Chapter 6: What Time Could Not Break

In the quiet between us,

sisterhood mends

what time could not break.

Narcissa stood quietly on the staircase, her shawl wrapped snugly around her shoulders, her eyes drifting across the photographs adorning the wall. Her eyes lingered on the one of her and her sisters, a snapshot of youth and expectation frozen in time. Hogwarts-era memories, vivid and chaotic, swirled in her mind like an unbidden dream—saturated with color and emotion, yet tinged with shadows.

Andromeda, standing nearby, watched her younger sister lost in thought, her expression softening as her own memories rose to the surface. The sisters had been shaped by a household where love was not freely given but rationed, a currency of power and control. At the Black family manor, affection came at a cost, one steeped in duty and relentless expectation.

Bellatrix, the eldest, had always craved their parents' approval the most. Fiery and obsessive, she embodied the extremes their family demanded. Bellatrix had spent her school years collecting detentions like trophies, her passion for Defense Against the Dark Arts rivaled only by her disdain for theoretical studies. She had clung to tradition with an iron grip, upholding their parents' values with a fervor that bordered on madness. Being the firstborn, she bore the weight of their ideals—a dangerous burden that ultimately consumed her, leaving nothing but a shadow of the vibrant sister they had once known.

Andromeda, the middle child, had been neither revered like Bellatrix nor indulged like Narcissa. At Hogwarts, she had drifted toward romance, fleeting paramours filling the void her family left. It was only Ted, with his quiet integrity, who had anchored her. At home, she had been distant, her bond with their parents more a formality than a relationship. Her true connection had been with Sirius—her cousin, her kindred spirit—both of them united by their rebellion and mutual estrangement from the family's suffocating ideals. It was this detachment, Andromeda knew, that had ultimately given her the strength to leave.

Then there was Narcissa, the youngest and most unexpected. Born several years after her sisters, she had been an unwelcome surprise in a family already bound by rigid expectations. Yet, Narcissa had a way of bending the world to her will. Precocious, sensitive, and quietly magnetic, she had charmed even their cold-hearted father, Cygnus. While Bellatrix sought control and Andromeda craved freedom, Narcissa had cultivated an air of mystery. As a child, she read books far beyond her years, her delicate fingers tracing ancient runes and brewing intricate potions. At Hogwarts, her professors spoke of her as a prodigy, with Dumbledore himself calling her one of the most gifted witches of her generation.

Cygnus, who rarely bestowed his affection, had been proud of Narcissa in a way that was almost startling. Even in his drunken stupors, he recognized her brilliance. "If you had been a boy," he once slurred, "you could have done great things." The words had seared into her, a compliment veiled in bitterness. For all her potential, Narcissa's life was not her own to shape.

At seventeen, she passed her NEWTs with distinction, her professors urging her to pursue an apprenticeship with Professor McGonagall. But Cygnus, more enamored with wealth and status than his daughter's future, accepted a dowry from the Malfoys. At eighteen, Narcissa became Lucius's wife; by nineteen, she was a mother. The brilliance her father once praised dimmed beneath the weight of obligation. The intellect that had dazzled her professors, the talents that had set her apart—all were quietly extinguished in the gilded cage of her marriage.

Andromeda's heart clenched as she watched Narcissa, her once-vibrant sister now enveloped in silence, her light dimmed by years of sacrifice. Like a flame snuffed out with a single breath, Narcissa's brilliance had been stifled—her life folded into a narrative she hadn't chosen.

Narcissa, curious yet cautious, had always wondered why Andromeda left their rigid world but had been too afraid to follow. Instead, she remained bound—stretched thin, attached to everyone and everything, yet disconnected from herself. Andromeda realized, perhaps for the first time, that her younger sister had always been the quiet observer of their family. Narcissa carried their stories within her, like pages of an unwritten book. She bore the weight of their joys and sorrows, a chronicler of lives that had often overlooked her own.

