The final chapter.

For the last time, but as always, I hope you enjoy.~

Lucius pulled out the top drawer of his classroom desk and set it on the desktop. He removed the contents one by one, deciding what to do with each item in turn.

"Chalk, supplies," he murmured aloud to himself, flicking his wand at the pieces of chalk and sending them spiralling over his head and into the large cabinet at the back of the room in which all the lesson supplies were kept. "Quill and ink, mine," he flicked his wand again and they settled themselves into the huge leather suitcase, open at Lucius' feet. "Vanilla truffles… Definitely mine."

He stared wistfully down at the little box, the unmistakable smell of them rising up to his nostrils despite the distance between them. His brow furrowed as he realised where it had all gone wrong. The smell of her perfume.

Oh, how he had tried to stop her from being the one to destroy everything, he really had. He had tried his hardest to balance his job as a teacher, his true duty to the Dark Lord and the ever growing attraction he felt towards Miss Narcissa Black – Malfoy – and he had failed. He could take the jeering, the whispers and the scorn thrown at him from every direction, even from in the staff room. But to see Narcissa's eyes become misty at their poisonous words, to see her plagued by questions and second guesses and rumours. No, he could not deal with that.

The strangely familiar knot in his stomach tightened painfully.

He would not allow his wife to be hurt for him anymore.

But the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord would hear of his resignation from Hogwarts, no doubt. Lucius was fairly sure Albus would stop any journalists getting hold of such a story, but one way or another the Dark Lord would hear. Lucius suspected it would be a better idea to write a letter to the Dark Lord and inform him by his own hand, for he doubted that the brutal shadow of a man that Tom Riddle had become, the crude façade of humanity, would be very merciful towards Lucius if he found out about the failure of his 'most faithful follower' from another source.

But then again, Lucius reasoned as he buried his head in his hands, he doubted the Dark Lord would be very merciful if he did inform him himself.

He was afraid. There was no use of him hiding it from himself. He had seen what the Dark Lord was capable of towards Edgar Bones. Would be consider Lucius' resignation simply a failure? Or betrayal? Mutiny? And what if he found out about Narcissa? What if he hurt Narcissa?

What if he hurt Narcissa?

Oh, Merlin, the mere thought sent a stabbing pain straight to his chest. The Dark Lord had been so eager to kill the rest of Edgar's family in order to gain his alliance, so what would stop him threatening –

Killing.

- Narcissa in order to force Lucius to prove his allegiance? What was it he had said? "I cannot have traitors… How easily you denounce your following of Albus Dumbledore, with merely a threat of the life of your child." What if the Dark Lord threatened Narcissa, in order to test Lucius?

Either way, would he have to watch her die?

A surge of anger passed through Lucius like a needle through skin. He swept his arm across the desk with a snarl, knocking the drawer off the desktop with stacks of papers which crashed and fluttered to the floor respectively. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers into the lids, trying to ignore the foreign prickle behind them, the rising wave of despair at the thought that he had put Narcissa in harm's way.

Dear Merlin, what have I done?

But, he reminded himself as he drew in a deep, shaking breath to regain some composure, she was remaining at school. She would be under the care of Albus Dumbledore, out of the clutches of threatening punishment. The Dark Lord may never even need know of her. He was overreacting. Just overreacting.

Lucius swallowed. It would be his punishment, and he would deal with it alone. Narcissa would never need to get involved, or ever know. It would be two years before she graduated, and by that time everything may have finished.

It would all be fine.

"Well, I never," breathed one of the occupants of the portraits around the room, having watched Lucius' sudden bout of ire. He glared up at the owner of the voice who promptly hid behind a compact lace fan, hiding her face as though hoping he would not turn his wrath upon her.

Irritably, Lucius swished his wand upwards. The scattered papers and broken drawer returned faithfully onto the desktop. Another flick and the drawer was fixed without a blemish. No longer with much motivation to continue packing, he prised the lid off the little white box of truffles and removed one from within.

Like all of Lucius' possessions it was of the finest quality, not a member of the riffraff of the chocolate world purchased at Honeydukes. He rolled it between his thumb and middle finger meditatively, watching the sugar dusting whisper off onto his fingers, and wondered exactly how he had jeopardised everything for a woman. For curls, innocence and the smell of vanilla.

"Bloody Blacks," he concluded in a soft murmur, before biting into the confection. He sat back in the plush leather of his chair, allowing the mix of fine chocolate and vanilla to mingle upon his tongue with practised refined manner, before swallowing with a soft, content sigh. Oh, the simple pleasures of life are by far the most divine, are they not?

Yes, the simple pleasures. The taste of vanilla, the intake of a cigar, the feeling of deft little fingers running through hair…

He smirked softly and with the same sophistication placed the last of the truffle upon his tongue, pressing his thumb and middle finger into his lips to allow the sugar dusting onto them rather than having to brush it upon his clothing like an uncultured brute.

He had replaced the lid on the box with a soft sigh and raised his wand to guide the confection into his suitcase, when the door of the classroom suddenly slammed open. His eyebrow rose. In one swift motion he cast his wand around the room, snapping the black curtains over the portraits who protested loudly, before acknowledging the person in the doorway.

"Hello, Narcissa. May I help you?"

Apparently she had run to him, for her hair was dishevelled and her lips were parted in the most pleasing way as she breathed heavily. She leant upon the doorframe, casting her eyes over the desk and coming to settle on the suitcase at Lucius' feet. He was sure that he noticed a look of betrayal in her eyes when blue met grey.

"So it's true?" she inquired, though it was more of a statement. "You're leaving?"

"It is for the best, Miss Black."

Narcissa let out a derisive laugh. She took a step into the classroom and kicked the door closed, haughtily folding her arms. "Wrong on all counts."

Lucius' brow furrowed. "My apologies, Narcissa. Force of habit."

She rolled her eyes. "And who is it best for, hm? You and your pride?" Her tone was full of scorn, as though she was the one that Lucius was failing. He bristled, eyes narrowing.

"Narcissa, it is best for us both. This way the rumours will simply fizzle out. If I am here it will merely be a catalyst for more snide remarks which will ultimately upset you. I cannot…" He paused, swallowed. "It is highly inappropriate that I remain as a professor while I am married to you anyway. I thought it would work, but I acknowledge now that it will not. Especially with the likes of Master Crowley, well." Lucius' lip curled in a sneer at his mention, averting his eyes from Narcissa. "I cannot bring myself to look upon him. It would not bear well for me to continue trying to teach him."

"And what, Professor, happens when Crowley tries his luck again? Forces himself upon me?"

Lucius glanced down at his desk, setting his eyes upon the shapes in the wood. "He will not try again, I am sure. Now he knows you are married, and who to."

