Chapter 6: Bound Together

Mireca poked her head into Lucius's rooms early the next morning to see him gingerly sinking back into his bed. The blonde hair was mussed and he was still in pajamas, but he was alive.

"You're up early," she commented when he waved her into the room.

"As are you. And here of all places." Lucius picked up a smoking cup and looked at her over the rim before drinking the contents. He jerked back against the pillow, screwing up his eyes tightly. After a moment he relaxed again. "Merlin's balls!"

A smile flickered and Mircea sat on the edge of the bed, as far from him as she could. "What was it?"

"Blood replacement. Most of mine was on your floor."

"The elves took care of it last night. The rug's drying somewhere in the cellars."

He nodded, not taking his eyes off of her. She drew him in, with her dark eyes and her sharp tongue and her deep feelings.

There was a knock at the door. They both jumped, jerking their hands apart. Wide-eyed Mircea and Lucius communicated quickly through a few glances. Mircea dove under the bed and Lucius extended the comforter so that it pooled on both sides of the bed, hiding her from view.

The door opened and Severus Snape entered, followed by Bellatrix.

"Ah," Severus's deep tones reached Mircea under the bed, "I see you are still among the living."

"Is that the reason you and this harpy have decided to interrupt my rest and recovery? To see if had died?"

"I was only too glad to come and check," Bella spat back at him. "You have no idea how disappointed I am."

"Oh, I'm sure I have some idea."

There were scuffling sounds and then Lucius's voice again. "Keep a leash on your cat, Severus.

"If we're offering advice, curb your tongue, Malfoy." Mircea heard Severus step closer to the bed. "It seems most unlikely that you should have survived the night unaided. And as your son is at my home…"

"It was not easy, but I managed." Mircea heard Lucius shifting around above her. "See for yourself."

Out of Mircea's vision, Snape winced at the scar. "You couldn't have done better, Malfoy?"

"As you said, it was a rush job. And the elves, of course, helped. Just finished some blood replacement potion if you would like a glass. How about you, Bella? You're looking a bit peaked."

A string of swearing followed and Mircea saw Bella's shoes storm out of the room. To her left, Mircea heard Snape lean closer to Lucius.

"And if I were to look for a certain Romanian witch? She would have nothing to say about last night's events?"

"Witch slept through the whole thing. I only managed to land on the lawn." There was a pause and then: "Oh please, Severus. You've never been better than me at Legilimency. Let's not play this game."

"Very well. I shall speak to the Dark Lord." Snape left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

Mircea lay in the dusty darkness for several full minutes before performing a person revealing charm that indicated only her and Lucius for several rooms. She climbed out as gracefully as possible and was surprised when Lucius even helped her up.

"He never could get into my mind."

"Thank you."

"For?"

"Lying. It's not you who would be in trouble."

"My pleasure. Anything to upset Bella."

They shared a smirk and then Mircea Disapparated to the gardens. Better to have been out of the house entirely than risk appearing in a room with Snape or Bella.

Death Eater meetings were becoming more and more common as the takeover of the Ministry drew ever closer. And now there were rumors that Potter would have to be moved very soon. The protections on his family home would end when he came of age and if all went according to plan, Hogwarts would no longer be a haven for him.

So Mircea was not surprised when she was ordered to appear at a last minute meeting in the dining hall of the Manor. She slipped into Death Eater robes, much more form fitting than she liked, and whisked her hair back tightly. She knew she would be protected as long as Lucius was willing to lie for her; she had removed the memories from her own mind and stored them away separate from those of her family. He was the only other person she had ever done this for.

Mircea was surprised to see Lucius standing at the head of the table, facing Voldemort, when she entered the hall. He was back to the grayish color she now associated with illness or fear and his eyes only darted to her for a moment.

"Ah… Mircea… Come here."

The Dark Lord's voice was halfway between a sigh and a hiss, pulling out the C in her name in a way that gave her chills. She walked briskly so she was standing slightly in front of Lucius, rather than beside him, and dropped swiftly to one knee. She felt a long, bony hand run over her forehead, down under her chin, and lightly grasp her neck, lifting her head up to look at the red eyes.

