Black Swan Effect

Remus Lupin had noticed, from his very first day at Hogwarts, that this castle was steeped with many traditions as old as the stones it was built with. Up until the third year, for instance, all the boys were expected to wear shorts as a part of their junior uniforms.

He couldn’t help but feel that it reeked of upper-class boarding schools in the early 20th century, when conformity had still ruled over personal comfort. Before Hogwarts, he’d attended a Muggle public school, which had a loosest idea of uniforms — kids didn’t give a whit about attires, and teachers were too busy controlling their roguish behaviours to care about anything else.

Sure, uniforms were great, Remus himself liked to wear the same as everyone too — until it involved skin exposure. It always sent him a spark of annoyance whenever anything other than his neck and his hands were left bare. No, none of you is supposed to see my scars, an eleven-year-old Remus had thought when he’d decided to wear long trousers for the rest of his school years, shrugging off the discomfort when all the boys around him darted and played around in their shorts, when Sirius Black stretched out those long, bare legs on his desk, yawning in their History of Magic class, and occasionally slid a finger beneath his socks to scratch the itch away. 

But no matter how insistent he was on keeping himself covered, there were moments when he had no control over it. Clothes were nothing but useless human inventions to the wolf.

When Remus opened his eyes into wakefulness, after his beginning-of-fourth-year full moon, he was well aware that he was barer than he would ever like to.

The next thing he became aware of was an itchy sensation on his leg. 

Sirius Black, with all the things in the world he could otherwise do, had chosen to entertain himself by doodling on Remus’s leg as he lay unconscious.

“Black,” he lifted his head with one eye still closed, “What the fuck?”

A low chuckle echoed from down by his legs. “Oops.” The boy didn’t sound at all apologetic. “Did I just wake you up from some midsummer night's dream?” 

Then he dragged a long, deliberate line on the bandage of Remus’s skin with his marker. Remus half contemplated the satisfaction of kicking the bastard off his bed, and retreating to the dark warmth of dreamless sleep he’d had before Sirius turned him into the object for vandalism. “Where’s James?”

Sirius scoffed. “I’m practically right here, and the first person you ask for after waking up is Potter?” Even with all his numbness, Remus could feel the other boy’s body shuffling on his bed (his own bed!). “He’s attending lectures to take notes for you, otherwise who’s going to do that, with me skipping classes and Peter not able to write a half-legible note?”

“And how many classes have you skipped already?” They weren’t even a month into the semester, and Sirius’s slacking attitudes towards the school work were rather infuriating sometimes.

The funny movement along his leg stopped. Sirius changed his position, and crawled his way through a tangle of pillows and blanket up on top of Remus. 

“Aren’t you happy that I’m here?” He said sweetly, with only a shit-eating glint in his eyes to betray it all. “Do you have any idea about the sacrifice I made to be here entertaining you? Truancy! I had to forgo my academic destiny, missing out on all the enlightening moments when our professors deliver the finest of wizarding wisdom. Slughorn must be mourning my company like a widow, and I don’t know how Snivellus is coping without his daily dose of one or two hexes—”

“You and Potter are kind of arses to him, you know that?” The admonition was half-hearted, because as Sirius leaned closer to continue with his rambling, Remus had been stunned by the citrusy fragrance blended with the scent of Sirius's own skin. The combination made perfect sense, like it was the most natural scent in the world. He didn’t know if the citrus came from shampoo or cologne, but he wouldn’t complain if Sirius kept using it, especially when it saved him from the swampy smells of bandages and antiseptic potions. 

It took another moment before Remus realised his friend was fully clothed, while himself lay very bare. Strangely, for that long while they’d been talking, bare and vulnerable and gruesome he might be, the qualm about his own nakedness had never crossed his mind.

“ —and anyway, you can’t really blame me, I haven’t hexed Snape since the beginning of this year.”

Remus raised a sceptical eyebrow from his pillow, and Sirius looked rather offended. 

