I.31. – Precious

Something in the way she moves attracts me like no other lover... Something in the way she woos me... I don't want to leave her now – you know I believe and how. Something in the way she knows... And all I have to do is think of her - something in the things she shows me...

THE BEATLES

Christmas was tough – there was a whole row of family parties Narcissa had to attend like usually, and since they were officially engaged, Lucius was expected to accompany her and make a favourable impression. Apart from her father, everyone else was exceedingly pleased with the addition. The Malfoys were the oldest family in the entire country, their fortune was the largest, their pedigree the purest – if only all their children could make such a favourable match! Lucius on the other hand had never known the meaning of ‘family life’, having everything that money could buy, but nothing resembling a family, and found the whole business rather amusing, very much unlike his fiancée.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, after freeing him from her Aunt Walburga’s clutches, who had given him a lengthy speech about his fantastic prospects as a Law Wizard, regardless of his repeated objections that he had not the least intention to become one. “I couldn’t get away from my Uncle Alphard to rescue you… You must be even more bored than I am!”

“Not at all, ma belle,” he replied and squeezed her hand. “This is a walk in the park, compared to an evening with my father.”

“Your father is a lovely old gentleman, Lucius.”

“He is lovely to you, my love, because even the meanest misanthrope couldn’t but adore you.”

Indeed, Abraxas doted on his future daughter-in-law. Despite himself, he had instantly liked her when meeting her on Lucius’ graduation (he had even felt a slight disappointment when his son had told him on the next day that this particular young lady wasn’t about to come back), and she had completed her victory on their engagement day by making some clever remarks about the architecture of Malfoy Manor and the gardens, and some shrewd retorts on the subject of conjugal felicity. Apart from that, he admired both her wit, and her usually unsociable temper, resembling his own so much in his eyes. Lucius would marvel at the old man – he hadn’t got any idea that his father could be that friendly until seeing him with Narcissa.

After the traditional Christmas Eve at Orion Black’s house in this year, Narcissa was to spend Christmas morning with her fiancé and that one’s father at Malfoy Manor. For the first time ever, Abraxas had ordered the servants to decorate the house according to the occasion, and since neither he nor the house-elves had the slightest experience to gauge what could be appropriate, the decoration was, to put it mildly, bordering on ‘bombastic’. Abraxas magically removed the ceiling of the grand parlour, so they could comfortably put up a Christmas tree 50 feet high, boasting 600 pounds of tinsels made of real sterling silver, living fairies just like 9000 candles – emitting so much heat that Narcissa had to change into lighter robes – Christmas baubles made of solid gold (that threatened the entire static of the tree in no small way) and uncountable gems. Lucius had gasped when seeing this monster of a tree in the morning, and tried to remove the worst tackiness before his fiancée’s arrival, but inevitably failed to give the enterprise taste. That battle had been lost before it had begun.

But Narcissa was tactful, and used to being polite facing no matter what ghastliness. Her countenance didn’t even falter when her future father-in-law presented her with her Christmas gift – a chalet in the French Alps. In a private moment, she whispered into Lucius’ ear though, “If this is his Christmas present, what on earth does he intend to give us for the wedding?!”

“I reckon he intends to buy the Taj Mahal for you, chérie,” he returned, only half-joking, and continued slightly awkwardly, “I hope you’re not disappointed with my present now…”

“I could impossibly be!”

And she wasn’t. In fact, she cut a very uncharacteristic caper with joy. – He led her out of the parlour and upstairs, stopping before the door of one of the many smaller parlours. Narcissa shot him a curious glance and giggled when he produced a silk scarf and blindfolded her.

“Just how naughty is this going to be, my love?”

“Very, blossom,” he purred into her ear. He swung one arm around her waist, pushed open the door with the other hand and led her in. Not undoing the blindfold, he said, “194 more days, and you are going to be the Mistress of this house. I hope my gift is fit to endear you to your new home some more…”

He took off the scarf, and Narcissa couldn’t but gape. The entire parlour had been re-arranged, new wallpapers, curtains, carpets and furniture, but most of all – a magnificent grand piano, mirror finished ebony, intricately carved. Incapable to say anything, she pecked a kiss on his lips and dragged him over, to sit down next to her on the bench while she tinkled the first chord.

“It’s – it’s – I love you, Lucius!”

He smiled radiantly with that statement and pointed at a leather map before her. He opened it; there were sheets of music inside, and once she began to play, she realised that the map was charmed to automatically turn over the pages while she was playing. She laughed with delight, and he told her that this gift was actually from little Severus; it would work for whatever music she put into the map.

Narcissa was moved by the boy’s consideration; like Lucius, he had given it a good deal of thought what might actually please her the most. She was almost sorry that her own gift for him had been so superficial; she had simply bought a costly Potions encyclopaedia for him and sent it to his parents’ place. She would have seen how unfounded her sudden anxiety was if she could have witnessed his reaction to the huge package containing the twenty volumes – he was out of himself with joy, which was only topped when unwrapping the next package, infinitely much smaller.

