Mircea is pronounced MEER-sea-ah.

Wanting: 1) to feel a need or desire for something 2) not meeting expectations or requirements

Chapter 1: Antagonism

There was an explosion that sounded like thunder and the wall gave way.

Lucius Malfoy gasped aloud as the cold sea air hit his face. His naturally pale skin was grey in the light of the flames that licked the side of the building and he jumped back against his cell wall, dreading the foaming sea below.

He had been in Azkaban for ayear and he was a shrunken shell of himself, physically and mentally. The sudden explosions, the shouting: it was too much and too sudden for his introverted mind to take in. His natural cowardice combined with the ever-present fear of Azkaban caused him to sink to his knees in a corner of the cell. Shouts rang out and he could hear the sounds of dueling in the halls past his barred door.

So he could not help but gape when Severus Snape landed in his cell on a broom.

"Get on, Malfoy."

Lucius tried to get his limbs to work but could not. The suddenness and oddness of it all had him frozen in place.

"We haven't time for this," Severus hissed, hitting Lucius with a spell that moved him to the broom of its own accord. Malfoy's hands grasped the broom handle between himself and Severus and the latter kicked off.

He was out. He was free.

Lucius could feel the effects of the Dementors sliding off of him as they flew further from the accursed creatures. It had been so long since he had been able to think of anything other than his failures and how he had been wronged or had wronged others. Narcissa particularly had haunted him for a year. But he pushed that thought to the back of his mind.

"Where are we going?" His usually refined voice cracked from lack of use.

"Your home."

Home. The word hit Lucius. It was hard to believe he still had a home to go back to.

"Is my son–?"

"Yes! Now shut up and hold on!"

But the flight, the shock, and the wear of Azkaban were getting to Lucius. He knew his grip was slacking and he could feel himself slumping against Snape despite his best efforts.

"Get off me, you idiot! You'll –"

But before Snape could say it, Lucius Malfoy plummeted from the broom.

"Mircea! Get down here!"

From the second floor study, a woman jerked her head off of a pile of books where it had rested. She yawned and tried to focus her eyes on the tome in front of her. A little house elf was tugging on her sleeve and she met its eyes.

"Yes?" she asked, archly.

"Master Snape needs you, miss. He called but you did not wake. Master Lucius is returned."

The woman was on her feet in an instant and pushing out of the room. She found Severus and Mr. Malfoy in the marble entryway.

"You haven't made it very far." The words were out before she could stop them and she winced, expecting a hex. But nothing came and she hurried closer.

Snape had laid the man out on the floor and was murmuring over him. The man – she assumed he was Mr. Malfoy – was tall, sunken, and pale. His hair she knew had been blonde but now looked grey. Cuts and scratches laced his exposed skin. As she watched, Lucius' muscles filled out somewhat and his face took on a healthier coloring. The thought that, even now, he had the potential for attractiveness, flickered through her mind. Snape sat back and immediately scowled at her.

"You were not moved here to be conveniently misplaced when you are needed," he snarled at her.

"You would know better than I, Severus," Mircea returned, sharply. "The Dark Lord has not yet deigned to tell me why I am here."

Snape stood and with a wave of his wand conjured a stretcher beneath Lucius, which then floated at about hip level.

"Well let me start you on your way. Lucius is in need of medical attention and you will care for him until morning. I assume that your nap will get you through the rest of the evening?"

She scowled and pulled her wand out of her sleeve.

"What happened to him? You know I'm not a healer."

"You'll manage; Dittany will suffice. He fell off the broom above the forests. I did manage to catch him before he hit the ground. As for the effects of Azkaban, don't bother. The Dark Lord was surprised he lasted this long," Snape drawled. Without another word he headed back out into the night.

Mircea suppressed a sigh. She had lived in the Manor for a month now and she did not know why she had to work here and not at any place of her choosing. She had been babysitter for the boy and now she was playing nursemaid to an Azkaban escapee. This was not why she had agreed to join the war this time.

With a flick of her wand, the stretcher floated ahead of her, gently making its way to the master bedroom.

"Look Lucius. Your first Prophet."

