Empty was my Soul
She was a good wife. Every night, after her parties and social outings she would sit at home and wait. Narcissa Marie Malfoy knew better than to nod asleep and strictly forced her body into compliance. The servants would undress her and undo her meticulously styled hair, brushing it straight, then fit her into a more casual gown meant for sleeping. Just as they did every night for seventeen years, they did tonight. When they had finished she sent them off with a wave of her hand and stared into one of her many mirrors adorning her spacious and luxurious room. She was still beautiful; her hair was a lovely flaxen blond, her eyes a metallic blue, her skin a soft golden shade, and her features were proportioned like an ancient Greek statuette. Her mother had had her married as young as possible, so she was still pretty enough to be fancied by her husband and stay within his unwavering gaze of power.
She shivered involuntarily at the thought of her husband's eyes, icy gray and colder than the harshest Northern winter. It was because of those eyes that she fought sleep and waited for his return home. As his wife, she was to wait for her husband at the top of the master staircase, when he arrived, the servants would take his things, brush his coat, and do all the required drudgery, such as polishing off his shoes and sweetening his foul temper after a bad day at the Ministry. Then he would turn to her and he would do one of two things; if he nodded she was to bid him goodnight, then turn and go to bed. If he climbed the stairs to greet her, she was to take him to bed with her. There were no questions asked and no struggle given, it was her duty as his wife.
She sighed, turning from her mirror, it had been nearly 3 months since he had climbed that staircase, and, with her prestigious name she didn't dare go near another man in fear, should endless rumors be spread. Already her very sight seemed to send her husband into cold and turbulent rages, so any word of her being unfaithful certainly wouldn't make the situation any better. Her husband was a very powerful and scary man. If he wanted to, he could have her ousted in an eye-blink, and at the rate she was going she knew she wouldn't last much longer.
It had started over a conversation about their only son, how his grades had dropped in boarding school, how he seemed to be miserable all the time, especially at home. She had blamed it on those 'dreadful meetings' her husband forced their son to attend, which were mostly about 'offing someone' or 'making them pay '. He blamed his son's disappointing behavior on her, and the fact that she wasn't being 'motherly enough' towards him. Thus an argument flared, the servants fled, blows were exchanged, and they had not spoken to each other since. Her husband was torturing her now, not even looking at her, leaving her to converse only with the servants and her empty headed 'friends'. She was miserable and determined to change things. She brushed her hair until it shone and played with her eyebrows, she massaged her eyes to rid of her sleepiness; she was going to look like a queen tonight, her husband's queen. She was going to be so beautiful that he could not resist her. She continued to toy with her appearance until a servant arrived at her door to tell her that He had arrived.
She jumped from her chair and strode with a nervous grace out of the room, through the high-ceiling hallway, covered with red draperies and antique paintings, to the pinnacle of the master staircase, where she waited.
Master, Lord, Sire, all names that were used in addressing her husband; he was a very prominent person in the social and political worlds, but in his house, he was omnipotent. No one dared dispute him. Not his wife, not his son, most definitely not the servants.
She waited at the top of the staircase and watched Lucius Malfoy was escorted through the door. The servants took his trench coat and asked him sugary questions: "How was your day, sire?" "What can I bring you, Master?" The most they got as an answer was a firm monosyllabic command or a wave of the hand, it was almost as if she were watching a movie about Count Dracula and his babbling minions.
Finally, the Manor settled and she felt her heart skip as her husband looked up at her. He was a striking man, with the most exotic features that were passed down every generation through the male side of the family, not a detail faltering. His most notable ones were his hair and eyes. It was as if his ancestors of late had sprouted from a snowdrift, for his hair had strangely attractive white highlights, even as a boy; this she had been able to determine from baby pictures in the library. His eyes were like pieces of ice chipped from a glacier, because they never melted, and they never showed anything, anything that was on his mind. They could penetrate through the most professional liars, like a drill to glass; she even had an uncanny feeling that he could read minds. He was young, like her, he had married at eighteen in order to appease his father's wishes, but he showed a bitterness and hatred that she had never seen the likes of.
She felt her hair stand on end as his eyes traveled up her body, starting at her feet, lingering on her hips and breasts, then continuing until they were gazing into each others eyes. She did her very best impression of a submissive and pensive wife, which she was. His eyes stared coldly at her and she felt her stomach fluttering in anxiety. He turned to the servants and scathingly ordered them away, before, to her great surprise, climbing the staircase.
He did so very casually, not slowly, not quickly, and she felt her butterflies become pins. He stopped in front of her and gripped her shoulder, tightly. Her husband was very strong; if he was mad enough and struck her with the right amount of force, he could break her neck, she was reminded of this every time they fought. She looked down, recognizing his domination over her.
"So," he began, his voice steelier than his eyes, "You've reconciled your bad temper, Narcissa? Or- must I be put in the position of dealing with you, should this occur again."
