Monday, 13 November 1978
A gentle brushing of feather-light pecks across his forehead and cheek woke Lucius on the dawn of his twenty-fifth birthday. A contented smirk stole over his sharp features, and he reached up for his wife without opening his eyes.
"Good morning," she whispered, kissing him at last on the mouth and leaning into his embrace. "Did you sleep well last night?"
He gave a noncommittal hum in reply. He could feel her hair loose and fanning across his chest, indicating she had brushed out her braid from the night before, which meant that she'd been up for some time and begun getting ready for the day ahead. However his lazy exploration found that her arms and shoulders were still bare, and he opened his eyes at last to survey her.
"What are you wearing?" he asked eagerly, his hands already moving with unchecked greed over the peach silk of her unfamiliar attire. The lace-edged slip was open all the way down the front, held together only by a thin, neatly tied bow where the neckline plunged into a V shape. The hemline ended more than few inches above her knees. He'd never seen her in anything like it.
"Oh..." she blushed slightly but the mischievous sparkle in her eye told him this was precisely the reaction she'd hoped to elicit. "Just something I picked up when we were visiting New York last year."
"This is what American witches are wearing to sleep these days?" he asked in a voice that might have been casual if not for the blatant hunger in his gaze as he parted the gown to reveal her matching knickers. "Because I must warn you, Mrs. Malfoy, if it is your intention to dress in bedclothes such as these from now on, I fear I shall never be able to allow you to sleep again." His lips were already at her navel.
"I have something for you," Narcissa drew away with a soft smile, and he made a sound of indignant protest.
"I like this present well enough, and I'm not quite finished with it yet."
She shook her head in playful scolding, rolling from the mattress to retrieve a small parcel from a locked drawer in her wardrobe. He propped himself up on one elbow to watch her progress, and when she returned to the bedside and held out the neatly wrapped object he reached instead for her thigh.
"Lucius!" she laughed, placing the box before him and dancing nimbly from his searching grasp. "Open it," she encouraged. He grumbled but obeyed, ripping the paper aside impatiently, his eyes flicking over her figure rather than the gift in his hands as he worked. However upon opening the box, his curiosity was at last sparked and he lifted an ancient-looking but untarnished dagger from within.
"It's Carnwennan," she told him breathlessly, gratified to see his brows rise in pleased surprise. "And before you say anything, I didn't spent a knut on it," she continued quickly, clearly recalling his unsatisfactory reaction to the binding tablet she'd given him two years prior for their anniversary.
"From Arthurian lore... used to kill the Very Black Witch?" he recited from a vague memory of Professor Binn's lectures, turning it over carefully as he inspected the gleaming white handle, inlaid with fire opals that caught the low light to produce brilliant flashes of green and orange.
"Orddu Black," affirmed Narcissa with a nod. "Her brother claimed the knife as reparation for her murder, it's been in our family for a millennium, passed from father to son. It's goblin-made, so if her blood truly was as powerful as legend says, it should still be within the blade."
Lucius looked impressed. "And your father gave it to you?" he guessed. She nodded, but something in her expression made him pause. "I'm rather astonished Bellatrix didn't want this," he added slowly, watching her closely. "It's true your father has no sons to pass it on to, but she is his firstborn." And obvious favourite, he thought but did not say aloud. Narcissa would not meet his eye.
"It might be best if you... don't display it anywhere she could come across it while visiting," she murmured, suddenly fascinated by the embroidery on the coverlet. He arched an eyebrow and she sighed in defeat. "Bella doesn't know I have it, she's forgotten about it entirely. When I visited my parents last month I mentioned I would be seeing her soon, and Father asked that I bring it to her. But she has no appreciation for historical artefacts, and moreover she and Rodolphus don't intend to have children! So it would go to our son eventually, I just thought I might... leave out the step of Bellatrix possessing it. She may be careless with her will and it could end up going to Bash's children if he has any, and it would be a shame to see it leave the Black bloodline." She glanced up at him nervously at last. "If you don't want it I'll take it to her next time I go to Windermere."
"Not want it?" Lucius laughed, a bright crack of mirth that put her at ease at once. "I want it even more now. Come here," he added, setting the dagger safely aside and reaching for her waist. This time she cheerfully obliged, and the Malfoys did not leave bed until luncheon that day.
Monday, 25 December 1978
"Happy Christmas, Narcissa."
Narcissa woke with a small gasp at the touch of his hand on her cheek.
"You're home," she breathed, and surprised him by reaching up to loop her arms around his shoulders, tucking her face into the curve of his neck. Lucius gave a small, bemused smile that she did not see and stroked her hair, running down the length of her plait.
"I've only been gone three days," he pointed out reasonably, and she let go at once, nodding almost guiltily. It had not been his intention to make her do so. "I didn't expect to leave so close to the holiday," he continued, sitting on the edge of the bed and tracing a gloved hand over the outline of her leg beneath the duvet. "But these things cannot always be planned. And I've managed to finish my, ah, business in time for brunch at your mother's." His fingers continued to drift across the shape of her body, smoothing over her stomach and brushing towards her breast. "With perhaps enough spare time for us to truly enjoy the morning?"
"I think... we'd better just get dressed and head out. Would you mind if we take a carriage? I'm not sure if I feel up to flooing or apparating this morning."
"You're not too ill to go, are you?" he asked hopefully. Narcissa offered a wan smile and shook her head. Upon closer inspection, however, he realized her normally fair complexion was a shade whiter than usual, and the lilac shadows under her eyes suggested she'd not slept well in his absence. "Not pale from missing me, I daresay?" he asked in a faintly jocular tone, though she wasn't looking at his face and hence would not have caught any trace of genuine hope that she might indeed have been, had it been there.
"Of course not," she replied shortly, pulling herself into a sitting position and away from his gently searching caress. "I assume your trip was... profitable?"
"Always," he affirmed brusquely, rising to his feet and reaching into the pocket of his robes. "I got you this," he added almost carelessly, dropping a velvet satchel into her lap and heading for the bath, leaving her alone to open the exquisitely jeweled perfume atomizer he'd had custom made for her in Switzerland, already filled with her preferred scent.
The carriage ride was not a long one, and it was quiet. Narcissa spent most of it gazing out at the countryside below, and answered only direct inquiries in a reserved manner. He was disappointed to find her in such a state after his trip, but left her to her thoughts and assumed seeing her family would brighten her sombre countenance. It seemed for a fleeting few minutes upon their seeing her mother and cousin it had, but when all the guests arrived and they were seated in the dining room, she picked at her food and did not join in the genial chatter.
