nothing i wont do anymore

i burn for you

1973, Malfoy Manor

Malfoy Manor was large and dark. The furniture made Narcissa feel like a child. It was too tall for her, too high, too deep. She felt like she was living in a doll's house. She had seen a piece of Muggle theatre once, in her youth. She had run off with some school friends to see it in one of the last summers she had spent in her childhood home. It was about a woman living as a doll too. But in the ending, she had left. Left her husband and children on a whim (as she grew wiser she thought perhaps it wasn't a whim). Narcissa did not enjoy the play very much, nor the beating she had received upon her father catching her in Muggle London.

Lilith Malfoy had made quick work in teaching her how to be a lady of her own household, watching her with narrowed eyes, pointing out any errors with long red-lacquered nails, squeezing her shoulder tightly with her successes. It was a sick sort of pleasure Narcissa felt upon pleasing her. Her stomach waited anxiously to feel that keen squeeze all the way through to her bones. It was as if every fiber of her being was on edge about trying to appease the older woman- her future mother in law.

Narcissa had written to her own mother once to assure her that everything was alright and that she was making good headway here but had received no reply. She had not spoken to her mother since the night she came to the Manor. Surprisingly she did not feel as sad about it as she thought she might. She wouldn't miss her, she presumed. Perhaps living freely allowed her mother to indulge in her more, taboo habits. Narcissa was not blind to the methods she used to escape her life. But as young and naive as she was, she never thought she would need them herself. Sleeping for days, locked away from her husband and children, Narcissa couldn't think of anything worse.

Lucius had been busy with his father with Ministry work and preparing for their wedding. Narcissa had another fitting tomorrow. Lucius had asked about her gown but she refused to indulge him before the day came. He had prodded and pleaded, presented her with gifts, faked indifference, anything for her to give him a small hint. But Narcissa was privy to his manipulations (her family had given her plenty of practice) and she refused to succumb to his innocent torments.

But even by her standards, it was beautiful. The wedding would take place in winter, so the dress needed to be warm enough to withstand the snow. The sleeves were long and made of lace. The front was modest, coming to her collar bones in white silk and slim fitting before the bottom bellowed out in a long train. But the back was low, making a revealing V down to her waistline. It was covered, of course, in sheer lace and her vail but would give Lucius' imagination something to work with. The Malfoy's would spare no expense with her.

"You will look beautiful." Lilith told her at the last fitting as Narcissa started absently at herself in the mirror. It did not sound like a statement, but a promise.

She had been adamant that her veil was very specific. Encrusted with jewels in the shapes of star constellations signifying her own family. Her sister, cousins, parents, everyone. Even those who could not be with her on the day (did they even think of her anymore?)

Lilith had insisted on a matching coat for the weather, made of the finest fabric and trimmed with fur. Narcissa rather enjoyed the look of the coat, lowering her nose to rest in the soft fur. Lilith chuckled and caressed her cheek.

"So young." she remarked. "You like the fur? We shall have you another coat made, fur too. And when you wear it you can always think of me. My treat, dearest."

Narcissa was giddy all afternoon. Finally, all that she had done, all she had worked for. She had this life, a life with a man she loved. She had played her part sufficiently and this wedding would be the final act. She would be free of her family, of her father and sisters. Free to be with Lucius, to have their children, to carry on the Malfoy name. Free to lead a life of her own.