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

...

There was something different about this evening, I knew it even before I descended to the dining room.

Perhaps it began with the two sharp 'Cracks!' that startled me away from the mirror, where I had been trying to tame my hair in readiness for dinner. They sounded like nearby gunshots, the echo of them resounding the air, usually so still and quiet. But, peering out the window, I could see nothing but inky dark shadow, striped with white where the inside lights spilled out upon the outside snow.

I could only suppose Lucius had decided to shoot at something, perhaps a fox or rabbit. It was the only non-alarming explanation I could muster up, despite the fact I'd never seen any sign of a shotgun in the nearly-eight weeks of my stay here.

But although I tried to shrug it off, I was unnerved. I sensed something had changed in the very atmosphere of the house, there seemed to be a kind of humming tension I could not identify, but which made my fingers tremble as I returned to finish the task of smoothing down my hair.

The feeling of strange foreboding haunted my steps all the way down to the dining room, actually increasing the nearer I approached. I could feel the throb of my heart in my throat as slowly I pushed open the door...then froze on the spot, unable to quite believe what I saw.

Lucius was not alone. There was another person sitting at the mahogany table.

She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Not that I could actually remember any others, but I didn't need a catalogue of comparisons to be certain that she would surpass them all.

Luminescent, almost translucently pale skin, delicately flushed like a pale rose. Lustrous, abundant hair, piled high in a coronet of raven-dark curls. Full, red mouth and features so fine they looked like the idealized imaginings of a Renaissance master-sculptor. She was young—or rather, ageless—almost shimmering with health, and brimming with a kind of poised, taut vitality. There was a tangible intensity and force about her, especially manifested in her dark eyes, which scintillated like black sapphires in the light of the chandeliers.

She was dressed in what could only be described as a ballgown, the colour of midnight. It was full-skirted and swept to the floor, with a tightly-fitting bodice, the neckline of which plunged daringly to display a seductively curvaceous figure. Such a dress would make a plain woman striking; on such a stunning beauty as she, the effect was almost painfully dazzling to behold.

I was so utterly confounded that I began to back straight out of the room again, but Lucius softly commanded, "Come, mudblood—come in."

And, in a trance, in a daze, I drifted over towards them, so astonished that I hardly registered his derogatory term of address, which would usually have me up in arms.

I was struck immediately by three things. Firstly, the lovely woman was sitting in my place. Secondly, the pair were dining together: both places were set, both plates were filled. Thirdly, there was no place set for me.

Lucius beckoned me to him and my breath caught as I realised how...different he looked. His silken hair was drawn back and tied at the nape in a curiously formal way. Although his clothes were always immaculate and expensive, I could see his present attire was of an even more luxurious "evening" variety—albeit an evening belonging to some century long past. He was as resplendently handsome as she was devastatingly beautiful. As I neared, I saw that the woman's extraordinary gown was, in fact, made entirely of glossy black feathers, gleaming in the low light.

Once I would have thought both of their elaborate, antiquated costumes bizarre. Now all I saw was them. Perfect, harmonious equals.

When I reached Lucius's chair he placed a hand on my side and turned me to face his mysterious companion.

Addressing her, not me, he murmured, "Allow me to introduce you to Alice. Alice—ah, Carroll. She is...staying with me, for the time being." He did not supply her name to me.

I don't know what I expected—that she would offer some kind of greeting? At least make a basic acknowledgement of my sentience?—But she did neither. The woman's dark eyes travelled slowly over me, over my whole body, taking in my gauzy, thin bathrobe, lingering on my bare feet, my tangled locks, my unmade-up face.

I felt myself blushing to the roots of my hair. To be confronted and scrutinized by two such exquisite examples of masculine and feminine grace, in all their rich finery and elegance, was a mortification I was ill-equipped to bear.

