devildancing

[devildancing]

❝ I don't want Lucius' blood — ❞

The pale witch laughs dryly at the thought, allowing her glacial gaze to fall upon the delicate hand latching onto her own. While the gesture is warm - welcome - it doesn't quite feel as natural as it should. There's nothing easy about it.

❝ No, there's a higher price to be paid than that. ❞

In a certain way, she's almost grateful to have learned that nothing is purer about her intended than his wretched cowardice. It was far better to know now than later when the shackle of marriage was already upon her. What sort of life would they have had then? Perhaps she might have even felt somewhat badly about the intensity of what lay between her and James if Lucius Malfoy were actually a creature she could have grown to love. Alas, he wasn't and she didn't. Narcissa didn't need the preening little peacock dead, what she needed was for him to understand that he was as small and insignificant as a pebble in one's shoe — carried away from the waters where he might have made a ripple and tossed out before ever reaching home.

Just as easily as he could leave her to die, she could happily bury him alive.

❝ Andy — ❞ She breathes out her sister's name, consternation mingling with the concern that she feels at the sight of the older girl unraveling. ❝ I promise you that it's alright. ❞ There's no need ( let alone any point ) to apologize, yet it always seems to be everyone's first reaction. Keeping the watch secret had done more good than harm; when the youngest Lestrange hadn't done anything to actually harm her in the first place. The blame that Andromeda carries runs deeper than that; it's more personal. Even if she didn't know her fiery sister like the deepest parts of her own soul, it still wouldn't have taken any great leaps of deduction to figure out that something had been going on between the two of them.

Even so, the extent of it - the depth - takes her breath away.

She listens to her sister's confession, realizing with growing clarity that Andy expects her to pass judgment — that the brunette wants to be found guilty. 'Tell me I am wrong,' she pleads, and yet the younger girl can only find herself hurting for her older sister. It's a pain she understands all too well, this begging to understand. This sudden necessity to question. It isn't easy, being held in a chokehold by what you've told yourself is the truth when faced so brutally with what you've come to experience on your own.

❝ Okay, you're wrong. ❞ Narcissa tells her what she wants to hear somewhat glibly, delicate shoulders shrugging from the act. ❝ Do you want to hear all the reasons why? Shall I remind you that our mother would be thrilled? Certainly, I must tell you that he has a nasty temper and an attitude as welcoming as an embrace from our dear Aunt. ❞ The grip that she now holds on her sister's hand tightens, rooting her in place. ❝ He comes from a world that you've sworn to hate, Andromeda, he's a product of it. ❞ Like you and I, but she doesn't say. ❝ How could you be so foolish? How could you be so blind? How could you be so cruel? ❞

All at once, her expression softens. She allows her sister to see the sad affection in her clone of a gaze, a lone hand reaching out to caress the darker witch's face. Why must they all go through this? Why is it so necessary to feel the weight of their family this way?

❝ So, you're wrong. You've been wrong. ❞ She isn't going to lie to her sister. There are problems in the equation, there's no denying it. ❝ But you're doing something worse than that, Meda. You're being a hypocrite. ❞ There's a cosmic irony to just how similar their situations are; finding everything they've claimed to want in the last place they would have expected to find it.

❝ You always told me that the person doesn't matter, ❞ she reminds. ❝ It's the feeling that's worth chasing after. Freedom to be who you are without fear, to be accepted exactly as you are. Fireworks. If Lestrange gives you that — if you love him... ❞ No matter how hard it is to fully wrap her brain her around. ❝ What's actually wrong with that? ❞

❛ Why would he think you were ashamed of him? ❜ 

The question escapes her mouth filled with curiosity, eyebrows furrowing lightly. Andromeda was still so new to this relationship between her sister and the infamous Gryffindor boy, yet it is difficult to picture such a situation. ❛ Sorry -- don’t mean to interrupt, just…well, the last time we talked about Potter it was inside a very loud and shady muggle bar. I cannot imagine him thinking that, unless… oh, was it the secrecy of it all? ❜

The thought dawns on her like a bucket of frigid water down her back. Andromeda drags in a breath that doesn’t quite reach her lungs and leans in to grab once more the glass of wine, downing the drink at once. All too familiar with secrecy, and shame, she could understand why Cissy felt the need to make this clarification. 

None of the words that follow from her sister, however, made breathing any easier. Andy hangs on to each bit, each syllable, the picture painting clear in her mind’s eye. Gods, she felt nauseous. Breathing was the last of her problems. The room was too hot and too cold, too small and too big and every bone hurt and every damned beat of her heart threatened to break her apart. 

❛ He thought you were me? ❜  

She asks as if she needed confirmation - she didn’t. Andromeda perfectly understood what happened.

Rabastan was drunk, and hurt, because Travers’ taunting was enough to break whatever trust Andromeda had in him. Enough to believe he was trying to hurt her.

But he wasn’t. She hurt him. And Rabastan still found Travers and nearly killed him for the pain he caused her. Pain that Rabastan had never meant for her. 

And he still kept quiet days, weeks later, when accusations were abundant and all fingers pointed to him. Andy can guess that only means Rabastan knows of his own brother’s involvement, and protects him by refusing to clear his own name.

He hadn’t done anything. 

❛ Lucius was there, too? ❜ She asks, hanging on to the one bit of information for a moment, trying to blink away the glaze of her tears. ❛ Oh, bloody hell! He is a deadman. Cissy, I swear, the next time he steps in this house I will kill him. ❜

Killing that pompous imbecile may be the first right thing she'd done in a while. Andromeda holds on to her sister’s hand once again, having drank two - three? - glasses of wine in the process of understanding that terrible night. Everything was so clear and yet she feels blinded by it all, like a light shining bright against her eyes, trembling in her body from both the high of alcohol and the idea - the image - of the boy crying, breaking, in her sister’s arms. Shaking her head, brown curls falling down her back, Andromeda tries and fails to find the metaphorical ground beneath her feet. The blue of her eyes linger to the side, trying to push back tears already cascading down her cheeks -- for Circe’s sake! This was a bloody, fucking mess. Her mess. A mess that had somehow involved her sister, and now here she was -- restless and naked with the reality of it all.

❛ Cissa…❜ she sighs, cleaning the moisture on her eyes with the sleeve of her silky robe. ❛ I’m sorry, I just -- I never showed the watch to anyone because I couldn’t stomach…couldn’t imagine he could hurt you. ❜ Her gaze falls back to her sister’s, so much like her own, and she gasps for air again. Cissy had shared exactly what she asked - isn’t it one's sister the best person to tell a horribly kept secret? The secret that causes so much fear she couldn’t even find words for it? 

❛ Cissy, I…❜ her gaze falls for a moment to their held hands, gathering her bravado. ❛ Months ago, Rabastan and I… we started sleeping together. And I don’t know how, or when, it just kept happening. Angry, raging. Whenever I felt sad, I sought him and he’d make me feel…feel more. Better. And I would tell him things, all sorts of things. Secrets. Dreams. And I tried to stop because I thought --- it was wrong, it had to be wrong. How could it not be? It's Rabastan Lestrange! I couldn't, I shouldn't -- ” Andromeda sobs, and hides the cry behind her hand, before forcing herself to continue.

❛ I --- I haven’t been able to stop. I was wrong. I am so wrong. I look for him everywhere, I feel him everywhere and I…❜ Her words choke once more at her throat, and she grasps harder to her sister’s hand, holding on to the only thing grounding to her. ❛ Sister, he says he loves me. And I... it’s wrong, isn’t it? I’ve hurt him so much, it must be wrong. Right? Tell me I am wrong. ❜ 

[devildancing]

❝ No. ❞ The answer is more immediate than it should have been. More absolute. Narcissa even finds herself laughing at the notion, dry and drained and numb. ❝ — That's not really what we do. ❞

To tell her family, that would mean she would first have to talk to her family. The very idea was incomprehensible. The girl wouldn't know how; she couldn't even fathom where to start. Those who hadn't made themselves purposefully scarce might as well have for all of the warmth and invitation they exuded. She also doubted there was a single creature among them that would know any better than her what to do with the information if it was given to them. They'd tell her to hide it and never speak of it again, or worse...

They would blame her.

Perhaps that's the truly terrible thing about it all. The witch cannot definitively say that her family wouldn't somehow turn this all around on her. For all the unyielding loyalty that she's shown over the years, for every forced smile and faked felicity, Cissy cannot say that the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black would stand behind her as she has it. Because, what is she but a silly little girl? Trifling. Disposable.

Bella may not be a son but she is older. She bears a name much the same as the rest; one that blazes like divine fire through the heavens. How can Narcissa think to compete with that? The blonde literally pales in comparison, rooted to her lonely spot by the name that very same family had shackled her with. A name that is exactly how they all see her regardless of all her hard-work and efforts. Grounded. Delicate. Pretty. Self-absorbed.

While the world at large might see one sister attacking the other as the greatest of sins, Narcissa knows her family and knows exactly how they think. It would be selfish of her to tell anyone else the truth — to expect someone else to take on the burden of doing anything about it.

'Just stand still girl, grin and bear it.'

