The Radiant

---

Ginny stared at him for a moment, her face unchanging, but Lucius could see that she was thinking furiously, the shifting of her brown eyes telling him so. She was shrewdly summing up the impending situation, putting herself in the middle of it and assessing it for any potential danger or intricacies or grave problems. He saw her wand hand clench slightly and remembered just how powerful of a woman he was seeing—even the Death Eaters had heard about the strength of the youngest Weasley’s hexes.

“You cannot hex my ex-wife, Ginevra.”

She snapped back to attention and saw that he was looking at her with a now-mild look on his face.

“I wasn’t going to.” Lucius tilted his head at her. “I wasn’t!” She looked as though she were holding back a smile.

The wards sounded again, and this time Ginny could hear them properly. Narcissa’s signal sounded mellifluous and flute-like; a silvery type of sound. She sighed.

“I’m not even dressed properly, Lucius.” She looked down at her body, the sharp khaki trousers with the crisp pleats tucked into the brown leather knee-high boots, the large white button-up. “I look like a man.”

“Is that my shirt?”

“I think so!” Her voice had reached a new high note, almost frantic, and Lucius shook his head, needing to calm her down.

“Ginevra, it’s fine. You said that you didn’t want to fanny around the Manor, dressed in gowns, receiving visitors. So why are you panicking now?”

Ginny shrugged, blushing. “This is your ex-wife. You spent years of your life with her. I just want to make a good impression, I suppose. No more ratty Weasel—I don’t want to look like some raggedy young thing.”

“You look wonderful.”

His words were serious. He was looking at her plainly, an arm outstretched, and Ginny decided then and there to shed her immature insecurities. She took his arm.

As they walked briskly toward the front door, Ginny asked Lucius questions.

“What is she like?

“Loyal. Fiercely protective of our son—and therein might be your major fault in her eyes. It won’t so much be that you are seeing me. It will be that you have left Draco to be with me.”

“How old is she?”

“Fifty-one, now. A year younger than me.”

“I bet she looks good.”

“She does. Narcissa has aged well.”

“Like you.” Ginny squeezed his arm.

Lucius looked down at her as they walked. “You’re being fairly magnanimous about this impending visit. I would have expected at least some reticence on your part—but you’re asking me all about her.”

Ginny looked up at him. “I can’t be angry that you were married before, Lucius. Of course I feel territorial, and if she does happen to step out of line I’ll let her know. But somehow I feel that she won’t be that way. Narcissa was always aloof and sometimes cold but she was never cruel.”

“Not like I was.” He was looking ahead again, face impassive.

“No, not like you were.” He stiffened, seeming shocked that she had agreed. “You were cruel. But that’s the past.”

“True.”

“Is she going to be very cold to me?”

“I don’t know.”


---


Narcissa Black had aged well. As Ginny and Lucius walked into the dining room—where they had been told she had been shown into—the first thing Ginny noticed about her was the long and lean line of her body. They were of a similar build—both lithe and lissome, but where Ginny was taut and sinewy, Narcissa was supple and slender, looked delicate, seemed breakable. For a moment, Ginny looked between Lucius and Narcissa and thought about the two of them married, spending so many years of their lives together.

She had the sudden vision of the two of them in their bleached and younger days, all sprawled and pale and downy, coltish limbs and long, tapered fingers.

Narcissa’s hair wasn’t as pale as her son’s—it was a more burnished colour, pulled up thick and high into a bun. She wore a long blue dress, well cut and well made.

Ginny imagined the two of them as sharing a sweet and dark kind of love, bitter but yet saccharine. They must have made a cutting, exquisite picture in their younger days—white layered on white, gold layered on silver on top of black and green and black and green. All of a sudden Ginny had the urge to look through their old family portraits and photographs, to fish out pictures of the two of them and run her fingers over the honed lines of their faces, the pressed pleats of their robes, the high, soft swell of Narcissa’s breasts, the moon of her visage, then the half-moon of Lucius’ face.

