The Course of Empire

Part Four: Destruction

When the heavy knock sounded through the house, Narcissa was startled. No one had knocked on their front door since before the war ended, and at first the once-familiar sound was alien to her ears.

She rose from her chair in the library, and brushed the particles of leaking stuffing from her skirt. She met Lucius in the foyer, where he was waiting outside of his study for her.

"Who could it be?" she asked, watching the door warily.

"Aurors don't knock," Lucius said. "And our friends Floo in. I haven't the slightest idea who it might be."

"We should," Narcissa began, then waved her hand to indicate something.

Lucius strode to the door, and swung it open with confidence. She could tell by his stance that he was sneering whoever stood outside as he said, "Yes?"

She crossed the foyer to stand at her husband's side, and saw a wizard with an official badge pinned to his robes standing on their doorstep. "Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy?" he squeaked, despite the fact that due to both positive and negative publicity over the past two decades, they were two of the most recognizable people in wizarding Britain.

"What do you want?" asked Lucius.

"I'm Jasper Fincklestien from the Department of Magical Assets," said the wizard. It was a Mudblood then, to add insult to injury. "I'm to serve you these documents, and inform you of several matters."

"What matters?" Lucius asked, voice low and dangerous.

"Matters concerning the taxes on your property," said the Mudblood. "You have outstanding property taxes amounting to five hundred galleons. There is a fifty galleon fee for your Floo connections, anti-Muggle wards, cloaking spells and Ministry mandated magic detectors. Also, there is a five galleon fee for processing your documents and for failure to file your claim."

"When are these due?" Narcissa asked.

"By the first of the month, ma'am," replied the Mudblood, handing the roll of parchment to Lucius. "If you have not paid all accounts in full by then, the house and property will be auctioned to pay off your debt."

"I see," Lucius said coldly.

The Mudblood looked around fervently, then said, "And I know for a fact someone is interested in purchasing it."

"Who?"

"Arthur Weasley. He's been acquiring a lot of magical property lately, and has expressed explicit interest in buying yours. I thought you should know. If you haven't paid by the first, then I'm afraid you'll be out on the streets."

"Shouldn't we have received notification of this sooner? The first is in three weeks," Narcissa asked.

"Owls were sent, Mrs. Malfoy. It is not our responsibility to see that they get to the recipient." With a nod of his head, he Apparated away.

Narcissa stepped out of the dusty foyer into the midday gloom. "We haven't ten galleons to our name."

"I know."

"We have nothing that could be sold for more than a few sickles. Even if everything in the house was sold, even if we desecrated the portraits and pried stone from the foundation, we couldn't come up with that much money in such a short time."

"How nice is your great-grandmother's brooch?" Lucius asked.

"It's not worth anything near five hundred galleons," Narcissa said shortly.

Lucius shook his head. "What's the first step to borrowing money?"

"To look as though you don't actually need it," Narcissa said. "But no one's going to lend us anything."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. We've burned all our bridges," Narcissa replied, then paused. "Except for... No, that would never work. I was terrible to her!"

"One thing I know about you Blacks is that you are terribly devoted to what you believe," Lucius said.

"Andromeda did write me once, after Bellatrix went to Azkaban," Narcissa said. "Maybe she'll help me now." The words tasted bitter. "But I can't go asking for money looking like a hag!"

"We'll come up with something," Lucius replied.

***

Two days later, while Lucius was reading over the documents detailing the taxes looking for some possible loophole, Narcissa climbed the rickety stairs into the attic, hoping to find something she had overlooked in her previous sojourns.

Trunks once filled with the decadent relics of past lives had been pillaged by Aurors and Ministry financiers, leaving behind only the dregs and garbage of generations. The sumptuous clothing that remained was aged and moth-eaten to such a degree that not enough fabric was salvageable for even a patchwork robe.

Narcissa sighed. She had known it was hopeless when she climbed the stairs. She had already searched the attic countless times, hoping to find something of value that had passed unnoticed under the eye of their sanctioned robbers. She sat down on a large trunk, and leaned against the dusty, dark wall.

She was shocked when the wall was not entirely solid.

