Alarm Bells

She had never been so thankful for bobbin lace. Never in all of the evenings she used to sit up and wait for her husband had she ever needed distraction like she did at this moment. This was torture and she was pretty sure they knew it.

Twelve Aurors had become eighteen, had become twenty three, had become an endless stream of strangers parading in and out of her home. Several times she had watched in annoyance as one or another of them helped him or herself to some expensive antique or another. Narcissa knew, of course, that they would find nothing of real consequence in the house. She had made certain of that by remaining in the drawing room. As long as her feet remained planted on the rug in that room, all of Lucius' most precious and potentially incriminating possessions were somewhere else altogether. What the Aurors had managed to find was a hodgepodge of materially and sentimentally valuable heirlooms with varying degrees of magical significance.

She was beginning to have a very difficult time containing herself. Her whole world was falling apart, it was absurdly late at night, and there was a small army of uninvited strangers prowling about, rifling through her home and helping themselves to her things. She was glad that she'd had the presence of mind to instruct the house-elves to make note of each and every item taken and where it was removed from. She fully intended to present a detailed list to the Minister himself if she had a chance to; the name of Black still held some pull after all.

The knots in the bobbin lace grew tinier and more precise as Narcissa had to use the delicate threads to work out her frustrations. She hadn't even begun to think about what might be happening to Lucius at this moment. It was too upsetting, and whilst their enemies were invading her sanctuary there would be no tears. Let them snicker if they chose; she was not going to let them see her broken. She was Narcissa Black Malfoy and she was quite above that.

Narcissa could hear their comments every now and then about how they thought she'd be angry; they'd come in poised for a confrontation and they'd gotten a cool reception. She even heard one say to another that they figured she might even be "pleased to be rid of the evil bastard." She wanted to hex them to kingdom come for that one. But she knew better than to take on two dozen Aurors. So she set her jaw and she wove her bobbins.

Five of them were still in the entrance hall. They had set to the task of removing her front door. She wasn't certain as to why this was necessary, or even how it was the least bit warranted, but there they were; the five buffoons trying to come up with the right combination of jinxes and elbow grease to get the mammoth wooden door to come off its hinges.

She saw a satisfied looking procession of them trotting down the stairs as though they'd just found some pot of gold. Narcissa frowned. If there was gold in the house, they were welcome to it; there was more where that had come from. But what were those fiends carrying? "Ooble?" she called out, and with a 'crack' the rosy cheeked house-elf appeared before her.

"Yes Missus?" she asked. Narcissa signaled for Ooble to come closer.

"What is it that they're bringing down just now?" she asked the elf. "They look a bit too pleased with themselves."

"They've been in young master's room," the elf answered her, sounding both concerned and terrified at the same time. "They've gotten things from his cabinet." Narcissa nodded and frowned.

"That will be all, Ooble, thank you," she dismissed the elf. Ooble disappeared with a 'crack' leaving Narcissa to seethe and worry. She had no idea what questionable items might be locked in that cabinet. Hadn't he been given a draught of illegal potion for Christmas last year by his Irish friend? She had no clue what he might be hiding in there, but as far as she was concerned those Aurors had no business in her son's room at all. And they certainly had no cause to remove items belonging to Draco.

Draco. Narcissa felt as though someone had punched her in the gut. Merlin's nightshirt! In all of the commotion, she had forgotten to tell Draco. Oh, he would be devastated if he heard news like this from someone else. Narcissa quickly freed her wand from its heretofore unobtrusive place holding up her hair and hastily shot off a Patronus to Hogwarts. If Draco heard of these horrible things from one of his enemies... well, she didn't want to let herself think about what might happen in that instance.

She shook out her hair and then combed through it with her fingers before knotting it back up and putting her wand back through it. That had been a trick she had learned as a school girl. It served the dual purpose of keeping her hair from falling in her face and giving her a place to keep her wand handy yet out of the way when she had no pockets in which to hold it.

And Lucius loved to slide it from her bun and lace his fingers through her hair as it fell.

But she could not let herself think about that. She had too many pressing, practical concerns to deal with for her to even begin to let herself miss Lucius' hands in her hair. There would be an order to this. She created an order in her mind; things that were tidy and orderly were more palatable, easier to swallow. She would keep her wits about her. She would show the scoundrels who were robbing her blind before her very eyes that she could not be brought down by their nastiness.

She watched as the front door finally came free of its hinges. It fell with a loud thud against the stone steps on the front stoop and slid several feet, blocking the stairs altogether. Narcissa rolled her eyes and huffed. That door was original to the manor and she would be damned to see her home treated with such disrespect. "Narmin!" she called the elf to her. He came running into the room from the adjoining entrance hall and stopped just inside the open doors. "Fetch that man for me," she ordered him, pointing at the large, bellowing man with gray hair who seemed to be directing the activities at the front door. She kept her seat as he came into the room, Narmin the Elf dragging him by his wrist.

"What is it?" the man asked her, his tone and his manners as troll-like as his form.

