Disclaimer: The following story is based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.
"I'm terribly lonely."
"And why is that? Would a slice of cake suffice?"
"No. The cake has been mottled with cheese."
Lucius Malfoy gave a vague hum and returned to his meditative worship of Chocolate Frog Cards. Florean finished his fifth cheese stick and adopted an offended air.
Cissy tossed the dandelion and further curled into herself. "I might wilt at any moment."
Without fully struggling against the Card's clutches, Lucius Malfoy replied, "Perhaps you should drink to your sister. Good will might lift your spirits."
"I've already done so. Besides, Bella is averse to wine. Or any variety of alcohol."
The response was held back a little too long by Bridget Wenlock's impressive credentials and other womanly charms. Cissy despaired of rats in boys' robes. "Have you talked to Ms. Black's intended yet?"
"Rodolphus Lestrange has suspicious mustache. And I get the impression that he doesn't like me that much."
"Hmm…imagine that."
Cissy's head swiveled away from its melancholy tilt towards the music-wreathed house. "And you? Why are you here? I thought you're only interested in gaining notes from Bella and Drea."
Florean emerged from his cheese-induced ecstasy long enough to croak, "That's not very polite, Cissy."
Lucius Malfoy shifted in his position against the scented trunk. Moonlight caught and lent a shattered shadow of the gently rippling leaves on his head. "To answer your question, there are many people in the house. And to comment on your…disposition," his finally flicked his eyes towards them. "You're just upset because your sister's getting married."
"No, not that." A slightly uninhibited laughter sounded from the house. "Well, yes," she conceded, resting her forlorn chin on her knees. "Somehow."
"You've got Florean Fortescue," Lucius Malfoy reasoned, as if inspired by the troves of logic in his cards.
Cissy stared at Florean. He raised his eyebrows back at her and joined her in goggling at the Malfoy boy.
"Florean is a dear friend." It seemed that her vaults of pity would prove valuable in regarding the other boy's comprehension. "And he is an unfortunate slave to cheese, so we will never have a blissful marriage, I'm afraid."
"I am here, Cissy. And I adore your stuffed pets." There was hurt in his voice and he would certainly be pouting if he weren't so absorbed in considering the next cheese slices.
"I know you do, dear. Thank you. But that is not the main matter here."
Lucius Malfoy stood abruptly and glanced at them as one would to multicolored horned slugs. "I shall proceed inside. If you'll excuse me."
"We'll go with you." Florean stumbled to his feet. "Come, Cissy. Your mother won't be pleased – look at the state of your robes."
They emerged from the canopy of the large white-leafed tree, cutting a less than gracious path on the candlelit garden. Cissy gave an energetic swish of her robes to rid them of clinging grass and leaves. Florean casually abandoned twelve cheese sticks beneath a stone bench. The Chocolate Frog Cards were surreptitiously removed from sight.
Just before being swallowed by the music and the laughter and the lights, their attention was pulled by a tawny owl swooping towards an upper window.
"Andromeda Black got the Head Girl position, hasn't she?" Lucius Malfoy needlessly remarked, as they watched a blue silk arm cushion the owl's feet.
To smile was the proper thing to do. "Drea has the most Felix Felicis amongst the three of us."
Florean pressed a warm, knowing shoulder against hers. He really was a darling, beyond any wiles of cheese.
#####
When Cissy finally stepped on Platform Nine and Three Quarters as a student, Drea was feverishly clutching hands with her and provided continual chatter. Bella offered tea and pumpkin juice more than was usual, but otherwise, she was immersed in her book.
And in the train that she once drew, cradled by extremely curly steam, there was an exciting blur of black robes and shrieks of laughter. So many faces. A myriad of trunks and pets and hair ribbons. The absence of parents.
She was fully aware of the patterns of her window scenery while Drea engaged the compartment with "There has to be cottage pie for dinner! Our house-elves rarely made cottage pie." or "Did you see that boy who just walked by, Cissy? He owns a case of edible ink!" or "Are we there yet, Bella? I'm picturing fudge bars, bathed in a salivating golden glow."
