Cissa—

Everything is prepared. I cast a few auguries, coming up with a far sooner date than I'd expected. I see little point in waiting for another alignment in the spring, so I'll be performing the ritual as soon as possible.

There's a café in Charing, at the corner of Diagon and Penning. Meet me there, midmorning five days from now.

—Canopus

Canopus—

I'll be there. How will I recognise you?

—NBM

Cissa—

Good point, hadn't thought of that. Getting ahead of myself a little, it seems. I'll conjure myself up a purple scarf. I should be plenty conspicuous.

—Canopus

Hazel—

I hope you'll forgive the informality, given we've never actually spoken before. My son speaks of you enough I almost feel I know you personally.

I have news of great import, and it cannot wait, urgent enough I decided to contact you directly. While your unexpected circumstances may not be considered newsworthy on the Continent, it is not so here in Britain. Only the discretion of the staff at Beauxbatons has prevented the news spreading. Now, finally, someone talked. I don't know who, but I am all but certain the damn Prophet has it. I haven't gotten explicit confirmation, but why else would a reporter come asking me questions about you? Very odd questions at that.

I expect the story to break any day now. I'll do what I can to hold the Wizengamot back from overreacting too much, so far as I can without making myself and my son targets.

—Mirabella

Blaise—

Thank your mum for the warning for me. I tried writing her a letter, but it felt weird using her first name, and I have no idea how I'm supposed to address a letter to bloody lilin royalty.

—Hazel

Hazel—

Warning for what? I did send it, but it felt weird not having any idea what I'm talking about.

Also? You're adorable. And apparently I don't count as "bloody lilin royalty" which, fine, you're still adorable.

—Blaise

Creature Blood in House Potter
Girl-Who-Lived Attending Beauxbatons as Lilin

Hazel read only the headline. She crumpled up her internationally-delivered copy of The Daily Prophet, then set it aflame without bothering to reach for her wand. (The rest of their sept that'd shown up for dinner barely blinked this time, used to her by now.) She didn't need to read the article — she knew from the very first word exactly where it was going.

Albus tore through the article like a man possessed, feeling with every word his stomach sink ever lower, his blood turn ever colder.

I feel I should inform you Albus is being a massive cunt.
—S

More than usual, you mean?
—L

A bit. I might have cursed him about twenty minutes ago.
—S

Oh my god, Severus.
—L

He'll live. It's fine.
—S

What the fuck did he do? I mean, you'd gone this long without cursing him...
—L

I've stopped myself by a hair more times than I can count. But no, he didn't do anything.
—S

Aw, Sev. I didn't know you cared.
—L

Whatever it is you're thinking, I'm sure I'm going to hate it.
—S

He said something awful about Hazel, didn't he? That's so sweet.
—L

Hardly. It wasn't even truly about Hazel. He remembers the pregnancy, you see. He was speculating aloud you might have been involved in some nefarious lilin plot to infiltrate the Wizengamot.
—S

He said something awful about me in the process, I take it. Still sweet, but less unexpected, I guess.
—L

The old berk tries to use your memory to guilt me into line at every opportunity, but then has the gall to insult you to my face. It's almost breathtaking, sometimes.
—S

Really, Dumbledore, so silly. Hasn't he learned by now I've owned your soul since we were six?
—L

I know I shouldn't leave that sort of comment unanswered, but I know you'll persist in your self-aggrandising lunacy no matter what I say.
—S

Love you too, Sev.
—L

Speaking of love, have you fucked Vector yet?
—L

I know I shouldn't leave that sort of comment unanswered...
—S

Hazel—

I need you to confirm for me whether the recent news is true or not before I can plan a response.

—Holly

Hazel—

Oh. Warning for that. Got it.

Expect letters from the girls. They're being silly.

—Blaise

Holly—

It's true. I mean, yes, the part about me being a lilin is true. I'm sure there was all kinds of wild speculation in there presented as fact, can't say what since I didn't read it.

I didn't know myself until partway through my first year at Hogwarts, and I honestly have no idea how it happened. I mean, there's no such thing as a half-lilin, and I definitely am one, so my parents would have had to have been lilin. But my father was pureblood, his parents purebloods back centuries, and my mother was muggleborn. I have no more idea what's going on than anyone else.

I don't know if that helps, but it's all I got.

