Object of Affection

Object of Affection - 2

Jewels in joy designed

To ravish the sensuous mind

Lie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind.

Thomas Hardy - The Convergence of the Twain

Narcissa blinked her eyes sleepily at the light filtering through the sheer curtains. The room was cool, and she snuggled under the warmth of the eiderdown. Lucius lay on his stomach next to her, his even breathing almost lulling her back to sleep. Almost. His hair spilled across the pillow, and the light gave the pale skin of his back a warm glow. Her eyes lazily travelled from the nape of his neck, past well-muscled shoulders, down the curve of his back until it disappeared under the sheets. A satisfied grin played over her face as she recalled in detail why he was so exhausted. Lucius had been up late talking, but he had remembered the invitation to her bedroom, and he had wakened her with enthusiasm. Lots of enthusiasm.

She kissed him with her eyes, a fine heat trembling around his shoulders and slowly dissolving his contours. It was decadent to watch him like this, unobserved. She reached out to stroke his back, and he moaned appreciatively in his sleep. Narcissa pulled back her hand slowly, and determinedly brought the covers up over his shoulders. The guests would arrive today, and he'd have no rest if she woke him now. "He's earned his sleep today," she thought with a grin. Narcissa rose carefully and quietly got dressed for riding. If she were lucky, the exercise would calm her down. If she were very lucky, Lucius would still be in bed when she returned.

She walked out of the house quietly, so she wouldn't attract any attention from the house elves. She knew she was watched - the little pests were everywhere, appearing out of nowhere to offer assistance every time she turned around. Annoying, self-destructive, needy, miserable creatures! She hoped she had made it clear last night that she needed nothing from them but a very wide berth. She paused at the bottom of the steps to blow on her gloved fingers and orient herself. As she remembered, the stables were down the drive, to the left. If she listened carefully, she thought she could hear Crups barking.

Frost glittered on the frozen grass as the sun rose, and painted the world in a brilliant mix of silver and gold. The rising mist lent an ethereal feel to the scene. The crunch of her boots on the gravel drive was the only reminder she wasn't in a dream-world. It would be glorious to ride a winged horse through this! It was a perfect morning for a ride. Her pace quickened as she came within sight of the stables.

Letting herself in, she was surprised to see the huge ornate gilt cage with the Occamy fledglings in one of the stalls. There was a warming charm on it - the newly hatched tropical birds no doubt were less able to withstand the winter chill than the horses. The bottom of the cage was littered with shiny silver egg shards, and there were a couple unhatched silver eggs in the midst of them. On various perches the snake-like birds flapped their wings at her approach.

Another glint of silver caught her attention. A magnificent black Thestan with silver wings was restlessly pacing its stall. Narcissa approached carefully, knowing that Thestan flying horses became invisible when startled. Many wizards thought this breed as unlucky as the Thestrals they were bred from, but the only unlucky thing Narcissa could imagine was not being able to see the beautiful creature. She pulled a lump of sugar out of her breast pocket and offered it carefully to the horse. He came to the edge of the stall and ducked his head over tentatively, then snatched the sugar. Tossing his head playfully, and whinnying, he stomped his hooves and started looking for more, bumping his nose against her pocket. "Greedy creature!" she laughed and dug out the rest of the sugar for him. Narcissa stroked the winged horse's muzzle as he ate from her hand, daydreaming of another dark, temperamental stallion. A very satisfied smile played on her lips as she wondered... The stable door opened and Damon walked in, looking quite dashing in his riding costume.

"What are you doing with my horse?" he barked.

Even Damon couldn't dispel her happiness. "He's a magnificent animal, Damon," Narcissa said, still petting it.

Damon was incensed. "That satisfying, Catherine? I understand how life with Lucius has you frustrated. Still, it's a little rude to expect him to compete with a Thestan. Although I expect your appetites run more toward an Abraxan," he snapped.

Narcissa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Was it worth taking a stand? There were no witnesses - repercussions would be limited. And she was happy to oblige him if he was spoiling for a fight. Once more unto the breech, dear friend, she thought to the horse, giving it a pat on the neck before she asked, "What do you want, Damon?"

"I want you to take your hands off him!"

