"She made her choice."
Narcissa only hmphed in response, her eyes hollow with grief as she stared at the far wall. It had clawed at her insides for 15 years. She lost both sisters that day.
Lucius donned his cloak, the weight of it was nothing compared to the suffocating tension that had existed between them since the trial. Since her sister had been sent away and the other stopped answering her letters.
He hated when she retreated into this glacial fortress. It was during these times she was more distant. Colder. Unreachable even for Draco. It was also during these periods of crushing depression that Bellatrix's shadow eclipsed their marriage.
Her eldest sister was locked away but somehow was always present, whispering against him, until his wife declared him the enemy. He had become an unwelcome guest in his own home. Maybe now with her sister free from Azkaban he would be invited back in.
"I can stay if you like," he whispered, staring at her rigid back, knowing she didn't want him present longer than necessary. He prayed that for once things would be different.
"No. I'll be fine. I can manage." She stood, turning to face him with eyes reflecting a reddish tint. Narcissa hoped he would leave silently like he normally did, sparing them both this awkward exchange.
"I can go another time." Lucius didn't mind canceling on a mistress. They were replaceable, interchangeable vessels for his desperation. His pain. He wasn't particularly fond of this one anyway she was just as obnoxious as her husband. Another whore with a hollow smile and empty promise.
"No. Don't keep Calista waiting." Her voice cracked on the name, she despised the woman more than she hated her husband.
Lucius noted her devastation, raw and bleeding from beneath her porcelain façade. It only pained him that it wasn't due to his indiscretion. Over the years he had hoped she'd grow angry. Demand he stop his affairs but she didn't. Her indifference wounded him. It screamed he didn't matter.
"She doesn't matter. You and Draco will always come first."
"You sure about that?" Narcissa's laugh was brittle enough to draw blood. "We weren't even in the running when he was around, and with his return I fear Draco will largely be forgotten especially now when he needs you the most. You know he's in love with that Granger girl. Just like Andromeda." She whispered the latter not bothering to mask her pain. Only briefly was Lucius able to get a glimpse beneath the porcelain facade.
Lucius stiffened, the truth of her words lancing through him. She was referring to his service for the Dark Lord. When Lord Voldemort was in his prime, Lucius had made the man his world, sacrificing everything—including his family—at that unholy altar.
He sighed he'd deal with Draco's infatuation another time.
"That was different," he let his arms fall uselessly to his sides. The lie tasted like bitter wine. It wasn't different. In his younger years he had wanted power. Glory. During the first war, he obtained neither serving as a purse, providing the financing for the Dark Lord's ill-conceived vendettas and megalomaniacal schemes. He had learned his lesson and relinquished all ties to his former life. But this time, with the Dark Lord's return, fear was the only thing keeping him chained to such a monster.
"Don't lie, Lucius. You said you would never lie to me." She spoke through tears that seemed endless, holding herself tighter as if she might physically break apart.
He breathed deep, the air scraping his lungs. He was never good at lying especially to her, but she was skilled at extracting the truth from him.
"Are you upset because your lover left?" The question hung between them, sharp and dangerous.
She only looked at him eyes swimming with a desolation that made him want to scream.
"You shouldn't be, dear. A lot of people have fled the country, afraid of getting rounded up in the Ministry raids. Several prisoners escaped from Azkaban this morning so Fudge is desperate for any leads. Once the air has cleared, I am sure he will reach out to you. Then you can go see him. I don't mind." Another lie, this one more vicious than the last. He did mind. He minded with every fiber of his being. He only kept a mistress because she had her lover. Her longtime lover. He didn't want to be alone.
For fifteen agonizing years, Lucius had been the other man in his wife's life. She loved this man with a devotion that Lucius had never known from her. It devoured him, knowing he would never possess her heart.
"No," Narcissa whispered, each word a funeral bell. "He would have taken me with him, or at the very least asked." She returned to sit on the bed, shoulders slumped in defeat.
He stared at the floor and instinctively rubbed his hands together before looking down at his knuckles. The charm had worked well—it always did—but he couldn't shake the power he had felt for over a week. It was the power that only beating someone to death with your bare hands could give. He felt savage. Like a man. A real one. Not this shell, this husk that his wife looked through rather than at.
