"Some girls are full of heartache and poetry

and those are the kind of girls

who try to save wolves

instead of running away from them."

Nikita Gill

SUMMER

Light shimmered across a pool of water at the mouth of a widened creek in a dense forest. The water gurgled and splashed down jutting moss covered rocks into the shallow pool a few feet below. Her hair flowed in every direction from her scalp, pale and dancing. Her face was just below the surface of the water, eyes clenched shut. She was pretending to be dead, her body a vessel she didn't have to carry any longer. The only thing left was her spirit, floating in the cool water. She unrolled all the tension from her muscles, letting her hands float. If nothing existed, then she didn't have to be something. A proper Pureblood, a wife, a mother. The water kept her safe from the world that threatened to close in on her.

But the water did not freeze her in place, it did not stop time. She heard a sudden splash from a rock and came up for air. She broke the surface and sat up. Her free-flowing hair melted into a white blond curtain down her back. Her eldest sister stood before her with her arms crossed.

"You're half an hour from mother dissolving into hysterics," she announced flatly.

Bellatrix Black was the eldest of her siblings and perhaps the most beautiful. She was nearly as tall as a man and stood with the ferocity of a queen, back straight, unruly mess of curls flowing off her shoulders. Her voice was monotone, husky, and powerful. When she laughed, she echoed across even the loudest of rooms. No one ever looked at Bellatrix and presumed there was an ounce of fear or weakness in her.

"Did you tell her I was just washing up?" she asked sweetly.

She rolled her eyes. "Narcissa, you know floating all day in a creek isn't her idea of hygiene."

"Of course not," she replied tersely, arranging her lips into a straight, firm line to imitate her mother, "You can certainly swim in dirty water all day if you intend to attend the Malfoy Masquerade ball smelling like a swamp!"

Bellatrix's lips twitched into a smirk. Her younger sister had a talent for impressions, particularly for Druella Black, their rigidly proper mother.

Druella Black was given the most unfortunate task of raising three girls in a wealthy Pureblood society that was overwhelmingly female for their generation. Meaning the prospects for securing a husband were abysmally low unless willing to sacrifice pedigree and title for a lower-class husband, who wouldn't provide the same amount of wealth. But that, in Druella's eyes, was unacceptable for her children.

"Come now, Cissy," Bellatrix ordered, "before they send out Maxie."

Maxie was considered the family dog. Part wolf and shepherd, she was grey and white and altogether much too intelligent for a pet. But she had a keen interest toward Narcissa, and did not stray from her side often. It was Maxie that was sent to fetch Narcissa when she had wandered too far into the forest again.

She conceded to this arrangement, and pulled her naked body from the creek. Her body was underdeveloped still, at fourteen, her breasts small, hardly noticeable without a corset. Her body was unshapely and thin. Her hips had not taken on curves. Her mother, of course, manufactured a silhouette with dressing gowns and corsets for public outings. She pulled her bra and underwear on, and then pulled on the silk shorts her mother allowed her to wear for exercise or lounging and her exercising blouse. These were Muggle items, forbidden anywhere off the property, lest someone start rumors that Purebloods used such things. But it was common knowledge that when the Malfoys came to England, they lived with and very much alike Muggles. The traditions had not strayed terribly far still; she felt lower-class families certainly appeared more magical than hers.

She followed her sister down the path back to the house. "Path" was an operative word, because they had not yet travelled through the same spot enough to wear away the grass. Instead, this was mapped by memory. They knew this forest as well as they knew the thoughts in their head.

"Uncle Orion sent a Howler this morning," Bellatrix announced, pulling a stalk from a plant as she walked. She started breaking off the leaves in pieces. "They're still arguing over the estate."

"A one-hundred-year war, then," Narcissa replied, rolling her eyes. "They cannot lay claim to our estate just because they had boys."

Orion and Walburga Black were their aunt and uncle on their father's side, and since the birth of Narcissa, when it seemed clear that their family would only produce girls, they petitioned for their estate, arguing that the largest family estate should have gone to them, because Walburga gave Orion two sons, Sirius and Regulus. Otherwise, the estate would dissolve into the property of Bellatrix's future husband and would not stay part of the Black estate. It had been a tumultuous argument for as long as Narcissa could remember, once coming to blows between her father and uncle at the dinner table during the holidays.

