The cold corridor, lined with whispering portraits, was unusually restless. Yet, they all seemed to ignore one particular room, guarded by four Aurors. Inside lay one of the central figures in one of the greatest scandals of recent times.
Behind those warded doors, in a chamber dressed in silver, gold, and embroidered fabrics, Narcissa sat motionless. Despite the splendor surrounding her, no comfort truly reached her.
By now, copies of the Daily Prophet had spread among wizards. The front page showed the image of a man consumed by crimson flames. Below, in smaller print, the same man was captured casting a forbidden spell: the Killing Curse. The headline blazed across the parchment:
The Golden Son of the Head Auror Was a Death Eater. What of the Father?
Even the thought of the Killing Curse made her spine shiver; it had nearly been her end. Only Merlin knew what might have happened if he had not been there. The memory made her hand tremble as she held the child in her arms a little tighter.
Her son, Draco Malfoy, slept peacefully in her embrace while his mother's eyes scanned the paper. On the second page, it was she who became the focus. Thankfully, it wasn't as damning as she feared. Her beauty was still there, but so too were the dark rings under her eyes, the exhaustion etched deep into her face, betraying her struggle to stay awake even a moment longer.
She had remained there for two nights already, occasionally questioned by Ministry officials. They tried everything to draw a connection to the patron. Narcissa gave them only evasions; he had already given her more than she could ever repay in a lifetime. Besides, he held Elise in his hands.
Even if she wanted to, she would not know how to reach him. She had never seen his face, nor knew his true name. Ravens came and went only when they wished. What could she do?
Nothing.
The good news: she would soon be allowed home. The endless interrogation had finally ceased, and by Merlin, she needed the reprieve after so long living as a fugitive.
The bad news: the Malfoy estate remained under seizure. The thought frustrated her, but it wasn't defeat. With some negotiation, she was certain she could reclaim what mattered most. She would see to it for her children's sake.
...................................................
Wiltshire, December 10th
Snow blanketed the plains. Once green, the plants now stood withered, adorned with icicles like fragile ornaments. There, a refined woman stood still, gazing at the scattered furniture and linens across the floor. Her eyes fell on a small stuffed bear. With a wistful look, she sat beside it and picked it up gently.
She was preparing herself for what came next.
Narcissa, her hair now entirely black, raised her wand toward a Persian rug that chronicled Malfoy history. Her voice rang steady:
"Incendio."
A spark caught on the fabric. In seconds, it spread to the oak table, then to the ebony sofa, until the whole pile erupted into an uncontrollable blaze. Still, Narcissa did not move. She let the heat wrap around her, breathed in the scent of burning wood and fabric, and let the smoke caress her skin.
Silent tears slid down her face.
She clutched the little bear against her chest and smiled faintly at the inferno as the fire consumed an irretrievable part of Malfoy history.
...................................................
The days went on at Malfoy fields. It had been a month since she burned Lucius's furniture and possessions. Since then, Narcissa had overseen the magical cleansing, hiring experts at exorbitant cost to break curses and isolate suspicious relics.
At last, she reached out reluctantly to her family. A conversation with the patron had made her realize it was the right move. She sought not her father but Arcturus Black, the grand-uncle patriarch. He held the true reins of power.
The Blacks were not in their prime. More like serpents curled in the swamp, licking their wounds. The war had devastated them, both financially and personally; only a handful remained. They were desperate to rebuild alliances, forge new pacts, and, above all, find someone to carry the Black name. Sirius, her cousin, certainly was not that person.
Negotiations moved forward. As a gesture of good faith, Narcissa offered carefully chosen secrets, ancient spells, lost histories, relics she knew would entice the old man. In return, the wards around Malfoy Manor were reinforced.
With the purge complete, the old heirlooms and furniture gone, burned in that single day, a fortune reduced to ashes, Narcissa felt a bit of regret for what she still considered a foolish idea, one that made her frown even now.
A waste of thousands of Galleons? Without doubt.
Gold she needed to rebuild her life? Of course.
Did she look like a fool, burning treasures? Certainly.
But the true valuables, artifacts, books, spells, had been preserved. She was not entirely mad. And the memories of Lucius's belongings burning still brought her a bittersweet joy.
Not for the gold lost, but for watching a piece of the Malfoy legacy turn to ash.
She had never been able to decorate the house as she wished. Everything had always been as her husband dictated. She had felt like a stranger in the place meant to be her home.
Not anymore. She would make it hers.
...................................................
Days Later, Malfoy Manor
Narcissa sat before a mahogany piano, her hands gliding across ivory keys while Vivaldi filled the air. A purple chair, enchanted to ward off the chill, stood out among the new warm-toned décor.
The fireplace blazed brightly, offering true comfort. For the first time, Narcissa thought the house might finally feel like a home. Not the dark, dimly lit place of black, green, and grey that had once felt like a mausoleum.
Near the piano, Draco dozed in a rocking chair, lulled by the music. All was calm, except for Narcissa. Today was special.
Not long after, the fireplace flared emerald green. Three figures stepped through the flames: a man in a gray suit, a striking blonde woman Narcissa had never seen, and a little girl in a frilly dress.
They stood silently, watching her hands move over the keys. It took her a few chords before she realized she had guests.
