Object of Affection

Object of Affection - 1

Over the mirrors meant

To glass the opulent

The sea worm crawls - grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.

Thomas Hardy - The Convergence of the Twain

A loud tapping at the window made Narcissa look up from her paper. She let the grey eagle owl in with a flick of her wand and a chill swept through the sunroom as the bird flapped in and settled on the toast rack. Narcissa reached for the scroll tied to its leg, but the owl flapped its wings aggressively and made to nip at her fingers.

"Lucius, darling, a letter from your father," she said dryly and went back to reading the editorial section of Le Monde: Magie.

Lucius folded his paper and laid it down next to his breakfast plate. He untied the cord and noted the seal - it was the note he had been dreading. People at work had been telling him all week how much they were looking forward to his father's weekend party at the Manor. A small part of his brain had hoped that the antipathy between Narcissa and his family would finally drive his father to abandon convention and "forget" to invite them. A vain hope, it seemed.

Dear Lucius,

Damon is looking forward to meeting your wife when you arrive on Friday for dinner.

He tells me he is bringing along a friend, so the witches can gossip together. Saves us from listening to their prattle. We three have some serious matters to discuss before the guests arrive - how Damon will help me get the family in order and how you will support him in those efforts.

Happy Christmas,

SM

"Ah, Christmas. The holly is hung, the Yule log roars, and we're the fat that's in the fire," he said, passing the note to Narcissa.

Scanning it quickly, she scowled slightly. "And not a single previous commitment to shelter us. God, I wish I knew where my parents are - we could throw ourselves on their doorstep and ask for sanctuary. Everyone else we know will be at the Manor," she sighed exasperatedly. "Lucius, is there any reason I shouldn't respond to this?"

He smiled. Of course there was - his father would be irked. The note was addressed to him, and the insult to Narcissa was clear. While he would have thought a diplomat's daughter would seek to avoid confrontation, Narcissa thrived on it. The opportunity was too good to pass up - kill two birds with one stone by pleasing her and displeasing Father. "It is clearly your duty to manage the social affairs of this household, my dear," he said, picking up his paper again.

Narcissa waved her wand toward the door, and in a minute a quill and a bottle of red ink floated through and settled next to her on the table. Unrolling the bottom of the scroll, she penned her reply:

Mr. and Mrs. Lucius Malfoy

Accept with pleasure

Mr. Malfoy's gracious invitation.

And signed it with a huge NM and a flourish.

Nothing more. Sebastian would burst a blood vessel. Narcissa smiled to herself as she reached for the owl to reply. It still wouldn't let her touch it. Handing the retied scroll to her husband, she went back to her paper. Damned if the old bastard would ruin her Sunday.

*

Five days later, Sebastian Malfoy was unpleasantly surprised when two people entered his study to wish him a Happy Christmas. He had been sitting in front of the fire, nursing his drink for an hour, waiting for his children to arrive. His elder son, Damon, came into the room with the last person Sebastian desired to be his "guest" for the weekend party. The fire was merrily crackling, but the look in Sebastian's eyes could have frozen the flames. He stared at it as he spoke.

"Couldn't make it home in time for dinner, son?"

"I came as soon as I could, Father. Weren't Lucius and his wife entertaining enough for you?"

"Your brother has been detained at the Ministry."

"Finally caught him red-handed, did they?" Damon chuckled.

"As a spokesman, it's up to him to dream up something comforting for the Minister of Magic to say when things start exploding. Those terrorists are stirring up trouble again. I'm surprised they have enough intelligence between them to spark a wand, let alone disrupt commerce. But then, those brainless wonders at Magical Law Enforcement make it a fair fight."

"Father, you remember my friend, Voldemort?"

"How do you do," Sebastian said tersely, rising to shake his hand.

"Thank you for inviting me again, Sebastian."

Sebastian's eyes widened as he looked into the red eyes of his son's companion, but then he caught himself.

Damon laughed mischievously at his discomfort, "You'll get used to it, Father. Voldemort has been pushing the limits - some of the magic bounced back on him. I think they look fantastic."

"If it disturbs you, I can put a charm on them," Voldemort said politely.

"Not tonight, but if it wouldn't be too much trouble before those silly witches arrive tomorrow... No need to frighten them out of their wits."

"Not that they have any wit to start..." said Damon with a grin.

"Don't be boorish, Damon. Fix your guest a drink." Sebastian took a long pull on his whiskey. "I haven't seen you in weeks, Damon. Where have you been?"

"Visiting friends," Damon said, pouring Scotch into crystal glasses for himself and Voldemort. "Seeing the sights. Standard Christmas rounds. I saw some magnificent Thestral in Armagh, and you should see the Aethonans Drew Waugh is cross breeding with Thestral on Iona - wings like gold! His Thestans there are the best I've seen in ages," he said, sitting down on the couch next to his friend. After Quidditch, flying horses were his passion - he'd travel any distance to visit a new breeder. Thestans were his favourite, as they had similar reputations - dark, beautiful and dangerous.

"I know. The Waughs were here last week. Pity you missed them," Sebastian said with a disapproving scowl.

Damon smiled jauntily and sipped his drink. "Voldemort's business kept us away."

Turning to scowl at Voldemort now, Sebastian said, "You're in business now, are you? I'm surprised Gringotts thinks it prudent to underwrite that kind of enterprise."

"I'm privately funded at the moment, but since Damon thinks my project worthwhile, I think his friends might also see it as a prudent investment in the future," Voldemort replied calmly.

"If Damon's friends rely on his advice, I have some oceanfront property in Atlantis I'd like to sell them," Sebastian said gruffly. Turning his gaze back to his son, he said, "Still, I'm glad you could come home for the holidays, son. From what I read in the paper, Voldemort's business has been very busy lately."

"Success breeds success, Sebastian. You'd be surprised at how much we've accomplished," said Voldemort with a smile.

"I never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups."

*

"Home sweet Hell," Lucius said quietly as they Apparated onto the front steps.

"It's Christmas, Lucius. Think happy thoughts," Narcissa said, giving his gloved fingers a squeeze.

"That was a happy thought," he said, his face starting to set into an impassive mask. As he reached for the door handle, it flew out of his hand and a house elf welcomed them into the entry-hall.

