Ghosts

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Sometimes in the early morning hours, Narcissa would wake and forget where she was. She'd listen for the sounds of House Elves bustling about her suite of rooms, or for little footsteps to patter swiftly to her bed, giggling in order to rouse Grandmama out of bed. But then she'd come to her senses and remember that grandchildren would only ever live in her dreams, the staff of House Elves was long gone, and her suite of rooms had diminished to a small cottage on the outskirts of a forest in rural England. Then she would arise from her bed slowly and painfully, and she would begin yet another day of existing in a world that no longer revolved around her.

Seven years ago the unthinkable had happened. Her side had lost, and she had lost everything. Lucius had been killed. Draco had been taken into Ministry custody. Malfoy Manor, the family's fortune, and her own personal fortune were frozen, and finally squandered in court fees and settlements to so-called "victims" of "acts of war" by her family. She was of a sudden as popular as a Mudblood in Slytherin house, with no allies and no supporters left to her.

She moved through her days in a fog, visiting Draco whenever she was allowed and watching him slip further and further into the madness induced by his last battle. When her money ran out and she was forced to leave her rented lodgings, she swallowed her pride and went to her sister, Andromeda. They had never been close in childhood, but they had never hated each other as Bellatrix and Andromeda had. Andromeda had helped her secure the cottage, bought with the proceeds from the sale of Narcissa's wedding jewelry. Here she was far away from the rude stares and harsh whispers that accompanied her wherever she went in the Wizarding world.

Narcissa had never sought to be evil; she had simply sought the easiest path possible that got her what she wanted. The Dark Arts were often smelly, bloody affairs that required entirely too much effort. She left that for Lucius. She wanted to while away her hours in leisure and gossip, to wear the most beautiful clothes and have the most beautiful lovers. And of course, she wanted the world for Draco. He was her darling boy, her main occupation. When she'd lost Lucius, she'd been sad, for she had loved him - loved his drive, his passion, his reputation and power. If she lost Draco, she'd be broken with grief.

In this dreary afterlife, Narcissa actually had to work for a living. She constructed tapestries of her design - a hobby for rainy afternoons in simpler times - that an altogether unsavory man called Diggle would deliver to gift shops for her. She had the impression that some of these shops might be even be Muggle ones, but she was past caring. Diggle brought her back the gold she needed to survive, and that was all that mattered.

Two years ago Draco had died under mysterious circumstances, and Narcissa had become a living ghost, haunting the four rooms of her silent cottage. Killing herself was an option that she'd thought about serenely and seriously, but she was either too brave or too cowardly to actually do it. So she kept on existing, if not quite living.

She hadn't been hungry since the day she'd received the news about Draco, and at any rate, she couldn't quite manage to cook anything correctly. Bread, fruits, cheese, and other such foods she could never quite taste were delivered to her by owl from the nearest magical market. She spoke to no one aside from her sister and Diggle, and barely spoke to them on their visits.

Silence was her solace, and withholding the pleasures of vanity and luxury she once loved her punishment. There were no mirrors in the cottage because Narcissa could not bear to see herself any longer.

One day a tentative knock on her door disturbed her self-imposed exile. She had been alternately moving her wand over a particularly difficult section of tapestry and staring out into space, too tired of heart to even feel bitter about her circumstances. The knocking had to be repeated before she realized what the noise was.

No one came to her home unannounced. She got up slowly, holding her wand. She had no idea what to do. She didn't want to be disturbed, but she found herself moving to the door anyway and opening it.

There stood a ghost from her happier past. It was Gilderoy Lockhart, still handsome, but looking older, more tired. But it was he nonetheless, and he was dressed in typically impeccable robes of cream and teal.

"Gilderoy?" she said, her voice sounding strange to her ears.

"Yes, my dear Narcissa," he said, "How good it is to see you! I hope I haven't disturbed you. May I come in?"

Narcissa was baffled, and perhaps that's why she stood aside and heard her unused voice croaking out, "Certainly," as if she entertained guests on a regular basis.

"Charming home, Narcissa," he said sincerely, as he made his way to the sofa.

They settled down, each on either end of the sofa, and Narcissa stared at him in the awkward silence that followed.

Finally they both tried to speak at the same time.

"I heard about..."

"I thought you..."

Gilderoy smiled his charming smile. "So sorry, Narcissa. Please, you first."

"Are you well, Gilderoy? The last time I heard, you were in St. Mungo's."

His smile faded somewhat. "Surely you've heard?"

Narcissa shook her head. "I do not receive a paper, and I have no correspondents."

"Ah," he said. Narcissa noticed his hands begin to fidget with the cloth of his robes. "Well then, you've not heard about my miraculous cure. Nor about my humiliating trial and subsequent condemnation for misdeeds of the past. Luckily my tenure at St. Mungo's was seen as punishment enough. That and the fact that while most of my memory came back to me, I still do not have complete recall of everything I lost."

