Anastasiadolohov​:

lunapandora​:

for: LUCIUS & NARCISSA. @slipperyfriend // @nvmalfoy where: a country club. when: morning.

     Walking through the gates of the club (which, of course, opened as if they were charmed to her very aura), Luna Lovegood felt a tinge of nervousness float within her. It had been a warm day so far, the sun was shining brightly outside, but the moment Luna stepped through the entrance, the clouds shifted to shield her from the sun. She reckoned the property was charmed to stay comfortably warm with a nice breeze whilst keeping the sun out of the players eyes. She couldn’t say she didn’t welcome the break from squinting.      Notebook tucked under one arm and quill stuck in her bun, Luna allows a valet to take her jacket and direct her towards where her hosts waited. Upon having been invited to the country club, Luna assumed that Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy wished for her to interview them on their tennis skills, or their witty banter, or their epic romance, or any sort of elite wixen cliche. She was lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to it— it was not every day the Quibbler got to cover the ‘higher society’ lifestyle, and her article quota had been rather low recently.      She smiles at the valet and bids them a nice day after they direct her towards the Malfoys. At first, Luna isn’t quite sure what she’s looking at— did Lucius Malfoy’s shorts happen to shrink in the wash, or were they supposed to be that tight? She flushes, her eyes refusing to drop below his chin, and with a “Good morning, Mr. Malfoy,” she hurriedly turns to Narcissa instead. “And to you as well, Mrs. Malfoy. I hope you’ve had a lovely day so far.” Taking a seat in the empty chair at the table, she resists the urge to tear her napkin to pieces in nervous energy. She takes a sip from a pre-filled glass of water and smiles at the pair.      Let’s just say, if someone had told Luna Lovegood this morning that she would be sitting in a fancy country club, making polite conversation with the Malfoy diarchy— who were, amusingly enough, dressed in matching tennis uniforms— she would suspect them of having come down with the most severe case of the nargles she had ever witnessed. 

When Narcissa wed her husband, she assumed matching star signs meant the two Geminis would always be at odds. (When Draco’s birthday landed in the month of June, she knew it was certain she would never know peace again.) She couldn’t have been more wrong. Lucius was everything and more than she had known to ask for. She had seen all he could offer on the surface when she had chosen him as the one to help her escape a fun but ultimately disappointing engagement to Rabastan. Power, money, and a name not tied to blood traitors and runaways leading a once great family to nothing but ruin was required. Power, money, and the Malfoy name were easily obtained. Falling deeply in love with her equal was a wonderful bonus.

One hand and diamond adorned fingers interlaced with her husband’s. Another adjusting the collar of Lucius’ polo shirt, Narcissa giggled with delight at his retelling of the match they had just won. The Shafiqs had hired an instructor since their last embarrassing loss and still weren’t good enough to get a single point. Narcissa’s and Lucius’ victory should feel hollow, after having won so many times, but seeing her joy of over their win reflected in her husband’s eyes led Narcissa to feeling much too proud of herself them. She would listen to him describe her powerful serve or his own backhand volley with euphoria while she could. Before one of them decided arguing was a much more exciting prospect.  What was that chittering? Narcissa’s easy grin cooled as she eyed up their new arrival. The heel of one of her shoes she had changed into as soon as they had exited the court coming down on the toe of her husband shoe quite hard. The object of his most obvious affair was making herself at home at their table, one dead set where all eyes of the club could look upon the beauty of the two, now three, blonds. It seemed surprises were now his method of keeping things interesting. “Miss Lovegood. To what do we owe the pleasure of seeing you here?” 

who: @draconianmalfoy​ where: café abringer, place cachée, paris, france when: 3rd of may, 2003

Tradition was a pillar of Narcissa’s life. It dictated her appearance, the locations she frequented, they people she kept in her social circle, even the man she married. Tradition was never something she fought against. She found the grey areas of life, exploited the rules to fit her own agenda, and forged her way into the world through a pleasant smile and less than pleasant words. Tradition of her own making was just as important. It was what brought her to Paris once a month. What had her sat beneath the awning proudly displaying Café Abringer with a rapidly cooling noisette set in its delicate cup upon an equally delicate saucer in front of her. Her long slim cigarette rested in a pearl inlaid holder, pointer finger threaded through the attached (equally pearl inlaid) ring. Narcissa didn’t require the smoke to obscure her face or conceal her identity, the large sunglasses and white scarf doing just that. It was useful in a time when hiding her annoyance was required. Draco was late.  Her son, if she could even still think of him as such, had decided to spend the summer living with her sister. Youthful rebellion for the young man who should know better. Bringing the cigarette to her lips, while manicured nails tapped against the café table, Narcissa scanned the street for any sight of her precious baby boy. Her eyes ran over the crowd, stopping for a moment on an approaching dark haired man who looked eerily familiar before continuing her search. Oh.

