Chapter Text
Lucinda's POV
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England
24th December 1976
As every year, the great hall at Malfoy Manor was festively decorated for the Yule ball. Since Narcissa had been living in the Manor after the wedding three years ago, she had taken charge of the planning, and Lucinda had to admit that she was very talented at it. Wreaths made of pine branches, decorated with silvery, shimmering pine cones, hung along the high walls, their red berries pulsing faintly red, their light reflected from the perfectly polished marble floor. Huge chandeliers floated lazily above them, flooding the ballroom with a—for the Manor—unusual soft, warm light. Perfectly shaped snowflakes floated gently down from the enchanted ceiling. Lucinda would have appreciated its quiet, elegant beauty if it hadn't been for the guests. The finest dishes and the most exquisite wines and liquors were served by a dozen of house elves carrying small silver trays; a buffet on the long table would have served just as well, but the sight of the little elves moving through the crowd was intended to demonstrate power and prosperity. Obviously.
At the other end of the hall, next to one of the large fir trees decorated with glowing candles, string instruments floated in the air, filling the space with a sound that seemed far too gentle for a room full of people who valued cruelty as a virtuous trait.
Standing aside from the crowd, beside the high windows, Lucinda held the crystal glass—filled with the finest wine—which she hadn't taken a sip from in hours. For that occasion, her father had brought in a tailor to make her a new robe that emphasised her figure. It was a flowy, deep green satin that made her pale skin glow.
Almost every pureblood family had come, at least those who agreed with the same ideologies and considered themselves superior. A ball at Malfoy Manor was an event, that few of these families would turn down; the families who had come here, all as if they were trying to impress her father, who was admired and envied for his influence—not just in the old sacred families but the Ministry—and someone no one would want to have as an enemy.
The combination of the music and the chatter of the crowd gave Lucinda a headache, making her wish she were somewhere else, and that the time would pass quickly, so she could soon disappear into her chamber.
Not far from her stood Walburga and Orion Black with their youngest son Regulus. Out of the corner of her eye, Lucinda watched Walburga reaching out to straighten Regulus' collar, reminding him to watch his manners with a harsh voice. His back was straightened, his hands folded, yet the tension in his shoulders and the clenched jaw didn't go unnoticed by Lucinda. She felt a brief sense of pity for him and wondered if he felt as powerless as she did, or if he had already accepted the life that awaited him.
Walburga seemed unusually restless, and her gaze was even more stern than usual. Lucinda suspected that the whispers about her disowned son, which had been spreading like wildfire since the summer, were the reason for her apparent unease.
Her thoughts drifted to the previous Yule Ball, when Sirius had attended, bored by the stiff atmosphere and—according to him—silly banter. He had mimicked some old the old witches and wizards, and muttered insults at them loudly enough to earn sharp looks. And, although she disapproved of his loud presence, it would have made the whole event a little more tolerable. On one occasion, he had caught a few rats near the courtyard and released them among the attendees, causing a fuss among the ladies and provoking a furious reaction from Walburga, who dragged her son out of the hall by his ears.
The thought made the corners of Lucinda's mouth twitch, and a laugh escaped her lips before she could stop herself, forcing her to instantly cover it up with a cough.
"Are you all right, dear?" Walburga asked beside her in an overly sweet voice. She took a step closer and placed her hand on Lucinda's shoulder.
"I choked on the wine. There's no need to worry, Walburga," Lucinda replied politely, gracefully withdrawing herself from the older woman's touch. Much her relief, the older woman turned back to her husband and son.
Lucinda let her gaze sweep over the guests, lingering on her father, who stood at the other end of the hall. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had his light grey hair tied back at the nape of his neck and was dressed in the finest garments. His face carried an icy, authoritarian expression, as if he could freeze his opponent's blood in their veins with just his eyes.
As always, the Rosiers were laughing too loudly. Alistair Rosier appeared to be telling a rather uninteresting story, leaning closer to Abraxas, seemingly oblivious to the host's slightly narrowed eyes and averted gaze. The Notts and the Averys gathered around them, each trying to position themselves close enough to appear important but not desperate. But it was obvious to Lucinda that they too were trying to flatter him in the hope of gaining influence and recognition.
