Tears Of Gold

by Lili Evans dotcom

All I wanted was freedom. My greatest fear; a cage however glistening the bars of gold. I was so sure, but really, I was so wrong. It wasn't the silken chains I feared. It was the man I would willingly accept them for.

5. Chapter 5

Hey there! Wow, it seems ages since I actually updated this story, which probably explains the length of the chapter. I love writing about Narcissa and Lucius, I must admit, but one does need to be in certain frame of mind to do it lol. Either stressed or irritated or a little bit resentful. Because it's not really a NICE story. It's a love story don't get me wrong but not your usual slushy, sweet romantic love. It's cruel and gritty and will be, I suspect a very high M rating in some places, for lots of nastiness, language and both mental and physical pain. It's my bad story, and I admit to sometimes wondering how twisted an author really has to be to imagine such a thing but… it does have a happy ending.

In this chapter we've skipped forward to September the first, the first day of school, the day when the story really STARTS lol. We'll be meeting many of the important secondary characters for the first time and of course Narcissa will finally meet Lucius himself. Bu(t not the REAL Lucius…at least not exactly. ;) I'm being all mysterious again sigh.. Pfff anyway

I hope you enjoy, and please as always, R&R =)

Lili

X x x x x x x x x

---

Tears of Gold: Chapter 5

Lucius's fingers stop their caresses, pausing on the white of my arm in confusion as my thoughts are obviously elsewhere. My back is to him for once, the sheets thrown off after hours of love-making and the moon illuminates the curve of my shoulder, my waist and hip with a silver glow. But it is his beautiful body that shines fully in her light, just as his shadow covers most of my slim frame. Even lost as I am in our past, the present still makes me smiles in it's irony.

His voice is deep, sensual but the curiosity is there beneath the seeming unconcern.

Where are you Narcissa… He whispers it softly, not to me but to the moonlight. Then he pauses. When are you…? He

already knows, already hates, and the tell-tale shiver runs through my entire body. It is answer enough.

His hand falls away and our bed creeks as he puts as much distance between us as it will allow. But the gap cannot cut our bond. The resentment, and the guilt that in reality it serves to hide, I feel it as strongly as he feels my pain.

The thought of that sacrifice he never had to make, it reminds me why our loves endures and I turn and close the wide gulf between us. He does not react, not even when I rest my head on his broad shoulder and my hand against his heart. The past can never be forgotten nor forgiven, only put aside for another fiercer emotion, a need so powerful and binding that hate itself bowed before it.

I am yours. A whisper across his skin, one perhaps not loud enough to hear but of course he does. And the Dark Mark, the mark I detested so, twitches mockingly as his beautiful fingers clench. I tense, but although the naivety I possessed at the age of fifteen is long gone, the pride and stubbornness I was famous for will never fade. I do not let him go and three long moments later his hand relaxes, lifts and comes to tangles itself within the gold tresses of my hair.

For a while all is still, and I wonder if he sleeps. Then his voice murmurs across the silence, soft, almost bitter, mostly musing.

Mine, he lingers over the single syllable and pauses before continuing.

Fool; you are my everything.

My lips curl upwards. His eyes close and not too many minutes later the rise and fall of his muscled chest becomes both heavy and regular beneath my hand. Mine stay open, still lost in the memories we both hate and yet cannot escape.

Naïve. Merlin, yes I was that. So much so I almost laugh. Innocent as a babe and foolish enough to dream that I could stay one a little longer.

Naïve enough to ignore the consequences of the vow I had unknowingly made. The first of three; Three vows that would determine my life like the rudder of a ship, dictating it as much as my accursed beauty. The beauty that I alone, the Vain One, could never bring myself to admire.

Naïve enough to think that there was still hope, still a chance at the freedom I longed for so desperately.

That summer I was docile as a lamb, pleasing my father and even winning a reluctant approval from my Aunt. Only Bella knew me better, knew me well enough to mistrust this angelic front, and I think she worried for me even more. Worried at what foolishness my childish mind would concoct. In this she was not selfish; she knew the man I was to marry and feared, wisely as it turned out, for me.

But I was young and stubborn, and however many times she pressed me, I would not yield my plans to her. If I had… I sigh, and close my eyes with a rueful smile. With the word "if", we could move mountains.

Lucius shifts in his sleep, and without thinking my hand makes a soothing circle on his bare chest, lulling him to slumber once more. He will always have trouble sleeping; too many nightmares, too many of them true, but in my arms the worst are usually held at bay. And as his muscles relax once more, my mind wanders back to the day we truly met, face to face, name to name. A September the first much like this one. A beginning and an end.

The beginning of a lifetime.

The end of innocence.

---

At eight minutes to ten precisely, the party of the House of Black appeared in the very the frantic, screeching platform with a loud and certainly proud "CRACK".

The previous occupants of the space stumbled hurriedly backwards, skirting away uneasily from the straight-backed and upright forms. Wealth and distain practically oozed off the entire group, from the way they refrained from smoothing down their ruffled robes with immaculate fingers with identical expressions of boredom, to the haughty flick of the Matriarch's gold-etched wand that instantly set the disorder to rights.

More gold hung in chains and lumps around this imposing creature's neck and weighed down her noticeably large hands. Jewels were stuck like doorknobs on each knobbly finger, chosen obviously for their size and cost rather than any aesthetic value. It was surprising the old hag could even walk with so much dead weight dragging her down.

Their arrival caused a stir; the party were completely aware of it and ignored it if anything as their due. The gazes of three out of its five members swept the masses with a faces that varied from weary resignation to outright disgust. The two that refrained were too stunned to be mindful of their status. Instead they gazed about them with wide-eyed curiosity and just a hint of fear.

On the boy's pretty face this white anxiety did not seem much out of place. His small size and chubbiness of youth proclaimed to all of the many curious observers that he was evidently a first year. The matching expression on the girl's lovely features though, was rather odd. From the glances that slipped her way it did not seem that anyone was foolish enough to imagine this ripe young bud with her mouth-watering hourglass figure, a day younger than fifteen.

Narcissa stared and stared until she felt her eyes could take in no more. There were so many people, all bustling and pushing and laughing and even crying; it was bewildering all this show of emotions. In Paris one was more reticent. She supposed that this was partly due to one of the key differences between Hogwarts and Beauxbatons; whilst in France it was considered normal for students to portkey home at least one weekend of every month, Hogwarts students returned only during the holidays. Perhaps a year away from home merited these emotional demonstrations.

Narcissa shot a swift uncertain glance at her Aunt's imposing form. Then again perhaps not.

As she gazed openly curious around at the many tearful and embracing families however, a surge of longing took her by surprise. Inferior they all surely were, but Narcissa found she would have given much of her wealth and heritage to have a father who ruffled her hair with the same affection, as one man nearby was doing. The mother kissed the girl a moment later, and the pain in her heart increased. Mother, Madame,…Narcissa controlled herself with an effort, shaking her head and turning her attention once more to the other members of her family.

Aunt Walburga was still staring about her with an expression of deepest revulsion, thin lips curling, eyes flashing dangerously over her blade of a nose. Her bosom swelled indignantly and she swept away to a slightly less busy corner of the platform, her figure quite rigid in disgust as one person or another accidentally brushed her magnificent ensemble of velvet and black lace.

The younger Blacks followed, Bella impatient but carefully controlled, Sirius sullen and casting glares of hatred at his mother's back, Regulus keeping as close to his brother as possible without giving away his proximity. Narcissa winced as the group came to a halt and the eleven year stumbled into the elder boy, earning himself a scowl. Regulus' eyes widened in hurt, for a moment Sirius looked a little guilty but as he searched for the unwilling words of reassurance, Walburga spun on her heel and faced the group of children. The moment was lost; Sirius' mouth snapped shut, his brows descending once more into a glare.

Narcissa watched them sadly, until Sirius' eyes flashed to hers, the colour of forget-me-nots, but at this moment darkened with hatred. She flinched and looked away, knowing the reason for his anger, his hurt. Aunt and Father had not wasted the two months; the four years of discipline she'd apparently missed had been drilled and burnt into her in readiness for her meeting with her…fiancé.

The familiar chill ran down her spine as Sirius' form writhing on the floor filled her mind, his screams, his agony. Merlin his screams… But Father hadn't even had to ask; she'd offered to do it. Stepping in and practically begging to wield the wand herself. Sirius had stared up at her that first time in disbelief and growing horror. So small, so helpless as he twitched pathetically from the after-effects on the hard pitiless stones. So hurt, shocked, disbelieving and finally betrayed, as the cousin he had always secretly admired stepped forward to demand the entertainment of giving him pain.

