That Girl is a Problem.

[NARCISSA VIRGA BLACK]

Whatever had happened in previous semesters, whatever each student said as they lazily boarded the train home before the summer break, the first day of term always radiated some kind of energy. No student truly enjoyed being in school, pouring over old books and studying until they were driven to teenage tomfoolery by the stress. Admittedly, they liked the tomfoolery part well enough, but that could only take up so much of the year. For seventh years, the excitement was even more prevalent. It would be their last year amongst their comrades day in and day out, the final years they had to dedicate themselves to schooling before going to pursue their chosen trades. Each seventh year student, as they settled down for the first breakfast of term, was eager to finish the coming year and even more eager to explain what they were going to do the next year or what they had done over the summer being a legal adult. Gwyneth Cattermole had spent the whole summer in London, in her own flat drinking as much Firewhisky as her parents as she wanted and apparating to the beaches of the Caribbean because she could. Sever Kneen had done and internship with the Ministry of Magic and would not stop boasting about the so-called connections he now had. Siobhan Blishwick hadn’t done much of anything because she didn’t turn seventeen until June, but she had gotten to meet her fiancé (a large, portly boy four years her younger from a well-to-do family in Egypt who was apparently remarkably mature for his age and only showed her his greenhouse eighteen times). But they all insisted that they were proud to be adults, do adult things, and look like adults (“I threw out all my short dresses and will only wear floor length robes now, you know”).

Narcissa Black, of the The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, sat in silence as her peers prattled on about what they had done, whom they had seen, and what they had drunk over the holidays. Her hair was down which was a change from it’s usual austere bun, one of her friends noted.

“Come on, ‘Cissa! Didn’t do you do anything fun? Surely you did something!” Yvette Goyle was eager to catch any gossip she could. She was the person to go to, amongst Slytherins, who knew everything about everyone. She would later go on to start one of the leading celebrity magazines in the Wizarding World.

Narcissa offered a small smile and turned her head upwards, shaking it slightly. “No, no. Mama, Papa, and I spent the summer in France as we usually do. With Bellatrix wed, it was oddly relaxing.” Well, that was dull.

But the Narcissa who smiled, who stood up after finishing her tea, was notably not the Narcissa who they had last seen in May. The blonde girl had always been pretty, much in the way a child’s china doll is pretty. She was short, lithe, pink-lipped, and pert-nosed. She had worn her uniform in a classically pure way, down to her knees and with a sweater that hinted at what lay underneath. She had always been a pretty girl, but the Narcissa that stood before them was a young woman.

She was taller, for sure, but it her friends were unable to really estimate how much she’d grown before she wore heals rather than her usual set of flats. Her uniform, while clearly not an old one, still appeared to be too small (she had her measurements taken before leaving for the summer and had picked the new clothing up before leaving for school). Hips and breasts that surely had not been there before were suddenly there. She was wearing lipstick, red lipstick at that, and the small gap that had stuck out between her two front incisors had disappeared in a three month span. She didn’t look obscene, but she certainly wasn’t the pretty girl from before.

One girl piped up, nudging her twin brother in the ribs. “You look good, ‘Cissa. Really good…are you wearing stockings? What happened to your rule about tights?”

The twin brother hastily added, after realizing his mouth was open, “I like your garters.”

That last comment made Narcissa blush furiously. If he hadn’t been her cousin, words would have been said. “Tights are for little girls, are they not?” She suggested, meeting the other girls eyes. Several girls, who were wearing tights, blushed.

“Well. I have potions and I really was hoping to talk to the Professor about resigning early this term. Everyone knows my father just wants me to take it,” She said with a small laugh. As groups were wont to do when a leader chuckled, the gaggle of seventh year girls giggled. After Narcissa left, they quickly whispered amongst themselves.

“What in Merlin’s name did she do in France this year?”

Kneen, from his credible sources at the Ministry raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Have you ever met a French wizard? I bet her…her hormones or something responded to their hormones and that’s how she, you know, developed.”

Yvette sniffed. “I bet it’s because her sisters are both gone. She’s rebelling because she has no one to pay attention to her. If my mother ever saw me in stockings…”

And they continued to chatter on in such a fashion, as seventeen year olds often do.

