A/N Beta'd by the wonderful StoryWriter831. Everything belongs to JK Rowling.
Chapter edited to include new content July 2018.
...
It was what I had needed, to wake up—really wake up.
To be shaken out of that dangerously lulling, perpetual daydream I had fallen into...I was not going to wait any longer for my subconscious to do my mystery-solving for me. Lucius had been true to his promise: that he meant to protect me, that he did not intend to punish me anymore. At last I could believe it, truly believe it—no longer just in my head, but also in my heart. And the knowledge elated and exhilarated me, for I took it as permission. Permission to explore.
As I made my way to breakfast my thoughts were filled with the previous night's shadowy, hazy recollections, of Lucius holding me in his arms, of his gentle words... "I will not hurt you..." and of his lips so close to mine, so beautifully close I had been certain he would press them against my own...
I shook my head at this image, unwilling to be seduced by it. I was still so conflicted, so confused about what it was I felt for him, although my heart whispered sweet, beguiling things that I was steadily losing the will to fight or ignore. And as for what he felt for me—? That was as dark and indistinct as any of the secrets locked within these mystery-laden walls.
...Besides, I reprimanded myself, he did not kiss you, so how about you just stop thinking about it?
But as I made my way down the cobbled path and through the archway of tangled foliage, I couldn't help thinking about it. I couldn't help wondering what it would be like to be kissed by him—not in that cruel, wounding way he had before (for that did not, could not count as a kiss)—but tenderly and...and properly...
My illicit musings were curtailed as the small pavilion, fluttering and pristine, came into view through the greenery.
My heart skipped as I saw Lucius, and I paused for a moment to compose myself, for I was rather afraid of showing my excitement.—Of all things, I was afraid he would be amused by it.
However, I needn't have worried, not about inspiring his amusement, anyway. Lucius smiled at my approach, but it was a collected, slightly detached smile, of a kind I had not seen for some time. "Good morning, Alice," he said as I took my usual seat opposite him. "How are we this morning? A little tired?"
"No," I said, rather too hastily. "I'm not tired at all. Are—are you?" I cringed at myself, at the awkward way the question sounded out loud.
"No, my dear," he replied calmly. "I am quite well, thank you."
His formality could not dim my elation. If he didn't wish to speak of last night, that was fine with me. What mattered was that it happened, and that it was real.
During breakfast I tried my best to act normally, but I did not feel normal, and finally I could contain myself no longer. "I've decided to explore the house today," I blurted out suddenly.
Lucius betrayed no surprise at my words, not even pausing in stirring his tea. "Have you, indeed," he murmured, fastidiously tapping the moisture off his silver teaspoon before placing it on the saucer. His voice was neutral, as if I had simply told him that I intended to read a book after breakfast, and he was replying merely for courtesy's sake.
The thrilling elation surged again, that he was actually sanctioning what he had once expressly forbidden. My own voice was breathy with barely-contained excitement. "You won't stop me?" I asked.
"No," he replied. "I won't 'stop' you."
"Does that mean I may go anywhere at all?"
Now he did turn his eyes to me, and in their depths I detected a sardonic glint. "Would you listen to me if I advised you otherwise?"
I mulled the question over for a moment, unsure of the truthful answer but unwilling to lie. "Maybe," I said at last.
"That would make a refreshing change."
I was too pleased to let the slight sarcasm of his words sting me. "Well, change can be good." I arched an eyebrow at him meaningfully. "You should know."
"There is an old adage that a leopard may not change his spots, my dear."
"No, but he may be—" I stopped short. I had been about to say 'tamed', but a flicker of something in Lucius's eye prevented me, and I quickly back-pedalled. "He—he may change his mind."
A second smile trailed over his mouth, but his expression was still a little flinty. "Ah," he said, raising his teacup to his lips and taking a sip. "I suppose he may."
"Well...then what is your advice?"
Lucius placed his cup back in its saucer and levelled his gaze to my face once more. "I do not believe you are well or strong enough, yet."
I was disappointed by his words, but determined to brush them off. "Oh, I feel fine," I said, with a kind of stubborn, forced brightness. "Really, I feel quite strong today."
There was a slight pause.
"...So?" I said at last. "Do I have your blessing?"
"I have already avowed not to stop you, Alice," Lucius replied softly—perhaps too softly. "What more do you require?"
"I just wanted to be sure that you don't actually mind."
"Who is to say I do not mind?" The sudden sharpness of his voice took me aback. "I do not recall having said as much."
"No, but—"
"Just because I will not stop you," he overrode me, real anger in his voice, in the flash of his eyes, "does not mean I do not mind." The hand which had been so elegantly preparing his tea now balled into a fist on the marble table top.
