Object of Affection

Object of Affection - 4

Till the Spinner of the Years

Said "Now!" And each one hears,

And consummation comes, and jars two hemispheres.

Thomas Hardy - The Convergence of the Twain

The next day dawned cold and clear - perfect weather for the Thesean Hippike. Sleepy guests who had stayed over the night before came downstairs to breakfast early to watch the preparations. Narcissa and Lucius also woke early, and dressed for the day without remarking on what happened the night before. Lucius dressed in traditional white, the gaudy purple of the silk riding robe standing out against the pristine plainness of his other garments. Narcissa pulled her hair back into intricate braids, but didn't dress for riding, choosing instead heavy dark robes charmed against the cold. She planned to stay outside for the whole morning to watch every bit of the show. They walked downstairs together and went their separate ways - Lucius to the stable and Narcissa to the terrace.

Damon and Sebastian were justifiably proud of their horses, and enjoyed showing them off. The riders and Sebastian were already down at the stables preparing the horses, the Occamy birds, and the terrier-like Crups. The pageantry of the Hippike was most of the attraction of the sport, and there were flags to be hung, colours to be coordinated, and lots of grooming of horses and riders alike. When they finally started coming out of the stables and up the drive, there wasn't a hair or a feather out of place on any of the animals. The riders led their horses on foot to the frozen lawn near the terrace, where the guests had gathered to watch. The Crups followed, barking cheerfully until they saw the open field and playfully chased each other onto it. Lastly, Sebastian himself Apparated onto the field with the cage of Occamy birds, their sinuous bodies twisting in the cage. As Sebastian waited patiently for the riders to check their tack and take a practice flight, the guests watched from the terrace or came onto the field to chat with the riders.

"I never understood this sport," Bartemius Crouch said to Narcissa as he and little Philip watched the riders check the saddles of the winged horses. "People ride their racing brooms to the stable, then leave them in the closet to fly around on those huge lumbering animals. What's the point? Might as well watch a bunch of ghosts play head polo."

"Oh, but it looks so beautiful. Don't you think they're beautiful, Philip?" she said to the young child at her feet as she watched the men lead the horses onto the field.

"They're so big! Bigger than Barbar the King of the Elephants!" he said with a happy hop, spreading his arms wide. He then started trying to climb up on the railing to get an unobstructed view.

"Where is Mrs Crouch this morning?"

"Auntie isn't feeling well. She's crying," said Philip helpfully.

"Nothing serious, Mrs Malfoy. Just tired after last night. She isn't herself - thought she ought to stay in bed for the morning and rest."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. One of Sebastian's guests is a mediwizard - I'm sure he'd be happy to look in on her if you're worried," Narcissa said with a concerned face.

"I'm not worried at all. Circe, her niece, is with her now. She'll be fine. She's just tired. I should get some coffee myself," he said with a yawn. "Have you seen Barty?"

Philip's scampering ceased and he reached up to hold his uncle's hand silently.

"I think he's down there, talking to Lucius's father," said Narcissa, pointing to the field where a smaller boy was chatting with Sebastian in the shadow of a giant spotted Abraxan. "Philip, I'm going to get a better look at those horses. Would you like to come with me?" Narcissa said with a bright smile, trying to distract the subdued little boy.

"Yes! Can I go see, Uncle Barty?"

"Stay right next to Mrs Malfoy, and do everything she says."

"Yes! I'll be good! I promise."

Narcissa lifted the boy onto her hip and walked out into the paddock where Lucius was standing next to his horse, checking its tack. Voldemort stood nearby, his horse ready, and Morgan was talking with young Barty, who had climbed excitedly behind the saddle of Morgan's mount to ride along on a short practice jump.

"Good morning! Philip and I would like to visit your horses," Narcissa said cheerfully, slipping Lucius's chestnut Aethonan a sugar cube. He tossed his head and unfolded his golden wings slowly, practically strutting while standing still.

"What are you doing?" Philip asked as Lucius tightened the girth.

"When I put the saddle on, the horse didn't like it. He puffed out his belly - they are very sneaky, these horses. But after he walked around for a while, he forgot to push his belly out, so now I tighten this belt to make sure the saddle doesn't slip," Lucius said, holding up the saddle flap so Philip could look at the buckles.

"Slippery saddles would be fun!" giggled the little boy, squirming playfully on Narcissa's hip until he was hanging upside-down.

Lucius looked at him, confounded by his childish behaviour. "Falling can be fun, but the sudden stop at the end hurts. And the horse gets pinched, too. They don't fly well that way. Should you be carrying him, Narcissa?"

"I'm fine, Lucius," she said, tickling Philip's little belly where his jumper fell up. He squealed with delight and sat upright on her hip again.

Voldemort walked over and asked, "Have you taught him to talk to horses yet?"

"That's not a skill in my repertoire," Narcissa said carefully.

"It's easy - wandless magic. Here, Philip, climb on up," he said, taking the young child from Narcissa and putting him into the saddle of the grey Granian horse. "Now Philip, ask the horse to take a deep breath for you. Bigger. Show him how - take a big breath yourself." Philip filled his little chest up like a balloon and held it. "Now blow it all out - whoosh!"

As the child exhaled, the horse gave a little whinny and flapped its white wings gently. Philip looked delighted. The two of them whinnied at each other for a few minutes until Damon led his black Thestan over.

"Getting a new rider, Lucius? Is Voldemort getting too old? Looks like young Barty will be riding the Hippike soon, too," he teased, walking around his horse and checking the tack as Lucius had done.

"Young Philip has a gift with horses. I'm sure he'll make a fine rider, someday, if he has the opportunity," said Voldemort, still holding the horse's bridle as Philip patted it affectionately.

