InsaneJournal

WHO: Narcissa Malfoy and Philomena Mulciber
WHAT: Lunch
WHEN: Thursday, February 12. (Backdated.) This happens while they're at lunch and this takes place immediately after.
WHERE: Muliber manor
RATING: Low
STATUS: Complete


Narcissa swept into Philomena’s drawing room ahead of the house elf that escorted her there and greeted Philomena with a kiss on the cheek. “Lo, darling, it’s lovely to see you! I brought wine. I hope it goes with whatever you had prepared for lunch.” She held out a bottle of Chablis, magically chilled to the proper serving temperature.

There were very few people who Philomena would have felt any desire to welcome into her home so shortly after returning to it from an extended time away. Narcissa was, naturally one of them, and there was something to be said for being able to wax on about one’s recent travels in the comfort of one’s own territory. It felt a bit like reaffirming her own belonging here--like the house might need reminding that, yes, Philomena still ran things around the Mulciber manor.

Her smile for Narcissa (and the offering of wine) was wide and warm. “Your taste is always impeccable, my dear,” she assured the other woman, leading her to one of the choicest seats in the room and gesturing for her to make herself comfortable. Bottle in hand, Philomena read over the label approvingly before summoning the elf to keep it cool in the kitchen until lunch was ready. With a conspiratorial arch of her eyebrow, she confided, “I have a few treats that we brought back with us. Things local to the island. I thought there was little better reason to break them open than for a favorite guest.”

“You’re too sweet.” Narcissa stepped out of her shoes as she settled in the offered chair so she could tuck her feet under her. Mulciber manor was one of the few places outside her own home that Narcissa could relax like this. She relished the opportunity to just be herself and not have to keep up appearances. “You’ll have to tell me everything. The pictures you posted were simply fascinating.”

“I hope you have the day cleared, in that case,” Philomena said, her tone teasingly lofty. Though, she did mean it, generally--the two weeks had afforded her enough fodder of photographs, souvenirs, memories, and stories to occupy at least a few hours, depending upon how much in the way of detail she deemed her audience deserving. Narcissa deserved a good deal. With a flourish, Philomena produced a thick leather-bound album, which had until then been sitting forlornly atop the coffee table. “These are the highlights, in order of day and location . . .”

She would provide explanations and asides, where appropriate. But she also liked to think the images told their own stories well enough. “I have to say, this was the first I saw them use anything so tiny for a portkey--chipped measuring cup. Although, I suppose I ought not complain of the privacy of it.”

“Privacy is good, but a chipped measuring cup? You’d think for a vacation like that, they could come up with something… classier.” Though, really, Narcissa wasn’t all that surprised about the less than classy choice. So many witches and wizards these days were choosing--well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

She pushed the thought out of her mind as she leaned over the leather-bound album. The pictures were exquisite, even better than they’d appeared in the journals. Perhaps she and Lucius should take a trip, though there was so much going on here. They couldn’t leave just yet. Someday, perhaps. New Zealand looked to be a much better vacation than their last trip.

The first picture was of hills covered in lush green grass with mountains in the background. “Where did you land?”

“Waipoua Forest,” Philomena said, a manicured nail tapping gently at the corner of a photo of an improbably enormous tree. “We were lucky to have a fine day when we arrived--just before noon, I believe--and were afforded some time for a leisurely tour. This tree, they call it the Lord of the Forest. It’s the largest of its type in the country, and over 2,000 years old. Cosmo, of course, was eager to be settled at the hotel, but there were staff on hand to take our belongings ahead. Very professional, I hardly worried anything might be misplaced.”

She could hardly believe it was already half a month ago. Though she was happy to be home, and happier still to see her daughter, who she had begun to miss terribly those last few wonderful days, Philomena was at her best when on the go. England felt slow and predictable. “That was the most adventure we had for the first day--the rest we spent touring the town around the hotel. Not far from New Zealand’s largest Wizarding settlement, but we didn’t wish to be right in the hub of the city. Too much noise.”