"But there will be no one to stop h- Merlin's curses, Lucius, would you look at me while I'm talking to you?" When Lucius looked up she took in a deep breath and began again. "But there will be no one to stop him, and he's been looking at me in the common room, and he keeps on spreading more and more rumours and just know he'll try again, and I don't know if I'll be able to stop him and I'm worried about it, Lucius." She took in a deep breath, having run out of it.

"Didn't your father teach you to pause during speech?"

"Would you please stay on topic?"

"Narcissa," Lucius sighed, "neither of us need this. I have handed in my resignation, I am going, and that is that. You will be remaining here to – No, let me finish. – to complete your education. If you would like carry on snapping at me then I shall depart on a bitter note. If you would rather come here and give me a proper goodbye, I would be much more appreciative."

Narcissa shifted where she stood, lips pursing as though unsure whether to embrace him or hex him. Apparently the part of her body controlling her affections won that internal battle, for she unfolded her arms with a huff and crossed the room to him. Lucius twisted his chair around and held out his hand to Narcissa as she got closer, coaxing her upon his lap when she took it. She easily straddled his waist, wrapping her arms around his neck, so he gained quite the view down her shirt. He ignored it, however, fixing his eyes upon hers to keep his regal, gentlemanly demeanour safe.

"So, when were you going to tell me?" she murmured quietly, brushing her hand through Lucius' hair. "You wouldn't have left without saying goodbye, would you?"

"Of course I would not have. I was going to send my owl with a note saying that you should come and see me when I had finished packing."

Narcissa nodded slowly. "Does he have a name?"

There was a pause in which Lucius tilted his head, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Who? My owl?"

She nodded again.

"No. Why would he?" Lucius wondered incredulously.

"Oh, come now, every owl needs a name!"

"It's a bird."

"It's a pet."

"It's a worker."

"Your house-elf has a name."

"It was not my choice to christen the bloody thing with such indications of humanity, as though it is in some way equal."

"Your mother?"

Lucius' lips lifted ruefully, as though he appeared pleased that Narcissa seemed to know his mother's character without ever having met her. "Yes. She felt sorry for it and the way father kept calling it 'Thing'. She was quite fond of Dobby." He shrugged. "Maybe that's why it likes you so much."

"It likes me?"

"Well, yes. It doesn't darn my socks three times to make sure every single crease is out of them."

Narcissa smiled, and Lucius was hard-pressed to not mimic her. To have his mind so easily led from his every worry and concern to such trivial things as names for owls and house-elves was not an easy feat, yet she managed it seemingly without trying.

How truly brilliant she is.

He seemed to be brought back down to earth with a firm and unpleasant jolt, however: "When will I see you?" Narcissa asked, smile wavering and tone soft, almost mournful.

He sighed. "You may come home every holiday, that goes without saying. I think that somewhere in the attic I have a pair of two-way mirrors. I shall have Dobby find them and my bird bring one of them to you. Then you may see me whenever you wish it. Do you think that would be satisfactory for the time being?"

Clearly lying, Narcissa nodded. Lucius sighed again and turned his gaze back to his desk, settling on the little white box.

"May I offer you a confection?" he asked, holding out his hand to proffer towards the box.

Narcissa glanced back at it and nodded. "I'd like that." When neither moved, she added, "But I'm afraid my arms are quite preoccupied right now." As though to prove her point, she tightened them a little around Lucius' neck, pulling him closer momentarily.

He smirked, reaching out to remove the lid from the box again. Leaning forwards into her to retrieve a truffle, kissing her neck softly as he did so, he plucked one of the sweets from the box before sitting back in his chair. He raised it to her mouth where she accepted it, eyes innocently wide as she took the truffle within her lips, biting down halfway into it with her pearly teeth to keep it firmly in her mouth.

When she remained still, merely biting down into the chocolate a little more, Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Well?" he inquired with a tilt of his head. His answer came in the form of Narcissa smiling around the sweet little sphere, leaning down and in to press the other half against his lips.

His smirk widened and he turned his head to take the rest of the truffle within his own teeth, their lips pressing together and brushing as they simultaneously bit down and consumed their respective half. Narcissa leant away, closing her eyes as she slowly savoured the divine combination of vanilla and chocolate in much the same way as Lucius.

"How lovely," she commented as she opened her eyes to set them back upon him.

"I thought so too," he replied, eyes trained on her as though he was not entirely referring to the taste of the confection.

Narcissa's lips twitched, seemingly picking this up in his voice, and she leant in again. Languidly, she withdrew her tongue from the warm confines of her mouth and traced the very tip over Lucius' lips, sensually collecting the sugar which remained dusted over his mouth.

His lips parted as she did so, and his eyes slid closed for a second before she pulled away all too soon.

"It would not fare well if someone walked in on us now, Lucius," she murmured.

He sighed. "I would not think it really matters. The entire school knows of us."

"But we need not give them clarification."

He nodded. "Then I suppose now I should bid you farewell." He felt her hand grip the collar of his shirt tightly, clearly not wanting him to bid her anything.

"Yes. You should."

A breath later and their lips were joined in the most passionate of kisses, screaming words which they could never hope to whisper to one another, fingers entwining and the taste of vanilla mingling on their lips. Their eyes were closed as they allowed themselves to drown in the smell of one another's skin, the scent of aftershave and perfume and shampoo which had become so familiar to each other. They pressed impossibly close, as though imprinting the feel of the other's body to their own, sharing the heat of their skin for as long as possible, a single entity with two hearts beating entirely as one.

Then it was over.

Narcissa pulled away, breathing in deeply and staring at him, and Lucius raised his hand to brush the tear from her cheek.

"Goodnight, goodnight," he purred softly, the sound rising from deep within his chest.

Narcissa smiled and leant her cheek further into his hand, raising her own to hold it there. She allowed her eyes to slide closed. "Parting is such sweet sorrow."

"So is Professor Malfoy your suitor?" Maurice pressed insistently, staring at Narcissa.

She sighed in exasperation. "Maurice, you've been doing this for the past month. Let it go, alright?"

"If he wasn't why would he have left so suddenly?" she carried on, regardless.

"I've said a thousand times I don't know," Narcissa growled through gritted teeth, "Maybe it was just all the rumours."

"Then he's not your suitor?"

"I've already said no, he's not." Her denials were technically not lies. No one had asked was Professor Malfoy her husband, therefore she was not really lying. She was not denying him, so it was fine.

"Girls, girls," came the hoarse whisper of Professor Dartemy, shuffling over to them, "Carry on with your work, please."

Both of said girls stared up at him. He humbly bowed his head and shuffled away in an attempt to calm some other students on the opposite side of the room.

Narcissa scowled. Lucius would have had a fit if he could see the state of his classroom. It was in uproar, every student ignoring the wheezing voice of the substitute professor as they idly chatted or threw enchanted parchment planes or fought over whose quill was whose. The bufflemorphkin skeleton was gone, the torches in brackets around the walls burning with red flames as opposed to the green which the previous professor preferred, the classroom bare save for the occupants of portraits who stared down at the disarrayed class with much amusement. One even had tea and scones to consume while he amused himself with watching the students blatantly ignore the professor's attempt at gaining control. Needless to say, the man did not have the same authoritativeness as Lucius. His hunched back, greasy, greying hair and watery eyes could not command the same instant respect of Lucius' low voice, his high head and iron-solid eyes.

