A/N Beta'd by the wonderful StoryWriter831. Everything belongs to JK Rowling.
...
I returned to bed and slept deeply and dreamlessly for several hours, waking only once to the sound of footsteps passing by in the hallway outside. Vaguely I wondered if Lucius had come in to check on me but I was so tired that this thought barely registered before I returned to the warm sanctuary of oblivion.
I awoke again, groggy but essentially refreshed, some time in the early afternoon. For a moment I just lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Then, tentatively, I lifted my hand to my head.
My fingers encountered the regrown strands which I hardly dared hope were really there. I could not repress a smile as that same feeling of wonder and relief pleasantly coiled through me. However impossible it seemed, it had not been, as I feared, just a dream.
Slowly I sat up, the muscles of my lower back and legs protesting as I moved, I supposed from the steep upstairs climb during my night's wandering.
Staring about a little dazedly, I noticed a domed silver-platter sitting on one of the night-stands beside the bed. Leaning over to remove the cover, my stomach growled appreciatively at the waft of fresh coffee and hot croissants. Having slept through both breakfast and lunch, I was more than ready for sustenance. As I fell to doing justice to the offered food I could not help but wonder, and hope, that this was a kind of peace-offering from Lucius, perhaps a sign that he was ready to forgive me and reconcile to some kind of friendship.
With my hunger appeased, I slipped from the bed and moved through to the bathroom, wincing again at the stiffness of my leg muscles.
Thankfully the lion-pawed bath stood ready, as always it did, filled to capacity with steaming, scented water.
As I removed my nightdress, something tumbled out of the sleeve and fell to the floor at my bare feet. With an unpleasant jolt, I realised it was the notebook I'd found on the ramparts, belonging to Narcissa C. Malfoy. Somehow I had forgotten that I'd tucked it in my sleeve to hide it from Lucius.
The little book lay open on the page which, amidst its chaotic scrawls, I could see the strange words, seemingly addressed to me. "...I know you are Alice..." Goosebumps prickled over me as I beheld the tortured lettering and I recalled my own futile endeavours to write a message on the bathroom mirror.
Shivering, I took the notebook back to the bedroom and slid it under my pillow, next to the silver locket, to inspect later.
As I bathed, I let my thoughts wander to the tender words Lucius had last spoken. "You do not have any reason to be ashamed. You never did."
How I loved him. How it hurt, to love him.
...Did he hurt, too? I wondered. Was it really only injured pride, which had kept him so distant and cold? Or had I wounded him, deeply and cruelly? ...Could he be...was it possible...?
Stop it, Alice! my sensible voice remonstrated. Be a fool in love if you must, but don't fool yourself into believing he returns the sentiment. He might have come to care for you, even to desire you, but love? Impossible! How could he love you? The girl responsible for his son's death? You ruined his life.
Not purposefully! I protested.
Besides, if he really felt the same way as you did, he would have let you go by now. That's how the saying goes, isn't it? If you love something, let it go.
But what if he can't let me go? What if there is a reason?
The reason is simple: he is a selfish man who, by his own admission, will never willingly part with what is dear to him. ...What does it even matter, Alice? You have rejected him, and he has accepted your rejection. Your hands are tied. Your tongue is tied. That is the end of the matter.
I bent my head and swallowed a sigh. How could I argue with the voice of reason?
After I finished bathing, I returned to the bedroom, wrapped in my towel. I was still exhausted, and, thinking I would soon return to sleep some more, I selected a clean night-dress to wear.
Climbing onto my bed, I withdrew the silver locket and notebook from beneath their hiding place. I clicked open the locket and gazed at the beautiful face of 'N.C.M', experiencing a stabbing sadness as I beheld those large, blue eyes. Wife of Lucius. Mother of Draco. Inhabiter of the iron-barred room. Tender of the crystalline green-house. And, I doubted not, the very same 'Narcissa C. Malfoy' to whom the notebook belonged.
Folding the front page of the notebook open, I studied the graceful signature. Then, flicking to the back, I stared at the agonised message scrawled across the last page. ...I know you are Alice...
"How do you know who Alice is?" I whispered to the portrait. "How do you know her, when I don't?"
The beautiful face only blinked and smiled, blinked and smiled.
I closed my eyes.
...Am I really Alice, then?... I wondered.
...Am I Alice?...
...Alice...
"...Alice..."
"Alice?"
Lucius's voice, accompanied by a quiet tap on the door, brought me out of my daydream with a start. My eyes flew open and I quickly pushed the notebook and locket underneath my pillow, rising to stand. A guilty, childish impulse made me rush away from the bed, coming to a sudden stand near the window.
I watched the door swing open, and Lucius appeared in the threshold. "You're awake," he said. His voice sounded odd, restrained. "May I...come in?"
I nodded, not immediately trusting my own voice. I watched mutely as he entered the chamber and closed the door behind him. He stood still, as if reluctant to approach any further. "How are you feeling?" he said at last.
"Better," I replied. Then, gesturing to the silver platter by my bed, I added, "Thank you for the food."
"Of course," he murmured.
"A-and also...for..." I touched my hair.