"Happy Christmas, Lucius Malfoy! Welcome home!" it squeaked, taking his cloak and gloves.

"Where is my father?" said Lucius, helping Narcissa with her cloak.

"We're in here," Damon called from the doorway to the study. "Lucius, come in and get warm. The cold doesn't agree with you at all."

Narcissa stood regally in the front hall, admiring the tall tree covered in silver ribbons and white fairy lights. If he hadn't known better, Lucius would have said the angel on top had been animated - she was serenity itself. How he envied her. "Narcissa, come say hello."

Reluctantly taking her gaze from the tree, Narcissa smiled at her husband. She hadn't seen him this uncomfortable since their wedding day. Come to think of it, that was also the last time he spent any extended time with his family. Still, the frozen mask was quite attractive, and ice wasn't that hard to melt, when you knew how.

Lucius walked over to his father, who stood up from his chair and embraced him. "Welcome home, son," he said. Narcissa pressed her cheek to Sebastian's and kissed the air. "Happy Christmas, Narcissa."

"Happy Christmas, Father," Lucius said, sitting Narcissa down on a burgundy leather couch near the fire. She sat very tall and confidently, but her back never touched the cushions. Lucius stood behind her.

"I apologise, dear. I thought Damon was bringing a friend for you to chat with tonight while the boys and I talked. I don't imagine you'll be very interested." Motioning to the man standing behind his chair, Sebastian prodded, "Damon, have you introduced yourself to your sister-in-law yet?" and sat back down in his big leather chair.

Damon came around the chair and grabbed her hand as she stood. She recognized him from pictures - a younger version of Lucius' father. At least a decade older than Lucius, he was still every inch the black sheep of the family, too. Vibrant and confident, his curly dark hair just touched his collar, and his dark eyes danced with suppressed mirth. It would be easy to follow him straight into trouble. An older man stood up from the opposite couch and stepped next to him. He was quieter, but every bit as interesting. While power seemed to radiate from the Malfoys, he seemed to absorb it. It was a fascinating dynamic. Narcissa wondered how all four men could occupy the same room simultaneously without sparks flying. Then again, she'd only been there a minute; no doubt the fireworks would commence soon. Lucius had told her that his father was not pleased with how close Damon was getting to recent scandals. It was getting harder to keep the Malfoy name out of the papers, not to mention the times Lucius's silver tongue kept his older brother out of jail. Damon was well past the age where "experimenting with Dark Arts" was considered a youthful misjudgement, and the current political climate was becoming very unfriendly toward any suspicious activities.

"My dear Medea, pictures don't do you justice!" he said, pressing her cheek. "Welcome to the family. I'm Damon, Lucius's brother, and this is my friend Voldemort."

"How do you do Mrs. Malfoy, it's a pleasure to meet you," Voldemort said, shaking her hand. So this was the face that filled the Malfoy's closets with skeletons? His eyes were startling, but the air of power that surrounded him reminded Narcissa of her father. In contrast to Damon, this man kept himself on a tight leash. That made him more dangerous. No wonder Sebastian was worried.

"How do you do. Please call me 'Narcissa'," she said to Voldemort, looking pointedly over his shoulder at Damon as she shook his hand. Then she took her seat again and let the matter drop.

"Is everything hammered out at the Ministry, Lucius? We have a lot to do this weekend, and I can't have you going missing," Sebastian said, gazing at the fire.

"As calm as ever. They've had their show, so now I expect even the terrorists to spend their holidays quietly," Lucius replied, with a cool look at his brother.

"I want to take the horses out for some Thesean Hippike on Sunday morning. Can you boys organize it?"

"In a day and a half? Isn't it a little late to start now?" Lucius questioned calmly.

"That's alright, Lucius. Damon knows his duty to the family. He can do it himself if you can't," Sebastian said lazily. "There are Crups enough in the kennel, and I have a dozen Occamy eggs from India which I have been assured will hatch tomorrow. All he needs to arrange are the wizards."

"I think it will be fantastic!" Damon said. "I'll tell Drew Waugh to bring his riding gear. And Neil Wakefield and Marcus Kerr. Voldemort, you can use some of mine. Lucius, will you be riding?"

"Of course he will!" Sebastian said sharply.

"So that leaves two horses. Father, will you join us?" Lucius asked.

"No - I'm still using that walking stick for more than show," he said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, as if suddenly remembering his injury. "Old bones don't mend as fast as they used to, and after that last episode I'm not going to let another incompetent young fool at St. Mungo's practice on my knee. Maybe in the spring."

"Narcissa, would you like to ride?" Lucius inquired, his face a study in innocent curiosity.

"I'd love to," she said, but catching the dark looks from Sebastian and Damon, decided discretion was the better part of valour. "I'd love to, but I think it might shock the ladies."

"We don't have a proper saddle for her, Lucius," Damon said evenly, shooting his brother a look which spoke volumes.

"Narcissa can use our saddles. She medalled in dressage in Corfu when we were at school," baited Lucius.

"I think it will look magnificent if I leave it to you men. I can't just put on my Quidditch robes to ride a flying horse in a Thesean Hippike," she said pleasantly. "Perhaps you can take me for a less formal ride tomorrow, though, before the guests arrive, Lucius?" she said, turning to look at him over her shoulder. Prankster! The very idea - a woman riding Thesean Hippike. Next they'll be reading - getting ideas! O tempora, O mores!

He saw the look in her eyes and was glad she was in such good spirits. Father and Damon were in rare form tonight. "In the morning, then. I look forward to it," he said smoothly. "Well, I don't think I'll have any trouble convincing Morgan and his cousin to join us. I'll just have to remember to owl them to pack properly for the morning after the ball." Lucius went to the far corner of the room to pour the two stiffest drinks south of the Arctic for the two of them. It was going to be a long weekend.

Voldemort broke the silence, "You've been to Corfu, Mrs. Malfoy?"

"'Narcissa', please. Yes, my parents were there one summer working with the antiquities. After all the troubles in that part of the world - those Muggle generals and such have no respect for ancient treasures, and Muggle repelling charms don't work against bombs - they were very busy."

