In the afternoon the flowers came, a cart full of little gold ones with their petals shining like coins. Cissy pressed her nose up against the cold glass of the window, watching the bustle of the people down below as they swapped handshakes and smiles. 

“I don’t know why we’re not allowed to go to the party.” Bella sulked, pacing, “It’s our own house.”

There was nobody to look after them. Mother was having the house elf alter her dress which was far-too-long and Father was running around making sure not to forget things for the grown-ups' party. Annie sat at the foot of the bed reading a comic called ‘The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle’.

“None of the other children are going to be there,” Cissy said, though she wished it wasn’t true. She wanted to be part of the grown-ups too, with a wonderful pearl dress and her hair resting on top of her head like an elaborate wedding cake. How pretty she would be! Longingly, Cissy ran to the stairs and peered down at the winking glasses and twinkling plates being put around the tables. More and more things kept on coming, just out of reach. “Mother will be so cross if we go down.”

“I don't care!” Bella grumbled at the same time that Annie said, “We can have our own tea party, can’t we?”

Cissy looked back at her two big sisters. Annie was ten and already sounded more grown-up than twelve year old Bella, but Bella was the prettiest and Father’s favourite. She looked like Father, too, with big dark curls and eyes that gleamed like the polished stones Father kept on his desk. So did Annie. Only Cissy took after Mother, with her cloud of gold-spun hair and wide blue eyes. 

“Really?” said Cissy, “Can we invite Curse-Breaker Teddy Bear too?”

“And Monkey the Mudblood!”

“What about Goose the Blood Traitor?” Annie was beaming from ear to ear, already prancing about trying to find a ribbon to put in her curls.

Cissy didn’t like Monkey and Goose. They weren’t nearly distinguished enough, and Monkey was missing an arm from that time Father was demonstrating what they could do to Mudbloods who didn’t listen. How was Monkey going to hold his teacup? “They’ll have to sit far away, in exile .” she decided, turning her nose up in an imitation of Mother’s haughtiness. “Curse-Breaker Teddy Bear gets the best seat.”

“You sound just like Mother!” Annie grinned, “Goose can have a duel with Teddy Bear after the tea party, how about that?”

In the corner, draped across the arm of a little princess couch, Bella tossed her head back and scoffed. There was a glint in her eyes that suggested she was planning something naughty. Cissy always noticed these things, and more – she was always curious, always tactile, watching everything, wanting to touch everything.

“You know,” Bella smirked, “I can show you some real magic now. I’ve been at Hogwarts for a year and a half.”

“You’re not allowed to do magic outside of school,” Cissy said, “You’ll be in big trouble.”

“Once won’t hurt,” Bella countered breezily. “Father won’t find out, and besides…” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He loves me best.”

After tea-time, Cissy went up to the bathroom to splash cool water onto her face, then wiped her dripping brow with a cloth before clambering quietly onto the bed besides her sisters. Her protests about Bella’s offer had only been half-hearted, really… She wanted to see what Bella could do, and she wanted to see what was awaiting her in that dark, mysterious castle that people always liked to talk about.

It was late now. The sky was darkening, even as she watched, to a deep indigo. She could hear the laughter from downstairs, and someone was playing on the piano. How she wished to go down there and watch all the people talking – but Cissy wouldn’t make a silly of herself like that. It would hardly be proper.

Their room was pitch-black except for the little night-light in its saucer on the wall. Cissy wasn’t tired. 

“Are you asleep, Annie?”

Annie stirred beside her. “No. Are you?”

“No.” Cissy whispered. “Bella? Are you asleep?”

Annie twisted around to kick Bella lightly in the shins.

“No, Merlin. Don’t kick me like that, Annie, or I’ll tell Father.”

“You can’t. He said we’re not to leave this room.” said Annie, who seemed to have a similar idea, “Are you going to show us your magic or not, Bella? You promised.”

Bella shot up from bed, the sleep gone from her bleary eyes. Cissy watched her sister rummage around in the trunk at the darkest corner of their room, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder against Annie. Soon, Bella had retrieved her wand from its case inside the trunk and was tugging them all out into the hallway. It was so bright out here; Cissy’s eyes hurt. 

“What are you doing?” She hissed, “It’ll be so obvious – Mother will see.”

“Don’t be such a priss, Cissy.” Bella huffed, “Trust me. I’m smarter than you, remember?”

Bella could be so cruel, sometimes. The words stung, but Cissy held onto Annie’s hand and followed her eldest sister down the twisting staircase that led to the back gardens.

It was the first time that Cissy had ever been out so late. Everything looked different – the manor looked smaller and the garden sprawled far bigger than it ever had before. The stars were little glittering specks in the sky and the moon smiled down at them with its small, shy mouth.

“Look at that stick on the ground. There.” Bella demanded, staring at it with her concentrated gaze, “I can make it fly.”

Cissy watched in hollow wonder, still clutching tightly onto Annie’s clammy palm.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” pronounced Bella, and the stick flew from the ground to hit the silver birch tree. She laughed very shrilly, and laughed some more, “Ah-h-h! Just think, Cissy! If only that was a Mudblood instead.”

Cissy cracked a smile, then laughed, too – she always did the same as other people. But Annie stayed rooted in place and crossed her arms, “Is that all, Bella? It wasn’t very exciting. Did you learn nothing else in Hogwarts?”

Bella swiveled around to face Annie, furious. “Of course I did!” She was red in the face, “Lots more. But I’m not going to show you. You don’t deserve it.” A pause. Bella smiled cruelly, jutting her chin out, “You wouldn't get it anyway.”

Cissy was almost impressed. Bella always had a way of twisting the conversation so that the blame turned outward. But Annie was seething. She stood toe-to-toe with Bella, her hair just as wild as Bella’s, and Cissy thought they looked like two shadows under the flickering lights of the window. How she despised her sisters' rows - they always made her feel so small and bug-like, like the world could swallow her whole.

A sound from the house broke the standoff. Footsteps on the gravel path, followed by Mother’s unmistakable voice. “Such a pleasure to see you, Walburga. Do give my regards to Orion...”

Instinctually, Bella slapped a hand over Cissy’s mouth and closed her fingers around Annie’s wrist, dragging them down into the thicket. Cissy was suddenly quite, quite still, with wide open eyes and knees pressed together. She could feel her heart thumping against the confines of her ribcage, and she was sure Mother could hear it from all the way on the portico.

“I do hope little Sirius and Regulus are well. You know it is so much harder with boys. Bellatrix and Andromeda are difficult enough to manage.” Mother’s slim figure swanned down the steps out into the garden, “Oh, yes, goodnight, dear. Goodnight, have a good night! You must stay longer next time, I have missed you so…”

There was a loud pop of apparition, and then finally – finally – Mother was walking slowly back to the house, where the music and countless other guests awaited her. 

Cissy stayed crouched down behind the bush with Annie and Bella beside her until the door clicked closed once more. Only then did Bella loosen her grip.

“You’re lucky,” Bella grinned, sharp and dangerous, her previous fight with Annie forgotten. “If she’d caught us, we’d all be dead.”

The walk back to their room had never felt longer to Cissy. By the time they arrived, she was staggering like a bird fallen out of her nest. It was so late. The clock said eleven p.m. Cissy dropped onto the pillows and rolled over.

“That was fun.” Annie huffed, her dark curls splayed out on the blanket. Bella kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the bed like a dead weight. The sheets were so nice and cool beneath them.

Cissy laid there staring at the walls, and the little paintings of fairybells and white picotees on them, waiting for the room to stop spinning. “You’re both mad,” she decided without conviction.

The bed creaked as Bella kicked her feet up, stretching out with a dramatic sigh. “Mad? We’re just adventurous, Cissy. Don’t you want to do more? See more? It’s boring up here in this little room. Always so proper .” She kicked the blanket off her legs and swung her feet in the air like a pair of scissors, already restless again. 

Cissy didn't think it was boring up here. Every little girl had a duty to fulfil, after all, and rules to follow. There was comfort in that — a quiet, steady kind of certainty. It was just the way of the world. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the stars shimmered like pinpricks in dark fabric. The cool sheets beneath her, the underwater humming of laughter and music below — it all made her feel so small, like a single speck in a big whirling world.

“No, Bella. I think I want to sleep now,” she said softly. She shut her eyes, but the stars stayed like glimmering rings on the dark, innerside of her eyelids. She liked these optical replicas - they were like little ghosts in natural colours, she thought. Bella was saying something clever, but Cissy wasn't listening anymore. Oh, how tired she was... Did the stars ever blow about...?

Dawn arrived sharp and chill with pale clouds on a faint pink sky and drops of dew on every blade of grass in the garden. In the distance, the stars were beginning to dissolve like little bubbles in the sky. How quickly the winter had flitted past their eyes… In just a week Bella would be returning to Hogwarts to finish off her second year. Cissy turned over and raised herself on one elbow to blink her sleep away before swinging gingerly out of bed. Her sisters were still asleep, curled up against each other – so similar they could be twins.

“Grimble!” Cissy called, and the elf popped dutifully into existence before her. “Run me a bath, now, quickly.”

“Yes, Miss Cissy.”

“It’s Miss Narcissa.” she corrected, “Cissy’s for my sisters only.”

The elf bowed its sorry little head and Cissy softened marginally, “Alright, off you go.”

The water was so warm against her skin. She could just about fall asleep in here, but she knew she mustn’t dawdle. It was already seven, and there was so much for her to do – Cissy hopped out of the bath on one leg and wrapped a towel around herself, padding back out into the bedroom to see Annie and Bella standing by the windows rattling the blinds up to the very top.

“Hullo.” she said, “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Outside, whistling birds flicked from branch to branch, singing a song. The sun was already up – it was such beautiful weather.

“No, Cissy.” Annie answered, sitting down in front of the looking glass to braid her soft brown hair, “It’s Monday, isn’t it? We’ve got the tutor coming today, haven’t we?”

Every Monday there was a tutor who came by to teach them things; today was maths and finance, but next week they were going to be taught how to host a dinner. Bella was already grown and could spend the day doing whatever holiday task was assigned to her from Hogwarts – but Cissy knew Bella wasn’t going to spend the whole day doing that. Her eldest sister was extraordinarily clever and always seemed to be able to do things without much effort. It was something Cissy quite envied her for.

“Yes,” She slipped on a white dress and tied a little periwinkle-blue ribbon into her still-damp hair, “We had better head down before we’re late for breakfast.”

Cissy must have looked very proper when she descended the steps because Mother was remarkably happy.

“Oh, my cherub, my little lamb,” Mother cooed. Cissy knew she was Mother’s favourite, and it always made her feel enormously pleased. 

“Hello, Mother. Nothing much wrong with the weather this morning.” She said with a little close-lipped smile, and her sisters echoed the sentiment before they all sat down at the table to eat breakfast. Today was pancake-day with fruits, and glazed desserts that Cissy didn’t know the names of. Father picked a strawberry off the round plate and dipped it in chocolate before sucking on it and looking quite indulged.

“Come on, children, help yourselves.” said Mother, “Grimble has been so helpful.”

Bella ladled syrup onto her pancakes, delighted – pancakes were her favourite, and she was such a sweet-tooth; Annie took slices of oranges from the platter and meticulously peeled them before popping them into her mouth.

“Is Missus Genevieve coming over today, Father?” Annie asked.

“Oh, I despised her, the half-breed.” giggled Bella, “She always smelled of mildew, you know. Why can’t we hire a new tutor for my sisters, Daddy? Someone pureblood?”

“You know how difficult it is, Bellatrix.” Father said, frowning, “Nobody of high status wants to be a tutor these days. Especially with a topic as muggle as maths.”

The green pistachio ice looked very inviting, and Cissy scooped up a spoonful to taste on her plate. “Why must we know it then?”

“You know why, Narcissa.” Mother said, “Managing currency is important. Besides, you can’t take Arithmancy in Hogwarts if you don’t know your numbers.” She paused, contemplating, “And darling, don’t eat so much, alright? You’ll get fat like your daddy, and you won’t be pretty anymore.”

Mother was never as harsh on her sisters, but nevertheless Cissy fell silent, and Mother smiled – she knew to never talk back if she wanted to remain in Mother’s good graces.

The week passed by so quickly, and soon Bella had gone away to Hogwarts again. It was just Annie and Cissy alone in the huge manor, with nothing but books and stuffed animals to keep them company. They went out to the garden often, collecting little stones and flowers and shells, making necklaces for each other. Annie was lovely and so much kinder than Bella, who liked to tease Cissy until she went red. 

At home, Mother began teaching Cissy how to smile. It was a special thing – the smile of a hostess. There was a certain way one had to lift their lips – not too wide, not too thin – until the eyes turned into delicate half-moons. A little girl like her couldn’t look too assertive or else she would become pug-like, but equally she couldn’t appear too insipid. Cissy was good at copying others, and so her smile easily became her best feature. When she smiled now, it was with a very quiet affection that seemed to steady the whole external world for a moment and then focus with an irresistible prejudice in the recipient’s favour.

“Now anyone would be fortunate to marry you,” Mother said, cradling her face with tender pride, “My darling, precious Narcissa.”

Cissy didn’t know who she wanted to marry – or if she wanted to marry at all – but she looked back and then offered Mother her prettiest smile yet.

On her ninth birthday, Cissy was allowed to host her own party to show off the manners she’d learned that year. The preparations for it began a whole week ahead, and the house was in a frenzy. Grimble was polishing everything he could find – tables, banisters, even the big brass doorknobs – and the air smelled like lavender and beeswax.

“Don’t worry, Cissy,” said Annie, “It’ll be perfect. You’ll be perfect.”

She was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, stringing white roses into a garland. Cissy had half her hair down and was gently opening and shutting her fan. Her dress stuck out, all white and with fur on it, and the hem was sewn with a line of little beryl stones that matched the colour of her eyes.

“Really, Annie? Do you really think so?” She tried not to smile too much, tried not to care. But everything was so new and exciting… 

Everyone had come. Cissy was peeking through the crack of the door, watching little Sirius and Regulus Black dancing with each other, ten-year-old Lucius Malfoy looking splendidly charming, Bertha Bulstrode sniffing at her fingers when she thought nobody was looking… The chandelier was lit so beautifully, and on the right she could just see all the grown-ups congregating, whispering little secrets into each other’s ears – and someone cried, ‘Pass them along, pass them along!’ as the entree was served…

Cissy was sorry Bella couldn’t be here; it was so heavenly, absolutely heavenly. Her party – just think!

“Are our cousins here, Cissy?” Annie crawled up from her spot on the floor, trying to peek through the crack that was much too small for the both of them, “Scooch! Scooch over, Cissy! Let me have a look-see.”

But suddenly Father was drumming a fork against his glass of sparkling champagne, and – oh! Grimble popped up behind them, and muttered, “Down you go! Down you go, Miss Andromeda, Miss Narcissa. Down, down!”

Cissy clenched her fists until there were half-moon indentations on the soft bit of her palms. Her soul was just hanging onto a breath… She needed to be proper.

It did feel a bit silly holding Annie’s hand like that, swinging it back and forth like a pendulum, but she was thankful for her sister’s presence beside her because it was grounding.

“Hello, everyone.” Cissy said, when Annie had gone and sat down on one of the little golden chairs. “My name is Narcissa Black, and this is my ninth birthday party. Thank you all for coming, and I hope you are all enjoying yourselves.”

There was a polite smattering of applause from the room, and Mother gave her a small nod of approval from where she stood among the grown-ups. Cissy felt a little burst of pride in her chest. She smoothed the front of her dress and clasped her hands together neatly, the way she had been taught.

“Please, make yourselves at home. We have lots of treats and games planned for later.” She finished, and then she held out her skirts by the tips and dragged one of her feet.

Cissy stepped quickly out of the spotlight, straight-backed, and almost immediately Annie flung herself at her, “You were brilliant, Cissy!” she whispered eagerly and then gave a little gasping laugh, “Look! Even Lucius Malfoy clapped.” Annie nodded towards the silver-haired boy who was leaning casually against a chair like he owned the world.

Cissy’s stomach flipped a little. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tried not to look too pleased.

"Well, I suppose I did alright," she said lightly.

They wandered over to the dessert table – she and Annie – and sat down with their gilded plates. There was a towering cake with sugar roses, but Cissy only took a vanilla muffin. Mother would surely be angry if she took any of the cake now.

“Hullo, Narcissa.” It was Bertha Bulstrode. Her dark hair was gleaming from fragrant oil, and she wore a pretty satin dress. She was pureblood, of course, but much poorer and less influential than the Black sisters. “Your party is lovely. My mother says the Blacks always know how to host.”

Cissy straightened and curled her lips up into a pleasant smile, “Thank you, Bertha. You look wonderful –”

“Is that vanilla?” Bertha’s nose wrinkled as if revolted, “My Daddy says those are dreadfully common these days. But I suppose everyone has their own taste.”

The girls who were around them began to laugh and beat the table with their teaspoons. Cissy blinked, taken aback. She didn’t want trouble – she didn’t. Her throat ached.

“Well, I think it’s delicious.” Annie retorted, “Don’t you, Narcissa?”

Cissy blinked, then blinked again. “Yes, of course. Grimble always makes the best desserts.”

– But Bertha laughed harder. “Grimble? Is that your elf, Narcissa? What a funny, funny name!”

Cissy turned sharply away, helping herself to some of the nuts; her lip wobbled, but she bit down on it hard.

Annie’s cheeks flushed pink with indignation. “It’s a perfectly respectable name for a house-elf,” she said, her voice tight. “And Grimble works harder in a day than you ever could, Bertha Bulstrode!”

The other girls tittered, and Bertha’s features contorted into something ugly. She huffed, taking one of Mother’s expensive wine glasses and filling it with punch.

“Well, Andromeda, have it your way.” She sneered, and she waved her hand as if in a goodbye – tipping her glass of bright orange punch onto Cissy’s pristine white dress. Cissy froze, staring at the spreading stain. The punch was sticky and vivid, bleeding into the delicate fur trim and threatening to ruin the beryl-stitched hem.

“Oh dear,” Bertha said, her voice sickly sweet. “I’m so clumsy! I didn’t mean to… Well, you can just have Grimble fix it, can’t you?”

There was a funny tightness in Cissy’s chest now that made her sniffle over and over. She bit a big piece from her muffin and stood it up on her plate like a little ruined castle. People were looking at her now – Lucius Malfoy stood not far from her and she could just feel his stare burning right through her. Oh, but what had happened? Cissy found her breaths suddenly coming in great big gasps, and she tried to find her handkerchief, but she’d forgotten it upstairs in front of the vanity. 

Annie jumped to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against the polished floor. “You did that on purpose!” she hissed, her fists clenched at her sides.

Bertha shrugged, a smug smile playing on her lips. “It was an accident, I said.”

But Cissy could hardly hear them. Her cheeks were burning hotter with every passing heartbeat. She pressed a napkin against the stain, but it only made the sticky mess worse. But what had happened? What had happened?

“Oh, don’t cry, Narcissa,” Bertha cooed in mock sympathy, her voice dripping with insincerity. “It’s just a dress, after all.”

That was the last straw. The tears spilled over, and Cissy bolted, pushing through the crowd of giggling girls and her cousins’ inquisitive stares. Pooh! She didn’t care. Cissy ran and ran and she didn’t stop until she was safely in the hallway. She had been so proper, so proper… 

“Cissy?” Annie’s soft voice broke through the quiet.

Cissy peeked out between her fingers to see her sister crouching beside her, brows furrowed.

“Go back,” she mumbled, wiping furiously at her cheeks. “You’ll miss the cake.”

“I don’t care about the cake.” Annie reached out, brushing a strand of blonde hair from Cissy’s damp face. “Bertha’s awful. Don’t let her ruin your day.”

“But everyone saw,” Cissy whispered, her voice breaking. “I looked ridiculous!”

“No, you didn’t. You’re the most beautiful girl here,” Annie said fiercely. “And they know it, Cissy. That’s why Bertha was so horrid – she’s jealous. You’ll see. Tomorrow, no one will even remember this.”

Cissy sniffled.

“Narcissa. Andromeda.”

They both turned to see Mother standing at the end of the corridor. Cissy knew that look – the tightness around her mouth, the slight lift of her chin. She was not pleased.

“Come with me, Narcissa.” Mother said, seizing her wrist in a painful grip.

The door to the drawing room clicked shut behind them. Mother turned to her, a concentrated gaze sweeping over the stained dress with disdain.

“Sit,” she ordered, motioning to the velvet settee.

Cissy obeyed, but her heart was already hammering frantically in her chest. She’d tried – she really had!

“That was not the behaviour of a proper young lady.” Mother began sharply, “You’ve made a fool of yourself tonight, Narcissa.”

“But she –”

“Stop. It doesn’t matter what she did, Narcissa. In the end, everybody was looking at you. You let that silly girl provoke you. Do you know who she even is? A Bulstrode, Narcissa, a Bulstrode. Her father works at the Department of Magical Transportation, for goodness sake.”

Cissy felt the heat of another onslaught of tears at the back of her throat.

“You could have smiled, like I taught you. But instead you gave her exactly what she wanted.” Mother paused, expression hardening, “You are a Black. That means you must be strong, composed. Always. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mother,” Cissy whispered.

“You’ll go back to the party after you wipe your tears. And tomorrow, you’ll meet me in the parlour after breakfast.”

“For what, Mother?”

But Mother had already gone.

“Perhaps I’ve overestimated you, my lamb.” 

The parlour was long and narrow with glass doors that gave onto the veranda. It had a cream-white wallpaper with a pattern of gilded roses overlaid on top, and a little piano stood in the corner of the room shrouded with a black quilted cover.

Cissy sat most primly on a green velvet sofa in front of the hearth, alert to Mother’s every changing mood.

“I have raised you to be far too weak, and I admit it is a fault of my own.” Mother said, pacing in front of her with a frightening scowl, “I have coddled you. You have no guts, no bravery; you are a carpet for people to walk over. If you think this is what a hostess is – soft, smiling, sniffling – then you disappoint me, Narcissa.”

Cissy bent her head, and when a tear dripped slowly down, she caught it with a small whisk of her tongue and ate it before Mother could see.

“Look at me. You silly, silly girl.”

Mother’s eyes were steel – how did she do that? Suddenly, memories began flashing quickly in front of her eyes like a photo album. Her as a little kid, playing house… Her fiddling with baby Regulus’ chubby thumbs… Her having a fake tea party with Annie and Bella… Her waking up in the middle of the night –

Merlin, was Mother watching this? In a desperate attempt of self preservation – before her little escapade with her sisters could be seen – Cissy twisted lithely away from her mother’s vice-like grasp and collapsed, gasping, on the hard marble floor.

For five horrifying seconds, Cissy waited with bated breath for Mother’s fury to come… But there was nothing.

