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@narcissr

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leave the world behind ⤠sirius and narcissa
He was a horrible person. That was all there was to it.
The news of Blackpool had spread like wildfire, but of course, the only thing that people seemed to hang onto out of the whole mission was the rescues that had come out of it. Days had passed since he returned back to Godricās Hollow from Blackpool, exhausted and dirty and having seen things he never wouldāve wanted to see, and still that was all that he could hear wherever he turned, people chatting about the miraculous recovery of the rescued. Almost as now that a few people had returned, there was no reason to think about the rest of the people who had perished in the mission - or during the rest of the war.
He had tried to maintain an optimism about the whole thing, tried to smile and join in with the joyfulness that had overcome what seemed to be the entirety of the Hollow, but after going through every mission, in and out, things like that just became harder with each passing day. Seeing more and more inferi and walkers popping up every time that he turned his head, Sirius couldnāt help but not be phased by a few people being rescued. There were more and more people dying every day, and there was no hope to fixing this. There was only the chance to try and find a way to survive by riding it out and hoping it was enough. Three people being rescued was nothing to Sirius.
What made them so special that they could be reunited with the people who cared about them?
A bitter laugh dropped from his lips as the thought crossed his mind, almost embarrassingly so. He was supposed to be one of the people fighting to find survivors and helping people survive, but then here he was, so caught up in his own anger and resentment over something that couldnāt even be fixed. Something that was his own fault.Ā Months and months had passed since Regulusā death, and yet the sadness that he still felt was just as fresh as the day that Peter had first came to him and told him what had come of his brother.
Climbing the hill that lead from Hogsmeade and away from the bustle of the town, Sirius needed to get away from it all. No matter where he turned, whether it was at Godricās, or at Hogsmeade, or anywhere he tried, there was always someone in his face, reminding him of what had happened. He needed space, to get away before he said something that he might end up regretting.Ā
Reaching the Shrieking Shack, he exhaled slowly, feeling like for the first time that he could feel like he actually could breathe. As he pulled his jacket around him just a little a tighter, feeling the nip in the wind on the hill, he looked down at Hogsmeade. Perhaps he was avoiding things he couldnāt run from, but there was nothing else he could do right now.
Narcissa thought often of Regulus. She'd come to know him as her little ghost, slipping in the corners of her eyes, tracing her footsteps. A few times she'd entered the study and thought he was seated at the desk, bent over some dusty old tome, and she'd grin and go to comment before the light changed, and there was no one there. For a period during the war, Regulus had stayed with her - well, withĀ them.Ā Lucius treated Regulus with thinly-veiled disdain, though the root of this behaviour still remained a mystery to her.
Narcissa was not often an affectionate individual. Regulus, Andromeda, and Draco were the exception to the rule, though Regulus shied away from her calming hands, and his eyes would skitter when she smiled. As the tide grew darker, as the casualties built, he drew further into himself. She only recalled recently how often he appeared in Barty Crouch's wake, expression hidden beneath his overlong fringe, nervous hands hidden from the sharp gaze of the Dark Lord.
There remained something long-buried within her, something hard: regret, perhaps. If she had kept a closer eye on her cousin, would he still be here? Would he be clattering about the Manor now, making some sarcastic comment, sneering at Draco, complaining about heating? As she crunched through the snow, Narcissa felt melancholy eclipse her. The details of his death were common knowledge; they had to be, for he was the poster child for the infection. But oh, how she yearned they weren't. There was a safety in anonymity. If Regulus had stayed a little shadow, would he have lived?
Hogsmeade was picturesque, the cottages frosted with snow. The air was crisp and snapped with each breath she took, bundled in layers of fur and thick winter robes. Narcissa wandered without purpose. It was enough these days to take isolation as it came. The Manor was stifling. Andromeda was an aching absence. There was little she lived for outside of Draco, her beautiful baby, her only son.
Touching a hand to her mouth, Narcissa paused and glanced behind her. Perhaps she ought to go back -
There was a gust of frigid smoke. Narcissa turned, memories stirring. Gathering her skirts, she resumed her walk, lungs catching in the cold.
