As Malfoy walked into his bedroom he felt the cool breeze coming in from the window a little too keenly, it flicked his hair up around his neck as he went to close it. He thought about his father and the will he had left; it had mentioned the cane, but the specifics had always eluded Malfoy junior, who at the time of his father's death had been far more preoccupied with the vast wealth he had inherited. Malfoy's mother was still alive, but after the death of her husband had not wished to stay in the Manor where they lived together. She had instead gone abroad to live in France, a little manoir called le Chat d'Or, not far from the wizard school Beauxbatons. When she was a little girl she had wanted to go to school there, believing that if they were a school of 'beautiful wands' as their name implied, that they must also be a school of beautiful people: a school where a young Mrs Malfoy thought she belonged.
This streak of vanity had, of course, been passed to her son Lucius. He walked over now to the chest at the foot of his bed. Lifting the lid, he removed a piece of parchment which lay within. Untying the green ribbon which bound it, for what felt like the hundredth time, Lucius Malfoy sat on his bed and began to read it.
My son, along with all that is left to you and your mother in my will, I leave you this cane. Crested with the Malfoy coat of Arms it will serve you well. It is the key to your future. I know you will continue our prestigious and powerful lineage with the honour with which you were born.
He thought about the words it is the key to your future. He had assumed it was his father's verbose and pretentious way of using the metaphorical symbol of his crest, combined with the phallic imagery of the cane, for his continuing the Malfoy line: having children.
However, now it seemed that perhaps there was more, cryptically hidden away. Why had his father not just left the cane in the will, along with everything else... why was it alone with this note? As he thought his brain became more confounded; drink, tiredness and Bellatrix had taken their toll and he threw the parchment down, tore off his clothes and climbed into bed. He would think about it tomorrow. One thing was for sure though, whether he understood it or not, he needed to get that cane back.
Walking through the ministry the next morning, Malfoy, though on home ground and knowing exactly where he was going, felt tense. On his guard, but with just enough trepidation to excite and exhilarate, he stalked through the corridor, hollow echoes from his footsteps rebounding off the walls.
He had slipped one of the secretaries a few gold coins in exchange for the key to chamber in which the plunder from raids carried out by the ministry are kept, locked away until they can be processed. Knowing the system, Malfoy knew they were backlogged several years. There is no way the booty from the last few raids will have been touched yet, he thought confidently, flashing a cool smile at a tall black witch who walked past. He did not see her broad grin as she walked by, but judging from the reaction of most women at the department, notably the secretary who had given him the key a little too easily, he had a pretty good idea of his effect on them.
Sliding the silver key into the lock, Malfoy resisted the desire to check over his shoulder and, feigning an air of legitimate purpose, he marched through the door. Once inside he began to search, piles of books, boxes and certain objects which even Malfoy himself would prefer to stay in the dark as to their function. There were huge towering chests and cabinets and shelves. Many things appeared to be categorised, some even had little dog-eared tags on them. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at the apparent chaos with which this sector of the ministry existed.
"Accio cane!" he commanded. He ducked as a plethora of canes; wooden, metal, plastic; came flying through the air, landing at his feet, save the few which nicked his shoulder... and his chest, and quite a few other parts of his anatomy. He knelt down to sort through them. Within seconds he realised, to his dismay, that his cane was not among them.
Thinking that perhaps it might be locked up in one of the chests, he spent the next twenty minutes looking through draws and shelves. Nothing. He let out of growl of annoyance, walked out of the room and slammed the door as he left.
"Having a bad day?" enquired a soft voice behind him. He spun round, his hand instinctively flying to his wand. Narcissa. He softened visibly at the sight of her almost as if he had been deflated by the expectation of being caught by higher authority, and the relief at seeing her. However, remembering that this was Fudge's Goddaughter he stiffened again.
"Work," he replied shortly, then seeing her seem to shrink in his presence, he added, "Late night..."
She nodded knowingly. "I didn't see you after midnight, did you leave before then?"