"A simple solution would be to just marry Andromeda to Sirius," Bellatrix said, shrugging her shoulders, "Andy gets to keep her beloved last name, Sirius gets the estate."

"That's disgusting," Narcissa replied, wrinkling her nose.

"We're all related," her sister argued, "Walburga and Orion are cousins or something. Their grandfathers were brothers. The whole society is intertwined like that."

She knew that, and yet she shivered. What a strange practice. She knew the odds of her marrying someone not distantly related to her was small, but she preferred to not think about it. They came out of the woods and onto the south lawn. They walked up the sloping lawn, sweating from the hot summer air, which was more apparent without the shade of the trees. The Black estate owned roughly 150 acres of countryside, with the manor positioned in the center of a forest clearing. By contrast, Orion and Walburga Black owned a single city manor in London with half an acre. Walburga was older than her brother, Cygnus, but a woman—the property rights had fallen to Narcissa's father after his brother was eradicated from the family.

They stepped onto the veranda and opened the glass doors to one of the main lounges. Her father was there, staring into the fireplace.

"Your sons are one notch above being Mudbloods, you son of a bitch, so don't you dare demand anything from me!" Cygnus said, "Your wife married into your side of the family and inherited your estate. Your boys don't have rights to mine!"

"Your harlot daughter Bellatrix won't have control over it," Orion argued, "Her husband will! The Black estate will be lost forever!"

"Harlot daughter?" Narcissa whispered excitedly to her elder sister.

She shrugged. "If the slipper fits."

They exchanged smiles, and dipped out into the hall so that their father wouldn't notice them, but they held their faces against the door, still propped open. Narcissa heard Maxie trotting down the hallway, panting.

"Shh, no, Max, quiet!" she whispered fiercely.

The dog yipped excitedly.

Druella Black came down the stairs into the hallway. "Excellent job, Maxine. You've once again proven your worth." She trained her steely eyes onto her daughters. "Other people in this household, however…"

Bellatrix and Narcissa looked at one another and then shrugged.

"The dog dragged in one of our owls by the neck last fall," Bellatrix said, "at least my victims don't get any blood on the floor."

"How courteous of them," Druella retorted, her nostrils flaring. "Narcissa, you look like you've been swimming in a swamp again. Start your bath, we've a great deal of work to do. Bellatrix, you've the same instructions."

When they were children, preparing for events like this one, the three shared baths with one another. It seemed like such an incredibly long time ago. Now she climbed the stairs to the bathroom next to her bedroom. House elves had already prepared the overlarge tub full of perfumes and bubbles. She took her clothes off and stepped into the bath, which was automatically set to her preferred temperature. She submerged her body in the water, but it didn't have the same freeing affect that the creek did.

She thought perhaps her mother used some sort of enhancing potions in their baths to make them more beguiling. Her skin was softer. When she stood up and wrapped a towel around herself and saw her reflection in the mirror, her eyes were striking against her pale skin, a haunting, crisp blue. Her lips and cheeks took on a deeper hue than they would by ordinarily. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light; she couldn't be sure. But she would never underestimate her mother's ambition.

She opened the door. Her mother was barking orders at Andromeda and Bellatrix from the hallway. She turned her head when she heard the door open. "Finally. Narcissa Black, always late," she tutted, and waved her wand at her. Her hair turned from dripping wet down her back to solidly dry and straight down her back. She siphoned the water into a potted plant near her. She grimaced. She hated when her mother did this.

Maxie was lying on her bed when she walked into her bedroom. Narcissa's room was unquestionably hers; she had various plants in the window sills. Tendrils of ivy cascaded down from a shelf on the wall. Her colors were mostly neutral, white and beige with bright splashes of color. She had a wide built in bookshelf along one wall nearly filled. A large oil painting took up half the wall opposite of her large canopy bed. It was an image of ocean waves, which were magicked to sway and spray ocean foam continuously. She watched it sometimes when she could not sleep; it always calmed her mind and lulled her to sleep.

Her closet was nearly the same size as her bedroom, complete with wall to ceiling shelving and racks for clothing. Three mirrors were placed in between some of the shelves so that she could look at herself from different angles. She dropped the towel into the laundry basket in the corner and searched through her closet for an appropriate dress.

