Hermione sat on her bed, in the guest wing of Malfoy Manor, head in her hands. She had no tears anymore; she had cried as much as she was willing to over the last few days. She hadn't been able to go home, not for long at least. Draco had accompanied her to collect a bag of clothes, but she had made sure that Ron had not been home first. She hadn't, at the time, known what was worse; that Ron could have been there or that he clearly hadn't been home since the 'incident'.
She had been offered and—after some consideration—accepted Lucius' offer of staying in one of the many guest rooms of Malfoy Manor. Each day she woke up, was assisted by one of the elves to get ready, and met with Lucius to take breakfast. At first she hadn't been completely comfortable allowing the elf to dress her and so insisted on doing this herself, much to the elf's discomfort—he later appeared to have told on her, as Lucius brought it up at breakfast on the third day.
"I am not sure why you would not avail yourself of all the facilities here, during your stay." His tone had been light, but Hermione was sure there had been a slight teasing edge to his voice. "Knocky is there to help you, it's what he does. And he does it very well."
"Is he a free elf?" she had asked, pouring her own tea before Knocky could pick up the pot. The elf had stood back, wringing his hands a little, his large eyes swivelling between Hermione and Lucius.
"Are you free, Knocky?" Lucius hadn't looked at the elf as he spoke, concentrating on his full English, as if it was the focus of his world.
Knocky's eyes had widened even further and Hermione had been sure that they bugged out from his head. "Knocky is a proud elf and serves the Malfoy family! Knocky does not wish to be… free." This last had been whispered, almost like it was a dirty word.
"There you are," Lucius had declared, giving Knocky and the witch a bright smile, "young Knocky here is perfectly happy and would probably be much happier if you would consent to letting him do his job."
It had taken another couple of days before Hermione had finally relented, letting Knocky pick out her clothes and prepare them, even going so far as to draw her a bath at the end of the day. She was still not certain how she felt about the whole thing—still very conflicted mainly—but she had so much else to deal with, she couldn't spare too much thought on it, not right now.
Her most pressing concern, right now at least, wasn't house-elves, or Ron, or even her constant thoughts of revenge. It was Lucius bloody Malfoy and his subtle comments that disarmed her at every turn, cut through her armour and straight to her emotions. He was always polite, courteous, the perfect host. He was also, clearly, flirting with her!
At first she hadn't been certain, thought that maybe she had been imagining things, but as the days went on she became more certain of it; Lucius Malfoy was flirting and—Merlin save her—he was very good at it!
They spent at least half of each day together at the moment, just talking. Lucius seemed to enjoy her company and wit and she, Merlin help her, enjoyed spending time with him. There were gentle touches as they walked through his home, just to draw her attention to something, or to steer her in the right direction if she got turned around. Standing close to talk and leaning in to confide, even though they were alone. His eyes conveyed so many messages that Hermione felt her face heat noticeably whenever he looked at her. It was awful; she was a married woman still, no matter that she was more than likely going to be applying to the Wizengamot for a divorce as soon as she could, and Lucius Malfoy kept telling her how this was a terrible shame; how he couldn't believe Ron's straying; that it seemed impossible to consider that anyone would not be satisfied with a woman of her grace and beauty.
She had scoffed at first, even as her face flared like a beetroot. After a week of it… she started to feel something more than disbelief or embarrassment. Now, his looks started to evoke a fire inside her belly that warmed her, and her dreams started to be a lot more interesting, too. At some time between her arrival and now, Lucius had begun to use her given name, rather than Mrs Weasley, or pet, or my dear, or any other number of nicknames he had for her. He used her name on occasion and the sound of it, floating from his mouth, caressed by his tongue…
Shaking her head Hermione cleared these thoughts as she stood, ready to start her second week at the Manor. Today, she decided, she had wallowed in her sorrow enough. Ron was not worth her time or the salt in her tears. And she would have her revenge, soon. That would be her Christmas present to him this year. She would also deal with the issue of Lucius Malfoy later.
As she washed and dressed, she considered the sort of revenge she wanted. Something public, something messy. Her mind conjured broken and severed limbs and she dialled it back a little. She wanted to hurt him the way she had been hurt, but she didn't want to maim anyone, that wasn't who she was, not really.
