Tainted Love
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.
N/B: Proofread by Merlynne.
Acknowledgement(s): Kirixchi, for reminding me of something I would otherwise have forgotten! ;c)
Tainted Love
Chapter Twelve: Isabelle Returns
The sky was still bright although it had started to rain. Somewhere a rainbow would be revealing its colourful miracle - a smile facing the Heavens and not the Earth, trying to deny that the sun was really crying. From where he sat behind the desk in his library Lucius glanced up at the rain-spattered window. He had sent a letter that morning, and the window was still slightly open. A collection of raindrops had fallen inside and created a wet little pool on the sill.
He got up and closed the window, sealing himself away from the rain and the scent of his wife's fragrant gardens, but Lucius did not go back to the desk. A feeling of intense restlessness had been steadily engulfing him and he could not settle. He needed to do something, needed some task to occupy his mind. Morbid discontent had prevailed upon him since his visit to Adrian Varvara, and because of it he had been unusually terse with Narcissa.
It was quite plain to see that she couldn't appreciate what she'd done to aggravate him so thoroughly. In truth she hadn't done anything, and that was the root of the problem; it was what she hadn't done, or more accurately what she hadn't let him do. 'You simply couldn't do anything for Narcissa!' he reasoned acerbically. She either stopped you in your tracks or you did it without her knowledge, and therefore without her approval or appreciation. Lucius had endured both scenarios too many times. A light tap on the library door interrupted his bitter thoughts.
"Enter," he said with sharp irritation.
The door opened a fraction and the maid peered around it reluctantly, she stared not at her master but at the floor to deliver her message.
"Sir, there's a lady here to see you."
"A lady?" Lucius allowed the smallest trace of surprise to enter his voice. "Then show her into-"
However, before he had a chance to finish his sentence a woman pushed the door open fully. She brushed by the maid and sauntered into his library. She was tall and slender, clothed in a deep emerald dress. A mass of jet-black curls was pinned atop her head. Lucius blinked slowly and the very house seemed to catch its breath.
"Isabelle," he drawled calmly after a moment's contemplation. She laughed: a disarming, almost girlish, giggle.
"I confess, I had hoped to surprise you, but I don't seem to have succeeded, Lucius my dear," Isabelle smiled brilliantly. Her host's eyebrows raised a mere fraction.
Lucius dismissed the maid with a preoccupied nod. She bobbed and disappeared, pulling the door shut behind her. Completely shut away from the outside world the little room held a claustrophobic air that Lucius had never noticed before. A light scowl touched his features; he would master this situation!
Isabelle looked up at him enquiringly, and for an instant he almost felt that he was a young man again. He had forgotten some of her traits, the way she would bow her head a little, gaze up from under thick lashes and make a man feel like the centre of the universe. Lucius drew a deep breath, because he wasn't a young man capable of being swayed by her superficial tricks any longer. He was nearer forty than twenty, with a wife and son, and no wish to revisit the past.
"I haven't seen you in years. What can I do for you?" he asked. Good manners kept his tongue in check although his tone was still brusque, however Isabelle cunningly ignored his stark lack of warmth towards her and simply smiled more sweetly.
"You haven't seen me since the day of your wedding," she reminded him, her voice silky and deliberate. "I did try to catch you at the Ministry a few weeks ago."
"Yes I know," Lucius said with slow reluctance. "I received your anonymous little note," he added coolly.
"I have missed you, Lucius," she said, her voice low.
"I'm touched," he replied blandly. Turning slightly, Lucius glanced out of the window. Absently he saw that the rain had stopped falling. It felt very wrong to have admitted Isabelle to his private library, almost like a betrayal of sorts. He was not comfortable with this alien feeling of guilt.
"I see Narcissa has you well trained!" said Isabelle with a delicate laugh. "You are supposed to say that you've missed me too."
"And if I haven't?" he sneered. Isabelle took a sudden, ardent step towards him.
"Then I envy your wife with a passion greater than you will ever know," she whispered unsteadily. "But, I do not believe you."
Lucius took a moment to absorb her claims. She was different. She had changed somehow. But to tell Isabelle that his thoughts sometimes returned to her would be a mistake too great to contemplate. He would not trust her with information a fraction as volatile! Besides, he suddenly realised for the very first time, when his thoughts did wander back to their time together they rarely, if ever, returned to the moments they'd shared alone, always his memories of Isabelle were tinged with his earliest memories of…Narcissa. He smiled inwardly, and felt a surge of unfamiliar warmth and reassurance; he had made the right choices.
