Saturday, 9 October 1976
Narcissa slipped out at some point early in the morning before her husband woke; by the time sunlight was filtering in through the windows, he was quite alone in bed. She was not, however, difficult to locate. When he arrived and seated himself for breakfast, she spoke almost immediately.
"I wanted to apologize for my behaviour last night. I was not feeling... like myself," Narcissa said solemnly as she poured a cup of tea for each of them. Lucius raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"And what, pray tell, were you feeling like? A manticore?"
A small, grudging smile twitched her mouth at the half-jest. "Perhaps," she conceded, but maintained her obstinance by refusing to speak further on the matter. "As you know," she pressed on instead, "the Samhain gala is in less than a month. Moreover, we will be moving into the Manor on that date. I will be quite busy in the coming weeks but will do my best to be present for breakfast and supper every day. I'll handle all of the logistics, of course, but you should be aware that non-essentials will be packed up beginning on Tuesday."
Lucius nodded. "Just keep them away from my desk in the study and any papers; the rest can go."
"All of it?" she asked with a wry twist of her lips. "Well, I'll have them leave at least one set of robes, for the sake of common decency."
He chuckled at her joke, and then swiftly frowned in suspicion. After the previous evening, he could not understand from where her lightheartedness was coming. "When you've finished the plans, I'd like to have a final look at the arrangements before you hand them off to the elves and foreman."
She agreed to this request, and resumed dining. Lucius felt satisfied that his plan would go undetected.
Sunday, 31 October 1976
Lucius felt no sense of nostalgia as he tipped the last of his papers into a briefcase and clicked it shut. In the foyer Narcissa was putting on her traveling gloves, and gave him a small, impatient smile as he emerged from his study.
"All ready, then?"
He nodded, dropping his attaché into the hands of a waiting elf.
"Good," she continued, turning towards the door. "The chef has been onsite since eight this morning. My dress robes will be delivered by noon, and a stylist is coming at half past three. All the decor is ready of course, I've made certain all the guest rooms are ready too, although I doubt we'll need all forty two of them... I've designated some specifically for my parents, Bella and Rodolphus, another for Rabastan, obviously he'll need one. A few friends from Paris are coming too, their first time at a British Samhain gala and they're making a trip especially for ours. Your mother owled last night, she and your father are safely arrived in Portugal and she says she's not sad at all to not be hosting for the first time in over two decades—"
"My darling wife," Lucius drawled, pulling open the door and gesturing that she should exit ahead of him. "You are rambling."
She shot him an irritated glance and fell silent at once. He offered a patronizing smirk along with his hand to help her into the carriage, both of which she pointedly ignored.
"I've invited Rita Skeeter. I didn't really want to, she's a parasite, but we could use the coverage and she'll be there at seven."
"Did you promise some sort of sordid exclusive?" He stretched across the plush seat of the carriage, kicking his feet up and settling in for the hour long trip.
"Not exactly. She'll want some photographs, of us and the property, but nothing too invasive."
When they landed, one of Narcissa's peacocks was resting near the front doors; it rose elegantly and shuffled its feathers upon their approach. She greeted it with a small smile, lightly touching its beak in affection before crossing the threshold.
Returning to the Manor, knowing he was now at last its lord was invigorating. His own papers had be transferred to its main study, a room he'd hardly been allowed to visit in his youth. Despite the many candles and live fairies Narcissa had added to the corridors, there was still an oppressive sense of gloom and foreboding to the edifice; somehow, Lucius found it comforting. The familiarity of the stone walls, now finally untainted by the oppressive presence of his father, felt pleasantly cool under his hand, and he even mustered an unironic smile at the pale faced portraits that silently regarded their procession through the main hall as the new masters of the mansion.
"I'm going to double check the ballroom," Narcissa announced immediately upon their arrival. "We'll have a light dinner at six, but there will be heavy passed bites over the course of the evening if you're feeling hungry later."
He dipped his head in acknowledgement and headed instead upstairs.
