Word Count: 494
Sunlight filters in through the window, the sudden warm glow waking Narcissa from her sleep. A tired smile tugs at her lips as she rolls onto her side, but the sleep-heavy joy does not last long. This is not her bed. The mint-green satin blankets and pillowcases are familiar, but this is not the bedroom decor that Lucius picked out.
The smell of coffee fills the air as the door opens. Pansy walks in, burdened by a silver tray like a house-elf. If she minds acting like a servant in her own home, she doesn't show it. She is all smiles as she sets the tray on the bed.
"Good morning." Pansy frowns, setting the coffee mug on the bedside table. "No need to look so crestfallen."
"I stayed the night," Narcissa says, and she's amazed that her voice doesn't betray her panic. "I'm not supposed to do that."
Lucius knows that she disappears some nights. He never really questions, probably because she always returns to his side before the sun rises. Maybe there isn't much honor left to the Malfoy name in the decade that has passed since the war, but that is supposed to be one thing that is tried and true. Naricssa is supposed to be a good wife, always dutifully by Lucius' side. She mustn't give anyone reasons to whisper.
"Maybe you should," Pansy says, gesturing to the plate that rests on the tray. "Who else is going to spoil you like this?"
"I eat at home."
"Meals that you choose," her lover points out. "Because you're a woman, and you aren't supposed to think of anything more challenging than the type of sandwiches to have for tea."
Narcissa opens her mouth to scold her, to remind her that there is an order to things. Still, Pansy's words hit her in a way that makes her squirm uncomfortably. Narcissa reaches for the coffee, breathing in the rich aroma. She takes a sip.
Cinnamon, milk, and just a hint of sugar. Exactly how Narcissa has always enjoyed her coffee. She never realized that Pansy paid attention to her preferences; Lucius certainly hasn't.
"I want you," Pansy says, sitting next to her in bed and grabbing her plate. "I want this."
When she was younger, Narcissa would have killed for this. Had she hoped for a love like this from Lucius? She can't remember ever thinking he could be capable of anything so gentle.
It is all so tempting, and she feels butterflies erupt within her stomach. She is suddenly a giddy schoolgirl, so in love, so sure that maybe this could be real, that this could be the forever love she has always yearned for.
"Baby steps," Narcissa says.
Pansy lifts her own cup of coffee, grinning. "Baby steps," she echoes.
It all still feels so wrong, but Narcissa doesn't care. She has spent years being the faithful wife, always putting Lucius first. Why shouldn't she find her own happiness now?