It was a quiet Monday morning on Chesterfield Street, in the London neighborhood of Mayfair. A stately townhouse overlooked the occasional passersby, though it was visible to few who crossed it. The exterior of the home was largely unchanged since its construction in 1715, and a gleaming number 7 adorned its rich mahogany door. Beneath it rested a heavy brass knocker in the shape of a serpent, twisted into a circle to consume its own tail. The entry hall was dim and still on this day, though the lone occupant of the grandiose residence secretly hoped that this would not be the case for much longer. Pale-faced portraits dating back to the first family that enjoyed the address dozed or glanced about, their expressions the very picture of ennui. They had not found the current owner of the property to be very interesting thus far— he never spoke to them, rarely had visitors, and was away quite often doing Merlin knows what. It had been around four years since he moved in, and never once had he hosted a fete or gala. During the day, the visitors he did have were serious looking men who spoke of nothing but trades and investments. At night, on the off chance he wasn't off galavanting, those who stopped by were rather more intriguing; men of diverse appearances who spoke in urgent, hushed voices or, more infrequently, beautiful women that the painted figures eyed with unabashed disapproval.

The lone occupant and source of entertainment for these portraits, Lucius Malfoy, thought nothing of the paintings aside from covering each one in his study upon moving in after leaving Hogwarts. It was in this study he now sat, a pile of documents upon his desk that he was meant to be reading and, if they did not require edits, signing and mailing out. However, the dry contents were not holding his interest today, and his eyes kept sliding to the ornate clock resting upon the fireplace mantle across the room. It was nearly noon; he had not expected things to take so long to unfold. Just before close of business the evening prior, he had asked for paperwork to be drawn up regarding holdings in France that had become his only two years prior. The contract was absurd and he had no intention of signing it, but he had mentioned it to several key individuals whom he was confident had rushed the news to the currently reigning head of the lovely chateau nestled in the Loire Valley. He had been waiting since daybreak for the individual to accept his unspoken invitation for further discussion, but so far, not even an owl had arrived from the mainland.

With a barely perceptible sigh, he dragged his gaze back to the pages in front of him. A fine quill of peacock with a brass nib rested in his left hand; so little was his focus that he had yet to touch the metal to ink. He was dressed in immaculate robes designed for a business man of great taste— though he had no intentions to leave his house that day, he simply owned few things of lesser quality. Still, he shook his sleeve back, lest it approach the ink, should he choose to sign anything that day, He was beginning to wonder if perhaps the arrangement had been a mistake— perhaps the man he'd agreed to terms with had not been the fool that Lucius believed him to be— when and enormous crash reverberated throughout the foyer and his study, indicating that the front door had been thrown open with great force. He allowed himself the flash of a self-satisfied, cat-like grin before settling his features into a stoic mask and intently dipping his quill into his inkwell.

A house elf appeared before him quite suddenly. "Master!" it squeaked, but managed no more before the door to his study was thrown open as well. It began to apologize profusely, but he waved a dismissive hand, his attention now fully focused on the figure standing in his doorway.

She was a tall, exceptionally stunning woman, though her expression currently held no gentleness nor feminine efforts to appeal. Her long blonde hair was pulled tightly back from her high cheekbones and twined into a strict bun at the crown of her head without an errant hair to soften the effect. Her robes were a steely grey brocade with a fitted bodice and sweeping skirt, with long sleeves and a high neck that ensconced her throat. On her hands she wore white kidskin traveling gloves. The entire ensemble reminded him of battle armor, with no tender, weak flesh exposed. Fitting, he mused, for the occasion.

"Explain yourself," she demanded sharply. Rage flickered in her narrowed blue eyes, but she kept her expression neutral, and her tone level. He ignored the command, instead feigning interruption by carefully setting his quill down, straightening his papers, and moving them aside.

"Mrs. Malfoy, what a pleasant surprise. Hardly a fitting greeting after such a long absence though, wouldn't you agree? Please," he gestured to the two chairs placed before his desk, "won't you have a seat? May I have an elf bring you a beverage?"

She shook her head tersely at his offer of a drink, but hardly one to eschew social norms any further than she had by showing up unannounced, she closed the door behind her and swept across the room, sinking gracefully into one of the proffered seats, though her posture remained ramrod straight. She removed her gloves stiffly, one finger at a time, and laid them across her lap.

"Very good," Lucius continued, "Now, why don't you start again? How was the trip from France? I know crossing the Channel can be tremulous at times." He spoke slowly, in a leisurely tone designed to put off the matter at hand, the one that was burning in every inch of her being.

"It was uneventful. As I'm sure you've guessed, I'm here to discuss—"

"Uneventful! Well that's strange, I read in the paper this morning that there were expected to be storms all day today," Lucius interrupted, and was rewarded for his interjection with briefly pursed lips.

"It was no matter. As I was saying, I received word this morning that you have designed to—"

"No matter?" he echoed, again cutting her off mid-sentence. "Did you come here by carriage? There's nothing I hate more than being tossed about in a storm when all I'm hoping for is a peacefully journey."

