Title: One Half of Me Is Yours (The Other Half Yours)

Pairings: Lucius Malfoy/Josephine Potter, Fleamont Potter/Euphemia Potter, Abraxas Malfoy/Lucretia Malfoy, Flavius Flint/Siriana Black

The wind ripped the ribbon from her hair as Josephine Potter swooped toward the ground. It streamed behind her, dancing in the wind. Laughter escaped and her cheeks ached from the force of her grin. She pulled up mere feet from the ground. For just an instant, she felt free.

Then reality intruded.

"On the ground, this instant!" Euphemia Potter commanded.

Josephine stumbled as she landed on the sprawling lawn behind Potter Manor and dropped her Comet 360.

"You're being much too reckless, Josephine. Why don't you ever think about consequences? How do you think your uncle and I would react to finding your broken body on the lawn?"

The words hurt.

For half an hour, Josephine had managed to push away the memory of returning from Hogwarts to find her parents dying of Dragon Pox, wasted away to little more than skin and bones. They had only lasted a day before passing.

Her aunt's words threw the memory right in her face.

"You've let your hair come loose!" Euphemia exclaimed, before flicking a styling spell at Josephine; it was much too tight.

She loved her aunt. She did, but that didn't stop her from hating her aunt too.

In all of the years that Josephine had been flying, she had never once been in a serious accident. In fact, she was the only member of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team who had never been sent to the Hospital Wing following a practice or game.

Being Euphemia and Fleamont's ward until she came of age was a nightmare. Freedom and happiness were relics of the past.

"What do you have to say for yourself, Josephine?"

And that—she hated that.

With family, she was meant to be Jo. None of her surviving relatives would call her anything but her full name. She loathed it.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Euphemia."

Euphemia heaved a sigh and dropped her arms from their crossed position. "I love you, Josephine. You know that. I just worry about you. I don't want anything to happen to you."

That was when guilt usually appeared in Josephine's chest. The guilt didn't come. She couldn't help but wonder if she had finally become immune to guilt trips—with how often Euphemia applied them, it wouldn't surprise her.

She was the only surviving member of the Main Potter Line. She was the miracle child of the Potter family: the much-coveted heiress. Josephine was the first daughter born into the Potter family in two centuries. And, on top of that, she hadn't been born until her mother was thirty-three, which was practically ancient in regards to a pureblood witch's first child; people still gossiped about how her parents had galavanted across the globe instead of settling down and providing an heir or heiress immediately.

Uncle Fleamont and Aunt Euphemia's son, Edmund Fleamont Potter, had come along almost ten years before.

"I know, Aunt Euphemia," Josephine said, fighting to keep the tiredness out of her voice.

Euphemia grabbed her by the hand and ushered her inside, away from the sky and shining sun, saying, "Now, come inside before you catch a chill."

There wasn't even a hint of an afternoon breeze. It was so warm out that Josephine was wearing her thinnest robes.

Unfortunately, Euphemia didn't care much for logic—especially if she felt that someone was trying to use it against her. She did what she believed was best for her family; whether her family agreed with her opinions or not didn't seem to be particularly relevant to her.

"Sit. Sit," Euphemia said insistently, beaming. "I have wonderful news for you!"

Josephine wanted to flop onto the couch in the sunroom and squeeze her eyes shut. That would earn her a lecture on decorum. She sat straight.

"Oh?"

It was hard to feign interest.

"I've arranged a bonding contract for you. Isn't that marvelous?"

"What?"

Was it possible to feel all the blood drain from your face?

Euphemia smoothed non-existent wrinkles from her robes and said, "You never spoke of your feelings for him, but I could tell."

Josephine's tongue felt thick and clumsy.

"Who—?"

She shoved her hands under her thighs, so that her aunt wouldn't see how badly they trembled. Euphemia didn't approve of pureblood witches who lost their composure. Her heartbeat sounded like a thunderstorm in her ears.

This was a joke, right? Her aunt hadn't actually . . . had she?

Had Aunt Euphemia let her power as co-guardian of Heiress Potter go to her head?

"Heir Adocan McLaggen, of course!" Euphemia smirked. "He's a handsome fellow. You have good taste, not that I would expect anything else. The McLaggens are ever so wealthy."

Euphemia's smirk widened.

"Sephora Selwyn told her mother that you're almost never apart at school. You're sixteen now; that's more than old enough to be bonded to the love of your life."

A sound was ripped from Josephine's throat, then. All the deportment lessons in the world wouldn't have been able to lock it away.

"Are you . . . joking?" Josephine asked.

Please, for the love of Morgana, let her be joking.

While it was true that Josephine was rarely seen without McLaggen in public at Hogwarts, that was because the bastard wouldn't stop stalking her! He was so sure he would eventually win her over. He even insisted on sitting near her during meals, no matter how many times she and Siriana Black hexed him.

She would bond with a Slytherin before she would bond with McLaggen!

"Of course not," Euphemia said hurriedly, as if to assure her, "I would never tease you in such a cruel manner. It's really happening. I promise. Isn't this the best surprise in the world, Josephine?"

McLaggen was a rake. Not a rascal, not a cheeky rogue, but an actual rake.

He used his title as Heir McLaggen in a manner that turned Josephine's stomach and always had. She had heard of him kissing (or worse) witches often enough that she lost count. That wasn't including the times she had come across him in a less than proper situation; luckily, she had been sneaking through the hallways beneath her family's invisibility cloak each time and managed to avoid detection.

