Narcissa V
There was something about Hogwarts that enchanted everybody who stepped through the doors and petrified them as they left. Whilst she was sure that somewhere along the line somebody had tried to take it apart from its very foundations to get more than a shallow glimpse into its inner workings, nobody had yet to put a name to its abnormal effect. There was a myriad of theories and a veritable mountain of generalised thoughts, but most people agreed on one thing: the only people who’d ever know Hogwarts were the people who made it.
It was times like this when Narcissa wanted to shake their skeletons, pry the answers from their bony hands and unravel the secrets of the castle from their stained skulls. It infuriated her, their existence, or perhaps just her inability to prevent its tampering. Those old secrets were old; so ancient that they likely didn't know up from down, anymore. Why did they have any right to meddle in her affairs?
She’d followed the subtle nudging, albeit grudgingly. She didn’t want it to lead here, of all places.
“-and I’m thinking, Hogsmede?”
Her sister blinked at the arrogant, disgusting boy who’d presumed to approach a daughter of the House of Black and Rosier without so much as a proper greeting. “I- can’t. Sorry, Ted.”
Sorry. Narcissa fumed. Her mother had taught her apologies were for the weak, the defeated, the soft: to be a Black was to be forged in the strongest steel, and to be a Rosier was to be the most cunning snake in the grass. Sorry belonged in the mouths of the lesser, the untested and the unworthy. Her sister had no reason to say it, least of all to a mudblood.
She watched as the Hufflepuff boy disentangled from her sister, her very veins lighting with righteous fury as her sister stepped back into the shadow cast by late evening.
Narcissa didn’t approach, instead letting her sister come to her. More than once, she had been treated to the wrong end of a wand for startling her too badly. That lesson had only needed to be taught once, she grimaced, the patch of discoloured skin prickling beneath her robe.
When Andy stepped around the corner, one foot prepped to step down the staircase, Narcissa cleared her throat.
Very vaguely, from a time when Narcissa was still too young to do more than stand on her toes and peek at her younger sister in the crib, she can remember how her father was ambushed by her mother at the most arbitrary moments. There had been an ebbing peace between them then. Those old memories didn’t matter now - what did was the bare shock on her sister’s face, fingers curling slightly into the palms of her hands as she froze mid-step and mimicked her father’s deer in the casting range. Like an old picture, if someone had stopped to capture the moment, way back when.
Her older sister had their mother’s soft face, but all of her father's penchant for kindness. The quiet personality of him - and all of its ensuing softness - wound around a beautiful face. Unlike Narcissa, who had her mother’s sharp determination; Bellatrix, who had the inheritable Black erratic cruelty; Ursa, who had the tenacious singularity of their maternal family.
No wonder she’d attracted such attention when compared to all of them. She’d seem soft, a gentle flower strangled in a patch of terrible thorns. An isolated accident from a family so-
“Hello, sister.” Narcissa greeted her quietly. And Andromeda shrunk into herself, before swelling; never bow in your shame, her mother’s words whispered between them.
“It’s not what you think, Cissa,” Andromeda told her. Eyes wide, dark and spacious pools of dovetail, twitching with overt alarm - their mother’s eyes, their father’s eyes, merging dark brown and silver-grey in a peculiar phenomenon. “I swear, it’s not- how much did you see?”
Narcissa frowned. The want that existed within her wanted to tear apart the fragile memories of classes and menial chatter to the rich core of secrets that surely lay within twisted in her chest. “I don’t know. How much did I see?”
“Me and Ted - we study together. He’s smart, for a muggle-born, and nobody else understands the course material as he does. He’s just not like us, yes? That’s it, that’s all. He doesn’t understand and, anyway, it’s only until our OWL’s are over and then-” A deep breath rattled her sister’s chest, torn out of her. “You believe me, Cissy, don’t you? You won’t tell Bella?”
Narcissa narrowed her eyes. “Just Bella?”
How easy it’d be, she thought, to walk away now and spill her sisters’ secrets. Narcissa pondered, for a brief, insane moment, what would happen: her mother would rage, her plans for her children’s inheritance interrupted by their own foolishness and her eldest sister would hunt down the boy - Ted, how common - before turning her wand on her sister. Her father mightn’t care - or he might, on the right day.
Andromeda stilled. Narcissa almost didn’t see her move.
