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theiceroyals2017-11-03 08:40 pm
smirkingcat) wrote in theiceroyals2017-11-03 08:40 pm
[Exchange Fest:]The Second Springs of Autumn for musyc
Title: The Second Springs of Autumn
Author:
Rating: PG
Era: Pre-Book Era, Post-Book Era
Word Count : 1,200
Content/Warning(s): N/A
Summary: Two moments in the relationship of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy.
Author's Note: Title inspired from a quote by Camus.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
The Second Springs of Autumn
autumn; nineteen seventy-four:
Mrs Malfoy tells her Lucius is in the garden. She doesn’t wink—pureblood ladies do not wink—but there’s a trace of a smile when Narcissa shyly ducks her head and thanks her future mother-in-law.
The wedding is in two days. Tomorrow Narcissa will be secluded with all of her female relatives, for a last round of “education” on the expectations for her marriage. Bella has been railing against the custom for weeks, having escaped it for herself, but Druella won’t hear of another daughter missing a Toujours Pur tradition. Narcissa is eagerly looking forward to the event; she intends to enjoy every minute of the lead up to her wedding.
Including the tradition of a last visit with her betrothed before they wed. The visit is intended to ensure a bridegroom doesn’t change his mind before signing the parchment rolls. Not that Lucius would—they are wedding for love as well as family desires.
It’s formality, all of it, but they both enjoy a return to the old ways and days, when marriage happened between the highest families, to further their status and power.
Lucius waits in the rose garden his mother started the day of his first birthday for his future bride. As if his mother knew who that bride would be, the roses are all white, matching Narcissa’s pale coloring perfectly. When she walks under the marble archway enclosing this spot from the rest of the gardens, she feels the hum of magic that keeps the roses thriving through every season.
He smiles when he sees her, the genuine smile that Lucius saves for her alone. Narcissa always feels pretty when he looks at her, but when his eyes are warm and his smile unexpectedly lopsided, she feels like the only woman in the world.
“Narcissa, you look lovely.” Lucius raises one of her hands to his mouth and presses his lips to the back of her dragon leather glove. “You’re always going to surprise me, aren’t you?” he asks, nodding at her coat.
Mother said red wasn’t her color, but Bella insisted she try it anyway. Caught as she always was between dutiful obedience and sisterly temptation, Narcissa did try the coat, and was very satisfied with how the merlot color looked against her fair skin. She looks more adult, more like a woman about to be married. “I always do, don’t I?” she asks.
“Yes. You do.” With a gentle tug, Lucius pulls her into a hug. He smirks down at her, a slight edge to the smile that’s still only for her, and Narcissa knows he’s remembering the first time they ever touched.
A week after their arrangement was finalized—quietly, of course, because current society frowns upon the old ways—in an unusual display of forwardness, she had perched on his knee in the common room. “We are the future,” she had declared, giving everyone else in the room her usual imperious look. “We are,” he had agreed, hands delicately hovering above her waist, and after that, they were the power of Slytherin.
It was the first time Narcissa had surprised Lucius, but it certainly won’t be the last. She knows her future husband is already addicted to her blend of perfect behavior with just the right amount of daring. She will be an asset to him, the golden Black princess to match his wealth, and he will be one for her as well, a man who appreciates her beauty and cleverness.
“I can’t wait for the wedding,” Lucius says, his palm sliding to her lower back. “Until you’re with me. Always.”
“I can’t wait either,” she admits. Bracing herself against his broad chest, Narcissa rises on tiptoe and kisses Lucius. Always the gentleman, he lets her control the affection, though his hands are hot and firm even through her layers of clothing. With the intention of leaving Lucius hungry for her, Narcissa keeps the kiss chaste, but moans whisper-quiet against his lips before stepping back.
Lucius leans towards her before he can catch himself, but that’s all he allows himself. He’s too good, too proper, too traditional to act dishonorably. “The next two days will be an eternity.”
Narcissa nods in agreement, pleased with the desire she hears in his voice.
autumn; nineteen ninety-eight:
After their home is finally cleared of its unexpected and unwanted guests, Narcissa spends months restoring the manor to its former condition. Without their elf to assist, the process takes longer than it should, but she doesn’t mind the menial process of applying charm after charm. The work is a sort of penance, but after she makes Lucius and Draco help, it turns into something more.
