Disclaimer: If you recognize it, then it belongs to JKR and you should thank her.

Responsibilities and Liberation

The Inspector escorted her to a ministry car that sat outside on the gravel. Lucius had insisted on keeping the roads unpaved. "It adds character to the place," he had told her once, when she complained about the difficulty she had maintaining them. She thought that Malfoy Manor needed all the character that it could get, but Lucius didn't have very good taste in character.

The Inspector opened the door for her and she stepped into the spacious black car. The seats were made of beige suede and the cabin was filled with the heady scent of fresh leather. She sat primly, looking out of the window as he entered the car from the other side.

"Driver," he said to the chauffeur, and the car rolled at a comfortable speed out of the Manor.

They sat in silence. Narcissa, for her part, didn't particularly want to talk to anyone, far too filled with contrasting emotions to keep up her aristocratic front. If Lucius had been arrested, he must have been caught doing something awful. Lucius might have been found in compromising situations before but his money and blood purity made him slippery as gillyweed for the law. She distinctly remembered the trial the last time he had been accused of anything. He had walked in dressed in his formal black robes with his shining blond hair pulled back, and had explained his actions with so much class and aristocratic silkiness that the judges of the Wizengamot didn't even doubt his excuse. Of course someone would want to put someone with so much power in the magical community under the Imperious curse. And why didn't Lucius fight? Poison? Voldemort himself was keeping him under the curse? What a plausible explanation. She hadn't even been asked to testify on his behalf. But this time she was to be his voice.

Last time she would have played the part of a young mother, a silly blond woman who didn't know which end of a baby was for feeding. But this time she had to keep the reputation of the Malfoy line intact. Malfoys did not marry weak women. She had to be a strong aristocratic woman, with so much belief that money solved all problems that they wouldn't doubt her position. "Of course my husband hasn't been practicing the Dark Arts. Why would someone of our position have any need for such things?" she would say, harnessing all the Veela within her to create an icy beauty. And yet again, the Wizengamot would be none the wiser.

"Inspector…"she began, realizing she had not caught his name.

"Lupin," he finished and she felt a shiver at the base of her spine.

"Yes, well, Inspector Lupin, I would like to know the circumstances under which my husband came to be arrested."

"I…are you sure you wouldn't like to wait until there is a lawyer present?" She fixed her eyes on him pointedly.

"You can explain it to him later." He looked somewhat taken aback at her harshness and explained the situation. Poor Lucius, he makes so many mistakes.

"My husband is not some common robber," she said, once he had finished, "We earned everything we have justly."

"I never said that – oh, we're here." He sounded somewhat pleased and nearly jumped out of the car when they stopped. She let him open the door for and stepped out into the parking garage which was filled with shiny black Lincolns, identical to the one they had arrived in. She followed him into the building, feeling preoccupied. As they walked down the impassively clean hallway, she made a mental list of things that needed to happen before the Aurors arrived at her house the following day (which they were bound to do; Lucius had quite the – unproven – reputation as a Dark Arts patron). The riffraff Death Eaters would have to go. The manor would have to be thoroughly cleaned and she would have to go around restoring the manor to its former elegance. She would have to go into Lucius' study and transfigure all of the Dark Arts books. Any conspicuous bills would have to be hidden. She sighed heavily and Inspector Lupin looked up at her, with the first concerned look she had seen in a very long time.

"Is everything all right, Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Yes," she said frailly, "I suppose it's just all a bit much to take in."

They stopped at the lift and he pressed the button. After a few seconds the doors opened for them and shut behind them with a golden clang. There were many people squeezed anxiously into the elevator and the top of the elevator was swarming with messages, drifting over her hair and nearly getting caught in her hair. She was disappointed that Lucius had let her down so much. He always insisted in believing he was invincible and now what did he do? He left her to clean up his mess, as usual. She smiled grimly and leaned against the side of the elevator. It was just like when they had sex.

The elevator opened at every floor and there was much bustling to get people and papers in and out. It seemed that the farther down they went, the less space there was in the elevator.

"The next floor is where we get off," the inspector said, leaning over and whispering in her ear. She nodded. When the doors opened at their floor, a stream of people poured out of the elevator, catching her and the inspector up in it. She followed him down a torchlit hallway. After so many years, the place still hadn't changed. It was a pity that the stagnant decoration didn't represent a static legal system. She wouldn't know what to do this time. As she passed, the Aurors guarding the doors allowed their faces to melt into looks of loathing, but she kept her head held high. Lucius hasn't done anything wrong.

