Thanks for reading and Merry Sept 1st to all you Hogwarts homies!
Narcissa receives an invitation she can't refuse
Fear was a natural response, it was the body's signal that imminent danger was at hand, and it prompted one to act accordingly. As long as they were rational, fears were understandable and healthy. It was a waste of time to fear death or loss because those things would always happen eventually, but only a fool would ignore when a tiger showed you its stripes. While under threat of interrogation or even torture she might claim she feared no one, there were in fact three individuals whose names made Narcissa Malfoy tremble. They were of course none other than Albus Dumbledore, her older sister Bellatrix, and the Dark Lord himself.
In terms of persons in the community, no one else held that power over her. She was a queen of functions and galas, and the social season was her domain. Spine always straight, chin always up, ankles always crossed. Guest lists, invitations, and thank you cards were her bread and butter. Even blindfolded and hogtied there wasn't an event she couldn't host and come out triumphant. Her ballroom had seen celebrity and royalty the likes of which no other lady could boast… Not that she would. That would be gauche.
Utterly formidable though she was, there was perhaps one witch who intimidated her - which was not the same, thank you! - the lady Augusta Longbottom.
Narcissa's own pedigree was impeccable, and the houses she belonged to were both ancient and noble, and by extension wealthy and influential. The Malfoys had been in Britain since the Norman invasion in the 11th century, and the Blacks had rubbed elbows with Merlin and the founders as early as the 6th century. A thousand years and fifteen hundred years of rich magical history between them, respectively.
Comparatively, it was widely believed that the Longbottoms had been one of the houses that led the druids defense against the Romans - nearly two thousand years ago.
In her hands she held an unassuming invitation for tea at said witch's estate for that very afternoon. Short notice, casual address, exquisite penmanship impossible to duplicate with even the best dictation quills. It was certainly hand written, and though it was on fine quality parchment it was otherwise unadorned and unremarkable. There wasn't even a hint of a scent charmed or spritzed onto it.
The woman clearly hated her.
And yet there was nearly no greater social insult than to ignore an invitation outright. Despite the rudeness of the missive and how frighteningly little time she had to prepare, she would go. As anxious as she was, it didn't even bear thinking about whether or not to show her face. Failure to present herself upon Lady Longbottom's summons would likely reflect extremely poorly on both her and her family, and could have drastic consequences for Lucius in his business and at the wizengamot.
On the way out of her solar she tossed the note, for it could hardly even really be called a letter, onto her desk and called for Mimble to help ready herself. They strode together with purpose into her vast closet, as if readying themselves for war. It was an autumn day in the middle of the week, and the appointment was for early afternoon tea. Silks satins and velvets were out. Pastels were out. Jewel tones were out. Anything black was out, as she didn't want set a funerary tone and she certainly didn't want to remind the woman of her family name or what she had lost.
Mimble pulled out a buttery soft cable knit cashmere robe in a lovely burnt orange, and she nodded with a smile. Perfectly seasonal and sumptuous, and she had a lovely pair of chestnut brown boots that would pair exquisitely with the outfit. It was tailored wonderfully - the hem of the robe just brushed the toes of her boots without touching the floor or riding too high and risking showing any leg. She admired herself in the mirror, she looked a vision!
Her elf clapped happily and dragged her to the vanity table where she began playing with her hair. In her youth she'd so often proudly flaunted her lovely platinum blonde curls, but she rarely wore her hair down anymore. They served as a stark visual reminder of her much darker family members with the same curls, and after the war she had desperately wanted to distance herself from them. Mimble pulled the top half of her hair into a twisting bun, leaving the rest to tumble down her back, and glanced at her in the mirror mischievously "Mistress Cissy's curls is drying well today and be looking radiant," she tempted, the little devil.
