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SS/Canon > Het

The Substitute by deslea [Reviews - 1]

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"How's Bill?"

Severus asked this as he placed a steaming cup of tea on the table before her. He picked up a bottle of Firewhisky from the middle of the table, looked at it critically, and added a good-sized dollop for good measure. Tonks felt the corners of her mouth twitch into a little smile. He knew her too well.

They were in his tiny little kitchen in his tiny little house. The kitchen was like something out of the Muggle war era, white cupboards with yellow doors and retro Wislock handles, and rounded laminate benchtops with aluminium trim rails around the sides. It was comforting and warm, and totally un-Severus.

"He's okay. He got some nasty scars out of it, but he didn't turn. Greyback failed for once." She gave a wry smile up at him as he took his seat opposite. "He cursed you with every name under the sun. Naturally, he blames you for initiating the battle. Draco's part hasn't been mentioned. Harry, for whatever reason, appears to have kept that information to himself."

Severus leaned back in his chair. "Well, Nymphadora," he said - she didn't bother to scold him about the name anymore, although she made a token effort at flashing her hair red - "Bill can say what he likes. I've never required approval from all and sundry. You can't afford to, in my line of work."

She wondered whether he meant teaching, spying, or both. "Indeed."

"And Lupin?" he asked with assumed casualness.

Tonks snorted. "You needn't be so very delicate. Remus used the attack on Bill as an excuse for another oh-pity-me-I'm-dangerous routine. I'm done with him."

A sardonic little smile flitted over Severus' features. "I seem to recall you being all the more taken with him for that, not so long ago."

"It was appealing once. You know, the heroic selfless wounded thing. But sooner or later you have to get the fuck over yourself and take whatever good there is in this life. It's not like life hands out favours all the time."

Severus huffed, "I'm living proof."

"Oh, Merlin, not you, too. Although at least you have a little more justification. I'd take a couple of days a month miserable on Wolfsbane over being a hated triple-agent 24/7 anytime." Tonks took a long draw on her tea. The Firewhisky-to-tea ratio was satisfyingly high. "So why did you ask me here, Severus? Dumbledore was quite clear that we should never be in the same place. It's like that thing about how all the people who know the Coke recipe never take the same flight. So the secret isn't lost if the plane goes down."

"Really? I never knew that. But then, you followed Muggle culture more than I did."

She smirked at him. "You confiscated more than one Muggle magazine of mine. I half-thought you did it to read them yourself."

"Your potions were better for it," he said mildly. "And if I hadn't been a hard teacher, the students would have eaten me alive. I had senior students who had been at Hogwart's while I was still a student myself."

She held up a hand to forestall him. She'd heard this particular train of thought before; being the youngest professor at Hogwart's had inflicted wounds that were sore spots even now. Not for the first time, she thought that his protracted adolescence had been the price. Even now, just weeks after the death of his rather toxic father figure, she thought she could see a new maturity, a new calm – even if it was coated with a heavy layer of guilt.

Now, she said, "I was just teasing. And you haven't answered the question. Why risk it?"

Severus looked down at his own tea, sitting there untouched. His brow furrowed. "There have been some...rather delicate...negotiations. Concerning you and I."

Tonks sat up, instantly on the alert. "Negotiations? Who with?"

He looked decidedly discomforted, and that made her both intrigued and concerned. "There's been an approach from Lucius Malfoy," he said. "He was rather clever in how he went about it. He sought an interview with me at Hogwart's regarding Draco, which of course I gave. While he was there, he went down to the dungeons, ostensibly to see Draco, and approached the Bloody Baron. The Baron approached Dumbledore's portrait at his request, who in turn passed the message to me. Essentially, he made a roundabout overture that was designed only to reach me if, as he suspected, I was on the Order's side."

Tonks was alarmed. "Why would he think that? Severus, you're in terrible danger-"

"No more than usual. He knows nothing of my agreement with Dumbledore, or the overall plan. He does, however, know of my Vow to Narcissa. He knows that if I hadn't killed Dumbledore, I would have died myself. So to him, it seemed that I could have done it from self-preservation, rather than any loyalty to the Dark Lord. It didn't necessarily rule out me being on the Order's side."

She nodded, understanding. "But he would realise you aren't recognised by the Order anymore, surely."

Severus nodded. "Naturally. Having killed Dumbledore - assuming he was right in his suspicions - I would be in deep cover, helping the Order while being disavowed by most or all of its members. Which is, of course, exactly the case."

Tonks winced. "He really did leave you in a fix, didn't he?" she said sympathetically. "Manipulative old goat." She felt sudden, unexpected exhaustion.

"Quite," he said mirthlessly. "And please don't call him a goat again. Aberforth's Patronus is a goat, and you don't want to know the vile possibilities that opens up in my mind."

She choked. "Ugh. You've got a mind like a sink."

"I assume that's a Muggle expression, but I take your meaning. To which I can only say, consider the company I keep." Severus' expression was wrinkled with distaste.

"Old English slang. Think sewer trap."

