"Mrs. Malfoy?" The old man's distinctive voice. "Your elf showed me in. I hope you're not dreadfully busy." He spoke as he descended the stairs, footsteps slow and uncertain. Narcissa wondered at the image that greeted him: mother and son, barely a breath apart, flushed, wide-eyed and frozen. It must have been unsettling. "Oh. I see you're both quite busy."
A part of her was insanely grateful for his interruption. The other part of her… "Mr. Sansborough." She touched at her hair as if straightening it could straighten her state of mind. "We've just finished a fragrance, actually. Your arrival is most fortuitous."
"Indeed," Draco agreed tightly. "Good to see you, solicitor." His gaze had not left his mother, searching and a little accusing.
"Did I mention I'd invited Mr. Sansborough to see the lab, Draco?" No, she obviously had not. She stepped away from her son's intensity to play hostess. "Well, sir. Let me give you the grand tour."
"Thank you." Sansborough bowed. "And as I'm invited hospitably into your home, I insist you call me by my given name. Alvin."
"Alvin, then." Narcissa gave a shaky smile and gestured widely to their workspace. "This is my...fragrance lab."
The solicitor was thorough in examining each station. Began asking questions. Draco turned abruptly and left. Narcissa watched him go with pain on her face, but what could she do? Her heart and head ached, each arguing with the other. And still Sansborough asked questions…
She had to focus. Showed her samples with nervous pride. The old man seemed quite discriminating. He took his time smelling the little vials, even revisited a few. Narcissa sat on a nearby bench and waited. Her lips still tingled.
"Well." He set down the final phial and picked up the witch's attention. "I'm certainly no expert on perfumes. But I know these are good, Narcissa. Quite good. And I do know something about business." He sat facing her.
Business time. Narcissa felt slightly intimidated. She wished Draco was still present, then remembered why he wasn't, and blushed deeply. "Is it...a valid idea?"
Alvin smiled. It was a genuine and comforting gesture. "I think it is. And I know the right people to help you. Undertaking a venture such as this one requires assistance. And speaking of…" He gestured to Draco's station. "I assume you've taken on your son?"
She blinked. Felt heat in her face. Sansborough's words struck a freshly strung chord. "Ah. Yes. Just today, in fact. We…" She waved a hand. "We made something together." She just wasn't sure what.
"The fig one?"
"Yes. With the mint."
"I like that one."
"Thank you."
Sansborough sighed. "You've a good deal of work ahead of you. Your son may not be enough. I suggest you find some...inexpensive work force."
"I've an elf."
"Good workers, elves." Alvin sighed. "But this line of work you've embarked upon requires a more...delicate hand. A certain kind of intellect. And perhaps a similar passion?"
Narcissa nodded. Made sense. "I see."
"Contact Hogwarts." Sansborough suggested. "Minerva is an old and dear friend of mine. She's always been particularly good at placing students in positions that benefit them and the employer. And they're usually quite eager to work."
The idea was...challenging, to say the least. But she knew she had little in the way of options. "I shall do so."
Alvin tapped the table nearest them. "Narcissa. I'll be quite honest. You may have a natural talent for this, but it is work. And if you want to make a real go of it, you'll need an open mind, and a willingness to accept help."
She bristled a bit at the suggestion. "I am willing to accept help! That's why you're here now."
He raised a calming hand. "Sometimes...help comes from the most surprising sources. That's all I have to say on the matter." He rose. "And with that, I'm afraid I must make my way back to the office. I'll leave some papers for you to look over upstairs. Some contacts and account information. You'll want to set up a business account, after all."
"Of course." She hadn't thought of that. The brief conversation they'd had left her reeling a bit as she saw the solicitor to the doors.
"Do give Draco my felicitations," Sansborough said, securing his hat. "It seemed something was troubling him."
"Oh?" She swallowed. "I'll speak to him." The solicitor apparated smoothly away, leaving Narcissa feeling oddly lost. Now, she had only her son for company. Whom she'd kissed earlier. Quite thoroughly. There was nothing motherly about that kiss. Nor the way her treacherous body had responded. What would have happened if Sansborough hadn't arrived?
She lingered at the manor's imposing doors. She didn't know where her son was, but inevitably… Dread set in. She went to the drawing room, and dread came full circle. Draco was there, bent over a desk and reading a parchment.
Feeling like a stranger, she stood in the doorway. "Draco?"