"What was it you wanted, Isabelle?"
The witch looked fleetingly taken aback. She cleared her throat distractedly.
"It was really Narcissa I came to see, is she around?" asked Isabelle, peering around the library as if expecting to find her rival hiding among the clutter.
"No." A nasty smile was playing on Lucius' face. "But surely the maid told you that, if you asked to see my wife when you arrived?" Isabelle flicked a stray curl nervously out of her eyes. "So?" prompted Lucius mercilessly with renewed resolve. "What did you want with Narcissa?"
"That is between the two of us," she sniffed haughtily. Lucius looked at her dispassionately.
"Very well, then you may wait in the drawing room, or call back tomorrow," he stated curtly.
"Now really, Lucius," Isabelle flashed her enchanting little smile at him, but he didn't seem to buckle. True, he had surprised her, but her recovery was fast. She took a deep, calculating breath. "I just came see if she wanted to speak to someone about her mother."
"You wanted to what?" asked Lucius in disbelief. Isabelle gave him the pitying, superior glance that women save only for men.
"I'm working at St Mungo's," she revealed. "I've been helping Mrs Varvara come to terms with her illness. I thought Narcissa might also like someone to speak to."
"And you thought she might want to talk to you?" His complete shock and utter mistrust was too great to hide, he rallied quickly but hated himself for his own lapse in composure. "I don't recall you advocating a vocation as a healer?"
"Well, not exactly a healer," said Isabelle hastily. "But I'm told I do have a talent for listening-"
"And telling people what they want to hear? Yes, I'll believe that."
"You always did say whatever was on your mind," sighed Isabelle reminiscently, yet beneath her outward sincerity rested a layer of cunning trickery. "But nevertheless, for all your doubts, I did have a lovely conversation with your son."
The absurdity of the situation was suddenly lost on Lucius; his gaze was once again as cold and formidable as an avalanche
"And when did you see Draco?" he demanded crisply. Isabelle rested one hand on a shapely hip and pouted prettily.
"When he and your wife came to see Mrs Varvara of course, really Lucius aren't you listening to me?"
"Draco was at St Mungo's with Narcissa?" growled Lucius looking thunderous.
"Yes," Isabelle confirmed lightly, but her eyes were glittering devilishly beneath their lashes.
Walking home through the little village of Westbury-on-Severn Narcissa was still having trouble grasping the fact that her own son had blackmailed her! She had ordered the accursed broom; what other choice had she, but how would she explain it to Lucius? What new lie was she to concoct?
Mother and son had not spoken a word to each other during the train journey home. Narcissa knew how desperate Draco would be to return to the Manor so that he could write and tell the whole of Hogwarts about his coming prize. She thought the wait on the train might temper his elation, and give her time to think of a convincing story to tell her husband. It hadn't.
Lost in their own thoughts neither Narcissa nor Draco noticed the occasional villager, who would glance at them, sometimes fearfully and sometimes contemptuously. But as the pair travelled out of Westbury, the villagers and their little honey-coloured cottages were soon left behind and forgotten completely.
Narcissa knew that her racing heart had little to do with her exertion; she was more anxious than she had been in a very long time! She opened a wooden gate, which led onto a narrow, beaten track that wound through a copse and onto the Manor's grounds. She walked through it and spitefully let it fall shut before Draco, carrying the day's purchases, could follow.
In distraction her nervous steps had carried her ahead of her son, even so far as over the wooden bridge that spanned the river. The lawn that led to the Manor was damp, and the threat of thunder lingered in the air as Narcissa climbed the gentle slope towards her home. She glanced over her shoulder; Draco was following like a sulking puppy, but the distant thud of a closing door caught her attention and she turned back to face the house.
In front of the Manor's large doorway stood two people. One of them was Lucius, but the other figure remained a mystery. Her pace quickened; she feared bad news whenever someone unfamiliar arrived unannounced at the Manor. But, as she neared the stone steps, which led up to the little ornamental wall that separated the gravel foregrounds of the house from the lawn, sudden recognition hit her with the force of a lightning strike.
"Isabelle," she hissed silently through clenched teeth.
