A/N This chapter has been revised and content added, as of June 2022. Everything belongs to JK Rowling.

...

After that incident, there was only ever a single glass of wine waiting for me at dinner. It was probably just as well, since I might've tried to drown myself into oblivion, purely to escape the oblivion I was already drowning in.

For several days afterwards, I barely spoke a word to my host, so angry was I at his callous response to my attempt to reach out to him, to help him. But the silent treatment only served to be a punishment to myself, for Lucius behaved as if he were perfectly content without my conversation, whilst I, on the other hand, only ended up all the more frustrated, lonely and bored.

Eventually, about a week later, out of sheer desperation, I begrudgingly initiated a conversation at breakfast. "Good morning," I mumbled as I took my place at the table.

Lucius had been perusing what appeared to be a letter, and he glanced up from it with an affected smile of surprise. "Oh, you have broken your vœu de silence so soon? What a pity."

I bit my lip, physically biting back the angry retort that he was so obviously wishing to incite. Don't rise to his bait, Alice.

After a few seconds of politely, mockingly, awaiting a response, and getting none from me, he went back to reading his letter.

I assembled a few items on my plate and proceeded with the meal, during which I sneaked several glimpses of my companion. His eyes moved over the paper without expression. I supposed he must've received it before the heavy snows started. I wondered what it contained. Family correspondence? A business letter? If so, what kind of business was he actually involved in? ...Perhaps it was something as mundane as an electricity bill for heating this gothic pile of bricks.

For some reason, this thought amused me, and a small snigger escaped my lips. At this sound, Lucius's eyes flicked up, and mine as quickly fastened down to my plate. I pressed my lips into a straight line.

Lucius folded the letter with a distinctly sarcastic snap, and I watched him slide it into an inner pocket of his morning suit. An idea was beginning to form in my mind, inspired by that piece of paper. After a few moments, I cleared my throat and said, "I was wondering if I could borrow a pen and some paper." Then grudgingly added, "Please."

"Planning to write your memoire, my dear?" he asked, with just the most exquisite acidity to his tone.

I flushed, angry yet wholly unsurprised that he did would stoop to mock my amnesia. "I don't really have any plans, actually," I said, careful to hide my vexation, as I knew he would use the smallest pretext of disrespect to deny my request. "I just wanted something different to occupy my time, until this snow thaws and I can finally leave this..." I was going to say 'prison' but a glint in Lucius's eye made me change the word, "...place."

"I see," he said coolly.

"It doesn't break your rules, does it? Because I don't see how it would. If anything, I'll be less likely to—"

"Really, Alice," he interrupted, "just because you have suddenly found your tongue, does not oblige you to overuse it. There is, and has always been, a supply of writing materials in the library desk."

I stared. "But I already looked through the drawers! They were definitely empty."

"Were they? Then I can only suppose one of us must be wrong." He didn't look like he meant himself.

I frowned, unsure if he was being facetious or sincere. I certainly didn't want to give him the satisfaction of confounding me again, as he had with his stupid blank books. Nevertheless, after breakfast, I headed straight to the library.

One by one, I slid open the drawers on each side of the desk. One by one, I found them as empty as the first time I'd inspected them.

Huffing, I threw myself into the tufted chair, my cheeks aflame and eyes prickling with anger. That lying snake! Did his spiteful arrogance know no bounds?

And I was beginning to make a long and comprehensive mental list of all the things I should like to call him to his face, when my eyes suddenly fell upon the leaf-embossed panel directly beneath the desk-top. I had thought it merely decorative, but now I noticed there was a shallow groove carved halfway along it. Leaning forward, I placed my fingers in the groove, and gently pulled. A shallow drawer rolled open.

Just as Lucius had asserted, it contained all the implements of an escritoire: several quills of varying size and colour, two glass bottles of ink, a stack of thick, glossy, cream-coloured parchment, and a smaller pile of blotting paper.

I picked up one of the quills to inspect. The feather was a beautiful, iridescent green, with a fine gold nib attached. I guess the invention of the plastic ballpoint has not yet reached wherever-the-hell we are, I thought a little sourly.

