A/N: This is something that got me out of my writer's block. I make no promises to go any further with it, but I would certainly like to!

Naralanis

There was great importance attached to the ability to marry well. In a family as important and well-known—that is to say, as noble and pure as the Black Family, that particular skill was borne out of years of study, of countless hours of lessons and extensive training in the subtle feminine arts of hosting, entertaining, and above all, good conversation. Mothers began training their daughters from infancy—it was said Black babies seldom cried, and were often silenced with all but a stern look from their mother. From a very young age, the apt daughter ought to learn every measure of poise and dignity befitting the very best of the wives-to-be.

No one ever expected Druella's eldest to make as good of a match as she did with Rodolphus Lestrange, but all Purebloods breathed a collective sigh of relief when Bellatrix bore the Lestrange ring on her finger. As a child, Bellatrix had always been rambunctious and hopelessly defiant, made of an abject stubbornness that turned her mother's hair white out of sheer stress – not that Druella would ever to such a thing, not for as long as glamour charms would conceal it. It was an unspoken fear among the Blacks that Bellatrix would end up a spinster—rumour had it not even her cousins would consider her. With that match done, Druella could finally focus on finding a suitable match for her next daughter who, despite being almost as headstrong as her sister, was of a much sweeter disposition and even temperament, always ready to humour her mother's every whim with a cordial smile and a very nearly perfect curtsy.

The shock of Andromeda's shameful elopement – with a filthy Mudblood, no less! - was almost enough to send Druella into an early grave. She had clutched at her chest as she burned her odious daughter's name off the family tapestry, not over the heartache the loss of a child would normally provoke, but out of unadulterated panic over the possible, not to mention utterly disastrous repercussions. If Bellatrix were not married already, there would be little chance of doing so now, no matter what glowing endorsement was given by that self-proclaimed Dark Lord.

It was that panic that led her to tackle her youngest's education with desperate fervour. Narcissa was quite a few years younger than her sisters, and now more than ever it was imperative that she married well—not only well; she'd have to make the match of the century if Druella was ever to live Andromeda's betrayal down, if her family was ever to regain any of their dignity. Druella would not suffer Walburga's snide comments—she would persevere, as she always did.

To Narcissa's credit—and Druella's immense relief—she already possessed an innate talent for those underappreciated, subtle arts so important to Pureblooded society. From her youth she seemed to know how to measure her words, developing different rhythms and cadences depending on whom she spoke to. She was deferent to the men in her life, allowing them to speak with the careful, ever-so-gentle bolstering of their natural egos and opinions when appropriate, a trait they all enjoyed greatly. She was perfectly charming, poised, and of an inherently delicate nature that seemed prone to elegance as if by design. She could have been Druella's absolute pride and joy.

Despite her many desirable qualities and a beauty that made men's heads turn with desire and women's eyes green with envy, the shadow of Andromeda's folly loomed dark and large over her future, besmirching every possible union, giving pause to every potential suitor.

"A pity indeed, Druella, my dear,"- Narcissa overhead her aunt Walburga whisper in her odious, irritatingly strident voice, on the eve of her sixteenth birthday - "that despite all her qualities, poor Narcissa doesn't seem to hold the attention of any worthy suitors."

Narcissa did not need to imagine the clench of her mother's jaw over that particular line of conversation. She could practically hear the grind of Druella's teeth through the walls.

"But I wouldn't worry too much," her aunt continued, her voice turning sickeningly sweet. "Should she fail to procure a suitable match, Orion and I would be happy to offer you Sirius—who knows, perhaps, as his wife, Narcissa would be able to whip him into shape."

Narcissa and Druella both dreaded the suggestions with equal amounts of disgust, though for entirely different reasons. To Narcissa, as 'normal' as such a union would be in her family, could not abide by marrying her own cousin—such a terribly old-fashioned, borderline sickening custom. Besides, she would rather die a spinster or lie with a Mudblood as Andromeda had than marry that revolting, loathsome little cockroach known as Sirius.