"Not if his uncle has anything to say about it. He's as Quidditch mad as you are, Damon," said Lucius.

Show no fear. Pillar of strength. Narcissa steeled her thoughts and walked casually up to Damon's horse. She reached out with a determined look in her eyes and stroked its muzzle gently. Big breath, take a big breath. Just until he's done climbing on - then you'll be comfortable again.

Damon finished adjusting his saddle and mounted, then glared at her. "Off the field, witch. Not safe for children out here."

She smiled at him beatifically and the horse gave a low neigh and stamped its hoof.

"Come on, Philip. Time to let the big boys play their game, now," she said, lifting the boy down from the saddle. She smiled at Voldemort and Lucius. "Good luck!"

The riders were all mounted in the field now. Their formal robes covered all the colours of the spectrum, and were coordinated so that the spectators could more easily identify the riders. Drew Waugh's was deep green, and a green tartan scarf was pinned to his shoulder with an ornate broach. Lucius's robe was purple and looked regal against the golden wings of his Aethonan. Voldemort was in blue, and riding the grey horse he blended into the sky like a little cloud. Damon's friends on the huge spotted Abraxans were dressed brightly, in orange and red. Damon's green silks stood out against the silver wings of the black Thestan. It was hard to believe creatures so big could fly, but their riders were so outrageously coloured that it didn't seem at all unusual that they would.

The Crups ran about the field as young Barty Crouch, standing next to Sebastian on the field, brought a ram's horn to his mouth and blew into it to signal the start of the Hippike. The horses took to the sky like a flock of strange tropical birds, before the Occamy cage was even opened. The Crups started running about the frozen field, yapping at each other playfully. Sebastian unlatched the cage and whacked it with his cane to frighten the birds off their perches. They zoomed up and tried to find refuge in the grass, but the Crups ran about and scared them back into the air, along with the native thrushes. The birds flew up into the air, where the men tried to catch them with small magical nets. The nets were silver, and shone so brightly in the sun that they seemed to be made of light themselves. They magically transported the birds back to the gilt cage if they tangled on one.

It was a merry, colourful chaos at first, as the horses pitched and rolled after the white snake-like birds, but soon there were only three left out of the cage. "Now things will get interesting," said Bartemius Crouch to Narcissa. "All of them are Slytherin boys, and none of them will bow out gracefully!" Damon and Voldemort raced after one bird, Voldemort's grey horse slightly in the lead. But the bird hadn't stayed out of the cage this long out of good luck - it suddenly twisted its body and dove down, flying inverted for a second before heading back in the opposite direction. Damon made a frantic twist in the saddle to cast his net behind him, and appeared to lose his balance and fall out of the saddle high above the ground. He grabbed at the reins, but apparently it wasn't just Damon who had problems - the saddle twisted around the horse, sliding over the top of one wing. The horse frantically beat its other wing, but obviously couldn't keep itself aloft. It struggled furiously to free its wing and was losing its battle with gravity as, terrified, it disappeared.

The guests gasped as Damon, trying to avoid the horse's slashing hooves from where he dangled, finally let go. Sebastian whipped out his wand and shouted Wingardium Leviosa! which slowed the rate of his descent considerably. He didn't exactly float to the ground, but jumped up again after he hit and raised his hand to salute his father. Then he turned to Narcissa and gave her a mocking salute, too. The guests applauded. Hatred and frustration like she had never experienced washed over her. The saddle had slipped, as it was supposed to. It couldn't be - he couldn't have fallen all that way and be unharmed! It wasn't fair! It wasn't right! "NO!" Narcissa heard herself scream. The next instant, all Narcissa could see was a body of the black horse and its twisted broken wings where Damon had been standing. The guests gasped and fell silent. A few started running toward the field to help. Sebastian ran faster than Narcissa thought possible, waving his wand to free his child from the weight of the dead horse.

Little Philip on her hip asked Narcissa, "What's the matter?"

Narcissa answered him as if in a dream, "There's been a bad accident."

Philip's little voice whispered in her ear, "Bad boo-boos? Does somebody hurt?"

"Not anymore," she whispered back, and handed the little boy to his uncle. "Excuse me, please."

She walked through the crowd, watching Lucius land and dismount, run to his father...his cousin Morgan, a mediwizard, looked up from where he was kneeling next to Damon and shook his head solemnly...Sebastian yelled, "No!" so loudly she thought the sound would rend the sky. Lucius knelt down next to the body and reached into Damon's robes for his wand. His father grabbed Lucius by the shoulders and threw him backwards to the ground, shouting, "Get away from him! Don't touch him! He's not...he's not..."

Voldemort came out of the crowd and laid a hand on the older man's arm, which calmed his so suddenly Narcissa wondered if he had cast a spell on her father-in-law, then he said something to Lucius and started walking Sebastian back to the house, leading him as if he were a child. Sebastian's face looked like he was in a trance as they walked past her, without recognition. Voldemort caught her eye - and gave her a nod. Narcissa thought to herself, "What are the chances? Really? Without any outside interference?" She saw the wand in his palm, half tucked into his sleeve, and looked back at his eyes. She nodded back, in silent gratitude. For what, she was not precisely sure she wanted to know. She passed them and knelt next to Lucius and Damon.

Shocked. The only one in the group gathered near the dead horse who didn't look shocked was Damon. He lay there so peacefully he looked asleep, a half smile on his lips. It was as though he knew how awful everyone looked and was laughing at them for taking this so seriously. Accidents happen. Lucius reached into his brother's robes and found his wand, broken in two pieces, the dragon heartstring core holding the pieces together. Narcissa felt a terrible sense of deja vu - she had dreamed of this last night. Prayed for it. Lucius tucked the pieces in his pocket and stood up, shedding the colourful outer robe and letting the silk flutter to the ground.

