AN: Pride of Portree
Prompt Box: Pureblood
Optional prompts: (colour) Dusty pink, (word) Demure
A big thank you to Queen Bookworm the First for beta'ing this!
Nineteen-year-old Narcissa walked down the steps with as much grace as she could muster in the tightly laced corset dress she was wearing. It wouldn't do for the Malfoys to see—or hear—her running down the steps like an undignified troll. She wasn't Sirius.
Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, she made eye contact with her mother through the gap in dining room door. The look alone was enough to tell her that she needed to impress—it was her mother's warning look. As she reached out to twist the door handle, her mother's eyes widened, and Narcissa quickly lowered her hand. Was something wrong with her hair? She turned around to check in a mirror, only to be faced with a chest like a wall. Lucius Malfoy.
"Miss Black," he said, looking quite amused. He took her hand in his and lifted it, inclining his head so his lips brushed the back of her knuckles. She stood there quite dumbly until the blond stood up straight and smiled at her.
"Mr Malfoy," she said and hastily bobbed a curtsy.
"Narcissa dear," her mother called. She heard the unspoken, get in here right now, as clearly as if her mother had actually said it. Lucius smiled, lifting his arm for her to take, and they entered the dining room together.
Narcissa could see that Mr Malfoy was eyeing their linked arms with what looked like approval and Mrs Malfoy was surveying her dress. "Miss Black," Mr Malfoy said with a nod in her direction. She curtsied again and Mrs Malfoy beamed at her.
"Abraxas, please feel free to call her by her name." Narcissa smiled stiffly at her father's words. She could speak for herself. However, it wouldn't do for her to point that out in front of the guests.
"Well, then, Narcissa, do you know why we're visiting today?" Mr Malfoy asked. Narcissa focused her gaze on the floor and nodded like her mother had taught her. She wasn't to seem overly keen. "Good, good." he continued, "Would you mind going into the next room with Lucius whilst your parents and I speak?"
Narcissa looked up. "Not at all, Mr Malfoy."
"Lead the way, Miss Black," Lucius said with a smirk playing on his lips. And she did.
The parlour was spotless—her mother had ensured that the house elves had done a satisfactory job before allowing any of them to leave the room. Narcissa stopped herself from sitting down before Lucius—sitting down before your guest was settled was rude—and gestured to a seat. "Please, have a seat, Mr Malfoy," she said with a demure smile.
"It wouldn't do for me to sit down before making sure a lady is comfortable!" Lucius said with mock horror. Although he had been in the year above her at Hogwarts, he had spent a lot of time in the Slytherin common room so she had witnessed his dramatics on more than one occasion.
She laughed and said, "Mr Malfoy, I do believe it would only be appropriate for me to seat my guest before myself."
Lucius arched an eyebrow. "A lady with excellent hosting skills... I have to say I'm impressed, and please, call me Lucius."
"In that case, I must insist you call me Narcissa." Her smile had turned teasing and Lucius grinned at her.
"Very well, Narcissa."
Twenty-one-year-old Narcissa leaned towards the mirror in her bedroom and finished applying the lipstick on her bottom lip. She smiled at it as she put it down on the dressing table, trying to ignore the lump in her throat. Andromeda had bought it for her—Andy, she forced herself to remember the endearment. It was a small punishment to herself. The memory of the two of them laughing at the name of the lipstick wriggled its way to the forefront of her mind.
"Dusty pink," Andy snorted. "It sounds like something Grandma Irma would paint her walls with."
Narcissa giggled. "You're the one who bought it!"
"I didn't notice the name then!" her sister said in defence.
"It's a nice colour, regardless of the name."
Narcissa took a shaky breath, the memory making the lump in her throat a lot more difficult to swallow. She was terrified. She couldn't imagine Andy doing this all on her own—yet she had because Narcissa had turned her back on her. If Bellatrix hadn't been with her, Narcissa was sure that she would have run away by now. As if her older sister could read her mind, the door opened and in came Bellatrix.
"Cissy, have you done your makeup yet? The dress is here and the carriage will be arriving in fifteen minutes."
Narcissa nodded. "I'm done. You can tell the woman she can bring in the dress now."
Bellatrix nodded and went to leave the room. But just as she was about to open the door, she turned around. "Cissy?"
"Don't be so scared."
"I can feel it radiating off of you. Don't lie to me. I've done it, so has… Andromeda," she said, her features twisted with disgust at the name. "You can do it too." And with that, she left.
Twenty-three-year-old Narcissa smirked at the face in the fire and shook her head. "It isn't my birthday yet, Lucius." The green flames flickered for a moment, reforming to show her husband's pout.
"Well, I'm in Croatia and it's your birthday now," he said, sounding rather petulant.
"Croatia is an hour ahead of the UK, Lucius," she said. "If you were in the UK you'd know that my birthday is not for another hour." She saw Lucius wince and smirked. She was glad that he could tell she was annoyed.
"I wish I was at home with you, but—"
"Business, I know," she said with a sigh. 'Business' was their code word for Death Eater activity. Lucius had been travelling a lot recently, recruiting for the Dark Lord.
