Narcissa
A shoddy mood and Rabastan Lestrange was never a good combination. He frowned deeply across the parlour of the Malfoy Mansion, keeping his shoulders slouched and arms along the back of the couch. Not the most gentlemanly of positions, but he had not come here to be a gentleman. No, Narcissa was one of the few Rabastan could tolerate for more than ten minutes at a time, and he'd come here to be comfortable and relaxed. It was no secret that Narcissa enjoyed his company, even if it was to simply dote on him.

Of course, he never minded this kind of attention, and would only admit to himself that he was looking for it.

His parents, it seemed, had found it to be time to find him a bride. Now, this had failed before, when he was seventeen; the girl they'd chosen for him had tragically keeled over in the middle of the engagement party. Allergic to the shrimp, or so many believed. One of Rabastan's proudest performances, he'd even managed to get in a few dances before she'd taken a drink of the deadly potion he'd slipped into her drink.

At any rate, the annoyed rumblings about Bellatrix not producing an heir yet was causing his parents to start suggesting names, women that he might be able to call his wife and---no. He was not getting married. He would kill them before he got married, and right now he needed Narcissa to calm his murderous thoughts because he was very close to going through with them.

Rabastan's eyes lit up gently as the woman entered the room, and a smile curved up on his lips as he stood to greet her, "Narcissa, it's so good to see you."