Narcissa Malfoy is standing at the far end of the room. Her hair, as blonde as her son’s and husband’s, ripples down her back in a long, shining sheet that almost hurts to look at. Unlike Draco, she’s still in human form, her skin fair and lips pink. Eyes the grey of evening storm clouds are set in face of arrogant beauty, extraordinarily resembling Sirius Black’s. The only obvious sign of her nature is a pair of delicate knifelike fangs extending towards her pointed chin.