"Fascinating," he said doubtfully. "In any event, Dumbledore and the Baron have conducted the negotiations to date. Lucius has a level of plausible deniability, as do I, should anything get back to the Dark Lord."

Tonks suspected this was a white lie for her benefit. If the Dark Lord learned Severus and Lucius were conspiring together, it was likely he would Avada Kedavra first and ask questions later.

Severus continued. "There have been various tests - Veritaserum with Lucius, as well as Legilimency and various signs of good faith. He's far more at risk than I am - which should itself tell you something." She nodded. "We are now at a point where everything that can be done to protect ourselves, has been done. It's time for us to sit down and bargain. I won't say it's safe, but it's as safe as we're going to get."

"We?" Tonks echoed. "What's my part in all this?"

"I don't know. However, you've been requested specifically. What I do know is, Lucius wants something that he's willing to risk his life for - and he's willing to offer something extremely valuable to get it."

They eyes locked for a long, tense moment. She could feel her lips pressed together into a grim line. That exhaustion was back, looming and heavier than ever.

"All right," she said finally. "When do we start?"




Lucius had finished speaking. His face was ashen.

Severus was pacing his study, looking from Tonks on one side of the room, to Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco on the other. The Bloody Baron drifted overhead, his chains gently clinking together. The sound was oddly soothing.

Tonks had kept her eyes on Severus throughout Lucius' recital. She trusted his judgment, and was more interested in his reactions than any truths she might find in the other man's face as he spoke.

It was this trust, she thought, that had sown the seeds of their peculiar friendship to begin with. Trust was a rare thing in Severus' world, but she had trusted him from the beginning. She'd had to. She was a clumsy girl – a girl who could have killed herself in his class a hundred times over – and she had intuited his worth and looked to him to keep her safe. She'd trusted him implicitly, followed every instruction to the letter (Tonks, who obeyed no one!) and he'd brought her through. She'd even gotten Exceeds Expectations for Potions for her NEWTs. She couldn't have gone on to Auror training without it.

As for Severus – an awkward, stern, but brilliant professor in his mid-twenties when they met, unattractive and reviled for it (Tonks, who could be beautiful at will, cared nothing for appearance) – he seemed to perceive her trust. He placed no undue importance on it, but he admired it, after a fashion. He told her, years later, that he'd liked her respect for the dangers of the subject and the way she looked for ways to make herself safe. He even unbent enough to say she would make a good Auror, at a time when everyone else said she was too reckless for it.

She'd trusted him through the good times, through the bad times, and now, through the war times. She trusted him more than ever now.

So having studied his reactions to their guest and found them to her satisfaction, Tonks turned her attention to Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius had aged dramatically since his imprisonment. His hair was unkempt (Tonks, unkempt herself, personally liked it better that way), and his face unshaven. His eyes were sunken into deep, dark-rimmed sockets. Narcissa stood there by his chair, the faithful consort, as elegantly-coiffed as her society page photos. But there was softness around her eyes, too, as she looked wretchedly from her husband to her son. Draco was perched on the edge of Severus' desk, his gaze cast down, wringing his hands. Tonks watched him with more than a twinge of pity. He looked very young.

Severus was speaking. "What you're asking for is dangerous, Lucius. For all of us, but most of all for Narcissa and Draco themselves."

Lucius said, "If all goes according to plan, the Dark Lord will never know they're gone. And the plan carries significant advantages for the Order."

Severus said quite truthfully, "I'm not in the Order. Dumbledore's death saw to that."

"I'm sure," Lucius said dryly. "But she is." He nodded in Tonks' direction.

Tonks spoke for the first time. "You've already alluded to some mutually beneficial plan," she said. "Explain yourself, or stop this nonsense and we'll Obliviate you and return you to your home."

Lucius exchanged worried glances with Narcissa, and Tonks realised that Narcissa was quite distraught. She hid it well, but it was there in the slight tremor of her hands, and in her eyes, glittering with unshed tears as she returned his gaze.

Finally, Lucius said, "I want Narcissa and Draco away from all this. I don't even want them in Europe. I want them in the New World, at least. Maybe the Antipodes."

Severus snorted. "I don't think they call Australia that anymore, Lucius."

Tonks, ignoring the aside, said, "Must be nice to start a war and then think you can just opt out."

Lucius said gravely, "I didn't start the war. I just kept my head down and tried to survive it."

Tonks was surprised into silence. She had expected him to ignore the reproach by replying to Severus instead. That he hadn't, conveyed his seriousness more than anything he'd said so far.

Severus said, "Lucius, aside from anything else, Narcissa and Draco have the Dark Trace, through your marriage." Tonks was not familiar with the Dark Trace – she presumed it was some finer detail of the operation of the Dark Mark – but Severus continued, presumably for her benefit, "Draco's personal Trace can be severed by his defection, but the familial one cannot as long as you serve him, reluctantly or not. The familial Trace is unrelated to their actions - it is a byproduct of yours. Should he choose, he can lay hands on them by simply seeing them in his mind's eye."

