Tainted Love
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. own all recognisable characters and storylines.
N/B: Proofread, encouraged, and bribed to fruition, by Kirixchi.
Tainted Love
Chapter Sixteen: Passion & Pain
Lucius stood in the doorway of the master bedroom, rooted to the spot as if caught in the twisting vines of Devil's Snare. Narcissa had not noticed him. It appeared that she had just showered; she was still wet, and wrapped in a thick bath-towel, but those things were secondary in registering to Lucius. In sheer disbelief he watched her body shake with the force of the tears she was crying. He had never seen this side of his wife before - cowering in a crumpled heap on the carpet - and to be honest, he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to see it now.
Lucius wasn't proud of the first thought that occurred to him, but neither was he able to dismiss it. It would be so very easy to turn around and leave Narcissa, to abandon her, as she had always secretly feared he would. Once a link in a chain had been broken wasn't it always irreparably damaged? Even if he could bolster her, wouldn't she just falter again?
After all, Narcissa herself had told him to leave her alone, Lucius reminded himself while taking a backwards step; she had rejected him first. Even Lucius Malfoy had discovered that rejection stings. Like acid it corrodes, or as oil burns and refuses water's cure. It buries itself deep and refuses to heal, leaving in its wake an open wound. Only her tears were a salve. Lucius shut his eyes; unwilling to give reign to the strongest of feelings welling inside him, and instead reminded himself that he what he had come back for was revenge. He wanted her to hurt, just as she had wounded him earlier in the day.
Lucius wavered; Narcissa was already hurting.
A battle was fought within him, a struggle between the part of him that was her husband, lover, confidant, ally, and the other darker side of himself: Death Eater, murderer, enemy.Malfoy. He wasn't sure which side would win.
The events of that evening rushed back to torment him, trying to sway his decision. Lucius vividly recalled the bitter resentment that he had felt towards his wife when she had sent him away. He had been so angry with her, with her jealously, her stubbornness, her sheer blindness! He had thundered around the house, getting ready for the Macnair's ridiculous ball - an event that he had never wanted to attend in the first place! Only after leaving the Manor in a fitting rage of fury had he grudgingly managed to calm down.
Standing outside his home, with his back to the house, Lucius had held his wand in his hand, prepared to Disapparate.and then faltered. Reluctantly, his cool gaze was drawn back towards the Manor. What if Narcissa needed him and he wasn't there? Would he have to battle this anger for her, a rage that she herself had evoked, and concede yet another defeat? Lucius' face twisted in a disgusted sneer. When had Narcissa ever granted him such a reprieve?
He had stood for several minutes in an agony of indecision - unable to bring himself to depart but proudly refusing to renter the Manor. So Lucius had found himself wandering among the gardens - her gardens, the one place in the whole of their estate that was unequivocally his wife's domain. Every new bud seemed infused with her spirit, every great tree a paradigm of her strength - a cruel irony when he was suddenly intent on forgetting Narcissa. He was trapped in a paradox; he was there for her, but away from her, he had escaped her, but she was always with him.
Lucius had found himself reluctantly admitting that it was not Narcissa's fault that Isabelle had descended upon them. It was not her fault that her mother had died. It was not even her fault that she couldn't recognise what meant to him.but Narcissa was to blame for pushing him aside. That final thought had halted his steps. A flicker of his old fury had re-ignited. Lucius had turned back towards the house, suddenly intent on proving to Narcissa that he was not a man who could be simply dismissed.
With this thought newly entrenched in his mind, Lucius stepped into the bedroom and let the door fall shut. There was something muted, something terribly latent about the dull click of the mechanism. Lucius watched his wife freeze at the sound of discovery. She couldn't bring herself to lift her head. She couldn't bear to see who'd caught her; with Draco away at Crabbe's there seemed but one possibility. Narcissa clung to denial for as long as possible, ready to embrace perpetual ignorance rather than confront the risk of facing her husband in such a state.
"This nonsense has to stop, Narcissa," Lucius declared callously, using his words like a whip. He saw her flinch and then try to stem her tears as she fought to find a response. However, despite his desire for revenge, he couldn't deny that there was something oddly crippling about seeing her cry. He could almost feel her pain; it was virtually tangible.
