Tainted Love
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.
N/B: Proofread and inspired by Kirixchi.
Tainted Love
Chapter Fifteen: Midsummer's Eve
Witches and wizards tripped over themselves in a desperate attempt to get out of Lucius' way. He stalked the corridors of St Mungo's like a cyclone. 'Narcissa only married you to spite me.' His eyes shut involuntarily against the vivid memory of his father-in-law's venomous attack. Impossible! He knew his wife. Spite alone would not drive Narcissa to break the shackles of one family only to take on the binds of another. His footsteps slowed. However, couple that spite with ambition, with desperation, with pure unadulterated hatred and Lucius' certainty faded to grey.
The problem was this: Lucius could not honestly explain why Narcissa had married him…not entirely.
He stepped outside of the hospital, annoyed for having achieved nothing during his visit, and dragged a gloved hand distractedly through his hair. Why Narcissa had married him was immaterial. Just as his reasons for wanting her as a wife had slowly evolved, he suspected her reasons for staying with him had also undergone a gradual change. Still, he suddenly needed to understand those reasons with an urgency he'd never felt before! There were so many events conspiring against him that he wanted one certainly in his life, and he wanted Narcissa to be that single constant. Through trouble and strife she had stood loyally by his side, and that was something he'd never expected. He'd lived the first twenty-two years of his life around women like Isabelle and his mother, faithless fickle false creatures, who cared for nothing but themselves. Narcissa had entered his world and redeemed her sex.
Lucius began to walk away from the hospital, unintentionally allowing his mind to wander. He could still picture himself sitting with Narcissa by the side of a Cornish river; on the day he'd asked her to marry him. He could remember too the golden life he'd promised her then. That life had very nearly been snatched away from both of them, but when that had happened, instead of fleeing from a sinking ship, Narcissa had stubbornly refused to surrender! He knew no one comparable to her. Perhaps one day he'd tell her exactly what it meant to him that she'd stayed?
..ooOOoo..
The solitude that Narcissa so desperately craved was not forthcoming. She felt as if she was slowly being drowned, but just like water being held behind a dam Narcissa could not be contained forever. All day she had been confined to the Manor's master bedroom, imprisoned by Draco and well-meaning servants. Her frozen eyes stared bleakly into the full-length mirror that she was standing before. She looked so very severe, like an old black and white photograph, and yet Narcissa knew that she was holding on to this fragile dignity by only her fingernails. How many blows could she endure and keep standing? 'It might be interesting to find out,' she thought wryly. Perhaps then she would find out how permanent a fixture of the Malfoy estate she actually was?
She raised her chin a proud fraction: a perfect bluff, and continued to critically regard her reflection. Narcissa's aging handmaid, whom her mistress did not recall summoning, had taken it for granted that Mrs Malfoy would follow proper protocol after receiving the news of her mother's death. Her mistress had not had the inclination to argue, and so for the first time in years Narcissa was clothed solely in black.
It was late afternoon, and Narcissa still felt like a seamstress' dummy. The stiff, rigid folds of the clothes themselves seemed to be all that held her together. Her gaze fell on her clasped hands; she had allowed them to be imprisoned in their black gloves, but when her handmaid had approached her with a veil Narcissa had stopped her with a single look.
"I will not hide my face like a good, lamenting daughter," she remembered declaring callously.
With a small sigh Narcissa slowly let the hard planes of her face relax. She moved stiltedly away from the mirror and perched herself on the edge of her dressing table stool. Like a caged bird she stared hungrily out of the window. She could not bear to be tethered like this! If Narcissa had been forced to face exactly the same trials as her husband she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would not have survived: Azkaban would have killed her... She literally shook herself, determined to banish the path to that perilous memory.
Nevertheless, a bitter, sigh-like hiss escaped her lips at the thought of Lucius. Unlike his son, he would not have kept her chained for so long, but it hardly mattered now. Lucius had abandoned her. Narcissa's gaze fell from the beautiful view outside. She didn't know where Lucius was; he hadn't bothered to tell her, hadn't even bothered to say goodbye. A coil of barbed wire wrapped itself around her heart. It had been left to Draco to inform her of her husband's departure.
Narcissa glanced across the room at her son. He was sitting on the floor causally flicking through a Quidditch handbook. Narcissa's eyes narrowed at the sight of it, but she held her tongue. Every so often Draco would glance up from the well-read pages, and watch her cautiously, but only when he didn't think that she was paying him any attention to him. It was oddly endearing, to a point, but Narcissa longed to reclaim her former dominance and seize these duties from him. She was the one who spent her days continuously alert, forever on the watch for something that could threaten Draco - an invisible spectre that would catch him when he fell. It should not be the other way around, but how to go about her reassertion?
