THREE: C'est La Danse

Instinct, bare-boned
Light it up, take it home
You will be all things
You get what you bring
Leaning to fire

--Bush, "Tendency to Start Fires"

Someone said boy you're a natural voyeur
It's true that I do get a kick
From watching you dreaming
Where did my redeeming qualities go?
I just don't know
Anymore

--Lifestyle, "Voyeur"

The Snowflake Festival had been aptly named; the room was decorated white and silver, in a cooler, sleeker rendition of the Christmas decorations from a few months ago. Hat stands along the sides of the room had been Transfigured into bare trees covered in snow. Everything shone.

Rock music jangled along in the background; someone up at the Ministry must have approved use of Muggle machinery for this one occasion. Narcissa wished they could have done something about the album selection, though. She didn't care for Aerosmith—their singer looked as if someone had attacked his lips with an Engorging Charm. And he was whiny. The music itself was alright, but that voice of his. Far too shrill and petulant.

Narcissa did not hold her breath waiting for Lucius. She drew it in sharply, though, when she saw him. Lucius was nothing less than perfect, if one judged perfection on how he looked. He was poised, confident and sharp in a flawless black dinner jacket too crisp to be anything other than brand new. His shirt was a much paler version of the blue of his eyes, and the effect was both cold and stunning.

Narcissa wondered whether the feeling that danced down her spine was a chill. He smiled when he saw her, a dashing presentation of perfect white teeth, but he did not wave. That would have been blatant and vulgar, and taken people's focus from him for a second and put in on the girl he was waving at--her, in this case.

Narcissa smiled in return. She loved attention even more than he did, and had fewer qualms about causing a scene. Under all his bravado, Lucius was just a shade squeamish. She snaked her hand forward, delicately, and made a sweeping wave in his direction that had her bangles singing against each other. Heads turned.

"Lucius!" she called out, keeping the sincerity at a believable pitch as she clipped gingerly across the floor. Real walking was difficult in glass heels. "Over here, darling."

"Angel!" His face lit up as if he'd seen her for the first time. Only the hard line of his chin gave him away.

They met by the punch bowl, a massive glittery thing with ice-crystal designs swirling up the sides in delicate, feathery patterns that caught the light. It sat in a sea of white tablecloth with gleaming silver stars piled on it. They were tiny Transfigurations--changed paperclips, it looked like. The effect would probably fade to normal by morning.

She grinned at him. The corner of Lucius' mouth twitched. It was not a smile. Those even white teeth were not nearly as pretty when they were bared at her.

"You're late." He said it as if she were something from the bottom of his shoe.

"Yes," she said brightly, "they are wonderful decorations, aren't they?"

His hand tightened painfully on hers.

"Do not," he murmured, "embarrass me again. Ever."

"You," she hissed, "are hurting me."

As soon as he let go, she poured them both some punch. Best to keep his hands off her, given the mood he was in. Best to keep busy. And if she could look attentive and caring while doing it, so much the better. She wondered why she had ever thought of that sour look of his as charming and pouty.

He took his drink with a nod of thanks, finished it quickly, and fished in his coat pocket for his watch.

"Narcissa, darling!" Iris came floating up beside them, with Mina in tow.

"Iris," Narcissa murmured, glad that her smile stayed in place. "Fancy meeting you here."

Lucius watched them for a moment, eyes grey with cold. He grinned in much the same manner as Narcissa. Iris Parkinson was not his favorite person, either.

"Nice to see you," he said politely. He clasped her hand, but did not kiss it, and let go quite soon.

"Ch-charmed," stammered Iris, brilliant red. Mina giggled, equally flushed.

"What brings you both all the way across the hall?" Narcissa asked in her most innocent voice.

Iris narrowed her eyes. "The company, I suppose. It certainly isn't the music."

"This record," said Mina, valiantly trying to change the subject, "is horrible."

"Quite," Lucius agreed.

"I," Narcissa said firmly, "happen to like Jimi Hendrix. Thank you both. Kindly."

"Not something your mother would approve of, I'd imagine," Mina sniffed.

"Oh, Mina, I thought you'd know all about it." Narcissa smiled. "Given that your uncle is a Muggle."

Mina turned the color of canned beets.

