Fic: Ouroboros (1/?), Lucius/Narcissa, NC-17

[peki]

Title: Ouroboros (1/?)
Author: Peki
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The long, long courtship of Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy.
A/N: Did I really last post here 3 years ago? And am I really still writing these two? Well, since it is the 10-year anniversary of We 3 Sisters this year, it’s probably fitting that I’m coming full circle. Ouroboros, and all that. This is the story in which I (hopefully) use up the entirety of my Malfoy headcanon. OTP forever.



Hogwarts, spring 1973

“Are you going to stare all day or are you going to make yourself useful?”

Lucius wasn’t trying to start anything, at least no more than he usually was, but she was making it bloody difficult for him to not lose a hand chopping laurel leaves when she was distracting him with those over-the-knee socks. Granted, it was a cold spring day and the Potions laboratory was draughty, but that was no excuse for being purposefully saucy about altering the standard school uniform, especially when one was female and impossibly leggy.

He shifted his gaze from the glimpse of thigh between the hem of Narcissa’s skirt and the edge of her stockings and looked up at her face, which was no less appealing, but currently set in an expression of stern disapproval that he couldn’t but admire for how genuine it looked. She could’ve fooled anyone, but they’d played this game too often for him to miss the subtle flutter of her lashes or the way she kept dropping things that she simply had to bend over to retrieve. All things considered, Lucius felt fully justified in enjoying the show.

“I am being useful,” he said. “You know you’re not happy unless you have a rapt audience.”

“Rapt. Is that what you are.” She handed him a pair of dragonhide gloves, then turned back to her cauldron. “Please go milk that snake.”

“Here and now? Why, Miss Black!”

“One more snake joke, Malfoy, and I’ll make you wear that cobra for a cravat. You are not ruining my perfect grade. Now go.”

A few of the braver Hufflepuffs at the next cauldron over sniggered. Lucius stared them down in passing until they ducked over their work again. He went slowly enough that it didn’t feel like he was following orders, but he knew that Narcissa always made good on her word, and besides, he did not want to risk a partnership that would enable him to sail smoothly through seventh-year Potions and to an Outstanding NEWT with minimal effort or inconvenience aside from the occasional encounter with an angry snake. This was probably not what Professor Slughorn had had in mind at the start of term when he’d announced that seventh-year Potions was going to be ‘self-guided study’, but Lucius wasn’t complaining: Potions class was far more fun without supervision.

Still, there was the issue of the cobra. Half the pranks in Slytherin House involved finding a snake in places one would not normally want it, so Lucius wasn’t particularly squeamish, but the serpent had been manhandled by several other students before him and was hissing and spitting already as he approached the glass tank. He met its glare with one of his own as he pulled on the gloves. The cobra raised its head, ready to strike.

“Evan,” he heard Narcissa say placidly as he unlocked the tank, “Get the antivenom from my kit, please.”

“What for?” Rosier asked, but Lucius’s loud cursing sent him running without further ado.

“Tsk,” Narcissa made, sidling up as Lucius tried to detach the snake from his arm, where it had embedded its fangs just above the protective gloves. “Oh well. At least it didn’t get your face this time.” She grabbed the snake just behind the head and squeezed, and he cursed again as he felt it inject every last bit of venom into his arm.

“You know, that was quite unpleasant,” he said crossly as Narcissa finally put the snake back into its tank, where it curled up to sulk. The Ravenclaws who had lined up behind Lucius to extract snake venom took one look at it and hung their heads, resigning themselves to an imperfect potion.

“So I gathered from your colourful language,” she said loftily. “Don’t be a baby. Come over to the cauldron so I can siphon off the venom.”

“You can milk the snake the next time,” he grumbled as she started to chant softly over his wound and the snake’s poison began to leak back out. Narcissa caught it all in a chalice, then healed the bite mark. He was beginning to feel a little lightheaded, but that was mostly because of her perfume when she stood so close. The daffodil scent she always wore was bittersweet, like the wind carrying with it the first hints of spring. Even in the midst of winter, in the musty Potions classroom, she smelled like light and air, fresh and untouched--

“Accio chair,” Narcissa said, and suddenly Lucius found his backside connecting hard with a stool and Narcissa standing over him, shaking her head. “Next time, try to not get bitten. Here, drink this.”

