┌───── ･☆☽･ ─────┐ 𝕕𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝟙 𝟡 𝟡 𝟜 ━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━ "i just want her to love me too"
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LUCIUS HAD JUST RETURNED home from his meeting at the Ministry; his wife in the library, his son in his room and surprisingly his daughter nowhere in sight. "Cissa," Lucius alerted his wife, who'd been just a tad too involved in the last chapter of her novel.
"Yes," She replied, looking up from the ancient parchment pages of her book.
"Where is she?" Lucius questioned eagerly; his wife merely raised an eyebrow at her husband in response.
Rising from her seat, she lead her husband upstairs to her daughter's once untouched room. She quietly turned the door handle to reveal her still very much asleep daughter. "There she is, Lucius." Narcissa smirked at her husband as she leant against the doorframe.
"It's nice, Cissa," He complimented, his eyes scanning the room but always returning to his peaceful daughter snuggled against the white sheets. "How's she settling in?" Lucius questioned quietly, not wanting to wake Rosalie just yet.
"Slowly," Narcissa sighed, knowing that they couldn't expect much more. "I just don't want to rush her, Lucius," The mother whispered, watching as her daughter turned to face them, her long golden locks scattered across the plush pillows a comforting memory of the past.
"I know," Lucius agreed, nodding his head, "I just want her to feel safe and loved, which I'm sure she already knows from spending the day with you. . . but I want her to know that from myself as well."
Lucius drifted, leaning in to kiss his wife's lips gently, caressing her cheek with his thumb. Narcissa's finger fiddled quietly with the doorknob as she closed the door in order to leave Rosalie in peace.
Rosalie snugged deeper into the sheets of her new bed, mind racing with questions over her parent's conversation. She knew her mother had the most sincere love for her children and family, yet she still remained perplexed as to how she presented herself to the world.
Yes, she was loving, kind and compassionate towards Rosalie and her brother. . . but how would she treat Hermione or anyone of non-pureblood status? She was a Black after all? Yet, Rosalie's restless thoughts were violently storming her mind at the appearance of her father.
Lucius Malfoy.
A deatheater;
A murderer of innocent people;
Her father.
Yet, her premonitions regarding her father waged war in her mind with the soft and gentle voice she'd heard mere minutes ago.