❛ No one deserves to carry that alone, Cissy. ❜ 

James' words - so far removed from those reverberating in her brain - break the poor girl from her troubled thoughts and, for a moment, the witch is simply speechless. No, it's not exactly groundbreaking information but it's still exactly what Narcissa needs to hear in that moment. It also brings about another overwhelming wave of fondness for the impossible boy beside her, blunt teeth chewing thoughtfully on the flesh of her lush lower lip as she allows the sensation to settle over her.

At least she had him.

❝ If — ? ❞ She parrots the word back breathlessly, sensing the lifeline being tossed in that one lone syllable. Her pale blue gaze searches his darker features, drinking in the hesitance and uncertainty she finds there with open curiosity and no small level of intrigue. This is new. She knows him to be full of confidence - a lion of unwavering bravado - especially when he's trying to hide.

Her tired body melts into his even without the provocation, the touch of his fingers through her pale gold hair all but second nature at this point. The familiarity between them is something that Cissy cherishes. More than any doll. More than any of her pretty lace dresses. Perhaps more than anything that she knows, it's the one thing she wouldn't and couldn't throw away. Because, it's not something that can be replaced. There's nothing that she could even think to compare it to.

Perhaps that's part of the reason why the first mention of her sister and the illustrious Mr. Lupin puts a damper on things. Of course the two lovebirds would be free and keen to walk around as they pleased and, of course, James would know more about it than Narcissa herself. She's so preoccupied with the troubling thought that it takes her just as much time to process exactly what it is that the messy-haired boy is trying to say as it does for him to actually say it.

Just the two of them. In muggle London. A few days.

❝ Yes. ❞ The answer is more immediate than it should have been. More absolute. Cissy even finds herself laughing at the notion, preposterous and reckless and wild. ❝ — I can't think of a single thing I'd rather do. ❞

James listens to her, learning to be silent and not let his worst instincts reign. The words flow low, almost softly out of her pretty mouth and turn into daggers in his heart. He knew he had been close to losing her - felt her stubbornly slip away in that bloody cold infirmary room. But to have it confirmed makes him want to…scream, cry, fight - find her sister, future brother in law and future fucking fiancé and torn them to pieces. 

A beast inside of him rattles with fury and he breathes in — inhaling the peppermint notes of her tea, calming his heart with the beat of her own. It is challenging to fight every instinct shouting in his bones with fury, with the oh so very Gryffindor bravado to march into the Slytherin’s nest and seek justice, retribution, anything or anyone to answer for his friend’s pain. His best friend’s pain. 

James willingly ignores, for the moment being, the gentle yet exhilarating thought that she may be a lot more to him.

 ❛ Is it such a horrible truth? I would say it’s a terrific truth.❜  He half jokes, swallowing hard once the touch of her soft lips grazes his knuckles, his beating heart leaping in place. ❛ I am honored, nevertheless, to know you deem me worthy enough to let me find you.❜ 

He kisses the side of her head lightly, the warmth of both the dancing flames in the fireplace and the heat of the lithe body resting against him surrounding him. It is a sort of bitter sweetness to find the moment so soothing when she is sharing something truly heartbreaking. James may not have blood siblings of his own, but god dammit he has does have brothers - Sirius, Peter and Remus. James cannot fathom the thought that any of them may harm him like Bellatrix Black hurt her own sister. The idea would never cross their minds, of that he is sure. 

❛ Have you…are you going to tell them, any of them? ❜ 

He ventures with wonder, and some cautiousness. James is not certain himself whether it is a good idea or not. The boy is keenly aware of the difficult dynamics with her family, both because of what Cissy and Sirius have shared before in very different tones. The ancient and noble house of Black were not exactly known to be of the supportive kind, and James cannot begin to imagine what sort of chaos this attack - blood against blood - may create within. And yet - James knows Cissy, oh so well by now. The distance between her and her sisters is one he would have noticed even if he didn’t spend every moment he could with the young witch. He knows this hurts her, deeply. And the thought that Cissy’s very own love and loyalty to her family may mean she carries this alone sickens him to no end.

❛ I would never dare to tell you what to do, love, or to pretend to truly understand what you are feeling… I know you love them. And well — the break is just next week. I hate the idea that the only person that you share this with is your good ol’ friend James Potter, miles away. No one deserves to carry that alone, Cissy. ❜ 

Especially with the sort of company he imagines would be around the Black family's manor, including, unfortunately, Bella herself. For fuck's sake, she would have rather disappear than tell them! Because her own sister nearly killed her. And still, James see no future where his best friend is happy without her family. Her happiness is all he cares for.

❛ What if…❜ 

A thought occurs inside his messy, curly head and he is hesitant, only for a moment. His beating heart drums hard again against the cage of his chest. Why was it so difficult for him to ask? The Gyffindor shifts lightly on the spot, dragging a hand over his tangled hair before gathering her closer with the hand on her shoulder, as he begins to play mindlessly with a single curl of blond hair between his fingers. 

❛ Hells, I also hate the idea that I won’t see you during the break, love. ❜ He adds with a low smile, pulling at the curl in his fingers teasingly. ❛ What if…well, I happen to know of good account that Remus and Andromeda will spend some time in muggle London at the beginning of the spring break, so what if — I don’t know, I could ask him to, kindly, ask her to invite you with whatever excuse, or even… I mean, a few days earlier, I could be…. there. With you… show you around, yeah?... Would you like that? ❜

[devildancing]

𝐈𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤, 𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞.

[devildancing]

MILLY ALCOCK Photographed by John Tsiavis for Stellar Magazine, August 2022

[devildancing]

❝ You should be mine. I don’t care what they say, you are mine. ❞ & one muse takes the other from behind & in a tent

❝ Mordred — ❞

She breathes out the cursed name at the first touch of his fingertips against the ivory curve of her throat. Moon-spun tendrils of hair slip from over the priestess' shoulder at his behest, replaced with the warmth of his liar's mouth once he settles behind her on her bed of furs. Nimue can only close her violet eyes, lashes tickling the crests of her cheeks as she fights to keep a firmer hold on her resolve. Things are no longer as they were and they never can be again. They aren't children anymore — she's not even a woman. She is a charged vessel of power - a tool of the Goddess - that sullied hands cannot touch.

❝ You are drunk. ❞

" Aye, " he agrees all too easily, chuckling despite the dark accusation in his tone. " It overwhelms me — all of these things that I want and that dangle just beyond my reach. I could drown in all of my wanting, Nimue. "

His artist's fingers - his calloused hand still stained with the blood of the monk - grip her tightly, thumb dragging the linen of her chemise down her arm. All the blonde can feel is him, swirling around and inside of her. His hot body pressed into her back, the hard length of him demanding acknowledgment and setting her ablaze. Nimue feels both his desire and his pain as if they were her own, that age-old question of whether either can be their own person free from the other bubbling forth from its murky spring.

" Do not leave me alone in this place. "

Mordred's whispered words are both plea and command, a dark mirror of her own from so many years before. His touch is scalding as it traverses the curves of her side, tangling in the fabric at her thigh to draw it higher. Their breathing is in sync, the heart hammering against her back pounding to the same rhythm as her own.

" Don't you deny me too. "

❝ Don't — ❞ She breathes out a stilted breath at his caress, bumps collecting along her flesh at the drag of his nails against her exposed thigh. ❝ You know that we can't. ❞

" And who says that, hm? " He counters in his coarse brogue, undeterred by how her small hand covers his own. She cannot deny what she wants, because Mordred already knows. Excuses are all that's left. His mouth ghosts over the sensitive patch behind her ear, his larger body melting into her smaller frame. " My mother? "

❝ The Goddess. ❞

" I know none but you. "

❝ You blaspheme. ❞

Her hiss echoes his breathy laughter in perfect unison, the touch of his middle finger against her sacred slit a jolt of pure electricity between them. Body and soul. Thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance. He is not the only one drowning.

" Give me what I want, Nimue. " He coaxes deliberately, further exploring the warmth and wetness he's found between her thighs until at least one of his fingers is sheathed inside her. " Give me what I'm owed. " What they both deserve after all this time.

❝ Mordred — ❞

The priestess whimpers his name in a way that can hardly be considered new to her. Even with all their bickering and his betrayal...Mordred has been and continues to be the subject of the prayers she says each night in her bed when her loneliness and her wanting get the better of her. There are years of longing that she can lay at his feet if she will only dare. Their difference in age is no longer as stark, his strides no longer so far ahead. She can finally reach him if she'll just make the leap.

❝ Mordred — please. ❞

" Say it, Nimue. "

He's desperate underneath it all, the truth of his own agonizing longing written in the storm of a gaze that he levels upon her once his free hand slips beneath her cheek and forces their faces to meet. Mordred's fingers wrap around her throat, thumb pressed deliberately against her jawline until the woven flaps of their shared tent begin swaying with the rising winds.

❝ I want — ❞

She swallows thickly, entirely lost in the way that he's looking at her and how each point of connection between them is its own sort of devastation. Nimue can't look away from his face, their lips so hauntingly close.

❝ I need — ❞

" Say it. "

Mordred both pleads and commands yet again, drawing his hand from the taunting heat of her core just long enough to untie the stays of his pants and pull himself free. Trembling fingers, both eager and oh so desperate, align his cock with the pert curve of her ass until he can feel the fine ambrosia of her desire slicking his head. A shared shudder ripples through the both of them, the ancient magicks heavy and heady in the air.

