Narcissa was having trouble focusing on Ancient Runes. Lucius Malfoy had outdone her on the second Charms essay in a row and had been, she felt, entirely too smug about it. It was time to wipe the smirk off his stupid, smug, incidentally handsome face, but she was stumped on how to go about it. She could simply do better than him on the next essay, but there was no accounting for, well, the possibility that he would know the material better than her.
Sighing under her breath, she glanced up from her notes and caught sight of his weird friend Rabastan, the one with the speech impediment. A devious smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, but she suppressed it. Instead, she hid her quill under her desk and snapped the tip of it.
“Rabastan,” she whispered urgently, his desk kitty-corner to hers. When he looked her way, she held up her now-broken quill and gave him a pathetic little frown. “Do you have a quill I can borrow?”
Rabastan gaped at Narcissa for a moment, as if he was somewhat stunned she was speaking to him. He was somewhat stunned she was speaking to him. They had never had a conversation that lasted longer than five minutes, much to his dismay. A few heartbeats later, her question sunk in. Another person would’ve received an eyeroll or a dismissive grunt, if they were even acknowledged at all. For Narcissa, he nodded slowly as he began patting down the front pockets of his bag for a quill.
He found one, an ostentatious gift from his mother that was monogrammed with his initials. He was stony-faced as he held it out for Narcissa. “Here you go.”
Something akin to horror flashed very briefly across Narcissa’s face when she first saw the quill, but then she gave Rabastan a grateful smile and it was as though she’d never been horrified at all. “Thank you,” she whispered as she took the quill from him and, oh Merlin, it had his initials on it. She glanced at him. So many people seemed to find him surly, but Narcissa supposed she could see how his nervousness could be intimidating. She wasn’t intimidated, of course. She just thought he needed a better friend than Lucius Malfoy.
She was definitely a better friend than Lucius Malfoy.
After class, she carefully cleaned the nib of Rabastan’s quill and held it out to him in the hallway. “Thank you again. It was very smooth.”
Rabastan awkwardly cleared his throat before replying, “I’m glad you liked it. I don’t really use it that often because, well.” He accepted the quill with a weak smile and his eyes flicked up to meet Narcissa’s, though his gaze immediately cut away. “It’s kind of embarrassing but I can’t get rid of a present from my mum.”
Ah. Narcissa smiled back at Rabastan for the brief moment their eyes met. “Well, of course not,” she agreed, trying to think of something more to say. The quill, for some reason, seemed to be all she could come up with. “It isn’t a terrible idea to have a spare quill either!”
“No, I guess not.” A beat passed as Rabastan ran a hand through his hair. “You look nice.”
“Oh, thank you,” she replied with a gracious smile, like he hadn’t said it out of the blue at all. Her expression became one of interest, her head tilted to the side. “Where do you usually go from here?” She smiled again and guessed, “Practice?”
His verbal response was caught in his throat so Rabastan nodded, his mouth a flat line. The brief spark of panic he’d initially felt when Narcissa had asked for a quill was steadily growing. He did not talk to Narcissa Black. He admired from her from afar and nodded sympathetically when Lucius complained about her. He could talk to any other girl with ease but this particular girl made him freeze up. His brother would laugh at him.
His fingers longed to sweep her hair back from her face.
Instead, he made a grunting sound as he shrugged his shoulders. “There’s talk of me being captain next year.”
“Is there?” Narcissa swept her own hair away from her face and over her shoulder so she could resituate her bag without her hair catching under the strap. An unfortunate side-effect of broaching the subject of quidditch meant she had to talk about quidditch and she had no real idea how to do that. “Well, who else could it be, honestly?” She was pretending Rabastan hadn’t just grunted at her.
Rabastan’s mouth curved into an appreciative smile. But he was running out of things to say. What did Narcissa like? In the end, it was easier to touch on something he knew Narcissa didn’t like. “Not Lucius. He’s terrible at Quidditch.”
Her smile faded, just a bit. “Well,” she said again, to give herself a moment to think of something diplomatic to say. “I’m sure he has other skills.”
Like Charms. It took every ounce of her restraint not to glare off into space thinking about his essay besting hers, but Narcissa managed to keep looking at Rabastan.
“Actually,” she added suddenly, “I hope he’s not why you and I aren’t really friends.” Her smile brightened apologetically. “I’m sorry if that’s awkward to say. It’s only… We’re both Slytherins and we’re in so many of the same classes. Why have we never studied Ancient Runes together?”
Startled and alarmed, Rabastan’s mouth suddenly went very dry. Klaxons were blaring in his mind. “You want to study with me?” he asked, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
Now Narcissa’s smile faded entirely. “Why not?”
