[summary] — Lucius/Narcissa [Tutor!AU] Narcissa looked around the ostentatious room with dread; she came from money, but this was ridiculous.
A/N — Written for Houses [g] short with the prompt Lucius/Narcissa. Lucius is also younger than Narcissa here (she's already graduated at the time of this story), but Lucius' age is the only one altered.
And a massive thank you to Raven and Beks for taking the time to beta this :D
[2500]
week one
Narcissa looked around the ostentatious room with dread; she came from money, but this was ridiculous. There was silver and crystal everywhere, the room — which should have felt pleasant, with the amount on natural lighting that filtered in through the large front windows — felt cold.
One of the two house-elves stood watching her, the other having presumably gone to retrieve its mistress. She tried giving it a smile, a vague upturn of her lips that felt more like a grimace, but the thing just glared at her, standing straighter, and watched her every move even more intently. She was almost relieved when the second creature finally returned, and they led her off to a little side room — almost, for now she was faced with the lady of the house.
This woman matched the interior perfectly. She was beautiful — there was no doubt about that — but she held herself with such a cold detachment that it was almost impossible to believe that she had raised a child. Though, she supposed, any child growing up in this lavish, unwelcoming house must be just that — lavish and unwelcoming.
The boy was led in through a different door at the other side of the little room by a third house-elf, this one much smaller than the other two — possibly younger; it looked as though it might actually belong to the boy, which was a concept that baffled her. What would a child need with their own house-elf?
He spoke with the same polite detachment as his mother — she was not really listening to his words, but years of practice found her almost unconsciously responding to his words with polite small talk of her own. He didn't seem too bad, she supposed. No worse than she had been at that age, at least.
"Well, that's all. You had best begin. We're paying you by the hour, after all," the woman said with a patronising little smile, and watched as the house-elves ushered them from the room and through the door the boy had entered. This room appeared to be a small study; a large desk was against the far wall, in front of the large window, and bookshelves took up both the adjoining walls. The boy immediately pulled out the large, comfortable chair at the desk, claiming it for himself. That left her with the rickety little stool that had obviously been hastily placed there for this session.
He watched her slowly take her own seat, his grey eyes narrowed in a smirk his mouth was barely showing.
"You don't remember my name, do you?" he asked blandly, chuckling slightly at the expression she must have been pulling. She'd memorised his name — of course she had — but she'd forgotten it as soon as she'd seen the mansion he lived in.
"Of course I know your name, Mister Malfoy," she said, raising her chin, her mouth pursed in annoyance.
"You know my family name, but do you know my name?" he said, still in that infuriatingly bland tone, not even bothering to look at her.
This was going to be a long summer, she thought with a barely audible sigh, setting her handbag onto her lap and searching through the contents. She'd magically expanded the inside herself — there were shops you could go to where all the bags came pre-expanded, but she'd never cared for their style or trusted their abilities — so she'd managed to fit all the textbooks they could possibly need into the small bag.
"History of Magic," she said, pulling out a new copy of Hogwarts: A History and setting it onto the desk. "I assume you've already read that one," she added. She could see the boy scowl and roll his eyes out of the corner of her eye; she imagined his own copy hadn't even been opened, which is why it was the first book she'd bought for him when his mother had given her the funds for any materials they'd need.
"I know the history of Hogwarts," he muttered sullenly.
"Oh, that's good," she said, pulling a second, much larger text book out of her bag, "because we're looking at the history of the spells that make up Hogwarts." She hid a smirk at his stifled groan.
.oOo.
week two
One of the house-elves led her straight to the study off the side-room — she'd learnt that the side-room was the boy's greeting room, and the study belonged solely to him — and she was left alone to wait for him.
Eyeing the stool warily, Narcissa checked the large clock on the wall opposite the desk. She was exactly on time, though she had the feeling the boy was running a little late.
She pulled out her wand and, with a slight flick of her wrist and a muttered incantation, she transfigured the stool into a plush armchair. She was gracious enough to ensure that it matched the interior of the room — the crushed velvet a Slytherin green, and the wooden accents on the arms and feet made of dark mahogany.
