Losing focus was probably the worst thing I could have done up against an opponent like Narcissa Black. I call her an opponent because I see her now from the prospective of a retired player, and on my finest day I will not deny that Narcissa was once my greatest adversary. I was used to young women fawning over me and had been accustomed to such treatment from the time I was about twelve years of age. My mother would have tea with a group of witches each week who made constant comment on how cunning and attractive I was. So from an early age I knew there was no sense denying that I am a handsome man and that whatever gods designed me were most generous and accommodating--I've always praised them for it. Yes, yes, my ego; I've heard tell it will be my downfall in the end, but what harm exists in recognizing your own self-worth?
I knew at a very young age that being beautiful would help me out in places money and my family name could not. Why, I still recall the first time I realized that not everyone was aware of the Malfoy name and power; from that day forward it became my mission not only as my father's son, but as heir to the Malfoy name and history to establish world wide recognition and renown for it. When the name Malfoy was heard in New Orleans it would evoke the same reaction as when muttered in Istanbul, Paris, London, or Los Angeles, but even more importantly than just the last name would be the reaction to the full name: Lucius Malfoy.
Self possession and awareness, another of those subtle arts we as wizards seem to have forgotten, but before I forget myself, I was talking about the way young women used to fawn over me. My mother had sparked self-interest in me by glorifying me as a small child. What beautiful hair I had, what stunning eyes and porcelain complexion; why in all the world there existed no babe more beautiful than I was in her eyes. On my pedestal, I was not just some petty prince, I was king, and with nothing more than a clever smile and the batting of my skillful lashes the Malfoy kingdom was mine all mine.
In my first year at Hogwarts, age eleven, mind you, I had not one, not two, but three girls in my house, all older than myself, who vied to do my schoolwork for me. I barely remember their names anymore, or even what they looked like, but they were my first taste of casual virility. Simply because I was attractive and rich they begged to do my bidding, and who was I to deny their desire to serve me. Over the years I had become quite accustomed to this sort of behavior and had girls in every house of that school rivaling one another to spark my interest and attention. Outside of school this power waxed to a might I admit almost sheepishly I worried I could not contain, but my experience proved my benefactor, and I managed to set up a remarkable lifestyle in which I barely needed to lift a finger to acquire anything for myself.
What I did take into mind when I began courting Narcissa Black was that she had come from a family much like my own in which all three heiresses must compete for status against one another in the eyes of their father. Such competitions would boost his opinion of them, and therefore influence all decisions he made on their behalf. Cunning was necessary to survive in the Black household if you wanted recognition. In marrying a muggle, the oldest of the Black daughters had fallen out of competition leaving Narcissa and Bellatrix to fight it out amongst themselves; however to the best of my knowledge very little fighting ever occurred between the two of them. They were a team, which I first discovered on the night of my date with Narcissa.
She was more than forty minutes late and my practiced patience was curling at the edges with every new minute that ticked by. I rose when I saw her enter and begin stalking toward my table like a panther, her dark hair carefully attended to so that it piled almost casually atop her head in a loose bun while dripping tendrils framed her long face. Unbelievable, I remarked to myself. What game, what nerve, what the hell was going on? "Ah, Bellatrix," I extended a hand to her pleasantly, but beneath her heavy lids, pale-blue eyes sized me up, onto my false congeniality before it ever left my lips. Nevertheless she conceded her hand to me in social pleasantry, and I raised to my lips like a proper gentleman. "To what do I owe this unexpected meeting with you? Surely you have not come in place of your sister."
Her sly smile was a little cockeyed, unnaturally so, as though she had practiced for years to make it crooked, "I am only a messenger," she said, pulling out the chair across from me, before taking a self-invited seat. "Narcissa sent me ahead to extend her apologies. She is running late."
I nearly choked on my own astonishment before I managed the word, "Late?"