She was quiet and withdrawn during breakfast, deep in thought, and it was a little while before she realised that Lucius had been trying to get her attention for a while. "Sorry Lucius," she apologised, "I was thinking."
"On something deep and heavy, if the creases in your forehead are anything to go by," the blond man said, with an indulgent smile. As Hermione rubbed her forehead he gave a slight laugh. "Do not be concerned, your skin is still smooth and wrinkle free; the forehead of a beautiful young woman. Something I'm sure your second husband will be telling you for years to come." He deftly skewered a piece of bacon and tomato and popped them into his mouth, his eyes never leaving hers.
Hermione felt her face heat as she tried to meet his eyes. They were so intense and fervent. So… predatory. She was convinced, more than ever, that Lucius Malfoy had designs upon her, ridiculous though that seemed to her. She was married, for the moment at least. She was, more importantly, a Mudblood. Lucius was still a proud wizard and his reputation remained a priority; he wouldn't sully his family's name by taking a mistress, who had dirty blood and was about to divorce in a very public way. She glanced into his eyes once more, noting that they still hadn't changed. Would he?
"How is Narcissa?" she asked suddenly, desperately needing to divert his attention from her, even if it upset him.
She felt awful the moment she spoke but the tall man didn't flinch or grimace or seem to get angry at all; his smile simply faded slightly and his eyes grew sad and haunted. Hermione mentally cursed herself for being so callous.
"Her mind is degenerating, as expected." His voice was quiet, stripped of emotion; simply stating the facts. "The Black family curse seems to be a reality, after all. It has rapidly taken away her sanity. Her mind has almost completely let go of reality and she is not expected to live past the end of the year. She has begun to refuse food and water now, thinking the staff at The Serenity Resort is out to get her."
"Lucius…" Hermione began, reaching out towards him, wishing she could pull her previous words back.
"She has not recognised me for many months." Knocky stepped up to Lucius' side, pouring his master a fresh cup of tea before stepping towards Hermione and doing the same. The witch was so caught in Lucius' emotions that she simply held out her cup to the elf, barely registering his happy smile as he got to serve.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up…"
Lucius reached out, his larger hand covering hers, fingers stroking across the back and a sad smile gracing his lips. The sensation pulled Hermione's breath from her lungs and the blond man was abruptly the only person in the world; he was the focus of her attention, his sorrowful eyes pulling at her heart and his touch sparking desires inside her that she had thought had been killed forever the moment she had opened that hotel room door.
"It is fine, Hermione. I have… accepted things are the way they are. The Wizengamot agreed to dissolve our marriage, in light of the circumstances and at my request. As of two months ago, Narcissa and I are no longer married."
His matter of fact tone dropped Hermione's jaw and she could only gape at the man for some moments. "You're going to just leave her where she is and let her die, alone? Lucius! How… how can you do that? She is… was… your wife!"
"I am fully cognizant of the consequences of my actions, Mrs Weasley." His voice turned cold and he withdrew his hand from hers, plucking his napkin from his lap and tossing it onto his plate. "The Serenity Resort is one of the best mental health facilities our world has to offer. They will make her as comfortable as they can until she dies." Lucius stood, his demeanour angry, and Hermione felt a cold lump in her stomach, hating herself for trying to judge his actions. "I have spent the last three years trying to remain a devoted husband to her, but she is no longer the Narcissa that I once loved. She has already gone to a better place. Someone worse than Bellatrix lives in that room now, and I want no part of her."
Hermione stammered for a moment, as Lucius walked away, before calling out, "Lucius… please, wait. I'm sorry." As Lucius paused, Hermione left the table, walking up to his side and holding onto his sleeve.
"There are many reasons for my actions, Hermione," he said, his voice quiet. "I am not a young man anymore and I need to look to my home. I only have one son and heir. One who carries the bloodline of the Black family. I am concerned for Draco, naturally, but I must also be prepared for the consequences, should he follow his mother and aunt. He is my only heir and I cannot beget another while I am tied to Narcissa. It is both an emotional and pragmatic decision I have made, though I am aware that it must seem callous to one on the outside."
Hermione shrugged slightly, her hand dropping from his sleeve to slip into his hand. She squeezed it slightly. "Only a little," she said with a small smile. As Lucius returned it, Hermione felt her heart skip a beat again. It stopped altogether when he faced her and gently tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear with a gentle finger. Her breath trembled at his touch and she found herself lost in his eyes for a moment.
