Saturday, 31 October 1981
The Malfoys had asked the Lestranges over to join them for an early supper on the evening of the Samhain gala, and, not at all typical to their characteristic tendency towards tardiness, the pair arrived precisely when invited to do so. Narcissa was playing with Draco in her private parlour, and was rather taken aback when the house elf announced their arrival. Her husband was not yet present, as he'd gone up to dress only a short while beforehand.
"Wod!"
Rodolphus dimpled and lifted Draco from Narcissa's lap without waiting for permission and ignoring her subsequent scowl. "Hello Draco," he replied with mock seriousness as the boy set at once to taking in all the interesting tactile diversions his uncle's presence afforded: he grasped at the heavy gold links across his chest that held the cloak on his broad shoulders, tried to taste the glittering gemstones set into the rings he wore, and finally contented himself with making small fists in his beard. Bellatrix sat down beside her sister with eyes narrowed in suspicion as her husband located a peacock feather quill and used it to tickle Draco's nose, to the boy's obvious delight. She watched the pair in silence for several moments— again, very unlike her— before turning to scowl at her sister.
"I swear Cissy, if you give him any ideas… I'm not having one."
Narcissa summoned and poured a goblet of wine for herself and her guest. "I'm not giving anyone ideas, Bella," she replied archly. "Although a little cousin for Draco would be—"
"No," she growled emphatically, taking a large gulp. "He comes over here and playacts at what he might be like if he were a decent father, when just yesterday he lit one of his hounds on fire just to see what would happen. He can't take care of any living thing." She took another long sip of wine. "Not that I'd be any better of course, and I reckon a child ought to have at least one parent invested in its survival."
"A hellhound isn't a baby, Bellatrix," Rodolphus called from across the room, clearly not as entirely absorbed in making his nephew squeal with laughter as he appeared to be. "And the only reason I lit it on fire was to see if it was flame resistant because they're called hellhounds; it wasn't as if I didn't have a reason."
"Well now you have a dead dog," she snapped, and Narcissa's gaze flickered curiously between the pair. She'd never seen them bicker like this before. Her eyebrows flew up as she connected the dots.
"My gods," she breathed in an undertone, staring at her sister in shock. "He really does want one?"
There was a beat of uncomfortable silence during which Bellatrix glared into her goblet and Rodolphus allowed Draco to chew on his silk cravat, but the Lestranges were spared the indignity of responding by Lucius's entrance.
Draco lost interest in his uncle at once and stretched his arms out to his father, who casually accepted the small burden in one arm before moving to fix a drink for himself with his free hand. Draco knew better than to tug at his father's hair and robes and so contented himself by sucking happily on his thumb and resting his head on Lucius's shoulder. Narcissa felt her heart ache with joy at the sight.
"Fingers out of your mouth, Draco," Lucius drawled idly as he turned back to the group, and the boy dropped his hand at once. "Say, did you happen to catch the end of the Wimbourne game earlier?" he asked Rodolphus, oblivious to the budding quarrel he'd interrupted. "I had to step away for a moment, they were down two hundred points but when I came back ten minutes later it was all over and the Wasps had won."
"The Kestrels lost their Keeper and a Chaser to the same bludger by Bagman," Rodolphus answered after a beat of stiff silence. "The game fell apart after that."
The two men continued to discuss Quidditch, and Narcissa chanced a glance at her sister.
"Don't," Bella hissed at once. "Don't look at me like that. He's always known I don't want children. That he didn't either was half the reason I married him. I've done nothing but remain consistent, it isn't my fault if he's having second thoughts."
"Right," Narcissa agreed hesitantly, eyes following her son who was beginning to drowse against his father's chest. Though Draco was nearly sixteen months old, it never failed to steal her breath when she watched the two of them together. "But… you and Rodolphus have been together for nearly half your lives now. It's one thing to swear off children as teenagers, and quite another at thirty one. I don't think you ought to be angry with him for—"
"It isn't up for debate," Bellatrix spat, pouring herself more wine and rising to her feet.
"Of course," Narcissa agreed quickly. "No one is trying to force you into anything."
"I haven't the time for motherhood, you know. The Dark Lord expects both Rodolphus and I to be available for his most important assignments."
"Naturally," Narcissa agreed once more, not really sure where her sister was going with this.
"And how would that work if I were pregnant, I ask you? Out of commission for nine months?"
