A/N: This chapter contains some lemony stuff. This if is M-Rated but if you're not over 17 (or dislike slightly smuttier content) please be advised. Nothing too intense – you're unlikely to need your smelling salts, but be advised. AL

Chapter Four – Mid-July, 1996

With Lucius in Azkaban and the Dark Lord gradually taking over their guest rooms, Malfoy Manor no longer felt even remotely like home to Narcissa.

She was glad, of course, to finally have Draco back from Hogwarts, but he was as miserable as she was. He'd had such a wonderful year, too. Serving on the Inquisitorial Squad, playing Quidditch, taking down Dumbledore's Army, being favored by Professor Umbridge... all for naught, because thanks to Lucius getting caught having broken into the Ministry to fight Harry Potter, the greater Wizarding World now saw that Malfoys as the enemy. And thanks to his failure to procure the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, Lucius wasn't held in the Dark Lord's high esteem at the moment either. On the contrary, the Dark Lord seemed determined to punish those Malfoys who remained free, repeatedly, in small ways she suspected were building to something much bigger.

This is why, one afternoon when Draco was out with friends for the first time since summer break began, when Bellatrix was also out, disguised, destination unknown to her sister, and the Dark Lord was busy tormenting someone else for a change (Wormtail, she suspected, based on the sound of the screams coming from down the hall) Narcissa found herself breaking up with Snape in the parlor where he'd recently warned Lucius not to neglect his wife.

"So you feel too guilty to continue sleeping with me while he's in prison?" asked Snape, confused. "But you didn't feel too guilty when he was here, being cuckolded?"

She sighed. He was seated in her favorite chair. She was pacing back and forth, her form-flattering eggplant-colored dress dragging on the floor behind her (without the heels she usually wore with it, it was too long).

"When I knew he was doing the same to me, I felt less guilty. Now that I know what he's going through… Severus, have you ever been to Azkaban?"

"No, of course not," he answered, trying to work out how he felt about getting dumped by a woman he wasn't even dating. Frankly, he was predominantly disappointed that he would no longer have access to the physical release she's been providing him on a regular basis (and, if he was being completely honest, the welcome companionship wasn't bad either) since their tryst at Spinner's End two months earlier.

Lucius had already been in Azkaban for a month, so Snape wasn't sure what pushed her to make this decision now, but he certainly wasn't going to let it seem like it bothered him. "Have you ever been to Azkaban, Narcissa?"

"Yes, once."

This surprised him. He was sure he'd have heard about it had she ever been arrested.

"Nothing like that!" she said, correctly interpreting his expression. "I was granted permission to visit Bellatrix, shortly after Mother died, to inform her. Andromeda was… well, you know about Andromeda… so it was up to me to make all the arrangements and divide up the inheritance. Plus I suppose I was looking for comfort in my grief, though that was stupid. Not only were Bellatrix and Mother locked in a state of mutual loathing and blame at the time, but there's no way anyone in… in that place… can drum up empathy or sympathy or words of comfort for anybody. It sucks the happiness right out of you."

"I am aware of the effects Dementors have on people."

She ignored his sardonic tone. "It was 1987. Bella had been in there less than six years and she was already so broken. So mad. Not angry, but mad. Crazy. When they led me to her cell she was crouched in the corner, rocking back and forth, muttering to herself about who knows what. She did recognize me, and I think it cheered her to see me. She smiled. She was thin, far too thin, and the Ministry guard told me it was because she refused to eat, but I don't think prisoners were being properly fed."

Snape listened attentively. While he lacked any feelings of concern or sympathy over how Bellatrix had been treated in prison, he did feel badly about the way Narcissa felt about it, and he was additionally curious about the torment prisoners had undergone - specifically Bellatrix and her cousin, Sirius Black. Two of Snape's least favorite people. Call it childish, but he didn't mind imagining either of them in a perpetual state of misery.

