A/N Beta'd by the wonderful StoryWriter831. Everything belongs to JK Rowling.
Chapter edited to include new content July 2018.
...
I was afraid to see him again. Afraid of encountering some obstacle, some insurmountable barrier of coldness or hardness in his eyes.
The last defences around my heart had crumbled, and I felt vulnerable, exposed and raw, as if a layer of me had been peeled quite away. I was also dazed, and full of wonder. The memory of his lips on mine filled me with fluttering happiness and stabbing doubt. Confusing everything was the shock of information I had received during that brief exchange between Lucius and the two strange visitors.
His son had been...murdered?
Why, then, the profound guilt that pervaded my own fleeting visions of the young man?
And where, where was Lucius's wife? She, who he had spoken of as no longer being his wife, as having gone, before I ever came—? The men had mistaken me for her, that was clear—but it was also clear that they had expected to see her there, in that iron-barred room. Why had it been so important for Lucius, not only to hide me from them, but to present her to them?
...Could he have done the unthinkable to her? After all, he was, or had been, a man of resentful, changeful temperament. I had learnt first-hand of the cruel, occasionally violent streak which discoloured his nature... And the frankly sinister epithet he had given himself ('Death Eater'?) was suggestive of things which made my hair stand on end...
Had he simply...snapped?
Or, looking at it from a more pardonable perspective, had he put her out of her misery?
I shuddered, and rejected both ideas. Not because I had any proof to the contrary, but because they were simply too awful to suspect of the man who I...I was in love with.
The questions, the doubt, the fear and the wonder all held me hostage in my room well past the time I would usually appear for breakfast. Time and again I made it out into the hallway, only to panic and rush back inside again. I might have stayed there all day, but at last the decision was taken out of my hands with a sudden knock at my door.
My heartbeat pounded arrhythmically. As I moved over to the door and turned the handle with fumbling fingers, I braced myself for the rejection I had pretty much convinced myself to expect.
Lucius immediately, decisively put my doubts to rest.
Before I could so much as greet him, he drew me firmly to him and caught my lips with his...and he did not release me until I was dizzy, breathless and melting inside; pressed pliantly against him and barely able to stand. The same sweet warmth of last night coursed through me, making every nerve, every particle of me, thrill to his closeness and tingle to his touch.
Looking up into his eyes, I was sure I detected an answering glimmer of relief, and it occurred to me then that he was not only allaying my fear, but a parallel one of his own.
"I have heard your door open and close ten times this morning," he said softly, brushing my cheek with his palm. "How much longer did you intend to keep me in suspense?" The caressing note in his voice was indescribably enchanting to me.
Unable to form a comprehensible explanation, I simply replied, "I'm ready now."
His gaze flickered over me lightly, taking in the pretty, lilac robe I had chosen, and I blushed for the compliment reflected in his eyes. "Come, then," he said, holding out his hand with a disarming smile which made my breath catch.
As my fingers met his, I was struck by how entirely different he appeared from the man I used to liken to a ruthless Teutonic prince—that brittle marble mould was broken away, and the man who emerged was as vital and receptive as he had once been inflexible and cold. His aura of power now seemed alight with a new radiance, erasing all traces of harshness, enhancing the intrinsic harmony of his high-bred features, so I felt almost astounded, blinded by his brilliance and beauty...
...But there was still a gleam of the devil-may-care of yesterday lingering in his iridescent irises, which reminded me that, however elated I felt, however tender he seemed, I ought to wade cautiously into the unknown depths stretching out before me.
...
The hours passed in a haze of sweet unreality.
There was a winsome, beguiling facet to Lucius which I had never seen before. ...No, that wasn't quite true. I had glimpsed something like it before, the first time he had dined with The Woman, when I had wept in despair of him ever treating me in such a way. ...But, whereas that time I had sensed something of pretence behind his captivating manner—this felt real. There was nothing guarded in his voice, no insincerity to trace in his expression...at any rate, I couldn't detect it. And when he kissed me, I could no more doubt him than I wished to resist him.
But at some point during the day, when the whirlwind of elation had finally calmed, a sharply-serrated realisation cut through my delirium. I ought to, I must, once again broach some of the questions which he had thus-far refused to answer. After what he had put me through yesterday, he owed me some kind of explanation, and I owed it to myself to extract one from him—or at the very least, to try.
