Moonlight and flowers

In the beginning...

Narcissa watched from the back ranks of the gathered Death Eaters as her husband was tortured by her sister. It was all she could do not to make a sound, hoping to remain anonymous in the ranks until she could retrieve and care for her beloved. Unfortunately it was not to be.

The Dark Lord commended Bellatrix for her fine work and then called Narcissa forward. She passed the jerking begrimed figure of Lucius lying on the floor as she moved out of the ranks, but she ignored it and bent to kiss the Dark Lord's hem with the dignity and grace which had become her signature.

Voldemort nodded to Severus, who stepped forward to hand Narcissa a cauldron, still warm from the fire, although the wooden handle was cool enough to hold comfortably.

"Your husband's incompetence has made him useless to me," the Dark Lord hissed at her. "But you still may serve me this day. Do as you are told and you may even return to serve me again." His lipless mouth curved in what might have been a smile as he concluded, "Or possibly not."

Efficiently Severus snapped an iron band around her right wrist and handed her a sealed envelope, saying in his cool, indifferent voice, "Wolfsbane." It was the trigger to a portkey she realised, as the scene before her was sucked away and replaced with a different gathering, a different place.

* * *

The grubby band of men and women - and a few children - which now surrounded Narcissa seemed as surprised to see her as she was to be there. Their suspicious eyes slipped sideways to one man, nothing special to Narcissa's eyes, but clearly their leader. He stepped forward to take the cauldron from Narcissa's hands, passing it to two younger men, who immediately carried it across to hang from a frame over a small, nearly smokeless fire.

The leader eyed her with interest before holding his hand out for the letter, which she handed over without protest. She stood waiting silently in the clearing as he read the letter slowly, his eyes flicking up to her at intervals, then he cocked his head and did a slow circuit around her.

"How old are you?" he asked abruptly.

Do as you are told the Dark Lord had commanded her.

"Forty-one." Narcissa was pleased to find that her voice was steady. Somewhere behind her a woman hissed in surprise or displeasure.

"Do you know what this letter says?"

She shook her head.

"You are to serve us, as a token of future rewards if we choose to ally ourselves with your Master." The leader's face was impassive; she could read no clue in it as to his thoughts. Her own face, she feared, was showing something of the fear and disdain she felt at his words: she was a Black, and a Malfoy, and had never served in her life.

"Is there a time-limit?" she asked resentfully, but the man merely let his lips curve into an enigmatic smile.

"Possibly," he said dryly. "We shall see. You may address any member of this camp as Master or Mistress, but you can call me Sir."

She looked a little blankly at him as he waited. "Very well," she said at last, but he corrected her firmly: "Very well, Sir."

"Very well, Sir," she muttered, and he smiled.

"Good girl. Go and serve the wolfsbane to your masters and mistresses. One large ladle for adults and a smaller one for children. Mistress Elia will help you get the dosage correct."

Narcissa already wanted to go home.