She realized that she had not spoken since entering the dining room, and that Narcissa was also surveying her with the same look Ginny was giving Narcissa—deep and dark and not necessarily threatening but discerning and disquieting.

Ginny stepped forward and extended her hand.

“Hello, Ms. Black.”

Narcissa showed no flinching at the mention of her maiden name, and instead stared at Ginny for a minute, the two women ignoring Lucius, who was standing woodenly by the door. Such a sight they made, the two of them—the drastic and shining colours of hair so near to each other, the lean bodies, tall and willowy, a sort of determined magic prickling the air around them.

Ginny admired how her hand didn’t shake.

Narcissa moved suddenly, extending her own hand slowly but with a feline, strong grace, gripping Ginny’s hand in a surprising hold—Ginny had expected her handshake to be limp, but Narcissa shook like one of her teammates might—firm and warm.

“Hello, Ms. Weasley.”

They dropped each other’s hand and the thickened tension in the air dropped, too.

“Please—call me Ginny.” Ginny inclined her head slightly to show deference to the older woman, and Narcissa nodded.

“Then you may call me Narcissa.” She turned slightly and looked over Ginny’s shoulder, seeing her former husband leaning cross-armed against the doorframe. “Hello, Lucius.”

“Hello, Narcissa.” He pushed off from the frame and walked calmly toward the two women, taking Narcissa’s hand and kissing it lightly. “You look well.”

“You also,” she replied, casting a critical eye over him. “But you smell like sex.”

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up.

“As do you,” Narcissa continued, turning to Ginny. In that moment, Ginny was reminded of a wild animal, something feral and wonderful in her face, and she remembered that Narcissa had managed to stay married to one of the most dangerous—

“Sorry.” Ginny spoke the word before she realized and then had to resist the urge to roll her eyes at herself. Lucius laughed suddenly, a clear, deep sound, and Narcissa laughed too. Ginny was confused and on odd footing, unsure of the dynamic between the three of them, unsure if Lucius was on her side, or was suddenly siding with Narcissa, if she should be worried—

But then Lucius stepped to the side, moving behind her, and set a large hand on her shoulder, and the warm weight was reassuring, so she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, Ginny saw Narcissa watching the action between the two of them.

The woman misses nothing, she thought. She is owlish.

“So you’re the cunt that broke up with my only child.”

Ginny blinked, letting Narcissa’s words soak in once more. The older woman was excellent at keeping her prey off-kilter, but Ginny hadn’t expected such a statement as that. Lucius seemed impassive behind her, and Ginny refused to look back at him. This was her battle, after all, and she had the feeling that this was a trial by fire—that facing down Narcissa was a task that she had to complete on her own.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“And the one who’s seeing my ex-husband.”

“Yes—that’s me.”

Ginny felt calm. There was no vitriol between the two of them at the moment. It seemed to be more of a contest of wills. They were both iron-jawed.

“Narcissa—” Lucius began behind Ginny. His tone had a warning note to it.

“Lucius, really.” Narcissa shot an exasperated look up at him. “She can handle herself.” She stood back to stare at Ginny with an undisguised interest. “Yes, you can,” she half-murmured.

Ginny smiled widely. Her mum had told her once that the best way to disarm someone was by smiling at him or her, taking him or her by surprise.

Narcissa cocked her head to one side, mirroring the action that Ginny had seen Lucius do so many times. And then she smiled—a wide smile too, exposing pointed canines.

“You’re very uncanny,” Ginny stated, still meeting Narcissa’s eyes.

“And you’re braver than I thought you would be. Although I shouldn’t be surprised. I did see you fight during the troubled times. And I’ve seen you ride a broom before.”

Lucius’ hands were hot on her shoulders.

Narcissa continued.

“I hate your lanky hide for making Draco so miserable, but I’m grudgingly impressed with you. And you are beautiful,” she said, mouth open, tracing the points of her teeth with the tip of her tongue.