It had torn her apart inside, brought her to breaking-point. Only the memories of Bella doing the same for her stiffened her spine and her resolve. Let him hate her. He would understand some day. As Bella had. As she had. One day he would realise the difference between a crucio meant and a crucio forced. For now, he would simply loathe her as she deserved.

That ferocious glare scorched her face; she met it, her own expression blank and unfeeling. She could not give in to emotions today, not even guilt. It would crush her. Today she had to be strong.

As Walburga began her slow lecture about the comportment expected from a member of the House of Black, their superiority, everyone else's unworthiness, Narcissa 's fingers crept up to clench around the necklace.

Aunt Walburga speech was almost pitiful; they all knew it. The Black's disgrace was written in the faces of every person watching them, as it had been for the last two months. Pity, disgust, contempt, even vicious mockery. Families that had once grovelled for their friendship now smirked and watched their downfall with spiteful delight.

Walburga had forced them to attend the season as always, swallowing her pride and her shame as they were at best ignored, at worst publicly ridiculed. Narcissa and Bella had born the slights and the laughter, Narcissa because all the people were unknown to her and therefore she could brush off their contempt with a shrug and a cool smile; Bella because she fiercely refused to back down, instead revenging herself on the snooty young ladies by stealing away their cicisbeos with a single sultry look from under her black lashes. Narcissa had watched her in amusement and admiration, and the sour look on their fellow debutantes with mischievous enjoyment.

Everything had been new to her, the people, the parties, and the politics. The language too was strange to her tongue at her first; after her presentation, her social debut had taken place in France. To flirt demurely, charm and mingle in English was a first and though she took to it like a duck to water, often a word reused to come and she was forced to resort to the language where she felt more at home. Happily the idiosyncrasy was seen as appealing rather than a fault, and those young men who valued beauty over reputation had listened fascinated as she tripped over the lilting syllables.

But these were few in number, and none of them would for a moment dream of anything more than the lightest of flirtations. The Blacks were, ironically enough, well and truly black-balled. The daughters, however lush, vivacious and witty, would never be married to anyone of rank or good breeding. Narcissa heard the words whispered behind their backs by the haughty dowagers and spiteful young ladies, and many times she had burned to let slip the name of her secret fiancé, however much she might hate him.

The thought of Master Malfoy brought the militant sparkle back to her eyes and, still not listening to her Aunt's lengthy discourse, she cast her gaze around the crowd speculatively.

She had half expected him to have the courtesy of coming to meet her on the platform. That he had not was a insult but his rudeness made her plan all the more easier to put into action, a thought she focused on with relish. Hah! Master Malfoy would find that far from not disappointing him, his bride-to-be was the exact opposite of anything he desired. She might not be able to escape this marriage; she was determined that he would wish to be rid of it just as much as her! Mould her indeed! Hah! The Miss Black he would soon be called upon to meet would be so undesirable that he would be demanding an new bride within the hour.

On this decidedly satisfying thought, Narcissa finally tuned her attention back to the hag that was by now finishing her speech on a command to remember always that no one was of higher status than a Black. She caught Sirius rolling his eyes in blatant insubbordinance, and it pulled a bubble of laughter to her lips. Finally the Black brood were ushered towards the train with their trolleys of baggage and Narcissa felt once more the thrill of fear and anticipation creep up her spine.

They mounted it in silence, closing the door behind them, none of them bothering to wave at the witch on the platform. Narcissa looked around curiously, taking in the warmth, the bustling teenagers, the giggling girls and the sounds of baggage being shoved up onto metal racks with loud thunks and clangs.

A muttered curse word made her turn. Bella was whispering furiously in Sirius' ear, their jet black locks mingling as she leaned in close. The thirteen-year-old snarled back under his breath and jerked out of reach, snatching up the handle of his trunk. One last look of loathing and Sirius turned to stalk away, but Bella's fierce tone's cut after him, making him turn resentfully

"You'd better not be off to that group of misfits!" she growled. Sirius' eyes flashed.

"Crawl back to your snakes, Trixie! Oh I'm sorry," his lip curled mockingly, "They won't have you any more will they? Now that we're outcasts and dirt beneath their feet."

His teeth gleamed white and vicious. The dark-haired girl's cheeks flushed, the spark of fury setting her black eyes aflame. Regulus glanced anxiously between his two idols, his teeth chewing nervously on his lower lip.

"Sirius isn't sitting with us?" he asked worriedly. Narcissa tensed, Bella's glare almost knocked the younger boy of his feet and his brother eyed him with a mixture of impatience and regret.

"No Reg. I've got my own friends to find and they don't include slimy, prejudiced gits." The eleven-year-old looked as though he might cry. Sirius exhaled, obviously torn but he only said,

"If you want to stick by Bella, fine. Or you could…come…»

Regulus stared at him as though stricken, but the elder boy didn't meet his eyes, instead staring somewhere to his right, jaw clenched, waiting silently for a denial. Narcissa stayed silent, feeling out of place in this unspoken battle for power. Regulus looked from one to the other, searching desperately for some way to please both, but Bella only folded her arms and tapped her foot, Sirius said nothing. The seconds crept by and finally, just as Regulus opened his mouth to speak, Sirius rapped out sharply,

"Don't bother, sit with Trixie, I'll see you at the sorting."

His spun gracefully on his heel and stalked away pulling his trunk behind him and didn't look back. Narcissa glanced back at the boy he'd left in his wake, mouth hanging open, eyes round and stricken with hurt. She couldn't help it, she dropped to her knees and put her arm around him.

"He was…punished this morning," she whispered, "He'll come round and check on you later, I'm sure."

He clutched at her robes, eyes still staring in the direction his brother had left. Narcissa bit her lip and suddenly inspiration came. She stood up with a mischievous grin and said cheekily,

"Well Bella, you now have two completely lost first years on your hands. We await your orders, commander."

This sally took all three of them back to the days when they'd played soldiers and pirates in the garden as children. Bella visibly relaxed, the black flames dying out and she grinned back, her face alight with laughter and a glowing intensity.

"Fall in behind me men, we shall seek out a worthy compartment!"

They were too old for the games, both sisters could hear the strain in their voices, the forcedness of the laughter, but Regulus was young enough to miss these and other signs. He grinned happily, picking up his baggage and dragging it gamely after his cousins, protesting when the elder shook her black curls despairingly and waved her wand, so that the expensive black trunk hovered in the air and followed them as they walked.

---

It was some half an hour later, when all three Blacks were lounging in an otherwise empty compartment near the back of the train, that a loud bang of the door being thrown open, announced the arrival of a newcomer. A rather vapish giggle heralded her entrance, then a scornful word and as Narcissa looked up in some surprise, a black stiletto shoe breached the doorway, followed by its owner.

The girl was taller than her by a good three inches and built on Junoesque lines. Slim legs seemed to go on and on, topped by a short gray pleated skirt and an impossibly tiny waist. She was older than Narcissa, in fact she looked to be more Bella's age; when she glanced between her sister and this stranger she was sure of it.

Bella's face was carved into an expression of deepest loathing, her black eyes flickering dangerously beneath her lashes. The girl returned the look with a cold, contemptuous smile and tucked one generously highlighted lock behind her ear, graceful, demure and positively bursting with self-satisfaction.

"So here you are. Bellatrix Black, Lady of Slytherin House… reduced to hiding in the last carriage. How far the mighty have fallen….»

Narcissa swallowed as the look in Bella's face turned from dangerous to pure murder. Her sister full scarlet lips curved upwards into a wild, winning smile and her fear grew. She knew that look, that deadly sparkle, and wondered at this intruder's foolishness. The girl waited, her eyes cool and composed, a gentle caress hovering on her mouth. Bella ran a honey brown hand through her riot of black curls, and answered sweetly,

"Would you call it hiding? I believe it to be more a case of avoiding those of lower intellect, class and breeding. Alas it would seem we have failed."

The girl's nostrils flared, but the sketch of a smile remained painted on her lips.

"Trying to brazen it out, Bella? Brave. But I came to tell that you are expected with us in the Prefect carriage."

Narcissa glanced at her sister, who was now narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

"Why on earth would I be called to the Prefect's carriage, Crouch."

This Crouch, Narcissa recognised the name vaguely, allowed her face to light up in an expression of cold triumph.