"Now then, my dear," he said, his smile brightening, "what was it you were thinking about earlier, that had you so concerned?"
Draco had not been at the Manor much in the last few days. As the preparations for the Festive Quidditch match between Bulgaria and England kicked into high gear, the young man found himself busier and busier. Everyone needed him to sign off on things; agree to last minute changes; douse metaphorical fires. He found himself running around from the training grounds, to the hotel, to the venue. He barely knew which way was up anymore, he had been spun around by Apparition and Portkey so many times, just in the last couple of days.
He was startled by a knock at his door and he realised that he had been staring at the letter before him for the last ten minutes, without taking in a word. "Enter." He regretted letting them in immediately when he glanced up and saw who it was.
"Draco," the nervous looking red-head said, his hands clutched together and his eyes dark with lack of sleep.
"Weasley," Draco said, forcing politeness into his voice, "come in, please. Sit down. Can I get you a drink? Tea, coffee? Something stronger?" A kick in the fucking teeth, perhaps?
"No, thanks," Ron mumbled, stepping forward and into Malfoy's office. "Can we talk? About Hermione?"
"Sure. Are we talking as friends of Hermione, or as professionals connected to the Quidditch friendly?" Draco had walked around his desk and perched on the edge, nudging the smaller chair out with his foot and gesturing for the flame-haired man to sit.
"Friends of Hermione, of course," Ron said, his tone annoyed as he started to sit.
"Good," Draco said, flicking his wand. "Accio chair!" The wooden chair slid out from underneath Ron's descending backside and the man dropped to the floor with a startled cry. Smoothly, Draco snatched the chair up, spun it round and slammed it down on Ron's chest, the wooden cross supports pressing onto his ribs and throat, pinning him to the floor. Draco straddled the chair and dropped heavily onto the seat, resting against the back and pressing harder onto the supine man. Leaning over the back of the chair and staring down, he smiled tightly at the choked gargle. "So let's talk, Ronald."
"Malfoy, get off, I can't breathe!" Ron's voice was strangled and Draco leant back, tilting the chair a little, relieving the pressure. The sound of Ron's gasp for air was strangely satisfying to the blond wizard.
"Now then," he said, "let's talk about your behaviour, first of all."
"Fuck off, Malfoy! I want to talk to Hermione and I know she's staying with you and your dad!"
"Oo, manners, Ronnikins!" Draco's tone was light as he rocked the chair forward, onto its back legs, dropping the support beam across Ron's throat firmer than before, cutting off the man's airway completely. "Let's not make too many demands on my good graces. I agreed to talk to you, as a friend of Hermione; it would be remiss of me not to let you know just how fucking angry and disgusted I am at your dirty little shenanigans."
Ron flapped weakly at Draco's legs, his movements hampered by the chair legs, his breath gurgling in his throat, eyes bulging and his face, already bright red, slowly turning blue.
"Sorry? I can't make out what you're saying, Ron." Draco leant back, tilting the chair back. Ron gave a lurch and began to cough violently, his face tilted to the side as he gasped in great lungfuls of air. "So, you're a dirty, cheating bastard. That much is obvious. The fact that you think that Hermione would ever want to see you again, frankly, is laughable. I have no doubt that the next time you're likely to see her is before the Wizengamot, appealing for the dissolution of your joke of a marriage!"
"Never… wanted… to hurt her," Ron gasped out, his voice rough. "I never intended for this to happen again, honestly!"
"Happen again?" Draco asked, an eyebrow raised quizzically. "You and Krum happened before?"
"Months ago, in Spain, after the last World Cup. It wasn't planned or expected. We… we were drunk and talking about our lives and Quidditch. Things... kinda…"
"Please," Draco interrupted, "spare me the details! The fucking thought of it makes me sick." Draco shook his head, his mouth twisted in distaste. "I can't believe you, Weasley! You have a good looking, loving wife, of several years, and you go off and bum a Bulgarian! What the hell is that all about? Poor woman has spent the last week in tears, though why she should be wasting her time crying over you, you dirty little faggot, I'll never know!"
"I'm not…" Ron's voice choked off again as Draco leant forward, chair pressing into the red-head's throat.