"Your parents are archaeologists?"

"No, father is a Ministry liaison to the International Confederation of Wizards. A trouble-shooter."

"Surely your mother isn't..." Damon interjected with a puzzled face.

"No, but Mother isn't one to sit home and wait while Father wanders abroad, either. She'd rather see the worst for herself than imagine it from half a world away. The work isn't always pleasant."

"Not even when you dragged my baby brother to South America last year?"

"I didn't drag him; I met him. I was home in Provence when he told us he'd be working with Father. Mother and I weren't planning to go - we had to make arrangements for the wedding that summer."

"Sorry I missed the wedding - I was unavoidably detained," Damon said with a dark look.

"Yes, we heard. Rotten luck. We missed you," she smiled. Unavoidably detained - lovely euphemism for getting tossed in a dungeon. "Guest of the Ministry of Cyprus" was the one Daddy used to explain his absence. Not that he had to explain - her parents' friends in Cyprus had been his hosts. Sebastian had asked Daddy to speak to the people who mattered, and Daddy had - told them enough to get Damon lost in the system for two weeks. There was no love lost between her family and Lucius's after that episode - not that there was ever much.

"Certainly didn't take you long to bring Lucius to heel, though. Father has been trying to get him home for years, and you had him settled in London in a month! Although if I had to choose between spending a night with the Tonton Macoute and you..."

Sebastian interrupted, "Tonton Macoute is in Haiti. Lucius was attacked in Argentina."

Narcissa spoke up, "Actually, it was Chile. A little west."

Sebastian was not at all pleased about being corrected. "It looks like you're being supplanted as the Font of All Knowledge, Damon," he said sarcastically. "After all your exotic travels, dear, you must find living in London quite dreary and dull."

"Living in London is quite nice, really," Narcissa said, accepting her drink from Lucius and taking a sip.

"Far nicer than staying here in this draughty old place, I imagine. So much more convenient. Still, Lucius never had any trouble getting to work when he lived here. But that was before you were married," said Sebastian resentfully.

Voldemort spoke up, "You said you lived in Provence, Narcissa? How was the weather?"

"Lovely. Very temperate," she said carefully. "We could grow anything in the gardens."

"They make a memorable Chardonnay there at Chateau D'Arcy," Lucius said, also trying to keep the subject on safer topics.

"I tried some of that once," Damon said with a sneer, "tastes like horse piss."

"Lacking your culinary experience, I'll have to take your word on that," Narcissa said dryly.

Sebastian was shocked. "Lucius, take your wife up to her room. She must be exhausted after her long journey. Then come back down here and help me finish up my plans for the weekend."

"Yes, Father," he said, rising from his chair and reaching out a hand to Narcissa. The look he gave her brooked no discussion. "Come, Narcissa," he said sternly.

She rose and smiled at the men, and said in her most regal tone, "Yes, I am quite exhausted. Good night."

Lucius took her hand and led her from the room, closing the door behind her. Right outside the door he said, "Give me your wrist." She offered her free hand to him with a grin, palm up. He slapped her wrist playfully, but hard enough to make noise, and she cried out with surprise, her eyes dancing with amusement. Catching the other hand in his, he pinned her to the door of the study with a bang, and raising her hands above her head he started kissing her throat. "Naughty, naughty witch," he breathed into her ear. Narcissa cried out in pleasure, loud enough for everyone in the study to hear through the closed door. He stopped to grin at her. "Go to your room - I'll be up as soon as I can."

"I'd rather go to your room, unless your father has warded it to protect your virginity," she said saucily.

"My virginity?" he croaked.

"Your honour then."

His smile faded and he looked thoughtful. "It would have been more convenient if he had warded it, now that you mention it. Narcissa, don't go to my room. Damon and I have a Christmas tradition, and I don't expect he broke it this year. My room will probably have an unpleasant surprise - I'd better walk you up."

They walked up the carved oak stairs together, Narcissa gazing at the portraits of the Malfoys. Some of them she remembered from her history books - famous and infamous, elegant ancestors all. They walked a few doors down the hall, to the room Narcissa vaguely remembered was his. Lucius stopped and took out his wand, and opened his door slowly.

Lights blazed as he entered. Narcissa stood in the doorway and watched him search. The room was remarkable for its plainness. There was nothing about this room that reminded her of Lucius, and it had always been that way, even when he lived here. There were no books, pictures, trophies, or souvenirs to suggest anyone claimed this room. It was bizarre - everywhere else, Lucius commanded attention. His looks, his manner, and his voice all combined into a presence which would not be ignored. Here, in the home of his childhood, he was a chameleon, blending effortlessly into the background. She wondered if he enjoyed playing "spy" as he combed the wardrobe and the dresser for boobytraps. She was starting to become amused at his paranoia when he flipped back the blanket on his bed and she saw it covered in nettles and furry Glumbumbles. The sheets were soaked in the insects' melancholy-inducing slime. He incinerated them with a flick of his wrist, but Narcissa was disgusted, and it showed on her face.

"That was your Christmas present?" she said.

"He must be getting soft - last year it was a Lethifold from Haiti."

"You're joking," she said, following him to her room, aghast. Those tropical creatures were deadly, man-eating shadows that smothered people as they slept. Surely no one would bring one into their home? Lucius opened the door to her room and lit the lamp. It was a quietly feminine room that had once belonged to his grandmother. The walls were hung with floral paintings and landscapes, and the furniture was more delicate than his. Narcissa started to take off her rings and earrings. "Hold these for me," she said, putting her wand and jewels in his hands as she ducked behind an oriental screen to change.

Lucius opened the jewellery box on the nightstand, and a misty shape flew out of the box and became an elaborately framed mirror. It hovered a few inches from his face. He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing as his heart beat painfully fast. He heard Narcissa talking, but couldn't make out the words.

