Disclaimer: JK and Co. own everything Potte related, but I own this plot and this character.




The carriage rumbled over the cobblestones, crushing the occasional flower in a spectacular embrace of wilting petals against steel spoked wheels. My husband had always been fond of dominance, and it had surfaced everywhere; even the taps in our bathrooms were silver, and the water gushed out cold.

I rose from reading my book, eyes screaming for mercy because the light was so dim, and glanced out the majestically paned window that afforded our home a very underappreciated view of the gardens and estate.

But something was amiss, and I frowned. I was searching for the silver glint of his hair and the cold, blue abyss of his eyes, but I found none. In fact, I could only discern a raven haired companion with equally black eyes which regarded me in utter disgust and fascination.

My husband's gloved hand (he was very particular about his fingernails) rose briefly to the small portal in the side of the carriage and made a swift, swiping motion. I took this as a wave, and immediately set to straightening my hair and chair rumpled clothing. My dress, of course, was far to ostentatious to lounge about the house in, but I had relented and allowed Lucius to dress me today. He loved to play about my clothes, cinching my corsets and buttoning up the infitisemal seams that adorned me. I was his doll, his plaything which he toyed with so gleefully, though it was never my intention to grow up and become another's source of amusment.

The hallway door opened, and I had to run quickly from the vast library (which housed mostly dark arts books) to the massive, marble entryway. The pillars still hid the infuriatingly mysterious guest, and I tried to both give a warm welcome to my husband, and to discover the identity of this man (or woman?).

, Lucius said, enfolding me stiffly within his patchouli scented arms. I gave him a smile, and a slight kiss on the cheek, which was cold. He hadn't shaved that morning either, though it had taken months of practice for me to tell. The stranger gave a suspiciously repulsed cough, and Lucius turned, giving him a warning smile.

Severus, my wife, Lourdes, he said, ushering me to the man with a painful prod of his crystal globed wand. I nodded my head slightly, and gave a tiny curtsy, as is custom. The man nodded in the same manner, though he did not take my hand when offered. I gave him a small frown, and stepped backwards, heart awkwardly stumbling within my chest. My frown deepened, for I had found very few things could cause my heart to race.

While they were talking, I gave him only the very lightest brushing over with my eyes. I had mastered this at endless gatherings, regarding people with what appeared to be minimal interest. In a normal place, it would be considered aloof and unpleasant, but here, it it considered excellent manners. One was never supposed to show more than a bored curiosity.

He was tall, quite tall in fact, for he towered over Lucius. Swathed in black, literally from head to toe, he flowed in sable river of finely made cloth and well spun robes. He was shockingly pale, transluscent almost, skin tightly over face and well chiseled cheek bones embedded beneath. His nose, though some would try and call it aristocratic or even aquiline, was crooked, slightly off center and almost hooked. His eyes flickered towards me, and it was clear that he was far more entuned to other's observations than Lucius. His eyes were jetty, positively fuming with brilliance and anger. His hooded gaze was almost sullen, but far more alert than any commonplace human. I had the incredibly humiliating urge to attempt to locate where his pupils and irises were in his eyes.

While Lucius was still chatting, making off hand gestures with exquisitely ringed fingers (I had purchased most of his jewelry, for he tended to favour over abundance), the stranger inclined his head again, and gave me the most bantam of nods. To my embarassment, I found myself blushing in return.

Come, Lourdes, join us for tea in the library, Lucius said, entwining his arm with my own. I nodded in assent, and gave another brief curtsy to the man. He almost smiled, but it seemed as though he were trying to retain it by the weay his lips tugged downwards.

We were seated, the three of us, an oddly concise triangle of bodies. The books and old smell of parchment wafted pleasantly over the refreshments, and I ate my scone in a quiet haste. Lucius was smiling plentifully, something that I learned later in life which meant the hatching of a malevolent plan or the some subversive thought. He was obviously gloating upon having this man here, the way he petted my arm, and ran his finger down the length of my face. I was used to my husband's cold caresses, though by no means did I enjoy them.

Darling, did you know that Severus is the Slytherin head of house at Hogwarts?, Lucius asked, trying to ignor the syllabic symmetry of his question. I raised my eyebrows in actual surprise, and the man was looking out the window, obviously irate.

Really? So you are indeed Professor Snape. My suspicions are confirmed, then, for I had thought that you looked familiar, I said conversationally. He raised his own sable brow, a movement well rehearsed.

Indeed, Ms. Malloy, for I clearly remember you causing an extraordinary amount of house points for someone of your age, he responded stiffly. I stifled a grin, wishing that my husband's presence was not such a damper on an otherwise amusing situation.

Yes, well, as charming as it is to reminisce about brighter times, I'm afraid I must ask you to leave us, darling, for Severus and I have many things to discuss, Lucius said, his grip tightening ever so slightly on my arm.

Oh, of course, Lucius. Excuse me, gentleman, for I fear I have detained you for too long, I apologised, and rose. They both rose, but the professor less gallantly. Lucius nodded and the professor bowed.

I offered my hand, and he took it swiftly, pressing his lips against it, then rising again, a cloud of of clove-ish scent. I inhaled sharply, suddenly feeling my heart plummet again and a bright flush of blood trudge to my face.

Good day, was all I could muster, before gathering my skirts and collapsing outside the door.



A/N: I realise that Lucius was previously married to a Narcissa, and I am going to explicate that in other chappies. Lourdes is not meant to be instantly likeable or affable, in fact, I kind of wanted to start her off kind of snooty and repellent, almost a very unhappy diva. So, hope you like that one.