After they'd finished eating, the party progressed to the drawing room and fell into smaller groups of conversation. Not really knowing how, Lucius found himself standing alone with Bellatrix as she smoked near a window.
"Do you think Narcissa seems out of sorts today?" Lucius asked in an undertone, then immediately felt like kicking himself. Bellatrix shrugged one shoulder lazily and took a drag of her cigarette.
"She was ill all the time when she was younger, I don't suppose she's grown a stronger constitution out of thin air. Say," she brightened suddenly. "Did you hear there's a new Headmaster at Durmstrang and he's come out in open support of the Dark Lord?"
"Of course I did, I've just returned from Bulgaria ensuring his confidence," he replied shortly. "But don't you think it's rather odd that she would be so reserved on Christmas? Usually it's her favourite holiday."
"She...?" Bellatrix echoed blankly. "Oh, Cissy? I don't know Malfoy, you've probably done something to make her angry. What's he like, this Igor Karkaroff? Did you have to buy him off or threaten him to get the public declaration? He's not under Imperius is he?"
"No," Lucius returned, sounding nettled now. "He's been a supporter on his own accord for years, I met him back in seventy six on an unrelated mission. The Dark Lord helped secure his post. Why would you just assume that she's angry with me?"
"Because you're an absolute prat," retorted Bellatrix matter-of-factly. "And a bore. Oh dear, speaking of bored..."
Lucius followed her gaze to the corner of the room where her husband lingered. Last he'd noticed him, Rodolphus had been speaking civilly with Cygnus and Druella, but his attention had now been caught by the large gilded cage containing a single golden snidget. He stood close to the bars, perfectly still except for the twitching fingers of his right hand, his eyes fixated on the bird's darting zips around its confines.
"He's going to try to catch it," Lucius predicted drily, and Bellatrix chewed her lip.
"Yes, and he'll certainly crush it if he does and Mother will be so upset. I can't handle her hysterics today, you'll have to fill me in on Karkaroff some other time." She flicked her cigarette out the open window and swept across the room. He watched her take her husband's arm and guide him easily from the cage, drawing him instead into a spirited debate with her uncle on the best way to kill a Chimaera. It seemed Walburga was monopolizing the attention of her brother and sister-in-law and Lucius had no desire to join their discussion, but that left him no choice but to intrude upon his wife and Regulus, who'd been engrossed in conversation since the meal had ended. Last year Rabastan had been there to provide additional entertainment, but he'd gone to Pakistan with Ghada to see the Shafiqs, assumedly to obtain formal permission to marry her at last.
When he approached his wife and her cousin, they were talking of painting: a topic to which Lucius could contribute nothing of substance. He sat down next to her anyway, elbows resting on his knees as he wondered if it was too early in the day for a drink. Narcissa did not turn towards him, but Regulus faltered and cleared his throat nervously.
"Alright then, Lucius?" he asked with an odd, twitchy smile that Lucius did not return.
"Fine." The last time he'd seen Regulus had been shortly before the start of term. The boy had come along on a raid, nothing of great import: clearing a house of the Muggle relatives of a troublesome Ministry official. No Aurors or Order members had arrived while they were on the scene so the risk was nonexistent and the mood had in fact been rather sporting. However despite his and Bellatrix's coaching, Regulus had scarcely been able to cast the Cruciatus Curse, and he certainly had not shown any interest or aptitude in Rodolphus's more physical methods of torture. At this rate he would never earn his Mark, and he wasn't entirely sure Bellatrix's already unstable temper could bear another disappointment in the family. Lucius found the matter irritating but it was frankly low on his list of priorities and he doubted he'd find the time or inclination to step in short of a direct order from the Dark Lord.
"Cissy was just telling me she'd been to see a show at the National Portrait Gallery featuring official portraits of all the female Ministers for Magic... I've heard it's excellent. Have you been?"
"Of course not," Lucius snapped distractedly, studying his wife in an attempt to decipher why she would not deign to look at him, and if she was sincerely ill or instead upset with him as Bellatrix had suggested. "Why would I have been to see that?" he added dismissively, and Regulus turned faintly pink.
"Evangeline Orpington's portrait is said to be one of the best likenesses of—" he started weakly, but Lucius interrupted him.
"I'm sure. Would you find the elf and ask it to bring up a bottle of scotch?"
Regulus nodded and rose quickly to his feet, presumably to find the alcohol himself rather than trouble the elf. Narcissa seemed to find his fondness for the creatures endearing, but Lucius thought it a faintly repulsive tendency. When he was out of earshot Narcissa sighed and addressed him at last.
"Must you be cold to Reggie?" she asked tiredly. "He so admires you and Bella and you're both so impatient with him. And it's early in the day for liquor."
Her tone was flat but she did not sound angry, and he imagined that under normal circumstances she would be able to muster a bit more fire in her defense of her beloved cousin and criticism of his drinking. He decided at last that she must indeed be unwell. "Narcissa, I think we should go home so you can rest," he proposed cautiously. Despite his thorough observations, he was still taken aback when, after a moment, she nodded.
"I think you're right," she agreed, and he stood at once to begin giving their regrets for an early departure. Rodolphus looked to his wife upon the pronouncement that the Malfoys would be taking off, visibly hopeful that they too could leave, but his optimism was dashed with one quelling glare.
"I'll summon Healer Marlowe as soon as we arrive back at the Manor," he promised as they settled into their carriage for the return flight.
"No!" she blurted, sounding almost panicked. "No," repeated Narcissa, fighting to sound offhand but twisting her fingers in her lap. "I really just need to rest."
He did not want to force the issue, but after several seconds of silence could not help but interrogate her further. "Are you angry with me?" he asked in a tone that he intended to insinuate that he did not care very much whether she answered in the affirmative or negative. Narcissa shot him a quizzical look.
"Of course not." A brief hesitation, and then with some suspicion: "Is there a reason I ought to be?"
"Just something your sister said when I asked her if she thought you might not be feeling entirely yourself." He felt a bit ridiculous confessing that he'd consulted Bellatrix on the matter. "She suggested that some unknown transgression of mine might have been the culprit of your distemper."