At some point past noon, Cousin Evan remarked, "Finally together, then, you three. Though Andromeda's the luckiest, since she's never been alone."
Bella disentangled herself from the ramblings of someone called Miranda Goshawk long enough to say, "Rather fitting, if I may say so. Drea's full of … ideas."
"Thank you, Bella," Drea beamed. "And now, I'll watch over Cissy."
"I do not need watching!" she countered, sitting up even more properly than what was proper.
"A night's enough to tell." Bella then returned to her book.
Cissy pondered over colour combinations and brush types for the train's windows, for their seats, for the cobblestones in Hogsmeade and for their little boats' glimmering reflections on the lake. She even puzzled over Hagrid's bushy hair and beard for quite some time.
And when the front doors opened, Cissy's first thought was "Those cheekbones!" and she swiftly came to the opinion that Professor McGonagall was one fine witch, with her stern arching eyebrows and smooth-looking inky hair.
In the antechamber that they were led into, however, something jarred her quiet communion with textures.
Most of the other first years appeared to be nervously or excitedly talking to one another, but she was not because there seemed to be two people in the room with solitary thoughts.
"Excuse me. Do you mind me asking about what you are eating?"
"Oh." The boy held out the sole unpainted food in the antechamber. "This is ice cream. My father made it."
Cissy was rather distracted, which was disturbing because it should be impossible to be distracted twice in a space of a minute.
"Your father." She believed that her father might not even know what their kitchen looked like.
"Yes, Florean Fortescue. I'm also Florean Fortescue, by the way." He made a little bow, small spoon in one hand. "Our family owns a shop, you see. Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. And it would be terribly awkward if the proprietor's not named Florean Fortescue, wouldn't it?"
To show assent, because of the mention of ice cream, Cissy tilted her head.
"What does it taste like?" she asked, eyeing the small container.
"Kippers," Florean Fortescue said, a little shyly. "I love kippers."
"So do I! I smear chocolate on them."
"I've always thought that they go well together," he proudly said. "My father thinks there's something wrong with my taste buds."
"Do you really like ice cream, or just the kipper-flavoured?"
"I'm mad about ice cream! It tastes like – it tastes of – of the first paragraphs of my history picture books!" he exclaimed, waving his ice cream tub about and earning stares from some of their neighbors.
She hadn't even uttered her full name yet. But Florean Fortescue was all red hair and wide eyes and slight bouncing. And Cissy decided that she quite liked him.
#####
Cissy strode broodingly into the kitchen, Florean's letter of inquiry and cheer folded between her fingers.
Drea was sitting at the polished wooden table, eating her way through the left-over cake while reading a letter of her own. She glanced up and smiled. "There's still some left. Do you want to ask Penny?"
"Merlin, no. I'd rather avoid that vile concoction." Cissy settled across her sister and summoned Penny for a cup of tea instead.
She reread passages from Florean's letter and bit back a giggle, again, at his attempts to woo her heart over to the side of cheese.
"Why did Mother instruct the house-elves to bake that, anyway?" she asked Drea when the tea arrived. "Bella doesn't mind cheese."
"Cheese prices have been soaring since last month. This is a cake of prestige." Drea finished half of the large slice and folded up her letter.
"Who's that from?"
"A classmate. I see you've got a letter of your own."
"It's from Florean. Now, what about yours?"
Drea did her eyeball rolling. "Theodore Tonks."
Cissy put down her cup. "Tonks," she tested the name. "That Hufflepuff prefect who got ill in the middle of lunch, that one time, because of too much sugar quills?" She mulled over the name for a while. "Florean thinks he's a little gentleman."
"Well, he is," Drea smiled. "He just sent me a letter of congratulations."
The parchment between Drea's cake plate and tea cup looked too nondescript to Cissy. Yes, Florean's parchment resembled that Tonk's parchment but the latter appeared to be a bit too – parchment-like.
