A/N Beta'd by the wonderful StoryWriter831. Everything belongs to JK Rowling.
This chapter has been edited to include (important) new content as of July 2018.
...
...I was running, running, running...down great, stone halls and twisting corridors, melding into a fog-twined forest strewn with great loops of briar, desperately searching for something, or someone. Naked, cold, and crying, I fought my way through the ever-morphing terrain, my skin torn and bleeding from jagged letters carved into me by the briars' vicious thorns...
Wherever I ran, a long shadow was cast over me from above in the shape of a giant, swooping bird, slowly but surely descending, turning everything to blackness behind me...the shadow became larger as the bird came lower until finally I felt the cold scaly skin and sharp claws of a bird's feet upon my shoulder, and I screamed and screamed and screamed...
A huge rift in the earth opened at my feet, and I saw the bird disappear down into its dark depths. When I looked up again, a man with silver eyes stood on the other side of the rift, holding his hand out to me to take. I reached for him, but as I did, I slipped and stumbled forward, tumbling down and down into the ravine's gaping maw, my arms stretched upwards as I cried out a name, and a voice in the darkness called back, "Hold onto me!"...
I landed softly on my feet, at the bottom of a flight of winding stairs. The shimmering, pale outline of a small fox was disappearing around the first spiral. Immediately I ran after it.
Round and round, up and up, I followed the unworldly creature, but I could never quite catch up with it, only ever glimpsing the swish of its ghostly tail. Finally I saw it melt through a door at the top of the stairs, which swung open, letting in a blaze of sunlight. Instead of disappearing when hit by light, the fox became embodied, its spectral outline forming into a substantial, real animal with deep, white fur and beautiful grey eyes.
The fox began pawing at something in the ground, whining softly. As it scrabbled, pieces of the stone floor began to fall away, and I peered down into the dark hole it was uncovering, filled with dread at what might appear...then a pair of eyes suddenly opened in the darkness and I reeled away in shock, the fox yelped and skittered away—
—I awoke, my heart thudding madly against my ribs, breathing hard.
I was standing in front of a door, my knees trembling and thighs burning from what must have been a steep, upwards climb. My hand was clasped around a cold, brass doorknob that I had evidently turned, for the door was slightly ajar.
Panic hit and I let go, whirling around to see only a twisting stairwell sunken in darkness behind me. The only light came from the crack of open doorway through which I had been about to go.
For some minutes, I stood in a petrified paralysis, torn between following this beckoning sliver of light, or retracing my steps back down into that ominous well of black shadow.
"You've come this far," I muttered at last, although I did not know how far that actually was, or indeed where in the house I could possibly be.
Turning back to face the doorway, my fingers closed again around the brass knob; I pushed and the door yielded outward with a dull groan.
I was almost blinded by a stream of daylight and I tripped on the top step and stumbled forwards, sinking down onto a plateau of stone paving, confused and dazed and still half-asleep, but nonetheless relieved to be out of the inky confines of the stairwell. For a while I just sat on the stone paving, the effort of trying to properly wake up conflicting oddly with the sensation of recovering from physical exertion.
Gradually I became aware of my new surroundings: I was in some kind of large courtyard, enclosed on all sides by a stone wall. It was morning, but only just, the sky overhead dim with a cloudy dawn, and the air still biting with the chill of night only recently departed.
The delicate nightdress I was wearing provided little protection from the coldness and hardness of the paving on which I sat, and soon motivated me to clamber to my feet. Immediately a raw, blustering wind almost knocked me over again, stinging my cheeks and whipping my hair into my eyes, causing the nightdress to flap wildly around my legs.
"Oh!" I exclaimed aloud, with a mixture of exhilaration and wonder, pushing the tangles off my face as I took in the amazing vista.
I was so, so very high up! Only now did I realise what perhaps should have been obvious: that I was standing on the very rooftop of the house, and that the enclosing wall was, in fact, a chest-high stone parapet over which I could see right across the tree-tops to the countryside beyond, and the distant demarcation of dark woodland overlaid by a thick, clinging mist.
...There.
Moving over towards the ledge, I stared out at the smudged line of forest and fog. It looked almost like a roiling sea-tide, slowly and inevitably swallowing everything in its way.
...Somewhere out there, in that forest, you awoke into this strange existence.
A shiver stole over me, which had nothing to do with the biting wind.
...Something in there set you on this twisting path. Something...or someone...
