Lucius and Narcissa
It was a symbiotic relationship. They had only kissed once, but over the next three years Narcissa found herself gradually more aware of him in a physical sense – she understood his body as if were her own. It was as if they were siamese twins. When he was hurt, she hurt too; when he felt sick, so did she.
She knew what he meant when he talked about fear and respect, now. She'd become suddenly assertive; all her quivering neurosis was sheltered by a series of sheilds, founded on the solid base of his love. She stopped giving a damn about homework – she bullied Serverus into writing up her essays, and if Serverus wasn't around, she could just as easily manipulate Persephone or one of her cronies into doing it.
She learnt the technique and trade of blackmail from Lucius. Persephone, Narcissa would say, I think you'd better finish up my History work for me. Otherwise I might have to tell Black exactly how cute you find his ass.
The Marauders were still a problem. Lucius refused to ask Narcissa's help in dealing with them. They continued to beat him up, to curse him in the corridors – they alone seemed impervious to Lucius' spell. He retaliated, though – he wasn't about to take any bullies threats. They used brute force; Lucius used magic and trickery. The mark of their anger was written on Lucius' body in bruises; he fought back with embarrassment and public shame.
At the end of Lucius' third year they kissed again, standing at the station before the train arrived.
"I own you," Lucius breathed against her lips.
"I own you," Narcissa responded, immediately.
He bit her tongue, and withdrew.
There were the letters. They arrived all summer, one every week day, and on the weekends as many as four.
I want you here. I am infuriated by the lack of you, and I despise you for making me feel this way – needy. It is shameful. I feel common – wanty, needy, how incurably Muggle do I sound? I hate you.
I cannot wait till school begins again. Isn't that disgusting? But I need you. I can't think straight without you. I try to concentrate on my books, or on games, or flying, but in the end I see only your face, your fucking face – right there before me, tantalising and etheral. I wish I'd kissed you more, I wish I didn't want you, I wish I could go to you. But my father refuses to let me travel into the country – the bastard. I hate him almost as much as I hate you, I think.
And later still.
Yesterday was my birthday, in case you hadn't remembered. Which of course you hadn't – I'm fourteen, and you, you callous bitch, didn't even send a card. I hate you even more. I was so angry – I still am angry. My hand is shaking as I write this, and when I next see you I will kill you – I will scar your beautiful face, I will tear you apart, I will disect you. My simpering cousin, Lucrece, has been staying with me, and in fury at your ignorant and perhaps intended forgetfullness I decided to have sex with her. It was uncomfortable, and quite painful for her (so she said) but it was the principle of it which mattered to me, and the physical irritation of it only made the revenge the sweeter. And this is revenge, Narcissa – my virginity is gone, and you were not the woman to take it. How does that make you feel, sitting in your plush country castle, with your Veela sisters and your bird-beaked mother? I have betrayed you, as I always said I would. I hope it hurts. I hope I can still hurt you.
Narcissa did not cry. She set the letter down, very calmly, and walked out of the house. In the middle of the corn fields she thrust her fists into the soil and cursed him, until her screams became nothing but wordless howls. She hated herself for forgetting – it had been an honest mistake, she hadn't meant to hurt him. But his revenge – his punishment – it hardly fit the crime.
She heard the sound of someone moving through the corn, and looked up. One of the young wizard servants who worked for the d'Antoines had come to see what the yelling was about.
"Narcissa? Are you alright? I heard –"
Narcissa got to her feet and smiled, thinly. She beckoned him over with one finger.
Afterwards, she wrote:
Two can play at that game. Like you, I am no longer intact – the unicorns will have to find some other maiden to comfort. I fucked one of our servants – and I enjoyed it. There wasn't any pain, and it was beautiful. Beautiful. I hate you.
Yours Sincerely, Narcissa d'Antoine.
His reply reached her in a matter of hours.
I was lying.
Narcissa wept; she couldn't help herself. She curled, foetally, on the edge of her bed, and whispered his name into her knees.
On the first day of his fourth year, her sixth, Narcissa ran wildly through the school, searching for him. He hadn't been on the train – she'd checked every compartment – and after that last letter, he hadn't sent another for the entire duration of the holidays. She hoped he hadn't done something stupid – she prayed he hadn't killed himself, or hurt himself, or run away, or –
She found him reading a book under a tree, at the hem of the Forbidden forest. His legs were crossed, and his hair was so long now it reached past his waist to his thighs – even when plaited. He held the end of the braid in his mouth, seeming to be completely involved in the book.
"– Lucius," she gasped.
He looked up, and wrinkled his nose, then returned to his book.
"I'm sorry. Lucius. Please – look at me."
"Don't tell me you're sorry," he said. "Telling me you're sorry is worse than what you did. It suggests you didn't have a good reason to do it; it suggests you regret it. Never regret anything, Narcissa. Just call it life experience, and move on."
"I can't," Narcissa whispered.
"Don't be weak. I hate weak women."
He was so casual about it, his voice never raising from his monotone drawl, that Narcissa wanted to slap him. He was acting as if it didn't mean anything to him – as if she didn't mean anything. She was furious; she snarled:
"I hate you."
"Good. You should. I hate you right back. Are you going to kiss me hello, or should I keep reading?" He raised a thin eyebrow at her over the edge of the volume, and turned a page.
"Why don't you stand up and kiss me?" she challenged.
He rose, slowly, and tucked his book under his arm. He was taller – he'd grown over the summer. They were the same hieght now, she noticed. He pressed his lips breifly to her cheek, and stepped away before she could move to embrace him.
"I'm not angry with you," he said, over his shoulder. "Why should I be? I wanted this. I wanted to see how far you'd go. I wanted to see how you'd degrade yourself, for me. I needed to know how much I meant to you."
She jogged after him, and fell into step beside him.
"If I felt the – urge, I suppose you'd call it – to sleep with my cousin, I probably would have done it," said Lucius. "But as I've said before, I don't think I'm old enough for that sort of thing. It actually makes me feel fairly nauseous. And – I also think you're old enough for that sort of thing; you're sixteen, and feeling those, ah, biological impulses. I felt rather pleased you managed to get it out of your system."
"You wanted this to happen?"
"It doesn't change anything between us, Narcissa." He reached for her hand, and interlocked their fingers. "In fact, it only makes it more exciting. You're wicked, too. Wicked like me, wicked and cruel and completely – if you don't mind me saying so – immoral. I feel closer to you than I ever did before. You're prepared to stoop to get what you want, now. That prissy, haughty country princess is gone – vanished. And I made it happen."
She dug her nails into his wrist. "How dare you –" she began.
"Ow! Don't. You knew as well as I did that it was coming to this. When I'm finished with you, you'll be the wickedest witch who ever lived. And you'll like it too – you're already liking it. You love the power of it. You love the power of being unpredictable, and you love the power of owning me. And you do own me. I won't say I didn't scream when I read your letter. I cursed you every name under the sun."
"Then why –"
"Because you needed it. Because we needed it. Because with us, it's all or nothing, and if one of us breaks this, this bond – then we'll destroy ourselves and each other. Ask me if I love you, Narcissa."
She closed her eyes. "Do you love me, Lucius," she asked.
"Yes," he replied. "I love you like I love myself."
Return to Archive | previous