"Oh," I said, crestfallen, blinking rapidly. I couldn't understand this sudden change...after his tenderness last night, after the weeks of slowly-building accord between us, I was almost blind-sided by this venomous turn. I bit back other resentful words which were making a reckless bid for escape. ...I thought you said that you wouldn't hurt me...
My confusion and hurt seemed to register with him then, and his tone relented. "You do not understand."
"Evidently," I returned sarcastically. All my initial excitement had withered away at this backwards step in our relations.
I stood up, intending to leave, but Lucius quickly rose to detain me, without touching me, with a quietly uttered, "Wait—wait." Immediately I felt the tug of his physical presence, that irresistible draw which made me long for contact, irrespective of my emotions, of all other considerations. His expression was much softened. "Ignore me, my dear. I do not mean to hector you. ...Of course you will be safe. By all means, invoke my protection...just do not ask for my blessing."
I looked up at him questioningly, and, reading the lines of his grim countenance, I suddenly understood. In my quest for self-discovery I was also pulling him down a path which would—which must—end very differently for him.
Lucius stepped nearer to me, and the closer we stood, the more I ached for his touch. "Listen to me, Alice," he said. "You must do whatever you must do. Even if it is despite my wishes. Do you understand me?"
"Yes," I said, afraid lest he hear the need reflected in my voice, "...but I don't want to do anything despite your wishes."
He gazed down at me, as if searching for something in my eyes. Whatever it was he appeared to find it, for the storm-clouds cleared from his own, and kindled with a breath-taking, engulfing warmth. "Courage, my dear," he murmured. "We must each of us find our own way through this—this—" For the first time I could ever recall, he seemed unable to find the right word.
Alternatives flitted interchangeably through my head—this maze?—this trial?—this hell?—
But a very different word escaped my lips. "This dream?"
"Yes," he replied slowly. "This...dream." Again he smiled, but this time without reserve, and its brilliance was almost painfully dazzling to me. "Take what you need from me, Alice—my permission, my consent, I surrender it to you freely. If you must have it, I even give you my blessing. Now—go."
I was overfull, brimming with emotion. Impulsively I stretched up on tiptoes, and, clinging to his shoulders for balance, kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Lucius," I whispered, and, not daring to look at his face, I quickly turned and practically ran away, my heart pounding, my face suffused with colour, my body thrilling with exhilaration, happiness, and the sweet relief of physical connection.
...
I returned to my bed chamber, a new feeling of determination buoying my steps. My lips tingled from that stolen moment of contact, and the smooth warmth of Lucius's close-shaven skin and the dizzying scent of him crowded out all peripheral thought.
In my room, I searched the wardrobes for a change of clothes. I wanted something less restrictive and voluminous than the twill robe I was wearing, but more substantial than the delicate gowns taking up the majority of closet space. At last I discovered a simple tunic-dress made of a light and durable cambric, its only embellishment being a trim of gold ribboning around its wide sleeves and square neckline. I slipped it over my head, breathing in that pleasant scent of sweet herbs which permeated every garment. It was a little loose and long on my frame, designed for a fuller, taller figure than my own, and I tried not to think about to whom it might once have belonged.
My breath caught as I surveyed my reflection in the the wardrobe's mirror-lined door. ...I thought I looked like some medieval maiden...but one who had tired of waiting to be rescued, and was about to go and fight her own dragon.
Is that you? I wondered. Not 'Alice' you, but the real you?
My chin lifted as I contemplated this different pair of amber eyes, not luminous and dreamy, but glinting with purpose. I think I like you, I decided. Whoever you are.
I moved back over to the door and paused outside the threshold, wondering which direction to take.
Immediately I thought of last night's adventure, of the iron-barred room. But I quickly dismissed the idea of revisiting it. It was too melancholy and too...too personal a place. Whatever suffering that had gone on in there—and I felt that the prisoner of that cell had not suffered alone—it didn't feel like something I had any right, or need, to intrude upon. If I ever set foot inside it again, it would be at Lucius's invitation, if ever he wished to tell me its secret, sad story.
My thoughts turned next to Lucius's bedchamber, but almost as soon as the idea flitted to mind, I balked at it. It was quite possible that he would now be there. My cheeks flamed when I thought about our last encounter inside the room... No, I wasn't ready to return to that dangerous lair...not yet...
Well, you've got to start somewhere, Alice, I thought. How about the ground floor?
It was the most accessible and least forbidding part of the house, and it seemed the most sensible choice, given that I was still weak and easily tired. It would be a little pointless to go rambling up into the ramparts only to collapse with exhaustion.
