perfect porcelain

narcissa. sixteen. slytherin. prefect. most importantly, pureblood. daffodil of the house of black.you thought by now you'd have it figured out. you can't erase the way it pulls when seasons change. it hurts sometimes to find where you begin. you are...

[mxlciber-deactivated20251020]

hagrid's hut [ 2.3.77 ]

[mxlciber-deactivated20251020]

                    < “what could you possibly have to g a i n?” >

          An intriguing question indeed.           One he did not blame her for asking.           But he felt himself stalling in his answer           because he wanted to have her wait.

                    After all, the most satisfying answers                      were ones that came after TIME had passed.

   ”I think the question is, what would I have to lose?    These wolves have an idea of who we are.    They wouldn’t hurt us like they would those of    l e s s e r  b l o o d. What is the worse they can do?    I honestly doubt they’d eat me. That’s for fairy tales.”

                           He halted then. A little slip from his golden tongue.                            It was already known how he had FILTH running                            through his veins, but not many knew how recent                            a muggle had infiltrated his bloodline. Nobody had                            yet to know his great-grandmother would whisper                            sweet tales when he wasn’t old enough to know that                            the stories were TRAITOROUS.

       He hated her for marrying a man from that world.        He hated himself for being tainted.

                                     Yet the man he revered had that same blood.                                       There was hope for someone like him.

            Bowing his head for a moment,             he eyed the forest once more.             Nothing called back to him.             Begrudgingly, he staggered back             and turned to face the flower of             the sinister house.

                                                       With a smile on his face, he quipped                                                        ”I’m saddened by the fact you wouldn’t                                                        dare save me if something did go wrong.                                                        I’m terribly hurt by that, Narcissa.”

[flowerofblack]

His long pause made her uneasy, and had she not already allowed her fright to seep through her surface she'd have attempted to hold back — but it was already too late for that. She shifted back and forth from one foot to the other, watching as his smile only grew.

             It was all a game to him, wasn't it?              On any other occasion she'd have              played right along with him — on              any occasion where her life wasn't              hanging in the balance, of course.              Here, now, the stakes were too              high to care which of them won.

Perhaps his words rang true, on some level. Her blood was worth being p r e s e r v e d, and if the wolves' alliance was the same as hers, she'd be kept from harm.. wouldn't she? She wanted to believe him, especially with just how sweet his words sounded as they rung in her ears, but she knew better than to put blind faith in those a n i m a l s. Trust was a luxury she couldn't afford.

                           "But they're creatures, Xavier," she exhaled. "How                             are they to distinguish you or I from those beneath                             us? Who's to say they even care? For all I know                              you might even be right, but I certainly don't plan                             to wait around long enough to find out."

             ( If the wolves didn't bring an end to her,                         her own paranoia would. )

Narcissa sighed in relief as his feet brought him away from the forest's edge and towards her. If he'd finally given up on seeking danger, perhaps he'd be willing to see reason and escort her inside,             watching their backs for clawed followers as they went.

           She allowed a smile to break through            her icy lips — the smallest hint of one.            "Please," she scoffed, arms folded            across her chest. "When has the             great Mulciber ever played the damsel?"

[flowerofblack]

great hall's doors [ 02 . 06. 77 ]

[badgerdearborn-deactivated20150]

Another death had occurred, another person mourned. This was eventually going to be a routine if things kept going on on this. How more will die if whatever was happening continued? Caradoc sighed deeply as he straightened out his robes, preparing for the memorial which was about to start. 

They were much too young to be experiencing such a lost. He was much to young to have met such a miserable end. Bertram Aubrey. The one who passed away all due to his blood; all due to such ridiculous beliefs about one’s purity in their blood. Caradoc looked solemnly at his own reflection. If it weren’t for his mystery of a father, would he had been the one meeting the laying there in the Great Hall as though he was asleep? Muggleborns, Halfbloods, Purebloods. They were all the same to him. 

Evil is a rare thing, but ignorance is contagious. 

Caradoc believed that some still had a good heart even though he disagreed with their actions. They did everything for what they believed was a good cause, for a good future. He couldn’t fault them like that when they were just too blinded with their ancestry. After all, they would say the same thing back to him. How he didn’t see the value of their blood. The magic that flowed through their veins. That this was to ensure and protect magic in its purest form. There was nothing wrong about thinking that but it was their actions that had his blood boiling. 

