A storm rolled through Wiltshire and thunder and lightning churned across the afternoon sky. Lucius watched it from a leather high back chair at the window in the parlour, with a book in his lap and a cigarillo in his hand. The ashtray floated by his side, instinctively moving to his hand when he needed to flick the ashes off the end. His focus on the book was long lost, and it had been an hour or more since he had last attempted to read any of it. The rain splashed across the front courtyard and driveway, and he listened to the pelt of rain on the roof and tried not to lull to sleep.
Everything held important to their society seemed lost on him; he wished he could disappear from it entirely and venture out somewhere, quite on his own, and never return to humanity. The older he became the more impatient and dissatisfied with the world he was. The more he saw of people, the less he wanted to interact with them and experience the seemingly constant disappointment of knowing them. The news spreading slanderous lies about him was enough to make him want to eject himself from society as a whole, but the ramifications were much worse. He grew agitated in the weeks after Scarlett Greengrass's death and began declining every social engagement that came his way.
The only one he could not dodge was the one his mother and father were hosting. It came that late autumn in November. The manor was scrubbed clean and dusted every day for a week in advance of the coming day. The house elves scrubbed and prepared for it over long, arduous hours until the day of, and then he scarcely saw them move outside of the kitchen except to run for the gardens or the orchards for ingredients.
"Lucius, I have told you many times not to smoke in the house," Mrs. Malfoy admonished, as she came into the room. "You'll ruin the art."
He took a final drag and pressed it out into the ashtray, then moved the tray to the table nearest him. His mother had no notion of being cross. In his entire life, she had always been calm and collected the very spirit of accommodating and compassionate. He thought it quite lucky to have been a relatively well-behaved child, as his father was not easily ruffled either. Neither of his parents ruled him with an iron thumb, causing small rumours over the years that Lucius was unyielding and wild, incapable of socializing or propriety. Perhaps they were right, he thought, having never been able to recall a single name of the ladies he danced with nor any conversation might he have had with them.
"Sorry," he said, notably lacking any sense of apology in his voice.
She was frightened by the quick way her son faded before her over the span of a few weeks. His hair grew longer below his shoulders and he no longer bothered securing it with a band, so it pooled around his face and down his chest like a shield to keep others from him. He lost weight, and the hollow of his cheeks and jawline was much more prominent and pointy. His pallor was quite white, as he scarcely drifted outside for exercise. The only thing he seemed to do was smoke, sit at the window, and sleep. In fact, his sleeping habits had increased so considerably there were days he did not journey from his bed at all. She thought the ball might liven his spirits, as everyone who would have usually attended accepted with the small exception of the Greengrass family, but they were in an appropriate mourning period and had reason to decline any social engagement.
The change in Lucius, she suspected, came from two weeks ago at a gathering at the Nott household. None of the women would acquiesce to add his name to their dancing card and most of them skirted him or stared at him furtively. The men of the party were not much different, so unabashedly staring at the three young men. Despite having never had a trial, all three of them seemed condemned for it. Lucius had taken the evening in stride and spoke only with his two close companions, but she suspected it affected him deeply.
"The Black family has accepted our invitation and they have returned home from London," she ventured lightly. "Mrs. Black wrote to say her family is in superior health and look forward to tonight's engagement."
Lucius had not ventured to ask after the family as of late, but she remembered his initial curiosity regarding them and thought it might cheer him to think that perhaps they did not judge him unfairly.
"Wonderful," he said quietly, "Another tasteless family to mock the Malfoy name."
"They have been under their own fair share of scrutiny," Mrs. Malfoy said, "I think of anyone they can understand the unbearable weight of a false scandal."
"We shall see," he replied bitterly, and just like that, he shut himself off for her by drifting his eyes back to the window, and she knew he would have nothing more to say.
If they had supposed tonight's ball would shift the behavior of their society, they were most assuredly disappointed. To be sure, their guests were lively and enjoying the ball. They were kind and attentive to the hosts, but the young master was not given the same treatment. As the family stood at the door to greet each guest, they suddenly turned to give Mrs. Malfoy another handshake, or swiftly averted their eyes on their way to the ball and avoided speaking to Lucius entirely. It was as if he had some terribly communicable disease. An abysmal ghoul of their society that, mortifyingly, his parents saw fit to display than hide in their attic.
He stood before the high paned windows of the ballroom underneath the soft glow of the moonlight dripping over his shoulder onto the dance floor and disappearing into the bright lights of the ballroom. The curtains were pulled to his right, obscuring him from half of the room. He stood with his arms crossed, near enough to the elderly gentlemen's table who did not dance. Women outnumbered men in his generation, so many women were sitting and waiting for a partner, but none wanted him. For most of the evening, he passed his time in the same spot, shifting from leg to leg, crossing, and uncrossing his arms. Boredom, dread, and anger flooded his body and caused him to sweat nervously.
Lucius had the decency to bathe and dress for the occasion. His dress robes were smart, matte black and grey, and he had pulled his hair back and secured it with soft ribbon the way his mother liked, but he had done little else to lift his spirits.
