Of Star Sapphires and Lapis Lazuli

by Ellory

Pure-blood Culture: Heiress Jamie Potter keeps one secret from her family—she's a Metamorphmagus. That secret and Heir Lucius Malfoy have the power to save her life.

Title: Of Star Sapphires and Lapis Lazuli

Pairings: Lucius Malfoy/Marguerite Malfoy, Sirius Black/Jamie Potter, Charlus Potter/Dorea Potter, Abraxas Malfoy/Lucretia Malfoy, Flavius Flint/Isadore Vaisey, etc.

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The wind ripped the ribbon from her hair as Heiress Jamie Potter swooped toward the ground. The long, black locks streamed behind her like nightmares chasing prey. Laughter bubbled from her chest, and her cheeks ached from the force of her grin. Jamie pulled up mere feet from the ground.

"On the ground, this instant!" Lady Dorea Potter commanded. "You're being much too reckless, young lady. Why don't you ever think about consequences? How do you think your father and I would react to finding your broken body on the lawn?"

Jamie's shoulders slumped as she landed on the sprawling lawn behind Potter Manor and dropped her Comet 360 onto the grass. She loved her mother. She did. Yet, her mother was fond of overreacting. In all of the years that Jamie had been flying, she had never once been in a serious accident. In fact, she was the only member of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team who had never been sent to the Hospital Wing following a practice or game.

Being the only daughter of overprotective parents wasn't as brilliant as the majority of her classmates assumed it would be.

"What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?" asked Dorea.

Each step closer to her mother felt like a step away from freedom. "I'm sorry, Mother." Jamie loved her family. That didn't stop them from trying to suffocate her.

Dorea heaved a sigh and dropped her arms from their crossed position. "I love you, darling. You know that. I just worry about you. I don't want anything to happen to you."

This was when guilt usually reared its head in Jamie's chest. She was the miracle child of the Potter family: the much-coveted heiress. Jamie was the first daughter born into the Potter family in over three centuries. And, on top of that, she hadn't been born until her mother was thirty-three, which was practically ancient in regards to a pureblood witch's first child. Her parents had started to fear that Dorea was barren, and then Jamie had come along—shortly after Charlus Potter, her father, performed a sacrifice to Mother Magic.

Harry Charlus Potter had come along almost four years later.

As much as her parents loved her brother, they weren't as overprotective of Harry as they were of her. Because Harry was a wonderful gift and surprise and blessing, but Jamie was the miracle.

"I know, Mother. I love you, too," said Jamie, fighting to keep the tiredness out of her voice. The guilt wasn't building up in her chest. Jamie couldn't help but wonder if she had finally become immune to her parents' guilt trips.

Dorea grabbed her by the hand and ushered her inside, away from the wide, open sky and shining sun. "Now come inside before you catch a chill."

There wasn't even a hint of an afternoon breeze. It was so warm out that Jamie was wearing her thinnest robes. Unfortunately, Dorea didn't care much for logic—especially if she felt that someone was trying to use it against her. She did what she believed was best for her family; whether her family agreed with her opinions or not didn't seem to be particularly relevant to her.

"Sit. Sit," Dorea said insistently. She beamed at Jamie. "I have wonderful news for you, darling!"

Jamie flopped onto the couch in the sunroom and squeezed her eyes shut. The last time her mother had 'wonderful news' for her, Jamie had spent an entire summer sequestered in one of the Potter family holiday homes studying Ancient Greek and Ancient Runes from the premier tutors in those subjects. Harry's rambling letters about the Quidditch World Cup and adventures in Diagon Alley had cut to the quick.

"Oh?" It was hard to feign interest. Her mother might love her, but her mother didn't understand her at all. Then again, her mother didn't try.

Dorea clapped her hands together like a giddy child and grinned at Jamie. "Darling, I'm so happy for you! I've arranged a bonding contract for you."

"What?" Was it possible to feel all the blood drain from your face? Jamie thought it must be, because she couldn't remember ever feeling so light-headed in her life.

"You never spoke of your feelings for him, but I could tell." Dorea winked at her and smoothed non-existent wrinkles from her robes. "A mother knows these things about her daughter."

Jamie's mouth was so dry that her tongue felt thick and clumsy. "Who—?" She shoved her hands under her thighs, so that her mother wouldn't be able to see how badly they were trembling. Dorea didn't approve of pureblood witches who lost their composure in such a way; it was nothing but weakness. Her heartbeat sounded like a thunderstorm in her ears.

This was a joke, right? Her mother hadn't actually . . . had she?

"Sirius, of course!" Dorea smirked. "He's a handsome fellow, darling. You have good taste, not that I would expect anything else from my daughter. The Blacks are ever so charming." Her smirk widened. "Harry reports that you're almost never apart at school, and you often mention Sirius in your letters home. Your compatibility is beyond question at this point. You're sixteen now; that's more than old enough to be bonded to the love of your life."

A sound was ripped from her throat, then. All the deportment lessons in the world wouldn't have been able to lock it in.

"Are you . . . joking, Mother?" Jamie asked. Please, for the love of Morgana, let her mother be joking.

While it was true that Jamie was rarely seen without Sirius, that was because Sirius had named himself her best friend on the Hogwarts Express before their first year. She had attempted to shake him off for months, but ended up caving when he never left. Sirius could be fun on occasion, and Jamie had become somewhat fond of him eventually (like a stray that refused to leave), but she wasn't the slightest bit interested in him romantically.

Sirius Black was a rake. Not a rascal, not a cheeky rogue, but an actual rake. He used his title as Heir Black in a manner that turned Jamie's stomach and always had. She had heard of him kissing (or worse) witches often enough that she couldn't count each account on her fingers and toes combined. That wasn't including the seven times she had come across him in a less than proper situation; luckily, she had been sneaking through the hallways beneath her family's invisibility cloak each time and managed to avoid detection.

Worst of all, Jamie knew that her mother wouldn't believe her if she said anything. Her mother would merely glare and reprimand her for listening to gossip. That would likely be followed by a lecture on how ugly jealousy was and that proper pureblood witches did not allow envy to consume them. Her mother would never understand that she wasn't jealous of the 'gossip,' and the witches who allegedly got kisses from Sirius.

"Of course not, darling," Dorea said hurriedly, as if to assure her. "I would never tease you in such a cruel manner." She left her chair to sit beside Jamie and hugged her. "It's really happening, darling. I promise you that I managed to secure him for you." She kissed Jamie's cheek. "Isn't this the best surprise in the world, darling?"

"It's a surprise, all right," Jamie whispered; she almost choked on the words.

Dorea laughed then. "I've stunned you speechless. I didn't even know that was possible. I must go tell your father at once!"

After Dorea swept from the room, Jamie collapsed in on herself. She clasped her hands over her mouth in horror. Her shoulders shuddered as tears streamed down her face. Blind panic consumed her.

"No. No. No. No. No!"

Jamie exited the room at a dead sprint. Her feet ached as they pounded against the lawn, but she didn't slow her pace in the slightest. She loved her family enough to put up with a great deal; she didn't love them enough to bond with Sirius Black.

Not only did she not trust him enough to let him touch her in any intimate manner, but she imagined he was the type of wizard whose eyes would wander. It wouldn't surprise her if he stepped out on his wife, ignoring the sacred nature of a bonding. She had lost count of how many times Sirius had told her that rules were meant to be broken, boundaries were meant to be crossed, and expectations were a delight to shatter.

