Chapter 2: Led Up the Garden Path

Mircea had avoided Lucius for two solid days. She was furious that this was even happening. This did not temper her dislike for him at all.

But after two days, Lucius was becoming restless and he was determined to at least make it onto his own grounds. The darkness and quiet echoes of the Manor reminded him of old ghosts, from prison and from his life before. He and Draco had spent a day packing some and burning some of Narcissa's old things and there was a place on the grounds that Lucius had always visited to clear his mind.

Mircea was curled in a large armchair in one of the many sitting rooms that dotted the manor when a long hand yanked her book out of her grasp. Jerking her head around she saw Lucius Malfoy toss the book onto a nearby sidetable. He was better groomed than he had been since her arrival and she could not help but notice a deliberate looking five 'o clock shadow.

"What the hell do you want?" she growled, turning back to look at the wall in front of her.

"We're leaving. I need to get some air."

Smirking, she stood and turned to face him. "It's so cute that you think I care. We leave when I am ready and not a moment before."

"Your job–"

"Is to keep you out of trouble. Not to tour about with you at a moment's notice."

Lucius saw the flaw in her argument and closed the space between them with one long stride. "And should I happen to go about on my own and manage to get myself into some trouble? Surely you would not be held personally responsible for this."

Mircea repressed the urge to step back and moved so close to him that they were nearly touching. His voice was liquid silk and it sent chills down her spine. And those grey eyes… she had never had anyone look at her with such intensity.

"Fine," she hissed. "You will give me a moment to gather some things and you will meet me in the entry hall. I assume you can make it that far without sending your miserable life into chaos?"

For the first time since they had met, she could see Lucius had clearly lost his cool. His jaw tightened and she could see a vein in his temple start to tick under the tight skin.

He swept out of the room and she smirked at his back.

Outside, the June sun beat down on them, humidity rolling off of the lawns. Lucius could hear Mircea cursing the British weather and when he turned to riposte the words caught in his mouth. Her hair was getting frizzier, if at all possible, and her face was now surrounded by a halo of short springy curls bursting free from her French twist.

"I see why you were reluctant to leave," Lucius drawled, his voice heavy with amusement.

"One of several reasons, I assure you," she quipped back at him.

Lucius fought the urge to pull and release one of her curls; it was so tempting because he was sure it would spring back like elastic. But he was also sure she would blow off his arms and beat him with them. Besides, it was highly unrefined and far too personal.

Lucius turned back to the grounds and was surprised to find that his lawns and gardens looked better than they ever had before. He led them towards the shrubbery maze, hoping that his favorite haunt had been left unchanged.

"Who has been managing the estate in my absence?" he asked, without turning to look at Mircea.

"I have. The whole place was overgrown and wretched, and your son did not seem to be managing well."

Mircea watched Lucius follow a certain pattern of lefts and rights and then stop before a long green hall; it was an arbor of green ivy with a black iron bench in the center of it. As they walked through it, Mircea did not dare to take her eyes off of him and she saw that Lucius seemed to relax. He breathed deeply and his shoulders relaxed. Mircea was simply grateful it was much cooler in the shaded area.

Lucius sat on the bench and Mircea stood, watching him with a hawklike expression, before slowly sinking onto the furthest edge of the bench. She had no intention of standing before him, but she did not wish to sit beside him either.

"Narcissa –" Lucius began. He cut off and looked away from Mircea. She lowered her wand slowly and he coughed to clear his throat. His reaction to his own mention of his dead wife surprised her; she hadn't expected him to be so affected by a woman who had left him without any attempt to communicate with him.

"Narcissa," he continued, a more snobbish tone now lacing his voice, "could never manage the grounds. It always took an absurd amount of money."

Mircea scoffed and sat down again, toying with her wand in her hands. Lucius noted the wood it was made of; he felt as though he could place it eventually but the name did not come to mind immediately. The handle was delicately carved to look like long thorns wrapping around one another.

"Your wife was unwilling to use house elves. I would assume human labor is more fashionable?"

"Not all of us find the need to be as pointedly high minded as you."

"And some of us manage to keep ourselves out of Azkaban with our high mindedness."

Lucius turned to her, his jaw tight again. "And what do you know about this? You work on 'ideas.' Death Eaters get our hands dirty and we bleed. But you?" He scoffed loudly. "Go back to your charts, witch, and leave the real work to those of us who can handle it."

Lucius was surprised to see the same expression she had worn when they had first met take over her countenance: distant and infinitely old. She stood very pointedly and faced him for a moment. Slowly, she put her left foot on the bench and even more slowly she drew up her skirt. A gruesome and very appalling scar began at the inside of her left knee and wrapped around the back of her leg, disappearing up toward her hip. Her skin was rice paper white and the scar stood out nearly purple in the June heat, cleaving a valley in her flesh where it had healed too tightly.

