WELL, this is up at last. So sorry for the delay, and thanks to my two favourite Laurens in the world – one for fangirlencouraging me, and the other one for nagging me ;)

Thanks to Kate for her very helpful criticism as well!

Chapter title is from the song by Dido. "And I'm so lonely I don't even wanna be with myself, any more…" Yeah. Great song.

Her head held high, she strode through the corridors, fingers white around the strap of her satchel. It was proving quite difficult to keep a perfect posture and demeanour while being more or less jostled by crowds of ravenous students, but Narcissa made sure she managed. She stared right ahead, her face smooth and expressionless, seemingly oblivious to the eyes peering at her, the whispers hissing and echoing in her ear. Narcissa stepped into the Great Hall and crossed directly to the Slytherin table, dropping into a seat by Adrian Travers' side. At long last, she released the shaky breath she'd been holding.

"Why, hello to you too," came the snarky voice of her neighbour.

She glanced his way: a newspaper was spread out in front of him, half concealing his face from view. She repressed an amused snort. "Hello, dear Travers," she uttered, "I've seen you at breakfast already, you know."

He smirked. "Right." Then his attention was directed at the Prophet again, and Cissy turned, sighing, back to the table. Her neck was prickling with the unnerving feel of countless gazes boring into her. She was quite used to public attention, and she'd been the subject of gossip before, for unpleasant reasons sometimes. However, this felt different and it distressed her somehow. With slow, deliberate moves, she helped herself to some fish and vegetables. Then she took a sip of water, staring into space for a minute.

"So how has your morning been?" Travers drawled conversationally from behind his paper, after swallowing a bite of pie.

"Oh, the usual. Quite boring, frankly," she said without missing a beat. She left the half-lie hanging a moment as she set down her glass and toyed with her fork. Then she added: "I can't wait for next year to be dropping Arithmancy and Divination, to be honest. Those two subjects are supposed to be opposites, and yet I find them equally confusing."

"Arithmancy is hard, but it's logical," he pointed out. "Seen from across the classroom though, you did look a bit puzzled, I have to admit."

"It's a headache," she sighed. "I'm better at Runes though," she said defensively.

"Oh, I know. I'm in your class, remember?" He chuckled. Their gazes met, and Cissy looked away, swiftly taking a small bite. Travers went back to both his own plate and his reading. She appreciated that – she had always disliked being gawked at while she was eating, or having to witness people stuffing their faces obscenely. And sadly enough, most of her fellow students were no classy, well-mannered young individuals, she considered darkly as her eyes swept across the table.

"I never did understand why you took Divination in the first place. Then again, I'm at a loss as to why anyone in their right mind would," he commented after a while.

"Oh, I suppose it can be interesting," she replied, "but it's so vague. My sisters both took it – one hated it, one loved it, so – "

She stopped mid-sentence. He glanced up, and then away, allowing her to breathe freely through her suddenly tight throat. Narcissa blinked and stared off, at an unfocused point somewhere near the Ravenclaw table. Then she gathered herself and took another sip of water. It made her shiver slightly.

"Why did you take Care of Magical Creatures?" she wondered.

He had a crooked grin. "Surprisingly enough, I like animals," he said. "Magical animals, of course – and interesting ones. Don't let that ruin your image of me; I could still drown a bag of kittens without blinking."

She shuddered theatrically. "I wouldn't put it past you. Not that I like kittens that much myself. As far as animals are concerned, I am an owl kind of girl."

He gasped in mock surprise. "What, no pedigree kittens with silver collars around their necks?"

"No," she told him. "Owls."

"So you're not that much of a blonde stereotype after all!"

She swatted him.

"I meant the spoiled-angel, Daddy's-little-girl blonde," he specified.

"I am no stereotype. I am high-class." She wrinkled her nose.

"Didn't you just contradict yourself?"

"Do not be absurd. You know nothing of what society is like."

He winked at her. "Thank Salazar," he mouthed, raising his glass.