Her eyes returned to, narrowed in on, the young man as she exhaled smoke, the cloud leaving the corner of her mouth in long curling tendrils. This wouldn’t do. “The seat is taken. I’m waiting for my son.”

anastasiadolohov​:

Anastasia bristled at the correction from Narcissa, fighting to keep a look of distaste from her face. She wanted to get on with the Malfoys, she really did - after all, it would be a very long life if her marital family all detested her. What a poor way to live that would be - but Anastasia doubted that Narcissa had ever dealt with the struggle of learning a second language and trying to speak it as fluently as her first. She was certain that the woman knew additional languages, most pure-blooded women did, but there was a difference between learning French to use perhaps twice a year and trying to learn English colloquialisms just from picking them up in conversation. With difficulty, Anastasia nodded. “Thank you for the correction, ma’am,” she said, though a sinking feeling had settled in her gut. “I will warn him. Perhaps he needs to come home to his mama to fight for the title.”

Fifty or seventy of the birds around the estate. At least now she knew - and she would come prepared next time, both mentally and physically to deal with them. “A wedding gift, you said? Were they gifted by Lucius, or perhaps just a family friend?” Anastasia wondered if it had been a gift from her godparents, from what she understood of the Lestrange family they did not seem like the sort who were particularly fond of any sort of pet. “Bears are easily dealt with, they are not as scary as they may seem initially. Boars are the real trouble - they are deceptively fast.”

Hovering as Narcissa turned heel, Anastasia didn’t know whether it was more awkward to not follow and have been invited, or to follow and have Narcissa query why she was following her. As it turned out, she didn’t have to wait long and she hurried to follow. “My apologies. I haven’t been down to this side of the manor yet. Are these your parlours?”

❀

The title of ma’am never had the intended result once it hit Narcissa’s ears. It was what you called a woman over forty. Despite being a woman over forty herself, a fact she would never utter out loud, aging wasn’t something she wished to be reminded of. Ma’am. It would have been more apt to refer to old maids like Audrey Selwyn or hags, like her sister, as such.

Anastasia, a girl who had done nothing to surprise in her short stay at the Manor, managed to do so twice in quick succession. “Is that a talent you believe you possess? Getting Draco to return home? I would love to see it in action, Anastasia.” Lucius wouldn’t be able to believe it if the girl pulled it off and it would certainly help them both settle on the decision of one Russian bride. “Call me Narcissa. We’ll be family soon enough.” If she survived the summer. Heels clicking against the marble floors and a smile of possibility on her lips, Narcissa’s mood had taken an uptick. She would do well to stop looking at their guest as a failure but a possibility. A change to shape her son’s future in the right direction and perhaps even steal him back from her sister’s home. “The Shafiqs were kind enough to gift them to us. They’re a symbol of beauty, loyalty.” All the things one could hope for on their wedding day. They also died of grief if they lost their mate which had to be the intended meaning of the backhanded gift. “Faithfulness. Has Draco told you how his father and I were matched?”

“Bears and boars.” Rather bores. Is this what Russians spoke about? “I won’t worry how you’ll fair against the birds while outdoors any longer.” A charmed handle opened at her presence and Narcissa swept into her sitting rooms, pleased to see the elves had done away with the layers of dust that used to tell just how frequently Narcissa found herself in this area of her home. The atrium had become her den of choice, not tucked away rooms where she couldn’t be admired. “I encourage you to explore more. If you were to wander somewhere you’re not meant to be, the manor will set you right.” Malfoy blood was required for all the hidden passageways and tucked away secrets. All the corridors she was sure Lucius used to spring out from for dramatic effect. “They are.” She wandered the room, finding a window seat and lifting a cushion in order to grasp– there! The book she pulled out was slim, unassuming, and with a tap of her wand the words Sanctimonia Vincet Semper appeared on the cover. “I was younger than you when my mother-in-law gifted these rooms to me. After my wedding. I can’t imagine that being away from your family is easy, Anastasia, but a space of your own may help with it. And this comes with the rooms.” 

