XXXVII. Imagined
Narcissa Black likes to imagine things. Her mother says that it's a hideous trait for a young lady to sit there, daydreaming, but Narcissa doesn't care. She likes to lose herself in fantasies of being in her mother's place one day – only her dresses will be finer than her mother's meringue-like monstrosities, her guests will be far more interesting than the bores with whom her mother forces her to associate, and her husband will be far more handsome than her stern, severe father.
Narcissa particularly likes to imagine herself dancing with this husband of hers, and of course they are beautiful and graceful and far more elegant than any other couple of their generation. Narcissa has always known that her husband must be fantastically handsome (and of course fantastically rich, as nothing else would be befitting of a Black), for she knows that she could not bear to be with someone who faded when placed beside her, which sadly most do.
In her most precious dream of all, she is with Lucius Malfoy. He is her husband, the richest and most powerful man of their generation, and he is hers and hers alone. He only has eyes for her, and they live together in that splendid mansion of his in Wiltshire with a beautiful blond son who is like Lucius in every way but has her eyes. Perhaps Lucius will allow her to call the boy Draco. She has always liked the name, but she doesn't know whether he'd allow it. Lucius Malfoy always gets his own way… but then again, Narcissa always gets her own way, too.
Of course Narcissa knows that that will never happen (what self-respecting witch truly believes in fairytales?), but still, it's always nice to dream.