Of Lordlings and Lullabies 03

Part the Third—
“I know that two and two make four – and should be glad to prove it too if I could – though I must say if by any sort of process I could convert 2 and 2 into five it would give me much greater pleasure.”
—Lord Byron

Harry was distracted.  That was the word for it—dis-tract-ed.  He could draw it out with his lips and tongue and just feel the word and all that it meant.

He knew he shouldn’t be.  This was serious.  Supposedly.  There was a three card spread in front of him and all he could think of were those black eyes beneath those eyelashes.

“I’ve been studying divination since I was six,” Octavian said.  “Mother is quite gifted with the crystal ball, but I’ve always found favor with tarot cards.”  He paused, a knit in his brow.  Harry wanted to lean forward and—no.  He should concentrate.  Octavian’s cat Prospera jumped up from the ground and into Octavian’s arms.  “Now, in divination, we haven’t started with cards yet, but I can’t help but practice on my willing victims.”  He smiled.  His lips were full and inviting.

Harry looked away.  Easily distracted.  This was not good.

A lullaby played in his mind, reminding him of something he needed, that was missing from his life, that was within his grasp—

Ever since the end of third year, Harry had been living with his godfather at Grimmauld Place.  It was a bit dank and dark, but when Harry discovered Dobby was working at Hogwarts, he immediately offered him more socks if he would come and work for the Blacks, and the house was soon clean and tidy and some of the rooms were even being redone.

Kreacher, of course, was upset.  It was in the nature of that particular house elf to be upset.  He had actually cried when the house elf heads were taken from the landing.

Octavian had been no stranger to Grimmauld Place.  Sirius found him rather—off putting—with his pureblood ways and customs.  He also tried and tried again to get Octavian to call him “Sirius” instead of “Lord Black,” but Octavian wouldn’t hear anything of it.  Still, Sirius knew what a good friend Octavian had become to Harry (although he was a Slytherin) and so opened up his home to him.

There had, however, been rather a loud fight between Harry and Sirius when Octavian had wanted to take Harry shopping for pureblood clothes.  He argued that Harry was the son of a respectable pureblood, and shouldn’t necessarily wear Muggle clothes just because his mother was a Muggleborn.  Sirius had been outraged.  He had ordered Octavian from the house, and Harry had been forbidden to contact him for a full fortnight, not that that stopped him.  The look in Octavian’s eyes, full of warmth, haunted him, and he needed to see it again.  It was like a compulsion he couldn’t quite explain.

Harry still credited Octavian with releasing his godfather from prison, and so held him in the highest esteem regardless of this fascination.  Also, he just liked the younger boy (and that was putting it mildly), although he was in Slytherin.

Now, here they were in Harry’s fifth year, with Octavian reading Harry’s fortune.  They were out in the courtyard and Octavian’s windswept hair kept getting into his eyes.  Without thinking, Harry pushed it back again and tucked it behind Octavian’s ear.

Octavian stared at him before turning back to the spread.  “Intriguing.”  He pointed to the first card.  “Death.  It means a transition of some kind.”  He looked at Harry pensively.  “It could have something to do with the night you got that horrid scar.”

Harry smiled.  Octavian rarely referenced his fame and when he did, it was always something to do with his “horrid scar.”

“Now to the present.”  Octavian turned over the card.  It was the Seven of Wands.  “This is a time to face your fears.  Perhaps Umbridge.  I hear you have a club going.  Why wasn’t I invited, by the way?”

Harry blushed.  He’d wanted to invite Octavian, to stand behind him, his chest pressed to Octavian’s back as he helped with a wand movement, but they were just idle fantasies that he knew should probably never come true.  Perhaps Octavian would hate him for them.  He cleared his throat.  “Hermione is the one who did the recruiting.  She’s not your biggest fan and what with your friendship with Malfoy…”

Octavian’s black eyes turned to him.  “He’s my mentor in Slytherin House, a position to be respected.  I am honored to have a social equal take such an interest in my future.”

Frowning, Harry nodded.  He didn’t quite understand the workings of Slytherin, but it seemed that fifth years and above chose younger students to mentor.  Hermione thought that this meant they were teaching them the Dark Arts.  Harry knew from Octavian that all pureblood households were taught them during the summers so that their children would be “well rounded.”  He thought it was slightly mental personally but pureblooded ways often astounded him.

