Here we go with chapter six! Named after the song by Marina and the Diamonds – check it out, it's delightful. Especially since I am now reluctantly respecting copyright rules and therefore cannot give credit to the songs I love by copying their lyrics.
While we are speaking about credit – something quite important to me: I wished to advertise the delightful story Shake It Out, by Mesteria. It is a Lucissa and a piece of greatness, which I am beta-reading, and the author is on my official list of Greatest People Ever. She's a star. You know you're a star, don't you? (Oh my, that qualifies as author/reader interaction – yes, you know it. I'm bad at following rules.) Back to the point: go check out this fic. Honestly – it'll be worth your while.
Now, about this chapter itself. You'll have to roughly remember the first chapter of Dustland Fairytale to truly get all of the second section, but I still believe most of it should be self-explanatory. At least I hope so – if you're doubtful about anything, ask in a review. Or, and we shall all pretend together that stargazer lilies haven't been created wayyyy after Cissy's teenage years. That's the kind of detail nobody cares about but me…
Oh, and don't kill me if my Lucius seems a bit too perfect in the end part. I legit saw the point when he would begin to sparkle under the sun =P -cringe- it won't be like that all along the fic. It's all in Cissy's dazed eyes, poor dear still has quite a bit of growing up to do. (Which she won't exactly be doing if my readers kill me…)
And with this, the rambling is DONE! -breathes- enjoy!
He lay haphazardly sprawled across his bed, a foot dangling from the edge and his head leaned downwards, face half-hidden in shadow with his eyes tightly shut. Cissy took two seconds' pause, hovering by the door of the boys' dormitory, to realize that she'd missed him.
Stepping over his trunk, carelessly dropped on the floor, she tip-toed over to him and lightly plopped down next to his head, her gaze flicking anxiously across the empty room before she eventually smiled. His lids lifted, irises glowing a greenish brown as they swept over her. He grunted something she mercifully interpreted as a greeting.
"Gentlemen say hello," she teased cheerfully, dainty fingers brushing against his hair.
"You left the gentlemen behind, thank Salazar," Travers muttered. "Be welcome, m'lady."
"You are impossible," she half-heartedly criticized. Still she yawned shamelessly and leaned into the headboard of his bed. "And I'm exhausted."
"Balls do that to someone, I've heard," he snickered.
"Don't sound so pleased about it… I just don't know how I'll make it to OWLs." She sighed dramatically.
"Easy. Just ask Daddy to have you married off before that."
"Are you finished?" she exclaimed. "I cannot help it if I've grown old enough to attend social events. Would you rather I'd remained a twelve-year-old?"
He smirked a little. "Not quite," he admitted, "there are advantages to your being… a proper little woman."
"Then be reasonable," she said firmly, with a tone of finality. She did not care to ask which advantages Travers found to her maturity – she was certain they would not be selfless, nor would they prove related to her actual spirit, in all likelihood. It was Travers and with him there was no need to pretend. Open. She frowned as she leaned back and attempted to relax. A flash of Lucius Malfoy's eyes, the softly mocking edge of his smirk briefly visited the forefront of her mind and she had to stare downwards at her boyfriend's face until the image of the other young bachelor would kindly fade away. The mystery of him had grown dangerously close to the lands of obsession, and she had no wish to indulge that state of things. Adrian stared back at her with an eyebrow half-raised.
"Met anyone interesting?" he pushed.
"Your best friend," she instinctively replied, "who hardly seemed interested in me at all."
Travers snorted. "Greengrass is a loyal one – to his mates, that is," he muttered. "What did you expect, that he would fall at your lovely feet?"
"Perhaps that he would actually stick around for a little chat, if he was that concerned with your interests, instead of taking off to leave me in the hands of Yaxley," she shot back. Purposefully, she had picked the name of the oldest and most handsome of her partners, to aggravate him as much as he aggravated her. Travers just shrugged, and reached upwards for her hand. She relinquished it.