At first Narcissa merely nodded in passive agreement, but after a moment realized that Bellatrix was staring at her with an arched brow and expected an actual answer. "Oh, well, it wouldn't really be nine months, would it? I didn't start to show until nearly five months, and it was only the last couple where it was difficult to get around."
Bellatrix took an agitated sip of her wine and then glared into the goblet once more. "You were bedridden for ages even after you gave birth though." Her eyes narrowed slightly at the crimson liquid. "And I wouldn't be able to drink."
"That's true..." she said carefully. "Though my experience wasn't typical. It... it seems you've given this a good deal of thought, Bella."
"And so what if I have?" she snarled with such ferocity that the two men on the other side of the room ceased their conversation and turned with some concern towards their wives. Narcissa stood as well and threaded her arm through her sister's.
"Come," she called brightly, "Let's go to the dining room; the other guests will start arriving in an hour."
The nurse came to put Draco to bed and tensions between the Lestranges eased somewhat with him out of the room. By the end of the meal everyone was in markedly improved spirits; Bellatrix and Rodolphus split off to begin dancing as other guests started to trickle in.
"Question for you, Cissy." An arm wound unexpectedly around Narcissa's waist and spun her once, nearly lifting her from her feet.
"Rabastan!" she protested, but when he set her down he was grinning broadly and despite herself, she found the expression reflecting on her own face. He looked well, and it took her a moment to recognise why— his chocolate brown eyes were sparkling, his complexion clear, and the lines of his jaw sharp, not bloated as she was so used to seeing. He was sober, she realised with a trace of disbelief. She'd not seen him as such in longer than she could recall.
"You know all these rules better than I," he murmured, his arm still resting affectionately around her midsection. She found she did not mind it there, so pleased was she to see him looking happy and healthy. Unlike that of his older brother, his overt affection never carried an air of vague menace. With his free hand he dug in the pocket of his robes to withdraw a small, emerald-coloured velvet box. Using his thumb he flipped it open carelessly to reveal a brilliant Asscher cut diamond surrounded by champagne topaz stones and set in gold. Her eyes widened and she clapped a clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle her exclamation of delight.
"You're proposing to Ghada!" she effused, only just managing to leave "finally" off the end.
"Yeah, I am," he agreed with a crooked grin. "Is it gauche to do it tonight, at your party? I thought if asked in front of everyone it would save us the trouble of making announcements, and there's already a photographer from the Prophet here so… two bludgers with one bat?"
"Oh, I think she'll be thrilled with any proposal but… it might be nice to do it just the two of you, don't you think? Something a little more private and personal. Besides," she added with a teasing smile, "most people here likely think the two of you are already married, and a public proposal might cause some confusion."
"Right you are, Cissy," he agreed with a laugh, pressing a quick peck to her cheek. "Tomorrow, then, I'll take her to Wistman's Wood and ask— she loves it there."
Narcissa beamed up at him. "We'll host the engagement party here of course, if the Shafiqs have no objections."
He thanked her profusely and bounded off to find the woman in question. His place at her side was taken by her husband, who offered his arm. "Shall we steal away from our hosting duties for a waltz, Mrs. Malfoy?" he invited cordially as she curled her fingers around his elbow.
"Oh, daresay we can slip away for one dance," she replied flirtatiously, gratified to feel his hand move to her waist and squeeze gently as they stepped onto the floor. "I think Bellatrix is warming up to the idea of having a child," she continued in a conspiratorial undertone as they began to step in time to the music.
"Really?" Lucius asked, his disbelief evident.
"And imagine if they had a little girl!" she effused. "Of course it's too soon to think of Draco marrying but…" she drifted off dreamily as they spun about.
He made a noncommittal sound at this suggestion. Even if he had not harboured a strong distaste for the Black family's tendency towards wedding their first cousins, it was difficult to imagine a child sired and raised by the Lestranges would be anything short of a hellion, if not an outright terror. If he had a say in the matter he rather hoped for a daughter-in-law of a more passive and retiring nature; one that would not bring scandal to the Malfoy name. Draco deserved the very best— perhaps the boy could a woman similar to his mother, if he was very, very fortunate. There was no need to argue about something so entirely theoretical, however, and he instead took the moment to admire his wife's remarkable beauty, feeling fortunate indeed.
Lucius was smiling down at her. In the months— years, even— to come, Narcissa would remember this moment vividly: not just dancing with her husband, but the upcoming bliss of matrimony for two dear friends, the unanticipated delight that her sister was pondering motherhood, the satisfaction in knowing that her own son was sleeping peacefully upstairs. Narcissa knew to her very core that she was happier than she'd ever been in her life.