"Why can I not see your mind, Mircea?"

"My Lord, measures were taken long ago for my own protection. This is unrelated to any possible current event."

"You sound as if you do not know what event I could wish to see. Do not play games with me!"

"My Lord, I only know because I saw Malfoy this morning, as it is my duty to look after him."

The hand clenched around her neck. The rest of the cloaked men and women in the room were breathless. Mircea stood quickly as Voldemort yanked her upright.

"Show me your memories of last night."

"I cannot, My Lord."

The room took a collective breath and behind her; Lucius looked wild eyed. He was convinced she was now going to die.

But Mircea had planned her words carefully before she ever left her room. "My Lord, it is not rebellion. There are no memories to show. I was asleep all of last night. I did not even dream."

He let go of her throat roughly and her hands went to her neck reflexively, coughing for breath.

"Sit."

Both Mircea and Lucius scurried to seats at opposite ends of the table from one another. She almost could not believe it had ended there. The Dark Lord was clearly suspicious of her and last night must have been some kind of test.

The Dark Lord's eyes rested on her and she looked downward, half out of deference and half out of pure fear. Nothing good came of that long gaze.

"There are other matters to attend to," the Dark Lord announced at last. "I have particular desire to…speak with the master wandmaker. As Bella and Fenrir are busy with their own tasks, we are in need of volunteers."

Antonin and Mircea exchanged looks. Mihut was the master wandmaker on their end of Europe, in close competition with Gregorovich in the higher north. Other than this gesture, the room was silent and immobile. 'Volunteers' were generally chosen by Voldemort himself, excepting Bellatrix and Severus. But this was not the sort of work Severus would be sent to do.

"Antonin… Mircea… Rowle… You will be sufficient. Brains and brawn…"

Mircea groaned inwardly, but made an effort to keep her face impassive. Rowle was an idiot and, aside from origin, she and Antonin had nothing in common.

"Olivander is to be brought to this Manor and kept in custody. No one is to speak to him; he is to be kept silent. Malfoy!"

Lucius jumped, his ring banging against the table so loudly it sounded like a gunshot in the tense room.

"Where might our guest be lodged?"

Lucius's brain felt as if it were spinning without any control from him. He stammered an answer so unintelligible that he knew to brace himself. The expected wave of pain hit, jerking him rigid against his chair. When he was allowed to relax, he saw Mircea staring hard at the wall at the other end of the room.

"Surely you can answer a simple question. Where?"

"The cellars, My Lord. There is an Apparation block as well." He fought to control the quavering in his voice.

"Very well." The Dark Lord stood and they all rose as one. "Until next time…" His red eyes were boring into Malfoy. "Draco."

The boy jumped, going even whiter.

"You shall also go to pay Mr. Olivander a visit. It may do you some good."

Both father and son wore the same look of alarm on their faces as the Dark Lord swept out of the room.

Mircea was unlocking the door to her room when someone grabbed her from behind.

Lucky for Lucius, he grabbed her wrists in his hands before she could get to her wand; if she had kept it in her sleeve he would have been done for. He pressed close against her, his mouth only centimeters from her ear.

"You must protect him."

Mircea was swept away by the sudden vision of Lucius dragging her to his rooms and taking her this way, with her pinned against him and his lips against her ear. She blushed deeply and shoved the image away.

She jerked free of Lucius's grip and faced him. "Why?"

"We are bound together now, you and I." Lucius's eyes bored into her. "And he is my son."

"This is not the place for this conversation," she hissed at him, her eyes darting up and down the corridor.

Lucius simply stared at her. He wasn't going away. He knew he was being punished for what the Dark Lord assumed happened with Mircea and for his own fears, but he would not allow Draco to be killed over this.

Mircea could see from his expression what he was thinking and she sighed loudly. She turned unlocked the door and shoved him inside in front of her. She motioned for him to be silent and began to spell the room. As she worked he looked around. This was the third time he had ever been in her rooms and the first time he really noticed what it was like. She had claimed one of the guest rooms with a small sitting room to the right; the room itself was spacious and was covered in books, scrolls, and different objects like a Foe-Glass. He could see his own shadowy figure in the ball, but the eyes were not white; it would appear she could not quite make up her mind about what he was.

