Saturday, 2 October 1976
"Lucius!" Narcissa gave a small squeal of surprise and sat up to wrap her arms around her knees. "It's only nine… maybe half past… what are you doing in here so early?"
She wasn't technically wrong, it was normally much later than this that he came to her. But here she was, dressed only in bubbles, and he found himself strangely unwilling to retreat.
"Yes, well," he shrugged off his robe, unbuttoned his cuffs, and began to neatly roll up his sleeves as she regarded him warily. "I finished up with some matters rather sooner than I'd anticipated and thought I'd spend the remainder of the evening with my wife."
As he spoke he seated himself on the edge of the tub, watching her with a dark gleam in his gaze.
"Right, well, if you'll give me just a few minutes I'll dry off and meet you in the bedroom," she offered, but Lucius was already shaking his head.
"No need to stop what you were doing on my account." He let his fingers dip beneath the warm surface of the water, skimming for a moment before finding her leg beneath the surface. He traced the contour of her calf with both finesse and curiosity, knowing the general shape well enough, but eager to discover which spots were particularly sensitive and receptive. His palm moved to cup her knee, and then slid teasingly along her inner thigh.
She permitted the caress for only a moment before yanking her leg away and fixing him with a stern glare. "I don't really think this is appropriate," she snapped haughtily. Lucius blinked at her in momentary confusion; after all, he'd fucked women in pubs and alleyways and corridors, and a tub containing his wife half a step away from the bedroom hardly felt adventurous to him, but he supposed she was only familiar with spousal intimacy between crisply ironed and sanctioned sheets.
"I do," he retorted simply, though when he reached for her once more, he acquiesced reluctantly to her rebuff by merely placing a hooked finger beneath her chin and tilting her face upwards for a brief but firm kiss. "Come to my room when you've finished here," he continued as he rose to his feet. He found he preferred to have her in his space rather than intrude upon hers; she was his wife and would not refuse him without reason, but to his own mind having her in his bed gave her a greater sense of agency, and diminished his role as aggressor. After Michaelmas, she had shown a tangibly increased interest in their lovemaking, but he found her warmth and receptiveness to be rather unpredictable.
It was obvious that she had had very strict notions of propriety and when he any sort of physical contact was permissible; it was rare that she would even take his arm amid company. Still, if he was only permitted to have his wife after nightfall and prior to dawn, he was certain he could work within those limitations. He was devising a plan once they relocated to the Manor to ameliorate this issue, but had yet to work out all the details- the details, of course, being her reaction to unexpectedly finding them cohabiting in a single chamber.
It wasn't a terrible idea, he was almost sure. The rift between his wife and himself could be diminished by being in close physical proximity, he felt certain, because he could think of no other probable correction. He returned to his room to shower and, after bathing, returning unannounced into his bedchamber to meet a most unexpected sight. True to his command, she had come to his room... and was now standing before his desk, studying the letters there with considerable intent.
"What are you doing?"
Narcissa whipped her hands away from the parchments and stared at him with wide eyes. "Nothing!" she said quickly, taking a quick step back and bowing her head guiltily as he crossed the room towards where she stood. "I was just curious," she confessed as he picked up the pile of papers. "It's just... you never tell me anything about what you're working on! I do my best to be supportive but I never really know what's happening."
"It's nothing very interesting," he told her without malice, flipping through each one. "This one is to Maureen Gamp... Edgecomb, I should say, Gamp when I knew her in school. She works in the Department of Magical Transportation; I've hit a bit of a dead end on getting this house connected directly to the Ministry's floo network and thought she might find herself able to assist if I fund her husband's latest expedition to Bavaria to study Erklings. Academics never have money, it will be a tempting offer since they have children and he hasn't been published yet. It isn't really urgent since we're moving this month, just a point of pride now I suppose..." He tossed the paper aside and moved to the next. "This is to Cogrus Borgin, he has procured a portrait that claims to be Brutus Malfoy in his very old age, painted by an Imperiused William Hogarth; I was composing some questions for him to ask the subject that could help verify its identity." Lucius dropped back to the desk as well. "This is one is just regarding some property I own in America: office and multi-family buildings in New York, single-family residences in San Francisco... still good markets to buy in, unlike Los Angeles, which is completely oversaturated with mediocre wizards."
