Monday, 26 November 1973
"Cherie, I've been here too long." It was true— he'd not strayed from her side from almost four days now. Lately there seemed to be little reason for them to part. Michel ran a rueful hand over the dark stubble on his fair cheeks, but a new idea occurred to him and he brightened at once. "Come, you shall shear me."
Narcissa laughed at the suggestion but realised after a moment that he was entirely serious. "I don't know how to do that!" she protested, even as he called his elf and commanded it to bring the necessary supplies from his home.
"It's very easy, but you must be sure your hand does not slip and wound me fatally," he warned playfully, drawing her in for a kiss. She frowned at the scratch of his hair against her chin.
"Well, you do need to shave," she agreed. Michel winked and summoned a chair to the bath so they could begin. He laid out the accoutrements and briefly explained the method, then settled in and tilted his chin back expectantly. She swept foam across his chin and throat in unpracticed motions.
"Like this?"
"Exactement," he sighed with contentment as she moved the blade cautiously against his cheek. After a moment he asked, "Sing for me?"
Narcissa smiled. "Any requests?"
"Depuis le Jour, from Louise," he replied with a broad grin. Narcissa laughed again. The Charpentier song was from the point of view of a young woman utterly given over to the bliss of new love.
"'Ah! Je suis heureuse!'" she quoted from the aria, though it was beyond her range to sing. Then her expression clouded over and she continued with what felt like too much significance, "'Trop heureuse…'"
"Never 'too happy,'" Michel corrected quickly. "You deserve all the happiness in the world."
"Are we not too happy here though?" she asked. "After all, it is not... real."
He raised a dark brow as if in surprise. "Are you not real, cherie? I admit you to be a very pretty dream indeed, although," he winced very slightly as she accidentally nicked his jaw, "perhaps not without edges."
She quickly apologised and applied a drop of dittany to the spot, but he did not seem concerned. "If it is as you say, there is no harm in feeling all the happiness in your heart. There is no need to dwell upon misfortunes that are far from you, my love. Why should we be unhappy when each day is so beautiful? Dwell on the fact that it must one day end? I think not."
"Hush," she chided, though his words brought a gentle smile to her lips. "Or I shall make a mistake again."
He dimpled up at her but obeyed, letting his eyes slide shut once more in complacency.
Saturday, 9 March 1974
Their nights were usually the same now, and had been for months. They dissolved from the days of reading sonnets and playing sonatas into hours of warm voices in the dark; endless kisses, fevered strokes that never dared touch bare skin. They'd fall asleep and sometimes Michel would wake her with gentle brushes against her hip or stomach; 'stop' she would whisper, even as she giggled and turned to twine her limbs with his; "we can't," she would warn, because though she was a married woman she was still unbroken, and their affair could never truly be consummated.
Michel never grew impatient or angry with her. He understood, perhaps even better than Narcissa, that she did not belong to him and as such owed him nothing, and he was careful to place upon her no demands. However, he was only human, and she gave her kisses and affection freely and he did not turn them away.
Narcissa had, over the past half a year, received numerous reports of her husband's casual adultery. More than one acquaintance had told her (sometimes with pity, sometimes with thinly veiled malice) that Lucius had been seen taking home halfblood girls after small parties usually hosted by Ministry officials, or leaving pubs with pretty but anonymous witches. And she'd seen for herself how he'd danced with Francesca Zabini and Selene Fawley and how many other girls at Samhain without shame... it seemed entirely likely that he was carrying on romances begun in his school days without thought to the fact he was now a married man. So why should she not do the same?
And why, she wondered as her hands roamed freely over Michel's shoulders in the dark, threading through his black curls, should she stop at kissing?
"You could have it, you know," he murmured huskily against her throat. "And still be a virgin for your husband."
"Have what?" Narcissa replied quietly with a dart of anxiety mingled with stark, fearful anticipation. He chuckled softly but not unkindly at her naïveté, his touch a bare trace over her her breast, teasing the rosy peak into a firm point through her thin cotton gown, and waiting for her sigh of pleasure before continuing.