Lucius thought that she could have given him the antivenom first instead of tending to her precious potion ingredients. He emptied the vial she handed him and made a face. “Does it have to taste like dragon piss?”

“Don’t be crude. You should be grateful I keep it on hand. How is it that you still can’t seem to follow safety protocol, Malfoy?”

“Please. Potions is boring enough without all the regulations.”

“I’d thank you not to call my efforts boring,” she said, peering down her nose at him over the rim of protective goggles. “Or you can drop Potions, as you should have two years ago, and leave.”

“And pass up the pleasure of your company?” Lucius smirked. He was feeling better now that the antivenom was working. “You wouldn’t really want me to do that, would you, Narcissa?”

Narcissa turned back to her cauldron with a long-suffering sigh.

Rosier laughed. He perched on the desk, peering into the cauldron as she poured in the snake venom and a puff of green smoke rose from the bubbling liquid. “Touché, Cissy. We all know you only like Potions so much for the socialising.”

Lucius was gratified to hear it. Rosier might joke, but he was Narcissa’s cousin and probably her closest friend aside from Lucius himself, insofar as they could call themselves friends. They’d been friendly since first year, Potions partners since the third, but the flirting was new. Sure, Narcissa flirted with every male from nine to ninety, so it would’ve been an affront if she hadn’t practiced her charms on him - he was the most eligible bachelor in Britain, after all - but nevertheless, he enjoyed it, and perhaps a little too much. If he was honest with himself, he had lost a bit of his edge when he teased her back, and he knew that she knew it.

“And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Evan?” Narcissa asked now in the dulcet tones she reserved for the most biting sarcasm. Lucius never understood how people didn’t see through her when she pretended to be the nice young lady; she was about as nice as the cobra he had wrangled earlier, but the dichotomy between her beauty and her wickedness only made things more interesting as far as he was concerned.

Rosier stretched lazily. “I came for the show. I do enjoy watching Malfoy getting his head bitten off.”

“Well, we’re done with the cobra, so you can leave.”

Rosier smirked. “I wasn’t talking about the cobra, darling.”

Lucius chuckled. “Let a man have fun, Cissy. While he can.”

That wiped the smile off Rosier’s face right quick. “Oh, could you stop! I’d just managed to forget!”

“I thought going into banking was your life’s dream?”

“My mother’s dream, more like,” Rosier moaned. It was probably mean to kick a man when he was already low - and soon would be lower, locked away in the vaults at Gringott’s - but Lucius did enjoy poking at people’s sore spots. Why should he be the only one to suffer from terrible parenting.

“It’s not fair,” Rosier continued jealously. “Why do I have to go work at Gringott’s and slave away under some goblin while you get to sow your wild oats all over Europe?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what possessed your mother to put you up to it, but it’s hardly my fault.” The Rosiers didn’t have a reputation for being good with money, just like their Black cousins, but Lucius smartly kept that opinion to himself.

“Nothing about Malfoy’s existence is fair, Evan,” Narcissa put in. “He doesn’t know how good he has it. Lazing about while other people get him through Potions--”

“A luxury for which I pay very well, as I recall,” Lucius said dryly.

Rosier perked up at that. “How do you pay her, in snogs?”

“He wishes,” Narcissa said sweetly.

“No; she knows her price, and it’s payable in gold,” Lucius told the other man, chortling.

“You actually pay her? Drat, Cissy! And you’re not even an apothecary yet,” Rosier laughed.

“And I won’t ever be if I don’t finish this potion. I need it for my application.” Narcissa stirred slowly, precisely clockwise. “So stop talking and clean up, you two.”

“I’m off. See you at dinner.” Rosier was fast, fleeing before she could make him pick up chopped remains of rat; Lucius hesitated a moment too long, once again admiring the way Narcissa’s skirt rode up in the back, and then it was too late. A wet rag hit him squarely in the chest and dropped down to land in his lap. Narcissa never even looked up from the cauldron. “Jump to it, Lucius.”

He climbed to his feet, holding the sodden rag by one corner. Pleased, he noticed that the dizziness from the snake venom had all but subsided. Narcissa was a bossy little thing, but her potions were good. He peered over her shoulder just in time to see the potion turn from black to brilliant azure as she dropped in the last ingredient, beetle eyes. She exhaled slowly, relieved, and he took that as tacit approval to continue prodding her.