"Narcissa, I'm taking him to the library. Please see to warding the room," he said. He lifted his own wand and said Mobilicorpus! to carry his brother's broken body to the library.

Narcissa walked ahead of him to prepare the room. There were wards to be set, candles to be lit, a priest to be called...dead wizards required more ceremony than any living ones. She saw Sebastian standing in the doorway of his study, and tried to say something to him. Tell him what Lucius was doing, at least. He looked at her with dead eyes and closed the door on her. She was more relieved than angry - it was hard enough to talk to Sebastian in the best circumstances - and went to prepare the library.

She started closing the curtains as the house elves appeared. For once the miserable creatures were useful. They took away the chairs and rearranged the furniture to make room for a large table, and draped it with black cloth. They arranged the candles and incense holder on a table, leaving them for the family to light. Then they asked if she wanted them to remove the mirror.

"What mirror?" she asked, annoyed. Mirrors were not acceptable in the room with a corpse - that was common knowledge.

"Mrs. Malfoy's mirror," the house-elf squeaked unhelpfully, pointing to a black velvet curtain.

"No, it's covered. That will do. Leave," said Narcissa tersely. She walked toward the mirror to investigate it. It looked familiar - then she remembered when she had seen it before, in her room. This was Lucius's boggart? She was intrigued - he must have known. Why would he lay out Damon here if he knew? She started warding the room with candles - that much she could do without a wand - in the northeast, southeast, southwest, and northwest. The mirror was enchanted, though. She could feel it when she set the wards. Its magic was enfolded within the protective spell - quarantined. Narcissa pulled back the curtain curiously. All she saw was her own reflection - wearing pearls. She removed them self-consciously and put them in her pocket. Just then she saw the reflection of Damon's boots floating through the door and replaced the curtain.

Lucius laid Damon on the table and started setting another set of wards around it - one for each cardinal direction. Narcissa felt an electric surge and jumped, startled, as she heard a crash. Sebastian must be gathering the evergreen by destroying the Christmas tree in the hall. As if he heard her thoughts, Sebastian, already dressed in black, swept into the room like a storm - impotent rage coming off him in waves. There were roles to fill, duties to perform, and he was powerless against it. He was head of the family. His presence was needed, and his obligations to the family demanded that he perform for his guests. The priest who followed him into the library nodded greetings to them and started murmuring a prayer over the incense and the oil, and Sebastian ordered them to go change - he'd watch over Damon. They both left in silence.

They walked quietly up the stairs, murmuring thank-yous to the guests who had already changed and were milling about in the hall around the remnants of the tree. Most were unemotional. A few tears flowed, but in general the set who could change clothes that fast were not the ones who became overwrought, and they realized that the Malfoys would be anxious to prepare for the ceremony. Slowing down the process with sympathy at this point only prolonged the pain.

Away from the mechanical task of protecting the corpse, Lucius's mind spun. Damon was dead. It was impossible - he'd seen Damon fall off a broom after being hit in the head by a Bludger, then walk from the pitch. Damon was huge, healthy, athletic. Certainly not dead! Not from a fall! He never fell - he was very graceful. Disoriented, he looked around for his distraught father. Not that he expected to give or receive comfort from the old man. He just needed to know where he was. He needed no comfort. He was numb.

He felt nothing as he changed into black robes except impatience to finish the ritual. He didn't want to prolong his possession of Damon's wand any longer than necessary. If they finished the ceremony before noon, they could destroy the wand at dawn, otherwise they'd have to wait another day. Lucius hated Damon, but he didn't want to tempt his father with this wand any longer than he absolutely needed to. What happened to Eleanor was an embarrassment, a shame on the family. Damon deserved it, and probably worse, for what he had done in his lifetime, but Lucius didn't want to live with the aftermath. He had enough aftermath to deal with already. Lucius had not forgotten Narcissa - he would not think of that - but he had not forgotten...Narcissa. Holding onto the Thestan's bridle. Unblinking. Damon's horse as he checked the girth. He checked the girth before he mounted. A good mount on a crisp morning - Stop. STOP. He sat down heavily in a chair and ran his hand across his mouth - then stood up again with a surge of frenetic energy. His father was waiting for him, as were the guests. There were standards, roles, parts to play. Guests needed to give their condolences - someone needed to accept them. He pulled on his social masks and stepped back on stage. He walked down the hall to Narcissa's room and knocked on the door. When she opened it, he eyed her coldly.

"Don't come back to the library," he said.

She studied him. He was impeccably dressed and groomed, and his face inscrutable. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked calmly.

"Not yet. Father and I will see to Damon. It should only take a few minutes. I'll stay with him tonight and we'll destroy the wand at dawn."

"I would like to attend that. I need to take care of my own, too."

Lucius closed his eyes for a moment and sighed - his brain refused to think. He was glad that thinking was not a requirement in the ritual. "As you wish. I'll be in the library," he said, and walked away.

*

Sebastian pulled back the curtain and peered into the glass, searching for Eleanor. He saw the priest's startled look, and glared at him. This was necessary - his family needed to be protected from her, and her secrets.

Her secrets, Damon's secrets, Medea's secrets. My secrets. He remembered, as a child, asking his mother who owned a secret. "The ones who can use it," Eleanor had replied sternly. She lived that creed, keeping the family's dark secrets, and dispensing her own peculiar brand of justice. Justice without mercy - she had none for anyone else, and expected none for herself. But she bore the burden well, at least until Medea died. Eleanor never understood the intricate web of needs and hopes that held up their protective walls. When Medea died, when hope died, the balance was disturbed, and the walls fell, crushing them all.

