Actual Lily/Narcissa, no joke
Nov. 30th, 2002 11:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
petroniaNot the passage I would have chosen, but it seems to be the only one that makes sense at the moment. :/ I wanted to give you a look at what I've been up to, is all, and I don't much feel the need for secrecy with this'un.
(I have an odd fondness for mom!slash, but absolutely no one ever does it except CLAMP. CLAMP is cool.)
"We'll have to walk," Narcissa said. "I wanted to hire a trap, but there isn't one to be had, really."
"All right. I don't mind."
"It's a couple of miles. We'll have to hurry to make it before sundown." The breeze rose again, teasing Narcissa's hair. She brushed wisps out of her face absentmindedly. There were flowers tangled in it, Lily noticed with a start; wildflowers, pinks and snapdragons and long runners of strawberry dotted with white star-shaped blossoms. The white dress was immaculate, but there was a faint tracery of sun-freckles along the other girl's haughty cheekbones, and a streak of dirt on the back of her hand. All of a sudden it felt like looking at a different Narcissa, the one who had never quite been there at school. Lily had intuited something like this, and it jolted her to realise that this stranger was no closer, no more attuned to Lily's reality than the elegant self-enclosed creature who'd shared her Transfiguration bench. Her heart skipped once, in conflict.
"All right," she said, and bent to pick up her satchel. Glad of the way it swung in her hand, weighed down with familiar things. Narcissa had already turned away and was setting off down the path.
They walked in silence. The path meandered, seemingly arbitrarily, through groves of poplars and neglected pastures; at times no more than a set of weedy cart grooves carved into the chalky soil, brush and heather on either side tall enough to obscure the distance. Lily's sensibly-soled shoes crunched on the gravel as she walked, and the sound seemed loud to her in the late-afternoon hush. Narcissa's footfall was utterly noiseless. The air was warm and hazy and smelt of honey.
The shadows were lengthening by the time Lily was able to distinguish the murmur of running water, somewhere close by. "A stream," she said softly, half to herself. Narcissa glanced at her for the first time in hours.
"It's just over the other side," she said. They crested a small hill, and Lily gazed down the slope, catching her breath.
It was not a manor. Not even a country house, really. It was a stone cottage, squat and thatch-roofed - though that was less of an oddity in the wizarding world - and half-overgrown with ivy. The stream wended along the foot of the hill, curving around the narrow swathe of tended grass surrounding the house, and disappeared into a dense thicket of trees beyond. Lily thought it looked like an orchard, left long ago to run wild. The rays of the setting sun glittered on the darkly running water.
"Irismere," Narcissa said. She started off down the hill. Lily hesitated, the space of one last glance, then followed.
The path lead up to a weatherworn covered bridge, and thence to the cottage door. Rushes grew along the water, and - yes - banks of early-blooming iris, lavender and white and violet-blue. Other flowers too, in what Lily could see of the garden, low-growing tangles spilling from their beds: lavender, sweet william, lily-of-the-valley. The untrimmed hedges were a tangle of purple vetch and wild columbine. Rambling rose clung to the stones with the ivy. The air was laden with scent.
"It's beautiful," she said, pausing at the gate. Narcissa lifted the latch and smiled. With one hand she broke off a long trailing tendril of vetch and draped it over Lily's windblown hair. It felt obscurely like a gesture of welcome, and Lily's heart skipped a beat again.
"Come in," Narcissa said, and swung the gate inward.
(I have an odd fondness for mom!slash, but absolutely no one ever does it except CLAMP. CLAMP is cool.)
"We'll have to walk," Narcissa said. "I wanted to hire a trap, but there isn't one to be had, really."
"All right. I don't mind."
"It's a couple of miles. We'll have to hurry to make it before sundown." The breeze rose again, teasing Narcissa's hair. She brushed wisps out of her face absentmindedly. There were flowers tangled in it, Lily noticed with a start; wildflowers, pinks and snapdragons and long runners of strawberry dotted with white star-shaped blossoms. The white dress was immaculate, but there was a faint tracery of sun-freckles along the other girl's haughty cheekbones, and a streak of dirt on the back of her hand. All of a sudden it felt like looking at a different Narcissa, the one who had never quite been there at school. Lily had intuited something like this, and it jolted her to realise that this stranger was no closer, no more attuned to Lily's reality than the elegant self-enclosed creature who'd shared her Transfiguration bench. Her heart skipped once, in conflict.
"All right," she said, and bent to pick up her satchel. Glad of the way it swung in her hand, weighed down with familiar things. Narcissa had already turned away and was setting off down the path.
They walked in silence. The path meandered, seemingly arbitrarily, through groves of poplars and neglected pastures; at times no more than a set of weedy cart grooves carved into the chalky soil, brush and heather on either side tall enough to obscure the distance. Lily's sensibly-soled shoes crunched on the gravel as she walked, and the sound seemed loud to her in the late-afternoon hush. Narcissa's footfall was utterly noiseless. The air was warm and hazy and smelt of honey.
The shadows were lengthening by the time Lily was able to distinguish the murmur of running water, somewhere close by. "A stream," she said softly, half to herself. Narcissa glanced at her for the first time in hours.
"It's just over the other side," she said. They crested a small hill, and Lily gazed down the slope, catching her breath.
It was not a manor. Not even a country house, really. It was a stone cottage, squat and thatch-roofed - though that was less of an oddity in the wizarding world - and half-overgrown with ivy. The stream wended along the foot of the hill, curving around the narrow swathe of tended grass surrounding the house, and disappeared into a dense thicket of trees beyond. Lily thought it looked like an orchard, left long ago to run wild. The rays of the setting sun glittered on the darkly running water.
"Irismere," Narcissa said. She started off down the hill. Lily hesitated, the space of one last glance, then followed.
The path lead up to a weatherworn covered bridge, and thence to the cottage door. Rushes grew along the water, and - yes - banks of early-blooming iris, lavender and white and violet-blue. Other flowers too, in what Lily could see of the garden, low-growing tangles spilling from their beds: lavender, sweet william, lily-of-the-valley. The untrimmed hedges were a tangle of purple vetch and wild columbine. Rambling rose clung to the stones with the ivy. The air was laden with scent.
"It's beautiful," she said, pausing at the gate. Narcissa lifted the latch and smiled. With one hand she broke off a long trailing tendril of vetch and draped it over Lily's windblown hair. It felt obscurely like a gesture of welcome, and Lily's heart skipped a beat again.
"Come in," Narcissa said, and swung the gate inward.
