Work Text:
The sun was shining over Wiltshire when a young wizard appeared before the iron gates of Malfoy Manor. Steven Smith was not supposed to be here, but when his colleagues in the lifestyle department of Witch Weekly were all exposed and infected with the black-cat flu, his editor graciously volunteered (more like volun-told) him for this assignment. After all, one would never dare attempt to reschedule an interview with Narcissa Black-Malfoy.
Steven was a junior reporter for the small sports department at Witch Weekly, a job he was hired for immediately after graduating from Hogwarts two years prior. He’d always felt at home on a quidditch pitch, though he had never been a particularly good player. So, after the war ended in what should have been his third year at Hogwarts, he became the school's quidditch announcer, a position he took great pride in. He could speak about quidditch for hours, impressing friends and colleagues with his extensive knowledge, but he doubted it would do him much good today.
Thankfully, the reporter originally assigned this interview, Aurora Fawley, was a thorough and dedicated reporter and had sent over a very long and detailed list of questions, as well as explicit instructions on how to go about conducting this interview. Per her directions, Steven wore his best robes and combed his hair with Sleakeazy’s. It had felt a little silly, since the quidditch players he was accustomed to interviewing never cared what he wore, but as he walked through the gate and up the long drive past the meticulously maintained gardens, he suddenly felt woefully underdressed.
The grounds of the estate were breathtaking and spoke immensely of the Malfoy fortune. He passed a hedge maze, orchard, and colourful rose garden on his walk up the path. Before reaching the house, he spotted a family of peacocks leisurely strolling through the open grounds.
Well, two of the three peacocks were strutting, while the smallest was running around in circles, hiding under bushes and pecking at the stone statues lining the walk. The rambunctious baby peacock made him wonder if there was a name for youngling peacocks, such as chicks were baby chickens. Sadly, it would be a question for another time, he thought as he approached the large oak doors of the manor.
He lifted his fist in a single polite knock. The door immediately swung open to reveal a small house elf in a sparkly pink tutu and satin ribbons tied around both ears.
“Erm… Hello,” He greeted the creature, “I am here for an appointment with Narcissa Malfoy.”
“You are early, Monsieur.” The elf stated in a thick French accent, her tone verging on disapproval.
Discomforted being scolded by such a small creature dressed in pastel frills, he attempted an explanation.
“Apologies miss…” He realized he didn’t know the elf’s name.
“Henriette, Monsieur.”
“Right, Henriette, apologies for being a few minutes early, no traffic while apparating from the office.” He jested, but the elf did not seem impressed.
“Mistress isn’t ready for you yet, Monsieur. She has a very busy day.” She stated.
If this was Narcissa Malfoy’s elf, how much would the witch herself turn up her nose at him?
He knew the Malfoys had a reputation as one of the most powerful wizarding families in all of Europe—though that reputation had been tarnished over the years by their support of You-Know-Who during the Second Wizarding War. However, it was common knowledge that during the final battle, the Malfoys openly defected, and—if his limited research was correct—helped ensure victory against You-Know-Who.
Steven was saved from formulating a reply to the judgemental ballerina when another figure entered the front hall.
“Mr. Smith?” Lucius Malfoy asked him, his tone much more polite than the elf’s.
Eager to engage with someone else, he greeted his host.
“Yes Sir. Steven Smith,” He held out his hand and the wizard accepted it graciously.
“Excellent, I’ll take it from here Henriette.” He spoke kindly to the elf who gave a small bow before popping away with a crack.
“My wife is most looking forward to your interview.” He addressed Steven once more.
This was not the Lucius Malfoy he had expected to meet. When the war ended, despite the Malfoy’s change in loyalty, they had much to atone for. Lucius had been sentenced to five years probation and house arrest. His wand had been confiscated by the ministry and held until his probation ended six months ago, though he still had not been seen publicly.
Despite being confined to his home over the last five, almost six years, Lucius Malfoy appeared in excellent shape, the cane he held was obviously more for style than utility. His long, sleek hair was pulled back into a low ponytail and tied with a bow. On any other man, this may have appeared undignified, but Steven could not help but be intimidated by the gentlemen’s imposing presence.
“I hope she is alright with the last-minute change in interviewer, Aurora would have been here if she could.”
“Mr. Smith, my wife would shine even if she was interviewed by a flobberworm.” Lucius claimed with a chuckle, “You’ll do just fine and I appreciate you keeping her out of my hair this afternoon.”
Steven was unsure whether to be relieved or insulted by Mr. Malfoy’s statement, but they were interrupted before he could decide.