"Florean mentioned a talk by Bathilda Bagshot," she said instead. "It's a few days before term starts."
"And you wish to go?" Drea surveyed her with some fondness.
"I don't know if Mother and Father'll let me," Cissy grumbled, pushing her cup aside as if it were an accomplice in this injustice. "They will certainly think that it's a complete waste of time and I will be sent to some afternoon party or other. I haven't even recovered from that Dolores Umbridge's awful dolls yet."
"I don't think it's a complete waste of time," Drea stated, somewhat vigorously, disregarding the appalling idea of pink-fleshed dolls. "It's what you really want, isn't it?"
"Yes."
They were silent for a few bites of cake on Drea's part, and then she turned glowing eyes to Cissy. They rapidly changed colours the next moment. "I know!"
Cissy leaned forward. "Yes?"
"The two of us will go out and we will, allegedly, visit the Fortescue shop with Amelia."
"And? Will you be going to the Fortescue shop?"
"Of course. And then you can be off with the Fortescue boy to Bathilda Bagshot's little event!"
"You'll also be meeting Theodore Tonks in the Fortescue shop," Cissy lightly pointed out, watching her sister's fingers worry the edge of the congratulatory letter.
Drea seemed surprised for a moment, and then her mouth curved into a conspiratorial smile.
People might be of the opinion that Cissy Black was only keen at art details and historical minutiae. Cissy Black, on the other hand, was of the opinion that she was keen, end of the matter.
And if Drea's luck would somehow graze its lofty fingertips at Cissy's humble form this one time, then why not?
Slowly, she wickedly smiled back.
#####
A want tip flared to light, startling Cissy and curling her fingers in a choking grip around Tiger's neck. She quickly stroked him in apology; he was only a cub.
"Cissy? What are you doing here?"
Bella peered at her from the kitchen doorway, wild hair clasped by a ribbon the colour of her night robe.
"I – couldn't sleep. I was wondering if I could have some milk."
"Well. Come in here, then."
In the halo of the bluish white light, the ink stains were prominent on Bella's pale fingers. "By Merlin," she said, stabbing a glance at Tiger. "You still have those in your bedroom?"
"You like stuffed tigers." The kitchen door closed and Cissy, in the midst of mentally assuring Tiger of her eternal affection, took in the table's lonely lamp which was casting shadows and half-formed thoughts on several rolls of parchment.
"I liked stuffed tigers. Sit." A jug and a goblet were Summoned from the darkness beyond. Bella shot her a look of warning and Cissy averted her gaze from the letters. Instead, she watched Bella tap the rim of the goblet with her wand; smoke curled faintly from the milk inside.
"Thank you," Cissy murmured, the warmth welcome to her fingers.
She waited for Bella to reach the bottom of the parchment – for her sister could truly be too focused most of the time – and only then did Cissy set her goblet down and remarked, "I used to work in here, too. I still do. Only the elves set foot in here."
A dark eyebrow lifted. Bella spelled a Cleaning Charm on her fingers. "And you were working on homework, I take it?"
"Well…no."
Bell paused in shuffling a heap of parchment and turned a shadowy face to her. From beyond the inquiring expression, Cissy recalled thick musty books and note-filled parchment, different colours of ink and smuggled memoirs.
"I have a deep respect for Professor Binns."
"Beg pardon? You fancy Binns?"
Cissy glared at the giggling Bella. "How juvenile," she coolly remarked. "I meant that I only share his passion for the history of our world."
"Passion, sweet Wendelin. You appear to have no idea of the word's meaning, dear sister. Let me tell you: Binns is the grand contradiction." And Bella returned to her letters with a slight snicker.
Cissy felt deeply progressive. "I decided to take further studies on the subject when I pass my O.W.L.s."
"And then, what comes after that?" Bella rejoined, not a giggle in her tone. "Ministry employment in some obscure office? Or perhaps writing books that no one really minds? Oh, and Hogwarts has Binns for an eternity, let's not forget."
