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Cissy’s always known how to hide. Pieces of herself buried behind mental walls stronger than those of Grimmo or the Manor, and little holes in Hogwarts she remembers when she needs a place where no one will see her cry. She was always the best at hide and seek. Not even Andy could find her, and Andy was correspondingly the best at finding.
It was probably that skill that let Andy walk out of Grimmauld Place with her head held high, leaving shocked--no, flat-out Stupefied--silence behind her. Andy had known exactly what was waiting for her on the other side of Father’s hastily-constructed wards and how to get there. And so she had broken the wards, right there in the drawing room, walked to the door, and disapparated from the stoop off to her Muggleborn.
“Go to your room, Narcissa,” Father had said, when they returned home. Finally breaking the funereal silence. And she went, her face a bland mask. And she hid in her room until the summer was over and she had to go back to school.
Outwardly, she smiled and laughed and poisoned, in the way of Slytherin girls. But she was hiding from herself, every traitorous thought buried behind layers of vapidity. Sometimes, Cissy wondered if she had hid so well there was anything of her besides her elegant masks.
There were secrets she hid, too. Andy, and the other things. How she fears she is too like Andy for comfort. (The girls Narcissa likes are not exactly the politely acceptable type–blood traitors and Muggleborns, for all their fire.) How she fears Bella and the secrets Bella has that are almost politely acceptable. How she fears what will happen when Bella’s secrets are not secrets anymore.
Hiding is a useful skill, for a girl with Narcissa’s life. She learned to hide from childhood, not just from her sisters in a game but from her father’s anger and her mother’s dulled, drugged fugue state. The cavernous halls of Grimmauld or the Manor soar above her, empty and hollow, and she curls up inside the secret corners within them.
She’s hiding in the library reading about dragons when she first meets the worst secret of all.
***
Where Lily comes from, you need a miracle. Cokeworth, the land of her childhood, is a smoke-clogged place, a town squatting ungainly over a poisoned river. It’s as if everyone’s decayed dreams collected in a cloud. Hopelessness seeps out of the pavement.
Lily, for better or for worse, is a miracle. Her ticket out of the grinding cycle of poverty and the dead-end of Cokeworth came in the mail when she was eleven years old. Her parents and Sev and even Tuney all expect greatness of her in their different ways. All of them want her to make the most of her miracle. Then when she got to Hogwarts she was good at it–too good, and she’s caught between the Death Eaters pushing her down and the other muggleborns who use her as an example. She feels that if she ever falters, the weight of whole peoples will crash down as well.
And then Sev said that word. That terrible tipping point of a word. She’d known his darker nature, known that he was drifting away from her, but she didn’t want to believe it until it was right in front of her face.
She spent the cold summer after the end of her friendship with Sev walking the same dingy streets as always, avoiding Tuney and lying to Mum (Oh, Sev and I just drifted apart. Oh, don’t worry, Hogwarts and Wizarding Britain are perfectly safe. As a witch I can do anything.) and pretending there was nothing hollow buried inside her chest where her best friend had once been.
By the time she returned to school, she’d filled that hollow place with anger.
***
“Can I have that book?” Lily Evans said–demanded, rather, voice with a surly edge. And Narcissa was fascinated. She’d seen the girl around, often chasing after Sirius with a reprimand in her voice. It took guts, to speak to a Black like that. Especially Narcissa Black.
“Why?” Narcissa said, rising to the challenge. Okay, that was a juvenile retort, but she was actually curious. She was bored, and this redhead Gryffindor might be an interesting distraction.
“What do you mean why? I’m asking you for a book. It’s irrelevant to you what I need it for,” said Evans.
“Irrelevant? What a nice word. Though, as I’m using the book, I think it does, actually, matter to me–if I think you have a good reason to use it, then I might consider giving it to you. But then, I don’t know if you’re going to use it for, say, dragon-summoning rituals.”
“Dragon-summoning rituals?” said Evans, incredulously.
“You never know,” Narcissa intoned.
“Stop playing and give me the book. And no, I’m not going to ask nicely,” said Evans.
“Really, politeness is the game of queens, Evans,” said Narcissa.
“I’m tired of being polite,” said Evans. Oops, she sounded genuine. Narcissa hadn’t meant–well, not really–to upset her, just to throw her off balance.
“Ah, I suppose it does get grating,” said Narcissa, and handed her the book.