"As you wish," she said, backing away from the animal. "Is there anything more I can do for you this morning? Etiquette tutoring, perhaps? I haven't given you anything for Christmas, but it's Boxing Day yet."

"You could give me a little peace!"

"A little peace? How about Eternal Peace? Now, there's a thought!"

"Oh, brilliant, dear! In return, Eternal Rest must sound appealing to you and Lucius after all your interference. Grabbing everything like Nifflers! My friends, my family, my horse - what more do you want?"

"A little respect, Damon! I expect no more and I will accept no less - from you or your father!" she snapped.

Damon looked at her darkly, and said with quiet intensity, "Witch, if you learn nothing else in your life, learn this: nothing is given to you. Not by me, and especially not by Father. You have what we chose to let you keep. Nothing more."

"Bravo, Damon!" she said sarcastically, clapping her hands. "You have a flair for the dramatic. For someone who was given nothing, you play the spoiled brat well. Stop being so selfish!"

Damon whirled on her. "Selfish? Me? My angelic little brother steals my closest friend, and I'm selfish?" He grabbed her wrist and pushed her backwards into the tack room, finally slamming her into a wall. She reached for her wand, but Damon beat her to it. Grabbing the wand from her jacket pocket, he held it in front of her face and snapped it in two with one hand. Narcissa's eyes widened at the naked fury and violence. She tried to pull away and he shoved her to the floor. "It's time someone taught you and my brother a lesson or two about sharing."

*

Voldemort saw Damon walking up the drive and left the house quietly, carefully avoiding him. He knew Damon well enough to see his agitation even at a distance, and he was fairly sure he knew what had caused it. Voldemort wanted to discover what had kept Damon from riding, though. He had expected to see the man soaring around the house this morning, if only to show off in front of his family. He walked to the stables, his nose wrinkling at the unpleasant smell of whiskey and horse. He had never particularly shared Damon's passion for these animals. Nothing seemed amiss, not that he knew anything about horses. Then he heard a hitched sob from the tack room. Voldemort found Narcissa there, leaning miserably against a saddle, broken bits of wand at her feet. She barely resembled the confident woman he had met the previous night - she was dishevelled and frightened.

"Mrs. Malfoy, are you all right?" he asked with gentle concern.

Startled, Narcissa stood ramrod straight. "Yes, of course," she said stiffly, quickly covering any outward sign of fear.

Voldemort kept his distance, standing still in the doorway. "You look like you've been... thrown. Is there anything I can do?"

"A stupid mistake - I was careless," she said, straightening her high collar and looking at the floor.

"Dangerous creatures. Stupid, pampered animals, all of them. I never saw why people care for them in the first place."

"Le coeur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point," she said, still looking at the floor.

Is that it, Narcissa? Did you wonder for a second if you wanted him? Did you wonder why you settled for the spare? And now you hate yourself for it. You let him get too close - you didn't run. You thought Lucius's ring protected you. You thought the name protected you. But there is no protection from the head of the family. In his game you aren't a queen - you're a pawn. Come now, Narcissa, show me what you need. You needn't shut me out - I know. It's too late for secrets. What do you need, a confessor, a protector, achampion? You won't walk away - neither will I. You can't get around me - I'm blocking the only way out. Let me help you. Together we can out-Malfoy them all. We'll turn the pawn into a queen.

"Here, sit down. You look the very devil," he said in his most fatherly voice, pulling up a case of single malt whiskey for her to sit on. "Would you like a shot for medicinal purposes?"

Narcissa shook her head. He looked too hard, and saw too much. Narcissa tried to distract him with a joke, "Yes, but it's too early. Besides, I'd have thought you would share Sebastian's opinion that women are a waste of good whiskey."

"Only if they don't enjoy it. Then it is a damned waste. Rather like feeding it to horses."

As he was talking, Narcissa reached up to smooth her hair where it had escaped from her intricate braids, and winced as she moved her arm. I can't mend this, she thought miserably. She reached up with the other hand and let her hair free of the braids. Voldemort caught her eye. You're Damon's friend. That makes you my enemy. Actions speak louder than words. I judge you by the company you keep. She raised her chin and gave him a regal look of disdain.

