Empty
Was My Soul
by
LuciusMCassius
Yari
Chapter
1
The
Malfoys
She
was a good wife. Every night, after her parties and social outings she
would sit at home and wait.
Narcissa
Marie Malfoy knew better than to nod asleep and strictly forced her body
into compliance.
The
servants would undress her and undo her meticulously styled hair, brushing
it straight, then fit her
into
a more casual gown meant for sleeping. Just as they did every night for
seventeen years, they did
tonight.
When they had finished she sent them off with a wave of her hand and stared
into one of her
many
mirrors adorning her spacious and luxurious room. She was still beautiful;
her hair was a lovely
flaxen
blond, her eyes a metallic blue, her skin a soft golden shade, and her
features were proportioned
like
an ancient Greek statuette. Her mother had had her married as young as
possible, so she was still
pretty
enough to be fancied by her husband and stay within his unwavering gaze
of power.
She
shivered involuntarily at the thought of her husband's eyes, icy gray and
colder than the harshest
Northern
winter. It was because of those eyes that she fought sleep and waited for
his return home. As
his
wife, she was to wait for her husband at the top of the master staircase,
when he arrived, the servants
would
take his things, brush his coat, and do all the required drudgery, such
as polishing off his shoes
and
sweetening his foul temper after a bad day at the Ministry. Then he would
turn to her and he would
do
one of two things; if he nodded she was to bid him goodnight, then turn
and go to bed. If he climbed
the
stairs to greet her, she was to take him to bed with her. There were no
questions asked and no
struggle
given, it was her duty as his wife.
She
sighed, turning from her mirror, it had been nearly 3 months since he had
climbed that staircase, and,
with
her prestigious name she didn't dare go near another man in fear, should
endless rumors be spread.
Already
her very sight seemed to send her husband into cold and turbulent rages,
so any word of her
being
unfaithful certainly wouldn't make the situation any better. Her husband
was a very powerful and
scary
man. If he wanted to, he could have her ousted in an eye-blink, and at
the rate she was going she
knew
she wouldn't last much longer.
It
had started over a conversation about their only son, how his grades had
dropped in boarding school,
how
he seemed to be miserable all the time, especially at home. She had blamed
it on those 'dreadful
meetings'
her husband forced their son to attend, which were mostly about 'offing
someone' or 'making
them
pay '. He blamed his son's disappointing behavior on her, and the fact
that she wasn't being 'motherly
enough'
towards him. Thus an argument flared, the servants fled, blows were exchanged,
and they had not
spoken
to each other since. Her husband was torturing her now, not even looking
at her, leaving her to
converse
only with the servants and her empty headed 'friends'. She was miserable
and determined to
change
things. She brushed her hair until it shone and played with her eyebrows,
she massaged her eyes
to
rid of her sleepiness; she was going to look like a queen tonight, her
husband's queen. She was going
to
be so beautiful that he could not resist her. She continued to toy with
her appearance until a servant
arrived
at her door to tell her that He had arrived.
She
jumped from her chair and strode with a nervous grace out of the room,
through the high-ceiling
hallway,
covered with red draperies and antique paintings, to the pinnacle of the
master staircase, where
she
waited.
Master,
Lord, Sire, all names that were used in addressing her husband; he was
a very prominent person
in
the social and political worlds, but in his house, he was omnipotent. No
one dared dispute him. Not his
wife,
not his son, most definitely not the servants.
She
waited at the top of the staircase and watched Lucius Malfoy was escorted
through the door. The
servants
took his trench coat and asked him sugary questions: "How was your day,
sire?" "What can I
bring
you, Master?" The most they got as an answer was a firm monosyllabic command
or a wave of
the
hand, it was almost as if she were watching a movie about Count Dracula
and his babbling minions.