“I understand. I can’t fathom living in the city… or even staying in one. Lucius and I made the mistake of going to Ibiza on a recommendation, and it was simply horrendous.” Narcissa leaned in close to Philomena smiled conspiratorially. “We mention it as though it was a delightful time whenever we’re stuck in a conversation with someone we don’t wish to speak to. They think we’re going to reminisce about our wonderful time, but in reality, we talk about them the same way we talked about everyone in that horrid place.”

She knew well what people thought they were doing, but that just amused Lucius and Narcissa more. It made a wonderful excuse to cut conversations short. “This was clearly a much better decision. I should have asked you when we planned our last trip.” She flipped through a few more pictures, pausing to examine each photo carefully and touching a few delicately when they moved in an intriguing manner. On the fourth page, there was one she couldn’t quite figure it out and she tapped her freshly manicured nail under it. “What is this one?”

“That,” Philomena said with obvious pleasure, still smirking at Narcissa’s comments and always happy to have her sense of taste confirmed. “Is the hot water beach. Natural springs, right under the sand--barely any fuss at all to unearth them with a spell. Enormously enjoyable, and right on the shore, so the view is exquisite. . .”

They spent the next few minutes in conversation over the trip, the photographs, the Mulcibers’ foray to the dragon reserve. Lo was just winding that account down when, with remarkably good timing, the elf edged into the room and announced that the food was ready and the wine just right to be poured, and would the mistress like it out here in the drawing room? He ought to have known that last was a yes, so Philomena’s voice was more than a little disdainful when she told him to have it sent out immediately. A casual, leisurely meal of this sort was not the kind Philomena would have partaken in with most, but she and Narcissa were not the sort of friends who only met over the most formal of meals.

When the food was set out--small, round sandwiches, a delicate green salad, a platter of nuts and cheese, and a porcelain bowl full of exotic fruits from the trip--Philomena went to pouring the wine. “I confess, I have been remiss in finding out what we have missed while gone, beyond the headlines.”

There’d been another murder, of course, just after their return; and before that, the havoc she and Cosmo had wreaked on Meadowes’ home just before (or, officially, just after) they set out for the south. They had not been around for any news that may have made, if any.

Narcissa took a few bites of food while she gathered her thoughts. The fruits in particular were divine. “Oh, Lo, these are delightful. You’ll have to tell me where you got them so we can arrange to have some brought over.” Being able to do such things was an advantage of her position, and Narcissa intended to use it.

After she took a sip of wine, she moved on to other things. “Well, the minions of Lady Noir--whoever she is--have been active.” Her tone clearly conveyed how poorly she thought of them. Yes, their mission was admirable, but their methods left a lot to be desired. “There’s been some chatter in the journals, too, but no one is organized. I think we’re all working at cross-purposes most of the time. We need a place to talk without fear of anyone unsuitable finding out. That’s what Lucius and I are hoping to address if Hal has the skill with wards.” Hallam had, of course, assured him that he did, but Narcissa didn’t want to promise too much until Hallam had completed his task successfully.

She leaned in and put a hand on Philomena’s arm. “You know, once we have a way to make sure all our old friends are on the same page, the two of us should go have a little fun for the cause.” Her birthday outing with Lucius was the most fun she’d had in a long time. She was looking forward to doing more, though this time to filthy muggles and mudbloods.

“We must indeed,” Philomena agreed directly, with a look more suited to having just made plans for a particularly indulgent shopping excursion. Though she had kept an eye on her journal while abroad, that had only lasted the first day or so--after that, most of what she saw seemed too trivial or too annoying to bother with during what was meant to be an escape from the trivial and annoying.

She agreed, naturally. Lady Noir’s acolytes, if they could be called that, were . . . amateurish. With the perspective of decades, and her own days of amateurish activism behind her, Philomena thought she had earned the right to decide this. The intentions were not wrong; but the execution left much to be desired in the organizational end. What she had been gathering, of late, was that this Noir woman wished to be a catalyst, not a leader. In Philomena’s opinion, this smacked of laziness and a lack of accountability.

