Valkyrie

June 1979, Part 1

Alice already has a plan when she knocks on the door of Emma Vanity’s flat.

She’s lined up the timing just so. The owl came in yesterday evening, scrawled in a pretty cursive hand. There’s no signature, but Alice has a guess as to who it was from. Months after speaking with Andromeda, there was no word. Now, the time has come.

Hopefully, Andromeda won’t find out what she’s about to do.

Hestia Jones opens the door, hair plaited back and a pair of thick, dark glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. Her eyebrows rise when she sees Alice. “Oh, hi Alice.”

Alice smiles. Hestia, the little first year who trailed Alice the prefect like a little duckling, the same way Alice followed Ted Tonks. Even though she doesn’t know the kid super well, the tradition of the young looking to the old has always held a soft spot for her. “Hi, Hestia. Is Emma here?”

Hestia glances back into the hall and back to Alice. “Not really a good time, I think.”

“I already know.” There’s little time for tact or secrecy, not when her fingers are tingling with anticipation. “I’m going with her.”

Hestia’s eyes narrow slightly. “Are you going to look out for her?”

A lump forms in Alice’s throat, she swallows it down and nods. Hestia, appraising, swings the door open wider for her.

Emma’s in the closest bedroom down the hall, her back to the door as she cleans scraps of paper from her desk and bed. Alice leans against the doorframe.

“When are you leaving?”

Emma startles, spinning around, eyes wide and dark. There is an oddly guilty expression on her face, which Alice assumes is just from being caught. “What do you mean?”

Alice nods to the pile on the floor, where Emma’s leather jacket, her dagger, and her wand are laying. “That’s a to-go pile, right? Dumbledore said you’d need to be there for the evening, cause the night shift is easier to bypass?”

Emma’s eyes dart to the pile, then back to Alice. “How do you—”

Alice holds up a hand. “No time. We have to head out. The wards will only be unblocked for a limited amount of time, if we miss that window, we’re fucked.” She hopes her eyes are conveying everything she needs Emma to know: I’m not letting you go alone. I have my reasons for going too. We survived the botched raid together; we will survive this together too.

Slowly, Emma nods. “Okay. Let me get my things in order and we’ll go.”

~*~

“I’ve been to Malfoy Manor before.” Emma says, fidgeting with her sleeve, staring down at the map Dumbledore gave her of the area. When Alice glances at her, she adds quickly, “Pureblood shit, I guess. My parents were never into that kind of stuff, but they got invited anyway for a while.”

“Do we know where this… person would be?”

Emma shakes her head. “He gave me virtually no information. Just ‘there’s a woman being held hostage in Malfoy Manor, she’s a valuable informant, we have to get her out’. He told me about the wards, too, but not much else.”

Alice drums her fingers on the kitchen counter and spares a glance at the clock. Quarter to nine. They have to head out soon. Her heart thrums in her chest, a familiar pattern: Narcissa, Narcissa, Narcissa.

She doesn’t know if she’ll be there—no, she has to be there. She’s a Malfoy now, right? Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, king and queen of the castle, living together in their mansion. Like Andromeda, though, changing your last name doesn’t negate who you are. Narcissa will be there, watching and planning.

Emma seems just as anxious as Alice feels, interestingly. Even while they fled the Death Eaters, Emma had the barest hints of an arrogant smirk, as though she knew without a doubt that they would win. Here, though, it’s as though she’s seen a ghost. Maybe she too has a history with Malfoy Manor.

“Are you okay?” Alice murmurs, keeping her voice low even though Emma’s flatmates have already left.

Emma says nothing, tracing the outline of Malfoy Manor with her index finger. Quiet, barely loud enough for Alice to hear: “I’m worried she’ll be there.”

“Who will be there, Emma?”

It’s as though Emma completely shuts down in this moment, eyes blank, face closed. Mechanically, she lifts her head. “We should go.”

What can Alice do? It’s not as though she’s going to talk about her own personal demon right now. There is a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach, and it takes every part of her body not to break down at the sheer prospect of seeing her again.

~*~

Alice Fortescue meets Narcissa Black in third year.

