Thursday, 25 December 1980
Lucius awoke at the first filtering rays of dawn to find Narcissa still soundly asleep. He stretched luxuriantly, arms and legs reaching towards the ends of the bed then rolled over, wrapping an arm around her waist and fitting his body to hers as he brushed against her neck and breathed into her ear, nipping gently as she began to stir. "Happy Christmas, wife," he purred, his hand roaming hungrily over her abdomen. Her eyes flew open at once, bright and wide with excitement.
"Presents," she whispered, bolting upright.
"Yes," he agreed, frowning and sitting up slowly as well, "but I haven't gotten you anything that thrilling."
"Not for me," she waved his words away as she sprang from bed and hurried across the room for a dressing gown. "For Draco!"
He flopped back with a groan. "What did you—"
"Up!" she commanded laughingly, tugging the sheets off him. "Hurry!" Her enthusiasm was infectious, and he found himself rising with a grudging smile on his face as he dressed and she danced impatiently from toe to toe.
"What did you get him?" Lucius wondered as he fastened his robes and followed her fleet-footed flight from the room.
"Nothing," she insisted with a meaningful look over her shoulder as she cascaded down the corridor. "We have to go see what Father Christmas left him." Narcissa threw open the door to the nursery and gave the attending nurse a cursory nod before rushing to Draco's cradle and scooping him into her arms. "We'll go see what Father Christmas left the very best boy in all of Wizardom!" she crooned, showering kisses upon the child's face.
Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose, but it was more to hide his amusement than relieve tension. He trailed after them, down to the drawing room where a towering spruce had dominated the space by the hearth for most of the month. Beneath the magically snow-laden branches resided a tableau of breathtaking splendor.
An enchanted replica of the Hogwarts Express whirred determinedly around a veritable mountain of glittering parcels, clouds of steam puffing from its miniature blastpipe. A small eagle owl hatchling ("he won't even be able to write for years, Narcissa!") twitted happily amongst a nest of glimmering gold threads. Naturally Draco lacked the dexterity to open any of the neatly wrapped packages, but Narcissa patiently brought each one to his waving fists and helped him tear the paper back to reveal elegantly sculpted wooden figurines of dragons and ashwinders and phoenixes that moved in mesmerising motions, more clothing than Lucius would have imagined available to purchase for an infant, a Rocking Granian, dozens of books with fluttering illustrations, and more. Despite the fact that she had purchased nearly every item herself, she still managed to gasp and squeal in shocked delight upon revealing each one, eliciting a similar reaction from Draco, whose huge grey eyes shone in the sparkling lights. Lucius, settled into a plush armchair with a steaming mug of Irish coffee, watched the scene with more pleasure than he would have expected possible, commenting favorably on many of the items.
When the pile had grown small, most of the colourful papers swept away by an elf, Narcissa placed a small parcel into Draco's grip and said in a stage-whisper, "This one is for Daddy, from you! Go on— go give it to him."
Lucius smiled indulgently, leaning forward as his son stuffed the package momentarily into his mouth and then dropped it obediently into his father's outstretched palm. Lucius peeled away the damp paper to reveal a black stone whose facets shone deep emerald when struck by light, and laughed aloud upon recognising it. "Draconite? A little on the nose, don't you think?"
"He's only six months old," Narcissa sniffed with false indignation. "I'm sure his creativity will advance as he ages."
"I'm more curious," Lucius murmured, pocketing the enchanted gem and sliding from the seat to wrap his arms around her shoulders, one hand resting on their son's fair head, "about what his mother has for me for the holiday."
She turned her head back towards him, her lips half an inch from his. "Well certainly nothing that can be opened in front of your son," she breathed, stretching to press a kiss. He hummed appreciatively and rose to his feet.
"Shall we have breakfast then? Remind me— what time is his first nap of the day?"
"We should have a bit of time to ourselves before brunch at my parents' house," she promised coquettishly, standing as well and propping Draco on her hip. He clung to a stuffed Demiguise, apparently his favourite of the impressive new cache of toys. Lucius foresaw this as being an inconvenience as it, like the real creature, was enchanted to turn sporadically invisible, but he'd let the night nurse deal with that issue.
"Oh but darling," he smirked, placing a hand on her lower back as they headed to the dining room, "I'm going to need more than 'a bit of time' to play with my gift..."
