Amanda, I'm so glad you received my owl. I must warn you I'm taking a chance even to write this via the journals. While messages are no longer monitored, our friends in England, as well as our enemies, can still see the headings. While I have taken other precautions and I am reasonably certain you will not encounter any difficulties, I can't entirely rule it out, either. At the least, I am sure this will bring Margaret bearing down on you, and for that, I am sorry. Please tell her we are well.
We've been staying at the Château des Clerques in Nord-pas-de-Calais since the day after our arrival. I'd quite forgotten how crowded and hectic the world outside the Protectorate can be; it became necessary to remove Lucius into the country where there would be less bustling about. The Château is removed and quiet, with only a small wizarding village nearby. It's as close to home as I can manage at present. Of course, there are still aeroplanes and the constant hum of automobiles on the motorways but it's better than the cities. His manner is quite subdued, though he has glimmers of good spirits. I intend to take him into Paris today, even if it's only for the hour it will take to obtain a new wand. I hope that will restore him - indeed, I can think of little else that might make as much of a difference. I haven't made other arrangements yet but I think Orléans (or just outside it, there's a lovely carriage house for let in L'Havre de Ruisseaux, if it's still there) would not be too arduous after that outing. There's no reason to return here, certainly.
From there, I plan to work our way south and take lodging somewhere on the coast, between Marseilles and Toulon. I've contacted an agent who is preparing a dossier. There are some affordable and cosy homes in La Ciotat, Saint-Cyr-sur-Mer and Sanary-sur-Mer, all of which are equipped with Muggle-repelling charms, but of course until one has seen them, it's impossible to make a decision. I want to take him somewhere warm, at least, and the view of the sea on that part of the coastline is impeccable. As it's summer, perhaps you, Étienne and little Roland-Guilbert will find time to visit. I believe it would do us both a world of good to see you.
As for news and the tale of what has happened since I wrote you last - There's much to tell, Amanda. Too much for letters or even this parchment. I'm not sure how to explain it all, myself. I've been holding on to his journal until he feels more himself. I'm certain his impulse will be to write to Antonin or to Barty, and while that is not, strictly speaking, outside the terms of our release, I do believe it would be inadvisable. Instead, I have been reading to him in small doses, and letting him read certain entries in my journal, to help fill in the gaps in his knowledge.
You asked about the effects of Azkaban. I believe he is fully recovered (as fully as one ever is) from his stay there, but his accommodations in the hands of my horrible cousin's deplorable people were just as traumatic for him, in their way, if immeasurably more comfortable. It will take time for him to regain his vigour. Then, too, we are both weary and … grieving, for everything we had to leave behind. Our position, possessions, the Manor itself - it's as if we were starting over completely, but in a life overhung by ghosts of the past. We've done as well as may be expected, under the circumstances, I suppose. Hollow victory, when one had to leave everything of real value behind. Everything, including our son.
Although Draco is, in fact, alive, he is as lost to us as he ever was when we claimed he was dead. We were disappointed to learn that he wasn't coming to say goodbye. He's made choices, as you know, that we can't condone, but one would have liked to see him, nonetheless. I think it's that, and the reality of how exactly Draco and Harry succeeded in killing Riddle, that has been the worst for Lucius to absorb.
Perhaps it's simply too much change to take in all at once, for all that we've both been living a half-life for more than a year. It seemed a nightmare at times, and France a dream, until the reality of the tunnel to Calais closed in around us. To have the world again, and yet not our home, not our family … you can imagine how injurious it seems. We must remind ourselves that it could have been much, much worse.
We're alive, we're together and we're free. For now, that will have to be enough.
I'll send word when we've found a suitable cottage. In the meantime, you can talk to Étienne about making arrangements. I hope we see you soon, my dear.
Narcissa
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