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


...

"Will this snow never end?" I said aloud, though only to myself.

Standing by the largest window in my room, I gazed out on yet another morning of blanketing snow. The bright glare of it made my eyes smart, and I turned away with a sigh.

A whole month. A whole month had passed, and I was no closer to leaving this place, than I had been that first morning, when the first flurry of snow fell. Nor was I any closer to finding anything out about the man with whom I'd been forced to cohabit all this time. The man who consumed my thoughts and haunted my dreams. All I really knew was his name, and even that without complete certainty.

A whole month and my brain was still as damaged and devoid of memories as when I first awoke into this strange existence, running, half-frozen, through the forest and fog.

As for my body...the early scratches, cuts and marks had disappeared, and now only a few bruises remained from the event of my "prying" on the third floor. But, although I was otherwise nourished and not ill-treated, I was not really "well". My appetite waned, I felt like I couldn't breathe properly, like I needed new oxygen in my body and blood. The anxiety of the lonely nothingness in my head and the stress from bearing the hostility of my host, were taking their toll on me. I was becoming paler and thinner, and there was no sign of my menses (for which I was somewhat relieved, not having discovered any provisions for such in the bathroom-cabinet that was otherwise well-stocked with amenities). This feeling of being trapped, shut in a cage, was becoming too much for me.

I made my way downstairs to breakfast feeling strange—well, stranger than usual.

At the table, I pushed my food glumly about with a silver fork. As always, it looked delectable, but I couldn't muster an appetite. I didn't even bother making my usual clumsy noises to annoy Lucius, too preoccupied was I by the thought of what lay beyond these enclosing walls...free air, open sky...

Happening to glance up, I encountered Lucius's eyes fixed on me, but instead of the usual unpleasant sneer, his gaze was enigmatic.

I cleared my throat. "May I go outside for a walk today, please?" I asked him, careful to keep my voice polite.

"If you wish to die from exposure to the elements," he replied, without missing a beat, "far be it from me to prevent you."

I bit my lip at the callousness of his jibe, anger starting to bubble inside, alongside the frustration and boredom. "I'm so sick of being cooped up like this!" I burst out at last. "I feel like an animal in a cage!"

"That is an interesting choice of simile," he said, a sudden intensity igniting in his eyes.

"What does that even mean?" I snapped. "Why must you always talk in riddles?"

Lucius smiled. Of course, his smiles were never comforting. "Call it an appreciation of irony, my dear."

"I would sooner call it an exercise in arrogance."

"As you please."

I rolled my eyes. "It must be hard work, being you," I muttered sourly.

"How so?"

I shook my head. "Has it ever occurred to you to simply relax? To...oh, I don't know...just be nice, for once?"

"I'm quite at relaxed, I assure you."

"You must get exhausted, maintaining that level of misanthropy all the time. I can just imagine you composing your insults each night before you go to sleep."

Lucius's smile widened fractionally. "On the contrary, they occur quite naturally," he returned. "With such inspiration as is provided me, there really is no need for premeditation."

Scowling, I threw my fork down and scraped my chair back noisily, secretly relishing the clenching of masculine jaw muscles it provoked in my companion. "I'm not hungry," I announced, standing up and stretching.

"The meal is not yet over, Alice."

"Oh, really?" I said sarcastically. "Well, I've finished, but you can carry on staring at my empty chair if you like."

His eyes narrowed warningly.

"What?" I said. "It'll be a nice change for you. Give your eyeballs a rest."

"Sit down and finish your meal, Alice." His tone was patronising and parental, and it goaded me into an immature response.

"I'm sorry," I said flippantly. "I didn't realise you were my father."

Instantly, I regretted it.

Lucius jumped as if scalded, and his face went perfectly ashen. His pupils contracted to black points and his irises gleamed cold and wide, like a snake's. He rose to his feet, staring down at me with an expression appalling to behold. "WHAT?" The word was barely a whisper, but the rage behind it was...deafening.

My heart pounded fearfully. I wanted desperately to run, but I was petrified to immobility by his terrifying gaze.

The muscles in his face were actually contorting with fury and loathing and—and pain?

"Never. Never. Never say that word. Again." He half-turned away and brought his hand over his eyes, spanning temple to temple, like someone with a migraine. The jewels on his rings sparkled in the light, and I realised his fingers were trembling. "Get out," he hissed at me. "Get out of my sight before I kill you with my bare hands, you disgusting little mud-blood bitch."

I turned and fled.


...

I sat on the edge of my bed for the rest of the morning, shaken, shocked and numb, a hard lump in my throat making it painful to swallow.

