Chapter Text
Narcissa Black had always been the prettiest girl in the room—no, the prettiest girl in any room. No matter where she went, heads turned, conversations faltered, and people stared. It wasn’t just her golden hair that fell in perfect waves or her alabaster skin that seemed untouched by imperfection. It was the way she carried herself, a quiet confidence that dared anyone to look away. Her sisters had their talents: Bellatrix, with her dangerous power and the madness simmering just below the surface, and Andromeda, with her sharp intellect and quiet defiance. But Narcissa—Narcissa was the prize. The flower in the garden of Blacks, perfect and untouchable.
This was what she had. Beauty. It was her strength, her weapon, her purpose. Where others carved their place in the world with wit or ambition, Narcissa commanded it with a glance, a tilt of her head, a perfectly rehearsed smile. She knew her worth, and it lay not in cleverness or spells, but in the art she performed every morning. Hours were spent before her mirror, perfecting herself. Every hair meticulously arranged, every lash curled to frame eyes that sparkled like frost in the moonlight. Accessories weren’t mere embellishments—they were weapons, carefully chosen to enhance what nature had already gifted her.
She was the pinnacle of what it meant to be a Black: beautiful, poised, desirable. And it worked. Even the Gryffindors—those self-righteous fools who pretended not to care for things like wealth or status—couldn’t help but glance her way when she entered the Great Hall. Their gaze would flicker to her, even if they quickly looked away, as if their pride couldn’t bear the weight of her presence. Narcissa noticed. She always noticed. But she pretended not to care.
Why would she? She had everything she wanted. She excelled in her studies—well, enough to keep her family satisfied. Suitors lined up, vying for the attention of the most beautiful daughter of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. She was admired, envied, adored. Beauty was power, and Narcissa understood that better than anyone. Her reflection was her reassurance, her armor. As long as she was beautiful, she was invincible.
So when her eyes fell on her , Narcissa froze.
It was a fleeting moment—a glimpse of gold and scarlet at the Gryffindor table—but it was enough. The girl’s laughter reached her first, a sound so warm it almost felt like sunlight. And then Narcissa saw her. Soft curls framed her face, falling over her shoulders with careless grace. Her eyes sparkled—not with icy sharpness like Narcissa’s own, but with an unguarded brightness that made it impossible to look away. She wasn’t just beautiful. She was radiant .
For the first time in as long as Narcissa could remember, the air seemed to shift, and her chest tightened with something unfamiliar. The sight of this girl, a Gryffindor no less, was an affront. Narcissa’s beauty was supposed to be unmatched. She was the prettiest, the most admired. This girl had no right to be so… effortlessly stunning. It was unfair, almost offensive.
And yet, Narcissa couldn’t stop looking. She told herself it was indignation, a sense of superiority wounded by this girl’s presence. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t anger that made her pulse quicken. It was something far more dangerous, something Narcissa wasn’t prepared to face.
Alice Fortescue had bewitched her, though Narcissa didn’t dare admit it.
Not yet.
She didn’t know how she had completely missed the Gryffindor witch before, but now that Narcissa had seen her, she couldn’t unsee her. Alice Fortescue seemed to be everywhere. She was at the Three Broomsticks when Narcissa went out with her friends, laughing in a way that carried across the room. She was seated just ahead of her in Potions, the soft curve of her neck catching Narcissa’s eye every time she glanced up. She was behind her in Transfiguration, her warm voice answering questions Narcissa barely heard. She was even in Diagon Alley, a fleeting glimpse that left Narcissa standing frozen by the apothecary, unable to explain why her breath had caught in her throat.
Alice’s presence gnawed at her, a slow-burning irritation that wouldn’t fade. It was as though the girl had slipped beneath Narcissa’s skin, a persistent ache she couldn’t ignore. And Narcissa hated it. Hated the hollow, aching feeling that settled in her stomach whenever Alice was near. It didn’t make sense. Why did this girl trouble her so? Narcissa was still the prettiest girl wherever she went, of course she was. All eyes were on her whenever she entered a room. Not on Alice. Never on Alice.
But maybe that was the difference.
While all eyes were on Narcissa, Narcissa’s eyes were always on Alice.
It was maddening. Alice was radiant in a way that felt almost unnatural, as if she carried a light within her that no one else could match. Narcissa couldn’t look directly at her for long—it was too much. She couldn’t place it, couldn’t explain why she noticed these things: the way Alice’s smile softened her entire face, the way her laugh seemed to reach out and warm everyone around her. There was something magnetic about her, something Narcissa didn’t understand. She was beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t that. It was more than that.
Alice glowed. She seemed alive in a way that Narcissa could never quite touch.
And the more Narcissa noticed, the more she hated it. Not Alice, not really—though she told herself otherwise—but the way Alice seemed to invade her thoughts, her senses. She shouldn’t be paying attention to the way Alice moved, to the way her voice carried, soft but commanding, like everyone instinctively leaned in to listen. It was almost… enchanting. It was infuriating.
At first, Narcissa told herself it was jealousy. That made sense. Alice wasn’t a threat—of course she wasn’t. Narcissa was a Black. She had her name, her blood, her beauty. She could have any man she wanted. But the thought rang hollow in her mind, and the irritation didn’t fade.
Because it wasn’t jealousy. Not really.