Alice feels strange and wonky, disproportionate body and thighs, rolls on her stomach and boobs. This is an awful development, especially because her – bless his heart, well-meaning – father has no real idea how to go about getting his teenage daughter a proper bra. She kissed her friend Frank that summer, slightly tipsy off a bottle of tequila Alice had stolen from the Potters, and he’d said she looked as beautiful as the sunset. They haven’t really spoken about it since, and Alice’s stomach goes topsy-turvy when she thinks about it. All in all, it is easiest to try and ignore everything, and who else presents a better challenge to sink your teeth into than the baby sister of the Blacks?

Maybe it starts even before Potions class, when they’re placed together for an assignment. Maybe it starts when Alice is a first year, and she sees fourth-year Bellatrix Black in the halls, and Bellatrix trips her and laughs when Alice’s textbooks go flying in all directions. Maybe it starts with Andromeda Black, when Alice is in second year, her eyes cold and calculating, breaking Ted Tonks’ heart. Maybe Alice’s eyes always get drawn back to Narcissa Black: the odd duckling of the family. Dark blonde hair, dark eyes that shimmered with colour in the light, fragile and pointed features. She looked like expensive china, beautiful and utterly breakable.

Is it curiosity, then, that pushes Alice to be nice to this girl? Her sisters certainly didn’t earn her kindness, certainly not that Bellatrix Black, but Narcissa felt much more in danger of shattering. Alice, who has only ever been the glue in her relationships, thinks she can save her.

At the time, she doesn’t really realize any of this, any of her desire to reach across the aisle and help that beautiful girl. Deep inside, it’s a tug in her stomach, a pull to get closer to Narcissa Black. It doesn’t feel scary, surprisingly; it feels meant to be.

Narcissa isn’t mean. That’s the shocking bit. She doesn’t seem to have the propensity for violence like Bellatrix, the propensity for cruelty like Andromeda. Narcissa says a lot through careful glances, pursed lips, never quite words that she can be caught for. She is strangely polite, though removed, but her eyes trail Alice’s hands as they work together, Alice talking through the silence louder and louder to try and mask the desperate beat of her heart.

Would it have stopped there, in that potions class in 1969, after Narcissa intervened to make sure Alice didn’t botch the potion and they both managed to get an Outstanding? No, it could never have ended there, not with the lingering look of strange, fascinated curiosity that Narcissa gave Alice from the desk as Alice left, head cocked, features slightly fuzzy looking – though, that may have just been the dim lighting of the dungeons, but Alice cannot get that image out of her head, no matter how hard she tries.

~*~

Malfoy Manor is in Wiltshire, England, on the outskirts of a Muggle village. According to the informant – Pandora, again, secrecy is irrelevant here – the wards around the back of the house are off for an hour. This is their window: get in, get the girl, and get out, all in sixty minutes.

From where they stand, up on a hill, the Manor distant but tangible before them, Alice slips her hand into Emma’s and holds on.

According to Emma, the most likely place to keep this girl is down in the cellar. Scratching at the back of her neck, digging loose strands of her thick dark hair from its ponytail, she said she’d been down there once before, with a friend. The pained look that flashes across her face is enough to break Alice’s heart just a little for this girl she barely knows but somehow loves in spite of her unknowing.

Part of her wants to tell Emma to run, to go back home to her friends, to let Alice take care of this. It is that strange instinct in her body, telling her to protect the young ones. Technically, Alice is still young. She’s only twenty-four, but in a war, that is old enough to stand in front of these teenagers, shield their bodies with hers, and refuse to let them die in her stead.

“Emma?”

Emma stays facing forward, looking at the house. In the moonlight, Alice can trace her profile, everything in her face so strong and yet so scared. “No. Don’t ask me to leave, Alice. We’re doing this, together.”

“Okay.”

Down the rabbit hole they go.

~*~

Narcissa is in the library when Alice spots her. Merlin, her posture is fantastic. She looks like she could be sitting on a throne, were it not for the piles of scrolls on the desk around her.

“Psst,” Alice hisses as she approaches. For her credit, Narcissa doesn’t startle, just glances back halfway, eyes shifting and eyebrows arched. Alice is constantly amazed by the mask Narcissa seems to wear, like no real emotion crosses her face. She decides right there and then that she will be the first to get a proper reaction out of Narcissa Black.

Alice brandishes the book, unable to prevent the grin that splits her face ear-to-ear. She’d managed to find a pretty copy at the muggle bookstores off of Diagon Alley that summer and successfully smuggled it out without anyone noticing. Honestly, she was going to keep it for herself back home, but she’d packed it with her with a feeling it would be useful.