Lunch time came and went; I stayed in my room, my stomach clenching in revulsion at the mere thought of food. His hatred...his hatred was too much for me, I couldn't cope with it, no more than I could understand it. Because I didn't hate him. How could I? He was all I knew.

In the afternoon I paced restlessly, from bed to window, window to bed, sometimes moving to the door; imagining, wrongly, that I heard his steps outside. I think I was feverish, the hours slipped by in a blur as his hateful words played over and over in my head like a broken record.

I knew that had to get out. I knew that I couldn't stay here any more.

You have to go, Alice. If you don't get out, you'll cease to exist. You'll drown in his shadow. You have to find out who you are, before you don't care anymore.

Evening came, and I watched the shadows gradually annex the room to night's dark domain. And then, in the hushed gloom, I quietly started to pack.

Which is to say, I pulled the thick quilt off my bed, doubled it over, wrapped it around me and used one of the curtain cords to tie it in place. I looked like a giant marshmallow and I could barely move, but I didn't care. I was well past caring.

I waited, huddled on my bed, until I was sure it was after midnight. Then I quietly slipped out of the room and padded lightly along the corridor and down the stairs. All was dim and still, the only movement coming from the candles, flickering in some slight draught.

As I approached the door I began to have serious misgivings. You haven't thought this through, Alice, I chided myself. You've got bare feet. It's snowing. It's freezing. It's dark. God only knows what is out there.

But I couldn't stop now. If I did, it would be too late.

I was close enough to reach out and touch the huge brass door-handle. Slowly, oh-so-slowly, I curled my fingers around the metal ring and twisted it to the left. I felt the catch release, and the weight of the door shifted onto my arm as it swung inwardly, silently open.

Of course, he was standing there.

His arms were braced on either side of the door-frame. His eyes were unreadable.

We didn't speak. He merely stepped forward across the threshold and I stepped backwards into the hall.

One. Two. Three more steps: he forward, me back. The door swung shut with an echoing, ominous click.

He made a slight movement and both quilt and curtain-rope fell onto the floor, around my ankles.

The absurdity of the situation was suddenly too much, and I felt a hysterical urge to burst out laughing. "Hello, Lucius," I said, and it came out as a half-choked giggle.

Lucius did not look amused, but neither did he look angry. Just...watchful. "Alice, may I request—or do I ask too much—that you give me some account as to what exactly you think you are doing?"

I was grinning so much my cheekbones hurt. I couldn't stop it. "I was running away," I said with a loud snort.

"Running away from—what, pray?"

"Oh, from you. Definitely from you," I tried to suppress a chortle, but it spluttered out anyway.

"I see."

And then I was totally out of control, just laughing and laughing and laughing until the tears ran down my cheeks. "Kkkkkkkkk—ha ha ha - ha ha haaaaaaa". I kept whooping and gasping as Lucius silently took me by the arm and pulled me along with him, back down the hall and up the stairs. He opened the door of my bedroom and pushed me inside, following behind. A fresh burst of hilarity ensued as I realised the quilt was back on the bed and the cord tied around the curtain, as if they had never left.

I didn't really feel fazed by Lucius's stare as I wheezed and panted with great, gulping sobs of laughter. I was so used to it by now.

Eventually the hysteria had run its course and I stood trembling and hollow before him, sniffling. Ow, my sides. "I don't want to stay here any more," I said miserably, dashing away the moisture from my eyes. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

I peered up at Lucius. A play of deep shadows emphasised his sharp features, and he looked about as merciful as an avenging angel. "No, Alice," he murmured. "I'm afraid I can't allow that."

My face felt numb. A horrible, suffocating realisation was descending upon me. "You never intended to let me go, did you." I said the words slowly, tasting the bitter truth of them on my tongue. "I'm not your guest. I'm your prisoner."

I read the confirmation in the hardness of his eyes, in the set lines of his expression.

My mind was a whirlwind of spinning, disjointed puzzle pieces. But some of them were snapping together, as if drawn into place by some magnetic force.

"You know who I am, don't you!" I cried. "You've always known!" My voice was getting shriller. "You've been watching me d-drown in this—this blankness, this nothingness, and you've just sat back and—and enjoyed it, haven't you? Haven't you?!"

To my disbelief and rage, Lucius actually smiled, making a slight bow of assent.

I heard myself utter a cry of anguished fury and before I knew what I was doing I was leaping towards him, my hands curled into claws, intending to rake them down his perfect, beautiful, insufferable face.

