This is a songfic that just popped into my head late one night, and I absolutely had to write it. It may help in understanding another 2-part oneshot I have written called Never Wear Gloves. Some of the events spoken of or taking place in Never Wear Gloves are mentioned in here. Please read both.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, as much as I'd like to. I only partially own the character Meghan Potter. And I don't own When She Loved Me either. Unfortunately.
When She Loved Me: non-explicit femmeslash, NarcissaOC. Semi-songfic to When She Loved Me by Sarah McLachlan. "Never wear gloves," she said. I knew what she meant. Never wear masks, never hide who you are, always be yourself, live for you. Never change just for someone else. Companion to Never Wear Gloves.
The petite blonde woman takes a seat at the piano. She's lived a hard life. Her pretty blue eyes hold a depth of pain and sadness that's hardly bearable to watch.
She begins to play an intro on the piano, singing as if to herself, even though the other woman can hear her. She wants to hear what she has to say.
I was always the quiet one. I was her support, her salvation, she used to say, when everything got to be too much. She said everyone expected her to be perfect, cheerful and playful, all the time. She said when it was just us, she didn't have to be perfect. She could just be herself.
I felt the same way. No expectations.
"When somebody loved meEverything was beautiful
Every hour we spent together
Lives within my heart"
We were never apart then. You could always find her with me. I was always near her, cherishing the time we spent together with every bone in my body.
I remember one day we stayed up very late, and just lay on the ground and looked up at the stars. We held hands and watched them twinkle until the sun started to peek over the horizon. She told jokes, and we sang songs, but mostly we just lay there and enjoyed each other, enjoyed being together.
She was the first friend I ever had, that wasn't my sister. She and I were always the closest of our group. Everyone knew they came second. It was always she and I first, and others came after.
At times, we were all each other had. She would be sad over something her brother had said or done to her that he really shouldn't have, and I would be so sick of everything my family wanted from me that I would just collapse.
But with her, that was okay. It was always okay, no matter where or when it was, if I needed something. I remember the first time I really lost it in front of her.
"Oh, Meghan, she's making me go and I'll have to play piano in front of all of them, so that she can show me off like some sort of trophy. She doesn't realize that I'm actually a person and not a doll, that I have feelings and I'm only ten years old! Why is she so unbelievably dense?"
She just sat there and let me vent, somehow knowing if I didn't get it out, it would just get worse and worse. She could tell it wasn't all right, like everyone else said, and that I needed to tell someone how I was feeling.
And when I was done ranting, panting and exhausted, she opened her arm to me and let me slump next to her on the bed.
"She doesn't realize. She's like a little girl, she doesn't really understand the world. You know how she always stays in the house doing her projects like sewing a new cover for Andi's pillow or finding you a new piano teacher who'll just keep pushing you. She doesn't realize the world outside her own little world. She's been sheltered her whole life."
She really made me see that day. See that I was different from the others of my class, the others in my family. She showed me that I didn't have to fit someone's perfect niche for me. They would have to resize it to fit me, because I had a personality and I didn't need to give up who I was for anyone.
I was always quiet, and she said that was okay as long as I was comfortable. She understood when I had to yell, and I understood when she had to be alone, the door shut and no words coming from her. She would sit at her desk and look at the picture that hung on the wall in front of her, a picture of her and her parents, just them, standing together in a beautiful garden when she was barely five years old. In it she was smiling, laughing, so refreshingly and honestly happy it made you smile just to look at her. It was taken slightly askew, just when her brother James had been learning to use a camera, but it was the subjects that really brought the picture to life.
When she was older, about twelve, I came over to visit, and she decided she needed more pictures. So she got a piece of poster paper and arranged photos all around it, photos of our group, photos of her family, photos of her, photos of the two of us. Soon she had a beautiful collage, the two centerpieces the picture of her and her parents and a picture of the two of us with our arms around each other's shoulders, smiling for the camera and just being ourselves. It was taken in the winter, and you could see the snowflakes in her dark hair and my cold-reddened cheeks as we laughed.
"And when she was sadI was there to dry her tears
And when she was happy
So was I
When she loved me"
When her first boyfriend crashed and burned, I was the one with the tissue box and the bar of chocolate. When she aced her tests, I was waiting to high-five and hug her as she left the classroom. When I had a headache, she was there with a painkiller and a good joke. When I conquered a new piano piece, she'd listen intently and dance around the room as I played it for her. We knew each other like no one else.
I could finish her sentences, and she'd answer my questions before I asked them. She'd fix my hat before I left the room and I'd make sure she never went out in the cold without a scarf. I could get her to eat her vegetables and she'd convince me to eat dessert. She knew when I was hurting and I knew when she was worried. It was like we were connected.
I knew first when she broke her arm.
She was the first one to notice when I went anorexic.
I was the first one she told when he asked her to the ball.
She was the only one who ever knew I wanted to be a Muggle guidance counselor.