Purist are superior than all? That was complete bollocks. If one even took the time to observe around them like the badger did, they could easily have noticed that even halfbloods and muggleborns were capable and more. Caradoc himself was a halfblood and he wasn’t ashamed of his muggle blood at all. He was proud in fact of his muggle mother whom had raised him on her own without magic. His father on the other hand was a different story. Whether he left because of him, or it was a fling, Caradoc didn’t know about him but still, he never held it against the older man. 

Shaking out of his thoughts, he adjusted his tie one last time before heading down towards the Great Hall. Though he wasn’t close to the other boy, he still needed to pay his respects. He had seen Bertram a few times in the hallway but never stayed around long enough to engage in conversation with him. From what he could tell, Bertram seemed to be a friendly bloke, normal like everyone else who was trying their best to keep up with the student life. It was most unfortunate to die the way he did. 

The walk to the Great Hall was quiet, even those he passed by were walking in complete silence. When he reached the door, a candle was held to him. Looking up at the owner, he arched a brow in question. “You’re not going in?” He asked without taking her candle just yet, “You came all the way here after all.” 

[flowerofblack]

          "You're not going in?"

The question was one that, to anyone that knew her, should have answered itself. What business would Narcissa Black have in mourning a mudblood, especially one foolish enough to approach his sure demise with such open arms as Bertram had? She had no tears to shed for those of his breeding; in fact, rather the opposite. It wasn't that she relished in death. No, Narcissa took no joy in gazing upon the departed Raven's lifeless frame. What had her keeping her head up was what it had represented — a step forward. For the sake of cleanliness, for the sake of purity, those from roots such as Aubrey's would need to be eradicated eventually. They were casualties, ones she knew were necessary, despite her hesitance over the bloodshed.

As it turned out, staring a pale, cold casualty in the face didn't help her in turning a blind eye to the carnage that was to come at the hands of those closest to her. The further she was from Bertram and the spectacle that was being made over his passing, the easier it was to numb herself, to flush out the shivers that the notion of death brought and replace them with reassurance that this was all for the greater good, for the society that she craved. So she'd left, after spending enough time to be seen present by those who mattered, but not enough for anyone to be fooled into believing she joined the castle in their mourning. She certainly didn't.

Either Caradoc Dearborn was too oblivious to recognize where her loyalties lied, or his incessant Badger optimism had him willing to believe otherwise. She'd have placed her galleons on the latter. His house's need to pry hope from even the darkest of places was growing tiresome; first Charity's ridiculous attempt to delude her into believing the wolves posed no threat, and now him, too? Where did the Badgers find harm in accepting something for what it was? When had it become a bad thing to size the world up at face value, so one could know how to best maneuver within it?

"I've already been in, thanks," she said, her voice chilled as she shoved the candle into his hands, "but I can't say I care to stay. I'm sure you're aware that he and I were hardly what one would call friends."

[lovewithcharity]

GREAT HALL || 2.4.77

[lovewithcharity]

"It’s not about staying safe. I have full confidence that Dumbledore will keep the pack at bay. Remember, it’s not just him — it’s other professors and the centaur herd. All of them have our best interests at heart. Sitting here fretting about what they will do and what’s going to happen won’t do us good. It’ll create more harm to our mentalities.”

As she spoke, her brows knitted together and the passion rose in her voice. There was an obvious struggle to remain quiet when Narcissa snapped at her to do so, but as she looked around her again, there were only a few students who had shifted on their mats. Others who were already awake were eyeing the two of them, unsure of what to do.

Turning back to the youngest Black sister, Charity exhaled slowly. With the next breath she took, she launched into another explanation. “There should be a distraction. Just for a little bit. Something that at least attempts to put a smile on another’s face. Though your idea sounds fine, do you think first years should hear about the possibility of wolves eating them? They at least should be given something happier to think about. And I doubt some of the older students would mind that too, you know?”

[flowerofblack]

"I'm afraid I won't be joining you in your optimistic delusions," she quipped back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Our staff's intentions may be well and good, but intentions alone aren't enough to keep a pack of wolves at bay. If their efforts aren't enough, I for one won't be caught off guard because I spent my time playing games. I'll be prepared."

Of course, she was far from it. With every moment that she failed to find sleep, she said a silent prayer to Salazar to keep her from ever having to come face to face with one of the beasts that lurked outside the castle's doors. She had no idea how one would defend themselves from the clawed creatures, and she hoped she'd never have to find out; but if she did, how could she allow herself to play the damsel when so many of her own were looking to her for guidance?