"Because I, as the year's Head Girl, said so." she announced with slow relish, openly enjoying the look of stunned shock on her nemesis' face. Bella's jaw clenched, her voice trembling with temper as she spoke.

"That's impossible, Dumbledore would never appoint TWO Slytherin Heads! What game are you playing Crouch! Answer me!"

She had jumped to her feet. Narcissa's eyes widened as the black twisted wand she knew so well was out and pointed at the other girl's face in a blink. The face partly obscured by those thick curls was white and tense, her square jaw clenched so tight her full red lips trembled. Obsidian eyes glowed with a furious rage but Crouch didn't flinch, she merely smiled and said softly.

"Do it Black. I dare you."

Bella's fingers were holding the wand so hard they were almost vibrating, she could see it from where she sat. Narcissa held her breath, watching as the pair stood still and rigid and facing each other. The tension in the air crackled like lightening, hummed like electricity. Narcissa glanced at Regulus' frightened face and finally could stand it no longer.

"Bella."

Just a whisper, but it was enough to bring her sister's head flashing round, eyes wide and wild as her hair. She held that smouldering gaze quietly, and finally, Bella gave a huge shudder, just the one and lowered her wand.

"We will have this out Crouch." she promised, staring into the girl's light blue eyes. Crouch delicately folded her hands together and raised her brows as though pained.

"I truly hope not; violence in the corridors is unacceptable from the newest Slytherin Prefect." she said reproachfully. Bella snarled.

"What load of crap is this now?" her face was turning red now, her breast swelling as her impatience grew. Crouch's pale brow creased a little as for the first time she looked irritated.

"Believe me, I'm as stumped as you are, Black. You to replace me as prefect? But that's what our memo from McGonagall said so…" she forced the calm smile back onto her face, "Move!"

For a moment it looked like Bella would bare her grinding teeth and tear out the other girl's throat. Then with supreme effort she controlled her anger and turned back to Regulus an Narcissa with an apologetic shrug.

"I'll come and find you as soon as this mess is sorted out." she tossed her curls and shot Crouch a poisonous glare.

"You're in my way…" the growl was menacing enough to send chills down the spine. Despite herself Crouch's smile flickered and she sniffed before turning smoothly on her heel and striding out of the carriage. Just before her sister did the same, Narcissa called after her, smiling slightly,

"Don't kill her, Bella."

Bellatrix Black stared at her sister for a long moment, and then suddenly, without warning, the murder died out of her face and she threw back her head and laughed somewhat manically. One dark eye closed in a wink, the other sparkled.

"Don't worry your pretty head Cissy; I won't." she paused, and her pointed tongue slipped out to wet that evil smile.

"Worry about it…"

Before Narcissa could even sigh, she was gone.

---

The train ride passed slowly and dully, with most of the long minutes spent re-reading through her school books and throwing out a funny comment as a distraction to Regulus every time his face turned a little too pale. Narcissa understood his fear. It had been made painfully clear to her during her two-month stay at Black Manor, that only one House was acceptable for a member of that most noble of families. Sirius' defection into Gryffindor had brought upon them the deepest of shames. Only one crime was more terrible and her sister had committed it barely a month before.

Regulus was now the son upon whom all hopes were placed and the expectations weighed him down like one of his mother's gold collars round his neck. The longing for his elder's approval and friendship could not overcome the terror of his disappointing his family and therefore he sat both miserable and scared. Depressed at the thought of being sorted into Slytherin and yet petrified of the opposite. Narcissa did her best to turn mind to happier thoughts, teasing him about his small, very fat owl, dubbed rather aptly Scoffer by Sirius. No one was surprised when Regulus kept the name.

It was about two hours after Bella had left that a knock on the door made both Blacks turn curiously. The brand-spanking new example of "Hogwarts; A History" they were both pouring over, slipped onto the cushions forgotten. After a slight pause, the compartment door opened to reveal a small, sandy-haired boy with very round blue eyes that stared at the other boy and girl with disconcerting focus.

Black progeny were taught from birth to regard themselves as higher beings, exempt from common rulings that they themselves naturally condemned in lesser mortals. They stared back unashamedly.

The new-comer's head suddenly twitched, darting back and forth with jerky movements but the object of his search obviously wasn't there. He made to leave as silently as he had entered but Narcissa, seeing the boy was too small to be anything but a first year, perceived the work of providence and sent him a warm, welcoming smile,

"Hello, are you looking for someone?"

The boy looked startled at being addressed in a friendly manner by this very pretty older girl but he managed to stammer out,

"M…my cousin." he squared his shoulders with a flash of defiance, " They said she was down her and she was supposed to look after me." he finished glumly. Narcissa glanced at Regulus and then waved her hand for the boy to come in which he did with the wary look of one walking into a trap.

"Well this is MY cousin Regulus. Maybe if you told me your cousin's name, I could have a look for her? You're a first year right?"

The boy nodded dumbly and Regulus suddenly piped up,

"Me too. Do YOU know anybody starting?

Narcissa smiled knowingly and looked at the other boy who shook his head.

"I know my cousin," he offered, rather unnecessarily, " She's Eris Crouch. She's Head girl this year." It was said with a hopeful smile and a certain amount of family pride. Regulus returned the smile and leaned forward eagerly.

"I'm Regulus Black! That's means you're a Crouch too right? My mother says Mr Crouch is going to be the next Minister for Magic."

"He's my Dad," the boy nodded, " And my uncle's the Head of the Auror department, but I don't see them much." he added a little dully.

Regulus indicated the seat opposite him and the boy sat down without hesitation.

"I don't see my Father much either and when I do…" he trailed off, his face suddenly tense, but rallied with enthusiasm

a moment later, "What's YOUR name?"

"Bartemius Basilius Crouch, son of Bartemius, but my mother calls me Barty."

He said it with a challenging look as though expecting his new acquaintance to ridicule his obvious attachment to his mother but Regulus grinned happily.

"I'll call you Barty then! I hope you'll end up in Slytherin too"

Barty nodded eagerly.

"My Dad says Slytherins the best House!"

"Mine too! ALL my family have been in Slytherin! Well, except my brother…"

Regulus was silent and Barty looked at him sympathetically.

" I don't HAVE a brother," he confided, "I wish I did though. Eris is ok, I suppose but she doesn't like NORMAL things. She goes on about her hair and her studies and GIRLY stuff…" he broke off suddenly staring at Narcissa in horror.

"I…I'm sorry! I didn't mean..!"

But Narcissa was laughing, her golden waves of hair falling into her eyes so that she had to push them back and tuck them into submission behind her ear. Her eyes twinkled mischievously. She stood up, flicked her wand so that her trunk trembled and rose into the air and stepped towards the compartment door.

"Bien, I can tell when I'm not wanted! I shall leave you to your criticism of girls in general."

Both boys launched into protests and apologies. Narcissa shook her head at the onslaught, and held out her hands playfully for them to stop.

"I'm joking!" she laughed, rolling her eyes affectionately, "We have to change into our robes remember and family or not, you're a little too young for such a spectacle. I'll find another compartment to change and leave you guys to it."

Regulus pouted and Barty looked nothing less than devastated at the departure of his new goddess but another pretty smile shot over her shoulder from the door made them sigh and nod obediently. The two boys turned away and a moment later had launched into a vigorous debate over the opposing merits of the Wimborne Wasps and the Falmouth Falcons.

Narcissa sighed over the predictability of men of whatever age and quietly drew the door behind her.

---

The compartment they had occupied was the very last of the last carriage. Narcissa decided that the logical course of action was to simply retrace their steps checking each compartment she passed. The first two were occupied by boys, one group who looked to be her own age and the other maybe a year or two younger. She hurried by both, spurred on by the easily recognisable looks of interest she picked out on each of their faces.

Admiration was something she was used to of course; Narcissa was no fool and only a fool could be unaware of her attractions and the effect they had on the opposite sex, but if anything such slavishly worshipping looks always made her feel irritated and slightly disappointed. Bella revelled in them, but then Bella was a glorious brunette, free of the stigma of being blond and therefore stupid. Plus her hexes were as well-known as her famous curves. The fact that Narcissa's were almost as good invariably went unnoticed; the curse of golden curls and big, innocent looking blue eyes.

The third compartment looked to be empty. Narcissa pressed her nose to the glass and peered through but the other side of the window was obviously filthy, so that even wiping her hand over the surface did little to improve her limited vision. She hesitated, unwilling to barged into an occupied compartment but on the other hand remembering the difficulty they had had finding an empty one in the first place. So with one last doubtful look up and down the carriage, she tentatively knocked on the grubby glass.