"Through the summer and the fall
We had each other, that was all
Just she and I together
Like it was meant to be"
We always spent the summers together. As long as I didn't get hurt or deformed, my parents didn't really care. Her parents were always there, and they treated me like their own daughter. I was never "the guest", the one you have to clean your room and get the fancy dishes out for. I was just "Cissa", like the sister she never had. I'd come in, and her mother would scold me for not coming sooner. She'd take me to the kitchen, and she and Meghan would be making brownies. I'd join in, of course. It was a place I belonged. I knew where everything was in that kitchen, and in most every other room they used in the house. I could find anything as quick as—or faster—than Meghan.
And her father would laugh as I made a face at the smell of his coffee. He'd share the newspaper with me (or I'd steal it from him) and we'd laugh over the silly statements in his favorite magazine the Quibbler. Her brother would tease me and tug on my hair when I walked past. Sometimes we'd play cards, and he would never win, even though he tried his hardest. When we played chess, Uncle Andrew would ask me about school, and no matter how warm it was, or whether I was even going outside, Aunt Elisabeth ask if I was wearing my jumper. It was never awkward, and I never felt like a guest or an intruder into the family. Why would I? I was part of it.
Sometimes we'd go out though, just she and I together. There was no one else. We'd go out to the little cottage on the edge of the property for days at a time, just to be alone in the middle of a beautiful meadow. We'd borrow Mrs. Potter's cookbooks and cook together in the little kitchen, even though it seemed we always ended up with more food being thrown around the cottage than eaten.
We hardly slept inside in the summers. It was just too oppressive under a roof. We'd take our pillows and blankets outside and lay on the thick, springy grass, which was softer than my mattress and better-smelling, just the two of us. She'd tell stories, and I'd teach her songs, and we'd watch the sun set with our arms around each other's shoulders.
That was where we shared our first kiss. We were sixteen—it was just before our last year at Hogwarts. It was my last summer of freedom. When I was fifteen, my parents told me I was going to marry Lucius Malfoy. She was the first one I wrote to, the first one who knew besides the Malfoys and my family. She was—is —the only one that I ever told about Lucius and how much I hated him. He was abusive, but I never flat-out told anyone except her. She was always trying to convince me not to go through with it. I told her I was the youngest daughter of a renowned pureblood family. I couldn't not do it. My parents had dictated every politically-important part of my life since I was born, and this was no different.
But that evening, we just lay on our backs and looked up at the sky. You can see everything from there, because the Potters live in the middle of the country—the little village Godric's Hollow probably doesn't even know what light pollution is. It must have been about midnight when Meg sat up. I sat up too, wondering what had agitated her.
She kept looking at the sky as she said calmly, almost distantly, "You're getting married next year, Lise."
"I am," I agreed. Meghan sighed. "Why are you getting married? You don't love him, he doesn't love you—he's just going to be horrible to you for the rest of your life."
"I'm getting married because my parents said so," I told her, for what must have been the hundredth time since I told her about the engagement. "I don't have a choice, Meghan."
She fell silent. I remember she just sat there for ages. I watched her; she watched the sky. It must have been a half-hour before she finally spoke again.
"Remember your mum's tea parties? The ones where she'd invite all the influential pureblood wives she knew? She'd have you dress up in your best clothes, her little blonde cherub, and you'd come play piano and sing for the group. You'd bring in the tea—she used you like a mechanical doll—pretty, useful, but with no actual value to her." Meghan stopped and sighed. "I just don't want you to spend the rest of your life being someone's doll."
I took her hand in mine after she said that. "Meggie," I whispered, "I'll be more than a doll. Lucius won't let me be a doll."
She laughed without mirth. "Great. So instead you'll walk around as beat up as you were that time I found you in that closet. You shouldn't have to spend your life as someone's possession. You're worth so much more than that, Liesel."
I remember looking to the side, blushing bright red in the velvety darkness. Somehow she saw. "You deserve someone who'll prize all your amazing abilities, but not forget that you're a person with needs and emotions and feelings." She scooted closer to me and took both of my hands in hers, looking into my eyes. "You deserve someone who will cherish you as you deserve to be cherished, someone who will take care of you, but not let you be so shy as to never try anything new. You need to find someone who completes you. That person is not Lucius Malfoy. He's violent, lying, and two-faced. You're wonderful, shy, kind, and honest. Not to mention that his face is really ugly, and you're absolutely gorgeous," she whispered.
I just watched as she got closer and closer to me. She stopped barely a centimeter from my lips—our noses and foreheads were touching. Her eyes questioned mine.
I smiled slightly and closed the distance between us, kissing her lightly and chastely. When I pulled away, my cheeks on fire, I whispered in her ear, "The only person who fits all those categories is you, Meg." I sat back, watching her face. She didn't say anything. I swallowed, stood, and started to take my things inside.
"Liesel, wait!" she called. I turned. "You don't think I'm—sick, do you?"
"Well, do you think I'm wrong for thinking about my best friend—my female best friend—the way I think about you?" I trembled. "Am I disgusting?"
She was standing now, and walking calmly over to me. "Disgusting?" I cringed, waiting for her to denounce me. "You could never be disgusting, sweetheart." And she hugged me.
