Here's the third chapter! Dedicated to the lovely Hermione's Harmony, as I was hesitating to include this at first, but her desire to see more of Travers/Narcissa helped me decide =) Title is from the Craig David song…
A cloud of perfume floated around the bathroom. Narcissa rubbed her wrists together, brushed her fingers over the perfectly smooth bun she had done her hair in, flexed and then relaxed her white hands, twirled lightly on her heel, skirts floating around her, careful to keep her balance. She breathed in, and then out, before checking the mirror one more time. Once, and then twice; defiant, she pulled a face at her reflection, and then breezed out of the room.
Her heels clicked with a clear, striking sound against the flagstones as she darted in and out of her dormitory, just grabbing her bag before she swiftly departed. The common room was a flurry of activity, everybody getting ready with noise and clamour, and Cissy thanked her lucky stars for the opportunity to slip by unnoticed. They had agreed to meet in the Entrance Hall. She hurried from the dungeons, hugging her cloak closer to her slim body, silly nerves fluttering and bubbling into her stomach.
Adrian Travers was waiting for her, leaning against the wall, right in front of the huge oak doors, and her heart hopped within her chest as her gaze swept across the space looking for him, before it settled over his tall, thin form. Even then she did not quite relax, a feeling of tightness spread over her throat and lungs was nagging at her awareness still. It was not painful nor entirely distressing, nothing like feelings she had been acquainted with before – merely uncomfortable, and quite unnerving, in the sheer restlessness of it. As she smiled her lips felt tight, and her fingers cold, suspended in midair and abruptly unsure. He reached out, grabbed a firm hold of her hovering hand, and pulled lightly.
The weather outside was quite cool and sunless, but his hand felt very warm, and it was foreign to feel it wrapped around her own slender one, but bizarrely pleasant for such a tiny thing. Cissy stepped a little closer to him, their shoulders just barely brushing as they walked.
"Pretty cold out there, isn't it?" Adrian drawled, throwing her a glance that was gently mocking, and alive with a gleam of satisfaction.
Narcissa preferred looking steadily at the path before them, deeming it safer for now. "Are we going to make small talk?" she enquired carelessly.
"Guess you rather expected me to comment on how lovely you're looking right now," he speculated. "Well, it wasn't from lack of noticing, at any rate."
And at least her cheeks were warming up at the same rapid pace as her fingers were. "I hardly expect anything from you anymore," she told him.
"And how right you are, Cissy." He chuckled, and she got the impression, once more, that the mere presence of her hand in his filled him with a smug, disbelieving kind of glee. Her pet name sounded soft and wry upon his sharp tongue, but it wasn't unpleasant at all. She felt so strangely safe with him by her side. This one may have an erratic way with truths, but he wouldn't lie straight to her face – the certainty of it was coming from nowhere, it was strong, however, and she could rely on it. He didn't seem willing to leave her either.
Impulsively, she squeezed his fingers tighter.
Hogsmeade was noisy and populated as ever. The pair strolled around the village a bit aimlessly, not too sure what to do with themselves and one another. Their linked hands were proving to be a slight hindrance to the usual casual and careless quality of their conversation, and Narcissa would have died rather than to end up for tea at Madam Puddifoot's, which seemed to be the other couples' ultimate destination, nine times out of ten. Travers appeared equally horrified by the prospect, thankfully.
"No. Just no. This looks like an old lady's parlour!" he ranted as they dashed across the street, somehow fearing that there should be Confondus Charms exerted over the area, as it seemed to be the only likely reason. "It's not even only the Hufflepuff couples! I saw rather haughty girls in there, and cocky guys – how can they imagine being seen in such a place? How do they stomach the decoration without feeling sick? I just don't get it."
"Mystery of life," Cissy said, giggling nervously. "Maybe she sells illegal drinks and nobody else knows. Or maybe it's just because the threat of Rosmerta is enough to draw any girl away from the Three Broomsticks, and who would go for a date at the Hog's Head?"
Travers froze dramatically in the middle of the street. "Cissy? I think you just bashed my plans," he complained.
Narcissa stared, and then made to escape.
"I was joking, you fool!" he cried, catching her as she bolted, "I might not be a gentleman, but goat dung ruins the picture for me, too!"
"So either I'll tolerate Rosmerta, or we're in for the sweet company of cool autumn wind and our own two legs as the only constant to our location," she breathed. "Sweet. Plus, I think it might rain – "
They were leaning against one another, out in the street with his hands still grasping her arms, and Travers had a fancy to prove his former point in regard to his scarcely gentlemanly ways, by kissing her midway through a sentence and for the whole world to see. Narcissa gasped, taken off guard, but she didn't find it in her to be offended by his decidedly feral behaviour, nor unnerved at the thought of her reputation. Actually, this felt rather nice – very nice – and she stood on her tiptoes, her back arching slightly, as he towered above her. His hands freed her arms, sliding to find her waist, and her face felt very hot at his touch, however light. Her own hands clung to his shoulders as her balance seemed challenged, both metaphorically and in the most obvious sense of the term. He stole her breath and her wits for a while, before they broke apart with a gasp.
