Excerpt from chapter two (read before the next one is uploaded tomorrow hehe):
The coffin was then shut and hovered to carry forward. This was all final then. Narcissa was never to be in the presence of Alice again. Alice would never glance at Narcissa from across the room. Her hand would never wave in Narcissa's direction. Her hair would never flutter in the wind on the quidditch pitch. Narcissa's breath will never be seized again.
But she was wrong. She had trouble breathing now. Her feet did not support her as the procession walked to the cemetery behind the coffin and the Fortescues. There was no one to hold her. Bella wouldn't understand. Lucius wasn't here. She did not want to break down in front of Madam Pomfrey or McGonagall or worse, Professor Slughorn. She did not want to be pampered more by Amelia or have another morbid prophecy recited by Pandora. Reg was too young to understand death let alone handle Narcissa's grief. How was she going to mourn a love that was never hers to begin with?
The coffin was lowered in the far side of the cemetery like they were desperately trying to forget the deceased. The crowd started to disperse as if there were more important things than to cry and wail for Alice. Why was staying for a moment longer so difficult for these people? The soil was poured on the coffin, trapping Alice forever in the ever unforgivable earth. She was gone. Alice was really gone. Mr Fortescue kneeled and cried his heart out caressing the fresh wet mud that held his daughter’s body.
Narcissa stood in the shadows for a long time, remembering all the moments in the past six years she had had the privilege to spend with Alice. The first time she had seen the girl in her pigtails, smiling as she passed by her in the hallway. Narcissa had been obsessed with her ever since. Narcissa hadn't understood then why she always felt a rush like a stream of water running through rocks in the wild whenever she met the eyes of the girl. When Narcissa was thirteen and Alice's mouth was covered with some yellow slime she had been eating, it clicked. Narcissa wanted to lick the stuff off of Alice's face, lather her with kisses. It wasn't until she was fourteen that she had let her hand slip between her thighs only to have flashes of Alice riding on a broomstick. Ever since she had been keen on brushing her knuckles on Alice's skin. However, never in those six years had she thought she would see the girl dead and buried six feet under the ground Narcissa was alive on.