At this, Lucius seemed to lose his nerve a little. He looked up at Narcissa, his chin seeming to tremble. She held his gaze for a long moment, offering a sad little smile, and brushed his cheek with the backs of her fingers. The concave at the base of her throat flickered as she swallowed hard.

This seemed to give him the strength to go on with it. With the air of someone who has decided to simply stride into the middle of a battle, he turned his gaze back on Severus, and said, "You will Handpart us. Narcissa and Draco will leave through the Shrieking Shack and travel by Portkey to Salem, and from there to a place of safety of her choosing, which I myself will not know. As you know, Severus, the link between father and child is through his chosen binding to the mother, the only one who can be sure of a biological connection. By Handparting us and establishing a complete separation, the familial link will be severed, and the Dark Trace with it."

Lucius said all this in a monotone, as though he were reciting a potion formula. Only his eyes betrayed him; they were dark and haunted. Draco seemed to be shocked almost to the point of coma. Only Narcissa still looked like herself. Her eyes were moist, but his recitation hadn't broken her. She held them tethered to a world that seemingly had reduced them to their knees.

Tonks felt reluctant sympathy for them. The Malfoys were known for their fanatical commitment to kin. There could be no doubt that such a separation would be devastating to them all.

Finally, she broke the silence, saying, "You said the Dark Lord would never know they were gone."

Lucius said, "That's where you come in. You would transform into Narcissa's likeness and take her place at the Manor, thus providing a unique opportunity for infiltration. It will be a more complete infiltration even than Severus - and a contingency for him."

In case Severus is killed, she thought. None of them said it, and the tiny pause where they all thought it gave her just long enough to realise the prospect of losing Severus genuinely frightened her. In a completely unsentimental way, he was her truest friend, the one who knew her best and expected nothing of her.

At last, she protested, "I wouldn't have the Dark Trace. Wouldn't he know I was an imposter?"

Lucius hesitated. Narcissa laid a hand on his shoulder and answered for him. "Severus will Handfast you and Lucius. You'll have the Trace, as well as the practical benefits of marriage. The ability to pass through his wards, for instance, and the right to give binding instructions to the elves, who might be able to see through your Metamorphosis." She added, "There is, of course, nothing to prevent you from Handparting later."

Tonks stared at her. Felt the blood drain from her face.

"What about Draco?" she said at last, setting aside the completely awful idea of being married to Lucius and living in the same house as the Dark Lord himself. "How do you propose to explain his absence?"

At this, the Bloody Baron drifted down and came to stand by her chair. "That, my dear, is where I come in," he said, his deep, gravelly voice suffused with warmth.

Severus stared at the spectre, surprise written into his features. The Baron's warmth seemed uncharacteristic to him, she supposed; to her it was nothing new.

Tonks stared at the Baron - just for a moment. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Oh!"

Severus looked back and forward between the two of them. "What?" he demanded. "What is it?"

She said with dawning realisation, "He's going to pose as Draco!" Her shock was subsiding. The genius of the plan was opening up in her mind - the incredible opportunities.

Severus was still staring, uncomprehending, and she felt a pulse of rather juvenile glee. Normally, they were neck-and-neck, each never quite outwitting the other. Dumbledore had said as much; he had insisted on her sharing in Severus' knowledge. Her unwavering trust in Severus might lead her to doggedly pursue proof of his innocence. Dumbledore believed she might stumble onto some part of the plan for herself, and unwittingly bring the whole thing undone.

The Baron apparently took pity on Severus, who had, after all, been for many years his respected Housemaster. He said, "You may not be aware of this, Headmaster, but in life, I was a Metamorphagus." To illustrate his point, he transformed into a floating, translucent version of Severus. It wasn't the first time Tonks had seen him take the form of a teacher (in fact, he had taken every one of them to amuse her as a girl), but now, with death so close to them all, she found it rather unsettling.

Severus said, slowly, "Do you mean to say that the Dark Lord will believe that Draco's dead?"

Lucius spoke up. "The story will be that Draco was killed here at the school. It can be implied that one of the students did it in retaliation for Dumbledore. Or, if you'd prefer it a little more removed from Hogwart's, perhaps he came to harm in the Forbidden Forest. You can vouch for there being a body, and when his ghost arrives at the Manor, it will seem to be confirmed."

Severus was frowning. "And how do we know that you won't just follow Narcissa and Draco the first chance you get? Even posing as Narcissa, Nymphadora would be killed in retaliation for your defection." There was a kind of low anger in his voice, as though he were outraged at the very thought.

Tonks was oddly touched.

"Think, Severus. If I were going to do that, why would I go through the considerable risk of exposure by attempting to make a deal with you? Wouldn't we just go?" Lucius was strangely virile now, his anaemic defeat forgotten. Just for a moment, Tonks caught a glimpse of the Lucius before Azkaban, the powerful and obnoxious presence skulking around the corridors in the Ministry. "I want them safe. We both know they won't be, if there is any suggestion that they're gone. The whole thing hinges on my continued presence, and Nymphadora and the Baron taking their place."

