Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and anything from the Harry Potter universe. I wish I did, but I don't.
Author's Note: My first fan fiction piece ever. Took it off my old Fan fiction account, modified a couple of words, and put it up here. Hope it's not too terrible, feedback of all kind is welcome.
She knows what they say about her. Even when it's not being said aloud; it's evident on their faces as she walks past them. Their cold eyes follow the young girl; easily spotting the flaws and just as quick to point them out to her. And every time they start, she forces back the harsh comments and slurs; which threaten to slip past her pale pink lips. Then again, she would never say anything rude or disrespectful to professors and her elders, no matter how deserving they are of it. Fellow students are another matter entirely. Then, and only then, can the cold, pale beauty can spit venom.
This is the side of her that the students have grown used to. For her to show them any kind gesture, it would be pure madness. For she is never nice, like her oldest sister. No, this girl takes after her only other sibling, the one who is the pride and joy of the Black family. Nicknames that her sister has once had are now passed down to the young girl. The title "Ice Queen" and "Queen Bitch of Slytherin House" are called out in the hallways as the beautiful blonde girl passes, long tendrils of golden hair elegantly framing her face, like a protective curtain.
If only her fellow students understood how much she needs that protective curtain.
If any of her fellow dorm mates cared enough about her to check on her, in her bed after lights out; they would see how that without her protective curtain she crumbles. How her cold, icy exterior is simply a mask. A mask that is worn to the bone, chipped and flawed, with cracks running deeply along the immaculate surface. If any of her so called friends cared enough to look at her, they would see the tears, which fall down her porcelain skin.
If anyone cared, they would only need to look closely upon her, to see how much strain is upon her as she tries to keep up the facade. They would see the dark circles, so carefully hidden with make up, underneath her wide ice blue eyes. They would notice how thin and frail she has become within the past few months. They would notice how the healthy glow is gone from her cheeks; and how the light has vanished from her eyes.
If anyone cared, they might have seen that Narcissa Black, was literally, coming apart at the seams.
It's not one big thing that's wrong either. It's all the little things, which build up over the years. Things which other don't notice, or acknowledge. But Narcissa notices. Narcissa is aware of every little thing. She's aware of how her parents are disappointed that she hasn't received an offer of marriage yet. She's aware that Bellatrix has already moved on; married a fine pureblooded wizard, not waiting for her younger sister in the slightest. Narcissa knows that Andromeda will never be coming back home for a visit, nor will she try to contact her youngest sibling. She knows that Lucius Malfoy is growing frustrated with her silence and her fears of
intimacy. The barely concealed whispers, of how she doesn't belong in the proud and noble House of Black. The leers from male Slytherins and older wizards alike, their loud cat-calls and hoots. The rumors of how she's nothing more than a vapid twit, and will never be anything more than a good shag.
Narcissa sees and hears all of it.
And everyday she pretends that she doesn't and ignores all her family, her "friends" and her surroundings.
And every night she lies upon deep forest green sheets, hidden by the dark green bed hangings and a silencing charm; and cries herself to sleep.
