Author's Note: Inspired by a random pairing from .com

Pounding of a fist against the door rent the usual silence of the night, and Narcissa Malfoy sat up anxiously in bed, her heart beating rapidly as her mind went over the usual laundry list of fears, accounting for her family's sins. Draco -- asleep. Lucius' storeroom -- locked, hidden, all the usual charms. Could it really be the Ministry? Chalk-white, she blinked at her reflection in the mirror as the banging of the door shook the glass of the windows. For so long, she had been afraid, despite Lucius' calm, haughty reassurances of their security. His family has money. If we need to buy them off, we can, but...damn him for bragging. Damn all of them. Doesn't he realise, if they are caught, it's treason?

"Yes, I'm coming," she snapped, irate and afraid as she hurried downstairs, her bare feet cold against the polished floor beams. Pulling her dressing gown tighter around her body, Narcissa spared a hopeful thought for her son, peacefully slumbering in his own bedroom. The little prince, she mused, thinking of his fair, pale blonde hair. To the door, she barked, "just a minute!"

Conjuring a lamp from nothingness, she yanked open the front door, startled to find a dark form crumpled on his hands and knees upon the flagstones of the walk. For the scarcest moment, Narcissa peered bewilderedly at the dark, hooded cape, the trousers made of poor material, and the tangled mop of black hair. Then, she gasped. "Severus?"

"I -- I didn't know where else to go," he spoke, voice weak and at the same time, brutal. Hanging his head, he did not attempt to look at her, nor to rise. His breathing was erratic and too shallow, but he pulled away as though with horror as Narcissa attempted to touch his shoulder. "No, no --" he started, finally peering up at her though the hair that hung in his face. His skin was feverish and glossy with rain-water, though he was harshly pale beneath the stinging blush that shone from his cheeks. "Don't."

Stepping back in surprise, Narcissa covered her mouth. "You're hurt," she breathed. "What happened?"

"Lucius," Severus interrupted. "Is he back yet? Is it still safe, or...."

"He's not home yet, nor due to be home for several hours," Narcissa answered, reaching for Severus again. This time, he allowed her to settle her hand upon his upper arm. "Come inside, Severus, please, out of the rain. I can summon Lucius for you, if you really need him ---"

"No!" With deliberation, Severus staggered to his feet. Unsteadily, he stabilising himself against the wall, plainly overcome with dizziness and exhaustion. "No, not Lucius," he continued, and there was sarcasm and derision in his tone beneath the panic. "Never Lucius. Only you. I," he paused, blinking against the warm, golden glow of the oil lamp. "I shouldn't even be here, but I couldn't go home, alone. Not yet."

Nodding as though she understood, Narcissa helped him inside and closed the door. "Severus, sit down, won't you?" She guided him to the couch, onto which he collapsed. With a flick of her wand, he was dry again, though his clothes were still dirty. Revealed in the absence of the water, she could see traces of blood upon Severus' shirt. "You're badly hurt, aren't you? Here, let me go and find some dittany, and we can fix you --"

"I don't need that," Severus retorted, reaching for her wrist and pulling her back. His black eyes shone, expressive. "It wasn't a duel. I'm not a Hogwarts boy anymore, Narcissa."

"Of course not, but that doesn't mean you've given up your penchant for quarrelling with anyone who will stop to listen," she answered back, smartly, and for a moment, she felt strangely out of place. They might be schoolchildren again, alone in the dark of the Slytherin common room, him insulting James Potter and Sirius Black, her annoyed but unable to let him go it alone. "In any case, you're bleeding. At least, I assume that's your blood," she clarified, pointing to his sleeve. "What happened to you?"

Paling another measure, Severus blinked, setting his jaw resolutely. "It is mine," he admitted coldly. The way he stared at it was almost accusatory. "They --"

But she had already reached forward, and slid up the sleeve, exposing the wound. There, beneath the matted blood, surrounded by bruising, was the glistening image of a snake twisting slowly within the mouth of a skull --- the dark mark. Thinking of Lucius, who on the night before they married had found her and told her of his transformation into a Death Eater, Narcissa instinctively recoiled. She'd touched that very tattoo before, in bed with her husband. Despite their affection for one another, she always felt cold whenever she happened to encounter the raised, twisting snake beneath her fingertips as she touched Lucius. Now, with Snape before her, she felt the same morbid curiosity, the same lingering sadness and the same contempt.

