On the night of her wedding, for the first time in months, Pansy has a dream.

She drifts blissfully into sleep, spinning and stroking the white-gold band around her finger, wrapped in the arms of her new husband. Expensive Egyptian sheets glide smoothly across her bare skin, and her vision turns gauzy.

It starts as a memory. She is back in Narcissa's room, powdering and preening just hours before she is to be wed. She feels Narcissa glide up behind her, a decadent sense of deja vu dripping through her mind.

"You look absolutely lovely, my dear," Narcissa whispers in her ear. Pansy smiles, genuinely, murmurs a thank you over her shoulder as she studies Narcissa's face in the mirror. The woman's eyes pierce into hers, and she feels something slither about in the pit of her stomach.

It is then that the dream diverges.

Narcissa's hands run gently over her shoulders, tapered fingers tracing the dusting of freckles upon her collarbone. Pansy tenses as the hands reach her throat, relaxes as she feels them stroke down her spine.

"Such a shame your own mother cannot be here, though, isn't it?" Narcissa's low murmur echoes into her ear. Pansy's back goes rigid as hands move to tighten her corset. Her breath hitches as she pushes back tears; the corset laces are dropped.

"Oh, darling, I am so sorry. I should have known it would be a touchy subject for you," Narcissa's hands move back to her shoulders, this time with a more supportive grip, and Pansy lowers her head. She knows she is being weak; she does not want Narcissa to have the wrong impression.

"Now, now...I know it is difficult for you, but..." Narcissa pauses, drags Pansy's long hair behind her ear with a single finger. Narcissa moves in front of her, reaches for her cheek. She flinches.

"Look at me." Pansy lifts her head, startled by the force behind Narcissa's voice. Narcissa reaches for her cheek again, and places her hand delicately against it. Pansy finally looks up to meet Narcissa's gaze, and is shocked to find nothing but compassion in her soon-to-be Mother-in-law's eyes.

"Oh, Pansy, it's alright," Narcissa whispers soothingly, "I'm sure you miss your mother, and while all wars have casualties, she should not have been one of them." The earnestness in Narcissa's voice makes Pansy smile, and she moves to wipe the tears from her face. Narcissa's other hand shoots up, grabs her wrist with ease. She gasps.

"No, no, let me." Pansy watches with fascination as Narcissa leans toward her. She feels her eyes flutter shut involuntarily, wishing she could keep them open, as Narcissa's lips connect with her tear-stained cheek. Pansy's heart thrums, practically bursting as Narcissa's mouth nears her own.

"Narcissa, please."

And with that, the dream dissolves. It is not Narcissa's lips on her cheek, but Draco's. That is, until he pulls away in horror.

"What did you just call me?"

"Draco, I - I must have been dreaming! You know, sometimes I talk in my sleep, and..." Pansy splutters, clamoring for an explanation as Draco rolls out of the bed.

"I'm going for a walk," he mutters, storming through the door and slamming it behind him.

Hours later, Pansy cannot shake the feeling that Narcissa's eyes are still on her. When she tries to sleep, silky hair and wine-stained lips are all she sees.

Two weeks pass, and Pansy finds herself visiting the palace that is Malfoy Manor. Narcissa had insisted they come visit immediately after returning from Paris and, despite Pansy's trepidation, Draco had (of course) obliged.

Narcissa greets them both with a kiss, first to Pansy's cheek, then to Draco's. Pansy's eyes meet Narcissa's as she watches her lips connect with Draco's pale skin. Her Mother-in-law's gaze glimmers, unreadable; Pansy twists her wedding band, turns away.

"Draco, do go visit with your father for a bit. He misses you so. Pansy and I have quite a bit to catch up on, I'm sure," Narcissa presses another kiss to her son's cheek, this time sending Pansy a stomach-clenching wink from over Draco's shoulder. Narcissa dismisses Draco with a wave of her hand, then turns to walk toward the parlor.

"I suggest you follow if you know what's good for you, little girl." Narcissa shoots over her shoulder, making Pansy flinch.

"Yes, ma'am," she murmurs, fighting the urge to lower her head in fear. She follows Narcissa into the parlor and takes a seat opposite the blonde, who is draped delicately across the small loveseat. The older woman tuts with disapproval, motioning for Pansy to sit next to her instead. She moves to the loveseat, perches on the edge, unsure.

