It was the second of May, 1965, thirty-three years before the Battle of Hogwarts.
Cissy paced up and down her bedroom in anger—it just didn't sit right with her, being at home all alone. 'Go play with your cousins', her mother had said, as if it would've been fun for her to play with toddlers—as if she should want to play with toddlers instead of longing to play with her sisters.
But it wasn't her mother's fault that Bella and Dromeda had to go to school and she wasn't old enough yet. It wasn't her sisters' fault either—it was their fault that they hadn't written at all since the start of the school year, it was their fault that over the Christmas and Easter holidays, they had only really had eyes for each other. It was their fault that they seemed to have forgotten she existed at all.
It was almost as if she'd suddenly become an only child.
It was the second of May, 1972, twenty-six years before the Battle of Hogwarts.
Cissy Black paced up and down the Slytherin Common Room in the dead of night—she just couldn't sleep, the letter Bella had sent her, about Dromeda, kept playing in her mind even weeks—months—later. 'She ran off to marry a Mudblood', the letter read, 'and she is beyond reasoning with. She is no longer family.'
The letter was short but clear and left no room for doubt—not that there was a reason to. She trusted Bella's judgement, especially when it came to Andromeda. Bella was smitten with her—had been smitten with her before she pulled this trick. She didn't judge lightly. If Bella said she was beyond reasoning with, then she really was.
Doubt wasn't what kept her up. Hurt was. It hurt to know Andromeda preferred the company of Mudbloods over that of her own sisters, it hurt to know she still hadn't returned, to know she married the filth and had no regrets about it—and marriage led to children. She willingly soiled her own blood, and for what? 'Love'?
But what was done, was done. Andromeda had made her decision and Andromeda was no more. She had only one sister now—a sister who had the same disregard for rules and was likely headed towards her own death, but a sister nonetheless.
It was the second of May, 1982, sixteen years before the Battle of Hogwarts.
Cissa paced up and down the hall outside the courtroom her sister was in. It felt wrong, having to wait for the verdict without being able to even offer her support in court. But what was there to support? She couldn't weasel her out of this, she wasn't Lucius, she didn't have Lucius' tact, nor self-preservation instincts. No, Bella would gladly admit to all she'd done in the name of her master, because that's what truly mattered to her; pleasing a madman, even after his death...
It wasn't that he hadn't had the right idea—she was all for the purification of Wizardkind—it was the way he'd gone about it that was simply not done. She didn't understand why the Death Eaters couldn't have acted as civilised human beings instead of savages no better than werewolves and trolls and—no, she shouldn't think like that.
She'd just never understood her sister's... devotion. It had been feverish. Obsessive. Unhealthy. So reckless. Perhaps it was best she had to wait outside, for she was so close to storming in and asking—demanding—that she tell what had got into her. The Dark Lord had lost! There was no need to go around torturing people—and certainly not Aurors, what was she thinking!—to find him, for he was gone! They'd all lost, and lying low was their only way of survival, but Bellatrix just couldn't see that—she wouldn't see that. She was too caught up in her own little world to even want to try.
A lifetime in Azkaban, that would be Bella's sentence, and the sentence of those she'd dragged down with her. Azkaban was worse than death, but the outcome was the same for Cissa: she was all alone again. Alone and sisterless.
It was the second of May, 1997, one year before the Battle of Hogwarts.
Narcissa Malfoy paced up and down the empty cellar of her manor—she'd removed all of the wine, artefacts, and furniture, as it was to become a place for holding prisoners. Funnily enough, she quite felt like one herself at the moment; the Malfoy name had lost its status, the Dark Lord's demands grew more outrageous by the second, and she was in no position to complain. Anything she said or did wrong would be held against her—against Draco—and she just couldn't have that.
She'd tried to ask for help. She'd gone to Bellatrix, she'd gone to Severus, she'd gone to others, too, who remained in good standing and could be trusted—none could help to the extent she wished, but Bellatrix wouldn't even try. She'd changed, but Narcissa couldn't be sure what did it—was it Azkaban? Was it the knowledge she'd been right about her master, and Narcissa wrong? Was Bellatrix still upset about the way she and Lucius had acted back when the Dark Lord fell? She wouldn't put it past her.