—Hazel

Hermione—

I'm really not the person to ask. I didn't even find out I'm a lilin until about a year ago now, and I haven't learned all that much about them since. You have Blaise right there, ask him all those questions, he might actually have answers.

But I can say my motivations in starting to talk to you in the first place did not include some secret desire to have my wicked way with you and suck out your soul, or whatever the hell it is those books say, I wouldn't know. Blaise, well, I can't speak to the first part, besides perhaps pointing out there's this whole puberty thing that hasn't happened yet, but I'm pretty sure he prefers you, you know, alive?

Just because something's in a book doesn't make it true. I mean, how long have you known me and Blaise now? You might want to try weighing your personal experience against the xenophobic nonsense some old shite centuries ago vomited all over a page. Just a thought.

Kind of funny, when you think about it. Just a few weeks ago, you were the one accusing me of racism — because, ironically, my proxy didn't vote for a racist law with an Orwellian name. Now here you are, quoting some twat saying I must be an evil soulless monster just because of who my parents were. That's some impressive hypocrisy right there, Hermione.

You haven't offended me, I'm harder to offend than that. I'm just saying, might want to watch this jumping-to-conclusions problem you have, if only just for talking to people way easier to offend than me.

—Hazel

Tracey (go ahead and show this to Daphne too)—

Yes, my being a lilin (it's true) is why Blaise was all creepy at me for a bit there last year, and why he forced his friendship at me.

Yes, it was Blaise who told me in the first place. How the hell did you guess that?

This one's for Daphne: I'm pretty sure my succession is still valid. My father did go out of his way to make sure I was legally his heir. As far as I'm aware, there's no rule against a lilin inheriting a Noble House. They can't start one, that's why Lady Zabini technically isn't a lady, but I'm pretty sure they can inherit one that already exists. I wouldn't be surprised if someone in the Wizengamot tries to change that soon, though.

Oh, by "my father" I meant James, in case that wasn't obvious. I keep forgetting I might have to clarify that for people now. I mean, he was in every way that means anything, even if I don't really remember him at all, it's completely absurd to me that people are going to say I'm not his anymore because now it turns out I didn't grow out of his sperm. Which was always a thing before, people just didn't know it's a thing, but for some reason that matters, and I really don't understand why. It's so dumb.

Anyway, also yes, it is part of why I decided to transfer to Beauxbatons. Not all of it, but part of it. You might have noticed I didn't have a very good first year. When people found out, which was inevitable, though it would have taken longer if I'd stayed, it would only get even worse. Beauxbatons is perfectly cool with lilin, they even have their own dorm, nobody barely gives it a second thought. And not just the school, everyone around here, really. Camila's parents didn't hesitate at all about me sleeping over, a "dark creature" unsupervised in their daughter's room. Though, they are muggleborns, so maybe they shouldn't count. Still.

I mean, just imagine how your grandfather would react if we were still sharing a room. Yeah, there's just much less to worry about over here.

Why would I not want to be friends anymore? Nothing's changed on my end. I understand your family (both of your families, actually) might be awful about it, but that really affects you more than me. Sort of bitchy of me to put it that way, but it is what it is. I'm good if you're good.

I'll have to ask Andi and Ted about Christmas. Ted is muggleborn, so.

—Hazel

When Narcissa walked into the little café, it was as the very picture of aristocratic grace and self-possession. She made sure of it. It was a work of some effort to keep her face impassive and her posture impressive, her gait smooth and steady. Normally, she needn't any thought at all, habit branded into her over a childhood of unending habituation, but she was rather more...unsettled than usual.

The gaping stares fixed on her at least managed to distract her from her own nervousness somewhat. It seemed nobody, not staff and not patron, had expected to ever see anyone like her here. Not entirely unreasonable, of course — this place was...well, it fell rather short of her usual standards, she'd leave it at that. But she'd long gotten used to people staring at her, she found herself more amused than anything. Until she snapped back to what she was doing here, and the idle warmth abruptly freezed back into anxiety.

Standing just a few steps in from the doorway, ignoring the looks she was getting, the frantic near-flailing of one of the waitstaff making for her, she scanned the few occupants of the rundown café. It wasn't a very large place, the rickety, randomly-placed tables probably not even numbering a dozen, so the woman hadn't even reached Narcissa yet when she spotted h—

She blinked, her lips parting just slightly before she caught herself. That... No, that couldn't be... She meant, she was supposed to be— Canopus was a boy. A young man, really, but definitely male. But, that...