Narcissa sighed, and pulled her hair out of the elf's hands "I'm sorry darling, but I simply can't. If there were a worst possible person to let see my curls it would be Lady Longbottom. I don't know what she wants from me, but I'm sure that if I wish to stay on her good side I must do everything in my power to not remind her of my sister. She of all people has more reason than most to hate Bella," she said morosely. Mimble wilted in defeated disappointment and nodded, her mouth a tight flat little line. With a sullen snap of her tiny fingers the glossy corkscrewing spirals flattened themselves into dull straight strands.
In an instant her hair lost roughly eighty percent of its volume and gained half a foot in length.In comparison to her vivacious and bouncy natural curls she looked like a pathetic drowned thing that had come up for air from the bottom of a cauldron. For the time being though, it was safer than the alternative.
Straightened nearly to death, it was easy for Mimble to arrange her hair into a chic and flattering chignon. Pleased with the fruits of her labor, the elf stepped back to sit on the edge of the vanity and watch as she applied a few minor beauty potions to pinken her cheeks and lips, and to darken her lashes and brighten the corners of her eyes. Nothing too obvious. She held her left hand up to her chest and charmed her nails several different colors "What do you think goes best with the dress, darling?" She asked, knowing her Mimble to be a particularly opinionated sort. She was the only elf Narcissa had ever known that insisted on attending fashion week to see the designs for herself in person.
She scrunched her little button nose cutely and narrowed her eyes, "Definitely not blue..." the elf said a bit too quickly, and Narcissa raised an eyebrow at her that she ignored "Mistress Cissy's complexion is best suited to the black of course, but the dark green is being very nice with the orange robe and brown boots, yes it is. The goldenrod is looking fine but mistress is not being a Hufflepuff, no she is not! Mistress is choosing the green if she will not be wearing the black," she stated imperiously, and Narcissa nodded in amused agreement, thoroughly convinced. She set the colovaria charm to the rich dark green and took a moment to admire the way it looked on her hand against the pumpkin colored robes. Her elf sighed sweetly and leaned her head against her shoulder in the quiet moments they had before she would need to leave.
"Mimble is being with Mistress Cissy today whether she is calling for her or not," she said meaningfully, her squeaky voice soft with emotion. When she looked down at her side she saw her elf was looking back up at her, enormous eyes wet and shiny. Narcissa's heart clenched in her chest, and she felt a surge of fondness for the elf that had come to be such a fiercely loyal friend to her.
A decade or even two was nothing in the life of a witch or wizard, and was little more than a blink of an eye to a creature like the one before her. She hadn't been with her since childhood like some of the other elves in their household, and she wasn't the nanny elf who raised her and her sisters, but Mimble was by far and away her favorite. She was a Malfoy elf through and through - she had been in the personal service of every wife who had married into the family for over two hundred years.
Though it was somewhat unseemly to give elves as gifts, and outright unmentionable to be so crass as to purchase one, they were frequently inherited by family members that they already knew and cared for. Aside from the unfortunate business of wills and estates being changed unexpectedly, it was uncommon for one to find themselves in the service of a stranger after the death of their former master. And yet Mimble had come to her on her wedding night and they had bonded sight unseen.
It had been a risk for both of them. The only thing worse than a master you didn't like was a servant you couldn't trust.
Over years of coming to know one another, she had learned that it had not always been a successful gamble for the elf each time she had gone to a new mistress. While the two of them had gotten on like a house on fire right from the start, it had been a different story entirely with both Lucius' mother and grandmother alike. They had both been a bit too French and a bit too cold and aloof to ever really bother with trying to build a relationship with an elf. It had been a disappointing and lonely time for poor Mimble, as she was an exceptional companion and wanted nothing more than to serve a friend. She had gone a very long time indeed without a meaningful bond until Narcissa had come along.
She held her sweet elf's tiny hand in her own, squeezing it fondly "Thank you my darling, I'm sure your presence will help bolster my spirit. In truth I do find I'm quite nervous, I can't help but wonder what could she possibly want from me," She mused, not willing to voice her fear that this sudden summons was related to her cousin's recent escape from Azkaban. She hadn't seen him yet, he wasn't fit for visitors apparently, but she knew he was at her sister's house recovering from his long ordeal.