Narcissa had moved to sit quietly on the edge of his bed, so he continued. "It's a haven for any Mudblood that can get his hands on a drop of Felix Felicis... as if the adoration of Muggles could every bring about a fulfilling life," he scoffed.
"Tar from the La Brea Pits is an essential ingredient in Skele-Gro," she offered listlessly. She knew many facts, but had little to share from experience. "Have you been there? To New York and San Francisco?"
Lucius nodded, moving to sit beside her. "I wouldn't buy property sight-unseen."
"What are they like?"
"Dreadful," he assured her firmly.
"The cloudscapers are supposed to be rather incredible to see," she posited tentatively; he stared at her, nonplussed. "The very tall buildings in New York that the Muggles made? The travel correspondent in the Prophet writes about them sometimes. Almost unfathomable that they were made without magic, apparently."
"Ah yes, I forgot that's what they called them. I wouldn't risk my life ascending one, but I suppose parts of Manhattan aren't terrible," he conceded reluctantly. "But the whole country is gauche, and the way they champion the Mudblood... fifty years ago MACUSA had the right idea, outlawing intermarriage between magical beings and Muggles, though they framed it as being for the safety of Muggles, but since repealing the ordinance there's scarcely a single decent family left. For Melin's sake, Ilvermorny was founded by a Muggle, there was hardly any hope for the place to begin with. Some of the indigenous magical tribes have manage to escape taint of non-magical interference; ancient knowledge that has been preserved, mostly in potion-making and Herbology, though they would argue theirs is a far greater power than European magic. I once knew a woman who-"
Lucius stopped abruptly, shocked at how close he'd come to telling her of Angelique. He hadn't thought of her in months, and tried not to now. Instead he rose to his feet suddenly and motioned that she should do the same. She wore a light house cloak over her night dress, and he untied the satin ribbon at her throat and tossed it aside. He then pulled the duvet and sheets down so Narcissa could climb into bed, uncharacteristically obedient as she stared up at him searchingly, propped up by pillows.
"It's all very well and good if you've been to these places, and decided for yourself." In her relief that he had not been angered by her intrusion, she spoke openly. "But I'm here all the time, every day... I can only tell the elf to polish the silver so many times. And of course there are always women over for tea, and practicing music, and reading and painting and any small activities to fill the time, things I do enjoy, but I feel..." Narcissa did not finish the sentence, and Lucius mind helpfully supplied him with any number of probable descriptors that she left unsaid: bored, trapped, neglected, lonely.
"It will be better once we've moved to the Manor," he assured her with more confidence than he felt. "A larger household to look after... and I never knew you had such a thirst for adventure," he added, half-jesting as he moved to the opposite side of the bed. She stared at her hands in her lap.
"Well, I suppose it would be rather a consolation to travel, even if it isn't something I foresaw wanting. Before we were married, I had anticipated that I would have child to care for by now."
Not this again. With a deep breath, he fought to swallow his irritation— she did not sound combative now, only morose. For a long moment he did not reply, but at last raised his wand to extinguish the lights. "We'll come up with something," he offered finally, leaning over to press his lips to hers for only a moment before lying back and closing his eyes, but sleep would not come.
Monday, 4 October 1976
Lucius arrived at the Ministry early in the morning and at the beginning of the week; not totally uncommon, but he usually only did so when he was actively seeking something of great significance and some urgency. His first (and he hoped only) stop of the morning was to Level Five. When he entered Millicent Bagnold's office, she was scribbling a note and dictating simultaneously to a Quick-Quotes Quill; he imagined regarding two different subjects. Her free hand held a scone piled with jam, and a large drop of raspberry preserve had fallen, unnoticed, onto the front of her robes. In another witch this sloppiness might have disgusted him, but Lucius was aware that in most respects she was far brighter than he himself, and he was willing to overlook a certain lack of refinement in those he considered highly valuable. When she saw him she grinned, waving the Quick-Quotes aside and gesturing that he should have a seat.
