So, once upon a time in the land of October, I began an M&MWP drabble collection entitled and i will try to fix you. Chapter four of the collection was NarcissaHagrid, known from hereonin as Narcrid, and used the prompts monster. A reviewer suggested a sequel, then a friend encouraged me. I present to you here a prequel and sequel to that drabble.

Dedicated whole-heartedly to Mew (mew-tsubaki) and Lovisa (lowi) for encouraging me and giving me the idea.

So, without further ado, I present to you Narcissa Black and Rubeus Hagrid's story.

all my life, i've only been pretending

Love is a game that two can play and both win by losing their heart.

~Eva Gabor~

Diamond necklace. Heavy against your throat, jewels catching the flickering amber light from the oil lamps.

Silk gloves. Elbow-length, sliding easily against your skin and presenting a pretty picture to the world.

Velvet gown. The hem lightly brushing the floor, the material heavy on your tiny shoulders, the bodice forcing you to stand up straight.

You slide your feet into heeled shoes and, despite the nausea building in your stomach, you reach for the make-up brush with a steady hand.

You're shaking uncontrollably now, fingers clenching around the thick fabric. You touch the little wooden star on your desk, touching the metal chain, still warm from your skin, that it hangs from.

You turn away, hesitate and pick the necklace up, sliding it between the camouflaging folds.

You need the luck today.

Shall we go back in time and tell this story? It's a story of blood, of prejudice, of cruelty, of pretense, of deceiving and the romance isn't well-thought out. But it is the truth, and the truth should be known.

We'll start at the beginning.

…

You weren't like your sisters. Not like Bellatrix, with her wild dark hair and angry dark eyes, her grip on sanity slipping away day by day, like water pouring from cupped hands. Not like Andromeda, the quiet sort of Slytherin, with her pale brown hair and honey amber eyes.

You were Narcissa and you were going to shine. With your moon-pale hair and misty eyes, you weren't like any other Black of the time. You were going to be different, wear the green-and-silver house colours with burning pride, proudly attach your signet ring to silver chains and simply shine.

But Lady Fate seemed to have other ideas. Within a month of your fifteenth birthday, the Black crest you'd worn so proudly, pressed into silver, on the third finger of your left hand, was removed and placed into its box. Instead the far more elaborate Malfoy crest, imprinted in some rare black metal, gave your finger a leaden weight, dragging you down.

An arranged marriage had confronted Bellatrix at her fifteenth birthday, but Rodolphus Lestrange was weak-willed and handsome, the perfect man for domineering, demonically beautiful Bellatrix. You had never expected to be engaged to Lucius Malfoy, tall and imposing.

You couldn't love him. Being thrown together and forced to join your hearts and families as one would never result in a love that surpassed everything. For a moment you longed to be like Andromeda, who defied your father and left behind her ancient family name to run off with the man she loved.

You wanted a romance like that. Wild, passionate, forsaking all others and simply content to have each other. The love composed by talented authors in classic novels, the novels you took your education in romance from.

Not that you could ever confide in your friends. With their regulation skirts turned up to attract lustfully-minded boys and their regulation ties knotted loosely, they presented exactly the same teenage girls seeking flirtation. They wouldn't have understood how you simply couldn't love Lucius. They would simply have taken it to mean the position of Lady Malfoy was available once again and fight each other to attain it.

So you spent time alone, drifting through channels carved through flawless sparkling snow. The skies were misty grey and delicate snowflakes drifted slowly down. With silver-and-green wall fluttering against your neck, you sat comfortably at the edge of the Forbidden Forest with bluebell flames twining through your fingers.

You wondered if you were truly able to love anyone. Lucius was the perfect husband, rich and able to give you unlimited funds in return for a handsome heir. The bluebell flames burnt holes into the snow as you sat there for hour upon hour, hardly caring if anyone was worried for you.

