Late 2013
It wasn't until she had sat her son down for tea and began rambling inanely on various topics that Narcissa realized something was very wrong. He was well past the years when he would keep things to himself, but Draco still had a strong streak of independence when he thought things were best kept quiet.
Only at mention of the Ministry did she see any reaction from him, the slightest expression that he had not mastered fully in the face of someone who knew him as well as his mother. She had feared things between him and Astoria had soured, and while relieved to know there was nothing wrong between them, the idea of the Ministry causing some sort of chaos left a bad taste in her mouth.
He found her three days later, Carina in his arms as he handed the little girl her toy broom. Herakles had been ecstatic at the thought of giving the child a broom, and Draco had proven unable – unwilling – to refuse his daughter.
Her grey eyes followed the little girl flying in low circles around the room before he caught her attention.
"The Ministry has found an elemental in Germany, and they plan to allow the Unspeakables to get their hands on them."
A sudden sense of dread overcame her as she stared blankly at Draco for a moment before her mind caught on.
"An elemental?" she asked lowly, eyes focused on his. There was the slightest bit of anxiousness present, a small tick he was normally able to hide.
He grimaced, acknowledging the unspoken words.
"Who knows?"
"Harry, Ernie and Neville," he listed. "Wilkes brought this to us."
"Of course she did," Narcissa murmured. "Emmeline Wilkes is old enough to remember what happened the last time an elemental had surfaced."
"They plan to slip it into the next budget review as part of Magical Cooperation's increase," he told her.
Smart of them, she grudgingly acknowledged. But then, the Ministry wouldn't dare pursue this unless they knew it would face little opposition.
"It seems we have our work cut out for us," Narcissa replied, plotting on what would have to be done.
The second sign that things were very wrong was the letter sitting on her desk, lying innocently on the front page of the Daily Prophet.
Yule had recently passed, and the Prophet was blazoned with a photo of Herakles and Elia, little Maia held lovingly in her father's arms as the children surrounded them. It was taken at the Longbottom party, Harry taking Maia along and letting her rest in one of the bedrooms in the family wing as the Prophet crowed over the first look at the youngest Potter-Black.
Herakles making frequent appearances at gatherings all those years ago had tipped Narcissa off to the importance of the woman who would become his wife. That they were planning to host a ball of their own was enough to set alarm bells ringing in her head, and Narcissa resolved to get to the bottom of it before her tea date with Elia.
Herakles wouldn't give anything away, she knew. The man was particular about keeping his worries quiet. Elia might, but Narcissa hated asking even from someone she loved as a daughter.
It was for that reason that she found herself in Black Manor, swallowing her distaste at having to ask her father for assistance.
Cygnus Black III had spent enough time wallowing in self-pity upon realizing Andromeda's actions, swinging between pride and rage. She had thought it curious that he was willing to ignore his upset upon news of Herakles and Elia's relationship, crowing in joy at their marriage and practically dripping with smug satisfaction upon the birth of Maia.
Even now, with the anniversary having been days past, the Black portraits were in a relatively good mood, their spirits high as they whispered amongst themselves in hopeful anticipation of another solstice baby. A son, they wanted. One to carry the Black name as his elder brother carried the Potter name – never mind that Teddy was more a Black than Maia or any other children that came after.
"Narcissa!" her great-grandmother called joyously. "Have you come to join in on the celebrations?"
"Something like that," she smiled. "I need to retrieve a few items from the library."
"Nonsense," the woman replied. "You've not decided to continue rifling through those belongings have you? Herakles' son will inherit the lot. Perhaps a joining of yours and Andromeda's lines in future will restore everything to the way it should be."
"Not if the mutt inherits," Walburga muttered in disdain. "The son of that princess I can accept, but the son of a werewolf in control of the noblest line in the world? I knew Sirius was a disappointment, and that sister of yours has gone the same way. Why we—"
She didn't hear the rest of the words – though she vaguely noticed someone busy themselves with grabbing hold of Walburga and cutting off her foul tantrum – her mind resting on the second bit of her spiel.
