The music was blaring. The atmosphere was something narcissa had never experienced before. It was so… alive. She could feel the vibrations of the bass running through the ground. If her mother knew she was here she'd be severely punished and probably married off before she could even raise her wand, but she doesn't know the gentle voice in her head. It sounded suspiciously like Alice. The young gryffindor is not even a few feet ahead of her dancing like there isn't even anyone in the room. She looked beautiful, her eyes alight and cheeks flushed. Meanwhile narcissa looked about as out of place as she could, her hands clammy from the unfamiliar situation. This was not something a proper young lady was taught in etiquette class. It made her sweat and heart beat, her head fussy with anxiety. Still she knew what she came to do and it was not to stare at her muse like a lovesick puppy, no she was an artist, a sc, a poet, she takes things into her hands and creates something new. She has the power in everything she does, her feelings for Alice fortescue was no different.
She closes the few steps between them, others who are dancing huffing in complaint but quickly silenced when they catch glimpse of her icy eyes that glint in determination. She places a delicate hand places onto Alice's arm
"Having fun?"
The reaction is immediate, if narcissa ever doubts her feelings are not reciprocated she will play this moment back and focus on the slight eye widening and blush that fills her vision. Though perhaps she will change how loud Alice's voice is when she shrikes her name in excitement, still it is rather endearing and represents Alice rather well. Much better than those other interactions Narcissa has seen from the loud mouth Gryffindors Alice insists she must associate with because they are her 'friends'. No, Alice has much more grace and decorum, so much that if one of them had been born a man she's almost certain her mother would agree to a marriage contract with only a couple of days of arguments.
Narcissa often imagined if they were allowed to marry, they'd have children and pets and their home would smell of vanilla extract and be comfortably warm in even the most baltic of winters. They would be happy. More happy than her own parents had been. They would have lazy sundays where narcissa would paint her lover in the most exquisite colours. Her head goes dizzy with the longing for the future they could have and her heart aches knowing it is impossible. A part of her hates what she has become. What Alice made her become.
This small girl who loves muggle music and fantasy books who doesn't even know what she wants to do and changes her hair every month. This person is the complete opposite of Narcissa, who is so filled with love and can't help but share it with others, even those that are kind or considerate who probably don't even know her. She is everything the blacks are not and yet everytime Narcissa sees her she gets the intense urge to kiss her. To wrap her up in the finest clothes and whisk her away to her studio and spend hours painting, sculpting the way her hair falls in front of her eyes when she grows it out or how dimples appear every time she smiles and how her teeth are just ever so slightly crooked. Narcissa wants to take everything about her and lock it up for just her to see. Her love because it is love burns like an inferno and every joke and conversation they share is only fuel.
“ Do you like the music?”
Narcissa doesn't even know who is playing.
“More than anything.” A white lie for the joy on her face is a deal she would take everytime. Truthfully she doesn't see the appeal personally; she prefers music that is much calmer. Something that she can put on the record player and not pay too much attention to while she works on something else. But if Alice likes it, so will she.
“No you dont.” Alice says eyes full of mirth and mischief in her voice.
She takes her hand, narcissa prays she cant feel the clamminess, and leans in close on her tiptoes lips close to her ears. Narcissa thinks she may have fainted if not because of the embarrassment she would feel when she inevitably wakes up.
“Let's get out of here, I want to show you something.” oh christ, this may be the end. On her tomb will be engraved with narcissa dead from her blood spontaneously rushing to her cheeks. She must be glowing, she hopes Alice cant tell how much this is affecting her, now that would be embarrassing. Her throat feels suddenly too dry to respond so she settles on a nod which only half looks too enthusiastic. Goddess she's a mess.