Once she passed through the ancestral wards, Jamie whispered the word that would activate her emergency Portkey anklet. "Home."

The room she appeared in made her feel safer than her bedroom in Potter Manor. She didn't come here often. Even though she loved being here, it hurt more than words could express each time she was forced to leave and return to her real life. As her gaze trailed over the delicate furniture, a feeling of peace and resolve swelled within her breast.

It was her sanctuary.

"I . . . I'm not leaving this time," she whispered, voice shaking. Jamie straightened her spine and forced the words out again—firm as Hogwarts' foundation. "I'm not leaving this time."

Jamie walked over to the full-length mirror that was next to the enormous wardrobe. The face staring back at her—pale and tear-stained and haunted—would never be seen again after today. In her entire life, Jamie had only managed to keep a handful of things truly private and secret from her family. Her sanctuary and what she was about to do were two of them.

Courage didn't always mean standing and fighting, after all. Sometimes courage meant knowing when to run away, when to retreat, when standing and fighting would utterly destroy you.

"I'm never, ever, ever going back!" Jamie spat.

Then Jamie stared at her reflection and called up her Metamorphmagus magic. She had inherited the gene from her mother—Dorea Potter, formerly Lady Dorea Black. It was, perhaps, irony at its finest that a gift from her mother, unknowingly given, would allow her to escape the horrific gift her mother had just bestowed upon her.

It didn't take long for her body to change into the form she felt most comfortable in. Jamie shrank three inches, so that she was about five-foot-four. Her chest and hips filled out somewhat. Her skin became smooth, granting her a porcelain complexion. Jamie's honey-hazel eyes turned the color of lapis lazuli; she Vanished the useless glasses that she normally wore. Last of all, she straightened her unruly hair and changed it from ebony to flaxen.

"This is where I belong. I'm never going back," she said once again.

Then Jamie walked over to the bedside table, opened the drawer, and smiled at the single item in it. She stripped and dropped her wand atop her clothes. Then she picked up the wand in the drawer. It had a straight shaft; it started thicker at the handle, then thinned as it got closer to the other end.

Ebony. Unicorn Hair. Rigid. Unbending. Excellent for dueling and healing, though passing fair at everything else.

"Incendio." As the clothes and wand on the floor went up in flames, Jamie said, "Goodbye, Heiress Jamie Potter." A barrier kept the flames from spreading, and she was quick to put them out when nothing but ashes remained. She Vanished them.

After dressing in a pair of robes the color of her eyes, she stopped in front of the mirror again and smiled. The asymmetrical cut was flattering to her figure, revealing a swath of her left leg and the anklet she never took off. They were made of layers of chiffon—light, airy, flowing with every movement she made.

After gathering her hair in an elaborate French twist, she smiled at herself. "Hello," she whispered to her reflection. "It's good to be home."

She stretched her magic out and breathed a sigh of relief when she realized that she wasn't alone. She didn't think she could bear that at the moment. When his magic reached back toward her, her smile widened. "I'm coming."

It seemed to take no time at all, and, somehow, forever at the same time, for her to traverse her way through the Manor and down into the silver sitting room. Ignoring his many guests for the moment, she walked over to the couch he had claimed as his own and curled up against his side, her bare feet tucked beneath the hem of her robes.

"Lucius," she breathed, completely relaxing against him.

Ever since Lucius Malfoy had found out her secret—when she was foolishly practicing her Metamorphmagus magic during first year in an unwarded classroom—he and his family had provided her shelter from everything.

Lucius was protective, but not overprotective. He was caring without being smothering. And, best of all, he never held her prisoner or attempted to make her decisions for her. He spoke with her, not at her. And when she needed to talk, he always listened. Even as the years passed and he graduated from Hogwarts, he always had time for her. He was twenty-one now, and had never blown her off. Lucius was the person she could always count on to be there when she needed him.

His eyes cut away from Heir Bartemius Crouch Jr. to lock on her face. His smile was tender as he curled his arm around her. "Welcome home, my pearl." Lucius kissed her forehead. "How long will you be able to stay?"

"Permanently."

"You're serious, aren't you?" Lucius asked, gaze narrow. "What did they do?" he hissed quietly, rage sparking through his magic and into hers.

"I'll tell you later, Lucius." She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. "I don't want to think about it now." Her mother had sold her to Sirius Black. No, that wasn't right. Jamie Potter's mother had sold her to Sirius Black. She was no longer Jamie Potter, and she never would be again.

"Very well," Lucius said, "but you will tell me later. No exceptions."

"Of course, Lucius." He was the keeper of her secrets.

"Lucius, who might this be?" Heir Rodolphus Lestrange asked.

"Ah, gentleman, please forgive me. As you can see, I was delighted by the surprise of her beautiful presence," Lucius said. It never failed to touch her heart that he said such things, each one being entirely sincere. "This glorious witch is my cousin, the Lady Marguerite Malfoy."

"These are friends of mine. Lord Flavius Flint, Heir Bartemius Crouch Jr., Heir Rodolphus Lestrange, Master Rabastan Lestrange, Heir Evan Rosier, and Master Regulus Black. These gentleman were schoolmates of mine while I was at Hogwarts," Lucius said.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen," Marguerite said. "Coming from Lucius, 'friend' is an excellent character reference indeed."

"I assure you, Lady Marguerite, the pleasure is all ours," Evan said with a roguish wink.

"Quite right, Evan. The pleasure is all ours, Lady Marguerite," Rabastan said as his eyes swept over her.

Lucius rolled his eyes and sneered at his cohorts. "I've taught her better than that. Haven't I, my pearl?"

Marguerite grinned at Lucius and pressed closer. "Only a foolish witch falls for a wizard who's charming."

"Oh?" Flavius raised an eyebrow. "What type of wizard should a witch fall for then?"

"A sincere one, of course." Marguerite offered their guests a soft smile. "All the pretty promises in the world won't mean anything to a wizard who never intends to keep them. All the endearments in the world won't mean anything to a wizard who never feels them in his heart."

"Exactly," Lucius said, before he kissed her hair.

"She's your cousin?" Regulus asked, shrewd gaze focused on Lucius.

"Yes, my fourth cousin," Lucius replied. It wasn't the truth, of course. However, for some reason she had never figured out, Lucius always insisted that she was his fourth cousin whenever anyone asked.

"Oh?" Regulus smirked. "Lucky for you, Lucius. If I remember rightly, Malfoy family law won't allow for anything closer."

"What do you mean, Master Black?" Marguerite asked.

When she was at Malfoy Manor, it was usually to relax or hide, or enjoy just a little bit of freedom before she had to return to that place she didn't even want to think about. Due to her short stays, she hadn't dedicated much time at all to learning the Malfoy family laws. That was something she needed to invest time in right away; it would be very suspicious if a lady of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight Families didn't know her own family laws.

The guests stared at her in disbelief. Rabastan's mouth fell open, though he quickly snapped it shut. Flavius fumbled his butterbeer. Bartemius burst into a coughing fit.

"Are you jesting, Lady Marguerite?" Evan asked.

