"Lucius... are you awake?"

"Mmm... I am now. What time is it?"

"Four thirty."

"Excellent." He buried his head under the pillow. Narcissa smiled and stroked his exposed back.

"Draco's going to be up soon. I wanted to remind you that I'm going out today- you'll be okay watching him, right?"

"Of course, darling. I'll be especially okay if I get another hour of sleep."

"Lucius..."

His head poked up at last. "What is it, sweetheart?" he asked gently, squinting through the dark.

"I'm not sure." She had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, the kind of distracting excitement that had kept her up on Christmas Eve as a child. "It's just... this feeling."

Lucius frowned, sitting up beside her. "A bad feeling? A premonition?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that. This is a good feeling." Once he was upright, she scooted over to rest her head on his shoulder. "Last night was fun. We should do it again."

"We might need to find someone else to watch Draco, though," he commented, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Lucius... what's your middle name?"

He blinked, surprised. "It's Abraxas. After my father. Why?"

"I couldn't remember. And that's something you should just know off the top of your head about your husband, isn't it?"

"I suppose so, Narcissa Cassiopeia Malfoy." He pressed his lips to her temple.

"Lucius... there's something that doesn't make a lot of sense to me," she began hesitantly.

"Hm?" he yawned.

"When we got married... I was just dreadful to you, for so long. How did you fall in love with me? It's just... we never really knew each other, but it's as though you already loved me. Not just loved having a wife, but me. Even when there was nothing lovable about me."

He was silent for several minutes; so long, in fact, that Narcissa wondered if he'd fallen back asleep.

"There wasn't..." he began slowly. "There wasn't much in my childhood to give me any sort of happiness. Especially not before Beatrice was born."

She waited, rather confused, but curious.

"Would it make sense, then, if there was a memory that gave me joy... that I might hold on to it? That, even if it seemed insignificant to all those involved, it might stay with me for years afterwards?"

"Of course."

"Then I want to show you something."

He rose from bed, and plodded across the room to locate his pensieve.

"What is it?" she asked, eager, clambering out of bed after him.

"The first time we met."

The train to Hogwarts, he mind supplied instantly, but Lucius continued, "We were four and five years old."

Narcissa blinked, shocked. Although... he had recognized her instantly in the memory she had spied upon, hadn't he?

Lucius sifted through the memories in the basin, flicking through scene after scene until he found the one he was searching for.

"Alright, you go first."

Narcissa glanced at him curiously, but lowered her face to the misty surface, and began to fall.

Her feet his the grounds of the Malfoy Manor on a sunny day, and present-day Lucius materialized shortly after. There appeared to be some sort of garden party in progress, and Narcissa quickly located her mother, chatting with Aethel Malfoy. Lucius sat between the two women, ignored and fidgeting. His eyes were wide and hopeful, and Narcissa followed his gaze to see what he was watching. With a pang, she saw a group of children, close to his age, playing games a short distance away. Clearly, no one had invited him, and he already possessed enough self-awareness to feel shame in having to ask them if he could join. Narcissa watched the children, and after a moment, she recognized herself in the group. Bella and Andromeda were there, too, along with children Narcissa was certain she could identify if they were a bit older.

At four, Narcissa had been unusually small, and was therefore having a bit of trouble keeping up with the game of Keep the Wand from The Muggle. The little ones shrieked and laughed, brandishing the stick about, but no one noticed when Narcissa lunged forward and stumbled over a rock, vanishing over a small knoll. No one, except for Lucius.

Alarmed, he checked to see if Mrs. Black had seen. He tapped his mother's leg urgently, but she waved him aside. Rebuffed, Lucius hopped to his feet and headed over to where he'd seen her fall.

She was a pitiful sight indeed; grass was tangled in her pale hair, and her dress was badly dirtied, but her arm was the main concern. She had cut it on a jagged rock on the way down, and it was bleeding. She was sniffling, too shocked to feel pain yet, and Lucius sprinted forward to drop to his knees beside her.

"You're hurt," he whispered, gingerly pointing to her arm. She nodded, lower lip protruding, eyes beginning to pool with tears. She thrust it injured limb out to him, and begged softly,

"Fix it?"

