You've reached the exasperating and crass substitute for a House Elf Forge voicemail of Narcissa Malfoy. Kindly speak when you hear the groan.

Be clear and concise and none of this nonsense please.

Player Name: Merry
Player Journal: holdwine
Playing Here: Lily Evans Potter (tsingtauense). Formerly: Remus Lupin (lumenrelegandus), Clint Barton (antivillain), etc.
Where did you find us? AERI! /does the Aeridance/ /with eisdamme/
Are you 16 years of age or older? Absitively



Character Name: Narcissa Malfoy née Black
Canon: Harry Potter Books
Timeline: pre-Philosopher's Stone, around 1989
Character's Age: 34

Powers, Skills: Pureblood witch with at least adequate power and above average control. Specialties include mastery of apparition that is downright artful, full grasp of and utility with the Dark Arts, competency at dueling, and skill at occlumency. And, as we have learned from another Pottermom, the force of her love for her family can give her incredible strength to do just about anything. (In Anatole, particularly, this may prove very direct: emotional intensity yielding a power boost.)
Equipment: Elmwood wand. And a rather smashing wardrobe.

Canon History & Personality: Narcissa Cygna Black was the youngest child of Cygnus Black III and Druella Rosier; and the third of the Weird Sisters (with Andromeda and Bellatrix).

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was one of the largest, oldest, and wealthiest pure-blooded wizarding families in Britain, and the girls were raised accordingly. Cissy could recite the family tree back four generations while transfiguring crystals into tiny transparent animate quadripeds, supervising a score of House Elves at accounting, and balancing her Aunt Walburga's cat on her head.

(Not that she'd actually do the last one. Unless she was showing up Bellatrix. Poor Bella never quite had Cissy's poise. For example, it's always been a skill of Narcissa's to be able to, simultaneously, cry freely and stay graceful. This was quite infuriating to her sisters, who couldn't do both—or indeed either: Andromeda would desperately fight crying and be even more obviously off-balanced for it, and Bellatrix would outright tantrum to the skies.)

Cissy attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sorted (but of course, darling) into Slytherin House. She was an excellent student but not the kind who's particularly pally with professors, nor interested in extracurricular involvement or additional responsibility. She did her classwork competently and diligently, occasionally with a touch of true talent—when the subject matter entered her areas of specialty and she felt like applying it—but it wasn't really the focus of her time there. Academics had their place, of course, but she was there for the experience. Which meant the culture, the history… and mostly the networking. She had many "friends", most of whom weren't people she was particularly interested in spending time with except that they could be very useful to one another and that was gratifying. She kept almost exclusively to other girls, until she started seeing Lucius Malfoy.

He was the only male she'd ever been interested in, and whichever of them campaigned to win the other, it was a smart match however you sliced it. It's hard to say whether attraction was there at the start or she convinced herself into it—but it hardly matters: in either case, by the time they married, she was entirely satisfied with her choice of partner in every respect. She was very fond of him, proud of him, proud to be allied with him, and found that they agreed and were excellent support and assistance to one another. Time spent in his company was quite agreeable, physically and intellectually satisfying, all the moreso because they were both quite amenable to giving each other the necessary space not to get tired of it. (This, at any rate, was her understanding of their relationship, and whether it matches Lucius's ideas or not, they nonetheless seem to continue on smoothly.)

It is nonetheless possible that she never really knew love until the birth of their son, Draco. He instantly because the absolute dazzling centre of her universe, and she reveled in the light, pouring everything of her dedication and pride to the House of Black and wizardry and her own evolution into her raising of her son. Ancillary to that, she ran the household, maintained their place in society, and pursued her own private projects, feeling all the while content in her partnership with Lucius but also rather independent from it. They were good for each other, useful for each other, and satisfying for each other; but their days need not always—or even frequently—overlap for this to remain true. Indeed, not just her husband: Narcissa never particularly craved anyone's company. She preferred society to isolation but she hardly required it. The exception, of course, was she would sometimes miss Draco when he was away, but it was an acceptable ache: she still took satisfaction in his very existence in the world and was pleased the more he was out and about in it.

The one perplexing case, perhaps, was the Andromeda affair. The sisters had been close in childhood, not as a matter of choice or preference but just of fact. The emotional detachment that could be called "independence" (in Narcissa; it shaded into "sociopathy" in Bellatrix) existed all the way back. So when Meda turned a traitorous fool and slapped her family by marrying a mudblood, Cissy had no qualms whatever about joining the rest of the family in shutting her out.

…Except… she would think about Meda and feel uncomfortable. And sometimes forget she wasn't supposed to think of her at all.

But. This is the price one pays for all the value that is being a Black, and about as proudly (or at least compatibly/complementarily, which is high enough indeed) a Malfoy; and it's still a steal.

The other complication in her thoughts about her life… or rather, the only other thing that caused her to have thoughts about her life, rather than go ahead and simply live it… oh, blasted politics.

Siding with Voldemort was a given, really; the House of Black had never shied from the Dark Arts (really, how can you claim mastery of a discipline if you ignore an entire category of it?) and their allegiance with such a Dark figure was in accord with history and culture, and their place alongside the greatest Power was, quite simply, natural and inevitable. She might never have had a problem with it if not for…

…love. Of Draco.

The realities of the war struck one very differently when one has a child, and one considers how their life is affected. And one begins to see what effect it's having—perhaps diverting the child from their own destiny onto the plans of another. And even one who has the great influence and power… one she was raised to assume would be the best celestial body around which her family should orbit… she suddenly finds she wants her son to orbit no one but be his own polestar.