He turned to her, face unreadable. "Mother. I was just reading over the material Sansborough left. I hope you don't mind."
She felt the expression on her face working. "Of course I don't mind."
He nodded. "Good. If you further don't mind, I'll take care of this side of things. The more… boring aspects. Leave the perfuming to you."
There was a sudden sense that something had died. Something that had never quite lived. She stepped toward him swiftly. "But…" But what? He looked so expectant. "I thought…"
He waited. She struggled. "Right." He rolled the parchments briskly. "I'll be in the study if you need me." He walked past her with distant purpose. It was palpable. The mint he left in his wake nearly choked her. Or perhaps it was something else that caused her throat to close so. Her eyes burned.
She sat numbly to the desk he'd abandoned. Let the tears fall freely. It seemed everything was coming together so perfectly...so why did it feel like she was falling apart?
Stupid to cry. Weak! She sniffed determinedly and took up a quill. Focused on something simple. Something solid. Something she could control. Against every fibre of her being, she penned a parchment to Hogwarts' Headmistress.
There came after days of avoidance. Owls came and went. Accounts were compartmentalised. Draco made floo calls and Sansborough's voice was a frequent sonor. Narcissa mostly lingered in doorways, shadow bisecting her self. In this dichotomy of light and dark she dwelled, uncertain what to say to him.
And his face was so steely of a sudden. So distant. He'd not joined her again in the lab, and the last scent she'd created bespoke her loneliness. Dark amber and lonely labdanum. Thick and slow oak resin and weeping narcissus. A hint of papyrus. It was an unwritten letter to a somewhat stranger.
Even their meals were tainted with a forced and unfamiliar geniality. "Please pass the salt." Translation: "What are we become?"
She didn't mention the kiss. It was a turbulent afterthought that stuck in the back of the sinus like heady cacao. It haunted them - an insinuating presence. But Draco didn't mention it either, so it haunted on.
And there was no return word from McGonagall, so Narcissa faltered. A letter from Sansborough asked after the apprentice situation. He had associates eager to meet her, apparently, and they would want to see serious application. But as it stood, they would see only a beleaguered widow with a dark past and mopey son, churning out barely amateur fragrances on a hair-width budget. So she fretted.
Until Wednesday.
Draco had not appeared at tea. Daunted, Narcissa was making her way to the lab when she felt her wards waver. She waited for the knock, expecting perhaps Sansborough and sadly excited for the company. But even when the knock came, she waited in the foyer. Waved the elf away when it popped up to answer. Couldn't seem too eager despite her eagerness.
She touched a few errant hairs into place and flicked her wand. Pasted on a pleasant (hopefully) smile as the doors swung open.
But it wasn't Sansborough.
It was a witch. Decidedly shaped so even beneath a relatively thick cherry red cloak of heavy wool. Petite. Perhaps Narcissa's own height in heels. She was surveying the grounds, not the hostess.
Cissa blinked. "Ahem." The witch turned, face shadowed by hood, and lithe fingers reached for the covering. "Oh gods!" Narcissa could not have disguised such potent surprise had she tried.
But Red Riding Hood was not dissuaded in the least. "Hello, Ms. Malfoy. Minerva McGonagall has sent me. She says you have a project."
"Miss...Miss Lovegood." It was a muffled address. Muffled by a stunned Malfoy matron's shaking hand. "Good gods…"
"Unless you would prefer Neville Longbottom's help. I believe the headmistress was originally more than willing to send us both." Luna's forehead creased puzzled. "I wonder if she was offended by the article I featured in The Quibbler about her penchant for allowing belching garblinkles to inhabit Hogwarts' already questionable plumbing facilities." The girl shrugged. "Anyway. I'm here to help."
"I'm...I'm…" Speechless, apparently. She couldn't form words. Could only stare at the girl as a light snow settled on her brightly clad shoulders.
"Mother?" He approached. "Who is here? Close the door before you catch - Bollocks!" He'd seen Lovegood. There'd been no time to prepare him. Now two gobsmacked Malfoys stared into eyes alight with...well...thoughts, perhaps.
"Hello, Draco." She lilted genuine pleasance.
"Lovegood!" His voice was perhaps an octave too high. "What in blazes are you doing here?"
Narcissa attempted to answer. "Apparently Miss Lovegood is sent to be my...assistant?"
"Apprentice." Luna supplied sweetly. "It sounds nicer, I think."
"Um…" Narcissa continued to stare.
