A/N Beta'd by the wonderful StoryWriter831. Everything belongs to JK Rowling.
Chapter edited to include new content as of July 2018
...
I did not tell Lucius of my discovery of the glasshouse, and he did not question me about it.
As he had foreseen, the expedition, along with my recent spate of sleep-walking adventures, overtaxed my strength. But he did not admonish me with the "I told you so" that I did, perhaps, deserve. Instead, perceiving my renewed frailty, he treated me even more gently than before, making sure to keep me warm and comfortable, encouraging me to eat when my appetite waned and sleep when my energy flagged, offering me tonics to promote recovery, but never encroaching upon my autonomy. ...When I compared this to the humiliating treatment during my first illness, when he had spoon-fed me and forcibly kept me in a medicated stupor, I could scarcely believe he was the same man, or I the same woman. I began to think of those days as no more than a half-remembered bad dream, if I thought of them at all.
I realised I was a fool to have hoped this the beginning of a new era, where I fearlessly roamed the house, digging up daily discoveries to bring me closer to finding out who I was and what I was doing here. Instead, I found myself weaker than ever. Too well, I recalled those interminable weeks of recovery, after that first hellish encounter with The Woman.
I knew that I would have to be patient, but patience, it seemed, was not a strong suit of mine. It was frustrating, to have finally rediscovered my curiosity and independence, only to find that I was still too debilitated to utilise them.
But my frustrations were sweetly mitigated by a new, subtle change in Lucius. There was a discernible warmth to his voice and a tenderness in his demeanour which had not been present before. His smiles were less bitter, and more frequent, and when those smiles were directed at me, they caused my stomach to clench and my pulse to flurry with a secret, strange delight.
...
One evening, at the end of dinner, I found myself staring into my wine-glass, fidgeting with the slender stem, distracted by a particular train of thought. When I looked up, I discovered Lucius's gaze fixed quizzically upon me.
"You have been far away, these past ten minutes," he said. "Dare I ask where you went?"
A flush crept over my face. "I-I was just wondering about something," I said. "Something about you, actually." He did not ask me what, but merely tilted back his head, waiting for me to continue.
I swallowed nervously, but forced myself to meet and hold his gaze. "Are you...or were you...some kind of white supremacist?"
A flicker of a smile graced his lips. "I'm not certain I know what that is," he replied.
I was unsure if he was being facetious. "You know, someone who believes that the white European race is better than all other races of the world."
"Ah..." he murmured, "...come to think of it, I believe I have heard of such a term. A ridiculous doctrine, whereby superiority is measured by the paleness of one's skin." He grimaced dismissively. "Utter nonsense, of course." Then he peered down his nose at me rather haughtily. "You don't imagine that I hold such primitive, nonsensical views, Alice?"
I bit my lip at his obvious chagrin. "I...I just...well, I thought it might be why you...that word...that name you used to call me. 'Mud-blood'. Isn't it a racial slur?"
For a moment he stared in genuine surprise. Then he glanced abruptly away. "No," he said.
I hoped he would elaborate, but he did not volunteer anything more, instead reaching for his wine-glass and taking a sip. The muscles had tightened in his jaw, and I sensed his displeasure in discussing the subject. But now that I had broached it, I was determined to extract some answers.
"So it isn't to do with race at all?" I prompted.
He frowned. "I don't think I wholly understand your line of questioning. Do you mean to imply that you are not of European descent?"
"It...it could be possible," I said, somewhat dubiously. "I suppose I could have mixed ancestry. My skin is quite olive...and my hair..." I trailed off, turning my head away instinctively to hide the sheared side, hidden though it was by my plait. A little lamely I finished, "...So it isn't that?"
"Certainly not," he said. "One's race has nothing to do with one's blood status." As soon as the words were spoken, he looked as if he wished he had bitten his tongue.
"Blood status?" I immediately jumped on the strange phrase. "What does that mean?"
An unfamiliar expression crossed Lucius's face. I believe it was the closest I'd ever seen him looking uncomfortable. "It doesn't matter, now, Alice," he murmured.
