The letter from Rosier comes shortly after breakfast, clutched in the talons of an owl with an underbelly patterned the color of pale butter streaked with dirt. It lands with a clatter of talons upon the dark wood table. Ruffling its feathers as it straightens, the brown fish owl gazes at Narcissa with a look of utter perplexity, as if it doesn't understand how exactly it got to Malfoy Manor or who the people are staring back at it.

When it holds out its talon directly to Lucius, it's clear that the owl knows exactly what it's supposed to be doing. And yet, the ridiculous tufts of feathers above its yellow eyes transforms its gaze into one that matches the same baffled look of a fifth year whose O.W.L.'s homework swims incomprehensively through their head.

Narcissa's hatred still burns, but it's cooled enough under her husband's touch upon her shoulder for her thoughts to coalesce in a manner more fitting to her station than the fanciful, wrathful imaginations that she can never enact onto the real world.

The very real owl before her is more than familiar, for it once was Evens Rosier's, landing without fail every week to deliver letters from home to the innocent first year who would come to attend seventh year Runes with Narcissa.

The last time she saw it, the owl was perched upon Felix's shoulder as the boy stood sullen and silent at his older brother's funeral. The young boy's eyes burned with impotent fury that he couldn't avenge his brother's death at the hands of the aurors.

It amused the Dark Lord, Lucius later told her, that a little first year kept demanding, pleading to join the Death Eaters in order to bring justice to his family.

Narcissa's next breath cuts down her throat and into her lungs like shards. The present forces itself back into existence as the absence of her husband's hands leave her shoulders unbearably light. Standing too far from her, Lucius pulls open the letter, his eyebrows raised as he studies its contents.

"It seems that the young Rosier has invited himself over for lunch," Lucius looks over to her, his tone amused, "Not that he phrased it as such. However, I suspect that if we denied his request to visit, Felix would still find himself at our door." He looks at the letter again before staring at the befuddled looking owl perched awkwardly on the table.

"No doubt he would claim that any refusal simply got lost."

Narcissa purses her lips. The prospect of entertaining company is more than undesirable. And yet, this is the last Rosier, with his elderly grandmother with one foot in the grave while his parents and older siblings are all buried deep within the ground.

This the last bit of family that Theodore has left if his father's withdrawal from his son's suffering is any indication.

"Very well," Narcissa inclines her head in permission, "I'll instruct the house elves to expect our guest."

*******

The children are playing by the hedges, Dobby later informs her once the lunch hour draws near. There's a fragility to this news, one that Narcissa is terrified to disturb. If Draco has managed to coax Theodore outside all on his own, then the sudden presence of his mother may disrupt whatever bond the boys are forming in their shared moment.

The house elf is instructed to watch the boys closely, to serve them lunch outside if they happen to remember food's existence. They might not. There were times when Narcissa and her sisters would lose track of the hours in their fun. Bellatrix especially could go days forgoing a midday meal in favor of exploring the Hogwarts grounds when the professors were least likely to be watching.

Frankly, it's for the best that Theodore isn't there to greet his uncle. Standing just past the arching front doorway of the Manor, the young man's eyes burn just as ferociously as they did all those years ago. Even as inclines his head in respect of Lucius and kisses the top of Narcissa's hand, there's a rage smoldering deep in his dark eyes. It's almost like a mirror, when their gazes meet and an unspoken understanding is shared between them.

It's surprising that Felix is able to seat himself in the parlor rather than burning down mudblood homes as the tightness along his shoulders convey.

"How is the boy?" comes the first real question after the niceties have been exchanged and the customary respect towards the Malfoys shown.

Felix's knowledge of his nephew's whereabouts is unsurprising. The Malfoy's weren't exactly subtle when they took Theodore through the green flare of the floo network, no doubt fueling all sorts of gossip.

Narcissa could truly care less for what the other families are whispering behind closed doors.

"As well as can be," Narcissa responds because it's unlikely that her husband has laid eyes on the boy since last evening. "He and Draco are exploring the grounds while we speak." Her son's initiative in distracting Theo brings a flash of pride that dissipates with Felix's next words.

"I see."

Felix's tone's as sharp as the lines of his cheekbones. Elenore often disguised her inherited hollowed cheeks with the best glamors she could cast, so, in this moment, there isn't even a hint of Narcissa's closest friend in the gaunt face of her surviving brother.

"I wished to discuss the manner of Theodore's living arrangements with the two of you since his father has... withdrawn himself from the boy and left him to you." That's a half-truth spoken by a man whose eyes are as cold as any death eater if he had been old enough to join during the war. Felix Rosier and those who actually fought in the war know very well that Lucius Malfoy is the leader of what's left.

Any decision the magnitude of stripping an elderly pureblood's right to raise his only heir would have been brought to this very parlor regardless of whether or not Theodore had been taken in by the Malfoys last night.

"It is not without precedent, the adoption of a child into close family," Felix continues with a voice steadily carrying a scripted speech, "and, if I may say, any example in recent memory has produced exemplary individuals, ones who may not have blossomed as powerfully if they had been raised by their lackluster fathers."

Narcissa refuses to tight her hands clasped upon her lap. The ploy he's using is more than obvious. Felix is as much of a Slytherin as anyone in this room and more than capable of being discreet in just who he's referring to. However, with only three sisters in this generation who had a father who proved himself far below adequate in raising his daughters, it must have taken Felix some time to figure out how to appeal to Narcissa's own experiences without calling her out by name.

"Be as that may," Narcissa can sense Lucius's attention more on her as he speaks than the young man before them. Even with her expression carefully sculpted into neutrality, he must sense her disdain of her own parent hidden beneath, "it is unheard of for one who has graduated so recently to take on such responsibility."

Felix's jaw tightens, his fingers flexing on the dark, green leather of his armchair. It's only been two or three years since he walked out of Hogwarts for the final time. Of course, Felix isn't a child, nor would any charge of his be wanting for any material resources with the Rosier family wealth that the man has inherited. And there have been younger parents of brand new infants and toddlers, not young boys with their own history and expectations.

Even if Felix lived in Britain full time, Narcissa doubts that Theodore would adapt well to being raised by a man young enough to be an older brother. Add that to the fact that the restless Rosier only came back to Britain for his sister's funeral after being away for months on a dragonologist apprenticeship in Peru of all places...

It's best for Theodore to remain here. That is what Narcissa made far more than clear to her husband long before Felix arrived at their front gates. The boy needs the familiarity of family friends more than a life spent trailing after an uncle who can't even stand the shadows of the country where he was born.

"Narcissa and I are more than happy to watch over the boy while his father recovers, however long that may be." Lucius continues with a polite, cold smile that fails to reach his eyes.

It's an arrangement that is likely to last forever, if the way Nott has retreated from everyone is any indication.

"However, you're more than welcome to visit. The boy would benefit from seeing his uncle more often." Lucius delivers both an invitation and an insult. It's common knowledge that Felix hadn't even seen the remains of his family in months, yet he still belongs within their world with the chance to properly grow into his role as Theodore's uncle. Perhaps Elenore's death will be what finally drives her lost brother to reconnect with the family he has left.

Felix sits, a tense coil of magic most likely bubbling under his skin and through his wand hand which is now clenched tightly on his knee. He nods sharply, a quick jerk of his head that must at least twinge the muscles in his neck.

"Of course." His dark eyes burn as he looks at Narcissa's husband even if his voice is tightly steady. His gaze shifts ever so slightly to Narcissa herself. "Whatever you think is best for the boy."