As Narcissa stood before the wall of photographs, her pale brows furrowed in thought, Andromeda felt compelled to intervene. "Stop it, Cissy," she said, her voice breaking the quiet.

Narcissa turned, startled out of her reverie, her grey eyes clouded with memories she couldn't shake. "What?" she asked, the question sharp but tinged with confusion.

Andromeda took a step closer, her expression softening. "You're torturing yourself," she said quietly. "You can't keep living through everyone else's lives."

Narcissa blinked, her shoulders stiffening at the words. "I'm not…" she started, but the hesitation in her voice betrayed her. She faltered, and Andromeda seized the moment.

"You are," Andromeda pressed gently, though her tone was firm. "You've always carried us—our parents, Bella, me. But what about you? When will you start thinking about yourself?" She let out a soft sigh, her hand brushing against the staircase railing. "You have to start loving yourself, Cissy."

Narcissa flinched, a memory flashing across her face like lightning. Her voice wavered as she responded, "I don't know how."

Andromeda's heart ached at the admission but didn't falter. "Then learn," she said simply. "You have your own story to tell. And it's not finished yet."

Narcissa's lips pressed into a thin line as if to block whatever emotions were threatening to escape. "I don't know if I'd be any good at it," she said after a pause, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You don't have to be perfect," Andromeda replied with a faint smile. "We're all just trying to figure it out as we go. But you deserve a life that's yours—one that makes you happy." Her hand reached out briefly, as if offering an unspoken assurance. "Cissy, don't let someone else write the ending for you."

For a long moment, Narcissa was quiet. Then, she exhaled a shaky laugh. "The last time I saw you, you were full of nonsense."

Andromeda grinned. "Still am," she quipped. "Remember when I thought you were sneaking off to meet some secret lover, but you were actually raiding the Hogwarts library?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of Narcissa's lips—familiar and sharp. "Who says I wasn't doing both?"

Andromeda's laughter rang through the stairwell. "You little troublemaker!" she exclaimed. "With who?"

Narcissa's smirk wavered, her gaze dropping to the floor. "It was… no one important," she said softly, her tone guarded.

Recognizing the cue, Andromeda didn't push further. Narcissa was like a delicate bird—approach too quickly, and she would retreat entirely.

Instead, Andromeda followed her sister's gaze as it drifted to the photographs on the wall. Narcissa stopped before one of Nymphadora, a snapshot of her niece on the day she graduated from Hogwarts. Her slender fingers traced the outline of her smiling face, her touch lingering over the young woman she'd never truly gotten to know.

"She is—was beautiful, 'Meda," Narcissa whispered, her voice trembling as she shifted tenses. Her fingers froze on the picture. A mother should never have to refer to her child in the past tense, she thought bitterly. It wasn't fair.

Narcissa shuddered, the memory of her niece's killer surfacing unbidden. Her sister, Bellatrix—the same blood, the same upbringing. A shared history tainted by choices that had carved irrevocable divides. Her lips pressed into a thin line, the same question circling her mind as it always did in moments like these: was their blood cursed?

Andromeda's voice pulled her back. "Really?" she asked, her eyes glistening with emotion. "I always thought she looked a bit like you." She rose and ascended the stairs with purpose, nearing Narcissa. She unclasped a small locket hanging from a delicate chain around her neck. She opened it carefully, revealing a tiny portrait within. "Very few know this, but her hair was like yours once," she said softly. "Long, pale, and silky. She thought she didn't suit it."

Narcissa's gaze lingered on the image. The girl in the locket was a ghostly echo of her younger self, with flaxen hair framing a delicate face, though her dark eyes were unmistakably her mother's. If Narcissa hadn't known better, she might have thought she was staring at her own reflection from a long-forgotten time.

"She resembles you here, doesn't she?" Andromeda whispered. "Like you, Dora was clever—always lost in her books. And did you know? She had a hat stall at Hogwarts, just like you, between Slytherin and Ravenclaw." A small, bittersweet chuckle escaped her. "But she chose neither. She hated the way the houses divided everyone. She said she wanted to be in Hufflepuff because it was where people of all kinds were accepted. Loved for who they were."

