Narcissa III
Narcissa watched her reflection in the mirror, frowning as she fixed her hair back into a hairstyle of proper refinement. It had been years since she had placed it in anything that resembled her youngest sister who was fiddling with her own dark hair. Out of her four siblings, only two of them inherited the stereotypical black-brown hair that seemed to be a common trait amongst their family members. Andy had their grandmother’s hair, more brown than black, and Narcissa had their mothers brilliant blonde.
“Will you be back for Yule, Cissa?” Ursa asked her, tying off her braid with one of her numerous ribbons. Soon, Mother would take her aside and educate her in the proper styles of fashion and she’d begin to look less like a muggle girl who spent her days playing in the muck. Or maybe she’d do it herself.
But her little sister wasn’t there yet. “Of course I will.” She swept in behind Ursa.“It’ll be your first rites, won’t it?”
“You’ll be there, Cissy, won’t you? Sirius says that his mother says that Mother is worried Bella won’t be there and if Bella doesn’t go then-”
Narcissa tapped the top of her head with a finger, watching as her sister blinked. “Bella does what she wants but, even if she doesn’t go, little sister, Andromeda wouldn’t miss the rites. No good pureblood would.”
“Then why wouldn’t she be there?”
She pinched her lips, trying to decide whether or not to tell. Narcissa told most things to Ursa; Bellatrix and Andromeda had each other, Regulus and Sirius had each other and so it went in the pattern that Ursa and Narcissa were each other’s confidants too. This, however, wasn’t either of their business and only her own speculation. She thought about it for a moment before deciding.
“I overheard Bellatrix talking about the Lestranges’.”
“And?” Ursa frowned. “What does that have to do with the rites?”
For a moment, an odd shrewdness flickered in her sister’s eyes. It was gone the following second and out of Narcissa's mind by the next. Her sister was sharp; perhaps not as edged as Bellatrix - although very few were - but much more cutting than either Andy or Narcissa. Narcissa placed her hands on her sister’s chair, leaning over so that her blonde curls brushed against her sisters. “Marriage.”
“Oh.”
Narcissa chewed on the inside of her lip. Every pureblood, woman or man, understood the need for betrothals. They solved blood feuds and kept the more influential and bloodthirster families from hunting each other to extinction. In recent times, to an unobserving eye, there wasn’t a need for them anymore. But this was peacetime where there was no dark lord or loud squabbling purebloods, no muggle hunts and no clear enemy that would cause any sort of warfare.
Bellatrix would have known this as the eldest Black of their generation and it was likely that Sirius would know, too, in the impending future. The reason that Narcissa knew was because of her expected betrothal to-
“Do I have a betrothal, Cissa?”
Ah. She should’ve expected this. The easiest course of action was to deflect until their mother arrived but… what was the harm?
“Not… officially.” She said delicately. “I think that the Crouches have a son your age, maybe the Bones’ if they shape up. Oh, I heard the Longbottoms have a son with Selwyn blood. Or, if Uncle Orion asks, Sirius.”
“But…” Ursa wrinkled her nose. “He’s my cousin .”
Narcissa shrugged. “Walburga was Uncle Orion’s second cousin. I think that they’d rather have a second cousin marriage than a first…. but there doesn’t seem to be any other girls of marriageable age, I think.”
“You think ?”
“None who are suitable.”
Until her debut at fifteen, Narcissa wasn’t officially on knowledgable terms about the pureblood world. Of course, those with fixed betrothals met their new in-laws as children through playdates and the like but that was uncommon unless there was a power struggle that needed to be resolved. Now, the board had changed and her mother had been teaching her the bare bones that she would need to know to survive, never mind thrive.
It would go smooth sailing when she turned fifteen and everything fell into place; Bellatrix would marry the Lestranges and cement the alliance with them permanently when she had a child or two. Andy would inherit the mantle of Lady Rosier from their mother and probably marry their second cousin, Evan, to unite the claims. There was a certain age between them that had their mother grating her teeth but it was better that there be no contenders to the title than avoiding marrying someone a few years younger because you were uncomfortable.
And then, when she came of age, Narcissa would marry to keep the bargain struck between her father and the Lord Malfoy and bring him and his vassal houses into the fold-
“But what if I don’t want to, Cissa?” Her dark eyes blinked up. “Why can’t I marry who I want?”
She avoided hurtling forward last second by trained reflexes as a memory came to the forefront of her mind, burrowing past her defences and shrieking through her skull-
“-stand! Why can’t I marry who I want? Why does everything-”
“-don’t you like the Lestrange boy?”