"They're gentlemen, though," he murmured, "always the same." He shot a wink at her. "You do have a thing for special people, don't you Cissy? When you're in the mood to actually acknowledge it…"
"Some of them are special," she retorted defensively. Some. Only a handful of those people seemed to have personalities of their own. Her family… Rodolphus… the Malfoys. "You shouldn't be so smug… You just don't know them at all."
"Smug is what I'm like." She couldn't help but laugh. "I appreciate your lucidity," she told him seriously.
He rolled his eyes. "I'm lucid for two."
Narcissa didn't care to argue the point further than by a low murmur of disagreement. Travers toyed with her dainty fingers, and she pensively stared upwards, through the canopy into nothingness.
"Hey," he abruptly said, "I have something for you."
She started, taken aback. "For me?" she asked. "What for?"
He rolled his eyes. "Christmas, m'lady," he drawled mockingly. "Belatedly," he added, the corner of his mouth twisting sideways.
"Oh." Narcissa wasn't quite sure what to say; she just waited, until she realized that he appeared to do the same thing. "Well, may I see it?" she pushed.
Swiftly, Travers sat up and produced a package from his pocket. He held it in midair, waiting for her to seize it. Carefully, she did, and carefully she opened the parcel. Paper parted and box opened to reveal a silver hairclip, thin and delicate, with intricate, abstract shapes carved in patterns onto it. The thing was really quite pretty, and Cissy stared at it, dangling from her slim fingers casually, with some tightness in her throat. "It is exquisite," she said, "thank you."
"It's a trinket," he shot back, "Want me to put it on?"
She leaned her head and allowed him to slip the item into her fair hair. He slid his hand into the strands, light and smooth, coiling some around his fingers. She let him play, face turned downwards, palms half-open on her lap. Her breath slowed, then quickened again. His digits brushed her cheek.
"I have nothing for you," she uttered softly as he tilted her chin up. She thought he admired his handiwork, but his eyes preferred finding hers.
"Hush," he replied, and then simply kissed her.
She gave in to the feeling, being tightly held, feeling precious, wanted. Their lips moved together, their breaths mixed and her heart drummed quietly, steadily. His arm snaked around her waist. She tensed, then arched against him a little. They were alone.
"Cissy," he hissed a bit hoarsely, and something in her chest clenched.
Dear Bella,
I hope you are enjoying Italy. A bit of sunlight must feel so glorious! Here the weather is positively awful, quite disheartening really, though it is nothing but ordinary after all. Did you go sightseeing? I know you aren't big on old buildings and walking around, but still – surely Italy deserves to make an exception to your usual tastes. Besides, it is all very romantic. I hope to Merlin you aren't forgetting to take pictures – the family album needs them, obviously (or I should say the families'!), but besides, I want some for myself. You can do that for me, can't you? Ask Rodolphus if you really cannot be bothered. I hope your journey went all right… I do know that you take better to long-distance Portkeys than I do. Still.
Here things are rather quiet. Well, I guess quiet is not quite the correct word – usual would be more fitting. OWLs are slightly stressful, and I am really hoping to do well. Thankfully I can get a bit of help from my classmates. Oh, how did you ever survive this? The exams are but five months away and I already feel quite worried and restless.
Do tell me more about your honeymoon! I cannot wait to hear from you again. Take pity on your poor overworked sister and write me back!
With all my love,
Narcissa.
Leaning against the door of the Owlery, Narcissa reread the piece of parchment she was clutching in her hand one last time. Her white fingers were still ink-stained from the wrathful strokes of the quill whenever she had crossed out a line that sounded awkward, overly accusative, inquisitive or divulging too much. After many a struggle, she had settled on diplomatic phrasings, refrained from expressing her utter frustration at the lack of news from her sister, understated her exam-related worries and advantageously replaced the one mentioning of Travers with the comparatively harmless term of "classmates". The letter was perfect and she was disgusted with it – terribly eager to have it off of her hands and on its way to Bella, sufficiently eager not to mind her dirty digits, yet not quite enough to spare her a final check that left a knot in her stomach. Her fingers curled around the handle of the door.