The inspector, who had been walking a few paces ahead of her, stopped abruptly and spoke in low tones with the Auror guarding the door as she caught up. The woman was thin with dark black hair streaked with pink and was wearing clothing in the Muggle style which Narcissa found highly distasteful. Finally, the woman nodded, inserted an iron key into the lock and tapped it with her wand. The key turned slowly, squeaking against the lock until finally there was a small click and the door swung open. The woman had to jump out of the way in order to avoid being hit, nearly knocking Narcissa over in the process.

"Sorry," she muttered, keeping her eyes low. Narcissa ignored the woman as she followed the inspector into the room.

She recognized the room as one of the long unused courtrooms for the high Wizengamot. The air was stale and cold but all the torches were lit, giving the false impression of warmth. Sitting bound to a chair in the middle of the room was Lucius. She was proud to see his back straight and his eyes alert. Her Lucius didn't bow to anyone. Or at least, anyone but the Dark Lord.

"You are allowed five minutes with your husband," the inspector said, before turning to guard the door. She felt his eyes on her as she rushed over to her husband, forgetting propriety and grasping his hand, the only part of him that wasn't bound.

"Lucius," she whispered, kneeling before him.

"Get up," he snapped.

"No," she said, and he squeezed her hand affectionately, his face remaining stolid. She was used to his displays of affection. It wasn't that he was a cold-hearted man, but he just didn't know how to show how he felt. It had taken her several years to realize this and not feel slighted that he didn't seem to notice when she did something special for him.

"Narcissa, listen to me. The ministry had this crazy idea that –"

"Shh…" she said, putting a finger to his lips, "I know what the ministry thinks. I want to know what happened."

"This is hardly the time nor place…" he said gruffly.

"Please Lucius…" she pleaded softly, "This might be the last time in a long time that I get to see you."

"Narcissa…"

"What were you doing?"

"We were…the prophecy." Narcissa wasn't surprised. She had heard about the prophecy, and the Dark Lord's obsession with it. For a man who was supposed to be a leader, the Dark Lord was far too over-concerned with balls and orbs to be in his right mind. She had often doubted his sexuality as he seemed to abhor unmarried women and welcome single, frustrated men into his group so quickly.

"Did you get it?" she asked quickly.

"No, it's gone," he said brittally," "But I didn't ask you here to tell you that. You've got to protect yourself Narcissa."

"I know I do, Lucius. But they don't have anything against you. The inspector explained it to me when we were coming here."

"They…" he paused and glanced over at the inspector by the door. Lowering his voice he continued, "You have to get rid of everything."

"Everything?"

"It's the key you couldn't touch. Get rid of everything. Draco knows how," She moved her hands to grasp his again and looked into his eyes.

"You know what you could lose," she said. All the centuries of Dark Heirlooms would be lost. His eyes, hard and foggy, looked back at her. She knew there was no other way and she was glad that her Lucius understood. Gently, she gave him a kiss. It was a kiss she had only given once before and had never given to Lucius. When she pulled back, she could see tears in his eyes. Her Lucius never cried.

"I'll get you out," she whispered, hugging him to her despite the chair's back. The inspector cleared his throat and Narcissa pulled away.

"It's time to leave," Inspector Lupin said, visibly uncomfortably.

"Goodbye, Lucius."

"Goodbye, my flower." She smiled down at him as she released his hands and walked away. He had called her his flower when he had been courting her and after they had married, he had stopped with the nickname. He said it was because Malfoy's were too high ranking for nicknames. She knew it was because he found out she had already been deflowered.

Little did Lucius know that he had been the circuitous cause.

It felt like a crying moment, yet as she left, she didn't cry. She had spent nearly twenty years married to Lucius and this was the first time she would be without him. Right before she left, she sneaked one last glance back at Lucius. He sat as erectly as when she had first walked in, showing no sign that she was there or that she had come. The chair buckled around him, prepared for a struggle. But Malfoys didn't struggle, they conquered. His hair, the hair his son had inherited, glowed in the torchlight and there was no sign of defeat in him. Or perhaps his silence was his defeat.

"I hope you don't mind if we ask you a few questions Mrs. Malfoy?" the inspector asked, closing the door behind her as she exited the room.

"No," Narcissa said wearily, "I don't mind. But I would prefer if you would wait until I had spoken to my lawyer."

As she passed the woman guarding Lucius' door, she treated her to a warm smile. It was liberating.

"You do know that your lawyer will not be present when we question you?"

