#aurcralux

"is narcissa home?" it was a bold move, but lucius believed cygnus and druella were fond of him enough to let him crash family dinner so late without any major complaints -- at least, not to his face. he'd returned from his month long mission in france yesterday and still, even back home, he was so busy -- death eater business more so than his actual job. being one of voldemort's most trusted soldiers came with a price. it gave lucius very little time to spend with his wife to be, but he was serious when it came to his duties. any free time he had, the malfoy had to make sure he could give some of it to narcissa. she deserved it, lucius thought. she seemed nice, proper and hardworking yet he found it hard to truly get to know her or open up. truth to be told, the thought of becoming a husband and a father terrified him, being anything like his father and grandfather. but what did being a good husband, and eventually father look like? the malfoy quickly brushed those thoughts away when cygnus and druella gave him some privacy with their youngest daughter. "it's good to see you again." lucius said, the corners of his lips tugging upwards into a smile. his hand dug into his pocket, taking out a small box. "i got you something. it reminded me of you." inside the box was a silver necklace with a dark blue paraiba tourmaline gemstone. it was his way for apologizing for spending so much time away.

𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:

Black Manor, Black Family Residence, Countryside near Bath, England

𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞:

Late evening, June 30, 1982

Note: This is a 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 for Narcissa Black, Lucius Malfoy's fiancée.  @aurcralux​

Amidst the sophisticated environs of the Black family drawing room, Lucius Malfoy stood by a tall, arched window, his gaze lost in the fading twilight. The sprawling English countryside, untouched by muggle intrusions, stretched out against the indigo canvas of the night.

This land was not his dominion, yet the sight reminded him of his own heritage, the Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire, an overwhelming testament of pure-blood prestige and power waiting for him to fully claim.

He was engaged to Narcissa Black, an epitome of pure-blood grace and beauty, a woman who had become an intrinsic part of his life, love tangled in a complex web of duty and power. Their engagement signified not only the union of two noble families but also a profound binding of shared dreams and underlying apprehensions.

Yet tonight, they were not in his manor, but in Narcissa's ancestral home. The Black residence was a monument to tradition, power, and pure-blood lineage. It was here, under the watchful eyes of the Black family portraits, that they courted, maintaining the proprieties expected from pure-blood aristocrats.

As the room bathed in the warm glow of the lit fireplace, Lucius let his thoughts wander. Would he be a husband worthy of Narcissa's grace? Could he live up to the weight of fatherhood? Love, for him, was a tumultuous sea, its depths unexplored and filled with dangerous currents. How was he to balance his newfound emotions amidst the pressing expectations of his heritage, the impending war, and his dubious association with the Death Eaters?

The room echoed with his soft murmur, "The world outside is on fire, Narcissa." His voice was a blend of fear and regret, as if he envisioned their future life amidst a raging storm. Would their love withstand the trials of power and war?

Lucius felt a strange sense of anticipation, a subtle change in the atmosphere. Any moment now, Narcissa would make her entrance. His heart raced, a myriad of emotions battling within. He wished to lay bare his vulnerabilities, his fears before her. Not seeking reassurance, but yearning for her understanding, a chance to share his concealed truths.

Beneath the identities of a pure-blood heir, a Death Eater, and an aristocrat, Lucius Malfoy was a man teetering on the edge of profound change. A man caught between his public persona and private passions. The path ahead was perilous, yet he held one conviction - he would protect Narcissa at all costs.

As he heard the faint rustle of fabric, he composed himself, adopting the calm, indifferent façade he wore so well. His world, their world, was a complex dance of power, deception, and sentiment, where nothing was as simple as it seemed.

"Ah, Narcissa," he greeted, his tone smooth as velvet, eyes gleaming with hidden emotions, "I was just reflecting on our world and the times to come. Care to join me in this evening's contemplation?"