"Students aren' supposed to be out 'ere," a gruff voice sounded above your head. You looked up and saw the groundskeeper, Hagrid, standing over you with tangled beard and hair and an enormous sack over his shoulder.

"I don't care," you mumbled, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Leave me alone."

"Students aren' supposed to be out 'ere," he repeated, setting the sack on the ground with a resounding thud.

"You do not understand the extensity of the fuck I do not give," you spat. He just stared down at you, completely confused.

"If you're really wantin' to avoid folk, what would you say to comin' back to my cabin for a cup o' tea?" he asked. "Come on."

It was strange, but, with enormous mug of tea in hand, you found yourself telling this enormous man about all your troubles and woes and how you didn't love Lucius. Somehow knowing exactly what to say, he convinced you to go back to the castle, to talk everything over with Lucius and give the relationship a chance.

You left that day wrapped in a long scarf and smiling for the first time in months.

…

You look down at the photo tucked away in your purse, hidden from the prying eyes of your sisters, parents and fiancé. The picture shows a giant with wild hair, though his eyes are kind. The girl beside him seems fragile as a rare flower with a cold wind blowing her hair into a golden halo.

Tears prick your eyes as you ghost your fingertips across his sweet face and look at the barely perceptible, clumsily crafted wooden star in his hand, the girl's fingers curling around it. She can't be you, though this photograph is barely five years old. She looks care-free, spontaneous, wild and in love. Her eyes sparkle as she darts fearlessly up and plants a kiss on the man's cheek. He blushes and whispers something inaudible to her.

She laughs, a delicate, silvery laugh and allows his big but careful hands to fasten the necklace around her thin neck. She puts her arms around him and then darkness sweeps over the picture before it returns to the first moment captured.

You hold back the tears and smooth the material of your skirt. Now is not a time to dwell in happier past. Instead you wrap your fingers around that same star, chipped after all these years, and hope that it will give you courage.

…

Slowly your relationship with Hagrid turned from perfect strangers crafting a mutual dislike to close friends. You spent many Saturday afternoons in his hut, drinking tea, trying not to grimace as you forced yourself to eat his cooking and listening to his stories about magical creatures he'd cared for over the years.

It was only natural that your flirtatious female spirit, the same one held prisoner as you handed Lucius your body and fidelity, but not your heart, never your heart, would begin to make itself known. A flutter of pale eyelashes here, a come-hither smile there and a touch on the arm for good measure. He was almost too easy to engage romantically, almost a puppet dancing on your string.

Lucius noticed your change. He noticed everything with cold, calculating steely gaze, from the new effort you put into your appearance to your almost daily disappearance from the Slytherin common room. Like the possessive future husband he was, he followed you one day when melted snow lay thick on the ground and the sweet spring promise of the primroses made itself known. He saw you chatting with Hagrid, laughing with Hagrid, flirting with Hagrid.

You bore the scars of his anger afterwards steadfastly, becoming a secret expert in the art of camouflaging make-up application and present your icy façade, never truly revealing the churning in your stomach when Lucius stood close to you, the disgust when he leaned in to kiss you or the desire to scream and throw yourself away when his lips claimed yours.

You avoided Hagrid for long, lonely months, sinking deeper into darkness and barely smiling as Bellatrix swept majestically down the aisle and wed the weak-willed Lestrange, simply letting night-stained tears roll down your waxy cheeks into the sweetly-scented flowers of your bouquet.

But you couldn't hide from him forever. He found you sitting by the forest again after Care of Magical Creatures with those ridiculing Gryffindors. You saw him approaching, doing his duties as gamekeeper, and began frantically shuffling your notes into a pile and hurriedly sweeping quills, inkpots and textbooks into your bag, just to get away before he saw you.

"Miss Black, are yeh alrigh'?" he asked. When you looked up into his concerned face and the friendly twinkling in his beetle-black eyes, you suddenly found it hard to talk through the heavy lump in your throat.

"No," you responded simply, before dissolving into tears.

