He has such an easy familiarity already. As if they’ve met before, and this is just a reintroduction, a reminder of a name already drifting around somewhere in the back of her mind. He talks to her like friendship is assumed. Narcissa has never encountered anyone like this. Nobody assumes this level of comfort with her. Nobody has ever stepped into her life like this and smiled at her like it is normal to throw a life into disarray and finish it off with a casual handshake.
She’s bewildered, and when she’s thrown like this she tends to fall in step with what’s expected of her. So Narcissa tentatively reaches to shake his hand with her free one–the other remains around Draco, who is starting to gape at this very tall stranger.
She opens her mouth to answer him and begins to panic. She has no name, here. She has only introduced herself to people who already knew who she was, and this stranger seems entirely unawares. What name is safe? What name is correct? Narcissa is distinct; Malfoy is unmistakable. Black may be dangerous–
She realizes, though, that Black is held primarily by Sirius, and on this side, Sirius is a known spy. That may be safe. That may be protection. Her name is distinctive, and she’s got to answer, can’t wait too long or he’ll notice, he’ll realize, and thankfully she answers quick enough that there’s only a short pause before she stammers out–
“Um–Black. Mrs. Black is fine. I can’t say I’ve ever been able to recognize the faces of Hogsmeade, but yes, things are changed. Thank you for your concern, Mr. Rookwood.” She intends it to sound like a dismissal, but it comes out too soft, too much like a pleasantry. And she doesn’t move away from him, especially when Draco pipes in–
“You’re tall.” Five-year-old honesty. Narcissa makes an apologetic face.
There’s a split second of hesitation, not enough that he would’ve noticed the pause if he hadn’t been looking for every little thing, but just enough that he can tell this sort of interaction isn’t something she’s used to over here. Hell, maybe not even something she was used to across the border, either. It’s strange to think that his home is a place he wouldn’t recognize any longer, that if his father had brought him back with all of his other classmates, he might’ve grown up thinking friendliness odd, out of order. It may be an act with a purpose here, but it’s closer to his truth than the cold haughtiness he’s sure he would’ve cultivated on the other side of the border.
What matters, though, is she takes his hand to shake, and the smile he gives back is genuine, a small triumph in a greater game. He wonders, somewhere in the back of his mind, if she recognizes his name, or if it really is new to her. Either way, he can’t tell just by looking at her, or by the way she says it. Distantly, there’s a part of him that wants to laugh at the chance that she doesn’t. Wouldn’t that be hilarious, if all these years the whole reason his father was doing what he did, the whole reason he had left him over here, had been pointless, and the fuckin’ pureblood elite didn’t even bat an eyelash hearing the name Rookwood. What was worse than mediocrity, for the elder Rookwood? Being utterly and totally unknown.
“Mrs. Black,” he repeats, raising an eyebrow, trying to decide if he should make himself known as an ally either way. The Mrs. is a clear choice one way, but the Black seems to indicate the opposite, considering the two Blacks with the Order. Hard to tell which way to play. “The pleasure’s mine. Mr. Rookwood sounds like my father, though, just Augustus is good.”
Before he can go any further, though, the boy, the heir to an entire pureblood legacy, makes a very good point, and Augustus can’t help but let out a laugh at the surprise. Despite the dozens of kids running around the Order, he never really learned how to deal with them, but, Merlin, is he going to try now. He crouches down to get on his level, because that seems like the sort of thing he should do, before answering.
“I know, right? It’s, like, wild what bodies can do. Maybe you’ll be as tall as me one day, Mr. Black,” he says, giving him a smile, before looking back up at his mother. “I was about to grab a quick lunch at Brews and Stews, if you all’d like to join. On me, for nearly running you both down. Or, if you’re on your way, an IOU on lunch, maybe?”