InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "It was love to me."

Narcissa usually didn't go to Borgin and Burke's on her own. She usually didn't even set foot in the place, but this time she couldn't leave the job to anyone else. And Rabastan had been the one to bring her the records that had tied the research she'd done to the object of their mutual desire. So while she was forced to set foot in the filthy little place, she wasn't alone. Rabastan was with her, to bear witness and to be sure the proprieties were followed. Not his usual role but she'd take it.

Once Rabastan had escorted her in, she took her time looking over the merchandise. The clerk clearly understood that the lady required particular expertise because Mr Borgin himself appeared in a few minutes. "Mrs Malfoy," he said, "what a memorable occasion. And what a pleasure to assist you. Are you looking for something in particular?"

"I'll know it when I see it. Something for Lucius." Which was why he wasn't with her, obviously. There were additional dimensions to the response that Mr Borgin, who had sold to the Malfoys for many years, and occasionally purchased Malfoy castoffs, would understand. He did, and let her look.

And Rabbit drifted in her wake with his best impression of harmless, especially when the young clerk glanced their way--same lass as last time he was in here, months ago, though from the crease between her eyebrows she didn't quite remember why he looked familiar. Rabbit was far better dressed today than he'd been that time, for far more salubrious company. Could be fun if and when she did place him.

He looked with slightly more interest than usual at the various objects on display; some sort of curiously cursed trinket might provide a useful excuse-cum-bribe in approaching Nott, if that was how he was going to swing that. Which in turn made Rabbit think of his last discussion with his brother. Something he'd been doing a lot, turning it over in his mind like he could make the odd outlines square with enough consideration. When he spoke however, sliding in beside Narcissa next to a display case, it was to say, "How are you and the boys doing, after all the recent unpleasantness?"

"It's been quite a shock, of course, but we're all rallying. I knew there was something deeply wrong with my sister, but not that she would go so far as she went. I do hope something comes out of the inquiry that explains it all. At least she hasn't gone so far as to attack Lucius." Narcissa's tone was low and genteel but pitched to carry. Borgin knew better than to approach or even twitch, but the clerk's expression made it clear she'd heard and understood, and probably meant to dine out on this gossip.

She glanced over the jewelry on display before settling on some of the rings. "Mr Borgin, perhaps one of these?"

Borgin swooped in, so unctuous and solicitous that Rabbit just about itched to ruffle his feathers. That would be even more counterproductive than usual, of course, so Rabbit tuned the man out entirely, slouching against the display table as Borgin opened the case, holding forth in verbose monotone on stone, setting, provenance--that'd be the kicker. Just about any of these pieces looked ostentatious enough to have come from an ancient and nearly extinct pureblood line.

Narcissa looked at each of the rings that Borgin was offering her, waiting as he nattered on with a mask of perfect patience until he finally got round to the one she was waiting for. "Ah yes," she said, when he at last turned to the object of her--and presumably many others'--desire. "What do you think of this one?" she asked Rabbit. The underlying question: is this it?. He'd mentioned the Gaunt name at long last.

It matched the description from the stolen ledger that Rabbit had gone over--the heavy gold setting, the symbol carved into the black stone that seemed to pull in light rather than reflect it, regardless of its gloss. "Well, I like it, but is it enough for Mr Fancypants? Does it have an interesting story to go along?" He lifted an eyebrow at old Borgin.

Who bristled as mildly as he did everything. "I do not trade in lurid rumour." He sniffed, though his gaze slid carefully sidelong to Narcissa.

"There's a difference between lurid rumour and history," Narcissa opined. Her interest in the latter was well-known, and could cover Rabbit's interest in the former. "Lucius does enjoy items that come with a story."

And what a story, though Borgin's dispassionate delivery could suck the blood from even a melodramatic tale of murder, madness and family betrayal. It was still more or less the version Rabbit had found the edges of poking around in Prophet back-issues, which was a bit of a shame; he'd been hoping for more of a glimpse at what had really happened to the Gaunts--and, for that matter, the Riddles. (One thing stuck with him, in this telling, in other details, like a bit of food stuck in a tooth: their Lord had never been one to let anything--anyone--stand in the way of his goals.)

