Chapter 7: Sleep

Mircea was walking to the dinning hall when she heard the sounds of someone being violently sick.

It was the first meeting that had occurred since Voldemort had moved into the Manor. Lucius had stayed hidden as much as humanly possible and Mircea had taken the opposite approach of trying to carry on as usual. She had noticed that the Dark Lord spent much of his time interrogating the wandmaker, but for what purpose she did not know. She assumed it had to do with some previous event, but she was new and had no way of referring back to what that might have been.

She paused in the hall and looked for whose door the vile sound was coming from. Malfoy. She groaned inwardly and began to walk by, but she could only remember how he had carried her into her sitting room after finding her crying on her floor. With a groan of defeat, she pushed into his room.

Mercifully, he was in the bathroom, but it was quickly clear why he was so sick. A mostly empty bottle of whisky sat at the bedside table and the air was blue with smoke. The whole room now had a stale and sour air to it.

She quickly started throwing the windows open magically. "Is your plan to destroy yourself so that the Dark Lord does not need to bother with it?"

She heard someone jump in alarm and swear. Lucius's head appeared around the corner. His eyes were sunken and his forehead was beaded with sweat.

"This isn't the drink if that's what you're thinking," he snapped viciously at her before turning a little green and ducking back in. There was another wet lurching sound and Mircea winced from where she now stood by the window.

After a flushing sound, Lucius trudged across the room and flopped on his back onto his bed. His breathing was fast and shallow.

"As you would appear to have not eaten in several days, that is exactly what I thought," she retorted, hoping to irritate him. An angry Lucius was better than a frightened one. "But by all means, drink. No need to explain to me why you're trying to self-destruct."

She walked through the bathroom and wetted a washcloth before tossing it onto his face. He snarled at her but laid it across his forehead with a sigh.

"Not all of us can throw ourselves at the Dark Lord's feet and avoid trouble," he grumbled, causing Mircea to blush.

That was exactly what she was doing and she hated herself for it. But she knew it was the only way that she could appease the Dark Lord's temper and need for submission. She watched Lucius rotate the washcloth on his forehead so it was now cool side down. Mircea wanted to help him more directly, to mop his brow and fix his mussed hair, which was now bordering on too long, but she did not think he would sufficiently suppress the memory so she stayed where she was.

"Why does he hate you so singularly?" she asked, staring at the rug. She didn't expect him to answer but he did.

"I destroyed old items of his that proved to be important. And I lost a valuable prophecy."

"And that's why he wants you so…isolated?"

"A kind way of putting it. He wants me as miserable and low as he can get me. And he's nearly done it."

It made Mircea's heart ache a bit to hear his despair. She knew Lucius had once been great but she could only see little glimmers of that person when they were alone. And the moment Voldemort appeared, Lucius cowered like a beaten animal.

"You'll make it through. Old serpents like you never die."

"I doubt I can make it through this very evening, let alone another year."

"Then look only at me." Lucius had an expression she did not, would not, understand and she pushed on. "I can't have you caving in on me and I have reserved the right to kill you myself. Remember that."

"I will," he murmured in a voice that made her blush.

"I've got to get out of here. Whatever you do come down a different way and wait until I've been gone a while."

When Mircea entered the now jumbled and barren dining hall she immediately noticed the body hanging over the table. But she did not look at it more than once, knowing that it was better to wait for Voldemort himself to comment or draw attention to such things. A roar came from below her feet and she winced. The Dark Lord must be there now. She took a seat in the center of the table as Dolohov and Rodolphus eyed her.

"Rumor has it," Rodolphus whispered, leaning towards her, "that you saved Malfoy's life."

She looked at him unwaveringly. "As you say, rumor has it. And rumor has it you're an empty headed prick who takes orders from his wife and is cuckolded daily. You know how rumors are."

Lestrange turned red and Dolohov sniggered from where he sat. Mircea went back to staring in front of her but was surprised to see Lucius in that place now. He had taken something for his nausea and looked better for it though he was still trembling intermittently.

