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Metallic clanking resonated as a knife slid once and again over fine porcelain, tearing off hippogriff meat with little effort. Far apart walls permitted the sound to bounce freely across the dining hall. The only interruption to an otherwise stationary silence.
That was at least the case until a figure came in. It crossed the length of the hall with a timid pace, disrupting at constant intervals the sunlight that filtered through the stained-glass windows. Lucius Malfoy didn't acknowledge the intrusion to his meal's rituals until the house-elf stood three steps away.
"Does the Master require dessert?"
Cutlery rang on the plate next to the unfinished fillet. It had been tender and fleshy —an acceptable cut. Lucius wiped the remnants of the rich, inky prune sauce from the corners of his mouth. He put the cloth napkin down and took a sip of water out of his goblet.
"I do not. I am satiated. Take this away," he commanded, not meeting the creature's eyes.
The house elf bowed and picked up his plate. Lucius watched as it walked by the 20-feet-long agarwood table, past eight exquisite leather-bound chairs —all unoccupied—until it reached the one at the opposite end. There, the elf proceeded to clear up the empty plate and silverware that Lucius had requested be set for every meal, even in her absence.
A deep silence settled back in. Lucius felt no urgency to spoil it. He gazed at the vacant chair across from him, taking occasional sips from his ornate goblet. When the quiet became too unsettling, he pulled away and walked to the nearest window.
The window's panels were in their majority transparent, with the stained-glass colours limited to the rim. Discreet. Nothing spelled poor taste like the strident gaudiness of those who didn't understand what it was to have class; and Lucius couldn't allow for it to be said that the Malfoys had no taste. Enough mockery had been pronounced at his expense already.
Lucius' brow twitched.
It'd been four months now since Narcissa crossed the main door without turning back. Four months without a word. Each day since, Lucius had patiently waited, ready to welcome her back with only the mildest of rebukes. But she hadn't returned.
The original argument had been trivial, a piffling disagreement about Draco that Lucius could hardly recall now. Narcissa had always been too soft with Draco, a trait he had come to expect from her—motherhood, if anything, had made her even more fragile.
Or so Lucius had thought. Deep within her, the steely character of the Blacks had been latent, and she had unleashed it all at once. Her outburst might have been even admirable, if it hadn't been prompted by such naive and simplistic reasons.
Lucius inhaled deeply, taking a moment to gaze out the window. He concluded that the courtyard and gardens looked well-maintained. Although the daffodils were dormant for the winter, Lucius had ensured the camellias and hellebores were properly taken care of. Even if the one who had selected them had abandoned her responsibilities for a temporary whim.
"Master…?"
Lucius hadn't noticed the elf's return. He didn't bother to turn around. "What do you want?"
"Mr. Nott has arrived. He says he wishes to speak with you."
"Nott? What does that indolent fool want?" he grumbled. "Fine. I'll meet him at the study in 5 minutes."
The elf bowed and left the room.
Walter Nott was a portly man who hadn't inherited his late father's class. He reeked from an overuse of expensive cologne, and his wine sloshed dangerously close to the rim each time he swung the cup to his fat lips. He was the most unrefined of the refined people; to the point one had to watch his every movement lest he made a disarray of whatever he set his attention on.
The brute was the closest thing Lucius had to a friend.
"Im' telling you, Lucius, you ought to visit the east sometime," he said. "The food can be wild, I'll give you that. But with enough coin, you can get a Ministry official there to guide you to all the best spots. Just be ready to ask for seconds. Dishes are as lacking in portion as they are lavish in style."
"You would ask for seconds at a feast."
Nott chuckles cracked unpleasantly across the Victorian study.
"Why are you here, Walter? Surely not to discuss the frivolities of your globe-trotting."
Lucius' cup was empty. He had no intention of filling it unless the visit proved to be worthwhile.
"Never one for small talk, are you?"
"Some of us have matters to tend to."
It was a lie. But even musing over Narcissa's temporary departure was more appealing than listening to Nott's tales. Lucius would rather cut the conversation short before they arrived at the obligatory narration of debauchery.
"Very well. But be warned, the next part won't be as pleasant."
A tall order.