The child was the loveliest sight Narcissa had ever seen. Unable to contain herself, she rushed forward. The piano kept playing on its own, though without the beauty her touch had given it. Narcissa swept the girl into her arms, weeping.
"Leesa… Mother missed you so dearly."
Elise, unseen for more than three months, was safe and well. But having her in her arms was the true balm.
"Moom… Leesa wan Momm an' Dlaaco too," the girl said with effort.
Her sob woke Draco, who reached his tiny hands toward his sister. Narcissa lifted him with her other arm. Elise hugged him tight, and he squealed, grabbing her hair.
"Doooi, Dlaco! Lemme gooo!" Elise cried, tugging at the strands.
Only then did Narcissa remember her lack of decorum. She turned, flustered, to the visitors. The man smiled kindly; the woman seemed merely amused by the scene.
"Forgive my manners, my lord. Please, make yourselves comfortable."
The man took the sofa, crossing one leg over the other. The woman chose a chair.
"Dobby!" Narcissa called.
With a pop, the creature appeared, long ears, bulging eyes, clad in a pillowcase.
"The Mistress who burns all things, the mad one, calls Dobby?"
"Mad? Burning things?" Narcissa's face hardened.
"Oh no! Dobby spoke rudely! Dobby must punish himself!"
He rushed to the piano and began banging his head against the wood, disrupting the melody.
"Why are you smashing your head on the piano? Do you want to ruin it?" Narcissa exclaimed, mortified before her guests.
"Dobby breaking Mistress's things. Dobby bad." A small flame flickered in his hand. "If Dobby burns himself, will Mistress forgive Dobby?"
"Stop this, Dobby! Just go!" Narcissa shouted furiously.
The elf vanished.
Vincent smiled. "What a peculiar creature. Your house-elf?"
Narcissa flushed. "The Malfoy family's elf. Like all things that belonged to my late husband, it is defective."
With a flick of her wand, she summoned a tray of tea and muffins. She served her guests with a polite bow. "Please, my lord. And you, my lady?"
"Aradia Greengrass. But you may call me Rose," the woman said easily, her smile warm.
Narcissa noticed the ring of entwined roots bearing the Greengrass crest; it was genuine. She gathered Elise back into her arms while speaking of the months past.
"…Yes, about the tomato soup… Elise slipped into the kitchen and began crushing ripe tomatoes. If not for Seraphine, I would never have known where to begin cleaning the mess."
"No? Did you take pictures?" Narcissa asked.
Rose laughed, sharing a knowing glance with Elise. "Yes, plenty."
While the women talked, Vincent remained silent. He swirled the tea, inhaling lavender and bergamot, then took a sip.
"A classic Earl Grey with lavender."
Narcissa studied him. "Is it to your liking, my lord?"
"I like it. The peaceful lightness of lavender contrasts well with the citrus sharpness of bergamot. Perhaps an invitation to stillness, or calm before the plunge into despair."
His words made her clutch Elise tighter. Was that a veiled threat?
Vincent noticed. He took a muffin, his smile almost disarming. "Forgive me if my presence stirred fear. You think too much, Narcissa."
He cleaned his fingers with care, every gesture like a ritual, and fixed his gaze on her.
"I pulled you from that nightmare because I chose to, and I saved your daughter because I decided to. By now, I thought we had built a certain complicity, almost a friendship, Miss Narcissa."
He spoke slowly then, each syllable measured: "To demand a price for aiding a friend would be…"
He paused, letting silence weigh heavy before he pronounced the word with precision: "Vulgar." Then he added, like a thief smiling while sly his voice:
"Wouldn't you agree?"
She felt the flame in his gaze burn stronger. Fear lingered, yet she knew he was right.
Meanwhile, Elise reached for a muffin. Narcissa tried to stop her, but Vincent slid the tray closer. The little girl grabbed one happily.
"I truly wish for you and your children to be happy," he said.
"But…" Narcissa began.
"There is no but anymore."
A shiver ran down her wrist. For an instant, a butterfly atop a perfect triangle shimmered, then vanished.
Vincent rose, bowed slightly. "Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Narcissa. We will leave you to enjoy your reunion with your daughter."
Rose embraced Elise one last time, then she and Vincent departed through the flames, bound for Greengrass Manor.
Narcissa drew a long breath as the flames in the hearth swallowed the last trace of her guests. She lingered, motionless, a moment too long, her thoughts heavy and tangled. Then Elise tugged at her dress, wordless, insistent.
She looked at Draco, dreaming softly, and felt the warmth of her daughter pressed against her. At last she let the tension go. The tightness in her stomach loosened. Air slipped from her lips in a sigh.
What mattered was here. The rest could fade.
She lowered herself into the enchanted chair. At once, the piano stilled, as if aware of her presence, waiting.
"Do you remember this song, Leesa?" she whispered. The girl only stared at the instrument, wide-eyed, waiting for sound.
The first notes rose, gentle and clear Brahms' Lullaby, tender as a hush. Elise reached forward, her small hands landing on the keys.
Plink. A sharp dissonance cracked the melody. Draco stirred, frowning in his sleep, and turned.
Narcissa did not scold her. She smiled. Clang! Another stray note fell, and she caught it, weaving the mistake into the music. Perfection gave way to something new, playful, alive. Theirs alone.
For the first time in so long, Narcissa smiled as if she meant it.
...................................................................................................