Worst of all, Josephine knew that her aunt wouldn't believe her if she said anything. Euphemia would reprimand her for listening to gossip. That would likely be followed by a lecture on how proper pureblood witches did not allow envy to consume them.

"It's a surprise, all right," Josephine whispered; she almost choked on the words.

"I've stunned you speechless. I didn't even know that was possible. I have to go tell your uncle!"

After Euphemia swept from the room, Josephine collapsed in on herself. She clasped her hands over her mouth. Her shoulders shuddered as tears streamed down her face. Blind panic consumed her.

She couldn't do this anymore. She couldn't be here anymore. Everything hurt.

"No. No. No!"

Josephine exited the room at a dead sprint.

Once she passed through the ancestral wards, Josephine whispered the words that would activate her emergency Portkey anklet.

"Star sapphires."

The room she appeared in made her feel safe, as the manor hadn't since her parents died and her aunt and uncle moved in.

This was her sanctuary. She didn't come here often, even though she loved being here; she couldn't chance losing herself. As her gaze trailed over the room, resolve overtook her.

"I . . . I'm not leaving this time."

Josephine straightened her spine and forced the words out again—firm as Hogwarts' foundation—and wiped away her tears.

"I'm not leaving this time."

Her Aunt Euphemia could spin the words however she wanted; it didn't hide the woman's greed. Josephine was not going to bond with that bastard in what was likely a plot to resurrect an Oligarchy title.

"I'm never, ever, ever going back!"

Her parents were gone; she had no reason to return.

Josephine walked over to the full-length mirror that was next to the enormous wardrobe. The face staring back at her—pale and tear-stained and haunted—would never be seen again after today.

In her entire life, Josephine had only managed to keep a handful of things almost entirely secret. She stared at her reflection and called up her Metamorphmagus magic.

It didn't take long for her body to change into a familiar shape. Josephine shrank three inches, so that she was about five-foot-four. Her chest and hips became fuller. Her skin became fairer. Josephine's hazel eyes turned the color of lapis lazuli; she Vanished the useless glasses that she normally wore. Last of all, she transformed her curly hair to silky smoothness and from black to a blonde so fair it was almost white.

"This is where I belong. I'm never going back."

Josephine Summoned the box on the bedside table. She stripped and dropped her wand atop her clothes. Then she picked up the wand in the box.

Ebony. Unicorn Hair. Rigid. Unbending. Excellent for dueling and healing.

"Incendio."

A barrier kept the flames from spreading. As the clothes and wand on the floor went up in flames, she bid a silent goodbye to her former life. She was quick to put out the fire when nothing but ashes remained. She Vanished them.

It was cathartic.

After dressing in a gauzy day gown the color of her eyes, and gathering her hair in an elaborate chignon, she stopped in front of the mirror again and smiled.

She didn't look anything like a Potter.

She extended her magic through the manor. When Lucius Malfoy's magic reached back toward her, her smile widened. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized that she wasn't alone. She didn't think she could bear that at the moment.

It seemed to take no time at all—and, somehow, forever at the same time—to reach the silver sitting room.

Ignoring Lucius's many guests, she curled up against his side on the sofa. The last of the tension melted away as she relaxed against him.

"Lucius."

Ever since Lucius had found out her secret—when she was childishly practicing her Metamorphmagus magic during the year she stayed with the Malfoys—he and his family had provided her shelter from everything.

It was a logical continuation of his family fostering her.

Lucius was protective, without being smothering. He spoke with her, not at her. And when she needed to talk, he always listened. Even as the years passed, he always had time for her. He was twenty-one now and had never abandoned her.

She could always depend on Lucius.

His smile was tender as he curled his arm around her and said, "Welcome home, Ilia. How are you?"

"Moved in."

Lucius's gaze narrowed. Rage sparking through his magic and into hers, he hissed, "What did they do?"

She sighed and closed her eyes. A twitch of her magic guaranteed the words didn't carry. "Murdered the Potter Heiress as far as I'm concerned."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She cut him a sharp look. "Lucius, not now."

"Very well," Lucius said.

"Lucius, who's this?" Rodolphus Lestrange asked.

"Ah, gentlemen, please forgive me. As you can see, I was surprised by her beautiful presence," Lucius said.

It never failed to touch her heart that he said such things, each one being entirely sincere.

"This glorious witch is my cousin, the Lady Caecilia Malfoy."

"These are friends of mine, Ilia. Lord Flavius Flint, Heir Rodolphus Lestrange, Master Rabastan Lestrange, and Heir Evan Rosier. These gentlemen were schoolmates of mine while I was at Hogwarts," Lucius said.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen," Caecilia said. "That Lucius puts up with you at all tells me a lot about you."

She smirked when they laughed.

"I assure you, Lady Caecilia, the pleasure is all ours," Evan said with a roguish wink.

"Quite right, Evan. The pleasure is all ours, Lady Caecilia," Rabastan said as his eyes swept over her.

Lucius rolled his eyes and sneered at his cohorts. "I've taught her better than that. Don't even try it."

Caecilia grinned. "Lucius doesn't like wizards anywhere near me."

"Oh?" Flavius cocked an eyebrow. "Isn't that interesting?"

"Is it?"

Caecilia feigned interest in her cuticles. Playing with Slytherins was so much more fun and distracting than playing with Gryffindors.

