The long dining table at Malfoy Manor gleamed beneath floating chandeliers, silverware aligned with obsessive precision. It was meant to be a diplomatic dinner — Black and Malfoy unity, Abraxas had called it — but tension clung to the air like old magic.

You sat at Lucius Malfoy’s side, his younger sister, dressed in silver and emerald rather than the gaudy excess he favored. Where Lucius carried arrogance like armor, you wore quiet composure — observant, unreadable.

Across the table, the Black family made a formidable sight.

Cygnus and Druella presided with cold pride. Orion and Walburga spoke in low, severe tones. Bellatrix leaned back in her chair, eyes sharp with amusement, while Andromeda looked… uncomfortable, as always. Sirius slouched openly, Regulus silent and attentive beside him.

And then there was Narcissa Black.

She sat straight-backed, pale and poised, hands folded neatly before her goblet. Her gaze drifted toward you more than once — not curious, not judgmental — assessing. When Lucius spoke, her attention dulled. When you did, her eyes sharpened, interest flickering behind her composed expression.

Abraxas noticed. So did Walburga.

Lucius bristled when Narcissa addressed you directly, her voice soft but precise, asking your thoughts rather than his. You answered calmly, matching her tone, and for the first time that evening—

Narcissa smiled.