So much love to raven-maiden and Saint Dionysus for beta'ing these lovesick fools.


It was a fine autumn morning, the sun dappling the courtyard in yellows and oranges. A warm breeze fluttered skirts and twisted curls, carrying a soft feminine scent toward the boys in the archways. It was a perfect day for sitting in the courtyard with a good book or a good friend.

Lucius had both. And he wanted to burn it all down.

From his spot on a window ledge in the archways, he could see clearly across the courtyard to where Charles Boot was hanging off a tree branch like some uncultured beast, his shirt coming untucked as he preened and boasted to Narcissa Black. She smiled demurely up at him and slipped her long hair over her ear, her fingertips dancing down her blushing neck.

She fancied him.

And Lucius could watch nothing else.

"You must check your sister, Andromeda. She'll make a fool of your entire family."

Andromeda looked up from her Transfiguration homework. Her eyes passed through the courtyard and landed on Narcissa just as she let out a laugh that twinkled like music through the October air.

"How so?".

"Flirting so openly with Boot. Practically throwing herself at him." Lucius licked his finger and turned a page that he had no intention of reading.

"Hmm. Rosier and Burke are far more conspicuous if you ask me—"

"Flirting is one thing. Charles Boot is another."

He kept his eyes on his book as Andromeda turned to face him.

"And what's wrong with Charles?"

"He's a shit Keeper."

"Didn't he beat you last week?"

Lucius's eyes snapped to her. "In case it escaped your notice, we scored 140 points on him before the Ravenclaw Seeker caught the Snitch!"

"Alright." Andromeda placed her quill in her book as a placeholder and closed it with a faint smirk. "So she shouldn't fraternize with poor Quidditch players. What other offenses would you like to bring against him?"

"He's far too old for her," said Lucius. He turned another page.

"He's sixteen. Same as you."

His head whipped to her.

"She's fourteen—"

"Fifteen next week."

"It's inappropriate." His tone was harsh.

Andromeda raised a brow, like he was as transparent as a pane of glass.

Lucius wanted to sneer at her — unleash some of the anger boiling through him. But their friendship was too fragile for it.

He'd missed her in the past two years. With Bellatrix graduated, Andromeda was finally more comfortable spending time with him again, less smothered by her sister's presence.

He channeled the tension into his jaw.

"And what else about Charles Boot?"

Lucius looked out to the tree again, just in time to see Boot pluck a pink flower from a low hanging branch. His blood simmered as he watched Boot turn, stepping into Narcissa with a smile. And then he dared to touch her, his rough fingers holding her jaw as he slipped the flower behind her ear. She smiled up at him like he'd given her a diamond instead of a wilted flower.

"He's a half-blood." He felt himself spit the words.

Andromeda snorted, loud and unladylike.

"The Boot family is one of the most prominent wizarding families in the States—"

"Hang the States." Lucius snapped his book closed. "This is here. He is not a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. The Black sisters must preserve the familial bloodline. If Narcissa lets herself be courted by the son of a Muggle-born, she'll diminish the worth of her entire family."

His eyes were drawn across the courtyard again to watch Narcissa reach up to adjust Boot's collar, a small smile at the corner of her lips. His chest tightened with fury.

"I see."

The voice was small beside him. Lucius turned to find Andromeda chewing on the inside of her cheek, a faraway look on her face. Suddenly she stuffed her book back into her bag.

"No, I suppose you're right, Lucius. It—it wouldn't look good. For a Black sister…"

"Are you off to speak to her?" he said, brightening.

"I have to—I have to meet my Potions partner." She snatched up her things, avoiding his gaze.

He put away his books and stood to help her. "When will you speak to her?"

"I don't know if it's my place—"

"It is," he insisted. "As her sister—"

"And if she loves him?" Andromeda's eyes flicked to his. There was something burning and desperate in them. "Is she to be disowned? Shunned? Never to be spoken of again?"

Lucius frowned, trying to trace back where this had stemmed from. He took her shoulders gently.

"Of course not. Don't worry about that. He's not a Mudblood—"

Andromeda winced, jerking from his grip. Her eyes fell to the stones as Lucius gaped at her. "I have to go."

Lucius nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll walk you—"

"Don't bother," she said, stepping around him. "I've kept Ted waiting long enough."

She moved swiftly down the walkway and into the castle. Lucius stared after her until a melodic laugh bounced down the arches, catching his ears. He spun back to the courtyard to find Boot pressing his lips to Narcissa's knuckles. He held her fingers until the last moment as he stepped away, reluctantly leaving her under the blossoms.