But then who did have the same presence, the same dominating prowess of Lucius Malfoy?

Oh, Merlin, why aren't you here?

It had been just two weeks since Lucius had very abruptly left the school, and Narcissa already…missed him? No, definitely not. Wanted the summer holidays. Yes, that. Nothing had really changed, despite the fact that Narcissa thought all would be different. The school merely kept on hustling and bustling, whispering behind her back and casting envious glances to her engagement ring. The only noticeable change, she supposed, was that Rodolphus had stopped pushing the sleeves of his shirts up to his elbows and had taken to becoming very reclusive and subdued, while his girlfriend seemed constantly very pleased with herself. Narcissa could hazard a guess that both of them had black brands burnt into their forearms.

True to his word, Lucius had sent Nameless to her with one of two two-way mirrors which they had used every night of the first week of his departure. She had kept her drapes tightly drawn and a silencing spell around her bed so not to arouse suspicion as she spoke small talk to her husband, often falling asleep with her mirror propped up and facing her to create the illusion that neither of them were so alone.

However, that had ceased last Wednesday night, exactly a week ago. At first she had been unconcerned when she whispered his name and all she saw was darkness, thinking that he had merely gotten drunk and passed out in another room or something similar. However, on the second night of this occurrence she had begun to get worried, and became steadily more so on each night following where she was met with nought but darkness in the looking glass. Thoughts of what if he has found another woman, a mistress? turned to what if he is hurt? to what if he is worse than hurt? A million 'what ifs' ran around her brain, crashing into her skull and reverberating around her conscious until it wasn't only her sleep that was restless from the possibilities, but her dark-eyed wakefulness where she could think of nothing but her husband's faithfulness or well-being.

"So," hissed Maurice, "who is your suitor?"

Narcissa was thankfully spared the need to answer her friend with either words or a hex, the latter being the most likely, when Professor Dartemy croaked, "Thank you, class. You are dismissed." He raised his arms as though in an attempt to gain any degree of respect from the pupils, but even the Hufflepuffs were not interested in acknowledging him as they noisily packed their quills and blank rolls of parchment away.

Taking the interruption of Maurice's constant nagging as a blessing, Narcissa shouldered her bag and made her way from the room before her friend had barely begun packing away, breathing in the cool air outside the classroom deeply. The corridor was near-empty, fortunately, so she walked in satisfied silence down the tortuous, winding staircases of Hogwarts. One set of stairs tried to move as she stepped onto it, but she narrowed her eyes and stamped her foot and it moved back to its original position with a whining noise not unlike a frightened puppy.

The air became steadily cooler as she made her way down the familiar labyrinth of the dungeons, caressing her face and ridding her of the thin sheet of perspiration which came with the warmth of near-June. Of course Lucius isn't hurt, Narcissa convinced herself, the clear air brushing the niggling doubts and concerns from her mind, otherwise I would have received an owl about it. He is fine.

More out of force of habit than anything else, she made a detour on the way to her Potions classroom to pass by the blank expanse of wall where her husband's room once resided. She had already tried to get into it before, a few days after his departure, but she had merely been met with unchanging dark stone. She hadn't expected anything else, but had still found herself down-hearted. Her eyes wandered across the wall, searching for some indication that a door was hiding there somewhere, but she found none. She failed at stifling a displeased sigh.

"Hello," Narcissa smiled meekly and without sincerity to Severus. He was already standing outside the Potions classroom when she arrived, unsurprisingly scribbling in that Potions book which he never seemed to be without.

"Good afternoon, Narcissa," he mumbled hurriedly as he snapped his book shut, hurriedly stowing it in his satchel. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you," she lied cordially, "and yourself?"

"Fine."

Pretending that both believed the other, the small talk ended. They stood side-by-side in a silence which was neither comfortable nor awkward. Just there. They did not have to wait long. Fairly soon the current class in Professor Slughorn's classroom began to file out.

"…member, I want your essays on the Bundimun Secretion, its properties and uses, for next lesson!" came the professor's muffled voice as the door opened and sixth-year Gryffindors and, Narcissa realised with a pang, Slytherins marched out.

She involuntarily moved a little closer to Severus as though for some form of protection, looking down as she felt the raging oceans of blue held within Crowley's eyes scour her face with scrutiny, felt the swirling cold weight in her stomach as the fear of what he could do wash over her. His body pressing into hers, his hot mouth inches from her skin, his hands everywhere.

"Keep moving, Crowley," came Andy's firm voice, and Narcissa glanced up to see a reassuring smile and thumbs-up from her big sister. She twitched her lips weakly back.

The sounds of the sixth-years disappeared up the corridor, though Narcissa could feel Crowley's eyes on her over his shoulder. She refused to look back at him.

"Come in, come in," beckoned Professor Slughorn to the two students, smiling in his fatherly manner, "don't be shy."

Narcissa and Severus glanced at each other and quietly entered the classroom. They watched as Professor Slughorn threw his wand about in a number of ostentatiously huge swishes and flicks, waving his entire arm as though leading an orchestra. The remnants of the previous class cleaned themselves away and stools returned themselves to their rightful places, upon which Narcissa and Severus found their own and sat.

"Miss Black, how is your father?" Professor Slughorn asked amiably as he moved over to his desk, looking down into a small cauldron on the top of it, "I remember teaching Master Cygnus Black, back in the day. Quite into his studies of dark potions, if I remember correctly."

"He is fine, thank you, Sir," Narcissa nodded.

"Ah, good, good," the professor replied distractedly. He flicked his wand to move a desk into the centre of the room and levitated the cauldron from his desk onto it. Closer up, Narcissa could see that steam was rising from the contents in little spirals. She raised herself up on her stool in an attempt to get a better look at the contents and saw that the liquid inside had a soft shine, a sheen in the colour of mother of pearl.

Like Lucius' buttons on his wedding robes…

Fighting all impulse to let her thoughts wander to her husband, Narcissa drew her mind away from the potion and sat back down in her seat, not sure that she wanted to know what it was.

"Come in, come in, quickly," bustled Professor Slughorn as more students shuffled tiredly into his classroom. Maurice took her usual place by Narcissa but said nothing, clearly indignant at the betrayal of her leaving so quickly. She turned her nose up and rested her head on her hand.

"Now then," began Professor Slughorn when the entire class had seated themselves and the Slytherins had stopped throwing scathing looks at the Gryffindors, holding up his arms to call for silence, "now then, now then. 'Never yet has anyone managed to create the truly unbreakable, eternal, unconditional attachment that alone can be called Love'. Can anyone tell me who said that?" There was a pause, before, "Yes, Master Snape?"

