Prologue

November 26, 1978

He limped along the dirt road, focusing on the sinister silvery manor lying ahead, trying to ignore the screaming pain in his right leg.

Tonight had been a relatively unproductive night for the Death Eaters. The Rosier home, where they had been meeting for the past few weeks, was almost past its incognito age, Evan's mother putting up an act on how she would "tip off" the Ministry on their current whereabouts. The most exciting event was, in fact, Dolohov and Bastan bringing in three Mudbloods for them to have a little "fun" with. He had joined in for a short while, Imperiusing the lot to test his day's capabilities, and then let the others have the fun.

He would have stayed longer, but there was that piercing pain in his side again. The numb that he felt when he cast Unforgivables and Dark magic in general was nothing compared to this. Last time he had felt like this, his father had owled him to tell him his Great-Aunt Capricia had died from Romania, except this time, he could tell that more than a family would suffer at this.

He despised that pain, because it made him weak, and Lucius Abraxas Malfoy hated feeling weak, especially in front of the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord always seemed to know when one of his Death Eaters were hurting, and not with empathy. The Dark Lord, Lucius had realised long ago, was not human. His nature was reminiscent of a reptilian one, which made him a cold-blooded killer and a stealthy hunter. Snakes knew and recognized those of higher rank than themselves; thus, he knew that he would never get to the Dark Lord's level. He however also knew that much higher forces were the source of his pain, and he did not feel curious about it.

He had always gotten feelings like this, moments during which he automatically assumed something and was as sure of it as of his name, and he was sure that the source was not of Seer ability. He had gotten feelings about Seers, and this one was much, much stronger.

So, he had gone onto the balcony to drink a bit with Severus and Rodolphus. Severus he liked fondly enough, from the moment he welcomed him into the Slytherin House as a fifth-year prefect. He had lots of potential, which Lucius had profited fully of. He was intelligent and cunning, and had enough brain cells to not be fully loyal to the Dark Lord as a smart, sane person should be. Rodolphus was a bit of a lackey, but Lucius tolerated him, as he pitied the man to have a wife such as Bellatrix, a wife that did not dote on him but on a most lethal Dark Lord. He was one of those unquestioned loyal Death Eaters, but he had never fallen into the trap of madness.

Now he was a bit light-headed, which was probably why he had Splinched himself. He cursed to have not thought to Floo over to the manor instead of Apparating. He got to the front entrance and thrust his wand back into his robes, knocking on the silver knocker.

The door swung open, apparently of its own accord, but Lucius saw a wide-eye female house-elf peek out.

"Master!" she squeaked. "You is back safe and sound?" Then she saw his bloody robes and paled.

"I presume that I Splinched myself, Tibby," he said. "I would also need the Soberness Potion."

Tibby nodded. "Master will follow me into the kitchen, hokay?"

Lucius obeyed and glanced at the clock, which was long past midnight. He knew Narcissa would be lying in their bed awake until he arrived to reassure her, but he had the feeling he had to lag along for a while before he ascended.

He didn't have a... respect for the elf, but maybe a certain love. After all, she had been the one who had cared for him when his own father had been neglecting him, beating him. Her brother, Dobby, on the other hand, was downright hopeless. Even the most patient house-elves were impatient with him. What kind of elf desired freedom of all things, anyways?

"Mistress Bella were here tis evening, Master," Tibby told him while she worked her elfish magic over his leg. He winced and his eyes popped open.

"Bellatrix was here?" he repeated dazedly.

"She were looking for Mistress. I tolds her she weren't there, and she uses the bathroom before leaving." Tibby had a grin on her face. "Tibby is all finished with mending yours wound, Master. Would you like a suppers?"

Lucius shook his head. "I'll go to bed directly, but thank you anyways."

Tibby was the only house-elf to whom he directed such a courtesy. The other elves only heard orders from him.

She bowed. "Very good then, Master." She Disapparated with a crack.

He made his way slowly to the library, which was near the wing in which their bedroom was situated – the pain in his leg had disappeared, but his side ached again – to get the book to continue his researches on what could cause those premonitions.

The library was one of his favourite rooms in the manor, filled with old, leather bound books, with bright scarlet seals and comfy, velvety armchairs. Lucius was afraid he had rather been neglecting the spot of his childhood wanderings, always accompanied by one or two wolfhounds, but the elves took care of it well.

He turned on the lights and headed to the Dark Arts shelves, which were larger and more informative than the rest, when he got a surprise. He first heard soft breathing, and then when he tripped over one of the old books lying on the floor, cursing Dobby and his untidiness, he heard a loud, musical cry. His heart immediately pounded against his chest and he got that piercing warning again.

There was a bundle on the shining obsidian desk, a bundle smelling of warm milk. Lucius approached slowly, and saw a tiny face peeking out from the makeshift blankets, which were actually old robes, that was a replica of her mother's. A note that had been tacked onto the desk floated to the floor and he picked it up.

Dearest Cissy,

I turn Cassiopeia Calypso Lestrange over in your care, whilst I serve the Dark Lord most faithfully. Please do not warn the wizarding world of her existence, for it will place her in the greatest of perils. I will try to visit, but none is guaranteed.

Best wishes and thank you endlessly,

Your sister Bella

The child's dark eyes fixed on him curiously, more focused than a newborn's gaze should be. Lucius found that extremely disturbing. He turned away from her for a second and there it was again – that most peculiar feeling in his side. It was enhancing. There was definitely something wrong with the child. He looked at the crackling fire and spoke softly. "Bellatrix," he said, "I believe that your 'explanatory' letter was a polite way of saying 'I do not want my child, you can have it'."

Suddenly, a paper appeared in his palm and before he could toss it away, exploded into red smoke. A life-size shadow of Bellatrix emerged and pointed a finger accusingly at him. Then she said in a distinct voice, "Malfoy, you'd better listen."

Lucius looked at it curiously, waiting for it to continue.

"You will take care of Cassiopeia. You will not ditch her. If you do, I'll hunt you down, and you know me." It disappeared.

"Damn," he growled. He went to the doors of the library and called, "Cissa!"

Narcissa walked in, wearing her nightshirt and a scowl. Her face softened when she saw him. "What was all that commotion, Lucius?" she inquired.

He rubbed his face tiredly and said, "Follow me, Cissa."

She obeyed and gasped when she saw the baby. "What- Bella-"

"Yes, I know." Lucius cocked his head and picked it up, passing her to his wife. "Bella's child. She left it with us. Great mother, isn't she?"

"Yes," Narcissa murmured. She smoothed the infant's matted, curly black hair and said decisively, "So we keep her."

"Fine-" He glanced at her, alarmed. "Cissa, you aren't seriously considering?"

"Malfoy." She only called him with his surname when she was exasperated or extremely benevolent. Her icy blue eyes pleadingly met his cold grey eyes. "We'll hide her. She can sleep in the old suites, surely no one will look there. No matter, but we're keeping her."

The corners of Lucius's mouth twisted a bit, but he was silent, because when Narcissa's mind was made up, he could never argue well.