"Might not be the best place, uh?" he muttered.
Indeed, people were glancing at them quite often and repeatedly. Flushed, warm and feeling outlandishly reckless – and very much alive, Cissy deemed they should all go to hell or someplace similar, or at any rate leave her alone. They did not matter – this feeling did, and so she smiled, defiant.
"You started it," she said, "But yes, let's go stroll around aimlessly."
Instinctively, she claimed his arm as any lady would, proper and possessive, and he smirked. His heart was hammering, admittedly, and his eyes lightly traced the shape of her with definite fondness, though he'd straightened up and tried his best to look worthy of little Narcissa Black hanging on his arm. They set off, quite light-headed and holding on tight.
"Just look at that!" Travers exclaimed, pulling her in front of the brilliantly lit shop window.
Honeydukes lay before them like a box of jewels, glittering faintly, artful, tactful and yet rousing the most basic instincts with its shameless seduction. Narcissa swallowed hard and leaned against her companion, torn between undeniable attraction and the urge to run for her life. It was pretty, she had to admit, it was a sight, all warm lights and vivid colours, full of life. It seemed to nurse the delusion that pleasure was simple and happiness reachable, if one merely found themselves in such a cocoon, with a loved one, and allowed themselves to enjoy a moment of sweetness. It could be brief. It could – what was but one Chocolate Frog in the wide scheme of life – and she supposed it could be controlled. One sweet. Just one sweet, please. But everything glowed and everything was appealing and everything pretended to be harmless – this was a madhouse. It was bustling and bursting with life and activity, a thriving business with no need for her – and her fellow students stood in bunches inside, pressed against one another in the warm and narrow space, leaning against the display stands and pointing excitedly at the objects of their wants, laughing, mouths opening wide, teeth glinting, avid.
"A Knut for your thoughts," Travers said, poking her elbow. "I'd give much more, actually."
Cissy didn't bother debate over the worth of her head's contents, it would have led to actually delivering the wanted information, and she summed up her inner whirlwind with a shrug. "It's pretty," she uttered. "Are we going to stand there forever?"
"Actually no, I was sort of planning to step inside, if my lady doesn't object," he replied smoothly, draping his arm around her shoulders.
Something twisted in Narcissa's chest, but a "No!" didn't fly to her lips as easily as she might have liked. She found herself paralyzed, part of her willing enough to nod, willing enough to walk into the shop and meddle in the crowd. It was probably so smothering. There might be Mudbloods in there. But she'd had more bitter than sweet to chew over the past few months, definitely, and perhaps one wouldn't hurt? Just to let go of the anxiety. Just to prove herself that she could handle it. Breathe deeply and say yes. Just yes. Three letters, one word, one jerky, confident move of the tongue, surging forward against her teeth.
Yes.
"Mm-mm," she mumbled, and took a step forward as her speech might lack in clarity. He chuckled close to her ear and the door whirled open before them, letting another couple into the cool autumn air.
It was like a joke, a likeness at the opposed end of a spectrum, a boy fair with his arm around light shoulders and dark hair to frame a face that never ceased to be too familiar altogether. Cissy had something stuck in her throat, surely, and she choked for air as disbelief fluttered into her lungs. Oh, sweet irony, she dimly thought and the girl before her gaped in shock as well, reeling back.
"Cissy." She blinked and shook her head, almost looking like she'd be trying to smile next. "Well, you in Honeydukes." Her gaze flickered to Travers and Narcissa felt trapped, dirty and bare. It hurt that Meda still knew her and it hurt that she didn't anymore, that maybe she never truly had. Cissy fought to find her anger as she would need a modicum of dynamic to get the hell away from there.
"I won't lie, it's good to see you," Andromeda stated.
The Mudblood at her side seemed at a loss for what to do with himself, but Meda reached out and grabbed her sister's hand. Cissy jumped, yet felt too numb to withdraw. Meda squeezed her fingers with a backward smile, and then brushed past her, thankfully. They were left in the threshold, just Travers and her, blocking the way.
He steered her away from the door, back onto the street in the opposite direction, walking quickly. Her legs worked independently to her dazed brain and she blinked a couple of times, speechless. Her eyes started stinging. A light, drizzling rain soon began to fall and she felt, all the more, chilled to the bone. Travers pushed a door and led her somewhere noisy and hot and brightly lit. He sat her in a corner and remained close to her, one hand covering hers, that lay frozen on her lap. Her cheek found his shoulder and she squeezed her lids shut.
