Bring Me Heartache

By: PrinzessinEilis (Eilís Barnett)

Fandom: Harry Potter

Genre(s)/Tags: Prompt Fill, Competition Entry, Romance, Infidelity, Pure-Blood Politics, Death Eater Propaganda, Betrothal, Fluff

Rated: T

Word-Count: 1856

Prompt(s):

Slytherin Contest - This is for those who love to read and write. I am challenging you all to write a Harry Potter-verse fan fiction. It can be in any time frame before, during or after the books/movies as well as AU (alternate universe). There is a catch though: it must include Slytherin in some way. For example you can write about Draco and yourself (or your character) or Master Slytherin and a friend of his. It doesn't have to be about love or lust, it can be about friendship or even meeting someone for the first time. Whatever you are inspired to write! If you have any questions reply to this posting and someone will be able to help.

Rules:
-Minimum of 300 words
-Can be in any language but know that most people here only speak English
-No swearing or other offensive language allowed
-No sexually explicit content; must be rated G-PG13

one-word prompts: divinity, blindside.

quote: "I think how hope may be the thing that pulls you forward, keeps you going, but that it's dangerous, too, that it's painful and risky, that it's making a dare to the world and when has the world ever let us win a dare?" (from The Knife of Never Letting Go, by Patrick Ness.)

song: Almost Lover by A Fine Frenzy.

character/pairing: Narcissa Malfoy

wild-card prompt: one character in your story dwelling on the prospect of dying at some point or another, whether in a sad or happy manner is up to you.

Summary: It's October of 1971, and though they have all year before Lucius is due to graduate, Narcissa finds herself mourning the loss of a romance that was doomed at the start.

A/N: Title courtesy of the song "Almost Lover", as per the prompt.

The problem is Lucius has been betrothed since he was three.

To Yvette Yaxley.

Yvette is the daughter of Lord Yaxley, Head of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Yaxley; a perfect match for the future Lord and Head of the House of Malfoy. For all the Black Family's infamous wealth and reputation, very little of it actually trickled its way down to Cygnus, comparatively.

Narcissa may be beautiful, clever, well connected – may love Lucius as much as she pleases, but she will never be an heiress. For all that Lucius is an adult in the eyes of the ministry, his marriage lies squarely in his father's hands – and unless the Yaxleys die or fall to ruin, there's really no chance that Narcissa could ever marry the boy she's been with these past two years.

Of course political marriages matter very little in Slytherin house, where all the young aristocrats do and give as they please until graduation comes and they are set on the roads their esteemed parents have paved for them. And she could always be a mistress; though the very idea of that makes her stomach churn.

She shakes the thought from her mind.

There's still several months before Lucius graduates, and Yvette herself is only a fifth year, which theoretically gives them another two years before they must be wed (but Narcissa doubts very much that she could manage a relationship with her still being in school, and there's no guarantee that he would still be waiting when she graduated).

Narcissa wraps her scarf more securely against the autumn wind, thankful that her hair is pleated neatly out of he way as she looks to her beloved sat next to her in the grass, shoulder-length blond hair whipping frustratingly as he grumbles at it. She watches fondly as he wrestles on a knit cap, which manages to help very little in taming his wild locks, but still makes him look quite dashing, or so she thinks.

"What are you thinking about, Cissy? You're being very quiet today," he pushes a few hairs behind his chapped, red ears, forehead wrinkling in concerned curiosity.

"Nothing," she lies easily, shaking her head. She scoots closer to him, snuggling into his warm side and intertwining their gloved fingers. Lucius shakes his head in wry disbelief, but squeezes her hand anyway, kissing her pale temple.

"Liar," he says, affection heavy in his voice. "Is something the matter?"

"No," she sighs, keeping her eyes on their thin fingers, "I'm only thinking of graduation. It's really nothing, Luce, I'm just-" she waves her free hand toward the sky, "feeling contemplative is all."

"Graduation?" he says sceptically. "Narcissa, you've only just started sixth year, why are you worrying about graduation already?

She rolled her eyes and pouted, pursing her lips. "I never said it was my graduation, did I?" she mutters, still avoiding her piercing gaze, but leaning into his body all the same.

"Ah," he says as if he understands now, "so you're thinking of my graduation then, are you? What, are you worried I won't pass my NEWT's, then, or?"

At this she cannot help but look at him in exasperation. "I'm sure you'll do just fine on your NEWT's, Lucius. They wouldn't make an idiot Head Boy, after all. I'm sure you'll do Slytherin proud."