Rabbit shook off that distracting thought when Narcissa turned a little more to him, caught his eye. He gave her a nod; this was definitely what they were after.

A slight quirk of Narcissa's mouth served as acknowledgement that she'd understood Rabbit's signal. "I'll think on it. What about that?" and her gaze indicated a flashier and more expensive ring. Borgin continued to drone on through two more items while Narcissa considered the next bit. Then she circled back round to what she'd really wanted and the haggling began.

Narcissa Malfoy had all the assets of the Malfoy name and vaults to cover her purchases, but she'd once been Narcissa Black. And despite the very good name she carried, the vault that backed it hadn't been nearly as full as Lucius'. Druella Rosier had had to learn how to drive a hard bargain; she'd passed that skill to her daughter. Here Narcissa used it with elegance and vicious pleasure, driving Borgin's price down further than he would have liked, and more than the clerk expected her to from the look of things on that end.

"Sold," Mr Borgin said at the end of things.

She smiled, all sweetness again now that she'd got her way. "I'll prepare a draft on our Gringotts vault." Which was Rabbit's cue.

He'd already wandered away--ostensibly in boredom at the mercenary turn in events, in practice to double-check that there weren't any other shoppers skulking in the back corners of the shop. On his way he made sure of the door as well--wouldn't do to have uninvited additions to the party that came next--and ended up back at the counter, where the clerk was lining up the sales book on the blotter, her authorised fingerprints making the security charms flare and fall away as she opened to the current page.

She looked up at Rabbit--who wasn't looking, didn't have to, knew the layout of Borgin and Burke's records like the back of his hand now--and said, "Was there anything else, sir?" A frown, then, and her hand stilled on the quill in its inkstand. "I'm terribly sorry, have we met before?"

Rabbit had thought it'd be amusing if she recognised him, but not now, not when she needed to bloody start writing. He leaned against the counter and tried to remember what she'd said last time, something he could use. "You look a bit familiar as well. Do you have a brother?"

Success; her face went flat and she dipped and blotted her quill brusquely. "Ah, you know Edward. You'll excuse me, I need to work." And she set quill to the parchment of the sales book, scratching in the date and her initials, starting a new row in the ledger, opening the charms that bound the sales records of Borgin and Burke's into immutability. She added the reference number of the sale item, and a description appeared in the next column, drawn from the store's records.

"So do I," Rabbit said, and drew his wand.

Meanwhile, Narcissa had written the draft but not yet signed and sealed it, and Borgin had removed the ring from the case to hand to her. Her wand was ready for the sealing, though, and she raised it. Not to point at the incomplete draft but at Mr Borgin himself, who started to say something but was cut short by Narcissa's quick casting of the Memory Charm. While he stood there confused, his memories of the last half-glass or so unwinding and vanishing, she took the ring from his hand and stowed it in her reticule. The unfinished draft was destroyed.

"Put the case back together," she suggested to Borgin, who reflexively began to rearrange the rings to disguise the missing item before re-sealing it. Narcissa glanced at Rabbit to see how his half of the job was going.

Slightly less smoothly, but Rabbit had the ledger on his side of the counter now, wand-tip planted in the middle of the line that had been started. The page was spotted with ink from the quill the clerk still had raised, her glare fierce and entirely unmoving. Rabbit drew his wand back from the page, and a dark and sticky line of ink-stained magic came with it. The charms that tracked through the magical inventory of Borgin and Burke's weren't that much like the tangled web of the floo, but the theory wasn't so very different, and Rabbit had enough finesse and experience to keep the connection from ledger to records open.

More than that. He wound the magic around a finger and pulled it slowly, inexorably, out of the page. The ink that the clerk had just added faded from the entry, and the spots as well. The line of magic stretched against Rabbit's grip, and then came free, wriggling like a worm for a moment before it flared and faded. Rabbit winced, shaking his hand, and jumped back from the counter, holding his wand aloft as the ledger snapped itself closed in a flurry of pages and a furious flash of renewed wards.