Narcissa no doubt understood this to be true. “My night out with Cosmo last month did whet an appetite I’d long ago learned to ignore.” Her eyebrow twitched suggestively, and a slow smile quirked the edge of her lips. “I do hate a mess, but there is much to be said for the cathartic advantages of some well-placed destruction. Society has become increasingly ridiculous since the end of the war.”

Not that Philomena wanted more war. But something needed to halt this descent into so-called tolerance--all it was was a front for the weakening of what was at one time, not long ago at all, a strong, stable, and thriving system.

“It has, and something must be done. But as cathartic as it is, we can’t continue to work at cross purposes. If we don’t organize soon, everything will fall apart.” It was disheartening to think of the world their children and grandchildren would be forced to live in if they let that happen.

Narcissa glanced at the clock and noted she’s lingered longer than she planned. Philomena’s pictures had been riveting and the conversation after equally so. That was what happened when one got together with friends, and Narcissa didn’t regret a moment of it, but she was going to have to leave soon, or she’d miss tea with Antonin.

“You’ll have to excuse me soon, I’m afraid,” she said as she flipped open her journal to see if Antonin had left her a note. “Antonin wanted to meet me for tea so he could give me a birthday present, and I promised I’d….” She trailed off as she saw Lucius’s note. “Could I borrow a quill?”

“Ah.” Philomena’s interest was piqued by the mention of Antonin; it had been ages since she’d been in touch. It was part genuine curiosity about what he was doing these days, and part jealousy at being left out of a social loop, that prompted her to make a mental note to keep a better eye on his entries. Distractedly, she blinked at Narcissa’s question before nodding sharply to make up for her brief lapse into inattention. “Of course, yes . . . “

She swept her wand in the direction of a small writing desk by the window, and an ivory-colored quill darted across the room to her hand. Her expression was one of mild concern when she offered it to her friend--Narcissa was not the sort to unnecessarily indulge in outside writing during a social call. “Nothing is the matter, I hope?”

“I hope not. Lucius says something has happened, but all he’s told me is that it’s not to do with Draco.” Narcissa quickly wrote a reply warded to Lucius and turned her attention back to Philomena. She hadn’t meant to worry her. “I apologize. I just worry about Antonin. Have you spoken to him lately? I’m sure he would appreciate hearing from you if not. He needs to speak to more like-minded individuals. The poor man has to deal with muggle-lovers all day at his job.”

She noticed more writing appearing in the journal out of corner of her eye, and glanced down to see Lucius’s reply. “Ah, good. Lucius says whatever he has to tell me can wait until after tea.”

Philomena nodded understandingly, all too aware that upon hearing from one’s husband that something had happened, it was very easy to make the morbid assumption that it was something to do with one’s children. It was something she’d found herself experiencing somewhat more often this last year, with Corbin away at Hogwarts most of the time for much of the year, rather than within her own walls and under her watchful eye. A reminder of her ultimate powerlessness to keep her son, or her daughter, safe. A very uncomfortable sort of weakness that Philomena found quite distasteful.

“I believe I will,” she said of Antonin. They’d never been particularly close, within the ranks--Philomena had had Cosmo, her comrades from school, and eventually her brother for that--but he was a compatriot nonetheless, and evidently one very much in need of some more agreeable company. “The sorts of people they give important jobs to . . .” She shook her head in disbelief. “Makes one start looking for any excuse at all to sack them. I admire his ability to tolerate it. Though we must all, I suppose.”

Her long-suffering expression shifted to one that hinted at barely contained delight. “I’m very happy to hear you will stay a bit longer, though. Have you ever had a Pavlova? I had a few small ones morning--it’s splendid, truly, one of the best things I ate while we were gone--and--” She snapped her fingers, and the House Elf appeared and immediately began vanishing the finger foods they had left uneaten. “Squabby, the Pavlovas, now. And more cream for the tea.”

If there was heavier business soon to be afoot, Philomena agreed with Lucius: it could wait. There was much to be said for the ability of a bit of cake to put all of life’s annoyances into perspective.