Lucius Malfoy is the Flaming Death Eater (mal_foi_bon_roi) wrote in find_horcruxes, @ 2010-02-22 21:35:00 |
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Hours were long for everyone in the DMLE because of the mongrels with whom He had chosen to ally Himself; the boys in scarlet in tracking them, and the Wizengamot, far less directly, in ruling on this petition championed by Bones. These past few months seemed to have been obsessed with the halfbreeds. Whatever the Dark Lord saw in them, his followers saw very little of the same potential, Lucius among them. Still, today his affairs had caused the young man to stay late, finishing the briefs he could have managed had lunch not run long. He had hardly left an empty department. Around seven, Lucius had flooed to Malfoy Manor. He had thought that he might like dinner shortly, and made a mental note to inform Dobby as much. But as the DMLE from time to time required his attentions, so did his first and most important job. Lucius had changed to a less formal robe and settled in the library. He had already reported back to the Inner Circle, and the Boneses had been attacked, but not finished but it would not hurt his chances for advancement should he discover some minutia in his archives. After the last week, he was most eager that he please not only them, but Him. There truly was no rest for the just. Narcissa had been shopping that afternoon, choosing new curtains and new colours. She had redecorated the nursery nearly a dozen times over the past few months. Sometimes it was just little things, and sometimes it was it was a full do over. She had come home around the time Lucius was supposed to be home, but he was evidently working late again, and so she had gone back up to the nursery to picture her new choices. She stood in the room and tried to imagine being a mother, finally, and she could not. She was afraid to, after last time. It was almost an hour of standing and staring at the antique crib in the room, lost in thought as she fingered the soft linens within, distinctly lacking the shallow persona she put on like a stylish pair of shoes every time she left this house. She was jarred from her musings when she heard Lucius return home, at nearly seven, but he didn't call for her. He went straight to his study, and she sighed and put a hand on her belly. Often even within her own home it was easier to be shallow. Now, for example, she just moved towards the stairs, heading down towards the study she knew her husband was diligently working in, and selfishly let herself in without knocking. "I thought I heard you come home, darling," she said primly, moving towards him and leaning in to kiss him hello, one finger reaching out to lift his chin daintily. Lucius looked up, placing his wand in the crevice of the ancient diary to stay his place. "Narcissa?" His voice was inscrutable, though pleasant. A part of him had hoped she would seek him out, another had thought that he might have a little longer to work. Though he was grateful for an excuse to separate himself from the dust covered book that had likely been discarded by the author's children to the hidden corner of the library and never thought of again. All the pureblooded families were interrelated. It had not taken much work in the genealogy to find an aunt some generations back who had begun the life she ended as a Malfoy in the Bones family. He was fortunate that she, like some aristocratic ladies, had taken to writing. It was banal poetry on flowers. She liked ducks, it seemed, and was very creative with her rhyme. She had also found Cicero Malfoy to be intolerable. In truth, other marriages only made Lucius appreciate his own all the more. "I had assumed you were out." He finally allowed an appropriate smile to grace his lips. He let his grey eyes move slowly up from the desk, to wife, to the eyes of the woman who had stolen his attentions. "You need something, beloved?" Narcissa felt that familiar sense of fulfillment as he turned his attention to her. She liked being in possession of his mind, at least in the sense that it was wholly focussed on her. She stole another kiss from him and then leaned back against his desk, sliding her weight onto it and pushing whatever book it was he'd been looking at aside slightly. She knew it was presumptuous of her to interrupt his work; she also knew many in her situation would not be permitted to commit such actions by their husbands. But Narcissa had grown accustomed to taking certain liberties with her husband. She made concessions elsewhere for her behaviour, and she felt no guilt for it. She did, however, go through the motions--as she was toeing off her house shoes (comfortable but stylish flats) and sliding her bare feet into his lap--of suggesting she might be dissuaded by saying, "I can see that you are busy, but your beautiful pregnant wife has missed you so." Lucius did not suppress the grin which passed over his lips. It was a bold gesture for a man who so worked in