“-like Rod but I don’t want to marry him! Why can’t Andy do it?”
“What?”
“-she’s the second daughter. It’d be an insult to such a carefully cultivated-”
“I don’t care if it’s an-”
Narcissa took a deep breath and felt the overwhelmed occlumency walls in her mind heave almost painfully before crushing the worm that had sneaked by and straight into a trap of its own making. If it had been a real worm, it would have squished in a way that sent her stomach churning but when her reflection in the mirror relaxed, her face a bland stare of neutrality, it swooped with delighted surprise instead. It worked, she realised, it worked.
“Cissy?”
And like that, the crushing delight that had her all but floating was trapped away by the same thing that brought it to fruition. Crushed and squashed into a box and sorted carefully into the numerous, shaky rows of shelves that held her (own) memories.
“Yes?”
Dark eyes narrowed on her reflection. “What’s wrong?”
Narcissa shook her head with a light smile, brushing off her sister with ease. “Nothing. I should check on mother, she should be getting here soon-”
Just as she turned away from her sister and her confused eyes, her mother bustled in with none of the grace she had steadily hammered into Narcissa. Had she been like this when Bella went? Narcissa tried to recall. The memories from then were a blur of excitement and enthusiasm and the vague red of the train as it left the station with the expectation that one day, she would be boarding that train.
One day, when Narcissa was feeling and bold and Bellatrix was still riding the high of the Yule rites and bragging rights both, Narcissa had asked her what it was like. For once, her sharp sister had deigned to answer her. “Full of mudbloods and blood traitors, as expected,” Bella had begun, which had dampened her vigour a bit. “But once you get past the filth… well…”
And for the first time in her admittedly short life, Narcissa had caught her sister speechless. Bellatrix had quickly covered her trail and began boasting of the grandeurs of Slytherin and how, when she was older, she was going to purge the school from filth and make it habitable for a proper purebloods education. But her sister was prone to going on rants ever since…well, that day when they had heard the dreaded whisper Dark Lord and recruiting in the same breath.
As if a would-be Dark Lord cared about a child’s ramblings, if there was going to be one.
“Are you both ready?” Their mother tugged absently on Ursa’s braid as she passed. Unhappy with the callous muggle style but unwilling and unable to do much beyond expressing her displeasure. They weren’t running late - and besides, a witch of House Black is never late, everybody else is merely early - but it would be in poor form and to arrive with the bloodtraitors and half-bloods and their ilk. Worst of all to arrive at the same time as some muggle-born and their pitiful muggle parents.
She hoisted the strap of the carry-on bag over her shoulder as her trunk lifted into the air, surely the work of some inconspicuous house-elf. Their mother wouldn’t dare submit herself to ‘menial work’. “Yes, mother.”
“Good.” Narcissa watched with faint amusement as Ursa scowled at their mother who was fussing over the last details of her dress. “Your sisters are waiting with your father, who has deigned to join us this year. We shall join them when I have-”
Her sister hissed not unlike a cat as a jewelled clip was shoved into her head of curls, keeping flighty bits of hair away from her eyes without assistance. Their mother smiled triumphantly. “-finished with your sister. Come along now.”
They followed after their mother like chicks falling in line, although Ursa huffed and puffed about the clip in her hair, and arrived at the sitting room in a timely fashion. Their father was lounging on the armchair placed strategically in the centre of the room with a hat waiting in his lap whilst her two sisters shifted anxiously beside each other. Narcissa frowned; usually, they gossiped and giggled and planned vengeance on whomever (or whatever, in one particular case) displeased them the previous year. Silence was not something she was accustomed to when involving the duo.
“Five minutes and six seconds.” Said their father dryly, skillfully ignoring the unrelenting glare that he received from their mother. “I suppose you win, then.”
Her mother sniffed. “Of course. Do you expect anything else?”
He merely raised an eyebrow.
A drawn-out silence was broken by the clattering of statues that yelped soundlessly - statues, unlike paintings, could not speak. Their paint, however, could move - and standing beside where they had previously stood was Ursa, who looked blankly down at them. “Oops.”
The silence halted as her mother grabbed her sister's arm. “Troublesome girl.” She muttered and making straight for the fireplace. Narcissa followed behind dutifully, feeling rather grateful. They would have continued on their staring contest until they were forced to arrive late and claim everybody else was early and whilst it was fun to flaunt their prestige, it was still rather embarrassing.
