Ice

Chapter 5 And out of darkness came the hands that reach thro' nature, moulding men.--Lord Alfred Tennyson

Several weeks after their strange encounter at the Rockwoods, Narcissa was still unsure as to what exactly was happening between her and the enigmatic Malfoy heir.

I should have slapped him, she thought as her hand went up to touch her ear. The bite had been unexpected and strangely thrilling. She was horrified to realize she'd moaned, actually moaned out loud, in a public place. The thought should make her burn with shame, but shame was not the emotion singing through her veins when she remembered their encounter.

She had no business being enthralled with him. Bellatrix, for all her dramatic presentation of the subject, was correct when she said that Malfoy was dangerous. Malfoy had a reputation for being the type of man that any girl with sense would avoid for a potential mate. The Black name had been touched by scandal with Andromeda's betrayal, and she knew her parents would insist any potential suitor be above reproach. Whether her parents would be able to overlook his reputation in favor of his wealth remained unclear. At the direction of her thoughts, Narcissa scowled and gave up her attempt at reading the Prophet to stare idly out of the window.

Malfoy was dangerous; this was true. She wasn't entirely sure it was for the reasons others would describe, however. Narcissa had seen him several times over the course of the last several weeks, and their interactions had been as highly charged as ever. He was dangerous to her because he unsettled her; he upset her carefully arranged façade. He made her feel alive, and it thrilled her. The whispers that surrounded his name - unsavory business dealings, cruelty, overwhelming arrogance--Narcissa was honest enough to admit she found all of these things strangely attractive, but that wasn't entirely what unsettled her.

It was the way he tightened his hand on her wrist when they danced, leaving a small dark bruise on her skin. The mark, so small and inconspicuous on the creamy perfection of her white skin, enchants her. She feels as if it is somehow symbolic, that bruise - a dark spot in a sea of endless white perfection. Is it his intention to mark her this way?

He has not kissed her, although there have been several opportunities for him to do so in the past several weeks of their acquaintance. The dark, sinister touches he gives her are his version of kisses, his attempt at seduction. How does he know, she thought, stroking her wrist absently, that would be infinitely more appealing to me than stolen kisses in the garden?

She thinks there must be something wrong with her or else she was more like Bellatrix than she thought. Her sister had a streak of sadistic cruelty that Narcissa remembered from childhood--a memory of her sister pulling the wings off of butterflies assailed her, and Narcissa remembered Andromeda screaming and crying, yelling at Bella to stop. Narcissa tried to remember what she had felt at that moment, but the memory was too elusive. Still, she had a vague sense of not being nearly as horrified as Andromeda at what Bellatrix was doing, merely the nagging annoyance that Bella made such a production of it.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus were friends with Lucius, of a sort. Narcissa thought privately that it was not in Bellatrix's nature to be friends with anyone, although she certainly collected many admirers. Her relationship with Rodolphus seemed to work because the man clearly worshipped her raven-haired vixen of a sister, and their mania fed each other. Narcissa knew, of course, about her sister's involvement with the dark arts and a strange group of witches and wizards of which she was forever running off to meet at odd hours of the night. She would talk about it with a gleam in her dark eyes that Narcissa recognized all to well. She looked like that when she caught the butterflies, before she pulled their wings off. I wonder what she'll capture next? I imagine they won't be nearly as insignificant as an insect.

It was only natural to assume Malfoy was involved in whatever dark game Bella and her husband were playing. Narcissa, however, saw a grand difference between her sister and Lucius. He was more like her, more of a dark soul trapped beneath a veneer of outward respectability, although his dark soul was perhaps a bit more pronounced that hers. She was certain no one whispered about her in polite company when she entered a room, as she was aware happened often in Malfoy's presence. She was as attentive to the actions and reactions of others as she always had been. Malfoy was not a nice man, and yet she was certain no one had managed to ascertain the extent to which that was true. Or if they had, she had a feeling they would not be around long to share such information. Something dark burned in his slate eyes, and she was as intrigued with that as she was certain her sister had been with the matching fanatical gleam in Rodolphus' dark eyes. Perhaps her sister was not the only Black to be intrigued by what lie beneath the surface. The thought was almost frightening.

