The Malfoy Project

𝟑𝟎 - 𝐀 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐭

     The tape had ended fifteen seconds ago, but I'm too engrossed in Narcissa's story to notice or care. "What happened next?" I press. "What did you do? How did you feel?"

     "Oh, I was absolutely mortified!" says Narcissa, a delicate petal hand feeling for the teardrop pendant under her dress. "I was still very much in love with Bas and pushed Lucius away immediately."

     "And?"

     Her eyebrows twitched upwards. "Well, it's safe to say he didn't take that well at all. We were both quite stunned for a moment, and then he just got up and left."

     "He didn't take the cheque with him, I hope."

    "No, no. I went to Gringotts the very next day— Saturday, it was. I then took all the money to Slughorn, who had only been more than glad to donate the money for me. I figured it was so he could appear more solicitous to the Minister for Magic."

     I take out the reels and wind them carefully back up. "At least that was managed, then. Mrs. Malfoy, forgive me if this is rude, but do you think Mr. Malfoy actually had a change of heart?"

     Narcissa opens her mouth to answer when, as if on cue, the door opens and Lucius strides in, silver-ended cane striking the cold marble floor in a fury. "I've had enough of that boy!" he raged. "What? What happened?" Narcissa asks.

     "He's gone into one of his tantrums again, started shouting at me for Merlin-knows-what! If it hadn't been for that court order, why, I would've—"

     "Lucius." Narcissa inclines her head at me. Lucius suddenly notices that I'm still here and quietens himself. I sense it's my cue to go and stuff the reels into my satchel so hurriedly that they strain against the leather at odd angles.

     At the door, Lucius stops me. "About the book," he says. "I know some people who might just be interested in it. Publishers, lawyers, distributors. I'd like for you to meet them."

     "Um— thank you, Mr. Malfoy, but I haven't actually given it much thought yet. I'm not sure if a book is the best way to go about this, especially since the Prophet's probably already going to do one as well."

     "Oh? With what material?"

     I cannot answer him. "And that's what my lawyers are for," he adds. "We'll all sit down for dinner some time. Perhaps in a week or so. I'll have to arrange it. I'll be in touch."

     "Mr. Malfoy?"

      He peeks out from behind the half-closed door. "Yes?"

     "Why me?"

     "Who, if not you?"

     "I mean, there're about two dozen journalists at the Prophet right now, and probably another dozen at the Quibbler. They're all twice as able and three times more eager to write your story. I'm— I'm just a girl."

     "And my son is just a boy," says Lucius. "And I'm just a man and my wife is just a woman."

     "No," I say. "You are the Malfoys. You're one of Britain's most renowned Wizarding families. I am just... a nobody."

     "In the end, we both want the same thing, do we not?"

     "And what is that?"

     "The truth."

     "Then why not just tell it to me? Why do you want me to publish a book?"

     "Will you do it or not?"