"No." Marguerite hated the way they were staring at her, as if she couldn't see a raging hippogriff in the room. It made her feel stupid. She hated feeling stupid.

"Lucius, you've really sheltered her, haven't you?" Regulus sounded impressed.

"Of course he has!" Marguerite wouldn't let anyone cast doubt on Lucius. He had done too much for her to go unappreciated. She wouldn't let these gentlemen malign his character, friends of his or not. "I'm his pearl," she replied, as if that explained everything. To her, it did.

"And why are pearls special?" Lucius asked. His voice was deeper than normal, confusing her slightly, but she pushed it aside.

Marguerite counted each truth Lucius had taught her about pearls on her fingers as she repeated them aloud. "Every pearl is unique—no two are alike; I'm irreplaceable." Her cheeks always heated when she thought of that one. "Pearls are precious, so they're surrounded with protection as they grow. Pearls are timeless symbols of wisdom and power. Pearls are fragile and not meant for those who are careless." She almost lost her train of thought as she glanced up at Lucius and saw the warmth in his eyes. "Pearls are beautiful, coveted, innocent, and easily tarnished. . . ."

Lucius kissed her hair again. "So they must be handled with the utmost care."

"Curse you, Lucius," Evan rasped. "Your mother must have bathed you in Felix Felicis when you were a baby. You have the most blessed luck I have ever seen in my entire life."

A vibrant laugh echoed through the room. "Now you know my secret, Heir Rosier. I pray you won't share it." Lady Lucretia Malfoy stood in the doorway, a teasing twinkle in her amethyst eyes. Her golden hair was in a chignon. A light smattering of freckles bridged her nose, abetting her youthful appearance.

The gentlemen all rose to their feet and bowed to her.

"You have my word, Lady Malfoy," Evan replied as he inclined his head.

Marguerite turned away from Lucius with a wide grin on her face. "Mère, I missed you!" Ever since Lucius had first brought her to Malfoy Manor, Lucretia had insisted that Marguerite call her 'Mother.' It hadn't taken long before Marguerite had come to love Lucretia as her true mother.

"Unbelievably innocent," Regulus whispered.

"And I you, ma belle fille." Lucretia walked over and stroked Marguerite's cheek.

"How was lunch with the Minister?" Lucius asked.

Lucretia frowned. "Tedious," she said, regardless of the company present. "The Minister's as incompetent as always. I'll be pleased when Lord Slytherin wins the election in four months. Your father's thrilled he's finally come home to England." She glanced pointedly at the arm Lucius had wrapped around Marguerite. "May I borrow her, Lucius?"

"I just got her back," Lucius said, visibly against the idea.

Chuckling, Lucretia said, "I know, Lucius. It really is important, though."

"What is it, Mère?" Marguerite asked. She was reluctant to leave Lucius's side after the day she had suffered through, particularly since it had been almost a month since she had last been able to come see the Malfoys.

"Your père and I have something important to discuss with you, ma belle fille." Lucretia leaned down and kissed Marguerite's forehead. "I wouldn't dream of tearing you away from him if it were something frivolous. I promise it won't take long."

"Lucius?"

"It's your choice. You know that," Lucius replied.

And that, that right there, was why she had kept coming back to Lucius. The freedom he granted her was priceless. It meant even more to her because she knew how much he hated it when she was out of his sight. He was constantly worrying that something bad would happen to her. Lucius had seen firsthand the emotional damage caused by the Potters, and he did everything he could to mitigate it.

"Will you still be here when I'm done?" Marguerite asked.

She didn't want to admit it, but she felt especially fragile after the morning's events. Lucius's presence always made her feel safe.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised her.

"Very well, Mère. I will come speak with you and Père." Marguerite reluctantly drew away from Lucius, hating the warmth that disappeared when his arm fell away from her.

"Thank you, ma belle fille." Lucretia nodded to the guests and left the room. "We'll be in your père's study."

Marguerite gathered her robes in her hand and curtsied to Masters Black and Lestrange, then sank a little deeper as she turned her attention to Heirs Lestrange, Crouch, and Rosier, and deeper yet again for Lord Flint. "It was a pleasure to meet some of Lucius's friends. I hope we are able to converse again in the future, gentlemen."

"It would be our honor, Lady Marguerite," Flavius answered for all of them.

"I'll return to you safely, Lucius," she said before leaving the room. If she dithered any longer, she wouldn't follow Lucretia at all. There was something almost intoxicating about being in Lucius's presence. Once she was within the reach of his magic, she never wanted to leave it—not for anything.

"Ah, there you are. I thought I might have to come save you from Lucius's hugs, ma belle fille," Abraxas Malfoy said. He was tall and broad-shouldered. He was handsome and powerful, and Lucius looked nearly identical to him. Lucius had eyes the color of gray star sapphires; Abraxas's were moonstones.

"Don't be silly, Père," Marguerite said as she hugged him. "You'll never need to save me from Lucius."

Abraxas scooped Marguerite up in his arms and spun her around in circles, something Charlus Potter had never done for fear of injuring her. When she had asked Abraxas once why he didn't have the same fear, he had replied, "I know when I'm holding something precious in my grasp, ma belle fille. A true wizard will control his strength to keep from damaging that which is sacred to him."

She kissed both of his cheeks, and then laughed when he set her on his desk. Lucretia and Abraxas sat down in the chairs in front of the desk before her; Abraxas was still taller than she was herself.

"What did you want to discuss?" Marguerite asked. It must be truly important if they were going to discuss it in Abraxas's study. She had only been in here once before, and that was when Lucius had asked Abraxas to provide her with the emergency Portkey anklet and she had been keyed into the wards.

"The first thing you need to know," Abraxas said, as solemnly as if he were presenting a bill of law to the Wizengamot, "is that you have every right to refuse. Whether you agree or not has no bearing on your right to be here whenever and as long as you want. Malfoy Manor will always be your home."

Marguerite's shoulders hunched farther the longer he spoke. "You're scaring me, Père."

"He doesn't mean to, ma belle fille. He just wants you to know that, as always, you have a choice," Lucretia explained, voice soft and overflowing with love.

"I expect you to say 'No!' if you don't like what I'm going to propose. Do you understand, Marguerite?" Abraxas asked.

She knew he was completely serious when he didn't use her nickname. It was a rare occasion indeed when any of the Malfoys referred to her by the name Lucius had invented as a cover when she was eleven. "Yes, Père, I understand."

"According to Malfoy family law, a Malfoy maiden cannot be courted until the season after she has reached sixteen years of age." Marguerite remembered that bit from her reading. "Lucius asked me for official permission to court you the first day of summer."

"We've been waiting for you to visit so that we could ask if you're interested, ma belle fille," Lucretia said. Her gaze was earnest, almost painfully so. "He loves you. He swore on the Family Magics to prove his sincerity."

"But don't let that sway your heart," Abraxas interjected. "If you're not romantically interested in him, all you have to do is say so."

Marguerite bit her lips, but that didn't keep them from quivering. Tears dripped in rivulets down her face. She gave great, heaving sobs as she curled up into a ball on Abraxas's desk. The papers on it went flying.