Sunday, 8 February 1981
After the Christmas holidays, the frigidity of winter that held them captive indoors seemed bleak rather than festive. Lucius mindlessly skimmed the headlines of the morning's Prophet as the Malfoy family lingered in Narcissa's private study just after noon. As Draco grew older and she grew more confident as a mother, Narcissa set aside portions of each day during which the nurse was conveniently absent, overseeing meal preparations for Draco or perhaps just taking a rest— Lucius neither knew nor cared but made a point to join them during these windows whenever he was home and not engaged in town.
"Ninety Muggles dead at a circus in Bangalore yesterday," Lucius read aloud mildly. "Most were schoolchildren... say, aren't your sister and Rodolphus on holiday there?"
"Yes," she replied with idle disinterest. "Bella hates children. It's miserable out," Narcissa bemoaned, rearranging the cashmere throw around their son as though the scant draft that snuck in between the diamond panes of the window could discomfit him. Lucius hummed in agreement, casting his eyes towards the endless sheets of sleet sluicing down from the leaden clouds.
"Think warm thoughts," he offered drily, reaching for a half-completed missive and scrawling a few notes in its margin in response to something he'd just read.
"Summertime," she breathed in wistful imagination, her exhalation fogging the icy glass. "I learned to swim in the Loire River," Narcissa sighed nostalgically. "I loved it when I was small. Of course as I grew older I worried that I would freckle in the sun, but I was not so vain when I was little. Those summers were the best of my life. I never felt happier than when lying on the grass of the garden at our chateau, the sun drying us as Mimi brought fruits out to snack on before supper..." her eyes slid shut blissfully, as though she could still feel the rays on her face and taste the melon on her tongue. Then her lashes flickered open and she eyed him guiltily. "Not the best of my life," she amended quickly. "You and I have had some wonderful times as well."
"We should go," Lucius drawled absently before stopping to consider the words he spoke. "Take Draco when the weather gets warmer."
She blinked at him, stunned but tentatively hopeful at the suggestion. "Could we really? I... well, that would be wonderful. I'd love nothing more."
It was too late to revoke the offer. "When it's warm," he repeated, buying himself months before dealing with the potential consequences of his words. Maybe she would forget by July. "I don't see why not."
Narcissa beamed, and turned to their son. "Did you hear that, Draco? We'll teach you to swim in the summer!"
Draco babbled a string of nonsensical syllables in reply, and Narcissa nodded seriously as though he'd made a salient conversation point. "Yes," she agreed. "Mama will be there with you the whole time, I assure you it isn't frightening at all." She bent down to take both his feet in her hands. "You'll have to kick your legs," she explained, miming the motion. He giggled and waved his fists, and she nodded once more. "Yes, and use your arms as well." He grinned gummily up at her, revealing the two small lower teeth that had recently grown in. "You'll love it there," she promised. "Perhaps we'll spy a wild kneazle in the woods, or catch a puffskein! I suppose you'd like a puffskein as a pet when you're a bit older, they're very soft and lovely to cuddle."
Lucius rolled his eyes. "Watch out for the grindylows," he muttered under his breath.
"Ignore Daddy," she pouted, tapping Draco's nose. "There are no grindylows in France. And they prefer still water anyway, which your father would know if he'd paid any attention at all in Care of Magical Creatures."
"Don't worry, Draco," Lucius scoffed. "You can drop all your useless electives after fifth year."
"Take whatever classes you enjoy," Narcissa argued quickly with a sharp look over her shoulder, "not what Daddy says is useful."
Draco blew a raspberry, and Narcissa patiently dabbed a bit of drool from his chin. "That's right," she encouraged. "I know you will."
Friday, 5 June 1981
It was a dazzlingly beautiful morning when the sun rose on Draco's first birthday. Narcissa was relieved to find it naturally so, but as a backup she had coerced a promise from her husband that he would call in a favour with the wizard in the Department of Magical Games and Sports who organised the weather for large matches if need be. She oversaw the decoration of the garden to the most minute detail; Lucius was fairly confident she devoted more attention to the tea than she had to their wedding reception. From the enchanted string quartet to the custom embroidered napkins (an elegant DLM monogram in lapis graced each linen square), no component had been deemed insignificant. Lucius claimed custody of the child himself in order to leave Narcissa with both hands free to greet the guests that began arriving shortly before noon. Lucius wandered independently, greeting only those with whom he wished to associate. Edward Nott had come with little Theodore, though he looked rather uncomfortable to be surrounded by so many families and mothers, and Theo remained in his self-pushing pram, watching the party with wide and serious eyes. Augustus and Deirbhile Crabbe brought their son as well, a boy close to Draco's age but already nearly double his size. When the Lestranges arrived, over an hour late, Bellatrix did not bother to greet her brother-in-law or nephew, instead preferring to seek out a floating tray of Pimm's cups. Rodolphus, however, found Lucius out at once.