“Except for when the slimy git tried to hex me first! Don’t give me that look, Lupin!” He lunged down and bit Remus’s cheek off. This bastard knew no line between affection and violence, and when James Potter wasn’t here to bear his teeth marks, Remus was left to endure, post-full moon or not. He uttered a yelp of revulsion, but it came out rather as a laugh.

“Okay, I’ll give you credit for that.” After a few snorts, the lycanthropic pains seemed to be momentarily subdued. “Why though? It seems your enthusiasm for trouble-making has diminished this year.”

“My chance of a survivable Christmas depends on that diminished trouble-making, Moony,” Sirius said, and he seemed a bit less happy now. Remus frowned.

“Is everything with your family that tense?”

“Mother and I made an oath.” The grimace was almost unbearable. “That I’d have to ‘put effort into being a worthy fiancé of Narcissa’ .” His voice dipped low, and Remus could catch a glimpse of the toxic environment where his friend was raised. “It has never gone this far. Feels great to cause troubles when I’m the one to bear the consequences, but now with this ruddy engagement, Cissy would be affected, too.”

“Why do you care whether she’s affected or not? It’s not like you care as much what your parents feel about what you do.”

“It’s different this time. They are parents . The adults — the authority. They are meant to be rebelled against,” Sirius replied with a brief smile. “But Cissy is just as much older than me as I am than Reg. I might loathe her, but I do not wish troubles on her, especially since she cares about her perfect little pureblood image so much,” he added with a contemptuous wrinkle of his nose. 

Remus lay in silence, letting those words sink in. This was something that he’d seriously underestimated.

“Can you trust Narcissa to not cause troubles for you, though?” he suddenly said. “Every time I check the Marauders’ Map, she’s always lurking around the abandoned Duelling Club room.” James had found a way to charm the Map with a Tracking Spell back in their third year, and ever since it had helped them with their spying purposes as much as it had their pranks. 

“Oh, well?” Sirius smiled. “Curious about my cousin, aren’t you?”

“Can you blame a friend for paying your suddenly-made fiancée some attention? I suspect she’s up to something.”

“What else do you expect from the snakes? They’re always up to something.” Sirius’s eyes now matched the contemptuous wrinkle of his nose. “Maybe she is busy, I don’t know, hiding dead fingers or mermaid skulls? Or brewing a beauty potion that makes her look like a Veela, which, I agree with you, could actually be a concern, given the army of idiots who are already fighting to get her notice.”

Remus was rather surprised; this was perhaps the closest thing to an aesthetic compliment Sirius had ever given his cousin. “Based on what you’d said when James had a crush on Narcissa back in our first year, I was under the impression you didn’t find her pretty.”

“Have I ever?” Sirius scoffed. 

“So that’s a no, then.”

“But you find her pretty, don’t you?”

“My opinion about that is irrelevant.” 

“So is mine. I grew up surrounded by people who look like carbon copies of each other. Pureblood inbreeding, thank you very much,” he said flatly. “My perception of prettiness might not be working.”

And he just said that, casually being the best-looking bastard Remus had ever seen. As he gazed down at Remus through the nightfall of black hair, his grey eyes were like two moonlit waterholes on those desert lands, where animals in thirst came to drink. 

“Though I admit I’m rather curious to see how she will look in the betrothal dress, in Easter next year.”

Remus had to blink several times to regain focus.

“The betrothal,” he said, slowly, feeling the weight of the word in his chest. “So it has been decided?”

Sirius didn’t answer at once. Only when he turned his head away, did he give a curt, tight nod. 

Remus patted a hand on the side of Sirius’s thigh, a gesture that felt both affectionate and fraught with the horrors unspoken. 

“That day,” Sirius’s voice was reduced to a mutter, “Grandmother Melania summoned me to Berkshire not just to drink tea. She showed me our family’s betrothal dress, kept locked away in a glass cabinet. She said all the women in my family had worn it for their betrothals, and only in wearing that dress for a worthy man would they become a true Black lady. She also said to me,” he swallowed thickly, “that Cissy had been waiting for her turn to wear that black dress for her whole life.”

Remus felt his own hand clenched into a fist around the bandages. And he heard himself say, just for the sake of staving off the dreadful silence. “Black dress? Isn’t it supposed to be white?”

