A/N Beta'd by the wonderful StoryWriter831. Everything belongs to JK Rowling.

...

One morning, Lucius did not appear at breakfast.

It was, by my reckoning, the twelfth day of my stay and I had just begun to get—not exactly comfortable, but at least used to the routine we had established. So it was with no small sense of misgiving that I discovered the man was absent, although the food was served as usual.

I wasn't quite sure how I felt about this. It was a relief to be able to eat without his icy gaze boring down on me. But the atmosphere of the room immediately changed. It felt...too quiet. Eerie. Everything seemed to take on a more tangibly sinister dynamic.

I hadn't realised how reassuring his presence had actually been. Despite his hostility, he was real, he was human, and that went a long way to tranquillise the dread and terror which threatened to overwhelm me, born out of my confusion, my amnesia, my helplessness...and something worse. I had started to question my own sanity. All the strange, uncanny things I kept encountering were taking their toll, and I was beginning to wonder if my hold on reality had been in some way compromised. This frightened me more than any other part of my predicament. Losing my memory was bad enough. But losing my mind? ...That was a thought too horrible to contemplate.

At least by having Lucius to interact with, however discordant the interactions were, I was able to stave off those fears, to keep them somewhat at bay.

I wondered where he was. Supposedly still in the house, for the weather had not improved and I couldn't see any tracks in the snow outside, at least, not out the front. Mentally, I forced a shrug. Maybe he was tired of witnessing me loudly chomping my way through mealtimes (I had kept that up as a kind-of protest against him watching me eat.)

But when Lucius didn't appear at lunch or dinner either, my nervousness turned to alarm. What if he had left me here, alone in this haunted house? Or alone with my haunted mind?

Darkness had already descended outside, and even though the usual light sources had somehow ignited themselves, the shadows seemed longer and darker than usual, the silence infinitely more forbidding. Panic began to wrap gradually around me like a slowly-suffocating shroud. What if he isn't real after all, Alice?...What if all this time you've been making him up?

I picked at my dinner, but my appetite had abandoned me along with Lucius. I kept jumping at unexpected noises: the crackling of a twig in the fire, the sudden rasping caw of a crow outside the window. Finally I pushed my barely-touched plate away and went up to my room.

For a while I managed to distract myself with a book (Malory's 'Le Morte d'Arthur') and nearly had myself convinced that I was relaxed, unperturbed. But several pages in I realised that I was picturing all the Knights of the Round Table as tall, silver-eyed, blond-haired men in long black robes...

Sighing, I snapped the book shut. Clearly, I wasn't going to be able to relax until I had seen Lucius, until I had made certain that I wasn't all alone in this place for the night.

I wandered over to the door, hesitating for a moment. Did this count as curiosity? Was it a convenient excuse for me to nosey about?

Yes, and yes, I thought. But they were secondary reasons. My prime motive was to find him, not to find out about him.

I opened the door and headed out into the corridor.

Half-way along the stone passageway I realised I was tiptoeing and I tried to make my steps deliberately louder, not wanting to be caught sneaking—though in bare feet I could hardly help it. "Lucius?" I called. "Are you there?" My heart was beating erratically, but whether it was for the sake of encountering the master of the house, or in fear of encountering something sinister, I was not quite sure.

Perhaps it was one and the same thing.

I reached the stair landing. Up or down? I wondered. I hadn't yet been upstairs...

Is that where his bedroom is?

An unbidden picture of the man arose vividly in my mind: sans his immaculate attire, blond hair spilling down over wide shoulders and a pale, solid chest...

I bit my lip, annoyed at myself. It was something I kept catching myself out on. I seemed to be dwelling on him far too often, more with each passing day. I kept replaying our conversations over and over in my head, changing their outcomes in my favour and imagining others which hadn't taken place, where I was the cool-headed victor of our debates and he was forced to concede to me his grudging respect...his eyes illuminating with admiration...and something more...

Ugh. I knew it was both futile and foolish to wish him to reciprocate the attraction I couldn't seem to help feeling for him. I hated to even admit to myself that I was attracted to him, after the way he'd treated me. He didn't deserve to be considered attractive, for he never showed even the slightest crack in his armour of arrogant contempt for me. How was it even possible I could feel something for him?

Frowning, I deliberately pushed the seductive image firmly from my mind. You've already got enough trouble with warped realities, Alice, I scolded myself, without adding confusing fantasies into mix. For all I knew the man was somewhere in the house digging up floorboards in preparation for stowing the severed remains of my lifeless body.

Despite this not-very-comforting thought, I squared my shoulders and decided to ascend. Apparently, my curiosity was more powerful than my sense of self-preservation. I took the stairs at a trot, afraid that I'd bottle-out if I didn't force some momentum into my legs.