It wasn't magic - all the illusion spells had long since been broken. But she watched as the wall rippled, and realized that she had leaned against a curtain. She looked carefully at the shadowy walls, and realized that floor-length drapes were placed at intermittent intervals. They were old and coated in thick layers of dust and grime which dulled their black fabric to an Augean shade which blended into the shadows.

She stood, and with some effort pushed the trunk she had rested on away from the wall.

There were still piles of rubbish holding the drapes against the wall, but she could pull away the edge and see what condition it was in. She could barely hold back a cry of joy when pulled back the black velvet to reveal a lining of sheer white silk

She decided not to wait on Lucius to help her, but jerked on the drapes until the rod broke free, falling heavily to the floor in a pile of grey and white fabric. She gathered it up and hurried towards the stairs, leaving sunlight filtering into the attic through dirty glass for the first time in decades.

"Lucius!" she called before sneezing into her armload of dust and drapery. "Look!"

"Darling, we have drapes on all the windows," he said.

"And they shall remain on the windows, because I'm going to wear these!" she said excitedly. She held up a handful of silk. "Look, won't this be a most lovely dress? And these will make beautiful robes! Andromeda won't think we're in need of charity."

"They're filthy," Lucius said. "And discolored."

"That's just from the sun - the tinting spells must have failed sometime since the War. But they can be cleaned, and they aren't threadbare." She picked at the fabric then called, "Mammy!"

"I'm afraid I have something to tell you," Lucius said.

"Oh, I can't bear anymore bad news, darling. Mammy! Where are you?"

"They came," Lucius said.

Narcissa sank down onto a chair. "Not the Ministry!"

Lucius nodded gravely.

"But we relinquished the two house-elves - I thought they would be busy for months, working on enforcing more new legislation. They can't have taken Mammy," Narcissa said numbly. The bold, motherly house-elf had been part of her life since childhood. It seemed wrong that she would be taken away because of what someone else thought was best for her- Narcissa was her family, not the simpering masses of house-elves that would live in the ridiculous colony.

Lucius sat beside her, and pulled her close.

"Who's going to make my new robes?" Narcissa asked. "And dinner - I can't make dinner!"

"We'll survive, Narcissa. You know we will. We've made it this far," Lucius said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"But-"

"Come along, dear. Let's take your mind off this," Lucius said, standing and taking her hand before leading her upstairs, draperies lying forgotten on the floor. "I know just the thing."

Narcissa followed him to their bedchamber, but couldn't quite forget the heaviness that had settled in her heart.

***

Andromeda's mouth dropped into an unseemly display of surprise when she opened her door. "Narcissa!"

"Andromeda," Narcissa said pleasantly, smiling. "It's wonderful to see you."

"It's wonderful to see you, too," Andromeda said, not quite hiding her confusion. "You're looking well."

Narcissa resisted the urge to glance at the dress robes she had slaved over, and simply inclined her head and replied, "As are you. Life seems to have treated you kindly."

There was an awkward pause.

"I don't mean to be crass, but what the hell are you doing here?" Andromeda demanded.

"Shouldn't we take this inside?" Narcissa replied. "It's a mite uncomfortable, standing out in the weather."

"Yes, of course," Andromeda replied automatically, and gestured for Narcissa to follow her inside.

Andromeda's home appeared perfectly bourgeoisie, but Narcissa's trained eye knew that the furniture, rugs and even knickknacks were priceless. She perched on the edge of the sofa Andromeda motioned for her to sit on, and accepted the offer of tea. While Andromeda poured, Narcissa looked at the family picture sitting on a side table, watching as her sister smiled and laughed with a handsome brown-haired man and a pretty teenage girl with vibrant red curls.

"Is that Nymphadora?" Narcissa asked, motioning towards the picture.

Andromeda appeared startled. "Yes, and that's Ted - I doubt you remember him."

"It is doubtful, as I don't recall ever being introduced," Narcissa replied.

"Are you insane?" Andromeda snapped. "I think you've gone utterly around the bend, Narcissa. You haven't spoken to me in twenty years. You've pretended I don't even exist, and now suddenly you're in my bloody Muggle house acting contrite over never being introduced to my husband!"

Narcissa replied evenly, "You know, I didn't remember you being this quick-tempered. It's almost like visiting Bellatrix, for sheer paranoia."

