Chapter Text
Narcissa Black stood in her aunt and uncle’s drawing room, seething.
Regulus was in front of her, standing perfectly still as he held a glass of wine, and to most, nothing would seem amiss. But Narcissa was not most people, and Regulus was hers.
Something instinctual and rageful begged to be let go. Something that snarled mine , something that lashed out and aimed to kill.
There was an unsteadiness in how he stood, angled just right, so no one would notice the trembling of his joints, or the white-knuckle grip he sported on his glass. Like he was bound to fall. Like Sirius’ absence had taken his balance, too. Like a house of cards, they relied on each other’s gravity to keep them standing. There was trust and love that bordered on obsession. Nobody in this family knew how to do things in halves, after all, and Narcissa was no exception.
Pulling away from her mother (Bellatrix was characteristically absent; she had been, for a while now, even before this year), Narcissa made her way over to Regulus. The two were similar in many ways. They never knew when to let things go, but they never tried to shout to let their voices be heard. They loved in gauze wrapped around knuckles and silent prayers in the middle of the night. They loved like someone would crush them, if they knew.
Someone would crush them. They always did.
Alice had a beautiful smile, but it didn’t outweigh the pain of her father’s hand around her neck, pushing her down into submission. Narcissa almost wished it did.
Sometimes, even those they loved did not know how to run to them without stampeding over their hearts in the process. Regulus had always been soft, her boy. He inherited it from her, a curse disguised as a gentle blessing. Narcissa was not good at giving gifts, it seemed.
Narcissa wished she could apologize for what she did, but she couldn’t. How did one repent for the sin of being given a reflection?
You’re weak, Cissa. You can’t tell me how to behave as if you could do any better. You don’t know what it’s like to fight, so you don’t get to tell me not to do it. Not until you get it.
And, You’re ice, Narcissa Black. Can’t you just cry, for me? With me? Can’t you say something? Say something, Cissa. Please. Just this once.
She knew how damning a sister’s love could be, if done wrong. And sometimes, they did it wrong. They hugged too tightly and kissed too roughly. They loved each other like an addiction, like history.
So, she knew a brother’s love was the same. She knew the bitterness that coated the tongue of a younger sibling never quite enough to fit in the elder’s shoes. Always a little too late. She knew that Sirius fought because Regulus didn’t, and that Regulus fought when he knew Sirius wasn’t looking.
Narcissa placed a hand on Regulus’ shoulder, and whispered in his ear, “Come on. Upstairs with me. We’ll get you something for those nerves, huh?”
Regulus smiled subtly at her and gave her a single nod. He said not a word as they exited the room, making their way to his bedroom. And even in the privacy of his bedroom, he did not speak; he simply allowed himself to stare into a space between time, like he was plucking Sirius out from the past and asking him for company, again.
“Sit,” she ordered gently. He did as he was told. Just like she taught him. “It’s hard without him, I know.” Narcissa began running some diagnostics on him, so she could accurately treat him, no matter how minorly. “It’s hard being the one left behind. Especially when you came into this world with a built-in support system.” Regulus looked at her finally. “But you’ll go back to school tomorrow and get all of that back. Whatever is happening here, whatever is going to happen with our family, will not take precedence anymore. And it shouldn’t.” Regulus smiled softly, but sadly, as if he, too, knew she was lying. “You’re a kid, so be a kid.”
Regulus croaked out, “You were a kid, too.”
Narcissa hummed. “I was a kid, and then I had you. You, who became so much like me in spite of your brother’s influence. You, my little prince, who are much dearer to me than you know.”
“What happens, for you, when I go to school? With Bellatrix busy most days and nights. Where do you go, when you can’t come to my aid?” he asked.
“That’s not for you to worry about,” she assured. Narcissa smoothed out his clothes once she was done. “Now, we will put these glamours back on and you will finish the night by my side. When morning comes, you will go back to school, and the problems at home will be just that.”
Regulus looked like he wanted to protest, but he knew better than to do that, especially after a night such as this.
My darling boy, my little prince, you will survive this. If only to make your Mother proud.
