Narcisse et Narcisse
Her quill scratched hard on the parchment paper, catching occasionally on a silken fiber. But she loved the feel of an extra fine quill tip, and the ink was flowing quite freely today. The sea had always been strangely inspiring to her.
Narcissa wrote of her husband today. Of her son. Of choices and trials. Of war and regret. She sighed. Set aside her journaling. Bloody depressing. A gull swooped to the salty sand a few feet away, gulped the bread crust she'd tossed earlier. And boring. Same things I've written since I arrived.
Truth be told, she was tired of dwelling on the past - no matter how recent the past. She was done with the long faces on her men, the empty echoes of her cavernous manor house, the blood dried between the boards. So she'd left it.
Hadn't exactly told anyone where she was going.
Or that she was going at all.
She'd simply, elegantly, surreptitiously...left.
She doubted Lucius even remembered the cottage at La Mondree. After all, it was a Black Family property, and one he'd dubbed 'archaic and fit for demolition.' Needless to say, she'd adopted it even further into her heart.
The weatherworn stone structure had been her mother's. The place where Druella had escaped on her frequent excursions of 'finding herself.' 'Finding herself' - according to father Cygnus - equated to finding a French boy 'barely old enough to smoke to paint her shutters pink again.'
Narcissa smiled wryly to herself. She recalled vivid childhood imaginings of French boys, replete with jaunty berets, happily painting window trappings while her mother smiled on from within the cozy hovel. How far from the reality she'd been. Mother. She stretched. Goddess bless her.
The lounge creaked when she settled. Or her bones creaked. She wasn't certain anymore. Where are those bloody French boys, anyway? She closed her eyes and wondered. Doubted her shutters could be restored to pink no matter the skill of the painter. Sighed. Oh, well.
The cottage rested on a rocky jetty. When the tide came in, she felt ensconced by the drink and safe. When the tide was out, she followed brackish trails between black sea caves and broken coral ramparts, gathering crabs from charmed traps. Blissfully alone and dreadfully lonely...
She went about barefoot most of the time. So far from Narcissa Malfoy she felt. Only brought the two frocks. And Draco would scoff to see me in my cropped trousers. But the crabs she cooked were delicious. As was all the fare bought for next to nothing from the many vendors and vintners who trolled the nearby roads.
She didn't mind the muggles, and they seemed to take little notice of her. In fact, often they had some useful bit of advice or news. "Mauvais temps ce soir, madame." Or "Braisez ces crevettes avec un peu de beurre et d'ail. Magnifique!" She nodded her thanks over handfuls of their odd moneys.
This day, the crabs were rather small, but a nice stew would do nicely by her fire later, and her stomach rumbled agreement as she dumped another trap in her basket. Flinging the wicker over her shoulder, she winced. A bit too much sun, perhaps. She surveyed the whitening streak of pink skin where the strap had pinched. Tugged the wide neck of her shirt back up to protect the burn. A little aloe will suffice. She moved on.
Further up the salty creek, a patch of pale narcissus nodded at their reflections in the thick water's surface. She smiled and plucked a few, noticed how frayed her white linen sleeve was, and didn't give a damn.
Approaching her cottage from the side, she gasped and dropped her basket. Several crabs escaped, skittering to safety. Narcissa blinked unbelieving. Someone was sitting in her lounge.
"Excuse me!" She called. It wasn't unheard of that someone was unaware this was a private beach. Unlikely, but not unheard of. And she hadn't raised wards in days, so... "I said, excuse me," she stressed, nearing the encroacher.
It was a woman. She wore a periwinkle cotton frock, the skirt of it brushing the sand. Surely not my frock? Narcissa dismissed the insane idea. Simply similar. Perhaps she's a native... "Excusez-moi! Pardon!"
Leisurely, finally, the feminine figure sat up. Turned toward Narcissa. And again, the Malfoy witch froze, aware she was probably gaping most unattractively. "How - you - what the..."