"And how do you propose I do that?" Narcissa asked weakly. Her voice was strained and scratchy. She clutched the towel around her as if it was some sort of shield against him, but didn't bother to try and stand.
"I propose you pull yourself together," he mocked her nastily, but in his mind he added a silent plea to his taunt. "Just fight back, Narcissa." His wife had always fought, tooth and nail. It was one of the things that he so admired in her. He needed a reassurance of her strength. She wouldn't really give in to this, would she? He begged for a sign, even if it had to be him she was fighting against.
Narcissa merely let out a soft, cheated laugh.
"Pull myself together?" she repeated. "I don't know how to do that for you, Lucius," she confessed wretchedly. The hard stance that Lucius had taken made it impossible for him to offer a single word of comfort when he saw her shoulders slump dejectedly. "What's the point?" she whispered, staring into space.
"Of what?" Lucius asked, his mouth suddenly dry. She tried to look up at him. Her eyes, which usually shone silver, were lifeless, grey, no not even grey, thought Lucius, they were simply void of all colour. Her hair was still damp, but starting to dry in wavy disarray.
"Just turn around and walk away," she commanded, her voice deadened and flat. Although she couldn't bring herself to seek it, Narcissa could well imagine the disgust in his eyes, and she didn't think she would be able to endure the certainly of watching his face cloud over in loathing.
"What?"
"I don't want you here." It was only half a lie; she really didn't want him to see her in such a state. She needed to regroup, if that was even possible, "and you certainly don't want to be here."
"You don't know what I want, as you keep demonstrating," Lucius growled with a sneer. He threw off his cloak in a fit of anger.
"All right, then tell me. What is it that you think you want, Lucius?" Narcissa sighed with a shake of her head, as yet untroubled by her husband's growing rage. She was more preoccupied with what would happen afterwards, when Lucius had had time to reflect on what a spectacular failure of a wife she had turned out to be.
"I've told you before - you."
"Want is not enough," she refuted bitterly.
"Want has been enough for the last fifteen years," he snarled, crossing the room and yanking her unceremoniously to her feet.
Narcissa gasped, alarmed. It seemed she had misjudged the situation badly. Her legs almost buckled as his hands covered her body possessively. They swept over the swell of her breasts, bit into her curve of her waist, rousing her heart to pound at the glaze of wolfish longing in his eyes.
"Don't," she suddenly pleaded, her eyes scanned his tense face quickly and read his intention. He wanted to prove his case. "Not like this."
"Drop the towel."
"Please, Lucius," she begged shaking her head, more resolutely than before, but her refusal only added fuel to the flames of mingled anger and desire engulfing him.
A moment later Narcissa was being pushed back roughly onto the bed. Her towel was ripped away, and then she was pinned beneath the crushing weight of Lucius' body as he joined her. Her weakened body hummed, but deep inside Narcissa a spark of anger flickered into life as she struggled; he was not going to lord his dominance over her in this way!
This rush of invigorating fury was followed by a glimmer of Narcissa's old cunning. She had one very effective card to play against her husband, one that she had never used before, but had hidden away safely until the need for it arose. She licked her lips and wondered if she dared cast it aside now? Why not?
"You're hurting me," she hissed deliberately. As she had predicted, the force weighing down her body was immediately withdrawn.
It was a cruel, devious trick; she knew how much it would hurt him, but for a moment she could brush that thought aside. Like a Muggle engine that had been given a jumpstart, she felt as if she had been brought back to life. A current of energy flowed through her veins, injected like a drug, administered by Lucius. Unsteadily, she pushed herself up onto her elbows and looked across the room to where her husband had retreated. A surge of guilt hit her. He was facing away, his arms crossed, staring out of the window.
Until that moment her actions had been driven by instinct alone, the patterns of resistance and reprisal heightened by the adrenaline surging through her veins. Now, however, the effects were slowly beginning to dissipate, and her conscious mind began to digest what had just occurred. A new thought, belatedly, struck Narcissa.
Lucius had come back to her.
