Friday, 3 August 1973

Malfoy Manor was an imposing but elegant structure, situated on a prime piece of land in Wiltshire. It had belonged to the first Malfoy to cross the channel from France, given by William the Conqueror for services rendered during the Battle of Hastings. The center of the Manor was its oldest standing portion: a massive Romanesque hall, with a columned nave and broad side aisles, crowned with sweeping Norman arches. It was the inspiration for the grandest cathedrals of the time, though it had always been used as a strictly social space in the residence. It had once entertained aristocracy and royalty of both Wizarding and non-magical blood, but since the Statute of Secrecy had been ratified in 1692, only those who could claim magical inheritance had crossed its threshold. The rest of the home was far more Gothic in style, though numerous salons had been renovated over the centuries to match the taste of the current occupant and current trends. Rather than making the Manor feel disjointed, however, it flowed more like a museum, with perfectly preserved and maintained exhibitions displaying the highest levels of decor throughout history.

The room that currently held the lord and heir of the Manor had been largely untouched over the ages. It was a spacious, stone-walled room, a study of restrained yet sumptuous style. One end featured a massive fireplace, kept lit year round, and the other featured towering windows that looked out over sweeping acreage and forests. Father and son stood on opposite ends of the room, one with hands clasped easily behind his back as he stared mildly over his lands; the other glared into the flames, clenched fists shoved into his pockets.

"No. It's out of the question. You are nineteen years old," Abraxas Malfoy drawled without turning around. "Your time will come Lucius, but that time is not today."

"Father, the wedding is tomorrow," Lucius' tone was strained with barely-leashed frustration. "Isn't this the last step? The final box to check?"

With a quiet sigh, Abraxas shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Becoming lord of the Manor is not some sort of checklist that must be completed. You are not ready yet, Lucius. I will decide when you are."

"Not ready?" Lucius echoed incredulously, whirling around and storming across the room. "I've been ready for years, as you damn well made sure of. And now I'm marrying the Black girl, just like you wanted, and you expect me to take her back to the London house?"

Abraxas shrugged, unconcerned. "Or another house, I'm told she has a great preference for France. Perhaps an extended honeymoon in Léon?"

"You know I'm far too busy for that," Lucius snarled, level with his father at last. "Perhaps you and Mother might prefer a vacation there?"

Abraxas chuckled but continued to stare over the grounds, refusing to turn and acknowledge his seething son who now stood beside him. "No, I think we're quite content here for now."

Before Lucius could reply, there was a soft knock on the door. "Come in," Abraxas called, turning around to smile at his wife. She was followed closely by Druella Black, behind whom trailed—

"I thought it might be pleasant for Narcissa and Lucius to spend a bit of time alone together," Mrs. Malfoy spoke warmly as she glided over to the windows to stand beside her husband and son.

"An excellent idea. Druella, perhaps you could tell me where Cygnus might be? I have a few details to go over with him." The three of them moved from the study, though Abraxas shot a final look of warning to his son before closing the door.

"Mr. Malfoy," Narcissa walked towards him confidently and offered her winningest smile, but Lucius was still scowling after the door his father had just disappeared through.

"Miss Black," he muttered distractedly, rubbing his jawline irritably.

"I was hoping," she pressed on doggedly, "that you might show me around the gardens? It would be lovely to get to know one another a bit better before the ceremony, and I was thinking—"

"What?" Lucius interrupted rudely, his eyes meeting hers at last and showing nothing but annoyance. Her expression immediately grew cold as well.

"Well, I thought it could be pleasant to spend some time alone together before we are wed, but clearly you have no such—"

"Oh, come off it," he snapped. "We're alone now, aren't we?" Without waiting for her reply, he strode over to the bar cart and poured himself a drink.

"I— Mr. Malfoy!" she exclaimed, genuinely shocked.

"Sorry," he grunted, "did you want one?"

"No thank you," she retorted, "I'm just rather surprised that it's before supper and you are drinking liquor."

Lucius scoffed. "Get used to it. Join in, if you want. Might make things more bearable."

