A/N Beta'd by the wonderful StoryWriter831. Everything belongs to JK Rowling.
Chapter edited to include new content July 2018.

...

The next morning as I dressed for breakfast, I found myself blushing at the temptingly sensuous thoughts I had entertained in the bath the night before. ...What if Lucius could somehow read them? He had always had a knack for knowing exactly what I was thinking and I knew very well that my much-too-lucent eyes could hide nothing from him.

And if my eyes didn't betray me, I was afraid my body would. There was a new pliancy and suppleness which had smoothed and softened its wasted lines; the outward luminosity which falling in love had given me was now heightened even further by a bright inner flame, which had blazed to life with Lucius's physical reciprocation; his desire had soaked through to the wick of me and set it alight...everything about me looked so glossy and—I mentally flinched at the word which sprang to mind—ripe.

Yet his fierce, fervent kisses last night had also frightened me. I was afraid of being swept too quickly and too far out into an unnavigable ocean, where I must cling to him or be swept away, or simply drown... But what could I do? There was a saying about wearing one's heart on one's sleeve. Mine covered my whole body, my whole being. Painfully aware of this fact, I went downstairs to seek him for whom I wore it.

There was a moment, as I gained the bottom of the stairs, when I suddenly knew that Lucius had gone.

The great oaken front door, which usually stood open on such beautiful mornings as this one, was firmly, ominously, shut. As I made my way down the corridor uneasiness tingled at the back of my neck like the touch of a cold finger.

At first I blamed my own skittishness, but this changed when I tried the front door and discovered it was not only shut, but locked. I turned towards the dining room, supposing—hoping—Lucius would be there instead, waiting for me.

I moved to the door with deliberate, measured steps, quelling the twisting anxiety in the pit of my stomach.

"Lucius?" I pushed open the door and experienced an immediate pang of disappointment and strengthening disquietude as I saw he was not there.

I noticed then that the table was laid for breakfast—and almost in the same moment my eye was caught by a sheet of white paper resting against my china cup. I ran over to it and snatched it up with trembling fingers.

With a thrill of fascination, I realised I had never seen Lucius's writing before. It was just like him—assured, impossibly elegant, unmistakably masculine.

Alice,
Do not be alarmed by my absence. I am called away on urgent business.
For your own sake I ask you to remain indoors. Also to reserve any explorations for another day.
I hope to rejoin you this evening. I am,
Truly yours,
LUCIUS

He signed his name with a graceful flourish.

Although not an actual explanation, this message afforded me immediate relief, but it could not quite wash away the uneasiness I felt at being left alone. I wrestled with an irrational sense of abandonment. What had called him away? Why hadn't he waited to tell me in person, or woken me up, if he had to leave so suddenly?

My gaze lingered on those last five words. 'I am, Truly yours, Lucius'.

Are you? I wondered. Are you truly mine?

Sitting down in my usual place, I poured myself a cup of tea, but I had no appetite for food. ...After everything which had recently taken place—the skyfalling revelations, the consuming tempest of emotions; after last night's long rumination, and this morning's fraught anxieties—this abrupt interruption of momentum jarred brutally against me, as if I'd hit a wall running. I felt almost winded by it, instantly sapped of energy and adrenaline.

I shivered. I supposed I ought to return to bed and read or sleep away the long hours while I awaited Lucius's return. What else was there to do? He had specifically requested that I not continue my explorations—for my own sake. He might as well had said, 'safety.'

I stood up, wearily deciding that I might as well go back upstairs. As an afterthought, I picked up the silver tea-service to take it with me. Then, leaving the dining room, I padded back up the hushed hallway, the tea things clinking softly on the silver tray as I walked.

Once again the touching coldness skimmed the back of my neck, and once again I fought the urge to quicken my pace. Without Lucius, the half-lit corridor took on a looming, dreary aspect which took me quickly back to days I preferred to forget...

A sudden sound ruptured the surrounding silence.

TRING!

