WHO: Narcissa Malfoy & Rabastan Lestrange. WHAT: A heads up. WHEN: This afternoon, 2 March. WHERE: The Ministry of Magic.
Bellatrix had told Narcissa during lunch that she was giving the Carmichael boy a lesson on knives. A very brief furrow had appeared between Narcissa’s eyebrows, but she’d merely taken another bite of her salad and said that sounded nice. Rabastan probably knew. Rabastan was probably fine with it. Rabastan wanted his son to join the Death Eaters, after all.
But a lesson with Bellatrix…
It wasn’t that Narcissa thought Eddie was soft. It was that Draco wasn’t nearly as soft as everyone seemed to think and though he’d been trained by Bellatrix, even he had struggled. Her son was resilient — out of necessity, but resilient all the same. The Carmichael boy may have grown up in Knockturn, but she knew the world had terrible things to offer that even Knockturn hadn’t dared to dream of.
But it was only knives and Narcissa had reminded Bellatrix that it was the boy’s first lesson with someone as skilled as her. Surely that was enough.
As the afternoon marched on, though, it didn’t feel like enough. So, Narcissa excused herself from work early and rushed over to the Ministry, sweeping into Rabastan’s office with a breathless, “Rabastan.”
“Narcissa.” For one brief moment, a line appeared between Rabastan’s brows. A beat later, it smoothed itself out as he folded his hands together atop his desk. The residual tension on his face eased into a genuine smile as he looked up at Narcissa, a smile that softened his eyes and wore down some of his sharp edges. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Out of breath and concerned, Narcissa couldn’t find it in herself to return his smile with a polite one of her own. So, she sat heavily in one of the chairs before Rabastan’s desk, a hand pressed to the base of her neck where her necklace laid. “It’s about the Carmichael boy.”
Rabastan’s smile immediately evaporated. Dozens of scenarios played out in his mind, each one somehow worse than the last. “What’s wrong? Has he done something?”
Narcissa shook her head. The Carmichael boy had been remarkably well-behaved since Christmas, actually. It was Draco’s influence, most likely. “Bellatrix is going to teach him a lesson,” she said. “Today. Knives, I believe she said.”
Rabastan blinked.
“Bellatrix is going to teach him a lesson,” he repeated flatly, straightening in his seat. The Black sisters were too much alike — they both liked to meddle in affairs that didn’t concern them. “Did she tell you why she was teaching him a lesson?” Rabastan already knew the answer to his question, but he was curious.
Proving him right about the Black sisters, Narcissa reported, “She said if you wouldn’t teach him, she would.”
“What is wrong with her?” Rabastan asked, throwing his hands up in the air as he rose from his chair. “He can’t be pushed into this, he has to want it.” He folded his arms across his chest as he paced the length of his office. “I’ve been training with him, he’s progressing, but he isn’t ready for whatever Bellatrix plans to throw at him.”
“That’s why I’m telling you,” Narcissa said, shifting in her chair to watch as Rabastan paced. “I wasn’t sure if you knew about it or not and I thought you should if you didn’t. And I — I didn’t think I could get through to her, but perhaps you can.”
“No one can reason with her,” Rabastan said venomously, freezing in place and giving Narcissa a flat look. “Rodolphus can barely get through to her. No, I’ll have to talk to the boy — did she say where they were meeting?”
“His flat, she said.” Narcissa studied him for a moment, feeling a pang of guilt for tattling on her sister. But she’d come to tell Rabastan what was going on because he was right. “Are you going to interrupt?”
“She’s left me with no other choice.” His expression softened slightly. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Of course,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching into a very slight smile. She stood up, then, smoothing her hands over her trousers. “I should leave. But I hope he’s all right.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Rabastan offered, summoning his coat with a flick of his wand. “And of course he’ll be all right.” There was a slight pause before he added, “It’s in his blood.”