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Author: shannondaskies Story: Getting It Right Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-OotP Status: WIP Warning: none Reviews: 3 Words: 15,449
December was never usually this tense. Narcissa generally enjoyed the Christmas season, with the exception of the charmed mistletoe strewn at inconvenient locations around the school, but this year – this year she had more reason than ever to take circuitous routes through the castle. Lucius Malfoy was stalking her. She knew it. There was no other conceivable reason for him to be within her field of vision, or hovering just outside it, whenever she wasn’t in class. He never did anything, and he always seemed to have a legitimate reason for being where he was – not that she noticed his exact doings in the slightest – talking to other students or Quidditch players, looking very handsome in his winter uniform with his green and grey scarf arranged just so. Not that she noticed that, either. In fact, Narcissa was so busy not noticing any of these things that a collision with Lucinda Parkinson was both inevitable and surprisingly unexpected. It was also going to be unwelcome and uncomfortable, if the fingers digging too fiercely into her arm as she was dragged into a washroom were any indication. “What have you done to him?” The words were hissed and angry, and Lucinda’s face loomed far to close to her own for Narcissa’s comfort. “Nothing,” she snapped back. “I’ve done nothing.” The older girl shot her a venomous look. “Don’t lie to me,” she growled, and Narcissa was startled to see the signs of poor sleep on Lucinda’s face. There were dark circles under her normally bright brown eyes, and taller blonde’s skin was dull and lifeless. “You’ve done something, I know you have – he can’t take his bloody eyes off you, and I won’t have it! He’s not yours!” “I haven’t!” Narcissa protested, trying to shake her arm from Lucinda’s hold. “If you’re so obsessed with his every movement, you’ll know I haven’t encouraged him at all!” Which was true. She hadn’t encouraged him in the slightest. Of course, she hadn’t actively discouraged him, either – but it should have been obvious to Lucinda that it was Lucius doing the chasing, not Narcissa. “See that you keep it that way,” Lucinda glowered, then leaned right in to emphasise her point – so close that Narcissa could see the veins under the shadowed skin below Lucinda’s eyes. “I know you’ll be at all the parties this holiday – but I’ll be there, too. And I’ll be watching you, Black.” With that, Narcissa was shoved unceremoniously into a toilet stall, knocking the backs of her legs against the bowl before she caught her balance. By the time she’d righted herself, the only evidence of Lucinda’s presence was an echoing slam. Hobbling towards the sinks, Narcissa started in uneasy surprise when the door opened again, only to sag with relief when a skinny dark-haired boy slunk through the gap he’d created. “I saw Parkinson come out of here looking like she’d achieved something,” Severus muttered, looking extremely uncomfortable about being in a girls’ washroom. Narcissa grimaced, and removed her outer robes to inspect the damage to her calves and knees, sighing when she spotted the already-blossoming bruises and the tear to one of her stockings. “She was warning me away from Malfoy again,” she sighed, slipping a hand under her wool skirt to unclip the damaged stocking, before stepping out of her shoe and removing the torn garment. “As though I haven’t been steering clear of him for a whole month.” Smiling gratefully when Severus took the stocking and held it so she could charm the weave back together, Narcissa pretended not to notice his lack of response. She was doing an awful lot of not noticing, lately. ooooOOOOoooo Severus Snape was doing an awful lot of noticing, lately. After escorting Narcissa to the hospital wing to have her bruises seen to, he noticed Lucius Malfoy attempting to look inconspicuous at the other end of the corridor. He also noticed the mistletoe conveniently hanging nearby, and stopped several feet away, unwilling to be caught by it’s charmed presence. “Snape,” the older boy greeted him. “Malfoy,” Severus returned, then waited. It didn’t take long. “Is she alright?” Lucius nodded in the direction of the doors to the hospital wing, making clear both his concern and the fact that he was most definitely aware of Narcissa’s movements within the school. Severus nodded. “Minor bruising, to her legs and her pride.” He gave Lucius a thoughtful look, then ploughed on. “You need to have a word with Parkinson. If you want any sort of chance with Narcissa, it won’t happen while that harpy still thinks she owns you.” Lucius scowled at this, but nodded. He’d only agreed to date Lucinda for two reasons – to get her to shut up, and to make Narcissa jealous. He wasn’t stupid; he could see that neither reason had worked. Lucinda still nagged at him, and Narcissa still avoided him. “I’ll speak to her-“ he began, but the doors down the hall opened, and the slight blonde girl exiting the hospital wing caught his attention. Realising he’d been all but forgotten, Severus ducked into an alcove to watch in amusement as Lucius walked confidently down the hall and pretended to be surprised by Narcissa’s presence. “Narcissa!” he exclaimed. “Were you unwell?” Hiding a smirk as he saw