The room filled and Draco and Bella filled in the seats on either side of Lucius. Mircea ended up with an empty chair for Yaxley on her left and McNair on her right.

Snape and Yaxley were very nearly late as the Dark Lord reminded them with cold joy. But Mircea was pleased to see that her strategies had worked; Thicknesse was there and Imperiused into perfect submission. They should be able to take the Ministry any day now, a point Yaxley fought to emphasize. This was the first real good news Mircea had received in ages.

There was also the news that Potter would have to be moved very soon. This gave them a window in which they could capture the boy. And if they could capture the boy, everything else was much easier.

But as always, things took a more negative turn.

"I find I am in need of a new wand," the Dark Lord hissed, staring them all down. Each and every one of them made a motion, involuntarily, towards where their wands were currently kept. His chair scraped back against the stone floor and he began to walk down the table. As soon as Voldemort picked the side opposite of her, Mircea knew whose wand he was going to take. Her heart fell and she realized even she had not seen this coming. Lucius had been wrong: he could still sink lower.

Lucius knew too and he looked at her desperately just for a moment. His grey eyes were dark with fear.

"Luciussssss," came the familiar hiss, now over his right shoulder. Lucius felt a cold sweat break out over his face and arms and for a brief moment he worried he was going to be sick again. But he could see Mircea in the corner of his vision and unlike the other eyes now trained on him, her eyes were sympathetic. "Give me your wand."

Again he glanced at her, and he saw her straighten and tilt her chin upward. She was telling him to be strong. Shaking he drew out his wand, his father's wand, and handed it to the Dark Lord. His long white fingers traced over it and examined the tool.

"What is it?"

"Elm, m-m-my Lord."

"And the core?"

"Dragonheartstring." Lucius blurred it into one word in his effort to just make the sounds.

"Eighteen inches?"

Lucius nodded.

"A bit large for you, isn't it?"

There were sneers down the table. Without thinking he moved as if to hold out his hand and checked the action too late.

"Oh no, Lucius. You will remain…unmanned."

Again there were sneers and laughter. Lucius stared straight ahead, he saw Mircea's color rise momentarily and her jaw clenched.

"It would seem I should be offering yourself and Bella congratulations, however," the Dark Lord announced, returning to his chair.

"My Lord?" Bella could hardly restrain herself from asking.

"Your niece has married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. Draco…"

The boy jumped and turned white, diverting his attention from the body hanging above them.

"Will you be babysitting the cubs?"

Now the laughter was loud, unintelligent guffaws. Mircea locked eyes with Lucius and forced him to hold eye contact with her. Of course it was vile. But it was not Draco's fault or Lucius's fault. And they were only related to this girl through Bella and Narcissa anyway; Bella was now of course making long promises to "prune her family tree."

As for Lucius, her eye contact kept him from sinking to the floor. He had a sympathizer. Not a co-sufferer like his son, but someone who felt for him or who at least seemed determined to drag him through this even if only for her own safety.

The woman was floated down and they were all told that she was Charity Burbage and that she had proposed that it would be good for Pure Bloods to marry mudbloods and Muggles. Mircea wrinkled her nose involuntarily. It was also explained that Charity had taught at Hogwarts, which explained why Draco was now studying the floor with such intensity. All this Mircea could handle, but the woman pleading with Severus cut through the emotional armor Mircea had built up for so long. Luckily Burbage's suffering was not long and her death was merciful. Who said the Dark Lord could not be kind?

But when she was eaten, not a single Death Eater watched.

Lucius lay in bed, fighting off sleep with a cigar. But a creak outside his door had him awake instantly and he went for his non-existent wand. He had never felt so naked and vulnerable as he did when the door swung opened with him unarmed on the other side.

But to his amazement it was Mircea who slipped into the room and shut the door. She looked as though she felt as exposed as him. She was barefoot and in black pajamas, a contrast to her fair hair and skin.

"Put that thing out," she murmured to him, and he stubbed out the cigar as she had ordered mostly out of shock.

"Why are you here?"

"I have a proposition. You clearly cannot sleep and you are well on your way to a much shorter life. I feel as though I will have a hole clear through my stomach in a week and if I do not sleep I fear for my mental capacities, without which I am no longer needed."