"Right," he said, with a satisfied little smirk, and shoved the ledger back across the counter, until it nudged at the clerk's elbow. Oh yeah, the clerk. Rabbit looked over his shoulder. "Cissa?" He wanted the memory charm ready to go before he lifted his petrify, because he was pretty sure the lass was going to stab him with that quill.

"Are we ready to leave through the rear?" Narcissa asked, low and soft, and when Rabbit nodded agreement, she raised her wand again. Rabbit released the clerk, Narcissa obliviated her, and she sent one last gentle touch at Borgin as they departed the scene and into the back alley behind the shop. As soon as they were out from under the Anti-Apparation wards, Narcissa took Rabbit's arm and the two of them reappeared on the lawn of Malfoy Manor, alone but for the peacocks.

"Dobby," she called, "some tea for Mr Lestrange and myself." Then, more pleasantly, to Rabbit, "That was well done. You're quite good at this, you know. I was rather surprised when Rodolphus wanted to accompany me to St Mungo's instead of sending you."

Rabbit had been poking idly at his finger, the one where the unmoored magic had stung him as it dissipated, but he glanced up at that. "I've only so many hands, and there's a lot to be done." He flexed his fingers one more time, and shoved hands carelessly into his pockets as he trailed Narcissa across the lawn. "I take it that all went well?"

"A documentary trail has been laid to tie Bellatrix to ... other research we think Mulciber was conducting. Dark magic is a tool but if you're not careful, it can use you harder than you use it. This is one of the things that happened to Mulciber," Narcissa explained as she strolled onward. "We might not be able to erase what she did as simply as we erased the traces of our prize, but we can at least ensure there is a perceived reason for doing so."

Her smile slid quietly into a moment of concern as she glanced back at Rabbit. "Is there something Lucius or I can assist you with? I do like to make sure my friends get all the help they need, especially if their hands are otherwise full."

"Don't suppose you've got Pettigrew locked in your cellar?" Rabbit asked casually, and shrugged. "I'm starting to wonder if Trixie nobbled him on her way out and all." He wasn't really concerned about it; one way or another, he'd track the rat down, but with everything else going on, it was hardly top priority. Nott was more interesting, potentially more useful, but whenever Rabbit nibbled at that, his mind kept circling back to the question of Rodolphus himself.

"How's he holding up?" Rabbit asked, all idle curiosity. "My brother, I mean. With all this and work I haven't had as much time to spend with him as I'd like, given... everything." Bellatrix. The horcruxes. The Triad. Everything.

"I was going to ask you the same question." Narcissa leaned in, letting the admission be a confidence. "I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's something off-balance about him. Please keep me informed if there's anything I can do there--and I can certainly put the word out to look for Pettigrew. Perhaps I can even bait Sirius into giving him up." A prospect that clearly amused her. The momentary intimacy faded and Narcissa was again her catlike self, ready to play with her toys for her own amusement.

"Well," Rabbit said with an amused quirk to his mouth, "my brother is fond of your sister, and it's been a complicated year." An understatement, on both counts, but the flippant lightness papered over Rabbit's sinking feeling. He'd hoped Narcissa would brush it aside, but her confirmation felt grimly inevitable, like he'd known it all along really. He didn't know what it meant. Didn't know what to do.

Certainly knew he wasn't getting anyone else involved. Not in their business. Not even Narcissa.

"And baiting your cousin is hardly sporting but you know I'll never stop you indulging in a little--ah." They crested the shallow flight of stairs leading up to the terrace, and the little table was all set, hem of the tablecloth flirting with the light summer breeze, a delicate wisp of steam rising from pot. Rabbit's smile widened. "Speaking of indulging, do you have those little lemony biscuits again?"

Her smile grew even wider as she gestured at the cloche-covered tray of treats, which Dobby opened at her implicit command. "Of course, Rabastan. I always make sure my favourites get what they need."