Sunday, 9 November 1969

It was late and the common room was nearly deserted, and as such Narcissa had no qualms about putting on her favourite record while she read her new novel. It was titled Newts of Bognor by Walter Aragon; a provincial tale about two witches in a quaint coastal town who both fall madly in love with the same mysterious warlock and attempt to win his affections through increasingly dark means. She had just reached a particularly dramatic moment in which one woman had used an anti-Disapparation jinx on her former-friend in a most ominous manner when the entrance to the common room opened and half a dozen boys spilled in, laughing and shouting over one another. It was evident that they'd all just returned from Hogsmeade— although it had not been a Hogsmeade weekend, and moreover it was well past curfew— as they were all laden with parcels and visibly drunk.

She was concentrating on the words of her book, vaguely irritated by the commotion the young men had brought with them, and so she was more than a little taken aback when a body fell gracefully onto the small couch beside her. Quickly she opened her mouth to tell the intruder off, but the words died on her tongue when she saw who it was.

Lucius Malfoy.

His eyes were closed and head thrown back, and a lazy smirk toyed with the corner of his mouth as the fingers of his right hand drummed idly in time with the music she played. Almost guiltily, she permitted herself to admire the sharp, handsome lines of his profile as she wondered what exactly it was that he was doing next to her, when the rest of the boys had settled some distance away and the distinct clinking of bottles could be heard over their irreverent noise. Not, of course, that she was complaining.

Suddenly, his eyes flew open and they were mercurial as he turned to her with an amused look that made her feel as though he'd known exactly what she was thinking.

"Hello, Narcissa," he purred, and perhaps she only imagined the wicked glint in his gaze as he shifted his body on the loveseat to better face her, resting his elbow on its back edge and propping his temple against the heel of his hand, the whole time examining her as thoroughly as she had him only moments before and far less surreptitiously. "What is this? Wagner?"

After a brief hesitation, she nodded. "From Götterdämmerung."

"Ah yes, the death of the gods. No wonder I like it." He watched her for several more seconds, with a searching look that was both frank and unapologetic. "Why do you like it?"

She considered the query. It was universally acknowledged to be great music, no one had ever before questioned why she might be drawn to it. "I suppose because it's... powerful," she answered at last, and his careless smirk widened briefly into what might be called a predatory grin. Her heart seemed to be residing in her throat and she swallowed the unfamiliar sensations it evoked.

"Do you want a drink?" he offered, and when she shook her head it was almost regretfully. He did not seem concerned with her refusal— he merely lifted his wand and summoned one for himself, never taking his eyes from her face. Narcissa could feel herself beginning to blush under his relentless scrutiny, but less from embarrassment and more from the unexpected pleasure of his undivided attention.

"You were in town this evening?" she surmised as he took a swig of firewhisky.

"Oh, yes. It's my birthday this week, you see. Had to go collect all the necessary... munitions." He paused to take another drink, then leaned closer to whisper conspiratorially: "There will be a party, you know. You're invited," he added with a wink. She laughed and rolled her eyes.

"I imagine it will be in the the common room again this year? Hard not to be invited, really."

He smiled a little lopsidedly, a direct reaction to her bright laughter. "That's true. Well," he paused, tapping the edge of the bottle thoughtfully against his lips, "now that you've gone and invalidated that offer, I feel I ought to propose a more exclusive invitation to something..." And then, still studying her carefully, he asked lightly, "Are you seeing anyone, Narcissa?"

The faint pink on her cheeks blossomed into a pronounced flush, and her fingers curled around the pages of the book she still held in her hands. Skilled as she was at keeping her expressions neutral, she could not control the reactions of her sympathetic nervous system to his words, and the husky, intimate tone in which he spoke them. He'd leaned a little closer still, in anticipation of her response, and she was proud of how nonchalantly she was able to reply, "Not at the moment, no."

"No? That's rather surprising." A split second pause and then, "You're very lovely." He took another swallow of his drink. "I believe there's a Hogsmeade weekend on the twenty-second, perhaps—"

"Oi, Malfoy!"

If she lived to be a thousand years old, Narcissa fully believed in that moment that she would never, ever forgive Rabastan for interrupting Lucius's half-formed query. He staggered across the room toward the pair, bumping into tables and chairs as he went. "Not bothering Cissy, are you?" he slurred suspiciously. Narcissa's mouth tightened in fury. "Practically a little sister to me, you know, what with Bella and Roddy..." he hiccoughed before finishing vaguely, "married and whatnot..." And then, to her absolute horror, he squeezed himself into the small space between them, humming good-naturedly along to the Erlösungsmotif. "What were you two talking about?"