Suddenly, the woman's eyes flicked up to meet my own and my blood turned to ice as I saw her pupils dilate horribly, enlarging until there were no whites left in them, only terrifying, glittering blackness. The same nightmarish feeling swooped over me which I had experienced when the portrait in the hallway had hissed at me, or when I heard the wailing behind the third-floor door. It was something like knowing real terror. Hair-raising, bone-chilling terror. My legs started to wobble, and my breathing constrict.

I felt Lucius's hand grip me a little tighter, steadying me.

But then her gaze left my face, I blinked once and saw that her dark irises were perfectly normal. My terror evaporated, replaced by confusion as I wondered what the matter was with me to imagine such a thing. She wasn't horrible. She was beautiful. Too, too beautiful.

The woman turned to Lucius, and a gradual, sultry smile curled her ruby lips. "How charming," she said. "Most...befitting."

Lucius made a slight nod of agreement.

"Alice, my dear, go and sit over there." His voice was supremely dismissive as he pointed to a place near the fire.

Like an automaton, I did as he bid.

I had been so unprepared for such a thing to happen: for the population of my world to be—so suddenly and without warning—just doubled like that. It robbed me entirely of my self-possession, my very sense. I was completely blind-sided.

All I could think was, how can anyone be so beautiful? They both are. They're both so beautiful.

And while the pair dined, my eyes went back and forth, back and forth, between the half-profile of the man and the quarter-profile of the woman. I just sat there staring and staring and staring. Everything around them had dissolved into soft-focus, and there was a muffled thudding in my ears, which I dully registered as my own heartbeat.

Gradually the haziness began to clear, and I found myself tuning into their conversation.

The woman was part-way through a question. "—notice it displaying any sign of its former...precociousness?"

Lucius chuckled urbanely. "None at all," he replied. "Although it appears to have an innate tendency to inquisitiveness and disobedience."

"I'm certain it does," rejoined the lady. "Such predilection may be observed in any monkey."

"Was it not Geronimus who said, 'there is no discernible difference between the muggleborn and its tree-dwelling cousin'?"

"Oh yes! He was wrong, of course. The biggest difference is, a monkey will aim to steal one's lunch, where a muggleborn will aspire for one's entire birthright." She laughed prettily. "But this one, at least, will never again nurture such insolent aspirations." She simpered, then sighed. "How I've missed our tête-à-têtes, Lucius. ...This reminds me of happier days—long, long ago. Before everything...happened."

Although I could not understand the drift of their discussion, I felt a pang at hearing his name on her lips. It sounded so easy, so intimate. ...Could that be his wife? I wondered, with a second pang. He had said he no longer had a wife. But they looked so compatible. Almost inevitable.

Lucius took a sip of wine, and even at this distance I could see his eyes caressing and complimenting the woman in such a way that they had never done when fixed on me. And, to my dismay and chagrin, I felt a lump forming in my throat, and hot tears prickling my eyes.

"Remember what fun we used to have?" she continued. "Oh, Lucius, I do hope you have some lovely designs in store for it. You always had such a creative flair for amusing yourself—and your friends—with those pitiful creatures."

He smiled. "I was younger then."

"Does creativity dull with age?"

"I should say it merely refines. I am no longer to be so easily gratified. My tastes tend to exploits more...subtle and prolonged."

Another tinkling laugh. "What luck that you find yourself in the position to indulge them, then."

"For that, I can only thank you."

"When the time comes, I doubt not that you will." She paused, then in a low voice she murmured, "You know I'm taking a great risk in coming here, Lucius."

He replied by taking her hand and brushing it briefly with his lips. I felt myself trembling. Those lips—to me, only ever the conveyors of countless cruel words—imparting something so gentle and reverential as a kiss?

...An intricately tangled knot of emotions twisted my stomach: a terrible longing, born of the emptiness of my alien existence—a hopeless desire, to be acknowledged, to be respected, to not be hated—and a gnawing envy, as I watched these unattainable things being paraded before my eyes... How I craved to feel such things. How he had made me crave such things...

Suddenly the woman's back straightened and she made a little noise of pleasure. "Oh! It's the Dragon Waltz! It was once a favourite of mine."