“Because,” Rabastan said dumbly, scrambling to come up with an excuse. He cast his gaze up to the ceiling, as if the answer to his problems would be written on it. “I prefer to study alone,” he finished gruffly.
“I suppose that’s why we’ve never studied together, then,” Narcissa replied with a small frown.
Something twisted in his chest at the sight of Narcissa’s frown. “Sorry,” Rabastan mumbled, surprising himself somewhat. He wasn’t in the habit of apologizing for many things. “Maybe we — I mean, if you want—” He wanted to ask her if there was something else she’d like to do, but he couldn’t get the words out.
He sighed. This was pointless. “I should probably get to practice.”
That Narcissa was only having this conversation because of a half-baked plot to steal Rabastan from Lucius was neither here nor there. She was being rejected for a study session with Lucius Malfoy’s strange friend. It was a blow to her pride.
“You probably need it,” she said tartly. “Bye, Lestrange.” She turned on her heel, her long hair swinging behind her as she walked away. Maybe she could get Andromeda to tell her she was smarter than Lucius.
Rabastan leaned against the wall as he watched her leave, desperately wishing he could come up with some witty retort or something that would appease her. But nothing came to mind beyond the usual refrain of, Narcissa Black is the most beautiful girl at Hogwarts.
It was the wedding party of two prominent members of the Sacred 28. Everyone worth knowing was there, eager to offer congratulations and unsolicited advice to the newlyweds. The reception hadn’t been going on for too long, but Rabastan was well into his cups at this point. Part of him felt guilty for drinking so much so quickly, but it was the only thing getting him through the endless insufferable conversations about marriage. He couldn’t seem to divest himself of old women who were keen on knowing when he would be getting married.
“Never!” he told them, before his eyes drifted to Narcissa (and Lucius, for she was never too far from Lucius.)
He broke away from the elderly witches after his own great-aunt offered to set him up with a cousin, as if they were Blacks. His eyes flicked over to Narcissa once again, widening when he realized she was alone. Or, well, as alone as one could be at this sort of event.
Rabastan quickly cut across the room, wine glass sloshing a bit in his haste. “Narcissa,” he said, breathlessly, as if it was the first time he’d seen her all day. You look beautiful, he wanted to say. It was a nice ceremony, was the more appropriate thing to say.
Instead: “Bored yet?”
“Of course not!” Narcissa answered with a laugh. She turned to look at him, her smile beatific and a permanent fixture for most of the day so far. She was so happy she’d even smiled at Bridget Rowle or whatever it was she was calling herself these days.
Her eyes dropped to his wine glass and when she raised them to his face, there was a shrewdness to her gaze. “You’re not bored either, are you?”
“Not at all,” he answered honestly. “Though I am tired of fielding questions about marriage.”
“Well, you are at a wedding,” Narcissa pointed out, glancing fondly down at the new ring on her finger. “That’s always been a favorite question at these. Not that I’ll hear it anymore.” She couldn’t help but look for Lucius in the crowd, even though it’d only been about five minutes since he’d excused himself.
“Yes, aren’t you the lucky one,” Rabastan replied, his tone a little sharper than intended. He drained the rest of his wine glass before he gave Narcissa a none too subtle once over. “I guess it’s good that you make a beautiful bride and all that.”
The sharpness to Rabastan’s words had Narcissa’s eyes snapping back to him. Preening ever-so-slightly, her spine went a little straighter under his gaze. “Thank you,” she said politely, smoothing a hand over the waist of her dress. “You look very handsome tonight.” She gave him a teasing smile. “So handsome you might find someone to marry even.”
Rabastan let out a dry laugh as he shook his head. “That’s not in the cards for me,” he said, exchanging his empty glass for a full one from the passing tray of a server. “But thank you. I figured I had to look my best at the wedding of the year.”
Marriage ‘not being in the cards’ was a bit of information Narcissa tucked away to discuss with Lucius once the excitement died down. “It is the wedding of the year, isn’t it?” she asked instead, sounding pleased with herself. “Perhaps the decade?”
“I have a feeling people are going to be talking about it for a decade,” Rabastan replied, almost distractedly as he eyed his wine glass. The wine was sweet, fragrant, and not strong enough for his liking. He pressed the flute to his lips as he glanced up at Narcissa, his expression softening as his gaze studied her features. She really was very beautiful.
“In a good way,” he added, with a roll of his shoulders. “Not even Bridget Rowle could have a negative thing to say about all this.”
