Chapter Eight

A slowly waking spring came with rain, turning the snow into ribbons that bled deep muddy valleys into the forest and the grounds of my home. I relished the end of winter, though it was the in-between still, when the wintery enchantment of snow and ice all melts, and what is left is barren and brown. That afternoon, torrential rain slashed against the mansion, obliterating any view I had of the outside world. Soon, I knew, my whole world would be bursting in tender hearted, pale green blossoms of hope.

But for now, we were indoors. Specifically, Marianne and Theodore Nott, Mara Parkinson, and Narcissa Black. My room was a catastrophe, every surface piled high with books with faded or torn covers. Boxes and trunks were evenly spaced around the room. My own bookcases, which were ordinarily fastened to the wall, were ripped off and standing in the middle of the room.

The Notts were only there because they were guests and because the idea of sorting books did drum up academic inclinations inside of Theo, so while I was reluctant to include him, Narcissa brightened at the idea of him doing his part, even if he had no desire to join. Marianne was present just to be included in something.

I was in the closet with Mara, and as the others sorted items, we were placing them on the shelves. As such, we had quite a bit of work between us. I had long since abandoned any proper decorum, and was wearing a thin jumper with the sleeves rolled up, my wingtips abandoned somewhere in my room, and my hair pulled back. Mara was in a similar state, having arrived in a simple Regency dress with a small silhouette with short sleeves. She had abandoned her winter jacket and shoes long ago.

"We should sort by genre," Mara instructed, "And then by author. This will make it easier to find things."

"Or perhaps by literary movement?" I asked hesitantly, as I held a copy of poems by Walt Whitman and WB Yeats.

Auden and Austen, Byron and Brontë. I had no idea where to even start.

Mara straightened her back from the box where she was gathering books, stared at me for a long moment, and then quickly shook her head no.

"I said we should make it easier, Lucius," she retorted, "Not monumentally more difficult."

"Fine," I replied, bemused, and took the stack of books from her hands.

She swept her ponytail over her shoulder, letting it cascade down the front of her body to her hips. Her hair was thick and brown, and I wondered how she managed to carry the weight of her hair with her thin, swanlike neck. I wondered much the same about Narcissa and virtually all of the women in our society. My hair wasn't nearly as thick as some of theirs, though mine was halfway down my back.

From the main room, I heard Narcissa and Theodore arguing over something.

"Why is she so keen on having him join?" I asked, lowering my voice so we could not be eavesdropped upon.

Mara looked at me and shrugged, "No one knows why Narcissa does anything."

"Truly?" I asked, "Surely she talks to someone."

"Yes?" she questioned, furrowing her brow, "We were all under the impression that she talked to you."

When I said nothing, she mouthed to herself, "Clearly not."

"No," I replied hastily, "Clearly not."

We worked in companionable silence. As Mara alphabetized and sorted, I placed the books onto the shelves and then marked the title, author, publishing year, and which panel (which we numbered) the book was shelved in. This, I thought, would give us a good organization system for finding the works as well as one could.

"It's just that," Mara said, as if the conversation she was having with herself seemed to suddenly need to include me, "She's always been sort of random and difficult to read, but we've always attributed that to her façade, you know, the persona she puts forward."

"Persona?" I asked.

"Sure," Mara replied, "There's Narcissa Black the writer, then Narcissa Black the Moonflower Society leader, the good pureblood girl…but she's always been hard to pin down. Like, I've known her since we were just girls, but even I cannot say for sure who she really is."

I ran my hands down the soft, crumbling spine of a copy of Canterbury Tales by Chaucer. "Perhaps she likes it that way," I offered.

And I believed too, that it was just as likely Narcissa was all of those things, jammed into one body, her soul too large for physical form. Like phases of the moon, she changed often, waxing and waning parts of herself so that they all fit; they just couldn't exist at once.

This thought was difficult to transcribe into spoken words, so I did not offer my theory to Mara and kept it to myself instead. Words are like that, they possess deep meaning and emotion, are poetic even, but when I open my mouth to say them, they lose their iridescence and profoundness.

