Perfection

Perfection

I am perfect.

For those who say perfection doesn't exist, I am living proof that they are wrong.

Do I feel conceited for saying so? No, not really. After all, facts are indisputable.

With my long, silky silver-blonde hair and baby-blue eyes, my beauty is apparent to anyone. My skills in classes are rarely surpassed. I have already been made a prefect, and the position of Head Girl is almost as good as mine. I have charmed the most desirable Slytherin pureblood in school and from sources I shall not mention, know for fact that he will be proposing to me before the year is over. My family has both wealth and prestige, and I've been pampered from birth. My manners, grace and talent make me the diamond of the family; not even my two sisters, jealous as they might be, can deny that. I've been trained in art and dancing, business and cunning, femininity and posture--just about everything a proper little pureblood princess ought to know to uphold her family pride.

Like I said, I am perfect.

Or so I always believed.

So everyone always believed.

Because I cannot and dare not confess that from some time ago--a vague time period transcending through my blooming teenage years--certain uneasiness began to threaten my picture-perfect life. I suppose that if I absolutely had to state a clear time though, I would have to say it started when I was fifteen.

The summer after my fifth year, on the train ride home, I happened to cross the path of a certain redheaded Mudblood. I didn't know her quite so well, she being one year younger than me, but I instantly hated her, if only for her House colours. Well, that, and her growing reputation for being quite a brilliant little witch (I couldn't understand praising a Mudblood, no matter how well she's learned her lessons).

Typically, I shouldn't have even spared her a glance, but then the tears caught my attention. Silent, liquid droplets were coursing down her fair cheeks, spilling out of those unnaturally green eyes. She was standing outside a compartment, head down, crying. In all truths she looked utterly pathetic.

"Lily! There you are!"

Coming our way were several of what I assumed to be her friends. Sensing intrusion, I quickly walked past them, keeping an elegant pose. When I looked back, mildly interested, a little jolt hit me as I saw them embracing the redhead, calling out in soothing voices to her until she managed to crack a small smile in return. I don't know why that scene stuck out to me. After all, I'd seen girls do this very often, especially in the bathrooms (which I found to be a strange choice of seclusion and solace), but there was something there I couldn't comprehend. Warmth that seemed alien and frightening, yet strangely inviting emanated from them. At the time I thought nothing beyond that fleeting introspection, telling myself that I was imagining things.

Once more back in my own compartment, though, where Bellatrix and several of my other companions were sitting, a strange musing passed through my mind. I wondered then when was the last time anyone had comforted me like that. Mother and Father used to, when I was small, but ever since school began I had lived by my expectations. I could not remember the last time anyone had hugged me--except for Lucius--and that only as another expectation of us, being a couple and all.

These thoughts, brief as they were, nettled me, and I felt disappointed in myself for even considering them. As a member of the most ancient and noble House of Black, I shouldn't be indulging in such pointless ponderings; there were much more pressing matters to mind, after all.

Crying was a form of weakness, and one must learn to hide them; the Mudblood was obviously too weak to be able to conceal it, and that lent me a feeling of superiority towards her (I shouldn't have felt inferior in the first place!). If such warmth came only to weak people, then I wanted none of it.

~*~*~*~

The remaining time on the train passed quickly, as did summer. Before I knew it I was back at Hogwarts, and the warm days brought by the winds of the south had fanned from my mind the trivial uncertainties of my heart. September rolled in with crisp air, new robes, and N.E.W.T. classes. The day-to-day schedule of my life settled in, and I strove to please my parents with everything I did. Everyday found me functioning like a robot, programmed precisely to be perfect. And I liked it that way.

But there was just one minor glitch in the programming.

"Narcissa, there's a prefects meeting in five minutes! Aren't you going to get ready?"

Inwardly, I couldn't help but groan. I had never dreaded meetings before, but ever since that initial shock following the discovery that the Mudblood had been made prefect as well... That same Mudblood I had seen on the train ride home last year had somehow started to unnerve me. As far as any respectable Slytherin was concerned, she was a worthless individual, to be used if necessary to one's advantage, and then to be rid of just as quickly. But with every encounter I couldn't help feeling that she had something I didn't. Something I was missing.

At meetings she spoke of inter-House relationships and planning recreational events for students. Things that would have made me throw my head back and laugh if my training permitted such boisterous action. She wasn't the best speaker, or the prettiest, or very elegant, but I couldn't help noticing how much everyone, well, liked her. Aside from me, that is.

When she made mistakes, people laughed with her amiably. When she said something witty, people clapped. When she was late to meetings, all she had to do was crack a joke about keeping a certain tousle-headed troublemaker in line and she'd be forgiven with smiles. I had never before paid attention to such things, and now I couldn't help compare.

When I made mistakes, I received cold looks of sheer disappointment. When I said something witty, I got brief nods of obeisant approval. When I was late to anything, I was snapped at to be more punctual.