"Oh, come now," the other woman stood as if this situation was a daily occurrence for her. "And you were doing so well with your French. It was almost as if you never left practice, Narcissa."
Cissa was shaking her head. Fell to pointing dumbly. Years of embroilment in the darkest of magics had not prepared her for this, and her wand was back at the cottage. "Who the hell are you?" She demanded hotly. "What sort of trickery -"
"Is this?" The visitor finished, brandishing Narcissa's wand.
"Ah! You! How?!" Frustration pushed her tone up an octave higher than was attractive and she snatched the ebony tool from perfectly manicured fingers.
The other witch - for she was doubtless a witch - had the audacity to chuckle, leaned casually on the lounge. "Yes, me." She gestured broadly, gave a turn in the soft sand. "How do I look?" She reached long and took the flowers from Narcissa's other shaking hand. "You shouldn't have. But they're lovely!"
"Finite incantatem!" Narcissa waved her wand purposely.
"No trickery here, Narcissa." The visitor witch cooed. She looked past a sunburned shoulder. "And your supper's escaping." Almost shyly, she held the blossoms to her face and took a hefty whiff of their fragrance.
Cissa's pretty face worked complicated tics. She was coming to terms with a difficult reality. "Who are you?" She asked, slowly lowering her wand.
"Stupid witch," the other breathed. She tilted properly into Narcissa's space, flowers tucked behind her, forcing Narcissa to lean backward. "I'm you."
Narcissa shook her head, taking in every feature with wide eyes. The other Narcissa nodded, taking in similar features with equally wide eyes. After they relaxed (somewhat), the one in the periwinkle frock shrugged. "You could at least invite me in for a cuppa."
"But..." But what? Narcissa watched helplessly as Narcissa bent, chasing her crabs. She wrangled them back into the basket and closed the lid.
"Come on, then," she said. "You'll get these cleaned up and I'll put the kettle on."
"But..." But no more but's. A final breathy stutter and Narcissa followed her less stymied self back to the seaside cottage.
They were quiet in their preparations, one watching the other with suspicious and cautious eyes. The other humming a popular old folk tune. The cottage smelled of salt, woodfire and crab stew.
"What's that line, Narcissa?"
"Hm?" Cissa glanced at the encroacher from the sink. The other rested a hip against the rustic table (Are my hips really that wide?), watching the ceiling for answers.
"The next line. Of that song. Remember that old song?" She began to sing softly. "If you're a good witch, good witch, you'll have your best wish, best wish... What's the next bit? You remember."
"Um..." Narcissa paused, scraping nude a cucumber. "Something about stars seeing inside your heart?" She tisked. "It's been forever since I sang that."
"You used to sing it to Draco."
She dropped the grater. It clanged in the porcelain sink. Hair fell over one blue eye when she glared at her companion. "How do you know that?"
"I told you I'm you, Narcissa."
"I'm losing my damn mind." She dried her hands briskly on a towel, began opening drawers, scavenging for a knife.
"No, you're not." Narcissa held out the knife. "I think you're finding it."
"Hah!" Cissa scoffed, began slicing the cucumber. "Any moment now, I'll wake up. And I'll think to myself -"
"What a strange dream!" Narcissa finished. She stepped against Narcissa's back, reached just past her for a cluster of bright green grapes. "I'll rinse these, then."
Narcissa's lips thinned when the other witch stepped away. Her skin had been terribly warm, even through the cotton of what was - undoubtedly - her periwinkle frock. "So." She arranged cucumber slices on a cool plate. "How long do you plan to be here?"
Narcissa shrugged, toweling the cleaned grapes. "How long do you plan to be here?"
"Well, I don't know." Narcissa shook a bottle of dressing, watching the oil and vinegar separate and swirl the seasonings inside.
"Exactly." Narcissa was stirring the stew. She'd tied on a quaint calico apron. Wore a bright smile when she turned from the soup pot. "I believe this is ready, dah-ling!"