At those words, Cissy's mind drew blank. She was thankful that it did not completely fail her, however. It just feebly decided that finishing her milk would be the wisest course of action.
Bella uncorked a fresh ink bottle. "Yaxley is fluent in four languages. Do you want lessons during the holidays?"
Cissy frowned. "I don't like him that much. Those beady eyes. And he'd been a complete glutton of kippers and pies at Hogwarts; I was so glad when he left."
She received a look that was somehow akin to fond disbelief. "You have strange opinions about people."
"Hmm. I've been told. Thank you for the drink."
"You might want to reconsider your plans for the future," Bella called just as Cissy, warmed by milk and weighed by Thoughts, reached the door. "Drea is very versed in ancient runes and in the languages. She could very well navigate social and political circles, perhaps even influence some, even during married life."
"I know," she lightly replied. Drea had been merrily dancing with Everything all their lives.
Cissy hurried to her room, careful to avoid the moonlight sneaking into the windows lest some nasty portrait recognize her.
She clamped an arm around Tiger, seeking some reassurance, and finished her reply to Florean:
I shall be going with you to Bathilda Bagshot's. I am in dire need for some varied and genuine form of amusement.
I must have missed my congratulatory letters, but I don't really mind. Because upon further reflection, only Andromeda's are the truly uplifting ones.
Thank you for the ice cream in the perfume bottle. I look forward to seeing you again.
These kisses from your dear and grateful friend,
Cissy
I will send suggestions about our trip in a separate post.
#####
Cissy had to admit, though, that the contrast was very appealing. Mr. Malfoy's pale hair appeared to be even more ethereal beside Mrs. Malfoy's severe black waves. His expressions were clipped but his words weighed like spells. Her careful innocent remarks, on the other hand, were given new meanings by an arch of her eyebrows or a flutter of her lashes.
The first time that she met their son had been a day of unadulterated sour luck.
Their Fourth Year Potions class had just come out from the dungeons and Cissy had stood in the middle of an anxious crowd, holding on to her essay and reclaiming her brainchild with a fervor she had never known she possessed.
"No, Florean. No – " she had snarled. "Parkinson, go away - !" She flailed away from well-meaning Hufflepuffs and some fellow Slytherins, and stalked nearer to Ludovic Bagman.
"You filthy imbecile!" she had hissed, clamping down the urge to screech and curling her fingers in the process. "This is my idea! How dare you, you horrible – "
"That's completely unaccountable," Boor Bagman countered, shifting his weight. "We happen to have the same lectures and textbooks, we inhabit the same environment, we must therefore have arrived at the same idea – "
"I refuse to jeopardize my record because of your unoriginal mi – "
"It'll only be an inquiry, nothing more – "
"Who else," she ground out, eyes narrowing. "Owns the complete set of Oliphant's obscure books? They were obscure! And I'm obsessed with history – "
Boor Bagman slowly tried to step back, regarding her with a quite disgusted disbelief.
"Volume Two mentions an ancient experimental Saltpetre blend during his lunch hour beneath some willow clumps – "
He tried putting up his arms, and she batted them away.
" – the main argument in my essay! Those were the last, if not the only, copies! No one wanted them but me! I had to order them from seedy – "
"A halt to this, please!" an officious voice had interrupted, followed by a pale head easily visible through the parting small crowd.
Lucius Malfoy, face impassive and badge gleaming, had stood there with his fellow Fifth Years. They had been holding quills and exam questionnaires; it had been the last day of the O.W.L.s.
"Bagman. Ms. Black," he had rolled the words, as if they cost his jaw not to do so. "Causing blockage in busy corridors. Displaying inappropriate conduct. Five points each."
"This is within jurisdiction," Cissy had protested, indignant. "This is acceptable outrage!"
Bagman had sneered at her. Malfoy had remained unmoved.
"And I was under the impression that Ms. Black could be a finer example for the degenerating younger students."