Because of what she did during the final battle, they are left alone to repair their home and themselves. Narcissa’s exacting attention spreads over every room, to the grounds, and to the land beyond, except one special plot.
The entire time the manor was occupied, Narcissa kept from even thinking about her garden, in case one of the Death Eaters or the Dark Lord himself saw past her shields and learned how important it was to her.
They are Malfoys—proper, traditional, strong—but Narcissa’s knees tremble when Lucius finally coaxes her to her rose garden. But the only outward sign of her fear is her hand on his arm, gloved fingers clenching his forearm.
Her worry is for naught.
Beyond the vine-wrapped archway, her garden is in full flourish, a sea of white petals. As if they sense her presence, the roses bow towards her when she lets go of Lucius and steps forward.
Turning back to her husband, Narcissa presses her lips to his. She’s reminded of their first special kiss here, days before their marriage, and the way they strode about the rest of the gardens after, as if they were already lord and lady of the manor.
Fingertips pressing against the fur trim of Lucius’s cloak, Narcissa leans up into him, devouring his mouth in a fierce, hungry way that’s very unladylike. In turn, his hands are far less respectful than they were decades ago, roaming down her hips to cup her arse.
Narcissa memorizes everything about this moment. The crisp air surrounding them, cold with the bite of the coming winter. The familiar feel of Lucius’s body against hers, his eager mouth and hands keeping her warm. The way he still lets her take charge when they kiss, but holds her firmly so she can’t break away before they’re both done.
At the edge of her bride’s garden of eternally blooming white roses, Narcissa and Lucius kiss like they’re young again. Unlike that day before their wedding, Narcissa doesn’t quiet her whimpers or step backwards—Lucius is the only one who sees her like this, and she lets him see her, in a way she hasn’t in so, so long.
Leaves float down around them to blanket the ground, time stretching on until at last Narcissa nestles herself into her husband’s embrace, head on his shoulder. Lucius kisses the top of her head and says, “I love you, Narcissa. Always.”
Pleased with the love and devotion she hears in his voice, Narcissa nods and repeats his words. “I love you, Lucius. Always.”
Author:
Rating: PG
Era: Pre-Book Era, Post-Book Era
Word Count : 1,200
Content/Warning(s): N/A
Summary: Two moments in the relationship of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy.
Author's Note: Title inspired from a quote by Camus.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
The Second Springs of Autumn
autumn; nineteen seventy-four:
Mrs Malfoy tells her Lucius is in the garden. She doesn’t wink—pureblood ladies do not wink—but there’s a trace of a smile when Narcissa shyly ducks her head and thanks her future mother-in-law.
The wedding is in two days. Tomorrow Narcissa will be secluded with all of her female relatives, for a last round of “education” on the expectations for her marriage. Bella has been railing against the custom for weeks, having escaped it for herself, but Druella won’t hear of another daughter missing a Toujours Pur tradition. Narcissa is eagerly looking forward to the event; she intends to enjoy every minute of the lead up to her wedding.
Including the tradition of a last visit with her betrothed before they wed. The visit is intended to ensure a bridegroom doesn’t change his mind before signing the parchment rolls. Not that Lucius would—they are wedding for love as well as family desires.
It’s formality, all of it, but they both enjoy a return to the old ways and days, when marriage happened between the highest families, to further their status and power.
Lucius waits in the rose garden his mother started the day of his first birthday for his future bride. As if his mother knew who that bride would be, the roses are all white, matching Narcissa’s pale coloring perfectly. When she walks under the marble archway enclosing this spot from the rest of the gardens, she feels the hum of magic that keeps the roses thriving through every season.
He smiles when he sees her, the genuine smile that Lucius saves for her alone. Narcissa always feels pretty when he looks at her, but when his eyes are warm and his smile unexpectedly lopsided, she feels like the only woman in the world.
“Narcissa, you look lovely.” Lucius raises one of her hands to his mouth and presses his lips to the back of her dragon leather glove. “You’re always going to surprise me, aren’t you?” he asks, nodding at her coat.