Seeing them standing together was like a snapshot of life as it might have been, as the future still could be! Narcissa fought to breathe through the fear that clutched her. The colour rose to her face as she continued her advance with new zeal, but a hand closed around her wrist and coaxed her to a stop. She turned furiously to face Draco, who had dropped the parcels to run to her side, but her anger faded when she saw the deathly pallor of his face and every fibre of her being trembled like a falling star.
"What is it?" she asked, hardly daring to voice the question.
"That woman, I know her," breathed Draco, his voice low and shaky. Narcissa frowned in dull incomprehension. "She was the nurse I spoke to at St Mungo's!"
"You spoke to no one." Narcissa's voice was robotic. Her son's grip on her wrist had not loosened, it was painful almost unbearable.
"I did, when you sent me to fetch a vase!" he groaned. "She knows I was there!" said Draco fearfully, as he eyed the woman nervously.
"Then so does you father."
Draco froze at the deadened tone of his mother's voice. Narcissa stilled the reeling inside her head. She was a strong woman, much stronger than most people could imagine, but then most did not know the story of her past. The same pool of strength that had sustained her during the dark abyss of her adolescence would aid her now. Many times she had been tested, this was no different, even Lucius could not penetrate the mask of frigid pride Narcissa could conjure when necessary.
She could feel him now. Anger flowed from her husband, like waves that could drown her. The whole Manor seemed cold and forbidding, condemning her for her betrayal. Yes, she was guilty, but Isabelle Zabini would not bring her to trial!
"Clever of her," breathed Narcissa to herself. Her stance was perfectly indifferent as she walked up the little steps, while the eyes of her husband and his ex-lover pierced her like arrows. She walked right up to them, as calmly as if they were no more than passing strangers. "I trust we're not interrupting anything?" she asked placidly. Lucius said nothing, though Narcissa noted a muscle was twitching in her husband's clenched jaw. Isabelle turned to her, with her brilliant doe eyes and said with sugary sweetness:
"Why Narcissa, my dear, how you've altered! I would hardly have recognised you!" she simpered, with concern that may have sounded genuine to any but Narcissa. "You no longer have that innocent, fresh sparkle everyone so adored."
"And I weep daily for the loss of it," replied Narcissa with such cutting dry sarcasm that Isabelle was momentarily silenced. A roll of thunder filled the gap.
"Draco," Isabelle exclaimed, rallying valiantly, "do you remember me?"
Narcissa watched from the corner of her eye as her son stepped a little ahead of her - her champion positioning himself between herself and her threat - and she felt such a sudden surge of love for him that she could have forgiven him anything in that moment. He stared at the black-haired witch with a look of utter loathing before giving a nonchalant shrug. They were all of them formidable actors realised Narcissa suddenly.
"He remembers you," she smiled mildly, knowing her smile would serve only to anger Lucius further, but she couldn't resist. "Fetch your parcels Draco, we're going inside," she said softly. He hesitated but only for a moment.
Isabelle looked at Lucius questioningly; she was expecting to witness the fireworks! Narcissa was surprised by the strength of hatred stirred within her by such a tiny gesture. Once her son was ready she pressed him forwards. With unseen reluctance Draco walked towards his father; Lucius was still standing before the front door.
The anger evoked by Isabelle served Narcissa well as they manoeuvred between the two of them. Her own sour resentment rebuffed Lucius' blistering fury much better than pride alone ever could have. She reached passed Draco towards the door, but Lucius pulled it open for them. Narcissa could not force herself to look at him as she passed.
Once they were inside the door was slammed like prison bars behind them and Narcissa winced as she felt the house shudder under the pure force of this act. She held her body rigid; her husband's silence had disturbed her more than she'd thought possible.
Draco had already darted upstairs. Narcissa could not blame him; she too edged towards the staircase, but before she had reached the first step the door opened again. Surprise made her spin around.
Lucius entered the house, surrounded by that same aura of power that had first drawn her to him. Would he dare unleash it upon her? But then a bewildered frown flashed fleetingly across Narcissa's face; had he really got rid of Isabelle so fast? A flutter within her made her sway. She held her silence and waited. He kept walking until he was standing close enough to her that she was forced to lift her head to maintain eye contact with him.
"Have you nothing to say to defend yourself?" he growled, as if control was a thing he scarcely had.
