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Narcissa stood tall in the centre of her bedroom — head up, shoulders back, stomach tucked in. Perfect posture, the same kind Druella had had taught every one of her daughters since they stood on their own two feet. Of course, Narcissa had always been the only one to demonstrate it. Bellatrix was the type to put up a fuss simply for the sake of it, and graces had never come quite as naturally to Andromeda. Narcissa, however, stood poised and proud, just as she was taught. Just as was expected of her.

Lips pursed, nervous hands brushed loose golden hairs from each side of her face. She had sworn she’d pinned them all back, but perhaps the feeling of unrest sending quick, tingling shots through her veins and out to her fingertips had caused her to falter. With a natural flush reddening her pale complexion and her fingers fiddling with each other in front of her, the anticipation of her guest seemed to be doing more to her pristine exterior than she would ever admit. Breathe, she reassured herself, chanting the word in her mind as a constant reminder. If she didn’t, she would surely forget the necessity of the action amongst the swirling storm of thoughts, doubts, and fears tumbling between her lobes.

The emptiness of the manor was usually one Narcissa found comfort in, but in that moment it did nothing but leave her alone with her thoughts and make the echo of her heart pounding against her chest seem exponentially louder. Bellatrix was off raiding a muggle town, no doubt. Her father was working late, and her mother was attending some society event she’d nearly demanded Narcissa attend with her, but the blonde had held her ground. She needed the house to herself for a mere hour, if only to put her wandering mind at ease. She’d even banished the house elves to the basement, saying she’d summon them if need be. She doubted they were foolish enough to speak of what they might see that evening, but she was never one to take any chances.

The light echo of footsteps on the wooden floors made Narcissa jump, accompanied by an all too familiar voice calling her name. “Narcissa?”she heard, bouncing down the hallway, through her open door, and into her bedroom. It was a voice that had once brought her comfort and strength, one she had once taken refuge in, one she had believed with all of her heart and soul would always be there for her. Now, it was one that made her spine stand straighter, made her skin quiver, made hot tears prickle behind her eyes — tears that she forcefully pushed back, of course. They had no place on her ivory cheeks.

Andromeda.

Her sister hovered in the doorway for a moment before taking hesitant steps over the threshold, towards her. Their eyes locked, though neither dared say a word. How perplexing that someone who shared so many of her features — her nose, her pale skin, her blood — could be so very different. How fascinating that a girl raised in the same household with the same expectations could turn to be so disloyal, so reckless. The girl that stood before her was not her sister. She was not the Andromeda she knew, the Andromeda she loved. That girl was dead to her. This one was a stranger, someone new entirely.

The silence finally broke, a small smile spreading across Andie’s lips. “Cissa, it’s so good to see —”

"I did not ask you here for formalities," Narcissa interrupted, watching the smile quickly erase itself from her sister’s mouth. Her words were powerful, booming, succinct — far different than Andromeda had ever heard her speak before. "I asked you here to tell me it’s not true. Tell me you didn’t abandon us. Tell me you didn’t betray us. Tell me you haven’t forgotten everything we’ve learned together, everything we trusted each other with?”

Andromeda sighed, her face falling. “It’s not that simple, Cissa.”

“Yes, it is that simple,” Narcissa snapped back. Her flesh was now warm to the touch, her snow white cheeks flushing rose red. Narcissa prided herself on her ability to control her temper, to filter herself, but in the face of such betrayal how could she? Why should she even try? It wasn’t as if her sister’s opinion was one that was supposed to matter, anyway. She was a traitor, she was nothing now. So why did Narcissa still care? Why did she want to believe with all of her heart that it wasn’t too late, that there was some part of the old Andromeda that could be salvaged and redeemed if she only dug deep enough?

"It was him or us, Andie! You chose him. You chose him over your family, over your blood, over me!” Her voice hitched. The tingling behind her eyes had returned, and while the tears welled inside of her eyes, she did not let them fall. She pushed them back with every bit of willpower she could muster through heavy breaths and clenched fists. Andromeda may have seen her cry before, but no longer did she have that privilege — not if she was no longer a Black.