Either way, it didn't feel like she got her sister back. She got back someone who resembled her in appearance and who held her memories, yes, but not her sister—the Bella she knew would never have abandoned her like this.
And it was over. It was the second of May, 1999, one year after the Battle of Hogwarts, and it was over.
Narcissa paced up and down the hallway of the manor, lost in thought. This wretched day was both cause for celebration and mourning in the Wizarding World, but for her, celebration was hard to find. Trials and accusations only added to the sense of loss—a year ago, Bellatrix died. A year ago, she became the last remaining member of her family.
It was lonely without her. Lonelier than it had been before, the first time she lost her—it was lonelier because there truly was no way back now, and she'd do anything to take back Bella's mild insanity—mild? Who was she kidding! If Bellatrix's insanity was classified as 'mild', she struggled to think of what would qualify as a 'severe' case...
She shook her head—none of it mattered. The Dark Lord was gone, and for good, this time. They'd all seen his body. There was no denying it this time around. Even Bellatrix wouldn't have—no, Bella would probably have killed herself on the spot had she known the Dark Lord died. It would've ruined her. She was better off where she was now (wherever that may be).
She knew where she was, of course. Where her remains were, at least. They lay amongst all those who died in the Battle of Hogwarts. 'Reconciliation', Potter had called it—of course the boy had been put in charge of this matter, when he was barely old enough to—to do what?! He'd been through more than most at such a young age. It was only proper he'd been put in charge. And he'd decided to burry all the fallen of the Battle of Hogwarts in the same graveyard—Death Eater, Order member, and everything in-between, lay on the same plot of land. Something about light and dark, and choices... it had sounded like a lot of codswallop, but she wasn't in a position to complain. No, she should be happy with what they had given to her through all the soft talk of reconciliation: A place to visit her fallen.
After all, war had casualties on both sides.
She Apparated to the Graveyard in the hope that visiting her grave would bring her some consolation. She knew the way despite having walked it only once before, when they brought her remains and held a small funeral. There had barely been any in attendance—just her and her family, and, at her request, Rodolphus had been allowed out on leave... she could still see his broken face as he was escorted back to Azkaban by those Aurors. A face that begged her to say something so he could stay—she'd stood there wordlessly, as she did now, staring blankly ahead. What was there to say?
She traced the letters engraved on the headstone that made up the words, 'devoted servant'. It was what she would have wanted to be remembered for. "I hope you've found him, in death," she whispered. "I hope you're happy."
There was a sudden crack, the sign of Apparition, and she hid behind one of the more elaborate headstones that stood nearby. There were footsteps, but none came towards her—yet she remained hidden. Nobody took kindly to her presence any more these days, and the last thing she needed was to cause a scene on a Graveyard. So she hid, but without the immediate danger, she was more relaxed and noticed she'd trampled some flowers in her haste. She quickly and quietly restored them with her wand. Then her eye caught the dates inscribed in the marble: 24 July 1981 – 2 May 1998. A child...
An unmoving photograph confirmed it. A slender boy holding a camera, posing for the picture. She took it in her hands and noticed the tremble in them—it could've been her Draco. Her baby boy...
"I miss you," a voice spoke softly. It wasn't her own, but it was distinctly familiar. She put back the photograph of the young boy and dabbed her eyes—she shouldn't be crying over someone else's loss! The familiar voice continued: "I know it's been a while, but..."
Narcissa's heart was up in her throat and threatened to break as the woman's voice broke. "Oh darling, I miss you so—Teddy misses you so... he needs his Mummy like I need my little girl..."
Another woman grieving the loss of her child. Another one dead too soon, another one who could've lived if it wasn't for the side she'd backed. She'd done nothing to stop this, and now she was bearing the consequences—she was a mother herself, after all, and her heart ached imagining it was her Draco that had died, and, along with her aching heart, escaped a tear, and another—how many mothers had she robbed of their children, by—oh, the Weasleys lost a boy, hadn't they? A boy barely older than her Draco, and—no!—she sniffed the tears away, not realising the woman had grown silent. She couldn't be crying.