"Let's see the birthday boy, then," he boomed cheerfully, shifting his cigar to the corner of his mouth and lifting Draco from his father's arms. "Can you say 'hello' to your Uncle Rodolphus?" he asked, holding the child up to eye level. Draco blinked uncertainly. "Say 'Uncle Rod,'" he repeated firmly. Draco blinked again. Unconcerned, Rodolphus tossed him up into the air.
Across the lawn, Narcissa was balancing Pansy on her hip and chatting happily with Ari about the precious new children's clothing boutique that had opened in Diagon Alley when a piercing shriek rose above the gentle music that the enchanted violins, viola, and cello were playing on their own accord nearby. Narcissa whipped around, eyes wide and wild, in time to see her brother-in-law catch her son and then throw him upwards once more— impossibly high, doubtlessly buoyed by a wandless levitation charm, at least twenty feet above the ground. With a gasp, she thrust Pansy back into her friend's arms and flew across the lawn towards the pair in blind panic. Before she reached them Rodolphus threw Draco upwards for a third time, grinning lazily, cigar dangling carelessly from his lips. Lucius stood only a few feet away, looking amused as he took a sip of scotch. She was going to murder both of them.
"What are you doing?" she demanded in a lethal hiss, only just managing not to scream as Rodolphus caught the small blond once more: upside down, his short little legs pumping in the air. Draco was laughing so hard he could scarcely breathe, squealing in hopeless delight as he flapped. Narcissa snatched him back and wrapped her arms around him protectively, but Draco struggled against the hold.
"Wod," he wailed, grasping towards his uncle once more. "Wod!" he commanded, giving his mother an indignant look.
"What were you thinking?" she spat at the taller of the two men, stroking her son's soft flaxen locks, smoothing them back into order. "You could have killed him!" Her voice trembled with fury.
"Sorry," Rodolphus grunted unapologetically. "But I did play Quidditch on the House team for six years Cissy, it's not as though I can't catch a—"
"And you!" she whipped around to her husband. "Letting him throw our child around like a Quaffle!"
"He's fine, Narcissa—"
"Wod," Draco whined. Narcissa looked down at him in confusion.
"What do you want, my little darling?" she asked tenderly. Draco attempted to pitch free of her hold once more.
"I think he's trying to say 'Rod,'" Lucius offered helpfully. He did indeed seem to be intent on pitching himself to the ground if she would not hand him over. Narcissa flushed a furious pink and held him more securely to her chest.
"If you think I'm going to hand my only son over to a maniac who just flings him about—"
"Wod!" Draco screamed, signifying the beginnings of a full-blown tantrum. Several people glanced over at the group.
"If I give him back to you, you must swear not to throw him again," she told Rodolphus through gritted teeth as he puffed idly on his cigar. "And put that out!"
"No and no," he replied cheerfully, plucking Draco easily back from her grasp. Having gotten his way, the child fell silent at once. Narcissa was livid, but clearly did not want to cause a scene before so many guests. She fixed Rodolphus with a look of utter loathing, and then shot her husband an expression that clearly conveyed that there would be a fight later.
"Don't blame me," Lucius defended quickly, hiding his entertained smirk with a gulp of his drink. "You're the one who's spoilt him so terribly he can't understand the word 'no.'"
This was not strictly true. By his first birthday, Draco had indubitably mastered the word "no" when he did not like something, although he was indeed not used to having it told to him. He also addressed his parents correctly as "mama" and "dada," and could identify house elves as "eff" when he wanted something from one of them. Though he'd not yet repeated "hi" or "bye," he was always happy to wave in greeting when instructed to do either. And it seemed that today he had discovered a new and delightful thing that could be encompassed in the word "Wod."
Draco was raising his arms, already giggling, clearly wanting to be tossed up once more. Rodolphus compromised by elevating Draco to perch on his shoulders, the boy's small fingers fisting in his dark hair to maintain balance. He raised a challenging eyebrow at Narcissa and took a pull from his cigar. "Great party, Cissy. As always you've outdone yourself."
Friday, 17 July 1981
Unfortunately, Lucius thought, Narcissa did not forget his promise that they could visit her home in France that summer.