Lucius' brows shoot up, pale eyes widening in innocence as he draw carefully away. "Well all right then. Now I know some-thing's bothering you." Eyes shining with genuine worry, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "What's wrong, Cissy?"

Narcissa huffed and pressed her face into his neck, revelling in the roughness of his stubble and the heady masculine cologne that clung to his Slytherin scarf. "Just... Everything's ending!" She turned closer, wrapping her arms around his torso. "You're graduating this year, Luce, and then I'll never see you again, 'cos- Because you'll be off working for the Dark Lord with your father and my sister and Yaxley- And I have another full year before I'd be able to see you again, but by that time you'll be married to Yvette, probably, and- And- It's just- Hopeless...!" Her carefully bred and crafted mask fell and she began sobbing heavily into Lucius' woollen cloak. "Even the trees are dying," she finished inanely.

Lucius' blue eyes widened in understanding, and he buried his face in her blonde curls. "Oh, Narcissa..."

Sniffling, she unburied her face from his neck, but kept her head pillowed on his wide shoulder, unwilling to leave the safety of his arms. "I've always known you could never marry me, so it's not as if I'm surprised by the realization, only... It's Samhain... It's the end of the year, and everything is dying and rotting, and I just... I couldn't help but think about how we're dying, too. Then I realized that some silly Slytherin Dalliance isn't going to be enough for me! I don't want to lose you, Lucius! I'm not ready... I just... didn't expect to be so blindsided, is all..." Finally she trailed off, wiping the tears from her eyes, thankful for the glamours that didn't smudge and run like the make-up paint all the Mudbloods wear.

Lucius sighed. He understood what had her so upset; he, too, often caught himself thinking maudlin thoughts, or wishing awful things upon his bride-to-be.

"Narcissa..." he started, unsure of how to console his young lover. "You..." he grit his teeth in frustration. Eloquent in all manner of politics and academia, emotions was an area in which he could safely say he was utterly unlearned; neither his own parents nor his Slytherin brethren could boast being particularly sensitive in matters of the heart.

Swallowing his aristocratic pride, he tried to speak plainly: "I love you, Narcissa. More than anyone. Certainly more than Yvette Yaxley. If there was a way..." he shook his head, "No, if there is a way... I will marry you in a hummingbird's heartbeat. It's not over, Cissy, not yet. We've got until June to be together here at Hogwarts, and- I promise, I'll write to you over the summer, if I can't get away to see you in person, and I'll write you next year, no matter what the Dark Lord has me doing, I swear, I'll make time. It's not over until Yvette and I are bonded, and even then there's no expectation of fidelity, plus, who knows, she might die."

Narcissa smacked him lightly in the chest, "Lucius!" she scolded, trying to be disapproving but for her twitching lips.

Lucius chuckled, his deep voice resonating warmly in her middle. "The point is," he set his fingers on her chin, turning her until they were nose-to-nose, "don't ever think that this is hopeless." He kissed her softly, his chapped lips pressing chastely against her own. "You are my light, Narcissa," he whispered honestly, his warm breath a secret against her skin, carried away by the autumn wind. "You must always have hope, Narcissa, no matter what. Hope is like faith: it's what keeps us going, no matter the odds. Just as we must have faith that the Dark Lord will prevail over the ministry, that we can protect our traditions and preserve our bloodlines. Just as we must have faith that the choices we make will be the right ones, for the good of our future. Just as we must have faith in the power of our gods and the strength of our beliefs, so, too must you have hope, even in hopeless times. Especially in hopeless times, because that's when we need it most!" His eyes were alight in his conviction, and Narcissa could see in him the great politician he would become.

"I think... I think how hope may be the thing that pulls you forward, keeps you going, but that it's dangerous, too, that it's painful and risky, that it's making a dare to the world and when has the world ever let us win a dare? But that's why gambling is so addictive, isn't it? Because what if you win? Then all that fear and pain and loss might be worth it in the end. I think that hope is a kind of divinity of its own, that we cannot help but hope, and that to lose it is to lose ourselves."

He looked at her, nose nuzzling into her own, blue eyes begging her to understand. She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut and inched forward to kiss him because she couldn't not. "Okay..." she mouthed against his lips, hands fisting in the fabric of his cloak so tight that under her gloves, her knuckles were turning white. She kissed him deeply, and desperately, and he held her through it, her lovely, perfect lordling.

Only once their lungs began to burn with want of air, did they pull apart, panting hotly into the shared space between them. "Do you promise?" she asked, voice wrecked and full of emotion.

"I swear it," he vowed, and she accepted it.

Wrapped up together against the autumn cold, she let herself hope.