"Put the camera down Narcissa, or I swear I'll curse it out of your hands."

"Actually Lucius, I'm not taking a picture of you. I'm taking one of Draco. You needn't be so arrogant all the-"

"Draco is at the Goyle's house. And unless you intend to have a photo shoot of elves, I suggest you put that down."

"Smile?"

"No." Lucius glanced at his watch. "It's 7:30, Narcissa. Shouldn't you be supervising the dinner preparations?"

She waved a careless hand. "They can handle it themselves. Please smile? We haven't any pictures of you hardly anywhere in the Manor."

"Pity."

"I shall have the elves prepare your favorite meal."

No response.

"I shall be a servant to your every whim this evening."

Not even a flicker.

"You know I heard this evening that Dumbledore got sacked. So now he's on the run. And there are Dementors after him."

Lucius forever hated that picture. He berated her afterwards for the lie, but she'd still won. Whenever people asked what had caused him to grin so joyfully in the photograph ("You look positively ecstatic!"), Lucius liked to tell them someone had snagged at snapshot the moment he'd heard of his son's birth.