Monday, 16 February 1976
"He's sold my house," she breathed, eyes wide and startled as a doe as she clutched the parchment. "Do you think he knows about us? Is that why he's done this?" She could not keep the panicked edge from her voice, and Michel slipped a warm arm around her shoulders.
"No, cherie, I do not think so. I think if he knew about us he would have come here in person to punish us both. I think the day has come at last that he is recalling you to his side, my love."
Narcissa shook her head quickly, his words doing little, for once, to assuage her fears. "It can't be. Who would do something so underhanded and unnecessarily cruel and…" her voice drifted off. Michel shook his head sadly.
"Truth be told, I think he wanted you to come back last year when he reduced your allowance. I said nothing at the time because I am selfish. I even wondered if perhaps the bastard child—" he felt her tense at the mention of this sensitive subject but pressed on, "was not some strange attempt to provoke you into enough of a fury to go to London and confront him. For then could he not have blamed your absence as an excuse for his wandering attentions? But this, Cissa, I think is the clearest message yet— you will have to go to him if you have nowhere else to live."
Narcissa sat down abruptly. "But this is my home. Why would he not just… what sort of man cannot bring himself to write a note asking— or even commanding!— his wife to return, and must resort to these tactics?"
Michel shrugged. "A man such as the one you married it would seem. Ah, ma belle, do not look so forlorn. We both knew this day would come. That it has not come much sooner, I consider us very fortunate." He tilted her face up with a light brush of his fingers along her jawline, and bent to kiss her.
"I should perhaps not even say this, but as I mentioned before, I am selfish. Our friend Dumas would agree that love is the most selfish of all the passions, and I am greedy when it comes to your affections, Narcissa. I want as little or as much as you will give me, and so I will say it even if I should not. When you are a married woman, cherie, truly a wife in more than just name, I ask that you do not forget your Michel who loves you, should you find yourself... disappointed. There is so much we have not been able to share, and I would like that, if it is something you wish." He cupped the back of her neck, his fingers rooting in her hair. "I have so enjoyed this time together," he murmured. "And perhaps we will have more. But if we do not, it is not something to mourn, I think, since we have been so happy."
Narcissa ducked her head, her throat tight. "That's easy for you to say. You do not have to give up your home, where you feel safe and loved, to live with someone who cares so little for you that—"
"C'est assez," he chided gently. "Enough. Do not let him see that he has upset you so. There is nothing to be gained from a man like this if he believes you to be at the mercy of your own tender heart— he will only wound you further. You will go to him now and you will change his mind about giving your house away, I have no doubt about that." He paused to kiss her again. He took his time now, placing his lips on each closed eyelid, the tip of her nose, and finally her mouth. This might not be their last kiss— even if he was right, she'd have to return to move her belongings back to England— but the number they had left was certainly limited. "And," he added softly, "if you can, write to me sometimes and let me know that you are well. If nothing else, I shall always be your fond and affectionate friend, cherie."
Thursday, 7 February 1980
"I can't believe you didn't tell me sooner, you thoughtless bint," Adrienne Parkinson growled, and the words might have stung had she not been hugging Narcissa so fiercely that the blonde could scarcely breathe. "At least now I understand why you've been avoiding me these past two months!"
"I am sorry about that," Narcissa conceded at once. "But I knew you'd notice right away and I had to keep it from everyone until Lucius knew."
Ari nodded and released her at last, placing an affectionate hand upon Narcissa's stomach and then resting it upon her own larger bump. "It's just the best news. They'll be in the same year at Hogwarts and be best friends," she declared with conviction. "Do you know if its a girl or boy?"
"No," Narcissa bit her lip. "Well, likely a boy. But I want to hold out hope for a girl as long as possible so I've asked the Healers not to tell me."
"So does this mean you and that wanker you're married to are on speaking terms again?" Ari asked lightly, kicking her shoes off and tossing her feet up onto the settee.
"Oh yes," Narcissa lied at once, dipping her face to take a sip of tea. "Yes, much better now. And please don't call him that," she added as an afterthought.
Ari rolled her eyes, not for a moment deceived. "He was happy to hear the news at least, I hope?"
Narcissa made a little moue and refused to meet her friend's inquisitive gaze.
"Or did you not tell him? Did you just turn up five months pregnant at breakfast one morning?" She laughed at the mental picture of such a scene, and Narcissa sighed.
"My brother-in-law told him. To be honest I'm surprised he didn't let it slip ages ago, he's known since December and he kept dropping these little hints about it over supper. I think he must have assumed Lucius already knew or he'd have made a much bigger deal of things. He must not have told Bella either, come to think of it," she went on with a thoughtful frown. "Bella certainly would have said something months ago, if not to Lucius then at least to me."