Eventually, the crowd had dispersed and Bagman had gone with his friends, all eager for the breathing time just before dinner.
Florean had put an arm around her stiff shoulders. "That Malfoy, what was he playing at?" he had muttered, uncharacteristically dark-fashioned. "He'd been standing at the back for about five minutes, goggling at the whole thing."
Cissy gazed at Lucius Malfoy now, trying to fathom out the workings of his mind during that incident five summers ago. Then she remembered that his display of worldly perception had been exceptionally pathetic, especially on the Florean matter. She blamed it on his poor reserve of body pigment.
"They're negotiating an engagement. Did you know?" she started in an amiable tone, watching him watch his tea cup.
Then they threw quick glances at their parents, gleaming in the filtered summer sun, seemingly located in a different world.
"Yes," he answered, and was silent for a while. His hair curled just below his ears, the way it always did at Hogwarts. But Cissy thought that it looked beautiful against the drawing room's tapestry. She itched for her brush.
"This is very interesting," he volunteered. "Usually, destiny intervenes in trains or in platforms."
"I quite disagree," was her prompt reply. "Tiger and I met in an Italian shop."
Not that she truly minded, but Cissy had been under the impression that no one would want to marry her anymore and be associated with her family after What Happened. She still received gifts and small notes during Valentine's Day, but that had been only during Hogwarts and her parents had long kept the drawing room ready for no one.
Lucius Malfoy stared at her, and then smiled a little as if in agreement with her digression.
She was certain that he was only being polite.
And that his parents were just scouring the whole society, careful not to play favourites among the families to visit.
#####
Cissy stumbled out of the Leaky Cauldron into the breezy glittering twilight, feeling somewhat liberated by experimenting with the 'lemonade' that Reginald Cattermole had smuggled from his parents' house.
Their group were still lost in sneaky glee, and had to depend on the others heading back to the castle, when Florean cursed.
"What is it?" Cissy asked through what she felt like a lopsided smile.
"Forgot my little book," he muttered, dashing back inside.
Cissy nodded for the others to go on. She hummed softly and waited for Florean's rescue of his racy comments on everything he had eaten.
She was just contemplating the merits of the delicious breeze, for an idea of writing an ode had just sprung up and out of the light bubble inside her chest, when she saw it.
From the faint glow of Scrivenshaft's candles and from the gleam of its many quills daintily planted on inkpots, a familiar figure made itself known.
Perhaps her lemonaded brain was at fault, for Cissy just found out that she had crossed the street with neither a blink nor a linger.
"Cissy!" the voice breathed.
She gaped at Drea's half-hidden face, as if in rapture. Dimly, though, she remembered that night two years ago when Drea went out of the door with prestigious Hogwarts credentials and an unsanctioned besotted heart.
"H – how have you been?"Drea whispered, hands twitchy as if uncertain with how to sort themselves. "I wished to see you before you leave Hogwarts."
"I'm fine," she said, distantly baffled at her conversational ineptness. But she was rather overwhelmed; she should be excused.
Drea was nervous in her smile. "That's wonderful, then."
Cissy need not ask about Drea, luckiest of the Black sisters. She was Andromeda, the one who got away with criticizing Bella's habit of focusing too much on whatever goal there was to pursue. She was Andromeda of the varied eye colour, the one their parents had dubbed as Engaging and Precocious. She was Andromeda, recipient of whispered adulation from their other little cousins.
And now had perfect family, because she was Andromeda, the one who chose a loving, liberal husband and eventually gave birth to a Metamorphmagus.
The one who had everything.
What could she say to that? She's only but Narcissa.
"Bella was very upset," Cissy replied. "She still is."
"I know. I tried to discourage her. We all knew where she's headed."
"It's what she really wants, though, isn't it?" Cissy said, quelling the fleeting image of a kitchen table.
And then Drea grabbed Cissy's hand and enveloped it with both of her own. "Just – make the right choices. Cissy. I'll be thinking of you." The grip tightened. "All the time."
