Shattering Silver
By: Lauthica Green Clinkenbeard
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY OF THE CHARATURES FROM ANY OF THE MOVIES, BOOKS, ETC, ETC…THE ORIGINAL CHARACTURES ARE MINE HOWEVER ANY ORGANIZATIONS THEY BELONG TO, CLOTHES THAT THEY WEAR, WORLDS OR KINGDOMS THEY LIVE IN ARE NOT, ETC, ETC, ETC. THIS STORY WAS MADE FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY AND I DON'T EXPECT NOR EVEN WANT ANY MONETARY GAIN. THIS DISCLAIMER APPLIES TO EVERY CHAPTER, EVERY SENTENCE, EVERY WORD, EVERY LETTER, ETC, ETC, ETC. ANY REFERENCES TO ANY SONGS, DRINKS, AND SITUATIONS BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO PEOPLE LIVING OR DEAD IS COMPLETELY CONICIDENCE. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. CONTAINS STRONG ADULT MATERIAL SUCH AS DRUG USE, STRONG LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE, ADULT SITUATIONS, AND SEXUAL CONTENT AND IS NOT INTENDED TO BE READ BY ANYONE UNDER THE AGE OF 18. IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS STORY. THIS STORY MAY CONTAIN PLOT SPOILERS IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE BOOKS, WATCH THE MOVIES, OR PLAYED ANY OF THE GAMES. You get the drift?
Chapter One: Americans…
The snow was falling harder now, he thought to himself as he crossed the enormous drawing room to the equally proportioned window. He gathered the collar of his dinner robes tighter around his neck as a slight shiver ran down his spine. The air around the glass of the window was frigid, but he had always admired the snow. Its perfection, its crystalline structure like thousands of tiny diamonds, and the way it glittered in the sunlight like chandelier prisms. His one hand held a double shot of his finest scotch; he raised the other and delicately traced his finger tips on the window pane leaving the tiniest puffs of heat, before he placed his large, strong hand fully against the glass. He pulled his hand away when he could no longer bear the cold and admired the frosty handprint it had made. Pondering if any of his forebears had held the same regard for the silvery precipitation, his love for the cold, stone hard of winter. It reminded him of himself, he supposed. As he felt his cheeks redden from the cold he finally stepped away from the window. With his usual, confident wide stride he walked back across the drawing room to his favourite black leather chair next to the massive stone carved fireplace. He sipped at his scotch, and picked up the book he had been reading earlier.
"Lucius?"
He almost jumped. He had forgotten all about the other presence in the room. He cursed to himself. His mind was not as sharp as it used to be, and it reminded him of his impending aging.
"Yes, dear?" he asked looking over to his wife. She was sitting in a smaller, more feminine version of his own chair just across from him at the fireplace.
"Did you even hear a single word I had said?" she asked.
"I'm sorry, Narcissa, my sweet," He said as he closed the book and took another sip of scotch, "I was miles away,"
"You have been doing much more of that lately," she said.
"Well I suppose it's just the emptiness of the house now," he said, "I cannot yet quite get used to Draco getting married and moving out. There is more than enough space for both of them and their eventual children,"
"Children? Well well," Narcissa said smirking, "I would never have thought to take you as eager to be a Grandfather,"
"Nonsense," he said and gave her a snipe glare, "I'm not talking about babysitting and all that cookies cliché. I am merely concerned for the continuation of the Malfoy line. Honestly, dear, can you picture me out in the grounds playing hide and seek, or building snowmen?"
"They have only been married for two months," Narcissa said. A loud gong was sounded throughout the manor. She stood from the chair and smoothed out the sides of her pencil skirt. Lucius set down his scotch on a small, antique table next to his chair before he too stood.
"I still think we should have put more pressure on him to agree to an arranged marriage," he said as he politely, and gentlemanly held out his arm to his wife.
"It's done now, there is nothing more we could have done, and he does truly claim to love Astoria," she said as she took his arm. Not really in a loving manner, but more acted out of routine.
"Love?" Lucius asked glancing down at her, "What does love have to do with a good match in marriage?"
"True," she answered back as they made their way down the seemingly never ending corridors toward the smaller, family dining room.
"At least she is of pureblood," Lucius added.
"We should feel very fortunate for that," Narcissa said, "After all that trouble with the Dark Lord and the time you spent in Azkaban most of high society wouldn't touch us with a ten meter pole,"
"We have Draco to thank mostly for that," Lucius, "I am very proud of him,"
They reached the ancient, carved mahogany double doors to the dining room. Two house elves opened it for them. They parted their arms as Narcissa walked gracefully to one end of the table and Lucius strode to the other. They sat mostly in silence as the plates appeared and they began to dine. After about half an hour, as Lucius was barely nibbling on a fruit and cheese dessert he set down his utensils and brought a fine green silk napkin to his lips.
"Cissa, dear," he began, "What was it that you were trying to talk to me about in the drawing room before my mind wandered away from me,"
"Oh," Narcissa said as she sipped some wine, "It was about my American friend's niece,"
"Ah yes," Lucius said as he too sipped from his wine goblet, "The American. She is to arrive tomorrow afternoon, correct?"
"Yes, by portkey in the village," Narcissa answered.
"I do seem to have forgotten her name, though, and how long she is supposed to be staying here at the manor," Lucius said as he laid his elbow on the table and rested his face against his hand, one finger on his cheek, and the others by his chin.