Eagerly the wizard took the illicit paper from the jailer and flipped it to the front page. In bold letters were the words "Narcissa Black Seeks Marriage Annulment."

He did not want to read, but the fate of his marriage was contained in those letters, so he continued.

"After her husband, Lucius Malfoy, was sentenced to life in Azkaban, the former Mrs. Malfoy requested her marriage be annulled."

He growled and scanned the article looking for something useful.

"In the case of Azkaban inmates, divorce is not legally required and annulment is all but certainly granted to those who request it."

Lucius had been in Azkaban for a month and had never shed one tear but that night he wept. She had warned him that if he answered the call the night of Voldermort's return, that if he began all of this again, she would not go down with him. But she had stayed with him and he had loved her for it. However, what had made him love her more had made Narcissa resent him.

And now she would be gone.

Then there was the second paper. When the jailer had brought it, Lucius had attempted to refuse it. But the numbers in his neck had burned white hot and he had taken the paper.

This time the title read "Narcissa Black Among the Missing."

Lucius already knew she was dead. He had felt it somehow about a month after the annulment. You could not just walk away from the Dark Lord.

And both of these events ate at him for the following months, rooting themselves in his mind and growing into trees of insecurity and hurt. And the constant fear for his son. With no one looking out for Draco (Narcissa had tried to persuade him to run with her but he had refused, the article had noted) he was easy prey for the Dark Lord. Was he still alive?

"There's a third paper for you, Mr. Malfoy."

"NO!"

Lucius sat up, shoving someone away from him and looking about the room wildly. His heart was pounding and a cold sweat prickled his skin. He was not in Azkaban. He was in his own rooms at the manor. How had he gotten here? The events of the night before broke through the haze caused by his dreams and he looked down to the person he had shoved.

A woman only a few years younger than him was standing up, hand to her bleeding lip. She scowled at him through dark eyes and with her free hand she pushed some loose curls out of her face. Her hair was the color of wet sand and thick with unruly curls, though piled up as tightly as possible.

"How long have you been here?" Lucius rasped, still wary, though her manner of dress and sleeves covering her forearms gave him pause.

"A month, sir."

"Who sent you?"

"You know who."

Lucius smiled quickly in spite of himself. Clever response. He also could not help but quirk his eyebrow at the accent with which she spoke. "Eastern Europe?" he asked absently.

She scowled more and did not reply.

"My apologies, I did not mean to hurt you."

Reaching for a small bottle she dabbed some of the liquid on her lip, which healed as they watched one another.

It dawned on Lucius that he was no longer wearing the uniform of Azkaban inmates.

"Did you dress me?"

She nodded, her face not showing any particular emotion. "You are not the first man I have seen naked. Don't think yourself special."

Lucius smirked. "Are naked men common in your line of work?"

But she continued her deadpan and her reply unsettled him somewhat: "We strip the clothing off of the dead. Waste not…"

Mircea was amused by the discomfort he gave away at these words. If she could reduce his pompousness early on, all the better for her.

"Well then, I have not had a meal or a bath in far longer than I care to remember. See to it that both are ready for me." He did not like the way his voice sounded and made a mental note to drink buckets of tea.

"In what order?" Mircea had to fight to keep from grinding her teeth; that was not what she had expected at all. She had been up all night with this man, who moaned and talked and thrashed, and after clubbing her in the face he was now ordering her about.

"Why not together? You can do that, surely?"

"I'll not be bringing them to you," she snapped.

A smile flickered across the convict's face, momentarily transforming his features. "If you insist."

Without waiting for any further instructions, Mircea quickly left the room, slamming the door behind her. In the hall a smaller and more delicately framed version of the man she had just left slammed into her.

"Damn it, Draco!" she barked at the boy. She yanked his pocket square free and used it to clean off her lip.

"Is he…is my father…?"

"He's up. He's fine! He's demanding breakfast and a bath!" Mircea fumed.

"Do you think–?"

"Go on!" She waved the white and scarlet pocket square in the direction of Lucius' door. "Tergeo!" The pocket square returned to it's pristine white and she stuffed it back in the boy's breast pocket. A small smile broke through her features and Draco, who was usually very guarded around her, did not stop himself from grinning back.