'By attending the Macnair's party for a start!'' said a little voice inside her head.
A half smile, wholly joyless and entirely ruthless, one that she had learnt from the Malfoys, shaped her lips. She watched Draco out of the corner of her eye until his attention was completely fixed on the book, and then she tried to stand again. Narcissa bit down hard on her lip as her body protested, but she forced herself to battle through the pain. Her son looked up, confused concern imprinted across his pale face.
"Mother?" he questioned her reluctantly, but Narcissa did not respond to his query. Something, or rather someone, outside had caught her attention. A surreal sense of detachment washed over Narcissa as she looked through the window and down upon the black-haired figure approaching her door.
"We're going downstairs," she commanded, her voice as hard as flint. "We have a guest."
..ooOOoo..
Narcissa wasn't quite sure how she managed to walk downstairs. Pain created a buffer around her mind, until she found herself standing in the centre of the drawing room, her face set. Her body would not dare fail her now. The familiar surroundings of the plush room escaped her notice; her mind was focused, like a hound that had caught the scent of its quarry she would not be swayed. Of only one thing she was aware - Draco had insisted on accompanying her, against her better judgement. Mother and son waited in silence until footsteps in the hall alerted them to the approach of their guest. The grand door swung open and a maid entered the room with a little bob.
"Ms Zabini to see you, ma'am."
Although she had been expecting it the announcement still stung Narcissa, as if it was salt being rubbed into an open wound. 'At least Lucius isn't here,' she thought silently. 'I could not bear the comparison today!' Isabelle strolled into the room, her head held high. She was looking as radiant as ever: the picture of perfection, with her luxurious hair and flashing smile. Narcissa could sense Draco tense. If only she knew exactly what had transpired between Lucius and Isabelle! He had rushed after her, his wife, instead of staying with her old rival, Narcissa recalled with a glimmer of satisfaction. Why had Isabelle returned?
"What brings you here, Ms Zabini?" asked Narcissa, in what she hoped were a neutral tones. She took just a moment to wonder at the title 'ms' and ponder why Isabelle might have adopted it, while Isabelle's painted lips curled in a smile that did not reach her eyes.
"Where's Lucius?" she asked, her voice a trifle guarded.
"Out," Narcissa replied crisply.
"Out where?" Isabelle pressed.
Narcissa pursed her lips and wondered how best to drag herself out of the hole that she'd unwittingly dug. She didn't dare glance at Draco. What must he be thinking? She wondered with a pang.
"Does it really matter where Lucius is?" she countered Isabelle's question with one of her own. She drew herself up to her full, impressive height and ignored the warnings of her body. Isabelle shrugged, a vulgar gesture that Narcissa loathed.
"Didn't he tell you about our conversation yesterday?" she taunted. Narcissa blinked slowly.
"I really didn't wish to know anything about it," she lied easily.
"No?" Isabelle smiled in disbelief. "Well, I told him that I came to see you, and it was not wholly a lie," she smirked. "Today I came to inform you of your mother's death, but it would appear you already know," she continued steadily, regarding Narcissa's mourning garb critically. Her hostess nodded cautiously, eternally relieved that Isabelle has not been the one to break the news of Elaine's death to her!
"Well then-" began Narcissa in an attempt to immediately rid herself of the witch and all the painful memories that she invoked, but Isabelle had turned her attention to Draco.
"Draco dear," she simpered affably. "I don't know whether you've realised, but I'm Blaise's aunt. You're in the same year at Hogwarts," Isabelle said with a sickly smile, "are the two of you friends?"
"Not anymore," Draco replied instantly, curling his lip in disgust. Isabelle fluttered her eyelashes quickly and replaced the perfect smile that had momentary slipped off her face. Narcissa allowed a few drops of perverse pride to warm her before she contemplated addressing Isabelle again.
"If there's nothing else-" she started calmly, but was interrupted by her guest.
"There was actually, the reason-" she paused, and smiled wickedly, "one of the reasons I came yesterday. Your mother wanted me to pass on a message," Isabelle declared, her words were notably harsher after encountering Draco's cheek. Narcissa raised a cautious eyebrow, but Isabelle nodded meaningfully to the French doors that led out to the gardens. Grasping her meaning, Narcissa walked over and opened them.
"Shall we?" she asked pleasantly enough, begging her body not to give in; a strange pins-and-needles like sensation was numbing her limbs. Isabelle strolled across the room and sauntered outside. Draco made a move to follow but Narcissa shook her head sharply before leaving him in the room and following Isabelle out into the grounds of the Manor. Of the whole house this was her real territory, a surge of strength enveloped Narcissa. Isabelle should have stayed indoors.
