Empty Pages. [Lucissa oneshots]

[narcissablack]

Alright, so I actually do a fair bit of fanfiction writing on the side. And for the most part it has one thing in common- being primarily Lucius/Narcissa. :D

Anyways, I do have a multichapter story in the works. But I also have a fair number of single-chapter-ed 'one shots'. I dislike clutter, so they're all going to get put in this thread.

&& As all my fanfiction is based off of (mostly) my take on Narcissa and MC's take on Lucius (again, mostly) this maybe will offer some sort of insight into my character. :D

Wondrous Sixteen -
based on the song "Sixteen Going on Seventeen"

[/i]

Narcissa slipped secretly through the French doors, her silk fan snapping shut. The Malfoy's Annual Yule Gala was still in full swing, but she had had enough of the dancing and swinging herself. All of the best-and a few of the mediocre- pureblood families were within that one ballroom and, as per usual, the heat of the room, the lack of oxygen permitted by her robes and corsetry, and the anxiety brought on by the constant vigilance required of all eligible young ladies were making her light headed. She'd hardly had a moment to breathe, and not one to sit, since dinner.

News that Cygnus had let his youngest attend as an eligible lady had spread like wildfire. The blonde's fair features and unrivaled grace were the envy of society's ladies and lusted for by its men; hence Cygnus' reluctance to let her out until her sixteenth summer. Apparently the five months since then, while she'd been at school, had sparked more than enough interest among the men for her own good; her dance card had been nearly filled before they'd sat down to dinner. The youngest Lestrange had somehow managed to slip is name onto her card an indecent four times, with the last two twice in a row. Her stomach had sunk at the site of that. It was then that she had decided to slip out.

And there she was.

The pale silver silk was hardly adequate protection against the crisp winter air in the Malfoy's gardens. It would have been a perfect portrait, really, as she glided through the roses. They'd been charmed to stay lively red all year long; only the gooseflesh on her arms would have given the temperature away. Her fingers danced across the petals before she settled onto a stone bench.

And there she was. Lucius Malfoy nearly sighed with relief when he spotted the blonde girl. The tall young man took a few steps closer, watching her with a voyeuristic pleasure. He'd spent the last few months, ever since that fateful summer even he'd spotted her at –the hosting family name didn't matter to him, just the blonde treat he'd spotted across the lawn-, simply trying to gain her attention. It was his last year and the empty time he had seemed opportunistic to him. He'd planted himself in the library while she studied, in the common room while she relaxed, and once or twice in the prefects' bathroom. The flush on her cheeks when she'd been caught in the latter still sent a thrill through his being.

They'd been making real progress, he believed. The past few weeks, she'd allowed him to sit at her side at meals (though Walden Macnair had taken to sitting at her other side, much to Lucius' frustration) and she'd joined his compartment on the ride home along with letting him escort her to her parents safely. One could never be too sure, he'd assured her, who might be lurking on train platforms. Like a devious Macnair, he'd mentally added, snidely.

Macnair had one upped him tonight though, and at his own family's function. He should have been escorting Narcissa to dinner; instead he'd been trapped with the Greengrass chit. New Money. When he inherited the Manor, and his wife (Narcissa, in his mind, would be the only one to do) planned the Winter Gala, there would be a pruning of the guest list.

Lucius had sought her out after the last dance, but had only found a sotted Rabastan doing much the same. Lucius had thought he'd caught a glimpse of blonde slipping out of doors, and was quite pleased to see he was correct. A husband, his father had told him, should always be able to keep tabs on his wife. Lucius was well on his way. However, secrecy would soon become stalkesque. How embarrassing would it be for him to be caught gazing longingly over the balcony after Cygnus' younger daughter? Lucius slipped down the stairs and towards her.

The crunch of the grass under his boots, combined with the soft cough, finally drew her attention. She smiled gently, standing up. He took a step towards her, and she took a step back. He inwardly cursed.

"Miss Black." He murmured, glad his voice didn't suddenly crack in reminiscence of earlier years.

"Mister Malfoy." She returned, curtseying slightly. Lucius felt his mouth grow dry as he caught a small glimpse of ankle and the rise of her breasts as she bent foreword.

"Why have you ventured outside?" He asked, his head cocking to the side. He took another step forward and was relieved to find that she only leaned backwards. Progress! "Surely you didn't find the guests far too inadequate or the dancing too strenuous?" He could think of a few more adequate and strenuous things he'd like to introduce her to. He inched closer, but Narcissa skirted around the fountain- pretending to look at the lilies on the opposite side.

He watched her open her mouth and close it again, as if debating her words slowly. Such perfection, he mused inwardly, she must choose every word so very deliberately.

"No, no. Not any of that." She finally said, looking up at him slowly. "I was just feeling a little weak is all." Her smile twisted upwards slightly, a small smile for the look of concern that crossed his face. She wasn't so naïve as that she'd been unaware of his advances. He'd single handedly shooed all suitors away with simply a look. Of course, there was still Walden- he didn't fear any man-, but Lucius had more wit than him.

"And came out of doors?" She heard him ask, his voice approaching her from behind. "Where men could happily come out and seek council alone with you?" His breath was against her neck now, sending shivers down her spine. She quickly moved a few steps, setting a row of hedges between them.

"You're a very, very wondrous sixteen Miss Black, if I may be so forward." He'd leaned forward, his eyes meeting hers. Narcissa's heart began to race. "You must be careful."

