Blackgrave Manor

Blackgrave Manor

Chapter 2.

Narcissa woke up screaming. Scraps of her dream still clung to her. She saw Lord Voldemort as he had been, tall and handsome, reaching out his hand in greeting . . . Lord Voldemort again, smiling darkly, his fingers coated in blood . . . Baby Draco in the grip of a fever, coughing and coughing as if his lungs were going to fall out . . . Then the more recent nightmare intruded: Lucius’ twisted grin, the long flight through the cold, dank fog, and her eventual collapse. Narcissa was wet through, and utterly lost. She took a deep breath, and screamed once more for good measure. Then she stood up and looked around.

Narcissa had been lying in a gentle hollow, shielded from the wind. Now that she was standing, the chill breeze threw tendrils of hair in her face. She shivered and pushed her long blond hair out of her eyes. A figure in a long dark coat was approaching her hollow. It was still very far away, but it seemed to be almost running towards her.

As the figure drew nearer, Narcissa realized that it was a man. Surely this was the person she had seen last night? She had been right to call him the spirit of the mountains. He was nearly as tall as a mountain himself, and his long, tangled black hair framed a rugged face. The man’s warm black eyes were gazing at her with concern. Narcissa could almost feel herself sinking into them, as if into a dark mountain lake . . . But the sinking feeling brought back other memories, Lord Voldemort’s stark white face and a woman crying. Narcissa felt pain grip her chest. She could hardly breathe.

"Please!" said Narcissa. "Cast Imperius, now!"

The man stared at her in shock.

"You’re . . . You’re a wizard, aren’t you? Please! I can’t . . . mustn’t remember." Narcissa was gasping now. "You have to make it stop!"

"No."

"But . . ." Narcissa fell to the ground, almost fainting. "Please, sir, whoever you are."

"You can’ expect me to cast one of the Unforgivable Curses. ‘Specially when I don’ know who to cast it on. ‘Sides . . . Well, never mind that." While he spoke the man knelt beside her. Somehow he had produced a soft gray blanket. "Yer wet and yer cold, ma’am, you don’ know what yer saying." He wrapped the blanket around her gently. "Just take a sip o’ this, and you’ll warm right up."

Narcissa sipped delicately from the flask the man held out to her. His accents were rough, yet somehow she found them comforting. Indeed, his speech warmed her almost as much as his fiery liquor. Maybe she could live outside the mist for a little while.

"Who are you?" Narcissa asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I, er, you could say I’m on a diplomatic mission. Trimmed me beard and everything."

The man’s beard was actually trimmed very nicely. It looked silky. Narcissa nestled in her warm blanket, which smelled a bit like horses and straw. She remembered her younger days, when she galloped across the moors on her gray pony, hair blowing in the wind . . .

"What about you, ma’am? How did yeh get out here in the cold?"

"I . . . I ran away," said Narcissa, shivering. "Please don’t make me think about it!"

"Oh, ma’am, I’m sorry. You just sit there a minute an’ warm up, and then I’ll take you someplace a little more sheltered. You don’ mind if we stop for a little errand, do you?"

"I suppose not. What sort of errand?"

"I, er, well, I don’ know if I should tell you exactly."

Honestly. If Narcissa didn’t want to know something, she didn’t ask about it. "Please? You’ve saved me from dying of frostbite out here on the cold moors, I should think I would be at least a little bit interested in you. You’ve been almost heroic."

"I . . . Um . . . It’s part of this diplomatic mission, see. I’ve got to, er, blow up this house."

"What?"

"Ter blow up a house. It’s got a big fancy name. Blackgrave Manor."

"But . . ." said Narcissa. "But that’s my house!"