"Lucius, are you there?"

I had the sudden absurd idea that he and I were playing Hide-And-Seek, and I swallowed down a rather hysterical impulse to call out, Coming, ready or not!

Then, just as I was nearing the landing, every single one of the wall-mounted candles in the stairwell suddenly snuffed out. I gasped and swung around. Darkness yawned horribly behind me. ...Like in the dream, I thought. I gritted my teeth and turned back.

Onward and upwards it is, then.

The third floor corridor looked almost identical to the two below, except gloomier, spookier—or was that just my imagination? There were several doors along the passageway, but I didn't feel at all tempted to knock as I made my way down its length.

"Lucius?" I tentatively called again. As I walked (or crept, really, my initial enthusiasm having somewhat extinguished with the candles) I became aware of a dull, percussive sound, coming from behind the very last door, at the far end of the passage.

It was rhythmic, scratchy, and very, very creepy.

Crt-crt...crt-crt...crt-crt...

I could feel my hair bristling and a clammy coldness had developed in the pit of my stomach and was spreading out over my entire body. My hands felt numb and heavy and my legs no longer seemed as reliable as they had before. This is just plain silly, Alice, I thought. You don't want to investigate that sound. Really, you should turn right around and head back down the stairs. You can make it in the darkness if you cling to the banister.

But somehow, my feet were dragging me inexorably onward...

Crt-crt...crt-crt...crt-crt...

"Lucius?" I tried to call again, but it came out as little more than a quavering squeak. I was very near the end of the corridor now, turning to face the door itself.

There's sure to be a perfectly reasonable, mundane explanation for that sound...

I took a step closer.

Crt-crt...crt-crt...crt-crt...

My hand reached towards the door-knob, my fingers met with cold brass, then—

—a bone-chilling wailing scream from inside, the door was shaking and banging, juddering in its frame, as if someone was furiously hammering it with their fists—I tried to pull away, run, but my hand seemed to be fused to the door-knob—and—

"MUDBLOOD!"

A hot stinging pain shot up my arm and through my body, my fingers abruptly released, and I staggered backwards into the opposite wall.

Lucius was striding down the corridor towards me, black cloak billowing, murder in his eyes. His left hand was clutching the cane with which he had choked me on our very first encounter; his right hand wielded a slim black baton, outstretched and pointed directly at me.

"Lucius! There you are!" I cried unsteadily, speedily reversing into the passageway's extremity, heartily wishing there were stairs at both ends of the corridor.

I was panting and shaking badly, from the electric shock, from the terror of the scream behind the quaking door (which had stopped as suddenly as it began) and from a new, more immediate threat, in the shape of the furious man backing me into the corner. As he approached, he jabbed the baton into a slot in the top of the cane and didn't stop his long, wrathful strides until I was squashed between the cold stone and his solid body, which suddenly didn't seem quite so attractive after all, now it was being used as a kind-of bulldozer against me.

His right hand grabbed my chin, forcing my face up towards his. "What did I say about prying?" he hissed.

The top of the cane was digging uncomfortably into my side, and I tried to wriggle away from it. "I wasn't pry—OW!"

A hard shove of his body silenced me. "What did I say about prying?" he repeated.

"You s-said there would be c-consequences," I stuttered, gasping at his crushing weight.

"Correct."

"But I wasn't—"

I abruptly stopped as he released my chin and raised his hand. I flinched, bracing myself for a hit. But instead of striking me, he clamped his hand over my eyes and there was the most extraordinarily awful feeling of—I don't know—pressure, suction—as if I were being twisted and dragged through an old-fashioned wringer. I felt myself retching.

"Stop—stop—stop it!" I cried, but it had already stopped, and Lucius removed his hand. I would have fallen, but he held me up in a close embrace until I found my balance. I stared around, speechless. We were smack-bang in the middle of the dining room.

How the hell did we get here? What just happened? Are you really going mad, Alice?

But I wasn't able to dwell for long on my probable insanity, for Lucius had decided to grab a fistful of my hair, wrenching it painfully back so I was forced to encounter his fierce, inquisitional gaze. I didn't know if the roots of one's hair could be stretched, but it certainly felt like that was what was happening. The smarting twinge made my eyes water.

"What were you doing upstairs?" His voice was as burning-cold as dry ice.

"I—I was looking for you," I stammered between puffs of pain. Both my hands were frantically trying to disengage his fingers from my locks, but to no avail. He was so much stronger than me, and just so very, very angry.

"Now that you have found me," he bent his head to snarl in my ear, "what would you like to do with me?"

"I would like you to go to—" —another hard wrench made me yelp, "—ah—ow—shit! Lucius, stop!—Let me go, damn you!"