The wall came up fast behind her back, cold and hard and demanding. The breath escaped her lungs faster than she could keep it there; surprise, perhaps, or just the sudden impact of a stone surface. Vicious pinpricks of pain pulsated where her sister’s fingers dug into her arms like a hippogriff's claws. Her face was so close it was an effort to avoid eye contact, to keep the trappings of her mind away from her own even as the lure of it grew stronger, in spite of herself.
At her wrist, her wand sparked uselessly.
“Listen, sister. I love you as you love me,” her voice was a strained hiss, “but you doubt me. I understand that I am not cold like you or cruel like Bellatrix, but I am every inch a Black as you are. Just because I do not wear my cunning like a badge of honour does not mean it doesn't exist. I am Slytherin for a reason - and I was before you, don’t forget.”
Narcissa looked up at her sister balefully. “It doesn’t matter if Mother-”
“Mother does not decide whom I marry.”
“Well, then Father-”
“I am a Black, but I am also a Rosier.” Andromeda was so close that her breath warmed her face. It masked the unkind twist that had set upon her face. “Grandfather decides my match, as was decreed upon our parents' marriage. Tell our mother, if you must. Tell our father, too. They have their own delusions of power over me, but that’s all they are.”
-sier shall appoint an heir(ess), who will be married to a person of Augustus Rosier’s choosing; based on recommendations of the parental figures or the current head of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. Beige, bland parchment with the faint shimmer of magical parchment, flickered in her mind's eye. Two hands drifted over the writing, each from a different set; one, with long, pale fingers and another with slightly tanned, stubbier ones.
“But Bella knows, doesn’t she?” Narcissa breathed. Her sister didn’t so much as falter.
“Oh, she knows.” Her eyes glinted with some unspoken emotion, so fierce that it tasted sour upon Narcissa’s tongue. “As much as she’ll care if she finds out. Our sister has been thrown into a marriage of convenience, tossed aside like a cow at an auction for nothing more than a pesky bag of galleons - if I spin it right, no matter what you do or say, she’ll help me pack my bags.”
Narcissa scowled. “You honestly think Bellatrix would help you run away with a mud-”
A hand caught her jaw in a tight grip, perfectly-manicured nails digging half-moons into the pale skin of her face. Narcissa jerked, glaring up at her elder sister with all the fury she could muster-
“-why not?”
“because if my family finds out-” andromeda sighed. “well, it won’t be good, ted.”
pale blue eyes stared out from a fringe of fair hair: soft eyes, loving eyes, concerned eyes. “okay, dromeda. I’ll not say a word if you think that’s best.”
no doubt, no fear, no hesitation, andromeda stared with unabashed awe. she was just andromeda to this boy, and not the conclusion of generations of delicate breeding-
Her stomach swooped as Andromeda tore her gaze from her own. The sudden drop-out of memories continued to surprise her, even years after she’d mastered her innate abilities, and left her rattled as the mental fog cleared. Behind the whirl of the world coming into focus once more, her sister’s fear-stricken face stared down at her with distinct clarity. Like a memory she’d replayed over and over again, she already knew what was going to happen.
“Don’t ever do that again.” Andromeda snapped. When Narcissa didn’t speak, she shook her lightly. The back of her head struck the stone wall. Beneath her blouse, half-moon gouges became dark bruises. “Do you understand me, Narcissa?”
“Fine,” Narcissa sneered, yanking at the hold her sister had on her. The iron grip didn’t budge. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Because if you do, I’ll make your life a living hell. Every little secret, every little imperfection, every act of defiance - Mother will know it all. And she’s not above you, little sister.” Her brown-grey eyes seemed to glow in the dark gloom of Hogwarts’ halls.
Why did you lead me here? She wanted to ask - no, pry, demand, steal the answers from the old, ancient being. What was the point of this? Wave in my face my sister’s bad taste in company?
Anyone who had seen her when she was still young enough that it could be classed as ignorance would have seen it coming a mile away. Narcissa should have seen it coming a mile away if only she’d looked harder; Andromeda’s reluctance to exclude those less deserving, her outspoken acceptance of lowly half-bloods, her habit of disappearing into thin air and being seen by nobody of worthy standing for hours upon hours on end. The pieces were there if one had the will to make them fit.
She wondered if Bellatrix did know. No, Narcissa decided swiftly. If Bellatrix was displeased - and she would be, for certain - the whole of the world would hear about it in some sort of fashion: be it by wand tip or newspaper or gossip, her eldest sister’s anger was as encompassing as it was emphatic.