She let her skirts drop and stood in front of him, the cool look of utmost age undisturbed.

"I seriously doubt you know the first thing about what I am cut out for, Mr. Malfoy. I have fought, I have killed, and I have been tortured. What you should ask yourself is how I have surpassed you, with all of your title and all of your pride. I will be leaving now and I can only hope that you come to some sort of grizzly end between here and the manor so that I may be free of you."

Lucius felt a combination of distaste and shock as he watched her leave. He had to admit he didn't really know the first thing about her other than she rubbed him the wrong way. But he would choke her with his bare hands if she kept insulting his Azkaban sentence. It was the glaring flaw in his life, a huge black spot on what he saw as an otherwise glorious gold page. And she gave the feeling that she was mocking him with knowledge he did not have, as if she knew what would come of him.

"Master Lucius would like to ask you to accompany him for dinner, Miss Elaide."

The little house elf had Mircea's attention in a moment. Another full day had passed and the pair had avoided one another very obviously.

Maybe he's bored and looking for a fight, Mircea thought wearily.

"Tell him I will be there."

Lucius had just taken his place at the grand table when the door opened again and Mircea entered. Their eyes met and each could not help but admire the other's appearance.

Mircea wore an empire-waist skirt, which flattered her figure immensely, and a cropped jacket that reached to just below her ribs. Lucius had pulled his hair back in a sleek ponytail, drawing the powerful structure of his face into sharp relief. Tighter, riding-styled pants drew more attention to his broad shoulders as well.

"I am glad you agreed to join me. Unfortunately, Draco is visiting Knockturn Alley and will not be joining us."

He motioned and a chair across from him slid out for her. She sat gently as the chair was pushed magically in for her and she let a little smile show.

"Quite the gentleman," Mircea said quietly.

"I assure you I can be quite charming if I desire."

The food chose this moment to appear and Mircea's possible snide remark was buried under surprise. A large plate of roast lamb was set before them with golden, crisp potatoes and shining black olives.

"I'm… surprised," she said. "Thank you."

Slowly they both piled their plates with food, each trying to not show the other how hungry they were. Mircea had been kept so busy until Lucius arrived that she had hardly had any time for a real meal. Lucius had eaten since Azkaban but he had been smart enough to work up to a meal like this. The sight of this much food, though it was much smaller than even family meals from before he had left, made his pulse pick up with excitement.

Mircea began to eat, aware that Lucius was watching her out of the corners of his vision.

"I do not recall you being in Slytherin during my time there, and I do not presume you to be so much younger than myself."

It was a question, laid out as a statement and Mircea gave a slightly derisive laugh.

"You Britons and your Hogwarts. I was never in Slytherin, nor any other house of that school."

"Then which…?" Lucius was curious, but still loathe to show how much. He was nosy by nature and she had piqued his interested with her scar.

"Yjubeladiv Institution of Sorcery and Mysticism. I was in Merwiel house, the equivalent, I think, to your Ravenclaw."

Lucius nodded, forcing himself to continue eating slowly. Mircea had been invited as a safeguard; he would not gorge himself in front of her and she could distract him. He was trying his very best to not be an ass to keep her there.

"I am familiar with the school. Wervial is the Dark house?"

"Distinctions are not made as sharply as they are in Hogwarts. There are some in every house. The houses are not by character but by talents."

"No doubt also due to the propensity for Dark Magic as well." The words were out before he had thought about the effect they would have on her. Mircea's face tightened up again and she looked daggers at him.

"Oh yes. We're all just fodder for the Death Eater cause."

Lucius gave a loud snort. "You do realized what that mark on your arm is, do you not?"

"I chose to be here. I am not here because I could not help it."

Lucius placed his hands flat against the table and took a deep breath, resisting the urge to continue fighting with her. Mircea noted the action and bit back further comment. She had no idea why he had asked her to dine with him but she could make an effort if he could. They were stuck together no matter what so they may as well make some attempt at civility.

Their plates were removed and a cobbler was brought out along with cream liquor. Mircea decided she should make some attempt at conversation as well.

"I have not been able to help but notice the family portraits in the east wing. You look remarkably like your father."

Lucius quirked his eyebrow at her. "He thought I was far too skinny. Not broad enough in the shoulders. And he preferred… almost everything I had no interest in."

"I would imagine. He looks like he would have been a powerful man."

Before Mircea could correct what she knew to be a thoughtless comment, Lucius pounced. "Do continue." His jaw was tight again. "You have known me all of a week and you apparently find yourself to be an authority on my character. How bold!"