Druella, on the other hand, cared very little about the familial relation between the two youngsters—it was a fool proof way of keeping one's blood pure, after all—but any redeeming quality Sirius might have had in his blood was for naught: the boy had been sorted into Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake, and cavorted with Mudbloods and blood traitors alike with no regard for what little reputation he might have salvaged after his unfortunate sorting. That was the true, inexcusable fault to his character, what made Druella's blood boil at the mere thought of such a match.

There was talk about Regulus, as well, though Druella would not even consider it – he was far too young, and truth be told, looked far too fragile and sickly to make for a good husband. No, Narcissa's only hope lay in a fortuitous match with another, equally powerful, noble, and pure family.

At Hogwarts, Narcissa had a blessed respite from all of the posturing and worry over an advantageous marriage. She still honed the skills her mother taught her among her friend group, as they were all ladies of nearly equally lofty upbringing as herself, but at night, in the school library after hours, she could truly find peace. The silence was a welcome friend, a comforting distraction from her uncertain future, where she could lose herself in the pages of a book until the first rays of sun peaked through the stained-glass windows of her reading nook.

It was during a particularly snowy night in her sixth year that her peace was disturbed; a sudden gasp and the deafening thud of a book hitting the well-worn marble floors startled her so badly she could scarcely unsheathe her wand from the dragon-hide holster by her side.

"You!" a familiar voice accused in a hiss, cutting through the stale air of the restricted section. "What are you doing here? It's past curfew!"

Her silent Lumos illuminated the Gryffindor's penetrating green gaze, making her eyes shimmer like emeralds in the darkness.

"I could ask the very same of you, Evans," Narcissa retorted snidely. The Mudblood was not worth any of her impeccable etiquette. "It's quite unlike you, the ever-so-rightful Lily Evans to be out so late." She tutted, shaking her head and taking a step forward to collect the book the other girl had dropped. Lily made a small sound of disapproval that echoed in the emptiness of the library; Narcissa found it all too easy to ignore as she examined the heavy tome's cover under the light of her wand.

The Darkest of Magical Arts, the title read, and Narcissa was consumed with evil glee. She feigned shock. "Stealing books after hours... no, stealing books from the restricted section after hours. Why, Miss Perfect, I do believe that is against regulations."

The Gryffindor cowered behind an angry snarl; Narcissa wanted to laugh at the amateurish attempt at the concealment of emotion—she had yet to make the acquaintance of a single Gryffindor who could manage it.

"Black. Give it here, or I'll..."

"You'll what, Evans?" Narcissa taunted. Lily's menacing tone was so laughably ineffective it was almost adorable. "You'll rat me out to a professor, will you, Head Girl? When you are out of bed after hours as well?"

The redhead bristled. "I'll have you know, Black, that as Head Girl I am allowed certain privileges that..."

"You are allowed to patrol the corridors in a specific location, adhering to a schedule set by your peers and professors, not..." Narcissa held the book higher, at eye level, displaying the title on the cover as a silent, triumphant accusation. "to steal books from the Restricted Section whenever you please. Shocking that isn't on the Prefect's Guidebook, though I would know, wouldn't I, seeing as I am a Prefect myself."

Lily paused as Narcissa smiled wolfishly. Narcissa could practically hear the gears grinding in her little head—her face was marred by a deep scowl, brows furrowed deeply in thought as she tried to come up with a way out of this.

"I'll have you know," Lily tried, face red and eyes darting every which way "I have a professor's explicit authorization to..."

Narcissa would have at least tried to hold back her bark of incredulous laughter were she speaking to... well, anyone else, really, but Lily Evans was not worthy of her self-control. It was almost refreshing to release that utterly inelegant, free peal of laughter at the Gryffindor's absurd, unpractised lying. It was... cathartic.

