Here we go again! Let me know what you think!

He had to do it. Lucius Malfoy had to break down and get a lawyer. Molly Weasley's performance in the Ministry of Magic turned what seemed like the entire wizarding world against him, and it was getting harder and harder to prove himself innocent. The man he hired was the father of a friend of Draco's—Rosco Zabini. He was a cunning Slytherin, and one that could say he had insight into the family problems through his son's friendship with one of the missing. The only thing that made Lucius hesitate to hire this man who kept a nearly perfect record of winning cases was that he always defended the guilty—the ones you look at and just know they did it, but they walk off free of charge due to his twisting of evidence and input of 'reasonable doubt'. He had had his first meeting with the man that day. Zabini swore that he was the best defense lawyer out there (as statistics proved—every former Death Eater wanted him to defend their cases) and affirmed that he would talk to his son and see if he could pick his brain for any of Draco's feelings and emotions that Lucius could use the next time he had an interview. "We need to work on your public image." Zabini had told him. "Right now, the wizarding world thinks you're guilty and nobody can change their minds but you."

"My public image? This is murder! It isn't some political debate!" Lucius had shouted. Zabini only smirked.

"My friend, that's exactly what this is."

So it was decided—Lucius was going to have to go public in an interview with The Daily Prophet. But Zabini promised to sit down with him for extensive hours and help him with the correct 'illusive' answers to give. They were set for that tomorrow. Lucius was finally granted permission to go back to the Manor to stay, because the Aurors claimed they found whatever they needed. Except along with that, they had torn up some of the carpeting and flooring, taken out Draco's bed, cut away parts of the door with evidence on it, marked off that whole wing entirely. It's so nice they're letting me live in my own house, he thought with a sneer, without actually letting me live. Lucius went up to the third-floor bathroom, drawing a steaming tub of water to finally just relax into and pretend to forget all of this was happening. None of this Auror nonsense, no Zabinis involved, no Dora, no Weasley, no Azkaban….well, it had almost been this way too. Everything was going perfect. He even got rid of the Azkaban sentence. But then Narcissa went missing and the world's perception of him went from good to—

Wait.

The world's perception of him went from…good to…bad…which is what she'd screamed at him just a few weeks before the trial…that if he got off, everyone would immediately just think he was a good guy—they wouldn't see all the terrible deeds he did, how slick of a man he actually was….

Oh God.

Was it possible? Was it even right to think? That his missing wife, the woman who everyone turned to love and wanted to find…set him up? Just to make his image tainted? Lucius recalled their most recent fight, which wasn't all that recent, but near enough to the trial where he should've seen the signs. They were fighting about Draco; the boy had gotten sick all over the table at dinner after the conversation drifted to an Azkaban sentence, and Lucius—who was tired of seeing his son so weak—raised his voice at him. Narcissa put Draco to bed and came back seething, telling him never to yell at their extremely vulnerable son ever again, which resulted in Lucius arguing back that Draco still hadn't learned how to be strong, and the fight went back and forth until finally Narcissa fled upstairs to be alone. He'd followed her. He found her tidying up their bedroom (which was a habit of hers—if she was upset, she organized). But unfortunately, he exploded on her, and swung his arms at the contents atop the dresser that she'd just straightened. They were mainly pictures, but her precious little Narcissa doll was there too. She lunged for it just in time. But Lucius grabbed the doll by the hair and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall. Narcissa immediately ran to it, picking it up tenderly with tears in her eyes. "This doll…" she whispered. He knew it was going to have something to do with how special it was or whatever. Hell, if she kept it this long it had to be something important. "Was me. …Mother and Father got each of us girls our own for Christmas one year—they all matched us. I-I…I loved this doll. I kept her safe from Bella, I made sure she had friends, I even took her to Hogwarts with me. For all seven years. No one knew I had her in my trunk. You just…you hurt me." Lucius had scoffed, mocking her being a fragile porcelain doll—

He sat up abruptly in the bathroom.

That doll was her. If he 'hurt' it, he was hurting her. It was that special to her. If it was true, if Narcissa really was making this whole thing up, she would have used the doll as a prop.

Where in the hell was that doll.

He needed to find it.

Lucius sprang out of the bathroom, throwing his clothes onto his soaked body without even thinking—if he found the doll before they did, he could be safe. If they found it already… Lucius flew to their bedroom, opening every drawer, dresser, closet—wait, wasn't his wand supposed to be there? No matter. It didn't have any spells on it anyway. Let them search it and find nothing. But the doll wasn't there. He went room by room—the library, the kitchen, the dining room, the foyer, the hallways, the spare rooms. Anywhere he remembered her liking. And then it hit him. She wouldn't hide it in a place she liked. That would be obvious; it would mean she had been there. It needed to be somewhere she hated.

The basement.

Lucius walked slower down the steps—he knew that this was the one place he hadn't checked, and the one place Narcissa would never go. In the dim light, he could make out a cloth hanging from one of the beams above. Maybe something Potter or the Weasley left behind during their stay. Lucius crept forward. No, that wasn't a cloth—it was hanging by a string.

A rope.

The same kind of rope that had been tied to Draco's bed.

There she was in all her beauty—the Narcissa doll hung from the rope in the dim light, her broken porcelain cheek like a black hole, her hair ragged and torn, her dress abominable. And she had a noose around her neck. How fitting. Yes. Narcissa was framing him. She knew just how to do it—she knew every weak spot of his. She turned everything against him. Lucius closed his eyes as he stood in front of the doll, realizing that she was trying to teach him a lesson—that he would never win with her; she knew how bad he was, she knew every fault, she knew every slip-up he'd ever committed….and she was bringing them all into light for the public. He had to call Zabini immediately—this evidence might be turnable. The Slytherin lawyer could certainly whip everything around to show that it was true Narcissa had taken Draco and faked their deaths just to prove that Lucius was a bad man, right? He started up the stairs again, eager to get to the fireplace to make his call.

"Zabini," he gasped hurriedly.

"Mr. Malfoy, ringing late. Can I help you?" the man's smooth voice responded as his head appeared in the flames.

"It's not real—none of its real."

"…I beg your—"

"It's all Narcissa. She's doing this herself. She's framing me. I…I found the evidence she left for me, not for the Aurors, but for me to understand that she really wasn't kidnapped—that she ran away herself."

"…And you're sure…?"

"I'm positive. The Narcissa doll—she put it in the basement with a rope around its neck because I broke it a few weeks ago and she said that if I destroyed that doll, I was destroying her too. She's making it look like I planned to hurt her, when really, it's the opposite. And she's showing me. She's showing me her plan!"

"…That…bitch."