"Hadn't you realized that he's self-centered? The poor dear can't stand not being the center of attention."

"Ilia!"

"I don't want my favorite cousin to waste away, so I take pity on him from time to time. I want him to stay pretty, after all."

Lucius covered her mouth with his hand, which only sent her into peals of muffled laughter.

"Caecilia!"

"She's your cousin?" Flavius asked as he watched them shrewdly.

"Yes, my second cousin," Lucius stressed.

It wasn't the truth, of course. But Lucius wouldn't be Lucius if he weren't intentionally misleading someone.

"Oh?" Flavius smirked. "Lucky for you, Lucius."

"What do you mean, Lord Flint?" Caecilia asked, after pulling Lucius's hand away from her lips.

The guests stared at her in disbelief. Rabastan's mouth fell open, though he quickly snapped it shut. Rodolphus burst into a coughing fit.

"Are you jesting, Lady Caecilia?" Evan asked.

"No."

Caecilia hated the way they were staring at her, as if she couldn't see a raging hippogriff in the room. It made her feel stupid. She hated feeling stupid.

Was this one of those Sacred Twenty-Eight things she would have to learn now?

"Lucius, you've really sheltered her, haven't you?" Flavius sounded impressed.

"Why do I get a feeling that's an insult? What're you hiding from me, you prat?" Caecilia grumbled. She glared at Lucius and swatted his chest. Her magic rippled through the air as she lost her temper with him.

"Curse you, Lucius," Evan rasped. "Your mother must have bathed you in Felix Felicis when you were a baby. You have the most blessed luck I have ever seen in my entire life."

A vibrant laugh echoed through the room. Lucretia Malfoy stood in the doorway, a teasing twinkle in her amethyst eyes. A light smattering of freckles bridged her nose.

"Now you know my secret, Heir Rosier. I pray you won't share it."

"You have my word, Lady Malfoy."

Caecilia turned away from Lucius with a wide grin on her face. "I missed you, Aunt Lucretia!"

Ever since her fostering, Lucretia had insisted that Caecilia call her 'Aunt.' It hadn't taken long before Caecilia had come to love Lucretia as her true aunt. For Lucretia was superior in every way when compared to Euphemia.

Lucretia walked over and stroked Caecilia's hair. "And I missed you, Ilia. I'm so glad you're back."

"How was lunch with the Minister?" Lucius asked.

"Tedious," Lucretia said, frowning. "The Minister's as incompetent as always. I'll be pleased when High Lord Slytherin wins the election in four months. Your father's thrilled he's finally come home to England."

"All of us are. Bagnold's pathetic attempt to cling to power is pitiful to watch," Flavius said.

Lucretia glanced pointedly at Lucius's arm around Caecilia. "May I borrow her, Lucius?"

"I just got her back," Lucius retorted. "She's been in France forever."

Chuckling, Lucretia said, "I know, Lucius. It really is important, though."

"What is it?" Caecilia asked.

She was reluctant to leave Lucius's side after the day she had suffered through, particularly since it had been almost three months since she had last been able to come visit the Malfoys.

"Abraxas and I have something important to discuss with you, Ilia."

Lucretia leaned down and kissed Caecilia's forehead.

"I wouldn't dream of tearing you away from him if it were something frivolous. I promise it won't take long."

"Lucius?"

"It's your choice. You know that," Lucius replied.

His magic latched onto her, in direct opposition to his words. He had always been a possessive bastard when it came to her.

"You'll still be here when I'm done," Caecilia ordered. She didn't want to admit it, but she felt annoyingly fragile after the morning's events. Lucius's presence always made her feel safe.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"All right."

Caecilia reluctantly drew away from Lucius, hating the warmth that disappeared when his arm fell away from her.

"Thank you, Ilia. We'll be in Abraxas's study," Lucretia said as she nodded to the guests and left the room.

Caecilia flicked a mocking salute at their guests and said, "It was nice to meet some of the people who pander to Lucius's ego."

As they roared with laughter, Lucius flushed.

Mission accomplished.

"Oh, the pleasure was all ours, Lady Caecilia," Flavius answered for all of them.

"Glory in Gold, Blessings in Blood, and Might in Magic," she said before leaving the room.

If she dithered any longer, she wouldn't follow Lucretia at all. There was something intoxicating about Lucius's presence. Once she was within the reach of his magic, she never wanted to leave it.

"Ah, there you are. I thought I might have to come save you from Lucius's hugs," Abraxas Malfoy said.

He was tall and broad-shouldered. He was handsome and powerful, and Lucius looked nearly identical to him. Lucius had eyes the color of gray star sapphires; Abraxas's resembled moonstones.

"Don't be silly. You'll never need to save me from Lucius," Caecilia said as she hugged him.

Abraxas scooped Caecilia up in his arms and spun her around in circles, something no one had done since her father died. It brought back memories of good times. She kissed both of his cheeks, and then laughed when he set her on his desk.

"What did you want to discuss?" Caecilia asked.

It must be truly important if they were going to discuss it in Abraxas's study. She had only been here once before, and that was when Abraxas provided her with the emergency Portkey anklet when she had been keyed into the wards at five years old.

"The first thing you need to know," Abraxas said, as solemnly as if he were presenting a Bill of Law to the Wizengamot, "is that you have every right to refuse. Whether you agree or not has no bearing on your right to be here whenever and as long as you want. Malfoy Manor will always be your home."