"The gardens look a little different," Isabelle remarked disapprovingly.
"I had a few replanted, one or two redesigned," confessed Narcissa evenly. How she despised the fact that this woman still knew what the Manor used to look like! Isabelle raised one exasperating eyebrow.
"Lucius didn't mind?"
"This is my home!" Narcissa hissed through clenched teeth.
"I don't suppose a man such as Lucius hasn't any interest in the gardens anyway," said Isabelle, with a dismissive wave of her hand. Narcissa swallowed the curse that was on the tip of her tongue.
"What is this all important message then?" she demanded instead, her voice hardening considerably now that they were alone and she was in her element. Isabelle turned back to her, the pretence of a smile still grafted onto her face.
"Before she died Elaine made it quite clear that she wouldn't be buried in the Varvara family vault. She wanted a traditional burial, traditional in the sense of her foremothers that is," Isabelle volunteered smugly. Narcissa narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Your father is furious. He's trying everything to shirk his duty. He won't be able to, it's already settled."
A le Fay burial? A smile flew fleetingly across Narcissa's face; perhaps her mother hadn't completely let her down after all? She turned to look at Isabelle; an instinctual suspicion had suddenly gripped her. Isabelle had never had the slightest interest in any of this; she had always professed that she found Narcissa's ancestry contemptible.
"What is it you really want, Isabelle?" she asked daringly.
"You stole something of mine," Isabelle replied to Narcissa's surprise. Her eyes were now glittering with barely contained hatred. Narcissa nodded in conceited understanding. A trickle of pure malice flowed through her. It was as she had feared, but some things needed to be pointed out.
"You don't understand, do you?" she smiled maliciously. "You can't take back what I have. Oh, you may lure Lucius into your bed, but while I live you will never be Mrs Malfoy. He will never divorce me and bring the Malfoy name into disrepute." Narcissa wasn't quite sure where she found the strength to launch her attack.
"And what if he was a widower?" Isabelle hissed fiendishly.
"Ah, now that's interesting," conceded Narcissa indulgently. She felt somewhat removed from the whole situation, although later she would be hit hard by the exchange. "But of course, there would be no children from that union, it will be my son to inherit and I should warn you, Lucius would never let you harm Draco."
"But he'll let me harm you?" Isabelle smirked.
"He'll let you try."
Even as the words dripped like poison from her lips Narcissa wished that she were somewhere else, anywhere else, but this was hardly the first time that she'd had to rely upon her grim resolve to carry her through…
OOoo..ooOO
…They had asked her not to go. They had offered to take her somewhere else. They had voiced a thousand words of protest. She had refused each and every suggestion bar one – she would go to the Malfoys' Midsummer Ball. If her father thought he could break her wings then he was sadly mistaken!
Lucius, Severus and she had Apparated to the gravelly forecourt just outside the Manor, but the mansion's splendour was initially lost upon Narcissa that evening. She was not in the mood to be impressed. Narcissa deliberately turned away from the house for a moment and raised a hand distractedly to her neck, wincing as she felt the ravaged skin beneath her fingertips, but all thoughts of her injury flew from her when she looked back up and encountered the Manor's resplendent grounds. For all her desire to remain unaffected, her mouth opened a little in surprise that Lucius could be heir to something of such exquisite beauty. The cool logic of his mind seemed at such odds with the gentle, natural beauty hiding in the growing shadows.
"Narcissa?"
She heard Lucius call her name, calmly, dispassionately, and wondered if, in the game that she was playing to win his attentions, she was running out of cards? Was he angry with her for her stubbornness, or perhaps he was embarrassed to be seen with her now? Failing, losing, was not an outcome she ever contemplated, but how could one win when playing against a man like Lucius Malfoy? Narcissa pursed her lips; such defeatist thinking was unlike her; Lucius had no great advantage over her. If he knew her blackest secrets, then she too knew his, and he was still unaware of that fact. He had only seen her family, whereas she had watched him commit murder.
"Mr Malfoy-" she began, but was cut off impatiently.
"Stop calling me that," he snapped the interruption. Narcissa was taken aback. Of all the possible reprimands that she'd been preparing for that had not been one of them! Out of the corner of her eye she saw a fleeting look of surprise pass across Severus' face too. "In this house you need only address my father as Mr Malfoy," he murmured by way of explanation, but something told Narcissa that this was not quite what he had meant.