As she climbed the rise, a familiar slender figure was silhouetted against the mountainous backdrop. Smiling now, Narcissa moved up to him, making her presence known by calling his name. As Sirius turned to acknowledge her, she was taken by his appearance. Though he'd grown his hair during the war (something she did not approve of), it seemed to frame his face like curtains, eyes sunken, lips chapped. There was an echo of the handsome boy she grew up with, but barely. This man before her had seen too much.
Foregoing the necessity to ask how he was, for that was evident, Narcissa instead went to stand beside her cousin, sharing their body heat. He smelled of cigarettes and tea and something warm, like fur. She followed his gaze down to the crumbling shack clinging to the hillside; school-time rumors of haunting made her regard it with renewed interest.
Regulus would have liked this place.
Though the words tripped in her mouth she suddenly said as much and immediately regretted it. Narcissa twisted her fingers together, studying the scattered trees, the strange grooves along the shack's walls, the way the front porch was torn up, as if animals had lived there.
"I'm sorry." Her voice was tight. Narcissa swallowed and shyly looked up at Sirius. "I don't know why I said that. Please pretend I didn't?"
The request made her feel ten years old.Ā Please, Sirius, don't tell mummy! Please, Sirius, pretend Bella didn't do that. Pretend it was an accident. Please, Sirius, please Sirius, please Sirius.
Tuna and Toys \\ Edgar & Narcissa
Morning had broken just an hour ago and Edgar stood in front of the hospital with a cigarette pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Going home wasnāt an option, the empty space was too painful, but alternate options in the small community were running thin. His mind floated over what might need to be doneĀ back at the apartment and landed on his two cats, Ink and Pandora. Edgar smiled as he thought about their antics and finally he knew what he was going to do with his morning.
The supply shelter was not far from the hospital and a short time later Edgar was pushing open the heavy wooden door with a smile on his face and tuna on his mind. "Hello? Anyone here?" He called out into the rows of shelves not expecting anyone to return the greeting.
NarcissaĀ reallyĀ oughtn't be here.
As she rose in the silver dawn, dressed silently, apparated into Hogsmeade, and hurried down the street, the words pulsed through her like a virus. This was aĀ badĀ idea; she knew that, she knew it, but it had to be done. The Blackpool Incident had badly affected the survivors, at least as far as she could tell. People seemed to swing between elation at the arrival of the rescued few and terror and what this meant. Through some choice sleuthing Narcissa had learned most of them were still in the Infirmary. As to whether they carried any...Ā infectionĀ remained an unspoken question.
As such, attention had been shifted almost entirely to those three prone bodies. Narcissa had managed to doctor the supplies well enough, but they were running low. Begging the Order for aid was a revolting prospect.Ā Stealing is far better,Ā she thought sardonically, now lost in the supplies room.
This wasĀ suchĀ a bad idea. It occurred to her, too late, that she should have asked Andromeda for help, but she'd barely seen her sister. Narcissa's hands shook a little as she lifted some food, putting it carefully in her purse, altered by an extension charm. The space was cavernous, stuffed with supplies, the air clean from dust, the floorboards scrubbed clean. The absence of Moody had surprised her, but then again, perhaps he was more taken with the survivors than anyone else.
As she moved lightly down the aisle, fingers tripping over packages, there came a voice. Narcissa stopped dead. Heart panged in panic.Ā
Clapping a hand over her mouth, she took out her wand. Casting a noise-muffling spell, she swept to the end of the aisle, the furthest away from the door. If this were one of Andromeda's ridiculous muggle "movies", she would peek around the shelving to see who the intruder was. But she was Narcissa Malfoy; and by extension, she was no dummy. Instead, Narcissa gathered up her robes so they no longer dragged on the floor, and stayed perfectly still, breathing shallowly.
we are not responsible for who we come to be // narcissa & barty
Barty never knew quite what to think of Narcissa. Sheād been a few years above him in school and she wasnāt in the few memories he had from the war. He did know who she was, somehow, even before he came to live in her house. He actually couldnāt remembered how that had happened, him living at Malfoy Manor. He had just woken up in what he considered to be his room now and never left. He figured they must have had a conversation about it, but he couldnāt remember it. Barty couldnāt remember most things that had happened after he graduated Hogwarts. (Except Regulus. Even now, memories Regulus were in, were the only ones he remembered clearly.)