Druella appeared. "Corset. Now." She waved her wand and a drawer opened. A neatly folded corset soared through the air and hovered in front of Narcissa, who sighed. She also hated when her mother rushed her.

Her mother fitted her in the corset and then ripped at the strings, pulling them so tight that she could hardly breathe. She gasped. Some years ago, Bellatrix had won the argument against wearing corsets and dressing gowns casually, but main events were still very much in Druella's control. They looked pristine, like dolls, when she was done with them. Truly, the Black sisters were something to marvel over when they were dressed up. Her body took on another shape entirely, her bust increasing in size. Her hips curved delicately in dresses. It was, in every sense of the word possible, magical.

The Malfoy manor could best be described as haunted looking, set several miles away from the road and gated with high stone walls and iron pikes jutting at the top. The manor was grey mortar, made many centuries ago, with long pained gothic windows. It was rumored to have sixteen bedrooms and sixteen bathrooms. She'd heard the entirety of the fourth floor was a library.

A long time ago, the Malfoys were lavishly social, hosting soirees every weekend, providing the most dazzling entertainment the society had ever witnessed. But years ago, before Narcissa was born, Abraxas Malfoy abruptly shut society out without warning or explanation, and now hosted only two events a year: the annual summer ball to celebrate the birth of his son, Lucius Malfoy, and the Halloween Masquerade. Anyone with an ounce of sense refused to plan any galas near these two dates—doing so was social suicide, because while the Malfoys had stopped hosting so many events, they never shied from an explosive party. Reporters from the Daily Prophet and Witch's Weekly crowded as closely to the property line that they could. Some were privileged to join the event and write about it later, provided they were of noble blood and did not take photographs or have quick quills.

It was considered improper to apparate to any event, a long-held rule often enforced my magical barriers, but it was also distasteful to be seen driving a Muggle car, though no one in her society used them, as far as she knew. Her family, like everyone else, arrived by horse and carriage baring their family crest on either side.

The event began at 7:00 pm, but her family always arrived a fashionable fifteen minutes late. Families took care not to impede upon this time and come in after The Black family, simply because they would be overshadowed. For as long as Narcissa could remember, 7:15 had always been their arrival time. They were never a single minute later than that. She thought that her mother might go to the lengths to change the fabrics of time and space to ensure it in the case that they were ever late.

As their carriage pulled up, the Parkinson carriage whisked away to the holding stables for the horses. Her father stepped out. He held Druella's hand delicately as she picked up her skirts and slipped from the carriage. Bellatrix and Andromeda left and Narcissa was last. She took her father's hand and turned her head to look at the front gardens, which were lit up with twinkling lights. Flowers burst electric in a variety of colors. She trained her gaze down the winding driveway lined with trees. The courtyard was perfectly perfumed with the subtle, sweet scented flowers. She inhaled it into her lungs as she followed her family through the massive mahogany doors, which had been opened.

The doors shut behind her. They always shut after they entered, for as long as she could recall. She liked their foyer, with its grey marble floors and enchantingly vaulted ceilings, where candles floated in midair. It was simply decorated, with a few tables and vases on them. To her left was the massive white staircase. She and her sister could lie on them, touching toes, and fit comfortably from the length of the steps (they tried it last Halloween.) Across from the staircase was a hallway that led to the main dining halls. On the right were Ophelia Malfoy's salons, the main lounge, and down a narrow corridor in the back were in kitchens. The wall opposite of the main double doors were another identical set leading to the ballroom, which were open.

Light and noise poured from the doors. The family walked through. Narcissa inhaled. The ceiling was vaulted with long iron candelabras hangings from chains. The room was filled with every member of their society milling with drinks in their hands. The dancing had not yet begun; it was customary that everyone reacquaint themselves with each other and have a sip of liquid courage before dancing. Her parents disappeared with drinks and moved from their children. Her sisters left in opposite directions too; Andromeda refused to dance or drink, and instead spent most of the evening with her group of friends from school. Bellatrix already had a flute of wine in her hand. And it was just Narcissa alone.