She nodded her head in silent understanding and took the arm he offered her. Was it just her imagination or did his body tense at her touch? Narcissa couldn't help but wonder this, as she was led up the steps towards the house. Lucius glanced down at her and his gaze lingered for too long on the red ring she knew must be encircling her neck. She hadn't had a chance to judge the injury in a mirror herself.
"Is it as bad as that?" she said, trying to insert a note of jovial lightness into her voice, but Lucius' grim expression did little to help.
"It's…noticeable," he said slowly. Narcissa stopped walking, tugged her arm free from his grasp and turned back to the apparation point.
"Giving up and going home, Cissy?" Snape mocked from where he was standing apart from them. Her pale eyes flashed as she reached for the clips holding her hair back. She pulled them out, let them fall to the ground and then shook her head allowing her hair tumble free in waves of gold that fell around her shoulders and hid the worst of the marks cut into her neck.
"Better?" she demanded crisply, unaware of the alluringly dishevelled quality of her new look. She watched Lucius hesitate.
"Much," he said at length, a restrained smile touching his features. "Shall we?" he asked, offering his arm for a second time. Narcissa accepted it gratefully and steeled herself for entering the Manor. The great doors of the grand house swung open without human intervention, spilling light, laughter and music out into the night air.
"Are we late?" Narcissa found herself asking nervously. She didn't especially want to be scrutinised by a whole group of new faces tonight. Despite being Purebloods, the Varvaras' 'new money' label had prevented them from reaching the uppermost pinnacle of Wizarding society.
"Fashionably so," Lucius replied with a dry smile.
A beautifully crafted staircase dominated the Manor's entrance hall. Tiny, milky-white flowers had been delicately laced around the carved banisters. Spheres of sparkling white light floated in the surrounding air, and illuminated the large chamber. Narcissa let her eyes wander over all of this until her thoughts were harshly interrupted.
"Where have you been, Lucius?" growled an angry voice.
Cassius Malfoy stepped out of side room and glowered at his son. Narcissa's eyes flickered between the two men anxiously. Snape dipped his head, and then wisely excused himself to go and join the party.
"Collecting Miss Varvara, father," replied Lucius lightly. Narcissa was keenly aware that he had not let go of her arm. She was suddenly painfully conscious of the rapid beating of her heart, the nervous dryness of her mouth and the clamminess of her palms, but none of that mattered. As long as she didn't outwardly reveal how she was feeling she would survive. Cassius turned his attention to her, a calculated look of suspicion passed over his face before he turned back to his son.
"You're supposed to be helping host this event," he said pointedly.
"I thought Isabelle was helping with that?" Lucius remarked coolly. It was as if he'd tempted Fate.
"Did I hear my name?" simpered a coy voice. Isabelle sauntered out of the same room Cassius had arrived from. She was dressed in a sleek, provocative red dress that offset her dark colouring perfectly. Nevertheless the smile on her crimson lips faltered when her gaze fell upon Narcissa.
"Isabelle, you look stunning." Lucius delivered the compliment with absolute ease; while Narcissa felt the claws of jealously grip her. His flattery initially seemed to work its seductive magic on Isabelle, who gave a sweet little laugh of pleasure, but then she turned her attention to Narcissa.
"Miss Varvara," she began, taking a step past Cassius. Her voice was icy, "has Lucius already taken your coat, or did you forget to bring one? You seem to have forgotten to do your hair." Her eyes fell to Narcissa's naked throat, notable for its lack of necklace. "Don't tell me your father has sunk so low he's had to sell off the family jewels?" Narcissa opened her mouth to hiss a quick comeback, but Isabelle had beaten her. That last remark had robbed Narcissa of her voice. In an agonising flashback, the events of the night rushed through her mind: the pain, the anger, the humiliation, the hurt… As if she was hearing his voice from a great distance away, she heard Lucius speak.
"Would you care to dance, Narcissa?"
She was unaware of Isabelle's reaction to this, unaware of her own answer even, all she was conscious of was the arm that had wound its way around her waist and was guiding her into the ballroom. Stepping into this majestic room had the same effect on Narcissa as being dosed by cold water. The clarity of her mind returned.
"I'm sorry about that," Lucius muttered difficultly. Narcissa's eyes narrowed a fraction.
"No you're not," she argued, as she was led expertly through the throng of aristocratic witches and wizards who were laughing and drinking and dancing. Quite a few tried to catch Lucius' eye, but for the moment he ignored them.
"What is that supposed to mean?" he growled sharply.
"You knew exactly what would happen when you arrived with me," Narcissa said perceptively.
