#narcoppy

      The owl's large, amber eyes are unblinking. It doesn't even hoot while it waits, preferring instead to shiver in a ruffle of feathers.

      "Owling—such a filthy task," Narcissa grumbles to herself when she cracks open the glass. She holds a hand out to bar entry to the bird and snatches the scroll tied to its right foot.

      The owl nips at her fingers but, realizing Narcissa isn't one for treats, hops around and flies elsewhere for attention.

      But Narcissa reads the parchment, twice, and her irritation over the bird is gone the next instant. Narcissa leaves her tea behind, pens a note to Lucius which she zips to the Ministry via spell, and plucks her cloak from a hook by the front door. Then she exits the manor and Disapparates on the spot.

      Apparating long distances is taxing, and Narcissa isn't fond of flying, but she splits her travel time between the modes and arrives at Hogwarts in a few hours. There's a dank, dreary cloak of dark mist draped over the castle grounds…ah, no, that's not quite right. It's just Dementors, she has to remind herself, presently on loan from the Ministry while her cousin roams free, freshly escaped from Azkaban.

      Filch spies her outside the gates and hustles to meet her, but McGonagall's right behind him, and the old woman looks at sharp as ever. "Mrs. Malfoy, I assure you, there is no need—"

      "My son," Narcissa interrupts, striding past both of them into the castle, because she remembers her way just fine, "is in the Hospital Wing after being attacked by a creature. You don't get to decide what is necessary right now." No use of title or mention of McGonagall's name. No, no acknowledgment whatsoever beyond "you."

      McGonagall bristles but shrinks back half a step behind the livid mother.

      Yes, sometimes "you" does more than enough to carry her ire and vehemence.

      She climbs the steps of the staircases two at a time where the moving parts allow, and Narcissa clenches her jaw and taps her finger on the bannister whenever she must wait for the staircases to settle into place. Nevertheless, she is the first one off the steps and the first one on the fourth floor, and her imagination runs wild, because when you receive a missive stating your only son's been attacked by a hippogriff, of all things, then—

      Narcissa bursts through the Hospital Wing doors, carrying her anger and Lucius', too, because she knows her husband won't arrive yet, will be greasing the gears back at the Ministry, that this is yet another example of Albus Dumbledore's inability to lead this school, and—

      But where an owl's unblinking amber eyes couldn't have bothered her less earlier, a pair of sharp, blue ones pierce the air as they land on her, and Narcissa stops in her tracks.

      Behind her, McGonagall and Filch catch up, and the deputy headmistress clears her throat. "Poppy, I'm terribly sorry about this interruption, but…" Narcissa senses rather than sees the disdainful glance McGonagall casts her way. "Mrs. Malfoy is here to check on her son."

      Poppy Pomfrey nods once. She draws the curtain behind her and tips her head to her audience. "Thank you, Professor McGonagall, Mr. Filch. I can take it from here."

      Narcissa squares her shoulders and glimpses McGonagall's frown before the other two leave. But, even with them gone, it's still hard for her to move from her spot by the doors. Only when she hears the faintest whimper from further in the room does Narcissa recall her original intent in coming here. She clears her throat. "A-And? How is Draco?"

      Poppy notes something on her clipboard before setting it aside. She steps forward but still keeps Narcissa at a distance, out of arm's reach. "He's sleeping. He's got some scratches and possibly a sprain. I'm waiting for the swelling in his arm to go down, but my experience tells me nothing's broken. Based on what Hagrid told me of the hippogriff and a few eyewitness accounts, Mr. Malfoy didn't know what he was getting into."

      Her words draw a frown from Narcissa. She knows what Draco's like—he's so cocksure of himself sometimes, just like his father. But…there's something else in Poppy's tone.

      There's something else there, meant for Narcissa.

      Finally, Narcissa licks her lips and lowers her volume. "I—I didn't realize you'd stayed on, after all this time."