Perhaps channeling Charity's naivety would've brought her peace of mind, but she couldn't bring herself to. It was not the Black way, to turn a blind eye to a problem as it crept closer. No, the Black way was to face it directly and cut it off at the head — like they'd done with S i r i u s. "Sweeping it under the rug doesn't erase its existence, it only breeds denial," she snapped, her voice laced with a bitterness that was not intended for Charity herself. "What if the wolves were to get in, hmm? How would you tell them that instead of taking this time to ensure they make a safe getaway, you chose to play? Perhaps that mentality works within your house, but not in mine. My first years are looking to me tonight, and I won't have them put at risk because they wasted precious time on a distraction. If you've lost all regard for your own life, that's entirely your concern. Play your games all you wish, but keep us Slytherins out of them."

[leightum]

+

[flowerofblack]

One sentence: "... I never once thought we'd be missing our own sister's wedding day -- it's just the two of us now, Cissy."

Narcissa rested her head on her sister's shoulder, arms thrown around her neck, Bella's robes absorbing every tear that fell. There were only two people who had ever seen her cry — Bellatrix, and the former Black whose wedding announcement they'd come across in the Prophet.

She couldn't bring herself to call that girl her sister.            Not anymore.

Andromeda had known better than to send an invitation to their home, but finding out through a photograph of the happy couple waving in the social pages of the paper hadn't made it any easier to swallow. There, in ink, printed neatly beneath their photo, was a date. This wasn't just a nightmare anymore, it was real — with a date booked and a venue announced, all of the things she and Narcissa had once giggled about as dreamy-eyed little girls.

And the ceremony would be all they'd ever dreamed of together, Narcissa was sure — but where she and Bellatrix had once stood in all of their fantasies, clad in lavish bridesmaids gowns, would be two spaces just as empty as the hole Andromeda had torn through her fragile heart.

"I thought she'd choose us, Bella," she wept, voice muffled as she buried her face deeper. "I really thought she'd choose us."

Her sobs didn't stop until she found sleep that night, but all the while Bellatrix's hand rested against the small of her back, comforting her, soothing her. The wounds would heal over in time, and she would not have to heal alone; she still had one sister that loved her.

Rip my heart out in one sentence. [x]

[blindwallflower]

[flowerofblack]

great hall's doors [ 02 . 06. 77 ]

Someone's speech could be heard over hushed whispers and shameless tears inside the Hall, but the words were inconsequential to her. Her attention was focused solely on the candle in her hands, watching closely as the flame danced back and forth.                She'd never realized how quickly a flame could be snuffed out —         not until now. Death had always been a part of the plan, a necessary means to a desired end, but she'd never had to look it in the eye. Death had been her fear those nights she'd spent curled up on the floor of the Great Hall, anxiously awaiting the return of whoever would make it back alive — and it had come, just as she'd thought; but thankfully, not to her. She, unlike that foolish mudblood, had chosen the right side; if her pristine blood wasn't enough to keep her safe, her allegiance would be — which was why she couldn't allow herself to stay inside the memorial service for longer than it took to show her face to the professors whose opinions of her still mattered. She paid her visits to the teachers she respected — commending them for their bravery, and expressing faux condolence for the school's loss; her t r u e sentiment was far from what she chose to feed to them, but that could be saved for circles of t r u s t. All that mattered was that those of importance saw her with a memorial flame in hand, just for a mere moment; even on the cusp of war, appearance was still everything. Once her rounds had been complete, there was nothing left to keep her there.  Though shaken by the reality of death, Narcissa did not mourn — she simply couldn't find the sympathy within herself to grieve the loss of a mudblood, especially not one stupid enough to put his own life on the line. If anything, it was all a test for her, to see just how quickly she could numb herself to the idea of inconsequential lives lost; she needed no seer to tell her that her future would consist of many more casualties, not by her own hand, but fatalities nonetheless. The faster she could harden herself to them, the better. She slipped out of the doors as inconspicuously as she could, resting herself against the wall. Lips pursed, she blew out the candle's flame, entirely indifferent to the lost life it represented.               "If you're heading in there, take this," she hummed,               handing the candle to the one who approached her.               "I have no use for it."

[flowerofblack]

Meme: Rain

Rain: I’ll write a fluffy drabble of our characters kissing in the rain.

The black clouds overhead taunted her, threatening to chase them back inside at any undisclosed moment — but Narcissa wasn’t ready to leave just yet. It was true what they said about the things Xavier Mulciber’s silver tongue could accomplish; he’d managed to convince her to join him in the courtyard, despite the dark shadows cast by the threat of rain. She’d had one condition, of course — that, should the clouds choose to empty themselves upon them, she’d require him to shed his cloak for her, like any gentleman would.