Andromeda took a deep breath then said, "I would appreciate it if you didn't compare me to that monster. What are you here for?"

"I want my share of our parent's estate," Narcissa replied.

"Pardon?"

"Our parent's estate. I know you inherited at least part of it; you wouldn't have been able to afford that Magi-Persian rug over there on your Mudblood's salary. I'm not going to try for true fairness and ask for what Mother would have willed for me to inherit, but I do want some."

"I cannot believe your gall," Andromeda said. "Coming into my home, demanding money and insulting my husband! Out!"

Narcissa had no intention of leaving until she had the Galleons she needed to keep the Manor in hand.

"Didn't you hear me?" Andromeda asked.

"Andromeda, sit down and finish your tea," Narcissa said in the same tone she had used on Draco when he threw tantrums as a child.

"Why would I do that, when you've come around begging? It's hardly as though you need it, in your big house with your rich clothes," Andromeda snapped, motioning angrily.

"I have some investments I'm interested in," Narcissa said smoothly.

Andromeda narrowed her eyes, suspicious. "I thought criminals couldn't invest."

"I'm not a criminal," Narcissa ground out.

"You are in the eyes of the Ministry. They take treason very seriously these days," Andromeda continued. "By all rights, you should be dressed in rags. I don't know how you've always managed to avoid the punishments you deserve, Narcissa, but I'm going to happily spend every sickle of Mother and Father's money on my Muggle-born husband and my halfblood daughter."

"But I need," Narcissa began, then stopped herself. She was coming dangerously close to pleading, to begging and losing all the dignity she had fought to keep. "I'll be going."

"You can see yourself out," Andromeda replied. "Don't come again."

Narcissa rose, turning to her sister. "I wouldn't dream of it, Andromeda. As far as I'm concerned, I no longer have a sister."

"You've thought that for a long time, Narcissa. Don't act as though it's something new."

Narcissa strode out of the room and out the front door, which she managed to not slam by using what was left of her willpower. She made it halfway down the block before her legs gave out on her, and she slumped down on the pavement, wrapping her arms around her knees, ignoring the piteous picture she undoubtedly made. She was a beggar, now. She would be homeless, and might as well get used to sitting on the street. A Weasley would own her home and she and Lucius would end up like the Parkinsons, pathetic and destitute beyond words.

No, she refused to become like Innogen, lurking around Hogsmeade hoping for a spare Knut from anyone who would part with it. She refused to sell herself or work herself bloody for scraps. She would choose death before dishonor, because she knew that was the route Lucius would have them take. Her proud husband could scarcely stand their existence now. There was no question of the path he would choose when he learned their gamble had failed miserably.

"Are you okay?" a concerned voice asked.

Narcissa jerked her head up to see the brown-haired man from the picture in Andromeda's sitting room staring down at her. "I'm well, thank you," she said, motioning for him to go about his business.

"No, you hardly look well," he said. "Would you like to come with me and have a spot of tea?"

Narcissa fought back the swell of laughter bubbling in her throat. "No, thank you. I scarcely think that would be well received."

With some effort, she stood, ignoring the helping hand.

"Of course you would be welcome," he began, then stopped short as he took in Narcissa's appearance. "Wait, you're Narcissa Malfoy."

"And you're Andromeda's pet Mudblood," Narcissa said recklessly. "How do you do?"

"Why were you sitting on the pavement?" Ted asked, brows drawn together.

"Despair," Narcissa replied. "You see, your darling wife has just condemned me, and I simply wanted to relish the moment. If you don't mind, I'm off to my home, to tell my husband the delightful news."

"You aren't making any sense," Ted said.

"You must promise not to tell," Narcissa said. "At least, not until after the funeral when my reputation no longer matters."

"Funeral?"

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes, I promise not to tell," Ted said.

"They took everything we had," Narcissa said. "Cleared out the vaults, pillaged the manor, even uprooted the garden."

"Who?"

"The Ministry, of course, the dirty bastards," Narcissa said.

"You look as though you're doing fine," Ted said, motioning towards her brooch and robes.

"I'm wearing draperies," Narcissa said. "Sewed it myself, when they took Mammy away. It took me nearly two weeks, and now we've only a few days left to pay."