"No, I... had some business to attend. Thoroughly uninteresting, I assure you." There was a silence, which, bordering on the awkward, prompted Malfoy to ask the question, "Ah, what brings you to the ministry anyway?"
"I came to thank Cornelius for last night... it was kind of him to think of me, particularly as I didn't really want to come with my sister. Much as I love her, she has a way of making me feel... well, the word wallflower comes to mind. Anyway, Cornelius spoils me."
"I'm sure your sister likes that?" Malfoy replied with a smile.
Narcissa smiled back, "No, indeed, she can be a little jealous from time to time ... particularly when we were children, we always fought over this doll with pink hair..." She trailed off with a feeble smile and looked to the floor. Dolls? Why are you letting this man make you feel like a child? she chastised herself, straightening.
"Anyway, this is a rather strange area of the ministry for you to be in is it not? I thought you were on one of the higher levels?"
Malfoy narrowed his eyes, not sure which concerned him more, the fact that she had said this was a strange area to be in, or the fact that she knew where his office was.
"I work in the ministry and it is common for my work to take me all around the facility. You, on the other hand do not, and thus it is far more surprising that you are here," he said, his voice had perhaps sounded a touch more imperious than he had intended.
"Sorry... I just thought that this area was out of bounds for... people"
"What makes you say that?" He looked at her carefully. His father had taught him something of legilimency - though he could not practice it, he had learned a great deal about reading people, he could see that though she held herself so confidently, she was fearful of something.
"Well... my Godfather sometimes comes down here... he has a room where he escapes to... that was where I was going to meet him. Only, he doesn't want his employees to know... its kind of like a haven for him." She looked honestly into Malfoy's eyes.
"Curious that I have never even seen the entrance to this room," ventured Malfoy gently. Something about the openness of Narcissa's conduct made him feel strangely at ease. Bellatrix was indeed beautiful, but she was so difficult to read, it was hard to tell where her fierce pride stopped and her elaborate bravado began.
Narcissa answered Malfoy's question, though it had not been asked, with a low whisper, "He enchanted it so that I, or his family, people who are close to him can reach it. I'm not really sure how it works, it just appears for us. It's funny... it's only recently we became so close. He is so good to me."
Malfoy had heard Bellatrix talk about her parents on more than one occasion, and could see why Narcissa was so enamoured by someone showing her kindness. He, of course, had no need for such demonstrative behaviour and believed that his own strength had come from his parent's stringent ideas on upbringing.
"I hear your sister has gone to Paris?" he said, wishing to think of something else.
"Yes, she thought I might like to go with her, but my father thinks she would lead me astray - besides, I expect I would get in the way of some of her ... more amorous liaisons."
As she said this Malfoy's eyes widened. He was silent for a moment feeling for the second time that day as if he had been physically deflated. "She has a lover abroad?"
"Yes," replied Narcissa blankly. "She talks about him rather a lot actually, though she has no intention of marrying him."
"A lover, in Paris?" Malfoy repeated... then realising the answer to this question, he nodded to himself slowly. "Une ville tres belle, n'est ce pas?"
Narcissa nodded, "Bien sûr, parfait pour les amoureux."
There was a moment of silence again.
"Forgive me," he said quietly, "I must return to my office."
"Of course," replied the girl with a smile.
Narcissa watched him walk away. She had heard about him from many different people. From Fudge he was an ambitious and determined ministry worker. From her sister and cousin, who, though differing on a great many things, both acknowledged he was a tricky, arrogant and dangerous man. Though certain members of her own family had clandestine ties to the darker Arts, the Malfoys were known infamously for theirs.
Narcissa was sure that underneath all the exterior, Malfoy was just a young man trying to live up to the fierce expectations laid down by his predecessors.
Unfortunately, and despite his apparently charming manner, it was this exterior which scared her. She felt strangely torn. She was so drawn to him, but terrified at the prospect of being alone with him. Putting the matter out of her head she walked to her Godfather's room, the walls opening up seemingly from nowhere and sat down to wait.
When her Godfather arrived he looked flustered to say the least, but nonetheless glad to see her.
