Blood and Honor

Blood and Honor-

Turn your anger into lust
I'm still here, but you don't trust at all,
And I'll be waiting
Love and sex and loneliness
Take what's yours and leave the rest
And I'll survive
God, it's good to be alive...
(Big Machine, Goo Goo Dolls)

Sirius comes to you at night with firewhiskey on his breath, and a bottle of it in his hand. You can see the pain burning in his eyes as he stands there at the door, staring at you, and without waiting for consent he strides in. His cloak billows behind him as he walks, right to the small table in the center of the room, and as he puts the bottle down you can make out the worn edges, the small frays that have appeared wherever the hem has come undone.

In the dim light of your wand, he looks like nothing more than a pathetic shadow of a man. Good, good... it will be so much fun to watch him crumble, to break him down to even less than he has already become, wont it, pretty Narcissa?

'Nox.'

You close the door and stand with your back to it, just watching his silhouette move in the moonlight that filters in through the window. He strips off the cloak fast enough, roughly pulling it off and letting it fall to the floor. It flutters as it falls, like a veil caught in some unseen wind. You can see his hands shaking slightly as he grasps the bottle in front of him, lifting it to his lips. For a moment, you imagine what it must feel like to be him, the pain and the fire swirling around in his mouth, making its way down his throat and into the very pit of his stomach. For the longest time, it seems as if he just stands there, head thrown back with the bottle glued to his lips, the faint amber glow from the alcohol receding as he drains it.

Let him drink. The more the better.

He sighs as he puts the bottle down again; less than half of the firewhiskey remains. It sloshes around slightly, and you watch as he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. You flinch involuntarily, disgusted.

He always had the most atrocious manners.

'Cissa,' he whispers, slurring ever-so-slightly, 'Why'd you go get engaged to... to him? To that berk?'

'I happen to like him,' you say, purposely sounding cold, wondering if he can hear the icy undercurrent in your voice. When you see him stiffen, you know that he has, but in a blink it's gone and he's back to his usual cool self.

Damn. This might take a little longer than you thought.

'Of course you like him,' he replies simply. 'Of course, because he's a damn pureblood. That's why you liked all of them... they fit your standards. Your... family's standards.'

'It's your family too,' you retort.

He laughs, a bittersweet chuckle that is so soft, yet seems to fill the room with its hollow unhappiness. 'Most unfortunately. Anyway...' he mumbles, pausing as he takes another drink from the bottle. 'I just came... to give you a present.'

You're not sure where the sarcasm lies, but it's definitely there, along with the bored tone of voice that tells you he could be doing better things than trying to convince you not to marry Lucius Malfoy. Like he's told you the same thing a thousand times before, like you're just a child who won't learn.

Idiot.

He turns to look at you, a dark shadow with cold, glittering eyes. You can barely see the rest of his face as he swaggers towards you, just the soft edges of his silhouette and the pale gray eyes that reflect every emotion he feels. Instinctively, you move back, forgetting that you had closed the door after he had entered and not remembering until you knock your heel against the wood. You press your hands against the smooth paneling, and for a second, you're tempted to run as he approaches, but instead, you stay put, letting your fright slide away as you slip on a mask of cool indifference. His face grows clearer and clearer as he gets closer and closer; you can see every tiny white scar, every pockmark, every single blemish on his face. You can smell cologne that you had missed before in between the overpowering waft of firewhiskey. You can feel his breath against your face, strangely feverish and fast as if he had been running a race. From up close his skin seems an awful, pasty pale; his eyes shine out as if from a cardboard mask, a subtle, distrustful gray, the only color you can see.

It's almost enough to make your resolve slip. Almost enough...

But not quite. You are still a proud woman of the Black clan; you will uphold your honor and punish those who dare to doubt it, like the traitor who stands in front of you. You will break him and his little ideals and even the little bit of Black spirit left in him, even if it means breaking his heart. Because it's not like he's not broken yours a thousand times himself, with his indifference and ignorance.

