The Wedding of Lucius and Narcissa

By Vanzetti

The wedding was a disaster. Oh, not in any obvious way. It didn't rain, the band wasn't horrible, the guests didn't appear to be developing food poisoning. No fights had broken out, no family feuds erupted, no one was going to be killed the next day in a wizarding duel over some drunken slight. The bride was beautiful, the bridegroom attentive, the parents and friends all doting.

But still, a disaster. From the folds of Narcissa's white chiffon dress to the white roses she had carried down the aisle to the tasteful quartet playing a pavanne, the whole affair oozed good taste and Malfoy money. And that, Marita thought, was the problem.

The night before she had made one final attempt to explain her fears to her older sister, and once more Narcissa had shrugged them off. No doubt trying to use the Freudian psychology she'd picked up in Muggle Studies last year had been a mistake. "Daddy is dead, Marita," Narcissa had hissed at her. "I know that! And Lucius is nothing like him."

"What I mean," Marita had said, "is that you're trying to use Lucius to replace Daddy. Lucius is always telling you what to do, and you like that."

"Don't be stupid. And anyway, someone needs to take care of this family. You don't think that mother is going to do it, do you?"

Their mother was becoming more ghostlike every year since their father's disappearance, and for a while Marita had gotten up early every morning to check and make sure that she hadn't faded away entirely. "Why can't we take care of each other, the way we used to?"

"Oh Marita, you're such a child. When you're a woman you'll understand."

"I'm 14," Marita had objected. "I know about sex."

"But not about love, darling," Narcissa had said.

Love indeed, Marita thought now, watching her sister dance with her new husband. Narcissa could not possibly be in love with that creepy Lucius Malfoy, no matter what she said. It was Malfoy's money and standing that she wanted, that was all.

The pavanne finally ended, and the quartet struck up a waltz. Arturo Goyle was making his way purposefully toward her; she looked around for an escape and when she looked back found an older man standing in front of her. That Mr. Parkinson again, she thought. Not for the first time, she noticed that there was something snakelike about him, something in the shape of his head or the set of his eyes. She wouldn't have been surprised if he's turned out to be a Parseltongue. But he was an old friend of Lucius' family and had walked Narcissa down the aisle, in the absence of their own father.

He held out his hand. "May I?" he asked and she was so surprised that she let him lead her out onto the dance floor. "I don't believe that I've told you how lovely you look, my dear."

She resisted the urge to correct him. Narcissa was the pretty one, and today more than ever. Marita was the smart one, top of her year in Charms and Transfiguration and in the top three of everything else. "Thank you," she managed.

He looked down at her. "I suppose that this marriage will cause a number of changes for you."

Marita had an answer ready for that. "Mother and I are moving into a house on the Malfoy estate. Lucius has been very kind."

"Lucius thinks very highly of you, you know. I suspect he finds you rather daunting."

"Why?" she asked and bit her lip. She could always hope that he would think the question bold, rather than stupid.

Parkinson continued as if he hadn't heard her. "And as you know, he loves you sister very much."

Marita suspected that it would be tactless to tell Mr. Parkinson that she didn't believe Lucius capable of love, and had her doubts about Narcissa. "Yes," seemed the most innocuous comment.

When the music ended he escorted her off the dance floor. "Lucius tells me that you've decided to pursue Muggle Studies."

"I find it interesting."

"It's an unusual choice for a Slytherin."

She had an answer ready for that question, too. "Muggle Studies is an important subject. We need to understand them. They outnumber us, and what happens to them affects us."

"Indeed." He surveyed the room. "Pity more of us didn't agree with you."

She blushed at the praise.

"You may not know, Marita, that my business takes me to New York on a regular basis. Would you like to come with me someday?"

This time Marita kept her questions to herself. Maybe this was just Lucius' way of getting rid of her, or maybe there was something else Mr. Parkinson wanted. She was certain that the entire conversation had been engineered to permit this question.

"Think about it," Mr. Parkinson told her. "I believe that you'd find New York interesting." He bowed slightly and turned to go.

"Mr. Parkinson?" she asked. He turned back. "My sister thinks that Lucius Malfoy isn't a gambler." She could feel how pink her cheeks were. They probably matched her dress.

"Well, not in the sense that your father was. Or is," he corrected himself. "Lucius is unlikely to disappear mysteriously after a wizarding baccarat game in Buenos Aires, for example."

She could feel herself turning even redder, and reminded herself that she had chosen to ask the question; she could hardly object if he mentioned her father.

"But in every other way, my dear," Mr. Parkinson continued, "Lucius Malfoy is the grandest gambler I know, and it is very clever of you to see it. Just look at this crowd." He nodded to her and wandered away.

end.