He’d told her that the chill of the spring air would revive her, that the thrill of not knowing if or when nature would choose to interrupt their moment together would awaken her — and though she wouldn’t let such admittance slip through her lips for the sake of her pride, he’d almost been right. Every nerve in her body was on the highest of alerts, tingling, vibrating beneath her porcelain skin — and she couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt so irrefutably alive.

The first drop fell against her cheek, causing her posture to straighten and her head to glance upwards; then a p a u s e, a few heartbeats in length, and the second droplet landed on her forehead, trickling down the bridge of her nose. And then the clouds collapsed upon themselves, raindrops showering down upon them quickly now, their echo against the stone beneath her feet drowning out the sounds of the elevated heartbeat she’d been using to gauge their pace.

"Your cloak, Xavier!" Narcissa cried with a half laugh and a smile she tried to hide. "I need your cloak!” Her robes would be soaked through, her hair would be a nightmare, and if she walked away from this with a cold she’d pin the blame entirely on him. Narcissa Black didn’t have room in her life for the unexpected, for getting caught in showers she easily could’ve prepared herself for. This was not her design, this was purely his doing — but part of her, the hidden part that allowed her smile to creep across the corners of her lips as he slipped his cloak off of his shoulders and draped it over her, didn’t mind.

         (   Perhaps that same part of her had even said             a small prayer to Salazar, asking him to empty             the clouds upon them, just to see how it would             feel to allow herself to be so immersed in             spontaneity for o n c e in her sixteen years.   )

“Hurry,” she urged, taking his hand and pulling towards the doors, towards shelter. “Come back inside, before we freeze to death!”

But as she tugged at him, he remained planted where he was — and Merlin knew her fragile frame could never move him from a place he so badly wanted to be. Instead, Xavier only took a tighter grip on her hand, pulling her back in towards him.

                           ”Not just yet,” he whispered, biting back a smirk. 

"Oh, really?" she challenged with a laugh, brows arched — though, this time, she didn’t try to pull away. "And what out here is so important that you’re willing to risk hypothermia?”

He didn’t say a word. A hand snaked around her waist, gently pulling her body closer to his — slowly, giving her the chance to slip away if she so chose. But she didn’t. Instead, she let out a faint gasp as she felt the warmth of his chest press against her, looking up to catch his eyes. When his head tilted downwards towards her she drew a deep breath, her body tightening as his lips brushed against hers — not a flinch but a jump, one of both nervousness and strange excitement. Narcissa stood up onto her toes, arms wrapping around his neck as she pulled him in towards her. The storm still crashed around them, on them, but the only droplets of any concern to her were the ones that had made their way to his lips, the ones she tasted as she poured herself into his kiss.

She knew the things that were said about him. She knew the things he’d done, the things Bellatrix would say to her if she ever knew that she’d given her first kiss away to one of the slipperiest of their house’s snakes ( no matter how reputable of a family he came from  ) . But he was not all cruel — at least, when Narcissa drank in the deliciously smooth words he chose for her, that was what she wholeheartedly believed.

                  They said his lips were t o x i c ?        If Xavier Mulciber’s lips were laced with poison,                            then oh, how s w e e t that poison tasted.

Send me drabble prompts. [x]

[lovewithcharity]

GREAT HALL || 2.4.77

[lovewithcharity]

She winced at the way she had woken some students from slumber. But if they found sleep earlier, they would find it once again. She was more concerned with herself and the other students who were in the same state as her. She wished none of them would suffer under these circumstances, but not all wishes could be granted.

But one person she stepped over snapped more than a grumble, and she was called to listen. She squinted in the darkness, making out the stark blonde hair and a flash of silver lining the robes. 

"Ah, but seeing as we’re stuck in this lockdown, might as well keep spirits up, Narcissa," she whispered (though for Charity, what was really a whisper?). “And if some are awake, why shouldn’t we gather ‘round and try to figure out how to stay entertained instead of dreading what’s happening outside?”

[flowerofblack]

The blankets that had been scrounged together scratched against her skin as Narcissa sat upright. How she longed for the satin sheets that covered her bed down in the dungeons, or for a mattress that, unlike the castle's stone floors, wouldn't leave her back purple and blue with bruises in the morning. It wasn't out of desire for the material things themselves, but for the comfort she knew them to bring. Perhaps if she were tucked away in a place she felt safe, rather than bumping elbows with the students curled up next to her on the floor if she rolled over the wrong way, she'd have been able to wait the night out with a sliver of optimism.