He did; and rather roughly at that, pushing me down into the nearest chair and standing over me aggressively. The cane was clenched in one fist and I eyed it apprehensively. I noticed for the first time that the silver mounting was fashioned into a very sinister representation of a serpent's head, its mouth wide open and fangs displayed, as if in readiness to strike. I already knew first-hand the kind of pain it could inflict, and I was sure there were plenty of other applications to which it might be put to use. A quote I must have read somewhere jumped into my head, that in historical days, "a man may beat a woman with a stick or rod as thick as his thumb and as long as his forearm..." I truly hoped that wasn't going to be the case here.

Lucius seemed to have guessed my train of thoughts, for a smile hinted at the corners of his mouth, and he began to softly rap the implement against the side of his leg, making a dull 'thwack' as it struck the leather of his tall boots. "Consequences, consequences," he murmured softly.

I glared up at him resentfully, annoyed at his manhandling and intimidation, when all I had been trying to do was to find him. Well, I mean, mostly.

"It wasn't my fault you decided to abandon me today, without any warning," I said angrily, rubbing my still-twinging scalp. "I was worried."

"Is that so. Your concern is very touching."

"I wasn't worried for you," I retorted. "I was worried for me. I don't feel like I'm—I'm safe in this place."

Tap, tap, tap, went the cane. "Nor should you," he replied. "Since you have broken the rules guaranteeing your safety."

"I told you, I was looking for you. I wasn't breaking your precious rules! At least, not purposefully."

"Indeed." Tap, tap, tap... He regarded me with an impassive, almost bored, expression, as if he were weighing up whether I was worthy of the effort of punishment. I was put in the very curious position of hoping I wasn't, yet somehow half-wishing I was. I hated his contemptuous indifference almost as much as I feared his unpredictable anger.

"Anyway, where were you today?"

He looked amused and faintly incredulous at my question. His elegantly raised eyebrow told me he had no intention of answering it. "Tell me, Alice...what exactly do you suppose is behind the door you were on the brink of most unwisely entering?"

I shivered, not really wanting to think about that horrible wailing, that juddering door. "How am I supposed to know?"

"Indulge me with a hypothesis."

"I have no idea..." Then, snippily, "Another happy guest?" I knew I was risking more anger. For a moment his cane stopped its tapping, and I winced a little at his arctic expression. But then, unexpectedly, he tilted his head back and softly laughed.

I was relieved, although I tried to assume an air of scowling nonchalance. This all but disappeared as he stooped over me, lightly placing the cane's serpent-head to my throat. The implied threat was clear, recalling all-too-vividly the incident when it had been used so brutally to throttle me.

I brought up my hand to brush away the cane away. But as I did, somehow—I don't know how, or why—my fingers instead curled about the silver mounting, and before I could stop myself I had involuntarily drawn out the smaller baton from its longer sheath, my fingers pulsing and tingling oddly.

Lucius hissed and I gasped at the same moment; quickly he snatched it out of my grip, twirling it deftly so the narrow tip now pointed at my forehead. His eyes blazed with fury, outrage...and something even more frightening, which I had never seen before—a strange, predatory glow, like a hunter, weighing whether to truss his captured quarry, or turn her loose for another day's sport.

"I-I'm sorry," I stuttered, eyes wide with shock, confusion and fear. "I don't know why I did that. I really d-didn't mean to." I clenched my teeth, bracing myself for an even more painful taste of his displeasure.

But it did not come. The frightening gleam cooled and cleared from his eyes, and Lucius straightened, sheathing the baton inside the cane once more.

"If I catch you prying again, Alice," he murmured, an almost tender note to his voice, "the consequences won't just be visible. They will be indelible."

...

You must have blacked out.

I was sitting on my bed, arms wrapped around my drawn-up knees, trying to make some kind of sense of what had happened up there on the third floor. No, that wasn't quite right. I wasn't trying to make sense of it, I was just trying to siphon out some of the absolute impossibility of what I had experienced.

Yes, I thought, that's what happened. You fainted in the corridor. Lucius carried you down to the dining room, and when you came around it seemed like you'd been instantly transported.

The details didn't exactly bear close inspection, but I wasn't inclined to be fussy. Any explanation, however tenuous, was good enough for me in my present state of confusion. And it was plausible, wasn't it? I'd fainted before, on the first night, so it was reasonable to expect I might do so again. After all, I'd clearly suffered some trauma to the brain: my ongoing amnesia bore obvious testament to that.

I didn't mind believing that I was experiencing the symptoms of a little temporary brain-damage. Because it was either that, or I was going completely insane.