“Great. Thanks, Black, you’ve been ever so helpful,” said Evans, and Narcissa tried very hard and did not quite succeed at stifling a snort. “What, you can recognize sarcasm?”
“I’m impressed Gyrffindors can use it,” said Narcissa. “I thought sarcasm gave them hives.”
“Come off it, Sirius Black is your cousin and ninety percent of what he says is sarcastic.”
“Can you show me some numbers?” said Narcissa, smiling.
“Well, around ninety percent, then,” said Evans. Her face had gone a bit red, and it was surprisingly fetching. Narcissa buried that thought quickly.
“Really? Well I suppose that explains a lot. Sirius? I would never have expected him to be sarcastic. So I suppose when he was telling me about the Secret Gryffindor Sex Dungeon it was unfortunately a joke.” Narcissa choked a little when she said sex, but she was pretty sure she’d covered it with a cough.
“Secret–okay, I will go find Black–other Black, not you–and punish him if he really said that. And don’t you Slytherins have the real Secret Sex Dungeon?” Oh, God, she should not have pushed Evans into saying “sex dungeon”.
“That old rumor again? I thought you were supposed to be clever, Evans,” she said.
“I’m shocked a pureblood like you would think I’m clever,” said Evans, and if Narcissa had had less experience masking truth in sarcasm she would have taken that as a joke. Instead, she felt an uncomfortable feeling roil in her gut.
“Well, it is rather obvious, isn’t it? You’re a prefect, Slug Club, and I’ve seen you go toe-to-toe with my cousin and James Potter.” James Potter and Sirius, for all their troublemaking, really were very smart, and Evans being able to keep up with them, even foiling some of their pranks if Sirius’s complaints last summer (before he’d left, just like Andy did, but stop that brain) were true. And Severus Snape might be a greasy little creep but he was kind of an evil genius–and, well, from what Narcissa’d seen and heard, Evans had made him even smarter. She wasn’t about to mention that–the end of that particular friendship was infamous.
“I’m sure Snape’s told you it’s all thanks to him,” Evans said uncomfortably, looking at her shoes, which gave Narcissa a good view of her thick red hair and how the light made it glow like a Lumos Charm.
“No one with a brain believes that,” Narcissa said. “Some even say it’s the other way round.”
“Yeah, because all the Slytherins believe the Mudblood over their housemate.” Narcissa’d grown up thinking that word was the correct one to use–she was inured to it–but from Evans’s mouth it sounded like Avada Kedavra.
“Don’t call yourself that,” Narcissa said, surprising herself. “And, well, I said anyone with a brain, which rather excludes most of the bigots.”
“If only,” Evans said. “Obvious bigots, maybe, I guess. And everyone calls me that–you have, I’m sure–so why shouldn’t I use the proper name for someone like me?”
There’s nothing Narcissa can say to that. “Enjoy the book.”
Evans rolls her eyes and leaves, red hair in a trail behind her like a queen’s train.
***
After that, Lily paid more attention to Narcissa Black–annoying, but surprising. She’d taken Sirius’s weirdly blond cousin as yet another Slytherin queen bee bitch, but she’d been, if not polite, than engaged with Lily, even when Lily was being rude herself. (She was really pretty, but obviously this was just jealousy on Lily’s part. She wasn’t attracted to this pureblood princess, not at all.)
Mind games, she told herself, and it wasn’t an unconvincing answer. Not til, one day on prefect patrols, she found the other girl listening to a radio in an empty classroom.
“Out of bounds, Black?” Lily asked half-heartedly. She wasn’t exactly raring for a confrontation.
“Take ten points, that’ll balance out my cousin’s little adventure with the cabbage,” said Black, referencing one of Sirius’s more recent pranks.
Lily was surprised to hear the faint sound coming from the radio–was that Mud Flats, of all things? The radical all-Muggleborn band? Yeah, that was definitely Charlotte Millbanks singing.
“Eh, I’ll take five, you get five back for good taste in music,” said Lily. Black smiled. It wasn’t the small cool smile she normally gave, but a wider, more genuine-looking one.
It was unnervingly nice to look at. Like a dragon before it flames you, Lily thought, but there was maybe a small flip in her stomach.
“Really? Mercy, from the Gryffindor Good Girl? What’s your favorite song?” Black said. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Mud Flats, from Slytherin Ice Queen Supreme Narcissa Black? You’re full of surprises,” Lily said, and let herself be pulled into a conversation.