Ginny smirked, and bowed her head once again. “I thought you would hate me doubly. I’m relieved that it’s only singly. I’m impressed with you, Lady Black.”

“Please—call me Narcissa.” The repeated statement brooked no argument, and Ginny nodded. “At least Lucius has some pretty young thing to keep him company.” Narcissa cast smirking eyes up at her former husband, who exhaled behind Ginny. “And from the—” here she inhaled “—smell of it, the two of you are making the most of that—company.”

“Might as well,” Ginny replied. “You never know if things are going to end.” It was a pointed little jab at Narcissa’s divorced status, but she had light eyes as she said it.

Narcissa laughed out loud and clapped her hands together. “Very good!” She looked up at Lucius. “Very good,” she repeated, meeting his eyes. “And he is very good, too.” Narcissa had turned her attention back to Ginny now, and the low tone of her voice left no uncertainty about what she was talking about. “I remember. I did have that for twenty-five years. It was—”

“Narcissa.”

“Sorry, laddy-me-love.”

Ginny laughed at the archaic soubriquet—it was odd to hear such a colloquial thing slip from Narcissa’s lips.

“Will you stay for dinner?” The invitation came out of Ginny’s mouth before she noticed, and then she laughed out loud as Lucius’ hands pinched at her shoulders in aggravation. Narcissa noticed, too, the subtle movement of his fingers, and smiled.

“No, but thank you for the invitation. Your aloof young man doesn’t seem to appreciate the idea of a triad meal. I just wanted to come by and see the woman that I was reading about in every paper.” She circled Ginny, visually examining her.

“I know. After that Samhain ball, the media exploded.” Lucius spoke placidly, his frustration from earlier evaporated.

“You never wrote me to tell me, Lucius,” Narcissa said, shaking a finger in his face and then smiling childishly. Ginny marvelled at her uneven mood swings, fascinated and nearly anxious at the same time, rendered that way by just being near the woman.

“I never had reason to, Narcissa.”

“I know.” She sighed almost dramatically, then stilled, looking at the two of them for a long, hard moment. “You know that Draco will not forgive you. He will not forgive you, Ginevra. Ginny. Ginevra—he will not forgive you. He may forgive his father. But you are evil to him now. Unless—unless an action is taken.” She narrowed her eyes and observed the two of them.

“An action?” Ginny tilted her head.

“Unless a sacrifice is made. Unless Lucius and you both simultaneously give something up—at the same time, the same gravity, the same weight, the same meaning—to Draco. He has always been this way—counting the things he has and the things he wants, and the things that people have taken from him. If you wish forgiveness from my son, there is something you will have to do.”

Ginny felt as though she were talking to a Sibyl, and shook her head softly, trying to discern Narcissa’s jagged, smoky statements.

“What—”

“I take my leave now. Until next time.” With the last words, she darted out of the room, and both Lucius and Ginny could hear the sound of the front door closing. When she left, the magic in the house seemed to sag and loosen, and Ginny realised that the slight ringing she had heard the whole time they had been talking had not been her ears but instead had been the wards. When Narcissa left, silence cut through everything.

“Oh.” Ginny exhaled a soft puff of air, and leaned back against the broad body behind her.

“That,” Lucius said, his hands tight on her shoulders again, “was Narcissa.”

She turned in his grip and slung her arms around his hips, palms flat at the small of his back. “She was fascinating, Lucius.”

He sighed, looking as though he wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I know. I apologize for her antics. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her that I had forgotten what she was like.”

“I didn’t mind.” Ginny laid her chin on his chest and looked at him. “She did impress me. She was so interesting. And such a sense of power—something owlish and feral behind those eyes, eh?” Lucius furrowed his brow. “You don’t think so.”

“No, I think exactly so, as a matter of fact. But people rarely pick up on that side of Narcissa. Mostly she’s seen as a sort of trophy wife.”

“No.” Ginny shook her head thoughtfully. “No, she’s fierce. I have to admire that in a person, even if I am perturbed that she shared your bed for twenty-five years. I have to admire that in her. She harnessed you, really.”

