Because I am one of three sisters, and because I find myself understanding Narcissa Malfoy more and more.
She is 7 years old, throwing a tantrum on the polished wooden floor in the hallway. Her mother is ignoring her tears, standing by the door and already dressed for the outside in an expensive mauve travelling cloak. The soothing sounds of a house elf attempting to quieten the screaming child, are broken by Narcissa's yells of
"It's not fair"
"Not a baby"
"Want to go"
Her sisters and mother are going to Diagon Alley, to shop for school supplies for Bellatrix's first year at Hogwarts. Narcissa has been told that she is too young to go, and will stay at home with her cousins and act like the well-behaved child her pureblood upbringing demanded.
Her mother eventually intervenes and sends her screaming daughter up to the nursery for the rest of the day. Narcissa draws her knees up to her chest and sits scrunched up against the wall, as if determined to be uncomfortable as an extra defiance for being excluded from the day out. Regulus gurgles from his playpen in the corner; Sirius is playing happily on the floor in front of her. She's been left with the babies, she thinks bitterly, to be treated like a baby.
It is not missing a day out that annoys her; it is her sisters going without her. They had always been grouped together, expected to entertain and teach each other as they grew. Now Bella was going off to school, and Meda was considered grown-up enough to help her prepare for it. Narcissa was the one being left trailing behind while they have all the fun.
She is 9 years old, buried under the blankets of her over-lavish bed on the evening of 1st September. She's cold, and she wants to talk to someone. Usually, she would slip out of bed and creep along the corridor to Andromeda's room, where they would chat and giggle and eventually, fall asleep. But Andromeda is at Hogwarts, as is Bella, and the Black manor house suddenly seems much emptier.
Narcissa is trying to tell herself to be pleased. Now there will be no-one else to compete for Mother and Father's affections. Now she can be constant centre of attention. But she can't help feeling a sense of loneliness that her childish mind can't explain.
She is 12 years old, crouching with her hands clutching the banisters and gazing down at the scene below. It's the night of her parents' annual summer ball and the guests have started arriving.
She thinks the ladies look beautiful in their brightly coloured dress robes, jewels gleaming at their throats and crystals sparking in their hair. Narcissa knows that when she can attend balls, she will be more beautiful than all of them.
Andromeda and Bellatrix are downstairs, their dress robes have been carefully chosen by mother to present them in the best way to the pureblood community the family thrive on. Bellatrix is already of marriageable age, and has been dressed to reflect that. The lowered neckline and deeper colour of her robe is drawing interest from the older boys in attendance, although there is already talk of an agreement with Rodolphus Lestrange. Andromeda has been dressed in white, the most suitable colour for a young girl's first ball. The robe was brand new last week, and Narcissa had to watch in envy as it was selected from Madame Malkins and gift wrapped in tissue paper. Meda had not dared to try it on before this evening, for fear of spoiling it and being excluded from the ball as punishment.
The music has started to play, as Narcissa sighs and leans her head against the banisters. She would have to endure two years before she was allowed to attend the balls. They would have so much fun without her, Bella could even be married by then. For now, she was stuck upstairs to watch.
She is 16 years old, leaning against the wall outside her father's office, listening to her parents argue. She is waiting to be called in for an interrogation, about her knowledge of 'this mudblood boy'. Andromeda had left last night, taking minimal possessions and leaving a note explaining her runaway marriage.
Her parents were angry, but that was nothing compared to Bellatrix. Narcissa had never seen her sister in such a fury, she had cursed and shouted and left a trail of destruction through Andromeda's empty bedroom.
Bella wasn't here now; she had gone back to her new house with her husband and left Narcissa alone to deal with their parents. Bella was never around anymore. She had grown colder, more secretive, no longer confiding in her sisters. She was dedicating more and more of her life to the man people had been whispering about, the one who was going to put the mudbloods in their rightful place.
She worries what she is going to say when her father calls her in. Should she admit that she suspected something? She knew that Andromeda had been angry with the pureblood marriage her parents were arranging for her, she knew that she had been returning to the common room late and spending less time with her housemates. She knew there were rumours about a friendship with a mudblood boy in her year. They were all signs that she had tried to ignore, disgusted by the idea that they might be true.
She doesn't want to admit how hurt she is that they are true. She can no longer talk to Bella about how she feels.
She is 18 years old, sitting through the mind-numbing experience of dinner at Aunt Walburga's. Sirius has already been shouted at twice and Bella looks ready to murder him simply for being annoying. Andromeda isn't here, her name hasn't been mentioned once in the last year and a half and her family are acting as if she never existed.
Sirius catches her arm as she heads upstairs after dinner, pulling her into an empty room on the first floor. She scowls at him, preparing to make it clear that she doesn't want any part in one of his pranks. But he is wearing a serious look that she is unused to seeing on his handsome features.
"Andromeda's had a baby."
She can do nothing but stare at him. She should scold him for speaking of her sister, make it clear that she is not longer a member of this family and that he is a blood-traitor himself for still being in contact with her. But a twisting feeling in the bottom of her stomach makes her push all that out of her mind. Instead she whispers.