Narcissa smiled to herself ever so slightly as she made her way to the dungeons. She accredited the conversation to the lipstick. She had stolen the tube from Bellatrix, red being her signature lip color for her formative teenage years, after Bellatrix had moved out. She had pocketed the silver tube without much thought as to why, but as she had practiced using it at her vanity, Narcissa was determined to not be the child everyone thought she was. While she had seen a mediwizard to have her teeth aligned, and had (for the first time in her very short life) gone lingerie shopping on her own, the other changes her peers had noticed were very much natural and unnoticed by the girl. After all, when you live with your breasts day in and day out, you don’t think about their changes all that often.

“And at least nobody called me a pretty little girl today,” She murmured to herself, still quite pleased. She really liked when people gave her attention.

She moved into the classroom, placed her bag the first table, and looked at her fellow students. That was a reminder of just how many strings her father had pulled to get her into a NEWT level potions class. Only two other students had arrived and they were already pouring over their textbooks and nudging one another as if to point out the insanely amazing and ridiculously cool projects they would be doing this term. Narcissa resisted the urge to vomit.
She didn’t bother unpacking. After all, she did actually intend on having that withdrawal conversation. When she heard the door to the office click open behind her, she counted to ten. Best to not look eagerly up at Professor, lest she be like Dork One and Dork Two.

“Professor, I wished to speak to you about this awful and tedious class,” She murmured, before finally lifting her gaze to the man before her.

[LUCIUS PHINEAS MALFOY]

He had spent the entire morning letter writing, each post marked with his most eloquent signature and prominent seal. His influence was poured into every bit of detail – from the language he used, to even how he referenced the ties he had to some of the most prominent wizards in Britain alone. His entire summer had been spent in meticulous effort to contact and schmooze every salient member of the Ministry, for the sake of furthering his career. Every gala held at his estate, every dinner he attended, every gift he sent (often the most expensive and rare liquors the Wizarding World had to offer), had a purpose, and slowly but surely, Lucius Malfoy was making a name for himself. He slowly disassembled the visage of an heir who had inherited his father's wealthy, name and influence and, in its stead, created a man that everyone could look upon with awe and respect. He was a man of value, a man of power, and a man of skill.

He was also a man of resources, and he did not allow them to sit idly.

Lucius' career at Hogwarts served him well. It allowed him the opportunity to take advantage of what it meant to be a Professor, an educator of high esteem who cared deeply for the furtherance of education for the young Pureblooded witches and wizards attending Hogwarts. It did not go amiss that the parents of these young witches and wizards were pleased to know that an alumni of Slytherin, now their Head of House, remained a positive influence upon their childrens' lives.

As far as Lucius was concerned, his position on the Board of Governors was absolutely secured.

As Lucius sealed the last of his letters, placing them neatly into a pile that he would relay to a House Elf to deliver to the Owlery later, he stood, straightened out his robes, and gathered what he needed for his first-of-term classes. His morning schedule consisted mainly of OWL and NEWT level sessions, which, considering the blundering and idiocy that came from his first years, was god-sent. His NEWT course had the fewest number of students, which came as no surprise to him, considering how strictly he structured the course. Having been so talented in Potions in his own youth, he knew the volatile nature of the subject as well – not just anyone could garner acceptance into the higher levels, not without showing some amount of proficiency and skill in the subject.

As class time neared, Lucius donned his most opulent cloak – rarely was there ever a time Lucius wasn't richly attired – and, with his walking stick in hand, made his way from his office to the Potion's classroom.

The room itself was extraordinarily quiet upon arrival, which improved Lucius' mood immensely. If there was one thing that Lucius detested the most, it was the dull droning he had to endure listening to the students prattle on about insipid subject, often in their nasally, grating voices. A Headache Draught was often routine after a long evening of classes. And as Lucius made his way to the front of the room, he basked in serenity of the silence.

Well, that was, until he was addressed.

The girl's words were impertinent, petulantly so. They rose on a gentle soprano, laden with absolute disregard to any sense of decorum, and it absolutely disgusted him. Frowning, Lucius looked down at the girl in question, his lips parting slightly in order to spit out a biting remark, before he stilled.

He knew this girl.