So I wondered... What was so different about us? Well, beside the fact that I was more beautiful and more graceful, not to mention richer, smarter, and better dressed. Despite that, why did she draw all this indescribable light (I must be hallucinating again) to surround her whereas I seemed to be shrouded in cold, ceremonious predictability? And why did I even care in the first place?

Mother always said not to compare myself with Mudbloods or traitors, because they're good-for-nothing and bring shame to wizards and witches of the world. However, that was exactly what I felt compelled to do. There was something there I couldn't put my finger on, and I wanted to know what it was.

"Narcissa! Did you not hear me call you for the prefect meeting? Hurry up!"

I sighed and walked out of my dorm to greet the annoyed expression of my partner.

"Sorry, but I had to finish something. Forgive me?" I gave him a smile that was just flirtatious enough to make him blush, but not lead him on. Mother had taught me well, because it worked, and he smiled back.

As we walked away, I turned that returned smile over in my head. Somehow, it was not the kind of smile I had wanted to see. But what was it that I had wanted to see?

~*~*~*~

Cold December winds blew in, bringing in wandering snowflakes dancing against the grey sky, and frost to carpet the grounds every morning in the most delicate silver pattern no fabric could hope to reproduce. Decorations festooned the school inside and out, and for the first time I didn't feel like going home for the holidays. I thought of our manor, chicly ornamented, yet, now that I reflected on it, strangely icy and detached compared to the castle here. We never had Christmas trees or mistletoes, only blue-flamed candles of serpentine designs and crystal and silverware inlaid with black onyx to be used for special occasions. Hogwarts was like a blazing hearth; home was like a frosty cavern.

Throughout the months, I noticed, my inquiries, instead of diminishing like a passing cheap fad as I'd hoped, were mounting in my head. I found myself scrupulously perusing my own actions at the strangest times. It didn't seem like anything was amiss--life went on as always--but I felt left behind. There was a secret circulating everywhere beyond my sight and hearing, I was sure, but no one would tell me of it.

So went my thoughts as I gazed out a classroom window one day, feeling strangely nostalgic, though not for any geological location. It was a long-lost feeling I yearned to get back, but without a name to call it to me with, could not.

I thought for the thousandth time that month--week--day--about what was wrong with me. Why all the gradual, yet all too sudden hesitations, the wistfulness, the strange sadness? I was being ungrateful, I decided. What more could I ask for from this life?

When I went for a walk around the lake later that day to clear my obviously wayward head, Lucius joined me. We talked a little, not saying much, until he took me into his arms and kissed me, like always. Only this time, his kiss didn't quicken my heart or make me want to sigh like I always did. This time, it felt like an obligatory act on his part, and the idea came into my head that all my usual reactions were probably obligatory on my part: The part of the perfect girlfriend. Maybe I was so wrapped up in what I was supposed to be like that my body responded to requirements, and not emotions.

I wanted to slap myself. There I was going again, thinking strange, unnecessary thoughts. What was wrong with me indeed...?

Lucius broke the kiss and looked at me peculiarly. Sensing his mix of displeasure and curiosity, I quickly slipped on a reassuring smile; it went on easily. I was after all, practiced in such arts. He smiled back, and déjà vu seemed to strike me out of nowhere. That smile, it was so familiar to me; familiar because it seemed everyone I associated with smiled like that. But the familiarity brought only a chill that went unnoticed behind my still-cheerful face...my disguise.

~*~*~*~

The trip home following soon after proved to be one of the worst family gatherings I'd been to so far. One of my cousins spent the entire visit arguing with my aunt and uncle, something about how he didn't believe in pureblood dominance or some such nonsense. Then my sister, Andromeda, a few years older than me, suddenly announced she was dating someone: a Muggle. So with two sets of parents yelling and two teenagers shouting back respectively, many slammed doors and smashed vases, the vacation was not so much a vacation as watching a non-stop soap opera. I ended up spending most of my time with Bella, talking about Lucius, or the young man she was interested in, Rodolphus. We talked about Andromeda and Sirius and how they would likely be disowned. We talked about the latest articles in Witch Weekly and what styles were popular right now. We didn't--or rather, I didn't--talk about the questions disseminating in my head, or my continued pursuit of the something I lacked. It just wouldn't do to mention such dishonourable thoughts.

On Christmas morning I woke to a pile of presents, mostly jewellery or books or school supplies, and spent the day rifling through them, apprehensive of going downstairs where the abrasive verbal battles continued. I couldn't help but wonder how that Mudblood girl was spending her day. I wondered if she had a close-knit family, if they drank hot chocolate and sang carols together.

The more I thought, the more I questioned these traditional meetings of my family. When Mother called me down to dinner I already knew what the menu was, where everyone would sit, and how formal the entire meal would be. How long had it been since the last time honest laughter had rang at the table, or conversation flowed?