Whatever it was Bellatrix was involved in, Narcissa had some idea it had to do with the whispered rumors of a powerful wizard who hated Muggles and half-bloods and the like. The moment she'd heard of it, Narcissa knew it would involve her sister. Andromeda's betrayal stung, and Narcissa had no doubt Bellatrix would throw herself headlong into the cause if she could somehow avenge what her sister had done. Although she was certain Lucius Malfoy shared Bellatrix's views on the importance of blood purity, Narcissa was certain it was for entirely different reasons. She also could not imagine Malfoy allowing anything to consume him so completely.

Perhaps this was part of her attraction to him. Andromeda had been overcome with passion for her Muggle lover and the absolute rightness in what she was doing when she abandoned her family for him. Bellatrix was overcome with hatred, vengeance and a desire to cause pain. She had lost Andromeda, and Narcissa knew that it was only a matter of time before she lost Bellatrix as well. That unwavering, encompassing loyalty will get her killed one day, Narcissa thought, idly swirling the coffee in her cup. She tapped her wand on it lightly with a warming spell and brought the cup to her lips. Bella should have been in Gryffindor, Narcissa thought, amused. After all, that type of loyalty without common sense seems much more suited to that house than Slytherin. Malfoy, now, she had no doubt he would live up to his House's reputation for self-reliance and keep himself out of trouble, no matter the cost to anyone else.

She had asked Lucius about it one night, while they danced. "So you are an acquaintance of my sister and my brother-in-law?" she'd asked him.

He had flashed that irritatingly smug smirk at her, and said only, "I am acquainted with them, yes," his eyes and tone of voice giving nothing away. This only challenged her further, but before she could subtly probe for more information the dance had ended, and they had been joined by others. Bellatrix had remained strangely quiet about her sister's continuing association with Malfoy, and this made Narcissa nervous. Bellatrix was not one to keep her opinions to herself, so she must have some alternate purpose for doing so. She dropped hints, of course, saying things like "Malfoy has the devil's own temper, Narcissa," but had never once warned her to stay away from the fair-haired Lucius. Narcissa had once caught her exchanging a speculative look with Rodolphus at a dinner party when she had returned from dancing with Malfoy, but she had said nothing. Narcissa did not know how much she was willing to discuss the matter with her sister, and perhaps they were both keeping their cards close to their chests, so to speak.

"Mistress?"

Narcissa jumped slightly, pulled from her reverie by the squeaking voice of one of the house-elves. "Yes?" Narcissa said, peering down at the anxious little face. The creature backed up and moved into the sideboard, and she winced as a small crystal bowl shifted dangerously close to the edge with the movement. The blasted house-elves were terrified of her only because of Bellatrix, who found them excellent victims on which to practice her hexes from the time she was a child until she married Rodolphus and moved away. She sighed. "Do not fret so, just relay your message," she said, resisting the urge to rub her temples. How she tired of suffering the consequences of her sisters' actions!

"A message for you, Mistress. I was told to bring it to you and wait for you to answer," the creature said nervously, handing over the letter gripped tightly in its shaking fingers.

Narcissa opened the elegant parchment, sealed with an elaborate dark green M surrounded by two entwined snakes. She raised an eyebrow at the seal, knowing it could come from only one person.

Miss Black, the letter began, I would be most pleased to escort you to dinner this evening in Diagon Alley. Please send your response with the house-elf, and I shall collect you at half-past six. Yrs, L. M. Malfoy's handwriting, she noted, looked almost harsh on the paper. He wrote in bold, strong lines that seemed to fit his personality.

Narcissa stared for a moment at the letter, then took the proffered quill from the house-elf and wrote a response in her own neat, elegant script. Mr. Malfoy, I would be pleased to accompany you to dinner. I shall await your escort at half-past six this evening with pleasure. Yrs, N. B. She handed the note to the house-elf and then set her coffee cup down on the table. She glanced at the clock and wondered idly if she had enough time to shop for new dress robes before her date with Malfoy.

She felt a slight flutter in her stomach at the thought, but as with most things concerning the enigmatic Malfoy, she was uncertain if the feeling was due to fear or desire. Narcissa was beginning to fear there was no longer a difference between the two.