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Blood Traitor
You never thought you would leave school like this. You sit in the stands, rows before Remus, even more before James, and you look beside you to the beautiful blond sitting with her back straight and nose up in the air. She looks over at you a lot. Looks over at you with and icy stare and cold smile, hatred showing through her eyes. And you always stare right back at her, always willing yourself not to look away, willing yourself not to break down and cry.
You're supposed to hate them. You're supposed to hate their persecutions of blood, the way killing brings a gleam of pleasure to their eyes. You're supposed to hate that pale skin and light mesmerizing eyes, all those features that when you look in the mirror glare back at you. You look over at her again and smile slightly thinking about whispering in her ear, about sharing a joke of the past, and laughing right in the middle of Dumbledore's speech. You turn away with a sigh, it's been a long time since you were able to see her smile, make her laugh.
You know they're back there, your family. All of them are there staring at the platform waiting for their evil prodigy to take the stage. She's their perfect child molded into everything they want her to be. She'll do right by them, you think. She'll make them smile, make them proud, do whatever it takes to gain their approval, their love. But it'll be in vain. All of her efforts, all of her tries to win their love and affection will be in vain because they don't know how to love anybody, to appreciate anybody. You went through your childhood ranting about mudbloods and cursing animals with unforgivables just so you could see their faces light up, to make them happy, receiving only cold, hostile satisfaction. You look back at her, at your younger cousin, old with experience, hardened by reality, and you know that no matter what she does she'll still only be another puppet whose strings they control, another mindless Black in the nursery.
But she still has more than you ever will. She has them and no matter how much you try to tell yourself you do, you'll never hate them, never be totally happy without them. You close your eyes for a second as Dumbledore starts calling up names and remember all those times you sat with her and her sisters for Christmas, remember all the jokes you and Bella played on Regulus, remember Andromeda's poetry. They all hate you now, those girls you once called cousin, the boy you once called brother, they hate you. And you fancy it's your lion emblem, the fact that right now you're wearing robes of scarlet and gold. You believe it's your friendship with James and association with Lily. But the truth is they hate you for escaping, for the freedom you are now filled with. They live every day in scrutiny of all their actions. They live in coldness, constantly working hard for something they'll never achieve, constantly looking for answers they'll never find. And they envy you. They envy you for not being a Slytherin, for not being a death eater. They envy your courage to stand up to those people you once called parents and turn away form your birth right, your heritage. Being a Black is all they know, all you once knew, and they envy the fact that you were able to turn away. They hate you because you did what they all dream of doing but will never be able to achieve.
What they don't realize is that you have the same jealousy running through your veins. You want to visit them over the holiday, get a butterbeer with them in Hogsmeade. You want their acceptance and love just like before. You need their companionship, the only four people you know who are exactly like you, who think just like you. You come across as a fighter for the light, a future auror, but it doesn't change the fact that Black blood runs heavy in your veins and the torture of a muggle, it does nothing to your conscience. You're just like they are hiding everyday in a façade of goodness that you will live with until the day you die. Fighting the good fight is all you can do now, you've gone to far to ever turn back.
You hear Dumbledore call, Narcissa Black, and watch as she stiffly stands up and walks to the stage. You know they're watching her, that when she walks up there and reaches for her diploma she'll be able to see satisfied smiles on those familiar cold faces, that she'll know these past seven years paid off. You watch her gracefully walk down the stairs as they call your name. You take a deep breath and stand up. Nothing prepared you for this moment. Nothing could ever prepare you for facing the family you've left behind.
End
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