Late Fic: The Inconvenient Bride - Part 1
Title: The Inconvenient Bride
Username: heartsignite
Pairing: Narcissa/Lucius
Type: Het
Prompt #: 4
Rating: mild R
Word Count: 8,976
Warnings/content: mild language, sex (non-explicit)
Summary: This is the tale of a young boy, a young girl, and a young love that has yet to unfold.
Notes: So, this is extremely and inexcusably late for this fest. Suffice is to say that this story did not want to happen (I rewrote large chunks of it twice) and RL got very chaotic very quickly. Thank you to prettysophist for the fun prompt (I hope it’s sortakinda what you wanted), to my beta InuGrrrl for your always-stellar input, and to shy_of_reality for hosting this wonderful fest (and for putting up with my crap; you’re a saint, and I don’t say that lightly). =) It’s late, and it’s long, but I hope you enjoy reading it anyway.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters/references are property of JK Rowling and associates. No copyright infringement is intended.
The Inconvenient Bride
Prologue
April 16, 1964: Malfoy Manor
Abraxas Malfoy opened the door to the drawing room, bowing graciously as he welcomed the visitors into his home. “Cygnus, Druella,” he said, his voice as smooth as the silk on his robes. “Welcome to Malfoy Manor. We are so pleased to have you in our home once again. And Narcissa,” he glanced at the small, blond girl who was gazing at him with a polite smile, “you look lovely in your purple robes, my dear.” Abraxas stepped aside, waving his guests into the room. “You know my wife, of course, and our son, Lucius.”
The young Lucius Malfoy stood stiffly beside his mother. His robes were impeccably pressed, and his face was a practiced mask of stolidity. Because he was tall for his age, and because he had been emulating his father’s stoic aloofness since he was old enough to comprehend it, the young master seemed older than his ten years. He gave a small bow to the guests, his gaze lingering on the pretty girl. Always sharp and observant, Lucius surmised exactly the purpose of this visit. He smiled slightly at the girl who was to be his betrothed-though she probably had not deduced this inevitability as he had-and inclined his head to her. She curtsied gracefully.
“I see our children are already acquainting themselves,” Cygnus Black proclaimed in a booming voice. “Your son is an assertive one, isn’t he, Abraxas?”
The Lord Malfoy chuckled, clapping his son approvingly on the shoulder. “Only when appropriate, Cygnus. Lucius, this is Narcissa Black. You are to acquaint yourself with her, my boy.”
“Of course, father,” Lucius obediently replied. He approached the girl, and giving her a small, impersonal smile, offered his elbow as he had been taught. “Miss Narcissa, would you like to see mother’s gardens? I think you’d like the flowers. The colors are rather vibrant this spring.”
When the girl smiled, her eyes twinkled mischievously, and her tongue poked out between her teeth. She laughed lightly as she took his arm. “I’ve no idea why you’re being so formal, Lucius,” she quipped, grinning. “You sound like you’re thirty, not ten.” Narcissa ignored her mother’s surprised gasp and her father’s scolding call of her name. “After all, if I’m going to be your wife in ten years, I’d prefer you spoke to me like a normal person. Starting with my name-it’s Narcissa. Or Cissy, if you like.” She took his elbow then, ignored his wide eyes, and started to walk jauntily to the door at the opposite end of the room. “It looks like the gardens are this way, right, Lucius? I do love flowers! Let’s go see them.” Before the boy or the parents had time to protest, she had made her way to the entrance of the gardens, a bewildered Lucius rushing to keep up with her.
There was silence after the children left.
Finally, Druella Black spoke somewhat apologetically. “Our Narcissa, she’s had to learn to be very assertive because of her older sisters. She is quite…taken with your son.”
“So it would seem,” Abraxas answered. He quirked a rare, genuine grin, and extended his hand as a sign of informal agreement. “Well, Cygnus, Druella, it seems we can leave our children to their own devices as we draw up this arrangement. Let’s make our way to the study and discuss the particulars, shall we?”
“Of course, Abraxas,” Cygnus Black replied. “This marriage will certainly be beneficial to both our families.”
“Indeed, it will.”
Year One
September 1, 1965: Platform 9 ¾
Lucius Malfoy held back a scowl, cringing almost imperceptibly as his wife-to-be (in eight or nine years, at least) clung more tightly to his arm. She was giggling again, her voice a high, annoying titter that worked his nerves. She had just met another girl who would be in their year-probably a Hufflepuff, though, if her dimwitted personality was any indication-and was laughing gaily at something the girl had said. It was all Lucius could do to not pull his arm away in frustration.
He had absolutely no idea what his father was thinking. This chit was infuriating!
She was constantly smiling, telling some joke with her eyes, and laughing as if she knew something funny that the rest of the world didn’t. Her voice was grating, and she touched him too much, always holding his arm, or hugging him unexpectedly. She even kissed his cheek once! Lucius shuddered at the memory. Disgusting, almost as bad as watching his mother and father kiss. Really, it was astonishing how invasive this girl was; she couldn’t seem to take a hint. He had already spent a gross amount of time with her in the past year because of their betrothal-lunches every other Monday and Thursday, tea on alternating Tuesdays and Saturdays, brunch every Sunday, and trips around town at their mothers’ whims-and now he had to spend the next seven years at school with her? He could scarcely bear the thought.
Lucius was not aware that a deep frown had slowly, unconsciously developed on his face until he felt fingertips prodding at his forehead. He glanced down, noticing that the irritating, would-be-Hufflepuff girl had disappeared, and that Narcissa was gently massaging the space between his eyes with a thoughtful look on her face.
“You know,” she began, “you shouldn’t frown so much. It’s going to give you wrinkles when you’re older.”
Lucius bit back a harsh retort. “I’ll try to remember that,” he wryly replied. He flinched away from her fingers, ignoring her questioning look, and turned to search for their parents. “Where did our parents go? We’re going to miss the train at this rate.”
“Oh, stop being so anxious. They’re probably mingling somewhere. They’ll be here soon enough.”
Not soon enough for me, Lucius thought. He stood awkwardly while Narcissa attempted to make conversation before growing frustrated at his monosyllabic responses.
Ten agonizing minutes later, their parents finally reappeared, hurrying toward them.
“Children!” Druella Black called. “Are your things on the train already? Narcissa, you didn’t leave anything behind did you?”