The master suite of rooms was located on the centre south side of the Manor, facing the expansive gardens at the rear of the house. A handsome set of double doors off the corridor led to an elegant sitting room with diamond-paned windows stretching from floor to ceiling, through which sunlight poured during the summer months. A door on the left wall of the room led to the smaller of two bedchambers, and it contained its own powder room and an adjacent nursery. There was a distinctly feminine feel to the space, and had for centuries served as the dwelling for the Malfoy matriarch. The door on the righthand side of the sitting room was larger, almost to the point of feeling cavernous. It had been his father's room, and Lucius had only seen its interior once or twice in his youth. He'd spent some time playing in the sitting room as a child, but in general stayed well away from his parents when left to his own devices— private language, classics, and maths tutors had taken up most of his time, and he'd preferred flying to indoor activity when possible.
When Lucius entered the salon, he found it largely unchanged from his memory, with the addition of a garment bag levitating in the middle of the room. He realized it must be Narcissa's attire for the evening, already dropped off and awaiting a final fitting. Curiously, he crossed over to take a peek at the dress robe, a new idea forming in his mind. After studying it for several moments, he went to find his wife in the ballroom
"I've left something in London," he announced, "I need to go fetch it. I'll be back in an hour or two."
She frowned over her shoulder, her wand aloft as she carefully repositioned a levitating bought of autumnal leaves and carved turnips. "Can you not just send an elf?"
"It's far too delicate for that," he evaded. "I'll see you shortly."
His trip took longer than he'd anticipated, and by the time he returned to the Manor for the second time that day he found Narcissa standing in the the antechamber between their rooms before a gilt Louis XV three paneled mirror, critically assessing her final appearance for the gala.
The gown was a pale, gleaming platinum silk, shimmering with meticulously hand-sewn gold embellishment. Like everything she wore it was modest, with long sleeves and a high neck, but it was cut close to her lithe form and his eyes appreciatively moved over her. The skirt fell straight to the floor in a column, just skimming the rich rug beneath her heeled feet. Her chin tilted up slightly as she anticipated his evaluation, knowing his sharp gaze would find any errant thread or missing bead. Of course there were none, but he still took the opportunity to circle her slowly, examining each shining detail.
"This is well done," he murmured at last, letting his fingertips drift over an aureole at her waist. "Who designed it?"
"Madame Hecate."
He nodded once in acknowledgment of the exclusive fashion house, lifting his hand to the bared nape of her neck under the guise of admiring the elaborate chignon into which her hair had been styled.
"Almost perfect," he conceded at last, provoking a skeptically raised brow as she watched him in the mirror.
"'Almost?'" she echoed. "And where, pray tell, does the flaw lie?"
"Not a flaw," he amended quickly. "Just a small omission." He reached into to the pocket of his robes and withdrew the true purpose of his hasty trip earlier that day. Her skepticism morphed into surprise, which was hastily smoothed into a small smile as he held and earring by her cheek; a glittering starburst of diamonds set in gold.
"But Lucius, they're perfect!" Narcissa turned to accept the jewels, fastening them swiftly and beginning to move back to the mirror, but he caught her elbow.
"Not quite finished," he purred, producing a bracelet as well. Her smile grew and she allowed him to secure it around her slim wrist. The corner of his mouth tugged upwards as well, and after he'd clasped the band of diamonds he dipped his head to press a chaste kiss to the back of her hand.
"Now you're ready," he announced, stepping back. "I suppose I should change as well."
"Is this what you went back into town for?" she asked, carefully keeping her tone casual as she leaned towards the mirror, tossing her head so the earrings caught the light and dazzled.
"No," he responded shortly as he vanished into his room. "I had something important to tend to."
"Oh... of course."
When he emerged fully dressed a short while later she had vanished, and he did not see her again until supper. Narcissa appeared in the dining room for only a moment to inform him that she was far too busy to possibly eat before hurrying off once more. As a result he found himself eating quite alone his first night back in the Manor, unable to enjoy the experience at all.
Guests began arriving promptly at half past seven, and he had no chance to speak to Narcissa as he shook dozens of hands and intoned the same greeting to what felt like at least a hundred visitors. He recognized most, and those he didn't he pretended to.
Francesca arrived at eight with her fiancé, a thin, pale man with a suspicious cough he was apparently having some trouble shaking off. Francesca, on the other hand, was positively radiant in a low-cut carmine gown. She draped her arms around Lucius's shoulders and was whispering a greeting when he was distracted by an entirely unexpected sound— a bright peal of laughter from his wife. He found her with his gaze some thirty feet away, familiarly grasping the arm of a young woman with a short, sleek black bob and speaking intimately.