Perhaps what I was looking for wasn't inside the dark, sorrow-soaked walls of this house, but out there, in the dangerous wilderness beyond. I recalled Lucius's words, the morning after he brought me back from Her lair. '...You may leave now, if you want. But I believe it would be tantamount to suicide, if that's what you wish for...'
Were the answers I sought worth dying for?
No. Of course not. But then again, was a meaningless existence, without context, without hope, without...love, worth living for? Was this pain worth living for? ...Maybe the only way forward was to go backward...perhaps...perhaps I would have to retrace my steps, right back into the thick of the fog I had fought so long and hard to escape...
I shook my head, shivering again. Fervently, I hoped it would not come to that.
Slowly, I began to make a circuit around the perimeter. The panorama was similar on each side: wide, sweeping moorlands bordered with mist-threaded forest, except on the west side, where a wall of steep, craggy mountains visibly pierced through the billows of low-lying cloud.
The parapet was too tall for me to see directly down into the grounds below, but I was overtaken by a desire to glimpse the terrace and pavilion. I told myself it was only to gauge my surroundings; that it had nothing to do with rekindling the memory of those dizzying, dangerous kisses Lucius had imprinted on my lips the last time I was there...
Tell yourself whatever you wish, Alice, mocked my inner voice. Only don't expect to convince anyone else.
Ignoring my better judgement, I grasped the top of the parapet and jumped, hoisting myself up to peer over the ledge and down the side of the house.
With a lurch of sickening fear I saw that I was easily twice as high up from the ground as my bedchamber on the second floor, the ground far, far below. A sudden horrible dizziness swooped through me, then a star-bursting whiteness exploded through my mind—and I was tumbling over and hurtling downwards, plummeting in a kind of spiralling death-fall—the ground rushing up to receive me even as blackness closed around me—grey eyes—a long-fingered hand clamping around my wrist—"Hold on to me!...Hold on...to me..."
With a strangled cry I let go of the parapet, scraping my hands as I slid back down to the flagstones, my knees giving way so I ended up awkwardly crouched against the cold stone wall, panting and gasping, my brow clammy with cold sweat.
Well, that was awfully clever, Alice.
My whole body was trembling with surging adrenaline, my mind reeling from shock. I already knew from my window-escape that I was no lover of heights, but that falling sensation was something entirely different than a simple case of vertigo. It felt like something far more tangible, almost like a...a memory? And even now the echo of those words rang in my ears, with all the detached familiarity of déjà vu...
As my clammy hands brushed across the ground, my fingers connected with something brittle and flimsy, which I at first took to be one of the many leaves which had gathered over time and piled in the corners. But my eyes widened as they beheld, instead, what looked to be the corner of a thin book, which seemed to have been pushed into one of the crevices where the parapet joined the flagstones. Suddenly, the odd dream of the little fox scrabbling for something under the ground rushed back into my head.
Quickly turning onto my knees, I inspected the object more closely. My fingers shook as I began to carefully clear away the dirt and moss in the surrounding cracks until I was able to gently tug it free from its hiding place. It was a little notebook, the sort a woman might keep in her handbag to jot down reminders or record incidental names in. It was bound in what appeared to be cream leather, but was faded to whiteness in places and blotched with mildew.
Carefully, I opened the cover. The notebook was missing most of its pages—except for a few intact at the back, all that remained was a column of tattered paper near the sewn spine, as if they had been roughly torn away.
On the inside of the cover was an ornate book-template, stencilled with the words "PROPERTY OF" with a line beneath to be filled in by the owner. Upon this line a name was written in faded black ink, in a very pretty, feminine kind of handwriting: "Narcissa C. Malfoy".
Narcissa...I gazed at the name, as fascinated as I had been when inspecting Lucius's dynamic signature. It seemed so absolutely right, suggestive of beautiful and fragile things...easily-bruised pale petals, fair faces reflected in water...How perfectly it fitted that lovely, sad face in the locket under my pillow.
I peered more closely at the fluttering pages which remained attached. My whole body froze as I saw that they were entirely scribbled over with nonsensical words and childish scrawls, almost identical to the marks I had made on the surface of the bathroom mirror, after my horrible encounter with the crow. Had Lucius's wife also fallen victim to The Woman's evil manoeuvres?
There were five remaining pages in total, all completely filled with this indecipherable jargon; except one...the very last page, across which I could make out five torturously written words, smudged and irregular though the letters were...
"...I kN ow...yO u...aR E...Al icE.."
The hairs on my neck stood on end as I stared at the sentence.
...I know you are Alice...
For a long while I sat, stunned to total stillness, unable to break my gaze from those five contorted but clearly legible words.