Sure, she had to continue her rounds, but Black had been a nice diversion. She was quick, surprisingly opinionated, funny, and Lily would probably like her as a friend if not for the whole “family of raving pureblood supremacists, sister of a literal Death Eater” thing.
A strange miracle, to like this girl who had probably hated her once.
***
Narcissa couldn’t stop thinking about Lily Evans. It was an addiction, a curse. And she had vowed to herself that she would avoid addictions and curses.
It wasn’t going to end well.
There was no way it could end well, this unfortunate distraction with Lily Evans. (And Narcissa needed to forget about Andromeda. Remember how her mother had overdosed again right afterwards, how Narcissa had left the safety of her room to take her to St. Mungos, how her father had been furious with her for airing the family’s dirty laundry to the Healers.)
Worse, Narcissa couldn’t stop seeing Lily Evans. Now that she’d noticed her, she saw the other girl everywhere. Watched her face redden from cold at Hogsmeade, watched her laugh in the Great Hall, watched her cheering on Gryffindor Quidditch and watched her take points from Avery and Mulciber with a hard determined face. Lily Evans, unfortunately, had spirit and wit and looks and angry fire, and she was exactly the sort of girl Narcissa had to stop herself from fancying.
It wasn’t working. For once, Occlumency had failed her.
Well, if she couldn’t get over Evans, she would have to win her over. But the girl was prickly enough–justifiably so–that it would take a miracle. Luckily, the Slug Club Christmas Party was coming up, and they were both going, at least according to Narcissa’s latest intelligence.
“Fancy seeing you here, Evans,” Narcissa said, having maneuvered herself as subtly as possible into the same corner as the other girl.
“Black. Why am I not surprised?” said Evans, taking a theatrical sip of her drink.
“Oh, dear, Lily, I’m hurt. Don’t you enjoy the pleasure of my company?” said Narcissa.
“Some call it pleasure. I call it pain,” said Evans, but she was smiling.
“Ooh, I didn’t know you were into that,” said Narcissa.
“Where did a nice girl like you get such a dirty mind,” Evans shot back.
“Me? Nice girl? I’m shocked, just shocked by that blatant character assasination.”
“I thought you were supposed to be held to standards of behavior or something,” said Evans a bit uncomfortably.
“I smash those standards, subtly of course,” said Narcissa truthfully.
“Alliteration,” said Evans.
“That’s a big word for a Gryffindor.”
“Well, I’m Muggle-born, I’ve had to learn a lot of big words. Like, let’s see, oppression, discrimination, terrorism…” Narcissa flinched a little internally. But then, this was why she liked Evans–the girl was outspoken.
“I suppose you have,” Narcissa said.
“Understatement of the century,” Lily sighed. “Meanwhile, I suppose you live in a palace built in blood or something horrid like that.”
“The Manor is supposedly cursed. And no one goes in the Clock Tower, that’s definitely cursed,” said Narcissa. She’d never told anyone that before, it just made her sound ungrateful and no one wanted an ungrateful wife.
“Really?” Lily said. Then, with another sigh, “Purebloods.”
“Purebloods,” Narcissa agreed, earning herself a small laugh. “Want to get out of here? No offense meant, but you look Imperiused.”
Lily snorted. “Slughorn promised entertainment. We got a three-year-old Weird Sisters album about hippogriffs and the lead singer’s terrible relationship with his girlfriend and a bunch of dead Ministry people.”
“Don’t call them dead, they’re probably just Imperiused,” said Narcissa, and if what Bella said was true she wasn’t far off the mark.
“Warning taken,” Lily said.
“That implies there was some kind of secret meaning in my statement,” Narcissa said, straight-faced, and the other girl seemed to get it. “Though, you’re right, the Sisters are terrible.”
Nervous energy filled Narcissa’s stomach as she led Lily to one of her favorite castle hideouts, abusing the Weird Sisters all the while. If things went right–but she was getting ahead of herself.
“So is this your evil lair?” Lily asked, with a smile in her voice. It was a nice voice, clear and musical, and God Cissy was pretty far gone, wasn’t she?
“No, it’s my secret sex dungeon,” said Narcissa, though she really shouldn’t have gone with that.
“If only,” said Evans, and then blushed almost as red as her hair.