There was no answer. Narcissa shrugged and pulled the door open.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!"

Narcissa stumbled backwards with a gasp, her hand instinctively coming up to cover her eyes. The girl who had let out the deafening screech shot daggers at her whilst her folded arms did little to obscure her bare chest from view.

Between her widely spread legs two obviously male knees could be seen and the position of the thin elegant hands that had just slid out from under her school skirt did not leave much to the imagination. The boy on whose lap she was still precariously perched had hissed in protest at the not-so-dulcet tones of his companion and was now sighing as she burbled out some rant about remembering to lock the compartment door.

"And YOU!" pretty brown eyes shot Narcissa a look of deepest outrage. "How DARE you come barging in like that you little bitch! Probably peeping in at the window too! Eying up my Evan! I'll tear out your hair you…you…MUGGLE!"

"Violet," a light, musical voice escaped from behind the girl's voluptuous form and Narcissa blinked in disbelief. "Much as I usually enjoy hearing my lovers scream, you are offending my eardrums with your caterwauling."

The words positively dripped with honey and rosewater and left their auditors in little doubt of the speaker's amusement. A smile crept to Narcissa's lips, earning her another glare from "Violet" who jumped off her male-friend's lap with another over-played gasp of outrage.

"EVAN ROSIER you are the most horrible, meanest, STUPIDEST…!"

"And you Violet are utterly delicious and even your presence tempts me unbearably, but you would not have me backward in any respect due to my relative would you not?" the target of her rant replied in tones of deepest reproach.

Violet's mouth opened and shut in comical shock. The youth smiled a smile of great sweetness. He rose to his feet and brought her fingers to his lips, kissing them lingeringly one by one, wholly unperturbed by Narcissa's presence. Violet flushed rosily and visibly clutched at the wall for support. The smile gleamed wider and more dashing still, each white tooth as bright as a star.

The Casanova turned towards the doorway and bowed with wonderful grace.

"Well-met ma chérie. Vous êtes encore plus ravissante; je ne l'aurais pas cru possible."

The French flowed fluently, and Narcissa swept her skirts aside and curtsied with theatrical reverence and a feigned blush. She lifted her head and threw her most mischievous grin up into that familiar face, a face that bore a marked similarity to her own.

"And you Evan, are still nothing if not shameless!"

The brunette, Violet, looked suspiciously from one to the other before demanding shrilly,

"Who IS she Evan? Tell her to go away!"

"I am devastated to have to disoblige you my lovely, but I cannot dismiss this particular young lady so," Violet's face was turning quite coincidently purple but he continued with an apologetic shrug and a lurking, provocative twinkle.

"She is after all, my cousin."

Violet Parkinson attained precisely the colour her name suggested.

---

A few minutes and a lot of screaming later, the girl named Violet had stormed out of the compartment, fully dressed and in high dudgeon. Her stomps could be heard echoing own the carriage long after the door had closed behind her but finally the two cousins were alone. Evan, with his infallible courtesy took Narcissa's hand and led her to a seat. He himself remained standing and two pairs of deep blue eyes stared at each other for a long moment.

"So," he murmured, head tilting to the side, "I suppose the first question is, how are you coping cousin?"

Narcissa sat with her back very straight and upright, looking up at him thoughtfully, taking in how much he had changed in the twelve months since she'd last seen him

Evan Rosier was less than two years her senior and they were not quite as closely related as the familiar terms on which they stood would seem to indicate. He was in fact her second cousin once removed; her mother being before marriage the only daughter of the late Adam Serenius Rosier, who had been also Evan's paternal Great-Uncle. Now Evan was the heir to the Rosier line and to the very respectable fortune his father and grandfather had assembled during the years.

His other inheritance was more visual but no less valuable and Narcissa noted the effects as appreciatively as always. Evan had received the Rosier good-looks in full measure with clear almost translucent skin that never seemed to blemish, a patrician nose and clean lines. Golden locks caressed a wide brow and if his features were thought to be little delicate, almost feminine, no one could deny his enviable charm. He was of no more than medium height but his frame, though slim had the supple elegance of a rapier.

Eyes of the famous Rosier blue sparkled with fun and mischief, his smile came so easily it seemed welded to his lips, but anyone thinking that his pretty blond head held a foolish mind would be much mistaken. He used his charm to its highest effect and could smile affectionately at his worst enemy.

His moods ebbed and flowed as easily as the tides and if in general he seemed to bathe in the glow that emanated from his sunny disposition, there was a shadow behind the gaiety that hinted at unpalatable secrets. But he minced through life in clothes of the most exquisite taste, flirted with a skill and joy only rivalled by his real indifference and was famous for always carrying a single pink rose in his hand.

As if he had read her mind, those long pianist's fingers shimmied in the air and drew out of nothing a perfect bloom. It was a famous gesture; a piece of wandless magic that had been passed on through generations after generation of Rosiers. Narcissa regretted never having asked her mother for it.

Evan carried the flower to his nose and sniffed delicately, so that his long lashes caressed his cheeks.

"Ahhhh…would a rose by any other name smell as sweet? I do believe not." Narcissa coughed to hide her amusement, unimpressed by the famous quote. Evan's lids shot open and his eyes surveyed her with the keenness of a sword over the perfect, pink petals

"But first I suppose I must offer my felicitations." he said softly.

Narcissa stiffened immediately and eyed the older boy warily,

"How do you know about that?"

His laughter was frank and disarming; despite herself, despite knowing full well that it was perfectly designed, Narcissa felt her lips tugging into an answering smile.

"But my dear cousin, your prospective bridegroom can talk of nothing else." the amusement was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving his face oddly grave. " He is…enthusiastic. »

"You know him? My…" she blushed slightly, "My fiancé."

She lifted her chin as she said the words, a militant sparkle in her eye. Narcissa Evangeline Black did not flush like a silly miss, nor would she quail in face of her fate. She held his gaze, challenging him to mock her obvious curiosity but he did not. Instead Evan simply stared down at her, that strange expression still on his face. Finally he seemed to make up his mind and replied with careful restraint,

"I do. Unfortunately. Which puts me in a…difficult position."

"How so?"

Rosier hesitated, twirling the rose stem between his fingers, his blue eyes fixed on the pink beauty.

"Are you aware that my Father has cut off all ties to your family?" he asked finally, instead of answering her question. Narcissa flushed again, her fists clenching in the folds of her dress.

"I am." she said stiffly. No point in denying the inevitable.

Evan did not answer immediately, but continued to stare pensively into the heart of the flower. Eventually he said with that same abstract train of thought,

"By rights, you are no longer in a position to call me cousin.", he mused.

Narcissa's face was tense and oddly pale.

"If you remember Evan, it was you who hailed me so. And I have not returned the favour. Do you mean to "cut" me?»

She spoke pleasantly as though only politely interested. Rosier lifted his gaze finally and surveyed her with something akin to approval. His ready smile skated across his lips, as she waited with great calm and dignity. Then, suddenly, his seriousness vanished as quickly as it had come.

"Never! My dear Cousin! How many times have I professed my adoration, placed my heart at your feet? You wound me with these accusations, I protest!"

Shocked reproach slipped seamlessly into an beauteous smile. He beamed with the unrestrained excitement of a child at Christmas, and Narcissa blinked at the lightening change. He skipped towards her, pulled her from her seat and twirled her around the room before coming to a halt and bringing both her hands to his lips.

"You are a flower, ma cherie, and more than that, you are a Rosier. If at any time it may somehow aide you to remind the world of that fact, by all means do so. I will continue to call you my blood, both you and your sister. However…"

His head was still bowed over her fingers, but he sent another serious look from under his lashes and Narcissa felt a chill trail down her spine.

"You will have no need of it, Narcissa. Against the world; your protection is in your betrothal; my name is nothing compared to it." he hesitated just a moment. "And against your betrothed… I can not…will not stand with you."

He said it simply, neither apologetic nor proud. It was true and that was it. Narcissa swallowed and nodded her understanding. Evan straightened up slowly and looked her deeply in the eye.

"Are you strong Narcissa?"

Blue burned into blue. Golden curls bounced light back and forth off two matching heads. Narcissa kept her chin raised as proud as a queen and nodded.

"I am."

Just like that, the boyish glow suddenly spread over his face once more. He lifted her hand once more and pressed the knuckles to his lips adoringly.

"Excellent! Do you know, I do not believe I have ever met another woman in which wisdom met beauty met in such perfect harmony. Alas Lucius got to you first. The Court will be whispering before nightfall."

