Written for success challenge on the Dark Lords Most Faithful forum, and exactly 1,500 words.

"The challenge is to focus on success. It can be success as achieved, observed, failed at or anything else. However, you choose to interpret success."

The first duty of a female Pureblood is to produce heirs, preferably male ones. That's what was drummed into me during my childhood, the need to marry a respectable Pureblood boy, and have a nice batch of children. I never thought of disobeying; it was bad enough that I was a girl, I didn't want to disappoint my parents any more then I had by being born. It's different now, of course, with the idea of women having status of their own, but when I was a child I was simply a tool to advance the future and creditability of my family. I did not disappoint them, and my engagement to Cygnus Black was a success; Blacks were high ranking in Pureblood nobility. Nobody was too upset after my first child was a girl, because Bellatrix had the look of a true Black. Boys would come later, they said, and as long it there was a boy eventually, who cared if the eldest was female? But boys did not come, only two more girls. Andromeda was not too much of a disappointment, being rather like her elder sister in looks and behavior, but by the time Narcissa came around all thoughts of future success vanished from me, leaving in its place a dull ache. Narcissa was a failure from the start, blond fuzz and blue eyes, exactly the opposite from my two violet eyed, dark demons. She was the opposite of a Black, and at first holding her repulsed me, her pink smile made me flinch. I knew from the start that I could not name her in the tradition of the family, the thought of bestowing on her a name such as the one I had originally intended – Maia – would feel to me like treason. I named her Narcissa instead, hoping in my heart that she'd be the last of my failed attempts, and knowing that she'd never amount to anything, because how could she, with a name like that? I did not blame myself for labeling her as an outcast at birth, but for conceiving her in the first place. No matter what I called her she would never truly be a Black, I thought.

I watched them grow, these three sisters, hoping that I had not failed as completely as I thought. Girls were bad, yes, but not the end of the world, and times were changing. Would it be so bad if they married respectably and birthed sons? However, I envied Walburga, with her two boys, it seemed like she was mocking me for not performing the most basic duty of a Pureblood wife. I taught them everything a Black must know, cruelty, pride, duty. I taught them how to hide emotion, to never be afraid, to think always of the greater good of the family and to hide any pain. And while teaching them and punishing them, I tried my best to prepare them for the duty to the family they must be raised to do. If they failed, it was us who would be dishonored, the Blacks who would fall.

Even they did not know the extent to which I watched them, scrutinized them, searching for any little failures, imperfections. And at first, I found none. Bellatrix was the perfect Black, proud, commanding, with great beauty and a blaze of power and untrained skill. Andromeda was pretty, yes, but in a different way then her sister, softer and warmer. She was powerful to, tidy and more compassionate then I would have like her, but I was sure she would grow out of it. Even I had to admit that Narcissa was not utterly hopeless. Although in looks she was as different from her sisters as the stars are from the moon, she was not ugly. She was quite pretty, cold, icy beauty that pinched at your heart and made you turn away. She was as utterly emotionless as I could have hoped for, obedient, and clever too, almost as much as her sister. I began to think that maybe my youngest would catch up to her elder sisters, close that gap in prestige that had been formed at birth and built by her looks and name.

It did not take me long to realize that Andromeda was not like her sisters. She cried sometimes, if she found a dead or wounded animal, unlike Bellatrix, who laughed, or Narcissa, who did not care as long as it did not affect her. She did not understand the filth of mudbloods, could not comprehend why they were so low, so primitive and dirty. She did not see that being a Black made you better stronger, cleverer. I realized that she would never amount to anything. It was her, not Narcissa, who would fail me. But she was smart enough not to make her differences known. I taught her well, and when she at last went off to Hogwarts she knew enough that nobody would ever guess at the real gap between sisters. Well, I thought to myself. Two out of three is not to bad, look at Walburga. Walburga, whose boy Sirius had turned out to be as hopeless as his cousin, sorted into Gryffindor, even. I pitied her shame, of course, as it shamed all us Blacks, but was relieved when all of my daughters were where they belonged in Slytherin. According to Bellatrix, the hat had almost put Andromeda in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff (Bellatrix knew not to even mention Gryffindor). It was disturbing to know that my daughter was not a true Slytherin at heart, but as long as it appeared that way it was fine with me. Our secrets remained our secrets.

But not for long, and we did what we had to do with Andromeda, I shall not speak of her again. She was my daughter, but she was not a Black, much as she looked like one. Let it be known that although we pride family, we have no qualms about cutting all ties with one of our own when she broke the rules and shamed us all. What I felt about disowning her did not matter, she was a failure and soon we learned to live with it. Still two out of three, I thought. I knew it from the start.

My greatest pride was the marriages of my daughters, a Malfoy and a Lestrange were good matches, and I was as proud as I had ever been. At last something I had done was successful. But pride turned to fear as I saw that my eldest had no intentions of being a good wife, and her only feelings toward children were scorn and hate. Supporting the Dark Lord was fine, for he was our new hope, our future, but I never wanted her to join. It seemed like too much. To support him from afar was fine and respectable – just look at Narcissa – but joining was over the top. Again I pitied Walburga, whose one out of two had become Zero with the death of Regulus and betrayal of Sirius. But my Bellatrix did not die, indeed, she rose up high and stayed there. She was to loyal to her Lord, too twisted with darkness even for a Black. What had been Pride and Power and Blackness in her teen years was now uncontrollable, the values and traditions of the Purebloods tainted by her. It was a fine line Bella walked, and I worried that she would soon cross onto the wrong side. Bellatrix had seemed the model daughter, but while a love of killing and darkness was fine – encouraged, even – baring heirs must take president. And for her it did not. She was loyal to her family, to us, yes, but too loyal, too rash and destructive. Her first loyalty was to him, I was sure. My eldest was in all outward respects a true Black – more, even, with her determination to kill muggles, and hate of blood filth - , but in my heart it was not enough. There was more to it then she knew. As long as she had no children, she would forever be shamed. She was no perfect success, my eldest, only the façade of one.

It was Narcissa who surprised us all. In her marriage and in her son were all the things I had ever wanted for my daughters. She was a model Black, cruel and prideful and successful. She was all the others were not, all I had tried to teach them to be. With her, I had not failed. I had been wrong about her, She was as much a Black as Bellatrix, more, even. She had a son, the long awaited male heir, and was the talk of the city with her beauty and sharp tongue, her cool demeanor. Whatever happened behind her cool façade was beside the point; Blackness takes its toll on all of us.

Two out of three, I thought. Not bad. Not bad at all.