Courageously, she walked in. The whole room was filled with a rustle of wings and the ruckus of incessant hooting; it made her jolt and glance upwards quite frequently, despite her chief concern, which was of not stepping on anything filthy. Narcissa had never truly liked owls, though she would arrogantly state the contrary to anyone who asked. They were useful and well-behaved – the owls of good breeding that people of her standing used were, anyhow – and as such, she deemed them better than other pets; besides, there was an air of elegance about them that most animals lacked, or at least only displayed at moments. Technically, this would make them her favourites. However, that state of facts, ever so rational, did not lessen the unnerved feeling she got when an owl stared at her, or the wariness with which she would touch the bird, afraid that its claw would suddenly tear at her hand or face. And as for the Owlery… one never ought to find themselves in contact with such a great number of animals anyway, Cissy thought angrily. They were messy, they were dirty – it was a house-elf's business to pick an owl to carry its master's mail, for no aristocrat should ever be confronted to such a place. Once more, Hogwarts' deficiencies were proved, displayed, blatantly obvious.
Halting her reflections, Narcissa resolved to pick one of the damned birds, send her missive and be done with it. She approached one reluctantly, and proceeded to tie the piece of parchment to its leg, pausing in fright whenever it stirred and the feathers brushed, soft, against the back of her hand. Finally, she stepped back and watched the animal fly away – only a few seconds, before she swept on her heel and swiftly departed.
Narcissa hurried back to her dormitory, willing to lie down and relax a little before dinnertime. She found the underground room empty, a fact that left her feeling thankful. She was in no mood for idle chatter – not that her dormmates would be much likely to engage her in any interaction of the sort. Still – she found herself desiring privacy.
Cissy crossed to the bed and tossed there the few books she had just picked from the common room, where she had left them previously to send her letter. She proceeded to get the items into her trunk or bag, according to whether she was done with them or would still need them shortly in order to get her homework finished; but as she seized her Charms manual, it started shaking most alarmingly, and she dropped it to the ground in shock.
Cissy knelt down, frowning. The book had opened as it fell and a glimpse of white and colour had slipped from the pages and caught her eye, teasing her with the sheer oddity of its presence. Rapidly, the girl picked book and parchment, threw the former into her trunk and held the latter firmly squeezed in her hand as she kicked off her shoes and climbed onto her bed, drawing the curtains shut. Mystified, she examined the flash of brightness that had first demanded her attention. It was a dried flower of a vivid pink hue, freckled with dark red and delicately paling on the edges. Her digits brushed the eerily soft petals, tracing shapes listlessly. She recalled the sight, the shade, the feeling and much more. Stargazer lily.
Narcissa picked the note next, curling her legs beneath her body and nervously brushing back a strand of hair as she leaned upon the message she had previously only glanced at. Short, the words with their elegant script seemed to taunt her somehow: I should hope you still like these.
Her fingers went back to the flower, stroked it carefully. She blinked, confused and unable to even define how she felt about the bewildering message. A great tiredness was making itself known again from deep within her, and she longed to just curl up and sleep, stop the questions in her mind, stop worrying about the right behaviour to adopt, stop feeling inadequate, stop fighting to learn and learn and always get better, just stop. Cissy lay on her side; the handwriting was so pretty – it was just a simple thing, such an easy, straightforward sentence even in its elegance. One piece of parchment, seven words, neat and precise, rational. And the flower – so soft – and the memories. She closed her eyes to memories of beauty, trying to grasp them – no – to keep them hovering, gently, over her, and to let go. Let go…
When Narcissa opened her eyes again, she was still half-curled up with her clothes on and the note beside her was crumpled after getting caught under one of her arms in her sleep. She felt cold and oddly aware, and she left the bed to start looking for a quill. She threw few words on a small piece of parchment, her heart drumming low against her ribs, before carefully folding it, slipping on her shoes and departing the dormitory.