"Rodolphus Lestrange knew before I did?" Ari replied, aghast. "How could you, Cissy!"
This time it was Narcissa's turn to roll her eyes at her friend's theatrics. "I certainly didn't tell him. He used Legilimency on me when I was still in the fist trimester. I wouldn't have said anything to my husband that early even if we hadn't been fighting."
Ari gave a disgusted shudder. "My brothers' wives are terrible bores, but at least I don't have to deal with anything like that. So go on then, what happened when he found out?" She reached for a biscuit from the silver tray on the table between them.
"He came home in an absolute state and at first I didn't even understand what he was going on about, but then he saw... I'd been wearing loose robes and keeping my cloak on around him as much as possible, you see, but there was no hiding in my nightgown... Anyway, he was... pleased." Narcissa had been more touched than she cared to admit when he'd knelt before her in awe, but she couldn't dwell on that when she was still so furious with his prior and subsequent actions. "But that doesn't change the way he's behaved since November and I tried talking things through with him again and it... it didn't go well."
Ari waited to see if any more was forthcoming, and when it seemed Narcissa would share no more unprompted, she asked, "Was he angry you kept it from him for so long? Because I for one am livid that you kept it from me, so I can only imagine—"
"No, I think he felt rather responsible for that." A pause. "It was so much worse," Narcissa murmured, staring at her hands in her lap. "I tried to tell him about the children I lost last year, but when I said I needed to tell him something, he accused me of being pregnant with another man's child."
"But that's absurd!" Ari cried, indignant on her behalf. "You and Michel never even had sex. It's preposterous." Scowling, she chewed the cuticle of her thumb and considered Narcissa's words for another moment. She'd given up smoking when she and Britt had started trying for a child, and taken up nail biting in its stead. "I suppose what makes it so much worse is that you weren't even going to say something that would upset him, or at least shouldn't have done— not noticing your miscarriages last year is something he ought to feel guilty about, not the other way around."
To this, Narcissa remained silent. Ari did not know about the ultimatum she'd given Lucius in regards to his illegitimate child. Their friendship was long and had endured many trials, but she did not think Ari would ever see her in the same light if she admitted to pressuring her husband into murdering his own offspring. Perhaps if she'd been right in thinking its existence was preventing her own pregnancy Ari could have come around to her reasoning, but now a nameless, faceless toddler was dead because she had drawn a mistaken conclusion in her own baffled grief. She told Ari many things, more than she meant to at times, but this was a secret that would never leave the confines of her marriage.
"Well, that's where we left the conversation. I told him it had nothing to do with Michel but that I could not stand to look at him for one more minute and he left. He hasn't so much as even hinted at saying that he is sorry for what his words or actions and it's been a week."
"Has he ever apologised?" Ari asked, rather certain she knew already knew the answer as she reached for another biscuit. "For anything?"
"He has not," she admitted grudgingly. "But I wonder if this occasion might not merit an exception to that particular obstinacy?"
"You would think so..." she agreed slowly, nibbling on the custard cream she'd selected. "But I rather doubt it."
"So I'm meant to just forget what he's said? Again?"
The other witch tilted her head to the side, considering the question. "I wouldn't, but you already know what I think of him." She hesitated. "I don't know, Cissy. You're so much happier when you aren't angry with him, and things are going to be hard enough if you reconcile with him. Not that I won't be here to support you, you know I will of course, only... well, I'm already a cow, by the time late March comes around I'll hardly be able to waddle to the loo, let alone rush to your side if something goes wrong. Not that I think anything will!" she added quickly. "Just that... this is a difficult enough thing on its own, and that's with Britt fawning all over me and doing backflips to keep me comfortable. I don't know how helpful Lucius'll be, after all he's a man and we know they're generally rubbish at most things that matter... but... do you see what I'm trying to get at here?"
Narcissa sighed. "Get over it for the sake of the baby?" she guessed.
"Not really," Ari disagreed. "Get over it for the sake of yourself. From what you've told me, I think he does sometimes— and this is going to sound like I'm defending him, I'm not, you know I think he's a complete tosser— but I think sometimes he does sort of say that he's sorry without actually saying it, you know?"
Narcissa shot her friend a wry smile. "Why, I think motherhood has given you a tender heart," she accused playfully. Then she closed her eyes, letting her head rest against the back of the sofa. "Perhaps you're right... but this was really dreadful, Ari."