“You mean he can’t bear to put up with anyone else,” Harry countered, “and he’s so intrigued by how similarly you look.”

Octavian sniffed.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Henri Jacques.”

He’d struck a nerve.  “Of course you don’t.”  He paused.  “But you should come.  You’d be the youngest one there but I would make sure no one gave you a hard time.”

“Henri Jacques, we both know that isn’t true.  I’m considered part of Malfoy’s ‘gang.’  No one will go for it.”  He said it so smoothly, that Harry could barely register the hurt in his tone.  Octavian clutched Prospera a little tighter to him, petting her head.  Harry wanted to reach out, to touch his shoulder, to tell him that it was all right, but he couldn’t.  He just couldn’t.

“Well, they will if I say they will,” Harry said defensively.

Octavian smiled.  “Thank you for the thought.”  He turned back to the cards.  “Now,” he turned over the last one, “the Lovers.  It seems like you have a romantic interest in your future.  Let’s hope she’s worth the trouble.”

Harry flushed, knowing that the only person he was remotely interested in was Octavian.  However, he had talked himself out of it so many times.  Octavian was just a third year.  Octavian was in Slytherin.  He was friends with Malfoy.  He was a pureblood who didn’t associate with a single half-blood or Muggleborn apart from Harry himself.  Lord Prince would probably murder him, if what he’d heard about the man was true.  While Octavian was welcome at Grimmauld Place—and all because it belonged to the great Lord Black—Harry had never once been invited to Wolf Hall.  He assumed it was either because he was a common celebrity or his blood status.  He’d always been too afraid to ask.

“Why does it have to be a ‘she’?” Harry asked boldly and Octavian’s black eyes glinted.

“You favor the controversial Gnascum Potion, then?” Octavian purred.  “I hadn’t taken you to be quite so avant garde.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Harry admitted.  The lullaby was playing again in his mind, telling him to listen—this was important.

Octavian looked at him critically.  “Simply put, it’s a potion that allows a wizard to conceive by another wizard.  It doesn’t work with Muggles; some potioneers are actually working on that for whatever reason.  While it is legal for a wizard to bond with another wizard, it is highly unusual, especially in Britain.  We’re too set in our Medieval ways.”  His eyes widened comically and then he laughed, picking up his cards.

Afraid to hear the answer, Harry pressed on, “What do you think of it?  Wizards with wizards.”

Stilling, Octavian looked out past Harry’s shoulder toward the Black Lake, as if thinking of something or listening to something Harry couldn’t hear.  “My father loves my mother—dearly.”  He turned his eyes back to Harry, his dark gaze penetrating.  “My sister is said to have loved her fiancé past reason, before he died.”  He shivered.  “Most purebloods marry for considerations other than love but the Princes, well, we seem to follow our hearts.  So, if you wanted my honest opinion, if love led you to another wizard, I would not frown upon it in private.  Now, if it were an unsuitable match, that’s quite another story.”

Both Harry and Octavian laughed.  The sound of Octavian’s laughter lit a flame in Harry’s soul that he would never want to extinguish.  Octavian’s whole face lit up, his black eyes almost turning purple.  Harry was almost breathless at the sight.

“I have no idea what a suitable match would be for me,” Harry joked.  “World famous, half-blood, liar extraordinaire.”  He flung out his hands.

“Yes,” Octavian said coldly, looking at Harry’s hand, where the scar was etched I must not tell lies.  “I do doubt the Dark Lord is back; it seems quite impossible; but I have never known you to lie before.”  He quirked a smile.  “You might become a bit obsessed with Draco, but that’s quite another matter.”

“I do not become obsessed with—“ Harry began hotly, but Octavian cut him off.

“Oh, really?  Not once have you mentioned a single other member of Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad.  Whenever we meet, you gripe about him being my mentor.  If that’s not obsession, I don’t know what is.”  As the words poured out of Octavian’s mouth, Harry wanted to lean forward and kiss them all away.  Yes, wizards with wizards.  He highly approved.

“It’s called taking a healthy interest,” Harry defended coolly, his eyes narrowing at Octavian.  “I’m allowed to be worried about my friend, aren’t I?”

Octavian smiled at that.  “Yes, and it is much appreciated, do not think that I think otherwise, Henri Jacques.  Now, tell me about this rumor I’ve been hearing.”