Lucius swallowed nervously. More than anything, he want to; he wanted to make her not hurt. Fingers trembling, he covered to wound with his palm. He clenched his eyes shut and grit his teeth, trying to think up a healing spell, wishing that he could someway, somehow, make her better... he'd gladly take the pain for himself, if only-

He drew away with a gasp when he felt a wet burning across his hand. Narcissa examined her arm, eyes wide.

"You did it!" she exclaimed, delighted. Grateful, she flung her arms around his neck. "I've only ever seen grown-ups do magic! But it's gone!"

It wasn't quite gone. Lucius glanced at his palm, where the cut had transferred, but he quickly made a fist and hugged her back. He was thrilled, the expression on his face one of pure delight, eyes full of the same joy most children expressed upon receiving a far better gift than they'd ever before been given.

Narcissa knew that she had not been a very affectionate child, but her smaller self seemed to sense that Lucius needed to be held, and did not squirm away.

"Come on," she whispered at last, grabbing his good hand. "Come play."

"You didn't let go of me all day," adult Lucius murmured in her ear, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Except to play knights and dragons, where you insisted that I be the one to rescue you."

Narcissa turned, grasping his right hand and opening it. There was a scar; faded and stretched, but still visible.

"My mother didn't let me go to garden parties," she murmured, stroking his palm. "This one must have been the only until after I started Hogwarts; I suppose she couldn't find someone to watch us, but didn't want to turn down an invitation from you mother."

"I...I didn't really have friends as a child. And I hated these parties. But I went to every single one until I started school, even when I was the oldest child there, even when I couldn't clearly remember your face. I never stopped hoping."

They were standing in their bedroom once more.

"Lucius..." she laid her forehead against his chest, for some reason feeling on the verge of tears. "Do you believe in fate?"

"Fate is rather closely linked with Divination, which I never had much faith in."

"But Lucius..." a new idea was occurring to her, one that she wasn't quite sure how to cope with. If she was right... what did that mean about the seven years she spent with Mort? About everything she was so certain she thought she knew? "What if we were fated to be together? What if... what if I'm the only person who can fix you, and you're the only one who can make me truly happy? I fought against it, fought so hard, but what if I never had a choice? It would have been so easy- what if I had seen you again at another party, if we'd become friends... what if I hadn't fought so hard against our engagement... If I'd just put down my book that day on the Hogwarts Express..."

Lucius frowned. Questions sprang to his lips, but he bit them back. Fix me? And did she, too, remember that train ride?

"All this time, Lucius," she whispered. "What if we're not together because our parents made us be... but because we're supposed to be?" Just days ago, she'd been convinced of the very opposite, but something seemed different now.

"It... it's quite a thought, Narcissa," he replied, stroking her hair. "And not one that I'm at all disinclined to believe. But darling, fate implies a lack of free will, no ability to choose."

"Fate is destiny, Lucius. It's a better future than what we could have made for ourselves without a higher force."

He didn't want to tell her 'no'; after all, hadn't he hoped she would come to a similar revelation, and realize that she did not need to be with Rodtimer Yaxley to be happy? But the idea of fate seemed rather farfetched to him.

"Let's go back to bed," he suggested softly. "And discuss it once the sun is up."

"But Draco-"

"I'll go check on Draco." He kissed her forehead patiently.

"Cissy, honey, there you are! I was starting to worry." Lysandra beamed at Narcissa as she pulled open the door. Narcissa smiled back, albeit more shyly. "Rabby, I'm headed out!" she called, grabbing her wand from a nearby table. Rabastan appeared from the corridor that Narcissa guessed lead to the kitchen, wearing nothing but pinstriped boxer shorts and scarfing down a bowl of cereal.

"Have fun!" he replied around his spoon. His hair, lighter than his brother's, stuck up in all directions, and he was grinning. "Hey, Cissy. How are you?"

"I'm great," she replied, thrilled to realize that it was true. "You look fantastic, by the way."

"Thanks, Cis. You too." He'd made it across the room and gave Narcissa a quick peck on the cheek, and wrapped his arms around Lysandra. "I'll miss you, gorgeous."

Lysandra rolled her eyes and ruffled his hair. "You'll manage. We won't be back for a while, so find something to do and don't sit around in your underwear all day. Okay?"

"But it's my day off!"

"Day off from work, not day off from clothes-wearing. Bye, Rabby," she blew him a kiss and grabbed Narcissa's wrist, leading her out the door. "Honestly," Lysandra continued as they walked down the stairs, "I sometimes think he just likes to see himself naked."

