what's life without a few dragons?

A SISTER IS BOTH YOUR MIRROR AND YOUR OPPOSITE.

theodore nott was all long lines and arched brows. he had this air about him, somehing quiet and bristling, like a gust of wind growing steadily stronger. his hands were soft and his eyes haunted, and he had seen enough horrors to understand the world. those he trusted were few and far between, but if you’d gained his favor, he would follow you to the wild, he woud bury your skeletons with you. often he would disappear, but he would always come back and hold you. loving him was like trying to hold water in your palms.

pansy parkinson was all sharp edges and wolfish smiles. there was something about her, something blinding and harsh, like a too bright light. her touch was harsh and her gaze desperate, and she had been in a cage long enough to know it will never do. she did not love many, but if she wanted you in her life, she would claw into you, she would hold you close to her chest. sometimes she could hurt you, but she never meant to. loving her was like trying to kiss a lightning bolt.

A TALE OF THREE SISTERS . . .

I PICK MY POSION AND IT’S YOU.

YOU CANNOT SHAME A WOMAN WHO OWNS EVERYTHING ABOUT HERSELF. YOU CANNOT WEAPONIZE THE TRUTH AGAINST HER.

she loves pretty jewelry, and dresses, and she likes her men with pretty hair and pretty features and pretty bodies.

so it’s really no surprise that she falls into elonora zabini’s net right as she sees her.

they’re sixteen. this girl is the prettiest thing she’s ever seen.

miles and miles of velvet skin, dark as night, smooth as silk. soft, pointed features, a mixture of wonder and smugness always playing at the corners of plump lips; eyes deep like endless black holes and shimmering, exotic robes in rich colors.

she’s just transferred to hogwarts and she speaks with an accent; narcissa thinks it’s the prettiest thing she’s ever heard.

but then again, everything about elonora is breathtakingly beautiful.

she always looks at narcissa with a gaze full of secrets, something akin to understanding; like they’re of the same sort. and narcissa understands some things.

she understands elonora’s appeal: understands how she ensnares man after man. her beauty is undeniable, her charm precise and paralyzing. she hears the lie in the silky voice, sees the amusement toying on pink lips -- almost like she can’t believe they bought it -- knows that she has no real interest in any of these men. knows she will rip them apart, muscle from bone, just because she likes the game of it. knows she’ll move on to the next man before she even licks her fingers clean. knows she’s so beautiful it won’t matter to him.

all of this she understands.

what she doesn’t understand is the way her heart beats in her chest when that captivating smile is pointed towards her.

elonora zabini is a snake, and she likes to play - but she’s never tried to hurt narcissa.

the few times they’ve gotten close enough - except it wasn’t really, because nothing could ever be enough - they were eighteen and in the midst of a war. they never stay too long. only touch, soft, searing. and go.

time passes, and they both marry - narcissa once, elonora six, perhaps seven (she’s really lost count at this point) - but they remain close. they both love the sons they bare, but never their husbands.

even as the years pass, the feeling never changes. anytime she and elonora meet it’s a fire. that smile always plays at the other woman’s lips. narcissa always loses her breath.