War is brewing. And in the ashes of war, in the roaring depth of wizardkind's despair and fear, in the thunderstorm raging all around us, there is only one thing on my mind while the wheel turns and the pieces are being moved. Power.

If only the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black hadn't been reduced to this.

"I sold the manor," uncle Orion says, his deep voice reverberating from his seat at the head of the long ebony table. A heavy silence descends upon the dimly lit dining room of Grimmauld Place with its stifling dark emerald curtains and the eternally grim chandelier, its writhing snake branches adorned with too few black candles hanging above us. It's difficult to discern everyone's reactions, but Andromeda's sharp intake of breath on my right is reminiscent of a useless scream into the void.

I flick my cigarette, letting the ash fall on the antique table, earning myself a glare from aunt Walburga, her fifth glass of wine precariously whirling in her hand.

A guffaw comes from somewhere in the middle of the table, loud and boisterous, entirely out of place in this damned room. "Did you? I don't remember agreeing to this."

Orion stands up, strands of his dark hair falling handsomely into his cold black eyes. He leans on the table, a menacing grin appearing on his face. "That is because your opinion on the matter is of no consequence, Alphard."

"It's my father's house," uncle Alphard says in a dangerously low voice, looking up at Orion with disgust. "It's our house," he continues, nodding towards me and my sisters, as if expecting one of us to support him. I don't know why he bothers because he really should know better. But, Alphard had always had a touch too much of the Black wildness in him.

And while in Bellatrix, it manifests in the bored look she gives him through her heavy-lidded eyes, playing with her wand and probably thinking about the ten best ways to torture Muggles, and though ultimately she will always go back to her trademark Cruciatus, it's a fun mental exercise, Alphard is a different breed, an idealistic one. If he doesn't play his cards right, he might just find himself on the receiving end of one of Bella's curses.

Andromeda, on the other hand, is clenching her fists, and I know she's been thinking about the unfortunate implications of this sudden development ever since the words came out of Orion's mouth. Probably planning something equally reckless and stupid.

And I know better than to speak my mind now. To bite my tongue and bide my time has been a lesson great uncle Arcturus has been drilling into me since the tender age of thirteen. No, the Black sisters are of no help to Alphard.

Orion starts pacing, arms crossed behind his back, his grey suit rumpled, as if he slept in it. Unusual. I avert my eyes when he passes near, focusing on the small burn I've caused on the table. He stops behind his wife, staring at Alphard.

"Your father… You mean that creature who turned your attic into an opium den?" Orion snorts and exchanges a glance with Walburga, who doesn't really seem as if she's paying any attention to anything besides her rapidly disappearing wine. "Do you think Pollux cares about where he's smoking and fucking whores?"

I mentally roll my eyes, but keep my face blank. Orion is not wrong on this account. Grandad Pollux has interesting, if expensive, habits. It seems that the Noble House of Black has a predilection towards madness and addiction, not necessarily exclusive to one another.

Alphard opens his mouth to speak, but Orion interrupts him, fingers twisting the big, golden ring with our crest on his right index finger. "And yours? I'm still paying Cygnus' gambling debts while he and Druella are off gallivanting around bloody Russia spending even more gold. This," he gestures around the room, looking each of us in the eye, "is not a democracy. Walburga and I are gracious enough to let you stay here."

"You're also fucking gracious enough that most of that gold will go to fucking Tom Riddle," a gruff voice says and great uncle Arcturus, his grey hair slicked back and aged face frowning, puts his wand on the table. It's an unspoken threat, but Orion doesn't seem to notice. "You never were that bright, boy."

"Father, please, Riddle has the right ideas, someone has to rid us of that Muggle and Mudblood filth..."

"If you think that Tom Riddle gives a fuck about blood purity in any other capacity than the excuse it gives him to rally fanatics to his supposed cause, then you are disgustingly deluded," I mutter under my breath while the two of them get into a back and forth, snuffing out my cigarette on the table. "Riddle only wants power." I'm lucky that nobody hears me, but uncle Arcturus is looking at me with his shrewd grey eyes and I know he's read my lips. He winks at me.

