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"Oh," she said dully, and stepped closer, waiting, as he gestured for her to stand beside him. |
"This is not an easy task," he explained. "It's not for the squeamish, either, but I'd rather not attempt it alone. I want you to do something for me, but you can never speak of it, either to your sister, your husband, or to anyone else, alive or dead. Understood?" |
"Alive or dead?" she echoed, and he shrugged. |
"Just covering all of the possibilities," he said. "Am I clear?" |
"What will I have to do?" she asked suspiciously, and he turned to face her, studying her for a moment before he spoke. |
"I want you to kill me," he said, and she blinked, startled. |
"What do you m-" |
"I want you to kill me," he clarified, "and then I want you to bring me back." |
She felt her jaw open and close, speechless, before he finally held up a hand, pausing her. |
"I've created something," he began, and stopped, reconsidering. "Several somethings, actually. Have you heard of a horcrux?" |
She started to say no, but he shook his head, intent on progress. |
"I'll spare you the details; they're gory," he admitted, though he himself looked unfazed by the acknowledgement. "This once belonged to Godric Gryffindor," he continued, holding up the small silver dagger he'd cut her with earlier, and she noticed that in her initial panic, she'd previously missed the carved initials ... |
"Are you insane?" she interrupted. "Is this some kind of—some sort of—" she faltered, stumbling over her words. "Are you crazy?" she demanded, taking three quick steps back, but he stepped towards her, shaking his head. |
"Stop," he said, his voice edged with warning. "Breathe." |
"Good," he said, nodding. "As I was saying, a horcrux is an object imbued with a piece of my soul. Theoretically, I would be able to resurrect myself through the use of one. At this point, I can no longer resist the necessity to test it. Either I have defeated death," he postulated, "or I've accomplished little more th... |
She swallowed, taking another pair of deep breaths. |
"It's not natural to bring someone back from the dead," she said carefully. |
"Why does it matter what's natural?" he asked. |
She waited, hoping to summon an answer. |
"I don't know," she confessed, finding none. "I just thought it needed saying." |
"Well, good," he said crisply, turning back to the cauldron. "You'll need to stab me again," he informed her, holding the handle of the dagger out for her. "You've proven yourself capable already, but it will need to be a bit more fatal this time. Only marginally." |
"Right, of course," she scoffed faintly, and he smiled. |
"There's more to the process than the sacrifice of life," he warned. "More to it than magic, too. I'll need to tell you things; secrets from my soul. You'll need to keep them for me," he said, with what she thought might have been quiet undertones of desperation. "I must ask you to keep them for me, even if I fail." |
"This is quite a gamble," she noted, taking the handle from him and eyeing it before looking up, staring into the blue that was so vastly brighter than the rubies in her palm. "Wouldn't you rather take your chances with the life you were given?" |
"For what?" he asked, seeming to genuinely not know the answer. "The world is an easy place to rule, Narcissa," he murmured. "I have conquered it already, and only endless tedium remains. Either I have conquered death, or I have done nothing that will outlast me. And if I have done nothing, why grow old?" |
"Perhaps my sister has some thoughts on that," she attempted meagerly, and he grimaced. |
"She's a gifted witch, Bellatrix," he conceded, "but her desires are as earthly as anything, and I'm destined for more." |
She was running out of arguments; but still, she hadn't resolved to certainty. |
"Why me, then?" she asked, because she doubted she could bear not knowing. |
He shrugged. "The castle brought you here," he said. "My magic chose you. And besides," he added wryly, eyeing the knife, "you do have a natural aptitude." |
She stared at the handle, finding herself saddled with the problematic combination of no further opposition and an immense, unbearable curiosity. |
"What do I do?" she asked, and he took a slow, deep breath. |
"Listen closely," he said, and stepped closer, his gaze falling inescapably on hers. "I'm putting my life in your hands, Narcissa." |
"My name is Tom Riddle," he choked out when she stabbed him; a slit to the throat would be quicker, he admitted, but my secrets are as important to this as anything else, and I need you to be certain they bleed along with me. "I was born an orphan, the son of a pathetic witch and a heartless, foolish muggle, and I kill... |
