Empty was my Soul: Chapter 2
The day went by smoothly, with Narcissa lounging in the library, and her son, Draco, locked in his room, stubbornly refusing to come out or eat.
'He's really in love! ' She kept thinking, musing on how he must fantasize about the girl constantly. He probably kept poetry written somewhere in his room, but she was not allowed there. She was not allowed anywhere except the common rooms, her room and the library. Lucius' orders.
She sighed, remembering that her husband was taking her to the Sinclair party, and that she still hadn't decided what to wear. She cringed at the thought of her husband. If he ever found out that their son was in love (and from what few hints Draco had given her, with a Mudblood) Draco would suffer a fate worse than death. Narcissa knew her husband well, and she also knew that he wouldn't bat an eye at using an Unforgivable Curse on Draco, or her.
Lucius didn't believe in "girlish fancies" like love and he let everyone know it. Narcissa hypothesized that this was because he'd never been able to experience it. He had cowered before his father's raised fist and his mother had died soon after childbirth, committing suicide. He had been taught to hate by Cassius Malfoy, who had been taught by Nero Malfoy, who had been taught by Romulus Malfoy, and so on. The family was cursed somehow, she knew it, and she prayed that Draco would not become her husband. To her great dismay, though, she knew he was well on his way.
'Besides his being able to love of course 'She only hoped that Draco would realize this.
Still, quite surprisingly, Narcissa would get a glimpse of her true husband and son through the demonic masks they wore. She had always thought that Lucius had no feelings for her besides disgust, and sometimes a very fiery lust, but there had been times when she saw something in his eyes that was neither. She recalled all to well the last time she had seen that expression….
* * *
5 years ago….
She was very, very late. Normally, she would have been home by now, but her idiot friend René Macnair had insisted they spike their tea and get drunk out of their minds before returning home. Absent mindedly, Narcissa had drifted of into a not so sober sleep, and hadn't woken until 1 in the morning. Now she flew as fast as she could and her hangover permitted to Malfoy Manor. She prayed that somehow, her husband had forgotten that she was supposed be waiting at the top of the Master staircase for him.
She would be beaten, she was fairly sure; it was the only punishment she deserved….
But she wasn't beaten. Instead, when she arrived a very surprised and relieved servant took her cloak and led her straight to the observatory, where she found her husband waiting.
The servant wisely vacated. Narcissa nervously recalled the last time she had talked to Lucius, and how he had been cold and caustic, causing her to cry in front of him. She knew he didn't like people who cried; he thought they were weak.
Lucius was leaning on his fist, seated in his favorite leather armchair, which she noted warily, was surrounded by empty wine bottles. She swallowed hard, remembering very vividly that Lucius had no head for alcohol, and decided that he must have drunk all of them after he had arrived home.
He looked up, a miserable expression on his face, then noticing her presence, signaled her to come closer, which she did. He looked at her pensively before leaning forward and stretching his hand to meet hers. The stood for several minutes, facing each other, before he tenderly pulled her close. He let out a soft moan of pain and buried his head in her hair, holding her tightly, and softly stroking her head.
Rarely had Narcissa been treated this way; with such tenderness, she wanted to cry, but instead melted into his arms and they fell into the leather armchair, wrapped in each other's embrace. They held each other close, listening to their breathing, which rose and fell softly, before Lucius forced a whisper:
"I thought I had lost you."
She nearly fainted. Lucius cared about her, Lucius wanted her, Lucius needed her. She looked up at his eyes and saw, for a second, a vulnerable, kind man hidden under all that ice. Their lips met softly, and Lucius began to slowly cover her neck and bosom with butterfly kisses, not the rough, bruising ones they shared usually.
It was in those few fleeting moments that she had sworn never to leave Lucius, because the man beneath all the weight of his past, and present, needed her. Though now, five years later, she was wondering if she would ever see the face it had taken one second to love, and if the whole night had been a dream.
* * *
Present time…
A door bursting open drew her from her thoughts. She looked up, startled, and saw none other than Lucius, dripping wet, and leaving small puddles wherever his feet tread. She had not even noticed that it had begun to rain heavily outside, and that it was gray and dreary. The servants had collected her husband's drenched cloak and he now stood bitterly in the doorway, his robes clinging to his chest and waist, his pale hair plastering his cheeks and neck. She might have taken the time to notice just how attractive he was if she hadn't first seen the expression on Lucius' face. It looked ready to kill.