“Good.” came Mother’s airy voice at last, “You can fight back. Come, cherub, sit on the sofa again.”

She had never seen Mother so stern. Cissy pushed herself off the floor and sat stiffly back onto the plush green cushions. She didn’t really know what was happening.

“Have you ever heard of Occlumency, Narcissa?” 

Cissy wracked her mind for those four unfamiliar syllables, but nothing came to the fore. Reluctantly, she shook her head.

“It’s how you defend yourself against people who want to read your mind.” Mother said, “My mother taught it to me when I was eleven, before I went to Hogwarts. I’ve taught Bellatrix, of course, and Andromeda was to be next… But perhaps you need to learn it as soon as possible. No daughter of mine will have their mind out in the open like that waiting to be read.”

Cissy blinked up at Mother, her heart pounding. She didn’t want to be read like an open book, either. Maybe it really was for the better that she learned to keep her thoughts under control.

“Quiet your mind and think of nothing at all. Create walls to block me out.” Mother was in front of her again, seeking her gaze, “Are you ready to go again?”

Cissy wasn’t – she wasn’t. She didn’t know what it meant, to make walls, and she didn’t know how to stop her thoughts from shining, flaring silver. But Mother hooked an index finger under her chin and suddenly there were her memories, flashing like quick-fire photographs in the light of a storm – sharp, searing, impossible to look away from. Cissy panicked. She tried to collect herself, tried to wrest her unspooling thoughts back into her mind, but nothing – nothing was working.

Mother’s presence retracted from her head all at once. Even without looking, Cissy knew that she wasn’t pleased. 

"You need to learn," Mother said, voice low and precise, like the strike of a dagger. "The world is not kind to girls like you, Narcissa. Nobody out there is wanting to be your friend. Everyone wants something from you, and you will either succumb, or you will hold yourself and demand something in return."

Cissy wanted to protest, to tell Mother she was trying, that she wasn’t meant to hold herself so tightly. But the words lodged in her throat, stoppered with the ache of not being enough — not bold like Andromeda, not clever like Bellatrix. Just Cissy. Soft, unguarded, and unbearably vulnerable .

“Give me your arm.” Mother was saying, retrieving her wand, and Cissy offered up herself, trembling all over.

“Acerbitatem.” The wand slashed down, and there was a white-hot flash of light – Cissy’s forearm burned. No – she wouldn’t cry.

“Do you know what that was for, my little lamb?” Mother asked gently.

“I was too weak.” Cissy swallowed hard. She didn’t know how to make walls, not yet, but she’d have to learn. Because Mother was right—people didn’t see the shine of exposed thoughts and think beauty . They saw weakness.

That year, after Annie had gone to Hogwarts, Cissy learned to empty her mind and hold little daggers on her tongue. For nights on end she sat with hands pressed up against her ears, letting diamond grow over her back, her white underbelly, her pretty purity. Her arm stung, and little blue veins began appearing like translucent spiderwebs on her skin – until one day she blocked Mother out of her mind and the penalizing hexes stopped.

Cissy was such a stupid, silly name. It was so weak, so soft – she didn’t like thinking of herself as Cissy , anymore. In a month she would be ten years old – double digits! – and in another year she’d be going to Hogwarts, where people like Bertha would haunt the hallways and there would be no Andromeda to defend her. In the darkness of her room, she thought that maybe if she tried hard enough to be Narcissa – Narcissa instead of Cissy – she could do it. She could make her mother proud.

For hours every day, Narcissa sat in front of the mirror, patting powder onto her forehead, brushing blush onto her cheeks, building herself up. Her smile was still lovely – like a flower bursting in spring – but she could control it better now, willing it to brighten and wane on request. For her tenth birthday, Mother gave her a choking dress of sequin and pearls that glittered when the sunlight shattered upon its dainty folds, and Narcissa wore it like a gown.

It was to her sisters in the summer that she expressed most of her fears. “I don’t know if I’m doing it right. What if I go to Hogwarts and I can’t do anything right?” It was such a relief to be able to tell somebody.

Bellatrix snorted, fourteen years old and haughty. "Stop talking like that," she said, her voice laced with the irritation of someone who didn’t understand doubt, who had never let it linger in her chest. "You’re a Black. Of course, you’ll do it right."

Andromeda had a kinder reassurance. “Nobody there is expecting you to be anything but yourself.”

“Besides,” Bella added with a filthy giggle, “You’ll find that you’re better than most of the people there, Cissy. You won’t believe how many mudbloods there are at Hogwarts! Right, Annie?”

But Andromeda’s brows twitched, and she said nothing. 

“I don’t want anyone to think I’m weak.” Narcissa said softly, sucking her underlip. 

Bellatrix laughed, sharp and bright. "Weak? You? Don’t be ridiculous. You’re going to Hogwarts, and you’re going to show them exactly who you are. And if anyone tries to cross you – well, you’ve got me, haven’t you?"

"You don’t have to fight everyone, Bella," Andromeda murmured, strangely discontented. "Not everything is a war."

Yes , Narcissa decided, Andromeda had changed . She saw the subtle differences in her sister clearly – like cracks spreading over porcelain. Andromeda's edges were softer, her silences longer, her gaze distant as though she were seeing something none of them could.

“Don’t be soppy, Annie,” snapped Bellatrix, “You’re starting to sound like those mudbloods in Hufflepuff.”

Sometime in July, a pureblood wizard died in his home. A couple of Muggles broke into his house, rifled through his belongings, and shot him in his sleep. It happened in Smethwick, but they heard the news all the way over here in London.

“Humiliating.” said Father, shaking open the Daily Prophet with a snap.

“Utterly embarrassing.” added Mother.

“Mortifying!” squealed Bella.

Still, Father began checking the wards outside their manor every evening, and Mother insisted on accompanying the girls wherever they went.

“Did they really… shoot him?” Narcissa whispered, pressed against the banister one evening with her sisters.

Andromeda’s lips thinned, and she nodded. “It’s something Muggles use instead of wands. Very messy.”

“I’d like to see one,” Bellatrix said with eyes like fire, but Narcissa felt ice creeping into her bones as she emptied her mind. She didn't want to think about death, or violence, or war - after all, these things were so ugly. 

It turned out that the Muggles were having trouble amongst themselves, too. There was talk of a War to End the World - with contraptions called 'nuclear bombs' that could wipe out cities in the blink of an eye. Mother and Father were talking about Disillusionment charms to make the manor look derelict, so that they wouldn't be caught in the middle of Muggle crossfire. This is why muggles are inferior, Narcissa thought, all they have is chaos, while our magic has order.

In bed, Bellatrix whispered about the Salem Witch Trials, and how the witches used to be burned at the stake. Andromeda was turned on one side, her laughter forced and airy. 

“It’s alright,” said Narcissa, thinking Annie was scared, “They’ve got nothing compared to our magic. They are nothing compared to us. We’ll be safe from them if we have each other’s backs.”

But as the days stretched on, the unease in the house began to fade. The wards remained perfectly intact, the world outside their manor stayed at bay, and life began to slip back into its usual rhythm. Summer’s lazy warmth softened the edges of the fear that had gripped them in July, and the girls started talking of lighter things - fashions, family gossip, and, for Narcissa, what her first year at Hogwarts might hold.

The letter came by owl on a mild and pleasant morning – the bird was pecking on the window when she woke up. Narcissa tore open the envelope, saw the great emblem of Hogwarts, and she had to remember to take a deep breath before she got carried away. She was so terribly excited – it made her wonder for a moment whether she was quite grown-up after all.

“...Well, what does it say?” Bellatrix’s voice was sharp and insistent from the bathroom.

“It’s official,” breathed Narcissa, “I’m going to Hogwarts.”

At once, Bellatrix burst into the room, dark curls bouncing. “Of course, you are! Let me see! Let me see!” She snatched the letter before Narcissa could protest and scanned it quickly, her lips curling deviously into a grin. “Finally. Now you’ll see the world outside these walls, Cissy.”

Andromeda was pulling her soft brown hair into a ponytail. “I’m so happy for you, Narcissa.” she was grinning, quite like her old self, “This time we can all go to Diagon together.”

It was only a week later that they flooed to Diagon Alley and back again, hauling boxes upon boxes of expensive things: little gold cauldrons, mahogany-handled quills, lovely tailored robes. Narcissa’s trunk gleamed with polished brass fittings, its interior lined with soft velvet (as per request), and her wand – 13 inches, ebony, with a dragon heartstring core – rested snugly in its slim, dark box.

On the morning of September first, Narcissa spent hours in front of the looking glass, braiding her white-gold hair. She was really quite pretty – her eyes such a remarkable blue, her nose an aristocratic arrow. She dressed carefully into her new robes, and when she finally came downstairs, Mother was very pleased to see her.

“You look so beautiful, my lamb.” She said, smoothing Narcissa’s collar, “Come. Grimble’s made a delightful breakfast.”

When she was seated, Narcissa made sure to arrange her limbs with perfect grace, digging into her fruits quite solemnly.

“You’ll be sorted into Slytherin, of course,” Bellatrix piped up confidently from beside her, cutting into her waffles. “There’s no question about it.”

“Maybe,” Andromeda said mildly, offering Narcissa a little smile. “But the hat does take your choice into account.”

“I don’t see why she’d choose anything else, Annie,” Bellatrix shot back, rolling her eyes. “Slytherin is the only house worthy of a Black.”

Narcissa said nothing – she wasn’t worried about houses, after all. Her whole family had been in Slytherin; there was no other house she could be sorted into.

By the time they arrived at King’s Cross Station, her nerves had settled into a steady hum beneath her skin. The noise there was so great that Narcissa wondered if the whistle of the train would even be heard.

“Alright, my darling,” said Mother, “You don’t make any trouble there at Hogwarts. Remember what I’ve taught you. The world doesn’t like open books. You can tell your sisters anything, and they’ll help you.”

Narcissa understood this, of course, and she was keenly aware of her sisters’ lingering presences behind her. Father was patting down their trunks, making sure everything was neat and perfect. She thought she might miss home, and a familiar ache rose up to her throat, but she emptied her mind and pushed it down.

“Goodbye, Mother. Goodbye, Father.” said Narcissa, and she smiled sweetly, vaguely, as the whistle blew. She would prove herself, she thought, smoothing her robes and lifting her chin. She would make Mother proud. After all, she wasn’t just Cissy anymore – that little, uncertain girl who’d wept embarrassingly often… She was Narcissa Black, and her story was just beginning.

All the compartments were full. Narcissa felt a little lost, trailing after her sisters to the very end of the train where all the older students were. There were already little clusters of friends forming, laughing and chatting – she suspected plenty of them knew each other beforehand. She couldn’t see any of the pureblood girls who used to go to her parties… There was such an alarming quantity of half-breeds and mudbloods here, just like Bella said, and she tried hard not to mind them except to turn her nose up like she’d smelled something particularly awful.

It took them at least half an hour to walk through the whole train. At last they came to a stop in front of a compartment where two girls were sitting and talking together like they hadn’t seen each other in years. One was a mousy blonde who was honestly quite plain, with freckles that burst over her face like stars and a little mole just there on her upper lip – she had a sort of ordinary approachability about her, like she could be trusted with your deepest secrets for years. The other… Well, she was the most beautiful girl Narcissa had ever seen in her life. Her face was heart-shaped, wide at the brows with a pointed chin, and she had the kind of smooth, porcelain glow Narcissa had only ever seen in portraits of veela ancestors. But the girl’s eyes were perhaps her best feature – such a strange uncommon colour – greeny blue with little gold points in them… 

“Oh, Bella!” the pretty one exclaimed, throwing open the compartment doors, “Finally. I thought you’d never get here.”

Bellatrix was grinning, and Andromeda had on one of her little ashy smiles. “You know me, Euphie.” Bella said teasingly, “Always keeping everyone waiting.” She gestured to the mousy blonde. “And I see Raquel’s managed to survive the summer without me.”

“Barely,” the girl called Raquel said with a roll of her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose as if exasperated. “It was a tragic ordeal, I assure you. Thank Merlin it’s over.”

Andromeda followed Bella inside and took a seat by the far window, “It’s good to see you both again. Where’s Bernadette?”

“Shacklebolt?” said beautiful ‘Euphie’, “She’s off buying those fizzing whizzbees from the Trolley lady. Can’t go a day without them, the little devil. Don’t worry, Andy, she’ll be back for you soon enough.”

Narcissa lingered near the doorway, feeling utterly out of place. She wondered if she might have been better off finding her own crowd instead. Suddenly, ‘Euphie’ turned swiftly towards her, and on instinct Narcissa straightened, curving her lips into a very pleasant smile like Mother had taught her.

“This is Cissy,” Bella immediately said, pulling Narcissa into the compartment by the arm. “My baby sister. It’s her first year, so be nice.”

‘Euphie’ beamed, a dazzling thing. It was most remarkable how unself-conscious she was despite the enormity of her beauty, Narcissa thought. She didn’t preen or pout like most other beautiful girls, but seemed quite unaware of the effect she had on other people.

“Well, hey there, Blondie.” said ‘Euphie’, “I’m Euphrosyne Burke.”

The girl called Raquel leaned back in her seat with a secret amusement. “Don’t mind Euphie,” she giggled. “She collects people the way other girls collect jewelry. You’re just the latest addition to her little gallery.”

“Oh, please. As if you don’t love everyone I bring in.”

Raquel shook her head, turning her eyes on Narcissa. “I’m Raquel Rowle, by the way,” she said, warmer this time. “Bella’s mentioned you before – always the perfect little sister.”

“I do try to live up to expectations.” Narcissa’s smile didn’t wane as she attempted to ease herself into the conversation without demanding her place. Still, she felt a little tightly wound. These girls were looking at her like they genuinely wanted her there, but they were by nature loud and contentious. Narcissa was used to interactions of a less spontaneous kind, interactions where she had a role she was meant to play and nothing more. This was unfamiliar territory.

“Well, if you’re sticking with us, you might want to lower them a bit. Hogwarts has a way of knocking the polish off.” Euphrosyne caught a little balled-up candy wrapper that Bella had thrown her way, tossing it into the waste bin by her feet.

What rot. What nonsense. Narcissa gave a little aloof laugh – but she did not feel like laughing – and then slotted herself beside Andromeda who was staring at the passing landscape. She didn’t want her polish to be knocked off. She was going to Hogwarts to learn, to get good grades, to fit in – but not at the cost of bringing herself down. Merlin, if Mother just heard about the people Bella was associating herself with!

The conversation flowed noisily around her. Narcissa kept her hands folded neatly in her lap, her gaze travelling slowly between the girls. She didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure where she fit in, and uncertainty had always made her quiet.

Andromeda, she observed, was even quieter.

Sullenly, Narcissa turned slightly toward her sister. “Alright, Annie?”

Andromeda blinked herself out of her reverie and put on a smile. “I’m fine,” she said, brushing a hand over her skirt. “Just thinking.”

Thinking. Annie was doing an awful lot of thinking nowadays, and skidding around topics, and philosophizing. But before Narcissa could press further, the compartment door slid open again.

“Finally,” Euphrosyne said, not bothering to look up. “Andy was looking all over for you. You’re late, Bernadette—”

Her voice cut off abruptly as everyone turned toward the door. Standing there wasn’t Bernadette Shacklebolt at all, it seemed, but a tall, lanky boy with untidy brown curls and an awkward sort of confidence. His tie was slightly askew, and in his hands was a small, messy bundle of wildflowers tied together with the sort of green ribbon Andromeda always liked to wear in her hair.

“Ted!” Andromeda startled, but then, as if realizing what she had just said, lifted her brow in a disdainful sort of way and sneered, “Ugh… Tonks? You’re the Hufflepuff in my year, aren’t you?”

“Go away.” Raquel had turned stony. “And quit bothering Andy. This is a Pureblood only cabin.”

The boy scratched the nape of his neck bashfully, but then seemed to gather his courage and held out the wildflowers towards Andromeda. “For you, Dromeda. I thought you might like them.”

Bella cackled. Narcissa, too, couldn’t help but stifle a sharp giggle. What guts the Hufflepuff had to offer her sister flowers, of all things! She could recognize at once the muggle blood running through him from the way he held himself alone. Carefully, Andromeda plucked the flowers from his hand, then let them fall to the floor. She stared at them mournfully for a moment and then pressed her shoe down onto the delicate blooms, grinding them into the floor. The others laughed. But Narcissa saw the reluctance in her sister’s trembling fingers and her smile dimmed. She didn’t know what to make of it.

The boy – Ted – flinched as though struck. He took a step back, nodding stiffly. “Right. Well… I thought – Sorry. Sorry.” In a minute, he was gone.

On the opposite seat, Euphrosyne tossed her head back as if this was the best entertainment she’d had all day.

“Unbelievable,” she said, smirking at Andromeda. “You’ve really got them lining up, haven’t you, Andy. Who was that? Friend of yours?”

“Just a nobody.” Andromeda said coolly, “He’s in my year. Always hanging about.”

Bella scoffed. “Typical Hufflepuff. No sense of boundaries.” 

Narcissa stayed silent. She watched Andromeda cautiously, though, out of the corner of her eye. Everyone had their own little dalliances… She trusted her sister to grow out of this one. Whatever it was. 

"Honestly, Annie, if you're going to collect admirers, at least make sure they're proper wizards," Bella drawled, leaning back in her seat and stretching her legs out. "Not… that."

Euphrosyne snorted. "Oh, come on, Bella. It was a little funny. The poor boy looked like he'd rather be anywhere else."

Andromeda didn't rise to their teasing, which was unlike her. 

“Some people just don’t know their place,” Narcissa said with a very precise, matter-of-fact tone, watching her sister deliberately for a reaction, “It’s a pity though, really. Even weeds deserve better than to be trampled.”

There was a moment of surprised silence before Euphrosyne let out a bark of laughter. “Weeds! Oh, that’s perfect, Blondie. You’re sharper than you look.”

Andromeda didn’t laugh. She looked at Narcissa for a fleeting second, something guiltily like disappointment in her expression, “Yes. You always know exactly what to say, don’t you, Cissy?”

Narcissa shrinked a little into herself, but sat there steady and unshaking, “It’s not proper to associate with mudbloods and the like, Annie.”

But all at once – before anyone could get in another word – there was a loud ruckus outside of the compartment and Narcissa turned hesitantly to the noise. In the hallway, gaggles of students seemed to part like the red sea as a dark-haired girl sauntered past, chin haughtily raised. She wasn’t pretty like Euphrosyne was or even special in any way, but she acted like she was and her intimidating attitude moved the people around her. The girl stopped abruptly in front of Narcissa’s compartment and slid in, swinging her long legs over as she took a seat next to Andromeda. Narcissa watched as the girl took in the scene before her – the ruined flowers, the green ribbon – and then immediately swept her concerned gaze to Andromeda. Though Andromeda seemed to have recovered from her encounter with the Hufflepuff mudblood.

“Do you always have to make a special entrance, Bernie?” she said, but it was enviously clear to Narcissa that the dark-haired girl’s presence had loosened her sister up tremendously. This was Bernadette Shacklebolt, then.

“It’s a special talent.” 

“Anyone scream with terror when they walk past you yet?”

“Give it a few more hours.” said Bernadette dryly, and she turned to look Narcissa up and down. “Narcissa Black, huh?”

Narcissa didn’t falter – she’d learned better than to let herself flinch under the carnivorously watchful gazes of others. “Yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Well, what house are you hoping to get into, then, Little Black?”

“Slytherin.” She said without hesitation, lifting her chin a little as if any other house was beneath her, “Everyone in my family has been in Slytherin so far. I doubt I’ll be an exception.”

“Isn’t that the spirit.” Raquel tittered, “Anyway, Bella might disown you if you get into any other house. It’d be a humiliation.”

“Oh, don’t tease.” said Andromeda, but before long the girls had once more resumed their chortling chatter. It was disconcerting, how unladylike they were. Bella was sprawled across both benches, feet resting on Euphrosyne’s lap and forming a little bridge in front of the compartment door. Only Andromeda and Bernadette were sitting properly. Always exceptionally aware of her place in social circles, Narcissa could see the two cliques forming: Bella’s friends, who were loud and unorthodox, and Annie with Bernadette, who was striking and assertive. Narcissa felt very uncomfortable caught in the middle of it, with these girls who were much older than her and so different in character. Silently, she edged her trunk out from the bottom of the seat and then crept over Bella’s legs.

“Where are you going, Blondie?”

“Just out to change my robes.” said Narcissa with an easy smile, “Goodbye, now. It was so lovely talking to you.”

Once she was safely out in the corridor, she breathed in the muted stillness and moved quietly back through the train, stopping to check every compartment she passed. There was one in the middle that had been vacated and Narcissa quickly claimed it, sliding her trunk beneath her seat. It was such a relief to be able to hear her own thoughts. She began to plan what she would do on her Saturdays and her Sundays. Of course there would be homework, so she left Saturday morning for that; practically speaking, Narcissa knew she needed to get a hold of the castle layout. She couldn’t possibly be at ease without knowing where all of her classes were, and where the library was, and where the hallways led to. She allocated Saturday afternoon for exploring – she’d make sure she was prepared as soon as possible. On Sunday she would go to the lake and read up on the content being covered the following week – and she’d take a bath, relax a little. Yes, Hogwarts might be just fine after all…

It was getting dark now. When the Trolley lady came by, Narcissa purchased a chocolate frog and caught it ruthlessly in between her teeth before it leapt away from her. Then she really did get her Hogwarts robes and emerged from the bathroom a moment later looking very proper. The students were all squeezing into the corridor now, craning their necks and hoping to get a first glimpse of Hogwarts, but Narcissa had a perfectly good view of the approaching castle from the window of her compartment, and she watched as the fog slowly lifted… And revealed a little dark platform as the train slowed right down and finally stopped. Narcissa furrowed her brows, but lugged her trunk from the bottom of her seat and followed the crowd of students anyway…

When she stepped off the train, a lantern came bobbing up over her head and she watched as a half-giant lumbered down.

“Firs' years! Firs' years over here! Mind yer step now, follow me!” His voice was booming, and beside her, students milled callously about, bumping into her shoulders. She tried not to think about how many of them were mudbloods. Walking carefully with her back straight and eyes open wide, Narcissa followed the giant down a steep, narrow path with thick trees on either side of her forming little gates. Oh, how dark, how silent, how beautiful! She tried to contain the excitement bubbling over in her chest as she thought about her next few years – in front of her, the future had opened dazzling bright. There was a great raucous exclamation from the mass of students and Narcissa swept her gaze up eagerly: just there, over a great black lake, was a grand, majestic castle with all the windows lit ember-bright from within, with many turrets and towers and spires. Narcissa had never seen anything so splendid in her life.