It didn't happen. In my blind anger I didn't see the hit, but none-the-less I was sent flying backwards, a full several feet, colliding with the wall and dropping to the ground.

I lay there, winded, a stabbing pain in my back, unable to move or even breathe as Lucius strode over, his face twisting with venomous ire.

He hauled me up and shoved me against the wall with such force that my head snapped back and I bit my tongue. The spurting metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, but I was still too breathless to cry out. I didn't struggle, because, simply, I couldn't. His body was plastered the length of mine, and if his superior strength had not already precluded resistance, his sheer height and weight would have easily done so.

One of his hands was around my throat, the other painfully gripping my upper arm. "Care to try that again, mudblood?" he snarled, a furious incandescence lighting his eyes.

That word again. "Don't call me that!" I cried—at least, I tried to, but my bitten tongue was swollen now, and I only managed an incoherent mumble. I felt a warm flow of blood spill down my chin and onto the hand clutching my neck. Even at such close proximity I could see the stream of bright scarlet vividly striping his strong, pale wrist.

I heard a sharp intake of breath and immediately, reflexively, Lucius pulled his hand away and wiped it down the front of my robe. His palm, hot and hard, seared through the sheer fabric of my robe and connected with the curve of my breast, brushing to instant tautness the sensitive tip—and I gasped aloud.

His gesture had been automatic, even accidental. Yet suddenly, palpably, the dynamic between us changed. It was as if my gasp had some galvanising effect on him—on both of us—and we stood, locked together in a terrible parody of a passionate embrace...then I became aware of an unmistakable rigidity pressing into my abdomen...

Our eyes met and I don't know what he read in mine, but his were plainly expressing shock, disbelief...

With a hiss of discomposure, he quickly stepped back, releasing me. I fell in an ungainly heap at his feet.

He stood over me for some moments, staring down with a fierce, riveted look in his eyes, watching me attempt to stem the flow of blood with my sleeve. Tears were running freely down my face and I knew I was a complete mess.

Then abruptly, he turned on his heels and strode out the door, slamming it behind him. I heard the echo of his booted footsteps hurrying away down the hall.

I lay curled up, unmoving, trembling with shock and pain...and something else. ...His touch had electrified me, not in the brutality of his violence, but in the startling, unforeseen force of his sudden desire...and there was no denying my own response to him. A blaze of euphoria was coursing through me: my whole body thrummed and tingled.

And through the messy jumbled confusion of my mind, I kept thinking, he knows who I am.

And suddenly, unexpectedly, I was relieved.

Relieved that someone knew, anyone. Even him.

Now I just had to get him to let me in on the secret.


...

All night I lay awake, unable to sleep for the dizzying confusion in my head, the relentless thudding of my heart.

I couldn't quite believe what had happened and was, as usual, inclined to doubt everything—except for the all-too-real pain in my back ribs and the throbbing of my swollen, bitten tongue. I stared into the darkness, trying to somehow tether and subdue my wildly careering thoughts.

He knows who you are, Alice, I thought. At least, he appears to. Or is he just toying with you? ...Just like everything else, I couldn't be sure.

Fervently I hoped that he did know. For some reason I felt that if he were to reveal the truth of my identity, my memory would come flooding back, everything would make stark, sudden sense...but then, what if he didn't tell me, or he didn't know? Would I be forced to remain in this infernal darkness forever?

He must know who you are, I decided. It was the only rational explanation as to why he would prevent me from leaving.

...Something I had kept well-suppressed inside me was forcing its way into my consciousness—that I had always known that he knew who I was. That from the very moment I first saw his shocked, incandescently angry eyes, there had really been no doubt about it.

Why had I been so determinedly blind? Was it simply fear, a sort-of false device of self-preservation? That if he didn't know me, he couldn't really wish to hurt me?

Probably. Yes, in fact. From the very first, he had made me afraid of him—threatened me physically, insulted me verbally. Of course I had wanted to detach myself from personalising such hatred and contempt. I had wanted it to be his flaw, his fault. I hadn't wanted it to be about me.

All right, Alice, then let's say he knows you. Now what?

What did he have in store for me? Why keep me here? Did he believe I owed him something? Technically, he had saved my life—perhaps I did owe him something. Something more than gratitude. ...It was not inconceivable that he would think so. Or was I here to serve a purpose? To solve a problem—settle a score? Perhaps he had plans for a ransom, perhaps he had been negotiating with my family and friends all this time... My family...perhaps it was an old family feud. What had really happened?

So, you're a prisoner...