The girl giggled. Again. “No, mum, I don’t think I did. But if I miss something, I’ll write you, and you can owl it to me. And Lucius already put our trunks on the train. Such a gentleman.” She grinned cheekily at him, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
Abraxas Malfoy, who was watching his son closely, noticed the sour expression on his face. He chuckled. “Come, son, allow me to have a word with you before you go.”
Lucius followed obediently, and Abraxas led them several feet away from the group. “What is it, father?” Lucius asked, thinly veiled impatience tingeing his tone.
“I just want to make sure you keep an eye on Narcissa this year, my boy. She is your betrothed, and it is your responsibility to ensure that she settles comfortably into life at Hogwarts.”
“You know, father, it’s my first year, too. I’ll be busy looking after myself. Besides, Narcissa can look out for her own problems.”
The corners of Abraxas’ eyes tightened in displeasure. “That’s beside the point, Lucius. As her betrothed, it is your responsibility to see to her safety and comfort, regardless of whether she can look after herself. This is not a request, Lucius Septimus Malfoy.”
His father only called him by his full name when he was very serious, and Lucius heaved a sigh of surrender. “Yes, father, fine. I’ll make sure Narcissa’s okay.”
“That’s all I want to hear.” Nodding approvingly, Abraxas took Lucius by the shoulder and walked back to their group.
The Hogwarts Express gave three short whistles, indicating that it would be departing the platform in ten minutes. Hurriedly, the parents exchanged goodbyes with their children.
“Take care of each other,” Druella pleaded, dabbing a handkerchief at her eyes. “Owl us if you need anything, Narcissa. And find your sisters on the train. They were looking for you earlier, but you were with Lucius.”
When is she ever not with me? Lucius thought petulantly.
“I’ll be fine, mum!” Narcissa insisted. She had threaded her arm through Lucius’ once more and was standing uncomfortably close to him. “Stop worrying. Bye, dad! Bye, mum! Bye, Mister and Missus Malfoy!”
Lucius steered her to the train and into an empty compartment, but she continued to wave out the window until their parents were tiny specks.
After they had gone, Narcissa reclined against the window frame with a relieved sigh. A small smile played at her lips, and she perched her elbow on the sill, resting her chin in her hand as she watched the train pull away from the station and into the countryside.
“I can’t believe we’re finally here,” she murmured softly. “Isn’t it incredible, Lucius? Just think, in a few, short hours, we’ll be rowing across the Great Lake to Hogwarts Castle itself! Oh, I can hardly wait.” She had turned her body toward him, leaning across the seat in excitement. Her eyes twinkled again, and Lucius grimaced.
“Calm yourself, Narcissa,” he reprimanded. “It’s not appropriate to get too excitable.”
“Oh, honestly, Lucius, how can you stay calm! We’re finally going to Hogwarts! I’ve wanted to be with Bella and Meda there for ages.”
She continued to chatter, not noticing how Lucius had dropped his head into his hands in exasperation.
It’s going to be a long year, he thought glumly.
Year Two
October 31, 1966: Slytherin Common Room
“For Merlin’s sake, Narcissa, if you don’t come out in the next thirty seconds, I’ll hex all of your robes Gryffindor red for a month!”
Lucius was absolutely peeved. She was twenty minutes late. He had been sitting-well, standing, pacing, bouncing, and growling-in the common room for the past twenty-five minutes, as he had courteously left his rooms five minutes before their agreed meeting time.
She was going to make them bloody late. Again.
“That’s it! You always do this, Narcissa, and I’m sick of it.” He paced outside the door to her dormitory, fists clenching and unclenching spasmodically in his ire. “I’m always late to class because I have to wait for you; we won’t get to the Great Hall but ten minutes before breakfast is over because you’re doing your hair; we were even late for Christmas dinner last year because you couldn’t choose between the green robes or the purple ones! I swear, Narcissa Black, I’ll leave you if you don’t come out right-”
His words died in his throat as the door to her rooms opened, and she emerged. His eyes widened.
She was dressed as a dark fairy. Her iridescent wings were the color of night, with tiny, shimmering gems scattered across the edges. Her dress, made of a flowing, metallic green fabric, came to the tops of her knees, and the jagged hemline added an air of edginess and rebellion to her outfit. Her blond hair was streaked with dark green and delicately curled. Tiny, glittering black ballet shoes adorned her dainty feet, and her make-up was modest, but inviting.
Lucius had to remind himself to shut his mouth. He blinked and looked away, giving himself a small shake to regain his bearings.
She had him absolutely floored, and he couldn’t understand why. She didn’t look like a proper woman or anything, of course, as she was not even twelve years old. In fact, he could argue that she looked rather silly, with her wings being taller than her small frame. Her face, though…
He chanced a look back to the top of the staircase to find her watching him curiously.
“Do you like it?” Narcissa gave him a shy smile and slowly turned, showing off the fullness of her costume.
“You look fine,” he replied.
“Fine?” A frown marred her pretty face, and she crossed delicate arms over her chest. “I spent hours on this costume, and all you have to say is that I look fine?”
He refused to take the bait. “What do you want me to say, Narcissa?”
She glared at him but remained silent. With an aggravated huff, she stormed down the stairs, ignored his proffered hand, and marched out the portrait.
She was so dramatic sometimes.
Lucius hung his head with a sigh before following her out, and for the hundredth time in three years, he questioned his father’s judgment.
Year Three
September 21, 1967: The Slytherin Changing Rooms
Lucius nearly jumped out of his skin at the warm touch on his shoulder.
“Shite!” He whipped his wand out of his pocket and turned swiftly, only to find himself staring at the surprised eyes of Narcissa. “For the love of Salazar, witch, what are you doing?” he cried.
“I…I was just going to surprise you,” she said timidly, clearly thrown off by his less-than-welcoming reaction. “I didn’t get to congratulate you on the pitch, there were too many people, so I thought I’d try and find you here.”
“In the changing rooms, Narcissa? I could have been naked, for all you knew!”
Her cheeks flushed hotly, and she pursed her lips. “Well, you weren’t, though! It’s not as if I was trying to be a pervert or something; I just wanted to say you played a good game.”
“And that couldn’t have waited until we were in the common rooms? Merlin’s sake, Narcissa, you just don’t think that often, do you? What would the other guys say if they caught you in here with me? I’m just lucky no one else is here right now!”
She scoffed, arms crossing tightly over her small bosom in a defensive gesture. “Oh, please, Luc. It’s not as if your teammates never bring witches in here themselves. You really think I’m the first witch that’s stepped foot in here while the team was changing? Stop being an idiot.”