But she wasn't, and there would be no sleep found for her that night because of it.

She winced at the girl's halfhearted attempt at a whisper. "Are you trying to wake everyone now?" she hushed, irritated. "Entertainment won't keep us safe. If anything, we should be planning our escape strategy. Merlin knows that Dumbledore won't be able to hold the pack off forever, and then what? Are we supposed to walk out in surrender and beg them to eat us in one piece rather than limb by limb?"

         It was a s l i p of the collectedness she'd managed          to feign for the better part of the day, one prompted          by fatigue and the stress that had seemed to rise          incrementally as the sun had set. 

Narcissa drew a deep breath, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. It was a slip that she wouldn't allow to happen again, her only saving grace being the fact that the deluded lion's opinion of her meant n o t h i n g ;                     or perhaps that Charity was as tired as she, and                     would mistake her outburst for a hazy dream.

[qvibbler]

Harry Potter Meme: ♕ Seven Relationships

7/7 The Black Sisters

[narscissa]

♔  —-                              TOUJOURS PUR 

The tale of three sisters; Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa Black.

With the second wizarding world war at it’s very peak, victory was within reach of Bellatrix Lestrange. She had lost so much to get to this very moment that all of it, all of the loss and the pain, felt worth it.  Choosing her duty over her love was a hard decision, while it may not have been the right one to most, it was to Bellatrix. She was rising so high that there was no way to go but down. Bellatrix Lestrange lost her life for power.

After losing her family long before the war, Andromeda managed to live a somewhat normal life with the one she loved the most. She made a choice to follow her heart instead of her sisters and to her, it was the right one. Of course when the second war emerged and came to an end, Andromeda was left with no one. Losing her husband and daughter to Death Eaters was an ironic blow. And when death came knocking at her door, Andromeda wanted nothing more than to see the faces of those she loved once again. Andromeda Tonks died for lost love.

And last but not least, Narcissa. The girl who seemed pulled between her sisters, her family and her sense of right and wrong. She stood by her husband throughout everything, watching on as he and others she cared for risked their lives for something that wasn’t worth it. Losing her sister to a muggleborn did make the girl bitter, but not enough to kill an innocent person. Narcissa could only simply look on as she lost her other sister, first to insanity, then to death. After all was done and peace had finally came, Narcissa continued to watch the world move on. Her son married, gave her grandchildren and lived a happy life. So when it was her time to go, having lost so much already, Narcissa Malfoy simply greeted death as an old friend.

[here]

[flowerofblack]

Spectre.

Spectre: My character will be visited by your character’s ghost.

She’d once found strength and solace in the Manor’s silence, but now the eery emptiness of the halls served as little but a painful reminder of just how alone she was. Every night as she tucked herself beneath the covers, haunted by the echo of nothingness, she would’ve given her very soul for a visitor to keep her company through the night — Bellatrix, Severus, anyone that was willing to calm the hysterical sobs she poured into her pillow from dusk until dawn.

Anyone would’ve helped her make it until morning —                                                            anyone but him.

With Lucius stolen from her, withering away behind the bars of his Azkaban cell, her former cousin’s now spirit dared to visit, and his presence did nothing but send her spiralling further  d                                     o                                       w                                          n.

On the first night, she’d thought him to be a hallucination — a personification of all of her losses haunting the depths of her mind; but the ghastly white of his face, the chill he left as he glided through the air, and the way he carefully crafted his icy words to slice through her open wounds were all so undeniably him.

           Burning him off of the tapestry hadn’t            been enough to erase him from her life;            she’d have been a fool to think that even            d e a t h would stop him.

The eves he chose to hover over her always happened to be the ones she spent in shambles, mourning the proverbial loss of her husband — and perhaps soon her son, as well.

           That bastard always did have the worst timing.

Her face was stuffed into her pillow, tear stains tainting the pristine pillowcase with evidence of her unravelling — better to have the elves wash the sheets in the morning than to allow her cries to echo through the empty halls and make their way back to her ear. It was then, between scattered breaths, that she felt the frosty tingle of the ghost’s words against her neck.

            “Oh, Cissy.”

On his lips, no matter how cold and lifeless they were, the nickname she’d once allowed him to use fondly read as no less than a taunt.

            “You find so many tears to shed for              the living, but not a single one for me?”

