Narcissa Malfoy, the cold and collected, poise and regally elegant woman who can cut you with her eyes, and scares everyone away. Narcissa Malfoy who will back away from anyone who tries to touch her, even if it’s a hand shake. Who will reply to your questions very politely, but there’s not really any meaning to them.
Cissy, who is warm and full of laughter, bites her nails because anxiety is eating her, is SO sensitive she will tear up if you raise your voice a decibel above what she thinks it should be. But she gives the warmest hugs and will not let go first. Once she gets to know you, you will be sat there for hours on end listening to her stories—being bombarded with questions she asks and the responses she gives to yours will be so delightful.
She doesn’t hate you, no. She just can’t socialise honestly. But, God, her tiny little group of friends she’s got to know over the years will do anything for her and vice versa because they know her like no one else does.
And of course Lucius Malfoy, the only one who’s actually heard her full on cackle at the tiniest things, the one who’s knuckles she cracks because hers haven’t reset yet but the anxiety is building up again, the one who has sat next to her for ages, listening to her—her singing, her stories, her complaints.