The Occlumency shields that she used to block off a section of her mind shattered under the pressure of her roiling emotions. A million hopes, and dreams, and fantasies spilled forth: the firmness of Lucius's arms as they hugged her fiercely, the softness of his lips against her own, the glimmer in his eyes as she rebelliously waltzed with him, the warmth of waking up in his arms with a bonding ring on her left hand, the jewel-toned eyes of their flaxen-haired children, hot afternoons spent with his head in her lap as she read to him beneath the shade of a tree, early morning Abraxan rides with her seated before him, nights spent watching the stars after swimming in the lake, and innumerable glimpses of gray star sapphire eyes radiating the three words that wove through each and every image.

She didn't notice anything in the real world until the door to the study blasted open and slammed violently against the wall.

"What's wrong? What happened to her?" Lucius demanded as he rushed toward her. "I could feel her magic broadcasting her pain on the other side of the Manor."

"I don't know!" Lucretia replied through tears of her own. "We told her you wanted to court her, that you love her, and then—" She gestured at Marguerite's condition as an explanation of what happened next.

Lucius flinched. His eyes dulled. "Does the thought of my loving you truly cause you such immense pain, my pearl?"

"No!" Marguerite screamed. "Morgana, no!" The tears came even faster as she stared at him. Why couldn't she have come to Malfoy Manor yesterday? Why hadn't she run away yesterday? "It fills my soul."

"Will you allow Lucius to court you, ma belle fille?" Abraxas asked. It was only then that Marguerite noticed he was stroking her hair. How much time had she lost when her shields imploded and she lost control of her mind and emotions?

She thought she would choke on the words and die; they were that painful to speak. "With my whole soul . . . I wish I could."

"You wish you could?" Lucius rasped.

Abraxas tilted Marguerite's chin up, so that she couldn't see Lucius and had to focus on him. "Why can't you allow Lucius to court you?"

If Abraxas and the desk hadn't been holding her up, Marguerite would have collapsed to the floor. Her eyes were suspiciously dry as she answered his question in a monotone voice. "Earlier today Lady Potter informed Heiress Potter that Heiress Potter had been sold to Heir Black in a bonding contract."

"Is that all?" Abraxas asked. "You had me worried for a while there, ma belle fille."

He made it sound like a bonding contract with the Black family—one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight—was easy to null or void. Surely, such a thing wasn't possible, right? Dorea would have done everything in her power to guarantee that it was ironclad. Morgana forbid that anything should hinder her plans.

"What do y-you mean?" Marguerite clutched the front of his robes in fists. Desperation filled the room as her magic announced her every emotion. "Can you get me out of it, Père?"

"Metamorphmagus magic is a Dark Art." Her head snapped around to Lucius as he spoke. He closed the distance between them with swift steps and grasped her left hand; his thumb stroked over her knuckles. "When you use it, you change everything about yourself—even your magic—to become someone different and assume a new identity. That's why we had to get you a new wand." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "When you look as you do right now, having been named by me, you literally become Lady Marguerite Malfoy." Lucius pressed her palm against his cheek. "If you meant what you said to me earlier, about staying here permanently, then you're safe from Black"—he spat the name—"forever. He has no claim on Lady Marguerite Malfoy."

Marguerite shuddered in relieved disbelief. She had deluded herself into believing that running to Lucius would save her from a forced bonding to Sirius. Now, it seemed that her delusion was actually not one. She could honestly be free of Dorea's machinations.

"Swear to me that's true, Lucius," she whispered, only vaguely aware that Lucretia was prodding Abraxas out of the room. "If I were ever forced to give him what you've so long guarded. . . ." She couldn't say it; she didn't even want to imagine it.

"I swear it," Lucius replied immediately. He leaned his forehead against hers and stared into her eyes. "Pearls must be handled with the utmost care. I'll never let him tarnish you." He kissed the skin just beneath her right eye. "Pearls and lapis lazuli are much too precious for the likes of him."

She kissed the underside of his chin, even though she longed to kiss his lips. Such was forbidden until they were engaged. "Yes, Lucius," she breathed, "you may court me."

---

Three days later, Marguerite paced nervously in her bedroom. Lucius was taking her out to lunch for their first Courtship Date. Not only was it their first Courtship Date, but it was her first Courtship Date altogether. Even though she had been of age for courting in the Potter family since she was fourteen and a half, Dorea had never approved of one. Or perhaps that was one of the few times Charlus had made his word law?

She had some idea of what a Courtship Date involved, but only as second-hand information. Miss Lily Evans had regaled her with tales of Courtship Dates with Severus Snape, Heir Prince. And Lady Adelaide Brown was well-known in Gryffindor for her inability to keep anything to herself; she seemed to think attending Courtship Dates with three different wizards simultaneously was an honor.

Marguerite just thought it meant Adelaide was too dense to discern which of her suitors was the most sincere.

"Is Mistress being almost ready?" Felnook asked.

"Um, yes, almost," Marguerite told her house-elf. "Please tell Lucius that I'll be down in just a few minutes."

"As the Mistress be wishing," replied Felnook, before popping away.

She glanced down at herself and wondered for the hundredth time if she should change her clothes. Marguerite wore aureate tights beneath a mauve wizard's tunic. It was cut the same way as Lucius's current preferred fashion of wizarding robes. However, it was fitted to her frame. The square neckline was daring, a gold belt cinched in at her waist, and it only fell to her knees. Her slippers were mauve lace, matching the gloves she wore and the half-veil that covered her eyes.

There was a sharp knock on her door, and then it opened before she could reply. Lucretia stood in the doorway with a smile on her face. "You look stunning, ma belle fille. Absolutely stunning."

"You don't think I should change?" Marguerite asked nervously. What if Lucius thought what she was wearing was too revealing to be worn in public? What if it sent the wrong kind of message? She didn't want to be that type of witch.

Lucretia laughed throatily. "I think that Lucius is going to spend the afternoon fighting off other interested parties."

"Then I should change—"

"And I think that will be good for him, ma belle fille." Lucretia beckoned her closer. "My son has never been forced to see how truly coveted you will be; he's always had you hidden safely away in our Manor."

She wrinkled her nose. "You make it sound like he was keeping me prisoner. I'm free to come and go as I please," Marguerite objected.

"I know." Lucretia laughed again, her eyes sparkling with her delight. "And now my son gets to learn what it's like to protect a treasure that thinks for itself and doesn't stay locked up in a jewelry box until it's wanted by its owner."

"So," Marguerite ran her hands down the tunic, "you think Lucius will like it?"

A smirk wended its way across Lucretia's face. "Very much, indeed."

"Right. Okay." Marguerite relaxed her hands, but that did nothing to calm her nerves. "Wish me luck?" She took only a single step before Lucretia's voice stopped her.

"Ma belle fille, I'm afraid I have to remove the anklet. Too many people will have seen Heiress Potter wearing it. Casting suspicion on you will only harm everyone involved," Lucretia said.

The thin silver anklet was the first gift that Lucius had ever given her. It had been her pathway to freedom, Portkeying her to the Manor whenever she needed to escape. To give it up was unthinkable. "But . . ."

Lucretia whispered a spell and swished her wand. The anklet detached itself and flew to Lucretia's palm. "You can keep it, ma belle fille. It's just not safe for you to wear it anymore. I'll see that it's put in your jewelry box, so that you may see it whenever you wish."