"Who is there? Show yourself!" The woman's tone had changed to a harsh warning, and Narcissa got up from the child's grave. She knew it was no use to stay hidden.
But she had not been prepared at all for what happened next—there she stood, bright as the constellation she was named after, yet dark as the sister she so resembled. Others might have even mistaken her for Bellatrix, but Narcissa knew. She'd always known.
Andromeda looked as surprised as she felt to stand face-to-face after so many years, and drew her wand on reflex. Narcissa didn't raise hers—it would not do to cause a scene.
"Murderer."
It felt as if she'd just stabbed a knife into her chest—the young boy's grave was still clearly visible from where she stood now, as was the grave of the girl Andromeda had been visiting... her daughter, the half-blood that married that werewolf—yes, she'd paid attention to both the news and those little meetings she had to attend with the Dark Lord living in her house... it pained her greatly, and she didn't say anything in return.
It didn't deter Andromeda, whose wand was still drawn and pointed dangerously to her face. "What makes you think I wouldn't just kill you now?"
Out of the myriad of answers she could've chosen—Andromeda had never been quick to murder, and she'd never be one to announce what she was about to do, either. She wasn't as impulsive as Bellatrix and even in anger she'd always preferred to talk it through rather than fight... all of those options were rational, all of the answers were logical, and all were not what she said. Instead, she answered: "Because I'm your sister."
Because Narcissa had never been logical, or rational. She'd always been driven by self-preservation, yes, but also by family. And yet, the words she spoke surprised her—she hadn't considered Andromeda family in ages.
And neither had Andromeda considered Narcissa family. She even laughed at the insinuation, yet she lowered her wand. She said softly: "I have no sisters."
Neither did she, and yet, they had each other. They'd been strong, the three of them, sometime in the past they'd been an unstoppable force.
"Were you visiting her?" Andromeda asked, pointing at Bellatrix's grave that lay in their midst.
She nodded. "I know what it looks like, but—well, she was still our sister—"
"She was your sister. Not mine. She made that painfully clear."
"I know, and, well... she never did forgive you for—"
"Forgive me?" laughed Andromeda. "Merlin, Narcissa, you're as mad as she was."
"I'm not mad. You—you don't understand what it was like. Bellatrix wasn't an easy person to be around, you know."
"Yeah, I gathered that much when she threatened to kill me and then proceeded to kill my daughter. Pray tell me, what is it I don't understand? How horrible has that perfect little life of yours been?"
"You're right," was all she could say. "I don't know your pain, but I have a child as well. I have a son—"
"At home, I presume?"
"In holding. He's awaiting a trial."
"He could've been buried here, alongside my child."
"I know," she spoke softly, hoping the tears wouldn't fall again. "Any of us could've been."
She stared at Andromeda, but Andromeda didn't return the look. They were silent for a very long time, and Narcissa didn't dare break it—what they had now was more than they'd had in decades, and somewhere deep down, she wished for this moment to last as long as it could. She wished for it to last forever.
"I did grieve for her," Andromeda said, breaking the silence. "Not recently, but I did grieve for the death of the person I used to know, the girl that called herself my big sister and..."
"And would teach you fun new tricks and spells even though you weren't supposed to be doing magic over the holidays," Narcissa filled in, desperate to connect. "The girl who helped you braid your hair and taught you how to do most anything..."
"That girl was something special," Andromeda agreed. "It's a pity what became of her."
Narcissa nodded. "It's a pity what became of us... and I don't expect you to forgive me, or my son, or my husband, and I'm certainly not demanding anything of you—I just... what I'm saying, is, well... I'm sorry, Andromeda. I'm sorry for all of this..." she gestured vaguely at the graves. A sob escaped alongside the last words she spoke, and Andromeda—the ever-forgiving loving Andromeda—closed the gap between them.
She put a hand upon her shoulder, and Narcissa burrowed her face in her arms, and for a moment—one tiny, fleeting moment—all was well.
The End—or rather, The Beginning
(they do say time heals all wounds...)