“No one tells me to ‘jump to it’,” he said, dropping the wet rag on the desk.

“Strange; I thought I just did.” With successful completion of the day’s work, Narcissa seemed instantly less prickly. She packed up her notes and filled a few vials with the potion, leaving the rest for Professor Slughorn to look at later. Most of the other students had already left, having been markedly less successful with today’s potion than Narcissa or simply not in the mood to wrangle a snake. They were alone in their corner, and she turned to him, perching on the edge of her desk, and smiled. “Be a good boy and maybe you’ll get a reward.”

“What kind of reward?”

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “You’ll see.”

Experience made Lucius skeptical about her following through, but you never knew with Narcissa. There was the risk of missing out on something if he didn’t comply, and just in case, he went to fetch a bucket of water from the sink across the room, making a big show of grumbling and causing the greatest possible spillage. He set a mop to clean up after him, then did the same to the rag on the desk. The last potion ingredients returned to their spots on the shelves with a quick banishing charm.

Narcissa watched all of this whilst idly flicking her wand. The crown of long braids that she wore for the sake of practicality came down now with the conclusion of the last lesson of the day, her hair untangling itself to fall almost to her waist. “Sloppy charmwork, but it’ll do.”

“So where’s the reward?” he asked, sauntering up to her to collect.

Narcissa reached into the bottomless depths of her ridiculously small, embroidered handbag and pulled out a licorice wand, which she presented to him with the air of doing him a great favour. “There you are.”

He sighed. “Why do I keep setting myself up for disappointment?”

Her smile was always the most angelic when her actions were anything but. “You like them, don’t you.”

Lucius thought that was entirely beside the point, but he respected her talent for manipulation even if he didn’t quite enjoy it just then. He took a bite off the licorice wand, which was, admittedly, very good. “You’re really lucky you’re nice looking, you know.”

“Why, thank you!” she said brightly.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“No?” She dangled her bag daintily off one wrist and sauntered out, hips swaying. “All I heard was that I looked nice.”

Chortling, he followed. It was pointless to argue when she would only hear the things that suited her, and besides, he had to concede that she’d extracted a kernel of truth from him, so it was well played. He caught up with her and swung one arm around her shoulders.

“It’ll be such a waste for you to be locked up in a potions laboratory all day,” he said, amused. “Are you still set on going to work for Slug and Jigger’s?”

“Of course, they’re the best apothecary in London,” she said. “It’s a perfectly good choice for a career. And also the only choice my father will allow.”

The Blacks had been notable potioneers for centuries, but what remained of that former glory had been squandered by her father and uncle, who’d seen the collapse of the potions empire that had once been Cepheus Black and Sons, Purveyors of Peculiar Potion Ingredients, Since the Middle Ages. Narcissa would have to go work for the competition, which surely had to hurt.

“It’s only temporary until I finish my apprenticeship,” she said now, clearly thinking of the same thing he was. “Once I’m a Master Potioneer, I can open my own business.”

“If you can find an investor.”

“What do you think I keep you around for?”

“You know, that hurts.”

She gave him her most brilliant smile. “Come now, I’m sure we could reach a mutually satisfactory arrangement.”

“I don’t know. You’d have some convincing to do.”

“What, you don’t believe in my brilliance?”

“I fully believe you’re a decent Potions Mistress. It’s your business plan I’m not sure of. I’ve seen you do Arithmancy and the numbers don’t always add up.”

She shrugged gracefully, dislodging his arm from around her shoulders. “I have to let you excel at something so as not to bruise your fragile ego.”

He leered. “You have no idea of all the things I excel at, Miss Black.”

Narcissa looked at him and laughed. They could play like this all day long, cheerfully throwing words back and forth. It was almost like a match of Quidditch, except that Narcissa hated Quidditch and would only mount a broom under duress. Their interactions were a sport, and one that only really saw winners, not losers.

“Well, I do love a good puzzle,” she said, and then took a sharp turn around the corner and into an abandoned classroom that they had come to use regularly for dueling practice.