This realisation made her sway. What damage had her thoughtless actions wrought? She worked her fingers anxiously through the knots in her hair. If she kept pushing him away then sooner or later he wouldn't bother returning, and she wasn't sure if she could live without him. Could the situation be salvaged? Perhaps.if she gave him what he wanted?
Steeling herself, Narcissa reached for her dressing gown and shrugged it on. She knotted it loosely around her waist and then, still feeling fragile, she slid off the bed and walked towards her husband. Lucius blanked her completely. She felt the prickling of despair, finally fathoming that he could deny her pleasure as effective as she could deny him. Painfully conscious now, of the ache building within her core, Narcissa squeezed herself between his body and the windowsill with new determination.
A confused, tormented frown rested on Lucius' face when he saw the impish smile in his wife's eyes. Narcissa reached out and twisted her fingers around his cravat, using it to drag his mouth down to hers, instigating a kiss as she so rarely dared. She eased her tongue between his bewildered lips, exploring the familiar contours of his mouth with wanton relish, realising as she did so that she needed this flair of carnal desire sated as much as him.
While Narcissa lost herself in her husband, her nimble fingers made quick work of removing his tie. She let her hands trail down the length of his chest and the flat of his stomach, before stopping and letting them rest suggestively above the waistband of his trousers. Almost as if he didn't trust himself to be this close to his wife, Lucius pulled back, using the windowpane to steady himself.
"What are you doing?" he panted raggedly.
"I don't mind being wanted," Narcissa purred, arching her body against his. It was enough, she argued internally. Somehow she'd make it enough, because she was not going to lose him!
"Narcissa I-" he groaned, but his sentence was brought to an abrupt end when she stood on tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck and administered another breath-stealing kiss. His hands were still resting on the cold glass of the window; he wouldn't touch her without invitation.
How had the transfer of power between them happened exactly? Lucius managed to wonder dimly. Had he given it up, or had she taken it?
"Hold me, Lucius," Narcissa pleaded softly against his mouth. Her broken body was crying out for the contact and support that only he could give.
Narcissa nearly melted when she felt his arms move to her waist, but he only allowed them to lightly clasp her body. With a small, dissatisfied moan, she pressed herself more firmly against him, prompting Lucius to compliantly tighten his grip on her.
Deepening the kiss as she worked, Narcissa ground her hips against him, enticing him to the point of torture, but he would go no further than she asked. Blissfully grasping the fact that she now had complete control of the situation, Narcissa stilled and gazed steadily at her husband.
"Please," she murmured thickly, encapsulating her entire meaning in that one word, while her wandering hands roamed desperately over his robes, trying to be everywhere at once. She watched as his eyes, heady with desire, darkened visibly, and a confession sprang shakily from her lips: "You may only want me, but I need you, Lucius Malfoy."
Want. Need. The two clearly weren't interchangeable terms in Narcissa's vocabulary. Lucius tried to follow this train of thought to its logical conclusion, but Narcissa's hands had slipped beneath the waistband of his trousers, intent on exploring every inch of their territory, and derailed his reason. It was practically impossible to think rationally around the woman! But of course, it always had been.
OOoo..ooOO
It was the beginning of August, and it was beginning to rain. Big angry drops hit the dry ground, forming instant puddles. Lucius sighed, and scowled up at the sky. He wasn't getting wet. He'd charmed the black cloak that masked him, but the sudden heaviness in the summer air was unpleasant. He turned around, leant against the railing he was standing beside and looked out across the River Thames.
He hated Muggle-London. It was smoggy, busy, and worst of all infested with Muggles. Lucius sneered, and let his hand creep into one of his pockets, his gloved fingers curled around the thick parchment resting there. He didn't have to look at it to know that it was black, the same colour as the sky: a command from the Dark Lord.
In a few short minutes a Wizard informant was due to meet the Muggle Prime Minister, James Callaghan, to discuss matters that Lord Voldement did not wish discussed. Lucius' task was to retire the informant. The Prime Minister was someone else's responsibility. Although these affairs were carried out with the guise utmost secrecy, with fellow Death Eaters supposedly ignorant of their comrades' identities, Lucius could guess who'd been given Callaghan as his mark, and thus ultimate control over the whole operation.