"Yes," she said, too tired to be a Malfoy and slipping into humanity," But I would feel much more comfortable after speaking to him."

She followed him again, as if in a trance brought on by the Imperio Curse, not noticing whether or not the aurors were giving her funny looks. The investigator's footfalls echoed in the hallway and she found herself keeping time to him. Right, left, right.

They entered the empty lift and she felt the warm light engulf her, fueling the inexplicable bubble of joy forming in her tummy. The gates clanged shut before her and she leaned against the wall, listening to the paper airplanes rustle above her. As the lift neared its destination, the inspector looked more and more uncomfortable and she vaguely wondered why, distracted by the glittering lights that reflected off of her engagement ring. She looked down at her hand, seeing the giant diamond sparking stolidly at her. When Lucius had first given her the ring, she had been overjoyed that the diamond had been bigger than any of her friends'. It was just as the future Mrs. Malfoy should be. But as she looked at it now, she wondered how she had managed to wear it for so long and have not cut herself. The rock simply wasn't practical. Impulsively, she turned the ring over so that the stone hid itself in her palm when she clenched her fist. The silver band was inscribed with an ancient language that she couldn't understand. Lucius had told her what it meant once, but she had forgotten. It would be a long time before she could ask him what it meant again.

"I assume you won't need me to escort you home," he asked and she shook her head gently.

"No, I should stop at my lawyer's first." The lift's doors opened. "Thank you."

As he left the lift he glanced back over his shoulder, thoroughly befuddled. The doors closed and she remembered the last time she had felt so content.

The walls of Hogwarts held many secrets, she knew, so many that hers were probably lost. She knew that she had tried her best to lock the memories of him away. And yet, in this moment of liberation, she felt the lock spring free from the locked armoire in her mind and the memories pour out, many different colored slips of paper blending into a silvery Pensieve. And leading the cascade of reminiscences was the little flutter that had bothered her when she left Lucius.

She had been waiting for him that night. They no longer had Astronomy, but it was much more than habit that brought them up to the highest point of the tower every Tuesday. She had almost wished he wouldn't come that night so that she wouldn't have to tell him and the inevitable wouldn't have to come. But like a faithful puppy he had shown up right on time, bounding up the last few steps with reckless abandon, and had smiled at her sitting on a faded cushion, awash with the waxing moonlight.

Looking at him, with his pallid brown hair swept casually to the side, his pale gray eyes twinkling and his smile casting off years of premature age, she had felt a pang in her chest and had known that if she kept looking at him, she was going to cry and ruin it all. She had taken him delicately into her arms and feeling the tears pearling on her eyes, quickly broken away, pretending that something outside had caught her attention. The moon's reflection haunted the lake, a white orb amongst dangerous black waters. A chill swept over her and she had shivered, stilling when his arms wrapped protectively around her.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" he had asked teasingly, ditzily, and she had found she couldn't respond the way she would have before. Narcissa had glanced down at her hand where the ring mocked her for being a prisoner and a rebellious urge to rip off the ring and chuck it into the darkness had risen and fallen within her.

"He asked me today," she had said, leaning against the railing and looking out upon the lake.

"What did you say?" he had asked, choking the words out. She had looked at him, her hair falling over her shoulder and catching the moonlight. He had known what she had said. They had never specifically discussed it but he knew there were certain obligations and certain sacrifices that a pureblood witch had to make. He had moved to stand next to her and she had slid her left hand to where his had been resting on the railing and squeezed gently.

"I said yes." He was silent for a moment as if swallowing a particularly bitter potion and then, without warning, had embraced her, pressing his mouth to hers in a kiss so beautiful she began to cry. He didn't stop kissing her, even when the tears had reached her mouth and she knew he could taste them. Pulling away, she had opened her eyes and saw that he was crying too and she cried harder, not knowing why. She had done the right thing.

"Your ring is very pretty," he had said, looking down and examining the gaudy stone that adorned her finger.

She had cupped his face in her hands and brushed away his tears with her fingers. He had leant forward, nuzzling his nose into her neck and she had wrapped her arms around him. He didn't shake as he had cried, just let his tears slide down her neck to pool in the hollow of her neck. She had moved to kiss him and he had pulled away, standing up and walking towards the door. Catching him in her arms, she had pulled him into a chaste kiss.

"I thought we were finished," he said and she cringed at his grating tone. She couldn't blame him, they had both known that nothing good would come of their liaison, and he must have known, deep down, that she wouldn't stay with him. But hope that she would give up all of her expectations for him had been festering, despite all of her promises that nothing would last. She was entirely to blame for creating that hope.