"She just might," Mara replied, laughing a bit loudly for what I had said, given that I had not said anything in jest.

"Have you read anything she's written?" I asked curiously, unable to help the bubble developing inside of me, the intense desire to know every angle of Narcissa for myself.

"A long time ago," Mara answered, "She wrote poetry when she first started out—lots of poems about yearning. Very nature based and Romantic, I think, when she first read Keats."

John Keats, I recognized the name from a book of poetry Narcissa added to the pile of books she purchased for me, which were currently stacked on my bedside table to separate them as my personal items versus the society's collective.

"She's moved on from poetry?" I asked.

Mara laughed again. "Yes, she's a proper novelist. She's written eight books now, though she does not share them with anyone."

I was unable to contain the surprise etched clearly in my features. I recalled her drafts on the table, ones which I tried in vain to read upside down, but she placed her elbow on top of them to block my view.

"How difficult do you think it would be to convince her to share anything with me?" I asked, with a small smile.

It was an impossibility, I thought. And judging from the peals of sharp laughter that came from Mara, I knew I was correct.

We were both captured in the moment, our shared joke, rippling with laughter through the closet, when a small cough interrupted the bubble of mirth. Mrs. Black was in the doorway of the closet, her fingers twisted around a folded bit of newspaper and her eyes withdrawn.

"Lucius," she said, cutting her eyes to Mara Parkinson briefly with a polite smile, and then back to me, "I've a fierce headache and I foolishly insisted to gather the ingredients I needed from the greenhouse myself, but now cannot find it…"

I deposited the stack of books in front of me onto the shelves and nodded curtly. I unrolled my sleeves and buttoned them. Mrs. Black watched as I collected my shoes and ushered her out of the room. As I turned to close the door, I saw Narcissa, folded on top of my desk, powerful as an Egyptian sphinx, her eyes settled somewhere above my shoulder. Outside in the darkened corridor, I walked with Mrs. Black toward the stairs.

There was a second-floor entrance to the conservatory, but not an entrance from the third. The wall sconces above us burst into light, merry flame, but I noticed Mrs. Black remained staunch, focused, and silent. Her face was pinched in pain, and I imagined that her head must have ached quite fiercely for her to have collected me as she had.

"Forgive me for intruding," she spoke up quietly, "I know the sorting and acquisition of the society's collection is important work. It was something your mother and I always intended to do, but we never collected the funds to have a private library we could all share. And of course, we couldn't justify such an expense to our husbands…Abraxas was always more perceptive than the other husbands when it came to household matters…"

"If it is within my power to provide a permanent space," I replied, "Please know that I will."

Of course, I thought, I would have to take on an occupation and therefore a wife before such a thing could occur. Only then, would I possess independence. It was a strange consideration, that my financial freedom came at the expense of the rest of my liberties.

We reached the bottom of the second-floor stairs and I guided her toward the end of the hall.

"You're a sweet young man," Mrs. Black commented, "Always were. You stopped and thought about things before you acted on them; I remember that, in our garden when you were two or three. Bellatrix kicked you something fierce, but I remember you hesitated—you didn't retaliate, though it would have been in your nature as a child, they often act on basic instincts until they have possessed a level of civility. But you, Mr. Malfoy, always consistently the epitome of a gentleman."

"I don't remember that," I admitted, smiling, and then I twisted the wrinkled sleeves of my jumper and jammed my hands into my pants' pockets.

Mrs. Black laughed, "Well, I imagine not."

Her hand went to the curved bars on the conservatory and she opened it. I followed her in. She went immediately toward my mother's workstation and with a casual flick of her wand, ingredients rose, knives appeared for slicing, and the fire under the cauldron stirred to life.

"Willow bark essence?" she asked out loud.

Before I could answer, she plucked the vial from the apothecary drawer. I had the distinct impression she had been here nearly as often as she had been in her own potions' storage room; it occurred to me now that the idea that Mrs. Black not knowing her oldest friend's haunts was ludicrous. Of course, she knew where the greenhouse was.

"Forgive me for speaking out of turn," I announced, curling my fingers onto the well-scrubbed wooden table. "I mean no disrespect, but I sense this was more than simple misdirection."

