The first time I met Lucius Malfoy, he broke my arm. Well to be fair, technically I broke it, but really, he was the catalyst. It was a surprisingly warm spring day and my father had invited some friends over for tea. Andie had gussied me up in my best dress and dress robes (both a shocking pink and clearly not my favorite color) earlier in the morning and then Bella had told me what the day would bring.
"Cissy, today we're having tea with father's important friend and his family. They are very important people and you must behave your best! No playing with bugs in the dirt like a filthy Muggle or reading books and being boring. We are of the Noble House of Black and our guests will be judging us heavily. Now just sit here in your room until this afternoon and our guests have arrived."
Never mind the fact that is was merely 11 o'clock in the morning and tea was to begin promptly at 3 o'clock. Bella had her heart in the right place, but she wasn't up to taking care of me. I was brought up by our many house elves and my older sisters, Bellatrix, who is four years older than me, and Andromeda, who is two years older. My father would spoil me with attention when he was home, but that wasn't very often. Ever since my mother's death he had thrown himself into his work. She died when I was three, during childbirth with my baby brother who hadn't survived a day more than my mother. Despite the terrible blow of a lost wife and heir, I like to think my father favored me most over my sisters. He would tell me how much I reminded him of her, my mother, because of my blonde hair and blue eyes (a rarity among the dark pallor of the Black family) and my more inquisitive nature. When I was little, I took pride in being most like my mother and for the special attention above my sisters.
That day, when I first met Lucius, I didn't really feel up to following Bella's orders. So instead of sitting in my room, I went down to the kitchen for a quick lunch. Then I scampered off to the library to sneak out a book (making sure to go the long way instead of passing my sister's rooms). My father sat at his desk, immersed in paperwork, and only glanced up with a small smile when I slipped The Tales of Beedle the Bard off one of the many shelves. He often let me do this, and if he had time, he would help me with reading some of the more complicated books. This was one of my favorite pastimes, and often how I would go to bed. He would read to me until I fell asleep. But whenever I wanted to work on my reading skills, not my overall knowledge, I would take down one of the easier novels kept in the library and go sit in a tree. This is exactly what I did that afternoon. I picked a relatively easy book, at least easy for my higher-leveled reading ability as a six-year-old, and skipped off to the small garden in our back yard. There were big old trees that I spent the summers climbing, bushes teeming with small wildlife like bunnies, birds, and bugs, and an enormous amount of flowers. The garden was my favorite place to be. I liked playing in the nature, and as Bella had pointed out earlier that afternoon, often ended up tracking mud through our rather obscenely large Bath townhouse.
Once I had pranced up to my favorite tree, an old cottonwood with lots of branches for climbing and sitting, I assessed myself. There was no way I was getting up there in so many silly frills and laces. I toed off my shoes and socks and dug my toes into the fresh soil with a smile. Then I shrugged off my robes and launched myself at the tree, climbed up about two-thirds of the way to the top, and settled in with my book and a big breath of fresh air.
I was getting right to the good part of "Babbity Rabbbity and Her Cackling Stump" when a drawl of, "The Tales of Beedle the Bard? How childish!," sounded in my ear. My immediate reaction? A squeak, a jump, and a quick tumble of thirteen feet to the ground, followed by a sizable picture book landing on my chest, which knocked the breath from me.
Needless to say I was not a happy little girl. My arm hurt, I was having trouble breathing, and I had just been scared out of my tree by a yet unidentified voice. Sitting up, I pushed my book off and cradled my right arm to my stomach. When I looked up I was rewarded with the sight of a boy, possibly a year older than me, dressed to the nines, swinging his legs on my branch. He had blond hair that was surprisingly light, even more than mine. It swept across his face which bore an incredibly smug look. So far, I did not like this boy.
"What? Can't you speak?" When I glared at him, my teeth clenched in pain and shock, he added in a sickly sweet voice, "Is da wittle baby hurt?"
I really did not like this boy.
He jumped out of the tree in a graceful arc, landed on his feet, knees bent and hands on the ground. When he stood up, he wiped of his hands and took a survey of what had become of my somewhat less elegant exit of my tree. Seeing my robes, shoes, and socks over in a heap by a rose bush and taking in my dirtied appearance, including twig-filled hair, he sneered and gave a derisive laugh. With what I could only guess was a bow (it seemed a rather rude gesture the way he did it), he introduced himself.
"Lucius Malfoy. I was sent to collect you seeing as you didn't seem to be showing up for tea anytime soon." He made no move to help me up and held a sneer. It didn't quite fit his young cherubic face, but it was there and it was ugly.
At this point, I was a very angry, very hurt little girl. I smoothed, out my dress as best I could as I had realized this boy was probably here for tea with his parents, whom were my father's important friends. I, however, did not care one whit about this Lucius Malfoy as he so called himself and proceeded to get up and stomp off with a haughty sniff. He deserved it.
