“Lily! We are not having this conversation again! I can’t just…use your husband, like he’s some kind of prize stud horse!”
“Why not?” Lily Potter replied calmly, with a shrug. “Muggles do it all the time.”
“Because!” Narcissa sputtered, scandalized, though she kept her tone lone and her movements steady as she took a calming sip of tea.
Witches of the blood always conduct themselves with decorum and grace. Her mother’s haughty, crisp voice lectured in the back of her mind. No matter the circumstance or news.
Ophelia Black obviously had never had an acquaintance like Lilian Evans-Potter to deal with, Narcissa thought resignedly, although with a glimmer of reluctant amusement. Sometimes she believed that the vibrant Muggleborn witch said outrageous things just to try to get a reaction out of her, although in this case she could see that the redhead was deadly serious.
Even after over a year of working together, the blonde still wasn’t quite sure what to call her fellow mediwitch. Co-worker was the most obvious choice, but she had become more than that. Former class mate and fellow graduate of the class of ’76 from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, though they might as well have gone to rival schools for all that they actually associated with each other; at most they could possibly claim a mutual, vague, ‘friend of a friend’ relationship, but even then that wouldn’t have applied at school. Lily had been in the same year as Narcissa at Hogwarts, and a brave and bold Gryffindor to boot. Narcissa Black, on the other hand, had been her absolute opposite – pureblood Slytherin princess, almost literally; as the youngest daughter of one of the oldest wizarding families in the magical world, the Blacks could claim lineage leading back to the royal blood of Britain. Lily, by contrast, was a Muggleborn witch, which meant that her parents – and possibly her grandparents on one side – had no magical ability whatsoever.
It was below the dignity of a Black daughter to associate with someone of such common, peasant, low born lineage, but Lily had ended up dating and eventually marrying James Potter, who, although he was very much a brash Gryffindor as well, also came from a pureblood family on par with the Blacks, as well as actually being a blood relation directly. James and Narcissa’s cousin, Sirius, had been best friends from their first meeting and thus inseparable, so James was there for the various family gatherings, parties, and celebrations. All young pureblood witches and wizards were required to attend the same lessons of etiquette and social decorum, dancing, airs and graces, and the other useful things lords and ladies needed to know to effectively run a household and make a successful marriage.
Step one: produce an heir, Narcissa thought sourly. Even though James had mucked it up by choosing to take a Muggleborn to wife, their child would still be a half blood of decent magical ability, strength, and heritage. Of course, that was due to James’s lineage, not Lily’s, but even she could see what had attracted James to the other witch-even if she was prone to saying absolutely wicked things without a shred of decent modesty.
Which brought her full circle and back to the redhead in question now patiently sipping her drink, emerald green eyes sparkling with amusement as she waited for Narcissa to process her thoughts. She deliberately took a sip of her coffee, closing her eyes in bliss as Narcissa’s lip curled slightly. “Don’t say it.” the redhead warned without opening her eyes. “I can be British and still enjoy coffee more than tea. Coffee is what got us through our magic medical boards last year. Do not insult the coffee. And don’t be bitchy because you might actually be considering my suggestion.”