Of Narcissa Black and Large Inheritances

Of Narcissa Black and Large Inheritances

Good day, Miss Black. I am Lucius Malfoy

"No, too bland."

Good day, fair lady. I am Lucius Malfoy, Esquire (of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but Esquire nonetheless).

"No, too flowery."

Lady. I am Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater.

"Too strong. Far, far too strong."

Mademoiselle, how doth thou fare? I am Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy, Esquire. Would you dance with me?

Mademoiselle, je suis Malfoy, Esquire. Dance with me, oui?

With a loud exasperated cry, a tall silvery-haired young man threw his quill onto his desk - not caring an ounce that it landed into the inkpot and would have to be thrown out. Not caring an ounce about the fact that his father would kill him for such carelessness. But, he would explain that desperate men do reckless things - and quite presently, Lucius Malfoy was about as desperate as a man could get.

His French was terrible. He was turning nineteen in precisely half-an-hour. Narcissa Black was eighteen-years-old, had just finished Hogwarts and had every unattached (and in Rodolphus Lestrange's case, not) Death Eater salivating over her body - and if Lucius didn't manage to woo her at this ridiculous birthday celebration tomorrow evening, he was not going to get that large inheritance his father was offering to him like one offers a carrot attached to a string on a stick to a mule.

And that was the other thing. Abraxas Malfoy was a sodding control-freak. When Lucius was a father, he would not subject his son to such a tight reign. He'd teach him the values and importance of the Malfoy family - and expect him to uphold the honour of their family name. And maybe go into the family hobby of the Dark Arts. Make sure his child was intelligent, sorted into Slytherin, popular, on the Quidditch team, an excellent flier, had a firmer grasp of French than he, Lucius, had - and... Oh, bollocks. He was going to be just like his father when he reached parenthood, wasn't he?

He wondered how many generations of Malfoys it would take for one of them to learn French properly.

Je suis Lucius. My French is fucking terrible, I apologise. I'm not drawling, because I'm nervous. I think you are very beautiful, and I would like to marry you and fuck the brains out of you, get the large inheritance my father is tentatively passing onto me, live in Malfoy Manor and have one child. Preferably a son. Now, will you dance with me and later snog me behind that ghastly sculpture?

Oh, sod it. He needed coffee.

Bags under his eyes, muttering to himself ferociously, armed with a parchment and quill in his hands and wand stuffed into his pocket - Lucius burst into the kitchens and demanded his favourite caffeinated concoction from a poor sleepy house-elf with freakishly large eyes and a long knobbly nose.

Ah, Miss Black. You have arrived. Leave your coat with the servant. Yes, now. My, my, you are a jewel.

"Too possessive," he determined, slapping his hand on the kitchen workbench and settling his bottom onto a stool.

Narcissa, my dear. What a rare beauty you are!

"Too effing smarmy!" He sighed, resting his pointy chin on his palm. The coffee had arrived - in due time too. He took a hurried sip, which burnt his tongue and caused him to spit it out ungraciously down his robes. He blinked once, twice, thrice; leaned back, and realised belatedly that the stool was a stool and therefore had no back.

Finding himself in a mess on the floor, Lucius snarled at no one in particular and drew out his wand to clean himself up.

If he was going to woo the girl of not only his, but all his colleagues, dreams - he'd better do it:

And there was a d) - he was sure of it. Oh, yes;

Good evening, Narcissa. How glad I am that you have arrived. Would you care for a drink? My, your dress is very pretty!

"Ah hah!" he cried, stabbing in quill into the parchment in order to dot the exclamation mark. A faint splatter of black ink flicked onto his pale skin, and in his enthusiasm, he managed to force his mind to ignore the stain. "This is the opening line!" He sipped from his coffee - this time remembering to blow on it before drawing it to his lips. The liquid slipped down his throat and he gulped.

So, he had the perfect opening line - for when Narcissa arrived, and he was to greet the guests. It was casual, yet interested, not too smarmy, but charming yet - and left open the possibility of conversation.

And should conversation occur, he should quite immediately jump into a quick list of guests that he is expecting. Names of people the object of his lifetime conquest would be familiar with. And if any of them were male, and a Death Eater, and unattached - he ought to discreetly discredit them.

Yes. The plan was well formulated in his mind.

"Lucius?" called out the deep, gruff and uncertain voice of Abraxas Malfoy.

'Shit,' thought Lucius. "Yes, Father?" he answered, stuffing his parchment into his pocket.

"What on earth are doing up at this hour, my boy?" Abraxas asked, stepping into the kitchen. He wore a dark green dressing gown, and there was a suspicious look cast in his eyes.

"Oh, er, just having a spot of... Ah, something to drink," Lucius managed hastily. He would be damned to tell Abraxas he'd been drinking coffee at this time of the night.

Abraxas sniffed. "You should go to bed, Lucius. It's your birthday tomorrow, you know. We can't have you falling asleep into your cake."

"Of course, Father," Lucius agreed, standing up from his chair and making to leave.

"I hear that Miss Black will be coming."

He paused mid-step and turned to face Abraxas. "She is, Father."

"Remember what we discussed?"

"Couldn't forget it, Father." Well, not now that he had caffeine pulsing through his body, and he'd already been anxious about it, discreetly, mind, for about a month.

"Good, my boy. Don't start now. Well then, off to bed with you."

"Certainly, Father," was the last thing Lucius said that night, for the clock struck twelve.

Oh, sod it. Sod it and damn it all the way to Hell and back. Of Narcissa Black and large inheritances, Lucius Malfoy was officially nineteen-years-old and he was going to sod it. Where was his tequila again?