They opened a bottle of sweet local wine. A perfect pinot with hints of honeysuckle and love of the land. Stared at each other across the table; one Narcissa with sullen, grudging acceptance and another with a coy, seductive smile. "This is quite good," she said. "You're a better cook than I."
"I thought we were the same person," Narcissa pointed out.
Narcissa leaned back in her chair. In the light of their single candle, her blonde locks were silver. "I suppose I should have been more clear on that issue. More wine?"
"No, thank you."
She poured for herself, shaking the bottle over her glass to dislodge the last drop. "You see. We're rather like two sides of the same soul."
"I see."
"No, you don't."
Narcissa waved a hand helplessly. "Well, it sounds quite barmy, don't you think? Two sides of the same soul. I'm you, you're me. It's all so..."
"Hard to swallow?"
"Yes."
"Hm." Narcissa sipped her wine. "Not surprising. You never swallow."
Cissa blushed furiously, stood from the table. "Swallow this: You're the side of the soul that tidies up the kitchen." She tossed a serviette to her plate. "I'm going to bed."
Narcissa laughed. "See you soon."
"Not bloody likely."
Her wand lit her way down the dark hall. The bedroom at the end was small, fresh with salty sea air from the opened window. It was chilly, so she closed the shutters. In the kitchen, she heard the stone-muffled sounds of washing up. She sat on the edge of her bed, rubbed at her face. Just a strange, elaborate dream. Soon now I'll wake on the lounge to find the tide beginning to wet my trouser legs and this...other me will be an amusing memory.
She stood, shed her shirt and trousers. Underneath her pillow was a simple silk nightgown. She let it drop over her head. The hem skimmed her thighs. Across the hall, she washed her face over the sink, brushed her teeth. Then her usual nightly ritual: close to the mirror, examining every tiny line, measuring them for new growth. Sigh. No help for it...
Back in her bedroom, she wand-lit a pillar candle and set it upon the bedside table. The promise of sleep relaxed her and she sat sinking into feather mattress.
"You really must stop worrying about those little lines."
"Gods above!" She yelped, turning violently. "No!" She pointed to the door. "Get out of my bed!"
"It's our bed, Narcissa." The other Narcissa said. She propped on one elbow, creamy gold in the candlelight.
Narcissa gaped. "No! I draw the line. This dream is... This is simply unacceptable." She looked more closely at the encroacher. "And...are you naked?" She turned away.
"Are you looking away from me?" Her laughter was quite musical. "How simply charming." The mattress shifted. Narcissa pressed her fingers against her closed eyes, tensed when she felt familiar arms enfold her. "There wasn't any more sleeping attire." Fingers fluttered up her arms, sending goosebumps to attention. "Warm underneath the blankets, Narcissa. Lie with me."
"This is insane." She mumbled into her hands.
"Utterly," Narcissa mumbled against her neck. Brushed long dark and light locks aside, set more moist kisses across her shoulders.
"What in Morghana's name are you doing?" It felt fantastic...
Fingers slid beneath the thin straps of the nightgown, pushed it off of sunburned shoulders. "Oh, I think you know." Fingers slid down her chest until palms brushed nipples to hardness. Narcissa couldn't contain a gasp. "I know you've thought about it." Kiss turned to suction just there - beneath her ear.
"Oh..."
"Yes, I know you like that." Suction turned to cupped flesh, squeezed. "Such lovely tits. I would know."
She's right. Narcissa knew that the breasts pressing into her back now were indeed beautiful; firm, full, still perky. And the mouth nipping her jaw knew exactly how to please her. "Fuck," she whispered.
"Yes, I thought it might be nice." A firm tug and Narcissa was on her back, Narcissa climbing over her. "Give me your hands."
"No." A token, if completely meaningless resistance.
"Stop being ridiculous." The encroacher took her hands. "They're my hands, anyway. Feel this."
And suddenly her hands were filled with her own flesh and the sensation - "Oh, sweet goddess!"
