Narcissa Black

“How is everything? You do look well, but letters only go so far for confirming these things. It is good to see you have not come with a face tattoo or a number of piercings,” Bellatrix said. The closest she came to joking was with her sisters. It was usually along the lines of her flippant letters and ridiculous suggestions, but she knew Narcissa was not going to fall into that category only because she left school. “Letters only go so far, as I’m sure you understand. I’m sorry I haven’t made it up sooner.”

She took a step forward, resting a hand on her sister’s shoulder. She wasn’t one to go for hugs, but this was allowing an opening if Cissa was so inclined. It was as close as she came to initiating—not for lack of affection for them, but she’d never found the same comfort or whatever it was in the gesture. She could identify the timing, though. She spent her whole life learning those cues.

“You still have your priorities in order,” Bellatrix said, offering her a smile. “There is a reason I insisted on the room—it improves atmosphere a touch with the advantage of privacy.”

Narcissa’s nose wrinkled when Bellatrix mentioned face tattoos and piercings. She might have been looking for a hobby, but something that she viewed as permanent facial disfigurement were not among them. She could concede that there were some tattoos that might classify as art on the right sort of person. But there was nevertheless a stigma attatched to tattoos - and especially facial tattoos - that she did not want in any way associated with her. “I am bored, Bella. Not mad.” 

She took the moment to give Bella a brief hug. She didn’t push her luck, but she appreciated the moment for what it was. Like Bellatrix she was not particularly touchy feely, but she enjoyed the closeness when it was someone for whom she felt genuine affection. “I am glad you are visiting. Late is better than never and I have missed you.” 

“Does it also improve the food, or did you bring me treats?” she asked as she took a seat. 

Mundungus would have come back for the weekend regardless. Hogwarts was the first home he found, and everything drew him back there. He loved the halls and the magic. The Hufflepuff basements were still the most comforting place he’d ever found. The food was only rivaled by his gran’s pot pie. It was a few days away from what he was supposed to be concerned about as an adult—didn’t feel right, still. He could very easily fall back into his old patterns.

He wasn’t just there to visit. How could he be? This was a prime opportunity. Yeah, he missed it and longed for the ease. Getting caught once felt like nothing compared to what he was going through now. Sure, they could throw him out if he was found out again, but he would be expelled. They barely had anything on him, and he was going to be careful. He was sure his services were going to be wanted with a castle full of students dealing with their often…overbearing parents. Made him appreciate his dad a bit more.

He was lurking outside the Great Hall, one foot bent back against the stone wall he was leaning against. Mundugnus worked hard over the years to ensure no one would judge him as shrewd, and he looked comfortable now, nothing more. He was watching, though. He was waiting. He knew he wasn’t going to have to look hard this weekend, especially once word got around he was stocked and ready to go.

A grin crossed his face when someone paused, reveling in the familiarity of it all the ease. “What can I do you for?” he asked. Even if it was just a bit of small talk, it was so much better than what he would get on the outside. He was used to being invisible, but it was by choice. He disappeared. He was feeling increasingly ignored by those who might be interesting and of too much focus from those he wished would ignore him. No way to win outside these walls.

Narcissa did not dread parents weekend unlike some of her peers. She had a generally good relationship with her parents, and also with her aunt and uncle. Family reunions were always a pleasant and welcome experience. 

And yet she had made her excuse to escape right about the time her father had enquired about how she and Andromeda were keeping themselves occupied this year. While she was focused in some areas, she was decidedly distracted in others. And knowing how her mother could sniff out information, she wasn’t interested in sticking around for long enough to be interrogated. 

She likely should have been surprised to see Mundungus skulking about, but she wasn’t. It felt too natural somehow, that he would be at the school with only the smallest amount of opportunity. He was nothing if not a shrewd businessman, and here was a captive audience.

“Are you a posing as a parent this time?” she asked, brow raised. She appreciated that he did not bother with the usual pleasantries most people seemed determined to waste their time on. Yet it was no less of a greeting than how do you do. Polite, yet practical. She could admire that. “Or are you attempting to find yourself thrown out?”

