I.1. – The Beginning

This was love at first sight, love everlasting: a feeling unknown, unhoped for, unexpected — in so far as it could be a matter of conscious awareness; it took entire possession of him, and he understood, with joyous amazement, that this was for life. 

THOMAS MANN – Early Sorrow

“I’ll die with shame if my next sister comes to Slytherin as well,” Bellatrix sighed, gazing at the long row of First Years, but not looking embarrassed at all. She never did. There couldn’t possibly be a single thing in the world that could ever make Bellatrix Black embarrassed, Lucius thought dimly, and followed her gaze. Gosh, had he looked that small and intimidated as well? The new students were clearly frightened, uncomfortably shuffling their feet and clenching their tiny hands. He couldn’t have been that small.

“At least, she’s holding herself well,” Bellatrix exclaimed, half derisive, half satisfied. “If there’s one thing that girl can do, it’s keeping her countenance.”

“Which one is it, anyway?” Barnabas Cuffe, her classmate, asked.

“The little blonde, with the haughty expression. Can’t you tell?”

Some of the boys laughed, and Rabea Lestrange taunted, “Since you’re not blond, Black, we’ve got to tell by the haughty expression, right?”

The two girls squabbled, much to their house mates’ delight, but Lucius had caught sight of the girl that was supposedly the youngest Black sister, and he recoiled slightly. Whatever he had expected, this was not it. Bellatrix Black was three years his senior and therefore naturally a superior, by age as much as by her attitude. She had a natural confidence that was hard to match, even though Lucius himself didn’t lack self-confidence either. Tall, athletic, with thick, shiny, black hair, equally shining black eyes and great looks, she was a true sight to be seen; even a thirteen-year-old boy could judge that. The next Black sister was in his own year, a Slytherin too, but totally lacking the proper house pride – that was what Bellatrix’ first comment referred to. Andromeda was very pretty as well, with chestnut brown hair and light brown eyes, not quite as tall as Bella, by no means so athletic, and certainly not nearly as intimidating.

Their younger sister though… She was very small, in every respect. In later years, he’d call such a frame ‘petite’, but at that day, he hadn’t known that term yet. He could only see the slender shoulders, covered by sleek, golden blond hair, a small face in profile with very distinct features and an unearthly complexion. He thought that complexion must be due to the candlelight, but a quick glance assured him that none of the other children looked like that. She was pale, like milk running over marble, perhaps, somewhat translucent, somewhat strange. Certainly, neither of her older sisters had such a face.

“Aubrey, Bernadette,” Professor Slughorn read out; a girl with thick curls stepped forth and sat down on the rickety stool, the row of students moved on, and Lucius could only see the back of that little Black girl.

“Why am I getting worked up about this, anyway,” Bellatrix grumbled, her eyes fixed on her sister’s back. “She’s too bright to be a Hufflepuff, and hasn’t got enough of a backbone to be in Gryffindor.”

“And since when does a backbone belong in Gryffindor?”

“Oh, shut up, Lestrange, you know what I mean. My little Cissy isn’t anywhere close to bravery, I tell you that. She knows how to keep out of trouble.”

“And you’re quite sure she really is your sister?”

“I keep asking my mother, but she won’t stand for – shhh! Be quiet now!”

Professor Slughorn had called out ‘Black, Narcissa’, and the girl sat down on the stool. For two seconds, Lucius could see her face fully, feeling oddly struck. She didn’t seem nervous at all, but supremely self-assured, and then, the moment was gone. The shabby old hat fell down to her shoulders, threatening to drop further yet since she was so tiny, and a swift look at Bellatrix told Lucius that she was much more anxious than her sibling sitting up there.

Narcissa Black herself found she had different problems. That hat smelled awful, she didn’t wish to start considering what exactly she was smelling there, or what might be stuck in her hair once she got rid of it again. She wasn’t too curious to which House she would be sorted – she’d make Slytherin, as sure as her name was ‘Black’, and even if not, it’d be all the same boring business anyway. Narcissa had little taste to make friends with anyone around here.

She heard a small voice in her head. ‘Hmm… That’s a hard one to call, isn’t it?’

“You tell me,” she muttered, repelled by the horrid stink around her.

‘Loads of brains… A sly knowledge of how to use ‘em… Staunch loyalty if needed… And no fear…’

‘Now what should I be afraid of?’

‘You’re a cheeky one, are you?’

‘I cannot say that, but what I can say is that roughly a hundred people are waiting out there still. If I were you, I’d hurry up a bit.’