"No, I hadn't heard," said Narcissa.

"I'd meant to call on you sooner when I heard about your travails, Narcissa, but I had so much to contend with. The memories I recalled of you brought me such happiness in a dreadful time. I am so sorry about Draco, Narcissa. And about Lucius and everything else you've had to endure."

"Thank you, Gilderoy." She willed away the tears at the mention of Draco's name. She refused to cry anymore. It would only make her look more ghastly than she must look already. Had she known that her exile had sharpened her beauty and not dulled it, she would have been very surprised indeed. Remembering herself, she said, "Would you like some tea? I haven't a house elf anymore, so it will take a moment to make it, but..."

"That would be lovely. Thank you so much for your hospitality. I've missed kind words of late."

Narcissa smiled, realizing now why Gilderoy had sought her out. She went into the bare kitchen to prepare the water for tea. "Got tired of the snickers and whispers and stares that follow you everywhere you go?"

Gilderoy followed her, his smile completely dimmed. "I was used to the stares and the whispers, but the tone has changed somewhat. I'm left with no friends, Narcissa, and very little of my fortune. Thank goodness my books still sell in foreign markets, or I would be reduced to penury."

"So you sought me out?" This would have offended Narcissa once upon a time. Now she was simply curious. She handed him his mug of tea.

"I bumped into Andromeda and asked about you," he said. "I wanted to see how you were. We were friends once, Narcissa. More than friends, if I recall. Not that I would presume anything of you now," he added quickly.

"We were friends, Gilderoy," she said, thinking back to their time together in Slytherin house, vain creatures who bonded over fripperies and luxuries, who practiced kissing each other in front of mirrors in order to look as perfect as possible for their real lovers. She sighed. "What do you want of me?"

Gilderoy glanced down sheepishly. "I was wondering if I might impose upon you... What I mean to say is, well, would it be too much of a bother if I could stay here for a brief time? At least until some of the furor over my circumstances dies down? I want to write my memoirs, real ones this time, and I can't do it if my every move is scrutinized and mocked. I would provide my own food, of course, and I could pay you, if you wanted. May I stay, Narcissa?" He looked at her, his blue eyes pleading.

'Begging is not something a Slytherin should ever have to do,' thought Narcissa. She'd been alone for so long that she couldn't imagine having another being in these close quarters. Still, she knew what it was like to need a place to hide. They had been friends once, and as he had reminded her, much more. She had taken him as a lover because she knew she could, but she had kept him as one because she liked him in her bed and out of it. "I have a guest room, but it isn't much. You're welcome to it for as long as you like, Gilderoy."

His face lighted up in the carefree smile she remembered so well. "Thank you, my dear. Thank you so much." He took her white hand in his and kissed it. "To celebrate, I'll cook you a fine dinner. Where is your owl? I'll send for the ingredients."

"You can cook?" Narcissa said, and to her surprise she felt a twinge of hunger rumble through her.

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The days passed more quickly with Gilderoy in the cottage. When he was around her he kept up the façade of cheerfulness and bluster that had been his mask for so long. She knew, though, that his sorrow matched her own. He cooked for her every night, and to her great surprise, she found herself looking forward to meals for the first time since her life had fallen apart. Her figure began to fill out once more as the flesh returned to her starved body.

Gilderoy would stay in his room for most of the day, his voice chattering on to the Dictoquill behind closed doors. Narcissa found it comforting to hear his muffled voice as she worked on her tapestries. However, there were often lulls in his dictation that she noticed sharply. During one of these silences, she had carefully crept to the door of his room nd opened it a crack to see him staring out a window, tears in his eyes.

'We're wounded ghosts,' she thought, 'defanged serpents mourning our former lives and haunting each other.' She closed the door as silently as she could and returned to her work. When she heard his voice begin again, she let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

She had taken in the past years to walking each night at twilight, and now Gilderoy accompanied her. They talked together, careful to avoid the topics that would bring sorrow to the forefront. Narcissa found with each day that passed, she grew more used to his presence. Now that he was with her in her isolation, she wouldn't be without him.

A month after Gilderoy had turned up at her door, Narcissa was, if not happy, then content. With his company to buoy her, she had something to wake up to every morning besides dreams of the life she would have had if Draco had lived and the Malfoy name had not been ruined. Her wounds still furrowed deep into her soul, but she found herself not dwelling on them as much as she was accustomed.

So it was not surprising that one night after a fine dinner and a lovely walk in which she taken Gilderoy's offered arm to ward off the chill of the late summer evening that she forgot to take the dose of Dreamless Sleep that enabled her to rest at night.