Staring at herself in the mirror, she let her face settle into the bland smile that she so often wore for society events and outings. The perfect blend of pleasant and mindless. A woman's best weapon was her ability to be underestimated, to wear whatever mask was required for the present company. Her face fell as she reconsidered her angle of approach. Lady Longbottom was clever and vicious, and she likely hated nothing more than vapid emptyheaded little fluff-brains like the kind Narcissa so enjoyed impersonating. She sensed that she wouldn't get far with the woman by playing dumb.
She experimented with several expressions; haughty and self-important wasn't likely to go over well, nor was wide-eyed and innocent believable in the slightest. That left few other options. She could go with a blankly neutral mien, but that could just as easily come back to bite her if she gave off the impression of being passionless or uncaring. Uneasily, she considered forgoing the safe comfort of taking a character with her to evoke. She didn't have time to come up with something more complex, and none of the faces she tried on felt right. She would simply have to go as herself, come what may.
She was glad Mimble would be nearby, she would need all the help and luck she could get.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As she stepped out of the hearth in the entry hall of Long End, Narcissa took a brief moment to admire the afternoon light that came in through the windows. The glimpse of the lawn she could see from her vantage point was a shock of sumptuously lush greenery. Not far from the house was a huddled cluster of several handsome glass hothouses, and with how fine a day it was shaping up to be and how brightly the sun shone down on them she was unsurprised to see that they were steamy inside and that condensation clung to the panes. On the other side of the hothouses was a small meadow, at the edge of which was an orchard. The trees' branches all hung heavy with fruit, she suspected apples or cherries as it was getting to be late in the season for them to still be in bloom.
Flowering bushes and shrubs peeped up over the edges of the window sills like ballerinas from behind a stage curtain, eagerly awaiting their cue. The most splendid of which were several lovely peach roses, their velvety petals a variegated pinky-yellow. So rich and enticing was their color that she could almost smell and taste them, even through the closed window. Narcissa's inner gardener was practically breathless, and she had to pinch the inside of her wrist to remind herself that this was not a friendly social call.
An elf appeared in the foyer and silently beckoned her to follow it. It was generally considered rather rude not to personally greet guests at the floo, but the lady of the house was entering her twilight years and many of the eccentricities of the aged could be forgiven. It did give her an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, though. She'd thought the invitation itself had been particularly frosty - it really didn't bode well if even the elves were giving her the cold shoulder.
The layout of the halls was vaguely familiar to her, and she could distantly recall having been in attendance at balls and galas here as a child and young debutante. Though the older witch had never exactly been a particularly tender host, she had at the very least been a generous one once upon a time. After the war ended the doors to the ballroom and parlours of Long End had been sealed shut tighter than a strangling hex, and one of the most enduring topics of social speculation was whether or not they would ever open again in the matriarch's lifetime.
A set of doors to her left suddenly swung open as if they'd been blasted outwards from within, nearly startling a scream out of her unsuspecting mouth. She clapped one hand over her mouth and pressed the other against her breast in attempt to calm her heart. The elf let out a mean little chuckle and she felt two hot spots of color rise to her cheeks. What a nasty little creature! She almost considered reprimanding it for its appalling behavior when she heard another low chuckle, and through the doorway into the sitting room within she caught a glimpse of her host not even attempting to hide her own wry smirk.
Well, wasn't that a charming welcome. She huffed, willing to brush it aside for the sake of her own good manners. Significantly ruder things had regularly come out of the mouth of her cantakerous old aunt Wally until the very day she died.
Entering the little drawing room, Narcissa opened her mouth to compliment the estate's gardens, but her breath left her as she took in the vase of flowers on the low side table near the woman's elbow. Never in her life had she seen an arrangement so jam-packed with meaning, nor such an overtly and openly hostile combination of blooms. It consisted of the following:
A red Adonis flower, for painful memories.
