WHITE //the sound of cackling in the distance
Send White for my muse to show their light side, through whatever means the mun chooses.
It was rare that she find her sister amidst the other fifth years, books laid out upon the table, ink staining prim fingers, and quills protruding every which way from oil wells scattered at random intervals across the long mahogany. She had always told Bellatrix that she preferred studying at her own table, or in the dungeons, where none could disturb her meticulous setup, nor could they ask her inane questions (”They all know I have the answers, Bella; I have the best grades.”) about the notes, the work, the upcoming week. She’d always been amused by her sister’s aloofness, though Narcissa could hardly be blamed. Bellatrix teased her for it more often than not, but in the same vein worked to preserve the mentality that gave her the right to act in such a way - Cissa was, in essence, a bubble all her own. And Bellatrix was happy too see her kept that way.
But this was why it was so strange to find her heavily asleep upon a textbook, lodged between two fellow fifth years with equally harried notes scattered upon the table before them. A cloud of blonde over neatly penned notes, she was an angel stained with ink; as her cheek rolled upon the page, undisturbed by Bella’s approach, she could see “WENDELIN THE WEIRD” upon her rouged skin, an imprint from what could only have been fresh ink. Bellatrix covered her upward turned lips with a careful palm, quelling the laughter that threatened to slip forth at the sight of her sister in such disarray; it was quite amusing that none of the other - a few Ravenclaws, a stray Gryffindor - seemed to notice. Perhaps they commiserated.
Carefully, quietly, Bellatrix went to work, arching over top her sleeping sister, collecting papers, books, quills, and settling them meticulously into Narcissa’s bag, which hung over the back of the chair in which she currently slept. The smile on her face - a rare sight, a small glimmer - never faded, growing only as Narcissa moved and mumbled in her sleep, clearly stirred in her dreams by the studying which had so lulled her into them. Bellatrix had never been so careful, she figured - when of course she had; it was not rare that she collect her weary sisters when they themselves could not stand.
It was as she closed the heavy textbook at Narcissa’s fingertips that she caught the eye of the youngest Bones, who she’d spoken to only once. She paused at the sight of him, with wary eyes upon her, as if she might revert from demure older sister to cackling banshee at a moment’s notice. He had caught her in the midst of a genuine smile; the expression still had not faded, though she was remiss to share such a rarity with anyone who did not deserve it. At this, strangely enough, she could not find it in herself to frown; perhaps it was the lock of her sister’s hair upon the tip of her finger, or the knowledge that enormous bold letters were printed upon her usually prim cheek. With a sideways quirk of the head, she brought her forefinger to her lips, glancing down to Narcissa as she carefully slipped the textbook into her open bag with practiced ease.
The youngest Bones seemed to understand - though Bellatrix could have simply been too concerned with the blonde splayed upon the table to tell otherwise.
With a slight murmur, Bellatrix stooped - “Come now, Cissy; time for bed.” - and looped her arms beneath Narcissa’s shoulders, lifting her from the chair (for Bella was deceptively strong for such a slight girl) and slumping her stirring form against her shoulder. Ever careful, ever gentle, she reached down and wiped, with her thumb, the bold, telling scrawl from her cheek, leaving nothing but a swipe of ink behind. Sighing, mumbling, Narcissa wrapped her arms around Bellatrix’s neck, nuzzling pink brow into her collar, and promptly drifting back toward sleep. A single huff of a laugh escaped the eldest Black, then, as with her free hand she hung Narcissa’s bag upon her shoulder.
One last look at the youngest Bones, and another finger to her lips, and she was gone - Narcissa none the wiser.