She noticed Evan Rosier, who stood by Octavian Greengrass and Caius Avery, regularly glancing in her direction. He did this every few minutes, trying to be subtle, but it was obvious enough to cause irritation and annoyance in her. She turned her head, pretending not to notice.
She spotted Marcella Selwyn and Rowena Nott, who were standing next to Josephina Flint, who had her hands placed on her rounded belly. Like almost everyone else there, all the girls were dressed up for the occasion in an almost ridiculous manner.
Marcella chattered cheerfully, seemingly unaware that her two friends were barely participating in the conversation. Just like Lucinda, Rowena looked as if she would rather be somewhere else, chewing absentmindedly on one of the appetisers, and Josephina kept her gaze low and stared into nothingness. She was much quieter and paler than Lucinda remembered, answering Marcella's questions with polite nods. Edmund Flint, a medium-sized man with a sly grin and a domineering presence, appeared at his young wife's side without warning. He put his arms around her shoulders in a gesture that might have looked affectionate to an outsider, but Lucinda noted that Josephina tensed up immediately. Marcella, however, did not.
"Have you decided on a name for your baby yet?" she asked way too cheerfully.
Irritation rose in Lucinda, yet it didn't surprise her, that Marcella couldn't read the people's discomfort standing beside her.
"Edmund likes the name Marcus," Josephina murmured, glancing briefly at her husband, with a timid smile.
"Marcus? How old-fashioned," Marcella said, wrinkling her nose.
"My grandfather's name. A respectable man," Edmund replied, sounding irritated by the comment.
"If it's a girl, maybe Celeste," Josephina added quietly.
Edmund narrowed his eyes and gave Josephina a light slap on her arm, hard enough to make her flinch.
"Let's hope it's a boy," he chuckled, but there was no warmth in his laugh. The sound of it made Lucinda's stomach turn, and Josephina lowered her head again, clenching the fabric that covered her belly with her fingers. Lucinda had never thought much of her and her friends, but they didn't deserve this fate either. Not this treatment. And not this disrespect.
"Ladies, if you'll excuse me," he said, smoothing his robe as if preparing for something more important.
He left without giving his wife another glance and walked over to Lucius, who had waved at him from the other side of the hall, surrounded by Bertram Crabbe and Duncan Goyle, signalling Edmund to come over like a servant.
Josephina's posture loosened the moment he walked away, stretching her fingers, and letting them slide over her belly. She forced a smile that didn't reach her and failed to convince Lucinda. Realising that could be her life in just a few years made her feel nauseous, her breathing shallowed for a moment, and she felt the pulse in her temples quicken. She forced herself to remain calm, clenched her left hand behind her back into a fist and relaxed it again, her index finger unconsciously sliding over her ring; her right hand clutched desperately at the crystal glass she was still holding. Her face, however, showed no reaction.
Marcella, still smiling, continued talking as if nothing had happened. Rowena stood beside her, completely disassociated throughout the conversation. Only occasionally did she look up, her eyes following the floating snowflakes.
Lucinda wondered whether Marcella genuinely failed to notice her friends' discomfort, or if she was ignoring it on purpose to avoid facing the truth.
She turned away from the girls and spotted Narcissa talking to her mother, Druella Black, in the crowd. Her sister-in-law seemed more relaxed than usual; she was less stiff, yet still straight-backed, and there was a slight glow in her eyes that Lucinda had rarely seen before, as her own light eyes suddenly met Bellatrix's dark eyes.
The woman held her gaze for a moment, then her mouth twisted into a cunning smile. With graceful, deliberate steps, she approached Lucinda; her dark, wavy hair, half pinned up, bounced with every movement and fell gently over her shoulder. Her tall, slender figure was dressed in a black, velvety, figure-hugging robe that emphasised her curves and her cleavage.
Lucinda breathed as inconspicuously as possible before Bellatrix reached her, knowing full well how cautious she had to be in this woman's presence.
