The garden was cold and dim but Narcissa's hand in his was warm and her wide blue eyes were full of watery moonlight. Lucius had intended to talk first—they had serious matters to discuss, after all, even if the gardens of a party were usually utilized for more frivolous, enjoyable pursuits—but she was just too pretty, and he couldn't keep himself from kissing her instead. She only protested a moment, because she knew she ought to; it wasn't proper, the way they carried on, but they neither one of them really cared about that.
Finally, breathless and disheveled and on the point of having to decide whether to separate or risk really breaching the strictures of propriety beyond all possible excuse, they pulled apart enough to manage a reasonable conversation. "Your sister," Lucius began, but Narcissa interrupted.
"Oh, I know!" she cried, teary-eyed. "To treat you that way! And then—then—to do that—oh, she's no sister of mine, not any longer! She—"
"I don't care about your sister," Lucius cut her off. Narcissa blinked, startled. "Horrible as it is for you, my darling, I'm almost glad she ran off with that Mudblood." He smiled, gray eyes dancing wickedly. "I'm selfish, you see," he continued, "and it gets her out of our way."
Narcissa gasped, gaping at him. "You're horrid!" she said, only meaning it a little.
Lucius shrugged. "True," he admitted. Then the smirk was back, that insufferably smug little smile that could enrage half of Hogwarts in under five seconds. "But you love me for it," he purred in her ear, and Narcissa had to laugh and agree, and it was several minutes more before they could manage further conversation.
"I was saying something," he murmured, his breath warm on the smooth, pale skin so tantalizingly revealed by her elegant, off-the-shoulder robes.
"Mmm," Narcissa agreed, rubbing her nose in the soft curtain of his long, golden hair and paying very little attention to his words. She loved the sound of his voice: sharp and languid and edging now more towards man than boy, deep and musical. She loved the way he said her name, slow and careful, annunciating each syllable like he was tasting it as he spoke.
Besides, it was such a pretty name; it should be said with proper appreciation.
"Narcissa," he said, and she shivered in delight.
"Yes?" she asked, her voice a heady whisper.
"I'm going to marry you," he told her.
Narcissa smiled. "What about your father?" she asked.
Lucius shrugged, the exquisitely toned muscles of a Quidditch captain moving deliciously beneath the soft velvet of his robes. "I'll deal with my father," he said, and though he sounded now like a petulant child Narcissa didn't doubt the lengths of his determination. If Lucius Malfoy said he was going to do something, he did it.
And woe betide whatever stood in his way.
"What about my parents?" she asked, more from curiosity than concern.
Lucius shrugged again. "You think they'll protest?" he asked mildly. "Personally, I'd think they'd leap at the chance," he continued, his arrogance entirely justified, "especially in light of—well, in light of the scandal caused by that girl who used to be your sister."
Narcissa flinched at the reference to Andromeda, but then she smiled, appreciating his discretion. It was cute, the way he just caved to her whims like that. She said Andromeda was no longer her sister—and it was true, their parents had slashed their second child off the family tree as soon as father had finished destroying her note—and Lucius, dear that he was, treated her words as law.
Narcissa could get used to that.
"I think you're right," she told him. "After all," she said somewhat bitterly, "they were certainly happy enough to offer—her, when your father asked, so I can't imagine they'd be anything but gratefully overjoyed to learn that you were still interested in one of their children, even after—all that."
"Interested in the best of their children," Lucius said softly, and Narcissa laughed.
"Flatterer," she called him, and he grinned.
"Utterly," he agreed, kissing her neck. "But how can I help it, when the object under discussion is as exquisite as you, my darling?"
"You're shameless," she told him, delighted.
"Oh yes," he said, and offered several non-verbal demonstrations on the subject.
It was very much later that they finally made themselves presentable again and returned to the party, sharing a smug smile at all the shocked looks and startled whispers that flew around the room when the other guests saw Narcissa Black on the arm of Lucius Malfoy, both of them chatting amiably and seemingly not in the least bothered by any thoughts of sisters or scandals.
None were more surprised than the parents of the couple in question, the Blacks' eyes lighting up with restored confidence and naked greed. Abraxas Malfoy, by contrast, looked sour and miserable and he scowled at his son from the other side of the ballroom, thwarted and seething.