A sprig from a cypress, for unending mourning and sorrow.
Two purple dame's violets. A sternly watchful set of eyes upon this encounter.
A spiky white queen of the night flower. A grim reminder that good things didn't always last. Indigenous to the Mexican desert. Notoriously difficult to source. Now the old witch was just showing off.
A glowingly gorgeous yellow-orange marigold, an accusation of cruelty.
A single orange lily, for pure and utter loathing.
She almost missed it hidden underneath the rest of the greenery but there - tansy. Willingness to shed blood over their differences, should they not be reconciled. Tantamount to a declaration of intent between their houses. Her hands began to shake.
The final arrow to her chest that made the arrangement so very personal was a sparkling cluster of white narcissus. Her namesake. Used in this case most likely for their meaning of shallow vanity or egotism. More than one to suggest that she was just another in a long lineup of society ladies, interchangeable with the next. It was a low potshot, but it was the one that hurt the most.
Altogether the ensemble was sharp enough to very nearly cut to the bone, and she found herself genuinely speechless. Her woman's armor of gentility and etiquette temporary left her body, like water dripping off of her skin after coming out of a too hot bath. She sat heavily on the sofa across from the rude old hag and crossed her arms petulantly "What do you want, madam, or have you summoned me here simply to have a laugh at my expense?" She asked tartly.
She regretted her snappish tone almost instantaneously, as the woman's humor drained from her face and was replaced by a livid glare hot enough to bake a potato. Never before had she thought to sympathize with the innocent country livestock that so often found themselves set upon by dragons and charbroiled for their lunch. She felt like her and a sheep had rather a lot in common in that moment, and she gulped audibly and lowered her gaze submissively.
"You think you're witch enough to speak to me that way in my own salon, girlie?" The woman drawled acidly, and it was so reminiscent of something her mother or aunt might have said that Narcissa was thrust into the memory of a similar scene from her youth.
* * *
Sit up straighter, girl! You've not been given leave to slouch in my sitting room. What have you done today to be tired enough to slouch? You're no day laborer, you haven't been bent over a hot cauldron all day. Morgana's treacherous tits, we should've started you in corsets years ago but there's always an excuse for poor little Miss Cissy, isn't there? Oh she can't promenade in the hot sun, she's too pale. Oh her laces couldn't possibly be tied tighter, she's too fragile. Oh she mustn't lift a finger, she's too delicate. Too soft on you is what we've been! You've grown into a useless lazy little ninny. Now the very least you can do is sit straight when I tell you to!
* * *
A shudder ran over her, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and she felt a bit lightheaded. There was a tingly pins-and-needles sensation of fingers digging painfully into her wrists and elbows. A phantom memory come to life again on her skin. She tried to inconspicuously rub some feeling back into her arms and hands, but her movement wasn't quite subtle enough to avoid catching the older witch's hateful attention.
"Are you going to pretend that I've somehow tormented you? Poked and prodded until you were in tears? Forgive Thorn his little prank and let's move along. You'll quickly find that I have precious little sympathy for any hysterics if you're going to try and turn the waterworks on me," she snarled, lip curled and nose scrunched. She really was a lion, and she had no trouble sharpening her claws on her hapless guest.
Narcissa seethed inside, but reluctantly sat up straighter. She folded her hands politely in her lap and crossed her ankles. She let her face go blank and she occluded fiercely. The other woman nodded sharply, her face pinched but showing approval. "Better, I could almost believe you actually want to be here. You might just be smarter than you look," she said with a hint of droll amusement creeping into her voice.
