Ice

Chapter 2: Black it stood as night, Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell.

She met him at a party, one of those endlessly dull affairs she despised but was nonetheless required to attend. Smiling at the right times, she stood in her fine dress robes and was suddenly exhausted with the effort that such a ruse took out of her. The atmosphere was oppressive, and the chatter hurt her ears. The people around her seemed to be nothing more than empty shells with nothing at all inside them. She had comforted herself for so long that she did have something inside of her, but doubts assailed her. What if she was wrong? What if she was only "the pretty one?" She began to worry that the façade would consume her, leaving her as empty and vapid as she pretended to be.

Horrified by the thought, she escaped outside into the night air and took deep, calming breaths of the chilly October night. Her hands were fisted in her midnight blue robes, and she straightened her fingers out with effort until she was slightly calmer. Only those who knew her well would have known she was upset, and no one knew Narcissa Black at all.

She was not aware of him until she had calmed down enough to take in her surroundings. The wrap-around porch ended in two large staircases that led down to the garden. In warmer weather it would have been lighted, and there would have been couples walking into the gardens for a bit of privacy, but the chill in the air kept the guests at bay. All except her, it seemed, and one other.

Looking out at the dark gardens below, he stood by the railing with his back to her. He was impeccably dressed as he always was, his white-blonde hair tied back in a black velvet ribbon. His dress robes appeared black in the dark of night, the slight sliver of a moon not illuminating the surroundings enough for her to tell for sure. He turned, and the movement was infused with his natural, deadly grace. It was too dark to see his eyes; they appeared to be dark black shadows on a patrician face. She knew him, of course. They had gone to school together, although he had been several years older than her and had hardly deigned to notice a lowly first year, even if they were in the same House. He'd been on the Quidditch team, she remembered. He played Chaser. His entire demeanor suggested irritation, as if she had spoiled his evening somehow by appearing on the terrace.

Narcissa was never able to know for certain, even years later, what force compelled her to say, in a voice alien to the smooth, practiced sophistication of her usual speech, "You needn't glare at me, sir. I was not aware you owned this particular terrace."

He widened his eyes, and she saw surprise flitter momentarily across his face before his mouth quirked up in a smirk, and he took a step towards her. The light from the ballroom filtered through the glass illuminated his features. She found herself momentarily transfixed by his stormy eyes and then flushed as she realized what she had said. Narcissa hardly ever let her guard down, and among men like him, to do so was unthinkable.

"I don't believe we've met," he said in a cool, smooth drawl. Narcissa struggled to find that inner composure that she could summon at will, but something about this cold man staring down at her flustered her, made her unable to pull herself together and apologize as she should.

"Well, you believe incorrectly then," she said, a bit snappish. What on earth are you doing? Her inner voice screamed at her to stop because she knew perfectly well Lucius Malfoy was not the type of man you could act churlish around and escape his wrath. He had a legendary temper, and any slight to his name resulted in the direst of retribution. Even at his young age of twenty-six, the Malfoy mannerisms were firmly in place.

"I do beg to differ, Madam. I would indeed remember being presented to a young lady of such exquisite...demeanor," he said in his elegant, deep voice, and Narcissa was glad for the darkness, as she could feel her blush intensify.

No one ever remembers me, she thought suddenly, and it was perhaps that uncharacteristic thought that made her open her mouth and say without thinking, "We have met, Mr. Malfoy. We both attended Hogwarts together and were in the same House," she said. "Not to mention, I'm sure we've been at the same events prior to this night. No doubt you just do not remember."

Lucius Malfoy stared down at her, and she resisted the urge to clasp her hand to her mouth in horror. She was being unaccountably rude but could not seem to help herself.

"I see," he breathed, the words slightly sinister in dark in which they stood. "Perhaps you would then be so good as to enlighten me, Madam, of your name? Or will this question as well provoke some verbal attack?"

She smiled; she could not help it. "I am Narcissa Black," she said and waited for the inevitable "Bellatrix's sister," but it did not come.

"Well, Miss Black, I apologize if I offended you by not immediately recalling your name," he said, and the tone of his voice belied the apology of which he spoke. He knew as well as she did that any offense was her fault and not his.

She sighed and looked away, suddenly not wanting to spar with him and tired of all the acting and the games. "I do apologize for my rudeness, Mr. Malfoy," she said, looking out into the gardens. "I am overset, it appears, and should no doubt take myself home."

Narcissa turned to go, but he reached a gloved hand out and caught her arm. He put enough pressure to make her suck in her breath, and he turned her towards him. His eyes glittered down at her in the moonlight, his face almost sinister. "And what has a lovely young lady like yourself overset at a ball?" he asked her, and he did not release her arm.

She widened her eyes, unused to being handled in such a manner. Most young men of her acquaintance would not dare grab her arm and demand answers from her in such a manner. Malfoy has an over-inflated sense of pride, she reminded herself. She meant to lie to him and tell him it was the champagne, the temperature, anything--anything other than what came out of her mouth.

"I'm tired of the insipid chatter of these vain and stupid girls," she said, the vehemence in her voice surprising her. "I am tired of being treated like a lovely accessory suitable for nothing but gracing the arm of some rich and powerful wizard. I simply cannot endure one more evening of talks of weddings and parties and clothing." Emboldened, she raised her blue eyes to his calculating grey gaze and lifted her chin imperiously.

He let go of her arm but smiled down at her. The expression did nothing to cheer her, and it was not meant to. Lucius Malfoy did not smile with genuine amusement in the company of others. "Ah. I see how that would be terribly stressful for you, Miss Black. All that talk of luxury and wealth - how tiring."

She laughed mirthlessly and turned from him. "Mr. Malfoy, would you be content to never engage in another conversation that did not have to do with clothing, parties or weddings?"

"Of course not, but that is women's business," he said, and she could hear something beneath his words--a challenge, perhaps, to prove him wrong.

Narcissa turned to him, her hand on the door that led back into the ballroom, back into the safety and the boredom of the only world to which she belonged and away from the lean, dangerous blond wizard regarding her with a calculating look and a cruel smile. "Not all women are content with such," she said softly and turned away. She returned to the glittering throng of the ballroom, mask firmly in place, to endure the rest of the evening.

She tried to put him out of her mind, but something about Lucius Malfoy disconcerted her. It was as if he had looked into her eyes and seen something more than she was willing to share. Of course, her slip had been inexcusable, her behavior atrocious by society's standards. Still, there was something in the air between them that suggested he was testing her, to see if her momentary lapse was indeed truthful.

Narcissa saw him several times that evening, standing with Rodolphus or some other of his friends, and she noticed he was as quiet around them as she was around her sister and Bellatrix's odd assortment of girlfriends. Several times she would feel someone's eyes on her and look up to meet his eyes. He would immediately shutter them and look away.