“My family wears black for celebrations, and white for funerals.”

Remus said nothing. The deliberate cruelty behind Sirius’s grandmother's words…

“Alright!” Sirius kicked out a breath from his chest. “Time to take your meds!”

With a dog-like movement, he jumped off Remus, and flung the bed curtains open to reveal a row of Potions vials lined up on the nightstand. Remus sighed loudly at that sight. “No whining accepted, Moony. Pomfrey told me to make you drink till the last drop of these Potions. Come on, chop chop. You’re a grown bloke now, you can do it.”

“Before that can I at least know what you did to my leg?” said Remus miserably.

Sirius’s grin went wide. “Look!” He slid to the end of Remus’s bed and lifted Remus’s leg up, careful not to hurt him. There, scrawled with chicken-scratch lines with zig-zag details, was a doodle of a grotesque creature wearing something that resembled a pair of glasses, looking suspiciously like James, sleeping under rains and thunderclouds. Before Remus could appreciate the brilliant ugliness of it, Sirius tapped the doodle with his wand.

The effect was immediate, because Remus suddenly could hear actual thunder. 

Slowly, he turned his head. A few feet beside him, James Potter’s bed was pouring rains. 

o0o

Breakfasts with Narcissa Black didn't get any easier. At one point, as Sirius left the Slytherin table, a dark scowl on his face after he hexed Corban Yaxley's eyeballs to turn inwards his skull, Narcissa cancelled her regular visitation at the Gryffindor table.

Although nothing else was exhibited blatantly, this change of event had caused waves of satisfaction through the hall. The most radiant wave must come from James Potter, who had his arms crossed and wore a victory smile — the look he reserved for when members of  House Black scooted away from his friend a bit. Looking at that unsubtle smile, the most oblivious person could tell how bloody well fed up James Potter was of Narcissa's presence.

Almost equally pleased was Slytherins who were rather obsessed with the youngest Black mistress. They could tolerate “losing” her to Lucius Malfoy, but Sirius Black? Now that was a cross of line. When Narcissa spent two days consecutively eating at the Slytherin table, some of them even applauded.

“That Gryffindor pet dog doesn’t deserve to wipe her shoes anyway,” Amycus Carrow  with a gleeful voice, and Holden Bulstrode nodded in agreement, watching Narcissa as she breakfasted with Regulus Black. “What’s even good about him, other than the sheer luck of being born into a powerful family?”

“Rosier might disagree with you, Carrow,” Cecilia Zabini smiled broadly, relishing in the chance to stir things up. “Right, Evan? Even you admit that Black is easy on the eyes, don’t you?”

“Just because my aunt twice removed married into that house doesn’t mean I will defend a Black with blood-traitor tendencies,” said Evan Rosier coldly. “I don’t care how good he looks.”

Conversations on the Gryffindor table seemed to be more light-hearted. With Narcissa being there, some of them had been stunned into silence or fumbled awkwardly for topics that wouldn’t spark her disdains, yet sometimes it had counter-effected ( “Philippus von Hohenheim is famous for both Parseltongue and medicine, Fortescue, who wouldn’t know such basic knowledge,” as Narcissa might or might not have rudely interrupted.) Now, they were all back with swapping playful banters and humour-cracking, or chattering about Quidditch and the House Cup with no small amount of sharp-tongued sarcasm reserved for the stuck-up purebloods. 

And Remus, though he hated to admit it, personally thought Narcissa Black sometimes made a point — like the time when she’d criticised how snakes were usually taken as the symbol of evil, while little did people care that snakes were also symbols of healing and medicine. But since those few clever comments were nothing compared to her bigotry — and that holier-than-thou manners which grated on everyone’s nerves — he was more than happy to not see her around again.

However, not seeing her here didn’t mean not seeing her there. Remus had begun to notice how often their paths crossed this semester when that blonde hair and ice-blue eyes started to occupy his space.

“Abandon it, Regulus.” One day, as he was making his way through the third-floor corridor after Herbology, he accidentally caught the tail end of a tense exchange. “I can't put up with your brother anymore.”