Two weeks alone, and Narcissa was going to kill her mother.
Druella Black was a woman who lived her life in a glass palace. She had wine for blood. She stumbled on the rugs in their house and draped herself over the chaise as if it would make her seem elegant, as opposed to a washed-up mess. Narcissa spent many nights carrying her up to bed, listening to her mother’s ramblings.
I fell in love once, you know. He was a halfblood. Kind, noble.
Your father killed him.
Her mother drank to forget why she was so sad, but in that same vein, the memories became Narcissa’s burden. History never died; it only became someone else’s problem.
Your father was never kind. I always wished he would be. But he has a mouth like a songbird and hands like a monster. He sounds so sweet when he hurts me.
Narcissa wanted to gag into her hand, wanted to get rid of all the bile that her mother shoved down her throat. But it embedded itself there, as if it was hers now, this violence. Because that was what her mother had taught her. Narcissa was a vessel for the people around her. She gave them space in her body, and they made a home there. They trashed the place. They broke her windows and took her doors off their hinges. Narcissa was battered and used, but it wasn’t supposed to matter.
When she was a young girl, only six, her mother cupped her cheeks and whispered, You belong to the world, my flower. You will be their homing beacon. They will flock to you, and you will let them in.
Her mother meant for her to be an empty glass, waiting to be filled; it was her favorite thing, after all. But Narcissa became a shepherd. People worshiped the ground she walked on; they looked to her in moments of uncertainty. Her younger cousins held onto her skirts when they were still small; Regulus would hide and Sirius would use it to tug her around. In Hogwarts, people trailed behind her as if following some sort of leader. In Slytherin House, she was treated like a queen, and not a single person stepped out of line where she was concerned.
But outside of childhood, it became far less amusing. When people loved her, they followed her home, and around corners, and through abandoned hallways. Some committed petty crimes in her name. Some held onto her for far too long, when all Narcissa wanted to do was bury herself in a space where nobody would recognize her. People looked to her first for her opinions, even when she had none to give, and so Narcissa would say whatever came to mind first (though there was certainly a filtration system between her head and her mouth that Sirius, Andromeda, and Bellatrix all lacked). They would nod and continue, as if her word was gospel.
And the men. Oh the men adored her. They offered her money many would balk at just for time with her, and even more for the opportunity to wed her. They offered to leave their wives for her. They watched her like she was a prized pig, ready for slaughter.
They fancied themselves snake charmers, but forgot that, in order to tame her, they had to be better than her.
And they never were.
So Narcissa snapped. She slipped poison into the wine glasses of overly eager fellows with a history of malevolence. She drew runes into everything and everyone she held dear. She learned how to give them shape, without the burden of rituals that required one to remain sedimentary. Narcissa burned men through the bones with a few waves of her wand, and they were none the wiser, for no one had managed to catch onto her discovery. Only Narcissa could see it, the white-gold of her magic as it etched intricate rune patterns into the air around her. Because everything around her sung of possibility, and if one was clever enough, one could use the infinite space between themselves and another person as a canvas for magic.
Andromeda, and her ability to pull magic, to enhance charms and transfiguration spells, through the very fabric of the universe around her, to use the field to her advantage always, taught Narcissa that. And Narcissa, in her absence, had made sure to pass this knowledge onto her younger cousins.
Sirius had taken to this quickly, the elements responding to his beckoning, though he still had yet to control it enough to be useful and safe (she had seen him caught one too many times in his own magic bursts). Regulus was far too much like her, and was still learning, though Narcissa suspected he was doing something entirely different.
Narcissa stood now at the entrance to her home, looking behind her where she knew her drunk mother was napping. She hesitated to part, afraid only a little that her mother would somehow endanger herself in her drunken stupor, before deciding that it was not her problem and never should have been.
(If something were to happen, Narcissa would let the guilt tie a noose around her neck and choke, but that was a fact she was willing to ignore just so she could have but a moment’s peace.)
I’ve always been more of a Mother than you have. Where you would rather die than throw yourself at someone else’s feet, I would die willingly at the hands of another if it meant keeping my little ones safe.
