A/N: For the Pairing the Character Competition (Narcissa, NarcissaRosmerta) and the Ultimate Pairing Diversity Challenge.
Rosmerta isn't surprised to find Narcissa Malfoy still in the pub when the other patrons are long gone. "Another glass?" she asks, holding up a bottle of the elderberry wine the younger woman has become so fond of since Lucius' arrest.
"I'd prefer the entire bottle," Narcissa answers flatly.
"Well, you've already finished half of it," Rosmerta says gently, placing the bottle on the table.
Narcissa grabs it, removing the cork and pouring a generous helping into her glass. "Is there something wrong with me?" she wonders before drinking greedily.
"Grief makes drunkards out of many."
Narcissa shakes her head. "I mean with me. I'm beautiful, aren't I? I'm sure my personality could use some work, but I'm not terrible," she says before draining the glass.
"You're quite lovely," Rosmerta assures her, and she means it.
"Then why would my husband be so foolish? Why would he risk arrest when it would mean losing me?"
Rosmerta sits across from her, taking her hand. "Lucius' actions have nothing to do with you, dear. I'm sure he loves you, and-"
"He's barely touched me since Draco was born."
Rosmerta blushes slightly. She's used to alcohol-loosened tongues, but she never would have imagined that Narcissa Malfoy, so prim and dignified, would ever let such intimate confessions slip. "I didn't realize," she says quietly.
"Draco is sixteen now. It gets so damn lonely," she continues, reaching for the bottle again.
Rosmerta catches her hand. "I'm sure it does, dear, but drinking won't bring you any comfort."
"Maybe you can, then."
Before Rosmerta can question it, Narcissa leans across, unsteady, and presses a sloppy kiss to her lips. Rosmerta gently rests a hand on the back of her head for support.
She knows it's wrong. Narcissa is drunk, and in the morning this will all be little more than a blur. But the spark is undeniable, and she can't bring herself to pull away.