"Forgive me, Lucius, but even then, I'm afraid your word is insufficient."

Lucius' face seemed to crumple. Not a lot - just a little. Sagging like ill-fitting clothes.

"Unbreakable Vows," he said finally. It was clear he had not wanted to offer them. "I'll promise not to try to find them until the war is over. And I'll promise to protect Nymphadora to whatever extent is in my power."

Narcissa was pale, but she nodded her agreement. "Draco and I will also promise." She faltered, then went on in a rush, "Severus, perhaps you'd be good enough to include a clause allowing our return in response to summons from either of you. In case...in case Lucius is...hurt."

Tonks and Severus exchanged glances. Finally, Severus said, "It's up to Nymphadora. She's the one most at risk."

Tonks was aware of all eyes trained on her. The weight of their anticipation was heavy, but she took her time. Not allowing herself to be pressed.

She weighed it up. The danger, which was considerable. The marriage to Lucius, which would be challenging on all sorts of levels, irrespective of their intention to Handpart later. The very real possibility of being branded a traitor herself, with only Severus and Lucius to speak for her. The stress of living as a completely different person, day in and day out. The very mundane sacrifices - losing contact with her parents, for instance. It was the least of her concerns on any objective level, but it seemed to hurt the most.

But it was war. And it was a chance that might never come around again.

She looked up.

"Very well. Let's begin."




"You do understand, don't you, that there's more to impersonation than just appearance?"

Tonks, Lucius, and Narcissa were in the Headmaster's study. Draco, Severus, and the Baron - all of whom could move freely in the castle - had gone to the Potions classroom for their own briefing. The three of them had pulled the chairs closer in to speak. Dumbledore was there in his portrait, but having facilitated their meeting, seemed to take no further interest in the proceedings.

Narcissa nodded. "I understand that."

Tonks observed, not for the first time that evening, that while Lucius initiated, Narcissa's participation seemed to drive their actions. There was a clear distribution of labour at work. She filed it away in her mind.

Narcissa went on, "I have already taken the liberty of collecting memories from myself and Lucius. There are quite a lot of them. I thought it was better to have too much than too little."

Tonks nodded. "Quite. I'm going to have to effectively live inside your head for the duration. I'm not going to have the luxury of letting down my guard to think of myself as Tonks. Not living in the same house as the Dark Lord."

Lucius said, "Some of the memories are...rather intimate. I would have rathered not, but Narcissa felt..." he trailed off. His discomfort was written into his face and his posture.

"She was right," she said, feeling unwilling gratitude that Narcissa had already paved the way. "I sympathise, but there is no room for privacy in an undertaking of this kind. Understand, Lucius, I must be equipped to think of you as a wife thinks of her husband. The only way we could avoid that would be by contriving an estrangement."

Narcissa said sharply, "That's not an option. The Dark Lord distrusts women. With the exception of Bella, he considers all women dangerous unless they are controlled by a man." Her lip curled in unconscious distaste. "You would either be killed, or given to someone else. It's not uncommon for such women to be given to Rodolphus as a mistress. It's his reward for sharing Bella's affections."

Tonks nodded, careful to conceal her revulsion. She was painfully conscious that Narcissa was sizing her up. And why not? Any slipup of hers would see Lucius killed.

"Very well," she said at last. "I'll view the memories here, in Severus' Pensieve. I don't need you here for that." She looked back and forth between them, feeling reluctant compassion for them both. No matter who or what they were, the devotion between them was palpable, heavy with them in the room. She said, "Severus has rooms through that door. Why don't you take some time together?"

Narcissa's cool facade faltered then. Warmth and colour filled her features, and her eyes were suddenly filled with tears, and with warring gratitude and pain. "Oh," she said. Just that.

Lucius took her hand. Nodded at Tonks. "Thank you," he said quietly. Led Narcissa away. The door clicked behind them, heartbreaking sounds escaping even before it closed. Some of the muffled sobs were female, but not all of them. Not by a long shot.

Tonks cast an absent-minded Silencio, and then she got to work.




Tonks spent her wedding night grieving for the son she'd quite literally never had.

Before that, though, she had pleaded ill and retired to her bedchamber (their bedchamber) to get her bearings. It wasn't a lie. Seeing the Dark Lord up close had been horrifying. He hadn't actually done anything at all, but he'd looked at her. For one terrible moment she'd been sure he'd seen straight through her, but then his gaze had passed her by.

She was astonished to realise that the man was a genuinely powerful wizard. Somehow it had never occurred to her before. His terrible brilliance, which should have been self-evident, had been eclipsed by his evil in her mind. She had been rocked by her own reckless stupidity – maybe all of them, the whole Order – thinking they could take this monster on.

So she had pleaded ill, and now she was lying in Narcissa's bed in Narcissa's body, trying to wrap her head around her role and her life and her home. Trying not to wonder if she'd make it out alive.

