A/N Beta'd by the wonderful StoryWriter831, everything belongs to JK Rowling.
Chapter edited to include new content July 2018.
…
I listened to the fading click-click-click of Lucius's boots as he retreated down the stone passageway. His tread sounded perfectly measured and calm; neither unduly hurried nor unusually sedate, and I could easily picture the innate grace of his movements that no amount of emotional turmoil could divest him of.
Listlessly, I climbed off my bed and made my way to the bathroom. Running the tap, I bent over the basin to splash cold water on my face.
My thoughts rewound to this morning's episode, as questions and fears began to prey upon my sense of reality. My eagerness to exonerate Lucius from any practice of deceit was being dearly paid for by a revived sense of mistrust in my own mind, as I wondered if the whole ordeal had merely been a feverish hallucination—perhaps a hysterical response to discovering that Lucius had left me all alone. Could the very fact that I couldn't speak about it be an indication it had never taken place?
...the madly-jingling doorbell...the plummeting temperature and rising fog...my wild run past a thousand snarling portraits...
It had certainly felt real—all too real. In fact, every frightening moment of it seemed freshly branded across my memory, as if mere seconds, not hours, had passed.
...the tap-tap-tap on my window...that mocking voice in my head...the snake-eyes perusing the contents of my mind ...
Shuddering, I pressed my damp hands against my eyes, trying to rid myself of the sickening disgust and horror that clawed at my insides as I recalled Her poring over my most private thoughts and memories, my most secret fantasies. The same ones She pitilessly derided then threatened to use for some horrible purpose I could not yet fathom.
I scooped some of the icy water to my lips...lips which still tingled from Lucius's forceful, doubt-conquering kisses.
Of course I believed him. I trusted him—I had to. What possible reason could he have to lie to me?
Don't care to inspect that question too closely, do you Alice? Your reformed-war-criminal sweet-heart couldn't be hiding something from you, could he? Acting a part, perhaps? He could be in collusion with Her—
"NO!" The word echoed hollowly around the bathroom. "No," I murmured again, quietly but fiercely, reiterating it to myself. Whatever nagging doubts my mind tried to sell me, my heart refused to buy them. I would not, I could not believe Lucius would purposefully betray me.
No, my concern was not against him, but for him. How could I convey my misgivings that She was luring him into a trap, and that I was the unwilling bait? That if we were ever to—to be together...
Raising my head to peer in the bevelled mirror above the basin, I watched my cheeks redden at the clumsy euphemism.
Too late, Alice! I upbraided myself. You waited too long to voice your fears, and now it's too late!
There was no use fooling myself. I had suspected all along that something like this would happen; I had been waiting for, even expecting it. Ever since that terrifying interview in Her subterranean lair I had known that it was The Woman's hand pulling the strings of our fate—but I had turned deliberately away from the truth, blindly basking in the warmth and sweetness of Lucius's changed, protective demeanour; the growing trust which brought us closer and ever closer... Was it stupidity or stubbornness with which I had convinced myself that Her threats were empty and irrelevant? That in finding our solace together we were somehow safe from Her interference?
As I stared into the glass, a new question crossed my mind. Leaning in close to the mirror, I breathed on its surface, misting it over. Then quickly I wrote across it with my index finger: SHE WAS HERE.
I drew back to survey my handiwork; blinked, gasped. Instead of three concise words as intended, I had scribbled an illegible mess of characters, like a child's doodle, into the quickly-disappearing haze.
I could have screamed with vexation. Damn Her! She is not going to win this! I thought furiously.
"Just say it, Alice," I told my reappearing reflection. "Say it out loud."
...The Woman...She was here...
I could hear the words in my mind; I could feel the shape of them forming along my tongue, almost taste them in my mouth...but there they remained, lodged in my throat and stoppered behind my sealed lips. I clenched my teeth and stared at myself, my eyes burning with concentration and determination. Say it! Say, "That Woman was here TODAY."
My cheeks were crimsoning with exertion, my face shining with perspiration, and I had to clutch the sides of the marble basin to stop my hands from shaking. SAY IT!
...CRRRICK...
