WHO: Narcissa, Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Lord Voldemort WHAT: The Black sisters aren't speaking. In the end, it's Rodolphus' love of fishing that reunites them. WHEN: Over the course of this past month WHERE: Malfoy Manor WARNINGS: Extreme stubbornness, some mentions of murder
As luck would have it, stepping into the dining room the first morning after she’d decided she wasn’t speaking to her sister, Narcissa found Bellatrix and Bellatrix alone sitting at the table. She froze in the doorway and considered leaving, going to work early. There was always something edible to be found at the Prophet.
But it was still her house. No matter how many unwelcome guests there were.
Narcissa swept forward, passing a hand over her hair before sitting as far from Bellatrix as she could while sitting as far from where Charity Burbage had been murdered and devoured whole as she could, as well.
Bellatrix caught sight of her as she glanced up from her tea. Her eyes narrowed immediately into a steely glare. The silence between them expanded down the length of the table when Narcissa sat down and Bellatrix made no effort to conceal it when she rolled her eyes in open disgust.
Glancing up from her place setting, Narcissa caught the tail end of the Bellatrix’s eyeroll and narrowed her eyes at her sister. The food was all irritatingly spread before Bellatrix instead of the end of the table Narcissa had chosen. “Bunni,” she called out and the house elf appeared almost immediately, with a bow. “Pass me the muffins. And the jam.”
The house elf turned toward the plate of muffins, automatically obliging Narcissa’s request. But she stopped short when she saw them sitting directly in front of furious Bellatrix. She could do nothing but watch as her master’s sister snatched the plate of muffins and tipped them directly onto the floor.
“Bunni,” she said to the house elf. “Tell Narcissa there aren’t any muffins left.”
Now it was Narcissa’s turn to roll her eyes as the house elf timidly turned to Narcissa and parroted Bellatrix’s instructions. “Ma’am, Bunni has been asked to tell you there aren’t any muffins left.” Bunni glanced hopefully at the floor. “Bunni is to be cleaning up this mess now?”
“The eggs,” Narcissa said, meeting her sister’s eye and holding a hand out expectantly. “I’ll have those.”
“Will you? These eggs?” Bellatrix asked, ignoring the house elf apart from blocking her access to the food. Without breaking eye contact with Narcissa, she dragged the plate to the edge of the table and let it fall to the ground.
Only then did she address Bunni. “Tell her there aren’t any eggs left either.”
“Ma’am, Bunni —” the house elf started to say, but Narcissa raised a hand to cut her off.
“Bunni, hand me Bellatrix’s plate,” Narcissa said, her other hand still held out expectantly.
Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at her sister before she turned the glare on Bunni. Leaning over her plate, she ground out through her teeth. “If you so much as set a finger on my plate, I’ll tear you limb from limb.”
“But Bunni must —” the house elf started again, casting her eyes nervously between the two sisters, but again, Narcissa interrupted.
“Actually, Bunni, leave it. I’ll be eating at work today.” Narcissa tilted in her chair to peer judgmentally at the food covering the floor. “But tell Bellatrix I hope she grows out of her terrible twos soon.”
Bunni turned to glance at Bellatrix, who cut her off before she could even begin stammering her words. “And you can tell Narcissa I hope her infancy passes sooner.”
This time Narcissa waited for Bunni to repeat her message, her fist perched beneath her chin. The house elf fidgeted on the spot, clearly expecting to be rescued from having to call her mistress an infant, but when Narcissa did nothing, Bunni had no choice. “Ma’am,” she said quietly, looking upset, “Bunni is to be telling you Mistress Bellatrix hopes your —” her voice dropped to a whisper for the single, horrible word “— infancy passes sooner.” She made a sound of distress and looked as though she hoped neither woman noticed it.
“Fascinating,” was all Narcissa had to say to that. “Bunni, you won’t do anything Bellatrix asks of you for the rest of the day.”
