A/N Beta'd by the wonderful StoryWriter831. Everything belongs to JK Rowling.


...

He showed me into what appeared to be a dining room, furnished in a manner at once grand and oppressive, cluttered with dark-wood furniture and dreary burnished antiques. A huge mahogany table ran the length of the room, its highly polished surface dimly reflecting the lights cast upon it by three low-strung ormolu chandeliers.

An enormous fireplace dominated one wall and its bright flickering blaze was the only remotely cheery thing in the whole room.

I staggered over to it, kneeling down and stretching out my hands as close as I dared to the tongues of red-gold flame. I closed my eyes and let the warmth envelop me, heedless of the strange man, of his recent bizarre behaviour to me—heedless of anything but the perfect beauty of heat on my skin.

"What is your name, young lady?" The man's soft, drawling voice was much closer than I expected. I gasped with surprise and my eyes flew open. He was standing over me, one arm resting on the marble mantle-piece surround. I hadn't heard him approach. "Who are you?"

...Who am I?

For some reason I didn't want to admit to him that I had absolutely no idea. It seemed like such a horribly vulnerable thing, to not know my own name. ...Why didn't I know? How was it possible that I could be so lucid, so aware, and yet know nothing, remember nothing, of my own identity? It was like my memory was a butterfly, hovering just out of reach, flitting away whenever I tried to snatch at it...

I felt tears of frustration threatening to well up but I forcibly swallowed them away. "Um...my name is...Alice," I improvised unconvincingly. "A-Alice Carroll."

I could see in his eyes that he knew I was lying and yet he looked oddly pleased. "Alice Carroll," he murmured. "That rather rings of a little mu- girl who once fell down a rabbit hole. Is that what happened to you?"

"I don't know," I replied, confused by the glinting light in his eyes. "I think I must have had an accident and banged my head or something. I can't remember...certain things."

"Indeed?" His expression was impassive. "But that is unfortunate. ...Can you recall where you live? Or perhaps, the contact details of your parents, your family?"

Reluctantly I shook my head. "No, it's sort-of a blur at the moment."

"What about your friends?" He said the word lightly, yet it rang with a sharp, metallic timbre. "Do you remember their names, addresses—anything at all?"

Still not wanting to reply with a negative, I said, "Maybe if you called the police, they could help me..."

He smiled, although I couldn't understand why. "I'm sorry to inform you that I don't have a..."—he paused, almost as if casting around for the correct word—"...er...'telephone'."

"Not even a mobile?" I asked. He shook his head, the smile still hovering about his mouth.

"...No, I guess there wouldn't be coverage here," I answered myself.

"As you say."

"Well, can you drive me to the nearest phone box?"

He gave a faint sigh, apparently tiring of the conversation. He left his post by the fire and began to pace around the room, the click of his boots echoing on the wooden floor. "I'm afraid that is out of the question, Alice. This is a very remote area, some several hours away from civilization. You will simply have to stay here tonight and we shall see what arrangements may be made for you tomorrow."

I nodded. "Alright. Thank you," I said quietly. I certainly wasn't in a position to argue. My throat still ached from the crushing pressure of his cane, the knowledge of which made me shiver uneasily. He said he'd mistaken me for someone else, but it wasn't exactly comforting to know that he was capable of attempting to throttle any girl in cold blood. What sort of a man was he? Which reminded me—

"Ah...excuse me, sir..." I said tentatively.

"Yes?" He elongated the word in a decidedly patronising way.

"I... I was wondering what your name was."

He leveled his gaze at me and for a moment seemed to be considering how to reply. Then he made a slight, elegant bow and said, "Lucius."

"Oh." The name seemed to fit him perfectly, it seemed so silvery and powerful and strange. "Well, I just wanted to say thank you for helping me out...um, Lucius." I flushed self-consciously as I tried the name out loud.

Again he smiled, but it was a derisive, hard expression, nearly a sneer, which made me flush even more deeply. "Not at all, Miss Carroll," he replied in a distinctly sarcastic manner. "Being of service to you is a pleasure of truly profound magnitudes."

I gulped and looked away, stung by his scathing tone. I was only trying to be polite! Clearly the man was some kind of misogynist or chauvinist. ...Well, he could make the conversation from now on, since he obviously found mine so contemptible. I pressed my lips together and stared at the fire.

After a minute of frosty silence on my part, Lucius addressed me again, his tone now blasé, perfunctory. "Are you hungry, Alice? I can have something prepared for you."

"No thanks," I said shortly, although my stomach was actually cramping with hunger pains. I had no idea how long ago my last meal had been.

"Very well, we shall have a drink."

"No, really, I'm fine." I don't want to be more of a burden than you obviously already regard me, I thought sourly.

Ignoring me, Lucius moved over to a rosewood drinks cabinet and took out a cut-crystal decanter containing a liquid of a rich, burnt-umber hue and two short-stemmed, tulip-shaped glasses. He poured out a generous measure into each glass and conducted them gracefully over to where I still knelt.

"Hors d'Age Bas-Armagnac, 1910," he murmured, proffering one to me. "It is superb."

His expression brooked no refusal, so I accepted the glass from him, taking as much care as possible not to let my fingers brush his, although I didn't quite know why.

"It's wasted on me," I said bluntly. "I don't like spirits." I was surprised at my own adamance. How weird that I could know that, without actually remembering anything about myself.

"You will like it," he briefly replied.

He seemed to be waiting for me to drink.

I had an idea that I was supposed to take a small sip and slowly savour the subtleties and layering of flavours, but I wasn't going to make a pretence just because an insufferable snob was looming over me.

I brought the glass to my lips and took a large, clumsy gulp.

