It was summer, and her wedding gown was suffocating. There was too much fabric, rich and dense against her body. It had more layers than imaginable, silks and satin and other materials all melded into one lavish display of wealth. She didn't know how much it had cost, only that countless seamstresses must have worked on it together. Even then, they had toiled over a month to complete it.

It was gorgeous, a classic pure white like Odette in Swan Lake , but longer and more flowy. A delicate cathedral train dotted with miniature flower buds trailed at its back. Enchanted, it would not drag along the floor of the aisle as she walked.

For the past two months, there had been nothing but preparation to create 'the perfect bride', as Druella had so graciously put it. There was the memorisation of their vows (she could not stutter; that would be the worst disgrace), the perfection of her gait (floating like a spirit, no matter her footwear), and the rigorous revision of all the manners drilled into her from a young age. Finally, only a week before the wedding, she had finally been deemed 'fit' (that was, barely passable).

Now she sat before a mirror. Bella stood at her back, doing her hair, plaiting a crown of white jonquils into her black locks. Her sister's touch was gentle and caring, much unlike her usual temperament. It seemed to Narcissa that her sister understood innately that she needed the comfort of a steady hand.

"Mother did the same for me," Bella said, filling what would otherwise be a void of silence between them. "I hated it. You, Cissy, look absolutely breathtaking."

But, did her appearance matter in the slightest? One way or another, Narcissa was signing the rest of her life away, and she felt numb. She was no longer grieving the loss of Lily, at least not overtly. Her episodes of unstoppable tears and fits of uncontrollable screaming had subsided and become a thing of the past. It felt as if she had nothing left, so she grasped on to her family—the very one that demanded her fulfil her duties as a Black.

It was a rash decision she might later regret, but Druella had meant her words. Narcissa could not have left her room until she complied.

She still went to the garden now and then, when she thought she could bear the lingering pangs of heartbreak. Her visits left her with clouds of melancholy, but still she continued, whether out of habit or longing for the past. It was already on the recovery. Small, crisp sprouts peeked green through the charred ground, though there were no signs of lilies re-emerging.

It just wasn't the same, but Narcissa found comfort in that. Her hands shook when she thought of how she might react if the lilies regrew only for Lily to remain gone.

Bella placed the last pin in her hair, and it hurt as if she had driven a stake into her, pinning her into place like a butterfly to a display.

"Smile, Cissy, that's it," Bella said, placing her hands along the bottom of her sister's face and tilting her head upwards to face the mirror. Narcissa smiled, her lips turning gracefully upwards, and it was rote; practised. There was no sincerity, but that was just how Druella wanted it. Picturesque and perfect, unaffected by the tides of her emotions. Or, at least, so long as one looked no further to see the sharp edges of shattered glass beneath.

"I'm so glad you're back."

The venue itself was just as extravagant, if not more so. Painted arches draped full of vines and angel's trumpets adorned the courtyard. The best decorator in town had been commissioned—no less was acceptable. Emerald green and dainty white drowned her surroundings, from the banners hanging at the balconies above to the embroidery of the napkins.

They weren't her colours. Her family bore a proud red and black. Red like their blood, and the black as pure as it too.

Her face was obscured by a veil as long and unmanageable as the train of her dress. She should have been a queen at the height of her reign, but all she could think of was a dress-up doll stuffed into an ill-fitting smock.

It wasn't right. It wasn't her, only a mockery of the woman she was, sold off like a trophy. She wouldn't want this, if not for Druella's honeyed words and coercion.

Did she want this? (She had been swayed so easily.)

She swallowed her nerves, and they slid down her throat like poisonous spines.

The sun peered dimly through the cloud cover as she stepped out into the open. A light breeze lifted her veil before letting it down again. She saw Druella across the lawn, her father beside her, laughing and talking over tall glasses of champagne. Surrounding them were several groups of guests, some friends of the family, other various relations both close and distant. In the background, a violinist played his instrument, musical notes dancing across his fingertips.

She took a deep breath, or at least one as deep as her bodice would allow her. It felt incomplete, but she needed it regardless.