"Now explain to me why you've let your head of house become entangled with my grandson without bothering to explain to her what your sister did to his parents," she demanded airily, as if she'd asked her what blend of tea she preferred or how the weather was in Wiltshire this time of year. With a snap of her crooked old fingers the same rude elf appeared again and handed her a small stack of parchments. She took them numbly and looked down at the words on the pages. To her embarrassment, she saw Hermione's distinctive handwriting on them. She had no idea what the letter from her young cousin might say, and she felt a hot burst of dumbstruck humiliation wash over her.
August 1st, 1991
From the dining room table
Tonks House
London
Lady Longbottom,
Greetings once again, I hope this letter finds you well, madam! I wish I were writing under better circumstances. As you are most likely aware, a member of my house has escaped from prison and I have offered him sanctuary. It has been in the papers and I cannot deny it. I understand how this must seem, but I assure you I am not harboring a fugitive without good reason. I have been given cause to believe my cousin Sirius Black may be innocent of the crimes he is accused of, and my family solicitor has found no evidence that he was given a trial before being incarcerated in the first place.
I think very highly of your Neville, and there is none other whose friendship I more cherish. I understand that as his guardian, you naturally have a great deal of influence over who your grandson is allowed to interact with. As someone who values his companionship, I would hope to remain in your good graces so that the two of us may continue to be friends. Therefore, I would respectfully ask that for the time being you reserve your judgment of the unusual and admittedly scandalous circumstances regarding my cousin. As the head of the House of Black he is my responsibility, and I am currently seeing to his care and recovery and trying to obtain a trial for him.
I would be very glad to meet or correspond with you to address any further questions or concerns you may have. I hope this matter will very quickly resolve itself.
Kindest regards
Hermione Elena Greyback :)
Dated the first of August, in the year 1991
From the 1st year boys dorm
Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts School
Dear Gran,
How are you and the elves? I hope you're well. I know it's short notice, but I'm writing to ask about the possibility that we might host some kind of social event at the estate over the Christmas holidays, like the kind you've been thinking about for the last few years. Some sort of luncheon or tea, or perhaps even a ball or a gala. Is it too late in the season to begin planning?
The thing is that I'm worried about Hermione, she's missed a lot of days of school so far this year going home for the full moons and now taking care of her cousin. I'm sure you've read about what's going on in with him the prophet but apparently it's all much more complicated than the public was led to believe. All that is to say I've missed her a lot… I don't want to go a fortnight without seeing her… I would hope that by having an event at our home I could invite her and thereby make sure I at least got to see her over the holidays.
Seeing her run off home during the week when she loves school so much and is so bright makes me feel lonely… anxious… bad. It isn't fair that she has adult responsibilities, she should get a chance to spend time with me… with her friends… learning. She shouldn't have her education so interrupted is what I'm trying to say. So can we please do something so I can see her over the Christmas hols?
Love,
Neville
Seven Christian hells and all the demons contained within them.
Narcissa understood exactly why the witch was so upset. Merlin's beard, but she was angry with herself too. She had known that her sweet little cousin was head over heels for the Longbottom boy, the girl had written to her asking about courtship etiquette before going to bed after the train to Hogwarts. She should have said something sooner, should have taken the hex and had the conversation with her. Instead she'd been a coward, too afraid to name the skeletons in the closet for what they were. Few could say that they'd once loved their demons, but she had. Devotedly. She had practically worshipped her sister when they were young, before she'd started to change.
The witch's thin arched brow was raised expectantly, and although Narcissa knew the other woman deserved an answer she felt as though she'd been rendered mute. She opened her mouth several times but no words came forth, her politesse and pleasantries had apparently abandoned her right when she needed them most. Far from wishing for eloquence or verbosity, she longed briefly to be able to say anything at all. Even chirping out bland and banal platitudes would have been preferable to this wretched silence that drew out longer and longer.
Swallowing around the thick lump in her throat, she finally managed to croak out something resembling recognizable words in the English language. "I wanted to tell her, really I did. I even planned for it in advance, but I put it off and kept putting it off until the last opportunity to say something before she went to school had passed. I don't know how to explain to a child that sometimes the people you love are capable of unthinkable cruelty. I don't know how to make it make sense for her, she's so young. She deserves to know, but she also deserves to not have to know yet. I didn't even consider that she might encounter your grandson, madam. For that you have my most sincere and utmost apology," she said, her head lowered and her voice earnestly contrite.