You must punish Sirius, you must punish him for wandering away, but first you must punish yourself for even thinking of following him.

'Stop this, Cissa. Stop this marriage,' he says, just a hint of a plea that floats on his breath with the smell of drunken hope, and you wonder if he could really care whom you married. He couldn't care...

Could he?

No, Narcissa. Stay firm. Your purpose is clear; Sirius must learn tonight what it means to have hope and to be abandoned, and you cannot let your own feelings for him come in the way, or you will prove to be just as weak as he is. Tonight is the culmination of your plan; don't let your work be wasted. It has taken so, so long to get his trust, to spin your intricate web of lies to ensnare him...

You take a breath to clear your head, purposely taking in the intoxicating air that he exhales to give you the fire that you so desperately need. A flicker passes through his eyes, something that speaks of his hidden hopes and his not-so-hidden desires, a flicker of longing buried under all the hate. A flicker you've seen in your own eyes, clouding them from time to time, whenever you forget yourself.

He presses his lips to yours, murmuring softly into your mouth. It's like acid on your tongue, his words and the alcohol mixing in a bittersweet cocktail you drink in with his kiss. 'Don't you leave me too, Cissa... don't you dare leave me alone,' he says, and it's only when he's drawn away and you can see the bitterness in his eyes that you realize that you've just heard him beg. In all your years, he has never begged anything of you, he has never allowed himself to bow to anyone, but tonight, Sirius is begging, like the common dog he has become.

Poor Sirius. He must be desperate, mustn't he? He's so hungry for acceptance, for- dare you even use the word- love, that he's sunk to such a desperate, wretched level, that he actually comes looking for it to you, to vain, untouchable Narcissa. It is this weakness that you have so ruthlessly exploited, you horrible woman- drawing him close, tenderly offering him sanctuary in your arms for these nights, and now you're just going to turn on him and watch him burn in the agony of abandonment?

Damn straight, you are. Because that's what you do, Narcissa, that's what you do. Go on, lift him out of the gutter, and then tear his heart out with your perfectly manicured nails. Go on. And don't forget to wear your pathetic little face to convince him.

'I... I can't... I have to do this...' you mutter softly, glancing away for just that one second, just like you had rehearsed so many times.

'Come away with me.'

'Do you even know what you're saying? Sirius... we can't... I can't, you have no clue-'

'Dammit, Narcissa, do you even know anything about Malfoy?'

'I know all that I need to,' you lie, your voice sharp, just as your role demands. It wouldn't do for him to get suspicious, would it?

'Bullshit. You mean that just because he's pureblooded, you'll take him,' he growls angrily, and a little thrill travels up your arms, a rush of heat that you want to dismiss as just nothing, but you know very well is fear. Fear that he knows why you called him here tonight, or... maybe it's fear that you're losing control of this situation. That must not happen, Narcissa...

'Sirius, you're drunk,' you whisper, even if you know that it's a lie- this is Sirius, after all, and you know that he could drink his way through anything you gave him and still shake it off like so much rainwater.

'Oh, am I?' he says, smirking. 'Well, I'd rather be drunk than rush into a relationship blind, just because of some shit about the honor of being a pureblood,' he sneers.

His words sting you, like they always have, but over that, there's something of arrogance in his voice that makes you want to slap him, except that when you try to raise your hands, you find that he's pinned them to your sides. He holds your wrists against the wood tightly and his mouth is set in a grim smile as you try to break free.

'Let me go!'

'Say you won't marry Malfoy, then.'

'I won't!'

'You're only degrading yourself, Narcissa! For Merlin's sake, there's no honor in marrying a pureblood if he's nothing more than a common criminal!' he says, raising his voice, and there is no illusion now: you've angered him, but you're even angrier at his adamant refusal to let you go. There is no way you can let it end here, with him holding you off; you are not that weak...

Think, Narcissa, think! Goad him on, hurt him, do anything, but don't let him win! Think of something!