"What if I need to escape?" Marguerite asked. Terror welled up inside her. For the past five years, she had always had an emergency Portkey on her, one Locked so that it couldn't be stolen. Now that her guarantee of a retreat to safety was gone, she felt more vulnerable than she had felt in years.

"Lucius will never leave you unprotected, ma belle fille." Lucretia hugged her. "Go to him and all will be well."

"Thank you, Mère," Marguerite whispered.

Each step through the Manor was agonizing. Intellectually, she knew she was safe. She was at home in Malfoy Manor. Lucius could be at her side in an instant if something went wrong. Yet, she felt like prey without the anklet. It had the power to remove her from behind wards—regardless of how strong they might be. The only reason she had fled the ancestral Potter wards before activating it was because doing so would have set off an alarm in Charlus's study. The last thing she had wanted was for the Potters to come looking for her immediately, assuming that she had been kidnapped somehow.

Marguerite walked down the grand staircase and right into Lucius's arms without pausing to give him a proper chance to admire her. "Lucius." She tugged on his magic, unconsciously wrapping it around herself.

Lucius kissed her forehead. "I have a gift for you, my pearl. Will you accept it?"

"Of course, Lucius." Marguerite stared at him, nerves soothed with his magic enfolding her. "How could I not?"

He handed her a white box tied shut with a glittering gold ribbon. When she untied the ribbon, Marguerite gasped. On the lid of the box, engraved in gold leaf, was the image of a spinning wheel. "Lucius, you shouldn't have!" Marguerite said, gaze flying up to his. "The Spindle is—"

"The only jewelry shop in England that I'd trust to produce something cursed to my exact specifications to keep you safe." He narrowed his gaze. "There is nothing I fear in Knockturn Alley. I would brave anything to protect you." He stroked her cheek. "Nothing bought at The Enchanted Rose could guarantee your protection from men's unwanted attentions." Lucius disparaged the most famous jewelry shop in Diagon Alley as if its inventory was of less worth than common Muggle gems. "I'm a Dark Wizard and I will commission Jewel Artisans who practice Black Arts if it will keep you safe and ease my mind."

"Lucius," she whispered.

Marguerite was stunned, not only by the passionate emotion of Lucius's response, but by the love that went into the gift. From what she had heard, first Courtship Date gifts were usually inexpensive, though tasteful. The Spindle was anything but inexpensive. The little box in her hand held something that likely cost more than the entire updated wardrobe Lucretia had taken her to get at The Scarlet Cloak the day before.

"Won't you open it?" Lucius asked.

A gasp spilled from her lips once Marguerite lifted the lid from the box. Inside, nestled on a bed of black Acromantula silk, was a bracelet. It was a double-string bracelet of the whitest, iridescent, most perfectly formed pearls that Marguerite had ever seen in her entire life. The clasp was platinum, in the shape of the Malfoy Family Crest. "Oh, Lucius." Her fingers shook as she touched it.

"May I put it on you?" His voice was deeper than normal.

"Would you? Please!"

Lucius placed it around her left wrist, signaling that she was participating in an exclusive courtship and was not interested in other suitors at this time. When the clasp closed, she gasped in relief and leaned her forehead against his chest. "Yes, it's also a Portkey home." Lucius stroked a hand down her spine. "You didn't think I'd let Mother remove your anklet and leave you defenseless, did you?"

"Do I want to know what curses and spells the Jewel Artisans sang into it?" she asked.

"Probably not when we're headed to lunch." Lucius smirked. "I'll just say that attempting to harm you or steal the bracelet would be most unwise on all accounts."

"Suicidally so?" inquired Marguerite, eyebrow quirked.

Lucius's smirk widened. "Perhaps." He took a step backward and perused her. "You are glorious."

Marguerite flushed. "Thank you, Lucius. You're looking rather dashing yourself." He was fit: tall, broad-shouldered, with his fair hair hanging loose to his shoulders.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Felnook," Marguerite called. When her house-elf popped up beside her, she handed Felnook the white box and gold ribbon. "Please take these to my bedroom and place them on my vanity."

"At once, Mistress," Felnook replied. She took them gingerly, as if she were terrified of damaging them, and left.

"Now I'm ready, Lucius," Marguerite said. Nerves fluttered in her stomach, but they were much different from the ones that consumed her when Lucretia removed the anklet. These were nerves of anticipation.

"Come here. I'm going to Apparate us," Lucius said. He held her tight to his chest and spun on his heel. "All right?"

It took a moment for her world to reorient itself. Apparation was nothing like Portkeying; she was much more familiar with the latter. "I'm fine," she answered when everything stopped spinning.

Lucius stepped backward and offered her his arm. Marguerite laid hers atop his, her lace-covered fingers just brushing the back of his hand. "Welcome to The Magic Lamp. I hope you're hungry."

"Famished," Marguerite answered. Her eyes darted everywhere as they passed through various chambers. It was so different from The Golden Fleece, the Potters' preferred pureblood club.

"Well, is it good enough for you, my pearl?" Lucius asked as he led her into a dining room. There were low tables placed far enough apart to ensure privacy. Large, silken pillows surrounded them. Pureblood witches and wizards spoke in quiet voices as they ate their meals, though periodic laughter filled the room.

"It's perfect, Lucius." She beamed up at him. "You have such—" A very soft, feathery laugh distracted her. Marguerite's eyes scanned the room. When they landed on a petite witch with white hair, her fingers curled around Lucius's hand. "Isadore." She turned to Lucius. "May I see her for just a moment, Lucius? Please? She's the . . . only friend I have," Marguerite concluded.

Heiress Isadore Vaisey was the only person, other than the Malfoys, who knew that she used to be Heiress Jamie Potter. In her third year, Jamie had accidentally dropped a magical map she had made of Hogwarts. Isadore had seen it fall from her bag. She had picked it up to return it to Jamie, and had seen Marguerite Malfoy replace Jamie Potter on the map. Luckily for Marguerite, Isadore was an honorable witch who swore herself to secrecy without any prompting.

Ever since then, Marguerite had snuck out of Gryffindor Tower when she could to spend time with Isadore. Their meetings were made easier by Isadore's house being Ravenclaw; she didn't need a reason to vanish for hours. Her housemates would just all assume that she was in the library.

And when Isadore had stuttered with a fierce blush on her face and confessed that she thought of Marguerite as her older sister, Marguerite had only come to love her friend more.

Now that Jamie Potter was dead, as it were, Isadore was her only friend.

"Of course. Whatever makes you happy." He guided her through the tables, only for a smirk to paint his features. "Besides, annoying Flavius is one of my favorite hobbies."

"What?"

It was only then that Marguerite thought to look across the table from Isadore. Lord Flavius Flint sat on a forest green pillow. His chestnut hair curled about his ears, and his amber eyes were alight with interest. He was leaning slightly forward as he spoke to Isadore, but not so far that her friend would feel trapped. He was a year or two older than Lucius, if she remembered rightly, but Marguerite thought that was a good thing when it came to Isadore. Someone their age wouldn't be mature enough to appreciate her, or patient enough to accept her painful shyness.

"Flavius, it's wonderful to see you," Lucius said, still smirking, as he clapped Flavius on the shoulder.

"What are you doing here, Lucius?" asked Flavius, only a hint of irritation at being interrupted leaking through.

"Marguerite!" Isadore's face lit up, her stutter disappeared, and Flavius suddenly looked as if he had been hit over the head with a Bludger. "I've missed you so much."