"The thing you so badly crave, cherie. The release for which your body yearns." His nose was at her temple and his fingertips ventured lower, over her ribs and circling her navel. Warmth coiled low in her gut. This time when he found the lace-trimmed edge of her underwear she did not pull away, but remained perfectly still except for a very slight tremble that was beyond her control. "La petite mort," he breathed against her ear, the backs of his fingers ghosting over the damp silk between her thighs. "If you trust me, my love."
"I do," she moaned softly, her strained tone wrought from both desire and terror. "But you know I've never… I can't, he'd know I wasn't…"
"So much pleasure can be given on the exterior of a woman's body. Pleasure I could give you, and some you could even give yourself. He would never know, you would remain wholly intact, and it would be just one more secret between us… perhaps even a smaller one than the secret of our love." With his lips he caressed the pebbled nipple his hand had abandoned, and she moaned again; with his fingers he continued to tenderly stroke her heated centre through her knickers. She felt torn; her heart pounded in her throat and she wanted what he described more than anything, but she worried still that her husband might somehow realize her infidelity, when inevitably the day arrived that he deigned to take her as his wife in more than just name. When Michel kissed her, however, she felt her resolve melt away and nodded jaggedly, cupping his face in her hands and demanding that his blue eyes meet her own.
"If you're sure he'd never know."
"Not unless you tell him, cherie," he promised, "and should you want me to stop at any time, you need only say the word."
Thursday, 24 January 1980
Lucius had been planning to skip breakfast, or getting something to eat in town as had become his habit of late to avoid unnecessary meals sitting in silence with his wife, but on this morning an alarmed cry came from the dining room as he was heading out and he hurried to investigate, wand drawn.
Narcissa was standing behind a high-backed chair, eyes widened in fear and fixed on a monstrous bird that perched in the window, crunching on what sounded like bone. "It— it ate one of the elves!" she exclaimed, forgetting for a moment in her shock that they were not speaking. Lucius rolled his eyes as he crossed the room towards the massive harpy eagle.
"Dobby, I hope?" he asked drily, snatching from the creature's leg a small scroll that she had not noticed.
"No, one of the kitchen elves. What in Merlin's name is that thing doing here?"
Lucius made a sound of annoyance as he scanned the note. "Who do we know that would send something like that with post?" he snapped, tossing the parchment in her direction. She did not need to look at it to answer, her eyes narrowing with dislike.
"Rodolphus. Make sure it doesn't go after my peacocks, will you? And tell him he has to replace the elf, I don't mind paying for it but they're getting so difficult to find these days."
"Tell him yourself," he responded coolly. "We're getting dinner with them tomorrow."
She went suddenly very still. "Why would we do that?" Narcissa picked up the note but could not decipher the illegible shorthand he used— the only recognizable piece were the initials 'R.L' scrawled at the bottom.
"Because if we don't meet them in town they're going to show up here and I would prefer not to have them over for half the night. I don't know why you've been avoiding your sister—" (Narcissa scowled at this statement and redoubled her efforts to read the message) "—but you're going to come with me to keep her satisfied that I've not murdered you and hidden your body somewhere on the property. Much as you might deserve it," he added sneeringly under his breath, but she heard and shot him a scathing glare.
"I'm not sure…" she began hesitantly, crossing her arms over her chest and angling her body away from him. "I'm not sure if I'm really feeling up to—"
He did not let her finish the weak attempt. "If you're not feeling well you can take a Pepper-Up Potion or an Invigoration Draught or whatever is required to get you sitting upright at a restaurant for two hours. I'm not going alone and making excuses for you to your sister."
The following evening, Lucius apparated to London alone. Narcissa had left an hour earlier in the carriage, claiming that her fictitious illness had her too nauseated for Apparition or travel by grate. He knew she was lying— it was clearly a ruse either to spend less time with him or embarrass him by arriving separately— but if he cared, he certainly wasn't about to let her know it.
