DISCLAIMER: All of the places and characters in this story belong to the genius Ms. J.K. Rowling. No profit is being made from this story. It only serves to (hopefully) entertain.

Rated T for some language and allusions to violence.

-When in Rome-

The stars and nearly-full moon lit the paths of snow flurries gently tumbling from the clear, velvety night sky. The specks of white were seemingly dancing together as the January breeze blew them up, down, sideways, and in circles before they made their way to the frosty ground below. They gathered and settled there, coating everything in a powdery blanket. Some of it drifted in the wind, slithering like snakes across the path leading to the magnificent countryside manor.

It was, at first glance, a very peaceful and perhaps welcoming sight; it could have even passed for an image on a Christmas card. But it was far from tranquil, and it wasn't the two large, burly men standing at the gate that made it that way. It wasn't even the fact that a countryside manor such as this one had a gate to begin with.

What made the scene so unsettling was, over the howling breeze, the faint sound of a terrified, wretched scream coming from somewhere within the manor's walls.

Narcissa sat up in her bed, glancing once more at the clock on the wall. It was nearing one in the morning. This, she decided, was going to be yet another sleepless night.

The young woman downstairs was sobbing, pleading, begging for mercy. All she got in response was a laugh and a curse.

"Crucio!"

The woman screamed, and Narcissa heard Bellatrix let out a menacing, satisfied cackle.

"Want more, you filthy half-breed? Crucio! Crucio!"

More screams, more laughs. Narcissa couldn't stand it. This occurred nearly every night now in their home, and it was always some poor soul who'd wronged no one. Her sister's sadistic antics accomplished nothing, aside from satiating her sick desire for control, and Narcissa was powerless to stop it.

She grabbed the framed photograph from her bedside table, an action which was becoming a nightly routine as of late. Draco was no older than three in the picture. He was laughing, carrying a flower he'd picked as he chased a butterfly through the garden behind the manor. Narcissa remembered the day well. It had been an unusually sunny day in April, and Lucius had pleasantly surprised them both when he came home from work early. Up until a few months prior, looking at the photograph and remembering that simple yet wonderful day never failed to bring a smile to Narcissa's face.

Now, all Narcissa could do was gently run her fingers across the image and worry about her son. He was of age now, off at Hogwarts and under the watch of Snape and the Carrows. She knew he was seeing things he shouldn't, possibly being ordered to do things he shouldn't, and it broke her heart that there was nothing she could do. She couldn't even control what went on in her own house, never mind a school hundreds of miles away.

It agonized her that the young boy in the photograph – so sweet, innocent, and carefree – was now in such a dark place, and none of it was his fault.

"Cissy?" Lucius had awakened.

"Evening."

She watched his eyes dart to the photograph. A dismal smile appeared on his face, and his eyes were glazed with worry.

"He's okay, you know," Lucius declared in a whisper, though he sounded rather apprehensive. "I know he is. I'm sure he's doing fine."

Narcissa nodded. "He's such a good boy. So smart."

"I know."

"But what happened?" she sighed. "What in the world happened?"

Lucius said nothing, but gave her a sad, remorseful look. The same thought came to each of their minds at once: that all of this was his fault.

Things weren't always like this; the photograph in his Narcissa's shaky hands was proof of that. Once upon a time, they were happy and as normal as a magical family could be. Their son had a chance at growing up knowing good, for the pureblood ways he knew weren't in his nature, but taught to him through his father's actions and comments. Lucius blamed himself for everything. Had it not been for his arrogance, their name would still mean something. They wouldn't be on house arrest. He wouldn't be without a wand. And Draco wouldn't be under so much scrutiny, in so much danger.

What Lucius didn't know was that Narcissa blamed herself, too. She could have spoken up, but she didn't. She quietly stood by her husband's side for all those years, even when she thought he was taking things too far. There was once a time when she, too, cared about blood superiority, but the second she became a mother, her little boy was all that mattered.

They'd both failed him.

The woman downstairs kept screaming. Bellatrix kept torturing. Narcissa kept clutching the picture of Draco. Lucius kept staring at her. The pure white snow kept peacefully falling outside the window.

"I can't take this anymore, Lucius," Narcissa whispered. "I can't."

"Cissy-"

"How much longer is this going to go on?"

"I wish I knew."

"This is our home," Narcissa said shakily. "What's happening downstairs everyday is absolutely wrong, and we're allowing it go on under our roof. What does that make us?"

"It makes us survivors."

"No, it makes us killers," Narcissa snapped. "We may not be the ones holding the wands, but we're letting it happen. That's just as bad, if not worse."

"Cissy," Lucius said softly, taking her hand, "we're doing what we have to do to survive. Our name doesn't protect us anymore. You know what they would do to us if we fought back. What they'd do to Draco."

Tears swarmed Narcissa's blue eyes at the mention of their son, because she knew exactly what would happen if she and Lucius refused to obey every order and task presented to them. They wouldn't kill Draco, for no one in the highest ranks wanted blood as pure as his to go to waste, but they would most certainly make him wish he was dead. They'd torture him, perhaps even force him to do their dirty work by harming other innocents.