"You are a disgusting little shirt lifter and Hermione is better off without you!" His voice was angry, all pretence at civility gone. As Ron choked and struggled, Draco continued to speak, relentlessly bearing down on man's windpipe, his disgust at what Ron and Krum had been doing spilling out. "You will stop trying to contact her. My father and I have managed to intercept every message so far; she doesn't need the aggravation of having to deal with your drippy letters. But one more owl bearing a message from you, turns up at Malfoy Manor? I'm going to bring it back personally and stuff it down your throat! You understand me, you little queer?"
The blond man glared down, watching Ron desperately try to nod, clawing at the chair, tears in his eyes and his face a horrible dark purple colour. After another few seconds Draco stood, snatching the chair up and throwing it aside. Ron convulsed, drawing air in through his abused throat desperately as he curled into a ball and rolled to one side. Over the sound of the man's retching, Draco pulled a handkerchief from his inner pocket and threw it onto the ground, next to Ron's head.
Straightening his jacket, the impassive man fastened a button and brushed the creases from his sleeves, looking down his nose at the twitching, sobbing man on the floor. "Clean yourself up and get the fuck out of my office, Weasley. If you're still here in five minutes, they'll have to carry you out in pieces!"
Turning away, Draco stalked to the door, throwing it open and striding out into the corridor.
"Where are we going, Lucius?"
Hermione held her wand at head height, the tip glowing brightly and casting shadows on the stone, curved walls of the tunnel. Moisture dripped in the distance and Hermione was forcefully reminded of the time she, Ron and Harry had been taken to Malfoy Manor, all those years ago at the height of the war. She knew Ron and Harry had been kept down in these catacombs, held prisoner while she… She steered away from that thought, refusing to remember her torture. Instead, she concentrated on their journey, wondering what Lucius had in mind.
"Not much further," the tall man said, not turning around. "We are nearly there."
They walked in silence for another minute before Lucius stopped at a door, set into the side of the corridor. The wood of the door was old and streaked with dirt. It looked like it hadn't been opened in years, but Lucius passed his wand over it and it gave a quiet click and swung open on perfectly balanced and oiled hinges, without a sound. Standing to the side, the smiling man gestured for her to precede him into the shadowed interior.
The cautious witch walked forward, lifting her wand higher as she did so, casting the light in a wider arc. The room beyond the door was large, filled with shelves and desks. Potion apparatus filled nearby tables, dry and unused, seemingly for a long time if the accumulation of dust was any indication. The shelves behind the desks were filled with books and Hermione drank in the sight of all that knowledge, crammed into the darkened space.
With a flick of her wand she cast a ball of light, up to the ceiling where it nestled, casting its stark, white light over everything. More flares of light flickered across the room, cast from Lucius' wand, striking lamps on the desks, torches set in brackets against the wall and candelabra on the ceiling. Very quickly the darkened room was fully light with bright, cheerful flames, dancing merrily.
"Wow… Lucius, why are all these books down here? Hidden away?"
"Just a collection of esoteric knowledge and paraphernalia that modern society tends to frown upon, in an uninformed way," the blond man said, airily, stepping into the room and closing the door.
"This is all related to Dark magic, isn't it?" Hermione said, turning surprised eyes to the aristocratic man. "You put on a good show of being an upstanding member of society, but in secret…"
"Our public face conceals our personal quest for knowledge," Lucius stated, a slight smile on his face. "Draco and I have tasted everything the 'honest' world has to offer. We have continued our exploration of the so-called Dark arts, but much of what we study is not harmful to others, merely another way of looking at the world. Much as some of what the Muggles call Satanism, does not necessarily require one to bend knee to some diabolical demon and pledge one's soul to the pursuit of death and mayhem. It is a more freeing view of the world, I would say."
Hermione looked around at the books and apparatus all around, her fingers itching to look at the books. She knew that some of them would contain horrible, awful things, but she was desperately curious, all the same. No doubt these had been here during the war—probably before the war even—hidden away and protected every time the Ministry raided the Manor.
"You do not appear to be recoiling in horror, my dear," he said, stepping closer. "Does the thought of our dark and terrible studies not chill your bones, as it should?" He took her hand, gazing into her eyes. "The conundrum you found yourself considering this morning? Well, this could just hold the solution." He gestured towards the room at large. "It is yours, all of this. I give you free rein to make use of it as you see fit in order to gain the revenge upon Mister Weasley and Mister Krum." He stepped closer, his skin seeming to burn with an inner fire. "I also give you myself and my knowledge, to question and to offer assistance in your endeavours."