"Enough of this," Arcturus says in a commanding voice, gold sparks flying from his wand, and even Walburga seems shaken out of her drunken stupor. "What's done is done, but Orion… This affair was unwise."

Everyone knows this is the end of our little family discussion, which, in reality, was no discussion at all, and Bellatrix is the first to leave, followed closely by Andromeda. Orion helps Walburga up while she unsuccessfully tries to shove him away and they look almost comical. Except when I remember our current predicament. Alphard glares at me, probably thinking I should've stepped in, but I ignore him and he theatrically leaves, dropping a glass on the cold stone floor for good measure, the glass breaking into a hundred sharp little pieces. And it seems that it won't be long before House of Black follows suit.

I sit in silence as they all leave and uncle Arcturus gets up from his place and sits down next to me. With a wave of his wand the heavy wooden doors shut themselves with a loud thud, another wave and they're locked. "Narcissa," he says and I raise my eyebrows, knowing what he wants me to say.

"Orion has to go," I declare without skipping a beat.

"Indeed."

I pull my coat tighter around myself in the chilly London air, the darkness of Highgate Cemetery masking my sudden appearance. The almost full moon illuminates the overgrown path before me, the cryptic landscape's decay one of romance, rather than decrepitude and menace. Still, my wand is drawn and I carefully listen for any sounds bar the ones of nature.

As I walk up the familiar path towards the catacombs, gravel crunches under my boots with each step. Visiting our family tomb is not among my favourite pastimes, but it's doubtless that this little clandestine rendezvous in the middle of the night is not even going to make the list of the most unsavoury things I'll have to do by the time this is all over. At least the tomb has ample protections, if the need arises. Though I'm quite certain it won't.

Coming up the path, I feel the familiar magic surrounding our tomb. The ancient structure, with its neo-gothic spires, stone walls and pointed archways wrapped in ivy and wildflowers has long been neglected, but the dark sandstone building is a reminder of bygone grandeur. Memories of glory and power rot away in the imperfection that is the human mind, mere echoes of what once was, but all our failures and fuck-ups will never fade away. My eyes flick towards the faintly glowing inscription above the door. Toujours Pur indeed.

With my back against the cold, dark stone wall I light up a cigarette, crossing my arms across my chest, observing my surroundings. A fox crosses the path leading up to the tomb, skulking from under the shrubs, pausing only to spare me a glance before going on its way. And in that moment of temporary distraction, I hear the quietest of pops.

I take a drag from my cigarette and take in the appearance of the man before me. He's roguishly handsome, wearing a long dragon-hide coat and his thick dark auburn hair is tousled, as if he were standing in storm winds just moments before he Apparated, and when our eyes lock, the grin on his face is almost feral. In a few short strides, he's standing before me, temptingly close, the heat emanating from his body like a furnace. He always did run hot.

He leans down, dark blue eyes staring at me with a smirk. Taking another step towards me, one of his legs parts my thighs. He knows me, and if I didn't have far more important business to take care off, I might've let him fuck me. After all, he's so very good at it. His lips brush against my cold skin, hot touch infuriatingly tempting, but with a wave of my wand, a whip materialises around his neck, tightening its hold with each second. He lets out a choking sound, backing away from me slightly. It's my turn to smirk.

"Gideon," I say, raising my eyebrows, the whip under my control as it holds steady, "I thought you would know better than to try and trap me against a wall". I hold him there, watching as he realises there's no point in struggling, and I stay silent while I smoke, enjoying the power I hold over him. Dropping the cigarette on the ground, I carefully snuff it out with my boot. Another wave of my wand and Gideon Prewett is free of his confines, a red mark around his neck. His breathing is strained and I can hear him whisper curses.