"Narcissa will do anything for me," Bellatrix told Snape shortly after meeting him while on assignment for the Dark Lord. He'd believed her, but that was years ago, before Draco was born and took over as the center of Narcissa's universe, so he doubted this still held true. "She's my baby sister. She looks up to me. She adores me. I'm her world." He wondered, for the thousandth time, if he should tell Narcissa about his past with her sister... no, he decided. She was breaking it off with him anyway. What would be the point?

"When I told her Mother had died," Narcissa continued, "She asked whether it was a slow and painful death. I said no. She said that was too bad, she could use a happy thought. I told her we didn't know where the Potter boy was or whether he would turn out to be a great dark wizard and she seemed to be the only one of us not comforted by the possibility. She said she didn't care if he was the greatest dark wizard in the history of Wizardry. He took down the Dark Lord and she wanted to be sure he would pay for it. She said if Lucius and I felt any loyalty at all, we'd be hunting him down. I said, 'Bella, the boy's six years old. What do you expect us to do?' She said, 'Kill him. It'll be easier now than when he's older.' I said I would do what I could, but obviously I didn't. Even if I'd thought the Dark Lord was coming back, even if we didn't hope that Potter would turn out to be something special, I couldn't track down and kill a little boy. The very idea was ridiculous."

"Your sister lacks your maternal instinct, I take it?"

"My sister lacks a lot of things," said Narcissa, glancing anxiously toward the door, presumably afraid Bella would come back and hear her. What were we discussing? she wondered, momentarily distracted. Oh, that's right. Azkaban. "It's awful, Severus. From the moment I entered I was inundated with horrible memories of all the worst things… the worst things I've ever experienced. Crying filled my ears and I couldn't tell if it was from the prisoners we were passing or if it existed only inside my own head. I felt five years old and terrified, like I did the first time…" her voice trailed off. Snape, moved by the pained expression on her face, was suddenly overcome with the desire to wrap her in his arms to comfort her, but he quickly suppressed this urge. Not emotional, he reminded himself, inwardly annoyed by what he perceived as his weakness. Only physical.

"It was like having boggarts all around me, and I've never been good at banishing them. I imagined Draco, dead, my deepest fear, as the voice of Lucius echoed in my ears - 'It's your fault he's dead, you're a bad mother, you killed him...' Things like that. And I felt like I would never know happiness again. I was there for less than an hour but it took me three days to recover. I don't understand how she managed to bounce back so quickly."

She didn't, Snape wanted to tell her. He had seen Bellatrix shortly after she escaped. She was desperate for contact with the Dark Lord. She looked awful. Emaciated and pale, with tired eyes, brittle nails, and a couple of chipped teeth. Even her hair didn't have the same fullness. Her reflexes were markedly slower than they had been before and her curses were not as powerful, nor did they land with the same accuracy. And it was clear insanity had crept into her already maniacal mind. They'd fought. They'd fought, Severus and Bellatrix, then they'd fucked, though for what reason he still couldn't discern. He supposed it had just happened, that there was no explanation.

Narcissa perched herself on the edge of the arm of the couch and continued. "Being there brought up every repressed memory I had and Bella, being older… well, she must have had more, right? Worse? And she was imprisoned there for over thirteen years. Now Lucius is there. I can only imagine what he's thinking, how he feels."

"I doubt Lucius has any repressed memories of childhood trauma to relive," said Snape, unsure of whether this would be of comfort to Narcissa. "He was a privileged boy who grew into a privileged man, much like Draco."

"You think Draco is a privileged boy?"

"I think the worst Draco has ever lived through – until now, perhaps – is coming in second to Potter in Quidditch. You've done well by him, Narcissa. He's always been safe, always been loved, always been highly regarded, he's always had friends, he currently has a girlfriend…"

Narcissa's gray eyes flashed. "You mean that Pansy Parkinson? I don't like her. I see the way she looks at him when we drop him at 9¾ every September. She's seeking to sink her hooks into him. What kind of a girl would do that?"

"Yes," said Snape dryly. "I do so hope she doesn't go and get herself pregnant so he'll be forced to marry her."

She crossed her arms like a petulant child, pouting. "Sod off, Severus Snape."

