"... they will all be saints in Heaven while we men are burning
in Hell."--- Mario Puzo, The Godfather
The last of the Death Eaters had finished sluicing off the blood--- Patricia Parkinson always complained about that, but at least now he could assure her that they wouldn't need to hide their pleasures much longer--- and departed. Sighing with satisfaction, Lucius Malfoy sent for the house-elves to clean up the dungeon, set the airtight concealments around the lower part of the house, and made his way up to the main house.
The ground floor, the public rooms, of Chateau Malfoy were darkly deserted, pristine. He made a quick detour to the hidden cache under the drawing room floor to put away the toys he'd used tonight--- those that didn't need to be concealed in the dungeon proper. Not the sort of thing he wanted to leave lying around--- Narcissa should never see---
The smile that curved his lips as his thought of his wife was something that no one who'd been present at the Dark Revel--- indeed, no one who encountered Lucius Malfoy in the course of his ordinary business--- would ever have thought to see. The smug proud lines of his pale face eased and his cold grey eyes warmed--- he looked almost human.
He loved his wife. It was his guilty secret.
The thought of Narcissa quickened his steps as he crossed the main hallway and headed up the stairs.
His and Narcissa's suite was in the Central Tower--- the focal point of the castle. On the way up the winding staircase, he paused at the floor where his son had his own suite.
Draco. Pride and disappointment mingled in his veins. Draco, possessed of the fanatic devotion to the cause that marked a Death Eater, the unrelenting self-interest and ambition, the raw intelligence... and so little else. No commitment, no capacity to translate that ambition into effort... and precious little political sense. To alienate the Potter boy, to so openly shout the Dark Lord's name and his own allegiance from the rooftops... foolish, foolish. The Dark Lord appreciated devotion... but rewarded common sense and cunning. Draco would have to learn.
Not that his teachers helped--- most of the sniveling lot at Hogwarts catered to Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers, choosing their favorites from Gryffindor. It had been that way when he was a student there--- which was why he'd wanted to send Draco to Durmstrang.
But Narcissa wouldn't hear of it--- too far away. And Lucius could ultimately deny her nothing.
At least Slytherin had a halfway decent head-of-house these days. Snape was little more than a--- what had he called him?--- a mechanical contrivance, but at least he had the right attitude, not like that dried-up Figg woman who'd been Head of Slytherin in his day. But even Snape's efforts weren't enough to keep Lucius' offspring making an effort, not when he had reason to believe that a Slytherin's best effort would never be rewarded as highly as a Gryffindor's least.
Well, that would soon change; the tide was turning. And with any luck, his son would have enough sense to be swept along. There was more to work for now than House points and top marks....
He continued up the stairs, careful now to make no noise, for fear of disturbing Narcissa. She was always a light sleeper. The stairway opened onto their shared sitting room; silently, he slipped inside, sealed the door behind him with a flick of his wand.
At the door to their bedroom he paused, sniffed his hands. Still a touch of copper tang in his nostrils; he'd have to bathe again before joining his wife. None of the blood on his hands should ever stain her. She shared his devotion to the cause... but the details of it should never touch her; he would no more have her at a Dark Revel than he'd allow Avery to practice his sex-hexes on her.
He detoured around the bedroom to the bath, set an extra Silencing Charm on the room before turning on the water.
Perhaps twenty minutes later, thoroughly groomed and smelling of nothing worse than perfumed soap, he slipped into the bedroom.
The huge four-poster with its black velvet hangings embroidered with the Malfoy crest dominated the bedroom. And to his eyes, Narcissa's pale sleeping form dominated the bed.
She was lying in the center of the bed, and he felt his lips twitch slightly. That was how he always found her, on nights when he came home... late.
There had been too many of those. But they were necessary. Enjoyable, even. But a kind of joy he could never allow to touch her.
He reflected on his callous words to Severus, about women in his bed. They were true... for all women but Narcissa. His angel. Silently he padded over to the bed, carefully lowered himself onto the black satin sheets.
Narcissa woke, starting slightly--- then her eyes met his and she smiled, sleepily. "My husband."
His heart swelled. "My wife." He caught her hand in his, kissed the fingertips.
Her smile widened and she held open the covers for him, welcomed into her arms wordlessly.
That was how it was between them, how it had always been. She did not need to ask, did not need to know, what his nights, his life, entailed. She loved him, respected him; such was her devotion.
And such was his to her that he would never test it, never sully her purity with his callous side. A side necessary to a Death Eater, a side she knew existed--- but it was not a part of what they shared. Never would be.
Tenderly, he drew her to him, enfolded her in his arms and brushed the top of her head with his lips. "Goodnight, beloved."
"Beloved." Her voice was sleepily content with the world and his presence.
Together they drifted to sleep in the soft darkness.
Reviews? Questions? Email Riley at riley139@yahoo.com
Updated 30 October 2001 by Hecate