Mircea grabbed a handful of his robes and dragged him away, into the sitting room. He allowed himself to be led by her, because like it or not he needed her now. The sitting room was plush and warm, with dark brown sofas and a cozy, golden armchair he knew had come from one of the sitting rooms downstairs. The fire had already been started by the house elves and Mircea released him in the center of the room, striding to the coziest chair herself.

He watched her as she curled up easily in the chair. Sighing, she reached up, seeming to forget he was present and pulled a comb from her hair. The curls cascaded down her back, settling around her in thick waves that caught the light from the fire. While it had always looked a sort of dun color, in the firelight it was nearly golden. In these much more fitted robes and with her hair framing her face, she looked natural and vulnerable. Mircea pushed the hair out of her face and turned to look at him.

"Explain, first, that audacious comment about being bound to you."

Lucius could not repress a sneer. "Our survival depends on one another. What else would you call that, Persephone?"

The subtext was as clear as his words: their relationship had gone deeper than simply two people who lived in the same house.

"If you were to tell the Dark Lord–"

"It would be to save my son and I would care very little for my own safety."

She could see his eyes and for a moment felt as if she could see his soul. He meant it. Coward that he was, he would have given his life to save his son.

"And the fact that you owe me your life?"

"I lied for you. I would not have lied for my wife in so bold a manner."

They sat across from one another, the fire playing off their faces. It made Lucius's face look alarmingly like a skull when he inclined his head down, away from the light. Mircea thought hard. She had made her choice last night and she had considered what it would mean.

"Very well."

Lucius looked up, the fire lighting his face back into human likeness. "Truly?"

Mircea nodded slowly. "Understand this: if you betray me, I will kill you if the Dark Lord does not."

There was another deepening silence as Lucius sized her up. He believed she would kill him and he believed she would do it as dispassionately as if she were killing a mouse. But he could see no other way to move forward. There had to be agreement or constant fear of their secret being leaked, and he could not live with more fear. And not from her of all people…

"You will have nothing to fear from me." He could still feel Mircea examining him. "You can trust me."

She laughed sarcastically and supported her chin in her palm, resting against the arm of the chair. "I will protect your son. You don't have to lie, Malfoy."

Again that familiar look of anger and frustration clouded his face and he stood abruptly.

"Well, seeing as our business is done I shall not disturb you any longer," he snapped at her with a sneer. He was gone before she could stop him.

Mircea laid her head on the arm of her chair. Why had she pushed him away?

Because he's a coward who will turn you in as soon as it suits him, her brain mocked. And he's part of it all, part of the system that killed your family and took everything from you. It is unforgivable.

But Mircea was not convinced.

"Will you shut up?" Mircea hissed behind her, before swearing in Romanian. Trust Rowle and Dolohov to chit-chat on a mission.

Draco banged into her for the hundredth time and she shot him a look of pure venom. The boy was sticking so close to her that she had mockingly asked if he wanted to hold hands. But she knew this was what Lucius had told him to do.

They had made it through Diagon Alley only by the grace of silencing spells and invisibility charms and now they lurked in the alley behind Olivander's wand shop. Movement came from within and the four Death Eaters ducked. Light shone above their heads and Mircea peeked over the sill. An unknown man was speaking to the old wizard they had come for. She turned to explain to the two men but they were already breaking into the house. Hissing warnings at them, she pushed Draco behind her and followed.

The two wizards inside were taken completely off guard. But being in a wand shop, it was not as if they were unarmed. Mircea found herself dueling the assistant while Rowle and Dolohov were attempting to overwhelm the wandmaker. She felt a curse flash by her face, leaving a welt from the heat of it. Draco shrieked girlishly and dodged the same curse as it hit a beam, bursting into flame.

A smirk spread across the assistant's face. But his expression changed quickly as a ball of fire engulfed him from behind. Dolohov had aimed the curse, Ever-Burning Fire, after having subdued Olivander. The man began to scream and writhe, skin blistering and blackening.