      "This is the kind of position with job security," Poppy remarks. She glances behind her, but it's so quiet in here, so they must be alone save for the sleeping Malfoy heir. Slowly, Poppy draws her gaze back to her unwelcome guest. "…did you even read that letter?"

      "Wha—? Yes, of course."

      "It was on official stationery." She pauses, as though she meant to add "Mrs. Malfoy" at the end of her sentence but couldn't quite force the name out. Poppy tucks a nonexistent stray hair into her nurse's cap. "I ask, because if you had, then you would've understood this required giving the parents notice and nothing more. You didn't need to come here."

      Narcissa has heard those words before, decades ago (a lifetime ago). But…she's here, in the end. Her eyes trace the stone floor, following the lines between blocks up the aisle, counting cots. In the quiet, she hears Draco's even breaths, which put her at ease. Perhaps Poppy is right, and Narcissa overreacted in coming here. But still. "I didn't realize you'd stayed on," she repeats dumbly.

      Poppy sighs and walks to her nursing station up front. She leaves the door open behind her, but Narcissa doesn't read it as the invitation she used to, so the younger woman follows at a distance, leaning against the doorjamb when the matron sits down behind her desk. Poppy quirks an eyebrow at her. "You never once read through the faculty list, when Draco's letter came?"

      Narcissa's hackles rise. Of course she'd read all the documentation…! Nothing had been so momentous in so long as Draco's first year. After years of dark spots in the family history—Bellatrix going to Azkaban, Andromeda shacking up with that Muggle-born and having his child—Draco's school years were going to be highlights, were going to put everything else out of mind.

      Everything else out of mind.

      (Even her own mistakes.)

      Poppy watches her with open curiosity. Those blue eyes—sometimes glinting sharp like her silver instruments, sometimes soft like soothing lavender sachets—stare, but it's not so uncomfortable, and Narcissa doesn't call her out for it.

      Instead, Narcissa stares back. She studies the other witch and notes that, though Poppy's only got a handful of years on Bellatrix, this job has aged her in some ways. Her dark hair is colored steel now and lighter still in a few bits that peek out from under her cap. Lines curve around her small mouth, still firm in its disapproval of Narcissa turning up when she least expects her. There are lines by her eyes, too, but it's the hardness of her stare that catches something in Narcissa's throat.

      Poppy checks the time on her watch. "You may stay for a short while. Am I to expect his father here, as well?"

      Reality is a cold splash of water in Narcissa's face, but she doesn't fully shake off her reveries. "I'm…I'm not sure." She wrings her hands in the hem of her travel cloak. She's never liked talking Lucius with Poppy. "He might be along later or come by tomorrow, at the earliest."

      The matron nods and makes a note of this. Then she busies herself sorting through parchment, almost as though Narcissa isn't there.

      But Narcissa is there, just as she was here more than twenty years ago—

      —and she comes stumbling into the Hospital Wing, a bumbling thing of a witch, looking for respite, because, for all she likes to partake in making fun of Andromeda, she can't always keep up with her fellow snakes and the things they do for entertainment. There's only so much time she can spend in the library or even waltzing around the castle with Lucius, who likes to chirp about how they'll be betrothed before they're even out of school. But the castle is big, so surely there are places for her to hide and catch her breath, and faking ill once in a blue moon isn't the most awful thing Narcissa Black can do.

      But it's fifth year, already. An exam year. The school nurse ought to understand when a student needs to relax, yes?

      Narcissa enters the Hospital Wing, an excuse half formed on her tongue when she notes the usual nurse isn't there.

      No, it's a young witch barely older than herself, with rosy cheeks and startling violet–blue eyes that pierce her.

      Oh. Hadn't—hadn't they said something at the start-of-term feast? About a new nurse…

      And the new nurse breaks into a brilliant smile. "Hello, there, miss. Madam Pomfrey, at your service," she says.

      Suddenly, the youngest Black daughter forgets her excuse or what even brought her here in the first place and knows only that she's glad she came here today.

      …but today, Narcissa Malfoy isn't so sure. Today, Narcissa feels awkwardly caught between two worlds again, although this time she doesn't have options. Still, she wants to know: "Do you hate me, Poppy?"

