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Narcissa Black was having a terrible day.
She should have known when she woke up late that morning that it was a bad sign—not that she believed in signs and all that Divination rubbish. Still, it had been one thing after another.
She bungled up her Draught of Living Death in Potions class, forgot her Transfiguration essay in her dormitory, and then, to top it all off, Lucius broke her undefeated streak in Dueling Club. It wasn’t that, as her boyfriend, she expected him to let her win; she didn’t need such charity, as she was a much better dueller than he was. But her mind wasn’t in it, allowing Lucius to take her down easily, and he gloated about it all through dinner.
Which was why she found herself avoiding the Slytherin common room, pacing the seventh-floor corridor instead. She just needed to get her head on straight before she headed back to the dorm. Hopefully, she could stall long enough for everyone to turn in.
A sudden movement caught her eye, and she drew her wand with a speed that would have served her well had she mustered it during Dueling Club. To her surprise, the corridor remained empty. However, a door had materialized in the opposite wall.
Unsure of what made the door appear or where it led, Narcissa continued to hold her wand aloft as she approached. She pushed it open and found the room beyond just as empty as the corridor behind her. It was cavernous but mostly bare, and Narcissa’s gaze landed on the large easel in the center. A blank canvas stood proudly on display while the easel was flanked by a small table to the side and a stool in front of it.
Tucking her wand back into her robes, Narcissa stepped into the room to examine its offerings. Now that she was in front of the easel, the other supplies drew her attention: brushes of all types and sizes, a smock, and a dizzying rainbow of paint colors.
The array was almost overwhelming. Narcissa was a self-taught artist—she had never broached the topic of formal classes with her parents—and what the room had provided exceeded her level of expertise.
Narcissa glanced around the room again, expecting that she had walked in on someone’s makeshift studio, but found herself perfectly alone.
The walls of her bedroom at home were covered with her artwork—it was nice to have a creative outlet, and the act itself was quite soothing, especially after a day like today—but she didn’t have the time for painting at school, nor the inclination to bring her supplies with her.
But this… It was as if the room had appeared for no other reason than to give her the opportunity to paint her troubles away. How strange.
Deciding it was best not to look a gift hippogriff in the mouth, Narcissa replaced her outer robes with the pristine smock and took a seat at the easel. Without a specific end result in mind, she splashed colors onto the canvas in a way that could only be attributed to instinct and let herself drown the sorrows of her day in a sea of acrylics.
By the time she finished, it was only a few minutes before curfew. Narcissa applied a quick-drying charm to the painting, grabbed the rest of her things, and hurried back out into the corridor. The mysterious door vanished, and Narcissa gave a longing look to the spot on the wall where it used to be, too distracted to realize she was no longer alone in the hallway.
“Oh, hello, Narcissa.” Molly Prewett greeted her warmly, and Narcissa bit back a groan. Of all the people.
“Molly.” Narcissa kept her tone clipped as she moved to brush past her fellow student. Though she was sure her demeanor was doing nothing to invite further conversation, Molly didn’t receive the owl, and she fell into step beside Narcissa.
“That’s beautiful,” Molly said, motioning to the canvas still dangling from Narcissa’s fingers. “Did you paint that?”
Narcissa wished she had shrunk her artwork and stuffed it in her bag, or better yet, left it in the mysterious room. Bellatrix gave her enough grief about her hobby at home, and she didn’t want to hear what the rest of her housemates would think of it. Most of them couldn’t be bothered to busy themselves with such trivialities as modern culture and art that wasn’t a century old, and they weren’t particularly tolerant of those with a softer side, as Lucius had once put it with disdain.
A snappy retort sat on the tip of her tongue, and she was struck with the inexplicable desire to tell Molly she had stolen it—perhaps that would be more befitting for a Slytherin, more in line with the cold-hearted reputation of her house. But Molly’s wide-eyed sincerity gave her pause, and she replied simply but honestly.
“Yes.”
“You’re very talented. That room is quite something, isn’t it?”
Narcissa frowned at her. “You know about the room?”
“Oh, yes. I don’t know that many do, but I use it quite often.”
“So…you paint?” Narcissa wasn’t sure how she felt about sharing her passion with someone like Molly Prewett. What did it say about her if the two had something in common?
“Not as well as you, but it does relax the mind, doesn’t it?”
“Yes!” Narcissa blurted before she could think better of it. She felt a rush of gratitude that someone understood, even if that someone was Molly. “Do you know how it works? The room, I mean?”