"You are my husband, not my keeper," Narcissa replied icily.
From his hiding place at the top of the stairs Draco flinched at his mother's conceit. 'Just say sorry,' he begged her silently. 'Father won't expect that! You don't even have to mean it, just say it and save us both!' There would be no Firebolt for him now, but it hardly seemed to matter.
An unexpected knock sounded on the front door. Draco didn't hear either of his parents move, but the door crashed open with enough power to nearly throw it off its hinges.
"Lucius!" He heard his mother hiss in chastisement. Lord, she was brave, or very, very stupid! And then, another new, but not unfamiliar voice joined the fray.
"Is this a bad time?"
Draco risked a quick peek over the banister that concealed him. Professor Snape was standing in the doorway! There was an odd little smile playing upon his thin mouth.
"Not at all, Snape," said Lucius. To the untrained ear his voice was perfectly normal, but Draco felt the rage flowing beneath his father's words. "If you wouldn't mind waiting in the drawing room? There is a small matter my wife and I need to resolve."
"Of course," replied Snape, there was a very unfamiliar flicker of amusement in his voice that Draco had never heard before. "Narcissa," he added in greeting.
Draco didn't hear his mother's reply, which was strange. He listened to his Professor's footsteps on the carpet, the gentle click of a door being opened and shut, before they were alone again.
"What is he doing here?" Narcissa asked, her voice a little uneven.
The silence that followed was almost painful. Draco knew that his father and Professor Snape were 'friends' in the loosest sense of the word. It was not usual for them meet, but rarely did his mother join them. He had thought this was because she was a woman, uninterested in men's business, but suddenly he wasn't so sure.
"I invited him to dinner," divulged Lucius at last.
"And why did you do that?" demanded Narcissa without restraint, and again Draco flinched.
"Dare I trust you with the answer I wonder?" he sneered. His words cut Narcissa deeply. Would he truly withdraw his trust because of one foolish act on her part?
"That's not fair," she breathed difficultly.
"Fair?" repeated Lucius with such scorn Narcissa turned her head away in defence. "When has that been a rule by which we've lived?" he asked, not waiting for an answer. "When you became my wife, you promised me your loyalty," he reminded her ruthlessly. "I expect nothing more and nothing less."
"You're overreacting," she said as blankly as she could manage, although she felt physically sick.
"You think so?" he replied, hot anger dancing across his features.
Narcissa could feel what little composure she had slipping from her grasp. One hospital visit to her own mother and he acted as though she'd commit a cardinal sin!
"Well what are you going to do about it?" she hissed. "You know, maybe you should have followed your father's advice, and married a more submissive wife!"
"Perhaps!" he growled.
"Fine! Then get rid of me!" she shouted her challenge, and Draco thought his heart had stopped. His mother's suicidal taunt hung in the air. What was she doing? Didn't she know he needed her to stand between him and his father? "I wouldn't be so hard to replace, you already have Isabelle waiting in the wings!" she snarled, forgetting herself.
"I think-" began Lucius, and his voice was so altered, so devoid of emotion that Draco was compelled to peep over the banister once more. His parents still stood facing one another, almost like combatants in a duel. "You should remove yourself from my sight before you say anything else you'll regret."
Despite his words it was Lucius, who made the first move to leave and extract himself from the situation, but Narcissa couldn't allow herself to let him have the last word. She couldn't even give him that.
"Or before you do something you'll regret?" she demanded forcefully.
Lucius stopped dead in his tracks. He did not turn his head, but kept his back to Narcissa.
"Stop comparing me to your father."
Draco just caught the words his father spat at his wife before sweeping out of the hall. It was not over, and his turn would come soon enough. With the air of defeat already touching him, Draco picked up the packets that he had bought such a long time ago and retreated to the relative safety of his room.
Downstairs, Narcissa hardly knew what to do. Her hands visibly shook. Her pride was a weapon, and she wielded it like a sword, but it cost her dearly. The front door still stood open, her feet carried her towards it and through it in the distance she saw her late mother-in-law's wooden bridge beckoning her. She pushed the door shut with more force than was necessary, turned back and walked wearily up the stairs.
She would take her punishment like a good girl; an acid smile graced her face. It had been a foolish, daredevil risk to involve Draco with her family, but Lucius' reaction had been more extreme than she had feared. It did not occur to her that Isabelle's arrival had unnerved him too.