The first and only previous time he had visited Blois had been painful and awkward. Narcissa had miscarried for the first time and fled from his presence, and then when he had arrived uninvited, she'd insisted they spend the night in separate quarters. He was not entirely sure what he anticipated this time, but supposed he was pleasantly surprised when they arrived and she led him to the hall of the house which she had previously described as belonging to her parents to mutually deposit their belongings.
The view, as she had said before, was better on this side of the château. The rooms looked over the garden and the Loire River, and it was indisputably idyllic. To Draco she assigned Bella's rooms: only the best for her heir, as her eldest sister had always been gifted. She had made the surprising decision to leave the human nurse behind (by now they were down to one, as Draco no longer required the same level of attention that Narcissa had been unable to offer at the time of his birth). "Mimi cared for three girls all summer long for many years," she insisted, referring to herself and her sisters, "as well as making some truly wonderful meals each day. I'm confident that between the three of us we can manage Draco quite superbly."
Lucius has no intention whatsoever of 'managing' a child, his own or any other. Still, if she felt comfortable assigning Mimi the task of watching Draco for the night and leaving them in peace, he was not going to object. At least he assumed that was her directive— teaching the elf English clearly had not made it to her list of priorities so he could not in fact decipher their communications. He brought Dobby along as well to ease the transition, as he refused to attempt to communicate with an elf through crude gestures every time he wanted a drink.
"It's hot," Lucius groused as he undressed for bed that night.
"Yes," Narcissa called brightly from the bath, "Wonderful, isn't it? It really feels like summer." When she emerged, she wore a blissful smile and simple white linen shift that fell to her knees. "The weather forecast tomorrow calls for sun, it will be perfect for swimming and spending all day out of doors." She glided over to the elegant French doors and threw them wide open, letting the cooler evening air pour into the chamber and walking onto the balcony with a contended sigh. Lucius trailed out after her. She leaned against the wrought iron railing, gazing out over landscape illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. "Beautiful," she breathed and he murmured his agreement, although he was not looking at the scenery and rather fixed his attention on her.
She looked so utterly relaxed and at ease here. Even her braid was looser, he was sure, with waving tendrils escaping to flutter around her face. It may have been the short gown, or the fact that they were in her childhood home, but he found that there was there was an innocent, virginal quality to her beauty on this evening.
Unexpectedly, he felt a stab of guilt at the thought of her as untouched. It made him sick to recall how he'd treated her the first time they'd been together; he had been rough and belligerent if not precisely violent, high on adrenaline from battle and entirely unconcerned with her comfort. He had hurt her, and while she had not protested, he could not fathom treating her so flippantly now. He was disgusted that he ever had.
It was no wonder that she did not love him. It was a wonder that she cared for him at all.
Unable to resist the temptation any longer he moved to stand behind her, twining his arms around her waist and resting his chin on the crown of her head, needing the tangible reassurance that all was forgiven and, at least in this moment, not thought of. Immediately she leaned back against his chest and covered his arms with her own, holding him even closer. "It's splendid here, isn't is?" she asked. He did not respond— it was beyond him to grant such an admission— but it was hard to disagree when she nestled against him and then turned to grin up at him. "Let's go to bed," she continued, gently, playfully nudging him back indoors.
Maybe he had foreseen halting interactions, or maybe he'd held reservations his own, but the first night they spent there she seemed determined to make him forget all of these, and she acted without hesitation as they fell onto the unfamiliar four poster bed. Though normally ceding, her touches were eager, almost greedy when she rolled on top of him and pressed him into the feather mattress.
The Malfoys had been married for eight years now. She was too bright a witch to be unaware of his response to her touch: she was a Slytherin after all, she could recognise power when she held it in her hands. Likely it was a mercy that she never abused it. But tonight she seemed determined to utilise it, not as a punishment but as a further display of her joy. "Are you sure?" he whispered harshly as her nails scratched lightly at the tops of his thighs and lips worked their way down his midsection, tongue flicking along the line that bisected his navel. "You don't have to if you don't want—" but his words caught in his throat, and he uttered no further sounds... at least, not of protest.
"I love it here," she whispered to him, hours later, as they both approached a deep and satiated slumber. He was very nearly inclined to agree. He was in such a state of contentment that he scarcely noticed the prickle of his left forearm; when it burned at dawn, he bolted up with a start.
"I'll be back by Monday," he assured her, not at all at liberty to give such promises as he hurriedly pulled on robes, but he was determined that no matter what mission he faced he would make it last no longer than the weekend. She looked disappointed but nodded in understanding, kissing him a final time before he Disapparated.