❝ You. ❞

The confession is ripped from her at last, breathless with the tragedy of it. ( Haven't they just learned that there's no future for either of them? ) Tears prick at her violet eyes, trickling down her cheeks once Mordred kisses her with such passion, such determination, that anything and everything else is ruthlessly stripped away. Even the pain of his insistent nudging between her plush folds and pushing past the barrier of her maidenhood is diminished by all that already exists between them, the girl's strained cry smothered by his own exalted groan and soothed by the press of his thumb against the rosy bundle of her core.

" Mine. " He whispers the word like worship, laden with awe and adoration as they still and simply bask in the connection - accommodate to the newness of finally being one. " I've waited for so long, Nimue. I — " His thumb caresses her cheek and the priestess can only offer her own soft nod, reaching behind her to feel the warmth of his thigh beneath her palm.

❝ I - I know. ❞ She arches her back and pushes against Mordred, urging him to continue now that they've started. Now that there can be no stopping. ❝ It is the same for me too. ❞

And it always has been.

[devildancing]

“𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐞,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐠. “𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧.'

[devildancing]

𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬 - 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐦. 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐝.

[devildancing]

The younger girl tempers the bitterness in her belly with that of the wine in her glass, draining the crystal of what was undoubtedly one of their father's finest vintages as she listens to her sister begin the process of unburdening. A part of her knows - understands, at least - that Andy is processing her thoughts even as she speaks them and the brunette is talking as much to herself as she is to Narcissa. She doesn't mean to rub salt into wounds that are still healing or rip the scabs off others to make them fresh. That's just how she is — just like the rest of their family: full of cruelty and cowardice that's so inherent it's hard to notice until it's too late.

Oh, and Narcissa could be petulant. Petty, even. There is a very real part of her that wants to stomp her little foot and say that she has always been there. She had never moved from her place in the family or their triumvirate of sisters. How could she when, by virtue of her own name, this flower was forever rooted in the same damn spot? How many times had she gone looking for either of them just to be left alone? How many times had she reached out for Andy or Bella and found nothing? They had talked about this - at the start of the year, seemingly lifetimes ago - and her opinion hadn't changed.

Houses made of cards didn't always have to crumble. Making things work was never meant to be easy. It just took someone to stay and to actually want to make something work...

❝ Meda — ❞ The stuttered sigh that escapes her at the touch of her sister's hand is one of yearning and relenting. The blonde has missed her so much these past months and the contact only emphasizes the emptiness the girl has felt without one-third of her soul.

Where to start? Here is as good a place as any.

❝ As if Lestrange could hurt me. ❞ She even laughs at the thought, despite the wet tears shining behind her lashes. ❝ That boy — he's all bark and no bite. ❞

Narcissa has tried not to think much of that night, too overwhelmed by the tragedy to focus on the strange circumstances leading up to it. Even so, she's managed to piece together a few things all on her own. Enough at least, to somewhat understand why her sister would keep such a pivotal bit of evidence all to herself. If they didn't share the blood running through their veins or the same house at school, the girl might have been offended by the fact that Andy's concerns weren't entirely sisterly.

❝ I'd spent the afternoon with James in one of the empty classrooms. ❞ She begins at the start of it all, because she wants to and because a part of her wants to make her sister wait now that the initial reassurance has been given. ❝ We were talking about you and Lupin...I - well, I thought it was important to let him know that I wasn't ashamed of him. ❞ Despite it all, the memory is still fond to her — the smell of chalk and cigarette smoke filling her subconscious. The smile that graces her lips is softer now, more genuine than anything she's shown in days.

❝ All in all, it was a great night...until it wasn't. ❞ She shrugs faintly, reaching for the bottle to pour herself another glass of wine. ❝ I was on my way to meet Lupin for patrols when I heard this crashing noise and this...yelling. The words were pretty slurred and he was obviously drunk out of his miserable little mind. ❞ A pause. ❝ You know — he thought I was you. ❞

' Black? ' It all made sense now.

❝ He - he fell on me. ❞ Shapely brows furrow as she tries to collect the memory from the dredges. ❝ Rabastan started crying and screaming into my blouse, and he swore that he didn't do something over and over. ❞ But when she'd asked him about the blood he'd openly admitted it wasn't his and that they'd deserved it. Then what?

❝ The blood wasn't mine, ❞ she offers needlessly. ❝ Most of it wasn't even his — it belonged to that one boy in our house. Travers? Not that I could recognize his face, mind you, he was in such a ghastly state when I found him in the back stairwell. ❞ Her pert nose crinkles at the memory. All that blood. The gurgling. She has to wave it all away with a pale, dismissive hand.

❝ Point being, I led Lestrange back to the dorms, I cleaned up his nasty little mess, and then I was going to go meet Lupin with some excuse or story... ❞ She'd been exhausted by that point, of course, but still a fairly typical night. ❝ I heard screams and I knew them — they were so - so similar to those days, those lessons with Aunt Walburga. I knew it was silly, but I thought — and then — ❞ She still remembers the sound of her sister's name coming off her lips, the mad gleam in Bella's eyes.

❝ Lucius and Rodolphus, they were there, but it was Bellatrix. ❞ A second glass emptied. ❝ Bellatrix and her wand. ❞

Sisters share. 

The witch drags in a harsh breath, the chilly air not quite reaching her lungs. Andromeda can think of a thousand things she had not shared with Cissy. And thousands more the witch can guess Cissy has not shared with her. Where to start is the right question to ask. They were practically strangers to each other.

Andy’s blue gaze falls to the glass in her hands, a wave of sadness building a knot in her throat. How do you put back the fragments of a bond that’d been chipped at and ripped for so long now? What is strong enough to pull them back in one piece? She was never taught to mend. The Ancient and Honorable Black Family is all or nothing, rough and cold and cruel and perfect -- they do not slow down. They do not repair. They just do. And that is why they were here today -- at the edge of total collapse. 

Anywhere, she supposes, is a good enough place to start.

❛ Father tasked me to investigate the attack.❜ The witch says, placing the half empty glass of wine on the nightstand next to her bed before turning back to face her sister. ❛ And I did — I spent endless hours searching for anything…clues, motive, anything that would tell me who could do this to you. To all of them. Endless more desperate that I wasn’t getting anywhere. I kept running into dead-ends, so I asked for help. From Reg, from Bella…❜

She pauses at her older sister's name, her stomach turning on the spot. Gods, she wanted to vomit thinking of those conversations. What they mean now. Shaking her head slowly, she drags in another short breath to continue.

❛ I fought with her so many times, Cissy, I lost count. I never understood why... why she avoided me, why she wouldn’t set the bloody castle on fire, why she wouldn’t —- couldn’t see you.” A dry chuckle escapes her lips, the blue of her eyes lingering towards the lavished bedroom door, where just a few feet away on the other side of the hall, their oldest sister laid in her bed. ❛ So yes, you are correct — sisters share everything. And I looked everywhere for answers, except inside our own family. Why would Bella say anything to me, when I haven’t talked to her in months. Or how could I know who hurt you, when I haven’t known you for so long now, sister. Why would you tell me what happened, when all I’ve tried is to -- run. Run away from this family. Our family. ❜ 

It may not be her fault that Bella lost her way in the depths of a forest so dark, it was hard to find her again - just as it was not her fault how she acted, what she thought, or what she did. But it is her fault to have willingly ignored her sister's downward spiral for so long. She gave up on Bella long before that night, and maybe if she hadn’t — just maybe, if she’d tried harder to reach her, things would be different. 

❛ I have no intention of dwelling too much in the past, Cissa. I want to do better, this,” she reaches for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze with her own, ❛ I want to do this better— for you and for me. This matters to me. I’m just trying to figure out how... where to start. ❜ 

Sisters share. The thought echoes through the storm in her mind, and Andy drags in another breath. She wanted to share it all at once — to tell every word she hadn’t told her sister, every secret, every thought, like waves crashing against the rocky coast, to show her everything at once. And she aches desperately to know everything about her sister. To end years of isolation and separation in one night and to heal broken bonds once and for all. To end the loneliness she is sure they’ve both felt for so long. The young witch was never known to be patient, and less so now that she had been so close to losing Narcissa. Where to start?

❛ The night of the attack - I want to understand what happened to you. ❜ She answers, finally. Question after question at the tip of her tongue, might as well start in the night that wrecked both of her sisters’ worlds — the culmination of so many stories and so many characters.

❛ What I do know is this — Sirius and Remus found you first, and shortly after Potter did too. ❜ Her lips turn into a small, sad curve, and there is the first piece of understanding why he looked so pale, terrified. Andy can’t help but feel empathy for the boy now. ❛ Remus looked for me, and he tried to explain — you weren’t where you were supposed to be for prefect duty. The attack, all of it. I rushed to the infirmary and you…❜ Her eyes cast down once more, trying to push back the tears on her eyes. She thought she had run out of them the night before. Breathing in once again, she continues.