She spotted her Aunt Walburga by the food table, her face set in a permanent scowl. She was stuffing hefty morsels of pheasant in her mouth. Narcissa followed where her aunt was staring and ended up looking at her father. She grimaced, hoping her aunt wouldn't get particularly drunk and make a mockery of the family.

To avoid being witness to any of that, Narcissa wound her way from the crowd to the opposite side of the room and out of the back doors to the veranda and garden. This was her favorite place in the Malfoy manor. The garden was set up as a low hedge maze with pops of flowers randomly. And in the center, there was a tree that loomed high above the manor itself, with twisted branches. It was over five hundred years old, planted after the estate had been first built. Tonight, the tree was decorated with tea light candles hanging in small paper lanterns. She walked to the center, having memorized the path of the maze years ago, and stood in front of the massive tree trunk.

Surrounding the tree were flowers and decorative rocks that bore the marriages and the dates of the weddings for every Malfoy married. They had been recurved recently, as even the oldest ones were refreshed, instead of slightly worn away from years of erosion. She found Abraxas and Ophelia Malfoy. Their names were written in beautiful calligraphy with their wedding date, and beneath it said, "I have loved you in every conceivable life I've ever lived, and ever will live. To not have you at my side every second of the day is a knife twisting into my chest."

"Macabre," Narcissa muttered.

But it was known that Abraxas and Ophelia had married out of love as well as an arrangement. Their love story was well-known in the community. Abraxas visited Paris over a summer holiday, and Ophelia, whom had just finished school at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, was sitting with her sisters and mother outside of an ice cream shop with a book. The Malfoys passed the shop, and from the moment Abraxas saw her, he claimed his universe shifted. He knew that was the only woman he would ever love. He asked his father to identify her family immediately; he needed to know that she was of noble blood, but of course, he wasn't familiar with French noble families. He would have married her even if she hadn't (many families left this part out when they told others the story, but Abraxas didn't) but, as Abraxas believed, the universe had forged their souls together, and she had to fit perfectly. As it turned out, Ophelia Moreau was a pureblood witch from a properly noble French family.

Abraxas asked the proprietor of the bookshop across the street whom the family was, who gladly told him in broken English that the Moreau's were a noble family that lived just outside of Paris. He went back to his father—within three months, the arrangement was sealed. Ophelia met her future husband after six months, when the engagement was announced to both societies. She said that she knew she loved him the second their eyes met.

Of course, from Narcissa's perspective, she believed Ophelia was arranged into a marriage with an Englishman that claimed to spot her in the street and love her, and so she acquiesced the story the best that she could. In truth, she believed Ophelia had fallen in love with Abraxas, but over a period, not instantaneously. Narcissa thought that only the men in her community could believe in love at first site. Rarely did they see anything about women beyond their physical appearance, and somehow this completed their conception of love.

And Ophelia was stunning.

"Narcissa!" a friendly voice called, and she turned around.

Mara Parkinson was a year below her, and they had become best friends in Narcissa's second year at Hogwarts. They embraced hard, even though they had seen one another just last week and they wrote letters nearly every day.

"I hoped to see you," Narcissa said, smiling, "You described your dress perfectly in your letter. You should consider a career in writing! You have a gift."

Mara was a published author, unbeknownst to anyone besides Narcissa. She wrote fiction stories for the Witch's Weekly under a male pseudonym, so that others would take her seriously and not assume she was a middle-aged witch writing about romance and love. She was particularly fond of writing mystery short stories and historical fiction.

"You flatter me," Mara said, smiling brightly. "So, Narcissa, have you met a prospective husband to complete your life yet?"

"No such luck," she said.

Mara patted her arm with fake sympathy, and they moved away from some of the people lingering around them. Mara looped her arm through Narcissa's.

"The next issue is being published tomorrow, and I'm really not sure about it, because Aurelia dies," Mara whispered, "What if they hate it? Do you think I'll be forced to resurrect her? I really feel like she's meant to die here, like this is the end, you know?"

When they were far away from others near the back of the maze, Narcissa spoke. "I think that you've been writing Aurelia's story for a year now, and it's time for the readers to accept the ending of the story. Her death makes sense, with all of her power and knowledge, the only thing she can't outwit is death."

"That's how I felt too," Mara said, smiling warmly, "Thank you, Cissy. I just hope everyone will like it."