It was followed by a scoff of disagreement. “I know he seems untamable,” responded the other voice, low and as emotionally cold as Narcissa’s. “But he could be more reasonable once you try to talk to him more patiently. His ego just needs a bit of cushioning—”

“And how long has it been since you last talked to him?” replied Narcissa coldly, “Don't give advice on what you can’t do yourself.”

Her cousin paused before replying, his tone cautious. “Think about it twice, Cissy,” he continued, more insistent this time. “You're not like Bella, you're more sensible and soft-hearted than you would ever admit. If only you tried …”

“You know nothing about me, and that was my final word.” And she said so in such a final, indiscussible way that it earned only silence from her cousin.

A second later, Remus heard a swish of a cloak, a click of quickened footsteps on the stone floor ( high heels, he recognised), and the next thing he knew was Narcissa Black’s nose brushing over his jaw when she nearly collided with him at the corridor’s turn.

“It's you,” she backed up and looked at him stonily. Her head tilted sideways with a flash of glittering pearls, below her ears, those that could make Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring pale in comparison. “Get out of my way.”

“The way was very bright and clear before you crashed into it.” He found her attempt to assert her authority on people very elaborated and effortless, as if she’d practised it many times.

Narcissa regarded him. Then, she spoke, not to him but to the boy who'd just rounded the corner behind her.

“You were right, cousin,” her voice was elegant and smooth, perhaps too smooth, and this was how Remus knew a Black was being annoyed. “When you said all of his friends are insultingly mediocre. Not just the blood traitor Potter.”

“Remus Lupin at your service, miss,” he tilted his head, amused with the piece of information he’d just received. He always knew Sirius's brother regarded them very low, but since the boy had never spoken to them, he hadn't expected that dislike to reach the level of “insultingly mediocre" .

Regulus Black didn't respond to Narcissa nor did he look at Remus. The boy was the spitting image of his brother with the same haughty, aristocratic features that made them both handsome and, in more ways than one, unapproachable. Nevertheless, there were still some differences here and there: Regulus's hair was short, flat and plastered against his head — a sleek style that reminded Remus of the trend in the 1920s — save only a few soft locks that fell elegantly from his forehead to his temples. And, perhaps, the biggest difference that overshadowed all similarities: Sirius had hooded eyes, expressive and unrestrained, but Regulus's were almond-shaped, cold and watchful, frozen on the face of a carefully-crafted mask.

Regulus Black didn't grace Remus with so much of a glance, but his blonde cousin did so very intently. Her Neptunian blue eyes scanned all over him, and he felt her taking in every bare thread of his second-handed robe, the frayness of his worn cardigan, the coarse leather of his shoes, the long, white scar cutting through his left eyebrow. And he knew what was racing through that pretty blonde head. She wanted him to be hyper-aware how well below her he was — a pureblood aristocrat and a half-blooded commoner — and she wanted him to shrink under her scrutiny, to feel the crushing weight of her judgement. To feel belittled, hurt and ashamed of his own impurity and lower-classedness. 

However, he would never grant her the pleasure, at least not on the face. Composure was also one of the couple of things he was proud of himself. He met her eyes, and it was gilded with a calm and collected demeanour.

“Fancy what you're seeing, Black?” He said a little louder than usual, cutting through the silence. “You must have better things to do than making eye contact with a half-blooded Gryffindor, which I can’t say to be my pleasure.”

She did not so much as frown. “All I’m seeing here,” Her face didn’t betray a wrinkle; it was perfect. “is a halfblood under the delusion that brushing shoulders with the Black heir will rub some golden dust off on him, allowing him to speak to me as an equal.”

“If you insist so,” he smiled, “Though I must say, your sense of personal value is more flexible than I thought. Every other time he is a ‘disgraceful brat', and now he goes back to being ‘the Black heir' — I’m having a hard time keeping up with you here.”