I set the desk-top with the writing materials, unscrewing the silver top from one bottle of ink. I dipped the nib of the quill, carefully tapped away the excess moisture, then began to write.

MY NAME IS

My hand paused, the quill hovering over the paper.

Not Alice, I thought.

I AM

Do not write 'Alice'.

I'M

I closed my eyes. Just write your real name. Don't think, don't try, just write.

I let my hand drop, and the nib scritch-scratched across the paper. Opening my eyes, I gazed in dismay at the scrawling signature.

And for the first time, I began to believe that my name really was 'Alice'.

...

"Will this snow never end?" I spoke aloud, to nobody.

I was standing by the largest window in my room, gazing out on yet another morning of blanketing snow.

My fingers brushed through the pile of hand-drawn playing cards I'd made from the writing paper in the library. There were only so many games of 'Patience' one could play, before completely losing one's patience.

The bright glare of the snow made my eyes smart, and I turned away with a sigh. This feeling of being trapped, shut in a cage, was becoming too much for me.

Although I was neither undernourished nor physically mistreated, I knew that I was not really well. My appetite had waned, I felt like I couldn't breathe properly, like I needed new oxygen in my blood. The anxiety of the lonely nothingness in my head and the stress from bearing the hostility of my host, were taking their toll on me. I was becoming paler and thinner, and there was no sign of my menses (for which I was somewhat relieved, not having discovered any provisions for such in the bathroom-cabinet that was otherwise well-stocked with toiletries).

I made my way downstairs to breakfast feeling strange—well, even stranger than usual.

At the table, I pushed my food glumly about with a silver fork. As always, it looked delectable, but I couldn't muster an appetite. I didn't even bother making my usual clumsy noises to annoy Lucius, too preoccupied was I by the thought of what lay beyond these enclosing walls...free air, open sky...

I cleared my throat. "May I go outside for a walk today, please?" I asked him, careful to keep my voice polite.

"If you wish to die from exposure to the elements," he replied, without missing a beat, "far be it from me to prevent you."

I bit my lip at the callousness of his jibe, anger starting to bubble inside, alongside the frustration and boredom. "I'm so sick of being cooped up like this!" I burst out at last. "I feel like an animal in a cage!"

"That is an interesting choice of simile," he said, a sudden intensity igniting in his eyes.

"What does that even mean?" I snapped. "Why must you always talk in riddles?"

Lucius smiled. Of course, his smiles were never comforting. "Call it an appreciation of irony, Miss Carroll."

"I would sooner call it an exercise in arrogance."

"As you please."

I rolled my eyes, and went back to toying with my food for another minute. Happening to suddenly glance up, I encountered Lucius's eyes fixed on me with its usual expression.

"You don't have to join me for meals, you know," I said sullenly. "I am perfectly capable of eating by myself, without the aid of your perpetual sneer."

"Really."

"Yes, really! I don't understand why you bother, quite frankly. It's clearly not for the pleasure of my society. And you never eat anything, yourself. You might as well save us both the aggravation and let me dine by myself."

"How interesting, that you feel yourself to be in a position to dictate to me, what I do in my own house."

I gave a resentful huff at this typical response. Scowling, I threw my fork down and scraped my chair back noisily, secretly relishing the clenching of masculine jaw muscles it provoked in my companion. "I'm not hungry," I announced, standing up and stretching.

"However, the meal is not yet over."

"Oh, isn't it?" I said, mutiny goading me to recklessness. "Well, I've finished, but you can carry on staring at my empty chair if you like."

His eyes narrowed warningly.

"What? It'll be a nice change for you. Give your eyeballs a rest."

"Sit down and finish your meal, Alice." His tone was patronising and parental, and it provoked me into further retaliation.

"I'm sorry," I said in an overtly sarcastic tone. "I didn't realise you were my father."