“Be that as it may, this is a complete violation of my privacy! I should have you reported for being a peeper!” He was seething, and although he knew he was probably overreacting just a tad, he refused to let it go. “You’re always doing stupid shite like this, Narcissa. You’re always invading my personal space. I’m getting sick of it! I’m getting sick of-” He stopped abruptly, realizing that he’d almost uttered a statement he’d have a hard time taking back.
She’d filled in the blanks though. She gasped softly, eyes widening as she took a small step backward. “You’re getting sick of what, Lucius?” she hesitantly asked. “You’re getting sick of…me?”
He sighed. Running a hand through his hair, he turned away, refusing to meet her eyes. “I apologize. That was quite rude of me.” When she stayed silent, he chanced a peek in her direction and saw that she had seated herself on the nearest bench. Her head was bowed demurely, and her hands were clenched into fists in her lap. “Narcissa.” He reached for her, but she flinched away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“How’d you mean it, then?” she asked in a voice much smaller than her usual.
“I didn’t mean it at all. It’s just that it’s so hard to get away from you sometimes,” he confessed. He knew his words probably stung, but his aggravation was too great to ignore. “I need my personal space, you know, even if we do spend most of our time together. I still have boundaries, and you have to respect them.” He turned to look at her then, silently willing her to see reason.
Thankfully, it seemed like she was listening. She looked at him pensively, brows slightly furrowed as she regarded him. “I’m sorry, Luc. I didn’t realize I was overstepping your boundaries so often. I don’t mean to. And I certainly don’t want you to get sick of me.” She laughed, but it sounded forced. “You’re right, though. I can be a little much sometimes.” With a brave smile, she stood up, gathering her robe and scarf from where she’d laid it on the bench. “From now on, I promise to be much more conscientious of your needs, Lucius. I forget how delicate you are sometimes.” The teasing lilt was back in her voice, and he felt relief flood him. She’d listened to him after all.
“Of course,” he conceded. “Many people often forget that I’m the sensitive sort. I need to be handled with great care, you know.”
She chuckled and winked playfully at him, bur her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Too right. I’ll see you in the commons, Luc.”
“Bye, Narcissa.”
Year Four
February 14, 1969: Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop
He couldn’t believe she had talked him into this.
Lucius shifted uncomfortably in his seat, staring disdainfully at the frilly, pink tablecloths. There were pink, red, and white streamers charmed to hang from the ceiling and spin gently overhead. Intricately laced doilies-also pink and white-were scattered on the table. The napkins were pink, the wallpaper was pink, everything was pink.
Lucius was sure that if he closed his eyes, the space behind his eyelids would be pink, too.
Trust his betrothed to insist that their Valentine’s Day lunch be in this absurd place.
“Lucius,” she began, her tentative voice breaking into his thoughts. “I’m just curious, why do you always call me Narcissa?”
He blinked at her. Clearly, she’d gone off her rocker somewhere between the walk from Hogwarts and this very moment. “I don’t understand your question. That is your name, isn’t it?
“Yes, of course, but it sounds so formal when you say it. You never call me Cissa, or Cissy, or anything else except Narcissa.”
Lucius made a face, his lip curling in disdain. “Cissy? That makes it sound like you’re my sister. Why on earth would I want to call you that?”
“Well, not Cissy, then, but something else,” she insisted. “You’ve been my best friend since I was ten years old, and we’ve never called each other anything but our formal names. It just sounds so…distant, that’s all.”
She pouted rather cutely at him, long lashes fluttering against smooth cheeks, and he restrained a grimace.
She was so flirtatious with him. He tried not to let it make him uncomfortable, but it was difficult when she was so irritatingly open about her attraction to him. He couldn’t understand it. She was going to be his wife, after all. It’s not as if she had to try to make him like her and fall in love with her and want to marry her. They were getting married whether either of them liked it or not. What was the point in trying to make their relationship romantic? Their eventual union was a done deal.
“I fail to see why it’s so important to you, Narcissa.” He frowned at her, setting down his tea cup. He folded his hands beneath his chin and rested his elbows on the table, leveling her with an austere glare. “What does it matter that I don’t call you some trite nickname?”
She looked at him for a long moment, and he recognized something like resignation in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice sounded too tired, too mature for her thirteen years.
“It’s not just a trite nickname, Lucius. It’s not just that you only ever call me Narcissa. It’s that you never allow yourself to get close to me. You always hold back, and you never let me in. I’ve been trying for years to get you to see that I’m a girl you could possibly want someday. No, don’t interrupt me; I need to say this. I know that I’m your betrothed, that no matter what, our marriage is going to happen when we graduate Hogwarts. I know that I’m going to be the girl you spend the rest of your life with. I know that for you, actually wanting to be with me isn’t important. Why should it be? You’re going to be with me whether you want to or not. And you’re not the type to rebel against your father, Luc. You would follow him obediently to the ends of the earth if that was what he wanted of you. I know all this.
“But it doesn’t change the fact that I still think our relationship could be deeper than that. I know you don’t love me now, and anyway, we’re both so young that love hardly matters. But it hurts that you don’t even want to be friends with me. You won’t let me be close to you at all. You treat me like a fool you can barely suffer, like I’m just some stupid girl that you’re forced to be around. And maybe that’s all I am to you, but you should know, Lucius Malfoy, that it still hurts.” She paused then, taking a deep breath to calm the emotions that were quickly bubbling over the carefully constructed fence she had built around her heart. Her eyes shone, imploring him to see things from her point of view, and against his will, he found himself captivated.
“I just want to be your friend, Lucius. I’m not trying to be more than that. Not yet, anyway. I just want you to genuinely like me, to actually want to spend time with me. But you don’t. And you won’t. And I’ve no idea how to get you to change your mind.”
Her voice cracked at the end of her little speech, and he was horrified to see tears gathering in her eyes and spilling onto her cheeks. She rose from the table, collecting her robe and wand. He stood up as well, and his mouth opened, as though knowing he needed to say something, but no words came. He had no idea what to say.
“I’m so tired, Lucius,” she said softly. “I’m so tired of trying to be your friend and being hurt when you shut me out.” She paused, biting her lip as she stared indecisively at him. Finally, she released a trembling breath and spoke words that made his heart thump. “I’m sorry I’m not the girl you want. I release you from our arrangement, Lucius Malfoy. I’ll have father owl your father with the official word in the morning.”
With that, she walked away.
And he was left staring numbly after her, wondering what on earth had happened.