But the hours slipped by, exquisitely ephemeral, and as evening drew in I still had not managed to submit even one single question. I became anxious that the right moment would simply never present itself, and that if I didn't manage to speak now, perhaps I never would.
It was getting late. We wandered in the garden and came to a standstill in the shadows of the bordering conifers, silently watching the canopy of bright stars overhead. Lucius stood behind me, his arms crossed about my shoulders, and, cocooned in his embrace and lulled by his persistently gentle demeanour, the words seemed to slip naturally from my lips.
"What happened to your wife, Lucius?"
He was silent. I felt his body tensing along me, the muscles in his arms stiffening.
"Please," I said, bringing my hands up to press his forearm entreatingly, "please, Lucius, I—I need an answer. Just this one question."
He let go of me then, and an instant chill pierced my body. I saw that he had turned to face the house, his gaze fixed on the third storey. Though I could not interpret his expression, a light from the house caught his silver eyes, and they glittered strangely. "Be specific, Alice," he said quietly. "What exactly are you asking me." It sounded more like a resigned comment than a question.
A sudden uncertainty shivered through me. Did I really want to know? Wasn't it better, safer, to not know? But I gritted my teeth and told myself that for better or worse, I must. I must.
Slowly, hesitantly, I said, "Last night, those men mistook me for her...they seemed to believe—to expect that—that she was alive... But she's not, is she? She's not alive."
Again a silence. Then, "...No," Lucius said at last. "She is not alive."
"How did she die?" I asked it quickly, aware I was trespassing with a second question.
"What do you believe?" he said, turning back to me suddenly.
I was at a loss for an answer. I heard myself stammering, "I...I don't know."
"Come, my dear—you must have given some thought to the subject. What conclusions have you drawn? Do you think I have her blood on my hands?"
"No...I mean, I don't...that is, I don't think so."
"Your confidence is overwhelming, my dear." His tone was contaminated with bitterness. "Of what monstrous things must you believe me capable."
"I didn't mean that," I said hastily. "It's just...I know that when a person is very sick, sometimes it is—sometimes it's kinder to—" I faltered, and was silent. I wished wholeheartedly that I had never spoken.
"Ah, I see," he murmured. "You think I may have...assisted nature in her merciful works, so to speak." I was relieved that he sounded thoughtful, rather than angry. His fingertips lightly tipped my face up to his. "Would you understand, if I admitted to such?"
I looked searchingly in his eyes. Slowly, I nodded. "I think so," I said.
"Thank you." It was impossible to tell if those two words were sarcastic or sincere. "But you may rest assured on that point. I was—I am—too selfish a man to voluntarily part with whatever is dear to me."
Yes, I thought, I know you are.
After a pause he said softly, "Perhaps it would have been kinder to...help her find peace. But I had already lost so much, and I was damned if I was going to..." He stopped, and turned his face towards the dark, veiling shadows of the conifers. "...Of course, I had already lost her. Most of her had disappeared into the ground with our only child. ...But in the end, she took that decision entirely out of my hands." He spoke impassively, as if he had reconciled himself to the fact. "She deteriorated so quickly, so completely," he continued. "Towards the end she did not even recognise me. I tried to keep her safe, as safe and as comfortable as possible, but one night she—." He made a resigned gesture with his hands, which I found unbearably pitiable. "I discovered her the following morning. She had... utilised various noxious plants from her collection. I believe you found the place a while ago?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"My wife was a talented botanist. She did not err in the efficacy of her concoction."
As finally I understood what happened, my heart throbbed painfully, both with sorrow, pity and a horrible sense of guilt. For if I was somehow responsible for the loss of his son, was I not also indirectly responsible for this subsequent tragedy? No wonder he had hated me so deeply...
But one thing still confused me. "But why keep it a secret? Those men—"
"Those men," he cut in over me, and I could hear anger return to his voice, "those men..." He gritted his teeth, and seemed to be undergoing some kind of difficult, internal struggle. Then suddenly he turned and began to stride back over the grounds, from where we'd come. "Come, Alice," he said over his shoulder, "I'll get you a drink."
I hurried to catch up with him. "I don't need a dr—"
"I need one," he said bluntly.
He led me back to the pavilion, which was, as always, beautifully warm, and now softly glowing with ambient candlelight. It was enchanting, like a fairy's grotto, and for a moment I wished that he would simply gather me to him and kiss away all my unanswered questions, and I kiss away his tragic revelations, and we could simply exist together in the present moment, without past, or pain, without sorrow or memory...
