Freezing sheets of rain faded to snow and ice as November gave way to December. The winter months proved particularly brutal that year, and much of their winter engagements were canceled. It did not thaw until the middle of March, and Lucius welcomed it with relish as he watched the buds of flowers slowly arc their spindled necks toward the sun. With warmer weather, reporters gathered to the edges of their property. His father kept the Aurors from the house and the law prevented them from administering Lucius with Veritaserum, and so in many ways, he felt safe for the first time since the night Scarlett Greengrass died.
It was eight o'clock and Lucius and Candra were in a pub called the Woven Hollow in Somerset playing cards. Smoke curled in the air above Lucius and the cards blurred in front of him. The Woven Hollow was much different from the White Wyvern, as it was much more family oriented like The Leaky Cauldron, and so there were many witches and wizards alike around the room, even small children not yet old enough to attend Hogwarts. Since the murder, Lucius avoided The White Wyvern, attributing fault to the establishment for the spiral his life had taken.
Candra was quiet and contemplative that night, studying his cards with urgency. Once or twice, he flicked his gaze up to Lucius, but then averted his eyes immediately when he took notice of it. Lucius had come to understand this meant that Candra wished to talk about something personal, but he could not be persuaded to do it succinctly. Lucius looked up and watched him as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat and sighed. He took a great gulp of firewhisky and sighed.
"Has your back been bothering you?" Lucius asked, keeping his tone neutral.
Empathy and concern could turn Candra away from others, as if the idea of someone caring about his wellbeing was detestable. From his observations, the Zabini's preferred to be silent in matters of their weaknesses and feign strength and health when they could hardly stay upright.
"No," Candra muttered, his eyes tightening, as if he were irritated that Lucius would even presume such a thing.
"Right, mate, but you're twitching in your seat," he remarked, "Have you run out of the potion I made you last month?"
"Might have," he replied, casting his eyes around them to see if anyone had heard their exchange.
He threw his head back and drained the last of his glass. Lucius rolled his eyes, took a drag from his cigarillo, and then exhaled. The plumes floated above his head in intricate swirls.
"Very well," he replied, "I will make more."
Candra grunted in response. The front door opened and loud shrieks of laughter rang out. They both looked to the door. Lucius straightened his back. The Lestrange brothers came in with Bellatrix and Narcissa Black floating in behind them. Bellatrix was slightly taller than her sister, perhaps Lucius's height, with long ringlets of jet-black curls, which spilled down the red cloak she wore. She had a small circlet in her hair with rubies and black diamonds, and her eyes were sharp with severe intelligence. Lucius knew her to be very spirited—some called her outrageously fun and adventurous. She could not be more different in appearance from Narcissa Black, who was soft and bright as a halo standing next to her. Bellatrix was all angles and sharpness; she walked with the gait of a soldier—methodical and practiced. Narcissa was lithe as a dancer and twice as elegant.
"I would destroy her in bed," Candra growled.
Startled, Lucius turned his attention from the sisters. "Who?"
"Bella," he replied with a sniff, collecting the cards of their game (Lucius lost again) and shuffled them in his hands.
"Oh," Lucius replied absently, "Yes, she's quite pretty."
"Mad," Candra corrected, glancing up at him, "You mean she's quite mad. Which is half the fun, you know, when you are not sure if they are going to ride you or kill you. I'd let that one rip my heart straight out of my chest if she wanted, so long as I got some."
Their party sat at a wide raised table toward the front of the room near the bar, and Rodolphus Lestrange ordered drinks for them. Lucius lingered along the bar for a moment as Candra was speaking, and then he curled his lip.
"You can't be serious," Lucius said, taking up the cards Candra dealt him.
Candra smiled to himself and shook his head. "You don't get it, Malfoy."
"Explain it to me then," he encouraged, flipping ashes into the tray near his elbow.
He smoothed his hair over one shoulder. At the urging of Mr. Nott, he had cut a few inches in February, but his hair was now drifting down his chest. The strands ended and skirted the tabletop in front of him.
"I can't explain sex to a virgin," Candra retorted, "I'm not a bloody poet. Read something perverse, perhaps it will give you an idea of what one of 'em feels like."
"You would have me read erotica?" Lucius asked, fighting the urge to smile and failing, "To understand why you want to fuck Bellatrix Black? Is there a particular piece you have authored that you can recommend to me, Candra?"
"Sod off, Malfoy, don't rile me up!" he exclaimed, redness blossoming up his neck into his cheeks.