He returned her gaze with a look of admiration. Yes, that's it! Hate me - hate them. Destroy them. I can help! I will help you. I'm the best friend you have here, Narcissa. I'm the other outsider. He bent on one knee and gathered the broken bits of her wand from the floor. Cradling her gloved hand in his, he gave her the fragments, his hand lingering above hers. He knelt there a second, her uninjured hand and the fragments enfolded between his. "Would you like me to destroy them for you?" he asked quietly.

Narcissa looked up suddenly, a startled, excited, then guilty gleam flashing across her eyes in an instant. But, maybe he didn't mean it - maybe he was talking about the wand. The broken wand's magic was affecting her mind - she couldn't think clearly. She closed her eyes to hide her disappointment and confusion. All this happened in an instant, and she quickly recovered and stared down at the black gloves holding her hand. Destroy them. Traditionally, the wands of the dead were burned. The intimate link wands had to the souls of the departed had to be destroyed completely, with fire. Destroy them. Fragments. This broken wand was sinful. A desecration. But it won't end like this. I am not dead...am I? My soul was not broken - not by that...no, I won't allow it! Making a white-knuckled fist around the fragments, she said carefully, "I can take care of this myself."

"I know you can, but have the sense to catch your breath before you try," he whispered, nodding at the fragments, then continued gently, "You don't have much power to wield right now. I do - I have more than I know what to do with." He took a deep breath released her hand. Rising, he stared at the floor a moment before catching her eyes. "My own mother ...was thrown," he said, closing his eyes and running a hand through his hair. Then he looked at her with an intensity which was almost painful. "Her wand...broke ..on my father's house." He took a deep breath. "It would be my pleasure to help you," he finished quickly. It isn't all a lie - it will indeed be a pleasure to destroy Sebastian. Can you hear the honesty in my voice, young one? The nerve - threatening me with Azkaban! I am honestly outraged - look into my eyes and see the honesty. I painted them honest just this morning.

Narcissa gave a spasmodic shudder. The effort to keep up the façade of strength was too much for her. And what was the point? He knew. She needed to rest - not to think. And Damon's friend or not, Voldemort seemed to be human - he wanted to help. Like it or not, she needed help. And power was flowing off him in waves - it warmed her in a way she didn't understand, but she needed that warmth. She wanted that power, on her side. And it seemed like she had it. "Thank you. I think I will take your advice and rest a while."

"Let me patch you up bit. You don't want them to see you like this," he said, his tone still edged with gentle concern. "I'm quite good at concealments, if I do say so myself." For the first time Narcissa realized that his eyes were different - they looked normal now. The red tint had disappeared. An alarm rang in her head but she wasn't able to think clearly enough to figure out why. He traced his wand along her arm and repaired the cracked bone, then raised his eyes to her face, lingering on her split lip and the blood drying near her nose as he healed them. Voldemort smiled and said, "Perfect. You look lovely. Let me escort you back inside."

*

Damon walked into the dining room with uncustomary energy for that hour.

"You look fit, son," Sebastian remarked over his paper.

"Excellent morning, Father. Quite satisfactory indeed. Nothing better than a good mount on a crisp morning. Wouldn't you agree, Lucius?"

"Yes," he said sleepily, pouring himself a coffee from the sideboard and gazing out the window. No one would ever accuse him of being a morning person. Damon was too cheerful to bear without massive infusions of caffeine. Narcissa and Voldemort were walking back from the stables together. The corner of his mouth curved in a half-grin. That's where she went! He had supposed she went downstairs when he woke to find her gone, and had hurried to breakfast so she wouldn't have to face Sebastian by herself. It had been quite annoying to discover that Sebastian had not seen her yet.

Turning his back on the window, he walked back to the table to let the coffee work its magic. As the fog started clearing from his brain, he wondered more and more what had Damon is such a chatty mood. Normally he and his brother were so quiet in the morning they could have breakfast in a mausoleum without raising an eyebrow. Something was wrong. Damon watched him too closely - like a hawk - with an amused- no triumphant expression. Lucius forced himself to relax. Whatever had been done, he'd find out about it soon enough. Damon was never good at keeping secrets. Best to appear unruffled while it was still almost effortless.

Voldemort came into the room. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Damon replied. Lucius murmured a greeting as he sipped his coffee and Sebastian rustled his paper down to greet him with a nod.