“Why do you need to learn how to play one?” he asked. It occurred to him that it was possibly the only question he’d asked her in a very long time, and definitely the only question about herself outside of the confines of family or work or school. There had been genuine curiosity in his voice, too. Looking at her now, across the table, he wondered if this is how things would have always been between them if they were the normal type of cousins–– that was to say, the ones he heard classmates talk about having. 

Sirius could never get his head around these families. They talked about safe, approved topics only. They knew each other, but didn’t know each other well. They saw each other on holidays only, if it was that side of the family’s turn. Sirius had seen his cousins near daily growing up, and there was no ‘other side’ of the family to find respite in. They were the gift that kept on giving. They had never, ever been normal. This backslide into whatever their stilted relationship was now may have been normal in another family. But it was wild and rogue and confusing for him to sit through.

Not that he’d admit to any of it.

“Wedding present?” He asked, considerably louder than he’d meant to. The words left him involuntarily, escaping from his stomach and echoing around the stone-walled room. There were a thousand questions to ask, but he had grown up in the Black family. He knew the answer to all of them, except one: “To whom?”

She fussed with her cards for a moment, shifting one in front of the other until she had them just so, before she placed them down on the table and turned her attention back to Sirius. She peered at him for a moment, as if quietly inspecting him for any sign of a tell before, apparently satisfied with whatever she saw, she settled back into her seat. 

Poker was a good game like that. She didn’t have to pretend as though she wasn’t inspecting him, like she wasn’t looking for some small sign that he had changed. She did not like change. But even if she did not like what she saw, she would not have shown it in that moment. Poker face indeed. 

She rolled her eyes at him, like she couldn’t fathom discussing such a mundane thing as the groom at a wedding. “Why is everyone so caught up on the whom? It is hardly as important as the when. And like I told Bellatrix, she should really just pick a date and then pick someone to match it.” 

“And besides. I need a deadline if I am to learn a new skill as her present. It would be terribly unfair of her to spring it on me.” 

“I seriously doubt you could ever give me the wrong impression,” Rabastan said, snorting lightly through his nose as further evidence of the ridiculousness of her statement. “However, I am highly interested in what those un-ladylike thoughts are, so you should be prepared for me to needle you endlessly until you share them with me. In a more appropriate setting. Obviously.” 

Rab nodded his head toward the door, tilting it subtly to indicate an exit. As if they had not just been talking at free and normal volume about their complaints re: the establishment. From his pocket, he produced a few pieces of gold that he laid strewn between their two plates; payment for the food they had neither ordered nor eaten. It was a small price to pay for his freedom, though it would likely cover something far more expensive than if they had ended up staying. 

“I will personally buy you new shoes if need be,” Rabastan promised (one of the few he intended to follow through on), crossing an index finger over his heart. He stood casually at that, deeming the matter decided, and extended a hand to help her out of her chair. “It’s just a short walk from here, but let me know if you want to steal my jacket for it. Lined with real Puffskein fur.”

“Well you continue believing that and I am sure we will get along just famously,” she said with a smile. She thought Rabastan might think a little differently if he knew exactly what she got up to when she was after mischief, but she didn’t really want to enlighten him. “And you will find I am quite resilient when it comes to needling. But I am not immune to bribery.” 

Narcissa frowned at the gold coins he dropped onto the table. She didn’t think the establishment deserved anything at all, and didn’t want to give them anything out of principle. But it was Rabastan’s money to do with as he pleased, and she wasn’t about to squabble over a few galleons. It was nothing but pocket change for both of them. 

“New shoes?” she asked, perking up. No matter the situation, the promise of new things, and especially of new clothes, would go some way to improving her attitude. And in this case, she wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea of going to the Hogshead. In fact, it almost sounded like an adventure. She took his hand to alight from the chair. “That sounds incredibly luxurious, but I am sure I can manage to walk the few steps to the pub. Actually, perhaps you should consider leaving it in the coat check here? You do not want it to be damaged by Hogshead scum, do you?”