Year Five
December 5, 1969: The Library
She bit her lip in the way she always did when she was thinking hard. She tapped her sugarquill against her chin, and every once in a while, her tongue darted out, wrapping around the sweet crystals and sucking enthusiastically.
Lucius swallowed hard, shifting in his seat as his pants grew uncomfortably tight.
It probably looked creepy, the way he was staring so intently at her from across their study table. He realized that he had been staring at her a lot lately, probably more than was socially acceptable. He really did need to learn how to rein that in, lest he look like an inappropriately obsessed sod. But it was difficult.
She had grown inexplicably gorgeous lately.
Truthfully, he admitted, she looked the same as she always had. Her hair was still the same pale, glowing yellow, and her eyes still the same shimmering azure. Her cheeks were as rosy as ever, defined by high cheekbones and offset by an aristocratic nose. Her lips were the same succulent, enticing bow-shape, now tinged with a rouge stain.
She looked the same, but somehow, she was suddenly incredibly beautiful to him.
It was probably just his eyes, he realized. They needed to be checked or something; it had been a while since his father had scheduled an appointment with the wizard eye healer, anyway.
But whatever it was, he had a hard time looking away from her. And now, he found himself attracted to her. Peculiarly so.
He thought back to the conversation they had had the previous year at Madam Puddifoot’s. She had been so upset then, he remembered, so hurt. When she walked out of the tea shop that day, he had been gripped with the immediate fear that she would never allow him near her again. Thankfully (and he found himself frequently grateful to both their fathers for this), Mr. Black had refused her request to end their betrothal. His own father had similarly disagreed, and he and Narcissa were still set to be married upon their graduation from Hogwarts.
He was surprised that he was quite looking forward to that day.
She had kept him at arm’s length since then, though. It had been many long months, and hard as he tried to coax her into opening up to him again, she refused to do so. She was still friendly, but she maintained a careful distance between them. She never allowed herself to get too comfortable around him, staying, instead, very cordial and proper in their interactions. Gone was the sweet, giggling girl who used to cling to his arm, gone were the casual touches and flirtatious smiles.
Lucius hadn’t realized how much he treasured her affection until she no longer offered it.
And its absence was driving him bonkers.
Clearing his throat, he inched his quill toward her and tickled her nose with the feathered tip. “Cissa,” he called, his voice teasing.
She blinked in surprise and looked up at him. “Yes, Lucius?” she said, eyes wide.
He gazed warmly back at her, lips curving into a small smirk. “You just looked so studious and concentrated, I was feeling neglected. You’ve hardly said a word to me this entire study session.”
She pressed her lips into a thin line, eyes darting about his face as if trying to discern his intentions. “Well, the entire point of a study session is to be studious and concentrate,” she said, “not to converse.” To prove her point, she turned her attention back to their Arithmancy text. “Have you made any headway on our assignment? It’s due in three days, you know, and if you want me to edit your work, I’ll need it at least a day before.”
“Cissa,” he began.
“Since when have you called me ‘Cissa?’” she cut him off, clearly irritated.
“For at least a few months now, and if you’d paid any attention at all, you would have noticed.”
“Don’t speak to me about paying attention, Lucius Malfoy, when you’ve not paid an ounce of attention to me for years.”
“Oh, please!” He threw up his hands in exasperation. “If you had eyes to see, you’d know that I’ve been doing nothing but paying attention to you for ages now! It’s ridiculous, the amount of time I spend staring at that illogically gorgeous head of yours.”
She tried not to show it, but he could tell his comment pleased her. Her lips quirked just a little bit at the edges, and a soft pink blush shone on her cheeks.
He was finally getting to her, just a little.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lucius,” she said sternly. She looked away from him, crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive gesture. “If you remember our conversation last year, then you should remember me mentioning-”
“I remember everything about that conversation, Cissa,” he interrupted. “And I want you to know that you were completely and totally correct in your assessment of my behavior.”
Silence.
She stared at him, clearly surprised that he was being so candid with her. They had not yet broached the subject of their argument-moreover, their continued betrothal-since that fateful day in Madam Puddifoot’s when he began seeing her in a different light. Indeed, this exchange was shaping up to be the first real conversation they had had in about ten months.
And Lucius was completely unprepared for it.
She was waiting, though, he could tell. Narcissa gave him her undivided attention, eyes wide and lips slightly parted as she held her breath, her shoulders tight with anticipation for his next words. He shifted in his seat, all of a sudden feeling extremely uncomfortable at how serious this conversation was becoming. Still, he knew it had to happen. He had to explain himself to her.
He had to apologize.
Releasing a heavy sigh, he ran his fingers through his long, platinum-blond hair and focused on the table. “Narcissa,” he started, “I’ve been an absolute cad toward you nearly the entire time I’ve known you. My actions are inexcusable, and I’m sorry.” She gasped softly, and he looked up, noting the tears that had abruptly filled her eyes at his admission. He barreled onward. “You were right, that day in Puddifoot’s. I’ve been holding you at arm’s length, rejecting the affection that you’ve given me and the friendship that you’ve offered, and I truly regret it. I…” he paused, unsure if he could continue being so…honest. He sounded like a bloody ponce. One glance at her tear-stained cheeks, however, and he knew he had to continue.
“I’ve missed you, Cissa,” he admitted. “I’ve missed how sweet you used to be to me, and the nights you’d come and talk for hours in my room. I miss how you used to always touch me, and how the stupidest thing I did would make you laugh.” She was crying softly now, chewing on her lip in a habit that he’d come to recognize as a sign of nervousness. He released another breath, hands clutching the edge of his seat to try and relieve some of his tension. “I just miss you. I’ve been an utter prat, and I know it. But I’m ready to take our relationship seriously, and I’m going to treat you like the princess that you are.” He offered her a small smile and was gratified when she laughed lightly. “I would like to court you properly, Narcissa Black, if you would allow me.”
She was silent for a moment, merely smiling a secretive smile at him. Then, she sat up straighter in her chair, removing a handkerchief from her robe pocket-that he noticed instantly was his, seeing the tell-tale initials embroidered into the corner-and dabbed daintily at her eyes. When she finally spoke, her voice was the lightest he’d heard it in a long while. “I’ve never heard you speak so sweetly, Luc,” she chirped.
His heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t called him Luc since that day in Madam Puddifoot’s.
She continued, “Of course, you’re going to have to work for it. I don’t know if I quite believe you. Yet.” Her smile blossomed into a full-blown grin, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling back. “But I’m sure you can convince me. You are a rather persuasive Slytherin, from what I’ve heard.”