It was larger than the boy's chair, and certainly more comfortable. She sat down, a smug upturn to the corners of her lips, and waited.
It didn't take him long to appear.
He froze in the doorway, eyes narrowed, and asked: "What is this?"
"Well," Narcissa said, tucking one foot behind the opposite ankle and leaning forward slightly, hands clasped delicately in her lap. "your last lesson didn't seem to go overly well." She ignored his huffed complaint. "Since I'm going to be here the entire summer, I thought I might as well be comfortable."
He stifled an irritated sigh and sat heavily in the chair next to her; she was taller than him now, she thought with petty smugness.
"Where are your books?" she asked. He sighed and pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk; Narcissa frowned at that — had he not been practicing? She asked him as much.
"I don't know what this means," he said, turning to a page near the beginning of the first chapter and gesturing vaguely.
"And you've been stuck on this all week?" she asked, irritation clear in her voice. He nodded. "Why didn't you owl me?"
He shrugged and said: "You're paid to come to my house. Why would I need to owl you?" Narcissa took a deep breath, trying to calm the anger and irritation building in her chest. She could feel a vein pulsing on her forehead.
"Next time," she said through gritted teeth, "you will owl me if you have any problems." She could practically see the barely suppressed eye roll, even if he didn't actually follow through with the action. "Now," she said, her tone a little calmer now, "I suppose we'd better go over last week's lesson again."
This time, he did roll his eyes.
.oOo.
week three
"Well, you're certainly doing a lot better," Narcissa said, though she couldn't keep the slight doubt from her tone. He scowled down at the book, a slight reddish hue colouring his cheeks.
"When do we get onto the real stuff?" he said. "This is just reading. It's boring." A moment later, he added, most likely in an effort to sound less like a whining child: "There's only so much you can learn from books."
"Yes," she said, nodding decisively, "you are absolutely right. And of course you will learn the associated spells..." She paused, watching the spark of excitement begin to form in his eyes. "At Hogwarts, where you can be monitored properly and pose the least amount of risk to yourself and those around you," she finished smugly. She'd found out a few years ago that the Trace didn't work properly in areas already heavily populated with magic, but she felt no need to tell him that. "On to chapter two then?" she asked with patronising cheer.
He opened the textbook with considerably more force than necessary, the cover slamming onto the desk with a bang. Narcissa smiled demurely at that, which only seemed to irritate him further.
.oOo.
week four
Mere hours before she was supposed to be at the Malfoy residence for their weekly tutoring sessions, Narcissa received an owl from the lady of the house.
Dearest Narcissa,
She cringed at the addressal.
Lucius —
'Ah, yes,' she thought, 'that was the boy's name.'
Lucius will be unable to attend this week's lesson, or that of the following week, due to a family holiday in the south of France. Lessons will resume as normal on the third week.
Sincerely,
Lord and Lady Malfoy.
Narcissa crumpled up the letter in annoyance and threw it into the far corner of her room.
.oOo.
week five
Narcissa felt dread fill her at the sight of the Malfoy family owl tapping on her bedroom window. Slowly, she opened the latch, praying that it wasn't another last-minute change of plans — she was under no illusions that the Malfoys hadn't known well in advance about their holiday.
The owl hopped through the narrow opening she allowed it and extended a leg with a scrap of parchment tied to it with string. Narcissa frowned; it didn't look like anything the Malfoys would stoop to sending.
Narcissa,
She read in a surprisingly messy scrawl.
Finished the second chapter. Now what?
Lucius
Narcissa sighed, grabbing a quill off her desk, and turned the parchment over to write on the back:
L,
Chapter 3
N
.oOo.
week six
Lucius was waiting for her when she arrived. She checked the wall clock as subtly as she could, but she was exactly on time. The textbook was already out on the desk, opened to a page about a quarter of the way through.
"I don't understand this," he said, indicating an underlined section. Narcissa cringed — she'd always hated it when people wrote in books — but leant closer, nonetheless.
