Interfering grandfather.

A title bestowed by a wife

who knows her husband too well

to gainsay,

yet cannot resist

a little dig,

a smooth retort

with hidden barbs.

Interfering is a word

I apply to others,

especially those

who oppose

my plans.

Business competitors.

Aurors.

Weasleys.

Interfering is a designation

of aspersion,

a label

ill-fitting to me

as off the rack wizard robes.

Unsophisticated.

Inelegant.

Intervention is the proper term

for what I have done,

the plan enacted

to save a grandson

blinded by lust

masquerading as

love.

If Narcissa fails to appreciate

the distinction,

I'm sure Scorpius will.

Very soon.

A/N: Special thanks to readers of Our Little Secret: Lost for inspiring me to show Lucius' view of the situation. I imagined the look on his face when Narcissa called him an interfering grandfather and the poem just flowed.

Any Lucius/Narcissa readers who haven't read the Scorpius/Rose romance Our Little Secret or the sequel are cordially invited to do so. :)