Narcissa just shook her head.

"Speaking of society, though," Travers said, "have a look at that little one over there."

She glanced up. He was pointing at a tiny girl, second year, perhaps, who was slowly making her way down the table, handling invitation cards as she went.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Slug Club," Cissy declared, after rapidly checking who had been receiving the invites.

Travers snorted. "It was certainly too tiring to come and do that himself. Our table is so far and his behind so tremendously heavy."

Cissy giggled. "He's always done that, though, hasn't he?"

"Using students as his owls? Sure."

They went silent as the young messenger neared them. "Narcissa Black?" she asked quietly.

"That's me," Cissy said coolly, and reached out to take her invitation.

"Adrian Travers?"

"Give it here," he drawled. "See, he did invite me after all," he added gleefully under his breath as the girl glided past them.

Cissy didn't respond. He looked up after a minute, and poked her arm lightly. "Black?"

She couldn't look at him. Narcissa's eyes had found a painfully familiar face across the table, and her blood felt like ice in her veins as she stared at Andromeda, sitting there twirling a similar card between her fingers dolefully. Narcissa swallowed, a ringing in her ears. This couldn't be avoided, could it? Was it her fate, then, for the whole year? In the common room, and at meals, and even at parties – that anguish, that fear of having to face her again?

"She won't go," Travers said quietly from beside her.

She stiffened and glared at him. "What would you know about anything?" she responded in a deadly whisper.

He raised an eyebrow. "I know you've done your very best to avoid looking at her so far, but still. It's pretty noticeable that she keeps to herself as much as possible – do you really think she'd go to a party, and one that's going to be crowded with Slytherins at that?"

Cissy looked away. "You don't know Meda," she breathed. "She can be defiant."

"Granted, she doesn't have much to lose. But I would think she's been defiant enough on many points recently, from an outsider point of view. That one would be closer to either brainlessness or masochism. You tell me if that sounds anything like her."

Narcissa swallowed, then looked down at her invite. "Should I go, then?"

"Put it this way," Travers pushed, "what will the gossips say if you don't?"

She had a small, mirthless laugh. "That I'm a coward. And that my family really did fall quite low."

"Why?"

"Because we can't even pretend and live up to our social standing anymore. Because we're nothing if we're not on top."

"I'll take your word for that part," Travers said softly, "but that sounds about right. See, even I more or less get the way society works."

She didn't reply, just twirled the invite between her fingers, once or twice.

Gently, he took it from her.

"Be brave, Cissy Black," he taunted. "Show them what you're made of."

Cissy set her jaw. "All right then."

"Why, don't you look quite lovely."

And Cissy's cheeks burned a furious shade of crimson again. It had been an unspoken thing, that they should meet there at the entrance of the common room, and go to the party together. It didn't really mean anything, just footsteps sounding along hers, just a silhouette by her side, a familiar voice. She wouldn't be alone with her shadow on the wall and the silence, and she wouldn't chicken out and turn back to the dungeons in a hurry. She was Narcissa Black, see, and she needed no one even when she did. He understood that. He didn't need her either, and he wasn't expecting anything. It was written in the careless arch of his smile, and the drawl of his voice sounded provocative and nothing else. What else could it have been?

"Thank you – you don't look too bad, either," she said airily, and they smoothly fell into step together.

Soon enough the noise of the party reached them, low voices and laughter along with the soft clinking of glasses. Cissy found her smile and breathed slowly in and out, the society girl who loved such gatherings finding her way through her anxiety. Chin high, she pushed the door to Slughorn's office and walked in first.

It was a small occasion, a first-time thing. There was slow music and a buffet; Narcissa's gaze swept across the room swiftly, scanning faces. Many were familiar. Alcyone stood close to Slughorn, to her dismay, with Selwyn by her side. Virgil Greengrass, Claudius Flint, the Yaxleys and Lucius Malfoy… Narcissa's blood turned cold as she met Cassandra's gaze across the room. The Burke sisters were standing there in a corner, talking quietly. But Meda did not stand by Carmilla, and Cissy fought the tremors that had started rocking through her.