Nott's smile disappeared, but the glint on his eyes remained. "I have some news about your... wife ."
The corner of Lucius' mouth gave the slightest quiver. "If you're talking about her location, keep it to yourself. I have my own sources. I'm aware she's staying with her sister and that mudblood."
"It's actually related to her choice of companionship . But if you'd rather stay in ignorance, I won't blame you. It has been quite embarrassing already."
Nott's smile twisted. He set down his empty cup and raised an eyebrow, waiting for Lucius to refill it.
Time seemed to stretch indefinitely as Lucius pondered his response. The only movement came from his teeth, subtly grinding together, hidden by his tightly pressed lips. His fingers turned white from gripping the edge of his baroque desk.
Lucius picked up the decanter and poured into Nott's cup, then his own.
"I'm listening."
The mirth on Nott's look as he picked up his cup was every bit as infuriating as the slowness with which he sipped before talking. "You're aware of Diggory."
Lucius grimaced. "That's a fluke. A disgraceful rumour which I made sure to extinguish."
"Indeed, it was," he said. "But you know how the masses like their rumours, and seeing it in print just stirred the flames. The Prophet is not as easy to dismiss as the Quibbler's rubbish —did you hear those fools once published that Fudge hunted by moonlight for a creature called the Umgubular something , under the alias of Chocobear ?" Nott laughed heartily, unfazed by Lucius's lack of amusement. "The editor there is as mad as a hatter. The Daily Prophet however…" he shook his head. " I remember the headlines, Lucius. 'Former Mrs Black in a torrid romance with a boy half her age.' Marissa gasped when she first read it," he sipped from his cup. "Shameful, really. And, did you know people were calling the boy Dickggory ?"
If looks could kill, Nott would be lifeless on the floor.
"No need to be crass," he warned. "That article was disproven. And whatever else might be happening with Narcissa, she would never do that. She made a vow to me."
Nott's sudden shift to a serious demeanor, coupled with a look of pity, annoyed Lucius even more than his earlier amusement.
"She divorced you."
"I don't recall ever agreeing to that."
"We're not muggles. She broke the bond, did the papers at the Ministry. That's all there is to it."
Lucius took a large gulp of his wine. He clearly remembered Andromeda coming to inform him, but he had dismissed the whole affair, convinced it was just a bluff. That Narcissa wouldn't go through with it. That she didn't have the nerve.
It must be that sly, smooth-tongued sister of hers. Putting ideas in his gullible daffodil.
"I trust you didn't travel all this way to discuss the Diggory farce—I'm already aware of it."
Nott adjusted himself on the leather chair. "Actually, on second thought, I'm unsure if I should bring it up. Perhaps it's best for you to just let it go and move forward."
This was no time for indulging his feigned worry.
"You came here to talk. So, speak."
A resigned sigh came out of Nott. "She's seeing someone. Tonight. I know the place," he confessed heavily to Lucius. "It's not some rumor from the papers. I heard it could be a formal courtship. I wanted to bring it to you before it reached the wrong ears and you found out the wrong way. I'm sorry."
Nott stood stiffly, avoiding Lucius' gaze. He didn't appear to be lying, but genuinely uncomfortable with the situation. Lucius felt his anger rising. He drained the rest of his wine in a single swallow and poured himself more.
"Listen, it may be for the best — "
"Where?"
Lucius' voice was quiet but insistent, causing Nott's small eyes to widen.
"I don't think you should —"
"Where?!"
Reluctantly, Nott disclosed the details while Lucius drank silently, refilling his cup once more. His eyes were fixed on a distant spot, his thoughts wandering even further away.
Lucius Malfoy barged into the restaurant with disdain, pausing briefly to steady himself at the door frame. The venue fancied itself a high-end Italian eatery, yet Lucius couldn't resist wrinkling his nose and raising a handkerchief to block the sheer muggleness of it.
He cautiously approached the reception area, allowing him a view of the dining tables. Italian music floated through the air, which Lucius found peculiar given the absence of any visible performers. The air was thick with the cloying scent of roasted tomatoes and self-indulgence. The dim candlelight attempted to create a romantic ambiance, but it only fueled his desire to burn the whole place down.
"Sir?"