"It's been much too long, Isadore," Marguerite said. She knelt beside Isadore on the pillow and hugged her friend, before kissing both of her cheeks. "I'm sorry for interrupting, but I can't be in the same room as you are, dear one, and not acknowledge you."

"Why don't you join us?" Flavius suggested, gaze locked on Isadore's radiant visage.

"Oh, we couldn't possibly—"

"Please, Marguerite? Won't you stay?" Isadore implored.

"I . . ."

"It's a-alright, isn't it, Lord F-Flint?" Isadore asked, with barely a stutter.

"Of course, Lady Isadore," Flavius said. His gaze was warm.

Marguerite bit her lip and glanced up at Lucius. She knew that joining someone else's Courtship Date was not what he had planned for the afternoon. It wouldn't surprise her if he had detailed lists so that everything would be just perfect for her. "Lucius?"

He sat on the pillow next to hers, and then brought her left hand to his lips for a kiss. "I told you earlier, whatever makes you happy."

Lunch progressed wonderfully, though the amount of laughter coming from their table as Lucius and Flavius told silly stories about each other inevitably drew the attention of the other purebloods in the room. Marguerite was just thankful that Isadore was coming out of her shell somewhat. She had hardly stuttered in the past two hours.

"I'll be back shortly," Lucius said before rising to his feet. The look he gave Flavius was ever so dark and weighted.

Isadore smiled at her. "He finally asked?"

Marguerite flushed and nodded. "Mère and Père informed me of his request a few days ago." She touched the pearl bracelet he had given her. His magic brushed against her in response. "You win, Isadore. I was wrong." The satisfied smile on Isadore's face made Marguerite laugh again. "This is your first Courtship Date with Lord Flint?"

The pale skin of Isadore's cheeks turned rosy. "The t-third."

"Oh?" She sighed. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you to speak with," she whispered. When she was Jamie Potter, missives addressed to Marguerite Malfoy couldn't arrive by owl. To protect her secret, she had requested that Isadore never owl Jamie Potter unless it was an emergency.

"You're here now. That's w-what matters," Isadore replied. She fiddled with a turquoise bracelet on her right wrist.

Marguerite turned the full force of her attention on Flavius. He was the only wizard who hadn't eyed her with interest during the visit at Malfoy Manor. Even Bartemius had, though he hadn't spoken a single word in her presence. And even as she pierced him with her gaze, his attention was all on Isadore. "You have excellent taste, Lord Flint."

"Yes, I do," he agreed.

"Marguerite," Isadore whispered, cheeks flaming.

"He's one of the sincere ones," Marguerite said boldly. "If I were you, I'd move that bracelet to my other wrist."

"You continue to surprise me, Lady—"

A shadow fell over the table. Marguerite leaned backward as a hand was thrust much too close to her. "Sirius, Heir Black, at your service. May I have your name, my lady?" He winked at her. "I promise I'm more fun than old Flint here."

Marguerite felt gutted as all her suspicions were proven true in just three sentences. Sirius was engaged to Jamie Potter, and here he was trying to charm her. If she hadn't been a Metamorphmagus, she would've been forcibly bonded to a rake. His favorite hobby would've likely turned from pranks to infidelity.

"Not interested," Marguerite stated.

At the same time, Flavius snapped, "Get away from her, Black. She's too good for the likes of you to be anywhere near her."

"Shut up, Flint. I wasn't talking to you," Sirius said with a sneer.

"This isn't a game, Black," Flavius warned. "If you know what's good for you, stay away from her."

Unfortunately, Sirius loved to do the exact opposite of what he was told. He had proven this time and time again. He pasted a charming smile over his sneer and reached for her hand. Marguerite shoved it under her thigh. "I highly doubt your parents named you Not Interested. You must want me to guess, then."

"No, she doesn't," Flavius bit out.

"My princess? My goddess? My love? My gem?" Sirius purred.

Marguerite paled and swayed as the last guess polluted the air. He was coming too close to Lucius's endearment for her. If Sirius called her "my pearl," she would have nightmares.

Flavius stood and thrust his wand into the skin beneath Sirius's jaw. "I'll make things perfectly clear for you, Black, so that your tiny brain can understand them. You are going to stop talking to her, you are going to stop looking at her, and you are going to turn around and walk away and never come near her again."

"Or what?" Sirius spat.

"Or Regulus is going to be Heir Black by the end of the week," Flavius stated.

Sirius snorted. "A death threat. Really? Is that supposed to scare me? You'd never get away with it."

"Oh, I wouldn't kill you, Black. That's much too mundane. Even a Muggle can kill someone," Flavius said. "No, I'd see you ruined. I'd see to it that you were disowned from the Black family." He chuckled, and it wasn't a nice sound. "And when you don't have your title or your last name, and when you don't have your vaults or your Manor, not even Mudblood witches would give you a second glance."

"I'd have the Potter name, Manor, and wealth." Sirius grinned. "And Jamie, too, of course."

"I always knew you were intellectually inferior, Black, but I wasn't aware of the depth of your willful ignorance," Lucius said. His magic reached out to fold around her; the parts that weren't touching her were biting and icy. "Black family betrothal and bonding contracts are completed with titles. Heiress Potter belongs to Heir Black. If Regulus becomes Heir Black, well, Heiress Potter would belong to him."

"Jamie's mine!" Sirius said in a rush of possessive hatred.

Marguerite leaned against Isadore and shivered. Isadore wrapped her arm around Marguerite's waist and stroked her hair. How could Sirius attempt to charm her one minute, and then claim possession of Jamie a minute later? He was mad. Utterly, dangerously mad. To think that she could have been bound to that made her want to shrink with fear from his presence.

"If you say so," Lucius drawled, each word conveying the impression that he thought Sirius was imminently wrong.

Sirius rolled his shoulders back and stepped away from Flavius's wand. "There's nothing worth—"

"Heir Regulus Black has a nice ring to it, doesn't it, Flavius?" Lucius interrupted, frigid and untamed.

With a final glare, Sirius snapped his mouth shut and stalked off.

Lucius knelt on the floor. "My pearl?" His voice was tentative as he set his hand on her shoulder.

She leaned her cheek against his hand. "Lucius." His name came out in a whimper.

He fisted his hand against the floor and lines marred his face. "Do you want to go home?"

Yes, she did. Marguerite wanted to curl up in her bedroom. She wanted to escape to her sanctuary. That was what Jamie Potter did, though. Jamie fled to be safe in Malfoy Manor with Lucius. Why should Marguerite go anywhere, when Lucius was right here with her? "No. I'm not going to let him ruin our Courtship Date."

"Are you sure?" inquired Lucius.

"Yes, Lucius, I'm sure," Marguerite replied.

Lucius cast a glance around the room, frown deepening at the covert glances being thrown their way from everyone present. "We're leaving. Go ahead and say your goodbyes."

Marguerite hugged Isadore fiercely. "I'm so sorry for ruining your Courtship Date, Isadore. I didn't mean to do that. I'm so, so sorry."

"You didn't ruin it, Marguerite. I'm glad you joined us. If you hadn't, Black might've caught you alone." Isadore shuddered. "Don't let him win, Marguerite. Have a wonderful afternoon with Lucius." She kissed both of Marguerite's cheeks.