A frown creased her brow. She looked up at him curiously, ignoring the urge to return his apparent goodwill with a smile as bright and whole-hearted as his own. His head cocked to the side, mischief teasing his lips as he said with laughing reproach.

"The Court, dear cousin! Surely Bella has explained it to you?"

Narcissa shook her head, a stubborn look coming into her face.

"I was not interested in my new life." she admitted defensively, "I was happy in my old one."

As though a bird passing overhead had cast a shadow, his glowing, delicate features darkened in an instant.

"Your innocence is your greatest charm Narcissa and it renders you delightful," said Evan, slowly, « Do not keep it long. It is a luxury you can ill afford."

The mood was all at once heavy, not quite threatening but far from peaceful. Evan's face was carefully neutral but there was a look in his eyes that warned, yet so faintly that it was almost against their own will. An odd expression for him; neither sparkling with joie-de-vivre nor pouting with disappointment. It could not last long. As it was, a mere moment later the seventeen year old threw up his hands self-mockingly, his blond curls shaking, his light laughter bouncing of the wall.

"Ah! What am I saying? Ignore my babbling Narcissa! You at least know me too well to take my nonsense seriously." his eyes sparkled and teased, chasing away the tension and coaxing her to answering laughter. No girl could resist.

The train jolted slightly at that moment, throwing the pair off balance and knocking both trunks to the floor. Evan made a grab for them, gallantly choosing to save Narcissa's rather than his own. He pulled it upright once more with a sly grin.

"I hadn't even noticed, but you have yet to change Narcissa!" he pointed out. Narcissa's eyes lit up.

"I do indeed!" it was said with a sudden burst of excitement that Evan was taken rather aback. He eyed the younger girl through narrowed lids but Narcissa had realised her mistake and immediately forced her features into an expression of innocence. All wide eyes and guileless smile. Evan wasn't fooled for a moment. His face split into a grin.

"Ah! The excitement of the unknown! My dear cousin, you are about to don the Hogwarts School Uniform for the very first time! I must stay and witness the event!"

"Somehow Evan, I am sure that you have seen PLENTY of girls DONNING the Hogwarts Uniform," Narcissa retorted, "And many MORE removing it!"

"Narcissa!"

"Evan!"

"I am appalled at such lack of maidenly delicacy!" he declared gravely.

"You must be!" she nodded sympathetically, "Compared to the modest, polite young ladies you keep company with! A shameless HUSSY in fact. My poor cousin, how I must offend your sensibilities.»

He let out a shout of real delighted laughter and swooped forward to kiss her cheek.

"And not only mine, I am sure! My dear cousin, where did you learn such language?" he shook his head teasingly. Narcissa twinkled back.

"But from Bella of course, but would you believe who she told me taught them to her…?"

Evan succeeded in looking completely innocent and his wide curious expression brought an unladylike giggle to her lips. She caught it just in time and was trying desperately to calm herself when the evil git suddenly slapped his palm to his forehead in blinding enlightenment.

"But of course! From…" then he paused, thought for a moment then shook his head hopelessly.

"Nope, no idea."

It was too much. Narcissa tried valiantly to hold back the mirth but it slipped out and around her fingers in a terrible gurgle. She bit her lip so hard it nearly tore in two and Evan, spawn of Satan that he was simply looked on looking extremely satisfied with himself at having sent her into near hysterics. He tutted down at her and said reprovingly

"Really Narcissa do control yourself! ANYone would think that some extremely dashing, sexy seventh year had been saying naughty things to you."

"If only! Alas there seems to be none around." she retorted swiftly,

He scowled playfully at her giggles and then suddenly shot her a sly grin.

"Famous last words. You shall meet my fellow seventh years soon enough, ma cherie and then perhaps sing a different tune."

At once the cheerful atmosphere dropped too below freezing. Narcissa rounded on her cousin, all flashing eyes, white face and bared little teeth.

"He might be a Veela for all I care!" her dark blue eyes flashed like stormy skies, "It does not change the fact that I have no desire whatsoever to marry a rude, selfish little prince who decides that he will "BUY" me despite my being, as he so kindly puts it, "spoiled goods!" I suppose I should be grateful for his condescension in even making the attempt to "mould" me, but I tell you now Evan, I have no wish to be MOULDED by anyone, not even his highness, Master Malfoy!"

It was an impassioned speech and the speaker finished with a heaving bosom and clenched fists.

Evan regarded her with comical astonishment, blinking theatrically and edging away from her. It was meant good-naturedly and Narcissa could never storm for very long. She was more of a brooder than a tantrum sort of girl, the exact opposite to Bella. It was Andy who had taught her that revenge was a dish best served cold, that screaming and shouting served no purpose and that a clever young lady might achieve her aims much more satisfactorily. Her temper was parried by Evan's grin, his teasing gleam slipping under her guard too easily really. It was dangerous to allow oneself to be charmed, but Evan was her cousin and so she stilled the silent warning and sighed ruefully.

"And already he puts me in a temper. Sorry Evan, I've been snapping everybody's nose off ever since…"

He was already smiling at her gently.

"And I thought it was a personnel honour." it dragged a faint chuckle from her but she was still staring bleakly at the floor. He bent his knees till their eyes were level, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"You said you were strong Narcissa," he said quietly. It sparked some defiance in her. She lifted her chin stubbornly at him.

"I am!"

"Then prove it. And charm the Slytherin court as only you know how. No frowns…" he smoothed them away with one long finger, "…And no tears. I don't want that mischievous grin to leave your face until your safe behind the curtains of your four-poster bed. Be defiant and dazzling. Take the wind out of every girl's sails and make the boys' flush red with at the fantasies flitting through their minds. "

Her smile grew wider as he spoke, tugging her lips reluctantly upwards until his last order made her laugh out loud.

"And what of my fiancé? Do you have any advice on how to handle him?"

It was only meant to be playful banter, lightly spoken and with no real serious intent behind the words. But Evan Rosier was suddenly still. The pause was long and the silence heavy and Narcissa wondered what in her question could have brought that grave, almost detached look back into his face Finally he spoke, in a voice as empty as his glazed eyes.

"Only this cousin; In the grip of the storm, the wise willow bends.

Narcissa's brows lowered into a frown. Her lips parted to ask his meaning but Evan suddenly stood upright with a small shake of the head and marched towards the compartment door. With one elegant hand resting lightly on the frame, he paused half-turned, avoiding her puzzled gaze.

"And the proud oak doth break."

---

His exit left a silence, an emptiness in the stuffy compartment and Narcissa's face was troubled as she stared for some minutes at the door he'd closed softly behind him. Evan's figure still lingered in her minds eye, just like his words echoed in her mind. She mulled over the enigma that was her cousin like an intricate puzzle, a slight frown creasing her forehead.

Back and forth like a pendulum, Narcissa remembered he had always been so. Gaiety to utter seriousness in a single heartbeat. However fond of her cousin she sincerely was, some part of her was always wary of such a fickle, capricious nature. Evan Rosier would pick his course blindfolded and randomly with one finger, only to laugh with apparent astonishment when it lead him either to fortune or disaster. So it seemed at least. But Narcissa had long harboured suspicions that his light-hearted unconcern was in fact the very furthest from the truth.

She recalled the evening some three years ago now, when he had made his annual trip to France to win over and beguile their elderly and completely coincidently, extremely rich French relatives on the Rosier side, and she had had the pleasure of introducing him to her other family. Charis had, on meeting him, frowned thoughtfully and said

"That one is like the river : he flows and ambles and carves his own path as randomly as the stars, and yet when you look from above, each and every stream leads back to the sea."

Narcissa had wrinkled her nose questioningly, but Charis had said no more. It had been one of those strange still moments when she seemed to speak with a sudden wisdom, but which passed as quickly as it came. Not prophecy by any means; perhaps insight. But even then, when their friendship was still new and tentative, the stillness had trailed down her spine and into her memories.

So many months ago now. So many miles apart. Loneliness hit her like a slap; she resisted the urge to flinch and set her teeth fiercely. With a stubborn shake of her head that sent her curls flying, she turned on her heel and marched towards her trunk. There could only be at most an hour before the train came to a stop. She had no time to waste if her plan was to succeed.

Mischief crept back into that delicate little face, a ghost of an urchin grin teasing up her lips as she flicked her wand and the trunk sprang open.

"Let's see how blind love really is, Master Malfoy."