"Excuse me," he muttered, moving past Francesca as though in a trance. Though his wife hadn't summoned him, he felt an overwhelming urge to hear the laugh again, and learn what had elicited it. She was still grinning when he materialized at her side, and she looked taken aback at his sudden appearance.
"Lucius, you remember Ari Parkinson," she gestured to her companion and he nodded.
"Of course."
Now that he was here he realized he had nothing to say, and the silence stretched on for several moments before Ari asked, rather impatiently, "Did you need something?"
Lucius was reminded swiftly of why he so disliked Britt's wife. Ari took a drag from her cigarette and raised an expectant brow when he did not reply.
"I hardly think I need to give you a reason for coming to speak to my wife," he spoke scathingly at last, but attempted to suppress his irritation when he saw Narcissa's abrupt frown.
"Is everything alright?" she asked. "Rabastan hasn't had too much to drink again, has he?"
"No, no, nothing like that," he assured her quickly. "You two seemed to be having such a splendid time I thought I'd come to see what all the fuss was about."
This was the truth, but Narcissa obviously interpreted it as a veiled insult— her lips pressed into a thin line and she replied archly, "We'll try to keep it down."
Frustration welled in Lucius, but he had far too much pride to insist in front of their guest. He tried a different tactic.
"Shall we dance?" he suggested, offering his arm. For a moment he thought she would refuse the request, but after a beat she gave Ari an apologetic glance and slipped her hand around his elbow.
"Very well. I'll find you later," she promised over her shoulder as Lucius guided her towards the dance floor. "Now," she looked up at Lucius once they were out of earshot. "What did you really want? There was no need to be short with Ari."
"What sort of name is that, anyway? It sounds… common."
"It's for Adrienne, as you well know, and she's my dearest friend." At the edge of the dance floor, Narcissa tugged her fingers free. "No need for this charade, just tell me what you want."
"I want—" Lucius growled, snatching up her hand up once more, "to dance with my wife. I've scarcely seen you this past month."
She made a small sound of disbelief, but in the interest of not causing a scene, did not protest any further when he pulled her onto the floor and into his arms. "Forgive me if I suspect an ulterior motive; you haven't danced with me since our wedding."
This gave Lucius pause. They'd been to dozens of events since then— weddings, holiday galas, and political fundraisers to name a few, all with dancing. Even while she had lived in France she had come to London to attend; surely he had asked her to dance at some of them?
"Circe, has it really been over three years since I've last danced?" he mused, only to be met with an utterly incredulous stare.
"You aren't serious?" she hissed. They were waltzing now, effortlessly and gracefully, but there were two bright spots of color on her cheeks that had nothing to do with exertion. "You have, Lucius, just not with me."
Several bars of music played while Lucius attempted to articulate a response. Now that she brought it up, he knew she was absolutely correct, and while he had not meant to insult her in doing so, he was sure that he had been embarrassing her with his actions for years. He had always believed his extramarital affairs to be discreet, and while he had never carried on with any women in their social circles after their wedding, he saw now that that hardly mattered. Everyone had known they lived separately, and many would know which women he'd been linked to romantically in the past, and most would assume that he was unfaithful to his vows. Dancing with Francesca or Lettie or half a dozen other witches at social events could only appear to be for one reason.
"I swear to you Narcissa, those women are just friends. Acquaintances from my school days. I haven't been with any of them since we were married." He was fairly certain it had actually been since before their engagement, but couldn't quite remember and did not want to entangle himself in an accidental falsehood. This assurance, however did not have the comforting effect he had intended. The furious flush drained from her face leaving it ghastly white, and her eyes darted from side to side, attempting to ascertain who might have overheard him.
"How dare you," she whispered, her pale lips barely moving, "how dare you bring up your infidelity tonight… with all these people here… our first event at the Manor…" Her hand was shaking in his, and though she did not miss a step her perfect society mask was no where to be found, and Lucius was certain they only had a few moments before guests began to notice that she was staring at him with something resembling horror and revulsion. The song was not over, but he steered them towards the open doors of the balcony, and guided her outside where it was darker. The moment they stepped off the dance floor she pulled away from him, walking several steps ahead as he trailed after her.
"Narcissa—" he reached for her shoulder but she jerked away.