“And what could my darling husband be up to this afternoon that he wishes to keep secret from me?” A feminine voice called from the top of the stairs.
Glancing up, Steven caught sight of Narcissa Malfoy descending the grand staircase, smiling warmly at the pair of them. She was regal in her icy blue dress robes, embroidered with silver thread, exactly the type of look that would grace the cover of the magazine he worked for. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Lucius reached out and kissed her hand reverently.
“A surprise, my flower, not a secret. I shall reveal it when it is ready. After all, nothing stays hidden from you for long.” Her husband answers.
“Very well, my love,” She accepted with a coy smile, “I shall keep out of your hair if you remain out of mine.”
“Expertly negotiated, you are impossible to refuse, dearest.” The wizard stated before turning to Steven, “Mr. Smith, I shall leave you in my wife’s capable hands and retire to my study. Good day.”
“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” The wizards shook hands a final time before the older gentlemen retreated down the hallway from which he had previously emerged.
“Right, Mr. Smith,” Narcissa turned her focus to him when her husband vanished into the house, “I believe Aurora gave you instructions for our interview today?”
He nodded, eager to give a good first impression.
“Yes Mrs. Malfoy, her notes were very clear. I have her questions and if I miss anything I hope you won’t mind answering them for Aurora during the photoshoot next week for the cover.”
“Of course,” She agreed, “Out of curiosity, how many questions did Miss Fawley leave you?”
“I believe it was seventy-three, ma’am.” He recalled.
“My, my, after seventy-three questions I expect you and the readers of Witch Weekly will know me quite well. With so many, perhaps we should walk and talk throughout the tour.”
“Of course, Mrs. Malfoy. Whatever you prefer.” He reached into his bag to summon Aurora’s list of questions and his Quick Quotes Quill.
“Excellent, and please dear, call me Narcissa.” She said as she gestured for him to follow, heading down a different corridor than the one her husband had used earlier.
“Alright, Narcissa, please call me Steven.” He mumbled as he followed after her, still quite nervous.
“Wonderful, Stefan, I am ready when you are.” She led him into a grand dining room and immediately began an intense monologue about the history of the furniture.
Unable to get a word in for the next few minutes, he failed to interrupt long enough to correct her misnaming him even after she did it twice more while discussing the sixteenth-century table. Finally, she took a pause, seeming to catch herself in leading their conversation.
“Apologies, Stefan. Please begin your questioning and I promise not to ramble this time.”
Deciding not to correct her wasn’t worth the hassle, Steven glanced at Aurora’s question list and searched for a good starting point. He decided to go with the topic they were currently on.
“You have a lovely home, what inspired your interior design?”
“Although most everything you see is an heirloom, the manor's design is actually a newer development. After He commandeered our home to use as his own personal torture chamber, I could not bear to step foot inside some of the rooms. The entire east wing, including the former drawing room, was razed to the ground after the horrors we witnessed there.”
“I assume the ‘He’ you are referring to is You-Know-Who?”
“Voldemort,” She spat, “I learned to say his name and you should too. In the end, he was just a man, and all men are mortal.”
You-Know-Who had always been a mythical being to him. His first year at Hogwarts had been the year of the Tri-Wizard Tournament which ended in the Dark Lord’s return, even if the Ministry had tried to cover it up at the time. Only a few years later he was forced into hiding when the Ministry fell under Voldemort’s control. It was only after the wizard's defeat that Steven learned what it meant to have a ‘normal’ year at Hogwarts.
Perhaps Narcissa had a point, and Aurora's notes had questions to dive deeper into the topic of the war, but he decided to make them both more comfortable, choosing to ask the simpler questions first as they moved into the ballroom.
“Do you prefer this vintage style? Or modern?” He felt out of his depth asking questions on decorating, but Narcissa gave a small chuckle.
“The word you are looking to describe my taste is antique, dear.” She teased, “Timeless elegance is so rarely achieved in modern furnishings these days.”
He was more grateful to his Quick Quotes Quill than ever, he had only just started and already her answers filled half a roll of parchment. He had originally felt silly when Aurora insisted he bring at least twenty rolls, but he worried now that they may not be enough.
“Does that not apply to your fashion sense as well? I believe you have entered a partnership with an up-and-coming designer, a Miss…” He looked down to check the name, but Narcissa beat him to it.
“Pansy Parkinson,” She declared proudly, “A former classmate of my son and an innovative and forward-thinking witch. She believes in mixing traditional wizard and modern muggle styles to create both practical and stylish pieces that fit the lifestyle of today’s witches.”