Caecilia's shoulders hunched. That wasn't a good lead-in to a conversation. How terrible was this going to be?

"I expect you to say 'No!' if you don't like what I'm going to propose. Do you understand, Caecilia?" Abraxas asked.

She knew he was completely serious when he didn't use her nickname. "I understand."

"Lucius asked me for official permission to court you the first day of summer."

"We've been waiting for you to visit so that we could ask if you're interested, though we completely understand why you stayed away so long. He loves you. He swore on the family magics to prove his sincerity," Lucretia said. Her gaze was earnest, almost painfully so.

"But don't let that sway your heart. If you're not romantically interested in him, all you have to do is say so," Abraxas interjected.

Caecilia fractured.

Her Occlumency shields shattered under the pressure of her roiling emotions.

Hopes and fantasies spilled forth: Lucius kissing her, the smirk on his lips as she rebelliously waltzed with him, the warmth of waking up in his arms with a bonding ring on her left hand, the eyes of their children, early morning Abraxan rides with her seated before him, nights spent watching the stars after swimming in the lake, and professions of love whispered against bare skin.

She didn't notice anything in the real world until the door to the study slammed violently against the wall.

"What's wrong? I could feel her magic broadcasting her pain on the other side of the manor. What happened to her?" Lucius demanded as he rushed toward her.

"I don't know! We told her you wanted to court her, that you love her, and then—" Lucretia gestured at Caecilia's condition as an explanation of what happened next.

Lucius flinched. His eyes dulled. "Does the thought of my loving you truly cause you such immense pain?"

"No! Morgana, no!"

"Then will you let me court you, Ilia?" Lucius asked as he stroked her hair.

Caecilia thought she would choke on the words and die; they were that painful to speak. "I wish . . . I wish I could."

"You wish you could? Why can't you? Who's in my way?" Lucius rasped, shaking her lightly.

Caecilia laughed; it was broken and bitter. She caressed Lucius's cheek. "I fainted on that couch after Euphemia destroyed my world, didn't I? I wish you'd ask me that in the real world, Lucius."

"What are you talking about?" Lucius demanded.

Her eyes were suspiciously dry as she answered his question in a monotone voice. "Euphemia sold me to McLaggen."

Lucius swore loudly and vehemently and extensively. Honestly, she was impressed at how many curse words she knew; her unconscious mind put colorful, lurid words in his mouth.

"Over McLaggen's dead body!"

Lucius jolted her with his magic hard enough to make her bones ache. Caecilia shuddered in relieved disbelief. Not even she, wielder of the Potter family magics, could imitate Lucius's magic to that degree.

This wasn't a delusion.

"This isn't a dream, Ilia. This is real. And McLaggen will never have you."

He hugged her fiercely; it hurt in the best way. She was only vaguely aware that Lucretia was prodding Abraxas out of the room.

"Swear to me it's true, Lucius. I want your word of honor that you really do love me."

"I swear it."

Caecilia shuddered in relief as he leaned his forehead against hers and stared into her eyes.

"Now tell me you accept my courtship, Ilia."

He kissed the skin just beneath her right eye; her eyelashes fluttered at the gentle sensation.

"This'll be my first Courtship, you prat. You better not mess it up," Caecilia ordered.

Before Lucius could object and act all affronted, she kissed him — her Maiden's Kiss.

Finally, an effective way to shut him up.

Three days later, Caecilia prowled around her bedroom. Lucius was taking her out to lunch for their first Courtship Date. She had never spent so long getting ready in her life. It was embarrassing how long she took. And why did she suddenly hate all her clothes and accessories? How was that at all rational?

"Is Mistress being ready?" Dobby asked.

"Yes, please tell Lucius that I'll be down in just a few minutes."

"As the Mistress be wishing," replied Dobby, before popping away.

She glanced down at herself and wondered for the hundredth time if she should change her clothes. Caecilia wore silver tights beneath an ice-blue wizard's tunic. It was cut the same way as Lucius's current preferred fashion of wizarding robes. However, it was fitted to her frame. The square neckline was daring, given the size of her bust. A white belt cinched in her waist. Her slippers were white lace, matching the gloves she wore and the half-veil that covered her eyes.

There was a sharp knock on her door; it opened before she could reply.

Lucretia stood in the doorway with a smile on her face. "You look stunning, Ilia. Absolutely stunning. I think that Lucius is going to spend the afternoon fighting off other interested parties," she said, laughing throatily.

"Perfect."

"I agree," Lucretia smirked. "Just because you love him doesn't mean you shouldn't make him prove himself."

Caecilia raised an eyebrow and joked, "I'm a Malfoy Maiden; he has a lot to prove to be worthy of me."

Lucretia laughed again, her eyes sparkling with her delight. "I know. And now my son gets to learn what it's like to protect a treasure that thinks for itself and doesn't stay locked up in a jewelry box until it's wanted by its owner."

"So," Caecilia said and ran her hands down the tunic, "you think Lucius will like it?"

A smirk wended its way across Lucretia's face. "Very much, indeed."

"Right. Okay."

Caecilia relaxed her hands, but that did nothing to calm her nerves.

"Wish me luck?"

"I think Lucius is the one who needs luck."

Caecilia laughed joyously and went to meet her beau. Like every cliché of pureblood society, Caecilia paused at the top of the grand staircase to give him a proper chance to admire her.