But he did not kiss me. He installed me in one seat, and took another opposite me.
After offering me a drink, which I declined, he poured one for himself, knocked it back, poured a second, then reached inside his robe for his embossed cigar case. His hands were slightly unsteady as he extracted one of his slim cigars and lit it, though his face remained perfectly composed. Silently, we both watched the coils of smoke drifting upwards and slowly dissipating. At last he murmured, "There was a war, Alice. Do you remember anything of it?"
I actually gasped with shock, so unexpectedly did these words strike me. "A war? As in—we—Britain? Against whom?"
An unintelligible expression flickered over his face, and he replied, "I suppose you could describe it as a civil conflict."
I stared at him, though his face was tilted up, his eyes still following the spiralling plumes of cigar smoke. "I see..." I said, as the dreadful truth slowly dawned on me. "And...we...we were on opposite sides."
"Indeed."
I tried to digest this news, but without any context, I had no way to understand what it really meant. "What was it about?" I asked.
A grim irony told in the brackets of his mouth and he shrugged. "Power and dominion. Fear and greed." He raised his glass, almost as if in a toast, then swallowed a mouthful of the amber liquor. "The usual dogs of war, dressed in the trappings of a noble cause."
"Good versus...?"
Lucius levelled his gaze at me, with a directness which made me tremble. "War is never so simplistic as that, Alice," he said, taking another draw of his cigar. "However...only recently have I discovered that I have been...mistaken in many of my long-held beliefs."
I could not know what it cost him to make such a concession. The subtext was clear. He was admitting to me that not only had he been on the opposite side—he had been on the wrong side.
Suddenly a piece of the puzzle clicked into place, and I blurted out, "You're under some kind of house arrest, aren't you?"
He took a moment to consider before he replied. "It is a little more complicated than that, but essentially—I am."
"What for?" I felt nauseous as I formed the next words. "...War crimes?"
"Yes."
I couldn't bring myself to ask exactly what that entailed. Terrible images flickered through my imagination, like a whirring reel of old footage, documenting unspeakable atrocities committed in the name of war...and I thought, I'm in love with a war criminal. God help me.
"And if it was known that your wife was...no longer alive?"
Another hard, humourless smile. "Then those men will escort me back—back to a country that despises me, to be yolked and monitored, treated like a... They might as well throw me back into..." He grimaced, and did not finish the sentence. Then, softly, he added, "It would be insupportable." With this, Lucius finished off the remainder of his liquor and turned his glittering eyes on me again. "So, what do you make of me now, my dear? Please, be frank. I should like to know."
I scrabbled about for an honest answer amongst the chaos of my thoughts, intent on being truthful, but desperate for the truth to conform to my feelings. "I think that...the fact you are not in prison means that your...your c-crimes can not have been so very terrible. They could not have been...unforgivable."
As I said the last word, Lucius visibly started, and a strange sequence of expressions passed over his features: doubt, something like shame, then a slowly-spreading gratitude which lit up his face and eyes with a beautiful glow...and I felt my own cheeks flood with responsive warmth. He was up and next to me in seconds, gripping me tightly, and he bent over me and muttered in my ear, "You don't know what you say, sweet, wild little creature—judging me with those serious, amber eyes; recklessly absolving me of my wrongdoings..."
Then he was kissing me again, but it was different this time: deeper, fervent and filled with meaning...truth be told, a little frightening.
I was on the verge of struggling for breath when he finally released me. "One day you will hate me," he whispered darkly, but his arms remained fiercely wrapped about me, as if he did not intend to let this ominous prediction interfere with his present wishes and desires.
...
That evening I lay in my bath, submerged to my shoulders in deep water, watching the floral-scented steam curling around me through half-closed eyelids.
My body was tired, but my mind was, as always, a kaleidoscope of images, thoughts and questions as I replayed the day's events in minute detail...and across these fluid, ever-changing abstractions, Lucius's image was indelibly stamped, while his recent words echoed in my mind, deeply troubling to me.
'You don't know what you say...recklessly absolving me of wrongdoings...one day you will hate me...'
He had sounded so certain about that.
I had to suppress the urge to ask myself, 'Well, what's the worst he could have done?'—for I knew it could only leave me tormented, but wholly unaltered. Because love didn't work that way. It wasn't founded on rational thought, it wasn't convenient, or conditional...it was absolute.