Sebastian tried to be fair. When Damon accused her on the night Eleanor died, he pulled his mother back from death to defend herself. He never expected the reaction he got. "Unnatural child! How dare you question me? Everything I did was for you and the boys - for my family!" She pointed a clawlike finger at Damon "And you!" she yelled, "Your loving son, Sebastian! He would have destroyed you, and Lucius, for what? Revenge on me?"

"You took his mother! I could have protected her!" Damon raged.

"She was never yours to protect, was she, Damon?" Eleanor sneered.

"She was! Tell him the truth!"

"Whose truth? Yours? You'll destroy your family over this? Destroy your father, and Lucius? You brought a Dementor into this house, Damon! How could you?"

"You taught me how, Grandmother! It's your damned secret! Yours and Medea's!"

Sebastian roused himself from his memories when he saw Lucius's face in the mirror, reflected over his shoulder, looking as bewildered and miserable as he had fifteen years earlier. Do you have any idea how much suffering you caused? No - you never asked for it. We did it to ourselves, for ourselves, and for you. We'll keep the secrets. We're almost done now - Eleanor's secrets, Damon's secrets, Medea's secrets, my secrets. We'll carry them to our graves. And you'll never know the burden we bore for you. Sebastian replaced the curtain and went to light the candles.

*

The governing lights for the ceremony - the sun, the moon, and the head of the family. Three men had to be present at this ritual or it could not take place. They were not just men now - for the next few minutes they would be symbols. And when they were done, the public could mourn.

The priest asked if they were ready to begin. At their nods he pulled his wand out of his sleeve and drew a circle of light around them, the body, and the table holding two small rocks, the sacred book, the evergreen, the oil, and the incense.

"Lord, grant us thy protection."

"Dieu garde," they replied.

"Brothers, one of our own has been called from us. We commend his soul to God. Let us pray: O God, Thou hast set up ancient landmarks to guide our course, and displayed great lights to guide our path, Thou hast set before us the shining goal of life immortal. Guide us now, as we go through places rough and dark. Remind us that we are never forgotten nor forsaken. Thy love ever waits to supply our deepest need.

"We thank Thee for our brother Damon whom Thou gavest to be with us for a season. We pray that you will free his soul, which we did bind to ours. Protect him from the Dark and gather him to your heart. We have learned from the Greatness of the Universe that life is no more affected by death than the day is affected by the darkness, which separates today from tomorrow. We surround our loved one with assurances of our affection - gifts we present now."

Accio! the three of them said simultaneously, Summoning the tapers from where they floated above the table. Lucius set the white taper over his brother's left hand. "I give you the moon to guide you through the dark of night."

Sebastian set a yellow candle over Damon's right hand, "I give you the sun to guide you through the day."

The priest set the blue taper over Damon's head, "I give you the family to guide you when you lose your way."

Accio! they said again, Summoning the rocks and the book. Lucius put the rough granite into his brother's dead hand. "I give you your youth and strength to protect you through the dark of night."

Sebastian placed a smooth crystal into Damon's right hand, "I give you your age and accomplishments to support you through the day."

The priest set the book next to Damon's head, "I give you the wisdom of God to guide you when you lose your way."

The priest Summoned the incense and lit it with his wand. The smoke started to drift through the room. He set the silver orb floating slowly around above their heads, following the path he had drawn in light at the beginning of the ceremony. Next he summoned the oil and anointed Damon's head and hands. Lucius let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. There were many portals to the infinite, but at this point in the ceremony, most of them were open. He could feel magic surrounding him like a warm wind. It would be very hard to imprison a soul now, even one as dark as his brother's.

At last they Summoned the evergreen sprigs, and silently laid them at Damon's feet. The priest broke the circle and the light disappeared, but the incense still floated in the same circuitous track, and would continue to do so until the fire went out and they destroyed the wand in the morning. The three of them put their wands away and shook hands, and Lucius was finally able to get out, past the crowd of mourners with spruce sprigs in their hands who waited to file into the library.

Narcissa had come downstairs and talked to people as she walked through the crowd. The perfect hostess, her low voice calmed him, even though they never spoke to each other. Lucius stayed in the hallway with the guests for over an hour, shaking their hands, thanking them for their concern, and assuring them there was nothing they could do. Eventually the priest came out and told him that his father wanted him.

He took over the watch from his father in the library, and the old man left. It seemed Sebastian had aged years in the hour he was gone. He supposed he must look pretty worn out himself, but no one mentioned anything. It would have been rude. He stood there, nodding at his guests' concerned remarks, ignoring the crashes from the study, and bidding them farewell. They were leaving. Finally. Gone.

A hand touched his shoulder - warm, fatherly, not Father. "Lucius, I'm sorry," Voldemort said. Voldemort was Damon's friend - of course - he was still here. "What do you need, Lucius?" "I need my brother to disappear."

"Where is Father?"

"In his room - he was quite distraught and ..." Voldemort shook his head. "It doesn't matter. How are you, Lucius? You've been on parade for hours - you must be exhausted."

"I need to speak to Narcissa."

"I just convinced her to lie down a few minutes ago. Between your father smashing his study, and the guests leaving, she was quite worn out. Dead to the world when I left her. Come - take a rest. I'll watch for you. Go see if Sebastian left anything fit to drink in his study. I'm sure the elves must have it cleaned up by now."