Narcissa slowly takes the book, her long and carefully pointed nails against the soft teal foiling. “Alice in Wonderland?” Her voice is even, and her gaze confused when she looks up at Alice. “Isn’t this a Muggle kids’ book?”

Alice nods. “It’s my namesake. My dad named me after her. It’s my favourite book, and I want you to have it.”

She watches Narcissa’s eyes dart across the library, where people are starting to watch, perplexed by the odd combo of wizarding princess Narcissa Black entertaining conversation with plucky Hufflepuff Alice Fortescue. Back to Alice, waiting with hope in her chest.

Narcissa stands suddenly, and when she looks down at Alice from the extra few centimeters she has over her, there is a deliberate coldness in her face. “Don’t ever offer me Mudblood trash again.”

Somebody gasps, and mutters explode. Narcissa is still looking down at Alice, and her eyes shift to an ice blue colour that startles Alice, especially because they seem to soften, as though conveying some sort of message. Then, Narcissa is gathering her things in one fell swoop and striding out of the library, hair swinging behind her while people watch.

Alice, stunned, comes up with two facts. One, Narcissa normally has very dark eyes, and two, Narcissa definitely left with the book.

Which must mean something, right?

~*~

They move quietly and quickly. Emma slides the back window open, helps hoist Alice up and through it, following behind. It’s a bedroom that they land in, and Alice instantly hates it. “It’s so dark,” she hisses to Emma, dusting herself off behind her, and she gives a half-
shrug as though to say, “purebloods are fucking crazy”.

This place already gives her the creeps. The pit in Alice’s stomach grows more and more insistent. This is not good, get out. It almost doesn’t matter right now, to save this unknown informant. What matters is Narcissa.

Alice hates the part of herself that takes over when Narcissa Black is involved, all-consuming and burning, like a flame has caught in her chest. It hurts; a constant burn wound over her heart. The person she becomes is something she hates.

“This is the east wing.” Emma says, peering through the keyhole. “We need to get to the center and down. Follow me.”

“I’ve got you.” Alice responds.

Wands at the ready, they move down the halls. Emma’s shoulders are stiff, jaw tense. Alice’s heart hurts. Every step has the potential to give them away, every breath able to be heard. They need to go, go, go—

“Oh, now isn’t this interesting?”

Alice knows it from Emma’s body seizing to a stop. She hasn’t seen it yet, just behind the corner, but Emma, staring down the hallway, has.

“Emma Vanity, gallivanting around like she owns the place… except, she’s not a little girl anymore. She can’t get away with it now, especially not without her partner.” The voice is low, soft, slightly accented – Slavic, maybe? – with a mocking lilt.

Slowly, Emma’s hand moves behind her back, pointing. Go, it says, go get her. Leave me here.

“Juliette.” Her voice quavers just slightly, and she sounds like a little girl. “Your parents are still looking for you.”

“Hm. That’s cute. I’m afraid they’ll have to keep waiting for answers.”

Emma’s hand gets more frantic. Alice can’t bring herself to move, paralyzed by the decision. Last time, they got split up from Dorcas and Marlene, and Alice spent weeks in total distress, believing they’d died.

“They think you’re dead, buried under a hill or some shit.” Emma’s tone is pointed. “You couldn’t even take an hour out of your time to tell them you’re alive?”

One hour, at the hill where they started the mission. Alice’s heartrate speeds up, if that’s even possible.

“You’re dicked in the brain, you are, Emma Vanity. You don’t seem to understand the point of going ‘off the grid.’” The voice gets closer. Alice, without another thought, slips down the hall, moving as fast as she can, realizing absently that warm tears are running down her cheeks, for reasons she can’t quite explain. She thinks of Emma’s profile in the moonlight and holds it in her memory. It will be fine. They will both get out and they will be okay.

~*~

Alice is more than a little lost.

What time is it? Every corridor looks the same, a labyrinth of stupid ornate furniture and high vaulted ceilings. She hates it here, hates the décor choices especially. Seriously, for such pale people, the Malfoys really seem to like dark Gothic colours.

“I think you’ve made a mistake.”

Her. It’s her. Fuck shit bitch cock sucking—

Alice swallows.

“If you move, I will not hesitate to hurt you.” The wand tip jabs into the small of her back, the vulnerable spot that she once pressed her lips to so sweetly.