❛ Cissy, you had blood all over you. But Pomfrey couldn’t find a single wound. Neither could I. You were practically perfect. You also had — you had Rabastan’s wand, but it showed no curse. And you had this, ❜ from the pocket in her silky robe, she pulls out the chain of a lovely, golden watch. Andy places it in the fabrics between them, a furrow dawning into her porcelain face. ❛ I gifted this to him on Christmas. And I didn’t — no one knows you had it with you except for me. I’m not — I wasn’t sure… ❜ Choking on her words, the thought alone is enough to cause her body to shake. ❛ If Bella is the one who attacked you, why did you have these? Whose blood did you have in your robes? Did he...did he hurt you at all? ❜

[devildancing]

[devildancing]

❛ You know you have me, yeah? ❜ 

The words are so soft-spoken that the girl might have missed them entirely if not for the closeness of their faces — every pull of oxygen into their lungs taken straight from the breath of the other and given back in kind. When had it become like this, exactly? What hour? What minute? What second? As alone as she's felt and as lost as she feels, this is the only certain thing that Narcissa knows: Being here with James Potter, feeling the brush of his mouth against her brow and the featherlight tickle of his fingertips along her ear, is as natural as breathing.

Even here - having lost her grasp on everything that once mattered to her most ( her family, her security, her comfort ) - she still has him as her friend. The young snake still hasn't decided if it's all some cosmic joke or if maybe, just maybe, the universe has finally given her something good. Regardless, she wouldn't be a Slytherin if she didn't take advantage of whatever time they had.

❝ Don't tempt me, Potter. ❞ The warning is simultaneously both half-hearted and half-honest, her serpentine body shifting and coiling to better fit the blonde's rightful place outside the storm. Curled into his side, Narcissa wraps her arms around the lion's torso and rests her tired head between his shoulder and chest. The sound of his heartbeat is a welcome symphony after all this time running away from the noise in her own head. ❝ Forever sounds pretty great to me right now. ❞

She presses herself into James' warmth and breathes in the all too familiar scent of his cologne, basking in the golden radiance of his sunlight for this one brief moment.

There's nothing there for her to say at first — not really. Narcissa could as soon as ask the boy at her side not to let himself be burdened by the crippling weight of responsibility as she could ask the sun not to shine. Certainly, she'd like to but the endeavor would ultimately prove useless. What happened to her isn't his fault and now they both know the truth of it. There isn't anything he could have done and, for better or worse, there's no coming back from it either. They can only move forward from here on out. Even so, despite her own temperament, the younger witch simply listens and allows her ill-timed hero to get just a little bit of the load off his chest.

❝ I — ❞

She breathes out slowly, taking the tanned hand not occupied with her shoulder between her own. Her index finger traces a path along the lines in his palm that her pale eyes follow but don't quite see. A part of her doesn't want to say it. A part of her needs to.

❝ I didn't want to wake up. ❞ If Narcissa could have wished for anything on that hospital bed, it would have been the end. She hadn't really cared whether that end had presented itself as a white-hot oblivion or an all-consuming darkness. As long as the girl didn't have to open her eyes. Sleeping as she had was as close to it as she could come — what little selfishness her fractured mind would allow. ❝ I can't — I - I couldn't live in a world where my own sister...my own blood... ❞

Just thinking about it hurts. Cuts. Wounds.

❝ Who could I even share that with? Who was I supposed to? ❞ No one. Certainly not him. Even her own family would almost unanimously agree the secret was better kept in her body and left to rot with the other skeletons hidden in their vaults. Family. Family above all else. Narcissa had lived and breathed in service to their name for all of her life. Just being awake now, unburdening herself to someone who neither shares her blood nor her name, feels like a betrayal. But she has to — she has to...

❝ I did. I wanted to disappear. ❞ The admission comes at last, slender fingers turning over the hand still caught between her own. ❝ I wanted to be stubborn and just - just float in the nothingness. It was so quiet. This empty void where I didn't have to think or feel — or pretend that I didn't. ❞ No eyes to watch her. No whispering tongues. A wistful sigh escapes the poor girl at the thought even though she's obviously decided to return to it all.

❝ But then you were there — and you're so much more stubborn than I am. ❞ She chuckles, the sound bordering on affectionate. ❝ Even when I didn't want to see or hear...I still felt you. Warm. Real. I knew you were there, right there by my side. ❞ Plush lips ghost over the knuckles in her grasp, mirroring the foggy memory.

❝ I suppose the horrible truth of it is that I just can't stay somewhere I wouldn't want you to follow. ❞

James is going to vomit. The beat to his heart was erratic, a raging beast behind his ribs. If he could let in some air, he would know to slow down. To think this through. Committing mass murder against her sister and future extended family -- the word alone brings up bile on his throat -- is not the best solution. Goddamn it, what was happening? James had successfully calmed her down but minutes ago, and now he was losing his goddamn mind. Oh, but it didn’t make any sense. Family is sacred. Family is holy. He would sooner cut his own limbs than hurt anyone who was family to him. This is why she’s been so distant. Lost in her mind as she was lost in the rain. It makes his skin burn and his eyes blurry, and fuck it maybe he will commit murder. How could they go on and eat breakfast, lunch and dinner and just be - knowing what they did to her, what they---

The world stops when she puts a hand to his lips. It’s so sudden and shocking, he has to stop a laugh from escaping his lips. James does offer her a sheepish smile, straight from his heart, nodding at her request. Perhaps he should feel embarrassed, but James has no time to dwell on his own inadequacies -- how is one supposed to react anyway? He didn't have time to think on what he needed to do or not. All he needed, really, was her. Alive. Breathing. Happy. The boy inhales deeply, firewood and lingering peppermint caressing his senses. A familiar scent, the rain did not wash it away from her skin. He lets out a long exhale. It allows for the handsome features in his face to soften and his heart to slow to a tender tempo. James closes his eyes when the young witch presses her forehead against his, and inhales again, breathing in the warmth of her breath. Yes - he could be here, with her, and it would be more than enough. 

 ❛ You don’t have to ask, love.❜ His voice is a low whisper, and he looks up -- dark brown eyes flaked with gold meet the deep ocean of her gaze, and suddenly he can’t breathe again. But unlike before, he does not want to. James wants to drown in her eyes. The boy desires nothing more than to grasp every bit of pain swimming in her eyes and throw it into the air, into the fire, into anywhere as long as he takes them away from her, even if for a moment. Delusional thoughts of a hopeless boy. ❛ You know you have me, yeah? ❜ 

It is such a soft confession, words let out in an exhale, he is unsure he said them at all. James leans back just enough to place a kiss on her forehead, a hand moving to tuck a wet, blonde tendril softly behind her ear. 

❛ Here, ❜ he moves so he can sit next to her once more, signaling to his side with a nod of his head. ❛ We can stay here for as long as you want. ❜ 

James brings her in close -- not as close as his heart desired, but as close as she’d like him to, putting his arm softly around her slender shoulders, letting his head fall against the brick, ancient castle wall behind. They’d had so many moments of closeness like this before and still he can the air is heavy and the night darker. Narcissa was abused by her own sister. There is no greater sin, no greater treason. Closing his eyes, he breathes into the moment -- pausing for it to exist in the silence between them. Silence, not because he doesn’t have anything to say, but because anything he could say she knows. James Potter would do anything, everything, for her. 

❛ I’ve wished for so many things since that night. ❜ He whispers into the night, tilting his head to brush softly against the top of her golden hair, the tendrils teasing his nose lightly. ❛ I wished to never have let you leave that classroom. Or to have gone with you. Wished to be faster, or somehow get to where you were before they did... I even wished to change everything, was even doing some research, yeah? Into time-turners and such...❜ He lets out a tired chuckle, shaking his dark, curly head lightly. ❛ I told you all my wishes one night, when I visited you -- after a masterfully executed plan to break inside the infirmary, mind you. ❜

Why he is letting her know this, the boy can’t quite tell. Perhaps because there was so much she missed when she was asleep, and James can’t comprehend a time where she was not there. The pad of his thumb brushes softly against the palm in his hand, and he looks for her eyes again.

❛ I guess what I’m saying is I can do a lot of wishing, but I’d rather do something that actually helps. ❜ His lips curl into a small smile, as he continues. ❛ Just -- can I ask something? Next time you want to disappear… take me with you, will ya? Or at the very least tell me where to find you, I promise I will behave at my very best when I do. ❜

[devildancing]

𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 & 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐄 *

Assorted memes of a suggestive and sexual nature, intended for the spicier type of interactions. Be mindful of your partners' boundaries! Change pronouns / etc. as needed, and feel free to combine the sentence prompts with the action and / or location prompts when sending if you want.

tw: strong sexual content , minors DO NOT interact with this meme at all!

