Winter Holiday themed writings
Lest I should prize you not, you elude me in a thousand ways.
Lest I should mix you with the crowd, you stand aside.
Lucius strode down the corridors of the manor, dark robes and pale mask in hand. Though he'd searched all her usual haunts, Narcissa was nowhere to be found.
Typical, he thought. Whenever He called, she disappeared, and if Lucius had any last minute instructions he had to leave them with a house elf, or with his son, or find some other, probably equally inefficient means to communicate them.
At least it saved him her Looks. He detested her Looks. Just last night he'd been trying to explain one of the Dark Lord's latest successes and she'd sat on the chaise longue and gazed at him as if he were a rare beetle on display. The last time the Dark Lord had deigned to visit the manor, she had greeted Him with a frozen curtsey and then found a way to drift from the room unnoticed. He turned, at one point in the conversation, to ask for her comment, and she'd simply not been there.
She smiled superciliously when he explained how the Dark Lord relied on him, with what responsibilities he was entrusted. She yawned behind her hand as he described their next plan of attack. The other day she'd fallen asleep as he'd tried to enlist her help planning a meeting of the Inner Circle at the manor.
Giving up his search, he donned his robes and mask and Apparated, feeling the chill of the solstice night threading through his very bones. When he opened his eyes again, the light was dim and blue upon the snow, and a dozen dark figures milled around him. He lifted his face, finding his Lord instantly, as a blind man finds the sun.
She was there, beside Him, silver and blue and gold and smiling and the curve of His neck as He gazed at her and the way His fingers lay on her arm told Lucius all he needed to know.
The shortest night of the year, he thought, and most likely his last.
Lest I should mix you with the crowd, you stand aside.
Lucius strode down the corridors of the manor, dark robes and pale mask in hand. Though he'd searched all her usual haunts, Narcissa was nowhere to be found.
Typical, he thought. Whenever He called, she disappeared, and if Lucius had any last minute instructions he had to leave them with a house elf, or with his son, or find some other, probably equally inefficient means to communicate them.
At least it saved him her Looks. He detested her Looks. Just last night he'd been trying to explain one of the Dark Lord's latest successes and she'd sat on the chaise longue and gazed at him as if he were a rare beetle on display. The last time the Dark Lord had deigned to visit the manor, she had greeted Him with a frozen curtsey and then found a way to drift from the room unnoticed. He turned, at one point in the conversation, to ask for her comment, and she'd simply not been there.
She smiled superciliously when he explained how the Dark Lord relied on him, with what responsibilities he was entrusted. She yawned behind her hand as he described their next plan of attack. The other day she'd fallen asleep as he'd tried to enlist her help planning a meeting of the Inner Circle at the manor.
Giving up his search, he donned his robes and mask and Apparated, feeling the chill of the solstice night threading through his very bones. When he opened his eyes again, the light was dim and blue upon the snow, and a dozen dark figures milled around him. He lifted his face, finding his Lord instantly, as a blind man finds the sun.
She was there, beside Him, silver and blue and gold and smiling and the curve of His neck as He gazed at her and the way His fingers lay on her arm told Lucius all he needed to know.
The shortest night of the year, he thought, and most likely his last.