Lucius tilted his head back and laughed loudly. "So you have written something!"
Candra glowered at him as the barmen deposited another bottle to their table. Lucius poured them both glasses and took a measured drink from his glass, surveying Candra over it, and trying to keep himself calm long enough to swallow the burning liquid so as to not cough it all back up.
"Look, don't tell Theo any of this, all right?" he asked him, suddenly serious.
Lucius's smile faded. "Why would he mind?"
"Because—" Candra hesitated.
Lucius realized this must have been what he wished to tell him all along. Candra sighed and pulled a bit of parchment from his pocket. He unfolded it—it was in a dreadful state, as if Candra had crumpled it up and unfolded it repeatedly. He slapped his palm against it, trying to flatten it the best he could, and slid it over to Lucius to read. He scanned his eyes across the short letter quickly, his eyes narrowed, and then he casually returned the scrap to Candra.
"Well we all knew," Lucius said, "Now it is just confirmed."
Candra grunted unintelligibly. Internally, Lucius was actually quite shocked, but he remained calm. He knew if he expressed any surprise by the contents, Candra would grow deeply embarrassed about the situation. The letter was short, merely a few sentences, but its meaning was very plain. Theodore Nott confessed his small affections for Candra Zabini, in so small words, and apologized for any discomfort it may cause him. The surprising part was that Candra kept the parchment at all, especially on his person, and that he wished to spare Theodore's feelings by not allowing Lucius to tell him that Candra's affections lied elsewhere. Thought admittedly, Candra's affections could be mentioned in relation to most decently attractive women, Bellatrix Black was not the focus.
"I don't know what to say about it, so I've said nothing," Candra admitted with a low shrug, "Always thought he'd fancy you, with your long girlish hair."
"You can't deny the appeal of an athlete," Lucius retorted, turning his lips into a small smile. "I must confess, Candra, that while I have received no such letter myself, I have experienced something of Theo's infatuations. It is the reason I refuse to give an alibi for the night at The White Wyvern. Do you understand?"
"So you aren't a virgin," Candra replied with wickedness.
"I—bloody hell, yes I am," he hissed, "It was not that serious. That said, I think it is much more logical to find that Theo holds you in higher regard."
Candra narrowed his eyes. "Why? The two of you are so much alike."
"That is precisely why it makes more sense. Humor me, good friend. You like the exotic look and independence of Bellatrix Black. Because she is different from other pureblood ladies, I am assuming, and because of her superior wit, intelligence, and the inherent danger you observe," Lucius remarked, "Could not the same attributes—wit and intelligence excluded—be applied to you? So you see you are exotic in this respect and therefore attractive."
"I don't like that you have just called me attractive," Candra replied.
"Of course you would not, you're a brute and don't understand I was speaking hypothetically," Lucius retorted.
Candra was quiet and he knew that he was not thinking about any of the nonsense Lucius had just said, but the former more important bits.
"Fine," he said after a few moments of silence except for their cards moving, "Suppose you are right. What do I say in response to this? How do I behave? I am decidedly against the idea of—you know—but also don't want to…"
"Hurt his feelings?" Lucius suggested, as the long ridge appearing along Candra's forehead seemed to be the result of great distress over words too emotional for him to say.
He nodded curtly and then took a great gulp of firewhisky, to both torture himself into absolution and uphold appearances of his masculinity. However, to whom he meant to display this to, other than himself, was beyond Lucius, for he had no qualms regarding his own sense of self as a man, and therefore sought no reason to establish meaningless acts of suffering as proof of worth.
"No doubt your silence has caused great anxiety," Lucius continued, ashing his cigarillo into the tray. "So you should apologize for the delay in response."
Candra nodded thickly, and then gestured for him to continue.
"Secondly, you should appreciate his honesty," he said, "Admire his tenacity and good faith for explaining his feelings so openly and in an act of goodwill…"
Candra interrupted him and left the table. Lucius rolled his eyes. He watched him go up to the bar and lean against the top of it on his elbows and shout something at the barman, and Lucius had no doubt he was asking him for ink and parchment. The man was reluctant, but finally passed the objects over with a quill. He was even kind enough to lend him an envelope. When he returned, Lucius watched him scrawl 'To Mr. Theodore Nott' on the top of the parchment, and then he turned his face up to Lucius expectantly.