"Hector Dagworth-Granger," mumbled Severus, lowering his only half-raised hand.

"Very good, very good! Take ten points for Slytherin," Professor Slughorn grinned, "and can anyone tell me what he was talking about in saying that?"

Severus raised his hand again, when no one else did. "Love potions."

"Oho! Excellent, m'boy! Another ten points! And so, does anyone think they can hazard a guess at what this is?" He pointed his wand down at the small cauldron of shimmering, steaming potion. "Yes, my dear boy," he added as Severus once again put up his hand at the reluctance or ignorance of everyone else.

"Amortentia. The most powerful love potion in the world. It is characterised by its pearly sheen and the spirals of steam. It invokes strong feelings of infatuation and has a different scent for everyone who smells it," he reeled off tonelessly, as though he was merely memorising a page from a Potions book, which, Narcissa reminded herself, he probably was. She noticed a few of the girls, including Maurice, lean forward in their seats for a closer look at the mention of it being the most powerful love potion.

Professor Slughorn looked more than a little impressed. "And this is why you are a pivotal member of the Slug Club, my dear boy. …Yes, yes. Very good. Very good indeed. It would seem from your knowledge you have dabbled in love potions yourself." Professor Slughorn grinned and winked.

Severus' sallow skin flushed a pale pink, and he turned away from the teacher, staring at his desk.

Unabashed, and seemingly regardless of Severus' discomfort, Professor Slughorn continued: "Yes, as Master Snape said, and take twenty more points for Slytherin for it, too, it smells different for every individual person. A reminder of the things one is most attracted to, you know." He smiled around the room. "As it is devilishly tricky to make – though I confess, I did make it myself – and also extremely dangerous in the wrong hands, especially those of school children" – He cast a knowing gooseberry-coloured eye around the girls in the room. – "you will not be learning how to brew it. However, you shall be studying this specimen here, making notes on its attributes in preparation for a short homework essay. One by one please, I want no accidents. For you to all fall in love with each other may lead to disastrous effects." He smiled a wide grin, eyes twinkling in a grandfatherly fashion as he surveyed his students. "Come, come, we don't have all day!"

Tired and disgruntled, the students stood one by one and lined up by the cauldron to stick their nose over the contents and breathe in deeply. Narcissa joined near the end of the queue behind Severus and Maurice, uninterested in the entire proceedings. She heard the other students whispering to each other after their turns – "Honey, nail polish and coffee, yeah," and "French toast, bonfires and freshly mown grass," or "Oi, Travers, I think I smelt your mum!" –strengthened her interest, however.

She watched as Severus leant his hooked nose over the cauldron, paused a moment, blushed and shuffled away and observed Maurice hover her upturned nostrils over it also, spending a few moments too long obviously searching for something to remind her of Walden. Then was Narcissa's turn.

At first, when she bent over the cauldron, she smelt nothing. For an incredulous moment she wondered if she was attracted to anything at all. Then she breathed in deeply, and there it was, a whole host of delightful aromas which made her draw in an even deeper breath.

They all caressed her nostrils as one, delighting her senses in one forceful breath, but she could make out each individual scent as so very easily. Peaches and cream, worn leather and clean linen sheets were the most prominent at first, followed by a freshly lit fire and hot apple pie on a cold winter's day, each smell as tantalizing as the last. But then, the longer she hovered over the potion, and the more she breathed in, the stronger than another scent became, underlying all the rest but becoming ever more significant with every intake of breath. Aftershave. But not just anyone's.

She pushed herself away from the Amortentia, her stomach clenching tightly in something which felt a lot like yearning.

"Miss Black?" Professor Slughorn asked concernedly at Narcissa's heavy breathing and wide eyes which she was only vaguely aware of, "Are you okay, my dear?"

She nodded, but really didn't feel it. "I'm afraid I feel a little faint, Professor," she said quickly, and didn't have to fake the feeling, "May I go to the Hospital Wing?"

"Why yes, yes, of course," Professor Slughorn nodded, twitching his hand towards the door to encourage her.

Distantly aware of everyone in the class watching her, Narcissa snatched up her bag and stalked out of the classroom, feeling tears prickle up behind her eyes. She turned this way and that down the corridors of the dungeons, making sure no one could find her should they look, before collapsing against the wall, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes in an attempt to stem the tears. It was no use. His face was imprinted behind her eyelids.

Sobbing quietly, feelings of dread and need twisting within every fibre of her being, she knew she had to return home. Alone in the corridor, where she had time to think, she conjured a plan.

Narcissa listened hard.

One.

Two.

Three.

All was still and quiet, only steady breathing from her room mates audible in the dormitory. Alberta snored, muttered something about Goyle and pixie dust and turned over.

Tentatively and fully-clothed, Narcissa slid her drapes back and stepped out of bed, looking about for any kind of disturbance. All was still and quiet. Now was her chance.

She took in a deep breath and, just for once last try, took the two-way mirror from under her pillow. She stared at herself in the looking glass and fluffed up her hair out of habit before whispering, "Lucius Malfoy." As usual recently, there was nothing but darkness. She sighed and quietly moved to her trunk, lifting the lid and placing the mirror inside. A flick of her wand and her bed was made; another flick and her trunk was locked. She placed the scrawled note she had written earlier to her room mates on top of the trunk – You will not be seeing me again. Tell Professor Dumbledore to send my trunk home. I wish you all the best. Cissa. – and wrapped herself tightly within the hooded cloak she was clad in. She pulled up the hood and steeled her resolve.

He may need me.

She cast her gaze around the closed drapes and lumps under the sheets and felt the twist of guilt at not saying goodbye properly, which only doubled when she thought that she had hardly said goodbye to her sisters in the common room that evening either. She heaved a sigh. They would just make what she had to do so much harder. She would send them a letter when she got where she was going. They would understand.

Convincing herself of this, Narcissa gave one last check that all of her belongings were firmly within her trunk before she left the dormitory, not looking back.

The common room was still and silent, eerie from the lack of any sign of humanity. Barely any light reached any part of the room, since the fire was merely dying embers and the torches were burning low in their brackets. Perhaps if she had looked over in the corner she would have seen Severus' eyes on her, watching her skulk across the common room and leaving through the portrait doorway, but she did not. Sure that their paths would cross again, Severus merely returned to his book.

The castle was just as eerily still, and, thankfully, Narcissa knew she did not have to travel far to get to the huge front doors from her common room. There was barely any chance of her bumping into any patrollers, dead or alive. She looked over her shoulder regularly to make sure no one was sneaking up behind her and carried on through the dungeon corridors at a brisk pace, often pulling her hood up to drown her face in shadow more.

I know what I'm doing. I know what I'm doing. I know what I'm doing.

The glow of the moonlit entrance hall was just up ahead, and Narcissa knew she could not turn back.

I am a wife. I know what I'm doing.