"No more'n four to a boat!" the giant called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Narcissa tip-toed carefully onto one of the front-most boats with three other girls already in it, making sure to lift the edges of her robes so that it wouldn’t be damp during the sorting. "Everyone in?" shouted the giant, who had a boat all to himself. "Right then – FORWARD!"

The boats glided across the smooth glass of the water. Breath held, too dazed, too spirit-bound to move, Narcissa stared on dreamlike as the others as they all moved forward towards that sparkling castle…

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch met them at the front steps and then opened the door wide. She was very severe, with thinly arched brows and deep-set eyes rimmed with kohl, and Narcissa made a mental note to herself that this was not someone to cross.

“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall.” the giant said.
“Thank you, Hagrid. I’ll take them from here.” The witch ushered them quickly into a large entrance hall of sorts that was lit up by flaming torches on its stone walls. The older students were already there, but a great hush swiftly befell the crowd as the first years entered. Consumed by the largeness of their number, Narcissa could hardly see the four house tables – much less her sisters, who must be sitting at the green one near the right – but she would hardly crane her neck like some fool to get a glimpse of the table she’d soon be seated at anyway. Appearances mattered, and first impressions most of all. A Black did not gawp.

Up the front, the woman called Professor McGonagall was explaining to them the four Hogwarts houses in detail, and Narcissa made sure to pay polite attention despite the fact that there was nothing new for her to learn. She’d known all about the four houses – and thus the superiority of Slytherin – from the moment she’d learned to walk.

"Addams, Carolyn!” 

The sorting had started. From what she knew, the roll call would be alphabetical, and soon it would be ‘Black, Narcissa’ – any moment now. Gently, Narcissa swept her long blonde braid over her shoulders so that it wouldn’t get caught anywhere during her walk up towards the stool.

‘Abbott, Margaret’ went to Hufflepuff, and so did ‘Aaronson, Augustine.’ The first Slytherin to be sorted was ‘Bainbridge, Gregory,’ who took his seat at the green table amidst the courteous Slytherin applause.

When her name was called at last, Narcissa checked herself to make certain that her features had been schooled into complete neutrality, trying to ignore the way her pulse quickened and her breaths came faster. She wouldn’t be caught gawking like a mudblood, after all, and it was all in the presentation. With her chin held high, Narcissa stepped forward, polishing the little rooms in her mind until only one word flared iridescent: Slytherin. She had a place to secure, and she would get it.

“Goodness, child.” said the sorting hat, which was now placed uncomfortably over her eyes, “All I can hear is Slytherin. Determined, aren’t you? Well… Someone that ambitious can only be… SLYTHERIN!”

Relief flooded through every peripheral limb as the word snuffed itself out in the far-off spaces of her skull. Not that she’d ever doubted the outcome, but the finality of it all melted away the tension in her shoulders. Narcissa stood swiftly and made her way down to the Slytherin table, whose applause had been immediate and loud. 

“I knew you could do it, Cissy!” Bella was saying, clapping her on the back, and Andromeda was beaming at her on the opposite bench beside Bernadette. Lucius Malfoy – one year older than her – came over to congratulate her; she knew him from her parties, of course, and he held himself in such a charming way that all the girls always fawned quite ridiculously over him. Admittedly, Narcissa had been similar when she was younger, but now she regarded him with a lovely smile and noted him more for the prominence of his surname than anything else.

A few minutes later, ‘Ellery, Ariadne’ sat down on the other side of Narcissa and soon they were joined by ‘Flint, Cassius’ as well as ‘Greengrass, Camille’. 

“Well, what did they say your name was again?” ‘Ellery, Ariadne’ was a sweet ginger girl with a crimson face and an adorable smile.

“Black,” said Narcissa agreeably, “Narcissa Black.”

“Really!” ‘Ellery, Ariadne’ exclaimed with an astonished look, and Narcissa cast her companion a thoughtful glance. The girl at present seemed more like a Hufflepuff than anything, but the sorting hat had made a decision – this girl was a Slytherin. So, if ‘Ellery, Ariadne’ was paying her any special attention, it was likely because she had calculated it was worth her time. And that was fine. Narcissa had learned how to play the game, too.

“Yes,” she answered with a deliberate smile, “And you?”

“I’m Ariadne Ellery.” the girl introduced herself, “Your family must be very wealthy.”

“Of course they are,” It was ‘Flint, Cassius’ who had cut in. “They’re Blacks.”

“Oh.” Ariadne’s blush deepened, “Well, my family’s nothing as prominent as yours, Narcissa, but we’ve been in Slytherin for ages. Friends?”

Still smiling kindly, Narcissa took her outstretched hand and shook it firmly. This was only a provisional connection, of course – sometimes people momentarily tilted the balance in your favor, and it would be silly to assume it would last forever.

Soon, important announcements were made by the Headmaster and the welcoming feast began. Suddenly all sorts of dishes appeared before them on the table: casseroles, Yorkshire pudding, roast beef, chicken, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, peas, carrots, gravy, and peppermint humbugs.

Narcissa took a little bit of roast potatoes and began cutting it up into small pieces with a silver knife and fork. Everything was so new, and change had always made her anxious. As if on cue, four ghosts drifted up from below the floor, followed by a mass exodus of smaller, flitting phantoms. Narcissa wasn’t surprised, as she’d known about them since she was very young. What did surprise her, however, was how the Bloody Baron – a gaunt, penchant ghost with blood spurts all over his clothes – sat down stiffly next to Bernadette, who didn’t look at all pleased with the seating arrangements. Andromeda was hiding a laugh behind her palm, whilst Bella and her flock of friends made no attempt to hide theirs at all. At the far end of the table, Narcissa spotted second-year Bertha Bulstrode and hastily turned away. 

“Anyone play Quidditch?” asked Camille Greengrass from the opposite end.

“I do,” said Cassius Flint, “My father bought me the Comet 140 with the Horton-Keitch Braking Charm already on it. Such a pity we won’t be allowed to play until next year.”

The first years around Narcissa talked Sport for the rest of the feast, and Narcissa listened carefully, picking up on names, relationships, families. It seemed an eternity before the feast ended.The older students left first, and then the first years were led down to the dungeons, where the balminess of the Great Hall was decisively robbed from existence and what replaced it was an arctic mien that seemed to seep into their very bones. The air in the dungeons carried a damp chill, and Narcissa could hear the faint dripping of water echoing off the stone walls.

“Dissendium.” hissed one of the prefects, and the door to the Slytherin common room slid open with a heavy resonant bang. It was even colder here, and from the echoing silence and the soft, eerie glow of sea-green light filtering in, Narcissa deduced that they were now underwater. Ariadne Ellery shivered beside her.

“Welcome to Slytherin.” The boy who spoke was exceptionally handsome in a rugged looking way, with dark hair that hung in glossy ringlets around his oval face, “My name is Rabastan Lestrange, and I will be one of your seventh-year prefects for this year. My partner is Cassandra Davis. Any questions, ask. Don’t know where the classrooms are? Ask. The Head Girl and Boy are both from Gryffindor this year, and they will be looking to take points from us. We must not let them, understood? Any misbehaviour whatsoever will take you straight to me. The House Cup has been Slytherin’s for four years now, consecutively, and I will not let this year be the exception.”

A murmur swept through the first years – they were not used to the pressure, it seemed. But Narcissa stood still with her hands clasped tightly in front of her and said nothing.

“It’s late. Girls’ dormitories are to the left, and Boys’ are to the right. Each room should have a plaque on it with four names. Find the room with your name on it and get to sleep, you’ll have a long day ahead of you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

Narcissa shared a room with Ariadne Ellery – though she wasn’t entirely certain if it was a blessing or a nuisance, given that the ginger girl seemed determined to ingratiate herself at every opportunity. Narcissa wasn’t used to holding such a position of power, but it felt good, and very secretly, she hoarded the attention with greed. Camille Greengrass was a roommate, too, along with a girl called Joanna Macmillan who had a compass-needle nose that was always twitching for gossip. 

“Excited for tomorrow?” said Joanna, “I heard Slughorn’s our Head of House.”

“The Potions professor, isn’t he?” Ariadne fumbled with the latch on her trunk, “The one who holds all those dinner parties?”

Narcissa laid her clothes out carefully onto her bed. She’d heard briefly about Slughorn’s parties from Bellatrix before, who was an honoured member of his society, but her sister’s explanations had always been about its grandeur rather than its details. 

“I believe so,” Narcissa smiled, testing the strength of the curtains that hung like canopies around her bed, “It’s only ever for students over fourteen, though.”

“What a shame.” echoed Camille, “Though I’m sure we’ll all find ways to make our marks this year.” She was scrutinizing a little patch of imaginary dirt on her chin in the mirror, brows furrowed in concentration. 

Narcissa drew her curtains together and changed silently into cornflower-blue pyjamas before padding into the bathroom to wash. It was indeed very late now, and Narcissa wanted to wake up tomorrow feeling her best. 

“Goodnight.” She said politely as the lights in the room dimmed. It was pitch-black; there was no night-light and no window that showed her the stars. Narcissa wondered how Mother and Father were doing back home, and if little Sirius and Regulus were still doing well…

It was very early when Narcissa woke the next day. The light from the Black Lake spilled through the small round windows in muted hues of green and rippled against the walls, softer now, as if still stirring from slumber. The dorm felt suspended between dream and waking, the kind of place where the world’s sinuous troubles couldn’t quite find her yet.

Her three roommates were still sleeping soundly. It was six, if the clock on her nightstand was correct. Narcissa padded quietly to the bathroom where she ran herself a bath and got changed into her newly embroidered Slytherin robes. With meticulous precision, she gathered her hair into a high ponytail and contemplated the row of headbands laid before her. She settled on the black and slipped it over the front of her hair carefully.

When Narcissa leaned her arms along the mirror above the mantle, her pale shadow looked back. There stood a slim girl in black – a black sweater sewn with a line of dark fern green at the collar, a black pleated skirt that swayed around her legs as she moved about, black knee-length tights. Her face was oval-shaped with high cheekbones and a slightly pointed chin. She had sharply-arched eyebrows and long lashes – so long, that when they lay on her cheeks you could positively catch the light in them, someone or other had once told her. Of course Narcissa was not half as fine as Euphrosyne, but she was pleased with how she looked today and felt very prepared for the fullness of the day ahead. When she returned to the dorm, she knelt down beside her trunk and began sorting all her school books into six separate piles so that they would be easy to grab when she was tight on schedule.

It was at six-forty exactly that Ariadne rose from her bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and yawning. She bundled clothes into her arms and shuffled to the bathroom, coppery curls sticking up at odd angles.

“Good morning.” Narcissa smiled politely, “How did you sleep?”

“Not nearly long enough.” mumbled Ariadne, but before long she had washed and was looking much more awake than she had minutes ago.

“Should we wake them up?” she asked, gesturing towards the other two girls, but Narcissa shook her head.

“Breakfast won’t end until eight.”

Ariadne beamed, “Let’s go together then, Narcissa.”

By the time they made their way up to the Great Hall, it was seven sharp. Bellatrix was sitting in the center of the Slytherin table, attacking her eggs with gusto.

“That’s my oldest sister.” said Narcissa, nodding towards Bella, “Do you want to sit with her?”

Ariadne, it turned out, was always eager to make new friends – most especially with those who have prestigious surnames. 

“Cissy!” grinned Bellatrix with a mouthful of food, “So nice to see you. And who’s this?”

“Narcissa’s roommate.” Ariadne chimed in quickly as she sat next to Narcissa. “My name is Ariadne Ellery.”

Bella squinted, moving around the eggs on her plate so that they made a little moat around her toast. She always did like to play with her food before she ate it.

“Never heard of that last name.” said Bellatrix abruptly, “Where’re you from?”

Oh, no. Narcissa’s stomach churned. She understood Bella well enough to know that this wasn’t just idle curiosity. Beside her, Ariadne coloured a dark crimson red, fidgeting with the hems of her new Slytherin robes. “Wiltshire. I’m pureblood.”

“Aw, how quaint!” Bella giggled condescendingly, “Small town girl, huh?”

Ariadne smiled stiffly, her expression just shy of convincing, and the table lapsed into an uneasy silence. Narcissa felt sorry for the girl and partially responsible for her discomfort – she had, after all, unwittingly led them to Bella’s table. Quietly, she nudged the packets of sugar toward Ariadne, who busied herself pouring a cup of tea.

Thankfully, by seven-thirty, most of the other students had begun filing into the Great Hall, including Euphrosyne and Raquel, who served as a welcome distraction for Bellatrix’s line of fire. Narcissa seized the opportunity and quickly split from her sister’s group, moving a little further along to accommodate the first year housemates who had now begun sitting down around them. 

A stout professor with graying hair eventually came by to hand them all schedules. Narcissa guessed the man was Slughorn, their Head of House and Potions professor. Straightening her posture, she offered him the kind of polite, practiced smile her mother had taught her to reserve for those of great importance. In return, Slughorn was clearly delighted to see her. “The youngest Black daughter in Slytherin! Ah, how wonderful. You’ll fit in just fine, my dear girl.”

Her schedule was straightforward: Potions first, conveniently located in the Dungeons near the Slytherin common room, followed by Transfiguration with a ‘Professor M. McGonagall,’ whom she recalled from the Sorting. After Lunch was History of Magic with a ghost Professor called ‘Professor C. Binns’, as well as Herbology with a ‘Professor P. Sprout’. The girls from her dorm gathered around to compare schedules, and Narcissa soon learned that the Slytherin first years would be divided into two cohorts, each following a different sequence of classes. Narcissa had all her classes together with Ariadne and Joanna, but Camille was placed in the other cohort, which left the dark-haired girl visibly displeased.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. The only constant were the moving portraits, and Narcissa found her great-great-grandfather’s picture next to the Headmaster’s office, above a silver plaque with the name ‘Phineas Nigellus Black’ on it. He waggled his hand at her, but she was going to run late for Potions and could not stop to converse.

The Potions lesson was a practical, Slughorn said, to ease them all into the curriculum. They were supposed to brew something called the Wiggenweld Potion, which only had three ingredients so it was relatively easy. Narcissa was steady and meticulous in her approach, taking care to find five lionfish spines that matched each other in size and weight. She was not the first to finish, but her potion was one of the best in the class.

She did not find such success in Professor McGonagall’s Transfigurations. Within ten minutes, Ariadne had turned her match silver and pointy. Beside her, Narcissa tried twelve times, and each time the spell sounded more strained in her own ears as she realized that perfection was slipping further and further away from her grasp. She had understood the theory perfectly, and she’d taken so many pages of notes – why was she failing?

“Goodness, Miss Ellery,” Professor McGonagall came by to their table with a rare smile, “Excellent effort.” 

Narcissa didn’t dare to look up. She tried again. The match sprouted a little point at its end but remained otherwise rigidly the same. It was almost humiliating, to lose to a girl from a family of no worth at all.

“Do you need help?” Ariadne ventured with a look of concern.

Narcissa gripped her wand tighter and let her mind empty, so that all her pride was now locked away in one of the little rooms in her mind. “Please. Thank you.”

Ariadne demonstrated slowly, flicking her wand upwards first and then down in a swift, decisive manner. “You need to want to change.” she said, “I mean, you need to want it to change. If there’s no intent behind your spell, it won’t work.”

Narcissa smiled politely and tried again. This time, her match turned silver, but it was still far from perfect and somehow that felt worse than if it had stayed unchanged altogether.

"Better," Ariadne said softly, offering a sweet smile.

"Not good enough," Narcissa muttered under her breath, though she kept her face strictly composed. She didn’t like how easily Ariadne had done it.

Professor McGonagall passed by their table again and glanced at Narcissa’s attempt. “A marked improvement, Miss Black. Keep at it.”

Marked improvement. Narcissa felt her cheeks burn. She wanted excellence, not improvement. When the lesson ended, Narcissa took twenty matches from the wooden box at the front of the classroom and left with her back straight.

History of Magic was tedious, but Narcissa excelled because it was all about listening, observing, taking notes. In front of her, Joanna had fallen asleep on her arms, and Ariadne was drawing a little hippogriff in the margins of her book. For an hour they learned about Emeric the Evil and Elfric the Eager and Uric the Oddball, two of which Professor Binns had mixed up at one point during the lesson. 

Later that afternoon was Herbology, which was much the same except Narcissa was a natural with plants: growing them, caring for them, trimming them. She was alert to every one of her aconite’s needs and did everything with serious attention. When classes ended at four, Narcissa spent twenty minutes trying to get rid of Ariadne and then went to knock on Andromeda’s dorm.

“You’re good at changing things.” Narcissa said, “Aren’t you?”

Andromeda was sitting at the edge of her bed, swinging her legs back and forth while she finished off an essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“Yes,” her sister smiled, and Narcissa took the place beside her quietly, “What do you need?”

“I need help with Transfigurations.” said Narcissa, smoothing the edge of her skirt as she felt a familiar ache at the back of her throat, “I was terrible in class.”

Andromeda looked at her intently. Despite her similarities with Bellatrix, Andromeda had a gaze that was kind and grounding, like it could hold you up in the most difficult of times. It was something that Narcissa found she particularly missed.

“Transfigurations is hard,” Andromeda replied, “Hardly anyone manages to do it perfectly in their first class.”

Narcissa said nothing, but she pulled out the twenty matches she’d nicked from Professor McGonagall’s front desk and held one out for Andromeda to take.

“Okay,” said Andromeda with a sigh, “Why don’t you show me what you’ve been doing? Let’s go from there.”

“It’s bad.” Narcissa warned, and then she pulled her wand down precisely as she muttered the incantation. The match, once more, turned shiny, but did not change further.

“You’re methodical,” came Andromeda’s observation, “But you lack fluidity. Close your eyes. Imagine the match as a needle. Picture it clearly in your mind. The light, the texture, the coolness of the metal. See it as if it’s already transformed.”

Narcissa obeyed, focusing intently on the picture she’d drawn in her mind. 

“Good. Now open your eyes and cast the spell.”

Narcissa hesitated, her grip tightening on the wand. “Mutatio!”

In front of her, the match gave a great shudder, surface rippling. Slowly, it began to twist and reshape, gaining a luster that she had never before seen. Within seconds, a thin needle sat on the palm of Andromeda’s hand. It wasn’t perfect – the edges were uneven, and the point was dull instead of sharp, a little rounded – but it was unmistakably a needle. 

“That’s a start!” Andromeda clapped her hands together lightly, “And a pretty good one too.”

When Narcissa came back to the dorm after dinner with her sisters (and Ariadne, who seemed relieved to once more have company), she deposited her books and drew her curtains tightly shut, waiting for all the other girls to fall asleep. The clock ticked louder in the silence. Joanna began to snore, and at eleven PM precisely, Narcissa swung herself off the bed and went to the bathroom, bare feet. She laid nineteen matches on the ledge of the sink and then practiced, not once, not twice, but nineteen times, until at last the final match turned into a perfect needle that gleamed under the dim lavatory light.

“Wonderful, Miss Black.” Professor McGonagall said, her glasses slipping slightly down her nose as she examined Narcissa's needle under the light. “This is perhaps the best transfigurative work I’ve seen from a student on their second lesson back.” 

Narcissa smiled in secret. She was thoroughly pleased that her hard work had paid off, but she quickly withdrew the triumph from her eyes – there was no need to give away too much. “Thank you, Professor.” She said quietly, “But I think there are still some things I should work on.”

Better to be overlooked than marked as a threat. Let others shine too brightly and burn out; she wanted to be underestimated – until the moment it mattered most. From the faint lift of McGonagall’s brow, Narcissa could gauge that her modest response had pleased the professor. “Perhaps a touch more finesse in wand movement,” McGonagall mused, “but your precision is exemplary.”

Narcissa’s eyes flicked briefly to Ariadne, who was sitting beside her and practically glowing. Her pride was palpable – she had convinced herself that Narcissa’s success was, in part, her doing. This suited Narcissa just fine. It cost nothing to let others take credit for what they believed they had earned.

“I understand, Professor.” she said instead, “I will make sure to keep that in mind.”

The rest of the week passed by in a similar fashion. Each day commenced with Potions, followed by Transfigurations or Charms, while the afternoon classes alternated every two days. By now, Narcissa had established a close rapport with most of her professors and had begun to settle into the clockwork of her schedule. While she wasn’t a natural prodigy in most of her subjects, her painstaking work ethic earned her a reputation for academic rigour and frequently drew high praise from her teachers.

Outside of lessons, Narcissa was now spending a large portion of her time in the dormitories with her roommates. Camille Greengrass was a nice, proper sort of girl, if a little vain – but who was she to judge? Even Narcissa herself had moments of vanity. They often exchanged polite conversation when they saw each other in the hallways, but theirs was a surface-level camaraderie, not the kind of bond Narcissa had with her sisters. Ariadne, of course, remained unfailingly sweet, though whether her kindness came from a place of excessive deference or one of true mutual respect was difficult to tell. Even gossiping Joanna Macmillan proved to be useful because she always seemed to know who was quarrelling, who had fallen out of favour, and whose alliances were shifting… Despite the outward politeness of her interactions, Narcissa did not think of all this as a beginning – or not, at least, of something large. How could it be? In the long vista of time, these fragile connections might well already be gone. These were alliances; no more could be counted on – but in her present mood they were enough.

“What have you all got today?” Camille asked as she poured sugar on her porridge. It was early afternoon on a warm, languid Wednesday. From the Great Hall, Narcissa could hear the laughter of first and second years out there in the courtyard, where thin clouds streamed gently in the pale blue sky. 

“Herbology next,” said Joanna, who was beginning to eat her cherries three or four at a time and tossing the stones into a spare bowl, “and then double Defense before the end of the day.”

Ariadne rubbed her nose with the heel of her hand. “I don’t see why we can’t have Defense in the morning. I get so tired in the afternoon.”

The fruits looked inviting, sitting there in a lovely blue dish, which had a strange sheen on it like it had been dipped in milk. Narcissa took a few cherries herself – they were delicious, so plump and cold, without a spot or bruise on them. “I don’t particularly mind it,” she smiled, “The lessons are always practical.”

“You’re all lucky.” Camille gave a light scoff, “I’ve got History of Magic last. Every week. The long lectures nearly do my head in.”

“Only Nearly?” cried Joanna, “Professor Binns could put a banshee to sleep!”

“But History of Magic are basically Frees,” said Ariadne, “You can do anything and Binns won’t even notice.”

Just wait until mid-term exams in December, thought Narcissa, but she didn’t voice her concerns aloud.