Upstairs, her feet had carried her passed the master bedroom to a door that had grown stiff with disuse. She wasn't even sure what had drawn her to this room. Inside was a bedroom, the air was a little stale and the heavy curtains were always left drawn, to keep the ravages of light at bay.
Her drained, grey eyes lingered on the only painting in the room. As she walked towards it the artist's initials drew her eye, 'SML', recorded forever in gold leaf; she would have liked to ask the painter what title they'd given to their work. She came to stop before the masterpiece, and then, almost piously Narcissa gazed up at the red dragon in the golden frame.
"Why can't the past stay where it is?" she muttered, and the dragon turned its great eyes to her. "Severus I tolerate, and Isabelle I expected, eventually. One mistake has been my downfall. How dear a price will I be made to pay for that?" she whispered reflectively. "Is this the coming storm I must endure?"
There was something else too, a distant memory that wanted to resurface, because seeing Lucius and Severus together always reminded her of the very first time that she'd seen them in each others company…
…It had happened just before midsummer. Hogwarts was a closed book to Narcissa then; she had left the school behind. She was walking through the evening streets of Wizarding London with her circle of friends. Clothed in a dress of pure white silk, which flowed like rippling water, she held herself well with the knowledge that she looked breathtaking. Around her neck hung a silver chain, the pendant strangely indistinguishable. She was attending a friend's cousin's birthday, or some such nonsense, a chore but she had become glad of any excuse to flee Cotehele, her gilded cage.
The Glass Slipper was a very posh, exclusive restaurant quite close to Diagon Alley, but as they approached it Narcissa decided to hang back a little for once and she stepped inside after her friends. Acquaintances would be a more fitting description for them really, because her friends were interchangeable, not one was especially dear to her.
She followed them into the bar, where they insisted on having drinks before dinner. As she walked confidently across to the table they had selected she felt the pressure of every eye in the restaurant turn and fall on her. But not one lustful stare or envious glance did she return, until the tingle of familiarity caressed her. Narcissa let her eyes wander slowly around the plush room and they came to rest on a party of people sitting around a table at the far end of the room. A tiny gasp escaped her lips; she could do nothing to stop it.
Severus Snape sat at the table beside Lucius Malfoy, the rest of the party she ignored. Both of the men were watching her, she saw the smirk teasing young Severus' mouth, but Lucius she could not read. Narcissa pulled her gaze away and tried to forget them as a glass of something indistinguishable was pressed into her hand. She drank it, too quickly because an airy lightness emptied her head.
Little attention did she pay to her own party. Her mind was buzzing with too many other thoughts. While she knew Severus had connections as dubious Lucius' own, she had not known they knew each other; he had certainly never mentioned it! So just how had Severus ingratiated himself into Lucius' inner circle? More importantly, why hadn't he told her? A seed of annoyance planted itself with her.
Another glass was handed to her, Narcissa drank this too, while gathering in a few sneaky glances that Lucius' father and the man he had called Lestrange were also sitting across the bar room. So too was Isabelle, just as Narcissa had expected.
"Narcissa?" said a voice.
She lifted her eyes and found the concerned gaze of a young man, who's name she had not even bothered to remember, resting upon her.
"Are you all right? You look a little flushed," he said, once he thought he had her full attention.
"I'm fine," she said quickly. "It's a little close in here, that's all. I think I'll get some air," Narcissa added getting carefully to her feet. Her head span very slightly and she frowned. What had she been drinking? Her concerned admirer jumped up too.
"There's a little patio just through there," he said eagerly, pointing to a set of large glass doors that Narcissa had already seen. "Do you need a hand?"
Narcissa let her eyes flicker between his keen face and the doorway. Pursing her lips she decided to have a little fun. She took a provocative step towards him, which seemed to make him blush, fluttered her eyelashes and then lifted her head so that her painted mouth was placed sensually alongside his ear.
"I think," she began, her voice low and husky, "I can manage without you," she finished cruelly.
The nameless youth stepped back sharply, looking abashed. With a wonderfully rich laugh she rarely gave reign, Narcissa strolled passed him towards the door, for once oblivious to the eyes that followed her.
