The dungeon felt cold despite being full of people. Narcissa sat erectly on one of the arm chairs. Her left brow had remained arched for the past five minutes, breaking outstanding records. The older Slytherins seemed to be particularly bored that afternoon. They took to putting the first years through rites of passage. A dark haired boy was the current victim.

“Oppugno!” cried out Evan Rosier, sending a swarm of conjured pins and needles at the boy. The boy’s yelps and pleads for mercy forced Narcissa’s top lip to curl.

“I do believe he’s had enough,” she spoke, merely turning her face half an inch. She inspected Rosier’s frozen arm out of the corner of her eyes. Narcissa’s brow remained unwavering from where it was perched. “Don’t you agree, Cousin?” The look he gave her was one of utmost disgust and the girl’s stomach plummeted filling her with a sense of impending dread. She looked away from him; still managing to keep the arrogant air of a Black but inside she was shaking from anxiety. Bellatrix would hear about that and it worried her more than the fact that her cousin had most likely mentally abolished her from his family.