#csirius

The last time Narcissa let herself into the seventh year Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, it had been easy…but it had also been a transgression of opportunity. It was nothing to drift upstairs, away from a party to which she’d been invited if not welcomed, to steal a few minutes and steel her curiosity. It was entirely different tonight, making the long and lonely walk from the dungeons and past the portrait.

Narcissa was not her sisters; she was not her cousins. Misbehaving came with more difficulty to her because she did it so seldomly. Because she was always let off the hook before the consequences could touch her. But she had some tools at her disposal. A working knowledge of where the Tower was, for one; it seemed simple, but a surprising number of her peers had never bothered to find out. A password overheard at a prefects’ meeting weeks ago. Hopefully they hadn’t changed it since.

And, naturally, the one thing the Blacks kept on hand at all times. A blind and uncompromising tunnel vision toward achieving her short-term goals.

Vaguely, Narcissa was aware that it was well past curfew – that hazy middle ground between two and three in the morning where time ceased to mean anything, and all of the castle’s occupants were either deeply asleep or deliriously awake.

The Common Room was horrible, without any people in it. Narcissa had only seen it the once, and at the time she’d been able to see why Sirius loved it so. Packed with people, bright lights above, the roaring welcome of a fire. Now the couches were shabby and deserted, and the room was too crowded with things. Was there any sight sadder than the last embers of a fire burning away? Narcissa couldn’t imagine so, looking at the dwindling stone fireplace as it threatened to throw the room into true darkness. Even without the fire it was too warm.

Narcissa tugged at the collar of her shirt with one finger, trying to breathe. She wasn’t successful. Hadn’t been successful in taking a deep breath since earlier in the evening. There had been a gasp, when she heard what happened to Bellatrix, and an even deeper inhale as she refused to cry there at the hospital bedside of her previously-indestructible big sister. From there, it had all been stale sterile air and brave nods for her parents’ benefits.

She hadn’t spoken a word on the trip back to the castle. Neither had Andromeda. As if they’d planned it, when the time came to head back to bed for some unsatisfying, fitful sleep, Andromeda had taken a turn to the left – back toward the dungeons – and Narcissa had stayed straight on, up the stairs. She could lie later and say that she was going to the prefects’ bathroom to drown her sorrows in a bath, but Andromeda wouldn’t ask. She never asked lately.

Anyway, it was their old routine. Andromeda would check on Regulus. And Narcissa would run to her oldest hiding place.

Narcissa had so many questions – was somebody attacking their family? Was she next on the list? Was it a horrible idea to be out of bed, without protection, at this hour? Was Bellatrix going to make a full recovery, would the wedding go on?

As she made her way up the steps to the boys’ dormitory, her shoes looking absurdly prim against the weathered stone, more questions clouded her mind. Will he even see me? What do I have to gain from seeing him?

The second was easy enough to answer. Knowing he was safe, even just for now, was no small win.

At the top of the stairs, the door was closed – but the sight was promising. She couldn’t quite hear voices, but light escaped through the inch gap in the bottom of the door, leaving a little golden pool for her to step into as she lifted a hand and considered knocking. Music was playing, it sounded like. Not a party; something sedative.

In the end, Narcissa decided against knocking.

“Sirius,” she was already saying as she pushed the door open. Her eyes reached for the ceiling; she had no way of knowing what boys got into when unattended in the dormitories and had no intention of finding out if she did not need to. Narcissa was mortified to hear her voice crack, like the terrible shattering of a sheet of ice. She was sure she was a wreck, with her wrinkled clothes and red eyes and hair askew. It wasn’t vanity that made her conscious, but fear of looking as pathetic as she felt.

“Someone attacked Bellatrix. She’s in the hospital. I’ve just been to see her.” And you weren’t there. She knew better than to say it. 

Never before had Narcissa had to ask to stay with Sirius. Either he would plant some gossip that summoned her to him, hopping mad for no reason, or he’d retire his room to find she’d already claimed it, catlike on the bed and rifling through his belongings. This time, she wanted to hear him say it. 

“Can I come in?”  — @sirius-whoisleft & @remus-whoisleft

Narcissa was barefoot as she darted through the corridors of the family’s French manor. 

Her gauzy skirts floated on air as her toes pushed off against polished marble and cold tile. It was impossible hot outside, even for early June. Inside, though the rooms were flooded with light and the windows had been left ajar to air out the drapery after months of disuse, it was cooler and provided the exact kind of shelter from the heat that made one forget all about it. Narcissa certainly had but, then again, she hadn’t stepped foot beyond the patio all day. Normally, she would be standing prim guard over the process of elves unpacking her trunks, or else hovering around her mother while preparations for afternoon tea.

This year, however, Narcissa was only staying a week before she shipped off to spend time in another branch of society with grandmere Rosier. She was to be a queen among dukes, rather than a princess surrounded by her equal ilk. Rather than nudge Narcissa into rigidity, these last days of freedom had made her spirited and more energetic than ever. The French manse was the place of her childhood, the insulated bubble away from society where she’d shared some of her very best memories with her sisters, cousins, and extended family. 

Others came to call from time to time, but this was their place and she had never felt obligated beyond common courtesy to welcome others into the oasis.

Instead of knocking when she reached Sirius door, Narcissa went for the knob right away. She’d expected it to be locked. This was Sirius after all! It wasn’t, thought, and she tumbled into the room in a flurry of loose blonde hair and surprised, seldom-stumbling feet.

She’d expected him to be doing something terrible – blasting music or lowering himself out the window in escape. To her surprise, he was just…standing about. A lit cigarette burned in his hands, and half-unpacked trunks surrounded him. To his surprise, she’d just burst into his room unannounced. So she was scarce in a position to judge (not that it would stop her).