The common room was full of people coming from or going to the Great Hall, joking, chatting or quarrelling, appearing utterly carefree – as far as a Slytherin could ever be carefree. Narcissa looked coolly from face to face, feeling distanced, light. A head turned and she met the clear grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy, suddenly, like one might hit a wall – and she whirled sharply on her heel, fleeing the sight of him. His gaze was on her back as she walked, with a doll's stiff step, over to an armchair and dropped the parchment on it. It fell from her listless fingers, floated downwards and then lay there. She hurried away and did not turn back.
The words circled and sung within her head, paced with the rhythm of her footsteps, in a thousand different tones, none of which seemed her own. I do. Thank you. Meaningless, ordinary terms, slipping perfectly naturally. No – something unnatural was there, something strong. Cissy walked in a daze through crowds of laughing, jostling students, all of them moving in the same direction. She felt hungry, she realized, a hunger from deep within her gut, dull and primal, calling out to be sated.
The day looked iced over and pristine as she peered from the window, and it disturbingly reminded her of her sister's wedding. She drew back the curtains harshly, and chewed on her thumb, shifting from one foot to the other. Her eyes swept over her own form criticizingly: of course she could only wear black robes – with just little heels on her feet to boost her confidence – and oh Merlin what was she doing. In a week's time it had gone from I do, thank you to accepting to take a walk – with Lucius Malfoy – by notes! Her face burned at the mere thought – this wasn't the way things usually went – it was queer, and she couldn't make out what he wanted from her – possibly just to embarrass her. What if his whole dormitory had read her messages? But she hadn't sounded like a rambling fool, at any rate, Cissy told herself; she'd sounded like a proper, responsible lady, puzzled as she should by this most unsettling situation. That is an impudent question – if you so desire – most interesting, sir… Her own words flashed through her mind – proper indeed, aloof, even. It hadn't seemed to surprise him – he'd merely found it amusing. Lucius Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy was sending her secret notes, questioned her about her likings and invited her to take a walk with him. And she could not decline. Who would have declined?
The thought that it was him, actually him, made her legs tremble, panic spreading through her whole body. Notes were easier, they just didn't feel true, like a novel or a silly game. This was more, it would be more. She'd said yes; she'd said if you so desire and Salazar, did she desire it – but she was scared, and they hadn't even agreed on a time and place…
She had to get to the common room. Narcissa walked in a daze, brushing past people she met on her way. She walked up to the ornate fireplace, and looked around slowly from there. Her gaze embraced the whole den in the dungeons. There he stood, by the wall that concealed the entrance, staring straight at her. She stared back steadily, shaking inside. He smirked and swiftly swept out.
She counted twenty seconds in her head, breathing deeply, before she followed.
He waited in the corridor a small ways away, half-turned towards her. His hair glowed faintly in the light of the torches that were lighting up the castle, and his face looked flawlessly pale and smooth against it, his whole being moulded from smoothness and confidence, terrible in his beauty and his control. Narcissa could hardly look at him. She felt like she had known about him forever, and yet he had never truly been a reality in her life. He was real at this moment though, tremendously so – nearly more, it seemed, than she could bear. He was Lucius Malfoy and she had to be someone, too – but she couldn't seem to play the old game, to find, somehow, the masks she'd been practising for so long.
"Mr Malfoy," she murmured, her voice catching.
"Miss Black," he replied coolly, "Narcissa." His voice started low around her name, deep and low in his throat before hissingly caressing the last syllables. She blinked rapidly and drew herself up, getting a grip again. This wouldn't do – this wouldn't do at all.
"Shall we?" he enquired, tilting his head towards the corridor, and she nodded; her legs moved, and they were walking together, he and she, without another word.
As they strode on Narcissa was eerily aware of the holes and shadows hiding between her bones, her body so disjointed and doll-like, and the chilly air blowing right through her. She felt quite unreal, and yet her limbs were moving, her hair brushing against her shoulders and back. And once more, she was aware of how real Lucius Malfoy was, how definite. A few notes hadn't prepared her to this allure of his, the two of them alone.