What the hell was behind that door? I clenched my right hand, remembering the painful electric shock that must have come from the handle. Was it really a woman screaming? Goosebumps prickled over my entire body as the eerie wailing replayed in my memory. It had seemed to be in a female register of voice, but then again, it had sounded so...inhuman, that it could have been just about anything, the howl of an animal, the cry of a bird. It was a sound I never wanted to hear again. Whatever it was, it had clearly been locked in there. And, going by the violent rattling of the door, it very much wanted to escape.

I couldn't stop shivering, although I was not cold.

There was no denying something or someone was locked up on the third floor. Had that someone started out like me—a hapless, lost stranger? Had that someone sought safety and shelter, and found only torment and terror? Had that someone been manipulated or goaded, tricked or brutalized into simply...going mad?

Is that to be your fate, Alice? I wondered. To become a prisoner? Or a lunatic? ...And then a sudden, unbidden thought:...A ghost?

I reached for a pillow and hugged it against me, trying to generate some feeling of comfort, but with little success. After everything that had happened today, it was no wonder. I felt utterly drained. The whole, lonely dread-filled day, followed by the terror of the third floor, and then, to top it all off, Lucius's ferocious reaction to my 'prying.' I hadn't expected him to be so...

My shoulder blades still ached from where he had roughly pushed me against the stone wall, and I had found a bruise on my side from where his cane had dug in. My scalp no longer hurt from his cruelly-wrenching fingers, but the memory of it was enough to make me blink back angry tears. How foolish of me to have forgotten his brutal strength, his capacity for violence...

My thoughts drifted, as they did all too often, to this frightening stranger who was, by default, really, becoming the centre of my universe.

Who was he? I had learned almost nothing about him since I first arrived, and yet he was in the extraordinarily powerful position of being the only person I currently knew. Was that what drew me inexorably to him? Was that why—when he continued to insult, intimidate and even hurt me—I still found him so captivating, so magnetic? Why his face was the last thing I thought of when I dropped off to sleep, and the first when I awoke...

Perhaps it was simply his abrasive, inescapable beauty. But I didn't think so. Beauty did have its own undeniable power, but this—this ran deeper. Had the man worn a mask the whole time, I was sure I would still be lying here, clutching a pillow, thinking about him. Thinking about his hypnotic eyes, gleaming like quicksilver...

I flopped sideways onto the bed, curling around the pillow in the foetal position.

I wondered about the men in my life—in my real life. What were they like? My dad, my relatives, my friends—maybe I had a boyfriend? I was fairly sure they would be nothing like Lucius. No rational female (and I was sure I was usually rational, no matter if I was temporarily...damaged) would voluntarily choose to put herself at the mercy of such an overbearing, arrogant despot. ...But I wasn't here voluntarily, and I didn't have a choice. And so I just kept on watching myself, with horrified fascination, being drawn down and down, deeper and deeper, into a strange kind of infatuation with this secretive, hateful man...a man who wielded his hate purposefully and expertly, like a poison-dipped sword.

Why are you letting this happen, Alice? You know it's an uneven fight. He has every advantage. He has all the power. He doesn't even like you. In fact, he barely tolerates you. No good can possibly come of this.

An image of him shimmered vividly in my mind. His snowy-blond hair, with never-so-much as a single strand out of place. ...Was it ever tousled, from sleep, or from exertion, or—? I flushed. No Alice, I scolded myself. Let's just say it's never tousled, and leave it at that.

I thought about his eyes again. Strikingly fringed with jetty lashes and framed by dark brows, they seemed by contrast, so light and cold—even cruel. ...And yet their distinctive shape—tilting very slightly upwards at the outer corners—gave him a perpetual look of tenderness, even humour. I had noticed the same thing about his mouth. The corners flicked up disconcertingly, so even his harshest sneers seemed somehow softened, sweetened. Is that why he's so attractive? I wondered. Because of a mere quirk of feature?

He was certainly a man of contrasts, both in looks and personality. He was urbane and suave—yet he could be cruel, even vicious. Elegant and civilised, yet when enraged, intimidating and violent. His voice was silky, purring, but his words sank like venomous fangs. And he was so strangely, strikingly beautiful, yet almost brutally masculine: his physical presence dominated my confined world, constantly reminding me of my own precarious vulnerability, my reliance on him to not cause me harm. Oh, how aware I was that it was entirely his choice.

Every alarm bell rang in my head, telling me to ward him off, telling me not to be a conscious fool, not to be a willing victim.

Come on, Alice, surely you're smarter than this. Surely you know these "feelings" are some kind of messed-up psychological coping mechanism. Probably the onset of Stockholm Syndrome. ...Do you really want to fall for a man like him?

No, no, no, no, no. You shouldn't. You mustn't.

Trouble was, I didn't know how to stop myself.