Narcissa’s shoulders stiffen in response to her given name, Severus waited patiently for her response. “It was nothing, Malfoy…” A pause, then, “But thank you for your concern.” “Of course,” Lucius replied smoothly. “Allow me to escort you to your next class. I’d hate for you to lose points for being late.” Severus grinned. Her next class was Transfiguration. He knew it, Lucius knew it, since he’d learned her schedule, and the most direct route to her classroom took them right under the mistletoe several feet from where Severus was hiding. He had no wish to witness the usual result of standing under the little bunches of hanging poison, so he hunched into a tiny ball as they passed, then slipped down the corridor as soon as he was able. Lucius knew Severus was there. He’d made sure Narcissa walked on his other side so she wouldn’t learn of her friend’s complicity, and he was ecstatic to note that while she held herself stiffly and walked a good foot or so away from him, she nevertheless matched his pace, and was even allowing polite small talk. “Are you looking forward to the holidays?” he asked, after some minor chit-chat about the weather, and knew immediately from her suddenly blank expression that he’d asked the wrong thing. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy the party season,” Narcissa replied, her tone stiffly correct and her eyes deliberately looking straight ahead. Lucius wracked his brain desperately for an appropriate response. “I’ll look forward to seeing you at the Lestrange’s Christmas Eve gala, then,” he tried, then hid a wince at her slight flinch. Her reactions were unusual, and he began to wonder if Severus’ assertion that Lucinda was still making things difficult extended to her threatening Narcissa while she was away from school, too. He frowned at this, expression darkening, and they walked in uncomfortable silence – until Narcissa tripped. Lucius’ arm immediately flew out to catch her fall – and suddenly he couldn’t move, either. A glance upwards confirmed the presence of the charmed mistletoe preventing any further movement down the corridor, and a slow smirk crossed his face. He’d forgotten about it, in his irritation with Lucinda, and the scowl on Narcissa’s face said the same thing. “I’m not kissing you, Malfoy,” she declared, shaking her arm from his grip and lifting her chin obstinately. “Aren’t you?” he drawled, his gaze travelling from her eyes to her mouth and back again, his smirk growing at the pink blooming in her cheeks. “No.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Not even to get to class without getting in trouble? It would look awfully suspicious if we both skipped class this session,” he pointed out. Narcissa’s expression turned mutinous. She was very proud of her marks, and he knew it, and she hated the thought of skiving off. But after today’s little run-in with the Bitch Queen of Slytherin, there was no way on earth she was kissing Lucius Malfoy no matter how much she wanted to. Which she didn’t, so the point was moot, and suddenly he was a lot closer to her. “…what are you doing?” Her voice was weak, and she couldn’t believe such a pathetic, girly sound had come from her. “Stopping you from getting in trouble, of course,” Lucius replied, his voice low and smooth, and his gaze pinning her where she stood. His eyes were grey, she noticed, but not just regular grey. There were flecks of blue in the steely grey of his irises, and a ring of darker grey, almost a charcoal colour, around his pupils, and they were quite lovely, actually, even when they were closing- -Narcissa turned her head at the last second, and his lips met the corner of her mouth, landing mostly on her cheek. He lingered there for a moment, his breath whispering over her skin, and Narcissa wondered why she hadn’t moved away. He straightened up, and the sudden stab of disappointment in her gut took her by surprise. She stared at him, speechless, before whirling away and almost running down the corridor. Lucius watched her go, a ridiculous grin on his normally haughty features. The kiss had been close enough for the mistletoe to approve, and that was enough for him, for now. ooooOOOOoooo Druella Black was an elegant woman, tall and poised with an almost regal bearing. Narcissa envied almost everything about her, until a welcoming smile broke the woman’s publicly neutral expression, and the envy was replaced with joy at seeing her mother again. Waving at her from the door of the train, Narcissa was so focussed on her mother that she didn’t notice that the hand helping her alight from the train belonged to Lucius Malfoy. Druella noticed, but didn’t allow it to enter her expression, instead greeting her daughter with the customary cheek kisses and allowing Narcissa to take her arm. “How was term, darling? Professor Slughorn spoke quite highly of you last time he wrote to us…” Lucius watched as Narcissa and her mother left the platform, two heads of hair in the same lustrous shade of blonde making them easy to spot, until they disappeared through the barrier. With a slight sigh, he turned to reboard the train and retrieve his trunk, and paused. Lucinda Parkinson was blocking the door to the carriage, and she did not look pleased. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes – did she not realise she was merely there to help him pass the time? – Lucius indicated that she should precede him back into their carriage. “Lucinda,” he began, his tone formal. “We need to have a little chat.” The colour drained from her face, and she opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off with a gesture. “It’s been… a pleasure, but we are no longer seeing one another.” He was brisk, businesslike. “Don’t try to win me back, don’t harass anyone I may or may not approach in the future, and don’t badmouth me, or anyone I date after you. There will be consequences.” He paused, then, at the lone tear on her cheek, and reached out with a surprisingly gentle hand to wipe it away. “I have no wish to hurt you, Lucinda, but I cannot in good conscience continue to see you when I wish you were someone else. That’s not fair to either of us.” She simply stared at him, fury slowly overtaking the agony in her gaze. He recognised it, but knew she was not willing to risk his wrath if it should bubble over. The Malfoy name was far above the Parkinson’s in every way that counted, and many more that didn’t, and she knew it. Grasping her chin in his hand, Lucius met her gaze wordlessly until the angry light had faded to resigned acceptance. Nodding once, he exited the carriage, turning in the door for one final remark. “I’ll see you at the gala, I’m sure… and Lucinda? Any more violence towards Miss Black, and you’ll wish you’d never heard the name Malfoy.” ooooOOOOoooo If one more minute yet apparently essential adjustment was made to her dress or hair, Narcissa was going to scream. Her elegant strapless gown already fit her perfectly; the little tweaks and charms Druella was performing on the waistline and hem were unnecessary and annoying, but Narcissa knew better than to argue. She’d protested at the extra gloss charm to her hair, but shut her mouth when Druella asked if perhaps she’d prefer it to be green. “Sorry, Mama,” she’d whispered. “It looks lovely, really.” And it did; the elegant cascade of soft curls tumbling down her back was interspersed with tiny, winking diamonds. These, and the diamond studs in her ears, were her only adornment; Druella had decided the ice-grey silk of her gown was statement enough, and when Narcissa stood before her reflection in the mirror, she had to agree that the whole effect was rather nice. Then she wondered just why she was this dressed up for a gala, brother-in-law’s family or not – and when their Portkey deposited them in the foyer of the Lestrange Manor, she knew. Abraxas Malfoy was already there with his son, speaking with the Lestrange patriarch and his wife. Druella and Cygnus were immediately greeted by the adults, leaving Lucius to greet Narcissa. The predatory gleam in his eye as he bowed over her hand was unmistakable, and she cursed the fluttering in her stomach even as she snatched her fingers from his grip as soon as it was polite to do so. A sidelong glance at her mother revealed nothing; if this little meeting had been planned, it was being done with more subtlety than she’d learned yet. Quietly fuming as he offered to escort her to her seat, she took his arm with all the icy dignity she could muster – and when a flurry of arms, legs and mischievous grin barreled into her as they entered the ballroom, she’d never been more glad to see her cousin in her life. “Sirius,” she hissed, though her eyes were twinkling, “Mama spent hours on this gown, she’ll murder you if you ruin it!” Sirius’ smirk was cocky as he took in her escort, and the glower Lucius was giving him. “Sorry, cuz! But Reggie won’t come out of the powder room – keeps muttering about his bowtie,” he grinned. “Reckon you should help him out!” The look Narcissa gave him was so full of gratitude that Sirius wondered if interrupting them had been quite the genius idea he’d originally thought, but by then it was too late. Narcissa had muttered a hasty apology to Lucius and swept from the ballroom. Turning a smug gaze to the now furious older boy, Sirius was pleased to see that someone had been annoyed by his interruption. “You look pissed, Malfoy,” he quipped – then all the colour drained from his face at the look in Lucius’ eyes. “So… I’ll go get her back, then!” And he was off, robes flying as he weaved in and out of the guests. ooooOOOOoooo Aching feet was a usual side effect of a ball, and Narcissa, while never unpopular at these events, was in near agony as midnight drew near. Her dance card had been two-thirds filled by the time she found her seat for dinner, and completely full after her turn around the floor with her father. She’d sat out only two dances – both tangos, because her mother forbade it. Realising her next dances belonged to Octavius Goyle, followed by Augustus Crabbe, and knowing without doubt that the pair of them were drunk as lords in the gardens, Narcissa took the opportunity to slip from the ballroom and into one of the many parlours in the Manor. She exited the first one rather hastily upon discovering the activities of its occupants, and chose a smaller one she’d remembered further down the hall. The moonlight was sufficient illumination, so she didn’t bother to light the lamps as she sat on a chaise and slipped her aching feet out of their satin prison. Sighing with relief as she wriggled her toes, she nearly shrieked in terror when a hand closed around her ankle. “You’re doing it wrong,” an all-too-familiar voice drawled. She could just make him out where he knelt at her