If Lucius knew Narcissa–and at this point he liked to think that he did–she was overthinking things just as much as he was. Of course, he wasn’t quite sure if she was as calm as she presented herself. He certainly wasn’t either. When was the last time that he had been? He was sure he couldn’t rightly recall if asked. Calm was complacent and complacent was dangerous. Anyone could fall, particularly a pair as far up as he and his wife were. And they had only gotten so far because of Lucius sheer refusal to settle. He had worked hard since his graduation to establish a world which he felt comfortable offering Narcissa. It had been all about his empire, his position in society, politically, and within the ranks of the Death Eaters. Now that they had settled into a decent enough spot, tragedy had struck. Hypothetically. He had seen the article she referenced, as well. It hadn’t exactly been framed as a tragedy on their side. Of course, the Prophet was run by blood traitors and imbeciles. They really needed infiltration there. He hadn’t even considered that, but he supposed he should take stock in if their ranks had anyone working on the press side of things.
What was going on in her beautiful mind? What sorts of worries did she harbor? He had already begun his work on contingencies for where the Malfoys would land. It was, of course, the most important aspect of what was going on with them. He refused to let them end up with the fools who couldn’t work out what do for themselves, to protect themselves.
His eyes took in the pristine edge of the teacup he nursed in his own right before his grey eyes lifted to that of his beautiful wife. The other half of him. There was no one in this world like Narcissa Malfoy, and Lucius would declare that until the end of his life. Her mind worked just as his did, and he noticed it the way that the day he had really seen her. The day that he had looked at her like something more than his betrothed’s sister. That relationship had been doomed from the start, from the ill-fated day that he had met up with Andromeda mere weeks after his mother, Cassandra, had taken her last breath. Narcissa, on the other hand, had come out of nowhere, there to offer a hand of strength without slighting Lucius’ pride in his deepest moments of grief. He had, perhaps, realized that she was fated to be at his right hand before it was appropriate. Indeed, at first he had had no idea what could be done in that Lucius would never disgrace his late mother’s wishes and leave Andromeda for Narcissa even if he could. It would be better for the both of them, regardless, as Andromeda and Lucius had never felt any connection. Lucius recalled how shrewish his first betrothed had been in school, and he had ruminated after she had slunk off with her mudblood whether it had been because she had already known her plan of action even in her sixth year when Abraxas had ordered Lucius to redirect his efforts to wooing his chosen fiance.
It seemed that Andromeda’s traitorous choice had had a sort of serendipity to it in that the Blacks hadn’t been so quick to drop a Malfoy alliance, and then the queen had been paired with the king as she always should have been. And from there, Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy had been weathering any and all turns which had been taken thus far. This one would be no different.
“Thoughts?” He asked her, brow quirking. “I’m sure you know I do, ma reine. What are you hoping they are?” How well did she follow his mind? He was nearly sure it was flawlessly, but he always found himself utterly fascinated with how well she seemed to know him.
Location: Malfoy Manor
Date: October 3rd, 1979
Brows furrow slightly as a beat passes, heavy with a silence both gentle ( courteous, familiar, almost reassuring ) and filled with unsaid plans and half-crafted excuses. Narcissa studies her husband’s face carefully, almost as if this were the first time ( almost as if she had not seen the wheels turn and thoughts shift in his mind as they happened, as if she had not dedicated a great, long and sinuous part of her life to the knowledge of Lucius Malfoy — Anticipating people’s needs had always been a quality the witch had found deeply helpful in her life. It only makes sense that her husband would be on the receiving end of this more times than not. Not being on the same page publicly would not do, would never do ).
Sometimes it felt as if they were crafted from the same stone, Lucius and her — A fortuitous match which Narcissa had never dared hope for or want for. Such had not been her place or her duty, and she would have had to have been a fool to allow her mind to wander in childish amazement at the idea of love, real and not carefully fabricated. And the Malfoy heir had been perfect, back then — Perfect for someone else, someone Narcissa cared a great deal for ( still does, still will, still would. The ghost hands heavy on her heart, a sinister reminder of a time and place where the young blonde had felt like she had not been enough — Not enough of a sister, at least. If she had been, ‘Dromeda might still be there, and the man the witch was so carefully studying would be of a far less fair head ). It had been hard, then, to accept that her duty stemmed from her sister’s betrayal and her family’s downfall ( to accept that the man she had convinced herself she would never have could now be hers, would be hers, and to put her own feelings for him and regarding her sister aside in order to get the best possible agreement out of it all. She would not just take someone else’s terms and someone else’s planned marriage and someone else’s life. Not while she could help it. How low it would have been for her, and how little could she have shown her face in society otherwise. Narcissa Malfoy, just like Andromeda Black but available ).
Maybe Andromeda did not have everything completely off. The blonde doubted her sister was worrying about the loss of the Malfoys’ master in the same way she was — Doubted that Andromeda would ever know the sense of dread at the pit of her stomach that Narcissa felt, the knowledge that her husband could potentially possibly do a terribly foolish thing in a horribly prideful attempt at securing what was rightfully theirs, and that they might not come out unscathed ( that no amount of tea with the Minister that Narcissa could secure for herself would fix. She was not even sure Harold Minchum truly cared if it were not for the Malfoys’ very deep pockets and the particular smell galleons had to wizards who claimed to be doing the right thing, or that he would entertain her ). Perhaps this is the price she has to bear, then, for her loyalty and endless devotion ( for LOVE ).
There is more warmth in her tea than in any of the replies she is envisioning, the same ones she knows Lucius is considering as well. Her husband is far from a ludicrous man, a quality the blonde had always held in the highest regards ( in each of his letters ). There is something in what he said — Hoping. Narcissa is hoping the family’s best interests will always be safely secured. She knows he wishes for that too ( it is, after all, his name and his house ). How this will come about remains to be seen.
“I would hope —” She starts, her words even despite her own worries, “—that the Daily Prophet would know better than fear mongering. I suppose we cannot help the Death Eaters’ unsavoury reputation, but claiming such a bloody victory as ours greatly limits how we will be able to spin the whole narrative later on.”
“I would also hope that whatever happens now, the Malfoys will still be a household name when it comes to the friends we have made who might not be quite as ready to accept the cause as some others have been. It is far too early to be able to call what will unfold, and it would be regretful to lose some assets because others have just become available.” A pause. “Wouldn’t you say so?”