“Rumor?”

“Well, your question about wizards makes it a moot point, but I’ve been hearing about a particular Ravenclaw Seeker.  Do you know anything about that?”  His eyes glittered playfully and Harry could only admire them.

“Hermione has been pushing her on me,” Harry explained.  “I asked her to the Yule Ball because I thought we’d have something in common—“

“Quidditch.”

“Quidditch,” Harry agreed, “but Diggory got to her first.  Now apparently we’re star-crossed lovers.”

“Well, I wish you luck with that,” Octavian laughed, petting his cat.  Harry wished his joy-filled laughter would never stop.

“It’s horrible.  She tried to kiss me under the mistletoe,” Harry complained.  “I don’t want to kiss her, I want to kiss—“  He’d said too much.  In the heat of the moment, Harry had almost laid all his cards on the table.

Octavian hummed.  “Your secret wizard, I assume.”  He looked pensive.  “Please tell me it isn’t Weasley.”

Harry flushed.  “No.  Definitely not.  I just—he’s ginger.”

Octavian laughed for joy.  “Henri Jacques, your mother was ginger.”

“Well, that just proves my point,” Harry gesticulated.  “I don’t want to be with someone that reminds me of my mother.  I definitely don’t want to be with a bloke who reminds me of my father.  All of that would just be—wrong.  Very, very wrong.”

“We should each be our own person,” Octavian agreed.  “You know, sometimes I wonder about my brother Octavian Romulus.”

Harry’s ears immediately pricked.  Octavian rarely mentioned his sister Lucrece, and had mentioned Octavian Romulus only once or twice since they had met two and a half years previously. 

“He would have been heir to the House of Prince.  I would have simply been a second son.  He would have been over thirty now, probably married, possibly with children.  I wonder what they would have been like, these Princes.  You know, I apparently look nothing like him, my brother.”  Octavian smiled sadly.  “He had the Prince eyes, of course, but dark hair like my father and my mother’s bone structure.  I’ve seen one or two pictures of him that haven’t quite been hidden away.  Father keeps one on his desk, of course.  Oddly enough, it’s of Octavian Romulus flying.—Father hates flying so much now.”  Octavian looked up.  At some point he had turned his gaze toward his hands.  “I envy you, that you can fly.  Well, not now with Umbridge’s ban, but you can still take a broom out and take to the skies. I’ll never know such freedom.”

On impulse, Harry took Octavian’s hand in his and squeezed.  “If you want, next time you’re at Grimmauld Place, we can fly without telling anyone.  Sirius won’t say a thing if he thinks it’s a prank.”

Octavian moved his gloved fingers to curl around Harry’s hand and smiled a soft smile.  “Thank you, but I’ve taken an oath.  I won’t be flying ever again.  Now my children, on the other hand…”

The two boys laughed heartily.

“I know this is dreadfully dull for a Saturday afternoon, but how many children do you plan on having?” Octavian asked.  The question made Harry’s stomach clench.  “It’s just that we purebloods start thinking of these things at an early age.”

Harry was genuinely surprised.  If he were to have a conversation about future generations, it would be with Octavian Nür Prince who was the epitome of what it meant to be a pureblood.

“Now, Jamie wants just one, a little girl.  He has an older brother to carry on the family name and hated being bullied when he was little.  And Astoria Greengrass—do you know Astoria Greengrass?—is a complete pushover and will have as many children as her husband would like.  Now I—“

And suddenly it didn’t matter.  There were snowdrifts all around them and they were bundled up in their cloaks.  Octavian’s was lined with werewolf fur for warmth, which Harry personally disagreed with because of Professor Lupin, but he knew for a fact it was warmer than his own, even with warming charms.  There were first and second years off playing in the distance, probably building snowmen and making snow angels.  However, there was no one in the courtyard near them.  They were, for all intents and purposes, alone.

Harry leaned forward and, tilting his head to the side so his nose wouldn’t squish Octavian’s, kissed him.  It was just the brush of lips and then Harry was pulling back, completely embarrassed, but he had imagined what it would be like kissing Octavian.  When Cho and come near him under the mistletoe, he’d imagined her shorter, with blond hair that came down to her shoulders, with more pointed features and the blackest of eyes. 

