Ladies' Choice

Ladies' Choice

Lucius sighed and tried to stifle a yawn. As much as he was aware of the importance of these parties, they never ceased to bore him to tears. Made him want to scream, that was. Scream.

And tonight, it was even worse.

"Please, Lucius," his father had said, causing Lucius almost to jump out of his armchair: his father hardly ever said "please", had done so - if Lucius recalled it correctly - only twice during the twenty one years of his son's life; and if he had learned one thing about his father, then it was that the friendlier he was the better to obey immediately. And "please" was really, really bad.

"Please, do try to behave according to our family's reputation," he had said, and Lucius would have pouted hadn't he considered this way too undignified. He always behaved well. At least in public.

"Tonight, you will make your final decision." His father had handed him a sheet of parchment, and Lucius had nearly been overcome with curiosity as he had recognised his father's own handwriting - it had had to be very important, so important that his father hadn't even entrusted his personal secretary with the duty.

A list of names. Female names. He had raised his eyes from the list and glanced questioningly at his father; while in the meantime, a lump had been building up in his throat.

"This-" Embarrassingly, he'd even had to clear his throat, "this does not mean what I think it means?"

"Tonight, you will pick your future wife from among this selection of the finest young women who are to be found in the wizarding world," his father had stated, matter-of-factly, and the lump had nearly been choking him by then.

"I have already set up agreements with their fathers, and they insist on a quick decision. Do -" He had lifted his hand, and Lucius had swallowed the rebellious words he was about to utter, "do realise that it's a sign of my goodwill to let you actually pick a girl."

Lucius had realised, and had nodded, of course.

Oh my, my... It hadn't really come as a shock; he'd been aware for some time that he would have to marry within the near future, and that the group of girls to chose from would be rather limited.

It was simply the idea of being stuck with... with one of these for the rest of his life. By no means he expected undying, everlasting love, how bourgeoisie; but did he really have to be that doomed?

"Oh, yes, Lucius!" Morgaine Bosworth agreed readily to everything he talked about, and as he - just for the fun of it - stated the complete opposite a few minutes later... "Yes, Lucius, oh, yes." After all, a slight variation in the word order, for all it was worth.

Yet, she wasn't the worst of them, not by far. Admittedly, Germaine Duchesne's beauty was unequalled; what a shame that she didn't respond to anything he said; he already doubted that she spoke any English, or French, or spoke at all; besides, the sweetness of her smile which seemed to be glued to her face was sickening after only three minutes.

And although he wasn't repelled (but merely bored) by the haughty, condescending manners of Mariella Benelli, her face did the job - and the laughter of Anastasia Bylkova! His mother had owned a pair of peacocks once as a decoration to the gardens; and their piercing screams had been like balm to his ears compared to the shrill sounds this otherwise acceptable girl was able to produce. Which she offered evidence of about every ten seconds.

When the orchestra paused, he grabbed his chance to escape by getting himself some champagne, hoping that a sufficient amount of alcohol would conjure beauty and wit in the girls, and tolerance in him.

Musingly running his fingertip along the delicate rim of the champagne flute, he let his gaze drift across the room. Immediately, at least eight pair of eyes were looking back, flirting, yearning, tempting, luring... Argh!

A snort behind him made him jump and spill the delicious champagne across his trousers. Cursing under his breath, he grabbed a silken cloth from the table to pat the stains dry.

"Don't you know it's-" he turned around, and almost dropped his glass. God, please, no! Not another girl chasing after him! Though, she was worth looking at, he had to admit, matching him almost in her colours with her long wavy hair that was just a bit more golden than his; and were there freckles on the bridge of her nose? Golden freckles against a pale, cream-coloured skin, and eyes like the early morning on a misty summer day... his eyes wandered downwards, and his fingers cramped around the stem of the glass... beautiful, really...

Wait... what was he thinking of? She was just a girl, laid out for him like bait, and for sure she would start giggling or blushing or lowering her eyes (which would be a pity) the moment he addressed her.

He sighed, shrugging mentally. There was no way out anyway, so why not try to talk to this one?

"And you are-?" Not too friendly, he realised, but he figured what the hell! After all, he was being the trophy here!

She raised her eyebrows. "Narcissa Black." A cool, almost dry voice. No giggling, no blushing, no "my father is your father's best friend", no averting her face - she held his gaze evenly, and was he only imagining the tiny challenge sparkling in her eyes?

Interesting...

"Are you planning to stay immobile further on or do I stand any chance of getting one of these," she said, nodding towards the flute.

Oh my god - he wasn't really blushing now? A hell of a girl, really - was she on... oh, why hadn't he memorized the names on the list more thoroughly? Black? Of course, the family's name was well known to him, as were most of it's members, had been for the better part of his life, yet, Narcissa? She looked a few years his younger - racking his brain, he tried to recall all the faces and names of his female schoolmates. Black... Black... it was a huge family, and he was certain that there had been several girls of this name at Hogwarts, and -

"Champagne? Any possibility? And, in case you're wondering, no, I'm not on your list."

He was blushing now, most definitely. Honestly, he should get rid of the girl before he said something stu- "Oh, what a pity! Why aren't you?" -pid. Too late.

She grinned. Yes, grinned. She didn't smile, or giggle, or bite her lips in shyness, but grinned.

Only shortly before reaching the level of indecency he became aware of the fact that he was literally staring at her. With great effort, he tore his eyes away - what was she, hypnotizing him? Not with him, no way.

But before he could tell her that he wasn't interested in why her name hadn't made it onto his list, really, he didn't care, her cool voice informed him that "It's because of my sisters. They're both engaged, and father decided to marry off his elder daughters first before choosing a match for his youngest one. It is -" She raised her left eyebrow mockingly, her eyes wandering across the ballroom, taking in its exquisite furniture and precious decoration, "probably a pity, though."

"So you would like to be on my list?" Ha! If she were cheekily, he could be as well!

"I take it that you meant to say on your father's list? No." Her fingers plucked at a loose thread of the chaise longue's silken overthrow, her nose wrinkling at this carelessness.

He would kill the house elves. All of them. Just to make sure he'd get his point across.

"You have to know that I'd never agree to being on anybody's list." She twirled the thread between her thumb and index finger, pensive, her head cocked to one side. Suddenly, her eyes locked with his; and he felt his throat tighten. "Yet, if I were the only choice..."

Lucius inhaled deeply. Closing his eyes, he held his breath for a few seconds. Exhaled. Opened his eyes, and then...

+++

Months later, it was still the gossip item number one: how Mr Malfoy had been gaping (and what a sight it had been) when his obedient son had went right up to him, handed him a piece of parchment, and then, without saying a word, smiling politely, had walked away again, not once letting go of young Narcissa Black's hand.