"Samantha Pierce-Weston Ezust Szerelem," Narcissa answered. Lucius let out a small 'humph' and a short chuckle.
"No wonder I had forgotten," he said.
"She is to be given a special recognition award at the Christmas Ball at the Ministry," Narcissa continued.
"For what achievement?" He asked.
"She is a most accomplished writer," she answered. At this, Lucius raised an eyebrow toward her.
"Magical or Muggle?" he asked.
"Both, but I can assure you that she is of pure blood," Narcissa said as she took another sip of her wine.
"What of her family?" Lucius asked. He wasn't happy that this woman wrote for Muggles. He was even less enthused that she was an American. Daft, vulgar, with no sense of propriety, even among the higher of society. Christmas was his favourite holiday and he wasn't about to have it ruined by some gun sporting cowboy running around his ancestral home.
"Dates back three generations in the United States, and before that has long ties to both ancient Scandinavian royalty as well as Hungarian nobility," She said. Lucius said nothing. At least she had good blood. He would have to try and see if he could trace some of her ancestors. Narcissa continued, "I told her that she is welcome to stay for as long as she likes."
Lucius sat up and glared at her, "You did what?! We don't even know this woman!"
"I trust my friend, and she says that Miss Samantha is a bright, intelligent, well behaved, productive member of society both in Magical and Muggle. She said that it would be a good opportunity for Miss Samantha to be introduced into higher British society and make important political, as well as professional, relationships,"
"Well, while here," Lucius said and pointed down at the dining table, "We are only going to introduce her into the Magical ones. I want nothing more to do with that pompous Prime Minister and that ridiculous Queen,"
"I know better than to even try to suggest Muggle society, dear," Narcissa said as she stood from the table, "And my friend said that in return for our hospitality she would invite us to her estate should we ever wish to go,"
"You can go," Lucius said, "I have never, nor even will have any amount of desire to travel to that ridiculous country."
Narcissa walked around the table and gave Lucius a very platonic and somewhat practiced peck on his lips, "I know, my dear husband," she said, "Twenty plus years of marriage, and I have learned a thing or two about the manner of your character,"
"I know, dear," he said as he stood from the table, "I can't even remember the last time the Malfoy's had a live in ward. It seems so medieval,"
"She's hardly a ward," Narcissa said as she headed toward the door to the hallway. Lucius followed behind her as the house elves began to clear away their plates from the table.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"She is twenty-five years old," she answered.
Lucius gave out another 'humph' "Great, we are basically just playing hotel to some up and to do Yankee,"
Narcissa chuckled and rolled her eyes toward her husband. They reached the bottom of a grand staircase. Lucius gave her another chaste kiss.
"Good night," he said, "I'm going to return to my book in the drawing room,"
"Good night," she answered back, and she ascended the stairs.
Lucius returned to the drawing room. He was pleased to find a fresh scotch waiting for him. He grabbed the glass and took a deep swig sighing as he exhaled to clear the fire from his mouth. He glanced down at the book. After hearing all about his new house guest he lost all interest in trying to read more of it, at least tonight. It wasn't really that interesting of a book anyway. Some dull tome about the founding of the Ministry. He crossed back over to the window. The snow was still falling, but not as hard as it had been before. And of course now the sun had fully set which made the window seem even colder.
He sighed deeply as his thoughts raced. No doubt it would be he who would be sent to the village. Narcissa would be busy preparing the guest chambers and assigning house elves to tend to Miss Samantha. Perhaps he would leave a little earlier. The village had an old cemetery that he sometimes liked to walk to put his mind at ease, and now that it would have a beautiful layer of glistening, undisturbed snow settled on its top it sounded even more appealing. He drained the rest of the scotch setting the glass back on the side table.
He left the drawing room and made his way to the staircase. His chambers were in the west wing on the opposite side of the castle from Narcissa. They had made that arrangement very early on in their marriage. Lucius would only visit her chambers if she requested it. They settled on agreeing that he could take a mistress, and her, a lover as long as they were honest and kept it official and professional. And each had in the past done so, though not in recent years. No doubt their ageing had an effect on that. Narcissa was still a very beautiful and slender woman, Lucius thought to himself, but they had always been nothing more than good companions. He enjoyed their physical encounters, and he was confident that he could satisfy his wife, but there had never been any real passion. He did love her, but it was a respectful love, much like very old, good friends.
"Old…" Lucius said out loud as he stood in his bathroom while changing out of his robes into his lavish pajamas. As he was buttoning up the shirt he paused to look in the mirror. True, time had taken its toll on his face. He ran his fingers over the lines on his forehead and the ones that were both next to and under his eyes. They weren't terribly deep, but he defiantly had more of them since his stay in Azkaban. He looked down at his shoulders. They were still broad and his arms still had a nice, not overly toned muscle definition. His chest and abdomen did appear to be slightly more large than he remembered, but it was still defined and taught, although he made a mental note to increase his weekly exercises a bit and even thought about asking Draco if was wanted to practice Quidditch together. He finished buttoning his shirt and left the bathroom.
His bed was the glory of Malfoy Manor. It was hundreds of years old and kept in pristine condition. It was carved from a single tree trunk and adorned with black and green lacquer and the sigils of House Malfoy. The mattress was just the right amount of soft and firm, and his pillows were filled with the very best and softest goose feathers. He climbed in, and as he wrapped the blankets around himself settling in, he thought perhaps he had too much scotch after all. His head was buzzing and sleep took him swiftly.