Presently, Lucius joined her. He came in without knocking, and said without fanfare, "Are you going to be all right?"

She was oddly touched at his use of future tense. Touched that he understood she wasn't all right now.

She nodded. "I'll be fine. It was just a shock."

Lucius said mirthlessly, "He does have that effect at first. You get used to it."

Well, that made sense, she supposed; if one could get used to kings and celebrities and politicians, why not despots?

Lucius was unbuttoning his breeches absent-mindedly, but then, abruptly, he shot her a look and paused.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "Bodies aren't terribly sacrosanct to us, you know." It was true enough; she changed them like she changed her clothes. The link between physical form and identity, which so plagued her young female peers, was alien to her. "And I'm wearing Narcissa's, so you've seen mine before."

He nodded, frowning, and finished taking off his clothes. Slipped into bed beside her. Careful not to touch her body with his. It was a big bed; it wasn't difficult.

"Severus will be here soon," he said. "You'll need to be ready."

She nodded. "I know." Turned over on her side to look at him.

He was staring up at the ceiling, unknowing or uncaring of her scrutiny. He'd only been out of Azkaban a few weeks; his frame was thin, and his Adam's apple was pronounced. The prison number on his neck was dark and recent, ugly like a harsh call to the judgment that she supposed he deserved.

It occurred to her that this was her husband – her husband! – and she'd been one of the arresting party that put him there. She couldn't even remember it now – couldn't remember how he'd looked that day, whether he'd fought, whether he'd been angry or defeated – and that struck her as wrong, that she could share his bed and his chamber and his home yet not remember something like that.

She tried to see him through Narcissa's eyes. It was easier than she'd thought. Easy to look on his prison number with sadness and tenderness and want to touch it with her fingers. It was like stepping into a hot spring. Casting off the cool night air and slipping into a shroud of water. Casting off Tonks, as simple as that.

It wasn't him that touched her, she thought. It was her. Narcissa's memories had been bright and rich and Tonks could see him the way she saw him. Kinder and warmer and gentler than she thought the real Lucius could ever possibly be.

"What are you thinking?" he asked her. Turning his gaze on her suddenly.

She wondered whether she should tell him, then decided it could do no harm. Gingerly, she lifted her fingertips towards his neck. "May I?"

A frown flickered across his face, and he pulled away, just a fraction, but then he relented. Leaned in. Not a lot. Just enough.

She grazed the tattoo. "She was proud of this," she said thoughtfully. "She was proud of you for making it out. She wished she'd told you so."

Hurriedly, Lucius looked away.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," she said quickly, drawing her fingers away. Turning onto her back to look studiously at the ceiling.

"No," he said gruffly. Then, after a moment, "I mean, thank you. For telling me, I mean."

"Sure," she said. She was regretting saying anything at all.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. "Cissy? It's Bells."

Lucius made a show of dismantling the wards. Hurriedly, Tonks summoned a few warm memories of Narcissa and Bellatrix in girlhood. Tried to manufacture some warmth for Narcissa's psychotic sister. It was difficult; Narcissa had included harsher memories, too. But Bells was a childhood name. Clearly even Bellatrix could feel, or fake sympathy for loss. At least loss not caused by her own demented peers.

"Come in, Bells," Tonks said, using the girlhood name. It was easier to think of her as the once-loved sister that way. She climbed out of bed, tugging the sheet partway with her and grabbing her robe as Bella came in. Making clear through the convoluted production that she was naked with her husband. She and Lucius and Severus had contrived Draco's "death" for her first night in the Manor to explain any variation in her behaviour, but if anyone would know something was off-kilter, it was Bella.

She held no fear that open nudity was accepted between the sisters; Narcissa's memories made clear that she was protective of her modesty. By the time the Dark Lord and his snake had taken up residence, physical modesty was all Narcissa had felt she had left. She had been spared sexual violence so far, and it remained one of her greatest terrors. Tonks rather thought the very sparing was probably calculated. The Dark Lord could kill Lucius and Draco and still extract some cooperation from her even then, she thought, if Narcissa still had the sanctity of her body to lose.

"What is it?" Tonks asked, turning around to face her sister (her aunt) and belting her robe. "What's happened?"

Bellatrix was looking at her with a rather odd expression that, with difficulty, Tonks identified as kindness. So this was what kindness looked like when conveyed by a sociopath, she thought. It was both warming – warming that it was possible at all – and chilling too.

"Snape's here," Bellatrix said finally. "I think he should tell it." She turned away and went to Narcissa's wardrobe, and pulled out a tea gown. She handed it to Tonks, saying quietly, "Get dressed."

Tonks was grateful that it was a simple outfit. Lucius had already retired to the ensuite to dress; he was no help. She ducked behind Narcissa's screen and pulled it on.

Once dressed, she and Lucius followed Bella down to the dining room. Severus was standing by the table, closer to the stairs, warming himself by the fire; the Dark Lord and his minions were at the far end of the room. Tonks supposed grief support wasn't exactly their thing.

Lucius felt for her hand.