"Boy or girl?"
"Girl."
"When?"
"Three days ago. She's called Nymphadora."
He gives her a brief nod and leaves the room. He never mentions the conversation again. Narcissa wonders if she should have thanked him, because she can't deny the feeling of relief at knowing that Meda is happy. She never tells Bella this and she never mentions what she has learnt aloud. Bella acts like Andromeda is dead.
She is 20 years old, admiring herself in a white dress as she stands in front of the golden mirror in her childhood room. The wedding is being held at her family home, despite her request for a more lavish venue.
She can't help remembering Bella's wedding, almost six years ago. All three of them had helped her prepare. Narcissa remembers the fitting of the wedding dress, giving her opinion on which style she liked best, giggling at the fancy bridal lingerie. Andromeda had done Bella's hair on the day, twisting it into the elegant knot that only she knew how to do. Narcissa had helped arrange the family jewels around Bella's neck and on her fingers.
There is no-one here now to help her prepare. Bella is late arriving. She says there are more important things for her to be doing, says the current events mean she doesn't have time to baby her sister anymore. Narcissa is stung by this, but she doesn't say so. She knows that Bella's anger is far worse than it used to be.
The guest list is shorter than she would have liked. The war has forced people onto sides and it seems that some of them would rather not align themselves with her new husband.
She pretends not to care; she believes everything that Lucius is standing for. She is proud to support the man she loves.
But as she looks around the empty room, she admits that her wedding isn't the childhood fantasy she thought it would be. And her sisters aren't here to share it with her.
She is 24 years old, slumped on the bathroom floor with her back against the door. Her father died this morning and she hasn't stopped crying since. She doesn't even know why she's so upset. She wasn't close to him, he was a stern man who spent all his time at the Ministry and ignored his children.
She knows she should go downstairs and compose herself. Lucius will be home soon, or she hopes he will. His work seems no longer separate from his service to the Dark Lord, he was expected to pledge more and more of his life to his master. It was affecting him more than he was admitting. Her husband looked tired and hagged, no-longer the sleek and composed man she had married. She could feel his devotion to the cause was straining now the war was going on so long. She did her best to encourage him, but it was becoming more difficult.
The funeral was in three days, she wondered if Bella knew yet. She wondered if Andromeda would ever know. Narcissa felt very alone.
She is 27 years old, holding her son to her chest as she sits in her darkening living room. Draco is fast asleep, she really should take him to bed, but she can't quite let go of him. She wants to keep him close. His low breathing and warmth are almost reassuring.
Bella has been sent to Azkaban. She was stupid enough to stand in court and proclaim all the terrible things she had done. She wouldn't let Lucius help her. Lucius could have saved her from prison.
She thinks Bella wanted to go. Her mind's not been right since the Dark Lord fell.
Narcissa is relieved he is gone, although she barely admits this thought to herself. The war was becoming more dangerous, she was losing her husband and she didn't want to lose her son.
But she feels the anger that Lucius has been expressing for the past months. They could have won; they were so close to winning. They could have brought the balance that the wizarding world needed.
Draco shifts in his sleep and she smoothes his hair back from his forehead and tucks his blanket round his tiny body. She would hold onto the family she had left. She wouldn't let them leave her.
She is 41 years old, sitting upright in bed and trying to ignore the empty space next to her. Her hand is resting on the cold pillow, where Lucius' head would usually lie. She wants to go downstairs to escape the claustrophobia of the empty bedroom, but Malfoy manor seems very dark and threatening all of a sudden. She feels like a little girl again, afraid of ghosts that might be lurking in wide corridors and old staircases.
She tells herself she is stupid to be missing him; Lucius has often gone away and left her alone in the house. A man with such a high position in the Ministry is expected to travel.
But she can't help imagining the dank cells of Azkaban and her husband emerging as her sister had, lost of all humanity.
Draco is also awake; she checked in on him before she went to bed and found him sitting at his desk and staring out the window. He feigned tiredness, but she caught that mix of fear and excitement that has been keeping him alert for the last week, ever since he was told of his mission.
She is terrified for him, a horrible panicked feeling rises inside her when she thinks of it, making her want to scream at him not to do it. She tried to make Bella stop it, to use her position as the Dark Lord's favourite to save her son. The look Bella gave her when she asked made her see there was no hope; she knows where her sister's loyalties lie.
This new war has started draining her family away again, and she is thinking desperately of the last place she can turn.
She is 43 years old, standing before an unfamiliar door and working up the courage to knock.
Bella's funeral was three days ago, Draco and Lucius have not left the house since then. They have been given temporary accommodation by the Ministry; none of them can bear to return to their house so soon, not after all that happened there. Her son is barely speaking, although she is unsure whether this is from shock, regret or anger. She keeps replaying the last few weeks in her mind; the battle at Hogwarts just seems like one long blur of panic. She is desperate to find some form of stability, she's not sure what she stands for anymore.