With eyes closed she braced herself to be berated further. If it was to come, she had more than earned it.
When Lady Longbottom spoke again her voice was tremulous with emotion "Does my boy not deserve to be unburdened by the knowledge of the unspeakable crime done upon his parents? We all have to face painful truths in this life, Miss Black. Should I not have told Neville what happened to his mother and father? Think of then how vulnerable he might have been if I hadn't. If I'd sent him off to school with a terrible secret hanging over his head that any other child could heartlessly throw in his face should they so chose… there's something to be said I think for being able to decide to tell those painful truths in a safe setting, and by someone who loves you. With the least amount of outside chaos and confusion."
Narcissa found herself nodding along, gripped by her candor and horrified by the scene the other witch painted "You're right. Merlin and Morgana, you're right. No boy or girl their age should have to hear things like this, but better from us than someone else. I can't even imagine how much worse it would be for her to learn about it in the hallway as a cruel jab. I'll tell her the next time I see her. I swear it, madam. I know she's out of school today visiting my cousin while he recovers. I'll go to her and I'll tell her, you have my word," she promised, her hands tightly clasped together in front of her chest as if in prayer. She might as well be on her knees, it felt as if she were pleading with a vengeful goddess.
The older witch nodded in approval, and though her face softened her voice was still just as hard and sharp when she spoke again "Good, but I want more than just your word. I would have a vow from you, girl," she announced, like a queen of old demanding fealty. Without hesitation Narcissa nodded eagerly "What would you have me vow, madam?" She asked, and she felt an urge to prove herself good and honest to this woman.
"I do remember your cousin Sirius, my Frankie was quite taken with him and his little band of troublemaking mates. I never believed he'd done what they said he had, not to the Potters anyways, but I had more important priorities after the war. I was suddenly responsible for a child again, and at my age! I'm glad something's finally being done now to look into the truth of the matter, and I'm glad to see clear evidence that your little matriarch has a good head on her shoulders and a healthy sense of responsibility already at such a young age. But I worry that her kind heart might be taken advantage of," she said meaningfully, and Narcissa felt an ominous chill zip up her spine.
"I want you to make an unbreakable vow to me now that you will never advocate on Bellatrix's behalf to your compassionate and impressionable young head of house. Should she ever escape or be freed, I want your oath that you will not give her aid or harbor her, or ask your head of house to do so for you. If she has any other fate than to rot away the rest of her days in Azkaban, I want no living Black to lift a finger to help her. I want her disowned and her magic stripped from her. This to me would have been justice, but your grandfather Arcturus refused me time and again. He thought me needlessly cruel, but he refused to acknowledge just how dangerous she is. He saw her as an innocent young woman who made a mistake, but you and I know differently don't we?" Her voice was a low purr at that, and Narcissa shuddered. Oh, she knew. She knew, indeed.
"Andromeda and I were her first victims. Before she ever turned her wand on anyone elseshe turned it towards her little sisters. We weren't as strong as her, didn't have her strength of conviction. She hated weakness and so she came to hate us, even if she never outright said as much. She broke my heart long before she ever committed the worst of her crimes… I'll take your vow, do you have a bonder?" She found herself agreeing. It should have been hard, but it was easy. So easy.
Was it even a betrayal to make official what she would have done anyways? Never in a million years would she have asked Hermione to stick her neck out for Bella like the girl was doing now for Siri, not even to spare her the axe. She had done her crimes freely, maybe not of sound mind but knowingly and intentionally. There had been no cajolement needed to make her draw her black walnut wand and ruin lives.