“Look what Santa’s brought,” his father said in a cheery, slurred tone.

“I stopped believing in Santa when I was four, Father.”

“Did ya?”

“Mum lost her fake beard after she stumbled over one of your whiskey bottles. After that, we had the talk.”

His father narrowed his eyes. “Did she cover the other stuff, too? Ya know – bees… Birds… Chicks…?”

Severus nodded absent-mindedly, incredulous with old Toby’s remark, and opened the card that was attached to the smaller package. ‘Dear Sev, MERRY CHRISTMAS to you – I hope the gift helps you to ignore a little better whatever it is that might bother you… Yours, Lily’

The package had contained a pair of earmuffs, just that they had appeared decidedly much too small to be actual earmuffs, each of them had roughly the size of a Sickle, and they were connected by a thin piece of wire. He tried them on and a wide smile spread over his features. As soon as he had covered his ears, a song drowned out every other sound, gentle but impervious. The band was vastly popular both among Muggles, and wizardkind, ‘The Beetles’. Severus’ mum was a huge fan of them, theirs were the only magic records Tobias would allow in the house, because they were successful in the Muggle world, too. This song was the boy’s declared all-time-favourite, even though he had never told Lily why this was so, and he blushed, wondering if she had finally guessed.

Old Toby managed to be completely drunk long before lunch and vanished to go to the pub. Eileen went out, too, to attend the Christmas church service, and Severus had to run after her because she had forgotten to don her cloak, and then he finally had the time to make a call on the Evans’ and give Lily his present for her, too. Her older sister opened the door, and would have slammed it right shut again when seeing who the visitor was, if it hadn’t been for Lily, crying from the living room, “That’s Sev, right?”

Petunia scowled at him, and snapped, “Well, let the freak show begin!”

“I’m delighted to see you, too,” he snarled back and shot her a fake grin when pushing past her. Lily appeared in the open door, looking even lovelier than anyway. She wore a dark turquoise blouse that enhanced the colour of her hair most favourably, just like her rosy complexion, and blushing once again, Severus hurriedly turned away from her to say hello to her parents for a start.

Mr and Mrs Evans were the kindest adults he had ever come across, and so much different from his own parents. Harold Evans – ‘call me Harry, lad!’ was a chemistry teacher at the local grammar school and had a great sense of sarcastic humour. Lily’s mother – ‘Rosy’ – was good-natured, sweet, a fabulous cook and worked as a secretary. They would invite Severus for family outings, everyone’s but Petunia’s birthday, and at least once per week for dinner during the holidays. He only went back home from Hogwarts during the summer and Christmas vacations, and he mainly did so in case of the latter because of Lily and her parents, even though they made him feel the deficiencies of his own so much the more.

“Petunia, be a dear and fetch Severus a glass of punch,” Mrs Evans cried and embraced him. “Merry Christmas, dear!”

“Merry Christmas to you, too, Mrs – erm – Rosy. And Merry Christmas to you, sir!”

“Sir Harry – I always meant to become a knight one day. Thanks for dignifying me, Sev, that’s a hell of a Christmas present!”

Severus’ cheeks turned scarlet, but Lily spared him an answer by flying around his neck, too. “Merry, merry Christmas, Sev! Did you get my present?”

He told her that he had indeed, and also how much he loved it. Then he produced his own present for her, explaining awkwardly, “You know I don’t have much money, so I – I made it myself, I hope you don’t mind…”

“Well, I can only say how much I like it once I know what it is, can’t I?” She beamed at him, impatiently ripping the wrapper. It was a small bottle, filled with an innocuous pale green liquid. She looked at it and tilted her head. “Is this – a potion?”

Mr Evans giggled and answered instead of Severus, “Daughter, every now and then, you do amaze me, you know? Why would the young lad give you a potion? Just open the bottle!”

She did, and a soft scent suffused the room, smelling of roses, lilies, lemon and vanilla. “How wonderful! Thanks!” And she hugged him once more, careful not to spill any of the perfume. “And you really did that yourself? For me?”

This time, it was Petunia sparing him the embarrassment, although involuntarily. She had returned with the punch, spotted her sister holding the flacon, wrinkled her nose and cried, “Yuck! What’s that stink?”

“Petunia, darling, you really shouldn’t say such a thing,” Mr Evans said. “Your mother spent all morning preparing the roast, you know, I think we owe her a little gratefulness even if it’s burnt.”

He, Mrs Evans and Lily burst out laughing – Petunia looked sour as usually and slammed the punch glass on the table, while Severus battled down the urge to throw his arms around Mr Evans’ neck to thank him, and ask if they would please, please adopt him, possibly. He’d be happy enough if they’d allow him to sleep in their garage, if only he could have – be a part of – something, anything like this.

*****

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