Narcissa felt her cheeks flush. She turned around, turning her attention towards a bust of one of the Malfoy ancestors. He continued his footsteps audible as he moved around the bushes towards her.

"You can't be unaware of the young men, rakes, rogues, and cads after you."

She turned on her heal, coming face to face with the Malfoy heir. Shivers went up her spine as he took her hand.

"You're so very young," He began, shushing her small protest. She was young to him, already a man in the world at nearly eighteen. "Shy and naïve; you've no knowledge of the opposite sex."

And that, she could not protest. Her eyes looked downwards, her teeth catching a plump pink lip.

"I very well know this." She finally retorted. Her mind had gone right to the French men her father had introduced her to. Those men, hardly a year older, had seemed to hold composure equal to that of her father. Bachelors, they were, clasping brandy in one hand and offering the other towards her. It had made her wonder if French women were really rather forward or she rather timid. "And how would you rectify this?"

He smiled widely at the question, offering his arm. After a pause, she took it. They were familiar enough, being school house mates and society peers, she reasoned. It wasn't that forward.

"Sixteen going on seventeen is a very hard age." He murmured, turning so that his warm sweet-smelling breath caressed her ear. "But- but at my age, seventeen on eighteen, I could easily be someone you depend on."

He led her through the garden, the sound of music fading the farther they went. The worlds slowly digested in her head, allowing for a perfectly proper reply. However, her near eager tone balanced out the cold propriety. She hadn't, she knew, been unresponsive to his attentions the past year. No one could resist the dashing Lucius Malfoy. "You are older and wiser."

His words spilled out quickly at her tone, his own full of relief and his own eagerness. "I could take care of you."

They stopped and Lucius turned her about so he could meet her eyes. "Miss Black, with your father's permission, I'd very much like to court you."

Her skin tingled where his hand still grasped hers. She looked between his eyes and were his hand and her hand met flesh to flesh. Where had her gloves gone? Her heart was racing again, her mind jumping and her mouth dry. The Lucius Malfoy? And she? Yes, it was merely courting- which could and probably would lead to noting- but it was a them, we, and us sort of thing. Coupled. She really had one reply.

And that was to faint.

Lucius caught her, cursing softly. Macnair was going to have a field day with this.

[/blockquote][/size]

[Annelise Westerhof]

I absolutely loved it! Very realistic, I could imagine everything in here. Loved how she fainted at the end. Great story!

[narcissablack]

Thank you soo much. :)

Here Alone -
based on the song "Here Alone" from Little Women'the Musical.
Time frame wise, this would be the beginning of Draco & Harry's sixth year.

[/i]

My Dear Husband,

Narcissa's stomach twisted into knots as she caught sight of her appearance in the mirror hung, crooked, over the mantle in her parlor. She tried to make a mental note to send a house elf to fix it, but her mind kept going back to the robes that hung off her shrunken frame, the gaunt look on her face, the red and swollen features that gave away the hours she spent sobbing, and the limp blonde hair that almost seemed to be turning silver.

Everything was ruined for them. She was a raggedy mess, hardly the shadow of the vibrant and influential woman he'd married. Her skin had lost the glow, and even her voice resonated with hurt and lack of hope. Her laughter, even, was deeper and only let loose at the cruelty around her. Her son, once proud and headstrong, had deteriorated into a mess he tried so hard to hide from her. How could the Dark Lord even think to put so much weight onto a boy already too frail to handle himself?

And her husband. She hadn't had a glimpse of him in months. There was no body in his bed, which she'd taken to sleeping in out of desperate loneliness. There was no audacious smile as he remembered, yet again, that the house was their own personal playground with a son in school and days filled with nothing but his wife. There wasn't even a silent figure eating breakfast with her, pouring over the Prophet before dashing off to do something important for the entire day.

She bit her lip as she suppressed a sob. The months had not healed the burning, aching hole within her. She placed her quill down, burying face in her hands as she tried to regain her composure.

The Malfoys had not lost everything; money and some remaining influence had assured her that any letters she did write would get through- and a small promise that Lucius might be allowed methods of writing back. They may have stolen her privacy –raids upon raids as the ministry tore up her home looking for dark artifacts that they wouldn't find- but no one would be so cruel (or so selfless) to deny a wife communication with her husband (or to not take bribes).

But she couldn't talk of the war; she wouldn't burden him with their woes or give the even the smallest hint to the aurors who would be reading their letters that she knew anything of the war. She had to be inventive, assure her husband that everything was fine. A faux-cheerful tone as she discussed how much Draco had grown when he needed new robes, or the new husband one of her friends has taken up. She had to give him the notion that the world was not falling apart without him, that everything was fine.

But she could not do it. To remain so impersonal within the letter was impossible for her; it was nearly every other line that she mentioned her love for him. She'd force herself back though, she could not burden him with thoughts that she was here alone, pining for him.

Two pages of parchment, and the sun had set. September nights were always his favorite; he could come home to her and still take her out into the sunlight for a glass of wine before dinner. A house elf, in the midst of her writing, had brought her a glass. White. This hour of the day was the worst, she was sure.

She played with the glass, the liquid splashing over onto the very corner of her letter. With a final flourish she finished it, and signed her name. She'd send it out in the morning, less likely to get lost on the way to Azkaban that way. She placed her quill day, and wrapped an arm around her body as she made her way to his rooms. The empty room, the empty bed. The only thing that filled the room now was a sad little woman, and her wishes to bring her husband home. The nights seemed so much longer, now that she was here alone.


Lovingly,
Narcissa Malfoy

[/blockquote][/size]