She didn’t move. She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull her face from the covers. Perhaps if she didn’t feed into his games he’d grow tired, like the overgrown child he was. Perhaps he’d find someone else to go torment — Andromeda, Bellatrix, anyone but her. Then again, where would he ever find his fun in torturing someone who was fully composed?

           ”You remember just how long I spent           in Azkaban, don’t you? I can paint you           a wonderful picture of what I’m sure is           happening to dear old Lucy, if you like.            A man as proud as him? Oh, I’m sure the            dementors are having their fun — and            unlike me, he actually deserves it.”

S N A P. Narcissa turned, sitting upright and looking the spectre in the eye. He could mock her grief all he wished, but she’d d i e before she allowed him to mock her husband.

"He’s a better man than you ever could’ve dreamed of being,” she hissed through clenched teeth, red eyes puffy with tears. ”He’s loyal to me, to our family — that’s more than I ever bothered to expect from you. So, yes, I’ll cry for him, but I don’t have a single tear to shed for you — I cried all of those twenty years ago, because that’s when I lost you, not now. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve been dead for decades; now there’s simply a tombstone to make it official.”

And as she blinked, just as quickly as he’d appeared,                         he v a n i s h e d ;     but he would be back. It was always only a matter of time.

Send me drabble prompts. [x]

[flowerofblack]

Graveyard

She'd never looked death in the eyes before. She'd never heard the sounds of a person so helpless, pleading for the chance to hold onto their last shred of life for just a moment longer, despite how futile they knew their efforts to be. She'd never watched the light fade from someone's eyes, never heard how suddenly their heart ceased to beat and their lungs emptied of air.

Narcissa Malfoy hadn't bore witness to any of these phenomena —              — not until Charity Burbage.

How ironic that a cause she'd once found such solidarity in proved to be her unravelling. It had all seemed so simple at first — to stand by Lucius's side, to support him as he donned his mask night after night and fought for what was rightfully theirs by birth alone, and to hold him through the nightmares that came along with it all. She'd accepted it as her fate so long ago — but she hadn't signed on for the carnage. What had to be done had to be done, but it was easy to live with the body count when it was simply an abstract number so far removed from her field of vision. When the casualty in question was hovering upside-down over her dining room table, her cries echoing off of the Manor's walls at a decibel that still haunted Narcissa every time she dared step foot in that room again, it was a harder pill to swallow. When death personified itself before her, suddenly the consequences of the actions she'd been so quick to rally behind were real, laying glassy-eyed in front of her goblet of wine.

Perhaps grave wasn't the proper word for the small headstone with the woman's name clumsily etched into the surface; there was no body beneath the ground's surface, after all — whatever had been left of the woman had rotted long ago, decomposing with the snake that had consumed her. No, memorial seemed a better fit; this was not the place that Charity Burbage would find peace — if she ever would — but a place for her to be remembered.

Narcissa didn't come bearing flowers, or with kind words or memories to share with whatever spirit may have been lurking — truthfully, any reminiscence she'd have had to share was hardly worth speaking aloud. It wasn't as if she'd considered Charity anything close to a friend, or if she'd held her in any regard at all. She'd been an annoyance, at best — a ray of sunshine too bright to look at directly during their Hogwarts years, and a testament to Dumbledore's senescence once the woman dared call herself a professor to Draco. 

No, her visit wasn't laced with fondness, or even with mourning — the black robes she donned as she hovered above the memorial were a mere coincidence. Instead, Narcissa was motivated by purely selfish reasons — namely, by guilt. Her own hands hadn't been the ones to turn the woman's light out, but they may as well have been. She'd allowed the clan of masked monsters into her home, watched idly as the woman wailed through her last moments of life, even feigned a snicker after the deed was done so as not to be the only one around the table in terrified silence. 

         Proverbially, her hands were clean,               but they still felt so d i r t y.

Perhaps the only way to erase the phantom blood she swore she could see staining her fingertips when she blinked in the wrong light was to admit her wrongs — and so her feet had dragged her to the one place she never thought she'd have a reason to be. Her lips remained closed, pursed, while her head bowed in silence — that was all her pride, no matter how wounded, would allow, and it wasn't as if there was anyone to grant her repentance even if she were to pose her request aloud. 

Charity Burbage had been a stain on the name of wizarding kind — a muggle-lover with her head in the clouds, so out of touch with reality that one could easily wonder whether she lived in the same world as everyone else at all. Charity Burbage had been everything the Black family had been taught to abhor, the very thing they'd dedicated their lives to erasing from their society — but she hadn't deserved to die for it. Even Narcissa could admit that.

