Lucius laughs with her, a joke shared, and he pictures Severus, dressed in the black he favours and in which his father habitually dresses him, seated between them with his suspicion in approaching the waiter, or the dishes as if anticipating malevolence, like silent thundercloud in their clear summer sky. His eyes are a little more still, linger a little longer on hers than is necessary for interaction alone. And this too is a small symbol he knows she will understand. If he were a different man, he would wonder how he had come to be so lucky, how she could be so perfect. But though there is no mystery to him - how else could it be - there is a more innocent, more simple wonder that is pure appreciation.
He knew of course he would be matched with a girl of his standing, couldn't help but speculate, even hope a little at school, as a child. Perhaps hope was not even accurate, for he had faith in his family, his father, his existence, in the way things were supposed to be. And in those easy days, it had been Narcissa to whom he
( ... )
Now, as they arrive dressed in the light silk that accents their fair colouring, they appear to glow in the swirl of colour, pattern and black that was usual in the wizarding world. He is attentive, letting her place her hand lightly in his, rather than grasping it, inclining his head towards her, seating her. It is show, but it is also genuine - a display of authenticity. His eyes meet hers with a slight crinkling of fondness, telling her his grace is personal and that he is more than present
( ... )
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He knew of course he would be matched with a girl of his standing, couldn't help but speculate, even hope a little at school, as a child. Perhaps hope was not even accurate, for he had faith in his family, his father, his existence, in the way things were supposed to be. And in those easy days, it had been Narcissa to whom he ( ... )
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