Lucius spun around to see a woman speaking to him, his cape doing a subtle twirl as he did so. The woman was dressed formally and carried a clipboard, he could notice, yet she was undeniably muggle.
"Do not bother me… hic… I'm here in legitimate business."
His eyes moved toward the tables, which were scattered without any particular order. Some offered a view of the balcony, while others were positioned near the corridors, where anyone could see their business. To Lucius' growing ire, most of them were couples.
It took a while, but he finally spotted her pristine blond hair and hazy eyes in a secluded corner, away from prying ears. A wise decision considering the place where she was and the sordid company she had the short-sight to choose. He was giving his back to Lucius, but the mop of black hair had proven Lucius' worst fears.
I had hoped Nott would be lying. What on Earth could have possessed her to—
“... Sir… Sir?!”
"What?"
"Do you have a table already?"
"I wouldn't debase my… myself by coming here… willingly now… Would I?"
The woman arched an eyebrow. “Is someone expecting you?”
Lucius turned to see Narcissa stifling a laugh. It wasn’t a loud, crude sound like those of ordinary people, but a delicate, refined chuckle characteristic of her. Had it really been so long since he'd last heard it?
“Sir? Is someone expecting you?” the persistent woman asked again.
“Apparently not.”
"I'm sorry to inform you that no soliciting is allowed."
"Do you take me for a pauper?!"
The woman frowned. Honestly, were all muggles this obnoxious?
"I'm sorry, sir, but only dining customers can go past this point."
This woman was more bothersome than an insect buzzing around. If only getting rid of her didn't risk violating the Statue of Secrecy.
"Alright, then. Inform... have your elf get me a table," he demanded.
"Elf?"
He realized his error. Perhaps he shouldn't have indulged in that last drink before leaving the manor. Nor the one before that. But he was Lucius Malfoy. He was capable of managing his liquor intake with grace. He glanced again at the clipboard in the woman's hands, and the other muggles who seemed to be waiting for her.
"Ah, I see. You're the elf."
The woman had the audacity to appear insulted. Her brow creased, and she clutched that absurd clipboard of hers even tighter.
"I beg your pardon?"
Lucius massaged his temples. This woman was not only a muggle but also as dimwitted as a troll. A rather unfortunate mix to be cursed with. "Forget it, just... hic... get me a table."
"Do you have a reservation? We're fully booked."
From a distance, he could see Narcissa leaning in, seemingly very engrossed in the person before her—if Lucius could even call him a person.
He'd had more than enough.
"Sir, wait... You can't go in there!"
But it was too late. Lucius had flung his magnificent cape back and he made his way inside. His steps were uncharacteristically clumsy as he weaved his path through tables, catching more attention from the nearby diners than he'd anticipated. Why were these muggles staring at him like that? Had they never before seen what a distinguished man looked like?
The pesky woman came after him. Her voice was a mix between a whisper and an urgent plea. "Sir! Please come back and wait by the front desk."
"I'm Lucius Malfoy! Others can wait. I'm here to see my wife."
"Your wife?" The woman followed Lucius' gaze all the way to Narcissa's table. "Are you here to cause a scene? Because if— Oh, dear, are you drunk?" she asked, waving a hand in front of her nose and turning away. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
As if he could abandon his beloved to the likes of him … that … whatever.
Lucius turned once more and witnessed the most outrageous image his eyes had ever encountered. His precious, fragrant daffodil was being fed by another person's hand right before him. And she was laughing.
"What is that animal feeding her?"
The hostess turned as if exasperated to the table and saw the spectacle without the minimum surprise or outrage required. " Pasta and Meatsticks . Now, can you just—"
"What did you say?!"
The woman sighed, rubbing her forehead. " Pasta and Meatballs . What's so strange about that?"
A heavy hand pinched the bridge of his nose, and soon Lucius realised it was his own. Was he mishearing things? Could he really be that inebriated? No, that was absurd. The woman was wrong. Lucius was just slightly tipsy. Disorientated. That was all.
"You. Give me some water. Fast."
The elf-woman blinked at him with an incredulous look upon her.
"What? Your little… hic.. little eatery reeks of burps pigpen and… and… plebeian despair… hic," Lucius reminded her, signaling all around him. The other diners were staring, dimwitted expressions on their faces. "But… But! You must have water. Yes?"