"Don't touch me," she breathed, her hands finding the stone railing and eyes sliding shut. He obeyed her wish, crossing his arms and leaning against the rail so he could watch the guests and ward off any potential intruders. "I don't want to speak to you for the rest of tonight. We will say goodbyes to our visitors together at the end of the evening and before that time you will not approach me."
"You're overreacting," he replied. "I've just said that I haven't been with any of those women since before we were wed, and if you've heard otherwise it's a lie."
"I know you've been with other women since our wedding, Lucius. You know I know that, don't treat me like a fool. And how many others in there know?"
"Is this why..." His mind felt sluggish as the pieces began to fall together. "You were so upset when we saw Pavarotti? Because you saw me talking to Francesca?"
"'Talking,'" she echoed with a derisive hiss. "The way she was hanging off of you, and you couldn't keep your hands off of her! You might as well have asked me to switch places with her during the performance so you two could've shared the box and had a bit more privacy. Except then you wouldn't have been able to entertain Lettie Avery during intermission." Her tone was acid.
"I... you must see sense, Narcissa, Lettie is engaged and was there with her fiancé! I didn't invite them to the box, and you were the one who ran off!" His voice was louder than it ought to have been. Frustration was welling within him and he struggled to reign in his temper, which flared before he could accurately pinpoint the focus of his fury. "I got those tickets because I thought you'd be pleased, yet from the moment we stepped into the theatre you were nothing but truculent and spiteful. I can assure you that watching a Mudblood ramble in Italian gives me no great pleasure, so the whole ordeal certainly was not for my benefit."
At once her eyes blazed. "I can't speak for your motives, but I gave you ample opportunity to avoid attending! Do you know how often I turn down invitations to go to evening events, simply on the off chance that you'll deign to come home for dinner that night? Do you think I couldn't have bought those tickets myself, when the show was announced? I've prioritized being your wife, Lucius, since you brought me to London. If there's been any shortcoming- please, I welcome the feedback. But I don't think that there has been. If you're going to be late, you've never once sent an owl, and I sit alone at the table while my friends enjoy themselves at a dinner I could attend as well. And I was so pleased, Lucius; for once you'd stopped to think of me, but the moment you spot one of your lovers— former lovers, whatever they are— I become invisible to you. It wasn't just at the theatre, it's all the time. You left me in France for two years after our wedding; you vanish without notice every couple weeks for a night, or three, and how am I to know what you're off doing? And then you spend a week in Germany with our friends and family about you with your wife conspicuously absent, advertising to anyone who cares to take notice that you couldn't care less about my whereabouts."
"It matters naught. You are my wife and above idle gossip— especially here, in our home. No one would dare to insult you."
"Except for you, at every turn." She looked up at him at last, her eyes hard but her features composed into a polite smile. "Come now, we've neglected our guests for too long." He didn't dare try to stop her physically, and for once, words failed him. This was not at all how he had envisioned the evening going, but he felt he had no choice but to follow her back into the hall. She had found a new attendee to greet almost at once, and was chatting brightly with a heavily pregnant Mrs. Flint. His gaze fell next on the Parkinsons— Ari and Britt were dancing, holding one another closely and looking obviously, disgustingly taken with one another.
"What was that about?" A low voice drifted from behind his shoulder, and Lucius grit his teeth. Rodolphus was the last person he wanted to see at the moment— he hadn't spoken to his friend in a month, since unceremoniously throwing him and Bellatrix out of the London house the morning after Michaelmas.
"Fuck off," he spat, beginning to turn away, but Rodolphus simply spoke louder.
"Trouble in paradise?"
Lucius spun back, eyes blazing as a nearby witch glanced over curiously— swearing internally, he realized it was Rita Skeeter. "Let's have a drink on the terrace, shall we?" Rodolphus added, nodding towards the doors Lucius had just reentered. Seeing no alternative to Rodolphus causing a commotion, Lucius waved over a floating tray for two tumblers of scotch, handed one to Rodolphus, and followed him outdoors.
"I don't know that I've seen Cissy so angry before, even at me. What did you say to her?" he inquired idly, taking a swig of his drink.
"It really isn't any of your concern," replied Lucius bitterly, glaring into his own glass. Rodolphus chuckled.
"I think you forget that I may understand your specific marital strife better than most." He reached into an interior pocket of his robes and produced a cigar, lighting it carelessly with his wand.