Mechanically, she closed her fingers around his. Brought forth memories of Draco when he was born. Resting in her arms. Nursing. She could feel the letdown of hormones as he suckled. Little boy running across the lawn, chasing flamingos. Merlin. She'd never felt anything like it.

(Was this what motherhood was like? She wondered parenthetically. It exhilarated and terrified her).

"Severus?" she said urgently. "What is it?" She looked for Bella, but Bella had withdrawn to her own kind.

Severus stepped forward. He told them.

It came over her in a wash. She heard it dimly, drowned out by cotton wool. Draco had been in the Forbidden Forest. No one knew why. The Acromantulas…apparently the web-burns were very distinctive. Like rope-burns. There wasn't…there wasn't much left.

She clasped her breast with a single, keening sound. "I can't – I can't breathe –" She turned and fled for the French doors.

Severus found her out there on the patio, leaning over almost double, her hands on her knees. Breathing in heavy, gasping breaths.

"Breathe out," he said.

"Don't you mean breathe in?" Tonks said accusingly. Still looking down at the ground.

"No, I mean breathe out. You're breathing shallow breaths. The air in the bottom of your lungs is stale. You're not getting enough oxygen." Severus frowned. "Are you all right?"

She turned her tear-streaked face to look on his. "No," she said in a low voice. "I could see it. I could see him as a little boy. And then…I could see…what you said. About his…his body."

He risked a whisper. "Dora, that didn't really happen."

She straightened and lashed out, "I know that!" Shook her head impatiently. "Merlin. What's happening to me?"

They were drawing attention. Bella was drifting towards the patio. Severus wrestled her close. "You're grieving. It's normal. But you have to get yourself together, Narcissa." He said meaningfully, "Your husband needs you." He released his grip on her shoulders.

Tonks wiped her face messily. Nodded. "Lucius," she gulped. "Poor Lucius. I didn't even think-" She turned away, absently, and went back indoors, leaving Severus standing there in the cold.

Lucius was sitting by the fire, staring into it. His shoulders were slumped in defeat. Tonks didn't think it was all for show. He had lost his wife and son this night.

She went and stood by him. Gently stroked his hair and drew his head against her belly.

Lucius crumpled. "My son," he whispered. "Narcissa. My son."

She leaned over him and kissed the top of his head, and his arms wound around her waist, and he wept.




Tonks sat pensively in the gazebo as the sun began to set.

She was doing needlepoint. It was one of Narcissa's pasttimes, and by using her memories as a guide to technique, Tonks had discovered that she had reasonably good fine motor skills – a contrast with the gross motor skills that saw her stumble her way through life even now.

But even this could be managed with Narcissa's memories. She could see the grand staircase through Narcissa's eyes and descend it gracefully, her outstretched fingers grazing the bannister as a fashion statement rather than gripping it for dear life.

As for the needlepoint – it was soothing, Narcissa was not in the habit of conversation while doing it, and watching it bored Bella to tears. Tonks had adopted it as her way of managing her "grief." The Baron often sat silently beside her, in character as Draco, his knee touching hers.

They had agreed that "Draco" would be apparently mute and unhearing, giving every appearance that this was some sort of limitation created by the nature of his connection with the world. Otherwise, it was possible Voldemort would seek to get information from Draco, using threats to his parents for leverage even now. Tonks persisted, as Narcissa would have, in speaking endearments to him even now; but everyone else had given up, dismissing him as yet another part of the magical furniture, along with the portraits and the elves.

Now, Tonks murmured, "The Dark Lord is sending Pius to the school to investigate your death, Draco darling. He likes to be very sure of things, you know. Of course, I'm sure Severus will be able to tell him everything he needs to know."

The Baron stretched out casually. Message received. He pointed to a dropped stitch.

"Thank you, dear," Tonks murmured.

The Baron drifted away.




She found Lucius, as she so often did, in the front parlour.

His book was turned down, open and abandoned, and he sat there staring into the empty hearth. This had been a different room once, she knew; a warm room filled with baby laughter, and then, sometimes, love on the floor when the baby had gone to bed.

He'd spotted the Baron earlier that day – that was how she'd known to go looking for him. Seeing his son as a ghost tended to turn Lucius pale and stricken.

She stood by him awkwardly. More Tonks than Narcissa, but feeling something. Slow, reluctant compassion. Tentatively, she put her hand on his shoulder.

Absently, he took it. Kissed her fingers. She could feel his grief in everything, his cool hand on hers, his crumbling lips on her knuckles.

Narcissa was rising in her, grieving for him and with him. She felt it in rising tightness in her chest and tears in the back of her throat. "Lucius," she whispered.

There was a sound behind them, footsteps coming to an abrupt halt. She turned.

Severus.

She withdrew from Lucius and went to him. "Severus," she said, reaching for his hand. "It's good to see you."

"Narcissa," he said. There was a chill in his voice. He didn't squeeze her fingers as usual.

Tonks drew back. Hurt. She started to move away.

He caught her by her elbow. Glanced around quickly; there were no portraits in earshot.