There was nothing Bellatrix could do to change Narcissa’s orders and her day was about to be a lot less productive without a helper to do as she said. Her eyes narrowed across the room at her sister and she rose slowly from her chair. “Fine, Bunni,” she said without looking at the bewildered elf. “Narcissa can be surprised when my guests arrive for dinner.”
“Oh, and, Bunni, you aren’t to let anyone into this house tonight without express approval from Lucius or myself.” There was the briefest of pauses while she, too, narrowed her eyes at her sister. “Or the Dark Lord.”
Bellatrix seethed from the other side of the table and folded her arms across her chest. “We’ll just see if she has a manor to come home to by the time she's done sulking then.”
“Bunni,” Narcissa said and the house elf jumped, having clearly been relieved to not have to relay that message to her mistress. Narcissa rose from her seat at the table and started for the door. She didn’t bother looking at the house elf as she delivered her order. “Remind Bellatrix that the Malfoys are hosting the Dark Lord in their home. She seems to have forgotten..” With that, she swept out of the room.
Bellatrix hadn't forgotten, though. And she was already thinking of new ways to channel out her irritation. Burning the house down or throwing a party might not have been viable options, but she'd find something.
Without a word, she shoved her plate away from her and cast Bunni a look of disgust before she, too, swept out of the room.
A few days later, when Narcissa made to sweep into the dining room from the east wing, she caught sight of Bellatrix entering through the doors from the west wing. They glared at one another for a lengthy moment until a rustling from the head of the table, where Charity Burbage became her last meal, drew Narcissa’s attention.
Almost immediately, Narcissa’s spine went straight and she didn’t need to speak to her sister to indicate the Dark Lord was joining them for breakfast.
Bellatrix saw the change in her sister’s face and jerked her gaze to the other end of the room. There he was, eating his oatmeal.
“Good morning, my Lord,” Bellatrix said without further acknowledgment of Narcissa. She moved toward the table to take a seat at his side, but halfway to her chair, she thought better of it and left a chair between them. Out of respect, of course. “I hope we aren't intruding.”
“Our apologies if we are, my Lord,” Narcissa said woodenly, moving to sit closer to the Dark Lord than she would’ve liked, with a few chairs between them and enough room that she didn’t have to stare directly at Bellatrix through this meal. She would’ve wished Lucius were there, but her mind was blank of everything but what she planned to do that day at work and the food spread before them. She didn’t dare reach for anything until the Dark Lord gave his permission for them to be there.
The Dark Lord glanced up at them and moved his shoulders in a barely perceptible shrug. “There's room at the table,” he said before filling his mouth with a spoonful of his oatmeal.
While he was distracted, Bellatrix shot a firm look at Narcissa. She would not do this in front of him — her message was clear.
“Please pass the toast,” she said, almost sweetly.
The edges of Narcissa’s mouth tightened slightly both at being told what to do and Bellatrix’s tone, but she was just as interested in doing this before the Dark Lord as Bellatrix was. She reached for the platter of toast and passed it to her sister, endeavoring not to ask anything of her sister.
But the sausages were in front of Bellatrix. She sighed imperceptibly. “The sausages, please,” she asked, her tone devoid of any emotion.
Bellatrix looked almost smug as she passed the plate of sausages. It was almost as if their father were there at the head of the table, neither of them daring to let on they were fuming. It gave her a sort of power to force her sister to behave in spite of her anger. She returned to her toast with a smirk still lingering in her eyes.
Voldemort, for his part, was none the wiser — not because he wouldn’t have been able to sense the tension between the two sisters, but because he didn’t particularly care about such things. He glanced at each of them before motioning to the large bowl in front of him. “Try the oatmeal,” he said. “Not too dry this morning.”
“I’m pleased you like it, my Lord,” Narcissa replied, glancing at Bellatrix. Her sister, she imagined, now wanted that oatmeal far more than she did, but she was going to get to it first. As politely as she could, she reached out and quickly snatched the bowl away before Bellatrix could. It was her turn to look smug as she slowly ladled oatmeal into her bowl.
