A/N: I took the following information from the Black Family Tree: Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa's parents are Cygnus (d. 1979) and Druella (nee Rosier), but there is no date of birth or death for Druella. I've therefore given her the same birth year as her husband (1929) but if anyone can tell me differently, please do let me know. This was written for the semi-finals of the women's tennis (write about any member of the Black family) in the 2012 Hogwarts Games. I hope you enjoy!
somewhere over the rainbow skies are blue
and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true
Organising a funeral, Narcissa thinks, should not be like this.
She sits alone in the big, empty manor house, surrounded by scraps of parchment with list upon endless list of things that need sorting, curtains drawn so she can barely see what she's writing and not even the dratted House Elf there to help her after Lucius' idiotic escapades last summer with that blasted diary and the Weasley girl...
No.
She pauses and takes a deep breath. That's unfair on Lucius, she tells herself. He is a good husband and loves her and Draco dearly, and is doing the best he can to assist her with the funeral. But there's still too much for her to do by herself, and whilst he's her husband, he's not family like her sisters and cousins are.
She should have her family here to help support her, but the Black name is mud these days and even those sympathetic to their cause tend to give them a wide berth. Regulus is dead, killed whilst running from the Dark Lord. Bellatrix and Sirius are both in Azkaban—or were; Sirius is now apparently on the run—for crimes so heinous they were locked away without trial. And Andromeda is perhaps more dead than any of them, even though she's living and breathing and whole.
Narcissa sighs. It's no use wishing that things were different – she is the last of the Blacks, and even she has a new name now. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black is no longer palatial; it's crumbling and there's ivy climbing through the windows. Her mother personified all that was great about the Black family, even though she married into it and wasn't a Black by birth: she was beautiful, rich, noble, intelligent and above all, worthy. Worthy of magic – her impeccable bloodlines went back four hundred years, an impressive statistic, but one which paled in comparison with the Blacks', which have been Pure for over seven hundred years.
Nowadays, after the defeat of the Dark Lord at the hands of an infant and the rebirth of the wizarding world as a more tolerant and equal place (or whatever rubbish the Minister for Muggleborn Rights is spouting this week), it is no longer socially acceptable to espouse the kind of values the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black does – or at least, it isn't in public. Behind closed doors is another matter, but even her husband has to pretend to support various Mudbloods and half-breeds at the Ministry to give himself a veneer of respectability, which is just ridiculous.
Nonetheless, she's mostly glad that she takes after her mother's side of the family, all blonde hair and blue eyes instead of the brown hair and storm-grey eyes of her father's side. The Black looks are unmistakeable and unwanted in just about every section of society. But she still wishes that they weren't, if only for the fact that it would mean that she would have her family to help her plan her mother's funeral, and her sisters to understand what it's like to be an orphan at the age of thirty eight.
She picks up her quill and sighs again.
Wishing won't get her anywhere. She needs to visit Twilfit and Tattings to get fitted for a new pair of funeral robes; the Crossed Wands want to know how many people to expect for the wake; then there's the casket to sort out...she may be the only one left to sort out their mother's funeral, but she will do a good job of it.
The service itself happens on a crisp, Autumn day at the end of September. The weather is cool and breezy, but the sun shines and the graveyard looks beautiful, full of red, orange, yellow and brown leaves that fall softly as her mother is lowered into the ground. It's a short but surprisingly nice service – the turnout is better than she expected. The Rosiers come, of course, but so do the Gamps and even some of the Goshawks and Macmillans. Marie and Edward Avery present her with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and Elizabeth Yaxley also comes to give her condolences. Lucius does a wonderful job with the elegy, and Draco, who's come down from Hogwarts for the service, stands beside her protectively and everyone tells her what a charming young man he's growing into. Everyone is far too discreet to mention the absence of Bellatrix and Andromeda, or ask whether it's true that Sirius has broken out of Azkaban, and she doesn't even know whether most of them notice their absence – but she does.
Once the service is over, the guests apparate to the Crossed Wands hotel where the wake is taking place, and Lucius approaches her and places a hand on her arm. "Are you ready?" he asks, gently, soothingly.
Narcissa swallows. "Take Draco to the hotel. I need a little time to say goodbye," she says.