Ari shrugged. "Wait until you're sure, then. That he really feels sorry for what he's said, or until you aren't angry any longer. But don't wait for the words."
Thursday, 14 February 1980
"I have something for you." Lucius spoke from the doorway with just enough volume to carry over the notes soaring from her piano as her fingers flew easily over the keys.
"Oh?" Narcissa replied disinterestedly, not bothering to look up from the sheet music before her. "Is it an apology?"
He grit his teeth and ignored the barb. "Will you come upstairs, please?"
"After I finish this song."
Lucius nodded in agreement and sat down to wait. He did not know the piece she played, and suspected she transitioned from one song to another and perhaps a third or fourth, as it was nearly a quarter of an hour before she gave up on waiting for him to leave and her hands stilled at last. He had not minded the wait, it had actually been rather pleasant to listen to her performance and watch her for longer than he'd been permitted to for some time now, but when she stopped she seemed defeated and vaguely irritated.
"Alright, let's go," she conceded, rising gracefully and sweeping from the room without waiting for him. He sighed and moved after her, following her upstairs and once they'd reached the private parlour that separated their bedrooms, she sat down and raised her eyebrows expectantly.
"In here," he held his hand towards the bedroom they'd shared up until this past November. She watched him warily as she moved towards it, and he could not blame her; she was not wrong in regarding his motives for luring her into the chamber with mistrust. A large, neatly wrapped parcel waited for her at the foot of the bed, complete with a temptingly large, metallic bow. However she was not charmed by this presentation; she merely tapped her wand to the package so the paper and ribbon vanished, and flicked the top off without enthusiasm. Inside sat a sumptuous navy cloak; she scarcely glanced at it and did not bother to touch it.
"It's lovely," she announced dismissively, setting the box aside.
"Try it on," he insisted, attempting to swallow his frustration. "Here, I'll help." He lifted the heavy velvet and draped it over her shoulders, the ermine-trimmed hood settling richly to frame her face.
"What do you think?" he prompted when she remained quiet and still.
"I said it was lovely already, what else would you like?" she replied shortly.
"I'd rather hoped you might at least show some small indication you were pleased." He fought to keep irritation leaking into his voice. After all, it was St. Valentine's Day; surely she could set aside her anger and thaw to the romance of the date?
"When have I ever given you the impression that my goodwill can be purchased, Lucius?" Her voice was frigid. He exhaled sharply, his hands still on her shoulders.
"It's been three and a half months," he reminded her unnecessarily, stepping closer so her back was pressed to his chest.
"Since what, Lucius?" she asked in saccharine tones. Despite his sneer at her mockery he could not seem to control the hands that slid from her shoulders down her arms, slinking hopefully to her hips. "Oh yes, now I remember," she went on, her voice suddenly ice. "Since you accused me of being a whore and defaming the Malfoy name with no mind at all to your own transgressions." She unfastened the clasp at her throat and dropped the luxurious outwear back into its box unceremoniously, showing every indication of leaving the room.
"You are my wife, Narcissa," he growled in what might have been a warning, catching her wrist. It seemed cajoling and bribery would get him nowhere; it was time to try his other long-favoured tactic of intimidation. "And this has gone on far too long. It's unacceptable."
Fury flashed in her gaze at the statement. "This is what you want?" she snapped, her willingness to argue about the subject rapidly evaporating. "Fine." Narcissa pulled out her wand and pointed it over her shoulder at the back of her dress, and all the buttons popped open at once. She stepped out of it and kicked the skirts aside impatiently, ripping her slip off next and stalking over to the bed. "You're right, you are my husband and you are entitled to my body whenever you choose. So go ahead. I won't stop you." She pulled her underwear off and laid down on top of the blankets, fully nude and jaw squared in an unspoken challenge.
Lucius pursed his lips as he considered his next move. A better man would walk away; it was what she wanted him to do. His gaze raked her prone form, fascinated by the changes from the last time he'd seen it. Normally so thin, the protrusion of her stomach was a novelty, and her small breasts had grown fuller as well. Some instinct told him they'd be more sensitive now, and he longed to confirm this intuition. Her cutting stare aside, he'd never seen her look so soft and welcoming. Fuck it, he thought, shucking off his robes as he strode across the room to join her on the bed; it had been months and no one had ever accused him of being a good man anyway.