The sound—the unrestrained reaction, really—startled Lily as well: her eyes went owlishly wide, and her jaw dropped open in a rather unflattering impression. She looked like a guppy out of the water, and it only served to make Narcissa laugh uncontrollably, to the point that the sound of that bizarre, cathartic merriment echoed through the deserted library, ricocheting off the shelves and walls and reverberating endlessly through the corridors.

When she was finally able to breathe again, Lily looked at her as if she had lost her bloody mind.

"Are you fucking crazy?" the redhead hissed, the attempt at a whisper loud and sharp with incredulity. "We're going to get fucking caught!"

Somehow the ease with which the vulgarity spilled from the Mudblood's lips was also inexplicably funny; Narcissa snorted as she tried—and, for the first time ever, failed—to compose herself.

"Oh, Evans," she tried, in as derisive a tone as she could muster while trying to supress giggles.

A loud clatter did not allow her to finish the insult she had in mind; there was the deafening bang of a door and the unmistakable hiss of a cat, followed almost immediately by the caretaker's dreaded, raspy voice. "Who's there!?" he growled, nearly bellowing. "I'll get you! I'll get you!"

Narcissa felt her blood run cold. She opened her mouth, but could not think of anything to say.

The Gryffindor, on the other hand, was spurred into action. "Shit!" she hissed, rushing towards Narcissa with fearful eyes. "Put that fucking thing out! Nox!"

Narcissa would someday wonder why and how in Merlin's name her wand seemed to obey the Mudblood's panicked command, but she had not the time not the will to delve into deep analysis, for the redhead forcefully grabbed her hand, dragging her in a mad sprint through the labyrinth of shelves that was the Restricted Section. The echoes of Argus Filch's mad shouting and the scurrying of his cat followed them, biting at their heels as they ran. Narcissa could only feel the heat of Lily's hand making her palm sweat, and the strong, uncomfortable pull of her arm as Lily led her in their desperate scramble.

They wound through the shelves and out of the Restricted section, shoes beating against the stone floors and Filch hot on their heels. Narcisa felt her heart pounding, blood running cold in her veins. Right in front of her, Lily exhaled forcefully with each step, breath ragged from running and the fear of being caught.

"Quickly, in here!" she barked, yanking Narcissa's arms to spin her around as they turned a dark corner. The Slytherin felt the pain of the sudden tug—it nearly made her cry out, but a forceful push of her chest left her winded as Lily shoved her backwards into a supply cupboard. Her back collided with something hard, and several other somethings came clattering down over her shoulders. Lily shushed her, loudly, and Narcissa shot her a venomous glare—as if she could silence whatever it was that came tumbling down.

Lily rushed to close the door—as softly as she managed, yet still echoing dangerously in the deserted castle, nearly drowning out Filch's cries. They waited for long, anxious moments—the caretaker didn't sound to be coming closer, but he also did not seem to have any inclination to go further away. It was as if he had chosen to linger in that exact corridor to make them suffer with fear and anxiousness in perpetuity. Lily kept her ear to the door she had closed behind them; her ragged breathing was deafening in the small space.

After some time, she cursed under her breath.

"Shit. I don't think he's going away."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Wonderful. I suppose we'll just sit and rot in here, in this..." she scanned her surroundings, not bothering to hide her distaste, "this broom closet."

Lily's responding eye-roll was quite something—Narcissa was almost impressed. "If you'd rather go out there and be stuck with Filch..."

Narcissa snorted. "I guess your company is only just more tolerable than that vile man's," she reasoned. Lily did not look in the least offended, which was decidedly odd—Lily very nearly always looked offended at anything Narcissa ever said, because Narcissa made it a point to nearly always say something that would offend her. It was a great little game.

But now, Lily's expression betrayed no offense taken; instead she regarded Narcissa with perplexed curiosity.

"What?" Narcissa hissed after the expression did not wane from Lily's inquisitive eyes. How perfectly green they were—a deep Slytherin green in the abject darkness. Funny how Narcissa had never noticed their pretty hue before.

