[Disclaimer: Me and the monkey don't own anything created by JK Rowling, we just like to play with her toys.]

Author's Note

This is a companion piece to 'On A Crooked Path' – Lacrimosa Perrault's reaction to the death of her former husband, Jean Everly at the hands of his former wife, Cassandra Blake.

(Who was, as it just so happens, her former mentor)

House of Cards

Summary: In one night, Lacrimosa Montaque discovered what it meant to be loved. In one night, Lacrimosa Everly lost everything that meant anything to her. In one night, Lacrimosa Perrault's hope was destroyed.

Love is a bitter, painful, bloody thing. Lacci can spare it but one night.

Even all these years later, Lacrimosa could still remember the way his dark eyes had burned into hers, the accusation and anger in that gaze that had been almost the end of her. Even all these years later, she could still hear the fury at her seeming betrayal in his voice.

"You lied to me."

"No, Jean, no, that's not—" she was desperate for him to understand, to see reason and stop shouting at her that way. She wanted him to understand that she loved him, that she would always love him, that she would never betray him. That she never meant to hurt him.

He cut her off. "You lied to me! After what Cassandra did…Lacrimosa, how could you?"

"I'm not Cassandra, Jean! That is in my past, Jean, I swear to you…please, listen to me…" she moved towards him, but he took a step back, and then another.

"Get out of my home."

She remembered ignoring the tears that ran down her own cheeks as she explained without explaining to Lena that Mama had to leave, but she loved her, and she would always watch over her. She remembered running out into the rain without any of her things, Apparating to her childhood home. She remembered discovering later that Jean had burned everything of her in that home.

She remembered quietly signing the divorce papers and sending them back. She remembered getting very, very drunk and didn't remember much about the rest of that night.

She remembered smiling that brittle smile that never reached her eyes, and never letting anyone see. See her.

She remembered becoming the monster he thought she was.

Jean stared at the woman before him. This was not the gentle, laughing creature he remembered tickling awake on their anniversary. This was someone different from the Lacci he remembered, someone cold, distant…dangerous.

"Jean…long time no see." She didn't even sound the same.

"Lacrimosa," he managed, evenly. This was not the woman he remembered. This was someone else entirely, and he began to realize what had happened, piecing together the pieces of gossip he'd heard.

Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face, by the way she was smiling that false smile at him. "Take a good look, Jean. I imagine you've heard all those rumors about me – how I sold my soul. But…I do recall something you said…what was it now…" she pretended to think about it. "Oh, yes, I remember now. You said I didn't have a soul." She leaned close, blood red lips against alabaster skin so close to his ear he could feel her breath. "Maybe you were right."

And then she was gone, melting into the crowd with an ease he'd never expected of her – tall, regal, a coldly beautiful ice princess, Lacci had never been one to fade into the background.

This wasn't the first time Lacrimosa had found herself crying into a bottle of good red wine over Jean fucking Everly. It probably wouldn't be the last time.

As long as Jean was alive, she had been able to hope. Now…now, though, even that had been taken from her. This stupid war, this Voldemort, the black and white and shades of grey that she lived her life in had taken everything from her and now she was left…alone…

Always alone.

It had been too easy for Cassandra to take from Lacrimosa everything that meant anything to her. After Cassandra's betrayal, the real Cassandra, the Death Eater…Jean had been furious when he discovered just what Lacrimosa had hidden from him.

The darkness in her past was something that would always haunt her, but she had tried so hard to keep that from him. Cassandra simply arranged all the information and passed it – anonymously – along to Jean.

'Anonymously'. Lacrimosa knew exactly who had done it, and why. If Cassandra couldn't have him, then she certainly wasn't going to let Lacrimosa. Lacrimosa hadn't really been behind Cassandra's…past coming to light, but she had given a few timely nudges.

When Cassandra first announced she was getting married, Lacrimosa had wondered why. Why would a woman like a Cassandra Blake want to tie herself to any man? What made this 'Jean Everly' so special? Why was Cassandra willing to lead a double life just to be with him?

Then she'd met him, and she'd understood.

So when Cassandra's past – future, and present – came to light, Lacrimosa had been on hand to console the anguished husband. She'd stayed silent about her own part in Cassandra's bloodied history, she hadn't lied…but omission of the truth was a lie, Lucia had told her once. When she'd said they weren't really lying to their little sister by letting her believe in the pretty fiction the Montaque family presented to the world.

"No, we're not lying. We're doing something worse than that. We're letting her lie to herself without even knowing it. Omission of the truth is a lie, Lacci."

Lacrimosa didn't know what to do anymore. After their quiet divorce, she had consoled herself with the fact that as long as he lived, at least there was hope. Miniscule, but it was there. That was enough for her.

He was dead. Cassandra killed him – the second time she'd taken him from Lacrimosa.

Lacrimosa considered her predicament for a time. Cassandra had killed Jean – Helena still lived. Cassandra liked things complicated, but not too complicated. Something was going on – and she was willing to bet that it would involve Helena, sooner or later.

Tomorrow, Lacrimosa would make herself forget this. Tomorrow, Lacrimosa would play the femme fatale, she would been the Montaque ice princess with the blood red lips and devil's smile, she would…find a way. Cassandra's days were numbered, she decided.

Tonight, she was going to get very, very, very drunk.