It takes Gideon a couple of moments to get his breathing back to normal and when he does, there's another smirk plastered on his face. "You used to quite like being pressed up against me… Restrained, even…" he trails off, looking me up and down as he takes out a pack of Red Dragons, lighting one up with his wand.

"Used to."

Gideon shakes his head in annoyance and I know he's thinking about the last time we were together. I half expect him to mention it, but he seems to realise it's ancient history. He flashes me a grin, blowing out a smoke ring. "Nice bit of magic you've got there. New spell?"

I scoff and roll my eyes. "As if I would tell you."

He stays silent for a while and we stand there watching each other, waiting for someone to speak first. It's a matter of willpower and Gideon has always been impatient. It's a small victory when he speaks again.

"So… If you didn't ask me here to fuck you, why did you? I took a risk coming here, you know that."

"Good to know that a chance to fuck me is worth the risk," I smile, but Gideon doesn't seem amused. "Fine, I'll get to the point. There have been some unfortunate developments today and Andromeda… I want her safe."

Gideon raises his eyebrows, looking away from me. "Andromeda?" he asks, feigning ignorance.

"I know about Ted Tonks so there's no need to pretend. She's not as stealthy as she thinks she is and our uncle… If I know, he will soon find out now that we'll all be living under one roof and Andromeda knows this. So. I want her safe," I finish, taking a couple of steps towards him, and I put my hand on his own, knowing what the touch will do to him. His blue eyes look down at me, and I let him see me for a passing moment, but it's enough for him. Easy.

Gideon nods, taking another drag of his cigarette. "She'll be safe, I promise."

"And Sirius too. He has plans, maybe not now but..."

He frowns. "Of course, we don't hurt children."

"You do know that I will personally murder you if –"

"I know. Narcissa… What are you doing?" Gideon asks, a note of worry in his tone, and there's the difference between the two of us. He has to ask and I wonder how it isn't obvious.

I wink at him and bare my teeth in a smile. "Surviving." There is no need to tell him the entire truth.

I Apparate to my ancestral home, the Black Manor sitting still and silent in this night of turmoil. The halls are eerie without the murmurs of portraits, the paintings already sent to Orion's vault, like the rest of the heirlooms, centuries-old silver and gold, away from the greedy hands of goblins, unable to break their own laws. Gringotts is safe, for now.

Quietly I climb the grand staircase, and as I near the upper floor, I know I was right. The grey wooden door of Andromeda's room is ajar, the light from a candle spilling out into the dark hallway, illuminating the marble floor.

I push the door open to see my sister sitting on the floor, all her belongings neatly packed in her trunk. She sits there, staring at the fireplace where she used to keep pictures of the three of us. I glance at the trunk and see my face smiling from one of the framed photographs.

Andromeda looks up at me, her usually perfect makeup smudged around her eyes, her wand lying next to her.

"You're leaving," I say, and in the deathly silence of the manor, my voice doesn't betray anything, my emotions buried deep inside.

"You knew I would after today," Andromeda murmurs, "my little sister knows everything, doesn't she?" She asks, her voice almost breaking. Almost.

"You're running off with a –"

"Don't you dare call him that!" Andromeda says, anger colouring her pale features.

I shrug and lean against the fireplace. "I was going to say an Order member."

"How do you know?" she asks, disbelief in her voice as she considers me. She mutters a spell and her trunk closes with a thud.

"I have my ways."

"You're not going to talk me out of it."

I sigh and shake my head. My sister is half a Gryffindor and it shows. "I wasn't going to. I just wanted to say goodbye."

Andromeda rolls her eyes and stands up, brushing off invisible dirt from her cloak. "I doubt that. Even if it's true, you always have an ulterior motive."

"Well… I do play to win," I say, smirking at her and she grins, the familiar mischief playing on her face.

"Narcissa, this isn't one of your chess games."

I menacingly cock an eyebrow at her. "Isn't it?"