Lucius looked at Voldemort for a long second. Arguably the greatest Dark Wizard in the world wanted to guard his brother's body from Dark magic. He would have smiled at the irony if he hadn't been so tired. Oh, hell, what harm could he do? No worse than what Father did to Eleanor. No, Lucius couldn't do it. Not even to Damon. It wasn't about Damon; this was about duty.

He summoned a house elf and ordered it to bring him a Vitalin potion. He'd pay for it tomorrow, but tomorrow he could sleep. Voldemort asked for a whiskey. Father wanted him to befriend this man. The reasons to do so still existed, but now he also had reasons to keep his distance. He was next - no longer the spare. It was a heady thought, and he needed to keep his wits about him.

The house-elf reappeared with a shot of the potion. Lucius took a small sip. Icy calm swept through him as the minty liquid seared his tongue. Lucius glanced at Voldemort, as if waiting for him to say something.

*

Voldemort stood at Damon's head, flipping through the book and sipping his drink. "Lucius is more machine than man," Sebastian had said. It's more comfortable that way, isn't it? Machines don't hurt. Machines don't cry. Machines work - until they break. How close are you to breaking, my young friend? Sebastian, what a treasure you squandered. Think of what he could have been with a fraction of the attention you gave to Damon. He'll become all that, and more, once he joins me. He'll achieve heights you never even imagined. The young man was exhausted - it showed in every line of his posture as he fought the appearance of weakness. Malfoys don't slouch. Malfoys don't even lean if they think anyone is watching. No, Lucius. If you want to speak, speak. I'll not be first. You know my mind - or you think you do. Relax - tonight we'll have no demands or ultimatums. Just companionable silence. I'll not even look at you - relax. I accept you. I'll watch out for you and I'll protect you, and your family. Better than your own father.

*

Lucius closed his eyes and relaxed his neck for a moment. A ghost of fatigue flitted across his face as he took another sip of the potion. "My father disapproved of Damon's friendship with you. He feared it would hurt the family." Lucius didn't like this potion. It made him too blunt, like being unpleasantly drunk. He'd have to be more careful.

"I know. Your father and I have known each other a long time, Lucius. His fears were a rock upon which he built his fortress," Voldemort said, closing the book.

"My position has changed."

"As I told you it would last night."

Lucius considered this and took another sip. "I have no desire to break this off, but I have even less desire to antagonize Father."

"So you are asking for my discretion?"

"I value your friendship, Voldemort. You value my family's reputation in certain circles- circles you need to access. As your power grows, your access will be more limited, along with anyone whom you associate with. You want more power, but you need more access. Shut my family out of those circles and you lose. Trust me - the Malfoys have been doing this for years. If you want my influence, you need to give me free hand in preserving it. I can find you friends which will further your cause, but quietly."

"Your father will not approve."

"He approved yesterday - but it doesn't matter - time is on your side."

"Damon told you about my goals, but how much did he tell you of my plans?" Voldemort questioned. Lucius returned his gaze steadily.

"He was very proud of your accomplishments. He was the right hand of a man of destiny. It always pained my brother when he couldn't brag."

"And he knew you loved your power."

"He teased me about it, yes. He enjoyed having what I could not."

"And taking what you had."

Lucius looked at Voldemort sharply, but didn't say a word.

Voldemort tapped the leather bound book with his long fingers. "Do you still want Narcissa?" he asked evenly, pausing for a long moment to read Lucius's face. "When I left her, she was sleeping like the dead. After all that happened today, you may need to leave her that way." Neither man's face betrayed any emotion. "But it is your choice, of course, not mine."

Lucius stared at him silently.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts. I suppose you can send an elf for her if you need to. Goodnight, Lucius. See you in the morning," Voldemort said, walking out of the room but leaving the door just slightly ajar behind him.

"Goodnight."

*

Lucius stood over Damon, looking down at his face. So peaceful and calm - Lucius half expected him to sit up and start laughing at him for falling for this prank. But he didn't. This was no prank. It was a dream, or maybe a nightmare.

The fire was dying. He walked over to the fireplace to throw on another log. Reaching into the wood box, he remembered the day Damon taught him to fly. Lucius used to idolize Damon. He was everything the young child wanted to be - big, strong, and confident. Just like Father, only more intense, more fun. Lucius couldn't wait for him to come home from school on holidays, or home from touring with his Quidditch team the Wasps. Just to see Father and Damon together, to see that affection, made him happy. That Christmas, when he was five, his parents gave Lucius a broom so he could be like Damon, the Quidditch Captain. Father had Damon take him out and "show him how it's done." He did - he taught Lucius how to command the broom. Lucius hovered a few feet above the ground, under his grandmother's watchful eye, while Damon raced around. It was a fantastic Christmas. The best ever.

The next morning the broom was in pieces in the wood box. But Lucius and his grandmother put it back together. It took a while, but he did it. And he never let Damon near his things again. Foolish to expect Damon to grow up - Damon never changed.

He knelt down to throw the log onto the fire, and the coals glowed red as blood as the old fire started to consume the new wood. That was the strangeness of this day - there was no blood. Blood pays for blood. Honour is redeemed with blood. Narcissa's honour. His honour. Damon's blood. Lucius knew it was no accident. The MLE had it codified - motive and opportunity. He saw Narcissa learn. He saw Damon checking his tack. He saw. He heard the horse neigh. She had the opportunity. Motive...he didn't want to think about it, but thoughts wouldn't be banished from his brain. Face them. Suffer. Move on. Motive: Narcissa hated Damon. They fought on Friday night. I fought with him, too. I hated his guts. That isn't it - be honest. Lucius remembered the white faced trembling at the party, and the fear in her voice. Fear, the night before, from Narcissa. STOP. Stop. This isn't about honesty - too much honesty is too cruel. Pointlessly cruel. Motive: Damon hated Narcissa. They fought. He broke her wand. He hurt Narcissa. The fire popped a sappy stick loudly. Damon broke the broomstick. Stop. Narcissa wasn't a broomstick. She couldn't be broken. And if she was I don't know how to put her back together.