Lucius watched her without moving. He understood but he could not guess what she was about to propose.

"I believe it would be in both of our interests to share the same bed. It may help to have another near you and as you have no wand you may feel safer."

"And how would this benefit you?"

"I jump at every sound and I feel I am coming unhinged. I need someone I can trust."

"Which in this scenario would be me?"

She nodded, blushing. If he turned her down, she had gone out on a very far limb for no reason and would die of humiliation. "It would also need to be understood that you would not touch me. Ever."

"Of course. You are only asking to sleep with me. Why would I think that?"

There was fire in her eyes when she looked up. "Go to hell, you bastard," she hissed between gritted teeth, turning to leave.

He moved quicker than she thought he would and pulled her away from the door.

"Stay." His eyes were pleading and she let go of the door handle. He gestured to the large bed behind him.

"Not until you voice agreement. I'll not be betrayed."

She could see Lucius stiffen. He must have understood how this could help him, how he may be able to sleep again and rest, but he rankled at the idea of having to say what he wanted.

"We shall enter into a mutually beneficial partnership wherein you sleep in my bed without either of us coming into contact with one another, under the assumption this will help us be in the arms of Morpheus once again."

Mircea could not help but smile. "There's the arrogant reprobate I know."

Lucius felt warmth seep through his weary body at the affection in her words. Without looking at him, Mircea climbed into the bed, taking the side he had not occupied earlier. He realized he was still fully dressed and decided this was a bit awkward. Digging through some drawers he pulled out some silk pajama pants and a cotton shirt, and changed quickly in the bathroom. When he returned, the lights were all off except for a lamp by his side of the bed.

Mircea was curled up on her side, her curls fanned out around her and her wand as close to her as possible. Her eyes followed his journey to his side of the bed, noting that his frame was more pronounced in the pajamas.

He slid under the covers and lay on his back, carefully avoiding contact with her. They lay this way for some minutes, both listening to the crackle from the embers in the fireplace and the breathing of the person next to them.

What ran through their heads was a very similar refrain of either, "There is a woman in my bed; a woman I swore to loathe," or, "I am in Lucius Malfoy's bed. The same man I very seriously considered killing not a month ago." And yet, Mircea wanted to be there and Lucius wanted her to stay.

"Good night, then, Persephone," Lucius said at length before rolling onto his side.

"Noapte bună," she replied, eyelids heavy. She pulled the covers up under her chin and allowed herself to sink into the nothingness that was pulling her into the night.

Movement next to her woke Mircea. Her brain came to wakefulness very slowly. She had slept. Bless Merlin and all of his whiskers she had slept. She buried her face in the pillow, enjoying the sensation of coziness that had eluded her for so very long. She breathed in deeply, enjoying the scent of cologne from the sheets and pillow.

Cologne!

Mircea was awake with her heart slamming and rolled over in an instant, greeted with the sight of Lucius Malfoy reading the paper in bed, a pince-nez perched on his nose. She could feel she was still dressed in her pajamas so what was going on?

Lucius looked over at her shocked expression and laughed easily. He too had slept deeply and he felt rested for the first time in a year and a half.

"I had a similar reaction on finding your long curls peeking out from my bed sheets." Lucius had acted similarly only in the fact that he was surprised. Mircea had been shocked that she was in his bed at all. Lucius had not been surprised that she was there, but dismayed. How often had he absently fantasized about her, or even occasionally dreamed about her? But to actually do it…he had never intended to go through with anything. So on waking with her next to him, his first thoughts were that he had finally gone too far and to question how much had had drunk the previous evening. But she did not need to know this, nor would she ever find out.

"I decided it would be rude to leave you alone, not to mention unsafe. I hope you do not mind. Tea?" Lucius continued, reaching over to the bedside table and offering her a steaming cup.

Mircea pushed herself into a sitting position and took the cup gratefully. She remembered what she had done and could hardly believe she had ever proposed such a thing. But it had worked. Not for the first time, she wondered what Lucius must have been like in his prime; after a good night's sleep he was positively charming.