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒

❝ I just want to look at you like this for a moment. ❞

❝ Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? ❞

❝ Your heart is beating so fast. ❞

❝ Be gentle with me. Please. ❞

❝ I’ve never done this before. ❞

❝ I want to learn. Teach me. ❞

❝ Show me how to please you. ❞

❝ I want to give you everything tonight. ❞

❝ That feels so good ─ ❞

❝ Don’t stop ─ ❞

❝ You won’t break me. I promise. ❞

❝ I want your hands on me. ❞

❝ Make love to me. ❞

❝ I need you, your lips on my skin. I need you deep inside me. ❞

❝ Can’t you see what you do to me? ❞

❝ I don’t want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again. ❞

❝ There is no taste sweeter than yours. ❞

❝ Look at you, what a mess you are. ❞

❝ You’re doing so good for me. Keep going. ❞

❝ I’ll taste every part of you before the night has ended. ❞

❝ No one else can make me feel this way. ❞

❝ I am already yours. Now I want you to lay your claim. ❞

❝ Your body sings to me. ❞

❝ I know you’re close. Just let it go now. Give in to it. ❞

❝ I want to feel you come undone. ❞

❝ Shh. Quiet love. They’re going to hear you. ❞

❝ I want to feel your fire, even if it burns me. ❞

❝ You take me so well. ❞

❝ You look so beautiful like this. ❞

❝ I never knew I could feel this good. ❞

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄 & 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘

❝ God whispers to us in our pleasures. ❞

❝ I’m going to fuck you until your legs shake. ❞

❝ Take me. I can’t bear this anymore, just take me. ❞

❝ You’re dripping already. ❞

❝ Good girl, take it all. ❞

❝ I’m going to fill you over and over again. ❞

❝ Harder, god, harder ─ ❞

❝ Did I say you could stop? ❞

❝ Show me how much you want it. ❞

❝ Give me your mouth. ❞

❝ Spread yourself for me. ❞

❝ I’m going to leave you aching in the morning. And then I’m going to take you again. ❞

❝ Louder. Don’t hold back on me. Let me hear your pleasure. ❞

❝ I want to hear my name on your lips and make you come. ❞

❝ Don’t come until I tell you to. ❞

❝ If you wanted soft and gentle, you’ve come to the wrong person. ❞

❝ I don’t want soft. I want to ache for you when you’re done. ❞

❝ I like the marks. They stay with me even when you must leave. ❞

❝ Use me. Fuck me. Do whatever you want, but god, please touch me. ❞

❝ They’ll all know your mine when they hear you screaming my name. ❞

❝ You need relief. I can give you that. ❞

❝ You’re not leaving this bed until I’m done with you. ❞

❝ I want to spend every night buried inside of you, pleasing you, fucking you. ❞

❝ I like it when you lose control, when I can feel how desperately you need me. ❞

❝ You’re my good girl, and my girl deserves the best of me. ❞

❝ Such a good boy, always eager to please. ❞

❝ You look like an angel; it’s only right that I fuck you until you see heaven. ❞

❝ Your body is my place of worship, and it’s time for me to say my prayers. ❞

❝ This is my favorite seat. ❞

❝ Watch me ride you. ❞

𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓 & 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘

❝ Does he fuck you like this? ❞

❝ We shouldn’t be doing this. ❞

❝ I missed you beyond words. Every night I dreamt of you, of what it would be like to hold you again, and I’ll be damned if I let the chance slip through my fingers when you’re right here. ❞

❝ Why can’t I keep myself away from you? ❞

❝ This could be our last night together. I’m going to make it count. ❞

❝ Don’t bring emotions into this. This has always been about pleasure, nothing else. ❞

❝ We fuck. It doesn’t need to be more complicated than that. ❞

❝ I have no right to touch you, so why do you ask it of me when I know I am unworthy? ❞

❝ You should be mine. I don’t care what they say, you are mine. ❞

❝ You dare have the audacity to pretend like you’re not mine in front of them? We both know the truth; even now look how your body reacts to me. ❞

❝ Do you honestly think I could possibly want anyone else when this is what you do to me? ❞

❝ You’re mine. Only mine. ❞

❝ I want them to hear us. I want them to know you belong to me. ❞

❝ Claim me. Have me in a way that anyone who looks at me will see your passion written upon my skin. ❞

❝ You’re not mine. You could never be mine. Yet I want you anyway. I want you so badly that it burns me inside. ❞

❝ You’ve ruined me for all others. ❞

❝ I can’t stop myself from wanting you, no matter how much we both know we shouldn’t do this. ❞

❝ I don’t care if they see. Part of me wants them to. ❞

❝ You’re not good for me. So how can you make me feel something no one else can? ❞

❝ This is the last time, then never again. This has to stop. ❞

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

one muse gives the other oral

one muse rides the other

one muse grinds on the other

one muse takes the other from the front

one muse takes the other from behind

one muse takes the other anally

one muse holds the other down during rough sex

one muse pleasures the other with their hand

one muse sits on the other’s face

one muse controls the other’s movements by grabbing their hips

one muse ties up the other

one muse uses a toy on the other

our muses engage in edging or orgasm denial

one muse makes the other have multiple orgasms

our muses engage in sensory play (blindfolds, ice, etc.)

one muse shows the other a new position

one muse touches the other on the outside of their clothes

one muse dresses up to seduce the other

one muse undresses the other

one muse strips for the other

one muse (or both) pleasures themself for the other’s view

one muse leaves marks on the other

one muse watches the other have sex with a third party

our muses are being watched by a third party

our muses have a threesome

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

in a bed

on the floor

on a couch or chair

in a bath, shower, or pool

in a semi-public place

against a wall

on a table or counter

in the kitchen

outdoors

in a tent

on a rug in front of a fireplace

in a sacred place

in a stairwell

in a ruined building / castle

in a garden

by the ocean

in an inn / hotel

while traveling

in an office or conference room

in a dream

[devildancing]

100 INDULGENT TROPES

A collection of one hundred tropes of varying nature. Spiritual successor to my previous An Extremely Self-Indulgent Meme. Some of these pair well together and can easily be sent in various combinations. Some are also highly suggestive in nature. Engage appropriately.

one muse steps protectively in front of the other

one muse tends to the other’s injury

one muse is not acting like themselves and the other has to snap them out of it

one muse kisses the other during an argument

one muse pins the other to a wall

one muse kisses the other on their hand or wrist

one muse kisses the other on their neck or shoulder

one muse helps the other put on a necklace or tie

our muses aren’t supposed to be together but keep meeting anyway (on purpose or by accident)

our muses have a secret relationship

one muse takes a blow meant for the the other

one muse fights away enemies attacking the the other

one muse asks the other for their favor / a token before battle or a tourney

our muses share a night together believing it might be their last

our muses are in an arranged marriage / betrothal

our muses willingly marry for political reasons

our muses get married for love

our muses get married in a spur-of-the-moment decision

one muse has taken the other captive

our muses are in love but one thinks they aren’t good enough for the other

our muses are forced to ally for a common goal

our muses are enemies or former enemies but have started to fall for each other

our muses claim to hate each other but there is palpable tension between the two

our muses are trying to manipulate each other

one muse is trying to manipulate the other

our muses have feelings for each other but have conflicting loyalties

our muses are friends but have started to fall for each other

our muses are childhood friends that have been slowly falling for each other over the years

one muse has been in love with the other for a long time but is afraid their feelings are not reciprocated

one muse is in love with the other but they are in a relationship with or engaged to another person

our muses engage in a courtly romance

one muse is a knight in service to the the other’s family

one muse seeks comfort from a loveless marriage with the other, their lover

one muse traces the other’s scars

one muse kisses the other in a moment of heightened emotion

one muse confides in the other in a vulnerable moment

our muses are in love but circumstances prevent them from being together

our muses are exes who discover lingering feelings after reuniting

one muse confesses love to another after that person is injured

one muse confesses love to another because they believe they may die soon

our muses must share a bed

one muse lifts the other’s chin to look them in the eye

one muse places a hand at the back of the other’s neck to pull them extremely close

our muses have been hooking up, no strings attached

our muses have been hooking up, but one or both has developed deeper feelings

our muses are exes that hook up against their better judgement

one muse presumes the other is dead but is shocked when they show up alive again

one muse betrays their long held loyalties in order to save the other’s life from their own allies

our muses fake a relationship but have no actual interest in each other

our muses fake a relationship but start to genuinely fall for each other

one muse is known for their hard exterior and softens only in the other’s presence

one muse is the other’s weakness, something an enemy is trying to exploit

our muses are stuck somewhere together and must occupy their time

one muse has feelings for the other but has not acted on them due to their association with another character (a sibling / relative / ex / etc. ) or an organization

one muse is scared to act on feelings for the other due to poor experiences with love in the past

one muse is oblivious to the other’s feelings for them

one muse acts oblivious to the other’s feelings for them but really they are aware

one muse has unrequited feelings for the other

our muses are co-workers engaging in a hidden romance

one muse reveals one of their darkest secrets to the other

one muse comforts the other during an emotional breakdown

one muse calms the other from an intense rage

one muse’s family forbids them from seeing the other

our muses are in love but their friends / family do not support their relationship

one muse seeks redemption for past actions and comes to the other to atone

our muses regularly exchange letters

our muses move in together

our muses adopt a pet together

our muses have a child together

our muses adopt a child together

one muse discovers they are pregnant by accident

our muses have been set up by mutual friends

our muses have been set up by a matchmaker

our muses are in love with each other but are in denial

one muse is the other’s bodyguard / protector

one muse is royalty while the other is a commoner / rogue / societal outcast

one muse kisses the other for a bet

one muse relentlessly flirts with the other

our muses kiss for the first time ever

one muse wins a date with the other at an event

our muses dance together for the first time

one muse brushes their fingers through the other’s hair

one muse drunkenly confesses something to the other

our muses drunkenly hook up and wake up next to each other

our muses are roommates

our muses are partners in crime

one muse is a supernatural creature who falls for the other, who is a mortal

our muses are supernatural creatures from opposite clans or species that are historically hostile to each other

one muses is under a spell / in the middle of a monstrous transformation but somehow recognizes the other and refrains from harming them

our muses cuddle for warmth

our muses run away together

one muse wears piece of clothing or jewelry that belongs to the other

our muses bathe together

our muses cook together

our muses cuddle in bed

one muse serenades the other

one muse holds a weapon to the other as a threat

one muse physically lifts the other up

one muse protectively wraps an arm around the other

meet cute !