And a vague thought blossoms in your mind, a card that you had declined to play because it would be too hasty, too soon to try it, but drastic actions call for drastic measures, wouldn't you agree? After all, the subject of blood is what this is all about, and what could be more important?

'What would you know about blood and honor, Sirius? What would you know? You let your Intended run away... you let Andromeda go off with a Mudblood!' you hiss, bringing your face close to his, so close that you can see the anger flashing through the cool gray of his eyes as the words sink in, so close that you can taste the hatred in the words he never manages to say. He sputters in rage, bitter words that make you want smile because you have hurt him, you have cut open a wound he has not quite forgotten the pain of.

You have reminded him of her. Andromeda. Your sister, his love, your shame.

He grits his teeth, you mirror him; the two of you are locked in a hateful embrace of wills and words. You breathe in sharply as he glares at you. You know that you've just hit below the belt with him; he doesn't like being reminded of Andromeda, or that she was ever his Intended one. He may have been the one to let her go, like a fool, but you can tell that he still loves her, like he's never loved anyone else.

Like he's never loved Bella...

Like he's never... no, he doesn't love you. You're nothing but an enjoyable pastime for him. But this is not the time to reflect on that. Your hasty words may have ruined everything...

'Sirius-'

'Shut up,' he says, his voice harsh, almost raw, and your wrists knock against the door as they slide from his grasp. He turns his back to you, shoving his hands into the pockets of his robe, but he doesn't move. His head is slightly bowed and you can tell that his fists are clenched from the bulges they make in the material. When he speaks again, his voice is more even, more guarded.

'I guess I'm wasting my time here. You go and marry the dumb pureblood bastard.'

'Sirius, listen to me-'

'I don't want to listen to you.'

'Well, you're going to have to,' you say defiantly as you reach out to put your hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off, and you can feel anger rising in you like bubbling lava, coursing through your body and setting your heart aflame. You reach out for him again, this time grabbing his arm and forcing him to turn around to face you, but not before you've hidden your rage under a mask of penitence and pleas.

This will probably be the first, last, and only chance you're going to have, Narcissa. Don't waste it.

'Sirius,' you murmur, letting your hand rest against his cheek so that you can feel the rough stubble against your skin, 'I don't have a choice.'

'Bollocks. You've got a choice... you've got me... disowning me doesn't make me any less of a pureblood, if that's what they're asking for...'

And that realization makes you laugh bitterly. Of course you've got him, you've got your cousin twisted around your little finger now, just like the rest of your family. Hold onto him, Narcissa, hold him tight and then break his wings so he can't escape. But first, make him believe your little lies so that you can laugh in his face when he cracks.

'They'd never agree, Sirius... they'd kill me first,' you reply. 'Lucius would kill you,' you whimper, ignoring the awkwardness in his movements or the way he hangs back, slightly reluctant. You sniffle, blink, staring up wistfully at him as a lone tear artfully makes its way down your cheek.

Oh, Narcissa. You were always such an actress.

'Just break away from them,' he whispers, and he wipes away the tear, his touch gentle even if his fingers are rough. 'Break away, like I did...'

He never could stand to see you cry. Which is why you burst into sobs, burying your face in his robes as he wraps his arms around you, speaking soothing words to the air while you shake, while your shoulders heave...

While you try to strangle your hysterical laughter at his gullibility and make him believe that you're crying.

You can feel his body trembling, but from anger; he rants and raves about his family... about your family, and the words are so passionate and harsh that you have to swallow and stop yourself from dropping your façade, or you might just slap him. No one speaks of the Most Ancient and Noble house of Black in such low terms, but he carries on, his voice rising with every word he utters with those traitorous lips. And you must nod, Narcissa, even if it pains your heart to do so. You must pretend- and, mind you, only pretend- to agree, to draw him into your confidence. Still... it is difficult.