"Pay what?" Ted asked, wisely ignoring the issue of Mammy.

"The taxes. They took everything we had, everything we had to give our son, but left us our Manor because it couldn't be sold, not with the reputation it had gotten. And now, we haven't ten galleons to our name but owe 555 galleons to the bloody, goddamn Ministry because they couldn't be arsed to put us in prison!" Narcissa said, gesturing wildly. "And now, if you don't mind, I'm off to break the news to Lucius that Andromeda wouldn't give me my share of our parent's estate."

Ted looked overwhelmed. "What-"

"Good day, Mudblood," Narcissa said, and walked quickly away, ignoring his yell.

Thanks to the restriction on Apparation that was part of her terms of release from Ministry custody, Narcissa had to walk to the nearest sanctioned Floo station, which was a wearisome task. She calmed down enough after a while of walking at a brisk pace to realize how unhinged she had become during her conversation with the Mudblood. The fact that she had not only spoken to but confessed her debt to the Mudblood made her feel as though she were losing her mind.

A shadow flew over her head, and she scowled. Everything was falling apart, and the last thing she needed was to find bird droppings in her hair. She realized, though, that the shadow had belonged to an own that was now perched on a fence beside the pavement.

The bird hooted at her, and she stopped short and glared at it. A bag was hanging from its foot, and she carefully removed it, and the note with her name scrawled across it. The note was brief.

Consider it part of your parent's estate,

Ted.

Narcissa wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. She opened the bag, and found it contained six hundred galleons - much more than she needed. The Mudblood must have Apparated straight to Gringott's and sent it straight to her - they'd spoken less than half an hour before.

Narcissa smiled as she thought of what Bellatrix would have said to learn her good sister was taking charity from a Mudblood. Narcissa wouldn't snuff this gift, because above all, she cared for her own well-being. Morals could come after she had paid the taxes.

***

The Auror points his wand at the pile of books, the combined history of two families stretching back infinitely, and his spell is ineffective. The books have not survived centuries without protection. They can only be destroyed by their owners - the children of their creators, the descendants of the ones who spelled them.

Narcissa is wrenched back, a man's rough hands gripping her brittle hair and a wand jabbed into her neck. The Unforgivables are allowed, but no Auror uses the Imperious.

Lucius stares at them, at the Auror she can't see, with hatred in his eyes.

"Destroy the books," the grizzled Auror says, one eye swiveling slowly in its socket.

Lucius does not raise his child wand. "I can't."

"Destroy the damn books, or your wife's fate is no one's fault but your own."

"I can't," Lucius repeats, anger and frustration evident in his rising tone. Narcissa wants to lay a comforting hand on his forearm, where another sort of comfort once marked his flesh, but cannot. Hairs have ripped from her skull in the Auror's hand, and the sharp pain keeps her alert.

"I knew Death Eaters didn't care about anything, including their whores," an Auror sneers.

Lucius looks at the Auror with utter contempt, and Narcissa sees the man she married underneath the grime and gauntness. "I can't destroy the books with this sorry excuse of a wand, Mudblood."

The wand at Narcissa's jugular stabs into her flesh, and she jerks. More hair is ripped free of her scalp, and she lets out an involuntary whimper. She hates her weakness as her husband looks at her. She knows him well enough to recognize love and anger mixed in his glare, knows him well enough to know the anger is for the Auror who hurt her.

"Look, even the Death Eater thinks his whore is useless and pitiful," mocks an Auror.

"We can't do any magic more complex than first year spells with the goddamned wands your Ministry issued us," snapped Narcissa. "That's why he can't destroy the bloody books."

She is knocked to the ground for her effort, and stays down, unwilling to receive a Cruciatus curse from another Auror.

Mad-Eye Moody picks up a red volume from the pile of condemned books, and attempts to rip a page out. Nothing happens. "We're going to have to confiscate these."

"We can't have such dark books in the Ministry. They have to be destroyed," argued another Auror.

"One of them has to do it," acknowledged the Auror still standing over Narcissa. She was surprised he didn't spit on her; the scorn in his voice was overwhelming.

Moody looked from one Malfoy to the other, then said, "Bring in their boy, and hold him and Lucius at wandpoint. This little lady will do exactly what we say if she doesn't want her family to be the next two casualties of war."