"So, darling, do tell me about the honeymoon," the cheeriness in Narcissa's voice surprises Pansy, relieving her of the fear in her gut. She admonishes herself a bit for fearing Narcissa; after all, the woman had been nothing but kind to her, and wasn't her imagination always a bit overactive?

"Oh, it was absolutely breathtaking. Wizarding Paris has to be one of the most beautiful places in the world, magical or otherwise."

"I had hoped you would enjoy it," Narcissa's smile is genuine as she hands Pansy a cup and saucer, but Pansy can't help but wonder if the brush of a hand against her thigh is really an accident. "You know, Lucius and I went there for our honeymoon as well."

"You did?" Pansy questions politely, but she knows this already. Draco only informed her about fourteen times or so.

"Mmm...it was the most romantic time of my entire life," Narcissa's smile becomes wistful, her eyes distant. "We stayed in the very same hotel as you two; actually, I believe we were in the same suite."

"Oh?" This is news to Pansy.

"Yes," Narcissa pauses, emitting a rather uncharacteristic giggle. She twists and leans toward Pansy conspiratorially, lowering her voice. "I do hope they replaced the mattress after we left..."

Pansy swallows quickly, hot tea burning her throat as she gasps in shock. Narcissa relaxes back into her previous pose, a smirk twisting her lips, obviously pleased with herself. Pansy recovers, setting down her half-empty teacup, the saucer now full of the milky concoction.

"Darling, you're a Malfoy now," Narcissa's lips are suddenly by her ear. "You must learn that we share-" a hot breath on her earlobe.

"Absolutely-" a kiss to her neck.

"Everything." teeth sink in so fast, are retracted so quickly, that Pansy cannot quite process it all. When she turns her head, Narcissa is back to lounging against the expensive upholstery, a hand draped delicately along the armrest.

"Pansy, darling?" Narcissa's eyes are innocent, questioning, possibly even concerned. Pansy whimpers in response; her head is jumbled, her speech impaired. "I was asking you about your visit to the Louvre? Static paintings are quite curious things, don't you think?" She wills her mouth to move, her posture to relax, but all she can do is stare at her mother-in-law. She certainly hadn't imagined all of that, had she?

"Are you feeling ill, love? You're looking a bit vert..." Narcissa moves toward her again, and she jumps from the couch with haste, her knee catching the corner of the decadent coffee table. The glass top shatters as the table flips, spilling tea and milk onto the thick Persian rug. She hears Narcissa shriek, feels tears well up before she can control herself.

"Oh, Narcissa, I'm so sorry!" She reaches for her wand, but Narcissa is faster. She disarms her, locks the door, and casts a muffliato with one swift motion. Pansy's eyes begin to water as she bends down to clear the glass with her bare hands, her knees sinking into the sullied carpet. Before she can reach for the pieces, her face is grabbed and angled toward the ceiling. She hears her neck crack, and pain winds down her back.

"Do not lie to me, little girl, I know what you have done." Narcissa saunters toward her, bends with her hands to her knees, as though addressing a child. "You have betrayed my son, have you not?"

"No! I-"

"Quiet! You have called out another name in your sleep, one other than his, have you not?"

"It was an accident, It wasn't like-"

"You've never loved him, have you? You have entered my home, entered my legacy, for nothing but money." Nails stroke against her cheek, into her hair. The hand clenches, pulls, and Pansy screams. "Mark my words, you will never get what you came here for, but remember: I always get what I want." Pansy's body begins to tremble, so violent she is afraid she may burst. The pieces of glass around her dance, rattling into one another, an ear-piercing chorus of tinkling voices splitting her head open.

"Pansy?" She blinks, looks to her right, and there is Narcissa, lying against the crushed velvet, her arm again draped over the side of the lounge. "The Louvre? Static paintings are quite curious things, don't you think?" She feels her mind begin to wander, the threat of unconsciousness lurking in the back of her head.

"I...yes, they certainly are. Quite beautiful, though, I must say," Narcissa seems pleased with her response, lifts her teacup to her mouth.

