Warmth of Heart

The erratic drips from the sink's tap nudged Lucius Malfoy closer and closer to madness. Within the cold dank cell of Azkaban, Lucius mused that the Dementors might have been preferable to the drip-drip-drip-pause-drip echoing in his mind. At least he no longer reached for the wand formerly secreted within his now stained and crumpled robes. Lying upon a narrow cot, he threw the disgusting pillow over his face and screamed into the mouldy fabric in frustration. Just once. That was all his pride could afford.

The pillow proved insufficient in muffling most noise and consequently his ears pricked when he discerned the familiar staccato stride of sensible high heels clicking on the stone prison floor. He immediately unfolded his lean body from the cot. He first ran his hands through his dishevelled hair, vainly attempting to slick it down. Lucius sneered when he could not smooth out the creases in his fine robes, in the process discovering another tear. He mentally cursed the clumsy female Auror who was the cause, vowing that upon his next encounter with her the curse would be given form. The approaching footsteps grew louder and he resigned himself to his unacceptable appearance... grudgingly.

Narcissa appeared alone, elegant black robes draped with care over her thin frame, and her blonde hair tucked up beneath a wide brimmed hat. The sun must be shining brightly outside for she never wore a hat otherwise. She immediately twined gloved hands around the bars of Lucius' cell and drew her faintly painted lips into a consoling smile.

"Narcissa," Lucius felt his heart soar and plummet within seconds. He looked dreadful and had no desire for his wife to see him like this, although she had once before. However, they had married and pledged a bond of love to one another regardless of the circumstances that might befall them. With surprising grace, he moved towards Narcissa and raised hands that he tried desperately to keep clean but the filth of his surroundings relentlessly burrowed their way beneath his once manicured nails. He wrapped his fingers around the bars beneath hers and only laid one finger of each hand overtop her knuckles, ill desiring to pass the taint of his current circumstances on to her.

"You look exhausted, my darling," she whispered.

"Yes. I'm not very comfortable." Lucius' eyes darted up and down the corridor furtively and then settled once more on his wife. "Didn't anyone escort you?"

A very mocking, almost triumphant, smile formed on her lips, "No, they haven't the staff at the moment." Pausing for a moment, she adopted a very serious tone. "The boy will be testifying against you."

Lucius assumed as much. With Potter's testimony, backed by the meddlesome Dumbledore, the trial would be quite difficult to navigate, although not impossible. "How long until He moves to the next phase?" The Dark Lord had no choice now but to launch the war in earnest, no longer skulking around amidst feeble covert operations. If only he could have bent the Dark Lord's ear to reason as he once did -- but the man had changed so much. Lucius was convinced the Dark Lord was quite clinically insane.

"A couple months. He will be coming for the others before then." The merest hint of concern washed over her small elegant face.

"I am on my own then?"

Narcissa nodded, her hands shifting slightly as though unsettled. "He says he knows you have plans."

Lucius nodded. Of course he had plans. Several, in fact. The question was always which one would result in the least amount of damage to his reputation and image. He pondered for a moment. "There is a letter in my bedside table, fixed to the inside behind the drawer. Follow the instructions in the letter."

Smiling just a little, victory within reach, she said, "I will." After a small pause, "Draco misses you."

Lucius' fingers tightened around the cold bars that had not even warmed from his touch. "I miss him too. I will see him soon, however."

Narcissa opened her fingers and insinuated them amidst her husband's, the soft leather warm and welcome on his skin. Her eyes spoke desperation despite the contingency plan for his incarceration laid to rest. She whispered, "Our bed is so cold without you."

Lucius blinked, "Soon, dearest. Soon." His bed was much colder, he was certain, and he longed to join his wife in their comfortable bed in Wiltshire. "You should go now," said Lucius softly, his heart weighing heavier in his chest with every passing moment that his wife must see him like this.

Understanding, she nodded and offered her cheek.

Lucius leaned forward, inhaling his wife's signature scent, and pressed his lips to silken skin. Just before his mouth left her entirely he whispered with all the passion he possessed, "I love you."

She swallowed hard, her voice forcibly steady. "I love you too, Lucius." She did not tilt her head until her husband had pulled back, cool lips no longer upon her cheek. She squeezed his hands and stepped away, her arms falling to her sides.

Lucius watched as his wife drew her shoulders back, raised her chin and adopt the face of neutral elegance, often misconstrued with haughtiness, although the effect was useful. He could not help but smile. She was his perfect complement. His smile widened as he noticed the corners of her lips threaten to tug into an equally pleased grin at her husband's appreciation for her talents.

Narcissa composed herself once more and inclined her head briefly before sweeping off down the corridor.

Lucius observed her departure, his forehead pressed between the bars. The drip drip of the tap behind him recessed into the background where such disturbances belonged. With a plan in place, his focus was renewed and the world didn't seem quite so intolerable any longer. As long as he had Narcissa at his side, anything was possible.

~ fin ~