"Lucius, you'd best go back downstairs before you're missed." He made no response. "Lucius?" Narcissa called. She walked out from behind the screen in her nightgown, and suddenly the mirror transformed into Narcissa. Dressed like a Chilean peasant woman, in a bowler hat, and with pictures of her parents and Lucius pinned to her blouse, the boggart started to dance slowly, and Narcissa's hands flew to her mouth as she stifled a scream. For a moment she was back in Chile, and the horror of those weeks - wizards, Muggles, ghosts, and bodies. Muggles attacking wizards, wizards attacking wizards, ghosts screaming everywhere against the injustice. People forbidden to scream, dancing silently to express their grief and outrage. So many bodies - so much misery - and it was happening again, here, at home...

Lucius came back to himself when the mirror disappeared, and with a steady hand he disposed of the boggart, sending it back into the rosewood box. Slamming the lid he embraced Narcissa. "He must be feeling generous this year. Welcome to the family, darling." He could feel her fight for control as he held her. Her breath became more even, and her body relaxed. It took effort - but she did it, and without tears. She was a tough little china doll - strong and beautiful.

"But...he's your brother. Why?" she said quietly.

"He's a vicious bastard."

"This was just a joke?" she said angrily. "I realize it wasn't dangerous, but...."

"But that doesn't change anything," Lucius finished the sentence for her. "Narcissa, trust him as far as you can throw him," he said, stepping back from her. "Avoid him if you can. And keep your wand handy," he said, giving it back to her with the rings.

"I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself," she said resolutely, raising her chin.

Seeing his own anger in her eyes, he kissed her on the lips. "Take very good care of yourself. I'll be up as soon as I can," he said, taking the rosewood box and leaving the room.

"I'll be waiting!" she whispered to the closed door.

*

Lucius entered the study quietly and walked to the back of the room to pour himself another drink - ice water. Damon would assume it was Stoli if he looked, and Lucius wanted to keep his wits about him. After the boggart incident he had dropped the contents of the box in his brother's wardrobe, but he didn't want to talk to Damon yet. He was still too angry. Listening to them talk from a distance, he toyed with a chess set. He set up a puzzle he had read last week in the Prophet. White mates in three moves. Seven pieces on the board. After a few minutes it was clear: the pawn was a sacrifice play. He felt a twinge of something frighteningly close to sympathy, and started to put the pieces away.

"Would you like to play a game?" Voldemort asked.

Lucius had not heard him approach, but looked up calmly.

"Make it a speed game, Lucius, or you'll be up all night. Voldemort is even slower than

you are!" Damon laughed from the couch.

"My brother is very impatient," Lucius said, nodding to the chair opposite him. "Backgammon is more his game."

"He has a point, though. It could be a long night," said the older man as he seated himself.

"Ten second limit, then?"

"Agreed."

They played for some minutes, quickly clearing the board. Damon came over, attracted to the noise of the pieces hacking each other up. He studied the board for a few moves and impulsively reached down and moved Voldemort's white queen into the fray, pinning the knight guarding the king's retreat. "Check, Lucius."

"Is that a fact?"

"Power is the only fact," he said with a grin.

"Power and position, Damon," said Lucius, bringing up his pawn to block the attack and simultaneously clear the way for his remaining bishop to check the white king. "Leverage is key."

In one more move the white king would be finished. Voldemort resigned, his face expressionless.

"You're better at this than I remembered," Damon sneered.

"I'm surprised you noticed," Lucius said with a raised eyebrow. He supposed he should let his guest take back the move, and start again. That would be the gracious thing to do. But Lucius enjoyed Damon's discomfort too much to offer any relief.

Sebastian called over from the chair in front of the fire, "Lucius, do you remember where that Necronomicon your grandmother gave you is? Voldemort was saying he'd like a look at it."

"I don't remember exactly, but I think I can find it," he said, rising from his chair.

"I'll help you," Damon volunteered.

Lucius was intrigued - normally Damon avoided the library like the plague. But then again, so did he ever since his grandmother had died.

At his hesitation, Sebastian spoke up. "Take your brother with you. You haven't seen each other in a long time."

"One hundred thirty-seven days - I missed you a lot," said Lucius dryly.

"You counted the days?" said Damon with a raised eyebrow as the two young men left the room together.

"I made the number up," Lucius sighed. You self-important idiot.

*

Leaving his chair as his boys left the room, Sebastian walked back to where Voldemort was sitting and set up the chess game again. Holding out the kings in his two fists he asked, "What do you want, Voldemort?"

Voldemort tapped his right hand and took the black king. Sebastian placed his pawn at the centre of the board to start the game.

"Why do you ask?" the thin man replied, matching his move.

"I ask because I need my son back. This is out of hand - his ego is getting him into trouble. His association with you is dangerous - for him and the family."

"You once welcomed the danger," said Voldemort, capturing a pawn with his knight.

"I was young and foolish," Sebastian said laconically.

"And you are wiser now?" replied Voldemort with a hint of amusement.

"I know that the things I love need protection." Sebastian said seriously as he broke out his rook and slid it across the board to capture the black knight. This wasn't going as well as he had hoped. He needed Voldemort's cooperation, and his old school friend didn't appear to be in an accommodating mood. "What did you do when you left? You were gone for so long - you never wrote."

"I walked down every road in Hell. Twice. I burned away everything that stood between me and my destiny. How did you pass the years?"

"Here, preserving my home. Fulfilling my duty to my family," Sebastian said, motioning with his hand to encompass the room.

"And what of your noble purpose? Was it just to carry on the name? To sire brats off willing women and raise them to uphold the family honour?" Voldemort said in a hard voice.

"You're bitter," he said, shaking his head.

"I'm over it. I loved you once, like a brother. But no longer. I have a higher love. Damon sees it, and that's what he follows. He'll never foreswear it."

"I need my son back."

"I don't keep him from you," Voldemort said evenly.

"You drive him from me at every opportunity!" Sebastian shot back, before regaining control of himself and arguing, "He can't help you from prison."

"True." Voldemort's play was mechanical now - as though he has lost interest in the game.

"I propose an exchange. Damon for Lucius. Damon is too headstrong for you - he'll do more damage in his enthusiasm than the MLE can do in years of investigations. Lucius is more machine than man. He'll do what he's told, and keep his hands clean while he does it."

Voldemort shook his head, "He is too young."