It was in Herbology that she met Molly Prewett. After lunch, Narcissa went straight to the Greenhouse with Ariadne and Joanna, where she started reading up on the plants they’d cover next. She never went to class without a thorough knowledge of the new content anymore; it was better to come with questions already answered. Today’s lesson would be on the Venomous Tentacula, which was deadly and thus needed to be handled with care. At two o’clock precisely, class started and Professor Sprout assigned Narcissa to one of the work stations near the front with a red-maned Gryffindor blood traitor. Molly Prewett was her name – she was a first year too, but she had two brothers called Fabian and Gideon who were two years older and blood traitors in their own right. 

The girl was not pretty but full of life. Of strong build. Not tall. She had soil brown eyes and auburn curls a shade darker than Ariadne’s. Narcissa looked her up and down, noting the shirt with its mustardy armpits, the pants with baggy bottoms that held onto her waist with a ragged belt cinched to the farthest hole. 

“Hello.” said Narcissa with her nose upturned, “Fetch me the sheers, will you? The dragonhide gloves, too. Quickly.”

Of course she could summon her father’s hateful rhetoric to her tongue and put the blood traitor in her rightful place, but she’d rather not flunk her studies, and a partnership was essential in handling Venomous Tentaculas.

“Get them yourself.” the redhead snapped, clearly not amused with the power dynamic Narcissa had so swiftly established, “You’ve hands, don’t you?”

Thin brows drawn in discontent, a little moisture lighting the down of her upper lip, Narcissa sneered and spun around to retrieve the equipment she’d ordered Prewett to grab. What guts the blood traitor had to look her in the eye like she was an equal – like she had any right to say what she did to her face. 

“You’re holding the pruning shears wrong.” Narcissa observed coolly, holding the Tentacula steadily at its base.

“Am I?” said Prewett, eyes flashing and unafraid to make herself known, “Funny. Looks like the plant’s still alive.”

A heavy sense of injustice settled in the depths of Narcissa’s stomach. This was a direct conflict to the correct order of things, and it prickled at her pride like a splinter beneath her skin. She was a Black, for Merlin’s sake – but Molly Prewett wasn’t following the script. Narcissa took a deep breath and emptied her mind, seeking that familiar coldness that Mother had taught her when she was nine and yielding.

“Do you speak to everyone like that?” Narcissa asked stonily.

Prewett met her gaze without flinching. “Only to those who deserve it.”

The thin ice cracked. Narcissa’s grip on the plant tightened, her knuckles paling as she worked to maintain her composure. “Deserve it?” she repeated. “What have I done to warrant your bad manners?”

Prewett didn’t even blink. “Existing like the world owes you something,” she shot back, her tone laced with fire. “You act like you’re better than everyone just because of your name. Newsflash, Black: it doesn’t impress me.”

The words connected as if on bone. For a moment, she felt her cheeks flush and hated herself for it. The chinks in her armour flared and threatened to split wide open.

“It’s not about impressing you,” Narcissa said, indignant. “It’s about upholding standards. Something your family clearly struggles with.”

Prewett’s hands stilled mid-prune, and her jaw tightened. Now they locked against each other – neither backing down. The Tentacula writhed hideously in the air as if feeding off of the hatred. “You don’t know the first thing about my family, you spoiled brat!”

The words spilled out of Narcissa like water before she could stop herself. “Blood traitors, aren’t you?” she said, wrinkling her nose, “Falling over yourselves to pander to Mudbloods –”

A shock wave shoved against her. Ears ringing, Narcissa stumbled backwards, perfectly polished shoes clicking against the Greenhouse floor. Her pale blue eyes were wide with shock as she steadied herself against the ledge of a desk. In the peripherals of her vision, Narcissa saw Professor Sprout bustling over with her wand aloft. She didn’t want to get into trouble over some filthy blood traitor.

“Touch me again, Prewett,” She was losing control – her voice held a hysterical edge, “– and I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you do!”

Molly Prewett did not bother her for the rest of the week, but rumours spread like wildfire (thanks to Joanna) and by Saturday, Bellatrix had sent third year Fabian and Gideon Prewett staggering to the hospital wing with their faces pocked with eruptions. 

“No one hurts my little sister and gets away with it,” said Bella, sprawled gracelessly on the green plush sofa in the Slytherin common room next to Narcissa and Andromeda, “that little blood traitor bastard.”

Narcissa sat stiffly with her hands clenched around the armrests and said nothing. It shouldn’t have come to this at all. The minute those horrid words left her mouth was the minute she’d lowered herself to the lowly station of a blood traitor. A Black never loses control. It had been an unforgivable lapse. First year or not, she was a Black, and she needed to start acting like one.

“You’re thinking too hard,” said Andromeda from beside her, “Is this about Molly?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Narcissa muttered. 

“But maybe you should. Whatever happened clearly upset you. Was it really just about her being... you know, a Prewett?” Andromeda paused uncomfortably, as if the word ‘blood traitor’ tasted bitter.

“Honestly, Cissy!” interjected Bella, “Next time you just land a good Bat Bogey right in the middle of her nose and be done with it.”

Narcissa ignored them. “I don’t want to talk about it.” she repeated, letting the ice settle into her bones and freeze over her tone.

“Fine, don’t talk,” Bella said, stretching like a cat. “But just remember, Cissy, we’re Blacks. We don’t let anyone walk over us. You have to make them respect you.”

But what did Bella know about respect? Fear wasn’t the same thing. Narcissa stood abruptly and strode up to her dorm two steps at a time, pushing open the door with a firm hand. Then she drew the curtains tightly around her bed before Ariadne’s wide-eyed gaze could prompt another conversation about the incident at the Greenhouse.

The next morning, Narcissa slotted herself between Camille and Ariadne, where she could at least pretend that the whispers following her were about something other than her humiliating feud in Herbology. She had heard plenty of gossip about students’ quarrels before – rumours, after all, were the only galleons the first years had to trade in. Still, Narcissa had never envisioned that she would one day be the subject of these pedestrian things. Stirring sugar quietly into her tea, she waited out the endless interim of chatter and resolved to not think about Molly Prewett again.

It was Sunday, which meant that there was going to be mail. In the downpour of morning light, a hundred or so owls came flocking into the Great Hall, circling overhead until they spotted their owners and began dropping letters or parcels into their laps. Mother’s great eagle owl hovered to a stop above Narcissa and a letter fell in a graceful arc towards her. It dove into the cupped palms of her hands and Narcissa clutched it to her chest before excusing herself swiftly from the table.

There was nobody in the dormitory because everybody else was still up in the Great Hall for breakfast. Even still, Narcissa pulled the curtains of her bed tightly around herself and opened the letter with trembling fingers. Surely the quarrel with Molly Prewett hadn’t reached Black Manor yet?

Dearest Narcissa,

I trust this letter finds you well-settled at Hogwarts and flourishing in your first term. Do let me know if you require anything from home, and I will arrange everything you need through Grimble.

Congratulations on being placed in Slytherin. It is a fitting house for you and I am certain you will do well there. Your father and I have been most curious to hear more about your studies. What marks have you received thus far? I trust you’ve found your courses interesting and are achieving results that reflect the excellence expected of you. Professor McGonagall is known to be quite strict with her students, but that should pose no challenge for a girl of your natural gifts. If you wish to remain the pride of your House and Name, it is imperative that you distinguish yourself early and consistently. Have you sought Slughorn’s attention for his ‘club’? Do start if you haven’t yet.

I would also like to know how you have been conducting yourself socially. Have you made any alliances yet? The Greengrass family is quite renowned, and their daughter – Camille, I’ve heard – is attending Hogwarts as a first year as well. I expect that you have been behaving yourself appropriately. As always, do not interact with anyone of lesser status and do not let them provoke you.

Do write back soon, Narcissa, and do so in detail. I shall expect a full account of your lessons, your professors, and your plans for improving where necessary. 

With all my love,

Mother.

Wide-eyed, Narcissa lifted her chin, trying to rein in the child that Mother’s letter had just evoked: frowning, anxious, hanging on the edge of her family’s approval. She began weighing her options carefully, cautiously, meticulously: she had been perfectly responsible in all aspects of her Hogwarts life, except for that quarrel one week ago with Molly Prewett, where she’d lost control over the mask Mother had carved out for her since she was nine years old. But what were the chances of the rumours reaching the Black family estate, and what were the chances of the rumours reaching Mother’s ears? Who would bother telling Mother and Father about a blood traitor’s dalliances?

Then there was the question of grades. Narcissa had no natural talent, but she had practiced spell after spell, studied theory after theory, until she was tired and sore and her wrists felt like water. Some lessons where her performance was less than satisfactory – the Transfigurations lesson, most of all – could surely be omitted. There would be no harm done.

Narcissa tucked her hair into a braid and retrieved a quill from her bedside desk before slipping down the empty hallway that led to the boat grotto. It was a side of the Black Lake that she’d found on her first weekend at Hogwarts, during which she’d explored all the necessary parts of the castle to prepare for her time here. 

It was not a very warm day, for October was quickly mellowing to a close and the leaves were beginning to tumble in the breeze. Narcissa perched herself atop a little stone on the ground behind a great willow tree and drew out some parchment. Water sluiced up the beach of pebbles and hopped over the stones before turning back on itself and hopping again. 

The day drew on as Narcissa began writing the letter back home. 

Dear Mother,

I was so pleased to receive your letter. I hope you and Father have been well – I am thinking of you here in Hogwarts, as always.

I can assure you that I have been conducting myself appropriately so far. My placement in Slytherin was no surprise and I am determined to live up to the expectations of our house. Camille Greengrass has become an acquaintance of mine; I noted her family’s prominence immediately following the welcoming feast. I have not tied myself to anyone unworthy of the Black name.

As for my studies, I am progressing steadily. All of my classes have been interesting but rather easy. My wandwork in Charms has been noted by Professor Flitwick as precise, and so has my brewing in Potions, though I have yet to approach him formally about his club. I will wait until I am certain I have something exceptional to offer.

How are things back home in the Manor? I require nothing from home – please don’t trouble Grimble. I have been settling very well into Hogwarts life and excelling in all areas of my studies. I hope this letter satisfies your concerns and that you feel confident in my progress here. Please give my regards to Father and tell him I will make him proud.

Love,

Narcissa.

She read the letter aloud three times and checked for any mistakes, then headed to the Great Hall where Mother’s owl was waiting obediently at the Slytherin table. She folded the letter neatly, pressing the edges together like they could hide any of the imperfections she might have let slip in her words. Then Narcissa tied the letter to the awaiting leg of the owl and sent it silently to the sky.

Later that afternoon, she found Ariadne and Camille in the library and joined them with her Defense assignment, which was on the differences between hexes, jinxes, and curses. Because it was relatively simple content, Narcissa blocked out two hours for the essay and then planned out the rest of her evening accordingly. She had no doubt her quarrel with Molly Prewett had reached the professors’ ears – which only meant that she had to work double as hard to reclaim their favour. It wouldn’t be difficult; she just had to be persistent.

“Are you looking forward to the Halloween feast next week, Nissa?” asked Ariadne, who was working on the Potions assignment on dragon blood. Narcissa startled a little at the nickname, the usage of which suggested that Ariadne had already laid some casual claim to familiarity.

“I suppose so. I’m curious what kind of decor the Professors will enchant,” she replied, though she quickly added a formal, “Ariadne,” in an effort to discourage any further liberties with shorthand monikers. Narcissa didn’t want to invite anything that might erode the carefully maintained boundaries she held with her peers. 

Camille, seated across the table from them both, gave a tinkling little laugh and leaned in. “I heard from Joanna that Professor Slughorn’s been pestering the house elves to roast an entire fire salamander. Do you think that’s true?”

Ariadne giggled, her quill pausing mid-sentence. “I doubt the Ministry would allow it. Imagine the scandal if someone’s family owl wrote home about that.”

Narcissa offered a half-smile, though she kept her gaze focused on the neat lines of her parchment. “I don’t think a self-respecting Potion master would do that, even for Halloween. Fire salamanders are seriously temperamental.”

“Imagine if it ignited during dinner!” Ariadne pulled a face, and it was so silly that Narcissa allowed herself a small, amused exhale, though her quill didn’t pause in its steady glide across the parchment.

When the clock chimed six o’clock at the far corner of the library, Narcissa closed her ink bottle with a decisive snap and stacked her parchments neatly together before heading down to the Great Hall with Ariadne and Camille for dinner. It was already dark – the days were growing shorter – and the glow of the enchanted candles slowly descended upon the tables which were beginning to melt into the dusky light. Bella was sitting in the center, laughing loudly at something Euphrosyne had said, but Andromeda was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she was late, Narcissa thought, and did not worry further. 

“You don’t like the rumours one bit, do you, Narcissa?” said Joanna as soon as she had sat down.

“What?” It’d come out sharper than Narcissa intended.

“I said,” Joanna repeated, “You don’t like the rumours, do you?”

She didn’t know what Joanna was planning, and the lack of control she had over the situation made her a little anxious. There was no malice in Joanna’s expression – only curiosity, perhaps a little teasing, but nothing unkind. Taking a minute thread off her sleeve, Narcissa blinked. “No. Well. I didn’t… Expect it.”

Joanna nodded, her mouth twisting sharply upwards. "I can imagine. You’re not the sort to thrive in the spotlight, are you?" She glanced around the table and then leaned closer, warming to her subject. “Rumours are terrible things. Don’t you think?”

“I suppose you’re right.” said Narcissa. She was more tied to convention than she’d believed – the gossip had disturbed her more thoroughly than she had initially expected. Whilst she had sworn herself to future aloofness when confronted with blood traitors and their like, the whispers that followed her really didn’t do her any good. Regardless, she felt as if she was being understood in a way that she hadn’t intended. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason. I get it.” Joanna’s nose twitched. She shrugged and leaned back in her seat, folding her arms over her chest. “But the thing with rumours is that they don’t stay the same for long. Everyone’s so quick to latch on to whatever gossip is available. It’s like a game to them, hm? Whoever can start the most scandalous rumours wins. Take Slughorn, for instance.”

Narcissa didn’t understand the sudden shift in the conversation. “Slughorn?”

“I’ve been hearing whispers, and I think it’s time to share the real scoop.” Joanna grinned, and then inconspicuously glanced around the table as if checking that everybody was listening.

“Did you know…” She’d begun her line of attack. The first years around them were riveted. “Apparently, Slughorn’s been hoarding a stash of elven mead for years – brought it back from one of his many extravagant parties in Ireland. The house elves have been preparing it in secret for weeks. I heard he’s going to serve it at the Halloween feast!”

Narcissa’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief, but she held her tongue. 

“Can you imagine the scandal,” Joanna continued with an air of mock horror, “if the Ministry found out? Elven mead – banned for centuries because of its potency. The Ministry would be all over it. Slughorn would be out of a job in a second!”

Narcissa pressed her lips together to fight back a smile. It was utterly absurd, but the matter-of-fact way Joanna delivered it made it sound absolutely believable. The rest of the first years were devouring the gossip straight from the palm of Joanna’s hands, and soon the news had spread, all fire, flat to the horizon, making sharp turns down to the house tables until Narcissa’s feud with Molly Prewett had become all but forgotten. It was working. 

Joanna turned back and gave her the faintest little wink; it made Narcissa flush terribly with gratitude. Still, she was a little uneasy – this was a favour and favours cried for debts unpaid. 

“Thank you.” She said with a deliberate smile.

“No need for that. It’s what I’m good at.” shrugged Joanna, her voice sharp and eyes owl-like, “And trust me, it’s the least I can do. We’ve all gotta stick together in this place, haven’t we? I help you, you help me. It’s mutual.”

Beside them, Ariadne and Camille had caught on. Whilst the rest of the table fired off with Joanna’s gossip, Narcissa’s dormmates struck up conversation… It turned out that Ariadne had a younger sister called Phaedra, who would be coming to Hogwarts in two years. Camille could bear nothing but linen next to her body and she bathed in cold water winter and summer. Joanna’s mother used to tell her the most wonderful stories, and she always liked to feel the sentences hoist her up and carry her somewhere else. Narcissa made sure not to share anything of great importance about herself, but she thought it useful to trickle in with a crowd who could at least have her back against filth like Molly Prewett; she talked a little about Bellatrix and Andromeda, as well as her being named after a daffodil.

When she returned to the dormitory that night, the rippling darkness of the Black Lake outside didn’t feel quite so claustrophobic after all.

Halloween had come. The much-awaited feast commenced at exactly seven o’clock, and Narcissa was grateful that there was neither roasted fire salamander nor forbidden elven mead on the Slytherin table. Lanterns of every kind drifted from place to place, glowing dim-orange in little pulses. In the far corner of the Great Hall, Headmaster Dumbledore had charmed a copper organ to play a tune on its own: a perfect fountain of bubbling notes shook from the instrument, round, bright notes, carelessly scattered. The air was thick with the smell of roast, and indeed the tables had been loaded with dishes of every kind, including baked potatoes, Shepherd’s pie, beef wellington, cornish pasty, and roast vegetables. 

Bella and her friends sat shoulder to shoulder next to the treacle pudding, jostling, but Andromeda and Bernadette sat in a more secluded corner where the torchlight didn’t reach. It was unbearably noisy – more so than the welcoming feast, now that everyone had grown accustomed to one another. Mudbloods and Half-breeds shoved each other; Blood traitors laughed over one another… The undignified chatter swelled into a buzzing clamour, lapsed, then rose again, wave on wave, like the sea. Thirty minutes of this left a needling migraine threatening at the Narcissa’s temples. She couldn’t stay here any longer.

“Excuse me,” she said to Ariadne, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Narcissa made her way quietly down one of the darker corridors, where the noise from the feast thankfully drew out and faded. The stone walls were tall and dark beside her. She was almost to the entrance of the Slytherin common room when a sudden squall of wind whipped through the hall, rustling the hem of her robes. In a castle with ghosts and poltergeists, there was nothing unnatural about this except –

Two forms flitted along the wall like shadow-play. Fearful and suddenly alert, Narcissa spun around – her wand had twisted into her palm from the holster in her sleeve. She hadn’t learned anything of great use in Defense, but even Transfigurations could be dangerous if the situation demanded it.

Slowly, Narcissa stepped backward – and all at once something wet and sticky splattered against the back of her neck, followed by a grand torrent of water that poured down from above in a cold, relentless rush. Narcissa gasped, staggering backwards as the liquid soaked her from head to toe and dripped mercilessly from the tips of her now-stringy hair. 

“Think that’ll do, matey?” The voice was mean and far too close for comfort.

“She deserves much worse, I’m telling ya.” said another, “Little purist firstie thinks she can insult our sister and then send Bellatrix Black after us like a hound!”

Narcissa squinted back the sour ache behind her eyes and raised her wand higher. She could recognize those auburn curls anywhere: these were the Prewett twins. Fabian and Gideon – she remembered they were called. Blood traitors, the lot of them. 

This was going to be a very different fight than the one in Herbology. Shields slammed down harder than ever in her mind, and the humiliation at being caught off-guard drained quickly out of her like smoke. She was becoming more and more familiar with the cold inside her – how it froze over her features, and how it stiffened her gait… It was becoming second nature.

“I don’t know what sort of game you think you’re playing,” she said, and she was surprised by the steady frigidity of her tone, “but it’s over.”

One of the boys smirked, advancing on her and wrenching her still-dripping hair around so that it clung to her neck in heavy clumps. “Oh, really? We thought you’d have a better sense of humour than this, Cissy. Considering you had so much fun with good ol’ Molly last week. Insulted her and all. Where’d all that fire go?”

“Yeah,” said the other, “Learn to take a joke, won’t ya, sweetheart?” 

Narcissa was rigid in her place. Her pulse quickened and she pulled the reins tighter over herself. It was almost as if she was looking at the situation as a fourth observer. “No. But perhaps you should learn your place instead.”

“What, as a Blood traitor, you mean?” mocked one boy, “You seem to be saying that a lot.”

Her jaw tightened, but she was learning to gain control over herself and the icy feeling gave her focus. “I’d watch where you stand if I were you.”

The twins glanced at each other a little uneasily before bursting into laughter.

“You’ve got a spine after all,” One rolled his eyes. “I’m impressed. But you know, we don’t just let things slide that easily, right?”

The other’s grin sharpened as he took a step forward. “What’s your next move, then? You gonna hex us into next week, Princess?”

“You’re not worth it.” Narcissa decided coldly, “I’m not here to play games with you. But if you ever come near me again, you’ll regret it.”

Suddenly, there was a loud crash, and the twins froze, their heads whipping around in alarm as the sound echoed down the corridor. Narcissa, too, turned sharply, her wand raised in anticipation of a new attacker –

But there, framed by the flickering torchlight, stood Bernadette Shacklebolt. Her braids were stacked atop her head like a crown, her burgundy lips curved in a gorgeous, contemptuous smile. Though Narcissa wouldn’t admit it, immense relief immediately flooded her and pieces of her soul were beginning to return into place, making her stumble a little under the sudden heavy weight of it all. Two against two – at least this time it would be even.

“You’ve really outdone yourselves this time.” Bernadette Shacklebolt said impertinently. Her hands were raised in front of her, wand gleaming in the dim light. She didn’t hesitate for a second. “You better leave her alone, or things might just get interesting.”

Fabian and Gideon Prewett didn’t move, and all at once they were hanging in midair like ragdolls. They cried out, but Bernadette Shacklebolt was faster.

“Now, I think it’s time you took a little walk. And I don’t mean down this corridor,” Bernadette said with a cool smile. “So, why don’t we send you both somewhere a little less inviting?”

With another sharp flick of her wand, she sent them both tumbling backward, their bodies briefly suspended before they crashed into a pile of discarded equipment left from the feast preparations. A few books and a broomstick landed with a clatter, but the two boys were soon scrambling to their feet, scrambling away in the direction of the main hall, muttering curses under their breath.

Narcissa, still standing in her dripping robes, let out a slow breath. The tension slid off her shoulders and she slumped backward against the wall, lips parted. 

“And you,” Bernadette Shacklebolt turned suddenly towards her, “look like a drowned rat. Go back to the dorm and take care of yourself.”

A little startled at the girl’s abrupt attention, Narcissa gathered herself quickly. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do it for you, Little Black.” said Bernadette with an impressive roll of her eyes, “Dromeda would have flayed me alive if she found out I left you alone with those two out for your blood.”

“Thank you anyway.” Narcissa allowed a little warmth to colour her tone, before heading back to the dormitory as calmly as she could.

It was intensely frightening – in hindsight, at least – what they could have done to her and what they almost had done.  What they could do again. She was cold and she was shivering, knuckles paling as she clutched tightly at the ledge of the bathroom sink. Narcissa had never thought that she’d be the target of such activities, but she’d never thought that she’d be the target of school gossip, either. Her robes were soaked, and somehow the damp coldness of it all on her skin made her immensely aware of how alone she was – where were Bella and Annie when she wanted them? Her throat ached, and she let her walls come down softly as the tears dripped down her cheeks. 