"You--" stammered Iris. "Y-y-you're a mudblood?"

She practically recoiled from Mina, who bolted from the room sobbing.

Narcissa couldn't have said she felt sorry. Mina mocked her often enough. And if Mina lacked both the sense and the taste to appreciate true music, then she deserved whatever happened to her. Iris was not the best of friends for that poor girl, anyway. Even if she was all Mina had.

Perhaps Narcissa did feel just a little sorry. But nothing would change it now. Iris left shortly after Mina, either distraught for her, or embarrassed because of her. The embarrassment was far more likely.

Narcissa was beginning to feel quite sorry, indeed, though she wasn't sure why. Certainly she wouldn't admit to having seen some of herself in Mina; the adoring shadow, the enamored reflection of the statuesque dark-haired girl with blue eyes.

The thought was altogether too close for comfort.

"Darling," said Narcissa, "I simply must sit a moment; my shoes are killing me."

"As you like," replied Lucius. He frowned. "That was hardly necessary."

"I'll apologize tomorrow," she snapped.

He stiffened, looking slighted, but left her to her own devices. She found a whitewashed stool perched against the wall, and eased down to it with a delicate sigh. From here, she was able to get a good look at the dancers. They were, for the most part, a sea of couples in matching pastel finery, bouncing with varying degrees of energy to the music.

It wasn't difficult to spot Sirius—he was being dragged along by that horrible boy, James, who was wearing a screaming cherry velour leisure suit. He positively swaggered across the floor, desperate to impress a frosty-looking redhead in a dark, one-shouldered blue satin dress.

Remus Lupin stood a little way behind them, on the right. He caught her eye immediately. He usually did, blast him. There was something about him, something disheveled and awkward and sweet that kept her looking, even when she knew she shouldn't. Even when she knew it would be trouble.

His plain tuxedo was just a shade too large on him, cuffs showing white past the edge of his jacket. His tie was slightly crooked and very skinny, in that new Muggle style that was going around. He definitely had the hair for it. It suited him. Very nicely.

She decided right then and there that she would talk with him.

It was easy enough to get Lucius to come along. He believed in family obligation even more than she did, and chuckled in approval when she mentioned "being gracious" to her "misfit cousin" and his friends. It was the courteous thing to do, after all, even if they were a pack of Gryffindor roughians.

She put on her best appearances, and Sirius did an equally good job of pretending to be happy to see her. He would have made an excellent Slytherin. He went so far as to hug her, briefly, and it felt like it always had, strong and warm. She knew her own touch was light and cold. For a moment, he felt like the better person. She grit her teeth and let go. His smile was more than a little angry, but his eyes looked almost sad.

"Good evening, Narcissa," was all he said. He actually managed to shake hands with Lucius, who pretended not to notice when Sirius scrubbed his palm on his trouser leg after.

James Potter bravely extended a hand, and shook hers. The combined clatter of her bracelets and his cufflinks was the perfect opposite of her hug from Sirius. She actually snickered over it, just a bit. James grinned and wiggled an eyebrow at her in complete unrepentance.

James held out a palm to Lucius, who was completely unfamiliar with the concept of "high-five", and thus after a few tense seconds, received a slightly awkward "low-five" that was part handshake.

Narcissa fought the urge to sniff in disdain, because she found with some surprise that she actually liked the "awful Potter boy" after having met him. He could really be someone if he weren't so dead set on being a loser instead.

But it was his friend in the skinny tie with the ragged haircut that held her attention. His eyes were nearly the same color as his hair. She would have liked to get a better look at them, but he kept glancing at the floor.

"Hello, Remus."

He said nothing at all for a moment--his jaw hitched a little before he managed, "Lovely to see you, Miss Black."

"Charmed," sneered Lucius. He did not shake hands.

She blinked. She had quite forgotten he was even there, though he saw fit to forcibly make himself part of the conversation now. That suggested he knew or suspected just how much of her attention had been focused on Remus Lupin from the very beginning, and that could be bad. It could be very bad.

If she let it be. Which she would not. She was a descendant of the House of Black and Lucius would do very well to remember it, now and then. They were not married yet.

"Do call me Narcissa," she said, pulling one arm out of Lucius' death grip and extending it to Remus.