"Sir," she addressed him as coolly and aristocratically has she had Mr. Covington.

"What?" he asked again.

"Pardon my interruption," she offered, "but I would simply like to inquire as to precisely what you're doing to my front door." She was proud of herself for getting that out without spitting in his face. He was intruding on her property and she'd pardoned herself for interrupting him while he took apart her house.

"It's being confiscated," he told her.

"Might I ask why?" She was still proud of the civility of her tone. Good breeding was worth something. She was the lady of a grand manor and she would conduct herself as such. She would not give in to her baser instincts and hex him to hell and back, nor would she give a single one of them the tongue lashing that they so righteously deserved.

"We've got a warrant," he spat back at her. He turned on his heel and began to walk away.

"I understand that you have a warrant," she conceded, "but... my front door?" Narcissa was nearing her wits' end and she could feel it. It was all she could do to keep her hands folded in her lap and a pleasant expression on her face.

"Ain't like we'll not be replacin' it with another one," he practically grunted. "You'll be getting' an un-hexable door," he added.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked.

"An un-hexable," the Auror told her again, "so's you can't keep us out if we have another warrant." He shrugged his shoulders. "So's you won't be able to keep anybody out, really," he finished.

"But certainly I have given you no cause this evening to think that I would receive you all with anything but hospitality?" She could not believe what she had just heard. An un-hexable door... on Malfoy manor? That was preposterous. And the idea that the Ministry of Magic would willingly leave a woman alone in a home undefended and with no means of locking her front door.... It was just too much.

True, it wasn't as though she was entirely helpless. The Ministry knew that Narcissa Black Malfoy could more than defend herself or they would not have sent a full dozen Aurors to serve a simple search warrant. Still, she would never have dreamed that they might take down her front door. She shook her head and took another deep breath. As she bent down over her lace making once again, she caught sight of a flash of silver just outside the drawing room window as it was reflected in a mirror on the opposite wall. She turned to look out the window and realized very quickly that it was a Patronus. But it wasn't one she'd ever seen before.

Floating just at the level of the tops of the shrubs beneath the window was a smallish silver lamb. "Draco's with friends," it told her, and then vanished. She spent a moment trying to puzzle out who at Hogwarts might have sent her that message. There was truly no one Narcissa could think of for whom she would have guessed a lamb as a Patronus. She shook her head. No matter, she believed what the little lamb had said and that her son was safe and comforted.

She wondered for a moment if she had ought to try and go to Hogwarts in the morning. The thought passed rather quickly, however, as she was sure that Draco would let her know if he wanted her there. And she entertained the notion that he might try and come home. O.W.L.'s should have finished today. For that she could be thankful, at least. If she could find one bright spot it was that her boy was finished with his exams and would not have that added stress put on him.

Narcissa craned her neck to look out into the entrance hall again. Someone had put up her new front door. Honestly, Narcissa could barely tell the new one from the one that had been present prior, but her gut knew it was different and so she hated it. It really mattered more to her that they'd replaced the hulking antique door with a reasonable facsimile than she was comfortable admitting. But it still did not sit well with her that the main entry to the home she and Lucius had shared for so many years was the property of the Ministry and not their own.

This search was a violation and it turned her stomach. Those people had violated the sanctity of her home and hearth and had left her door standing wide open to any intruder who might wish to enter. She felt ill thinking of how exposed she and Draco would be until Lucius was home. She put her face in her hands. Until Lucius was home. Merlin, how long would that be? She suddenly caught herself tapping her foot nervously against the floor. She must not do that. No outward signs of upset... nothing they could take pleasure in.

Even as the Aurors were leaving the house she resolved to maintain her composure. She stood from her seat and strode purposefully, but in measured paces, to the center of the rug facing the door. She stood clutching her dressing gown around her throat and watched as what she hoped was the last of them ambled outside. The esteemed Mr. Covington approached her and stood up as straight as he could.

"We have concluded our business within your residence," he told her. Narcissa looked down at him and nodded once. Covington produced a parchment from his coat pocket and handed it to her. "I have listed here the items and documents that have been removed as evidence. Upon conclusion of this matter a determination will be made as to their further potential for use against the cause of the Ministry and those items deemed to be without need for further restriction will be returned to your possession." Narcissa took the parchment from his hand and did her level best not to sneer at him.

"I shall compare this with a list of my own," she informed the squeaky little man. "I trust that I will find your inventory satisfactory and that my own solicitors will have no quarrel with your legal grounds for the removal of any of my possessions?" She could tell that she was intimidating him and she felt a little solace in that. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his coat and nodded.

"Good evening then, ma'am." Narcissa nodded again and watched as Covington and his final three associates left her home.

"Narmin," she called out, her voice finally betraying a quiver. The unusually tall Elf appeared in front of her with his usual 'crack'. "Narmin, bolt the door," she ordered him. The elf sprung across the rug and to the door. He shut the metal clamp over the bolt and fastened the chain locks as well. He then turned the brass key that had been left in the keyhole beneath the door handle and pocketed the key. Narcissa shrugged. "At least they left us a key to it," she sighed. The Elf came bounding back in to the room to stand before his mistress.