A portly man trundled into the room and she recognized that he had vaguely the same look about him as the lady before her. Madam Longbottom nodded at him and then reached across the table between them to grip her hand tightly. He cleared his throat and held his wand over their hands, then he began to officiously recite the terms that they had just discussed. He must have been listening in, or perhaps the lady had known exactly what she would ask of her, "Narcissa Black Malfoy, do you solemnly vow on your very magic to never provide aid or shelter to your sister Bellatrix Black LeStrange should she ask it of you? To turn her away from your door and your hearth should she seek comfort within your walls and wards?" He asked, and a little lick of golden flames erupted from the tip of his wand, and it hovered in the air as if waiting for its cue.
She swallowed and her throat felt dry, but she was determined to see this through "I do so swear it," she replied, and the flame elongated. It stretched across the space between them and curled around her wrist, dancing a hair's breadth above the skin. She felt its warmth, but it didn't burn as a real flame would have. Its flickering light cast a mesmerizing illumination upon her.
"Do you solemnly vow to never attempt to convince your head of house or the other members of the Black family to help her in any way? To never again speak on her behalf or ask any of them to do so for you?" He asked, and another flame burst forth from his wand. One of his bushy little grey eyebrows arched so similarly to the lady's that she decided the man must be her brother after all, the resemblance was simply too uncanny "I do so swear it," she replied again just as easily, and that flame wrapped around her wrist as well.
"Do you solemnly swear to tell your head of house the truth of the crimes she has committed upon the house of Longbottom?" He asked, and yet another flame emerged. Almost before he had finished speaking she was already agreeing "Yes, I do so swear it. I swear I will," she promised, and this flame wound its way around her wrist as well. He looked a bit miffed to have been cut off, but nodded anyways.
"Do you solemnly vow to request that your head of house fully disown and thereby remove any family protections and magic from her?" He asked with a resounding air of finality, and the flame came and like clockwork she agreed "I do so swear it," she said and it wrapped around her with all the others.
Before he could finish binding her vows she blurted out a demand of her own, shocking him and his sister both "Augusta Fowler Longbottom, do you solemnly swear on your very magic not to hold the crimes and ill reputation of the Black family against our innocent head of house, Hermione Elena Greyback? Do you swear not to forbid or work to prevent her friendship and future courtship with your grandson Neville Ulysses Longbottom unless she herself gives you legitimate reason to do so?" She asked breathlessly, and a larger flame of a slightly more coppery shade tentatively emerged from the man's wand and startled him. She briefly thought back over her words to make sure they weren't poorly done, and was proud of what she'd managed on the fly.
The little fop of a man looked outraged, like he might be ready to work himself up into a proper froth. The lady on the other hand rather bore the look of the kneezle that had gotten the canary, smug and thoroughly satisfied. "Oh well done, you minx. Glad to see you've got some fight in you, after all. I do so swear it, indeed" she crowed, to her brother's sputtering confusion. Narcissa's flame wrapped itself delicately around the older witch's wrist.
"Really Auggie?" He muttered under his breath, to which she glared at him fiercely, and he hurried on to seal their vows before either ladies could impulsively tack on any more last minute additions. As he finished the ritual, the flames released themselves from the end of his wand and sunk into the skin of the witches wrists. For a moment they glowed brightly and burned fiercely and both women gritted their teeth to avoid crying out, but then both the light and the pain faded. By the time they were done they looked like little more than a faded tan line around each woman's wrist. The band of skin was lighter where the flames had been, as if bleached by the sun.
When the lady of the house settled her gaze back on Narcissa after their shared ordeal was complete, she felt as if its weight carried a newfound respect. They were neither contemporaries nor friends, but perhaps they could be allies. There was a bond between the two of them now, something very real and permanent tying them together. If things continued the way they were going between her young cousin and the woman's grandson, they might even be family one day. Marriage was a powerful bond, and it could soothe a great deal of hurts. Rebuild even the most broken of bridges.
