Empty
Was My Soul
by
LuciusMCassius
Yari
Chapter
2
Thoughts
The
day went by smoothly, with Narcissa lounging in the library, and her son,
Draco, locked in his room,
stubbornly
refusing to come out or eat.
‘He’s
really in love! ’ She kept thinking, musing on how he must fantasize
about the girl constantly. He
probably
kept poetry written somewhere in his room, but she was not allowed there.
She was not allowed
anywhere
except the common rooms, her room and the library. Lucius’ orders.
She
sighed, remembering that her husband was taking her to the Sinclair party,
and that she still hadn’t
decided
what to wear. She cringed at the thought of her husband. If he ever found
out that their son was
in
love (and from what few hints Draco had given her, with a Mudblood) Draco
would suffer a fate worse
than
death. Narcissa knew her husband well, and she also knew that he wouldn’t
bat an eye at using an
Unforgivable
Curse on Draco, or her.
Lucius
didn’t believe in “girlish fancies” like love and he let everyone know
it. Narcissa hypothesized that
this
was because he’d never been able to experience it. He had cowered before
his father’s raised fist and
his
mother had died soon after childbirth, committing suicide. He had been
taught to hate by Cassius Malfoy,
who
had been taught by Nero Malfoy, who had been taught by Romulus Malfoy,
and so on. The family
was
cursed somehow, she knew it, and she prayed that Draco would not become
her husband. To her
great
dismay, though, she knew he was well on his way.
‘Besides
his being able to love of course ’She only hoped that Draco would realize
this.
Still,
quite surprisingly, Narcissa would get a glimpse of her true husband and
son through the demonic
masks
they wore. She had always thought that Lucius had no feelings for her besides
disgust, and sometimes
a
very fiery lust, but there had been times when she saw something in his
eyes that was neither. She recalled
all
to well the last time she had seen that expression….
***
5
years ago….
She
was very, very late. Normally, she would have been home by now, but her
idiot friend René Macnair
had
insisted they spike their tea and get drunk out of their minds before returning
home. Absent mindedly,
Narcissa
had drifted of into a not so sober sleep, and hadn’t woken until 1 in the
morning. Now she flew as
fast
as she could and her hangover permitted to Malfoy Manor. She prayed that
somehow, her husband
had
forgotten that she was supposed be waiting at the top of the Master staircase
for him.
She
would be beaten, she was fairly sure; it was the only punishment she deserved….
But
she wasn’t beaten. Instead, when she arrived a very surprised and relieved
servant took her cloak and
led
her straight to the observatory, where she found her husband waiting.
The
servant wisely vacated. Narcissa nervously recalled the last time she had
talked to Lucius, and how he
had
been cold and caustic, causing her to cry in front of him. She knew he
didn’t like people who cried; he
thought
they were weak.
Lucius
was leaning on his fist, seated in his favorite leather armchair, which
she noted warily, was surrounded
by
empty wine bottles. She swallowed hard, remembering very vividly that Lucius
had no head for alcohol,
and
decided that he must have drunk all of them after he had arrived home.
He
looked up, a miserable expression on his face, then noticing her presence,
signaled her to come closer,
which
she did. He looked at her pensively before leaning forward and stretching
his hand to meet hers. The
stood
for several minutes, facing each other, before he tenderly pulled her close.
He let out a soft moan of
pain
and buried his head in her hair, holding her tightly, and softly stroking
her head.
Rarely
had Narcissa been treated this way; with such tenderness, she wanted to
cry, but instead melted into
his
arms and they fell into the leather armchair, wrapped in each other’s embrace.
They held each other close,
listening
to their breathing, which rose and fell softly, before Lucius forced a
whisper:
“I
thought I had lost you.”
She
nearly fainted. Lucius cared about her, Lucius wanted her, Lucius needed
her. She looked up at his
eyes
and saw, for a second, a vulnerable, kind man hidden under all that ice.
Their lips met softly, and Lucius
began
to slowly cover her neck and bosom with butterfly kisses, not the rough,
bruising ones they shared
usually.
It
was in those few fleeting moments that she had sworn never to leave Lucius,
because the man beneath all
the
weight of his past, and present, needed her. Though now, five years later,
she was wondering if she would
ever
see the face it had taken one second to love, and if the whole night had
been a dream.
***
Present
time…
A
door bursting open drew her from her thoughts. She looked up, startled,
and saw none other than Lucius,
dripping
wet, and leaving small puddles wherever his feet tread. She had not even
noticed that it had begun
to
rain heavily outside, and that it was gray and dreary. The servants had
collected her husband’s drenched
cloak
and he now stood bitterly in the doorway, his robes clinging to his chest
and waist, his pale hair
plastering
his cheeks and neck. She might have taken the time to notice just how attractive
he was if she
hadn’t
first seen the expression on Lucius’ face. It looked ready to kill.