Narcissa shut the door behind her, lips pursed gently.
She apparated first and thought after. She went where her body’s instincts pulled her. Narcissa trusted herself above all others, and that included her impulses. Her gut.
Her gut, which led her to an ice cream shop she was never allowed to go to as a child, and which she snuck around to visit as a student. A shop she forgot about as she graduated and moved onto monotony and abandoned all sense of whimsy and petty rebellion.
(She had the most important rebellion stored away in her bones. Narcissa Black could not be read by anybody, for though she belonged to everybody, no one would get all of her. Not even her dear sisters. Though they, too, were a part of the plan.)
Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor was a jolly place with open windows in pastel hues, tall chairs made of metal that little children’s feet dangled from often, and a wide variety of flavors lined up at the front of the shop. Narcissa recalled a sweet smelling afternoon in her sixth year.
And a girl called Alice.
“Cissy, you have to go now, or you’ll never be able to escape Father’s claws,” Bellatrix warned, quickly shooing her towards the exit of the boutique. “I’ve got your stuff covered, okay? Just go have fun.”
Narcissa, though a little hesitant to leave her sisters behind, nodded at last, and rushed out the door in a hurry. She stripped herself of her terrible coat and hung it on some random shop’s coat rack as she sped by, a peal of laughter bouncing off the brick walls. Narcissa was not supposed to run, but that was what made this all the better. She liked doing things she wasn’t supposed to. Narcissa was always perfect.
Sweet little doll, Narcissa. Pretty as a flower, Narcissa. Gentle as a morning breeze, Narcissa. Perfect, darling, Narcissa, who would make such a wonderful bride. And- aren’t they proud to have such a delightful purebred daughter?
Narcissa wanted to laugh, because she wasn’t gentle. She wasn’t sweet. If the elder Greengrass woman knew she had kissed her granddaughter, Alina, and then made Alina’s twin, Alexander, cry all in the span of one party, she would not be so eager to see the two girls as sister-in-laws. And if the Nott Patriarch knew that his son was pining after her because she was some Slytherin monarch and “oh, wouldn’t we be rulers of this school?” but she had yet to accept because Narcissa shared her title of Queen with no one , least of all a man, and a man who could not even afford the shoes she wore, then he would not sneer at her as if she was a dish fresh out of the kitchens.
Narcissa was all about the flight. She soared through the air and through her classes. She had convinced the famously accomplished wandmaker himself to help her carve runes into her wand to empower her spells further. She sent jinxes that left people in the hospital for days. Narcissa knew, courtesy of Madame Pomfrey, the joys of healings, and just how well medicinal knowledge did in a battle. Anatomy truly was her greatest weapon, nowadays.
On this day, she knew her friends were all gathering at the ice cream shop to discuss their summers and the upcoming sixth year of school. Narcissa was, of course, the prefect for her year, and was excited for the classes she had chosen. But what she was most anticipating was her return to Quidditch as Captain of the team this year.
There was, also, of course, the matters of the heart (or as her friends teased, in her case meant, matters of the bosom, as her eyes did not really search that deeply, particularly as of late). Narcissa was eager to see where this next year would take her.
This meeting was also rather fortuitous, in that, Narcissa was never allowed to have ice cream. Her mother drilled it into her that it would only serve to fatten her up and chase away any marriage prospects and, “wouldn’t you like to get out of this house a lot sooner, Narcissa?”
She would, but she would also really love some butter pecan ice cream with chocolate sprinkles and a cherry on top.
As Narcissa bounced on the balls of her feet, looking at the ice cream perhaps a little too intently, especially from outside the window, where she was awaiting her friends, she heard an almost familiar voice tease her from behind.
“I’ve never seen someone look at my grandfather’s ice cream like Merlin bestowed it himself,” said the voice.
Narcissa glanced behind her, doing a quick assessment of the girl. Alice Fortescue. A girl with gentle dark curls that stopped just below her ears, curling around the lobes. Gryffindor. Sixth year. As she was prone to do, Narcissa froze, ceasing her obvious excitement and shrugging nonchalantly.