Andromeda's voice faltered, her expression tightening as memories of Dora flooded back—the last time she had seen her daughter, lying lifeless on the cold marble floor of the Great Hall. The green light of a curse had stolen her away. Bellatrix's laughter had been the cruel punctuation to the moment.

And just like that, she was gone.

Narcissa stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind her sister's ear. Her own voice wavered as she spoke. "I will always regret not knowing her, 'Meda," she admitted.

Andromeda frowned, blinking back a stray tear. "Tell me about Draco, Cissy," she said, her voice a fragile thread of hope.

Narcissa drew in a shaky breath, her mind spiraling through memories of her son. How could she capture his essence in mere words? "He was… gentle," she said at last, her voice thick with emotion. "And yet, much too brave for his own good. Lucius calls him a coward for changing sides, but…" She shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. A headache loomed, sharp and insistent. "I hate it when he speaks ill of Draco. I wonder if he truly believes it or if it's his way of mourning."

"To hell with Lucius," Andromeda snapped, her face flushed with anger. "He doesn't deserve a son like Draco. I couldn't believe it when he wasn't sentenced—"

"'Meda, he's a broken man," Narcissa interrupted, her hand drifting absently to her abdomen. The faintest hope stirred within her—was there still life in the darkness of her womb? If there was, perhaps it was a blessing Lucius was not this child's father. Her lips tightened at the thought. "Forgive him," she said softly.

Andromeda sighed, her anger ebbing into resignation as they made their way to the kitchen. "Have you?" she asked, her tone measured.

Narcissa grimaced, her thoughts turning to a time when Lucius had bought her hand in marriage with a dowry so large it had silenced any protests from her father. She had been young, uncertain of her heart, and unwilling to marry, but her choices had been taken from her. Lucius had purchased her like a trinket—an article to be owned.

"I can forgive what he did to me," she answered after a long pause, her voice heavy with the weight of years. "But I cannot forgive what he did to Draco." Her gaze grew distant. "And I cannot forgive myself for letting it happen."

"You have to stop blaming yourself, Cissy," Andromeda replied gently. "I did the same for years. It's exhausting, and it doesn't help. What happened to Draco wasn't your fault."

"I should have protected him," Narcissa whispered, her voice laced with anguish.

"He was brave, Cissy," Andromeda countered. "You said so yourself. You raised him well and did everything you could."

"No, 'Meda. I failed him."

Andromeda sighed deeply, her frustration evident. She had fought the same battles with guilt and knew how tenacious it could be.

As they sat at the kitchen table, Narcissa stared into the steam curling from her latte. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "This world is so cruel, so unkind. And yet…" She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the mug. "And yet, I want her. Is that selfish? Am I a terrible person for wanting to bring her into a world like this?"

Andromeda's expression softened. She reached out, her hand brushing lightly over her sister's. "Cissy, you're capable of giving her a beautiful life. You've endured so much. Trust yourself."

Narcissa considered her words, the hint of a secret pressing against her mind. Should she share it? What if there was no child, no future waiting for her? And what if Hermione, with her unruly brown hair and quiet strength, didn't want Andromeda to know?

Her Slytherin instincts urged her toward caution. A partial truth, perhaps. A diversion. "'Meda," she began hesitantly, "I need to tell you something—"

Andromeda glanced up, interjecting while distractedly poking at her crepe. "Teddy was not particularly charmed by my crepes," she mumbled. "They're a bit cold."

"Where is the boy now?" Narcissa asked.

"With Harry. I thought we could use some time alone," Andromeda replied, then quickly added, "Not because he was a bother to you, but because he would have been a bother to me." She flashed a small smile. "You can spend as much time with him as you'd like when he's back."