Octavian was now pressing his fingers to his lips.  “Henri Jacques,” he murmured, as if to himself.  “I am the wizard?”

Their eyes met and Harry fought hard not to look away in embarrassment.

He nodded.

“I see.”  He took a deep breath in.  “There is much to consider.—What do you want?  A dalliance?  A relationship?  Before today you’ve never spoken of girls or boys and I just… are you going to behave like a common Muggleborn or a pureblood?”

Harry looked at him, startled.  “I really don’t know what you meant by Muggleborns and purebloods,” he admitted.  “Sirius has told me absolutely nothing about pureblood culture.  Everything I know, I know from you.”

Octavian took a deep breath, closing his eyes.  Snapping them open, he pinned Harry with his stare.  “A Muggleborn dates.  It can be casual, it can be serious, but it can be over within a matter of weeks.  A pureblood courts.  There are intentions for a long lasting relationship, and marriage is a likely outcome if all goes well.  Courting can begin quite young, I am perhaps a bit on the younger side, but that makes it no less serious.”  He looked at Harry.  “Perhaps you need time to consider…”

Harry grabbed his hand.  “There’s no need to consider.  You’re all I think about.  I want a courtship.”

“Then I will confer with my parents,” Octavian said with a smile.  “They very well may ask you to wait or to see how this outcome with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named turns out.”

Swallowing, Harry nodded.  He thought of those sweet lips again and looked at the boy in front of him.  The lullaby played, telling him that this was right.  He knew it was in his very soul.  He and Octavian Prince were meant for each other.

Sirius nearly died when Harry told him over Christmas break that he’d offered to court Octavian Prince.

“Harry,” Sirius whimpered.  “You can’t give in to pureblood society!  This is madness!  Madness!  I mean, Lord Prince’s son?  What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I quite fancy him, and would like to make a go of it,” Harry replied hotly.  “If this is the only way to go about it, then I’ll ‘give in to ‘pureblood society’, as you say.”

“But Harry, your parents didn’t want this for you.  I don’t want this for you.  Lily and James wanted you away from the pressures of wizarding life while still experiencing the magic it had to offer.”

“Then Octavian Prince should have been born a half-blood, but he wasn’t, so it doesn’t matter.”  He sighed.  “Look, Sirius, Dad loved Mum.  He was crazy about her since their first year.  Can’t you understand that?  That’s how I feel about Octavian!”

“I know he’s a friend of yours—“

“Who will hopefully be my boyfriend!  Unfortunately, I’m a celebrity, which apparently is a fate worse than death, a half-blood, and the world thinks I’m a liar, so my chances aren’t that great.  You have nothing to worry about.”

Sirius sighed.  “Don’t put yourself down.  I know all of this with You-Know-Who and the Daily Prophet is demoralizing—“

Harry grunted.

“However, you have a lot to offer.  You’re kind and strong and my de facto heir, which has to mean something to that crazed lot.”

“I’m your—what?”

“De facto heir, yes,” Sirius reiterated.  He got up and pulled Harry along to the family tapestry.  “I’m here,” he said, pointing to the scorched off area of the tapestry just above my name.  “There’s Regulus.  Now, the next male in line for the title goes all the way up through here, to great-grandfather Sirius’s brother Cygnus and down the line to Draco Malfoy.  Now, he’s direct heir to the title of Malfoy, so he’s ineligible.  So, if we go back up to just below Cygnus, you can see that Pollox had a sister Dorea, who was your grandmother.  The line then passes down through you.”

“But that can’t be possible,” Harry sputtered.  “I’m not even a Black!”

“Draco Malfoy’s not a Black,” Sirius argued.  “You have to have a grandparent who has carried the name.  Of course, ideally it goes through the male line, but it’s not the case with this family.  No, if I die childless, you’ll be Lord Black.  However, I should warn you that I do intend to marry.”

“Marry?  You?  But you’re always so happy, just the way you are!”

“I know, it seems that way, doesn’t it?” Sirius smiled.  “I may be a bit mad but I have qualities to recommend me.  Her name is Florence.  Flo Sweetings.  She’s a pureblood, I admit, and a bit old for one to be on the marriage market, but I like her.  She makes me feel like I’m not a decrepit bag of bones.”