Son of that princess, she thought, mind whirling at the implications.
She had known, instinctively, that there was more to Elia than meets the eye. Something the woman was unwilling to discuss, though she had divulged her families status as ancient nobles. Of her first husband she knew little and less – only that he somewhat resembled Aegon and the children had inherited his purple eyes.
Her feet carried her to her father's portrait, his grey eyes staring coolly at her as Narcissa stared back unflinchingly, seeing the haughty smirk curve his lips.
"You never asked," he said, cutting her off before she could speak. "Never thought to consider we might know more."
"It was of little concern," she replied coolly.
He snorted in contempt. "Andromeda's adopted son takes control of the family, and his wife's parentage is of little concern." He smiled mockingly, knowing how very much she disliked asking and preening at the little power he held over her.
"I must say," he continued, smug smirk firmly in place as he glanced at her. "In no way did I imagine your sister to redeem herself so thoroughly, but it seems the House of Black is now once more on the cusp of greatness."
Her lips tightened in muted fury, eyes blank as she smiled sardonically at her father before she turned to leave.
We should have burned his portrait, she thought darkly, regretting that familial ties had kept her sentimental in that respect.
2014
"Aunt Narcissa," Herakles said, sitting on the couch in the gold room she had taken as her personal sitting room years ago as if he had all the time in the world. "I've come to grovel and beg your forgiveness."
She felt the slightest flash of irritation at the slightly sarcastic tone, peering closely at Herakles.
There was the slightest glint in his eyes, something primal and angry that she had not seen since Andromeda's death, and Narcissa pushed aside her irritation as she leaned closer.
"Herakles," she said firmly, forcing his green eyes to her face. She felt slight dread at the sight of his eyes, remembering what happened the last time he had held such a look in them.
"You know Elia is a princess," he stated. "By birth, not just from her marriage."
"Imagine my surprise at having Aunt Walburga of all people throw that in my face," she said darkly.
He smiled in apology, a faint look of chagrin on his face. "We meant to say something, but it didn't seem important without mentioning other things."
"Other things. That's what is bothering you," she replied, filing away the information for later.
There was a bitter smile on his face as he shook his head. "It's all connected," he told her quietly.
"You're planning a party," she said curiously. "I didn't take you for much of a host, Herakles, and yet here you are willingly accepting people into your home."
He acknowledged her words with a slight shrug. "I'd like to see this budget die before it takes off, and when your wife was raised a princess you learn the plotting that goes behind these things."
She could have rolled her eyes, knowing Andromeda had spoken of such to him but that he had ignored it, preferring to stay away from the magicals that made up the Wizengamot.
"Why does this budget worry you? So much so that you are going out of your way to do what you can to defeat it?" she asked casually, eyes carefully watching his.
Harry's lips twisted in distaste, eyes darkening further as he said, "I don't like people snooping around my family."
Her stomach tightened at the things he left unspoken, eyes flashing as his lips remained curved in a bitter smile.
It was only in the comfort of his home that he would speak so freely, and sitting before Herakles and Elia as they explained the dangerous predicament they found themselves in, Narcissa planned and plotted.
"I cannot believe you didn't mention Aegon was born a Crown Prince," she muttered, grey eyes staring darkly at the pair.
"I never expected to return," Elia replied softly. "Not for more than a short visit."
"My dear," Narcissa said, hand reaching out to grip Elia's. "They would never have allowed you to leave with your son. Not when he holds the best claim and is young enough to be moulded into a king they want. Nor will they allow you to sit idly by in Westeros."
"A good thing they'll have to cross through us to get to him," Harry muttered darkly, eyes flashing in challenge.
She nodded in acknowledgement, knowing Herakles would not let anything hold him back from protecting his family.