I picked at my food and excused myself early, muttering about needing to maintain my figure. Back in my room, I shut off my confusing brain and went to sleep after ruminating over the strangeness that for the first time, Christmas held no festivity in the house.

~*~*~*~

As winter began to fade, slowly warming up to the beginnings of spring, my thoughts grew along with the buds on the trees lining the Forbidden Forest, the newly-planted seeds in the greenhouses, and my resentment of seeing Mudblood Evans.

A twinge of jealousy struck chord every time I saw her--in class, at Hogsmeade, in the Great Hall. She seemed so full of life, though she had little, and was always surrounded by that same warmth I had perceived on the train, something I was noticing more and more. If fact, it wasn't just her anymore. I kept seeing the same thing around almost everyone except those of my own House, around me. It couldn't be a hallucination anymore, could it? For the first time I felt that my House, both hereditary and educational, was not so complete. The outside was gilded perfection, but the inside was half-rotten. Like a poisoned apple, we dripped with both beauty and hazard, and killed fair beings with our deception.

At times everything about my life and me in general seemed like an act. It was all terribly fake. I sometimes envisioned what it would be like to be hugged and cuddled and kissed with true desire. I imagined the soft caresses that would actually have an underlying meaning to it, an awkward gentleness that was more valuable than practiced expertise. But no matter how hard I tried, my visions stopped short of the genuine emotion it would evoke in me. Try as I might, I couldn't feel exactly how fulfilling, how satisfying it would be...

For the first time, I didn't have everything in life.

I wanted a best friend.

My so-called friends and even my boyfriend diminished in my eyes day by day as mere acquaintances; we were thrown together by monetary associations and social standings, not personal liking. How many times have I been forced to befriend strangers simply because they came from the most prestigious of the pureblood wizards in the country? And what of Lucius? Did I truly fancy him, or was that another fake aspect in my life? What was real? Why...?

I suppose even though all this drama was going on in my head, my outward appearance revealed nothing; almost no one questioned me, or doubted my beliefs. The only exception was Cousin Sirius, and he caught me off guard one day while I was out walking. Maybe he had seen something in my eyes that reflected his own and made him realise what I was going through; maybe for one moment we were standing on the same side of the battlefield. He simply looked at me and said "The future's never decided, Narcissa," before walking away.

Apart from him though, nothing else was said by anyone. Conflicts brewed in my head, though surprisingly, my marks stayed up, as did my social status quo, no matter how I was feeling on the inside. Another part of my training...

But sometimes, when I felt the mask slipping, I'd go and hide. Mostly up in a tower somewhere, where the fresh air felt so liberating that I wondered if I could fly if I simply decided to jump off someday. As temporary as it was, I needed that ephemeral mirage of being myself (whoever that was). I needed that brief wing of a dream; that flitting shadow of a freedom.

~*~*~*~

I am perfect.

It is now the summer before my final year of formal education at Hogwarts.

A week ago, I made a choice. I made a choice to obliterate all my doubts, all my thoughts that had been budding, ensnaring, spreading across my mind. I knew it wouldn't be hard. Didn't I already tell you I'm well trained? It would be a simple matter of focusing, directing all my energy to forgetting anything and everything undesirable. I've used this method since I was young: when I saw Mother and Father fighting, when I lost at something, when my parents slapped me for not learning my lessons...I'd shove it all into the back of my head, until it became a vague memory, so faint I can't even be sure it's there. I once tried extracting them again, but halfway through reversing the process, got scared and didn't finish it. This was also the method I had used on my childhood dreams, all my foolish aspirations that could never be and therefore better off forgotten. I didn't-- I couldn't--have such dreams; all I had were expectations.

Yet as I stand here in the garden of my manor, gazing at the butterflies and bees flitting like confetti before me, I can't help but wonder what would happen if I simply broke away from my family and followed these thoughts, strange as they were. After all, Andromeda and Sirius were doing it. How would it feel to be free of the burden that comes with being a Black, to begin anew, and live as only those in fairy-tales can hope to live? It sounds enticing, slightly exciting and for a moment I think I might carry it though. For a moment I feel confident that I started thinking all these chimerical thoughts for the reason that I was meant to be someone else.

The moment is sweet, but brief. My sensibility kicks in, and reminds me of the consequences. I will have to give up my fortune, my secure future, my boyfriend, my social standing and my entire past. The possible loss chills me, drowning out the sweet warmth. I wasn't trained for this. For rebellion and autonomy I know nothing.

I am perfect, but also weak to uncertainties.

So I know what I need to do. I know that there is either perfection or failure. I know my duties, and how to go about it. This is the way I've lived for sixteen years, and this is probably the way I will continue to live until my last breath is let out and carried up into the endless sky. My heart tells me it's an empty life, but as any Black knows, you can't trust your heart.

But before I begin to forget, before everything in this last year is to be covered under a fresh field of snowy clarity, I want to ask one last thing.

Someone once said that nobody is perfect.

So tell me, am I nobody?