Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

~Chapter Three~

It was cold, a bitter, biting, soul sucking chill that reached her bones and settled like a coiled snake in her chest, curling and sliding and squeezing oh so slowly. Quietly, patiently, it settled and grew until her entire body was consumed by it, until her parted lips were blue and her fingertips were numb. For some odd reason, she hardly cared, despite the way she shook and trembled, and how the cold sweat cunning down her back and along her neck was freezing in its tracks, which in itself was quite odd as well.

Morganne screamed again, her eyes flashing open, arms outstretched in front of her, grasping for purchase, then choked mid-shriek when she saw what was leaning over her, saw the skeletal hand draped in stinking, molding sinew, reaching up and drawing back the hood...

"Expecto Patronum!"

There was a flash of silver mist, and a great, pearlescent white jaguar leapt out of nowhere, bowling over the cloaked specter, which gave an inhuman scream and fled the room, the cold, the fog, and icy chill retreating in its wake. Shivering and shaking and soaked with cold sweat, Morganne collapsed back against what she was laid across, breathing hard, one hand pressed firmly over her heart.

The room around her was dark, a suffocating, oppressive black. She could not see, nor sense the presence of whoever had cast that unfamiliar spell. There wasn't a sound except for her own ragged, quickly drawn breaths, not even of life beyond her enclosed space. She considered briefly calling out for help, but quickly discarded the idea. Whatever place housed beings such as the one that had attacked her was not a place for shouting pleas for help. The wizard or witch who'd cast the spell still had not revealed themselves, and Morganne would rather they come forward first, then make herself vulnerable to other possibly unfriendly spells.

Morganne did not know how long she waited, but at some point, she drifted off again, exhausted and utterly spent, despite not having done much at all. Her dreams were strange and disorienting, a sea of water and white mist, and when she finally struggled to the surface of consciousness once again, she was still shaking with the after affects of her frightening encounter.

The first thing she noticed however, upon waking, was the abrupt change of scenery.

She was no longer lying in her dark, stifling cell of a room. The space she currently lounged in was extravagant to the full extent and in every sense of the word. A soft, flickering light fell across her face, warming her severely chilled skin. As her eyes cracked open, still caked with grit, she was met with the pleasant sight of a magnificently sculpted dome ceiling, painted with the heavenly picture of fluffy white clouds and golden rays of sun, bathed in the same flickering amber light. She swiveled her dark eyes in all directions, taking in whatever she could see, and it soon became apparent that she was lying in what seemed to be the study of a wealthy, pureblood wizarding family's mansion. It was a wild assumption, but there wasn't a Muggle item in sight, and there were very few non-magic folk who lived in such splendor, and equally few wizard families with at least a little Muggle blood in their veins.

The second thing she noticed, was the soft, mellifluous melody wafting from the adjacent room, accompanied perfectly by the low hum of another, deeper instrument.

Morganne sat up slowly, curious to see where the lovely music was coming from, and noted the rest of her surroundings. It was not a study per se, as she'd suspected, but what seemed to be a miniature library of sorts. The floor to ceiling bookshelves were behind her and to her left and right, while a somewhat dubious looking liquor cabinet sat in front.

What kind of people have a liquor cabinet in their library? she thought vaguely, rubbing her eyes and flexing her toes to restore circulation.

She stood, and stumbled her way over to the half open door in the far corner, ignoring the change of clothing that had been laid out for her. She was not eager in the least to don robes again for the first time since she was eleven when she'd been accosted by a robed figure not long before. The elegant, expensive looking navy blue swathe of silk would have to wait for later.

Quietly slipping through the open crack without disturbing the door, she crept out into the echoing hall. The music floated around her in the still, slightly musty air, guiding her down towards the next room. A ribbon of golden light lay across the red carpeted floor, showing that the following door was indeed open as well. Morganne sidled up to it and leaned around the corner, squinting into the room beyond.

Close to, Morganne could hear the music very clear now. It was a slow, almost eerie tune, and expressive crescendos and decrescendos punctuated each rise and fall of the melody. The low, beautiful hum of a cello accompanied the piano seamlessly, and together it was a song to stir the soul. Morganne stifled the urge to sigh dramatically, clutching at the molding around the door, slowly opening her eyes that had unconsciously closed. It was then that she got her first look at the musicians.