"Forgive me, but I hardly think you're qualified to speak on the subject of my wife, or my relationship with her," he hissed. "She's nothing like her sister and even if she were, I certainly would not foster her… lack of inhibition the way you are wont to do."
"That's true," Rodolphus agreed amiably, gazing out over the dark grounds of the Manor. "But I've know Cissy for longer than you have. She was only a girl of thirteen when I married Bella. Narcissa confides in her sister, perhaps more than you realize. More than you might condone." He took a long drag from his cigar and exhaled the smoke slowly. Lucius, of course, had realized this last month upon their explosive fight in his study, but said nothing.
"I remember when she told Bellatrix of your engagement. Narcissa was…" he paused to take a drink. "Thrilled," he offered at last. This was clearly not the adjective Lucius had been anticipating, and he shot Rodolphus a startled glance.
"Yes, I was surprised too. And Bella even tried to warn her off from marrying someone she hardly knew. But Cissy wouldn't hear a word of it. She seemed… dare I say… smitten?"
Lucius narrowed his eyes. "Narcissa was doing her duty, and cleaning up Andromeda's mess. I imagine there weren't exactly suitors lining up after the whole affair."
Rodolphus snorted. "She's met more men than you know of, I'm sure."
"Meaning?" Lucius snarled, turning his head to glare at the other man.
"I'm just saying— she was a well-liked girl in school. And it wasn't only women visiting her in France…"
"Who else?" His tone was sharp but Rodolphus grinned; antagonizing others was inescapably one of his favorite pastimes. He took his time answering, examining his neatly trimmed nails and finishing off his drink.
"Do you have anything better?" he asked arrogantly, holding up his empty glass. Lucius made a sound of impatience but drew his own wand to summon a different bottle. Rodolphus perused the label and nodded at last, pouring himself a small taste. He savored it for a moment, before proceeding to slosh a large portion into the tumbler. Finally, he continued. "I don't know anything specific, just what Bella mentioned, you know I don't listen when she's gossiping—"
"Bellatrix doesn't gossip, and you hang on to every word from her mouth," Lucius snarled. Unperturbed, Rodolphus shrugged.
"She may have mentioned something about a childhood friend from their summers there, grown up and visiting every time she went to see her sister…" he took another drag of the cigar, drifting off unhelpfully.
Lucius took several moments to swallow his rage and consider the accusation. "I don't believe you," he said at last, draining his own drink and pouring himself a refill. Narcissa had been a virgin their first time together. There were secrets he might not know about her, but he did know that much. Rodolphus shrugged again.
"I don't really think she was unfaithful, personally. Doesn't seem the type. But the fact remains that, upon your engagement, you had an eager and willing young bride, a bride with options, and now she can scarcely stand the sight of you. But perhaps all hope is not lost. I think that, lately, you have found yourself with a rather different take on marriage than in the previous few years."
"If you have a point then make it. I have other guests to attend to." Lucius felt Rodolphus was treading dangerously close to territory that he himself had been unwilling to explore, let alone speak of with another.
"You never wanted to marry a woman that was your equal," Rodolphus spoke quietly. "But you have, and you may as well enjoy the benefits if you're also dealing with the inconveniences."
On this erudite note, Rodolphus finished his drink once more and lobbed the empty crystal tumbler over the stone balustrade and into the darkness with a grin, listening as it shattered far below. He set off with a laugh to find his own wife; Bellatrix was talking to Deirbhile Runcorn, one of the few women aside from her family that she would tolerate. Thoroughly tired of Rodolphus and not desiring the company of any Blacks, he continued to let his eyes cast over the revelers, finding many familiar faces but none he wished to approach. At last an odd, jagged movement amongst the elegant dancers caught his attention. Towards the outskirts of the floor, Rabastan had been clumsily leading Ghada Shafiq through a foxtrot, but had lost his footing and most of his weight sagged onto her small frame. She bore it surprisingly well and attempted to right him, glancing about nervously to see who might have noticed. Everyone, Lucius thought snidely, but moved towards them nonetheless.
