Blackgrave Manor

Blackgrave Manor

Chapter 8.

"Lucius wanted to cast a spell on . . . on the Dursley," Narcissa admitted. Let Hagrid stop here, she pleaded silently. He could not want to know the rest. Besides, the memories of one dark night were already hovering at the corners of Narcissa's vision. She did not think she could endure a second story.

"What spell?" Hagrid demanded. His dark eyes were fixed on Narcissa's face.

This was hopeless, Narcissa thought. She would tell Hagrid everything he wanted to know, and then she would collapse, parched, spent. "To control him. For a long time, and from a distance."

"Yeh mean Imperius? On that pig?"

Narcissa missed Imperius. She had spent so many years floating happily, away from harsh questions and angry words. So many years without thinking of a certain thin smile . . . But Hagrid's question required an answer. "It wasn't Imperius. It had to last longer, without Lucius doing anything."

"But what did Lucius want?" Hagrid's loud voice echoed around the room.

"I don't remember, exactly," Narcissa said. "Subtle. He said something about subtle influence, and the house, and its protections. Wards."

"Was he tryin' ter make wards, or get rid o' them?"

"Destroy them. I suppose it had to be done from inside."

"So, yer sayin' that Lucius wanted ter destroy the Dursleys' house?"

"Not their house. I . . . I wasn't listening very closely, but . . . I think he wanted a way to attack Harry Potter."

Hagrid's black eyes opened wide, and his hair stood out from his head in a bristling cloud. As he hulked above Narcissa, trembling with suppressed anger, he seemed to be a giant himself. "That-- that pulin' white-faced lily-livered bloodless sneak! That Malfoy has-- he has flour where his heart ought ter be! An' he's tryin' ter hurt Harry!"

Narcissa shrank into her cushion and hoped that Hagrid wouldn't break something in his rage. He was so strong.

"We have ter do somethin'," Hagrid continued. He was pacing the floor now, slamming one hand into the other with tremendous force. "We mus' leave. Right now. We'll go ter Privet Drive, an', an' break the spell."

"We?" Narcissa asked, in a very small voice.

"O' course. Yeh know how ter break it, right?"

"No," Narcissa whispered.

Hagrid stopped in his tracks. "Yeh don't? That lyin' worm didn' even give yeh a hint? Ah, well, I guess we'll think o' somethin' on the way. Let me just put a bit o' food in me handkerchief, an' say goodbye ter Iris-- I hope Ranald's sister treats her good-- an' we'll be off."

Narcissa stared at the rough stone floor and thought longingly of a soft feather bed. She could barely imagine moving, let alone traveling through the cold night, and the thought of encountering Mr. Dursley again was almost unbearable. "Don't you have to stay here? For your diplomatic mission?"

Narcissa heard the soft thud of Hagrid dropping something squashy. "Me mission?" he asked uncertainly. "I'll just brush off this loaf o' bread here, an', er, think about it."

Narcissa sighed softly. Maybe he would continue his mission, and the giants would let her stay, and she could simply wander the mountains, living joyfully in the present . . .

"Yeh know," Hagrid remarked, "yeh were so perfect in the council jus' now, I bet me diplomatic mission is about finished. They're never going ter trust him now, Yeh-Know-Who I mean, an' that's the main thing."

Hagrid had just called her perfect. Not "decorative," or "appearing dressed in exquisite taste," but perfect. Narcissa supposed there was no way she could refuse to help him, now. After all, he had saved her from dying of exposure on the moors. And perhaps . . . Perhaps by helping Harry Potter she would have an opportunity to redeem . . .

She couldn't think of that now. Narcissa stood up, smoothing the skirt of her white dress. "I think I'm ready."

"Oh good." Hagrid's smile was broad. The towering rage of a few minutes before seemed almost forgotten. "We only have a couple o' miles ter walk, yeh should be fine, but here's a bit o' cloth ter keep yeh warm." He handed her a large square of fine white wool. Narcissa wrapped it about her shoulders gratefully, though she suspected it was the giants' version of a tea towel.

"The way is through the tunnels mostly, the door's almost behind yeh. After you, ma'am."

As Narcissa stepped through the curved stone arch, she thought suddenly of her wand. It was gone, lost or buried in the ruins of her house, even exploded, yet she was setting off to fight a curse . . . Somehow, though, it seemed too late to turn back.