"It's been ages, did I ever tell you how well your man McNair worked out with the dragons? Like I said, can't fathom where you find these people but we've decided to keep him on for further work with the Beast Division." Though she had ceased her dictation, she was still scratching her quill rapidly across the parchment before her on the desk.
"I'm glad to hear it," and he was; another of the Dark Lord's supporters in a position to gather information on the inner workings of the Ministry, and Lucius had placed him there. "I need to call in a favor," Lucius continued lightly, but Millicent paused, alert. Lucius was generous in distributing favors to a wide number of individuals and departments, but there was something about his general demeanor that rightfully made anyone accepting his monetary good-will rather cautious. His was not an unselfish spirit, and the unspecified date on which his charity must be repaid always loomed, even as he gave lavishly to his preferred causes. "The Mud— er, Muggle-born tenor giving that wizards-only recital on Saturday at the Royal Opera House— I need two tickets. Good tickets," he added. This was clearly not the request she had been anticipating, and she set her quill down in confusion.
"It's been sold out for weeks," she began uncertainly, "I could maybe finagle a pair in the upper slips but—" Lucius was already shaking his head.
"It needs to be in the centre orchestra stalls, or grand tier. No point otherwise, is there?"
"Well that narrows your options; you aren't going to find anyone to happily give up such prime seats."
"Perhaps if you could… ah… simply allow me to see the list of names to find out who purchased those tickets?" he pressed carefully, despite her frown. "Perhaps if I know anyone on the list I could persuade them to sell the tickets to me?"
"You know I can't," she retorted quickly. "And don't think I don't know you won't resort to measures beyond buying if no one will take your gold. I really wish there were something—" Millicent stopped suddenly. "You know what, maybe I actually can help you." She hesitated again, but it was not for effect; she'd spoken hastily and now, upon consideration, was regretting her words. He arched an impatient eyebrow, and Millicent sighed, looking wistfully down at the letter she'd been writing, as though she could will herself back to five minutes ago when she thought this missive would be the most trying part of her morning. Seeing no alternative, she divulged the information at last: "Barty Crouch has tickets, but said this morning that he didn't think he'd be able to go because his wife has been unwell. I don't recall where but I'm sure they're in a prime spot."
Lucius fought to keep a scowl from his face as he thanked her tersely and left the office. Crouch would never give him the tickets— or if he did, they would cost him dearly. He also knew better than to try to Confound, threaten, or curse the older man into giving up his seats. He took the lift to the second floor, and found that Crouch was currently occupied in a meeting with the obsequious junior minister in the Magical Accidents and Catastrophes department. He knocked on the door anyway, and when Cornelius Fudge turned and spotted him through the small window he sprang to his feet and moved to open the door, despite Barty's obvious protestations and gestures that he ought to remain seated.
"Mr. Malfoy, a pleasure!" he cried, flinging the door open.
"You must call me Lucius, please," he corrected mechanically, shaking Fudge's hand. There was something distasteful about a man twice his age so blatantly attempting to win his favor, but Lucius was canny enough to recognize that social climbers within the Ministry could often rise to great heights; such was the nature of bureaucracy. Fudge could trace only perhaps two or three generations of wizarding ancestry, but was an open admirer of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and rumoured to be an avid consumer of Rita Skeeter's social columns. There was no harm in ingratiating himself with the man. "I didn't mean to interrupt, I was just hoping for a quick word with Crouch."
"Not to worry at all," Fudge replied with overblown generosity and small bow, though Lucius had not actually apologized. "We were finishing up anyway. Go in, go in!" He waved Lucius into the office and nodded his head to Crouch, who was still glaring at the intruder.
"What is it?" Crouch demanded mistrustfully as soon as Lucius closed the door. With anyone else, Lucius would have carefully worked his way around to his request, first making pleasantries and coming to his actual reason for visiting slowly in the conversation. However Bartemius Crouch despised both Lucius and his father, and Lucius's only attempt to forge a connection with the man, years ago, had been utterly rebuffed with accusations of the Malfoy family attempting to enact a shadow plutocracy in the Ministry for centuries. It rang of truth, Lucius had been justifiably offended, and their relationship had been tense ever since.