Sitting at one of the tiny, two-person tables, squirreled near a back corner, was an unnervingly...familiar-looking girl. Looked to be, perhaps, fifteen years old, though her guess could be a little off — with her features half-hidden behind a curtain of curly black hair, it was hard to tell. She was wearing casual winter robes of an almost appallingly simple cut, a pale blue lined with gold, though they didn't seem to sit quite right on her. Almost as though tailored, but tailored badly. (Or, perhaps, conjured by someone who didn't know what they were doing well enough to get the measurements exactly right.) There was something vaguely familiar about her, unsettlingly familiar, something in the sharp curve of her cheek, the form of her lips, enough Narcissa might have noted her anyway.

Even without the scarf wound about her neck, draping over her chest, a deep, royal purple lined here and there with gleaming silver.

Shaking herself — internally, of course, not a hair twitched — Narcissa forced her feet to move again. If a step hitched here or there, if her eyes were narrowed in the slightest of frowns, well, she couldn't really help that at the moment. She was perhaps two steps away from the empty chair when the girl glanced up from the book Narcissa could now see spread open on the table, head tilting enough her hair fell back, and—

Narcissa's heart jumped into her throat, a hard single kick, freezing in place as the skin of her arms and neck tingled.

Bella.

Except, of course, it wasn't Bella. It was the eyes that drew Narcissa out of it first, the corners slightly too rounded, the colour a deep, vibrant blue, so similar yet so different. As her heart sank back to its proper place, as she started breathing again, she saw that, while the girl looked enough like Bella for her momentary upset to be perfectly understandable, she looked different enough she couldn't really be mistaken for her. The nose was all wrong, the slope of her brow. Similar, yes, but not the same.

The girl nodded at her, glanced to the empty chair. Her voice flat, cool, she said, 'Have a seat, Cissa.'

Oh, thank Myrddin, she didn't sound like Bella at all. Not even really like...well, her father, she supposed, yes. Good, that was good. Narcissa felt at this rate it wouldn't take much before she had a heart attack. Drawing a long breath through her nose, she took the last few steps, and smoothly settled herself in the waiting chair. Perhaps somewhat less smoothly than she would like — really, she was pleased she'd managed to not collapse so far. She hesitated for a moment, tongue feeling all too dry and clumsy, before saying, 'Forgive me, I'm a little taken aback at the moment. You're not quite what I expected.'

'Believe me, I understand completely.' In a few quick, easy motions, the girl first poured a glass of ice water from a pitcher, filled a cup with coffee from a steaming pot. The faint glow covered by glass and porcelain, the girl drew runes into the surface of the table, one, another, another. Just before they collapsed, the paling springing into existence with a subtle lurch, Narcissa caught enough to make out it was a rather thorough privacy charm. Sliding the glass and cup toward Narcissa, the girl muttered, 'I can't imagine it'll take more getting used to for you than it will for me.'

'It was unintentional, then.' Narcissa couldn't help a faint pinch of disgust at the thought of actually drinking the coffee, but drew it toward herself anyway. It wouldn't do to be rude, after all. Especially considering who exactly had poured the thing. She didn't expect any response to be as...profound as she might ordinarily have feared, now well into the process of assuming the identity of her neph– niece — even ignoring that, their previous conversations had muted the worst of her concerns in any case — but there was no sense playing with fire. Honey would make it tolerable. Hopefully.

The girl let out a huff, and... Was she pouting? Well, it was obvious that was what she was doing, just, the juxtaposition of who this was and the fact she was wearing that particular expression was so surreal Narcissa could hardly process it. 'Yes, it was unintentional. Apparently, when using a pair of samples from sources of opposite sexes as a seed, one must tailor the ritual to favour one sex over the other. In the absence of such measures, it seems the odds are fifty-fifty. The only word that seems appropriate is, oops.'

Narcissa almost snorted. She didn't, of course, but it was a near thing. Struggling for words for a moment, then struggling to hold back a wince at a sip of the strong, bitter coffee, she finally said, 'I don't suppose it can be corrected.'