She turned the corner sharply from the dungeon corridors into the entrance hall, heading towards the great oak front doors and looking over her shoulder distractedly to make sure she wasn't being followed – and bumped into a solid but somewhat soft body-shaped object. What felt like wispy hair tickled her face.

An expletive escaped her lips in a hiss as she stepped back quickly, her hood dropping. She was too busy covering her mouth and staring up at the figure with wide eyes to pull it back up. She felt her stomach plummet.

"A moonlit wander, Miss Black?" came the soft voice of Professor Dumbledore. He surveyed her through his half-moon spectacles, eyes twinkling. "Quite unlike you."

"Pr-Professor, I can explain. I-"

The headmaster raised a hand. "Alas, no need. For all I know it may be the case that neither of us is here, merely sharing a simultaneous and rather pleasant dream."

Narcissa's eyebrows twitched upwards. "I…suppose?"

"Thus forgive me, but I think I should like to spend my precious moments of rest sharing a pleasant conversation rather than listening to a reason why you should be here when, in dreams, we are all quite free."

Narcissa stared up at the professor, becoming progressively more confused. He smiled down at her.

"Though, if I may be so bold as to ask a young lady, where are you going in this dream?"

She swallowed, considering this. "Home. I'm going home."

"Ah, where the heart is." Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled knowingly.

"Quite, Sir," she replied, looking away.

"Well, I hope in the morning you have all you need."

Narcissa slowly nodded. "I am sure I will."

"Then, if that is all you are searching for, I shall bid you good night." He gently placed a hand on her shoulder before moving past her, robes billowing around his feet and making his movements perfectly fluid.

Narcissa breathed out a deep, relieved sigh, wondering how in the name of Merlin's beard she had gotten out of that one, and took a step forwards when the headmaster spoke again, stilling her.

"Oh. The largest one is the most reliable. Friendliest, too. Just stroke beneath the chin and he'll do anything."

Narcissa's eyes narrowed as she registered his words, trying to deduce their significance. By the time she had done so and spun around, the professor was ascending the marble stairs to the first floor.

"I wish you a safe journey, Mrs. Malfoy," he smiled, which she could tell from his voice even though she couldn't see his face, before he swept around the corner and out of sight.

Narcissa stood in shock for a few moments. Then a small smile graced her face. "Thank you, Albus." She turned on heel, pulled her hood up and carried on towards the front doors of the castle, no longer looking behind her.

Narcissa moved stealthily across the grounds, a good few minutes of tickling the great, worn oak of the front doors later. They had opened and closed with a very quiet creak, not enough to wake a mouse let alone the whole castle like she had feared, and she was stealing over the grass like a thief with treasure; swift and agile, unnoticed by the slumbering school in the shroud of night in which her hooded figure perfectly camouflaged. Making sure to skirt around the hut of the half-breed oaf, for there was still light glinting through a crack in the curtains, Narcissa dipped lithely into the sparse trees of the Forbidden Forest. She swallowed. It looked a whole lot more forbidden at night.

Trees pressed in on her at every side, even in the thinly populated area at the beginning of the forest, made so much more gnarled and foreboding by the streams of moonlight igniting the leering faces and stretching fingers in the trunks and branches. She heard something move a few metres to the left of her and seriously considered turning back and crawling into bed. She was scared. So scared…

The weight of her engagement ring burnt into her finger, and the feeling of responsibility toughened her resolve to steel. I know what I'm doing.

Glancing over her shoulder, Narcissa drank in the sight of the castle lit up in the moonlight against the inky canvas of sky, little grey puffs of cloud making the whole scene ever more picture perfect. Everything was so peaceful and tranquil, the lake creating a rippling façade of sky and even the Whomping Willow being completely immobile, seeming to not want to ruin the unadulterated serenity of the Hogwarts grounds which were not interrupted by even a breeze. A few windows were still illuminated with light here and there, and she wondered for a moment who could be up at such a dastardly hour. Doubting she would ever see it again, and trying not to succumb to the rising wave of sadness at the thought, she drew in a heavy breath and treaded nimbly into the forest.

"Lumos," Narcissa whispered, and used her wand to guide her over grabbing tree roots, distinguishing shadow from solid. Branches snagged her cloak but she soldiered on, unperturbed. There was no room for fear. She knew what she had to do.

It was at least half an hour of wandering before Narcissa found what she was searching for. She thought that she was going to end up cold, alone and with an imminent death at the bottom of an incline again for some time, until she found signs of what she wanted; she leant down to light up the hoof prints on the floor, indentations of equine-type creatures recently treading over that space. A little bubble of hope swelled within her stomach, and she followed the trail.

After around another ten minutes of searching, losing and finding the trail over and over, she heard them before she saw them. The soft pawing at the ground and snorting of horses, with the dull underlying rasping like a death rattle.

"Nox," she murmured, for the clearing in which they stood, as they were when she had first saw them, was completely moonlit, and she needed no extra light to look upon the illuminated creatures.

The thestrals turned their great, dragonish heads to stare at Narcissa as she approached them carefully, feeling her every instinct telling her to run and doing her best to ignore them. Professor Dumbledore rides them. They're tame. They're fine. If anything, they appeared more nervous of her than she did of them, for they backed away and whinnied uncomfortably as she slowly moved towards them through the thinning trees, rustling their great leathery wings restlessly.

In an attempt to calm their, and her own, nerves, Narcissa lowered her hood, sliding her wand up her sleeve and holding out her hands as though to show she was of no threat. She wasn't sure how intelligent thestrals were, nor their language capabilities, but they seemed to get the general gist, for they raised their heads to better survey Narcissa with their pupiless eyes, shaking their skeletal haunches from side to side as opposed to moving away. They seemed curious.

"What was it Professor Dumbledore had said?" she murmured aloud, approaching the thestrals with lessening apprehension, for they slowly approached her too, "The largest is the friendliest and most reliable. Stroke under the chin…" Her eyes swept around the clearing, looking over a few haughty-looking females and a very small thestral which looked like a foal asleep within the folded wings of its mother. The biggest one by far was directly in front of her, and was slowly approaching Narcissa, mane and tail swishing.

Well, Narcissa resigned herself, when it had come close enough to touch, here goes nothing.

"Oh, Lucius. Lucius, Lucius, Lucius." Cold, unfeeling red eyes stared down upon the man, searching his face. "Whatever shall I do with you?"

"My Lord," Lucius whispered, his voice rasping, "Surely keeping me prisoner in my own home for two weeks is enough f-"

"Are you trying to dictate what punishment I should give you, Lucius?"

"N-no, my Lord, of course not," Lucius rectified quickly. "I have failed you. I deserve every punishment you have."

Cold, spidery fingers curled around Lucius' chin, suddenly jerking his head up. Grey eyes surrounded by dark circles met crimson surrounded only by white. The Dark Lord leant down, and for a moment Lucius was sure that he was going to kiss him. They merely stared, however, seeing which of them would break first. Knowing that he would be punished if he challenged the Dark Lord, Lucius blinked and looked away, focusing instead on the colossal snake coiled up in front of the hearth, soaking in the flames of the burning fire like a cat.