Slowly, hissing breath, Narcissa spoke. "Severus...."

"I didn't want to," he piped up, full of bitter resentment and pleading to be understood. Running his hands wearily through his hair, he jerked the sleeve down again, covering the mark. "I told them I wasn't ready, but ---"

Shoulders sagging, she dropped onto the couch beside him. "They went ahead and did it anyway?"

He did not reply, merely stared out the window into the blustery night. Moonlight shone across the moors. "In the end, I said yes. By then, I was already too tired to fight anymore," he spoke, his voice a monotone. Closing his eyes, he tried to relax, but visions of the beatings, the urgent shouting of Lucius, caused him to jerk his eyes open again. "I'd seen too much, I suppose, knew too much. The Ministry; for a long time, no one cared, but now that they -- that we --" he corrected himself, "-- have finally become more active, they had no choice." Sneering, he shrugged. "I was a liability. Now, at least they know I won't go to the Ministry authorities. Bearing this," he continued, tapping his forearm, "is an automatic life sentence in Azkaban."

I told him, I told him no good could come from this, Narcissa thought boldly, picturing Lucius' smug, handsome face. Every time the subject had come up in discussion, he had silenced her with a string of lies and reassurances, but Narcissa had known that following Voldemort would only lead them all to trouble. Lucius could see only the pay-off of power and additional riches, but Narcissa saw little to justify the risk. "Oh, Severus," she sighed gravely.

"I know," he answered as he pulled her against himself, wrapping his arms around her in a gesture that was partially innocent, partly craving. He pressed his face against her neck, one hand running idly through her hair. "I'll figure it out, believe me. I'll make the best of it, I swear it. They'll forget about tonight," he spoke, his voice gaining power with the new resolution. Deep, dark eyes met Narcissa's soft blue ones, full of steely assurance. "I can be loyal to him, to the Dark Lord. Only...."

"Your Lily," she spoke for him, patting his shoulder. There was sympathy, but not enough; she'd heard him mourning his lost Muggle friend for years, even as every step he took separated Severus from his Mudblood companion all the more. "She won't understand, you realise, but perhaps that's not what you need, not anymore. You cannot surrender your life, waiting to get what you've wished for. Sometimes, Severus, we need to settle for what we have." Brooding, Narcissa thought of Lucius' business-like proposal, the impatience and absence with which he conducted their marriage, and the single child who slept upstairs. A boy, only a boy, never a girl. Lucius refused to have another, on the grounds that a solitary heir would prove the most capable of following their commands without conflict or corruption. As in all things, Narcissa had followed the dictates of her family. Unhappiness in the young marriage meant little compared to the requirement that she conduct herself appropriately. There would be no screaming fights, no messy divorce, nothing to splash across the society pages of the Daily Prophet. She would make the best of her situation, and always had.

Despite the calmness of his voice, Narcissa could detect the faintest hint of a whimper as Severus spoke. "I know."

"We're all in it together then," she said. "You, Lucius -- he'll be asking for me next. What can I say?" she continued hastily as Severus gaped at her. "Lucius wants his wife to be a Death Eater, and a wife stands at her husband's side. If I refused, I'd put us both in jeopardy. How would Lord Voldemort consider it, if I denied his request and refrained from supporting his efforts?" Casting a glance at Severus' arm, she swallowed tightly. "Did it hurt?"

Stiff, he watched her. Then, slowly, shook his head once. Beneath the shadows, his eyes looked large and boyish. "No. Not that part."

"Do you need something? I do know a fair bit of healing, you recall."

Severus smiled back, though it was faint. "Of course I do, but no, I'm fine now. I only needed...." He blinked at her, his eyes betraying what he could not speak.

"Then I'll see you back home," Narcissa said, rising. She held out a hand, into which flew her long coat and a spare cloak that belonged to Lucius, which she passed along to Severus. They smelled of wealth, like brandy, and the material was silk, and despite the lightness of the fabric, the cloak was toasty warm. "Though I can only stay a moment. Lucius, no doubt, will want to hurry home and share the good news," she spoke. Still, she held his uninjured arm tightly, and something flashed between them as their eyes met once more. "Are you ready, Severus?" she asked, and as he nodded, they vanished as one.