Chapter 1 : I
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She cannot be blamed for the way her callused feet will stain the rich carpet of where she must go. She is on the run. On the run from anywhere but where she is going. Trivial things do not pass in her mind for any longer than pushing them aside takes. The dirt and shame is worth the benefits she will reap when she runs off. Or rather the harm her life here will not be given to her.
Her dress glints against the moonlight with it's dark shimmer. Falling at her knees, it reveals her bare legs and the scars that have been dug into them by those who she is turning to. She must escape them and the fate they bring to her. Her thinly covered shoulders will carry much more than taffeta if she does not run. There is nowhere else to turn.
It is all that she can do to stop herself and even breath when she finds what she is looking for. This is not a place for outsiders, much less insiders, and she hopes she will not be scolded for her disheveled appearance by those who surely know her. It is not what they will tell her she fears, but who they will tell. She cannot bear to think of what will happen should someone find out what she is doing. But they will. And hopefully not before her work has been done.
The lights are off, but she runs her half-painted fingernails through her dirty blonde hair. She will not allow herself to open the door as beggar who hides from all that he has done. But she knows when she comes to this street again, she will be hiding from what she left to do. And she will wonder why she did it. But there is no backing out now. Not when her escape is within an arms reach of the bell she must ring.
Bracing herself, she simply pushes the door open. A barren street in the slums of the wizarding world is never a good place for a girl like her to be. Seventeen is far too young for what has been brought on her, but what else is she to do? The threats of the pain she will suffer is enough to scare even her sister into finding this run-down place of secrets, magic, and the unknown.
The interior is far nicer than the outside of the building, but she is still not set at ease. There is a needle running over the record, but she can hear her own breaths against her tongue as well as the caustic spinning of the vinyl. A sleek vase is on the antique coffee table, but the clear water is the only thing it holds. All around her are the most normal of circumstances that are just off enough to catch her eye. She has most certainly come to the right place for what she needs.
A calm voice calls out from where the record player is and the woman speaking knows. She knows who is standing in her lobby. The time to face the unthinkable has come. The record player swerves again and she closes her eyes for what is to come.
A/N: Narcissa and all other things you recognize from HP belong to JKR. I hope you enjoyed the story thus far and thanks for reading!