What was it, then? Narcissa didn’t know. Couldn’t know. She had no frame of reference for the way Alice consumed her thoughts, for the sharp pull she felt whenever their paths crossed. The idea of liking a girl, of desiring one, had never crossed her mind. Such a thing didn’t exist in her world, in the universe her family had crafted for her. It wasn’t real. And yet, Alice felt like a daydream she couldn’t escape, something intangible and far away, always just out of reach.
Her confusion deepened with every passing day. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Narcissa Black was the most beautiful flower in the garden. She didn’t pine, didn’t ache for someone else. She was the one others longed for, not the other way around.
But Alice Fortescue had turned her world upside down without even knowing it. And Narcissa couldn’t stop herself from staring at the girl who haunted her dreams, her thoughts, her every step.
It took nearly a year for them to truly interact. Sure, they’d seen each other—shared classes, crossed paths in the courtyard, or when Gryffindor faced Slytherin on the Quidditch pitch. But they never exchanged words, and Narcissa made sure her gaze never lingered too long on Alice Fortescue. That was easier said than done, but she managed.
As fate would have it though Narcissa was out late one evening, later than she should've been.
She had stayed in the library far later than she should have, utterly absorbed in her book. The dark windows were the first sign she had overstayed her welcome, and she scrambled to gather her things, cursing herself for her carelessness. She hurried toward the exit, determined to make it back to the dungeons unnoticed, when she collided with someone rounding the corner.
“Watch where you’re going!” Narcissa snapped, irritation flaring instantly as her book slipped from her hands and hit the floor. She dropped to her knees, snatching it up and shoving it into her bag before sparing the other person so much as a glance.
“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was still here! I completely lost track of time, and then I noticed the sun was down and—”
“Yeah, it’s fine ,” Narcissa interrupted sharply, standing and glaring at the girl in front of her. Her heart gave a lurch as recognition hit her. It was her. Of all the people she could have run into, it had to be Alice Fortescue. “Did I ask for your life story?”
Alice blinked, startled by the venom in Narcissa’s tone, before raising an eyebrow. “No, but—”
The sound of approaching footsteps cut her off. Narcissa’s head snapped toward the library entrance, and her heart skipped a beat.
“Shut it!” she hissed, grabbing Alice’s arm and dragging her behind one of the tall bookshelves.
“What are you—”
“Shut up ,” Narcissa snapped again, clapping a hand over Alice’s mouth before she could protest. She could feel Alice tense beneath her hand, and for a moment, she thought the Gryffindor might pull away. Instead, Alice rolled her eyes but remained still. Narcissa removed her hand, whispering sharply, “When I say ‘shut it,’ I mean shut it. Understand?”
Alice nodded, her expression halfway between amusement and irritation.
“It’s a prefect,” Narcissa whispered, her voice tight. “If they catch us, we’ll both get detention. And I refuse to be caught because of you, so cooperate.”
Alice’s only response was a slight tug on Narcissa’s sleeve, her other hand gripping her bag as she held her breath. Narcissa glanced down at where Alice’s fingers were clutching the fabric of her robe, but she didn’t pull away. Not yet. The footsteps grew louder, pausing near their hiding place, and Narcissa felt her pulse pounding in her ears.
The moments dragged on, stretching into what felt like hours. Then, finally, the steps receded, fading into silence.
Alice let out a soft huff of relief, loosening her grip on Narcissa’s sleeve as she gave her a small smile. “Looks like they didn’t see us.”
Narcissa rolled her eyes, tugging her arm free. “Well, no thanks to you.”
Alice opened her mouth to reply, but then seemed to notice her own hand still clutching Narcissa’s robe. She pulled back quickly, her cheeks flushing slightly as she brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Right. Sorry, I—uh…” She trailed off, clutching her bag awkwardly.
“You should go,” Narcissa said briskly, ignoring the strange, jittery feeling that had taken root in her chest. “Stop standing around and get back to your common room. I’m not going to save your arse a second time. Understood?”
Alice blinked, then nodded, biting her lip to keep from smiling. “Understood.”
She peeked around the corner of the bookshelf, checking the area before slipping out into the open. Narcissa waited a moment before following her— not to check on her, of course. That would be ridiculous. She just needed to get out of there herself. No other reason.
They paused at the fork in the corridor, where the stairs to the dungeons diverged from the path leading up to Gryffindor Tower. Narcissa turned to Alice, fixing her with a sharp look. “Let’s not talk about this, okay? We were never here. We were never out after curfew. Got it?”
Alice chuckled softly, the sound low and warm and entirely too distracting. “Of course not. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”
And then she was gone, disappearing up the stairs before Narcissa could respond.
Narcissa stood there for a moment, staring after her. The events of the last few minutes felt like a fever dream, something surreal and impossible. She shook her head, forcing herself to start down the stairs toward the dungeons.
But her thoughts lingered, circling back to one thing.
Alice Fortescue had called her pretty.
It was a word Narcissa had heard a thousand times before, from countless admirers. It had always been just that—a word used to describe her, hollow and weightless, something she expected but never truly felt. But when Alice said it, it clung to her, sharp and undeniable, as though it actually meant something.
She could feel it now, spreading through her chest, seeping into the cracks of something she didn’t realize could break. It lingered, uninvited, and so did Alice.
For the first time, ‘pretty’ felt dangerous. And Narcissa couldn’t decide whether she wanted to run from it or hold onto it forever.