A low chuckle. "See? Everything I feel, you feel." Fingers dipped quickly, boldly between her legs, sampled her sudden wet. "Mmmmm, like that, yes."
Narcissa's eyes drifted closed. Her leg slipped between hers, urged the spread. Curious fingers flitted through thin thatch and... This is pleasure. Wrapped in sheets like a crepe, tasting her own mouth, her own sweat, her own cunt. Outside, the ocean serenaded them, lapped at the shores as the witches' tongues lapped each other.
Narcissa arched on their bed. Curled fingers in Narcissa's hair. Sucked the cherry red swell darting under slick pink skin. Pinched the soft fold beneath a quivering buttock. "Yes! Fuck! Yes!" She gasped. Or they gasped. Gave and received callous commands, ached pounding fingers into hot flesh tightened by longing.
And in the glow of the pillar candle by the bed they were both golden. Blurred together as the one they were. Wondering.
Is that how I look when I come? Gods, that's beautiful...
They slept. Stuck together by similar saliva. Twined like albino snakes. Narcissa's fingers played in Narcissa's hair, and the two witches smiled sweetly in their shared dreaming.
Narcissa woke alone, as expected. She stretched gracelessly, grinning at her own foolishness. Must have eaten a bad crab. Ridiculous dream. She sat up and winced. Between her legs was the discomforting scratch of well-fucked, and her nightgown was carelessly discarded on the wood floor. Very ridiculous dream.
She slipped out of bed and stretched again, surveyed her body in the dusty wardrobe mirror, noted the odd pink-purple mark on her left shoulder and promptly dismissed it. She was the mistress of denial, commanded it like a leather-clad dominatrix.
Alone in her little haven, she felt no need to dress and padded directly to the doorless lavatory. From a driftwood shelf, she pulled a worn towel and flannel, still yawning and debating coffee or tea after her bath.
"I've a flannel already, dah-ling."
"Gah!" She whirled, spilling both linens to the sandy floor. "You? Damn you!" The encroacher lounged in the clawfoot tub, bubbles piled high and a creamy leg curled over the rim.
"Hmph. You were hardly damning me last night." A lazy crooked finger. "Come on in. I'll wash your back."
"Unbelievable." But she was stepping into the bath anyway, settling between her own legs. Chuckling behind her, and water rivulets running over her shoulders and breasts. "I thought I was dreaming."
Fingers knotted her hair away from her neck. "Mmm, yes it was rather dreamy wasn't it?" Narcissa recognised the smell of the lemon verbena soap she favored. The water temperature was perfect, and despite herself, she relaxed into the witch washing her. "Perhaps after a cuppa I'll bend you across the breakfast table and -"
"Don't be crude!"
"You were thinking it."
She tisked. Traced lazy designs on the inside of Narcissa's knee. Giggled at the sensation echoing in her own stomach. "Can other people see you?"
"What other people." Narcissa rinsed Narcissa's back.
Cissa shrugged. "Point taken. Will you come home with me?"
Narcissa jolted and swatted at the tickling fingers. "Stop! I can't concentrate. Did you know you have a new mole on your back?"
"On your back."
"You're getting too much sun."
"You're avoiding my question."
"It's up to you."
"What?" She turned her head, accepted a kiss.
"Whether I come home with you is your decision." She licked the inside of Narcissa's mouth, sucked at the questing tongue.
Narcissa turned in the embrace. Water sloshed. A few bubbles loosed, drifted in the still air. "I don't think I can wait until the breakfast table." She stroked down the insides of Narcissa's thighs, explored the hot junction there. They tensed and moaned together at the sensation.
"More convenient this way anyway - ah! Oh! Yes!" Her fingers traveled too, and soon the lav was an echoing cacophany of their shared lust.
They made blintzes together, a mess of flour that required several minutes of wand work to clean. Sticky lips shared warm berry compote. Narcissa had discovered addiction. "Shall we check the traps? It grows late."
Narcissa pressed her into the sink. "Let's go back to bed."
"You're insatiable."