"He was born old. He's cunning, suspicious, and he's a Malfoy. He's plotted from the time he could speak - my mother taught him how. And he knows how to keep a secret - his mother had more secrets than the Department of Mysteries. Hell, he's so duplicitous that he can't even ask for a glass of water when he's thirsty. He's perfect for you."

"Damon is devoted to me."

"Damon is my heir. I need him. You know that."

"I do - but what is that to me, old friend? I need a Malfoy to open certain doors for me. Will you do it?" Voldemort questioned.

"Lucius can do more. He's connected in the Ministry, and I'll help him if he needs it. He's young, but he's clever," Sebastian replied sincerely.

"And he's the spare."

"He's the spare."

"Disposable."

"He's my son."

"The one you'll throw away."

"Damn it!" said Sebastian, moving his king out of check, "Damon needs me. I raised him from the time he was born! I've been mother and father to him! He's no good for you!"

"He's very good for me."

"Lucius will be better. Lucius doesn't need me - he doesn't need anyone. Lucius can help you."

"He won't," argued Voldemort, sipping his drink.

"I'll tell him to. He won't defy me. He's ..."

"He's not going to help me."

"He will. He's Damon's brother. They're not that different. He's more subtle, more what you need now. Talk to him - see for yourself," Sebastian argued, willing himself to be calm. Voldemort was too dangerous an opponent - and Sebastian couldn't afford to lose this fight. He needed to remain calm.

"Damon is one of the most naturally powerful wizards alive today. He is impulsive, but he's also passionate, magnetic, and a natural leader. He is a great asset to my work. "

"As am I. You don't want me as your enemy, Voldemort. I was your friend. I can still be...from a distance. But I need the distance. I need Damon back. And nothing will stop me from getting him."

"He'll never leave me. "

"He will if you ask him to," Sebastian said, leaning forward slightly.

"He swore to remain faithful forever," Voldemort said, shaking his head and looking at Sebastian with pity.

The look drove Sebastian almost beyond reason. "Your lifetime and forever are two different times, old man!" he ground out.

"Not by my clock!" Voldemort retorted angrily.

Sebastian tried a different tack. This arguing was fruitless. "Voldemort, I don't want to be your enemy, and you don't want that, either. Talk to Lucius. Get to know him. You'll agree, he'll be better for you. If not, well, I'll get Damon back, without your help. I'm his father - I can do it. You know I can. I know what you've done, and I can have you thrown into Azkaban for it."

"You have no proof," Voldemort said calmly.

"I can make proof. I have the connections - connections you need. Don't make me use them against you. Accept my proposal, and we can both live in peace."

"Sebastian, I don't want to cause my friends pain," Voldemort said silkily. "I'll talk to your spare. If he thinks he can help me, then I'll tell Damon we need to stop seeing each other. If not, Damon is mine."

"You have my word, I will help you and Lucius all I can. But I will destroy anyone who keeps me from my son."

"And I will destroy anyone who keeps me from my destiny."

"Then we understand each other."

*

The young men entered the dark library together. Moonlight streamed in through the windows, but not even the fire was lit. Lucius lit the lamps and a fire in the grate as Damon started climbing up a ladder near the door. Always impulsive, Damon climbed to the top without any real idea where the book was. Lucius started looking through lower shelves, in the back corner of the room, near a magnificent mirror hanging behind a black velvet curtain.

"I'll just grab my book - why don't you just run along after your wife?"

"I'll get it. Father asked me to bring it back."

"Why must you give it to him, Lucius?"

"Because it's my book, and I just found it!" said Lucius with an annoyingly triumphant tone as he lifted the locked, jewel-encrusted book from its shelf.

Damon was clearly displeased. "Lucius, don't push me tonight. Don't think you've won just because you moved to your wife's house. Remember my reputation," he said quietly. "I am a ruthless competitor, I know more about the Dark Arts than you could learn in a lifetime, and I will be head of this family. Don't come between me and my goals. Your wife's family can't hold me back, neither can you, and neither can Father. I will achieve my goals," Damon said, climbing down the ladder.

"It's a full time job keeping track of your goals, they change so often. What are they this week, Damon? Besides being Voldemort's lapdog?"

"So snippy little brother! Don't pout like a jealous girlfriend," Damon said with a grin.

"Just answer the question."

"He is the greatest wizard of the age, Lucius. Greater than Grindelwald at his height," Damon said almost reverently.

"And how do you plan to use this great man?"

"I'm going to help him pursue his destiny, Lucius. We're going to conquer death itself," Damon answered with shining eyes of a zealot.

"With Dark Arts? I find them more useful promoting death than defeating it."

"From the little you know of them, I can see why you are confused. Surrounded with all the nonsense the Ministry spews. And you're head bucket-boy at the vomitorium," Damon sneered.

"What was his line, Damon? 'You could be great. I'll help you achieve your goals. All I ask is that you give up the ideals that made the goals worthwhile in the first place'?" said Lucius with a hint of laughter.

Damon's face darkened,"'Ideals'? You don't know the meaning of the word."

"True - I just picked it up at work. Tradition and ideals are political HP sauce - makes every policy easier to swallow."

"Enough said." Damon was tired of talking. "Lucius, Voldemort is the future for us. For the family and me. He'll give us power that you can't even imagine. The places he's been...the things he's taught me..." Damon shook his head.

"Funny, all Father and I noticed about your increased Power was that it put you in close proximity to a number of mutilated bodies. Coincidentally, of course," Lucius said with a wry smile. "I have to thank you though - I don't suppose the Hit Wizards would be half as interested in being my friends if they had never heard of you. Of course, the Malfoy family's donations to the Widow and Orphan's Fund have also grown exponentially with your Power. Maybe that's the reason we're suddenly so popular."

"Of course. But I can assure you, it's worth it. I've risen above the upper echelon of mediocrity. Voldemort's shown me things you've never dreamed of - he's taken me deeper into the Dark Arts than you can possibly imagine. You think the Malfoys powerful? There is power out there beyond our comprehension! But it isn't beyond Voldemort - he's pursued it, caught it, conquered it. Everything can be under his control, even death. Do you and Father expect me to turn from that? Don't be stupid! You can bide your time, and see which way the wind blows - I'm riding that wind to victory while you're swept aside with the weak. I'm done waiting! Pay attention, baby brother." He whirled around and had his wand in his hand. "Imperio!"