Narcissa did not seem derisive at his admission; rather her expression turned pensive and she stared out the window of the carriage. "Bella is... a very talented Legilimens. When we were younger she enjoyed tormenting me with the ability, ridiculing me for every errant infatuation or fleeting dark thought; she delighted in mocking my worst fears and taunted me with my deepest insecurities. Our age difference matters very little now that we are both adults, but she began practising on me when she was in her third year and first learned of the art... I was only eight at the time, a very easy target as I not only had no way to defend myself, but could not even figure out how she learned such secrets that I dared not whisper aloud to even my closest friends. I read of Occlumency shortly after I started school and my parents gave me freer access to their library... read of it in a novel, in fact, and realized at once what my sister had been doing all those years once I found further information on the subject. With a great deal of focus and concentration I am able to repel her, but I am certainly not very good at it."
She paused, frowning down at her hands.
"My whole childhood I believed she understood me so well, but by the time I was able to bar her from my mind, she'd found others she preferred to harass and I had long given up trying to keep information from her. Habits are difficult to break, and beliefs you grew up with even more so. It's only in recent years that I realized she isn't listening to me with the aid Legilimency any more; she has not been for a very long time. And as it turns out, without it, I'm not sure that she understands me very well at all."
With a small shake of her head, Narcissa forced a smile and tilted her chin up to meet his eye. "All this to say, you've done nothing wrong. I'd just like a few days of rest and then I'm sure I'll be feeling quite myself again. You mustn't take what she says so seriously." And then, after another pause, "Neither of us should."
Wednesday, 23 May 1979
Lucius suggested the South Pacific for her birthday, their own private island in French Polynesia. Neither of them was particularly well suited for sand and sun, but a well-appointed bungalow over a lagoon and far from prying eyes, a part of the Tetiaroa atoll, was deemed acceptable to both. During the day she watched him swim, amused and sheltered from the heat beneath huge straw hats and colorful parasols, and kissed the salt from his lips when he emerged from the crystalline water. He bought her ropes of black Tahitian pearls and insisted she wear them - and nothing else - to bed. "I love the contrast," he murmured absently, dragging the inky pearls slowly, luxuriantly over the cream silk of her skin, too enthralled to notice the way her eyes flew open at the first two words of his statement and then shuttered once more upon its continuation.
Though complicated enchantments kept the weather clear during the day, the rains were allowed to fall naturally at night, and Lucius laid awake listening to the the steady drumming long after Narcissa had slipped into asleep. He watched the steady rise and fall of her back with each deep breath, and wondered, almost helplessly, of what she might be dreaming. A child, no doubt, if her waking desires manifested literally in her unconscious. Seven months had passed since he'd lied to her, and he dreaded the day that she would announce she was pregnant again, since there was no real reason it would not be followed by the same misfortune as before. But that day had not yet come. In moments such as this one, he felt as though their happiness was existing on borrowed time, sifting like sand through an hourglass and when it ran out, he would surely have to confess that which he had not done. He wanted to suspend the passage of time, postpone the inevitable, as surely her anger when she learned of his falsehood would be terrible.
He rolled closer to run his fingers down the curve of her spine and though she did not wake, she turned instinctively towards the caress and sighed contentedly. There was no need to rush into anything before his hand was forced, he decided. If things were not perfect, they were certainly better than ever before, and there was no sense in jeopardizing them over an issue that might very well not exist. He'd never had anything like this before. The closest he'd come was a string of repeated liaisons with a select handful of women, and those could hardly compare. Perhaps the sex had been more adventurous then (the things he would do to Narcissa is only she'd let him! Best not to dwell on it), but he had not spent hours with them each day and night, learning by osmosis their likes and dislikes, what made them smile and what they detested. It was strange, the impact this knowledge had on him. He wanted her smiles. He wanted to be the cause of them. The world was so open to him, it seemed he could easily give her anything except that which she truly desired. But still, now was not the time to worry. They were young, after all. She was only twenty four today, they could spend years in harmony before there was any reason to trouble themselves. The three miscarriages last year could very well have been a string of bad luck. Maybe she was pregnant even now, and in nine month's time he would look back on his fretting and laugh that any of this had concerned him at all.
With this comforting thought in mind, he turned over and let the pattering of the storm lull him to sleep at last.
Saturday, 4 August 1979
For their anniversary he'd planned to take her for a weekend in Vienna, but she'd been feeling ill again that week, the same indeterminate ailment that had overtaken her for a handful of days around Christmas, and once in the late spring, and now again as the summer reached its end. She insisted on sleeping in a different room during these phases, and Lucius stood over her bedside after a quiet dinner, bidding her good night before retiring to his own room.
"Six years... seems rather hard to believe, doesn't it?"
Narcissa made a small, ambiguous sound of dissent. "Only three and a half that really count though, wouldn't you say?"
"No," he bristled at once. "I would say six."
"It will be eleven years for Bella and Rodolphus in a few weeks, and they've managed to live together that whole time."
She was blatantly attempting to provoke him and he could not determine why. By far the most troubling symptom of these mysterious periods of malaise were not her persistent fatigue or ferocious resistance to being touched by his hands or a Healer's (the second time she'd been struck down he'd called Marlowe against her wishes, and she'd embarrassed them both by sealing the door of her bedroom and refusing to be seen. Marlowe alone had not been rattled by the display, vaguely mentioning something about decades spent dealing with hysterical women and suggesting that Lucius slip a Sleeping Draught into her next meal, and offered to return once it had taken effect to examine her whilst unconscious. Narcissa however seemed improved by sheer force of will the following day so it hadn't come to that); it was her strange behaviour during them that was most disturbing, the way she refused to meet his eye and tried her hardest to avoid anything but superficial conversation. He had begun to wonder if she was not physically sick at all but rather overtaken by fits of moroseness, but he'd never recalled her experiencing them before this past year. Perhaps he simply hadn't been paying attention?
"Yes," Lucius drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm as he added, "and how many years do you think you would have managed to survive with Rodolphus? If you find me difficult to live with I'd be fascinated to see you try tolerating him for more than a week."
To his surprise, Narcissa laughed softly. "You're right," she agreed. "I certainly would not be able to do it. And I don't find you difficult to live with," she added as an afterthought, fiddling with the cuff of her nightgown. "Most of the time."
"Well, praise Merlin for small mercies then," he sighed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress next to her. She gave every indication of being fully engrossed with her perfectly shaped and buffed nails and did not spare a glance for him. "This isn't how I envisioned us spending our evening."
"I know," she murmured. "I'm sorry." She sounded as though she truly was.
"Perhaps you might come back to our bed? Just to sleep," he added quickly, sensing her frown before it had a chance to appear.
"I... I don't think that's a good idea. I'd hate for you to have to suffer whatever blight has afflicted me."