Lucius looked forward to these sessions with perhaps undue anticipation. Defense Against the Dark Arts easily was his best subject even if he conveniently forgot about the ‘defense against’ part sometimes, and it was Narcissa’s worst. She was perfectly capable of throwing a frightful hex, but on the whole, her style of attack was much more subtle and would sooner involve an elaborately brewed poison than an outright challenge to duel. Their NEWTs were looming, though, and there would be a practical part to the exam that she struggled with. Hence their biweekly appointment for dueling, which gave Lucius ample opportunity to point, laugh and tease aside from lording his wisdom over her.

“I hope you practised your stunning spells, because the gloves are off; I’m not going easy on you anymore,” he said as he waved his wand and the desks and chairs began to stack themselves along one wall of the classroom, creating a large space in the middle.

She blushed, unable to maintain her loftiness when poked in her weak spot. “I never asked you to go easy.”

He dropped his briefcase and shed his robes for better movement. “Not in so many words, but after the third time, I start to feel bad knocking you on your arse.”

“You feel bad? I am shocked.” She took off the heavy outer layer of her uniform too and folded it neatly over a chair, dropping her green-and-silver tie on top of it. Without the tie, her blouse made a deep vee at the front. She really was too tall for the standard issue school skirt now, or else she had transfigured it to end several inches above her knees. In any event, Lucius appreciated the view.

He folded his arms across his chest and regarded her with amusement. “Well, I don’t feel that bad, but it’s the polite thing to say, isn’t it.”

“You’re completely awful, Malfoy, and I don’t know why I put up with you,” she said sweetly, circling around to come to stand across from him. They were still talking pleasantly, but he didn’t harbor any illusion that she would warn him before throwing the first hex.

He flexed his fingers around his wand. “Because learning to duel is important? You won’t always have time to set up your cauldron to defend yourself.”

“Fine, then. Are you ready?”

She rounded on him and threw the first hex, just as he had expected. Not that the element of surprise would have helped her much; she was too hesitant, overthinking her spells to get them perfect, and it didn’t take him long until he had her backed against the wall.

“Expelliarmus.” He let her wand fall to the floor so she had to bend down and retrieve it. The view of her legs when her skirt rode up in the back really was something. Lucius whistled softly, and suddenly found himself being thrown back against the wall and his wand sailing through the air. It clattered on the floor, and Narcissa took her time slowly picking it up before she sauntered over, looking unimpressed.

“You’re far too easily distracted.”

“That was unfair,” he said, and laughed. “You’re getting better.”

She released the invisible hold she had on him and handed back his wand. “Your weaknesses are not my problem. Especially not when they play to my strengths.”

“And what are those?”

She tilted her head from side to side, smiling. “Would you like to find out?”

Inviting an attack might not be that smart, but he couldn’t resist a challenge, and especially not when the harbinger of doom was a smile like that. “You don’t frighten me.”

Narcissa drew closer, twirling her wand between slim fingers. “Are you sure?”

She didn’t give him time to prepare, not that he could have: one moment he was laughing at her, and the next he felt a great numbness wash over him. A niggling little voice at the back of his mind shouted in outrage, but suddenly he did not care about it or anything else. “Come here,” Narcissa said, and he went, feeling weightless as if a heavy burden had been lifted off his shoulders. He had no worry, no care in the world; she would tell him what to do. “Stop.” He stopped, wanting nothing more than to stand in this very spot. “Come.” And there he went again, gladly, to stand in front of her. Her perfume enveloped him like an embrace.

“Well, I like this,” Narcissa smiled. “Aren’t you a good boy.”

“If you want me to be,” he answered, and it was nothing but the truth.

She bit her lip against a truly devious grin. “We’ll see. Now, tell me what you’re thinking.”

“You smell nice,” he said readily. “I like your hair down like this. Your--” Stop! the voice in his head roared, suddenly very loud. Lucius hesitated, at odds with himself. He wanted to speak, but he didn’t. Confused, he looked to Narcissa.

“Hmm,” she made, intrigued, and waved her wand again. “You were saying?”

The voice quieted. Lucius relaxed and found that he was panting as if he’d just battled an army to bring about this peace. Still, he felt at ease, like everything was going to be all right now. The world around them seemed distant; nothing could touch him while he was wrapped up in her voice as if in layers of silk. “Your skirt’s too short.”

She gasped as if embarrassed. “I know, it’s perfectly awful, isn’t it.”

“Yes; I’m sorry your father is too poor to afford two more inches of fabric.” The words slipped out through the cracks of his obedience. The voice inside his mind sniggered.

