She didn’t dream of becoming a Healer or a Death Eater, an Auror or a spy.
She didn’t dream of serving the Dark Lord.
She didn’t dream of marrying a rich pureblood and living in a mansion.
Her dreams were different. She dreamed of throwing herself into the heavens and soaring high in it with the wings she hid. She dreamed of seeing lush green fields and being able to run over them with not a care of who followed her. She wanted to be her own, a speck in a clear sky.
She didn’t want to be in a damp cell, imprisoned by cruel, steel chains. She didn’t want to hear cold voices wherever she went. But this was what she was.
And yet, Narcissa dreamed and she knew she would as long as she lived.