Finally,
the Manor settled and she felt her heart skip as her husband looked up
at her. He was a
striking
man, with the most exotic features that were passed down every generation
through the male
side
of the family, not a detail faltering. His most notable ones were his hair
and eyes. It was as if his
ancestors
of late had sprouted from a snowdrift, for his hair had strangely attractive
white highlights,
even
as a boy; this she had been able to determine from baby pictures in the
library. His eyes were
like
pieces of ice chipped from a glacier, because they never melted, and they
never showed anything,
anything
that was on his mind. They could penetrate through the most professional
liars, like a drill to
glass;
she even had an uncanny feeling that he could read minds. He was young,
like her, he had
married
at eighteen in order to appease his father's wishes, but he showed a bitterness
and hatred
that
she had never seen the likes of.
She
felt her hair stand on end as his eyes traveled up her body, starting at
her feet, lingering on her
hips
and breasts, then continuing until they were gazing into each others eyes.
She did her very best
impression
of a submissive and pensive wife, which she was. His eyes stared coldly
at her and she felt
her
stomach fluttering in anxiety. He turned to the servants and scathingly
ordered them away, before,
to
her great surprise, climbing the staircase.
He
did so very casually, not slowly, not quickly, and she felt her butterflies
become pins. He stopped
in
front of her and gripped her shoulder, tightly. Her husband was very strong;
if he was mad enough
and
struck her with the right amount of force, he could break her neck, she
was reminded of this every
time
they fought. She looked down, recognizing his domination over her.
"So,"
he began, his voice steelier than his eyes, "You've reconciled your bad
temper, Narcissa? Or-
must
I be put in the position of dealing with you, should this occur again."
She
felt her voice tremble, as she croaked a feeble: "Yes" before it died out
all together. He took her
chin
into his hand and she forced herself to look him back in the eyes. They
were intense, filled with
some
unreadable emotion, burning into her soul before confirming her reply with
a nod.
"You're
telling the truth, -for once. Good. From now on you won't cross me, understand?"
She
nodded dumbly. Her hands trembled and she twisted them in her gown to ease
them. Her husband
shot
her one more, unreadable look, before pulling her close, bringing his mouth
to hers and forcefully
parting
her lips with his tongue. He grasped her waist and twisted his own hands
in her robes. She untied
hers
and placed them over her husband's. He clutched them tightly and didn't
part from their kiss until
even
the tips of her fingers were warm.
He
was oddly gentle that night. Usually he was quite horrible to her, especially
after an argument, but in
bed
he only held her against him. Somewhere after midnight he fell into sleep
and she followed soon after,
feeling
as though she was reliving her first few weeks of marriage.
Morning
came quickly. She rose from the many layers of sheets to find her husband
gone and a servant
beckoning
her to rise and groom herself, which she did. At seven-thirty precisely
she climbed down the
stairs,
through the enormous manor, looking quite stunning to meet with the rest
of her family.
The
breakfast table was cleanly set, and numerous dishes were provided for
their tastes. She had been
the
last to arrive, which was usual. She glanced at Lucius, who had buried
himself in the Daily Prophet,
then
at her son, who had buried his head in his arms. She sat in silence, nervously
observing the newspaper,
which
hid her husband. It did not move, save the flipping of pages and no one
talked. She timidly began
to
eat the meal, fearing an argument was in the air.
For
several moments there was no sound, save the sound of clinking silverware,
when unexpectedly, her
husband's
fist came crashing down onto the table. It made the dishes jump and her
son shot up, a wild
expression
on is face. She dropped her silverware in fear.
"Lucius,"
she breathed, clutching her heart, "Wh-What is it?"
Her
husband lowered the paper to reveal his cold and furious face.
"Fudge,"
he snarled, "That blundering, pigeon toed, bastard twit!! Ach!!" he spat.
"What
has he done now?" she asked more confidently. The behavior of Minister
Cornelius Fudge was
the
source of many fits her husband threw. The poor man was incompetent, so
Lucius took advantage
of
him. Her husband kept close ties with every Minister in Europe, one of
the reasons he was so busy.
