Oh my god, I'm so terribly sorry about the delay. It's so utterly pitiful I can't really say anything to make up for it—I can only hope that this chapter does, to some extent. Enjoy! (More notes at the end.)
Chapter title is from the song by Lana del Rey.
On the morning of December 30th, Narcissa Black lay awake for hours, turning over and over again without managing to allow rest to find and settle over her.
Eventually she had to get up, though she feared to look tired come daylight. A small suitcase stood, ready, by her door and her robes hung before her closet. Cissy dressed, combed her long hair and swept it up in a light bun, carefully applied a small quantity of make-up. Once she deemed herself satisfied, she turned away from her reflection in haste, finding that it would be unwise to spend time unnecessarily dwelling on the assets and flaws of her appearance, today of all days.
Narcissa tiptoed down the stairs in the still-quiet house. Clutching her suitcase in one hand, she made for the drawing room, pausing for a second before the door, slightly unsure. She turned the knob.
Her father was there, as she had expected. Cygnus calmly looked up at her, lowering his paper to his lap, his other hand holding a cup of tea. She walked into the room, setting her luggage down close to the fireplace, and smiled at him. He gave her a tiny smile back.
"Couldn't sleep either, could you?" he said softly.
Narcissa shook her head no. "I was nervous," she confessed, feeling the need to be open. "This is quite the important occasion for me."
His face darkened a little. "Oh, I know." He glanced down at his paper.
"Anything of interest here?"
"No, there isn't. Nothing we ought to be concerned about," he replied, and she relaxed a little.
"Good, then."
"It is," he said curtly. Narcissa observed her father's face.
"What is the matter, Father?" she asked softly.
He did not look up at once. When he did, his features were smooth, giving away little.
"I had disagreements with Abraxas Malfoy back in the day," he said coolly. "I have to confess I did not feel quite comfortable watching you get closer to his family at first. However, the history of the fathers should not compromise the future of the children, this union being, in itself, perfectly fitting and acceptable."
She slowly nodded. Cygnus gave his youngest daughter another smile, visibly meaning to reassure her. It partly worked. She took a seat across from him, squeezing her hands in her lap.
"Lucius really does make me happy," she said quietly. Though he did not glance at her again, she knew that he was listening. "He has been such a support."
"I believe that boy must be good to his own," he commented, "but terrible to his foes, like other Malfoys before him."
"Very well then, for we are not his foes."
He gave her another small smile. "We are not, indeed. Do not imagine that I am not glad for you, Narcissa. If Lucius Malfoy is the right man for my daughter, then you shall have my blessing."
"Thank you," she simply answered.
They remained sitting there in comfortable silence. Cygnus soon ordered the house-elf to bring a cup of tea for Narcissa as well, and she sipped it slowly, grateful for something to do with her hands. Minutes were ticking by, and they started hearing other family members stir in the house. Druella came down to see whether Narcissa was ready, flanked by Walburga. She dealt with the necessary small talk with grace, despite the coils in her stomach.
At nine o'clock sharp, the flames flashed green in the fireplace and Lucius came striding out at last. Cissy stood from her armchair, heart beating very fast. Lucius walked forward to greet her father, the only one who had remained in the room with her; the men shook hands with whispered pleasantries. Cygnus' face remained smooth and he made no personal comment whatsoever, allowing Lucius to turn to Narcissa at once.
"Are you ready?"
She nodded, and Lucius gallantly levitated her suitcase into the hearth before offering her his arm. She squeezed it lightly, and they stepped together into the flames, Cissy calling a last goodbye over her shoulder.
When they arrived in the great drawing room of Malfoy Manor, Circe Malfoy stood there waiting for them. Cissy could smell her perfume as she approached to kiss her cheek. The woman gave her a pleasant smile that looked quite genuine, though she was hard to read as always.
"Welcome here, Narcissa," she said. "It is a pleasure to have you."
Cissy curtseyed gracefully. "The pleasure is all mine, Madam Malfoy."
Lucius cleared his throat lightly. "Your luggage has been taken to the room you will be staying in. Do you want me to show you? Then, perhaps, I could give you a tour of the manor."