"So my dear. You had a good time, did you... at the ministry ball?" he inquired sitting on a large maroon leather chair.
"Yes, it was really lovely... everyone looked so beautiful."
"You, especially, my girl," said Fudge with a wink, "Tell me, your mother and father... they are arranging your marriage themselves are they not?"
Narcissa's heart fell, as it did every time this topic was mentioned. The Blacks, like many illustrious and aristocratic wizarding families, were obsessively protective of their pure blood lines. For this reason it was common practice to arrange marriages between such families. Bellatrix, though slightly older than Narcissa, had managed to avoid such a union thus far, primarily due to the fact that her fiery temper and her extramarital antics were known by many. This, of course, compromised the whole idea of pure bloodlines in that men would not take the risk of marrying someone who could be in any way unfaithful and call their prestigious paternity into question.
Narcissa too, had narrowly escaped one marriage arrangement when she was 19. Antonin Dolohov had been the proposed match, a wizard who had strongly supported Voldemort's cause. He had initially wanted to marry Bellatrix, but, on meeting Narcissa had thought she would be a far better option. "Far more malleable, I think," he had said. She shuddered at the memory. On discovering this, Narcissa had run away. Unsuccessfully, of course, even with Sirius' help. However, it made her parents reconsider their proposed plans... at least for the time being. Fudge was rattling on about honour and wizarding families, ancestry and such like. Narcissa was not really listening, she couldn't, it made her feel sick. The thought of being made to marry anyone, even if she liked them, repulsed her, the lack of choice. However, she knew that choice was something she just did not have.
"I believe my father is in talks with a few associates ... and who knows, if I'm lucky they may let me know who I'm to marry, at least an hour before the ceremony."
"Now then, it is hardly a matter for triviality... and I don't appreciate sarcasm." He stopped, only for breath, "And what with your sister... and her ... well," he stuttered, agitated. For a minister of magic, he was not always the most articulate of men. "Well, it is quite clear to see why your parents are keen to have you settle down now."
He calmed down slightly, "It is too late for poor Andromeda - I know as Minister, I should be open to inter-wizard-muggle relations... but for such a high standing family.. well... and Bellatrix ..." He flushed, his brow furrowed, "Well, the chances of her making a good match are doubtful."
He suddenly noticed he had been rubbing his hands together anxiously. Bellatrix worried him. Many of her friends, though Fudge suspected lovers, were believed to have joined Voldemort's cause. Her proximity to such a right-wing group of people, people who were becoming more and more dangerous by the day, made him nervous.
Narcissa could feel frustration building and her eyes began to burn. "Forgive me, Cornelius, I don't think I'm very well. Perhaps I had better go home."
"Of course, of course, child, do as you will," he said, bustling with some parchment or other.
"I thought that this room was to escape your work?" said Narcissa with a wry smile, eyeing the pieces of parchment.
"Well, you know how it is. Sometimes I need to do a bit of work.. away from prying eyes as it were!"
Kissing him on the cheek, Narcissa left the room and walked out of the ministry of magic.
In another part of the ministry, Malfoy was stooped over his fireplace. The rangy head of Julius was illuminated in the greenish flames.
"Julius, you may just have redeemed yourself... if and when I retrieve the cane... perhaps, and this is not certain, I will take you off my list of people to torture and subsequently destroy." He said the words lightly and smiling, Julius laughed uncertainly. Malfoy did not.
Julius, once again, decided it was best to quit while he was behind, and seemingly evaporated from the flames.
Malfoy sat down in his chair, his eyes fixed on the flames. Putting the business with his cane, his father and work out of his head, he closed his eyes, before opening them suddenly. Bellatrix had another lover. This bothered him. Ever the competitor he mentally flicked through a list of possibilities. Deciding he was far superior in every aspect to almost everyone he could name, he settled back down in his chair, closing is eyes. Still, he thought, it wouldn't hurt to give her a little reminder, his face cracked into a broad smile, considering today had started off so atrociously, everything was beginning to fall into place. Yes, he thought, when she returns from Paris, I shall pay my little trixi-bell a visit.