Chapter Text
If he had to listen to Lucius for another second, Antonin was going to transfigure the wizard into a horned slug and drop him into the Potions supply closet.
"I still can't see why Cissa insists on blue for her robes. Particularly that droll shade. We aren't Ravenclaws! Silver would be far more fitting with our colouring."
"You don't think that would be too much?" Antonin pointedly looked at his roommate's robes, which were, indeed, silver.
Lucius caught his eye in the mirror before scanning his own reflection and giving a terse shake of his head. "Not at all. Nobody could even hope to compare to the two of us. But, now…" He sighed. "…this will have to do."
While Antonin didn't consider himself fashion forward in the slightest, wearing the same colours event after event seemed like something of a faux pas. He would have thought the Malfoys, of all families, would have a designer on retainer to ensure a unique look for every occasion. But, he was willing to admit that there might be more to the art than matching formal robes to eye colours. Not even he was immune to the instinct. Most would assume his outfit to pair with that of his partner's own pair of vivid blues, a mistake Antonin would gladly reaffirm if asked.
Turning towards the mirror on his side of the room, Antonin eyed his chosen ensemble. He had aimed for Narcissa's signature arctic tint that had frozen her onlookers time and again. The pale drape of fabric was striking against his dark hair, within which he imagined himself wrapped in her soothing embrace.
"Are you sure you didn't transfer from Beauxbatons? Where are your usual robes?" This time it was Lucius peeking into the mirror, one brow raised imperiously.
There was a time when Antonin would have agreed; younger him wouldn't have even considered anything but black or red. In truth, he still leaned towards those colours. But, like the ever-creeping chill that seeped past countless layers and deep into aching bones, there was no turning away from his need to be close to her, even if in such a superficial way as attire.
"Buried in my trunk, where they will stay. This isn't Durmstrang, nor is it one of our fathers' obligatory parades." For which he'd perfected every aspect of his appearance so there wouldn't be a whisper of a doubt as to his loyalties.
"I half expect you to pull a frog out of your pocket for a quick snack," Lucius said with a snort, as if his own bloodline didn't trace back across the strait to those same shores.
"Maybe I have."
"Too right."
They shared expressions of mutual boredom only to dissolve into fits of merriment. How many times had they griped over the castle's meals? The complaints might differ between their preferences—Lucius, for lighter fare drizzled with delicate sauces and eye-pleasing adornments, Antonin, for sharper profiles featuring more acidity and depth—but they could always agree on at least that.
It wasn't until they'd sobered enough to put the final touches to their ensembles and head for the door that the question he'd been dreading was voiced.
"You never did tell me. Who is the lucky witch tonight?"
While the question sounded offhanded, Antonin knew better. Could read the falsity in the careless tone.
He gripped Lucius' shoulder briefly; for what reason, he did not know. The revelation would surely shock the man given the animosity between houses, but Molly was a Pureblood and Narcissa's dearest friend. The impulse to comfort moved him to act regardless.
"You will see. Come, let us not keep them waiting."
Hogwarts took the formal occasion far more seriously than Antonin had expected. He'd imagined floral arrangements, yes, perhaps an extension of the brilliant charm work that maintained the Great Hall's ceiling. He did not anticipate the level of transformation that met his eyes as he emerged from the dungeon and onto the ground floor.
It was as if Matushka herself had descended upon the stone walls with leaves in egg yolk yellow, sunset orange, fertile brown, and russet red. They lined the corridors and draped the walls like autumn curtains ushering students into a portal of abundance and celebration.
Here and there flit flutterbies and fairies, trailing shimmering gold in their wake. Those affected by the dust seemed to also glow from within, robes and carefully pinned curls taking on lights of their own.
Then, he saw her.
She stood alongside others, but he only had eyes for her.
Flesh, luminescent and begging for his hand, his mouth, his ceaseless devotion. Lips deepened with a winterberry hue, as if she'd just partaken of their sweet kiss. Pale golden tresses swept up and away from her face, save for a few strands that fluttered playfully along high cheekbones and eyes that sparkled with amusement.
And, of course, her gown—midnight blue, as promised. The neckline skimmed down below her shoulders, dipping slightly at the centre above where he'd rested his head before and now longed to return. The fabric draped artfully down her figure. Velvet, perhaps? Acromantula silk, assuredly. Befitting of a lady of Narcissa's grace and stature. He could imagine no other capable; the gown would wear them, rather than the other way around.
In truth, it did not matter what she wore; she could stand before him in tatters or nothing at all and, still, he'd consider her the most beautiful woman he knew, inside and out.
He watched as her head tilted then turned, sensing his presence as he always sensed hers. Eyes widened and lips parted as she took the sight of him in full, lashes fluttering prettily.
Antonin's weight shifted, ready to move him towards her as the tides to the moon, when Lucius brushed by, robbing him of the opportunity.
"Cissa, you are a vision! I can see, now, why you chose as you did. You are magnificent, though I dare say the gown would only be improved with a Colour Change Charm—"
He found his tongue and stepped up beside the other wizard."Don't you dare. She's perfect as she is."
Lucius looked at him oddly, and he inwardly cursed at himself for his show of hand. Thankfully, she knew exactly what to say to shift the attention elsewhere.
"There will be no charming of dresses or robes or anything other than dance partners," Narcissa announced.
"Ah, yes, where is your lucky date, Antonin?" Lucius looked around with exaggerated curiosity, hand above his brow.
"I'm right here."
The voice was soft but no less commanding for it. Stunned as Antonin had been in the vision that was Narcissa, he had completely missed the witch standing just behind her, hidden with her shorter height. She stepped out, now, looking first at Lucius then at Antonin with a challenging sort of rise to her chin.
Beside him, his brother stilled.
Antonin ignored him and offered his hand with a bowed head. "Molly."
Like both Narcissa and Antonin, she, too, had chosen blue; however, rather than ice or sky, she had chosen a shade of cornflower that matched another wizard's eyes entirely. The vibrant hue offset her pale skin and fiery curls beautifully. Unlike her best friend, Molly had gone with full-length sleeves of a fine, gauze-like material, the many layers of which swayed around her skirt as if blown by a gentle breeze.
"Antonin." She slipped her gloved hand into his own, to which he pressed a perfectly-chaste kiss.
A cough wracked Lucius. He hurriedly turned to clear his throat.
Narcissa laughed, the bright sound bringing a grin to Antonin's face. Molly simply rolled her eyes before speaking once again.
"Shall we?"