Lucius felt the sticky strands of the curse wrap themselves around his brain. It was undeniably different than the curse he was familiar with. More seductive. Less will to think...

"Give me the book, Lucius."

He had faced this before; he didn't panic. This strange version of the curse itself made panic a very difficult response. He summoned up the defensive walls he had spent years building - against Father, teachers, Narcissa. Especially Narcissa - she was his favourite study partner - his strongest opponent and his strongest ally. Together they had explored the Dark Arts - mutually attracted to the forbidden knowledge long before they were even casually attracted to each other. She was fearless and strong and had a will of steel. A perfect partner - he could trust her in practice, and they practiced frequently. Both revelled in their personal power. Practice was a pleasure. As a result, Lucius's defensive walls were strong - strong enough to resist this bizarre spell from his distractible brother, anyway. Detached within his walls, Lucius examined the curse quickly. Its strength was fading fast. It was like being bound by candyfloss, comically weak. The warm feeling enfolding Lucius evaporated and was replaced with icy fury.

No longer under control, he walked slowly toward his brother. Damon's hand reached out for the book. Lucius held it out to him, and just as he was about to touch it, snatched it back teasingly.

Damon looked mildly surprised. "Didn't think baby brother had it in him," he said dismissively.

"You always did bring out the best in me, Damon," Lucius said coolly, turning his back on his brother to walk back to the study.

*

Lucius came through the door first, Damon close on his heels. He handed the Necronomicon to his father and went to pour himself another drink-this time a potion to sharpen the senses instead of dulling them. Damon's curse was more unsettling than he wanted to let on. The curse was weak, but shreds kept re-surfacing, even after it was broken. Not strong enough to affect him, just enough to annoy him. He had given the book to his father, so the impulse to take it back was easy to trace, and easy to stifle.

Sebastian gave the book to Voldemort, and Damon started talking to him about how many times he'd tried to read it, only to have the book slam shut by itself, or go suddenly blank. Voldemort listened and nodded politely, obviously impatient to read.

Sebastian walked to the back of the room to freshen his drink. "Lucius, you are clear on why you're here this weekend?" he said very quietly.

"Clear enough - you want Damon to get some distance from Voldemort. How do I help?"

"We still need to be close to him, Lucius. He's not well connected, yet, but he's gaining power. We don't want to be shut off from it."

"You want to trade me for Damon."

"That sounds so mercenary. I think you're better equipped than Damon for this." And if we lose Damon, you're lost anyway. He'll drag us all down with him.

"You're worried that Damon doesn't know the difference between right and wrong?"

"Right and wrong are semantics- do the right thing for the losing side and you'll still be in trouble. Do evil for the victors and they'll blame it on the vanquished. No, I'm not worried about right and wrong. I'm worried he doesn't know the difference between wrong and fun." He walked back to the other men.

Lucius ignored them and took a sip of his drink, gaining control of his mask.

Sebastian stood behind his chair. "It's going to be a long day tomorrow. We'd better get to bed."

"Excellent idea, Father. I hear my bed calling, too."

"Lucius, could you check on the gorgon in the library for me - I don't want her making a racket tomorrow."

"She was quiet enough just now, with Damon himself in the room. You think she'd bother?"

"She wouldn't miss it for the world. Come on, Damon. Goodnight."

Voldemort sat where he was. "Goodnight."

"You're not coming up?" Damon questioned, casting a suspicious look at his young brother.

"I want to read a little first. I'll be up directly."

"Goodnight, then," Damon answered with a hint of petulance.

Lucius walked to the library alone. Lumos! he said as he entered the darkened room. He walked to the back corner, his footsteps the only sound. Forcing himself to breathe deeply, he stood before a black velvet curtain. Behind it lay the mirror which he had seen in Narcissa's room - the mirror where Sebastian had imprisoned Eleanor's soul. Sebastian had done this to his own mother - it was monstrous.

What they said she did was monstrous. Lucius didn't believe she had tried to kill Damon. It wasn't possible. She had nothing to gain - being dead already - and much to lose. Why would she tell Damon how to summon a Dementor? It was dangerous - foolhardy. Eleanor had been many things, but not a fool. Damon was foolish, though. He had probably tried it himself, and blamed her. Her body wasn't even in the crypt yet - Father was guarding the body that night, before they burned her wand. Even as a child he was suspicious - it was all a little too fast - a little too easy.

Sebastian had acted fast, too. Instead of destroying her wand as was his filial duty, he had used it to confine her ghost in this gilt mirror, and then embedded the wand in the frame so it could not be destroyed. She was caged with the power of her own wand. For eternity, if Sebastian had any say. And as head of the family, his word was inviolable. She handled it with dignity, generally.

Before she died, Lucius could always chat with her. She taught him many things - music and languages and history. She and his mother would sit and talk here nearly every morning. He rarely saw his father in those days, and Damon was at school, or travelling, so for him, the women were his only close family. His mother was very young - less than twenty when he was born. She'd play with him like a toy, a pastime in the strictest sense of the word. She was happy and beautiful and he adored her, as did everyone. Even Damon loved her, looking on her as more a friend than a stepmother. When he came home from school and trips they'd play together sometimes. He could remember the three of them on picnics together - Damon and Mother and Lucius. It was pleasant. Then Damon stopped coming home, and Lucius hardly saw them again - Damon or Father or Mother. He began to spend all his time with Eleanor.

When he was very young, Eleanor would tell him stories, and teach him while his mother's eyes danced. He was his mother's doll, but as he grew he became his grandmother's apprentice. She taught him how to be noticed, and how to sit quietly and pay attention - how to listen until people told you what you needed to know. How to use what you knew to figure out people, how to plan - he learned everything a Malfoy needed to know, from "The Malfoy" herself. He learned that he had her eyes - not just the shape and colour, but the perception, too. They saw the world the same way. "My Lucius - the child I raised but didn't bear," she would say. And his parents smiled.