      Poppy doesn't look her way, but her fingers still their sorting.

      Narcissa wonders at her answer. She wonders a lot. After all—

      —it's not as though she comes every other day or even every week. No, because Narcissa doesn't want others to think of her as sickly or to discover her fascination with Poppy.

      But Poppy doesn't seem to mind. She makes small chat when Narcissa pops by and then encourages her to go study. After exams, Poppy pours her tea and, after sixth year starts, they have tea and biscuits semi-regularly at the nursing station.

      Poppy chuckles a lot more in Narcissa's sixth year. "You don't find me decrepit and old?"

      Narcissa raises one finely plucked eyebrow at her. Where on Earth would she have gotten that idea? "You're barely twenty-three, Poppy," Narcissa remarks.

      "Mm," she mumbles, as though it's an answer. But there's something soft and sad in her heavy-lidded gaze, as though she's used to people calling her such terrible things because of her aspirations.

      Narcissa thinks it could be far worse. Having aspirations is a fine thing. Having your life chosen for you…planned out for you…being unsure if you even want that life…those are scary things. For all Bellatrix's Dark thoughts catch her off-guard and Andromeda's "progressive" mindset puts her off, they don't terrify Narcissa as much as the idea that her destiny will be tied to the Malfoys. Sure, Lucius is fun, but… But.

      She looks at Poppy.

      Poppy holds her gaze. She smiles again, but it's small until Narcissa reaches across the nurse's desk and covers her hand with her own. Then—yes, then her smile reaches her eyes.

      Unlike now. There's no smile and, even if Poppy managed to, Narcissa can't imagine it reaching her eyes the way it used to. So Narcissa concedes with a silent sigh and walks away, moving to check on her son. And she does, she pauses at Draco's cot, sees him laid up with his right arm in a sling (her heart stutters with concern and relief), and continues her walk to the end of the wing, until she comes to the far windows, until she can lean against the worn, smooth stone of the sill there and—

      —it's something that started almost harmlessly before sixth year ended, but now she comes by too often in seventh year and Poppy knows her intentions. How can she not, after the third, fourth, fifth time Narcissa's undone the ribbon by her collar and unfastened those few buttons to free the tender flesh of her neck for nipping?

      "We'll get caught," Poppy mutters, breathless, catching one of Narcissa's hands from roaming up her skirts.

      It's never "We shouldn't" or "Stop it" or "I don't want to/this/you." It's always concern over getting caught. And Narcissa pauses long enough to show Poppy she hears her.

      Then Poppy bites her bottom lip and her tiny smile peeks through, and they're back to snogging and—really, who's snogging who anymore?

      Still, Poppy's worried about getting caught, especially as the months go on. Narcissa notices her seventh year is both a bright point (Lucius graduated last year, Narcissa is Head Girl) and a low one (this year is her last, her future awaits her outside these stone walls…and Poppy, Poppy will remain here indefinitely).

      Sometimes, Narcissa kisses Poppy's fingertips and reassures her. "We won't get caught." She says it with all the backbone of those with the long history of the house of Black.

      And maybe, just maybe, Poppy believes her for a moment, because she rests her head on the younger witch's chest and lies still, just long enough that Narcissa thinks they won't need to dress and carry on with their day, that time stands still. Just for them.

      A familiar clamor behind her snaps Narcissa out of her reverie, and she turns. Even at this distance, she makes out so clearly Poppy's frown.

      The nurse holds up a separate clipboard. "I'm sorry, but I've changed my mind. You can visit him again another time, but I've too much to finish for the day." Translation: It's too much, seeing you again.

      So Narcissa has her answer. She nods but once and pauses at Draco's cot again, pressing a kiss to his crown of hair. After, she adjusts her travel cloak and smooths imagined wrinkles down its front, noting that Poppy once more stands out of arm's reach as she shows Narcissa out. Luckily for the nurse, Filch makes his rounds their way about then, so Poppy doesn't need to escort Narcissa from the castle, as well.

