Eliza D'Amico:  Maybe she's desperately in love with him.

Rita Malone:  Don't be ridiculous. Nobody's desperately in love.

~ (some movie)

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She used to sign her letters to him with: "Love you always."  And "Everlasting Love."  Silly things like that you soon grow out of but wish you didn't.  Silly things.  Insensible things that no one ever sells to you--you just sort of acquire it. And you believe it, and believe it and then you're proved otherwise.

And in Narcissa's case she was proved otherwise by Lucius Malfoy.

She used to read Hogwarts a History by the hearth and bake cookies with her Grandmother.  She used to stay in on weekends and sleep in late.  She used to sleep on the pillow her Mother made her--stitched in crimson.  She used to call her Father "Daddy."

This is the story of decay and the cease of innocence.

This is the tale of Narcissa Malfoy.

She used to wait outside the Herbology classroom (2D) every single day in her first year.  She'd hold her books tightly and sigh as he walked bye: "Hey, Black," he'd say coolly with a tip of his  hat.  "Hi...hi Lucius."

It was love.  Or at least something like it.

He used to kiss her near the teacher's head table right before supper.  Right in front of Dumbledore.  And it was a very odd experience, even for a girl who came from a family filled with odd-ness.  The teachers would hold back snickers and go back to their goblets.

The spark in her eyes. It was like the sun exploding.

She used to tell her friends, especially her Mother about the young man who had her heart and kept it safe.  "He's just--oh Mother--lovely, the best--the love of my life!"  Her Mother would smile a shaky smile and say, perhaps too loudly: "My dear, do be careful because I love you too much to see you hurt."  And the girl laughed--although a rather merciless one--  "Don't be silly."

They were in love.  And when you're in love you never get hurt.

They used to share chocolate almonds as the wind brushed their hair and the tears streaked the dirt, giving it a glimmer look to it.  She'd take off her shoes, and he'd take off his and their backs would be against the large tree.  "I like to think we're in love," she said as she took another almond and plopped it in her opened mouth.  He whispered to her through the darkness: "I like to think so too."

And if you want it badly enough and think of it enough it'll become true.

They used to go an old church--which looked more like a cottage, really--and they got married.  It was very old but seated so many that all their friends from 'round the world were invited.  "I'm just so happy," the girl gushed, "I want to be with him so bad."  Her Mother, fawning over her daughter and the gorgeous silk gown and decorations smiled and said in a very ironic tone:

"You deserve this."

It was quite odd, if only you could've heard it.

They used to be ignorant. And they still are, really.  But married life has made them cynical and to believe that love is truly control and fighting all the time.  They haven't been led to believe this--I suppose it's just acquired.  They eat french bread dusted with rum and dance in the shadows of the dead.

There was simply something terribly attractive about the dangerous lives they led.

There used to be religious.  And they still are in one of those not-so-religious ways. Catholic.  It was silly and she never understood God for she was difficult to understand herself and he had always taken a liking to the power that this 'man' God possessed.  And it was a very unsure type of thing. 

They were Catholic.  And they might as well have been Pagan.

They used to love each other.  In the deepest corners of their dark and childish hearts.  They used to be innocent (however difficult it is to imagine.)  She used to wear crimson ribbons in her hair and he used to fence with the boys.  She used to believe in Everlasting Love and all that came with and he used to imagine a pretty wife, a large Manor, lots of money, and a child.  Innocence caved, faith simply stopped existing, and two children fell from grace.

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