"You-" he began, advancing on her, "You haven't even begun to get ready, have you? We leave in half an hour!!!"
She leapt nimbly to her feet.
"Yes, Yes, of course, I'm very, very sorry Lucius. I-I lost track of time.."
"I'll say you did!!" he snarled, but at the same moment his face began to soften, " It's all right, really, I didn't want you to wear any of your old gowns anyway."
"Lucius-" she began.
"Because I've bought you a new one." He continued, cutting her off, and revealing a carefully concealed package from the folds of his robes. It was the only thing on him that wasn't wet.
"Lucius-" she breathed a sigh of relief, then of amazement as he reviled the dress to her. It was an icy blue. A good color on her, and the material was woven from pixie silk. It shimmered every time light hit its surface. It must have cost a fortune. She reached to touch it but Lucius deterred it from her grasp.
"Uh-Un. You are getting near it and neither am I."
"But-but why Lucius?" she started.
"Because," an impish grim spread across his face, "by the time I'm done with you, we'll both be wetter than a pair of guppies in monsoon season."
He clasped her waist and drew her close. He was wetter than he looked, if such a thing was possible. It was a few moments to late that she realized she was wearing nothing but thin, white robes. In seconds she was drenched, and totally visible.
"Lucius!! " she cried in dismay, "You dirty old man!! You knew I was in white!!"
He smirked, "I couldn't resist myself." And pushed her away, taking a few moments to admire the view before turning to shower and change himself. She fumed with a playful frustration before turning to her own quarters to have her hair styled just so, and her dress outfitted by the servants. Thank goodness they could use magic.
At seven o' clock precisely they sauntered out the door, both looking like rulers of a vast land, which, Narcissa supposed, was exactly what they were, at least in a political sense. If Lucius knew how to do anything, it was pull strings, including hers.
Draco did not accompany them. While Mr. Malfoy was anxious to get his son to the Sinclairs, the boy had waved his father away by claiming he was sick. Which he was. Sick with the love bug. No one had any idea that he felt an uncontrollable yearning for a certain "Mudblood", but he did, and it called out to him. He wanted to be near her, see her smile, hear her laugh. He was plainly stuck between the two most important things in his life. His hero, his mentor, his idol and his Father, and his one, pure love. Who would he betray? His entire family and all that it stood for, or the one person that had a chance at opening his heart.
After a long and agonizing year of sneers, insults and exchanged blows, he felt as though he had put up with his little rouse long enough. He was going to tell her, but all of his letters were monitored closely, and there was no way he would ever convince her of meeting him in private. So that left only random, chance encounters in public places, which he had to most dutifully act as a Malfoy would in fear of disgracing his name. None of these answers were suitable.
Finally, the sultry, 15 going on sixteen boy came up with an idea. He could talk to her alone, especially if he showed up at her doorstep, it was risky, but he could do it. His plan began to take action as his father and mother left for their party. He waited breathlessly as they stepped into the carriage and drove off, before slipping from his servants view and running, non-stop, out of the Malfoy grounds, into the woods. He ran, and ran, and ran, down dirt roads and meadows. He knew exactly where to go, he could feel her. He kept her face close in his mind as he rounded bends and dips, not stopping, and not slowing.
At last, he arrived at a pleasant cottage, she was here, he knew. He ran through the garden to the house, padding softly so not to alarm a neighboring dog. He reached the doorstep, heaving and half-retching in exertion. Inside were happy voices and a bout of pealing laughter. It sounded nothing like his house.
His hand trembled as he pushed the doorbell, he felt as though his lungs were on fire. Footsteps were heard and the door opened. It was her, still beautiful, he wore a shocked expression at this, but not a shocked as hers.
"Draco?!" she chocked out in surprise.
"Hermione," he breathed heavily," Please, let me in."
Then he collapsed in exhaustion, falling on her doorstep, unconscious.
Soooooooooo, ya like? Please R/R. It helps me learn. IF YOU WANT THIS STORY TO CHANGE TELL ME!!!!!!! THERE IS A VERY HIGH POSSIBILITY IT WILL HAPPEN. Spooky, huh?
Thank you for reading.
Yari