“Yes, my Lord,” Bellatrix agreed, her eyes narrowing slightly. She didn’t particularly like oatmeal, but she needed to try it. Perhaps this particular recipe would surprise her. The Dark Lord had recommended it, after all. She was sure Narcissa was being deliberately slow about it, but she couldn’t keep her impatience from rising to the bait. “If Narcissa doesn’t eat it all, that is.”
Narcissa refused to rise to Bellatrix’s bait, but she did allow herself a very brief, very satisfying mental image in which she threw a spoonful of oatmeal at her sister. She took a demonstratively small spoonful of oatmeal, pausing to let Bellatrix see exactly why it was taking so long and slowly tipping it into her bowl. “I’m nearly finished,” she said.
A fleeting crease crossed Bellatrix’ forehead as she watched her sister and she almost forgot herself, opening her mouth to snap out a response. But from the head of the table, the Dark Lord scoffed. “The elf can cook more.”
“Of course, my Lord, clever as always,” Bellatrix said immediately, breathing out a hint of a girlish laugh as she sat back in her seat. She met Narcissa’s eye with a pointed smile. “This is why we serve you.”
If they hadn’t been sitting at the table with the Dark Lord, Narcissa might’ve devoted a moment to being concerned for her sister. Bellatrix didn’t need to simper over anyone. But they weren’t alone so she stared evenly back at Bellatrix for a moment before wordlessly passing her the bowl of oatmeal and turning her attention to her own.
The Dark Lord’s only acknowledgement of his follower’s praise was a noncommittal sound aimed at his bowl. Bellatrix knew better than to wait for more, so she took the bowl and busied herself with her breakfast, the rest of which passed in uncomfortable silence.
Bellatrix had never paid particular attention to what went on in the journals of people like Fred Weasley or Barnaby Snell. But occasionally, she stumbled upon a comment that was well worth the attention. For example, Snell’s suggestion that Narcissa had any control over Fenrir Greyback or his merry band of killer werewolves.
That one had had Bellatrix in stitches. As if Narcissa would ever lower herself to speaking to a werewolf.
Apparently, it had struck a comedic cord with Narcissa as well. She heard her sister’s voice before she saw her enter the room. Her mirth matched Bellatrix’s own and for a moment, their eyes met.
And that was enough to bring Bellatrix crashing back to her grudge.
She was still angry with Narcissa. The laughter died in her throat, and she turned her attention sharply back to the page she’d been reading.
Their not speaking was starting to wear on Narcissa, though. When she sat at the table, she crossed her arms over her middle for a beat until she realized how petulant that looked. She ignored Bellatrix as best she could and began to assemble her breakfast. First, the pot of coffee and then, the tray of pastries, summoning the tray’s intended serving tongs herself when they clattered to the table instead of calling for the house elf to do it.
Suddenly, Barnaby Snell didn’t seem so funny.
Narcissa snuck a glance at Bellatrix before quickly focusing on her knife and fork, tucking into her pastry.
As Narcissa glanced down, Bellatrix lifted her eyes to glance tentatively at her sister. After more than a week of silence, she was beginning to wonder if they’d ever speak again. For someone with few confidants, being at odds with her sister had made everything worse and more difficult to manage. She wanted to laugh at Snell’s idiocy, but instead she was left sulking down at her journal and the breakfast beside it.
Meanwhile, Narcissa was sinking deeper into her own insecurities. If Bellatrix could stay mad at her for this long, what did that say about her worry that her sister no longer cared about her? The Dark Lord seemed to matter more than she did and to watch it unfold in her own house was difficult, to say the least. They were Blacks. They were meant to be the best the wizarding world had to offer, not —
Narcissa stopped herself before she could cast her eyes towards the Dark Lord’s room and looked at Bellatrix again instead. Her fingers twitched around her fork and she opened her mouth, as if to speak, but she ate another bite of her pastry before anything could come out.