To her surprise, it was none other than Lucius Malfoy himself sitting at the breathtakingly beautiful ebony grand, his head slightly down-turned and fixed with complete concentration. The dancing candlelight fell across his handsome, no beautiful, face and turned the spill of white blonde hair falling over his shoulder to a burnished gold. Morganne found herself staring unabashedly, lips parted as if in supplication. When she'd been younger, and still an accepted member of the Lestrange family, she'd heard plenty about the Malfoy family, their fame, their fortune, their rich, pure bloodline, and their stunning good looks. The current Malfoy Sr. was hardly an exception to the rule.

When she finally pulled her gaze away from him, and noticed his partner, she nearly gasped aloud.

Even though he was facing away from her, and she could only see the slightest bit of one side of his face, a lightning jolt of recognition flashed through her. She leaned forward, trying to get a better look, and accidentally brushed her elbow against the door, causing it to creak open a fraction more. Morganne froze, horrified as the lovely music came to an abrupt end, then swiveled on her heel and plastered herself against the wall, a hand over her mouth to quiet her sudden erratic breathing.

A low, silky laugh wafted out of the room, washing over her like a warm summer breeze.

"Severus..."came Lucius' drawling voice, purposefully louder than necessary. "I do believe we have a visitor. Shall I go and see who it is?"

His partner gave a low reply, and Lucius laughed again.

"Too true," he chuckled, and she heard a creak as he rose from the piano bench and then footsteps slowly approaching. "Too true...."

Morganne held her breath, dizzy with fear, contemplating where running was a very wise idea. He'd not doubt find her sooner or later. This was probably his house. Where did she really have to go...?

"Why hello there Miss Lestrange."

He was suddenly right beside her, like a shadowed guardian angel with a crooked sense of morality. Morganne jumped away from him, sucking in a severely startled breath, shivering when his ice gray eyes swept over her head to foot, glittering in the candle light, a wicked grin curling his lips.

"It's good to see you're up," he told her softly.

Morganne said nothing.

"Did you like the music?" he prompted.

"It....it was very nice." Her voice was nothing more than a thread of sound. "You're a very good player."

His grin widened perceptively.

"I'm glad you think so." A pause. "Why aren't you wearing the robes I left out for you?"

"Oh--oh, well I didn't feel like putting them on.....I mean...should I have?"

Lucius took a moment to consider it, then pursed his lips, one hand curling like a cobra around her arm.

"No....no that is quite all right." He began to lead her back the way she'd come, into the library with its liquor cabinet and strangely out of place dome ceiling, sitting her down on the chesterfield gently. He strode over to the aforementioned liquor cabinet--so it's his--his movements smooth and fluid like a prowling jungle cat. Morganne watched him avidly, mesmerized despite all common sense, and how utterly foolish she knew she looked staring like him like some lewd voyeur.

Lucius poured himself a glass of what looked like brandy in a crystal snifter, then took a slow sip. He swallowed elegantly (if that was even possible), then raised one sculpted eyebrow.

"Would you like some?"

Morganne felt her stomach turn over unpleasantly.

"Oh, no. No thank you."

Lucius smirked.

"You know," he leaned against the mahogany cabinet, looking at her thoughtfully, "you never used to be this skittish, Miss Lestrange."

"What? Did...did you know me before I was....left?"

"Oh yes. You know, I almost didn't believe it was you the other day. You're very different."

"Am I?"

Morganne wondered why she couldn't remember any such encounter with Lucius, when it was obvious he did. She would have thought she'd remember him quite clearly, if she'd ever come into contact with him before, but trying to dredge up any memory whatsoever drew nothing but a complete blank. Of course, he could very well have been lying, but the look on his face was too genuine to be anything but true.

"Yes, Miss Lestrange, you're very different from what you used to be." His eyes darkened a little. "I suppose that Muggle husband of yours is to blame for that."

Morganne gasped. "Peter?"