“What, are you going to crucio me?” Alice snarls, keeping her voice low still. The wand tip moves back from her body slightly in recoil, and despite it, Alice smiles to herself. Point one, Fortescue.

“You are trespassing. I would be well within my right to do whatever I wish, in the name of self-defence.”

“Oh, but there’s no daddy here to tell you to use an unforgivable! You wouldn’t have the strength without him.”

“You underestimate me, Fortescue. That’ll be your mistake.”

“I know perfectly what you’re capable of, Black. Or, should I say Malfoy? I bet your prissy control-freak of a husband wouldn’t like you doing something without his knowledge. Imagine how emasculated he’ll feel when he finds out you tortured me and left my body out to hang outside the front door. I think his non-existent dick will just shrivel up and die, which is probably merciful. Put that thing out of its misery, already. Is it fun to fuck that tiny little—”

“Shut it.” Narcissa snaps in her ear, breath hot, and Alice’s lips fuse together. That’s when she hears the footsteps. Her eyes widen, and she tries to glance back but Narcissa keeps her head firmly in place. Before she knows what is happening, Narcissa is bodily shoving her into a bedroom, shutting the door behind her while Alice careens onto the floor, eyes screaming at Narcissa to remove the hex.

One beat, two. The footsteps fade away. Narcissa turns back, arms folded, mask firmly in place over her features. Her eyes, dark and narrowed, are unfamiliar, and her pale blonde hair lies pin straight down her shoulders.

“You stupid son of a bitch. What do you think you’re doing?” Deadly calm, the quiet before the storm.

Alice, from the tile, glowers at her.

Narcissa rolls her eyes and casts the spell wordlessly. Finally, words spring back to Alice’s tongue.

“Too scared to hex me?”

“I’m saving your life.” Narcissa snarls, keeping her ear against the door. “Stay quiet.”

“You’ve always been good at that, haven’t you? Quiet, prim, proper Narcissa Black. Imagine how pissed your Dark Lord would be if he learned you were harbouring an enemy in your house.”

Narcissa shoots her a deadly look, as cold and distant as she could possibly be. From those eyes, it is hard to remember the look of kindness she once gave Alice. “Shut the fuck up.” Every syllable is articulated, careful and deadly. Right, Narcissa is technically on the side of the bad guys. But Alice knows her too well, knows she would never quite strike.

“Tell me, is he holding you hostage? Do you have the mark?” Alice makes to grab Narcissa’s forearm, which she snatches away with pure disgust on her face, holding it aloft with the strangest sneer. “I can get you out of here.”

“I don’t want to leave.” Narcissa spits, and in a second, she becomes all Bellatrix, cruel smile and narrowed eyes. Bellatrix, one of Narcissa’s true parents. In her fits of fury, she transforms into either of her sisters, never quite herself. Narcissa spends a lot of time imitating people, and it shows.

~*~

Narcissa Black is holding her face so tenderly in the room Alice never knew existed; a plush room with red and green, and they are falling backwards against the bed while Narcissa kisses her lips, and she tastes like cinnamon, oddly enough. Alice once thought she’d taste like flowers, like the soft scent you get in spring, travelling on the air, floral and gentle and relieving.

Narcissa, somehow, is real: spiced and strong, teeth biting down on Alice’s lower lip, somehow more visceral and intense than Alice could ever have imagined. Certainly, her grip is kind – incredibly perplexing, given who she is, and Alice categorizes this fact away to be scrutinized later – but she inhales Alice’s breath with a desperate ferocity that suggests a need to be loved, a need to be reciprocated. Alice is more than happy to provide.

Before Frank, Alice has never kissed anybody before. That this is a girl, nevermind that the girl is Narcissa Black, feels irrelevant. Why would she be ashamed in this very moment, when she is being held and loved like she is the sun itself? She’s never quite understood the whole hating-gay-people thing, and though this presents an interesting question in her brain, that is one to think about later. Right now, her skin is tingling with the proximity of Narcissa’s body, the undone top button on her blouse, the milk-white skin peeking out, inviting and attracting.

Does it matter how they got here? Alice doesn’t even know where they are; Narcissa had grabbed her hand in the corridor, her fingers soft and well-moisturized (an extreme plus for Alice Fortescue, whose hands are chronically dry and cracked), yanking her across the halls with the promise of privacy, smiling that strange little smile Alice had only seen very rarely, the smile that broke through the mask and seemed to light up Narcissa’s whole face in a way that was very beautiful. Alice feels as though she has been chosen by royalty, by the secretly kind and loving princess who falls in love with a commoner despite her parents’ wants.