He hesitantly wrapped strong arms around you and allowed you to simply cry yourself drained of tears and rest against his shoulder while you sobbed incoherently about Lucius and his possessiveness and his damn angry spirit.

You left the edge of the Forest that day with renewed determination and a little piece of that Gryffindor fighting spirit.

…

Now you finally leave your room, bouquet of pale roses in your hands, wooden star hidden between the folds of your skirt and the picture twisting between your shaking fingers. You need the luck, the courage these two mementoes infuse you with. Your father awaits, dressed in the black robes with stiff collar and conversing quietly with your mother, dressed in beige robes with a rose-adorned hat balance on her greying curls.

"Oh, Narcissa, you look perfect," she said, taking your hand and looking again at the ring there, hardly daring to believe her eyes. Of course, your perfect china doll you thought sourly. "Oh, Cygnus, did you ever think our youngest would achieve such a wonderful marriage?"

"Never did I dream I would take Lucius Malfoy as a son-in-law, Druella," your father said, offering his hand to you. "Go and find your seat while I walk our beautiful daughter down the aisle."

Your heart misses a beat as he takes your hand, terrified he'll feel the photograph crumpled between your fingers and discover everything, everything. But he doesn't and you begin slowly walking down the aisle to a slow organ tune that sounds like a death march.

…

You continued to see Hagrid, in secret, under the cover of darkness each night, your distinctive pale hair covered by the hood of a dark green cloak, stolen from Lucius with the aid of distractingly short skirt. It was a defiance, one that filled you with the rush of adrenaline and sent you falling through Hagrid's door in a haze akin to drunkenness, giggling crazily and not caring who caught you.

The friendship was not something you would give up without a fight. He was the only one who understood you in a world slowly sliding into darkness, your confidante, the outlet for your flirtatious spirit, the one willing to listen to every problem no matter how petty and not actually a bad cook once you learnt which dishes to avoid entirely - rock cakes highest on the list.

The seasons changed, summer brightening the trees, flowers in a rainbow hue of bright colour springing up from all around and romance blooming in every corner. It seemed every corridor you entered was occupied by an amorous couple, love newly-sprung as the richly-coloured roses you arranged in vases in the long dusky nights when sleep failed to come. Couples kissing, hugging and exchanging sweet nothings and everythings filled every corner.

And so your relationship with Lucius turned sour. With the both of you nearing seventeen years of age, you were to be married soon. The ring on your finger was an ever-there presence, giving your left hand a leaden weight, dragging down your lively young heart. You argued with him, you screamed at him, you tried everything in your power to end the predetermined marriage. Yet every time he shrieked that the marriage would never happen, your parents spoke to his and you were yet again thrown back together and told, nay, commanded, to fall in love.

So you decided to take matters into your own fragile hands. If you simply refused to marry him, or put any effort towards organising the wedding, or even go to the church on the day, your parents simple couldn't make you. And you had to tell someone. Not any of your friends, not either of your sisters, not any of your professors and certainly not your parents. So you went to the only person you could.

Standing at his door with a thick checked cloak around your shoulders, silver clasp closed at your neck, you had to take a deep steadying breath for courage before knocking. You stood still for a moment before the door opened and he stood there before you, tall, solid, comforting in your time of turmoil.

He let you in and started looking through his collection of food, pushing a full mug of steaming hot tea to you. You warmed your hands around the mug, tapping your foot on the wooden floor as a strange ritual to keep your nerves in check.

"What'll be this mornin', Miss Black?" he asked "'Nother cup o' tea? Rock cake?"

"Hagrid, I…I've decided something," you said, sliding primly into one of the crudely carved chairs, debating how best to phrase what you were going to put to him. "I'm not going to marry Lucius."

"Narcissa, as I understand it, yer family arranged this marriage for yer own good," he said, wagging his finger in lieu of a telling-off. "Yeh mus' marry him; it's against pureblood law to break off an arranged marriage."

