A/N Beta'd by the wonderful StoryWriter831, everything belongs to JK Rowling.
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PART THREE
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At first, there was only darkness and silence.
Silence and darkness.
Then, somewhere far away, an indistinct echo of voices.
I became aware of an absence of pain. An absence of all feeling, except a kind of weightless warmth, and the ticking of my pulse behind my eyelids. I had a notion that I was awake and lying down, yet there was no physical proof for me to tether this idea to.
I wished I could feel my body. Just to reassure myself it was still there. In one piece.
The voices were getting louder, more defined, but still there was a strange ricochet, as if the sounds were coming to me from down a long tunnel, and whole words were lost, swallowed by darkness.
"She...she...she... … …consciousness...ness...ness..."
"Vital signs...signs...signs... … ...stronger...ger...ger..."
I groaned. The sound of my voice was also far away, and echoing down that long tunnel.
There was something struggling inside me. I realised my body was fighting to regain consciousness, while my mind desperately sought to return to oblivion.
Because I didn't want to wake up. I wanted to sleep forever and ever, and forget everything.
But I couldn't help waking...
...and I couldn't help remembering...
...
That night I went to sleep, enfolded in the arms of my lover. The following morning, I awoke alone.
As my eyelids flickered open, I did not wonder where I was, or if last night had all been some incredible, wonderful dream. I still tingled with his touch, his taste. My body ached, but the soreness was sweetly mitigated in remembering the pleasure that had occasioned it. His scent was everywhere, on the soft, deep pillows on which I laid my cheek, on the unfamiliar quilt that was so heavy I could barely move beneath its weight.
"Lucius?"
I slowly sat up, bunching the sheets around my torso. The room was hushed and the dark forest-green curtains now closed, keeping at bay what promised to be a bright morning. The green-tinted daylight made me feel as if I were in some enchanted, underwater cave.
I realised I was alone. I supposed Lucius had woken early and did not wish to disturb me, but nevertheless I experienced a pang of disappointment and even slight anxiousness. But a moment later my eye was caught by something on the pillow beside me. It was a single, thornless, white rose.
Smiling, I picked up the beautiful flower and breathed in its delicate scent. There was no message attached, but it seemed message enough.
I sank back down into the deep pillows, overcome by a languid, luxurious kind of happiness. My eyelids closed and the smile on my lips remained. I could not remember having ever felt so serene, so content. For now I knew, knew beyond any shadow of doubt, that I was not only wanted and desired, but loved. Lucius loved me. I was not sure if he knew it, but I did.
I did.
I daydreamed a little longer, indulgently dwelling on the exquisite minutiae of the previous night, blushing at the sensuous memories, while constructing a pleasantly indistinct narrative for the future...Lucius and I, learning to trust in our love for each other... him, eventually helping me to regain my memories; I, slowly helping him to dispel his past demons...the light of love strengthening and securing those chains first forged in the darkness...
It would take time, I knew that. But it would surely happen.
I became restless to see him again. I sat up, this time pushing back the heavy sheets from my body. I slid to the edge and climbed out, my feet encountering the thick, plush rug on which the bed stood. A hasty inspection revealed a stripe of dried blood on each inner thigh. Suddenly self-conscious, and afraid to be seen naked in the light of day, I sought about for something to cover myself with.
I found my nightdress on the arm of the couch, neatly folded, and I hurriedly slipped it on. As the aroma of sweet-herbs gently billowed around me, I couldn't help wondering if he had noticed it last night, and been reminded...
A beam of infiltrating sunlight glanced off one of the long wall mirrors and I moved towards it. I wondered if I looked somehow different. Perhaps Alice would be gone, thawed quite away by Lucius's burning touch, and the real me would be standing there, only waiting to meet my eyes to reveal to me the secrets of my shadow-fallen past ... But no. If anything, I looked even less like someone I recognised. Flushed, glowing, tousle-haired, starry-eyed. Who was this young woman, with a secret smile curving her kiss-chafed lips? Was she me? Or was she Alice?