“I read your Alice in Wonderland,” Narcissa says breathily into the corner of Alice’s lips, hot and panting. “I prefer you to that other Alice.”

Alice laughs, with whatever control over her body she still has left, and trails her fingers down Narcissa’s bra strap, the fabric foreign and tantalizing to her. “Daffodil.” She murmurs into Narcissa’s shoulder, cheek brushing the soft, unblemished skin. God, she is like a nymph, a perfect creature, and yet in this brief moment of life, Narcissa Black is hers, somehow.

When Narcissa pulls back, her face has shifted. Those ice blue eyes aren’t threatening; they’re real. Her face is softer, less pointed, her hair silvery, like pure strings of light. There is a mole on her cheekbone, and it is finally right, Narcissa’s face, that Alice cannot help bringing her thumb to brush against it, revelling in how correct it looks there, like her mask has been missing a crucial element.

“This is me.” Narcissa’s voice is barely a whisper, but it is soft and vulnerable and scared. Alice laughs, maybe at the sheer shock of it all, and leans in to kiss Narcissa’s mole, feeling her pale eyelashes brushing against her face. Narcissa Black, a real human being, and Alice almost prefers her that way, somehow, because Alice gets to kiss her and fondle her breast and intertwine her fingers with hers, and it is almost revolutionary.

~*~

Alice Longbottom and Narcissa Malfoy stare at each other in the bedroom: Alice as real as she knows how to be but guarded and slightly bitter, and Narcissa hiding behind her mask of imperviousness and cruelty but deathly afraid.

“I can get you out.” Alice repeats, stupidly, because she never knows quite how to act right around Narcissa Black.

Narcissa’s eyes land on her ring finger. “You’re married.”

“So are you.”

“Then I think we’ve made our choices, haven’t we?”

Alice cannot express the shaking in her knees, the want in her fingertips. “Narcissa, please. This isn’t you—”

“What isn’t me? The luxury? The power? The control? Tell me what exactly ‘isn’t me’ in this situation, Alice.”

“You’re not you here.”

Narcissa’s eyes shift, just a millisecond, but Alice sees it. “What makes you think I’m not ‘me’ here?”

Alice gestures rather dickishly at Narcissa’s pale blonde hair, her sharp features, her expressionless black eyes. “Come on, Narcissa, you can’t even let go of the mask in your own house!”

There it is: the rage in her eyes, all Black fury and arrogance barely hidden behind a face that isn’t hers. “Who are you to tell me who I am in my own house?”

“You’re going to die!” Alice screams, despite herself, ignoring the pure panic that arises in Narcissa’s face as she checks frantically at the door. “My side will kill you and they will never know that you don’t really agree with your side because you never switched!”

Narcissa is holding her wand to Alice’s throat, and if she swallows, she can feel it, because Narcissa has always been a part of her, living inside her heart, and so of course they both hate her.

“How do you know I don’t agree with them, Alice Longbottom?”

~*~

They are in the room that doesn’t exist. This is theirs, only theirs; Narcissa says nobody else would be clever enough to get in. Alice is too enraptured today by Narcissa’s earlobe, the silver hoop hanging from the soft flesh, to give any response besides a slurred affirmation.

If she were a less sentimental person, less desperate for love, maybe Alice wouldn’t have picked out a ring, roaming around muggle jewelry shops over the summer until she found the one: silver, thin band, a pointed moonstone in the center. It reminded her of Narcissa’s eyes, the sharpness and the gleam, the shifting colours. Alice is only fifteen, but she thinks if she does not propose to Narcissa Black one day (hopefully when people stop hating gay people), she might die.

Narcissa is in a mood; this has been happening a lot more lately. As far as Alice can weasel out information, it seems Andromeda has become testier at home. This cannot be the whole answer, but Narcissa tends to fly off in a rage when Alice inquires. The only way to really calm her is to suck the anger out, both literally and metaphorically. Alice has gotten quite good at both, if she does say so herself.

Alice watches her shift back, features morphing back into something resembling herself again. Metamorphagi, they call it, the ability to change physical appearance. Narcissa speaks about it only in hushed tones, as though someone is listening. It is shameful, such a power, because it implies an unreliability in the person. Alice gets the sense Narcissa gets enough scrutiny back home without the shape-changing thing.