"Well, I do not want to lose you. You have proven to be a very good asset to my organisation, slippery as you are. I am sure there are other roles I could have you fulfil." The Dark Lord's tone was airy, almost conversational. He pushed away, sitting back in the leather armchair of Lucius' study while the lord of the manor kneeled, prone and crumpled, at his feet. "Such a shame you have no family of which to speak."

Lucius shook his head. "No, my Lord."

He had endured the same conversation every night for the past fourteen days, and his resolve was beginning to weaken. He had sent a letter to the Dark Lord of his resignation from Hogwarts and, as expected, he did not take it well. So not-well, in fact, that he had made a personal visit to Lucius' mansion, forcing through the wards and magical protection like a knife through butter, flanked by two Death Eaters.

To refer to himself as a prisoner in his own home was far too accurate. He was allowed to eat and drink only what the Dark Lord instructed the house-elf to give him, and was not allowed to sleep save for when he passed out from utter exhaustion. His knees hurt unbearably from the amount of time he had been upon them, kneeling before the Dark Lord and begging for forgiveness until his pride had stopped torturing him and he had become desensitized to his own pleas.

The two Death Eaters which the Lord invited into Lucius' house, for they were different every night, were often the kind for physical punishment; Dolohov found it especially hilarious to accompany Lucius to the bathroom, as ordered for the traitor was not to be left alone, and punch him repeatedly in the stomach, chest, ribs, snarling words such as, "Not the Dark Lord's most faithful now, are you?" Lucius stopped hearing the words after the third or fourth day, and stopped feeling the pain. He just wanted it to end.

He had not even bothered trying to negotiate with the Dark Lord. He was too fixated on the ideas of betrayal and mutiny, was too overcome with twisted fascination when he saw Lucius at his feet, to listen to any form of valid reason why his most faithful could not continue work at Hogwarts. Besides, if Lucius did try to explain, he would have to mention Narcissa. Marrying Narcissa. And that would put her in harm's way, which he could not allow. Besides, if he mentioned it after fourteen days, after having hidden all memories of his wife from the Dark Lord during the brutal and numerous delvings of his mind, he knew that neither of them would live to tell the tale.

"Does it hurt, Lucius?" the Dark Lord inquired softly.

Yes. Yes, everything hurts. On his knees, his right hand clutching the Dark Mark on his left forearm in an attempt to stem the searing pain which had been constant since the Lord had made his presence first known in Lucius' home, Lucius nodded his head feebly. "Yes," he murmured.

"I beg your pardon."

"Yes. It hurts, my Lord," Lucius repeated, louder. Somewhere behind him he heard Dolohov chuckle darkly. His back arched and he hunched over so he did not have to look up at those cruel scarlet eyes. His greasy hair slithered down and hung unpleasantly around his face. He felt utterly disgusting, and utterly emasculated.

"Good. Perhaps it will teach you to betray your Lord, won't it?"

"Yes, my Lord. I pray for your forgiveness, my Lord."

"Hm, and perhaps I shall give it to you, Lucius. But then perhaps I shall not." He tilted his head, clearly expecting some form of answer from the prone man at his feet. He received none. He opened his mouth to speak again when, suddenly, a pulse shuddered through the house. It was like a ripple in water, a clear sign that someone had just entered the wards of the manor.

Contemplatively, the Dark Lord stroked his wand. "Interesting. Someone else has entered your protections, have they not, Lucius? It must be someone you know well, for I have not invited anyone else. Greyback." The scent of wet dog which had repulsed Lucius for the last few days moved closer. "Go and greet our guest. Bring them to me."

Lucius' mind reeled. Who in the name of all in Camelot could it be? His father, definitely not. But then the only person it could be was…

No. Oh, Narcissa, no.

Sure enough, his worst fears were confirmed when he heard a scream reverberate around the entrance hall. His head whipped around and he made to stand – he couldn't stop himself, until the Dark Lord did it for him.

"Ah ah, Lucius," Lord Voldemort whispered, flicking his wand and immediately bringing Lucius back to his knees. "Stay."

In less than a minute Greyback reappeared, dragging what only could have been Narcissa's struggling form. Lucius' breath caught in his throat, and everything went very blurry. The Dark Lord seemed most amused.

"Where are your manners?" he spoke to the young, writhing girl, "Remove your cloak, let your company see you."

A swish of his wand and the hooded cloak shrouding Narcissa was in tatters, exposing her; her soft curls, her lithe body, her pale, petrified face, wide and watery eyes searching Lucius' for help.

She found none.

"Well, well, who is this?" inquired the Dark Lord softly, entwining his fingers together.

"One of Malfoy's little whores, no doubt," Dolohov drawled, moving over to inspect Narcissa. "Pretty one too. I don't blame him. Maybe I could borrow her."

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Are you so weak to succumb to pleasures of the flesh, Dolohov?" he demanded.

The Death Eater looked immediately taken aback. "No, my Lord," he replied meekly. He seemed to remember what happened at the Bones' house, for he took a step back, head lowered.

Satisfied, the Dark Lord turned his gaze back upon Narcissa, looking politely interested. She stared back, but looked a lot more horrified. Lucius could guess she was going to pass out at any moment. He couldn't blame her.

"Well, who are you?" Lord Voldemort asked Narcissa softly, stroking his wand in his long, dextrous fingers.

Narcissa looked to Lucius, seeking help, security, clarification, anything. She got nothing from his cold, stoic gaze.

The Dark Lord sighed mockingly, clearly bored with the waiting but wanting nothing more. "Legilimens," he hissed.

Narcissa instantly collapsed in Greyback's grasp, his grip on her upper arms being the only things holding her up. Lucius could see from her blank expression, her twitching body that the Dark Lord was seeking, tearing at and smashing into everything inside her mind, and was leaving nothing alone. Narcissa could not stop him. He would find out all.

And then neither of them may make it out alive.

The Dark Lord ravaged Narcissa's mind for what felt like hours, though it must have been a few seconds at best. She drew in a heavy breath when he withdrew, sobs wracking her body as tears tracked down her face. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to look upon her judgement.

The Dark Lord, however, seemed perfectly calm. He surveyed Narcissa with a polite gaze, as though she was a friendly acquaintance telling him about the weather. His crimson eyes betrayed nothing.

Then, "Kill the spare."

"No!" Lucius declared, head suddenly snapping up, eyes fixed and hard upon the Dark Lord's face. "She has done nothing, my Lord. Let her be."

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed, the red pupils becoming dangerously small slits, like lacerations in his face. "You lied about her Lucius. You told me you had no family. Nobody lies to the Dark Lord."

"That is because we married barely a month ago."
"And you thought not to tell me?" His voice was low, threatening.

