The Minor Fall and the Major Lift

Four months, two weeks, three days, and five hours since they had been married. They had spent a grand total of seven nights together since then - he tired quickly anymore, but she didn't have the heart to blame him for it. It was probably her fault - she somehow inhibited him, which could be another one of her faults on his list of many. She was naïve, she was frustrating, and he couldn't stand to hear another note out of "that God-forsaken, over-priced piece of furniture with keys."

The euphoria she had connected with their marriage had long since ebbed. Nevertheless, she found herself thinking of him for lack of anything else to dedicate herself to. Lucius Malfoy had always been charming and dashing; she was envied by every Slytherin girl she knew. Living with him was hardly different: he knew just when to smile apologetically during and after an argument (though he rarely did so), precisely how to make her shiver with pleasure, and how to run an effective home beside her with grace and poise, even when reprimanding house-elves loudly and authoritatively.

The only difference was his manner with her. Initially, he had been as gentle and entrancing to her as he had when they were engaged, but gradually, as the four-month anniversary of their wedding passed, his soft looks had turned into sharp snaps against her beloved black Steinway, his wedding gift to her, and curt comments criticizing how much cream she added in his morning coffee.

This small, yet all too noticeable, change in him left her bewildered. She was not in the position to question him - to do so would only induce another rant, which would lead to a cold night. Against her better judgment, the pedestal he stood upon shrank day by day, leaving her feeling as empty as Lucius' side of the bed. Without her naïve and ignorant view of him, he was merely a man, no longer the divine being other women, and even he, imagined him to be.

Thinking about him only frustrated her, as opposed to the romantic and whimsical daydreams that had floated freely through her mind as she sat in History of Magic, smiling as she remembered how his eyes had met hers in the corridor before class. She could not bear to remember how he had made her stomach flip with delight - it only proved him correct. Her innocence had made her foolish, and she didn't know where her exasperation was directed: at herself, who had quickly and willingly fallen for his looks, or at her husband, to whom her adoration belonged.

But if she diverted her gaze from him for a small moment, and focused on adding sugar to her own coffee or on a nocturne, he redeemed himself ephemerally, initiating a ring as endless as that of her wedding and bringing her right back to where she had been. From there, she had all too many questions she wanted to scream at him while slamming her porcelain cup down on the cherry coffee table with such a force that it splattered his drink from its cup, which would be sitting otherwise neatly on its harmonizing plate. Her reserve and her pride kept her from it - she did not want to know or need to know how he would react to such an outburst from a rich and ideal Pureblood wife who was purely a showpiece for his successes and conquests.

She did what was expected of her: she ran the household from afar, yet made sure he felt that he was supporting them, and she served him as any proper wife would serve her husband. The routine was never stifling - her mother had done the same for her father; it was expected of her. She, however, had not felt the same warmth that her father had bestowed upon her mother from Lucius. There had been moments when she felt the reminiscent desires and butterflies. But these instances were brief and left him in an awkward silence, as if showing such devotion was a weakness.

Narcissa knew better than to think of love as a failing, and she knew that such a thought was worth as much to him as her simple, yet ornate, black Steinway. Despite its plain exterior, the grand piano could produce astoundingly beautiful music, music that he had never truly appreciated. Even so, she continued to play the costly instrument against his demands, gently manipulating each key to create the notes and sounds of her own wishes.