Narcissa was already seated at the table with her sister and brother-in-law when he arrived, though he was not very late. Oddly, however, she was still wrapped in her cloak, despite the warmth of the dining room. He thought this must be to torment him— it had not only been ages since he'd last touched her, but sleeping separately meant he'd hardly even laid eyes upon her (and certainly not in any state of undress). It would have been a welcome treat to see her this night in exquisitely tailored and form-fitting dress robes, but clearly she was going to every possible length to deprive him of any morsel of pleasure he might derive from her presence.
A member of the waitstaff came to take Lucius's outerwear and gloves as he sat down, and offered to take Narcissa's as well. She politely declined, explaining she was rather cold and would prefer it on, but thanking him for his consideration. Lucius fought the urge to roll his eyes at her statement; when she shifted her legs the cloak fluttered and he felt a chilled waft of air near his feet: she'd cast a Cooling Charm beneath it to remain comfortable.
Bellatrix was speaking animatedly about a recent trip to Cuba; apparently she'd felt like salsa dancing and so they'd gone on a whim. Rodolphus promised him cigars from the excursion and described in graphic detail a Santerían curse he'd seen there and was attempting to replicate. Narcissa asked questions about the cuisine and culture, her face alight with curiosity as Bella described outlandish dishes they'd tried and the vivid colors of the streets. They'd been enough places that Narcissa was able to tell travel stories of her own, though each offhanded mention of a museum they'd visited or indigenous creature they'd seen struck Lucius as bittersweet— or perhaps just bitter, as he could find no joy in thinking about how happy they'd briefly been on their trips.
Narcissa begged off flooing with the Lestranges back to Windermere for a nightcap, claiming to be too tired and wishing to take the carriage home, but since the alternative for Lucius was to sit alone drinking in is study, he elected to join them. Bellatrix merely waved a lazy farewell to her sister before vanishing in green flames, but Rodolphus seized her shoulders, kissed each cheek, and loudly announced that she was positively glowing before stepping into the fireplace. Lucius wanted to hex him.
The Lestrange's house had been disconnected from the floo network for some time, so they arrived at a pub in a nearby village and took a brief carriage ride to Vengeson Hall. With Narcissa gone, Bellatrix could not be persuaded to speak of anything besides the Dark Lord, and she dominated the conversation until they arrived at last at the front doors of the great house.
When they entered, they were met with the odd sight of Rabastan apparently asleep halfway up the stairs. Upon spying his brother unconscious from drink, Rodolphus rolled his eyes and took several steps towards him, but then paused.
"Bella, would you put Bash to bed? There's something I want to discuss with Lucius."
To Lucius's surprise (and perhaps Rodolphus's as well), she agreed without argument. As Rodolphus summoned them drinks and led him to a balcony overlooking the water, Lucius felt a stab of apprehension— he wondered if his friend might try to reclaim the dust from the Philosopher's Stone he'd won off him, or try to lure him into another wager for his enchanted globe. He was in no mood for gambling.
Rodolphus cast a warming spelling but did not offer him a seat, so they stood in silence for several moments before Rodolphus asked finally:
"You and Cissy not getting along?"
It was the last thing he'd expected him to say. Lucius narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "I should have realized marrying the sister of your wife was a mistake. Why bother asking? I'm sure Narcissa has told Bellatrix who has in turn told you all about it."
Rodolphus shook his head. "I don't know if Bella knows about it. If she does she hasn't said anything to me. This may come as a shock to someone as self-involved as yourself Malfoy, but you rank very low on the list of things she and I are interested in discussing."
Lucius ignored the slight. "How did you know we weren't getting along then?"
Rodolphus rolled his eyes and took a swig of cognac. "A blind Muggle could've sat through that dinner and known you two aren't getting along. I don't think you spoke to each other the entire night."
"Yes, well." Lucius frowned. "Certain things have come to light that, quite frankly, have made a future together rather untenable."
This, clearly, was news to Rodolphus, who did not bother to mask his shock at the statement. "You can't get a divorce," he said quickly, though Lucius suspected he was more concerned over his own wife's reaction to such a public humiliation than how the Malfoys might feel about it.
