Behind a Bittersweet Smile

You never had to love me.

You know that.

When I met you, it wasn't your choice. That wasn't hidden. You loved somebody else, and if you could have, you would have married him. It wasn't my fault.

You know that. Don't you?

It's not my fault that when I saw you, captivated by your fragile beauty, I could not do anything but look as our parents bound us together. I know that if you could have, you would have run; repulsed by me and my huge ego, me and my confidence that I, Lucius Malfoy, could have whoever I wanted.

I was such an arrogant fool, back then.

And yet, I remember as I stood at the wedding altar with you in front of me in your pale gown and your even paler skin shining whitely; I could not find regret that we were to be together. A ring bound us together; a little scrap of metal joined our lives into one. I, too, loved another; and yet together we cobbled together a life of sorts. It wasn't much a life, but it was a life, and for that I was grateful, if only a little.

The first time I kissed you, it was like kissing a statue. You were limp in my arms, hardly even putting your arms around me, and I was rough with you, afraid of what I might find. But when I backed off, saw the bruise on your delicate mouth; I was scared then, scared of what I might become with you.

You never had to love me, Narcissa.

But I still remember the first time you kissed me. I had placed a necklace around your white throat, a diamond nestling in the hollow, befitting your status as my wife if only in name. And you looked at me, and in your eyes I saw a tiny little glint of tenderness. It startled me, for it was the first time I had seen it. And then you kissed me gently, your cold lips touching mine in a kiss that made me shiver with unexpected pleasure.

And I remember the first time we bedded together; the bones jutting through in your thin hips, as you cried out and writhed with my fingers leaving red marks down the whiteness of your skin. You lay on the bed with the look of a frightened doe in your eyes; and yet when I gripped you so hard I left bruises and I came, I almost thought that you came, too. Came to me.

I can see why the shadowy person who lurked in your background loved you. It was not that you were easy to love, because you weren't. You were always so quiet; so cold, so distant. You were like an ice statue; perfect in your movements and so perfect it didn't seem real. You floated through life like you were dreaming; always distant, always gentle, and always humble.

You never had to love me, and that was always unspoken between us.

I never told you I loved you, ever, ever. I loved another, just like you loved another, and in my mind I always compared you to her. But soon the image of my perfect woman faded in my mind's eye, and you replaced her as she grew dim and you grew stronger. Your smile held a thousand words, when it was granted. I always found it strange that when you curved your lips upwards, you looked so beautiful that I would find myself taking a step towards you, intoxicated by that bittersweet smile.

We never showed any affection outside the privacy of our mansion. In public, the most I would ever do would be putting a possessive arm around your waist to show that you were mine and no other's. I remember once pulling you too tight against my body, hurting you, and the reproach in your eyes as you looked up at me after. There were no kisses that night, and I slept alone. After that, I never hurt you in public again. Did I?

Sometimes, though, when we were alone, you would turn and I would see that bittersweet smile as you looked at me; your mysterious eyes full of so many things. Then I would find myself crushing you with my lips, seeking the taste that only your mouth held, pushing my body tight against yours. And sometimes, you would respond, licking my lips and my teeth with your wet tongue and moving just a little to the rhythmic pounding of our bodies and those small gestures meant more to me then I could say.

And yet- we were a sham together. Nothing held us together more then the rings on our fingers and our parents' wishes and the shame that would come if we ever split. We rarely dined together and often the only time I would see you was when you would come to bed in your thin translucent nightgown and I would pull you beside me and run my hands through your blond hair. Nighttimes bound us together. Daytimes tore us apart.

Oh, we had a twisted relationship, you and me, Narcissa. It was never normal, for I could never tell what you felt towards me- whether you hated me or loved me, liked or despised me. You never let any of your feelings show behind your bittersweet smile. And for a while, I was fine with that. I did not want a loving wife. All I needed was the lie.

But sometimes, when we would lie together, me caressing your pale body with my hands and burying my face in your fine hair, I would wonder- what did you really feel? Did you care, at all, when I kissed you? Did you feel a tingling when I would spread your legs and touch you? Did you feel anything at all?

Sometimes, you would reciprocate; when, with that smile of yours, you would make me groan and moan with unexpected pleasure and make me writhe, clutching at you as I came. But more often you would lie still, letting me do what I wanted, seemingly not caring as I spread your legs or left red marks on your frail skin. It made me angry, that you did not seem to care, and I would be rough with you, handling you forcefully and making you cry out.

I sometimes regretted it afterwards; sometimes when I had been so harsh when taking you and you lay still, tears pooling on the stillness of your face. But I never let you see that I was sorry for what I did to you, because that was not what Malfoys did.

I was brought up in a household where a man held control over his wife, and that was the kind of household I created for you. It was a place of control, and I see now you must have felt stifled, living in a fake life, but you never said so. You never said anything I did not want to hear, except for once- but that time is long behind us and I have put it aside.

When you were carrying our child, I wondered every time I saw your swollen belly. It stretched your thin stomach; distorting the beauty and yet adding to it. You did not come easily to pregnancy; though you never complained, you had the entire household waiting on you hand and foot. I would often cup your belly in my hands, wondering and marvelling at the life inside of you; and you would look up at me, but the little joy I felt did not seem to be reflected in you.

When he was born, our son, you lay in your bed, weak and exhausted from the long hours of labour. I came in, staring at the little baby boy in the cradle, and you looked at him, but you did not smile. You wanted a girl.

"What shall we call him?" I recall asking you.

But your response was quiet and yet, underneath the sweet tones, angry. "You can name him."

I called him Draco; he was named for you, for the hidden dragon in you, but like always you gave me a small bitter smile when I told you and did not say anything.

You never had to love me, and I would not have blamed you if you didn't. I, too, was not easy to love. But though I never said it- I loved you. In my own way, I did, loved you more then any man should have to love. It frustrated me that you never showed any emotion and yet were so beautiful in your way.

And now that I am alone; without your quiet fragile body beside me, with the breathing of the dark and my Lord coming to power and all these things happening- I miss you and your bittersweet smile, the curve of your lips that held a secret.

You never had to love me, Narcissa.

But sometimes I wonder if you did.