Author's note: I sincerely appreciate the reviews! I've had the basic skeleton of this story thought out for a while and many chapters are introductory and just give supporting information to my underlying concept. I was utterly nervous starting this because J.K. Rowling is such a brilliant author and it is difficult to jump into the world she has created and write something that actually sounds good. I'm making progress through trial and error and after I sumbit each chapter, I think of ways to improve it. I'd rather not spend a month on each chapter, though, because I'd love for people to be able to read what I am writing! It's also a challenge as an American writer to make this sound accurate to the British dialects of the characters. I chose to not Americanize the story, though, because I want people to think of this as a story that can go alongside what Jo has written. I know that every character has an intricate back story and I am attempting to unfold Narcissa's.

Pressure. Confusion. High expectations. Sadness. Feeling lost. Feeling alone. Feeling like no one understands you. I must be a teenager. I'm sixteen years old but my future is already decided for me. I will marry a pure blood. I will partake in the Dark Arts. I will have children. I will be wealthy. I will be notorious. I will be proud. And I won't be able to make a single decision for myself. Sometimes during a sleepless night, I will wander through the empty corridors and ultimately end up in the library. I will select a book at random and read about wizards who had it differently. Wizards who chose their own destiny. Wizards who made a difference. After my encounter with Sirius, I realized that I do have no backbone. I'm afraid. I'm just a girl. I'm only sixteen. What am I to do? Without my family, I'll have nothing, no one. I just can't do it. I don't deserve to be in Slytherin. I'd much rather find myself sobbing alone in the library, rather than embarrassing myself in front of the other girls in my dormitory. They have it all put together. They have it all figured out. Their last name isn't Black. I have a reputation to uphold. I can't just be a mess in front of them. I can't show weakness, vulnerability.

I hear footsteps creep up behind me. I vigorously wipe my sleeve on my eyes. "Who do we have here?" asks a deep, husky voice.

Oh no. Caught out of bed in the middle of the night. The last thing I want right now is a detention. But who could it be? It's not a voice I recognize, but I better not leave it to chance. I immediately turn around in my seat. "Sorry err –" The room is only illuminated by an oil lamp on a wooden table a few feet away from me. I can barely make out his face. He is no teacher though. He looks my age, perhaps older. My eyes meet his, round, hazel, and tired, very tired. My lips curl a bit, genuine, not forced. The demons flush out of my head and I am left gawking at this stranger. His mousy brown hair is tousled in a way that makes me ponder for a few moments if I am dreaming. I stand and extend a fragile hand. "Narcissa Black."

He tilts his head ever so slightly. "And what brings you here on this fine evening, Narcissa Black?"

Oh gosh. Is he a prefect? The haze of a dream crashes. Maybe he'll let me off with a warning. Five points from Slytherin and an order to go back to bed. His eyebrows furrow as he notices my panicked expression. "You seem tense. Everything alright?"

"Yeah, I – err – like to come down here to – err – think." A shaky voice replies, hoping to not sound to suspicious.

"Really?" He lets out an inaudible chuckle. "So do I. Isn't it just so peaceful in the library at night?" He begins to drift off.

"So," I cut in, "what's your name?"

"Callum," he says with a smile, "pleasure."

"Why haven't I seen you around before, Callum?" My tone unwillingly turns flirty. I try to mask it with a bit of mystery.

"Well I've seen you before Narcissa. I know someone as alluring and popular as you wouldn't notice a guy like me."

I blush. How could I have missed someone as dashing and charming as Callum? "W–what house are you in?" my voice cracks.

"Hufflepuff. Seventh year." His voice is proud, but not arrogant.

I can't believe that that is what people think of me. I'm that stuck-up, unapproachable, Slytherin girl. I hate myself for that. I wish I could start over, be someone else. Someone without a notorious last name. Someone whose path wasn't chosen for her. I hate that this is who my family has made me into. I don't want to be superior. Why did it take me sixteen years to realize this?

Instead of screaming, I take out all of my fury and frustration by grabbing Callum and passionately kissing him. Although taken by surprise, he doesn't withdraw. It's foolish since we met minutes ago, but it feels right. Love is beautiful rebellion.

We spend the night together in the library. Afterwards, I end up telling him everything about my life and my family. He holds me close and consoles me, but most importantly, he listens. He's the first person I can be vulnerable around yet still feel comfortable. He shares a thing or two about his past. I do less than shrug my shoulders when he tells me his parents are Muggles. Everything feels so right, so unreal. As morning draws closer, we kiss goodbye, depart to our dormitories, and return to reality. A reality where I sit in the Great Hall like royalty and out of the corner of our eyes, we catch glimpses at each other from across the room. Because neither of us is really ready for too much of a change.