But she changed when his mother died - Eleanor wept, for weeks. He'd never seen her weep before. Lucius and his father never shed a tear. It was fast - the disease consumed his mother in a month despite all the efforts of the mediwizards. It was horrible and painful and Eleanor stayed with her the entire time. When she was gone, Eleanor gave Lucius her strength, guarding him like a tigress, from everyone, even Damon and his father. They didn't fight for him - they comforted each other. Then, at the end of the summer, Eleanor too died - of a broken heart they said. And then Damon said she tried to kill him - tricked him into summoning a Dementor.

Lucius had never even seen her ghost - it was that soon after she died. But he had seen the Dementor - a frightening figure in his doorway as he slept - and screamed soundlessly. He thought he had dreamt it for many years, but when he saw a real one later he knew it was no childish dream. Dreams don't chill your bones.

Sebastian didn't hear his screams, but he heard Damon, and came away from the Death Watch to save them. There was no proof of Damon's story, but Sebastian wasn't about to risk his son over a detail like that. He used the wand it was his duty to destroy to imprison his mother in the mirror. At first, it hung in his study, because Sebastian thought it more dignified. He talked to her daily. They argued constantly, though, and eventually the mirror was moved to the library. That was when she saw Damon. The dignified grandmother Lucius thought he knew became a hissing, cursing demon. She screamed so loud Lucius feared the glass would break - Devil's spawn, unnatural child, and some things in languages Lucius didn't know. If she didn't want to kill Damon when she died, she wanted to after she was imprisoned. And the more she wanted it, the more ruthless Sebastian became, eventually moving her into the far corner of the library, where she could be watched, but covering the mirror with a curtain, so no one had to. What had Damon done to her? She never said, and Damon left soon after, to study at Durmstrang for a year. Then Lucius went to school and they hardly ever saw each other, except for holidays.

He took a breath and removed the curtain. "Grandmother, are you there?"

Her ash-coloured face looked back at him from the mirror. Even wrinkled and old, the beauty of her youth was there, just under the surface. Confident, elegant - a Malfoy Grande Dame, even in death, she greeted him with a quiet smile, "Good evening, little one. You've been away for a while. What brings you here?"

"Father sent me. It's Christmas."

"Indeed? How glorious. So what did you hang tonight, the mistletoe or each other?"

"A little of both."

"So he's taken his pound of flesh from you this year? What did you do to offend him?"

"I got married."

"How horrible. You put a woman of all things before your family? He probably suspects you even love her. He always was a jealous boy - we Malfoys don't share well, for all we expect others to share with us. I suppose you spend more time with your wife than him, too. Outrageous. Unforgivable, but since I am a saint, ego te absolvo," she said, waving her hand in benediction. "But you didn't come here to listen to my blasphemy. What can I do for you, Lucius? Would you like to introduce me to your bride, or has my son forbidden it? He fears witches prattle for good reason. Perhaps I'll teach her how to be a good hostess and serve up his liver on a bed of lettuce."

"He's having a party tomorrow. He wants your promise to be quiet."

"I'm not to shriek to the rooftops how my son condemned me? Sing a carol about your vile brother?"

"I expect he'll dungeon you up somewhere unpleasant if you try."

"What do you know of unpleasant?" she snapped.

"Not much," Lucius said calmly.

"Enough, I suspect," she sighed, "I do like to see you, Lucius, but you look tired. You can come prick my conscience tomorrow, but tonight this is the way of things: He'll never let me out, and I'll never change. He can smash this mirror to bits - I'll still be here. I won't be ignored. And if I choose to scream, I'll scream. To hell with him and his party." Her eyes looked over his shoulder, "Who's that?"

Voldemort had entered the library. "Hello, Lucius."

Lucius replaced the curtain over the mirror. "Hello. What can I do for you?"

"This Necronomicon was enchanted, Lucius. Damon was right - the pages went blank after being open ten minutes. Did you do it?"

"I did. Forgive me, I had forgotten," he said, drawing his wand as he walked across the room to remove the enchantment.

"It's quite all right - I removed it. An elegant piece of work, Lucius. Well done."

"Not so well done if you removed it," Lucius said with a tired smile. "Damon has been trying for years."

Voldemort lit the lamp and settled into one of the chairs, motioning Lucius into the other. The intimate circle of light emphasized the shadows beyond it. Even the moonlight glowing in the windows seemed to dim. Lucius didn't light the fire, and hoped Voldemort wouldn't. Lucius needed the chill to help him stay alert.

"Damon was never fond of detail work. He likes grand gestures and goals."

"Like yours."

"Like mine. Nevertheless, I've had more years practice breaking concealment charms than you have teeth. It was very well done indeed."

Lucius settled into the chair across from Voldemort. "Father tells me you need more help creating the concealments than removing them."

"What else did he tell you?" asked Voldemort with raised eyebrows.

"That he wants me to get influence so that you and Damon can use it."

"Damon needs influence?"

"He'll be head of the family," said Lucius evenly.

"Yet you have the influence."

The corner of Lucius's mouth lifted a bit and he leaned his chin on his hand. "I suppose I do. It's the mention I miss."

"You want the power, and the glory?" Voldemort asked curiously.

"Doesn't everyone?"

"Some of us just want to be left alone."

"Why do I find that hard to believe?" said Lucius with a trace of humour.

"I'm at a loss," said Voldemort, shaking his head and smiling.

"Damon worships you. He can't stop talking about you. Don't tell me you don't like it. Grand goals of unlimited power - Faustian ideals. People who don't want attention keep their mouths shut about such things. Damon can't help it, but you can control yourself. No one knows anything about you that you don't let them know. You want people to know your goals. You want to be famous, or infamous. You can't have that and your privacy, even if you are the greatest wizard in the world."

"Does he think I'm the greatest wizard in the world?" said Voldemort with a chuckle.

"Absolutely. He even demonstrated your Imperius technique. I found it interesting, but flawed."

Voldemort looked thoughtful. In his experience, Damon never had trouble with that curse - casting it many times successfully. He hates you that much, does he? Voldemort thought. "Damon worships power. I pursue it farther than he's ever dreamed. My achievements are grand, but my goals are even higher. Damon is a dear friend, but he knows nothing will keep me from my goals. Not the Ministry, not custom, not even him."

"How is the Ministry interfering with your goals?" questioned Lucius.