By all rights, he should not have been surprised to see her. But caught up as he was with his private affairs, he had forgotten Cygnus Black's insistence that his daughter, Narcissa, be allowed into his class. He had met Narcissa on many occasions before, often when the Blacks were holding their annual balls and parties, but realized rather quickly it had been a long time since he had seen her since. She was a weed of a child, often hovering at her father or mother's side. Her demure nature had made it difficult to truly know her, but the child often dressed modestly, in her tights, her buns, with nary a bit of make up upon her skin. All that was memorable of her were her piercing blue eyes, eyes that many adults commented upon when doting of what a pretty girl she was, and that was all that he could recognize of her now.

No one else had those eyes. But she had changed – she wore her hair down and donned lip stick, for starters, a bright crimson hue that accentuated the fullness of her lips. Her body had certainly changed as well, for where the gangly, gaunt child had once stood, a newer, fuller, woman now sat.

And were those stockings?

Lucius steeled himself when he realized he was gawking and turned away from her as he placed his walking stick against his desk.

“I'm afraid subjects like that will need to be addressed after class,” he remarked, his voice cold and even. “And perhaps in a more respectful manner. Now,” he turned to her again, his brow raised, as he gestured to her bag. “Your materials, Miss Black? Where are they?”

[NARCISSA VIRGA BLACK]

Narcissa knew this particular Professor and it was certainly not in the realm of schooling. Purebloods were a tightknit society (which was to say nothing of the uncouth discussion of rampant incest). While children were usually resigned to the nursery during formal encounters, there came a time during a girl’s age whens she began following after her during some social events. It not only taught the child how to act when they were old enough to fully participate in such functions, but it also allowed for the parents of little boys to view the little girls they were going to picking for their sons’ brides. It was not quite the marriage market that occurred when a young girl hit adulthood, but a small trial of sorts.

And Narcissa Black knew this man from the various times she had accompanied her parents to such events. Mister Lucius Malfoy was a friend of her father’s and a peer if ever he had possessed one. She regarded the man carefully, taking in everything from his long blond locks to the no doubt expensive shoes that shined from the bottom of his robes. He was well dressed, no doubt, but his appearance did little when it came to the tone he had the nerve to use with her. A Malfoy had no business addressing a Black in such a manner- as if he was above her. It did not matter if he was a teacher; there was a certain level of respect expected between two pureblood adults (and they were both adults now). If he was going to use such a tone with her, then he was not due her sweetest, polite simpers.

“Well that’s completely nonsensical,” Narcissa said, snorting and standing up. Another two students trickled in, excited to see the first pair. “Why would I bother sitting here, listening to you talk about the beauty of a bubbling potion as if were the female form, when I could be doing something much better with my time.” Narcissa rolled her eyes. It was stupid.

As if to appease the man, Narcissa slowly opened her book bag and began to withdraw its entire contents: two rolls of parchment, two quills made from the wing of an albino peacock, a fashion magazine, a catalog, and a planner. After a moment of digging around, she also produced the tube of lipstick and her unopened copy of the required potions text. If she was going to withdraw from the class, why bother doing the assigned summer reading? As she bent over to stop a quill from floating away, her skirt hiked up just enough to display the top of her stocking and the sterling silver and silk ends of her garters. Narcissa straightened herself up, brushed at her skirt, and sighed.

“It appears I was under the assumption that I would be withdrawing from this class,” She stated with an over the top tone of surprise. Hadn’t this man heard of her…lack of talent in this field? Hadn’t the concept that her father had to bribe her way into this class set off an alarm?

“Also, it’s the first day of term. No one actually teaches today. Professors just discuss their lofty accomplishments, explain the requirements, and send us on our way.” She added this comment slowly and carefully. She wanted to make sure, for her fellow classmates (was that Dork One licking his cauldron?) benefits, that he understood how the education system worked.

And with that she arched one delicate, blonde eyebrow and began to repack her bag.

[LUCIUS PHINEAS MALFOY]

At his age, and considering how often he dealt with the children from Pureblood families, Lucius came to realize that there were two types of personalities that those witches and wizards could grow into: Entitled, or gracious.

Narcissa Black was an entitled girl if he had ever met one.

Lucius couldn't rightfully blame her for how she turned out. Her upbringing allowed her the luxury of having whatever she desired, whenever she desired. Lucius had always been critical of Druella and Cygnus' methods of parenting – and considering the debacle with Andromeda he was not far off the mark – but they insisted that spoiling their daughters was due course. His daughters would never want, Cygnus informed him, and no girl of her stature should ever want. It had done little to instill any sense of humility in her.