"I'll run away!" you exclaimed, already starry-eyed at the thought of running in the middle of the night to a new life with no Lucius or familial pressures. "I've always wanted to live somewhere warm and sunny!"

"Why don' you want to marry him?" he asked, serving a plate of rock cakes and sitting opposite, the mug that was enormous in your hands looking perfectly normally sized in his.

"He's evil!" you screamed, unable to help the burning tears that spilled from your eyes and rolled down your cheeks. "He's going to join the Dark Lord!"

"He won'," he assured you, though his darting eyes and sudden reluctance to sit with you were obvious indicators that he was lying. "Go back up to the castle and apologise to him."

You left, pulling the warm cloak closer around your neck. It smelt a little like the cabin, of strange exotic creatures, wood smoke and burnt cooking experiments. You held it close to your nose and inhaled the scent of home.

…

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join Lord Lucius Heracles Malfoy and Narcissa Orphea Black in pure matrimony," the grey-faced minister drones. You exhale sharply as Lucius grabs your hand, crushing your ring-laden fingers painfully.

"Smile, love," he hisses, a smile on his face for the public world. "Isn't this what you've always dreamed of?"

"I would never dream of getting married to you!" you hiss venomously, though you force a smile onto your face. You can't hurt your parents, not after all these years. As he relaxes his grip on your hand into something less painful, but doesn't let go, you reach out a finger and touch the wooden star again, for courage.

"Lord Lucius Heracles Malfoy, do you take Narcissa Orphea Black to have and to hold for as long as you both shall live?" the minister asks in his droning voice that would have irritated even the most star-crossed marrying couple.

"I do," Lucius says, squeezing your hand painfully again. This time, it was your prompt.

"And do you, Narcissa Orphea Black, take Lord Lucius Heracles Malfoy to have and to honour for as long as you both shall live?" the minister asks, turning to you. You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. A thousand pairs of eyes are watching you, awaiting your words.

But then you think of another pair of dark eyes, kind instead of steely. Another hand, big but infinitely gentle, closing over yours. Another pair of lips on yours, sweet and loving.

You tear your hand out of Lucius' vice-like grasp and flee the room. Your mother's agonised glance tears your heart in two and you gasp to her, "I just need a minute." You continue on your way and slam the heavy oak doors behind you, leaning heavily against them.

You look down at the star clenched between your fingers, cracks showing in the crudely-carved oak. You allow two tears to fall, looking down at your feet and smoothing the soft fabric of your wedding dress. Your wedding dress.

"I'll never marry Lucius as long as you're here to protect me."

With a groan of despair, you sink to the floor. "Oh, Rubeus, if only you were here now," you whisper to the empty corridor, to the dust and the silence.

…

"Narcissa Black!" someone called. You turned to see Emmeline Vance, old nemesis of Bellatrix - for the excellent reason that Rodolphus' brother Rabastan was in love with her - chasing after you.

"What do you want, Vance?" you asked rudely. Your natural instinct was to assume she wanted to ask you about your sister's insanity, or your other sister's newborn daughter, or Lucius, and you were tired of answering questions pertaining to those subjects.

"There's no need to be so rude," Emmeline said haughtily. "I just wanted to tell you that Hagrid wants you down at his cabin. That's all." You watched her turn and leave with something a little like guilt clawing at the pit of your stomach. But you ignored the feeling and started towards Hagrid's cabin. Slytherins do not apologise, especially not to snotty little Gryffindor Mudbloods who don't know their rightful place.

Deep inside, you knew that those words, the phrases drilled into you by your parents and parroted by thousand of other purebloods, were wrong and dirty and prejudicial. So you mulled it over, shivering in the cold breezes and pulling the heavy checked cloak closer around your neck as the lit-up windows of Hagrid's cabin came into view over the crest of the hill.

You reached the cabin and immediately the door opened, with Hagrid standing there, familiar, comforting, gentle Hagrid. Tears sprang to your eyes and you hurried inside, going into an orgy of plumping cushions, hanging up your cloak and fussing over the dog before he saw how close you were to an emotional breakdown.

