Chapter Text
There's a blonde girl sprawled on the couch, smoking a Muggle cigarette and playing with Evan Rosier’s hair. She's using the arm of the couch as a pillow and she looks at him upside-down as he walks in. “You didn't say you had handsome friends, Evan,” she scolds.
Evan makes a face at Lucius. “He’s French, Narcissa. Your aunt would die.”
The girl, Narcissa, waves the hand holding the cigarette dismissively. “Please. That spiteful old hag will outlive us all.”
Evan doesn't dispute that. “Am I interrupting?” Lucius asks.
Narcissa sits up, shoving Evan off her lap while trying to pat the wild mass of curls on her head into something calmer. “Not at all. I'm Narcissa Black.”
“Any relation to Bellatrix?” he wants to know, hoping not.
“I’m her younger, prettier sister,” Narcissa positively beams. “And you are?”
“Lucius Malfoy,” he says.”It’s a pleasure.”
It is not a pleasure. Evan is glaring at him, likely angry that Narcissa has shifted her attention away from him, however temporarily. The Rosiers are selling several items he’s interested in, so Lucius needs Evan in a good mood. To make matters worse, now that he’s looking for it he can see the resemblance between her and Bellatrix. Hopefully any similarities stopped there.
“Yes, it is, isn't it?” she looks at him archly.
Evan sits up too. “You’re incorrigible,” he decides.
She kisses his neck and throws her arms around his shoulders, legs over his. “I would keep my wandering thoughts to myself if you married me,” she assures him.
He rests a hand on her throat. “Would you?”
She bites her lip to keep from grinning. “It might take some persuading.”
He lets her go. “My mother will never allow it.”
“We’re cousins,” Narcissa tells Lucius in a conspiratorial whisper, as if she’s not actually in Evan’s lap and he can’t overhear everything she’s saying.
“So are your aunt and uncle,” Evan informs her.
Narcissa doesn't argue. She does, however, pout. “Is that why she doesn't like me?”
“I should go,” Lucius says, as Narcissa straddles Evan.
They ignore him. “Or,” Narcissa says, “Does she have a problem with the fact that I'm the youngest daughter of a second son?”
She blows smoke in Evan’s face and bounces off his lap and up to inspect Lucius. “Come on, Ciss. You know it’s not like that,” Evan protests.
The expression Narcissa gives Lucius suggests otherwise. “So,” she says. “You’re French.”
“No one’s perfect?” he says, feeling extraordinarily out of his depth and unsure if he’s being insulted.
He’s probably being insulted. England is terrible and so are its inhabitants.
She considers this, sliding her hands down his chest. “I don't know,” she hooks her hands into the waistband of his trousers. “I think you're exactly what I want.”
“Narcissa,” Evan snaps, evidently running out of patience with her antics.
“You're fucking Antonia Burke,” she interrupts.
“I’m going to go,” Lucius decides.
“We both know we're never going to happen and she's from a good family. Marry her and so you can yell at her instead,” Narcissa continues, ignoring him.
Evan tries to grab her, but she evades him, ducking behind Lucius. “Jumped up bitch,” Evan snarls, wand pointed at Lucius, who is standing between him and his target.
Narcissa peers out from behind Lucius long enough to curse Evan. It's nonverbal, and Lucius doesn't recognize the putrid green color that shoots from her wand. Evan collapses, legs no longer able to support him. His skin bubbles green and his features and limbs twist in painful directions. Narcissa steps out from behind Lucius and Evan’s motions pause. “Apologize,” she demands.
Her smile is predatory. Evan’s eyes are swollen shut, otherwise he might have, at her expression. As it is, he spits out two teeth and an insult. Narcissa raises her wand and his arms tie themselves in bow. The accompanying crunching is horrible.
“Wow,” Lucius says. “That was, well. Wow.”
She smiles. “I did worse to Rabastan Lestrange.”
“That was you?” he asks, impressed.
His attraction to dangerous women will probably be the death of him one day.
She shrugs. “Two years ago at Bellatrix’s wedding, he cornered me in a bathroom. I was wearing cursed earrings I had recently designed. They worked.”
“He's been to see Healers and Curse Breakers all over the world,” Lucius tells her. Everyone in Britain knows about Rabastan Lestrange. “What exactly did the curse do?”
“Nothing quite as exciting as Evan here,” she frowns down at the man. “But much more permanent. He’s missing something quite essential to his habit of forcing himself on unwilling women.”
“Couldn’t you press charges?” Lucius wants to know.
She shakes her head. “We were betrothed at the time, so the only thing he’s legally guilty of is, what’s the expression? Leaping the gun? He’s also his family’s heir, since Bellatrix and Rodolphus haven’t had any children. He would get a slap on the wrist, if that. I’m the one who would get in trouble, since I interfered with his ability to continue the family line.”
“That’s not right,” he declares.
“It isn’t,” she agrees. “However, I will never hear the end of it if Evan dies, so if you’ll excuse me for a moment,” she turns to the man on the floor.
“You said you were betrothed to him. Are you still?” Lucius asks, watching as she begins to undo the curse.
“I’m not betrothed to anyone. It seems as if all of the proper pureblood men would rather take their chances with women who haven’t proven themselves to be ‘dangerously unstable,’” Narcissa tells him, as Evan’s arms untwist and the green of his skin fades. “That’s a direct quote, by the way, from Evan’s mother.”
“Well, I'm French,” he says, and winks, because pretty witches make him nervous and he’s never been accused of having common sense. “That’s hardly proper.”
She smiles. “I’m hardly proper either.”
“No?” he asks, more than a little grateful she’d decided to disregard the wink.
She’s standing in front of him now, playing with his tie. “No,” she confirms. “And I’ve had enough of pretending to be something I’m not, so if we’re going to be friends, or anything else, you’re going to know about it.”