“How do you personally incorporate the older traditional style with the new while maintaining your sense of identity?” He read verbatim from Aurora’s notes.
“Well it is a balancing act, but I find the more modern the silhouette and styles, the more classic I prefer to go with my accessories. For example, my mother left me her gold rose brooch which I treasure greatly. It goes with anything, old or new.”
Despite working for Witch Weekly, he had never stepped foot inside the fashion offices and felt out of his depth, hoping that Aurora would be satisfied with that answer and moved on to a more mundane subject.
“In a change of topic, what is your wand core?”
“Unicorn hair set in alder wood, ten and a half inches. It has served me well since I received it from Olivander’s at eleven.”
“When you attended Hogwarts did you expect to be sorted into Slytherin?” The question felt juvenile but Narcissa lit up.
“Oh no, actually. Bellatrix convinced me I was doomed for Hufflepuff by the time I stepped foot on the Hogwarts Express.” She gave a small chuckle, “The Black family comes from a long line of Slytherins so I recall shaking when the hat was placed on my head, afraid of being disowned by my parents if it dared to place me anywhere else.”
It intrigued him to hear her mention her sister Bellatrix so casually. In the time he had been in the wizarding world, he had only heard it said with fear while she was alive and mere disdain after her death. Narcissa held a unique and intimate view of her sister, having known her long before she became You-Know-Who’s most deadly general.
“Anyway, the sorting hat had only been on my head long enough to tell me that I would do best in Slytherin before declaring it to the rest of the Great Hall.”
Despite his list, he was compelled to ask another question, curious for her answer.
“If your family’s judgement had not been an issue, would you have wanted to go anywhere else?”
“Oh no,” She gave him a grin, “I’m a true Slytherin, dear, and I was right at home in that snake pit. It taught me many crucial lessons and I have used each and every one of them throughout my life. They brought me strength in a world designed to break me.”
“What was the most important lesson you learned being in Slytherin?”
“I learned that to dull your fears, you must sharpen your wit. The more you understand the world, the less you’ll have to fear from it.”
“And would you say that is your greatest strength?” He asked, pleased with how the interview was progressing.
“Perhaps, or maybe it is the art of saying something without saying anything at all.” She winked at him.
“And what about weaknesses? Everyone has them.”
“Yes, they do but I shall not expose mine. You never know who is watching, darling.” Naricass gestured to the portraits lining the walls.
In this time they had moved through the ballroom, into what appeared to be an art gallery. Most of the portraits seemed to be of Malfoy ancestors, all appraising him and he suddenly found Narcissa’s comment quite relevant. He cleared his throat and redirected his attention back to his interviewee. The gallery did prompt his next line of questions.
“You have a large art collection, which pieces are your favourites?”
“Yes, the collection has been curated over several generations of Malfoys. I brought in a few pieces when I married into the family, but my absolute favourite is the Monet I purchased a few years ago.”
She pointed out a few more paintings and discussed their history before moving through to a large set of double doors.
“Is the gallery your favourite room, Narcissa?” His eyes still travelled around, a whole hour in this room would not give him enough time to catalogue all of the works.
“It is spectacular, but no it is not. Your timing for that question is impeccable,” She gestured to the doors in front of them, “One last stop before we view the grounds and have tea. This is my favourite room in the manor, Stefan.”
The double door opened into a spectacular two-story library, packed to the brim with books. Steven had never been one to enjoy books over more exciting endeavours, such as quidditch, but even he was awestruck by the grandeur of the space. The warm wooden shelves lining the walls were contrasted by the leather and velvet chairs and sofas sprinkled throughout. Each of the seating areas created an intimate nook for its visitors to relax.
Narcissa walked into the room and he followed aimlessly, his list of questions momentarily forgotten.
“Malfoy’s have been collecting priceless editions for centuries, of course. A hobby of many of Lucius’s ancestors and one I hope continues for many more generations.”
“Have you read them all?” His hand reached out to brush the spine of an ancient tome.
“Goodness no!” Her exclamation startled him out of his state, “I may be a voracious reader, but even I know one could spend a lifetime in this room and never finish them all, though I do know one witch willing to try.”
“Apologies Narcissa, I am afraid I was left speechless for a moment. I can see why it is your favourite room.”
The witch just laughed and waved her hand.
“My dear, you aren’t the first to do so, and you certainly aren’t the most dramatic. The last witch we showed the library didn’t say a word for hours as she explored the shelves. Poor Draco thought she might never speak again.”
“Yes, well I can understand why.”