You're wrong, Lucius, I thought. I won't hate you, because it isn't possible to hate and love at the same time. Not truly. You can hate certain things—perhaps everything—about the person you love, but you cannot hate THEM.
I recalled that first day of my stay, when Lucius had grabbed and brutally shaken me, snarling at me that frightening sentence, impossible to forget. 'Don't you know I have killed men for less than what is written on your face?' …Taking those words at face value, he had killed, perhaps more than once. He was a killer.
He was a killer, but love was absolute.
...Well, what if he killed your family, Alice? Would you still love him then? Yes or no?
I told you, I'm not playing that game.
...It's not a game, Alice, it's called "facing unpleasant possibilities". ...Admit it: you're scared to answer that question.
Yes, I'm scared. I'm scared because I already know the answer.
I sank further down into the bath, covering my shoulders and neck with the swirling, comforting warmth, until the water tickled the line of my mouth. My lips were still tender, chafed and tingling from the kisses they had received, even a little bruised by the fervency with which they had been imprinted.
My tongue traced lightly over my top lip and I fancied I could still taste him, that strong, bitter-sweet mix of brandy and cigars and a subtler sapor of indefinable spices. My eyelids drooped almost closed and my hands moved weightlessly over me—the curve of my chest, the dip of my stomach—as my mind lingered luxuriously on those exquisite, precious moments of ardent contact...
Vaguely, a little reluctantly, I allowed myself to wonder where this new, physical connection between us might lead...and how quickly. Reason told me that Lucius was not a man to take things slowly. That once his mind was set on what he wanted, nothing would hinder his obtaining it.
...But what did I want? Did I want him to—to touch me? To...take me?
One hand drifted further downwards, and my fingertips delicately combed through the wisps of downy curls between my legs.
I didn't even know if I had ever...?
...And even if I had some, any, experience (although something told me it would not be much), I couldn't remember it. All I knew was him. Lucius. He had been the sole player in my few fantasies and my many, many dreams. How far did I wish those dreams to become a reality?
My eyes shut fully and my fingers became his. Slowly, gently, stroking...
I bit my lip, imagining him kissing me again, fiercely, deeply...only this time I was beneath him on a bed and one of his arms was wrapped possessively around my—naked? yes, naked—body, while the other was caressing me...with exquisite finesse...just...like so...
I pictured his lips leaving my mouth and trailing leisurely down my neck, then further down to the swell of my breast, teasing the sensitive tip with his tongue, making me gasp...I could almost, almost feel his silken hair spilling in a feather-light waterfall over my shoulders, arms, across my chest...
Then the vision changed...Lucius was over and above and around me, his eyes glittering like diamonds in the surrounding darkness, his teeth slightly clenched as he parted my legs and readied himself to—
I snapped my eyes open and hauled myself up to a sitting position. I wrapped my hands safely about my knees and began to berate myself for indulging in so dangerously seductive an image...I needed to be able to think clearly, to know that I was going into things with my eyes open, my brain switched on.
Oh, which brain was that, Alice? You mean your amnesiac, confused, damaged one? The same brain which has fallen in love with the man who imprisoned and abused you—a man who is a self-confessed killer and war-criminal? That's the brain you wish to think clearly with?
I had no defence to present to that taunting inner voice. All I could do was offer an honest reply: Yes. That brain. My brain.
Sighing, I climbed out of the bath and dried myself, then wrapped the large, plush towel around me before moving back through to the adjoining chamber to flop down upon my bed.
I lay there for some time, teasing out a particular thought which had struck me. Finally, Lucius was becoming...real. He was no longer the frightening, unfathomable spectre who had only ever proved his existence through the pain he inflicted upon me, and the evidence bruised on my skin in the shape of his hands. Nor was he the all-absorbing, fascinating apparition who, after rescuing me from the clutches of darkness, seemed even more disqualified from the realms of reality, by the very suddenness of his changed demeanour.
No, both insubstantial figments were gone—at least nearly gone—and the real Lucius seemed to be taking form in front of my eyes, his touch no longer marking me with its brutality, but defining himself with its tenderness. With each caress he stepped further out of the shadows, with each kiss he was brought more clearly into focus before me.
And now...now that he had relented and finally made that first revelation about himself, I told myself it could only be a matter of time before he made one about me.
Perhaps even my name.