subtlety, but in the privacy of one's home, many masks could be dropped. Lucius spared a glance for the book as it was slid, just behind him and shifted slightly to accomodate her. With anyone else, or on another day, he would have sent her away until his mood was more sociable. But the poetry was dry, at he did appreciate the diversion his wife provided. "Oh. Did she?" Lucius near purred. He reached back to slide his wand out of the pages. He gave the wand a subtle swish and flick, raising the book off the desk. He brought it around in front of him floating as if on a lectern, before setting down his elm wand. His hands moved to the foot in his lap, running his knuckles along the bared sole. She was like a cat in many ways. "And I was certain that she could find something to occupy her time." Narcissa so loved his hands. There was something so sure in them, and he was not afraid or unwilling to touch her with them. She didn't think she could bear it if her husband were too proper to touch her, or too distant to love her. Lucius was neither, thankfully, and she shifted slightly closer to him on the desk. The foot not in his hands slid over his thigh as she leaned back slightly on her hands, arching her back a little to emphasize her only barely protruding stomach, and also because her lower back seemed to ache constantly already, despite her only being eighteen weeks pregnant. "Perhaps I'd rather be occupied with you, Lucius," Narcissa said, her voice almost a sigh in the simple pleasure she felt at his gentle touch. Conversationally, she kept her tone light as said, "I've redecorated the nursery again. Or I will be, over the next few days." It was one area in which Narcissa was decidedly not frank: her renewed (and certainly irrational) pregnancy fears. What had happened last time had been a freak accident and was not likely to ever occur again. Especially not after the legal complications Lucius had created for the league following the incident. But it did bother her still, it made her supersticious and overly protective of the child growing within her. It also made her a little hesitant to discuss the eccentricities it brought out in her, and there was one very large, very important conversation she'd been avoiding having. "I used neutral colours again, of course," she added carefully, watching her husband's face. "I'd rather be likewise occupied." Lucius watched his wife, doing her best to obscure the book from his field. The wafting scent of rose and camellia which filled the space between them was a remarkable smoke screen. Lucius leaned in, tilting his head up to stare at his wife. "But the Ministry will not run itself, dearest." He slid his hand around her foot, pressing gently with his thumb. He liked to hear about the nursery, it made the pregnancy so much more tangible. She barely showing and Lucius could see her in a way the rest of the world missed. "Perhaps I could extricate myself from my responsibilities on Sunday to assist." He planted a kiss of questionable chastity in the crook of her elbow. He wished to know, but the caution was not ill advised. Their last child, they had tested it, and that made the loss keener, more personal. It was a realm of emotion into which Lucius hated experiencing. He--they--had lost a son. Lucius could think of this child as nothing else. The fact of a girl had simply not entered the wizard's consciousness. "But do you not think we should pick a colour more confidently?" It was all but an innocent request. Narcissa had known Lucius would want to know. She should have expected he would not have the same reservations she had. It did not make sense, her fears that knowing last time had made it harder, that the pressure had been too much. She couldn't help it, though. It felt like a death sentence to reach for that certainty. But now that the subject had been broached, now that Lucius had admitted to, at the very least, the fact that he thought they should know, they should be able to choose a colour definitively. The kiss pressed lingeringly to her arm did much to soothe her nerves, however, and she felt just the very corner of her lips quirk up into a bit of a smile. She was a very tactile person, and Lucius' touches spoke more deeply to her than his words ever could. Whether he'd intended it to be or not, that kiss was a balm to the past hurts they'd shared. Not enough, perhaps, for her to let go of her reservations, but enough at least for her to feel comfortable denying him his request. It occurred to her that it was likely the opposite of what he'd intended, and Narcissa did appreciate the irony in that. "I would love to spend Sunday with you," she began, lifting one hand to brush through his hair, her thumb rubbing gently at his temple and then back over the shell of his ear. It was both a gesture of affection and apology as she answered his question. "I do not wish to know... which colours will be more suited. I couldn't bear finding out, only to..." Here, she paused and ceased such