‘Just like your sisters.’

‘Were they cheeky as well?’

‘Oh, yes, and like you, particularly hard to sort. They both would have been in good hands in Gryffindor, too.’

‘And how come they ended up where they are?’

‘They wanted it.’

‘So do I.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I know what’s expected of me there. Why make it unnecessarily hard?’

‘That’s just the kind of reply I’d expect from a true Slytherin, child. You shall have your wish then.’ – “Slytherin!”

The smelly hat was lifted off her again and without a further look, she walked over to the Slytherin table. She spotted Bella, who was clearly trying her best to suppress a pleased expression. “Blimey, now I’m stuck with you, ain’t I?”

“Don’t worry, I reckon I’m old enough to do without a nanny!”

“So you are little Cissy?” Marianne Travers asked with a sneer.

“Indeed, I am not,” she replied calmly. “My name is Narcissa, if you don’t mind.”

Bella chortled, pushing the girl next to her away to make place and ushering her sister to sit down. “That’s right, Travers! There are exactly two people entitled to call her ‘Cissy’, that’s me, and Andy The Odious Oddball over there. I believe an introduction is in order. Cissy – that pert person here is Marianne Travers.”

She beckoned to the stout girl and went on, pointing at several people. “That’s Barnabas Cuffe, the editor of the student magazine and over there his principal reporter – his only real reporter on a second thought, Rita Skeeter. Rabea Lestrange you already know, over there Venus Yaxley and down the aisle her little brother Elias – Hugh Oglethorpe, our Captain – Amycus Carrow, one of our Beaters – Donald Finkley, another Beater – Eunice Gudgeon, Junior Prefect – Damocles Belby, our resident potions genius – Bertram Higgs, you'll surely remember his father – Lucius Malfoy –”

Lots of people beckoned at her, among them a tall, silver-blond boy with a high and mighty sneer curling his lips, which she returned just as dauntlessly. Bella introduced more people to her, but Narcissa paid little attention, more occupied with ignoring the stares of the Malfoy boy. Hadn’t his mother taught him not to stare at people?!

More First Years trailed over, some of whom she knew by sight, some better – unfortunately – and Bella chatted away.

“Lucius, we need to win this year; I’ve got a bet running with my bloody sister. Not you, Cissy, of course. You know, Lucius here is a very decent flyer.”

“Is he,” she muttered in a bored voice, positively despising the boy for his smug grin in that moment. “I’m delighted to hear it.”

“Now that you’re in Hogwarts, you’ll finally have to take some interest in Quidditch, kid. Paramount matter.”

Narcissa shrugged and exhaled in silence. This was going to be every bit as bad as she had imagined it. Malfoy eyed her in amusement, asking, “So I take it you dislike Quidditch?”

“I don’t think ‘dislike’ is the right word,” Narcissa said, looking straight at him now and smiling softly. “I think it is a perfectly pointless way to spend one’s time, racing through the air and being bludgeoned by some stray Bludgers, but watching it is an even greater waste of time, if you ask me. I do not dislike Quidditch. I detest it.”

“Now, now, Cissy,” Bella sniggered. “Keep calm. I told everyone how cool you were.”

“Excuse me. I merely meant to answer the question,” Narcissa said loftily, not taking her eyes off Malfoy and arching a brow. “I hope you’re not so easily offended?”

“Not at all, I assure you.” Lucius returned that look likewise, but was privately wondering what he had done to get on the wrong side of this person in less than a minute. He hadn’t called her ‘Cissy’, he hadn’t started talking about Quidditch. As far as he could see, he hadn’t done anything to account for her obvious contempt. Bellatrix Black was quick-tempered, undoubtedly, and rather violent when annoyed. Her sister didn’t seem like one starting to hurl curses around, admittedly, but like one to hold grudges instead, and if anything, oddly enough, he didn’t want her to be cross with him.

What did he care? He didn’t depend on little Narcissa Black's approval of him or not! Who was she, anyway? All right, her eldest sister was pretty formidable, but what about the other one? If he had been in her place, he wouldn’t have been that proud! He was Lucius Malfoy, he was the last and only descendant of England’s eldest and noblest dynasty, he had no brothers or sisters to shame him, and he was the heir to the country’s largest gold treasure! Okay, the Blacks were a very old and very noble family, too, and more than merely well off, financially. Nonetheless! She had no reason to disapprove of him!

He got through dinner tolerably well, but as soon as he was in the dorm with his mates, he no longer held back and spluttered with anger. Graham tilted his head, listening in silence, and murmured eventually, “I wouldn’t bother, if I were you, Lucius.”