Lily hesitated for a moment. When she spoke, her voice carried the same perplexity as her gaze. "You're... you're so bloody weird!"

The shock she felt at the blunt statement robbed Narcissa of words entirely. The absolute gall of this stupid, filthy, absolutely moronic Gryffindor! She fumed in silence for long moments, warring between several different scathing retorts in her mind and coming up infuriatingly empty. Narcissa seldom found herself at a loss for words, so it was especially grating to have someone as pathetic and insignificant as Lily Evans to reduce her to a helpless mute.

"Me!? I'm not... how dare you, I'm..." she spluttered, feeling her cheeks flush a deep shade of red, the heat of the embarrassment burning from within. "You! You're weird!"

She was absolutely mortified that this was the best she managed to come up with, but she was even more so when Lily brought a hand to her own lips trying to stifle uncontrollable laughter.

Narcissa was at a complete loss. No one had ever dared laugh at her – at the very least not to her face. Now this Gryffindor—this, this Mudblood—had the audacity to... giggle.

"This is not! This is not funny!"

Lily brought a finger to her lips, motioning to shush her, but any severity she intended with the gesture was lost in how her hands and shoulders trembled with the effort of containing her laughter. Narcissa could only wait, crossing her arms at her chest in an angry huff. The sheer indignity of this was nearly unbearable; she anxiously tapped her foot to demonstrate her utter impatience until Lily could finally compose herself, wiping tears from her green eyes with a dumb grin.

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. "Are you quite finished with your appalling little display, Evans?"

Lily gave one final snort of laughter, mimicking Narcissa with a squeaky, indignant voice. "Are you quite finished..." she giggled some more. "Merlin, she's back to form. Yes, I'm finished."

"What in Merlin's name is that supposed to mean?"

Lily waved her off, still working through the aftershocks of her little laughing fit. "Nothing," she said. "Narcissa Black, the great Ice Queen of Hogwarts is right back to her usual self."

Narcissa started. "What on Earth do you..."

"Forget it," Lily interrupted. "It doesn't matter. Hand me over my book, will ya?"

Narcissa looked down to her hands. Through all of the confusion, she had completely forgotten she still held the heavy tome. The hand holding it raised the book towards Lily purely on instinct—she stopped herself at the last second just as the redhead took a step forward to accept it. The Gryffindor's expression soured as Narcissa put it out of her reach, cradling it in her arms possessively.

"The Darkest of the Magical Arts," she intoned knowingly, raising her brows in suspicion. "Now why would an insufferable goody-two-shoes Gryffindor prefect such as yourself be stealing a book like this? From the Restricted Section, no less?"

She saw Lily's gaze narrow in the darkness. "None of your business, Black. Now, give it back," she said through gritted teeth.

Narcissa kept her brow raised, this time in open defiance. She took a step back. "Or what?"

Lily's eyes were clouded with a sudden anger. She kept her hand outreached, eyes as hard as glass and lips pursed in displeasure.

"Don't be an asshole," the redhead murmured. Her tone struck Narcissa as odd—it was as if Lily were attempting to sound cold, perhaps even threatening given the circumstances, but she could not quite manage it for whatever reason. Probably because of that unnerving Gryffindor self-righteousness or some other equally exasperating quality those lions deemed noble.

Narcissa pondered their current predicament for a charged moment—Lily's gaze never wavered, and her hand remained outstretched, filling the scant distance between them.

"Tell me why you have it."

Lily's jaw clenched. "I told you, it's none..."

"Of my business, yes. Perhaps it isn't," Narcissa continued, daintily seating herself upon a rusty upturned bucked, placing the book on her lap. "But you have to admit; finding our noble Head Girl sneaking out of bed after hours with a stolen book? From the Restricted Section?" She tapped her fingers on her chin, feigning intense thought. "That's quite a story. You must admit it's rather... interesting. Perhaps even intriguing."

Lily's groan was loud in the empty space.