Mrs. Black twisted a vial around with the word laudanum scrawled in my mother's neat handwriting, and she measured a fraction the dose called for and neatly slipped the pale, bitter-tasting liquid into the cauldron.

"My family has always had many respectable allies, Lucius," she remarked, "And being powerful, of course, that means we've also a great deal many enemies."

I nodded curtly, as if I understood what it meant to have enemies. I couldn't recall a single one.

She smiled, as if she could read the ignorance on my face. "There is a…rather insidious article printed today on the front page of The Prophet. Of course, our name has been smeared before and we have retained our propriety with all the dignity a family can, but…"

"This one is worse?" I offered.

"This one is true," she corrected me, her eyes flashing dark, "Partially. They don't know the truth entirely yet, but it is only a matter of time. As you may know, my middle daughter, Andromeda, was to be betrothed sometime this year or next. With my eldest marrying beneath her status, we needed Andromeda to make a promising match and keep our name from falling down the ranks into obscurity. I didn't want to be that part of the Black family, you know. The distant relatives who live in squalor and cannot be trusted at parties lest we nick the silver."

She turned away from me and stirred the cauldron with her wand.

"The idea of losing my friends because of my daughter's disgraceful marriage…" she remarked, and with a sniff she regained her composure, seeming to remember that she was speaking to me and not into a vacuum, "I—well, it was not the best strategy my husband has had, marrying Bellatrix to the Lestrange's, but I understood the reasoning."

The only reason that I could consider for Bellatrix's fate was that Mr. Black owed a rather large debt to Mr. Lestrange, and to settle that debt, he offered his eldest daughter. It was an absurdly imbalanced business deal to make, to elevate the Lestrange family while tarnishing their own reputation. His daughter would always be tainted in some way by her position. It would take a few generations before the Lestrange name could properly rise higher and be fully integrated, but it would happen. The shame of marrying beneath her, however, would haunt Bellatrix forever.

"Anyway," Mrs. Black continued, "We chose a prospective husband in Candra Zabini. It was precursory, of course, nothing had been agreed upon by either family. What luck, I think, when I consider what…well, never mind. You will read or have read that the paper says Andromeda is missing."

"Yes," I said, and in an attempt to warm her to me I added, "Narcissa mentioned she was missing to me before, some time ago."

Her eyes found mine and they were cautious. I had done the opposite of appeal to her nature.

"Then you'll know it is exceptionally rare for someone to return home after so long," she said, and with a shaky breath, "Alive."

"She eloped?" I suggested it, lobbing the truth into the air between us innocently, as though I did not know.

In response to the shock on her face, I shrugged casually, "It's a rational assumption to make when a woman on the verge of a proposal, one who perhaps doesn't want to be, suddenly goes missing."

"Then you, like the rest, will likely also conclude that a girl with no options guarantees a modicum of independence in her exile," she replied, frowning, "by doing the very thing she ran from in the first place."

"I am sorry," I said.

Mrs. Black levelled her gaze with me. "Yes, Lucius, it's precisely your empathy which I've come here today to appeal to. For you see, when this truth is discovered—and it will be, if I can find out my daughter keeps a flat in South London with her new Muggle husband with my limited resources, a reporter surely will—this will ruin us. Two daughters wasted. Our reputation will be destroyed. Our investments will be terminated, which means our money will slowly dwindle to nothing. We will have nothing to entice an offer of marriage for Narcissa. So, you see, Lucius, I'm counting on your empathy. Actually, no, I am not counting on it. I'm begging for it."

"You and my mother are dear friends," I replied, "Of course we would stand by you and support you however we can. I am sure my mother could speak to my father, to have him vouch for your family so that you might keep your investments and connections—"

"Abraxas isn't so stupid," Mrs. Black interrupted, "No, Lucius, if this is to be done, it must be done by you. And it must be done swiftly, we've no time to waste."

"How can I help you?" I implored, "Mrs. Black, I don't even have my own money."