“Henriette!” Narcissa called out followed by a loud crack and the appearance of the judgemental French house elf.
“Yes, Mistress?” The creature asked sweetly, “How can Henriette help?”
“Would you be so kind as to set out the tea on the terrace? We will head there in a few minutes.”
“Of course m’lady!” The elf squeaked excitedly, “Henriette just made macaroons for Mistress and her guest! So many desserts to make today! So much celebration!”
“Thank you, Henriette,” Narcissa smiled warmly at the elf.
When Henriette disappeared after a curtsy, Narcissa returned her focus to him.
“Apologies for the interruption, I wished to ensure we would not have to wait on tea.”
“Oh… No worries. I can’t help but notice that your house elf appears to be free.”
“Is that a question on your list? All house elves in Britain were freed as of three years ago and after fighting so hard for my own freedom I have no interest in keeping slaves.”
“Was Henriette your house elf before the law passed?” He inquired.
“No, she was freed in France a few years ago and was unable to find work there. I had placed an ad in the Daily Prophet after the law passed and she applied. She is an incredibly hard worker, and we do pay her quite well for her services. Nothing can get done in an estate such as this without help and I believe a well-paid and well-treated house elf is much more valuable than any slave.”
“Are you much involved in politics? I believe the Black family seat in the Wizengamot has been left empty since your uncle’s death during the first war. Could you ever see yourself stepping in?
“Oh certainly not, though there was a time my husband was involved in politics, now it interests neither of us. As for your other question, that seat will remain empty until my great-nephew comes of age. He will be the one to take it up, but only if he cares to.”
He attempted to recall Narcissa’s family tree, remembering that Aurora’s notes included that the youngest descendent of the Black was currently Teddy Lupin, son of war heroes Nyphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin who had died during the Battle of Hogwarts.
“Come, we can wander the shelves a bit before we go out onto the terrace.” Narcissa announced, tactfully ending their conversation on politics.
Following Narcissa’s lead, they begin to weave through the intricate shelves, thousands of tomes peering down at them.
“With all these books here, there must be very little you don’t have the means to learn. Is there anything you’d still like to learn more about that maybe isn’t in this library?”
“I’ve always been fascinated by the muggle movie theatre,” she said. “ I’d love to see how they function.”
“Oh! I love the movies, do you go see films regularly?” He asked excitedly.
“Oh, no. I’ve only been once. I found the theatre to be quite loud, no matter how intriguing. I’ve never been fond of anyplace too loud.”
“I hear you,” he agreed. “Do you have any other pet peeves?”
“Well I-”
“Mother?!” A frantic young man’s voice sounded and Narcissa let out a small sigh.
“Being interrupted,” she muttered, answering the question before turning her head toward the doorway of the library. “We’re over here, my dragon.”
Steven turned to see Draco Malfoy stride into the room, looking much like he’d remembered him in school except maybe a little taller. He was a few years older than Steven, thus making him illustrious and god-like to many of the underclassmen. But now, the confident strut he had once had in his youth was replaced by a panicked shuffle as the wizard looked more frazzled than Steven ever remembered seeing him.
“Mother, I cannot find my emerald cufflinks!” he said a little too frantically for just a pair of cufflinks.
“I swear to Merlin if Theo moved them to mess with me I shall forbid him from coming to the w—” his eyes widened as he turned the corner, finally noticing Steven standing alongside his mother.
“Er… Hello, sorry to interrupt,” he offered before turning to Narcissa. “Mother I simply must have those cufflinks for today, I need everything to be perfect.”
“And it will be, my dragon, I promise. Have you tried summoning them?”
“Yes, Mother, of course I—” Draco blushed, and ran a hand through his hair, “Right. Well. That is a good idea. I’ll try that and then head out to the gardens to set up.”
Narcissa laughed lightly at her son’s nerves.
“You’ll be just fine without practice, Draco, but if you insist, then please be sure when you’re setting up the garden to stay away from little Henry. His parents are awfully protective of him these days.”
“Thank you, mother. And it was nice meeting you… sir.”
Steven couldn’t even remind Draco that they’d met years prior before the blonde rushed from the room.
“Apologies for my son, it's a big day for him today, he’s just a little nervous,” Narcissa said with a small smile.
“No problem at all, Narcissa.”
“Shall we sit out on the terrace, then? It has a lovely view of the grounds.”
“Sure,” he agreed. “And speaking of your son, I believe he and Hermione Granger have been dating for a few years now, and people are beginning to speculate on whether they will be getting married anytime soon. What are your thoughts on their relationship?”