The door finally opens and Narcissa looks upon the face of a sister she hasn't seen in 25 years. Andromeda only looks vaguely surprised, as if she was expecting this visit, but when she speaks it's not exactly with gushing affection.
"What are you doing here?"
Narcissa decides it is best to answer honestly. "I wanted to see you"
"Why?"
Andromeda is standing with her arm out, blocking the doorway. She has barely changed from the 18 year old Narcissa remembers, it is a fact that the Black women tend to age well.
"You have every reason to hate me."
Andromeda stares at her; she looks as if she is having a hard time deciding on an answer. "I'm just wondering why you thought I would ever want to see you again"
This reply hurts but she decides it is best to be forward, her sister has no reason to accept her so she would have to force her too. "Can I come in?"
Andromeda eventually steps back and lets her into the house. She watches Narcissa as she hangs her cloak and then leads her into the living room. It is clean and well furnished, of course, Meda had always been a neat freak; but there are signs of the war everywhere. The room is dark; as if her sister had been so used to hiding she had forgotten what real light was. A stack of pages torn from the Daily Prophet are balanced on a side table, she can see the top headline reads 'MUDBLOODS STILL OUT THERE'. Most noticeable, however, is the baby boy in the bassinet in the centre of the room.
Narcissa knows he is Andromeda's grandson, she had been told about this mixed blood, half breed son of her niece. He looks harmless to her, but she stands back while her sister goes over to kneel by the baby and place her hand against his head. The boy's hair turns from a golden brown to white blond and he waves his fists and gurgles. Narcissa is taken aback and stares at the baby's hair. She has heard of gifts like this, but they were certainly rare, only emerging in powerful wizarding families.
She sits down on the sofa opposite her sister, feeling awkward and unsure of what she should say. She can't help looking down at the baby boy, who seems to be staring back at her, his hair still the same shade of bright blond. He is a beautiful baby, she almost asks if she can hold him, but stops herself as she doubts her sister would allow it. Andromeda seems to read her mind and she lifts the boy up and places him on Narcissa's lap.
It has been a long time since she held a baby and she finds herself fumbling to support his head and cradle his body properly. The baby smiles at her and curls a chubby fist around her finger; with his blond hair he looks like Draco did at that age. The baby's hair changes again, shifting to a bright shade of turquoise. Narcissa laughs and the baby smiles back, she looks up to see Andromeda hovering in front of her, clearly waiting to grab the boy back if her sister does something wrong.
"His name's Teddy, after my Ted."
She knows that Andromeda's husband had been killed; it makes her so incredibly glad for Lucius being alive that she felt guilty.
"I'm sorry."
"No you're not. You hated him."
"I hated him because he took you away."
It was true, that's why Bellatrix had hated him really. It was the loss of her sister that made her so bent on revenge; it was just her twisted way of seeing things.
"Bella's dead" She isn't quite sure why she blurts it out like that. She is sure that everyone must have heard by now. Perhaps she just wanted to say it out loud, remind herself that Bella was at peace now.
Andromeda nods. "I know, I was at her funeral."
This surprises her; the funeral hadn't exactly been well attended. "I didn't see you."
"I didn't want you to."
"Why did you come?" it was an obvious question. Why would anyone attend the funeral of a known death eater and murderer, who they hadn't seen for over 20 years and who had aimed to kill their husband and child. Narcissa had almost doubted going herself, but she had felt that Bellatrix deserved a peaceful end to her life.
"She was still my sister; I was doing my best to remember her as I had known her."
Andromeda voice wavers slightly and she reaches out to take Teddy back and place him in his bassinet. She keeps her back turned for several moments and Narcissa wonders if she's crying. She is half ready to stand up to comfort her, but when Andromeda turns and speaks again her voice is calm.
"Harry told me what you did, in the forest."
Narcissa feels a flush creeping up her cheeks. Did Harry Potter really care what her sister thought about her?
"I only wanted to save Draco. I didn't care about Harry."
That wasn't completely true. Narcissa knew that there was a part of her that had felt when she had seen Harry fall; no mother could see a boy get hit and not feel. She wonders why she couldn't tell her sister this. Was she afraid to admit that she had defied the Dark Lord right before he finally died?
"Of course you did. I always knew you'd be an over-protective mother from how possessive you were about your dolls."
A smile twitches on Andromeda's lips. Narcissa half smiles back but loses the nerve and stares down at her feet. Her eyes fall upon a leather bound book which has been pushed underneath the sofa. She bends down to pull it out and recognises it as an old photograph album, the Black family crest stamped onto the cover in silver. She looks up to read Andromeda's expression but her sister has turned away again, as if embarrassed at what she has found. It contains pictures of her, pictures of Bella, pictures of Sirius and Regulus, all smiling and laughing and young. Before Sirius ran away, before Bella lost her mind and before Meda was disowned. She's so surprised that her sister kept it that can't stop staring at the brightly moving pictures in front of her. Perhaps Meda needed to remember her sisters as they used to be, perhaps she had missed them.