That must have been the best summer of my life. But at the end of the summer, I just couldn't do it any more. It was painful to tell her no, that we had to stay just friends. I just couldn't tell my family no—I'd never been able to tell them no.
"And when she was lonely
I was there to comfort her
And I knew
That she loved me"
She got homesick a lot. It was understandable, with a family like that, so kind and loving and wonderful. Sometimes she'd find me in the middle of the night—I never knew how she got into the dormitories—and she'd just crawl onto my bed, her face wet with tears, and tell me in that voice, the childish, sad voice that almost broke my heart, "I miss Mum and Dad." I'd lift up the covers and we'd hug, just she and I. We'd fall asleep that way, and in the early morning, she'd wash her face and kiss me on the cheek before she headed back to her room.
After The Kiss, she didn't stay the night. She'd just come to check on me—"Because you're my family too, and I need you." Then she'd leave.
I knew she left before she did something she'd probably regret. I should have been glad, but the truth was, I wasn't. I wanted to kiss her again. I wanted to tell her that I'd kicked Lucius out of my life, taken my own path for once, but I couldn't do that either. I couldn't tell my family no, I couldn't tell Lucius no. I couldn't tell Meghan yes.
After I took my NEWTs and passed them with flying colors, I married Lucius, the devil wearing an angel's face. I resigned myself to a life at home, entertaining wealthy families and cultivating useful acquaintances, never friendships. I resigned myself to a life of abuse, a life with only two clear purposes: to please my husband and to present him with an heir. I kept quiet about it too. I was good at that. I always have been.
"So the years went by
I stayed the same
But she began to drift away
I was left alone"
I hardly saw Meghan anymore. Lucius thought the Potters were "blood traitors", and I was forbidden to associate with them unless absolutely necessary.
Besides, our paths were different now. She stayed single. I got married. She became an Auror. I became a mother. Maybe we were too different to be friends, too far apart to be "family" again.
Draco Alexander Malfoy, my little boy, helped in ways he'd never understand. However much he looked like his father, he was mine on the inside—I could see it in his eyes. He was my refuge, the one who gave me love in the hellhole I had taken up residence in. I was alone but for him. I felt like it would never end.
"Still I waited for the day
When she'd say
I will always
Love you"
Then one day, Lucius went too far. He hit Draco—he was only three months old then, I wouldn't let him do it. And he shamed me in a way I'd never erase. As soon as he was asleep, I took my baby and went to the only person I trusted above all, with everything, even after these years we'd been separated.
As I stood there and waited for her to answer the door, I wondered if she'd even care that I needed her so much. I wondered if she'd open the door and let me in. I wondered if she'd do anything but smile politely at me and ask what I needed.
Would she be anything but politely distant? I didn't need politely distant, I needed a friend—or perhaps, more. I needed someone who'd take care of me, who'd realize how broken I was when I hid it even from myself. I needed Meghan my best friend, Meghan the girl who kissed me. Not Meghan Potter the beautiful daughter of purebloods.
I shivered as I stood there. What waited beyond the door?
She answered in her pajamas, her hair sleep-ruffled and her eyes curious but drowsy. "Who are you?" she demanded. I'd forgotten I was wearing a hood then, and I froze. Slowly I turned my head up as Draco pushed his way out of my cloak. When she just gaped at me and whispered, "Liesel," I knew there was a reason I'd come to her.
"Lonely and forgotten
Never thought she'd look my way
She smiled at me"
She put my baby to bed, like a mother would, and took me to the kitchen. She made hot chocolate, one of our shared passions. She saw my hands, but she didn't pity me.
She loved me.
"And held me
Just like she used to do
Like she loved me
When she loved me"
She kissed my hands, she kissed me. Again. Her eyes told the truth. She loved me. I loved her. She gave me advice I'd always cherish. Never wear masks. Never hide who you are. Always be yourself. Live for you. Never change just for someone else.
"Never wear gloves, Liesel," she told me as she looked at my mutilated, ugly hands, "never wear gloves."
And I don't.
"'Cause somebody loves me
Everything is beautiful
Every hour we spend together
Lives within my heart
'Cause she loves me."
She stands and turns around, coming face to face with a black-haired, blue-eyed woman, tears running down her cheeks as she cries quietly.
"That was beautiful, Lise," she whispers to the blonde woman, who has a tear of her own snaking down her cheek.
It is only a moment before they fall into each other's arms.
What seems like ages—but only seconds—perhaps minutes later, the petite blonde turns her face up. "It's the truth, you know." She knows the woman will never hear her thoughts as she sang, but she also knows she doesn't need to.
Meghan leans down and presses her lips to Narcissa's.
They share everything.
A/N: I admit to changing the lyrics of the last five lines of When She Loved Me. All lyrics are NOT MINE. See disclaimer at top.
Meghan can be found in all my other stories, whether being simply spoken of or in fact present. Narcissa can be found in some. Please read Never Wear Gloves if you have not already done so.
Love,
LysPotter xoxo