"Voldemort, you should be asleep. Did you get any at all last night? I didn't expect to see you until after lunch."

"I don't require much, Damon. I trust my nocturnal ramblings didn't disturb anyone? I confess the siren song of forbidden knowledge lured me away from my bed last night. Lucius and I were discussing your Necronomicon. Lucius has a powerful grasp of the material."

Damon's eyes narrowed. Jealous brother? thought Lucius. Good.

Voldemort looked angry, too. A controlled rage was directed back at Damon. It reminded Lucius of countless battles fought between Damon and Sebastian, who sat apparently oblivious reading his paper. Lucius stood to refill his coffee. The atmosphere in the room killed his appetite for anything more. He wondered why Narcissa still had not come to breakfast. He hoped she wasn't avoiding them. It wouldn't do at all if Father thought she was afraid. His face softened in amusement. His Narcissa, afraid of anyone? Idiotic. He had seen her stare down a room full of wizards after witnessing horrors that would have reduced lesser witches to tears. She was his match - blow for blow. She had certainly proved it last night - in many ways. He smiled to himself at the memory.

A sharp edge to Voldemort's voice broke him out of his reverie. Damon and Voldemort were still arguing, in low, civilized voices.

"It's a rare fool who fouls his own well," said Voldemort to Damon, stirring his tea with just a hair too much energy. "I thought you resolved the Cypriot issues this summer."

Damon glared at him with a look usually reserved for their father. "I did. I'm just retiring some debts there. With interest," Damon replied.

"I'm uncomfortable with current interest rates," Voldemort snapped back.

"They'll go higher soon. Much higher. That's why it is prudent to settle my debts now."

Sebastian was still pretending to read, but Lucius knew better. Sebastian could subdue Damon with a glance - he was encouraging this fight. Every sense was heightened as the old man followed the argument with everything but his eyes. If he had any doubt that this was important, his father's attitude dispelled it. They sounded like Narcissa's parents talking about Gringotts and the International Confederation, but Lucius knew better.

"Take care you don't incur more unintentionally," Voldemort warned. "Small actions have unforeseen consequences."

"Even in a foul well, the ripples are small, and contained. They won't go far - although I sincerely hope they make it to Cyprus today. I'd hate to waste the effort."

Voldemort was pleased at how well it was turning out. By striking at his enemies this way, his loose cannon had bagged him his brother and his brother's wife. He knew Damon would never abandon him - but Damon was so insanely jealous now that he sought out any way to strike them. No, attacking his brother's wife was just the beginning - he'd continue to commit outrages until he was the centre of attention again. Just what that bastard Sebastian deserved for pulling this stunt. Yes, Damon, I chose Lucius over you last night. What did you dream we were doing while you were gone? I suppose nothing - you need to sleep to dream.

Lucius looked on impassively. Damon was going to burst a blood vessel if he didn't get a reaction out of his brother soon. Lucius savoured the feeling like the rare delicacy it was. Damon was the vibrant one - always in the spotlight, bigger, more entertaining. Lucius had grown up in that shadow, although they were separated by enough years that outside of the house he never felt inadequate. Still, a ghost of worry started to gnaw at him...What did they want? Just listen. They want to tell you. Damon's dying to tell you. "Ripples to Cyprus" - what did that mean? Just don't expect me to clean up the mess from here, Damon. I'm done. You fooled me once, introducing me to your friends, the ones who knew that damned Muggle Pinochet. Lucius loved watching Damon thrash about - it almost made up for that trip. No, it didn't, not even a little, but it was probably as close as he would get to making Damon pay for it - for now.

Voldemort watched Lucius's detachment with admiration, just to goad Damon more. He admired the younger man's self control. Damon's double meanings didn't affect Lucius at all. Why should they? Ignorance indeed looked blissful. Sebastian was having difficulty concealing his delight. He thought he'd won already. Time to seal this bargain, old man.

"Sebastian, do you know the provenance of that Necronomicon?"

"Not I. Lucius, you've always been a favourite of the gorgon in the library. Has she told you anything about it?"

"Only that it's hers. I didn't introduce Voldemort last night. Shall I today?"

"For the love of God, I'd sooner set a Dementor on him. You go find out what he needs to know."

"You don't have other plans this morning? No long rides with your wife?" Damon prodded.