“My son’s romantic life is between him and Miss Granger alone. Though, if I had to give my own thoughts, I would say Miss Granger is a lovely girl and I would be honoured to welcome her into my family should the occasion arise,” she said with a knowing twinkle in her eye.
She pushed open the glass doors at the back of the library revealing a large patio terrace with a tea service already sat at a posh little table with two chairs and a tray stacked full of macaroons.
“Wow.” He said taking in the sweeping grounds.
“A bit dumbly stated, but yes, wow is right. We pride ourselves on the natural beauty of our grounds.”
“I’m sure,” he chuckled once through his nose at her haughtiness. “The rose garden looks magnificent from here. How many kinds of roses do you grow there?”
“Three-hundred-sixty-seven. Although I’d hardly call the garden our most impressive asset.”
“What would you say is the most impressive part of the grounds?” he grinned in disbelief.
“Surely the peacock habitat,” she said matter-of-factly.
He barely suppressed his chuckle at her fondness for her peacocks, although he wasn’t certain she wasn’t saying it to mess with him.
He quirked a brow. “What’s the second most impressive?”
“The regulation-sized Quidditch pitch. My son could have gone professional, you know,” she said haughtily.
“You have a full-sized pitch here?!” He could barely contain his excitement at the news.
“Of course, Lucius gifted it to Draco as a birthday present before he left for Hogwarts. He would practise all summer with his friends after he made the quidditch team and now they use it to play recreationally when the weather permits.”
“Thank Merlin! I didn’t realise I could talk about quidditch! Who is your favourite team?”
“Oh, no thank you. I might cheer on my son, but I truly have no interest in the sport.” She offered him a sympathetic look.
Crestfallen, Steven quelled his excitement and forced himself to return to other topics.
“Oh… Alright, then I’ll go ahead and do a round of ‘this-or-that’ questions where I give you some options and you tell us your preference.”
Narcissa waved her hand in a “go on” sort of gesture as she poured them both a cup of tea.
“Do you prefer coffee or tea?”
“Tea, darling, I am British.” She graciously handed him a cup and he took care not to drop the fine china.
“Heels, flats, or sneakers?”
She rolled her eyes. “Is that even a real question? Heels.”
“Apparating or flying?”
“I prefer floo travel, if it's all the same to you.” She picked up a macaroon from the tray and took a delicate bite.
“Summer or winter?” He continued, selecting a green macaroon from the tray, hoping it was pistachio.
“Summer, since it was Draco’s longest holiday from school. But truly, I prefer the spring. It is the loveliest season for a wedding, is it not?”
“Yes, I’m sure it is,” he asked distractedly. “Is someone getting married?”He took a bite of the macaroon and tasted what could only be described as pistachio-flavoured heaven.
Narcissa smiled fondly as she brought her teacup to her lips and shrugged.
Weird.
Determined to not let the mysterious woman throw him off, Steven continued.
“Sweet or salty?”
“Sweet.” She said without hesitation before finishing off her macaroon.
“Floo call or owl?”
“How old do you think I am? Even I’m not so old-fashioned as to owl people all the time. But, even though they are less efficient, I do love the little dears.”
“A night in or a night out?”
“I prefer to host, then I can tell people to leave when I like.” She sent him a wink.
“Love or money?”
“I say why choose?” A familiar smirk appeared that Steven hadn’t remembered seeing for several years.
Draco Malfoy wore that same smirk proudly when he was a student at Hogwarts. Although Steven had once known it as the Malfoy smirk, seeing it clear as day on Narcissa’s face cemented it as a trait of the Blacks.
“I can’t help but notice that you tend to veer from the options given, Narcissa.”
“Yes, well. I do tend to speak my thoughts, regardless of whether or not they conform to others’ standards,” she sniffed before continuing,“‘I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy; but, like everybody else, it must be in my own way’, Jane Austen,” she recited from memory.
“Austen? But that's a muggle author?”
“Are you intending the implications brought forward by asking me that question?” She eyed him skeptically.
“N-No ma’am I just uh.. right, sorry.”
She sighed and set down her tea cup.
“It’s quite alright, I understand that regardless of what I do, there will still be preconceived notions about my character that cannot be helped. However, I’ll have you know that Sense and Sensibility is a book very near and dear to my heart. Go ahead with the next question then, dear.”
He cleared his throat. “Right, thank you. Actually, your favourite quote was one of the questions and then just one more this-or-that but uh, anyways…Kneazles or crups?”
“Peacocks.”
“Peacocks, eh? I saw you had a bunch of birds around here, are they yours?”