She isn’t quite sure how to proceed today, which steps are hidden landmines. It’s hard to tell with Narcissa Black. She can be hot and cold, passionate and loving one moment, frigid and cruel the next. For Alice, who has spent years of her life petrified that her very limited group of friends would suddenly abandon her and leave her alone like she was as a kid, this switch is often jarring and absolutely petrifying.

“Are you okay?” Alice asks, teetering on one foot, watching Narcissa slump back into the king-sized bed the room provides them with. Here, away from the prying eyes, Narcissa becomes a regular teenager; sullen and angry, and it is always strange to watch her transformation from something alien to something so familiar.

“My mother has announced my marriage to Corban Yaxley when I graduate,” comes the toneless voice, Narcissa, laying on her back with a scowl.

Alice thinks of the ring suddenly and feels the thought shatter into a million pieces. “Oh.”

“Don’t act like you know what that means, Alice.”

“I’m trying to be supportive.”

“Well, don’t.”

Alice rolls her eyes, glances at the mirror on the vanity across from the bed, staring at the tip of Narcissa’s nose in the reflection. “What do you want me to do, then?”

“Leave.”

Alice swallows down the hurt but doesn’t leave. Gently and slowly, she goes to sit on the edge of the bed, looking down at Narcissa’s face, hesitant fingers reaching to trace the furrowed line of Narcissa’s eyebrows. Slowly, the line starts to ease.

“Alice?”

“Mmhmm?” Alice lays down, facing Narcissa nose to nose, trying to analyze all the flecks of gold in Narcissa’s ice blue eyes.

“I would marry you.”

Alice snorts. “No, you wouldn’t.” Her hand brushes against a strand of Narcissa’s hair, soft like silk.

“You don’t believe me?” Earnest, quiet, almost believable.

Alice tucks the hair behind Narcissa’s ear. “My darling, I would marry you, but you wouldn’t marry me.”

Narcissa’s eyes dart down and away, as though ashamed. “In an ideal world,” this is whispered, halting, as though somebody is listening. “I would marry Lucius Malfoy and live in a big house with my sisters, and you would be there too. We would be happy together, and safe.”

It’s hard to process the unpleasant feeling that burns through Alice’s chest, and she suddenly swings herself up and onto her feet. “I have an essay due for charms.” She mumbles, heart pounding fast and tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She can hear Narcissa protesting, probably confused, behind her, but Alice doesn’t look back.

~*~

“How do I know you don’t agree with them? You haven’t killed or tortured me yet.” Alice stares deep into Narcissa’s eyes, trying to go deeper, trying to find the Narcissa she used to know, that she is certain is still in there somewhere.

Narcissa swallows. Slowly, finally, she lowers her arm, face a mix of complicated emotions. It is fascinating how expressive she can be, when she allows herself to be. Finally, a sneer curves her lips. “So, Longbottom. A blood-traitor and an idiot.”

Smoke rises in Alice’s chest. “Oh, and you’re one to talk. Does Lucius spend most of his time combing his hair to look pretty for his dark lord instead of taking care of his wife?”

Narcissa’s chin tilts up loftily. “I don’t need him to take care of me. He’s busy creating our new world.”

“Right, the new world that’s going to kill your brother-in-law and niece. Got it.”

It is as though all the breath has been sucked from the air. Alice realizes her mistake far too late. But, what else can wound a Black like a mention of a sibling?

“A niece…?” Narcissa whispers, eyes wide and blue and young. There is a sense of wonder that cannot be hidden, a wonder only ever attributed to Bellatrix or Andromeda Black; the two people Narcissa loves most in this world.

Alice nods, thinking quickly to spin this, to keep this Narcissa at the forefront so she won’t slip away again. “A niece. She’s six years old, and a Metamorphmagus. Like her aunt.” Narcissa’s eyes begin to well uncontrollably, and Alice continues. “They live together, far from the wizarding world, and they are happy. Narcissa, if he finds out, he will kill them. Do you understand how useful you are as a Black to them? Imagine him taking Andromeda, killing her husband and daughter – your niece. If you stay here, you will be complicit. Do you understand me?”

