it's in the blood and this is tradition

“And what does that mean exactly?” he asked. Ted held her gaze as he waited for an answer.

An almost nervous chuckle escaped him. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He wondered if Narcissa was the kind of person who often said things and made plans but never followed through. Yet somehow Naricissa didn’t seem the sort of person who had no followthrough. 

“Yeah, absolutely,” said Ted with a vigorous nod. It didn’t do to reject her proposal. Not when this was the beginning of what could be a days long lockdown. Had they meet anywhere else, it would be easier to say no and just never see her again (though, Ted had a feeling under normal circumstances they didn’t run in similar enough circles to meet). “Who knows, Tinworth Boardwalk might become a new favorite place of yours.” 

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As light and quick as the flapping of a hummingbird’s wings she clapped her hands together in delight. He was right in thinking she wasn’t the kind of girl to make plans without meaning them. “Marvelous!” she exclaimed. And though she doubted very highly that the Tinworth Boardwalk of all places would be somewhere she set foot twice, she loved nothing more than a possibility. 

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see.” 

Ted looked at her and couldn’t help but let out an amused chuckle. “It’s not a carnival with side shows and freak shows and geek shows,” he said. “Are those even allowed anymore?” he mused but shook his head, perhaps wizards had their own versions that were still out there. “It’s a boardwalk. Less horrifying human exploitation and more carnival games and fried foods.

Ted nodded as she spoke, feigning interest. He shouldn’t have been surprised by what she might choose to do, but it was still hard to accept how different Narcissa was from Andromeda. “St. Armand? Can’t say I’ve ever been. What else have they got there?”

Ted couldn’t help but laugh for a second time. “No, no, I’m not much into sports. At least, not playing them. I like a good Quidditch game, though.” And football, but he wouldn’t dare bring up something so muggle as football. 

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Narcissa was relieved to hear it and the breathy sign and loosening of her shoulders said as much. “You know what this means, don’t you?” Narcissa sometimes imagined her gaze like the scope on a bow, and that wherever she aimed it, if she meant it, it would strike right to the heart. That was how she felt now, waiting for his reply. 

She nodded, filing that away. These were important facts to know about people. One never knew when having an important fact about someone’s preferences would come in handy. For good, of course. But also sometimes for evil. It was a relief to hear, anyway. Men who liked sports too much were uncouth and low class.

“It means I will simply have to show you around my place, and you can return the favor in showing me yours once this weather has passed.” She was bolder than she often seemed, it would be foolish to forget that but people often did. 

“Well, no dirtier than anything else that’s outdoors,” said Ted. It certainly wasn’t the first thing he worried about, anyway. “Well, then go on,” he told her, “what would you be doing if you weren’t here?” 

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“Yes but don’t the,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “carnival folk run those things?” She imagined clowns and bearded woman and all manner of unbathed horrors, and it sent a little shiver up her spine which she didn’t hide but leant into for effect. 

“If I wasn’t here!?” Narcissa loved to repeat people, she was under the impression it would make them fonder of her and as far as she was aware, so far that theory proved true. “Well, I would be out to tea with a lovely friend, or perhaps working at my scrapbooks, or wandering around the gardens,” said like a dream, “at St. Armand,” by which she really meant Lucius Malfoy. Modern day royalty, chiseled statute of Pureblood power and charm and might. He was her very best dream, her favorite fantasy, her most interesting interest.

She had spoken to him once. 

Narcissa realized she lost herself to thought again, and came back to Walter with a very bright smile. “I might even have practiced my archery against the wind. Do you do any sport, Walter?”

Ted glanced at Narcissa. “Are you asking because you’ve never been to the boardwalk at Tinworth? Because that’s what it sounds like you’re saying,” he asked, his eyes narrowed, though in a playful sort of manner. It wouldn’t necessarily surprise him. Despite his limited information on the specific personalities of Andromeda’s family, he figured she had relocated there for a reason and that reason could possibly be that her family didn’t frequent the area. “Not your scene, is it?”

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“Never!” she declared. “Is it not very terribly dirty!?” Narcissa’s eyes were searching and her question genuine. After the last year she’d spent almost exclusively around St. Armand hoping to run into Lucius Malfoy any chance she got, Narcissa had grown a little... dare she even think it, bored of her usual haunts. “I’m full of many surprising interests, Walter,” she teased, even if he was probably right. It was probably not Narcissa Black’s scene.