"Very well, then," he drawled, with a heavy sigh. "Cross out your heading, it's much too formal. We've known each other since we were five."
"But I don't want to write 'dear' because I don't want him to think he's dear to me," Candra said.
"But by the very nature and length of our friendships, he is dear to you. Otherwise, you would not be so despaired in how to respond to him."
"Oh."
He crossed it out and wrote it 'Dear Theo' at the top.
"My hand is already cramping," Candra whined, "I never write letters."
"For Merlin's sake," Lucius replied with a sigh.
He plucked the quill from Candra's right hand, stole the letter from him, and quickly began writing:
Dear Theo,
I am frankly too stupid to write a letter on my own, so I have employed Lucius to do it on my behalf. After a conversation over cards, Lucius has determined my approximate feelings regarding your letter, which I am not intelligent enough to understand myself, but which he has the unfortunate ability of translating for me now, so here goes.
First, I wish to thank you immensely for your courage and honesty. I understand that this was not an easy letter for you to write. Your admission of affection has caused no undo emotional turmoil except that I am incapable of understanding the English language, and so it took quite a bit of time for me to read it. I hope this has not caused you distress. Our friendship will, of course, remain in the highest esteem I can afford. I am sorry I cannot return your affections, but this does not affect how important you are to me.
Your friend,
Candra
"Hey!" Candra exclaimed upon reading it.
"Is it wrong?" Lucius asked.
He said nothing in return, but folded the parchment and placed it into the envelope, which he then pocketed securely. They played another round of cards (Lucius was losing again) and as he was lighting another cigarillo, a figure approached their table.
"I couldn't help but notice a certain Wiltshire stranger in my neighborhood," Narcissa remarked with a wide smile. "Of course, I also noticed my dear neighbor. Mr. Zabini, how are you?"
She curtseyed, but it was short and informal.
"Well," was all Candra said.
"I hope you are having a good evening, Miss Black," Lucius commented at the same time.
"Indeed! My sister and her fiancé were very kind to have included me," she replied, "And to find such agreeable company the very same night! I hope I am not intruding. Would the two of you wish to join us at our table?"
Lucius affirmed her wishes readily as Candra swept his cards into a pile and placed them in the pocket of his robes. They moved tables to the larger party's at the front of the room. The Lestrange brothers heartily drew two extra chairs up to the table to accommodate them and Narcissa introduced them to the table.
"What brings you to Somerset, Mr. Malfoy?" Narcissa inquired.
"I am staying with the Zabini household for eight or so weeks," he replied.
Bellatrix turned her large dark eyes to Candra for the first time and smiled. "How wonderful! Your family has been our neighbors for nearly twenty years! You must bring Lucius by one afternoon for tea while he stays."
"I certainly will," Candra said.
Rabastian and Rodolphus lived in Taunton, a mere fifteen miles from Somerset, and Lucius was inclined to believe that was much of the appeal the young couple's betrothal. He did not ascertain great affection between the two and thus came to determine they were one of the myriad of pureblood marriages that were conveniently placed but not one of great romance.
After a few rounds of cards and ample liquor to warm their regard toward one another, they left the pub for the chilled outside air to sober up and walk. Rodolphus and Rabastian walked a good deal down the street together.
Lucius stumbled at once and caught himself on the railing of the steps of the pub. As he steadied himself and took another step to the street level, he stumbled and nearly fell.
"Mr. Malfoy, please," Narcissa said kindly, "Allow me to help."
"Thank you," he said.
She took him by the arm and steadied his balance. "My sister has disappeared; did you happen to see where she went?"
"No," Lucius admitted, looking behind him and then down either side of the street.
Candra was also missing, which Lucius understood better than Narcissa that it was no coincidence. Lucius veered to the right as his equilibrium betrayed him, and she laughed loudly and held onto him to keep him from toppling over.
"Right," she said, "Let's find a place to sit down, Mr. Malfoy. I think walking might be a detriment to your health."
She found a nearby café still open and helped him up the steps and inside the doors. She sat him down at a table and then went to the front counter to order. Lucius watched her blearily as he pressed a cigarillo between his lips and lit the end with his wand tip, perhaps one of the few bits of magic he was confident in performing while intoxicated.
When she returned to the table, she was carrying two cups of coffee. She placed one in front of him and then sat down across from him.
"There, drink this, it might help," she instructed.
"Thank you," he murmured.
He drank it black without sugar or cream, deciding the bitterness might have a sobering effect. Instead, he found the coffee was robust and full flavored and entirely tasteful, quite the opposite of his expectations.