Narcissa is still just staring at her, mouth slightly agape, and Alice is praying that this has broken through the ice, that Narcissa Malfoy will become Narcissa Black again and come home. She takes a step forward. “Narcissa, I can protect you if you come back. That is my solemn promise to you. You will be safe, we will find you a place away from all of this. We will fight the war, nobody would pit you against your family. You can see Andromeda again, you can meet your niece.” Another step. “We can be together again. You and me.”

Narcissa’s eyes drift to hers. “And Frank?” She asks, voice frigid.

The spell snaps.

~*~

“Is it true?”

Narcissa lifts her dark eyes up to meet Alice’s in the Charms classroom from her textbook, and then glances at her fellow Slytherins, back to Alice. Alice refuses to back down, to even give an inch. Her hands are balled into fists at her side. The emotion that courses through her body right now is overwhelming and overpowering any amount of love she could hold. Though, maybe it is the love that fuels the anger. It is hard to tell with Narcissa Black what comes first, the love or the hate, the chicken or the egg.

In one deliberate motion, Narcissa moves her hand from the book, propping her elbow up on the desk, and extending her fingers to show the gold band and diamond on her ring finger.

Alice has never been shot before, but this must be how it feels: the pause of ignorance, not realizing the bullet has entered, and then the recoil, the plummet downwards, still watching your attacker.

Narcissa is smiling smugly, but her eyes seem unconvinced, shifting rapidly as though she cannot decide what she is feeling. Alice doesn’t care. Alice doesn’t care about any of it. Alice moves mechanically back to her seat next to Georgia, Alice doesn’t respond when Georgia asks if she’s okay, or when she starts grumbling about those stupid pureblood marriage conventions. Alice just sits and stares, and tries not to feel her entire world collapsing under her feet.

It is after class, as Alice is walking back to her dorm, that a hand snakes around her elbow and yanks. She follows, soul first, body trailing uselessly behind her like a corpse she is lugging around.

“Alice. Alice, please, listen to me.”

Alice lifts her dead eyes to Narcissa’s ice blue ones. Not mine, she thinks, angrily. With the bile in her mouth, glancing around their impossible room, what she says next is strange and alien. “What happened to Corban Yaxley, then?”

Narcissa lets go of Alice’s forearms, stepping back a little. Her eyes dart up, away. “Dromeda left.” The way she says those words, like a little girl, sad and confused, should break Alice’s heart. It doesn’t. She just folds her arms and gives a little nod, to tell Narcissa to get on with her explanation.

“Lucius is… he is the most beneficial option. The Malfoys and the Blacks must be solidified in their alliance—”

“Bullshit. You asked to marry him once Andromeda was out of the way. Huh?” Alice leans in, taunting, provoking. “You saw your chance and you took it, right? You wanted to be Narcissa Malfoy.”

Narcissa’s cheeks flush, but she says nothing. Not denying it.

Alice laughs, and it feels like acid in her throat, like razorblades sawing through the flesh of her body. Narcissa is looking at her, and it is so strange, like those blue eyes and the gleaming ring on her finger should not belong to the same person. “Do you love him?”

Narcissa clenches her jaw shut, and it ticks. Finally, she nods.

“Right.” Alice glances away, anywhere, anywhere she can look that isn’t at Narcissa Black. “You know, this is low, even for you.”

“What is low about this, exactly?” Narcissa leans forward, that glint in her eye. “I am securing my future. I’m giving myself a future. What are you doing, Alice?”

“A future in a world where muggles and muggleborns are exterminated?” Alice hates the blip in Narcissa’s face, as though she is shocked she is being called out. Narcissa, the Black Princess, used to never being challenged. Well, Princess, meet Alice Fortescue. “Have you forgotten that bit, sweetie? Your fiancé wants to kill them, to ‘cleanse’ the wizarding world. Are you just okay with that, securing your future on the backs of innocent lives?”

She can see the visible strain in Narcissa’s jaw, the clenched teeth. “They don’t deserve magic. They aren’t as powerful or as worthy as we are.”

“You don’t believe that.” Something pathetic takes control of Alice’s body, steers her to throw herself onto her knees in front of Narcissa, as though she is begging. “I know that’s what he says, or your family, but you don’t believe that, Narcissa. You’re not like that.”

Narcissa glares down into her face. “They are pathetic scum, and we are well within our rights to eradicate them.”

“Arghhh!” screams Alice, yanking herself up and slamming her hand into the vanity behind her, cracking the mirror. “Merlin, Narcissa, can you hear yourself right now? This isn’t right!”

