black daffodil

Lily immediately straightened. Apparently, the politeness between them had become stale and Narcissa’s ugliness had begun to show.

“Fear is something that can be vanquished, it can be put out as simply as a candle. But love, loss, grief? They leave scars far deeper than any flesh wound.” Lily was trying hard to control her anger. It would allow her to be just as subtle as Black, and let her know that Lily was not afraid of her, Bella, or Voldemort.

“Bravery is the understanding that there are far more important things than fear. Understanding that fear is a part of us that makes us stronger. I wonder what you fear, Narcissa Black, when the lights go out and you’re all alone.”

Of anyone, Narcissa would know that there was a feeling yet to be discovered more painful than loss and the grief that followed. She’d experienced it two times too many, but the slightest idea of pain brought upon a weakness. One that Cissa refused to possess. Her brown orbs instinctively rolled as the words left Lily’s lips. 

“This isn’t a philosophy lecture, Evans. You should be afraid. Not of me, no, of course not. Not of your own death either,” she begun, sympathy in her overtones. “But imagine the loss and grief you’ll experience before you’re granted the pleasure of death.” As she’d heard, Voldemort was not one for a similar empathy, and the Gryffindor’s choice of association was far from ideal. 

“I guess there are more important things to you than loving and losing and grieving though, so the wrath of the Dark Lord seems not to be an issue to you, Lioness,” she added, shaking her head at the naïvety of her train of thought. 

“I’m Narcissa Black. I have nothing to fear.”

“You’re very prickly for a Black.” He said, not entirely bothered. If he’d let comments about his vanity get to him, he’dve dropped out after Third Year. There was nothing wrong with knowing his own self-worth. According to his mother most teenagers spent years trying to gain his level of self-confidence. “Who said it was a facade? You’re not the only one who carries a mirror around.”

“Would you, perhaps, prefer me to take after my eldest sister? I didn’t realise she was less ‘prickly’ than me, but apparently I was wrong?” the inflection in her tone didn’t beckon for an answer, but her brow raised slightly, as if pushing forth the issue. A disbelieving laugh escaped her lips, molded with the slight shake of her head as she replied, “Lockheart, I don’t require a mirror to know my worth, but perhaps if you stepped away from yours long enough, you might realise that there are more pressing issues than the out-of-place strand in your hairline.”

Mary would be lying if she had her words didn’t sting. She wanted to worse. She wanted to hit her so hard her nose would never quite be the same. A forever reminder of why you shouldn’t speak to Mary Macdonald that way. But the school was dancing close to the edge already. Mary knew her actions might force the tentative peace from the halls.

Shoving the Narcissa once more into the ground she pushed herself to standing and began to walk away. 

The first push may have been considered an act of bravery by some, or a mindless accident to others, however the second was, ironically, pushing the girl’s slim fortune. Perhaps it brought the lion some sense of superiority, having laid hands on another girl —- younger, mind you, but Narcissa was a Black. Better yet, she was a Black who had played all the right cards with all the right people, and though she was the youngest of their current line, Cissa was well aware that such foolish actions would bring upon harsher consequences. 

Without turning to face Mary as she left, she called out in response, “I know you’re much too dim to be a Ravenclaw, but perhaps you can draw on some of their wisdom and seek refuge in the Gryffindor common room for the time it takes for you to pack your bags and return to your muggle family, because believe me, Mudblood — with your record of gormless actions, St. Mungo’s will soon not only be your sanction, it’ll be your tomb.”

Sirius spat on the ground beside her violently. Not spiteful enough to spit in her eye like part of him wanted to, part of him always wanted to cause the utmost discomfort in a sick kind of revenge against them all. He didn’t though, because that voice telling him that he was trying to be good and trying to not be like them echoed somewhere deep in the back of his conscience. Not very loudly though, in case anyone couldn’t guess.

Sirius’ conscience was like an absent father. Around, but not really there when it counted. He sorely needed a Jiminy Cricket.

He wanted her to give in, to be good like he could see she wanted to. He remembered how kind she could be when she wanted, not that dissimilar to Andromeda for as long as she was on your side, but an absolutely evil hag when she wanted to be too. Her insult cut, and she knew it. Everything she did seemed to be calculated for maximum impact, just like his mother.

“Careful, ‘Cissy. Supporters are going to Azkaban, you know? There’s no way for you to snake your way into a Dementor’s heart.” He said, moving to walk away and hitting his shoulder hard against hers as he went. “Then again actually, you might just fit right in with all the other psychos.”