"Aye," she tapped a long, antique filter on the tabletop before opening a matching cigarette case and lighting a cigarette. She appeared both elegant and immature, if such a combination is even possible; but I remember thinking her somewhat ridiculously attractive, this sixteen year old girl playing at being a woman. I remembered what Rodolphus said about her; she was a sure thing, but I had had enough sure things my whole life through to last, and frankly I was tired of the ease with which I found my needs met. "She had a terrible problem with her gown," she explained casually, blowing the smoke from her cigarette into the air over her right shoulder. She was somewhat tomboyish, I thought, a coupling between femininity and masculine power so few women ever manage to achieve without detracting from their outward beauty.
"A problem with her gown?"
"Yes," she repeated, "A problem with her gown. Is there an echo in here, Malfoy? Bloody hell already."
"Does she not realize it has been nearly an hour that she's kept me here waiting?"
"Of course she does," she smiled venomously. "That is why she sent me, to offer you her deepest apologies and ask that you wait. If you will wait for her, I am to return your answer to her at once."
Wait? What nerve indeed! "And if I will not?"
"If you will not, she has asked that I thank you generously for your interest in her, but she cannot rescind your affections or attention at this time."
"Will the gentleman be ordering now?" The waiter sidled up to the table.
"Not yet," I held up a steady hand.
"I'll have a dry martini," Bellatrix cooed, winking casually at the waiter.
Rodolphus wasn't kidding in the least; she was a little tart. "And for you? Another drink, Master Malfoy?"
"No," I could feel my jaw tightening, the tension spreading quickly into my neck and shoulders. "I'm fine at present, thank you."
He hurried away from the table and looked across the table at Bellatrix, "Fine, I will wait for her." What had possessed me to accept such ludicrous terms was beyond me. Already I had come into this date with her wary, and even as I conceded to wait I felt like some kind of fool. Curse me and my infernal need to justify my right to conquest. "Well?" I stared across the table indignantly. "Shouldn't you go on and tell her I will wait."
"Oh, you've plenty of time," she shrugged. "Time enough for me to have my drink."
The waiter returned and set the drink in front of her, asking once again if I didn't want another drink, after he was gone, I looked over at her and wondered if in her uncouth attempt to play the civilized lady she hadn't forgotten one thing-manners. "Have your drink then and be on your way."
She was grinning again, "Not so fast, Malfoy." She swirled the olive around inside the glass casually. "Before I go, there are a few things I need to know."
"Hm," I squinted, the tension following course down into the muscles of my arms. I wasn't sure how much longer I could sit in her presence before I lost my own manners. "What is there that you could possible need to know about me?"
"Why Narcissa?" she asked.
"I beg you pardon?"
"You heard me," she puffed casually on her cigarette waiting for an answer and when I didn't provide one she asked again, "Why did you ask Narcissa out, and not me?"
My upper lip twitched, the sinister tingling of a vengeful grin, "Now, Bella," I began somewhat condescendingly, "you're a little young for me, don't you think? Why, in some societies I could go to prison for simply speaking with you without your father's permission." I watched her carefully guarded expression with hopeful eyes. It served her right for thinking of herself, thinking herself worthy of me after she had been so crass with me in my own home on Christmas Eve.
Unfortunately, she gave nothing more than a wild-eyed tilt of her head before she replied in her casual drawl, "Shame, shame, dear Lucius. I would have made your head spin."
"Oh, I've no doubt about that, Bella," I said. "No doubt at all."
With the same alacrity she seemed to possess in all matters, she slammed the contents of her drink and pushed away from the table, drawing a careless hand across her mouth. Those eyes were definitely wild, I noticed, and for a moment, I actually wondered how she would make me regret denying her and making her feel like a child. Her eyes seemed to say, No one messes with Bellatrix Black and walks away unscathed, while her smile assured me no harm no foul.
"I'll give my sister your message," she said, and then she left me once again, wondering just how long of a wait I had agreed to and if Narcissa Black was even worth it.