I lurched to a stop and swung around to face the direction it came. A little silver bell, hanging some way above the front door and half-hidden by shadows, danced madly about.

Oh look, I thought numbly, I never noticed a doorbell before.

As it jingled, the air temperature plummeted around me and the light visibly dimmed, becoming dark and dismal, as if outside the rosy spring had been suddenly displaced by an unnatural winter. A stream of white mist began to leak in through the cracks of the door, swirling around my ankles and gradually deepening like a rising river.

The tea-service began clattering loudly as my arms started shaking—more with cold than terror. I was too terrified to feel terror. I could see my shallow breaths billowing in small puffs.

Disjointedly, I admonished myself for spilling the tea. You should be more careful, Alice. You'll have nothing left by the time you get up to your room...

TRING-TRING-TRING!

"WHAT?" The words tore out of me in a shredded scream. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

The bell abruptly stopped ringing. There was a moment of rich, heavy silence.

Then a voice shimmered through the frozen air and roiling, thickening fog. "Knock, knock, little mud-blood..." it chimed, sweetly, sickeningly. "...While the cat's away, the mice may play..."

I recoiled backwards. As I did, the painting that I was passing—the portrait of a pretty young girl—started to horribly snarl and hiss at me, like the one which had frightened me to insensibility on the very first night. With a cry of horror I saw the child's mouth filled with bloody fangs, gnashing and grinning at me with a kind of lustful hatred. Reflexively, I hurled the tea-service at the painting, then turned and blindly ran towards the stairs.

As I ran, each painting I passed leaped into monstrous animation, forming a chorus of snarling and hissing as I fled upstairs, desperate to make it to my own picture-less room. I knew I was screaming, but I couldn't hear it past the horrific noise surrounding and enclosing upon me...

At some point during my wild flight upstairs, my mind switched off; though my body made the journey, my brain simply paralysed, so that when I regained awareness I was huddled beneath my quilted bedspread, like a child sheltering from imaginary monsters.

But my monsters were real. And they were coming for me.

...

The dreadful noise ceased with the slam of my door and for a while all was silent, apart from the ragged gasps of my own breathing.

Then the tapping began.

A hollow, percussive tick-tick-tick on my windowpane, like a wind-buffeted tree knocking against glass...except there were no trees outside my room.

I couldn't—I didn't wish to identify that sound. ...But after a few torturous minutes of incessant tapping, I began to feel as if not knowing must surely be worse than knowing, that the uncertainty itself must eventually derange me...until finally, I threw back the covers and sat up, peering over at the window.

A large crow sat on the ledge, pecking at the pane with a sharp, black beak. It immediately fixed its beady black eyes upon me.

Peck, peck, peck, went the sharp beak. Then that voice—Her pretty, feminine voice—spoke to me, not through the window but, it seemed, directly into my head.

{Why so afraid, little worm? Aren't you glad to see your Mummy-dearest?}

"No," I replied aloud, my voice still hoarse from screaming, "Please...just leave me alone."

{But why? I miss our little chats. It's been ever so long.}

An awful realisation struck me suddenly and forcefully, making my head reel as if from a physical blow. "It was you, wasn't it!" I gasped, shuddering violently. "In the forest, that day...you led me out...you brought me here!"

{For which you have yet to properly thank me.}

"Why? Why did you bring me here?"

The bird made a loud, mocking 'Kraa!'. {I promise to tell you, if you just let me in your window.}

"No!" I hissed. "Go away!" I snatched my slipper off my foot and hurled it at the window-pane. It struck the glass hard and momentarily the bird fluttered up, its glossy black wings beating rapidly as it recovered its balance to settle once more upon the sill.

The crow glared balefully through the pane. {Still just as impudent as ever, I see. I thought Luci might have corrected you of that by now. Remind me to tell him to give you a good whipping for it later. Or perhaps you'd rather enjoy that?}

I felt myself crimson deeply at her taunting jibe. "How dare you—"

{Spare me your protestations, mud-blood; we both know your pitiful proclivities regarding your master...but where IS the dear boy, I wonder?}

"You know," I said accusingly. "You lured him away, d-didn't you?"