What could it mean? Was she, Lucius's wife, somehow trying to reach out to me, through the invisible divide of time and—and even death? Could it really be a ghostly message from beyond the grave?...or was it simply the remnant ravings of a mind deranged by grief?...
I tucked the little book inside the sleeve of my nightdress—her nightdress—and slowly stood up. The surreality of the whole situation was disorienting and draining, adding to the sadness and loneliness which gnawed like a rat on my heart. I longed to find comfort and respite in the warmth of human connection, but I was forbidden to seek it from the only person who could give it to me.
Subdued, tired and cold, I made my way back over to the arched entranceway through which I had come. The door itself was closed, but it was only when I approached that I realised there was no doorknob on the outside.
"Damn," I whispered, annoyed at myself for not having thought to check before letting it close behind me. I clawed at the doorjamb, trying to winch it open with my fingernails, but after several minutes all I received for my pains were broken nails, and splinters in my fingertips.
At last I gave up. There was nothing to do but call for help.
"Lucius?!" I called out, hammering on the rough oak, hating to think I might be disturbing him from his sleep.. "Lucius, please help me! I'm stuck!" I felt both foolish and frightened, wondering if I might be stuck up here for hours to come. Although the days were generally quite warm now, it would be some time before the atmosphere heated up enough to feel comfortable in it.
I moved back to the east side of the ramparts where I thought Lucius's room faced out upon. Standing on tiptoe, I was just about to try calling out again when a sharp bang made me jump, and the door flew open to reveal the master of the house. Unlike me, he was as fully clothed and impeccably groomed as ever.
"Lucius!" His name tumbled from my lips, and reflexively I took two running steps towards him before stopping myself with a lurch.
Despite the tension that had driven like a wedge between us, there was amusement in his eyes as he beheld my crumpled nightdress, tangled hair and, very probably, the sheepish expression on my face.
"Sleep-walking again, Alice?" he asked me softly.
I merely nodded. But I was aware of something inside me, a kind of fierce, fervent joy that swelled within my heart and made me almost giddy, that he had indeed come to my call of distress, that he was finally speaking to me, acknowledging me, and perhaps not all was quite dead between us, after all.
His lips curved wryly. "You ought to start sleeping in warmer clothes if you intend to make a habit out of it."
"And shoes," I managed to reply, smiling faintly in return.
"Indeed," he murmured, stepping over the threshold and gracefully moving towards me. Somehow the wind, which had so tousled and disordered me, only whisked Lucius's long hair behind his broad shoulders in an elegant stream.
I blushed as his silver eyes moved lightly over my thinly-clad frame, wondering if he was as aware as I was of my nakedness beneath the gossamer-fine fabric of the nightdress.
How typical of you, Alice, I thought. There you are: dishevelled, underdressed and lost. And there's Lucius, immaculate, soigné, and ever to your rescue...
Perhaps sensing my embarrassment, Lucius lifted his gaze and looked about with a kind of contained interest. "I have not been up here for a very long time," he said. "Not since my youth."
"Oh!" Immediately an image of a youthful Lucius sprang into my mind, but the picture was rather unsettling, his silver eyes looking out from the portrait of the young man in the locket. "Then...this is where you grew up? In this house?"
"No," he replied. "It belonged to our family and was used as an occasional retreat." He moved next to me, though he maintained a purposeful distance. He gazed out at the arresting panorama; the clouds were lifting, the wind dying, and a rosy tint diffused over the early morning sky as the first rays of sun spread across it. I had the feeling that he was reliving some old memory...with a pang I wondered if it involved his beautiful wife. Narcissa...
I crossed my wrists, guiltily aware of the notebook hidden in my sleeve. Ought I show it to Lucius? ...But I decided against doing so. For whatever reason, those words had been left for me, I believed I had been led up here to find them, although I could not understand them...yet.
At length Lucius spoke, his voice now quietly meditative. "It is easy to forget that there is a vast world out there, beyond our own limited perspective. We are, as a rule, selfish creatures; wont to think the sun rises only for us."
"...Perhaps each person has their own sun, around which their world revolves," I said, my voice vibrating with the emotions I was struggling to repress. I could not help but look at him as I spoke, the heaviness of my heart was becoming too burdensome, I needed to express something of what I felt or risk being crushed beneath its weight.
Lucius turned and gazed down at me, his eyes iridescent in the glow of the golden sunrise. I could read the question in them, but it was a question too dangerous and too tempting to risk replying to. Resolutely I turned my head and broke off our connection.