She felt her voice tremble, as she croaked a feeble: "Yes" before it died out all together. He took her chin into his hand and she forced herself to look him back in the eyes. They were intense, filled with some unreadable emotion, burning into her soul before confirming her reply with a nod.
"You're telling the truth, -for once. Good. From now on you won't cross me, understand?"
She nodded dumbly. Her hands trembled and she twisted them in her gown to ease them. Her husband shot her one more, unreadable look, before pulling her close, bringing his mouth to hers and forcefully parting her lips with his tongue. He grasped her waist and twisted his own hands in her robes. She untied hers and placed them over her husband's. He clutched them tightly and didn't part from their kiss until even the tips of her fingers were warm.
He was oddly gentle that night. Usually he was quite horrible to her, especially after an argument, but in bed he only held her against him. Somewhere after midnight he fell into sleep and she followed soon after, feeling as though she was reliving her first few weeks of marriage.
Morning came quickly. She rose from the many layers of sheets to find her husband gone and a servant beckoning her to rise and groom herself, which she did. At seven-thirty precisely she climbed down the stairs, through the enormous manor, looking quite stunning to meet with the rest of her family.
The breakfast table was cleanly set, and numerous dishes were provided for their tastes. She had been the last to arrive, which was usual. She glanced at Lucius, who had buried himself in the Daily Prophet, then at her son, who had buried his head in his arms. She sat in silence, nervously observing the newspaper, which hid her husband. It did not move, save the flipping of pages and no one talked. She timidly began to eat the meal, fearing an argument was in the air.
For several moments there was no sound, save the sound of clinking silverware, when unexpectedly, her husband's fist came crashing down onto the table. It made the dishes jump and her son shot up, a wild expression on is face. She dropped her silverware in fear.
"Lucius," she breathed, clutching her heart, "Wh-What is it?"
Her husband lowered the paper to reveal his cold and furious face.
"Fudge," he snarled, "That blundering, pigeon toed, bastard twit!! Ach!!" he spat.
"What has he done now?" she asked more confidently. The behavior of Minister Cornelius Fudge was the source of many fits her husband threw. The poor man was incompetent, so Lucius took advantage of him. Her husband kept close ties with every Minister in Europe, one of the reasons he was so busy.
"The blithering fool has accepted a proposal sent in by Arthur Wealsly. It's a Muggle tolerance law, now we can't even enjoy going out for a picnic without being fined for breaking one law or another....That flea-bitten, Horse lusting-
"Yes dear," she replied, cutting him off. She felt braver now, her husband seemed to be in a playful mood. He shot her a patronizing glare before growling and returning to his paper.
"Are you going out with those fluff-filled friends of yours today?" he sneered idly, not bothering to look up. He hated her friends. She felt her hand shiver from his tone of voice.
"Possibly," she replied again. She no longer felt brave.
"Possibly?! It's either yes or no, woman!!" he snapped, he was no longer playful.
Her son rose from the table with a jerk, knowing a conflict was in the cards.
"Father," he began, "If I may be excused?"
"Yes, Draco, you may go." Lucius nodded. He held out his hand and the boy kissed it before turning and disappearing from the room. Her son had a knack for scampering out of the Malfoy Manor before a vile argument reared its ugly head. If only she were able to do the same thing...
Her husband turned and rounded on her.
"Well?!" he demanded.
"No," she decided, "I won't go out with my 'fluff-filled' friends today."
He shot her a strange, half-smile and set the paper aside; she wondered if she had said the right thing. He motioned to the servants that they were done and the table was cleaned in moments. It was just she and her husband-only the table separated them.
"I'm going to the Ministry today, first to maul that Cornelius Fudge, the to attend some meetings, but-"
He rose from the table in an imperious manner,
"My night is free,...and the Sinclairs are hosting a, no, the party. Do you wish to go tonight or stay at home?"
She was lucky. She had thought, from experience, that her husband was going to ask something along the lines of, "There's a party tonight, are you going to be there and act like my wife, or stay home like the sluttish witch you are?"
She immediately accepted his invitation to go and he left with another unreadable look in his eyes.
For hours afterwards, Narssica constantly pondered on what she had done to receive such a reward as to accompany her husband to such a grandiose affair. Of course she had heard of the Sinclairs and their revelries. Her husband often snuck out late at night to plot with the Mr. Arthur Sinclair, and everyone, who was someone, was invited to the 'Sinclair summer party'. She knew little about the family, besides the fact that Arthur had been very close to Cassius Malfoy, Lucius' father, and that they were nearly as notorious as the Malfoy family. Nearly, but not quite. To many people, the entire Malfoy family was the stuff only nightmares were made of. The Sinclairs were just a sour taste to an otherwise pleasant sleep. She wished she could do something to show people that at least she was pleasant, and that no one need send their children off when she entered the room.