"He's probably just proud of what he looks like- did you ever see him when he was younger?"

"Merlin, no, and he doesn't have a single photo lying around either!"

"He used to be very insecure;sweet as can be, as I'm sure you know, but he felt just awful in comparison to Rodolphus."

"Merlin, his brother has the most incredible biceps in the world, have you noticed? Dreadful personality though."

"Er..." Narcissa shrugged, taken aback. "Anyway, 'Bastan used to be... well, a bit chubby. He's lost all the weight, though, and I'm glad for him. He seems much happier."

"Rabby was fat, really? No wonder he hate Rodolphus so much then. Well, at least he's cute now though..." she flashed a quick smile, "and mine. I was thinking we should go to Paris today, shopping! Unless you'd rather stay in the UK?"

"Anywhere's fine," she assured her.

"Great. Let's get new gowns for the Rosier's ball. Little Caroline's a married woman- can you believe it? I know I just can't. Rabastan doesn't seem to mind much, either way. I think he's sort of always been expecting her to drop dead at any moment, and hasn't gotten attached the way Rodolphus has. Don't know why Evan is so fascinated by her though- she's dreadfully quite and is always rushing off to take potions or lie down... Ah, here we are, the international floo's through there."

Narcissa arrived back at the Manor, arms full of bags and grinning. "Lucius," she sang. "I'm home!"

There was no reply.

"Lucius!" she called, a bit louder, as a house elf appeared to take her bags. "Lucius, where are- oh!" She had quite forgotten that the rest of Lucius's family was still here, and she felt an unpleasant squirming in the pit of her stomach at the sight of Aethel, regarding her coolly. Narcissa recalled how the older woman despised yelling.

"Hello, Narcissa."

"Hello, Mrs. Malfoy," she replied dutifully, but dully. "Is Lucius home?"

"I'm afraid my son had a business emergency and was forced to depart quite suddenly."

"Who's watching Draco, then?" she demanded loudly. Aethel's lip curled in distaste.

"Draco is with his grandfather. My husband is in his study."

Narcissa brushed past without a word of thanks. She had grown tired of showing fealty towards this woman who hated her so unjustly; this woman who had so little warmth for her own son. She approached Abraxas's study, but paused outside the door when she heard the sound of his voice.

"... And the dragon swooped down to attack the villagers, but then the brave wizard called upon the magic of Ancients to cast a powerful charm over the town, warding the dragon off. But he did not simply stop at defending the people; oh, no. He pursued the dragon and confronted the beast in the mountains, using his sword, forged by goblins and imbibed with the magic of The Greats, he slew the terrifying creature. When the wizard returned to the village, they rejoiced, and he was from then on named for the dragon: Draco Claudius Malfoy. Your thirteen times great grandfather. You're named for him, you know."

Narcissa poked her head in with a small smile to see Abraxas stretched across the rug, chin resting on his folded hands. Draco was facing him, on his belly and cooing happily. He noticed his mother before Abraxas did, and squealed with delight. "A-ma ma!"

Narcissa entered the room to scoop up her son and Abraxas rolled on to one elbow, smiling lazily up at her.

"My dear Narcissa," he addressed her warmly. "Did you have a nice trip into town?"

"Oh yes, it was lovely," she assured him, stroking her son's pale hair. "We went to Paris."

"Ah, Paris. Ville de mon coeur. I do so wish to spend more time there, though business makes it quite impossible." He rose to his feet, but only to move to an elegant armchair. He gestured that Narcissa should have a seat as well. "You have a delightful son."

"Thank you; you do too," she replied with absent-minded courtesy, before giving a small giggle as she realized the she was referring to her own husband. Abraxas smiled warmly.

"In all honestly, Narcissa, I must confess that I am glad to hear you say so. It seems that, by moving from the Manor, you have had the opportunity to set aside differences and work together in raising your beautiful boy."

"We're happy," she whispered, still marveling in the thrill that the words gave her.

"I am glad to hear it. He always was a troubled boy," Abraxas commented mildly, fingers lightly over the leather armrest of his chair.

"He's still troubled," Narcissa replied under her breath, not expecting him to hear.

"I had hoped he would outgrow it," he murmured ruefully. "I can't fathom why he hasn't. He's a clever boy; you would think he'd have a bit stronger constitution."