Hermione looked into the depths of his eyes, made darker by the shadows cast by the lamp light. A hungry light was in them and she found that she wasn't scared, at all. She thought that she should be; Lucius Malfoy had been a Death Eater, the right hand of Voldemort and a terribly powerful wizard in his own right. The thought that he had not given up his Dark magic, that he still studied it in secret… but that he was willing to share this knowledge with her, to share his study and his books. He was willing to give her everything, it seemed, and not just his magic, if the look in his eyes was anything to go by.
"I would like that, very much," she found herself whispering, her head tilting subtly to one side as his began to close the distance between them. Achingly slowly they closed together, Hermione's eyes drifting shut, lips beginning to purse, wanting him to kiss her. She leant forward, towards him, desperate suddenly to feel his lips on hers, not knowing fully why she was so drawn to him, only that she was.
The sound of the door bursting open made her eyes fly open in shock and a scream burst from her throat. The door slammed against the wall with a terrible crash and Hermione sprang away from Lucius, eyes flying to the doorway to see Draco storm into the underground room, swearing and cursing.
Lucius was stood a short distance away, his wand twirling in his hand, dissipating the dust and cobwebs from the utensils and books. "Is there a reason why you appear to be swearing like a commoner, Draco?" he asked laconically, not looking at his son.
"That fucking bastard came to visit me today, at the office," the younger man spat. "Wanting to see Hermione, as if he had every right, after what he's done."
"Ron came to see you?" Hermione asked, stepping forwards. "What did he say?"
"Just that wanted to speak to you about everything. Dirty little faggot probably thinks he can be forgiven for what he's done."
Hermione blinked at the vehemence in the young man's voice, surprised at its heat. She felt unexpectedly offended at Draco's words, the attitude he was displaying and she queried it in her own mind. It wasn't that the act itself had angered Hermione so much—she didn't have an issue with homosexuality and believed the people could love whoever they wished—it was more the fact that these two people, who she had trusted, had betrayed her so terribly. Ronald had pledged to love and protect her and he had cheated on her with another person; no matter the gender of that person, the betrayal was the same.
These thoughts flashed through her mind and she opened her mouth to call Draco on his homophobia. Before she could speak however, Lucius' hand snaked out and cuffed the blond man around the head. "Don't be a bigot, Draco!" he snapped. "Homosexuality is not the issue here; it is the betrayal that has hurt our guest. Your own Uncle, Rabastan, enjoyed the company of both men and women while he was alive." Hermione was smiling at the taller man, warmed by his words, until he ruined it and the smile dropped from her face. "Besides, it is blood that matters. No offence," Lucius said, glancing at her. She narrowed her eyes, glaring at him as he smiled back, blithely, a twinkle in his eyes that told her he was pulling her leg.
"Fine," Draco muttered, rubbing the back of his head. "I apologise, father, Hermione. I was out of line." As Lucius nodded, Draco looked at the young woman and smiled tightly. "So, are we here to cook up some suitable revenge for Krum and the Weasel?"
Hermione grinned and looked at the books before her. She was bound to find something suitably efficient and nasty in here, perfect for the sort of humiliation and pain that she had felt. To visit it upon those that had betrayed her… And to think, she had nearly gone to George for help. She felt her smile turn wicked and laughed at the pleased look in the Malfoy men's eyes. This would go beyond anything Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes could provide her.
"Oh yes, indeed, we are," she whispered.
It was the 21st December, two days before the match and Hermione was sat at the breakfast table, a large book resting on the table in front of her. She had been reading it for the last six hours, having barely slept. She knew that this was the book she had been looking for; the spells inside it had the capacity to make her revenge a reality. She had steered away from anything simplistic or too violent, despite Draco's assertion that her revenge should be loud, messy and public, for maximum humiliation.
Hermione agreed with the loud and public, but didn't want anything too messy. It was going to happen where children could see it after all!
Lucius sat at her side, quietly murmuring to her and pointing out parts of the pages that caught his attention, the pair of them sharing a quiet laugh together. Hermione barely noticed that she touched Lucius as often as he touched her. Still only gentle touches, almost as one would to a wild animal, letting it know that your touch would not hurt, that you were there to care for them. Lucius cared for her, of that she was sure, and she was beginning to care for him too.