"Miss Black, I've been thinking about yer situation and I think I migh' 'ave a solution," he explained, facing the window as he brewed tea and refused to meet your eyes. "Bu' it would mean massive changes to yer lifestyle."

"What's your idea?" you asked with new hope. Perhaps he would want to run away with you, living every day together and flitting from place to place. You were horrified by how much you desired that to happen, by the vision that fluttered into your mind of spending each night in his arms. Closing your eyes and shaking your head to rid your mind of the childish fantasy, you entirely missed what he said.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" you asked with the manners drilled into you by years of etiquette training, swinging your legs casually under the table and refusing to even look at him.

"I said, if yeh changed yer name and maybe even the way yeh look, yeh could run away and yer parents would be none the wiser," he repeated, setting down a mug of tea in front of you. Another vision assaulted you as you looked up into his eyes. Simple white dress. Matching gold bands. A little girl with shiny dark eyes and moon-pale hair, reaching out to you as she took her first uncertain steps and whispering her first word to him.

Knocking the hot mug of tea to the ground, you stood up and fled in fright, finding your way into the forest, blundering into trees and bushes as tears stained your eyes. What on earth was wrong with you? Collapsing onto the leaf-carpeted ground, you leant exhaustedly against a tree and wondered.

You though about the visions. It had been a dream of marriage and family, but the man you had envisioned by your side and fathering your child had not been Lucius. Never in a thousand lifetimes would you ever fantasise about marriage and children with Lucius as your husband. No, the husband you had envisioned had been someone entirely different. Someone comforting, familiar and gentle, someone you could see spending the rest of your life with.

Your head was swimming as you tried to figure out the answer to this riddle. You'd always prided yourself on intelligence, but you realised that it was the knowledge to help you get by in school and you were entirely stupid when it came to people situations such as the one you found yourself mulling over by the tree.

You glanced up at the branches, stripped of their leaves and drooping sadly against the grey sky. They seemed to smile down at you, the wind whispering answers and questions that made your head spin.

And finally you realised something that you should have known a long time ago.

You were in love with Rubeus Hagrid. You had been in love with him for three years, since that first day he'd found you by the Forest and taken you back to his cabin for tea and inedible rock cakes.

Laughter echoed through the shivering trees towards you and you stood slowly, hands shaking with the enormity of the sudden realisation. You saw dark hair, a flash of red and gold, and Emmeline Vance appeared before you, Rabastan with her, the pair of them laughing and pressing insistent kisses to smiling mouths. Instead of this sight sickening you, like it would as Bellatrix's cruel lies trickled through your mind, you smiled at the pair.

They were in love and there was nothing more to be said. Everyone was entitled to their own opinion about the - considerably wrong - choices they had made, but the love they shared was beautiful, no doubt about it.

With the smiles on their faces and the tenderness of their gaze imprinted onto your memory, you set out for the lit windows of the castle to dream of stars and wedding bands.

…

"Narcissa, dear, are you alright?" your mother asks, placing her hand on your shoulder in the closest she's ever got to hugging you since your seventh birthday. You are silent; your jaw clenched as you tear petals from the lilies and charmed green roses in your bouquet.

"It's perfectly normal to be a little nervous," your mother continues. "It's an enormous vow to make, saying those words to Lucius. But he is good for you and for our family, and you are good for him."

You close your eyes so she doesn't see how close you are to the edge of emotion, but she still sees the two tears that fell, though you hoped they would be masked by the gloom.

"Narcissa, don't cry," your mother murmurs in something close to reassurance. "I know it's an emotional day for everybody, but it's everything myself and your father have ever dreamed of for you. Would you leave Lucius, humiliate him?"

You can't help but bite back a rude retort, something about him humiliating you enough, but you manage to stand up, smoothing your skirts and letting go of the star you've been silently caressing all through the ceremony, memorizing every dip and crack in its surface.