"Fine, that much I'll admit," Lucius announced, unashamed. He stopped walking and Narcissa realised that they were standing in the centre of the dance floor. "But I didn't know you'd have to suffer that after-" he paused awkwardly, and his silence was filled by the orchestra playing the intro to the waltz "-everything else you've had to endure tonight."
Narcissa wanted to say something, she wasn't sure what exactly, but something. However once the music began in earnest and she found herself in Lucius' arms all desire to speak left her. 'Have I ever really danced with a man before?' she wondered dimly. It had never felt like this! Like her partner was an extension of her own body. She could feel the very physical power of the man holding her now, in the strength of his hands and the firmness of the muscles lying beneath the respectable, crispness of his robes.
She was so very tired. Narcissa realised, when confronted with his strength, she was tired of fighting doggedly day after day, struggling just to keep her head above water. Held in Lucius' arms she suddenly felt so very safe, and it was all because of him. Narcissa smiled slowly.
"Lucius?" she whispered softly as she let the music wash over her. Yes, it was because of him.
"Mmm?" murmured a voice beside her ear. Narcissa's eyes lost some of their dreaminess. She hadn't meant to say that aloud! They continued to move around the floor, but her prolonged silence caught Lucius' interest. Smiling slightly he managed to win her eye contact. "You're forgetting yourself, aren't you Narcissa?"
"What do you mean?" she muttered shakily.
"Are you really the two people you appear or just one very good actress?"
The music had ended, but Lucius had not let her go. He was waiting for an answer, but Narcissa was saved from giving one. Cassius tapped his son on the shoulder, and muttered a few quiet words that Narcissa didn't catch. The annoyance of the frown, which settled on Lucius' face, was easy enough to read though.
"Duty calls," he sneered in irritation. His gaze softened as he looked down at Narcissa, but Cassius spoke and prevented his son from saying anything more.
"I'll take care of Miss Varvara, for you Lucius, you needn't fret."
Narcissa saw the dark glare Lucius shot at his father, but he turned away without voicing another word. She watched him until he was out of sight, and then let Cassius usher her off the dance floor. Narcissa frowned as his grip on her arm tightened and he forced her to walk on. She was steered through the throng of people to a private little alcove.
"I underestimated you," he said his voice very low, and very threatening.
"Pardon?" Narcissa breathed, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling.
"I saw you at the Glass Slipper and thought you'd make a charming plaything," admitted Cassius, with the confidence of a man very used to getting his own way. He smiled at a few guests. "Perhaps it was the wine that night which dulled my judgement, because now I've noticed the way you look at my son."
"And how is that, Mr Malfoy?" asked Narcissa, refusing to cower.
"Don't you know?" Cassius smirked. His cold, grey eyes glinted heartlessly. "When you think it's safe, as you look at him every drop of lust and longing in your innocent little body is written blatantly across your face," he hissed cruelly, "but that is not what concerns me. What concerns me it the way you mostly manage to temper it. I'd say that shows an insufferable streak of self-will," he whispered. "I don't like women, Miss Varvara, I don't trust them, and I certainly don't like or trust you."
OOoo..ooOO
Draco pressed his forehead against the cool glass and peered out into the garden. Who was Blaise's aunt exactly? Why did she have such an unpleasant effect on his mother? His young features formed a scowl his father would have been proud of. He couldn't hear what was being said, but that didn't stop him from maintaining his vigil. He had been entrusted with his mother's well being. He would not fail her!
"What on earth are you doing, Draco?" drawled a cool voice slowly, from the entrance to the drawing room. Lucius watched his son take a step back from the window and then turn around to face him. An oddly grim expression was walking in shadows across Draco's face. "Where's your mother?" Lucius didn't consciously 'think' the question, instinct simply made it fly from his lips.
"Outside," his son muttered reluctantly. Was he going to get the blame for this?
"What?" Lucius growled, stalking across the room to look out of the window himself.
His footsteps faltered at the scene before his eyes. A tide of emotions rose inside him. Anger; how dare Isabelle inflict herself upon Narcissa today of all days, but also a sense of self-loathing. He should not have left her; he could not expect Draco to defend his mother against this threat. He should have stayed to look after her. Alien uncertainly ensnared Lucius momentarily. He didn't want to go out there. He didn't want to see the pain in Narcissa's eyes, the glee in Isabelle's, and yet at the same time, he wanted to protect Narcissa more than anything in the world.
"Stay here, Draco," Lucius commanded as he pulled the door open. His son unwillingly obeyed.
