It had taken some time for him to respond to Narcissa, but it was all part of his strategy. He was always plotting and working through scenarios in his mind for all sorts of encounters and circumstances. When it came to Narcissa, it only seemed right to test her, to see how truly attached she was. Only the very devoted would make it past his barriers for a peek inside the real Lucius Malfoy. He had learned a very long time ago that people were perfect pawns in his game and he was the epitome of a perfect chess master. His money, family reputation, and blood lineage were all working in his favour to make him one of the most pompous members of pureblood society, and he knew that he was desired by most of the witches who were seeking a good match. The topic of marriage had been broached several times by his father, to which Lucius responded with a nonchalant and noncommittal attitude, always stating that he would be married in his own time. It was never a matter of if, but of when, and to whom. Nothing but the best trophy wife would be acceptable.
The Malfoys had always been chauvinists with regard to their wives. The Malfoy women were treated exceptionally, but they were never fully equal to their husbands where family and business affairs were concerned. They ran the household and the social aspects, while the men ran the wealth and the family's various societal connections. It had always worked, and Lucius needed no less than that for himself. He had never found an acceptable match that rivalled him in wit and good looks, not to mention sharpness of character and strength of convictions. None but one. His eye had fallen on her and he had started his game, but would she keep up?
When Narcissa asked — more like demanded — for him to join her, he had half a mind to let her wait for him as long as she was willing to. But then, common sense kicked in past the vanity and he thought more on it, smiling to himself when he had decided to play her game and even toss in a little more of himself into it. The owl arrived with the neatly wrapped parcel during lunch, an urgency to its flapping wings that denoted how quick the sender was to answer his request. The Malfoys had always been excellent customers and the last thing that the establishment needed was to cause any delay with such a purchase.
Just after classes and the typical socialising in the Slytherin common room, Lucius lazily made his way out of the dungeons with parcel under his arm, robes discarded on his four poster and flattering emerald vest hugging his chest. The dress shirt was a soft linen whose thread count was unimaginable, but only the best was suitable for a Malfoy.
The Potions classroom was easy enough to find for someone who had an affinity for the subject. He was not nearly as devout as his friend Severus, but he knew enough to do well and to catch the interest of his Head of House [among other accomplishments, naturally]. Sauntering in as though he owned the place, he stopped in the doorway and just watched her for a moment, letting his eyes roam over her relatively unhappy expression. He mentally gave a little laugh at knowing that he was likely the cause of it, before entering and making his presence known.
"Why Miss Black, I didn't think you so dedicated to the art of Potions. Does Severus know what a wonderful student you are?" The drawl on his tongue infused his words with ease, infuriating to many yet so fitting on such a man.