"Lucius." The voice came from Lucius' side of the flames. Narcissa felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and a cold feeling slithered its way up her spine. The voice gave her a bad feeling.
Lucius cleared his throat. "I need to go. Happy birthday, Narcissa." Before she had the chance to say goodbye, the green flames turned back to orange. Why would the Dark Lord want Lucius at this time?
Twenty-six-year-old Narcissa lay in her bed. It was huge and she hated it. All of the empty space only served to remind her that the person who should have been lying next to her wasn't there. He was in Azkaban, awaiting trial for involvement in Death Eater activities. She had absolutely no idea as to how Lucius was going to get out of this mess.
If she was honest with herself, he probably wasn't going to. Narcissa shook her head. She had to have hope; the thought of being this alone forever was too much to bear. He had to get out of this. A small gurgling sound caused her to sit up. Draco was awake.
She slid out of the covers and tiptoed over to his crib. His eyes were open and upon sight of her, he lifted up his arms. She acquiesced to his silent wish and lifted him up, making her way back to the bed and placing him in it, before lifting up the covers and slipping in beside her son. She looked up at the dark ceiling. She wouldn't be alone. She had Draco.
Twenty-six-year-old Narcissa ran her fingers through her husband's blond hair. "He's gone," she said. Her voice sounded far too loud in the thick silence of their home. She had thought that things could go back to normal once Lucius had been deemed innocent—once the Dark Lord had gone. But now she realised that things had never been normal for Lucius. He had always had the shadow of the Dark Lord looming over him. Perhaps now he could live freely.
She was grateful that the Wizengamot had been gullible enough to accept her husband's lie about being under the influence of the Imperius Curse. Had they not, she wouldn't have been lying next to him, watching his chest rise and fall gently.
"He is." Lucius sounded… hesitant. The Dark Lord was gone.
"Lucius, he is gone. And if he comes back, then we'll stay away from him." When Lucius was silent she lifted her hand from his hair. "Won't we?" She only got a mumble in response. "Lucius." As she said his name, her voice shook. "I want you to promise me that you'll never get involved in anything like that ever again."
Lucius rolled onto his side, and she could see his eyes, even in the dark. "I promise."
Forty-three-year-old Narcissa once again lay in her empty bed, letting the tears travelling down her face hit her pillow. In the morning, the black silk would be stained white from the salt of her tears, but for now, she relished the feeling of the wet fabric against her cheek, bathing in her own misery.
Lucius had broken his promise.
The first time had been at the Quidditch World Cup. He had terrorised Muggles and wizards alike. But when he returned home, he assured her that the Dark Lord wasn't back. He had simply been having fun with the other former Death Eaters. None of it had been done on the Dark Lord's instruction.
She hadn't believed him.
The second time had been during Draco's fourth year when the Dark Lord had returned during the Triwizard Tournament. They had been eating their dinner when Lucius had paled. She had thought that he was going to throw up—then she had seen his grip on his arm. He shook his head at her before crumbling under the weight of his master's summons and Disapparating away, leaving her alone at the dinner table.
She still wasn't sure why he had shaken his head at her. Had it been an attempt at an apology through his pain? Or had it been an instruction to not stop him? She wished she had.
He had broken his promise many times after the second time, attending meetings, murders… all on the instruction of the Dark Lord. One of the more disastrous occasions was when he had attempted to get the Prophecy Record from the Department of Mysteries. He had been sent back to Azkaban.
She had been devastated by the loss of her husband; however, it hadn't been long before he had been freed by the Dark Lord. Perhaps that was an advantage of being one of his servants. He didn't leave you behind.
But now, the Dark Lord was gone for good. And Lucius was in Azkaban. He wasn't going to be freed this time.
A bang from downstairs alerted her to Draco's return. "Draco?" she called out. She didn't get a reply. She hadn't expected one. It was out of sheer, desperate hope that she kept trying to communicate with her son. The hope was quickly fading.
Ever since his father had been sent to Azkaban he had stopped communicating with her. He only ever seemed to address her after a bottle of Firewhisky, which is why she had let it continue. His drinking problem, that was. It was pathetic neediness that made her turn a blind eye to Draco's obvious problem.
The loss of everything he had been proud of had hit him hard—it had hit her hard too but she had hoped that just like the first time Lucius had gone to prison, she would be able to find solace in having her son by her side. That she wouldn't be alone.
It turned out to be the very opposite.
Draco had turned to alcohol and she had been left alone. It was more terrifying than the day of her wedding; it was more terrifying than Death Eaters occupying her household. She could see this loneliness stretching on until the day she died, and that was what terrified her.
She had nothing left to live for. That had never happened before. She had always had a purpose—making her family proud, taking care of her son… staying alive.
But what was the point of staying alive if her family was gone? The only person left was Andy. But Andy had been the first person she had cut out of her life. Lucius was in prison, Bella was… dead, and Draco wouldn't even speak to her.
She had lost everything.
The Wiki doesn't specify when Lucius and Narcissa got married, only giving us a time range of 1972 and September 1979. So if they were married during that time then Narcissa could have been 17-24 years old and Lucius could have been 18-25 years old.