So he couldnāt remember meeting Narcissa, which is why he didnāt know what kind of impression he got from her. She seemed too nice, sometimes, too sweet, to be in charge of a houseful of former Death Eaters, but he could see a glimpse of the iron underneath in little moments like these. She seemed fiercely protective over her home and the people living in it ā something Barty couldnāt understand, they wereĀ Death Eaterās for fuckās sake. He would have kicked them all out and left them to rot if this were his home.Ā
"Oh. No, I donāt think so," he replied. It was hard to tell in the storm, but the undead looked like they were standing still a few feet away from the edge of the warded area surrounding the Manor. "Unless you want to go out and attack themā¦" Barty hoped that that wouldnāt be the case, because if it were, he felt obliged to help her out, no matter how scared he was.
Narcissa took in Barty's momentary silence, watching him carefully. She could recall him dimly: slipping like a shadow, far too thin, eyes like a ghoul's in the Manor's perpetual gloom. His name was learned through careful questioning of Lucius, her curiosity having got the better of her. With the Dark Lord's temper growing shorter by the day, it felt right to know who His followers were; when their bodies passed in the foyer, she at least could mourn them in that quiet space, at least until they were dumped into the clammy ground.
Following his gaze, she observed the straggling group of undead. They were barely visible in the watery onslaught, but these days it felt she could pick their figures from a hundred miles away. The wards weren't visible today though she could tell by the way they halted, hands grasping at thin air, that they'd reached the boundary. Like a lightning strike a wave of silver flashed through the air, and with an inhuman shriek, they all stumbled back. Narcissa turned her head, following the origin of the ward's reaction. It was too slow; far too slow.
When at last Barty spoke his words made her lighten with nervous anticipation. Biting her bottom lip, Narcissa pulled her robes tighter around herself.
"No, that won't be necessary. You could help me reinforce the wards," she suggested after a beat, tone implying this wasn't a negotiable option. "I haven't for a while - an erroneous decision, I know - and they need... tidying up."
tightrope [narcissa&daisy]
Daisy turned her head sharply, a flurry of dark hair following her. Ā There was a voice, one that obviously belonged to a woman, echoing from down the hall. Daisy set the mason jar she was holding on the wood shelf and dusted off her hands. Perhaps someone needed something ā medical supplies maybe, which Daisy remembered sheād stored in a wooden crate in the back corner of the supply room.
She poked her head out of doorway and peered down the hall to see a blonde woman who she recognized as Narcissa Malfoy. Since the Order and the Death Eaters banded together Daisy had limited her interaction with the old enemy. She was a muggleborn, and she wasnāt stupid. Sure, there was a sort of truce in effect, but that didnāt change theirĀ prejudicesĀ against her.
Narcissa Malfoy, while aligned with the old Death Eaters, didnāt seem nearly as dangerous as the others, but Daisy wasnāt naive. She knew she couldnāt let her guard down. As she walked down the hall she checked her pocket for her wand, and was relieved when she felt it. She wasnāt going into a full on defensive mode, but Daisy needed to know that she had it.
When sheād finally made her way down the hall and into the from room, Daisy came face to face with Narcissa. She smiled politely, āSorry, Iām just cataloging some supplies in the back. Anything you need?ā she said, shifting her weight and pointing down the hall.