Lucius covered his eyes with one hand, still feeling the fire's heat beyond. He couldn't look at Damon. This isn't about honesty, it's about honour. Malfoy honour demands that Damon be avenged. This insult must not go unpunished. I'm a Malfoy. My honour demands it. His honour also demanded that Narcissa be avenged. Oh, to hell with them all! In frustration, he whacked the taper over Damon's head to the ground. It guttered on the floor but didn't go out. Lucius bent over and picked it up. It was cracked, but still burned. He replaced the candle over his brother's head.

Thinking about fractured family didn't help. It didn't make sense to question if his family was any good, or worth salvaging. There's no sense asking if the air is any good if there is nothing else to breathe. But it was getting hard to breathe. He was crushed between conflicting obligations - to think the Imperius was Unforgivable! How much more horrible was being completely disassociated from wants, than to be hit in the face with what you needed? His heart cried out for vengeance - but against whom? Malfoy blood had been spilled, but Malfoy honour had been preserved.

Lucius desperately wanted to talk to Eleanor. She knew all the dark secrets of the family. Hell, half the skeletons were hers. But he was afraid of what he'd see when he moved the curtain. If my luck holds, I'll probably turn to salt. Lucius retreated to cynicism. What did he have, and what did he need? He had everything - except...he had everything he needed. Money, power, influence, Narcissa...Narcissa. She was his. An overpowering wave of possessiveness came over him - he wanted to go upstairs immediately and brand her. Mine. No one had given her to him, and no one could take her away. Rich, powerful, beautiful - and she'd seen him drink wormwood. They fed it to each other. She knew him in victory and defeat - as he knew her. A sacred time. We are allied. No, we are family. She carries my child. A son, if Crouch's wife is to be believed. Probably. STOP. She carries a Malfoy.

He stared at the candle - by morning the crack would be burned away. He had time. If you're broken it's because you're brittle. He could repair the damage. He'd start with Narcissa, and build from there.

*

Sebastian had stood for a long time in his room, looking at the stars. He damned them individually and collectively; he damned fate and life and God. He was rich and powerful - there was no one in the world he'd rather be. But in the end, it didn't matter. His son was lying in the library, on the way to a crypt, and he couldn't stop it. Or maybe he could...

Years ago, he had cast his last Dark Magic spell, on Eleanor's soul. He had imprisoned her in the mirror, without a shred of remorse. Now he wanted, no needed, more - he needed to bring back his son - all of him. It wasn't too late; he knew it. Until the body was in the ground, there was still time. He had to save Damon - the soul and body may have been separated, but he must find a way to recombine them. He must! Someone must! Someone - he knew precisely who.

He walked down the hall to Voldemort's room and opened the door after a peremptory knock. Voldemort squatted on the floor next to the fire, idly poking the coals. He looked up at his host impassively, Sebastian's dark eyes boring into his as he stood.

"Bring him back," Sebastian said.

"No," Voldemort said, turning his gaze back to the fire. He had seen enough - Sebastian was as close to breaking as Lucius. Closer. He could have anything he wanted, now. But after he carved Sebastian's liver out with a spoon, he'd be done. He didn't want anything more than that pain, and knowing that Sebastian knew who was making him suffer. Sebastian had given him Lucius, and he couldn't take him back. Loyalty - the one asset that can be sold, but never bought. He had the Malfoy heir again, only this time one more circumspect, and less confrontational. Without Sebastian's interference, what an ally he'd make! "Damon had my protection, but you saved him from me. He's yours now - you save him from death. I'm done."

"Bring him back! Please! You're the Dark Lord - Damon said you could conquer death. You can do it!" Sebastian looked desperate. His last hope was slipping away.

"Of course I can. Until you put him in the ground I can cobble the soul back onto the body. I can do any number of things. But I won't - it wouldn't look good. Your family needs its distance."

Sebastian gave up pretence of dignity and pleaded, "I'll do whatever you want. Take what you want. Take me. Just help him! He loved you!"

"Save it - that bridge is burned," Voldemort, said, shaking his head. "Oh, Sebastian, this is so pitiful! Damon had my protection, and you took it away. You saved him from me. And now you've changed your mind. You admit you were wrong. The Eternal Life they preach to the masses doesn't look so alluring anymore? You want something more tangible. But it's too late," Voldemort said with a triumphant smile.

"It isn't. It can't be!" Sebastian said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"It is. You did it yourself. You opened the portals today. He's more than half gone already."

"You can bring him back. I could ..." Sebastian said frantically.

"You couldn't do anything - you trapped a powerless ghost. You can still try, Sebastian. Trap his ghost yourself - you know the spells. Build yourself a hall of mirrors. What a life's work," he scoffed, "One for Damon, and one for Lucius. You'll need to kill him to get the wand back. You know that."

"No - He'll help me. He's a good boy."

"Yes, he is. He set those wards so quickly I didn't have a chance to interfere. And he'll preserve the Malfoys' honour - just as you taught him to. He'll make sure you don't repeat your performance with his grandmother - everything will be done properly this time. He won't give you the wand - it wouldn't look good. What would the neighbours think?" Voldemort sneered.

"My neighbours are in the next county. I don't care what they think!" Sebastian said defiantly, glaring around the room at the empty gilded frames hanging on the red walls, daring his ancestors to show their faces - to argue with him.