There were tables outside too, in the restaurant's neat little garden. It was a lovely warm evening so most of them were full. Narcissa wove her way between them before finding an empty one to occupy. She supposed she'd have to stay outside for a few minutes at least, if only she hadn't let her thoughts wander… A shadow fell across her and she looked up with a tiny start.
"Severus!" Narcissa exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "I had no idea you were such good friend's with Lucius Malfoy," she added with a bite of sarcasm.
"Oh, we move in similar circles, in some ways at least," said Snape with a dark, conspiratorial smile.
A chill trickled down Narcissa's spine, how often had her thoughts returned to Lucius after her fateful encounter with the Dark Lord? Too many hours she had spent wondering if he was all right. She had spent almost as many waiting to learn more of her own fate, but not one word had been communicated to her. She wanted to ask him about it, but it was too risky here, among so many people.
"Lestrange's got a position teaching at Hogwarts, so they're…celebrating," offered Severus, who was looking almost presentable Narcissa noticed. "Oh, and he wants to meet you," he added causally with a superior smile.
"Why?" Narcissa asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.
"Haven't a clue," shrugged Snape, as if he too found it unbelievable that anyone would wish to meet her. "After your little display with lover boy Lucius sent me to fetch you."
"He did?" exclaimed Narcissa, her eyes widened.
"Don't get too excited," Snape sneered disdainfully. "It was only to stop Lestrange cursing the fool; he's hardly been able to control himself since you walked in," he scoffed.
"Lestrange? Isn't he engaged?" muttered Narcissa dejectedly.
"Narcissa!" said Snape patronisingly. "As if such things matter to men like them."
Narcissa felt a funny little pain stab at her heart, but put it down to the strength of the alcohol she'd been given. Severus stood up and actually waited to take her arm. It felt strange and uncomfortable, but she took advantage of the close proximity it leant her.
"And Isabelle, how's she?"
"Just as beautiful, devious and attached to the man you've stupidly set your sights on as ever," he said happily. "She's prettier than you, Cissy," he goaded her.
"She's older too," Narcissa hissed tartly.
Snape laughed as they neared their destination, it seemed the only time he enjoyed these social engagements was when he was causing trouble or pain. The men all stood to greet Narcissa, though Isabelle kept her seat, as was her right as a lady. Narcissa would have wished herself a million miles away, except for one lure that snared her.
"We feared Snape was keeping you all to himself," smiled Lestrange, taking her hand. "I don't think we've met before?"
He was handsome, charming, but there was a lecherous glint in his eyes that Narcissa found insufferable. She endured his introduction and then, as should have happened first, was introduced to Cassius Malfoy. She could see Lucius in him. Narcissa supposed it should have been the other way around; she should have seen him in Lucius, but no man could ever be as vividly vibrant as Lucius in her eyes.
She was searching for something to say to Lucius' father, wanting desperately to find a way to judge him, but Lestrange halted her ambitions.
"That necklace," he murmured. To Narcissa's disbelief he suddenly reached out a hand and touched the pendent hanging around her neck. "I have never seen its likeness before." His fingers brushed against her skin deliberately. She would have loved to hex him for it!
"It's the Pendragon crest," said Snape helpfully. Narcissa's eyes flew to him, cursing his loose tongue too!
"And what's that?" asked Lestrange.
"Nonsense, that's what!" Cassius interjected. Narcissa felt a prickle of anger. Isabelle smirked beside Lucius, whom Narcissa had not looked at directly once, and so she had not seen him glaring at his friend's advances.
"I think you have never been to Cotehele then, sir," said Snape carefully. Narcissa opened her mouth to try and silence Severus, but Isabelle spoke first.
"I do not think it proper to talk of one's own ancestry like this," she sniffed.
"Quite, that is why I have not said a word," Narcissa said sharply, her eyes flashing between Severus and the witch. She saw a slow, intrigued smile crossed Cassius Malfoy's face.
"You must bring the young lady to the Manor on Midsummer's Eve, Snape."
Narcissa felt her cheeks flush as her invitation was made through Severus. So, Lucius' father was yet another man who thought all women should be downtrodden and obedient! She had heard the rumours concerning the death of his wife, although she had not wanted to believe them. Narcissa was trying vainly to think of a sharp, cutting remark, when someone stole her voice.
"I don't think our Miss Varvara responds well to such brazen invitations, father," said Lucius smoothly. Narcissa's eyes raced to find his for the first time. She saw the laughter in their depths, but for some reason it did not anger her.
