TO BE SO PURE;

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 Godric’s Hollow from Blackpool, exhausted and dirty and having seen things he never would’ve 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 couldn’t 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 couldn’t even be fixed. Something that was his own fault. Months and months had passed since Regulus’ 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 Godric’s, 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. 

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?"

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 wasn’t 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 done  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.

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 a bad 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... infection 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. Stealing is far better, she thought sardonically, now lost in the supplies room.

This was such 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. 

So he couldn’t remember meeting Narcissa, which is why he didn’t 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 — something Barty couldn’t understand, they were Death Eater’s for fuck’s sake. He would have kicked them all out and left them to rot if this were his home. 

"Oh. No, I don’t 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 them…" Barty hoped that that wouldn’t be the case, because if it were, he felt obliged to help her out, no matter how scared he was.

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.

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 wasn’t stupid. Sure, there was a sort of truce in effect, but that didn’t change their prejudices against her.

Narcissa Malfoy, while aligned with the old Death Eaters, didn’t seem nearly as dangerous as the others, but Daisy wasn’t naive. She knew she couldn’t 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 wasn’t going into a full on defensive mode, but Daisy needed to know that she had it.

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. She 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. 

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?"

If we found these three, there’s always a chance to find others. I’m 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.

Yes. Of course. I've no doubt others will be found. Merlin, if two blood traitors and a muggleborn can fend for themselves - 

Do you doubt the safety of Hogsmeade? 

As admirable as your loyalty to my sister is, I believe your correlation to be slightly superficial.

THE MAGIC BEGINS: A character you’d like to see more of on your dashboard → Narcissa Malfoy

— 〆 for a childhood story — ღ for a drabble about a romance/their love life — ⌆ for a story about their family/home life — € for a bad memory that still haunts them — ✢ for a good memory that makes them smile

Or…

I vaguely remember Sybil from Hogwarts; can’t recall if we were in the same year or not.

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 wouldn’t know what the fuck to get and we’d have to survive on chips and stale biscuits for the unforseeable merlin damned future." The cold bite to Narcissa’s 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 didn’t 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. Marlene’s eyes flickered from the rising smoke to the woman beside her, watching her carefully. The tell tale gleam in Narcissa’s eyes as she looked towards the shelves of liquor behind the barkeep had Marlene’s lips curling slightly.

Well well, it seems Mrs. Malfoy isn’t entirely proper now is she. Even if her husband was an infernal bastard, perhaps the missus wasn’t too bad herself. Maybe her spawn would turn out to be a decent wizard someday.

"Fresh air…" 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 wouldn’t leave even if the damn place burned to the ground. "If you want your spaw—Draco 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, I’ve 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.

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 couldn’t 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 hadn’t heard her approaching and he hadn’t heard her say anything to him, either, but he figured that she must have, because she was looking at him a little expectantly.

"I’m 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 hadn’t heard. 

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't exist without the Manor. 

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?"