dedicated to my english teacher, for the best teachers are the ones who are fools at heart.
also for @trashmctrashkingofthetrashhills, happy belated birthday maureen!
a series of tragedies and blessings.Ā
narcissa had never been one to openly show her feelings.
she was told, āonly fools wear their hearts on their sleeves.ā
her mother had said, ālaughing gives you wrinklesāwhoād ever want to marry a wrinkled girl?ā
she sat prim and proper at the dining table, a minuscule polite smile etched on her face, and her hands folded neatly on her lap. she nodded at the right times, simpered at the right times, and never, ever spoke up as she followed along with the conversationāa conversation she was told that only men could have.
her hair was always perfectly styled, her makeup polished, and her dress immaculate to the smallest seam. she was taught to waltz at the age five, play the piano at six, sing at seven, and by the time she was off to hogwarts, she had learned nearly every skill there was for a pretty, high class, pureblood girl to learn.
she was the image for the black family, the epitome of perfection, with her parents beaming with pride and wide sneers, and her sisters green with envy. she was the image for every pureblood girlāand she couldnāt hate it more. Ā
āwhat a beautiful wife you would make,ā her mother cooed at her, donned in a silk black dress for a dinner party. her father merely gave her a nod of approval, but it was colossal coming from her father, and she could nearly feel bellatrixās glare on her back, and she knew why.
she stood with her back straight, her head held high, and her hands resting gracefully at her sidesāimpeccable, immaculate, the very way every high class pureblood girl should stand.
at eleven, she met lucius malfoy, and she hated him.
he was everything a pureblood boy should be, and she hated it.
at twelve, lucius malfoy was still everything a pureblood boy should beāhandsome, smart, and rich, and narcissa still hated it.
at thirteen, lucius malfoy was everything a pureblood boy should beāexpect for the fact that he was kind. and he cared.
it didnāt stop narcissa from despising him.
at fourteen, lucius malfoy was still ever the perfect pureblood boy, but he was sad: his mother had passed away last week.
narcissa felt a pang of sympathy for him.
when narcissa was fifteen, she was dating lucius malfoy.
he was the perfect pureblood boy, and had utterly charmed her father over: handsome, smart, and rich. she could feel andromedaās glare on her back, but she couldnāt figure out why.
narcissa was sixteen when she first kissed him.
it was sweet, kind, and lovingāand she thought, i could do this for the rest of my life.
when seventeen, they were at war.
but for the good or the bad? narcissa wasnāt quite sure.
one night, he came back with a dark tattoo etched into his left forearm.
luciusā father couldnāt have been more proud, and her parents gave him their congratulations, and narcissa felt like vomiting.
lucius shouldnāt have joined.
she had heard of what happened to those who fail him.
lucius didnāt deserve that.
but she stayed silent, and continued to sit prim and proper at the dinner table, a miniscule polite smile etched onto her face, and her hands folded neatly in her lap.
at eighteen, they were wed, and narcissaās father was rich with gold.
narcissa demanded they sleep apart: she liked her space. lucius agreed.
at nineteen, lucius came back with deep, red cuts on his back, and his face twisted in anguish.
narcissa didnāt know what to do.
so she told him. told him that he shouldnāt have joined.
he cried, and she held onto him, cleaning and tending to his wounds, and that night, they fell asleep together.
they donāt sleep apart anymore.
at twenty, narcissa came home sobbing: another child lost. lucius spoke quietlyācomforting words, but she couldnāt help think: why am i such a failure?
at twenty-one, narcissa had given birth to a wonderful baby boy. when he had grabbed her pinky finger with a surprisingly strong grip, and a giggle that could warm the worldāshe laughed, and smiled, and lucius never thought heād seen her that happy.
they leaned in for a kiss, and it was love, and she was sixteen all over again.
only fools wear their hearts on their sleeves.
well, she thought. if this was what it was like being a fool, she wouldnāt give it up for anything.
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