'It could. I'm sure you're aware blood alchemy rituals exist to change a person's sex. However, even if we could find someone of appropriate skill and discretion to do it for me — such a ritual would be far too complex for me to perform on myself — it would be a long, involved, uncomfortable process.' The girl raised her shoulders, dropped them in a soft, apathetic shrug. 'I've decided to just accept it and move on.'

'If that's your decision.' It didn't make any difference to Narcissa, she'd just been surprised. If she were perfectly honest, it was probably better — the matriarchal houses could fall behind them pretty easily if they played it right, and it was more in line with House Black tradition anyway. They hadn't been matriarchal for some centuries, but they had been originally, was the point. Also, this way it was far less likely they'd have to worry about the Lestranges poking their noses in, she'd been wondering about that.

Come to think of it, she thought she might still have some of Bella's things packed away somewhere. It was hard to tell for sure, seated with a table in the way, but she couldn't be that far off...

'Though, you'll need a different name, I suppose.'

She winced. 'I was thinking of going with Carina. But it's not just the name, all of the documentation and letters and the like we'd started on will have to be redone as well. And it will take some...adjustment, before I'm properly presentable.'

Narcissa ticked up a questioning eyebrow. It was obvious Carina certainly couldn't conjure her own clothes, but most people didn't do that for most any purpose anyway. She was slouching a bit, true, but from memories she'd seen that was out of character anyway, she'd assumed that was a conscious indulgence, a transient mood. It didn't necessarily mean—

And Carina gave her a look, sharp enough Narcissa nearly jumped. 'Remember, I was not raised in the Noble Houses. I did manage to learn to emulate good breeding, but I learned only from observation, a few pointers here and there from Andy.' Lord Candidus Malfoy, she decided after a second, Lucius's grandfather. She knew they'd been...well, perhaps "close" wasn't the right word, but something not entirely unlike that. 'And even by the end, I know I still made a fool of myself now and again, but I could mostly properly comport myself. As a man. I have absolutely no idea how to do it as a woman.'

...Oh. Well. That was a very good point, actually. 'True. You should be able to avoid any formal appearance until the summer, at least, and that should be more than enough time. The documentation we should get settled before the year is out. There are a couple things we can sort today, though.'

Carina raised an eyebrow, sipped at her coffee. She didn't even twitch, Narcissa couldn't imagine how she could drink this trash, it was awful. 'Oh?'

Despite her better judgement, Narcissa felt her lips pull into a smirk.

'You realise I'm going to murder you, of course.'

Narcissa just smiled. The words themselves, how smooth and matter-of-fact their delivery, were threatening enough, but she knew Carina didn't mean them — her plans still relied on Narcissa's cooperation, if for no other reason. And from what she could tell, Carina was far less volatile, far less dangerous to just be near than was...well, her father. She wouldn't want to make her too angry, of course, but this should still be far under the threshold where she started risking her life. It wasn't a real threat.

Really, the almost petulant scowl spearing the shop girl's back, Narcissa was reminded far more of Bella. Which, well, being reminded of Carina's "mother" too much was uncomfortable itself, but she'd take it above her "father" any day.

But she stripped the amusement from her voice anyway — no sense rubbing it in. 'If you mean to be taken seriously as a Lady of the Wizengamot, Carina, you will need to learn to dress like one. Besides, is that conjured robe all you have? Not enough to be getting on with even if you never leave the manor, is it?'

Carina turned her scowl up at Narcissa. She didn't speak for long moments, long enough Narcissa spotted the seamstress already rushing through the shop toward them. 'You're very lucky I actually like you.'

Narcissa barely managed to hold back her surprise. That wasn't news, exactly, Carina had written so much to her before, but it was still, just, surreal, to hear her say it. She couldn't even imagine those words coming out of the Dark Lord's mouth.

... Maybe she should be more diligent in not thinking of Carina as...as her father. It would certainly be less confusing that way.

'After Andy during fourth year, this makes you the second person I've ever let...dress me.' The last words were said with an impressive degree of humiliation, Narcissa almost blushed just hearing it. 'Of course, Andy was also undressing me, but we're not to have that sort of relationship, now, are we?'

Narcissa had absolutely no idea how to respond to that statement. She was so floored, the revelation of what exactly that had been, she completely failed to stop the shock from showing on her face. Carina had long enough to smirk victoriously up at her before the tailor was upon them.