Then, Lucius's left hand tightened on hers and his smile vanished. His steps faltered, and dread filled her— never once had she seen her husband any less than the epitome of grace. "Something's wrong," he whispered, pulling her close to his chest, face ashen and eyes sweeping the room. He was not the only one to think so; many went on cheerfully, unaffected for the first few moments by the strange panic suddenly permeating the air, but their closest acquaintances had stopped as well. A few feet away, her cousin Evan abruptly ceased waltzing with with the youngest Fawley daughter. August Crabbe and Edward Nott had stopped speaking. Rabastan dropped his glass, and it shattered on the hem of Ghada's robes.
And then a piercing shriek filled the ballroom.
Narcissa identified the sound at once as having originated from her sister, and she quickly pulled away from her husband to seek her out. The musical enchantment did not cease playing but the voices in the hall hushed at once, and she rapidly wove her way through the curious and concerned crowd. As she approached, Bellatrix continued to scream, a prolonged note of anguish, and Narcissa's heart pounded in her throat and she pushed past a dumfounded couple to spot the other woman at last. Bella had collapsed to her knees, her whole body curled onto itself as though she were mortally wounded, and Rodolphus stood several feet away staring at her blankly, his left hand balled into a fist but expression one of blankly stunned horror.
"Do something!" Narcissa hissed at him, and her command seemed to shake him from his trance. He reached down and clamped a hand over Bellatrix's mouth and hauled her bodily from the floor, muffling her wails and pinning her to his chest as she thrashed against his hold. Narcissa nodded to a corridor leading away from the hall, and Rodolphus half dragged, half carried Bellatrix towards it. Lucius materialised nearby seemingly from thin air and slipped after them unnoticed. Narcissa offered the bewildered crowd that had gathered a polite, apologetic smile.
"My sister has fits on occasion, I'm terribly sorry, I understand it can seem very disturbing but I assure you all will be well shortly..." she explained mildly, trailing in the direction they'd gone at a calm pace but, once out of view, seizing her skirts in shaking fingers and sprinting down to the antechamber at the end of the dim corridor. Lucius turned with a sharp look when she opened the door, but upon recognising it was her he turned back to the more pressing issue before them.
Bellatrix was in hysterics— it was impossible to determine exactly what she was saying as she seemed to be hyperventilating as she screamed and was unable to manage more than a few jumbled words with each gasp. She was clawing desperately at her left arm, but the black brocade had been tailored carefully to fit the shape of her body, and was too form-fitting and inflexible to roll up, which was what she seemed to be attempting to do.
"Enough!" Rodolphus roared, forcing her down into an armchair and raising one hand: the torchlight momentarily illuminated a heavy sterling silver signet ring engraved with his family crest, a large ruby set in a thick band of gold, and a platinum moulded snake consuming its own tail on three of his fingers before he brought the stiff hand swiftly downwards, backhanding Bellatrix hard across the face.
Narcissa yelped in alarm and lurched forward to aid her sister, but Lucius caught her wrist and shook his head mutely. He would as soon allow her to face a charging erumpent wandless as get within arm's reach of the couple in such a state. The blow had finally silenced the other woman, though her chest still heaved and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Rodolphus lifted her now-limp arm and ripped the previously-unyielding sleeve open along the seam to show her at last what she had been so desperate to see.
The inside of her wrist was scraped raw by her own sharp nails, and above it the white skin was flushed a faint, blotchy pink. Given her sister's behaviour, Narcissa had antipated some sort of gore: bones snapped and tearing through flesh, something that would cause enough agony justify her crazed actions. Bellatrix began to shudder and tears welled in her eyes, and it took Narcissa a moment longer to realize she was not distraught because of what was there, but rather what was not. At once she looked questioningly to her husband, who had methodically unfastened the cufflink of his left sleeve and rolled it back to reveal the same thing: the vivid red skull and snake tattoo that had been there for all the time she had known him had vanished. He looked up to meet her enquiring gaze.
"Narcissa," he spoke seriously and in a low voice, placing both hands on her shoulders. "I need you to go back to the ballroom and act as though nothing has happened. Do you understand? If anyone asks you what has occurred, make something up— say Bellatrix received some troubling news about a close friend, or... or, I don't know, turned her ankle dancing. If they have not yet left, find Rabastan, Evan, Edward Nott..." he scrambled for the names of the other Inner Circle attendees at the gala tonight. "Augustus Crabbe, Corban Yaxley, Petrus Avery... find them without making it obvious and tell them to come here. I'll join you as soon as I can."