"Millicent tells me you have no use for a pair of tickets in your possession. I was hoping to buy them off of you," he announced rapidly, and as he finished speaking he squared his jaw as if anticipating a strike. He hated stating his goals so openly to a foe, but it was the only way to move forward when dealing with this particular one.
"Tickets? You don't mean... you want to go to the opera?" Crouch echoed incredulously, as stunned by the admission as Bagnold had been. "What deal could you possibly be trying to close that you'd go to those lengths? Who are you bringing?"
"My wife," Lucius confessed grudgingly. Crouch scoffed.
"Very well, don't tell me then," he replied, brusquely disbelieving. "These are very visible seats you know, I'll find out the truth anyway."
"So you'll sell them to me?" Lucius replied too quickly; too eagerly.
"I suppose I could be persuaded to part with them… although I've already gotten several offers above face value…" Crouch tapped his chin thoughtfully, watching Lucius with a scheming gaze. "It's not really about that though, is it? I don't need the money…" At last, Crouch's gaze brightened as he alighted upon the perfect price to exact. "But you know who does? The Special Messengers Taskforce— you know, the volunteer organization that connects with Muggle-born children and their families to bring the children into the magical world when they turn eleven. It's a terribly underfunded group, and those who donate their time often find themselves having to pay out of pocket for travel expenses and learning materials. I was just looking over some of their numbers the other day, as a favor, and a donation of, say, three thousand galleons would really help them out of a tight spot. They'd be able to reimburse their volunteers and make good headway in outreach with next year's class. Make the donation, Malfoy, and I'll gift you these tickets as a token of my gratitude," he finished smugly, smirking in triumph across his desk at Lucius, who could not hide his distaste.
"I'll make the donation in you name," he managed at last through gritted teeth. Crouch smiled unpleasantly.
"Oh, I couldn't take credit for your generosity. Besides, a Ministry employee donating such large sum to any cause would draw public ire. There's always talk as it is that we're being overpaid."
"An anonymous donation would be far more—"
"If it's made anonymously, how would I know to whom I ought to send the tickets?" he interrupted, almost gleefully. Lucius tried a final time.
"Could I just pay you the three thousand galleons? The pair of tickets couldn't have cost more than two hundred, your profit margin would be excellent."
"As I said, Malfoy, I don't need the money. You have my terms, take them or leave them."
The two men stared at one another for several long moments. It would be embarrassing, but Lucius supposed his ego would simply have to take the blow and he would hope that no one would be bold enough to question him on the matter if word did get out. At least if anyone in his immediate circle discovered any record of the transaction, he could tell them honestly it was the cost of securing the tickets for his wife, and Bellatrix would be able to vouch for her sister's great love of the opera. Precisely why he was securing the tickets for her, when she'd not even mentioned the concert in his hearing... well, certainly even Bellatrix would not dare ask him that, and he refused to ask even himself.
"Fine, you have a deal," Lucius snapped, rising to his feet and extending his hand. Bartemius stood as well and shook it, bemusement clouding his features.
"You must really want to see this show," he said suspiciously. "I've never known you to cop to what I'm sure you consider public humiliation to close a deal. Will you tell me who you're really bringing, now that I've said I'll give you the tickets?"
"I've already told you," Lucius replied icily, drawing his cloak over his shoulders. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll keep an eye out for your owl."
Friday, 8 October 1976
"Do you have plans this evening?" Lucius asked mildly over breakfast, The Daily Prophet open before him though he was not actually reading it on this morning. Narcissa glanced over, unwilling to reveal too great a curiosity.
"I do not," she replied with practiced carelessness. Wordlessly, Lucius withdrew the pair of tickets that had arrived with the evening post the night before from beneath the newspaper and slid them across the table towards her. One elegant hand extended to move them closer, and then, seemingly not comprehending what she saw, she lifted them and studied the small printed text with surprise.
"I thought," Lucius drawled, a cat-like grin beginning to curl the corner of his mouth in response to to her wide-eyed and evident delighted shock, "that you might care to accompany me to the theatre."
"Lucius," she breathed, looking up at him at last with a stunned but pure and joyful smile. "How did... when... these tickets sold out in hours, weeks ago. Have you been planning this for so long? Oh, never mind. Thank you." She was practically glowing and he thought wildly for a moment that she might kiss him, here in the dining room, but she merely continued to beam. No matter, he mused, plenty of time for that later. Still clutching the tickets, something else seemed to occur to her.
