Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.

I'm not sure why all the one-shots lately. Just suits my mood. I actually like Narcissa and Lucius (Movie!Lucius is dead sexy!) and I think they do love each other in a twisted sort of way. She wouldn't love Draco so much if she didn't love Lucius.

Morning

He is still gone when she wakes up. The chill of morning has crept into the room and she shivers. Partly from the cold that has started to seep through the heavy blankets, and partly because she knows what it means when she wakes up alone. She knows where he is.

He doesn't tell her about it, and she knows that is how he protects her, how he keeps her his own, how he keeps her from the madness that Bella has slipped into. But she can feel it when he returns to her, the dark magic he has summoned, the cold and death that clings to him. The darkness doesn't frighten her, but fascinates her. It is part of the power that courses through him, through them both, it is part of Lucius. Only she can banish it.

She rises from the bed, despite the chill of the polished floor under her feet, and wanders to the french doors that look out over the terrace. The early light is weak and watery, bathing the grey stone manor in pinks and blues. She lays a hand against the cold glass, and a chill runs through her.

She sees his reflection in the glass as he comes into their bedroom, still draped in black, still masked. A dark apparition distorted by the way the light hits the windows. She turns slowly to her husband, who stands in the shadows, watching her. Though he is masked, she can see his eyes, glacial sheets of ice beneath which only she can see the smoldering passion. She takes a step toward him and she sees his eyes follow her, follow the way the silk gown slides over her body. A different kind of shiver runs through her now.

Slowly, he reaches up and removes the mask. His white skin is flushed with the power he has summoned to serve the Dark Lord, to strike down, to kill. She knows this look, the lingering electricity is the same for any kind of passion, love or bloodlust. She takes another step to him.

"Oh Lucius," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "What have you done?"

He holds up a black-gloved hand, as though asking her to stop, and then slowly removes the gloves, the black cloak, letting them fall to the floor.

"I've done what I must."

"Yes," her voice is low, a caress. "I know."

He closes the space between them in a second, his hands slipping into her golden hair, tugging slightly, pressing against her skull as though he could crush it between his hands. She says his name again, softly, both an invitation and a warning that he is hurting her. His hands release her, sliding from her hair down the white skin of her neck, sliding the thin straps of silk off her shoulders, a spark lighting in his gray eyes as the gown slithers to the floor.

She steps back, knowing he'll follow, knowing and loving that look in his eyes. Last night he spent away from her, serving the Dark Lord, and so this morning, he will serve only her.