What a crowd! Where are they carried?
What's the plaintive song I hear?
Is a goblin being buried,
Or a sorceress married there?

--"Devils" by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin

Lucius apparated back to the manor, eyes flashing, power-lust still high in his blood. The screams echoed in his ears and the terror-filled expressions left an image-imprint on his mind.

Victory had been very nearly overshadowed by the site of the Mark once again governing the sky overhead. He had felt a bright spurt of fear that the glittering green light, a ghost from the past, had returned to consume him once again.

There was every reason to believe it had been one of the drunken fools losing his senses in the chaos of proving that their power and influence was still great.

But what if?

The rush of triumph did not wane now as it had earlier in the forest. Panic had given way to anger, and then to an even greater rush of intense energy. The fool in the forest would not ruin this moment.

They had finally showed the Wizarding world whose blood still reigned, even after thirteen years. They had all been forced to endure the wretched mixing of pureblood and Mudblood for too long, and the time for change had come. No longer would they conceal their natural superiority from the delicate sensibilities of weak Muggles.

All would change.

Striding up the staircase and down the long hall to the master suite at the end, Lucius struggled to contain his hunger, his lust. He was more than half-hard already, and the successes of the night brought renewed vigor to his body, despite the lateness of the hour. The rush had not yet left him.

Narcissa was alone at her dressing table, still combing out her hair when he walked into the room and shut the door forcefully and locking it behind him with a casual flourish. She met his gaze in the mirror and her eyes widened. Turning to him she read victory on his face and rose to stand in front of him.

He had expected anger, lofty irritation at him for his earlier command that she return home prematurely, but he received none. She could see him, read him, in a glance.

Lucius looked at her, taking in her cool beauty for several seconds, before the heat overtook him again and he felt the undeniable urge to claim his next conquest.

Dragging her up against his body, he kissed her, long and forcefully, before backing her up against the tapestry-hung wall of the room. She gasped as his lips dropped to her exposed collarbone and tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling the cord that restrained it and allowing its length to obscure his face as his mouth sought her breast.

When he finally returned to demand her lips once again, her slender hands dropped down to push his robes out of the way and deftly unhook the clasp on his trousers. Her goal achieved, a shudder ran through him as she wrapped her hands around him, and his eyes snapped to hers for a long, drawn-out moment.

She allowed him to see a small smile grace her features. She was beautiful, rapturous, pure.

And he truly knew power this night.