Well, she was in for quite the rude awakening.

Lucius took her insolence with absolute composure. He listened to her snark, wagging her tongue as if she had any right to address an adult, much less her Professor, in such a manner. Her immaturity was unbecoming of a Pureblood witch of her lineage, Lucius mused with a slight grimace, and when she had finished her diatribe, he calmly strode to his walking stick, his gloved fingers grasping the ornate silver head, before pulling his ebony wand from its sheathe.

As she had finished putting the last of her things into her bag, he waved his wand once, murmuring a spell in a low voice, before the object lifted itself from her desk and floated gracefully to his open hand. Grasping it, he placed it upon his desk, his lips twisting into a dark smirk. “I'm afraid, Miss Black, that I care not for what lollygagging or time-wasting my colleagues wish to partake in.” He strode forward, pulling his hands behind his back, as he towered over her, his pale grey eyes appraising her. “It is imperative to me, however, that when my pupils enter my classroom, they are educated. Whether or not you'd like to be is of no consequence to me.”

The other students had gone still, silently watching the exchange between the two, some gaping, and others softly whispering to one another in what appeared to be a smug manner. Lucius was loathe to take points from Slytherin, ever, but he had other ideas.

“Detention, Miss Black, for coming to class unprepared – another detention for your disrespectful tone, and yet another one for being a disruption.” He grinned, his white teeth showing, obviously garnering amusement from the prospect of her humiliation from the watching eyes of the other students. He took a step back. “You may fetch your belongings after the hour is over.”

With a dramatic swoosh of his robes, Lucius approached the blackboard, waving his wand as words in lavish, eloquent script began to write upon the surface. With his arms crossed, he turned to the other students, announcing in a low, booming voice: “Today, we will be brewing the Draught of Living Death.”

[NARCISSA VIRGA BLACK]

This was bordering on insanity. Any other professor would have signed the form releasing her from the class. Many professors would be beyond eager to sign the paper; there were several professors who found Narcissa to be a handful, elitist, and condescending. Not a single sane soul would force her to stay in the classroom for the entirety of the lesson, especially without her belongings. She didn’t even have her wand! This was inhumane and a complete violation of her rights and an adult witch.

She had half a mind to storm out of the classroom and bang on her Head of House’s door and lodge a complaint against this man. There were a few important, valid reasons that Narcissa didn’t storm off in a huff, her heels clicking down the hallway. The first was the fact that Lucius Malfoy was her Head of House. It was not as if she could storm across the room, bang on his office, and complain about him to him. The second was this terrible, off-putting feeling that the man gave her. There were a handful of people that put Narcissa in her place, that had the ability to make her feel like a small, out-of-control little girl. The first was her father, the second her mother. Bellatrix had quickly developed the skills to boss the girl around. As Professor Malfoy towered over her, his grey eyes practically piercing her skin, Narcissa swallowed and slowly lowered herself into her seat. She felt like an odd mixture little girl and a puppy told to rollover and expose her stomach.

Her last grasp of self-righteous indignation escaped her mouth as her back hit the chair. “My father will hear about this,” She hissed, trying to pull together the best glare she could muster. Bellatrix had taught her a few things about giving ‘looks’ to individuals that displeased her, but her sister’s lessons felt hollow in this situation. Three detentions? Narcissa Black had never had a single instance of disciplinary action on her education record and her first day of her final year, there would be three detentions spotting her impeccable history.

She sat there, in the front row, her own anger simmering in her stomach as she watched the other students attempt to brew the Draught. The snide comments of the two girls behind her were driving her insane, but Narcissa fought to keep her composure. If Professor Malfoy was to give her another detention, it wouldn’t be for putting a filthy half-breed in her place. Instead, she spent the next sixty minutes with her arms crossed doing a variety of small, yet distinctly annoying things. She tapped her foot until her ankle hurt and then began tapping the other. She kicked the leg of the table, causing the boy beside her to spill his potion on his crotch. She clicked her tongue, plaid with her hair, cracked every knuckle on her hand, snapped at her garter strap, and was just about to kick her the chair out from the boy on her other side when the class was dismissed.

Narcissa sat on the table, crossed her legs, and waited for the very last student to leave. She examined her nails; the only sign of on-edge-nerves was how she swallowed and her refusal to look up at him.