She pocketed her wand. I watched the light green-grey smoke swirl in the air between us. "You have one power right now, Lucius," she replied, "You, unlike my daughters, have the privilege of choosing a wife. Your father will condone it; Abraxas has always found Narcissa exceedingly bright and amusing, and even a scandal like this won't sway him of that. But if you aren't engaged to Narcissa, and it's not public, your father can rescind the offer once the truth has been reported, and we shall be ruined either way. So, as you can see, we must be quick."

"I can't see how this—Mrs. Black, what you are asking…"

"Is a sacrifice," she finished, "Believe me, I know. I don't ask it of you lightly. I know you admire Narcissa's tenacity and intelligence, otherwise you wouldn't have joined the society. And I know that she seems very abrasive and difficult to manage, but Narcissa is a good girl. Strong-willed. Not as malleable as Mara Parkinson, perhaps, but you don't strike me as the sort of man that wants a servant when you could have a wife."

A great whirring sound flooded my ears and for a moment, I thought I was going to faint. There were a thousand arrangements of sentences and thoughts I had to configure in my head before any of them burst out, rolling off my tongue in the most fastidious and erroneous of ways.

What I finally managed was, naturally, utterly ridiculous.

"Narcissa would kill me if I married her," I blurted.

Mrs. Black's harsh laughter filled the gilded conservatory. The pop and hiss of the potion anchored me to the ground again, as I had gone careening through the maze of my mind.

"She has this idea fixed in her mind that she can make her way independently," I said, "She wishes to make money as a writer, I…couldn't jeopardize—"

"Lucius," Mrs. Black interrupted, holding her pale hand up to quiet my rambling. "Narcissa is a decent writer. We have put her through private lessons, we have afforded her the luxury of as much parchment and ink as she desires, and we have let her study under a few Muggles considered masters of their craft, but Narcissa is too young, too inexperienced, and not yet disciplined in her skillset to revolutionize the wizarding world. The very fact that we call it the Wizarding world should be evidence enough of the kinds of tribulations she's meant to face."

I opened my mouth to refute her statement, but I had no evidence suggesting that Narcissa was talented enough to make a living on her own. Surely, a scandal this large would impede that ability as well.

"She needs time to develop her voice," Mrs. Black said, "And time is a luxury she cannot afford."

I thought of Jane Eyre immediately, who said on such occasion that she would always rather be happy than dignified. Considering the context of the scene was of a rejected marriage proposal, I felt jolted by this connection to the book that had made me more than flesh and bone.

"I could not agree to these terms without discussing it with her," I remarked.

"Narcissa is not sensible in such things as this," Mrs. Black replied, "She is philosophical, Lucius, she bases her existence in theory. This is real. It's rational. She won't see reason, she will fly into hysterics. It must be done as thus."

And she settled the matter before me, directing that I must approach my father in the evening sometime after dinner, but not too close to ten o'clock, whereupon he had ingested just enough whisky to be pliable. Then, I would announce my intentions for Narcissa and produce a contract to be a governor over Hogwarts—which Mrs. Black unfolded from her robes and placed in mine—and I would tell him my future was decided.

My father would not hesitate; the moment I left the room, he would send a letter to Mr. Black, who was in no position to deny him. Whatever price, Mrs. Black said, dowry was of little matter, and her husband would agree to any terms my father laid out for him.

After guiding her back to my mother's parlour with the rest of their friends, she surreptitiously reached for my hand and squeezed it. And it occurred to me that our society had a silent voice constantly pushing the needle forward; that my father was manipulated by this force, and so perhaps was my grandfather. A secret combination of business dealings between women made up an intricate cat's cradle, and we were all powerless against it.

I took a long time returning to my room. When I reached the end of the hall, I could hear the sounds of laughter from the open door, but my mood had turned. There were many things I might have done before the Moonflower Society. I might have been convinced of Mrs. Black's plight, trusted her urgency in the matter. No doubt, too, I would have taken her word as some kind of gospel.

Because before, I never would have thought a woman would have lied to me. It was not that I thought women were villains, but rather they were far more nuanced than I gave them credit. And were they composed of both virtues and flaws, so could they be as morally ambiguous as I knew men to be.