"Will that be all Missus?" he asked her. Narcissa nodded.

"Wait," she said to him before he had a chance to go.

"Yes Missus?" he answered her. Narcissa wrung her hands in front of her face.

"Can you lock that door, Narmin?" she asked him. The elf looked confused.

"I turned the key and closed the bolt like you asked of me, Missus, and I pulled the chain," he replied. "If Missus wishes for the door to be further locked by..."

"What I meant," she interrupted him, "Narmin, I want to know if you can magically lock that door any better than it is locked right now." Narmin smiled at her.

"Missus is very clever!" he congratulated her. "Missus knew that a house-elf can charm an un-hexable door! Missus is very clever indeed! Narmin will make the door safer. Narmin cannot keep out the Aurors, Missus, but Narmin will do what he can to protect his missus and his young master." Narmin snapped his fingers and Narcissa could see some shimmering purple haze appear and then rapidly dissipate around the new front door. She took in a shaky breath and swallowed hard.

"Thank you, Narmin," she said to him, "that will be all." Narmin disappeared with a 'crack', leaving her alone. Narcissa's chest shook as she finally let herself fall apart a little. She slowly stepped from the drawing room out into the entrance hall. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, turning the sky shades of pink and orange that made Narcissa ill to remember existed at a time like this. The feeling of safety she'd always felt in this house had likely gone forever, and she had been reduced to living behind only what security could be offered her by a house-elf. But she could have borne it. She could have sneered and spat and risen above all of these indignities had she only had Lucius to face it with her. But that was impossible now.

She turned and faced the grand staircase, her lower lip trembling as she fought to reach the relative solitude of her bedroom before breaking down entirely. She had lost much tonight, but she would not allow her dignity to be damaged further by collapsing into tears on her own staircase. She would let herself cry when she reached her room. She decided at that moment that she would only let herself cry in her room. Out in the world she would appear unaffected and maintain the air of superiority that she and Lucius had cultivated publicly for so many years. There were things to be done, and none of them could be accomplished by weeping.

She would have to contact the solicitor in the morning. She would have to pay a visit to London, to the Ministry; to see to it that those of her belongings which had no bearing on the case they were prosecuting were quickly and properly returned to their rightful places in her home. She would need to look in on Draco, or at least see to it that someone did. And she would need to pen a letter to Azkaban, requesting formal permission to visit. It was an awful thought, the idea of seeing her husband in such a place, but she would be damned if she was going to let him go through something this awful alone if she could help it.

And she had no idea whose palms may need greasing or whose pockets might need lining with galleons in order to facilitate Lucius' freedom. She had never been involved in any level of political intrigue, and she was truly unaware of what the next step might be. But there had to be a next step. Lucius could not just sit in prison and wait for a trial or whatever may come like some common criminal.

She sniffed as she tread intently up the steps. Deep breaths. Merlin, she hadn't remembered how many stairs there were in this house. Twenty-nine steps on the grand tapered staircase leading to the second floor hallway, a short walk to the next flight of stairs. Thirteen more steps to the third story. A turn to the left, a long walk down the hall. She opened the third door on her right and slipped into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

One of those damned bells was ringing. She looked to Lucius' bedside table at the clock that sat there. She hated the alarm bells. She was thankful for the bells having given her some warning of what was going on, but she hated them nonetheless. It was the top one ringing this time. Lucius was hurt. Dementors. Damn them all to hell.

Narcissa collapsed backwards against her bedroom door. She slid down the length of the door and finally allowed the tears she'd been fighting back all night to flow freely. She yanked her wand from out of her hair and flung a blasting curse at the alarm clock, which ceased its ringing in an explosion of metal shards that flew in all directions.

She could still hear the echo of another alarm ringing down the hall. She flicked her wand in a hasty and backwards imperturbatus to keep from having to listen to the damned thing any longer. If anything worse was happening she didn't want to know. She wasn't ready to hear any more. Not today. Not yet. At least not until she slept.

She looked across the room at the fainting couch and the bowl of cherries they had been sharing as Lucius had readied himself to go out for the evening. Had it been just hours ago that all was well and they were happily flirting with each other? She looked over at their enormous four poster bed and imagined how empty it was going to feel without Lucius to take up two thirds of it.

Narcissa let herself sit there in a heap on the floor and sob. She knew she had to get this out of her system before she could confront any of the realities that the morning might bring. The papers would undoubtedly include something less than flattering. And she could only hope that her sister or someone else she felt she could trust knew the details of the evening's activities so that she wouldn't have to learn the particulars of her husband's arrest by reading of it in the Daily Prophet. Her fire was getting dim and the sun was beginning to come in through the windows. She flicked her wand to draw the shades and closed her eyes. She recalled the words the two of them had exchanged as he left for wherever it was he'd been. "As long as it takes," she had said to him. And she had meant it.

"As long as it takes, Lucius," she whispered, "as long as it takes."