Chapter 18: A House Party and Some Misanthropy

"He never cared too much for parties or people,

but misanthropy could easily be cured by several alcoholic drinks."

~ Daniel J. Rice, This Side of a Wilderness

12 Grimmauld Place felt alien. The new occupants, Harry Potter and his wife, had drastically changed its interior. The walls were no longer dark and gloomy; they were all painted a bright white, and the corridors no longer held portraits of her ancestors. Her forefathers inhabited their portraits at Black Manor more often, and she now finally understood why: the ones they had here had been removed. She could comprehend the reasoning behind Harry and his wife's removal of their portraits (her ancestors were not the most cheerful people, to put it lightly), but now she had to deal with the after-effects of their decision.

For now, at least she was at Andromeda's. She sighed, while holding a glass of water, and wishing it were alcohol, as socializing would have been less of a burden.

Before coming to Harry's house party, Andromeda had told her to not dress over the top: "Cissy, try not to look like a fashion model on Witch Weekly; don't dress over the top. The Weasleys will be there. Harry's wife might even become unfriendly towards you if you do. So, wear something casual, all right?" she had cautioned, as if wearing one of her couture dresses would ignite anarchy in the party. To boot, she had not really known what 'don't dress over the top' had implied; so, she had badgered Andromeda about it until her sister had gotten tired of her harassment, and had chosen the clothes for her herself.

Accordingly, presently she wore dark, slim-fit jeans (they were a bit snug around her abdomen, but she refused to buy maternity wear until it was absolutely necessary), and a simple, cream blouse made of silk that fell around her like a waterfall, somewhat successfully hiding her relatively rounded abdomen, while highlighting her ample chest. Narcissa looked soft and curvaceous, much to her chagrin, as she found many members at the house party were either gazing at her hungrily or with envy (Arthur Weasley and his wife fell in those categories. Molly Weasley had entirely ignored her presence after a curt hello. Narcissa did not mind, however).

Andromeda walked leisurely towards her while holding a glass of wine. Her sister's twinkling eyes in the unfamiliar sea of people eased her. She was standing alone behind the kitchen counter; Harry and Ginny had removed the walls to the kitchen at Grimmauld; it was now part of the drawing room. Seeing Grimmauld Place so modern… was so odd.

"My attempts at making you look less alluring have failed sorely. Molly has been entirely quiet, which is especially odd for her; but on the brighter side, I heard her daughter mention to Harry how she thinks you're 'not too bad'," whispered Andromeda by her ear when she had neared her.

"Not too bad…" But still bad. Narcissa chuckled softly. She was not offended by Molly's perception of her, as she was used to receiving judgment; at least her daughter was slightly more cordial. "Oh well…I can't blame them. Lucius always gave the Weasleys such a hard time." She sighed. "You know?" she said after a moment. "I cannot believe I am at Grimmauld. Everything looks very different."

"Yes," replied Andromeda. "I like the changes they made. It was so solemn before. But look—" she pointed at a crack in the ceiling. "You did that. Do you remember? You were rather young."

Narcissa knitted her brows in concentration before smiling, having recalled the day Andromeda was referring to. "Yes, I think I do," she answered. Nostalgia tinged her silver eyes blue. Her and Regulus had been playing Quidditch in the drawing room; his parents had been absent, so they had taken advantage of the situation. She had smacked the ceiling with a bludger. The impact had caused the crack. Then, she had fallen from her broom, and had collapsed against the ground from the momentum, as she had been quite young, six or seven, so she had been rather weak. She pointed momentarily at the lit fireplace: "I believe I almost broke my skull against its stone edges."

Andromeda snorted, as if having her skull cracked was a hilarious situation. "I remember finding you unconscious. Merlin, I was awfully worried, and terribly furious at Regulus – you should have seen him. He was pitiable; we found him weeping uncontrollably by your side. " She laughed softly. "But, I still slapped him quite hard."

"Poor Reggie," whispered Narcissa. "It wasn't only his fault. I was his conspirator."