For a few moments all was silent. Then Lucius spoke again, in an altered, somewhat resigned tone. "Come, Alice. I'll take you back downstairs." He moved towards me, extending his hand for me to take. I drew quickly back and he shook his head, exasperated by my apparent caprice. "Really, my dear, do you trust me so little?"
No, I thought. I trust myself so little. The mere thought of slipping my cold hand into his large, warm palm made me shake with a strange feverishness.
"I can manage alone," I said, rather too emphatically. "If you'll please open the door, that is."
I began to head towards it, then gasped as a strong hand clamped around my upper arm, quickly followed by the horrible squeezing sensation I had experienced twice before, as if I were being dragged through a tight vacuum. Reflexively I screwed my eyes shut and bit my lip, determined not to cry out this time.
When the sensation passed and my eyelids flickered open, we were both standing in my bedroom, Lucius's hand still firmly encircling my arm, though no other part of him touched me. For that, I was equally thankful and...disappointed. My body yearned for the prohibited closeness and heat of him; cold, tired and dizzy as I was, that craving became almost irresistible.
A kind of thrumming silence entwined us; Lucius's eyes gleamed in such a way I thought he really meant to continue refuting my wishes to "manage alone" and pull me into the embrace I so desperately craved. ...I don't know what I would have done if he had; my defences were hopelessly low, and I doubt I could have found the means to resist him had he decided to test them.
Perhaps it was for this very reason that he did not test my defences. He let go of my arm and took a step back, his expression hardening over and his pupils contracting back to small pinpoints of blackness in their icy silver depths.
"You are very pale," he commented in a dry tone, "and have lost weight, I think." He frowned. "Are you sickening again?"
"No," I said. "I'm just..." I trailed off with a shrug.
...desperately unhappy...dying inside...
He pursed his lips. After a moment he seemed to have reached a resolution. "I apologise, Alice," he said in that same clipped tone. "I had a duty of care, and I allowed it to lapse."
I don't want to be a 'duty', I thought wretchedly, my head sinking to my chest.
I heard a quiet hiss of indrawn breath. I looked up and was confused to see that he was now staring at me oddly, his eyes fixed somewhere above my face, and for a moment I simply stared back in consternation, wondering what it was that had captured his attention. Then suddenly I realised.
With a cry of dismay, I clapped my hand to my head, over the area of shorn hair where The Woman had hacked it off.
"Don't look at me," I gasped, turning quickly away, aghast. "Please, leave—leave me—"
It was the first time Lucius had seen my hair loose; I'd always taken care to keep it tightly plaited in such a way that hid the disfiguring patch; I hated the sight of it so fiercely that I often slept with it that way. But the buffeting wind this morning had unravelled it, and I had completely forgotten... Rushing over to the mirror, I began to comb my fingers through the tangled birds-nest, frantically trying to cover the shorn area and re-secure my plait.
I felt sick, hot, numb; paralysed by the mortifying memory of my total subjection, when—naked, bloodied, bound and broken, stripped of my pride and convinced of my worthlessness—I had been forced to grovel on my knees, to beg for my life...
My fingers didn't seem to work anymore, my hair was a stubborn mass of knots, my eyes were blinded, not by tears but by a white haze of panic. A blurry figure moved behind me in the glass; my hands dropped from my hair to cover my face. I couldn't, I couldn't bear to let him see my humiliation. Not again.
"Go away," I whispered. "Please."
He didn't go. Instead, I heard him murmur under his breath; a warm serenity washed over me, and all the tension and anxiety flowed from me like an expelling sigh. There was a very strange but painless tingling sensation in my scalp. I did not dare drop my hands or peer through my fingers, but somehow I knew...I could feel...
"You need never hide your face from me, Alice," Lucius said quietly, all the warmth and tenderness restored to his voice. "You do not have any reason to be ashamed. You never did." I heard his steps as he retreated; the door closed shortly afterwards, leaving me alone.
Lowering my hands, I blinked the clarity back into my vision. My hair was as snarled and tangled as ever, but no longer did it bear the evidence of The Woman's vicious, debasing attack upon me. I touched the new-grown lengths wonderingly.
But it was not the impossibility of my regrown hair that filled me with wonder. It was the release of something dark and damaged that I had hardly realised I still carried with me all this time; a deep-seated belief that I was, in fact, perhaps as worthless and unwanted as I had been schooled to believe, not only by my traumatic encounters with The Woman, but by Lucius himself, in the days before my escape.
The wonder I felt was not for his healing works, but for his healing words.