Narcissa Black was laughing. It wasn't a dignified, condescending laugh that one used on inferiors, or young children's antics. It wasn't even the laugh of a woman amused by the behaviour of boys who thought they were men- but it really ought to have been. No, Narcissa Black was entirely consumed by a fit of giggles, courtesy of one very mischievous seventh year.

"Get off me, Mort!" she exclaimed as he continued to tickle her mercilessly.

"Oh, don't be like that Cissy." He grinned widely at her and lifted his head. "We both know you don't want me to, and besides," he ducked to kiss her neck and resume his playful harassment. "You missed me terribly this summer while I was in Monaco."

"I wouldn't say terribly..." But she broke of as another fit of laughter overtook her.

"Hey! Hey Rodtimer, Cissy, you'll never guess what- oh!" Rabastan Lestrange, another seventh year and Rodtimer Yaxley's (Narcissa's current tormentor) best mate, stopped in the doorway of their compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Rodtimer rolled over on his elbow, smiling lazily.

"What do you want?" He asked good-naturedly. One might be a bit surprised by the close friendship between the two: While Rodtimer was outgoing, tall, dark haired and blue-eyed and of excellent physique, Rabastan was short, rather plump and uncomfortable in most social situations. However, they'd been close from the first day of school, before even.

"I just wanted to tell you," he proceeded, slipping into the compartment upon the realization that he wasn't intruding on anything too important, "That a couple of the third years having been dueling it out in the corridors, and it's really a spectacular show! That Gryffindor Potter has these sprouts growing out of his ears-"

"Oh, that probably means my cousin's in it too… I should probably go see… My Aunt Walburga hates it when he duels-"

"Don't bother, I passed Malfoy heading that way, and he didn't look pleased- I'll bet those kids are going to regret their fun in a couple minutes!" Rabastan shook his head; no one wanted to get on the wrong side of Lucius Malfoy.

No one, except for Rodtimer Yaxley.

Lucius Malfoy was the undisputed Slytherin King- Prefect in years earlier but now Head Boy, captain of the highly successful Quidditch team, O's in all his O.W.L's, likely the same for his N.E.W.T's this year. Just about every girl wanted him, and nearly every boy would give their right hand to be him.

But no one was. He didn't have friends- he evidently didn't want any. He associated to a degree with the young, clever misfit Severus Snape (no one had the faintest idea why) but no one would call them 'friends'.

Girls vied for his attention almost constantly but he ignored them all- ignored everyone, in fact.

Though he'd never say it out loud, Narcissa knew Rodtimer was insanely jealous of him. No matter how long he studied, Lucius got higher marks; no matter how hard he practiced, Lucius was a better Quidditch player, and no matter how well behaved and respectful he was towards the professors, Lucius was still prefect, and now Head Boy.

But there was one thing Rodtimer had the Lucius didn't. He had Narcissa Black.

Saying Narcissa was beautiful like saying the Great Sequoia was tall- an understatement so extreme as to be laughable. But she wasn't just stunning- she was witty and clever, fun and loyal. He loved her to a fault, and had since the day they met. And she was the one thing he had the Lucius Malfoy never would.

Once Rabastan had wondered off to see what other interesting distractions the train held for the long ride, Rodtimer paused for hardly a moment before fondly attacking Narcissa again. She shrieked and swatted his shoulder; he chuckled softly and caught her earlobe gently between his teeth.

"Tell me how much you love me," he commanded.

"You first."

"I think," He murmured, "You already know how much I love you. You just like to hear me say it."

"And are you, my dear, any different?"

"Touché," He laughed. "Well, perhaps you're right."

"And you can admit it. One of the many reasons why I do love you Mort, even if you must make me say it again and again."

Pleased with the easily gotten confession, Rodtimer dipped his head to kiss her again.

"And I-" He paused at the sound of the door being opened again. "What d'you want, 'Bastan?" He mumbled without bothering to look his way, still quite engaged with Narcissa's lips. Narcissa did though, and sat up with a gasp.

"What?" Rodtimer repeated, annoyed.

"Excuse me," a quiet, deep male voice murmured. Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway, watching the couple with an unreadable expression. "I didn't realize this compartment was occupied." He took a silent step backwards, and swept off. Narcissa flicked her wand, causing the door to shut once more, and gave a little shudder. She wasn't scared of Lucius, per se, but there was something about his unfeeling aloofness that unsettled her. She respected him immensely, but one respected the stealthy, unyielding power of a manticore as well, and she had no intention of getting near one of those.

Rodtimer seemed to pick up on her uneasiness instantly, and figured distraction was the way to go.

"My lovely flower, do you remember the day we met?"

"Erm…" Narcissa wracked her brain, and he was pleased to see his ploy had worked. "Was it…on a Tuesday?"

"No."

"February 30th?"

"Close."

"Were you a Christmas gift of mine one year?"

"Not exactly."

"Alright, I give up. I'm mean really, Mort, it was my first year; I was eleven."

"And you weren't interested in giving me the time of day."

"Liar! I loved you the moment I set eyes on you, even if I can't remember it."

"You're quite wrong, my sweet."

"Well then, tell me about it."

"…But you see Rodtimer, she's a first year. You can't possibly even be considering speaking to a first year!"

"She's Bella Black's little sister; she's hardly just any first year. I just want to go over and introduce myself, that's all."

"Mate, second years aren't meant to converse with little children… it's just not done! We'll be mocked! I'll be mocked because of your stupidity! And look, she's reading, she probably doesn't even want- no, Rodtimer, come back here! Now!"

But Rabastan Lestrange was ignored as usual; he couldn't do a thing but watch helplessly as his best friend committed social suicide. In full sight of the rest of the Slytherins, too!

"Hello. You're Narcissa Black, aren't you?"

"Mmm?" She didn't look up. "Oh, yes, yes I am."

"I'm Rodtimer Yaxley."

"It's lovely to meet you, Mortimer."

He should have left then, rebuffed and reject by this slip of a blonde, but Rodtimer, always in good humor for a Slytherin, let out a crack of laughter.

"You may call me Mort, if you wish."

"Alright. Mort. You may call me Narcissa." Her eyes didn't leave the page of her book the entire time.

He sought her out again the next morning, delighted to find her bookless at the breakfast table, and engaged her in conversation with an ease that surprised him. She was unexpectedly bright for someone so lovely. Weeks later, she was quite embarrassed to realize that his name was not Mortimer, but the nickname Mort had stuck, and he would be known by her as such from then on out. Soon, even though she was a first year, she and Rodtimer (and Rabastan as well, who was a bit more hesitant in his acceptance but eventually came around) were inseparable.