Narcissa's jaw dropped in disbelief. "He is strong," she insisted, trying to keep the anger from her tone. "He..." She paused, not wanting to hurl accusations at her father-in-law. But Abraxas raised one eyebrow, curious.

"Please, Narcissa, continue."

"He was so lonely as a child," she whispered, unwilling to meet his eye. "He was... or he felt, at least... neglected. He had no friends, and you and Mrs. Malfoy... He never felt that you loved him."

"Narcissa, it is not customary to raise sons to be coddled in the same way daughters are."

"But that doesn't mean you shouldn't love them! Hold them occasionally!"

"I regret that my wife did not treat Lucius with affection when he was a boy," he confessed softly. Narcissa waited, but he offered no more.

"And you?" she prompted.

"Narcissa, of course I loved my son. I tried to let him know that by always striving to help him achieve the very most he could, by doing what was best for him."

"He wanted you to hug him. Or at least, wanted someone to."

Abraxas rose slowly to his feet, pacing over to the large glass balcony doors and staring over the grounds.

"Have you noticed that Lucius has an aversion to alcohol?"

Narcissa frowned, but replied, "I have. Why?"

"I tried to instill that in him through example; I worried that telling him outright would inspire youthful rebellion and have the opposite intended effect. I chose to let him learn for himself.

"It's a tricky thing, alcohol; a base addiction, one that Muggles and wizards alike are susceptible to. A weakness towards it often runs in families." Thoughtfully, he let his hand trail over the drapes, gaze still fixed on the distant woods. "My father was raised in the way most Malfoy heirs are. Having everything handed him, he saw no reason why he should not indulge himself in the occasional drink- and later, more than occasionally.

"My father was born at the end of the nineteenth century; 1898, to be exact. He married my mother at a very young age; she was fifteen, he was eighteen. Things were rather different then, of course. Your own grandfather Pollux was a mere thirteen years when your Aunt Walburga was born. The intention was to have children as early as possible- an heir and a spare, ideally. My mother had a daughter early on; beautiful little girl who died three years before I was born, when she was only seven years old. My father was devastated; it wasn't until then that his heavy drinking truly began. Even though my sister and I were born in the next five years, he had already developed the habit. And he was bitter.

"My father was raised to treat women as delicate creatures- and not to play the male chauvinist here, my dear Narcissa, but you all are rather delicate. I do appreciate that, even when inebriated, he could recognize that. He- ah... well. As I said, he drank quite a lot. And quite often. He did not react well to the alcohol; Malfoy men rarely do. Remember to assure that your own little one knows that. He would become... violent."

He fell silent, and Narcissa readjusted Draco, who was squirming restlessly.

"My father was violent," he repeated, dully. "But he always regretted his outbursts. And he never struck my mother or sister. As a child, when he would hit me, I would become distraught and confused. But the next day, after he'd sobered up, her would pick me up and hold me, take me to a Qudditch game or out for ice cream. He would carry me around, in his arms when I was a toddler, on his shoulders when I got too big for that, but he was always cheerful and gentle, as though he could undo his transgressions. When I was young, sitting in his lap as we read the Daily Prophet, me with a newly blacked eye and him with a sever hangover, made up for his violent outbursts. I adored him anyway.

"When I left for school, I was old enough to recognize how perverse our living situation was, but to me they seemed to have ended. I was only home during holidays, and he rarely drank then; we had family visiting, you see. I was able to put my unusual past behind me. I had school, I had friends; I had Charlotte. She was the only one I confessed my past to, and she was horrified. Far more than I myself was. But her words stayed with me. The summer after my fifth year, he struck me. I retaliated."

Again, he stopped, and Narcissa waited. Even Draco had fallen silent.

"I was only a boy, at the time. He was a full grown man. Of course my arrogant rage was no match for him. Of course he hurt me. He beat me within an inch of my life. He cracked my ribs, bloodied my face, bruised my entire body." His voice was dry and cool, unaffected as he recounted the night. Narcissa cringed.

"My sister came into the room. I think that's what stopped him from killing me. You see, that night was the eighteenth anniversary of my other sister's death- that was why he was so drunk, so pained. No Healers were called, though. Malfoys neatly avoid scandal, throughout history. All convenient deaths are ruled tragic accidents, and you will find that we fall down stairs frequently, despite our renowned grace.