Somewhere inside of her, something cracked. Everything came back to her in a frothing, merciless wave, washing over her with a roar. The sightless faces of Peter and James swam before her eyes, James' keening cry of desperation ringing in her ears like a siren. They were dead. Dead. Those Ministry Aurors had killed them, and there was no bringing them back. They'd used the Avada Kedavra like it meant absolutely nothing, like it wasn't a human they were murdering, but something small and easily forgettable. What gave those Auror's the authority to take someone's life like that? How could they do that?

"Miss Lestrange, are you quite all right?"

Lucius' silky voice pulled her back from her thoughts with a sudden jolt. She looked down surreptitiously at her hands, where they'd clenched into fists around the leather chesterfield tightly. Flushing with embarrassment, she uncurled her fingers slowly, then wiped away the tears that had started falling.

She laughed shakily.

"I'm fine," she said.

"All right then. I'm sorry to have upset you." He put down his snifter of brandy and sat in the chair opposite her, watching her carefully. "I suppose all this must be very strange for you, Miss Lestrange."

"Well yes," Morganne admitted. "It is quite a change. I mean I really don't know what, Lord Voldemort," she tried to keep the mocking tone out of her shaking voice, "has in mind for me."

"Oh yes, well, you'll find that out soon enough."

Morganne didn't much like the sound of that, but kept her mouth shut. She still wasn't sure what to say around these people yet, how much to give out, and how much to keep to herself. From what she remembered of her parent's soirees, it was a dangerous game one played in Riddle's service, and only the most cunning, the most clever, the ones who really knew how to play that survived. Morganne did not know anything about playing the game, but she knew she'd have to learn quickly, or risk being swept away. Lucius, on the other hand, obviously had many years experience, and she could imagine that everything he said to her, every expression on his face, every nuance of his movements was calculated to a point, to only give away as much as he wanted, and still be just as convincing.

Lucius stood suddenly, snatching the snifter in hand and finishing it in one gulp.

"Miss Lestrange." He turned to her. "Do you think you're up to having some dinner?"

"Dinner?"

Lucius smirked, nodding.

"Yes, I suppose then."

"Good. Come down to the dining room when you're ready."

With a last nod, he swept from the room in a swish of black velvet, and she heard him striding away down the hall.

Morganne took a deep breath, then looked down at herself. She was still wearing the white blouse and black pinstriped pants she'd worn back at her flat in London, although they were now dusted with grit and horrendously wrinkled. She looked over at the velvet blue robes lying beside her, then back down at her own clothes, and sighed.

Morganne decided she'd best not push her luck.

Picking them up and looking them over skeptically, they seemed at least three sizes too small. Morganne wondered how she was ever going to get them on, let alone wear them with any modicum of comfort, until she slipped them over her head and found that they were charmed to expand or shrink to form fit the wearer's body, and they expanded for her just enough so they lay on her like a second skin, without being suffocatingly tight.

She studied herself over in the mirror hanging on the wall, adjusting the clingy fabric here and there. She thought they looked rather nice, if a little too elegant for her tastes. She slipped on the matching shoes, with thin, criss-crossing straps that ran all the way up her calves to about two inches below her knees. Morganne didn't think she'd ever seen more outrageous and unnecessary shoes in all her life. Even her mother, the epitome of fashion and style, had never worn such flashy things. But since she had no other shoes to speak of, there was nothing that could be done.

It was only when she'd finally done up her shoes, and adjusted the robes to within an inch of their life, that she realized she had no clue where exactly the dining room actually was. She suffered only a moment of blind panic, before there was a pop, and a very scruffy and downtrodden looking house-elf appeared at her feet.

"Nibbs is here to show Miss Lestrange to the dining room," he squeaked, wringing the front of what looked to be a threadbare tailcoat.

"Oh thank-you," Morganne breathed in relief, then followed as Nibbs led her through a maze of candle-lit halls with their marble rimmed, red carpeted floors until they approached great double doors of polished mahogany, which opened soundlessly before them. Nibbs disappeared immediately, and Morganne was left to step timidly into the grand dining room.