Upon the entrance of a slim, dark-haired girl with clever eyes, Narcissa's initial reaction was to relax. Though the Blackpool incident had put her on edge, she still didn't see the point in picking quarrels with the Order members. True, she'd been snappier than usual, but that was due to her conversational partners being utter -Ā
Smoothing the front of her robes, Narcissa exhaled sharply and painted on a polite smile. After her unhelpful visit to Severus - and Draco's increasing crawling - she's decided, somewhat begrudgingly, that perhaps there was some cure not entirely magically-based. She could handled the heavy muggle overtones for her son's well-being. SheĀ could.
"I apologize for barging in like this. I can come back at a more appropriate time -?" Narcissa half made to leave, but stopped herself. Just this morning Draco's rash had flared up so terribly he'd cried for ages. Manners mightn't be the best course of action here.Ā
Think of Draco.
Steeling herself, Narcissa turned back from the door and raised her chin, leveling the young woman with a steady gaze. "Do you have any... creams? Anything for carpet burn and a subsequent skin irritation?"

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Am I to understand we've found some survivors?
Good news is scarce these days, isnāt it? Oh dear, Ci- Narcissa, Iā¦
If we found these three, thereās always a chance to find others. Iām confident that most of the missing are more than capable of fending for themselves until they can get back to a safer place.
'Safe' being extremely loosely applied, I suppose.
Yāknow, if news is really that slow Iād be happy to pass it along quicker.
Good news is scarce, but it is, after all, merely a product of its environment.Ā
Yes. Of course. I've no doubt others will be found. Merlin, if two blood traitors and a muggleborn can fend for themselves -Ā
Do you doubt the safety of Hogsmeade?Ā
Thank you for such a suggestion, but I will decline.
I suppose I can let it slide for now. You are Bellaās sister, after all.Ā
Oh, come on, Narcissa. Donāt you ever get tired of trying to be so prim and proper all the time? It has never ranked high on my list of priorities. Especially, not now, with everything else going on.Ā
I don't believeĀ youĀ will be letting anything slide. You were rude and that's all there is to it. Please doctor your behavior in future.
As admirable as your loyalty to my sister is, I believe your correlation to be slightly superficial.
I do not adhere to theĀ blood traitorĀ notion of letting it all fall to pieces. When the others return, they'll want to see everything has been kept... as is. Even if I alone uphold their values, they must be maintained all the same.
THE MAGIC BEGINS:Ā A character youād like to see more of on your dashboardĀ āĀ Narcissa Malfoy
āIf you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do.ā
ć
ā ć FOR A CHILDHOOD STORY
Andromeda is not good for you.Ā The hairbrush pulls hard; her head jerks back. Mother's reflection is serene, but painted, as if she unclipped her mask each morning and smoothed it over the cracks like day-cream. Narcissa's nails bite into her palms. Somewhere downstairs, distant, there is the lazy tinkle of piano keys.Ā She's a wicked girl. Too willful. Too much like your father.Ā Druella tilts her head like a watchful bird; Narcissa is captivated. The cords stand out in her mother's neck as a curl of hair rests against wingtip collarbones. This is nothing she has not heard before: Andromeda is a popular topic of conversation; Bellatrix is next. At the bottom there is Narcissa. She does little to warrant comment. Bristles scrape her scalp. Waterfall of gold flexes and releases in time to the grandfather clock in the hall. Beyond the glass, in the cool street, there are the sounds of children playing.Ā You must not listen to her, Cissy.Ā The warning tone makes her look up, distracted. She catches a glimpse of her expression poised beside her mother's: gentle and sharp, smooth and brittle. Druella's gaze is heavy as stone. Her mouth is pinched.Ā You're not going to be like that at her age, are you?Ā She shakes her head,Ā no mother,Ā and this prompts a soft smile.Ā Good.Ā It is times like these that Narcissa sees echoes of her mother's youth, and as she watches those shallow blue eyes look away and the brushing resumes, there is a sense of being a hundred miles away. Instead she is downstairs, sitting beside Andromeda, the piano seat too small for the both of them. Keys trailing in this empty house. The warm sunlight and gentle press of Andromeda's hand on hers.Ā Your fingers are too small.Ā Crinkle-cut smile, eyes like glass.Ā Here. Like this.