Send me drabble prompts. [x]

[flowerofblack]

List of Drabble Prompts

Scream: My character has caused yours to scream out for some reason

Graveyard: My character will visit your characters grave

Spectre: My character will be visited by your character’s ghost or vice versa

Dream: My character will have a dream about your character

Nightmare: One of our characters will have a nightmare.

Busted: Your character will catch mine doing something they shouldn’t.

Break Me: I will write an angsty drabble about our characters.

Comfort Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character comforting yours- vise versa.

Drink Me: I will write a drabble about my character taking shots with yours.

Dominate Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character dominating yours. Or vise versa.

Embarrass Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character saying or doing something embarrassing to himself or to your character.

Haunt Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character watching over yours [as a ghost, watching from a distance, or otherwise, feel free to specify.]

Hunt with me: I’ll write a drabble about your character and mine on a hunt together.

Join Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character giving your character an offer

Kill Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character killing yours.

Nurse Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character healing yours.

Raise Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character resurrecting yours. Vise versa.

Surprise Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character surprising yours. Vise versa.

Save Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character saving yours or vise versa.

Shoot Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character shooting yours or vise versa.

Torture Me: I’ll write a drabble about your character torturing mine or vise versa.

Deny Me: my character will either deny your character’s advances or deny them a ’ happy ending’

Lick Me: my character will lick yours in any specified place or manner.

Suck Me: my character will suck on any body part of your character

Tease Me: my character will tease yours, whether in a friendly or a sexual manner

Bite Me: my character will bite yours on any part of their body

Blindfold Me: my character will blindfold yours in order to have their fun

Meet Me: My character is meeting yours either for the first time or just causally.

Slap me: my character will slap yours. In the sexual manner, or of anger. specify.

Call Me: My character will call your character for whatever reason.

Hug Me: My character will hug yours. Either by surprise or for a specific reason.

Give Me: my character will give yours a gift

Sleep: My character needs to stay at your character’s house for the night, or vise versa. Specify.

Drink: My character will call, text, or show up at your character’s house drunk. Specify which of the three.

Heal: My character will tend to your character’s wounds, or be at their side when they’re sick.

Protect: My character keeps yours safe from harm.

Kiss: My character kisses yours, or vise versa. Specify.

Dream: My character wakes up in the middle of the night because of a dream with your character in it.

Revenge: My character will get revenge on yours.

Jealousy: My character gets jealous over yours.

Hallucinations: My character will have hallucinations about your character.

Candle: Our characters spending time together by candle light.

Gift: My character gives your character something special. Or vise versa. Specify.

Spell: I’ll write my character putting a spell on yours. Or being under a spell/curse.

Song: My charcter singing a song to yours, or vice versa.

Gloves: How my character deals with news from yours, Specify

Snow: Our characters in the cold together.

Rain: I’ll write a fluffy drabble of our characters kissing in the rain.

Kill: I’ll write a angst drabble of my character violently killing yours.

Love: I’ll write a drabble of my character admitting they love yours.

Lust: I’ll write a drabble of our characters making love together.

Date: I’ll write a drabble of my character taking yours out on a date.

Defend: I’ll write a drabble of my character protecting yours.

Fight: I’ll write a drabble of my character fighting with/against yours.

Trick: Your character and mine being sneaky together

Treat: Your character and mine being sweet to one another

Costume: Your character or mine, dressing up for the other

Stars: Our characters under the stars together

Snow: Our characters in the cold together

Scarf: Your character or Mine borrowing/stealing clothes from the other

Hot Cocoa: Our characters enjoying a hot moment together.

Candles: Our characters enjoying a moment by candlelight

Gift: Your character or mine, surprising the other with a present

Bows: Your character or mine, dressing/undressing the other

Peppermint: Your character or mine, sharing a sweet secret with the other.

[rogerlilyrp-blog]

Rip out my (Character's) heart in one sentence.

Bonus points if it makes me cry.

[lovewithcharity]

GREAT HALL || 2.4.77

She pushed herself up from her cot. There was no sleep to be found tonight. But she wasn’t going to stare at the stars shimmering on the ceiling and feel — worthless.

( she had already spent too many hours   criticizing herself for no GOOD reason.   she had nothing to apologize for. )

Slowly standing, she stepped over a few sleeping bodies; and yet, when she looked around, she found more than expected who were restless.