It wasn’t just the humiliation that stung – it was the audacity. Blood traitors like the Prewetts were always looking for ways to drag the proud pureblood families down into the muck where they lived, weren’t they? Gideon and Fabian might think they were noble, standing up for their sister or whatever foolish vigilante courage they clung to, but Narcissa saw through them. This wasn’t about justice. It was about envy.

But she couldn’t cry too long – it would look so improper if she came out of the bathroom with swollen eyes and a blob for a nose. Was the feast over by now? With a hiccup, Narcissa dried her face quickly and straightened in front of the mirror. Nobody could know, she decided. It’d only put her in the spotlight again with all the gossip and chatter. 

Narcissa couldn’t change what had happened, and she couldn’t change what could happen in the future, but she could prepare. What am I going to do? She asked herself, moving quickly away from the mirror. What do I want? That was the thing about Narcissa Black: she needed an ambition before she could work towards it stone by stone, this breath and the next one. Locked in this small, white space, away from the world, she mulled this over for a moment and thought that the only reasonable conclusion would be for her to begin learning defense spells. Narcissa could never be as clever or as creative as Bellatrix, but she had the work ethic and the determination. All she wanted was to be safe.

So, the month leading up to Mid-term exams was spent not only revising learned content, but also reading books upon books of protective spells. Narcissa learned about apparition, and she was immediately drawn in by the concept of being able to escape any situation quickly and quietly. She wouldn’t begin practicing it, of course – the risk of splinching was terribly high and thus it was unsafe – but she read up on its theory until she thought she could try to do it if the situation really asked for it… By the start of December, she had also mastered the basics of the third-year Petrificus Totalus curse.

Academia was not neglected. Narcissa wanted to return to Mother this Christmas with excellent school results, and she could not obtain this goal without working hard night after night, day after day. As always, Transfigurations was a difficulty, but Andromeda helped her at every opportunity and soon she was feeling quite confident with her practicals. Theory was easy for her; Narcissa wrote down her notes on little pieces of parchment that she bound to a notebook and read through them every morning before going up for breakfast. 

The end of term brought an end to the exam season and the upcoming Christmas break. Narcissa obtained an average of ninety-two percent on all of her mid-term exams – which was not particularly outstanding but excellent enough to appease Mother. She wasn’t too down about it – this wasn’t the N.E.W.T.s, after all, and she would work harder for the End-of-Year exams next June.

Because Euphrosyne and Raquel were staying at Hogwarts to prepare for O.W.L.s, Narcissa and her dormmates sat in the same compartment as Bella, Annie, and Bernadette on the train ride back to London. It was a very chilly day, and frost clung to the windows like tiny crystalline webs. For the first time since September, it seemed that Bella was holding herself properly – thanks to the absence of her two best friends.

“Any plans for the winter, Dromeda?” Bernadette hadn’t spoken to either of her sisters about the incident on Halloween, for which Narcissa was grateful.

"Not particularly," Andromeda said with a small shrug and grinned. "The usual holiday routine. Christmas Party with my cousins over at Grimmauld Place, probably. Mother will insist on all the formalities, and Father will hole up in his study until New Year’s Eve. And you?"

Bernadette smirked. “I’ll be spending it with my parents in Kent. No formalities. Just food, music, and little Kingsley trying to convince me to join him in sledding down the hill behind the house."

“Sledding?” Camille piped up, looking as though the word itself was an affront to her sensibilities. “That sounds positively barbaric.”

“You’d be surprised,” Bernadette retorted dryly. “It’s actually fun. Something you might want to try someday, Greengrass.”

“Ugh. I just know Mother will be insufferable, as always,” Bellatrix cut in without looking up. “But at least we’ll have a proper Christmas dinner. I can’t say I’ll miss the slop they serve at Hogwarts.”

Beside Narcissa, Ariadne was positively bathing in the chatter, her eyes darting between each speaker like she were watching a live play. Joanna was asleep against the window, and Camille was trying once again to get rid of some imaginary dirt on the bridge of her nose.

Narcissa leaned back in her seat, listening half-heartedly and letting her mind drift toward the two weeks ahead. The prospect of home was bittersweet – she hoped Mother would be in a good mood. The idea of the family Christmas party filled her with equal parts excitement and dread: she would see her cousins Sirius and Regulus – who must be six and five years old now – as well as her aunt Walburga and uncle Orion, who were always so much stricter than Mother and Father. 

The train lurched as it began to slow, pulling into King’s Cross Station. London’s familiar grey skies stretched beyond the windows, and Narcissa quickly huffed on the glass before rubbing at the fog so that the view cleared up. The platform came into view. It didn’t take long to spot Mother’s unmistakable fur-lined cloak beside Father’s sharp black suit. 

"Ready to go?" Bellatrix asked.

"Of course," said Narcissa, straightening herself. "I’m ready."

Andromeda gathered her things and sighed before giving Bernadette a one-armed hug. “Don’t have too much fun without me, Bernie.”

“Cissy, Annie, come on!”

“See you all in two weeks.” Narcissa smiled politely at her dormmates and then followed Bella out into the cold.

Home. She’d missed it… There were so many things to do, so many shoes to fill, so many expectations to meet. Though the Christmas break would only be for two weeks, Narcissa was sure that she could find a way to make the most of it.

Christmas was always beautiful in Grimmauld Place, but this year’s party was to be one of the best. Mother was determined to make Narcissa look perfect because this was her first Christmas as a Hogwarts student – one could never be eleven years old again, after all.

Exactly when the party began Narcissa would have found it difficult to say. The parlour was already humming with noise when they stepped out from the Floo – she and her sisters, with their hair down and wavy. Bellatrix had on one of her black shimmering robes, and Andromeda’s dark head pushed above her white fur like a flower through snow. Narcissa tucked a handkerchief down the front of her light blue bodice and smoothed her marble-white gloves. 

“Oh, darling Narcissa, how well you look!”

“Dear, what a stunning dress!”

“I’ve ne-ver seen you so-o striking, child!”

Narcissa, glowing softly, looked between Grandmother Irma and Grandfather Pollux and Aunt Walburga and Great-Aunt Cassiopeia and Uncle Orion. “How kind. Thank you.” She put on one of those lovely smiles that Mother had taught her, and at the sight of it Aunt Walburga swooned.

“But – Why – this girl is a gift!” she cried.

Mother laughed, clasping Aunt by the shoulder and pulling her away, “She’s always been my little jewel. Come along now.”

When the crowd in front of her dissolved, Narcissa drew back with a palm to her chest and took a deep breath. There were so many people – her heart was fluttering like a caged bird in her ribs. Where were Andromeda and Bellatrix? She walked slowly through the manor and found them at last in the drawing room with little cousins Sirius and Regulus, who were squabbling over a toy broomstick. 

“It’s mine!” cried Regulus, his small face flushed with frustration.

"And I had it first," Sirius retorted, a grin spreading across his face as he dangled the broom higher.

Bella hung upside down over a velvet settee and watched on with a cruel smirk. “Merlin, you two sound like a pair of squawking Puffskeins. Can’t you settle this without shrieking?” 

“It’s Christmas, Bella.” huffed Andromeda, “Let them be. What else are they supposed to do, sit quietly and discuss cauldron thicknesses?”

Narcissa entered and shut the door quietly behind her.

“Cissy!” Sirius called, noticing her at last. He ran over, his face alight with excitement. “Did you see? I almost had him!”

“You were being horrid,” Narcissa told him primly, though she couldn’t help a small smile. “Regulus was only trying to play.”

Her cousins had grown so much since she last saw them. Regulus was taller now, and Sirius broader in the shoulders. They still looked a lot like each other, but Sirius’ hair was longer, shaggy and windswept. He always did have a storm writ into him – not unlike Bella at all. 

“You’re both ridiculous,” Bellatrix said from her perch, long black curls trailing over the edge of the sofa. “Sirius, you’re too old to be squabbling over a toy. Regulus, stop being so pathetic about it.”

“Bella.” Andromeda interjected, sighing. “Let them be children for a while longer. They’ll have plenty of time to be serious when they’re older.”

“I am Serious, Andy!” Sirius shot back with a wide grin, clearly pleased with his pun. “C’mon, Reggie. I’m sorry. Wanna play?”

And the perfect afternoon slowly ripened, slowly faded, slowly its petals closed.

By the time dinner came, night had rolled steadily across the city. A flurry of snow began its steady descent down across the faces of old manors outside, so deceptively delicious that someone might be tempted to make a sharp turn out and catch the little sugar flakes on their tongue, and only when it melted dishearteningly in their mouth discover that they had been tricked by a freak of nature. 

But nobody was looking at the snow. Inside Grimmauld Place, a roaring fire had been lit in the hearth, golden and flickering like a nest of baby phoenixes. Several plates of beautiful red soup were served by a house elf called Kreacher, and then came the white lobster on a spinning wheel-like platter, the cream-puffs, the brie, the horseradish sauce, and the salmon with the spiced pomegranate glaze. Mother sat, her spoon rising and falling, with the adults on the right side of the table, who were dabbing their lips with their napkins, crumbling bread, and talking. 

“I’ve heard rumours about the new minister.” began Uncle Orion, “Eugenia Jenkins – she is much too lenient on muggle matters. But at least the Mudblood Minister’s been ousted from office.”

“Isn’t Jenkins very tight with Albus Dumbledore?”

“Oh, yes.” said Aunt Walburga dreadfully, “Quite. But you know how difficult it is to find a proper pure wizard nowadays.” She broke a little piece from her bread and sucked on it, “Speaking of which, how is my dear Narcissa’s first year at Hogwarts? All gone well, I hope?”

Narcissa, who was sitting between her two sisters, came sharply to attention. “Yes, Aunt.” She smiled mildly, “Classes are manageable, and I have been very selective with my acquaintances, as Mother has wished.”

“How won-derful!” cried Great-Aunt Cassiopeia, seeming on the brink of great enlightenment, “But tell me, child, have you thought about what you are learning? Not the spells, not the potions – those are just lit-tle tools… I mean the essence… The why be-hind the magic…” Very gravely, she took Narcissa’s palm with a cold bird-boned hand.

“Magic doesn’t need a ‘why,’” Bellatrix cut in, swirling her glass of punch lazily. “It’s power. You take it, you use it. What else matters?”

“Oh, Bella-trix, dear,” Great-Aunt Cassiopeia sighed, brushing graying hair from her face sagely. “That is such a simp-lis-tic view... Magic is life, and life, you see, is like… Soup. Yes, child, soup. A spell is like a single ingredient, es-sen-tial, yes, but it is the harmony of all the elements… That creates something greater. The flame beneath the cauldron is your passion, the stir-ring is your intention, and we are all… But spoons.”

Bellatrix snorted beside her. Great-Aunt Cassiopeia was eighty-two years old and sometimes went on tangents. Narcissa eased herself gently out of her bony grasp and smiled politely. “I’ll certainly think about that, Great-Aunt Cassiopeia.”

“Great-Aunt, didn’t you say magic was a wallpaper last Christmas?” smiled Andromeda.

“Life can be soup and wallpaper,” Cassiopeia declared. “One must simply broaden their under-stan-ding…”

“I suppose next year it’ll be a tree,” Sirius said under his breath as he tried to steal an extra cream-puff for Regulus. “Or maybe a broomstick.”

“Cygnus,” Mother interrupted, steering the conversation back sharply, “have you considered moving some of the family’s accounts out of Gringotts? With the ministry’s current trajectory, who knows what sort of restrictions might be placed on old wizarding money?”

Father took a slice of salmon from the gilded plate. “Yes, dear. I’ve heard rumours of vault inspections.”

“Do tell me if you figure that out,” said Grandfather Pollux from the head of the table. “The last thing we need is more interference from these muggle-coddling fools.”

Narcissa sat quietly, listening as the conversation at the adults’ table veered further into politics. She wasn’t particularly interested, but she made sure to lift her brows slightly and maintain a mask of careful attentiveness. The dessert was served twenty minutes later – an enormous flaming pudding with sugared hollies sitting on top like rubies. Mother immediately rose to carve the first slice. She handed the first plate to Grandfather Pollux, the second to Uncle Orion, the third to Father, and the fourth – a smaller slice – to Narcissa, who accepted it with both hands.

“Thank you, Mother,” Narcissa said. The pudding was so rich and dense, spiced with nutmeg and cinnamon and sweetened with plump raisins and candied peel. It was absolutely delicious.

The rest of the break was spent in the family library. Narcissa hadn’t forgotten about her ambitions – the Halloween incident still sat most heavily on her mind. Once her homework was finished and she had looked over most of the content to be covered next semester, Narcissa began breezing through books on defense. If she found anything of remote interest to her, she would note it down on a piece of parchment until she had created a little collection of spells by the end of December. Andromeda confined herself in her room for most of the break (they were old enough to have been given their own rooms), and Bellatrix divided her time between sneaking outside and pestering Narcissa.

“Reading again?” said Bellatrix, “What’s gotten into you, Cissy?”

“It’s quiet in here.”

“Well you’re too quiet, Cissy,” she snapped after a moment. “Always on the sidelines. You sit in this room, all alone with your books, like you’re waiting for something to happen. But nothing will. Not unless you make it happen.”

Narcissa withheld a smile. If only Bella knew. She wasn’t scared of action as much as she was scared of conflict – if it came down to it she would be ready. If she needed to burn the whole world down to keep herself safe, she’d do it. 

“I’ll keep that in mind, Bella.”

“Good,” Bella lifted her chin haughtily as she marched out of the room, “You just remember, Cissy, the world isn’t as perfect as you want it to be.”

But Narcissa didn’t need the world to be perfect; she only needed it to be hers.

In the evenings, Narcissa heard the sound of pages flipping in Andromeda’s room, and she wondered if her sister, too, was reading about defensive spells – if she even had need for it. Andromeda was kind, mellow-hearted, and she didn’t have many enemies in Hogwarts; but for a girl so adept at warmth and tenderness, her gaze was remarkably firm.

It was a cold, dreary night. Narcissa couldn’t sleep. She padded out to Andromeda’s room and stopped at the door frame – Andromeda was perched by the window of her room, a thick book open in her lap and her face glowing with the light of the waning moon.

“What are you reading?”

Immediately, Andromeda’s eyes snapped up, and every muscle in her neck knotted in tension as she clicked her book closed. Narcissa took a shaky step back – in that moment, for a heartbeat of a second, her sister had looked at her like she was a threat or an intruder who had no place in the warm space of her life.

More urgently now – “What are you reading, Annie?”

“Nothing.” said Andromeda hastily, standing up in front of the window so that the star-freckled sky cast her in muted darkness. “What are you doing here, Narcissa?”

A dreadful feeling settled like an uncomfortable weight in the depths of her gut. Narcissa approached her sister slowly, easing the book from its slot by the window. There was a green ribbon in it that served as a bookmark.

“Sense… And Sensibility.” Narcissa pronounced softly, “By Jane Austen.”

“Give it back, Narcissa.”

“Is this Muggle?” asked Narcissa, her pale fingers tightening against the spine of the book. “Annie. Is this Muggle?”

Andromeda was silent, eyes wide. “I found it. On the streets.”

Narcissa blinked. Her heart beat two four six eight. She knew that wasn’t true, but she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to be the one to have seen.

“... Why?”

“Because.” said Andromeda, trembling, “It’s different. They see the world differently.”

Narcissa’s fingers loosened slightly against the spine of the book, but she didn’t let it go. “You know what Mother would say. What Father would do if they found this.”

“I know.” Andromeda whispered, “Cissy. Please don’t tell, Cissy.”

Narcissa’s lips thinned. She didn’t want to lose her sister, but maybe Mother and Father could help her. Andromeda was being corrupted, and someone needed to help her… But she didn’t want to see her sister being punished; she didn’t want to see her sister unsafe.

“I don’t know, Andromeda.” said Narcissa, “You have to stop reading… These things.”

Andromeda didn’t say anything. They stood there under the moonlight, just two shadows in a room with a secret that wouldn’t leave it.

“But maybe it’s worth it.” Andromeda said slowly, the words rolling from her tongue like poison.

“Don’t say that!” hissed Narcissa, “Don’t even think it. You can’t, Annie. You can’t!”

“Alright!” said Andromeda, raising her palms in defense. “Alright! I’ll stop, Cissy. Just don’t tell. Please don’t tell.”

She wanted to believe her sister, wanted to believe that Andromeda would stop, that this strange rebellion was a passing fancy and not the beginning of something irreversible… She had to.

“Fine.” Narcissa said at last, “But you need to remember who we are. You need to remember who you are.”

Lifting her wand, Narcissa muttered a spell and ruthlessly tore the book to shreds. Andromeda shook, but said nothing.

When Narcissa crawled back under her own covers, she tossed and turned for hours and forced herself to forget. There was nothing much she could do, especially as they were returning to Hogwarts in just a few days and they’d be sharing very little in common – but she would be damned if she lost her family to the dark side. She’d be damned if she lost her sister. 

The world was shifting, and Narcissa didn’t know how to control it – not like she controlled everything else. Her fingers clenched around the edges of her blanket as she turned over in bed once more. It was only a book. They were only words. What worth were they? What evil could it have done, really, in the long run? 

Fine. It was fine. This was only a phase; this, too, shall pass.

No matter what happened next, Narcissa would make sure to protect the life she had built. She knew Andromeda understood. It had only been a book. Only words.

But family? Family was everything.

Narcissa kept a close tally on her sister’s behaviour for the remainder of the break. As it was, Andromeda seemed reformed – obedient, polite, and entirely proper. When Narcissa peeked through the narrow gap of her sister’s door, she noted with grim satisfaction the neat stack of purist-approved books on her bedside table. In return, Narcissa said nothing about Andromeda’s unfortunate lapse of judgement, even to Bella – she’d promised, after all, and promises between sisters were sacred.

Then the break was over, and the sisters returned to Hogwarts. Narcissa hauled her trunk up to the dormitory where her roommates were already waiting. 

“You won’t believe it, Narcissa!” exclaimed Ariadne the moment the door closed behind her, “I had the best Christmas ever!”

Smiling politely, Narcissa indulged her. “Oh, good. What did you do?”

“Mum took me to Celestina Warbeck’s concert!” she cried, “There was ‘A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love’ and ‘You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me’ too. And because it was the holiday season she sang ‘Accio Christmas’ for us all. My sister was absolutely taken with her.”

Narcissa set her books down in the six separate piles she’d organized during her first week here. She wasn’t a fan of Warbeck or her melodramatic ballads, but she could recognize popularity when she saw it.

“Really?” replied Narcissa, meeting Ariadne’s bright gaze with diplomatic attention. By the appearances of things, Camille and Joanna had already fallen prey to the same tale more than once before. They were sitting on the floor and sharing a short stack of chocolate frogs which they no doubt purchased from the train, looking terribly bored.

Ariadne was still talking. “Yes, and then we stayed after the show, and Celestina herself came out to greet the fans! I got her autograph – it’s on my nightstand if you want to see.” A giggle mounted in Ariadne’s throat and bubbled over like a little fountain.

“It looks lovely, Ariadne.” said Narcissa, offering a cursory glance at the initials sprawled ungracefully over gritty paper. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“Well, did anything interesting happen during your holidays, Narcissa?” asked Joanna.

Narcissa paused and considered. Andromeda’s brief folly had been more noteworthy than anything else she could name, but she had no intention of sharing family matters with her roommates, no matter how friendly they were being. 

“Nothing really.” she said, “Dinner parties, gatherings, you know.” 

Her roommates were satisfied with her answer – or, if they were not, they kept quiet. That was the thing Narcissa liked about these girls: no matter their individual moods, they weren’t the type to press for unnecessary details or pry into matters that didn’t concern them.

Six o’clock was dinner, and half past nine was curfew. The next day would bring Potions and Charms, followed by History of Magic and Defense. Once again Narcissa was settling into a familiar routine. This suited her well – she liked her world predictable, and she thrived in stability.

By the second week, Flying lessons commenced. The instructor was a tan-skinned man called Mister Harper, girt with a towel and glowing under the warm afternoon light. He was enormously enthusiastic – before the lesson started, he slapped his thighs and, standing firm in an exact square of white-lined grass, began to do his exercises. Deep breathing, bending and squatting like a frog and shooting out his legs. He was so delighted with his own rippling, obedient body that he thumped himself vigorously on the chest and gave a loud ‘Ah’. The hour might have easily passed like that with all the Gryffindor and Slytherin students staring at him, if not for the enchanted whistle slung across his neck that blew shrilly at the fifteen-minute mark. Looking piteously disappointed, Mister Harper ushered the first-years into two rows facing each other, with a school broom each. Narcissa stood in the Slytherin line between Ariadne and Joanna, but unfortunately her position placed her directly across from Molly Prewett, who fixed her with a fierce frown. Well, Narcissa had no intention of participating in some petty staring contest, least of all with filth like Prewett. Turning her nose up into the air, she kept her gaze on Mister Harper and steadfastly refused to meet the redhead’s glare.

“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” called Mister Harper in a friendly voice, “and say ‘Up!’”

Around Narcissa, students eagerly thrust out their hands and shouted the command. Some brooms leapt eagerly into awaiting grasps; others merely rolled over on the ground; a few remained stubbornly still.

In front of her, Molly Prewett’s broom snapped neatly into her outstretched hand. Clearly, she was no novice. But Narcissa was determined not to be bested by a blood traitor, of all people. Instead of hurtling right into the task, she watched carefully for the way some students rolled their forearm before summoning the broom, the way they held their posture, the way they gave a slight flick of the wrist as though persuading the broom to rise. Then she imitated.

“Up.” She commanded softly, holding her palm just above the handle like she'd seen the others do. How mortifying it would be if her broom just stayed there unmoving. Her hands were clammy, but she forced her fingers to remain steady. She could not fail at something so simple.

At last, the broom responded. Slowly but steadily, it lifted from the grass, hovering for half the length of a heartbeat before rising neatly into her outstretched hand. It had been easy, after all. It was exactly as expected.

“Good form, Miss Black,” Mister Harper beamed, passing by her row, “You’ve got the touch for it. Keep that wrist steady when we move on to flight.”

Ariadne and Joanna did equally well, though out of all the Slytherins, Cassius Flint was the most remarkable. He held himself with the ease that came with years of flying, and Narcissa made sure to keep his form in the corner of her eye so that she could use it as a reference point if any adjustments were needed.

“Alright, begin practicing hovering,” Mister Harper yelled to the group, clapping his hands together. “Broom handles just off the ground, steady balance. I want you to kick off from the ground, stay in the air for a moment, then touch back down - gently, please, we don’t need any broken bones on my watch! Now let’s see some control, folks!”