Whether the difficulty lies in acting your role, in trying not to just lash out at him, or in trying not to agree, you can't decide. Such words were not meant for your delicate ears, Narcissa, such harsh words that make your head hurt with their ferocity.

Maybe this is why you reach up, laying a finger on his lips- you don't want to hear any more. Maybe this is why you kiss him, why you push him back, your hands working at his shirt urgently, because...

That line you had so carefully drawn, marking the balance between fantasy and reality, is steadily starting to blur.

*

Bella once told you that a man is at his most vulnerable when he has no control over himself, when he is subjected to the whims of a woman. It is then that he is unable to protect himself, because he has been stripped of all his defenses, because he cannot know, cannot even think of anything beyond the moment at hand.

Bella was perfectly right, Narcissa, and you did well to listen to her.

You hold his hands as you sit astride him, savoring the tremors that run through his body and over your skin. You can feel his eyes raking over your form, hungrily, his look almost bestial. Sirius sees nothing, knows nothing now, except you, you, and only you. He raises his head, lips parted, and you grant him a kiss, nothing more than a teasing flutter that leaves him unsatisfied. Even if he is stronger than you, he is completely powerless and he lets out a cry as you draw back from him, smirking.

'Narcissa...' he breathes, his voice barely more than a husky whisper, 'Narcissa, please...'

You enjoy this power, of having him at your mercy.

You watch him shudder as you blow cool jets of air across his skin, feel his fingers snatching, grabbing at the air once you release them but pull out of his reach. You wonder if he can see your eyes, if they are as clouded as his, if the soft moan came from your mouth or his. He reaches out for you, places his hands on your hips, pulls himself up, and you throw your head back as you feel his lips against your pulse.

When you realize that the sounds you can hear are your own cries, you berate yourself because it is imperative that you stay in control of all this, or everything will be wasted. You must not listen to him, no, not even if he calls you beautiful, not even if he says those words that you would have once wished for him to say. His crimes cannot be solved by a few praises, his crimes cannot... no, Narcissa, don't let yourself slip! Don't, don't, don't!

The feel of the mattress against your bare back forces you back to reality. He hovers above you, his face so close that you can see every tiny bead of sweat that hangs off his hair, the soft sheen of his skin, the hunger for acceptance, and a desire for permission in his eyes. He searches for something in your face, a trembling hand coming up to rest against your throat, his thumb moving against the skin.

'Cissa... Merlin, you're so beautiful...' he whispers, burying his face in the crook of your neck. 'I need you... love you...'

He is all but lost now. There is a limit to everything, and you recognize that he is almost at his; when he kisses you it is not gentle or pleading, it is forceful, brusque, his breath heavy with impatience, his hands shaking violently, beyond his control. And now... now is the time for you to make your move.

You raise your own hand, place it over his, making sure that he can feel the cold, cold metal of the engagement ring you wear. You slide it down, over his wrist, your sharp eyes taking in every little wince as the ring scratches his skin. He tries not to flinch, but he can't help but try to turn away when you rest it against his face.

You tut, pull him closer for a kiss. You can feel his heartbeat, impossibly fast, thudding though his skin, through yours; your own is almost lazy, confident when compared to his eager one. His eyes are bright as he pulls away, and you have to force yourself to smile, you have to push away an unexpected hunger that has awoken within you if you want to go on, if you want to succeed. Instead, you concentrate on all the bitterness you felt that night years ago when he had pushed you away, when he left, on all the hate you have ever had for him abandoning the family. You dredge up memories you had locked away until now, his scornful looks, his childish insults, and suddenly, you realize that the hatred is bubbling over, that you cannot control it...

You stare at him, pausing for a moment to frame his face in your mind. He is a fine example of everything a man should be, but he rejected his family, his roots... he rejected you, once... and for that fault, he is about as worthless as the dirt that sticks to the soles of your shoes.

'I love you, Narcissa,' he says, his desire evident in his voice. You smile at him, watching him closely, watching his lips, slightly upturned in a hesitant grin, his eyes, clouded over by passion.