"Now, you must tell me all the fascinating things you have been doing since we last spoke in November," Narcissa said warmly, wrapping her fingers around the white mug.
"Nothing of interest that I could beguile you with, I am afraid," Lucius said, "Reporters have been posted at my gate since the snow thawed and follow me about London and Wiltshire."
Narcissa brought her glass to her lips and sipped softly. "So you have gone to Somerset for privacy."
"That and my parents are very keen to see me married to Miss Eliza Nott," Lucius replied.
"She is very sweet," Narcissa told him, "If they should choose her, I believe you will have a very kind, good-natured wife."
"You are not wrong," Lucius replied, biting hit bottom lip.
"But you do not want to marry her?" Narcissa guessed.
He nodded. "Correct. I practically grew up in that house; she is like a sister to me."
"Well, you know how I feel about sisters," she said, placing her hands flat along the table.
"You seem to love your sister very much," he commented, looking down at her hands as her fingers absently traced the lines of the wood.
Narcissa wrinkled her nose. "She is tolerable, I suppose."
Which Lucius knew translated to Bellatrix being very dear to Narcissa, though she annoyed her enough to reject the idea of it.
They finished their coffee and, once Narcissa determined him sober enough to stand, they left the café and went into the night to walk about the center of town around a spritzing fountain and a high moon.
"Why do you smoke?" she asked him curiously, "I have never in my life, though the odor is faintly appealing. Is the scent why you do it?"
He turned the cigarillo in his hand and held it out for her. She was surprised, as ladies were not allowed to smoke and especially not in the company of a gentleman, but she accepted it. She placed it to her lips as she had seen Lucius do many times throughout the night and inhaled sharply. She sputtered, not expecting it to burn down her lungs in such a way, and then exhaled the smoke into the air.
"I'm afraid I still do not understand," she admitted, laughing.
"Let me help," Lucius said, taking the cigarillo from her hand.
She looked apprehensive as he stopped walking and turned her to face him by her shoulder. He took a drag from the cigarette slowly, inhaling deeply into his lungs. She raised her eyebrows, and was just about to comment that she did not believe he was being very helpful, when he pressed his lips to hers and exhaled. The smoke furled from both of their mouths and Lucius clasped her jaw and deepened their kiss. A small jolt went through her and she sighed as his tongue touched hers.
The wind picked up softly, sending droplets of cold water from the fountain across Narcissa's shoulders and back. She pulled him closer to her by the front of his cloak, and he tossed the cigarillo off to the side so that his free hand could circle her waist.
He moved to her neck and she laughed absurdly. "Mr. Malfoy!" she admonished, and then the laugh caught in her voice turned to a moan. "We're in public, in front of everyone—"
She pushed him away; her cheeks held a delightful blush and her dark eyes were wide with shock. She slapped his shoulder. "You scoundrel! Tricking me like that! I thought you were actually about to teach me something."
"I could teach you a great deal more, if you are interested," Lucius drawled.
"Mr. Malfoy, I believe the firewhisky has gone to your heard," she replied, laughing again, "I must take leave of you at once."
"Come back with me, the Zabini's would be glad of your presence," he urged her.
She placed a hand on his wrist. "Mr. Malfoy, if I went home with you tonight, we would have quite a problem on our hands."
"What problem is that?" he asked her.
She kissed his cheek chastely, but her hand did not move from his wrist. "Go home, Mr. Malfoy, and sober up before you tempt me more."
He touched her jaw again and kissed her lips, which he had thought much about over the winter.
"I will not tempt you toward evil," he agreed, "Only goodness."
She firmly pushed him away this time.
"Mr. Malfoy, you are decidedly evil, I should say," Narcissa said resolutely.
He paused. "I am terribly sorry, Miss Black."
Narcissa cast her eyes around them, but they were alone. She stepped toward him suddenly, her palm open. He hissed as her hand connected with his crotch solidly, his erection and testicles cupped at the base of her palm, her fingers spread up his length.
"You don't feel sorry," she whispered, kissing him on the jaw and squeezing him roughly.
His brain had exploded, electric synapses rushing through his entire body and language escaped him. The only thing he managed was a stupid stutter and mangled breath of air that came out of him by accident.
She released him and said goodnight, and he watched her Apparate. With a sudden pop, she was gone, leaving him alone and drunk on something much harder than any spirit could afford him.