She turned and headed off down the hall. "Be warned, it may be a bit of a shock."

"A bit of a shock" was a definite underestimate and for layers of reasons.

To begin with, Lucius was without a shirt, which was akin to him being stark naked in Draco's mind. The least he had ever seen his father in was a shirt and waistcoat. And the lack of shirt only added to the general appearance of frailty. His father was bony and grizzled and looked so very unlike a Malfoy.

Lucius on the other hand could see how much his son had grown in his absence and it made him ache with sadness. He was a horrible father, surely worse than his own, which he hadn't thought entirely possible.

The two stared at one another.

Lucius' posture corrected itself subconsciously and he stood, holding the four-poster bed for support. He cleared his throat but before he could utter a word, his son flung himself against Lucius's chest, clinging tightly.

As he wrapped his arms around his son the realization that he could correct things, that he could still be a better father, brought tears to his eyes.

And the roughly spoken apology brought tears to Draco's eyes as well.

"He's coming tonight."

Lucius jerked around, and his eyes widened in terror.

"Surely he will understand –" Lucius began, attempting to push the fear down and out of his voice. He had only been free for less than a day, but his fear of the Dark Lord was much greater than his fear of the wizarding prison.

Snape rolled his eyes and took the glass of wine from Lucius. Though he did worry about his old friend, Snape knew it would be suicide to try to nurse him back into favor with the Dark Lord. The best he could do was to warn him of any vital information so he would not make things worse.

"It's not about you. Your home is a meeting place and has been for some months. Draco agreed to it in your absence with my counsel."

"Then what is it?" Lucius drank to steady his nerves and welcomed the sweetness and the warmth. His bath had been heaven itself after being physically and emotionally cold for so long. Without thinking he ran his hand through his thick hair, now blonde again and cut to a reasonable length. One hand or the other continually played with his wand, which Draco had hidden and returned to him earlier. It was like being reunited with a missing limb and its power was comforting.

"Mircea is being inducted into the Death Eaters tonight."

"Mircea?"

"The Romanian woman. She should have been around when you woke."

"She's a Death Eater?"

"Will be."

Lucius groaned and massaged his growing headache.

"What is it, Lucius?"

"I thought she was a maid."

Snape chuckled softly, which echoed in the empty room. "Is this talent for destroying every opportunity that crosses your path inherited or do you come by it in your own right?"

Lucius glowered back and drank more deeply.

"What exactly did you do?"

"I ordered her to get me a bath."

Snape's eyebrows escaped into his longish bangs and made no attempt to hide his bemused expression. "Oh, you are good."

Lucius opened his mouth to reply but stopped at the appearance of the very woman they were talking about. Without looking at either of them, Mircea wandered over to the bar and decanted a snifter of brandy. As she drank, she became aware of the men staring at her and turned to return their gazes.

"Can I help you? Would you like a bath, Mister Malfoy?"

"I'll pass," he drawled back. "You are aware that drink in your hand is from my private stores?"

"You are aware I have lived off of your private stores for the past month?" Mircea returned coolly. She sipped again, holding his grey eyes in her gaze.

"You may ask before dipping into my stores beginning today. Or you may put it back."

Her eyebrow quirked and slowly she let the liquid in her mouth pour back into the glass. Equally slowly, she set the glass back on the counter.

In return for her little stunt, Lucius looked her over more carefully, smirking as she blushed. She was skinny, pale, and had no chest to speak of. Her shirt covered her from neck to wrist and her skirts were gathered in thick folds in the back.

"Do you like what you see?" Mircea had been around men who were more impressive and much more dangerous than this has-been and she needed to get ready for the evening's procedures.

"Simply trying to assess why the woman before me is dressed as a nineteenth century Muggle governess."

Mircea bristled at the snobbery and fired back without thinking. "Better than a nineteenth century pimp."

Snape snorted loudly into his wine glass and smoothly stepped between the pair. "You two are well matched, are you not? Lucius, will you excuse us?"

Taking Mircea by the elbow, Severus led her out of the room. Once in the hall he silenced her angry comments.

"That is not the ideal way to begin with your host."