“Well not all of us have easy access to ice cream, you know,” she said, a little haughtily, though it was mostly because she was offended.
Alice nodded, hands on her hips (she was wearing overalls ). “Yeah, the Black family must not be too big on sweet things,” she reckoned. “I, however, always get free ice cream. But sometimes you get tired of it.”
Narcissa’s eyes widened for a split second, an expression that most often described as threatening but, in this instance at least, was only supposed to come off as surprise. She smoothed her features back to her nonchalant gaze. “No, we’re not. They’re not.” Narcissa did not say that it was because her Father was colder than the ice cream they served and her Mother thought ice cream would make her fat and ugly, so she would never be able to escape her home if she had too much. Instead, she said, in a very obviously Slytherin fashion that could be mistaken as simple flirting, “What’s a girl got to do to get some free ice cream herself?”
Alice seemed to pause, startled. “Oh, nothing much. Just, uh, come with me. I’ll serve you myself,” she said, slowly working herself out of her shock and back into her normal, kind demeanor.
Narcissa hummed in response and followed after Alice, watching closely. She had supple hips, warm skin, and toned thighs. There was a certain charm to her comforting jubilance. Someone who was happy without burden. Someone whose happiness didn’t mean Narcissa had to be too. There were no consequences.
She couldn’t wait to tell her friends who she had her eye on for the next year.
Alice grabbed a cup and one of the scoopers, looking up at Narcissa through her lashes. She felt her heartbeat quicken, and she smiled gracefully. “Butter pecan, thanks.”
Alice nodded, scooping some ice cream into the cup- and then adding a little extra.
“Oh, that’s not…” Narcissa started, trailing off as the other girl raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t need to do that.”
Alice sighed. “It’s none of my business, but you looked like you could use a little extra sweetness. It won’t kill you, you know.” She paused. “Besides, I figured the Ice Princess of Slytherin wouldn’t mind some special treatment.”
Narcissa appreciated the swift exit she was given. “Well, you’d be right about that, then,” she said. “Chocolate sprinkles with some cherries, please.”
Alice grinned amusedly at her. “You know,” the girl started. “I’m starting to think your title of princess is deserved.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
Alice handed her the ice cream with a spoon. Narcissa smiled like a child and scooped some into her mouth, sighing happily. For a moment, she forgot she had asked a question, consumed by her consumption.
“Polite. Pretty,” Alice said, leaning against the counter on her elbows. “Rich. Not allowed to have ice cream, clearly.” She paused, and Narcissa finally met her eyes. “Sad, I think. But not cold.”
Narcissa’s nostrils flared, and she slowly lowered the ice cream. “I’m not sad,” she argued.
“No?” Alice asked. “Then why is it that every time you give me a polite smile, you look like you wanna crawl out of your skin? I saw you run here, you know. It was nice to see you so… liberated. You’re usually subdued. It feels unnatural.”
And it was. It was unnatural, and Alice didn’t even understand the half of it. Beyond the fact that Narcissa played a role only her closest friends and her cousins saw through, the entire Black family liked to play a backwards game of chicken. How much more poised could they possibly become before they snapped?
The Black Family Madness lived in all of them, and they all only pretended that it didn’t. In reality, each one of them wanted to crow from the rooftops and leap from the second story windows of their archaic manors, and not a single one of them did; because they were the Blacks, and if they so much as stepped a toe out of line, they’d be damned. The Pureblood Society of Great Britain looked to them as if they alone possessed the key to fortune and wealth. They looked at the Blacks and saw unbridled power that was so elegantly paraded around the Isles. But in reality, each one of them simmered helplessly in their skin. They were gnashing at each other, ready to rip into flesh and consume . They wanted to implode, like the stars they so worshiped and thus bore into this world. But the Black Family did not implode. They raged and they agonized; but they did not show themselves breaking.
Narcissa had a few bruises to prove it. Andromeda and Bellatrix sported plenty more.
“It is,” she finally said, once she realized she had taken too long to respond. “But I can’t very well go around Hogwarts and Wizarding Society barefooted and hollering, could I? I have to be careful. Poised. Precise.”