"Go away," he growled after a while, "does that look like the right moment to you?"
Cissy opened her eyes. Of course it would be the Burke sisters standing there, looking anxious. "It's okay," she murmured, feeling too tired to run and, perhaps, to feel.
Cassie breathed. "Finally!" She took a seat at their table, and her sister hovered, then did the same. Carmilla, Cara, Meda's best friend. And Cassie, who was supposed to be her own. Narcissa didn't move from her position against Travers' shoulder, and waited for them to speak.
"Well," Cassie started nervously, "it's been a while."
Cara rolled her eyes. "Oh, really, Cass?" she muttered.
Ignoring her, Cassie stared into Narcissa's eyes. "Cissy, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I know you think I betrayed you, and I also know that it is quite legitimate for you to do so. But I got caught in your family's secrets, and I couldn't just go and spill everything I knew about Meda, even if I was your friend before I was hers. I just couldn't."
"The two of you were with her in this," Narcissa said quietly.
"We were her friends, Cissy," Carmilla cut in, "so yes, we knew what was going on, and we tried to help her make the right choice – which she didn't. We respected her. I'm sorry it ended up this way. The thought of her with the Mudblood disgusts me, too, and most of all I'm sorry we couldn't warn you beforehand, so that you could talk to her. But honestly, Cissy… Last year you hardly talked to us at all, and neither to her." She shook her head. "I know it's easier to blame us. But it won't solve everything. It can't make things right to shut everybody out and refuse to deal with it all."
Narcissa tried to swallow the lump in her throat as Cara eventually quietened, holding her gaze with composed determination. She wanted to scream at the girl for daring to imply that it had all been her own fault, for being so calm and in control – for making sense, when she hardly could herself. She felt trapped with all those words over the unspoken tragedy, the taboo – and trapped with the truth in them, with everything she didn't want to face. Tears blurred her vision and Cassie reached out her hand across the table.
"I want to be your friend again," she said. "You always acted like you didn't need one. But I know you do. Don't push me away."
Cassie's hand lay open and expectant on the table. Cissy's were curled together on her lap with Travers' covering them. Reaching one out, meeting her friend's halfway meant letting go of her protection, of her anger, of part of the hurt. It was a promise and it was letting Cassie in, again. Maybe it even involved letting her in deeper than before. Accepting to talk. Admitting she'd been wrong. The hand was white and slim, unbelievably demanding for such a frail thing, and Cissy closed her eyes. "I can't," she whispered, "it hurts too much."
Her eyelids shot open again, when she heard a chair being pushed back. Cassie was standing and her sister imitated her. They both seemed very tall, all of a sudden, towering above her. "All right, Narcissa," Cassie said in a low voice. "All right. I won't run after you anymore. I get tired of it too, you know… It's not like I need you after all, and if you really don't value our friendship at all, then fine. Have it your way. I guess I'll leave you alone… If you change your mind, you know where to find me." Cassandra's glare was defying the shaking of her voice as she neared the end of her speech, and then she just turned her back and stalked away. Cara followed without another word.
Cissy supposed she should have felt liberated. The issue was cleared and the girls wouldn't bother her anymore – with all the recollections and the hurt they were sure to bring to the surface each time. She had stood her ground, so why did she feel like a little girl? Why did she feel helpless, lonely – painfully immature?
Travers patted her shoulder. "I should go and order," he said, "Madam Rosmerta has been glaring daggers in our direction for the last ten minutes." She nodded mutely and he stood from the wall seat, striding away smoothly.
Narcissa watched his retreating back, carefully reminding herself that she didn't need to be alone. Travers was warmth and companionship and fun, and for all his moments of protectiveness, he hardly seemed the type to corner her with the necessity to talk. No, she mused, that wasn't like him. He was a man of few blunt words, and that suited her just fine. For now, he was exactly what she could need.
Five minutes and two Butterbeers later, she leaned against his side again, taking her mug with a whispered thanks. "No comments about all of that," she felt compelled to say, just in case, with a vague gesture towards the vacant chairs opposite them. "I'm not sure I want to hear your thoughts."
"I wasn't about to divulge them," he responded coolly, and Cissy found herself smiling a small smile, somehow.
"Fine then." A few sips of the hot liquid warmed up her insides, and then she twisted around to kiss him. He graciously obliged, one hand in her fair curls as they tumbled from her bun at last, and she savoured not having to think, but only to feel – concerns and insecurities slipping away into oblivion, her heart speeding as her mind quietened. She felt alive, briefly sated by the taste of him.
It would do, she thought, clinging to his shoulders.