The flashback hit Mircea with full force and no warning, yanking her back into the partial memories that she still possessed of the night her father died.

"Avada Kadavra!"

The man fell, dead, and the fire quickly went out.

"You are no fun, Mircea," Rowle griped as he dragged Olivander out of the building in front of him.

Dolohov sneered at her as he followed Rowle. "We already had him. No need to be jealous."

Draco began to follow them, then deciding to hang back. His father had told him to stay with her. So Draco was the only one who saw Mircea slump backward, supporting herself against a shelf of wands. She was deathly white and her gaze was fixed inward.

"Mircea?"

She felt someone grip her arm at the elbow, helping support her. She looked into Draco's concerned face and shame flooded her. She had to hold it together for now. This boy was half her age and she was supposed to be protecting him; he should not be caring for her.

"Something in the spell," she mumbled, gingerly touching her cheek and brushing by him.

After checking over his son and hearing his account of the evening, Lucius finally decided it was his duty to thank Mircea. They had an agreement, but it would not do to piss her off. And Draco was clearly editing out some significant piece of information; he was a terrible liar and it was obvious.

He ordered his son to stay well out of sight of the other Death Eaters, not wishing to draw more attention to either of them, and he slipped down the halls. He was only half focused on where he was going when he realized a muffled and pained sound was coming from Mircea's room. Lucius paused outside the door, listening.

Someone was crying. Not just crying, but sobbing.

The very idea that Mircea could be crying with such feeling shocked him into interfering where he never would have before. Pushing open the door he strode to her in several long steps. She was crouched on the floor, biting down on her fist to muffle the sound. He scooped her into his arms easily and carried her through to her sitting room. There he set her on the small couch, sitting beside her and throwing silencing charms around the room. It was almost a surprise no one had found her sooner with no silencing on the room; it had been an hour since she had returned with Draco and Olivander.

He produced a silk handkerchief and she took it, using that instead to muffle her sobs. Lucius felt awkward simply sitting beside her, but very gradually she calmed and quieted. When she looked him in the face finally, she looked very fragile: her eyes were red rimmed and her face was splotchy and wet.

"I'll return," he murmured, standing and watching her carefully. "Unless…"

"I'll be here."

That was all the confirmation he needed and he slipped away. Mircea fought the urge to cry again. Her cheek hurt like the devil with her hot tears and the fire glowing on it.

Shortly Lucius returned with several items in his arms. The first thing he handed to her was a salve in a silver jar. "For your burn," he explained.

She nodded shakily and applied it to her cheek. The burning dulled immediately and she could feel the welt receding dramatically.

The next thing that was put into her hands was a large glass of deep red wine.

Lucius had claimed the cozy armchair and he raised his glass in a sort of toast to her before drinking. She sipped at it, not entirely trusting him, and was surprised at the quality of the wine.

"What is this?"

"Superior Red," Lucius replied holding the dusty bottle out to her. She took it, looking over the fairly old label.

"Malfoy Apothecaries," she read aloud. "Your family?"

"My great-great-grandfather laid this wine aside. And the Apothecary dates back further than that."

"Impressive. The wine and the lineage."

Malfoy allowed a rare smile. He was proud of the apothecary and the vineyards. But with the way things were going, he wondered if he would ever be able to go back to all of that.

Mircea could see the wistful look take hold of his features. "Is that what you would be doing if you were not…" She trailed off; it was dangerous to voice the desire for another life, even in a spelled room.

Lucius nodded and then sighed loudly. "Room's a furnace," he mumbled, pulling at his necktie and unbuttoning his collar buttons.

Suddenly Mircea could see why he had always kept his neck so deliberately covered. A series of black numbers and runes stood out against the white skin, sharp and garish. Lucius realized his mistake too late and quickly began to attempt to cover the brand. But Mircea leaned forward and caught his hands in hers. Slowly, she stood and ran her fingers across the numbers on his neck. Lucius's breath caught at the contact.