"Here," Lucius muttered, seizing the staggering man by the arm and helping Ghada guide him out of the ballroom. He led them to a small study a short distance from the party, and pushed Rabastan ungently onto a couch. Ghada sat as well, stroking the dark curls from his damp forehead. Lucius called an elf for water, and when the creature reappeared with three glasses and a pitcher, he had to fight the impulse to toss the icy liquid over Rabastan's face to startle him out of his drunken stupor. Instead, he sat in an arm chair nearby and watched as Ghada poured a glass with utmost care, lifting his head wiith one hand and bringing the water to his lips with the other. Inchoate as he was, Rabastan still managed to drink greedily, sloppily, perhaps thinking that it was alcohol. When he finished, she tenderly lowered his head to rest on her lap.
"Why do you do that?" Lucius demanded, a bit rudely. "Take care of him like that? You aren't his wife; has he even proposed to you yet?"
Ghada sighed, raising her doe-like brown eyes to meet his sharp grey stare. "He hasn't yet," she admitted. "I'm not worried though. I love him, and I don't mind waiting until he's ready."
He wanted to ask what would happen if that day never came, but asked instead a perhaps crueler question. "Why do you love him? Look at him. He's like this all the time." He couldn't keep the derision from his expression as he gestured to the semi-conscious man mumbling incoherently on her knees.
"Not all the time," she argued quietly, but rather than defensive she simply seemed sad. "It's a long story."
Lucius leaned back in his chair and gestured that she should continue, wondering if it would be inappropriate to summon a glass of scotch. Either way, the longer he could justifiably postpone returning to the party to face his wife's wrath, the better. He waved his hand expectantly when she still did not speak, and at last Ghada opened her mouth and spoke softly.
"My second year of school, I came back late from the library, and there was a party going on... I always tried to be in bed early those nights, especially when I was that young. There hadn't been a Quidditch game, I'm not sure what everyone was celebrating on a weekday in November; regardless, I was caught off guard. But when I came into the Common Room, Rabastan looked over and... smiled at me, like he'd been waiting for me all night. We'd barely spoken before then, but he came over and put his arm around my shoulders and in some ways it feels like he still hasn't let go." She shook her head wryly. "Anyway, he was drinking a lot, even back then. Towards the end of the night he took my hand an led me out to an empty dungeon. I suppose I thought I was about to have my first kiss. But instead, he told me..."
Here, she stopped, for long enough the Lucius was not sure she was going to continue. He attempted to cast his mind back that far, remember them both at that age. Most of his memories from third year were self-involved, overshadowed by the fact that that was the year his father had been implicated in the assassination attempt on Nobby Leach's life and as a result, his own life had irrevocably been altered and his childhood unceremoniously brought to an end.
"Told me about his mother," Ghada went on at last. "His father, his brother. More than he'd told anyone before. Or since. I'd never seen anyone hurt like that before... or if I had, I'd never seen them so vulnerable. There's something about seeing someone else in such a state that stays with you. And he was right to trust me, i'll take his secrets with me to the grave," she added with a quick glance at Lucius, as though worried he might pry. "I know that he isn't always..." she struggled for words. "Maybe I deserve better, but I want him. I know him. I hurt for him and I love him."
Lucius nodded once, and rose to his feet. "When you're ready, call an elf to help you get him upstairs, there's a room ready."
"Thank you," she replied with a genuine smile, her teeth radiantly white against the dark backdrop of her skin. She was lovely— it was not always apparent as her brow was usually knitted with concern. "Cissy is lucky to have you." Ghana paused, then continued. "I suppose I can say that without stepping on any toes now that you're married. When we were in school, you know, Cissy always had the best of everything— robes, accessories, anything— but she never really dated. Boys would ask her out all the time, of course, and she'd go to Hogsmeade with some of them, but she was never very interested. A some point we started teasing her... oh, I can't remember who started it, but it was in light-hearted fun, and we'd tease her that she was just waiting for the best... and naturally that could only be Lucius Malfoy." She shook her head and laughed, stroking Rabastan's hair thoughtfully. "Funny how well things work out... sometimes."