She had found herself on the verge of telling him several times over the last few days but there was always something that interrupted them. She had to find the time, when there were no obstructions, no distractions. She blinked suddenly, realising that now was as good a time as any!
Draco was at the office, Lucius was right next to her, the elves had taken away the breakfast things and were giving them space. She turned to him, a slight smile on her face.
"Lucius," she said, as the doorbell rang, the loud clanging echoing through the house. With a sigh she gazed up at the ceiling, mentally asking the tinsel and Christmas decorations why life seemed to hate her.
"One moment, my dear," Lucius said, standing and heading towards the entrance hall.
She reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him to a stop. "Wait, Lucius, please. I need to tell you something and we keep getting interrupted, every time, and if I don't say it now I feel like I'll never get the chance!"
"Ok, Hermione," he said with a laugh, turning and dropping down to a crouch next to her chair. "What is it?"
"I think… I think I like you." She grimaced at his amused look and ploughed on. "I know I'm still married…"
"For now."
"Yes, for now. But I have enjoyed my time, living here with you… and Draco," she added swiftly as his eyes took on a more knowing look. "And I'm finding your company is not… as onerous as I might have expected."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, it is. You manage to keep a good house, with the help of the elves, of course. Wouldn't expect you to manage it by yourself, of course."
His smile was wide and warmed Hermione's centre, flushing her cheeks with heat. As she glanced away she saw a woman stood in the entrance to the dining room, dressed in simple pale blue robes, her hands folded before her and a nervous looking elf, trotting across the room towards them. Looking in the same direction, Lucius stood abruptly, his demeanour changing. His look of pleasure vanished and he brushed past the elf as if she wasn't there, not listening to the words she tried to say to him.
"What is it? Why are you here?" he asked brusquely.
The lady, who was wearing some kind of hospital style smock Hermione realised, bowed to the tall man before speaking, her voice quiet but firm. She was clearly in a position of authority but her tone was soothing: the news she delivered was anything but. "Mister Malfoy, my name is Sister Tessa, from The Serenity Resort. I am sorry, but I come bearing sorrowful news. Would you like to sit, sir?"
"No, thank you."
Hermione saw Lucius stand taller, his jaw lock tight and she felt the blood drain from her face, knowing what was coming. She stood, walking towards him and taking his hand. He barely seemed to notice her.
"This morning, at around seven o'clock, Mrs Narcissa Malfoy passed away. She was peaceful when she passed, speaking to the nurse who brought her her breakfast, in a calm and coherent manner. Regrettably there was no time to call you to her side before she slipped away." The lady paused, a small, sad smile on her face. "I am truly sorry for your loss, sir."
"What happens now then?" Lucius asked, his voice seeming to Hermione's ears to come from a long way off.
"Well, first we would ask you to come to the Resort, but only when you feel ready. There are documents to sign and so on but there is no rush. Please, take all the time you need, sir. The formalities can wait until after the holidays, honestly."
"Thank you, for bringing me this news, Sister. Forgive me for my breach of etiquette. Can I get you anything?"
The Sister gave a smile and a sideways tilt of her head, halfway between a nod and a shake. "No, thank you Mr Malfoy, I should really return to the Resort."
"Very well." Lucius turned to the house elf, gesturing towards the Sister. "Please escort Sister Tessa, Gretty."
The little elf bobbed a swift curtsey to Lucius, and then another to the Sister. "If the Sister would please follow Gretty?"
As the pair walked away, Hermione looked up into Lucius' eyes and squeezed his hand. "Are you okay, Lucius? Merlin, I'm so sorry."
"It is fine, my dear. As I said to you the other day, I was anticipating this and had made my peace with her." Although his tone was matter of fact, Hermione found that she couldn't believe him. "I must tell Draco the news too. I'm sorry, Hermione, I must leave you for the time being."
He lifted her hands to his lips, planting a gentle kiss on her knuckles, before turning and walking away without another word. The witch hugged herself, suddenly alone in the large chamber. The cheerful decorations and beautiful Christmas tree seemed to mock the solemnity and sorrow of the occasion, with their bright, twinkling lights.