Narcissa could see her sister’s lips moving, but she did not hear the words that came out. The buzzing of her own anger within was far too loud for anything else to be audible over it. Breathe, she reminded herself again. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. It didn’t matter how shocking her betrayal was. It didn’t matter that Narcissa herself never would’ve daredturn her back on her sister the way she’d done to her. Despite the sound of her heart breaking within her chest, Narcissa could not let her exterior reflect the pain beneath. She made every attempt to steady herself, to will her blood to rush the slightest bit slower, for her heart to beat at a steady pace again.

"I’d believed in you, Andromeda," Narcissa breathed, more coolly now as she grasped at her composure. No more Andie. She was Andromedanow. “I’d clung onto the idea of the sister I once knew, trusted, but now I can see just how foolish I’d been. No longer are you my sister, and no longer do you have a place here — in this family, in this home, or in my heart.” In the moment that Narcissa paused for breath she could hear the beginning of an interjection, but she cut Andromeda off before she was given the chance to form a full syllable. “Leave,” she demanded coldly, nodding towards the door behind her. “Leave, and know that once you do, you will never be allowed back. If you do not, I shall call to have you removed. Mother and Father are out, and they would be far from pleased to learn you’d dared step foot in their manor after your betrayal.”

"You invited me, Cissa."

"A naive mistake," she hummed, "and one that they will never learn of. Now, unless your hearing is as damaged as your judgment, you were told to leave." With a sigh and a last I’m sorry, her sister turned on her heels and left, closing the door behind her.

All it took was the clicking of the door into the frame for Narcissa to fall to the floor. The tears she’d fought so hard to keep away flooded to the surface, pouring down her pale cheeks. Now that she was alone, she was free to be weak. She was free to cry until tears pooled on the floor, filling the room, drowning her. That, at the very least, was how she felt — as if now that she’d let them begin to flow, they would never stop; not until her sister removed the knife she’d so calmly forced through her heart.

She had no concept of how much time had passed, how long she’d been lying in a mess on the floor — staining her face and wrinkling her dress, no doubt. It was not until she heard the echo of the door downstairs opening and slamming shut that Narcissa pulled herself upwards.

“Narcissa?” she heard, though this time the voice belonged to her mother.

Pull yourself together. “Just a minute, mother!” she called back, straining to make sure her voice hid all reminiscence of sadness, broken-heartedness. Narcissa stood, making her way to her vanity, sitting herself down before it. With a deep breath, she brushed loose strands of hair to the side. She took a handkerchief to her face, wiping it free of salty tears and running mascara. She picked up a thick brush, gliding pale powder over her nose and cheeks. Perhaps that would disguise some of the pinkness she’d worked up.

As she fixed herself, Narcissa’s eyes glanced down towards her right, towards the framed photo of she and her sisters that she’d always treasured. She took the frame in her hands, picking the photo up, cocking her head to the side as she examined it — she, Andromeda, and Bellatrix, smiling and waving towards the camera. How much younger they’d been then, so happy, so innocent. Surely none of them had predicted this, that one of their own would leave them for a life of treachery.

No matter how much Narcissa wished to have such simplicity back, she refused to be so naive. Things were different now. Only two of the girls pictured still had their place in the family, on the elegant tapestry hung in Grimmauld Place, and if that meant that she had to harden her heart to her sister for good, so be it. With a sigh Narcissa pulled the photo from its frame, tearing Andromeda from the left side, leaving she and the eldest Black alone with their arms around each other. Much better.

Tearing the irrelevant piece of the photo into pieces, Narcissa tossed them into the trash bin beneath her vanity. She looked back up at her reflection once more, checking to ensure her face showed no signs of the evening she’d had. Her featured had calmed, and her natural beauty had once more become apparent — like the flower that was her namesake.