His grip on her slackened slightly for a moment and she looked down, eyeing the glow of the silver dagger in her hand as a translucent specter began to manifest from it. |
"I was born to nothing," he retched, his nails scraping at her arm, "and I have felt nothing, I have done nothing, and this is what I fear: that I will die as they have died, by the hand of someone who feels nothing for me. Who extinguishes me so easily it is as though I never existed—" |
"Tom," she whispered, watching his head loll back; he was bleeding in earnest, dying a gruesomely visceral death all over her dress, and the dagger in her hand began to pulse with warning, filling the room with a bright, unbearable radiance. "Tom, are you—what am I supposed to—" |
"Don't let go," he said through gritted teeth, his eyes wild as he stared at her, shock gradually giving way to pain. "Narcissa," he forced out in anguish, "do not let go—" |
"I won't," she assured him, though she felt certain she was going to be sick; she'd never seen so much blood. She'd never witnessed death, never known how ugly it was, and how strangely, dauntingly human. "I won't, Tom, I've got the dagger, I've got it—" |
"Don't let go," he pleaded again, his eyes meeting hers this time, and then, without warning, the dagger in her hand exploded with light, delivering her to blindness. |
When she opened her eyes, clearing the ringing from her ears, it was to Lord Voldemort's corpse lying still in her arms. She inhaled sharply, her hand still curled around the dagger, and pondered whether to vomit or run; her dress, her hands were covered in blood—she could feel it stretched dry across her skin—and it w... |
"You killed me," she heard behind her, and she spun, scrambling away as the Dark Lord—a much younger Dark Lord, his hair swept from his eyes and a frown burrowed in his brow—stared down at her, bemused. "Who are you?" |
She took a moment, trying to still her thudding heart, and rose slowly to her feet. |
"I'm Narcissa," she told him carefully. "Narcissa Bl-" she paused. "Narcissa Malfoy." |
The Dark Lord before her blinked, staring down at his hands, and then looked back at her. |
"Narcissa," he repeated quietly, and she felt her breath quicken, noting the look in his eye as his gaze settled on her face, traveling carefully over her cheek. |
"Tom," she whispered, letting him pull her to her feet. |
"Lucius," the Dark Lord beckoned, surveying him from where he sat and crooking a finger, his eyes glinting in the firelight. "Come here." |
"My Lord?" Lucius asked, venturing forward. At the back of the room, Narcissa swallowed hard, compelling herself to leave; run, she thought fiercely, you won't like what you see, but there was no looking away. She closed her eyes briefly, focusing so intently on the sound of raindrops above their heads she half-thought... |
"Rodolphus tells me you were unsuccessful with the goblins," the Dark Lord postured, his thumb running thoughtfully across his lower lip. He curled his fingers around the goblet on his right, contemplating it for a second; around the room, Narcissa could feel the captive breaths, the tension poised to snap, and then he... |
"I take it you have an explanation," Lord Voldemort suggested drily, his eyes dropping to regard the angle of Lucius" bent head. "Do you?" |
"They demanded wands," Lucius said, clearing his throat. "I felt it unwise to indulge them." |
"Why?" Lord Voldemort countered, his voice an eerie, charged quietude. "You have a wand, Lucius. Why deny it to your would-be allies?" |
Lucius" shoulders stiffened. |
"Begging your pardon, My Lord—" |
"Oh, I'm sorry," Lord Voldemort cut in sharply, prompting Lucius to flinch. "If you're going to beg my pardon, Lucius, then be sure to do it wisely, and do it well." He took a few steps closer, eyeing the exposed line at the back of Lucius" neck before glancing up, catching Narcissa's eye. "You know," he began, leaning... |
Lucius visibly shuddered, and Narcissa turned her head away. |
"So," Lord Voldemort prompted, louder, "you were begging, Lucius?" |
Lucius hesitated, his pale hair glinting in the light, and then his chin dropped, the words nearly muffled into the floor. |
"I am not a goblin, My Lord," he mumbled. "I earned my right to my wand when I was born to it, and—" |
Only Narcissa saw the Dark Lord's fingers twitch. |
Only she caught the rage that dug into the gaps of his spine. |
Only she held her breath, anticipating the storm that broached the breathless room's horizon. |