Narcissa hesitated, changing her mind, the brief tangent giving her an out. "I forgot what I was going to say..."

Andromeda narrowed her eyes. "You're my sister, Cissy," she said, her voice teasing but firm. "I can see through most of your shite. You can't fool me."

Narcissa snorted, her lips curling in mild disdain. "When did you become so vulgar?"

"That... um—happened because of Ted," Andromeda replied, her voice light with reminiscence. "He was never one to filter his words." A fleeting smile softened her expression, but it quickly faded. Her eyes sharpened, and her tone turned serious. "Now tell me, Cissy. What were you going to say? And pray tell, why did you come to me after all these years, drenched in your own blood, and with nowhere else to go?"

A beat.

Narcissa's lips quivered, words trapped behind her silence.

Andromeda sighed heavily. She had to ask the question for her. "If you're still the sister I remember, you wouldn't have done something so reckless. Merlin's beard, Narcissa, what were you thinking? You could have come to me— or at least a Muggle clinic where you'd have been safe—"

Her words trailed off as she noticed Narcissa's head lower, her face flushed with shame. A soft sniffle escaped her, and her pale cheeks reddened further. Andromeda's heart twinged. Hormones, she reasoned. "Cissy," she softened her voice, "please don't cry."

"No, you're… right," Narcissa muttered, her voice faint and laced with regret. "I was foolish. An absolute imbecile."

Andromeda frowned. "Oh, don't start with that. That's not what I meant." She straightened, her tone attempting to soothe. "Everyone used to call you the brightest witch of your generation," she said with a small chuckle. "Although, I must admit, the young witch you saw today might be—"

"I am not daft, Andromeda," Narcissa interrupted sharply, her silver eyes flashing. "I know who she is."

"Well, you just called yourself an imbecile," Andromeda retorted, her lips twitching with amusement. Narcissa's furrowed brows made her grin widen. Definitely the hormones, she thought. "What was I saying? Ah, yes—Hermione. She might even be just a touch brighter than you."

Narcissa's breath caught audibly at the mention of Hermione's name. Andromeda noticed but mistook the reaction for wounded pride. "I'm only teasing," she added quickly, waving a hand. "I'd call it a tie between the two of you." Tilting her head, she studied her sister's face more seriously. "But let's get to the point. You wouldn't have done all this without a good reason." Her voice lowered, thoughtful now. "Is it… a dalliance?" She hesitated. "And someone other than Lucius is the father?" Andromeda's brows furrowed. "Is this man unwilling to help you?"

Narcissa remained silent, her gaze fixed on the swirling steam rising from her cup. Andromeda wasn't far from the truth, Narcissa mused, but not even the brightest witch could guess the full extent of her predicament. She chose to remain mute, brushing away stray tears with her fingers before lifting the cup to her lips.

The silence spoke louder than words.

And then, Andromeda laughed—a sudden, hearty burst of laughter that echoed through the room. She clutched her stomach, shaking her head as she struggled to contain herself.

Narcissa arched her brow, unamused. This was not the reaction she'd expected, though she wasn't entirely surprised. Both her sisters had been two sides of the same peculiar coin: Bellatrix, the unhinged fanatic, and Andromeda, the harmless eccentric.

Andromeda, noticing Narcissa's pointed look, wiped her eyes and waved a hand. "Oh, Cissy, I'm sorry. I just… I can't help it. I'm proud of you."

"For what, exactly?" Narcissa asked dryly, her tone sharp as she set her cup down.

"For shagging someone else," Andromeda said, her grin widening. "Lucius bloody deserves it."

Narcissa rolled her eyes, picking up her knife and fork. She cut into her crepe with deliberate precision. Idiot, she thought, taking a measured bite. She found herself wishing it were merely the simplicity of an affair with another man.

Once she'd swallowed, she added coolly, "The boy's critique of your cooking was not without merit. You've added far too much salt."