"I just saved your royal Slytherin arse from Filch. Surely you owe me now—give me my book, we'll go our separate ways, and pretend none of this ever happened? Deal?"

The shred of hope shimmering in those green eyes was almost cute. Narcissa was almost sad to crush it.

"I think not," she smiled as Lily's mouth contorted into a deep frown. "You know how I just love intrigue. Besides, I'm having far too much fun with you to let you go that easily."

Lily groaned once more, dropping down onto a crate of soap with an indignant huff. What she said next took Narcissa completely off guard.

"How do you just switch it on like that?"

Narcissa was effectively derailed. "I beg your pardon?"

"I beg your pardon?" Lily mocked. "There it is again. I guess that's your default. I was so surprised back at the library when..." she trailed off, only confusing Narcissa further.

The Slytherin had just about a million questions, yet ways to voice them escaped her. Lile seemed to be able to read the confusion in her eyes.

"Narcissa," she began, and the blonde was so shocked to hear her birth name uttered by those lips without disdain that she nearly missed what was said next.

"I've known you five years, and yet, back at the library... that was the first time I ever heard you laugh."

There was a pregnant pause—a long, drawn-out moment during which Narcissa tried to process that seemingly innocuous statement.

Surely Lily was mistaken—they had been classmates for years, sharing classrooms and common areas; there was simply no earthly way she had never, ever heard her laugh before. It just wasn't possible. Surely when Slytherin won the House Cup last year... During a Quidditch match, perhaps, or a particularly amusing lecture. It was an utterly absurd notion, and Narcissa told Lily as much.

"Nope," the redhead said with a little laugh. "Never."

Narcissa shook her head. "Impossible," she repeated. "Surely you've seen me smile before." She refused to believe otherwise.

"Ah," Lily interjected, raising a knowing finger as if she had just won an argument. "There's an important distinction," she argued. "I've seen you smile before. But... it's different."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "A smile, a laugh... I fail to see any significant difference."

"It makes all the difference! Besides, I've also never seen you smile a real smile. All anyone ever sees is that fake grin you plaster on your face when your friends are around. It's fake, and polite, and ugly, and... cold."

Narcissa opened her mouth to retort—she particularly wanted to address the word 'ugly' with a sharp reprimand—but the words died in her throat. She was taken aback by the Gryffindor's unexpected insight; she was also impressed at just how mortifyingly accurate it was. Thousands of past interactions came to mind—if someone as ill-bred as this Gryffindor mongrel could see through her polite façade, what did that say about her abilities? Those skills her mother had trained her so dutifully on?

She could not recall a single time in which she had genuinely and unabashedly laughed, or smiled without feeling as if it were a chore, a part of playing the perfect hostess and wife-to-be.

Come to think of it, Narcissa could not quite think of the last time she had been happy enough to warrant a smile. Surely it had happened at some point in her life, but she simply could not recall it.

What a depressing thought.

"How perceptive of you," she said in a low murmur, almost hoping that Lily would not hear her, or at least elect to ignore her.

"Well. You should do it more often—you looked beautiful when you laughed."

Narcissa's head snapped up fast enough to give her whiplash. Did she just hallucinate? "What did you just say?"

"Not that you aren't beautiful in general!" Lily quickly backtracked. "I mean, not that I... I'm just saying, well..."

Narcissa briefly wandered if she was having some sort of fever dream. Perhaps she had inhaled a bit much of that Befuddlement Brew in her last Potion's class. But Lily kept stumbling over her words, growing noticeably redder by the second, even in that dark cupboard.

She found herself saying something she thought she would never, ever have the occasion to say to a Mudblood, but somehow it felt like the only appropriate response to the rather bizarre situation they found themselves in.

"Thank you."

Lily's mouth snapped shut, stopping her rambling tirade. Her eyes went wide at Narcissa's words—she clearly could believe what she had just heard almost as much as Narcissa could believe she had actually said it.

