"Why, Rodtimer Yaxley, I believe you're lying to me!"

"I'd never lie to you, my love, not if my life depended on it. I honestly have the whole thing set up. Over the spring holiday, you and I shall take a port key to St. John's, where I have booked us a small, beachfront cottage, where we shall be residing for the duration of our break from this place. It'll be an excellent opportunity to plan for our wedding."

"I don't- did you really?"

"Happy Valentine's Day, Narcissa."

"Oh!" She gave a cry of delight, flinging her arms around his neck. "You're brilliant beyond reason. What did I do to get so lucky as to have you?"

"Let's not question it, shall we?" He grinned at her over the brim of his goblet of orange juice. "Look, the post is here now… I reckon the brochure I sent for is with it."

Sure enough, as his tawny owl flew down squarely in the centre of Rodtimer's bowl of porridge, it clutched a brightly coloured pamphlet in its beak.

"Oi! Bloody bird, get out of my food!" He snatched the leaflet from his pet, and shooed it away. As it spread its wings and took off, the majority of the Slytherin table and its occupants were splattered with the lumpy oatmeal. "Anyway," Rodtimer continued, "you see here that the place has got-" But he paused as Narcissa's own owl fluttered to sit gracefully beside her, an envelope tied neatly to its leg.

"It's just from my mum, I'll open it later. So, continue?"

"Right, of course. Look, they've got all these incredible beaches… I liked this one in particular, Solomon's beach, known for nude sunbathing."

"Mort, you're horrible! And aren't all these places… Well, Muggle?"
"The resort will be strictly for witches and wizards, and there are a few magic-only beaches, but yes, it's mostly got Muggles too."

"I really dislike Muggles."

"Well then," He grinned dangerously, and leaned over to place his lips at the hollow beneath her ear. "I'll just have to get rid of all the Muggles for you then, won't I?"

…

It was three days later that Narcissa received a second letter in the post.

"Bella? I haven't heard from her in ages! What could she possible be writing about? She hates writing letters!" She tore this one open eagerly.

My dear Cissy-baby,

"Ugh, she only calls me that because she knows I hate it."

Mother and Father have just written to tell me the news- and I figured it was much more important I reply to you first! Well, it's a stretch in tradition, the youngest marrying first, but I suppose we can overlook it. Are you nervous? But I suppose your eighteenth birthday is still several years off yet! To think, I'll be twenty two! Perhaps I shall be married by then, or an old maid- the very thought! Mother and Father would be outraged, even if they could see me laughing as I am now. You may well have snagged the best one in London, wealth and status wise, at least. Darling, all jokes aside, I sincerely hope you're not frightened- of him, or the prospect of marriage itself. I'm sure our parents know what they're doing. Reply soon! And send your owl, this blasted one is useless, this letter's likely days late… Alas.

Your sister,

Bellatrix Black

Narcissa read the letter twice, trying to derive even a word of sense from it.

"Erm, Mort, you didn't by any chance tell my parents that we were getting married when I turned eighteen? Or that I might be afraid of you?"

"Let me see that…" He leaned over curiously. "That doesn't- Narcissa, that letter from your parents the others day, what did it say?" Rodtimer asked suddenly. Narcissa blanched.

"I- I never read it. I forgot." She leapt up from the table, and hurried back towards the Slytherin dungeon, unnoticing of Lucius Malfoy's grey eyes following her knowingly.

She half-ran through the corridors, and upon reaching her dormitory began to tear through her possessions like a storm. It must be here somewhere, it has to be…

"Ah!" Narcissa cried exultantly, her hands falling upon the parchment. She tore it open, and began to read,

Narcissa,

My dear, youngest daughter- I have excellent news! You may or may not be aware, but your father and I have been concerned for some time about the lack of marriage proposals your hand has been receiving. Why, by your age, half the eligible bachelors in London were vying for you sister Bellatrix's affections… Which is why we are allowing her to select her own husband. She has the world at her fingertips, and your father and I feel she can't go wrong.

However, your sixteenth birthday has passed, and no offer was made. Until very recently, that is. You will be thrilled to learn that we were visited by Abraxas Malfoy about two months ago- we didn't tell you earlier because we didn't wish you to get your hopes up until it was final. And final it is! You will be marrying Lucius Malfoy shortly after your eighteenth birthday. Your father and I thought it would be appropriate to wait until you graduated from school, a year after you were legal. I hope you aren't too alarmed dear, but you must realize that we couldn't possibly pass this opportunity up! The Malfoys, after all, are not ones to be snubbed! And had there been a variety of options, or any official suitor, you realize that we would have given you a choice, but since none other stepped forward, we thought this for the best. Owl me with any questions.

All the love in the world,

Druella R. Black

Mother

Narcissa wasn't aware of dropping ungracefully onto her bed, nor could she understand why there were fresh tearstains on the letter in her hand. All she could think was No. No, this couldn't possibly be true. No, she was going to marry Mort, not Lucius Malfoy- the thought alone made her physically ill.

But the only time Mort had officially asked her to marry her had been in her first year. She had agreed, and from then on out they had both known they'd be wed sometime in the future.

There was no ring. No contract. Mort had never even met her parents, let alone asked them for her- he wasn't so old fashioned. And while Mort was a Yaxley and of undisputed pure lineage, the Malfoys were descendants of nobles and kings, from a time when monarchy ruled the wizarding world thousands of years ago. The Malfoy fortune was obscene in it mass, and it was old money- the type none could dispute or sneer at. Mort loved her, but what did that mean on paper?

No one else had asked for her- that was true enough. Because everyone else had known the she was Rodtimer's, totally and entirely. Had Lucius known his father's intentions? Had Lucius asked for her specifically? The idea was laughable- Lucius Malfoy had no interest in her, but would he have been able to refuse the marriage?

Wiping the tears away she stood up, not knowing whether to go to Mort first- whose arms she longed to fall in and shoulder she needed to cry on- or Lucius, with whom she needed to discuss this unpleasant arrangement with. The dilemma was solved for her when she found Lucius waiting for her in the common room.

"I assume you got the letter?"

"You knew?"

"For several days now. I felt I wouldn't be the best person to tell you."

Well, he was probably right about that. She'd likely not believe him, and even if she had, she wouldn't be able to face him after the horror he'd surely have seen in her eyes.

"I- there must be a way to-to reverse it! Or stop it! Or…something! I don't want to marry you; I'm going to marry Rodtimer!"

Lucius's face was expressionless, as usual. "If you believe you can find a way to do so."

"Is it so final then?"

"From what I've been told."

Narcissa turned quickly, pressing her shaking hands to her face. "I don't want to marry you," She whispered again.

"Narcissa?" The hidden entrance to the common room opened, and Rodtimer appeared. "Are you alright? You left in a bit of a hurry." He moved swiftly over to her, wrapping her in a protective embrace.

The last one, Narcissa realized, more tears springing to her eyes. "Mort…" She choked, burying her head in his shoulder. "I love you. So much. Forever. I promise. And I'm sorry." With that, she extracted herself from his arms and walked over to Lucius, chin lofted. "Alright." She could do this. She was a Black, Narcissa Black, and would stand strong. She would make her family proud no matter what, and even if she would never be ready, she could do this.

"Goodbye, Mort." Narcissa whispered.