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“You’re magic, Cissy,” Bellatrix says when she levitates their tea set. There’s a flash of envy in her silver eyes, quickly covered by sisterly pride. Narcissa is six years old, the third daughter of a lord. She knows she is special, but magic? That is something entirely her own.
Bellatrix and Andromeda make her keep it a secret, even though Narcissa wants to tell their parents.
“Who knows what might happen,” Bellatrix warns. “They might take you away. Send you to an asylum with mad people.” She pulls a gruesome face. Andromeda shoots her a look, but adds,
“Keep quiet and you stay safe.”
Narcissa listens, tamping down every urge to float, to ignite, to make dead flowers bloom. Certain times become sacred: when they’re in the garden playing, out of sight of their nanny; when they sneak off to the attic and try on old dresses, spinning around to invisible music she conjures; late at night, curled in bed, when her magic is only hers.
Andromeda is in awe of it. Bellatrix, too, but she tries to show it less. She thinks, though she never says it, that the magic should have been hers, as the eldest and smartest of them all.
And then the letter arrives.
~
“We’re magic, Lily,” Petunia says, chin lifted haughtily. “That makes us better.”
It does not sound right—it is not what their parents have taught them—but Lily knows arguing will only upset Petunia. She stays quiet, listening politely, but she can’t help her gaze from drifting around the crowded station, watching the myriad of witches and wizards heading off to Hogwarts. Hogwarts where Lily finally, finally, gets to go. There are a few muggles as well, scattered about, standing out sharply in their odd, plain clothing.
“Are you even listening?” Petunia snaps. Lily guiltily looks back up at her sister. Petunia is already dressed in school robes, the Ravenclaw crest proud on her chest. She is going into her third year, so she knows much, much more than Lily, as she is constantly reminding her.
“Of course,” Lily lies. Petunia sniffs, but she softens slightly.
“Do you know what house you’re going to get?” Lily shakes her head. Petunia doubtlessly already has an opinion. “You seem like a Hufflepuff to me. Those are the people who don’t fit in, y’know. Who aren’t brave or smart or ambitious.” The words hurt, but Lily knows she only says them because of her own fears. They both know Lily’s the smarter, braver one of them.
“Relax,” she says cheerily. “I won’t get Ravenclaw. You can have that.”
Petunia hisses in a breath and reaches for her arm, but Mum catches the movement.
“Petunia!” She says sharply. “Don’t hurt your sister.” Violet Bones is a proper pureblood witch, originally an Abbott. She’s pretty, with Petunia’s blond hair and a tiny nose and lips she keeps painted the perfect shade of coral. Lily is always proud to have her as a mum. Her and Dad turn eyes as they walk, the picturesque wixen couple.
“Wasn’t going to!” Petunia complains, but Mum has already turned back to her friend Marina Prewett.
So Lily doesn’t get her arm twisted until they’re alone on the train.
~
Lily and her friends laugh about the snooty muggleborn Hufflepuff in Herbology who didn’t want to get her hands dirty.
“Did you see that face she made?” Isla giggles, and Lily wrinkles her nose, mimicking the look of righteous disgust.
They turn the corner and there she is, pale as a sheet, silver eyes sharp as blades. Something sinks in Lily’s stomach.
~
Narcissa refuses to cry. She puts all her woes in a letter to her sisters, wishing she could just call them and hear their voices again.
~
“I’m sorry,” Lily stutters out, the words foreign and bitter tasting. Narcissa stares back.
“Alright,” she says.
“You forgive me?”
“I accept your apology.”
~
Frenemies is probably the word for what they are. Always polite, but ever arguing. It’s exacerbated by the fact that Lily has a plethora of friends and Narcissa is more of an outside—who does she think she is, that haughty muggleborn who acts like she’s so much better than everyone else?
“I am the daughter of a lord!” She shrieks at Mulciber once, and he and his cronies fall into laughter.
“Still a mudblood.”
Lily hexes them all into next week and Narcissa calls her out on her ‘pureblood savior bullshit’, to which Lily sneers ‘I was helping you, if you hadn’t noticed’ and they stalk off in opposite directions but the next day they’re back to studying amicably.
~
Slughorn has proposed a Valentines day ball, filling the great hall with roses and pixie lamps and floating heart-shaped clouds. Lily and Narcissa mock the gawdiness of it, Lily mimicking Slughorn’s voice and saying banal things about romance and love.
“It is a rather fun idea,” Narcissa admits slowly. They’re walking through Hogsmeade, the weather cold but sunny. “I like the magical decorations.” She darts a glance at Lily, as though daring her to make fun.
“Oh, we’re still going,” Lily agrees. Narcissa arches an eyebrow.
“We?”
“Of course,” she grins. “Who else would be my valentine?”
“Don’t tease.”
“Never,” Lily slips her hand into Narcissa’s, pleased when she curls her fingers around her own. “Be my valentine, Narcissa. Come to the ball with me.”
Narcissa’s pale cheeks flush.
“I suppose,” she says calmly, but her eyes belie her lack of feeling, sparkling joyously. Lily squeezes her hand, doing a cheerful little hop, and Narcissa laughs at her, not unkindly.
“What?”
“Oh, Lily,” she says softly. “You’re utterly magic.”