"That sounds very nice," she said lightly, but Circe intervened: "Do join me for breakfast. Lucius, dear, surely you will have all the time in the world for a tour! Let Narcissa settle down, she's only just arrived."
Lucius smiled. "Quite right, Mother." He met Narcissa's gaze briefly, and she nodded. "Thank you, ma'am," she said softly.
Circe's answering smile was kind, with a subtle edge.
They sat around an ornate wooden table in the adjacent dining room, countless goods laid out before them. It appeared that Abraxas Malfoy would not be joining them as of yet, and Circe focused her whole attention on Narcissa, asking pleasantly about her family and her last term at school. The girl answered without missing a beat, determined to win the other woman over, or at least to convince her of her worthiness. Deep down, she felt threatened by Circe's quiet insight, fearing to falter and prove inadequate to this accomplished lady, all style and control.
While Circe was taking a sip of her tea, Cissy felt a hand close around her wrist under the table. She jumped a little and her teacup rattled in its saucer. Beside her, Lucius' eyes widened ever so slightly as he withdrew.
Circe looked up and sent them a smile, giving no comments.
Narcissa slowly released the breath stuck in her lungs, and her fingers found Lucius' under the table, grateful for the support.
"Here you are then, Narcissa."
She curtseyed gracefully.
Narcissa had had but very few and short encounters with Abraxas Malfoy. She found the man impressive, with his steel eyes and charisma. The keen irises seemed to pierce her; whereas Lucius' were cool, his father's seemed quite cold—but he smiled as he gestured to the seat at his immediate right.
Lucius was quiet at her side.
They had just returned from an afternoon spent at Diagon Alley, being but another young couple
as they wandered around in the biting cold, fingers entwined. The manor claimed them again in a rush of golden heat, leaving one slightly light-headed. But Abraxas showed kindness that hindered a stifling return of Narcissa's anxieties. Left to Circe for breakfast, she now found herself the focus of the father's attention; and he acted charming, courteous, genuinely curious about her and her interests. Though as impressive as his wife, he appeared less intricate, his judgments more open instead of secretive. Cissy preferred that, and found herself relaxing, talking animatedly as she ate. Circe smiled pensively over them, and Lucius did not stir.
Dinner stretched and drew to an end without Narcissa noticing. She felt warm, slightly giddy from Abraxas' apparent acceptance, although she was careful to remain perfectly in control. The man smiled upon her coolly, and kept her by his side in the drawing room, as he sipped a glass of eau-de-vie and they discussed a common interest in Runes. Circe was reading; Lucius was not. He held a book, but his posture was too rigid and despite his having expressed no interest in the conversation, Cissy suspected he was listening.
As it grew late, she rose, and Circe and Abraxas both bade her goodnight quite pleasantly. Lucius declared he'd walk her to her room, and th threaded their way through richly-coloured corridors, quiet. He was too far to reach his hand, apparently lost in thought. They navigated the grand maze to the guest room he had showed her earlier, in which her things awaited her return. She sat upon the bed, hands folded on her lap.
"Is something the matter?" she inquired. Lucius frowned.
"No—quite all right." He slowly paced the room, none the nearer. Narcissa shifted from her position.
"Is that so? You seemed rather quiet this evening."
"My father did the talking, did he not?" he swiftly retorted. His tone was calm. Cissy was not fooled.
"Does that bother you?"
He shrugged, but the tension in his jaw gave an obvious answer. Narcissa fidgeted nervously. She had been so happy about Abraxas' attitude to her, and now it appeared to displease Lucius. She wondered if he felt deprived of attention, thrown to the shadows. That did not seem like Lucius at all, but no son of Abraxas Malfoy's would find it easy to impose themselves and be noticed in their father's presence. She peered at him, considering, then rose.
Lucius paused as she moved towards him. "I am quite glad that your father seemed to like me," she said quietly. "Your family is important to me."
He nodded, worrying his lip until she touched it with a finger. "Talk to me."
"There is really nothing specific," he admitted with reluctance. "I simply was not quite comfortable—" He broke off, then shrugged. "He acted as though he wanted to claim you. I've seen him do that before. It made me ill at ease that he would behave in such a way with you. It doesn't feel genuine at all."