Then it was gone, taking with it the last of the sun's rays and her sister's earnest, glowing face.
#####
When Cissy was six years old, Uncle Alphard visited and found himself in the middle of chaos.
Bella was having a tantrum and would not be dragged to bath, screaming at the impatient Mother and at the house-elves. When Penny did manage to get her in the bathroom, though, she just sat there in the water and continued to play with her gobstones.
The screeching had subsided and the house-elves scurried back to their duties. Mother was displeased, walking down the hall with Uncle Alphard.
"I apologize for that little scene," she said in her low voice. "She doesn't usually fuss about bathing, but lately I've noticed that she's resisting routine – "
Uncle Alphard was his typical jovial self. "Ah, I understand, Druella," he said sympathetically. "I see Bellatrix has the stubborn streak. I can assure you, Walburga has it and even I am not immune to it."
They passed Cissy, who had huddled close to a corner, quite lost.
"Well, yes. But I wish they would just be like Andromeda. I've never had problems with her – "
They turned and only the sounds of a few murmuring portraits could be heard.
It was then that Cissy understood.
#####
Narcissa was reading a lively and speculative letter from Florean, basking in the autumn colours, when Lucius settled on the armchair opposite hers.
"Would you like some tea?" she asked agreeably.
"Thank you. However, I was wondering about Valerian Sprigs."
She patiently folded the parchment and indulged in a moment of mild incredulity. Three weeks of married life, and her husband proved to be prone to ramblings. "Hm. What about Valerian Sprigs? Are they on sale?"
"On the contrary, there is a price increase."
They gazed at each other. She noted that they were prone to that, too.
"I wish to purchase a dozen barrels," he said with authority, the one she supposed he got from his father.
She uncrossed her ankles. "And sell them at minimum price?"
"You read my mind well, madam."
"But what if I do just the same?"
"Then I will forget about purchasing a dozen barrels," he threw back, leaning forward.
"Very well. I will still be purchasing mine."
"I will buy that plantation in Yorkshire and I shall deal with matters from there."
"Will you, really?"
"Yes," he said, with a tilt of his chin. "It's very sensible; I will not be stopped."
"No one's stopping you, Lucius." Sweet Wendelin.
"I brought you a tulip."
Narcissa's mind stuttered briefly. "Are they also in turmoil at the market?"
"No," he said, tone less clipped. "In fact, I had the house-elves prepare a bed in the gardens."
She stared at him.
"You paint them more than any subject," he continued, standing from the armchair and grabbing a stem from behind its cushion. "And there are none to be had in your childhood home, and they are not ubiquitous in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade…"
She moved her gaze to the tulip. It was red and looked delicate and fresh in its dewed state.
There were indeed none to be had in her childhood home. There were only Bellatrix's precious stuffed pets, Andromeda's adored colourful ink, Uncle Alphard's revolutionary kippers and the history books that Cygnus Black's portrait had urged her to read at the age of four. There were no tulips in sight, yet Narcissa remembered loving them as soon as she could leave the house.
"Yes," she told Lucius with an incredulous laugh. "I've always loved tulips." She accepted the stem from him, tangling their fingers in the process. "I love tulips! I love them!" She sympathized with that lone feather, which seemed too light to be pulled down. "I love tulips! Do you hear me, Lucius?"
He smiled a new smile and regarded her as she would regard tulips. "I hear you, yes. I hear you, Cissa."
And Lucius, with his warmed eyes and rather endearing ramblings. She pitied her parents because what they only had was Lucius, the husband. But what Narcissa had now was Lucius, the friend, and Narcissa felt very decided that she liked him.
#####
"I was trying not to wake you."
"Nonsense. How could I even sleep?"
Narcissa pointed her wand at the grate and it burst into a detached warm glow. She extinguished the candle and poured water for Lucius. Only when she glanced at him again did she notice him wincing as he removed his cloak and outer robe. A few steps towards him and his forehead beaded with sweat came into focus.
"Lucius. What is it?"