"Father," she called. At the same moment, through the fine netting of her veil, she spotted Lucius, his hair a head full of platinum blond, almost as white as the cloth piled on her, contrasted against his obsidian black robes. His hair was pulled back into a single elegant ponytail that fell down his back. They looked like polar opposites. Spying her, too, he threw her a playful smirk. She returned it thinly, her cheeks straining to maintain her façade.

She began to walk, but there were neither downy dream-clouds nor the light fluttering of butterflies in her chest. It felt wrong—nothing like how the other girls had described it.

Marriage. It caught in her throat.

Her heels were too high, sending stabs of pain into the sides of her feet. She wobbled but stayed upright, holding her head up proudly, her shoulders pushed back, as she had been instructed.

When she made it halfway down the aisle, across the silvery carpet, a guest caught her attention. She spun towards them in a sudden jerking motion, nearly sending herself toppling over to the ground, but caught herself, along with her breath.

She was a glowing bonfire in the night, brighter than the sun itself. In her arms was a bushel of flaming torches, or rather, Narcissa saw as she blinked in disbelief, a bouquet of orange tiger lilies just like those she had once tended to.

"Lily!" Narcissa cried. She was no longer the image of perfection Druella had envisioned. Her heart was in tatters, bared for the world to view, her walls swept away by rushing floodwaters. "Lily, is it you?" Narcissa threw herself at her, not stopping to wonder if she was real, or uncaring. She gripped her arms desperately. Behind her, her veil had fallen to the ground. Her pristine crown had slipped too.

"Cissy?" the woman asked, a dreamy expression on her face. "Oh, Cissy, it is. And it's you, too."

"You're different," Narcissa breathed, pulling Lily in against her chest. She had no wings, but she was soft. Warm; alive. Narcissa's heart raced. Words spilled from her lips.

Lily, Lily, Lily.

"I thought the garden burned down. I saw it when I was freed, the charred ground and white ashes. It was horrible. I was so lost. " Her chest ached with remembered grief. Her eyes were wet. "Leave with me, Lily. Let us leave together. I won't marry Lucius."

They were pulled apart roughly before Narcissa could so much as gasp in surprise.

"Miss Black," a guard spoke. With a jolt, Narcissa became aware of her surroundings again. The audience was whispering, and Druella watched her with undisguised disgust. Lucius looked bewildered.

Bellatrix, though frozen, displayed nothing but betrayal. " Lily, " she mouthed, pained realisation day-clear on her face, though Narcissa was too far to hear.

Lily was sprawled face-down on the ground, her red hair a flaming halo around her head.

Druella's eyes flickered down to Lily for an instant, breaking contact with Narcissa's.

"Seize her and lock her in the dungeons." Druella's voice was icy cold and uncaring, as if she hadn't just watched her daughter fling her loyalties aside for an unknown girl.

"Narcissa," she called sweetly, turning her focus back. It was venom; a poisoned apple presented with a bow. "I will deal with you later."

Horror twisted at Narcissa's insides and spurred her to action. "NO!" she screamed. "NO, YOU CAN'T—MOTHER!"

But if she thought pleading with Druella might work, it did not.

She'd only just gotten Lily back. Oh, Morgana, she knew how cruel Druella could be when spurned. For a transgression as grave as this, Lily could die.

Not again, please not again.

She did not worry about what would befall herself. (Lily was everything. Lily was freedom. She loved Lily.)

Losing Lily was the same as death.

Hadn't that been why Narcissa had chosen to commit herself to her familial duties? Because it had been a mother's embrace in a bleak world. It had been all that was dear to her Narcissa had left.

It wasn't even Lily's fault. All Narcissa's. She couldn't choose her own fate, yet she had still tried to defy it. It was her curse, and she had brought it upon herself.

But that didn't mean she couldn't continue trying.

The guards acted as if they were sent to protect her, but the truth was that they obeyed Druella alone. They existed to uphold the honour of the family, and Narcissa was only one small corner of their kingdom.