“It appears in a moment of need, equipped with whatever you need it for.” They reached the staircase where their paths would split, Molly toward Gryffindor Tower, Narcissa heading for the dungeons. “Goodnight!” Molly chirped, much too perky for Narcissa’s mood as the blonde witch muttered a reply and began her descent.
***
The next night, Narcissa returned to the seventh-floor corridor straight after dinner, brushing off Lucius’s pleas for help with his Charms homework. She remembered the room being near the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, but although she stood staring at the wall opposite those ugly dancing trolls for quite some time, the door did not appear.
She was almost ready to give up on her sanctuary when Molly appeared at the end of the corridor. It looked as if she was just walking by, but she waved and changed direction when she saw Narcissa, who couldn’t contain her eye roll.
“Painting again?” Molly asked.
Narcissa was not going to admit that she failed to make the room appear, but there was no other good reason for her to be on this floor of the castle, so she gave an indifferent shrug in reply.
A small, knowing smile graced Molly’s face, and Narcissa felt a twinge of annoyance that she hadn’t thought of an excuse for her loitering. “Here,” Molly said kindly. “You’ve got to walk in front of it while you think of what you want. Watch.”
Narcissa looked on as Molly walked in front of the blank wall, three times back and forth until the door appeared. Of course, she had been pacing the previous night, unaware of the magic she was invoking, and she couldn’t believe she hadn’t made the connection.
“Thanks.”
Molly nodded, and an awkward silence enveloped them as they both lingered.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” Molly said, offering a quick smile before she turned away.
Narcissa pushed open the door, not entirely surprised to see that the room was furnished with double the setup of the previous night. Of course Molly would be thinking of them both.
More often than not, Narcissa craved solitude, and the last thing she needed was the company of someone like Molly Prewett. Molly understood, though. Maybe it would be nice to paint with someone who shared her interest.
Thank Merlin the corridor was otherwise deserted; she shuddered to think what her friends would say about her willingly spending time with a Gryffindor.
“Molly?” Her voice halted the red-haired witch’s departure. “Care to join me?” Narcissa gestured inside the room as a smile spread on Molly’s face.
“I’d love to.”
It was uncomfortable at first, neither of them speaking as they settled down at their respective easels. Molly was the first to break the silence, of course, filling the room with inane chatter about their classes and the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. Narcissa usually preferred a quiet environment, but as they painted side-by-side, she was shocked to find that she didn’t mind Molly’s company all that much. Not to mention, her classmate was a talented artist herself, despite her protest the night before.
It seemed Narcissa had found a kindred spirit in the unlikeliest of people.
“You know, we should get some other students up here,” Molly suggested as they were packing their things at the end of the night. “There’s plenty of space, we could lead a class or something for people who’ve never picked up a brush.”
“No.” Narcissa’s reply was too quick, and a flash of hurt crossed Molly’s face. “Let’s…just keep this between us. The room, I mean.”
She neglected to say what she really meant, that it would damage her reputation if anyone knew she was friendly with Molly. It was true, though, what she said; selfishly, she wanted to keep the knowledge of this magical room as limited as possible.
“Sure.” Molly gave her a tight smile that indicated she wasn’t fooled by Narcissa’s caveat. “Just between us.”
***
Narcissa’s time and patience were both wearing thin as NEWTs drew near, but she squeezed in a trip to the seventh-floor corridor as often as she could. Molly, also under the duress of their final year at Hogwarts, was doing the same. Sometimes they would turn up in front of the tapestry on the same nights and paint together, but neither spoke of it outside of those chance encounters or acknowledged each other’s presence more often than before. Narcissa supposed that Gryffindors had a certain reputation to maintain, too, and being friendly with a Slytherin wasn’t a part of that persona.
Across the dining table, Lucius slammed his textbook closed, jolting Narcissa from her thoughts.
“Bloody Charms,” he muttered, tucking a lock of his blond hair behind his ear.
Narcissa didn’t care for his decision to grow his hair out, and Lucius seemed bothered by the increasing length more often than not, but he was committed to the style choice for reasons he wouldn’t articulate.
“What use is it learning all this rubbish, anyway? I’ve already got my position lined up at the Ministry. I’d like to see the examiners give me a T in Charms. Father would take care of them straight away.”
Narcissa rolled her eyes and continued revising her latest essay. So much for Slytherin ambition, she thought wryly.
“Fancy a walk around the lake tonight?” Lucius asked, finished with his diatribe on examinations for the time being.
“I can’t tonight,” Narcissa replied without looking up.
“Can’t or won’t? Where are you spending all of your free time these days, anyway?” His tone was one of mere curiosity rather than anger; Narcissa knew he didn’t care how she filled her days, and she preferred it that way.