"Lucinda," Bellatrix said, with a sly smile, and placed herself beside her, facing the ballroom with its guests.
Lucinda nodded in return. Bellatrix pointed to the men who were still surrounding her father, different ones this time.
"I've heard something interesting," Bellatrix murmured, stepping closer so that only Lucinda could hear her. Lucinda could smell her perfume—something heavy and dominant, matching its wearer.
"Your father is looking for a... suitable match. You're almost... what, seventeen?"
"In March. Yes," Lucinda returned, her face stern, watching Ares Carrow, who had just caught her father's attention.
"I've heard whispers," Bellatrix continued. "The Mulciber boy. Or perhaps a Nott. Or a Rosier. Families like that have been requesting matches for you. Quite eager, actually. A marriage to a Malfoy would give them the recognition they so desperately want." She gave a short laugh. "It's like watching an auction for a trained animal. Everyone waiting for Abraxas to make his decision."
She turned, watching Lucinda directly, studying her face closely, as if expecting a reaction.
Lucinda, however, wouldn't give her the satisfaction. Instead, she took a sip of her wine, which—due to the enchanted glass—still tasted fresh and cool.
With an unreadable expression, she watched as the corners of her father's mouth lifted slightly when Ares Carrow had obviously made a joke. The other men responded with polite laughter. One of the men, Camryn Mulciber, turned away and his smile vanished immediately, making a mocking face before returning to the other men.
"No reaction at all. Impressive. Ice in the blood—just like your father. Your brother could learn something from that," Bellatrix laughed with a sound that made Lucinda's skin crawl.
Her dark grey eyes followed Lucinda's gaze, which were still watching the men around her father.
"Disgusting, isn't it?" she murmured. "How women in our world are treated like... objects. Ware, to be exchanged for status, for advantages. Marriage as business. Obedience as duty." She pulled a disgusted face. "This is what most pureblood women like us must endure."
Lucinda was truly surprised by this take but still didn't give away anything. Bellatrix was still watching her and her smile only widened.
"Still," she went on lightly, "you should consider yourself lucky. Ages ago—of course—you were meant to be betrothed to my dear cousin."
Lucinda finally turned to her, meeting the other woman's gaze directly.
"Sirius," Bellatrix giggled, visibly amused. "Can you imagine it. You. Married to him. And then he runs off like the filthy little blood traitor he is. You'd have been the wife a disgrace. That would've made you a laughable figure."
At least I wouldn't have to have this conversation now, Lucinda thought, keeping her face unreadable.
"I can consider myself lucky," she replied calmly.
Bellatrix raised her eyebrows and nodded. "I've been quite lucky myself, I suppose. My husband is... manageable. Submissive—if I dare to say so," a cunning smile tugged her lips, shifting her gaze towards the crowd, where a tall, dark-haired man with a strong build stood among others. "I know how to handle him. That makes the difference, doesn't it?" She leaned in closer, lowering her voice, but not so low that her words lost their sharp edge. "Rabastan—my husband's brother—is looking for a new wife. A young one. Very young. And... beautiful. The last one unfortunately died. Dragon pox." A shrill laugh escaped her. "He would make a fine husband. Strong. Serious. Loyal." She gave a wink, and Lucinda knew what this was supposed to mean. Loyal yes, but not to her. Not to his wife.
Rabastan Lestrange, Rodulphus Lestrange's younger brother, was at least seven years older than her. Known for his temper, and his extramarital affairs. He stood next to his brother, significantly slimmer but just as tall and dark-haired. His eyes were narrowed to slits, and there was something hard, something cold in his face.
The sight of him made Lucinda's stomach twist, nausea rose again, and her palm became sweaty, yet she didn't dare to take her eyes off Bellatrix. She knew full well that the other woman was provoking her, trying to tease a reaction out of her, watching for the smallest sign of fear.
"Oh, oh," Bellatrix said softly, "why so pale, little dove?" And before Lucinda could react, she let her long finger slide across Lucinda's cheek, from her left temple over her lips to her chin. The touch was intrusive and dominant, as if he wanted to show her who was in charge of the situation.