What more can I do? Lucius wondered bitterly, glaring at the closed door once more. It wasn't his fault that his father had provided a poison to which no one besides he himself could reasonably be linked to assassinate the Minister for Magic. His surname and more than a few called in favors had kept him from official charges or a trial, but his less fortunate of cohorts were serving terms in Azkaban. The Malfoy name and gold were far to valuable and entrenched in Wizarding society to be ostracised for a whispered accusation, but the whispers were enough to keep Abraxas out of the Ministry for good. Eugenia Jenkins wasn't the most brilliant Minister, but she was certainly wise enough to stay clear of those who had attempted to murder her predecessor. Since he'd been newly fourteen at the time, Lucius had not been linked to the plot, but he had been privately dealing with the repercussions since midway through his third year. Academic expectations had remained high as always, but his Hogsmeade trips had turned eventually from divertissements with friends to dealings with financiers. He had dutifully followed every stern instruction that arrived almost daily in the post, and by his fifth year, he was writing letters to promising junior Ministry associates and foreign business contacts and the sons of old families that attended Durmstrang and Beauxbatons as often as he was revising for his O. W. L's. In addition to that, he had been named prefect and had to maintain the responsibilities of that role.

It hadn't left much time for a serious romantic relationship, and receiving the note after he had finished school that he would be coming to Wiltshire for the weekend to meet "a promising young lady" had hardly been a surprise. And while he no longer needed to devote time to his studies, his nights had been filled with new and more important activity. Lucius had done everything asked of him and excelled beyond anyone's expectations, and now his father, who had been out of society for years, was refusing to vacate the Manor after the wedding? The London house was suitable for a bachelor, but it had only four bedrooms and was hardly fit for a family. More importantly, he had shouldered many of his father's duties long before his time— why should he be denied the main perk of being the Lord of the Manor, but bear the brunt of all the work it entailed?

"I hate to disappoint you," he spoke frostily once more to his bride, who had at least had the good grace to seat herself and summon an elf to bring tea while he brooded, "but it looks as though we won't be occupying the Manor any time in the foreseeable future."

"I don't mind," she replied quietly. "I'm sure we won't require such a large space until your parents retire and we have children to occupy it."

"Child," he corrected immediately. "Just one. And we have plenty of time before that happens." The thought of a screaming infant in his home made his stomach turn, even if that infant was his heir. "But it's the principle of the matter, not the necessity. My father is retired, for all intents and purposes, ever since…" he paused, not wanting to reveal too much. "Ever since my third year I've been responsible for what should have been his," he pressed on lamely, "and while my mother still enjoys hosting, she could do so from elsewhere."

"Well by that logic they should have passed rights on to you when you were thirteen," she replied primly, taking a sip of tea. His eyes narrowed.

"Don't be absurd. But when I came of age—"

"You were in Hogwarts still, were you not?"

Though her tone was airy, Lucius was quickly losing what little patience he had left after his conversation with Abraxas.

"When I left school—" he began through gritted teeth, but she was already waving a dismissive hand.

"All these points in time are arbitrary. Why would your parents want to leave the home they've occupied for decades before they were ready to do so? Even our wedding is an arbitrary event in this matter. The task of running the Manor is a huge responsibility, for both of us. And we hardly know one another yet. I think it may actually be beneficial to spend time together while we're under fewer demands before we—"

"And what would you know about demands?" he sneered, refilling his glass and crossing the room to sit across from her. "The youngest daughter of an ancient line, what whims weren't handed to you on a platter, my dear? And I'm no hypocrite—" he took a swig of his drink, "we were both raised with certain privileges, but it's my responsibility to handle Malfoy family investments and financial growth, deal with politics and prevent Muggle-loving fools from ruining the Ministry, orchestrate alliances with other Pureblooded families around the globe— and what do you do? Manage the elves and throw parties? Have tea and gossip? Give me an heir at some point in the future? Must be terribly demanding to be Narcissa Black."

For a long moment after he finished speaking she simply stared at him, her face inscrutable. Whether this was because she had no response or, like him, was unwilling to reveal any vulnerable truths this early in their relationship, he could not say.

"If you don't mind, Mr. Malfoy, I'd like to go rejoin our families. I was hoping to get to know more about my husband-to-be, and I think I've seen enough." She began to rise, but Lucius held up a hand.

