Fevered ice.
PG-13
Contact: mistermalfoy at gmail dot com.
They say that our love is false, that we hide behind our regal masks, that we're not true. They say we're haughty, pompous, arrogant, and bitter. They're right.
I remember it like it was just yesterday...
¨ ¨ ¨ ¨ ¨
The night before was warm and pleasant. Light drizzling could be heard just outside our large window above the canopy, but nothing could take the smile off of my face. Nothing in the world could cause me such heartache that I'd mar my own beauty with such a distasteful expression, not when my husband was so regaled that night. He was absolutely insatiable, he couldn't stop staring at me, and it was then that I felt like the most beautiful being in the entire world, it was then that I knew, deep in my soul, that this marriage was more than a mere façade, like they often liked to say.
Lucius was beautiful; he's always been beautiful, but tonight he was splendid, absolutely astounding. The chiselled lines of his chest and abdomen attracted my eye as he neared, and the smile I'd been unconsciously wearing increased in intensity, the arch of my fair eyebrows lifted fractionally, but enough to offer me a genuinely pleased look. It was then that I had no care in the world of the rumours, of the harsh words whispered by Wizarding society with little else to do. I'd turned a deaf ear at the talk of Lucius possessing lovers, that he'd frolicked in extra-marital bliss with unnamed mistresses and, they say, unnamed lords.
My thoughts were focused solely on this god of a man, if only my eyes would stop trailing to below his navel...oh, but the delicious smile on his lips, the vivid eyes speaking of eternity to me without a word at all. No words were needed the night before Lucius' big excursion, that plan of downfall by His means, the honour bestowed upon Lucius to be in lead. Nothing greater could be offered to Lucius, nothing in the world more tempting than the Dark Lord's trust in my husband could possibly place that sheer joy so easily on his features. We've given ourselves over to The Cause, and I stand beside Lucius to the very end.
His ministrations are like heaven washing my fair skin in its ethereal glow, the sensations phenomenal and beyond my comprehension. The night turns to blissful cries and fevered stirrings.
¨ ¨ ¨ ¨ ¨
Tears refuse to spill over my eyes, though they prickle heatedly against my unblinking lashes. A hideous sensation of loathing and utter desperation clouds my mind and twists my stomach, but I'll not give over my control to it; I refuse to give them the satisfaction of debasing myself so.
Head held high, I am ushered into one of many of the Ministry's courts, the Wizengamot passing mostly shrewd glances at me as I pay none of them mind. Wary eyes watch me as I sit and straighten my royal blue robes, the colour bringing out my icy blue eyes, which appear hard and cold as I stare down, only one person encompassing the whole of my vision. Lucius sits in the very centre of the courtroom, chains holding his wrists inelegantly down, but they can't imprison the flame in his eyes. I stare into them as they pass over me for a fleeting second, then trail back and stare right back. The hardness to them melts, if only a little, as they watch me, and mine are once more brimming with those treacherous tears.
It seems as though a century has passed as the trial proceeds, although I doubt these frivolous, disgraceful attempts at proper Wizarding society had thought much to giving us a trial until I screamed long and loud, demanding what was only just. They tried to laugh, they tried to deny us once more, but I stood my ground and they were slightly impressed, they were starting to think that perhaps our marriage wasn't such a perfectly played out façade after all. The Interrogator is merciless in his questioning, but Lucius does not back down, nor does his head lower at all during the entire thing. His grey eyes remain looking ahead, and not once does he break from his chill resolve. My smile returns to me, in the coldest manner possible.
Then a small piece of my soul dies as the verdict is handed out: a new method of execution, it seems, the enigmatic veil in the Department of Mysteries; its use unknown to all but the Ministry, though from whispered talk in the past, it wasn't too difficult to guess. The verdict cinched it.
That cold smile remains in vain, as the spectators' eyes follow my every movement, or lack thereof, as they gaze in questioning weariness for any sign that I'll break down, that I'll show them what a pitiful being they so obviously think me to be. Instead, I stand and approach the centre of the courtroom, as they've given me a disrespectful amount of time to say my good-byes.
His eyes watch me with every passing second, the time slowly ticking by as if in slow motion, and not once do I break from my self-assured stride, not once do I look away from his smouldering gaze. Let them all gawk as I reach my husband and stand within an inch of him, our bodies so close yet so far. Not a word is spoken as we bow our heads in acknowledgement, as we share thoughts private for only us. The end is near, and I can't imagine how Draco will take it. We'll both keep our heads high though, as we've always done, as Malfoys would always do in future.
Lucius is led harshly away mere moments later, and my hand shoots out to grasp his, just as his goes out to meet mine. We share an intimate smile before he's taken away from me and our life together.
¨ ¨ ¨ ¨ ¨
They say that our love is false, that we hide behind our regal masks, that we're not true. They say we're haughty, pompous, arrogant, and bitter. They're right.
But what they don't know is that we let them think all of that, that we led them to believe us cruel and cold-hearted. They couldn't be further from knowing the truth.
A lone tear slips down my cheek as I gaze into the mirror one year to the day that my husband was taken from me. In the loneliness of the night, I allow myself the release of my broken soul's anguish; the night turns to wrenching cries and fevered stirrings.