She wasn't going to have any trouble passing for Bella's child. Not at all.

Rhiannon, as Narcissa knew the young apprentice seamstress was called, lead the pair of them toward the back of the shop, hands waving and prattling on excitedly. She did have an excess of energy, this Rhiannon. Once they were past a divider, hidden from outside view, she had Carina take off her shoes, while asking them exactly what they were looking for today — Narcissa could see gold glimmer in her eyes when she said Carina was in need of an entire wardrobe. Then she had Carina step up, gamely ignoring the glower the girl was giving her own reflection, and asked her to please remove her robe.

For a short moment, Carina hesitated, staring at Rhiannon, glancing at Narcissa behind her through the mirror. Then she shrugged. One hand rising to about her navel, she gave a brief, casual wave. A wandless charm of some kind, obviously, canceling the conjuration.

And, quite suddenly, Carina was standing there completely nude.

Narcissa let her face fall into her hand, shaking her head to herself. 'Mother Mercy, Carina. You couldn't pick up anything along the way?'

Apparently ignoring Rhiannon as she fluttered about, Carina let out a thin sigh. 'Because I would know what I'm doing so well, of course.'

The thought was a bit absurd, really, that Carina wouldn't have bothered acquiring any real clothes at all. But, well, when Narcissa thought about it, it hadn't been that long, had it? What, only a day or so? She hadn't had a lot of time to go shopping. (Not to mention, that was a good point, Carina probably wouldn't know what she was doing.) And, more to the point, the need to actually have clothes might not have occurred to her until the last moment. Carina hadn't had need of any for almost fifty years now. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility certain basic human things might just slip her mind sometimes.

Understandable, yes, when she thought about it, but still weird.

Before long, Rhiannon had tracked down a simple shift — it was hardly considered appropriate for a seamstress to be poking around at someone wearing nothing at all, after all. Still looking slightly unsettled, Rhiannon all the same went along with her usual babbling. 'Carina it was, right? The Lady says you're her niece, but I didn't think there were any other Malfoys.'

A thought suddenly occurred to Narcissa: they were probably going to have to obliviate Rhiannon. Carina needing clothes this badly didn't fit their story at all. Narcissa usually just bribed seamstresses when they became privy to something they shouldn't know, a few sickles more than enough to buy their silence, but that likely wouldn't do it in this case. Damn. Oh well.

Anyway, Carina didn't seem likely to answer, blankly glaring at the top of Rhiannon's head as she slung the tape around her, marking her waist, her hips. So Narcissa answered for her. 'She's a Black, not a Malfoy.'

Rhiannon hitched in her measuring for a second, just a second before moving on. 'I didn't think there were any Blacks left either. I mean, pardon me, my lady, but...'

'Bellatrix.' Carina's voice came sudden, sharp, enough Rhiannon jumped, the tape falling from where she had been holding it against Carina's hip. Or maybe it was the name itself, people could be silly about Bella. 'My name. Bellatrix Carina Alexis Black.' An eyebrow ticking up slightly, as she stared down at the startled seamstress, voice low and drawling, 'Does that answer your question?'

But Rhiannon didn't reply, her mouth working in silence. Probably realising the only person who would name a child Carina's age Bellatrix was...well, Bellatrix herself. Also, if her father had been Bellatrix's husband, she would be a Lestrange. Narcissa knew well enough what conclusion most anyone would jump to. More than that, she even followed what Carina was doing — she was using the poor hapless seamstress as a test case.

Though, Narcissa didn't entirely understand why everyone jumped to the conclusion that Bella and the Dark Lord had been involved. She didn't even think it was true. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate — she suspected there might have been...encounters, in the past. It had been all too obvious Bella was rather enamored of the Dark Lord, ever since she'd been a teenager, and it was even more obvious she was, how to put, less than impressed with Rodolphus. (Not that Narcissa could blame her for the latter, she didn't like him much either.) As far as she could tell, judging mostly by what she could read of Bella, any...physical relationship they might or might not have had had been over and done with by the time Narcissa was leaving for Hogwarts. Carina appeared far too young.

But, however sure Narcissa might be they had never been involved, or at least hadn't been involved any longer, speculation about them had continued to spread. It was assumed as fact among all the Blacks and Lestranges. It seemed a majority of everyone in the damn country, Death Eater or not, was convinced, hardly thought to question it. Which she found rather absurd, but that was neither here nor there.

