DISCLAIMER: I, sadly, am not Queen Rowling, so therefore none of these lovely characters are mine. All I own is the computer I'm typing on.

Narcissa sat in her bedroom, shaking, unable to stop tears from flowing down her cheeks. Downstairs she could hear the soft hiss of the Dark Lord's voice, punctuated at intervals by Bellatrix's low murmur and occasionally a word or two from Draco. This couldn't be happening, surely she must be having some kind of awful nightmare—Draco could not be receiving the Mark, not at sixteen, not after what had happened to his father.

"It's an honor, Cissy," Bellatrix had breathed, eyes alight. "You should be so proud that the Dark Lord is willing to initiate Draco at such a young age. And to give him such a task—why, not even Lucius would be entrusted to perform that which is being asked of Draco."

But it was a trap, Narcissa knew it. What reason could the Dark Lord possibly have for entrusting the murder of Albus Dumbledore to a boy? And if Draco failed, which he was sure to do—Narcissa had to smother a cry, clamping her hand over her lips. No. Not after losing her husband; she needed Draco….

I wish Andromeda was here.

Unbidden the thought crossed her mind, and a second later the blonde felt shock and surprise pounding through her veins. That name had not been uttered by anyone in years, so many that Narcissa had lost track. She had trained herself not to think, to forget that the House of Black had once claimed three sisters instead of two. To forget Andromeda's smile, her laugh and her voice, the warmth of her arms as she held her little sister after a storm or a bad dream…

A scrap of memory tickled the back of Narcissa's brain. She frowned, tugging at it, trying to remember. For the first time in uncounted years—to remember her lost sister. Slowly, as if struggling up from the murky depths, a song began dancing softly through time. As the seconds passed, it became clearer and clearer, until Andromeda's voice crooned softly in Narcissa's ear. "Shush, Cissy, don't be afraid. It will be all right. I'm here; Meda's here, you're okay…"

Slowly Narcissa wrapped her arms around herself, closing her eyes. She could almost feel Andromeda's body against hers, soft brown hair tickling her skin and the scent of vanilla enveloping her like a wreath. "It's okay, Cissy, don't be afraid. I'm right here…"

But for the first time, Andromeda lied.

It was very quiet at the cemetery. Narcissa blinked back the familiar wetness in her eyes as she walked between the rows of her ancestors, ones who had borne the noble name of Black long before she was even thought of. Crystal-blue eyes searched out the back row, looking for a marker as dark as night. Dark as the heart of the woman it stood guard over.

At first Narcissa thought her eyes were tricking her in the dim evening light. As she drew nearer, however, her first impression was confirmed: Someone was standing at Bella's grave. The blonde's first thought was that someone was trying to deface it, but whoever it was made no movement. They simply stared at the ebony headstone, posture almost painfully rigid. Then, as Narcissa watched, the stranger let out a cry and fell to the ground. Head tilting forward, thick copper curls spilled out of the hood of the figure's cloak, glinting like polished Knuts. Narcissa's heart stopped; she knew instantly who was there—and, more importantly, why. Meda.

Unconsciously she walked up to Andromeda but then stopped mere inches away, hesitant, wondering if the shattered woman before her would lash out if Narcissa attempted to reach her. But then Andromeda's shoulders heaved as a cracked sob burst from her throat, and before Narcissa knew what was happening, she was on her knees with her arms around her sister—her only sister now—holding her so tight it was a wonder the elder didn't smother.

Looking back, it was a miracle Andromeda didn't push Narcissa away, at the very least. But Andromeda was alone, alone and broken and hurting. At the moment, her rage and grief only had one target. A target she had known from the day she was born; someone who had once laughed with her and joked with her, argued over pointless things (and later, things so important Narcissa would have never imagined); someone who had protected them both before her soul sold itself to darkness. "DAMN YOU!" Andromeda screamed into the winter skies. Narcissa winced but kept her hold as Andromeda's fingers dug into her coat. "I hate you….I hate you….I hate you." Over and over Andromeda snarled into Narcissa's chest, but as the minutes ticked away her words became softer and softer. Then, almost too softly to be heard, she whimpered—the sounds tore at Narcissa's already-aching heart—"Bella…."

The action came automatically. As Andromeda's tears began anew, Narcissa rested her head atop her sister's and began to stroke the smooth copper curls, eyes drifting half-shut. "Shh, Meda, shh. It's all right." Her voice cracked and she had to blink back her own tears. "I'm here, it's all right."

But it wasn't all right, and never would be again.

AN: I originally planned to have Narcissa and Andromeda after the Battle, but then I remembered I'd already written that story. So I changed it to Bellatrix's grave. Please review!