“You think so?” Narcissa asked, her eyes on a passing waiter. “Good.” She plucked her own glass of wine from the waiter’s tray, swirling the wine around in her glass for a moment before glancing at Rabastan. “I’m really happy.” It was perhaps a bit more forthcoming than she’d usually get with Rabastan. But it was her wedding so she felt she could do and say what she liked.
Rabastan looked at Narcissa, eyes casting over her face. She looked happy — her joy was written subtly but clearly across her distinctive features. The sight of it made something in his chest tighten. “I’m glad,” he replied, reaching out to grab her free hand. He gave it a little squeeze, then, as if he seemed to realize what he was doing, immediately dropped it.
“I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy,” he admitted.
Surprise fluttered across her features and Narcissa looked away from Rabastan, out at the people gathered to celebrate her and Lucius’s matrimony. She took a sip of her wine and ignored how strange her fingers suddenly felt.
“There’s a very small part of me,” she started, her own voice lowered in admission, “that still doesn’t believe Lucius is the one who makes me happy. But she has OWLs to revise for.” She laughed a bit, under her breath. “She would be appalled.” Her eyes found Lucius in a cluster of guests and she smiled, her joy suddenly far less subtle. “I don’t care what she thinks.”
“You shouldn’t,” Rabastan replied, glancing between Lucius and Narcissa. There was a storm of emotions swirling about his head that he needed to suppress, but the alcohol made it somewhat difficult. He found himself saying, “But did you ever consider anyone else?”
It didn’t occur to Narcissa that he might’ve meant himself. “Perhaps Leopold Yaxley,” she admitted quietly, leaning in ever so slightly. “I can’t fathom it now, though.”
Rabastan made a face. “That prick? You can do much better than that.” Beat. “I mean, I suppose you have. But…” He trailed off, unsure of what, exactly, he wanted to say.
“Oh, I certainly have,” she said, laughing. Narcissa’s eyes found Lucius again. “I don’t think of Leopold at all now.”
“I just meant,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. Ducking his head, he found a particularly interesting spot on the floor to stare at as he continued, “You never seemed to consider me at all. I think it would’ve been good.”
Narcissa cleared her throat and took a hasty sip of her wine. It was suddenly impossible to keep looking at Lucius. “Rabastan, don’t be silly,” she said, her voice a touch higher than it usually was. “I would’ve gotten on your nerves.”
“No,” Rabastan replied, his tone insistent as he shook his head. He paused long enough to polish off the entirety of his glass before continuing, “No, it would’ve been good. It could’ve been good if you’d noticed or if I’d told you, but—” The words died abruptly in his throat and he looked up to give Narcissa a small, sad little smile. “It is is what it is. Anyway, I should get another drink.”
“You should eat something,” she said quietly, utterly stunned and doing a poor job of hiding it. “The canapés are really very nice and you should eat something.” She felt stupid, talking about the canapés like nothing had changed, but what could she say? Rabastan was her husband’s best friend and she hadn’t ever noticed him as anything but.
“I love canapés,” was Rabastan’s lame reply. He stared at Narcissa for a moment, as if he was on the verge of saying something else, before he turned on his heel and headed for the bar. He definitely needed another drink.
For the most part, Narcissa avoided the other wing of the house. Though she rarely gave voice to it and only ever with Lucius, it bothered her that the Dark Lord had taken over their room. But there were moments when curiosity got the better of her and when they had a guest, when that guest was Rabastan’s son, she was dying of it.
Casually, she passed by the open door of Rabastan’s room and, then, as if she hadn’t walked by on purpose, reappeared. “Are you wearing that shirt?”
Startled by Narcissa’s voice, Rabastan looked over at her before glancing down at his shirt. Frowning, he examined the cuff of one of the sleeves before asking, “What’s wrong with this shirt? It’s my favorite shirt.”
This was a lie, of course. If Rabastan had a favorite shirt (he would say he did not), it certainly wouldn’t be an overly starched button up shirt with a collar. It was also not the first shirt Rabastan had tried on that evening, but he didn’t want to admit that, either. He didn’t want Narcissa — or anyone — to know he was nervous about this dinner.
He smoothed out the front of it before continuing, “It doesn’t make me look like I have a gut, does it?”
Leaning against the doorjamb, Narcissa eyed him appraisingly. “No,” she said decisively. She pursed her lips at him for a moment. “But you look uncomfortable in it.”
Rabastan snorted. “I’m going to look uncomfortable in everything.” His gaze flicked between Narcissa and his open closet door before he gestured for her to come into his room. “You can pick something out. I’m hopeless at this.”