He was enjoying himself immensely, but was careful to keep his tone light and unamused. When Narcissa responded, the only indication she gave of her irritation were her inhospitable words; she maintained a coolly tolerant tone as she replied, "be that as it may, there's nothing I hate more than being repeatedly interrupted. That land is mine. It has belonged to the Black family for centuries and it was a wedding gift from my father. You cannot sell it, particularly not to—"

Deciding not to heed her warning, he spoke over her once more. "You see, Mrs. Malfoy, that is where you are incorrect. I suppose for sentimental purposes Cygnus told you that the property was yours, but it was an empty promise and your point is irrelevant. Everything to your name became mine by law when you became my wife. By omitting any mention of it of it being set aside for you in our contract, your father gifted that property to me on the occasion of our nuptials."

She was clearly not surprised that he had led with this argument; what he said was fact and she knew the house and land were only hers anecdotally. Any other husband might have allowed her to refer to it as her own, but the fact that hers would not came as no shock. Still, she pressed on.

"There's no need to sell it," she pointed out, keeping her tone calm and including the smallest hint of flattery by adding on "you don't need additional liquid assets."

"You are right," Lucius conceded, accepting the ego stroke in her nod to his wealth, but continued, "there is no urgent need, but it is up to me to decide where my money is invested for the good of our family. If I can grow the income from the sale, it will be of greater use to the Malfoy family than yet another empty estate in France."

Nacissa bit back the urge to mention that the property had not, in fact, been uninhabited at all. With her two previous arguments she had set him up for an easy win; at last, she came to the most cogent and infuriating issue of this whole affair. "You sold it to the lowest bidder," she said flatly, presenting finally the least comprehensible element to the entire scheme.

She had him there; Lucius knew better than to attempt a transparent rebuttal for her to tear to shreds. The man that he had drawn up the contract with was not one of esteem, and certainly not the kind he would generally ever consider doing business with. The nouveau riche Half-Blood had been just witless enough to allow Lucius to buy him a drink at a club he normally wouldn't be caught dead in, and once Lucius had made his too-good-to-be-true offer, the fool hadn't stood a chance. The opportunity to own an esteemed manor home, rather than the garish rococo reconstruction that was his current abode, had been too incredible for him to pass up, particularly at the price. Normally, no amount of money would pry an estate from an old Pureblood dynasty, even if the home was crumbling and the long-time owners too poor for repairs. But here had been Lucius Malfoy, a charismatic Pureblooded prince and growing legend in his own right, offering him covetable and well-maintained acreage in the Loire Valley that had long been a favorite holiday home for the Blacks. Without taking time to ask questions, he had agreed on the spot.

A wiser man, one who was a member in the correct social circles, would have known that Narcissa Black Malfoy had been living there full time since her marriage to Lucius two years prior. The the couple was seen together only at the most important of occasions, such as weddings, funerals, christenings, and the occasional gala, if the host was ranked high enough to be graced with their presences. Narcissa was never seen coming or going from No. 7 Chesterfield Street, and Lucius seemed to be everywhere at once, except for with his wife in the scenic countryside of the Loire. Rumors abounded regarding the pair, but none would even consider bringing these whispers up to either of the individuals they concerned.

This is not to say a wiser man would not have jumped at the opportunity to purchase the ancestral home of the Blacks— however, a wiser man would not have purchased it with the intent to move his own family there. Narcissa would have been a huge asset as a tenant, as she ran the home with elegance and brought to her drawing room the glitterati of elite Wizarding society. In the two short years since she had left school and married Lucius Malfoy, she had established herself as an important figure in both London and Paris society. No one (apart from, perhaps, her husband) was unwilling to make the trek upon receiving an invitation for tea, and she always had an assortment of friends from school, wives of government officials, and prestigious cousins at her side. Plus, taking a rent payment from Lucius Malfoy for the housing of his wife would have given any man who had ever met him enormous pleasure.

"I can sell to whomever I wish at whatever price." His statement, while true, answered none of her questions.

"Your ultimate goal seems to be humiliate me. As for the reason behind this crass action I cannot fathom, but do you not see that you are cutting off your own nose to spite your face? This reflects poorly upon you as well, doing business with such a creature and letting go of such a valuable property. It makes you look foolish and irresponsible." Narcissa folded her hands primly as she spoke, but her words were icy. "I'd like to believe my husband is neither of those things."

Lucius studied her features intently, but she revealed nothing. Was she purposely provoking him, or was she truly naive enough to not have guessed that the far greater humiliation was the one she had placed upon him? Immediately after their wedding, Lucius had been called away for a week for urgent work, so there had been no honeymoon. He was simply too busy. But when he'd returned he had found that, instead of moving her belongings to his London house, where the two would live until his parents retired or expired and they could move to the Manor in Wiltshire, she had taken up residence in her own house. For a week or so he had expected her arrival when she learned that he had returned, but she never appeared. At last he had sent her a bland letter dealing with practical matters, but also mentioned that he had returned to London. Her reply had come swiftly, but addressed only the practical matters he had mentioned and gave no indication on when, or if, she might plan to join him in his home as his wife. His pride forbade him from requesting that she do so, and his admitted reluctance to sacrifice his freedoms as a bachelor had prevented him from demanding it. They'd had maybe a score of in-person interactions over the two years they'd been married, and their letters mainly consisted of her updating him on the state of the property and the visitors he was hosting; he often sent lists in reply of individuals he was working closely with so she could in turn contact their wives or sisters. They would discuss events they need to attend as a couple, and she would notify him if she happened to be in London, so they could have supper together.