But Draco shook his head. He was first to smile, albeit ruefully, and scraped a hand through his lengthening blonde locks. "Well hell, Lovegood." He did not call her Looney, although it tripped at the tip of his tongue. He took his mother's elbow, gently moving her aside. "Do come in." Swept a long arm grandly to welcome the witch.
"Thank you!" This time, the airy smile showed teeth. The young witch was removing her cloak as if she was...home. "The manor is really beautiful in the snow. I didn't really get to see that last time I was here," she said. "But I was in your cellar then. And a prisoner. So I didn't see much other than Mr. Ollivander. And chicken bones."
The Malfoys coloured quite thoroughly. Narcissa took the red cloak with slow motion hands. Beneath it, the chit wore a flaring tulle skirt in blue, with a tartan turtleneck. She cocked her head. "Not that I hold a grudge. So. What's your project?"
"Um…"
Draco looked down at his stammering mother and grinned. "There was a time I didn't think life here could get any stranger, mum."
"Um…"
The girl was strange, no doubt, but strangely charming, too. The days passed quickly with help in the lab - especially help that wasn't Narcissa's lately moody and Mercurial son.
Lovegood was (grudgingly admitted) rather good. Eager to be useful and surprisingly gifted in the realm of scent. She noted notes quickly, and had a nose for concoction. Her Ravenclaw brain was disguised by a head in the clouds, but it reared its soft matter often enough in the laboratory, and Narcissa found herself pleased with Minerva's obviously convenient assignment.
Not to mention her honesty was refreshing and beneficial. "That needs less cumin." Or "Perhaps a bit more kumquat?" And (Cissa's personal favourite): "Oh, Ms. Malfoy! That's perfect!" Which made Narcissa beam.
"That smells like wrackspurt afterbirth."
Narcissa growled. Sometimes the annoying girl's honesty honestly pissed her off. She cast the sample cloth to the table. "Well, you figure it out, then!"
Sansborough's fragrance business connections were due to visit the next morning, and tempers were edgy. Except of course, in Luna's case. She was as smiling and genial as ever. "Perhaps if we cut the civet and add something more...inviting." Narcissa stared while the blonde mulled. "Ah! Derigible plum! Everyone loves derigible plum."
Slightly sweaty, irritable and hungry, Narcissa scowled. "Derigible plum?"
"Mmhm." The idiot girl was already rifling through a cabinet. "I know we have some. I tinctured it myself." She hummed a ditty. Happy as a lark.
Narcissa couldn't take it. "Looney," she mumbled quietly. Stood. "I'm going to eat. Do what you will with the bloody thing." And with a final scathing glance at the vial in question, she left the lab.
She summoned the elf to the drawing room and requested a sandwich. Perhaps skipping breakfast in favour of production had been a bad idea. She sat at the tea table, waiting. Staring out the french doors at the desolate grounds. The snow had stopped, and spring was on its way, but still the green was at bay. She sighed.
"Everything alright?"
She looked up. "Draco!" He stood in the door, watching her who knew how long. Her smile hurt her cheeks. "I've missed you!" The words came without thought. Her apprentice's innocuous honesty was contagious. She flushed.
He stayed in the doorway. "I'm still here, mother."
"I mean...in the lab." She meant everywhere. She meant that even when they sat to the same table (rare now) they were miles apart.
"Oh." He looked down at a rolled parchment in his hands. "Right."
"Will you join me for brunch?"
He vacillated. She could see indecision. "I have a letter for Sansborough, actually." He waved the parchment. "Why not have Lovegood join you?"
That stung. Her lips tightened. "She's busy. We're both quite busy." She fussed with her serviette. "I shan't trouble you further."
"Mother -"
"You should see to your letter." She looked to the window again. The elf popped in. When she looked over her soup and sandwich, Draco was gone. And suddenly she wasn't hungry any longer. She wanted to cry.
"Here." She lowered her wand. The levitating tray settled on a lab table. "You should eat."
"Oooh! Broccoli cheese!" Luna exclaimed. "Broccoli is proven to repel bum-biting baobirds, you know. Most magical ornithologists believe it has something to do with the sparkle farts."
"The sparkle f- ...Never mind." Narcissa rubbed at her forehead.
"Are you troubled?" Luna asked between bites of Narcissa's sandwich. "You seem troubled."