Somewhere, deep in Pansy's veins, terror begins to blossom. When she leaves the Manor, she makes the mistake of glancing at the large mirror in the atrium. On her right earlobe, a mottled bruise has begun to form. If she looks hard enough, she can see the faint stain of red lipstick on her neck.

That night, in the bath, she finds a single shard of glass embedded in her left knee.

"Pansy, darling, could you come into my room for a bit?" Pansy's throat constricts; this is what she's been fearing since their last meeting.

"Coming, Narcissa," she takes a deep breath and heads for the Manor's master bedroom. The door is closed and locked; without thinking, she performs an alohamora and walks in.

Narcissa is seated at her vanity, applying her usual bloody shade of lipstick. She does not turn around.

"Narcissa? What is it? Draco is waiting outside, and-" eyes flash in the mirror, meeting her own without hesitation. They are the color of the arctic waters Pansy once visited as a child, and just as cold.

"I wanted to talk to you, Pansy," her voice is quiet, level. Pansy nods, silently begging Narcissa to just get it over with. "Do you love me?"

"Of course I do, you're my mother-in-law," she responds without hesitation, hoping that this is enough for Narcissa. The lipstick gives a hollow clink as it is dropped onto the vanity counter.

"Not like that, dear. Do you love me?" Narcissa turns around, but suddenly it is Draco instead. Pansy averts her eyes, frightened.

"Of course, Draco," she murmurs. Her husband's hands grip her shoulders, and Pansy can't help but think that they are quite delicate for a man's.

"Do you love me?" Pansy asks, suddenly insecure. She closes her eyes. Lips meet her own in a passionate kiss, an answer far more important than words. She lets a moan slip, glad to be comforted, and that's when she hears the gasp.

The kiss breaks, and her husband is standing in the doorway, staring at her with horror. She blinks; that can't be right, he was just in front of her...this is when she notices that her partner is not Draco, but his mother. Narcissa's smile is predatory; she giggles, impish, raising a hand to delicately cover her mouth.

"Draco, it's not what - I thought it was you and then it wasn't and-" she stops mid-sentence, aware of how mindless her explanation must seem. She tries to run to her husband, but Narcissa grabs her shoulders, throws her in the vanity chair.

"How dare you come onto me like that!" Narcissa's demeanor goes from mischievous to terrifying in a split second, the madness in her eyes reminding Pansy of the woman's late sister. "See what you've done? You've ruined everything!" Narcissa shrieks, slapping her across the face. Pansy's vision blackens momentarily, giving her just enough time to wonder if this is all real, before Narcissa's face appears once more in front of her own. She screams.

"Draco, please! I don't know what's happening, please you're supposed to help me!" Tears are streaming down her face, her tight throat contorting her voice.

"Oh, Pansy, guilt certainly doesn't do justice to your pretty features," Narcissa's voice is smooth, dripping with false compassion. "If only you loved my son rather than myself, we wouldn't be having these little issues, would we?"

Pansy doesn't know what to say; she doesn't love Narcissa, but she knows that this doesn't matter. Somehow, Pansy has been seduced into this nightmare of a family, learning all too late what her mother-in-law is capable of.

"I don't love you, I don't!"

She awakes in her own bed, registers that Draco is standing over her, but it is too late. His face crumples; he grabs his housecoat, and runs out the door.

The following Sunday, Pansy finds herself at the Manor one last time. Narcissa greets the two of them with a kiss each, but this time gives Pansy no wink, no glimmering gaze over Draco's shoulder. She dismisses her son as usual, leads Pansy into the parlor. A new wooden coffee table has taken place of the previous piece of furniture. It is no less beautiful, but its presence is unnerving. Pansy takes a seat opposite Narcissa, and this time is not scolded.

"What happened to the glass table, Narcissa?" Her mother-in-law shifts and flushes, embarrassed. A smirk plays across her features and she lets out a breathy laugh.

"Ah, let's just say it involved a particularly striking pair of stilettos and a very late night," Pansy blushes and smiles softly, reassured by Narcissa's confidence in her. Her fears are pushed to the back of her mind as she thinks that maybe, just maybe, she really had made it all up.

"Well, that certainly does sound fun," Pansy replies, drawing a laugh from Narcissa.

