The horse-driven carriage pulled to an elegant halt at the entrance to the Castles’ vast gardens. They were beautifully lit, but the two horses who had slowed, only now, to a stop, seemed to believe their magnificence was not much, in comparison to their own sleek coats. In pride, they threw back their heads and, had Andromeda been there, she would probably have given a most exasperated roll of her eyes.

"Why train your animals to be like you?" she often said in a fit of fury. "Or do you wish to prove there really is no difference between them and ..."

But the fact was, she was not here now, and so could not pass any such comment. The horses stood still now, and a slender, quite fair girl with platinum hair that curled lightly at the tips, climbed out. She was followed by a darker-skinned, but more graceful, young woman, this latter dressed, as was her well-known custom, in a shade quite dark. It was silk, fine, sheer one, but the hue was blacker than the night itself.

- Blacker than the night and, unlike the latter, certainly not lit up by any movement of hand or any merry glint of eye.

Behind the walls that rose, in protection of the gardens, in the sheen of lights, an old woman's mouth widened into a rather cunning smile. Not that this woman's intentions were, at the moment, cunning - it was her smile that was, always was. She cleared her throat, then turned to her son. “Those are the Black sisters, are they not?” Mafilda Malfoy asked, her eyes like a cat's - sly, attentive, ready for action.

“Yes, mother,” Lucius Malfoy replied, and the irritation in his tones was too evident for words. His collar was as stiff as his voice but, at the moment, it served him better; for it gave him something of that devilish look so many women shall easily fall for, and the way he stood was more than just manly – it was exquisite.

“Carry themselves right,” Mafilda commented. Her eyes were focused, not on the son besides her, but on the two sisters she had seen, descend their expensive carriage. Lucius had a feeling he knew what was coming - it came each time his mother saw a girl she deemed "fit" - but kept his mouth shut. “Beautiful ladies.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Who’s the really pretty one?”

He was bored, and desperately wanted to get away. But he knew he could not. So he stood there and asked, rather dryly, if she meant the one with the blonde hair. The one in the light-coloured silk, or something of that.

“No, no," Mafilda said quickly. "She’s darn pretty alright, Lucius, but the other is more beautiful. I believe she knows how to carry herself, how to hold her head up high. The other ... lacks practice." She gave a very horrible, girly laugh. "So who is she, Lucius, the one with the dark hair?”

“Bellatrix Black, mother," he replied, as dryly as before.

“Nice, very nice,” Mafilda said, and she gave a quick clap of her hands and turned, for the first time since she had glimpsed the two Black sisters tonight, to face her eldest son. “Well, Lucius, I want to see you two dancing away by the end of this night. Closely, if I have to be clearer.”

“Excuse me, mother?” He asked, forcing – with the greatest difficulty – his jaw to remain close, and not clang to the ground.

“I said I want to see you and Bellatrix Black dancing away by the end of this night, Lucius,” Mafilda Malfoy returned casually, but her words were even clearer now, and her eyes glazed behind their most sickly-sweet pretense of innocence. “Or should I say you and Bellatrix future-Malfoy.”