For a few seconds I stood still, overcome by a sudden and intense feeling of displacement.
What was she—Alice—I—doing here, in this sumptuous, forbidden room? What right had I to feel so happy, when the woman whose husband had taken me to his bed, had suffered such terrible grief that it had ended her life? ...I thought of the beautiful face in the silver locket under my pillow. What would she have to say about it, if she could?
I shivered and moved back to the bed. Picking up the rose, I sank down to sit on the quilt and stared about me. A strange dual narrative played in my mind, of those two separate occasions which had brought me here.
...There was the wardrobe, which, in a fever of rebelliousness and pain, I had rifled through and donned sundry of its contents. There was the bureau drawer where I had discovered the bird-skull pendant and the moving photo, moments before Lucius had slammed it shut on my fingers. There was the tall dresser against which he trapped and stripped me, before dragging me over to his bed to terrorise and humiliate me with his brutal, mocking kisses...
...And yet, there, too, just by the door, was the place that Lucius had kissed me last night, but this time with deep and passionate fervour. There was the couch, where I had stood before him, naked and trembling, in the low, flickering light of the fireplace, and where he had scooped me into his arms and carried me over to that very same bed, not with force or violence, but with utmost tenderness, laying me gently down upon its deep, quilted cover...
I twirled the delicate, slender stalk of the rose slowly in my fingers, then lifted it again to inhale its sweet scent. Another memory sifted to the surface of my thoughts, one of dagger-like rose-thorns tearing into my skin as I scaled the walls of my prison. ...Funny how something so beautiful could, in another context, be so cruel. ...But perhaps all life was made up of such strange symmetry, a mysterious tapestry woven in equal threads of darkness and light, fear and joy, pain and pleasure. Of hate and love.
...
I waited a while longer, but still Lucius did not appear.
Briefly, I wondered if I should take the opportunity to look inside the bureau, perhaps glimpse the moving newspaper-photo again and read the article beneath. ...But I could not bring myself to do it. It wasn't fear which held me back, for I did not truly believe that Lucius would punish me for a repeat of that transgression. It was the breaching of trust, which put a stopper upon my curiosity. Trust could not be a one-sided thing; to gain, I must earn. Then, when the time was right, I would simply ask him to show me.
Eventually, I decided to go back to my room to bathe and change.
I took longer than usual to select my clothes. Perhaps it was foolish, but I wished to find something special, something which somehow expressed how special I felt. Of course, all the garments were breathtakingly lovely, but I wanted to find one which suited me, and did not altogether make me feel like a scrawny sparrow borrowing the elegant plumes of a dove. Something that perhaps would make Lucius's eyes light up and his smile soften when he saw me.
My gaze was drawn to one of the few gowns which was not green, but rather a soft shade of antique-rose. I brought it out into the light, and was filled with a sense of reverence for something so delicate and ethereal. Unlike the medieval design of the cambric dress I usually wore, this seemed closer to something from the Regency era; having a high, Empire waist, a neckline cut wide and low, and skirts made from layers of some impossibly-gauzy material which felt almost weightless in my fingers. Tiny gold roses, exquisitely embroidered in thread as fine as spider's lace, shimmered across the bodice, and at the scalloped hem of the skirt.
As soon as I stepped into the dress, I felt it was right. My reflection in the mirror confirmed it. The gentle, rosy blush of the fabric complimented the natural warmth of my skin-tone, while the muted colour made a flattering contrast to my hair, making it appear glossier, darker, and—with its new-grown lengths—more lustrous. The golden embroidery seemed to emphasise the tawny lights in my eyes, adding an aureate glow to their new-lit radiance.
I took the white rose and nestled it behind one ear.
I felt special, and...yes...even beautiful. I believed that Lucius would think so too.
...