No, that wasn't why Narcissa was holding her breath. She wasn't concerned Rhiannon wouldn't buy the story. She was concerned she would. She wouldn't need it spelled out for her. Rhiannon was a smart girl. The exact particulars of family law varied house to house but, in patriarchal houses, it wasn't unusual for the child of a woman married into the house and a man not her husband, not a member of the house, if the child weren't somehow legitimised, it wasn't unusual for her to be considered not of the family. Normally, such a child would then have no house at all, but the Blacks, rather famously, were once one of the more powerful of the matriarchal families — as was also not unusual in matriarchal families, any child of any woman born a Black was a Black, even if her mother had married out.

That Bellatrix Lestrange's daughter was Carina Black strongly implied the father was not Rodolphus Lestrange. Given this was Bella, there was someone the majority of Britons would automatically assume was the father instead. The problem was...

Well, if Narcissa had to pick the two people most widely despised in recent British history, they would be Bella and the Dark Lord. And her countrymen did have a nasty habit of holding children responsible for the sins of their parents.

She'd been concerned, was still concerned. She wasn't sure posing as the child of Bella and the Dark Lord was the best idea. Narcissa had suggested some other Black, anyone — there were plenty enough eccentric characters in her recent family tree, it wouldn't be difficult to concoct a story people would believe. With the only Black still living locked away in Azkaban, it didn't matter where in the family they put her. But Carina insisted. For some unfathomable reason, she had insisted on framing herself as the child of the Dark Lord. She hadn't thought of Bella at all, actually, it had been Narcissa's idea for her to claim House Black. But Carina (though it hadn't been "Carina" then, of course) had argued they couldn't choose any other woman as the mother — if a Black did have a child with the Dark Lord, it would be Bellatrix, it being anybody else would draw suspicion. Narcissa had argued to change the father then, but Carina was persistent, had refused to change the plan once she'd drawn together one she liked.

So Narcissa watched Rhiannon, kneeling where she'd been taking measurements until the revelation had startled her out of her work, staring up at Carina's impassive face. Her own gone somewhat pale, mouth working silently. For long moments she watched, holding her breath, heart pounding hard in her throat, knowing, just knowing, that they had made a fatal mistake already. If people reacted too badly, if they wouldn't even give Carina a chance—

Rhiannon let out a sudden breath, shaking her head to herself. 'Myrddin, I never would have thought... I mean, I had no idea you existed, is all. You'd think people would talk about that...'

The faint trace of a smile pulling at her lips, when Carina spoke again her voice was somewhat warmer. Not warm, exactly, but less cold anyway, the sharpness from a moment ago vanished. 'Cissa thought it wise to keep me to herself until things calmed down a bit.'

At that, Rhiannon burst out a gasping laugh, her cheeks puffing out with the breath. 'Well, I should say so!' Then she started, scrambled to pick up the tape she'd dropped, her cheeks pinking a bit as she got back to work. She hesitated almost immediately, glancing sheepishly back up at Carina. 'You don't... I mean, sorry to ask, but, do you, you know...remember at all? Him, I mean.'

Carina's face was so absolutely still Narcissa just knew she was restraining an amused smile. 'No, I don't. I'm not certain I ever even met him. I don't really remember my mother either, for that matter. I get the feeling she had little interest in my existence.'

Despite herself, Narcissa had to fight the urge to laugh. It's just, if Bella ever did have a daughter, Narcissa wouldn't be at all surprised if, well, she had little interest in her existence. She wasn't exactly the mothering type, her sister.

'Oh, well...' Slowly at first, Rhiannon got back to work, finally finished the last few measurements, stood to go take them down. 'It's probably better that way, when you think about it, isn't it?'

While Rhiannon was off ruffling through a pile of cloth, Carina turned to look at Narcissa through the mirror, a satisfied smirk on her face. 'Oh, don't look so pleased with yourself just yet. I'd at least wait to see how the Prophet spins it before congratulating myself.'

The smirk drained away, replaced with an expression more thoughtful. 'How long do you suppose we'll have? I can't imagine we can keep my existence secret for long.'