There is a perfect moment for everything.

You lean forwards, clearing your throat. He leans closer; he obviously thinks you want to say something. When no sound comes from your lips, he looks at you, puzzled.

When you spit in his face, it takes him all of two seconds to react. He blinks the spittle out of his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath, raising one hand to try and wipe it away. He jerks away, the shock on his face evident, hissing almost as if your spit has burnt his skin.

'Cissa-'

'Shh.' You smirk at him, putting a finger to your lips before pulling yourself up, out from under his body. He reaches out to stop you, but you shove his hand away sharply.

'Wha-'

'What, Sirius?'

'Aren't you... I mean, aren't we...?'

'No,' you say coldly. You reach out for a sheet and casually drape it over yourself, drawing your legs up as he scrambles back. His expression is changing, hurt and confusion evident in every move. He gingerly touches his face, staring at his fingertips, and you laugh. His head snaps up; he gawks at you as if you've gone mad.

Well, maybe you have.

And still, despite his pained expression, you laugh. In fact, just looking at him sends you into fits; you can barely see straight, your eyes watering, a hysterical edge bordering your voice. Again, he tries to hold you, his fingertips barely grazing the skin of your arm, and you slap them away.

'Narcissa, what's going on here?' he demands, setting you off again. You can't help it. You're drunk off his firewhiskey breath and his emotions, displayed on his face for you to see. You dab at your eyes with the edge of the sheet, still sporting your ludicrous grin, all the laughter making you giddy.

'Oh, Sirius!' you gasp, mocking him, your voice dripping with the malice you're only free to reveal now. You crow in delight as you tell him, of your nefarious plan; the words, you know are not important, it is the effect that they have that counts. It actually thrills you, to see the flashes in his hooded eyes, to see the rising anger building over his bewilderment as details spill from your lips, your lying, cursed lips. You tell him of how he is useless, completely and utterly useless, watching him physically flinch as each verbal blow hits him... watching him shrink further and further back as you scream accusations at him without giving him a chance to recover.

'You abandoned us, Sirius, for Muggle-lovers and mudbloods! You didn't just bring shame on the family... you betrayed us. You brought your filthy friends into our lives... you tore apart your own family, left them for that rabble! And then, you come crawling back here... did you really expect to be welcomed back? Did you, Sirius?'

'I never-'

'No, Sirius. You don't understand,' you growl, feeling your rage rise, blinding you. 'You never even thought, did you, what it would do to us... it's your fault, Sirius! You broke us. You destroyed everything we had... I hate you, Sirius!'

'Narcissa, I-' he whispers, laying a hand on your arm, his eyes wide. You know he doesn't believe you... that he doesn't believe he was so stupid. Arrogant fool, does he think that he's always going to be right? No, Narcissa, you have shown him exactly how wrong he is, and that's what he can't grasp, as much as he tries to, everything slipping through his outstretched fingers.

'What did you think, Sirius?' you say quietly. 'That I really... that I could ever love a filthy blood traitor like you?'

Abruptly, he pushes away, sliding off the bed and snatching furiously at his clothes, pulling them on haphazardly. His eyes are narrowed to mere slits; when he speaks, his voice makes your breath freeze in your throat.

'I hate you.'

You had always thought that you were cold, but he sounds so distant, so icy and venomous that it feels as if you're being choked by the frigidity.

'I hate you, Narcissa, I hate you.'

You could care less about the words, but you're drowning in the ferocity behind them.

'I hate you, and all the Blacks, and their idiotic ideas about blood.'

You know that he's only saying it to convince himself; even now, he can't turn away from you. It's almost as if he's chanting them, a protective mantra, saying the words over and over again, taking two steps towards you and three steps back.

'You only hate us because you're too weak to admit who you are,' you taunt, willing him to rise, just so that you can see the Black temper. Just so that you can see Sirius losing it.

'I only hate you because you deserve to be hated,' he spits back.