“That was rude, Lucius,” she said softly, frowning. She raised her wand, and he could see that she was gripping it hard as if with great effort. “Kneel down. Admit that I beat you.”

Lucius didn’t particularly want to kneel, but he couldn’t quite resist her. “You beat me.”

“Say that you like it.”

“I like it,” he ground out through gritted teeth.

“Is that the truth?”

Lucius winced; he’d bitten his tongue, but the word still spilled out. “Yes.”

She smiled triumphantly. “Well, remember it. Finite.”

He fell back on his arse like he’d been slapped over the head. Lucius felt lightheaded, first dazed, then surprised as recognition set in and his own inner voice escaped from its cage and began to berate him. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and looked up at Narcissa, who stood over him with her arms folded across her chest, still chewing her lip against that evil grin.

“How are you feeling?”

“Curse me again and make me tell you,” he said, unsure whether he should be angry or impressed. “Or how about I tell the headmaster that you used an Unforgivable on me?”

“Psh. You said I wasn’t doing well enough, so I tried something new. You’re just angry you couldn’t resist it.”

In that respect, it really had been an interesting exercise. Lucius had never before experienced the Imperius curse. It was good to know how it felt and that he’d come close to shaking it off. True, Narcissa was hardly the most adept opponent, but with some practice, he felt that he might be able to defend himself against it. He climbed to his feet, shaking off dust and with it the indignity of having submitted to her so easily and ungracefully. Still, there was one way in which she had exposed herself in the process.

“Well, it was hardly worth the risk for what you made me do. That was reckless, Cissy.”

She shrugged, clearly pleased with herself. “I’ve been wanting to see if I could actually do it.”

“So have I,” he admitted, flexing his fingers experimentally around his wand. “Turnabout is fair play, don’t you think? Imperio.”

He could tell he had caught her off guard while she still basked in her victory; it really was too easy otherwise. Narcissa staggered backward with the impact of the curse, swaying unsteadily on her feet for a moment before she caught herself and looked at him expectantly. Could this really be all there was to it? “Come closer.”

She came, albeit slowly.

Lucius felt excitement twist his insides like a coil, winding him up. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you. Casting that curse.”

“Yes,” Narcissa admitted.

He shook his head at her. “And you claim to be little Miss Innocent. That was wicked, Cissy. Say you’re sorry.”

She shuddered as if he was physically trying to pull the words out of her, painfully and one by one, but then she spoke. “I’m sorry.”

“But that doesn’t mean much, does it, when I have to tell you to say it.” He reached out to take her hand and pull her closer, and she came without resisting him. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

Her lips said “Yes,” readily enough, but her eyes glared at him all the same.

Lucius felt drunk with power. She was the most headstrong person he knew; if he could make her bend to his will in spite of herself, he could have anyone, anyone at all. Mostly, though, he wanted her, and at this moment, everything he desired was his for the taking. “I think we should kiss and make up. Don’t you agree.”

“Yes.”

“Say please,” he commanded.

“Please,” Narcissa ground out through gritted teeth.

He dragged her forward against his chest, one arm coming around her waist. She was more pliant than he had envisioned her in his fantasies, and this close to her he could feel her heart beating quickly like hummingbird wings. He watched her face twitching with the struggle of resisting him and failing, watched the terror in her eyes as her body swayed towards him even as her mind protested, and felt a twinge of disappointment. He knew she wanted to snog him all of her own accord, without any need for magic other than their natural attraction, and he’d thought the curse would make it easier for her to give in. That she was resisting so hard felt vaguely insulting. He gripped his wand, thinking Finite one second before her lips touched his, and felt Narcissa go sort of slack in his arms. She blinked her eyes as if she’d just woken from a long sleep, looked up to meet his gaze, and then leaned in to kiss him anyway.

Lucius was too surprised to react as her lips touched his and her tongue sneaked out to catch a taste of him. Before he knew it, it was over. Brusquely, Narcissa shook off his touch and moved back so as to better glare at him from a safe distance.

“I can’t believe you made me do that! How dare you!”

“I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t and you know it,” he retorted, suddenly feeling greatly pleased. He’d had it right: she wanted to kiss him, she just didn’t want to be caught wanting it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she claimed, blushing. “You cursed me!”

“You cursed me first,” he said dryly. “And it appears my curse simply gave you a nudge.”