"I do mind. Sit down, I'm not finished. Drink your tea."

She complied, though her noticed her fingertips trembled. Was she about to cry? he wondered, with a feeling somewhere between revulsion and fascination. The set of her jaw, however, indicated a suppressed rage rather than stifled tears. He felt a thrill of hot exhilaration dart though him at the possibilities of this fact. His irritation began to slip away, replaced instead by a devious urge to see if she possessed the famous Black temper that her sister wore so proudly. So far she'd done a much better job at concealing it than Bellatrix ever had, but he wondered how far he could push before she cracked.

"We should lay out some ground rules," he smirked, sinking back into his chair. He slung one arm around its back, and rested his left ankle upon his right knee. She regarded his change in tone and relaxed posture with suspicion. Narcissa remained rigidly perched on the edge of the settee.

"I think the ground rules are laid out in our Bonds," she murmured coolly, finishing her tea and peering thoughtfully at the remaining leaves.

"Don't tell me you put any store in divination," Lucius queried with a derisive chuckle, taking a drink from his own glass and lazily swirling the amber liquid.

"Tasseography is a fallible branch of magic," she admitted, still frowning slightly at the leaves and rotating the cup clockwise, "but it never hurts to get hints of what may come to pass."

"Rodolphus and I are playing cards tonight with some associates— tell me, should I fold or call?"

Ignoring his snide comment, she turned the cup a final time. "A dragon," she announced at last. "Not that that tells us anything we don't already know."

"A dragon— let me guess, foretells a long and happy marriage?"

"No. It simply portends great and sudden change. Whether those changes are for the best… well, I'd need another cup of tea."

"Then by all means," he gestured to the teapot, and summoned the decanter of scotch as well. "Are you sure it isn't an eagle?" he ventured nonchalantly as he poured. She glanced up in surprise, a reluctant smile twitching at the corner of her lips.

"'Honour and riches through change of residence,'" she quoted from memory. "According to the ancient Highland seers, anyway, which is what is generally taught at Hogwarts. Although I could see you favoring the Greek interpretations as well. I thought you didn't care for the practice?"

"I said I don't put any store in it," he corrected with a half grin of his own, "not that I failed the classes. Did you know the first Lucius Malfoy, my namesake, used to scry for the Muggle Queen Elizabeth I? Not that that means he had an affinity for it, none of the Malfoy men have been known Seers, but even the most elementary of spells would have seemed incredible to a Muggle."

"I think I had heard that story," she was smiling in earnest now. "Many have thought that he was an unsuccessful suitor to the queen, and a jinx by his hand the reason she never married?"

It was the wrong thing to say. His face grew immediately serious once more. "That has never been confirmed— neither that he was a suitor, nor that a subsequent curse was cast. More than likely she was merely an intolerable Muggle and he eventually ceased performing for her once he was past novelties of youth. As for why she never wed, there is a multitude of explanations that do not involve magic. If you intend to become a part of this family, you would do best not to slander it."

"I didn't mean that," she insisted quickly, her smile sliding away at once. "It's just an old story, I wasn't slandering anyone—"

"Oh, and do you appreciate hearing the story of, say, Phineas Black recited to you? The brilliant duelist who, if I recall correctly, risked the exposure of our kind in order to save countless Muggle lives during their Great War?"

"He was disowned for his actions," replied Narcissa hotly, any hint of apology gone.

"Yes, disowned," Lucius mused, before adding viciously, "Just like your sister Andromeda."

Her eyes widened and she flew to her feet. He rose as well, expression burning with victory. "How dare you—"

"Narcissa, dear, there you two are!" The door to the study opened and Cygnus Black entered, followed by his wife and Mrs. Malfoy. "And having tea, how lovely." Lucius's glass of scotch had conveniently vanished.

"I hope you two have been getting on well," Druella added, though she was appraising her daughter's balled fists and tense pose with disapproval. "But it's almost time for supper. Narcissa, please come upstairs with me, you need to dress."

"Yes Mother," she managed, still glaring at her fiancé. "I'm so glad we were able to spend this time together, Mr. Malfoy. It would have been such a shame to enter matrimony not knowing the character of my new husband."