Ted joined her in her quest, also sorting through different drawers, though perhaps more absentmindedly. “Well, realistically, probably check in with other people I know, make sure they’re okay,” started Ted. “Now, if I look at it from the perspective of things I would like to do before I die and trying to do what I wish I could be doing now looking at the imminent danger just outside, then probably at Tinworth, on the boardwalk. Getting in that last round of fish and chips, games and all that.” Not necessarily true, but Ted didn’t think the answer truly mattered. 

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Narcissa smiled, but her eyes were vacant. He might as well have been speaking a different language to her. Tinworth — Narcissa was familiar with it as a concept. She knew there was a beach, though not a very warm one. She knew her family had a cottage there, though not a very nice one (by her standards). She knew Andromeda lived in that cottage in Tinworth, and had even been there once or twice via Floo, though she’d never stepped outside of it and into the coastal town. 

But fish and chips? Games? What sort of games, and where, and how? And what was a boardwalk? Some sort of sport she’d never heard of? Narcissa imagined something like a surfboard, but with the straps and contraptions of snowboards and skis. A little bit intrigued, she wondered aloud “What variety of games?”

Ted nodded at Narcissa’s apparent recognition of the name and nodded along, figuring that was the best course of action. With any luck this would be the one and only time he would have to speak to her. Better to simply hope she forgot all about it once this ordeal was over. Or he might die a horrible death and be burned alive. Either way.

“Sure,” said Ted snapping back to the situation at hand. At least gathering up supplies would keep him busy. He followed Narcissa. “Ought to even be a proper first-aid kit or two round here either way.” If there weren’t, he would put good money on them keeping stock after this, anyway.

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“Now tell me,” she began to peek through cupboards with efficiency so as not to be accused of snooping, which she most definitely was doing, “when the storm is over and we can leave, what is the very first thing you want to do?” It was one of her favorite games for getting through unamusing times, this make-believing. 

Ted took note of her mannerisms. They almost felt rehearsed, her smiles and precisely timed giggles. And Ted almost even burst out laughing at her when she curtsied, but managed to keep himself together. Really, he might have allowed himself a chuckle if she hadn’t immediately introduced herself with a name he was all too familiar with. 

Narcissa Black. 

Although the name Narcissa felt vaguely familiar and unfamiliar all at once, he didn’t need to probe to know that she had to hold a connection to the very same Black family that he held a connection with, albeit secretly. Suddenly her prim demeanor made sense. Despite Andromeda holding a stark contrast to her, he knew enough to know that it was all about status for the Blacks. Andromeda, from what he did know, was the black sheep of the family.

Ted’s expression may have faltered ever so slightly, but he was quick to compose himself and answer her, “Walter Wilkins,” he offered as he suddenly glanced around wondering if there was anyone else that might know him stuck here, too. “Pleasure is all mine. I mean, you are of the Black family, right?”

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Narcissa giggled. “Is there more than just the one?” The Black family. How cute, she loved that.

Wilkins, Wilkins... Narcissa combed through the rolodex of her mind searching for family friends and influencing people of the name (a habit). And then she remembered with much delight, oh right! “Walter Wilkins! Your grandmother must be the former Headmistress. She bakes the most wonderful poppyseed loaf. You’ll have to bother her for the recipe on my behalf.” Assuming neither of them died a grueling death by fire, considering the circumstances. 

“Help me scour the lavatories for first-aid supplies?” It was not really a question, even if she was polite enough to pretend by asking before trotting off. They could round up supplies and then round up Healers in training and then round up the injured but in the very important meantime Narcissa could get to know Walter Wilkins because though her eyes and heart were set on Lucius Malfoy she was a clever girl and knew that clever girls always kept a backup or two.

“I won’t argue that,” said Ted. He could probably stand to add more Healing spells to his own library of knowledge. He almost looked at the woman impressed with how eager she seemed to be to set up some sort of system to organize and help those who might need it. “You always this good in a crisis?” Although Ted was levelheaded himself and not outright panicking, he might almost be the sort that was too calm during moments like these. People often might think he didn’t quite grasp the severity of the situation, when really he didn’t think there was any point in panicking. “Because I bet you’re dead useful in situations where someone does accidentally grievously injure themselves.”

