Death Eaters

Year 2: Death in the family

July 13th, 1992

"That was a splendid trip, darling," Narcissa said, as she entered the manor with Lucius and Draco behind her. Lucius took her coat and hung it on the coat rack. They had been on holiday in Germany for the last couple of weeks. Naturally, they had bought several souvenirs, and a few Dark Artifacts while they were at it. "Although, perhaps next time go a bit easy on your artifacts?"

"You know I can't resist a collector's item, Narcissa," Lucius chided her as they walked to the library to sit down and relax. Narcissa chuckled, shaking her head as she linked her arm through his. "Did you enjoy yourself, Draco?"

"I liked the Quidditch game we caught in Luxembourg," Draco replied dully.

"Still downcast about the broom," Narcissa whispered to Lucius, who just shook his head.

"He let a mudblood overcome him in his exams," Lucius harshly pointed out. "Even potions."

"It was his first year," Narcissa firmly countered, looking over her shoulder as Draco dropped back and walked up the staircase to his room. "Give him a chance to redeem himself. At least he didn't fail any of his classes."

"He won't fail, either," Lucius replied firmly. He then looked up as they were about to walk into the library, tightening his grip on her wrist. "Speaking of failing..."

"He needs to start telling us when he wants to visit," Narcissa snarled, her mood souring when she saw the door ajar. It could only be her father-in-law; Dobby could never be so careless unless he was asking for a beating from Lucius. Sighing, she followed her husband inside. Abraxas was smiling rather broadly in Lucius's armchair as they walked in.

"Ah, Lucius," he called cheerfully. "Narcissa. How was your holiday."

"Splendid," Narcissa replied politely. Lucius helped her sit down on the loveseat, that was as far from Abraxas as she could get. Lucius sat down next to her, his grip tight on his wand that was resting in his cane. She shared a glance with Lucius, before speaking to her father-in-law once more. "What brings you to the manor?"

"I've come to offer my condolences, Narcissa," Abraxas smirked. "Your father has died in his home."

Narcissa tilted her head slightly, but otherwise showed no emotion about it. She was surprised to hear that he was dead—he was only sixty-two afterall— but she wouldn't be shedding a tear over him. "When was this?" she asked, not bothering to look at Lucius, who was gazing down at her in concern.

"A few days ago," Abraxas replied. "Well, that's when he was found. I hadn't heard from him in a few weeks, so I decided to drop in; when low, and behold, it appeared he had passed away in his sleep. Hard to tell, of course, without a proper autopsy. Being a prominent pure-blood, I'm sure he's made a few enemies."

Narcissa's jaw tightened a bit, but she didn't say anything; still trying to understand how her father could be dead at such a young age. Especially young for Wizarding standards.

"Will there be an autopsy?" Lucius asked, eyeing his father warily.

"I'm sure that's for Narcissa to decide," Abraxas pointed out. "She is, after all, his closest acknowledged relation that isn't incarcerated in Azkaban."

Narcissa stiffened as his voice made a particular emphasis on acknowledged; he was referring to the fact the decisions would've initially landed on her older sister, had she not turned out to be blood traitor. He may have also been referring to her blood-traitorous cousin, who was the last of the Black male line, since his younger brother mysteriously disappeared; and, by many, was believed to be dead. "You've given us much to think on, Abraxas," she said brusquely, her gaze hardening a bit. "If you'll excuse us, we have to make arrangements."

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"How did Draco take the news?" Narcissa asked later that night, as she and her husband changed for bed. She was just about finish brushing her hair for the night, when Lucius had walked in from his chat with their son.

"He took it alright," Lucius shrugged, dropping his cloak on a Dragon-scale arm chair. "I'm not sure if we need to be overly concerned about it."

"When it comes to Draco's emotional welfare," Narcissa countered, placing the brush on the vanity, and taking out her earrings. "I'm always concerned. Even if I did despise the old tosser; he was still his grandfather."

Lucius smirked, walking toward; the only thing on his body being his night trousers. "Yes, but he was also your father," he pointed out, leaning over the top of her head. "One would think you would be more emotional about it than anyone else."

"I probably would be," Narcissa agreed, putting moisturizer on her hands. Her voice was filled with a hard bitterness as she continued speaking. "If he hadn't treated his children so poorly growing up; and let's not bring up the fact he would often gang up on me with Abraxas."

"In other words, you're not sorry he's gone," Lucius stated, leaning down to kiss her lips.

She returned the kiss with a smile, then stood up to walk to their bed. "You think it wrong of me?"

Lucius pulled back the covers to their bed and slid under them, motioning for Narcissa to follow him. He pulled her close as she joined him in the comfort of the bed; cupping her jaw. "No, I don't think it's wrong of you. After all that's happened, he honestly should just be grateful that he was able to spend as much time with Draco as he did."

Narcissa smiled, her hand gently clasped around his wrist. There was still something bothering her, though. "You don't suppose..." she began hesitantly, averting her eyes. "Abraxas would've had anything to do with his death... would you?"

"After he poisoned Minister Leach," Lucius replied, tilting his head curiously. "I wouldn't put anything past my father. However, what would he have to gain by killing your father?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "And that's what's scaring me."

Lucius leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Banish those fears, flower," he whispered, snaking an arm around her body. "At least for tonight."

Narcissa smiled drowsily and nodded; turning on her side as he spooned her. She slowly listened to his pulse that thrummed in his arm; basking in his touch as she slowly drifted off.