives, and was long, thin and made of a black feather of unidentifiable origins. The nib looked horribly sharp. She took out another quill, her favourite for writing and well used.

"Come with me, Draco."

He heaved himself off the chaise and followed her, out of the library and down wide stairs. She noted that for all his bloodthirsty desire for details of this morning's battle, he was unusually subdued. She shelved that observation for later, when she had time to set him down for a long heart-to-heart over cups of hot chocolate. They had just received a lovely batch of imported stuff, laced with hints of raspberry. Draco would like that.

Inside ground floor drawing room, Draco helped her push aside a fourteenth century chair (beautiful mahogany, one of her favourites) and she rolled up the carpet with a flick of her wand, to reveal a heavy iron trapdoor. They descended into a hidden antechamber, Narcissa tapped the ceiling twice to replace the rug, and her son manhandled open the thick ironbound door to the main chamber.

The room was painted a stark white, so pale it jangled the nerves. Some Malfoy ancestor had created this room for the purpose of housing Dark items and the white expanse was a safety measure; it reflected light intensely, and an overabundance of light weakened most Dark items, making them easier to handle. Currently the room was occupied by only a bed and work table, as well as two women.

Draco's eyes lit up with anticipation. "You never did tell me what we're going to do with the Mudblood, Mum."

"All in due time."

His face fell, much as a boy who had been denied second helpings of pudding. Narcissa indulged in a momentary pang of something akin to pity. Or maybe remorse. Useless emotions either way, at this point, and quickly stifled.

The nurse, seated bedside, was watching the pair of them with her lips quirked in amusement. She dismissively ignored Narcissa and her son after a moment and resumed spoon-feeding broth into the girl's mouth. This vastly annoyed Narcissa; it implied that she did not have the upper hand.

"Have a seat, Draco. This might take a while." Narcissa conjured a high-backed chair for herself and pulled it to the table, seating herself comfortably and spreading parchment and quills out within handy reach. Running over her course of action in her mind, she quelled a sudden smirk.

"Rebecca, would you say that you are taking care of this girl?" The question was artfully phrased to sound innocuous. The annoying git of a woman did not disappoint her.

"Naturally," came the immediate response.

"And thus you are her caretaker?"

"Yes, that would be another way to state the obvious."

"Being that 'caretaker' is a synonym for 'guardian', then you are also her guardian."

The poncy little swot's eyes narrowed, but she was not nearly suspicious enough. "Yes," she answered slowly, "I suppose you could say that I am the girl's guardian. I will certainly do my best to guard her from the likes of you."

Perfect. Narcissa couldn't have asked for a better response. She smiled warmly. "Lovely. Then, as you are her guardian, you are capable of entering negotiations on her behalf when she is not able to take part in her own interests."

Madam Poncy Swot ceased her feeding and glanced at the girl. Her patient's eyes were open, yes, but they had the glazed, blank look of one who was barely conscious and only minimally aware of her surroundings. Narcissa's order to wake her had been heeded, but tempered with strong painkilling potions that affected the senses temporarily. It had really been the only humane way to allow the girl to remain conscious.

She set the cup of broth on the table and mustered a forceful demeanour. "I take it you wish to have me negotiate the terms of her release."

Narcissa's smile widened. Better and better. "Exactly so, my dear. Please sign the top of this parchment as witness and guardian for the girl. Her name is Hermione Granger, be sure to spell it correctly. No, no, not that quill. This one."

Her Right Royal Swottiness gasped with the first strokes of the quill, and Narcissa noted with satisfaction that a line of blood welled up on the back of the other woman's hand. She continued to write though, assuredly thinking it merely some sick joke of her captor's. Draco watched the proceedings with smirking interest. When she had finished, Narcissa took quill and parchment back and added her own signature and notation to the top. She, it couldn't help but be noted, did not flinch. She let Draco take the quill when she was done, which he examined thoroughly.

"Now," Narcissa said, all efficiency once the tricky part was past, "to negotiate the terms of her marriage contract."

Swotty McSwotty Pants' face reddened in anger. "And who, precisely, is she marrying?"

"My son."

"What?" The exclamation was strangely echoed, coming as it was from both the nurse and Draco. He swore, having pricked himself with the black quill, and stuck his injured thumb in his mouth.

"But Mum-" he said indignantly around his bleeding thumb. Narcissa gently removed it from his mouth.

"How many times, Draco? When we cut ourselves on Dark items, we don't stick the bleeding bits in our mouths."

"But Mum. She's a Mudblood."

"And I certainly won't inflict your horrid, beastly spawn on some unsuspecting girl. I won't do it."

Draco nodded fervently. "I'm not marrying some Mudblood, Mum, she's a right little monster. A dirty-blooded, foul little monster! Have you gone mental?"

Narcissa pulled out her wand and stuck the tip against the nurse's throat. "I'm afraid the fact of marriage is not part of the negotiations."

The nurse's eyes flashed. "The Ministry will be here any time now."

"Pity, because you'll be dead by then." Narcissa ignored, for the moment, Draco's increasingly shrill objections and stared down her former classmate. She dug the tip of her wand further into the soft flesh of her neck, just to emphasise the point.

"All right," the nurse said at last. "Fine. But this contract will cost you dearly."

"What ever makes you happy. Draco, if you cannot keep a still tongue in your head then I shall silence it for you."

"But Mum!" She swung the wand to point it directly at his face. He quieted immediately, his face pale.

"Son," she said gently, trying to soften the shock, "there is more to life than our personal preferences and immediate happiness. Ever so much more. So shut it."