She nodded obediently, her eyes wide and frightened, but she did not press him for further details and turned at once to sweep from the room. As soon as she opened the door Rabastan pushed in; apparently he had been waiting in the corridor.
"What in Merlin's name is going on?" he demanded hoarsely of Lucius and his brother as the door snapped shut behind Narcissa. "The Mark is gone!"
"Keep your voice down," Lucius snarled. Bellatrix was digging her fingertips into the place where the Mark had been, whimpering slightly. "Isn't it obvious? He's dead. The Dark Lord has been killed, nothing else could possibly—"
"No," Bellatrix gasped. "Don't you dare say such things! He cannot die, you know he cannot!"
Rabastan frowned at her cut and bruised face, momentarily distracted, and drew his wand to heal the evidence of his brother's violence; she did not seem to notice as she stared at Lucius with bulging, infuriated eyes.
"Then how would you explain what has happened?" he demanded icily, righting his sleeve and crossing his arms across his chest.
"You can still see it, if you look closely," she insisted, rising to hold her forearm by one of the sconces. Lucius frowned and drew closer to discover that she was correct: a very faint shape could still be identified where the Mark had been, but only because she was so pale and he knew precisely what to look for. On the olive skin of either of the Lestrange brothers he doubted anything would be visible at all. "But when I touch it, there's no response from him. He... he's injured, or captured, unable to contact us but I know he isn't dead, I can feel it."
The door opened once more and Evan Rosier rushed in, eyes flashing wildly like those of a trapped animal. Their familial resemblance had never been more pronounced. "Tell me the four of you have some idea of what's going on," he demanded.
"We're going to go find him," Bellatrix announced brusquely, rising to her feet.
"No, we're going to stop for a moment and consider our options," Lucius argued. "Think! No one else will realise what has happened yet. We must pretend to learn the news with the rest of the Wizarding community, as we have no justifiable explanation for how we knew the very moment he—"
"He isn't dead!" Bellatrix screamed again. "Do what you want Malfoy, but we're going to seek him out. Whatever has happened, one thing is abundantly clear: the Dark Lord needs us now more than ever, and we must not fail him."
Frustration welled in Lucius as she spoke. How could she so stubbornly refuse to see reason? "Look, all of us could implicate the others if brought in for questioning, we have to get our stories aligned and—"
"You can tell the Ministry frauds you kowtow to whatever story you want," she snarled. "I only answer to one authority, and I'm far more curious what story you will try to feed to him when he asks why you did not come to his aid despite swearing your life to his service." She shoved past him and Rodolphus followed her, ignoring Lucius's attempt to reason with him in her stead. Rabastan and Evan exchanged uncertain looks before moving after them as well.
"You're making a mistake," Lucius insisted, grasping Rabastan's arm. "If you act rashly now, you're going to end up in prison or dead."
Rabastan looked torn, but shrugged out of his grip. "If he isn't gone he'll kill us anyway for abandoning him," he replied quietly. "Only time will tell which one of us was right." As he slipped out he passed Yaxley and Crabbe entering, who watched him leave with some mistrust.
"Do you know something we do not?" Yaxley demanded at once.
"I don't know anything for certain," Lucius replied, dragging his gaze from the retreating Lestranges to focus instead on the two men in the room. "But I believe the Dark Lord has fallen. And we need to act quickly. Bella's scene back in the ballroom will already have put us all at a disadvantage when the news spreads and people begin to connect the timing of her outburst."
The door opened again to reveal Petrus Avery, his young, handsome face shining with worry. "You all felt it too?" he asked anxiously, pushing golden curls back from his forehead. "Like... like the Mark was being ripped out of my arm, and now it's gone— what sort of spell could do such a thing?"
It was what Petrus had described and more— far worse than the physical pain, a sensation of deep and ominous foreboding had engulfed the group, followed by an echoing emptiness, which to Lucius could only signify one thing. Now was not the time to dwell on the greater impact of the Dark Lord's demise, nor the loss of what they'd all been so close to achieving; all Lucius could think of now was how to mitigate the immediate consequences of having allied himself with a seemingly invincible force, built his entire adult life around furthering the agenda of someone he had believed to be more than a mere mortal and his surest chance of securing his own desire for power and influence, only to have everything torn away in an instant...