Lucius's breath felt shallow as he watched Narcissa gather her things, hiding a blush. Her fingers carefully adjusted the pink flower in her hair, and he saw red. He snatched up his book bag and took off in her direction just as she entered the castle.

Her blonde hair had just swished around the stairwell as he strode into the Entrance Hall. He flew down the steps to the dungeons, finally catching up with her leisurely pace at the statue of Horace the Horned.

She didn't even glance at him as he stepped in pace with her.

"Boot is a half-blood."

Silence, as if he didn't exist.

"He's a sixth year—"

"Have you hunted me down to recite facts, Lucius?"

His arm shot out to the stone wall just in front of her, halting her steps. He watched her eyes ice over as she turned her chin up to him. His heart was pounding from the chase, and his skin buzzed with her closeness — less than a foot between them.

"It's inappropriate," he hissed. "As a Black sister, you—"

"What's 'inappropriate,' Lucius, is how close my brother is standing to me."

His lips twitched. He felt drunk with her acknowledgment of—it.

It had been four months since the Conservatory. She'd refused to meet his eye in the corridors, ignored him in the Common Room, avoided his path on the stairs. He'd come to think he'd imagined the flush to her cheeks that day, the soft parting of her pink lips.

But now they were back again.

"Is it?" He squared himself, placing his other hand on the wall near her shoulder, and she breathed in slowly. "I only thought I'd keep an eye on my soon-to-be sister. Ensure she was making the right choices."

"How thoughtful of you. Rest assured, I know my place."

"Then how do you account for the drool on your knuckles or the way you've unbuttoned your blouse?"

"Is this about Quidditch?" There was a condescending glimmer in her eyes. "I thought it was such a shame last week when he blocked your final shot—"

He stepped into her, stretching up to his full height and staring down his nose at her. Before he could snarl at her, his eyes caught on her cheeks, blooming pink. The slight flutter to her lashes.

He searched her face, his anger dissipating to something hypnotic and warm. Her gaze landed on his mouth, and he watched her pupils blossom.

Her body had betrayed her. She'd tried so hard to keep it at bay, but she wanted him just as desperately.

He towered over her, the undone buttons he'd despised only seconds ago now giving him a stunning view. Her chest heaved under his attention, like she'd just run miles.

When he lifted his palm from the wall, her breath caught, her eyes shining up at him. His fingertips landed on the curve of her jaw, and her tongue swept over her bottom lip. His head inclined downward.

He could taste her air.

"We can't," she breathed.

His eyes opened. Hers were round and frightened.

"Cissa—"

"We can't." She pushed him back and ducked under his arm.

"Wait!"

He reached for her, but she was too quick, hurrying down the corridor until she broke into a run. His stomach was heavy with want, his veins thrumming with arousal.

She'd almost allowed it. She'd wet her lips, closed her eyes, and waited for him. Only a heartbeat of hesitation had stopped them.

Maybe next time it wouldn't.

Lucius ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. As he straightened his tie, he saw the flower that had been in her hair on the stone floor. Its petals bloomed, ripe and open.

He picked it up, running his fingertips over it — the same pink as her lips and cheeks.

Pocketing it, he turned and walked back to the courtyard.


Lucius moved briskly toward the drawing room, shaking the morning drowsiness off and smoothing his robes. The doors opened for him, and he stepped through.

"Druella. Pardon the delay. I didn't realize you were stopping by."

Druella Black rose from her chair, wearing the gentle smile she'd always worn for him. Her sleek grey-blonde hair was twisted into a low chignon, her daffodil robes vibrant in the light streaming through the windows. He reached for her hand and brought her knuckles to his lips.

"Good morning, Lucius. I know I should have written."

"Not at all." He gestured for her to sit, following suit when she was settled. "I'm afraid Narcissa is in Milan, taking a small break from our houseguests."

"Ah," said Druella.

After a stilted silence, Lucius reached for the teacup that had appeared at his elbow. "Draco, as you know, is back at Hogwarts, but—"

"I saw him last month," she said. "He came by for tea."

Lucius blinked. Draco hadn't mentioned it. "Yes, right. How lovely."

"I came to speak with you, Lucius." Her gaze flicked at the door. "And I wanted to come early so we wouldn't be overheard."

Lucius tilted his head at his mother-in-law. She was a soft, but solemn woman, and by all appearances, an obedient wife. But there were those occasions when a burning intensity behind her eyes kept him on guard.

"Of course. What is it you want to discuss?"

"Andromeda."

She abruptly leaned forward in her chair, and Lucius was quick to block all pathways to his mind.

"I've never shared this with anyone, but she did tell me." Her eyes bored into him. "Over the Easter holidays, her seventh year."

Lucius stared at her. He felt his brows twitch.

