Chasing Herself.
Narcissa was mortified, mortified. And charmed all the same.
She had let Andromeda take control. Barely two seconds. Andromeda.
Her sister had been dead one night, and already Narcissa searched for someone else to save her. Narcissa was sick of saving people.
Still, it was unacceptable, and absolutely pathetic.
She was not a child.
She was not a child.
She was only a child to Bella, and that’s because Bella acted like an infant. But- if she was a child to one sister.
Andromeda Bl- Tonks was not her sister. Oh, but she was. And she had been cleansed of the filth she grew so attached to; their lives wiped out. And she wanted her back.
But she did not want to be the one to acquiesce. She yielded to Bella purely when it was easiest, or it benefitted her, which was most often what it was.
Narcissa Malfoy did not want to be owned. But Narcissa wanted to be taken care of, and in her life, the two were concordant, congruous in more ways than one.
Still, to accede to Andromeda, to beseech Andromeda. And for herself, no less. At least if it were for her family, she could imagine it as noble. Andromeda was supposedly beneath her.
Andromeda was beneath her.
A blood-traitor.
And she was beneath Andromeda.
A blood-traitor.
The Dark Lord’s damnation was not intentional. She did not expect, nor ask for his demise. It did not disappoint her greatly, personally she had no care for the man, but the purpose was not mistaken. The reduction of Mudbloods and Muggleborns would be beneficial for the Wizarding community, they would have no need to hide, could use magic freely. It was purely politics, and Narcissa was good at politics.
The Dark Lord’s damnation was partly her fault. It was the right decision, her son coming first, but his defeat was regretful. Then again, if he had survived, she would have taken his place in the graves. It was not supposed to be a betrayal of blood.
Narcissa had no doubts about blood purity. Her views were set, and correct.
But she had lied, and the lie had cost her reputation among the pure blood families. Andromeda would cost her.
She wanted a sister.
She wanted a sister, and hers was gone.
She would have a sister.
She managed to find her polite smile, the false one she fished out for the public.
“My apologies. It was not my intention to-“
“I know.” Now Andromeda was sullen, straight faced and serious. Goodness had left her, as weakness left Narcissa.
It was unfair.
Andromeda Tonks still looked sodding perfect.
Merlin, and she probably looked disheveled. She wanted to charm herself, straighten mussed hair, fix lined eyes, gloss her lips. She refrained only to prevent Andromeda’s inevitable judgement at such a display of vanity.
They had a chance. They had a chance because Andromeda had not let her apologise for something that- while stupid, and guilting-was not entirely her fault.
They had a chance because Andromeda would not apologise or help her.
They had a chance because Andromeda was leaving it up to her.
She had to apologise to get what she wanted. But Andromeda likely wanted it too. After all, Narcissa’s family were still alive.
Mostly.
Mostly alive.
Whereas Andromeda was alone in the Wizarding World.
Narcissa felt alone. It was insensitive, wrong because Lucius was alive and not in Azkaban, because Draco was alive and not in Azkaban.
But Bellatrix was not.
And as self-interested, and misguided as it was, she missed her more.
She was mourning herself as well.
There was a part of her gone, a part that only her sister knew, only she evoked. That made Narcissa get to be Cissa again, feel like a first year exploring Hogwarts with her sisters, banter and joke and blush so red she matched the Gryffindor common room. And it was gone. Forever.
No friend was allowed to treat her as such, no acquaintance allowed to debase her, hurt her and laugh. No one was equivalent.
Who could she feel young with?
Lucius could, occasionally, and the world felt full. He would remind her of quidditch games she won, challenge her to one, but Narcissa learnt her lesson not to win. There was no point in a fun afternoon if the next day was full of his storminess.
Draco was a child. A sweet and weak teenager who cared for her, tried to make her proud, protect her, but not an opponent. He was joy, and pure love, sure, but Narcissa knew there could be more.
Bella was real. And Narcissa could do anything, and it was okay. Any wildness, lack of restraint or respect was met with glee, and confidence met with provocation, daring defiance. A warrior. An adversary deserving of such a title, a child she could be childish with, a wench she could whinge to.
Utterly unique.
Her older sister was the closest she felt like her.
Narcissism at its finest.
No matter. She was gone.
Andromeda was a good big sister before she abandoned it.
She could be good again.
But Andromeda was a hypocrite, a mother who lectured them on the importance of everything, and then partied until she genuinely passed out. Andromeda was the only person she had left.
An ex-sister.
She could call her that.
It betrayed no one. Upset no one.
It was true, inherently.
She wanted an ex-sister.
So, when Andromeda hid her hand, and didn’t let her apologise, Narcissa let herself hope. For the better.