She hadn't intended to open up. Certainly wasn't the type of witch to air her inner turmoils to the general firmament, especially when that firmament was this girl. But she did. "I...I suppose I'm nervous about the visit tomorrow. The business people." She fiddled with a pipette as she spoke, unable to look into the girl's earnest eyes.
"Oh them." Luna had an unfortunate propensity for speaking with her mouth full. "They're just people, aren't they? What's the worst they can say?"
"That I'm a sad amateur with no talent to speak of and absolutely no sense of business who dabbles in oils and flower petals like a...a…"
"A graceless garden gnome?" Luna offered helpfully.
"Your alliteration is uninvited."
"Sorry." She shrugged and went back to her soup. "I think what we've done here speaks for itself. Don't you?"
Narcissa looked at the cabinet they'd filled with samples. All categorised and alphabetised. She had every amount of confidence in her creations. Knew that they were unique. Captivating. Magical. Genuinely good. But would that carry a business? It seemed smell alone would not a perfumier make, and she worried she wouldn't have the head for business to back her nose for beauty.
"Is that all then?" Luna asked.
Narcissa stared at her. "All? Isn't that enough?"
"It just seems there's something deeper troubling you." Cissa shifted under the chit's sudden studious glare. "Do you have nargles, Mrs. Malfoy?"
Narcissa dropped her face into her hands. "Oh bloody hell…"
She'd taken a great deal of time preparing that morning. Made sure her hair was bunned elegantly and...professionally? She wasn't certain. She wore a trim grey skirt and jacket with conservative pumps. Felt rather mugglish.
Draco did a doubletake at breakfast. "What?" She asked.
"Nothing." He regarded her out of the corner of his eye. "You look very...businesslike."
"Excellent." She breathed. Her stomach felt too iffy for the full English spread before her, but she took a little tea. "I'm going to spend a bit of time getting the lab in top shape. I'll have the elf with me."
"I believe Lovegood is already on that project."
"Is she? She's here?"
Draco nodded. "Yes. Looking...Lovegood."
"Oh dear gods." She fretted.
"Mother."
"Hm?"
He reached across the table, letting the Daily Prophet lay in his lap. His fingers were warm on hers and the first touch he'd given her since...that day sent a jolt of sharp sensation ribboning up her spine. "It will be fine. I promise."
She believed him. Tried to smile. But before she could hold the fingers caressing hers, he withdrew them. "That being said, I'd best see to some paperwork." He stood.
"Draco?" He looked down at her, waiting, and she found she had no words. "Thank you." He smirked and left. Wafted dragon's blood and longing in his wake.
Sansborough brought a witch and a wizard. Two of the oddest characters Narcissa had ever encountered, and she'd certainly encountered some damnably odd characters in her time. The witch, Octavia Eulalia, was a study in prim perfection. Her hair was a coiffed dark blonde. She dressed similarly to Narcissa, but her trim skirt sported a lovely print of a sandalwood branch in white bloom. She was quiet, observant and well-spoken when she did speak.
The wizard - Gilliam Walken - was a handsome thing to look upon. Tall, dark-haired with warm features and a ready smile. He donned traditional robes in deep emerald and took a great many notes in a tiny reporter style notebook obviously charmed. He laughed much and his bright brown eyes sparkled.
These were fragrance-minded people most definitely. Eulalia owned the most popular fragrance distributing franchise in the wizarding world: Maison du Fume. 13 locations worldwide. Gilliam Walken published Fragrance Fancier - the periodical for...well, for fragrance fanciers. The two together were known to make or break a perfume, making them intimidating as hell to the new dabbler Narcissa felt herself to be.
They took time studying Narcissa's creations and seemed less concerned with her laboratory than with her work thus far. Octavia was obviously the more focused on emotion of the two. "This speaks most heavily of loss," she said, shaking her head over one fragrance. "While this one is bottled love." A smile graced her face.
Narcissa swallowed. The fig fragrance she and Draco had crafted. "Thank you," she murmured.
She caught a wink from Sansborough who watched on a few feet away.
"I like this one." It was Walken who'd spoken, waving a fragrance sampling cloth. "I think it's… fun!"
Luna, who'd been surprisingly quiet during the visit, brightened. "That's the derigible plum!" She announced. "I knew it was perfect." The sequin unicorns on her skirt kicked with joy.
"Indeed it is." Walken agreed, and Narcissa could only wonder at the kindred spirits. At the sound of the cellar door clicking shut, she looked up to see Draco enter. He held a roll of parchments and wore a dapper black suit. She gave him a smile and he nodded, obviously keen to observe.