The dining-room door stood ajar, and I pressed it open, hesitating on the threshold to peer inside.
At first glance the room seemed empty. It was dark and still, the heavy curtains closed and excluding most of the morning light. The mahogany table stood unlaid and bare. I thought that Lucius must gone to the terrace—but seconds later I realised he was standing on the far side of the room, facing the hearth.
He was wearing a floor-length black cloak that seemed to meld into the surrounding shadows. Usually he favoured morning suits early in the day, and I wondered if perhaps he had received another summons from his case-workers, and was preparing to travel. It would certainly explain why he had risen earlier than I.
Apparently he was deep in thought, and had not heard me enter.
Quietly closing the door, I moved into the middle of the room. My heartbeat was fluttering pleasantly and I could feel a blush spreading over my cheeks. I wished to go to him, to throw my arms around him, and receive once more his ardent touch and beguiling kisses, but a sudden self-consciousness—at the memory of our intimacy, at my choice of dress, at...at...everything—kept me somewhat bashfully at bay. Nervously, I smoothed down the diaphanous folds of material, feeling a little tongue-tied. But I was too happy to be flustered into total silence. "Good morning," I said softly, smiling as I waited for him to turn.
He did not turn. He did not so much as move a muscle to indicate having heard me, and I began to wonder if I had spoken too quietly. I was about to repeat my greeting when he finally spoke. "Good morning, Alice."
An odd chill, like a single drop of cold water, tingled on my nape and slipped slowly down my spine. I couldn't quite make out the tone of his voice, it sounded so strange...so hollow.
It must be the echo of the fireplace, I thought, making him sound like that.
I stood uncertainly where I was, wondering what next to do or say.
Then I saw his shoulders lift in an elegant shrug, and Lucius turned to face me.
I was not prepared for the ice in his eyes. It froze me in place, so I could not move or speak, but only stare mutely at him. In the dimness his face had a deathly, bone-white pallor, his cheekbones as sharp as shards in the falling shadows. His gaze swept me from head to toe, but instead of the admiration I had hoped—even expected—to enkindle, there was only glittering hardness.
"My, my..." he drawled softly, "...look at you. I do hope you didn't go to all that trouble for me."
Still I stared. I wondered if I had not woken up. Perhaps it had all been a pleasant day-dream, just now starting to curdle into one of my all-too-frequent nightmares.
"L-Lucius?" I heard myself stammer.
He made a slight bow, his hand briefly touching his chest. "As you see." Although the gesture and words were mocking, his expression was not. There was no sardonic smile, no sarcastic sneer. Just ice.
"Wh-what is the matter?" I gasped. "What is wrong?"
One eyebrow lifted fractionally. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
"Why are you looking at me like..."
"Like?"
"Like that." My heart began a heavy, painful hammering. "What have I done?"
"You? You haven't done anything." Leisurely, gracefully, he started moving towards me, his eyes trained to mine in an unblinking stare. "You couldn't do anything, could you? You had no choice..."
He came to a stop within touching distance, standing straight to his full, imposing height. I felt no fear, though he towered over me. His presence, his stature, his scent—these were all so familiar now, that I was physically comforted rather than cowed by his proximity.
But my mind was a chaos of confusion.
Was he playing a terrible joke on me? I clutched at this theory as at straws, and tried to summon a smile. It quivered momentarily on my lips, and died as he bent down to murmur, "You were...you are a victim in all this."
I was finding it difficult to breathe, let alone to speak. "No, I'm not," I said faintly.
"Oh, yes. Though you mayn't know it yet, my sweet." His hands lifted to cup my face, his thumbs gently stroking the planes of my blood-forsaken cheeks. His touch was so warm, so caressing, that I momentarily closed my eyes and allowed myself to be lulled. But when I opened them again, there was nowhere to hide from his arctic gaze. "Just a helpless...powerless...pathetic victim."
"A v-victim of what?"