Alice hummed, watching Narcissa. “‘Cause it’s the only way to get engaged?”
Narcissa gave her one nod. “Yes, but, there’s more to it.”
“I’m sure there is.”
“You don’t understand,” Narcissa insisted.
Alice pushed herself off of the counter and raised her arms in mock defeat. “Maybe not. But you could explain it.”
Narcissa stared at the girl, her thoughts racing. No, she thought. I can’t. I can’t give her my guts and ask her to cherish them. I can’t trust her to take care of the truth. It’s unfair to us both.
But the bell above the shop door rang, and Narcissa heard her friends come in.
“Another time, maybe?” Narcissa said unsurely.
Alice nodded. “Sure. See you at school.”
“See you at school.”
Narcissa stood in front of the shop now. There were not many customers, especially now that all students had returned to Hogwarts for another year. It made the shop seem a little deserted, though it still had customers. It was just that, war was a whisper on the street, and though the cousins were only quietly dipping their toes into the bloodbath that was trickling into their drinking water, many had begun to pull away from the public, in an effort to keep safe.
Besides, Alice Fortescue was an Auror now. And Narcissa Black was a woman who could have been a cursebreaker or a mediwitch but was instead a future housewife, doing her Father’s bidding until her engagement announcement.
Her social circles were still rather large, but redundant.
And Narcissa missed the excitement of Alice’s gleeful laughter and shriek of mischief. She had a way of seeing into Narcissa and gently guiding her out of the dark. She was Narcissa’s homing beacon. She… made life seem less complicated.
Narcissa wished her life was uncomplicated now, but in a different manner. Narcissa wanted the monotony of a job she loved and a lover at home to cradle her while she complained. She wanted to be bad at cooking but trying all the same. She wanted to put down the tiara and run until her legs burned with the exhilaration and exhaustion.
But Narcissa was a beautiful statue. She was admired or admonished. She wanted a life with Alice, and had known this since she was sixteen, but was forced to live the remainder of her days staring into the distance and imagining life outside of the marble.
Smoothing out her dress, she stepped into the shop and approached the counter. A kindly older gentleman greeted her fondly, as if she were an old friend and not a common patron. He had the same gentle gaze of Alice, and her freckles too. His hair was different, but perhaps that was the age, and he wore a button up that suggested years of wear, but also years of care.
“What can I get for you, Miss Narcissa?” he asked.
She stiffened a little out of surprise. “How do you know my name?”
Narcissa, belatedly, groaned inwardly at her own quiet idiocy. It was probably her father. If not Father, then Mother. If not either of her parents, it was her own reputation in Witch Weekly which took to her favorably. Or perhaps he-
“Alice,” he said. “My daughter. She talked about you a great deal.”
Narcissa swiveled her head quickly, blinking hopefully. “She did?”
Florean (because Alice’s grandfather had named the shop after his son, not himself) nodded. “Always spoke highly of you, too. I reckon she still thinks the same. Hasn’t brought you up much anymore, but…”
“How is she?” Narcissa asked. Her voice wavered; Narcissa was uncertain if she even had the right to ask after Alice anymore, but oh how she wanted to.
“Good. She’s got a lot of fire, you know?” he responded, to which Narcissa agreed. “She’s done a lot of good so far, but a lot of bad is still happening out there. She lives in Muggle London now. Says it’ll let her hear of potential attacks on them if she’s closer to the source. I say it’s closer to the target, but I’m proud of her.” Alice’s father paused, looking rather sly for a moment. “This bloke in her department has been asking her out. He’s a nice guy, but Alice says she’s not ready yet.”
Jealousy should not have been on her radar, especially after so much time had passed, but she could not help the way it sparked up her spine and set her shoulders back. Narcissa was in the process of searching for a husband, and yet she could not stomach the thought of Alice going on a date with a man .
“Of course she’s doing well. Alice was always going to be great. Even more so- she was always going to be somebody’s hero, yeah?” Narcissa replied. “And… I hope she finds who she’s looking for.”
Florean looked at her, as if he, like Alice had all those years ago, also saw the deep sadness in her eyes. Like a gravestone. Like a tattoo.