"In a moment. If you'll excuse me," he managed composedly as he headed to the bathroom, the tips of his hair plastered by sweat some inches below his nape.
Narcissa tapped her fingers on the nightstand and searched for the clock. It was almost three in the morning.
Lucius eventually emerged from the bathroom, wearing his night robe. He appeared as though he had cast a quick Aguamenti on himself and then chased it with a drying charm.
"I'm no longer a sympathizer," he hurled.
It must have been the late hour, for she felt very calm. "Oh?"
"He made it clear," he rushed on. "One is with him, or not with him. Those without choice will only end up as puppets, victims, without protection."
Narcissa looked at his smooth expression. She was not fooled.
"Dumbledore's years are long gone. The Dark Lord, he's a man on a continuous rise. He promised a very propitious future for his supporters and for our world as well. And I want that for us. For you, for our child."
They both eyed Narcissa's yet discreet belly, and she placed a hand over it.
"Were you hurt?" she asked, looking up again. Lucius appeared taken aback.
"He asked us to make our decision," he said, slowly rolling up his robe's left sleeve. "And I did."
The figure was tasteless. Narcissa felt immediate resentment at this Dark Lord for ruining Lucius' flesh and for leaving the horrid thing to sting.
She slathered a generous amount of healing salve on it and then settled on the bed with him. He was asleep within moments and she took the time to observe the shadows under his eyes. The dark hue made her gaze drag back to the mark on his arm.
He was her Lucius; the near-disfigurement and a caricature of ambition would not make her shy away.
Narcissa firmly rolled down the sleeve and looped her arm with his.
#####
Draco was barely five months old the cold night that Lucius burst into Narcissa's parlour in a manner of forced calm. Half a dozen house-elves trailed into the room with somber faces.
"Oh, yes," she remarked, still fascinated by her child in her arms. She put down the ice cream that Florean had sent and peered at Lucius. "You forgot your galleon bag, I had it brought this afterno – "
"Cissa," he murmured urgently, kneeling in front of her armchair. "Stay here with Draco. They've arrived. I'll meet them in the entrance hall, to put as much distance – "
"Who is here?"
"The Ministry."
A thought passed between them in the time it took for their Draco to stir in his sleep.
Lucius laid his palm on Draco's crown and she locked fingers with his other hand. "Lucius, you silly, silly man," Narcissa whispered with a trembling smile.
"I know. Forgive me."
His hands retreated and he was striding towards the doorway with a regal posture and authoritative instructions to the house-elves to stand guard.
Narcissa caught a glimpse of his determined jaw, and then the double doors were tightly – protectively – shut.
#####
"I rather fancy a slice of cake at the moment. Would you like me to get you one as well?"
"The chocolate one will be lovely, thank you, darling."
Lucius headed for the decked table the moment that the other guests floated towards the garden.
She took a sip of the raspberry drink and smiled as Draco sneaked loving murmurs with Harry Potter, the gentle sunlight painting a more vivid glow on their handsome robes, the breeze augmenting the flush on their faces.
It took her a while to notice the presence of someone else some three feet away.
And it was not Lucius.
Grey strands were stealthily weaved on the other woman's chestnut mane. Her lips, that one feature that she shared with Narcissa, remained surrounded by laugh lines but her eyes had lost some of its glitter.
Narcissa's companion also drank from a goblet, and she saw a locket resting on her sister's bosom.
She had one, too, and it contained a still portrait of Lucius, Draco and her.
No words, no looks, passed between them. They just companionably sipped raspberry from beneath the enchanted cerulean tent and gazed at the many Weasleys and some dear friends of both Harry and Draco.
The woman beside her was a faintly smiling Andromeda, as she had been keenly aware all of her life.
And she was Narcissa.
She glanced back at Lucius, who smiled his Cissa smile while bearing two cake plates. She then turned back and drank in the sight of Draco, who looked most buoyed by love and happiness.
And at that moment, she felt as if she could best even Felix Felicis itself.
fin