Andromeda smirked. "I would have slapped you too if you didn't look like death. We had to go to St. Mungo's… you were bleeding profusely." She rolled her eyes. "And the entire time, Aunt Walburga, the whale was more concerned about her shattered possessions than your skull."

Narcissa chuckled. "Understandable." She had recalled shattering many of her aunt's expensive and exotic ornaments. "I was a terrible child," she confessed.

"Yes," answered Andromeda, while taking a sip of wine. "You and Regulus were the naughty quiet kind. Maman and Aunt Walburga were always nervous about having the two of you together in the same vicinity." She shook her head.

"Well, I suppose I should apologize," answered Narcissa, "for my juvenile misdemeanors."

"I'd forgive you if you weren't still exasperating," Andromeda retorted.

All of a sudden, her sister got on her nerves. She was used to being her object of ridicule, but she found herself more angered by her teasing than customary. Narcissa softly huffed. "There's no point in being courteous with you," she replied before drinking water from her glass; she was awfully thirsty these days. At times, she would wake up with a parched throat that very well felt like the sand dunes of Giza. What's more, lower backaches had begun, and they were absolutely dreadful; she knew they would only get worse with time. I certainly hope you're grateful… she scolded her baby, slightly peeved by all that she had endured, and would have to endure for her. Well. It wasn't really her child's fault. But still, she was terribly incensed at being inconvenienced.

"You're being particularly hormonal today… I suspect it's the party."

Narcissa simply glowered.

Her sister rolled her eyes. "You're so misanthropic, you know?" she began after taking another sip of wine. "If my niece takes after you, I'm certainly not going to tend to her in my home."

"I shall tell her that when she's older," she replied tartly.

"Don't you dare," answered Andromeda in dark tones. When her livid eyes calmed, she added flippantly: "Anyhow, with any luck, she won't be a handful."

Narcissa sighed; knowing how she was during her formative years, and having heard of Hermione's childhood misadventures with her friends, she knew her daughter would be a handful no matter which mother she took after. "I have a feeling she will be," she replied. Just then, she felt the fluttering, a confirmation. Eavesdropper… she chided her little girl before smiling, and thinking fondly of the dream she had had of her. She had called her monkey; suddenly nervous, she questioned whether her daughter's pet name concerned her temperament.

"Cissy?" came her sister's voice.

"Yes?" She turned her attention to her sister, while worried about what storms her daughter would bring. Her face was still riddled with apprehension.

"...You know why I was always babysitting you?" whispered Andromeda, her voice was slow and heavy from alcohol. "Because Bella did not mind – Maman knew she would let you loose, so I was given the burden."

"Really?" she asked, suspicious. Had she been so terrible that she had been Bella's favourite?

Andromeda nodded and was about to take another sip of wine. "Bella loved you very much…" Her eyes hardened; they blackened until they looked like onyx gems. Her resemblance to Bella mushroomed; for a moment, Narcissa thought she was staring at her sister's ghost, and internally shivered. "When I left, she sent me an owl… saying how much she hated me, and that I… I 'left family for fucking' – her words…"

"I'm sorry, 'Meda," answered Narcissa. She put a hand on her sister's shoulder.

"It hurt," she replied. Her dark eyes bedewed. "Because she was right… I left you alone with our psychotic parents, and Bella who … perhaps became psychotic because I left. I wasn't there for you… I suppose she always hated me for this – her and I felt like we were your parents – you were so little, so pretty and so unsullied by life. We wanted to keep you that way," she confided. "And maybe, she also hated me because I came right after her…" she added; her eyes then lightened and turned to their usual shade. She looked like herself again. Narcissa relaxed. "But I… I couldn't hate her, never can – curse of the middle child," she murmured, "even though I want to… it would make things easier…"

Narcissa sighed. "You didn't leave me," she whispered. "You had to go. There is a difference. And, I wish I had too… As for what Bella became after you left, you did not do that—"

"How do you know—"

"You didn't, all right? She did it to herself. She made those choices. I was there. I saw her make them," Narcissa insisted. She then removed her hand from her shoulder, and seized the glass from her hold, knowing she was becoming melancholic from the wine; she placed the glass on the marble counter. Andromeda did not protest. She then looked back at her. "And you were calling me hormonal," she teased, attempting to lighten her mood.