Narcissa shook her head. Theoretically, it was easily possible to hide someone indefinitely — in fact, their story depended on it. The more contact someone had with the outside world, however, the more impractical it became. And Carina wasn't exactly planning to sit around the manor knitting. 'Longer than I would have expected before, but I can't guess how long. They're rather obsessed with the Potter girl these days.'

'Ah, yes, Hazel Potter.' Somewhat to Narcissa's surprise, Carina's voice and face suggested only mild curiosity. Which, really, she shouldn't be surprised anymore — she'd already known Carina found the whole debacle with the Girl-Who-Lived and the true Dark Lord to be interesting, but ultimately inconsequential. She simply hadn't expected it, it still caught her off-guard. 'How did that happen, anyway? I know her father couldn't have been. You and Evans were in the same year at Hogwarts, yes?'

'I was a year under her, actually, though we did run into each other from time to time.' And if that wasn't a way to put it. 'But I have no idea. For all that I would otherwise be unsurprised to learn someone like Evans was lilin, I know for a fact she was not.' Anyone whose time at Hogwarts had overlapped with hers should know that, especially if they had also met Bella. She meant, the other Bella. Her sister and her confusingly-named lilin friend — though that word felt a little too thin to define their relationship — were rather older than Narcissa, but not that much older than her, not so much she couldn't remember what an actual teenage lilin felt like. Evans had had an aggravating personality and an absurd degree of magical talent she could easily expect to see in a lilin, but the feel of her was entirely wrong. Magic shifted around lilin in a way that was recogniseable, and around Evans it simply hadn't.

That was what she would say should anyone challenge her on the claim, anyway. She certainly wouldn't admit the real reason she was so certain — after all, the company she mostly kept wouldn't react at all well to learning she had, to put it mildly, intimate knowledge of both mudbloods and lilin. Or, to being reminded, in any case. She wasn't the only woman in her social circle to have entertained a spate of rebellion in her youth. They generally did each other the courtesy of pretending such indiscretions hadn't occurred.

For that matter, they generally did each other the courtesy of pretending such indiscretions were confined to that oh-so-rebellious youth. Some things simply weren't spoken of, and certainly not in the present tense.

Carina just nodded. 'All the more interesting for it, I suppose. The girl will be worth watching.'

'They're going to try to strip House Potter from her.' Narcissa couldn't be more specific than that, couldn't predict which way the attack would come from, who would be leading it. But she knew it would happen. A lilin suddenly ascending to the head of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight? No, something would be done about it, it was inevitable. That she was the Girl-Who-Lived only made it almost personal, the sense of outrage, of betrayal just that much more intense.

'True.' Carina broke off momentarily, watching Rhiannon return with an armful of robes. With a faint look of distaste, Carina threw the first over her head, stood still to let Rhiannon pick around with it, all the while clearly attempting to hold in a glare. But Rhiannon stayed meek and silent, surely used to customers talking around her by now. 'Are they likely to succeed?'

It would probably be a bad idea to let her amusement with Carina's discomfort show. So, forcing her face as blank as possible, Narcissa shook her head. 'I can't say. They might, they might not. Her greatest vulnerability is a rather small target.' Carina blinked at that — of course, she wouldn't be up to date on this sort of thing. 'The avenue with the greatest chance of success would be for a cousin to make a claim on the lordship. However, given how severely the House has shrunk over the last two centuries, finding someone both closely related enough and whose eligibility for the title is unimpeachable under Potter family law would be complicated. Not impossible, but complicated. I can think of only three potential candidates, off the top of my head, but one is approaching a marriage that will render her ineligible, and the other two are unlikely to go along with such an effort, considering their personal politics.'

'Hmm. It'd be unfortunate if they do succeed. From what Draco has told me—' Narcissa held in her momentary confusion. Draco and Carina had never spoken, Narcissa must have mentioned it at some point. '—the Lady Potter sounds entertaining, if nothing else. She would certainly make our shared time in the Wizengamot more lively.'

Narcissa smiled. 'I suppose I can't argue with that. Are you suggesting we support her defence, when the time comes?'

'I don't see why not. If we can do it without overly risking our momentum elsewhere, of course. The Lady Potter would not be a bad ally to have, any of her supporters who might lean our way politically even better.'