The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted uttering them. Lucius jumped as if scalded, and his face went perfectly ashen. His pupils contracted to black points and his irises gleamed cold and wide, like a snake's. He rose to his feet, staring down at me with an expression appalling to behold. "WHAT?" The word was barely a whisper, but the rage behind it was...deafening.

My heart pounded fearfully. I wanted desperately to run, but I was petrified by his terrifying gaze.

The muscles in his face were actually contorting with fury and loathing and—and pain?

"Never. Never. Never say that word. Again." He half-turned away and brought his hand over his eyes, spanning temple to temple, like someone with a migraine. The jewels on his rings sparkled in the light, and I realised his fingers were trembling. "Get out," he hissed at me. "Get out of my sight before I kill you with my bare hands, you disgusting little mudblood bitch."

I turned and fled.

...

I sat on the edge of my bed for the rest of the morning, shaken, shocked and numb, a hard lump in my throat making it painful to swallow.

Lunch time came and went; I stayed in my room, my stomach clenching in revulsion at the mere thought of food. His hatred...his hatred was too much for me, I couldn't cope with it, any more than I could understand it. Because I didn't hate him. How could I? He was all I knew.

In the afternoon I paced restlessly, from bed to window, window to bed, sometimes moving to the door; imagining, wrongly, that I heard his steps outside. I think I was feverish, the hours slipped by in a blur as his hateful words played over and over in my head like a broken record.

Evening came, and I watched the shadows gradually annex the room to night's dark domain. At some point the wall-lamps flickered to life, the glass-encased flames casting a dim glow over the chamber, that somehow made it seem larger and darker. Lonelier.

I moved over to the dressing table, where I kept a smaller stock of paper, quills and ink, taken from the library desk. From beneath the stack of blank paper, I pulled out a sketch I had made, the only one that had not ended up in the hearth. I was no artist: the drawing was neither assured nor perfectly accurate, yet I had captured a reasonable likeness in the sharp features, in the cruel smile and the light, cold eyes.

Gazing at that picture, I knew I ought to feel anger, disgust, fear—anything but what I did feel. And I understood, then, that I had to get out. I couldn't stay here any more, falling for a man who hated me.

You have to go, Alice. If you don't get out, you'll cease to exist. You'll drown in his shadow. You have to find out who you are, before you don't care anymore.

I screwed the paper tightly up, and threw it into the back of the drawer. Then, in the hushed gloom, I quietly readied myself to leave. Which is to say, I pulled the thick quilt off my bed, doubled it over, wrapped it around me and used one of the curtain cords to tie it in place. I looked like a giant marshmallow and I could barely move, but I didn't care. I was well past caring.

I waited, huddled on my bed, until I was sure it was after midnight. Then I quietly slipped out of the room and padded lightly along the corridor and down the stairs. All was dim and still, the only movement coming from the candles, flickering in some slight draught.

As I approached the front door, I began to have serious misgivings. You haven't thought this through, Alice, I chided myself. You've got bare feet. It's snowing. It's freezing. It's dark. God only knows what is out there.

But I couldn't stop now. If I did, it would be too late.

I was close enough to reach out and touch the huge brass door-handle. Oh-so-slowly, I curled my fingers around the metal ring and twisted it to the left. I felt the catch release, and the weight of the door shifted off my arm as it swung silently outward and open.

An icy blast of air hit me, forcing its way down into my lungs as I gasped with the shock of it. Lucius's sarcastic drawl replayed in my head, 'If you wish to die from exposure to the elements, far be it from me to prevent you'...

I stepped over the threshold and onto the outside landing, closing the door quietly behind me. The marble underfoot was as cold as ice, making the soles of my feet burn as I moved out from under the portico, across to the snow-covered staircase.

A waning crescent moon provided scant light, but clinging to the balustrade, I was able to slowly descend the steps, and with each step I became less and less convinced of my chances of surviving. Visions were arising in my mind, of blackened, frost-bitten extremities, of a blue corpse lying prone in an endless field of snow...

By the time I reached the bottom step, I knew it was no use. I took a single, futile step out into the knee-deep snow, which immediately soaked through half of my quilt, making it heavy and near-impossible to move, let alone walk.