"It certainly sounds like something a supremacist might come up with."
His eyes narrowed, and I quickly bent my own to the table, afraid I had angered him at last.
There was a long silence as I sat awaiting a terse word or stinging reply. But when I finally risked an upward glance, Lucius was regarding me thoughtfully. "And how would you measure superiority, Alice?" he asked suddenly.
It was my turn to look surprised. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he replied, "what, in your opinion, distinguishes a man from among his inferiors?" A rather hard smile formed across his mouth. "His intelligence? ...Or, perhaps, his bravery?"
I considered the question solemnly. "No..." I said. "Intelligence and bravery are admirable, but I don't think they necessarily denote superiority. Someone can be intelligent and fearless, yet still cruel and unjust."
"Ah, so it is chivalry that you prize."
"I...I would say...compassion."
"Some would consider that as a weakness, rather than a virtue, my dear."
"Yes, I suppose some would."
Lucius was momentarily quiet again, but the harshness in his smile had relented and he seemed to be contemplating my words. "Then," he said, "you would not make any correlation between precedence and its outward manifestations? Wealth, for example, or a high position in society?"
I shrugged. "Fortunes can be lost, and pedestals may be fallen from," I said. "But compassion is...enduring. And anyone may attain it, no matter their position, or wealth, or ancestry."
"Anyone may attain it? If it be so common, surely it elevates no-one?"
"Just because anyone can attain it, doesn't mean it's common." It was strange, speaking what I knew to be a truth from my heart, yet without the reference of memory or experience.
Lucius slanted an eyebrow, as much to say, Go on, I'm listening.
I felt my blush intensify under his attentive gaze. "To...to acquire compassion," I said slowly, "a person must have empathy and understanding...a kind of nobility of spirit, I think, and generosity. And...and the ability to...f-forgive." I stammered a little over the last word, with its weight of personal meaning between us. "It is..." I sought for the right words to express what I meant, "...something even greater than itself."
"Indeed?" Lucius murmured. "How so?"
"Because it enriches both the possessor and the beneficiary. ...It reduces nobody, and uplifts all."
Lucius leaned forward, his smile now as sphinx-like and enigmatic as the expression in his eyes. "What of those deplorable souls who do not possess this rare mark of distinction, which you so favour?" He spoke softly—almost, but not quite, a whisper. "How may they attain it?"
Our eyes remained connected, and I could feel that ripple of energy always present between us—once upon a time only ever crackling with angry volatility, but now, gently tingling and pulsating. "By opening their hearts," I said.
It sounded trite, school-girlish, and I half-expected Lucius to sneer at me.
But he did not sneer. "And what if their hearts are irredeemably hardened? Or irreparably damaged?"
"...I expect those people need compassion more than anyone."
At this, Lucius laughed softly.
I drew my shoulders up, piqued by his reaction. "May I ask what's so amusing?"
"You are, my dear," he replied, the same, mesmeric half-smile lingering on his lips. "With your noble, naïve ideas of compassionating those who would despise and resent you for it. A charming notion—but equally amusing."
My cheeks burned at his gentle taunt, but he spoke so caressingly that I could not feel really affronted.
It wasn't until later, as I was about to drop to sleep, that I realised he had not really answered my question at all.
...
Gradually, my strength returned, and with it, the foolhardy desire to embark on a second exploration of the house. I decided I would try my luck with the upper branch of the winding stairwell, taking a lamp from one of the downstairs sconces to light my way.
That morning, I took my customary bath, and my thoughts turned back to the discovery of the glasshouse. I could still vividly picture the crystalline beauty and hushed sadness of the place, recalling the braids of overgrown and long-dead vegetation, the little blank labels on the dried-out plants, and the silver cuckoo-clock which seemed to preside over all that death, with its macabre depictions of skeletal birds engraved on its shining surface. There was something about that clock that had captured my attention, had reminded me of...something, but I had not yet managed to puzzle it out.