He placed a cup of butter pecan ice cream with chocolate sprinkles and extra cherries on the counter. “It’s free of charge.”
“I feel like you know too much,” Narcissa said.
“I know everything about my daughter,” Florean said. “Send her an owl, if you want. She won’t turn you away.”
Narcissa swallowed hard and acquiesced. “Alright. Thank you.”
And so she goes home, her thoughts circling, a cup of ice cream in her hand. Her mother scolds her for having something so fattening, but Narcissa tunes her out as she ascends the staircase towards her bedroom. It didn’t matter that Narcissa could go up a size, not when she could speak to Alice again. Alice, whose heart she broke at the end of their seventh year. Alice, who begged Narcissa to run away with her, and Narcissa, with all her sisters and cousins in her mind, who said no.
There was something killing Narcissa Black, and it began in her gut.
Druella Black was consistent in her letters, which detailed several eligible bachelors that Narcissa could choose from, as she had her pick of the litter, so to speak. People wanted her, and her mother wanted to use that to their advantage, to secure the best match for her youngest, who was still prized as the finest broodmare in the lot.
Narcissa and Alice often laughed at these letters together, with each girl getting up to do a dramatic rendition of whatever future heir her mother threw at her. If Narcissa was forced into a meeting with them, she would return to her girlfriend just to laugh, to get red in the cheeks at the notion of her marrying someone that wasn’t Alice. And Narcissa would pretend she was some dashing gentleman, when speaking to Alice, who feigned being a damsel in distress.
But as graduation grew nearer, Narcissa’s mother sent less and less letters. Alice, foolishly, thought this was a wonderful sign. But Narcissa knew what this really was; Father was growing wearisome of her antics of pushing the suitors away or telling her mother that they were just not right. He was to grow more heavy handed in his decision making. Narcissa was sure of it. The sting of Andromeda’s departure from the family, and subsequent disownment and burning off the family tapestry, had made him crueler, swifter, and more exact. If he was able to nip the issue in the bud, there would be no more room for error. It was why Bellatrix had become a Lestrange faster than she could blink, walking down the wedding aisle with little more than a blank stare. Narcissa remembered feeling her heart break at the sight of her sister, who had always been a force to be reckoned with, a larger than life sort of woman, and who had been doused, to make her pliable.
It was only for the one event but it was enough to make Narcissa genuinely afraid.
Narcissa never wavered from her image of perfection, and she feared that the survival tactic she had so dutifully mastered would fashion her a cage rather than an open door.
Alice, of course, tried to understand, but her father was not pushing her to get married, especially not to a man. In fact, he seemed well aware of Alice’s predilections, but Narcissa was unaware if he knew of their relationship exactly.
And now, Narcissa was curling in on herself. A flower in bloom shriveled into nothing. Because Father was set to visit Slughorn’s office today, if only to drag her home for an evening. An important family meeting that she was not allowed to miss, and her Head of House would never deny an elder Black anything. Even if the children had pleas in their eyes. Even if she begged him to let her stay.
Narcissa had been pulling away from Alice for the last week, as a result. Though she was an expert at control, at hiding, Narcissa felt as though she had to work harder to keep her fears to herself. She loved Alice. She did. But Narcissa never had to speak up. She was the silent caretaker. She did as she was told to spare her sisters the pain of loving her, protecting her.
But if Alice asked her, now, to do as she pleased, to run away into the sunset with her, as it were, she would say yes. Salazar, Narcissa would grant her that in a heartbeat.
She slowly made her way to Slughorn’s office, fingers folded around her skirt as if it would make her hands cease to shake.
“Ah, Miss Black,” Slughorn greeted jovially, as if each time he sent one of the Black cousins home, he did not sign their death warrant. “Your father is expecting you.”
Narcissa nodded.
“Right, well, in you go!” he said, gesturing to the fireplace.
And so she stepped through the flames, where the cool blue marble and black wood decor of her childhood home greeted her. Her father was already there waiting, staring at an empty portrait space while her mother had her head down, looking at her glass of white wine. Bellatrix was there, but she was unmoving. The only reason Narcissa knew her sister was cognizant of what was happening was the fact that she could feel the howling of her sister’s magic in her bones, the way it clawed for recognition, the way it snarled at their parents.