"L-Lucius?"
He caught his breath as he turned around. There she stood—a vision of porcelain beauty etched against the backdrop of an uncouth restaurant. If anything, the crowd elevated her like a goddess among Neanderthals. She was ethereal, pristine. More beautiful than the rueful day she decided to leave him behind.
"Narcissa…" he rasped, the name tasting like absolution and regret.
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted slightly. She took a hand to her chest, and her slender fingers grasped the fabric of her chiffon dress.
"What… What are you doing here?"
The vulnerability in her voice was almost palpable. She was a delicate vase. A snowflake in the wind. She belonged back home, where she could be safe, relying on his care and constant protection.
Regardless of that, Narcissa had left by her own volition. It would be unbecoming of a self-respecting husband to show neediness.
"I came here for you," he blurted out.
"For me?"
"Why else would I be here? Not to eat this …" Lucius squinted, trying to locate a plate on a nearby table. "This beggarly food!"
Someone must have levitated the whole table, because Lucius ended up knocking the plate to the ground, despite thinking his hand was well away.
"Oy! What's the matter with you?! I was eating that!"
The hostess apologised to the man and offered to bring him a new dish. She then turned to Lucius, eyes blazing with unwarranted anger, and grasped his arm. "Please, sir, you're causing a scene. Could you kindly—"
He shook off her hold. "Keep your unwashed hands off me, elf-woman!"
The diners grunted and made other noises that Lucius couldn't be bothered to acknowledge. All that mattered to him was his sweet, velvety-skinned daffodil. And she cared for him too. It was her devilish sister who had persuaded her to leave and dine with paltry schmucks in subpar establishments. But his Narcissa would want him to—
"Just leave," she told him. "You're not in the right state of mind, Lucius. And I'm—"
As if on cue, the person who'd been dining with her stood up and turned to Lucius. He appeared to be a man of abundant hair. But unlike Lucius' immaculate blond mane, his rival's hairs were curly and entangled, resembling black wires. And not just that, but the ruffian seemed to have forgotten to fasten the last three buttons of his shirt, and he displayed a flush and fibrous chest, like some sort of ape.
Is my Narcissa seriously interested in… this ? It couldn't be. He was nothing like Lucius. It had to be a lie. There was no other explanation.
"You cannot play me, Narcissa. None of you can." He pointed his finger and waved it at the crowd, chuckling as if to show them he'd uncovered their plot. "This was all a setup to lure me here and… and have me talk to you. You got Nott involved… He's… hic… he's part of it! But I outsmarted you all. Tell him, Narcissa. Tell Nott I outsmarted you."
"Nott? What do you—"
The hairy-chest man took a step forward, daring to shield Narcissa from him. "There is no ploy. I have courted this woman by all the approved customs. She no longer has any use for you."
He wrapped his arm around Narcissa's shoulders, and she didn't push him away.
"Don't you dare touch her. You're a monstrosity."
Narcissa's lips quivered. "Don't call him that."
"That's what he is. He's—"
"Aragog is a human now. The healers said as much. We should treat him as such."
The man with a hairy chest—Aragog—puffed up his chest, as if challenging anyone to oppose him. Lucius sighed, having already read about Aragog's treatment long before Nott's visit. He was aware of the magical experiment performed on Aragog, but it didn't mean he saw the beast as his equal. Judging by the puzzled expressions of the muggles, they seemed to agree with him.
What baffled Lucius was how Narcissa could have stooped so low. How could she even think of mingling with the likes of him ? Hadn't she joined Lucius in numerous evenings to joyfully badmouth muggles and half-breeds alike? How was Aragog any different?
"Lucius, please. Just go home," she pleaded.
"To that frigid wasteland you abandoned?"
Lucius exhaled sharply and turned his back, careful to infuse his motion with just the right amount of annoyance. He wasn't one for dramatic displays, so his gesture was subtle. He peeked at Narcissa from the side of his vision. Her brow was furrowed, and her eyes had a glossy sheen, indicating that tears were imminent. Lucius recognized the signs all too well. He'd always been present to comfort her when she cried.