A hand reached from the darkness and ripped me from the corridor by the arm into a spare bedroom. I heard the door snap sharply and then my shoulder blades slammed into the thick wood. Pain ricocheted into my bones and grey and white spots exploded in front of my eyes.

"Merlin's beard, Narcissa, let me go!" I hissed.

She released her arm, which had flattened across my chest to hold me in place. I suspected her wand was in the other hand, pointing at me at chest level, but it was too dark to see it.

"You were gone too long," she said, breathing hard, "I know she said something."

"Of course she did," I replied, nursing a dull ache at my elbow.

"Well?"

I hesitated, listening around in the darkness to try and feel out the perimeter and her proximity to me. First, I could sense her shifting her feet and twisting her fingers through the fabric at her side. Her wand tapped against her hip once or twice.

"Put your wand away," I demanded.

I heard her sigh heavily and stow it into her pockets. She clapped her hands softly, as if this was proof she was no longer armed.

"You're going to be angry," I warned her.

She scoffed. "Lucius, don't be dramatic, if this is about the writing lessons I wanted to take and mum said we can't afford, I won't have her skulking around asking for money, but I will not be angry with her—"

"No," I replied, swallowing hard, "This is going to make you angry. So just shut it for a second, and when I tell you this, try not to go completely mad."

"Fine," she said.

But she was already irritated with me, so I knew there was no doubt that her temper would flare as soon as she discovered the truth.

"They know about your sister," I admitted, "The Daily Prophet. They ran an article about Andromeda's disappearance this morning."

Narcissa was quiet for a moment and then said, "So she's appealing to you so that you can convince your father to vouch for us, so we can keep our investments."

I could almost feel her mind whirr and hum to life as she drifted through the scenario much more cognizant than I had been. I knew I didn't have to tell her anything, so I stayed quiet, waiting, as she connected the series of paths to the only logical solution there was on why her mother came to me and not someone else.

"She begged you to marry me," she finally said, her voice a small whisper.

"In so many words," I remarked, "Yes."

She asked, "Will you speak to your father, then? We'll be engaged in a fortnight, I should think. It took my mum that long to uncover Andy's secrets, so she'll work fast."

"You think I accepted her terms?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "Bit presumptuous, don't you think?"

"Wow, you mean did I presume that you, Lucius, who probably started wearing a cravat because your dead great grandfather told you to when you were eleven, and who has likely never questioned authority since?" she snapped.

"Thirteen," I corrected breezily, "And it was just my grandfather."

"My apologies," she retorted.

We laughed, but the air in the room was still tense.

"I said that I knew you wanted to make your way independently as a writer," I replied, "And I respect that decision. She told me you were irrational."

Narcissa shifted on her feet again. "She always says that," she replied airily, "And that I lack talent. She's just jealous. Her poetry is really lousy."

"Nevertheless," I remarked, "It would be difficult enough for you to navigate the world as an authoress, no doubt writing about the kinds of things you read, but this level of condemnation will fracture any and all ability you have to make a living."

I knew without seeing she had turned her stubborn chin up at me by the way she scoffed. She was emboldened by adversity, I knew, but I wondered how much success she would have trying to tear down a wall so much larger than her.

"Lucius, you can't predict the future…"

"But I can protect you from it," I countered.

Narcissa shoved past me, but I blocked her door and held the handle firmly. This was the only imbalance between us; the modicum of physical strength I possessed over her.

"Ten minutes," I whispered, "Ten minutes, Cissy, and you can leave this room and make whatever decision you wish."

"Fine," she said reproachfully.

I cleared my throat. "We're friends. And neither one of us wants this, but it makes sense, doesn't it?"

"No," Narcissa growled.

"It makes sense that it's me, you dolt!" I cried, "'I promise to keep us secret and safe, I promise to sacrifice my reputation, my good name, and my status'—"

"That was never meant to be—"

"'I agree to sacrifice my time, my sleep, and my dignity," I finished, "Should the society call for it.'"

"And you called me a dolt," she remarked with a quiet, hollow laugh.

I was quiet, carefully pondering whether the words that entered my brain and threatened to roll like honey out of my lips would break her or not. I could not imagine hurting her, and yet, I felt that there might have been only one way.