She could burn in hell for all he cared, she could suffer forever and she’d deserve it, especially after what they did to Dumbledore. Sirius thought that he’d quite like to see all of them burned at the stake for what they did, what they’re planning to do. Or at least he liked to tell himself that he felt that way. He liked to tell himself that he couldn’t care less about his cousins. (It was obvious to everyone but them, that he cared more than he could ever admit)

Sirius spat on the ground beside her violently. That’s when she realised that she no longer had the slightest grasp on someone she, not long ago, had loved as a brother. His eyes were immersed with resentment at the second hers dared to meet them. And although it had been so long since they’d last exchanged a laugh, a smile, or even an understanding glance, this expression was foreign. It was darker than any she’d seen in his eyes before, because for the first time, she could feel his burning hatred. Towards her house, she’d long known. Towards their name, it had somewhat settled within her. But towards her. 

No, Sirius is an utter disgrace to the Black name. Sirius is the personification of complete shame. Sirius is almost as dishonorable as those filthy Mudbloods. Her fathers voice seemed to never escape her mind, as if he were always watching: always making sure her delicate toe would never even touch the line that Sirius had danced upon. Conjuring the strength to layer her masks served more difficult than before, because although she would never let even the portraits hear it, his words hurt her. 

“You’re mighty confident for someone who’s leader is closer to the grave than any chance of even standing in the presence of the Dark Lord,” she called towards his turned back. “Perhaps you should tell your new friends to be careful. It’s even less likely for them to live to attend old Dumbledore’s funeral.”

Narcissa longed for the days when the five Black children would sit by the lake, as Sirius would make a show of some new spell he’d managed to grasp. Bella would roll her eyes, of course. Her pride never allowed her to show the slightest hint of awe. But somewhere amongst the memories, the words Cissa exchanged with Sirius had turned to rough banter, to mocking, to now —- pure hate. 

He’s no longer that person, though. He no longer cared

He could only scoff, why the other side of the war was so eager to idolize the grandpa was beyond him. He wouldn’t say that the man was a complete tool but his time had passed, he had defeated Grindelwald and that was that, if the man had wanted to lead people he should have become a politician. Leading a meager army of school kids wasn’t really worth anything, it just made him look ridiculous. “I just want everyone to forget about him, I’m sick and tired of hearing about him. He hasn’t even done anything beside getting sent to St. Mungo’s.”

The mention of the heartthrob that the defence against the dark arts professor was, made him arch a brow. He let out a breathy chuckle which was his equivalent to an eyeroll. “He’s an outier, exception to the rule. Besides no one even knows him, he could have a closet full of skeletons for all we know.” He did not want to admit that the Hogwarts alumni had actually left a positive expression on him. Seemingly, he had done that to a lot of people. “But did I detect a hint of approval in your tone?” He hadn’t. It was hard to pick up the nuances in her voice, but he believed he was learning. But he could put the pieces together, she hadn’t shot him down, it was a praise of one sort.

He cast his eyes away from, her brief silence told him that the subject wasn’t to be probed at. He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable, so he patiently waited. She would find the words to describe the situation. Most likely in a light that would paint her as the bigger person. Which she undoubtedly had been, judging by the physical wound.

Just as he had predicted, her smooth voice filled his ears and he could feel his jaw tighten. He had no claim over her, not the same way as Bella or even Andromeda. But still, the thought that the mudblood had dared to harm his peer upset him. “They act like animals, always resorting to violence. No wonder your bloodtraitor cousin ended up like that. Did you manage to land a hex on her or did she just ran away?” Unlike Bella, Lucius didn’t doubt Cissa’s abilities to defend herself, he knew that she was quick with her wand and alarmingly capable.

While it was true, half the school had labelled their headmaster a hero upon his accident, even the cheerful celebrations in the Slytherin dungeons allowed Dumbledore’s memory to dwindle in the place. Although pride was taken in his downfall, it lives to show that he’s still relevant, and Narcissa refused to allow him such a pleasure anymore. The brunette nodded, opting for a silent response to Malfoy’s comments. He was no longer worth their piece of mind. 

There is was —- a hint of laughter. A refreshing sound, however uncomfortable it was. A sculpted brow was raised as he tried to urge in her some emotions aside from neutrality, in a similar way that she did him. “Approval? I approve of several things Lucius Malfoy, but our defense professor hasn’t quite earned that yet,” she explained, shaking her head so slightly. He had, however, earned a shot at her skepticism: a pleasure that not many would receive.