Lucinda, still holding Bellatrix's gaze, exhaled sharply, though barely noticeably, yet the other woman must have noticed it. She lowered her hand in satisfaction.
"I'm curious who my father will chose," Lucinda replied flatly. "It's his decision in the end."
Before Bellatrix could reply, a clink, the sound of a spoon hitting a glass was heard, then the clearing of a throat.
"Your attention, please," a deep voice announced.
The music's volume lowered, as well as the chatter coming from the guests, and it became so quiet that Lucinda thought she could hear the snowflakes drifting to the floor.
All heads turned forward to the top of the marble staircase overlooking the ballroom, where Abraxas stood, next to him Lucius and slightly behind him, clinging to her husband's arm, Narcissa.
Abraxas didn't raise his voice; he didn't need to. "The House of Malfoy is pleased to announce that my son, Lucius, and his wife, Narcissa, are expecting their next heir."
There was a moment of silence, before it was broken by the eruption of polite applause.
Lucinda, however, didn't clap; she didn't make a move at all. Some of the women folded their hands over their chest in amazement; Marcella let out an "Ohhh" as she smiled dreamily at Narcissa, causing Lucinda to shake her head almost imperceptibly. Just another child born into this golden cage. The men raised their glasses in Lucius' direction as if to toast.
Her gaze fell on Narcissa. She was still standing a step behind Lucius, who had taken her hand and slightly pulled her behind him, as if shielding her from the crowd. Her shoulders were slightly raised, her back straight, and a smile frozen on her face. But her eyes didn't wander over the crowd; she didn't beam.
The applause was fading, and more and more guests approached the soon-to-be-parents to express their congratulations in person. Some politely shook their hands, others clapped Lucius on the shoulder in admiration, while others expressed their congratulations more warmly by giving them a brief hug.
"Children," Bellatrix remarked, wrinkling her nose, "endless screaming, whining, constantly craving attention. And they're so... dirty." She turned back to Lucinda and winked at her. "There are always ways and methods to avoid this."
Then, much to Lucinda's relief, Bellatrix turned and moved through the crowd towards Narcissa and Lucius, outstretching her arms to express her congratulations.
Lucinda watched the crowd for a while without making a move.
The music swelled again, signalling that the dance had begun. But Lucinda had no desire to dance; she just wanted to disappear. Away from here, away from the guests, away from her predetermined future.
"Lucinda," came a smooth, but seemingly practised, stiff voice at her side.
Lucinda slowly turned around, and if this evening couldn't get any worse—Evan Rosier stood beside her, offering his hand.
"Would you grant me the honour of a dance?"
Absolutely not, she thought. But, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Abraxas, who was standing at the other side of the hall, watching from afar. She could feel his piercing gaze on her, one that demanded obedience, tolerating no refusal.
Before she could give him an answer, he took the glass from her hand, placing it on of a passing house elf without even looking down.
She slowly breathed and gave a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes. "If you insist."
Reluctantly, she took his ice-cold, surprisingly sweaty hand, which revealed more uncertainty than she would have thought from him. Good.
He led her to the dance floor with the exaggerated care of someone who thought appearances were everything.
"You look stunning tonight," he said, as they slowly began to move to the rhythm of the music, his hand resting low on her waist, "as always, of course."
"I'm aware," she replied.
He blinked, then chuckled, and to Lucinda's dismay, mistaking it for flirtation. "I hear Professor Slughorn still talks about that wit-sharpening potion you brewed last year. Says it was better than anything he's seen from a student in decades." His left hand slowly moved further down.
"Of course, someone like you would consider a simple potion to be extraordinary," Lucinda replied coldly, taking his left hand in hers and moving it back up to her waist, her gaze icy. Evan pretended nothing had happened, but she could see his face going pale before it flushed.
She knew full well that he was trying to flatter her yet again; it wasn't the first time she had rejected him. And yet he never seemed to understand and kept trying again and again. But Lucinda had no patience, wanting to end the conversation as quickly as possible.
Evan stumbled slightly, almost stepping on Lucinda's foot, then caught himself.
