Pairing: Narcissa/Molly.

Rating: R.

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Characters owned by J.K. Rowling.

Summary: It's hard to be a good Hufflepuff when you know in your heart of hearts that you were born to be a Slytherin. A young Narcissa hovers on the brink; a seemingly hopeless love may pull her into the light, or push her further into the bitter darkness. Precanon Molly Weasley/Narcissa Malfoy femmeslash.

Note: Setting returns to Hogwarts.

:part four - resignation:

"Can I speak to you, Narcissa, please?"

Narcissa glanced up from her work into the age-crinkled face of her Muggle Studies Professor and Head of House. She could feel curious gazes from around the room, as the other students wondered what Perfect Narcissa could have done wrong.

"Yes, Professor Profuse," she said obediently, closing her book and rising to follow her teacher. Molly sneaked out a hand to pat an arm reassuringly, and Narcissa sent her a warm look in return. It gave her a barely tangible and quickly repressed buzz of happiness to be touched so casually.

Profuse snapped a brusque order to the others to remain working, and Narcissa followed him into his own small office. She remained standing as the old man heaved his bulk into his chair.

"Narcissa Hanover," the professor said heavily, and then was silent. Despite his extreme age and excessive weight, the old man would have been quite intimidating, if Narcissa was at all the kind to be intimidating. The level stare and unwavering silence began to unnerve even the normally unshakeably self-possessed girl.

"Is something wrong with my work, Professor?" she asked at last, to break the silence.

"No, Narcissa, your work is exemplary, as always. You are a very talented student, after all. I suppose you are aware that we are expecting your final results to be outstanding?"

Narcissa didn't see why she should prevaricate about it. "Of course, sir. I study hard." One slim shoulder lifted and dropped.

"Yes, you always do. A credit to your House, in fact… Quite the little hardworking Hufflepuff, aren't you, my dear?"

Narcissa couldn't repress a wince, and Profuse's amber-brown eyes glistened with amusement. "But my dear, of course. As we have told you repeatedly, the Sorting Hat never makes a mistake. Dedication and perseverance are definitely Hufflepuff traits."

"Then what exactly is the problem?" Narcissa usually restrained herself from snapping at teachers but she was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable.

"Narcissa… Are you happy at Hogwarts?"

She shrugged. "Not particularly." She bunched her robes in each fists.

He sighed. "Still in purgatory, then, Narcissa? I'm sorry."

"So am I."

But it was true that this, her final term, had been… better. Her engagement to Lucius had forever guaranteed her status among Syltherin friends that, until that point, she had secretly feared had barely tolerated the Hufflepuff among them. Lucius – handsome, of the ancient and pure-blooded Malfoys, the glamour of his school career still hanging over him – was undeniably a catch to be envied. And she, Hufflepuff or no Hufflepuff, had caught him, while still a schoolgirl. Narcissa had enjoyed the slightly malicious mixture of envy and admiration her diamond had caused.

She had enjoyed, most of all, Bethany flaming into sudden hatred. Something about Bethany, with her artificially black hair and pallid makeup and general aping of a (hopefully) attractive corpse, offended Narcissa's sense of what was right about the world. Someone who had been assigned to Slytherin should be… content… not need to prove with powder and paint just how bad she really was. There was something essentially unconvincing about Bethany's self-conscious wickedness. And sometimes… just sometimes… the cold, watching consciousness inside Narcissa's head asked her if she and Bethany were really any different. She hated the thought – all the more so because Bethany had always been the closest thing to a real friend she ever truly had. So Bethany's clear jealousy and resentment had been a small satisfaction.

The larger satisfaction had been, of course, when Bethany came crawling back.

Still, it was not enough to balance out her hatred of the place. The lack of privacy, the other students… everything.

There was no need to say any of this. She had a horrible feeling her Head of House already knew.

Profuse slowly inclined that great, heavy, wrinkled head. "While you would not know it from our propaganda, Hogwarts is not the place for everyone. The conditions at Durmstrang would, perhaps, have been too – rough and ready – for your tastes, but I have no doubt that you would have fitted better in at Beauxbatons. It would, however, have been a waste of your intellectual ability to send you to a mere fashionable college. Your mother judged well. Hogwarts was really the only place for you. I regret, however, that you have found living here so difficult." He paused. "You must agree in any case, Narcissa, that your own attitude has largely contributed to your own unhappiness."

Narcissa stared pointedly into space.

He flicked a fingernail. "I understand that it is important to youth to believe it is particularly unique and special. As it may be, I have still been glad to see that you have at last formed a friendship with Molly Weasley."

Narcissa at last flushed. Molly…

Narcissa had been cravenly dreading seeing the little redhead as much as she had longed for her. It was… humiliating, to encounter your unrequited love once the beloved had found out your affection and unequivocally rejected you. But the ring on her finger had given her confidence. Flaunting it was flaunting her independence from her own messy emotions. Everything was sorted out now, her life and future in their proper compartments.

Molly had greeted her eagerly, all sweetness and light, obviously only too willing to cancel out the embarrassments of painful memories. And then she had noticed the ring…

It was a beautiful ring, and did credit to Lucius' taste and sense of what was fitting. A slender platinum band, hand-wrought, with a single huge, perfect white diamond set into the centre, the band itself studded with black diamond chips. It was expensive and delicate, a thing of beauty. Narcissa would catch herself turning her hand in the light to make the central diamond flash, with the darker glimmers of the black diamonds, and lose herself in its wonder for a moment…

Only to remember what it symbolised, and put her hand behind her.

But she was glad to wear it. It was the sign of her choice… A visible display of her fate.