Evan looked up at Narcissa and gave her his most charming smile. “Yes.”

He had been hoping she would have accepted the inherrant wisdom in his statement and left it at that, but he also knew that Narcissa wasn’t one to let things go once her curiosity had been piqued. “I’m not being cagey,” he muttered, returning to the mirror to examine his backside. 

“I think I’m going to have to send in a mail order,” he said finally, ignoring her question because she ignored his. “Turn around so I can change,” he said, gesturing to the discarded robes on his bed. The too small robes. 

“Yes you are. You will not tall me anything,” she said with a pout. Narcissa flopped back on the bed and covered her eyes with the palms of her hands rather than simply turn away. It fit the feel of the dramatic almost tantrum that she was contemplating 

“A mail order from where? You really should have someone go collect it on your behalf. You can’t trust them to choose the best fabrics otherwise and it is such a hassle to have to send things back.” 

This wasn’t a lunch she wanted to be having, but Bellatrix had put it off long enough. That was why she had asked for these terms, after all. Time was important to her, and she wouldn’t be rushed or pressured into telling anyone. There was nothing bad about the arrangement; she couldn’t ask for much more, really. As far as inevitabilities went, she was as pleased as she could be with how this one shook out.

Yet she was still reluctant to tell the most important people in her life. If not for the fact Narcissa and Andromeda were still in school, she likely never would have swung postponing the announcement and engagement party until their winter break. Truth be told, it wasn’t putting it off, either. She wasn’t using them for the time she craved but a genuine desire to have them there for this one. They were her sisters, and they were always going to beat out Rodolphus for priority.

Bellatrix knew telling them was going to make the reality of it that much harder to ignore. She wanted to make her own way, and she had three and a half more months to do that before she would be saddled with a different name and a set of expectations she never wanted to meet. The only relief would come from the hopeful ceasing of distant relatives staring at her like she was a piece of meat destined to be passed along to the most desirable offer. They would stop for all the wrong reasons, of course, but she could still claim that touch of agency for her own piece of mind.

Which meant the Three Broomsticks today. She placed a heavy bag of galleons on the counter to ensure their late lunch in a private room would not be disturbed. It was still far from her preferred setting, but she had chosen not to share over break, and it wasn’t like she could continue waiting until December. Her note made clear this was non-negotiable.

“Good Afternoon, Cissa,” Bellatrix said, standing when the door opened. To her nature, she had long since arrived and set up the space just so. “I trust you had little trouble getting here, but I hope I am not pulling you away from anything too important.”

@narcissa-wil

Barbs about learning the harmonicas aside, Narcissa was thrilled to be meeting her sister for lunch. She had known that it would be different not being able to see Bellatrix every day, but she hadn’t factored in how much she would miss knowing that she was there. Bellatrix didn’t exactly tolerate her tantrums and moods, but sometimes she missed her external voice of reason, not that she would ever let on that it was one of the reasons why she missed her. 

Even if she thought she could have said no to the invitation, she never would have.  If Bella was going to bother to go to Hogsmeade, she would certainly bother to have lunch with her.

She swanned into the Three Broomsticks and frowned at the busy, crowded space. But she relaxed after she was told that Bellatrix was already there, and that they were to be seated in a private room.  

“Too important that it could not be postponed for lunch with you?” she asked, brows raised as a smile played about her lips. “I shouldn’t have thought such a thing existed. I am happy to see you, though. It is a pity that this is the best Hogsmeade has to offer.” 

Regulus couldn’t help but frown at the view his cousin had on history. For him, the events that took place to shape the world that they lived in now fascinated him. It was part of the reason he took History of Magic, and a part of him couldn’t understand why people weren’t interested. Not only that, but the future petrified him. However, he chose not to voice it, just returning his expression to its original neutral stance.

“I suppose.” He feigned agreement with a monotone. It didn’t matter too much to him, and it wasn’t worth extra energy.

