For any of you who know me, you know of my obsession with Sirius Black. Well, the Marauders, but Sirius Black in particular.
My obsession does spread a little; I am very interested in the Black family – it's just so confusing.
So I decided to post these drabbles to the Magpie Poem.
I guess this particular one isn't so much sorrow more than pondering remorse, but you know. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
'One for sorrow,
Two for joy,
Three for a girl,
Four for a boy,
Five for silver,
Six for gold,
Seven for a secret never to be told,
Eight for a wish,
Nine for a kiss,
Ten for a bird you must not miss.'
One for Sorrow
Sometimes, she found herself looking up at the sky, her eyes automatically drawn to the stars she had been taught to recognise. She would let her eyes stray over Orion's Belt, and follow it down, her eyes falling on Sirius.
Or perhaps 'falling' on the Dog Star wasn't the right word. 'Searching' would have been be more appropriate.
There was something that assuaged her, staring at the twinkling of the brightest star in the sky against the dark night as she sat in the window seat of the Manor house.
And yet, she couldn't help the feeling of morose staring at it.
Had she made the right choice?
She was a married woman, swept from her old home to a beautiful, slightly gothic Manor in the middle of nowhere. It was filled with ornate objects; chandeliers the size of tables draped in jewels larger than her fist, detailed portraits of beautiful blond wizards and witches from Lucius's family, even a pearlescent ghost whose face was always moulded in a weary smile. She had row upon row of silk dresses and fine shoes, and she was rolling in galleons. Each day she would fuss around with her hair, rolling it up or plaiting it intricately. Each day she would select splendid attire, dress her hands in rich rings. Each day she would go out into the wizarding world, boasting magnificence and grandeur.
And yet she wasn't happy.
She didn't talk to Lucius all of the time; recently they hadn't talked much at all. Perhaps it was their lack of conversation that was causing her such doubt at the moment.
But Narcissa couldn't help but feel that she had been swept from her feet and stranded in a faraway place, an abstract to her reality. She had allowed herself to be taken. And now she wasn't sure if she should have.
She closed her eyes, resting her head against the cool glass, the Dog Star imprinted on the inside of her eyelids.
She recalled a conversation in the past where Sirius had asked her why.
"Why do you do it? Why do you try to live up to our family name?"
She remembered the look on his face, the way he seemed to have judged her when she explained her reasons. She remembered the way he had looked at her with a mixed sense of sadness and a hint of distaste. It was clear what he thought. She was 'too far gone'.
And she had been; her head had been filled with the thoughts and ideas of her parents since her early days. Her life had been moulded around their opinions, their views.
It had seemed unreasonable to rebel. She was the girl with everything- good looks, wealth, status... they were the nobility of wizards, an infamous family. She didn't agree with everything they thought, but every family was the same, wasn't it? She had thought it would be foolish to leave them.
And only now she had begun to regret it.
She looked up at the Dog Star, burning brightly in the sky, and wondered, briefly, what her life would be if she had followed her cousin's rebelliousness.
Because he was with friends – not the acquaintances that the family had deemed respectable, true friends who loved him – living his life to the full.
Because her sister had a child, and a husband who loved her for whom she was, not her blood-type.
Because Narcissa had never felt as cold inside as she felt now in the midst of war.
She had found herself so wrapped up in a world of merciless killing, so involved in the heart of it all...
She opened her eyes, forehead pressed against the glass of the window seat. Night had faded into day.
A Dark Mark shone in the distance.
A magpie tapped against the glass.