Oh, she had no idea.
Read Part 2
Username: heartsignite
Pairing: Narcissa/Lucius
Type: Het
Prompt #: 4
Rating: mild R
Word Count: 8,976
Warnings/content: mild language, sex (non-explicit)
Summary: This is the tale of a young boy, a young girl, and a young love that has yet to unfold.
Notes: So, this is extremely and inexcusably late for this fest. Suffice is to say that this story did not want to happen (I rewrote large chunks of it twice) and RL got very chaotic very quickly. Thank you to prettysophist for the fun prompt (I hope it’s sortakinda what you wanted), to my beta InuGrrrl for your always-stellar input, and to shy_of_reality for hosting this wonderful fest (and for putting up with my crap; you’re a saint, and I don’t say that lightly). =) It’s late, and it’s long, but I hope you enjoy reading it anyway.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters/references are property of JK Rowling and associates. No copyright infringement is intended.
The Inconvenient Bride
Prologue
April 16, 1964: Malfoy Manor
Abraxas Malfoy opened the door to the drawing room, bowing graciously as he welcomed the visitors into his home. “Cygnus, Druella,” he said, his voice as smooth as the silk on his robes. “Welcome to Malfoy Manor. We are so pleased to have you in our home once again. And Narcissa,” he glanced at the small, blond girl who was gazing at him with a polite smile, “you look lovely in your purple robes, my dear.” Abraxas stepped aside, waving his guests into the room. “You know my wife, of course, and our son, Lucius.”
The young Lucius Malfoy stood stiffly beside his mother. His robes were impeccably pressed, and his face was a practiced mask of stolidity. Because he was tall for his age, and because he had been emulating his father’s stoic aloofness since he was old enough to comprehend it, the young master seemed older than his ten years. He gave a small bow to the guests, his gaze lingering on the pretty girl. Always sharp and observant, Lucius surmised exactly the purpose of this visit. He smiled slightly at the girl who was to be his betrothed-though she probably had not deduced this inevitability as he had-and inclined his head to her. She curtsied gracefully.
“I see our children are already acquainting themselves,” Cygnus Black proclaimed in a booming voice. “Your son is an assertive one, isn’t he, Abraxas?”
The Lord Malfoy chuckled, clapping his son approvingly on the shoulder. “Only when appropriate, Cygnus. Lucius, this is Narcissa Black. You are to acquaint yourself with her, my boy.”
“Of course, father,” Lucius obediently replied. He approached the girl, and giving her a small, impersonal smile, offered his elbow as he had been taught. “Miss Narcissa, would you like to see mother’s gardens? I think you’d like the flowers. The colors are rather vibrant this spring.”
When the girl smiled, her eyes twinkled mischievously, and her tongue poked out between her teeth. She laughed lightly as she took his arm. “I’ve no idea why you’re being so formal, Lucius,” she quipped, grinning. “You sound like you’re thirty, not ten.” Narcissa ignored her mother’s surprised gasp and her father’s scolding call of her name. “After all, if I’m going to be your wife in ten years, I’d prefer you spoke to me like a normal person. Starting with my name-it’s Narcissa. Or Cissy, if you like.” She took his elbow then, ignored his wide eyes, and started to walk jauntily to the door at the opposite end of the room. “It looks like the gardens are this way, right, Lucius? I do love flowers! Let’s go see them.” Before the boy or the parents had time to protest, she had made her way to the entrance of the gardens, a bewildered Lucius rushing to keep up with her.
There was silence after the children left.
Finally, Druella Black spoke somewhat apologetically. “Our Narcissa, she’s had to learn to be very assertive because of her older sisters. She is quite…taken with your son.”
“So it would seem,” Abraxas answered. He quirked a rare, genuine grin, and extended his hand as a sign of informal agreement. “Well, Cygnus, Druella, it seems we can leave our children to their own devices as we draw up this arrangement. Let’s make our way to the study and discuss the particulars, shall we?”
“Of course, Abraxas,” Cygnus Black replied. “This marriage will certainly be beneficial to both our families.”
“Indeed, it will.”
Year One
September 1, 1965: Platform 9 ¾
Lucius Malfoy held back a scowl, cringing almost imperceptibly as his wife-to-be (in eight or nine years, at least) clung more tightly to his arm. She was giggling again, her voice a high, annoying titter that worked his nerves. She had just met another girl who would be in their year-probably a Hufflepuff, though, if her dimwitted personality was any indication-and was laughing gaily at something the girl had said. It was all Lucius could do to not pull his arm away in frustration.
He had absolutely no idea what his father was thinking. This chit was infuriating!
She was constantly smiling, telling some joke with her eyes, and laughing as if she knew something funny that the rest of the world didn’t. Her voice was grating, and she touched him too much, always holding his arm, or hugging him unexpectedly. She even kissed his cheek once! Lucius shuddered at the memory. Disgusting, almost as bad as watching his mother and father kiss. Really, it was astonishing how invasive this girl was; she couldn’t seem to take a hint. He had already spent a gross amount of time with her in the past year because of their betrothal-lunches every other Monday and Thursday, tea on alternating Tuesdays and Saturdays, brunch every Sunday, and trips around town at their mothers’ whims-and now he had to spend the next seven years at school with her? He could scarcely bear the thought.
Lucius was not aware that a deep frown had slowly, unconsciously developed on his face until he felt fingertips prodding at his forehead. He glanced down, noticing that the irritating, would-be-Hufflepuff girl had disappeared, and that Narcissa was gently massaging the space between his eyes with a thoughtful look on her face.
“You know,” she began, “you shouldn’t frown so much. It’s going to give you wrinkles when you’re older.”
Lucius bit back a harsh retort. “I’ll try to remember that,” he wryly replied. He flinched away from her fingers, ignoring her questioning look, and turned to search for their parents. “Where did our parents go? We’re going to miss the train at this rate.”
“Oh, stop being so anxious. They’re probably mingling somewhere. They’ll be here soon enough.”
Not soon enough for me, Lucius thought. He stood awkwardly while Narcissa attempted to make conversation before growing frustrated at his monosyllabic responses.
Ten agonizing minutes later, their parents finally reappeared, hurrying toward them.
“Children!” Druella Black called. “Are your things on the train already? Narcissa, you didn’t leave anything behind did you?”
The girl giggled. Again. “No, mum, I don’t think I did. But if I miss something, I’ll write you, and you can owl it to me. And Lucius already put our trunks on the train. Such a gentleman.” She grinned cheekily at him, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
Abraxas Malfoy, who was watching his son closely, noticed the sour expression on his face. He chuckled. “Come, son, allow me to have a word with you before you go.”