"But I think she must come, Lucius," pressed Cassius unrelentingly, with the passion of a man who has found a new toy.
"If that is what she desires," his son replied calmly…
…Night had fallen. It must have, for the dim room was now pitch black. Narcissa abandoned the painting and moved over to the window. She pulled back the curtains, letting silvery moonlight bathe the room. Thunder was still rumbling occasionally in the distance. The memory lingered with Narcissa; such past occurrences were strangely dear to her now. Every fresh exchange had stayed with her.
Thunder rang out again, or was it footsteps in the passage? The door creaked open behind her and she felt her pulse quicken as she turned to face Lucius. He had found her. She tried to steady herself; it was harder to decipher him in the dark.
"Why are you in here?" he growled, but this question she ignored.
"What did Severus have to say?" she asked instead.
"I think you forfeited your right to an answer to that question," he replied fractiously, a testy reminder of her behaviour, but then he paused and his eyes glinted in the moonlight. "Now then," he breathed, his voice dangerously sleek, "shall we continue where we left off or have you finally come to you senses?"
Cold silence met his taunting question. He looked deceptively casual; the collar of his black shirt was unbuttoned, its sleeves rolled up revealing now unblemished skin. Narcissa followed him with her eyes, alert to his every movement. He walked in a circle around her, as if she was his prey. It was harder to fight with a man she had just watched defend her in her mind's eye, she realised vaguely.
"A very good answer," he said softly when she said nothing. A joyless smile curved his mouth. "So now I have another question, one so simple even you should be able to answer it," he added viciously. "Why did you lie to me, Narcissa?" he demanded.
She started, and could hear faint disappointment mingled with his anger. That was unexpectedly blunt; she had been preparing to dance around that question for days, but he wanted an answer now! Before she'd had time to analyse her own reasons, before she'd had time to plan how to properly phrase those reasons! Was that Lucius being very clever, or had she hurt him more deeply than she knew?
"I had no choice. You hate my mother for who she is," she said with false calmness. "I wonder, one day will you hate me too?"
"Don't you dare!" he snarled. "Don't you dare blame me for your deceit!"
"You wanted my reason," Narcissa reminded him.
She folded her arms under her breasts, forming a physical barrier between herself and her husband. Yes, his hatred of her mother had spurned her on, but it had been her own arrogance, the thrill of getting the better of him, that had turned her thoughts into actions.
"You've never asked me why I hate you mother," he said slowly. "And don't give me that pitiful speech about my envy of her being the descendant of some ridiculous, ancient sorceress!" he hissed swiftly.
A flash of lightning lit the room. The red dragon had just shot a ball of flames across his picture frame, but Lucius seemed not to notice. Narcissa was still standing with her arms folded, watching him contemptuously.
"Go on then," she said with a sneer. "Surprise me."
He nodded his fair head, as if accepting a challenge.
"When was the first time you father hit you?" he demanded. Narcissa let her arms drop to her sides in shock. "The first time he broke one of your fragile little bones?" he continued ruthlessly. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. "You can't even remember can you?" he finished his voice a little less harsh. His eyes searched the pain that shone so openly on her face. "I didn't quite understand it, until I first saw you with Draco in your arms; and I knew you would sacrifice your life for him," he confessed. "Your mother stood by and watched your father try to break you. She was your only defence – and she failed you. I do not want my son to see weakness like that in his own family!"
"You don't understand! You can't!" cried Narcissa, finding her voice while trying to understand if he was saying that he hated her mother for her sake or Draco's. "She didn't have a choice! She never stood a chance against my father."
"Because she is weak," agreed Lucius.
"Because she loved him, and he couldn't love anyone," refuted Narcissa tiredly. Lucius looked passed his wife, out of the window, and an expression of turmoil temporarily flickered across his face. "You're getting better at punishing me," Narcissa whispered dryly as she stared down at the floor. For some reason, this simple, quiet little statement incensed Lucius. Never had she expected the reaction that ensued!
"Let us understand one another," he said, straining to keep his voice level. He backed her up against a wall and placed a clenched fist either side of her head, pinning her in place beneath the strength of his forearms. "You lied to me. You had our son lie to me. You are in the wrong."