There was a prolonged crackling sound as my reflection webbed over with jagged lines, and the glass began splintering before my eyes. I jumped backwards with a cry of alarm, a split-second before large shards of broken mirror fell out of its scrolled frame and smashed upon the surface on which I had been leaning.
"Oh my god!" I gasped. For a moment I surveyed the destruction in frozen horror, then I whirled about, half-expecting to see Her behind me, gloating over my fear... But no, I was alone.
My terrified gulps abated as I forced myself to calm down. Still trembling, I took one of the thick towels from the bathroom stand and used it to sweep up the broken pieces, depositing them into a pewter receptacle which stood in one corner of the room.
I didn't know what the hell had caused the mirror to suddenly crack, but of one thing I was now pretty-well convinced: I had no way to warn Lucius of the diabolical intentions I suspected The Woman of orchestrating against him. There was no choice left for me. All I could do now was to sacrifice my one, my only recourse to happiness—at least until this nightmare was somehow resolved. If that were even possible.
No more physical contact, Alice, I told myself firmly. No kisses, no caresses, no embraces...not even a touch. Nothing. You cannot risk it.
At this thought, all bodily warmth seemed to sputter out of me. I'd come so far with Lucius...fell so deeply...how could I revert back to those days of hopeless longing and dreadful loneliness? And just at the point of making some kind of break-through with him, with the keys he still held to my past so tantalisingly within reach? To have it all—all that newfound hope and happiness—snatched away in a moment, just like that. ...How could I endure it?
Could I endure it?
That was the question uppermost in my mind as I prepared to descend to the dining room.
...
Approaching the dining room, I felt at once leaden and hollow, like a clockwork toy in need of rewinding, inching along with faltering steps. The hallway was eerily still and silent after the morning's horrifying clamour, and my footsteps echoed back at me as if an invisible entity walked just behind me, slightly out of synch. The house, so recently a haven of security, seemed once again so dark and forbidding...once again so ancient and secretive.
As I neared the open door of the dining room, Lucius suddenly appeared beneath its threshold, the bright immediacy of him repelling the gloom. His expression was one of gentle enquiry, as if he was willing to forgive the recent injury to his pride for the sake of reconciliation. At the unexpected softness of his look, it took every ounce of self-control not to rush into his arms and throw myself against his chest. Perhaps he expected me to; at least, he extended his hand out for me to take.
But I did not take it. I would not risk taking it.
Burying my hands in the folds of my robe, I ignored his courteous gesture and moved deliberately past him, careful not to let any part of me brush against any part of him. I sensed his body stiffen and straighten, and I winced internally. I wished not to offend, only to repel him; yet I knew that at all costs I must establish a...a safe distance between us.
I heard him softly close the door and turn to follow me to the dining table, set with its usual elegance and abundance. Despite the lateness of my arrival, the food appeared freshly steaming, as if it had been served mere moments ago.
We took our places opposite each other. A hasty glance at Lucius's face now showed me a mask of polite indifference—but a certain dark glint in his eyes and a heightened colour on his pale skin betrayed his real resentment to this style of treatment, tightly contained though it was. I felt almost sick with the thought that he believed I was deliberately affronting him.
I hadn't eaten since the evening before and should have been absolutely famished, but as I sat before the array of delicious dishes all I experienced was a feeling of dull nausea and an intensification of that heavy hollow sensation weighing my limbs.
How to act? What to say? I felt utterly unprepared to face this new trial. I wished I had listened to the danger-signals and readied myself; met the approaching ordeal fully armoured like a warrior maiden, instead quaking before it like the heart-stricken, desolate creature that I was, forced to shun the one cherished treasure of my possession: my love for this man.
I should've known better than to expect those moments of exquisite belonging to last.
As I picked at the morsels on my plate I silently and bitterly mused that The Woman's cruel species of torture was surely more endurable than this. The chill between us seemed to seep through the whole room, dulling the light and fading the colours, draining the atmosphere of that sweet, warm glow which had so recently settled over everything.
For some time we commenced dining in silence, and though Lucius did not look at me, I felt as self-conscious and over-aware as those days when his eyes had burned loathingly down upon me. Desperate not to make any untoward noise I found myself doing exactly that, clattering my cutlery and bumping the table so that the crystal glasses shivered on their slender stems.