Regulus nodded as Narcissa discussed her probable future. He wasn’t surprised by this, he expected as much. “If you intend to go to Paris for a time, perhaps I may join you?” Anything to get away from Orion, truthfully. “I don’t know. I suppose if I don’t leave to go abroad, I will study. I have no immediate plans, perhaps mother and father will have an idea on my future.”

She frowned at his response, but didn’t comment. She usually preferred her conversation partners to be a little more interested in what she was saying, but Regulus was family, and so that meant he got some leniency. Perhaps something was bothering him, but she didn’t want to unnecessarily embarrass him by asking. Or not until she had cause for concern anyway. 

“Not unless they’ve invented a new kind of harmonica that’s actually a piano,” Sirius responded breezily, walking into the room like he had every reason to be there and letting the door swing naturally shut behind him. It would have been more of a failsafe to turn and close it with more purpose, but that would communicate intention. If there was one thing it was dangerous to do around Narcissa, it was that.

Sirius went out of his way to show he didn’t care for someone who always ended up wounded when she didn’t implicitly realize that he still did.

He reached for the chair across from hers, taking it by the back and spinning it around so that he could sit backwards. It wasn’t any more of a comfortable position–– only a less proper one, which suited him just fine. His eyes caught on to the deck of cards at the edge of the table, but he didn’t register surprise. Just as he knew she’d be here, he knew they’d be in tow. And if she hadn’t been here? Well, then nobody would have known he tried at all and he would have escaped the pesky embarrassment of trying and failing.

“Why, are you looking for someone to teach you?” he asked, amusement blooming at the corners of his mouth.

He did not say, I’m here to play poker. He did not say, I’m glad you’re here. He did not say, How did you know I’d come?

Instead, he said: “You shuffle.”

“If they had that, then I would already be able to play it myself,” she pointed out. It was rare enough that she explicitly sought help. She wouldn’t bother if there was a chance she could learn it or do it for herself.

She didn’t ask him any other questions. Not any of the pleasantries that might have been expected. How are you? How was Summer? How are you settling back in? Things that needed to be discussed would be discussed. And if they were never brought up, then how important or necessary could they really be? 

At his direction she picked up the cards and began to shuffle them with a practiced finesse that would have made an old card sharp proud. 

One shoulder lifted in a shrug at his question. “It was going to be a wedding present for Bellatrix. Though now that I think of it, perhaps not having lessons will make it even better.”

The Cissy Pout. Evan knew that face. A tantrum was gathering steam. “There is no accuracy without objectivity,” he replied, eyes never leaving his own reflection. 

After her backhanded compliment, Evan had half a mind to see if he really could get her to throw a tantrum. He needed help, but a tantrum would be nostalgic. “Is that your modus operandi?” 

“Is that sage wisdom supposed to convince me that I do not need all of the information?” she asked. She didn’t suspect that he was doing anything to intentionally irritate her, and she might not have felt so annoyed if she did. “Because it does not. Why are you so cagey?”

She rolled her eyes at him and then pointedly ignored his question. “Are you going to tell me it is not true?”

Regulus didn’t blame Narcissa for not seeing what he did. After all, as far as he was aware, Narcissa liked her family life and didn’t feel as though Hogwarts was an escape. He’d never asked – not out of lack of care or concern for his cousin, but because talking about feelings wasn’t exactly a Black family tradition. And while he trusted Narcissa, he wouldn’t want to put her in the uncomfortable position of knowing his doubts, but being asked not to share them.

“It’s been around for a long time.” Regulus responded thoughtfully. “The history alone is something to appreciate.”

But he shrugged it off. Best not to get sentimental. He didn’t agree with his cousins view on wanting the school years to be over, grateful for the two years he had left to spend there. “Studying is a pain. But what do you intend to do once Hogwarts is over?” More than likely, Narcissa would receive a very suitable match and be expected to marry and have an heir. A fate for many Purebloods, he was sure.

“History is in the past. And there is so much of it already. Why do we have to spend so long learning about it and focusing on it,” she huffed. “We should be allowed to focus on the future. That is what matters.” 