He dropped the gift box he held.

Laughing even harder than before, Caecilia sauntered down the stairs.

"Lucius."

She tugged on his magic, unconsciously wrapping it around herself.

Lucius blinked twice and then kissed her lingeringly. When he finally pulled away, he breathed against her lips, "I have a gift for you, Ilia. Will you accept it?"

"Of course, Lucius," Caecilia stated, lips twitching, "as soon as you pick it up off the floor."

Flushing, he handed her a white box tied shut with a glittering gold ribbon. When she untied the ribbon, Caecilia gasped. On the lid of the box, engraved in gold leaf, was the image of a spinning wheel.

"Lucius, you shouldn't have!" Caecilia said, gaze flying up to his. "The Spindle is—"

"The only jewelry shop in England that I'd trust to produce something cursed to my exact specifications to keep you safe. Nothing bought at The Enchanted Rose could guarantee your protection from men's unwanted attention."

Lucius disparaged the most famous jewelry shop in Diagon Alley as if its inventory was of less worth than common Muggle gems.

"I'm a Dark Wizard and I will commission Jewel Artisans who practice Blood Arts if it will keep you safe and ease my mind."

"Lucius," she whispered.

For all that society saw the Potters as beacons of the Light, that didn't mean their magic was Light. Her own mother's first Courting Gift from her father had been from The Spindle as well.

Caecilia was stunned, not only by the passion of Lucius's response, but by the intent that went into the gift.

First Courtship Date gifts were usually inexpensive, though tasteful. The Spindle was anything but inexpensive. The little box in her hand held something that likely cost more than the entire updated wardrobe Lucretia had taken her to get at The Scarlet Cloak the day before.

"Open it," Lucius prodded.

A gasp spilled from her lips once Caecilia lifted the lid from the box. Inside, nestled on a bed of white Acromantula silk, was a necklace and matching bracelet. Each was a double-string of star sapphires and lapis lazuli. The clasp was platinum, in the shape of the Malfoy Family Crest.

Her fingers shook as she touched it. "Oh, Lucius."

"You love it!" he said smugly.

Caecilia swatted him lightly on the chest and said, "Don't get cocky, you prat." Then she kissed him, because he deserved it. "But your taste is surprisingly not appalling."

He smirked and said, "That means you love it."

Lucius placed the bracelet around her left wrist, signaling that she was participating in an exclusive courtship and was not interested in other suitors at this time.

When the clasp on the necklace closed, she gasped in relief and leaned her forehead against his chest. A Malfoy Courtship necklace was around her neck. This was real; it was all really happening!

"Do I want to know what curses and spells the Jewel Artisans sang into it?"

Lucius smirked and said, "Probably not when we're headed to lunch. I'll just say that attempting to harm you or steal the bracelet or necklace would be most unwise on all accounts."

"Suicidally so?"

Lucius's smirk widened. "Perhaps."

He took a step backward and perused her. Caecilia could feel his magic lightly trailing over her.

"You are glorious."

Caecilia flushed. "Thank you, Lucius. You're looking rather dashing yourself."

"Are you ready to go?"

"Dobby," Caecilia called.

When the house-elf popped up beside her, she handed Dobby the white box and gold ribbon, saying, "Please take these to my bedroom and place them on my vanity."

Dobby accepted the box and popped away.

"Now I'm ready, Lucius," Caecilia said. Nerves fluttered in her stomach, but they were much different from the ones that appeared before a Quidditch match.

"Come here. I'm going to Apparate us," Lucius said.

He held her tightly to his chest and spun on his heel. It took a moment for her world to reorient itself. Apparition was nothing like Portkeying; she was much more familiar with the latter.

"All right?"

"I'm fine," she answered, when everything stopped spinning.

Lucius stepped offered her his arm. Caecilia laid hers atop his, her lace-covered fingers just brushing the back of his hand.

"Welcome to The Poison Apple. I hope you're hungry."

"Famished," Caecilia answered.

Her eyes darted everywhere as they passed through various chambers. It was so different from The Golden Fleece, the Potters' preferred pureblood club.

The Poison Apple was a strictly Dark pureblood club, unless one had an invitation from an established member; that invitation would only be good for a three-hour visit on one day.

"Well, is it good enough for you, Ilia?" Lucius asked as he led her into a dining room.

There were low tables placed far enough apart to ensure privacy. Large, silken pillows surrounded them. Pureblood witches and wizards spoke in quiet voices as they ate their meals, though periodic laughter filled the room.

Caecilia beamed up at him. "It's perfect, Lucius. You have such—"

A robust laugh distracted her.

Caecilia's eyes scanned the room. When they landed on a curvy witch with black hair, her fingers curled around Lucius's hand. She turned to Lucius and asked, "May I see Siriana for just a moment, Lucius? Please? She's . . . the only friend I have."

Siriana Black was the only person, other than the Malfoys, who knew that Josephine Potter was a Metamorphmagus and occasionally assumed the identity of Caecilia Malfoy. In her third year, Josephine hadn't been able to keep the secret from her best friend and favorite cousin any longer. Luckily, Siriana loved knowing what others didn't. She swore herself to secrecy without any prompting.

Now that Josephine Potter was dead, as it were, Siriana was her only friend.

"Of course. Whatever makes you happy."

"Thank you."

A smirk painted his features. "Besides, annoying Flavius is one of my favorite hobbies."

"What?"