Lucius caught his father's eye and beamed.
...
Abraxas, of course, was enraged, but impotent. How could Lucius just carry on as he had before, when he should have been writhing in shame and humiliation? Granted, Abraxas had hardly planned for the girl to run off with that filthy Mudblood, but he couldn't deny that he'd found the shocking turn of events to be somewhat pleasing.
Oh, he'd been insulted and horrified, enraged at the slight given his family; how dare the girl throw over a Malfoy for a Mudblood? But that she had done it to Lucius—well, Abraxas had almost been willing to overlook the insult himself, so amused was he to think of his arrogant son humbled by the girl.
But Lucius wasn't humbled. He didn't seem bothered in the least. In fact, he almost seemed pleased by the girl's rash actions: content that she was out of his way and not at all troubled by the insult she'd done him in the leaving. And now there he was, going around with her sister like nothing had changed, like the Blacks weren't in disgrace, like they hadn't just gravely offended the name of Malfoy with their daughter's betrayal. Like Lucius didn't need to care what people thought, because they wouldn't dare think poorly of him.
And the worst part was, it seemed to be working.
Oh, there were whispers, and shocked, scandalized glances, yes; but that was all. No one had thus far dared to so much as look with pity at Lucius Malfoy, who should by all rights have been withering in abject humiliation. But he wasn't, because he just didn't care, and somehow, because he didn't care, no one else did, either.
Abraxas could have strangled the boy with his bare hands.
But there was nothing he could do. Lucius hadn't asked for his permission to court the girl—not that Lucius ever asked him for permission, really; even when he did, it was couched in tones of insult and smug pomposity and never, ever, in the form of a question. Lucius hadn't even asked the Blacks, not that they'd have dared deny him, especially now. In fact, both Cygnus and Druella would probably have all but fallen over themselves in relieved delight that the Malfoys were still willing to have anything to do with them at all, after this scandal.
A lesser family would have been ruined.
And, truth be told, if the Malfoys had wanted to, they could have made things very dicey for the Blacks. But Abraxas had only one real target he liked to torture, these days, and publicly shaming the Blacks would do nothing to hurt Lucius. Abraxas would leave them be—they were hardly the first family to be plagued with an ungrateful and rebellious child, after all—and, unfortunately, he would leave Lucius be, as well; he could think of no way now to foil his son's happiness. Lucius wasn't even really courting the girl, so Abraxas could make no objection to their socializing. Not until Lucius had to make an official move for the girl's hand could Abraxas step in again.
He would simply have to wait.
...
But Lucius was patient as well; he had Narcissa after all, and saw no reason to involve his father in things by making anything official, not so long as Narcissa had no objection to casual, vaguely improper socialization and, being a supremely confident young witch who had no doubts whatsoever that she was, in fact, eminently desirable and that Lucius was, in fact, utterly besotted, she was perfectly willing to keep meddling, inept parents out of it.
It probably didn't hurt that she was every bit as infatuated at he was.
So the two of them carried on being a little bit scandalous and very much envied, and time passed, and Andromeda was determinedly forgotten, and there were other, dramatic things for people to concern themselves with—things were happening outside of Hogwarts, things that worried and excited and frightened and tantalized—and then Lucius graduated, and almost immediately he managed to become thoroughly embroiled in those things and with those people, just like Bellatrix had.
And Narcissa beamed with smug, secret pride when she heard.
He hadn't told her, of course; one never knew when an owl was going to go astray, and to say certain things straight out could invite disaster, and the both of them were too clever and too sly to take risks like that, but he hadn't needed to tell her straight out, explicitly; Narcissa knew what that letter left unsaid, knew very well.
After all, she already had a sister in the Dark Lord's service. It wasn't hard to guess what Lucius was carefully not talking about, and it hardly came as a surprise, anyway. They'd both of them discussed that sort of thing before, they and so many of their classmates, all fascinated by the possibilities, and since Narcissa knew that Lucius was perfect she couldn't imagine the Dark Lord turning down his allegiance when he'd offered it—
And there'd never really been any doubt that Lucius Malfoy was going to make the offer.