The voice laughed and outside the crow cawed mockingly. {As I said, I want to have a nice heart-to-heart with everyone's favourite little abomination.}

"What have you done to him? Where is he?!"

The bird tilted its head and ruffled its jetty feathers, almost as if it were shrugging. {Why don't you see for yourself?}

Immediately I became aware of a movement in my periphery. I started up with a choking cry of terror, which changed to a gasp of fascinated disbelief as I realised that the movement came from the gilt-framed mirror: the reflective surface was clouding up with roiling, dark smoke, which parted seconds later to reveal a new scene...

I could see them—both of them. It was as if the mirror frame was glazed with one-way glass looking into an adjoining, unfamiliar room.

Lucius stood with his back to a low-burning fire in a gleaming black-marble hearth, a small crystal tumbler held elegantly between his long fingers. The walls of the room were also dark and the entire room was appointed with ebony-wood furniture and matching furnishings, made distinguishable by the silvery luminescence of an elaborately-tiered chandelier. Lucius's bright hair and pale face contrasted strikingly with the surrounding darkness, but his expression and posture appeared to be relaxed and at ease. A suave half-smile graced his mouth. He seemed to be listening with interest to something—though I could hear nothing—that his interlocutrix was saying to him. She was reclining on a sable chaise-longue just a few feet away from him, gazing idly into a hand-held mirror as she spoke smilingly up at him.

My heart seemed to constrict as I stared at the two rivetingly beautiful subjects of this strange, silent vision...but then The Woman waved her hand with a slight, surreptitious gesture and the mirror clouded up and silvered over once more.

{You see, mud-blood?} mocked the voice in my head. {We're having a delightful time together. He hasn't mentioned you even once.}

With burgeoning fear I tried to make sense of the fact that she was both here AND there, in two separate places, in two parallel forms. Added to my fear was a gnawing dismay at seeing him—Lucius—socialising with that ravishing lovely, despicably evil creature...

{So, now you know he is safe and well and enjoying such excellent company, tell me—}"

"I'm not telling you anything!" I interrupted fiercely.

{...Not jealous are we?}

"No," I gritted out, though my tight voice and prickling eyes belied the denial.

{Oh, do cheer up, worm. I only want to know how things are getting on between you and your master. Enlighten me.}

"He is not my—"

{Ah, but he is...for he's not yet your lover, is he? No...not yet...}

I pressed my lips together and refused to reply.

Another tinkling laugh in my head, another mocking caw outside. {You are certainly taking your time breaking him, mud-blood. His innate revulsion for you must be strong indeed. How does that make you feel? Rather humiliated, I should hope? Just a little bit worthless?}

I clenched my teeth, filled with rage at her mockery of my innermost fears, her casual desecration of the scriptures of my heart... {SHUT UP!} I hurled wordlessly back at her, shouting directly through the nexus she had created with my mind.

Once again the crow fluttered suddenly up, as if I had thrown another object at the window. This time it took wing and I watched it make a graceful, gliding circle to land neatly back upon its perch.

{No need for such savagery, little one...} the chiming voice chided me. {I was only teasing you. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. You were about to tell me what you and Lucius have been getting up to.}

{Never!}

{Very well. Then you may SHOW me.}

{Show you?—No. No!}

Desperately I tried to break the connection, close down my thoughts, snatch them out of her reach—but already I could feel her sifting through them, the gaze of her black eyes pouring down into my brain like white search-lights flooding a dark room.

Greedily, gloatingly, she found and scrutinised those few, sacred, cherished memories: the beautiful moment when Lucius gathered me against him and kissed me in the iron-barred room; his winsome, passionate manner the following day; and last night's episode, the possessive, almost violent force of his desire, which had threatened to overwhelm me with its dark fervency...