"This is chapter ten," she said, staring blankly at the top of the page.
"Yeah." Lucius shrugged, a clear attempt at a brush-off, though she could see the slight pride on his face. "We go to the same place every summer; it gets a little boring. It's mostly just to see the family we have over there."
"Well," she said, "it's impressive how much progress you've made in a week."
His cheeks darkened and he looked away, though he couldn't hide the smile stretched across his face. "Thanks," he muttered, then shrugged again. "I'm still stuck, though."
"That," she said, opening her bag and beginning to search through its contents, "is because you need this —" she pulled a heavy tome from within its depths, setting the old book on the desk in front of him "— for the proper translations."
Lucius groaned, all traces of pride at his accomplishments vanishing from his face.
.oOo.
week seven
"Do you remember me from school?" Lucius asked abruptly, startling Narcissa. She had thought he was concentrating on his work, but she supposed at this point she should have known better.
She sighed, closing her own book — a well-read copy of The Lord of the Rings; not many people knew that Tolkien had been a wizard — and set it to the side. She shouldn't have been reading her book during their lesson, but he had proven better at retaining knowledge when she left him to it, only stepping in to supply suggestions or answers whenever he reached something he couldn't figure out for himself.
"Should I?" she asked slowly.
He looked a little disappointed, but said: "You were a Prefect in my first year. Showed us to the common room." He paused for a moment, giving her enough time to start to think he was expecting a reply — did he think that was enough information to go on? — before he said: "I didn't see you much, anyway. I was very well-behaved."
Somehow, she doubted that.
.oOo.
week eight
"This is the last week," he said by way of greeting.
She took her time getting seated, arranging her skirt with unnecessary attention to detail, before she said: "I know."
"So shouldn't we be finishing the book?"
"No," she said, staring at him in confusion. "How much do you think you'd feasibly be able to retain?" He shrugged, so she continued: "We only needed to complete the first section of the book," she said. "Five chapters would have been enough. Your mother only wanted you to surpass those in your own year, not reach NEWT level."
"Is this stuff taught at NEWTs?" he asked.
"Some of it."
He seemed to take a moment to think. "Will —" he paused, looking nervous; there was a slight flush to his cheeks, though she wasn't sure what he had to be embarrassed about. "So, I suppose this is the last time I'll see you?"
Narcissa frowned; she hadn't got the impression he'd particularly enjoyed their sessions. "It doesn't have to be," she said, though realistically she knew they would likely only meet at formal events. Even then, it was very unlikely they'd actually speak to one-another.
He must have known this, but he nodded anyway, expression a little wistful, and turned back to the book.
.oOo.
five years later
The affair was quite dull, when compared to some of the extravagant events she'd been to recently. She had expected better from her eldest sister's wedding, but she supposed Bellatrix had always opted to steer away from the norm.
The colours were somewhat muted — not quite dark shades, but definitely not the bright and cheerful colours expected of a summer wedding — and the decorations kept to a minimum. Bellatrix, however, was nothing short of radiating. All eyes were on her — which, Narcissa supposed, had probably been the intention — as she practically glided about the room in her off-white gown, her dark curls cascading about her shoulders. Narcissa found herself glad that her sister had ignored her advice, opting to keep her hair down and forgo a veil.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder, fingers cool against her bare skin, and she turned to face possibly the most beautiful man she had ever met, though there was something about his face … he wasn't quite familiar, but perhaps she knew a relative? "May I have this dance?" he asked, a smug tilt to the corners of his mouth.
She smiled demurely and simply nodded, placing her hand delicately in his. He was perhaps five years younger than she was, though she supposed there was no reason he needed to know that.
He pulled her closer to him than was strictly appropriate, and whispered into her ear: "You don't remember my name, do you?" The smirk was clearly audible in his voice, though his face was too close for her to see his expression.
A sudden flash of recognition hit her, and she found herself smirking in turn. "Of course I know your name, Mister Malfoy."