Two or three hours into the evening passed him by, and Lucius watched the line of dancers and partners shift and change through the night, but he never moved from the window himself. Candra and Theo were conveniently absent themselves, though their parents and siblings attended. They had also experienced the same moroseness of being shunned, and so were refusing society as much as they could.
Just before the current dance ended and the next lineup began, a figure approached him to the right, though Lucius took no notice as the curtain obscured his view. He did not see until she was directly in front of him and it startled him out of her reverie.
"Mr. Malfoy," she said, dipping her head as she curtseyed for him.
"Miss Black," he replied, and bowed.
He had thought Narcissa Black quite pretty from her visage in the window, but being near her allowed him to notice the great depth of beauty she possessed. She had the finest eyes he had ever seen on a woman, dark and intelligent sapphire eyes peered back at him with great curiosity. Her lips were blooming and brightly rouged in pink. Everything about her was graceful; she was quite tall and willowy, only a few inches shorter than he was which he estimated would place her at five feet eleven inches.
"It would seem I am without a dance partner," she remarked to him lightly, with a soft arch of her eyebrows, "My sisters will tease me so if I am sitting on the sidelines. Siblings are a disaster that way. You should be lucky not to have any."
He straightened himself and stopped leaning against the wide pane window. "Allow me to accommodate, Miss Black, and keep you from the scorn of your sisters."
He held out his arm for her to take and escorted her to the end of the line where the other partners were. The women and men stood opposite of each other. With such a long line of dancers each taking their turn, the dances took thirty to forty minutes to complete, and so the dance partners had much time to talk to one another.
"My mother says your family has been detained in London," he remarked.
"Oh yes, my uncle has been dreadfully ill," she said, "It is his age, you know. His nerves are not what they used to be and as a result, he is often plagued with headaches and dizziness."
"I understand you are a certified Healer?" he inquired, "You seem best suited for the role of caring for your uncle then."
She seemed surprised that he knew this information about her. Absently, Lucius wondered if his reputation for ignoring women was the cause for this. It was justified; he was quite certain that if he had ever danced with Narcissa Black, he would have remembered it. The reality, however, was that he very likely had paid her no great deal of attention at all. Theo had remarked she was not in society yet, therefore not eligible to be married, and would not likely be showcased to any of the bachelors at parties. He could not ascertain if this meant he had never danced with her or if this was yet another example of his rudeness and ill-mannered behavior.
"You are quite right, Mr. Malfoy," she said, after she recovered, "I try to be a dutiful Healer to my uncle, though that is not without difficulty. He has always been a man easily crossed and now pain renders him very much inconsolable at times. Imagine it: he is overcome with the sorrow and pain of his headache and will not eat. I try to give him a draught to ease the pain, but it makes him drowsy. He must not be drowsy! He must read! Yet he cannot read for the pain. I tell him he must take his potion and a meal, then he can read, but he says he cannot do either because the pain is too overbearing that suddenly he feels too ill to sit up."
"And how do you bear it, Miss Black?" Lucius asked, "How do you get him to take his potion and a meal?"
"I put the draught in one of his favorite desserts," she replied, "Know this if you want something from my uncle, he cannot resist a chocolate and spiced rum cake. And the spice from the rum means he can scarcely taste the draught. He was quite happy and reading within the hour, convincing me he did not need anything for his headache."
"Stubborn," Lucius reflected, with an agreeable smile.
"All men suffer from it," she retorted, "That is one ailment I cannot cure, Mr. Malfoy, though in vain I suffered from trying."
"I wouldn't know," Lucius said, "I have not an ounce of stubbornness in me."
Narcissa sighed dramatically at him in gest. "He says, quite obstinately, after I spent much of the evening watching him refuse to move from one place in the dance hall. I shall declare it now: Lucius Malfoy is of the most stubborn of men in the room, as my uncle is not here to claim the title."
It came to be their turn to dance in the line. They crossed over one another, their palms lifted to each other but never quite touching. They wove in through the other dancers and became small pieces of pretty, rhythmic display. A man made a mistake in the movements and nearly collided with Narcissa, who merely laughed and moved aside. Her agreeable and lively nature lended itself to his own alacrity, and just as soon as the dance ended he had asked her for another. And so they passed the next half hour together dancing and talking, until it was time for them to adjourn the dance floor to move to the dining hall. Lucius made no airs about attending to the natural civility of flirtation by flattering another woman with his presence or seeking attentions with anyone else, assuming he would have had the opportunity to even do so given his current predicament. He did not squander the opportunity to sit at her side. So attentive was he to her that his parents remarked upon it from the other end of the room at the head of the table.
"Does Lucius not look nourished from Miss Black paying particular attention to him?" Mrs. Malfoy asked Mrs. Black, who glanced down the table.
With careful consideration, she remarked, "Yes, I believe he does. Cissy has that way about her, she lights up a room, and do you not agree, Mr. Malfoy?"
"She does," Abraxas Malfoy said, nodding. "Lucius has been quite down about the Greengrass investigation. I keep telling him he is an honest gentleman and nothing will come of it—"
"Oh to be sure," Mrs. Black interrupted, "My husband was just remarking on his clearly evident innocence the night before, and you'll recall he is a judge on the Wizengamot court. The news has gone too far this time with printing that poor girl's private thoughts."