"No," he agreed, "but an annulment might be possible. I haven't… I would still have to do some research on the matter." Despite his words and his lingering resentment, the idea of severing ties to Narcissa permanently filled him with dread. He was fairly certain he'd prefer drinking himself into an early grave alone in the Manor to undertaking the monumental task of finding another wife.
Rodolphus exhaled slowly, and reached into the pocket of his robes to withdraw a silver cigarette case. He offered one to Lucius who accepted, though he did not usually smoke. Tonight he felt he needed one.
"So tell me what happened that's so terrible you're giving up on Cissy altogether," Rodolphus prompted as he lit them both. Lucius inhaled slowly, a paradoxical cool sweeping his body as the warm smoke filled his lungs.
"She had an affair when she was living in France. Since I found out I can't… I can't even look at her."
Rodolphus grunted. "Don't you think you're being a bit of a hypocrite, Malfoy?" asked he bluntly. "How many women have you been with since you were married?"
Lucius's lip curled in a snarl and he ignored the question. "It isn't the same thing. Don't pretend you wouldn't murder any man who dared touch your wife," he spat, knuckles white around his tumbler. If it hadn't been charmed to be unbreakable, it might have shattered in his grasp. He'd expected an outraged reaction from his friend but Rodolphus was staring thoughtfully into his own drink, a small line between his brows.
"Would I?" he asked quietly, running his thumb along the rim of his glass and turning to lean both elbows on the wide stone railing of the balcony, squinting off towards the lake. "Bellatrix wasn't a virgin when we married," he pointed out evasively, taking a sip. "And I wouldn't be stupid enough to leave her on her own for two years in a different fucking country," he finished with a growl.
"So now you're saying this is my fault?" demanded Lucius indignantly, earning a derisive chuckle.
"Of course it's your fault, but I'm not going to argue with you about it." A sly smirk stole over his features as he added, "It's only the intellectually lost who ever argue."
Lucius sneered in irritation, unable to place the quote but sure the words were not his friend's. "You knew about the other man though. You tried to tell me."
"I didn't try to tell you anything," Rodolphus corrected quickly, glancing over his shoulder as though concerned they might be overheard. "I didn't know anything for sure so there wasn't anything to say. Bella just mentioned there was an old friend around every time she dropped in for a visit, a man. But she didn't seem to think there was anything untoward going on— it's Cissy, after all." He sighed. "Look, what's done is done. Unless it's not? Are you concerned the baby might not be yours?"
Lucius stared at him for several seconds, unwilling to reveal his utter loss at the words. Rodolphus, however, noted the silence and turned back with a sudden frown. "She hasn't told you yet? It's been ages."
"I…" He'd scarcely seen Narcissa since she'd admitted to her affair. The rare meals they did share passed by in silence, although, now that he thought of it, she had been wearing looser, billowing robes as of late… it had never occurred to him that it might be a choice that was not strictly sartorial. Was it possible, that after all this time…?
"She came to find her sister after Regulus went missing. Bella was gone but…"
"She told you?"
"Er…" Rodolphus fiddled with one of his rings, not meeting Lucius's eye. "She didn't exactly tell me." It took him only a moment to understand.
"You used Legilimancy on my wife? My wife?"
Rodolphus shrugged but looked ready to reach for his wand should Lucius decide to draw his own. "She was upset over the news about Regulus and I just wanted to make sure she was still loyal, that she hadn't become a liability; you can hardly blame me for doubting her, with Andromeda and Sirius turning out the way they did, the last thing we need is another blood traitor in the family. But there was no disloyalty when I looked past her grief— only fear. Fear she'd lose this one too. Fear that she'd already lost you."
Lucius dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath his heel. "I have to go home. We'll discuss the fact that you invaded my wife's mind on a later date." He was already turning to leave.
"I don't think that's the issue here," Rodolphus retorted, and Lucius paused with a glare.