Besides, the two had always had a large blindspot, when it came to each other. Her mother had remarked on it half-a-dozen times when Narcissa was still young enough to watch her organise the estate and plan various soirees. Andromeda can hardly lie through her teeth as well as she does to anyone who isn’t Bellatrix, she’d said, and Bellatrix could hardly scare the socks off somebody who’d been around to watch her light her hair on fire.
“I won’t say anything,” Narcissa said. Andromeda’s grip on her arms loosened, letting her slump against the wall without fear of being shaken about like a babe would shake a doll. “If you stop seeing him.”
“This isn’t up for discussion, Cissa.”
“Well, it is now.”
Andromeda cocked her head. Her hair moved with it, sloping down her shoulder: more soft brown waves than the rapturous black-brown curls Bellatrix and Ursa shared. Beneath the veneer of deceitful softness, Narcissa had learned very suddenly, that something sharper lurked within. “That’s all? No running to Mother’s skirts or slipping something to Bellatrix when my back is turned?”
“That’s all.”
They’d been filled with more tales than Narcissa can remember of good purebloods who’d turned against the truth. As was proper, they’d been banished from their family lest they bring the taint in with them or mingle their ruined offspring with worthy blood. The Black’s had only ever been cursed with failure of the blood - squibs, quickly sorted out with proper schooling for their folk and sent away, lest they bring shame to the whole house.
Narcissa, despite all her flaws, loved her sisters. It would be easier to turn them back toward the light with a select few than reinstate them as a member of the House, if she decided to bring news of her sister’s… intermingling to either House Head. Had her sister bargained on that, or had she looked beyond the obvious in desperation?
If she had, she was more cunning than she thought. Most Houses, her mother had taught her, didn’t rely on such things as love and devotion unless it was a magically-bound spouse. The Black’s had prided themselves on publicly being the few exceptions of inter-house squabbling. On a close scale, perhaps it was. On a larger one, well, her father wouldn’t hesitate to turn out her uncle’s sister or his uncle’s offspring if it meant making a better life for his children - or she hoped so, anyway.
Andromeda stared at her, searching for something Narcissa didn’t care to identify. An unrestrained shiver ran down her back.
“Okay.” Andromeda pronounced and let go. Narcissa barely registered it, watching as her sister fell back into the golden light of Hogwarts halls with easy grace. In the gentle hour, she looked far from deceptive. “Good evening, then, Narcissa.”
Narcissa watched her sister disappear down the steps, brown hair swishing behind her. Even in her dishonour, there remained a prideful set to her shoulders, chin held high and proud as she stalked away. All of them did it, though three of them never realised - a habit drilled into them so swiftly that it mixed in with forgettable childhood experiences. Even Ursa, who was still exceedingly unruly, though Narcissa didn’t think she was aware of it.
Phantom fingers yet prodded at her arms. Rubbing the area succeeded in soothing the feeling. They dissipated like the morning mist, nothing into nothing, but the sweaty sensation of clammy palms and the thudding, thumping ache remained. The silk of the shirt irritated her skin, though it was as soft as clouds that morning, and she frowned.
On her way back to the dorms - and she hurried because it had been dangerously late when she left. Luck had had it that Andromeda had been meeting up somewhere close, but Narcissa didn’t know how long their confrontation had lasted - the pathway was graciously clear. Most younger years who might strike up a conversation with her had slipped away and up to bed; older years didn’t care much for a young Black girl when there were two older in residence.
She greeted a few of Bellatrix’s more casual acquaintances who had fallen out of favour with her sister. They grinned and tittered and simpered, seeking to regain status via an easy route. Without blinking, Narcissa effortlessly cast them upon the stressed sixth-year prefect with a whisper of a supposed birthday party that weekend and slid past when their heads were turned.
The scolding echoed upwards through the girl’s stairwell, and Narcissa stifled a giggle into her palm, happy something was going well tonight.
Most of her dormmates were asleep when she started going through her nighttime routine. Part of her was so exhausted that she regretted not falling into bed immediately, but one could hardly stop when a comb was mid-way through your hair, could you?
Before she fell into bed, the glint of parchment in the candlelight stirred her from her approaching slumber.
Don’t forget. Or do, rather.
-A
Narcissa watched with heavy eyes and a steeled heart as it went up in smoking flames, her wand securely tucked away beneath her pillow. You will forget, Narcissa decided, not me.