Only then did I realize that the sound of supple, dreamy piano music was gently rippling throughout the room. I was in such a daze I hadn't noticed it before.

With an amused, playful smile—such as I had not believed him capable—Lucius stood and held out his hand to her. "Shall we shun convention and have this dance?" he said. The woman sprang gracefully up to meet him, and in one impossibly elegant motion, he spun her into his arms.

Get up and leave this room, I said to myself. There's the door. Walk over to it, and leave them to it. You're not wanted here.

But I couldn't. I couldn't do it.

They danced beautifully, naturally. Although the space was not large, somehow the floor seemed to augment, the lights to dim, the volume of the music to increase...it was mesmerizing. Enchanting. But then I couldn't see any more, because my foolish, foolish tears were now fully fledged and escaping down my cheeks.

The feminine laugh rang out again, but this time it sounded metallic and derisive. "Look, Lucius. There seems to be something the matter with it."

There was a pause, then I heard Lucius reply, "It makes a spectacle of itself with tiresome regularity."

They're not talking about you, Alice, I thought. They can't be. They just can't.

But it seemed that they could, and they were. When I dashed away the tears from my eyes they stood side by side, hand in hand, gazing down at me like I was some kind of circus sideshow freak.

"Maybe it wants to dance," the woman said. "Go on, Lucius, ask the little mudblood to dance. I want to see it try."

For a second I thought I saw Lucius's eyelids flicker warily, as if he were trying to calculate or interpret her motives. Then he stepped forward, grabbed my arms and pulled me roughly up against him, and began to swing me around the floor, bathrobe, bare feet and all.

The humiliation was sickening. I could hear the woman giggling, and Lucius himself was smiling down at me in a hard, horrid way. His steps were lithe and assured, but deliberately complex and fast, and there was no way I could keep up with him. I stumbled clumsily about, totally unable to gain my centre of balance, dragged and tugged this way and that, feeling more like a rag doll than a real person. And I hated him for it.

"Let me go," I said through clenched teeth. I tried to wrench myself out of his grip, but it seemed he expected this, for he held me very tightly, his fingers bruisingly clamped around my wrist and shoulder.

"No," he murmured. The light caught his eyes in such a way that for the first time I noticed his silver irises were sharply edged by a fine, slate-dark outer ring. "I enjoy dancing with you."

"Let me go this instant or I'll—"

"You'll what, my dear?"

"I'll tell her everything," I hissed. "How you're keeping me here against my will. How I'm your prisoner."

"She will be most gratified to learn it, I assure you."

I blinked, suddenly unsure. He must be bluffing, I thought. And, determined not to let my courage fail me yet again, I stared straight into his eyes and loudly spoke out, "This man has kidnapped me and I ask that you notify the police immediately."

The burst of laughter from both of them was not the reaction I'd hoped for. "I'm not j-joking!" I cried furiously, fuelled by shame, desperation and rage. "He really is keeping me here against my will!"

"But what an impertinent little poppet!" I heard the woman exclaim. "I forgot how adorable it is when its being naughty."

Lucius suddenly whirled me outwards, jarring my shoulder joint painfully and making me almost lose my footing. As I fought to keep my balance, he suddenly pulled me back, so hard that I fell against his chest.

Cheeks burning, I once again attempted to tug myself out of his grip. "Let me go, you—you bastard!"

"You let it speak that way to you, Luci? You ought to take your cane to it, for its insolence."

"The thought has crossed my mind more than once," he drily replied.

"Let me go!" As I tried again to wrench out of his grasp, Lucius suddenly opened his hands, so this time I went reeling across the room, tripping and sprawling heavily on the floor.

Again, the sound of tinkling laughter.

"You're sick, both of you!" I cried, pulling myself onto my knees, and intending to run as soon as I was back on my feet. But I didn't make it to my feet.

I heard the Woman say, "Oh, Luci, I really must insist on a little discipline—stand back—"

—And then all I knew was pain, all I was, was pain, I was screaming uncontrollably, my body had been doused in petrol and set alight, and I was being hacked at with knives, and sawn with ragged-toothed blades—or was I being boiled in oil?—torn by wolves, gouged by razor-sharp claws—

Then it just stopped.