[LUCIUS PHINEAS MALFOY]

For the next sixty minutes, Lucius spent his time attending to the students who were serious about their studies. Despite the girl-child's insistence upon being as irritating as possible, Lucius did not spend his energy reprimanding her. Rather, as he listened to her bothersome idiosyncrasies, he grew more and more amused by how petulant she could be. She acted much like an eight year old would when forced to attend an event that the child deemed boring. She would tap, hum, attempt to make mess – and successfully did so once, with no harm result thankfully – in vain effort to voice her displeasure. Perhaps she thought that if she carried on in this fashion, she would get what she wanted. Perhaps she assumed if she caused enough trouble, he'd kick her out. The more he realized she wanted that, the more motivated he was in forcing her to stay.

The snapping of her garters was what caused his attention to stray the most, every so often his grey eyes would sweep to where she was sitting, watching as her petite fingers hooked upon the elastic before releasing it and allowing it to make a sharp snapping sound against her creamy white thighs--

Lucius shook his head. Enough of that.

Soon enough, the hour was finished, and Lucius dismissed the class. Each student bottled their brews in their glass bottles and stored them in the cabinet across the room, for grading, before shambling out. When the last of the students had vacated the room, Lucius' eyes brushed over Narcissa once more, smirking in amusement as she huffily sat upon her table, refusing to look upon him. Lucius approached his desk and picked up her bag carefully with his gloved hands, as he walked to her. He held out the bag with an outstretched arm, the strap hanging off of his fingers, as he stared at the plaits in her hair.

“I'm afraid I must inform you, Miss Black, that I have absolutely no intention of allowing you to withdraw from this course,” he drawled, the words coming out almost like a purr. “Your father went to great lengths to secure you a spot on my roster, and I most sincerely doubt he would be pleased to hear that you've rebuked his gracious efforts.” His brow raised. “You're more than welcome to contact him. In fact, I'd be pleased to do so myself.”

[NARCISSA VIRGA BLACK]

Narcissa snatched her bag away from his grip, clutching the leather to her chest. She parted with it only to make sure the contents were still there. He may have been in front of her the entire time, but there was no trusting a man such as this. He could have stolen her things! With his long hair, it wouldn’t surprise her if this particular Professor was one of those…types that enjoyed wearing women’s clothing. He could have stolen her magazines or lipstick! She sneered at the thought, grasping her wand. She withdrew it, sliding the shaft into the waist of her skirt.

When she was sure none of her possessions had been molested, Narcissa placed the bag on the table beside her. She paused for a minute, biting her lip in deep thought. With his utterly dominating glare currently tucked away for the time being, Narcissa regained her level footing as Supreme Being in the room. “This would be much easier for us both if you just let me with draw from the class. There is absolutely no real reason why you won’t just sign the damned form.” She never swore, but this situation seemed to call for it.

“I can provide letters from my previous potions instructor as to why I should be dismissed- the countless amount property I’ve ruined, the people I’ve caused bodily harm…” She said, waving her hand as if this was really no big deal. “I’ve really never passed an exam since starting my studies. I would bring your average grades down and make you look like a bad Professor.” She added, sliding from the table and moving towards the man. “If you do not let me withdraw from this class, then I will work to be particularly bad at this subject…and make every single class a nightmare to be in.”

She was merely a few inches away from him, straightening her back to all of her (rather lacking) height. “Now, Professor. Are you really going to give me this one detention you mentioned earlier? Thursdays work best for me, for this singular detention. I have social commitments every other weekday and weekends are quite off limits. So this lone, solitary, and unique detention…Thursday for fifteen minutes? I believe that should suffice.” Narcissa turned her nose up just a little bit more, crossing her arms over her chest.

The ball was in her half of the pitch now. She had complete control, just like Bellatrix had taught her. It must be the lipstick.

[LUCIUS PHINEAS MALFOY]

And yet she did not.

He was beginning to realize that her changes had been merely physical; there was no woman to this girl, no more than what her blossoming body would allow. He was no more intimidated by her movements, nor her words, as he would a five year old chirping at him about something that displeased them. He remained statuesque, listening to her diatribe with his dark smirk. Disrespect, usually, grated a great deal on Lucius' nerves, but upon little Miss Black, it was entertaining, even endearing. Her attempt to display her dominance was feeble at best, but for what it was worth, he allowed her the chance to say her piece, before her leveled a heavy stare at her, capturing her eyes in his, and remaining utterly silent as he turned over a few considerations in his head.

