Act I: I Can't Believe I'm Doing This

Part 7

It's three days later that I get my next day off. I pick up my quill and start again, trying to keep the nerves from shaking my hand too much.

Narcissa,

I scrunch up my nose and crumple the roll of parchment, tossing it behind me into the vague pile of other rejects. Narcissa? When have I ever called her Narcissa? I should keep it formal. But she used my first name in her letter. Does that matter? Are we using first names with each other now?

I reach into the drawer where I keep my rolls of parchment, groaning in frustration when I have to reach in up to my shoulder to find any. I'm running very low, apparently. I glance at my rejected letters - some half-written, others as short as the last, and some completed but deemed too familiar, or too formal. There are at least fifty crumpled failures.

I sigh and smooth the new sheet of parchment out, readying my quill once more. Crookshanks jumps onto the desk and meows loudly. He paws at my wand, sitting within arm's reach, then looks towards the kitchen where his food bowl is. A common signal. "Sorry, did I get distracted? I'll get your food." I stand and stretch my back, then make my way to the kitchen where a wave of my wand sets a scoop dropping cat food into Crookshanks's bowl. "There. Happy now?"

He gives a happy little chirrup, then goes about his business. My mind wanders back to Ms. Black. Narcissa? Ugh. This would be so much easier in person.

In person. I Disapparate before I have a chance to talk myself out of it, suddenly standing in front of the gate to Malfoy Manor. Immediately, all of my resolve leaves me. I should turn around, go home, never think about Narcissa again, burn the letter-

The gate creaks open before me. I'm still a guest. My feet carry me forward seemingly without my input, my mind still reeling with protests and questions. What if I've waited too long to respond? I should just leave. Oh, but surely someone has seen me by now, leaving would be very impolite.

In mere moments, I feel the cold metal of the door knocker under my hand, and hear the dull thunk of it against the metal plate on the door. It creaks open slowly to reveal Pimkey, looking utterly confused.

"Miss Granger? We's not been expecting you. Only Master Draco."

"Yes, hello Pimkey." I stumble over my words for several seconds before I manage to get out something like a sentence. I think. It's hard to be entirely sure of what I'm saying, with the roaring in my ears. "Your mistress has been asking after me, yes? I'm here to rectify that, hopefully."

"Oh? So Master Draco spoke to you. Good. Mistress is in her study. I's should warn you, Mistress has been drinking." Pimkey turns and begins walking into the manor. I'm a little surprised at their tone - though it's nice to see a house elf with some assertiveness.

With Pimkey guiding me, the trip to the study doesn't take as long as I wish it would've. It's early evening, and Draco said she'd been drinking a lot before... I hope she's at least somewhat lucid now. I've never been the best at dealing with drunk people, even with a few years' experience from dealing with Ron... before it was all too much.

Pimkey turns to face me only once we are outside of the study. I can hear faint music playing from inside - something on piano - and the sweet smell of some kind of alcohol (wine, maybe?) permeates the air. "Before I lets you in to sees Mistress, you have to promise not to spell Mistress again. Mistress was very shaken by that."

Oh. It makes sense. I would imagine, living with Voldemort and his lot, she had her fair share of curses thrown her way. I could easily see some of them being cruel just for the sake of it. Possibly even Voldemort himself. A shiver races down my spine. "You have my word, Pimkey." I step forward, but Pimkey does not move. There's a sort of hardness to their eyes, and I silently slip my hand into my sleeve to retrieve my wand, then hand it to the house elf.