Work Text:
Narcissa had eyes grey like a blade, one like the one she had used to stab Alice in the back. Metaphorically. She had metaphorically stabbed her with a metaphorical blade. One that was the icy grey of her eyes.
Merlin, Alice was miserable, not being able to form coherent thought because of Narcissa Black. Or should she say Narcissa Malfoy ? Did the last name change after getting engaged or after getting married ? Alice took a sip of her firewhiskey straight from the bottle, wiping a few tears from her face with the back of her hand.
Narcissa. Her name sounded so nice. Did Lucius knew that she didn’t like it because it wasn’t star related like the rest of her family ? He probably did, considering they were engaged. He also probably knew how her lips felt, he probably had heard the little sigh of satisfaction she did after making out. Alice would never feel or hear these things again.
She took another sip.
She looked around the common room. Everyone had left, the fire was still burning. She looked at the armchair Narcissa had pinned her against only two weeks ago. She thought about the painting they had made out next to when Alice had walked her back to her common rom.
The same one that had told Alice about Narcissa’s engagement.
Another sip.
Was Alice not enough ? What did Lucius bloody Malfoy he that she didn’t ? Probably a dick. Realistically, she knew that her and Cissa would never be accepted, the Black wanted her to make heirs.
Had she ever actually loved Alice ? Or was it all for her enjoyment, a temporary thing to do for fun until she got a man ? Had she played her all along ?
Sip.
She thought about them walking the corridors at night, giggle and whispering sweet nothings at each other. About them dragging each other in broom closet to kiss in between classes, about their hands brushing in potions. The way she looked at Alice on the pitch, or when walking past each other. Surely it had all meant something, right ?
Sip.
They had been each other’s first time, that had to mean something. But why, if they had something, had she gone ahead and gotten engaged with someone else ? Had she fallen out of love with Alice ?
Sip.
Why Lucius ? He spent more time with that guy obsessed with potion, the friend of Lily. What was his name again ? Was Lucius funnier, or smarter, or prettier ? He had never gone to a single Quidditch match, but Alice watched every one of Cissa’s matches.
Sip.
Alice wished Cissa had just told her that she wanted to break up, instead of getting bloody engaged.
Sip.
Cissa- no. Narcissa, she wasn’t her Cissa anymore, she couldn’t call her like that anymore. They didn’t exist.
Sip.
Maybe Alice had done something wrong ? Had she said anything to her that could have led to this ? Had there been signs ? Should she have figured it out ?
Sip.
Maybe she should have. Alice knew that Narcissa had expectations placed on her. Bloody hell, she had wiped her tears after she had gotten an owl from her mother so many time in the past. Her older sisters wouldn’t carry the family legacy, so she had to. Bellatrix was too crazy and Adromeda had ran away.
Sip.
Couldn’t they have run away ? Or was Alice not worth it ? They could have ran away, to France or some shit, got a cute cottage.
Sip.
Maybe adopt a kid or two, with eyes grey like Cissa - no, Narcissa, she’s not Cissa anymore - and brown hair like Alice.
Si- oh shit, the bottle is empty.
She should have taken more, if she had already downed one bottle.
Alice had stopped crying, her cheeks were wet, and her nose was runny, but she wasn’t crying anymore.
She was pathetic, had she said that already ? What was she even doing, crying and getting herself blackout drunk over Narcissa Black. Malfoy. Whatever. Her.
She shouldn’t think about her anymore, she should put herself together, go back to her dorm, cry herself to sleep, and work on moving on tomorrow.
She’s going to get up. Now. Right now.
Her vision went blurry, and tears might have rolled down her cheeks, but with how wet they were she couldn’t tell.
She’ll never move on. Who could just forget Narcissa Black ? She was the most perfect women there was. She had those silky blond hair, those piercing grey eyes, a wonderfully smooth voice, and an amazing personality. She was the sweetest poison, and Alice was only now feeling her take effect. She was going to die, because she had loved the most beautiful and dangerous women there was.
Would Narcissa cry if Alice died ? Would she be sad? Would she attend her funeral? Did it even matter?
“Alice ?” She turned to the voice, but she couldn’t see, there was too many tears in her eyes. Or she was to drunk.
Probably both.
She laughed, because she must have looked pitiful, miserable and any more words that she couldn’t think of that Narcissa would have known right now. Her laugh was wet, and she started coughing and crying.
Someone placed a hand on her shoulder “Are you okay Alice ? What happened ?” Frank. It was Frank. But he wasn’t Narcissa. She threw herself in his arms, and cried her eyes out.
She yelled and said everything she could think of.
She talked about how beautiful Narcissa’s eyes were, talked about metaphorical blades and Quidditch matches and last names.
She talked about places and dates. About them going to Hogmeads, about they sneaking in the kitchen to get tea.
She talked about how betrayed she was, and about sweet poison.
She talked about portrait, and broom closet, about hands brushing in class.
She talked about braiding her hair, about listening to her family problem, about how she had always been here for her, and about how little Lucius had every talked to her.
About expectations and cottages in France, about her runaway sister, and how Alice was worthless, about how she had been played for the past three years.
About prefect rounds spent holding hands and kissing and talking about their future, about the future they had planned that now was only a memory.
About baking cookies to cheer her up, and burning them, about eating the burnt cookies while giggling and being in love, about the world disappearing around them, about them being the only thing that mattered.
About flowers and stars, about her teaching Alice french so they could go one day.
About family and houses, and a runaway cousin dating his friend, about Alice teaching her the piano.
About her.
About them.
About what was gone.
About what she would never get back.
Frank held her, rubbing her back and trying to comfort her.
He listened and let her cry and scream and laugh and he listened.
And then she stopped talking, and he still held her, and still rubbed her back. He told her she would be okay, that he was here for her.
But did it matter ? She wasn’t getting Narcissa back, things would never be okay again.
He let her fall asleep on him, on the couch of the common room, the fire burning out, his shirt ruining with tears and snot, a bottle clutched in her hand.
Right there, before passing out, she promised herself she would never speak her name again.