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Prologue
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
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
“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
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
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
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.
Year Six
“Cissa! Where are you, love?”
A harried Lucius Malfoy called from outside the girl’s dormitories. He had been looking for his girlfriend for the past five minutes and had had zero luck.
He felt rather put out. He had a small present that he wanted to give her before they went to the Great Hall for dinner.
I swear, that girl is going to make my hair turn white before its time, he mused.
Sighing, he gave up and walked out of the common room and into the hallway. He would just have to give her the present after dinner.
As he made his way to the Great Hall, he reflected on the past year he’d spent properly courting Narcissa. It had been a whirlwind romance, practically. (Well, perhaps not quite that dramatic, but he liked to imagine that it had been something of a fairytale for her. Or at least, he hoped so. He strived to make it so, anyway.)
He had kept to his word and had done his best to convince her that he was a wonderful boyfriend, and that he could treat her like the princess she was. He had schemed, bribed, and persuaded others to partake in his plans, leading to some rather clever surprises for her.
One night, he had convinced her other three roommates to vacate their dorm for the evening, leaving room for his little surprise. He’d also convinced one of them, Angelica Thomas, who was arguably the most brilliant witch in their year, to alter the wards just slightly so that he could enter the girls’ dorms without suffering any heinous jinxes. He’d then proceeded to transfigure her bed into a luxurious bathtub where she had lounged for several hours that night. He’d even charmed aromatic bubbles to drift lazily around the room for the duration of her bath, and had enlisted the help of two house-elves who had prepared a large tray with sweets and hot chocolate for her enjoyment. Then, like a gentleman, he’d waited patiently outside her door until she finished her bath, and when she’d soaked her fill, he had transfigured everything back to normal and had wiped all traces of her impromptu bubble bath from the room. She had been most delighted with him for weeks afterward.
On another occasion, he had bought several decadent bouquets filled with her favorite flowers and had sent them to her during breakfast. The delivery had taken no less than twelve owls, and the messengers had dropped the flowers overhead, resulting in a literal shower of petals and stems over her person for a full two minutes. Narcissa had been the envy of every girl in the Great Hall that morning, and she had grinned brightly at him, kissing his cheeks in thanks every chance she got.
Halloween had also been a spectacular affair. He had instructed her not to plan a costume that year, saying that he already had something in mind for them. Through his father’s connections at both Madam Malkin’s and Gladrag’s Wizardwear, he was able to custom-order a couple’s costume that was sure to make every other attendee to the Hogwarts Halloween Ball envious. Remembering Narcissa’s love of fairies from her costume in their second year, he had designed and ordered a rather eye-catching Fairy Queen and Fairy King’s costume, inspired by Renaissance fashion, particularly the costumes from the Muggle playwright Shakepeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Narcissa had been awed by the intricate detail in the wings and the regal exquisiteness of her fairy gown. She had also blushed prettily when she saw him in his getup (which made him look quite ravishing, he had to admit), the colors of his costume a perfect match to hers. They had both turned heads that night, but she had taken his breath away with her beauty.
There had been other, smaller gestures as well: a regular bouquet of red roses, sweet notes tucked into her textbooks, hot chocolate waiting at her bedside table before she retired for the night, walking her to class and carrying her books for her. Lucius had been the quintessential boyfriend, and he knew it.
The best part, however, was how she never expected his romantic gestures, and how she never indicated that she had grown accustomed to them. She was always innocently surprised, immensely pleased, and granted him the most beatific, enchanting smile of thanks. Her happiness led to his happiness, and pleasing her was quickly becoming addictive.
However, there was one line he had not yet crossed.
He hadn’t kissed her.
Lucius could not pinpoint a specific reason as to why he hadn’t kissed his girlfriend yet. Of course, they exchanged affectionate cheek-kisses, and he often kissed her forehead or her hair as a sign of his adoration. But he had not yet touched his lips to hers. And the only justification he could give was that the time had never felt right.
He was waiting for the right moment, and if Lucius was anything, he was patient. To her credit, Narcissa had not pressed him, had not even hinted that she was upset by the fact that they had not yet truly kissed. She accepted each gesture he offered her and did not press for more. It was one of the many things he appreciated about her: the way she never pressured him. He knew his reasons were not that he didn’t want to kiss her; he truly did. He was just biding his time.