The young Black froze however, when the word ‘cousin’ proceeded ‘blood traitor’ as they escaped his lips. Although her hearing had been saturated with such words, the betrayal was still a fresh wound in her heart, being constantly prodded each time she saw Sirius with an arm slung around James, or each time she’d heard news of the Marauders (she’d heard them call themselves) hexing another second year Slytherin, or each time Bella would spitefully speak of him. But Cissa agreed with Lucius. They are like animals. But not Sirius. Not Andromeda. They were above that. 

He shouldn’t have expected any different, but still he did. He kind of wished for once she’d just be honest with him, like they used to be when they were kids. A little part of him hoped she’d say, “God Sirius, I’ve been sleeping awful. I’m sick of those people and constantly saving face for everyone. Wanna go hunt for magical creatures and have a chat?” Something like that, anyway.

They’d all grown and changed. Sirius was meaner, far more able to think up cruel pranks than he ever used to be. Bellatrix was wilder, more and more scary with every passing day and possibly closer to tipping over the line into clinically insane. Regulus was sadder, quieter, more cowardly. Narcissa had resisted change the most though, she was still her perfect self. It was just now Sirius was on the outside not on the in. He’s not sure he likes the other side of her.

Her insult was cutting, because it wasn’t about him. He’d long ago learned to block out any kind of insult from his family, but what she said bordered on a threat and it was cold. 

He gritted his teeth. Fuck her.

“Oh yeah, what makes you so sure, Cissy?” He spat at her, stepping closer. She’d pushed buttons she probably shouldn’t have pushed on someone as volatile as he was. “There are two sides, you know?”

It took more effort than it should have, to not react to his step towards her, because her feelings towards him were too strong —- love or spite, her internal conflict refused to allow her to differentiate. More than almost anything, the youngest Black yearned to pull her cousin into her arms, and beg him to come home to them because the loneliness was clawing at the fragile soul she’d worked so hard to shield. More than almost anything. Because Narcissa denied Pain the pleasure of so much as caressing her after all that it’s inflicted after her loss of her cousin, and then her sister. Because she knew that if she dared open up to him once more, he’d despise what he saw, and history would repeat herself. Because she knew that if she lost any more, she’d lose the sanity inside her and risk spiraling down the same ruthless path as Bella had, only so much faster. 

And she couldn’t bare that risk. 

Brown eyes focused on the heads that dotted the bleachers on the far end of the field, not daring the risk of meeting his. No — his gaze was intrusive, and vulnerability was a risk she wouldn’t take. Not with Sirus. Her naturally controlling demeanor was dispersed the moment he addressed her, and the only way she knew to respond to such a foreign feeling — malice.

Cissa swallowed hard before she dared speak, afraid to allow a sense of affliction to be reflected in any detail. “Remind me again, how is dear old Professor Dumbledore? Shame he flew for the wrong team.” ‘Don’t make that same mistake, Sirius,’ her eyes urged, thankfully shielded by thick tresses of hair.

“It’s the paradox of our Houses. We are always at war, it’s in our nature.” There was something in Narcissa, something that made Lily pity her. It must never be easy being born into a family like the Blacks. The again, Narcissa was just as renowned as Bellatrix for Muggle hate. So Pity but not forgiveness.

“I think they are all too exhausted to let their emotions control them, grief has taken a bite out of us all. Nothing hurts more than that.” Lily had no idea why she was sharing her thoughts with Narcissa, caring was a weakness in her mind, after all. Then again, Narcissa would look down upon anything Lily did because she was blessed with magic rather than born into it. So why the fuck did it matter what she said?

Silence dwindled in the dewy morning air in response to Lily’s explanation. Although it was true, the snakes and lions had their differences, Cissa highly doubted that Salazar and Godric had conflicts to this extent. The paradoxical nature of the houses seemed to have skipped her sister, seeing as she evidently had no internal struggle when fraternising with Mudbloods. Though it was highly unlikely there would come a day that Cissa would even consider discussing family matters with the girl before her. 

“Nothing hurts more than grief? I suppose they’re yet to experience fear then,” the brunette begun, knowing full fell that most of them should be afraid of what’s to come. “But I guess you brave, brave lions repel such a feeling because it’s, as you say, ‘in your nature’.”