Andromeda's laughter stopped abruptly. She gasped in mock offense. "Oh, Cissy! I fear cooking is one aspect of the common life I've never mastered. No matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to do it right!"

Narcissa's smirk grew sharper, tinged with mischief. "Maman would argue how you've never done anything well."

"I did make a very astute conjecture just now," Andromeda quipped, her grin undeterred. She wanted to press Narcissa further, to uncover the elusive truth, but she knew better than to push her tight-lipped sister. "I was right, wasn't I?"

Narcissa groaned, rolling her eyes, wishing again that her situation was as simple as an affair. "Perhaps," she answered. An illicit liaison was easier to explain, less fraught with uncertainty. Instead, her predicament was tangled in complexities too delicate to unravel. But, for now, she would let her sister think it was simply an affair.

"It is awfully difficult, 'Meda," she then murmured, her voice heavy with weariness, "to feel like your life isn't your own."

"Is it ever?" Andromeda asked gently. "We can't control what happens to us, Cissy. But we can always control how we respond."

"And how should I respond?" Narcissa whispered, her gaze fixed on the table. "What should I do?"

Andromeda's expression grew serious, her voice steady as she gave her answer. "Leave."

"Pardon?" Narcissa's head snapped up, her brows knitting in confusion.

"Lucius," Andromeda said firmly. "Leave him. It's time, Cissy, for you to do something for yourself."

Narcissa hesitated, the words catching in her throat. "Lucius and I…" she began, her voice faltering. What could she say? That their marriage was a relic of expectations she'd never chosen? That her autonomy had been sold like a commodity? "We've been… married for too long," she finished weakly, the excuse sounding hollow even to her.

"He doesn't deserve you," Andromeda said bluntly.

Narcissa bit her lip, memories flickering unbidden. Once, Lucius had shown her affection, even adoration. But had he ever truly loved her? Could a man who had bought her like an object, who had stolen her freedom, understand love? And had she ever loved him? The thought was bitter and unanswerable.

"What are you afraid of?" Andromeda pressed. "Maman and Papa are gone. Bellatrix is no longer here. Everyone who once judged us is… gone." She reached across the table, gently clasping her sister's hand. "You're free now, Cissy. Free to live as you wish."

Narcissa's lips trembled. "Will my life truly be any different?" she whispered. "Even if I leave? Draco… will still be gone."

Andromeda's gaze softened. "But you won't be alone."

Confused, Narcissa looked up. "What do you mean?"

"Your vision," Andromeda said. "You told me about the girl—a daughter."

Narcissa grimaced, her lashes fluttering as she tried to blink back tears. One escaped, trailing down her cheek. "I was delirious," she said hoarsely.

"You had a premonition," Andromeda replied firmly.

"Meda..." Narcissa's voice trembled with desperation. "Please, don't. I can't bring myself to trust... what was probably just a fevered dream."

"I think it was more than that," Andromeda said softly, her hand gently cradling Narcissa's chin. "I believe it was a premonition." Her voice grew even gentler, filled with quiet conviction. "Cissy, no matter what, I'll always be here for you."

In her sister's warm gaze, Narcissa found an unspoken truth: Andromeda would stand by her, no matter the storms they'd weathered, no matter the distance between their lives. For the first time in years, Narcissa smiled—a genuine, fragile smile. She saw her own reflection in Andromeda's eyes: loss, pain, and the faintest glimmer of hope.

"I've missed you," she whispered, the confession breaking through the silence like a fragile truce.

Andromeda's hand squeezed hers gently. "And I've missed you."

Author's Notes

So, I thought it was necessary to draw on Narcissa's past in order to further solidify her character. Also, I thought some dialogue between Andromeda and Narcissa was required, since they haven't conversed with each other in many years. But don't fret! Narcissa and Hermione will certainly interact more as we progress further into this fic.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! Your thoughts are welcomed. Thank you so much for all the feedback and wonderful reviews :). I think I've begun to love you guys!

(Updated Jan 20, 2025)