A/N. This story is told from different points of view in each chapter. It is essentially the same story, but how each character views it. They take on certain roles from Hamlet , who they relate themselves to. This is not a retelling of the play, nor is it a parody. It is a literary allusion. There is a lot of symbolism used, as well as other techniques that people who have studied literature would understand. The most important is how Barty and Sirius are foil characters.
Narcissa Black: I Am Ophelia
'Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt thou the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.'
I was surprised that he knew enough Shakespeare to know that verse. Of course, it has always been one of those Shakespearean quotes that I found as trite as 'Wherefore art thou, Romeo'; but then I have to remind myself that not everyone is as well read as I. Muggle or not, Shakespeare remains the universal exception. Some have argued that he had Magic lineage, but I think that is just to justify enjoying him. Besides, older books do not matter-- such as Dante, and perhaps up through Oscar Wilde. I admit I have a love for Catcher in the Rye, though. Perhaps that is because Holden Caulfield seems so familiar. I guess that is because I am dating him.
He slipped me the parchment with the verse written on it during History of Magic class. At first I was beside myself over the fact that he not only wrote me something from my favourite play, but how he also spoke of loving me. Of course, then I recalled the context in which Hamlet wrote those lines to Ophelia: It was all part of his madness. Barty had never been perfectly sane, nor had he been of esteem in the eyes of my family. He was certainly not deep enough to use hidden meanings. I tried to reason with myself that he had simply thumbed through a book of Shakespearean quotes and jotted down one that seemed romantic. I smiled at him. He continued to stare at Professor Binns who had taken to lecturing to the chalkboard as opposed to the students. I placed my hand on top of his. His fingers were cold. It must have taken him a moment to feel my touch, because then he squeezed my hand and smiled at me. Times like that, I loved him perfectly.
I always cast people I know in plays or stories that I like. No, not like a real production, but in my head. In Hamlet, I am Ophelia. Barty is Hamlet, Regulus is Horatio, and Sirius is Laertes. Sirius hates us all, or so he claims, but he hates Barty more. I am always protected, you see, because Little Narcissa has to be protected since she is so insane that she writes about herself in third person.
'He is incapable of love,' Sirius said when I showed him the note. I had only showed him the note in order to prove that Barty did, in fact, care for me as he should.
'You don't know that,' I did not look up at him, but played with the folds of my skirt. It was white and had lace. It would have been elegant if I was wearing shoes, 'You are the one who does not know a loving family and so must leave.'
'I understand him too well, Narcissa. He is just like me; the black sheep of his family. Those who turn their back on their own family are never any good.'
I picked up a flower and placed it behind Sirius' ear. A white carnation. That's for remembrance.
Barty's father was the Minister of Magic, you see. He was never home. In fact, he hated Barty. That is what Barty told me. He would pace around angrily speaking about the evils of his father.
'He locked me in my room for two weeks. Two whole weeks, I was unable to leave. He never wants to be bothered with me.'
'Your mother loves you,' I said softly.
'My mother is weak. She should protect me, but she doesn't. They wonder why I got Marked,' he laughed manically and pulled back his sleeve to reveal his Dark Mark. He does that a lot because he is proud of it.
I reached out to touch the Mark, and he pulled his arm away, only to catch my hand in his. He gripped me too hard and it hurt, but that was only because he needed me.
'You know your father will gladly throw you in jail when he finds that out.' I feared it. I could not bear to see him alone amongst all the Dementors.
'Oh, no question!' Again, he laughed. He let go of my hand and caressed my cheek, 'Narcissa, the Fair Black. Your colouring contradicts your name, you know? And I did love you once.'
I stepped back from him and frowned. Once. Had I angered him yet again?
I simply nodded, 'I know…'
'But who are you to believe me? I am no good, Narcissa. You see, a good son strives to be like his father. A good son does not get Marked simply to soil his father's name! I am worse than Oedipus, but I certainly do not love my mother! You, you are meek like my mother, so in a way...'
I kissed him to silence him, and he laughed. I wanted to cry, but there was no sense in such a thing. He let go of me.
'Tell me, where is Regulus?'
'He has gone for a walk near the lake.'
Barty let go of me and ran off. Regulus always had far more sense than he did.
O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword;
The expectancy and rose of the fair state,
The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
The observed of all observers, quite, quite down!
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,
That suck'd the honey of his music vows,
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh;
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth
Blasted with ecstasy: O, woe is me,
To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!
Regulus tried to talk him out of fighting Sirius. Neither of them got hurt, but it started far too perfectly, despite the fact that it was not over my coffin at my funeral. I had no urge to drown myself. Death was far too unknown. Yes, I collected flowers put them in my hair. I even laid down in the lake, but only to keep myself a float. No one ever really intends to die.
They dueled with wands and Regulus got in the middle. This happened far too often. I never paid much mind, I just watched them fight as I picked flowers. Barty never did like flowers. But, sometimes I would give him flowers, anyway.
He would always be happy after the flowers, but later he would forget them.
His room is full of dried flowers.