InsaneJournal

Who: Narcissa Malfoy and Antonin Dolohov
What: Comforting the patient
Where: Malfoy Manor
When: Monday, March 23, 1998, morning
Rating: Low
Status: Log. Complete.

Even the most devoted husband has to excuse himself once in a while. Lucius Malfoy was nearly a constant companion at his wife’s bedside during her recovery. He needed to tend to something, which could not be excused, and he left Antonin to keep vigil, being the only other person he trusted with her care. The potions Severus provided were working to reverse the damage the curse had done, but she was still weak, slipping in and out of consciousness. Antonin was grateful for when she was out cold, because she would mercifully not experiencing pain.

Antonin was standing at the window, looking out at the Manor grounds through sheer drapery. It was raining outside, grey and dismal. It reminded him of Azkban, a thought that he repeatedly tried to dismiss before, but now embraced it like a cold lover. It would always be a part of his life, there was no use in pretending or pushing it away. But instead of succumbing to melancholy, Antonin resolved to use it as fuel for action. A reminder that he would never be sent there again and that he would make those responsible for his imprisonment, pay.

From behind, he heard a soft groan and he glanced over his shoulder - Narcissa was stirring again. Slowly, he came to sit by her side, picking a soft towel to dab the sweat from her brow. “Tishe, Nartsyuska. Eto khorosho . Ya zdes',” he muttered, naturally reverting into his native Russian, addressing her with a variation of her name that was a term of affection used only for those who were very dear.

The unfamiliar words were enough to startle Narcissa awake. “Antonin?” She blinked against the soft light in the room as she looked around. She was alone in the bed and the chair Lucius had been sitting in the last time she’d been conscious was empty too. “Where… where is Lucius?” He’d been here every time she woke since coming back from the debacle that had landed them in this mess, and it didn’t feel right to not have him here with her.

“He will be back, shortly,” Antonin assured any concerns she might have with a soothing voice, for while he was a Death Eater, he was a Healer first. At St Mungo’s, he was known for having remarkable bedside manner. “Your husband needed to go to his study to clear your schedules.” From the nightstand, he picked up a glass of water with a straw and offered it to Narcissa. “Try to drink. It will help.” Using the palm of his hand, he cradled the back of her head to raise her slightly, to make it easier for her to swallow. “How are you feeling?”

The water did help, but Narcissa turned her head away after only a couple sips. “I, uh.” Mostly she just wanted Lucius near, but that wasn’t what Antonin was asking, and she wasn’t going to imply that she was anything less than completely grateful for his care. “Hurts, still. Cold.” To anyone else, she would have just said something vague and leave it at that, but as a Healer, Antonin needed specifics. “My torso, mostly, but it radiates.” Her breathing was still labored too, but he would be able to see that.

Even a couple of sips was better than nothing - she needed to keep hydrated and not just by the potions she took. He gently lowered her head back upon the pillow and set the water aside. “This is all to be expected. The potions take time, because the curse had damaged so much in such a short time. But do not worry. You will be better before you know it.”

Lucius was a very fortunate man to have such an amazing wife as Narcissa. Antonin looked at her and fondly remembered his own, late wife. How much love he had for his Yekaterina - she complimented him in so many ways, soothed his rough edges and made him whole. Yet, she passed away so long ago. She was rarely mentioned her to any of his fellow Death Eaters. Lucius was told, not only because Antonin could appreciate the deepness of their relationship, but he also trusted Lucius not to take advantage of the knowledge and use it against Antonin in some fashion. Unconsciously, Narcissa had somewhat become a substitute, so that he was just as concerned about her health and well being as Lucius. While he did not share the same depth of feeling or intimacy as Lucius, Antonin had lost his own wife to an illness, so he couldn’t bear the thought of losing Narcissa.

Narcissa managed a small smile as Antonin pulled back. The news that healing would take time wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but she suspected he was right about how long it would seem, if only because she expected he and Lucius would keep spelling her to sleep through the worst of it. “I’m not worried.” Lucius was, she’d picked up on that, but her head was too fuzzy from pain and potions to focus on anything for long, even worry.

She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, but there wasn’t one. All she managed was to leave herself more uncomfortable and completely out of breath. She closed her eyes against the tears welling in her eyes and focused on breathing. “Sorry.”

“Sorry for what? For being wounded? This is not your fault. Who should be sorry is the cur that did this to you. He will pay dearly for his curse, mark my words.”

Why she was sorry wasn’t something she had the mental acuity to articulate at the moment, so she focused on the last part of what Antonin had said. She opened her eyes and stared up at him through her tears. “Mine.” The force she put into the word was enough to leave her gasping for breath, but she didn’t look away. He had to understand that no one got to make Sirius Black pay but her.

“Of course he is yours, milaya,” Antonin told her, letting another Russian term of endearment slip. It came naturally, out of concern and dare he consider? love(?) for her and the suffering she was going through. From his own experience in Azkaban, when he had no hope left, the only thing that kept him going was a burning hate for those who placed him in prison, so he considered Narcissa’s focus on revenge a positive factor for her healing process.

“Good.” Narcissa closed her eyes again and tugged at the covers, trying to pull them up against the cold. The room had to be warm--she could hear and smell the fire crackling in the fireplace--but it didn’t help against the pervasive chill she still felt. Neither did the covers, and she stopped when they were only halfway up, too out of breath to finish. She’d slipped down on the pillows some while she was sleeping, but after her failed attempt at moving earlier, she wasn’t going to try again.

Again, Antonin could sympathize with Narcissa’s chill, despite the heat of the room. It was a common symptom felt by anybody who spent time in Azkaban. Even after eight years, the chill would return to haunt him, originating from the deep, dark pit of his soul. Chocolate helped combat his problem, but Narcissa would have to suffer through until she recovered. Antonin completed what she didn’t have the strength to finish, by pulling the covers up the rest of the way. He considered her for a moment before drawing his wand to cast a charm that hopefully would clear her breathing passage and make it easier for her to rest.

Narcissa took a deep breath as the charm took effect. “Thank you,” she whispered, sliding one hand out from under the covers to clasp Antonin’s. She meant for more than just the charm. If Antonin hadn’t been here, they would have had to try to explain things away to St. Mungo’s, and that would have complicated everything. “I apprecia--” She broke off with a gasp as the pain got worse, or maybe just more noticeable now that she wasn’t struggling for breath.

A very touching moment was suddenly broken, and Antonin’s first and only reaction was to help. She had already taken her potions for the day - giving her more to help her pain could have complications and be dangerous to her system. As a trained Healer, he picked up his wand to cast a diagnostic charm to make sure that there wasn’t anything serious, which needed immediate attention. Upon finding out that it was a simple, but agonizing muscle spasm, the best recourse he could take was to place her under a sleeping charm.

Once her eyes fluttered shut and she drifted into a state of enchanted slumber, he frowned and gently brushed her disheveled locks of golden hair away from her face. Lucius ought to be returning very shortly, but before he came, Antonin leaned to place a tender kiss upon that perfectly smooth forehead. “Sladkikh snov,” he muttered. Sweet dreams.