“Sirius, you’re not a decrepit bag of bones.  You’ve put on weight since Azkaban and your hair is healthy and you look like a fine pureblood wizard, as far as I can tell.  Not that I’m much of an expert.”

Sirius smiled sadly.  “I thank you for that, Harry.”  He came and sat next to his godson.  “I never thought of marriage when I was younger.  I left that all up to James.  Plus, I didn’t want to make my parents happy by ‘continuing the line.’  However, I found that when I was in that cell, I wished that I had left someone behind to mourn me.  James and Lily were dead.  Remus was always suspect in the war because he was a werewolf, and Peter—well, Peter was a traitor.  I wished for a wife and family.”

Harry nodded his head gravely.  “And Florence?  How did you meet her?”

Sirius’s eyes lit up.  “I was visiting your parents’ graves, actually, and her father had recently died.  She was weeping, and I offered to take her to the pub for a glass of wine.  Just to steady her.  She thought I was some Muggle probably; truth be told, I thought she was a Muggle with the way she was dressed, but once I’d gotten that glass of wine into her, she recognized me and asked after my health—and, well, I asked if I could call on her.  So, I went back that same week and I did.”

“Well,” Harry said, making a decision.  “I think we should have her over for dinner.  I don’t know what pureblood customs are like, but I’m your family, so I simply have to meet her.  How ‘bout tonight?  It’s early enough in the day for an owl to get there and back.”

Laughing openly, Sirius shook his head.  “I’m glad you’re taking this so well.  I was afraid you’d think I was replacing you.”

“You’re my dad’s best friend and my godfather.  Nothing can replace that.  So what if I get a godmother to drive me insane with the package and some nieces and nephews to fawn over?  Now, go write that letter!  I simply must meet this witch who’s caught your fancy.”

Florence Sweetings was a tall, willowy witch with deep brown hair and startling blue eyes.  She was almost as tall as Sirius, which made Harry smile, as they made the odd looking pair.  Florence was twenty, young-faced, and dressed fully in wizarding robes.  Sirius preferred still the pureblooded suit and tie, which was much more casual.

She immediately went up to Harry after coming out of the Floo and grasped his hands.  “Mr. Potter, how lovely it is to finally meet you.  Lord Black speaks of nothing else.”

Harry flushed.  “It’s so nice to meet you, Miss Sweetings.  When Sirius told me about you, I simply insisted you must come round for dinner.”

“So it’s you I have to thank for this invitation.”  She smiled at him a bit shyly.  “I must confess that I’ve been a bit curious about this place.  How could I not be?  It’s so different from Swallow’s End.”

Sirius was looking decidedly uncomfortable.  Harry decided to keep it that way.  “Is that where you live?  Tell me about your family.  Were we at Hogwarts together?”

He led her down to the kitchen, Sirius trailing behind.  “Yes.  I remember when you came in as a first year.  Forgive me, but you were quite small then.  I was a sixth year at the time.  Ravenclaw.  I’d so hoped you’d be sorted into my house!”

“I’m afraid Harry took after his parents and went to Gryffindor with the rest of the Potter line,” Sirius put in for the first time.  “I hope you don’t mind the kitchen.  We have a formal dining room but we wanted you to feel more at home.”

She looked about her, taking in Dobby who was serving out salads for them.  “No, this is quite wonderful to be dining en famille.  I can’t imagine a greater compliment.”

They settled into silence after that, eating their salads, and Harry kept on casting glances between the two of them.  “So, how long have you known each other?”

“Three months?” Sirius offered, looking over to her.  She nodded.  “Three months.”

“So, I don’t actually know much about pureblood society, but what does it mean when Sirius says he calls on you?”

“I visit her in the presence of a relative.  It’s not courting, but it’s still entirely respectable.  I’m surprised Octavian didn’t mention it to you.”

“I don’t think it would work at Hogwarts,” Harry stated coolly.  “And who would look after us?  Draco Malfoy?”

Sirius sent him an ice glare.

“So,” Florence began tentatively.  “Octavian.  Is he a friend from Hogwarts?”

“Yes,” Harry replied instantly, although Sirius’s glare clearly told him to drop it.  “I’ve asked to court him.”

“And he’s a close friend of a Malfoy.  Old pureblood then.”  She took in his long sleeved shirt, jeans, and messy hair.  “Sirius, I simply must take Harry shopping.  His wardrobe needs a complete overhaul, his hair needs to be—I’m not sure what, and I know we can get him better glasses.”