Narcissa inhaled deeply. Just follow the instructions. One step at a time. She was good at that - she liked being told what to do. Which paths to cross in order to arrive at something she wanted; which curbs to avoid. Swinging her legs gracefully over the back of the broom, she mounted and nudged the handle upward with a twist of her wrist. It complied and lifted her sharply into the air – at the same time that Molly Prewett swayed up on her own broom. 

“Alright, Black?”

Hovering at the height of a low tree, Narcissa turned to face the Gryffindor redhead who’d just spoken. “Perfectly fine, Prewett.” she said coldly before the sting of competition could steer her out of control.

"You know," said Prewett hotly, "I think I might try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team next year. Beater position, maybe. I’ve got the perfect build for it, don’t you think?"

Narcissa did not rise to the bait. She had better things to do than humiliate herself sparring with an egotistical blood traitor who clearly thought she was superior. Narcissa looped her broom around in a circle and landed with a quiet thump. “Mister Harper said we’re practicing hovering, not idle chatter, Prewett,” she replied, brushing a stray strand of pale hair from her face as she dismounted. "Perhaps you ought to focus on staying balanced first."

Joanna let out a snort of laughter as Narcissa walked past her, leaving a red-faced Molly Prewett still hovering in the air. “Brilliant, Narcissa.” Joanna murmured under her breath, “She’s been insufferable ever since Christmas, going on about Muggle holidays and that ridiculous jumper her mother knitted for her.”

“Hang around her lots, Joanna?” asked Ariadne with a teasing grin, “How d’you know that anyway?”

“Just gossip.” With a roll of her eyes, Joanna shrugged. "You know how the Gryffindors are. Loud enough to hear halfway down the corridor. Prewett’s been flaunting that jumper like it’s a prize from a duel."

The incident from Flying seemed to infuriate Molly Prewett, and no doubt she had tattled to her older brothers once more, for Narcissa soon found herself the subject of pointed glares whenever she crossed paths with the Prewett twins in the corridors. 

Let them try, thought Narcissa, nursing the syllables of the petrifying charm on the tip of her tongue. Let them try again if they dare.

On Saturday evening of the third week back, after she’d completed the homework for all of her classes, Narcissa retrieved the little collection of spells that she’d created during the Christmas holidays and flipped through it, circling the most useful defensive spells with a quill. It was one thing to know the incantation but another entirely to be able to execute it in a duel. Bellatrix no doubt could perform all of these with ease, but Narcissa wanted to steer clear of her elder sister's involvement in these issues lest Bella take them out of hand. 

Her roommates were aware of her feud with Molly Prewett but not the extent of it. Only Bernadette Shacklebolt knew anything at all about the Halloween incident, and Narcissa was keen to keep it that way. She hardly needed anybody spreading any more rumours about her.

The only problem now was finding a place to practice the spells that she’d collected and learned by heart. Narcissa considered her options. The dungeons were no good –  the labyrinth of corridors and rooms, though complex, was easy to find and always occupied by the Slytherin prefects. The library was too public, and the Slytherin common room far too busy. If she were to practice effectively, she’d need a private space – somewhere secluded, somewhere no one would think to look. 

With her collection of spells tucked securely under her arm, Narcissa left the dormitory and began to wander the castle. It was very quiet at this hour, for it was an early Sunday morning, but that didn’t bother her much. What did bother her was the abrupt shift in tone as she climbed farther away from the familiar frigidity of the dungeons. The ceilings soared higher and the air grew warmer – was she near the Gryffindors’ den now? – the change was so sudden that Narcissa felt a little perturbed, and her breath rose and fell in her chest like two fanning wings.

The entire seventh floor was filled with light, like a sunroom. There were high-arched windows everywhere she turned, from which Narcissa could see the endless blue of the sky and the white, thin clouds that gently flowed, suspended. It was such a difference from the gloomy, low-lit dungeons she was accustomed to that it left her slightly disoriented. The brightness seemed enchanted, like the castle itself was trying to cajole her attention away from her purpose – but nothing could deter her from what she wanted if she really wanted it. Straightening her shoulders, Narcissa held her spells closer and pressed forward.

What soon became clear to her as she continued her trek was the peculiar noise that enfolded her. Down there in the dungeons or behind the closed doors of her dormitory, everything was silent; but up here was a prattling world. It wasn’t the kind of noise one might expect in a castle full of students but rather a faint rustling that emanated from the walls and hushed whispers amongst individual paintings. Suits of armour shifted along the windows, metal creaking like the exhale of a breath.

The hallway she now entered was long and astonishingly wide. It made her a little uneasy – but the feeling proved unfounded when she reached the end of the corridor. 

It was a dead end.

Her gaze swept over the wall in front of her. It was entirely unremarkable, save for a tapestry hanging to one side that depicted a man attempting to teach trolls ballet. It looked like Barnabas the Barmy, whom Narcissa remembered from History of Magic. She was sure she’d written his name down in her notes once.

Goodness, was a spare room really so much to ask for? Her manor back home had ten, twenty, thirty rooms in the West Wing alone that she could enter and not be found. She only needed a room to practice her spells so that she could be safe from any future attacks by emboldened blood traitors. She only needed a room to work in peace. A place where she wouldn’t be disturbed…

Something scraped harshly behind her back, and immediately Narcissa retrieved her wand from its holster, her heart thudding heavily in her chest. The sound came again, like stone shifting against stone. 

“Who’s there?” Her voice shuddered a little as she scanned the length of the corridor before her. Nothing was amiss except – 

Very cautiously, Narcissa turned on her heels. And her suspicions were right – there, set against the nook of the wall she had just passed, was a great wooden door where there had once been nothing but a dead end.

Narcissa Black did not believe in accidents.

Magic had rules; it did not work without reason – especially not magic as old as Hogwarts’. If the castle had willed this room into existence, it must have had a purpose. The question was whether it was hers.

She felt the comforting press of her wand against her palm and hooked one hand over the great wooden knob, as if the sudden appearance of a room before her was a quite ordinary occurrence, one more eventuality to be recognized and brought under her control. Perhaps it was bravado – a determination not to be impressed, or at least not to show it. If so, it worked, it served its purpose, and she felt the benefit.

The door swung shut behind her without a sound, as if it had never been there at all. The room was not new; under the coffered ceiling were walls caulked with resin, their dark oak panels lined with shelves, each bearing books bound in calfskin and buckram. One lone window was set deep into the far wall, overlooking the east bank of the Black Lake. It was very light out, and heavy dew was falling. 

“Show me.” she murmured. At the words, and with the wet mist on her fingers, she felt as though she was being strangely discovered in a flood of cold light. She shivered, coming away from the window and moving deeper into the room’s sprawling expanse.

She barely had a moment to think before a sharp whistle sliced through the air, passing dangerously close to her ear. On instinct, Narcissa ducked, wand tight in her grasp. A silver, hologram-like figure materialized where the sound had come from, lunging at her with uncanny precision.

Twenty spells flitted past in her head.

Ones from Transfigurations; ones from Charms – levitation spells, of all kinds; ones from Defense – hexes and jinxes and curses. She dodged and feinted, each breezy blow missing by mere inches. She did not dare to falter – nothing in the world she moved in would permit such a thing, any more than she would abandon the austere duelling stance she was constrained to as a proper pureblood.

“Petrificus Totalus!” she cried, her voice shrill with alarm. The figure froze mid-motion, its body locking into rigid stillness as the spell took hold. She circled the frozen figure cautiously, but within moments the hologram was dissolving into the air in swirls of gray, vaporous fog. 

Realization washed over her like water: It’s a training device. It can’t hurt me.

Another figure rushed past her and Narcissa twisted away, narrowly avoiding a strike – now that she was calmer, more alert, she probed the edges of her mind for the first spell she’d noted down during Christmas break. 

“Expelliarmus!” 

Up – flick – down, just like she’d memorized. The spell shot from her wand and its recoil jolted up her arm, sending her staggering backwards from the force of it all. It snaked through the cracks of the haze, striking the new figure squarely in the chest. The hologram stuttered in front of her and fizzed out from the impact, and what replaced it was the ghostly outline of a faster duplicate.

“Protego!” The shield flickered into existence, but it was far too weak. The hologram’s invisible spell punched through it like shattered glass, slamming into her collarbone with a crackling heat. A sharp sting spread through her shoulder, burning like a real curse and then vanishing in seconds. Short-winded and warring with the heaviness of her tired limbs, Narcissa lurched back, fighting to steal back her breath. 

“Stop!” She ordered sharply, “That’s enough.”

The room obeyed. 

In the silence that followed, she wiped a cold hand across her brow and rolled her shoulders back into their customary poise. She thought she understood the room’s purpose now – she had asked for a place to practice her spells, and Hogwarts had answered her demand with a space of its own. The room had not attacked her; it had measured her. It had probed her weaknesses. Perhaps it had even learned something of her. 

This space was hers – hers to command. The thought was a comfort, and it gave her the kind of clear control that settled over her senses like a balm. Feeling more secure than she’d felt in months, Narcissa turned back toward the bookshelves and scanned their spines. If the room could conjure adversaries from thin air, what else could it give? She traced a fingertip over the embossed gold lettering of one of the books. Duelling Theory and Spellcrafting . Another: The Art of Nonverbal Magic . And another: The Nature of Defensive Wards and Counter-Curses .

All books on Defense. Had the room anticipated that, too? Clearly, these were no random selections. They had been placed here with her intent, and that alone made it worth returning to.

She pulled a small, black book from the shelf. It was very simple, by all standards, with no unnecessary adornments of any kind. Its cover, unlike those of the books around it, had no title or author to name it. The first page was an index, preceded by a note of sorts: for those who wish to wield magic absolutely .

Narcissa could hardly believe her luck. In what world did something like this appear before someone without demanding a price, without compromise? The idea of gleaning an edge over her classmates and enemies was thrilling, and she turned a page. 

The first spell that appeared was Incarcerous . The word, dark and writhing, burned itself onto her retinas like an afterimage. Narcissa stood as if spellbound, her hands on the book too heavy to lift, the breath in her open mouth also stopped. What followed were spells even darker than the first – Obliviate , Imperio , Deprimo , Tenebris Oculus , Edo Lignum , Fiendfyre , Crucio , Avada Kedavra . And underneath – Pain is the purest form of control . 

Her thoughts were too loud in the silence, her pulse too sharp against her throat. Up till now, Narcissa had lived in a state of soft security, able to pamper herself, allowed to drift with comfortable notions of her own intelligence and good breeding, educated entirely out of books and brought up to believe in her own pure superiority. The new tangibility of these cruel darknesses connected like a blow, bone on bone. Narcissa, stunned, her clear eyes still fixed on the parchment in front of her, took it with a slight jerk of her shoulders and an almost imperceptible intake of breath. 

And what did it mean – that the room had offered this kind of knowledge up to her like she was deserving of it? Had she inadvertently wished it into existence? Was darkness part of her nature? Surely, she had not asked for it. The bookshelf towered over her, cloaked in shadows despite the sunlight that was streaking through the window. The room had measured her – had it found her lacking? Had it seen what she could become?

Narcissa snapped the book closed as if stung. In five desperate strides, she tore out of the room and stood there for a moment, watching the great wooden door shrink until it became one with the wall. 

She pressed her hands together, trying to scrub away the ghost of the book’s pages. Magic did not work without intent. That was a fact. The room had not conjured a book on household charms or an advanced potions manual – it had given her a weapon.

Because you wanted one.

No – she had wanted an edge, a place to practice, that was all – and she couldn’t be undone by a book, at any rate. It had just been parchment and ink, nothing more, just as spells were nothing more than words and will. 

She barely had time to compose herself before she heard footsteps approaching. Light, unhurried. Familiar. 

“Narcissa?”

The warm voice broke her out of the trance. Andromeda stood a few paces away, wearing a white muslin dress with black spots on it and a dark green ribbon in her hair. Her presence felt oddly distant, like a voice calling through water.

“What are you doing here?” said Narcissa stiffly. She couldn’t possibly disclose what she had just seen only a moment ago, what she had so intimately held in her hands, what darkness she had just touched.

“Well, what are you ?” asked Andromeda.

“Nothing. I was only trying to find a place to study.” It was unnerving how easily she found herself lying to her sister, who had once been the closest confidante for all her problems.

“Are you sure?” 

“I am. What are you doing here?”

Under the sunlight, her sister coloured a dark scarlet, and for a moment she looked a little out of place in this seventh floor corridor. Yes… What exactly was Andromeda doing near the Gryffindors’ tower? Suspicion curled and rose up in Narcissa’s chest, high as her paranoia.

“Andromeda,” she said, watching her sister more closely now. “What is it you’re looking for?”

“Nothing.” Andromeda flashed out, “I wanted to find somewhere to study, too.”

“Why not the library?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Every moment of disunity between them was a torment. There they were, standing in front of a hidden room that Narcissa suspected they both knew about, pretending neither of them was aware of its true significance. What exactly was Andromeda looking for, and what exactly did the room give her?

“You promised that you wouldn’t read any more Muggle books.” Narcissa said slowly, drawing her words out syllable by syllable, “I promised that I wouldn’t tell anyone about your disobedience. Remember?”

In front of her, Andromeda softened marginally. “I know. I remember. You don’t need to worry about me, Cissy.”

Narcissa held Andromeda’s gaze, searching for some trace of guilt, some hint that her sister was lying. But Andromeda only smiled – a small, steady thing, as if she truly believed that Narcissa had nothing to fear. 

“Fine,” said Narcissa at last, letting out a slow breath. “I should go. It’s getting late.”

“Alright,” replied Andromeda, “Goodbye, Narcissa.” Narcissa watched as she turned on her heel and walked away, the green ribbon in her hair catching the young afternoon light.

Alone again, Narcissa turned back to the wall where the door had been. There was no trace of it now, no sign that the Room had ever existed. But she knew better. It was there, waiting, just as it had been waiting for her before, right beside the painting of Barnabas the Barmy.

For those who wish to wield magic absolutely.

She swallowed.

Magic did not work without intent. 

What, then, had been hers?

Her hand curled into a fist. She knew that this was not the last time she would find herself standing here, or the last time she would wonder what else the Room believed she was capable of.

That night, Narcissa stayed in the common room with all the other Slytherins until her sister came stumbling back through the dungeon doors at eight o’clock. Her dark green ribbon was gone. 

On the other side, Bellatrix, Euphrosyne, and Raquel were sitting on a velvet sofa, surrounded by a circle of older boys, including – strangely – Rabastan and his brother Rodolphus Lestrange. In truth, if Narcissa hadn’t been so concentrated on Andromeda’s plight, she might have noted the name of a certain Lord Voldemort being reverently passed around – a hollow murmur like a rising wind.

February arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. In celebration of Slytherin’s victory over Gryffindor in Quidditch, a party was planned for the night of February fourteenth, conveniently coinciding with Valentine’s Day. That morning, Narcissa went down for breakfast with Ariadne, Camille, and Joanna, moments after Bellatrix and her friends had settled down. The plates in the Great Hall were loaded with pork sausages and baked beans, beside which sat a basket of pink, heart-shaped biscuits. 

“Have you heard, Blondie?” Euphrosyne piped up cheerfully from beside them, buttering her toast in deliberate strokes, “Mudblood family’s been killed. The mother was found in the kitchen, throat slit. The father – Cruciatus until his heart gave out.”

“What?” Narcissa stared at Euphrosyne, her heart stammering in her chest. 

“Family killed!” exclaimed Ariadne, horrified, “Why? By who?”

But Euphrosyne wasn’t going to have her story snatched from under her nose. “Know Terry Alderton? Hufflepuff Mudblood from the year above you. Second year. His family’s dead. No idea who the culprit was, but –”

“People say it’s Him .” whispered Raquel. More Slytherins were creeping into the conversation.

“Who?”

“Lord Voldemort.”

“The Prophet didn’t name anyone.”

“No, they wouldn’t. But people know .”

There was an empty space left at the sullen Hufflepuff table, because Terry Alderton had been sent to his grandparents’ to grieve. A picture of the Aldertons was printed in the Daily Prophet – they were clearly poor, clearly Mudblood, with swollen faces and oily smiles.

“See, Cissy?” said Bellatrix, voice hushed and reverent, “Finally, someone with the nerve to do what should have been done years ago.”

But Narcissa could barely hear her over the pounding of her own thoughts. Mudbloods are lowborn. They aren't worth dirtying hands over. This wasn’t new – in fact, this was the way of the world she had learned to accept – but the brutality... That wasn’t usual. When had murder – even of Muggles – become an ordinary custom? She was very aware of her feet pressed into the hard floor suddenly, of thin stifling air, emptiness underfoot and overhead, uneven breaths. She numbed herself deliberately.

“Oh.” breathed Narcissa, feeling as if her chest and limbs were without substance. She didn’t dare say much more. 

“How will we cancel the party now?” whispered Ariadne.

“Cancel the party?” practical Joanna said incredulously, “You mean the Slytherin party tonight? Why? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“What will the Hufflepuffs think? One of their own has just lost his parents.”

“What, are we mourning them now?” laughed Bellatrix from across the table, “Shall we hold a vigil in the Great Hall?”

“A murder hardly bears celebrating. Even if it is a Muggle’s.” admitted Camille, to whom Narcissa was grateful. “But if you’re going to stop a party every time a Muggle dies, Ariadne, you’re going to live a very strenuous life. I’m every bit as sympathetic as you.” Her eyes hardened, “But they are lower than us. There’s no use cancelling the party for a Hufflepuff mudblood who’s not even here, really.”

Narcissa gnawed on her inner lip quietly, lifting her gaze as she took note of a flash of brown hair – at the end of the table, Andromeda had risen, her seat scraping faintly against the stone as she quickly walked out of the hall. The movement caught Narcissa’s attention, but before she could dwell on it, the rest of the conversation hurtled on without pause. Bellatrix was grinning cold and triumphant, as if nothing in the world could disrupt her mood. 

“Sentimental.” huffed Bellatrix, “Mudbloods are bound to die out anyway. It’s marvellous how they manage to survive at all, with so little magic in their blood and living in those poor, chimney houses.” She fiddled with her pork sausage, digging into it and pushing it carelessly around on her plate, “I think it’s admirable. He sees what the Ministry refuses to. He’s not afraid to act.” 

Despite the horrific news, the chatter at Slytherin table breezed on. Narcissa felt very distant from everything; the world swam around her. People took liberally from plates of fuschia petal cold beef, old English sausages, bread toasted to perfection, and things continued to be just themselves. Suddenly, a letter swooped down from above, cutting through the thick air of the hall. It was a blur of parchment, swirling in front of Lucius Malfoy, who caught it with the ease of a chaser. The owl hooted once, and the Valentine’s letter shook itself out, bursting into song.

“ His hair gleams bright, like a graphorn horn,

His smirk is as perfect as perfect can be.

His charm is supreme, he’s sharp and adored,

O-O-Oh, Lucius, if only you’d see me! ”

The table burst into raucous laughter. At that exact moment, rose-petal-shaped confetti began falling from the pale blue ceiling. The sun was out now… The weather was most ideal. Narcissa stopped a minute, placing down her cup of sweetened tea. For a moment, it seemed to her that voices, roses, laughter, and the smell of pink-iced biscuits were inside her. She had no room for anything else. It wouldn’t be proper to cancel a party at the last minute, after all… Especially not for a Mudblood's family. 

After Herbology, which was the last class of the day, Narcissa climbed back to the girls’ dormitories and picked out a dark dress. She devoted three hours of her time to the looking glass, diligently twisting her tumble of white-gold hair until it fell in perfect ringlets down her back. By the time she descended to the Slytherin common room, the party was in full swing.

“HERE’S TO SLYTHERIN WINNING THE HOUSE CUP THIS YEAR!”

Euphrosyne tossed her hands into the air, smuggled firewhiskey exploding from her bottle and splashing out over her wrists. Her mouth was bruised burgundy by wine, her cheeks smeared with gold glitter.

“It really isn’t right,” said Bernadette, standing beside a pale Andromeda, “for us to hold a party on the same day those deaths were announced.” She carded a hand through her own dark hair and readjusted her sunglasses, whilst Andromeda stood rigidly near the hearth.

“You mustn’t say that.” Narcissa whispered.

“A little bird told me that Lord Voldemort is recruiting,” Bellatrix said with a grin as she sauntered over to the group. In the safety of the Slytherin common room, support for the newly rising Dark Lord grew bolder. “Wouldn’t it just be the greatest honour – to join him?”

"An honor?" Bernadette repeated with a scoff. "Murdering people in their own homes? That’s an honor to you, Bella?"

Bellatrix’s smile stretched wider. "I think it’s necessary." 

“To torture a man to death in front of his wife? To cut her throat open like an animal? What part of that is necessary to you?”

“You’re young, Shacklebolt. You don’t understand yet, but you will.” said Bellatrix, almost pitying, “These Muggles, these Mudbloods - they leech off our magic, pollute our lines, and then expect to be treated as equals! You think the world is going to change without sacrifice? Without force? You’re clever, Shacklebolt. You know better than that. He’s going to change the whole entire world .”

“I see it clearer than you ever will –”

“Don’t!” hissed Andromeda, tugging desperately at Bernadette’s sleeve, “Just stop, Bernie.”

“Good, at least Annie has a conscience.” said Bella, “And you, Cissy?”

Narcissa felt a familiar coldness settle over her features like frost. She knew what she was supposed to say. She knew what Bellatrix wanted to hear.

“I think,” she said carefully, "that we ought to be discreet. There's no need to be reckless."

“Well, we’re living in a time of change, Cissy – you don’t want to be left behind, do you? This new Lord – he’ll be an answer to every frustration we’ve ever had to face. Remember what our Daddy said about Gringotts shutting down old pureblood accounts? How Mudbloods are stealing our place? Lord Voldemort is the first wizard in centuries with the power and will to correct these wrongs.”

What Narcissa saw on her sister’s face was devotion. Unshaken, eager devotion. Bellatrix believed in this man. The way she talked about him – well, Narcissa couldn’t deny that it sounded at least a little appealing in theory. The massacre in the Daily Prophet almost seemed unreal now – had it really, really happened? 

At that moment the music rose upon a great sigh, and she felt the faint thrum of something dark, alive, powerful. Bellatrix’s fervour was magnetic, enticing, but when she moved away, the spell of the moment frayed and Narcissa was shaken slowly out of her reverie. 

Lord Voldemort’s name continued to be secretly passed around by word of mouth for the next couple of weeks. The Professors were taking extra precaution with wards, curfews, rules. Hufflepuff was distraught, Gryffindor indignant, Ravenclaw timid. In Slytherin, older students began to stick closer together, and Narcissa often found them huddled over tables, murmuring conspiratorially among themselves. By March, sixth-year Rodolphus and seventh-year Rabastan Lestrange seemed to have mysteriously risen in rank.

“My dad told me to get to know you, Rodolphus. How did your dad, you know…?”