"She said she'd fallen in love with a Muggle-born, and she needed my help to speak to Cygnus." Druella broke his gaze to stare out the window behind him, her eyes glazing over. "I told her it wasn't possible — that she would have to say goodbye to him before graduation. And a month later, they found her bed empty at Hogwarts and her trunks gone."

His heart thundered in his chest. It had been years since he'd heard anyone utter Andromeda's name. Perhaps she was in danger. He knew her husband was on the run, but surely Druella couldn't be asking for something so foolish—

"Calm your mind, Lucius," she whispered.

Lucius startled, quickly yanking up his walls. He pressed his lips together, bristling at the knowledge that she'd slithered in. She always slithered in.

Druella lifted her cup and saucer elegantly, and continued.

"You were very kind to our family back then, unlike most company we kept. I will always be grateful that you didn't let our troubles affect your intentions for my daughter."

Lucius rapped his fingertips on the arm of his chair. "Of course."

Her blue eyes crinkled, but her smile was strained. "I wonder if you'd feel the same way now. If poor judgment in matters of the heart would be excusable to you— if you had true love for the person."

He assessed her, his mind working quickly. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Druella sat back in her chair, the corner of her lips turning downwards. "Lucius, I had three daughters one day, and the next I only had two — because my husband told me I only had two." Her voice trembled. "Andromeda was taken from me simply because she fell in love. I pray that you never have to experience that feeling."

His lips tightened as a sickness wound through his gut, coiling tight. His fingers gripped the arm of the chair.

"There's only one thing worse than having your child ripped from you." She focused her gaze on him intently. "If your son chose to run, to disappear and cut you from his life — all because he didn't trust you to understand."

He felt impaled on her blue eyes, but his walls held firm.

Tapping his thumb against his saucer, he cataloged every half-blood girl currently at Hogwarts, prodding his memory to see if Draco had mentioned one of them.

"You're wise to take this seriously," said Druella. "After all, the Malfoy heart can be quite obstinate, especially about a woman it can't have. Or shall I say— shouldn't."

She settled her cup on its saucer without a sound. Lucius waited for her to say more.

She didn't.


Soft crying echoed down the corridor, tumbling to Lucius's ears like a haunted melody.

He'd seen her dart out of the Common Room, rushing past the questioning eyes and smug smiles. And he'd followed her as soon as he could without their whispers turning to him.

Lucius turned the corner and found her on the top step of the stairs leading down to the Potions classroom, her thin body curled around her knees. Her platinum hair shivered around her elbows as she took a labored breath.

Lucius's footsteps were silent on stones as he lowered to sit next to her, his long legs stretching out over three stairs. She pushed her face into the crook of her arm, turning away from him.

He waited. He was good at waiting.

Her breath broke on an exhale, and she sobbed again. He wanted to rub her back, to clear the tears from her lashes, to kiss away her sadness.

But he waited.

"She never told you?" Her voice was wet and broken.

"Never."

He watched her back expand with each inhalation.

"She can't just"—Narcissa hiccupped—"just disappear. Final exams are next week. Surely they'll be back?"

She lifted her face to him, her eyes wet and imploring. Her nose was pink, and her cheeks shone with smeared tears.

She was fascinatingly beautiful.

Lucius curled his fingers into a fist to keep from reaching for her. "I don't imagine they'll be back, Cissa."

"But where will she go? What will she do?" She pushed her palm across her nose and sniffed, and he felt his chest pulse with adoration. "Andromeda wouldn't do something so careless."

"No," he said. "No, I suspect that an awful lot of care and planning went into this."

"What, you think she loves him?" Her eyes hardened. "She can't, Lucius. She doesn't even know him. She's never once mentioned Ted to me, and she tells me everything—"

Her voice cracked. Fresh tears sprung in her eyes, and she dropped her face into her hands. His heart clenched as she began weeping again. Gingerly, he placed his arm over her thin shoulders, and like a puzzle clicking into place, she leaned into his side, her fingers scrabbling through the front of his robes.

Everything about it felt right.

"Shh." His hand drifted over her shoulder blades, passing through her hair — finer than silk, softer than skin. "It will be alright."

Minutes passed, and her sobs finally quieted. Her fingers loosened, then tightened.

"Caroline Edgecomb says that Andromeda will have to be disowned. Purged from our family records as if she never existed." She tilted her face up to his, her eyes wide with fear. "Is that true?"

Lucius swallowed. "It may be. If your family is to recover from this… If your father wishes to find eligible matches for—for you," he said, his throat tight. "It's safer to renounce her. It will take a long time to remove this stain."