"I apologise," you say, your voice strong though falsehoods ring in your every mannerism, every inflection in your words. "Simply nerves."

Your mother smiles and flings open the doors. "Apologies, everybody," she shouts to the congregation. "Simply last-minute nervousness!"

The minister clears his throat and begins again. "Do you, Narcissa Orphea Black, take-"

"I do," you interrupt, hurrying down the aisle to take Lucius' hand. The minister watches with concentrating eyes as you exchange two rings made of black metal and set with the Malfoy family crest.

"I do declare you bonded for life," the minister declares loudly, raising his arms to the ceiling. Blackness briefly soars across the room, snuffing out the flickering candles and a crackling white flame appears in the air between you and Lucius. For a moment you wonder whether to simply ignore the magic, but Lucius takes your hand and breaks the circle of flame to kiss you.

Light comes back to the room and your various friends and relations clap politely as you join hands and face the congregation as Mr. and Mrs Lucius Heracles Malfoy.

…

Christmas descended on Hogwarts seemingly overnight. You awoke one morning to find flurries of snowflakes dancing on a bitter December wind and it seemed like only the blink of an eye before the corridors glittered richly with decorations and polished suits of armour sang their rusty carols.

Emmeline hadn't exactly been receptive to your first tentative offers of friendship when you greeted her in the library after discovering her with Rabastan at the back of the deserted goblin poetry shelves.

"What do you want, Black?" she spat, distractedly smoothing her crumpled clothes and combing tangled hair. "Your sisters never liked me very much."

"That's a lie and you know it, Vance," you retorted, watching as Rabastan escaped the scene before hexes started flying. "Andromeda never disliked you. Bellatrix is an entirely different person, and her motives were Rabastan's particular interest in you."

"My first question still stands," Emmeline said, standing fearlessly before you. "What do you want?"

"I'll be visiting Hagrid this afternoon," you informed her. "And I will be telling him that I love him." To the Muggleborn's credit, your confession didn't seem to faze her.

Instead, she stood proud and tall, looking down on you with her extra three inches. "And you want back-up in case it all goes wrong, am I correct?" she asked. You just nodded and she fell into step beside you as you both exited the library.

"Em, I thought helping out the damsels in distress was my job," Rabastan said as Emmeline stopped and quickly filled him in on the situation. She elbowed him in the ribs, hard.

"Hardly, Rabastan," she scolded, though mirth danced in her eyes. "You sit on the sidelines like the yellow-bellied coward you are and I do the work." She kissed his cheek. "See you later."

She followed you down to Hagrid's cabin, falling silent when she realised you didn't need inane conversation and remarks about the weather when your mind was in turmoil.

"So, how exactly are you going to tell him?" she asked as you crossed past the stone circle, both shuddering as the ancient magic of the earth passed over your skin. You ignored her question, heartbeat quickening as the cabin came into view, resembling an enormous iced cake with its frosting of snow and the icicles clinging the eaves of the roof, sparkling in the bright but cold winter sunlight.

The scarf wrapped around your neck still smelt of exotic creatures, wood smoke and burnt cooking. It sent your senses reeling as, at your request, Emmeline concealed herself in the trees and you knocked on the door, each knock seeming like a leap of your heart as familiar beetle-black eyes appeared through a hole in the wood and the door swung open to reveal Hagrid, standing there, strong and comforting.

"Mornin', Narcissa," he said cheerfully, standing aside to usher you in and waving towards the plate of biscuits on the table. "What you doin' 'ere? Shouldn' you be out there with your mates?"

"Actually, Hagrid, I came to tell you something," you whispered, hands clenching with suppressed nerves and heartbeat seeming to slow right down as he sat down opposite you, his hand merely a inch from yours. Oh, how you ached to reach out and hold it.

"Yeh're not 'avin' anymore funny ideas about runnin' away, are yeh?" he asked suspiciously.