Lestrange.
He'd won favour with the Dark Lord ever since planting himself as a mole in Hogwarts. Lucius couldn't decide if this bothered him or not. He rather thought it should. He wasn't used to coming second, but this was in essence the whole problem that Lucius had discovered after he had taken the Mark. He had become a servant.
Lucius' eyes narrowed to slits; of course there was something else that still goaded him where Rodolphus was concerned - his friend's pursuit of Narcissa. Lucius still hadn't forgiven that misdemeanour. He tried to clear his mind and ignore the keen irritation that was eating away at him. He'd end up doing something foolish if he didn't keep these grievances in check.
However, all of these thoughts were swept aside as Lucius snapped to attention on hearing the first strident peal of Big Ben ring out across the city. That was his cue. After a swift glance around, to check that there weren't any Muggles in the vicinity, he quickly drew his wand and Apparated to the designated meeting place.
High atop one of the prominent towers of Tower Bridge the unseasonable rain was falling with all the force of small missiles. Lucius braced himself against the assault and glared beneath his hood at the dark figure standing before him. He clenched his jaw in effort to suppress the scathing complaint that he wanted to make about the ridiculous choice of location.
"Good, you're here," remarked the all too familiar voice of Lestrange. Beneath the folds of his hood Lucius' scowl turned into a sneer.
"You have everything planned?" he demanded, leaning into the wind, while letting his gaze linger on the busy road some hundreds of feet below where they were standing.
"We can't Apparate straight into Number 10. The Ministry has put up defences," Lestrange spat in disgust, "but we can get as far as the front door without any trouble," he finished with a smirk, adding confidently: "even the doors of Muggle Prime Ministers are not hard to dispense with, and once we're inside I know the room we need to find."
"And, what about getting back out?" asked Lucius slowly. He felt his stomach plummet. He should have known that Rodolphus wouldn't be happy with a sly, covert operation. They'd both be caught for sure if they followed this plan, but the black figure of Lestrange merely shrugged carelessly.
"We'll make a run for it."
"That is your plan?" Lucius growled. "You don't think a less brazen attack might be more advantageous?"
"You worry too much." Lucius could picture the smug grin entrenched on his friend's face as he gave his blasé reply. He balled his fists. Rodolphus would pay for his recklessness one day. "There are a two more of Lord Voldemort's supporters waiting to join us, that should even up the odds a little."
A very little. Lucius sighed, wholly unconvinced, but the fact that there were an additional two men involved in the mission at least offered him the smallest chance of self-survival. He'd sacrifice anyone to save himself. Lucius nodded grimly, keeping his silence for a while as the wind howled around them.
"When do we start?" he asked at length, anxious now to get underway. Rodolphus pulled a gold fob watch out of his pocket and studied it for a moment.
"In exactly ten seconds," he remarked to his friend's slight surprise. Nine. "Are you ready?" Lucius nodded his head beneath his hood, insulted by the question. Seven. He waited impatiently for the lengthy seconds to spend themselves. Five. Both wizards drew their wands. "God help them," Rodolphus leered. Two. "Nothing else can."
The crack of four simultaneous Apparations filled Downing Street. Sheer surprise, at seeing four cloaked figures materialise before his very eyes, momentarily paralysed the policeman guarding the black door of Number 10. A split-second later gut instinct, unusually honed after two decades worth of service in the force, made him reach for his gun - too late, too slowly.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The last words he would ever hear. The bobby saw a flash of green light.and nothing more. Rodolphus sniggered as he watched the body of his victim slump lifelessly and hit the hard, paved ground. Lucius' eyes however, were darting up and down the famous street, registering more police close by, armed soldiers not far off, and the repulsive panic of tourists sensing that something somewhere had gone horribly wrong.
He knew what had to be done. Rodolphus would hate him for it, but Lucius wasn't playing by his friend's rules. He tighten his grip on his wand, drew a deep breath to help focus his mind, and then with a sharp, precise flick of his wrist, Lucius cast the spell that had just occurred to him.
"Abstinere Tempestas."
