Narcissa sat on the end of her bed, the dark chamber filled with the sounds of four girls snoring softly. Her hair hung limp and sad over her face, and her jet black wand lay silent in her lap. With a finger she traced the small metal studs that lined its handle. It was beautiful.

'A beautiful wand.' Mr. Ollivander had said. 'For a most beautiful witch.'

That was what she was – beautiful. She wasn't fierce like Bella, nor brave like Dromeda. She was Cissy – the youngest, the prettiest. The forgotten.

All though dinner she had kept her eyes fixed firmly on her plate. She chased a tomato across it with a fork, and folded a napkin into an owl which, without her even trying, flapped its tiny wings and disappeared into the stormy grey ceiling. Anything to keep from meeting Bella's vengeful gaze. She could already imagine what the eldest sibling would say. 'You've shamed out family, you freak! I will make you bleed!' Narcissa shuddered. She would speak to Dromeda later – the middle sister was more reasonable, but for now Narcissa was glad to be alone.

She caught sight of her reflection in the window pane, and despite the immeasurable trouble she knew she was in, she saw her lips curl in a cunning smile. Narcissa Black had read every tome in her father's study. Twice. She knew more dark magic than most fully fledged witches ever would. All she needed was a term; just a few weeks here at Hogwarts and she would be more than a match for her sister.

A childhood spent in the shadows of a haunted house ensured that Narcissa took to the Hogwarts castle much more quickly than her peers. Her magical memory meant that she could recall the pattern of the shifting staircase without much effort at all, and any time she caught a whiff of Bella's unique aroma she put this special talent to very good use. She also spent every free hour holed up in the library, where a stone cold alcove tucked behind a lopsided, ebony bookshelf gave her all the cover she could ask for. It also helped that Bellatrix Black would never be seen dead in a library, in fact, Narcissa doubted her outspoken sister even knew where it was.

Three weeks passed in the blink of an eye, and they were the happiest of Narcissa's life. She was loathed by her Slytherin peers from what they deemed an unforgivable betrayal of character, and feared by her fellow Ravenclaws for her affiliation with dark magic. Regardless, Narcissa topped the class in almost every subject, with Transfiguration and Charms proving an equal synch, and Defence Against the Dark Arts – which frightened a number of her peers – teaching her little she had not already gleaned from her father's dark library. Apart from Flying – which Narcissa refused to consider a proper subject – she found Potions to be the only chink in her otherwise perfect armour.

'No, Miss Black!' Professor Slughorn slammed a palm on her desk, rolling his eyes as Narcissa's cauldron began to bubble and pop.

'But I used all the right ingredients!' She tried to ignore the sniggering that rattled around the dungeon. 'I don't understand!'

'Precisely!' Slughorn drawled, tapping the side of the cauldron with his wand until the potion began to simmer. A few bright green sparks danced in the air above it, causing Narcissa to flinch. 'Miss Black, how do you intend to become a master of potions if you are afraid of the cauldron?'

More laughter.

'I'm not afraid.' Narcissa mumbled. 'I just don't want to singe my hair.'

She cringed, realising too late that she had spoken aloud. She was powerless to stop it now, and grit her teeth as the whole classroom erupted with laughter.

'Your hair?' Slughorn drawled, his mouth set in a cruel smile. 'Well, Cissy, I suggest you overcome your vanity post haste, lest I be forced to insist that you sever your ghostly locks.'

With a glower, Slughorn turned and stomped across the dungeon, leaving Narcissa to twitch and touch her fingers to her hair.

'Take no notice of Slughorn.' She hardly noticed the whispery voice until she felt the brush of fingers on her shoulder. 'It's Slytherin pride.'

Narcissa snatched a small, mottled jar from the shelf of the storage closet and turned to glare at the speaker. He was about the same height as she was, with a slightly askew Ravenclaw tie and a head of unruly black hair which rather resembled a scrubbing brush.

The glare failed, she realised, as the boy smiled. 'Yamato.' He extended a hand. 'Yamato Chang.'

Narcissa, taken quite aback, shook the proffered hand. 'Erm, Narcissa Black.'

He was still smiling, grinning like an idiot, in fact. 'Oh, I know who you are. The whole school knows. The darkest witch to grace Ravenclaw Tower. That's what they say.'

Wonderful. 'I bet they do.' She turned to walk back to her bench, but Yamato followed.

'Is it true then?' He asked, lowering his voice and lining up ingredients. 'Can you do dark magic?'

'Don't be stupid.' She twisted the lid from the jar, breathing through her mouth as a foul aroma filled the air. 'We're just first years.'

Yamato watched her, unblinking. His brown eyes twinkled knowingly in the low light. 'But you're a Black. You must have seen - Wait!' He reached over and snatched the jar away. 'You're doing it wrong!'

Narcissa scowled. How would this boy know if she were doing it wrong if she didn't even know herself?!

He swished the jar in a clockwise motion, until the yellow liquid within turned a bright pink. 'You have to wake it up, like this.' He poured the pink, sickly sweet smelling liquid into the cauldron, where her brew pulsed a deep, dark purple.

Narcissa bent over it, watching as the potion bubbled twice and belched a soft poof. 'How did you know that?'