A/N – A short drabble. Lucius has trouble facing himself in the mirror.
Disclaimer – I don't own HP, any of the canon characters, settings or situations. Don't sue.


Lucius was not the best of husbands.

He had married for convenience, not for love or choice. He'd given her everything: wealth, position, security, everything except himself. But as the days grew darker and bloodier, as he was drawn deeper and deeper into the Dark Lord's toils, he found himself returning to his clear-eyed, naive child-wife and laying what he could of himself into her lap.

She listened, and did not judge. How could she? Raised in pureblooded luxury and seclusion, she knew nothing of the world outside the great Houses.

I know nothing of grand matters and politics, she whispered to him in her low, sweet voice. But I do know this: we are forever bound, you and I.

Lucius had married for convenience, for wealth, breeding, social position. But he had forgotten the truth behind the fashionably empty façade: pureblood marriage vows were sealed in blood. Their fates would never be separated. If Lucius fell, so too would Narcissa.

And, knowing this, she still trusted him.

Under the burden of her expectations and trust, Lucius found himself ashamed.