Chapter Text
"Narcissa, love, are you well?" her husband asked, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder.
She didn't trust the look in her eyes to not give her away, so she focused on putting on her stockings for a moment more. Lucius liked watching her get ready in the morning, something hungry and possessive in his gaze. It had been long since she last let that bother her, but this morning he grated on her nerves.
Her voice though was smooth as silk when she answered his query. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, dear. I was just pondering what tea I should serve the Parkinsons this afternoon."
When she looked up, emotions carefully hidden behind her half-lidded gaze, his expression was indulgent. It was the same one he had given Draco, years ago, when their son would come running inside the Manor, eager to show them a new trick on his toy broom.
In answer, Narcissa's lips curled upwards. It was her softest smile that she only showed him in the privacy of their home. Pacified, he leaned down to brush his lips against her forehead.
"I'm sure your choice will be the right one. Please don't expect me to be back until dinner, Lord Riddle intimated that today's meeting would be long," he said, that same infuriating expression still on his face.
Narcissa tipped her head upwards to press a soft kiss to his lips and crinkled the corners of her eyes.
"We'll wait for you, darling," she assured him as he finally collected his things and left their shared bedroom.
As soon as his robes swished out of sight, her smile dropped. Lucius might have forgiven Riddle, but she hadn't. She wouldn't. He was blinded by his admiration for Riddle's charizma and magical prowess, but she was far too old to be taken by a wizard's looks and good manners. His actions had endangered Draco and brought him closer to dying than he'd been since that fateful day almost twelve years ago, when she'd thought the day of her son's birth would also be the day of his death.
She hadn't let it happen then and she wouldn't let it happen now. Narcissa Malfoy wouldn't let her husband and Riddle sacrifice her only child at the altar of their political ambitions.
In the weeks since Draco had woken up, Narcissa's anger had not been snuffed out like Lucius' had. Instead, it had grown, quiet and simmering, but hot enough to burn everything that stood in the way of her son's well-being. Her anger was unlike that of her sisters'–not like Bellatrix's explosive fury that burned out bright, destructive and fast, nor like Andromeda's building rage that had made her lash out at everything and everyone and had reached its long awaited peak with an eruption even more catastrophic than her older sister's.
No, Narcissa's rage was not explosive, it made her calculating and ruthless. And her revenge would be subtle, but no less annihilating. She would gnaw away the roots of Riddle's campaign, patient and methodical, and no one would be the wiser, until one day, the whole thing would come crashing down.
While Lucius remained willfully ignorant, accepting Riddle's apology as if the Sleeping Sickness almost costing Draco his life was an honest mistake and not a carefully calculated manoeuvre, Narcissa recognized the truth.
Who else could have tipped off Illuminux to buy up ginseng with such unfortunate timing? Lucius was ready to give Riddle full access to their assets and information network; it wasn't too far-fetched to assume Riddle had gotten his hands on Draco's allergy list. It was easy to profit off a shortage if one knew when it would occur. Despite all the things Riddle possessed in abundance, from his charms to magical talent, money wasn't among them.
She'd long since suspected that he occasionally conspired with the Albrights–this had all but confirmed her theories.