Narcissa pretended she wasn't wounded. After all, she told herself as she, for distraction, slowly let her fingertip travel along Lucius' lips, he was making an assumption about his father's character, not the likelihood of the latter finding her agreeable. It was not she he distrusted, but Abraxas.
"Why would he be interested in making me like him? If he approves of our match, he needs but be pleasant enough. We require no more prompting to remain together." A slight, superstitious chill went through her as she voiced the sincere words. She forced herself to ignore the natural uncertainty and think rationally. Indeed, should Lucius or herself have a common future or not, Abraxas' opinion would hardly weigh in the balance, given that he did not overtly disapprove of the match.
Lucius sighed. "I do not know, Narcissa." Frowning, he gently pushed her fingers away, whilst keeping her hand in his. "I only thought he was trying too hard, luring you in. I have no clue why he would deem it necessary."
For a moment Narcissa was reminded of her own father's words, and she experienced, as well, a sliver of doubt. But she knew that allowing the slight unease to take over, adopting a wary attitude, would do more harm than good—she was on her guard around Circe already. Perhaps Abraxas simply knew that, and it was his way of restoring some balance, ensuring that she would find the possibility of becoming someday a part of Lucius' family to be a pleasant one. That made sense, and fitted the assumption that his partiality for her came from the head and not from the heart.
"No matter," she said quietly, and stood on tiptoe to kiss Lucius.
He made a muffled sound against her lips, but his arm found itself around her waist and then she was pressed flush against him, her heart beating through her ribs against his chest, a rapid tempo she hoped to be soothing. Their mouths moved together in secretive, familiar patterns and she relished in the taste and feel of him—thin, soft lips against hers, and her teeth grazed playfully against the lower one, causing a slight groan that rumbled through his throat, left echoes in her stomach and through her bones, from skull to spine to tiptoes. She shivered and he chuckled, each in time wondering in the power they held over each other—that strange harmony of the soul and the flesh that made one's move automatically shift the other. They drew slightly apart, Lucius' eyes sparkling silver as they wrapped her in a warm, heated gaze. Her lips curved into a smile.
Narcissa stepped back and sat, demure, upon her bed again. Lucius slid to her side, facing her as his hand glided along the back of her neck—causing it to arch slightly under the touch, shivers like pinpricks racing beneath the skin—and then down against her collarbone, tracing the delicate shape. He leaned forward again and she met him in the middle for a kiss that curled her toes. Now his hand was on her waist, drawing her closer. Her legs folded close to her chest and she kicked off her stiletto heels, feet curling against the edge of the bed.
She was a small ball in his arms, wrapped up and curled tight and safe, but her knees pressed into his chest when he edged nearer still, and he broke away with a chuckle. She laughed too, cheeks flaming, and scooted back from the edge of the bed to the middle, legs stretched out before her. He followed and they swiftly resumed their kissing, falling once more into an embrace.
Inch after inch, they leaned further back—until Narcissa was lying down fully, with Lucius hovering over her. He kissed her and kissed her and her head was swimming, there was nothing else but the realities of Lucius' warmth on the one side of her body and the soft bed on the other, into which she was sinking, sinking. Drowning and melting, she managed short breaths, then inhaled more deeply as he drew away for a second, to look at her.
"Narcissa Black, was that your way of getting me off track?" he whispered.
She blinked innocently up at him. "Whatever do you mean? I was getting the impression that you were the one being slightly carried away."
He chuckled and nuzzled against the side of her face. His hot breath tickled her ear, and his teeth as well, making her gasp—as he nipped the lobe delicately, and a shiver rocked through her. His fingers slipped beneath the back of her neck, caressing the sensitive skin before they slid smoothly into her bun. Narcissa raised her head. Together, they slowly removed the pins that held her hair up, freeing strand after strand until they all tumbled to her shoulders.
Her golden locks wrapped around his hand, he pressed his face against—into—them and inhaled slowly.
"It's like silk," he muttered. She had a high, self-conscious giggle.
He looked down at her face again. "I'm quite serious, you know."
"I wouldn't doubt that," she responded in what she intended to be a light and cool tone, but the breathy quality of her voice caused him to smirk and she delivered a tiny punch to his shoulder.