The flames sparkled a vibrant green, dancing with care nor notion of the argument that had been narrowly avoided. A pinch of green powder was placed in her hand a little too harshly, but her mother was too enraptured in her stewing anger to notice. Narcissa refused to sigh but she wished, if only for a moment, that their parents would act properly even in face of their unspoken disputes. Ursa gave her a little wave as she disappeared in a whirl of green and soot.
As she stepped into the fireplace, she could see her sisters staring back at her yet before she could note anything beyond their displeasure lining their faces, the green flames clambered up her skirt and carried her away.
Narcissa stepped out to a platform of red and smoke and empty space. There were few people there beyond the typical purebloods, those worthy of attending school as Bella would say. Quite honestly, Narcissa didn't care about those deemed unfit and impure but she would rather appreciate it if they stayed far, far away from her and hers. Ursa took her hand and although her mother gave her a stern look for it, she didn't let go.
It hit her that Narcissa was about to leave her little sister, the one who she found comfort in the most and the one who - she hoped - found an equal amount of comfort in her. The silence in a world that was louder than it had any right to be. If she was a lesser witch, she might have cried a bit. If Ursa was a lesser witch, she might have too. Alas, it was not to be.
“You’ll write to me lots, won’t you, Cissy?” Ursa tugged on her sleeve, dark eyes wide and innocent. “And when you come home at Yule, we’ll do the rites together?”
She could remember her own experience at her first rites; utterly exhilarating and terrifying in the same breath. How one wrong move could spell disaster, how it almost had and how the air seemed to hold its breath as the world changed course, heading for something brighter and warmer and new. “Of course,” Narcissa promised.
“And you’ll not tell Bella that it was me who set her alarm three hours early?”
“Wha- of course.”
“And you’ll tell me all about Slytherin?”
“Obviously.”
“And-”
“Ursa.” She hesitated for a moment. Bellatrix had just come through the green flames and that meant that she was running out of time before the customary goodbyes were exchanged and she was sent on her way, to claim a good seat and flaunt her powerbase before anybody else could. Hurriedly, Narcissa hugged Ursa tightly. “I won’t forget about you. And if you’re really that worried, I’ll write to you twice a day. Thrice, maybe.”
She could feel her sister stiffen in her arms and then- “If you send me any more than one, I’ll send you back ashes. That’s too much to read.”
Narcissa smiled and pulled back, eventually as the signature fwoosh of the Floo sounded for a third and final time. She could see Bellatrix kissing their mother’s cheeks, albeit reluctantly, and readied herself to say goodbye. She felt sick with anticipation but a combination of minor occlumency and her mothers chiding words stilled her stomach and calmed the roiling waves of impatience. When Narcissa took a step forward to say goodbye to her father, Ursa’s hand fell off with it and she felt relieved when she didn't latch back on.
Her father gave her an incline of his head, his hand resting on her shoulder. “Be safe.”
“I will.” On what to be safe about went unspoken, but she saw the glimmer of a warning in his silver eyes. Keep your secrets safe, he said without words, keep your mind safe.
Her father was complicated like that; outwardly cold, stern and callous. She had heard rumours that he hadn’t always been like that and once, had been a kinder and more flexible man. What had turned him? Had it been Rigel, who seemed to be a shadow forgotten and cast aside, or had it been the infidelities her mother shouted about that he had inflicted? (She wasn’t sure what they were, per se, but they mustn’t have been nice.)
Her mother swooped in, pressing a kiss to the temple of her head. Her eyes were barely watery, but she made a show of wiping away invisible tears anyway. “Be good, dear.” She said, fixing back her hair. “Write to Ursa. She’ll be lonely without you.”
Lonely? Maybe, there were those muggles down the road she liked to talk to, even if Narcissa didn’t approve. She was still a girl, after all. Bored? Even more so. And boredom played friends with nobody, least of all her sister.
But instead of saying those things, because it wouldn’t be proper, and because perhaps Narcissa wanted to see what mischief her sister would get up to, she settled for nodding. “Of course, mother.”
Her mother patted her on the shoulder, the opposite one her father had, and gave her a proud smile. Warm bubbled joyfully in her stomach, flooding her system and she turned for the train, following the fading forms of her sisters. “I will be expected a letter about your sorting, Narcissa, do you understand?”
Truthfully, Narcissa could barely hear her mother as she approached the train, red and gleaming like a beacon in the night. “Of course, mother!” She threw over her shoulder, feeling a bit impolite. It was ungraceful for a lady of House Black to act in such a manner but when the start of her life stood in front of her, she thought that mother would let away with one infraction.
As she stood, the day still early and the birds chirping outside the station, Narcissa smiled and stepped onto the Hogwarts Express with her trunk following behind her.