Hopefully he hasn't put a date-rape drug in it, I thought, coughing and tearing up a little as the burning liquid hit the back of my throat. I wasn't too sure about the flavour, which seemed awfully strong and spicy and kind-of smokey...but then a lovely warm glow began quickly spreading through every part of my body, warming my insides as thoroughly as the fire was warming my outside.

"Oh," I whispered, blissfully, thankfully. "It's...it's like..." I couldn't find the words.

I looked up at Lucius and for the briefest moment I thought I saw a flash of that same white-burning hatred I had beheld before. But I blinked and it was gone. A mocking smile touched the corners of his mouth: his eyes derided but did not detest.

I must have imagined it.

He lifted his glass towards the lambent flames, swirling it slowly. "Like 'liquid fire and distilled damnation'," he said softly, evidently quoting.

I nodded. That was pretty much it.

I was getting sleepy now. Exhaustion was steadily, seductively seeping into my limbs, stifling my brain. I made a rather unsuccessful attempt at muffling a yawn. "Would it be alright if I...I mean, is there a couch or something that I could sleep on tonight?" I grimaced at my own clumsy phrasing.

"There is a guest suite," he replied. "I will take you to it presently."

I felt so heavy. So tired. Maybe he had drugged me, after all... My body swayed forward slightly, a little too closely to the fire. A firm hand gripped my shoulder, drawing me back. "Steady, Miss Carroll. We don't want you falling into the flames, do we? That is a fate reserved only for—." He stopped mid-sentence.

"Witches?" I said drowsily.

He made no reply.

I suddenly realised he was still touching my shoulder and I felt my body stiffen as a prickly, hot blush overspread my face. At some point he had removed his gloves and his hand rested, bare skin on skin, between my neck and dress-strap. It was warm, unexpectedly so, all at odds with his icy demeanour. I longed to twist away or shrug him off, not because I found his prolonged touch creepy—which I certainly ought to have done—but precisely because I didn't. In fact, rather alarmingly, my body was tingling with all kinds of electric sparks, galvanising me into a state of exquisitely awkward over-awareness...

...I dropped my glass.

It happened with a slow-motion inevitability: my trembling hand simply lost its hold on the stem of the wine-glass, over-balancing it towards me, spilling the remaining drink all over my dress before tumbling to the ground and smashing on the marble hearth.

I gave a small cry of dismay. Mortified, eyes burning, I bent down and blindly tried to gather the pieces of the broken vessel up, muttering apologies.

"What are you doing, you foolish girl?" I heard Lucius snap, with irritation rather than concern. "You are cutting your fingers." He knelt and grasped my wrists in his hands, preventing me from scrabbling about the shards of broken crystal any longer.

"I'm sorry about the glass," I said, eyes fixed on the floor. "I'll pay for it, of course—"

"Do not speak nonsense," he cut me off sharply. "Show me your hands."

My fists were balled, but he used his thumbs to pry them open. There were some small cuts stinging my left fingers and a deeper gash on my right hand which was throbbing and streaming blood—although it looked worse than it really was.

Lucius sighed and shook his head, as if thoroughly bored and unsurprised by my clumsiness. He muttered a word through gritted teeth, but I didn't catch it. Clearly, it was no complimentary term.

He brushed away a couple of crystal fragments from my bleeding palm.

I barely noticed the twinge of pain, suddenly overwhelmed by this new, too intimate proximity—him leaning so closely over me, the gentleness of his touch on my hand, the iron inflexibility of his grip encircling my wrist...my heart was thumping and I was sure he must be able to feel the corresponding flutter beneath his thumb. My senses were inundated, ambushed, by a complexity of hypnotic scents: his aftershave: subtle, expensive, ozonic. The woody spice of the Armangac on his breath. And his skin. It smelled...warm. Was it actually possibly for skin—or anything for that matter—to smell warm?

I bit my lip. What the hell was wrong with me? Here I was: lost, amnesiac, covered in scratches and bruises, stuck with glass and bleeding all over the place—and all I could think was how incredible this man smelled? A man who had recently tried to throttle me, no less?

...I must have banged my head really badly.

Lucius reached inside his robe and took out a silken handkerchief. He deftly wrapped it around the palm of my right hand and knotted it securely. Then he stood up, still holding my hand tightly, bringing me with him. "Come along, Alice," he said, his voice fairly dripping with contempt. "I will show you to your room."

I wobbled on my feet for a moment, the blood going to my head, making me dizzy. I felt like a silly, chided child.

He escorted me back into the corridor. I now saw that the walls were hung with lavish tapestries and huge gilt-framed paintings, although despite the grandness and splendour, it somehow still managed to feel dingy and very bleak.

We passed a painted portrait of a medieval-looking woman with luminously pale skin and pointy features. She was beautiful, with a fine-boned, glacial loveliness, but her expression was unutterably disdainful.

Obviously an ancestor, then.

The artist had captured her in such a clever, subtle way that it almost felt like her eyes were moving, following us... It was hard to take my gaze off those eyes...they were compelling...mesmerising...

Suddenly, horribly, the eyes rolled back then forward, the pupils changing to narrow black slits in a veiny yellow surround. The portrait bared its teeth at me—teeth that were pointed like fangs and oily with blood—and hissed like a snake.

I shrieked, stumbling backwards into Lucius. I heard him softly curse, thrusting me back upright, but I couldn't regain my balance, my head was spinning and my throat clammed up with pure terror. I couldn't breathe, my legs had somehow liquified, and I was falling.

I tried to clutch onto something, anything, but all I felt was air, nothingness and air...and I was tumbling down, down into the darkness.