"I will." Marguerite kissed her cheeks and then winked at her. "And you think about moving Lord Flint's bracelet to your other wrist. Owl me anytime you want, Isadore. I'm staying here permanently now."

Isadore touched the turquoise bracelet again. "I promise I will."

After Lucius stood and assisted Marguerite to her feet, she curtsied to Flavius and offered him her hand. He lifted it to just below his lips, but didn't kiss it. "Thank you, Lord Flint."

Instead of waving off her gratitude and declaring that she had no need to thank him, Flavius released her hand and bowed his head. "You're welcome, Lady Marguerite."

"I'll see you later, Flavius," Lucius said.

"Until later, Lucius."

"Thank you for letting us join you, Lady Isadore," Lucius said.

Isadore smiled at Lucius. "A-any time."

Then Lucius was leading Marguerite back to the Apparation chamber, her arm atop his. And if her fingers were gripping him, instead of lying flat against him, he didn't mention it. He merely held her in his arms and Apparated them to Leisure Alley.

Marguerite took a deep breath, forced all thoughts of Sirius away, and grinned up at Lucius. "Where to?"

"Ah, but that would be telling," Lucius said. His shoulders were still tense. "This way." He rested his hand against her lower back and began ushering her past one shop after the next. "Here we are." He gestured to a green and blue store front with a flourish.

"The Mythical Menagerie?" Marguerite asked delightedly. It was the flagship store for wizarding pets. The owners had opened a less discerning shop in Diagon Alley called The Magical Menagerie, but that was for mundane pets and hybrid beasts that didn't react poorly to those with Muggle blood. Dorea had purchased a post owl for Jamie there when she was headed off to her first year at Hogwarts.

Lucius handed her a piece of paper. "This is for you."

She gasped. "Lucius, this is a license to own a pureblood Kneazle."

"You mentioned that you wanted one."

"I was twelve."

"I was paying attention," Lucius said. He rubbed his thumb against her waist. "Do you still want one?"

"Yes, of course!" Marguerite said. She had wanted one since she was a little girl, but she wouldn't have been able to take one to Hogwarts; it would have attacked the Muggle-borns, and some of the half-bloods, too. She hadn't been able to bear the thought of getting a Kneazle and having to leave it at Potter Manor almost all year long. So she had never asked for one. "Come on!"

Lucius chuckled and allowed her to drag him into the shop after she twined their fingers together. "Excited?"

"Not at all," Marguerite lied cheekily as she towed him toward the pens that held the pureblood Kneazles. She stopped and stared at the fourteen Kneazle kittens. Kitten, of course, being misleading. The smallest one was already over a foot high at the shoulder.

"It's going to take you forever to decide, isn't it?" Lucius asked. He had a self-satisfied smile on his face. "You can only have one."

"I want that one."

Lucius blinked down at her. "What? You've decided already?"

Marguerite stared at the Kneazle farthest away from her in the pen. It had silvery white fur and black speckles; it resembled a miniature snow leopard. The tufts of hair on its ears and at the end of its tail were almost platinum in color. Its eyes were a pale blue topaz, as if someone had taken the color of her and Lucius's eyes and mixed them together.

"I want that one," she said, pointing directly at it.

"It'll fit right into the family," Lucius said. He chuckled and shook his head, as if she had surprised him in the best way. He raised his hand; a shop-boy appeared beside them.

"How may I help you, Heir Malfoy?" he asked.

"My lady wants the silver and black one," Lucius said, gesturing to the Kneazle Marguerite had chosen.

"An excellent choice. I'll collect her for you now," he said.

"I'm glad you picked a female Kneazle to fall in love with. I don't think I'd like the thought of a male sleeping in your bed, even if it is just a pet," Lucius said.

Marguerite laughed as she chose a silver collar from a nearby display. "I daresay that between the bracelet and Venetia, any male who attempts to enter my room is going to suffer a gruesome fate."

"Venetia?" Lucius extended his arms and accepted the silver Kneazle from the shop-boy. "Is that what you're going to name her?"

"Mmhmm," Marguerite murmured as she placed the collar around Venetia's neck. "I decided on that name for my Kneazle when I was a child."

Lucius quirked an amused eyebrow at her as he handed her Venetia. "You plan names that far in advance?"

"Of course." Marguerite smirked up at him and whispered, "I'm going to name our firstborn son Draconis. And you're going to teach him the importance of guarding his treasure."

Lucius's eyes went supernova. His mouth dropped open the slightest bit. Even though she knew her cheeks were pink, Marguerite couldn't help but laugh. She had never thought she would see the day when Lucius was stunned into speechlessness.

She buried her face in Venetia's fur and smiled. The butterflies in her stomach were flittering away, and she never wanted them to stop.

---

Marguerite lay on the blanket near the shore of the lake on the Vaisey Manor grounds almost a week later. Her hair and body were still wet from her afternoon swim. Her buttercup yellow swimsuit was damp and clinging, but a drying charm seemed like cheating when the sun was so bright.

"How are things with H-Heir Malfoy?" Isadore asked.

She rolled her head to the side and smiled at her best friend. Isadore wore a cobalt blue bathing suit that made her eyes seem even icier than normal. Water-logged, her hair was a medium gray instead of its usual white.

"Honestly, I never expected him to fall in love with me," Marguerite confessed.

"But you're so beautiful and sweet!" Isadore insisted. She propped her head on one hand and frowned. "How could you think h-he wouldn't be interested?"

Marguerite shrugged. It wasn't exactly easy to acknowledge her insecurities. She fiddled with the blanket. "Because of Lucius, the Malfoys unofficially adopted me when I was eleven. I just figured he saw me as a younger sister, you know?" Marguerite sighed and ran her hand across her eyes. "Narcissa Black had blatantly set her cap at him. Narcissa's gorgeous; she wasn't called the Princess of Slytherin for nothing."

"I always knew h-he wanted you as h-his bride," Isadore said. "I told you time after time, but you didn't believe me."

"I'm sorry, Isadore! It's nothing you did—"

"I know." Isadore's smile was painfully understanding. "It had n-nothing to do with you, and everything to do with J-Jamie Potter."

Marguerite's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" Like always, any mention of her old name caused tumult to rise.

"Don't t-take this the wrong way, Marguerite. Please! I don't mean for my words to hurt you. Just h-hear me out," Isadore pleaded.

"Go ahead."

Isadore sat up and folded her legs, before leaning closer to Marguerite. "I think that Jamie Potter died a long time ago. I think that Jamie Potter died before she ever even received her Hogwarts acceptance letter." She touched Marguerite's arm lightly, as if to offer comfort and reassurance. "I think Marguerite Malfoy has been your true self all along, and I think she's worn Jamie Potter like some type of permanent Polyjuice Potion in order to survive her family and society. I don't think Marguerite Malfoy would be a Gryffindor. I think she would be a Slytherin. In fact, I think she would be the ultimate Slytherin. She would be cunning and wise enough that she would be able to hide herself in Gryffindor House, so that no one would ever see past the person she was wearing."

"Oh?" Each word Isadore spoke resonated with a truth that Marguerite had long kept hidden. Even as a child, she had never felt like she really belonged in the Potter family.