"You have no reason to hide scars from me, Malfoy." As soon as it had happened, it was over.

Lucius returned to their previous conversation, leaving his neck uncovered. "You know my desired occupation. What of yours? What is your peacetime profession?"

She flashed him a smile. "I know no such thing. I simply know you would like to have something to do with the family business."

He took a long draught of wine to steel himself; he had not had a personal conversation in a very long time. "I would wish to be a Potioneer. I am very good at it and it is what I enjoy. Any salve, potion, or draught you find in this home I made myself. The vineyards were my father's passion, not mine, though obviously they would not go to waste."

Mircea had been sipping at her own glass and now set it aside. It was very strong indeed. "I have never been in a position to give it much thought. I know you may weary of hearing this, but my life has not allowed such luxuries. My skill set is not marketable."

"And what would that be?"

Mircea met his steely grey eyes. How could she articulate years of injustice? From Grindlewald to her own parents?

"Finding, hiding, and bringing things down."

"And this is why you are now a Death Eater? Not for immortality or power, but some sense of vengeance?"

"Justice!" she shot back, her eyes flashing. "Sorry it isn't as noble as your own lust for power and powerful friends."

Lucius leaned forward. With the look that was in his eyes, she was sure he would have slapped her a few months ago for that comment. "Lust it may have once been. But your twisted justice will end no better, my dear. Make no mistake."

"You have no idea–"

"You're right," he cut her off. "And if you wish to have any sympathy you will have to explain. Otherwise, cease holding this mysterious wrong that has been done to you over my head. I've done you no harm."

He watched Mireca stare into the fire. Somehow he knew this was the cause of her break down: the event that had so hurt and so defined her.

She spoke unemotionally, telling the entire story in one go. "My mother was a Dark witch, a follower of Grindlewald. My father had once been sympathetic, but Grindlewald began to take out his wrath on his own people. So my father felt that they should pull out, that her involvement was a direct danger to me. He was afraid that I would be sucked into the same way of life. The Ministry contacted him – somehow they had gotten wind that my father was looking for an out – and promised him security and protection if he turned her over to them. They said they simply wanted to help us and Eastern Europe and that no one would find us. They lied, of course. The Aurors killed my mother; they had her kill herself but it was murder all the same. And then they left my father to contend with my mother's cohorts himself. He succeeded for some time, but when I visited him in Paris… they tortured me until he arrived, giving me my scars, and burned him alive in front of me."

Mircea locked eyes with Lucius. "My family was betrayed by the Ministry: my mother was killed by their Aurors, my father was killed by their lies, and I was left and orphan and a biter, hateful woman. I was promised that, should I join this war, Eastern Europe would be put at the forefront of the new Ministry. There is nothing I want more than to walk through the halls of the Ministry after all those within are dead."

Throughout this addition to her story, Mircea's voice had dropped to a low growl and Lucius could nearly picture her standing on a pile of rubble and surveying the abandoned and ghostly Ministry with pride.

"You saw a man burned alive as your father was burned alive." It came together as Lucius said it –why she had been crying – and Mircea nodded, her eyes glassy again.

A wave of very real guilt swept over Lucius. She was right; this was nothing like his own life experience. His own experience had included a father who continually ridiculed his weaknesses and pushed him to seek out more powerful people. And no matter how high he had risen, his father always found flaw, right up until Abraxas's untimely death. Lucius had actually been surprised the elm wand had been passed to him and not straight to Draco. But Draco was very young at the time and now… he was even weaker than Lucius.

Mircea watched Lucius's musings and could have guessed his mind. She had guessed a long time ago, after their first rather explosive dinner, that Lucius had felt intimidated or scorned by his father. He had reacted so violently to her comment, just as she had taken deep offense at being called a traitor.

"Life has been unjust to us both, has it not?" Lucius asked quietly.

Mircea nodded solemnly and Lucius stood, gathering up the glasses and the bottle. When he reached the door to leave though Mircea caught his attention.

"Thank you," she murmured, not meeting his eyes and turning toward the fire and away from him.