"Would you have gone?" He braced himself, needing to know yet dreading the answer. Her slow response was already slicing at what remained of his heart. Lucius feared he would faint and hurriedly sat down on the end of the bed, as far from her as possible.
Narcissa thought for a moment, the silence stretching between them like an abyss. Would she have left her son? The answer terrified her, but she had to be honest with herself and with him. Lucius had always treated her well, in his way. He deserved that much, even as she destroyed him.
"Probably. Yes, I would have." She spoke softly, but her words fell like hammer blows. If he decided to beat her, she wouldn't object. It was one thing to have an affair; it was another to betray him in such a fundamental way.
Lucius refused to face her—not like this. Not with damp cheeks and eyes blazing red with unshed tears. Pride would not let him show her that his tattered heart lay crushed in her hands. She had killed him just as surely as he had killed her lover, his hands still ached from the violence of it.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, crawling across the bed to him. Lightly, she placed her hand on his shoulder, feeling him flinch beneath her touch.
"Me too. I'm sorry." He stood, refusing to acknowledge the gentle touch that burned his flesh.
"We can have another child. I know you've always wanted more children," Narcissa offered desperately. She hoped that would somehow make amends for the last fifteen years of betrayal.
"Do you want more children, Narcissa?" His voice was hollow, already knowing the answer.
She hesitated, stomping down the visceral "no" that dangled from her lips.
"It doesn't matter," she said instead, voice trembling. "Maybe we'll have a little girl."
Lucius heard the rustling of fabric and turned around to find Narcissa frantically pulling at her gown, her movements those of someone drowning. He grabbed her hands, stopping her. He wouldn't make love to her; not like this. It felt wrong. Cheap. A mockery of intimacy they had never truly shared.
Conceiving Draco had been difficult and humiliating enough. His wife had lain there with her legs spread, hands above her head, crystal blue gaze fixed to the ceiling as if she could transport herself anywhere but beneath him. As soon as the healer confirmed she was with child, that nightly degradation stopped, and he vowed never again. Not unless she was willing. Not unless she looked at him the way she looked at him.
"Narcissa, please." His voice broke on her name.
She stopped, bringing her gaze to rest on his. He was utterly defeated. Narcissa noted he looked tired and well beyond his years. The grey in his carefully coiffed mane was prevalent, a testament to the strain of their shared deception. It was uncharacteristic for him to look so disheveled. So shaken. So human.
"He's back, isn't he?" The question barely a whisper, heavy with dread.
She didn't need to elaborate. His reaction—the way the color drained from his face, the way his hands began to tremble—confirmed the "he." Lucius froze, releasing the hold on her wrists as if scorched.
"Yes." A single syllable carrying the weight of their doom.
She nodded, setting back on the bed, all of the fight draining from her body.
"What does this mean?" Though she already knew the answer, she needed to hear it—needed the horror spoken aloud.
"That everything will change," he said, voice leaden with despair. "I will go back into service for him. I will do my best to keep Draco away from all of this, but he may be called upon." The words tasted like ashes in his mouth.
"Called upon?" Her voice rose, terror clawing at her throat. "What does that even mean Lucius?"
"I…I don't know; until the Dark Lord is ready to meet and give orders I can't say. For now, Draco is safe." He nodded a desperate attempt to convince himself of another lie. Lucius couldn't protect Draco. He knew at some point his son would be called to do more. Draco was the only person outside of Severus that had such unfettered access to the Dark Lord's obsession.
"You don't know?" She whispered harshly rising from the bed. He backed away as she drew nearer; Lucius didn't want her to touch him afraid the mere act alone would reveal all.
She stopped short of making physical contact staring into watery grey eyes.
"You won't let him do that."
He opened his mouth to answer but stopped upon realization that it wasn't a question. He sighed and drew in a shaky breath he would answer her as truthfully as possible.
"I can't make that promise. Dealing with the Dark Lord is complicated and-" he wasn't able to finish before Narcissa's palm connected with his cheek.
He squared his shoulders ready to take whatever punish she dished out it was the least he could do for not being what she needed.
Narcissa was tired and with confirmation the Dark Lord had returned, she was terrified more so now than she had been in the past. Lucius had defected. Lied. Denied his master. Although it was utter madness at the time, her sister had made the right choice, and was safe. Bellatrix wouldn't endure their Master's wrath. She couldn't say the same for Lucius nor for herself and Draco.
What would become of them?