Andromeda smirked. "Empathy. I'm catching your symptoms."

"Try not to. One of us needs to be sane," she lectured, but she wore a smile.

"I'll try."

Then, they stayed silent for some time, each ruminating over their missing sister, while listening to the ebullient voices in the party—that is, before Narcissa broke the quietude. Despite wanting Andromeda to forget about Bellatrix for now, she could not help but ask: "What do you think really happened to her?" Because she had always wondered… had always tried to find excuses for Bella; how could have Bella, who had been so tongue-in-cheek and full of life, committed those sickening deeds? It was very hard to believe at times. Every time she had heard of her depravity, she has thought to herself: It can't be Bella. Not my Bella. But, each time it had been; her Bella had even murdered family: their cousin, Sirius, who had once been like a brother, and her very own niece.

And yet, like Andromeda, she still loved her in spite of knowing the monstrosities she had birthed. How could she still love her? She felt guilty for loving her… Narcissa eyed the glass of wine with envy; how she wished she were intoxicated right now, too inebriated to think.

Andromeda grimaced. "You would know better than me… power, perhaps," she replied. "You know how our parents stifled us. Voldemort made her feel empowered. Bella could have joined the Order, but perhaps… she did not want our parents to be disappointed, either. Or maybe, she merely wished to do what all the Slytherin boys were doing – she was always such a gamine."

Bella had indeed been a girl with mischievous, boyish charm; could have something endearing about her disposition caused her to commit such horrible deeds? Why had fate been so bitter towards her?

Why was fate so bitter towards them?

Suddenly furious, Narcissa scrunched her brows and pursed her lips. She began to slowly draw invisible squiggles on the marble counter she was standing behind with the long nail of her index finger, lost in thought.

Andromeda stopped her. She placed her hand on hers, and gently squeezed it. "Cissy," she whispered. "Sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned her."

"It's fine," she said with downcast eyes. "I think of her from time to time too," she replied before firmly clutching the edges of the counter with her long, slender hands. She took in a deep breath, and untangled herself from dwelling on the past, cleansed herself of as much anger as she could, before letting her hands fall to her side. Her notice returned to her sister, who had been watching her the entire time with concern, well aware of the Stygian waters she had been drowning in. "It's very hard, 'Meda," she murmured to her, almost croaked. She did not know what exactly she was referring to.

Everything, perhaps.

Her older sister nodded. Her warm eyes glimmered with sympathy. "I know, love," she whispered back. Andromeda neared, breath smelling of wine, and tucked a stray blonde curl behind her ear. "I don't really find you that exasperating, my pretty," she confessed. "And I'll babysit my niece… even if she's a headache."

Narcissa smiled, wondering what she would do without her batty sister. Then, she turned her gaze away from her to observe the prime minister. He was sitting next to Harry, lost deep within voracious laughter. Harry kept on filling his glass. "Is Shacklebolt adequately intoxicated?" she asked Andromeda.

"We shall see," Andromeda replied. "Wait a moment."

She nodded and watched her sister go.

Soon, a beautiful blonde witch had noted she was without company, much to her annoyance; she was striding towards her with a blonde child in her arms. " 'ello," she said when she had neared. Her English accent carried a French lilt. "Not sure if you remember me from introductions. I am Fleur," she said while blushing. "Sorry for my Eenglish."

Narcissa smiled politely. "Oui, je me souviens de toi," she answered in French, thinking the woman would have an easier time if she conversed with her in her native language. "And your English is fine, dear."

Fleur's eyes expanded; she was so pleased to have found someone who could speak with her in her mother tongue. "You speak French?" she asked in her native language.

Narcissa nodded.

"Oh, I am so glad!"

They continued the rest of the conversation in French. "My mother was a Rosier. They are from France," explained Narcissa. "I used to go with my sisters to Marseille every summer."