Sorting supplies wasnāt her favorite thing to do, but Daisy knew someone had to do it. She occupied her mind with the numbers ā one can of wand polish, two crates of rye bread, three barrels of water ā nothing but one, two, three, and so on running through her thoughts. The numbers were all she had to keep distracted, and so Daisy kept count in her head of all the supplies they had, completely unaware that someone had entered the supply room while she was counting.
Narcissa had long given up making excuses to visit the village. It was easier to merely slip out of the house, often with Draco secured safely on her person, than testify against a jury of drunken ex-Death Eaters. Perhaps she was being too cruel; she considered this as she swept down the main street, robes heavy against her ankles; but then again, it was not as if they made allowances for her.
Exhaling wearily, she pushed open the door to an innocuous building, its importance evidenced only in the slight shimmer of wards in the morning sunlight. Though there no longer rang a bell to announce one's presence, a sheet of dust shied away as the door fell closed behind her, and she could taste the charm in the air. It was comforting, soothing, to feel the hum of familiar magic; to feel the own silver threads stir in her veins.
Narcissa unbuttoned her outer robe and moved a few steps into the largely deserted shop. Moody was absent today; perhaps he was more suited to the dregs of the Hog's Head this early. Blackpool had affected them all differently.
"Hello?" Her voice was hollow in the cool honey-light. Narcissa had not yet shed her Black propriety, so instead waited patiently by the door. There was a distant rustle from the back rooms, but perhaps she was imagining things. Injecting more force into her tone, Narcissa leaned forward, walking a few steps forward. "Hello?"

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Peek into my character's past!
Send me aā¦
ā ć for a childhood story ā ᦠfor a drabble about a romance/their love life ā ā for a story about their family/home life ā ⬠for a bad memory that still haunts them ā ⢠for a good memory that makes them smile
Orā¦
Send me a name/place/event or situation from my characterās past and they will just talk about that one thing.
vana nobilitatis // narcissa & open
Life at the Manor was becoming unbearable. Narcissa could handle it - she had to; who else was there to take over? - but just sometimes she wished for a moment of peace. Though Andromeda's visits were increasing in number, the time between stretched on with infuriating ease, whole days and weeks slipping by like sand between her fingers. Without her trips to Hogsmeade, there was no doubt that she would disintegrate like Bellatrix, who kept mostly to her rooms, drank dangerous amounts, and practiced her hexes out the window.
Narcissa stood on the balcony overlooking the main drive, her eyes drawn to a space of ground some distance away to her left. Though she couldn't see Bellatrix, her sister's delighted yells and jeers sounded along the building, magnified whenever a spell was particularly successful. The targets shuffled fifty or so meters outside the Manor's walls, bodies emaciated, decaying. They no longer wore clothes and were instead nothing but human shadows. When the wind cast at the right angle, she could hear their whispers.
The air was brisk and cold as a snap. Lifting her head to the steely sky, Narcissa closed her eyes, feeling winter settle in her bones. Inside it was as gloomy and austere as ever, though the atmosphere had taken on an ugly shade. Alcohol was running low; tempers high. The prospect of travelling to Hogsmeade seemed to disgust her wards, as did regular changes of clothing. There were only so many air-freshening charms one could cast.
At one wild whoop, Narcissa refocused on the gaggle of undead. One of them was now missing an arm, the rest gathering around to inspect the damage, moaning faintly in confusion. (Or what she imagined to be confusion, for they couldn'tĀ think,Ā could they?) Bellatrix's laughter echoed manically.Ā
Tearing her gaze away, she rested her elbows on the broad stone lip of the balcony. One moment of peace: that was all she needed.
the mercy of the living // narcissa & marlene
Was it wrong that she knew so little about the Blackpool incident?