I made my way back downstairs, and stood for a while on the bottom step, gazing around the hallway with new eyes, no longer seeing it through the filter of desperation of a prisoner, nor yet through the enchantment of a starry-eyed 'guest'—but, I fancied, with the sharply-focused lens of a detective. I eyed up the several doors interspersing the familiar dining room and library. I had never so much as seen a glimpse behind any of them, although I had tried their handles often enough. A quick test of the nearest one confirmed that it was, as before, as always, locked. I grimaced, annoyed at so immediate an impediment.
Well, what did you expect, Alice? That Lucius was suddenly going to make it easy for you? Throw open the doors, empty the drawers for your perusal?
I scanned the hallway for something with which I could prise open the door, but amongst the fragile curios and antiques nothing looked suitable. My eye caught the suit of burnished knight's armour at the far end of the hallway, next to the stairs, and I wondered if he might have something useful that I could employ as a lever.
Advancing towards him, I was surprised by how really impressive and menacing he was at close proximity, how truly daunting a foe he must have made on the battlefield. I had a sudden vision of some fair-haired ancestor of Lucius's, astride a champing charger, wielding that great sword, ready for battle and blood...slightly awed at this vivid impression, I found myself reaching up to touch the tip of his pointed visor...
And then I saw the door.
It was set in under the stairs, completely obscured by the knight's burly mass. It was smaller and narrower than the other doors, more in keeping with the original ancientness of the house. It seemed as if the suit of armour had been deliberately placed to block it off from access and from view.
I looked around, half expecting Lucius to be standing somewhere behind me, watching my movements, perhaps preparing to stop them. ...But no. The hallway was quite empty, and there was no-one to witness my proceedings but the portraits gazing haughtily down at me from the walls. The knight was held up by a heavy iron cross-frame, set on a wheeled platform. It took a good deal of manoeuvring, heaving and tugging, but at last I moved him far enough away from the door to let me slip in behind him.
The door was unlatched—even now a slight draught was causing a slender crack of darkness to appear, as if beckoning investigation. Yet there was also something ominous about that darkness, which caused my heartbeat to thud as I reached for the handle and tugged.
There was a cold rush of air, blowing the loose tendrils of hair back from my face, and I saw before me a winding staircase, leading both up and down into darkness.
A shiver ran over me, as I was distinctly reminded of my recurring nightmare, of running through an endless maze of long passages and winding stairs... But as my eyes adjusted to the gloom I realised it was not completely dark, that a light source from somewhere down below was coiling murkily upwards.
Well, Alice, I thought, I guess we'll go down.
Taking a determined breath, which sounded a bit too much like a frightened gulp, I began to descend the sunken steps.
The flight of stairs was wound tightly around its central pillar, making it both narrow and very steep. As I made my way carefully downwards, the gloominess steadily abated, and the light was of a reassuring pale quality, indicative of natural daylight.
Then, just when my leg muscles were beginning to protest, the staircase abruptly ended. I found myself standing in a low stone passageway, flooded with a bright, almost-blinding light which spilled inwards through an archway beyond. At first, this light was all I could see, but as I advanced towards it I began to make out a dark tangle of silhouettes, and when I gained the threshold at last I understood what I was looking at.
A beautiful greenhouse extended upwards and outwards before me, scintillating with sunlight, refracted through hundreds of intricately faceted panels of glass. This, I realised, must be attached to the back of the house, which I had never been able to see before, as it was blocked on the exterior from both sides by a dense, impenetrable wall of thorny briars.
My first, immediate impression was of a serene but sparkling elegance, but as I stared about me, the atmosphere tangibly changed. The life, the sparkle, came entirely from outside, it was in the play of light alone; everything within was hushed and still with the absolute muteness of death.
Most of the floor-space was taken up by four long, narrow trestles, each table laden with what looked to have once been neat rows of potted plants, but which was now one matted, brown tangle of dried vegetation, withered and wasted for want of water and care. Tendrils of longer-limbed plants had drooped off the tables and coiled across the pale stone floor, like the brittle remnants of long-shed snake skins, and the whole mass was enshrouded by a fine layer of gossamer web, thickly layered with dust, as if even the spiders had given up and left, or simply shrivelled up and died along with the plants.
It was a strange place, too beautiful to be really eerie, too deathly-silent to be serene.
Hesitantly, I moved further inside, intensely curious, but also unwilling to disturb that solemn silence with my intrusion.
I approached the nearest table and cleared the spider-silk off the first plant. Its withered stem was neatly tied to a small stake, and adorned with a small, white label. I peered closely at the tag, and was wholly unsurprised to discover that it was blank. As blank as the books in Lucius's library.