Narcissa turned on her heel and began to gather her things. “Practice is over,” she announced, sweeping out without waiting for him to follow.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I won’t hold this against you.” In the hall, he caught up with her, matching her long strides. “I know it’s hard for women to resist me.”

“Yes, I’d imagine so if you curse them into consenting.”

Lucius didn’t dignify that with an answer. They both knew the truth, and after she’d cooled off, Narcissa wouldn’t let a bit of awkwardness stand in the way of pursuing what she wanted. Luckily, he was fairly certain that she wanted this just as much as he did, and until she came around, things would at least be more interesting now that they had upped the game. He licked at his lips, trying to catch a taste of her, but she eluded him as always. If anything, he thought, it was he who should be cross that she’d kissed him without giving him a chance to reciprocate.

Narcissa kept up an impressive pout until they got back to their common room, where their classmates were hopelessly lazing about as usual. Crabbe and Goyle were stuffing their faces with lard cakes while Macnair fiddled with the Wireless, which spat out bits of music in between static crackling. The Bulstrode sisters, Violet and Juniper, were giggling over the latest issue of Witch Weekly with Portia Rowle, who was paying no attention whatsoever to the article in front of her and instead made googly eyes at Goyle.

Narcissa glanced at them and went straight across the room to her favourite spot, a large desk under a porthole window that allowed an underwater view. She set up ink and parchment like she couldn’t wait to get started on homework, and Lucius decided to leave her alone until she came crawling of her own accord.

“Crabbe, move,” he said, tapping the back of Crabbe’s armchair with his wand so the legs lifted off the floor and Crabbe was spilled on to the carpet. Crabbe went, grumbling, to sit on the floor right in front of the platter of cakes and stuffed almost an entire pastry into his mouth.

“Hnngh-ssa?” he made.

“What’s that?” Lucius asked disinterestedly, now occupying the comfortable chair by the fire. He stretched out his long legs and immersed himself in the Quidditch pages of the Daily Prophet, hoping to keep the conversation with his classmates to a minimum.

No such luck. “What’s wrong with Narcissa?” Crabbe repeated after regurgitating the cake several times. “She looks cross.”

The problem with Narcissa was that she drew the eye of every person in any given room whether she welcomed the attention at that moment or not. A man could probably get away with murder as long as she was standing next to him and smiling. Lucius glanced over the edge of the newspaper at her rigid back which, indeed, somehow looked cross. “I couldn’t tell you.”

“You couldn’t or you don’t want to?” That was Portia, too shrewd for her own good sometimes. Goyle should consider himself lucky; the girl wasn’t exactly easy on the eyes, but if she had her way with Goyle, she’d elevate their offspring’s level of intelligence from village idiot at least to halfwit.

“I couldn’t begin to guess what, if anything, goes on in a girl’s mind,” Lucius said as sarcastically as he could, and Portia thankfully took the hint. She flounced off, Goyle scrambling to his feet to follow moments later. Crabbe looked happy to be left alone with the remaining pastries.

“Ahh, this is the good life. Lard cake, Malfoy?”

Lucius raised the newspaper before he could get sick at the display of gluttony in front of him. He began to read match reports and after that the business pages, making mental notes of the price of gold (falling; it might be time to diversify) and the Muggle stock market as pertained to his father’s ‘secret’ portfolio. Abraxas was keeping a keen eye on the goings-on at the family vault, but he had grudgingly shifted some of the responsibilities of overseeing their investments to Lucius, and Lucius wasn’t about to give the old man a reason to revoke them. More power over the family finances came at the price of extra Arithmantic work however, which seriously cut into the spare time he could otherwise spend pursuing very stubborn and extremely pretty witches.

He glanced up when he heard fabric rustling close to him and someone perched on the armrest of his chair. For a second he thought Narcissa might have come to pick up where they’d left off earlier, but of course she wouldn’t make such a show of closeness, and the girl didn’t smell flowery either, but slightly sweaty and bitter.

He made a face as Violet Bulstrode leaned in, half crawling into his lap to smooth back a strand of his hair. Lucius ducked out from under her hand, annoyed.

“Why do you insist on that awful hairstyle, Lucius?” she purred in what she probably considered a seductive manner. “Long hair is for old men who have given up on grooming, I hate it.”