Strolling back, she held out the thin book that appeared to contain no more than a chapter’s worth of information with two hands. The hefty weight of the hardcover not matching appearance. “Every Malfoy wife has read these pages since, well, let’s go with centuries.” Anything to do with numbers took far too much time. “It’s difficult for me to remember a time when this lifestyle was foreign but I know at one point it was. Everything you will need to know is in here.” Meaning Narcissa did not have the patience to answer questions upon questions. The dense contradictory guide of rules, regulations, and outdated societal norms would have to do. 

swancries​:

open

diagon alley

The Diagon Alley’s florist has given Cho quite a great deal on the sunflower seeds and the white gardenias. It’s way cheaper than at the Muggle shop down her street. And the florist has wrapped the flowers up so neatly in newspapers for her, it looks like a proper bouquet. They’ve even placed the seeds inside a small cardboard box. She pockets the box carefully, cautious to not spill its content, and puts the flowers inside her large canvas bag, the one she always brings with her for weekend’s shopping days like this one. Cho pays the florist and thanks them before moving on with her shopping.

When it comes to shopping, Cho has never been good at keeping to her list. A maximalist at heart, her approach to it is to buy what she thinks she needs in the future. Hence why, the next thing Cho knows, she’s hauling a huge and heavy copper cauldron around. Flailing about as she tries to remember the spell for making things smaller. Her hands grasping at the cold copper.

“What is that spell again?” Cho huffs, finally placing the cauldron on the ground of the quieter part of Diagon Alley. She tugs her hair behind her ear and dusts off her hands. Looking around for familiar faces. When she spots one, she waves her hand at them and smiles apologetically, trying to get their attention. “Hey! Great to see you. Please tell me you remember first year spells better than I do.” 

❀

Narcissa’s heels clicked against the cobblestones of Diagon Alley as she walked with the authority of a witch who had put one too many small businesses into bankruptcy, ruin, and shame. She was on a mission today. Determined, even as shopkeepers, cart owners, and employees seemed to dodge out of her path, to figure out just who had run their mouth to her husband about her discussion with William. 

Her mission, which did include popping into Twilfitt and Tatting's to see just how small the fitting rooms had become, did not include being called out to like a peddler on the street. Blonde hair being tossed over her shoulder, Narcissa looked the young woman up and down. She couldn’t place her. Not one of Draco’s friends. Not the daughter of someone she knew. The girl was irrelevant. 

“I will admit I’ve never heard of this particular scam before but it won’t work on me.” She wouldn’t be getting a single galleon out of her purse for the opportunity for Narcissa to be in her downline or the cauldron to vanish the moment she set her wand upon it. “An owl to the Kwikspell Company would be in your best interest if you don’t wish to spend the rest of your days trying to swindle innocent pedestrians.”

bellalestrvnge​:

Who: Bellatrix & @nvmalfoy  Where: Lestrange Manor

“No, Cissa, I don’t know where your son is,” Bellatrix said over her shoulder, leading her sister through the entrance hall into the main parlour. “He’s not five, he’s perfectly entitled to come and go as he pleases. You can check the basement, if you’d like - I haven’t got him in a cage.”

❀

“When you say things like that it only convinces me you do have him in a cage.” Arms crossed, Narcissa followed her older sister through the Rookery. Her eyes raking over every door that could lead to the basement of this haunted home. 

“Show me where you’ve put him. I’m sure he needs something to make it feel more like home. How many pillows have you given him? Don’t tell me it’s only one.”

@slipperyfriend

Just keep saying “What?”

slipperyfriend​:

If Lucius recognised the annoyance dancing behind Narcissa’s stare, Lucius didn’t acknowledge it beyond the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips, his eyes already shifted back to the girl currently poised behind the counter. Last minute jitters, was all this was — one last flirtation with another catch before they took their little Russian salmon back to the kitchen. While the girl they lingered over may be a Selwyn, she seemed to have little desire for elevating her families status — and surely their only son’s match in life should hold higher aspirations than the trafficking of whatever nonsense Lockhart had brandished across a page this year. Draco may be becoming a less desirable match by the moment, but it didn’t mean they should settle for less than what any Malfoy heir deserved.