Mircea slammed her cutlery onto the table, gaining his attention instantly. "And you do not? You presume to know the sympathies of an entire population!"

"And never for one moment have you proved any of my presumptions to be wrong."

"You arrogant peacock!"

"How dare you–"

"Because you may be damn fine to look at but you're nothing better than an over glorified chicken! You go after my lack of involvement in the first war but you ran as soon as the odds were no longer in your favor, you Judas!"

"Uninvolved is as good as fighting for the Ministry, you traitor!"

He was stunned to see her turn white and go for her wand. He froze, realizing the fight had now reached an entirely new level, sparked by his comment.

"Never. Call me. A traitor," she hissed through gritted teeth. "My blood's no less pure than yours and I serve the Dark Lord. It's enough proof that I haven't relieved you of the weight of your empty head."

Lucius knew when to back down even if he wanted to slap her. "Very well," he murmured, raising his hands slightly to show no intention of drawing his wand. "I assume you can find your own way out."

Mircea breathed deeply, trying to calm herself down. It was hard for her to remember that no one here knew about her family. Without meeting Lucius's eyes she nodded and left quickly, accidentally slamming into a chair in her haste to leave and not stopping to pick it up.

Lucius made a mental note to never again call her a traitor. She had left his wife out of any conflict they had ever had and he owed her this much. He sat heavily, his heart racing and his hands clenching and unclenching.

In a sudden motion and with a roar of pent up fury, Lucius Malfoy swept the table of all it's contents, glass and metal crashing to the floor. Wrapping a bleeding hand in a napkin, he could hear a woman's frustrated scream also tearing through the other wing of the Manor.

"I require your assistance."

"Piss off."

Mircea had become more and more openly rude with Lucius since the failed dinner. Neither was willing to admit the cause of their problems lay deeper than their personality conflicts and neither was willing to give an inch after every one of their encounters had resulted in a fight.

"That's a bit crass, even for you."

She flicked him off and he could feel the blood rushing to his face. He was developing a tick that he knew she caused and his hand lightly touched the twitching temple.

"Mircea…"

That got her attention. He had deliberately avoided calling her by her name as long as possible, knowing the use would give him an edge when he needed it. He watched her slowly set her book on a sidetable and cross the room to stand beside him.

"What is it you want?"

Mircea had been telling herself that this was no way to behave. They would have to learn to get along at some point or just kill one another and be done with it. She met his steel grey eyes and could feel herself color slightly in spite of herself. He looked straight into her eyes as if she were the only person on whom he wanted to focus attention. She knew it was a trick of his upbringing but still…

Lucius lost what he was going to say momentarily. How had she learned to blush like that? It was distracting.

"I need someone with a smaller frame to help me reach a box in one of the linen closets."

"Your son has a nice womanly build. Surely you can find him?"

"You were closer at hand."

Mircea sighed. "Fine. Then leave me in peace."

"You have my word."

Lucius led her through the hall to a small closet she had noticed between the master suites. "That long box, in the back corner. My arm will not fit."

Shuffling her skirts, Mircea fit easily into the space and turned to hand the box back to Lucius. Instead she found herself facing a closed door. Rolling her eyes, Mircea tried to Apparate. Nothing happened.

Cold anger swept through her. "What is this?"

"An Apparation Block. Many old magical homes have them. The cellars happen to be one as well. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an outing to make. Someone should find you eventually I would think."

Mircea screamed every obscenity she could think of as she listened to his footsteps retreat. She was trapped and she had walked right into it! She had taken him at his appearances and it was entirely her own fault. If he did anything stupid it would be on her head and here she was trapped in a closet.

She slid down to the floor and listened as carefully as she could. Someone would come by eventually and she would be ready.

Fenrir Greyback was on the prowl for the delicious Romanian woman who now lived in Lucius's Manor. It had been a while since any fresh blood had been added to the Death Eaters, let alone a fairly young female. Usually it was men and crones.

Something silver darted by him and he drew his wand quickly. But it was only a Patronus. The silvery mongoose sat upright on its back paws and chattered angrily before speaking in Mircea's voice.

"Lucius has locked me in a closet! Get me out NOW!"

The werewolf followed his own nose, though the mongoose led him most of the way there. She had a particular smell like a pine forest and he found her quickly.

As soon as the door was open she burst out of it, cursing and flailing in her anger, like a cat out of a sack.

"Hizzy!" she shouted, ignoring Fenrir completely.

There was a crack and the head House Elf stood before her.

"Your master will not be returning tonight. Close the gates and let none enter."