He bowed his head in mock gentility. "Miss Black, the pleasure was all mine."

"I never said anything about pleasure," she hissed under her breath as he bent to kiss her hand. Once straightened, Lucius did not release release her; instead, he pulled her forward so her could lean in a whisper without their parents overhearing:

"That's why I said it was all mine, darling," he purred, his lips brushing against her ear. "Get used to it."

Saturday, 21 February 1976

When Lucius had arrived in response to his calling, the house was already silent and dark, the front door hanging ajar. He swore under his breath and entered cautiously, wand drawn.

"Homenum revelio," he whispered, revealing that the only human presence was in the back of the house, down a narrow corridor and to the right. He moved forward silently, towards the crackling and popping of burning wood, and glow coming from the parlour. He held his wand at the ready, shoulders squared and chin lofted, body turned to offer his opponent the smallest possible target— he had been practicing dueling since before he'd had a wand, and his form was immaculate by nature. However when he turned into the room at last, he faltered.

"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?" Lucius hissed incredulously. He was hardly a stranger to violence and chaos, but the scene before him was a bizarre one. Rodolphus sat in an armchair before a blazing fire, dressed opulently in midnight blue velvet robes embellished with gold braid and brass buttons, smoking cigar held lazily between two fingers. Beside him on a cocktail table rested the box whence it came, and a decanter of rich golden liquid. Next to that, the severed head of a Muggle man in a pool of gore. His body lay on the opposite end of the room, and the corpses of what could only be his family was strewn, mutilated and in pieces, around the den. Lucius never objected to a bit of Muggle baiting for sport, but at the end of the day liked to finish things neatly. Rodolphus, on the other hand, preferred to kill and torture Muggles in ways they could better comprehend, with knives and his own two hands rather than the Cruciatus Curse— that spell he generally saved for fellow wizards. Based on the state of disheveled, partial-undress that the Muggle's wife was in, Rodolphus had used more than a knife on her. Lucius averted his eyes distastefully, hoping he had at least had the decency to kill the children first. Probably not.

"Cubans," Rodolphus offered by way of explanation, gesturing with the cigar. "Want one?"

"Have you gone mad? Cast the Mark and let's get out of here."

"Now now, I was pulled away from a perfectly lovely evening at the symphony for this. I should at least be allowed to enjoy myself here a bit longer. They won't let me reseat until intermission, you know," he finished with mock earnestness.

Lucius rolled his eyes, and turned towards the door. "I'm leaving."

"Ah, not so fast." Something awry in his friend's tone caused him to pause. "We're not quite finished here."

"Oh?" Lucius snapped impatiently. "If you don't want to cast the Mark—" he began to raise his wand but Rodolphus was shaking his head and chuckling.

"That's not what I meant. I saved one for you."

"Saved…?" Lucius began, but his eyes were already following Rodophus's gaze to the corner of the room. There, for the first time, he noticed a child of no more than five years, standing as if a statue; only his wide, darting eyes moved at all. "Had to Petrify him, did you? Couldn't subdue him on your own?" Well, so much for hoping he'd taken care of the children first. The boy was frozen but otherwise physically unscathed. His cheeks were wet; his tears had cut pale streaks though the blood of his parents and siblings that Rodolphus had smeared over his face.

"You were late, and I didn't think I should get to have all the fun."

Lucius rolled his eyes again and with a slash of his wand and flash of green light, the boy collapsed into a motionless heap. Rodolphus took a long pull directly from the decanter.

"You're a bore," he accused. "And what were you so late for, anyway?"

"I was… in the middle of something."

"Narcissa?" he guessed leeringly. Lucius rolled his eyes.

"Are we done here now?"

"I am," Rodolphus sprang to his feet and tossed his cigar on the carpet, where it began to smolder menacingly. "You aren't. Cast the Mark and then Apparate to Knockturn Alley. He wants to talk to you."

Lucius nodded tersely. Rodolphus grinned and, with an earsplitting crack, disappeared.

Openly repulsed and secretly apprehensive, Lucius took a moment to compose himself before raising his wand. "Morsmordre," he murmured and vanished as well, albeit without a sound.