“Father, Mother,” Narcissa greeted with a bow. “Sister.” She glanced at Bellatrix warily, and her sister’s eyes sparked with warning. “I came as soon as I could.”
Silence followed for far too long.
“You have done well in your studies,” Cygnus said. “You are at the top of your classes, so I’ve been told.”
Narcissa inclined her head. “Yes, Father. Thank you, Father.”
“Taking a healing lecture,” he added airily. Cygnus turned to look at his youngest daughter then. “Aspirations to be a mediwitch then, Narcissa?”
She held her shoulders back. “Perhaps. Healing magic is rather useful.”
“Well, you will not pursue it further.”
Narcissa, who was sure to pursue it independently, nodded again.
“As for the topic of your marriage. It’s time for you to cease your dalliances and choose one of the many fine suitors your mother has vetted for you. I will not have you make a mockery of me any longer,” Cygnus said, his voice steadily growing louder as his tone grew harsher.
“Father, I only meant that it would be more prudent for me to finish my education before I even considered a proposal,” Narcissa replied.
“And with your education finished, you will find someone to enter an engagement with.”
“Only if they’re up to standard. Alexander was a lecher, Byron was not-so-secretly poor, and Amycus was insane! I will not marry until Mother finds someone bloody worth my time .”
“Like Alice Fortescue?”
The air grew cold as Narcissa’s heart dropped. Her eyes met her Father’s, but instead of begging for mercy or bowing in submission, Narcissa inhaled the scent of Bellatrix’s magic, ferocious and feral, and snapped.
“You know nothing, and you will know nothing,” she warned.
“I know everything. Don’t think me ignorant, child. I’ve eyes everywhere, and I’ve heard of your illicit affair with a blood traitor woman . You will end it, or I will end it for you,” Cygnus sneered at his daughter.
“You will not touch her, or I’ll remind you why I am your daughter. I promise you, I am far less forgiving than you think yourself to be.”
“Crucio.”
Narcissa expected pain, but instead, all she heard was Bellatrix screaming, like her very blood was curdling. She pushed forward, desperately, as she watched her older sister writhe on the ground. She had been seated on the couch, where the table was, and as she fell, her head split open from smashing into the edge of the oak.
“Stop! Stop it!” Narcissa screamed, pulling at her father’s arm.
Cygnus relented and looked back at his daughter. “Do not threaten me again, Narcissa.”
She sniffled as she pulled Bellatrix forward, waving her wand to heal her bleeding head, particularly as the bind on her sister’s body vanished.
“Yes, Father.”
“And Narcissa?”
She looked up, and was met with a blow to the face. His ring caught on her cheek, and blood dripped down her jaw.
“You have one week to be done with this filth. If you do not, this weakness you harbor will be forcibly removed from the situation, and, well,” he paused, glancing at Bellatrix. “Your older sister could do without the extra push towards madness the Cruciatus would undoubtedly cause.”
Narcissa nodded.
Submissive. Silent.
The next morning, Narcissa returned to Hogwarts, and asked after Alice. Her girlfriend, her beautiful and kind and vivacious girlfriend, approached her with a kiss on her forehead and a hug that made Narcissa sob into her neck.
“I went home,” she said weakly, selfishly holding onto Alice.
“Run away with me,” Alice murmured into her hair.
Narcissa stiffened, imagining Bellatrix alone with a husband who hates her and parents who did not care about her. She imagined her sister, flailing like a fish out of water because Narcissa tried, for once in her life, to speak back, to be heard.
“No,” Narcissa said. Because Cygnus would know who she ran to and kill Alice and get away with it.
“Not now, maybe, but one day. We can get married. We can grow old together. You can come home from working as a cursebreaker or a healer, and I’ll come home from working as an Auror; and we’ll make tea and complain about our days. We’ll gossip about our friends and our coworkers, and share butterbeer while our cats run around the house. I’ll even let you best me in one on one Quidditch matches,” Alice said softly, eyes twinkling with a promise that Narcissa would have to break, and a future that they wouldn’t get to share until it was already too late.