unfavourable directness. "Will you still help?" "I said I would." Perhaps he should have realised that Narcissa might not wish to know. But Lucius did not regret asking, for as much as his words had been a question. That he had asked them at all was enough of a confirmation that whether it was a boy or a girl, the answer was relevant for much more than window treatments. Lucius slid a hand up Narcissa's calf, tracing the flesh as he considered the refusal. Part of him, perhaps had the same fears. But there were greater fears still that they would not get the heir they so needed. Particularly with the dangers inherent in the world for its active players. "Well anyway," Lucius cast the worries aside. For a man who had chased paternity so eagerly for three years, there was something daunting in the shadow of it. His right hand left the chair, touching the side of her growing stomach. "Healers are rather indelicate. What could they possibly tell us that we do not know?" He was lying to himself, they were deluding themselves. But they were happier that way, perhaps. "There's no harm in leaving it open for now." They would have to know in time, but until they were out of the woods, they could wait. There was a swell of happiness in Narcissa's chest as he agreed, as he let his hands wander. She was very lucky, she knew, for Lucius being the way he was. He could make far more demands of her than he did, and she was grateful he did not try. She was not accustomed to being told no, after all. She was a Black, or she had been before she had become a Malfoy. Perhaps if she were a lesser woman, Lucius wouldn't afford her the luxuries he did. The small smile that had graced her face as he'd acquiesced turned coy now, almost mischievous, as she slid gracefully from the edge of the desk where she was perched to seamlessly situate herself in his lap. Her voice was little more than a murmur as she agreed flatteringly, "You are such a wise man." One thing that Narcissa especially enjoyed that she knew other women in society could certainly not get away with was the way she teased and encouraged, the way she always had, before they were even married. It pleased her, and so she didn't bother herself with the more traditional ideas of chastity and propriety, of decorum even when in the exclusive company of her husband. Narcissa was loyal to her family and to the values they had instilled in her, an dif she wanted to play, she would. She was certain Lucius would not complain, anyway. Even after a proper courtship and years of marriage, she still seemed to be able to intoxicate him. She caught his hand with hers then, the one still lingering at her stomach, and pressed it gently against the soft material of her dress. "You are too good to me, darling." For now was the operative phrase. Lucius did, and would, want to know if he had a son in time. However, they still had nearly six months, delaying slightly would not hurt. Just as it didn't hurt that they had yet to announce the pregnancy. Lucius was a man who marveled in his own successes and enjoys flaunting them, but there were certain victories that needed only be triumphalist. Lucius pressed his fingers lightly against the soft fabric and slid the hand around to the small of her back. He leaned in and placed a kiss on her crown. "Perhaps I am..." There were separate spheres in the world: the social, the domestic, the professional. A man ruled in the outside world, but in the home, lines were more fluid. Happiness in the domestic sphere depended upon pleasing or subjugating one's wife. Lucius appreciated, perhaps doted on, Narcissa. She was a delicate and pleasing sort of wife. Had she been less amenable, he certainly could have been. But a man was responsible to the woman who kept his secrets and bore his children. Narcissa couldn't help it. At his words, his suggestion that perhaps he was too good to her, she let out a soft, pleased laugh, and lifted her hand to grasp the lapel of his robes. There was a certain give and take between them, and now she exercised a bit of the take as she fished for compliments. Her lips, only a breath away from his, brushed his as she spoke. "But it's worth it, isn't it? I'm worth it?" It was clear by the tone of her voice how she was expecting him to respond, clear that she'd slipped into a playful mood. Clear that she had absolutely no intention of letting him return to his work any time soon. In a different mood, Lucius might have feigned debate of her question. Something about the comforting charge in the air pacified any such banter. "Hmm." Lucius made a non-committal, but assenting noise. He gave his real answer when he closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against her own. She was worth his time in most cases. If nothing else, Lucius was confident that she knew that beyond any doubt. Narcissa had never been one who lacked in esteem, from herself or others. Lucius was a man practiced in flattery. But he didn't tend to kiss his Ministry connections. |