"Even after that, I did not hate him. I did not hate him until the next morning, when he came into my room and held out his arms, meaning to hold me, make me forgive him. I could not rise from bed, sloppily bandaged as I was, but told him never to touch me again. And he never did. We did not mention the incident ever again, save one occasion, and that was a mere allusion."

"Did he apologize?" Narcissa asked weakly. Abraxas shook his head.

"No, no, my dear, nothing like that. It was when I informed him of my intention to marry Charlotte. He asked me the nature of our relationship. I told him I loved her. He asked how much. I said she meant the world to me, that she knew me better than anyone else. He asked how much she knew, and unthinkingly, I replied, "Everything." He then proceeded to tell me that, if I married her, I would be disowned. He could not abide by the idea of someone knowing everything. So he picked out a lovely young girl from Sweden. A Sigbjörn girl; the most esteemed family in the country.

"They have unusual customs in Sweden, you know. Today it is considered unlucky for the groom to see his fiancee's dress before the wedding. In Sweden, men customarily do not see their bride at all until she reaches the alter and he lifts her veil. Another is that boys and girls are raised separately. The boys live in one side of the home, raised by fathers, unwed uncles, brothers and male caregivers, while girls are raised in the other, by mothers, maiden aunts, sisters, etcetera. The two wings are adjoined only by a single room: the master bedroom, which the head Moder and Far share. All the Purebloods of Sweden are raised this way. Children see their parent of the opposite gender rarely, if ever at all. It is intended to produce men and women untainted by inclinations of the other sex- and, of course, sex itself. Aethel was raised in such a way. She had been taught precisely how to treat a husband, a man of authority, but did not see one in the flesh until our marriage."

He chuckled softly, rubbing his chin wryly. "It led to some interesting experiences early in our married life, I assure you. But she had been raised to treat me respectfully, obediently, lovingly. She had not, however, been taught to raise a son. From the time he was born, she attempted to distance herself from him, but with the experiences I had with my own father, I was reluctant to even hold him as an infant. I could only too clearly remember how I had hated my own father's hand; I could not bring myself to touch Lucius. Aethel did not wish to. He was neglected badly. I regretted it all the time, Narcissa," he told her earnestly, turning to face her at last. "But there was nothing I could do."

"I chose you for him not because of your blood or name, but because you were highly recommended. I asked Horace Slughorn about any outstanding witches in Slytherin. He mentioned you specifically. He said you were kind, and I knew immediately that you would be the one he should marry. He did not mention the Yaxley boy, as he did not know my intentions at the time, but- forgive me, dear- I would have asked your parents for you anyway. It would be simple to find a girl to love my son's title and wealth; however, I suspected a gentle-hearted girl might love him. Hoped, at least."

"I thought you loved Aethel."

"I am fond of her, and of course I would tell you I loved her: you missing your Yaxley boy so much, and both you and my son so unhappy. I intended to give you a bit of inspiration."

"Was she hurt- Charlotte- that you chose not to marry her?"

"Charlotte did not allow me to choose. I told her what my father said, and she announced that she would never marry me. She would not let me abandon a family that has been in existence since wizards first learned to channel magic through crude sticks. She loved me too to allow me to give up my inheritance."

"If she hadn't said that, would you have run away with her? She was still a Slytherin, a Pureblood, not a dishonorable girl."

"Oh, Narcissa..." he sighed. "To this day, I have no idea."

"Lucius has never mentioned his grandfather... is he still alive?"

"No. He died when Lucius was seven years old. Died of Dragon Pox, rare in a man his age. Did you hear the story I was telling Draco when you came in? The tale of Draco Claudius? Ironically, my father contracted the disease shortly after visiting our ancestor's tomb, the famous dragon slayer, in the forest of Narth. It's a sight I've always wanted to see before my own passing. Someday," he shrugged carelessly. "Lucius wouldn't remember him, though. I wouldn't let him near my own child."

He approached Narcissa, regarding her seriously. "I must ask that you share what I've told you with no one. Not even my son."

"Not a soul," she promised.

(Author's Note: I'm going to say this is end of Part I, if we're dividing the story up. Now you know all the background, why everyone is the was they are. There's a reason for everything. Now, who's exicted for the angsty drama of Part II?)