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Narcissa plucks the singer from a fate of wandering. She’s a pretty little thing, cascading red hair brighter than it has any right in this realm. Green eyes, unlike the emeralds of the underworld. A vision of spring already dead, but not extinguished– her ballads weave tales of new beginnings and hope, lost lovers and the serenity that comes after letting go.
How dull.
A pity she never plays her lyre. But no matter. The stage is set. Narcissa only waits for Nymphadora.
And waits.
Narcissa sends the singer back to her quarters.
She never tires of the sight– Nymphadora tiptoeing her way to their bed, leaning over to check if she’s asleep yet, being greeted by pink hair and dark fabrics that suit the underworld, Narcissa, more than anywhere else in the world.
The bed dips where she climbs, and it takes everything in Narcissa’s power not to sink.
Every year, Nymphadora takes the warmth away from the surface, just to give it to her. Every year, she wishes for an eternal Winter.
She yawns. “You’re late.”
“Getting older, are we, aunt?“ Amusement is clear in her voice, then she whispers, closer. “I’m right on time. I’m here now.”
Not enough, the words die on her lips when kissed. Bread. Fresh mints. Nymphadora tastes of the surface still, an overindulgent sweetness that none of Narcissa’s kitchens would dare serve. Andromeda still believes her daughter won’t be taken care of.
Narcissa draws away. “I’ll have a bath drawn, you’ve been trapezing in dirt for far too long.”
“I don’t roll around in dirt, you know that,” she says, exasperated, then presses a quick kiss to Narcissa’s shoulder. “But, a bath is tempting. Come with?”
The mischievous glint in her eyes suggests more than just a bath. Tempting, indeed. But there’s a flower nearby, and it won’t do to let it wither before the curtains close.
“I’m tired.”
Nymphadora is one infuriating woman.
“I like Lily.” Lily. Lily? “Your new singer,” she adds with a roll of her eyes. “I have some strong opinions about the musicians you usually hire, but I quite like this one.”
“You like her.”
“I was joking about the age thing, are you–” she pauses, head tilted towards Lily, listening. “Hm. Dark and broody, where have I heard this one from?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You like her?”
“Yes. Different, but good. And–” she hesitates. “She tells the most interesting stories when you catch her in a good mood, she’s always sulking in some corner or another when you dismiss her, but I think she’s warming up to me.”
Narcissa should’ve known it’d turn out like this.
“Did you know Lily’s–”
“–and then Lily–”
“Lily–”
For once, it’s not Andromeda’s fault. The heaviness in the pit of her stomach, it spreads all the way to her chest, her heart. It’s bitter, oily. A familiar friend that visits every time Nymphadora leaves.
The irony doesn’t go unnoticed, she just swallows it down.
“Yes, she does have a way with words.”
When she asked Nymphadora to keep her company as she reads her letters, this isn't how she pictured getting derailed.
“She even made her old lover sound like a sweet man,” she rambles, her pace around the room still in full-swing. “A shame they were separated so early into their lives. He must miss her.”
Narcissa rips a letter apart, some complaint from her relatives about her unfriendly pets. Nymphadora should have better things to do than gossip– Narcissa, mainly.
“Everyone dies.” The next letter, a marriage proposal. It goes into the fire. “He’ll move on.”
Nymphadora huffs behind her, leaning over. “You have the romantic sense of a rock.”
“And yet, my dear–” she looks up, “–here you are.”
She grins down at her. “Here I am.”
This is where she should press Narcissa into the couch, end the conversation with a drawn-out kiss. But she continues, “It’s just– they have a bit of a reputation, I would’ve loved to hear them perform together.”
And this is where Narcissa should suggest to have Lily’s lover killed, but a sense of possessiveness flares up. “There’s no point dwelling on this, she belongs here now.”
Calling Nymphadora’s face unimpressed is an understatement. “Is that what this is about? Have I not been giving you enough attention?”
“You make me sound like a petulant child.”
“Because you are being a petulant child.”
“And what will you do about it?” Narcissa whispers, playful, reaching a hand.
She steps away, smiles, and says, “Nothing.”
It’s only when Nymphadora is long gone that she notices a note, folded and tucked between the pillows.
They’re expecting a guest.
She lets him find her palace, greets him with a lavish dinner table. The fruits spilling out of their plates may be overdoing it, but, well, at least it makes Nymphadora stifle a smile behind her fork.
Lily, on the other hand, couldn’t be any paler.
He’s covered in grime and sweat, bruised, but he stands upright and looks Narcissa in the eye. She tilts her head. He’s not here to grovel, he’s here to demand.
And what a demand he makes. She almost respects it.
Nymphadora stops eating.
“Severus, correct?” Narcissa doesn’t wait for him to respond before continuing, “I can allow it, on a few conditions.”
The first one, he passes. He plays the lyre to a song Lily sings for the first time. And Nymphadora doesn’t look at Narcissa once– she’s transfixed on the pair, even leaning closer as if to get a better view. Narcissa waits for the frustration to rise again, but it doesn’t cone.
The second, he does not.
“That was rather cruel.”
“You wanted it.” She laughs at the way Nymphadora stills in her arms. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize your handwriting? I did him a favor, really, letting him get as far as he did.”
“But–”
“Dora. Do you really think I was going to actually let him leave with her? It’d set a terrible precedent. I don’t know why you’re so invested in this.” She tries not to sound petulant, she really does.
“Lily’s a friend.” The way she emphasizes the word wipes any remaining jealousy.
Eager to change the subject and any further embarrassment, Narcissa says, “Makes you crueller, no?” She smiles at the way Nymphadora turns to glare. “Why don’t you extend the same effort for us?”
“What effort? I only told you when I found out, so he can arrive safely. The better question is, why did you let him get this far?”
There’s only one answer, it’s why the entire charade even started. “For you.”
They lay in silence for a moment, before Nymphadora swings a leg over Narcissa and promptly straddles her. “Then, will you do one more thing for me?”
Taken off-guard, Narcissa can only nod.
“They only got to reunite once, we get to do it every year, and it’ll do us good the sooner you accept it. I did.”
And how can Narcissa say no? She wants to, a hundred rebuttals that already went through her head, prepared for such a conversation, but– when faced by a determined Nymphadora, in that firm tone of hers–
“Okay,” she croaks, then she repeats, more sure of herself, “Okay, I’ll try.”
Then the severity melts, and Nymphadora blossoms.
“You just need a new friend.”
“Don’t say Lily.”