"Accompany you, you said? You'll be coming as well?"
His brow drew down swiftly, and he bristled at the inquiry. "Did you have someone else in mind?"
"I only meant that I know you don't particularly enjoy opera, I'd understand if you didn't want to join me but I'd be glad to spend the evening with you."
She sounded sincere enough, but he was still annoyed. He had intended to propose a late supper in Ambrosi Alley, but in light of how the conversation was going, instructed her to have the elves prepare them something to eat before the show instead. She agreed, but when he rose from the table she stood as well.
"Thank you, Lucius," she repeated earnestly, handing the tickets back for safekeeping. "I can't wait."
He replied with a half-hearted smile, and they went their separate ways for the day. At half past seven that evening, he headed to the foyer to meet his wife. He could have remained in his study until she sought him, but found he enjoyed watching her make a more dramatic entrance. Lucius did not have to wait long for her to appear at the top of the stairs, and he was not disappointed.
She wore an exceptionally tailored royal blue silk taffeta dress robe, with a wrapped front and back bodice forming twin shallow v-necklines at the base of her throat and nape of her neck. The long, tight sleeves tapered to points that rested perfectly centered at the middle knuckle of each hand, and the fluted trumpet skirt fanned behind her into a modest train, charmed to hover several centimeters above the ground to avoid dirt and damage. A small diamond glittered in each ear as she tilted her head and smiled down at him. He recalled that he had gifted her with emeralds on the occasion of their anniversary, and those would not have matched the current ensemble at all— he made a mental note to purchase something more versatile next time. The rest of her jewelry likely would have been given to her as a girl by her father, he supposed, as her mother was still alive and Bellatrix would traditionally inherit the majority of the heirlooms anyway. Her long hair was twisted into an elegant and elaborate chignon, which served to accentuate the graceful sweep of her neck.
"You never fail to dress flawlessly for any occasion," he drawled, offering his hand as she descended the final steps. She accepted it for only a heartbeat, a moment of decorum, before slipping away and raising her wand to summon an ermine stole— with the lingering reflexes of a Seeker, Lucius caught it before it could reach its intended destination and wrapped the rich garment around his wife's shoulders, making sure to luxuriate in the dense fur, rolling it between his fingers.
"Beautiful," he murmured, the subject of this compliment intentionally vague as he ran his hands over her shoulders and arms. She glanced back at him with a soft smile, blue eyes luminous in the low light of the entryway. Her upturned face was only inches from his, he'd simply need to to bow his head to kiss her, yet he resisted the impulse; it wouldn't do to spoil the moment by having her reject his caress.
The Royal Opera House was a short carriage ride down Piccadilly, but much to his pleasure she did not bother to conceal her eagerness as they rode along. Peeking out the window as they passed the Ritz, she shared several arias she hoped desperately to hear performed that evening, as well as several other shows that would be in town this season— she'd seen Gianni Schicchi before but would love to go again, and the production of Der Fliegende Holländer was meant to be exceptional. Lucius replied only that he'd probably prefer Wagner to Puccini, drawing an odd look that she did not elaborate upon, but made no promises regarding either show. If he did take her to the theatre again (which, admittedly, he was already feeling inclined to do), it would be to performances that still had available seats in order to avoid any further grudging donations towards unworthy causes.
When they arrived the area was swarming with impeccably dressed witches and wizards. Rita Skeeter stood outside on the steps with a camera and Quick-Quotes Quill hovering by her elbow (unable to procure a ticket, he assumed uncharitably), and once they made their way inside, were accosted every few feet by friends and acquaintances. Crouches tickets were in the Grand Tier boxes, just left of centre, and were pleasantly private— only one other pair would share the box, seated behind them, though in the future Lucius planned to reserve one exclusively for their use. Where were these plans coming from? He didn't stop to give it too much though as they reached the level of their seats, though they did not yet enter the auditorium. A housemate from Hogwarts had flagged Narcissa, and she was pulled away for a moment as he continued on, intending to procure champagne before someone calling his name snared his attention.