“I’ve taken up a hobby which I would prefer to keep private.”
Several seats down, her sister let out a cackle. “Cissy thinks she’s an artist,” Bellatrix taunted.
“Art?” Lucius repeated with a smirk. “What sort of pointless hobby is that?”
“It takes my mind off things,” Narcissa defended. “And I’m not the only one who thinks so.”
Her boyfriend’s eyes scanned the length of the Slytherin table before turning back to her. “Who?” He didn’t bother glancing at the other tables; as she well knew, it was unfathomable to him that she would befriend someone from another house.
“Molly’s actually quite good.”
“Who?”
Narcissa huffed and packed her essay away, ready to escape to her artistic oasis. “Molly Prewett, from Gryffindor. We’ve only had classes with her for seven years, Luc,” she reminded him, lacing her voice with sarcasm.
At her admission, Lucius’s smirk morphed into a full-blown sneer. “You can’t be serious,” he groused. “Isn’t she dating that pathetic bloke Arthur Weasley?”
“What does it matter?” she shot back, standing up and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “They’re both pure-bloods.” At least that was something for Lucius to be happy about, Gryffindor or not.
“You’d never know it from the way they behave.” Lucius’s face was turning red, and he tugged anxiously at the ends of his hair. “Do you know that weasel is petitioning to have Muggle Studies added as an elective class?”
“Honestly, I don’t care. Politics is your area, Lucius, not mine.”
She turned to go, but he reached across the table and wrapped a hand around her wrist. “This isn’t politics,” he hissed. “This is our reputation, our livelihood. We have nothing without it. And you spending time with a bunch of blood traitors does not suit the name of Malfoy.”
Narcissa snatched her hand back, irritated. “I’m not a Malfoy yet.”
Bellatrix snorted as she twisted a long, frizzy curl around her finger. “I’ll speak on behalf of the Blacks, then. He’s right. Have some pride, Cissy.”
“You’re both being childish. I have to go.”
Narcissa strode up the aisle and out of the Great Hall, purposefully ignoring their calls for her to stop. She made her way up to the seventh-floor and paced in front of the tapestry until the door appeared. In her frustration, she swung the door open so hard that it slammed into the wall on the interior. Molly was already there, her canvas filled with color, and she yelped at the abrupt intrusion.
“Goodness, you scared me.” Molly clutched her hand to her chest, but her expression quickly morphed to concern as she looked at Narcissa. “Are you all right?”
“Is anyone in Gryffindor bothered that you and I are friends?” Narcissa returned, tossing her bag to the floor with a thud. “Does anyone even know?”
“Well, sure.” Molly shrugged. “Arthur was a bit skeptical at first, but he keeps an open mind. And he knows I enjoy painting with you.”
“He doesn’t care that I’m a Slytherin?”
Molly shook her head, and it was puzzling to see that she meant it. Did Gryffindors not have a reputation to protect, or did they just not care? “Why, does Lucius?”
Narcissa let out an irritated scoff. “Of course he does.”
Molly nodded; Lucius wasn’t shy with his beliefs.
“And…” Molly fiddled with the tie on her smock and pursed her lips before she continued. “What about you?”
She wanted to say no, that she didn’t care what Lucius thought, what Bellatrix thought. That it didn’t matter to her that her fellow Slytherins were sure to be hissing behind her back by morning about how she was friends with a blood traitor. She wanted to say no, but now that her boiling blood was starting to simmer, she couldn’t do it truthfully.
Molly sighed. “I thought we could finally have that painting class before the end of term. Let everyone relax a bit and have fun before NEWTs. I’d hoped we could do it together, but…” Molly trailed off, and guilt twisted Narcissa’s stomach. “You’re welcome to come, of course, but I’ll understand if you don’t.”
Narcissa swallowed hard, ignoring the pull toward the blank canvas that sat beside Molly, waiting for her. “I think that would be best.”
She wanted nothing more than to sit down with her friend and paint and whinge about the ridiculousness of her evening, but she knew any relief it would grant would be short-lived. She needed to give up painting. She was going to disappoint someone either way, but Lucius was her future. He had plans for them, and those didn’t include souring his family name with unbecoming acquaintances.
“It was fun while it lasted. I'll be here if you change your mind.” Molly didn’t even sound surprised as she turned back to her canvas, and it was oddly reassuring to know that, after all the time they had spent together, she didn’t expect anything different.
Perhaps Narcissa’s ruthless Slytherin reputation remained intact after all.