His hate, his unhappiness, his passion and his love, all flickering flames that rise, fueled by memories he does not want but is forced to have. They burn fiercely, emotions that are vying for place in his voice above the cold tone he uses with you, emotions that disappear as he raises his head defiantly so that you can see nothing but anger, a seething rage that literally pulses through the space between you.

'You're nothing without us, Sirius,' you say, now changing your voice so that it's soft, rolling over the tension in the air and smoothing it out. As if you really care about him coming back to the fold... your act has become a part of you and you slip into it gracefully. You dance on his nerves, mocking him for one second with the image he believed in, and striking a blow with your silky, soft voice.

Abruptly, the smile drops from your face; you can feel the adrenaline rush that flows through you giving you power, giving you the raw energy you need to take him on, to confront him. It turns your skin cold, forcing sobriety on your brain... for the victory has not yet been won, Narcissa, you have one last blow to place.

'You could have stopped this... you could have stopped Andromeda... you should have stopped her...'

He snaps his shoulders back, suddenly standing up straight and you're aware of how tall he is, how imposing he looks in the darkened room and how he seems to radiate both fury and frost at the same time. His teeth are bared, and the low growl from his throat is raw, wounded and animalistic as he suddenly rushes at you. You can feel his fingers digging into your shoulders, and you're sure that there will be bruises there come morning, but you force yourself not to wince, not to let him know that he's hurting you. Your back slams into the headboard, the edges dig into your back, but even then you remain stone-faced, for you, Narcissa, will give him nothing, not even this little satisfaction.

'Don't you bring Andromeda into this!' he snarls, sweat permeating the air around you, making his hair stick to his forehead. His voice shakes as he speaks. 'Don't you even try-'

'Look,' you say evenly, cutting him off midsentence. 'I don't know, and I frankly don't care about you, Sirius. I don't give a damn. But... I did care about her. She was my sister,' you say softly, unable to stop the regret that sounds through your voice, suddenly weary of playing the hunter.

You're not losing it, are you, Narcissa?

No, of course not. He has to know exactly why you hate him so, even if it hurts to tell.

'She was my-'

'She was promised to you, yes... but you know what, Sirius? You were never good enough for her. You never saw it, did you? You could have listened to her, you could have... but you never cared about anyone but yourself,' you say through clenched teeth, feeling his arms drop away from you. 'You didn't even care for your own blood... you could have saved her... you could have saved me from this life. From this marriage. You could have saved me from having to live in the shame that Andromeda left behind... but you didn't even try. You just made it worse.'

'Is that why you tried to stop me from leaving home?' he asks, his voice hard but not unkind. You nod slowly, your eyes never leaving his face. He looks hurt, yes, but there is a comprehension in his eyes, there is understanding, and is that... is that sorrow? But now, you really couldn't care what he feels. The task is done. He knows his mistake now.

You simply don't want to see him anymore. Not now, not ever. Just having him here is making you cringe... he is truly useless, isn't he?

Isn't he, Narcissa? Then you should tell him to go... don't hesitate now, don't go back on yourself for this useless fool! You do not love him, you do not; it was only a pretence...

'Narcissa... isn't there some way-'

'No,' you say sharply, cutting off his plea. 'Now... go. Just go.'

He moves slightly, shifting his weight, and you think that he is going to leave, finally, that now you can breathe in relief. But the next moment, you feel his hand, resting gently on your shoulder. You scuttle back, trying to get out of his reach, disgust clear on your face.

'Get away from me... blood traitor!' you spit, glaring at him even if it pains you because now, more than ever, you don't want him to go. You are a victim of your own plan... how could you hesitate, otherwise?

He recoils sharply, his heavy breathing hitching ever so slightly.

'Fine,' he snaps. 'Fine. I mean nothing to you, don't I?'

'Nothing, Sirius. Absolutely nothing.'