“Hm.” He breathed out a non-committal sound, and Ginny laughed.

“Kiss me, now.”

He bent his head down to her, his close-mouthed smile disappearing as he held her head in place, using his tongue to force her into submission. When he pulled back, Ginny made a sound of protest into his mouth, and he ran the tip of his tongue over her upper lip.

“She likes you,” he said, as his eyes stayed tracked to her mouth.

“I know,” Ginny replied, moving her arms up to his neck. “What an odd way of showing it. Was she always like that?”

Lucius moved his hands down to rest on her buttocks. Ginny recognized the gesture not as a sexual action but as a proprietary one. His palms rested lightly on her skin, his fingers moving absentmindedly as he thought. Ginny allowed herself to be pulled closer and sighed as the softness of her breasts pushed into the broad plane of his chest.

“Yes, she was. That is one of the reasons that I married Narcissa—and not any of her sisters, and not any of the other Pureblood brides that were set out for me.”

“You make it sound like a table of sweets was put out for you.”

“In a way, it was.” Here he smirked. “I forgot that you haven’t seen any pictures of me as a younger man.” He hissed as she tugged at his hair. “In all seriousness, I was the perfect groom-to-be. The fathers and mothers were falling over themselves to marry their fillies off to Abraxas’ son.”

“Show me pictures.”

“One day. Narcissa, however, was not enamoured, and that was probably why I was so attracted.”

“An arranged marriage with attraction—”

“Is a rare thing, I know. But we had a good life, and a strong life, and a solid life. But if a relationship is built on tenuous bonds and is based in a society laced with inbreeding and remarkably draconian ideals, something will eventually come tumbling down. After the war, things changed. Not only did the tensions for the Pureblood couples ease and separation and divorce become available to us, Narcissa and I also re-evaluated our lives together. We saved ourselves at the Battle of Hogwarts but in and among that safety we also lost something—irreparable, irreplaceable, and unnamable. We couldn’t put a name to it. Draco noticed. We all noticed, and it just ended quietly.”

Ginny thought.

“What did she mean about us sacrificing to Draco?”

Maybe she was imagining, but Lucius’ back seemed to tighten for a hot second under her hands.

“I don’t know.” He was impassive.

“I think you do,” she replied, her brow furrowing softly.

Instead of answering, Lucius bent to kiss her again, and Ginny moaned open-mouthed into him, feeling his fingers dig into her buttocks and heft her up to sit on the dining room table.

“No more talking, now.” Lucius pulled up her shirt and tugged at her bra.

“You’re going to give yourself a heart attack. We just had sex.” When he managed to get her bra down beneath her breasts and suck a nipple into his mouth, Ginny sighed. “Oh, never mind. I don’t mind at all.” Lucius directed her back to lie down on the mahogany table, bending down over top of her, his mouth still on her skin.

“I’ve missed your breasts.”

“Just my breasts?”

“Yes.” His breath was hot against her wet skin and she laughed, throwing her head back, letting her hair spill in whorls across the dark of the wood. Lucius palmed one breast, tugging at her with swift, hard fingers, and traced his tongue around the hardened nipple of the other, alternating between the two while making soft, wet sounds of pleasure. As Ginny looped his soft hair around her knuckles, he pushed her two breasts together and let them fall apart again, tracking their movements with his eyes. She watched as he watched, noting his extreme observant nature, the one-mindedness with which he looked at her. When he pushed them together again and managed to suck both of her nipples into his hot mouth, she pulled on his hair and looped her legs around his waist, growling. He bit her harder in retaliation, pulling back with her flesh between his teeth and then releasing, watching as her breasts fell back into place again.

When Lucius released her nipples in order to unbutton her pants and yank them off of her, she threw her head back on the table and stared up at the ornately carved ceiling, picturing two milky, lanky bodies wound together as Lucius made her come and come and come with the tip of his tongue.


---