The more she thought of the Sinclairs, the more she felt as though her secluded life of puzzle pieces were coming together into a clearer, and clearer picture. Lucius had constantly talked to her son about the Sinclair boy, who was only a few years older, how they would compliment each other; then of the Sinclair girl, who a supposed beauty, and how they should meet, become friends, and much more. She supposed her husband wished his son to marry as early as he did, if not earlier.
She sighed in agony, remembering how her parents had literally beat her into meeting a handsome, gray-eyed, towheaded young man, pestering her every minute, asking her if she liked him. When she had meekly replied yes, she was married to him that week, after seeing him only one day. She had childishly hoped that the stern eighteen year old had been vicious because he was shy, not noticing that the boy's father, Cassius Malfoy, the scariest man she had ever laid eyes upon, had already begun to mold his son into an exact copy of himself. In reality, Narcissa had not married Lucius Malfoy, she had married his father, Cassius. She supposed that the Lucius she ought to have been in love with had died before she knew him, killed by his own father, to be replaced by someone else, someone who felt nothing but hate, bitterness and lust. And now, Lucius was doing exactly what Cassius had done to him. He was killing his son, strangling his life slowly from him, bleeding out all the love she had tried to give her son, and trading it for cool, black glass. She cried every time her husband took her son down to the dungeon to beat him for little things like etiquette and disobedience. Her son hated her because he thought she was weak and pathetic, (another lesson taught by Lucius) and was hopelessly devoted to his father. He wanted to be just like him; command the same respect, make people shiver at the mention of his name, have a beautiful woman wait for him at home every night. Everything Lucius was, Draco wanted to be.
Narcissa looked up to realize that her wandering had brought her to the Malfoy gardens. Despite his dark exterior, Lucius liked colorful and verdant gardens, and it showed. The trees were placed as to give a natural appeal, and parted to reveal a clear, bubbling pool. She had spent many afternoons gazing into it, wondering if her husband would ever need her. It was a happy reminder of better things, things she was hoping she could do, and dreams that seemed to grow each year. She sighed and continued wandering. She walked around with an air of habit; she had developed a path through the garden and had never strayed from it since. Her feet led her through the meadows overgrown with wildflowers, the paths of Cypress that looked like fingers reaching to the heavens, and past the garden house. After the sun had reached a position directly over her she decided it was time to head home, she had been going in circles for hours, all of her ponderings were gone from her mind and now she was merely filled with a feeling of emptiness.
She turned and began to backtrack; she kept her eyes on her feet, not knowing there was a person in front of her until her head pressed into them. She shot up in surprise and saw none other than her own child, Draco Malfoy. His face was an exact copy of Lucius', cold, bismuth and emotionless. She loved him more than he could ever know however, because his eyes still carried a youthful, rebellious spark of life, one that was completely extinguished in the eyes of her husband. He cocked his head and stared at her for a moment before smiling a feral smile, (the only kind a Malfoy seemed to be capable of) and placing a hand on her head.
" Mother, a beautiful woman like you shouldn't be walking around all alone."
She blushed, "Oh...I was just heading back to the Manor, Draco, but its kind of you to worry." She wanted to grab him and pull him against her chest, something she knew he would never let her do. Instead she controlled herself and began to slowly inch away.
"Mother?" Draco started to follow her as she inched away.
"Yes, Draco?" Oh, how she longed to attach 'dear' and 'I love you" to her words, but that was heavily scorned by all in the house, including Draco.
"May I ask you something?"
"Go ahead." dear, she mentally added.
"D-Do you suppose you might be angry, if I say, um, liked a-a Mudblood?" the last word came out as a squeak and he nervously watched her as she walked. She almost wanted to burst with joy, but then she was reminded of her husband and her joy waned into terror, he would kill Draco if he ever found out.
"Well, Draco, I-I wouldn't mind, but your father would-"
"Tie me up, place me in a weighted bag, and throw me into the nearest river?" he finished for her.
"Yes. Why do you ask?" Narcissa was beyond curious; this was the most interesting conversation she'd had in weeks. She tried to smile encouragingly, but it must have come out wrong, because he shot her an ashen face that was lined with pain and fear.
"No, No reason, really, just thought I might ask. Don't tell Father, please!!"
"Of course not, Draco, don't be ridiculous!" she answered, slightly offended that he would think of her as a tattletale. She knew he would get the beating of his life if she even mentioned her son talking about a Mudblood to Lucius.
He gave her another frightened look before turning and running into the Manor, most probably to hide in his room, where none of the servants could bother him, and she couldn't follow him.
Ahhhh…revised and put into a better font. Thank the Fairies!! I had to squint whenever I read this, so I decided enough was enough. Lucius is my favorite character, followed closely by Snape and Draco. If you have any story requests please let me know, because I love doing requests.