"Now, Aegon is behind in a few matters, though his political education has not suffered," Narcissa told them, knowing the boy had visited the Wizengamot with his father and had spent enough time with her and Elia to learn the dance of words the nobility thrived on. "I believe we should not delay his sword training."
They blinked in unison, sharing a glance before her nephew looked at her in open surprise. "Where in the world do you know how to get a hold of a sword master?" he demanded.
"Really, Herakles," she huffed. "When you're a pureblood there are any number of things you might need to know."
"When you're a Black," he muttered lowly.
Narcissa's lips stretched into a smirk, head tilting in agreement as they continued to plot the restoration of Aegon's crown.
She was not the only one watching the dancing couple, the eyes of the room riveted on the two as they ignored everything around them.
Black Manor had been thoroughly cleaned in preparation for the Potter-Black ball, the event coinciding with the equinox and reflecting the standards of two Noble and Most Ancient Houses. Elia has outdone herself, she thought in pride.
The princess had taken centre stage, dressed in a gown of deep sapphire, diamonds sparkling in her ears and across her neck as she spun in her husband's arms, a contrast to the grey robes he wore.
They had spent hours mingling amongst the other lords and ladies, laughing and jesting with them as they lightly touched on the topic, the night focused entirely on the power play underpinning the invitation.
It was bold of them, cunning as well, to so openly reveal a part of themselves without expressly stating their aims.
The nobles could take from it what they wanted, but none would forget the show of power and wealth for the rest of their lives, nor would they ignore the look on Harry's face as he danced with Elia and the matching smile on hers.
Meddle at your own risk, she thought, raising her glass when she caught her nephew's eye.
Aegon Targaryen was twelve and expected to be a king someday. The boy was energetic, witty, and far more capable than he believed.
Narcissa watched him as he ducked, following the motions of the instructor he had been given as he faced off against his brother. There had been a slight change in him; since discovering the possibility of his return, there had been a seriousness to the boy that she was unused to seeing. Something unusual in Aegon's normally smiling face.
He's growing, she thought, a touch of sadness at the realization that Aegon could no longer be the boy who ran through her home in search of sweets. He'd reminded her of Draco at that age – just as Rhaenys brought memories of a better time – but fate decreed he grow quickly.
Master Fenton ended their lessons, the man speaking lowly to his students before he made his way out of Black Manor. Potter Hall was reserved for family and close friends, and the Black wards remained among some of the best.
"This is the last of the belongings," Elia murmured, eyes flicking over the parchment she had been using to mark their inventory. The Potter vaults would be cleared in their entirety, only a few things remaining to keep the vaults active and the stocks afloat.
They had stunned Narcissa – to Herakles' glee – when they mentioned the plans for the Houses. Draco would hold both titles in their absence, the couple hoping for a return that seemed unlikely. Harry had given over a phial of his blood, warded so thoroughly she was afraid to know what would happen if it was opened before the specified time, insisting that the titles be absorbed in full by one of Draco's descendants, the properties falling under their complete control but for Potter Hall.
Her son had gaped at his cousin, the blond unable to believe that Harry would be handing over that much power to someone he had once been unable to stand.
"Are you sure we cannot persuade you to join us?" Elia asked lowly, eyes drifting to where her sons played with their youngest sister, Rhaenys coordinating Maia's chaos.
Narcissa smiled as she disagreed. "I cannot leave Lucius, and Draco is loathe to part Astoria from her family," she told her, seeing the sympathetic smile on her daughters face. He would have loved her, this elemental princess, but Lucius remained in Azkaban for a few years more and Elia would be lost to her then.
She blinked back the sour thoughts, turning to the parchment instead. "I'm sure we can part with most of the gold," she said, changing the topic to the rest of their preparations. "Some of the jewels are cursed, and likely to harm someone in Westeros without a cursebreaker."
Elia hummed in agreement, marking the parchment as they discussed what could and could not be taken with them.
2015
The vote had gone as expected, the majority of the Wizengamot voting in favour of expanding their options for trade.