Even the Lestranges, who were very wealthy in their own right, had no space than even held a candle to this dining room, no, dining hall. It was not the largest room she'd ever seen, but in the case of extravagance and detail, was a space to amaze, to surprise, to impress. A long table, of the same polished mahogany ran the length of the room, with--Morganne took a quick count--thirty high back upholstered chairs, fourteen along each side and one at the head and foot. Centered in the middle of the gilded ceiling was a breathtaking crystal chandelier lit by long white candles, and all four walls were painted a deep, rich red, and lined with gold candelabras, wherein more thin white candles were placed. Morganne was so absorbed in examining every wonderful detail, that it was a few moments before she realized that Lucius had risen from his seat at the head of the table and was currently standing just beside her, grinning like Lucifer himself.

"Miss Lestrange, it you're quite finished," he purred, taking her hand in his.

Morganne flushed, horrified with herself.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said hastily. "This room...it's just not quite like anything I've ever seen before."

"That is quite all right. Why don't you sit, so you can observe more comfortably."

He held out a chair for her and she sat, folding her hands in her lap. It was then that she noticed the sour faced boy sitting opposite her.

He was a mirror to Lucius, with identical silver blonde hair and cold gray eyes, but was obviously too young to have been his brother. She therefore surmised this was his son. He slouched in his chair, arms folded across his chest, looking at her with nothing but disdain and contempt in his eyes, and a frown pinching his pale lips. She met his stare evenly, but did and said nothing to provoke him. Even though he was a child, or actually more of a young man around the age of sixteen or seventeen, he seemed to be Lucius' only son, and therefore in high favor with his father. It she upset the son, she would upset the father, and she could tell that Lucius Malfoy was not a man to idly cross.

Lucius noticed his son looking at her, and smiled thinly.

"Miss Lestrange, this is my son, Draco," he said, leveling the boy with a hard stare that spoke volumes. He immediately sat up straight, though his frown did not disappear. "Draco, this is Morganne Lestrange."

Draco inclined his head briefly in acknowledgement.

"It's very nice to meet you Draco," she replied.

Lucius smiled again then clapped his hands, and the golden platters and bowls were instantly filled with steaming food. Like flicking on a light switch, Morganne's mouth began to water, and she had to restrain herself as they all began to spoon various things onto their plates. The three of them ate in relative silence, and the only sound was the occasional chime from the large grandfather clock sitting in the far corner. For some reason, Morganne was not surprised by the presence of such a blatantly Muggle item. Many of the more sensible, or well-to-do wizards and witches used Muggle clocks instead of wizard ones, which were immensely hard to read and quite tedious to boot. While wizarding clocks did tell you the time, they also told you many other things, and in the end, you were often left wondering what exactly the time was anyway.

When all their plates were clear, the remains disappeared from the table like nothing had been there at all. After a nod from Lucius, Draco rose and hurried from the room without a word of parting to either of them. Morganne found herself feeling a little surprised at the cold indifference of it all, but after a moment of thought, wondered what she'd really been expecting. Draco didn't look like the kind of boy who would gush about how wonderful the dinner had been, hug his father, then run off to gladly do his homework. On second thought, Lucius didn't look like the kind of man who'd allow such nonsense anyway.

Morganne said nothing once Draco was gone. She stared at her lap, and waited for Lucius to start their strangely formal conversation again.

There was a long silence, and when Lucius still had said nothing, she glanced up to see him staring at her, a strange glint in his eyes. Morganne raised her bowed head and met his probing stare, expecting him to laugh at her, or call her "Miss Lestrange", as he so liked to do. But he just smiled at her, a toothy, disarming smile that made her heart rise in her throat.

"I must apologize for my son's abhorrent manners," he said lowly. "He doesn't like strangers, Muggle strangers all the more."

Morganne opened her mouth to say that she wasn't a Muggle, but Lucius cut her off.

"Oh yes, I know you're not a Muggle, Miss Lestrange, but I'm having a hard time convincing him of the matter, seeing as you did live as a Muggle for a good portion of your life. Try not to be offended. He is going through that stage of adolescence when they must be horribly difficult about everything, much to the displeasure of the rest of us."

"Hmm, I see." She tried not to think about James again.

"I'm sure you do, Miss Lestrange."

Morganne inwardly flinched. Why must he insist on calling her "Miss Lestrange" as if he feared his intentions might be misinterpreted as lecherous if he even breathed her first name while addressing her? It sounded like he was speaking to a child, not a woman of his age and maturity. She wanted to be treated like an equal, not an underling.