"The
blithering fool has accepted a proposal sent in by Arthur Wealsly. It's
a Muggle tolerance law, now
we
can't even enjoy going out for a picnic without being fined for breaking
one law or another....That
flea-bitten,
Horse lusting-
"Yes
dear," she replied, cutting him off. She felt braver now, her husband seemed
to be in a playful mood.
He
shot her a patronizing glare before growling and returning to his paper.
"Are
you going out with those fluff-filled friends of yours today?" he sneered
idly, not bothering to look
up.
He hated her friends. She felt her hand shiver from his tone of voice.
"Possibly,"
she replied again. She no longer felt brave.
"Possibly?!
It's either yes or no, woman!!" he snapped, he was no longer playful.
Her
son rose from the table with a jerk, knowing a conflict was in the cards.
"Father,"
he began, "If I may be excused?"
"Yes,
Draco, you may go." Lucius nodded. He held out his hand and the boy kissed
it before turning and
disappearing
from the room. Her son had a knack for scampering out of the Malfoy Manor
before a vile
argument
reared its ugly head. If only she were able to do the same thing...
Her
husband turned and rounded on her.
"Well?!"
he demanded.
"No,"
she decided, "I won't go out with my 'fluff-filled' friends today."
He
shot her a strange, half-smile and set the paper aside; she wondered if
she had said the right thing. He
motioned
to the servants that they were done and the table was cleaned in moments.
It was just she and
her
husband-only the table separated them.
"I'm
going to the Ministry today, first to maul that Cornelius Fudge, the to
attend some meetings, but-"
He
rose from the table in an imperious manner,
"My
night is free,...and the Sinclairs are hosting a, no, the party. Do you
wish to go tonight or stay at
home?"
She
was lucky. She had thought, from experience, that her husband was going
to ask something along
the
lines of, "There's a party tonight, are you going to be there and act like
my wife, or stay home like
the
sluttish witch you are?"
She
immediately accepted his invitation to go and he left with another unreadable
look in his eyes.
For
hours afterwards, Narssica constantly pondered on what she had done to
receive such a reward as
to
accompany her husband to such a grandiose affair. Of course she had heard
of the Sinclairs and their
revelries.
Her husband often snuck out late at night to plot with the Mr. Arthur Sinclair,
and everyone,
who
was someone, was invited to the 'Sinclair summer party'. She knew little
about the family, besides
the
fact that Arthur had been very close to Cassius Malfoy, Lucius' father,
and that they were nearly as
notorious
as the Malfoy family. Nearly, but not quite. To many people, the entire
Malfoy family was the
stuff
only nightmares were made of. The Sinclairs were just a sour taste to an
otherwise pleasant sleep.
She
wished she could do something to show people that at least she was pleasant,
and that no one
need
send their children off when she entered the room.
The
more she thought of the Sinclairs, the more she felt as though her secluded
life of puzzle pieces were
coming
together into a clearer, and clearer picture. Lucius had constantly talked
to her son about the
Sinclair
boy, who was only a few years older, how they would compliment each other;
then of the Sinclair
girl,
who a supposed beauty, and how they should meet, become friends, and much
more. She supposed
her
husband wished his son to marry as early as he did, if not earlier.
She
sighed in agony, remembering how her parents had literally beat her into
meeting a handsome,
gray-eyed,
towheaded young man, pestering her every minute, asking her if she liked
him. When she had
meekly
replied yes, she was married to him that week, after seeing him only one
day. She had childishly
hoped
that the stern eighteen year old had been vicious because he was shy, not
noticing that the boy's
father,
Cassius Malfoy, the scariest man she had ever laid eyes upon, had already
begun to mold his son
into
an exact copy of himself. In reality, Narcissa had not married Lucius Malfoy,
she had married his
father,
Cassius. She supposed that the Lucius she ought to have been in love with
had died before she
knew
him, killed by his own father, to be replaced by someone else, someone
who felt nothing but hate,
bitterness
and lust. And now, Lucius was doing exactly what Cassius had done to him.