He was not expecting to materialise before the gates of his own Manor, but the Dark Lord wanted only the very simple favour of his family library. Lucius did not inquire into what he sought, but allowed full access to his family archives before receiving a terse dismissal. He was able to hide his pleasure in leaving, returning to Blois when he thoughts days might stand between him and his wife.
Lucius was only somewhat surprised to hear music and multiple voices as he moved towards the parlor. The piano was bright and quick, tantalizingly familiar though of course he'd never learned too much of her favorite medium, but he imagined she must be in good spirits and was pleased to be finding her as such despite his abrupt departure this morning. When he entered the sitting room he found Narcissa with two people he did not recognize, a man and a woman. One, an unfamiliar young woman, was holding Draco, bouncing him absently as she spoke. She was the first to notice Lucius's presence in the doorway, and fell silent at once. Then, oddly, she said a brief word to Narcissa and her companion, gently set Draco down on the couch, and swept from the room.
The man was undoubtedly her brother. They both had black hair, pale skin, and identically glacial blue eyes. He and Narcissa sat in their own chairs, a proper distance from one another, but the moment Lucius's gaze fell upon the other man, he knew. He could not say how he knew, for despite his investigation into the man's life he had never requested photographic evidence, but a swift and suffocating fury rose in his throat at the stranger stared at him with curiosity.
"Lucius!" Narcissa stood carefully. "You said you wouldn't be here for two more days."
"My plans changed." He could not tear his eyes from the other man, who was now smiling; a lazy, victorious, hard smile. He rose to his feet languidly and extended a hand.
"Monsieur Malfoy, at last we meet. I am Michel Perrot."
Lucius stared at the hand for a long, painfully protracted beat. There was nothing inherently offensive about it: slightly roughened from regular riding, of average size and shape, the nails were short and neatly trimmed but not manicured. The horror of this hand was not in its innate form; it was the knowledge that this hand had touched his wife intimately, repeatedly, without remorse or shame. He felt slightly nauseated.
"It is a pleasure." The voice that was torn from him was not his own, and Perrot gave a short laugh and turned to Narcissa.
"'Des lèvres qui disent une chose tandis que le cœur en pense une autre,'" he told her with a smirk; Narcissa grew paler yet and merely gave a tiny shake of her head.
"What did he say?" Lucius demanded sharply of his wife, and the other man laughed outright once more and continued in accented English.
"I was merely quoting a favourite author of ours, Alexandre Dumas. 'E has written so much that Cissa and I seem always to find a line from 'is works to suit any occasion. But perhaps you are familiar?" When Lucius did not respond, Michel went on, daring to take a step closer. "No, you would not be; you are not ze sort of man who could believe a Muggle might put quill to paper and create beauty. But, sometimes it 'appens. Often, even. And tell me, what works of art 'ave you contributed to ze world?"
"If you care to insult me," Lucius replied silkily, detaching the head of his cane from its body to expose his wand, "perhaps we ought to settle this outside."
"A duel!" Michel chuckled. "Que c'est français! 'Ow very French of you, Monsieur. 'Owever I think not, Lucius Malfoy. I know what sort of man you are: Lacenaire without ze poetry. And I 'ave no wish to die today."
Michel turned to leave, hands thrust roguishly into his pockets, and as he went, he began to whistle. It was a startling sound in its perfect mimicry of a birdsong, if a bird could weave a tune that human hands had composed. With a sickening lurch, Lucius realized he'd heard the sound before: on his first visit to this place, when he'd found Narcissa reading in the garden, this exact song had trilled through the trees— he'd mistaken it for the call of a caladrius.
"Enough of that," Narcissa snapped coldly at Michel, perhaps accurately reading her husband's horrorstruck expression. "There's no need for such theatrics."
"'Let anyone now deny that drama is only in art and not in nature!'" Michel laughed gaily, switching back to French and ducking out the door as though dodging the spell Lucius longed to cast in his direction.
In his wake, Perrot left an echoing silence. On a periwinkle silk settee Draco sat where he had been placed prior to Faustine's hasty exit, patting a chubby palm curiously against the tufted fabric. After looking from one parent to the other, he pitched forward abruptly, unsteady in his developing motor skills. Narcissa was closer and gave a small cry of alarm as she reached out, but Lucius moved faster, and with the latent (if lately unpracticed) reflexes of a Quidditch player he caught the boy in his hands and secured him wordlessly to his chest.