They had reached the Entrance Hall and Lucius gestured for her, with a little bow of his head, to lead the way. Cissy stepped outside into the dry and icy air. The sun was shining finely overhead, in a sky that stretched limpid blue all around them. In the natural light, Lucius appeared simpler and thoughtful and Narcissa cursed herself for overreacting. He might be an elegant, intelligent young gentleman with mysterious ways and an imposing presence, but she was a Black, a young lady and she strove for perfection. She had nothing to fear from him, certainly not inferiority – as long as she didn't forget herself. Still she averted her eyes.
They walked in silence in the park for a small while, before Lucius eventually turned her way, smiling a wry, but genial smile. "Narcissa Black," he said softly, "so you like walks, beautiful flowers, reading, sunlight, and dancing…" She found herself blushing at his slow, pensive tone. And she thought she'd been silly, responding to his notes, answering his questions, even to divulge small, harmless bits of information, even warily and slightly haughtily. A little girl, caught in a game.
"Yes, indeed," she said a bit bitingly, "though I fail to see how this could interest you."
The corner of his mouth stretched a little further upwards, amused. "Well, I answered first, as you seemed reluctant," he remarked. "I said I liked evenings by the fire, the feel of magic, leathered books, politics and chocolate. Did it interest you?"
Something deep within her longed to lie. "Somewhat," she admitted. She turned on him. "Do you realize how queer this all is? You come to me at a ball and accuse me of running away. Then you leave me a note and – a flower –" she faltered there, "and you enquire about my likings, and upon my mentioning walks, invite me to one. What sense does this make? It's hardly proper."
"It's hardly improper," he countered, "and why – I was intrigued, I merely sought to get to know you."
"By notes?" she pushed, puzzled.
Once more that smile, small and amused. "Well, it certainly did get your attention."
She could not deny that. They walked on and his words slowly sank in. He wished to get to know her. She peered at his pale face, his grey eyes and he stared back calmly, smiling at her again, serene. A curious feeling spread over Narcissa. She wanted to keep on gazing at his face, taking in his bearing and his elegance, and yet she feared his looking at her. It was like he saw right down to the bottom of her, the emptiness there that sought façades of perfection. One gaze and he would know her, he would turn away knowing. A little already, he knew. But he was smiling still, not a mocking smile.
"You have odd ways, Lucius Malfoy," she said slowly.
He had a small laugh. "Yes," he agreed, considering. "And do you think I can afford them?" He was unsettlingly honest, and she found herself blurting: "You could afford anything."
This time, he laughed frankly. She cringed inside, hating to display how deeply he impressed her, in ways she didn't quite comprehend. They were circling around the lake, slowly heading back to the castle. Narcissa absorbed herself in staring into the deep waters. They lay beautiful and profound, a different universe that never seemed to end, the unknown. Her mouth twitched a little, and she turned back his way, willing to face him, to look into his eyes as though she were fearless. Defiant, she stared and he held her gaze quietly. They were getting back, step after tiny step. She didn't know if she wanted to leave him.
"So – did you get what you were hoping for?" she enquired, endeavouring to make her tone careless.
He nodded. "Somewhat." The corner of his mouth slightly lifted up again. "Do you really mind the notes?"
"They unsettle me," she confessed with slight arrogance, knowing that she stood for usual, accepted behaviour and the common proprieties. "You will have to admit that it is quite odd."
"Oh, I will," he shot back, "in return, would you indulge me for a bit longer?"
She turned on him a puzzled look. "What for?"
He shrugged. "Just so you don't forget me?" he offered.
Narcissa considered. Obviously she was not getting anything further than cryptic responses from him. But he wanted her to remember. Her lungs tightened. Not that she would have forgotten.
"All right," she spoke airily. A few more strides, and they would reach the castle's doors. And she knew now that she didn't want to. He had told her nothing at all, and he would slip from her grasp – not that he'd ever truly been there to begin with.
Lucius Malfoy paused before the great double doors. "Miss Black," he spoke with a softness that contradicted the formal address, "it was a pleasure."
Snatching up her hand, he laid a fleeing kiss on the back of it, just barely brushing his lips against her fair skin – and then he straightened up, and held the doors open for her.
They stepped back into Hogwarts, and with a last, slight smile her way, he disappeared into the corridors.