Lucius followed obediently, and Abraxas led them several feet away from the group. “What is it, father?” Lucius asked, thinly veiled impatience tingeing his tone.
“I just want to make sure you keep an eye on Narcissa this year, my boy. She is your betrothed, and it is your responsibility to ensure that she settles comfortably into life at Hogwarts.”
“You know, father, it’s my first year, too. I’ll be busy looking after myself. Besides, Narcissa can look out for her own problems.”
The corners of Abraxas’ eyes tightened in displeasure. “That’s beside the point, Lucius. As her betrothed, it is your responsibility to see to her safety and comfort, regardless of whether she can look after herself. This is not a request, Lucius Septimus Malfoy.”
His father only called him by his full name when he was very serious, and Lucius heaved a sigh of surrender. “Yes, father, fine. I’ll make sure Narcissa’s okay.”
“That’s all I want to hear.” Nodding approvingly, Abraxas took Lucius by the shoulder and walked back to their group.
The Hogwarts Express gave three short whistles, indicating that it would be departing the platform in ten minutes. Hurriedly, the parents exchanged goodbyes with their children.
“Take care of each other,” Druella pleaded, dabbing a handkerchief at her eyes. “Owl us if you need anything, Narcissa. And find your sisters on the train. They were looking for you earlier, but you were with Lucius.”
When is she ever not with me? Lucius thought petulantly.
“I’ll be fine, mum!” Narcissa insisted. She had threaded her arm through Lucius’ once more and was standing uncomfortably close to him. “Stop worrying. Bye, dad! Bye, mum! Bye, Mister and Missus Malfoy!”
Lucius steered her to the train and into an empty compartment, but she continued to wave out the window until their parents were tiny specks.
After they had gone, Narcissa reclined against the window frame with a relieved sigh. A small smile played at her lips, and she perched her elbow on the sill, resting her chin in her hand as she watched the train pull away from the station and into the countryside.
“I can’t believe we’re finally here,” she murmured softly. “Isn’t it incredible, Lucius? Just think, in a few, short hours, we’ll be rowing across the Great Lake to Hogwarts Castle itself! Oh, I can hardly wait.” She had turned her body toward him, leaning across the seat in excitement. Her eyes twinkled again, and Lucius grimaced.
“Calm yourself, Narcissa,” he reprimanded. “It’s not appropriate to get too excitable.”
“Oh, honestly, Lucius, how can you stay calm! We’re finally going to Hogwarts! I’ve wanted to be with Bella and Meda there for ages.”
She continued to chatter, not noticing how Lucius had dropped his head into his hands in exasperation.
It’s going to be a long year, he thought glumly.
Year Two
October 31, 1966: Slytherin Common Room
“For Merlin’s sake, Narcissa, if you don’t come out in the next thirty seconds, I’ll hex all of your robes Gryffindor red for a month!”
Lucius was absolutely peeved. She was twenty minutes late. He had been sitting-well, standing, pacing, bouncing, and growling-in the common room for the past twenty-five minutes, as he had courteously left his rooms five minutes before their agreed meeting time.
She was going to make them bloody late. Again.
“That’s it! You always do this, Narcissa, and I’m sick of it.” He paced outside the door to her dormitory, fists clenching and unclenching spasmodically in his ire. “I’m always late to class because I have to wait for you; we won’t get to the Great Hall but ten minutes before breakfast is over because you’re doing your hair; we were even late for Christmas dinner last year because you couldn’t choose between the green robes or the purple ones! I swear, Narcissa Black, I’ll leave you if you don’t come out right-”
His words died in his throat as the door to her rooms opened, and she emerged. His eyes widened.
She was dressed as a dark fairy. Her iridescent wings were the color of night, with tiny, shimmering gems scattered across the edges. Her dress, made of a flowing, metallic green fabric, came to the tops of her knees, and the jagged hemline added an air of edginess and rebellion to her outfit. Her blond hair was streaked with dark green and delicately curled. Tiny, glittering black ballet shoes adorned her dainty feet, and her make-up was modest, but inviting.
Lucius had to remind himself to shut his mouth. He blinked and looked away, giving himself a small shake to regain his bearings.
She had him absolutely floored, and he couldn’t understand why. She didn’t look like a proper woman or anything, of course, as she was not even twelve years old. In fact, he could argue that she looked rather silly, with her wings being taller than her small frame. Her face, though…
He chanced a look back to the top of the staircase to find her watching him curiously.
“Do you like it?” Narcissa gave him a shy smile and slowly turned, showing off the fullness of her costume.
“You look fine,” he replied.
“Fine?” A frown marred her pretty face, and she crossed delicate arms over her chest. “I spent hours on this costume, and all you have to say is that I look fine?”
He refused to take the bait. “What do you want me to say, Narcissa?”
She glared at him but remained silent. With an aggravated huff, she stormed down the stairs, ignored his proffered hand, and marched out the portrait.
She was so dramatic sometimes.
Lucius hung his head with a sigh before following her out, and for the hundredth time in three years, he questioned his father’s judgment.
Year Three
September 21, 1967: The Slytherin Changing Rooms
Lucius nearly jumped out of his skin at the warm touch on his shoulder.
“Shite!” He whipped his wand out of his pocket and turned swiftly, only to find himself staring at the surprised eyes of Narcissa. “For the love of Salazar, witch, what are you doing?” he cried.
“I…I was just going to surprise you,” she said timidly, clearly thrown off by his less-than-welcoming reaction. “I didn’t get to congratulate you on the pitch, there were too many people, so I thought I’d try and find you here.”
“In the changing rooms, Narcissa? I could have been naked, for all you knew!”
Her cheeks flushed hotly, and she pursed her lips. “Well, you weren’t, though! It’s not as if I was trying to be a pervert or something; I just wanted to say you played a good game.”
“And that couldn’t have waited until we were in the common rooms? Merlin’s sake, Narcissa, you just don’t think that often, do you? What would the other guys say if they caught you in here with me? I’m just lucky no one else is here right now!”
She scoffed, arms crossing tightly over her small bosom in a defensive gesture. “Oh, please, Luc. It’s not as if your teammates never bring witches in here themselves. You really think I’m the first witch that’s stepped foot in here while the team was changing? Stop being an idiot.”