"Lucius Malfoy? Is that really you?"
Lucius turned towards the voice, a reflexive smirk already tugging at the corner of his mouth. Francesca Zabini was gliding towards him with a wide smile, a huge diamond glittering on her left hand as she reached out to greet him.
"You don't waste any time," he purred, taking her hand under the guise of examining the ring and allowing her to use the gesture to pull closer to him, so the length of her body nearly touched his. She was dressed in a tightly fitting, deeply plunging red gown, surely held to her body with enchantments as there were no sleeves or straps to suspend the fabric over her bosom. Her deep caramel skin seemed to glow in the golden light. "If we were seeing Carmen, they'd have to pull you from the audience for the title role," he continued, not releasing her hand as his other instinctively found its way to her waist. She tilted her head back to laugh, causing thick black curls to roll easily over her bare shoulders. "Are you here with him tonight? The new fiancé?"
She shook her head playfully, dipping her chin to gaze up at him through her lashes. "I'm here with a friend— you know that new Quidditch star everyone is going on about? Ludo Bagman? I met him at a photoshoot and when he said he had tickets to this, I just had to tag along."
"That was cruel," Lucius tutted in mock reproach. "He won't be able to keep his eyes off you; he'll miss the whole show, and the tickets weren't cheap."
"Where are you sitting?" she demanded, and before he could reply she slid her hand beneath the lapel of his robes, her manicured fingers searching for the interior pocket there where she knew he'd be keeping the tickets. He did not attempt to stop her; not even when her coy glance became a flirtatious grin, and her nails scratched him lightly through his shirt. At last she found what she was looking for, and plucked the slips of paper out with a flourish. "Let's see," she read quickly, "oh, different sections, what a shame." She returned them with a pout, but added, winking, "come find me during intermission."
His hand still rested on the curve of her waist, thumb absently stroking her side. "I'm sure you won't be hard to find, but how will I get to you through the crowd of admirers you'll have acquired by then?"
"You know there's aways a spot for you by my side, Lucius," she stretched to touch her red lips to his cheek, though with the height of her heels she didn't have to reach far. "Or behind me," she whispered, close to his ear. "Or under, or on top of me. Do you remember the night Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup, my seventh year? In the Astronomy Tower? I'm hoping that's how Ludo fucks; otherwise why waste time with younger men?" She pressed against him as she spoke, just enough to remind him. He made a sound somewhere between a groan and a wistful laugh, his hand sliding from her waist to grip her hip for just a moment before releasing her. "Anyway, who are you here with tonight?" Francesca continued at normal volume as she stepped back. "This isn't really your scene."
"My wife," he murmured, having the decency at least to feel some chagrin as his eyes roamed the crowd for Narcissa. She made a small sound of disbelief.
"No, really? I always remember that you're married, but somehow always forget about your wife."
"Yes, well, she's quite the opera fan. I had to debase myself before Barty Crouch to get these seats, but here we are."
Francesca tilted her head curiously. "That's a lot of effort for a woman you already have. Could it be that Lucius Malfoy has fallen in love? How unfashionable," she teased, but he wasn't smiling. He was spared the task of answering, however, by the appearance of a sandy-haired, heavily muscled young man at Francesca's shoulder, holding two flutes of champagne.
"Here you are! I was looking all over. Had a dozen fans looking for autographs slowing me down too, but how could I sign a thing with two drinks in my hands?" He passed her a glass, beaming under her lazy nod of gratitude. "Ludo Bagman," he continued, sticking out his newly-freed hand towards Lucius. "Great to meet you."
"The new beater for the Hornets, of course," Lucius shook his hand cordially. It gave him no pleasure to think of this man as an escort to his former lover, but he did follow Quidditch and making acquaintances with the players was always useful. "Lucius Malfoy."
"Malfoy, of course," Bagman echoed eagerly. "I suppose you and Francesca are old friends then?"
"Something like that," she purred, snaking an arm around Ludo's waist but her gaze stayed locked on Lucius. "And here's our fourth— Cissy Black!"
Narcissa had materialized silently at Lucius's elbow and was watching the scene with a closed-lip smile that did not reach her eyes. She did not immediately correct Francesca, but offered her hand to Bagman with a cool, "Narcissa Malfoy."