Another day, I thought, as defeat made me slump back in a heap on the steps. It will have to be another day, another way. After a while I realised my teeth were chattering. I hauled myself glumly to my feet and turned back to climb the stairs.

There, at the top, was Lucius. Of course he was.

He stood in the doorway, his arms braced on either side of the frame, watching me with an unreadable expression, his features aligned with perfect composure, his face pale as an ivory mask in the wan moonlight.

We didn't speak as I slowly ascended the steps and at last regained the landing. Lucius didn't move from his place on the threshold, merely turned so that I was forced to brush past him on my way inside. He was as fully and impeccably dressed as ever, despite it being the middle of the night, and I found myself wondering, Does he sleep like that?

The door swung shut with an ominous, echoing click.

I began to make my way along the hall, but the sound of his voice arrested my steps. "Alice..."

I turned to him, turned to the silken imperativeness of his voice, like a snake obeying her charmer. He was close, within touching distance. Half-drenched and frozen as I was, I could feel the radiant heat of his body, and I had a rogue impulse to lean against him and let his warmth seep into me.

He made a slight movement and both quilt and curtain-rope fell onto the floor, around my ankles, leaving me standing in my flimsy bathrobe once more.

The absurdity of the situation was suddenly all too much. "Hello!" I blurted, and it came out as a half-choked giggle.

Lucius did not look amused, but neither did he look angry. Just...watchful. "Alice, may I request—or do I ask too much—that you give me some account as to what exactly you think you are doing?"

"I was going for a stroll!" I grandly announced.

"A stroll, in the snow, at one o'clock in the morning."

I was grinning so much my cheeks hurt. I couldn't stop it. "Well, if you must know, I was intending to run away."

"Run away from what, pray?"

"Oh, from you. Definitely from you," I tried to suppress a chortle, but it spluttered out anyway.

"I see."

And then I was totally out of control, just laughing and laughing and laughing until the tears ran down my cheeks. "Kkkkkkkkk—ha ha ha - ha ha haaaaaaa". I kept whooping and gasping as Lucius silently took me by the arm and pulled me along with him, back down the hall and up the stairs. He opened the door of my bedchamber and pushed me inside, following behind.

A fresh burst of hilarity ensued as I realised the quilt was back on the bed and the cord tied around the curtain, as if they had never left. Wordlessly I pointed at the quilt, sobbing with laughter, which at some point turned into sobs of a different kind.

Eventually the hysteria ran it's course, and I stood there trembling and hollow beneath Lucius's withering stare. Ow, my sides.

Only now, I registered that this was the first time I had ever seen him inside my bedchamber. His powerful presence seemed to take up all the space, make the whole room shrink around him. He positively loomed.

"I d-don't want to stay here any m-more," I said miserably, tears tracking down my cheeks. "I think I hate you. I know you hate me." A hiccoughing gulp. "...I'm leaving t-tomorrow."

"How far do you think you will get in this snow?"

I dashed the moisture from my cheeks with my hands. "I'll take my chances!" I retorted. "It's got to be at least several d-d-degrees warmer than being in the same vicinity as you." I took a deep, steadying, decisive breath. "So if you'll be so kind as to return my shoes to me, I'll be on my way tomorrow morning. You can leave them at the door. I'll see myself out."

I peered up at Lucius through wet lashes. A play of deep shadows emphasized his sharp features and he looked about as merciful as an avenging angel.

"No, Alice," he murmured at length. "I'm afraid I can't allow that."

He said it quietly, with polished restraint, but there was such an irrevocable finality to it, like the ringing strike of a judge's gavel. My mouth went instantly dry.

"What do you mean, 'allow'?" I tried to disguise my uneasiness with a combative glare. "It's not up to you, is it?"

He simply looked at me.

A suffocating realisation was slowly, inexorably dawning on me. "...It is up to you." I said the words clearly, tasting the bitter truth of them on my tongue. "I'm not your guest. I'm your prisoner."