“That’s the whole point,” Lucius said, but he knew it was futile; the girl was completely daft. In truth, he had grown out his hair over the last winter holiday so as to annoy his father, but Lucius was becoming attached to the look. It made him stand out among his peers, and if it kept Violet Bulstrode away, all the better, even if his fringe was perpetually in his face.

Her pout gave her the appearance of a blowfish. “Aw, you’re such a bad boy. Be nice. I could give you a trim, you know.”

The look in her eyes promised all sorts of other things she would give him if he but asked. After the excitement of what had just transpired between him and Narcissa, Lucius really wasn’t in the mood. He climbed to his feet, shoving Violet off the armrest as he went. She stumbled ungracefully and almost landed on her arse. “Don’t you have places to be? Letters to write to your boyfriend?”

Violet wouldn’t shut up about her supposed boyfriend, an elusive person who went by the name of Robin Parkinson and allegedly worked at the Ministry in some secretarial capacity. Lucius had never heard of him otherwise and doubted that the man was worth knowing even if he existed. For all he cared, Violet could go marry a Grindylow.

“Oh, Robin is very understanding. He wouldn’t mind me spending time with a good friend.” She made to touch him again, forcing him to dodge her a second time. Lucius was really becoming annoyed, but Professor Slughorn had said many words about hexing one’s classmates after a recent incident where limbs had gone missing, and Lucius didn’t fancy another lecture.

“Friend?” he sneered at Violet. “I didn’t know you had friends. Do I know him?”

He left her to chew on that, swaggering over to the alcove where Narcissa sat over her Transfiguration essay. She’d commandeered the best table all for herself and now stared out the porthole into the green depths of the lake. Without asking, Lucius slid into the seat next to her and nudged her none too gently.

“Can we be done pretending that you’re upset? I can’t spend the time until dinner in the company of those fools.”

Narcissa looked over at him and absentmindedly flicked her wand. He felt his hair being smoothed back into a short ponytail, one strand wrapping around itself to secure everything in place. “You really should learn that charm, I’ve shown you a thousand times.”

“Grooming charms are for girls,” he said scornfully even as he admired his reflection in the window.

“No, they’re for people who decide to wear long hair. You can vex your father without looking disheveled.” She raised her eyebrows. “I’m sure Violet would love to help you.”

“The pox on Bulstrode, if she pets me again she will lose a hand.”

That brought forth a tiny smile. “Amusing as that would be, I think we have better things to do.”

“Such as?” he leered, unable to resist.

“Well, I’m going to start on those fifteen inches of Transfiguration, so kindly shut up.”

“You haven’t started? What have you been daydreaming about up until now?” he asked with interest.

“I’ve been gathering my thoughts,” she informed him loftily, but not without colour creeping into her pale cheeks.

“About what?” he smirked.

She drew breath for a retort, but before she could speak, they were interrupted by a fearful looking first-year, who came up to Narcissa bearing a sealed letter like it was a sacrificial offering. “Miss B-black, there’s b-been a letter f-for you.”

“Thank you, Reginald,” Narcissa said, mustering half a smile for the boy.

He scampered off with a wary look at Lucius. “The future of Slytherin House. How depressing,” Lucius remarked.

Narcissa used her wand to slice open the envelope. “And yet, those first-years are our own, so stop putting the fear of god into them and pick on someone your own size.”

“You’re the only one who is my own size, and you just told me to shut up,” he complained. “So what am I to do but--”

“Shh,” she made suddenly. Lucius looked back at her and found her quickly scanning the letter which, upon closer inspection, bore the Black seal.

“News from home?” he asked with mild interest. “Did Bellatrix finally kill someone?”

“No,” Narcissa whispered, and he could see that all colour had drained from her face. She crumpled the letter up in her fist, clutching it in a white-knuckled grip. “It’s… I have to go.” She jumped up, her chair toppling over and crashing on the floor. All eyes turned to them. Narcissa looked around at her classmates, stricken, and hurried off. On her way out, she passed by Rosier, who’d just come inside wearing a look of alarm. He tried to intercept her, but she slipped away.

Puzzled, Lucius looked at Rosier. “What just happened?”

“Nothing, what are you talking about.” Rosier idled in the common room for half a minute, picking up and putting down things in a poor show of nonchalance before he joined Lucius in the alcove and cast a muffling charm.