---

Evan Rosier stood outside the door, watching the pink rose twist back and forth between his deft fingertips. A flicker of relief just touched his expression before it was gone. Narcissa may or may not heed his warning. The warning that had slipped out undutifully before he could pull it back.

Perhaps she would remember it in the months to come. Perhaps she might think less badly off him.

Perhaps she would be crushed before then.

The expression on Evan's delicate features didn't change. She was a darling, but his loyalty belonged to someone nearer and far far dearer to him. If he regretted that Lucius' wrath had been turned upon her of all people, he would shed no tears.

Evan Rosier had never had much love to give. That which he possessed had been offered freely and forever to a young boy with silver hair and eyes that flashed with rage as he wielded spells no first year should know. His lids slipped closed but the image from all those years ago burned through them as did the acrid smell of blood, wet floor and human waste. Bile rose. His head swam but he regained control in an instant. The boy's pitiful, helpless screams echoed from far away. Evan Rosier was no longer that boy.

If Lucius wanted her, he, Evans, would hand her to him on a silver plate. And if he didn't…well then he would pray for her. No one but the gods could save her then.

---

The Great Hall bustled with life after two months of emptiness. The four House tables laughed and chatted and caught up on all the summer gossip while the ghosts soared back and forth, swooping down now and then to greet their favourites, enjoying the return of the castles soul.

Gryffindor could only be the loudest with boy's yelling across the table, girls tossing their heads with confident smiles, both sexes discussing Quidditch Trial's, pranks and parties. Four boy's in particular made more noise between them than any other table, well-known faces all of them though they couldn't be more than thirteen.

Ravenclaw sat to their right, poised and sedate, self-satisfied rather than confident, with books already littering the table and benches. Timetable's were compared left right and centre, essay's shown off with smug smiles and witty repartee flew back and forth from friends and enemies alike. Beside them Hufflepuffs enjoyed the simple pleasure of life, the return of old friends, the prospect of delicious food, new knowledge to acquire and to challenges to confront. Quieter and sweeter then the other tables, nevertheless it seemed to glow with a friendly warmth and happy laughter.

Each house possessed their own distinct personality but that of the last table differed from the other three far more. The members that graced the farthest side of the Great Hall were all remarkable for a certain elegance, a comparatively calm, almost sedate demeanour and a look in each and every eye that said this cool attitude was nothing but a façade to achieve their own ends.

However causally they seemed placed a long-time observer would notice eventually that every boy or girl was allotted a particular band of the table, inside of which they could move about freely from day to day, but never straying either higher up or further down. The further up one sat the higher one's rank, the most important of all occupying the seven seats at the end closest to the huge Entrance Hall doors, at the opposite end to the Teachers. And that the very head of the table was reserved solely for two student, one male, one female.

The emptiness of one of these prized seats, was a sign that waves were stirring beneath the Slytherins House's calm surface.

Younger students glanced up at the higher end of the table warily, trying to work out who was missing and why. It didn't take them very long, the absentee being on of the most conspicuous occupants of their House, however the knowledge of her identity only increased their fear. Most pureblood offspring could guess as to the reason of Bellatrix Black's absence from her usual place as Lady of the House. Still, social outcast or not, the raven-haired beauty was not one to bow down without a fight. This could only mean one thing, and no one looked forward to the prospect.

War.

The place of the Lady would not stay unoccupied for long. Already one of the six was eyeing the seat with a faint, satisfied smile, the only girl that sat there. Tall and slim, with long brown hair streaked with gold, and baby -blue eyes that missed nothing that went on around her.

The glint of gold on her ample chest was another weapon in her favour, declaring her albeit unexpectedly as Head Girl. This was another puzzle, especially in conjunction with conspicuous lack of an identical glint on the chest of the young man sitting almost opposite her. Everyone had sworn that the Head Boy would be… But Dumbledore would never appoint two Slytherin Heads, surely… So then who…? And more importantly…WHY?

As though in answer to that very thought spinning in every Slytherin's mind, the lips of the young man in question curled upwards into the faintest of smirks. Singularly appealing lips, as any female observer would have noticed, unusually full and palest pink. A thick mane of startlingly white blond hair cascaded over his shoulders and together, the overall first impression was almost feminine.

Only when the young man lifted his head, was this impression swiftly dispersed. Shot instantly to pieces by one look from a pair of eyes the colour of polished steel. Keen and piercing as a hawk only colder and the faint gleam of malice and mockery was enough to bring up lump of fear to the throat of any foolish enough to cross his gaze.

Such eyes, combined with a proud, straight nose, a strong chin and impossibly chiselled bone-structure, saved such a lovely face from delicacy. Instead the effect created was one of an archangel, pale and silver-clad, both merciless and dazzling. Even amidst the seven, all remarkable for the typical pureblood good-looks, he cast the others into the shade.

An outside observer would be unlikely to single this particular seventh year out for any other reason. He was beautiful to be sure, the most beautiful in fact of all the students wearing the traditional green and silver. But very little else could have hinted at just how very important this youth was. Only a certain tension in the air around him perhaps, a way that every student seemed at every moment aware of him. Watching him at all times for the slightest change in his demeanour as though that change could signal something disastrous for any one of them.

Otherwise, only his seat at the very head of the table named this tall, elegant young man as Lord and Master of the Noble House of Slytherin.

Thus was the Slytherin Court laid out, a hierarchy of students each acutely aware of his or her own place in their ranks. It was judge and jury to those of its own house, and very few incidents ever went further. The judgement of the court and her Lord was final. Once made, no one would dare contest his decision.

To have a voice in the court one had to be over fourteen for females and twelve for males, unless invited by a member of the seven highest ranked. These places went invariably to seventh years, though some particularly powerful pureblood progeny might force his way into their ranks by cunning and skill. The Current Lord and Master of Slytherin House had accomplished this feat at an astonishing twelve years old.

In just over two years later, at an unheard fourteen years of age, Lucius Abraxus Malfoy had claimed the supreme title

In the three years since he had ruled the Dungeons in general fairly and always mercilessly; they called him the iron fist in a silk glove. The metaphor was sufficiently apt to appeal to him and thus he had allowed it to remain in circulation. In the midst of the soft babble of the students, he caught the nickname on a few lips and each time in made him smirk slightly, raising his beautifully white hand in question as though to admire. It was not vanity, merely a subtle warning to those quick and cunning enough to notice it, that they were talking loud enough to be overheard, a dangerous thing in the Slytherin House.

Only one boy caught the gesture, and it was no surprise. However lacking the scrawny black-haired boy was physically, he made up for it with an intellect approaching the level of genius and a cunning almost equal to his own. Severus' cheeks had flushed slightly at the small reprimand and he sent a quick nod down the table. Only when the seventh year returned the faint movement after a pause, did the kid finally settle down once more.

Watching him, as he turned back to the newly-sorted first year who was avidly asking question after question, Lucius leant his head thoughtfully to the side. Yes, Severus was one to both foster and look out for. He would keep a closer eye on him this year. If memory served him correctly, the boy had an unhealthy infatuation with the Mudblood Gryffindor in his year. Now might perhaps be the time to wean him from that childish crush, harmless for the moment at least, but possibly distracting in the future. He had always made it clear that the boy was of interest to him and thus Severus had escaped the typical bullying that went on in the darkness of the Hogwarts Dungeons, a fact he was fully aware and grateful for. But it might a good time to take him a little more under his wing.

If he had the time amidst his…other… amusements.

Ahhhhh…. An evil light lit up the famous grey eyes that so often went with the Malfoy name. The anticipation was almost as delicious as the meal itself and Lucius felt the perverse desire to prolong the wait, the sweet throb of revenge pulsing the vein in his pale neck. Graceful as a cat he raked his keen gaze over the bunch of first years still waiting to be sorted, searching for one figure taller than the rest. Hips and bust too shapely to belong to an eleven year child, a head of guinea gold curls…

A faint curiosity as to how she would look in a Hogwarts uniform trailed disinterestedly across his mind but hatred was the principal emotion. He had not claimed her out of desire - his smirk turned contemptuous at the thought - the burning in his blood was a deep, all-consuming loathing that four years had failed to put to rest. No. Narcissa Black would learn what humiliating a Malfoy truly meant. Hopefully she would not crumble too easily, he mused, still scanning the huddling figures, wrapped in their cloaks and their hats drawn low against the cold drizzle outside. It would be a pity after having waited so long…Ahh!

Right at the back, one black figure had been bent forward, almost crouched down to merge into the mass of First years. When they stood up, it could be seen that his or her hat topped the rest by almost a full head.