It was only then that Caecilia thought to look across the table from Siriana. Flavius Flint sat on a forest green pillow. His dark hair curled about his ears and his eyes were alight with interest. He was leaning slightly forward as he spoke to Siriana, but not so far that her friend would feel trapped.

He was a year or two older than Lucius, if she remembered correctly, but Caecilia thought that was a good thing. Siriana needed someone cunning and mature enough to see through her masks and games.

"Flavius, it's wonderful to see you," Lucius said, still smirking, as he clapped his friend on the shoulder.

"What are you doing here, Lucius?" asked Flavius, only a hint of irritation at being interrupted leaking through.

"Caecilia!"

Siriana's face lit up, and Flavius suddenly looked as if he had been hit over the head with a Bludger.

"I've missed you so much!"

"I missed you too, Siriana," Caecilia said.

They hadn't seen each other since her parents died; Euphemia thought that grieving should happen only amongst family, and Siriana was too distant of a cousin to count. Friends would be a distraction.

She knelt beside Siriana on the pillow and hugged her friend, before kissing both of her cheeks. "I'm sorry for interrupting, but I had to come say hello."

"Why don't you join us?" Flavius suggested, gaze locked on Siriana's radiant visage.

"Oh, we couldn't possibly—"

"Please, Caecilia? Won't you stay?" Siriana implored.

"I . . ."

Caecilia bit her lip and glanced up at Lucius. She knew that joining someone else's Courtship Date was not what he had planned for the afternoon. It wouldn't surprise her if he had detailed lists so that everything would be just perfect for her.

"Lucius?"

He sat on the pillow next to hers, and then brought her left hand to his lips for a kiss. "I told you earlier, whatever makes you happy."

Lunch progressed wonderfully, though the amount of laughter coming from their table as Lucius and Flavius told absurd stories about each other inevitably drew the attention of the other purebloods in the room.

"I'll be back shortly," Lucius said before rising to his feet. The look he gave Flavius was ever so dark and weighted.

Siriana smiled at her. "He finally asked?"

Caecilia flushed and nodded, still embarrassed she had thought it was a delusion she conjured up. She touched the bracelet he had given her. His magic brushed against her in response.

"You win, Siriana. I was wrong."

The satisfied smirk on Siriana's face made Caecilia laugh again.

"This is your first Courtship Date with Lord Flint?"

The pale skin of Siriana's cheeks turned rosy. "The third."

Caecilia sighed. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you to speak with."

"You're here now. That's what matters," Siriana replied. She fiddled with an obsidian bracelet on her right wrist.

Caecilia turned the full force of her attention on Flavius. He was the only wizard who hadn't eyed her with interest during the visit at Malfoy Manor. Even Rodolphus had, and he was bonded to Siriana's cousin. Even as she stared at him, Siriana held his attention.

"You have excellent taste, Lord Flint."

"Yes, I do."

"Caecilia," Siriana hissed, the beginnings of a blush on her cheeks.

"He's one of the sincere ones. If I were you, I'd move that bracelet to my other wrist," Caecilia said boldly.

"You continue to surprise me, Lady—"

A shadow fell over the table. Caecilia leaned backward as a hand was thrust much too close to her.

"McLaggen, Heir McLaggen, at your service. May I have your name, my lady? I promise I'm more fun than old Flint here." He winked at her.

McLaggen was a Light wizard! Who in the world had invited him to The Poison Apple? If it wouldn't reflect badly on the Malfoys, she would stand up and punch him like a Muggle.

"Not interested," Caecilia stated.

At the same time, Flavius snapped, "Get away from her, McLaggen. She's too good for the likes of you."

"Shut up, Flint. I wasn't talking to you," McLaggen said with a sneer.

"This isn't a game, McLaggen. If you know what's good for you, stay away from her," Flavius warned.

Unfortunately, McLaggen loved to do the exact opposite of what he was told. He had proven this time and time again. He pasted a charming smile over his sneer and reached for her hand.

Caecilia shoved it under her thigh.

"I highly doubt your parents named you Not Interested. You must want me to guess, then."

"No, she doesn't," Siriana cut in, with the voice that earned her the title Queen of Gryffindor.

"Oh, you're here, Black? I didn't see you," McLaggen said dismissively, as if she wasn't sitting right beside Caecilia.

"Bastard," Siriana hissed.

"That's Heir Bastard to you, Black."

"Don't talk to her like that!"

McLaggen ignored Flavius, gave Caecilia his full attention, and purred, "Where was I? Ah, right. Guessing your name. My princess? My goddess? My love?" McLaggen winked at her.

Caecilia glared for all she was worth; it actually gave McLaggen a moment of pause, but then he only leaned closer.

"Piss off!"

Flavius stood and thrust his wand into the skin beneath McLaggen's jaw. "I'll make things perfectly clear for you, McLaggen, so that your tiny brain can understand them. You are going to stop talking to these ladies, you are going to stop looking at these ladies, and you are going to turn around and walk away and never come near them again."

"Or what?"

"Or Tiberius is going to be Heir McLaggen by the end of the week."

McLaggen snorted. "A death threat. Really? Is that supposed to scare me? You'd never get away with it."

"Oh, I wouldn't kill you, McLaggen. That's much too mundane. Even a Muggle can kill someone. No, I'd see you ruined. I'd see to it that you were disowned from the McLaggen family."

He chuckled; it wasn't a nice sound.

