This is a little scene I did to see just how far I could push Narcissa in order to try and get her in character in my head for a Lucius/Narcissa fic I'm working on.
x.x.x.x.x
Lucius tugged off his black cloak and hung it up by the front door. The entrance hall was temporarily illuminated by a flare of purple lightning outside. He was thankful it hadn't started raining yet – Narcissa would have been upset if he had brought in even the slightest bit of mud or water.
He sighed deeply, knowing he was already in trouble with her. He had promised her that he'd be home early that night; it was their anniversary and she had told him the only thing she wanted was to spend some time with him. Not knowing he'd be given a mission from the Dark Lord, he had assured her he'd be home before seven. Of course, it was well past midnight.
Moving slowly up the large spiral staircase that led to the second floor of the manor, he noticed a soft glow coming from a room at the back of the house. Advancing closer he saw that the light was coming from the room that Narcissa had adopted as her own; it had been empty when she first came and, since it was of no use to Lucius, he let her do what she wanted with it. She'd had her grandmother's old piano moved in, as well as a harp given to her by her mother for her eighteenth birthday.
For a while, Narcissa hadn't been comfortable with the house. Lucius thought perhaps it was because she was so used to living with her family and, since he was gone most of the day, she often found herself alone in the four-story mansion. She finally loosened up, though.
As Lucius neared the room, he heard a soft melody drifting into the corridor. When he reached the door, he pushed it open partially and leaned against the doorsill. Narcissa was sitting near a curtainless window at the far side of the room, with her back to him. She wore simple black robes and her hair fell loosely down her back, dangling at the bend of her waist.
"I thought you were coming home early," she said. Her words were almost inaudible over the tune she was playing on her harp.
"So did I," he replied. "I had some unexpected things to do, though."
"Oh?" Narcissa's long fingers never stopped pulling the strings as she spoke. Her deep blue eyes, having no need to watch the instrument she was playing, stared blankly out the window at the rain, which had just begun to fall. "I suppose they were more important."
Lucius frowned, "Don't do that. If I had known—"
"If you had known," she repeated quietly. "How many times have you said that?"
She didn't sound upset; that worried him. Her voice was calm and collected, as though she holding an everyday conversation with her mother. When she didn't sound upset she was usually so upset that she couldn't express the feeling properly.
Turning his back to leave, Lucius sighed. "I didn't know, Narcissa. Otherwise, I wouldn't have promised."
He started to close the door but she spoke again, "Did you ever think that maybe it's not the broken promises that bother me?"
Her voice was strange. It had changed. It was still quiet and soft, like it had been a few moments ago, but there was something there that almost chilled Lucius. He turned around to ask her what she meant, but he froze when he saw her. She was standing now, fiddling with the wand in her hands.
"I don't think I understand what you mean," he said, cautiously eyeing the wand. He'd never seen her with it before.
"I think you do," Narcissa said simply. "I think you understand exactly what I mean." She took a step towards him, not once looking him in the eye. "I think I've given you plenty of hints as to how I feel about being the pretty little wife and stays home so that she can behave herself and not get into any trouble. You know, like a good wife should."
Lucius shook his head and a confused expression crossed his face, "I've asked you to come to places with me, Narcissa. I tried twice to get you to go to the party at the Macnairs and you insisted you wouldn't go."
"Because I shouldn't!" Her voice raised considerably, and she almost screamed the argument at him.
He jumped lightly, having not expected the sudden change in her tone. She had not, however, pulled his guard down. "You shouldn't raise your voice to me like that, either, Narcissa," his own voice lowered threateningly. It wasn't the first time she'd gotten brave like this…
She raised an eyebrow at him, "I shouldn't?" She took another step towards him, "Tell me what else I shouldn't do. Should I not think I have the right to express how I feel? Should I not have the right to stand up for myself when I feel like no one else will?"
"You're entitled to anything you think you should f—"
Narcissa slowly raised her wand to his chest, "Should I not draw my wand on my own husband?"
Normally, he would've simply batted her wand away. Something in her eyes, though, told him she was serious this time. They'd never seemed this intense before. "No, perhaps you shouldn't…"
"Are you going to stop me? Are you going to snatch it away and tell me what a silly little girl I'm being and order me to bed?"
"I've never—"
"It's rude to interrupt," she said conversationally, pressing the tip of her wand into his chest just beneath his collar bone.
Not realising that he had been slowly moving backwards, Lucius took another step and felt his back come into contact with the wall behind him. "You don't have to do this," he said quietly. "Let me help you."
"Help me?!" She put more pressure on the wand, "You think I'm sick, do you?"
"I didn't say that, Narcissa."
"How would you help me? How would you help your poor, sick little wife, Lucius?"
He stared at her while considering the answer. He'd always known she was a bit off, but it was just in her character. Not once in the time he'd known her had he questioned her sanity. Until now.
"I don't know. We could talk about what's bothering y—"
"Talk? Oh, now you want to talk. What about all those times I wanted to talk? What about those times I wanted to talk about my father when he died? The times I wanted to talk about you being a Death Eater?" A tear slid down her cheek and, with her free hand, she wiped it away roughly. "What about all the times I wanted to talk about me?!"
For the first time in his life, Lucius didn't know what to say to her. He knew what she'd said was true; he never wanted to talk about those things, partially because he was uncomfortable with them. He was willing to talk now, though. Anything to make her stop what she was doing – he had a feeling she was hurting herself more than she'd hurt him, if she ended up trying anything.
"Cissy, d—"
"Don't you dare! Don't call me that," she hissed. "The last time you called me that, I stayed up all night wondering if you'd come home alive!"