“You-“
he began, advancing on her, “You haven’t even begun to get ready, have
you? We leave in half an
hour!!!”
She
leapt nimbly to her feet.
“Yes,
Yes, of course, I’m very, very sorry Lucius. I-I lost track of time..”
“I’ll
say you did!!” he snarled, but at the same moment his face began to soften,
“ It’s all right, really, I didn’t
want
you to wear any of your old gowns anyway.”
“Lucius-“
she began.
“Because
I’ve bought you a new one.” He continued, cutting her off, and revealing
a carefully concealed
package
from the folds of his robes. It was the only thing on him that wasn’t wet.
“Lucius-“
she breathed a sigh of relief, then of amazement as he reviled the dress
to her. It was an icy blue.
A
good color on her, and the material was woven from pixie silk. It shimmered
every time light hit its surface.
It
must have cost a fortune. She reached to touch it but Lucius deterred it
from her grasp.
“Uh-Un.
You are getting near it and neither am I.”
“But-but
why Lucius?” she started.
“Because,”
an impish grim spread across his face, “by the time I’m done with you,
we’ll both be wetter than
a
pair of guppies in monsoon season.”
He
clasped her waist and drew her close. He was wetter than he looked, if
such a thing was possible. It was
a
few moments to late that she realized she was wearing nothing but thin,
white robes. In seconds she was
drenched,
and totally visible.
“Lucius!!
“ she cried in dismay, “You dirty old man!! You knew I was in white!!”
He
smirked, “I couldn’t resist myself.” And pushed her away, taking a few
moments to admire the view
before
turning to shower and change himself. She fumed with a playful frustration
before turning to her own
quarters
to have her hair styled just so, and her dress outfitted by the servants.
Thank goodness they could
use
magic.
At
seven o’ clock precisely they sauntered out the door, both looking like
rulers of a vast land, which,
Narcissa
supposed, was exactly what they were, at least in a political sense. If
Lucius knew how to do
anything,
it was pull strings, including hers.
Draco
did not accompany them. While Mr. Malfoy was anxious to get his son to
the Sinclairs, the boy had
waved
his father away by claiming he was sick. Which he was. Sick with the love
bug. No one had any idea
that
he felt an uncontrollable yearning for a certain “Mudblood”, but he did,
and it called out to him. He
wanted
to be near her, see her smile, hear her laugh. He was plainly stuck between
the two most important
things
in his life. His hero, his mentor, his idol and his Father, and his one,
pure love. Who would he betray?
His
entire family and all that it stood for, or the one person that had a chance
at opening his heart.
After
a long and agonizing year of sneers, insults and exchanged blows, he felt
as though he had put up with
his
little rouse long enough. He was going to tell her, but all of his letters
were monitored closely, and there
was
no way he would ever convince her of meeting him in private. So that left
only random, chance
encounters
in public places, which he had to most dutifully act as a Malfoy would
in fear of disgracing his
name.
None of these answers were suitable.
Finally,
the sultry, 15 going on sixteen boy came up with an idea. He could talk
to her alone, especially if
he
showed up at her doorstep, it was risky, but he could do it. His plan began
to take action as his father
and
mother left for their party. He waited breathlessly as they stepped into
the carriage and drove off, before
slipping
from his servants view and running, non-stop, out of the Malfoy grounds,
into the woods. He ran,
and
ran, and ran, down dirt roads and meadows. He knew exactly where to go,
he could feel her. He kept
her
face close in his mind as he rounded bends and dips, not stopping, and
not slowing.
At
last, he arrived at a pleasant cottage, she was here, he knew. He ran through
the garden to the house,
padding
softly so not to alarm a neighboring dog. He reached the doorstep, heaving
and half-retching in
exertion.
Inside were happy voices and a bout of pealing laughter. It sounded nothing
like his house.
His
hand trembled as he pushed the doorbell, he felt as though his lungs were
on fire. Footsteps were
heard
and the door opened. It was her, still beautiful, he wore a shocked expression
at this, but not a
shocked
as hers.
“Draco?!”
she chocked out in surprise.
“Hermione,”
he breathed heavily,” Please, let me in.”
Then
he collapsed in exhaustion, falling on her doorstep, unconscious.
Soooooooooo,
ya like? Please R/R. It helps me learn. IF YOU WANT THIS STORY TO CHANGE
TELL
ME!!!!!!! THERE IS A VERY HIGH POSSIBILITY IT WILL HAPPEN. Spooky, huh?
Thank
you for reading.
Yari
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