"Anyone who is still awake," she whispered, "gather ‘round for a bit of fun, yeah?"

[flowerofblack]

Narcissa Black was not built for communal living. Within the confines of the Slytherin dormitories she could survive — in the dungeons there was only a handful to share her space with, and all were tolerable at the very least — but here, amongst every student that roamed the castle's halls, she was going mad.

She attempted to keep her eyes shut, using her own panicked thoughts as a way to drown out the incessant whisperings of those who were just as restless as she, but even as she ran through every possible worst-case scenario in her mind she couldn't escape the chatter. Some were foolishly optimistic, reassuring one another with musings of how Dumbledore was sure to have things under control by morning — ha. Others were foolishly brave, muttering about strategies to slither out of the castle undetected and join the fight themselves — just as laughable. But perhaps the worst of them all were the ones sweeping it all under the rug, pretending that now of all times was the right moment for fun and games, blatantly ignoring the very real threat that was howling just outside the doors.

The girl that bumped Narcissa's shoulder as she stepped through the scattered bodies fell into the latter.

"Watch it!" she grumbled, dusting off the shoulder of her robes, eyes darting down to check if the culprit had left a footprint. Glancing upwards at the girl that had stolen the sleep she'd been so close to finding, Narcissa let out a tired sigh. Even her wolf-infested nightmares would've been better than Charity's search for fun. "This is a lockdown, not a slumber party," she hissed through clenched teeth.

[flowerofblack]

Corridors » 02.03.77

[theratheard-blog]

By far, purebloods were the epitome of perfect. Like they all had something to prove. He would even catch James and Sirius exhibiting the traits that were taught to them long before he ever became friends with him. They may be more loose with the rules that were given to them, but habits died hard.

( but the also fell hard, shattering to the ground   and slicing anyone in range with  p a i n )

Yet there would always be little tics that would crack that imagery of what purebloods considered perfect. To Peter, he doubted such strong portrayal of disgust was ever allowed at the socials he overheard so many speak of.

But then again, he wasn’t WORTHY to be treated the same, was he?

"I have way more fun irritating you, ‘Cissa." His tone was even, but the smile that stretched across his face, though forced, spoke degrees as to the hatred that he parted on her. There were many qualities of the Black sisters he couldn’t stand; Bellatrix’s violence, Andromeda’s snark, and Narcissa’s elitism. Oh, the other two exhibited that as well, but neither were like Narcissa in how she imparted such knowledge to the world.

"Have you now? I’ll be the first to confirm that all the stories are true, but yet, we have yet to be killed, right? I’d say that so far, we are doing well enough surviving by being just who we are. Can you say the same?"

[flowerofblack]

It was as if he knew nothing of how precious each of her breaths was, or how honoured he should feel that she dared waste even one more on him. Then again, with the company he kept, it was no surprise he had no true sense of her worth. The so-called purebloods that ran in his circles — though it pained Narcissa to refer to the traitors by their wasted, undeserved blood status — had long ago abandoned the values that kept them entitled to their names. Perhaps Peter's insolence could be blamed on the imprudent teachings of her former cousin — or perhaps the runt was simply feeling characteristically, foolishly, brave, testing her, pushing her.

                 Accounting for the boy's questionable figures of                  influence, Narcissa placed her galleons on the latter.

But she would n o t be disrespected — surely not by a boy whose very birth went against the teachings she'd had instilled in her since the first beatings of her heart. 

"Narcissa," she snapped back, his sly, tormentous smile drawing a scowl over her lips. Nicknames were so informal, so pedestrian — and so personal. Peter Pettigrew knew naught of her beyond the reputation that preceded her and the slander she presumed Sirius to spill now that he was one of them; the boy had not earned the right to call her by supposed terms of endearment — nor would he ever. In fact, the only souls she ever accepted such beckons from were her sisters — her parents would never dare call her by any name but the one they'd so carefully bestowed upon her, their precious flower. In the mouths of Andromeda and Bellatrix, Cissa was a comfort — in Pettigrew's, it was an insult.

She let out an irritated sigh. "Why is it that the foolish are always the most durable?" she mused, crossing her arms over her chest, head cocked quizzically to one side. "Trust me, being exactly who I am won't only keep me alive, it'll help me thrive — and I'm positive the same won't be able to be said about you.. At least, not for much longer."

There was a new world order coming, that everyone knew — and though Narcissa chose to remain blind to the carnage that would be necessary to achieve it, to say she didn't eagerly await the paradigm shift itself would be a lie.