The last time he'd used the nickname was the first night Narcissa had found out about his being a Death Eater. She'd worried herself sick when he left on his mission and she didn't sleep a single moment, even after he'd come home.
Reaching up slowly for her wand, Lucius inhaled deeply. "Can't we just talk about it?"
She jerked the wand away, stepped backwards out of his reach and pointed it at him once more, "Don't push me, Lucius. I don't want to use this."
It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. He was almost positive he'd just heard his wife threaten him. "You wouldn't," he said, hopefully in truth.
Narcissa laughed. It was high-pitched and almost sounded false. "I wouldn't? How do you know what I'd do? You don't know a thing about me. What's my favorite colour? Hmm, no I didn't think you knew," she'd begun walking towards him again. Her words were coming out fast and her voice was getting more hysterical by the second.
Lucius realised how unfortunate he was to be backed against the wall, but he really didn't expect her to try anything. He knew she wasn't stupid.
"You don't want to do this, Narcissa. Just talk to me, okay? I'm listening,"
"Oh, I do want to. I've wanted to for a long time."
Frowning, Lucius realised his wife had just confessed to wanting to kill him. He suddenly wondered if she'd thought about how she would do it…
Narcissa's full crimson lips curled into a smile, "I want to so much. I want to hurt you like you've hurt me all these years,"
It took a few moments before he understood she wasn't talking about death.
"Narcissa, listen to me; you're right. I honestly don't know what you've gone through. I don't know what your feeling, but I can help you if you'll just talk to me. Hurting me isn't going to get you anywhere."
"Yes, it will," she said childishly. "It'll make me feel better, knowing that somewhere deep down you can feel pain, too."
Once more, he had no idea what to say.
"I've always wondered what it feels like to be on the sending end of an Unforgivable Curse. I've heard Bella say it's wonderful."
Some time ago, Lucius had figured out that Narcissa was utterly and completely serious about every word she'd been saying. She wasn't just trying to scare him, though she was doing a good job at it.
"Narcissa, please…"
She raised her eyebrows once more in amusement, "What's this? Lucius Malfoy, begging? Too bad there's not more people around to see this."
He opened his mouth to say something, though he didn't know what. All he could comprehend from then on was Narcissa's voice. She was talking to him, though he couldn't quite understand what she was saying. Her words seemed muffled…
Then, he felt it. The seering pain he'd felt only once before in his life. He never felt himself drop to the floor and he never felt himself curl up and scream in pain.
He only knew what he was thinking: this is what she meant. He understood now. He understood the pain he'd put her through but there was nothing that could've been done to stop her from hurting.
x.x.x.x.x
Narcissa sat quietly on the edge of the steaming bathtub. Her eyes, bloodshot and wide, stared blankly at the hot water. A tiny elf, placed a grey-skinned hand on her knee gently. "It's all ready, Miss. Tinky has lit the candles, like Madam asked."
She merely nodded at the elf, who looked at her for a few moments before slowly walking out of the bathroom and closing the door behind her. Absent-mindedly, Narcissa began pulling rather roughly on the ends of her platinum hair. She ignored the pain in her head as she tugged – it was nothing compared to what she felt on the inside.
She wasn't sure what had driven her to pull the Cruciatus curse on her husband. She knew, though, it was as though someone else were talking. It didn't sound like her voice, but she knew it was. Narcissa knew she had watched in awe as Lucius twitched and curled up on the floor. She had laughed when she heard him, for the first time since she'd met him, cry out in pain.
Narcissa heard the curse leave her mouth twice, three, four times before she realised that if she didn't stop it would kill him. Part of her wanted to keep going. She'd stop the curse and let him rest. Just before he began breathing normally again, she'd curse him again. She wanted him to feel like he was dying.
After she understood that hurting him really wouldn't do anything, save make him angry later, she stopped. At first, she'd been afraid when he didn't move. She knelt next to him to see if he was still breathing and, when she learned he was, she forced herself to leave.
Dipping her long fingers in the water, almost too hot for her to bear, Narcissa let a tear slide down her cheek. When Lucius had offered to help her, she accused him of thinking she was sick. He didn't understand she was just hurting.
But, now… she doubted herself. The thought crossed her mind more than once as she sat there; "Am I sick?"
Was she doing more than just hurting? Was she slowly slipping out of her mind? A few years ago she would've never dreamed of pulling her wand on him. He scared her, truthfully, even when he didn't mean to. She was scared of his touch. Sometimes, she was simply scared of his look.
For a while after she found out he was working for the Dark Lord, she'd tried to avoid his gaze as much as she could. Not that she didn't support the Dark Lord's cause; she did. The fact that her husband was a Death Eater, though… the fact he was out killing people when he wasn't home or at work… That simple fact was enough to make her fear him even when he merely looked at her. His eyes; they were so intense that she sometimes refused to look at him when he talked to her.
When he had glanced up at her from the floor as she left the room, however, she wasn't afraid. She was upset. She was angry and she was sad, but she wasn't afraid. She was satisfied to finally see that look in his eyes. She was satisfied to finally know that, somewhere in that cold world of his, there was pain.
Narcissa placed a hand over her mouth and took a deep breath. She didn't want to cry. She didn't even know what she was crying for. Crying for herself wouldn't do her any good. Besides, she had nothing to cry for. Sure, she was hurting and she was lonely and sometimes she wanted to run away… but she was loved. Yes, she knew her husband loved her. She loved him, too, and that is why she did what she did. She had to show him that he wouldn't always be in control. She had to show him. For his own good.