A faint flush of purple crept into Narcissa’s cheeks. Suddenly, Remus could feel the weight of Regulus's gaze finally settle on him, though he didn’t bother to return it. The tense atmosphere was soon broken by the approaching sounds of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, their voices growing louder as they clattered through the corridor with broomsticks in their hands. Remus turned to Narcissa.

“Next time you should perhaps hide that wooden box of yours somewhere safer than a suit of armour in the Duelling Club room, whether it's dead fingers or mermaid skulls you're keeping in it.”

And with that, Remus took his departure. Narcissa's pair of pearl earrings were still gleaming in his mind.

o0o

Remus had been thinking about Narcissa Black more than he would ever like to.

Despite how unlikable she was, Narcissa was, undeniably, very proud. He’d caught a few words of mouth, here and there, that the enigmatic Black sisters were a force of charm in their overlapping years at Hogwarts. Remus had never seen the other two — they had graduated Hogwarts before he began his first year — but he knew the oldest sister, Bellatrix, was a powerful Dark witch whose lethal duelling prowess was as renowned as her ruthlessness. During a detention last year — in which James, Sirius, some broken noses, and Severus Snape were involved — he'd been assigned to polish medals in the Trophy Room, where he’d found Bellatrix's name engraved on one of the Duelling medals. 

The second sister, Andromeda, was the most mysterious. He’d never heard about her except that she had been a Prefect — her title was also recorded in the Trophy Room. He knew that she was Sirius's “favourite cousin" — until the boy stopped mentioning her in their second year, leaving the rest about Andromeda to fall into shadows.

And now, Narcissa, the last of the notorious Black sisters to walk the halls of Hogwarts, had carved her own reputation. She was known as an extremely talented witch and skilled Quidditch Chaser — an achievement as unlikely as it was impressive for someone with such a personality, since Quidditch was a sport of team collaboration…

“James, I'm bored.”

Thoughts interrupted, Remus looked up from his pincushion, catching sight of Sirius at the front of their classroom. In Professor McGonagall's attempt to separate the infamous pair, James and Sirius were each seated at an end of the classroom, though the distance seemed to only amplify their mischief –– now they were throwing jokes back and forth across the classroom like serving tennis balls. 

“Remus is way back there, it's no fun…” 

The class was practising turning hedgehogs into pincushions, but Sirius just did what he was most excellent at — getting bored. He was lounging on his seat lazily, his chair tilted back on its two legs. The chair swung rhythmically under his command, like a rocking chair.

“Pssst, Sirius, watch this.”

After a careful glance at Professor McGonagall who was back-facing them, James flicked his wand on a piece of parchment. With a graceful flap, the parchment turned itself into a long-tailed paper bird and took off into the air. Several students laughed and gasped in awe. The paper bird dived a few rounds above Professor McGonagall's head before it changed its direction, soaring towards Sirius. 

The raven-haired already had his sleeves up, smiling and licking his canine tooth, eyes fickling to James with an arrogant look; he drew his wand swiftly, and the singular bird bursted into dozens of smaller ones. Their frenzied wings released a gentle breeze over the classroom, making the girls’ hair rustle.

“How adorable!” Alice Fortescue whispered in excitement as she, transfixed, watched the tiny paper birds swoop and dive.

Remus, still seated at the back, suddenly felt a pair of grey eyes searching for him, and at that very moment he knew exactly what came next. As if winter suddenly rushed by, the flock of birds migrated south-ward to him with the speed of arrows. Remus raised his wand, feeling a manic excitement, and with a swish he turned those beautiful white birds into crimson red, like they were a shower of Chinese lucky envelopes.

The class dissolved into small laughter and whispered admiration; even Lily Evans was having an impressed look in her eyes.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin, my class was not intended to be a zoo,” McGonagall said, her eyes filled with both annoyance and, perhaps, a little surprise for their clever bit of magic. She flicked her wand anyway, and those crimson birds dropped to the floor as mere pieces of paper, which afterwards rearranged themselves neatly on her desk.

“Minerva, you killed them!” scoffed Sirius. Some students winced back at that; if they hadn’t known him, they would think he was actually annoyed.