“Why yes, technically they are my husband’s, but they seem to like me best. More specifically, those birds you are referring to are our muster of albino peacocks. Much more elegant than their blue feathered brethren.”
“Oh, er—I see. I must not have seen one fan out its feathers then.”
“Yes, well. Our peacocks tend to be selective with the company they present for. It is the Malfoy way.”
“Right,” he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and peered down at his list of questions. “Oh! It looks like I have a few questions about peacocks here already.”
“I’m sure, the Malfoy peacocks are a wonder to many.”
“Yes, well um… let's move on to those then.”
“Of course, currently we have three peacocks on the estate. There were more at one time, but several died during the war and their numbers never recovered sadly.”
“What are their names?”
“Maximus is the male, Floria is the female, and their recently hatched and precocious peachick is little Henry.”
Narcissa had unknowingly answered his question from earlier about the name for baby peacocks. Having too much fun on this current topic, he continued on with more peacock questions.
“If you were a peacock, would you get along with your peacocks?”
“Surely not, they have a very particular hierarchy that I simply would not be able to abide by.”
Steven disagreed with her assessment. He was certain if Narcissa Black-Malfoy woke up tomorrow morning as a peacock, she would be ruling as their queen by nightfall.
“Which is your favourite albino peacock?”
“My husband, of course.” She quipped, unable to hide her laughter at her own joke.
“Heh, right, he is quite flashy and blonde, isn’t he?” He chuckled, playing along.
“Mm. That he is, and he certainly does his fair share of peacocking.”
“Most of your answers seem to be about your family, you must care for them a great deal.”
“My family is my whole world, dear boy. When it comes down to it, everything else falls by the wayside. You simply cannot overrate the importance of family.”
“What is something you do find overrated?”
“False humility.” Steven cocked his head to the side and she continued, “Feigning modesty in an attempt to disguise hubris is always undignified.”
“I see. You’d rather have people act exactly as they are then?”
“If you have something worth flaunting, there is no need to dull its shine with an insincere attempt at modesty. It will speak for itself, you do not need to. This is the difference between ‘rich’ and ‘opulent.’ Opulence doesn’t feel the need to announce itself, it just is.”
“Well said,” He agreed with a nod.
He continued to be amazed by the complexity of the witch in front of him. She had a knack for enticing his curiosity with every question. He checked his list and realised that he still had several of Aurora’s questions to get to but his rolls of parchment were already over halfway filled. He resumed working off of his colleagues list, hoping he could finish the interview before the parchment was filled. He supposed he could always use the back.
“What is one vice you wish you could give up?”
“I am not certain I can answer that one, I am rather fond of my vices.”
“What three words would you use to describe yourself?”
“Poised, practical, and Malfoy.” It was his turn to chuckle at her jesting, though from his limited time with her, he agreed with her assessment.
“You take a lot of pride in the Malfoy name. Do you have a favourite Malfoy heirloom?”
“I am quite partial to my husband’s signet ring. It is goblin-made, excellent for absorbing charmwork and my husband is quite the charmer. I didn’t know the full extent of Lucius’ skills until after we were married.”
“Ah, I see.” He lied, a bit confused by her phrasing but too polite to ask for clarification. He would leave it to Aurora to figure out.
“Your own wedding ring is beautiful; quite large too. It must’ve cost a fortune. What was your most expensive purchase?”
“Well, dear. My husband purchased this ring, so I will never know the true cost but I’d assume it is well on par with the other Malfoy heirloom rings that sit in our vault. However, my most expensive purchase to date is priceless. When I was nineteen, I managed to purchase my freedom from an unwanted engagement. Did you know I was once betrothed to Darrian Greengrass?”
“You were? What circumstances led to that?”
“It was some ancient contract drawn up before we were even born. A debt from our great grandfathers that we were nearly forced to pay. And we would have, but I fell in love with Lucius. It was quite a scandal at the time, but eventually everyone was forced to accept it and the rest is history.”
“Speaking of history, I have a few questions about the war on my list. Is it alright if I ask them?”
“I appreciate your understanding of the delicacy of the topic, but yes, I have learned to speak about the war over the years. I would not dare pretend it never happened at all.”
“You said at the start of the interview that You-Know-Who took over your home during the war. How did you manage that invasion?”
“Manage? I am not sure we did. We survived it. From the moment he set foot in our home, he was an unwelcome intruder, but if we had spoken up, he would have killed us. When Draco was sent back to Hogwarts for his seventh year, he was all I could think about, just hoping he would be safe. I naively thought it was the safest place for him at the time, out of sight and mind of the Dark Lord, but then we were all called to that final battle at the school and I could hardly breathe.”
