September, 1998.
At night she dreamt of the past. The dreams come to her in a jumbled, scattered fashion; she's never sure why she's recalling one memory or the other. Sometimes the dreams are blurry; it feels like she's viewing the memories through frosted glass. On other nights the dreams feel so real that she feels like she's right there; she can almost reach out and touch the figures in the dream, smell her surroundings.
She dreams of many people: her son, her husband, her mother. More often than not, she dreams of her father.
She is five. Her father is telling her about the sacred twenty-eight. He is explaining about the House of Black. It's a great House; one of the purest in the land. The first witch Queen, Elizabeth Woodville, once considered the family her greatest allies. They are better than the other families. Greater.
She is seven and her father is worried. The muggles are going to war with one another. They've developed weapons that could wipe out the wizarding world. For the first time in their lives, wizards and witches are running scared of muggles. The Ministry doesn't know if they can survive if war breaks out. There is talk of using magic to manipulate the muggles. Her father wants to take the Muggles down; they are weak, useless, pathetic creatures. She agrees with him. He pats her head and smiles at her.
She is twelve. All the children in Slytherin want to be her friend. She is a Black; her reputation precedes her. She doesn't have to be nice to make people like her. They like her anyway. She is respected, revered.
She is nineteen. She is getting married. Narcissa thanks her lucky stars that she loves her fiancé. Lucius cares for her. He loves her for who she is. She isn't going to be unhappy like her sister, pushed into marrying a man she doesn't like.
Her father is fixing the flower in her hair. His dark eyes, always cold, fix her with a hard stare.
"I'm proud of you," he tells her. "You've always been a head above Bella. You're accepting this marriage with grace and pride. You mother would have been proud."
She blinks back tears. Her mother died a month ago. The wedding dress she is wearing belonged to her.
"I once thought my daughters would never make me proud," her father's mouth is set in an angry line. "Bella's refusal to accept her situation has been a national embarrassment. She has conducted herself in a way that is not benefitting of a Black."
Narcissa notes that he doesn't mention his other daughter; her sister, Andromeda. He acts like she is dead to him.
"You, Narcissa, have not only made a better match than Bella but you behave as any daughter of mine should."
She feels so proud. She has always been her father's favourite daughter. Bellatrix had never accepted their father's rules. Andromeda had always been headstrong, bossy and obnoxious.
"It's traditional for a man to give his daughter advice on her wedding day. So here is mine to you: you can fix a nose bleed, you can fix a broken bone. You can't fix a broken reputation. You can put some of it back together, but it will never be whole again. A broken reputation lingers on, even after death. The family name rests on you now. Don't let me down."
Narcissa thinks of these words as she lies in her cell. She stares round at the four walls that have become her home and wonders what her father would think if he could see her now. The walls and floor of the cell are made of hard stone; it feels like she's in a tomb. Sometimes she runs her hands over the walls just to remind herself that she is alive.
Her room consists of a single bed, a desk, a bookcase and candle. The books are the only thing keeping her sane; that and the copy of the Daily Prophet that's delivered to her cell every day. She dreams of being able to go outside, to feel the air on her face and run her hands over the grass in her front garden.
She is alone often. Her Advocate visits once a week. Muldover, the Aurour appointed to look after the cells, comes in once a day to take her to the food hall. Narcissa looks forward to this activity the most. It's the one hour a day that she can spend with her son and husband.
How the mighty have fallen, Narcissa thinks, staring at herself in the small mirror in the corner of her room. Her face is gaunt and pale. Her skin is dry and dehydrated. Her long, blonde hair is lank and dull. She is a different woman now.
Her father's words still resonate with her. As Narcissa lies in bed at night and listens to the catcalls of her fellow prisoners, she thinks of her family's reputation. She imagines the whispers and rumours that are currently circulating among the wizarding population. She thinks about the witches she used to meet with every Friday; they are probably gossiping about her over tea and cocktails; she won't be invited into their circle again. Her eyes pour over the column inches given to her, her husband and her son in the Daily Prophet.
'The family name rests on you now.'
Yes, thinks Narcissa, yes it does. She is the only one left. There is nobody else. She is surprised at how easily the burden falls upon her. This is something Bellatrix could never have shouldered. It's why her father always placed her above her sisters.
The next day her Advocate calls for her, she tells him her plan.
His face flushes. He looks surprised.
"I...I would advise against this," he splutter.s "If you're caught; if anybody sees you..."
She'd gives him a sardonic smile. "It's not like I have anything to lose, is it?"
He nods. He promises to make the necessary enquiries for her.
She smiles when she reads the Daily Prophet the next day. There he is, right there on the front page: Harry Potter. The boy who lived has been photographed saying goodbye to his girlfriend at King's Cross. The photo of him is not a flattering one; he looks irritated at being photographed. The report that accompanies the photo states that he ignored the Prophet journalist and asked to be left alone. Narcissa notes how thin he looks, how pained his face is. It was reported in the papers few weeks ago that Potter wasn't returning to Hogwarts, that he is spending time with the Weasley family. He's currently unemployed.
Narcissa never could have imagined that her family's name and reputation would depend upon Harry Potter. It's his fault her family are in this situation in the first place.
Narcissa hopes Harry Potter isn't naïve. She hopes he didn't think that he could walk out of this war alive and not have to pay his debt to the woman who saved his life.
Narcissa is going to save her family, and Harry Potter is going to help her. If he doesn't, Narcissa knows her family have no way out.
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