"He's a washed out Azkaban snob. He's Ministry and he's loathsome." The way she said Ministry made it clear this was a particularly special insult in her mind.

"While you are here to make the world a better place and bring equality to all of the Mudbloods and Muggles."

"You know why I'm here," she hissed, coloring at the insult.

"You two aren't as different as you might like to think and it would be best to keep that at the forefront of your mind."

Mircea caught something in his tone. "What do you know that I don't? Tell me why I'm here."

"And anger the Dark Lord? Not bloody likely." He turned on his heel and swept away with finality.

Mircea rubbed her arm as she woke. The pain had been almost unbearable but she had held up and now a skull and snake was emblazoned on her left forearm.

There were only a few who knew, even among the Death Eaters, why she was now one of them. She had been brought in as a strategist; she had been known for this in Romania and during the first war had kept an entire village alive on the merits of her skill. But why hadn't she joined in the first war? And why was she now a Death Eater if she had not?

Mircea stared off at the ceiling of her room in the Manor. She had been answering these questions with one phrase: she now had certain motivations that had not been present in the first war, as well as a certain desire to see the Ministry of Magic reduced to a pile of rubble.

She forced herself to relax her expression. She needed to stop scowling all of the time or she would look like the rest of them did, with deep furrows or permanent leers. All but Lucius anyway.

Probably the hair, she though, smirking a little to herself. What a peacock.

Sighing and rubbing at her arm without thinking, Mircea got out of bed. She had been promised that today she would be told her reason for being in this house.

"I simply do not see why my presence is required in announcing the role of the whelp," Lucius complained, following his sister-in-law all the same.

"You dare–?" she began in the crazed tone she was using more and more often.

"Oh do shut up, Bella. I'm here aren't I?"

He had made sure to time the comment perfectly with their entry into the ballroom and Bella only glared at him, not retorting for fear of looking foolish before the Dark Lord. Voldermort sat at the far end of the room, on a dais intended for a band, and three chairs were placed before him. Severus and Mircea, neither of which turned to look at him as he made his way across the long room, already occupied two of the chairs.

Lucius moved his chair farther from Mircea but the Dark Lord spoke quickly, in a soft but dangerous voice.

"Oh no, Lucius. Our guests of honor must be seated side by side. Do sit beside her."

Stiffly, Lucius did as he was told.

"Forgive me, my Lord, but why is he here?" Mircea queried, legitimately surprised. A smile spread across the snake-like face and made her suddenly nervous.

"You have been very patient with me, my dear. I know you have waited with anticipation for your role in the great events that are to come. However, there were events that had to unfold before yours could truly begin. But now…" He smiled again. "Your place shall be twofold. First, you shall guide us in our endeavors – whom to use in overturning the Ministry and how to best capture and eradicate those who refuse enlightenment. This you already know, and your work has not let us down."

"I am truly flattered my Lord." Mircea noted with some pleasure that Lucius looked somewhat ill.

"Your second task, I must admit, will not be as rewarding but it simply must be done." Voldermort's eyes fastened on Lucius and Lucius felt pinned to his seat. "You are to keep Lucius Malfoy under your surveillance at all times. Under no circumstances is he to leave his home. You are responsible for preventing any further blunders our friend might make. He has done enough damage."

If Lucius was angry, it was nothing compared to Mircea. He could feel her shaking and her hands were in fists in her lap.

"My Lord, surely you understand how…" she searched for a word, "how difficult this is. It will be very counterproductive for my attentions to be so divided."

"Lucius knows better than to disobey a direct command. He will not give you trouble."

Fear and fury boiled up in Lucius as the situation became clear to him. Why had he been brought from Azkaban to be a prisoner in his own home?

"I have babysat the boy for a month only to learn that I am here to babysit the father?" Mircea's exclamation echoed around the room and settled uncomfortably on the four of them.

When Voldermort spoke again, his voice was dangerous and low.

"Yes."

Mircea's demeanor changed quickly and she stood slowly, still looking slightly shocked. "I see. Thank you, My Lord."

"My Lord, if I might speak to you," Snape cut in smoothly.

"Indeed, Severus. Let us find somewhere more private."