He was only slightly disappointed when she stayed resolutely unmoved by the first sweep of his hands over her. It was hardly a surprise. She had tried this ploy before with success, early in their marriage, but she was forgetting one very important fact: they were no longer strangers to one another. He knew her body well by know, knew what she found irresistible, knew what made her fingers clench the sheets beneath her and toes reflexively curl. As he knelt between her thighs and slid two fingers into his mouth to lubricate them, he had no doubt at all that her resistance would soon be in tatters.
It was with some relief that he discovered she was not fully able to stymie her body's response to his touch, though she refused to look at him and her jaw remained stubbornly set. While his right hand rediscovered her most sensitive areas, his left moved to a newly-rounded breast and teased the darkened nipple there to good effect, but when he cupped the soft flesh and squeezed indulgently he was met with a sharp little hiss of pain and warned to be gentler. He made amends by peppering pecks over her throat and clavicles and attempting to distract her with quick, light caresses that normally would have made her gasp and plead for more, but now she merely pressed her lips into a thin line and stared towards the windows.
After several minutes of his ministrations, her hands twitched and back arched and still she stared resolutely away, but it was getting harder to keep her expression from belying signs of her impending release. Lucius smirked and she saw him do so; with a sharp, vexed exhalation her hand flew out and seized one of the pillows piled next to her head, dragging it over her face to hide from him.
"That's cheating," he protested at once, attempting to pluck it away with the hand that was not stroking persuasively between her legs. Her grip was firm though and she'd been closer than he had realised, as her hips jerked suddenly and he felt her her muscles clenching spasmodically around the fingers inside of her. It was a supreme injustice that any sounds or expressions she may have made were swallowed by her shield and once she grew limp he withdrew his hand and yanked the pillow aside, tossing it from the bed. For good measure he seized the rest and threw them out of reach as well, depriving her of any additional chance to hide.
"That wasn't fair," he growled, prowling forward to cover her body with his own and grasping her wrists, pinning them above her head.
"Since when have you ever concerned yourself with fair?" she spat, somewhat breathlessly. He snarled in frustration and bit her shoulder, knowing that doing so to her overly-sensitised skin would cause her to gasp and twist beneath him. He couldn't wait any longer. Doing his utmost to ignore her obvious, persistent anger towards him, he reached down between their bodies to slide into her at long last, making a sound that might have been mistaken for pain if not for the visage of anguished relief pained across his features.
"Fuck," he hissed inelegantly, then pressed a brief peck to her sharp cheekbone. "Look at me," he murmured as he began to move, his tongue traveling over the side of her neck, teeth nipping at her ear. She refused. Her lids remained closed, blind to his searching, quicksilver gaze, and her hands lay limp beside her. While she might allow him to take whatever pleasure he could muster from her body, she would give him none that he did not steal.
This wasn't what he wanted. He wanted his wife back. This cruel imitation of what they'd shared was not enough. Even as he moved inside her she remained withdrawn from him, and he could force himself and even pleasure upon her but she would not give him herself, and she was the only thing he wanted.
"Narcissa, look at me," he repeated, nose brushing her cheek, palms gliding over her breasts. He could feel her heart pounding, see it in the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat. Why did she have to make this so difficult? He was ready to forget her indiscretion, why did she refuse to do the same? She could only make them both unhappy by refusing to participate in this. In his mind he began forging desperate compromises— he'd settle for once a month if only she would kiss him; thrice annually could be enough if each time was like it had been after Samhain.
"Narcissa," he breathed urgently, his voice very nearly breaking. "Narcissa, please. I need you to look at me."
And finally, she did. Her eyes blazed like sapphires when they met his at last and her hands flew up to grip his face roughly. She looked like a valkyrie, and it was an apt comparison: he felt as though she alone could decide whether he lived or died in this battle of their interminable wills.
"If you ever," she panted, her nails digging into his cheeks as she held him, "Ever say anything like that to me again, or treat me as you have these past few months, I will take our child and you will never find us. All the gold and influence and power in the world will not bring us back, do you understand me?" Her thighs were a vice, locking him into place and preventing the movement of his hips. He was nodding in acquiescence even as she continued to speak, agreeing preemptively to whatever would end his torture. And not just the agony of his delayed sexual gratification, but the intangible torment of these past months, of being away from her for so long. "And if by some chance you find us, or if you imprison us here, it will not matter; we will never belong to you again, and your suffering will be tenfold for it. Is that clear?"