The little Elf looked worried and alarmed. "Master Lucius gave orders to leave the gates open for him, Mistress."

"I am Malfoy's keeper and my decisions supercede his own. He will not be returning. Close the gates."

The Elf wrung its hands and nodded, disappearing again.

"Miss Elaide," Fenrir began, but she cut him off with a wave.

"I'm sorry, Fenrir, but I have a day's worth of work to do in one evening. However, to thank you for your assistance, feel free to help yourself to any and all of Master Lucius's stores. Harm none of the elves though. The Dark Lord does not want money wasted on replacing them."

Mircea took off down the hall, leaving a grinning Fenrir in her wake.

Lucius returned to the Manor sometime around one in the morning, slightly tipsy and in much better spirits. He had gotten that interfering and shrewish witch out of his hair for a full day and he had simply enjoyed the freedom. Lucius had been smart enough to keep well out of sight, knowing that the Ministry had not reported the breakout.

As he approached his gates, he was shocked to see them twist into the menacing face reserved for strangers. He made the entrance gesture but the face grated out its familiar question of purpose instead of yielding to him.

"I am Lucius Malfoy, master of this house, and I wish to enter my home."

"You shall not," the face rasped in its metal voice.

In disbelief, Lucius approached the gate and found himself being lifted by a arm shaped from the metalwork and thrown bodily back up the lane. He lay in the dirt, feeling a cut on his cheek and not daring to approach. He knew what the result of a second attempt would be.

To his astonishment, a staggeringly drunk Fenrir passed through the gates as if they were smoke and took note of him lying in the lane.

"She was so pissed," he laughed, leering at Malfoy. "All the better for me that I found her."

"And you drank how much of my spirits?"

"I relieved you of a full bottle of aged whiskey if that's what you are asking,"

Lucius wanted to tear into him but the werewolf's teeth already looked menacingly sharp and he did not wish to test him. A glance at the night sky told him that the full moon was a few days away.

"And she said to give you this." With a flourish Fenrir pulled off the cloak he was wearing and handed it to Malfoy. "It's supposed to get cold tonight."

With a crack the werewolf disappeared and Malfoy was left alone in the night. He stared at the cloak in his hands and realized there was not an obscenity strong enough for his dislike for this witch. She had planned this as well as he had planned his own 'attack'; it was dangerous for him to spend the night anywhere other than his own home so he had no choice but to sleep in the lane. No Death Eater would welcome him after the Dark Lord's recent treatment of him and explaining why he was locked out of his Manor would include his own disobedience.

Curling up under the hedges as well as he could, Lucius Malfoy, once the most influential man in the Ministry, curled up and tried to sleep.

Stiff and freezing, Lucius woke early the following morning, covered in dew and dirt. His sunken grey eyes landed on the open gates and he was on his feet quickly. Aching from head to toe, he started out at a determined stride.

Mircea was dressing when her bedroom door blew open and rough hands shoved her viciously from behind. Suppressing a shriek, she caught her balance and avoided falling. Grabbing her bathrobe she threw it on and she whirled on Lucius.

"What the hell is your problem?!"

Lucius had hoped to catch her off guard but he had not expected what he had seen. She had been in only her undergarments and along her right arm, stretching almost to her throat, was another horrendous scar like the one on her leg. This certainly explained why she wore only clothing that covered almost all of her.

"You locked me out of my own house and let a werewolf loose on my cellars!"

"You shut me up in a closet! You started this!"

There was a space of time when neither spoke, and then Mircea's hand flew out toward him. Lucius flinched but when no blow fell he noticed she was simply holding her hand out to him.

"What is this?"

"A truce. Either we just kill one another here and now or we call a truce. But neither of us can continue like this and you know it."

Lucius narrowed his eyes at her. "I will still despise you."

"And I'm still hoping you'll be mauled by a hippogriff. But if you'll not lure me into closets and just let me do my job, I'll go where you want. I'll even try to look like I want to be there if that's what you desire."

Lucius had to admit this was probably the best he could hope for. He couldn't actually kill her and she couldn't change the circumstances they were in.

Mircea felt his large square hand take hold of hers in a warm and powerful grip. "When would you like breakfast?" His voice took on a new, smoother tone and he looked her in the eyes when he spoke to her.

"At your convenience, Mr. Malfoy." Mircea tried to smooth her own tone as well, to talk as she would to a friend, or at least someone she didn't hate.

"In an hour then. I find I am in need of a bath."

Lucius turned to leave. His hand was on the handle of the door when he heard her speak again.

"That does rather seem to be a reoccurring theme between us."

He paused, not bothering to turn or show he had heard her, but an easy smile darted across his lips before he left her room.