Narcissa saw him first, as he knew she would. She had lived with him for too long not to be able to sense his approach. His eyes racked over her figure. There was an artificial edge to her solid stance. She shouldn't even be out of bed! This fact didn't escape Lucius' notice, but it was over shadowed by something else. It had been years since he'd seen her dressed in black; she thought, with her pale features, it made her looked washed-out and ashen, but nothing could be further from the truth. Her essence was so vibrant that it did not need a coloured frame.
An aching uncertainty crossed Narcissa's face as she watched his approach. She couldn't escape from the harsh comparison Lucius was certain to make now. Her distracted attention from their war of words drew Isabelle's scrutiny. The smile that Isabelle fixed in place was no less beautiful because of its nervous undertones, Narcissa noticed anxiously.
Still, it was his wife Lucius greeted first. To Narcissa's surprise he brushed a lingering kiss against her mouth, bringing a hint of colour to her white cheeks, before casually wrapping an arm around her waist. She could not stop herself from accepting the support he offered, and so leant practically her full weight against the firmness of his body.
"This is certainly a surprise," Lucius remarked slowly, almost sneering at Isabelle, even as his grip on Narcissa's waist tightened with concern for his wife's well being. His old lover was looking almost dumbstruck! Clearly Isabelle had not expected the Malfoy's marriage to survive her previous visit with such apparent ease.
"I told you yesterday that I needed to speak with Narcissa," Isabelle stammered awkwardly. Lucius glanced down at his wife.
"We certainly had an interesting chat," she supplied evenly. "But I think we've said everything that needed saying," she added, her voice as hard and unyielding as cast iron.
"Excellent," began Lucius, a wicked smile crossing his face, "I would offer to see you out, Isabelle, but as we're already outside…" he finished, his implication clear.
The colour rose to Isabelle cheeks. She looked frankly confused by her dismissal, but ever resilient a brilliant smile was not long absent from her face.
"I'll leave the two of you to grieve in peace," she gushed. "I'm sure I'll see you both soon, at either the Macnairs tonight or the funeral itself," Isabelle added finally, drawing her wand and then Disapparating.
Silence, broken only by birdsong, filled the garden. Lucius moved to hold Narcissa in both his arms, before saying softly:
"How are you feeling?"
Narcissa stood passively in his embrace, and couldn't begin to contemplate an answer to his question.
"Where did you go?" she asked instead.
"Narcissa."
"Lucius," she countered, but then gave in a little. "Isabelle said that mother wanted a traditional le Fay burial." She paused to search his eyes for signs that he understood the significance of this request, and licked her lips hesitantly. "You will go with me won't you, Lucius?"
"Of course I'll go," he said easily. A small smile lit his wife's face, but her shoulders slumped when he added: "Can you imagine the uproar if I didn't?"
"If that's your only reason for going, then you needn't bother!" she snapped harshly. "I know that there isn't a single drop of grief inside you for my mother, but I had thought you might exert yourself a little for me at least!"
"For you?" Lucius reiterated shrewdly swallowing a smile as Narcissa flushed.
"Forget it," she said quickly, "it doesn't matter."
"I think it does," he murmured tugging her against him.
"And I say it doesn't!" she hissed boldly, using the very last of her strength to break free of his grasp and strike out towards the house. "Well are you coming in?" she shot over her shoulder. "We need to get ready for the Macnairs."
"Why? We're not going." Lucius' even reply stopped Narcissa in her tracks, she turned around, her eyes questioning. "You're in no state to go anywhere, Narcissa," Lucius declared, his phrasing thoughtless. It was precisely the wrong thing to say. Narcissa could feel her temper slipping out of her control.
"Afraid I'll collapse and humiliate you?" she snarled, and when Lucius didn't immediately nullify her fears a small explosion seemed to take place inside her. "Fine! Well, since you seem to be suddenly so concerned with keeping up appearances why don't you go to the Macnairs' ball alone tonight! Isabelle will be glad to have a dance partner!"
"Narcissa-"
"Just go would you!" she cried irately. "Just…leave me alone."
Later, sitting on her own for the first time all day, Narcissa realised that she hadn't meant it. Not really. She'd thought she had, but faced with the grim reality of having nothing to distract her from the bleakness of her thoughts made her see clearly: she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in her family. Yet, this was impossible. Draco had gone to stay at Crabbe's for the night. Lucius was getting ready for the party. Why had she pushed him away? Narcissa sank back into the soft, drawing room sofa; she knew why. She had become an embarrassment to him.
Narcissa choked back a sob. It was shocking and humbling how much she needed his strength. She'd become so used to having his unwavering support. Had she lost it now, tonight? His strength seemed unshakable, and over the years it had become all too tempting to give in to her weaknesses a little and partially shift her burdens to his capable shoulders. It hadn't always been that way; there had been a time when she'd been utterly self-sufficient. Narcissa closed her eyes. That had been a long time ago. She'd come to rely upon Lucius ever since the first night that he'd glimpsed the darkness of her family and offered to take her away – if only for a night.