"For Merlin's sake," Travers muttered, and nudged her forward.

They crossed the room, and Slughorn joined them in the middle, spreading his arms with a benign chuckle. "Miss Black, how delightful!" he exclaimed. "It is lovely to see you join my little elite, my dear, truly lovely – and this young man must be the talented Mr Travers!"

"Good evening, sir," Travers replied pleasantly.

"Good evening to you! Now, I trust you all know one another – Miss Nott? Mr Selwyn?"

"We are acquainted indeed," Alcyone purred, her smile sickly sweet in Cissy's direction.

"How lovely," Slughorn chortled. "Now, if we all know one another – where were we, my dear Miss Nott – you were about to tell me about your eldest brother, I believe? He has started a Ministry career, has he not?"

"Oh yes. Hector is currently doing an internship in the International Magical Trading Standards Body," Alcyone uttered with smugness dripping from her every syllable. "His appointment is not quite official yet, but clearly his potential has been assessed, and his superiors declared themselves to be highly satisfied with his work."

"Good, good. I never doubted this boy would make quick progress…"

"He is most grateful for the relations your acquaintance gifted him with," the girl pushed obsequiously, "your trust in him has proved most rewarding."

"I have been known to do that," he chuckled self-satisfiedly, "do send him my regards." His gaze swept around the little circle he found himself surrounded with rapidly. "Speaking of appreciated former students… Dear Narcissa, I believe your sister Bellatrix's wedding is to take place quite soon?"

"Yes sir, just after Christmas," Narcissa said. "It is to be the event of the season."

"Good, good. I very much liked Rodolphus when he was at school, as well. I shall probably have the honour of gracing you with my presence," Slughorn announced.

Cissy smiled. "It would be lovely to have you."

"What about the rest of the family? Cygnus, Orion, Walburga? How are they all doing?"

Narcissa felt a cold breeze brush against her side as Travers stalked away. "Excuse me," he'd muttered, and the circle stared at his retreating back. Rapidly recovering, Cissy flicked her hair in nervosity before she responded: "They are all very well, sir, thank you. My father is extremely busy with his work, as is uncle Orion, I assume. His and Aunt Walburga's son, my cousin Sirius, will be starting school next year."

"It will be a pleasure to welcome one more Black in Slytherin!" Slughorn exclaimed, beaming, and Cissy smiled and nodded. She was very much enjoying Alcyone's scowl at the attention she was getting.

"But I am neglecting all my duties!" Slughorn cried all of a sudden. "Excuse me, young people – there are other guests of mine whom I have yet to greet!" As he scurried away towards another group, as fast as his short, chubby, lazy legs could possibly carry him, Alcyone's scowl deepened and Narcissa tensed, and found herself missing having Travers at her side.

"And how is your loveliest sister, Narcissa?" the girl taunted, "is she enjoying ruining her house's image and her family's reputation? I assume that the Mudblood writes everyday, doesn't he? How sweet."

"I do not see what you're talking about, Alcyone," Narcissa said stiffly. "She is no sister of mine." She half-turned, ready to leave.

"How convenient. Well, I would know more about her than you do, certainly. Have you heard that Dumbledore himself requested that the Slytherin prefects keep an eye on the situation with her? Heavens forbid precious traitor Andromeda Black should get bullied!" Narcissa was walking away on unfeeling legs, glazing blankly ahead, and so Alcyone raised her voice a little at the end of her vicious little speech – not enough to embarrass herself, yet in a vastly sufficient way so as to ensure that she would be noticed. People were staring. They always, always stared, and Cissy walked faster, her heart fluttering in her chest. Her eyes quickly scanned the room for Travers – and got hooked, instead, into Cassandra's gaze.