The looming Auror strode out the door of the library as Narcissa gasped. Draco was home for a visit, and she couldn't bear it if he was brought to harm. The Auror returned moments later levitating Draco, caught stunned and in a full body bind, behind him. Lucius had wands lowered on him.

"So much as one move we don't instruct, and they both die," Moody said clearly.

"Why not just Imperius her?" asked the Auror moving towards Lucius.

"Because their sort have immunities to the Unforgivables. Comes from generations of using them without thought," Moody replied. He grabbed Narcissa by the arm, and said, "You will perform only one spell, the one to destroy these books. You will hand the wand right back to me. You will not make any movement besides flicking the wand. If you do anything other than perform this spell, your husband and son die."

From Lucius' expression as she was handed her only chance at causing harm to those who had broken their society, he would gladly martyr himself to see Moody die. Narcissa could not bear the thought of living without her family - they were all she had left in this broken, destroyed world.

She swished and flicked the wand, and whispered the two syllables it took to utterly destroy the lifetime works of dozens of Malfoys and Blacks. Diaries, experiments, recipes, potions and spells burned to ash as she stared hypnotized. The wand was taken from her hand as she watched pages crumble to dust as she watched words and knowledge blacken and fade.

***

The day the law forbidding images of dark wizards to remain in Britain passed, Narcissa cried.

Not two hours after reading of the approved law in the Ministry-sponsored newspaper over her meager breakfast of Ministry-supplied porridge, three cracks sounded in the foyer. The law allowing Aurors entrance in any home belonging to a former convict had been in effect for several months, and she had grown warily used to the sound of Aurors entering without warning. She approached the Aurors cautiously. She had washed her face the best she could, and without her glamour spells she knew her earlier tears were still evident in the puffy redness of her eyes.

"We are here about the Official Restriction of Dark Paraphernalia," announced one fresh-faced Auror. He was as young as her son, no doubt sped through Auror training in order to replenish lives lost during the War.

"Is it any use to argue that none of my ancestors were Dark Paraphernalia?" inquired Narcissa cooly, wishing she'd had more time to somehow hide the paintings of her beloved ancestors, and Lucius' favorite ancestors. She didn't imagine they would leave any stone uncovered, and Malfoy Manor had long since been raped of every secret, but still she wished.

The young Auror snorted, and said, "Hendrick, Moon, take the upstairs. I'll take the gallery."

Lucius emerged from his study, where he spent days scrawling on scraps of parliament before scourgify-ing the ink away and starting anew. There was a blot of ink next to his nose, and Narcissa walked over to touch his arm.

"Are they here already?" he said disbelievingly, watching the scarlet robes of the Aurors ascend the stairs. "I figured we'd have until lunchtime to say goodbye..."

"Apparently there are no criminals in this delightful new utopia to occupy their time," Narcissa said bitterly, trying not to hear the painted screams coming from the gallery and floating down the stairs. They remained standing, Narcissa leaning against her husband's familiar form, heads lowered in a sign of respect for the dead who were being erased from their plane of existence.

The Aurors returned an hour later, administered a stern warning about the dire consequences they would face if they harbored illegal paintings, and left without further ado.

"We should go see," Lucius said, straightening. "Perhaps the damage will not be as terrible as we imagine."

"Perhaps," Narcissa replied thinly.

The moment they stepped into the gallery, she knew their false hope had been foolish as a schoolgirl's dreams. The gallery was a long, narrow room with a stone floor caked with dust and dirt. The floor was a relic of the earliest part of the Manor, built in Roman times and containing a fortified cellar in case of attack by blue-painted natives or desperate Vikings. The walls were whitewashed and lined with portraits of Malfoys crowded with intermittent Black family paintings she had rescued from her childhood home before it was seized by the Ministry.

The floor was covered in footprints and scuff marks, and more than a few splashes of viscous white paint. The paintings themselves were completely coated with the vile substance, and it was dripped and splashed on the priceless frames that even starvation couldn't bring Narcissa and Lucius to sell to blood traitors and Mudbloods. In the corner rested an empty pail with the white paint sloshed down the side, though the WWW emblem of the Weasley brother's business was still discernable on one side.