There had been a few raised eyebrows at seeing who had campaigned and voted against, recognizing the unlikelihood that Wilkes and her bloc would ever vote similarly to the Longbottom-MacMillan-Malfoy-Potter-Black vote, but it had happened and they now waited with baited breath for the fallout to occur. That they managed to delay the vote for several months had been enough of a feat, but their efforts had crumbled in the face of gold.
They spent Yule together as a family, the atmosphere slightly festive despite the undercurrent of tension and the unacknowledged parting that would soon be upon them.
For their sakes – Carina, Maia, and Scorpius – the terrible trio kept themselves in relatively good cheer, unwilling to dampen the day with their worries. They played with the children, their faces morphing – quite literally in Teddy's case to her amusement – in feigned disgust at their parents whenever the couple shared a kiss.
"Get a room," Teddy muttered, wrinkling his nose as his father grinned at him.
"This is our house," Harry began, and Narcissa saw Elia poke him to keep the rest of that sentence from little ears.
"I've lost my appetite, cousin," Draco said, placing his scone on the plate as he shifted closer to Astoria.
"Come along, children," Narcissa interjected, glowering slightly at their parents. "We can get the rest of the desserts."
"Cake!" Carina cheered, running forward, Maia hot on her heels as they made for the kitchen.
She levitated the tray of cake from the table, staring sternly at the bright blue eyes of her granddaughter as Maia morphed to resemble her cousin, their now-identical eyes widened in plea for a piece.
"Not a word," she said to the grinning boys, sending the cake and the younger three back to their parents, Winky on hand to keep an eye on them.
"I wasn't going to say anything," Aegon smiled.
Liar, she thought fondly, her smile disappearing as she saw Rhaenys picking at her cake.
She glanced at the two boys, silently willing them to leave. Narcissa watched in fond exasperation as they instead leaned against the kitchen counter, staying close to their sister and unwilling to leave her.
"I would like a word with Rhaenys," she told them. "Womenly matters."
Aegon and Teddy wrinkled their noses, glancing at Rhaenys before they refused.
"Pretty sure that's not what's bothering her," Teddy muttered.
"You're seventeen, Teddy," Rhaenys snorted. "Old enough to stop cringing at the thought."
Teddy muttered something unintelligibly under his breath, pulling a short laugh from Aegon.
"You know, Rhae," Teddy said, his face thoughtful as he glanced at Narcissa. "If anyone could understand it might be Aunt Cissa."
"If I could understand what?" she drawled, watching as the trio shared a quick look, seemingly coming to an agreement.
"Dealing with shitty family legacies," Teddy said, hissing as Aegon poked him sharply with his elbow. "What? There isn't a nicer way to say it, Egg."
Narcissa stilled slightly, grimacing in understanding. She knew enough of what had occurred between Elia and her first husband, and the stories she had heard of her father-in-law had made her glad for Abraxas Malfoy, loathsome as he was.
"It's not shameful," she began, glaring at the three as they snorted in unison. "It's not shameful," she pressed, daring them to interrupt her once more, "to take pride in the name and the good that it's done even as you contend with the darkest parts of your family."
Rhaenys's purple eyes were darker than usual, a frown creasing her brow as she asked, "How do you get over it?"
"Not easily," she tells her, recalling Sirius's departure and hatred, Andromeda's leaving and never returning, even when her heart beat steadily with all that made her a Black. "Despite the legacy, you are the next to shape it. It rests on your shoulder now, not on people who no longer live to mould the world in their image."
To answer the questions:
PMAlderhill: the dimension pocket isn't expanded, but they do take their belongings with them. As for the name, I've kept to Potter-Black for a few reasons. One, Harry is fairly attached to his name, and the argument of it being a 'commoner' name was made in the Wizarding World with the Sacred 28, something that hasn't really affected the Potters in this verse. Also, the names Stark, Flint, etc are short First Men names, and the Black name kind of follows that trend.