"Narcissa," he repeated. His hand was very warm cupped around hers. "Shall we--? Could we, uh…"

"I'd be delighted." With that, she slunk from Lucius' arm like a lynx uncoiling off the side of a tree. It was a smooth, feral motion and watching it, watching her, tweaked something wild in the back of Lupin's brain.

He swallowed uncomfortably and forced himself to relax, or at least to try; he was still holding onto her, and didn't want to crush her fingers.

"I'm not made of glass," she said with a smile. "Well, just my shoes."

At that moment, the rock music died, and The Carpenters began to trill about sunshine and love. Lupin would never understand why, whenever he could least deal with it, there would be a slow song. He was determined not to lose hold of her now, though. Lucius had not seemed to want to let go. Lupin shied from the thought of the red fingerprints he knew perfectly well were there on the smooth white inside of her arm.

He took Narcissa's hand and was very careful not to press too tightly with his arm as he held her. She felt slight and hot in his grip. He did not see so much as feel the way she moved, as swift and sure and easy as if she were made of water. Her gown sort of drifted along behind her and was just a shade rough to the touch, with the faint uneven quality of real silk. This close, it was her eyes that held him fast, dark and cold, the color of the frozen ocean. He must have been dancing right, because she was smiling, the corners of her mouth curling upward just a little. He wondered what she noticed about him. She seemed to be looking very intently at the tip of his nose.

"So, uh," he began, and cleared his throat. "Are you—are you having a nice time?"

It was such a stupid question. He hated it the moment it was out of his mouth. But it made her smile a little more.

"I'm wondering," she said, "about your shampoo."

"What?" He wasn't sure what sort of answer he'd expected, but it wasn't that.

"You heard me," she said, leaning into his neck. "Your shampoo." The tip of her tongue curled up against the ends of her teeth before brushing gently against his throat. "I'm assuming that's why your hair smells so good."

He stopped dead. He was too shocked to move. She caught herself well before tripping over him, standing up straight, polite and demure and not the least bit discomfited. Her laughter shimmered like everything else about her.

"We can't stop dancing now," she murmured, squeezing his hand. "The song isn't over yet."

"Right," he managed. The steps seemed a little easier now. He felt lighter. "Um," he said. "Thanks."

"You're quite welcome, Remus," she said, just a glint of mischief in her eyes.

"Your shoes," he said. "They're really made of glass?"

"Just like Lucius' patience," she said, surprised by how very bitter it sounded.

"He has to wait," said Lupin, "for his audience with the princess, like everybody else."

Narcissa snorted. "If you make any reference to the stroke of midnight, so help me, I will kill you."

Something tightened at the corners of Lupin's eyes, shifting in pain and grim fascination. "Please."

Narcissa wasn't entirely certain he was joking. She was not entirely certain she wanted to know why not. She decided, with his hand against the middle of her back, that the why of it did not matter so very much.

Nothing mattered very much at all, except that the two of them were dancing together. It only mattered that he smelled nice and did not grip too tightly, and that she could feel his heartbeat if she leaned close enough. It only mattered that they would remain together for as long as the music continued to play.

Perhaps longer. Lucius wasn't fond of dancing, and in this case it was very much his loss. Remus was—glad. Pleased with the ice-haired girl in her smoky wisp of a dress and the frank, intent look in her eyes. She was quite clever, too. He'd hoped she would be. And she didn't seem nearly as allergic to mischief as Sirius implied—in fact, she had the same wily sparkle in her eyes that he did. Maybe it was a Black family trait. He'd only met one, so he didn't really know for sure.

But he was certain he'd enjoy finding out.

"Don't worry," Lupin said, and grinned. "Midnight is a long way off."

- END -

Author's Notes: For Nyohah.

All continuity errors are mine. Continuity information was obtained at the Harry Potter Lexicon website. Mrs. Black II's name is not actually Atropina. I made that up. (Atropine is the poison found in foxglove and nightshade. I thought it was fitting.) This fic was written while listening to the Bush album Razorblade Suitcase at high volume. The tracks "Greedy Fly" and "Tendency to Start Fires" were of particular use. Here I should add that they're obviously not my lyrics, nor am I making money by using them.