{So it HAS been getting under his skin after all...}

"Stop it!" I cried aloud. "Get out of my head!" I was frantic with fear of what else she might discover, and mock, and use for her own twisted purposes...

But she did not stop. With methodical, ruthless perseverance I felt her penetrate the deepest, most private recesses of my mind; leisurely inspecting everything which had happened since that last shattering, devastating encounter in her lair: witnessing my changing, growing feelings for Lucius, the fragile flames of gratitude, trust, repentance and forgiveness, stoked and nurtured by his clemency into something vital and life-sustaining...and forged from the very heart of that blaze, the linkless chain which now bonded me entirely to him, for which there was no beginning nor end, neither lock nor key...

{How amusingly pathetic} she scoffed derisively, as though my love was some kind of ludicrous, scorn-worthy deformity.

Then, to my utter horror and mortification, I sensed her latching onto last night's intimate moment in the bath, when I had touched myself and fantasised that my caressing fingers were Lucius's...and the other images I had indulged in...of me, beneath him on a bed, entwined in his ardent embrace...naked, ready for him...

{Quite the little bitch on heat, aren't you, you disgusting animal?}

This final, degrading insult was too much. I leaped off the bed with a cry of fury and ran to the window, hammering it with both fists, sending the bird squawking into the air for a third time. Immediate dread of some kind of retaliation sent me staggering back to the furthest two wardrobe, where I sank down into the recess between them, huddling with my knees pressed to my chest.

I could feel my left arm tingling and burning, but I refused to look at it. Please, come back, Lucius, I prayed desperately. Please, please...

But my pleas were only answered with three mocking, hollow taps on the window pane.

{Well, this certainly has been most...enlightening} said the chiming voice. {I believe things are coming along just splendidly... Don't worry, you'll get to act out your tawdry, vulgar little fantasy soon enough. He is so close to falling...maybe I'll help him along with a nice dream or two of what you get up to when you're taking a bath...}

"I won't let you use me against him!" I cried out, my voice hollow and agonised. "I'll tell him—I'll warn him not to t-touch me!"

{I'm afraid that will be quite impossible, little worm. ...You shall see. ...It's going to be our special secret, mud-blood. Just between us girls.}

There was a scrabbling noise as I heard the bird launch off the sill and take flight. I gasped with relief as I felt her dark presence withdraw from my mind...

But for a long, long time I remained where I was, curled between the two wardrobes, my head sunk on my knees, my teeth chattering uncontrollably.

...

...A soft tread on the flagstones outside my room. A gently enquiring tap at my door.

Finally, Lucius had come back.

Relief swamped me so entirely I felt as if I might drown in it. But even as it crested, it crashed, leaving me shivering in its wake.

I turned over, away from the sound, and emptily stared at the tapestry on the opposite wall. A strange depiction of a serpent entwined in a tree, heavily laden with golden pears. The encroaching gloom of dusk had smudged its intricate detail and dulled its sumptuous colours.

I had crawled back to my bed some time ago. A lifetime, it felt. But I was still shaking.

There was a second gentle tap at the door. The brass handle twisted and there was a swirl of cooler air from the hallway as the door opened. I wanted so badly to turn towards it and indulge my senses with the simple reassurance of seeing him...his face, his eyes.

But I couldn't. I mustn't.

...You, Alice, must grow an impenetrable barrier around your heart of briars and thorns, like those engulfing the glasshouse, slowly extinguishing its light...

"Alice?"

Despite these bleak thoughts, Lucius's voice was immediately healing and reviving, it coursed through me like new blood. I heard him approaching the bed, and my pulse fluttered responsively. "Are you awake, Alice?"

Lucius moved around the bed, and I snapped my eyes shut.

I mustn't.

There was a muted rustle of heavy, expensive material as Lucius bent over me; I felt his fingers brush a tendril away from my face. A tremor vibrated through me. I could smell the pleasant, layered subtleties of him, and the ache in my heart increased.