There was a soft, oppressive boom, and then an invisible shockwave radiated out from the spot where Lucius was standing. He watched his comrades brace themselves as the spell washed over them, but left them unaffected. However, the Muggles, once touched dropped limply to the ground. Regrettably they were not dead, just temporarily frozen in time.
"Bloody hell! What was that about?" Lestrange yelled furiously.
"I'm not taking part in a kamikaze mission," Lucius replied icily; careful not to betray just how much of his energy had been sapped in casting the formidable spell. "I want to get out of this alive and with my reputation in tact. Leave the Muggles unchecked and this whole country will know about your secret mission before you've even carried it out." This reasoning silenced Rodolphus.
"Will that spell have affected the people inside the buildings?" one of the other cloaked figures asked quickly. Lucius took a moment to place the voice. Snape.
"It depends how thorough the Ministry were when setting up their defences," he replied slowly. "But it will not last long-"
"So we'd better get started," Lestrange interrupted savagely, snatching back command. He raised his wand to blast down the door, but Lucius neatly blocked his path and said swiftly:
"Alohomora."
The door clicked, its locks released. Lucius could not help but smile furtively at the palpable anger radiating from Rodolphus.
"Stealth is never to be underestimated," he drawled softly, walking up the steps to the black door, which swung open easily.
The unfortunate guard who was standing on the opposite side of the door was disposed of with ruthless efficiency. Lucius turned his hooded gaze back to his comrades expectantly. Lestrange was first to move. He stormed up to Lucius, pushed his way passed the other wizard and disappeared into the Prime Minister's residence. Snape and his unidentified companion moved forwards more uncertainly.
"You two," Lucius barked. "I want this building secured. Prevent anyone, Wizard or Muggle, from entering," he paused darkly, "eliminate anyone who crosses your path."
He waited to see their obedient nods before turning and walking after Rodolphus. The air was thick with panic, heavy with fear and dread, and filled with a score of different shouts and screams. Lucius stepped over the body of his victim, a second guard was strewn lifelessly across the corridor a little way into the building, and after that another. Cool, detached and wholly apathetic, Lucius followed the trail of dead bodies until he reached the double doors of a large drawing room. He could hear Rodolphus' voice on the other side, but before his gloved hand had reached for the door handle, a shout behind him made Lucius turn.
Two armed policemen charged around the corner. Their guns were trained upon Lucius in an instant. Skilled fingers gently squeezed triggers, but suddenly, hot fire was dancing under foot, as either Snape or his companion appeared on the scene. The policemen yelped as the flames licked at their boots, letting free a stray bullet as they dodged the blaze.
Wood exploded to the left of Lucius' face as the pellet embedded itself in the doorframe. Splinters flew like tiny spears. The cloak's enchantment was not strong enough to repeal them, and so they drove their way through the material and into the flesh beneath. Lucius winced in pain, but recovered much faster than the police.
"Imperio," he hissed, casting the Unforgivable curse over both men at once.
He waved his wand and the two men turned to face each other, guns still clasped, loaded and now pointed at one another. Lucius raised his hands, and the policemen mimicked the gesture, until the muzzle of each man's weapon was pressed against his partner's temple. Beneath the Death Eater's mask Lucius blinked his soulless eyes. Two shots were fired in perfect unison. Two bodies fell to the ground. Two more names to list among the dead.
Behind the corpses that were clad in bloodstained uniforms, the black figure nodded, but Lucius did not return the gesture. He was in no mood to give thanks to the inconsequential, and so turned back to the door and made his way into the official drawing room.
The grim spectre of Rodolphus was sitting calmly in a plush armchair. Dead bodyguards were strewn around the room. James Callaghan, an ageing, bespectacled man, was sitting opposite Lestrange looking ill, but glazed. Beside the Prime Minister, gently trembling on the sofa, sat the wizard informant. Crispin Brocklehurst, a Ravenclaw who'd been at Hogwarts at the same time as Lucius.
The charade of surreal calm was unnerving. Lucius walked cautiously into the room, wand already drawn and pointed squarely at Brocklehurt. His tongue was just curling around a deadly curse when Rodolphus held up a hand to stop him.
"Not yet."
"What?" Lucius snarled.