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“Oh goodness, I simply wouldn’t know. I don’t find myself in many crises.” Narcissa’s smile was clean and practiced. “Now, I do enjoy the hunt from time to time and it’s a sport that requires one to keep calm and alert, so if a crisis is anything like that then I think I should be well equipped.” A charming little giggle escaped her. “Do you know,  sometimes people do become grievously injured on such occasions and I have handled that well so I believe you must be right.” Though she didn’t expect she needed to point it out, Narcissa gave the slightest of curtsies before introducing herself. “Narcissa Black. And to whom do I have the pleasure?”

“Yes. Good, I’ll figure out where everything goes. We can make a tournament of it.” She smiled softly, hoping it did well at hiding her own anxieties and hesitations about the situation. At the very least, Zoe had learned that Narcissa possessed no horns that she could see, though there was something unpleasant about the tilt of her chin, and the calm of her voice. As though she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she would always be correct in her view of the world. For now, they could play at friends. Disaster had a way of doing that.

Her relief was likely palpable, not helped along by a shriek she heard from another room from a person she couldn’t easily name. They were all mostly strangers here, save for Lily and Doris, of which Zoe was grateful to have them during this. But they weren’t here right now, face to face with Narcissa, begging for something to go right.

“Oh! Brilliant! Excellent eye at spotting that. I would’ve likely kept walking on by, completely oblivious.”

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“Not to worry, pet. I have eyes like a hawk.” With a swish and a flick the box was floating down to her. She handed it off to the other girl to carry without thinking much about it. “Do you know where the pieces go? If you’d like to set it up on one of the tables I can fetch more players.” The commotion was growing louder down the hall, and so was Narcissa’s determination to ignore it lest it reveal a nasty, fearful truth that would be less pleasant than playing a simple game and waiting for real help to arrive.

“They might have chess, I’d wager. I’m not any good. I barely know how to play, actually. But it might be better than nothing.” Desperate times came desperate measures, and Zoe was merely grasping at straws now. Doing her best to balance out her own dislike mingled with the desire to win Narcissa’s approval in a way that certainly wasn’t healthy. 

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“Perhaps we’ll come up with a whole new one all our own if it so happens that we have to improvise the rules we’ve forgotten.” The metaphor of which passed her by. “Ah ha!” Narcissa cried at last in delight, pointing to the tippity top of the cupboard where a battle-worn cardboard box lay, stored precariously and apparently in haste.  

Zoe opened her mouth to speak, and promptly shut it. Merlin. God. Jesus. Someone, something, none of those words really exemplified the complete and utter shock that she was experiencing. Which, she shouldn’t have been. Zoe knew what Narcissa Black represented. She was just so easily swayed, lulled in by niceties. And now these were the repercussions of it, a crossroads that was impossible to navigate. During the middle of a damaging storm that had forced them into this situation didn’t seem like an excellent time for a debate on whose lives mattered.

So, Zoe took a stuttering breath, choosing to focus not on the blatant prejudice on display, but the small generous act that was much more pleasant to greet head on. “Oh, yes, the soup kitchen sounds great. What a lovely thing, to be able to help people in need. Especially when it’s something simple, like a meal.” Please find a game soon, Zoe wanted to beg. Put her out of her misery.

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Narcissa didn’t think simple was the word that she would have used to remark on someone’s philanthropy, but in the midst of a very real and present danger it seemed the sort of detail that should slide. Her smile was a little less sincere, but just as sharp, whenever she showed it after that.

She pulled the next door open and frowned at the other-worldly library it revealed, disenchanted. “I’ve learned the hard way these aren’t the kinds of things you can just summon,” and by the hard way she meant poor Flopsus had nearly been bludgeoned to death by Charmed Checkers, Gobstones, Don’t Melt The Cauldron, and Hungry Hungry Hippogriffs all hitting the elf in the forehead at once, knocking him out cold on the Black’s antique hearth rug. The red one, not the blue. Which was lucky, because the blood strain would have been considerably more noticeable if it had been the blue. 

What alternate universe was she living in where she and Narcissa Black could have an almost friendly conversation? “I haven’t really considered becoming a Professional player. I think I’d like to do more on the technology front, or perhaps charity work.” She was skimming around what she normally would’ve said, if only for the fact that she didn’t want this pleasant moment to end. What did that say about her? That she, above all else, was a people pleaser? Likely.

