Diamond

.

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"Narcissa! A pleasure," Lucius drawls as if he is surprised, "you were sorely missed."

His strong brow is arched slightly, accompanying his curved stature to emphasize the easiness of his nature. Charcoal grey robes hang loosely from his sloped shoulder as he leans against the entrance wall. I'm mildly offended he hasn't invited me into the sitting room. If I did not want something from him, I would have excused myself from such rudeness already.

"I apologize, Lucius."

"No need, no need," he insists.

What I am doing with him—this devil in beautiful skin—eats at me. His wide eyes are penetrating as he smirks, telling of his suspicion that I am to surrender myself.

"May I come in?"

"Of course!" Lucius shows a welcoming hand.

I walk past him, toward the sitting room. The paintings in the hall are all whispering to one another as we pass by, jumping from frame to frame as if viewing something scandalous and gossip worthy. A large painting of a blond man with overwhelmingly large sideburns, the late Abraxas Malfoy, guards the archway to the sitting room. He clears his throat as we approach, and Lucius darts in front of me.

"Father, I present Narcissa Black," he quickly introduces.

"Master Malfoy," I address demurely and give a low curtsy.

The painting gives a grunt of curt acceptance, and Lucius leads me to one of the couches.

I sit down and cross my ankles, keeping with the formality of my visit. Lucius notices but sits next to me, rather than the customary across. He inches just a hair closer than comfort.

"Lucius, let us not bother with small talk."

"Certainly."

"I have a proposal for you."

His blue eyes widen slightly, and he tilts his head in interest.

"My father is ill, as you might know," I say, trying to sound as unemotional as possible. This is a question of business, after all.

"My condolences, I had not heard!"

Of course he has.

"I shall like to get married before he passes, so he may go in peace."

Lucius is on the edge of his seat, eyes glittering excitedly. It looks as though he is about to explode from delight. His pointed chin quivers in anticipation of what he knows I will say. "Go on," he whispers in a straining voice.

"If—if you." I had not foreseen how difficult this would be. "If you choose to ask for my hand, half of my inheritance will be yours. And I expect my father to leave me a substantial amount. Bellatrix will be given the house and its elf, but you hardly have need for those. And I presume I shall receive all of father's holdings in London because he knows Rodolphus has no head for business. And—"

"Narcissa," he stops my rambling. "Anything for you! It would be an honor to have you as my wife!"

Anything for my money and my name.

"But I need your word that you will be faithful to me."

Lucius seems hesitant.

"Narcissa... we are still young..." His words trail off. It is as I fear.

.

.

Samson is in the kitchen cooking lunch when I return. The entire hallway is filled with the aromatic scent of rosemary. He flashes me a wide smile as I hang up my cloak. My poor Samson. His jagged hair sticks up in all directions, unable to agree. It looks as though someone cut it blindly in the dark; it's awful. Avant garde, Samson says, always willing to look to the brighter side.

"I need to speak to you," I say softly.

He looks up from the stove, still unconcerned.

'Oh, just a minute, love. Wouldn't want anything to burn."

Wiping his hand on his ridiculous flowery apron, he returns to the skillet. My gaze lingers on him, and I stay rooted to the kitchen tile. Should I give him up, this wizard who loves me, cares for me, and would go to the ends of the earth for me? He is a nobody, a faceless man floating in society, someone who could never give me what Lucius can.

Yet he is loyal and kind.

He isn't perfect, but he is mine and mine alone.

"My father is dying." The words escape me.

Before I can continue, I already know that I have made my decision. It was never my choice to make, an answer that exists before the question is asked. I couldn't have changed it even if I were the most powerful witch on earth. Forgive me.

.

.

"Father." My whisper is so soft I can barely hear it.

His eyes startle open and he regards me blankly.

"I'm getting married, Father," I continue, grasping his bony hand.

Rheumy blue eyes dart to my left at where my fiance stands, silent and stiff as a tree. I think he is stunned at the sight of death so imminent. My rather raises his head feebly for a better look. Strange sounds escape his throat as he struggles against gravity. Quickly helping him, I charm him pillow. He sighs gratefully as the fabric puffs him upward.

"Narcissa."

"Yes, father," I immediate respond.

"This is–"

"Lucius Malfoy. I'm marrying Lucius Malfoy," I clarify, in case he does not understand.

I glance over to Lucius and shoot him an expectant look. He is paler than usual and swallows hard upon attention, all of his characteristic charm gone. It did not strike me that he would fear my father.

"Mr. Black" he begins, slow and unsure, "I'd...I'd like your blessing."

"Mmm," father groans, sound erupting deep from his chest. We are not sure whether he is happy or not. He makes the smallest of nods to show his approval. My heart swells at the gesture. Finally! He finally approves! Years of disappointment undone with a single nod—it is almost unbelievable.

I am speechless and my eyes water.

My father clear his throat and waves at hand, indicating he wants solitude.

We both begin to turn, but he calls, "Nar—cissa."

I instantly return to his side.

"Anything, father."

Again, he waves his hand.

"Lucius, leave us for a moment."

My fiance scurries from the room, relieved to have been reprieved of such uncomfortable presence. Once he has closed the door, I turn back to my father. For the first time in nearly a decade, he is staring into my eyes, seeing me for me. I can't help but let my tears fall. It burns all the way down my cheek.

"Father."

He lets out a heavy breath, wanting me to stop speaking.

"Malfoys are a good family. Slippery, but a good choice."

A good choice, yes, but it hardly feels joyful as I've always envisioned. I can still hear Samson's sandy voice ringing in my head, screaming of my wickedness and betrayal for something as petty as money. But it hadn't been about money at all! Why didn't he understand? I would have been with him in a heartbeat, but love isn't all there is in the world. To be a Black, to be the legacy of blood, is a great burden that can break the back of love. It is the very air and life itself.

And yet there is this void in me, as if I had made the wrong choice. Witches are supposed to be exultant at the thought of their marriage, but I only feel hollow and dispassionate.

My father seems to read my mind and says hoarsely,"You will have a lifetime to resolve your differences."

I have no replies.

"You will learn to love him," he reassures me.

"Yes."

He squeezes my hand weakly.

"I shall learn to love him."

My voice is mechanical sounding. I pray to Merlin, to Odin, to God that I have done the right thing, that I grow to love him. I sold my heart for blood in order to fulfill this definition of princess.

I shall love him.

My father is always right.

I shall love him.

FIN.