vana nobilitatis // narcissa & open
Life at the Manor was becoming unbearable. Narcissa could handle it - she had to; who else was there to take over? - but just sometimes she wished for a moment of peace. Though Andromeda's visits were increasing in number, the time between stretched on with infuriating ease, whole days and weeks slipping by like sand between her fingers. Without her trips to Hogsmeade, there was no doubt that she would disintegrate like Bellatrix, who kept mostly to her rooms, drank dangerous amounts, and practiced her hexes out the window.
Narcissa stood on the balcony overlooking the main drive, her eyes drawn to a space of ground some distance away to her left. Though she couldn't see Bellatrix, her sister's delighted yells and jeers sounded along the building, magnified whenever a spell was particularly successful. The targets shuffled fifty or so meters outside the Manor's walls, bodies emaciated, decaying. They no longer wore clothes and were instead nothing but human shadows. When the wind cast at the right angle, she could hear their whispers.
The air was brisk and cold as a snap. Lifting her head to the steely sky, Narcissa closed her eyes, feeling winter settle in her bones. Inside it was as gloomy and austere as ever, though the atmosphere had taken on an ugly shade. Alcohol was running low; tempers high. The prospect of travelling to Hogsmeade seemed to disgust her wards, as did regular changes of clothing. There were only so many air-freshening charms one could cast.
At one wild whoop, Narcissa refocused on the gaggle of undead. One of them was now missing an arm, the rest gathering around to inspect the damage, moaning faintly in confusion. (Or what she imagined to be confusion, for they couldn't think, could they?) Bellatrix's laughter echoed manically.Â
Tearing her gaze away, she rested her elbows on the broad stone lip of the balcony. One moment of peace: that was all she needed.