"I don't think you can guarantee the entire readership will approve," she replied, "but nevertheless, I believe you will find many will strongly adore the ending."

"You'll read it, won't you?" Mara asked her, "Tell me if I've made a grave error."

Narcissa laughed. "I haven't missed a single issue of Witch's Weekly since they started publishing A Witch Named Aurelia. Don't worry. You have my full attention, and I will write all of my thoughts down and send them to you in an owl as soon as I've read it."

"Thank you," Mara said, and then she glanced at the ballroom, "I have to go back in and dance with Candra Zabini, he's the first on my card." She frowned deeply. Candra Zabini was a brutish animal—too clever for his own good, but violently crass. His only redeeming features were his rugged handsome looks and voice, which hardly kept him from being repulsive.

"You'll have my letter first thing," she promised, as Mara navigated the maze to go inside for dancing.

Narcissa knew she had to go back soon, but she wasn't quite ready yet. She walked back to the tree and glanced up at the manor. A figure on a balcony caught her eye. It was Lucius Malfoy on the second floor, leaning against the railing. She was perplexed—it was his birthday celebration. If Mara said the dances were starting, his card would be packed with potential suitors. Lucius Malfoy was entering his Seventh Year, and was required to find a bride by the end of summer. She wondered if this was perhaps the reason he was hiding. Childish. Narcissa understood that an arranged marriage wasn't ideal—there was nothing romantic not having a choice in whom you lived your entire life with. They were at tender ages, dying to explore the part of the world they belonged to before they were made to settle with children. Some of them were even in love with someone else, but tradition didn't permit fancies of the heart. One could only leave their society and be written out forever. But none of them could fight fate.

He was looking at the tree, but he didn't see her. She followed his line of sight to the stones underneath. When she looked back at the balcony, he was gone.

Inside, the ballroom was bursting with energy. The drinks were flowing, and the dances had begun. Narcissa stood in front of the overlarge windows, which went from the floor to the ceiling. If it weren't so brightly lit, she knew the moon would shine through the windows. The idea was so beautiful that she wished desperately that she could see it, alone, long after everyone had gone.

"Where have you been?" Bellatrix asked curiously, "Mum's furious."

"I was outside in the garden," Narcissa replied.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "You've seen it a million times, I don't know why you're so obsessed with it. Mum had your card filled, you might go to her and find out who you've got first. I have Lucius, but I can't find him."

"He was upstairs on a second-floor balcony," she said, "I saw him."

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows. "Interesting. Well, I can't mark him off because he's the host, so I'll just have to wait. He's your third, so don't let anyone cut in after two dances."

Narcissa nodded. "Do you remember the marriage stones outside, under that tree?" she asked her sister suddenly.

She shrugged. "Yes. Abraxas put part of his vows on his. Why?"

"Why doesn't our family have something like that?" Narcissa asked.

Bellatrix looked quizzical. She didn't consider anyone else's family traditions but her own. "Probably because it's kind of stupid? We just write it down. It works just as well. No one wants to see a bunch of rocks with dead people's names on them, knowing they were just forced to marry each other and have children in the same place as their ancestors. It's pointless."

No one had ever mistaken Bellatrix for a romantic. She was wildly obsessive about things sometimes, often too literal, selfish, and dramatic, but no one would ever mistake her for someone that cared much about being in love.

She put it out of her mind. Terrence Couch was the first on her card. He was twenty-five, ten years older than her, but a wealthy bachelor. He talked through most of the line dancing, which was annoying, since they were weaving in and out of the group of other dancers, hardly touching except for their hands, and by the time he finished speaking, she hadn't heard a thing, and could only smile and laugh sheepishly. This went on for what felt like ages until the music stopped. Her next partner was Owen Crabbe, who stepped on her foot three times until it was bruised. Clearly, her mother was punishing her for stepping out of the ballroom for so long.

Narcissa left the dance floor and found Bellatrix, who had her arms crossed angrily.

"He's still not shown up!" she exclaimed, "I have a whole line of suitors I could be dancing with, and I'm stuck sitting out like a dolt because of him."

Narcissa leaned against the window sill and winced at the throbbing of her foot. "Well, I'm stuck here with you."

"So is Scarlet," Bellatrix said.