The compulsion to break the silence in the room was strong, but stubborn habit and pride kept Bellatrix from uttering a word as she stuffed her mouth with a piece of toast. She wished she could make Narcissa understand — she was fighting for her and for Draco as much as for her own glory. Her sister’s dismissiveness toward her loyalty may as well have been a dismissal of her entire life. Of her full stop.
She’d already had a sister betray her. What would be left if Narcissa abandoned her too?
Despite her laughter a moment earlier, a grim feeling settled over Bellatrix. She couldn’t sit through another breakfast in silence. So instead, she closed her journal, rose from her chair and left the room.
When Narcissa heard voices (plural!) coming from the dining room, she felt a very strange sense of relief. Breakfast had become a stressful affair in the weeks since she’d stopped talking to Bellatrix and it was almost always with apprehension that she stepped into the dining room for it these days.
Of course, Narcissa’s eyes immediately caught on Bellatrix this morning and her relief faded. Of course. She sat at what was her usual spot now and gave Rodolphus a tight smile. “Good morning, Rodolphus.” Her upper lip curled at her sister, though.
At the sight of Narcissa in the doorway, Bellatrix cut herself off mid-sentence and arranged her features into a scowl to greet her. She sat stiff-backed in her chair, looking as though her sister had just spit in her cereal. She may as well have. Bellatrix no longer had any appetite.
Rodolphus’ sigh was loud enough that, even if there had been anyone talking, it would have echoed around the room. He reached for his coffee and lifted the mug up, glancing at Narcissa and smiling in greeting, before he looked back at Bellatrix. He raised his eyebrows. “Good morning, Narcissa. Bellatrix was just telling me about her plans for the day — do you have any?”
“That’s nice,” Narcissa said, aiming a skeptical glance at Bellatrix as she reached for the coffee to pour herself her own mug. “I’m interviewing for the vacancy in obituaries. We had two, but one of them, ironically, was a muggleborn who didn’t check with his new ‘family’ before forging their name on his documents.”
Pressing a smile against the rim of his mug, Rodolphus said, leaning his shoulder into Bellatrix, “Sounds like he wanted to be six feet under himself.”
The corner of Bellatrix’s mouth twitched before she managed to suppress a grin — it didn’t suit the cold shoulder she’d been giving her sister to smile in her presence.
“Sounds like he did,” she said, lightly jabbing her elbow into Rodolphus’ side. She looked at Narcissa next, still holding onto the chill in her voice. She doubted Narcissa would speak to her anyway. “Good luck, then. I suspect obituaries will be very popular in the future, given how partial Rodolphus and I are to murder.”
Though taken aback, Narcissa’s face remained impassive and she only made a noncommittal sound as she surveyed the spread of food before her. She should’ve known her sister would make her very real problem about her! “And what are your plans for the day, Rodolphus?” she asked, settling on the tray of fruit directly in front of her.
Rodolphus considered the edge of his plate for a moment, brief, repetitive thoughts skittering through his head about how he could encourage the two of them to talk to each other. They weren’t new and Rodolphus, himself, wasn’t new to the sisters ignoring each other. Still. Lifting a hand to scratch at his jaw, he said, “Oh, I thought I might go fishing this afternoon. Far less stressful than interviewing, I imagine.”
As Narcissa speared a piece of melon with her fork, her eyes slid to Bellatrix out of habit, her eyebrows raised in amused skepticism. Fishing? When her eyebrows furrowed after a beat of realization, she looked briefly troubled instead of annoyed and her attention snapped back to Rodolphus. “That sounds criminally dull, but good luck with…I honestly don’t know. Do you summon the fish?”
Bellatrix didn’t miss the look on her sister’s face before angling a pointed one at Rodolphus. “Narcissa’s right — it sounds criminally dull. All the more dull when you consider you wait for the fish to come to you.”