Narcissa straightened and flashed Rabastan a glance that clearly said, ‘Well done,’ before stepping inside. As she thumbed through his shirts, she said, lightly, “I think dinner is going to go well.” She held one of his shirts up under his chin and shook her head, setting it aside. “Bunni’s prepared something simple, but delicious. Tomorrow’s dinner will be more extravagant.” She held up another shirt. “What do you think?”
“I don’t like the buttons on this one,” Rabastan replied, holding up one of the sleeves and squinting at it. “It looks like something Rodolphus would wear. And,” he added, in a tone that sounded somewhat pained, “I’m sure dinner will be fine. Everyone will be deeply uncomfortable.”
His reasons for disliking the shirt earned the slightest eyeroll, but she put it back where it belonged and returned with another, looking at him expectantly. “This is a flattering color.” Narcissa studied the shirt, pressed the shoulder of it to his shoulder. “There’s barely anything to be deeply uncomfortable about.”
Rabastan raised an eyebrow. “There are several things to be deeply uncomfortable about. Rodolphus and Bellatrix will somehow find all of them.” His attention shifted to the shirt, which was acceptable enough to earn a nod. “So you think I’ll look handsome in it?”
“And it doesn’t look nearly as stiff as the one you’re wearing,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard Rabastan’s question. “This is the one.” She handed the shirt to him. “You’ll be so comfortable Bellatrix and Rodolphus won’t faze you.”
Smirking, Rabastan set the shirt aside and reached for two of the ties on his desk. “With this?” he asked, holding up a Slytherin green tie. The other tie in his hand was more of a Ravenclaw blue. “Or this?”
After a long moment of considering the two ties, Narcissa shook her head. “Neither. But if you must, the green.”
“Neither it is,” Rabastan replied, his mouth still twisted into a smirk. “I wouldn’t want to disrupt the flow of the flattering shirt you think I’ll look handsome wearing.”
Again, Narcissa rolled her eyes. “I never said you were handsome,” she said. “I said it was a flattering color.” Her eyes slid away from Rabastan to his open closet and she plucked at the sleeve of the first shirt she’d held up. “You should get rid of this if you don’t want to look like Rodolphus. Marie Wando says you shouldn’t keep things that don’t spark joy anymore.”
“You say that as if I should know who Marie Wando is.”
“It’s still good advice,” Narcissa said with a shrug.
“I’d have to get rid of a lot of things,” he told her, affecting a somber air. “Few things bring me joy these days.”
Narcissa narrowed her eyes thoughtfully and decided that she couldn’t decide if Rabastan was being serious or not. “I would start with the Rodolphus shirt, then.”
Rabastan pulled the Rodolphus shirt out of his closet and tossed it on his bed. “How can I get out of this dinner? The idea of it doesn’t bring me joy.”
“Marie Wando hasn’t covered joyless dinners yet,” Narcissa said, glancing at the Rodolphus shirt. “I think she would say something very wise about the joy your attendance would bring others, though. Besides, you don’t want to abandon the boy to Lucius and me. We might uncorrupt him.”
“I’m worried,” he admitted, his shoulders knotting tighter and tighter as he thought about the different ways this could go wrong. Narcissa and Lucius were too much in one way, Bellatrix and Rodolphus were overwhelming in an entirely different way. His eyes found Narcissa’s face as he continued, “We haven’t spent too much time together and I’m worried about something scaring him off.”
At first, Narcissa only gave an understanding nod, taking a moment to choose her next words carefully. “I didn’t invite him to push him away, Rabastan.” She gave him a slight, encouraging smile in lieu of telling him just how invested she was in this going well for him. Instead, she said, firmly, “Don’t worry. Just make sure he doesn’t go exploring.”
Rabastan laughed at the suggestion. “I wouldn’t want him to run into the Dark Lord.”
“I don’t expect he’s quite ready for that,” Narcissa said, managing to keep her smile firmly in place.
“No, not yet,” Rabastan replied. Clasping his hands together, he looked at the shirt Narcissa had picked out before looking to Narcissa, his eyes soft. “Thank you. For the help.”
Her smile came easier and she tilted away from him in a show of modesty, tucking her hair neatly behind her ear. “Oh now, of course.” She glanced at the shirt she’d picked out, too, and folded her hands at her waist. “I should see how dinner is coming along, though. I’m glad I could help.”
“You’re always a help,” he told her, his tone somehow both gruff and earnest.
“You’ll remember that when you feel like running away before dinner, won’t you?” Narcissa teased, smiling a little wider as she took a few steps back towards the door.