"Don't lose sight of what he is," he hissed.

"I know what he is," she hissed back. "But even monsters grieve."

She jerked away her elbow, and stormed off in white-hot fury.




Perversely, perhaps, that night was the first night she thought of Severus in bed.

She had waited for Lucius to fall into a slumber, breaths levelling out beside her. Turned onto her back, and, stealthily, brought herself to a swift, silent orgasm, body held stiff so her shudders rippled deep inside her.

Lucius had either never noticed, or tactfully pretended not to notice. She didn't know where or when he attended to his own needs; the ensuite in the morning seemed most likely. She made it a practice to make a fair bit of noise before approaching the door, just in case.

There was a faceless man, of course. Not anonymous – he was a lover, not just a shag – but not someone known, either. Glimpses of stroking hands seen through fluttering eyelids. Looking down between them, glimpse of him poised to enter before he disappeared into her depths. Impressions, more than full visuals.

Then his mouth was on hers, insistent and just the right mix of soft and hard, and she tugged at hair that was thick and fell in waves to his shoulders, and that was when she opened her fantasy-eyes and saw that it was Severus.

She was riding the waves by then, and anyway, she'd had stranger fantasies than that. His unexpected appearance in her mind didn't draw her up and out. She shrugged mentally and kissed him back, arched and explored the planes of his back, surrendered to his lips and his hands and the way they were joined deep inside.

When she'd crested and rested and the ripples had died away, the rationalisations began. Of course she would think of Severus, she thought; it was only natural. He was the only link she had to Tonks, the once-familiar self who had been carefully put away. Like putting a winter coat into storage for the summer.

Nymphadora Tonks, she reflected. Young Auror full of promise, missing like so many others, presumed dead. Even her Patronus was gone. The Patronuses she sent to the Order with intelligence were Narcissa's, summoned with Narcissa's memories of happier days, breathless kisses in the sun. The Order had no clue who their informer was; only that the intel was flawless. It had taken months, but they had come to trust it, at least on a provisional basis.

She still had her flat. She'd insisted on having her home when it was all over. It wasn't grand, but it was hers, dammit. So Severus had gone to her landlord when she went missing, Polyjuiced as a young man. He had paid a year's rent, making insistent noises that she was coming back, he had to believe she was coming back, and she would want her place waiting for her.

The landlord had looked with sympathy on what was obviously an in-denial boyfriend, but he had still taken the money. Since the rent was paid, her wards held, and not even her parents could get in to clean it out.

It had seemed important then. Now, it didn't seem to matter. It didn't feel like hers.

Nothing much about that life did anymore.




It had been three months.

Three months of crazy, of co-existing with the Dark Lord and his revolting snake and his more revolting followers. Three months of bodies writhing in her sitting room, either under torture, or in celebration after the torture. Three months of watching with Lucius, leaning against the mantle with blood-red wine and curling smiles on her face, looking on indulgently as their intruders - no, guests - went about their excesses, while the two of them carried themselves as a picture of parental restraint.

They had been spared participation. It appeared, along with her modesty, that Narcissa had always scorned these orgies, and Lucius had been spared as an indulgence to her. So long as she watched and gave subtle indications of vicarious pleasure, and implied through whispers and touches that she and Lucius took that pleasure into their own private rooms, her prudery was treated as an idiosyncrasy. It was treated with vaguely contemptuous curiosity, nothing more.

It was possible, she thought, that if Voldemort had enough followers to go around, he would have ceased to indulge her. After all, Lucius was still disgraced, a fact that was frequently and humiliatingly pointed out. However, Severus had explained that a tactic of the Dark Lord's was to dole out a certain percentage of benevolence; unremitting punishment had a way of driving followers away. As long as there was a small element of mercy, staying remained more attractive than leaving. It appeared that this indulgence was their calculated measure of mercy.

It wasn't as if the Dark Lord had followers to spare. Fundamentally, most people were, in Tonks' opinion, either good or apathetic. Active evil required both dedication and an orientation towards darkness that she liked to think was not the norm. They were still a small army, considering their stated aim of conquering the whole of Wizarding Britain. And that was for starters.

For all that, she had adjusted easily to life at Lucius' side. She didn't particularly enjoy his company, she supposed, but really, the vast majority of the time she was deeply in character as Narcissa, and Narcissa adored his company.

Tonks was less and less present, more and more of a dim memory. Her immersion in Narcissa's mind, her very soul, was what made the whole thing work.

Well, what made it work for her.

She was soon to find the same was not true for him.




"Lucius?"

It was afternoon when she said this, a rare afternoon when the house was completely empty. The Dark Lord was off on some kind of attempted attack on Harry - at least, she hoped it was only attempted - and Lucius was not invited. It was proof of how completely they had fallen from grace.

She crossed the room to where he was half-sitting, half-leaning on the window ledge, looking out over the lawn. When he didn't reply, she said more gently, "Lucius."