I mused on the clock's unusual engravings of little bird skeletons. How unnerving, the repetitive and sinister imagery that had haunted me from the beginning: the bird in the forest, the recurring nightmares of the crow, the Woman in her black-feathered ball-gown...and, of course, the bird-skull necklace Lucius had torn from my neck, and which I had last seen in the drawer of his bureau, right before he slammed it on my fingers...
With a loud gasp, I lurched forward to sit bolt-upright, splashing water over the sides with the violence of my movement.
The bird-skull necklace! The cuckoo-clock! That was it! The pendant looked as if it somehow belonged to those very etchings which covered the clock's silver facade. That was what had triggered such a strong sense of recognition when I laid eyes on it! ...In fact, I was willing to bet that, if I could prise open the little door through which the cuckoo was meant to emerge, the bird would be missing its head.
My heart pounded and my mind raced as I sought to understand the significance of the connection.
The pendant seemed to have been secured to me like a tag, a kind of calling card, I could only suppose from the Woman. After all, I had heard from her own lips telling him that I was, '...my gift to you, to do with what you will...' Undoubtedly, Lucius had recognised the necklace. Even now I remembered the astonishment of his expression upon seeing it and the way he had urgently hissed, 'Where did you get this?', dangling it before my eyes from one fist as he cruelly wrenched my hair with the other.
But...but if I was correct, if the pendant did come from the cuckoo-clock in the glasshouse, then...then what?
My excitement faded as I failed to extract any sense from my revelation. I might have joined two dots together, but the rest of the picture remained stubbornly blank. Soon enough my inner voice began to mock me for it.
...So the pendant might, or might not, belong to the clock, Alice. And? Does that bring you any closer to solving the mystery of your identity? Or recovering your memories?
It might well bring me closer, I countered angrily. All these things may be related in some way, if I can only figure out how. At least it's a start.
Wonderful, Alice! Glad to know that after all this time you're finally getting off to a "start".
I've been unwell!
Oh yes, poor little invalid Alice, can't take two steps together without tiring herself out.
"Today will be different," I murmured angrily at myself. As if to prove it, I dragged myself out of the bath and briskly began drying myself off.
I found the same cambric dress I had worn on my first exploration, and slipped it over my head, breathing in the pleasant, sweet-herb scent which still imbued its soft folds. I was just in the process of rolling up its cuffs as I moved over to the door, when a sound like a gun-shot from the hallway brought me to a shocked stand-still. A second later the door was flung wide.
Lucius stood on the threshold, his face deathly pale and his eyes blazing with a frightening intensity. Fear flooded through me. My heart began to hammer wildly against my chest, though the rest of me remained petrified. But before I could speak, he brought his finger to his mouth with a shake of his head, warning me to be silent, then he turned to noiselessly shut the door.
Shivering, I awaited his explanation or instruction.
I had never seen him so breathless and agitated before. He took a couple of steps towards me, paused, stepped back, then almost unwillingly he strode forwards again and pulled me closely against him. For a moment, he seemed in the midst of some agony of indecision. His hand gripped my chin and he gazed into my eyes, the muscles of his jaw working, his features strained and taut. Then a terrible, almost a ghastly expression, of bitter self-loathing and defiance crossed his face. He looked like a man who would risk hell rather than let fate take its course.
He bent over me. "Do you trust me?" His voice was low and hoarse and urgent.
"Yes," I whispered. "But you're—" I gulped, "you're frightening me."
"You should be frightened," he muttered, "and you should not trust me." Then he released me and, reaching inside his robe, he drew forth a small glass vial, filled with a dark muddy-coloured liquid. He held it up, and the light of the overhead chandelier set its sharp facets sparkling. "Now I have warned you—will you drink this?"
"What is it?"
"It won't hurt or harm you."
"Is it meant to...protect me in some way?"
He gritted his teeth before replying, "You will be safe."
I was aware it did not quite answer my question. "And if I refuse?" I asked him, although I already knew I would do as he requested. "...Will you force me to drink it?"