Mother said red wasn’t her color, but Bella insisted she try it anyway. Caught as she always was between dutiful obedience and sisterly temptation, Narcissa did try the coat, and was very satisfied with how the merlot color looked against her fair skin. She looks more adult, more like a woman about to be married. “I always do, don’t I?” she asks.
“Yes. You do.” With a gentle tug, Lucius pulls her into a hug. He smirks down at her, a slight edge to the smile that’s still only for her, and Narcissa knows he’s remembering the first time they ever touched.
A week after their arrangement was finalized—quietly, of course, because current society frowns upon the old ways—in an unusual display of forwardness, she had perched on his knee in the common room. “We are the future,” she had declared, giving everyone else in the room her usual imperious look. “We are,” he had agreed, hands delicately hovering above her waist, and after that, they were the power of Slytherin.
It was the first time Narcissa had surprised Lucius, but it certainly won’t be the last. She knows her future husband is already addicted to her blend of perfect behavior with just the right amount of daring. She will be an asset to him, the golden Black princess to match his wealth, and he will be one for her as well, a man who appreciates her beauty and cleverness.
“I can’t wait for the wedding,” Lucius says, his palm sliding to her lower back. “Until you’re with me. Always.”
“I can’t wait either,” she admits. Bracing herself against his broad chest, Narcissa rises on tiptoe and kisses Lucius. Always the gentleman, he lets her control the affection, though his hands are hot and firm even through her layers of clothing. With the intention of leaving Lucius hungry for her, Narcissa keeps the kiss chaste, but moans whisper-quiet against his lips before stepping back.
Lucius leans towards her before he can catch himself, but that’s all he allows himself. He’s too good, too proper, too traditional to act dishonorably. “The next two days will be an eternity.”
Narcissa nods in agreement, pleased with the desire she hears in his voice.
autumn; nineteen ninety-eight:
After their home is finally cleared of its unexpected and unwanted guests, Narcissa spends months restoring the manor to its former condition. Without their elf to assist, the process takes longer than it should, but she doesn’t mind the menial process of applying charm after charm. The work is a sort of penance, but after she makes Lucius and Draco help, it turns into something more.
Because of what she did during the final battle, they are left alone to repair their home and themselves. Narcissa’s exacting attention spreads over every room, to the grounds, and to the land beyond, except one special plot.
The entire time the manor was occupied, Narcissa kept from even thinking about her garden, in case one of the Death Eaters or the Dark Lord himself saw past her shields and learned how important it was to her.
They are Malfoys—proper, traditional, strong—but Narcissa’s knees tremble when Lucius finally coaxes her to her rose garden. But the only outward sign of her fear is her hand on his arm, gloved fingers clenching his forearm.
Her worry is for naught.
Beyond the vine-wrapped archway, her garden is in full flourish, a sea of white petals. As if they sense her presence, the roses bow towards her when she lets go of Lucius and steps forward.
Turning back to her husband, Narcissa presses her lips to his. She’s reminded of their first special kiss here, days before their marriage, and the way they strode about the rest of the gardens after, as if they were already lord and lady of the manor.
Fingertips pressing against the fur trim of Lucius’s cloak, Narcissa leans up into him, devouring his mouth in a fierce, hungry way that’s very unladylike. In turn, his hands are far less respectful than they were decades ago, roaming down her hips to cup her arse.
Narcissa memorizes everything about this moment. The crisp air surrounding them, cold with the bite of the coming winter. The familiar feel of Lucius’s body against hers, his eager mouth and hands keeping her warm. The way he still lets her take charge when they kiss, but holds her firmly so she can’t break away before they’re both done.
At the edge of her bride’s garden of eternally blooming white roses, Narcissa and Lucius kiss like they’re young again. Unlike that day before their wedding, Narcissa doesn’t quiet her whimpers or step backwards—Lucius is the only one who sees her like this, and she lets him see her, in a way she hasn’t in so, so long.
Leaves float down around them to blanket the ground, time stretching on until at last Narcissa nestles herself into her husband’s embrace, head on his shoulder. Lucius kisses the top of her head and says, “I love you, Narcissa. Always.”
Pleased with the love and devotion she hears in his voice, Narcissa nods and repeats his words. “I love you, Lucius. Always.”