He rose up to meet her attempts at improving her own stature, and towered over her a great deal more than he had before. “You needn't tell me. I'm utterly aware of how abysmal your marks were for the past few terms.” His gloves squeaked as he clenched and unclenched his fists. “Why else would your father have to come asking a favor from me?”

Lucius stepped forward, forcing her to amble backwards without even coming into contact with her. One step he took, one she drew back; he canted his head, his eyes locked with hers, keeping that strict contact, not allowing her vision to dart anywhere else. She would look at him and only him, and she would only be released when he wanted to release her. “And I have no intention on backing down on that favor, neither do I intend on allowing you to fail.” He took another step. And another. And another, until he heard her backside colliding with the desk behind her.

“You see, Miss Black, if you intend on purposefully underachieving, I will have no choice but to discipline you, where you will have to spend time with me, and where I will force you to learn the content of this course over, and over...” His voice lowered to a dangerous whisper: “And over... until you know how to mince Valerian root and all the properties of Dragon's Blood.” Lucius then leaned forward slightly, a few strands of hair falling over his face as his eyes narrowed.

“Three detentions. Tomorrow, Wednesday, Thursday. Two hours each. Is that understood?”

[NARCISSA VIRGA BLACK]

Narcissa had thought she’d finally come into her own dominant personality. Her sister had managed to perfect her skills so much earlier in her teenage years, able to have either parent bend to her whim with the slightest commotion on her part. Bellatrix had practiced on her quite a great deal in their youth and Narcissa had thought if she mimicked her sister, if she took all that experience from being under her eldest sister’s foot, that she could adopt her sister’s dominant airs. It had worked during the summer; Narcissa had all the other little girls in the French coast eating from her palm. She had negotiated more pin money from her father and private shopping trips away from her mother. She had even practiced on some of the well-bred men her parents brought around for her to socialize and each and every male had bent to her whims and requests. If it had not been her new found sense of being the Alpha, then what had it been?

Lucius Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake, was completely oblivious to whatever she had been able to control other menfolk with. He wasn’t just immune either, but was twisting each of her words against her. Her strong stance, that she had thought would make the man level with her, seemed to make it easier for him to back her into a corner (figuratively, for she was really just trapped between him and the desk she’d previously occupied). Narcissa fought the urge to panic, the table unwavering as she forced her weight against it. In a small effort to maintain her personal space and stop the man from positively squashing her, Narcissa pressed her palms against his chest and pushed just hard enough or him to feel the pressure. She swallowed and took a deep breath, her breasts rising and falling as Big Bad Narcissa retreated and the little girl emerged once more. She parted her lips as she nodded, her cheeks flushing.

Blatantly, purposefully failing the course would no longer do, but she was still unsure of his comprehension of her lack of skills in the potions classroom. Would he punish her for each failure, intentional or not? Was he the type of man that just enjoyed punishment? This was going to ruin her entire seventh year. Narcissa flinched, pressing on his chest again.

It was then that she noticed the gaggle of fifth year Slytherins with their noses pressed to the small window in the door, watching the action inside with avid interest. One poked her abnormally squashed face in, wide-eyed and nervous. “Professor Malfoy…are we doing the OWL class now?” She asked, her voice sounding much like a strangled niffler’s would if it could speak.

And in that small distraction, Narcissa slipped under Lucius’ arm and bolted for the door.

[LUCIUS PHINEAS MALFOY]

Truly, Lucius had not meant to scare the girl. In the past, it was true that he had often delighted in the fear he drew from those he could intimidate. Lucius enjoyed power as much as the next person, and perhaps one of his favorite things to do was take a cocky witch or wizard down a peg when they had the audacity to believe they could over power him. Lucius had yet to meet a person who could ever do so, and Lucius enjoyed this fact immensely.

However, with this one, this tiny girl whose eyes widened in her terror as he backed her into a corner, like predator to prey, seemed to stir a sense of pity of him that he had not felt for quite some time. It was obvious that she felt trapped, indicated by the way her delicate hands pressed up against his broad chest, attempting to force him to keep his distance. There was nothing satisfying in watching her face contort in such an ugly way, nor was there any gratification in realizing that his approach may have been a bit cruel. Guilt was a sensation unfamiliar to Lucius Malfoy, and it was strange that a girl like her elicited from him so effortlessly.