She wasn't entirely wrong. Or even mostly wrong. Carina was planning a bit of a political shift from, that is, her father's time, but she hadn't swung so far the Light would want anything to with her. But, the Girl-Who-Lived wasn't exactly Light, was she? Everyone had assumed she would be, if only due to Dumbledore's patronage, but her proxy had almost immediately joined the more moderate Bones–Longbottom alliance, her voting record leaning somewhat Dark even among them. That Potter herself would lean Dark actually wasn't unthinkable, when she thought about it — even having died when her daughter had been so very young, Evans must have had more influence on her than anyone had expected.

Really, this new scandal was only going to push Potter further toward the Dark. While the pureblood nationalist Dark would predictably be less than welcoming, the traditionalist Dark likely wouldn't give a damn whether Potter was human or lilin or any other being under the sun, it made little difference to them. The traditionalists were far less influential than once they'd been, but they did still exist. Of the current factions in the Wizengamot, they would be the most supportive — after the nationalists, those most fervently opposed to a lilin heading a Noble House would be the Light themselves!

She'd already realised this, shortly after the news had broke. The Light was going to, inevitably, vilify and persecute their own little hero, in the process shoving her into the arms of their enemies. It was going to be magnificent.

So, there was nothing to say but, 'I'll look into it.'

[an Orwellian name] — For the record, Hazel doesn't entirely understand what that means. It's just something Lily thought, and she knows it's a book thing, so she assumes Hermione will understand it.

[And if that wasn't a way to put it.] — It has been a while so, as a reminder, Narcissa and Lily did have a rather...contentious sort of fling for all of a few weeks, back when they were sixteen, fifteen or so.

Dark vs. Light — This has come up in my previous fics, but I don't think it's really been talked about here. In my headcanon, the political philosophy commonly called "Light" is essentially humanocentric — greater protections for muggles, regulation of dangerous magics, less rights for non-human beings, etc — and the "Dark" is essentially magocentric — greater rights for non-human beings, free practice of magic, unity of magical peoples while generally not giving a shit about muggles, etc. The traditionalist Dark, the alliance in the Wizengamot named after Ingham and Monroe, the Most Ancient Houses that lead it, does still exist, but is far weaker than it once had been. The Light has no Most Ancient Houses among its members, so is usually just called the Light. The Bones–Longbottom alliance are somewhere between the two, more moderate but generally leaning Dark on being rights and Light on the regulation of magic, though exact positions vary wildly member to member. The "pureblood nationalist Dark" Narcissa refers to are, essentially, Death Eaters.

Dumbledore has managed to moderate the Light somewhat on certain issues related to creature–being law, but even that is very inconsistent — Dumbledore himself believes only some beings should be accorded greater rights, and he's made less progress in winning the hearts and minds of the Light than he thinks he has. Votes on creature–being law, oddly enough, tend to see the Ingham–Monroe and Bones–Longbottom alliances voting together, in opposition to the Light and the pureblood nationalists, who together are numerous enough to carry most votes, especially when the Light-leaning B–L people are added in.

Stuff like this is why it's important to think of political thought as more than just a conservative–liberal continuum. Similar coincidences of opinion happen in real life politics all the time.

I think it should be pretty obvious who Canopus/Carina is now. I came just short of spelling it out. I'd originally intended for her to come completely out of left field during fourth year, with absolutely no explanation of who she is or where she came from, but plans change. The idea is an adaptation from...well, more than one of my other fics which I don't believe I'll ever get to writing. Since I don't think I'll ever write them, I decided to bring in something that amuses me.

Was always going to be a thing in this fic, planned from the beginning. Just, I added a few elements to the idea from other fics.

Anyway, yeah, there was a long delay before this chapter...again. Part of it was being tired from my sleep schedule being absurd, part of it being too distracted on other projects. Part of it was deciding I didn't like the chapter I had planned, scrapping it and starting over. I've actually reworked a significant portion of the fic, removing entirely a couple subplots I decided really weren't that important. I'd rather finish this fic before I burn out on HP entirely than waste time fiddling with bits that don't really matter.

Not gonna bother predicting when I'll have the next chapter. I know exactly what it's going to be — if any of you are wondering how exactly Carina got here and what's happening at Hogwarts, most of those questions will be answered — but I haven't been able to write as much as I'd like. Turns out my new job didn't result in significantly more writing time. Whoops.

Until next time,
~Wings