"Well, Potions was indeed never my strength," he admitted with a tight laugh. "I'm more inclined toward... larger ambitions."
"Such as?"
"My father has been meeting with certain people, you know. There are opportunities coming. And we should be prepared. My father happens to be one of his closest companions. I've been told the Dark Lord sees promise in our generation. If we align ourselves correctly—"
Lucinda's gaze sharpened. "How brave of you to speak so openly about treason," she cut in. "In a public ballroom."
"Aren't we all here with the same opinions?" he frowned.
"You never know who's secretly listening, Evan," she said gently, looking him straight in his watery blue eyes. "The wrong ears may be listening. You should never say those things out loud. You never know who might turn on you."
His jaw tightened, and Lucinda was sure she could sense uncertainty. "I mean... not treason. Restoration," he muttered, and spun her around once before taking her hand again.
"To what?" she asked. "To days when your family didn't have to earn its place through flattery?"
Evan's lips pressed together. "It's easy to criticise when your name already opens every door."
Lucinda smiled faintly. "And yet here you are, still trying to impress me."
The music slowed down, the composition was coming to an end, and Lucinda was glad that this conversation would soon be over. She noticed Evan swallow before he regained his control.
"You know," he tried again, voice softer, "a match between our families would be—"
"Predictable," Lucinda interjected. "And dull."
He blinked at her. "You find me dull?"
"I find you rehearsed," she said, still smiling as she watched the expression slowly drain from his face. "Which is worse."
The music faded. She stepped back before he could speak again, dropping into a shallow curtsey more out of habit than politeness.
"If you excuse me. It's late, I'd rather leave. Thank you for the dance, Mr Rosier. It was... enlightening."
She turned around, a feeling of victory growing inside her, as one of the other boys—Caius Avery, a boy a year below Lucinda—appeared from the crowd, but before he could offer her a dance, she raised her hand dismissively and shook her head.
The music had shifted to something more cheerful, as if the tunes could cover the cruel politics of its listeners.
Just as she was about to cross the threshold, she suddenly heard voices, coming from the lobby adjoining the great hall.
"—disgraceful," Abraxas was saying in a low voice. "First your niece. Now your eldest—running of with blood traitors and mudblood friends. The Blacks are decaying."
Lucinda slipped carefully behind the curtain covering the door, to avoid being noticed.
"How dare you speak of my family like that," Walburga hissed. "You Malfoys married into us. If anything—"
"I married Narcissa into our family," Abraxas interrupted coldly. "A strategic union. One that makes me wonder whether it was the right choice."
The voices came closer now, and Lucinda leaned back slightly, covering her mouth with her hands to hide her breathing.
Walburga's voice rose. "Andromeda is no longer a Black. She is struck from the tapestry. Cygnus has disinherited her. And Sirius—he's just a foolish boy who went astray. He'll see what's he's done and come—"
"He won't," Abraxas cut in. "And you're delusional if you truly believe that. You've already lost him."
"I HAVE NOT—"
Walburga stopped mid-sentence, and Lucinda could hear her breathing heavily. Then there was silence. Lucinda felt the tension thickening, as if it were possible to cut the air, even though she didn't see either of them. She could only imagine her father's gaze that had silenced the woman.
"You forget yourself, Walburga," Abraxas said so quietly that she could barely hear it, but the quiet warning was unmistakable.
Lucinda pushed the curtain back half an inch and watched her father leaving back to the great hall as if nothing had happened. Walburga stood frozen for a moment, pale, her lips trembling, her chest rising and falling visibly, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Taking a final deep breath, she tried to compose herself, but she wasn't convincing. Her face was contorted with anger that she couldn't hide, and Lucinda wondered if she would take it out on her son later. She hoped not. Then Walburga followed Abraxas back into the hall.
Lucinda cautiously emerged from her hiding place and slowly moved away in the opposite direction, towards her chamber. As she walked down the dimly lit corridors, the corners of her mouth curled into a smile without her realising.
She knew exactly how much Sirius would have enjoyed seeing his mother silenced and put in her place.