His lip curled at the blank confusion in my face. "Of me, you little fool."
"What do you mean?"
"Need I spell it out for you, Alice?" With a vicious conciseness that made me flinch, he said, "I raped you."
For a moment, the breath was knocked out of me and I could only gulp and shake my head. "No you d-didn't..." I finally managed to stutter, "we...we... m-m-m-"
"Made love?" His smile changed, deepened; became somehow less brittle, yet more cruel. "Is that what you were going to say?"
I couldn't reply; I only looked at him with mute supplication, desperately seeking some warmth, some protection from the icy wasteland of his eyes.
Yes, we made love. ...Didn't we?
"No..." he said, as if in answer to my unspoken question. "You don't imagine a Pureblood could ever care for a mudblood, do you?" The word, softly-spoken though it was, stabbed horribly at my breast. It had been so long since he had last called me that hateful term, I had truly never thought to hear it again.
"No, indeed," he continued, his thumbs now brushing my trembling lips, "to 'make love' implies some measure of mutual feeling, or at least mutual respect, impossible between a Pureblood and a base-born inferior. ...He may choose to rape her, of course, or to use her as his whore. But love...love is...quite out of the question, I'm afraid."
His words poured over me like dry-ice, burning, freezing, withering away the life-source within me until I felt but an exsiccated husk; one touch away from crumbling into nothingness.
"Shall I pay you for last night?" he persisted mercilessly, in that same tauntingly-tender voice. "Would you rather be my willing whore, than my victim? I shall let you decide."
Sickening with revulsion, I tried to turn and stumble away, but his fingers clamped around my arms, pulling me back, his arms encircling and trapping me against him. "Where are you going, my pretty little whore?" he crooned softly in my ear, stroking my hair in a horrible parody of tenderness.
"Stop it," I whispered. "Please."
"Perhaps I shall engage your services again...here, now." He grasped a fistful of my hair and twisted, pulling my head back to bare my neck with one hand, caressing it softly with the other. I felt the white rose dislodge from behind my ear and tumble to the floor.
"Stop it," I repeated dully, without conviction or force. It was as if all energy had drained out of me, along with all happiness. If not for his tight embrace, I should have fallen to the floor, like the rose. My body was limp, my mind blank. I had no spirit, no will, to fight him. There was no stamina for anguish or despair. I just wanted to die.
I heard the crunch of the flower being crushed beneath boots, and vaguely I registered that Lucius was pushing me backwards. I recalled that night, when he had waltzed me around this same room, to the amused giggles of his beautiful "guest". Then, I had resisted and defied him. ...Why couldn't I do so now? ...But resistance and defiance required anger, and anger was a hot emotion. I didn't have any heat. My heart was a frozen glacier, off which my veins coursed cold rivers.
My back struck something solid; seconds later I was sprawled across the mahogany table, crushed beneath Lucius's body-weight, my wrists trapped by his hands and pinned above my head.
He smiled down at me, evidently amused by my silent prostration. "Is that all it takes to break you, mudblood? One night, to entirely master you?" I could feel his arousal pressing against my stomach, and bile burned in my throat.
...He really is going to rape me this time, I thought emptily. He...he really does hate me.
Lucius bent his head, his mouth so close to mine I could feel his breath brush my lips. "You're mine, now, aren't you?" he murmured. "Mine to take. ...Mine to break. ...Mine to throw away. ...I could do anything to you now, couldn't I, little worm?"
A heartbeat. A blink.
Little worm...
A shuddering gasp.
{...Little worm...}
And then a crashing tidal-wave of realisation and relief.
Not him. It wasn't him. It wasn't Lucius.
It was Her.
Blind, white-hot fury blazed through me, restoring the heat to my blood, the life to my limbs. I began to struggle and kick for all I was worth. Gulping a huge lungful of air, I screamed at the top of my voice.
"LET ME GO, YOU BITCH!"
