[Summary] - Narcissa/Lucius [Muggle!AU] Over a decade later, she can't remember much about that summer, but there was one thing that would always stay with her. His favourite colour was blue.
A/N – This is for Rayne (Rayniekinnz); I'm really sorry it's late, and I apologise in advance for all the mistakes I'm sure I overlooked. Here is the (sort-of) Muggle AU you didn't particularly ask for.
Warnings for mentions of abortion.
His favourite colour was blue.
She didn't know when she'd found that out; she couldn't tell you why she'd bothered remembering it, either.
"Excuse me? You look a little lost," he said with an infuriating smirk, tone completely opposing his words.
"Well, I'm afraid you are mistaken," she snapped, hurrying away from the man – Muggle – who thought himself good enough to approach her.
He easily sped up his pace to match hers.
"What could you possibly want in this direction?" he continued in the same haughty tone. "There's nothing out here but empty fields."
"That shows what you know," she retorted, only realising after the fact that she was only encouraging him.
"I grew up here," he said as if it were something to be proud of. "There are only fields and an old run-down barn. What could you," he looked her up and down, "possibly want with either of those?" She gave a derisive snort; it never ceased to amaze her how ignorant these people could be.
"Do not presume to know me, just because you are far too dim-witted to see what is right in front of you." Why did her parents decide this was a good place to spend the summer?
"You again?" came a now familiarly annoying drawl; unbelievable. "What is your fascination with that field?"
"What is your fascination with me," she was quick to retort. He only smirked in response. He was infuriating. "If you have nothing to say-"
"Oh, but my dear," she gave him her best disgusted look at that; the one she'd learnt from her Aunt Walburga, "How could I possibly not be fascinated with you?"
She scoffed at that; partly because she thought he was being sarcastic, partly because she thought he might be serious.
He was beneath her, she knew that, but still she found herself seeking him out.
"Don't you have anywhere better to be than this small town?" she asked him one morning, feeling a brief sense of satisfaction when she startled him, however momentarily.
"What makes you think I plan to stay here?" He didn't look at her as he spoke, but she knew she had his full attention.
"It seems to fit you," she replied blandly.
"A lot of very rich people simply whiling away the time? Getting richer and richer as they wait for death?" He finally looked at her, eyebrows slightly raised, expression somehow portraying bored disapproval. "No. I plan to make a name for myself."
"Then why are you still here?"
"My mother. She's sick." At her look of disbelief, he continued. "Family is important to me."
She hadn't been expecting that; this Muggle seemed a lot more interesting than she'd first thought possible.
The silence stretched on as she attempted to gather her thoughts.
"If you truly disliked me, you wouldn't keep seeking me out," he said, breaking her out of her quiet contemplation.
It was a while before she could form a whispered reply.
"I never said I disliked you."
"What is your name?" she enunciated each word clearly, trying to hide how embarrassed she was. They'd been meeting like this for over a month now, and not once had she bothered asking – though, she reasoned,neither had he.
"Malfoy."
"Malfoy?"
"Lucius." She barely contained an eye roll – who introduced themselves like that? – though there was nothing she could do about the tightening of her expression. "And you?" he asked, seemingly uncaring of her answer.
"Narcissa Black."
"Like the flower?"
He tugged lightly at the ribbon in her hair.
"I like this colour," he murmured, almost to himself; if they hadn't been standing so close, she probably wouldn't have heard.
"It was my sister's."
"That doesn't change the colour," he replied blandly.
She reached up, touching the silky fabric in her hair. She hadn't thought much of the ribbon before; it was just something Andy had left behind – she wasn't even sure why she kept it. It was convenient, she thought.
She was a little surprised Lucius had even noticed it.
"Where do you keep disappearing off to?" her sister asked one day in the middle of August. She was surprised it had taken Bella this long to bring it up.
"Nowhere," she tried, already knowing it wouldn't work.
"C'mon Cissy. It's okay." She didn't know how to take that. "You don't have to marry the bloke. Just get it out of your system."
"Get what out-"
"You know what! Passion; lust; sex!" Narcissa nodded along, not sure why her sister was condoning this. "So? Is he good?"
"Uh..." She found herself strangely unwilling to admit they hadn't even kissed.
"What? Your first time? Really?" Narcissa tried to keep her expression neutral. "Where's he from, anyway? Over the Channel? I haven't seen anyone I recognise from Hogwarts. Oh, Merlin, he's not a Hufflepuff, is he?"
Oh. Oh. Of course. Her sister couldn't even conceive the notion that she might be seeing a Muggle.
"No, Beauxbatons." She pushed down the guilt she felt for lying to her sister.