"I have them under the Imperius curse at the moment. It's quite all right," Rodolphus replied. His voice was softened by a hint of subtle insanity that worried Lucius, whose own eyes flew towards Brocklehurt as he realised that the man was not shaking in fear, but in an effort to throw off the curse he was under.
This realisation struck Lucius at precisely the same moment that Brocklehurst overcame Rodolphus' control. He sent a shower of fire bolts in the direction of the Death Eaters. Lucius and Rodolphus dodged the blasts, but found themselves suddenly pinned down, listening to Crispin tell the Prime Minister to make a break for it.
"Go!" he yelled. "Into the secret vault! I'll take care of things here!"
With a roar of anger Rodolphus leapt to his feet and blocked Brocklehurt's attack, just in time to see the Prime Minister disappear behind a hidden door in one of the bookcases that was skirting the room.
"You'll pay for that!" he bellowed. "Crucio!"
Lucius stood up and brushed himself down, glancing for a moment at Lestrange in contempt; Brocklehurt was his mark. However, he then turned to watch Crispin scream and writhe in agony on the floor as Lestrange toyed with him. His muscles began to spasm, contorting his body into grotesque shapes until the crack and splinter of breaking bone filled the air. Rodolphus lifted the curse, and then casually walked by the whimpering, broken body of Brocklehurst on his way to the hidden door. Lucius' gaze followed him for a moment, but then he turned back to Crispin. The time had come to put him out of his misery.
"Damn it!" Rodolphus swore, ripping books from their shelves in an effort to discover the bookcase's secret.
"Calm down," Lucius hissed between clenched teeth. He looked away from Brocklehurst as Rodolphus blew apart the polished wood, but as he did so, Crispin's shattered fingers curled awkwardly around his own wand. He moved slightly, biting through his lip to stem the scream of excruciating pain longing to leave him, and managed to tap the little ruby tiepin that he was wearing, wheezing as he did so:
"Concateno."
Lucius' eyes darted back to Brocklehurst. He crouched down by his bloody side.
"What did you just do?" he drawled silkily. Rodolphus paused. Crispin choked on the bitter laugh that he'd tried to expel.
"I've just summoned every Auror in the country," he gloated, blood trickling from his mouth.
"Did you now?" Lucius breathed. He felt strangely calm, although he could see Rodolphus standing stock-still out of the corner of his eye. "Such a shame they won't get here in time to save you," he sneered.
He stared at Brocklehurst from beneath his hood. The man tensed his broken body and awaited the death that was coming to claim him. Lucius gave a small nod, and then in a flash of green light cast his killing curse.
"We have to go," he said sharply, getting swiftly to his feet and striding towards the door without a backwards glance.
"What about Callaghan?"
"He was your responsibly," Lucius replied nastily. "As was the whole mission." Rodolphus swore violently, but Lucius ignored his outburst. "The Aurors will have the same problem that we encountered. They won't be able to Apparate inside the building. If we can get out without meeting them we'll be fine."
"Sounds simple," Rodolphus spat sarcastically, as he followed Lucius back out into the hallway. "You!" he snapped, clicking his fingers at the black, hooded figure that happened to be standing in the corridor. "Have you found any other way out?"
Lucius watched the wizard nod and point, but spoke swiftly:
"No. They'll expect that. We'll go out the front door. The Aurors might not be here yet anyway. Besides Brocklehurst could have been bluffing."
"Doubtful," Rodolphus hissed, but was prevented from continuing by a sudden interruption from Snape.
"The Muggles outside are waking up," he called rushing up to the small group, and just as he did so a loud crash sounded from down the corridor.
Shouts and commands that sounded distinctly military, even to wizard ears, were being issued a few short rooms away. Lucius turned towards the corridor that led to the front door - an individual bent on self-survival. Let Rodolphus stand and fight if he wanted to. He was wasting time, yelling at Snape and the other wizard for not securing the house properly, while Lucius' only goal was to get away. He increased his pace when he heard the straining of wood and the shouts of the soldiers as they broke through somewhere. Gunfire filled the air, someone behind Lucius cried out in pain but he didn't stop, not until, a few seconds later, a voice thick with pain hissed a strangely familiar spell.