She was disposable. (Or she could be forced into place, all her unnecessary parts—her heart—trimmed away and tossed.)

She clawed and she bit. She was a lonesome wolf who had at last found a partner with whom she would traverse the world. Where she had once been gentle was only jagged thorns.

But it was not enough. They outnumbered her. She did not have her wand—it would not befit a lady to be armed at her own wedding.

(She didn't want to be a lady any longer, but the realisation came far too late.)

They took her against her will and returned her to the confines of her room.

It was a massive scandal for both the Blacks and the Malfoys, but mostly the latter. The attendees had heard what Narcissa had said to Lily: that she would not wed Lucius.

To be denounced so openly on their wedding day was the worst of embarrassments. Naturally, something had to be done to remedy it. And because the fault lay on Narcissa, fell to her to pay reparations.

It had to be public to wipe away past misdeeds. The Malfoys almost backed out of the marriage agreement (as if Narcissa cared anymore), but Druella convinced them otherwise.

"Cold feet," she'd said. "A terrible misunderstanding."

What a sham. Hadn't they heard Narcissa scream? Hadn't they seen her transform and fight for Lily? Could she be shackled again after tasting freedom?

Bella didn't understand, but once she got over the shock, she remained on Narcissa's side. She was loyal.

She pleaded on Narcissa's behalf when her parents refused to see her, but they would not be swayed.

She yelled at Narcissa and told her she was stupid. (Narcissa felt better afterwards. She knew Bella was only worried for her, and besides, she was right. Narcissa had been stupid. She had been hesitant, reactionary. It left her with only regrets.)

No severe punishment would befall Narcissa. For all that she had disgraced herself, she was still a Black. (It occurred to her that she could have been disowned. She still had ample value to warrant keeping around, she supposed.)

Lily, on the other hand, would not escape. As part of the deal to settle things between the two families, she would be handed over to the Malfoys to handle as they saw fit. No one would care what happened to a nameless girl. No one save for Narcissa.

Narcissa would dig at the walls like a rat until she escaped the confines of her prison if that meant saving Lily. She would dig until her nails broke and her fingers bled.

So she did.

Wandless magic was her only option. Her parents weren't foolish enough to entrust her with her wand. Desperation could drive a person far, and Narcissa was beyond desperate.

She barely ate, though she knew she needed to keep up her energy. How many days until it was too late? Was it too late already? Every hour and every minute she spent forcing her magic to condense at her fingers like claws, scratching at the wards enveloping her room. Not a moment was wasted. She never paused to recover. She didn't track the time.

Gradually, they wore down. A small dent at first, then a larger cavity, until she broke through.

Relief swept over her like summer rain. And then she was gone.

Narcissa arrived to the scene of Lily tied to a wooden stake at the centre of the town. She was bound over a pyre in the making, a great mound of logs with a platform resting at its top. The fire had been lit and was slowly climbing its way up.

She pushed through the throng of onlookers without stopping for breath. Where Narcissa had once been obedient and soft-spoken, for Lily, she became stronger.

There was a sunlit path between them, and Narcissa would blaze the way.

Lily seemed dazed, her head angled back to gaze at the heavens, and she remained standing only because the ropes held her in place. It might have been the threat of impending death, smoke inhalation, or perhaps her executioners had drugged her to keep her complacent. Narcissa didn't know.

It didn't matter. They'd barely exchanged words the last time they'd met (that horrible scene at the wedding that was never meant to be).

Fiery determination filled Narcissa.

She marched up to the stage just as the flames reached Lily's feet. Someone cried in alarm as she ascended the heap of burning material. Another, recognising her, shouted her name. (It might have been someone she knew, but it did not matter. Lily did, and only her.)

She did not feel the flames licking at her ankles, nor how her hands became blackened and scorched. Adrenaline kept her going, and—love.

She was scrabbling at the knots restraining her when Lily spoke.

"You came," she whispered. Her frail voice was being blown away in the smoke, but Narcissa heard her all the same.