"Nothing," Lucius snapped, rising to his feet and eyeing the other boy with disgust. Rabastan hopped up as well.

"Going to get another drink? Excellent, I'll join you." The pair turned to go and Narcissa could not stop herself from calling out.

"Lucius? You were about to say something?"

"Oh, er..." There was a look of regret on his face, but she could not determine if regretted the words he'd nearly spoken, or that fact that he would not now say them. "Perhaps I'll see you at the party Thursday," he finished lamely, and then returned with Rabastan to rejoin his friends without another glance in her direction.

Sunday, 31 October 1982

For the first time in living memory, for perhaps the first time in many centuries, dusk fell on Wiltshire on the evening of Samhain and Malfoy Manor was quiet and still. Only two of its rooms were occupied: in a well-appointed nursery a small toddler slumbered peacefully, and the nurse hired to attend him nodded off occasionally in a rocking chair. In less than a year's time the boy would turn three and be deemed old enough to forego such constant attendance; yet another sign that time passed, and the world moved forward, as strange and unfamiliar as it might appear these days.

Down a different corridor, the lord and lady of the estate occupied a private parlour adjoining two sleeping chambers in sombre silence. Narcissa stood near the diamond-paned window, gazing fretfully over the dark grounds, while her husband sat in an armchair a short distance away with a glass of scotch in one hand and the morning's paper in the other, still unread.

Narcissa had begun halfheartedly making arrangements for the Samhain Gala in the summer as usual, another vigilant attempt to recapture some normalcy in their lives, but when her sister had been arrested for torturing the Longbottoms in July and convicted in August, she had quietly put away all of her planning parchments and the invitations had never been sent out. Lucius had not objected. The arrests had not been a huge shock as the Lestranges had been frantic for the better part of a year, their attempts to locate the Dark Lord increasingly erratic and desperate. By necessity the Malfoys had distanced themselves, but Narcissa had still been devastated upon learning that her only remaining sister had been sentenced to life in Azkaban. She'd taken to her bed for nearly a full day, before her need to see her son drew her to his playroom. Even now, two months later, she often moved as though in a fog. Once or twice Lucius had almost considered suggesting that she visit Andromeda— after all, being publicly seen with a blood traitor would only strengthen their stance that they had always been on the winning side— but he knew it would do her no good. She would never forgive Andromeda's betrayal, and he would never ask her to pretend otherwise.

Lucius finished his drink and rather than refill it, he rose slowly to his feet and crossed the room to stand beside his wife. "Do you wish we had company this evening?" he asked in a low voice. After a moment, she shook her head.

"The Greengrasses are hosting an event tonight. We were invited, we could have had company if we wished." She hesitated. "Zinnia is expecting her second child. They have a girl already, you know. Draco's age."

There was no trace of accusation in her tone, but it still gave Lucius pause. He had waited so long to tell her what he had known since Draco's birth that he forgot at times that he had yet to divulge the information that the Healer had given him, but he could think of no excuse not to do so now other than a desire to avoid causing her any more pain. Still, if he waited longer, he suspected the pain would only compound upon itself— leave open a door for years of fruitless yearning and dashed hopes. He took a slow, steadying inhalation.

"There is something I should have told you some time ago, although it never felt like the right..." he broke off as the correct words failed to come naturally to him, then pressed on brusquely. "Anyway, you may have already guessed it given the difficulties you experienced, but you won't be able to have any more children. Marlowe confirmed it immediately after Draco was born."

Her eyes lowered and he allowed her to take several moments of silence to process the news. He doubted suddenly that this had in fact been the right moment to divulge such information; surely she would have approached him eventually with her hopes of a second child, and he could have gently informed her then. Would that have made it easier for her to hear? But it was too late now, and he waited until she spoke once more.

"I think..." she started softly at last, her fingertips tracing delicately over the cold glass before her, "I think I did know. I haven't gotten pregnant again, despite the fact I haven't been taking any contraceptive potions— unless you've been doing so without my knowledge again?"

"No," he assured her quickly. She nodded grimly. "But... perhaps we should. He didn't specifically say you could not conceive again, only that you would not survive to carry a child to term."

"I won't conceive again," she replied quietly, "if I have not done so yet."

"You say that, but over a year passed between your last miscarriage and your pregnancy with Draco without—"

"No," she interrupted. "That isn't true." She took a deep, bracing breath of her own. "I tried to tell you the night you found out I was pregnant with Draco but..." she did not need to finish her sentence, as he well remembered the terrible occasion. "I miscarried three babies that I never told you about, before Draco was born. Before he was born, but after... after what you did. A total of six. I didn't want you to know at the time, I thought you'd..." But she did not articulate the rest of the thought.