"Fulmentium!"
The air crackled with the electricity of the lightning strike. Lucius skidded to a stop and turned back just in time to watch the first two of their pursuers crumple lifelessly to the ground. Lestrange and Snape pushed by him in their hurry to escape, but Lucius stayed frozen.
The witch, for the voice had certainly been a woman's, swayed on her feet. It seemed she had been hit. Lucius felt as if he was being torn in two. He wanted to run, his mind was screaming at him to go, but something stronger was begging him to help her, and it was this sudden irrepressible impulse that drew him back to her side. He caught her body as she fell, and saw beneath her black hood a lock of distinct blonde hair.
OOoo..ooOO
The waking world gently roused Lucius. He rolled over onto his back and coaxed his eyes to open as dreams and reality settled into place. The pain and passion of the night before returned to his conscious mind. He turned to seek out his wife, not knowing quite what to expect.
A frown settled upon his features at the surprising sight before him. Narcissa was sitting up, scouring the pages of a heavy leather bound book that lay across her lap. Piles of other texts were scattered on the bed around her. She had donned his black shirt, achieving an air of casual attractiveness that almost undid Lucius all over again, however, he managed to restrain himself, and simply cleared his throat quietly.
Narcissa's attention was drawn immediately away from the tome. The utter calmness of her gaze engulfed Lucius and took him unawares. How could this possibly be the same woman that he had lain with the night before? A woman seemingly so broken that he had considered abandoning her! He stared at his wife, unable to articulate the change. She responded with the soft shy smile that she reserved for him alone.
"You slept well?" she enquired gently.
Lucius murmured uncommunicatively in reply, still looking deeply troubled by Narcissa's metamorphosis. He glanced absently at the silent clock on his bedside table. However, he did a double take, and stared dumbly at the clock face for a moment before rounding on his wife.
"I should have been at work four hours ago!" he growled furiously. Narcissa calmly jotted something down on a scrap of parchment.
"I floo'ed your office," she confessed reluctantly, as she copied down a second extract from the book.
"What?" he snarled, taking the remark just as badly as Narcissa had been expecting. He didn't appreciate her actively meddling in his Ministry affairs. She was well aware of that, but she hadn't had the heart to wake him and pack him off to work.
"You needn't worry, I didn't say anything to discredit you in any way," she said pointedly. "I simply told them that I needed you at home today, that after my mother's death I couldn't cope without you," Narcissa confessed, embarrassed now by the explanation. It had seemed so obvious when she'd been explaining it to Lucius' secretary.
"That lie just flew off your tongue did it?" he scowled bitterly, surprising Narcissa by the venom of his attack. She stared at him, perplexed by his anger, unless of course.he didn't realise.
"It wasn't a lie," she said, managing to sound so matter-of-fact in her admission that Lucius wasn't certain that he'd heard her correctly. Narcissa couldn't help smiling at the look of incredulity etched across his face. "Is something wrong?" she asked lightly.
Lucius shook his head mutely, but a sudden tightness was constricting his chest, had Narcissa honestly just told him that she 'couldn't cope' without him? Surely she was just teasing? He lay back against the pillows and tried to quash the blissful rush enveloping him. It didn't seem possibly, and yet the night before, before he'd fully succumbed to her intoxication, she'd spoken about 'needing' him then too. He watched her covertly out of the corner of his eye. She seemed positively buoyant in comparison to her defeated state the day before.
"You do seem," he began, unable to stop his eyes narrowing suspiciously, "a lot more like yourself this morning, Narcissa," he finished, almost accusingly. He watched as his wife leant her head to one side.
"I thought that's what you wanted?" she pointed out, a little surprised by his remark.
"So this is all an act for my benefit?"
"No," she ground out, trying desperately to keep her temper. "I was pushed past my limit last night, but instead of being broken, I was just reminded of a few things."
"Such as?" he murmured, more harshly than he meant too, simply infuriated by his sudden inability to decipher his wife.
"Who I am," she replied, frowning, not at her husband, but seemingly at herself. "I did mean to thank you for that, not infuriate you, Lucius," she confessed contritely.
"Did you now?" he murmured, confused by her regretful admission.