I lay prone on the floor, all my muscles convulsing, retching helplessly, a cold sweat drenching my body. I was making strange whimpering noises, like a wounded dog.

"Oh, how disgusting, it seems to have wet itself."

Lucius made a quiet tsk-ing sound.

She's right, Alice, I realised, you have wet yourself. But I was too faint and far-away to care, and I simply curled up, closed my eyes and just shivered and shivered.

I heard Lucius say, "You do not deem it unwise—?"

"Only obliviation needs to be avoided," the woman replied brightly. "Its memory is weakened to the last point before total irretrievability. Its body, however..."

And then I was writhing and shrieking again, this time I was being shredded and skinned alive, broken glass was driving under my skin, iron nails rammed into my flesh, my bones were being smashed, crushed, crunched—and was that acid being poured into my eyes, down my throat? And fire—fire again, consuming flames, blistering, charring my body—

No human, no living thing, was meant to bear such pain, such agony. My screams seemed to be getting further away—I was tumbling down a dark hole—my arms stretching upwards—and for a split second all the pain dissolved away and in the empty, falling stillness I saw above me the ghostly figure of a young man, reaching down to catch my hand with slender fingers...I heard the echo of a voice whispering, HOLD ONTO ME...

...but just as our fingers met, my body shut itself down and delivered me into blissful blackness.

...

I drifted in and out of consciousness.

The hum of lively conversation seeped into my brain...then blackness...then the sound of convivial laughter...then blackness again...

Gradually, I recovered a grainy, double-visioned awareness. I ached all over, as if cramp had seized every single muscle of my entire body, and I was shivering, not with cold, but with continuous involuntary spasms.

I neither moved nor spoke, for fear of another—another what? I wondered. Another seizure? Is that what had happened?

Through the deep throbbing in my head, I registered the chime of crystal glasses and the sound of low, amiable discourse, and I realised that the sophisticated two-person soirée continued, seemingly unhindered by my prostrate presence.

Don't mind me, I thought bitterly. I'll just stay here on the floor, half-dead, wracked with pain and soaked in my own pee—but do please continue enjoying yourselves...

...You're a fucking prick, Lucius. Letting me lie here like this.

I couldn't quite believe he was being so callous. Despite his coldness, despite his cruelty, I hadn't credited him with this level of hardheartedness. It hadn't crossed his mind to take me to hospital, then, despite the fact I had suffered an obvious trauma? And it wasn't because the roads were impassable, because she had got here, hadn't she?

Something so terrible happened to me that I had literally passed-out with pain, but there he was, eating his dinner and playing the charming host, like it was the most natural thing in the world for an unconscious girl to be lying on his dining room floor. ...Maybe it was. Maybe he made a habit of it. Maybe this was some sick, perverted sex-game he and that—that Woman played, to get them in the mood. Was that it?

I winced, remembering the intolerably insulting way she had spoken, not to me, but about me—as if I didn't count as an actual, breathing, thinking person.

Who the hell does she think she is, calling me 'it', like I'm a dog or something?

And who the hell are you, Lucius? Who the fucking hell are YOU?

I went through a list of suitable words to describe the man. Pig, arsehole, wanker, son-of-a-bitch, bastard, bastard, BASTARD. And because their wasn't a noun to really do justice to how I felt about him, I began crying—but silently, silently.

What had happened to me? Where had that unendurable pain come from? Was it some kind of a stroke, or an epileptic fit? ...But no, it was something to do with the Woman, she had told Lucius to "stand back", and then—and then just agony. What had she done to me?

There was a scraping of chairs and I quickly closed my eyes, although I was facing away from them anyway. I heard them remove from the room, there was a bustling in the hall—him helping her on with her coat, soft laughter and the sound of the heavy entrance door opening and shutting.