"Come now, Narcissa," he went on patiently. "I think we both know what's wrong with you isn't catching."
Her eyes grew huge with alarm and raced to his face. "What do you mean?" she demanded.
He exhaled slowly. "My father's mother was prone to... bouts of melancholia. Days, or sometimes weeks would go by and she could not be persuaded to leave her rooms. She refused visitors and often meals as well. I was young but I recall it still." Aging but beautiful, his grandmother had been sometimes distantly affectionate when his parents brought him to visit, and other times stared at him without seeming to know who he was. He had no happy memories of her and had not been sad when she died the year before he started Hogwarts.
She looked simultaneously irritated and relieved by his declaration. "It's not that, Lucius," she protested, and seemed on the verge of sharing more but decided against it. "I... I do wish you'd believe me when I say I'm simply in need of a week with little activity."
"I do," he agreed hastily. "Of course I'm not doubting that, I just wish you'd let Marlowe see you to ensure it's nothing more serious."
She wrinkled her nose slightly.
"I know his bedside manner isn't flawless," Lucius conceded, "but he really is the best there is, and he's discreet, which is nearly as important as skill in his field."
"I shouldn't like to waste the time of such an illustrious Healer for my over-tiredness," she replied archly.
"You needn't worry about that, he's well compensated for his efforts."
"Lucius." She took his left hand in both of hers and stared at it earnestly, as she still seemed incapable of meeting his eye. "If I thought for a moment there was anything wrong that he could help, I'd let you summon him."
With a defeated sigh, he curled his fingers briefly around hers and then rose to his feet. "Very well. Call for me if you change your mind, I'll leave the door open to be sure to hear you."
She smiled cheerlessly at his words and sank deeper into the pillows as he departed, lying on her side and drawing the duvet to her chin as she pulled her knees up. She looked so utterly defenceless and forlorn that he nearly turned back but, out of respect for her unmistakably expressed wishes, Lucius exited the room in silence and left alone with her thoughts.
Friday, 7 September 1979
Orion Black passed away in his sleep at the age of fifty. An autopsy indicated the cause of death was a brain aneurysm. Normally the body of an esteemed Pureblooded wizard would not be subjected to such indignities as dissection and inspection but his wife had insisted, ostensibly to rule out any foul play but Lucius uncharitably suspected she wanted to make sure he'd not offed himself to finally escape her. The funeral was held on dreary Friday morning in the Black Family cemetery in a remote section of the grounds of Grimsden Hall. He recognised most of the mourners— the death of a scion of pureblood society could be an excellent business opportunity which kept attendance high— but his wife insinuated that he might consider keeping the Lestranges occupied while she comforted Regulus and her aunt. Bellatrix seemed unusually stricken as she watched her uncle's casket lower into the earth, and so she was not keeping the necessary eye on her husband and brother-in-law that was required at such sombre events. Someone had had the good sense to sedate the widow, and she was causing none of her usual trouble, so they were the two likeliest culprits if mayhem were to arise.
Lucius could not determine if Rodolphus was becoming more unstable and Rabastan's drinking was getting worse or if he was simply losing patience with the brothers as he aged. Irritated as he was with needing to tend to two grown men as if they were oversized boys, he suspected it was the latter. Their mother had been one of the first witches in the country to embrace his after she moved from Sweden and married Abraxas. The young Mrs. Malfoy had been too foreign, too beautiful, and too youthful to be accepted immediately, and though her peerless grace and easily given affection won them over eventually, Cordelia Lestrange had been the first ally and remained her closest friend for the first six years of Lucius's life. His mind was turning over these recollections of his early childhood with the brothers when a sharp, startled cry wrenched him back to the present.
Several things happened in quick succession.
Regulus tore from Narcissa's comforting grasp and started sprinting across the moor, dodging mourners and tombstones alike as he barreled for the property line. Narcissa was not a hunter so her eyes merely followed him in bewilderment, perhaps thinking that the ceremony had overwhelmed him. Lucius's gaze, however, snapped towards the trees where the boy was heading and sure enough, standing mostly in shadow, was Sirius Black. Blood traitor though he was, it seemed he'd gotten word of the funeral and come to either pay respects or make sure his father was truly dead— Lucius neither knew nor cared why the boy had risked showing up but it had been a very poorly planned move.
Lucius was not the only one who saw him. At his left, Rodolphus tensed and without hesitation took after Regulus, easily evading Lucius's attempt to grab his robes to halt him. Lucius swore under his breath; despite Regulus's head start, Rodolphus would catch him in seconds if he was not stopped. He whipped out his wand and leveled it at his friend's back; he did not need to see his wife's face to know she would not want Sirius ripped apart in front of so many witnesses. "Impedimenta," he hissed, and Rodolphus slowed at once, struggling in vain against the binds of the spell. If the Lestranges questioned him about it later, and he was certain they would, he would claim he had been aiming for Sirius. In the corner of his eye he saw Narcissa with her fingers wrapped around Bellatrix's upper arm and Cygnus gripping her shoulder, their combined efforts preventing her from tearing after her husband.
Lucius grit his teeth and took off in the direction Regulus had sprinted, albeit at a more rational pace. When he surpassed Rodolphus he silently issued an Impediment Hex once more, as the larger man seemed on the verge of throwing off the first. By now Regulus had reached his brother, and seemed to be trying to push him backwards, towards the invisible demarcation of the Black's land. When he drew near enough to hear what the younger man was saying, his brow drew sharply downward into a fierce scowl.
"Get back, Sirius, you have to leave, you don't understand, they'll kill you, you don't know what they're capable of—" he whispered rapidly in one long breath, shoving his brother's shoulders, edging him towards safety. Lucius raised his wand and fired a stunner, intentionally high, as a warning. With a look of utter loathing, Sirius at last recognised that he was outnumbered and leapt nimbly past the wards, raising his hand to make a rude gesture at Lucius before disapparating with a resounding crack. Regulus watched him go with a strange expression that blended triumph and defeat.
Seething and far enough away from the others to not be overheard, Lucius seized Regulus by the elbow and jerked him around. "That was very, very foolish of you," he hissed. "If you aren't careful it'll be your cousins after you next."
Regulus jutted his chin defiantly. "There's nothing wrong with telling my blood-traitor brother to stay far away from us," he replied loudly, as Rodolphus caught up to them at last. Lucius blinked in surprise. That had not been why he was telling Sirius run, he'd obviously been doing so to protect him. But Regulus stared at him with hard eyes, and did not flinch when Rodolphus towered over his shoulder.