He was killing
his
son, strangling his life slowly from him, bleeding out all the love she
had tried to give her son, and
trading
it for cool, black glass. She cried every time her husband took her son
down to the dungeon to
beat
him for little things like etiquette and disobedience. Her son hated her
because he thought she was
weak
and pathetic, (another lesson taught by Lucius) and was hopelessly devoted
to his father. He
wanted
to be just like him; command the same respect, make people shiver at the
mention of his name,
have
a beautiful woman wait for him at home every night. Everything Lucius was,
Draco wanted to be.
Narcissa
looked up to realize that her wandering had brought her to the Malfoy gardens.
Despite his
dark
exterior, Lucius liked colorful and verdant gardens, and it showed. The
trees were placed as to
give
a natural appeal, and parted to reveal a clear, bubbling pool. She had
spent many afternoons
gazing
into it, wondering if her husband would ever need her. It was a happy reminder
of better things,
things
she was hoping she could do, and dreams that seemed to grow each year.
She sighed and
continued
wandering. She walked around with an air of habit; she had developed a
path through the
garden
and had never strayed from it since. Her feet led her through the meadows
overgrown with
wildflowers,
the paths of Cypress that looked like fingers reaching to the heavens,
and past the garden
house.
After the sun had reached a position directly over her she decided it was
time to head home,
she
had been going in circles for hours, all of her ponderings were gone from
her mind and now she
was
merely filled with a feeling of emptiness.
She
turned and began to backtrack; she kept her eyes on her feet, not knowing
there was a person
in
front of her until her head pressed into them. She shot up in surprise
and saw none other than her
own
child, Draco Malfoy. His face was an exact copy of Lucius', cold, bismuth
and emotionless. She
loved
him more than he could ever know however, because his eyes still carried
a youthful, rebellious
spark
of life, one that was completely extinguished in the eyes of her husband.
He cocked his head
and
stared at her for a moment before smiling a feral smile, (the only kind
a Malfoy seemed to be
capable
of) and placing a hand on her head.
"
Mother, a beautiful woman like you shouldn't be walking around all alone."
She
blushed, "Oh...I was just heading back to the Manor, Draco, but its kind
of you to worry." She
wanted
to grab him and pull him against her chest, something she knew he would
never let her do.
Instead
she controlled herself and began to slowly inch away.
"Mother?"
Draco started to follow her as she inched away.
"Yes,
Draco?" Oh, how she longed to attach 'dear' and 'I love you" to her words,
but that was heavily
scorned
by all in the house, including Draco.
"May
I ask you something?"
"Go
ahead." dear, she mentally added.
"D-Do
you suppose you might be angry, if I say, um, liked a-a Mudblood?" the
last word came out
as
a squeak and he nervously watched her as she walked. She almost wanted
to burst with joy, but
then
she was reminded of her husband and her joy waned into terror, he would
kill Draco if he ever
found
out.
"Well,
Draco, I-I wouldn't mind, but your father would-"
"Tie
me up, place me in a weighted bag, and throw me into the nearest river?"
he finished for her.
"Yes.
Why do you ask?" Narcissa was beyond curious; this was the most interesting
conversation
she'd
had in weeks. She tried to smile encouragingly, but it must have come out
wrong, because he
shot
her an ashen face that was lined with pain and fear.
"No,
No reason, really, just thought I might ask. Don't tell Father, please!!"
"Of
course not, Draco, don't be ridiculous!" she answered, slightly offended
that he would think of
her
as a tattletale. She knew he would get the beating of his life if she even
mentioned her son talking
about
a Mudblood to Lucius.
He
gave her another frightened look before turning and running into the Manor,
most probably to
hide
in his room, where none of the servants could bother him, and she couldn't
follow him.
Ahhhh…revised
and put into a better font. Thank the Fairies!! I had to squint whenever
I read this, so I decided
enough
was enough. Lucius is my favorite character, followed closely by Snape
and Draco. If you have any story
requests
please let me know, because I love doing requests.
Chapter
2
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