“Did somebody die?” Lucius asked.

“I wish. Keep this quiet, will you, the others will find out soon enough. Cousin Andromeda has run off with that Muggle she always carried on with, Ted Tonks.”

Lucius snorted. Surely, this must be the opening of a very bad joke. “Come now, not even she could be so stupid.”

But Rosier shook his head. “I’ve just had heard from my mother, she’s with Aunt Druella now. Andromeda has gone off to marry him, imagine. My uncle is furious, they will never let her come back from this even if she wanted to. But apparently she’s quite made up her mind, anyway.”

“Seriously?” With difficulty, Lucius contained his disdain. The whole story sounded ludicrous, but Narcissa’s reaction lent it credibility, and surely Rosier, though only a Black by relation and not in name, wouldn’t make up such a thing. Lucius shook his head. The Blacks were volatile characters with not just a few embarrassments on their family tree, last but not least of which was Narcissa’s cousin Sirius, who’d had the audacity to be sorted into Gryffindor the previous year. Lucius knew her older sisters in passing , both of them having been in Slytherin, but he’d gleaned an insight into the family dynamic from Narcissa’s tales. Bellatrix was quite possibly psychotic, which was why he’d considered her the most likely candidate for a scandal, but Andromeda seemed to have a rebellious streak that put even her mad sister to shame. Even taking into account the Blacks’ penchant for drama, running off to marry a Muggle was shocking. Surely her parents would disown her now, and that would be news worthy of tomorrow’s Daily Prophet.

“How could Andra do this to the family?” Rosier lamented. “If I ever see her again, I’ll kill her!”

“And rob Bellatrix of the satisfaction?” Lucius said dryly. “Your cousins can handle themselves. Better to stand back and watch.”

Narcissa was the sensible one of the bunch, so Lucius hardly expected her to do anything drastic, but as events showed, the only thing that could be said with certainty about a Black was that they were unpredictable. Running away was unlike Narcissa, especially from gossip, although up until now gossip had hardly ever involved her directly. Once the news spread to the general population of Slytherin House, there would be a storm to weather, and Lucius actually looked forward to her captaining her ship through this. The rest of term would certainly be more interesting for it.

Rosier didn’t quite seem to see it the same way yet. “Cissy must be devastated, they were always so close.”

Lucius had personally experienced little in the way of familial affection, and obviously it meant nothing to Andromeda Black-to-be-Tonks, so he didn’t quite see why Narcissa should cry over a sister who showed so little regard for her. Surely, she wouldn’t let this upset her in the long term after the initial shock had worn off. She was far too reasonable for that.

“We should give her some space, I suppose,” said Rosier, who clearly didn’t fancy comforting an emotional female any more than Lucius did. “She will have to show her face soon enough, poor thing.”

Lucius agreed. Still, as the evening wore on and Narcissa didn’t appear at dinner, nor afterwards in the common room, he started to wonder where she’d gone off to and whether it wasn’t ill advised to let a girl stew in her feelings. By nightfall, whispering had picked up all over the school, the story of Andromeda Black’s misfortunes having travelled fast as gossip always did. Outside it was dark and dreary, and the air smelled of rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Coming up from the dungeons, Lucius overheard the Gryffindor Quidditch team complaining about inclement weather as they stowed away their equipment, dripping wet. He’d casually checked the most popular hideouts on his way to and from dinner, but Narcissa was nowhere to be found. Alerting Professor Slughorn was out of the question, it would only stir up a fuss. The only option was to go looking for her himself, and he was still debating whether or not to get mixed up in things that didn’t really concern him when he heard one of the Gryffindors say,

“Who’d want to go for a swim on a night like this? Bloody snake, probably getting in touch with her cousin, the loch monster. They’re crazy, the lot of them.”

Lucius stopped by the doors that led into the courtyard. The rain was coming down in sheets now, splashing off slick stone. He didn’t fancy getting wet. Besides, Rosier should do the honours if it really was his cousin trudging about by the lake like a tragic heroine, but Rosier was in the common room, busy downplaying any relationship with the Blacks, which would likely take a while.

The lake it was then. Huffing, Lucius pulled up his hood against the rain and set off, curiosity driving him outside more than actual concern. Narcissa would never be so stupid as to risk her life over a bit of drama, but whatever she was up to, he wanted to see.