[devildancing]

black and white. a sirius & narcissa drabble

It's the first time she's been alone all night, and he's too much of an opportunist not to take advantage. His leather boots pad against the liquor-soaked floor of the establishment, each step as carelessly graceful as the last. Two glasses of the finer stuff are held precariously between the bejeweled fingers of each of his silky hands, amber liquid sloshing about the glass. Even with as much as the boy has had to drink on his own, Sirius can't bring himself to fret over something as impossible as the idea that he might stumble over his own feet or spill a single drop.

❝ James and Cissa sitting in a tree — ❞ He taunts in a breathy and drunken sing-song against the shell of his cousin's ear, reaching one of his arms around her slight frame to present her with his alcoholic offering. ❝ S. N. O. G. G. I. N. G. ❞

" Oh, so now you find it funny? "

The arch of her perfect little brow matches his own once Narcissa finally turns to face her errant cousin. Pale gold versus kohl-dark soot, of course, but then...on that front they've always been opposites. They share the same chiseled bones and that cruel magnificence that comes only of their ancient world - the same viscous black blood - but he thinks it's those very similarities that have always made their differences all the more profound.

❝ Have to find the humor in something, eh? ❞ He tosses back all too glibly, mirroring her actions by taking a long drink from his own glass. ❝ Besides — ❞ Sirius pauses with a cool deliberateness, dark head tilting so that he can better appraise the strange form that Cissa cuts in her muggle finery. ❝ It was just the once, right? ❞

The challenge is clear as crystal: Go on and lie to me.

" Circe! You know, I have missed how funny you are, cousin mine! " She laughs and it cuts him — slices right fucking through. He knows that smile on her pretty mouth, the slight and cruel tug of it towards one singular side. " Sirius, I've lost count tonight alone. "

If they were fencing, she'd have put him on the floor with that one. Winded. Choked. He has to force the air back into his lungs, another mouthful of liquor down his throat.

" I'm sorry, " she offers at last, the bright blue of her gaze all too pointed as she steps further into his space. " Did that make you uncomfortable? Perhaps I should have put more thought into it before I spoke."

Touché, cousin. Touché.

Still, he laughs in response. Barking. Perhaps tinged slightly mad.

❝ Yeah, I s'pose it's not even my place to ask. �� Oh, and he smiles his own half-smile as their gazes meet anew. His a swirling sea, hers a glacial storm. ❝ Only it is...isn't it? My place. ❞

And there is the crux of it!

She doesn't belong in this dingy little bar. She doesn't fit in the plain little clothes that she's wearing. They're not silk. They're not fucking lace! She's too clean for this place — too goddamned pure. Narcissa isn't like Sirius. Narcissa isn't even like her own bloody sister! There's color to them. There's roughness around the edges! Seeing her here and now ( in pretty flesh made pink and vibrant by his best fucking friend, her hair something of a mess from how many times the idiot has touched it ) is worse than when the boy had just assumed she wouldn't show up at all.

She wouldn't. She couldn't.

" Don't turn this into a competition, Sirius. " It's advice, not a warning, but he's just not willing to see it that way.

❝ You've got more to lose than I do. ❞ He's already thrown all of that away.

" Do I? "

She asks a little too quietly, her gaze distant as his own grows perplexed. Sirius thinks that his baby cousin looks older than him for a moment — older and wistful. Sad. Just as quickly, it's all gone and her breath is warm against his chiseled cheek. Her fingers are firm in their grasp on his shoulder and her words are going to haunt him for days.

" You have him. " A sigh from her lips, because he could have her too. " Don't you know what that's worth? "

[devildancing]

cause when i'd fight, you used to tell me i was brave. an unrequested sirius drabble feat. narcissa and james

This isn't how it's supposed to be — not how things are meant to play out. Sirius just can't reconcile it in his brain, it's so ludicrous - so absolutely fucking preposterous - that he really must be as mad as they all say! He stifles the anxious trembling of his hands with another bottle and another cigarette, fire and ash mingling on his heavy-laden tongue as he fights sleep like the devil it surely is. If he closes his eyes, he's just going to see it all over again.

When did he become so bloody useless?

i.

The first time he'd written it off as a fluke because what else could it ever possibly be? The night had been young, the punch bowl spiked to absolute perfection. Mischief was the sort of thing that one expected on Halloween because the typical roles of the masses were tossed aside in favor of masks and costumes. He might have never even noticed if he didn't know both of them so well.

She had looked so lost and alone at the time, weaving through the crowds like a wisp of air without either of her sisters beside her. ( An odd sight in and of itself, honestly. ) Sirius had heard the news about his pretty little cousin, of course. His younger brother had never had a quiet mouth and Malfoy was practically beside himself with the happy news. If the gossip vine was to be believed, Narcissa had been the last to know and if the Gryffindor boy were any decent sort of wizard he would have broached the distance between black sheep and sacrificial lamb to offer his condolences, however unwanted. They'd been close...once.

Only now her cool blue eyes weren't searching for him. Sirius' indecision had given way to someone else's opportunity and he all too quickly realized just who had taken on the title of charming savior in his place. Why not? James was practically made for the role, after all. He watched - somewhat bemused and shrewd of eye - as the two of them weaved and danced around one another long before his best mate even dared to finally take his tiny slip of a cousin into his arms. At the time, he'd assumed that they didn't know — that they couldn't possibly know — whose faces lay behind the masks.

He hadn't expected the sound of Narcissa's laughter to carry more weight in the pit of his belly than the poor little dead girl about to float into the hall.

ii.

The second time was something that he just couldn't understand. He'd been minding his own bloody business, plodding about the snow-covered streets in dog form just for the freedom of it all. ( Fresh air. He'd wanted the fresh air! ) Sirius had known that James was out and about, of course. They'd had plans to meet back up before the big winter storm well and truly kicked off. What he hadn't counted on was spying her through one of the shop's side windows in a swath of silks and laces, looking absolutely fucking miserable.

He knew that face all too well, despite not having seen it in years. Narcissa had become better at hiding the toll of their family behind a porcelain veneer and seeing it so openly now had the scoundrel whining against the glass before rational thought could pull the sound back. It really wouldn't have been anything for him to go to her then. There would have been nothing to it. Just a dumb dog to raise a little raucous and maybe, just maybe, bring her a smile. Oh, but he didn't move. He didn't even try.

No, someone else did that for him.

The familiarity between them hadn't made any fucking sense — the entire situation hadn't made any fucking sense! Even now he wants to think that it was some insane fever dream conjured by the blistering cold because the reality was so far removed from logic. There'd been nothing of the bitterness that he'd expected and more flirting than he could physically stomach. How easily James had reached out to touch his pretty cousin — how brightly proud, pale Narcissa had blushed!

Lucky for all of them he hadn't followed them further than that.

iii.

See to your cousin! See to your cousin! See to your cousin!

He'd heard Remus' barked order but as if through some thick, dark water. Muffled. Distant. As if Sirius were drowning. The boy had been too caught up in the slight of her, pale and fragile against the castle's stone wall. The scent of blood was thick in the air — her blood. ( His blood. The very same running through his veins! ) Narcissa looked so small - like a child - and it took him back to a place that he didn't want to go, that he'd sworn never to return to. Back then he'd at least tried to save her; pried her from the open window and his mother's merciless clutch. He'd done what he could, he'd done what he'd had to.

Now he couldn't even move. He couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.

The dark-haired boy hadn't even registered being pushed to the side until his knees had cracked against the floor. Oh, and there he was again! Absent but now present and down on his own knees before the broken body of Sirius' cousin and calling to her like a madman. ( Not 'Little Black,' not even 'Narcissa,' but Cissy! ) Even through the haze, it was impossible not to take in. James was scared — legitimately fucking scared and the hands that cradled her wan face were trembling. There was no taking her from him now, no doing what he should have done from the start.

He was a fucking bystander — and a useless one at that!

❝ Fuck! ❞

His bottle smashes against the wall opposite him, a wretched groan scraping at his throat once calloused hands paw at burning eyes. Fuck this! Fuck them! Fuck him! Sirius wishes that he could erase the sight. He wishes that he could just erase the entire wretched night and his mind and every other fucking thing. Because, there's not a bit of it — not a single goddamned thing — that can possibly be real! So much has happened, so many things have been going on, right under his nose. Without him.

And now he's left with a single, horrifying question: Whose fault was that?

[devildancing]

Narcissa is glad for the distraction of the wine, burgundy liquid swirling about the crystal held in her delicate hand. Although she has made a concession for Andy - out of love, out of a desperate desire to reconnect - the girl is not in the mood for forced pleasantries. She smiles at the toast, her only offering of acknowledgement before bringing the glass to her parted lips in order to drink. What is she supposed to offer in response, exactly? To family? To good health? Not in this house.

