Author's Notes: Written for the February 11th Prompt of the Day on Hogwarts Online II – "Red Roses".



Narcissa was the white rose, everyone could see it. She was all purity and innocence, all sparkling childishness. She radiated frozen beauty, so beautiful as to very nearly not be part of the world. Everyone wanted to protect her, the pretty, fragile flower, and they did not see the thorns she hid beneath her whispering petals.

Narcissa had white roses at her wedding. They lined the walls of the chapel, they made up her bouquet and those of her bridesmaid, and the petals the flower girl cast upon her path were all white rose petals. Everyone expected Narcissa to shine, the finest white rose of them all.

She did not. She simply disappeared into the sea of other white roses just like her.

. ❦ .

Andromeda was the red rose. She had passion where Narcissa was emotionless. She had drive where Narcissa was content to simply be a decoration. Andromeda did not hide her thorns except when doing so suited her, but she let those who dared ignore them. When people wanted to reach out to her, she did not deceive them into thinking she was not dangerous, the way Narcissa did. She let them choose for themselves, and when they chose to prick their fingers upon her barbs, she did not feel remorse.

Perhaps it was because of this – though she doubted her parents realized it the way they realized the ways in which Narcissa was a white rose – that Andromeda was so rarely allowed to wear red. She laughed at this when she grew older – what, did her parents believe that if she wore red, it would somehow bring out the qualities of a red rose that they did not want in a daughter? Did they think that dressing her in white or green would make her docile? Were her parents truly that stupid?

When she ran away from home, she dressed herself all in crimson.

. ❦ .

Bellatrix was the black rose. Narcissa could appear unnatural, but Bellatrix truly was, a sight unexplained by nature and undocumented by history. No one knew a girl like Bellatrix – oh, there were those who came close, such a deep purple that a casual observer might mistake them for black, but Bellatrix really was, and she was alone in this.

No one could understand the black rose. They did not know where it had come from – how could it be that such a charming mother and upstanding father had created such a little abomination? She was prized, in a way, for being the only one of her kind – the only girl who learned the Cruciatus curse before she needed to wear corsets, the only rose whose petals were jet black – but more, she was feared for her strangeness. Her parents pretended to be proud of their special little girl, but they knew, and the others knew, and Bellatrix knew, that she was something to be feared. Something unnatural.

. ❦ .

They, the three Black sisters, were the three roses. Each one had her own colours, her own meaning, and was beautiful in a way, and each one was crushed because they were not enough like the others.