It wasn't for want of trying - after news had reached the Manor, she'd all but swept down to Hogsmede, intent on getting the true story come hell or high water. What hadn't expected was the ruin left in its wake. Those involved had come back dirty and bloodied, exhausted from the fray. Jones and Snape barely let anyone near the infirmary, or so Narcissa understood, as the condition of the survivors was... Well, she didn't want to think about that. During the war, there had been bodies in the foyer; bodies in the dining room, suspended, dripping. Empty eyes and red hands and missing limbs. Mannequins; nothing more. She screened the Dark Lord's victims as any noble lady would do. They were not sights for her to see.
This time it was different. Hard it was for her to admit, but those who lived outside of the Manor were now - they meant something. Even if it were a little something. She would never join in their raucous jaunts into the wilderness; could never delight in blowing apart a child. This had become another form of warfare, one that was an unfortunate necessity, even for someone like her. There were more important things at stake.Ā Last night she had played with Draco for hours, lost in his soft skin, those silver eyes, his growing grin. He could pull himself up on things now, little legs wobbling. Andromeda had laughed herself silly when he fell over backwards.Ā
Narcissa was never one for grand announcements, but she ardently wished others could see this new war as she did. It was no longer aboutĀ sides,Ā about being the Dark Lord's puppet. It was about life. That was their only commodity left.
As she hurried through the growing twilight, Narcissa pulled her cloak more tightly around her. The gloom was heavy as velvet, winter rising with its icy fist. The buildings were chilled but quaint; at the end of the street, the pub was in full swing. Laughter spilled into the evening.
Three, two...Ā One street down, the last alleyway on the right. This pseudo-espionage wasĀ frankly ridiculous, though when she'd first written to McKinnon, she had an idea that this was the way it must be. If not for McKinnon's safety than her own. Merlin knew what Bellatrix's response would be when she found out about -Ā
Narcissa ducked into the cavernous dark, reaching out to grasp the bricked wall lest she slip on the snow-rain sludge. Her breath clouded before her; she could barely see a meter ahead. She'd left Draco at home, safe in Andromeda's care, but belatedly she wondered if this were a tactical error. When she'd met Marlene previously, she'd only had eyes for Draco. Without him as a shield, would she consider Narcissa with the same level of respect?
Nervous now, Narcissa kept one hand on the wall and stood up straighter, gathering her cloak and robes around her in lieu of her son. The distant sounds of an ill-populated village sounded in the dark: the yapping of a dog, a distant track of muggle music. In this cocoon she was safe. Beyond the rooftops she could see the gleam of wards - and further afield, they were there, waiting.
Am I to understand we've found some survivors?
So far weāve found three people. Mary Macdonald, Sybil Trelawney, and Gideon Prewett. My friend Fabian is pretty happy right now, seeing as heās got his brother back.
I vaguely remember Sybil from Hogwarts; canāt recall if we were in the same year or not.
Iām sorry, itāsā¦probably not the answer you were hoping for.
No, that - that is a perfectly acceptable answer. I am glad they were found alive. Merlin knows we need some good news.
Of those three I am only familiar with the Prewett brother. I believe we shared some classes at school. Thank you for... thank you. It is difficult to get any news up at the Manor, given the nature of myĀ charges.

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Bad News Bears \\ Cissa & Marly
There was no denying that there was a sense of bloodlust that ran through her veins. It was not a need for spilled blood or a sense of joy at making others suffer. During the old war she would have been merciful enough to make the deaths quick for she knew if she were to make them linger there was always a chance they would find a hole in her defense and attack. She did not necessiarly enjoy the kill, but she could not deny she hated it either.
Marlene McKinnon was a natural born fighter. She was a survivor and the fact that she was still living among her comrades was proof enough that she would make it until the very end fighting tooth and nail if she had to. Killing Marlene would not come easy to whichever enemy attacked her first.
"My assests would be suited for something than scrounging for food. I wouldnāt know what the fuck to get and weād have to survive on chips and stale biscuits for the unforseeable merlin damned future." The cold bite to Narcissaās words did not phase Marlene. She had grown up listening to biting comments and wicked words directed towards her. After awhile, one became numb to it and almost didnāt notice indirect passive aggressive jabs to her character.