"Oh, Marseille is beautiful."

"Yes, it is lovely," she replied. "You must have gone to Beauxbutton?"

Fleur nodded.

"My mother wished to send me and my sisters there, but my father did not believe it was the appropriate school for us."

"An insensible decision, Madame," answered Fleur. "My time at Beauxbutton was wonderful. I miss those days… " The child in her arms was fast asleep. It was late and past her bedtime. "Now, I am enslaved to my daughter!"

"I shall be soon." Narcissa smiled at the blonde girl in the woman's arms; she was reminded of her own daughter. Would she be a blonde like her or a brunette like Hermione? In the dream, she had her platinum strands, but Hermione's stubborn hair. Narcissa hoped tending to her child's hair would not prove to be excruciatingly difficult.

"I wish you luck, truly," Fleur continued, "you'll lose quite a bit of your sleep in a few months, even after the birth, so I advise that you sleep as often as you can now."

But she could not sleep as often as was necessary, not with Hermione in Azkaban. Narcissa nodded, however, and said, "I will," but her eyes glimmered, hinting at her restless nights, and at her inability to heal her insomnia.

Fleur noticed the change in Narcissa's demeanor, and decided to change the subject: "You must have gone to Hogwarts? How was it?"

"Frightening at first," she replied, glad that the conversation was no longer focused on her daughter or pregnancy; both subjects made her think of Hermione. "When I was first sorted," she began, "I hated my common room; it was always cold and dark. Many of my fellow Slytherins said they liked it, but I believe they were lying to themselves."

Fleur laughed. "An honest Slytherin. I think you're a rare specimen."

She smirked, and took a glimpse of her sister: Andromeda was all coquettish and saccharine while deep in conversation with Shacklebolt "No. If you're looking for a Slytherin who's a rare specimen, that would be my dear sister, Andromeda."

Fleur chuckled. "Yes, I know 'Meda very well. She is quite … odd."

Narcissa smiled. "Yes, she certainly is. And very honest, especially with herself." She suddenly frowned. "But, I… I wish I were more honest… with myself… "

Fleur's eyes softened.

She did not know why she had confided in the half-Veela. Though she saw no harm in it, she wished she hadn't; it was very much unlike her, but her pregnancy hormones made her do strange things: she was more clement and uninhibited. She had thought of how long she had lied to herself about her feelings for Hermione, what use it had served, and had blurted it out. She had imagined her witch all alone in a damp cell, unaware of how much she loved her for her courage, her mind, her heart… for being her. She missed her clumsy, curious Muggleborn, missed her awkward, shy smiles, the way she blushed a ferocious red under her gaze, missed her thick, uncontrollable hair, and how her pretty, russet-brown eyes bore into hers, and sought to find the wounds within her soul, sought to mend them… sought to cherish her.

She missed her… terribly.

Narcissa promised to herself to tell Hermione when she visited her how much she loved her, and how much it hurt to love her. Harry had said he had concocted a plan. She closed her eyes briefly, hoping it would be successful. It was reckless of her, but she had to see her.

And if she didn't…

At the thought, Narcissa almost wept uncontrollably, and would have if she were less exposed. Instead, she took in a deep breath and buried her emotions; she smiled at Fleur. "I apologize… it's the hormones…" she said; she had blamed her odd behaviour on her hormones, but knew her hormones weren't entirely culpable for how she felt.

The half-Veela could sympathize. She responded with a warm smile, and said: "Don't worry. I was a mess with her. I would cry and then laugh the next minute. You seem much more in control."

Hardly, thought Narcissa to herself.

"Oh, and I wish I were more honest too!" exclaimed Fleur, drawing her out of her thoughts, secretly aware that the regal witch was becoming heavy-hearted. "I like to lie, for instance, to my mother-in-law."

Narcissa's gaze travelled away from Fleur to Molly, who was wearing a very colourful floral dress that nearly made her eyes go cross.