“What was it like for you in the lead-up to that final battle?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Cold.” Her voice rang out, “I am not sure where I found my bravery that day, but I am thankful for it nonetheless, it saved my life and the lives of my family.”
“It saved many others too.” He added.
“That wasn’t a question, dear.” She looked off into the garden, her expression contemplative.
“No, but it is a fact. What was going through your mind when you chose to defy You-Know-Who?”
“Harry was just a child, the same age as Draco. When the curse hit him I felt my hope die. My hope for myself, my husband, and my son vanished as soon as his body hit the earth below him. All I could think was ‘How long would it be before it was Draco at the end of Voldemort’s wand?’” She paused to take a deep breath, and he didn’t dare interrupt her, “When I felt Harry’s heart still beating, it lit a fire in mine. Hope wasn’t lost and I was going to fight with everything I had to keep it alive.”
“Did you speak with Mr. Potter afterward? I know he testified at you and your son’s trials.”
“We have stayed in touch over the years, I attended his wedding and he and his wife come for tea a few times a year.”
“Ginny Potter comes here?!” He shouted in surprise.
“Well, yes I—” She looked a bit flustered.
“She’s captain of the Holyhead Harpies! No one ever gets her in for interviews! If you don’t mind my asking, what is she like?”
Ginny Weasley-Potter was the best player in the league and Steven had been lucky enough to see her phenomenal performance during her last year at Hogwarts. He had been dying for a chance to interview her.
“Stefan, dear,” Narcissa replied with her most motherly look.
“Sorry, sorry.” He felt his face heat in embarrassment.
“It’s quite alright. I can’t expect everyone’s passions and tastes to align with mine, even though I think maybe they should,” she smirked.
“Speaking of your passions and tastes, where is your favourite place?” He sadly returned to his list.
“The Black estate in France that my mother left to me.”
“France? Why just your estate, why not somewhere like Paris?”
“Wizarding Paris has become a land of debauchery I’d rather not partake in.”
“I see. What about your favourite meal?”
“Dessert, preferably something chocolate.”
“Your favourite food?”
“Strawberry jam.” She said wistfully.
“I sense a story behind that one, but I won't pry.”
“It is quite a happy story, you most certainly can ask.” She appeared contemplative, likely lost in the memory.
“Alright then… why is strawberry jam your favourite food?
“When Draco was little, maybe three or four, he loved to help me in the garden. I wouldn’t let him near my precious roses, too worried he would fall into the thorns and smush the flowers. But I had a small strawberry patch where he was welcome. He loved them as a child, and he asked me for his birthday to eat all the strawberries he wanted. After we ate what we could, he asked me what we would do with the rest and I offered to let him make some jam for our morning toast. We spent his entire birthday in the kitchen making strawberry jam from scratch and now I eat it on my toast every morning, remembering that day fondly.”
“What a happy memory,” He offered, unsure what else to say.
“Yes, I have given Draco many gifts over the years for his birthday, but he also always gets a jar of homemade jam.”
“That is very sweet. What is the best gift you have ever received?”
“Oh, well that is another funny story from when Draco was a child,” she laughed softly. “I have always considered Draco my greatest blessing, but the matching wands he made for us when he was five are a close second. I didn't quite have the heart to tell him that wands required a little more artistry than just whittling a stick from the garden, so I followed him around for days, making magic appear from his wand whenever he waved it around.
Lucius eventually had to put a stop to it once I started refusing to come to bed in case Draco needed some magic.”
“It must be hard to see him as a grown man, though based on his appearance from earlier, he may still need your assurance every now and then. Will any of us ever stop needing our mothers?”
“It is nice to feel needed, but I am very proud of the young man he has become. But I seem to have derailed you once more with my prattling. Please go ahead and return to your list, dear.”
“No trouble at all, I very much enjoyed your answers.” He found his spot again on his list, “Do you have a least favourite food?”
“Oh, that is very easy. Shrimp. You’ll never catch me serving them at any event I plan. I used to lie and tell everyone I was allergic, but now I just openly admit to despising them.”
“I hear you’re planning a ball for the upcoming solstice. Is that your favourite holiday?”
“Not quite. I tend to prefer Yule. The manor looks so lovely all covered in garlands and holly.”
“You plan loads of events year-round, Narcissa. Would you say event planning is your dream job?”
“I do not dream of labour, darling.”
“Really? You never wanted to be anything when you were little?”
