A little bit about this story...I've already posted it on MuggleNet, HarryPotterFanfiction.com, and Fiction Alley, and may post it in a few more places as well, all under the same name of Rose Nym. I'm really slow in updating because I don't like to edit my work after it's already been posted.

Disclaimer: The HP universe belongs to J. K Rowling.

Here's the summary:

If you've been browsing the fandom until your eyes are running, you'll tend to notice something. Shipping. In the words of the woman who started it all, "cyber-gang warfare." But in terms of true-blooded controversy, there is one ship...and one only...to rule them all. Lucius/Narcissa. Do they? Or do they not? That. Is. The. Question! (And don't think my title answers it, heard of irony?)

My story begins the summer immediately after the fall of Voldemort, yet it will frequently take you into the past as well, via flashbacks. For understanding Lucius and Narcissa's past is the key to understanding their present, and especially, their future...

And now the story...

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy: A Love Story

"Nearly all marriages, even happy ones, are mistakes: in the sense that almost certainly (in a more perfect world, or even with a little more care in this very imperfect one) both partners might be found more suitable mates. But the real soul-mate is the one you are actually married to."
-J. R. R. Tolkien

Prologue: A Long Night

The eerily glowing red eyes pierced Draco's with a power like a curse of their own, as he tried unsuccessfully to remain standing. His knees hit the smooth wooden floor, cold and hard; at eye level with him was the helpless figure of some unknown offending Death Eater. He tried to look away, but somehow his eyes seemed glued into place, leaving nowhere to look but directly into the eyes of the despondent one in front of him.

"Draco, give him another taste of pain; Bronson seems to have missed the message." The horrid high voice ordered Draco to do just what he had been dreading.

"Look up at me and do as I say," Voldemort said, with a hint of warning. Slowly, Draco Malfoy raised his eyes and forced them to meet Voldemort's.

"Now, Draco."

The red eyes were the worst thing Draco had ever seen: death and pain both resided therein as sleeping serpents to be let loose at the slightest sign of displeasure with him, and with no regret. Feeling as if his fingers were made of clay, Draco raised his wand slowly, slower than he ever remembered raising it.

He thought he would not be able to speak, but the words sprang out of his mouth so easily they might not have been his.

"Crucio!"
Once again, he was looking down at Bronson, who was now bound in pain so great it distorted his body so it resembled a writhing spider to Draco. His eyes became lifeless, yet mad, as they moved every which way, not lingering for more than a moment on any one object. Draco's hand could not seem to remain still, his wand arm shaking almost in rhythm with the spasms of pain it was casting on its victim. And he could not look away, could not close his eyes as the Dark Lord's long, bony fingers crept up his shoulders and then pressed against his neck. Still Draco's eyes had to remain directly connected with those of his tortured victim, as Voldemort's head peered from behind him and his horrible snake's eyes imposed themselves into his peripheral vision.

"Getting a little more skilled, are we, Draco?" Voldemort spoke again in his obscenely high snarl; it was as cold as ice when it is stuck to one's tongue, so cold that it burned.

Draco's hand faltered, his wand shook slightly, and Bronson's scream turned into a groan. Quickly Draco whispered, chokingly, hoarsely, "C-crucio." Again, as his grip strengthened, the writhing resumed at its previous violent intensity. The scream of Draco's victim reached the pitch and volume it had had before.

With a sudden movement, Voldemort's fingers tightened their hold around Draco's neck, forcing his face up to gaze into the burning embers of his master's eyes. His wand arm trembled, yet the force of his curse did not break. The red eyes fixed themselves so firmly upon Draco's own grey ones it was as if they injected something into them, causing them to sting and water.

"You are a weakling, Draco. I see your ability to inflict pain with a curse is borne only of your fear that I may do the same to you," Voldemort dug his fingernails into Draco's shoulder, and he winced.

"Such a shame, your father’s natural talents for cruelty being what they are; you must be given more practice," spoke the Dark Lord with a sneer. "No, no, don't stop now; I dare say Bronson is benefiting from your instruction."

Voldemort walked around so he was in front of Draco, not once breaking eye contact, and Draco felt his wand arm growing steadier and his curse more regular.

"Oh, I see that your Aunt Bella has been teaching you Occlumency. But you are not up to resisting Lord Voldemort, no one is…"

The pain in Draco's eyes grew more severe and a tear fell onto his cheek.

"Dear boy, don’t cry; it disgusts me." Voldemort slapped Draco's face.

"Yes, yes, you can tell that your incompetent and careless disappointment of a father is getting what is coming to him. Clever boy, your fears are needless. Yes, I have thought of taking his life, but as you have not inherited his gift for heartlessness which has proved so useful to me, and thus remain incapable of replacing him, I have thought of a better method of punishment for his Ministry blunder."

Voldemort drew his wand and caressed it with his spidery hands.

"I’m not done playing with you yet, boy, but when I am…I've found that Lucius Malfoy has a soft spot for his only son."

Draco screamed, but he heard nothing.

Another hand gripped Draco's shoulder, but this one was smaller and softer, a female hand. Still unable to turn his head, he heard the plea in his mother's voice as she said his name.

He wanted to scream at her, to tell her to leave and get out of danger, but the words did not form when he opened his mouth. Instead, Voldemort must have thrown some curse over him, for he felt a hot sticky cloth all around his face and body. Still the red eyes burned into his, and he could not get away. Draco blinked as the scene changed and he found himself in his dark bedroom, on the floor tangled in his sweat-drenched sheets.