Lucius felt an overwhelming sense of sorrow for her as he left the room, despite her quiet optimism. Years later he might have named the feeling a premonition. True to her words, Rabastan would plan to propose, even buy a ring, but the Dark Lord would fall before he had the chance. On the day news of his arrest was released to the public for the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom, her father would return and drag Ghana, almost literally kicking and screaming, back to Pakistan with him. She would manage to scrawl off a hasty note begging Rabastan to come find her and rescue her when he was free, but the owl would never reach him. Even if it had, and even if he'd had the ability or means to seek her out after escaping Azkaban thirteen years later, it would be far too late. The girl he had known would be gone, replaced by a tired and serious woman whose waist had thickened considerably after the birth of four children and whose face looked heavy with sadness even in the best of times. She didn't learn of his first escape until after he was incarcerated once more, and little news escaped England during Voldemort's reign so she did not know there had been a second break out. In late May of 1998 she would come across a list of those who had died during the Battle of Hogwarts, and would read his name there, lost in a column of so many others. She would show no visible reaction when she read the news, but that night, as she lay beside her husband of more than fifteen years, a man that still felt like a stranger to her despite the fact she had borne him three sons and a daughter, several tears would leak from her perpetually puffy eyes and she would wipe them silently away, surprised that after all these years she could still manage to cry.
It was painfully late by the time they were able to retire to their rooms. Hoping to avoid the chaos he suspected was imminent, Lucius paused once they entered the antechamber off the corridor leading to the master suites. "Er... Narcissa," he began, but she brushed past him towards the door on the left.
"We can talk in the morning," she told him icily. "Or not."
The door to her new room slammed shut behind her, and he swallowed an unseen grimace of regret. Knowing the night was not yet over despite her every intention, he walked to the door on the opposite side of the antechamber and stood quietly at the foot of the bed.
Lucius only needed to wait about twenty seconds before the door to his bedroom was flung open and Narcissa swept in, eyes flashing. He was reminded vividly of the day she had come to England to confront him over the sale of her chateau, although this time he was not eagerly anticipating the battle. When had he stopped enjoying the fine art of provoking her?
"Where are my things?" she demanded without prelude. He tried to look innocent— not an easy feat for the sharp and cunning features that graced the Malfoy line.
"What things?"
"My clothes, my jewelry, my belongings, Lucius; don't play coy."
He hesitated. "I'm not sure. Perhaps the elves mistakenly…" As he spoke he moved over to a wardrobe and peeked inside as though he did not know perfectly well what it contained. "Ah, yes, you see? A simple misunderstanding with the move, it seems. Unpacked in the wrong room."
"That isn't possible," she hissed. "I made carefully detailed diagrams," Narcissa continued to rage as she swept across the room and began to rip open drawers to reveal her missing possessions. "Each item classified, from gowns to garters, which closets, which armoires—" she was seething by now, having at last located a nightgown and seizing it in her fist. "There's no way the elves could have made this mistake. They would have had to be told to do otherwise, and by someone who could overrule my command, which means—"
She broke off mid-rant, eyes wide as though she'd be slapped, though Lucius had not uttered a word or moved an inch. Her gaze moved slowly from the silk bunched in her hand back to the open doors and drawers she had left in her wake, where her garments, while not organized precisely to her exacting preferences, were not hidden; they were tidily folded and arranged with obvious consideration. There was no doubt that he was found out, but the realization of his duplicitous actions did not seem to have further angered her; she appeared thoughtful as she retraced her steps, carefully assessing the situation. "Right," she said softly at last, as though to herself. "Right," she repeated with slightly more volume, for his benefit, though her tone was mild. "I'm going to change for bed."
Even after she'd disappeared into the bathroom (rather than return to the other bedchamber, he noted), Lucius remained still for several long seconds, hardly daring to believe his good fortune. Would it really be this easy? He hurriedly undressed and climbed into bed, waiting impatiently for her to reemerge. When at last she did, he could hardly pull his eyes away.
Her hair, normally straight with perhaps only a hint of a wave, spilled over her shoulders in golden spirals and curls, not fully back to its relaxed state after being charmed tightly into an elaborate coiffure for the event. After a quick glance about the room she located her brush on the vanity and sat silently before the mirror, running it through her locks for several minutes before winding it into a neat plait as he'd seen her do the night we spent together in Germany. He shifted impatiently and she glanced over imperiously, as if daring him to speak. Lucius held his tongue.
At last she came to bed as well, slipping beneath the duvet and turning determinedly away from her husband.
"Narcissa," he began haltingly, not entirely sure the point he was attempting to make.
"Don't." She spoke softly, but did not turn in his direction. "It's... it's all right, Lucius. I don't want to discuss it any further... I really don't. Good night." She rolled over briefly to press a quick and impersonal peck to his cheek, and then pulled away once more.