OOoo..ooOO
Narcissa ran a finger over the tiny petals of the moly flowers that adorned the banisters. She'd escaped from Cassius and the crowded ballroom; back out to the Manor's hallway. If she'd had a cloak then she would have slipped outside, but the staircase would serve as a good enough hiding place for one night. Slow footsteps suddenly drew her attention. Narcissa lifted her eyes to see Lucius approaching her.
"I thought you could use a drink," he said once he reached her; he handed her a glass of amber liquid. Narcissa took it uncertainly. Since her encounter with Cassius she'd had rather too many drinks. She stared at it for a moment and then drained the contents in one fell swig. Tears gathering in her eyes as she immediately choked on the strong liquor that was burning the back of her throat.
"You really shouldn't do that if you're not used to it," remarked Lucius unhelpfully, with an easy chuckle. "Who are you out here hiding from anyway?" he asked curiously. Narcissa lifted her head once she'd recomposed herself and watched Lucius guardedly. His father obviously hadn't said anything to him. "Lestrange hasn't been bothering you again has he?" he continued, a frown touching his features. Narcissa shook her head.
"I haven't seen him at all," she confessed, wondering at his interest.
"No," Lucius smiled, "I don't suppose you have," he said. To Narcissa's further surprise he sat down on the step beside her. She had already been looking at him in puzzlement; she had never seen him so at ease before. He was truly relaxed. "The soon to be Mrs Lestrange is here," Lucius explained thoughtfully. "So he's on his best behaviour."
"I see," remarked Narcissa slowly. "And is she aware of his transgressions?" she asked delicately.
She glanced sideways at Lucius; he really was much too close for comfort. She didn't know what to do and she could already feel her skin glowing. Hopefully that was from the drink, whatever he'd given her, whisky, brandy, she was no expert, although she was belatedly realising that she probably shouldn't have taken it on top of the numerous glasses of white wine and champagne she'd already consumed. She didn't really have much of a head for alcohol and in a bid to fit into her gown she hadn't eaten anything all day.
"Oh, she's aware of them," nodded Lucius perceptively. "Although I dare say his bank balance helps to obscure her view."
"Mr Malfoy! That is really a most uncharitable thing to say!" exclaimed Narcissa in mock chastisement. The rigours of talking were causing a horribly giddy feeling to quickly overcome her. "Perhaps she loves him?" she wondered aloud as the hall span slightly. Lucius snorted sardonically.
"And I thought you were a sensible woman, Narcissa!" he muttered harshly. The censure in his voice stung her, but she did had time to wonder when she had become "Narcissa" in his eyes; he usually sprinkled a few "Miss Varvaras" liberally into their conversations, but no more. "Please tell me you are not one of those pathetic creatures waiting for love?" he sneered the word as if it mortally offended him.
"No," said Narcissa simply, but this didn't seem strong enough proof to redeem herself. Her tongue had been loosened and she didn't seem able to stop it. "Do you know what my full name is?"
"I'm not sure I want to know where this is going, but no, I do not know what your full name is," replied Lucius slowly. He supposed if he'd time earlier he would have been able to read if off the ancestry at Cotehele.
"Have you ever heard of woman known as Elaine of Astolat?" asked Narcissa leisurely, swaying very slightly as she suddenly found it necessary to concentrate on each word.
"Would you like to ask me a question I know the answer to?" retorted Lucius roughly, as he considered catching her hold.
He didn't understand how she was quite this tipsy, he had only wanted to strip back a little of her reserve. She did look utterly ravishing he had to confess, with her cheeks flushed, lips smiling disarmingly as she leant towards him to speak, if only her eyes were a little less glazed. If she looked at him like this in the sober light of day, he would not be able to control himself!
"Arthurian Legend tells us that Elaine of Astolat died of a broken heart," continued Narcissa, completely unaware of any affect she was having upon her host or the impropriety of her subject matter. "She gave her love to the knight Lancelot, but died of grief when he did not return the affection." Narcissa paused, and when she started to speak again her voice had lost some of its carelessness. "My mother's name is also Elaine. You have seen what manner of man my father is," she said grimacing, sobering it would seem. " And although my mother loves him he will be the death of her. It is the curse she bears. I am her daughter. I have a share in that curse," she stated matter-of-factly, but stopped abruptly as she realised what she was saying. Lucius turned to her, unsatisfied with the tale's ending.