“I’m all ears,” he informs her, liking the sound of that.
“I associated with whoever I please. In whatever manner I please,” at this, they both glance at Evan. “I want to get involved in politics myself. Not just as a lord’s wife or mistress, whatever the case may be. I run a business, which means I have my own source of income and therefore independence.”
“Really?” he's genuinely impressed. “What do you do?”
“I make jewelry with curses or protective charms,” she says. “Rabastan and the earrings turned into a lot of publicity, and I started getting requests.”
“Want to get coffee sometime?” Lucius asks hopefully, “I’d be interested in hearing more about that, and in seeing you again.”
Evan groans. Narcissa smiles. “Let’s go right now.”
They do. She grabs his arm the second they're outside Evan’s yard and they disappear soundlessly. They reappear in the middle of the woods, outside a small cottage. “Where are we?” he asks.
“My house,” Narcissa says. “I bought it a few months ago, with the money I've made.”
Lucius grins at her. “Not that I'm complaining, but what happened to coffee?”
She swats his arm. “Shush. We’re Flooing.”
“What's your business like?” he asks, trailing after her. “My father owns a company doing imports and exports.”
The cottage is covered in some sort of flowering vine and there's a small garden containing common ingredients for Potions. Inside looks like a workroom. There's a twin bed shoved into one corner, and a tiny bathroom. Every surface is covered with scraps of metal and half formed jewelry. Complicated diagrams are tacked to the walls. Lucius doesn't recognize many of the runes.
She turns to him apologetically. “It’s a bit of a mess.”
“It's phenomenal,” he corrects. “You’re brilliant.”
She doesn't blush, but she does direct a smile at him. “My family doesn't know.”
“You should tell them. This is amazing.” He gestures at one of the diagrams. “You’re an incredibly gifted witch.”
“I’m not good at playing socialite and all the Healers I've seen say I'll have trouble carrying a child to term. That's all my family cares about.”
On that note, they Floo to a café in London. It's nowhere Lucius has ever been before, and the amount of money he hands over for a simple latte is terrifying. He buys Narcissa something called a dirty chai. “Is there alcohol in that?” he asks, suspicious.
“Espresso,” she assures him, then gestures at the barista. “They know me and that I'm underage.”
He almost chokes on his drink. “You're what?”
She eyes him strangely. “Don’t you know who I am?”
“Evan’s cousin?” he offers. “Bellatrix’s sister? Not really though. I went to Durmstrang. I spend most of my time in Russia,” he shrugs. “Sorry.”
“Why are you here then?” she wants to know, then, bitterly, “If you don’t know what I’m worth.”
“I like pretty pureblood girls?” he offers. “Especially ones that can curse a guy like you.”
It's the right answer. She smiles again. There's a camera flash, but that's it, because Narcissa gives the reporter such an unpleasant look he scurries away. “We’ll be in the society pages, I'm afraid,” she says.
Lucius is startled. “Why?”
“My uncle, the Lord Black, has a gambling problem,” she waves a hand dramatically. “But he cannot gamble with political power. The man that marries me will receive a seat and a single vote in the Wizengamot. I’m a younger daughter, I am afraid. Rodolphus gained two from Uncle Orion when he married Bellatrix. She also received the vote that was contained in my mother’s dowry, so that’s another for the Lestrange family.”
“How does that work?” he wants to know.
Narcissa appears pleased with his interest. “There are one hundred votes, or seats, in the Wizengamot, which is the legislative branch of Britain's magical government. The number of seats depends on the distribution of the votes, which are inherited or gained through favors. They can also be purchased if a family is in dire enough straits. That requires the consent of both the current possessor of the vote and the person set to inherit it. The heir is the oldest male of a generation and he receives half of a family's votes when he comes of age. The rest are divided up amongst the female children when they are married as part of their dowry.”
“Who’s the heir of your family?” he asks.
“My younger cousin, Regulus. His older brother was disowned, as was my sister, Andromeda,” Narcissa explains. “My uncle has six votes, and my father had one, so Regulus gets three votes from his father when Uncle Orion dies. Bella gets two from our uncle and one from our father since she's the eldest, and I'm left with one.”
“Disowned? What for? I've never heard of anyone being disowned,” he says, fixating on that rather than the alarming amount of political power her family possesses.
Narcissa raises her eyebrows. “Did I say disowned? The official story is that they passed away tragically after a short illness,” she snorts. “My aunt declared Sirius a blood traitor because he wouldn't take the Mark. Andromeda ran off with a Muggle-born.”
“The Mark?” Lucius asks, feeling incredibly out of the know.
Now Narcissa frowns. “You don't have it? I assumed, since you were with Evan…” she trails off. “You know my sister.”
“Not friends,” he corrects. “His family is selling some interesting antiquities. I'm here on business. Bellatrix is an acquaintance.”
She nods, not questioning how well acquainted he might be with her sister. It had been one night and it had been years ago. Not worth bringing up now. “Well, have you heard of the up and coming new Dark Lord? He's all the rage amongst certain circles here in England.”
Lucius shrugs. “I don't get involved in politics,” he confesses.
“You should. Don't you want to have some say in tariffs and the like?” she inquires. “It would be very helpful for a future businessman to have political connections.”
He makes a face. “Well…”
Narcissa grins. “A smuggler. I like you even more.”
“There are a lot of laws about transporting Dark artifacts,” he says defensively.
“That’s what the Dark Lord is trying to get rid of,” Narcissa leans forward. “I don't give a damn about blood purity, but Dark magic is my life and my heritage. I won't stand for some jumped up do-gooder trying to outlaw it.”
“It's meant to be free,” Lucius agrees. “Magic shouldn't be restrained.”
“Exactly,” Narcissa exclaims.