Scarlet Greengrass was in Bellatrix's year, and her younger sister Phoebe was Narcissa's age. They were well-known as the unfortunate daughters of the divorced parents, the only ones whom had ever done so and weren't exiled. The divorce was so scandalous that it had somehow made the family more popular, simply because it was so appalling and uncommon, but the entire ordeal had left the family bankrupt. It was a known fact that their father planned on marrying both his daughters off within the year, just to be rid of them and secure them a bit of money, but the only dowry the girls had were two small estates—the city manor where former Lady Greengrass resided, and the vacation home where their father lived. The prospects were dismal for them both.

Druella saw her daughters and stormed over. "Why are the two of you just standing there? You should be dancing, I filled your cards!"

"We have to wait on Lucius," Bellatrix said, "And he's nowhere to be found."

Her mother's expression softened from rage to worry. She turned sharply and went to Ophelia Malfoy, who had just left the dance floor after a plucky six-year-old asked her to dance. They spoke quickly, and Ophelia's expression remained calm and neutral. She nodded her head and politely smiled, patted Druella's arm, and walked to her husband. Abraxas slipped out of the ballroom unnoticed, a rare feat for a Malfoy.

"They're too lenient with that boy," Druella huffed, as she walked back to her daughter's side. "Letting him choose his bride and skip his own celebratory event. Ophelia said he's been in a mood this week, she thinks it's over not getting Head Boy for his final year of Hogwarts."

Narcissa and Bellatrix exchanged glances. Their mother hardly dared to speak ill of someone in the privacy of their own home, let alone in public. She believed it was in "poor taste" and "tacky" to gossip. So, the girls said nothing, as it was very likely they would be punished for gossiping to their mother, even if she had started the topic. Druella frowned and stalked off toward her husband.

Ophelia Malfoy approached them a minute or so later, as if she was waiting for their mother to leave. "Girls, you look magnificent," she said. After so many years in England, her accent was only a soft lilt. They curtseyed and thanked her graciously. "Bellatrix, I understand Lucius was your first dance, and you haven't been able to dance with anyone else. Please, go ahead and enjoy your evening. We will push Lucius to the end of your list, dear."

"Thank you," Bellatrix said, and darted through the crowd.

Narcissa swallowed nervously. She had never been left alone with one of the Malfoys before, it was rather intimidating.

"He should be out in a few minutes or so, if you could just wait a moment for us, Narcissa. I'm terribly sorry for the trouble," Ophelia said, touching her arm, "If you cannot wait, of course, feel free to dance and push him to a different slot."

She shook her head politely. "Of course, I will wait for him."

Ophelia smiled graciously. "Thank you, dear."

She touched her arm again and then swept off to Scarlet Greengrass, who wasn't as obliging, and left to dance with her next partner. Narcissa understood why; the men in their society were outnumbered by women. Missing a single dance could cut her chances of finding a suitable husband significantly. But Narcissa's feet hurt after Crabbe's stupid overlarge feet.

Lucius finally showed up with his father, and nothing appeared to be amiss. His father touched him lightly on the shoulder and guided him to his mother, who whispered in his ear. The entire family suddenly looked at her, and she swallowed hard. She sat up straighter unconsciously. Lucius nodded furtively and stepped across the room toward her.

"I'm sorry to have kept you," he said, just as polite as his mother, "I understand you waited for me. Thank you."

He looked more like his mother than father up close, she noticed, and she wasn't sure why she found that odd, but she did. She expected him to look more like his father.

"It's fine," she replied.

He held out his elbow for her and she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. He brought her to the center of the dance floor as the last song ended. The waltz music picked up—she wasn't aware that they were this late into the evening. It must have been roughly 10:00 pm then.

"Please watch my right foot, Owen Crabbe bruised it terribly," she said.

Lucius had taken her arms up for the waltz, but he dropped them. "Are you injured?" he asked.

"No," she replied, "it's just slightly swollen and bruised, but I can still dance."

"I've never stepped on anyone," he mentioned, smiling softly, "You're in luck."

He was an excellent dancer. She had only been his partner during line dances, which didn't require a great deal of finesse. Waltzing required them to dance closer, for him to lead. He was an immaculate, perfect dancer. He never faltered or hesitated in taking her around the floor, his footsteps were lithe. And even as she stepped and winced painfully over her foot, they somehow made it look graceful.