“I do not bother!”

“Could have fooled me there,” Bertie said gleefully.

“All I’m saying is that she’s holding her chin up way too high!”

“I don’t see what she’s done to you to make such a fuss about it. She’s barely spoken three words!”

“Which is a becoming feature for a First Year,” Damocles threw in. “They’ve usually got a tendency to blather.”

“But the way she’s been looking!”

“So how has she been looking then?”

The way she had looked at him had slapped him around the face, but he wouldn’t have spoken that aloud for the world. He was still trying to figure out what it was about her skin, why it would glow like that, or how any person in the world could have such long, silky black lashes.

“Honestly, Lucius, you mustn’t take that amiss. A lot of girls don’t dig Quidditch,” Graham muttered genially. “And apart from that, I thought she was quite all right.”

Yaxley giggled. “Yeah, right. And as my father would say – give her a few more years and she’ll be some nice piece of crumpet, I bet you anything!”

Lucius irritably turned around, joining the other boys’ ‘ewww!’, but Yaxley simply shrugged, murmuring that he was just saying ‘how it is’. Presumably, he meant that she’d be as pretty as her two sisters, but Lucius found that this was obvious anyway, and by no means an excuse. He was accustomed to Bellatrix’ whims and extravagances, but another prima donna like her would disturb the balance, certainly, and good-looking or not, a First Year had no right to loathe Quidditch!

Thoroughly disgruntled, he finally fell asleep, but even in his dreams, that weird kid haunted him. He dreamt that he was trying out for the House Team, he was doing fine, until he realised that it was none other than little Narcissa Black evaluating the performances, and from there on, everything went wrong. Diving after the Quaffle, he did a back flip, utterly embarrassing himself because his robes would slip over his head, and revealed his underpants, his hands became so sweaty, he dropped the Quaffle, and next, he was shocked to find that the Black girl swirled a club, hurling a Bludger at him. He tried to dodge it, but it was no good, the Bludger hit his forehead just like that and he passed out, faintly noticing that he fell off his broom.

He woke up in the moment when he was crushed on the ground in his nightmare, bolting straight up in his bed and panting. Merlin’s beard, what was that?! ‘Calm yourself, it’s just a dream’ he told himself, but that wouldn’t do. He was a good flyer, an excellent flyer to be precise, no one was going to see his boxers, he’d be wearing gloves during try-outs and matches, and the last thing he was afraid of was a blasted Bludger, for heaven’s sake! Now this girl was one day in school and already giving him nightmares!

“You okay, Malf?” Graham groaned sleepily in the bed next to him.

“What?”

“You – sort of – squealed.”

“I never squeal,” he retorted irascibly, slumbering on his cushion again, grateful for the curtains concealing his undignified pose. He was strangely afraid of going back to sleep – what if he had another nightmare? The guys would die laughing at him, even more so when guessing who it was that scared him so. If it had been of any comfort to him, it would have interested him to know that the object of his dreams had no pleasant night either, in the part of the dungeons that hosted the girls’ dormitories.

She wasn’t exactly haunted by nightmares – her burden was far more tangible. It had taken her roughly five seconds while unpacking her luggage to see that she hated – literally, hated – her new dorm-mates. Perpetua Parkin was a plump girl from a butcher dynasty with matching manners, then there were two giggling cows named Valeska Tugwood – she had introduced herself as ‘Lassie’ – and Jeanie Greengrass, and a nosy, brazen person by the name Martha Jorkins, who had lost no time and tried to go through the books that Narcissa had brought.

She’d be stuck with those characters for seven solid years – good heavens, what had she done to deserve such punishment? She wasn’t surprised that Perpetua Parkin snored like a singing saw – she ought to see a Healer about her sinuses, to be sure. Narcissa couldn’t remember ever having felt more miserable than now, lying in her bed and struck by dark premonitions of her future. She had practically begged her parents to be allowed to stay at home and continue to study with some tutors. But Mr and Mrs Black, normally inclined to oblige any of their youngest daughter’s wishes, had not yielded this time.

“You’ll be ‘aving so much fun, chérie,” her mother had said.

“You’ll find Hogwarts brilliant,” her father had assured. “You’ll like it so much, you will hardly want to go home for the holidays!”

Yes. Right. If someone had asked her in this moment, she would have offered them her entire share of her parents’ inheritance, or vowed to start playing Quidditch, if only they allowed her to return to London next thing in the morning!

*****

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