Finally, Lucius stirred and cleared his throat. "Are we to spend the entire evening enjoying this profound taciturnity, Miss Carroll?" he said, with drawling politeness, an exquisite edge to his softly-spoken words.
My blood ran cold at the mocking elaborate style of address, reminiscent of bygone days. Somehow my numb lips formed a reply. "Only if you wish to."
"Very well—let us suppose that I do not wish to." His eyebrow arched enquiringly. "What then?"
"Then I suppose we should find something to talk about."
"I suppose we should," he said. Bringing his wine to his lips, he paused to add, "I leave the subject to you." Then fixing his eyes steadily on my face, he sipped from the crystal glass.
I flushed. I had wanted to somehow mitigate the hurt I had caused him, but instead, I found myself rising to his subtly-lacerating tone. "Alright, then..." I replied, with an answering acerbity in my voice, "...why don't you share some details about this meeting you had?"
His eyes instantly narrowed and I knew he believed me to be testing him—doubting him. His mouth curved with a scathing wryness and his eyes glimmered dangerously. "I was under the impression you had already constructed your own version of that."
My own anger instantly dissolved in the causticity of his tone. I was frightened and dismayed at how quickly we were descending into the old combativeness. "That isn't fair," I protested pleadingly. "I do believe what you told me, up...upstairs," I stammered over the word a little, as the memory of Lucius forcefully kissing me on my bed vividly crowded my mind, making me press my still-tingling lips together involuntarily. A flickering glance over my mouth told me he knew on which moment I dwelt, and the heat on my face intensified. I added quietly, "...and I'm sorry if it seemed that I...doubted your word."
His expression relented a little at my apology. The simmering gleam in his eyes cooled, replaced by an inscrutability which I found even more unnerving. Hastily I continued, "I was just wondering about something you told me...something that I wanted to ask you about." I held my breath, praying that he would meet me halfway in extinguishing the flames of antagonism rekindling between us.
His head tilted back and he regarded me warily for several moments, then gave a brief nod. "Of course you have questions," he said in a much-softened tone, though his eyes remained quite unreadable. "You always do."
Relief flowed through me, but I knew I must tread carefully or risk offending him again. "You said that these...people might grant you a pardon? On grounds of compassion?"
"A reduced sentence," he corrected quietly.
"Reduced by how much?" I asked. "When would you gain your liberty?"
"If approved, I believe it would take effect immediately."
"So you'd be free to go back? To go...home?" The word sounded strange to me, as if I was uttering the hallowed name of some mystical, mythical land.
Lucius's gaze unfocused and dropped introspectively to the ruby liquid of his glass. "Yes," he murmured, "if I wished to do so."
"And would you?" I pressed him, unable to resist the sudden urgency which forced the words from my lips. "Would you go?"
The lines bracketing his mouth deepened. "Never."
"But why?"
Lucius's gaze lifted once more to fix searchingly on mine. "Because I have nothing to return to."
"You mean you don't have a house or...or you don't have any family?"
"I mean, I have nothing." He looked as if he were about to elaborate, then abruptly he pushed back his chair and stood up. "I have no appetite tonight," he muttered, picking up his wine glass and swiftly stepping away to stand by the fire, one arm resting on the mantle, his head a little bowed as if staring into the flames.
I followed him, abandoning the table and installing myself in one of the large velvet-upholstered chairs, avoiding the brocaded couch which seated more than one person. Lucius turned his head to observe me make this unsubtle choice, then, with a faint grimace, looked back at the fire.
A lump formed in my throat as I stole an indulgent glimpse of his tall, imposing silhouette, remembering how safe and secure I felt pressed against his solid chest, wrapped in his strong arms... He was dressed in an exquisite ensemble of charcoal brushed-silk, skimming over the dynamic lines of his body like a second skin, the dark muted colour at once contrasting and complementing that mane of blond hair flowing down his back like a silken cape. He seemed so...so inflexibly poised, so unassailably elegant, and yet I knew the ardency, the flammability of the blood which coursed through those veins. Oh, I knew—and the knowledge only made the lump in my throat swell more painfully.
