Draco.01 - Blog Posts

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.”