He smirked. "Come off it, Narcissa Malfoy." He used her full name as she had done, but his intention was to tease her. This annoyed her even more. "He won't be your little boy forever. Didn't I tell you that three months ago?"

"A lot has happened in the last three months," she said, still pouting. "So I cannot remember."

He stood, heading over to where she was perched on the end of the couch, and rubbed up and down her soft arms with his strong, slightly callused hands.

"If you'd like to stop doing… whatever we're doing… while Lucius is in Azkaban, I understand. When he is released - and I'm certain he will be, eventually – if you'd like to resume, send me an Owl. If not…" He waved a hand as if to say, 'No harm, no foul.'

"That's what I'd like," she said, looking up at him. "But I wouldn't mind if you kissed me goodbye."

He knew he shouldn't. He knew if he kissed her, he wouldn't end up saying goodbye. He wondered if perhaps she knew that too, if that's why she threw it out there. But even knowing it, he leaned down to meet her lips with his. As had become their usual routine, a tender kiss built quickly into a passionate one, and this time it was she who made the first move toward more, turning his body and pressing him down so that he was seated on the couch. She straddled him, taking his face in her delicate hands, and placing butterfly kisses over his lips, the corners of his mouth, his cheeks, even his temples. As she did so his hands snaked around her waist, pulling her more firmly down onto him. Her hands moved to explore his chest as his did the same to hers. He massaged her breasts in his palms and she moaned. From the pocket of her long eggplant-colored dress she drew her wand and used it to lock the parlor door.

"No one is here but us and the Dark Lord," she whispered. He nodded.

She nipped at his neck just above his collar while his hands hurried to undo the dozens of tiny buttons on the front of her dress.

"Fuck," he swore. "How many are there?"

"They're decorative," she informed him, pushing his fingers away from her chest. "There's a zipper in the back."

He rolled his eyes. "Now you tell me." He reached around and unzipped it, sliding the cap sleeves over her shoulders and leaving it pooled around her waist.

"I'll turn out the lights," she said, lifting her wand again.

"Don't," he said, taking it from her and placing it gently beside them on the couch. She froze.

"I won't look at you," he promised. To prove it, he closed his eyes, then pulled her up, and kissed her chest, just above the seam of her bra. His hand moved back to her breast, again massaging, and she found herself closing her own eyes, lost in the sensation. When he removed her bra, she kept her eyes closed, afraid that he had opened his.

"You are exquisite," he murmured. The feeling of his breath, hot upon her skin, made her shiver. He took her nipple into his mouth and began to suck, flicking his tongue over the hard pebble at center, making her moan. She could feel his hardness straining the fabric of his robe and responded accordingly, by freeing him of it, and starting to stroke until he was at the point he could no longer stand her ministration.

"I want you," he growled into her hair. "I need you. Now."

Gathering up the skirt of her dress to join the top looped around her hips, she positioned herself over him. He slid her underwear aside with his fingers and guided her down onto him. Once he was inside she began to bounce, lightly at first, prompted to move faster by his hands on her thighs. They were joined at the mouth, their hands traveling over each other's upper bodies, as she parted his robes to press her bare chest to his while he traced the smooth curvature of her spine with his fingers.

He did look at her, but only when her eyes were closed. When he did, he felt angry, angry at Lucius. This mess was his fault. If he hadn't neglected and stepped out on his wife, she never would have offered herself to Severus. And Snape, being weak as any man with typical desires and needs that were going generally unfulfilled due mostly to his own inability to connect with or commit to a woman, wouldn't have felt that he was justified in entering into a mutually-beneficial verbal contract with her, thus they wouldn't have started having sex in the first place. And if he hadn't started sleeping with her in the first place, he wouldn't be upset about this guilt-ridden breakup she'd attempted. Not that he'd let himself get emotionally attached to her. No, certainly not. But it was exciting, planning their secret trysts, and satisfying, bedding an attractive, willing woman who didn't expect romance or love or a future in return.