“Flo, I really don’t think—“

“Don’t be silly,” she chided.  “I know you like to pretend you’re not a pureblood, but the Potters were an old pureblood family.  Look at it this way, it would be respectful to his father’s memory for Mr. Potter to dress in the new pureblood fashions.  We don’t have to do anything major.  Just the basics.  Everyone’s just wearing black in expensive cuts now.”

“Lily would be horrified.”

“Mrs. Potter would want her son to be happy,” Florence argued.  “Let’s show Mr. Potter off to his best advantage.  Then this Octavian and his family will have to take a second look at him.”

Sirius seemed to be wavering.

Harry realized this was when he needed to step in.  It hadn’t worked when Octavian had wanted to dress him, but Flo was an entirely different matter.  “Please, Sirius.  You like Octavian.  I don’t even get an invitation to his parents’s house.  Perhaps this can give me some kind of an edge.”  He turned to Florence.  “We can even invite him along so his parents know what we’re doing.”

“Excellent,” she agreed, as the next course of veal was set on the table.

Sirius sighed.  “You’re both menaces,” he declared.  “I’m going to be outnumbered for the rest of my days.”

Harry just smiled.

Draco Malfoy and his mother were at Fairy Woven Silks when Florence and Harry arrived the next day.  Although it was a little unusual, Florence had been allowed up into Harry’s bedroom and had picked out what she had considered the best possible outfit to go out in.  It was a pair of his black Hogwarts slacks and a dark gray pullover.  She sighed and said it would just have to do, while Sirius snorted from the door.

“Now, you have your key,” she reminded, and Harry nodded.  “Good.  You’ll need that for payment.”

The store was small and cramped, with a cloak spun with acramantuala silk hanging in the window.  There was barely any room before there was a dark green curtain, which led to the back of the shop.

“Don’t worry, we have an appointment,” she whispered.  “The name ‘Lord Black’ goes far.”

She drew the curtain and there were two pedestals with mirrors all around them.  One of them had Draco Malfoy standing on it, a woman whom Harry supposed to be his mother looking over at him.  She did, perhaps, look a little familiar—probably since he saw her at the World Cup.

“Malfoy,” Harry greeted, getting up on the other pedestal.  “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Potter,” he bit out.  “How did you get an appointment here?”

“My godfather is Lord Black,” Harry reminded him.  “And I am a bit of a celebrity.”

Lady Malfoy sniffed but said nothing.

“Are we early?” Harry said, turning to Florence.  “It’s only just—“

“Give your friend some time.  I’m sure he’ll be here in just a moment.”  Her blue eyes looked at him knowingly.

It was not ten minutes later that the door opened to the chiming of bells.  “Oh, Henri Jacques, I am sorry.  Papa did not want me to come,” he explained.  “He was being ridiculous, kept on going on about how you were too famous.”  He rolled his eyes for good measure.  “He gets this way every once in awhile.—Ah, Draco.”  He smiled.  “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”  The familiar lullaby played and Harry wanted to go to Octavian and lift him up in his arms, holding him close.

Lady Malfoy turned to him and stared.  Draco looked over at his mother who had suddenly stilled and then back over to Octavian.

“Yes, well, Spring Fittings,” he said conversationally.  “I take it you’re here with Potter.  I never will understand that friendship, Octavian,” he chided.

“We’ve been through this,” Octavian said good-naturedly.  “Neither of us is going to change the other’s mind, so we might as well leave it.”

Draco actually smiled, surprising Harry.  “Let me introduce you to my mother.  Mother, my protégé, Octavian Nür Prince, son of Lord Prince.  Octavian, my mother, Narcissa, Lady Malfoy.”

However, Lady Malfoy just stood there, doing absolutely nothing.  They all just looked between her and Octavian.  Finally, she reached out a hand and made to touch Octavian’s face.

“Mother!” Draco warned in a low voice.  “This is no way to treat the future Lord Prince!”

That seemed to snap her out of her stupor.  Her hand dropped.  “No.  Of course not.  Forgive me, Mr. Prince, I was merely startled by your resemblance to my husband.”

Octavian looked at her for several seconds before forcing a smile.  “It is nothing, Lady Malfoy, I assure you.”