“What’s been killed here is your time, Mr. Black,” said McGonagall sharply. She eyed the pincushion on Sirius's desk, which he had transfigured perfectly. “When you have nothing else to do, please make your time useful by doing your homework, which I remembered assigning enough to keep you all busy for the whole week.”

Half of the class groaned. Professor McGonagall sighed, massaging her temples, “Just when I thought I might have a productive class as my birthday gift…”

“You're JOKING, Professor!” interjected James loudly, “Today’s your birthday!”

Sirius snapped his head up like a dog having sniffed a bone, a familiar smile stretching on his face. Remus’s eyes widened, Oh no, not that smile again…

“Everybody screamed,” Sirius started to sing, his voice dangerously sweet. “When I kissed the teacher.”

Then he leapt over his desk and planted a kiss on McGonagall’s cheek.

The whole class burst into absolute chaos. Some students whistled, the girls screamed and giggled madly, pushing their hedgehogs away to catch up with the chants. McGonagall stood frozen, too shocked to utter any words, glaring at Sirius and James who were now side-by-side, their arms over each other’s shoulders as they echoed loudly “Leaning over me, she was trying to explain the law of Aguamenti / And I couldn't help it, I just had to kiss the teacher…” Her birthday gift might not be as she'd expected, but it was a memorable gift nonetheless…

The world stood still, but then she just smiled

I was in the seventh heaven when I kissed the teacher

“Not you too, Mr. Lupin!” McGonagall scoffed when the class finally dismissed, her cheeks still faintly red. He was the last to leave the classroom and was still humming lightly. “Go. Before Professor Flitwick docks points from Gryffindor for you being late.” 

“Smiles do suit you, Professor!” He closed the classroom door within a heartbeat. With one little red paper bird (that he had secretly rescued before it was outcasted) flitting over his shoulder, Remus hummed the song and strolled to the Charms classroom. He didn't expect to see Narcissa Black waiting for him. Even then, the joy back in Transfiguration class wasn’t dissipating.

“Snegurochka!” he greeted her brightly. “What a delight. How can I help you?”

Narcissa raised one eyebrow. “Snegurochka?”

“It’s Russian for Snow Maiden .”

“I’m not here to discuss nonsense,” Narcissa said sharply, and Remus raised both palms in placation. “There is a delicate matter I want to discuss. I’ll ask you one question, and you’ll answer me truthfully.” 

She closed her eyes, taking in an elegant breath.

“What do you know about my keepsake box?”

The red paper bird on his shoulder zoomed about. Narcissa levelled an indifferent look on the magical thing, and it suddenly crumbled to ashes.

How charming, he thought.

He tapped a finger on his chin, relishing in the anticipation his silence caused to Narcissa. “Well, I happened to find it in the abandoned Duelling Club room,” he finally said, “With the Black family crest carved on it. Don’t look so surprised; I've been friends with Sirius long enough to know what the crest looks like. So I deduced, it must belong to a Black.”

“But it could also have been Regulus's.”

“Exactly,” he smiled, “That's why when I said don't hide it in an armour in the Duelling Club room, I was speaking to both of you. Because I wasn't sure whose it was.” He looked at her pointedly. “But you've just answered that.”

A flicker of irritation crossed Narcissa’s flawless visage. She seemed rather angry with herself.

“It is the Malfoy family brooch.”

He blinked, not expecting this response. “I beg your pardon?”

“It is the Malfoy family brooch that I keep in the box,” she repeated shortly, tossing her long, silvery hair back with an air of resignation. “Not fingers nor skulls.”

Remus didn't respond. It seemed she still had more to say.

“The box has three compartments — one for each Black daughter — guarded by powerful Dark Magic. Each of us can store a personal item which only the respective possessor can retrieve. It is the perfect place for me to keep my secret, because no one would be able to take it away from me or lay an eye on it, not even Bella or…or… her. ” Narcissa paused, her eyes closed tightly. “He trusted the brooch to me when I was in year five. His family brooch. Though now we are no longer together, his love is safe with me, forever, in this box."