He had to marvel at it, even as he watched her slip away from him, dashing for the door as fast as her legs could take her. His eyes flitted to the desk, where a small silver tube of lipstick sat, abandoned by its owner in her retreat. Lucius straightened up, brushed his hands against his robes, and carefully took the tube in between his deft fingers. He stared it, twirling it a few times, before depositing it into the pocket of his robes.

He'd return it to her when she arrived for her detention. And perhaps Lucius would attempt to be a bit more civil.

Clearing his throat, Lucius made a large wave with his hand, as he returned to his desk and watch his fifth years shuffle in.

[NARCISSA VIRGA BLACK]

Narcissa didn’t look back as she ran out of the classroom. She did not want to think about that terrible, awful man who was now forcing himself into her life. She had no want, no drive, and certainly no patience for the subject being forced upon her. Everyone in that class would later go on to work directly in the Potions field; either as a Master or Researcher. Narcissa would go on to be a pretty little housewife and mother to two darling little boys and one precious girl (if all went according to plan) and need not every brew her own potions again. After all, if it was worth doing it was worth doing correctly and Narcissa wasn’t about to give her children anything she brewed. She frowned as she burst in, several minutes late, to her Healing Charms and Spells course. She didn’t apologize, nor attempt to slink in. If the Professor had anything to say to her, she would kindly explain that Professor Malfoy had rudely made her tardy and to take it up with the blonde oaf.

The rest of her day was entirely uneventful. History of Wizarding Society was her last class and she had made her schedule with just enough time to refresh herself in the dormitories before dinner. It was then that she noticed that the sacred tube of lipstick was no longer in her possession. Professor Malfoy had gone through her finger with sticky fingers. She would tell everyone about his Womanly Habits. He would be laughed out of the school and then out of good society if he were not more cordial and respectful in their next few encounters. While she wasn’t about to let that blackmail slip just yet, she was more than eager to share her dreadful experience with her group of peers at dinner.

And she did share, with minor embellishments, the whole ordeal. She took a breath, placed a hand on her chest as if the whole day had been too much to handle, and signed.

“Three detentions! Can you believe the man?” A small tear slipped down her cheek. “My poor Mama would have words to share with that man if she knew what I had been put through today- shoved onto a table and a hand wrapped around my neck! And that awful profanity! No man of his breeding (and do we really even know his breeding, personally I don’t think the name Malfoy has been around long enough to be considered an Olde House) should ever treat a woman in such a way.”

The two seventh year boys on either signed had cooed and fed Narcissa a dainty bite of filet mignon. One girl, who clearly was not buying Narcissa’s tears and sniffles, insisted she should tell the Headmaster if this all occurred.

Narcissa huffed, and narrowed her eyes at the girl. “And let my mother find out? Her poor, frail heart. After everything that happened two years ago, Charlotte, you really wish you send my mother to Saint Mungo’s now? Have you no heart?”

Charlotte quickly closed her mouth.

Narcissa continued with her pity-garnering displays for the next twenty-four hours. Adult Narcissa was apparently even more adept at getting attention from her male peers and Narcissa was practically drunk on devotion by her detention.

She sauntered into his office, dropping her bag on the ground and situating herself on his desk. He was tardy and she had half a mind to bang on the door to his quarters, but would rather spend minimal time with the man. The clock had started when she had arrived, not when he would. While she waited she opened the top few drawers on his desk casually, poking her fingers through his points of ink and quills and little notes drawn his cocky, looped handwriting. Her other hand dug into the bag at her side, producing a box of chocolates. While snooping to her heart’s delight, she picked up a caramel filled sweet and took a small bite. Her eyes closed and she signed, savoring the flavors.

[LUCIUS PHINEAS MALFOY]

This girl was most definitely a problem.

Despite what Narcissa had done to keep someone from reporting the outlandish rumors she was spreading against his character, someone did speak. And to the Headmaster. Lucius wasn't even made aware of the accusations until midday, when he received an unexpected visit from Albus himself, a dire look upon his weary features. A look of that caliber certainly left no room for good news, but considering this had been the first accusation made against Lucius, the Headmaster saw to it that Lucius was spoken to first before any action was taken. Lucius was aghast to even hear the aspersions made against his character – of verbal, physical, and emotional abuse, apparently against this poor girl-child.

