Two Lights Above the Sea
Alone, Narcissa Black stood before the mirror. Her dress hung like a heavy cape, and the bouquet grew slippery with the sweat on her fingers. In a few minutes, Mother would walk through the door and escort her away to her wedding, but what she desired most was a chair upon which to rest. This had not been an easy morning, and she knew with perfect certainty that this would not be an easy marriage.
Even now, she found it unreal, that within the next hour, she would be married. They had come quite far, she thought with a smile, from their library trysts, midnight conversations, and secret whispers. When she first looked upon him, had she ever imagined that it would come to this? Out on the lawns of Wiltshire's great Malfoy Manor, she could hear the chatter of the guests. Lucius would already be standing at the pavilion, waiting for her to sweep down the aisle. In a few moments, her current life would end and a new one would begin. There would be a ring on her finger, and she would forsake her treasured surname. Suddenly, struggling against the heat of day, she was unsure.
Of course, she remembered the most shocking revelation of all with painful clarity. He had her pinned against an armchair in the manor's drawing room, their bodies entangled with arousal, and when she removed his robes and shirt, she gasped.
"You -- " she began, her arched fingers hovering over his left forearm.
"Yes, I did."
"I -- I didn't think you would."
"You doubted me, Narcissa?"
"You and I are always talking about it, the Muggle problem, and I know that you and your friends seem particularly fond of directing the Cruciatus towards said Muggles, but -- "
"Oh, yes, there is a bit of fun to it, but mark my word, Muggle infiltration into wizarding society is a serious concern indeed."
Narcissa sank a little further into the armchair. "So you're one of his servants now."
"I always have been -- and one of his very best, if I do say so myself."
She opened her mouth, the word congratulations or some equivalent sycophantic endearment dancing on her tongue, but she could not say anything. If they had been younger, perhaps not engaged and a month away from their wedding, she would have greeted the news with greater enthusiasm, but Narcissa was no longer a besotted schoolgirl. Her sister and brother-in-law had long been branded with the Dark Lord's mark, and she thought that she understood very well the burden carried by those who are not sent to war but are nonetheless unequivocally tied to it. Many times had the Aurors almost captured Bellatrix; many times had she escaped and blundered through the household at dawn, her robes slashed, face bloodied, and requiring a temporary haven. She thought of those faces of friends and classmates with whom she had spent her Hogwarts years. Only a few years out of school, and some of those faces had been forever dimmed.
But Bellatrix, those acquaintances, Narcissa thought, were made for such battles. She peered into Lucius's face, touching the sweet curve of his brow so often pressed against her collarbone, and realized for the first time that he, too, could die at another man's hands, that one day, he may never return home.
"You're worried?" he prompted with a raised eyebrow, and she quickly shook her head. He laughed softly and pressed her against his bare chest. Rather pathetically, she clung to his frame, as if holding him more tightly might save him. "There, there, don't fret, my dear. You know that I wouldn't join the Dark Lord unless I was sure that he would win."
"So I am to trust your judgment on this?"
Silence. Then, half-mockingly, "But of course. I'm practically your husband now, am I not?"
They had not spoken of the matter afterwards. The duration of practically had since grown shorter, and Narcissa turned around to see the door open.
"Oh, my darling, you look absolutely beautiful," Mother fawned. Narcissa accepted the assessment without reaction. "Are you -- are you ready?"
"I am," she replied.
Rains had graced the land hours earlier, and the grass was still stained with its remnants. Mother complained about the mud ruining the hem of her gown, and Narcissa realized with indifference that she was supposed to care about the state of her dress as well. As the rows of spectators grew nearer and curious heads swiveled to view the bride in her resplendent attire, she could only stare at the three steps that led upward to him. She wondered if morbid thoughts darkened his own perspective, if he felt more strongly the attraction of the Dark Mark than the bond of golden rings, if he also doubted the wisdom of marriage at such a time.
To wed in the midst of the war…Narcissa's steps faltered, though she quickly recovered. It was madness to allow youth to indulge in their love when that love can be so easily shattered by a simple incantation, an unfortunate misstep, a deadly fall. He could be dead tomorrow, she thought with a sudden panic. Things between us would have barely begun, and he would be gone.
When Lucius reached for her hand, she had only enough willpower to look at his shoes.
A family friend of the Malfoys -- Narcissa knew that he was a high-ranking Ministry official but no more -- had been accorded the privilege of officiating the ceremony. Old Abraxas, so pleased he was with his son's choice in spouse, had given him permission to rhapsodize about Lucius's many merits for as long as necessary -- if he were feeling charitable, he might even insert a few kind words for dear Narcissa Black. It seemed this friend was quite pleased to have the attentions of this many guests focused upon him, and he took to this opportunity to speak with great relish.
He was dissecting Lucius's achievements at Hogwarts when Narcissa felt a slight tug on her fingers. Gaze still trained on the floor, she shuffled forward.
"When our children are married," Lucius whispered in a voice inaudible to all but her, his head turned away from the guests, "I am most certainly not inviting this windbag."
Narcissa nodded. Our children, he had said. Did he think that they would live long enough to sire and raise them?
"You're troubled."
"I'm not," she retorted in a low voice but speaking too quickly to believed.
"Anyone can see it from your face. You look like you're going to a funeral, Narcissa."
"Perhaps I am."
They paused, instead pretending to be deeply interested in the details of Lucius's career as a Slytherin prefect.
"Narcissa, look at me."
Always had he been able to do this to her; a single command, and she would obey because, to Lucius Malfoy, there was never any other option.
His gray eyes stilled her trembling. She held herself erect for his appraisal.
"Do not think that I am so easily fooled. I know what you've been thinking lately, and I can only say this to you: this might be a festive little send-off before I leave to die, or it may be a beginning. I cannot force you to be optimistic. To be entirely honest, I cannot force myself to do so, but unless there are Aurors hiding behind those trees there, waiting for this ridiculous soliloquy to end, we are alive, aren't we, Narcissa?"
Narcissa closed her eyes, wishing fervently that everyone would turn away so she could fall forward into his arms. "We are, I guess."
"You guess?" He chanced a chuckle. "I see that we have a long way to go, my almost wife, but first, shall we get married or not? Nothing is for certain until the ceremony is finished. If you are so frightened, you can say no."
Narcissa knew his game: he was giving her the opportunity to refuse but expected nothing less than a resounding affirmation. She was supposed to agree to this, as she had agreed to it when they were engaged all those months ago. And, yet, this was his gamble but her choice. Though her name would be blackened for a lifetime, she could still refuse. Nothing bound them but a promise. She could break the promise and seek a tamer husband. Surely there existed other eligible young men with fortunes and less of an affinity for risk, and once they were found, she could just as surely twirl them about her finger until they all but begged for her hand in marriage.
But to choose another would be to release this one; she had known no other man since she was fourteen years old and Lucius, ever confident in his life pursuits, had asked her if she would do him the honor of being his company during next month's visit to Hogsmeade. Then, she had assented, her response stumbling over his charms, and now…now we are alive, she echoed silently.
The speaker's lecture was concluded with a cascade of applause. Underneath the din, Narcissa leaned forward. His skin shivered to have her so close, and she whispered, "I say yes."