"Of course," he nods in understanding. "Don't be too long. I don't want you catching a chill. Draco!" he raises his voice and calls for his son, who comes over to join them.
"Go with your father, Draco," she tells him. "He'll side-along you."
"Aren't you coming?" her son asks.
"I'll be there in a few moments," she says. Lucius drops a kiss on her forehead, and holds out his arm for Draco. With a small pop, the two are gone, and Narcissa is alone.
She kneels in front of her mother's grave, pulling her robes more tightly around her. She feels sad, though she knows it is selfish. Her mother never recovered from losing first her daughter, then her husband, and then another daughter to Azakaban, and at least now she is no longer in pain from her illness. She'll be reunited with her husband, they'll be happy together...
But she has left her alone. Not solely alone, of course, for she has Lucius and Draco, and could not ask for a more loving husband or more wonderful son. But there's a hole in her life where her birth family should be, and her parents are just lines between dates and a few missives on a tombstone.
She's not sure what it is that makes her look up, but she's suddenly aware that she's no longer alone. She breaks off from her reverie and turns to her left, to the little copse of trees. Standing there is a young woman, no more than twenty, with a protective hand on the shoulder of an older woman with brown curls and storm-grey eyes.
The younger woman is wearing muggle clothing – black trousers and a black blouse – with a dark cloak on top, and has shocking pink hair. But despite this unusual combination, it is the older woman, dressed in traditional Pureblood attire, who catches Narcissa's eye – for it is none other than her sister.
She gets to her feet, taking a few paces towards the two women, who remain where they are, before stopping. The younger woman – she must be her daughter, Nymphadora, Narcissa thinks – says something to her mother and then takes a step backwards. As she does so, her hair changes from pink to red, and Narcissa can't help gasping out loud. Her daughter must be a Metamorphmagus! One or two have popped up in the Black family line over the years, but the most recent died in 1827 – the trait is not unheard of, but still incredibly rare. How strange that things such as this now happen in her sister's life without her knowing about it.
Andromeda takes a few steps forward, but stops around ten feet away from her sister. "I saw your announcement," she begins awkwardly, "in the Prophet. I hoped you wouldn't mind me coming to the funeral." She waits for Narcissa to respond, but the younger woman says nothing. "I'm sorry she died. You...you have my sympathies."
"And you mine," Narcissa says, as though this is yet another near-stranger offering her the bland condolences found in a bereavement card. (On the other hand, this is exactly what it is.)
"If there's anything I can do..." Andromeda offers, still in the stilted, hyper-formal tone of voice.
"I appreciate your offer, but there is nothing," says Narcissa evenly, and silence falls once more.
"Well, Dora and I will be going then," Andromeda says eventually. "Once again – my condolences." Narcissa gives a small nod of acknowledgement.
The strangest thing is how they have quite literally nothing to say to each other. She can't pretend she hasn't dreamed about a reunion with her sister before now, but in their reunion, they either embrace, weeping, promising to stay together forevermore, or fight and sometimes even duel over Andromeda's actions. But in her dreams, she actually does something – she doesn't just stand there as Andromeda hovers awkwardly.
"Goodbye, Narcissa," Andromeda says, taking the arm of the young woman who's eyeing her Aunt (she's her niece!) with undisguised interest. Say something Narcissa's brain screams at her, but after all these years and all the dreams, she can think of absolutely nothing to say. She's not angry, not over joyed, not anything.
"Goodbye," she responds, and then, with a pop, the two women—her two family members—disappear. Only the slight imprint on the grass from Andromeda's heels proves that they were there, and Narcissa shakes herself, before looking back towards her mother's grave. It may prove she's an orphan, but she supposes she does still have family somewhere, even if they are unreachable.
(When she arrives at the wake, Lucius will ask her what kept her, and she will respond that she was saying goodbye. He will assume that she's referring to her mother, and neither of them will mention it again.)
A/N: I do believe that Andromeda and Narcissa would have reconciled after the war, if only because they both lost so much, they'd want to cling onto what they did have, but I don't think this would have happened until after the final battle. For those still unsure, this takes place during PoA, hence Sirius still being on the run. Please review.