"Lucius knows how I feel about that. He wouldn't defy my wishes, Damon," Sebastian said pointedly.

Voldemort said firmly, "I certainly don't wish to interfere with your plans, Lucius."

"I'm free all morning. I'll go talk to Eleanor now, and I'll meet you in the library in an hour?" Lucius wanted to get out of the room badly. He wanted to discuss this quiet battle between Damon and Voldemort with his grandmother. He knew he was missing something, and he hated that feeling. He hoped Eleanor could puzzle it out.

"Splendid, I look forward to it," said Voldemort.

Lucius set down his coffee cup and left the room without another word.

"So my beautiful baby brother is going to have another chat with you today? How sweet. Were you able to teach him anything last night? I thought I was your only student."

"I've taught you everything I can, Damon. Your father thinks you are too old for tutoring now."

"You must abandon this, Damon. You'll be head of the family when I'm gone. This association is too dangerous for us."

"It's not about us - it's about me. It's my life - my choice. He is the future for this family!"

"Voldemort agrees with me."

"You can't be serious!"

"Damon, your father is right. This is bigger than the two of us. You are my dearest friend and I can't ask any more of you. You've already given me so much...Your father and I are agreed - I won't let my friend hurt his own family for me. I know how much they mean to you." He looked sternly at Damon.

"Father, you really should warn me when you start exchanging presents. Lucius gets my friend, his wife gets my horse, I get her wand - but I wonder what you two gave each other? I hope it's worth the trouble!" he spat. "Damn you both - you deserve each other!" said Damon as he stormed out the door.

Sebastian and Voldemort gauged each other across the table.

Sebastian spoke first. "I'm keeping my end of the bargain - I'm giving Lucius to you. Damon isn't giving you up."

"Indeed not."

"Damn it, I want my son back!"

"Which? It appears I have both," said Voldemort, calmly sipping his tea.

"Lucius is better for you. I need Damon back."

"They both love you deeply," said Voldemort sincerely, watching Sebastian wince. Good - I was afraid this wasn't going to hurt.

"I raised Damon myself."

"Taught him everything he knows. Well, almost everything."

"Damn it, take Lucius and leave him alone!"

"I did - I do. Damon will never leave me."

"He may not have any choice. He can't follow you everywhere I'm prepared to send you."

*

Narcissa went up to her room and paced, hugging herself, fighting for control of her body for as long as she could. In the end she surrendered to the moment and vomited. When the gagging stopped, her body was still agitated, but her brain couldn't settle on any one thing to do. She wanted simultaneously to run, hide, hit, cry, be alone, hold someone, and not be touched again, ever, by anyone. She put the fragments of her wand in a jewellery box and shut the lid with a snap. Her focus improved once it was out of her hands. She started to draw a bath, then changed her mind and ran the shower. She stripped and chanted to herself. I am not weak and I will not retreat. I won't be defeated - not by that creature. She stood in the shower for a long time. It was almost as good as a silencing charm - laugh or cry, it all sounded the same.

The water was hot, but her skin was aching with an icy chill she couldn't make go away. It reminded her of that wretched Christmas in Aberdeen, when her parents were away and she had to stay with her grandmother. The icy penetrating sea-mist froze her bones - haar, they called it. A cold so intense it burned. They didn't know where her parents were - but no one would speak of it. No explanations, no speculation, no words at all marred the facade of a happy Christmas. Her appearance in a room was greeted either with deafening silence or false gaiety - even at such a young age, she noticed. It was happening again - Christmas, cold, and her mother was gone. She didn't know where to find her. She wanted more than anything just to hold her mother.

She wrapped her robe around her and sat in the window seat for hours, watching the guests arrive. She thought about her parents. What were they doing? What would they do? Last summer, in Chile, she'd seen firsthand what they did.

Dad and Lucius went there because of the ghost problem. There was a dance - Gueca Solo. Muggles and witches danced it, together. They were protesting. Protesting - such a civilized word. While men made things burn, the women danced with the ghosts. The Muggles shouldn't have been able to hear, but how could they not? Thousands of ghosts, screaming. All the Mugo was gather in front of the Ministries to dance. A dance of love for the departed. It was horrifying. Narcissa stood silently and watched, ashamed, as the women danced, silently, bereaved. It was heartbreaking. And no one did a damned thing to stop it. Narcissa hated not having control of the situation. She wouldn't let them make her dance - her or any of her family.