Of course, Lucius vehemently denied the charge. In order to settle the matter quickly, he testified under Veritaserum, repeating the events as they had occurred, rather than the fabrication that Narcissa embellished for the attention she sought after pathetically. With his name cleared, the Headmaster offered to contact Miss Black's parents so that disciplinary measures could be leveled against her. Lucius declined; he had other ideas in mind.

He had damage control on the mind for the rest of the evening. No doubt the wagging of Narcissa's tongue would lead to the other children possibly reporting their concerns to their own parents; after all, why would they want to be under the tutelage of someone prone to violent outbursts? If need be, he would have to ask the Headmaster to vouch for his character – his reputation was absolutely everything and Merlin would be damed if he allowed a spoiled child like Narcissa Black tarnish it with her melodrama. But for now, he would not worry about that. The girl in question was needing to be dealt with.

Lucius was only a few minutes late to the detention he assigned to her, but he assumed that she would have words on his tardiness; as if he truly cared, for that matter, but he would most certainly not stoop to her level. As he entered, he found her sitting upon his desk, rifling through his personal belongings as she plopped pieces of rich chocolate into her mouth. With his brow raised, he merely slammed the door shut behind him to signal his presence, before he strode forward with absolute confidence and nonchalance. When he reached his desk, he was careful to gently push her wrist away with his gloved fingers before closing the drawer shut. He then looked down upon her, a smug countenance taking over his features, as his pale grey eyes appraised her face. They briefly lowered to her neck, and he chuckled with amusement as he pulled off his gloves.

“How is your neck, Miss Black?” he asked lowly, his gaze catching hers.

[NARCISSA VIRGA BLACK]

Narcissa jumped as she heard the door slam behind her, overturning the box of chocolates as she did so. Later she would be very displeased with that particular action for they had been damned good morsels of melted caramel crème and smooth milk chocolate. They were the kind of treat she would hide in her beside drawer and eat with pleasure in front of her dorm mates (all the while, refusing to share. Narcissa did not share). They had been expensive too, but that particular adjective described almost everything that touched her body. She let out a small squeak, but didn’t register the concept of withdrawing her hand from her professor’s belongings until he was doing it himself. If she hadn’t been deciding on the proper mixture of displeasure and indifference she should display in her face, she might have noted what very nice leather gloves Professor Malfoy wore.

She snatched her hand away before he had even finished closing the wooden drawer, placing both arms firmly across her bosom. The action caused, though quite without her notice, her small breasts to be forced together and upwards creating the illusion of a somewhat well endowed bosom. She sniffed, put her nose in the air, and twisted her legs to straddle the corner of his desk. Narcissa prepared her mind for a tirade, plotting a very eloquent speech about tardiness and propriety and what was expected off an educator at this level when Professor Malfoy’s question caught her off guard.

“My neck?” She asked, her face contorting to complete surprise without her permission. She brought one delicate, porcelain hand to her throat and felt around for any sort of bump or twinge of pain from a bruise. Was he threatening her? Was he going to wring the soft skin between his fingers? Was he going to poison her?

And then she remembered the rumor (which has escalated quite quickly from the first time she had told it until the retelling earlier before dinner) she had started. “Oh.”

Narcissa paused, trying to come up with some sort of story to tell him. Perhaps one of her admirers had twisted her words. Perhaps everyone had misunderstood her meaning. How had the damned thing gotten back to the Professor already? Did her mother know? Oh, if her mother knew Narcissa would be pulled out of the school faster than one could say ‘wand’. Which, come to think of it, wouldn’t be such a bad thing. She could finish her schooling in Paris or at home! She could shop every day instead of sitting through boring lectures that would never help her in society.

So, with that thought in mind (after all, who didn’t want to shop on the streets of Paris every weekend?), she decided to dig her grave just a little bit deeper. Perhaps Professor Malfoy would throttle her.

“Oh, my neck. It’s a bit sore, the gloves left the slightest chafing. When I twist my head to one side, I think I snapped a bone or something. The bruising has faded, though, which is a relief. Damage to my poor, virginal skin would be devastating.”