"Isn't it?" he snarled. "How would you feel if I—" he began, momentarily forgetting exactly to whom who Rodolphus was married. Rodolphus gave a bark of a laugh and took a sip of his drink.
"By all means, go ahead. I'd love to see you try to get into Bella's thoughts. Hell if you managed it, I'd love to know what she's thinking. But she'd kill you first, of course."
He exhaled sharply. "Have we married the two most difficult women in the country?"
"Yes," Rodolphus replied placidly, taking a final drag and tossing his cigarette into the darkness below. "Come back to me with your complaints when you've been tortured with the Cruciatus and then hate fucked at wand point because she was angry about something somebody else did."
Lucius grimaced at the imagery, paused, and then muttered, "Honestly at this point that doesn't sound so bad."
Rodolphus gave another crack of laugher. "It wasn't. Go home and deal with Cissy."
"Narcissa!" he bellowed, bursting through the doors of the Manor, voice magically projected to echo through the house. It was late, she must be in bed— he all but ran though the house to reach their rooms, yanking open the door to the chamber she'd been sleeping in for months. "Narcissa—"
She had dressed in a hurry, no doubt having been awakened by his entrance, and her hair still hung in a braid down her back. "Yes?" She answered coldly. She'd put on a bulky house robe and her arms were crossed over her chest, so that even now, now that he was looking for it, it would be impossible to see any changes to her figure. Impatiently he swept across the room and began to pluck at the garment, tugging it from her shoulders and pulling the tie at her waist loose. At once she misread his intentions and a flash of trepidation came over her face; after all, he hadn't touched her since Samhain. It wasn't like him to go so long without satiating his carnal desires. Never before had he waited so long for her, or any other woman. Even when she'd moved to London, even during their most explosive fighting in the past, it had always been less than a month before he found his way to her bed or brought her to his. With a small cry she pulled herself from his reach, but there was nowhere to run and she could only back away. Her eyes flickered to her wand on the bedside table, well out of reach.
"Take off the robe, Narcissa," he growled, advancing menacingly to continue the task himself should she object. For a moment her chin jutted defiantly and he thought she would refuse, and fight tooth and nail against whatever violence she suspected him capable. But, perhaps recalling that for the time being her body was not entirely her own and wanting to avoid any undue trauma, the fight left her eyes and she allowed the heavy fabric fall to the floor, her gaze downcast in defeat.
Lucius sucked in a quick breath of shock. Through the diaphanous, clinging fabric of her nightgown there was no mistaking the distended curve of her midsection. Rodolphus had not lied— she was pregnant, and much farther along then she'd ever been in the past.
She gasped and flinched at the touch of his hands on her stomach, but there was none of the roughness she had dreaded. "Narcissa…" he whispered brokenly, sinking to his knees before her and, after a moment of speechless wonder, resting his forehead on the firm swelling. "How long…?"
"A little over twenty weeks," she answered guardedly. "Sometime in early or mid-September. By the Samhain gala I knew I was a late but it was far too early to mention given my previous misfortunes, and then…" And then he'd made the mistake of pressing her for details of her life in their years apart and they'd scarcely spoken since.
"Gods, Narcissa…" he breathed, "I've been such a bloody fool."
"Yes," she agreed unsympathetically, "you have been." She was shaking, he realized, and he turned his face up to hers questioningly. There were tears in her eyes, and anger. He reached up tentatively to touch her cheek, but she jerked away. "Don't," she hissed. "Do you really think after the things you said, after the way you've treated me, that I would just fall into your arms the moment you showed a hint of desiring reconciliation?"
"No," he answered slowly, rising to his feet. "I suppose not." He turned away from her and sat down on the edge of the bed, pressing the heels of his hands into his closed eyes, trying to ease the pounding in his head. The timing felt supremely unfair. He wanted to be able to put everything else aside, take her in his arms and kiss her, tell her how elated he was. It was clear, however, as she pulled her robe back on and stood by the window with her arms folded inhospitably, that he would be permitted to do no such thing.