Lucius sat, stunned. He was a collared dog. He had been brought out of Azkaban to simply be humiliated while his home was used by any and all the Dark Lord chose. He heard Voldermort and Snape leave while Mircea remained standing beside him.

The door closed and their eyes met.

"The study," they said in unison.

"How do you know–?" Lucius began as they both moved as quickly as they could with as little noise as they could manage.

"I've lived here a month and Fenrir has a nasty habit of coming by unannounced. As does your sister-in-law."

"Ex-sister-in-law," he corrected mechanically.

"Apologies," she replied simply before hurrying down the hall in front of him.

Lucius was surprised; that would have been the perfect opportunity for a personal barb, and a very painful one at that, but she had passed it by.

The pair twisted through the halls until they reached a corridor. Mircea stopped in front of a door but Lucius grabbed her arm and pulled her further down the hall.

"There's a better spot. Come."

Huffily, she yanked her arm out of his grip and followed until he motioned for her to squeeze into a storage space.

"You must be joking."

"Yes, I have been in the habit of that as of late." And without waiting for her to comply he shoved her in.

"What is wrong with you?" Mircea hissed as he pressed against her, shutting them up in the dark.

"At the moment, you. Now hush!"

They were far closer than she liked, but she could not help but draw some comfort from his presence. She could feel his heart beating hard against her back and she realized it had been a very long time since she had any sort of physical contact with another person.

Mircea forced herself to focus her thoughts and she realized she could hear the conversation within the room fairly well.

"I simply wish to reiterate my hesitation at this plan, my Lord. I feel my concerns are even more justified after seeing them interact with one another."

"This is the best way, Severus. Mircea can manage him and he must be managed."

Mircea felt Lucius push at her, trying to put space between them. In the dark, she caught against something and realized a moment too late what would happen. The broom fell over with a loud clatter and the conversation in the study ceased.

Acting on instinct, Mircea grabbed on to Lucius and Apparated them as silently as possible.

"Get off me!" Lucius roared with anger, pushing at Mircea.

"I'm trying you ass!" she shouted back.

"Why of all the bloody places did you drop us in a bath?!"

"I think you know why!"

Mercifully the thing had been empty. But that was a small mercy and they wrestled with one another, each trying to get the other one off of them. With a little cry of frustration, Mircea's hand slipped and she collapsed on top of Lucius.

"Stop moving!" he roared and he was surprised when she did so. He lay still with her on top of him and planted his feet more solidly against the floor of the tub. She was so warm and she smelled so sweet and it made his head spin. It had been a long time since any woman had been on top of him, clothed or otherwise. His hands clamped on her shoulders, physically lifting and dropping her at the foot of the tub.

A ripping sound followed Lucius stepping out of the tub and Mircea stood quickly, looking at the long gash in her skirts.

"And here I thought they could not get worse," Lucius sneered, turning to leave.

Stumbling slightly, Mircea jumped out of the tub and began to punch at any part of him she could reach. She said nothing and her attack was short lived as even a post-Azkaban Malfoy was much stronger than her. He pinned her against the tile wall by her shoulders and his hollow face pushed close to hers.

"Attack me when my back is turned again and you will truly regret it."

He released her shoulders and stormed out of the bathroom.

Snape paused, certain he had heard a sound. The two men waited and when no sound followed they continued.

"My Lord, they are a toxic combination."

"And her dislike of him will motivate her success," Voldermort replied with patience. "He represents everything she hates."

Snape chose his words carefully, but refused to back down from the point he was trying to make. "Last night they exchanged words before she was added to our number. I am not concerned for their dislike, but rather for their potential attraction."

Surprise lighted on Voldermort's face. "Attraction?" There was a tone of amusement in his voice.

"Indeed. Lucius is a magnetic personality, regardless of his wealth or success, and Mircea is sympathetic by nature. That is how we have obtained her. To combine them so constantly raises a real danger of attraction, or at the very least commiseration."

The snake like face took on an expression of consideration. After a moment he nodded to himself. "I understand your concern, Severus, and I appreciate as always your attention to ensuring our success. I believe they can be kept at one another's throats for as long as necessary. After all, who knows how long Lucius Malfoy really factors into our plans?"