crowd ; narcissa & sirius & remus
The last time Narcissa let herself into the seventh year Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, it had been easy…but it had also been a transgression of opportunity. It was nothing to drift upstairs, away from a party to which she’d been invited if not welcomed, to steal a few minutes and steel her curiosity. It was entirely different tonight, making the long and lonely walk from the dungeons and past the portrait.
Narcissa was not her sisters; she was not her cousins. Misbehaving came with more difficulty to her because she did it so seldomly. Because she was always let off the hook before the consequences could touch her. But she had some tools at her disposal. A working knowledge of where the Tower was, for one; it seemed simple, but a surprising number of her peers had never bothered to find out. A password overheard at a prefects’ meeting weeks ago. Hopefully they hadn’t changed it since.
And, naturally, the one thing the Blacks kept on hand at all times. A blind and uncompromising tunnel vision toward achieving her short-term goals.
Vaguely, Narcissa was aware that it was well past curfew – that hazy middle ground between two and three in the morning where time ceased to mean anything, and all of the castle’s occupants were either deeply asleep or deliriously awake.
The Common Room was horrible, without any people in it. Narcissa had only seen it the once, and at the time she’d been able to see why Sirius loved it so. Packed with people, bright lights above, the roaring welcome of a fire. Now the couches were shabby and deserted, and the room was too crowded with things. Was there any sight sadder than the last embers of a fire burning away? Narcissa couldn’t imagine so, looking at the dwindling stone fireplace as it threatened to throw the room into true darkness. Even without the fire it was too warm.
Narcissa tugged at the collar of her shirt with one finger, trying to breathe. She wasn’t successful. Hadn’t been successful in taking a deep breath since earlier in the evening. There had been a gasp, when she heard what happened to Bellatrix, and an even deeper inhale as she refused to cry there at the hospital bedside of her previously-indestructible big sister. From there, it had all been stale sterile air and brave nods for her parents’ benefits.
She hadn’t spoken a word on the trip back to the castle. Neither had Andromeda. As if they’d planned it, when the time came to head back to bed for some unsatisfying, fitful sleep, Andromeda had taken a turn to the left – back toward the dungeons – and Narcissa had stayed straight on, up the stairs. She could lie later and say that she was going to the prefects’ bathroom to drown her sorrows in a bath, but Andromeda wouldn’t ask. She never asked lately.
Anyway, it was their old routine. Andromeda would check on Regulus. And Narcissa would run to her oldest hiding place.
Narcissa had so many questions – was somebody attacking their family? Was she next on the list? Was it a horrible idea to be out of bed, without protection, at this hour? Was Bellatrix going to make a full recovery, would the wedding go on?
As she made her way up the steps to the boys’ dormitory, her shoes looking absurdly prim against the weathered stone, more questions clouded her mind. Will he even see me? What do I have to gain from seeing him?
The second was easy enough to answer. Knowing he was safe, even just for now, was no small win.
At the top of the stairs, the door was closed – but the sight was promising. She couldn’t quite hear voices, but light escaped through the inch gap in the bottom of the door, leaving a little golden pool for her to step into as she lifted a hand and considered knocking. Music was playing, it sounded like. Not a party; something sedative.
In the end, Narcissa decided against knocking.
“Sirius,” she was already saying as she pushed the door open. Her eyes reached for the ceiling; she had no way of knowing what boys got into when unattended in the dormitories and had no intention of finding out if she did not need to. Narcissa was mortified to hear her voice crack, like the terrible shattering of a sheet of ice. She was sure she was a wreck, with her wrinkled clothes and red eyes and hair askew. It wasn’t vanity that made her conscious, but fear of looking as pathetic as she felt.
“Someone attacked Bellatrix. She’s in the hospital. I’ve just been to see her.” And you weren’t there. She knew better than to say it.
Never before had Narcissa had to ask to stay with Sirius. Either he would plant some gossip that summoned her to him, hopping mad for no reason, or he’d retire his room to find she’d already claimed it, catlike on the bed and rifling through his belongings. This time, she wanted to hear him say it.
“Can I come in?” — @sirius-whoisleft & @remus-whoisleft