Narcissa was confused, bewildered, by his reaction and her own, because even now she could not find it in herself to fear him.
"I know," she whispered her bemused confession, as he had never expected her to. She let her eyes fall shut. It was not an apology, but… "I wanted her to see, Draco," she murmured, barely loud enough for him to hear.
She felt Lucius relax his arms, but he did not move away. Narcissa had hardly even admitted this fact to herself; perhaps she really had wanted to prove herself in her mother's eyes? There had been that one other reason behind her visit, not the reason she'd lied or taken Draco but her reason for going. She had admitted it to Draco in a moment of weakness, but she didn't dare confess it to Lucius.
"I wish you had told me that then," he sighed, his breath stirred her hair.
"So do I!" Narcissa said with a bitter laugh.
Lucius looked down at his wife, she kept her eyes downcast and his gaze softened. She had opened herself to him slightly, and that was enough to earn her a temporary reprieve.
Narcissa gasped when she felt his lips brush against the pulse at the base of her neck. She raised her eyes to his uncertainly. She saw him swallow and then with aching slowness begin to lower his mouth to hers, he was so unbelievably controlled that she wanted to scream! She couldn't play this game tonight! With a tortured little sob Narcissa raised her lips to his and ended her torment.
She hadn't meant to kiss him, not like that, not ravenously, not uncontrollably, not as if he was her very lifeline. Such wild, unrestrained passion wasn't ladylike - she had the insane urge to laugh. He had meant to punish her, she knew that, but she could feel his stringent control begin to slip too. She heard him groan as she knotted her hands in his hair and leant the full weight of her body against him; she didn't trust her legs. She was on fire. She was losing control. Narcissa suddenly drew back, and knocked her head against the wall, shaken to her core. What was she doing? It was this room, she reasoned, his old room, too full of memories…
Besides, was he just settling for what he could have while Isabelle was unavailable? Narcissa had pushed all her thoughts of the witch to the very back of her mind, but suddenly she was filled with a thousand doubts and fears.
"You think you have the strength to refuse me?" Lucius asked unevenly, ignorant of her new worries.
"You know I have that strength," she stated with breathless resolution. "Or are you confusing me with Isabelle?" she snapped violently.
"Isabelle?" he murmured slowly, as if he had never heard the name before, but Narcissa didn't trust his innocent act.
"If you're only here because you can't have her-"
"I could have her at any time I choose," he snarled heartlessly. Narcissa shied away from him as if in pain. He saw this and faltered. "But I want you," he added softly, running a hand through her hair with earned intimacy. Narcissa drew a treacherous breath and raised her defenceless eyes to his.
"I am your wife," she reminded him softly, giving him permission to have his way, while trying desperately to conceal her own wanton needs, but he did not understand this because he dropped her from his arms, looking oddly wounded.
"My wife?" he repeated slowly. "You say that as if it were nothing more than a job you applied for," he growled turning away from her bitterly.
Narcissa felt so despicably weak without his arms to hold her, as if she was crumbling inside!
"No, never has it been that," she blurted without thinking, too quickly the words were spoken and she was unable to withdraw them. Lucius stopped abruptly and waited for Narcissa to speak into the silence, but she said nothing more. Was he the one being played for a fool here? He felt that he was the one out of control, revealing things he'd long kept hidden. Lucius wrenched the door open, but then heard her one broken whisper, "I wish-"
The door was gently re-closed as a second flash of lightning illuminated the room. Lucius did not turn back to Narcissa, but the second of light outlined the tension drumming through his whole body.
"You wish what?" he asked softly.
Narcissa licked her dry lips, searching for an admission she was able to speak. Time ticked by and again her husband impatiently reached for the door handle while he still had the strength to walk away.
"Don't leave me-" she whispered, but the last of her words were stolen by a roll of thunder.
Lucius finally turned back and moved towards his wife, but he was too proud to ask her to repeat her plea. She would not have done so anyway. If he could not convince her of his fidelity with words, he would use another means.
As always, the night was his ally abating his anger until the morning, and so once again he took Narcissa in his arms. She relented, good sense and reason overpowered by a desire she could no longer quell.
"One day I will make you understand me," she promised him fitfully. Lucius kissed her lips with a vulnerable tenderness she had never expected from him. "If only I could believe you would do the same," she whispered silently to herself, one tear making its escape as he laid her down upon the bed.
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