Maybe one day not too far in the future the two of them might even find themselves back in this very same room bickering and negotiating over the finer details of a betrothal. The children were still young, yes, and it was of course no longer the dark ages, but traditions were tried and true for a reason! Even the most ardent love matches really ought to be formally settled by contract to make sure everyone was legally protected and knew what was expected of them.
In her sheer maternal excitement she wiggled ever so slightly in her seat on the settee. Even in her wildest daydreaming she had never dared to imagine being able to able to help match make for a girl child. Everyone knew the Malfoys bred true - a single male heir every generation, never more and never less. Supposedly some off-pantheon pagan god a half a millennia ago had granted their ancestor a boon and they had rather selflessly chosen to use it to ensure the continuation of their line. From the very first moment she had considered hitching her horse to Lucius' carriage, she had been well aware that there would never be any of the daughters she had so longed for if she chose him.
A contented sigh came from the older woman, and upon returning her gaze to her Narcissa was shocked by how relaxed and in what good humor she now looked. A tremendous weight and concern had clearly been removed from her shoulders. One corner of her finely wrinkled mouth lifted in amusement "You know, were it not for this grim history between our families I'd have been rather more pleased for us to have met like this. The very first letter my Neville sent home the night he arrived at the school was an announcement that he'd met the young lady he was planning on marrying. I had one of my elves follow her for a week before reporting back that she was the kindest most well-mannered and loyal friend my boy could ask for. In all honesty I've been rather eager to meet her," she admitted.
Narcissa couldn't keep the smile off of her face, she was immensely proud of what a vibrant and pure young soul her house had produced after so many years of darkness. There was hope for them now beyond the brink of ruin. It occurred to her then that, Hermione's nose being better than a bloodhound's, the girl had almost certainly been aware of the presence of the elf spy. She couldn't help but chuckle at the thought "It's quite a funny coincidence," she mused "that very same night I received a similar letter asking about courtship rituals amongst the… upper class. It's one of the subjects there simply wasn't time for us to cover when I had the pleasure of giving Hermione her etiquette training. The girl is truly like a little sponge - a brilliant mind and a memory as sharp as a blade. She can recall verbatim anything she reads or that you say to her, it's frankly astounding," she gushed, and stopped abruptly when she realized she was on the verge of bragging.
"That is to say, I'm sure she'd love nothing more than to see your Neville outside of school over their winter holiday. With your and her father's permission of course," she continued deferentially. A toothy grin came to the woman's face "Oh I'd love a chance to dig my claws into that father of hers. I got a glimpse of him at the school board meeting for their educational contract review and he turned all of my expectations sideways. I've never seen such a big man look so sick with jittery nerves before. I wouldn't have guessed in a million years that a werewolf would make for a hover-charm parent," she said with a dismissive chuckle.
Narcissa considered that carefully before responding, she had come to respect Fenrir a great deal, but he was in fact a surprisingly anxious man. It stood in shockingly stark contrast to his brutal reputation "Yes, I suppose so," she agreed. "You simply wouldn't believe how much hand-wringing he gave us and the Weasleys over her and her brother leaving his little werewolf village to come visit and play with her cousins. I don't think he let either one of them out of his eyesight until they'd been over half a dozen times," she confessed. It had grated on her then, when he was watching his children like a hawk in her home as if they might come to some great harm under her care, but in hindsight she could appreciate his utter devotion to their safety and wellbeing.
Having shared a few more pleasantries and a spot of delightfully scrummy tea cakes, she left not long afterwards with both her steps and her spirits significantly lighter. She held clutched in her hand an invitation to deliver to her young cousins to spend a week of their Christmas holidays at Long End, with the polite suggestion that a reciprocal visit of Neville to their home for the week after would be not only permitted but encouraged. As sure as she was that it would make the little darling's day, she steeled herself in preparation of also fulfilling the vow she'd sworn.
There was a story to tell and it was grim and heartbreaking and painful, but it had to be told, and by her. Sooner rather than later.