"You should've taken the chance to do more than drive him away," he growled, his wild gaze snapping dangerously. "Here, unprotected and without any Aurors or Order members? Might've been your best opportunity to be done with him once and for all."
"I'm sure I'll have another chance, Rodolphus," Regulus replied calmly. He ducked his head, and suddenly he was the frightened boy once more with whom Lucius was familiar. "We should get back to Father," he added softly, and began trudging back towards the gravesite. The brandy and Calming Draughts had done their job well: Walburga still sagged against her sister-in-law and elf, staring blankly and slack-jawed at the casket containing her husband's body, apparently unaware that her eldest child had made an impromptu appearance.
Whispers buzzed at the reception regarding the events at the burial, but Lucius did not think it the appropriate setting to discuss it with anyone, least of all the Lestranges who clearly wished to do nothing else. Bellatrix relented first after a serious word from her father, and when Lucius resolutely ignored Rodolphus's multiple attempts to find out why he'd hexed him, he resorted to drinking and smoking on the balcony with Rabastan. Lucius spent as much time as he could speaking to the oldest witches and wizards in attendance, having found that the elderly usually had the most to say of the least import. Narcissa's great aunt Cassiopeia, an unpleasant woman who'd never married, spent nearly an hour telling him about the Abyssinian shrivelfig plants she was growing. Narcissa's grandfather Pollux had been at Hogwarts a few years ahead of Abraxas (both Pollux and Cygnus had had children at appalling young ages), and told him a story about their school days that might have been entertaining under different circumstances.
Most of the family stayed for supper, and it was expected that they should remain until the next day. Lucius saw very little to be glad about in this arrangement until he heard Druella inform her daughter that she should retire to her room, and he realised with some renewed interest that they would be staying in Narcissa's childhood bedroom for the night. He followed his wife up to the second floor, but she paused in the corridor and gave him an odd look.
"If you laugh at me I shall never forgive you," she warned, before pushing open the door. It wasn't as bad as it might have been— there were no visible unicorns and it wasn't overwhelmingly pink— but it was humourously girlish nonetheless. Lace curtains hung in the windows and swathed the four poster bed. There was no free wall space, as the perimeter of the room was mostly occupied with dressers and bureaus and overflowing bookshelves, and what little remained was hidden with posters. These posters were mostly replicas of famous works of art, but one showed a young, handsome Keeper winking at the viewer.
"I never knew you liked Quidditch," he teased mercilessly, and she flushed before excusing herself to get ready for bed.
While she washed her face, he shamelessly rifled through drawers and wardrobes, interested to see that the entirety of her clothing from her school days still resided here. As he surveyed the familiar Slytherin uniform, he came upon a hanging row of pleated, checked skirts and a wicked idea formed in his mind.
"Narcissa," he began eagerly when she emerged from the bath, holding the article of clothing up in his hands. "Would you—"
"No." She cut him off with a quelling look, crossing the room to join him at the wardrobe. "Put it back. I can't believe Mother hasn't gotten rid of all this," she added, running her fingers over the dated attire.
"I wonder if it still fits," he goaded, and she rolled her eyes.
"If you wanted me while we were in school..." she started, but seemed to think better of whatever she had been about to say and turned away. "Well, you missed your opportunity, didn't you?"
"Would you have let me have you?" he purred, sidling up behind her and taking her hair in his hands. "In the potions classroom after hours?" He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. "Or the Prefect's bathroom, that was always a good time." His hands stole around her waist, drawing her flush against him. "Oh, and the Astronomy Tower is an old favourite... I never caught you snogging anyone on my night rounds though. Too good to get up to that sort of trouble, aren't you, Miss Black?"
She smiled halfheartedly but was clearly in no mood for his games. The day had been a long and draining one and she eased out of his grasp to go sit on her old bed as she began winding her hair into a braid. After several moments of introspection, she spoke again.
"I feel so bad for Regulus. As though burying his father weren't difficult enough, for Sirius to make an appearance and have to be sent away..." Anger flashed over her face. "He's so selfish! He was the one who chose to leave this family, and then to turn up for this... I don't think he and Reggie have been close for a long time, but still I'm sure it gave Regulus no pleasure to have to tell him that he was unwelcome."
He opened his mouth but closed it again without speaking. He would not tell her yet what he'd overheard Regulus saying to his brother. First he would find an opportunity to speak with Regulus about the matter. If he was truly having doubts, Lucius knew he would have to tell the Dark Lord, and hope he chose to be merciful due to the boy's familial connections. Perhaps it would be best not to mention the matter to Narcissa at all, to avoid causing her undue stress.
Or maybe he could simply choose to believe the words Regulus had spoken after the fact, when he'd loudly called Sirius a blood traitor. That did seem like the easiest course of action.
He undressed as well and sat on the opposite side of the bed from where she still perched, apparently lost in thought. Deciding he may still get a variation on what he wanted if he took a subtler approach, he moved across the ruffled duvet to sit behind her, her hips between his legs, and cupped her shoulders in each hand. "Try not to worry about it for tonight," he soothed, pressing his thumbs into the tense, aching muscles of her upper back and kneading tenderly. "You've done so much today already, the best thing you can do for your family now is relax and be refreshed for tomorrow." A soft moan was her only reply as he worked deftly, finding knots and easing them away with the pressure of his hands. The fabric of her nightgown bunched and she did not protest when he removed it under the thinly veiled guise of better alleviating he tension she carried near the base of her spine. Nor did she protest when his searching fingers moved around her body, one hand continuing its steady, massaging rhythm but now over her breast, and the other slipping into the front of her knickers. Her head tipped back to his shoulder and allowed his lips access to her throat. When he laid her down she warned him "quietly" but otherwise made no objections.
Afterwards, she rolled over to kiss him and whispered "thank you," and he almost laughed aloud until she clarified: "for helping manage things with my family today. I know they're difficult, and they aren't yours by blood. I appreciate you stepping in to keep things in hand."
Lucius was not sure how to respond. It seemed unfathomable now that he would abandon her to deal with with them on her own, but hadn't he done precisely that for years? Rather than say anything to this effect or accept her praise magnanimously, he gathered her close and pressed his lips to her brow.
"Get some rest," he murmured. "You're going to need it tomorrow."