"Ah yes," Lord Voldemort chuckled. "How silly of me to permit that to slip my mind, Lucius, when you do so rarely allow anyone to overlook your worth. I forget how much stock you put in birth—in blood. Nearly enough that you forget about power, don't you?" |
He looked up then, catching Narcissa's eye, and as if she were the one at his mercy, she shuddered without warning. |
He didn't even lift his wand; he didn't speak an incantation. |
Instead, as if he'd drawn his magic from the very fibers of the air around her, the charge of it swept through her veins, thrilling her morbidly to watch him. |
At his feet, her husband let out a sharp cry of pain, the rest of the room's lungs vacating in concert as they watched the handsome, dispassionate Lord at the head of the room bring their own lordly peer to anguish without a motion, without a breath, without even the blink of an eye. To them, the Dark Lord only seemed ... |
They could not have known he was both more and less than what they feared, but she did. |
She knew, too, that he was putting on a show for her. |
Tom, she mouthed with a tiny grimace of displeasure, please. |
His mouth twitched, his tongue darting between his lips; testing her resolve. |
Lucius gave another terrible, gut-wrenching yell, and Narcissa winced. |
Tom, she mouthed again, shaking her head. Stop. |
"Have you had enough?" he asked neutrally, finally taking a step back, and Lucius collapsed, panting, his blond hair matted and slick against his face. |
Narcissa slipped out of the room, not bothering to look back. |
He'd come back a different person than he'd been. |
"We can't do this, Tom," she begged in the moments that he looked at her too long, when he'd run his fingers carefully along her spine, when he'd stood too close to her, making it impossible to breathe. "You ask too much of me." |
"You killed me once," he reminded her, as if she could possibly forget. "You killed me and brought me back, and you used your own power, your own blood, and you held my very soul in your hands to do it. Do you really think I can ever be parted from you, or you from me? That I can ever accept that you weren't made for m... |
She said nothing. |
There was nothing to say. |
"How can you live with a man who isn't me?" he pressed, always too close, always too tempting, always too captivating to hold. "How can you choose him over me?" |
"He doesn't ask me to bend heaven and earth for him, Tom," she said quietly, and his face contorted with fury, or envy, or in the wake of helpless wrath. |
"Do you think his love is virtuous simply because it is soft?" he demanded, his fingers cutting into the silk of her bodice. "He doesn't ask it of you," he snarled, "because he doesn't believe that you can—but I know better." His lips grazed the side of her neck, catching the motion of her heavy swallow. "I know better... |
He'd come back a different person than he had been. |
She'd always known it was only a matter of time before she could no longer stand the lack of him. |
She heard him coming before she saw him, her eyes closed as she leaned her head against the wall. |
"That was unnecessary," she said flatly. "You're just showing off." |
He chuckled, and her eyes fluttered open to find him carefully rolling the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, drawing it up over the span of his forearm. |
"I was merely presenting you with options, Narcissa," he replied, effortlessly neutral. |
"He won't understand why you've done it," she reminded him. "He thinks you share his beliefs; they all do," she warned. "They won't be able to make sense of it." |
"Lucius is not a child," Tom said irritably. "It's not my job to discipline him in a way he understands. The only thing he needs to grasp is that he serves me unquestioningly, and that he is subject to whatever punishment or reward I deem him worthy of." He leaned forward, leaving only a breath's distance between her p... |
"Says the man who calls himself a Lord," murmured Narcissa, and Tom's lips twisted wryly. |
"You know," he remarked, "to pity a man is not the same as to love him, Narcissa." |
She waited; every moment she didn't speak was an ounce of power she wrested back. |
But she was foolishly desperate, and aching, and there was only so much left for restraint. |
"You know that I don't," she said, and a glint of satisfaction manifested in the blue of Tom's eyes. |
"Tell me again," he beckoned in her ear, his fingers slowly drawing up the fabric of her dress, and she sighed, feeling the cool slip of his palm against her thigh. |
"Tell you what?" she prompted. "You tell me often enough not to need reminding, don't you? That I belong to you." |
She felt him smile; his hand tightened possessively around her leg. |
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