"And when you don't have your title or your last name, and when you don't have your vaults or your manor, not even Mudblood witches would give you a second glance."

"I'd have the Potter name, manor, and wealth. And Josephine, too, of course."

Siriana gasped softly beside her.

"I always knew you were intellectually inferior, McLaggen, but I wasn't aware of the depth of your willful ignorance," Lucius said.

His magic reached out to fold around her; the parts that weren't touching her were biting and icy.

"Betrothal and bonding contracts are completed with titles. Heiress Potter belongs to Heir McLaggen. If Tiberius becomes Heir McLaggen, well, Heiress Potter would belong to him."

"Josephine's mine!" McLaggen said in a rush of possessive hatred.

Caecilia leaned against Siriana and shivered. How could McLaggen attempt to charm her one minute, and then claim possession of Josephine a minute later? He was mad—utterly, dangerously mad.

"If you say so," Lucius drawled, each word conveying the impression that he thought McLaggen was imminently wrong.

McLaggen rolled his shoulders back and stepped away from Flavius's wand. "There's nothing worth—"

"Heir Tiberius McLaggen has a nice ring to it, doesn't it, Flavius?" Lucius interrupted, frigid and untamed.

"Quite."

With a final glare, McLaggen snapped his mouth shut and stalked off.

Lucius knelt and fisted his hand against the floor; lines marred his face. "Ilia? Do you want to go home?"

"No. I'm not going to let him ruin our Courtship Date."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Lucius, I'm sure."

Lucius cast a glance around the room, frown deepening at the covert glances being thrown their way. "We're leaving. Say your goodbyes."

Caecilia hugged Siriana fiercely. "I'm so sorry for ruining your Courtship Date, Siriana. I didn't mean to do that."

"You didn't ruin it, Caecilia. I'm glad you joined us. If you hadn't, the bastard might've caught you alone." Siriana shuddered.

She didn't even want to imagine how that would have gone. She definitely would have lost her temper, and the confrontation would have been explosive.

"Don't let him win, Caecilia. Have a wonderful afternoon with Lucius."

Caecilia kissed Siriana's cheeks and then winked at her. "And you think about moving Lord Flint's bracelet to your other wrist. Owl me anytime you want, Siriana. I'm staying at Malfoy Manor permanently now."

Siriana touched the bracelet again, before casting a thoughtful look at Flavius, who still stood with his wand drawn. "I promise I will. I'll Owl you tonight so we can arrange an afternoon together."

"I can't wait."

Then Lucius was leading Caecilia back to the Apparition chamber, her arm atop his. And if her fingers were gripping his arm, instead of lying flat against him, he didn't mention it. He merely held her in his arms and Apparated them to Leisure Alley.

Caecilia took a deep breath, forced all thoughts of McLaggen away, and grinned up at Lucius. "Where to?"

"Ah, but that would be telling," Lucius said, shoulders still tense.

He rested his hand against her lower back and began ushering her past one shop after the next. Eventually, he gestured to a green and blue store front with a flourish.

"Here we are."

"The Mythical Menagerie?" Caecilia asked delightedly.

It was the flagship store for wizarding pets and familiars. The owners had opened a less discerning shop in Diagon Alley called The Magical Menagerie, but that was for mundane pets and hybrid beasts that didn't react poorly to those with Muggle blood.

Lucius handed her a piece of paper. "This is for you."

She gasped, almost unable to believe it. "Lucius, this is a license to own a pureblood Kneazle."

"You mentioned that you wanted one."

"I was twelve."

"I was paying attention." He rubbed his thumb against her waist. "Do you still want one?"

"Yes, of course!"

She had wanted one since she was a little girl, but she wouldn't have been able to take one to Hogwarts; it would have attacked the Muggle-borns, and some of the half-bloods too. She hadn't been able to bear the thought of getting a Kneazle and having to leave it at Potter Manor almost all year long. So she had never asked for one.

Now, though, with only one year of Hogwarts left. . . . "Come on!"

Lucius chuckled and allowed her to drag him into the shop after she twined their fingers together. "Excited?"

"Not at all," Caecilia lied cheekily as she towed him toward the pens that held the pureblood Kneazles.

She stopped and stared at the fourteen Kneazle kittens. Kitten, of course, being misleading. The smallest one was already over a foot high at the shoulder.

"It's going to take you forever to decide, isn't it?" Lucius asked. He had a self-satisfied smile on his face.

"I want that one."

Lucius blinked down at her. "What? You've decided already?"

Caecilia stared at the Kneazle farthest away from her in the pen. It had silvery white fur and black speckles; it resembled a miniature snow leopard. The tufts of hair on its ears and at the end of its tail were almost platinum in color. Its eyes were a pale blue topaz, as if someone had taken the color of her and Lucius's eyes and mixed them together.

"I want that one. It'll fit right into the family," she said, pointing directly at it.

He chuckled and shook his head, as if she had surprised him in the best way. Lucius raised his hand; a shop-boy appeared beside them.

"How may I help you, Heir Malfoy?"

"We have the license. My lady wants the silver and black one," Lucius said, gesturing to the Kneazle Caecilia had chosen.

"An excellent choice. I'll collect her for you now."

"I'm glad you picked a female Kneazle to fall in love with. I don't think I'd like the thought of a male sleeping in your bed, even if it is just a pet," Lucius said.