“Would you be able to help me…”

“Rabastan, could I ask for a favour…?”

Bellatrix and her friends, too, were drawn to the Lestrange brothers like moths to flame. Narcissa found herself avoiding certain conversations, her focus shifting to the comfort of routine – classes, study sessions, and early mornings spent at the Black Lake.

The whole rest of March passed like that. At the start of April, things outside of Hogwarts fell quiet again, but the honeymoon period with the newly rising Lord Voldemort had not faded in the house of Slytherin. Those who had once spoken of him with curiosity or passing interest now whispered with purpose. There was a shifting of alliances, a silent division between those who were ready to take action and those who preferred to remain on the fringes.

Narcissa, for her part, remained on the fringes. It wasn’t that she sympathized with Mudbloods – goodness, far from that. It wasn’t that she doubted their place in the world. But it was one thing to believe in blood purity, in tradition, in the order of things – it was another to see that belief manifest in a massacre.

“I’ll join him as soon as I can,” Bellatrix told her one evening in the common room. “The moment I leave Hogwarts, I’ll be at his side. He’s the only one who understands what needs to be done.”

“What will Mother say?” said Narcissa, somewhat afraid to lose her sister to the folds of this strange new grassroots movement. “She won’t like what he’s doing. It’s reckless. It’s not proper –”

“Mother will understand, eventually. It’s not about recklessness, Cissy. If we don’t act now, we’ll be left behind. You’ve heard what Father says about the state of our bloodlines. I want to make a change.”

Andromeda, on the other hand, was walking slowly away from the fray. She and Bernadette Shacklebolt had become inseparable, and Narcissa often caught them laughing during mealtimes or slipping away together between classes.

“You shouldn’t be spending so much time with her,” Narcissa warned one afternoon as Andromeda laced up her boots, preparing to slip out of the common room. “People are talking.”

“They’ve been talking for years. She’s not a Blood Traitor , Narcissa, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Andromeda muttered.

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?” Andromeda asked, straightening to meet Narcissa’s gaze. In her eyes was a frustration that had been simmering there for weeks. “That I should be careful? That I should be mindful of our family’s reputation? That I should –”

“You should think before you act,” Narcissa interrupted coolly.

Andromeda’s jaw tensed. “You sound just like Mother.”

On the second weekend of April, Headmaster Dumbledore finally addressed these new rumours about a rising dark power. The Ministry was increasing its vigilance, and Hogwarts was to remain a place of refuge and safety. Third-years muttered under their breaths about the new Aurors around Hogsmeade village. Under Dumbledore’s new watchful eye, the whispers of allegiance to Lord Voldemort had become even more secretive, and the hushed fervor that had marked the first stirrings of Voldemort’s rise had begun to shift. No longer were political sentiments boldly discussed in the open. Instead, Slytherin students seemed to know their place in the new world – biding their time, watching, waiting...

The letter from Mother at the end of the week provided much consolation. Narcissa was not to support the new cause, or at least not openly. Joining a cause – any cause – meant taking orders. It meant lowering oneself and becoming a slave to something greater than one’s own name. Mother understood this. Narcissa was not to join, but she was to watch and make sense of the changing landscape before finding her place within it.

Outside Slytherin, few spoke about the so-called movement at all. The Daily Prophet painted a picture of swelling instability – an uptick in Muggle disappearances, robberies in Diagon Alley, something or other. The cause of these incidents remained publicly unknown. There were mentions of radicals, but there was still no formal name attached to it.

In Slytherin, however, the conversations were different.

"I’m just saying," a fourth-year whispered, "the Ministry hasn’t printed a word of it. Has your dad talked about it with… you know?"

"The Ministry," said Rabastan Lestrange dismissively, "couldn’t find a Bludger if it hit them in the face. The real stuff? We hear about it long before they do."

The Lestrange brothers no longer needed to lay low in Slytherin. It went unspoken that if one wanted to know what was happening beyond Hogwarts, they would have the answers. Narcissa suspected that the Lestranges had direct connections to the cause, and she told Bellatrix as much.

"Of course they do," Bellatrix giggled, twirling her wand lazily between her fingers. "Rodolphus talks to me about it. He and Rabastan know more than they let on. They’ll be useful once everything really starts, I suppose."

"Once what starts?" Narcissa asked.

A cocky smirk played on her sister’s mouth. "You’ll see."

That was the thing about Bellatrix – she always carried herself as though she was at the centre of something terribly grand. Andromeda watched with scepticism, seeing in this too-devoted sister a girl who had always claimed too much for herself, a practised attention-seeker – and Narcissa was inclined to agree, though was too reverent of Bellatrix to speak openly against her. It wasn’t until the following weekend that she saw it for herself.

The day was a pleasant one – the blue sky powdered with gold and great spots of light like splashes of white wine. It was Spring now, after all; the first pale blade was just beginning to sprout among dewy grass. Head down, her cloak drawn close about her, Narcissa started back towards the castle holding an armful of books. She was to meet Ariadne near the entrance to the Dungeons, where they would drop off their satchels and head up to the Great Hall for lunch.

The common room entrance was about three corridors away from the main stairwell. As Narcissa rounded the second hallway, she suddenly caught sight of a small group gathered at the far end of the passage. There was nothing unusual about this – except she could recognize those dark curls anywhere.

Bellatrix stood a few paces ahead, Raquel and Euphrosyne flanking her, all three of them half-shadowed beneath an archway. At their feet, a young Hufflepuff was kneeling, fingers twitching over the ground for something unseen.

“Go on,” purred Bellatrix, “Try again.”

Euphrosyne and Raquel were waggling their eyebrows at each other, looking very amused as the Hufflepuff struggled. No one was paying any attention to Narcissa, who stopped abruptly and moved behind a column to avoid being seen. 

The boy lifted his head, flushed with exertion and breathing in short, quick pants. When he twisted forward and reached once again for his wand, Euphrosyne kicked it just out of reach. A delighted giggle spilt from her lips.

“Oops!”

Bellatrix laughed. “How are you enjoying your stay at Hogwarts, pet?” she crooned, “Finding yourself very welcome?”

The boy’s fingers curled into a fist against the hard stone. “I’m just as deserving of Hogwarts as you!”

“Don’t be silly. You’re a Mudblood, you mustn’t try to play with the big kids.”

From where she was standing, Narcissa saw the boy’s shoulders slump. “I don’t care what you say!” He muttered, but she could see clearly past his blunt demeanours – he was only trying to convince himself. 

What utter delusion, for a Mudblood to consider himself as equal to a Pureblood! Still, it was a little off-putting to see how readily Bellatrix relished in the boy’s humiliation. How much of this all was a game to her? What would she have done if a professor had come by at this precise moment? Bellatrix rarely considered the consequences of her actions; it was easy for her to forget about the lines she should never cross.

“Put your tail between your legs now and scurry off to the hole you belong, puppy.” smiled Bellatrix, “You won’t mind if I keep your wand for a while, will you?”

The Mudblood pressed his shoulders closer together, his eyes flitting from his wand at Bellatrix’s feet to Euphrosyne and Raquel. Narcissa saw his next move in his eyes moments before he lunged forward to reclaim his pride.

Just as quickly, Bellatrix ground a shoe against the wand on the floor and wrenched the boy’s right arm up and around his neck without mercy, watching him twist his neck up and let out a bloodcurdling wail.

“ Tenebris Oculus! ”

A flash of black light struck him perfectly in the chest. The boy’s whole body seized up, and his hands came up to claw at the dark coils of magic around his eyes. He was screaming like a dog to slaughter, turning violently around and around in circles. Bellatrix’s nostrils quivered; her lips curled back in a hideous grin while she sniggered, “That’ll do the trick.”

Narcissa reeled back in shock, one hand clutching at the cold white pillar. What had happened? Was the Mudblood blinded? And… Hadn’t she seen that spell somewhere before? 

That spell... Tenebris Oculus . Those same writhing syllables had been etched into the first page of that forbidden book she’d leafed through in the Room of Requirement. Dark Magic. What lengths had her sister gone to? How reckless, how cruel, how messy!

At the centre of all this, Bellatrix seemed no longer herself – Father’s favourite daughter, rebellious fifteen-year-old, more than usually spoiled and mischievous – but something distorted, something else entirely, breathing heavily in the silence.

“Don’t be shy, Cissy!” Bellatrix was laughing suddenly. “I know you’re there. Have you had your share of fun yet?”

Her heart stopped a beat. Narcissa wanted to move, to leave, to get away from the scene, but her feet seemed fused to the ground. It was as though the moment had been waiting for her – waiting for her to bear witness, to understand something she hadn’t fully grasped until now. 

The boy had collapsed with a sickening thud. His cries were a wet, gasping sound.

“I said don’t be shy, Cissy.” Bellatrix repeated slowly, “Don’t hide from me.”

Narcissa took a shaky step forward, her hands tightening around the books she still clutched to her chest. She was trying to find her voice.

“What did you do to him, Bella?”

“It’s called Tenebris Oculus . It’s a special little curse. Temporary blindness – shuts their eyes tight, locks them in darkness. Makes them feel every moment of their inferiority.”

“It’s dark magic. What if a professor finds out? What if he tells – what if he tells someone? You’ll be in so much trouble.”

“He won’t squeal.” Bellatrix rolled her eyes, “Will you, Mudblood? You don’t want a repeat of what happened today, do you?”

The boy shook his head fervently, “No! No! I won’t tell –”

“Great.” Bellatrix said, “See, Cissy? No big deal.”

“It’s impulsive –”

“Oh, come off it. We’re purebloods . What’s the point of magic if you can’t use it for fun? Besides,” she added with a wicked grin, “you’re going to have to get used to it. You can’t go soft on me now.”

Narcissa said nothing. She felt strangely cold. There was in her sister a kind of new savagery that she wanted to keep at arm’s length; not because she feared to be its victim in the physical sense – Bellatrix would never willingly hurt her – but because she didn’t want to be infected. It seemed to be a kind that could blast the whole world apart. Dark magic was surrendering one’s soul, giving up control, handing it on a silver platter all for a semblance of power. It allowed nothing to exist under its breath without being blackened, slashed at, and shown when ripped apart to have a core as rotten as itself. 

Bellatrix was watching her closely now. “You’re not scared, are you, Cissy?”

No – Narcissa wasn’t scared. Not of Bellatrix, not of the magic. But she was disgusted. Her sister had always been a wild child, but that didn’t explain it. This was no longer just a game.

“No.” she agreed, “I’m not scared.”

The boy was creeping towards his wand. Narcissa’s lip curled disdainfully at her proximity to the Mudblood, and she stepped forward, the heel of her shoe coming down on the wand with deliberate pressure. Slowly, she slid her foot forward and let it roll towards the boy.

“Get up.” Bellatrix said with a snap of her fingers, “I’m done with you.”

Within seconds, the Hufflepuff was staggering to his feet and stumbling away toward the Great Hall. Bellatrix turned expectantly to Narcissa.

“You won’t tell anyone about this.” She said smoothly, “Not the professors. Not Mother, not Father, not Andromeda. Imagine the trouble you’d be in if they found out you’d seen this and done nothing. How do you think they’d look at you then?”

Really, Bellatrix needn’t have bothered trying to keep her silent. Narcissa would never have told anyone about it. She had so many secrets now – Andromeda’s, Bellatrix’s… How could she hold them all in the depths of her mind without letting them hack slowly away at her? She certainly couldn’t let them shine out in the open. People could pry these secrets from her mind so easily… Once again, she pushed her thoughts away and locked them into little rooms, focusing on cool, blank nothingness. If she buried these things deep enough – so deep she could hardly remember them herself – perhaps no one would ever find them.

“I said you won’t tell anyone, Cissy.” Bellatrix pressed again, her eyes flashing around her in a defiant way. “You know what happens to people who talk, don’t you? Loose tongues get cut out.”

Narcissa nodded slowly, her mouth tightening into a thin line. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Bellatrix searched her face for a moment, then let out a low, satisfied hum. “Good girl,” she murmured affectionately, patting Narcissa’s shoulder and then rearranging the ends of her hair just so.

Feeling hollow, Narcissa turned and hurried toward the common room. She needed space. She needed to breathe. 

“You’re late.” said Ariadne, not unkindly, “I thought you were coming straight from the Black Lake?”

Narcissa straightened her posture, adjusted the cuff of her sleeve, and schooled her face into practised neutrality. She swung the satchel from her shoulders and stacked her books neatly beside it before leaving for the Great Hall with Ariadne.

“I was.” She replied calmly, “I got distracted, I’m sorry.”

Ariadne watched her carefully. “But you never –”

“I suppose today is the exception.” interrupted Narcissa with a small, polite smile, trying to shut down any further inquiry.

Ariadne brightened as if this was some sort of victory. “I knew it. You have a secret,” she said playfully, linking her arm through Narcissa’s as they stepped out into the corridor. “Did something happen? You must tell me.”

Narcissa walked ahead.

“Was it your sister?” Ariadne lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper as she rushed forward to catch up to her. “I saw her leaving the common room earlier with Raquel and Euphrosyne.”

Narcissa didn’t respond, and Ariadne quieted, seeming at last to realize that what happened must have been more serious than she’d thought.

“It is…” said Ariadne slowly, “Isn’t it? What did she do?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Narcissa said. 

Ariadne didn’t push further. She had the good sense to know when Narcissa’s patience was thinning.

The Great Hall was already full of students when they arrived. Everything was as it should be. As it had been.

And yet.

Camille and Joanna were seated at their usual spot at the Slytherin table, digging into their chicken pies. Camille was the first to notice their arrival.

“You’re late,” she noted, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

“You and Ariadne both,” Joanna added with a smirk. “What’s the occasion? Do tell.”

“She won’t,” supplied Ariadne, grinning. “Apparently, it’s a secret.”

Narcissa smoothed out the pleats of her black skirt and reached for the silver pitcher in front of her. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” Joanna said. 

Camille was still watching her. Narcissa purposefully avoided her gaze, pouring herself a glass of water.

“I suppose if it were anything worth sharing, we’d have heard about it already.” Camille, having grown up in a world as artificial as Narcissa’s, full of flowers and cheerful snobbery, knew how to settle a conversation so that it reached a polite dead end. She smiled at Narcissa in her charming, exciting way.

Joanna let the topic slide, because she, too, was exceedingly aware of the sway Narcissa’s family held in the wizarding high society. “Well, have you all started on Professor McGonagall’s Transfigurations essay yet?”

The conversation shifted, slipping into easier topics – homework, Slughorn’s latest gathering, an upcoming Hogsmeade trip for the older years. Hardly anything political broke through their little capsule of conversation, for which Narcissa was grateful. She cut up her pie into little square pieces and was about to season her plate with salt before she suddenly caught sight of the Hufflepuff boy scuttling out of the Hall alone. A wave of nausea washed over her, and she forced her gaze quickly away. 

A secret had just been wedged into her, a jagged little thing she would have to carry. But no one needed to know.

“Narcissa?” Ariadne was following her out of the greenhouse one warm Thursday morning. “Mind if I ask for a favour?”

Narcissa stopped at the foot of the stairs, waiting for Ariadne to catch up. She shifted the weight of her satchel from one shoulder to the other. “Okay. What do you need?”

“You’re so good at Herbology,” Ariadne started. When it counted, she was excellent at opening a conversation so that it didn’t sound like she was asking for something at all. “I need a bit of help with my Herbology essay. The one on restorative plants? I know the basics, but you understand it so much better than I do. I was hoping you could go over my notes with me, maybe explain a few things?”

Narcissa contemplated for a moment. She liked Ariadne well enough, but what would be in it for her? She wasn’t so foolish as to ask it out loud because that would only cheapen the thought. “Alright.” she agreed. Ariadne wasn’t one to forget a kindness, and that could be useful down the line. “How does eight o’clock in the common room sound?”

And so it was decided. Narcissa met regularly with Ariadne in the common room to go over her notes. In a way it was nice to feel in control of things – being the one someone turned to for assistance – and she seized the attention with secret satisfaction. 

April faded into May in a relatively normal state of affairs. Andromeda’s fourteenth birthday fell on a Saturday, and for the occasion, Narcissa requested a cupcake to be made by the Hogwarts elves one week in advance – a glazed red velvet dessert topped with a candied cherry.

On the morning of May fourteenth, she took the cake and her books and went down to the Black Lake to wait for her sisters. The afternoon was cool, and the dusty sunlight scattered over the water in dapples. She had her History of Magic book open in her lap, but she wasn’t quite reading, just waiting.

At last, she heard footsteps on the pebbled shore. Andromeda came first, and Bellatrix arrived ten minutes later. 

“Happy birthday, Annie,” Narcissa said, handing over a neat one third of the cake on a white napkin.

“Thanks,” said Andromeda, and she licked a smudge of icing from her thumb. The sky was bleeding a hundred different shades of sienna. “Fourteen feels no different from thirteen.”

Bellatrix scoffed, sitting down at the water’s edge. “You thought it would?” 

“Maybe.” shrugged Andromeda.

They hadn’t spent time together like this in a while – just the three of them, as old times. Narcissa held in her mind all the unspoken roads that connected her to the distant parts of her sisters, like yarn tied to her centre, stretched taut and pulling a little. She tried not to notice how the silences between them hung around a little longer and heavier than before. 

“Perhaps it just takes time.” offered Narcissa calmly. The breeze off the lake was briny and cool; it raised goosebumps along her arms and brought her cheeks to higher glow.

“Nothing changes overnight, Annie.” Bellatrix said, “You just get older and learn to stomach more of the world.”

Andromeda breathed out slowly, spinning her green ribbon over and over between her fingers. “I guess, yeah.”

The sunlight was washed out on the ripples of the lake. An owl wheeled overhead with a sharp, stinging hoot, and Narcissa traced its reflection on the water's surface. They spent most of the evening just chatting. 

“Anyway,” Andromeda said, turning her attention back to the cupcake, “this is lovely. Thank you, Narcissa.”

Bellatrix shot Narcissa a secret glance. “She’s been fussing over it all week.”

Narcissa sniffed. “Hardly fussing.”

“Fussing,” Bellatrix repeated with stubborn certainty, sucking frosting from her fingertip. “But fine. It’s sweet, I suppose.”

The sun dipped beneath the horizon. At six o’clock, they walked up the gently sloping bank and back to the castle, where dinner was being served in the Great Hall. The noise and chatter inside pulled Narcissa abruptly from the stillness of the moment before. There was a large platter of roast duck in the middle of the table with a wreath of little balls of stuffing around it. Ariadne was there, and she was sitting, rather unusually, next to seventh year Rabastan Lestrange. It was hard to say which of the two – Ariadne or the duck – looked better basted because they both had an air of gloss and strain. She’d tied her fiery red hair into a neat braid that fell over her shoulders, and a sheen of sweat coated the top of her forehead. She seemed a little too shiny for her own good.

“The world’s changing.” said a second-year boy from across the table. He had dark-lidded eyes and seldom looked at people directly, as if he lived by listening rather than seeing. “Best to make sure your name is on the right list before it does.”

Narcissa slid into the seat on the other side of Ariadne, and her sisters took their places nearby. The news was that the boy – Corban Yaxley – had been making comments like that for the past few weeks. The Slytherins understood him well enough, but for anyone else listening in, his words could have meant anything.

“There’s no need to boast about it,” muttered Rabastan, who was clearly frustrated that he was now no longer the only Slytherin with a family in Lord Voldemort’s favour. “And anyway the Yaxleys have never been one of those families that really matter.”

Corban Yaxley just smirked. “It’s about knowing where the wind blows, old boy.”

“Is that all it takes?” Bellatrix grinned, sidling into the conversation with remarkable ease, “Isn't that democratic!”

Narcissa wasn’t certain if Bellatrix was mocking Yaxley or indulging him, but that was often the way with her sister – she said even her nicest compliments with thrilling scorn. Across the table, Andromeda had fallen back into her silent displeasure, and at the sight of it, Narcissa frowned. When she breathed there was a tight sadness that moved in her chest.

She thought back to the earlier occasion. To the water, and how it cooled her feet when she sat with her robes bunched in her lap and let them soak. To how good the red velvet cupcake had tasted. To the way Andromeda had smiled. All this was as warm in her memory as something pulled straight from childhood, though things felt like there’d been a whole life lived between when in fact it’d happened just hours ago. Why couldn’t good things last forever? Forever wasn’t a bit too long.

“This movement – I suppose anyone could join if they wanted to, couldn’t they?” said Ariadne anxiously. The silence swelled between them like a heavy fog. Clearly, it’d been the wrong thing to say.

Bellatrix turned to Ariadne with half-moon eyes and puffed-up cheeks as if the laughter was just threatening to rip out of her. “Could they really?”

Ariadne shrugged. “I mean, obviously you have to be the right sort, but –”

“The right sort!” repeated Rabastan with a chuckle, “You make it sound like joining a bloody social club.”

“That’s not – I only meant –”

Ariadne saw her error then. A flush came to her cheeks.

“Well what makes you think you’re the right sort for anything, Ellery?” said Corban Yaxley, “You're here, ain't you?” He was looking at the others as though they were all in on the joke. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Ariadne clutched the edge of her plate and swayed as if she were a moment away from hurling her guts right across the table.

“You can't just want to belong to something. You either are or you’re not.”

The chatter mounted, mounted. An involuntary coldness seeped through every pore of Narcissa’s skin, brittling her bones. This wasn’t her fight, but she couldn’t possibly leave Ariadne to fend for herself when she had taken the girl under her wing. The only way to assuage the heat of the situation, she recognized, was to douse it with clever diplomacy. Deliberately, she scraped the tines of her fork against the plate.

“I don’t think it’s quite that simple,” said Narcissa suddenly, her voice rimed with an unfamiliar ice that startled even herself, “I mean, we all know what really matters in this House, don't we?”

Her clear, cold voice sliced cleanly through the chatter. From the peripherals of her vision, she saw Andromeda look up with surprise. “It doesn't matter who you sit next to - because that's hardly a choice - but what does matter is who you sit above. In the end, it all comes down to blood. The Muggle filth can try to climb as high as they like, but they will never belong here. As for us? We’re all friends here in Slytherin, let’s act like it.”

Ariadne was red-faced and awestruck. Narcissa folded her napkin neatly across her lap and smiled, trying not to show the trembling of her fingers. If she could draw them all into a collaboration – if she could convince someone else that they faced a common obstacle together, and that they needed to join forces in order to overcome it – then people were more likely to do what she asked.

The words had left her mouth and she could feel the weight of them in the air. Halfway across the table, Narcissa found herself meeting Lucius Malfoy’s concentrated gaze.

“Cissy’s right,” conceded Bellatrix at last, “Our real enemies are Mudbloods and Muggles, not people inside this house. The real threat doesn’t come from within Slytherin but from the people who don’t belong in the wizarding world at all.”