“Be that as it may, this is a complete violation of my privacy! I should have you reported for being a peeper!” He was seething, and although he knew he was probably overreacting just a tad, he refused to let it go. “You’re always doing stupid shite like this, Narcissa. You’re always invading my personal space. I’m getting sick of it! I’m getting sick of-” He stopped abruptly, realizing that he’d almost uttered a statement he’d have a hard time taking back.
She’d filled in the blanks though. She gasped softly, eyes widening as she took a small step backward. “You’re getting sick of what, Lucius?” she hesitantly asked. “You’re getting sick of…me?”
He sighed. Running a hand through his hair, he turned away, refusing to meet her eyes. “I apologize. That was quite rude of me.” When she stayed silent, he chanced a peek in her direction and saw that she had seated herself on the nearest bench. Her head was bowed demurely, and her hands were clenched into fists in her lap. “Narcissa.” He reached for her, but she flinched away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“How’d you mean it, then?” she asked in a voice much smaller than her usual.
“I didn’t mean it at all. It’s just that it’s so hard to get away from you sometimes,” he confessed. He knew his words probably stung, but his aggravation was too great to ignore. “I need my personal space, you know, even if we do spend most of our time together. I still have boundaries, and you have to respect them.” He turned to look at her then, silently willing her to see reason.
Thankfully, it seemed like she was listening. She looked at him pensively, brows slightly furrowed as she regarded him. “I’m sorry, Luc. I didn’t realize I was overstepping your boundaries so often. I don’t mean to. And I certainly don’t want you to get sick of me.” She laughed, but it sounded forced. “You’re right, though. I can be a little much sometimes.” With a brave smile, she stood up, gathering her robe and scarf from where she’d laid it on the bench. “From now on, I promise to be much more conscientious of your needs, Lucius. I forget how delicate you are sometimes.” The teasing lilt was back in her voice, and he felt relief flood him. She’d listened to him after all.
“Of course,” he conceded. “Many people often forget that I’m the sensitive sort. I need to be handled with great care, you know.”
She chuckled and winked playfully at him, bur her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Too right. I’ll see you in the commons, Luc.”
“Bye, Narcissa.”
Year Four
February 14, 1969: Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop
He couldn’t believe she had talked him into this.
Lucius shifted uncomfortably in his seat, staring disdainfully at the frilly, pink tablecloths. There were pink, red, and white streamers charmed to hang from the ceiling and spin gently overhead. Intricately laced doilies-also pink and white-were scattered on the table. The napkins were pink, the wallpaper was pink, everything was pink.
Lucius was sure that if he closed his eyes, the space behind his eyelids would be pink, too.
Trust his betrothed to insist that their Valentine’s Day lunch be in this absurd place.
“Lucius,” she began, her tentative voice breaking into his thoughts. “I’m just curious, why do you always call me Narcissa?”
He blinked at her. Clearly, she’d gone off her rocker somewhere between the walk from Hogwarts and this very moment. “I don’t understand your question. That is your name, isn’t it?
“Yes, of course, but it sounds so formal when you say it. You never call me Cissa, or Cissy, or anything else except Narcissa.”
Lucius made a face, his lip curling in disdain. “Cissy? That makes it sound like you’re my sister. Why on earth would I want to call you that?”
“Well, not Cissy, then, but something else,” she insisted. “You’ve been my best friend since I was ten years old, and we’ve never called each other anything but our formal names. It just sounds so…distant, that’s all.”
She pouted rather cutely at him, long lashes fluttering against smooth cheeks, and he restrained a grimace.
She was so flirtatious with him. He tried not to let it make him uncomfortable, but it was difficult when she was so irritatingly open about her attraction to him. He couldn’t understand it. She was going to be his wife, after all. It’s not as if she had to try to make him like her and fall in love with her and want to marry her. They were getting married whether either of them liked it or not. What was the point in trying to make their relationship romantic? Their eventual union was a done deal.
“I fail to see why it’s so important to you, Narcissa.” He frowned at her, setting down his tea cup. He folded his hands beneath his chin and rested his elbows on the table, leveling her with an austere glare. “What does it matter that I don’t call you some trite nickname?”
She looked at him for a long moment, and he recognized something like resignation in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice sounded too tired, too mature for her thirteen years.
“It’s not just a trite nickname, Lucius. It’s not just that you only ever call me Narcissa. It’s that you never allow yourself to get close to me. You always hold back, and you never let me in. I’ve been trying for years to get you to see that I’m a girl you could possibly want someday. No, don’t interrupt me; I need to say this. I know that I’m your betrothed, that no matter what, our marriage is going to happen when we graduate Hogwarts. I know that I’m going to be the girl you spend the rest of your life with. I know that for you, actually wanting to be with me isn’t important. Why should it be? You’re going to be with me whether you want to or not. And you’re not the type to rebel against your father, Luc. You would follow him obediently to the ends of the earth if that was what he wanted of you. I know all this.
“But it doesn’t change the fact that I still think our relationship could be deeper than that. I know you don’t love me now, and anyway, we’re both so young that love hardly matters. But it hurts that you don’t even want to be friends with me. You won’t let me be close to you at all. You treat me like a fool you can barely suffer, like I’m just some stupid girl that you’re forced to be around. And maybe that’s all I am to you, but you should know, Lucius Malfoy, that it still hurts.” She paused then, taking a deep breath to calm the emotions that were quickly bubbling over the carefully constructed fence she had built around her heart. Her eyes shone, imploring him to see things from her point of view, and against his will, he found himself captivated.
“I just want to be your friend, Lucius. I’m not trying to be more than that. Not yet, anyway. I just want you to genuinely like me, to actually want to spend time with me. But you don’t. And you won’t. And I’ve no idea how to get you to change your mind.”
Her voice cracked at the end of her little speech, and he was horrified to see tears gathering in her eyes and spilling onto her cheeks. She rose from the table, collecting her robe and wand. He stood up as well, and his mouth opened, as though knowing he needed to say something, but no words came. He had no idea what to say.
“I’m so tired, Lucius,” she said softly. “I’m so tired of trying to be your friend and being hurt when you shut me out.” She paused, biting her lip as she stared indecisively at him. Finally, she released a trembling breath and spoke words that made his heart thump. “I’m sorry I’m not the girl you want. I release you from our arrangement, Lucius Malfoy. I’ll have father owl your father with the official word in the morning.”
With that, she walked away.
And he was left staring numbly after her, wondering what on earth had happened.
Year Five
December 5, 1969: The Library
She bit her lip in the way she always did when she was thinking hard. She tapped her sugarquill against her chin, and every once in a while, her tongue darted out, wrapping around the sweet crystals and sucking enthusiastically.