"How lovely, Mrs. Malfoy," Ludo ducked his head to press his lips to her fingers. "Ludo Bagman, at your service."
"Mr. Bagman, a pleasure. Do you work at the Ministry?" she posited, to general chuckles from the group.
"You'll have to forgive my wife, she isn't much of a Quidditch fan," Lucius interjected as Francesca opened her mouth to speak. "She prefers song to sport— I daresay she'll have a greater appreciation for this performance than the rest of us will."
Narcissa smiled graciously in acknowledgement of her own ignorance, and added, "I daresay anyone can appreciate Pavarotti, but he's quite right— the nuances of Quidditch are lost on me."
"You must come to a match!" Bagman exclaimed, gesturing dangerously with his glass of champagne in a way that made Lucius wonder if it was not his first. "Front row seats, right where all the action is."
To this Narcissa merely smiled enigmatically, and Lucius had to fight back a smirk of his own at the notion of his wife surrounded by rabid, screaming fans in a stadium. From within the theater, an A note sounded, signaling that the performance was about to begin. The couples gave their farewells and moved towards their respective seats. "Bagman's the best new beater in the league," Lucius explained in an undertone as they found their box. "Remarkable accuracy and—"
"If you don't mind, I'd like to take a look at the program," Narcissa interrupted archly, her eyes glued to the small text in the booklet on her lap. Taken aback, Lucius fell silent at her uncharacteristically rude words— even at her worst, the was still frostily polite, and this was an unanticipated about-face from her earlier warmth and excitement. Before he could compose a response, the conductor was walking into the orchestra pit, and a wave of applause drowned out any words he would have spoken, followed by the opening swell of music from the orchestra pit.
Even in his inexpert opinion, the performance was remarkable. Though perhaps he might not have invited the man to dinner, musical theater was an acceptable career for a Mudblood, he supposed, and there was no harm in enjoying the concert. The Italian sang with a charismatic and obvious pleasure— it was no surprise, he mused, that Francesca would seek out such a performance, but he found himself curious that his reserved and oftentimes cold wife would find such enjoyment in it. And yet when he chanced a glance in her direction, he found himself unable to tear his gaze away from her expression. She leaned slightly forward in her seat, eyes wide and fixed upon the tenor, lips parted and on occasion, silently tracing the words of an aria along with him. Her normally pallid skin was flushed pink and, though it was difficult to be certain in the dim lighting, he could have sworn he saw tears shining in her eyes during some of the more powerful moments of the songs. So enraptured was she by the recital that she did not notice her husband's attention upon her for several long minutes. When she at last felt his eyes unsurreptitiously resting upon her skin, she settled back into her chair at once and looked rather embarrassed, as though she'd been caught out in some indecent act.
At the intermission, she excused herself to the powder room before he had a chance to get a word in edgewise, and he remained seated, flicking listlessly through the program and feeling annoyed that the evening was not going as he'd hoped, despite the fact he'd had no clear intention or hope. He wasn't sure what had soured things, but her mood was clearly amiss. He turned when he heard a movement behind him, glad she'd returned so soon and eager to rectify the situation, but it was not Narcissa he found there.
"I thought I saw you in the opposite box, but Edward insisted it couldn't possibly be Lucius Malfoy at the opera. And look, I was right! We just had to come see for ourselves." Normally the airy tones drifting into his slip would have improved his demeanor at once, but Lucius found himself less than thrilled to see Lettie Avery for perhaps the first time in his life. She continued in anyway, her hand securely linked around the elbow of her husband-to-be. Edward Nott gave him a weary nod.
"Seems this really is the spectacle of the year if even you've come out for it," Nott spoke dryly, settling himself into Narcissa's vacated seat as Laetitia leaned over the balustrade to wave to an acquaintance below. "Unless you've a more interesting reason for being in Covent Garden on this evening?" Nott continued in an undertone, almost hopefully. Lucius shook his head regretfully.
"Just this, I'm afraid. Although I suppose afterwards we might..." but he shook his head again and broke off his train of thought; there would be no Muggle baiting tonight with Lettie and Narcissa in tow. "Congratulations, by the way," he added, nodding in Lettie's direction. She whirled around at once, beaming.