Andromeda’s stare slid down to her plate, and the shock on her face was enough to take away from what should have been a social triumph. To make matters worse, she did not once look back at Narcissa for the rest of the dinner, leaving with Bernadette the minute they’d finished eating. 

When seven o’clock struck, Narcissa slung her satchel over her shoulders and headed straight for the dormitories. Lucius Malfoy was waiting for her at the foot of the staircase down to the dungeons.

“Narcissa Black, isn’t it?”

His presence was the first thing she noticed. With his straight blonde hair and slender build, he was very charming and knew it: charm was native to him. He exuded authority, power – and the way he spoke was full of money. Very chivalrously he offered his hand, and she took it slowly with a polite smile.

“It is.” said Narcissa.

“We’ve met before,” His pale eyes studied her. He was still holding on to the ends of her fingers. ”At a few of those dreadful summer gatherings, I think.”

Narcissa smiled. “Yes. Once or twice.”

“You never spoke to me.”

“And nor you to me.”

Lucius’ lips curled in a somewhat lopsided manner as if she had greatly amused him. “I suppose I didn’t.” He paused. “You were very clever at dinner today. Yaxley can be insufferable, and Rabastan has yet to learn when to keep his mouth shut.”

Narcissa tipped her head back slightly to meet his gaze. She was careful not to let any uncertainty show. “I only said what needed to be said.”

“So?” he gave a sort of one-shouldered shrug, “People listen to you, Narcissa.” 

She returned his compliment with another placid smile.

“I was wondering if you might want to join me and a few of the others for the Quidditch practice next weekend.” proposed Lucius, “There are some new plays that we’ve been working on.”

Narcissa didn’t know what exactly he wanted from her – he was not the sort to single people out for lesser purposes – and she wondered, rather pessimistically, whether he was only offering because he thought she could be useful for his ambitions. But at present, she didn’t think she cared. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel very important, like she was the only person who mattered in the whole world. Besides, she believed she had things to gain from the arrangement, too.

“Sure,” she decided, “I will be there.”

“I’m glad you agreed,” said Lucius without missing a beat. He was grinning at her quite disarmingly – that was an effect he had on people. “Here, why don’t I walk you to the common room? It’s getting very late.”

She wasn’t sure about that, but he offered a very pleasant picture of companionship and power, of security. With a slow, cool smile, she accepted his invitation and then took his outstretched arm. 

Quidditch season was over by now, but the Slytherin team continued training well into early June. Lucius Malfoy told her this was because they wanted to be ready for next year’s matches – but Narcissa suspected it had more to do with the humiliating way their Beater, Walden Macnair, had nearly been knocked off his broom in their last match against Gryffindor. From what she heard, their practices had doubled in intensity since then – the Beaters were put through brutal drills, and the Chasers were expected to perfect their formations until they could execute them blindfolded. Slytherin House was determined never to be bested by Gryffindor again.

The practice session Narcissa had been invited to watch took place on a languid Sunday afternoon. Because that Sunday was also the last Hogsmeade weekend before end-of-year exams, the common room was alive with quick steps and running voices as students hurried back and forth to catch up to their friends. The great wooden door that led to the open dungeons swung open and shut with a muffled thud. 

“... meeting my date at the bottom of the staircase…”

“... Got an extra blouse I can borrow?”

“... really hope the Aurors aren’t stationed near the Three Broomsticks anymore…”

Narcissa shut the door of her dormitory and sat down patiently in front of the mirror. On her bed, she had laid out a light blue dress with short sleeves and a neat hemline that skimmed the top of her knees. She was very aware of the social orbit Lucius was trying to draw her into, as well as how much sway he held over the students in his year. A well-placed friendship now could smooth the way for later – as such, Narcissa found herself keen to make a pleasant impression.

“My word, Narcissa!” Ariadne was halfway out of the bathroom, puffing out her cheeks and goggling her eyes at her, “You do look lovely.”

Narcissa brushed the last pale curl from her face. “Thank you.”

“Where are you going, anyway?”

“To watch Quidditch.” she replied calmly.

Joanna rolled out of her top bunk bed and peeked her dark head out from between her curtains, “Quidditch? But why? There isn’t possibly a Quidditch match today – is there? Surely I would have heard about it.”

“There isn’t.” agreed Narcissa, “I’m going to watch Quidditch practice.”

Joanna bit the head off a chocolate frog – she had asked one of the older students to buy her a stash from Hogsmeade, which she now kept stored in the drawer of her nightstand. On the bottom bunk, Camille was putting on a frilly rosewood-coloured dress.

“Special invite?”

Narcissa only smiled a little. “Something like that.”

The walk to the Quidditch pitch was warm. When she arrived, it was two fifty o’clock – ten minutes before Lucius said the Slytherin team would make their way there. Everything was very quiet, but Narcissa didn’t mind. She climbed up the long rows of wooden seats until she reached the top of the hill, raising her head against the watery blue of the afternoon. The peace of it all was a welcome break from the cutthroat politics of Slytherin House.

“You’re early.”

The breath knotted in her throat and she turned. Lucius Malfoy was sitting with one leg swung over the bench, his polished broomstick in one fist. He was dressed in his Quidditch gear, and his hair was tousled like he’d been out here for a while already. Had he watched her approach?

“I thought I might be,” said Narcissa, “I didn’t expect you to be here yet.”

“I like to study the field before I play,” He was smiling at her, “Chasers don’t really get time to think during the match. Everything happens too fast. You have to know exactly where to pass the Quaffle and where not to, so the other team doesn’t get the chance to intercept.”

“That sounds very strategic,” Narcissa replied. She took a seat beside him.

“It is. That’s why Slytherin plays differently than the other houses. We play to win.” said Lucius, “This year’s been a botch, though. Our captain’s worried about next year. The beaters have been an embarrassment, plus our seeker’s graduating next year. We still haven’t found a replacement.”

Narcissa looked over at the white goalposts and the little faint winds playing chase. She didn’t notice how Lucius stared at her for a moment before he returned his attention to the pitch.

“Would you play?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Narcissa. “Mother says it’s a reckless game, and Father has no interest in it.”

“I think it would be worthwhile,” said Lucius, “It’s not just about flying around and getting bruised. It’s about strategy and stealth and knowing how to turn a situation to your advantage before your opponent realizes what is happening.”

Narcissa contemplated. She had never thought of Quidditch that way before. 

"That sounds more like politics than sport.”

"Maybe. But if you’re good enough, you don’t need to play fair in either." He said, “Look, my team is here.”

Narcissa looked down. By now, the Slytherin players were trickling in from the edges of the pitch, so Lucius and Narcissa moved down from the stands onto the grassy field. She recognized a few faces – Corban Yaxley, Rodolphus Lestrange, Walden Macnair. The captain – a sixth year boy called Octavian Travers – played Keeper. Narcissa felt their stares sear against her skin; she imagined that she looked very out of place here, in her blue summer dress and matching headband. This field was their domain, their turf, and to have someone like Narcissa here must have felt like an intrusion.

“Good to see you, Malfoy,” said Octavian Travers, “And you’ve brought –”

“Narcissa Black,” Lucius supplied smoothly, “She’s considering trying out next year.”

That was not, in fact, what Narcissa had said at all. But she knew better than to contradict him in front of his team, so she just lifted her chin and offered a polite smile.

Rodolphus Lestrange swept his gaze up and down her slender form, leaning his chin on the hilt of his broom. “Didn’t take you for a Quidditch player, Black.”

Somehow, in his gruff, guttural tone, those words felt like a mockery. She felt the coldness return to her drip by drip as she met his gaze with composed indifference. “That’s because I haven’t played before.”

“Well, then,” Travers announced, “I suppose we’ll see if you’ve got the stomach for it. Wouldn’t want you fainting at the sight of a Bludger.”

Lestrange and Travers looked at her as though they were expecting her to turn up her nose and leave. She had no intention of doing so. “You don’t need to worry about me.” she said aloofly.

“Alright, you’re welcome to watch, Black,” said Travers at last, mounting his broom. “But try not to get in the way.”

When the rest of the team had kicked off into the sky, Lucius leaned down toward her and grinned. “Stay near the goalposts. You’ll get the best view from there.”

The team wasted little time in getting to work. The Quaffles were released into the sky, soon followed by the Bludgers, which had been struggling against the straps that held them in place. The Snitch was kept in the box, because the Slytherin Seeker had N.E.W.T.s coming up and could not attend.

The drills, when they began, were ruthless: passes flew back and forth at breakneck speed, bludgers dropped and struck back with unabashed brutality. Lucius played Chaser, and she could see how well he handled the Quaffle, how he always moved repetitively across four separate spots on the Pitch before passing. Macnair swung his bat and sent a Bludger hurtling toward Rodolphus Lestrange, who barely dodged in time.

“Watch it, Macnair!” Rodolphus barked, losing his balance a little and veering off-course.

“Maybe if you weren’t flying like a sloth, I wouldn’t have to watch it,” snapped Macnair. 

The flaw in their game was obvious to Narcissa. They were not a team but a collection of separate individuals, each holding tight to their own bloated ego. She ran her gaze across the pitch. Corban Yaxley seemed fed up; he swung forward, sending a bludger hurtling towards Macnair – except his aim was off. 

She heard it before she saw it – the high, keening whistle of iron cleaving the air, unusually close. Then, in the space of a breath, she saw it, a dark blur spinning end over end. Faster and faster it came, and for one frozen moment, she could do nothing but stand, the wind whistling past her ears, the world narrowing to the single, shuddering instant before the blow. She didn’t have time to think; the danger of everything sharpened the edges of her vision. In hindsight, this was not dissimilar to her practices with the holograms in the Room of Requirement, and perhaps it was for this reason alone that she was able to twist herself lithely out of the way only seconds before the ball whammed against the goalpost she was previously standing in front of. The metal clanged so fiercely that for a moment she thought it might snap in two. Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs.

“Are you absolutely mental, Yaxley?” shouted Lucius, who swooped down and swung from his broom. “You nearly took her head off!”

He looked a shade of indigo as he approached, but Yaxley barely spared her a glance. “Wasn’t aiming for her,” he said, spinning his bat in his fingers. “She just happened to be in the way.”

Lucius’ fingers closed around her left shoulder firmly. His voice was very low and very dangerous when he spoke. “Then perhaps Travers should reconsider your position on the team. If you can’t aim a Bludger properly, maybe you shouldn’t be here at all.” He didn’t wait for a response before turning quickly to Narcissa. “Are you hurt?”

The shock of the close call was still rippling through her body, but Narcissa was determined not to show it. She drew a slow breath through her nose. “I’m not hurt. It’s alright.”

“You’re sure?”

“Quite sure.”

His gaze traced the contours of her face carefully. He looked impressed. “You should really consider trying out.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” said Narcissa.

“No? You certainly didn’t look like someone unfamiliar with dodging.” The way he looked at her had a kind firmness to it. “I think you would make for a wonderful Seeker.”

The idea sat in her mind like a stone dropped in water. Perhaps Lucius was right – a Seeker was very important in the team, someone who could change the outcome of a match with a single decisive move. She was fast, and her eyes and mind were faster. Narcissa couldn’t deny that the idea of controlling the outcome of the entire game was exciting. Perhaps Quidditch wasn’t so dissimilar to politics after all.

“I will consider it.” she said at last.

Lucius was appeased. “Good. I think you’d be a natural. Besides, we could use someone who knows how to control a situation.” He was up in the air without another word, his hair loose and flying as he whooshed past a goalpost. 

Narcissa smiled. She knew exactly what he meant.

The rest of the term was very quiet. Narcissa’s birthday was at the end of June, which was unfortunate because she was too busy with exams to celebrate. Rumours about the new Lord Voldemort continued to circle around the common room, but it was becoming easier to tune them out. With Rabastan Lestrange out of Hogwarts next year, she was sure that everything would shift again – that was simply the order of things. Older students left, new ones came in, and the social order rearranged itself accordingly.

She set herself on a strict discipline for the last two weeks before exams, waking up at six in the morning every day and writing mock essays for one hour before heading to the bathroom to shower. Andromeda helped her with Transfigurations work, though conversations between them did not, frustratingly, extend much beyond niceties. So long as they skipped around more serious topics by discussing Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration instead, there could be no conflict between them, and they would be in perfect amity.

Narcissa passed her exams with an average of ninety-five percent – not outstanding but acceptable. She would have to review her mistakes carefully during the summer holidays, because mistakes meant holes in her knowledge, and holes in her knowledge could build up to gaping chasms over time. Bellatrix was immensely pleased with her O.W.L.s, and Andromeda had achieved a ninety percent average in her classes, which was wonderful considering she had to deal with practicals as well as theory. 

The morning of their departure from Hogwarts was humid and overcast. This time Narcissa sat with Ariadne, Joanna, and Camille on the Hogwarts Express, because Bellatrix was sitting with her friends and she couldn’t find Andromeda anywhere. The train ride home was long and uneventful. Narcissa half-listened as Ariadne chattered about summer plans – her family had rented a villa in Provence, where she and her little sister Phaedra would stay for two weeks. After twenty or so minutes, Corban Yaxley came to visit their compartment with Lucius by his side. 

“Listen, Black – I’m sorry about the Bludger,” said Yaxley, and Narcissa couldn’t help but feel that the apology was reluctant. Lucius was lounging by the side of the compartment door with a satisfied smirk on his face. “I should have been more careful.”

“That’s very nice of you, Yaxley,” said Narcissa coolly, “I accept.”

He lingered in the doorway very uncomfortably, and she felt so bad for him that she added, “Are you going straight home then?”

“No. We’re stopping in London first. Dad has business,” said Yaxley. She didn’t ask if that business involved the growing whispers of the Dark Lord. She had learned, in the last year, how people in that circle talked without really saying anything.

“I hope you have a good summer,” said Narcissa. There wasn’t much else to say. A few minutes later, Lucius and Yaxley went back to their own compartment, and the rest of the ride passed in silence.

King’s Cross was crowded. It took Narcissa several minutes to locate Mother and Father, standing off to one side in their plush furs and suits. There was a pleased smile and a hand on her shoulder before they crossed the barrier into the Muggle world.

“How has the year been, my cherub?” asked Mother, while Father led Bellatrix and Andromeda forward to the London Underground, from which they would then arrive at Charing Cross Station and Floo home from the Leaky Cauldron. It was a complex and unpleasant process, considering the Underground was overrun by Muggles and Mudbloods and who-knows-what-else – but apparition points were sparse, and they could not risk being seen by Muggles.

“Very good,” replied Narcissa, “I received a ninety-five percent in my final exam.”

She was already learning to close off her mind in the presence of Mother. There were many secrets – Andromeda’s, Bellatrix’s – that she did not dare let slip because the consequences could be severe. If Mother found out that she had been keeping such dangerous things to herself, it wouldn’t be just her sisters who got in trouble.

“Why?” asked Mother, whose mouth was pressed into a thin line. “Where did you lose those five points?”

Narcissa had expected this reaction from Mother, so she wasn’t surprised. She had an answer up her sleeve and made sure that her face was calm and blank. “I misread the question. It was a silly mistake –”

“Silly mistake,” repeated Mother sternly, and she listened carefully for the scorpion’s tail hidden in those words. “Are you going to say the same thing after your O.W.L.s, my lamb?”

Narcissa stiffened. “I am sorry,” she said dutifully, “I will go through my errors when I return home. I will make sure to read the questions very cautiously from now on.”

From Mother’s silence, she gleaned that her response had been satisfactory. They moved quietly – she and Mother and Father and her sisters – down to the Underground where the tube was waiting. Over the long drawn-out static of the service announcement, Bellatrix gestured to Narcissa with her long index finger to be quiet – Keep your mouth shut, your mind closed – and Narcissa tilted her head up and down in almost imperceptible agreement. 

“How were your O.W.L.s, Bellatrix?” asked Father as they stepped into a thankfully empty compartment. “All went well, I hope?”

“They were really great, Daddy,” chirped Bellatrix. Her tone changed miraculously in the presence of their parents. “If I don’t get O’s in everything, I’ll be surprised.”

Father laughed heartily and clapped his favourite daughter on the back. “Told you, Druella. Our oldest girl is brilliant.”

The tube shuddered forward through the tunnel, and Narcissa felt the vibrations come up through her feet. Bellatrix preened under Father’s praise and flashed a haughty smirk at Narcissa and Andromeda. She told Father about the week of her exams at least three times, all in vivid, unnecessary detail.

“I did well in my exams, too,” said Andromeda in a strange voice as the conversation mellowed to a close. “Transfigurations was my best subject.”

“Very nice,” said Mother, but she did not ask further like she had done with Narcissa.

The train pulled to a stop, and the family walked for five minutes or so to the Leaky Cauldron, where they flooed home.

Dinner was extravagant. Mother was trying to call Grandmother Irma and Grandfather Pollux from Father’s side to come over, so Grimble was setting the table for seven people.

The fireplace was green. “Good evening, Irma. Come to supper? Your granddaughters are home from Hogwarts.”

“Supper!” called Grandmother Irma’s face in the hearth, “Oh, love you, yes, dear. I would gladly come if you really do mean it.”

“Oh, yes. Do come. We would be delighted, of course. It will only be a very scratch meal, just the filet mignon with that mushroom Madeira sauce you liked, and an apple galette and some rolls and pumpkin soup. We’ve run out of ices except for the pistachio.”

“It is a perfect evening for it.”

“Yes, isn’t it?”

“Shall we wear those black robes you gave us last Christmas? Oh, we certainly should. One moment – Pollux is calling – What, dear? I’m at the Floo – can’t hear! Oh, Dru, he’s wondering if the cousins are coming?”

“Walburga and Orion’s little boys, you mean? No, Irma, not tonight. We shan’t be able to provide so many plates.”

The head dissolved from the green hearth. Dinner was decided at last for seven o’clock.

Narcissa sat back on the sofa, curled between her sisters, and felt suddenly content. She was still, listening. The manor seemed to be breathing; Grimble was moving the heavy piano on its stiff castors. She was at peace, at home. 

“I wish Grandma would wear that sweet hat she had on last Christmas,” said Bellatrix, who flung her arms over her head, stretched, and let them fall. “I hope she brings us presents.”

“I hope she doesn’t wear those dreadful black robes,” answered Andromeda, but that statement seemed so funny to Bellatrix that she soon burst out laughing. The corners of Andromeda’s lips quirked up a little before her features smoothed over.

“Don’t be impolite,” said Narcissa, but she, too, was smiling.

The front door bell pealed, and there sounded the rustle of Mother’s big skirt on the stairs. A woman's voice murmured; Mother answered, overjoyed, “How wonderful to see you! Come in, come in.”

Bella sat up quickly. “It’s Grandma, isn’t it?”

Grimble passed through the room. 

“Grimble, move the vase of canna lilies to the dining room, and take the marks off these sofas once we leave – one moment, shh, go through to the parlour and see if Grandma’s wearing those dreadful black robes from last Christmas –” Bella loved giving orders to the house elf, and he loved obeying her because she always made him feel like he was taking part in some sort of drama. “Go and see, then come back to tell us.”

And so Grimble went. When he came back, he told them that Grandmother Irma was indeed wearing those black robes from last Christmas, and Annie hid a smile behind her palm.

“It’s good to have the girls back again,” said Grandfather Pollux, and they all settled into their seats before tucking into their filet mignon.

It was a good summer, even with her sisters’ secrets wedged uncomfortably into her mind. Andromeda stayed out of trouble, and Bellatrix was in a pleasant mood for the most part because she had received O’s in all of her subjects except for Potions, in which she’d received an A. Second-year books were still relatively thin, and First-year homework was easy and did not take up much of Narcissa’s time. On the third week of the holidays, she found a secluded spot in the back garden where she could practice her defensive spells on an old oak tree. Every two days, she came down in the evening and practiced spell after spell (she soon found that the most useful ones were surprisingly the easiest to produce) until the bark was pitted and cracked and oozing sap from punctures. She wondered if spellwork could ever be kind. If there was ever such a thing as a gentle curse.

It was also during the summer that Narcissa found herself thinking about the Room of Requirement. She hadn’t gone back there after finding it, but having a moving target had been useful practice. The benefits far outweighed the risks; she wanted to see how far it would bend to her needs and so resolved to return in the next school year. In addition to this, there were the usual expectations – posture, etiquette, and the pressure to always present herself as a proper Black daughter.

“It’s a good time to learn about our family tree,” said Father on July tenth, a Saturday, when they’d all finished breakfast. “And not only ours, but other pureblood families' as well.”

He brought Narcissa and her sisters to the parlour and drew out a large book, in which numerous pureblood family trees belonging to the Sacred Twenty-Eight were displayed.

“You’re going into your sixth year now, Bellatrix,” Father continued. “Soon we will be picking a suitor for you. You are a Black, so it’s likely that you will get some luxury of choice, but it also depends on whether the partnering family is willing to accept the match.”

Bellatrix huffed, disinterested. “So we’re talking about marriage now?” she said. “Should I be practicing my curtsey and sweet smile for some pompous fool who thinks he can impress me?”

Father sighed, “Bellatrix. You know every Black must marry well to maintain the purity of our line. You will all understand this as you get older.”

But Narcissa already understood. Mother had told her, again and again, to marry well, smile well, sit well – these were special lessons because Narcissa was her favorite daughter. She had already accepted this as a fact of life. Bellatrix should be thankful that she got a choice at all.

“Well, I would like to marry someone rich,” said Narcissa, “Someone with money and someone who can protect me so that I can lead a comfortable life.”

Father smiled. “Good, Narcissa. A wonderful choice.”

“Then I’m going to choose someone really, really powerful,” cut in Bellatrix, whose gaze flicked between Father and Narcissa a little enviously, “I’ll find the perfect match. One who will have the respect of the entire world.”

Father’s eyes curved; he was chuckling. “Nobody will stop you, Bellatrix. If you can find someone like that, well…”

At that, Bellatrix’s face broke into a brilliant, dreadfully unsympathetic smile. “Of course I will, Daddy. I won’t settle for anything less.”

Narcissa wondered curiously what kind of partner Andromeda would want, but when she looked back, her sister’s face was an ashen white.

In the last days of summer, Narcissa focused on consolidating her second-year knowledge so that when she returned to Hogwarts, she would not be caught off guard by any content that she’d not learned before. This was still easy at her age because the material was simple and familiar. Narcissa was determined to manage not just the life her family expected of her but also her own quiet ambitions.

On the morning of September first, Grimble set out a delicious breakfast of traditional start-of-term pancakes and fruits, which Narcissa allowed herself to enjoy before they all headed off to Charing Cross Station. Once again, they took the London Underground to arrive at King’s Cross station and crossed into Platform Nine and Three-quarters, where Narcissa would begin a relatively less eventful second year.