"Well…" he exhaled a long, tired sigh. "We need to come to some sort of détente at least, for the sake of the child." He half wished to pluck the memory of her confession and his reaction to it from both their memories to store in a Pensieve or, better yet, destroy entirely. "We need to find a way to..." To forgive. "To live peaceably."
"And what do you need to do that?" she asked tersely. He paused before answering, trying to remain as dispassionate as possible.
"I suppose I would need to know first how publicly known your affair was. You are widely connected in our circle— am I the last to hear of your involvement with... this other man?"
Narcissa was shaking her head before he finished speaking. "I only ever told Ari, and she swore not to tell a soul, not even Britt. I think Bella might have… suspected. She had a very annoying habit of turning up to visit with absolutely no warning, and one time she came upon us holding hands in the garden. After that I was very careful that we would have no sort of physical contact during the day when anyone might happen upon us, even when we were alone. But she continued to stop by unannounced and whether we were touching or not, he was very often with me when I was not anticipating any other visitors."
Lucius absorbed her words and sat silent for several moments as he mulled them over. Rodolphus had not then been lying about this either— or if he had been, they'd matched their stories very carefully, which did not seem to be a thing the unlikely pair would work together to do. If it was true that only Adrienne knew of the affair then the societal impact was far less severe than he'd supposed as well. Something was still bothering him though.
"Is that why you never let me touch you outside of our bedroom?" The words slipped out as soon as he thought them and he immediately regretted them. It was embarrassing enough to confess that he'd noticed such a small matter, let alone spent any amount of time wondering on it, but her instinctive reservations towards taking his arm in public or allowing him to kiss her in the parlour when they had no guests went beyond appropriate modesty and had long frustrated him.
Her lips pressed together and she replied quietly, "Old habits, I suppose."
He ignored the lancing pain through his gut at her words and pressed on gravely. "You must never see or speak to him again, Narcissa."
This, he believed, should simply have been assumed, but her eyes hardened. "Do you really think you're in any position to be making demands of me right now?" she asked icily. At once his temper flared.
"The last time I checked I was still your husband, and I have every right to forbid you from having contact with your former lover," he snarled.
"Forbid me?" she echoed in disbelief. "I suppose then you'll have no trouble never speaking to any of your past paramours again? No? It would drastically cut down on the number of women we invite to parties and I'm forced to socialize with regularly."
"How many times must I tell you," he ground out, "that I've not slept with any of those women since we were married?"
"And I've never been with any man at all besides you!" she cried in exasperation. "You're angry with me for something that happened years ago and is long finished." Here she hesitated, before asking in a quieter tone, "Have you no remorse at all? For the things you said to me?"
Lucius stared resolutely away from her. Whether or not he regretted his words there was no way of retracting them, and apologising would only make him appear weak. "I think you're reacting rather too sensitively. Obviously you're a perfectly suitable wife and I'm sure you'll be a fit mother as well." Hoping he might currently have the advantage and be able to gain some ground, he continued firmly: "Now, I think we should discuss the matter of our current sleeping arrangements."
She was staring at him, lips parted in dismayed incredulity, and he took this as an indication that he should continue.
"Given your, ah, history, I think it would be in the best interest of the child if you returned to sleeping in our shared chamber. If you were to become suddenly incapacitated, it would be important to have help nearby," he explained in a condescendingly patient tone. Narcissa's eyes narrowed.
"If I become 'suddenly incapacitated', I'll call an elf for help," she snapped. "If you're so concerned about the wellbeing of this child then perhaps you would kindly leave so I can rest? As I was doing before you so rudely barged in?"
She did have a point, and it was quite late. Perhaps she would be more amenable to the suggestion in the morning. He rose to his feet and walked to the door. When he reached the threshold the question he truly needed answered slipped out at last. His back was to her and he spoke to the floor but knew it might be his only opportunity to ask and in a low voice he hoped would give her no indication of his feelings on the matter, he murmured: "Do you love him still?"