"Thank you!" she exclaimed warmly, though he'd more intended to congratulate Nott on somehow managing to secure an engagement to one of the most sought after witches in English pureblood society than to Laetitia for promising herself to this staid old bachelor. "We're so pleased, and are planning a summer wedding. You'll be invited, of course! Everyone will." She sat down on Lucius's other side, perched on the arm of his chair for lack of an additional seat, happily chattering about plans. "I do so love roses, though it will be a little late in the season for them we've already found a Herbologist who grows the best in the country, and uses a freezing charm that preserves the scent as well as the appearance— oh, hello Cissy!"
Lucius turned to see his wife reappear in the box, and Nott rose at once with a small bow. She greeted him cordially, but it visibly took more of an effort for her to greet Lettie pleasantly. This did not appear to bother Laetitia in the least, who clasped Narcissa's still, stiff hands as though they were the dearest of friends and refused to release her despite the taller blonde's rigid posture.
"Cissy, how wicked of you to drag your poor Lucius here tonight," she teased, flashing a dimpled grin. "Don't you know he hates the theatre?" she laughed brightly, though there was a certain maliciousness to the tinkling sound. "Or perhaps you're punishing him for something," she went on.
"Actually, it was Lucius's idea to come here tonight. He surprised me with the tickets this morning." Even Lucius could see that her smile at these words was false, and it vanished entirely when she shot him a cold glance and added, "And I'm seeing more with each passing minute why he did so."
Lucius frowned at the clear accusation, though remained unsure of what she was accusing him. Had it not been for Laetitia and Nott's suddenly uncomfortable presence he would have demanded that she explain the comment. Nott cleared his throat awkwardly and Lettie released Narcissa at last, pressing a peck to Lucius's cheek before departing and promising they'd catch up more at the Samhain gala at the end of the month. However, before Lucius could press his wife for clarification, the two Italian witches seated in the rear of the box reentered, chatting gaily and loudly enough to foreclose the possibility of any conversation.
The show ended with a spectacular rendition of Nessun Dorma to thunderous roars of approval from the audience. Lucius was so miserable by its conclusion that his did not bother to applaud, nor rise to his feet for the well-deserved standing ovation. He knew enough Italian to understand the women behind were criticizing him viciously for this lack of respect, but did not care. The crowd at the exit was nearly impenetrable as men and women poured onto the street; Narcissa shook her head impatiently.
"This is impossible," she hissed. "I'm just going to Apparate home."
"Good idea, I'll send an elf for the carriage—" But she had already dematerialized with a small pop. Lucius scowled and reappeared on the front steps of the house in Mayfair, catching the door before it could swing closed and trailing up the stairs after her.
"Narcissa—" he grasped her wrist before she could vanish into her room, and she turned quickly.
"Lucius I… I have a headache. Do you mind if tonight we don't…?"
He released her at once with a brief nod, and turned to go retrieve a potion from his own rooms. There was no reason to suppose she might be lying about feeling unwell— Narcissa had always been entirely transparent when she did not desire his company without having to resort to weak excuses. This would also help explain why she'd been so quiet and frankly unpleasant since shortly after arriving at the theater. Poor timing, likely an illness brought on for being around Muggle miasma, he mused. His work necessarily brought him around non-magical scum, so he probably had some sort of immunity, whereas Narcissa has little occasion for exposure and would be particularly vulnerable.
"This will help," Lucius reentered her chamber unannounced, looking down at the small vial in his hand. "Just a few drops should—" he broke off suddenly. Narcissa had obviously thought that he had left her alone for the night, and her head shot up with a small gasp from where she sat on the edge of her bed, hastily wiping her face.
"Circe, is it as bad as all that?" Swiftly, Lucius crossed the room to place a hand on her forehead. "No fever…" he murmured, dropping his hand to brush away the wetness still lingering on her cheek.
"Stop," she whispered, jerking her chin away from his concerned gaze. "I just need to rest."
There was no question that she was not telling him the truth, but it was equally evident that she was not going to do so tonight. He straightened up slowly, trying to understand, but she refused to meet his eye to give even a hint.