"It wasn't a spell," Lucius replied coldly. "At least, not one against any of us. The Dark Lord has fallen. We must wait with the rest of the world to learn the news, we must feign ignorance."
"We have a bigger problem than that," Petrus argued. "If you're correct, the witches and wizards that were under his power will be awakening all over the country... they'll be able to give evidence enough to arrest the lot of us. Should we head out now, go into hiding or try to silence those that we can?"
"That would be very foolish, Avery," he sneered at the boy. "We must hope that their memories from the time they spent under his enchantment are addled. If we hunt them now it will be proof of our guilt. If we resume our lives as normal, there will be no reason to suspect us as conspirators. Those who do retain memories that could incriminate us can be dealt with on a case-by-case basis."
"What, kill them when they come forward? Surely that will be far more difficult, won't the Ministry protect them?" Petrus asked. Lucius tilted his head thoughtfully.
"I doubt it will come to that. There are other means of persuasion."
"Can't buy 'em all off either, Malfoy," Crabbe grunted. Privately Lucius disagreed; he was confident that he had enough gold to buy his innocence even if he had to bribe every single magical man, woman, and child in Europe, but could not say the same for the others.
"Pure blood still counts with many of those in positions of authority at the Ministry, Dark Lord or no. Our names are old enough and strong enough to stand up to a few slanderous Mudbloods. Particularly if we present a unified front. We will all claim innocence if we are brought in for questioning, and ignorance if we are not. Thus far none of us has been captured or identified by Crouch. The Ministry will not simply storm our homes and toss us in Azkaban because the Dark Lord is gone; they've nothing currently with which to charge us. If we keep our heads down, any evidence brought against us will be circumstantial hearsay."
"Their word against ours," Yaxley said slowly. "And of course they'll accept an old family's word over some Muggle-bred scum... I think you're right Malfoy..."
"Of course I am," he agreed smoothly. "Now, we have to get back. Where's Nott?"
"Left, I think, to try to find out what's going on," Petrus answered. "If he stays away from detection tonight I'll go share the plan in the morning; I'm over there often enough visiting my nephew that it won't look suspicious."
Lucius nodded and then gestured towards the door. "Go back out one at a time. Stay at least a half hour more, longer if possible, and leave only with whom you arrived."
It seemed surreal that the world could have undergone a paradigm shift and the Samhain gala at Malfoy Manor remained merrily underway, but he'd left left his wife in charge of managing the guests and naturally she had done so beautifully. Couples were laughing and dancing and drinking again, Narcissa weaving gracefully amongst them, complimenting one's robes, summoning a goblet of wine for another, asking after a third's family with true interest sparkling in her sapphire eyes. Bellatrix's outburst was forgotten, no one had noticed the absent host. Nothing in her demeanor reveal any hint of worry or distraction.
She was perfect. She always had been.
He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms, but he knew he needed to follow her example and go on as though nothing had happened. He cast his eyes across the crowd and spotted Horace Slughorn, the older man's fat fingers clutching a glass of mead.
"Horace, my good man, always a pleasure to see you." Lucius spoke rather more jovially than usual as he approached, but if his smile was forced Slughorn did not seem to notice.
"Lucius, dear boy, I've been hoping to catch you this evening to give my best wishes," he replied, shaking his hand warmly. "How's the little one doing, then?"
"Draco is doing very well. Getting into trouble already, of course. He threw a tantrum the other evening, set an elf on fire when it wouldn't give him a second biscuit... but what else can one expect of a toddler?" It never hurt to let people know that their son was already displaying strong signs of magic, a subtle boast woven into the story of mischief. Slughorn chortled fondly. "I've been meaning to congratulate you on your retirement," Lucius went on blithely, "though it is a shame that the next generation of students will miss out on your instruction."
"Oh, yes, well," he waved a falsely modest hand. "Time for some fresh blood in Hogwarts, I think. Young Severus is already a brilliant Potioneer, though perhaps rather green for the role, I'm sure he'll grow into it... I must say I was rather surprised that Albus foisted Head of House responsibilities upon him so soon, but then, Binns was the only other Slytherin as a student and it's certainly best to have one's Head feel a true loyalty to—"
"Say, Horace, what's that you're drinking? I've a Macallan in the cellar that's older than I am, shall I bring it out for us to try?" Lucius cut in. Snape was alone at Hogwarts. Would that work to his advantage tonight, or without the Dark Lord's might behind him would Severus be exposed to Dumbledore as a spy? He did not want to dwell on it.