"No, it's something entirely different," you explained, not meeting his eyes in an attempt to not blush at his proximity. "Something enormous." You finally looked back, feeling the heat creep up your neck as you met his eyes. "And I wouldn't say this if I didn't mean it."

"What's wrong, Narcissa?" he asked, truly concerned now. "Somethin' wrong with you an' Lucius?"

"No, I came here today to say that I…I," the words seemed lodged in your throat as you struggled to find the right way to say it, "I love you. Not as a friend. I really love you."

He was silent, slowly standing and moving over to the window. His eyes focused on the endless white landscape interrupted along the left edge by the dark green spires of trees, he poured water into the kettle with a steady hand and began to brew water for tea.

"I've been working on a little summat for yer Christmas," he said with his back to you. "Bu' what abou' Lucius?"

"I don't love him," you said bravely. "It's an arranged marriage." Blushing again, you whispered, "I'll never marry Lucius as long as you're here to protect me."

He was silent for so long you thought everything had gone wrong and you'd have to signal Emmeline to come and bail you out when he turned around, a smile on his face and something extremely delicate in his strong hands.

"I made this for yeh," he said, crossing the cabin to you and showing you the small, clumsily carved wooden star on a silver chain. "'S not much, but I hope it's enough."

"It's beautiful," you whispered, unbidden tears pricking your eyes. "Will you put it on for me?"

He did so, his hand surprisingly gentle as he fastened the delicate necklace around your neck. You turned to him and gazed for a moment into his eyes.

And it kind of seemed like a good moment to kiss him, so you did.

…

You look down at the photograph, spread out on the table before you. Rubeus is the last person you should be thinking bit when you've just said those most binding of words and promised yourself to Lucius for all eternity, but you can't help it.

He's part of a chapter of your life that's now lost forever and you can't help but feel he could be your last remaining link to those largely carefree days. As footsteps sound on the stones behind you, you seize the photograph and crumple it between your fingers.

"Narcissa?" You turn to see Bellatrix waiting behind you, Rodolphus standing dopily beside her, like a faithful dog sticking close to a dominant master. "Are you coming to join the celebrations?"

"Just a moment," you reply, hand closing around the wooden star concealed within the heavy folds of your skirt. "You go, I'll be right behind you."

As Bellatrix vanishes through the tall oaken doors, Rodolphus following in all his doggish devotion, you unclench your fist to reveal the two mementoes and drop them onto the polished tabletop. Pulling your wand from your wide sleeve, you prod the two objects.

Bluebell flames burst into existence around the necklace and photograph, blaze merrily for a moment and curl into nothingness, leaving behind ashes that you sweep aside for them to swirl to the floor and vanish into the grainy stone tiles.

You turn with a spin of your skirts and walk into the ballroom to take Lucius' hand and join the stately waltzing.

That part of your life was over now. It was time to join society as Lady Narcissa Malfoy.

…

You meet Rubeus Hagrid again sixteen years later, collecting fourteen year old Draco from Hogwarts after the Dark Lord's return and the murder of Cedric Diggory. Your mind is consumed with the problem of your husband being out of favour with the Dark Lord and the whispers of plans to recruit your son.

"Narcissa Black?" he asks, his eyes bulging as he takes in your pale complexion, hard eyes and long black dress, wand in your hand.

"It's Lady Malfoy now," you retort coldly, a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Come, Draco, let's go."

As you turn, your sleeve pulls up and shows the writhing black skull burned into your skin. His eyes fly to it and he looks at you with horror in his once kind eyes.

"What happened to you, Narcissa?" he asks. You turn to him with Draco at your side, eyes steely, unimpressed.

"I grew up," you answer, your voice so cold it could freeze the rain that lashes the ground. "It's time you did the same."

Oh gosh, I made myself cry so much writing this. I hope you all enjoyed it, and I did justice to this lovely pairing.

Please do not favourite without reviewing, thank you muchly :)