Chapter 2
Lucius Malfoy had never been one to crow his successes. It never suited to reveal ones victories when the path of your plan was not yet established. His demeanor was always one of measured releases; only impart what was needed, only reveal what was required to drawn in your opponent. Always careful and deliberate actions.
Yet this day had brought him a victory that he felt singing through the very fibers of his soul. His very magical core itself vibrated and harmonized excited triumphant melodies that even the fairest of Sirens could not weave. Lucius could feel the exultation rippling at the seams of his mind as he recanted the meeting earlier with Loren Gresham. The bold and powerful, boastful Lord of his rival house. How Gresham's eyes had dared to betray his fear as he read the ancient Contract of Binding with his own eyes, and felt the knowledge that he, Lucius Malfoy, Lord of House Malfoy, would best him.
Lucius brought a short glass to his lips and allowed the warmth of his drink to waft up to his lips, tickling the skin above his lip as if they were the tiny fingertips of fairies playing at his flesh. He chuckled darkly, delightedly, at the conquest he had dispatched.
The illumination in his study was low as he looked out the windows upon the fading evening, casting lengthening shadows along the grounds surrounding the luxuriant gardens and grounds surrounding the Manor belonging to House Malfoy. The lush greens in the light darkened to near black as the sun descended to the ground, and Lucius allowed himself a private smile.
He downed his drink and felt the warming fires flow down to his belly, warming him from within. The burning caused him to grimace just slightly. He rarely took his drink so quickly, but such an occasion was merit for a little quiet memorial for his victory today.
Lucius snapped his fingers in a summoning, and wordlessly a house elf appeared to respond to his need, shoulders slumped and eyes cast downward. "Conjure my wife, elf." He bade it, leaving no room to interpret anything other than a command. Not a request, but an irrefutable order. The elf nodded without any words; it was a rule that none of the house staff replied to Lucius Malfoy without being requested to speak first. Every one of them were taught that the consequences for speaking out of turn were assured to be quite unpleasant.
The faint 'poping' sound was the sole indicator for the comings and goings of any elf within House Malfoy. Lucius gently settled his glass atop the table next to his chair and stood, fingers removing the buttons from the holes at his wrists, and then moving to the top of his coat. Each item he removed was done so with measured movements and the article folded and lain along the arm of the chair he previously occupied.
It was not long before the long and smooth door of his personal study was carefully swung open, and the slim and feminine figure of his wife gracefully crossed the threshold. Her gowns whispered around her as she walked delicately across the wide expanse of the room toward her husband. He notes her presence without needing to look at her; her movement was a specific sound to him. Muted but slippery. Her footfalls created only the slightest 'pat pat pat' as she crossed the expanse of the room to him.
Narcissa Malfoy's face was a calm and collected mask lacking any expression. In closing the door simply, she walked towards her husband with her hands fixed gently together in front of her in a positively pastoral fashion. Lucius had completed the line of buttons down the front of his pressed, crisp shirt and its separation revealed his soft and pale skin underneath, hinting only slightly at the shape of his broad chest. Lucius's grey eyes glittered to his lovely wife, across her pale and refined features. Her beautiful light hair was pulled away from her finely boned face and her light eyes met his without revealing any thoughts or concerns.
"Your husband returns with tidings of advancement and glory, my dearest" he entreated her, motioning her to 'come' with his fingers as she stepped into the reach of his arms. It was in demand of her obedience, not a request. His other hand worked deftly to release the upper buttons of his breeches and he brought his spare hand to lift her chin to look up to him, his eyes seeking hers briefly before he brought his lips and tongue to the edge of her chin, drifting down into her collar, murmuring "Lend your warmth to your husband that we might celebrate."