He turned his face towards her. It was ablaze with something a little wild and desperate. She almost stepped back. It was only her well-schooled discipline that stopped her. An Auror didn't give way for anyone. Neither did Narcissa.

He reached out to her with a trembling hand. She watched him in confusion as he stroked back a stray lock of hair and tucked it behind her ear. "You're so much like her," he said in a ragged voice. Then, lower, "You're - this is driving me crazy."

The confusion broke, and realisation washed over her.

"Lucius," she began, but he cut her off with a low, growling sound of need. Crossed the couple of steps between them and kissed her. Hard.

She thought she was going to tell him to stop right up until she didn't. Even as her mind was formulating soothing words and instructing her feet to step away from him, her mouth was falling open with a sigh that was rasping and harsh. Her hands were balling up his cloak and tugging him hard against her. Then it was her making the advance, her tugging him backwards towards their bed. Her falling back, pulling him down with her, wanting him to cover her and consume her. The two parts of her were warring. Narcissa, who loved him, who had to have him, who missed him. Tonks, who was fighting to remain in existence, so little a part of her after all this time that she didn't even know what she really thought or felt about him at all.

And God, oh God, he was touching her, through her clothes, under her clothes, and Narcissa was arching and dragging her nails down his back in exquisite agony, and Tonks, the real Tonks, was just fading away. Narcissa burned bright in her as he filled her and heat rose up and broke out into waves of release. She felt her heart-bursting joy at their reunion, at him finding a home in her, at the sound of his voice as he said her name, Cissa ohgod NarcissaNarcissaNarcis-

He spilled over inside her, and her shudders fell away and she came to herself again. Drew him close and stroked his hair as he came to rest against her, his head bowed to her shoulder, wet with what might have been sweat but were more likely tears. He was heavy, but she didn't have the heart to tell him to move.

She felt tears of her own (were they her own? she didn't know anymore) and she thought:

Oh, God, you poor bastard.




"She said this might happen."

Lucius said this morosely as he sat up in their bed, leaning against the headboard. Tonks was sitting beside him, her knees drawn up to her chest.

Tonks just looked at him, but said nothing. Had no idea what to say.

"She said it was playing with fire. She wasn't angry. She just...wanted me to understand what might happen." She nodded, considering this. "I said it wouldn't. I believed it, too. Hell, we were engaged in Sixth Year. She was the only woman I'd ever had." He looked away. "I suppose that surprises you."

She shook her head. It didn't. The old families were either notoriously stitched-up, or lacking in limits at all. They didn't seem to do anything halfway.

"The Dark Lord...defers to such restraint," he said mirthlessly. "It has exempted me from any number of revolting deeds. It isn't that he sees any worth in marital fidelity, mind, but it pleases his aesthetic sensibilities. He associates it with self-discipline and the place in society to which he feels Purebloods are entitled."

She said tonelessly, "Stop it. You can't think like that. You can't talk like that. Like I'm..." she trailed off.

"Like you're not her?" he said hollowly. "I think we've established that isn't a problem."

"I am her," she snapped. "Anything else is death. And I'm not ready to die. Not for you, not so you can keep your bloody upstanding image of yourself in the middle of this Godforsaken deathplace. Not for anything. We're in this together, and we're going to do whatever we have to do to survive it. If you have to make some sort of deal with your conscience to do so, then so be it. It can't be the first time."

He was staring at her. There was no fight left in him, it seemed. He gave a tiny nod. "All right."

She wriggled down into the bed, under the covers. Turned on her side away from him. "Good night, Lucius."

The bed shifted as he moved down, too. "Good night," he muttered. Then, by way of concession, "Narcissa."

She could feel the tension in him, the way he held himself stiff and the bed stiff with him. She said, "You can hold me. If you want."

He did. One arm closing across her belly. Burying his face in her hair. His tears left cool tracks down the back of her neck.

Oh God, she thought again, you poor bastard.

Her hand tightened on his arm, drawing him closer, without her realising she'd done it.




"Why do you do it?"

Lucius asked this one day after another of their deeply dysfunctional shags. She knew it was a hundred kinds of fucked-up and she didn't know how to stop it.

She frowned. Not sure how to answer.

While she was still thinking about it, he persisted, "Do you think of him?"

Him, she thought. He meant Severus.

Well, she supposed, it was rather obvious. Severus had become sharp of late, especially to Lucius, and the lines knit between his brow were deep and suspicious sometimes. It wounded her, and that made her sharp back. It had gotten to the point where Lucius had intervened in their bickering, accusing Narcissa of blaming Severus unfairly for Draco's death. That had worked as an explanation for their behaviour, and he'd hissed at them both to knock it off.

Severus wanted her, and she could have wanted him, but it was all too late. And they all knew it.

"No," she said truthfully. "I think of her. I want what you had."

This broke Lucius a little. He leaned over her and kissed her. Hard. Bringing up her desire all over again.

He said, "Oh God, I do too."


COMING IN PART TWO: The day they caught her father was the day that saw her worlds collide.

The Substitute by deslea [Reviews - 1]

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