"DADDY!" I screeched down the hall once I had exited the garden. I was not in the mood to be tested. My arm hurt. I had been interrupted reading. And on top of that, there was a rude little boy who I hated and who was responsible for it all. "DADDY!" I yelled again just as I was about to enter the parlor.
The sight the greeted me was not one I was well accustomed to. There sat my two sisters on a small side couch, all prim and proper sipping their tea and looking at me like I was absolutely barking. I almost never yelled. My father was situated around a small tea table and appeared to have been engaged in small talk with a slight woman with golden hair and a pretty, red smile and a man, not of slight stature, who had hair that reminded me of that boy. I scowled. All three adults had turned to look at me when I had entered the room, but beyond their simultaneous attentions, nothing else in their reactions to my outburst was similar. My father looked somewhat bemused, if a little reproving at my state of attire and immediately noticed the unnatural cradling of my right arm. The pretty lady, whom I instantly decided to like, smiled at me before hiding in her cup as if in shock at both my own outrageous actions and her own reaction. And the man, on whom I was reserving judgment because my father always told me to "never judge a book by its cover," scowled slightly, but then dismissed me and went back to his tea. Apparently the entire affair disinterested him.
"Daddy," I told my father frankly, "there is a mean little boy in the garden who knocked me out of my tree and broke my arm!"
"No fair! I didn't even touch you Twiggy!"
There it was again. That voice! Ooh, I hated him!
"Don't call me that! My name is not Twiggy! And you did too. You climbed up my tree and scared me and made me fall!" I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest to show my displeasure when I heard his retaliation. He was really, really mean. My arm hurt a lot and he was calling me names. It wasn't my fault there were twigs in my hair, it was his. Just as I was about to burst into tears, I decided I would not give him the satisfaction of making me cry. I immediately twirled around and ran over to my father.
I sniffled and continued my pathetic story. "Daddy, my arm really hurts. And my book is all torn. I don't like him. Can he please leave now?"
My father chuckled and hoisted me up into his lap. "Well now, he's been invited to tea and we can't ask him to leave can we? That would not be very polite." At my renewed frown he chuckled again. "Let's have a look at this arm now shall we?" I clutched my arm closer in an attempt to stop him from seeing how much it hurt. But he managed to pry it away. He started prodding at me and muttering to himself in his soothing voice that he used to get me to sleep while he read to me and I relaxed back into his chest.
During his ministrations, I once again took stock of the room around me. Bella looked very upset, like I had ruined her pretty doll, which I supposed I had considering her doll was me. Andromeda looked to be vacillating between her own little world and the actual events taking place, as per usual. Lucius, as he liked to call himself, or rather Evil-Meany as I now dubbed him, had stalked over to his parents and sat down between them where he proceeded to stare me down. His mother had gone back to her tea with a smile at my antics, just taking in the scene as conversation was little to be had. His father was looking between Lucius and myself with an odd mix of disapproval and disappointment. I dismissed him, he seemed just as awful as his son.
I was taken from my musings by the sound of my father's voice, "It's just a small fracture Narcissa, love. I can easily fix it. Once tea is over I'll go get you some potion for your bruises and scrapes. And we can always buy you a new book, yes?" He gave me a look that I knew brooked no more discussion on the topic, but I was fine with this turn of events.
"Thank you Papa." I told him with a dazzling smile. He always knew how to make me feel better.
"There's that beautiful smile I was missing," he exclaimed, "Now let's fix you up and continue on with our tea young lady, hmm?" I nodded at his suggestions. "Episkey." At that, my arm jerked a bit and a loud snapping noise rent the air. My breath was sucked from me once again, as my bones repositioned, but immediately after my arm felt better. Aside from some bruises and scratches which I considered a normal occurrence, I felt good as new. I twisted on my father's lap and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.
When I turned around and settled myself back into my father's lap for a nice tea with my favorite cranberry-orange scones conversation started back up. "Now Cygnus," the man started, "As we were saying…" I proceeded to ignore him. Grown-up talk always bored me. I took my tea, sent the boy a dirty look, and eventually drifted off.
I woke as my father started to stand to take the Malfoy family over to the fire place in the den so as to use the Floo and leave. As I waited patiently to bid goodbye, I felt my hair tugged sharply. I spun around to find him standing in front of me again with an evil grin on his face.
"Bye Twiggy." My mouth popped open in shock at his audacity. Just as I was about to give him a piece of mind he stepped away to his mother's side in the fireplace and was swept away in a flash of green flame.
Needless to say, Lucius Malfoy and I did not get off to a good start.
A/N: So this has been slightly tweaked and edited since I cut out some old bad chapters and decided for it to be just a one-shot. But it was really fun to write and re-read!
Thanks for the reviews and support!
byee, love, me, .lyingtonguesareclumsy.