Even if she was not entirely certain exactly what she wanted to do with her own future beyond what was expected, she knew she wanted to do something and that it would be more exciting than whatever she was going to be doing at Hogwarts over the next two years. 

“Find a husband I suppose,” she shrugged. “Perhaps I will live in Paris for a little while, or Vienna. I might work for the Ministry for a little while. I have not really decided yet.” And, more to the point, she had not discussed any of the possibilities with her father. “What do you want to do?”

“Ya make me out to be a right amateur,” Mundungus replied without a beat of shame. He’d take frumpy. It was the best he did in most cases, after all. “Who said I was tryin’ to pass? Let alone as ‘proper’. Merlin, that sounds like hell. No offense.” He gave her an apologetic look because he really didn’t mean that one. “Too much work since m’trying to get kicked out on the regular. Like to see how far I get on a bad disguise, y’know? Couldn’t do that if I looked the part—then again, right proper might have me standin’ out in there.”

He flipped the top of the pack and pulled one out, raising an eyebrow her way. “D’you mind if I light up?” He rarely cared, but she was one of his better customers over the years. He could wait a minute if it was at the cost of loyalty. “Apologizing? Doesn’t sound like me, nah. Where’s the fun in that? We’ve been fightin’ fer years now. I’d lose my hobby.” That was probably true, but he doubted he’d be forgiven. He had a lot more affection for the feud than old Abe did.

“Fair enough, then. I always call it a mistake,” he said, shooting her a wink. “What has ya out this way, then?”

“You want to be kicked out,” she said, wanting to check that she understood him correctly. She didn’t really get why he would want to do such a thing, or what the point of a costume was if that was the case. “Well why not simply walk in as you are then? Why bother with a poor disguise at all?”

She shook her head, indicating that he could light up if he liked. She’d developed a particularly Parisian view of smoking in recent years, and so had no issue with it. “You realise that does not make any sort of sense. And you could always find a new hobby.” 

“I - what - I didn’t - “ Remus spluttered, but luckily for him Narcissa swooped in to save him from having to both lie and tell the truth all at once, since that’s what his brain was preparing to do. “It’s not… misguided,” he did have to mention that bit, even if he mumbled it rather ineffectively. He couldn’t help but laugh softly, anyway, adding a: “Ah, so you’ve already talked to him about this? I’m sure that went well.”

“I do think he’ll be fair about it!” Remus said, just erring on the side of being indignant. “I don’t think Sirius would ever complain to him about you, anyway. Neither would I. You don’t annoy me. So I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about, honestly. If you’re, y’know, confronting him about how terrible you think he’ll be, though…” he trailed off with a soft laugh, shrugging his shoulders in a ‘what’ll you expect?’ way instead of actually capping it off with the words. “Lily’s Head Girl, too, remember. She’s perfectly fair and won’t let him play favorites or anything. Unless, y’know, it’s to favor me, but I don’t ask for much. Honest.”

Her nose wrinkled as she thought back to the conversation on the train. It had gone about as well as Remus had expected. She sighed, then half rolled her eyes. “He does not seem to take criticism well.” 

She only just resisted the urge to roll her eyes to the back of her head when Remus defended both James and Lily. She wasn’t as annoyed by Lily’s appointment because at least the girl had bothered to be appointed prefect. She waved her hand at Remus in a dismissive way. She didn’t want to hear him defend his housemates (and friends), but her intention hadn’t been to irritate him either. It was, apparently, a fine line to have to walk. And besides, she could handle Remus having favours handed out to him - provided, of course, it did not inconvenience him. “I suppose we shall see.  Though if you ever contemplate a coup, do let me know. I believe you might have more support than you realise.” 

“Nah, it’s absolutely for the fashion,” Mundungus answered, not pausing in his rummaging. It was a losing battle against the seemingly unwieldy amount of fabric. “How d’you do this? Total hassle, hardly worth it.” Well, she probably didn’t layer it quite how he did, fumbling at the pockets of his trousers until he finally came away with his cigarettes. Morgana’s tits, he should’ve just kept them in his bag. The odds of them getting lost was high, but maybe it would’ve been easier to dig them out of there.