Once again, I heard the two sharp gunshots. Perhaps there were hunters in the area, who could help me. All I needed to do was get up, run outside, scream for help.

All I needed to do was move.

I couldn't move. I could hardly breathe. Every intake of breath was a painful gasp. Just blinking hurt.

So I just lay there, immobile but for the spasms wracking my body, for an hour—two?—until gradually they abated, my vision unified, and I could breathe properly again.

Get up, Alice. Do you want to be here still when he, or they, return?

With a cry of pain, I forced my protesting body off the cold, hard floor, and clutching the nearest chair, I dragged myself to my feet. The bathrobe was stiff and chafing my legs. I looked down at the obvious wet patch. "It makes a spectacle of itself with tiresome regularity." That's what he had said. And that's exactly what I had done.

Well, no way was I waiting around to be humiliated further.

Slowly, wincing and perspiring with effort, I staggered over to the door, opened it a fraction and peered out into the hall. It was empty and still. I wondered if Lucius was driving her home. Perhaps they were spending the night together. I hope they skid in the snow and crash, I thought. I hope they maim their beautiful, horrible faces.

I limped along the hall and dragged myself up the stairway, never stopping my stumbling, painful steps until I had reached the sanctuary of my own room. As soon as the door was shut my legs gave way and I slid down against the oak panel. For some time I just stayed like that, hunched over, shocked to incapacity, one hand still grasping the brass handle above me, like a drowning person clinging to a rock...

And all I could think was, how could he? How could he?

And then I was blindly stumbling over to the mirror.

Don't look, Alice, I pleaded with myself desperately. You'll only regret it.

But of course I looked. And of course I regretted it.

Today's bathrobe had been a light dove-grey hue, and there was no mistaking the large, discoloured patch of wetness. My hair was a fright, both frizzy and straggly, and my face was ashen, marred with ugly blotches from crying. There was a kind of strained, frozen horror in my eyes.

I shuddered with self-disgust. I thought about the Woman, how she looked, dancing with Lucius: graceful and superb and so right. Then I thought how I must have looked, barely dressed and barefoot, staggering and tripping ridiculously, a jarring, incongruous joke. And that was before I wet myself.

Sick to the heart, I turned my back on my reflection and limped through to the ensuite.

As usual, the bath was full and hot. I clambered in, bathrobe and all. I wanted to wash away all evidence of this evening. If only I could wash away the memory of it too, consign it to the darkness where the rest of my memories were locked so securely away.

I closed my eyes and let the hot water cradle me. But my fraught, warped mind kept replaying everything, over and over: them dining—waltzing together—insulting me—forcing me to dance like a circus animal—her scornful laughter—his cruel smile—then that pain, that pain, that all-shattering pain...

And you thought you weren't afraid of pain, Alice, I sneered at myself. Turns out it's pretty high up on your rather-long list of 'Things To Most Definitely Be Afraid Of.'—Oh, and you might like to add 'Incontinence' and 'Utter Humiliation' to that list.

The worst thing about the pain was not knowing where it had come from. If it was something he had done to me, or she had done to me, or I had done to myself. Or if, for that matter, it was all in my brain.

My damaged, unreliable, miserable brain.

I hauled myself up to stand. The sodden material of my bathrobe clung to my body like a second skin and I peeled it off and balled it up. For a few moments I stared at it, a kind of burning rage and despair building up inside me. Then, with a sudden explosive screech, I threw it savagely across the room, into the farthest corner.

Standing there, naked and dripping, stripped of the loathsome garment, I felt suddenly stronger. Freer.

I looked at the clean robe hanging on the towel-stand—a wispy lavender one—and I experienced an intense wave of nausea. I hated it. What it represented. My helplessness. My worthlessness. And suddenly my mind was made up. Never, never again was I going to wear another bathrobe as long as I lived.

Damn Lucius. Damn his secrecy, damn his rules. And double damn his 'consequences.' So, he was out gallivanting with his lady-friend was he?—Well, good for him. Good for them.

I was glad he was out of the house. Out of the way.

I was going in search of some clothes.