Chapter 5

Weeks sauntered on and soon they turned into months. Yet despite the dragging time, a year had passed in the blink of an eye. Little had improved. The young witch had only learned to better conceal her pain; a stoppered bottle containing a dangerously bubbling potion. It could only be so long before the pressure blew it out of control but, for now, Narcissa managed to supress it.

Seasons changed, following the monotonous cycle once again.

The blonde had long since accepted her fate to be married to Lucius. It was not as though she had warmed to him nor the idea. She was merely numb to it. A death row prisoner at peace with her sentence. Death, indeed, was what it felt like. Maybe she would greet the cloaked figure before long. Perhaps, she enjoyed to think, that meeting would make her feel more alive in the end.

Alas, no such event took place before the wedding bells were tolling.

Within six months of graduating from Hogwarts, there was a grand affair – a winter wedding. In a churchyard with all respectable purebloods in sight, Narcissa and Lucius were married under a softly undulating canopy of unseasonal cherry blossom. Snow tumbled lazily and blanketed the frozen ground as flashes and applause greeted the newlywed couple. For a brief moment, Narcissa was truly happy. Despite her secret dread and unwillingness, a hopeful start had thrust itself on her. That night she would begin her new life as Madam Malfoy; no longer a broken young girl but a respected lady.

How naïve the witch had been to assume that it was a new beginning.

Lonely nights between a Slytherin dorm and childhood bedroom were replaced by longer days in a cold gothic manor house unknown to her. After the first few nights of their new life – spending each night together and consummating their marriage more often than necessary – Lucius returned to work long hours at the Ministry and Narcissa wandered lost and useless through her new home's endless stone walls. The library became her sole escape. She would waste away hours on end falling into book after book. By Easter she reckoned she could have read every volume that lined those shelves.

The blonde quickly began to adapt to her environment. She emulated her mother; the perfect picture of pureblood aristocracy with the added air of Malfoy snobbery. A coldness numbed Narcissa – her everything.

Lucius showed his wife kindness the small hours that they spent together. She did begin to trust him. As they lay cosied in rich bedding, the witch's head resting lovingly on his chest, she was able to speak with some candour.

"It is a beautiful house," she explained to soften the blow of her unhappiness, "It's just that spending day after day in it with no purpose is… difficult."

Lucius could understand. He was not a monster after all. "Anything I can do," he would offer, truly wishing his wife every happiness. Beginning to fall for the woman he doubted he could deny her anything.

"Some company," she suggested hopefully, naturally implying that he could be at home with her more often. Unfortunately, Lucius took the meaning less literally.

The next night after dinner he gifted her with company that she certainly had not expected.

"Oh, Lucius, she's beautiful," Narcissa flushed as she lifted the pure white fluffy cat into her arms. The creature's icy blue eyes stared judgingly as she meowed softly at her new mistress. It was not quite the human contact Narcissa had intended but who was she to deny such a perfect feline friend? The young cat padded around after Narcissa like a personal snowball, purring comfortingly almost every minute of the day. While the lady of the house read in her favourite plush armchair her little pet would slink around on the window sills, stopping to lick herself whenever the moment took her. It made Narcissa smile to no end watching the strange personable behaviours. But soon, she grew tired of the animal's inability to hold a conversation with to her. She began to crave another form of company. An old friend as dark as her pet was pure.

The consuming feeling only intensified. It rapidly became a promise of comfort which her mind warped into believing it would make her happy. It seemed Narcissa was not beyond returning to her school-age impulses for within the few weeks following her first signs of teetering on the edge, the witch was falling down the black abyss once more.

The moment that the cool blade of Lucius' cutthroat razor marred her skin a pang of sickening regret had already begun to fester in the pit of her stomach. Comfort had been a lie. Her mind, lonely and tricked, was spiralling as she curled on her knees on the bathroom floor. And yet the sharp edge met her pale arm for a second time that night. Salty tears cascaded down her flushed cheeks and dripped into her grimacing mouth. Delicate droplets of blood patterned the pure white tiles beneath her.

But, by the time Narcissa's husband returned home, she was tucked up in bed; safe and sound. He did not question the healing ointments by her bedside nor the bandage protruding from the sleeve of her nightgown as he lay down beside her. Only when his arm snaked around the witch's waist from behind did he notice her subtle shaking.

"Cissa?" he whispered, confused by the unfamiliar act. It took him a few beats to realise that she was crying. Holding her breath, she refused to make a sound as she shuddered from the effort of holding it in. She did not answer his one concerned word. Silence appeared to be the answer. Whatever had spurred his wife's behaviour, Lucius truly believed she would be fine in the morning. Naïve, he turned on his side and closed his eyes to sleep while Narcissa lay very much awake.