Of Every Rule I Broke for You, This One Hurts the Loudest
applestooapples
A/N: Rated T to be safe. Guys, I don't think I've ever posted this story here before, but I'm sorry if it's on under my other account (which I can't access because I deleted the connected email and subsequently forgot the address in the heat of the moment). Anyway, enjoy the story, and please do leave a review!
Lily Evans was bold, brazen, obnoxious, and possibly the most vibrant girl Narcissa Black had ever met.
Narcissa Black would break Lily Evans.
Narcissa happened upon this novel idea during one of James and Lucius's duels (if you could refer to them as such. They hardly ever got around to hurling spells. It was as if they were part of a poor comedy routine, 'The Obnoxious Prat and the Bloody Imbecile'. But the Malfoys had the money, and she had Lucius's heart- she'd do anything to ensure her place, because she was a Black, and that's what Blacks did).
Really, she was just bored, and Potter really was obnoxious.
Later, she'd wish she'd just picked up a bloody book.
She saw the vibrant, ruby-haired third year watching from the sidelines, her arms folded across her chest as if she'd rather like to hit her precious Potter. It was surprising that they could stand each other, really, but there was the loyalty and the obvious dependence. It was one-sided, however, which tossed a wrench into the Ice Queen's plan- if she hit Potter, Evans would move on. But if Evans fell- if Evans fell, boy wonder would willingly follow.
Anger never hurt Lily Evans- Narcissa's words would bounce right off her and more often than not would be twisted to stick to the blonde instead. Sticks, stones, and broken bones and whatnot.
It struck Narcissa suddenly, like a bolt of lightening, on the day that Potter and her perfect imbecile of a cousin were torturing Severus—pardon, Snivellous. Evans didn't say a word to the prats for weeks on end—she had run to the poor boy as soon as the two had let up. Boy wonder had a limp for a week.
Narcissa Black would break Lily Evans's heart.
The first time they kissed, it was in a damp, deserted corridor right outside of the Potions classroom. Evans always had been Sluggy's favorite.
She had pushed away, her emerald eyes flashing with such absolute terror that Narcissa had almost felt guilty. She had expected anger, or a fight, even. But Lily Evans was like a captured kitten, too terrified even to make a sound, backing further and further into the dark corner until she'd sealed off all her options.
And maybe it was something about the way Evans was looking at her—scared, actually scared for once, and it didn't suit her (at all)—and maybe it wasn't. After all, Blacks weren't raised to have hearts. But in this moment, staring down at plucky Lily Evans after cornering her in the darkest depths of Slytherin territory, Narcissa kind of felt like throwing up.
Narcissa Black turned in a flurry of green and silver and raspberry mint and was gone as quickly as she had come.
The second time they kissed, it was in Care of Magical Creatures—the rather gruff and hairy (yet, Narcissa stressed, female) Professor was going on about thestrals. Narcissa could see them, and by the looks of Evans's disgusted face, so could she.
Narcissa pulled her away from the lesson—cornered her against the base of an enormous tree, one arm on either side of the slender, freckled figure. This time, there was no fear in those emerald eyes—instead, Evans stared right back at the seventh year with a fiery intensity that almost made Narcissa yank her into her arms and hold her there, claim her as her own.
Almost.
Because Narcissa was a Black, and Blacks didn't fall in love.
And so Narcissa Black smirked into the kiss.
The third time, Lily kissed her. It was just after a particularly nasty duel between Lucius and the prat, and of course the two witches had done their part as always—Narcissa spat venom-laced insults while Lily (and when had it become 'Lily', anyway? Grandmama would be so disappointed) threw them right back at her, and vise versa.
Like the poignantly worded "Go to hell, Black."
And the brilliant (if she did say so herself) response—
"I'd follow you to the edges of time itseslf, Evans."
Lily and Narcissa had been let off with a stern glance, courtesy of Professor McGonagall, as the two boys were carted off by their ears to that queer headmaster's quarters.
Narcissa had been plagued at the time by a particularly relentless cold (which left her particularly ill-tempered), which may very well have led to her downfall. She had hesitated (idiot—Blacks never hesitate) to rub her irritated nose with her sleeve, and in that moment, Lily had struck.
(It was rather Slytherin of her, really, Narcissa remembers.)
For the third time, both lion and serpent collided.
For the third time, both Slytherin and Gryffindor shattered the most paramount rule.
And for the first time, Narcissa Black realized that she had fallen (most absolutely, because, every bloody rule she'd broken thus far be damned, Blacks did not do anything halfway) in love with her prey.
Lily Evans smelled like sunshine and oranges.
It was all so absolutely, nauseatingly cliché, and Narcissa Black couldn't bring herself to care less.
On the night Lily Evans was murdered, Narcissa Malfoy stood by her husband's side, cold and ever-loyal, like the trophy she was born to be.
On the night Lily Evans was murdered, Narcissa Malfoy accompanied her husband to the joint funeral so that he could bask in his master's glory.
The boy, Harry, had her eyes, but Narcissa Malfoy didn't notice.
Because on the night Lily Evans was murdered, Narcissa Black died along with her, and Narcissa Malfoy finally took her place, as had always been the plan.
And not one tear fell from her icy gray eyes, because Narcissa Malfoy was born a Black, and Blacks did not cry.