Caecilia laughed as she chose a silver collar from a nearby display. "I think that between the Courting Gifts and Venetia, any male who attempts to pester me is going to suffer a gruesome fate."

"Here you go, Heir Malfoy."

Lucius accepted the silver Kneazle from the shop-boy with an absent-minded, "Thank you."

"She's lovely," Caecilia said, petting the soft fur.

"Venetia? Is that what you're going to name her?"

Caecilia placed the collar around Venetia's neck. "Yes. I decided on that name for my Kneazle when I was a child."

Lucius quirked an amused eyebrow. "You plan names that far in advance?"

Caecilia smirked up at him and whispered, "Of course. I'm going to name our firstborn son Draconis. And you're going to teach him the importance of guarding his treasure."

Lucius's eyes went supernova. His mouth dropped open the slightest bit. Even though she knew her cheeks were pink, Caecilia couldn't help but laugh. She had never thought she would see the day when Lucius was stunned into speechlessness.

She buried her face in Venetia's fur and smiled. The butterflies in her stomach flittered away, and she never wanted them to stop.

Caecilia lay on the blanket near the shore of the lake on the Malfoy Manor grounds a few days later. Her hair and body were still wet from her afternoon swim. Her swimsuit was damp and clinging, but a drying charm seemed like cheating when the sun was so bright.

"How are things with Lucius?" Siriana asked.

She rolled her head to the side and smiled at her best friend. Siriana wore a silver bathing suit that made her eyes seem even icier than normal.

Caecilia smirked at Siriana. "Permanent. Don't tell him that, though. I'm enjoying seeing him work for it. At this point, it would hurt like Mordred if he changed his mind."

"He won't! I always knew he wanted you. Even Lucius isn't stupid enough to blow it at this point." She pulled a handful of grass and threw it at Caecilia.

"Aunt Lucretia would kill him if he messed it up."

Siriana snickered. "Lord Malfoy would probably disown him. It's no secret they adore you and want you to be their daughter-in-law."

"Dad . . . Dad would've approved. He and Mum would've been over the moon." Caecilia closed her eyes to trap the tears.

Siriana sat up and folded her legs, before pulling Caecilia into a tight hug, to offer comfort and reassurance. "All they ever wanted was for you to be happy. That's more than a lot of pureblood parents want for their children. They actually loved you."

Caecilia sniffled and wiped her teary eyes. "I know."

She knew that. She did. She just missed them so much.

"Lucius looks at you with all the love and longing in the world, Caecilia. You're not blind; you must've seen it. So grab ahold and cling with all your might. Most people don't get loved that much by one person in their life, let alone three."

"Four," Caecilia corrected, because she and Siriana were sisters in all but blood.

"Four," Siriana agreed with a gentle smile and damp eyes.

"I love Lucius just as fiercely," Caecilia stated, voice shaking with every syllable.

Siriana's own eyes were wet with tears as she smiled. "I know."

Gratitude filled Caecilia. Talking things out with Siriana had always helped her better understand her thoughts and her heart.

Caecilia grinned and commented on something she had noticed when Siriana first arrived at Malfoy Manor. "I see you've moved the obsidian bracelet Lord Flint gave you to your left wrist."

Siriana's fingers closed around it instantly. "Yes, I did."

"It's going well?"

"I've become . . . fond of him, Caecilia," Siriana confessed, sounding terrified of that admission. "He makes me feel safe when I'm with him."

"And?"

Siriana was silent for several minutes before saying, "I think that I could l-love him."

"But?" Caecilia asked, because Siriana didn't seem at all pleased with her realizations.

Siriana frowned. "I can't help but wonder if he's playing me, just like my mother played my father."

Caecilia stated, utterly unrepentant, "If he is, I'll brew you an untraceable poison. The Potters invented loads of them over the centuries; it'll never come down on your head."

She hugged Siriana very tightly.

"I really think he's being sincere, Siriana. But if we're both wrong and he's an unmitigated bastard, we'll kill him for it."

"Thank you."

"You're—"

She glanced off to the right as she felt Lucius approaching. His magic nudged up against her. Was it tea time already?

"Flavius is with him," Siriana said.

"I should order Lucius to stay back there and keep Flint at his side," Caecilia muttered, as she stretched back against the blanket.

"Why?"

"Because we're wearing bikinis, Siriana! I don't want him and Flint dueling each other to the death in order to defend our honor!" That would be so like the noble prat. On the other hand, she loved watching him duel; he was power in motion.

A strangled sound came from behind the trees that hid them from view.

"You don't think they would really . . ." Siriana trailed off, a calculating light in her eyes.

"You underestimate how possessive Lucius is."

But she didn't say anything to warn the guys away. Instead, after waiting another minute for him to appear, she called out, "Be useful, Lucius! Come keep me warm! The lake was freezing!"

Her eyes opened to slits as he settled over her and wrapped his arms around her. His gaze burned down at her, sweeping slowly over her body multiple times. His hands brushed across her bare skin.

"You enjoy torturing me," Lucius accused.

Caecilia kept her head turned away from the other end of the blanket, where Flavius had cast a silencing barrier when he joined Siriana.

She kissed Lucius's cheek, and then nibbled along his jaw. "Very much."

Lucius huffed, before occupying her mouth with long, lazy kisses. "You're lucky I love you so much."

Her cheeks ached from the force of her smile as she traced his features. "Yes, Lucius, I am."

But that didn't mean she was going to stop torturing him any time soon.