I tried to understand what that actually meant. How did a prisoner act? How was I supposed to act? Had he always treated me like a prisoner, and I, subconsciously, had always acted like one?—I supposed I had, in a way. I hadn't really had much choice in the matter. Did the fact it was openly acknowledged really change anything?

What was the etiquette? What was the accepted form of interaction between captor and captive? Hopefully he wouldn't get any worse. He was already unpleasant enough as it was, with his mocking jibes, his rules, his threats, his sporadic violence. The last thing I wanted was for 'consequences' to become 'punishments.'

I thought about the traditional forms of punishment for prisoners. Beatings, torture, starvation, rape...were such things what I now had to look forward to? Was that what had happened to the wailing lady? Was I going to end up locked in the same room as her, wailing my wrongs to the unheeding walls?

Or maybe he was planning to turn me into his slave, make me call him 'Master', crawl on my knees, kiss the hem of his robe, kowtow to him... Well, that was never going to happen. His power over me—his physical advantage, as well as his compelling magnetism—did not, and never would, extend to my subjugation. He might be able to bully me and manipulate me, but he wasn't going to degrade me. That much I knew for certain.

Well, what's the worst he really can do to you, Alice? I wondered—but I didn't care to look too closely at the answer.

Escape. I had already tried and failed. But that didn't mean I couldn't try again. My hasty, fool-hardy attempt had been doomed to failure, I could see that clearly now. Perhaps I had wanted it to fail. Perhaps I had been merely trying to force some kind of crisis on my stagnant situation...and if so, it had worked. Albeit against me.

But now—now I knew that he knew who I was—I wasn't sure if I wanted to escape anymore.

If I ran, I could lose the answers I was so sure he had. If I ran, I might end up in eternal blankness.

But if I stayed...

...The danger lay in my frighteningly snowballing feelings for him. It was like his power had somehow wrapped its tendrils around me, at first silently entwining, and now rapidly pulling me into a place of complete, inextricable helplessness. I was falling for him.—Not falling in love—that wasn't the right word. Love couldn't be this—this fixation, this craving that I was experiencing, that I could no more understand than I could deny... This was more like...like hunger-pangs of an oncoming starvation...and he was the only form of sustenance available to me. Poisoned, but irresistible.

You're a fool, Alice.

I was clinging to him because he was all I had, he was the only thing that was real at the moment. The lighthouse in the dark. The beacon in the fog. Because if I didn't, perhaps I would never find my way out again. And yet I knew I was in danger of being dazzled by that very same light. That I could wreck myself on the rocks surrounding him.

What is the greater risk? I wondered.

Stay, and risk being blinded by the light?

Escape, and risk forever belonging to the fog?


...

Thankfully, my fears of slavery and subjection proved to be unfounded.

Things went on pretty well the same as usual. We still sat together during my meals. We still exchanged less-than-pleasant pleasantries.

The most obvious difference was that Lucius stopped staring at me. Not that he particularly avoided eye contact, or deliberately looked elsewhere. He just didn't spend the whole time with his eyes glued to my face any longer. I suppose I ought to have viewed it as a victory, but it was rather a hollow one, for in some ways I felt I lost more than I gained. I'd been so successful in making myself irritating to him, that, as my feelings for him grew, it had become something of a subversive way to secure his full attention. I hadn't realised, until it stopped, just how much I had begun to bask in it.

God, has it come to this, Alice? I wondered. ...You actually miss his perpetual sneer?

Worse than realising that my pride was failing me, my courage appeared to be doing so, too.

I couldn't bring myself to demand the answers I was so sure he had. I couldn't bring myself to form the questions I so desperately wanted to ask. They stuck in my throat, dry lumps I could neither spit out nor swallow away, gradually constricting my vocal chords so I could hardly speak for congestion...

I hated this new reticence and could hardly understand it. It wasn't fear of his anger, for his fits and starts of violence no longer held much terror for me, beyond a certain vague apprehension of pain. Pain I could cope with.

No, it was something quite different to physical fear which held me back...it was his hatred. That was it. I didn't want him to detest me any more. Seeing his eyes glint with that unfathomably hard expression made me almost ill with anxiety. And I knew that to broach the subject of...me...would be to throw petrol onto that ever-low-burning flame of his hatred, when all I wanted to do was to stamp it out, extinguish it altogether.

And so I persuaded myself that I ought to wait. That it was the sensible, rational thing to do. I told myself that first I had to break through his shell, which I felt had been weakened by his physical reaction to me against the wall in my bedroom, and then—only then, would it be safe to pursue the secrets of my past.

So, with my complicity, we went on much as we had before.

Until one night, when everything—everything—changed.