Promises Kept, Hearts Full of Trust

13

The sound of footsteps descending the staircase to the cellar pulled me out of my thoughts.

The familiar jingle of keys alerted me to most likely Pettigrew's daily visit, but there was a second set of footsteps, softer and more measured.

As the heavy cellar door groaned open, a slender figure entered, casting a commanding silhouette against the dimly lit space.

It was none other than Narcissa Malfoy, a witch of undeniable elegance and regality. Her poised demeanour provided a striking contrast to the hunched and furtive form of Pettigrew.

However, it was her eyes, piercing, that held a peculiar warmth, an enigma within their depths.

Her gaze swept across the cellar, acknowledging the presence of Mr Ollivander, who looked at her with a sombre expression.

Then, her eyes settled on me.

"Come along," She said, her voice smooth as silk.

I rose to my feet, my mind racing with questions.

As we walked through the sprawling manor, a hushed stillness enveloping us, it fell upon me to shatter the quietude that hung in the air like a delicate veil.

"What's happening?" I questioned, glancing at her.

"Not here." She answered, business-like.

Turning a corner, we encountered Mr Malfoy, his icy gaze falling on me. "Narcissa?" He began. "Where are you taking her?"

"The guest rooms in the right wing." She responded calmly, looking up at him.

"Why?" He questioned. "Can't she get herself cleaned up in the guest rooms of the left wing?"

"No," She said without missing a beat.

Her response hung in the air, the tension between the couple palpable.

Mr Malfoy's steely gaze bore into her, demanding an explanation that seemed to linger on the edge of disclosure.

"I'm not leaving her alone, Lucius. So either we're both in the left wing or—"

He interrupted her. "Yes, alright. I'd rather have you safe then."

Mrs Malfoy nodded, satisfaction evident in her gaze. With a turn, we proceeded further until he spoke again.

"Where's Draco?"

She came to a halt and faced him. "His room."

Observing the exchange between Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, I found myself recalling my interactions with Draco. There was a certain similarity in the way Mrs Malfoy turned towards her husband as she spoke to him, a hint of the same air of expectation that I had often seen in Draco's eyes.

Mr Malfoy gave her a nod in response before he left at the same time Mrs Malfoy began leading me down the opulent hallway once more.

The rest of the journey to one of the guest rooms in the right wing was made in silence.

Finally, we reached a set of ornate double doors, and the witch opened them, revealing a room that was as lavishly decorated as the rest of the manor.

A large four-poster bed was the centrepiece, its curtains drawn back to reveal satin sheets. A vanity table sat in one corner, a mirror reflecting the soft light of the chandelier hanging above.

"You can freshen up here," She said, gesturing to the adjoining bathroom, "There are clothes and all that from when I was younger in the wardrobe. Wear something appropriate."

"What for?" I wondered out loud.

She sighed, softly grabbing my arm and walking me to the bed.

"The Dark Lord demands your presence at this afternoon's meeting," she stated, taking her seat