"Yes," he gasped, and at last she released him and finally, finally condescended to lift her lips to his. He kissed her as starving man might consume a meal, with a heedless desperation that stole the air from her lungs. She returned the kiss with ferocity, her own demand rising to meet his. He was not the only one who had been waiting a long time for this. "Yes," he repeated as he began to rock into her once more, his tongue moving against her mouth as he spoke her name as though in prayer, confessing at last, "Gods, how I've missed you." Her arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close, foreheads pressed together and sweat mingling as he spilled inside her at last with a ragged, spent groan. He was careful not to let his full weight settle upon her midsection but remained in the comforting loop of her arms and stayed close as he sank into blissful contentment.
It took less than a minute for shame, like bile, to rise in his throat and leave him with a bitter, choking sensation. He rolled away from Narcissa's enveloping warmth, his back to her as all the languor left his body. Hot mortification rushed through him and his heart rate, already elevated from their coital activities, was increased further by the sick sense of anxiety that flooded him now. How could he bear to face her again after what he'd just said? He had pleaded for her affection and she had, in a fleeting moment of charity, granted it, but now he felt suffocated by humiliation such as he'd never known in his life. This was worse than his humiliation after learning of her lover— that, at least, had been largely out of his control. For this he had no one to place blame upon apart from himself. He balled his hands into fists, shoving one under the pillow beneath his head while the other clenched impotently upon the sheets. Any trace of lingering respect she might have held for him would now surely have been stamped out by his own pathetic words and actions. In that moment, he loathed himself more than he had any Mudblood he'd ever tortured or blood traitor he'd slaughtered, and couldn't begin to fathom the degree of disgust she must surely be feeling towards him. Nothing he had done had successfully earned her regard so at last he had cracked and begged for it— it was no victory at all, but a crushing defeat. There could be no reconciliation now, as surely she'd move in her heart from mere anger at his words to utter revulsion at his weakness.
For some time now Lucius been denying to himself how weak his desire for her was making him— not just a simple physical want of her body, but a craving for her affection and approval. And he'd not merely wanted her, he had needed her— he could not forgive himself for losing control of himself so completely. How could he face her again? How were they meant to raise a child together? How could he be a father when he was not even strong enough to be a husband? He was meant to be a pillar of strength for his family, and yet how easily he crumbled before his wife. Just his wife; there were so many external challenges they would face, yet he could not convey solidity even before her alone. How would she ever trust him to keep them all safe?
"Lucius?" Her tone sounded worried, and he jolted in surprise when her fingertips brushed the knots of his back. "Where did you go?" she whispered, her hand running from his shoulder to elbow and back up, over and over again as she tried to decipher why every muscle in his body was held rigid and tense. "You were here with me, just moments ago," she continued to murmur in sad bewilderment as she stroked his flushed skin. "Come back."
When he did not reply she tugged gently on his elbow, maintaining the soft pressure until he conceded to lie supine beside her. His eyes were clenched shut, his brow drawn downwards as though in pain, and she sighed quietly, pressing a small peck to the hollow of his throat. "Lucius…"
When he did not reply, she lifted the arm nearest to her and wrapped it around her shoulders, nuzzling up to his side and resting her head on his chest. She reached across his torso to grasp his other hand, unfurling one finger at a time and laying his palm upon her swollen midsection. "Here," she commanded, and he responded with gentle, tentative pressure. "Do you feel it?"
Slowly his expression eased, transforming to one of confusion and then wonderment. "Was that…?"
"Yes," she smiled encouragingly, and he splayed his fingers across her abdomen's firm curve.
"Can you make him do it again?"
"No," she laughed. "I cannot. But I imagine you will have many additional opportunities before June."
"Will I?" he asked uncertainly. Would she grant him this again, or was she merely acting now out of pity?
"Yes," she promised resolutely.
"Narcissa..." He tried to make his tone hardened and untroubled. Perhaps there was still a chance of salvaging the situation. "I... when I said... I didn't mean..." But there was nothing he had spoken that he could claim to be false. He had needed her to look at him, acknowledge him and touch him. He had missed her, unbearably, though she'd been sleeping only in the next room. Lucius did not think she would believe him if he tried to insist otherwise.
Her fingertips were tracing mindless patterns over his chest, and another small flutter beneath his hand rendered him momentarily speechless. She grinned up at him.
"You felt that one too?"
He nodded, and the movement was almost painful. It seemed that anything he might say would ruin this moment, yet he could not bear his reeling thoughts in silence. Fortunately, it was Narcissa who spoke next, her voice suddenly tremulous beneath a veneer of attempted nonchalance.
"It's been rather lonely, doing this alone." She swallowed. "I'm glad..." But she didn't tell him what she was glad for; instead she leaned up to kiss him. "Do not estrange us again, Lucius," she murmured when she drew away, and he could not tell if it was a plea or a threat.