feet. “Lucius Malfoy, I swear to Merlin, if you don’t let me go, I’ll – I’ll…” but she couldn’t finish her sentence, because his thumbs were digging into the ball of her foot, gently soothing the ache out of it. “Oh…” she sighed, and didn’t protest as he lifted the other one to give it the same treatment. “You’ll what?” he asked, his voice smooth and deep, and a tiny bit smug. Narcissa couldn’t remember the rest of her threat, not even when he grew more daring and moved his hands up to her ankle. Deft fingers pressed firmly yet carefully into muscles she didn’t even realise she had, much less knew would benefit from his ministrations, and Narcissa relaxed slightly as the tension in her feet began to ease. He was no more than a dark shape in front of her, except where the moonlight shone on his hair. Even then, he was in shades of grey, the wan light washing out the brilliant platinum of his locks to muted silver. She had no problem focusing on his eyes when he looked directly at her, though, and it was only when he blinked that she tore her gaze away. His hands were halfway up her calf, coaxing the stiffness from the muscles with slow, firm strokes of his fingers. Narcissa wasn’t sure why she didn’t stop him when he reached for her other leg, but found she couldn’t quite bring herself to say anything when skillful fingertips began to work gently on that ankle, too. Silence reigned in the darkened parlour, broken only by their breathing, her occasional sigh as tired muscles were eased, and the faint sounds from the ballroom echoing oddly through the halls. Finally daring to look at him again, she noticed he was attentive to his task, head bent in concentration as his hands ran over her calf. His touch was lighter now, as though he was memorising her skin, and she realised his fingers were drawing light circles right where Lucinda had bruised her. The purplish marks had been healed at the hospital wing, of course, so there was nothing to mar her skin at all, though Narcissa thought she looked rather pale in the shadowed room. She wondered if he knew what had happened, then immediately dismissed the thought; news of their break-up was known, but there were conflicting rumours as to whether it was permanent or not, despite the fact that he’d avoided the other girl all night. Now that she thought about it, Lucinda hadn’t bothered her, either… and his hands were still gently stroking her leg, her foot somehow in his lap. A sudden burst of laughter followed by the slamming of a door brought her back to herself, and she snatched her leg away from his grasp, wondering when he’d managed to get her skirts to her knees. Leaping up, she hastily shoved her feet back into her shoes and all but ran from the parlour, and his horribly distracting presence. Lucius was unperturbed by this, and exited the parlour with much more dignity. He was positive he’d managed to get under her skin, and the fact that her last dance of the evening was a waltz with his name on it gave his smirk a devilish air. Entering the ballroom a few minutes after Narcissa, he was surprised to feel a tentative hand on his wrist, and turned to see Lucinda, almost lewdly resplendent in a vivid red gown, gazing at him with a glimmer of hope in her eyes. He hadn’t filled out her dance card, and she knew it, but she thought that perhaps… “Good evening, Miss Parkinson.” The light in her eyes died, and Lucinda nodded once in bitter defeat. Her shoulders remained back and her chin up as she watched the boy she’d been sure was hers purposefully cross the ballroom to where that irritating little girl was sitting with her mother, and bowed over the insipid thing’s hand. She grit her teeth as Lucius escorted Narcissa to the floor, and her fingernails dug into her palms as he swept the little brat into the waltz that should have been hers. Warm fingers forced one of her fists open and pressed a glass of Firewhiskey into it. A drunk but still darkly handsome Reginald McNair was smirking at the swell of her breasts above her gown, and Lucinda hesitated only a second before knocking the drink back. At least he was on the Quidditch team, so hers social position wouldn’t fall too much. ooooOOOOoooo Worried that he was going to do something to embarrass her, Narcissa had accepted Lucius’ dance for two reasons; his name was somehow on her dance card, and there was an air of ‘you will do as you’re told’ emanating from her mother. Surprised to be whirled around the floor in the most correct waltz she’d ever danced, Narcissa found herself actually enjoying the steps for what they were. Being able to glide across the floor with a competent partner was rare enough that the smile on her face became less fixed and more genuine as he guided her around the room, and she was actually a little sad that it had to end. Lucius returned her to her mother with another small bow, and a formal kiss to the hand that was precisely the accepted length, and with no secret flicks of the tongue or tickles to her palm. He’d been a perfect gentleman, and if Narcissa was a little dazed as she took hold of the Portkey with her parents, and wandered to her room with a more than slightly distracted air, then Druella was careful not to say anything. She thought that perhaps she and Cygnus would need to have a word with Abraxas at some point soon, though.
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