“Why, Lily, I might almost take that seriously,” Cissy said, her heart pounding. They were standing close, like ivy twining up a brick wall.
***
Lily kissed her. She wasn’t sure why, not at first, feeling as though she was still in the heady dream that had taken her from the Slug Club party to this secret alcove. Maybe she’d drunk too much.
Narcissa Black tasted of sugar, and smelled like hair potions. Lily couldn’t help but kiss her more, fall into the softness of her lips, slip her tongue into her mouth.
“And I thought Slug Club would be boring,” Lily said as she came up for air. Narcissa laughed.
“Glad to be of entertainment, Lily,” she said, and Narcissa had been using Lily’s first name for a bit now, but somehow it sounded so different now.
“Should I call you Narcissa?” Lily said.
“Cissy,” Narcissa said. “Call me Cissy,” and they kissed again.
This was only the first kiss of many. Soon, to her unending bewilderment, Lily was hiding out all over the castle to kiss Narcissa Black. They talked, too, about Sev and Cissy’s sister Andy who had run away. About Tuney’s mean words at every school break and Lily’s crushing fears of failure. Even Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa’s terrifying other sister. They fought, and miraculously they made up.
When Lily was made head girl, she kept Narcissa’s congratulations letter, hidden behind layers of protective charms and disguises, on her bedside table. She talked to the other girl about the problems that faced Hogwarts and listed to Cissy’s sharp and often sage advice.
But, for all that the war was getting too close to Hogwarts, it was a bubble in its own way.
Lily couldn’t help but wonder if, when push came to shove as it inevitably would, Cissy would run away too. The other girl was stifled by her upper-class pureblood society, and could recognize its glaring faults–but she was loyal to her family against all reason. (Wasn’t Lily, though, loyal to hers too, to Tuney above all reason? But Tuney wasn’t a murderer.)
Lily only knew that if Narcissa ever left, she would leave devastation in her wake like a sunken ship.
***
Narcissa Black had begun to disentangle herself from her family. She’d thought–on the rare occasions that she’d failed to hide those thoughts from herself–that if she ever left she would do it with style, like Andromeda had.
It was different, when there was Lily at stake. She knew the other girl wouldn’t stay for long if Narcissa didn’t leave–she wouldn’t be Lily. And Narcissa was putting her at risk if anyone found out, both now and if she left the family. It was a Catch-22 (a Muggle phrase Lily had taught her). She couldn’t leave because she wanted to protect Lily, but she couldn’t stay and protect Lily, or even keep Lily.
And so Narcissa began to plan a softer means of exit.
She started off with small things. Asking for a greater allowance (which she frittered away into a Gringotts account her parents couldn’t access). Going to “stay with friends” over Easter hols, even though she’d actually gone to see Lily. Talking about maybe moving to France. She spent less and less time at home, but slowly enough that her parents didn’t notice. That wasn’t too hard–they didn’t notice her too much anyway.
She got an apartment under a false name–got papers, too, and money. Her being away from home became the norm among the Blacks. She didn’t publicize her renewed relationship with Sirius, and, on Lily’s advice, Andromeda.
Eventually, before her parents noticed she was gone, she took everything important out of her room, packed her bags, and left.
It took them a week to realize she wasn’t just off with friends again. The missing persons report was investigated, but it went nowhere.
“So you basically don’t exist anymore,” Lily said, draped elegantly over the couch in their ( their!) apartment.
“I’ll be happy to prove otherwise to you later,” Cissy said, smiling wolfishly. “But yes, essentially. Narcissa Black has vanished.”
“It’s our very own miracle,” Lily said. “We’ve had so many miracles, the two of us. A whole fistful.”
“Well, that’s a very evocative image,” said Cissy. “Poetic.”
“You know my thwarted poetry dreams. And, I got a letter in the mail, Mud Flats wants me to be their new lyricist,” said Lily, grinning. Cissy snorted at the joke.
“Why would Charlotte need someone else to write her lyrics for her? I mean, I’m sure your lyrics would be great…”
“Fair point. I shall tear up the letter immediately,” said Lily, miming doing just that.
Cissy kisses her.
This is a miracle, as Lily always says. That they are together, that they continue to live. Cissy like to think things will stay the same for much longer.
She likes to think she’s stopped hiding from herself. And if she and Lily have to hide, they will hide together.