"And?" he prompted.
"And she gave me the middle name Astolat, for the man I am doomed to love will bring about my ruin." Narcissa declared undauntedly, her arm unintentionally brushing against Lucius' own as she leant back a little. "So as for your question, no, I am not waiting for love, I am rather hoping that it never finds me."
"That's an interesting story," said Lucius carefully.
"Interesting?" repeated Narcissa with a slow smile. "But you do not believe a word of it?"
"I do not believe in prophecies or love, so you're telling your tale to the wrong man," he replied. His voice was even, but he was distractedly running two fingers between his neck and the collar of his shirt, knocking his tie slightly askew in the process.
Narcissa watched the uncharacteristically nervous gesture and felt her own confidence swell. She twisted her body to face him and drew herself a little closer. She then raised her dextrous hands to sort out the mess Lucius had made of his cravat, while he watched her, utterly entranced.
Half way through her task Narcissa fully realised what she was doing. Her pulse started to jump as she caressed the silk beneath her hands; she had only to reach out her fingers to touch him. At this tantalising thought her stomach twisted itself into an uncomfortably tight knot. She wondered if he could possibly hear the pounding of her heart. Narcissa kept her eyes cast down and cursed her own impudence!
Just as she was finishing, somewhat relieved to finally be able to pull away from him, Lucius' hands closed around her own and held them, and her, in place. Narcissa's eyes flew to meet his, and she was surprised by the grim resolve in their shadowy depths. Of it's own accord her body moved even closer to his, until she could feel the firmness of his legs against her own through the material of her skirt. She could read something else in his eyes too. Desire. It sent a thrill shooting through Narcissa's body. Her eyes moved down to his mouth, she licked her own lips instinctively and heard his breath catch. She tilted her head and offered herself to him.
"Lucius Malfoy!" cried a voice that sent Narcissa shooting away from him as if she'd been scalded.
Isabelle was standing in the centre of the hall. Her arms were folded and her eyes were flashing. Lucius lowered his head and muttered a curse under his breath, before picking himself up and dragging himself away from Narcissa without a word. Even when he was gone she could feel the afterglow of his presence. It was like staring into the sun, and then closing her eyes: his afterimage had been burned into her soul.
OOoo..ooOO
Narcissa jumped. Her eyes flew open as the front door slammed shut. Lucius had gone. He'd left her for Isabelle, just as he had done on that Midsummer's Eve long ago. The aftertaste of the memory had stayed with her. She remembered leaving the Manor that night, dying a little as she left them together to return to her world of nightmares. Lucius, his name meant light, and that is what he had slowly become in the world of darkness she inhabited.
Like an old woman Narcissa stood and then hobbled out into the empty hall. Who was she trying to fool? What man would stay with a cripple like her when the promise of a woman like Isabelle was open to him?
Gingerly she climbed the stairs; out of breath by the time she reached their top. What had her mother said during that last visit? Elaine had asked how long whatever it was that bound Lucius to his wife would last. Perhaps her mother, her poor dead mother, through her own life had taught Narcissa something after all?
She pushed open the door to the master bedroom. She had been so arrogant! Never had she seriously considered losing Lucius in this manner! She peeled off the confining clothes that were stifling her, limped into the en-suite bathroom and stepped into the shower.
She hadn't lost him, not quite yet.
Narcissa raised her face to the showerhead. The warm water seemed to melt the layers of ice encasing her body. Let me drown, she prayed. Let it stop hurting. Her small frame shuddered with the effort of containing her tears.
She wasn't sure how long she stayed standing there, her arms propped against the shower walls to keep her body upright. When the water lost its soothing charm she stumbled out of the cubicle and hugged a towel around her dripping form. She padded her way back to the bedroom, the carpet soft and luxurious under foot, and caught sight of her wrecked reflection.
Narcissa could hardly bear to look; she was a mess. Her eyes were red and puffy, her skin pallid and lifeless. This was what she wanted Lucius to reject Isabelle's dazzling beauty for? No doubt she was waiting for him at the Macnair's party, sleek and gorgeous and whole. Narcissa could picture them in each other's arms, dancing and then… Tears swam in front of her eyes, blurring her vision, but her mind's eye refused to be clouded. Narcissa let out a cry against the images gathering there
The mirror shattered. An uncontrolled burst of magic sent glassy shards spraying across the carpet and her skin, severing her final thread of composure. Narcissa's legs gave way, and a lifetime's worth of unspent tears broke free of their restraints. She clutched the towel around her as the salty agony of her tears stained her face.
It was then that the bedroom door swung open, then that Lucius saw his wife at her very lowest ebb.
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