DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. All characters, places, and things mentioned in this story are the property of J.K. Rowling.

CHAPTER SEVEN SUMMARY: Narcissa is forced to assist the Dark Lord, while Draco and Hermione suffer at school.

WARNINGS: Rated T (13+) for strong violence and mild language. THIS STORY CONTAINS SPOILERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OTHER INFO: Okay this is my first fanfiction. Please read and review. I welcome critiquing comments also. If you have any favorite parts or least favorite parts, let me know... Thank you :)


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Seven: Letters

"A woman's best love letter is always written to the man she is betraying."

- Lawrence Durrell

His snake eyes lingered on the empty seat, studying it, as if wishing the occupant into existence, but of course, he never came. The fact that Amycus Carrow was not present troubled the Dark Lord greatly for if he did not return, how would they receive news of Draco Malfoy? He had waited patiently, giving the man another chance. Perhaps he had simply been running late, but as the meeting came to a close, the chair was still sitting there, empty as the unblinking eyes that continued to study it.

As the gathering was dismissed and people began to rise from the table, Voldemort remained stationary, his hands clasp in front of him, the fingers moving slowly. His eyes were focused on them, watching them bob gradually up and down. Occasionally, one of his bony fingers would reach up to his shoulder to stroke the massive snake that hung over the crest of his chair, and although he did this gracefully, his expression was not serene. In fact, several of the Death Eaters that passed him noted the roughness etched into his ivory face, but they did not stop to ponder what might be angering him for fear of risking their personal safety. Some of them Apparated and others exited through the fireplace, leaving the room clear except for Lucius Malfoy and his wife. Lucius had his hand on the handle of the door to the foyer, hoping that Voldemort was simply taking his time. But he always had a purpose... Lucius should have known better.

"Lucius," Voldemort said still watching his hands, "Amycus was not present this evening."

Lucius jumped slightly at the hissing voice and turned around quickly, "No, my Lord. Is he not out doing your bidding?"

"No..." he smiled. "He is dead." The Dark Lord saw Narcissa's neck tense, her jaw clamped tight, as her eyes shot to him then to Lucius and back again. Lucius seemed confused, but of course, he did not know what had happened. "He was murdered, ironically, by who he was sent to destroy."

Lucius's face dropped, the wrinkles on his forehead only deepened by his frown and his creased brow, "Draco?" He let his hand fall from the handle as he rushed to the Dark Lord's side, hands clutching eagerly at the edge of the table. His grey eyes were hopeful at the thought of Draco finally becoming the man he was supposed to be. "My son, Draco?"

"Yes, Lucius," Voldemort said, looking agitatedly at the ceiling. "But there is naught to celebrate. Your son has murdered one of my men, and all for the sake of a Muggle-born infant. If anything, I find it to be quite a disappointment."

"Yes, my Lord. And what has become of that filthy girl?" Lucius asked him.

Voldemort's expression did not change, "There is no way to know now that Amycus is dead... unless you want to assist me, Lucius."

"I do, my Lord. Anything you ask."

The red eyes flickered to Narcissa for a split second, observing her as she stood meekly by the bookcase against the wall. Her eyes were pleading, trying to accept what her son had done. Could it be that he, in compliance with his father's wishes, had become a murderer? Voldemort could feel her internal struggle, his mind connecting with hers for the briefest of moments, and he cocked his head, thinking.

"On the other hand, Lucius, I believe the task would be better suited for your wife."

Lucius watched fearfully as the Dark Lord rose from his chair like a wisp of smoke, his hands sweeping elegantly over the table. The giant snake that had been resting over the chair, slithered loudly as it rolled to the seat and, with a thump, onto the floor, following his footsteps. Narcissa gasped and looked worriedly at her husband, who appeared just as surprised as she.

"But, my Lord," Lucius began. "Narcissa does not - "