"Your fragrances are very unique," Eulalia said. "Certainly far from the popular market fragrances available now. But that could work in your favour."
"True." Walken was the more business minded of the pair. "But your...recipes...they're very essential. No synthetic ingredients to speak of. They would be expensive to create, and more expensive to sell, I'm afraid."
"I see." Narcissa fretted a bit.
"Perhaps if you were willing to incorporate synthetics -" He began.
"Although I feel your finished product would suffer for that," Octavia interrupted.
"You would stand a better chance of gaining a foothold in the market." Gilliam finished.
"I -" Narcissa began, but faltered. She couldn't imagine using 'synthetics' in her perfumes.
"Of if you simply sold your formulas," Walken further offered. "Some of the higher end fragrance houses would no doubt be interested in picking up some more...unique offerings."
"But -" She started. Her fragrances were hers! She coloured hotly at the thought of her and Draco's creation bastardised by some corporate conglomerate.
"My mother is unwilling to incorporate." Draco stepped boldly - smoothly - into the conversation. Sansborough's brows rose as the young man unrolled his parchments and set them on a nearby table. He set a few crucibles upon the corners to weigh them. "And I'm afraid synthetic ingredients will be out of the question. You see, oils, tinctures and all ingredients will be created and harvested in house. Here. From fresh plants grown here. True, some fragrances will be seasonal, but they'll hardly suffer for that."
Walken smiled at him. "I understand your desire to keep your business close, Mr. Malfoy. But the money involved -"
"Is readily available." Draco indicated on another parchment. "Funds have already been allocated to produce the first marketable batches."
"So…" Walken leaned over the parchment, studying the figures. "You're banking on the successful sales of every unit from your first batch. Expensive units, I might add. To fund your next batches."
"The unit costs will vary according to unit size," Draco explained. "Pure fragrances such as these wear longer, and require less to emanate when warmed. It's simple mathematics. The units will sell."
Walken looked unconvinced. "You'll need advertisement. And a name. You can't just expect to slap some tiny bottles on a shelf with hand drawn labels and expect them to sell!"
"We have a printer available fortunately." Draco indicated Luna, who smiled and waved genially. "She has already offered her press to design labels for the first batch."
"She has?" Narcissa regarded Lovegood with undisguised surprise. Luna shrugged.
Eulalia chuckled. "It sounds like you have a plan."
"It sounds like you're taking a gamble," Walken countered.
"Sometimes gambling yields a sizeable payoff," Draco replied smoothly. His eyes narrowed at Walken. "While we would of course appreciate your support in the fragrance market, we don't necessarily need it."
That stymied the older wizard. But Eulalia had words enough. "I'm willing to take the gamble." She stepped toward Draco, shook his hand. "I'll market your fragrances in my boutiques, Mr. Malfoy. Mrs. Malfoy." She shook Narcissa's shocked hand next. "I have a nose for success, it seems."
"I...I can't thank you enough," Narcissa stammered. Truthfully, she was gobsmacked by her son's impressive whirlwind business blitzkrieg.
"I'm afraid I'll be a bit more conservative," Walken announced. "I'll write your fragrances up, certainly. But not until I see their performances on the market." He sighed. "It's a damn bold move. I hope it benefits you both."
"It will." Draco's confidence was solid. He shook Walken's hand last. "I imagine we will have a relationship on this market presently, Mr. Walken. And I think it will pleasantly surprise you."
"I hope so." Gilliam smiled. Then suddenly, he blinked, remembering somehting. "Do you even have a name?" He asked. "I mean, for your fragrance house?"
Narcissa and Draco stared at each other. Luna stared at them. Sansborough leaned forward in expectation and Eulalia bit her lip. "Er…" Cissa wavered. The Malfoy name could hardly be of use to them in this venture. Or any venture, at least for now.
"Yes." Draco nodded. "Of course we do." He smirked at his mother. "Uncommon Scents."
AN: I have a few favourite plum scents. Atelier d'Orient Plum Japonais is by Tom Ford, Sugar Plum from Demeter Labs, a guilty pleasure Per Una Exquisite from Marks and Spencer and the sinful Bathsheba by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. Plum in fragrance always makes me smile for some reason. It's like a fart joke amongst royalty - still brings a grin even though you know it shouldn't. Next chapter? Smut.