He inclined his head with a kind of brief courtesy that I could not but feel stung by. Then he turned his eyes from me and gazed almost absently at the tapestry on the opposite wall, as if at a loss to continue.
I waited. A sudden chill of foreboding prevented me from prompting him with a question.
I saw the moment of a decision reached as it happened. Lucius's eyes narrowed, he squared his shoulders, set his jaw and turned his eyes deliberately to fix on me again. "My dear," he said, a tight self-possession ruling over every measured syllable, "I should like to speak with you."
"N-now?"
"If you feel well enough."
Slowly I nodded.
"My dear," Lucius repeated, and his voice sounded steelier now and somewhat perfunctory, as if he had rehearsed many times over the words he was about to say. "I have a proposal to put to you. ...I have been thinking about your—our—situation, which appears to me to have become...untenable."
I clenched my teeth to prevent myself from wincing at the word. 'Untenable'. I supposed that was one way to describe this torture.
"It has lately occurred to me to propose a solution, I hope to our mutual satisfaction."
I could feel myself growing colder, too cold. What did he mean by 'mutual satisfaction'? There was no satisfaction to be had in this situation. There was only longing and loneliness...
I must have paled visibly, perhaps even wobbled on my feet, for Lucius looked momentarily alarmed and moved nearer. But he stopped short as I steadied myself. His expression changed, almost as if my visage were causing him pain, but, apparently resolute to continue at all costs, he began to speak again. "However, it presents something of a risk, which only you will be able to decide is worth taking."
I turned to face the window, not wishing him to see my face. Not if it was betraying one millionth of what I was feeling right now.
His figure was reflected in the window pane. It took every particle of self-control not to reach out and touch it, as I so craved to touch him, to feel that connection between us once again.
"Listen carefully to what I am about to tell you, Alice." His voice was hoarse now, as if her were forcing the words from his lips. "I am willing...I believe I should...I wish to...give you your freedom."
My heart seemed to stop beating in my chest.
This was it, then. The moment I had visualised, hoped for, fantasised about, over and over, during the long months of my captivity—me, winning my freedom; him, conceding it to me at last. ...Then why did I feel like I was losing everything?
"However," Lucius continued, without awaiting for me to respond, "your freedom would come at a price."
A price, Lucius? How much more blood do I have to squeeze out of this stone that was once my heart?
"What price?" I whispered.
There was a silence. Then he murmured, "Not so very much. Only a little more of what has already been taken from you. Your memory of this.—Of our time together."
Oh, no, not so very much. Just everything.
"I will return you to the safety of your loved ones, but you will remember nothing. Nothing of your stay here, nothing of...me."
So you don't want blood from a stone, after all. You want to bury it six feet under a grave of oblivion. So kind, Lucius. So wonderfully kind of you.
Lucius now spoke swiftly and concisely, as if trying to get a loathsome task over and done with. "Such a price also comes with a collateral risk—that you may never recover any memories from your past life. However, I doubt not but that you, intelligent as you are, will be able to fit back into the circles from which you came. You are...beloved there. Something of an heroine, in fact."
Really? I thought numbly, with a vague sense of disbelief. Having a heroic streak is certainly news to me.
He pressed on. "You will relearn most of what is missing, and in time the gap will be filled with other, happier, memories. ...Perhaps it will be for the best."
So it was true, then, that the key to my lost memories were inextricably tied to him...or to The Woman...
Even that fleetly-passing thought caused me to shudder. ...How could I be sure I would ever be safe from her? Just because I didn't remember a danger, didn't lessen its intrinsic dangerousness.
As if guessing my thoughts, Lucius added, "I would take certain measures to ensure your safety, Alice. You have my word of honour."
"But what about you?" I was surprised by the brittle coolness of my voice. "What will happen to you?"
I could see the up-curve of his bitter smile in the reflection of the windowpane. "I will also return to my dear homeland, make known my wife's passing and concede to whatever conditions are placed upon my repatriation and integration to society, until such time that my liberty is granted."
"You said that would be insupportable."
"Perhaps there are things more insupportable. Perhaps exile no longer holds any charm for me."
"So you mean to...watch over me?"
"From a distance. You would never know. There would be no contact."
"Why even bother?" I could hear my voice begin to fray at last. "If you are s-s-so anxious to get r-rid of me?"
I thought I could see Lucius's reflection stiffen, and there was a prolonged silence.
"Damn you for that, Alice," he said quietly, his voice simmering dangerously. "You have forced my hand, as you well know. Do you think I relish the possibility of seeing you recover all your former antipathy of me? To perhaps one day pass you in the street and see only hatred in your eyes?"
"At least you'd finally know how it feels," I retorted caustically, disguising with venom my confusion and rising panic.
Another long silence. "Yes..." he said. The anger in his voice evaporated as quickly as it had arisen and there was only resignation left. "Yes, that is true."
He turned and retreated back to the door, his reflection passing across the windowpane like a wraith. Still I did not turn to him.
"Think it over, Alice, but do not keep me waiting too long. I want your answer come morning."
The door closed with the quietest of clicks.