Impatiently, she hiked skirt over thighs. "Aren't you, though?"
There was naught to do but laze the days away. They ate well enough, played a few abortive games of wizards' chess. Explored the sea caves and gathered shells. It was not uncommon for one to press the other to wet, barnacled wall, to roll together in the silt swirl of the tide. They fucked almost constantly. Blissfully.
And when they weren't fucking, they were little dressed and resting between rounds.
Narcissa fed Narcissa another cool grape. They lay in a shaft of sunlight struggling to reach between densely green branches overhead. A checkered picnic blanket bunched beneath them. Narcissa stroked a sandy foot down her lover's bare leg. "Don't," she heard. "I'm all stubbly."
"I told you to let me shave you."
"I'm not ready for that."
Narcissa chuckled deeply. "You aren't ready for me to shave you but you were begging for me to open up your arse cheeks and -"
"I'm well aware what happened at the breakfast table this morning, thank you very much!" Narcissa interrupted loudly. She sighed playful frustration and turned in arms. "You're incorrigible."
"Encourageable."
"Same thing." They kissed. For a while the only sounds were lips and scattered birdsong. Then, "Taking me home with you?"
"How did you know I'd decided to go home?"
A baleful, raised brow over nonplussed eyes.
Tsk. "Oh, fine." A grudging bare shoulder shrug. "Yes, I've decided to take you with me." Suddenly, a fearful glance. "If...if you want to come?"
"Of course I want to come, stupid witch." Tenderly, she stroked a sweaty tendril of white/black hair from Cissa's face. "You couldn't leave me now if you wanted to."
"Oh?"
"Oh."
"And speaking of 'oh'..." Legs slid between legs again, and the sound of kissing drowned the sound of birdsong.
"Mum?"
Narcissa's giggling stopped abruptly. She straightened in her chair and cleared her throat. "Draco! Darling. Are you joining me for tea?"
He entered the solarium cautiously, looking right and left. Looking...confused. "Were you talking to yourself?"
"Oh..." She flourished a rather battered Daily Prophet. "Yes. Some nonsense in the paper."
He walked toward the little breakfast table, shaking his head. "Strange. I thought I saw someone else in here."
"No. Just me." She laughed. It was musical. Gestured to the chair across from her. "So I'm dreadfully lonely. Have a seat! I missed you these last weeks."
"Did you, mum?" Draco dropped onto a chair, straddled it. Knew it irked her to the core. "We didn't even know where you were. Aurors were called in."
If his lackadaisical posture unsettled her in the least, she hardly showed it. In fact, when she leaned over the table to address him quietly, he noted her corset was barely laced. "Forgive me, son. I deeply regret that I worried you." But her blasé demeanor told him otherwise. "Or your father." She shrugged. "I simply had to...find myself."
"Find yourself?" He blinked at her.
"Yes."
"And did you?"
She settled back in her chair, smirking. Thinking. Fingers delicately stroked across her cleavage - a probably unconscious gesture. "I did."
Draco pursed his lips, nodded. He licked jam from his fingers, again missing her usual ire. "So. How is yourself?"
Narcissa dipped an elegantly manicured finger into the jam pot. Her lips glistened pink as they closed around it, and it popped when she pulled it from the suction. "Mmm.I quite like her."
Draco's eyes followed the wet feminine finger back to the table, where it tapped sharply the polished mahogany. "Yeah?" His voice was a rasp. He coughed to awaken it.
Her brow quirked. She leaned her chin on her hand. Grinned ever so uncharacteristically. "Yeah."
Draco swallowed loudly. "I think I like her, too."
Narcissa winked at him. From behind her son, Narcissa winked back.
La Fin
AN: Complete vacation self-indulgence here, I'm afraid. So now that you're completely confused...let me just tell you we're considering a part two with a Draco/Narcissa/Narcissa threesome. I've consulted myself, and myself thinks it's a positively lovely idea. But that whore can't be trusted when it comes to creative ethics. Honestly. That being said, we thank you for reading.