A/N - I am inspired all the time by music I hear, and my inspirational playlist for 'Story 4' is over 400 tracks long, but I don't normally write stories based upon a specific song/piece of music. This, however is an exception. I was reading though 'Story 4' the other day and this track came on and it just seemed to fit the chapter I was reading.

It is based on 'Heaven's Light/Hellfire' from Disney's 'The Hunchback of nOtre Dame', although this only uses the 'Hellfire' part. It is a look into Lucius' head during the events of Chapter 18 of 'Story 4' (the walk through the garden), and I think it illustrates very well his mental state at that point in time. In a sense, it illustrates the conflict he has over who he is supposed to be, and what that stands for, as opposed to what he really desires.

Please note that you will probably have to read at least Chapter 18 of 'Story 4' for this to make sense, but please be aware that 'Story 4' bears a 'M' rating. It does make some sense without knowing the full story of 'Story 4', but knowing the entire backstory will help!

Obviously, all characters belong to J.K Rowling (apart from mine), and the lyrics belong to Disney. I am just borrowing them for some revision-avoiding fun.

Please read, enjoy and leave me a review (they make me smile in the exam-ridden time)!!

Beata Maria

You know I am a righteous man,

And of my virtue I am justly proud

Beata Maria

You know I'm so much purer than,

The common, vulgar, weak licentious crowd.

I am considered to have many virtues.

For my parents, my father in particular, it was the purity of my blood that was the greatest virtue of all.

For Narcissa, my virtue was my wealth. She never knew how much I was worth, she didn't need to. She was content as long as I provided her with every possible comfort; she was a good wife who was raised not to pry into her husband's affairs.

As for my son, again it was my wealth which was my most appealing feature. It gave him status, gave him 'power' amongst his little band of cronies.

All my life, my virtue has been based upon my name and my fortune. I possess a fortune of which I only know the true size, others merely speculate. I am the pillar of society, the philanthropist; always ready to lend my support to good causes, be they charitable or political.

Of course, there is a life beyond that which the public sees, to which very few are privy. I am a trusted servant of the one they all fear. When the time comes, I will be the one who is entrusted with wresting complete control of the Ministry. But even then I only have such a position thanks to the purity of my blood. For everyone, it all boils down to blood.

Then tell me, Maria,

Why I see her dancing there,

Why her smouldering eyes still scorch my soul?

I feel her, I see her,

The sun caught in her raven hair,

Is blazing in me out of all control.

There is one, however, for whom I can have no virtues at all.

My money is of no matter, she has her own fortune.

Reputation and status are of no concern. Like wealth, she has her own; occupying a place in society that surpasses even my own.

She has no desire for power, despite the fact that she seems destined to occupy such a position.

I cannot fathom what she sees in me, especially after all that I have done. I have perpetrated some unspeakable things in my life, but none of them compare to what I have done to her. I will not deny that I have killed, though it has been some time since I have done so for my Master. What I did to her, however, was worse than death.

Death would have been easy; over in the blink of an eye. No, when she fell into my hands, I wanted to make her suffer. I could not kill her, but I could break her. She was naught but a girl when this all began; fragile, an easy task for someone of my skill. I was wrong. It is nearly a year since I gave up trying to make her acquiesce.

Yet why does she stay? It is a question I ask myself daily.

She could have refused me. Once she knew I had given up she could have run. True, I would have pursued her, but she could have easily placed herself out of my reach. And yet she didn't.

And now I watch her as she walks through the myriad of pathways that run through the hidden part of my garden. Her hands trail across leaves, across tree trunks, over sculptures and through the long grasses that grow there. She abruptly changes direction whenever something catches her eye, and it is not a dance as such, but her movements are so fluid that it might as well be one.

The sun filters through the branches of the trees and bounces off her hair, making it shine brilliantly for just a moment; revealing the glimmer of auburn that you only see if you look hard enough. Her hair is one of my favourite things about her, not that I could ever choose a specific favourite. It is always free, never severe. It moves with her, falling in long, errant waves that hundreds of girls would pay to have.

Every so often she looks back at me and smiles. I cannot help but smile back. It is a smile that is not seen in public, this one I use only with her. She reaches out to me and her touch is like lightning, even if it is just the merest brush of her fingertips.

She looks back at me, with those emerald eyes, and it as if they see right through me. Not like any Legilimens, no. It is as if her eyes see straight to my soul. She knows me more than anyone, even more than my son. More than Severus, which is saying something considering how long I've known the man.