Narcissa approached the painting that had been of her mother, and said softly, "Mother?"

Silence surrounded the blank, white canvas.

"Maybe we can scrub this off," she said. "Maybe we could just save enough for a face to peek through, for them to be able to tell us what to do."

"They haven't been able to help us thus far," reminded Lucius gently. "And remember, these were just reflections of the people they were. They were already dead."

But the glaring white of the canvases and the harsh stringent stench of paint made the room seem claustrophobic, and Narcissa strode out.

***

That night, she felt Lucius leave her bed. She mumbled and rolled over, but heard the bedroom door click closed. She slid herself back under the moth-eaten blankets, and had just slipped back into a fuzzy half-sleep when a yell jerked her into reality.

"DAMN IT ALL!"

Two, three, four bangs sounded, and Narcissa hurried into the hall. Lucius was slumped against the wall, clenching rapidly bruising fists at his sides, muttering obscenities. His shoulder were shaking in a way entirely unfamiliar, and Narcissa approached him as though he were a wounded beast.

"I just wanted to make things right," he whispered, raising his head to peer at her through tangled hair, his voice cracking in a way she hadn't heard since laughing times in the Slytherin common room, when the biggest worry they had was completing an essay or winning a Quidditch match. "All this is my fault. If I'd have focused on our family, on us, on our future, we would be the ones laughing over the poor and creating laws. My mother's face would still smile at me from the gallery, and we could be real people again."

"Darling, no," Narcissa whispered back, horrified. If Lucius was having doubts, if her confident husband no longer believed they were right, then there would be no hope left. No deep-rooted belief that they were right, that they would one day see justice for these wrongs. She had to have support, they had to be there for each other, or else there would be nothing left for them. They might as well be dead if what he was saying was true.

"But it's so much," Lucius said. "I thought things were bad, when the Dark Lord fell the first time, when I nearly went to Azkaban. But now - now I don't see any way through this. Look at us, Narcissa. We're wearing rags and eating charity-given food. Our son is ashamed of us."

"Damn the boy, if he doesn't see what I see when I look at you," Narcissa said. "And you always have me, Lucius. You always have, and you always will. Nothing will deny us of each other." She wrapped her arms around him, and they both sank to the floor.

"I just can't bear it, Narcissa. Look around you," Lucius said quietly. "Generation after generation of Malfoys took this place, this name, the family fortune and turned it into more. They built it up, built a reputation out of nothing more than a bloodline, and created something more than any individual could. And now - now my decision has damned us all. My one folly has condemned our family to destitution."

"It wasn't just your decision," Narcissa insisted. "And any Malfoy in your position would have done the same. It was a matter of self-respect."

"It's easy to make it seem dignified now," said Lucius, a wry grin playing at his mouth. "It's easy to pretend I didn't have a choice. But I did, and look at where it got me."

He shoved up the sleeve of his shirt, and held out the unmarred forearm that had for years born the mark of another. "I betrayed you with taking that mark, Narcissa. I betrayed the Malfoy line, and I betrayed our son. I should have seen that things would work out this way--"

"Seen? Are you a seer, Lucius Malfoy?" Narcissa asked, incensed. "Could you look into a teacup and see doom written in the stars? Could you really have looked at all your teachings, all the dignity of the pureblood cause and everything we had ever learned from our forbearers, and told them all they were wrong? That this outlandish notion of exalting others on the basis of nothing more than what one lifetime manages to achieve would be prevalent, rather than generations of accomplishments being admired? Could you?"

Lucius stared at her as though she was a stranger, but she couldn't stop the words from escaping from her mouth like a death-rattle. "Could any of us?"

***

The white paint obliterated all evidence of what the paintings had been of, yet when Narcissa walked through the dusty, decaying halls of her home, she could hear the paintings whisper.

Nothing was ever clear. No words could be discerned even if she stood corpse-still and stilled her breath, closed her eyes and cocked her head to the side, straining as hard as she could to just hear. But the distant echo-whispers drifted from ruined frames until Narcissa just wanted to scream for them to speak clearly and enunciate, like she had been taught as a girl. Like they had taught her.

Some days, all she does is roam the halls, and some days, she thinks she might be going mad.