She had shown it to Molly while searching the girl's face with her eyes. Molly had reacted much as she had thought… Pleasure and congratulations mixed with uncertainty, that the girl she had been worrying about eating her heart out over her had found someone else so quickly. She was biting her full lower lip, obviously on the point of asking, but not feeling safe to voice the highly personal questions. All she did ask, in the end, was who the lucky… person… was.

Narcissa hadn't really expected her to recognise the name. Lucius was well enough known among her Slytherin friends and her own rank of society… but a Weasley? She wasn't expecting Molly's face to change with distress.

"*Him*? Oh, Cissy..."

"What exactly is wrong with Lucius Malfoy?" Narcissa had asked, her hauteur undermined by curiosity and a certain delight that Molly was showing so much concern for her welfare. "He is of impeccable lineage, after all."

"He and Arthur… Oh, I can't talk about it. It's not my secret…Why Narcissa, really – do you really love him, honey?" There was a quite adorable crease between her brows.

But she had mentioned the wrong name. Narcissa had felt the frost slick back over soul.

"You know perfectly well who I love. And it is irrelevant. I must do the best I can under painful circumstances. And in the end… it will be better for me, don't you agree?"

Molly looked at her with hurt, troubled eyes. "I can't believe Malfoy is better for anybody… Oh, don't be mad, Cissy." An arm slipped through hers. "I want this term to be better for us both… And after all, there's time enough," she had added, quietly.

Narcissa had felt some of the frost melt at the girlish touch. And, oddly enough, from then it had been… different. From some unspoken understanding – although Narcissa was sure Molly had asked Karen and Isis to back off – she was in the curious position of being someone's "best friend." Possibly it wasn't normal to ache quite so much over your best friend at night, as she did over Molly's elusively earthy sweetness. But any resulting pain was nothing compared to the strange pleasure of having someone always by your side, an affectionate giving presence.

Of course that, she realised later, was exactly what Molly had always offered her. It was her own fault that she had rejected it at first, only to greedily grasp for more after her first real taste. Every so often she felt little unaccustomed pinpricks of guilt at how eagerly the red-headed girl had accepted her uneasy offer of friendship. Wrapped up in her superior isolation, sneering at Isis and Karen's girlishly chummy companionship, it had never occurred to her that someone as easygoing and giving as Molly might have felt left out as well.

And it had all been precious – so precious. It was a humiliating thing to admit to yourself that

Now… she smiled into Profuse's face, as if the whole subject wasn't chaos and aching sweetness to her. "Molly is a good friend," she said neutrally.

"I'm more glad than I could say, Narcissa, if you have started to relate to others a little." His eyes were far too intelligent, but she was not weak enough to waver. "But it doesn't solve the central problem… What are you r plans after leaving Hogwarts? Have you considered a career? With your talents…"

She raised her hand, let the diamond's gleam carol its song in the tawdry room.

"Ah, yes. Lucius Malfoy – I had heard." Profuse shifted in his seat. "Do you not feel that it is a waste of your talents, to see marriage as your only career?"

"I feel that it is not my teacher's business," she said coolly.

"You are perhaps right." He did not seem embarrassed. "But it is the duty of the Head of the House to look after the welfare of its students… Narcissa, may I be honest with you?"

"I would question why you felt you had to be anything else."

"Then, Narcissa, you know little about the job of caring for children – for a child you still are, my girl." There was a long, ponderous silence, but Narcissa was not to be made uneasy so simply. She waited, her surface tranquil, a blonde, expressionless beauty. At last he said, "Prediction is an uncertain science at best, as you know. If there is darkness, it would seem to be around you, but intimately concerning you – at this stage, Narcissa, it is still your choice whether it is something you embrace or choose to deal with in other ways. You are intelligent enough, I feel, to take my meaning."

She could feel anger gathering in her soul. Interfering old man… That he should suggest such things, on such a shaky and intangible ground as a foretelling, was impossibly impudent. She hated this school, hated the fact that this man could make her stay and listen, for no reason other than the accident that he was employed as a teacher. She could feel her middle fingernails slice into the tender underskin of her thumbs. "I would not make a very good Auror, I fear," she said with measured sweetness.

"No." His mouth quirked at the corner, between sadness and amusement, and her nails ground more deeply into her thumbs. She should be careful, or she would make herself bleed. "But perhaps, despite your difficulties in relating to other people, you might make an adequate teacher. You are a brilliant and hardworking student, after all. And the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts here… Well, by the time you were ready to accept it, it is likely that it would be open."

There was a long silence, as she attempted to regain some control over herself. When she spoke, her voice was as pretty and inflexible as Lucius' diamond.

"I would rather die than spend a year more than I had to in this place."

"Very well." His sigh was almost as heavy as he was, but Profuse did not seem unduly surprised. "Have it as you will. There are difficult and dark times ahead, that much is clear… and we can't always save all of you, even in Hufflepuff. It is a pity, but… You are dismissed, Miss Hanover."

She turned and practically ran out of the room, closer to losing control than she had been in all her years at Hogwarts. How dare he… As if she needed some fat old Hufflepuff male to choose her future! Save her… the idea…

She ran flat into the arms of a small, plump girl. "Cissy! Are you alright?"

Her turmoil faded instantly, replaced by the unavoidable fact that Molly had her arms around her. The champagne tingle of involuntary lust was by now almost familiar enough to no longer be entirely unwanted. "I'm fine…" On an impulse, she leaned forward just a little, and deposited a kiss on Molly's round cheek. The other girl flushed with pleasure. "Thank you for asking."

"I care about you, you know that." How could Molly say such things with so little seeming effort or embarrassment? How could it be so easy for her?

"Yes. I do."

They turned towards their next class, arms still loosely linked. Lucius' diamond flashed against the dull black of Molly's robes. Narcissa watched it all the way to Potions.