It went on like this, the parents complimenting each other's offspring, agreeableness, and the tragedy that had befallen Lucius. Down the table, Lucius and Narcissa were having a lively discussion about Herbology. She was keener on mundane plants after bearing witness to St. Mungo's on the third floor that treated poisons and maladies incurred by magical plants. The most frequent abuser was the Venomous Tentacula, which appeared at first as a regular English ivy until it had wrapped itself around the throat or stuck the victim with poison.
"It's quite lethal, actually," she told him, "If it has the thought to, it can kill a fully grown man with its nettles and bite. Luckily, it seems to be mostly mischievous than murderous."
"I have always wanted to procure one," Lucius admitted.
She was shocked. "Are you also fond of caring for dangerous creatures? Do you intend to keep a dragon in your south garden as well, Mr. Malfoy?"
"No, no!" he assured her, "I am merely curious about what possible medicinal qualities we could discern from studying a handsome plant such as the Tentacula."
"An antidote," Narcissa said, "for its own toxins is about all anyone has been able to create."
"So there is room for additional discovery," Lucius argued.
"I will see you on the third floor, Mr. Malfoy, when you've been strangled by it!" she replied, laughing freely, "For your sake, let's hope it does not find you irritating and kill you on the spot."
After dinner, more dancing commenced, but Narcissa resisted moving to the line again. As she was not out in society, she did not have strict requirements for dancing with multitudes of gentlemen. He escorted her out of the dance hall to roam the foyer freely and explore his home. He showed the many parlours and lounges on the ground floor. She appropriately applauded his mother's taste and refinery, admired the tapestries and portraits with generous attention, and lavishly supplied her opinion on the overall beauty of the home. Her favourite room was his father's private library, attached to his study, and he found he rather liked watching her wander down the aisle of the shelves, her fingers drifting along the spines. He followed behind her at a small distance, taking in the swirl of her dress and the spark of sharp intelligence and wit in her every movement.
She turned the conversation to his insecurity eventually, which he thought she might, but she had thus far been very polite about it.
"It's a shame about that poor girl," she said, plucking a book from the shelf and opening it to a random page. "It has been the talk of everything lately. Did you know they are publishing her diary into book format?"
"I had no idea," Lucius said, feeling his cheeks going red at the thought of everyone having such tangible evidence of his bad behavior in their hands.
A book seemed far worse than a newspaper or magazine to him. Somehow, it made it that much worse.
"Yes, well, the family has signed a book deal," Narcissa continued, "Her sister is going to write an introduction for it, a kind of eulogy, to celebrate her short life."
"Her sister is very kind," he replied softly.
Her eyes flashed brightly as she looked up at him. "Or she understands the importance of positive affirmation when her family's public divorce used to be all anyone could talk of. Now poor Miss Greengrass's tragedy has opened their disgraced reputation to sympathy rather than scorn. It's very fortunate she died when she did, isn't it?"
Lucius did not respond immediately, but he blanched considerably at the insinuation. "Do you suspect her family of murdering her to raise their status in society?" he asked her intrepidly.
"Well, I certainly don't suspect you," she replied evenly, "Shy, gentle Lucius who keeps to his close friends and family and has never had a single scandal in his life but this? You did not even play Quidditch or rival with Gryffindors. You allowed others to do so in front of you, sure, but that only plays more into your passivity."
"I assure you, Miss Black, I am not always so passive and kind natured," he said, "I have been known to have quite a temper. I am quick to impatience and my mood is not always so delicately sanguine—"
"And you are stubborn," she interjected, with a smile as she slid the book back into its place on the shelf. "This I could ascertain without speaking to you at all. I should tell you, Mr. Malfoy, that no family of merit has ever gone through life with a spotless reputation. Those beneath them always seek to destroy anything they see as perfect, as they cannot obtain it."
"That might be true," Lucius agreed, "but it doesn't make it any less difficult."
"No, maybe not," she agreed, stepping closer to him, "But it does make you decidedly more interesting."
"Was I not very interesting before?" he asked, pretending to be slighted by her words.
"Quite dull, Mr. Malfoy, with your books, drawings, and perfect manners," she retorted, "All men should have a bit of an edge to them. Don't you think that makes them more appealing to women like me?"
She was so close to him that he backed into the bookshelf and spread his palms out, flexing them nervously as he touched the tops of the spines. He swallowed nervously.
"And what sort of woman are you, Miss Black?" he asked her, his words coming out just barely above a whisper.
Her hands moved up his chest slowly, her eyes drawn downward and followed her fingers as she touched the fabric of his clothing and felt his heart beating in his chest. She moved up his collar and adjusted his tie for him, then smoothed his collar.
"One you want to know all about," she told him finally, turning her eyes up to meet his. She kept her hands wrapped securely around his tie.
"Indeed," he muttered, absently biting his lower lip.
She suddenly plucked a book that was near his hip and stepped away from him. She opened it and pretended to be studying it most judiciously as the door opened and a wandering group came in to explore the room. She tucked the book under her arm and left him burning and confused against the shelf.