Lucius was correct. Draco was already having to cope with the shame associated with being a Malfoy and being left no choice but to uphold a facade which, Narcissa knew, his heart wasn't truly in. That was punishment enough – punishment he didn't even deserve to begin with.

But it still wasn't right.

"Those people did nothing wrong, Lucius," she said. "Every day they kill more, and for what?"

"It's not fair," Lucius agreed, "but we can't protect them, Cissy. We have to worry about ourselves, about Draco. We have to play their game, even if they're holding all the cards. It's the only way we have any chance of getting out this alive."

A vile chant came from downstairs.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A final scream. Silence. The cruel laughter of Bellatrix. Narcissa allowed a tear to fall.

Lucius gripped her hand tightly.

"We couldn't have saved her."

"I could have gone down there. I could have stopped it..."

"No," Lucius asserted. "No, Cissy. Don't ever try to do that. Think of Draco. We need to keep him safe. Play their game. It's all we can do."

Narcissa said nothing more. She gave one final, heartsick look at Draco's photograph. It reminded her that there was once joy in her life, that Draco once had a bright future, that their home was once a placid one. She could only pray to get that back one day.

She placed the frame back on her bedside table before leaning into Lucius. As she rested her head on his chest, and he wrapped both of his arms securely around her. Although Lucius had done some questionable and even downright stupid things in his past, Narcissa loved him beyond words. Even at their worst, he always made her feel safe; having him by her side gave her faith that things would eventually change for the better. She knew Lucius bitterly regretted everything he'd done to land their family in such a mess and that he'd do anything possible to make amends if presented the chance.

But regardless of magical ability, regardless of blood status, he couldn't stop Voldemort and his most loyal servants.

The new sounds from downstairs ricocheted off the high walls, echoing their way up the stairs, through the eerily silent corridors, and into the master bedroom. Though the noises were quieter and slightly muffled, they were clear enough to make out. Narcissa and Lucius could hear the front door creak open, followed by the scruffy voice of a man.

"My lady," the voice said. It sounded like Scabior. "Another. A boy, seventeen years of age. Mudblood."

Narcissa took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. Seventeen. The same age as Draco.

"Bring him in, bring him in!" Bellatrix crowed in glee.

Narcissa attempted to move, but Lucius held her tight.

"Cissy..."

"He's just a boy. Just a boy..."

"We can't." She heard his voice crack.

Though the voices below were distant, they were impossible to ignore.

"Let me go!" the boy cried. "Please! Please!"

"Shut it, you dirty Mudblood!" Bellatrix taunted.

"Help! Help me, PLEASE!"

"CRUCIO!"

The young man's wails rang in Narcissa's ears as she clung to Lucius, barely containing a sob. She could feel her husband shaking, too, as silent tears streamed from his grey-blue eyes.

She thought of that boy's mum, scared and wondering where her son was.

She thought of that poor woman grieving when she learned her little boy was never coming home.

She thought of Draco. Draco. Her little prince, her pride and joy.

She had to protect him.

In spite of every moral she had, Narcissa remained in bed with Lucius as the clock ticked on to the morning. The screams below were the worst sort of lullabies, and as she'd suspected, sleep failed to come.

She briefly considered fetching her wand and casting a silencing charm, but no matter how heartbreaking the cries were, Narcissa felt she needed to hear them – deserved to, even. She needed to keep them in her head. She needed to keep that flood of terror in her mind forever as a reminder of what could happen to Draco if she put so much as a toe out of line. She needed to remember how awful they were, and to never, ever lose her true self by succumbing to their ways.

Narcissa knew that despite every awful thing she once stood for, or even the worse things she silently ignored, she was a good person at heart. She wasn't like them. She'd never be like them.

And she could only pretend to be for so long.

Narcissa prayed that she'd one day get her chance to defy them, to redeem the Malfoy name, to give Draco a second chance. The second she got it, she'd take it in a heartbeat. Thinking about it even afforded her a slight glimmer of hope.

But the Killing Curse downstairs reminded her that this still wasn't over. Peace was still a long way off.

So she'd play along. She'd play their game... for Draco's sake.

Outside the manor, the screams were lost over the sounds of the blizzard. The rampant winds grew more and more fierce, blowing the snow through the electrified air. It swirled around the manor, never quite touching or landing on it.

It was almost as if the snowflakes were avoiding the house.

If a passerby dared to walk close enough to the property, they'd see the gates sheathed in shiny, beautiful ice. They'd see the scattered evergreen trees covered in what looked like lumps of sugar. They'd see the surrounding gardens buried beneath a frigid white sheet.

But the manor itself remained untouched. It was black, as always – a silhouette against a picturesque backdrop of winter, and rightfully so.

Malfoy Manor was no longer worthy of something so pure.

Author's Note: This was written for round two of opaque-girl's "Travel-Go Challenge" on the HPFC forum. My objective was to write a Lucius/Narcissa story using the prompt 'eternal love.' I also had to use the following quote for inspiration: "When in Rome, do as the Romans do" - which I interpreted a little differently. :D In terms of the challenge, I've arrived in Rome, and I'm looking forward to my next adventure!

Much gratitude for Jess (autumn midnights) for being such a helpful beta for this story, and to the lovely artist who created a stunning banner for this story - the (perfectly safe!) link to which can be found on my profile page.

Thanks for reading! :)