      And so, Narcissa leaves almost as quickly as she arrived. Yet it weighs on her just as heavily, knowing what she knows now.

      At home, she instructs the house-elves to begin prepping dinner early, but she doesn't supervise today. Even when Lucius comes home, blowing through the manor in a fit of rage over what transpired with Draco, Narcissa nods where appropriate and mumbles agreement as needed.

      She picks at her food while Lucius elaborates a scheme that might one day see Dumbledore gone from the school, and a small part of her half agrees with him. After all, the current administration has done little to protect their son and fellow students in the past two, going on three years. No, taking care of students is a duty that resides with…

      …well, her mind is full of Poppy these days, in seventh year, even with N.E.W.T.s ahead of her. Lucius writes her and complains that Narcissa doesn't write him much, but he forgives her because he empathizes over exam years. "Still," he writes in one of his many letters, "even though we'll be married sometime after your graduation, I wouldn't mind the occasional letter…"

      He's oddly a romantic at heart. Narcissa likes that about him, understands that's why they've always been good friends, since they have this in common.

      But she buries his letters where Poppy won't see them on one of only two occasions she spirits the older witch to her dorm. Poppy's never liked hearing his name, which Narcissa has always found endearing (getting jealous of him? how cute).

      Yet it's not Lucius' name that ruins their night. No, it's Narcissa, after she's thoroughly exhausted her favorite flower and kisses the usual protest ("We'll get caught") off her lips. Because, yes, Narcissa kisses her, and they taste deliciously of sweat and salt and something else and—

      "Then let's be caught," Narcissa dares to say.

      It's as though the heat is sucked from the room. Even Poppy, skin scorching Narcissa's, turns Ice Mice-cold. She shrinks away and stares at Narcissa, those blue eyes piercing her and all too serious. "Cissa…what?"

      Narcissa wraps a dark lock of Poppy's hair around her finger. "What if I just…" Suddenly, her boldness fades. It hits her that she sounds as nutters as Andromeda.

      Poppy is up like a light, scrambling to dress and tidy her hair. "That's not— You can't— We— I—" Her voice cracks, and she surreptitiously swipes at her eyes, but she's not crying when she straightens up and faces Narcissa. She ties her apron around her waist. "No," she says, adamant.

      Narcissa loosely knots the sheet around her, cold without Poppy. "Poppy, it's—"

      But the matron shakes her head. Even when Narcissa takes a step towards her, she holds up a hand to stop the blonde. "I never should've indulged you."

      The word is a slap in the face. "'Indulged'?"

      And there, there is the hardening of Poppy Pomfrey's stare. Her cheeks are dark (red) in the dim lighting of a Slytherin dorm, but her flat expression is resolute. Before she lowers her hand, she gestures between her and Narcissa. "This…doesn't mean anything." No "Narcissa" or "Miss Black" or even a "you."

      Narcissa doesn't warrant any such mention in Poppy's view.

      Without so much as a goodbye, Poppy locates her wand and slips out of the dorm. Undiscovered, of course, because word never gets around about the things Narcissa Black did with the nurse. And then the school year ends and Narcissa puts Poppy and Hogwarts out of her mind. Until…

      "…issa. Narcissa."

      She blinks and stops swirling her wine in her glass. She sets the glass down and glances at her husband. "Sorry?"

      Lucius frowns. "You're about to stain the lace, darling."

      "Ah, right."

      "Yes, quite. As I was saying… I'm glad Draco's all right, although I'd rather see for myself in person."

      Narcissa tenses. "Ah. Perhaps let him have his rest, Lucius."

      He purses his lips while he gives her opinion consideration. Then he shrugs it offs. "Very well. Either way, the school board has received notice, but I still plan to fill their ears about the matter." Lucius swipes at the crumbs on his plate. "So? Aside from the eventful, how was your day, darling?"

      Her shoulders sink and, minus elegance, Narcissa tosses back the rest of her drink in the hopes of chasing away old memories. "I was supposed to have the day to myself," she murmurs.