Lucius' smirk was pure triumph.

The youth opposite him suddenly flashed him a shrewd glance before quickly following his gaze. Beneath a windswept fringe of glossy black bangs, the boy's intense blue eyes lit up.

"Ah HAH! I do believe our dear Lucius has spotted his fiancé."

The rest of the group paused in their conversations and turned in interest towards the tall figure now doing her best to blend in once more. Evan was now beaming cheerfully, leaning back on he bench, twirling the rose he held once more idly between his fingers. He wore his tie loose around his neck, and his seraphic smile and apollon curls made him look even more romantic than ever. Lucius nostrils pinched ever so slightly. If Rosier was not his cousin and his most loyal friend in the world…

But Rook was back to his typical mischief and Lucius rolled his eyes as his brother in all but blood continued wickedly,

"Finally, we'll get to see Luc's pretty little toy. He's been refusing to even rate her, selfish git." Augustus Rookwood flashed a grin showing very white even teeth,

"Maybe he's ashamed…", he wondered, eyes dancing with mischief.

Evan laughed, light and pure as a nightingale.

"Need I remind you that Narcissa is a Black," he paused to throw a devilish wink at a girl sitting a few rows down from them, and then continued, "And that her mother was Rosier?"

"And since when do you query my taste, Rook?" Lucius said with a smooth smile, his eyes never straying from the cloaked figure still waiting as the other first years, one by one, went up to be sorted.

Augustus threw up a hand immediately disclaiming,

"Not now, not ever, Luc." his mouth curved into a ridiculously licentious smile, and he waggled his dark brows, "I've never had any complaints. Which is why I'm curious to see the little virgin that's got you hot enough brave even the alter."

Lucius returned the smirk and rolled his eyes at his friend's shameless behaviour, inwardly wondering yet again whether he should let his truest friend know his real plans for the little virgin in question. But like all the times before he drew back, still selfish enough to wish to play with his toys alone. For the moment at least.

They shared a knowing look, recalling past conquests and comparisons of the female sex. The other boy ran his hand lazily through the dark mess of hair, tilting his head back just enough so that the light from the candles above them set of his handsome face to perfection. Students from all tables were stealing glances at the group's backs and when the two most handsome boys present grinned those identical grins, it wasn't hard to see why.

Suddenly a cool female voice, broke their masculine complacency by saying serenely,

"Men…are pigs."

Eris Crouch continued to inspect her perfectly polished nails with an expression of pained disgust. Augustus, sitting next to her, leaned back with his hands behind his head and sent her a sly grin.

"I prefer to call it a healthy appreciation for the female body." he ran his eyes down her slim frame for emphasis.

Crouch sent him a withering look and flipped her thick, shiny hair over her shoulder, allowing her cool gaze to rest on the group of first years still huddling in fear before McGonagall and the hat in her hands.

"I'm sure you do." she deadpanned, before dropping one hand to the table with a faint look of petulance. Four pastel pink nails began to tap impatiently on the oak surface.

"For that dull little blond?" she finally sniffed "I suppose having seduced most of the girls in the school you must be getting desperate."

Augustus suddenly perked up in interest.

"You've seen her then?"

Eris raised her shoulders and let them fall delicately.

"Briefly. She had her nose in a book and obviously dyed hair. I was rather more occupied with the Black Banshee."

There was an uncomfortable silence at her words. Moments later, a slow, deep voice rippled dangerously across the table.

"Do we now insult our former Lady…?"

Suddenly everyone's eyes seemed to avoid looking at the one who had spoke. Eris became quite still, her gaze boring a hold in the table and the knuckles of the hand that had been resting upon it were now white. Rookwood's long fingers were tangling in his hair uneasily. Evan's attention was once more fully concentrated on the beautiful rose in his hand; with a curious flick of his wrist, he made the bloom appear…and disappear…appear…and disappear. Over and over again.

The last member of the seven, the only one to have so far not spoken, was along with his Lord, the only one capable it seemed of meeting the speaker's gaze. The reason for this was not difficult to guess: the similarity of their striking looks proclaimed them brothers instantly.

Both had skin the gold of polished mahogany, smooth and supple as silk over hard muscle. The younger was a shadow of the first. Shorter, lighter and quieter than all the others, with longish ebony hair and a beauty that promised to one day be as hard and cruel as his elder's. For now, youth softened the harsh square of his jaw and the prominent beak of a nose. He was the only fifth year amongst the seven and not wholly due to his lineage. Or his brother.

The elder was the one who had spoken, and it was evident in the way a hush seemed to fall upon the group, that his position within it was second only to one.

Rodolphus Lestrange seemed to come slowly out of his abstraction, lifting the smooth dome of his buzz-cut head and taking in every face with eyes as dark as bloodstone.

Eris bit her lip in annoyance, but the respect in her voice was absolute as she murmured,

"Bellatrix Black is no longer Lady here."

The youth turned, in a slow, roving motion that made the huge muscles in his chest and arms, ripple through his shirt. They strained through the cotton, only hinting at a build in reality bigger and beefier than a muggle weightlifter. On his feet, it could be seen that he stood at an impressive six foot four yet somehow the sheer breadth of his shoulders made him appear almost square. He was also as powerful magically as he was physically and the stories of his…darkness, were told by mean students to give first years nightmares. Horrible stories… Eris couldn't quite disguise a shiver nor her evident fear of the man seated opposite her and who was now burning a hole in her head, with those eyes she didn't dare meet.

He opened his mouth to answer her in that same, slow bass, only this time, for the first time, a smile gradually curled his mouth. It was the smile of a pure predator with blindingly white teeth and abnormally long canines. A smile more dangerous than the shark it resembled. Crouch shot a glance into his face and fought back the urge to swallow.

" Bellatrix…the very name means war." Lucius inspected his perfectly manicured fingers, "I am curious, I confess as to who would triumph but in this case the disgrace is too great. The Black's are no longer welcome among us. Neither shall we speak of those not fit to spoken of."

And thus was the Lord's decision, subtly and skilfully pleasing both parties, so that neither thought himself the loser. His voice was like liquid silver, soft and deceptively gentle but even Rodolphus Lestrange made no sign of discontent at being interrupted or commanded. The black, black eyes smouldered with dark yearnings and flickers of twisted humour but no resentment.

Of the group, the relationship between the pair was the both the most complex and the most simple. Lucius cast a lazy look over each of the three males that made up his closest entourage. All four had grown up together, been tutored together, duelled together and fought together. The bonds between them were tighter than most in this most self-interested of houses.

Evan's was loyalty, in its purest and simplest form, stemming from two things; a blood-tie and a dept. Rosier would follow him to hell and back again without even a word of protest and to a lesser extent Lucius would return the favour.

Rook however was his true best friend, a perfect match of humour and personalities and his brother in all but blood. Merlin he could spend days recounting even half their exploits together, illicit or otherwise. They had been partners in crime since birth and were closer than most Slytherins ever allowed themselves to become, especially without family ties. As though he'd read his thoughts, Rook leaned back, hands behind his head and sent him a handsome smirk. The smile that Lucius sent back was real and therefore rarer than gold-dust.

With Lestrange however, the dynamics were different. They were tied together by a shared lust for power and deep respect and understanding that the other could aide them in that quest. It was a relationship based on mutual benefit. Opposed, they were close enough a match to tear each other to pieces and perhaps destroys themselves in the process. Together, they had went unquestioned and unchallenged since the alliance was formally sealed in their third year.

If the Lestrange Line was older, one of the Seven no less, the Malfoy's had a political power that made one no less worthy than the other. Therefore a single duel had determined who would take the supreme title, with the loser taking a blood-oath to follow the victor's lead in what ever he did. The battle had been both bloody and disturbing, both fourteen years showing a knowledge of the Dark Arts that outmatched even most of the Seventh Years.

Perhaps Lestrange was in reality the one most to be trusted, Lucius found himself briefly pondering. They had a working relationship that had never once been jeopardized or even shaken by personnel matters. If one had need the other they were there; such was their contract. Plus the terrible truth each knew of the other, it was an assurance worth ten times the fragile bonds of companionship. Together they walked the shadows, odd really for one named "the bringer of Light".

Lucius pushed the vague thoughts of his associates out of his mind and allowed it to sink back with relief onto the subject of the cloaked figure who now stood alone before the Hogwarts Student Body. All the other first years had been sorted. McGonagall had no need of her list to call out sharply,

"Narcissa Black."