There was a trace of pride in her voice, mingled with something else that somehow made her sound more human. Remus had an impression she'd been wanting to tell this story to someone — anyone, but not her admirers whom she preferred to maintain her mystery to, not her family who’d arranged her to marry her cousin — that how brilliant of a magical item their sisters' keepsake box was, how pure and noble of her to have received the Malfoy family brooch when she’d been only a school girl, proving herself a worthy wife for a pure-blooded gentleman. 

Lucius Malfoy. He racked his brain for the vague image of the former Slytherin prefect with a pointed chin and hair even paler than Narcissa herself. Lucius Malfoy, who’d been entrusted by Mrs. Black to keep an eye on her newly-Sorted Gryffindor son. Lucius Malfoy, whose leaden voice had made himself very punchable whenever it sneered, “Ten points from Gryffindor.” 

“Now, I understand you’re trying to tell me you’re no longer seeing Malfoy, but to meet what end?” asked Remus. “You know him . He wouldn’t give up on Mary just because you gave up on Malfoy.” 

“I will make sure I’m not the only party who makes sacrifices for the marriage!” snapped Narcissa, “Not to mention how unequal those sacrifices would be. Lucius is a pureblood noble, while that girl…” Her temporary silence wielded only contempt. “You must have heard your friend talk about Lucius. Not the best words, I presume.” 

“Not any words that I remember,” he replied warily, suddenly feeling defensive of his friend. “He never cares enough about Lucius Malfoy.”

“He doesn’t care enough?” Narcissa repeated, pressing on in a way that he hadn’t expected. She didn't seem at all pleased about this information. “Not even when Lucius is the heir of the House of Malfoy? Not even when I and he courted for two solid years?”

Remus shook his head. What the hell was this woman trying to get at?

Narcissa stared at him for a while, her gaze blank and unreadable. Then, a frosty smile slowly curved her lips.

“Of course that boy doesn't understand love, why should I be surprised,” said Narcissa icily. “He’s always been a selfish boy, a coward , a born trouble-maker who's tempted to destroy anything worthwhile. As the male firstborn, he has all the privileges we girls envy to have, and yet––” Her lips were pursed impossibly thin. “He doesn’t care about Lucius, while I am more than slightly bothered by the commoner girl wrapping around him…”

“You fancied him,” said Remus, as realisation dawned on him. 

Narcissa’s eyes strained away from him at once, her pale hands flexing, as if trying to crush the shameful memory.

“I was only ten years old,” she shivered, her voice very close to a whisper. “Andro… that woman was playing the violin, and he was right beside her, playing his piano. He would throw his head back, laughing… And he would often ask me about the music they played, looking at me as though my opinion was the most important thing in the world…”

She straightened her back, shrugging off all the unwanted sentimentals like shrugging off dirt.

“That was nothing but an empty, trivial affection,” her voice echoed in the hallway; a cold and hard thing. “I soon realised how terribly wrong I was to be fond of a boy who didn't half deserve it. Now the family hasn’t known yet about the ill-advised romance he’s having with that little girl, but once they know –– well, let’s say selfish, childish romance will be flattened under the weight of House Black.”

She said it so conclusively that no further words could be discussed about the matter. As she raised her head, all emotions had been sealed away on that impenetrable mask. Remus looked at the woman who looked like she was carved out of ice, a part of him wanting to tell her that she was so wrong, so dictated by her family prejudices that she completely, irredeemably underestimated Sirius’s devotion to the people he cared about — and those included Narcissa herself, no matter she wanted to believe it or not. He wanted to tell her, plainly and harshly, that it was his family who’d failed him, not vice versa. And yet despite how his family treated him, he still longed for their love, and this truth was so unsettling that Sirius hated every bit of himself for it. 

But Remus didn’t want Narcissa to know about this side of his friend. To reveal it to her would be akin to handing a knife to the enemy. A quieter, more selfish voice in him was whispering that regardless of how bad Sirius would feel, he still didn't want him to reciprocate his love to those Black hyenas. That voice also wanted to laugh and gloat at the Noble and Most Ancient House, with all their elitism and bigotry and contempt for creatures like him , that your precious son is with us now, and there’s nothing you can do about it.