"Call me Morganne," she said firmly, straightening her back and inclining her head.

Lucius considered this for a moment, a small smile playing on his lips as if this was what he'd been expecting.

"All right, Morganne," he said silkily. "Then you must call me Lucius."

Morganne nodded. "Fair enough."

They sat in companionable silence for a time, the clock ticking away behind them, then Lucius rose and strode towards the doors, motioning for her to follow. Morganne hastened after him, sticking close to his side as he led her down more halls into what had to be the front hall, or foyer, with a white marble floor and another glittering chandelier hanging above them. Two staircases on either side of the room curved up and met halfway with a landing, then continued up as one to the second floor. They ascended side by side, and Lucius turned at the top, then stopped outside the first door on the left.

"These are your quarters." He drew his wand and waved it lazily at the knob, unlocking the door with a low Alohomora.

"You will find all you need inside. If there are any problems, you can contact my by Floo, or summon one of the house-elves. Other than that, good-night, Morganne."

He clasped her hand lightly and raised it to his pale lips, brushing a slow kiss over her knuckles.

"Good-night, Lucius."

His eyes lingered on her for a moment, then he nodded, turned, and swept away down the other side of the hall, his black cloak flapping behind him. Morganne watched him go, then opened the door to her room and stepped in. Once again, her surroundings were nothing but the picture of luxury, with a green canopied four-poster and stained glass doors at the far end, which were opened to the night air with a circular balcony beyond. More green swathes of fabric were draped beside the doors, flapping slightly with the breeze. Morganne moved to stand before them, feeling the cool night air slide over her and then retreat. She sighed and raised one hand to her neck, massaging the aching muscles, digging in hard with her thumb and feeling the joint pop, then the muscles relaxing like butter slowly melting. She moaned softly, then dropped the hand, thoroughly satisfied.

The soft, warm looking sheets beckoned to her, and Morganne cracked after only a moment's hesitation, pulling off her robes and crawling under them wearing nothing but her underclothes. She rolled over on her side and folded her hands under the pillow, sinking into the mattress.

She was asleep in seconds.

~*~

They were sitting together in the drawing room before a crackling fire, sipping brandy in amiable silence. Lucius was flipping through a large, leather bound tome with no identifiable title that she could see, small oval framed glasses perched on his straight nose. Every now and again he would look up and regard her silently, as if summing her up and calculating from every possible angle. Morganne did her best to ignore him and let him get on with it during these instances, staring ahead of her into the dancing flames until he returned to his book. The looks weren't threatening, or odd in any way, but it was the fact that every time he glanced her way, a thrill ran through her, a thrill she was scared to admit, that she avoided his penetrating gaze. It was the same thrill she'd felt when she had seen the man by the track, though not as intense and jolting. It was more like a slow burn, just as powerful, but smooth as liquid silk, washing over her in pleasurable waves.

She didn't like the fact that secretly, she was waiting for him to look at her so that she could feel it. She wanted it, and that scared her.

Lucius snapped his book closed so abruptly Morganne jumped in her chair, her gaze flicking up to see what was wrong. He was clutching at his left forearm, bent forward slightly, his face twisted in intense concentration and concealed pain.

"What is it?" she was out of her seat and at his side in an instant, not sure whether to touch him or not.

Lucius looked up at her, his gray eyes burning, and the power that washed over her was so overwhelming that she gasped and staggered backwards. Lucius' pale lips curved into another disarming smile and he rose, removing the hand from his forearm.

"It's time to go," he said. "The Dark Lord wishes to see you."

Morganne felt as if she were going to faint. She'd known this day would come sooner or later, but had dearly hoped that she would have more time to prepare. She didn't know how to act around him, how to play his game. It was still so much beyond her to comprehend their multilayered words and misleading actions. Even the simple things Lucius said to her could have meant ten other different things. Morganne could barely get one point across clearly, let alone infuse it with oh-so-clever undercurrents and double entendres. She didn't have a clue how she was going to survive two seconds in the presence of Riddle and his minions, who could pull her apart and dissect her as effortlessly as breathing. And worse yet, she was easily the most pathetic lying on the face of the planet, if her previous experiences were anything to go by. So, with that, she had absolutely no weapons in her arsenal, and nothing to defend herself with. She didn't stand a chance.