The sound of his voice distracted me from the hot moisture prickling my eyes. "You wish for details," he muttered quietly, more to himself than to me, "—I shall give you details."
He took a deep draught of his wine then, still facing the fire, he began to speak. "After the war ended, I lost almost everything," he said in a curiously detached tone, as if beginning an account of someone else's history. "My career was over, my position in society destroyed. I only narrowly avoided prison—a return to prison,"—he emphasised the word deliberately, as if wishing to make clear that I might add 'Ex-Convict' to 'War-Criminal' amongst his list of appellations—"by making extensive reparations to our government, including the forfeiture of three-quarters my fortune...such vast sums as you could never dream of, my dear."
Recalling that top drawer of the bureau in his room, brimming with precious gems and heavy gold jewellery, I tried to picture the hoard it must have originated from, if that belonged to but a fraction of it. It was impossible to imagine.
"A fortune amassed over a thousand years of prosperity, signed away in a single moment..." His shoulders lifted in a brief shrug. "And yet, in many ways, I was...grateful. Grateful that my family had survived that precarious time of war—miraculously, it appeared to me. My son and my wife were safe, and I still had my home, a roof for over our heads..." He lapsed into silence, and I watched him absently extend his left hand down towards the flickering fire. My breath caught as I saw the flames stretch and grow, almost as if he were pulling it up to his fingertips...but it could have been a mere trick of light or stirring of air from the chimney.
"Then why did you leave?" I prompted gently, afraid he might curtail his story there. Having subsisted so long in a world without context, with a man so shrouded in secrets, every new revelation was infinitely precious to me.
Lucius seemed deep in thought. At length, he resumed speaking. "My home had not been a happy one for many years," he said. "It held memories better forgotten...a past better left behind. My wife urged me to sell up and start our lives anew; she could see it was the only way for us to move forward...she was always wiser than I." His hand made a gentle movement, and again the flames seemed to respond to the motion, spiralling around the hearth in slow swirls. "...But, in my stubbornness and obtuseness, I refused. It seemed that my Manor was all I had left of my ancestral legacy, and I would not part with it willingly."
Lucius abruptly straightened and let his hand drop to his side, and the fire immediately shrank back down to a lowly-burning glow.
"I suppose it was only a matter of time that my son left," he murmured. "He was now a young man, no longer a boy I could hector and control. He announced a desire to go into, of all things, law enforcement." Lucius turned and cast a glance at me, full of bitter intensity. "...Perhaps you know enough of my nature to imagine I did not take the news well." His smile through gritted teeth seemed to reference every cruel word or deed I had ever suffered at his hands.
"You believed he was deliberately taunting you," I said softly.
"Yes," Lucius replied. "I thought he was making a mockery of the fact I was being kept under strict surveillance by the authorities and would remain so indefinitely—perhaps for years, even decades, to come. Although my money had kept me out of prison, it did not buy my freedom. I would have to report to, and be monitored by, the very people my son now wished to join."
Another deep swallow from his wineglass, quite unlike his usual savouring sips, betrayed the agitation of his mind, although he remained outwardly dispassionate.
"...In the first throes of rage, I threatened to disown and disinherit him. I was still arrogant enough to believe I could bully or threaten him into changing his mind. Instead, he told me plainly that he had no wish to inherit the Manor, or what was left of my money—still a considerable fortune, despite its depletion. He called it a "tainted legacy"; he told me he despised his family name and all that it stood for, and blamed me for ruining his life—in short, he wanted nothing more to do with me."
A final swallow of wine finished off the glass. Carefully, deliberately Lucius placed the empty vessel on the mantlepiece and fixed his eyes on his own reflection in the mirror that hung above it.