Lucius stayed very still, absorbing her words and carefully contemplating his response. Her admission invited one of his own, one that would place them on relatively even footing.

On the other hand…

Her mental state was perhaps more fragile than normal and he could not fully predict her reaction to the news. After all, he'd said some rather unkind things upon his return from Uagadou. And to find out that the baby had been stillborn... well, that would just be one more thing for her to dwell upon, and she had already been so distraught as of late. Furthermore, he had not been entirely blind to the shift in her attitude towards him and their marriage after his return. He still remembered the bleak days following the three miscarriages he had known about, when she had withdrawn emotionally and physically, any type a intimacy a visible chore. She had suggested the annulment of their marriage— she had seriously considered leaving him before he'd proved precisely the lengths to which he was willing to to go for her. Would telling the truth now negate that?

"Well?" she prompted in a constricted voice, staring up at him probingly.

"Perhaps we needn't use a contraceptive potion after all, then," he answered carefully.

Narcissa blinked incredulously. "That's it? That's all you have to say?" she asked, stunned. "I... I lied to you. I told you I was tired and lightheaded and avoided sharing our bed three times over the course of a year."

"That is unfortunate," he agreed. "But we have a son now, so there was no lasting damage done."

"'No lasting damage?'" she echoed incredulously. "Lucius you... you had another child..."

"Having a child resultant of an extramarital affair presents nothing but potential trouble and liability to me in addition to being an insult to you," he replied silkily. Narcissa was biting her lip, frowning slightly, as though waiting for him to understand the magnitude of her confession. Admittedly it was unfortunate that she had not felt able to confide in him, and he felt foolish in retrospect for not accurately identifying her repeated ailment that year, but that was long in the past.

Perhaps she was feeling guilt for the death of Angelique's child? If she was carrying such a burden he could tell her the truth and alleviate the strain, but as he studied her, he somehow did not think that was the case either. He waited for her to speak again.

"But surely," she pressed tremulously, "you now see that my theory was demonstrably false... that your pre-existing offspring was the only reason for my miscarriages." And then, "Surely you must resent me?" she posited in a small voice.

And finally, he understood. She was not sorry that another of his children might have died at his hand— she did not want any woman claiming what she had, did not want the threat to Draco's inheritance, no matter how slight that threat might be. She was concerned only with the fact that he might begin to show remorse for what he had done and turn the blame to her. She did not know Angelique and did not sympathize with her imagined pain; she knew only that some faceless woman had tried to lay claim to her husband, not in matrimony but with blood. And in her eyes, the spilling of blood was the only acceptable payment for such a sin. Narcissa's only concern now was that Lucius would regret ending his child's life and she would have to bear the consequences. She cared for nothing but herself and the two people she cherished more than life itself.

She was, after all, just like him.

"I do not resent you, Narcissa," he replied calmly. It did not matter that there had not been a baby. He would slaughter legions for her or no one at all; whatever it took to keep her by his side. He laced his fingers in her hair and she leaned eagerly into the touch, eyes sliding closed. "I never could," he continued quietly, his hands moving to cup her face in his hands as his lips brushed over her brow. "You are everything to me. You and Draco are all that matters anymore." This had been what she had been trying to tell him in Blois when she said that he and their son had her whole heart; and finally he was able to recognise and accept it. His lips continued to move gently over her face, finding hers at last as he murmured, without doubt and without fear: "I love you."


Fin


(A/N: First of all, I want to give a huge thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. As much as I have loved writing it, it was truly your words of encouragement that motivated me to keep going at times. This is by far the longest piece I've ever written, and I've put so much more heart, experience, and research into this than any of my other stories.

So what's next? At some point, a sequel that will span from the start of Goblet of Fire and likely end shortly after the second war. I've already written some scenes for it, and am excited for where it could go. More immediately, there are dozens of scenes that did not make it into Vacillation for one reason or another that I wrote either thinking I might use, or companion scenes to the ones that appear here from a different (usually Narcissa's) perspective, and a few sort of spin off scenarios with these versions of the characters that have varying degrees of absurdity (what if Lucius hadn't left after their wedding? what if Narcissa and Bellatrix switched bodies for a day?). I'll likely edit and post at least some of these as standalone oneshots or an anthology under one story heading.

As always, would love to hear your thoughts! Thank you so much for reading.)