"Lady Malfoy." The young man bows, his lank hair falling across his cheek. His hands are cold where they touch Narcissa's, his lips even more so as he presses them to her skin. "A pleasure."
Narcissa smiles, the act an elegant twist of her mouth. Lucius is at her side, watching the both of them. He'd coached Severus on how to act, she knows, and she assumes this is an assessment of sorts, knows Lucius is likely mentally marking the interaction.
As Severus' hand slips away, his arms linking behind his back, Narcissa dips her head.
"The pleasure is mine."
"Cute, isn't he?"
They stand amongst the Manor's gardens, watching Draco crawl around the roses. Severus holds dandelion stems in one hand, the flowers ready for a potion.
"Adorable," answers Severus, though his tone suggests the opposite. "How old, now?"
"Seven months." Narcissa's voice is fond, the way it always is when she talks of her son. She leans down, scooping him up in her arms before he can poke a thorn. His small, chubby fingers curl around her hair instantly. "Will you stay for lunch? Lucius isn't home."
Severus spares his potion a fleeting thought before accepting the offer.
"Severus."
Narcissa's voice is a quiet murmur, and when Severus turns to look, she looks almost asleep. Her eyes are hooded, her beautiful face casted in shadows. Candles light the room, their warm glow casting the two of them in a dim light. It's almost intimate.
"Do you ever get lonely?"
The question is not what he expects, and perhaps that is what brings the truth out of him. That, or the pleasant buzz of wine, the deep, rich red a favourite of Narcissa's.
"Yes," he says, and the word has barely left his mouth before Narcissa's lips touch his.
The rain against the window is loud, the thunder even more so. Severus looks out the high window, out into the damp gardens, the darkening sky. Even with the rain, the Manor is still beautiful.
It's guests, however, are not.
He sees Narcissa across the table, her posture tight with tension. He recognises the fear that simmers behind cool blue, faint as it is. Remembers it from years ago. The look is mirrored in Draco, who has not yet learnt how to conceal the extent of his emotions.
Had he been there, Severus wonders if Lucius would look the same.
A fingernail scratches the jut of his wrist bone, its surface painted a deep, beautiful crimson. Severus' gaze flicks to where Narcissa's hand has circled his wrist, her touch gentle yet demanding.
His eyes glide towards Bellatrix before returning to Narcissa, his head moving in a light nod. Narcissa follows his gaze, a red tinted lip held between her teeth when she looks to her sister. Only once she's certain they're not being watched does she dart forward, her lips catching the corner of his mouth. It's fleeting, the touch little more than a gentle pressure.
"Thank you," she whispers.
"How is he?"
"Fine." It's a lie, of course. Draco is a mess, but, well. It's best not to worry her, Severus thinks. Not with things they can't change. "And you?"
A laugh escapes Narcissa in a huff of air, the sound bitter and resentful. It's more or less what he'd expected.
He holds out a hand, the act an open invitation, and Narcissa falls into his lap easily, her hands cupping his face. Her body is warm, her touch welcome.
Her mouth finds his, and her touch is desperate.
He's more than willing to give her what she wants.
