The Watcher

Disclaimer: Not mine but JKR\'s *rage, weep, hiccup*
Summery: I\'m come to summon you away this night

Beta: The intrepid noesnifunifa for braving the harsh terrain of my grammar and taming it;-)

A/N *just a quick note to thrnbrooke; the most amazing reviewer. If only there were more like you, fanfic writers would be fat with happiness and there would be a hell of a lot more HP fic\'s floating around. Thank you for the support *bows*


Death and The Lady

Fair Lady, throw those costly robes aside,
No longer may you glory in your pride;
Take leave of all your carnal vain delight,
I\'m come to summon you away this night.
-Lesley Nelson-Burns

My hands slide under the portrait\'s gilded frame, searching frantically.

The news of my defection is surely coursing through the veins of the mansion by now, spreading like dragon fire from portrait to tapestry. The house-elves are all gone, their loyalty broken with one word from our Lord.

I am alone.

Lucius’ father glares at me from within the paintings frame, but he doesn’t utter a word. He knows that I cannot be swayed, and besides, this is one thing the old bastard and I agree on.

I yell in frustration as the tiny switch I’m searching for continues to elude my desperate grasp. The Cruciatus Curse tends to numb my extremities; my hands are nothing more than ineffectual lumps of flesh and bone.

I wiggle them; attempt to rub, twist and wring life into them and thrust them under the portrait once more. My left hand finally snags on something sharp, and the entire wooden panel and painting slide open, revealing a long passage.

I recoil momentarily. It is thick with dust and cobwebs, and I have no desire to enter. Yet, I have little choice. The door to Lucius’ Drawing Room disappeared the day he was incarcerated, and to my knowledge, this is the only other way into the missing room.

I hitch up my robes as I enter, out of habit more than any real hope of keeping them clean.

Within minutes, the passageway ends abruptly at a brick wall, and my heart leaps. I know that what I need lies beyond this wall. It will save my boy, save him from this madness.

I am tired of the subterfuge. Tired of the lies.

I will find the book, I will take it to Dumbledore and I will prostrate myself before him. Draco will be safe.

Safe. Safe. Safe.

I chant the mantra in my head and run my hands over the dirty wall – by the looks of things this entrance hasn’t been opened in years.

The filth clings to my hands, and I retch when I feel something slimy wriggle under my palm, but I continue to search.

My nose is bleeding again, and I can’t stop weeping.

Pathetic.

‘Pull yourself together’, I screech, and slap myself hard across the face, then blush. I must sound like a mad woman.

I don’t know how long it as been since I escaped from the Dark Lord\'s lair. Escaped the torture. I hope he killed Peter. I hope he gutted the little animal. It was so very easy to fool him, the creepy, filthy little rat.

~

At last, I spy the loose stone right down in the left hand corner of the wall. I tug hard, and the bricks rearrange themselves. I think of Diagon Alley, and that makes me weep again.

It brings back memories of Lucius and our courting days.

Our innocence and greed.

What a vain little fool I was, but how could I have known that it would lead me here?

What is left after the re-sorting of stones is nothing but a filthy space large enough to crawl through.

So, I hurl myself to the floor and I crawl, shuffling forward on my hands and knees, panting like an animal.

‘They\'d never believe it, if my friends could see me now!’ I sing, then laugh hysterically and ram my bloodied and filth-covered fingers into my mouth - how totally inappropriate!

~

Finally, the tunnel opens up, and I’m able to stand.

Before me are stone steps, and at the very top is a door. It looks out of place in the dank gloom.

I cry out my joy and race towards the steps, but something catches my eye and causes me to pause.

Lying at the foot of the stairs is a model of a Chinese Fireball Dragon. The animation charm has long since extinguished, and it lies on its side motionless. I remember it vividly because it had decorated the top of Draco’s cake on his seventh birthday. The little red beast had taken upon itself to guard the birthday cake and had directed mushroom-shaped flames at anyone who dared to reach for a piece. Draco had adored it and had carried it around in his robes for years.

I clutch it in my hands as I climb the steps and wonder how it could have found its way into this dismal place.

When I reach the door, I whisper the password, and it slides open with a groan.

The room is empty and just as Lucius left it, I’m sure. Heady relief swamps me, making me dizzy.

I run to the centre of the room and throw myself to my knees, yanking up the Persian rug. And there it is, the secret compartment where Lucius hides all his Dark artefacts and other precious items.

I reach for the handle, but my shaking hand stills.

Something’s not right. The room feels wrong, violated, and I realise too late that its position has been exposed.

Then I notice a movement to my left. Lucius’ chair spins around, and the Dark Lord grins at me from behind my husband’s desk.

Of all the degrading and appalling things that have happened today, this incenses me the most.

‘How dare you sit in that chair!\' I scream before I can control myself.

‘I dare Mrs. Malfoy’, he hisses forcefully, and I jump to my feet and back away from the monster, aware that my only escape route is the door and stairs behind me.

And that pathetic little excuse for a man, Peter Pettigrew, steps out from behind his master and shuffles his portly bulk forward, twitching his nose at me. He looks livid and limps slightly, and I have little doubt that this is the result of his punishment for letting me escape.

He has the nerve to look scornful at the state of my appearance.

My robes are torn, I know, and open, and the exposed material of my bodice is encrusted with blood. My nose is broken and my face filthy. I pull myself up straight, raise my head proudly and glare down at the creepy little rat as he continues to shuffle forward with a mad gleam in his small, watery eyes. I refuse to quake before this worthless nonentity. I am Narcissa Malfoy.

The Dark Lord remains seated, still grinning and seemingly amused, and I loose control, screaming out the rage that has been bubbling inside of me as I stride forward to meet Peter, my arms outstretched. I have no wand, but I will fight with everything I have left.

But the dirty little cretin darts forward suddenly, pushing me back with his silver hand. The strength in it is undeniable, and I fall backwards down the stairs.

~

Pain - so terrible, I’m surprised I’m still conscious.

I can feel my legs are twisted at impossible angles, and the bones in my right arm are shattered. I dare not look at the extent of the damage.

I am no fool. I know that my wounds are mortal. I prey to the gods that it will end quickly.

I can hear my own blood splashing onto the unforgivable stone beneath me.

And I hear the sibilant whisper, ‘Burn her.\'

It’s terribly tragic that I hear these words with a sense of relief; Draco will never have to see my lifeless body.

A toothy grin and double chin loom into my sights.

‘I thought you\'d like to know, darling ‘Cissa, that your beloved husband has finally escaped from Azkaban,’ Peter wheezes into my face.

‘How do you think we found his precious little Drawing Room?’ he breathes and pokes his wand into my chest. ‘I’d like you to know that my Lord and I are adhering to Mr. Malfoy’s wishes by being here; I believe Mr Malfoy\'s words were ‘kill the bitch if she gets in your way’.

He cackles madly, and a harsh hiss sounds out from the room above.

‘My master grows inpatient, so fare thee well, Narcissa.’

The word \'Incendio\' is shouted gleefully, and the flames waste no time, eating rapidly at my battered body.

I scream, ‘DRACO…,’ then close my eyes and let the fire take me.

Fin~

Notes

*‘They\'d never believe it, if my friends could see me now!\'
Lyrics from the film Sweet Charity

*Yes I know Peter is irredeemably evil in this ficlet, but the little bastard betrayed Harry’s parents, making him IMO the lowest of the low and totally irredeemable – the very centre of Hell is apparently reserved for such people *shakes fist self righteously*.

* My first - first person perspective fic - so be nice.