"You're..." she blinked once, then twice more. "You're welcome, I guess." Lily flashed a lopsided grin, a hand coming to rest on the back of her neck as she tried to disguise her awkwardness. "You're just... full of surprises, aren't you?"

Narcissa felt the corners of her lips tugging upwards involuntarily; she willed them back into place out of pure habit, but not before Lily noticed the action—the redhead smirked a little too knowingly for Narcissa's taste.

"And so are you," she said before Lily could make note of her near slip-up. She raised the book she still held. "Don't think I've forgotten."

To her immense dismay, every trace of Lily's anger seemed to have evaporated into thin air. The Gryffindor continued smirking as if she knew something Narcissa didn't, and Narcissa did not like that in the slightest.

"I didn't think you had," Lily said genially. "You'll be sorely disappointed—it's nowhere nearly as intriguing as you hope."

Narcissa shrugged, in that elegantly blasé way her mother had painstakingly taught her. "Surprise me."

Lily sighed, running her fingers through the copper strands of her hair. "It's not intriguing, only slightly embarrassing."

Narcissa raised a brow. "What could possibly be embarrassing about a book titled The Darkest of Magical Arts?"

The Gryffindor laughed. "It's not what's in it—to be honest, I have no idea what it contains. It was just the first book in the Restricted Section that I laid my eyes on. Lucky it wasn't one of the screamers, I don't think we would have gotten away."

Narcissa was perplexed. "Who sneaks off into the Restricted Section to steal a book at random?"

Lily's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Alright, don't judge me..."

"I find that highly unlikely, but I'll do my best."

The redhead huffed, glaring at Narcissa. "It was a dare, alright? A stupid, idiotic, absolutely dumb dare!"

Narcissa couldn't decide between an exasperated glare or a groan of frustration, so she opted for both. "Salazar spare me, I should have known. Of course even the Head Girl is not immune to Gryffindor idiocy—only one of you lions would go for something to insurmountably stupid."

"Hey!" Lily exclaimed. "I said no judging!"

"And yet you've made it impossible not to," Narcissa retorted through a snide smirk. "Here," she said, tossing the book back with a roll of her eyes. She could tell Lily was sincere just by the sheer embarrassment in her eyes. It was simply too dumb to be made up.

Lily nearly didn't catch it; she scrambled to reach for it before it fell to the floor. "Thanks," she said sarcastically."

"Just tell me something," Narcissa said after contemplating that ridiculousness for a few moments. "Who in Merlin's name managed to convince the Head Girl to accept such a ridiculous dare? I might have to shake their hand to personally congratulate them in such an accomplishment."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Highly doubtful. Who do you think gets under my nerves enough to make me throw sense out the bloody window?" Her gaze was accusatory. "Your bloody cousin, that's who."

Narcissa sobered up almost immediately. "Sirius? Sirius put you up to this?" she asked incredulously.

"Of course he did," Lily confirmed putting her ear to the door once again. "You Blacks really know how to push people's buttons, I have to tell you." She listened for a few moments. "I think Filch is gone, we might be able to make a run for it."

Narcissa opened her mouth, wanting to ask further, but thought better of it. "Finally," she said, knowing she sounded a bit too dramatic, but in truth, she never expected to be locked in a broom closet with Lily Evans for Merlin knew how long, so she felt it was well-justified.

She was dusting off her school skirt—who knew what kind of filth lurked in the darkness of these cupboards—when she noticed Lily looking at her with an odd expression. Her gaze was inquisitive, but her smile was wide and true.

"What?" Narcissa asked, confused.

"I've just got the most amazing idea." Lily said through her grin in a way that both unnerved and frightened Narcissa. "Narcissa, I am going to make you laugh."

"Wha-" Narcissa did not have the opportunity to respond appropriately; before she could react to that ludicrous threat—it had to be a threat, hadn't it, with that tone, and that look? With an ever-widening grin and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, Lily snuck out of the cupboard, vanishing in the darkness without another sound.

Well.