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Lucius sneered at the thought. Elisabeth was a Malfoy. Malfoys did not ‘fall out of love’. Ever. If ever a member of his line found their great love, they would love that one person until they died. The way the vampire felt had been blatantly obvious as well, even if he didn’t know anything about the creatures. Which of course he did. The irony of the situation was, had she been an ordinary witch, and Angel an ordinary vampire, their ... preference ... for one another would not have been cause for much comment. It happened occasionally. Less often than purebloods marrying Muggles, certainly, but it did happen – and was in fact, much more acceptable in the eyes of most pureblood families, as it tended to add to the potency of the magic of the line thereafter. There’d been one in his own mother’s line, a century or so ago – a liaison, true, but the creature had left an heir that bred true traits ever since. Jocelyn had his slate blue eyes and curly blond hair; Lucius had inherited his sharp facial structure. In point of fact, there had been more than one vampire in the Prince bloodline... not that Severus knew that. A wry smile twisted his lips. It should not surprise her parents that she’d develop an attraction to the handsome creature. Witches and Wizards tended to live quite a lot longer than Muggles, after all, and the longer lived magical and mystical beings were often found in the oldest bloodlines. The matter of that absurd Gypsy curse, and her status as the Slayer seemed to have gummed up a perfectly acceptable match, however. But it gave him something to ponder. Without his magic, he couldn’t correct the damage those ridiculous peasants had done through their interference, any more than he could undo the rather crude spells he could see on everyone he’d met so far in this damnable town.

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