Another deep breath and a long exhale of filtered smoke raised into the air and she flicked the end of her cigarette so the ashes joined the other debris lingering on the seedy pub floor. Marleneās eyes flickered from the rising smoke to the woman beside her, watching her carefully. The tell tale gleam in Narcissaās eyes as she looked towards the shelves of liquor behind the barkeep had Marleneās lips curling slightly.
Well well, it seems Mrs. Malfoy isnāt entirely proper now is she. Even if her husband was an infernal bastard, perhaps the missus wasnāt too bad herself. Maybe her spawn would turn out to be a decent wizard someday.
"Fresh airā¦" Marlene snorted as she pointed up with her free hand towards the air which was thick with smoke and various other fumes that would be far from considered fresh. There was a stale stench of beer and human odors that seemed to have seeped into the walls and furniture throughout the pub. Smells that wouldnāt leave even if the damn place burned to the ground. "If you want your spawāDraco to enjoy some fresh air, I know of a place." Even Marlene was unsure where her sudden graciousness had come from, perhaps it was due to the bloody child who kept looking towards her and smiling that fucking smile.
"Mmm, Iāve confronted my fair share of those fuckers." She breathed one last drag of nicotine in her system before tossing the cigarette towards the table in front of her. There was a strange dichotomous pull inside of her, one that moved straight to the horrific truth and one that nudged the deep recesses of her soul that did believe that there would be a happy ending to this macabre story that they were living.
Perhaps it was best to meet in the middle. āThey are foul creatures, Iāve had one too many bloody close callsā¦ā Marlene twisted her wrist at that statement, remembering the feel of those twisted fingers gripping at her and trying to pull her down to feed upon her flesh. āBut we are smarter than them. We may not be faster, but we think quicker. There is always going to be hope as long as we have something worth fighting for.ā Her eyes flickered from Narcissa to Draco and back to the blond haired woman. āSo about that fresh air, unless you want to engage in some more second hand smoke and break down over a pint of ale?ā
we are not responsible for who we come to be // narcissa & barty
Bartyās spell had worn off a few minutes ago, but he didnāt notice that his robes were soaked through already. He couldnāt stop watching the infected outside the wards. As frightened as he was of them, he was also curious. He had heard that they were created through a bite that spread the venom throughout the bitten personās body and that it usually took around six hours for the process to be complete, but he wondered if that was the only way to create more of them. He couldnāt think of any other way, but that didnāt mean that there wasnāt one.
If the walkers only had one way to multiply, he supposed it would be fitting for the Inferi to have more than one way, since they were obviously superior to their non-magical counterparts. Barty contemplated this idea for a while, tried to come up with different ways for the venom to spread, but he couldnāt come up with anything that made sense. He shook his head to himself and decided to go back inside.
It was only when he turned around that he noticed Narcissa standing there. He hadnāt heard her approaching and he hadnāt heard her say anything to him, either, but he figured that she must have, because she was looking at him a little expectantly.
"Iām sorry, did you say something?" Barty felt a bit stupid for having to ask her to repeat herself. This was something that happened to Barty more often than not as of late. He found himself lost in thought more and more lately and it usually took him a while to realise that someone had come closer to him without his knowing or that someone had said something he hadnāt heard.Ā
If this were anyone else, Narcissa might narrow her eyes and deliver a silvery suggestion, most likely involvingĀ respectĀ andĀ manners.Ā There was a hollowness in Barty's eyes; something shallow and yet all-too deep. Narcissa rarely felt protective over those outside of her family - aĀ Black weakness,Ā as Sirius might have called it - but recently this had extended to those living beneath her roof.
As such, though she long to touch a gentle hand to Barty's shoulder, to give him some semblance of comfort - she couldn't. They couldn't stay strong if the Manor was compromised; they couldn'tĀ existĀ without the Manor.Ā
Narcissa gave him a thin smile, eyesight muddied by the rain. It came in droves now, great sheets that swept the moor, battering the oncoming undead.
"Are we in danger?" she repeated firmly. "Do you need any help?"