Still, the young blonde follows the path of her sister to the ornate bed where she's spent her most recent nights staring sleeplessly at the enchanted ceiling above. While memories of London had tided her over at first - high and giddy as she'd been off the rush - this house has a way of draining its inhabitants of all joy and comfort. She falls gracefully to the edge of the bed, the delicate hand not holding on to her drink smoothing over the silky duvet as she reminds herself that, with current company at least, she can somewhat relax. A pink tongue peeks out to wet her lips, anticipating whatever it is that's brought Andy to her space and licking at a lingering remnant of wine.

They'd used to spend plenty of their nights like this. Once upon a time, when there were three rather than just the two of them. If she wanted to - if the witch allowed herself to - she could even conjure up memories of muffled laughter and whispers around the candlelight. Of course, there's pain enough in the awkwardness between them without prying into ancient memories and clinging to the past. ( She's nearly given up that pastime, anyway. ) They're not children anymore...if they ever were.

Ah. So, there it is.

She listens to her pretty sister stumble over her words, the dawning of realization settling upon the youngest daughter of the house as the pieces of the puzzle begin to connect themselves. That all too familiar feeling is there, of course. The one that she's lived with day after day after day, fighting it off with her every wakeful moment. The difficulty to breathe. The crippling weight of simply existing in a world where such a travesty has been allowed to transpire. Narcissa grips so tightly to the stem of her glass that it truly is a testament to goblin craft that the thing doesn't just break and slice open her hand.

The girl lets out a broken sort of breath, caught somewhere between laughing and screaming. It's easier to focus on the humor, bitter and ironic as it is. She supposes she's better prepared for this confrontation with the wound less fresh, but that doesn't make it any easier to stomach. A lot is thrown at her all at once — messy, reckless, and unorganized in the true fashion of her sister. How much of this is actually for Narcissa, though? Andy's confusion, her endless questions, and the inability to stop and think for a moment that she might just be overwhelming the creature she's attempting to reach out to with the nauseating thickness of her guilt.

❝ Would you stop? ❞ Between the hand that she raises and the sharpness of her tone, there can be no mistaking the command in the younger girl's voice. The entire notion is silly. Unhinged. ❝ How could you have known, hm? ❞ Narcissa tosses back, shaking her pale head. ❝ I didn't tell you. I never even thought to. ❞ She hadn't told anyone except for James for this very reason. This suffocating feeling — like she's somehow obligated to placate the other girl's conscience and insist that everything is alright.

❝ Andromeda — ❞ She pauses, allowing the bright blue of her gaze to examine the other witch properly. It's hard to remember how things are supposed to be, that the closeness that had once existed between them was more forgotten than gone. ❝ Sisters do not know things because they can read minds; they know things because everything between them is shared. ❞ They had all been closed off to each other for so long.

❝ Where would you like me to start? ❞

“ That’s a dangerous thing to say, sister. I could talk your ear off all night. “

Andromeda jokes - though she was very much serious - with a light chuckle, popping off the cap from the dark bottle she had stolen from her father’s private collection. Stolen is a generous word though, as Andy half believes their father was well aware of all the alcohol often missing from the underground cellars. She pours the liquid in the glasses she offered, before taking one of the glasses from Cissy’s hands. 

“ To us? ” She says, clinking the glasses together, and even then the words taste like chalk on her tongue because they are missing one key part.

“ Chin chin, or whatever. ”

She sips the aged wine, allowing for its sweetness to warm her throat. Andy nods towards her sister's bed, making her way to it with a glass and bottle in hand. She jumps slightly to sit on the large, comfortable bed amongst the pile of fancy sheets and feathery pillows. Blue eyes gracing over the decorations and wallpapers, blues and greens blending in with bronze, it feels like traveling back in time of all their memories together. All her memories of her little sister living and being in this very room. How could Cissy have stayed within these walls for nearly a month now and not feel the air heavy as bricks - or the ceiling pushing down on her in this very tower. It occurs to Andy that she very, very like did feel this or worse and still, here she was - properly perfect. 

“ Cissy, I --” she starts, turning to look at her. She even looks perfect now, in her silky robes and long, blonde tresses she’d braid as a child to the way she sits even, head high and tall neck. The perfect picture of strength, and Andromeda gulps another drink - fighting the itch to lean over and hug her.  It is not what they are used to - in fact, it is rather new territory for the both of them to be so open with each other. Their family never taught them exactly what one does in moments where feelings are running high, and people have been hurt. It is such a basic human thing to do, and yet to react, to feel, to care is unacceptable in their household, and Andy has never felt this lack of knowing how to care for someone more than right now, with her own sister. 

She supposes, after all, one must start at the very least with the truth. 

“ I overheard you and Bella…the other night. ” She begins, meddling with the glass on her hand and breathing in, and out, willing herself to continue - the blue of her gaze locked on to her sister’s, so similar she could be looking into a mirror. “I walked by and heard you both arguing, and I --- I also confronted her. Later. Confirming what I had heard. ”

 Her gaze drops, for a heartbeat, trying to gather her thoughts before looking at her youngest sister again.

“ I thought it would be better to wait for you to tell me, whenever that felt right by you but… but also, I didn’t want another moment to go by without you knowing that I knew, Cissa. I don't want you to feel like you have to keep this from me, too. The thought that all this time -- that you’ve carried this all this time -- Godess, I feel like such a fool! I have been such a fool, Cissy. What happened that night? How could she have done this -- how could I not have seen -- ”

The witch shakes her head, as if shaking tangled thoughts away. It is moot now to dwell on it, and still when Andy looks into her sister’s eyes, blue as the skies and the pretty porcelain of her face, she can’t help but feel like her stomach is about to turn. No one deserved what happened that night, but to think that Cissy had faced their own sister’s wand brings vile up her throat.

“ I should have known the moment you woke up, without you saying even a word to me. " She says, her voice low and rough against her throat. Bella had refused to visit Cissy, and Cissy had changed so much around her. " That's what sisters do, isn't it? Know? I should have done so much more for you and I... I'm sorry I didn't. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but I am here -- now, too late perhaps, but I am, Cissa. ”

[devildancing]

The wrap of his arms around her slight frame is equal parts heaven and hell. Narcissa stops her trembling all at once, overwhelmed and shaken by the urgency of the boy's embrace. His heart thunders against her chest; the pulse of his throat pounding against the wet cheek that's buried there. James' thoughts are loud enough that she wouldn't even need magic to read them, anger and heat broiling off the lion in thick waves. Not angry at her, no, but angry for her. This isn't what she's used to — it's not something she's experienced in all her years. It takes her a moment to accept just what it is that he's offering her, to break the mental hold she keeps on her rigid arms and acknowledge that she cannot hold all of this on her own.

That she never should have had to.

Pity. Blame. Fear. Countless eyes have looked her way with such emotions these past days. Fewer still were the hands that have touched her ever so softly - tepidly - as if more than a mere graze might see her break into a thousand tiny little pieces. There's nothing meek or soft about the way that her dear friend holds her now and the girl can only reciprocate in kind, fingers digging into James' back as she clings onto him like the lifeline he's become. If anyone were to walk in on them now - if anyone were to see - there could be no explaining the way they were grabbing at one another as if there could never be any letting go.

Meeting his gaze again is harder still. There's nowhere for her to hide and the reflection of all the things Narcissa hasn't allowed herself to feel are there, potent and heavy, in the golden blaze of his irises. All the anger she's repressed all this time; all the disgust that she has tempered and swallowed back like bitter bile for the sake of everyone and everything but herself. In James Potter's eyes, Narcissa can see herself all too clearly. Abused. Betrayed. Exhausted.

❝ Sorry — ❞ She repeats the word in shock as if the two syllables had never been uttered to her in all her life. Had they? The blonde honestly can't recall. Narcissa tries to sift through her memories quickly, attempting to pick some point in time where the word actually been used meaningfully. Out of fear, perhaps? As a means to placate her like a little child, maybe? But has anyone ever truly acknowledged the wrong they've done her at any point in her life?

❝ Don't....don't be silly, there's nothing for you to apologize for. ❞ She mumbles faintly, blinking away the tears that still cling to her lashes before dragging her distant gaze back to the present. To him. Her arms shift, palms conforming to the solid comfort of his chest because she can't bring herself to fully let him go. ❝ You've never — ❞ The witch stutters, attempting to collect her breath. He'd never hurt her. He'd never even tried. ❝ You wouldn't. ❞

She doesn't want to answer for her sister. She still can't process the pain — the knowledge that her titan of a sister was as crazed and craven as everyone whispered behind her back. A rabid dog, foaming at the mouth and begging for praise from the wrong master. Pale, wet tendrils of hair shake with the negative sway of her head, as if she were desperately trying to force the thought away. ❝ It — I don't... ❞The graze of his thumb against her cold skin is all too much, ripping a hitched breath from her swollen lips.

❝ Please! ❞ She hates the sound of her own pleading, one tired hand reaching up to cover his mouth and stop the overwhelming flood of words. The tap of her fingertips against his lips is gentle, lacking any real force aside from the affection that suddenly overwhelms her. He means well, she knows. He wants her to share this, she knows. There's just so much.

❝ Can you just...be here? With me? ❞ She asks almost hesitantly, forehead pressing against forehead as she slowly drags her hand away. Narcissa doesn't want to cling to his words, but she's so tired of being alone. ❝ You — What I mean is that would be enough. ❞

James thinks he hears wrong at first.