To protect her from them though, not to bring them about.
"Leave the lady alone, you prick. You're pissed out of your senses!" a voice called out from a nearby table.
"Shut it, muggle! I'm having an emotional epiphany here!"
The sound of whistles filled the air as the elf-woman tightened her grip on Lucius' arm. "Sir, that's enough. I'll need to call the police," she warned, signaling for backup, but Lucius remained unfazed, focused entirely on his wife.
"Why can't you let me have this, Lucius? You've shown me how little I mean to you. Why return just to ruin this too?" Narcissa pleaded, her voice choked with emotion as she wiped tears from her eyes. "Just go home. Please."
"It's not home without you."
An overweight woman in the next table—who had nevertheless asked for the greasiest dish in the menu—frowned at Lucius as if her judgement was requested. "Don't make me laugh. You can't really expect her to fall for such a bad line."
Other diners jeered, agreeing with the woman's sentiment. Lucius simply frowned, choosing not to dignify the remark with a response.
He turned to Narcissa. "My frail, am…ambrosial… daffodil," he slurred the words. "It's the truth. As magnificent as the manor is…" More jeers. "It feels empty without you. The happiest place on Earth… is next to you."
The overweight woman snorted.
"You're late. Your opportunity has passed. The lady is with me," Aragog claimed.
There was hurt in Narcissa's eyes. "Don't tell me this, Lucius. You never came looking for me. You never cared."
"I did! But I was expecting you to come back to me , so I could forgive you. As it's only proper."
The insufferable overweight woman broke out laughing. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me! Are you for real?"
"Shut up you unremarkable, inflated… hic… woman! A man must be dominant, and gallant. Pity you've never known better," Lucius snapped, nudging towards the woman's companion. A plainly spineless and weak muggle.
For reasons beyond comprehension, the woman got riled at that. She stood up, and the noise level in the restaurant rose as people began to jostle around.
"Come on, sir. Let's get you out of here," a tall man said, beginning to lead Lucius away.
Oh, thank God you arrived, Willy," the elf-like woman said.
Willy? Lucius glanced at the big brute escorting him. What a mundane name. There were a couple of Willivarius somewhere in the Malfoy family tree, but they'd been slender men with noble names. The Malfoy line wasn't known for producing big Willies, and it never would be.
The huge Willy started shoving Lucius.
"Lay your hands off me! You have no idea who you're dealing with! Your manager will hear about this, elf!"
"Elf?!" the man asked, visibly displeased.
"You heard me," Lucius retorted, pulling away from his grasp.
It wasn't Lucius' business to deal with the thug's discomfort. If this establishment didn't want its staff to be perceived as elves, they should stop giving them elf names. Surely, the hostess was named Blinky or something equally absurd.
The muggle crowd started cheering Lucius' rightful opposition. They must've been as displeased with Willy as he was.
"You get him spanked rosy!" the overweight woman even yelled.
Lucius Malfoy refused to be treated like a common vagrant. He attempted to draw his wand to reassert his authority—Statue of Secrecy notwithstanding. However, in the chaos, he lost his grip, and the wand ricocheted off the tables, rolling among the feet of the crowd.
Oh, Merlin's mercy.
Seizing an opportunity, Lucius pushed Willy again and hurried back to the tables, desperately searching for his wand. The noise of the crowd intensified as people jostled in every direction. Struggling to maintain his footing, Lucius realised his meticulously styled hair was now disheveled. Someone even yanked at it, but before he could identify the culprit, he was slammed into a table. Everything was spinning in his vision—some vile sorcery for sure. Narcissa's voice echoed somewhere in the background, and food was flying left and right. It was utter chaos. If such disgraceful spectacles were common in muggle settings, Lucius had done well in keeping his distance all these years.
His memory blurred after that. Lucius barely recalled what he said or who had flung pasta at him—some imbecile had the nerve to pull him from his fine cape. In the chaos, Lucius distinctly remembered Aragog telling Narcissa: "Enough! I'm leaving! You're not worth all this trouble, and I have a large family to care for."
Lucius spotted the overweight woman again and remembered saying something to her, though he couldn't recall what. She scowled and, true to her uncultured nature, slapped him across the face. Then the woman's partner came forth. The last Lucius remembered before the lights went out was a fist heading straight for him.