"I told her the dress she is wearing is beautiful," continued Fleur, "but I find it absolutely hideous. I wish she would dress better; not that I care, but it's my mother… she is always hesitant about inviting her to her events, and then Molly thinks she doesn't like her – which isn't the case. Mother has friends who gossip, and she too is just a little superficial. So you see, if I were to tell Molly the truth, she would realize my mother does not hate her; she simply hates her fashion sense. But, I still lie, despite that… and as long as I keep on lying, Molly will never get along with my mother."

A gentle chuckle escaped from her lips. The French witch's expressions and ways made her rather affable. Her pronunciation and diction hinted at her patrician heritage; perhaps, it was why she not being treated by her as if she were something out of the ordinary. She internally sighed from relief, content to have found someone in the party she could relate to.

Fleur went on: "Molly is a lovely woman, but you can't blame her for being a little hostile towards you… You're terribly beautiful." She smiled. "My mother would love to converse with you; she likes beautiful people. She's a Veela. I'm sure you know how they are."

Narcissa returned a smile; she thought of her blonde mother and her depthless character. "My mother was very much like that too."

"Oh dear. If she was anything like mine, I'm sorry to hear that."

Narcissa chuckled.

"Was she a Veela?" Fleur inquired.

"No," she answered, shaking her head, "but there are rumours that the Rosiers, my mother's family, may have some Veela ancestry; nevertheless, my family was… bigoted. They did not talk about such things openly, so I am not sure if there is any truth to the speculation."

Fleur returned a charming smile. "I am positive you take after a Veela ancestor. There is no other explanation for your beauty," she flattered. "If you would like, there is a way to know if you are a Veela." She paused for effect. "Would you like to know?"

Narcissa quirked a brow, and supposed the half-Veela was being serious. She nodded timidly; her face was written with trepidation.

"All right. How terrible is your anger?" asked Fleur with mock gravity; her eyes twinkled, giving away the act.

Narcissa couldn't help but burst into graceful laughter; still, she thought she was being unrefined, so she put her hand against her lips to muffle the escaping lyrical sounds. "Oh... I thought you were being serious, but if you would like to know, it's quite terrible," she replied after a moment in which she had collected herself. "However, I am not certain if Veela ancestry is to blame. I'm sure you've heard of my father's side, and their propensity to become angry. They are inbred, you see… " Which was why her grandfather had permitted her father to marry a Rosier (the Rosiers, being French, were known by English Wizarding gentry for not being the most pureblood of purebloods, but her grandfather had discerned they had run out of options).

"Well, you don't look inbred at all, Madame," Fleur remarked.

"That's… consoling, dear," said Narcissa, while smirking at the charming half-Veela's witticism. "I've always wondered," she quipped.

Fleur returned a smirk before groaning, as she had been holding her toddler for some time. She put her free hand against the small of her back. "I think I should put her on a bed upstairs before my back breaks. Excuse me."

"Bien sûr," replied Narcissa. She watched the half-Veela go, and while she did, she felt someone tap her back. Andromeda had strolled towards her from the other side of the counter. Already knowing who she'd see, she turned around to face her sister, and asked, "Well, 'Meda?"

Her sister beamed. "He is… rat-arsed."

Though Narcissa had an idea as to what Andromeda was suggesting, the word was entirely foreign to her. She responded by simply batting her long lashes.

"Drunk, darling. Gods... " Andromeda explained, exasperated by her younger sister's inexperience with street lingo, "so I think you'll be able to look into his mind without any difficulty. I don't think he'll notice."

Silver eyes glinted. Narcissa gave one of her trademark smirks. "Good."

Author's Note:

So, I am an absolute hypocrite. When I tell you I might not be updating for some time due to errands I must attend to, expect that I am lying. I will actually update more frequently. Why? Because I'm a terribly good procrastinator. In fact, I'm so good at procrastinating that I should be awarded for it.

Anyways, I do hope you enjoyed this chapter. I had written some of it already, and finished the rest. More will come when... they do.

AND HAPPY EARLY MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Bye for now, my peeps.