He drew closer to me again, and his mouth brushed my ear as he spoke. "Please," he said, with genuine entreaty in his voice, "do not make me force you."
"...Alright," I said, though my voice shook audibly. "If you say I must, then I will. I...I do trust you, Lucius."
He seemed almost to wince at this, but made no reply. Removing its diamond-shaped stopper, he put the vial into my trembling hand, murmuring, "Do not drink yet. Hold it still."
Lucius took hold of one of his emerald rings and flicked the stone up, revealing a locket-sized chamber. Carefully he extracted a single, fine, pale strand of hair— perhaps his own, perhaps belonging to another. Then, steadying the vial by wrapping his other hand around my shaking one, he carefully dropped the strand into the liquid. It immediately fizzed and dissolved, and the contents began to effervesce and change colour. After a few seconds it settled and stilled to a pale-rose tint.
"Now, drink," Lucius said. "Quickly—there is no time to lose."
But I could not comply, for, even as he said the words, he did not release his grip around my hand. I looked at him questioningly, and with another grimace he opened his fingers.
I brought the vial to my lips and tipped it back.
The taste was not unpleasant. It was both tart and sweet, tingling on my tongue, and I finished it in one gulp.
I barely had time to wonder what I had imbibed and why, when my stomach began to lurch and spasm sickeningly. I dropped the vial with a gasp, coughing and retching. I would have doubled over if Lucius had not held me firmly upright. My vision blurred up with tears as I uncontrollably choked and spluttered, hardly able to snatch a breath, certain that I was about to be sick, or pass out, or both.
Distantly I heard Lucius murmur, "It's alright, Alice...breathe...try to breathe," but I couldn't breathe, I couldn't stop coughing; I was hot, burning all over, I could feel my skin literally blistering and bubbling, and somehow stretching, everything was wrong, horribly wrong—and I cried out in horror and fear.
What have you done to me? I could not form the words, and a suddenly-flaring rage against Lucius made me strike out at him, and writhe angrily against his grasp, but he pressed his hand to my temple, murmured a single, strange word...and I was aware of him catching me up as I crumpled.
...
Voices.
A deep hum of male voices brought me swimming back to the surface of consciousness.
It took me a moment to grasp the enormity of what that could possibly mean. I tried to sit up, but my body refused to comply. Then, with a start of alarm, I realised I could not even open my eyes.
"Lucius?" I called out, or tried to, but all that escaped my lips was an awful, animalistic groan. "Help! Help me!" I frantically cried again—but again, the only sound I could make was a strange lowing.
My breathing became erratic as panic took hold. What was happening to me? Why couldn't I move, or speak, or see? And why did I feel so alien, as if I didn't fit in my body?
Worse than paralysis was the crippling possibility of a betrayal. My soul shuddered, I felt myself withering, curling up like the plants in the glasshouse, I wished to howl, to scream, but all I could do was moan... But then Lucius's unmistakable scent washed over me, I sensed him beside me, and I felt a hand—his large, warm hand—curl around my own, and gently caress it. Comforting me. Calming me.
With calmness came focus and clarity, and my brain seized on the words now being spoken.
"You must understand, Mr Malfoy," an unfamiliar voice was uttering apologetically, "that this visitation is a mere formality. It is neither our wish, nor intention to intrude."
"Oh, I understand perfectly, gentlemen," Lucius replied icily. "I'm sure the spectacle of a Death Eater's lunatic wife will furnish you with endless anecdotes around the Ministry water-cooler."
"Be fair, Malfoy," a second, older-sounding voice said. "We are only following policy—"
"I am well aware of your policy," Lucius interrupted bluntly.
"Then you are also aware that we have significantly—and, may I say, generously—reduced the required visitations in consideration of your misfortune, and of your wife's...er, condition."
"We are both much obliged, I am sure," Lucius snarled sarcastically. "Well? Are you satisfied that we continue here in suitable affliction and misery? Or would you prefer to interview my wife personally?"
"No, no, of course that will not be necessary."