A stale waft of sweet-herbs permeated the air, and I realised it was the same scent which clung to the clothes in my wardrobe. I looked down at my dress. I could still smell the gentle perfume which the fine fabric emitted, and it did not seem improbable that the wearer of it had spent hours carefully potting, labelling and nurturing hundreds of herbs and plants beneath the dancing sunlight of this chrystaline sanctuary... Something had happened to her—something that Lucius had been "too late" to save her from. Something so awful that she had been locked away, until...until what? Had she recovered and left? Been moved elsewhere? Or was she...gone forever? I wondered if I would ever know.
Sighing, I straightened up, and as I did my eye was caught by a flash of brightness. Sunlight was glancing off a silver object at the far end of the room. I made my way over to it, carefully stepping over the dead plant-tendrils, clearing away fragile sheets of cobwebs as I walked.
It was a cuckoo clock. Small and highly ornamental, its casing covered with engravings, but instead of the usual whimsical depictions, these etchings were macabre little skeletons of different kinds of birds, and across its face the Latin saying, 'MORS CERTA, HORA INCERTA' was painted in black, gothic lettering. I believed it to mean something like, "Death is certain, but the hour uncertain."
Near the base of the clock three initials were inscribed into the silver: 'N.C.M'. I could only suppose the "M" stood for "Malfoy", but as to the other letters?...I had not the faintest clue.
The clock had stopped at five-to-twelve, and I noticed that instead of minute and hour hands, the time was pointed to by two little skeletal wings. This strange, compelling mix of beauty and death seemed very much in keeping with the desolation of the rest of the room. The door through which the cuckoo would presumably appear was tightly shut, and though I tried to prise it open, I couldn't make it budge.
After a while, I left the clock and wandered around the glasshouse again, opening drawers and looking in cupboards, but discovering only more dead plants and bowls of withered seeds. One cabinet proved to be filled with stores of dried herbs; their pungent aroma was so heady and strong it sent me into a frenzy of sneezing, and I had to quickly shut it up again.
As I paced about, my eye was repeatedly drawn to the glint of the silver cuckoo clock, and something about it niggled at the back of my mind...but for the life of me I couldn't think what it was. I returned to it again and again, but the longer I stared at it, the less certain I became of its significance, and at last I decided that it was simply its unusual engravings and mysterious initials which had caught my imagination.
I would have liked to explore outside the glass perimeter, and indeed, there was a sliding door on the back panel, but the briars beyond the threshold had encroached so far that they had swallowed everything up, and blocked the exit like thick coils of barbed wire. I supposed that in time they would completely engulf the glasshouse and extinguish the dancing sunlight altogether.
With this thought, a feeling of intense sadness came over me. This house was just riddled with suffering, overshadowed by death and despair...I felt it everywhere, leaking from the pores of each stone, hanging heavily from the cobwebbed rafters, saturating each glinting particle of sunlit dust...
That I had played some part in the sadness, there was now no doubt. But I knew, deep down I knew, that darker forces had been at work in the obliteration of this family—and that somehow the raven-haired Woman was involved in its orchestration, whether or not Lucius realised it. I recalled Her eyes glittering with triumph when Lucius had picked me up off the floor and enfolded me in his robe...even now, in this airy, light room, the noxious residue of Her seemed to haunt me like a shadow...and I began to wonder. Did Lucius really need to protect me, or did he need to protect himself against me? Could it be that I was simply being used? As a pawn, an instrument...a weapon, that She was wielding against him?
The more I thought about our strange, terrifying encounter, the more I felt convinced of it. "...You will break him very soon...oh, yes..." I could hear that sweet, poisonous voice as if she were standing just behind me, and the mere thought of it made me turn hot and faint, then cold and nauseous. Perhaps the safest course of action would be to pull myself back from Lucius, to renounce this confusing infatuation... Surely it was wiser to safeguard us both against such evil machinations, if such existed? To thwart them, by denying my feelings for him altogether?
...Impossible. It was too late. There was no going back for me now, whatever the repercussions. I could no more extract Lucius from my feelings than I could break into my own rib-cage and extract my heart...
Sighing, I decided it was time to leave, and moved back to the archway through which I'd come. I felt...I wasn't sure what exactly, but the place had subdued my initial excitement, and made me pensive and a little depressed.
I came to the foot of the spiral staircase, and suddenly a wave of exhaustion swept through my body, sucking away all remaining vestiges of energy, as I felt how daunting a prospect was the task ahead of me. How, how would I ever find what I was searching for, when I didn't even really know what it was? I might as well wear a blindfold while I was at it.
Overcome with weariness, I slowly forced my leaden limbs to make the steep ascent back up to the ground floor.