A solitary tear winded down her cheek. "Lucius, are you…" She paused, and he could feel her breath against his jaw. "Will you still marry Bella? Or are we so—so tainted now that you—"

He caught her chin with his free hand. "I could never abandon the Black sisters. They are as much a part of my soul as my own family."

His thumb passed over her jaw lightly, and with only a flicker of her gaze to his lips, she rose up to meet him.

The moment her soft mouth pressed to his, magic sparked to life in his chest. His skin hummed, his veins sang. Her lips were warm and wet, begging him to take away the pain.

He tilted her face back, and she gasped as he gave into her. His kisses were slow, but with purpose. He dragged his mouth over hers, pulling her bottom lip between his own with feather-light pressure. Her fingers slid over his collar and danced into the hair behind his ears.

She writhed, trying to push against him, to open her mouth — but he squeezed her ribs close to him and angled her where he wanted — and she moaned with it. The most divine sound ever created.

But then she was jerking back, breaking out of his arms. His eyes fluttered open to find her staring at him, terrified. Her cheeks pink, her lips full and kissed, and her blouse rumpled.

She brought her fingers to her mouth. "What have we done?" She jolted up to her feet.

He stood. "Cissa—"

"I'm so sorry, Lucius. I never meant—"

She turned and bolted. He ran after her.

"Cissa." He grabbed her arm and spun her, pressing her swiftly into the wall. Her eyes were frightened as a doe's. "Don't run from this, please. I know you feel the same—"

She pressed her hand to his shoulders and held him back from kissing her again. Her lips trembled.

"I only have one sister left, Lucius."

Her words boiled like acid down his throat, killing his remaining desire and loosening his grip on her arms.

She pulled away and sprinted back to the Slytherin Common Room.


A girl was crying on the floor of his drawing room. And his son was taking sharp breaths, trembling with every sound.

His wife was speaking softly, begging him to stay calm. Her voice shook as she whispered, "What would Severus say?"

Lucius's gaze narrowed at them as his son took a deep breath, straightened, and turned back to face the girl again. Bella hissed at her and sat back on her heels, pulling her blade.

What would Severus say, Lucius thought.

What had Draco been hiding from him with Severus's Occlumency tricks.

The girl screamed as the knife dug into her skin, and a ragged breath had him glancing over his shoulder again. He watched Draco's eye twitch, his ribs falling and expanding quickly. Then back to the girl — her dirty blood trickling down her arm, staining the rug on which Druella had stood just last month, warning him about his son.

The Malfoy heart can be quite obstinate, especially about a woman it can't have.

Lucius's head swam. He rubbed his brow.

Hours later — after the commotion, after the Dark Lord's torture, after Narcissa had sent a shaking Draco back to the relative safety of Hogwarts early — Lucius stalked up the stairs to the east wing.

There were charms on his son's bedroom door. Lucius snarled as he broke through them and stormed inside. He pointed his wand at the bed, and the mattress turned, the pillows and bedding tumbling to the floor.

Nothing there.

He tugged out the bedside drawer — only trinkets and candy wrappers.

With a wave of his wand, every book on the shelves flew to the carpets, their pages flipping wildly as the wind searched for notes tucked between covers.

A picture of Draco with Crabbe and Goyle zoomed into his hands, and Lucius pried open the frame, searching behind the photograph for anything hidden behind the backing.

Lucius's fingers itched with rage. His son. His son, hiding a girl from him.

He stormed into the bathroom, tearing drawers out of their hinges and ripping the mirror off the wall — still nothing. But he'd find it. Fools in love always left traces.

The door to the closet blew open, and the pockets of every cloak turned inside out. Sickles fell to the floor like raindrops, chewing gum wrappers fluttered down like snow. The drawers burst open, and he dug his hand into the mounds of socks, then the jumpers.

The final drawer held a shoebox and a blanket. The blanket flew up into the air, shaking loose. Nothing.

Lucius knelt and popped the shoebox—

Hermione Granger stared up at him. A clipping from the Prophet.

The air left his lungs. He collapsed on the floor, dragging the box into his lap.

His shaking fingers lifted the article to find another — her eyes wide in panic, her arms unwinding from Potter's shoulders as the camera clicked. And underneath it, another.

The clippings were pristine. Cut with care. He could almost feel how many times careful fingers had skated across them, tracing the edges.

Blood rushed in his ears. She wasn't just a Muggle-born. No, his son had to be fool enough to fall for the most famous one. The one who'd helped jeopardize the lives of their entire family.

He sat in his son's closet, staring at a dozen Hermione Grangers as they stared back at him; blinking, wide-eyed, laughing.

His gaze caught on a ribbon in the corner of the box — red and gold. And in his mind's eye, Lucius saw it falling from brown curls like a blossom from a tree.