Wednesday, 31 October 1979
Surely, surely there'd always been so many pregnant women? Lucius wondered incredulously as he moved throughout the hall, greeting guests with a smile that did not reach his eyes. After all, the Slytherin common room remained full each year with every incoming class of students, so clearly they were being born on a regular schedule. It must have been that he'd never paid any attention to births before the struggle to have an heir of his own, but it seemed to him that every woman in the room was expecting a baby except for his wife. He wanted to spare Narcissa the pain of seeing them all, but then, he reasoned, she must have been attuned to the cycle of life for years now, while he was only just becoming aware. Still, it felt cruel for so many couples to show off their happy reproductive statuses.
Perhaps part of it was that two of his long-term former lovers were obviously and joyfully with child. Lettie and Francesca were both flaunting their fecundity. Though the two sensational witches had always maintained a subtle rivalry, they appeared to be the best of friends now, clasping hands and chattering brightly. Francesca was further along, her stomach huge and conspicuous, but Lettie had evidently selected a gown intended to highlight her own unmistakably expanding midsection. Nott was in better spirits than Lucius could ever recall seeing him before; Francesca's husband, on the other hand, had been too ill to attend the gala. As a society, Purebloods were only a few generations past treating pregnancy as a private, almost shameful condition, sequestering women in seclusion as soon as their state became apparent. However with the dwindling of the old families, there'd been a shift in the past few decades, and the birth of Pureblooded children had become a highly anticipated event; men and women alike were eager to let friends and family and even mere acquaintances know that their lines were growing and continuing into the modern era.
As the evening progressed, Lucius recognised that he was not really enjoying the gala. Samhain had long been one of the most amusing nights of the year, but it seemed to him that no conversation could hold his interest for more than a few minutes, he had no desire to drink with friends, and he was looking forward to the Manor growing quiet and calm once more.
It took some time to connect this state of discontent with the fact that he could not find his wife. He was certain he'd seen her earlier on, greeting each arriving guest with grace, and he knew he'd seen her speaking for some time with Adrienne Parkinson and Ghada Shafiq (whose left hand still had yet to bear a ring from Rabastan). The hours after most guests had departed were generally the only ones they could truly enjoy as hosts, slipping from their responsibilities to spend time with lingering close friends and family. But once crowd had dwindled, a thorough investigation of all the usual gathering spots and interrogation of their friends returned fruitless; no one had seen her for some time, but most were very drunk and might not have noticed anyway.
When only the Lestranges remained awake, dancing alone in the ballroom to music that had long since ceased playing, Lucius gave up and retreated to his rooms where he found her at last, tucked beneath the blankets and dozing only lightly. She woke at once when he entered.
"Are you alright?" It wasn't like her to retire before all her guests were situated and he'd anticipated finding her in a state of distress, but instead she beamed up at him and reached for his hand.
"Yes. I was just tired. The evening was winding down and I didn't think anyone would notice if I slipped away."
"I did," he murmured, lifting the hand she'd given him to kiss each knuckle. "I looked for you everywhere."
"Now you've found me. And what shall you do with me since you have?"
Lucius grinned, white teeth flashing in the dark of the room. It was all the invitation he needed. He dipped his head to kiss her firmly before straightening up to remove his dress robes. "Did you have a good time?"
"Yes." She sat up slowly, watching him. "It's always good to see everyone. The chef did a phenomenal job this year."
"At your phenomenal instruction, I'm sure," he complimented, stepping out of his trousers.
"Perhaps." She hesitated before adding in a would-be casual tone, "Ari is going to have a baby."
Lucius froze, his shirt only half unbuttoned. "Fuck. Are you…?"
"I'm fine," she insisted quickly. "I'm happy for her." To her credit, she did appear calm and genuinely pleased for her friend.
"How far along is she?"
Narcissa stared down at her hands. "Twelve and a half weeks." Further along than Narcissa had ever been, as they were both well aware.
"And… how long were they trying?" he asked, not really wanting the answer.
"Oh… they started maybe four or five months ago."
Despite her assurances, Lucius swore again under his breath and came to sit down on the edge of the bed beside her. "Narcissa…" He reached out to stroke her cheek, half expecting her to turn away, and when she did not he pressed his lips to hers once more. "When we finally have a child, I'm sure the wait and pain will have been well worth it," he sighed, and for once he'd said the right thing because her eyes softened and she cupped his face his her hands. The poignant gesture took him by surprise, and he remained carefully still lest she change her mind and draw back prematurely.
"What will we call him?" she asked, her blue gaze studying his expression intently.
"Anything you wish," he promised, and she smiled crookedly.
"I'll hold you to that," she warned, stretching to kiss him again.
"Do. I shall be happy with a healthy wife and child, no matter what he's named. You have fine taste, I've no concerns there." They'd never spoken so openly of their future offspring before; he had always assumed that to do so before confirming a successful pregnancy would only wound her, but he saw plainly in her glowing expression that he had been wrong. He ran his fingers up her arm, toying questioningly with the shoulder of her nightgown. "Are you too tired?"
Narcissa bit her lip and shook her head, gathering the hem of her night gown to her waist. She raised her arms to allow him to remove it entirely, and then laid back onto the pillows in anticipation. He quickly removed the rest of his clothing and slipped beneath the sheets with her, raking his fingers across her stomach and thighs as he settled against her. However he did not move to mount her, instead encouraging her to turn on her side as well, facing him. With clear intent he drew her leg over his hip, slipping two fingers between them to stroke her until she was exquisitely slick and began to squirm impatiently and rub herself against him, wanting more. He obliged, guiding himself into her entrance and they both made a breathless sound of delight.
It had never been like this before. Every inch of their bodies pressed together so closely that Lucius could only move his hips in a shallow, unhurried rhythm, their arms wrapped tightly around one another and breath mingling still even when they stopped kissing for brief snatches of air. He could not guess how long they stayed that way, his hands tracing an endless route over her back, neck, and shoulders, fisting with tender desperation in her hair. The heat was nearly unbearable but less still could he bear the idea of being an inch further from her, and their perspiration mingled and breathing grew labored.
The slow, steady friction brought her to the edge first, and her moans reverberated against his lips as he felt her muscles clench and unclench repeatedly around his shaft. He groaned as well, slowing his pace so that he scarcely moved at all, allowing her to grind against him to wring out the dregs of her pleasure. Once she grew still, he hooked his forearm beneath the leg that was still wrapped securely around him and rolled her carefully onto her back, not withdrawing from her and pressing her other leg toward her chest as well. It wasn't enough— even inside her, so deep that each thrust drew from her throat an involuntary gasp, he felt he was not close enough to her. He was gripped by a desire that he was sure could only be satisfied if he were to melt into the marrow of her bones, lose himself entirely and merge with her to become one.
