It was a glorious night.
Bella was off somewhere with the Lestrange boy, and Andy was drinking. Reg was around somewhere, most decidedly perusing the library. Sirius was the only one missing.
And I was here, basking in the golden treasures of the Malfoy riches.
It was glorious.
The night was petroleum behind the cold glass panes of the window, and the stars were insects encompassed in ice. The moon glowed a luminous gold. It was more than anything I had everything seen. It was like the unwritten poetry just out of reach of Carroll.
There was nothing cynical about it.
In the grand scheme of the universe, they'll never know I feel self conscious as hell underneath layers of chiffon and lipstick. They'll never know about the pimple on my nose or the way I wish I looked more starved. They'll never know, because they'll be boozed out of their minds in a half hour anyway. And need they ever find out, I'll stay beside the window so that I can quietly observe the galaxy.
Sirius has been gone for two weeks. He'd left just recently in a fit of rage, according to Reg, after being told of the marriage his parents were organizing him. Reg was down. Bella said it was for the good. Andy was more reckless than ever. And I withdraw.
Sirius, who I'll now only see in the Hogwarts halls, silently slipping by, avoiding meeting his steely gaze that asks if I agree with him mum. Sirius, my cousin, my friend.
I sip my champagne. It's a celebratory drink, and while I'm not quite of age, Mum said I could have some today. I don't feel much like celebrating. I'm not even sure what we're supposed to be celebrating. Something that happened at the Ministry with Father, I presume.
Bella is happy. Bella has Rodolphus, the rather unearthly fellow, and Andy has been sending plenty of letters out of recent to classmates and Sirius alike, and Reg has swamped himself in his studies and has grown closer to Bella, which both angers and concerns Andy and rather bothers me.
It's all Sirius's fault, and to extent, his parents'. Except it seems wrong to blame them and Sirius. After all, Sirius and Andy aren't like our family.
I wonder where Andy will go after Hogwarts. I wonder if she'll accept an arranged marriage or run like Sirius.
Listening to Johnny Cash records with Sirius, which he smuggled in with a spell he'd discovered while sneaking through the Hogwarts library. Eating saltine crackers he'd snuck in from the pantry with Andy and Reg upstairs in the deserted parlor. We would sneak into cinemas to watch Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn on the screen, wishing we could look like them and be caught up in high-speed chases like Steve McQueen. Him sneaking in books with titles like Narnia or Lord of the Rings or things written by Homer or Pinocchio or Les Misérables, which he'd checked out at the library down the block or sometimes bought at the secondhand bookstore a street over. We would all sit inside a fort of blankets and chairs and he would read the words about Marco Polo and Lucy Pevensie and Strider and Cosette aloud with a clear voice, and we would dream of being anywhere where we could have adventures like the Argonauts. We would cry over Boromir and Susan and then read some more, and Sirius would go and buy us plastic sheafs of peppermints down the block to make up for living in a world bare of adventure. Then Bella discovering the books and shrieking that we would read something of the sorts, and hurling them into the hearth. Sirius shouting bitter, angry words. Me crying again, huddled with Reg under a table as Bella and Sirius dueled and Andy pleaded for them to stop.
Sirius will have adventure. I know that much. A real one, too, with heroines and a Johnny and June story in the mix. I might not, but if he does-well, one of us has to, right?
Greater things are yet to come, he'd said. It sounded like something Biblical. Maybe it is. But whatever it is, I can hope. He'd seemed to imply that, at least. I want to hope.
On Halloween he read to us from Edgar Allan Poe and we watched The Wolfman. On Christmas Eve he read us Luke Chapter 2 and then we watched a play at the theater downtown about Scrooge. Sirius was my brother, Sirius was my cousin, Sirius was my friend.
I guess he's not anymore.
The champagne doesn't taste very fizzy anymore.
Once, he'd read to us The Phantom of the Opera in the middle of the night, one of the summers he and Reg had come to stay with us. We were so scared of Erik coming to kidnap one of us or lure us away with his lovely voice that Sirius snuck through the window and returned with milkshakes and cherries from the supermarket.
Sirius's magic is so much deeper than ours. His is rooted in his being, his twinkles in his eyes as we idolize him as the wonderful person he really is, despite being the only Gryffindor in the family. Sirius taught us of beautiful things and of Heaven and Hell and preached on injustice with a voice like honey and a smile of pearls.
So I'm going to stay by the window and wonder what he would do, and where he is.
Breathing in. Breathing out.
Breathing in. Breathing out.
Sirius is gone.
I want to cry. But he's not dead, so I've got no reason to; I'm not mistreated, I've got no issue to weep over. But Sirius is gone. Gone forever. I'll only ever see him underneath the candles of Hogwarts, and I'll never be able to talk to him properly again.
Someone taps me on the shoulder and I nearly jump. "Andy, you scar-" But my sentence ends abruptly when I see who it is. The Malfoy boy, the very handsome one, with blonde hair and high cheekbones. He smiles at me. "I'm not Andromeda," he says, amused. He's several years older than me, and in Andy and Sirius's year. "I don't know if we've met," he continues, extending a hand. "Lucius Malfoy."
"Narcissa Black," I say, returning the gesture.
He smiles. It reaches his eyes, his gray eyes, which are warm. "I was wondering why you weren't joining the rest of the party or with your family?" It's not an accusation but a question.
"I was just wondering," I say. Wondering about the glorious night, about the stars, about Sirius.
"Wondering about what?" Lucius asks, arching an eyebrow.
"It's a bit of a long story," I say. "And I wouldn't want anyone to overhear."
"I'll walk you around the grounds," he offers.
So we do, into the garden, down the marble steps. I'm not sure why I agree to do so, but it's better than thinking about Sirius. He listens as I explain our family, our Sirius. He smiles and frowns at the right times.
The party was ending when we returned, and he offered me a hand to help me up the stairs. A real gentleman.
"I'm afraid I have to go," I say.
He sighs. "It was nice to meet you, Narcissa Black." And he kisses me on the cheek, and even though I know it's a customary greeting, I can't help but smile. Maybe Lucius Malfoy can understand about Sirius.