Lucius groaned as he regained consciousness. Every part of him hurt, especially his head. His Sphinx-fur cape was soaked with a sticking substance, and the air was thick with the smell of greasy cheese and vomit.
"I hope you're satisfied now."
When he opened his eyes, he realized he was back at the manor, sprawled on an armchair in the sitting room. The elf was attempting to apply cream to his swollen eyebrow. Narcissa stood before him, arms crossed, looking at him with a stern expression.
"Where is… that creature, that loathsome rival for your affection… Aragog ?"
"Gone. He wants nothing to do with me, thanks to you."
Good.
The silence was tense. Lucius shoved the elf aside as he struggled to sit up, wincing in pain. His back was also in agony, but it was nothing compared to the sting to his pride. It was a small mercy that he was sober now.
"And you brought me here?"
"The muggle police were on their way."
That embarrassment would've reached new heights.
"Thank you."
After a pause, she spoke again. "I'm not staying."
"Narcissa…"
"No, Lucius. Tonight was degrading. I've felt lost these past months, but I was just beginning to see a path forward. I can't let you drag me down again… I just can't…"
Lucius found that her tears hurt more than his wounded pride.
Several times he attempted to speak, but every word felt inadequate, like expired witnesses to his self-made downfall. When he finally gathered the courage to speak, he turned to the elf.
"Leave us."
"But master, your injuries—"
"They can wait. Leave us, I said."
The elf bowed and complied, disappearing into the night with hesitant steps—if only muggle elves were half as useful. Once the creature was out of sight, Lucius turned back to Narcissa and, mustering all his strength, knelt before her.
Narcissa inhaled sharply.
"My dainty breeze of petals," he began, "I concede that I may have erred to some degree. I might have taken your presence for granted, and perhaps my actions have contributed to your suffering—partially, at least."
Narcissa arched an eyebrow. "Is that the best you can offer?"
"I… I've been a fool," Lucius confessed. "Your weakness felt like a safe blanket, and I exploited the trust you placed in me."
Narcissa shook her head. "That wasn’t ever the issue. Andy might call me foolish, but I always valued your protection. I never longed for independence because I believed you’d never let me be hurt."
"Then what—"
"You hurt me," she said, her words falling heavy between them. "I needed your arms, but you didn’t come to me. You let me suffer alone, and I feared you relished it." Raising her hand to halt his interruption, she continued, "The problem wasn't that I was too dependent on your love, Lucius—but that you weren't enough on mine. I waited an eternity, and you never came."
"If I had known…" Lucius began before reconsidering. There was no use dwelling on 'what ifs.' "I have been a halfwit, my love. But I promise I've learned from my mistakes. Tell me what to do, and I'll do it. Give me the chance to make amends. I don’t merely want you back—I need you. Without the sweetness of your shimmering presence, I cannot function."
The pause hung as sharp between them as the stench on Lucius' soiled garments.
"I don't know, Lucius. Too much has happened, and you let time seal wounds that were never healed."
Lucius rushed forward and took her hand in his—Merlin, had it always been this soft?— and, for the first time in his life, he pleaded. " Please ." His voice cracked. "If there's even a sliver of a chance, I'd grasp it. What can I do to regain your trust?"
Silence stretched in an endless spiral, suspending Lucius’ soul precariously. For a moment, he feared Narcissa would be turning away forever—that he would be left to rot in the bitterness of her absence.
"Take me to Disneyland."
"What?" Lucius asked, baffled.
"Disneyland, Lucius. It’s a muggle amusement park in America, supposedly the happiest place on Earth."
Lucius stared at her in disbelief. "But… you hate— you hated muggles."
"I still do, though not as fiercely as you do," she replied. "If you want to prove you're willing to do anything for me, you must overcome your muggle prejudice and spend an entire vacation surrounded by them. If you can’t do that for my sake, then perhaps our love isn’t worth fighting for."
Time seemed to stretch on as Lucius met her dazzling grey eyes, knowing that since ever and forever there was only one answer he could give her.
"Pack your bags," he said. "We're going to this Disneyland, for there is nothing I wouldn't do for your love."