Every head turned. The figure stepped up to the dais and the chair but when she made to walk past the Deputy Headmistress, the stern looking woman tutted and pointed out,

"Your cloak, Miss Black, really."

The figure seemed to still and then shiver ever so slightly. Was it nerves? Fear? Lucius' tongue slipped out unconsciously to wet his pale pink lips. He hoped not. There could be very little fun to be had from a wimp whose knees knock just from trying on a hat. Surely the girl he had danced with in Paris had had more spine, more stubbornness too for that matter. She had shrunk from a tall, dark stranger, she'd been aroused instead, flushed and…

Lucius laughed lightly at his own musings. Naïve! That was what the bitch had been. Falling into his trap like as foolishly and helplessly as a kitten. He'd had her melting in his arms with the merest whisper in her ear, pathetic little idiot that she was. As she would again…

Before he crushed her in his palm as slowly as a ripe fruit.

Rook sent him a sly wink, sensing his impatience. Lucius simply smirked. Let Rook think what he wanted; if their bonds were as tight as he believed they might be, his brother would guess the truth before the week was out.

Up before the murmuring crowd, his fiancé turned and lifted her hands to the ties of the hood of her cloak and Lucius' smile turned cold as steel. In one swift movement the cloak dropped to the floor and she bared her head, her face and her body. Hogwarts itself sat in silence, absolutely stunned.

Then Violet Parkinson's voice broke out, shrill and mocking.

"Merlin she's HIDEOUS!"

Pandemonium broke out, none more so that across the Slytherin Table. The Seven students at it's head simply stared as though transfixed by the girl who was now dumping a decidedly round frame onto the stool that suddenly looked three sizes too small for it. She was now beaming round the Great Hall, displaying rabbit-like teeth, a drunken nose and a splattering of acne that spread from brow to chin. Her eyes were almost completely obscured behind three-inch thick glasses, but what was clear was the emotion that shone from her unprepossessing features.

Triumph.

As the thought registered, Lucius suddenly smiled his most angelic, lilting smile.

Around him, Rook, Rabastian and Eris were still goggling, their mouths hanging unattractively open as Professor McGonagall recovered from her slight shock and dropped the sorting Head onto the girl's mousy birds-nest of hair. Their gazes flicked back and forth from what could only be the ugliest daughter ever born to the House of Black, and her fiancé now sitting back in his chair with such a look of satisfaction gleaming in his hard eyes that they didn't know what to make of it.

After a few moments, the hat's snide voice rang out, for some reason brimming with repressed laughter.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Narcissa Black jumped up from the stool and in doing so the thing fell over with a ringing clatter. The culprit gave an apologetic grin, scooped up her cloak and made her way towards the Slytherin Table so clumsily that half the students actually winced. Still beaming toothily she walked up to the very head as oblivious of every against eye upon her.

Down at the other end, Bellatrix Black clenched her fists so tight that her nails drew blood and fixed her blank gaze on the plate in front of her. The lovely face was quite pale, almost white, even her usually scarlet lips, as though every ounce of colour had been drained from it. She didn't watch her sister go, not even when the flutter of air as she passed caressed the back of her neck mockingly.

Fool.

Stupid, proud little fool.

Silently Bellatrix screamed, unable to watch Cissy poke the sleeping dragon in the eye as cheerfully as she did everything else in life. Fool. Merlin help you…

Fifty feet away, Narcissa approached the end of the table where Evan sat, his mobile face completely blank, surrounded by five other student who surely had be the other Seventh Years. A lump of nervousness stuck briefly in her throat, so that the deliberately gormless grin faltered ever so slightly. How would she recognise him, the thought suddenly struck her, and panic threatened to rise up and overpower her charade. Quickly she ran her eyes other each one; Evan, the pretty girl from the train, a black-haired youth with almost indigo eyes, a huge, intimidating young man who had to be related to the boy who looked far too young to be sitting there in the first place and then…

Her huge blue eyes came to a halt on the last boy sitting there, and unconsciously her lips parted in a fierce, inexplicable longing.

He was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

Abruptly her cheeks flushed pink, she fought down a swallow and suddenly she felt ridiculously shy. Only her deep-rooted pride kept her gaze locked with his steel grey one. Then before she could make the conscious conclusion, he glided smoothly to his feet and held out a graceful hand.

"Miss Narcissa Evangeline Black…."

Dear Merlin no, surely…. he couldn't…

"Lucius Abraxus Malfoy…"

Dazedly she realised her fingers had slipped to his and that he was raising them to his lips with an impossible grace that seemed to set alarm bells ringing in her head. She made them no heed, lost in a pair of eyes the colour of purest silver. They never left hers as he pressed his mouth…Merlin, his mouth…to her hand and the moment his skin touched hers a rush of heat flooded up her arm and into her face. Maybe he felt it. Surely he couldn't have not.

Vaguely Narcissa wondered at the colour of his hair, white blond and gleaming as it fell over his face in the floating candle-light. It seemed strangely familiar too…where…?

Then he smiled, slow and seductive and yet pure innocence. The smile of an angel…

"Now…and forever…at your service."

The words lingered on the air, caressed her senses and her soul. Something in his face was calling out to her and in a moment of madness, almost she answered his siren song.

Then a sharp jab of pain, assaulted her mind, clearing it of the strange feelings. In a rush of something between exhilaration and fear, Narcissa shook herself fiercely, sending a mental thanks towards her sisters strangely silent mind. She pushed the puzzle away, Merlin knew she had to keep her wits about her…already she had almost… NO, she Narcissa Black would Not give him that satisfaction,…no matter how unfairly beautiful he might be..

Fixing the crass grin back onto her face, she replied in a voice that was deliberately too loud, too gushing and definitely too shrill

"OOOOOOHHHH I can't believe it! We're actually getting MARRIED!"

The girl from the train, Crouch Narcissa thought, wrinkled her nose in deep distaste. The male Seventh years simply looked too stunned to speak, expect maybe the dark, dangerous looking one. Bloodstone eyes locked with hers only for an instant, but the shiver of fear instantly made her glance away. But almost every other student looked downright appalled, just as she had been hoping for!

"Tee heee heeeeee!" she added an airhead giggle for effect. It worked beautifully.

Inwardly Narcissa whooped and cackled evilly, throwing an eager glance at her fiancé in hope for a similar look of horror. With luck he would be writing to his father tonight, she crowed, and this time it would be now fault of the Blacks that the wedding would be called off. The Malfoy's would have nothing! Certainly not a pretty little bride all ready and waiting to be MOULDED.

With a silent giggle, Narcissa plonked herself down into the empty seat, in a gesture that would have had her mother scolding her for a week. But to her surprise, Mister Malfoy was still smiling. Not quite the same smile, she thought consideringly, but a smile of complete and utter…it didn't seem possible, she frowned in sheer perplexion…satisfaction.

The look that she cast him was all at once suspicious but he simply stared at her as though she was everything he'd dreamed she would be and more. Was he quite sane, she found herself wondering impatiently, Had her glamour charms worn off without her noticing? She didn't think so, the girl opposite her was glaring to disgustedly for them not to be working.

With another brusque little shake of her head Narcissa made a mental resolution that by the end of tonight, she would have at least brought one look of annoyance to that stupidly perfect face. Said decision made, she turned to the rigid Head Girl and set about her task with relish.

---

Lucius said nothing, not one word the entire meal. Instead he watched the little bitch work, his lips curled into a smirk of appreciation. Only the gleam in his eye was not so kind. She would pay for this humiliation, of course. But it was a daring move and reassured him of what had been his chief concern.

She was not lying down and surrendering. And watching his prey struggle had always been his favourite part of the hunt. She did not know it yet, she thought there was still hope. White teeth flashed cruelly for a moment. He would allow her that illusion a little while longer. Just enough to let her taste the sweetness of battle, for the kitten to almost believe herself a tiger.

Then he would tear her down and into the gutter like the whore she was. After four years, he could wait a few days more. Revenge like the richest of wines, was best left to mature in the darkness.

Lucius sipped his pumpkin juice and reflected on the benefits of patience

---

Oooooff Finally done. This was a toughie mainly because, rather like Chapter 4 of AOA, this Chapter sets up almost all the other main characters and their roles in the story. Trying to walk that fine line between Too Much Information and not enough to have a clear idea of them. Anyway, I hope you like, and as always please Read&Review. It really does make my day.

First steps as I said is my next Chapter to be updated and I'll try to get that done as soon as possible ^^

Luv y'all lots!

Lili

X x x x x x x x