Slughorn's gooseberry green eyes widened greedily at the suggestion and he chuckled again. "Oh, Lucius, you know I won't say 'no' to such an offer!"
"I'll go fetch it," he murmured, eager to get away. However he had not gone far when his attention was caught by a fluttering near one of the glittering windows. An owl. Just one, but he knew it would only be a matter of minutes before dozens more arrived seeking the recipients of their news. As though it meant nothing to him at all, and as if he did not know what the letter would say, Lucius approached the window and casually opened it with a tap of his wand, not even bothering to remove the slim length of elm from the snakehead cane in which it was encased.
The bird flew in and soared overhead before dropping its parchment to the intended recipient: a senior staff member in the Department of Magical Transportation. Lucius surreptitiously watched as the man opened it. His dark eyebrows lifted and he turned the message over apparently seeking more information and finding none. He showed it to his wife, who clapped a hand to her mouth. Above, two more owls flew through the open window.
The notes pouring in were brief scraps, sparse on details and hastily scribbled. "You-Know-Who finished," read one, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named defeated," said another. The most information that could be gleaned from any was the one that read: "Battle in Godric's Hollow. He's gone."
Lucius doubted very much that there had been a battle since, as far as he could tell, not a single Death Eater had been called that night. As the mutters increased in pitch, he was startled to discover trays laden with champagne flutes blossoming around the room.
Even with their well-disciplined cadre of elves, it was too smoothly and quickly executed. His eyes had been on her the entire time and she had not even spoken to an elf, merely nodded once and the trays were being floated around to the eagerly milling crowd. She had anticipated this, planned it as soon as she'd realised what had so disturbed her sister and husband. Without him having the chance to explain to her, she'd grasped his plan and taken it a step further.
"I'd like to propose a toast," Narcissa's voice floated about the humming whispers and disbelieving excitement. "It seems we have just received some unexpected news. I for one would like to express my pleasure that we can all be together at this time, surrounded by dear friends and family." Her blood family had absconded, but her eyes found Lucius and she held her hand in his direction, inviting the crowd to turn to him as well, to see him, to present him with a hundred witnesses and an ironclad alibi if anyone ever questioned where he had been on this night. "My husband and I would like to thank you for being here and beg you to stay as long as you see fit, for this night is certainly one of celebration." She lofted her glass. "Santé." She beamed and took a sip, and many others followed suit. The fervor of excitement increased exponentially after she finished speaking. The toast had been masterfully done: any guests wondering how the Malfoy family would take the news, any who privately suspected this was a blow to the illustrious name, had had their concerns put to rest. However nor she had she denounced the Dark Lord; had said nothing that would be a death sentence if Lucius was mistaken in believing in his demise.
He had known before this moment, of course, that he loved her. But it was the first time that it struck him with such acuity that he had no option but to admit it to himself by name in his own mind: it was love, and nothing less, that he felt for this woman.
Lucius made his way over to her slowly, carelessly, as though it were not the most important thing in the world at this moment that he stand by her side, as though the urgency to do so were not pressing the very air from his lungs.
"Narcissa," he spoke softly and she turned from Margaret Selwyn with a flawless society simper on her face.
"Yes, Lucius?" she asked lightly. "Margaret, dear, if you'll excuse us for a moment," she added, touching the other woman's arm affectionately before moving away with her husband. At once her voice dropped and she whispered, scarcely moving her lips, "I don't think it's a good idea for us to be seen talking alone together yet. Anyone could be watching. Everyone could be watching."
"I know," he replied, his voice low as well. As a pair they nodded politely at the Urquharts (Narcissa even managed an engaging smile), and Lucius went on. "But I believe we were interrupted mid-song, and there will be nothing suspect in one dance."
She dipped her chin in agreement, and when he took her in his arms he felt the fine tremors that belied the fear she was only just managing to keep from probing eyes around them. "Bella and Rodolphus have gone home then?"
"Well they've certainly gone," he muttered darkly, and she sucked in a quick, shaky inhalation before fixing a tidy grin in place once more.
"Later, then," she announced cheerfully as they glided past Rita Skeeter. "A conversation for later."
For the rest of the dance they did not speak, and he concentrated on the comforting pressure of her palm against his, the steady rhythm of their steps in time to the music, the silk of her robes and curve of her waist beneath his fingers. All was not lost, because he still had this.