"I need the freedom to follow power wherever it flows."

"To practice Dark Arts."

"There is no Dark Art - only Power. Light and Dark are constructions that have nothing to do with Power or any of its manifestations."

"Damon demonstrated what he can do with those manifestations this evening," Lucius said, shaking his head.

"That was foolish. He isn't adept at it yet. He may never be. He is too impatient," Voldemort said, mirroring Lucius's expressions. "I apologize - this discussion must be making you uncomfortable, as a Ministry official"

"I will not betray my brother, if that's what you mean," Lucius said, lifting his chin.

Voldemort smiled quietly, and thought to himself, No, but you'll betray me in an instant, won't you? Then he said, "Then let me explain. Imperius is an aggressive curse - most people wield it like a hammer. People fight it with strength of will, but there is a catch."

"What might that be - a new way to fight it or to cast it?" asked Lucius curiously.

"A little of both. The catch is that pain also overwhelms it. You can't control someone's basic desires when every molecule of their being is screaming for basic relief."

"Combined Cruciatus and Imperius?" asked Lucius seriously, scowling.

"One overwhelms the other. But there is a backdoor - a way around both will and pain - affection."

"'Love thine enemy?' Who would have guessed the Bible was a guide to Unforgivable Curses?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. Imperius is much harder to fight when the spell is cast with affection."

"Stickier, I noticed," said Lucius, nodding at the memory of Damon's flawed curse.

"We can bear indescribable pain for those we love, and affection has insidious power, - it slips around defensive walls and through chinks we didn't know existed. It requires a completely different defence. Not everyone can master it, especially people who are strong against the traditional curse. People who are good at hating." Voldemort watched Lucius's eyes light up. Yes, I'll show you, Lucius. You only need to ask. "Your father tells me someday you may be as strong as Damon." Yes, Lucius, it's a challenge. Will you pick up the gauntlet? "Perhaps then you'll want to study with me, too"

"Father thinks you are too powerful for Damon. That this association will hurt the family."

"And what do you think?"

"I think it will be more dangerous to ignore you."

"Have no fear - I won't be ignored!" Voldemort laughed. "And neither will the ones who join me. But enough about me - this Necronomicon is fascinating. Do you know where the annotations came from?"

They talked for over an hour. Lucius was surprised at the depth of his knowledge, and fascinated by the things Voldemort told him about his own book. They discussed the limits and origin of power, and found they agreed that there had to be a counter-curse or block for the Killing Curse. There was an antithesis to everything - there must be one to that curse. By the end of the discussion, Voldemort didn't seem half as mad as Lucius thought before they met. A little fanatical about intellectual freedom, but not the raving lunatic who ran a terrorist cell and was steps away from getting himself and Damon thrown into Azkaban.

Eventually, Voldemort himself yawned. "How did you like our little discussion this evening, Lucius? Is it something you want to continue?"

"Not if it means I need to spend more time with Damon," said Lucius with a shake of his head. "His absence is my one pure delight. I don't want to trade everything I love for the one thing I want. Then get it only to find out I can't remember why I wanted it in the first place." Lucius shook his head to clear it - the potion he had taken must have worn off. He was rambling.

"Your father said you were wise beyond your years."

"My father was selling something."

"And now it's my turn. If you found the information we talked about tonight useful, maybe you and I can work together to get more."

"An exchange of information?"

"If you're comfortable with that."

"Then let's begin."

"It's getting late," Voldemort said, extinguishing the lamp. "We'll talk again tomorrow. You should get to bed."

"Another delightful prospect, to be sure. Good night."

*

Mrs. Malfoy's room - soft and pale as its former owner - no one would presume to put Lucius's wife here. He crept into the room, silent as a shadow. He frequently haunted the room alone, at night, drawn there when he was disturbed, disturbed that he was drawn there still. He didn't even light his wand, finding his way through the darkness by memory, reclining to stare sightless at the silk canopy. There was nothing left of her here - she had been dead half a lifetime. Longer. Too many years. Yet the ache in his heart was just as sharp as ever. Pain almost as intense as when she still breathed.

Running his hands over the bed, fingers skimming the smooth fabric, he tried to remember the joy. There was joy. But all that remained was exquisite torture - his every memory was tainted. Desecrated by theft - stolen moments, stolen glances, stolen kisses. Covetousness. Now Lucius was stealing the only thing that still mattered from him. Taking what he had managed to build over all those long, desperate years. Taking his joy with the careless, boundless greed of a little child. Just as he always did, even before Lucius was born. Lucius was surpassing him now, insufferable.

His gaze shifted from the canopy to the moonlit portrait above the mantle. She was there, awake, watching him, her blue eyes shining with compassion. "Don't," she whispered, reaching out from where she sat, seemingly stopped by a false barrier. But the barrier wasn't false. She was. She was only a dream. All she was never allowed to be.

Would he have acted any differently, knowing? No. Maybe. And maybe he wouldn't have a blond baby boggart in his wardrobe, and she would still be here, and Damon would be happy. Such a precarious thing - happiness. Could she be happy without her child? Eventually. He could.

He heard footsteps in the hall. Voldemort and Lucius. Voldemort, my dearest friend. My saviour from the heart of darkness. You gave me something to love when I thought I could never love again. You took all I had to give and gave it back tenfold. Undying, unchanging, pure. How tenuous is my hold? Will I lose this to Lucius, too? My beautiful baby brother. What do you want from him? What from him and not from me? He almost regretted the shields he had wrapped around himself like a blanket. Senses too sensitive, weakness. Serpent thoughts coil around me. Reality's dark dream. What dreams will come?

Stretching out all his senses to their limit, he found the ones he sought. Old magic, dark magic, strong and beautiful. Sweat breaking out on his brow. Long pale fingers grasping gently. Medea's eyes reflecting back Lucius's, a mirror within a mirror. The sight was a kick in the stomach and he gasped as his eyes flew open, uttering a soft cry of alarm.

"Damon?" the portrait said, more urgently.

"Medea. Your son is sleeping with my enemy."

"Is she your enemy, Damon?"

"Is he my brother?" he spat back. He walked quickly from the room, not waiting for a reply.