So Dad and Lucius negotiated between Muggles and the wizards. At first, no one knew why they danced, why the ghosts screamed for justice so loud they even disturbed the Muggles. They negotiated how many Muggle-borns could disappear into the wizarding world, and how many wizards could disappear into the Muggle world. They talked for days about numbers, the optimal solution, and the lowest acceptable headcount. They came up to a solution for a problem that didn't exist.

While they sat in the conference rooms, and talked about numbers - not names or faces - Narcissa and her mother looked around unofficially. Standing next to her own mother, she had seen the faces of the dead, listened to their mothers screaming their names. It had felt so wrong. Absolutely wrong. Butn't deal with absolutes - father and Lucius knew that. Lucius closed his eyes and dealt with the devil. He tried to twist the truth to fit their lies. Dad knew better - he kept his eyes open and told his own lies. He had dealt with evil in too many places, under too many names. To him, everything was relative - except his family's safety. Daddy made sure he brought them all home safe.

They said the dead were criminals. The Muggles said the same. Lucius and the others tried to make sense of it - tried to fit the square pegs into round holes and ignore the splinters on the table. Until they saw too much, questioned too much, listened too much, and finally understood. The Ministries in Chile were working together - had been all along. Muggles and wizards, side by side, the realization of a popular sentiment. But it was corrupted - they worked together to torture, and kill. They worked together to silence their opposition. And all anyone could do was mourn silently, or suffer, or die.

Lucius disappeared with his friends first. Dad had seen it coming - had known it would happen. She wondered briefly how he had known, and what might she and her mother had not showed up for the surprise visit, but then squelched the thought. Dad and Lucius were wary of each other, but never overtly threatening - not in front of her, at least. But Dad was never overtly anything. It didn't matter - Daddy brought them home safe.

Once they were home, Lucius tried to talk about what was happening, but no one listened. It might have been funny - the Chileans tried to kill the delegation to silence them, but they needn't have bothered. That was when she and Lucius knew he couldn't work like that, live like that. Lucius wouldn't be ignored. She hated the Confederation, the Ministry, and the Muggles. Those creatures and their fine friends had turned the wizards on themselves, and the wizards had allowed it. They dragged everyone down into their Muggle hell. For what? What ideology was worth those corpses and their mangled faces? What cause was worth the smell of corruption? How she hated them all! They could live in a hell of their own making, but they had no right to drag her family into it! Damned politicians! They were the cause of war - not history or poverty or ideas or justice! They carried war inside them like a disease. Dead bodies were rotting all around them because the living ones were rotten inside.

She felt rotten inside now. But how could she negotiate this? The optimal solution was to say nothing. Honesty was too cruel. What Damon had done was not in Lucius's power to undo. The hurt ended with her if she said nothing, and she could only cause more pain if she spoke. She wouldn't cause her family more pain. Not over that creature.

Lucius knocked at her door and called to her, "Narcissa?"

"Come in."

Lucius looked at her in the window seat. She was so wan she looked like a ghost. "Feeling better?" he inquired.

"Fine. Why do you ask?"

"I missed you at breakfast, and when Father asked after you at lunch the elf said you were sick this morning."

"Nosy nuisances! How dare they!" she raged.

"I take it they were overdramatic?" he said evenly.

"It was nothing."

"You look beautiful, but a little paler than normal," he said, stroking her hair to calm her down. She was as meek as a lioness, but the trick worked more often than not. "I know my family makes me ill, but I didn't expect them to get to you so quickly."

"I can bear it. Them. I'll be fine," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Maybe this will cheer you," he said, handing her a small white leather box. "They're a gift from Father."

"Wergild? Or a Christmas present?"

"Both - that's the only kind of present Father gives. Open it. I already checked - they're not even cursed. They belonged to my mother," he said dryly.

Narcissa opened the box and saw a dazzling sapphire necklace with matching earrings and bracelet.

"They look better on," he said, and led her to the dressing table. As she sat quietly he fastened the jewels around her neck.

"Beautiful," she breathed, reaching up to touch the stones with her fingers.