Mireca woke up with a slamming headache and decided to stay in for breakfast. But the little house-elf that brought her breakfast was so distracted that she could not help but ask if something had happened.

"It has, miss," the little creature whimpered.

"Do tell!" she snapped at it, worry flooding her.

"The…The Dark Lord, miss. He is here."

Mircea was too taken aback to even respond. She sat back heavily and her vision swam momentarily. Voldemort here.

"Miss…would you like a restorative potion?"

"No. You may leave."

The house-elf hurried away and Mircea stared at her tea and toast, suddenly feeling sick. She had to get out of bed and somehow dress. She pulled her self over to her wardrobe, stopping here and there from lightheadedness, and eventually managed to dress in one of her better gowns. With quick wand swipes she piled the curls up and tied a ribbon around her head. A glance in the mirror was all she gave herself before forcing herself to leave her room.

When she entered the dining room, things looked about how she had expected. Lucius had a busted lip and a slash across his neck that was bleeding into his collar. Draco was cowering by Bella, who was stroking his hair in a poisonous way. The Dark Lord paused, wand in the air and turned to her.

Mircea dropped to one knee instantly. "My Lord, I was told you had graced us with your presence."

"See, Lucius," she heard him say in his cold slithery voice, "someone knows how to greet their master. Come here, Mircea."

As she swished closer, Lucius saw that her dress style had updated by about 50 years, now putting her more in the 1920's. The empire-waist deep red dress was very becoming and helped dull the scar that was very visible on her arm in the short sleeves. He shielded his mind quickly; he was in enough trouble for such thoughts.

Mircea stopped beside her master and a wave of pain brought her to the ground.

"Explain to me why Lucius has such fond memories of you."

"Memories from when, My Lord? Last night he aided me after the raid on Olivander's but that was all."

"Aided how?"

She looked up so Voldemort could see the burn on her cheek. "Never fear, My Lord; I'm sure he would stab me in the back given proper incentive." Mircea knew her words carried conviction because she did believe them. If Draco were threatened she was sure Lucius would turn her in; he probably would do so for even less than that.

Mircea was hit with another wave of pain and she could see her muscles twisting like living snakes beneath her skin.

"I am beginning to wonder if you are not more trouble than you are worth, witch," the Dark Lord hissed coolly when she lay panting. There was a long pause where no one dared to move, not even Bella. When he spoke it was to the entire group: "It would appear that things have become sloppy in several quarters without my direct supervision." Here Bella winced, and Mircea noticed a cut across the side of her face that the witch's bushy hair mostly hid. "I will be taking up residency at Malfoy Manor, Lucius. See that preparations are made."

He stalked out of the room, Bella and Draco in tow, and Mircea rushed out of the opposite door. She could not be alone with Lucius. She was sure that she would run to him and this was absolutely forbidden now. She reached a sitting room on the first floor and had to stop within. Her stomach ached and the pain was great enough that she could not keep walking. Something creaked in the hall and she jumped, paranoia rocketing. No one was there, but now she would always have to worry. She would never be able to rest easy or let her guard down. Suddenly the room felt very close and she fell into a chair, fanning herself with a hand.

Moments later, Mircea fainted for the first time in years.

Everyone had left Lucius on the floor and now he stood shakily. This was a nightmare. The Dark Lord in his home; he knew he would have to give over the Lord of the Manor title and what little power he had would be gone. He Apparated into his private study and pulled out a bottle of whisky from the amenities globe in the corner of the room. Pulling out the stopper, Luicus poured himself a very generous glass, shaking so bad that he spilled a good amount as well. He threw back the amber liquid in one, eyes watering with the burn. He sank into his chair at his desk and lay with his head on his arms. His mind whirled in a haze for a half an hour before he felt as though he could move from the chair he was in. And when he did stand he was still shaking badly.

What had helped in the past? He looked over at the humidor in the study. Narcissa had hated his smoking. But Narcissa was dead and his world was falling apart.

Only after he was engulfed in a cloud of blue smoke did Lucius feel he could stand without shaking. Cutting off the cigar, he stored what was left in a pocket. He needed to find his son.