“I was asked this as a little girl and the only answer I could hope for was to be happy.”
“And are you? Happy?”
“I have found contentment and excitement over what the future holds. Hopefully, I’ll be even happier in the near future if my son can get his act together.”
“Surely you still must aspire to something?”
“My greatest aspiration is to right my wrongs to the best of my ability. Some days it feels more impossible than others, but all I can do is move forward.”
“You are quite profound, Narcissa, do you have a role model or someone you take after that also took to this way of thinking?”
“My mother.”
“You must be very fond of her then. What was she like?”
“I loved my mother, she made me who I am today. She always wanted what was best for me, even if we didn’t always agree on what was best.”
Just then, Steven heard a loud squawk coming from the garden, followed by the voice of Draco Malfoy.
“GIVE IT BACK, HENRY!” a beat of silence followed. “I SAID GIVE IT BACK YOU BLOODY BIR— AH! MAX THAT BLOODY HURT! TELL YOUR SON TO GIVE ME HERMIO—” Draco’s yelling was cut off by loud squawking.
“Oh goodness,” Nacissa tried to stifle a giggle at her son’s ridiculousness. “Nevermind him, I did warn him to stay away from little Henry. Go ahead and continue, dear.”
Choosing to listen to Narcissa rather than investigate the now screeching birds and bachelor, he looked to his list. "What is the best thing that has happened to you today?”
“I’m not so sure it has happened yet," she stated cryptically, as if there was a secret he hadn’t quite been let in on.
Before Steven could pry for a further answer, Draco Malfoy, with a little peacock perched on his head came barreling toward them at full speed.
“SOMEONE GET THIS BLOODY BIRD OUT OF MY HAIR THIS INSTANT!” Draco yelped, quite undignified. “HE’S TAKEN THE BLOODY BOX AND NOW I CAN’T GET HIM TO RELEASE IT OR HIS FATHER TO RELEASE ME!”
As Draco said this, he turned to reveal a large male peacock—presumably Maximus—with a firm grip on his backside.
Narcissa stifled a laugh and stood, trying to help the little bird out of Draco’s hair cooing at Henry to coax him down.
Henry—a mummy’s boy much like Draco— hopped down from the blonde’s head at Narcissa’s command and onto the table, knocking over a stand of macarons in the process, and stopped directly in front of Steven with a little box in his beak.
“GRAB IT!” Draco commanded, lunging for the bird himself.
Reaching out, Steven gently reached for Henry’s mouth, the mischievous bird immediately released the small box he was holding and it fell open onto the table. Steven had never in his life heard of a bird looking smug, but he would swear that this one wore the Black family smirk with pride. Looking down at the little bird-delivered parcel, he gasped when he realised what was inside.
"Is that an engagement ring?" His head whipped to Draco who looked frantic and more than a little dishevelled.
"Ah ah that is question seventy-four, Stefan,” Narcissa cut in, snatching the box up, “I shan't be answering it. Now, we must be off, ta ta!"
Confused, he began to argue, “But I still have—"
A loud crack interrupted him, revealing Henriette once more.
“Hello Mistress,” Henriette curtsied in her tutu, “Miss Hermione Granger is here for Master Draco in the Library.”
“Hermione is here?!” Draco croaked, looking like he was about to cry and flailing. “Mum, what do I do? My hair! Oh Gods, I'm not—”
“It’s okay Dragon, it’s okay. Here,” she righted his hair with a wave of her wand. “Now, go get situated in the garden, I’ll bring her down to you.”
He continued to flail, “I’m scared, what if she—”
“Darling, Hermione loves you,” Narcissa gave her son’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “You have nothing to fear, most certainly not her rejection. Now, go.”
Draco turned to leave, but first doubled back to give his mother a kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you,” He said before turning back with his shoulders squared and disappearing into the garden.
When he vanished, Narcissa turned back to him with a predatory focus.
"This article comes out on the first, yes?" She inquired.
"Well yes, but I—" he stuttered.
"Lovely,” she takes a deep breath before turning toward the library—a woman on a mission, “Now, Stefan, I'm sure you know it is rude to overstay your welcome. Henriette will escort you out. Bye-bye now."
“Alright goodbye, Narcissa,” he said, still dumbstruck by this unexpected turn of events.
Despite not finishing Aurora’s list of questions, he couldn’t help but feel his interview with Narcissa Malfoy was a success, certain his editor and colleagues at Witch Weekly would feel the same. Narcissa Malfoy was a fascinating witch, as unique and precocious as the small albino peacock who followed him curiously as he walked to the gates of Malfoy Manor.