"Alice," he said. His tone was soft, caressing. "Open your eyes."

Unable to help myself, I obeyed.

So beautiful, that face.

Lucius looked a little weary, but his mouth curved up when our eyes connected. Mine stayed in a tight, drawn line. It was my turn to wear the impassive facade, to be taciturn and secretive.

I let the silence stretch and stretch between us.

A shadow crossed Lucius's features, and his head tilted as he attempted to interpret my reticence. Again he tried to engage with me. "How was your day, my dear?"

Terrifying, traumatising, horrific, were the words which sprang readily to mind. But I just carried on looking up at him, silently drinking in his unearthly beauty.

He took a seat beside me; the substantial weight of him causing me to incline towards him. Swiftly he leaned over and brushed my cheek with his lips. "What is the matter with you?" he murmured softly. "Are you unwell?"

My breath caught slightly at the prohibited contact, the intimate proximity. I couldn't help but think of my bath last night and the seductive vision I had entertained of us, entwined upon my bed—this bed.

My 'tawdry fantasy', as She so contemptuously termed it.

Lucius frowned as he closely inspected my face, no doubt pallid and strained. "No..." he murmured. "You're angry. ...Or afraid?" Some fear of his own flickered within his silver gaze, and his jaw tightened. "What is wrong, Alice?"

Still I did not answer, instead letting my teeth sink a little into my tongue, relishing the sting.

"What happened to you while I was away?" Lucius's fingers curled around my upper arm, and he gently shook me. "Why is the tea-service on the floor downstairs?" A note of frustration sharpened the timbre of his voice. He never was a patient man. "Answer me, Alice."

I swallowed a suddenly-rising sob. I wanted to round on him, to shout at him, What happened to me? What happened to YOU?! To your promise to protect me? You were with Her, consorting with Her—or was that flirting with Her?—while She taunted and terrorised me! And then She rifled through my head and didn't put things back properly!

...But my lips did not form those accusations. Because She hadn't put things back properly.

And in that moment I realised that it wasn't simply a case of 'I mustn't', but of 'I can't'. My throat clammed up, obstructed by the words I was not allowed to say, the subject I had been banned from broaching. I could feel myself sweating now, revulsion filling me as I recalled the time in that horrible dungeon, when She took away my voice altogether.

The fingers around my arm tightened and Lucius's eyes darkened. Even now, I found myself fascinated by how quickly they altered with his mood. They were not quite the colour of storm-clouds.

Something in his expression triggered another, more distant memory—of our very first encounter when he pinned me under him on the wet gravel, and somehow delved inside my mind to read my thoughts. ...He looked as if he were contemplating doing do so now. The mere thought of it sickened me. To be invaded again, so soon after She had wrought such havoc inside my brain...no, I couldn't bear it. And what if he were to see those images for which She so cruelly mocked me?—No. NO.

I jerked my head to one side, ripping myself out of his engulfing, scrutinising gaze.

Conceding defeat, I gave up the struggle to speak of Her frightening visitation this morning. As soon as I did, my tongue unlocked and my voice returned. "Nothing," I replied flatly. "Nothing happened today. There is nothing wrong with me."

I felt the bed move again as Lucius drew back from me. "We must have very disparate an understanding of the word 'nothing'," he said with obvious displeasure, removing his hand from my arm. My heart seemed to lie still in my rib-cage, cold and heavy as a lump of marble.

Another silence fell between us.

"Where were you today?" I finally asked in a half-whisper.

Lucius paused before replying, as if considering exactly how to answer. Surely...surely he wouldn't lie?

Oh, but he would. He did. "I was summoned by my caseworkers for some further questioning," was his smooth rejoinder.

Dismay robbed me momentarily of breath. There was a strange toppling sensation within me, like a tower of blocks falling down. Even though I was lying down, I felt somehow destabilised, precarious.

Never mind 'why'—how, how could he lie to me? And how could he make it sound so easy, so much like the truth?