“See, I like the Hog’s Head,” Mundungus said, letting the skirt drop. A lighter or his wand could wait a second. “Thing is, m’not exactly ‘loud in there. Got in a bit of a scuffle with the fine owner a few years back which, y’know. Gave me a new hobby if nothing else.” He shrugged and offered her a lopsided grin, figuring with Narcissa Black there very well could be less interest in the ‘what’ of his task now as opposed to the services he was very much still offering.

“Doesn’t quite seem like yer sort of place, is it now? What can I do you for?”

“Years of practice and lessons in deportment. This is not even the half of it. No hoop, no heels, and not having to dance backwards?” she tsked at him and shook her head left and right to make it clear that he was coming up short. “You have a long way to go if you wish to pass for a proper lady.” 

She was a little disappointed when he only pulled out a cigarette after all of the rummaging. She had half hoped it would be something a little more interesting. Perhaps a rabbit, or maybe a bunch of flowers, like those muggle magicians did at the circus she had glimpsed as a child. She had nothing against smoking, only that it seemed so mundane after all of the searching. 

“Well you certainly know how to pick them. Have you tried apologising? It is distasteful but you do not have to mean it.” If he liked the place so much, why had he fought with the owner? He clearly needed a lesson or two in public relations and networking if he thought that made sense.

She arched a brow at his presumption. Not about the Hogshead, that part was correct. “I was not looking for you.” 

“I think that may be the first time you’ve referred to any action of mine as excusable,” Rabastan joked, but there was no sarcasm about it. He was genuinely tickled by the statement, pleased enough to take it as a compliment even if it hadn’t been issued that way. “And I can’t think of a better time for it to come about.” As if he could read her mind (though, clearly, he was no ace at picking up clues or reading the room) he added, “I don’t want to know what measure you’d make of me as a person if you thought this was my favorite spot.”

“What, recently?” he asked, of her Hog’s Head visit. That part was more interesting to him than the Three Broomsticks of it all. It was a place loved by many and hated by few, but the predictability and shininess and too-warm pleasantness always made it feel more like a restaurant than a bar and Rabastan often found himself leaving the place disappointed and having been stepped on more than once by someone cheerful and ignorant of all personal space. 

The Hog’s Head, though? That was a place to visit. Rab treated it like one would a theme restaurant. Typically, he was too fond of the finer things in life to want to spend his time somewhere with subpar service, an odd collection of sparse patrons and glasses that were more ‘clean’ than clean. He loved the place, though. He was more tourist than regular when it came to his trips there, but at least he’d never left feeling let down. Maybe it was the low bar it set for itself. 

“Or…at all? Narcissa, you’re missing out. No way. Can we,” he lifted a hand, unconcerned about the rudeness of it, and waved a waitress down. “Can we get our check, please? Quickly, thanks. Something’s come up.” He turned back to Narcissa, shaking his head. “We have to go. Trust me. Although I know you have no reason to trust me, after I picked this place first, just…trust me. Yes? Yes.”

“it is a travesty, no?” she said with a smile, though whether she meant it as a reflection of herself or (more likely) a reflection that he didn’t do enough for her to praise him, it was unclear. But it was clear that there was a fondness there, and certainly no malice. She liked Rabastan enough to go to Pudifoots with him, and even if it was a platonic date, it was a big thing. She was not in the habit of doing things that she did not want to do without good cause. “That is probably for the best. I am not sure that my thoughts about people who enjoy coming here are particularly ladylike, and I would so hate to give you the wrong impression.” 

When she thought about the Hog’s Head, she pictured shady patrons and grimy surfaces, probably cobwebs. Not really her scene at all, and considering she was not much of a voyeur, she hadn’t ventured into the establishment. Not to mention that if Bellatrix saw her loitering there she would likely have words for her. But Bellatrix wasn’t there. 

“Are my shows going to get dirty?” she asked looking down at her flats with pursed lips. She should have worn boots. She shook her head. “It does not matter. I can get new shoes. Yes. Anywhere without doilies.”