Draco, unphased by the tense silence of the room, gurgled happily at being held by the person he adored most in the world and reach up to clutch at his father's face.
"What did he say?" Lucius asked again hollowly, as no other words came to mind. He lowered himself slowly to the settee as he mindlessly patted the child's back.
"He said... essentially just that you were lying, when you said it was a pleasure to meet him. It was nothing. He knows you do not speak French, I imagine he said it only to goad you." Her hands were twisted tightly together, and she swayed uncertainly on the spot before swooping forward and taking Draco from his arms. Lucius did not protest, though he felt emptier still upon his abscence, and she nuzzled their son briefly before calling to her elf and giving it what could only have been an instruction to take Draco to nap. Though Mimi might have levitated him from the room, the elf instead threaded its long fingers around Draco's small fists and guided him patiently from the parlour on unsteady legs. Narcissa and Lucius watched their progress wordlessly, and when they had at last vanished through the doorway, Narcissa sank down beside him and gazed up at him imploringly.
"Are you angry with me?" she asked hesitantly. "I did not invite him here, and had Faustine not accompanied him I might have turned him away... although I thought that would be worse. It would allow him to believe he still holds such a prominent place in my heart that I cannot bear to be in the same room with him, which is simply untrue. I thought it better that I demonstrate the same cordiality I would show any visitor."
"You were right," he spoke heavily. "And I do believe you." He was angry, but not with her. He was not entirely sure that he was even angry with Perrot. "I suppose my frustration stems from the fact that your formative years are inextricably linked to him... years of your youth that I had no part in, and then years that I squandered.
"You know," her tone became slightly teasing and she ventured a playful caress across his knuckles. "Michel Perrot was not my only childhood infatuation."
If she meant to lighten the mood it failed completely. Jealousy ripped through Lucius and his eyes blackened into a glare as he whipped his hand away from her touch. "I'd rather you did not recount them all to me," he snarled, rising to his feet.
"That isn't what I..." she began, but broke off in irritation. "It matters naught. I shall send him an owl and tell him he must not visit for the duration of our stay," she promised. "Though I doubt he will try to."
He nodded stiffly, and she continued.
"I will not tell him anything so dramatic as 'you may never see me again,' but I think the same result will follow naturally and without confrontation. As I've said before, I cannot permit you to control my acquaintances and those with whom I spend my time— you must trust me on such accounts— but I do not believe I will see him again."
Lucius remained motionless for several moments, carefully turning over his words and considering their implication. She was a Black and a Slytherin, after all; she would never openly admit defeat and concede to his wishes, but he was fairly confident that this was the closest he would ever receive to such a blatant admission of surrender.
"Do you wish to see him again?" he prodded, and she rose as well to face him.
"It matters very little to me either way. What I wish," she told him firmly, slipping her hands into his, "is for you to recognise that my family has my whole heart. You are my husband, and the father to my son. You and Draco are my whole heart." Her fingers tightened around his as she stared up at him, imploring him to grasp the meaning of what she said.
And Lucius thought that he did understand. He knew the significance that their child held in her world; knew that Draco was her whole world, and as her husband he had given her the family she desired and her love of their son left room for little else. He had given her a happiness that Michel Perrot had not, and it meant more to her than whatever those two had shared. It was enough, he thought not for the first time, it had to be.
"I see," he replied quietly, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead to demonstrate that his anger had gone. She smiled up at him, the bright expectation with which she occasionally watched him shining in her eyes. "Draco is fortunate to have you as a mother," he added as he drew away, his tone becoming business-like and the hope in her gaze was quickly veiled into detached pleasantness. "It's rare to find a woman so totally devoted to her child."
For a moment, and to his disconcertment, a flash of what seemed to be anger darted across her face. "You are fortunate as well, Lucius," she replied, each word a jab, as though trying to force upon him some deeper meaning, and he could not understand her unhappiness towards what he had intended to be a compliment.
"Oh yes," he drawled, as sneering civility was his natural instinct when he believed himself wrong-footed, as he did now. "I certainly feel fortunate, having now had the opportunity to be mocked in the flesh as a cuckold by your former lover."
For a heartbeat she was furious, but she swallowed the emotion as quickly as it materialised. "I will not fight with you over this," she told him, lacing her fingers with his. "Not this," though she did not name what "this" might be.
Say it, something contrarian and vicious whispered within him, but he stifled it at once. Say what it is you will not allow to be a point of contention. If either of them could, there would be no reason to fight at all. But Lucius was not about to do so, and Narcissa had said all that she was willing to on this day.