I have worn a mask, be it of a Death Eater or a respectable man, for over twenty years. Yet, when I stand before her, I have no mask. She sees me for who I am, with those captivating eyes, and it is, refreshing.

Those eyes haunt me in my dreams, reminding me of what I have done, of the pain I have caused. One way or another, those bewitching eyes shall be my downfall.

Like fire.

Hellfire.

This fire in my skin.

This burning,

Desire,

Is turning me to sin.

When she is not with me, I desire her presence. The hours for which I lie awake in the early morning after her departure are torturous. I am infuriated when, in public, I cannot touch her, hold her. I know that at the ball she plans to hold later on in the term, I shall have to play the part I always do. Of course, if I had it my way, I would not spend the evening always keeping the distance between us 'respectable'. I would much rather have her at my side, my arm round that slender waist of hers; letting people know that she is mine.

When all is considered, she has broken me.

Maybe I was foolish to believe that no one could penetrate my implacable front.

I know that every moment I have with her is, in a sense, a sin. It is a sin against my Master; one that would most certainly be punishable by death were he ever to find out. There was a time when I would have handed her over to my Master without question. Now, however, I cannot bring myself to think of such a thing.

I suppose that it is also a sin for her to be with me. It is a sin against her friends, against everything she has ever stood for since that fateful night in Godric's Hollow. True, her indiscretion will not cost her her life if it is discovered. But like she said only today, if discovered, she will never be forgiven. She will lose her reputation, her status in society, her friends, her allies and she will be forced to live with the shame society will thrust upon her. When compared with such a deplorable situation, I suppose death would be an easier consequence to bear.

Yet even when faced with such weighty consequences, we cannot bring things to an end.

It's not my fault.

I'm not to blame.

It is the gypsy girl,

The witch that sent this flame.

It's not my fault.

If in God's plan,

He made the devil so much stronger than a man.

I do not understand how this could have happened. It was never supposed to go this far.

I suppose I could blame her. Blame the clever little witch who has cast her spell upon me. She is as intelligent as she is beautiful, she could have easily used some form of enchantment upon me. But I know she has not.

I could argue that the temptation of such a beautiful woman is too strong for any man to resist. Indeed, I would like to see any man pass up the chance to be with her.

Maybe this was meant to happen. Not that I believe in any kind of God, but maybe such an outcome was simply fate. Had I not paid any heed to that little noise outside the window, I never would have seen her. She would have slipped off into the night and our paths would have been forever separate.

Protect me, Maria,

Don't let this siren cast her spell,

Don't let her fire sear my flesh and bone.

Destroy Esmerelda,

And let her taste the fires of hell,

Or else let her be mine and mine alone.

There were some nights when I tried to will myself to resist, to fight the temptation. But she burns with such a fire that I cannot help but be drawn to her.

Like a ship drawn to a siren's call, I am willing to abandon everything for her, even if it means betraying my Master. I know nothing of how willing she is to do the same for me, yet I do not care.

Sitting on the stone bridge, we speak of childhood, of times gone by, and then we simply listen to the sound of the water, the breeze in the trees. I know that she must return to her normal life later today, but for the moment I am content to imagine that such a life does not exist.

Hellfire.

Dark fire.

Now gypsy it's your turn.

Choose me or, your fire,

Be mine or you will burn.

Could I make her choose? Between me and her cause, I do not know which would win.

One is something of which she has been in possession for such a short time; mere months since I gave up and we both succumbed to the truth.

The other is something which she has been associated with since her birth. She has always stood for all that is good and decent in our society. Her name, and her brother's, is spoken with reverence. They are respected wherever they go, and it upon them that the fate of our world rests.

I do not know how she would begin to even make such a decision, but I know that a heart is a difficult thing to bear. Affairs of the heart distort things and make us irrational, more so than we would like to admit. I cannot speak for how she feels, but I know that everything that passes between us only serves to further complicate matters.

God have mercy on her.

God have mercy on me.

But she will be mine or,

She will burn.

I shall have her.

She will be mine.

But is she already mine?

She will be my most treasured possession, not for her beauty, but for her heart.

Mercy shall have to be asked of the victorious, that is, if we are both still alive.

And now my mind wanders back to the question of what she could possibly see in me. I have laid diamonds around her neck with reckless abandon, not caring for how such things can be explained to friends. Yet she makes no demands of me, she even chastises me for such presents.

For now, as we sit in the dappled noonday light, I shall take comfort in the thought that maybe, just maybe, my virtue is that I am simply me.