He tried to put it out of his mind, choosing to focus instead on the sensation of being inside her, the way she was moving on him, with him. In the back of his mind he knew it was crass to compare her with her older sister, but he couldn't help it. Though he supposed most men would disagree, he thought Narcissa was better in bed. Despite having as many years of experience as her sister, she fucked like a virgin, somewhat uncertain but eager to please, willing to experiment but not take control, and, frankly, more easily impressed by little techniques he'd picked up along the way and used to increase her pleasure. He employed one now, moving his fingers down, rubbing her as she thrust on top of him. Her breath changed, became more erratic, and he knew it was working.

Bellatrix, on the other hand, was impressed by nothing because she'd done everything, and, Snape suspected, nothing for her could ever compare to whatever the Dark Lord was capable of, no matter how selfish He likely was in that regard. Snape imagined, from seeing the way she threw herself at Him in Death Eaters meetings, hanging on His every word, desperate for His attention, that simply being near Him was enough for her, and nothing anyone else provided could possibly compare.

Besides, with Narcissa, there was something more than lust. It wasn't love. Not even like, though he did like her. It was passion. With Bellatrix, sex was strictly physical and with one purpose, but with Narcissa...

"Oh… oh, Severus," she whispered Narcissa, bringing him back to the present. He continued to touch her, now taking her other breast into his mouth. Her movements slowed. She couldn't concentrate on pleasing him and on her impending orgasm at the same time. "Okay… okay… it's okay…"

He tried not to chuckle. She didn't always 'finish,' but when she did he thought she sounded a bit like she had to talk herself through it, which amused him. He, too, was on the brink of completion, and when she did, he did.

They were both still breathing heavily when she moved off of him, did a quick clean-up spell with her wand, and fixed her dress.

He stood, fixing his own clothes, and regarded her carefully. "This is the end?"

"I think it should be," she said, avoiding eye contact. "I love my husband, Severus."

"So you've told me, Narcissa. After literally every single time we've been together, you'd reminded me that you love your husband. Do you say it to make sure I remember, or to ensure you do?"

She couldn't respond to this. She wasn't sure of the answer. She did know she loved her husband, there was no question about that. She'd cried until her head pounded and her eyes were sore when she learned from her sister that he'd been captured and taken to Azkaban. She couldn't sleep at night with the knowledge he wouldn't be there when she woke in the morning. Draco wasn't home yet, the Dark Lord was furious, and she was terrified. The following day He sent for her. Bellatrix escorted her to one of the room He would later be permanently occupying in the left third floor wing of the Manor.

"Your husband has failed me, Mrs. Malfoy," He hissed. She trembled. She didn't like the way he looked at her, couldn't stand the way He said her married name. Standing beside Him but behind, Bellatrix regarded her sister unforgivingly, which made everything worse. Growing up, Bella had been her protector, and now here she was, looking as though she was ready to applaud any pain He was set to dish out. "This will not go unpunished."

"Yes, my Lord," she whispered, hoping He hadn't noticed her shaking hands.

"Bella, show your sister what happens to those who displease me," He said, gesturing toward Narcissa.

"Sorry, Cissy," said Bellatrix, not looking sorry. She held up her wand, the wand Narcissa had kept safe for her all those years she was in Azkaban, and pointed it at her baby sister. "Crucio!"

Narcissa dropped to the floor, the pain palpable, but not as unbearable as she knew her sister to be capable of inflicting. Still, it had her doubled over and teary-eyed.

"That's enough." The Dark Lord held up a hand. "This is our headquarters now," He said. "We will be staying here as soon as I can ensure it will be safe, provided we finish a few things first." He and Bellatrix exchanged a glance. Narcissa, still on her knees on the floor, looked to her sister pleadingly, but saw no sympathy in the eyes that stared back at her. "Expect us in one month."

"Narcissa?" Snape's arms around her waist broke Narcissa out of the memory. Overwhelmed, she rested her forehead on his chest and sighed.

"I'm sorry, Severus."

"He won't be there forever," Snape said. "He'll be fine. You both will."

"Thank you," she whispered, melting into his embrace. "For everything."