His entire body felt detached from his being, as though he was watching the scene from above. Though, he reasoned, it was like a near-death experience, being in front of the Dark Lord with him looking so displeased. Lucius was petrified, but he had to save himself, save his wife. Not listening to negotiations be damned. I have to try.

"My Lord, I beg of you. I have been your most loyal follower over the past years, have I not? I have gained vital information from Albus Dumbledore, his weaknesses, about the Order of the Phoenix. If not for me then Dolohov" – Lucius resisted casting a venomous glare over his shoulder. – "would still be supplying the Ministry with information about our side, our case, our organisation."

"Do you want to say that again, Mal-?" Dolohov snarled, but the Dark Lord raised a hand to silence him.

"My Lord, I have been ever faithful, ever aware of your needs," Lucius continued, imploring, "and I have recruited others to the cause who will be willing to fight for you, and the rise of Pureblood supremacy, for your overtaking of the Ministry. I, alone, have toiled away in that castle for years teaching students to maintain the façade I have needed to for you, and yet still I have managed to report back the most important information from the likes of Dumbledore. Have I not, my Lord? Have I not been your most unwavering, your most loyal servant?"

The Dark Lord seemed to consider this for a moment. There was the soft sound of slithering over carpet as Nagini began to uncoil herself, sliding up to her master's side and hissing what sounded like endearments in her flickering forked tongue. The Dark Lord touched her head, brushed her brow with the back of his hand, as the snake wound itself around Lucius' chair, binding the Dark Lord to it with endless coils of scaled body.

"It seems that I have perhaps overlooked the role you have played for me over these last years, my dear Lucius," the Dark Lord spoke softly, "You have, indeed, been so very faithful. And Lord Voldemort rewards his faithful followers. However, this betrayal." He motioned to Narcissa. "This cannot go unnoticed, Lucius. She must pay with her blood."

There was a deep, rumbling snarl behind Lucius, and he knew that Fenrir Greyback was smiling at the thought of spilling Lucius' pretty little wife's bodily fluids all over the floor. Lucius wanted to kill him.

"My Lord, she shall pay with her blood, for she shall pledge allegiance to you as I have done. I and my entire family. My whole bloodline, unborn children and deceased forefathers alike. We shall pay for this betrayal with our unwavering loyalty to you."

The Dark Lord looked from Lucius to Narcissa and back to Lucius, looking mildly interested. He breathed heavily through his flat nostrils. "And what of you, being so quiet, Mrs. Malfoy. Will you agree to this? Will you give your life to serve me, and promise the lives of your children to do so also?"

Lucius glanced over his shoulder at her. She was pale as a ghoul but with a sicklier tinge, lips parted and eyes wide. A trickle of petrified sweat rolled down her brow. He noticed how Greyback was holding her, clutching her neck hard enough to bruise the perfect skin. Again, the urge to kill within Lucius rose. For a split-second, Narcissa's eyes flicked to those of her husband, and their gazes met. An unspoken plea and agreement passed between them at the same moment.

"I will," uttered Narcissa.

The Dark Lord's lips curved into a cruel, hard smile. "Then you will make the Unbreakable Vow."

There was a pause. Narcissa's response was barely a terrified whisper. "I will."

"And take the Dark Ma-"

"No." Everyone's head shot round to look upon Lucius. He barely registered he had said it before he realised the Dark Lord's eyes were dangerously narrow.

"No, Lucius?" he repeated, voice a terrible hiss.

He felt like his legs were about to give way beneath him. "You may do as you wish with me, my Lord. But she will not be branded. She will pledge her life to you and our cause, but she will have no mark upon her."

The Dark Lord tilted his head as though in amusement, while Dolohov appeared infuriated. "You dare to question the Dark Lo-"

"Enough, Dolohov," he said coldly, once again raising his spidery fingers and silencing the man. "As you wish, Lucius. Since you have been so faithful, I shall not brand your wife. It will be you, however, to bind us together. Let go of her, Greyback."

Lucius turned to watch Greyback reluctantly unhand Narcissa, pushing her towards the Dark Lord's outstretched fingers. Lucius' eyes followed her as she numbly moved across the room as though automatically, not feeling anything.

The knot in Lucius' stomach grew to an extortionate size.

"Are you afraid?" the Dark Lord asked silkily as Narcissa approached. She nodded without question, and he smirked widely. "As you should be. Take my hand."

Narcissa could not seem to do it. She stared at the Dark Lord's hand, then to his face, then to the snake coiled around him. Her legs were trembling. It looked as though she would faint any minute.

I need to get this over with. Lucius moved towards his wife and placed his hand on her shoulder. He gently squeezed, ghosting a kiss behind her ear. "Trust me," he whispered.

Narcissa shuddered beneath his fingers. Heaving a deep breath, she slowly reached out and took the Dark Lord's right hand in her own.

"Kneel," the man commanded silkily. Narcissa did so.

Lucius took a step forwards to stand over the two, placing the tip of his wand over their linked hands. He kept his eyes firmly on his wand, so he did not have to look upon his wife's terror-stricken face.

The Dark Lord spoke. "Will you, Narcissa Malfoy, pledge your allegiance and life to serving my cause of raising Pureblood supremacy and eradicating the scum of wizardkind?"

Narcissa swallowed. She shut her eyes tightly for a moment, as though willing it to be all a dream, before opening them again. "I will," she said.

A thin tongue of flame issued from Lucius' wand and wound around their bound hands like a snake, glowing white-hot.

"And will you swear to me the lives of your children to this cause, to be my faithful servants, and the rest of the bloodline you should produce?"

Narcissa nodded, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, her free hand shaking. "I will."

A second tongue shot out and linked with the first, creating a linked, glowing chain like red-hot wire around their hands.

"And will you be willing to die for this cause, and be willing to allow your husband and children to die for it?"

Narcissa bowed her head, her voice choked and hoarse. "I will."

Another jet of flame issued from Lucius' wand and bound around their clasped hands thickly, holding their palms firmly together with its intense, burning glow. Then it was gone.

Lucius watched the flames around their hands fade, and Narcissa wrenched her fingers from the Dark Lord's. What have I done? was the thought that pounded him internally, what have I done?

"Dolohov, Greyback, go. You are unneeded here now," the Dark Lord addressed the Death Eater and lycan dismissively.

There was a soft growl of disappointment but two identical pops as the two men disapparated into nothingness, leaving only the lord and lady of the manor alone with Lord Voldemort with a tense and heavy atmosphere.

There was silence for a long time, save for the soft hissing of the snake wrapped around the Dark Lord. Then he spoke. "Lucius. You have no yet atoned for your crimes against me. Your beautiful wife here" – He brushed the back of his fingers against Narcissa's cheek and she flinched back. – "I am able to accept for your loyalty. But your betrayal." Lord Voldemort raised his wand. "I'm afraid I cannot yet forgive."