Voices down the corridor broke into his thoughts, and his heart beat a little faster as he recognized his girlfriend’s sweet tones. He walked swiftly, determined to get to her and capture her in an embrace before they went to dinner. It had been hours since he’d seen her, and he already missed her presence at his side.
“—stupid witch, Narcissa Black. It’s obvious he doesn’t want you enough. Or maybe you’re merely not attractive enough to tempt him. I know my boyfriend can’t keep his hands off me, and yours won’t even kiss you?”
The cutting voice stopped him in his tracks, and his breath hitched as anger overtook him.
How dare anyone speak to his witch that way?!
Enraged, he walked even quicker, but stopped again as he heard Narcissa’s cool voice respond, a biting edge to her tone.
“Don’t compare your ponce of a lover to my Lucius, Annette. He couldn’t hold a candle to my boyfriend. And, if anything, I prefer my Lucius romancing me, courting me like he would a proper lady to the ungainly way your idiot paws at you. You’re nothing but a common slag.”
“Why, you!” The rage in her voice was obvious, and Lucius held his breath in anticipation, waiting for the shrill screams of anger that he just knew was coming.
He was surprised, then, when he heard Annette utter a dark curse.
At his Cissa.
He leapt into action, sprinting the twenty feet to the end of the corridor and swiftly turning the corner. His wand was out and ready, poised to strike at the first sign that his woman was hurt, but instead—
“S-s-stop! You b-bitch, get y-your hands off m-m-me!”
His eyes widened as he took in the sight before him.
Narcissa had the smaller girl by the throat, pinned against the wall with her wand digging into the other girl’s temple. Annette looked absolutely horrified. Her face was a ghostly white, and sweat glittered on her forehead. She was obviously choking, her painted nails clawing at Narcissa’s hands, attempting vainly to force the witch’s grip to loosen.
In complete contrast to Annette’s panic, Narcissa was a picture of serenity. Her face was impassive, her eyes hard, but her stance was as strong and as graceful as a panther. In that moment, Lucius felt a small tremor of fear. He had a sudden realization that he should never piss his girlfriend off because it might very well be the last thing he did.
“Hmm,” Narcissa began in a calm voice. “I’m not quite sure you’ve learned your lesson, yet. You see, Annette,” she pressed the tip of her wand more firmly into the soft skin of Annette’s temple, “words are one thing. You can say whatever you want to me, really, because I don’t quite give a fuck.”
Lucius cringed. Narcissa was rarely angry enough to profane. He almost stepped forward to interfere.
Almost.
By now, the commotion had drawn a crowd, and several students emerging from Potions or walking along the corridors were gathering around them. Dimly, Lucius heard a voice calling for a professor.
“But when you threaten my person,” his woman continued, “when you dare try to physically harm me, sweet Annette…” Narcissa laughed lightly, leaning in closer and speaking so softly that Lucius had to strain to hear her final words. “I will not hesitate to end you. Do not attempt to touch me again.”
“Narcissa Black! Get your hands off her this instant!” Professor Ambrose’s voice echoed forebodingly against the stone walls. He looked livid.
She didn’t move, however. Narcissa waited calmly for just a moment, her fingers tightening ever so slightly around the now-crying girl’s neck, before releasing her with a rough shove. Annette coughed, her hands clutching her throat and her breath coming in panting gasps. Narcissa calmly tucked her wand back into her robe pocket and turned away, ignoring the professor completely as he rushed to Annette’s side. Lucius’ eyes were wide as he watched his girlfriend walk toward him. Rather than looking ruffled, she appeared as quiescent as ever, and even a little bit pleased.
He would be lying if he said he weren’t scared of his Cissa at that moment.
With a self-satisfied grin, she slipped her hand into his, ignoring the whispers that were quickly cresting around them. She kissed his cheek, whispering something affectionate in his ear that he didn’t register, and shifted her attention to Ambrose, who had turned his loud yelling in her direction. She didn’t appear the least bit phased.
As Lucius watched the Potions professor scream louder than a Howler, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat smug. And proud. Yes, he was definitely proud of his witch.
He was also completely turned on, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her and steal the very breath from her body.
So, there, in the middle of the Slytherin dungeons, amongst their schoolmates, a crying girl, and a screaming professor, Lucius Malfoy kissed Narcissa Black until they both saw stars.