Narcissa hiccuped and shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t. I wish I could but I can’t,” she said, lip wobbling. “I’m sorry, Alice. I should have been kinder and let you fall in love with someone else. I should have been wiser and ignored you in front of your family’s ice cream shop. I should have done a lot of things differently, but I’m here, and I love you; but it isn’t enough.”
Alice dropped her hands from around Narcissa and took a step back, the confusion clear on her cherubic face.
“What are you doing?”
Narcissa took a deep breath. “I’m… we can’t be anything anymore, Alice. I can’t leave my family. I can’t marry you. I can’t run away. We have to end things, now that we’re graduating and growing up, okay?”
“Says who?” Alice argued. “If you want me, have me! I’ll wait! I’ll risk it all for you, petal!”
Narcissa shook her head fervently. “Don’t wait for me. Don’t do that. It isn’t fair.”
“What isn’t fair is loving you and not getting to have you. You love me, but you won’t keep me; and I don’t get it,” Alice said.
Because if Narcissa told her that keeping Alice meant putting her in harm’s way, she would take that chance. But Narcissa had others to worry about. Her sisters, her cousins.
And Alice could be fine with danger, but Narcissa was not. She never was. She spent her whole life learning how to evade it, not just for herself but for her family.
“You won’t get it,” Narcissa said. “You won’t, and I’m glad for it.”
Alice looked at Narcissa like she was trying to read her, again. Just like the first time they met. When Narcissa was subdued and Alice had just called her sad.
“Maybe one day,” Alice started. “Maybe one day, you won’t be hiding anymore. Maybe one day, it won’t matter what you were hiding from in the first place. And I’ll be here, waiting, when that happens, because loving you isn’t something I’m capable of forgetting.”
“Goodbye, Alice,” Narcissa said.
Alice,
It’s been four years and some change since we last spoke, and I’ll be honest when I say that reaching out to you now has got to be one of the more terrifying things that I’ve done.
I went to the ice cream shop today, and I saw your father. I got my usual, of course, and it was on the house (I can’t remember the last time I had to pay for ice cream!). I heard you were doing well with the Auror department, and I’m happy for you. I always knew you were going to do great things. You’ve always had the makings of a great hero.
Anyway, I saw your father, and he suggested that I reach out (not in so many words). Florean may be a wonderful man but he is anything but subtle. I was hesitant at first, but I realized that any possibility of rejection or embarrassment was nothing compared to the idea of getting to see you again.
I am still unmarried. I don’t know how I’ve done it, really, but I like to fancy myself some sort of expert negotiator. Not that it matters, my marital status. But… I figured perhaps it might be prudent to offer an update of some sort.
The world is quite terrifying right now. Though it does make me feel better knowing there are people like you– kind, daring, selfless, and perhaps a little reckless in the name of doing the right thing– out there, it does make everything seem like any communication is of utmost importance. I won’t spell out the obvious, here, but I wanted you to know I still think of you. Everyday. Every moment. When I laugh, I picture you alongside me. When I fly, though I rarely do these days, I expect to see you chasing after me, frustrated (since I was always faster). I don’t think there is a piece of me you have not touched, Alice. You are in my bones, no matter how many years pass.
If you’re amenable, I’d love to see you. I am frequently available, and my… chaperones are more often indisposed than not. It might have to be done in a veil of secrecy, in some manner of speaking, but I would like to see you.
Maybe it is not fair of me to ask for your company when it cannot be freely done, but I could not stop myself from trying. It may be weak, or selfish, or really just stupid, but you have a way of making me do the unthinkable.
Forever yours, however you’ll have me,
Narcissa
The owl flew out with a soft coo, disappearing into the early evening sky. And Narcissa watched.
Silent like a mouse, she slipped out of her house, barefoot in the grass outside of the manor. And under the setting sky, Narcissa, who was for once without a flock to guide, ran.
The owl flew, the sun set, and Narcissa Black
soared.