She would remain absolute partners with Lucius in all things, of course. They would never show less than complete solidarity. …And in fact, she does love him. If she hadn't quite fully loved him before Draco, she does now. Lucius and Draco are so similar in so many ways and she values each and every one in both of them, amplified by the mirroring. This family is everything to her and she'll do anything for it. Try her.

But for Draco… even division from Lucius becomes imaginable. If unlikely. And if she could consider that… she could consider anything. Society, power, heritage, politics, pride, were no longer the ends in themselves. She would continue to choose them for as long as they served the higher cause of Draco. If at any point they ceased to be what was best for him, she (as would have been unimaginable to her in earlier life) would not hesitate to sever herself from them.

So far her belief in them has remained justified. But the views are a little more complicated than she may have wished.

Why do you feel this character would be appropriate to the setting?

When the world you wanted to be black and white kept betraying shades of grey, what do you do with a world that's entirely grey? The borders aren't there—class, status, allegiance, and that ultimate (should be) obvious and impassible dividing line: magical vs. nonmagical. There is magic here literally in the air, seeping into everyone and everything, and it is no longer a natural-given right. And its manifestations in those here is… so… horribly… also… unclassifiable. And so varied that the very nature of magic itself no longer seems certain.

If Narcissa was uncomfortable with the vagaries of morality vs. politics, this upending of those aspects of reality which seemed unassailable… what can be left? When you can't safely (or at least unthinkingly) look down your nose at those you pass or be allowed to allow assumption to persist, where magic is not only not secret but disdained (imagine! envy of course but bearing consequences) and some of it apparently deservedly so, but all kinds run rampant—when those who rule are uninterested in followers—when one is suddenly forced simply to carry on, as one had often dreamed of doing—without war, without cause, without dubious masters, without aging—but suddenly finds… unsettling. In such a world as this where one has to… relearn… that which one had assumed to be simply what was. What remains?

What's most basic, perhaps.

Which brings us back to: Try and keep her from her husband and son. Go ahead. Double dare you. Plebeian multiverse.

She's never lived where her Family mattered… well, only to her. As opposed to: to everyone else. To Society, to Schooling, to Businesses, to (as it seems) Civilization.

It's like having to suddenly live as a Muggle.

Except with many other Magical creatures rushing about.

(And we'll come to all the strange and unsavory types of Magic there are now to contend with.)

Everything she's ever done, nominally, but also sincerely believed, has been for the sake of her son and husband. But here… there's nothing but her son and husband. Nothing that makes particular demands of her, at least. There's no Society expecting things of her, no Family legacy to uphold, no War to navigate or Dark Lord to appease, to keep her family safe and prosperous. Here there's just… people as displaced and disorganized as themselves who can't be bothered to care about anyone else's affairs. Thus giving Narcissa an unprecedented amount of privacy (that is: lack of scrutiny) and so freedom.

Which is what she'd sometimes thought she wanted. But getting it, utterly flummoxes her.

One wants to say "she's never had to work", but all that was her work. The focus of her drive, her sense of purpose, her sense of contribution and importance. Now… what… her business is nobody else's? Nobody really cares? To be noticed in a community she'd have to make herself noticed?

And Magic. A pillar of reality so basic and integral as to be completely taken for granted. Those without it were practically a different species, and not to be bothered about. Those with it knew what it was and how it worked, with varying levels of force and/or artistry. (And she's always erred on the artistic side, because brute force was simply… unbecoming of her. And seemed less interesting, coming out of her background. Leave that to Bellatrix. She would measure mastery by technique and aesthetic, not crudely basic result.)

Here… its presence was simply scattered about, accessible by beings who were simply not Wizards, nor anything approaching them, who understood and used it in ways that defied all the established definitions, and its manifestations could be downright unrecognisable.

…Though more alarming, really, when they were recognisable.

Certain things are not meant to be democratic. Or rather anarchic. There's meant to be a Natural Order. Things aren't supposed to work this way.

In Anatole she has to face what has always been a niggling little suspicion, that she's formerly rejoiced in being able to ignore, that not only does it really work this way, but it always has.



Network Post Sample: Scorchedbox

Third Person Sample: Take a mirror. The one from the attic would serve best, if requiring a few extra elves to carry.

Set it up before the fireplace with just enough room between them to plant oneself.

This is the only way to make certain floo calls. As much as she takes pride in curating it, some people don't get to look into her sitting room. Nor do they get spared the glare of the portrait over the mantle, which this way is neatly reflected into the fireplace. They will see themselves, the wall, the portrait, and her. That's all.

She's just checked that Draco is safely occupied in his room, has dismissed the elves, and knows that Lucius won't be back for another few hours. She can make this call without it interfering with—or being interfered with by—anybody else.

She turns to check herself perfunctorily in the mirror, but she never worries overmuch about her appearance. After the initial pains are taken, there's no need, or the initial pains had been done incorrectly. But she smooths the front of her dress for meditative reasons, before reaching into the powder purse and throwing a handful of floo on the fire.

As it has absolutely never ever done even once before, it explodes into a thick smoke that instantly darkens the room.

Narcissa stumbles back, coughing, and raises her wand to cast finite—or possibly aguamenti.

But suddenly it's no longer dark smoke, but white Mist.

And the mirror is no longer behind her, but in front of her.

And it isn't a mirror at all, but a stone archway.

Through which she cannot see anything of her fireplace or portrait or… anything.

In astonishment she whirls around… and her foot is caught by an unnoticed rock or root, and she hits her head on the stone Doorway and falls insensible.

When she wakes later in the terrible flat to which she'd obviously been brought, and with increasing certainty the more she learns about what's happened, she feels rather intently that the Door had somehow reached down deliberately clonked her.

As somewhere in the Mist, she heard her sister Bella's laughter.

Anything else? Nary, Nary, quite contrary, How does your cordon go?