"I think Marguerite Malfoy grew tired of pretending to be someone she's not. I think she couldn't bear the pain of the lies and deceptions any longer. I think that's when she started doing everything she could to find her true self—whether the methods were Dark or Light Arts." Isadore looked much too sad for a girls' afternoon together. "But I think the main reason Marguerite doubts she's worthy of Lucius's love is because she's worn Jamie Potter for too many years. And we both know Marguerite would never consider Jamie Potter worthy of the wizard who protects and treasures her."

Marguerite sniffled and wiped her teary eyes. "I think you might be right about that."

"Heir M-Malfoy looks at you with all the l-love and longing in the world, Marguerite. You're not Jamie Potter; you're not blind or obtuse. You must've seen it," Isadore whispered.

"I'm in love with Lucius Malfoy," Marguerite stated, voice shaking with every syllable.

Isadore's own eyes were wet with tears as she smiled. "I know."

"And he loves Marguerite Malfoy," Marguerite said. "I'm not Jamie Potter. I'm Marguerite Malfoy." She lifted a trembling hand to her face and mumbled the final words against her fingers. "He loves me."

"And is Lady Marguerite Malfoy, of the Sacred Twenty-Eight Families, worthy of being the bride of Heir Malfoy?" Isadore asked.

"Yes, of course!" Marguerite replied with a wide grin. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Isadore's laugh held equal amounts of relief and joy. "There you are. That's more like you."

"Thank you." Gratitude filled Marguerite. Talking things out had always helped her better understand her thoughts and her heart. Unfortunately, she had never been surrounded by many people that she trusted with her real thoughts and feelings. Knowing and believing weren't always the same, and they each played an important part in self-worth.

"A-any time, Marguerite. I'm happy I could help."

"I'm supposed to be the older sister. I should be helping you," Marguerite retorted. She grinned then, and decided to comment on something she had noticed when Lucius first dropped her off at Vaisey Manor. "I see you've moved the turquoise bracelet Lord Flint gave you to your left wrist."

Isadore's fingers closed around it instantly. "Y-yes. I did."

"How are things going with Lord Flint?" It was hard to keep the teasing tone light, but she managed it. Isadore was already a deep pink in the cheeks. Marguerite didn't want to accidentally cross the line into bullying. That had been Sirius's hobby, not hers.

"I've become . . . fond of h-him, Marguerite," Isadore confessed. Her gaze was on the blanket as she traced designs on it with her pointer finger. "He makes me f-feel safe w-when I'm with h-him." She was silent for several minutes before saying, "I th-think that I could l-love him."

"That's nice. Lucius has assured me that Lord Flint is most sincere in regards to his interest in you." Marguerite smirked. "Though, honestly, I could tell that for myself when we had lunch at The Magic Lamp last week."

Isadore squeaked and blushed harder. "You spoke with H-Heir Malfoy about my c-courtship."

"Of course, I did. That's what older sisters are for, right?" Marguerite didn't know what older sisters did for younger sisters. She was making it all up as she went along. "I even asked several probing, somewhat unladylike questions to soothe any lingering concerns."

"No! You didn't!"

Marguerite laughed, utterly unrepentant. "I did. I most certainly did. I don't know who was more surprised—me or Lucius—when I asked if Lord Flint was known in school for sneaking off and kissing witches. Of course, the answer was no, but I had to check."

Isadore was mortified, but she still whispered, "Thank you."

"You're—" Her head snapped off to the right as she felt Lucius approaching. His magic nudged up against her. He was early, wasn't he? A glance at the sun in the sky, now sinking lower, showed that she was late. She should have met him back in Vaisey Manor over an hour ago. She was surprised he had waited this long before coming to ensure nothing ill had befallen her.

"L-Lord Flint," Isadore whispered, cheeks darkening as she dove for the bag they had stuffed their robes in.

"Stay there, Lucius!" Marguerite yelled, because she knew Isadore never would. "Don't you come a single step closer. And keep Lord Flint leashed at your side, Lucius. I mean it!"

"Why?" he yelled back.

"Because Isadore and I are wearing swimsuits, Lucius! I don't want to be witness to you and Lord Flint dueling each other to the death in order to defend our honor!"

A strangled sound came from behind the trees that hid them from view.

"T-this i-is s-so em-embarrassing," Isadore stuttered, tears in her eyes.

"Calm down. Stop and take a deep breath, all right? They are not going to come over here. They're not going to see anything we're not ready for them to see. Everything is going to be fine, Isadore." Marguerite snatched her wand up from the blanket and cast drying and cleaning charms on Isadore, before casting them on herself. "Get dressed. Everything is all right."

"But what if they—"

"No buts," Marguerite stated, face stoic. "Lucius would never do that to me. Would Lord Flint ever do that to you?"

"N-no," Isadore said, shoulders slumping. "He wouldn't."

"That's what I thought." Marguerite offered another reassuring smile before donning her own clothes. The sienna dress fell to the ground. She left the slippers in the bag with her gloves; there was something enchanting about the feel of grass tickling her bare feet.

"Let me help," Isadore said, sliding the pins that held the white half-veil into Marguerite's hair. She returned the favor.

"Ready?" Marguerite asked. It hadn't taken them long to get ready. Less than five minutes, she would wager.

"R-ready."

Lucius's gaze dragged over her once she passed between the trees. "I would thank you to never mention such things again. I almost punched Flavius like a Muggle at the mere thought of him picturing you in a swimsuit."

Marguerite snickered. "But you didn't feel compelled to almost punch yourself?" At the sheer guilt that crossed his face, she closed the distance between them and hugged him. "I was teasing, Lucius. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." She grabbed his hand, nodded to Flavius and Isadore, and pulled him back through the trees. "Lucius?"

He shook his head and sighed. "You were over an hour late. You're never late." Lucius tightened his grip on her hand and glared at the lake. "With how intently you stared at the headlines of the Daily Prophet this morning . . . I didn't mean to doubt you. I just . . . I love you." He cupped her face between his hands and gazed into her eyes. "So much."

"Heiress Potter Missing!" Marguerite said. "With a photograph of Charlus, Dorea, and Harry Potter, tears on their faces." She slammed her eyes shut. "It hurts, Lucius." She squeezed his hand harder. "Do you know why?"

"Because they're your family," he answered dully, "and you love them." His grip loosened. "You want to go back."

"Wrong!" Marguerite twined her fingers with his and pressed their joined hands against her chest. The pearls on her bracelet clacked together. "Because the Heiress Potter they claim to love died when I was seven. It took them almost ten years to notice I was gone. Ten years, Lucius!"

Lucius embraced her, raining kisses upon her hair and cheeks.

"I was only an hour late when you came looking for me, Lucius. One hour," she rasped. "That's how long it took you to realize something might be wrong." She couldn't untangle her emotions. "It took them almost ten years."

"They're fools, and they never deserved you," Lucius said. "They were blind to the truth. I'm not. You're a pearl. Pearls are unique, and, thus, irreplaceable."

Even though she wasn't supposed to, because they weren't engaged yet, Marguerite leaned up and kissed Lucius. His lips were warm and soft, and his arms tightened as he tasted her.

Perhaps it was time for Marguerite to tell Lucius a secret truth about pearls.

She drew away the barest bit. Her breath ghosted across his lips as Marguerite told him her secret. "You're my pearl, Lucius."