The old nightmare came to her of blood, carnage, and Draco's screams for her help that turned into blame and accusation. She ran to him and from him, all the time avoiding the twisted corpses of Lucius and the other Death Eaters she had once known. The end of the dream was always the same. She saw her arm raise, knife clutched in her fist, and as she brought it down, she saw Draco as a baby screaming as the knife plunged into his heart, screaming that she had let him die.

She sat bolt upright in her bed, gasping for breath and shaking. After a few frozen moments, she did something she'd not been able to do before now. She slid out from under her twisted covers and sought comfort from another.

Carefully she opened the door to Gilderoy's room, her hands still trembling from fear and the rush of adrenaline. She entered the room on silent feet and stood at the foot of his bed. In the moonlight, his sleeping face looked peaceful and serious, giving his beauty a depth it did not have in waking life. She moved to the side of the bed and sat down softly. "Gilderoy?" she said. "Gilderoy, please wake up." Her breath hitched, so great was her need to have him hold her and tell her everything would be all right.

His eyes fluttered open and he gazed at her with eyes muzzy with sleep. "Narcissa? What's wrong?" He propped himself up on the pillows with on elbow and rubbed his eyes with his free hand.

She said nothing for a moment. Words were trying to arrange themselves in her brain, but they weren't making the journey to her lips.

He sat up and reached out to hold her clenched hands. "Cissa, what's wrong?"

"Nightmares," she managed to whisper.

"Draco?" he said.

Narcissa shook her head yes, and with that admission, a sob tore away from some place deep and sheltered inside her. She felt his arms enfold her, pulling her face to the soft silk of his pajamas. "Oh Cissa, dear, I'm so sorry." He held her tightly to him, rocking her gently as the tears rushed from her. The funny thing was that she didn't know why she was crying. Was it for Draco, or for her old life? Was it a result of the night terror she'd just had? Or was it in relief that there was someone here with her who didn't despise or pity her? Whatever the tears were for, releasing them was like purging poison from her system.

She might have cried for minutes or for hours. However long it was, Gilderoy whispered kind things to her and held her closely throughout. When she finally stopped crying, she rested her cheek on his wet shoulder, breathing in the talcum powder scent that on him had always seemed innocent and intensely sensual.

He stroked her hair, and said, "Feeling a bit better now, Cissa?" She nodded her head and closed her eyes, aware of his presence now in a different way. It had been too long since she had been touched, and she was conscious of how his body felt against hers, so familiar even after all this time. She moved back a bit to face him, and then realized how awful she must look.

He let her move back and took his wand from the night table. Smiling, he conjured a handkerchief for her. Narcissa took it gratefully and dabbed at her face. "Thank you, Gilderoy. I'm glad you're here. I'm just sorry I look such a fright." She covered her face with her hands as she felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

Gilderoy took her hands and held them away from her face. "Narcissa, you've only ever been beautiful to me."

Narcissa knew that Gilderoy, much like herself, would say or do anything to get what he wanted. He could have said that to anyone and meant it, for that moment anyway. He must need this kind of human contact even more than she did, and she wouldn't blame him for obtaining it in any way he could. His eyes betrayed him though, and Narcissa realized he truly meant what he said. She smiled, and he reached up a hand to softly brush a strand of hair away from her face.

Time stretched out between them in the moonlight as Narcissa's ears filled with the pounding of her heart. Then she was reaching for him, and their lips met, and she felt overwhelming desire for pleasure flower again within her.

He pulled her back with him onto the pillows of the bed, covering her with kisses and whispering sweet things to her about her loveliness, his passion for her, her perfection. She drank in the compliments, feeding on them like a vampire.

Every stroke of his hands, every lick of his tongue brought her sensitive body to trembling. This was worship, and she desperately needed it. There was a familiarity with him that came from having been lovers before, but there was newness there, too. She remembered how they would tear passion from each other in her mirrored boudoir, where even the sheets bore reflections of their beauty. All she wanted now was the reflection of his adoration of her on his face as he brought her to orgasm.

When he joined to her, taking care to move slowly at first so as not to discomfort her, he held her to him and whispered, "Ever since I could remember you again, I wanted you, Cissa." She moaned his name and wrapped her legs around him, and let go of coherent thoughts.

Narcissa awoke the next morning with the sun shining onto the twisted sheets covering herself and Gilderoy. With his arms around her, she felt anchored into herself once more, no longer a ghost floating through the wreckage of a life. She still had her sorrow and grief, but hope and determination had bloomed from the desire that had filled her night. A handsome man who adored her was sharing her bed, and she was beautiful and capable of anything. She would be a defanged serpent no longer, and those who had stood against her would pay.

She brushed her hands slowly up and down Gilderoy's torso, hoping to wake him for more pleasure before he cooked her a huge breakfast. She was starving.

The End