For Xan's Latest Challenge. 500 words.
It's Too Late
I see him as soon as I come down the stairs from Charms. I am about to call out to him when, somehow sensing my eyes on him, he turns towards me.
"Narcissa," I see him begin to mouth my name, but then, suddenly unmindful of my dignity as a Black, as a grand young lady of fifteen years, of the fact that nearly half the school is watching me, I fly down the rest of the staircase, flinging myself into his arms.
"Papa! Papa!"
"Narcissa." He is alarmed at my lack of poise, I can tell. He expected me to react better; to act as my age and my position in Society demand. Thankfully, his arms come round me and he holds me gently. I need it. Today of all days, I need it.
"It's not true! It's not true! Tell me it's not, Papa! Tell me. Tell me Bella's brought her back. Tell me! Please. Please, Papa. Please."
I am shaking, barely restraining tears. I am nearly sobbing into his shoulder, as I choke out the French – the old-fashioned French that my family always use to one another. I look up into his face as he towers over me. He used to scare me when he looked like that, but now he looks protective. For a second, it is as if Hogwarts has melted away and I am just a little girl again; the little girl who believed her father was more powerful even than Merlin, that he could fix anything.
But then he shakes his head and my world caves in again.
"Papa…"
"It's too late. It's too late, Narcissa. Andromeda's made her choice."
Tears start to my eyes. Now it really is over. Not even Bella has been able to talk Meda out of her foolishness. Not even Bella has been able to bring her back. Not even Bella, for whom Meda would once have done anything. It really is over.
I want to say something but the lump in my throat catches.
"You've told Dumbledore that I'm taking you home?" Papa's hand is on my shoulder; gentle and understanding, but still recalling me to my role as the youngest Black. Surreptitiously wiping my eyes on my sleeve, then fixing my mascara with a quick flick of my wrist, I nod.
"I haven't told him why though. I didn't think it fitting to tell the world that the Blacks are no longer united."
"And so it isn't. Good girl. We'll go up to talk to him now and then I'm taking you home. We've a mourning ceremony to prepare."
Again, I nod, "Yes, Papa."
Drawing myself up, I fall into step beside him and lead him through the corridors to Dumbledore's office, utterly conscious of the fact that I have a reputation to mend now, and quickly. Once the mourning service is over, I will only have one sister. I will be the second Black daughter, not the third. I must begin to act like it.