"Cissy," Cassie said, stepping towards her, "we need to talk."

"No we don't," Narcissa muttered, brushing past her in a hurry.

"Are we never going to be friends anymore?" the girl called behind her, her voice high and harsh with the lump of frustration in her throat.

Never, Cissy longed to scream. Did she need friends anyway? Friends were nice company until they stabbed you in the back. Friends had never done a thing against the ever-growing void in her insides and her world. But her eyes found Travers by the buffet and she rushed to him. Was he a friend? Certainly not. But a reassuring presence, somehow, indeed. Perhaps she could rely on that.

Or perhaps not.

"Are you done socializing?" he mocked as he raised his glass to her. She just nodded numbly and drank some Butterbeer herself, for composure. The warmth felt soothing somehow, but the too-sweet flavour saturated her taste buds and made her feel slightly queasy. There was some kind of sourness lurking within, and she clutched her drink with both hands.

Travers cocked an eyebrow at her as he picked a canapé. "Enjoying yourself?" he enquired flippantly.

"Take a guess," she said sullenly.

He groaned slightly. "I think I can, that's right." He pushed a plate towards her. She stared. It was a pyramid of small chocolate cakes. "Have something to eat. You're looking pretty white."

"I'm fine. We just had dinner," Cissy said, turning her nose up.

He snorted. "Like hell we just had dinner." He turned to fully face her, his eyes glinting oddly, and Narcissa sort of wanted to look away, but she found herself transfixed. "Dance with me then. That's the next best thing."

And in a way, it was tempting, which just wouldn't do. Narcissa cleared her throat, setting down her glass carefully. "Thank you, but no thank you," she said. "I…"

"Come on, Cissy Black," he growled, voice low and rough and a bit short on breath, until she wondered what he'd been drinking exactly. "Don't be such a coward. You've got to say yes to something, at least."

That stung. She glared. "Do I?"

"Don't you ever want to start living?" he shot back viciously, "don't you have the guts? Or is starving yourself really much more fun?"

She was flushing deep red, with traitor tears scalding her eyes and stares boring into her neck, and she needed to escape anyway. Narcissa stepped forward, her jaw tight, white fingers clutching Travers' shoulder and digging into the fabric of his robes. Quickly, he set down his glass and wrapped his free arm around her waist, towing her to where a few couples were dancing. She was like a doll in his grasp.

The song was slow and his hands were warm. Cissy's eyelids fluttered closed for a minute, remembering in a flash a dance in her father's arms – years before, it tormented and evaded her as one of the many past things that could not be recovered. Travers was quite good though, and cocked a smug eyebrow at her when she peered up at him, pleasantly surprised. They twirled lazily in a circle and she found herself more and more aware of his body heat, the rough and forward reality of him against her chest, her arms, as she caught gazes lingering on her again. They were quite the odd pair, the talented and whimsical half-blood with the precious Black princess, the maiden daughter with pretty eyes and hair, impeccable manners and her sisters' infamy on her shoulders – not quite thin enough to be perfect, nor invisible. People wondered and smirked as she danced with her first non-pureblood partner ever, a flighty fifteen. And then the fear found the frustration and the frenzy, somewhere at the very bottom of her gut. The mix was spicy and more reckless than anything she'd ever known, and as Narcissa Black twirled gracefully into Travers' arms, she stood on her tiptoes and got a swift taste of his lips.

It was salty, soft and foreign, with an accompanying rush of air into her head that left her more confused than previously. It was short-lived and followed by a beat of silence. As it happened, the song had just ended and she could hear nothing clearly over the din of voices and the beating of her heart. Travers pulled on her hand. She followed him in a corner that was less populated and still. Then he dipped his head with a challenge in his eyes, and she accepted it silently.

There was a sweet, lingering taste on his tongue. She wondered briefly and then forgot it. The warmth and oblivion filled her better than any drink would have. It was heady. It felt complete.

For a few moments, she forgot to breathe.