“You wait for the fish to come to you?” Narcissa interjected, the appalled question ringing loudly in the dining room.
“As though he has all the time in the world and nothing better to do,” Bellatrix answered, shaking her head, before Rodolphus could defend himself.
Narcissa’s eyes darted to Bellatrix again and then back to Rodolphus. “We can buy you a fish if you want one so badly, Rodolphus.”
A small smile spread across Rodolphus’ face. He kept it deliberately a normal expression, nothing too encouraging. He didn’t want to scare either of them off, like they were skittish deer. “I’ve actually been thinking of singing to them,” he said, as if admitting a secret. “I figure if people can sing to their plants and helps with gardening, maybe it will help with fishing. You can’t sing to a pre-bought, already dead fish. Ruins it.”
“I've heard you sing,” Bellatrix said, leaning back in her seat to give her husband a look of bewildered scorn. “If you try singing to them all you'll have to sing at will be dead fish.”
Cutting herself off, she turned to her sister. “Narcissa,” she said, forgetting they weren't speaking. “Has he told you his latest absurd idea — skateboarding on snow, if you can believe that.”
Narcissa was so startled by the thought of singing to fish that she, too, forgot she wasn’t speaking with Bellatrix. “Skateboarding on snow?” she asked, slanting a concerned look at Rodolphus for a moment. “Skateboarding at all, honestly. Isn’t he much too old for that sort of thing?”
Rodolphus gasped, mock-affronted, and said, “You’re never too old for hobbies, Narcissa. I don’t think my age should mean I miss out on doing what I want to do, do you?”
“We’ll see if he’s still saying that when he falls and breaks a hip,” Bellatrix said, rolling her eyes.
“If he can manage to say anything once he falls and cracks his skull open,” Narcissa said, her nose wrinkled.
“Yes, lot of good he'll be to the Dark Lord then,” Bellatrix said, raising her eyebrows in Rodolphus’ direction. “I’m sure he'd be very impressed to find one of his most skilled followers took himself out while playing with muggle toys.”
Rodolphus shrugged and reached for his coffee again. It seemed to have magically refilled itself — then again, he did pay very little attention to the house elves. He took a sip of the bitter liquid and said, “Of course he would. I’m very spry; keeping myself fit for doing away with all those horrible mudblood sympathisers. Narcissa, have you tried gooseberry jam? I don’t think Bellatrix loves it as much as I do.”
Narcissa’s mouth twisted in amusement and she glanced at Bellatrix again. “Spry?” she asked, altogether ignoring his question and hiding a laugh behind her hand.
Bellatrix found herself laughing along with her sister for the first time in several weeks. “Does fishing keep you spry, then?”
“It’s an intense workout,” Rodolphus said, with a grin. He tried not to feel a little pleased with himself as he listened to the two women laughing. “Really works my arms and defines them.”
“Rodolphus, that’s ridiculous,” Narcissa said, still laughing. “Fishing!“
“Next he’ll say golfing counts as exercise,” Bellatrix said, inclining her head toward Narcissa. “At least there’s some benefit to horseback riding. He should stick to that.”
Narcissa gave one last laugh and considered encouraging the horseback riding, pointing out that maybe it would inspire him to move back home. But she bit her tongue and, after giving Rodolphus one last look of skepticism, turned to Bellatrix. “What were your plans for the day, Bellatrix? Not fishing, I hope.”
“Wasting my time, you mean? No, of course not,” she answered with a smug glance in her husband’s direction. “I thought I might pay the Wandless a visit, actually. I’ve heard they’re starving and I’m sure they’d enjoy a late breakfast. My special ingredient is to die for.”
“Oh, how nice,” Narcissa said, managing not to wrinkle her nose this time. “I’m looking forward to hearing Lupin complain about that.” She took a beleaguered bite of melon and sighed. When the conversation carried on, it was one of the most pleasant ones the dining room had seen in weeks.