"This isn't a book, Narcissa," I murmured, "This is your life, and we don't always get to be the hero of our own story."

Sharp, electric bolts hit my knuckles and static erupted in the darkness between us, shocking sparks of light that flew around us and dissipated in the black. She tucked her wand back into her sleeve and turned the handle.

"Narcissa," I called.

I rushed after her, because I realized that I would always follow her, though I had no language to define what this declaration meant, only that it was true.

"Please, wait!" I called again.

She turned around in a flurry of rage, her hair swept off her shoulders and down her back in a braid. Her eyes were cold steel and flashing, a meteor shower of words exploded in my mouth, but I was bolted into silence.

"I don't need you to save me," she hissed, "Of anyone on this planet, you are the least equipped to marry me. You have no direction, no passion, no personality without me giving it to you!"

I folded my arms across my chest. "Clearly, you've been holding out on me, Black. Please, wax poetic about all of my inadequacies, but make sure you run off before I return the favour. I know how ill equipped you are at someone telling you the truth."

She let out a barking laugh and her lip curled up in a snarl. "Men. You're all the same. Expansive egos, posturing and floating about like a peacock until you're fit to burst from all the money you've made off the backs of better people than you—you don't even understand the world you live in, let alone mine."

"Is it my fault that I don't understand you?" I demanded, "You're so busy floating about trying to be this enigmatic genius leader who can defy every odd that society places in front of you. But you're real, Narcissa, underneath all of the cloak and dagger acts. Being literate and witty won't save you from the inevitable."

"No," she replied, "But you can, right? And this is what you've always wanted to do, save me. You romanticize me. You romanticize me until you cannot discern your delusions from fact. I'm the great enigmatic genius leader, as you say."

"I romanticize everything," I said, "Because of you. Without your influence, the world would still be composed of yes and no, but mostly no. It would still be plain shades of grey and routine, constant generational cycles of boredom that begets more boredom. So, forgive me if I let you inspire me, Narcissa."

When she said nothing, I added, "For what it's worth, I foolishly thought you had saved me. I never thought I could return the favour."

"Then what's all of this?" she asked, spreading her arms wide, "Is this the part where you get on one knee, Lucius? Because I don't want it. I don't want you. I'll never want anyone that way. Confess your love to me all you want, it won't get you anywhere."

I laughed shortly, but my mind felt dense with madness. It was a miracle the outside surface of me was still smooth, stilled water without a ripple. A partially frozen lake with an undercurrent.

The door behind us opened, and Mara's pale, wide face slipped around the frame to inspect the noise. She remained where she was, standing in the doorframe, watching us, her lips pursed in a flat line.

"Just know that I refused to do this without you," I remarked, "You may think poorly of me, Narcissa, but I have never thought so poorly of you."

Her expression contorted in both rage and hurt, and pressed her palms to each of her elbows, a vain attempt to soothe herself.

"I misjudged you," she replied, gritting her teeth, "You're only three-fourths of an idiot then."

"Incredible," I murmured.

"What's that?" she retorted.

"Your inability to see what is good for you in your wild pursuit of something imaginary," I replied, "And you call me delusional."

"Narcissa," Mara interjected, her throat constricted, "We've finished. It might be wise to pause and let the others leave…"

She looked at me for a long moment, her cerulean eyes glassy with hatred, and then she turned to look at the woman in the doorway. And with a small shrug, she said, "This matter is finished."

"Agreed," I remarked, my shoulders bristling, my words coming out in a harsh snap.

She turned around and started walking toward Mara, but at the last moment she whirled around, "And one more thing—what makes you think you're good for me, Lucius Malfoy? As you are such an expert!"

"What makes you think I even wanted you?" I blurted, my temper reaching its peak, my cheeks in fully flush. "You're like twenty-four women in one body."

She sneered, "Then I suppose you can consider this moment to be twenty-four rejections to your stupid little marriage proposal, Lucius."

And it was like that. In one heated moment, our tangled tongues wove a story of bitterness we could not undo. My best friend became my enemy.

My only friend became a ghost.