Narcissa looked up fearfully at the Dark Lord, at his rising wand, and then to her husband. A second later, though, she was looking back down, eyes clenched shut and hands clamped over her ears: "Crucio," whispered the Dark Lord.

Lucius immediately crumpled. The pain was unimaginable, intense, and everywhere. A thousand hot pokers rammed into every pain receptor in his body. Knives cut lacerations into every square millimetre of his skin. Even his internal systems hurt, for it felt like he had swallowed a million needles and they were pounding into everything they could drive their points into deep inside his body. His ears were filled with a high-pitched noise, his vision black and all other senses completely gone. There was no indication of time, place, or being. He was not even vaguely aware of his own screaming, of his writhing on the ground in excruciation. All that existed was the pain, the complete and never-ending agony.

It felt like it lasted forever, but it was over as soon as it begun. He lay, prone and shivering, rigid on the floor of his study, face planted firmly in the carpet. He breathed in the scent of the material, thanking any deity listening for the bliss of painlessness. He had never quite admired it so much.

He heard words somewhere very far away, voices he couldn't make out and sounds he didn't understand, before suddenly the room was no longer pushing down upon him with pressure, tension. The Dark Lord had gone. He lifted his head and took in a deep gasp of air, like a drowned man coming up to the surface. There were hands upon his body, little hands which were cold even through his shirt.

Merlin, how I have missed those.

"Lucius," came a familiar voice, very far away. "Lucius, Lucius, talk to me." It was desperate. She was scared. His vision started to become less distorted, and he could make out her shape. "Lucius, talk to me. Please."

Slowly but surely, Lucius began to come back to full consciousness, and his sight upon Narcissa was clear. She was really there. He raised a hand and pressed it to her cheek, and she placed her fingers upon his to keep it there, crying quietly into his palm.

"Narcissa," Lucius rasped hoarsely, "I'm sorry."

She let out a noise halfway between a hysterical laugh and a sob. "You idiot," she whispered, her hand trailing down his arm. She flinched, however, and pulled her hand away when her fingers brushed over the Dark Mark. Apparently the searing heat wasn't only being felt by Lucius.

"I didn't mean to…I didn't…"

"Lucius, hush now. It's all over."

He tried to laugh derisively but no sound came from his mouth. It will never be over.

"I think we both… have a lot of explaining to do."

"Yes, me too," Narcissa murmured, kissing his palm and wiping away her tears with the back of her free hand. She stared down at his dark eyes. "But first, sleep, perhaps."

Lucius was about to protest, but found himself only able to nod. Taking her hand weakly in his, he guided her to lie next to him on the study floor, dignity be damned. The thought of either of them walking anywhere was too much to bear. She fit her body to his and he wrapped his arms tightly, protectively, around her lithe little shoulders. He buried his head in her hair, holding on tightly to her shirt with his trembling fingers as they fell asleep, with all intentions to never let go.

"So, what is this in aid of?" Narcissa asked haughtily.

"I'm tired of walking through the entrance hall to that blank expanse of wall," Lucius replied, squeezing her shoulder gently. "I think it will be much better with a portrait there again, not of my father."

"Yes, but." She sighed. "Does it have to be so…big?"

She stared up at the colossal canvas which took up the vast majority of the entrance hall, while she and her husband sat and stood respectively on the marble stairs. A vast number of artists on broomsticks were whizzing about the canvas, painting the couple on the ground which were miniscule compared to the vast medium for the enchanted paints.

"Well of course. The first thing we want people to see when they walk in is us."

Narcissa sighed, but smiled nonetheless. "Of course, my love."

"Well, then. And sit up straighter." Lucius stood straighter behind his wife as though to make his point, brushing his free hand through his hair distractedly to make sure it was all entirely perfect.

Biting back a retort, Narcissa sat up higher in her straight-backed chair and watched the painters work as they brought the canvas to life with colour, the shapes of people already moving as they began to form the figures of the lord and lady of the manor. She smiled ruefully, straightening out the skirts of her dress pristinely. "It is a shame I do not have a child on my lap."

Again, the fingers upon Narcissa's shoulder gently squeezed. "One day, you will. And we'll have him added onto the painting."

"Him? How do you know it will be a him?" Narcissa felt Lucius' pointed stare into the side of her head as her answer. "Eyes front, darling," she smiled.

There was a long stint of silence, in which neither of them moved, quite content to watch the gargantuan representation of the two being captured forever in canvas and easel.

"Lucius," Narcissa wondered aloud, watching a portly wizard fight with a shade of red which didn't want to be put onto the canvas, "why didn't you let me take the Dark Mark? You still haven't told me." She felt his entire body tense beside her and glanced up. His mouth was a hard line.

"Because you are my wife. Mine, Narcissa," he replied in hushed tones, "and I will allow no other man to mark you as theirs."

She considered this. And then smiled. His. She felt completely and utterly safe. But it didn't last long. "Things aren't going to be like this for much longer, are they?" Narcissa whispered. She hazarded a glance up at her husband. He was staring straight ahead, but the third squeeze on her shoulder, involuntary or not, was indication that he had heard her.

"No," he replied, truthfully, "the Dark Lord will be calling for our services soon, no doubt." His eyes flicked down to hers. His lips twitched reassuringly. "We will be fine, Narcissa. Mark my words. We survived that night he was here with your rather untimely arrival back home, so I suspect we can survive anything. With some luck."

His eyes turned back to the canvas. Narcissa's lingered on his face for a while, before she followed his gaze. A small smile lifted her lips and she reached her arm up, putting her hand on top of his at her shoulder. Their fingers entwined.

"E con l'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle."

E con l'amor che move il sole e l'altre stele – The last line of Dante Alighieri's The Divine Comedy, meaning 'And with love that moves the sun and other stars'.

Well. Not as bad as I thought it would go, I must say. I don't think I've ever given a piece of work so much time, effort and dedication.

I would like to most humbly thank my faithful reviewers and readers if you have stuck with this story from the very beginning and stuck with me – I need not name names. You know who you are. If I could I would bottle you all up and keep you with me always, because you're beautiful and I could not have continued writing without you. I would also like to thank you if you have just taken the time to read the complete version now it is done, and would ask that you still review, because then I would love to bottle you up too.

I want to work on new things after some time out, and so am reaching out to see what you would like from me. I have already received a half-request in a review from Gigi for Draco/Ginny, which I am tempted to attempt, so just send me a personal message or leave a review and lay 'em on me.

Last, but most certainly not least: I would like to thank the dear WanderingWordsmith who has been a brobdingnagian help (told you I'd get it in somewhere!) and has stayed by my side, keeping generally fabulous, throughout my rollercoaster of emotions while writing this fic, the beautiful band Barcelona who have kept me awake into the early hours of the morning while I am too consumed in writing to sleep (if you haven't heard of them I suggest you listen to them now k?), and to my Rainbow, without whom none of this would even have begun to come into existence, and who has given me more inspiration than she will ever know.