Though the hour was late, lights burned in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. Long, shadowy shapes could occasionally be seen moving past the windows with apparent purpose, but no sound drifted into the dark, sleeping grounds.

Inside the house was another matter. The barbed words of a man, voice raised in anger, and a woman, voice desperate and pleading, seemed to lash through every corner of the house. Their son would have found sleep impossible, but their son was not at home. That was why they were arguing.

"Would I rather be stuck in Azkaban, plagued by Dementors day and night? Is that what you're asking me, woman?" the man with the pale, pointed face and white-blond hair shouted. "Of course not! I am of more use here, regardless of my past errors, and the Dark Lord knows it. He saw fit to forgive me - to release me into his service once more. Why should I not be grateful?"

His wife's eyes were bloodshot from weeping, but dry now, and her voice was a screech of disbelief. "Grateful?! He took our child! Your son! How can you speak of gratitude when you know full well -?"

"All I know," he cut her off, "is that if I serve well and faithfully, the boy need not fear for his life. As I have every intention of doing so, I do not see why you cannot let the matter rest."

"You don't see anything!" Narcissa shrieked, stepping forward as if she meant to strike him, but not quite near enough to do so. "You watched what that animal did to him like it was nothing, but I saw. How can you stand by and allow them to treat your own flesh and blood - your heir - in that vile fashion?"

Lucius shrugged as if it were no matter to him. "It was the Dark Lord's price for my error."

"His price? Our son's honour pays for an error he made!"

Two strides brought him near enough, and he struck her hard across the face. She stepped back, shocked, and sank into one of the green velvet chairs, hand to her bleeding mouth.

"How dare you?" he hissed at her, gray eyes cold. "How dare you speak of the Dark Lord in such a way? His plan was perfect. His servants botched it, and I was responsible for the mission. It is only just that I am the one who should be punished."

Her lips were red with blood in her pale face, but she met his eyes, unflinching. "Then you can go and take your punishment from that animal, and send your son home where he belongs."

Lucius turned away and strode to an end table to pour himself a drink. "Why should I?" he said callously. "The boy is damaged goods now. A man can always get more sons."

"You know we can't," she said quietly.

He knew as well as she did that the danger of bearing a Squib was exponential in witches over forty years of age, and for a woman who had already borne one such child, there was little chance that their next would be anything else.

"We dare not. Not after -"

"I know." His gaze was coldly appraising. "You gave me a Squib once already. I should have killed you then along with it, and found myself a proper wife."

Ice water poured through her veins. "You wouldn't," she whispered. "You wouldn't dare. Surely the life-bond prevents -"

"Oh, I need not do it myself," he said with a smile like a blade. "Now that I am back in the Dark Lord's favour, I'm sure he would be only too happy to arrange a little 'accident' on my behalf. Then I would be free to get myself decent wife and more sons. There are plenty of young pure-blood women who might find me a suitable match, and new heirs are easy and pleasant to make. Perhaps the Dark Lord will reward my loyal service with the Parkinson girl."

Narcissa grasped at a single coherent thought amid the chaotic tumble of her reeling mind. "But - Pansy is promised to Draco! How can you even think -?"

"That is the thought which troubles you most in this?" Lucius laughed, sipping at his brandy. "I threaten to kill you and take another wife, and your concern is for the boy's right to a warm place to put his cock? Typical female weakness! Use your head, woman. She cannot very well wed your son now, can she? His blood has been compromised. No woman in her right mind would touch him."

"Do you mean to have us killed then?" she asked, fingers edging imperceptibly toward her wand pocket.

She did not know what would happen if she tried to kill the man with whom she had been life-bonded. If she could just stun him, maybe she could run, but then how could she rescue her son from his imprisonment? If she ran, Draco was as good as dead. Perhaps the Imperius Curse would be best.

She thanked god that she and her sisters had practiced Occlumency together as girls, and that her husband could not read her thoughts. He was gazing at her as if he were attempting to do so now.

"No," he said at last. "You are safe. For tonight, at least. There would be a scandal, I suppose, and the life-bond might prevent it, in any case. You'll stay for the boy's sake, no doubt. If anything were to happen to me, the Dark Lord would have no further use for him. Given his treatment of the boy thus far, I doubt he would be granted an easy death. No. Go to bed, woman. I am weary of the sound of your voice."

He turned away from her to pour himself another drink, and for a split second, she stared at his exposed neck, imagining what his blood would feel like pouring hot over her hands. She could do it. It would be easy. And if she died of it, too -

A sharp rap on the window made her jump, and she hurried to let the owl in, unconsciously wiping her hands on her robes. The message was for her husband. She dropped it, unread, next to the brandy decanter, and turned to go to her bed, as he had commanded.

Her foot had barely touched the bottom step when he said, "Get your cloak. We're wanted at headquarters."