the greenhouse had always felt the most like home of anywhere in the black manor estate. even her bedroom paled in comparison to the old glass enclosure that housed her most poisonous plants and the bugs. narcissa remembered stumbling onto the old place vividly. she was just a little girl, certainly no older than four years old. her aunt lucretia had taken her out for a walk, and told her that no one had used it since her great grandmother grew asphodel inside. every time cissy managed to evade her mother after that, the greenhouse was the first place she went. the wrought iron framework that held together the opaque glass panes loomed over the enclosure. so much of this place was her. the frosty windows, the gothic steeple, the smell of dirt and metal and dew. with the help of several house elves, it became usable again. so narcissa learned to use it. she grows hemlock, nightshade, peppermint, moondew, snake root, oleander, thistle, belladonna, monkshood, mistletoe, mugwort, and foxglove. she has also created a bug sanctuary inside with luna moths, wolf spiders, tiger beetles, flower crab spiders, rosema lappa, scarab beetles, and several others.
it was an instantaneous sort of love. the moment that narcissa first set foot into the stables, she felt that familiar sense of calm security that her greenhouse had always given her. unlike her greenhouse, the stables were in perfect upkeep. narcissa always had a soft spot for animals. the horses were gentle and patient, and she could spend hours brushing them and plaiting loving braids into their manes. it was a very relaxing habit. the stables became her secondary respite. it was an easy place to disappear. she always thought it best on winter mornings when narcissa could take her books and read all day without disturbance (something she suspected had always been instructed rather than accidental).
