Hello peeps. New story. Sorry, the plot bunny wouldn't leave. :P Thanks to my BF Sammi for being the beta for this chapter!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of JK rowling's characters/plots, any thing you don't recongnise is mine.

Masquerade

Chapter One: How They Met

Today had been hellish. It had been an absolutely brutal day; which had come to a close with him lying awake in bed next to his wife, Narcissa. They had just finally coaxed their exhausted son into a fitful sleep and forget about the traumatic events of the day. Albus Dumbledore had been murdered today. The greatest wizard of all time was gone. True, he had never liked the man particularly, but he respected him and in his world respect was hard to earn. Dead; erased from the world by the man he had trusted and vouched for repeatedly - Severus Snape. It was strange; he had never considered Severus to be a bad person, instead just someone caught up in the wrong circumstances and being an accomplished Legilimens, he was rarely wrong; especially about matters of the heart and mind.

She shifted and turned to face him, her eyelids drooping, slightly covering her blue eyes and smiled at him. The sapphire orbs sparkled innocently, albeit tiredly and looked at him, searching for answers out of the horrific maze of blood and darkness they had managed to ensnare themselves in. There was a flare of defiance in those eyes, a flash of courage and hope and it was that little beacon that he kept close to his heart. His little guiding light, that had promised him that they would make it out of this terrifying darkness alive.

"Tell me a story Lucius."

He smiled. This was an age old ritual for her. When troubles weighed heavily on her mind and she could not slip pass the final barrier into sleep, she would always ask him to tell her a story. And just like a child, the constant rhythm of his voice was enough to lull her to sleep. Before him, it had been her older brother whose voice had eased her into sleep. And in the earliest stages of her life, before the incident, it had been her father, whose deep alto voice wove magical tales around her and spirited her away to mystical places in her dreams. But that was all gone now, gone. How fleeting time was. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing was certain, everything was in flux and with Voldemort's current reign of terror, everything was in cased in a primordial chaos.

"Tell me the story of how we met."

The hand that was running itself through her golden hair stopped momentarily and his stomach began squirming uncomfortably. She shouldn't be asking that question. She shouldn't; unless something was very wrong.

"Don't you remember? It was dark when we met." This was his attempt with being as vague as possible and he was failing miserably, especially since Narcissa's eyes had snapped to attention. He smiled to himself. When she wanted an answer she got an answer, not that anyone had a choice in the matter; she was like a fierce cat pouncing on its prey. A very cute cat.

"No, Lucius, I don't remember. Tell me."

He sighed and felt the weight of his years. He was immensely tired; so very tired of everything. But he was still alive and a direct effect of that was that he had to keep on living.

He began their 'story', the well rehearsed lie that had manifested itself into reality. As his voice started spinning the well woven lie, the memory cogs in his mind began churning too. Suddenly and slightly unwillingly, he began to remember the glorious star-filled night on which they had first met.

Before he saw her, he heard her and by then, he had already begun unwittingly falling in love with her. The sound of a small string quartet was echoing through the cold December streets; their notes entwining and their chords occasionally clashing created a beautiful symphony of sound that seemed to brighten the chilly stone street. Subconsciously, his feet led him to the source of the sound and as his expensive leather shoes made foot prints in the snow, he noted the unusual blend of melody and harmony.

The melody was pretty; yes, but he felt it was weak, or somehow uncompleted. The harmony however, was a deep, luscious sound that reverberated into his very soul and filled it with warmth and fire that was alien to him. He had never known much of 'warmth', of emotions such as 'compassion' and 'sympathy' and 'empathy'. He was born into a family of emptiness, a stiff, restrictive life of coldness and formality. To some it must seem as though it was his very birthright to never know, learn or even understand at least one of the many facets of love. As a child, he never thought anything was missing. He had everything he wanted and more and best of all it was given to him without effort. So one could say that he was spoilt and it would be true. When he reached adulthood and realised that not everything came on a silver platter, he was very shocked, but his childhood had moulded him, shaped him and he became a man that would always get his way.

But in the earliest of times, long before he could form comprehensive memories, there was always music. It was a sweet pristine sound at first that eventually matured as he grew older into something mystical. Music was a neutral subject within the pureblood society and when he took it up, there was surprise at first and then indifferent acceptance. Driven by that little strand of sound that was always floating within his conciseness, he dove head first into something that he never truly understood. It became his little childhood obsession, something he willingly studied in the dim light underneath the bed sheets. He always adored music, always loved it, but as is with many people, he grew older. The little 'fantasy' kingdom that he had built with music began to always seem further away until, eventually its majestic golden walls began to crumble and fade away altogether. Its disappearance or rather its existence was pushed out of focus by the 'usual' things, parental pressure, his studies (after all, he was a Malfoy, not a Crabbe or a Goyle) and of course the same thing that occupied every other hormonal teenage boy's mind; girls.

Music, it seemed was all but forgotten.

But it was there. It was always just there. Waiting it seemed; for him to come back and claim it.

When he finally broke out of his arrogant adolescent years, music, slowly and quietly seeped into his mind. At first, it was like a ghoul that visited in the night, plagued his dreams and then retreated in the morning light. The long nights, those many years ago spent listening to music came crashing down; awakened with a great intensity. The music in the beginning, followed everywhere, like a perfectly camouflaged black cat, stalking him from the shadows. It then grew bolder and confronted him, like a ghost that only he could see and hear screaming wildly at him. It was during this time that he almost began to loathe music. But the headaches and migraines eventually dimmed and the music settled down comfortably in the background.

So why was he here again? He certainly wasn't here to take a stroll down memory lane. The answer was simple and unfortunately had not yet arrived. Nott had promised him something exciting was going to happen; on this very street, on this very night and near this very lamppost. Why Nott chose to point out the lamppost as something significant, Lucius had no idea, but he chose to stay away from delving into the inner workings of someone with an inferior brain for fear that Nott's sheer idiocy would taint him.

"Lucius, mate!"

Ah, there he was.

"Nott, I don't appreciate dirtying any shoes on muggle-ridden streets and I certainly dislike getting snowed on."

He scratched the back of his head, wrinkling an outfit that looked hazardously put together; wether that 'look' was intended, his guess was as good as anyone's. After all, everything about Nott screamed 'hazardous'.

"We had a little mixed up with times, you know, couple of the blokes arrived later, than well, expected." Nott added a little awkward laugh, as if to ease the tension.

"No, I don't know and I am most certainly am not amused.'

A scream resonated throughout the cobbled streets. It was soon joined by another and then another.

"Tonight's entertainment, Lucius, I call it the Symphony of Fear." Nott performed a well rehearsed bow and disappeared to join the night's 'festivities'.

Idiotic Nott. He was out on a muggle infested street at this ungodly hour for this? To hear a couple of measly mudbloods scream? Couldn't they indulge themselves in more civilised behaviour? Like going to the minister's ball and destroying an old fart's political career? At least that was fun.

He needed better acquaintances. Soon.

okay. yeah. Leave a comment please! :)