Year Seven
“I guess I just don’t understand why, Cissa,” he complained. Lucius was staring imploringly at her from his perch atop her window seat. He just couldn’t understand her reasoning at all, and it was frustrating him to near tears. “We’re both consenting adults. We’re betrothed, for Merlin’s sake, so you know I’m not going to just run off and leave you for another witch. And I love you! What more reason do you need?”
Narcissa’s cheeks flushed a bright red, and she clutched her pillow tighter to her. “It’s just not proper, Luc! We’re supposed to wait until marriage. That’s what mother’s always taught me.” She turned her stunning eyes, bright with emotion, to his, and he felt his heart leap within his chest. Her eyes always undid him. “Pressuring me is not the answer, you know. I still think we should wait. And don’t get any ideas, Mister Malfoy, because I’m just as Slytherin as you are, and I can out-manipulate you any day of the week.”
He laughed at her feistiness. With a sigh of defeat and a soft kiss to her hair, he collapsed on the bed next to her. “I know, love, I know. And I’m not trying to pressure you.” He gripped her firmly by the waist. When she didn’t protest, he pulled her down to lie next to him, spooning her so that her bum pressed enticingly against the front of his pants. He embraced her round her midsection, enjoying the soft gasp she emitted when he pressed his lips into her neck. He tangled their legs, bringing her as close to him as physically possible without undressing her (although he desperately wanted to do that, too). “I’m just a randy bugger,” he whispered against her neck. He was delighted when she shivered in response and pressed even closer to him.
“You’re manipulating me, Lucius Malfoy,” she said warningly. Her voice was so breathy, though, that he couldn’t be arsed to take her seriously.
“I’m doing my very best,” he chuckled. “Is it working?” He moved her hair away and pressed another kiss to the skin behind her ear, another to the back of her neck, and yet another to her pulse point. “You’re barely breathing, so I’d have to say it’s working.” He gave a soft lick to her pulse point, which, he knew from their frequent snogging sessions, was one of her favorite spots.
As predicted, she gasped loudly, and her hand clutched his arm. “You prat,” she muttered. She turned over, eyes flashing as she glared at him. “I said stop manipulating me, Lucius, you utter git.” Then, she kissed him fiercely, her hands cradling his face with a gentle touch that contrasted with the firmness of her lips.
He groaned, relishing in the sweet taste of her. He kissed her back frantically, and he savored her answering moan. His hands roamed her body, caressing, fondling, stroking everywhere he could reach, and before long, he had her gasping into his mouth. Her hands were in his hair, stroking his scalp in that way that lit his nerves afire. One of her legs had traveled around his waist somehow, while her other leg was still tangled up with his. The new position brought her even closer to him, and he could feel her delicious heat even through their clothes. It made him impossibly more desperate for her.
His lips left hers and traveled south, tracing her soft cheek, the firm line of her jaw, and reached for the sensitive skin of her neck. He found her pulse point quickly and attached his lips, sucking in the gentle, but insistent motion that he knew drove her wild. Sure enough, she was gasping and bucking against him, her hips rocking insistently against his pelvis, innocently reaching for a relief that she had no idea how to achieve on her own. Her hands gripped his head as her own head fell back, unconsciously allowing more room for his ministrations. His name left her lips in a soft gasp, a plea for more, a prayer for a release she had not yet experienced.
He couldn’t deny her. He didn’t want to.
Gently, he rolled them over so he lay mostly on top, readjusting their position so that his pelvis was fully between her legs. His lips attacked the exposed skin of her neck and collarbone, nibbling, sucking, licking, and she cried softly into his hair at the sensations. Her hips bucked gently against him again, and, unable to stop himself, he grinded into her wet heat. She gasped at the feeling, eyes flying open in shock at the fire that had ignited. Trying to bring herself closer, she wrapped her legs around him, her stocking-covered feet digging into his bum, pressing his clothed hardness firmly against her. He moaned against her neck, bucking against her instinctively, and delighted in the soft cry that fell from her lips.
He took control then, rocking relentlessly against her heat and delighting in the guttural moans that left her throat. His lips found hers again, his tongue snaking into her mouth as they kissed fiercely. Her soft cries encouraged him as he ground against her faster and faster, reaching for that moment when they could finally fly off the cliff together.
Her scream of release was the most breath-taking symphony, and he allowed the tension to snap. Light exploded behind his eyelids as he cried his love into her mouth.