Narcissa nodded. Tears sprang to her eyes. "Can you fly us?" she asked. But, even if she couldn't, Narcissa would carry her. Down through the flames again and past the armed guards. (She could see them, swords and spears raised.)

"Yes." Narcissa undid the last of the bindings.

They flew. They flew even as smoke burned their lungs and flames charred Lily's wings as soon as they sprouted. Cloth fell in tatters from her, worn away by fire and shed through the erupting of lilies.

Narcissa clung to her as Lily whispered quiet apologies.

"I'm sorry," Lily said. "I worried you."

"I'm just so happy ," Narcissa wept. "I've never been so happy." She gasped. "Oh. Oh, Lily, I never told you… I should be the one apologising…

"I love you, Lily." She squeezed her eyes shut, though not for how far the ground was beneath them. It felt good to be so high. Narcissa thought she could fly herself. Her heart pounded.

A soft kiss was pressed on her cheek. Her tears were brushed away.

"I love you too, Cissy. Thank you." A shudder rippled through her wings. Narcissa opened her eyes again. To her horror, she saw that they were still burning. A hole was growing wider by the second, its edges illuminated by the glow of embers. A trail of faint dust was left in their wake.

"Your wings!" Narcissa cried. Lily didn't look surprised. She must have noticed already. Of course she had—they were a part of her. She was aflame.

"I'm sorry," Lily apologised again. A bout of fury rose in Narcissa's chest.

"Lily! Set me down!"

"We must move farther. I won't leave you," she said. "Not again."

But they were falling. Plummeting, really, like a comet from the skies. Lily wrapped herself around Narcissa protectively. Her embrace was warm against the billowing winds.

"You'll be safe."

She wasn't comforted in the least. Narcissa had come to save Lily, but it was her being saved once again. It stung. It burned like acid, tore at her like a board of nails.

" No, " she said. "Enough. I'd rather fall with you, Lily. I went through fire for you!"

Something snapped within her. Was it her magic? It swirled and swirled, concentrating into a whirlpool at her back where Lily's hands held her tight. It itched. She saw Lily's eyes widen.

There was a sound of rushing air and expansion behind her. Seams snapped and fabric tore. Narcissa blushed as wind tickled bare skin.

And then they were no longer falling. Instead, the humming of wingbeats was now doubled. Narcissa looked back to see white jonquils on her back, their hearts marked with warm orange reminiscent of tiger lilies.

"You're flying," Lily gasped, and her smile was rain after an endless drought.

"We're flying!" Narcissa felt giddy. Her hair rippled free at her back.

They were soaring now, against the blue sky. A pair of blackbirds darted by, whistling as they passed.

"Everything from your wish," Lily breathed in awe. "Because you needed to be free." She cupped Narcissa's cheek in her hand, now that she was the one being held airborne rather than the other way around. Their noses touched. She smelled of faint lilies.

"Because I love you so dearly."

"I was freed too."

"We freed each other."

Narcissa never did return to her family, nor did she ever get her wand back. She didn't need it: fairy magic and wishes were enough for them. She didn't see Lucius again, and if they crossed paths by chance, they were only strangers in a crowd. Bellatrix sent her letters and arranged clandestine meetings over tea. (They were calming, affectionate things without Druella's constant presence, and Narcissa enjoyed them very much.)

She saw Andromeda again, how happy her sister was with Ted. They had been wed quietly, with neither fanfare nor extravagance. Narcissa apologised for not attending, but Andy only laughed. She understood. They embraced, happy for each other.

Maybe one day there could be reconciliation with her parents, but she no longer relied on them. If it did come, it would come naturally, as the seasons passed with time.

They had each other. They would be all right.

Lily had bloomed into brilliant existence because of Narcissa's wish. She was freed by her love and reborn to her, no longer bound to fleeting garden blossoms. She spoke of how, for a period, she had wandered the world, adrift and unremembering. Until, one day, the familiar warmth of a woman as sweet as spring buds had come to her like a dream.

She had sought her out as if in a trance, a blind woman seeking the sun. And the sun was real. They met again.

Narcissa, in return, was transformed too.

They matched.