“Warren Selwyn hasn’t played squash a day in his life,” he replied calmly, tucking another strand of hair behind her ear with the same fixed smile that seemed entirely intended to bait her. He was well aware that Narcissa’s concept of squash and the reality of the game fell square miles apart. What happened at the club, stayed at the club, and their squash games were far too rich in stakes for a man like Warren Selwyn. “His networking leaves much to be desired.”

“Besides,” he continued lightly, easing a copy of  Armando Dippet: Master or Moron? open and feigning a glance down at the dedications with apparent great interest, “Apparently nothing is impossible anymore. I have it on good authority you were speaking to a Weasley in the middle of Diagon Alley the other day.”

“Darling, do you not like my hair like this? How would you rather I wear it?” Long lashes fluttering as she stared up as her husband with a hint of a challenge in her eyes. “You know pleasing you is most important.” Narcissa grasped his chin, tilting his head up so the stubborn man she had chosen to marry would look at her instead of whatever trite they thought deserved to be printed now. There were so many avenues she could choose for revenge but the perfect one fell into her lap the moment her soft skin caught against the rough stubble of Lucius’s jawline. “We’ll have to find you new razors. Or have you gotten lazy with your advanced age?”

With a pursing of her lips, Narcissa ended her examination. Hand falling to pluck the book out of his hands and into hers. Armando Dippet, really? She closed it, placing it back on its shelf and looking past the books to spot Audrey Selwyn at the counter once more. “What does Antonin know of the game?” The brutish gruff man wasn’t someone she wished to see more than once a season, when the night had grown late and she was positively just tipsy enough to be amused by his mountain man routine and partake in his home-brewed vodka. Warren could at least carry on a conversation. “She’s brunette.” It should have been the nail in the coffin. The risk of the Malfoy hue being bred out. Draco had dallied enough for it almost become an irrelevant detail.

“A Weasley? Your blood hounds are becoming more unreliable by the day. William works for Gringotts, dearest. It was purely business.” Twirling on the ball of her foot, a smile set upon her red lips that would lead most men into danger, Narcissa set about straightening the glittering tie around her husband’s neck. “What would you say is more impossible? Your devoted wife ensuring the objet d'art she acquired for your birthday is no longer capable of bringing you any harm or her husband with a wandering eye parading around half dressed with a French tart?” Satisfied, she move on to his scarf. His penchant for ignoring seasons never not infuriating. 

“Twilfitt & Tattings have never had the space their creations deserve. Why the dressing rooms are hardly big enough for yourself and the tailor. Though I did hear you found a way to make plenty of space for Giuseppe to continue his work.”

bweezley​:

cobblestones & ice cream cones | open

The evening drew near, and the streets of Diagon Alley had nearly emptied – all the mummies and daddies wanted to be home in time for supper, shopping could wait. Gringotts had been busy, but, like clockwork, as the sun went away, so did their clientele. The cobblestoned streets beckoned, as did the lure to be home with his girls, but it was a feeling rather than any actual reasoning, that he should wait, just a moment longer, before heading home. A familiar face fell into his line of vision in almost an instant, and a smile brightened his features. Bill raised his hand in greeting, lengthening his stride to catch up to them.

Though he’d always deny any and all similarities between himself and his mother, there was no question that Bill was a bit of a mother hen. Of course, he wasn’t as much a worrier or as much a busybody as Molly, but he’d inherited her need for an open-door policy. If someone needed a place to stay or a hot meal or a quick conversation, there wasn’t a way Bill could possibly say no. He looked a bit frightening, especially with his newly-accessorized face, but smiles came easily to Bill and a greeting always seemed to be exchanged. 

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Bill said lightly, “Everything goin’ alright at the moment?” He glanced around him – would have offered a drink or a cup of coffee, even, but only Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour beckoned. “Can I buy you, erm, a cone?”