"Yes, you are," he said, kissing her hair.

"Should I wear them tonight? I was planning on the stones you gave me for my birthday."

"Wear what you like. You're my Mrs Malfoy, not his. It is high time Father learned to live with disappointment," he said. He took the necklace off her and opened her jewellery box to put it away. His hand hovered over the remnants of her wand there. "What happened?" he asked in an icy voice.

"I was careless...I don't want to talk about it right now."

Lucius's mouth thinned, but she looked too delicate to push the issue. "Take mine for tonight," he said, pulling his wand from his pocket.

"Gossamer armour, Lucius. No, you keep it. I'm safer when it's in your hands, and so are you."

"Stay close to me tonight. Don't wander off."

"Your tone is so imperious, dear! Don't worry so; it's just a party."

It's not, and you know it. It's a war, and you want to go into battle without arms or armour. "I'll go change now," he said shortly. "I'll come get you in an hour. We mustn't be late or we'll be faulted for neglecting Father's guests."

He walked back to his room highly agitated. What a tangle! He needed a plan. He'd set a house elf on her. She hated them, but - oh hell, what good will that do? Narcissa had nothing to fear from the guests, and a house elf would never stand up for her against Father or Damon. Forget Father - he'd never stoop to breaking someone's wand. That was too childish for Father. Damon had done it. Lucius wanted to rip his head off.

She watched him leave, then stood in the empty room and listened to the noise of people in the rooms near her. She heard a child's laughter, and wished for the thousandth time that day that she had a wand to cast a silencing charm on the room. How many times had she wanted to scream herself hoarse today? She got up and took another shower, this time lecturing herself the whole time.

If you're broken it's because you're brittle. Crying never solved anything! Be an adult. Drink your wormwood and move on. You were raised better than that. Don't let them take any more from you. You are not dead - fight back! Pull yourself together. One piece at a time. Build the Ice Princess. She'll carry you through.

Narcissa put the mask on, one layer at a time. The gown was midnight blue shot with silver, strapless and with provocative lacing up the back. Her hair was swept up, off her neck, to better display the jewels. Her makeup was seamless, faultless - not an ounce of unnatural colour. Every piece was perfect, unimpeachable, faultless. She looked at her jewels. The sapphires Lucius had given her would be stunning with her eyes, but somehow tonight all the coloured stones looked gauche. They had been his mother's, but she just couldn't touch them. Another time, perhaps. She didn't feel like being another Mrs Malfoy tonight. She couldn't bear a comparison to a dead Mrs Malfoy, that was certain. She grabbed the diamonds and fastened them around her neck and ears. Then she put a glittering comb in her hair. Too much - cheap. She removed the comb. Perfect. Understated, elegant, platinum and ice - that was how she looked. That was how she felt. She pulled the midnight blue over-robe onto her shoulders. "No - this is hiding," she thought. "I dressed like this for a reason. Sex is a weapon. Will I use it against them or let them use it against me? If I do it now it will only get easier - I'll face the world bare shouldered. Hell, why not do it bare breasted? No, that might shock the ladies." She almost giggled hysterically. There was a knock on the door.

Lucius stood in the hallway in his dress robes, looking like a Greek god - proud and haughty, and unspeakably beautiful. He took her breath away.

He looked at her coolly. "You look lovely," he said in a low voice. "Turn around." She did so, and started a little when he asked, "Did you hurt yourself? There's a scratch on your neck. There, behind your ear." His finger traced gently along the side of her neck, and it made her shiver.

Narcissa's eyes widened, but she said nothing for a few heartbeats. What could she say? "Oh, that's where your brother attacked me this morning." No - it was too honest, too unkind - Lucius couldn't do anything about it. No one could. It only gave Damon more power to speak of it. She'd die before she gave Damon any power. "The catch on the other earring must have been broken. I'll cover it."

"No, nothing in this world has any business being perfect. It's hardly noticeable. Come downstairs with me now."

"I need to get my gloves. I'll follow you down in a minute."

"I'll see you downstairs, then," he said, and walked away in a cold, dark fury. He knew who had hurt her. He'd kill him.

It took a little while to pull on her long gloves and fasten the bracelet. The gloves were long enough to conceal a wand, if she had one. She wouldn't need one. She had weapons enough.