"I don't believe you." The words were muffled by my pillow, hardly audible, but the atmosphere immediately and palpably altered, from one of strained tension to downright icy frigidity.

"Is that so," Lucius said. I could tell by those three, clipped words that he was angered and offended. "And where, pray, do you imagine that I have been, my dear?"

With Her. You were with Her. She showed me in the mirror. I saw you.

But once again, my thoughts were segregated from my tongue. "I don't know," I replied instead, turning back look at him, daring him to lie to my face. "Why don't you tell me?"

"I am not used to having my veracity called into question, Alice," Lucius said thornily. "You must know that it is not in my nature to tolerate such aspersions." He paused as if awaiting an apology.

Where his deceit had wounded, his arrogance enraged, and my heart swelled with mutiny. How dare he take offence, when he was the one lying? I was so utterly confounded I could only heave a gasp of rage and try to blink away the tears which threatened to spill.

His tone softened at my evident distress. "For you I will make an exception, Alice," he said with a brief sigh. "I assure you—I promise you: only the most pressing of summons could have induced me to leave you here alone."

Oh, I'm sure you were summoned, Lucius. But by whom?

A sudden irony flickered across his expression as he continued. "It appears my case is being considered for a reduced sentence, on grounds of compassion." He brought one hand up to cup my cheek, but again I jerked my head to one side, angrily avoiding his touch.

Stop lying to me! I thought, almost beside myself with futile frustration and rage at his ongoing deception.

But almost in the same moment I was struck by a new, revelatory possibility. ...Maybe Lucius wasn't lying. Perhaps the vision The Woman had revealed in the cloudy looking-glass—perhaps that was the lie. Literally smoke in mirrors. Maybe Her endgame wasn't to force us together, but to drive us apart?

...The thought went some way to calming me, but I was far from certain. Once again I felt myself slipping and sliding backwards into that familiar, muddy habitat of confusion and uncertainty, where there was no comfort in the familiarity, only an inexorable sense of being sucked down and down, like a creature struggling in quicksand...

I moved, intending to turn over, away from him, but Lucius suddenly leaned in and snatched me up against him, wrapping his arms around me and pressing his mouth down on mine, as if determined to melt away my frozen rigidity and pervading doubts with the sheer force and heat of his kisses. To thaw me.

For a moment it worked.

I yielded, I softened, I melted.

My mouth opened to his, my back arched and I cleaved to him...and for a brief few seconds the uncertainty fell away, everything was made right and whole; my heart un-petrified and leaped into joyful, pulsating life.

But then, with a shudder, I remembered Her words. {…You will break him very soon...He is so close to falling...} I stiffened, resisted, and twisted my head away. "STOP!" I cried out, shoving Lucius's chest as hard as I could with both my hands, attempting to wriggle out of his grip.

Immediately he ceased, and released me.

I scrambled to the middle of the bed, out of immediate reach—not because I didn't trust him, but because I didn't trust myself. As I tried to steady my erratic breathing, I fixed my gaze on the embroidered coverlet. I was afraid to meet Lucius's eyes, because I couldn't bear for him to read anything like longing in mine, or for me to see anything like pain in his.

"Forgive me, my dear," Lucius said coldly, turning to stand. "I see I have...over-reached my privilege. It will not happen again." I did glance up at him then, and there was no pain. Of course there wasn't. This was Lucius, after all. The master of icy composure.

Already I could see a layer of that former, hard veneer reforming over him, and my stomach twisted horribly. "I'm sorry," I uttered softly. "I just...can't."

Lucius did not reply. Straightening to his full, imposing height, he gazed inscrutably down at me for a moment, then moved gracefully out of my vision, back to the door.

Before exiting, he turned to address me one last time. "It is past eight, Alice. Dinner is served, if you will deign to honour me with your presence." There was a measure of superciliousness underpinning the formality of his tone, although it was, thankfully, untainted by sarcasm.

The door closed. He was gone.