"Lucius does. Damon is gone, Sebastian. You gave him his freedom - you saved him from me. Now, go clean up after yourself."

"Get out," Sebastian said in a dead voice.

"As you wish. Give my regards to your family - or what's left of it," Voldemort said as he Disapparated.

Sebastian walked very slowly back to his own room. God, he was so tired. Sebastian was ready for it all to end - he just had a little more to finish first. Damon, do you want to be saved? That's my boy - straight from the outer darkness, from the edge of Hell! If his God didn't want his soul, then to Hell with God. Sebastian would meet Damon in Hell. If heaven was too good for them, they could burn together. Soon. He wasn't much enamoured of this mortal coil right now. He sighed and felt a momentary twinge of pity for Voldemort. Eternal life - what kind of hellish goal was that? No one truly alive could bear it.

*

Narcissa came down to Lucius in the hour before dawn, before Sebastian. She stood in the doorway with her hands folded before her, watching him stare at the fire, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture rigid. He looked dreadful, like she was seeing him through a frosty window - misty and sharp in all the wrong places. "Are you prepared?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," he said turning to look at her in the doorway. "Where's Father?"

"In his room. I'll get him," she said with downcast eyes. There were no words of comfort - she knew better. Until Damon was in the ground, Lucius wouldn't know how to accept comfort. Not from her - not from anyone. The mechanical process of honouring the dead was the only comfort he could accept, the only thing he understood. She walked up the stairs to Sebastian's room and knocked. There was no reply. Perhaps he was in the study? Then the door opened and Sebastian swept down the stairs without acknowledging her presence. She followed in his wake back to the library, feeling very alone.

*

Lucius stood back from the table as Sebastian transfigured it into a plain coffin and floated it from the room. Narcissa and he followed behind it as they walked down the drive to the church. It was a short walk in the cold as thin grey skeletal fingers of dawn probed the night. They walked in silence, just the three of them, nothing but frost hanging in the air between them. Narcissa's thoughts were only of destroying her wand, Lucius's were only of finishing the ritual, and Sebastian's were fixed on what happened the night before.

Lucius watched the light claw its way across the sky. Ice crystals in the trees refracted the morning sun delicately, casting strange lights and shadows before them on the lane. He knew the potion he had taken was affecting his perception, but there was something very wrong and unreal about this familiar territory. It played on his nerves like a jangling piano - out of tune. It was the light. It made everything seem so weak, so ethereal. How could ice make everything become so fragile?

There was a large crowd at the stone church when they arrived. The priest carried a cross in front of Sebastian as he placed the coffin in the front of the church and opened it to check that Damon was still warmly wrapped. Sebastian lovingly tucked the shroud around him like he was tucking a child into bed. When he was done, Sebastian came to sit next to Lucius as the rest of the mourners sat down in their pews and the choir started to sing Misserere mei, Deus. Lucius could feel rage flowing from his father as the small white wooden door of the pew closed. Sebastian wanted no mercy, from God or man. Why should he? They had taken his child - he had no mercy for them.

"Libera me de sanguinibus, Deus, Deus salutis meae, et exultabit lingua mea iustitiam tuam," the choir sang. Lucius felt like God had it out for him personally. He didn't want to think anymore - not about Damon, not about blood, and certainly not about justice. Churches, governments, people - no one had exclusive claim to the glory of injustice. Weakness was the only constant. Weakness and fear. Strangely, the idea didn't bother him so much any more. It was tradition - might is right. It made sense. Take what you want and let the others clean up the mess. That's what Damon did, and Damon had died with a smile on his face. These good people wanted Eternal Life. So did Voldemort. What, in the end, was the difference? He had to stop thinking - he hadn't slept for days, and the potion was playing tricks on his brain. He needed to let the service bore him to sleep - no more thinking, just listening, just enough to get through the forms.

*

The priest and the congregation started the service, by singing a psalm. "Requiem aeternam dona ei Domine." Narcissa started. Eternal Rest - the gift Damon had threatened her and Lucius with in the stable. Don't think about that, idiot! It's over! Think about your duty. She couldn't think anymore. She couldn't feel. Was hysteria any worse than numbness? She closed her eyes and tried to sense Lucius sitting next to her. Her anchor - and she couldn't let down her wards enough to find him. Her heart and mind were as closed as a Muggle's, crippled. This wouldn't do; it was disgraceful - letting fear of a memory overwhelm her! She opened her eyes glanced sideways at her husband's profile. Lucius looked exhausted. God, send me strength for him! He would need her strength. He was the heir now - a different position. As hard as he fought to be independent, now he had to stay close to his family. But she was his family, too, not just Sebastian! She would need to be strong to keep him safe - from everyone, even his father. She knelt on the red velvet prayer cushion with the rest of the congregation to pray, fervently, for strength, as she recited the prayers mechanically with them.

"Sed libera nos a malo," the choir sang. Deliverance - she wanted deliverance for herself, for Lucius, for her parents. Deliverance from evil - but was it possible? The evil ones died, but the damage lived on. Eternal life. Eternal pain. "Amen," she said automatically with the others.

"Beati misericordes, quia ipsi misericordiam consequentur," they said. It was all Narcissa could do not to scream. She wouldn't cry, not on the outside, not while she had that great well of numbness to hold her tears. But to hear them talk of Mercy in the same room as that monster? And I'm the biggest hypocrite of all. God have mercy on me. Someone have mercy. Make it stop. Finish, damn you all! Finish so I can vomit! This sickens me! Get on with it! For the love of God, hurry up! At last, they finished and the wand burning began.