"This needn't continue if you find it to be–" Mircea began.

"I would prefer it did," he interrupted, looking at her over his glasses.

Lucius watched her as she drank her tea before going back to his paper. The Ministry was still keeping much of the Death Eater and Dark activity quiet. The Ministry's fear of losing control had helped the last time and it would help them again. As long as they were stupid enough to hide what people needed to know, the Death Eaters could continue going about in broad daylight.

He folded up his paper and stretched languidly, before getting out of bed. As sad as it was, he did actually have to get up; every moment they spent together and awake was a danger to both of them. He began to brush his long hair out in an attempt to pull it back, but the silky strands never wanted to stay back and half of them always got away from him. It always took him a horribly long time to do this.

"Would you like assistance?"

Lucius jumped; he had become wrapped up in his thoughts and forgotten she was there at all. His gut reaction was to refuse her help on behalf of his pride. But she had come to him last night and he had already begged her protection for his son. He sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her and passed her the brush. She worked efficiently, her long fingers easily gathering up loose hairs and managing the black ribbon as well. Her hands were cool and her nails tickled his scalp. When she had finished he looked over her work in a nearby mirror.

"My appreciation, Persephone."

Mircea blushed at the use of her first name with such a tone. "I am always here to cover your ineptitudes."

"Of which there are very few," he replied quickly and with a small smirk.

"Well as much as I would love to stay and trade insults with you, I am going to leave. Thank you for a good night's sleep." She gave him a mock curtsey in the center of the room and the melted away nearly silently. Lucius watched the spot for a moment, a smile playing on his lips.

Without any further discussion, the arrangement became ritual. Each night, after all others had gone to bed, Mircea would appear in Lucius's room and they would get what sleep they could.

The effects were quick: both lost the deep circles under their eyes and their complexions became more rosy though still pale. Lucius smoked much less, though he still drank, and Mircea's hysteria was quelled. The only problem that continually presented itself was that of who woke first. Nine times out of ten it was Mircea and there was little for her to do in Lucius's room and boredom made her a horrible snoop.

Mircea awoke one morning while Lucius was still sleeping, snoring softly, and tiptoed over to the vanity table. Pictures were piled up on the table, still left from a cleaning and reframing spree of Narcissa's before Lucius's arrest, and Mircea had been dying to look through them.

As she had suspected about half of them were from Malfoy's school days and the other half were from early in their marriage. There were pictures of he and Narcissa at a dance and pictures of them with a tiny baby Draco.

She flipped through them slowly, tilting the moving pictures towards the candlelight. In the pictures with Narcissa and Bella and the others from his Hogwarts days, Lucius's figure lounged about with an arm protectively around Narcissa. In the later photos, his wife doted on their baby while he looked on with an expression that tried to be fatherly in a removed way, but failed and gave away how adoring he really was.

One picture in particular caught her attention and she set the others aside. It was a shot of only Lucius from what must have been his sixth year at least; he was in full Quidditch gear, the green and silver of Slytherin, and holding a Quaffle. The flying goggles were pushed back on his head and his blonde hair was slipping out of the ponytail he wore it in. He joked with someone out of the frame and threw the ball at them. It hit him in the stomach with force a moment later and he laughed heartily.

"What have we here?"

It was fortunate they had spelled the room seeing as Mircea let out a shriek that made Lucius cover his ears. "Hell, Persephone. You go through my belongings and then attempt to deafen me. Ungrateful to say the least."

"I didn't hear you wake up," she growled at him, trying to hide the picture. "And stop calling me that."

"Why? You call me Lucius." He leaned against the vanity table, crossing his arms.

"Everyone calls you Lucius. It's different."

"I call you a name no one else calls you and you go through pictures of me that no one else sees. We are even."

She wanted to fight back but she had been caught red-handed so there really was not much that could be said in her defense. Mircea decided to change the topic.

"You played Quidditch?"

He nodded taking the picture from her and looking at it. A smile curved his lips. "Chaser." He continued to watch the photo. "I suppose you did not?"