Lucius waved his wand and summoned something long and thin from across the room, which came soaring into his hand in a blur of black and silver. With a flick of his wrist, it cracked against the floor, and she realized it was an elegant cane with a silver snakehead on the tip, and glittering emeralds for eyes. She took a moment to admire the beautiful craftsmanship, then returned to looking at Lucius, who was absorbed with adjusting his robes and smoothing his long white blonde hair. Morganne took the hint, and began to adjust the play with her own silk robes, but was stopped as Lucius touched her arm lightly.

"You look fine," he told her, grinning slyly. "I however, have an image to uphold. It would not do to show up looking like something dragged off the street, now would it? But you Morganne, you must think about how you want these men and woman to see you. While the Dark Lord does employ those of substantial intelligence, there are many who will see you one way, and then expect you to be exactly the same forever. Don't act like something you aren't, and cannot hope to keep up."

Morganne nodded, understanding well enough.

"All right then, are you ready?"

She took a deep, slightly calming breath. "Yes."

Lucius moved closer to her and placed a steadying hand on the small of her back, causing another enticing thrill to shoot through her. She stiffened, but he didn't seem to notice, then waved his wand again, muttering an inaudible word, and the both of them Apparated, disappearing with a pop.

They materialized on the front cobblestones outside a large, but dilapidated looking mansion. Weeds festered in abundance across the sweeping lawn and crawled vinelike up the chipped outer walls. The windows were boarded and the roof tiles were falling apart, and all in all, Morganne was not impressed. She found it quite hard to believe that Riddle would live in such horrendous conditions, while his servants languished in the lap of luxury. Lucius noticed her look of poorly masked disbelief, and laughed wryly.

"It may not look like much, but do not be deceived. Inside, the Riddle house is much more than it seems."

Morganne decided to take his word for it.

They talked up to the door, a sad looking thing of molding oak, and Lucius drew his wand again, placing the tip in a hole where the bell button would have been. There was a rushing noise and a small shower of green and deep purple sparks, then the door opened soundlessly, and Morganne finally saw what Lucius had meant about looks being deceiving.

She had barely enough time to take in the splendor before she was whisked up the circular, spiraling staircase and down a long, shadowed hall. At the end, an opened door waited for them, and Lucius swept her inside, disappearing into the shadows. Morganne halted in her steps, and it finally dawned on her just what she was about to do.

She was about to come face to face with Lord Voldemort.

In the corner, a large fire blazed in the hearth, and a high backed armchair sat before it. She could see nothing of its occupant beside the top of a finely curled head, and one pale, elegant hand resting on the arm. There was a rustling of heavy fabric, and she looked around, startled, to see the faint outlines of more cloaked figures standing in the shadows around the room, and the glint of many silver white masks. The pale hand raised and made a flicking motion, and at least fifteen people materialized and glided out the door, silent as the dead, their black robes brushing against her as they passed. All but one, who she assumed to be Lucius, remained, and he stepped out and moved closer to the chair, bending down and whispering something to the man sitting in it.

"Come closer Morganne."

The voice was as cold and harsh as a blast of icy wind, hoarse and rasping as if long unused. Morganne wanted nothing more than to stay right where she was, but an invisible hand pushed her forward, and she had no choice but to take a few steps closer.

"Do you fear what you cannot see, Morganne?"

The question caught her off guard.

"Pardon?" she whispered, suddenly trembling.

"Do you fear me, because you cannot see me?"

"Well, I...I..."

"I do not appreciate inarticulate tongues, Morganne. What is your answer? Speak quickly."

"I....yes," she said finally, deciding on what she considered was the safer option.

"Then I'd better relieve you of that fear, right Morganne?"

She wanted to shout no, but he was already rising, and he'd obviously not wanted an answer. She saw the back of his head, covered in gleaming black waves of short, silky looking hair, and the exquisitely embroidered collar of a black robe. Lucius knelt immediately, bowing his head and kissing the hem of Riddle's robe, then backed away, head still bent.

And then he turned.