*

As they read the Beatitudes, Lucius stared at his father. Sebastian was turning purple with rage, his jaw clenched tightly and a vein throbbing under the greying hair on his temple. "They've got to be kidding," Lucius thought. This wasn't the time to count blessings. He wouldn't be surprised if Sebastian jumped up and started hexing things into next week on principle. "Beati, qui lugent, quoniam ipsi consolabuntur," they all said together. "Beati, qui esuriunt et sitiunt iustitiam, quoniam ipsi saturabuntur." Again and again with the justice - would they ever drop the pretence? There was no comfort; there was no justice - just point of view. One man's justice is another man's greed. Voldemort's eternal life may be Eternal Damnation. In the end, the only thing that mattered was which end of the wand was pointing at you.

"Inclina, Domine, aurem tuam ad preces nostras, quibus misericordiam tuam supplices deprecamur, ut animam famuli tui Damon, quam de hoc saeculo migrare iussisti, in pacis ac lucis regione constituas et Sanctorum tuorum iubeas esse consortem. Per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen." Lucius shuddered involuntarily. The potions and lost sleep were overwhelming him. Oh, I don't care whether he's in peace and light or writhing in the fires of Hell, just keep him out of this world. Keep him away from my family. Narcissa was nearly jumping out of her skin in agitation. An outsider wouldn't be able to tell, but to Lucius it was obvious - the way her black-gloved fingers drummed silently on her thigh, the electric tingle of a half-cast defensive charm when he brushed against her, her rigid posture. She was a time bomb, waiting to explode. He wondered idly how much time they had left. On his other side sat his father, equally rigid, equally fragile. Strong and fragile, like glass. Just as unbending, just as dangerous when shattered.

At last the priest brought down from the altar the fire, which burned blue and white, the fingers of flame dancing within the glass sphere. Divine Fire, Living Fire, the lightning captured in the enchanted orb was hot enough to reduce a wand to ash in seconds. He held it above his head for the congregation to see. "Per lignum servi facti sumus" - we are bound by the tree. He took the fire to the first pew and held it out before Lucius, who took the wand from his pocket and dropped the fragments into the orb. Lightning crackled around it and the wand turned to ash. The priest walked up to the coffin and inverted the orb, so the ash fell into the coffin, then closed the coffin lid and continued to pray solemnly with the entire congregation.

*

"Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ei. Requiescat in pace." The service was over - they could leave. They all stood as Sebastian and Lucius carried the coffin to the crypt. Narcissa stayed behind - there was no need for her to accompany them. It wasn't her place. She stayed in the front pew, and accepted the condolences of those around her as they filed out of the church. When they were gone, she walked up to the altar. Kneeling on the elaborately embroidered cushion, she prayed for herself - "Ure igne Sancti Spiritus renes nostros et cor nostrum, Domine: ut tibi casto corpore serviamus, et mundo corde placeamus." She wanted to feel clean again. She wanted to feel whole. She wanted the frigid numbness to go away. Please God, take it away, she prayed.

Opening the vessel, she poured the fragments of her wand inside and watched as the fire burned blue and reduced her wand to white ash. It seemed like a band around her throat was released, and she could breathe again. But that was all. Her thoughts were less frantic and jumbled as the ashes collected in the bottom of the glass sphere. Turning the vessel upside-down, she poured the soft ashes into her hand, and left by a side door. She walked out onto the steps and scattered the ashes of the wand to the four winds. She felt like crying, but knew it was useless - the monstrous numbness had swallowed all her tears. She had sung the song, closed her eyes, and made a wish. Then, when she blew out the candles and opened her eyes, she found herself alone in the darkness. Time to grow up, Narcissa. "Don't be afraid," her mother's voice echoed in her ears, "There's nothing in the dark that isn't there in the light." Nightmare comfort. The nightmare wasn't over. The words brought her no comfort. She climbed the worn stone steps again, and met Lucius and his father as they stepped outside.

"Your wand?" Lucius asked tiredly, and seeing her nod, continued, "We'll replace it today. Father, is there anything else?"

"No," replied Sebastian in a dead voice, turning his back on them and walking alone back to the manor. He avoided the people milling about the church - he had seen enough people for that day.

"Lucius?" she asked, tentatively offering her hand and questioning him with her eyes. What next?

Lucius brought her hand to his lips, tasted ash. "Sleep."

"Then let's go home," she said. "Can you Apparate?"

"There's a fireplace in the vestry. I'd rather Floo. I'm not myself."

She knew what it cost him to admit weakness, and said softly, "Stay with me, Lucius. I won't lose you." She held his hand as they went back inside.

"I'm more afraid I've lost you," he thought. Then he remembered that he was done thinking for the day. Tomorrow would take care of itself.

Their footsteps echoed in the nave as they crossed it, the smell of freshly extinguished candles still in the air. It seemed as if everyone had Disapparated - the building was eerily empty. As they walked into the vestry, they were almost relieved to see Voldemort there, looking very solemn. They weren't surprised to see him - although they didn't know about Sebastian's late night visit, they didn't expect him to walk with them to the church. It wasn't his place.

"I thought I'd stay and make sure you got back home safely. You've had a rough weekend," he said in a low voice. Lucius was close to collapse, and Narcissa wasn't much better. They were at an exquisite extreme - trying to support each other when neither had strength to spare. It reminded him of drowning men dragging each other underwater. Perfect. He looked up at them with a quiet smile. "May I follow you? I don't want to invite myself into your home, but I want to know you're home safe." He held out the Floo powder to them.

"You're too kind."

"I'm happy to help in any way I can. I only wish I could do more."