"I cut him off with only the clothes on his back," he said bluntly. "I absolutely forbade my wife to speak of him, even to mention his name. I could see how deeply it hurt her, but I wouldn't, I couldn't back down. ...She tried everything to broker a reconciliation. She would leave his letters lying open for me to read, and I would read them—and then burn them." His head shook slightly, the movement only perceptible in the brief shimmer of his beautiful hair. "...I couldn't forgive him for being so...so happy. It was abundantly apparent that he was flourishing, that he relished everything about his new life: his training, his tutors...his new friends..." His eyes broke momentarily from his own gaze to flickeringly meet with mine, causing a thrum of inexplicable emotion to flood through me. "He made it absolutely clear that he didn't need me or my money...or my love. He didn't need a father at all."
His voice finally faltered on that last sentence, and I had to forcibly bite back the words which rushed to my lips. ...That's not true! Of course he needed your love. I know what it means to need your love... But to speak those thoughts aloud would jeopardise my self-control, and once I lost that, nothing, nothing could stop me from going to him. So I folded my arms, physically repressing that dangerous compulsion, and simply prayed that his story would not end the way I feared it would. I didn't want to bear witness to any more of his grief and guilt, when the power to comfort him was totally denied me.
Now his impassivity had broken, pain bled through the cracks between each brittle syllable. "After a year, she—my wife—tried again to make me see reason. She begged me to attend my son's first-year graduation ceremony, she said it would mean the world to him..." He gritted his teeth and forced the words slowly, deliberately out. "...I told her that...that he...my son...was...dead to me."
I couldn't repress a gasp of dismay. Good god, was there no end to this man's misery?
"I said those words...those very words...to the mother of my son. ...And a week later he...was gone forever." He stopped speaking, but his gaze remained fixed unflinchingly on the mirror. He seemed to be searching for something within himself, but what it was, or if he found it, I could not tell. The shadows thrown up by the fire emphasised the pallid angularity of his face; his reflection seemed so harsh and haunted, and I was tortured with the need to go to him, to be the one to bring him out of this too, too painful past and offer him whatever comfort I had within my means to give...
But I had no means. So I sat there, frozen; so utterly paralysed by my helplessness to help him that I could not even cry, though my heart smote me and wrung blood for him. And the longer I sat, the stonier and harsher Lucius's face became in the reflection of the glass.
Suddenly clearing his throat, he addressed me once more. "But that's all history, my dear," he said coldly, surveying my crossed arms and closed body language with a curl on his lip that made me tremble and drop my eyes from his reflected gaze. "So...in answer to your earlier question: even should I be granted my liberty—no, I will never return home. I have far more persistent persecutors there than the men with whom I spoke today. One cannot so easily escape one's memory, conscience, and regrets."
He turned away from the fire, his eyes avoiding the shadowy spot I inhabited, and I could hear the click of his boots on the wooden floor as he moved over to the door. "You will forgive me if I retire early. I am...tired." He paused as if granting me this one last chance to respond; to give him something, anything, in return for granting me his heartbreaking confession. When I continued voiceless and motionless, he simply added, "Good night, Alice." His voice sounded unexpectedly tender—and it cut me to the quick, more so than all the previous inflections of bitterness, impassivity and self-loathing.
Wait—please! Don't go, please come back! For the briefest moment I envisaged what should happen if I were to spill out what was on the tip of my tongue; I imagined him swiftly coming to me, stooping to gather me to him, I pictured myself clinging to him, whispering words of comfort and consolation even as he stopped them with his mouth...
But the words that slipped from my lips were quite different, so brief, so cold. "Good night, Lucius."
I heard the door sweep shut with a soft click.
For hours I sat, staring into the flames which shrank but never died in the hearth, mulling over the things Lucius had told me tonight and the secrets he had already revealed.—Scant knowledge though it was, it occurred to me that I now knew more of his history than I did my own. This thought only saddened me the more.
When the silver mantle clock struck one, I forced myself up from my seat and made my way out into the hallway. I was glad to see that the hall lamps were still lit, but as I passed them, one by one they fizzled and died, as if they had been only waiting to light me to bed before extinguishing themselves. I did not look back. I felt too tired and oppressed to feel any fear at the trail of stretching darkness left behind me.
Retracing my earlier steps, I felt just as leaden and hollow as when I had descended. As I walked, one weary, sad thought fell like the shadow of a tombstone over my mind. ...Perhaps hell is simply the void that remains after heaven is snatched away...