It was surprisingly easy.
She couldn't keep her sister's words from her head. Maybe she could just use this Muggle. It wouldn't mean anything.
There were no feelings involved.
She tried to ignore how close to a lie that felt.
She couldn't find the courage until the day before they were due to leave. She wasn't like Bella; she couldn't just take what she wanted with any means necessary.
So, she waited.
She waited until she could receive no negative repercussions from her actions, and only then did she take what she wanted.
And that one night, it would have to be enough.
Returning home, she was fully prepared to forget about him completely. It had been nice, that was all – there was nothing more to it.
He was a Muggle. He was so far beneath her that she shouldn't have bothered wasting her time on him in the first place, but still...
Still...
She's found herself here most mornings for the past couple weeks, crouched over the toilet and throwing up the remnants of last night's dinner.
It was probably food poisoning; the House-elves should take more care when preparing meals.
It got harder to deny what was happening the longer it went on.
She wakes up one morning – maybe a month after it started – to find a small vial on her bedside table. She instantly recognised the contents; it was something every girl knew about, though few admitted to ever using.
It had to have been from Bellatrix. Her sister hadn't said anything about knowing – and there was no note with the bottle – but who else could it have been? No one else would have noticed; not yet.
She turned the vial over in her hand, keeping her finger over the stopper just in case.
She couldn't keep this... thing growing inside her. This was the best course of action, really. What else could she do?
When she pulled out the cork the liquid fizzed slightly, an awful smell emitting from the vial, bringing with it another wave of nausea.
It was for the best.
But, lifting the potion to her lips, she found she couldn't bring herself to take the last step.
She was seated in the front row, her sister standing before all of their friends and family. It was odd seeing Bellatrix shrouded in white; the colour just did not suit her, nor did the demure smile.
Appearances were everything; it didn't matter what happened behind closed doors as long as no one outside of the family ever found out. She was proof of that.
She could practically feel the disapproving looks Bella was sending her way whenever no one was looking. They only served to further enhance the worry that was already consuming her.
Soon, she wouldn't be able to hide it.
"Narcissa?" her mother's tone was deceptively quiet, but Narcissa could feel the anger lurking beneath the single word.
"Yes, Mother?" She tried for innocent.
"Did you honestly think I wouldn't notice?"
"No, of course-"
"How long were you planning on keeping this from me?"
"I wasn't-"
"I am your mother! How could I not notice?"
"Well, I-"
"You will go to Knockturn Alley and get the potion to-" Narcissa shook her head slowly, eyes fixed to the floor. "How long?" She didn't answer. "How long?" Her mother repeated. Narcissa hesitated a few beats more before mouthing her answer.
Five months.
The arrangements were made without her knowledge; she was only told the day before she was shipped off to France that she would be staying with a distant relative of her mother's. A half-blind old woman who was so besotted with her late husband it was ridiculous.
It could have been worse, she supposed. She'd heard tales, back in Hogwarts, of girls who had been forced to take the potion even after it was no longer safe. Her mother had still wanted grandchildren, though; just in the proper fashion.
She noticed there was no mention of what would become of the child she was carrying.
Unwillingly, she found herself almost caring for the little Half-blood.
Her mother's final words still rang through her head, reminding her of why that was a terrible idea.
"I expect, when you return, that this little problemwill have resolved itself."
She could feel the child moving inside her, its kicks causing more pain than she'd been lead to believe. She'd been told it was a beautiful thing to have a child, but this was anything but. It was painful and embarrassing and so very inconvenient.
Still, she found herself wanting what was best for this child. For the child that she would not keep; that she couldn't keep.
Andy had managed to renounce their family; their name; everything they had been raised to believe in. Narcissa couldn't do that. She couldn't ignore the fact that this child was half Muggle; that it shouldn't exist.
She pushed down all feelings of want.
It wouldn't work.
She went back one last time, infant held close to her chest, feet following the familiar path to the doorway she remembered as being his.
She wasn't like either of her sisters; she couldn't put her own desires above those of her family, and this child was not her family – he wasn't.
Bending down, she carefully placed the child on the doorstep, arranging the blankets around him to ensure he stayed warm. She tucked a sealed envelope underneath him, the letter inside only containing the barest of details.
Gently tracing her finger over one rounded cheek, she whispered a final goodbye to the child, stepping back as his eyes fluttered open.
The child whimpered softly, his cries getting louder when she continued to walk away.
She didn't look back.
Over a decade later, she can't remember much about that summer; she can barely remember what he looked like – she has no idea what the child might look like now – but there was one thing that had stuck with her, for some inexplicable reason.
His favourite colour was blue.