"Do not mock me."
"Do not turn things around," he retorted. "And there is no need to hit me for emphasis." He bent his head and dropped a swift kiss on her small fist, too.
Then they were kissing again. Her veins tingled and her heart raced, and Lucius' frame was solid and soft against her, unyielding, safe. He folded himself around her, keeping her nestled near. But her skin itched. She stretched her arms behind his head, slid one hand into his hair, let the other trace the curve of a shoulder. Down, then up again, and she brushed the tips of her nails against the back of his neck, slipped her fingers into his collar. His flesh was so warm beneath, and she was craving more.
He sat up. She had felt him tremble slightly, and it made her tremble as well, on the surface and inside, bubbles of emotion and need sparking to life at the core of her. Lucius held her gaze with smothering eyes before he, having seemingly found there what he was looking for, proceeded to remove his robes. He wore a simple shirt and trousers underneath, and her fingers attacked his buttons as he leaned close again, seeking the skin underneath. Soon she could press her palms to his bare chest, and he shivered at her touch.
His own hands brushed her waist, travelling up her sides. A mix of fear and want bit at Narcissa's throat, and, for the first time, a rational thought occurred to her. "What are we doing?" she panted against his lips.
He drew away. There were a few beats of silence, unbroken but by their slightly ragged breaths.
"Getting carried away, apparently," he eventually whispered, and reached to close his shirt. She gripped his wrist automatically.
Their eyes met. "You don't want this," he said. "Do you?"
"We shouldn't…" She struggled for words, no and yes equally wrong. He put a finger to her lips, hushing her with his eyes locked into hers. "Just tell me," he finally said, his voice even.
She breathed. "We aren't engaged," she managed. "We don't know yet…" She faltered.
"We don't know yet whether we will end up together?"
His gaze was intense, smothering. Heart sinking and swaying, she still nodded, and he hesitated.
"Narcissa," he said very low. "You are right, of course. But since this apparently isn't as clear as it ought to be, let me tell you one thing—I care nothing about the flightiness of young love's promises. There is no other woman I could imagine spending my life with right now."
Coherent thought was lost to flames, and as he made to sit up and rise, she gripped his shirt and impulsively pressed his lips to hers.
"Thank you," she breathed against his mouth.
He had a small chuckle. "You are quite welcome—my love."
The fierce intensity with which he spoke the word knocked the air from her lungs and any scrap of reason from her mind. She pulled him to her by the wrists, placing his hands on her as testaments of trust. They brushed and caressed, outlined the shape of her in a way that made her feel more real than she ever had before.
Her dress flew, landing in a blue, silken heap at the foot of the bed.
He mapped her bare skin with his lips, teased and kissed and explored the wandering of veins, as she lay offered. He tasted her and traced her, leaving her trembling under him with greedy hands. Her small fingers pressed against his chest, nails scratching a nipple lightly, and he groaned.
He travelled further, eliciting small gasps in revenge. They kissed, light-headed.
Lucius tucked the warm, languid form of Narcissa beneath the sheets, where she curled, holding his gaze. He rose slowly. His chest was still open, his hair mussed from her hands. For a minute, it seemed they would never quite break eye contact.
He managed, step after step, to back away as he arranged himself, finding some composure again. She smirked.
"I believe I have yet to bid my parents goodnight," he spoke, voice hoarse. "It would be unwise to delay any further."
"Quite so," she responded, feeling victorious for her cool, level voice. "Do thank them for me again."
"I don't think I will," he retorted, but smiled widely at her and eventually found the door. At the cost of a greater effort still, he passed its threshold, turning back to steal one more look as he called: "Goodnight."
"Goodnight to you," she whispered, and nestled into the warmth, shutting her eyes tightly.
*bites fingers* Well, I hope this didn't disappoint. A specification: Narcissa's position about virginity is a personal interpretation and in no way linked to my own. My interpretation is that although the wizarding world doesn't require virginity until marriage (which is a notion greatly linked to religion), it still considers a witch's first time to be laden with meaning, magical as well as emotional, and thus to be preserved for her future husband. Read: best wait until you're securely engaged. Narcissa's uncertainties therefore come into play… Besides, they are quite young still ;)