Narcissa nodded her fair head and turned to look at him. Her eyes were oddly pensive as they studied his features. She couldn't stop the colour rising to her face when she caught sight of the marks her nails had scored across his body.
"I meant to ask you," she said suddenly, tugging her gaze back to his face and away from the red scratches trailing his torso. "I want to know why you came back last night."
"No you don't," he refuted her claim crisply.
Narcissa opened her mouth to object, but, as she often did, seemed to think better of it at the last moment because she merely sighed deeply and nodded her head in grim resignation. She turned a couple of pages of the book without really looking at them, while silently telling herself that she would keep her head and refrain from rash actions. Lucius watched her submission with some surprise, as he always did when she used it to wrong-foot him, and then willed himself to speak.
"Narcissa," he began, his voice strained, "last night.I didn't mean to hurt you," he finished difficultly.
Lucius frowned, baring understanding his own motivation. The desire to hurt her had been the lure that had dragged him back, but he hadn't been able to follow through. He had never wanted to emulate her father, and he'd never before been forced to hear that something he'd done had actually inflicted damage upon his wife.
Narcissa gently closed her book and laid it aside before turning back to face him, guilt needling away at her conscience.
"You didn't hurt me, Lucius. Not in the way you mean anyway," she murmured softly. She twisted her fingers in the sheets but forced herself to maintain eye contact with him. The frown that lodged itself on Lucius' face tested her resolve, but didn't quite break her down.
"I don't understand."
"I knew it was the only way that I could stop you," she muttered. Narcissa's voice was barely louder than a whisper, and she did now let her eyes fall away from his, down to her hands, which were still toying agitatedly with the bedclothes. Lucius must have followed her gaze, because he reached out and stilled her hands with his own.
"And why was stopping me so imperative," he growled, circling her palm with his thumb, "when a few minutes later you were quite willing to- no in fact you asked me to take you to bed?"
"Because," she began nervously, "I needed to give you what you wanted. I couldn't let you just take it." Lucius dipped his head, and beneath his breath cursed his wife's fondness for riddles, but she ignored his muttering. "Besides, I didn't know what you'd do last night," Narcissa added, an unmistakeable tremor evident in her voice.
"What do you mean?" Lucius asked slowly, unsure as to whether or not he wanted to hear her answer. He tried to release her, only to find that her hands were still holding his.
"I mean," Narcissa began carefully, "that you would do absolutely anything to protect the Malfoy name," she licked her lips and then ploughed on, "and if I should became a threat to that good name." she paused meaningfully, and let the sentence trail off unfinished.
"How could you ever sully this family's reputation?" Lucius wondered, dumbfounded, but then his eyes narrowed. "Although there are members of your family whose mere existence does indeed prove a constant embarrassment," he said scornfully, watching as she braced herself against the attack he'd directed towards her parents.
"I can't help that," she breathed, her fingers trailing lightly over his naked hands, letting his words pass without a reminder that some members of her family were definitely not an embarrassment. "Besides, it doesn't matter now," she added matter-of-factly.
Lucius allowed a puzzled look to grace his features.
"Why not?"
Narcissa blinked, just as bewildered by her husband's question as he was by her statement.
"Because I am your wife. You and Draco are the only family I have."
Lucius swallowed the smile that was threatening to spread out across his face, and instead worked hard to arrange his features into their typically cool, ambiguous smirk.
"Then by your own admission you are a Malfoy," he drawled slowly, "and thus a part of the family you say I will do anything to protect," Lucius paused, and stilled the movement of her hands. His eyes glittered wickedly. "Do you think I would do anything to protect you, Narcissa?"
"I-I didn't mean me," she stammered awkwardly, her eyes wide with disbelief, wholly unprepared for the route he'd decided to take. She chewed her bottom lip, watching the dry smirk that was teasing the corner of her husband's mouth.
"I had a feeling you didn't," Lucius murmured drolly. He lifted her left hand to his lips and laid a soft, wet kiss against her palm. Narcissa could only gasp in surprise, and then feel herself begin to melt as he whispered against her skin: "But in case I should ever ask again, I believe the answer is yes."
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