She knows this house far too well.
That's all she can think as she tip toes through the pitch black manor. Nothing is visible but she knows where she is. She's in the hallway right above her bedroom, exactly four meters from the end of the hall where the small balcony is. One of the balconies that overlook the gardens. She knows she is probably one of the only people to step foot on that balcony in the past few decades. Maybe centuries. She finds comfort in that thought, she can't help it.
Silver light spills through the large window on the door as the dark cloud that was in front of the moon moves. The window is open, and she didn't notice this until the moon became visible. But she still continues to tiptoe up to the window, her nose almost touching the glass and she shivers. Her platinum blonde hair is blown back out of her face as a breeze dances through the open window, and her night gown flutters around her knees.
Goosebumps pop up all over her skin as she stands there, looking out at the flowers and plants bathed in moon light. The stars that seem to sparkle brighter from this spot than anywhere else. The pond that's littered with colorful fish of all species in the middle of the garden.
Her blue gaze travels down to the golden door knob and she suppresses a sigh.
It's cold out, and she's wearing nothing but a silk night gown. She shouldn't go outside.
But, she muses, she's cold already so what's the harm?
Her hand is numb as she reaches for the metal handle and she pushes the door forward, listening to the slight swish it made as it sliced through the cold night air. Closing it with a click behind her, she stepped up to the railing and suddenly, it wasn't night.
It was mid-afternoon and the lazy sun was shining down on everything but there was a breeze so it wasn't as hot as it should have been.
And she's turning and watching a younger version of herself get proposed to. She's watching the way a twenty-one year old version of himself swings the door open, a grin on his pointed face, and she sees a nineteen year old version of herself turn around, surprised. Her blue eyes sparkle with love when they land on him and he strides over, hands in his jean pockets, representing everything Muggle and nothing Malfoy. She pulls her shorter blonde hair over one shoulder and turns around again, as if he was never there.
But then he stands behind her, places one slender hand over hers on the railing and whispers in her ear; "Marry me?" and she swears she can hear all the love and adoration and care in his voice right now, even if this is only a flashback.
Her younger self allows herself a wide grin and teary eyes before the grin is wiped away and her tears are blinked back. She turns around in his arms and frowns up at him. A brief flash of panic shoots through his silver eyes, but he keeps up the lazy smile, trying to stay confident. She pokes him in the chest, and asks; "What if I say no?"
His smile loses the uneasy edge to it as he hears the amusement in her voice, knowing this was a joke.
"I'd just ask again tomorrow." He whispers.
"Then maybe you should. I'd expect something romantic, with candles and dinner and you in a suit and roses and a large diamond ring." She huffs, crossing her arms loosely against her chest.
"Would you like to wait for me to prepare all that?" he asks, tilting his head to the side slightly.
"No," she says softly and grins widely. She uncrosses her arms and places her dainty hands on his chest and rises on her tippy-toes to place a soft kiss on his lips, "I'll allow our wedding to be in a barn, if it means I'll be marrying you."
He has no words to express how he feels, so he just wraps his arms around her and twirls her around in a hug, laughing, with tears fogging over his eyes.
And then it's after midnight again, twenty years later, and the cold air bites at her bones. She turns back to the railing, wiping the nostalgic look off her face as she wipes away her tears.
The door swings open, slicing through the cold night air once again, and she turns around, surprised to be facing a forty-one year old him beaming at her. He strides over, his hands in the pockets of his emerald, silver and black plaid pajama pants. She pulls her platinum blonde hair, now the length of her back, over one shoulder and turns around again, acting as though he wasn't there.
But then he walks up behind her and places a hand over hers on the railing and she can't help the feeling of déjà vu that washes over her.
"I've never seen you out here before." He whispers.
"I've been out here so much, it isn't even amusing." She replies, quietly.
"Why?"
"It's my favorite place to be." She smiles to herself slightly.
"Why?" he repeats softly.
"Because it reminds me that we used to not be the perfect representation of our surnames."
It falls silent. She knows that this particular subject is something they try to avoid, but she's not in the right state of mind. She never is when she opens that door. And to be found out here, when he thought she forgot about it a long time ago, is a shock. But she would never such a memory, so how could she forget the place in which it happened in? She can't. That's just it. She can't, and every time she opens that door, she gets assaulted by feelings she thinks will end up breaking her Malfoy mask at one point. She wasn't born a Malfoy, she wasn't raised to be cold and detached like her husband. She'll never get that skill mastered, no matter how hard she tries.
And then his voice is quiet and smooth and she can hear all the love and adoration and care that she thought was long forgotten; "Marry me?" he says. The smile is audible in his whisper.
This time, she doesn't wipe away the grin or blink back the tears. This time, she turns around, beaming up at him, and says; "Let's get married in a barn, Lucius."
"Anything for you, Narcissa."