"Are you sure? Perhaps you would like to interrogate her on her recent activities? ...Because I dare not hope you have any progress to report on discovering our son's murderer."
The man cleared his throat with apparent embarrassment. "...It is very unfortunate... You are to be greatly—"
"Pity me at your peril, sir." Lucius's voice was dangerously quiet.
There was a pause, which, even in my incapacitated state, sounded awkward and uncomfortable, and I even discerned the nervous shuffling of feet. "Well then, we will leave you in—in peace, Mr Malfoy."
I heard the tread of their footsteps retreating and a door opening, but then it seemed as if the men paused upon the threshold, for the door did not shut. "Ah—Malfoy," I heard the elder voice say, as if in afterthought, "there is, perhaps, one last thing. It concerns the young lady with whom your son—"
"Stop!" Lucius barked sharply at them. "You will not speak of them before my wife!" Then he bent over me, and I felt his lips press briefly to my forehead. "I will be back soon, my dear." He said it loudly enough for the benefit of the visitors, but a pressure on my palm indicated that he really meant to reassure me.
He let go of my hand, and I heard him impatiently usher the men out of the room, with a curt directive to follow him to his office. The door shut, and all was silent.
...
Time passed in crawling increments, and all I could do was lie still in the imprisoning darkness, and wonder.
I wondered who the men were, and why they believed I was Lucius's wife.
I wondered if I was his wife. His lunatic wife.
No. I knew it was not possible, just as I knew that I was probably the 'young lady' of whom they had spoken.
Soon enough, I stopped wondering and started seething. So this was what Lucius had meant by not trusting him! This—this was why he had looked so haunted when he produced the vial and told me to drink. The liquid was not to protect me, but to protect him! Not to help me, but to hide me in plain sight! To prevent my discovery, my recovery—prevent me from leaving him—again! My heart swelled with silent fury, my eyes burned with sightless rage, but I could not even relieve my emotion with tears.
How could he? Why? Why would he?
But then, from out of my dark, wrathful despair, a sudden question blazed a silvery trail across my mind, like a star shooting across the blackness of night.
...Would you have willingly gone?...
The words suspended in the surrounding darkness for a long, long time. ...And gradually the rage seeped out of me, until all that was left was the tingling of my brow where his lips had brushed against it, and the throb of my hand where his own had pressed it.
And I accepted the truth. I would not, I could not leave him. Just, it seemed, as he could not let me go.
...
At some point I registered a change in my body, as if I belonged in it once more, although I remained prostrate and blind. I breathed a little more easily, but I was haunted by the notion that something might prevent Lucius from coming for me, and I couldn't understand why he stayed away so long.
As hour bled into endless hour, this fear slowly matured into a real terror. Once more, I was forced to question my trust of him. He had said he would be back soon—where, then, was he? He must know what I was suffering: the fear, the confusion and loneliness, and the terrible, terrible claustrophobia of confinement. Was he inflicting a deliberate cruelty? Could he still be capable of such a thing? ...My heart would not convict him, but my mind doubted and suspected.
Lucius came for me at last.
As easily as he had disabled me, he released me, and at last I could see, and move, and speak. At last I could cry.
He held me as my relief and frustration burst forth in great, wracking sobs.
He did not deflect the punches I hammered on his chest, nor did he try to restrain me, or attempt to justify or excuse himself. He held me until I had vented all my vehemence, and wrung out every tear, then he held me even closer as I forgave him, and clung to him, and told him the secrets of my heart.
And finally, finally he kissed me, as I had so long wished to be kissed by him: his lips seeking and parting my own, softly and searchingly, his arms wrapped securely around my shoulders, locking me into a deliriously spinning, infinitely beautiful world, where I was safe and warm, where I knew that I truly belonged...I was filled with the serenity of certainty; the heat of him became the warmth of me, my heartbeat slowed and trained to his...I only wished the moment would never end, and for a while my wish seemed possible...everything, anything seemed possible...
Then he gathered me up into his arms and carried me downstairs.