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Summary
“It’s always push and shove with us, isn’t it?” Lily asked, seemingly transfixed by the slow and steady trickle of blood that oozed from Narcissa’s lip as she grazed her thumb around the cut. “Gryffindors and Slytherins? Mudbloods and Pure-Bloods?”
Narcissa could only shrug.
“What would happen, I wonder...” Lily continued, as if in a trance, her emerald gaze brighter, hotter, and deadlier than Fiendfyre. Narcissa felt a hand softly rest upon her waist under the water, and suddenly they were moving, swirling the water as they did so, Lily turning them gently until Narcissa was backed into the wall of the bath. “What would happen if I pushed?”