“If you stand with them, we will kill you too.”

Alice, slowly, looks back. Narcissa Black, defiant, proud, cruel.

“I’ve never used an unforgivable on somebody. Have you?”

The flash of anger that crosses Narcissa’s face, launching her up and into Alice’s face is an image she’ll never forget. Hot breath, crazed blue eyes, snarling mouth. “You are a fool, Alice Fortescue. I hope that you die for those stupid mudbloods. You could be so much smarter than this. You could be on the right side of history.”

Alice shakes her head, deadly focused on Narcissa. “If that side is yours, then I hope we all die before that ever happens.”

A beat. The two stare at each other. Then, Narcissa, tossing her hair into Alice’s face, storms out of the room.

Alice just stays there, with a broken hand and a broken heart.

~*~

Later, she’ll go to Frank, down by the greenhouses. He’ll see her coming and know something is wrong, from the way her hand hangs loosely by her side and her blank, emotionless face. He’ll try and talk to her, but she’ll say nothing, just collapse into his arms and cry bitter, incomprehensible tears. Later, he’ll walk her to the hospital wing and sit with her while Madam Pomfrey mends the bones. Then, when he walks her back to the Hufflepuff dorm, she’ll reach up to kiss him, impossibly, and he’ll gently but firmly shut her down, because she is not okay right now, and she will nod absently, but it will be the start of their future.

Later, Narcissa will go back to the Slytherin dorm, and she’ll look at the family photo of her and her sisters for a while, trying to memorize Andromeda’s face. When that fails, she’ll go to the mirror, and she’ll make her hair pale blonde, like Lucius’, and shift her eyes back to that dark brown colour. She’ll make sure her mask is still intact, nothing of herself remaining: now she is all Rosier, all Black, all Malfoy.

They don’t speak again for seven years.

~*~

Narcissa Malfoy shakes her head, as though she is amused. “No, I don’t want to join your side, Alice Longbottom. You made your choice and so did I. Dromeda—” A pained swallow. “Andromeda made her choice too. It was the wrong choice. I am happy here, and I am satisfied with the future of our cause. Only for old times’ sake will I let you go tonight, but if I ever see you again, I promise I will kill you.”

Alice looks at her, and somehow, she still sees little Narcissa Black in this woman, looking at her from the Potions classroom with curiosity and those shifting eyes. She is giving her an out, and time is running out for the girl, and Alice has a duty.

Hand on the doorknob, Alice pauses. “Make me a promise.”

She could be cruel, merlin knows she has the ability for it. And she owes Alice nothing anymore, their ties are severed. But Narcissa responds, “Anything.”

Alice looks back, trying to remember Narcissa Black, even though this one isn’t hers, cannot be hers; not with the hair or the face or the ring, but the eyes, the reminder of her Narcissa hiding in the eyes, that’s why it is so important she hides them under the mask. “Don’t ever use an Unforgivable against me. Not ever. Not like Sirius and his brother. Promise me that.”

Narcissa swallows a lump in her throat. “I promise.”

Alice completes the image in her head, opens the door, then turns away, shutting it gently behind her.

~*~

She finds the cellar quickly, though time doesn’t appear to be moving right. Alice is on autopilot, moving without thinking, still stuck in the moment, still stuck looking at Narcissa Black. No, Narcissa Malfoy. Narcissa Black doesn’t exist anymore, as far as she is concerned.

The charms to get in are easy. Too easy. Were she not in this state, maybe Alice would question why it is this easy. But she isn’t thinking.

The girl is in a chair, chained there, head lolling. Asian, dark haired, left eye swollen shut and bruised, fresh and dried blood mingling together down her nose and lips, onto her neck and staining her white blouse. She cannot be any older than Alice, probably the same year at Hogwarts, and yet she doesn’t know her at all.

Alice cannot be gentle; urgency is running through her veins now. She shoves the girl once, twice, until her non-busted eye opens weakly, and she stares up at Alice with confusion.

“I’m here to get you out. Can you walk?”

The girl, stunned, slowly moves her gaze down to her legs, then back up. A slight nod.

“Good.” Alice undoes the charms and binding quickly. The girl starts to stand but instantly wobbles, making a strange, strangled noise. Alice catches her, hoists her arm around her shoulders, pulling her out together. Up and through the house they go, as quickly as they can, and Alice is looking around every corner for Narcissa, for Emma, but finds nothing.