Her sister’s name rolls off her mouth so low, a mere whisper and it rips his heart. Perhaps she was calling for her. Narcissa had been in the rain for how long, now? The night felt eternal and yet perhaps, she had been waiting for her oldest sister to arrive. A frown marrows his face, and he leans in closer as if this would allow him to hear her better. Moonlight shining on her eyes while the flickering glow of the flames highlights golden strikes on her wet hair. 

Except when he hears it again, he wishes he had heard her wrong. 

It was Bella.

His mouth opens slightly, grasping at air and pushing it down to his lungs. But his best friend is not done.

Rodolphus. Lucius. 

Golden brown eyes widen, searching her face frantically, meeting her tearful eyes - the boy's mind struggling to catch up as if what she was saying was not clear enough. As if she wasn’t perfectly petrified by this truth. Bella had almost killed her - her own sister! And her fiance and future brother in law knew this. Cissy, herself, had known all along - and stayed silent.

James launches forward without a thought, wrapping his arms tight around her. The Gryffindor brings her close to him, shifting on his knees so he can pull her full into his embrace - flushed against him, even though throughout his skin burns with the need to act. It is a fury that threatens to conquer - an anger that he swallows immediately. Finding Malfoy and Lestrange wouldn't be difficult, he has the map and his cloak and throwing them from the tallest castle tower would be extremely satisfactory. Bella must be in her dormitory, but then what - what could he get out from her when she attacked her own goddam sister?!

Why? Why would they do this at all - to the students, to Narcissa?

Flashes of the night ran through his head. Finding her unconscious, bloody -- alone in the stone-cold floor, hidden in the shadows of an empty room. They left her. They left her! Abandoned her... it could have taken days for anyone to find her, weeks! Bella attacked her sister and ran -- Malfoy and Lestrange saw it, and ran. It is a concept he has no name for, his mouth suddenly sour and hear beating loud against his ears. They all left her to die. 

The Gryffindor still holds her in his arms, fingers holding on to the back of her head, leaning back slightly if only to catch her gaze. And he looks at her - locking on to the beautiful blue of her eyes, reddened with her tears and fury rages again, gripping at his heart. What could he say, if anything at all, to make this any better? How could he not make it any worse? 

“ Cissy, I… what the hell…” he starts, bumbling like an idiot. There are no words to tell her. Nothing that can truly express anything of real value. Is this... is that why she wouldn’t wake up?

“ I’m so sorry, love. “ He says, finding no better words, a sight follows soon. “ I’m sorry that happened to you. That -- I can’t understand why they did this. Why did she do this… to you, to all the other students… ”

His thumb caresses the crest to her cheek, feeling the monster inside wrestle back and forth between blind fury and soul-crushing ache for her. 

She had held on to this for so long, alone.

“ Is there anything I can do, for you? ” He asks, “ I can listen or I can do something, anything-- for Godric’s sake, Cissy... did you know all this time? Fuck! I-- I can’t imagine what you are going through love, and I know I’m a fool but I can tell you this -- I promise you this: I will do anything - everything, I can, always, to never leave you alone again. ”

[devildancing]

Unrequested Narcissa prompt feat. Bella

"Cissy, you can't do this. He can't be trusted."

The blonde has no option but to halt in place, eyes upon eyes latched onto the pale form that she cuts on their grand marble staircase. For a moment Narcissa Black is simply another pretty decoration in their haunting museum, silent and statuesque in her spidersilk dress. Kohl-darkened lashes brush against the alabaster crests of her cheeks, the line of her mouth curving into a Mona Lisa's smile. At least her sister has the decency - the frame of mind - not to use James Potter's name in the company of their father and mother.

❝ This isn't a game of chess, Bella. Flipping the board won't just end it all once you start losing. ❞ The voice that lilts from her plush mouth is gentle and airy, soft as a breeze in the spring. The hard gaze that meets her eldest sister's as she turns around is cold and glacial, a warning of the winter ahead. ❝ You'll want to think very carefully about what you say next. ❞

They both know why her sister has chosen this venue — this battleground for one final, desperate attempt at control. Narcissa won't see or speak to her anymore; she's barred the dark-haired witch entrance to a loving bond between siblings formerly open without reservation or secrecy. Bellatrix, being Bellatrix, has latched onto the one thing outside of herself that she can blame. She's never handled failure with grace.

"Oh, that's delicious!" Bella's chiding grates at the younger girl's brain, far too reminiscent of their Aunt Walburga for any sort of comfort. "If anyone needs to think about anything, it's you."

❝ Is my happiness such an insult to you, sister mine? ❞

She takes a step down the staircase, the usually stagnant air of the manor thick with tension as her mother and father eye one another uncertainly. Tempestuous as ever, Andromeda looks as if she's about to intervene. Narcissa only faintly registers the way Rabastan grabs her sister's wrist and the subtle shake of his head. If looks truly could kill, Rodolphus has murdered his intended a thousand times over.

"That's not happiness, Cissy — it...it's poison!" The hem of her gown drags along the ornate floor as Bella rushes forward almost desperately, gripping her little sister's hands between her own. When the blonde doesn't immediately pull away she thinks that there's still hope — that she's going to win this fight. Her thumbs press against the steady pulse beating beneath them, shaking their arms as if it might drive the words home. "He's just trying to isolate you, can't you see? He's using you! He wants to take you away, just like he did —"

❝ BELLATRIX! ❞ Always so quiet and reserved in their home, Narcissa's voice rings out as it never has before. The way that she shoves the other witch away speaks to the revulsion that she feels — the bile brewing in her belly. This can't be her sister.

"Who?" Druella's voice barely registers, confused and lost.

"I'm sure there's some explanation," Cygnus offers just as quietly. Out of the two of them, he has the better idea of what's coming to a head. "It's a misunder—"

"A misunderstanding?" Bella finishes the word for him, the eyes of these two sisters still coldly locked upon one another. "Would that were the case, Father! Would that were the case! Our little Cissa has been robbed of her sanity, led astray, and victimized at her darkest hour. James Potter swooped in and—"

The chorus of gasps from their audience is quickly drowned out by the raven-haired witch's pained and tortured screams. As resolute and unyielding as Narcissa has always kept her eldest sister in her mind, there's something sad about the way Bella so easily crumples to the floor. In fact, it's almost revolting, the way spittle forms at the corners of her mouth and the whole of her body seems to distort and twitch in different directions. Her sister's pain was so visceral that she couldn't be certain it wasn't her own. Even their aunt couldn't draw this sort of agony from any of them anymore. And yet, for something so hard, it felt so impossibly easy. Narcissa hadn't even had to pull out her wand, she'd barely even had to say the word.

❝ Do you feel that, Bella? ❞ She asks the question coldly, pale head tilting the side as unshed tears settle atop her lashes. ❝ The agony? The despair? The betrayal? ❞ The approaching sound of footsteps only has her focus harder, her sister's anguished screams piercing the air until the footfalls stop.

"Pl — please!" Bellatrix whines, breathless and writhing. Her pale face is flush with color, frightened eyes shining and wet.

❝ Do you want to die, sister mine? ❞

The footsteps start again but she isn't finished.

❝ I did — I wanted to die the night you did this to me. I still wanted to, while I was lying in that hospital bed and in the days after. ❞

The heel of a leather shoe scuffs against the floor.

"What?" Druella's voice drifts from the void. "I don't - I don't understand."

❝ What do you think, Bella? Should we tell them? ❞

"N-no!"

❝ No, you're right. You should tell them. ❞

" I — I" Her palms smack against the floor, actively fighting against the pain now. She's every bit the trapped animal now, ready to gnaw off her own arm. Narcissa doesn't waver. "I — I wasn't, I didn't mean — I DID IT! I - I did it! I'm sorry, I'm so - I'm so sorry! Cissy? Cissa? Narcissa, please!"

"Narcissa, that is enough." Her father's heavy hand conforms to the shape of her shoulder, breaking her concentration and thus the hold she'd had on her sister. It takes her a moment to come back down, for all of her senses to settle and for the blood to stop rushing through her veins.

❝ So you keep telling me, ❞ she laughs bitterly, shrugging off his grip and ignoring the painful stinging in her eyes. ❝ This time, I do believe you're right. ❞ Her deliberate steps carry her back to the staircase, her thumb and middle finger prying a priceless ring from her left hand. Narcissa simply lets it fall, listening to the sound of it spinning on the floor.

"You know this is all his fault." Bella manages to drag out the hoarse accusation, shakily sitting up from the floor. Narcissa doesn't even look back; she doesn't want to see a Titan fall like this.

❝ Bellatrix is the one who attacked me that night, Lucius was also there. ❞ She shrugs faintly as if her hand has been forced, despite not mentioning the missing member of their little party. Her posture speaks of weariness and exhaustion, yet her mind is running faster than it ever has before. ❝ Explain to his parents, spin whatever tale for the public that you'd like, but I think you'll agree that a match is no longer beneficial to our noble family. ❞

"What about the Potter boy?" Druella questioned, lost as ever. Suspicion laces her tone, disapproval evident on her furrowed brow. It doesn't touch anything inside her daughter anymore.

❝ What about him? ❞ Her tone is deliberately disinterested, despite the amusement etched in her shapely brow. ❝ If I've shown any kindness to James Potter, it's only because he saved my life. ❞

For now, that was all they needed to know.