"No!" The answer came so swiftly and with such ferocity that he felt a small bubble of hope grow in his chest for the first time in nearly three months. "Of course not, I—" but she broke off the impassioned words abruptly. After a moment, she proceeded in a tone of forced calm. "I've outgrown it. There's something… very beautiful and flattering, but ultimately very false, in being loved only for your most carefully curated qualities. As I said before, it was never a love that could have survived in any other environment other than the insular little world of our two homes in Blois. It was like a fairytale. I won't say it wasn't real, but it wasn't…" she struggled for the correct words to convey her sentiment. "True. All-encompassing," she decided at last, her tone gentle.
"Then why must you still keep in touch with him?" Lucius demanded, spinning back around. Her softened demeanor grew sharp at once.
"Because you have no right to dictate which friends I speak to and when! You know I take no pleasure in seeing your former lovers, but I invite them to our home and smile into their faces and keep my loathing away from you and from them." She rubbed her eyes, hiding her frustration for a moment behind her fingers. "You… you have such a need to control everything and everyone around you. You cannot try to do the same to me. You must trust me when I tell you that sending and receiving the occasional letter from him is no more a detriment to our marriage than any other correspondence I keep."
"And what reason have I for trusting you?"
"I told you about him, didn't I?" she demanded. "I could have kept it a secret for the rest of our lives but I wanted…"
"Yes?" he prompted jeeringly. "What did you want? What did you hope to accomplish by telling me of your infidelity? Was it meant to provoke jealously, or did you merely wish to taunt me?"
"I wanted…" she tried again, but seemed to be struggling for words. He bit back his desire to throw more insults at her, knowing they would never get anywhere if he could not manage to reign in his temper. Her eyes shifted and she clasped her fingers in her lap and suddenly more of Rodolphus's words came back to him: how, when he'd looked into her mind, he'd found only fear there.
Was she afraid of him? A sharp twist of panic darted through him at the thought, but he calmed himself at once when he remembered that her fear was largely centered around losing the baby. She was also probably more frightened of Rodolphus than she let on, but that was a problem to deal with at another time.
"Lucius, I have to tell you something," she whispered, and his alarm returned swiftly, redoubled. He did not think he could bear any more of her confessions and asked, trying to fortify himself for what he believed was the worst case scenario and with nothing short of revulsion:
"My gods, Narcissa, how many men is it that you've let have that supposedly pure body of yours? The baby is mine, isn't it?"
In the course of their marriage, he'd seen her cry before, but if he'd ever been the cause of it— and if he was honest with himself, it was likely he had been on more than one occasion— she'd never let him see an immediate reaction to the pain he'd caused. But at the accusation, hurled cruelly to preempt any injury she might have been about to cause him, she seemed to crumple and tears filled her eyes.
"Get out," she managed, turning her back to him but unable to hide the shaking of her shoulders.
"Answer me," he demanded, crossing the room and spinning her back around roughly.
"Of course the baby is yours." At the sight of her face, he felt his own anger dissolving, but he would not go before she admitted to whatever further sin she'd been on the verge of confession.
"Then what were you going to tell me?"
"It had nothing to do with that," she wiped at the wetness on her cheeks but could not seem to stem the flow of tears. She was, after all, nearly five months with child; physically and emotionally drained. "I can't talk about this any more tonight." Her voice trembled with rage and hurt and weariness. And he believed her, because she frankly looked past the point of exhaustion and seemed ready to collapse.
Whatever she needed to tell him could wait, he decided, if it truly had nothing to do with her affair or the paternity of the child. Nothing else seemed very important right now anyway.
"Rest then," he conceded. Unable to resist the urge, he reached out to stroke her hair; he wanted to show her that, despite everything, he was glad to learn of her pregnancy at long last, that some way or another they would find a way to make things right for the sake of a boy (and he had no doubt that it was a boy, this he did not need her to tell him). But predictably she turned away from the caress, and he left his hand fall into empty air. "We'll talk more in the morning."
Narcissa slipped back into bed and remained resolutely silent until he left her alone once more.