"Hardly. Too much moving and adverse conditions. Chess was my game."

Lucius scooped the pictures off of the table and dumped them into a drawer before turning back to Mircea. "Your turn, witch."

"What are you blathering about Malfoy?" she asked in open annoyance.

"Surely you have some picture of yourself somewhere in your room. If my youth must be aired out, you will hardly escape the same fate."

"You must be kidding."

"Not hardly. Or you could always try bunking with Fenrir; he may be a bit more hands on than myself though."

Mircea made an attempt to slap him, but Lucius caught her wrist and only grinned in response.

"Wait then."

"Gladly."

Mircea was back in a few moments with two pictures in her hands. She handed them both to Lucius before sitting on the bed, her legs folded under her.

Lucius examined the top one first. It was a much younger Mircea: not more than fifteen years old. She was currently reading lying on her stomach on a beach, her hair frizzing into the halo he was now familiar with. A group of witches and wizards were building sand castles over her legs and the legs of someone next to her who was asleep. Intermittently, she would jostle her legs and send the castles crumbling.

"That was a vacation to the Black Sea," Mircea explained from the bed.

Lucius nodded and turned to the next picture. This was very clearly a family portrait. Mircea sat in the front, smiling in her secretive way, next to a gaunt woman with straight wheat-colored hair. Behind her, a curly headed man with Pushkin-esque sideburns grinned out at him. The picture had been developed the Muggle way so none of the figures moved.

"That was before my sixth year," Mircea explained quietly when she noticed him looking intensely at the picture. "That fall was the death of my mother and the spring my father died as well."

Lucius nodded, pity striking him. She had spent her entire adult life without parents and it had hardened her too early. As my own life is hardening my son, he thought to himself in anger.

"Stop it!" Mircea jumped up and yanked the pictures from him. He had begun to crumple them unintentionally in his anger. She smoothed out the small amount of wrinkling. "I should go," she continued, now feeling embarrassed.

"Perhaps…" Lucius agreed with no plain thought in his mind.

She Disapparated quietly. Lucius did not notice. He was looking at the picture of himself as a Chaser.

Two days later, Mircea was again caught prowling around Lucius's room, but this time she had stumbled across something she knew he would want.

She had been looking for parchment to scribble down an idea she had while trying to fall asleep. It annoyed her that there was none in the room and so she began to dig through the desk drawers.

It did not take her long to notice that the top drawer did not go as deep as it outwardly appeared; somewhere in the bottom of it there was a hidden section. Curiosity got the better of her and Lucius rolling onto his stomach convinced her he was not going anywhere. Running her fingers along the sides she discovered a hole of sorts in the side of the drawer. She had to slide her fingers into it to reach the back where there was a switch, and she knew it would be a risk to flip the lever. She could lose her fingers or worse.

Mircea flipped the lever, bracing herself, and there was a loud snap. Lucius shot up in bed, reaching mechanically for his missing wand. He saw Mircea pull her arm out of a drawer in his desk and stormed to her.

"Is there no end to your sneaking, witch?" he hissed at her, shoving her away from his desk. But a further tirade was cut short when his eye landed on what had shot out of the drawer. A thin hidden compartment had opened and within lay a simple, slightly worn, and pale wand.

Mircea watched his hand close around it and she knew it must have once been his. He examined it closely and then pointed it at the bed. The bed was engulfed in flames. He pointed again and it was as if the flames had never existed. His grey eyes locked on her.

"I cannot decide whether to curse you or thank you."

"Hardly the first time, I imagine."

That got him to crack a smile. "Now," he waved his wand at her, "if I find you touching one thing you should not be I can put you in your place."

"Oh, I imagine you'd have a harder time of that than you think," she teased back.

He eyed her, and for the first time he bit back a crass retort.

"Well, as I've done my one good deed for the day, I think I will be off."

"Sure you wouldn't like to rifle through my underwear drawer first?" he asked snidely.

"I was planning on saving that for tomorrow," she shot back before melting away.

Reviews get previews! From this point out we will be solidly within the timeline of book 7.