The man—or rather, the monster—grinned down at me. Still gripping my wrists, he threw back his head and shook his white-blond tresses, his eyes momentarily rolling back in his head. When he looked down at me again, the silver eyes were now gleaming dark lodestones, the snowy hair had become a sheet of inky blackness, and the heavy sable velvet of his cloak had changed to a cascade of glossy blue-black feathers.
It was Lucius, yet not him; a dark, diabolical, demon-eyed twin.
"Oh, but I was just starting to enjoy myself," he—she—it—said. Its voice was terrifying: a hellish hybrid between Lucius's silken tenor, and the Woman's chiming descant. "You're rather delectable when your spirit is broken. I can't begin to imagine why Luci took so long to finally bed you." So saying, the doppelgänger let go of my wrists and, gripping the neckline of my dress, rent the delicate material with its fists, exposing my chest to its gloating gaze.
I threw my hands up to try to scratch at those heinous black eyes, but the monster swatted them away like flies. "Careful with your claws, darling..." it growled, "...or I shall pluck them out."
Now the first rush of rage was receding, a new emotion threatened to overtake me: sheer terror. My left arm had gone dead, except for the tingle of welts beginning to rise on my skin. I knew the burning agony would soon follow. Desperately, I screamed again, but this time I could hear the naked fear in my voice. "Let me go!"
The doppelgänger laughed, and I shuddered at the sound of the Woman's girlish giggle manifesting through Lucius's voice and lips. "Do calm down, mudblood. You don't really suppose I would sully myself with you? Although, I own, it was rather fun to watch..." My horrified gasp inspired another laugh. "Oh, yes, Lucius showed me every disgusting, delightful little detail. Not that he had any choice. The selfish boy would keep it all to himself, but I made him share like a good brother."
Brother? Could it be possible? "Where is he?" I cried. "What did you do to him? Lucius!? LUCIUS!"
"Really, mudblood," the mocking voice rejoined, "there's no need to scream down the house. He's right here, you know."
Hauling me suddenly to my feet, the doppelgänger spun me about, pulling me backwards against its chest. The large fingers of its left hand clamped about my neck like a collar. Then it lifted its right arm and made a gesture at a place in the middle of the floor, muttering a single word in some foreign-sounding tongue: "Revelio."
It was as if an invisible curtain had been drawn aside. Where before there was nothing but polished floorboards, now there appeared a figure, on his knees, bound by what could only be described as slithering ropes...ropes of live, dark energy, which crackled and sparked as they twisted and twined about him. His face was deathly-pale and he gazed at me with something like despair in his silver eyes. With a cry of horror, I saw that his lips were stitched shut with a zigzagging line of black thread, although I could not see any blood.
"Lucius!" Desperately I struggled, but the thing holding me only tightened its grip on my throat, making me choke.
"Ah-ah-ah, little worm," it hissed in my ear, in its demonic, dual-tone voice. "Patience is a virtue, you know."
"What have you done to him?" I sobbed. "Let him go! Please! PLEASE!"
"Ah, how prettily you beg..." I shuddered with disgust as the doppelgänger's free hand enclosed upon my left breast, moulding with its palm and caressing with its fingers. The real Lucius—my Lucius—jerked wildly against his bonds, his face contorting with helpless rage, his silver eyes smouldering and a vein throbbing in his brow.
"I do wish you could feel the little mudblood's heartbeat, Luci," my captor addressed him tauntingly. "...So young, so strong...so perfectly, beautifully alive... Such a shame that it won't be for much longer..."
Suddenly its grip released and I was flung to the floor so brutally that, in trying to catch myself, I felt both wrists sprain painfully on impact.
When I next looked up, Lucius's dark twin was gone, and in its place stood The Woman; smaller in size, yet somehow infinitely more monstrous; as lovely and loathsome as ever in her black-feathered ball gown.
"Now..." she said in her sweet, bell-like voice. "We're all going to have a little fun."