Author's Notes: Characters © J. K. Rowling except for the names of the house-elves.

This entire fanfiction was based mainly off of songs by indie band Meg & Dia, on their record 'Something Real', particularly Roses, Setting Up Sunday and Nineteen Stars; as well as certain songs by Lifehouse. Also, elements such as Elves and the Elvish language from Tolkien are incorporated in this story, but in later chapters.

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The sky was painted black with lightning streaking its abysmal impression. Well-cut hedges fenced the handsome manor that stood still in the darkness, with only flashes of lightning illuminating them. The proud peacock that usually waltzed across them was nowhere to be seen as dollops of rain fell rapidly and wind sought to uproot the neat trees lining the courtyard.

Inside the large house was no different from its outdoor counterpart; everything was in place. The walls, covered with hangings and paintings of ancestors, were spotless, the parquet glistening with purity. The tables and chairs of the kitchens, sitting rooms and studies were of shiny mahogany; the bedrooms held the finest linens and the living area was filled with the best of armchairs and sofas made with the softest velvets and suede, the grand piano sitting dominantly by a stagnant fireplace.

That piano, although pristine, was never once touched by its owners. It was meticulously cleaned by maids and tuned to perfection, but nobody would sit at it. Nobody would play it – no one would exercise its keys. Right then, it stood gleaming, but painfully silent – longing to be played.

A house-elf carrying a tray with a teapot and matching china set on it walked through the purposely dim hallway to one of the many studies in the home. Only candles hung on the walls lit her way to her destination as the hefty, heavy drapes were drawn shut over large windows. Her footsteps were quick across the floor and the tray rattled in her hands. From her straight face, nobody would be able to tell if the shivering was from anxiousness or from the mere friction originating from her feet.

Her hand limply rapped on the pair of white double doors barring her entrance into the study and a brisk, “Come in,” was soon heard from within the room.

She turned the handle and pushed one weighty door open, careful not to spill a drop of tea. The little elf then scurried over to her master, who was seated in a high-backed, leather armchair facing a roaring hearth. A woman with flowing blonde hair stood against one corner of the mantelpiece, however, her stance was stilted, as though she did not feel she deserved to lean on the red brick of the mantel.

The woman’s eyes were puffy and red. Her cheeks were tear-stained while more dripped down the plains of her face. She held a frilly kerchief in her hand, sniffling. The man before her faced away from her, not bearing to look. Not at his wife, not when she was crying her eyes out.

“Master, Lobelia brings you your tea, sir,” the little elf spoke in a barely audible tone.

“Thank you, Lobelia. Just leave it there on the end table,” came her master’s words. They were emotionless, without feeling. He did not face the elf as he spoke. The woman across him sniffed again.

The house-elf placed the tray on the end table and left hurriedly, still shaking. Once the door closed, the woman walked over to the table, lifted the pot and began to pour steaming tea into the china. Her own hands quivered in weakness and she accidentally dropped the teapot.

Immediately, the pot shattered. The shards flew in all directions across the floorboards and they were soon covered in shiny, white pieces. Tea soaked into the bear-skin rug at their feet.

“Lucius...” her voice was cut short by his.

“Don’t apologise, Narcissa, I’ve had enough of that. Make sure you get Lobelia to clean this up before the Dark Lord arrives in an hour. Whether or not he uses this room will be up to him, but nevertheless, it must be immaculate.”

The woman called Narcissa stood riveted in her spot, her kerchief already fallen on the floor. Lucius stood from his seat, swivelled around and left the room quickly, his cloak swishing softly as it hit against the objects in the room.

Narcissa sank on the floor, the tea stain from it seeping into her lilac robes, and wept. Her entire body was in quaking fits when Lobelia arrived in the room, shocked to see her mistress in such a bad state.

“Mistress Malfoy! Your robes! Master will not be pleased when he sees them! The Dark Lord should be here any minute, mistress, and master expects cleanness in everything. Come, we have no time to waste, we must get you into new robes!”

Lobelia carefully helped Narcissa up the staircase to her quarters in the east wing of the manor. Lucius himself occupied the west wing while their only son, Draco, took to the central quarters.

Narcissa, exhausted from crying, trembled as Lobelia helped her into a new set of ruby-hued robes and they did up her face and hair. She would not normally make the house-elves suffer on her behalf, but at that point, she was just too distraught to take notice of anything but the visit at hand.

The Dark Lord was visiting once again, no doubt to give them a new mission. Draco was in his room, awaiting this event as well. Lucius was expecting them both to be present and to dissatisfy him would be a costly price. Narcissa had tried to persuade Lucius earlier that night not to let Draco attend – after his experience with the Headmaster of Hogwarts – but Lucius would hear nothing of it. He would rather have his son put forth as bait than anything else.

That was the reason for Narcissa’s breakdown. She was so worried for her son – her only son. She could not bear to have him go through something he did not want.

“Mistress Malfoy, you look so beautiful!” Lobelia’s shrill words interrupted her thoughts. Gone were the tear stains and the swollen eyes; Narcissa’s Black heritage shone through as her natural glow was more prominent than it had been in ages. Her eyes sparkled somewhat and her pale cheeks were dotted with a healthy tone.

A knock then came at her bedroom door. “Mother? It’s me, Draco.”

“Come in, love,” Narcissa was anxious to see her son. She had not had a lot of chance to talk to him since his return from Hogwarts as he had kept to his room a lot. When her door opened, a rather sunken-looking Draco walked in. His features were more protuberant than ever and his grey eyes held an air of sadness in them.

“He’s here.”