"I could never be finished with you." After a moment's pause, he had turned and left and she collapsed, listening to the echo of his angry footsteps as he evacuated the Tower. She had looked down at the ring on her finger, the stone glittering in the dim light, and wiggled her fingers, feeling the band rubbing unfamiliarly. Swiftly, she had pulled it off and stuck it in her pocket as tears began to blind her vision.

She had stayed in the Tower all night until rosy fingered dawn crept and stole the moon's bequest in the sky. Not wanting to return to her Common Room and be faced with all of her obligations, she had wandered down to the room that she had once shown him to win his trust, her vision blinded by sleep and dried out eyes, and had collapsed in the bed without bothering to cover herself.

When she had awoken, he was setting a plate of food on the bedside table. She had been surprised that he would bother bringing food.

"The whole school's worried sick about you," he had said gently and she knew that everything would be alright between them for a little while.

"To be honest, I feel like shit," she had said, sitting up and running a hand through her tangled hair.

"You look beautiful," he replied carelessly, looking at her with such glowing compassion it had made her feel that despite her rumpled clothes, snarled hair, smudged make-up, swollen eyes, and unbrushed teeth, she was the most beautiful girl on the earth. She could have produced the most powerful Patronus ever conjured.

He was sitting in an armchair doing homework as she ate the lukewarm food that he had brought for her. He had even left a Toothflossing Stringmint that she sucked on once she had finished, letting it fizz and floss her mouth as she watched him.

"What are you working on?" she had asked.

"Arithmancy," he had said, scribbling a few more lines and then finishing the proof with a flourish.

"Thank you for breakfast."

"It's more like dinner."

"Remus, I…"

"Yes?"

"Could you come here for a second?" He hesitated.

"I can't stay long."

"Oh…if you don't want –"

"No, it's not that."

"Oh, right. I almost…we can be quick."

They had never touched the bed before because it would make them too official. Couples rolled around on beds, not two people who had a seemingly arbitrary interest in each other. She sat nervously on the bed and he sat next to her. The moment was awkward; they had never done anything remotely as advanced as she intended. She wasn't even sure if such a thing was possible, or if it was just one of the things she had read about in novels that was supposed to be a union of sorts.

He had kissed her, gently as usual, and she had responded timidly, like it was the first time she had kissed him. She had placed a palm on his chest and leaned towards him and he grasped her waist, bringing her closer. She had broken the kiss and moved further into the bed. He had followed, pushing her down against the pillows and taking up her lips with his. His kisses had made her feel powerful and wanted and her hands had grown bold, tugging his shirt free from his pants and pulling his sweater over his head. Their mouths had broken apart as he pulled her sweater over her head and had met again, their tongues mingling in and out of each others mouths.

Their fingers had attacked the buttons on each other's shirts, with Remus winning the race and pushing her shirt off first. Instead of meeting her mouth again, he had stopped short and stared at her and she had stopped mid-button, wondering what he was looking at. Upon looking down, she had realized what it was, she had been wearing her bra made of sheer mesh and he could see everything. Shyly, he had reached out a hand, looking to her for permission and had touched her left breast with his fingertips. She had watched as he stroked, exploring with his fingertips first her left breast and then her right, and then growing sure of himself, he had massaged them both. She had arched her back and unhooked the bra, and he had slid it off of her arms, leaving her chest bare before him. He had brushed his thumb over her right nipple, watching it harden under his ministrations. He had turned his attention to the other nipple, touching it with his other thumb as he had rolled the right nipple between his fingers. With every stroke she had felt a tingling between her legs that grew and grew, overwhelming the rest of her senses until she wasn't able to think of anything but how he had been touching her.

"Oh!" She had exclaimed, feeling a jolt throughout her. He had looked up at her sheepishly and continued sucking on her nipple, playing with the other nipple between his fingers. She had closed her eyes again, and leaned her head back on the pillows. He had been so eager to make her happy…

Narcissa looked up at her only companion, a lone paper airplane drifting over the light.

"It's just me and you now."

As you can see, I decided to continue this. This has definitely been the most intensely worked story so far, each chapter going through several drafts before I'm happy with it. Hopefully the work shows. There is no plan for this story, only a handful of memories that I've written for Narcissa so please be patient with updates; I have only a slight idea where the plot is going. Thank you to Flaky-Flores, Gwuinivyre, Kelly, Usako3000, Victorita9, Bride of Malfoy, and TiffanyandCo for pushing me to continue.Like what you're reading? Then Review!