She made a strained sound that could have been a whimper and he wondered through a haze if he was hurting her, but no, she was clinging tightly to him rather than pushing him away. He then wondered if she was hurting him, as he did not seem to be able to accurately comprehend sensory information any longer, but no, this sharp and expansive sensation that seemed to press even the air from his lungs was the opposite of pain. It was immense and prodigious and a part of him feared it but a greater part believed it to be safe, and never more so than in this moment: it could not hurt him if he stayed pressed against her. His hands slid between the mattress and her arced spine, gripping her shoulders with his fingers as his palms pressed against their blades, pulling her downward in concert with each push into her. If he could speak at all he would have cried her name but instead he struggled for air and felt her body seize again, and this time it was met with the hot surge of his own release.
They remained still for a long time afterwards, arms and legs tangled with no desire to separate. His head rested on her breast, and he listened to her pounding heart slowly return to normal as she affectionately carded her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. Though his body was wholly sated, the same overwhelming need to be close to her still hummed through his veins, and he lifted his head to catch her gaze. She seemed to be waiting for him to speak but he felt at a loss for words and kissed her instead, hoping that it was enough for her, but unable to shake the sense that it was not.
Thursday, 1 November 1979
"Are you awake?" Lucius murmured against her neck as the first rays of dawn filtered across the bed. Narcissa nodded and tilted her head to allow him better access, but otherwise remained still. It was unusual that she should sleep later than him, but when he drew back she was smiling softly with her eyes closed.
"Yes," she admitted. "Just so terribly comfortable I didn't want to ever move."
He understood. If they could just remain forever like this, the spell could not be broken.
"I want to show you something after the guests leave," he announced at last. "Wear something warm."
It was some hours later that she met him in the entrance hall, ensconced in her heaviest wool cloak of deep emerald and a cream cashmere scarf wrapped thrice around her throat with matching mittens. They walked for some time in companionable silence, past the landscaped portion of the grounds and into a wooded area beyond, where bare deciduous trees stretched towards the pearl grey sky.
At last they arrived at a small glen, in the center of which stood a massive, ancient elm tree, towering at well over a hundred feet. It was apparent that it had once been a wandwood tree, intangible magic whispered around it, but closer examination revealed that it could be one no longer as it was slowly dying. A large hole that began at about knee height and reached up to Lucius's shoulder, sizable enough for a smallish person to enter, showed that the trunk was hollow; rotted away on the inside despite its impressive exterior. It had been this way for as long as he had known of its existence.
"I used to come here often when I was a boy," Lucius spoke at last, "though I haven't thought about this place in years. I don't know what made me recall it now." But in truth he did— it had been their discussion the previous night about a child, and he liked the idea of a son of their own knowing this spot as well, that another Malfoy boy might one day clamber inside the shadowy but safe space. Lucius ran a leather-clad hand over the rough bark and peered into its empty interior. "It's smaller than I remember."
He was hesitant to turn around and see her reaction— some part of him was certain she would be uninterested in the tableau, irritated that he'd brought her out in the cold weather, and he was already feeling a bit foolish.
"Do you suppose there are bowtruckles living in there?" she asked brightly, closer to his shoulder than he'd realized. She was leaning over as well, her cheeks pink as she blinked inquisitively into the darkness. "I used to have such fun looking for them when I was young."
"It's not likely, they prefer living, healthy trees. I've no taste for magizoology, I never sought any creatures here… I enjoyed the escape."
"From what?" she asked mildly, stepping forward for closer investigation when he moved back. It appeared for a moment that she would climb into the trunk, but a glance down at her fine robes and cloak stilled her. "Did your parents fight?"
Lucius gave a short, humourless laugh. "Oh no, nothing like that. My mother always did precisely what my father asked of her, and outside of that he paid her little attention. There was never any argument. I hid here from tutors, and if anything related to my parents, it was my mother's cloying affection I tried to avoid." He paused, kicking at the dried brush with the toe of his boot. "I never thought much about their relationship when I was young— what sort of child wonders about such things? It seems unlikely that should could have been happy though. She grew up in Uppsala, and went to a small, all-witches school near her home. She didn't know anyone here. But she never seemed unhappy, nor do I recall hearing her complain. In all honestly I thought her simple, her coddling irritated my father and so it soon grew to irritate me."
"Why would that irritate him? A mother's love of her only child?" Narcissa asked quietly. Lucius squinted up through the tangle of branches overhead, not turning to meet her gaze.
"I think part of it was that he did not think very highly of her, or her family. But my father is a vain man, and he wanted a beautiful wife. There were few options available when he wanted to wed, he would have had to choose Haydee Slughorn— Horace's sister, they look very alike— or Araminta Meliflua, who was well-known to be mad. Betrothals were more common in his time— he was meant to marry Enid Ollivander, but she died of Vanishing Sickness when she was sixteen. He was nearly thirty five by then and didn't want to wait for another witch to come of age, so my grandfather sent owls to some of the old pureblood families across the continent looking for marriageable daughters. Father met with a dozen or so and decided on my mother. From what I gather it had little to do with anything besides her looks and acceptable heritage. It was all very… transactional."
Narcissa made a small sound of disbelief, and he quickly defended his statement, adding, "It's not as though I selected you from some sort of cadre of eligible women! You were the only one he'd suggested or encouraged, just because I went along with it does not lessen—"
"But you would have gone along with any witch he suggested, would you not have?" she cut in silkily.
"Well, not any witch—"
"What if he'd wanted you to marry Francesca Zabini? Or Laetitia Avery?" she challenged.
"It certainly turned out for the best he didn't put Francesca forward," Lucius replied, rubbing his chin ruefully. "Given her track record with husbands I might be dead…"
"But if he had—"
"Then I would have married Francesca!" he exhaled in exasperation, finally losing his patience with the line of questioning. "Or Lettie or Selene Fawley or Deirbhile Runcorn or Darla Bulstrode or any number of other women he might have chosen; but he didn't choose them, he chose you, and for that I will owe him an immeasurable debt of gratitude for the rest of my life."
This silenced Narcissa at last, and he turned around to face her. "It took me far too long to realize it, Narcissa," he went on softly. Her eyes were huge and anticipatory, though the confession he spoke next did not seem to be the one she hoped to hear. "I wonder how things might have gone differently if I'd not been called away the night of our wedding," Lucius admitted.