To his credit, Lucius had tried less drastic measures to provoke her into moving to London. He was not immune to the gossip; he knew their circumstances were unusual in this day and age, especially considering that she had not yet produced an heir to the Malfoy fortune. About a year ago, he had reduced her allowance, hoping so slowly drive her into a state of discomfort in France. However, the first month that the amount was less than her normal sum, he had received a note in her neat handing writing politely requesting the original amount, unless that presented a financial hardship for him. Seeing no valid excuse to refuse, and of course feeling slighted by her suggestion, he had given up on that plan rather quickly. About five months ago, he'd come up with a rather more sordid attempt to provoke her outrage and return. Either the rumours had not reached her or she would not deign to confront him about them, but regardless of which it was, Lucius had created far more of a problem for himself than for Narcissa, and now he only had four months left to resolve the matter. It had been a matter of weeks ago that he'd been attending an event with the Lestranges that he had overheard Bellatrix talking about how she planned to visit the Loire Valley soon— and how Narcissa "loves that place more than I've ever seen her care for another human being, honestly." And so the current plot had unfolded.

"My father will buy it back from you I'm sure." Narcissa was growing uncomfortable with his long silences, but did not fidget nor show her anxiety. "Double what you've agreed to sell it for."

Surely she had realized by now that it had nothing to do with money? Lucius inhaled slowly, then allowed himself a cat-like smirk. He wasn't in a hurry. He would not grow frustrated. He was going to win. She was the one who had traversed countries this morning to argue with him.

Lucius rose slowly to his feet; pensively, not dismissively. He turned from her to face the large window behind him that overlooked Chesterfield Street. For a moment he allowed his gaze to follow that of a young Muggle couple holding hands and laughing, but then a wave of utter disgust overtook him and he flicked his eyes back to the objects of his study. He moved idly to his globe, which glowed softly with enchanted pinpoints of light tracking various locations, though it would be challenging for an innocent man to guess what the dots indicated. He gave it a lazy flick with his index finger, and for a moment the dots transformed to lines as the orb spun. Of the many gold threads, one glowed red and a slight frown creased Lucius's brow; he would have to look into that later.

His hand fell next to another object; a victrola, rarely used. One disc lay in the tray, poised beneath the pin. It would play any song he requested. "Music?" he suggested, and with a flick of his wand, the most poignant aria of Lakme was filling the study. He knew little of the quotidian activities of his wife, but he did recall, prior to their wedding, hearing of her great love of opera. The song he selected was not unintentional. At once beautiful and trilling but also subtly undermining the role of the patriarch, it hinted to the wilting authority of a father as a young woman blossomed to adulthood. Cygnus held no power here, and he wanted her to remember.

"My dear wife," he continued, turning back to her at last. He sank into his desk chair once again, drumming his fingers in time to the Duo des Fleurs, "funding your nostalgia holds no financial gain for me. There is no tangible purpose for you to be there, and there is no reason for it to go on any longer."

Immediately, he knew he had overplayed his hand. Narcissa's eyes widened for a heartbeat, and then narrowed slyly.

"My dear husband," she replied softly, a hint of malicious pleasure only barely perceptible in her subservient words, "If only you had told me that my absence was causing you distress. I would have been here in a moment, of course." This time she rose, and while Lucius wished he could rise to his feet and impose his stature once again, she was already moving away toward the door of his study. "I'll have my belongings brought here posthaste," she continued, "and direct that the permanent fixtures of the home are moved to storage. And you," she turned only when she had reached the door and her hand rested upon the knob, "will cancel your foolish agreement with the Mudblood at once, I suppose?"

Lucius gritted his teeth. "I can only imagine the property will require little upkeep once uninhabited. There is no need to divest of it promptly, if you were to move here."

"As I imagined," she quipped primly, and Lucius swallowed a sneer in return. "I'll see you for supper on Friday then, at eight."

It was on the tip of his tongue to retort that supper would be whenever he damn well pleased, but he let the urge slip away. He was, after all, bringing her here to manage his household, and it would be a waste of his time to interfere in her feminine domain. He firmly reminded himself that her presence here would mean all the advantages of having a wife, though in this moment he was loath to recall what those might be.

He nodded tersely. "Very well." He should have felt victorious, as he'd won the battle to get her to move in, but the victory tasted bittersweet; he had revealed too much, and she was walking away barely scathed while he had lost too much in the spar.

"Oh and Lucius," she pushed the door open and her parting words floated in from the entry hall, "get rid of that girl you got pregnant before then."

Shit.