It was many moments later, when they both had regained their breathing, when their hearts had stopped racing, and when Lucius had spelled away their messes, that they lay together, relishing the sleepy tranquility of their afterglow.
He kissed her forehead gently, sweet nothings falling from his lips as he cuddled her against him. He felt her smile against the skin of his neck, and she nuzzled deeper into his embrace. She was snoring softly now, exhausted and spent, but before she fell asleep, Lucius distinctly heard her murmur her love into his hair. His heart clenched in response.
The love that he felt for her in that moment had never felt so simple, so unvarnished, and yet so utterly all-consuming that he found himself breathless and giddy.
At that moment, he realized that she was everything.
He silently prayed that she always would be.
Epilogue
He was astonishingly nervous, embarrassingly so. And his sweat glands were being quite unforgiving.
His palms were sweaty, and no matter how many times he wiped them dry against his dress robes, they seemed to re-moisturize within moments. His forehead was sweaty, his hair felt damp, and his robes were unbearably warm. His best man, Gregory Goyle, was trying to relax him, joking and goofing at his side, but Lucius registered none of it.
In mere moments, he would be a married man.
It wasn’t that he was scared, not really. He loved Cissa, and he couldn’t be happier that she was finally going to be his wife. He looked forward to their future together, to the children they would have together, to the ways he would completely spoil her as the Lady of Malfoy Manor. Deep down, he was excited for it all.
He was just inexplicably nervous.
Being inept was not something that Lucius was overly accustomed to, but as he stood at the end of the lush blue carpet, waiting for his bride to appear at the other end of the row, he was struck with the sudden realization that he just might really be inept at marriage.
What if he completely cocked it all up?
He might be a terrible father and an even worse husband. What if she was miserable being married to him? What if their children hated him? What if something happened to their fortune, and he suddenly couldn’t provide for his family? Cissa had never held a job a day in her life; she had no idea how to make money. What if he couldn’t make enough money to sustain them? What if she grew tired of him? What if he couldn’t please her in bed? Since that first night they had sought pleasure in each other their seventh year, she had allowed him more liberties, but they had still not truly made love. What if he wasn’t enough for her? What if—
At that moment, processional music swelled from the orchestra, and Lucius’ breath caught in his throat.
It was time.
Sweet Circe, this was really happening!
Desperate to stem the rising panic, he exhaled in a rush and inhaled slowly, determined that he would not pass out at his own wedding. He was a right pansy, honestly. It was revolting. Wasn’t it supposed to be the bride who was the blithering, blubbering spaz?
Apparently, grooms were not exempt.
The procession started, and Lucius did his best to continue breathing deeply in and out, knowing the importance of feeding oxygen to his brain. Thank goodness he planned on only getting married once. He didn’t think he could stomach this experience twice.
Ages passed, and members of the wedding party continued to process luxuriously down the aisle. By now, his toes were numb, and he surreptitiously wiggled his knees in an attempt to keep his blood flowing.
He would not pass out. He wouldn’t.
To distract himself, he thought back to when he and Cissa had first met. He had been barely ten years old, then, and, quite frankly, girls had been made of troll bogeys. It was not just his dislike for girls at that age, either; he just had not liked Narcissa. Merlin, how he had despised her as a child. He had questioned, then, how he would ever be happy with her as his wife. She had seemed such an inconvenient choice to be his life’s mate. He had questioned his father’s judgment, his mother’s acquiescence, and her family’s sanity. And for the better part of his early teenage years, he had believed that she would never make him happy.
How wrong he had been. Now, this witch was his entire world.
Finally, Narcissa appeared in the doorway. For all his bravado and determination that he would not faint in front of three hundred people, one look at his bride-to-be made his knees buckle. He swayed on his feet, and it took Gregory’s firm grip on his shoulder to steady him.
She was resplendent.
Her gown was a glowing white, shimmering so brilliantly with gems and sparkle that Lucius almost wanted to turn away. He was riveted, though, and he couldn’t have turned away if he tried. Narcissa’s smile was almost as blinding as her gown. Her happiness radiated off her in tidal waves, seeping through every pore of her being and coating every guest present in joy. Her elation was contagious, and as she smiled confidently at him, Lucius felt his anxiety melt away.
She would be his in just a few moments. Finally.
He could hardly wait.