Who: Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy What: a romantic dinner with political undertones When: Sunday evening Where: Tablino Vesta in London Rating:PG, potentially PG-13 Status: Private/Incomplete
Narcissa barely nodded at the maitre'd who practically bowed and scraped before them. Having grown up a Black, she'd been the closest thing to wizarding nobility the world had. Now, as a Malfoy, as the wife of an up-and-coming politician, she was treated no less superbly. Her arm was laced in Lucius' casually. Narcissa was no meek witch. She was confident and secure, in both her position socially and in her marriage. And if any witch coveted her position enough to attempt to claim it, well, there were advantages to growing up in a family where Dark Arts were commonplace.
She'd dressed in well-tailored pale blue robes. Her silver heels clicked lightly on the marble floors as he led them to their table. Her hair had been carefully coiffed to cascade in tendrils with small gem-studded combs scattered in the updo to catch the dim light in the restaurant.
Narcissa sat gracefully in the chair pulled out for her, allowing the wizard to place her napkin on her lap. "You know how I adore Italian, Lucius," she offered, more to remind the maitre'd to ensure the chef only gave them his best food than to reassure Lucius.