❀

Cool blue eyes narrowed in well masked confusion as the corner of Narcissa’s painted lips quirked up for a mere moment before her gaze fell upon the deep scars marring a once near perfect face. She didn’t turn to see who it was one William Weasley could be smiling at for it couldn’t be that he was bold enough to smile and wave and run up to her. It didn’t matter if the streets were empty, bare of any small crying children or nosy shopkeepers always owling in their exclusive tips to Spella Weekly about what small business the Malfoy couple would close next. He, tragic William, should know better. “Yes. You haven’t.” William should know what went amiss between them. There would no longer be any longing looks or wistful sighs amidst the vaults deep below the cobblestones of Diagon Alley. Their hands would no longer brush once Narcissa found reason to lure the formerly ruggedly handsome man down the winding cart tracks to help her find some paltry stone her mother had once adorned herself with in the winter of nineteen thirty-three. “I’m perfectly fine, William.” She sniffed, affected by his destroyed appearance more than she would care to let on. It was a travesty that fate would choose the only decent looking man in the goblin’s gilded marbled home to curse but Weasley blood had always been tainted. Or was it the Prewett genes, that had given him a previously unmatched jawline now ruined by association with that maiming, cursing the younger man?

“You must control yourself in public. A cone. What’s next? A ring?” Slim fingers, capped by sharp but well-shaped painted nails, pulled a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed the non-existent tears (that threatened to fall from her eyes) right out of their non-existent existence. “The mother of your child– Fleurine. I heard the most awful whisper about her penchant towards anger. You must know if you need somewhere to stay while you–” Her wrist twirled effortlessly, the graceful motion only lacking the wand to cap off its magic. “Heal, you only need to ask. I’m sure someone could point you in the direction of a suitable halfway house for unwed fathers.” Or ruined future greek mythological legends.

rabastanlcstrange​:

WHO @blanchexxprimpernelle​ & @nvmalfoy​ WHEN 12 June 2003. WHERE The Augurey Club.

The sunglasses were a poor disguise. Perched upon the bridge of his nose and designed to keep the world out or another world in, they had done little in the way of providing a shield either way — he felt scrubbed raw and exposed, every nerve awake and inflamed. Bash could hear the whispers floating around the patio, could taste the distinct lack of champagne in his mimosa (clearly Rolf had gotten to them here, too) and with each passing moment the urge to drive the stem of that crystal glass into the nearest overly-deferential neck was becoming a more viable option. And yet.

He took a sip of orange juice and soda water (a monstrosity), nose wrinkling and teeth bared in a smile that had turned half-feral as his head turned in anticipation of the click of heels upon the tiles of the patio. “You’re late,” he offered, raising his half-full glass of not-mimosa into the air in the hopes it might be swept away and replaced with one less disappointing. Time was slippery at the moment, skittering away between his fingers whenever he tried to pluck at the strings of it. “You missed the shift-change for the pool boys.”

Small sunglasses slid down to reveal a judgement filled gaze, a sliver of eyes and skin not hidden by the sun hat gracing her blonde head, as Narcissa tilted her head down to get a better look at her brother-in-law and almost first husband. “You’re early?” She sniffed, raising her chin up in even more judgement as she stole the glass from his hand. “I don’t know what I expected after you fled to host your little theatre games.” Without inviting her.

The sip was horrific and Narcissa had half the mind to spat the concoction out on the patio stone but ladies didn’t spit. Instead, she swallow the horrific citrus-y drink as her lip curled and slid the glass across the table and as far away from the pair of them as she could manage. “What was that? Poison?” Not willing to spend another moment with the foul taste on her tongue she removed her glasses, tucked one ankle behind the other, and glanced in the direction of one of the cabana boys. He came running.

“I’m not sure who in their right mind decided that–” A french tipped nail pointed to the offending drink. “–was an acceptable thing to serve but I’ll need their name. Immediately. Three fresh mimosas. Bring the bottle.” Her eyes slid over to Bash. “A black coffee.” When the pool boy didn’t scurry along to fix the grave error, Narcissa’s gaze shifted slowly. The effort of acknowledging a cabana boy who couldn’t even have the decency to unbutton his shirt quite taxing. She blinked and as if that simple action had broken the spell, the boy spun and left in a frenzy of flurried embarrassment.

Leaning over, she planted a kiss on Bash’s cheek and patted his face to see if some color could return to the sour disposition she adored. “You look terrible.”

@blanchexxprimpernelle​