"How is your home life, Pansy? The house is to your liking?"

"Oh, absolutely. The house elves certainly are helpful as well," Narcissa smiles again, murmurs in agreement.

"And no problems between yourself and my son?" Pansy gulps. "I only ask because I know it can be quite tough adjusting to married life."

"Not at all," Pansy forces a smile. She reaches for her tea and sips nervously as Narcissa nods.

"Good." Narcissa lifts her own cup to her mouth, perhaps in an attempt to hide her smirk, but Pansy catches it just in time. In that millisecond, the terror buried deep inside of her surges throughout her entire body, constricting her heart. Her mind begins to flood, blood pounding in her ears.

"Pansy...? Pansy!" Her eyes roll back. Narcissa's voice is the last thing she hears before her body hits the floor.

She finds herself in the master bath of the Manor, hot water engulfing her body from the neck down. A pair of hands runs through her hair, tentatively lathering and combing, so gentle that she almost falls asleep.

"There, how does that feel?" Narcissa's voice is calm and soft, and Pansy murmurs in agreement. "Good, good. Don't fall asleep on me, darling."

"No, no, I won't," she mutters dreamily and smiles, leans her soapy head back against Narcissa's chest. The older woman does not even complain about the suds staining her silk blouse.

"I tried to convince him that the two of you were mismatched, that you weren't the one, and he still disobeyed me. Though, from what I can tell, you've done quite enough yourself to drive him away, haven't you?" Narcissa's voice is soothing, and Pansy's mind is steaming, as foggy as the bathroom mirror. She smells amber and vanilla on Narcissa's skin, rosewater in the silky blonde hair that surrounds her.

"Convince who? What are you talking about?" She can't quite comprehend the words slipping through her mind.

"You, my dear." Pansy shivers; the bathwater suddenly icy. Narcissa dips a hand in, rinses it of soap, places it on Pansy's shoulder. "Oh, darling, I wish I didn't have to do this, but you must understand that my son always comes first."

"Do what, Narcissa?"

"Kill you." Pansy launches herself away from Narcissa, fully prepared to jump from the claw-footed tub, but her mother-in-law is far too agile. Her shoulders are seized and her head slams back into the porcelain rim of the tub. Somewhere, a door opens. Something sticky oozes from the nape of her neck, and a hand is clamped over her eyes. She recognizes the scent on its wrist; cologne. This hand is Draco's.

Narcissa whispers something to her son in French, and Pansy curses herself for never befriending one of those damn Beauxbatons. Narcissa's hands move to either side of her face, nails digging into her temples.

"Goodnight, darling." Her head is twisted to the left, her spine cracks. She feels nothing.

Fourteen years later, Pansy is waiting teary-eyed with her son at Platform 9 and 3/4. She brushes silky blonde hair away from his grey eyes, smiles up at him. Even at thirteen, he has already surpassed her height. Her heart swells as he wraps his arms around her, hugging her one last time before dashing toward the steaming train.

Pansy wipes her eyes and looks down the platform, catching a glimpse of a boy who could be her son's doppelganger. Her eyes drift upward; she sees the parents and snaps her head away, desperate to avoid eye contact. She does not want to see his wife and, more importantly, his silvery eyes. She spots her son's friends dangling out the windows of the Hogwarts Express and gives them a small wave. It is then that she notices her son is nowhere to be found.

She twists around as panic fills her, clamoring through the crowd to find her boy. There, leaning against a pillar just a few meters away, she sees a woman, stunning even in her advanced age, shrouded in a curtain of platinum hair. The woman draws Pansy's son toward her into a hug, and their eyes meet over his shoulder.

"No," she whispers, willing herself to run to her boy, but she cannot move. A delicate wink, a girlish giggle drifts through her mind, and suddenly both the woman and her boy are gone. She gasps, horrified that her son has been taken by her, when she hears a familiar call.

She turns back to the train, and sees her son waving desperately, yelling his final goodbye as the train moves forward.

As the train departs, she reaches to twist her wedding band, forgetting for a moment that she has been divorced for almost fifteen years. When she looks down, all she sees is a smear of wine-red lipstick around her ring finger.

No matter how hard she scrubs, it never disappears.