When the music ended, she was impressed and still in shock. "You're—oh, you're very good," she said, sheepishly.

He laughed and bowed to her. She curtseyed. "Come with me," he told her.

She was confused, but did as he said. He escorted her off of the floor and out of the ballroom, into the foyer. She kept her hand on his elbow. He turned down the corridor where the kitchens were located, and pushed open the door.

The kitchen was brightly lit, but completely empty. She expected more house elves to be in the room, but they weren't in sight.

"Here, let me help you up," he said.

He picked her up by the waist and placed her on the counter. He moved to a drawer and found a dish cloth, and then moved to an ice box and placed the ice in the cloth. He wrapped it neatly and walked back over to her. She lifted her skirts to the ankle and he pulled her shoe off to assess the damage. Her foot was bruised from her toes to her ankle and swollen. He pressed the ice against her foot tenderly.

"You shouldn't be dancing on this," he advised.

She shrugged. "I broke my ankle last summer and danced though it."

He looked up in alarm. Clearly he didn't understand the desperate plight single young women faced. Of course he didn't, she thought. He was the fish they were all trying to catch.

"Well, remind me to never underestimate your resolve," he replied, smiling warmly up at her.

She was taken aback by his grace and kindness. For someone that had looked so morose on the balcony, desperately trying to avoid his own birthday party, he was…well, nice.

"Aren't you concerned that your parents are trying to find you again?" she asked him, "Certainly since it's your birthday, you have a long list of dance partners."

He looked away from her and adjusted the ice on her foot. "Sure, but I'm sure they would be understanding since you've been injured."

Ah, she understood now. He was using her as an excuse to avoid dancing, because dancing meant he had to meet women. And if he avoided them at all costs, then he wouldn't have to choose one to marry. It wasn't a well thought out scheme, or even a smart one, but she understood why he was here now.

"I think I'm cured, Mr. Malfoy," she told him, pulling her foot away and standing up, "Thank you, however, for your help."

He nodded. He tried to help her down from the counter, but she slipped off herself. Her foot was throbbing painfully, but she shoved her shoe on. She refused to limp in front of him. He escorted her back to the ballroom. The dancing was over—which meant they were in for another monologue from Abraxas, who seemed to particularly enjoy himself in those moments.

He lifted his wand to his throat so that everyone could hear him, though Abraxas could be so loud that it hardly mattered. "If anyone has eyes on my son, please let me know now!" The crowd tittered and laughed politely. They looked around and spotted him next to her.

"Ah, thank you, Narcissa, for bringing the scoundrel back," he said, and motioned for Lucius to come forward. He moved through the groups to the center of the room. "Today is a momentous day. It's the seventeenth anniversary of the day my life forever changed, because Lucius was born. I cannot convey the amount of gratitude I have that everyone in our community is here to celebrate the occasion. I wish your families the very best. Please, let's continue dancing. I'll stop blathering on, let's get on with it, then!"

He dropped his wand and laughed. He clapped the man nearest him on the shoulder roughly. The music started again, and the dancing continued. Narcissa went through her card. She nearly slapped one of her partners when he stepped on the same injured foot, but she bit her tongue until she couldn't feel the pain anymore, and moved along to the next partner.

It was 1:00 AM before the party officially ended, but there were still dancers and drinking. Everyone in her family was exhausted, however, and said goodnight to the Malfoys, who looked less cheery than they had hours ago, and sleep deprived. They walked the family to the door.

"I am so happy you came out tonight, Cygnus," Abraxas said, "It's always a pleasure. And your lovely wife and daughters, of course." He bowed to them and they curtseyed.

Ophelia hugged Druella warmly. "I will be at your house for the weekly meeting, despite the late night!" she laughed lightly.

Her mother had some sort of community club for the wives and they did projects of some sort, but Narcissa didn't know the details; it sounded horrendously boring. Her mother was the leader and hostess, so all of the wives sat in her salon for a few hours each week.

The carriage was in front of the house, and they climbed in sleepily. Bellatrix leaned her head against Andromeda and fell asleep almost instantly. And Narcissa lifted her legs up and took off her shoes. The night was finally over.