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Well, it was like music to Narcissa’s ears. “I love charity work.” What Narcissa meant was that she loved the spectacle of it, and how it absolved her of guilt and reproach. “Did you know since the Statute fell, homelessness in our people is up by ten percent?!” She’d read it! In the very reputable, not at all biased, completely fact-based newspaper her conservative family favored and in all likelihood owned in some capacity. “Muggles are coming in and taking our affordable housing now, leaving witches and wizards to, what, the Puddle Park benches?” Well, no, because the Witches League had made those petitions for the benches charmed specifically to ward off sleepers, but... Narcissa tutted. “So I’ve been going to the soup kitchen on Mondays! It’s just so nice to make a difference. We’re always looking for more volunteers if you find you have the time.” Narcissa beamed; her smile was expensive.

“No, no I’m not in the JWL. I’m actually the captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, so that eats up a lot of my time.” Not to mention the fact that she didn’t think the JWL would agree with her much. Namely her lack of any and all grace, not to mention credentials that were lacking in every aspect. 

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“A Captain!” Narcissa sung her praise as she decided down which corridor they should first search. She went left, disappointed to find a coat cupboard and the House Elf dumbwaiter but no games. “Are they scouting you yet for the professionals?”

She couldn’t tell if she was a little in awe of Narcissa Black, or concerned about her mental faculties. Either way, they did nothing to soothe the anxiety that had long since built a home in Zoe’s chest. The kind so carelessly given from mother to daughter. A gift that no one wanted, and yet had to be accepted wither way. Call it anxiety. Call it trauma. Call it some familial gene. Fear crept up on her one way or another, and she wasn’t exactly gifted at sitting still.

“Maybe we should play a game, then, or something. You know. To help keep us busy and distracted.” To keep Zoe from trying to pour tea again. Or worse, try to bake.

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“Oh!” Narcissa clapped her hands together to do something with all the energy her elation put off. “I love games. There must be a cupboard full of them in this house somewhere. Are you in the JWL yourself?” Maybe she would know where to begin the hunt. She assumed all the Mudbloods would have been turned away at the door and sent to the Hog’s Head, so Narcissa had no ulterior motives for asking. 

Zoe thought it wise to drop that particular part of the conversation completely, settling for shrugging her shoulders, and hoping that would be enough for Narcissa. She had no desire to explain anything more about her mother, or the family she rarely saw. Nor the fact that magic might as well have been dormant in the woman who gave her life. It was better this way. Safer.

“How can you be so calm about all of this? Aren’t you scared?” Zoe certainly was, about most things. She merely was doing her best to face it all as head on as she could manage. If only Sirius were here.

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Scared. Hm. Narcissa thought about it. “No,” she decided. “It doesn’t do to be scared. You must think ‘this is scary’ which can be true. But you are not scared.” Narcissa wasn’t sure if she’d thought those words herself or regurgitated them from a storybook one of the caretakers had read her, but it sounded nice and she thought it was probably true because of that.

“There’s nothing that either of us can do about what happens.” This wasn’t exactly true. Zoe and Narcissa were both gifted witches. There was plenty they could do. With their wands, they could shield against glass that might fly at them were the windows to shatter. They could heal wounds and lift heavy fallen objects with ease. Narcissa had just never been taught to see the things she could do as things of significance, so she’d grown to dismiss them. “We just have to busy ourselves until the end.”

“I? What? No, I’m just—” Her thoughts trailed off, distracted over what Narcissa said next. Clearly she didn’t know who she was, which was for the best for everyone involved. No one had to get upset. No one had to get hurt. They could sit here as two strangers, and that would be that. “Yes, well, my father’s family was never really close, and my mum’s family is across the ocean. Doesn’t leave much room for best friends.”

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“You don’t like traveling by portkey?” She couldn’t imagine something as silly as an ocean separating her from her family. (Only something as arbitrary as blood purity). “I don’t blame you. They use the filthiest things! All for an important reason I suppose.” and Narcissa had never had to travel via one herself, as it was far too commercial, so what did it matter to her, really? 

The windows in Wimbourne House began to rattle and shake as the winds picked up again. Narcissa tutted at them. “I’m sure the glass is reinforced with magic. Not to worry, pet.”