Lucius swallowed hard, shifting in his seat as his pants grew uncomfortably tight.
It probably looked creepy, the way he was staring so intently at her from across their study table. He realized that he had been staring at her a lot lately, probably more than was socially acceptable. He really did need to learn how to rein that in, lest he look like an inappropriately obsessed sod. But it was difficult.
She had grown inexplicably gorgeous lately.
Truthfully, he admitted, she looked the same as she always had. Her hair was still the same pale, glowing yellow, and her eyes still the same shimmering azure. Her cheeks were as rosy as ever, defined by high cheekbones and offset by an aristocratic nose. Her lips were the same succulent, enticing bow-shape, now tinged with a rouge stain.
She looked the same, but somehow, she was suddenly incredibly beautiful to him.
It was probably just his eyes, he realized. They needed to be checked or something; it had been a while since his father had scheduled an appointment with the wizard eye healer, anyway.
But whatever it was, he had a hard time looking away from her. And now, he found himself attracted to her. Peculiarly so.
He thought back to the conversation they had had the previous year at Madam Puddifoot’s. She had been so upset then, he remembered, so hurt. When she walked out of the tea shop that day, he had been gripped with the immediate fear that she would never allow him near her again. Thankfully (and he found himself frequently grateful to both their fathers for this), Mr. Black had refused her request to end their betrothal. His own father had similarly disagreed, and he and Narcissa were still set to be married upon their graduation from Hogwarts.
He was surprised that he was quite looking forward to that day.
She had kept him at arm’s length since then, though. It had been many long months, and hard as he tried to coax her into opening up to him again, she refused to do so. She was still friendly, but she maintained a careful distance between them. She never allowed herself to get too comfortable around him, staying, instead, very cordial and proper in their interactions. Gone was the sweet, giggling girl who used to cling to his arm, gone were the casual touches and flirtatious smiles.
Lucius hadn’t realized how much he treasured her affection until she no longer offered it.
And its absence was driving him bonkers.
Clearing his throat, he inched his quill toward her and tickled her nose with the feathered tip. “Cissa,” he called, his voice teasing.
She blinked in surprise and looked up at him. “Yes, Lucius?” she said, eyes wide.
He gazed warmly back at her, lips curving into a small smirk. “You just looked so studious and concentrated, I was feeling neglected. You’ve hardly said a word to me this entire study session.”
She pressed her lips into a thin line, eyes darting about his face as if trying to discern his intentions. “Well, the entire point of a study session is to be studious and concentrate,” she said, “not to converse.” To prove her point, she turned her attention back to their Arithmancy text. “Have you made any headway on our assignment? It’s due in three days, you know, and if you want me to edit your work, I’ll need it at least a day before.”
“Cissa,” he began.
“Since when have you called me ‘Cissa?’” she cut him off, clearly irritated.
“For at least a few months now, and if you’d paid any attention at all, you would have noticed.”
“Don’t speak to me about paying attention, Lucius Malfoy, when you’ve not paid an ounce of attention to me for years.”
“Oh, please!” He threw up his hands in exasperation. “If you had eyes to see, you’d know that I’ve been doing nothing but paying attention to you for ages now! It’s ridiculous, the amount of time I spend staring at that illogically gorgeous head of yours.”
She tried not to show it, but he could tell his comment pleased her. Her lips quirked just a little bit at the edges, and a soft pink blush shone on her cheeks.
He was finally getting to her, just a little.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lucius,” she said sternly. She looked away from him, crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive gesture. “If you remember our conversation last year, then you should remember me mentioning-”
“I remember everything about that conversation, Cissa,” he interrupted. “And I want you to know that you were completely and totally correct in your assessment of my behavior.”
Silence.
She stared at him, clearly surprised that he was being so candid with her. They had not yet broached the subject of their argument-moreover, their continued betrothal-since that fateful day in Madam Puddifoot’s when he began seeing her in a different light. Indeed, this exchange was shaping up to be the first real conversation they had had in about ten months.
And Lucius was completely unprepared for it.
She was waiting, though, he could tell. Narcissa gave him her undivided attention, eyes wide and lips slightly parted as she held her breath, her shoulders tight with anticipation for his next words. He shifted in his seat, all of a sudden feeling extremely uncomfortable at how serious this conversation was becoming. Still, he knew it had to happen. He had to explain himself to her.
He had to apologize.
Releasing a heavy sigh, he ran his fingers through his long, platinum-blond hair and focused on the table. “Narcissa,” he started, “I’ve been an absolute cad toward you nearly the entire time I’ve known you. My actions are inexcusable, and I’m sorry.” She gasped softly, and he looked up, noting the tears that had abruptly filled her eyes at his admission. He barreled onward. “You were right, that day in Puddifoot’s. I’ve been holding you at arm’s length, rejecting the affection that you’ve given me and the friendship that you’ve offered, and I truly regret it. I…” he paused, unsure if he could continue being so…honest. He sounded like a bloody ponce. One glance at her tear-stained cheeks, however, and he knew he had to continue.
“I’ve missed you, Cissa,” he admitted. “I’ve missed how sweet you used to be to me, and the nights you’d come and talk for hours in my room. I miss how you used to always touch me, and how the stupidest thing I did would make you laugh.” She was crying softly now, chewing on her lip in a habit that he’d come to recognize as a sign of nervousness. He released another breath, hands clutching the edge of his seat to try and relieve some of his tension. “I just miss you. I’ve been an utter prat, and I know it. But I’m ready to take our relationship seriously, and I’m going to treat you like the princess that you are.” He offered her a small smile and was gratified when she laughed lightly. “I would like to court you properly, Narcissa Black, if you would allow me.”
She was silent for a moment, merely smiling a secretive smile at him. Then, she sat up straighter in her chair, removing a handkerchief from her robe pocket-that he noticed instantly was his, seeing the tell-tale initials embroidered into the corner-and dabbed daintily at her eyes. When she finally spoke, her voice was the lightest he’d heard it in a long while. “I’ve never heard you speak so sweetly, Luc,” she chirped.
His heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t called him Luc since that day in Madam Puddifoot’s.
She continued, “Of course, you’re going to have to work for it. I don’t know if I quite believe you. Yet.” Her smile blossomed into a full-blown grin, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling back. “But I’m sure you can convince me. You are a rather persuasive Slytherin, from what I’ve heard.”
Oh, she had no idea.
Read Part 2