'Right,' he says furiously. He pulls his shirt back on, drapes his cloak over one arm. He strides over to the table, to the forgotten bottle of firewhiskey, his walk determined and his face set in a cold, cold mask. He picks up the bottle, and as he drinks, you can actually taste the liquid on your lips, the residue of his kisses tainting your pure soul. And you relish it for you will soon have nothing left, poor, weak, lonely Narcissa.

'Blood,' he says softly, almost as if he is speaking to himself, unaware that you are listening in. 'It all comes down to that.' He turns on his heel so he is facing you, the bottle gripped tightly in one hand. He smiles, but it is a cold, mirthless smile.

What is he going to do now, Narcissa? Why doesn't he just... oh.

He raises the bottle to you, takes another drink from it. It is almost empty now. In one fluid motion, he tears it from his lips; tips it over so that the remaining alcohol spills out onto the carpet, steady drips that grate on your nerves and fill your senses with the bittersweet stench. He slams it into the edge of the table so it shatters, splintering into deadly, jagged shards littering the floor, cutting into his skin. The crash of glass against wood is loud, so loud, and you flinch at the sound; you feel like you can't breath as he clenches a fist around the glassy beads and the bloodflowers begin to blossom over his skin.

He raises his hand so it is illuminated against the light that comes in through the window. You can see the dark trickles that make their way down his skin; you watch his blood drain down his arms, staining his shirt. He takes a tentative step towards you and you huddle within your sheets, because now you're scared. What are you scared of, Narcissa? Are you scared he will hurt you? Are you scared that maybe you've pushed him too far?

He laughs. Has he heard your thoughts, does he know what you're thinking? No, he can't, he can't, he...

'Blood,' he whispers as he stands by the bed, his eyes nothing more than glints of angry, stormy gray in his shadowed face. 'Blood,' he says, leaning over you, placing his hand against your cheek so you can feel the sticky wetness marring your skin. 'And honor,' he adds, running his bloody palm over the other side of your face. You can smell it, sickening enough to make you retch, and you hold your breath to try and block the multitude of smells that surround you, sweat, and firewhiskey and of course, his blood over your skin.

'Is that what it's all about?' he asks, straightening up. You open your mouth to give him a reply, because you will not sit there while he smears his tainted blood over you, but before you can, he disapparates with a loud crack, leaving you with your bitter words dead in your throat, and horrible loneliness you took from him.

*

One day, Narcissa, you will make him pay. He knows now what it is to hurt, but he has shamed you, Narcissa... he has shamed you. How could you let him do this? How could you sleep with his blood on your cheeks and his scent in your sheets, how could you? He has no place in your heart... he should have no place in your heart...

But you are weaker than you thought. Perhaps... it is not something you can do... maybe you just do not have the mettle...

Don't ruin your pretty, pretty face by scowling, Narcissa, it is the truth. Maybe you were weak enough to want to believe him... of course, there is always the chance of redemption...

Yes. Fate always gives a second chance. Fate has been kind to you, Narcissa. Now you will truly make him pay. Insult you, will he? He will never be able to again. You will never have to think of him and feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you recall the way he left you tainted. You will never have to blush because you catch yourself thinking of him.

Redeem yourself, Narcissa. Bring yourself back up in your own grace, and this time, do not listen to anything. Do not hesitate, for it was just that which made you fail last time.

The boy is a precious child; he will help you carry out what you want to do. Even if he doesn't know it, he will bait the trap after he has fallen into it himself. You will make sure that he comes.

He has to come. It is that simple. The One will follow The Other. The Other will come to rescue The One. The one. And you will breathe easy again, because you know that this will be the end-all of everything.

Blood.

There is nothing more important than taking the due of one's blood.

And honor.

You must wash away the dishonorable stain he has left behind.

Is that what it's all about?

Yes, Narcissa, yes. Do not delude yourself anymore. That is what it is all about... not love, not hate, not guilt, not innocence...

'Kreacher? Tell me more... about your Master... and Harry Potter.'

*

fin

*