"I use to wonder that too, all the time," Narcissa returned drily, her expression loosing its dazzling expectation and falling into more neutral lines. "At first I thought things might be idyllic. A happy, peaceable marriage. But I don't think you were ready for a wife at the time, and I learned many things living in Blois. About life, but also myself."
"Such as?"
She did not respond for several long moments, and ran a mittened hand over a cluster of firethorn berries, vividly scarlet against the browns and white of their wooded backdrop. "Wine," she answered finally. "I knew almost nothing about wine prior to living in a region that produces some of the best in the world."
Lucius smirked. "And that's why you stayed in France for so long?"
"No." She lifted her face to him, and he had only a split second to realize she was about to tell him something momentous. It was not enough time to prepare. "I was in love," she replied bluntly, unflinchingly. "I was in love with a man and in the shadow or your disinterest, we could play out a fantasy in the Loire Valley. I didn't leave to be with him, you must know. And when it happened, the love, it happened by accident and to begin it was very innocent, very chaste. A few kisses, perhaps," she wouldn't quite meet his eye, but Lucius remained silent. "And that was the magic of it; it could never be anything more. We could be Lancelot and Guinevere, a chivalrous sort of love that would never hold up under scrutiny but it thrived when we strolled through the gardens or went out riding— I knew him as a child, you see. We were old friends. But a little smile, a hidden caress… perhaps it was foolish, but when sinister rumors of your husband swirl on every side— a mistress with child, different women in his bed every night— it felt harmless and a bit… well, gratifying."
"Do I know him?" Lucius demanded, although a dozen other thoughts fought to be voiced.
"You'd know his surname, I'd imagine. You don't move in the same circles, but he's a man of decent lineage and upbringing. As I said, he and I were close as children— he wasn't a Slytherin, I know that's what you're wondering. He attended Beauxbatons."
"There wasn't a different woman every night," he added, for lack of a better argument. He wasn't sure how to process this new information, and needed to divert for a moment. "And there was never anyone serious. There was never anyone I loved." He spoke the word as though it left a foul taste in his mouth. His numbness was starting to dissolve, leaving a burning sensation in its wake— humiliation? Fury? He could not yet distinguish. "You said is was innocent to begin with. But it went on for two years?"
Narcissa stared down at her hands. Perhaps she had hoped he missed this admission, or perhaps she had wanted at last to confess the full truth, he couldn't determine which. "We didn't…" More than half a decade of marriage and she still could hardly bring herself to say anything uncouth, even when it was just the two of them. "We never…"
"You never what, Narcissa? You never fucked him?" he snarled. There were half a dozen euphemisms he might have used to avoid her discomfort but none seemed to fit his growing rage.
"I did not," she replied stiffly. And then, "but there are many other ways of making love and I won't pretend we eschewed them all."
He would have been less shocked if she'd slapped him. "That morning, at the Lestrange hunting lodge." The memory had risen swiftly, like bile— how, over these past four years, had it been her only slip? And yet as he recalled the incident he knew without a doubt she'd been thinking of her lover in France while in his arms. She nodded, eyes fixed on the ground.
"We'd had so much to drink and so little sleep, and then your hands were on me and I was hardly awake. It was only a dream."
"Have you spoken to him since you moved out of Blois?" His tone was tightly leashed— if his temper slipped out of control now he knew he would never get the information that he needed to accurately assess the situation. She nodded again, still not looking at him.
"We correspond. Far less frequently now than when I first came back, but do still exchange the occasional owl." Her responses were flat and mechanical.
"Have you seen him?"
She hesitated.
"Narcissa," he growled warningly, taking a step in her direction. "Have you—"
"Yes! Yes, but only once."
She did not elaborate, instead waiting for him to deduce the terrible truth on his own— to recall the only time she'd been back to France. It took him a split second to realise, but several moments longer to find his voice to articulate a reply. "After you miscarried our first child… you went to go see him?" He'd been stabbed once before, by a Muggle he was about to kill. It was strange to be reminded of that sensation now, the similarity between this and a knife sliding into his ribs.
"That was two years ago Lucius," she spoke very quickly, "It was the worst thing that had ever happened to me and I was devastated. I didn't go fully intending to see him, I just wanted to be somewhere I felt safe and cared for and comfortable. But after my mother left, he came to see me. Maybe I should have turned him away, but I wasn't strong enough then."
"So," he spoke with careful enunciation, each syllable sharp. "Just to be sure I have the timeline straight: I was called away on the evening of our wedding by the Dark Lord, you immediately left for the Loire Valley, and then proceed to whore yourself to some childhood infatuation for the next two years? Until I had to threaten to quite literally evict you from your home to bring you back to my side? Does that sound about accurate?"
She sucked in a quick breath and took a step back as though he had struck her, and in some part of his mind alarm bells were ringing, telling him to stop, that'd he'd already gone too far, but he could not seem to stem the unrelenting flow of wrath that was pouring forth from his lips.
"Toujours pur indeed," he sneered, voice dripping with sarcasm as though he would spit upon her family motto if he could. "I should never have agreed to to marry you, one sister who fucks Mudbloods and another that's mad— you and Andromeda are cut from the same faithless cloth, you just do a better job at pretending to be a good, traditional Pureblooded girl than she ever managed to. You're not fit to bear my heir or the Malfoy name." He wanted to take back the ardent declaration of gratitude he'd made mere minutes ago, but words were not retractable and instead he lashed out as a wounded animal might, desperate to conceal his injury from the predator threatening to tear him apart. "Not that any child seems able to survive in your poisoned womb."
He expected her to respond to his insults with rage to match his own and braced himself for the full might of her acrimony, but the reality was far worse. Her lips were slightly parted and eyes were huge, pupils dilated by a reaction of her sympathetic nervous system to his devastating accusations. "I just wanted… I just wanted to put an end to all the secrets standing in the way of our marriage. I thought if I started..." she whispered, the words scarcely more than a puff of air. She had made a grave miscalculation and could not regain her footing quickly enough to combat his terrible censure.
"Oh come now Cissy, try to be an adult," Lucius snarled. "Everyone has secrets, secrets aren't the problem here, your commitment to another man is."
"I'm not—" she tried again but her words were set adrift in the chilled autumn air and drowned by his raised voice.
"Gods, Narcissa!" he expostulated, shoving both hands through his hair as he stared up at the clouds. He felt sick and lightheaded and could not bear to look at her for one more moment. Without a hint of reconciliation or even a final bitter word, he stalked past her, back towards the Manor, leaving her cold and alone.