Done for the If You Dare Challenge (for prompt #983: it doesn't mean anything) in the HPFC forum on FFN and for minifemslashfeb 2023 (scenario 7: so we meet again) on tumblr. It's been about ten yrs since I last wrote Narcoppy (they showed up in a drabble in Counting Backwards after their debut in "Black Flowers & Red Drugs"), but they're one of my favorite buried-in-Cissa's-past ships, *lol*, so I do think about them and just…rarely write them. X'D This got out of hand (as do so many of my fics XP), but I'm glad with this one, as there were some literary touches/finesses here and there that I enjoyed. Also, since we don't have a canon birthdate for Poppy, I've written her close to McGonagall's age before but am fond of keeping her around the age depicted here (so not much older than Marauder era), and I rly enjoy this?? Idk. Also just. The idea that Narcissa might've totally blitzed thru Draco's incoming documents when starting Hogwarts and so missed Poppy was still nurse amuses me to no end. XDDD Ahhhh, I love bittersweet Narcissa ships…! *looking at Narcrid, too*

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

                In the middle of the night, Narcissa grasped once-clean white sheets around her, fighting a shiver. Lucius said it was fine—they'd be married soon after school anyway—but Narcissa… She finally shuddered. She hated his touch.

                She was sure it was some kind of transaction, this engagement. The Black family had prestige, the Malfoys had money—anyone could do the math. Narcissa sometimes wondered if her older sister, Bellatrix, felt the same way about her marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange; it'd been several years, and still Bella hadn't had an heir.

                On that thought, Narcissa got up from Lucius' bed and dressed. She knew he wouldn't be waking up any time soon, as Lucius wasn't a light sleeper. But she… She had a hard time sleeping.

                Her feet padded quietly up the halls, and she was so thankful for her thin slippers. The last thing she needed was Peeves' attention as she wound her way up the stairs to the Hospital Wing. Once there, she leaned against the door and took a deep breath. She knocked once.

                The door cracked open, and a pair of dark eyes fell on Narcissa. "Ah. Good evening."

                Narcissa frowned. "Can't you let me in?"

                The door swung open more to grant Narcissa passage, and Poppy Pomfrey sighed as she closed the door behind her. "Oh, good Merlin… Do stop coming to me for the Morning After Potion, Miss Black."

                "I can't help it, Madam Pomfrey."

                Poppy looked questioningly at her. "Why not?"

                Narcissa grimly smiled. "There's no escaping Lucius Malfoy."

                The nurse frowned sympathetically and retrieved the vial of red liquid. She passed it to the Slytherin and watched her down it. "Don't you want to find love? Or at least someone who cares for you, Narcissa?"

                The blonde shrugged and shook her head. "That doesn't matter in my family. None of us hold the reins of our destinies."

                "I know. You've told me before." Poppy heaved another sigh and led Narcissa to the cot closest to her office. "Countless times you've told me this…" She knit her brow together in concern. "Don't you have any good friends?"

                "Who needs them?" Narcissa quietly spat. But her venom left her. "…I don't suppose you might count…?"

                Poppy paused and then met Narcissa squarely in the eye. "I care for you."

                Narcissa mustered a smile and reclined on the cot. "That's good to hear…"

                "Do you need a Sleeping Draught?"

                "That'd be nice."

                The older witch fetched the second concoction and gave it to the youngest Black daughter. She sat on the side of the cot and pushed Narcissa's hair out of her face for her. "Sleep well, Narcissa."

                Narcissa groggily smiled. "It's why I…keep coming…back to see…you…" Her words faded from her fuzzy mind, a mind much to blurred to think a caring pair of lips kissed her temple goodnight.

Implied femslash! Prolly what I do best, *lol*. Merlin, though! I love young Poppy. X3 Obvo the "Red Drugs" in the title references both the Morning After Potion and the fact that poppy flowers produce nasty stuff. 0.0 Ooh, subtle meanings…

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew