Story Disclaimer: All characters are of age. By continuing to read further, you confirm you are 18+. Femslash, Blackcest, expletives.
Author's Note I: Greyella and Another Girl Gasping PRESENT another collaboration. Part 1 by GreyElla (The Brain), Part 2 by Another Girl Grasping (Pinky). Hints at a myriad of pairings (including Blackcest), but truly Cissa/Hermione central. Enjoy the darker recesses of our minds.
The masquerade was in full swing as Malfoy Manor became a beacon of dark forms, lit underneath the candle infused chandelier. The enchanted room alternated between gloomy and sultry, as complex charmwork filtered down; an invisible magical orchestra. It was an artistic sight, the small throng of magical folk unrecognizable in masks and facades...their false pretenses. Only the hostess was clear-cut, as there was no avoiding white-hot brilliance; blonde tresses that curled and swept up. Her mask did nothing to hide the aristocratic cheekbones or her ice. The gown was fit for royalty of the night, and she reigned as white queen over the Manor. Slytherin green poured about her slender body as silk and sex, and wove a bodice silver. Blue eyes in the candlelight filmed as frigid moonstones and a mouth painted conversations red with etiquette and wealth.
Yes, the annual Malfoy Halloween ball swung high and full, loaded with ostentatious hors d'oeuvres and bombastic exchanges. Anyone…who remained anyone was in attendance, despite…sides. Shrew eyes, had already picked out the Ministry officials in attendance, and narrowed as a fatuous swine of a man gobbled miniature keish tarts at an alarming pace. Then flashes of fiery red hair had the hostess pursing lips and slightly affronted. But despite Malfoy discontent, the Weasleys were someones, pure in blood and favored by the Ministry. And Narcissa Malfoy was nothing if not polite, even in her snarkiest tones. She eyed the youngest Weasley boy, unamused at his boyish antics that disrupted high society; his loud and uncouth language rang out too clearly…too discernable. Annoyed, her eyes dismissed him, and instead caught on his companion. Unmistakably, intelligent eyes marked the chit as the Granger girl (despite the well-crafted mask of disguise). But then Narcissa was always good at undissembling her forced enemies. Unfortunately…so was Bellatrix.
Battle may have been paused tonight, white in flag, but ruthless Bellatrix never paid attention to such frivolous and mannered rules. No, it certainly wouldn't do for blood to bath her sparkling floor. And Bellatrix certainly was a bather. Bella's devotion to her favorite kin wouldn't quell the blooding, not if Voldemort's best lieutenant should find out that the room's oxygen currently shared with impurity. There were many things Bella would do for her sister, but not even touches tendered, taboo and clandestine, would plug murderous intent.
Careful eyes located her dark half on the far side of the room, currently snarling in the weak arms of a husband. A breath of air lost, as the situation seemed precarious, but momentarily controlled. Narcissa scoffed; after all these years, her role as peacemaker grew wearisome, even if Bella did not. Moonstones illuminated, focus again shifting to the youth arguing, the ill-fated couple waltzing amongst her guests.
Perfect lips curled in intrigue. It seemed the dim-witted boy had gall; bringing Bella's hated mudblood into the fray was nothing less than Gryffindor stupidity, even on a night of frivolous truce. But in the flickering light against musical notes, she had to admit that the girl was nothing short of elegant in twirling gown and proud neck. In the royals of blue, Narcissa faintly agreed that Ravenclaw would have suited the insufferable chit far better; scathing words that met her ear confirmed such lines of thinking,
"For Circe's sake, Ron, do keep your crude mouth on a leash! This isn't the Quidditch locker room, nor am I your buddy-boy Potter. Truly it's sick…when a Malfoy has better manners than you."
Narcissa quirked an eyebrow at the unfolding and stifled a low chuckle; amusement at the exchange overrode her family honor. Seems Draco had been correct about the girl's witted temper…and the boyfriend's ginger idiocy. However, she noticed that their rivalry had hidden other…attributes. Like how soft brown curls were reminiscent of Black sister long lost, or how hips curved in firelight and painted her voice far from annoying (as her son had often snarked about).
The Weasley boy opened an angered freckle-face to combat the insult. But glowering amber cut his words silent as the fury continued, spitting in disgust.
"And even if I were, still, even Harry would tell you that it's horrendous form to tell your date about the cheating tight pussy you scored last night. We're done. Fuck off, Ronald Weasley, because after tonight I'll make sure that no other girl will."
The smacking slap clashed against lilting music, highly noticeable and out of place in the cordiality of mingling guests. And with that broiling remark, the blued form stalked off, storming wild and breaking the dance. More than several eyes followed as the girl stalked her way out the grand ballroom, weaving as a vine between the waltz.
Hermione moved about the lower floors of Malfoy Manor, a destination lacking in the mind. Anger ruled; legitimate concerns of safety far from occurring to an intelligent, and fuming, mind. Even tonight, on this hallowed truce night, a lone Death Eater would not hesitate to off one third of the Golden Trio.
She found herself in a small room, a study perhaps. The dark was friend as she stood at the window, wishing the stars were advice. Silent in tears, she ignored them as they stained her silk mask.
'What was I thinking?…' She smoothed rich skirts and berated her mind.
The boy had the emotional range of a teaspoon, and always had. Hermione couldn't find the strength to fire at the resounding image of Lavender Brown, wet and willing for him. She could only hear his insipid excuse rattling around her brain, "But 'Mione, but we're not even going steady…so you can't be mad! Sometimes a man's just got to get it in…"
Get it in, indeed. Well he'd gotten in good with her, and Hermione hated that she'd fallen for the ruse. No matter. The stars twinkled much too happily in the moonlight. Hands caressed smooth glass and her forehead kissed the ornate window.
This was how Narcissa found her, a still apparition, appealing and feminine in sight. She molded to the window, defeated and unwavering strength against glass. There was no time for dwelling, only swift action.
"Miss Granger, to your left…the closet. Now!"
Hermione startled at the solid urgent voice that tore her solitude into company. For a silent second, their eyes met as birthstones in the greyed room. And then a familiar and throaty voice approached in the hallway, permeating their alcove with singsong tones.
"Ohhhh Cissssy…Olly olly oxen freeeeee…"
Understanding with horrific suddenness, Hermione trusted enemy sentiment and grappled to her left, finding the closet handle firm beneath her hand. Blue skirts had barely dissolved from sight when black ones entered the room haughtily. Bellatrix controlled over the room easily.
"The jig's up, elusive thing. You know, Cissa-mine, it's rather rude to abandon your guests…and me…"
Ever the consummate actress, facing out the window and starbound, Narcissa replied, "And it's rather rude to intrude upon my solitude…"
The closet strangled as hands clamped over a trembling mouth, muffling rapid breath. Hermione managed thoughts, thinking it strange that Bellatrix didn't hex the witch or cackle at her impertinence. Instead, viewing through the cracked closet door, she surprised as the dark witch made toward the fair sister without comment in sight. Amber eyes widened, as clear knowing hands pulled green silk against dangerous breasts. Hermione was all eyes as full lips indecently caressed blonde hair…a neck. Familiarly.
"You are never alone, Cissy, I'm always here, and I won't go away…"
Hermione baulked at the odd tender threat from Bella. It was unsettling to see the dark witch as anything but vile. But in the starlight, from a closet, she saw too much. Delicate lips turned and met taking ones in the night.
"Bellatrix…please, this is hardly the time." The blonde murmured into angles, Black incestual hands stroking her pristine neck.
"It's never the time for us, Cissa. And yet, you didn't seem to…complain last night, when time stood still. In fact, you never complain at all." A crude hand reached around, cupping a sister's sex through thin silk.
The closet crack was narrow, and did not grant Hermione much vision. But the hiss of the blonde's gasp dumped red poppies. And the resulting shove to a blatant sister could be…assumed.
"Control yourself Bella!"
A cauldron cackle. Lips caressed a fine temple for too long.
"Now don't twist…don't wet your knickers sideways, Madame Malfoy. I only came to find you because liminal Lucius is an abhorrent host." Roving hands fingered silk hips, lingering along an absent panty line.
Hermione imaged slender eyebrows arching at the statement.
"Leave my…knickers out of this. He's not liminal, that denotes…a threshold, and morals. Truly, Bella, you couldn't have run interference for a moment or two?"
A harsh scoff.
"Do I look like a socialite, or someone with morals?" Bellatrix murmured. Hermione horribly fascinated as those evil and alluring lips descended, nibbling a shoulder willing.
The closet nearly combusted as an uncharacteristic whimper played as blonde sound.
The tongue tilted, and licked language across seeking lips, "I don't abide fools well, sister; I solemnly swear that life would have blooded to a stop had I paid further witness to such pitiful bemoaning."
Delicate hands could be seen reaching in bend, tangling in a forbidden forest, curls as roots.
The mouth shifted to an earlobe, heating the drum within, "And I do know how you hate blood on your tiled floors, Cissa-mine, even if you love my…passion. I suggest you return; he's idiotic without the Lady of the Manor, whining like the little girl he is…."
A bursting chuckled moan, as lips traveled journeys across Cissa's jaw, "You're a girl, Bella." Cissa's mirth was uncontained.
"No…I'm a witch, there's a distinct difference, little sister." Tonguing silence clothed them for long seconds.
Rounded amber adhered to its cracked vestige, as it witnessed Bellatrix mingling her dark soul with the lighter element. Lips seared black, and deranged hands dragged arousal upon Narcissa.
Liquid eyes inked lust but withdrew, contemplative, locking secrets within.
"I'll leave you to your…solitude then. But don't be long, or I'll make you scream, and care not for those who hear." Lips hovered in Cissa's ear dangerously, and stole lips into a final dark moan, fleeting a kiss.
The pitch gown whipped in the night, and Bellatrix left as quickly as she had appeared. Footsteps down the hall padded and finally faded. Prudence and Bella in mind, the blonde wandlessly warded the door, locking out any further...intrusions. She sighed and rubbed her temple in consternation.
"Miss Granger, vacate my closet…if you will. But I thoroughly warn you, do leave your last visual experience within it. Or heads, most certainly your own, will roll."
A tentative creak produced tendril curls, poking out the closet and followed by rustling blues. Moonstones met ambers in the starlit room and passed on unspoken warnings. Hermione was…unnerved. For someone just caught canoodling with their sister, Narcissa Malfoy seemed unperturbed.
The only thing that could pass Hermione's mouth was a quietly loaded, "Thank you," that implied unvoiced elephants and strangled with...tingles.
Cissa raised a critical eyebrow, "Bellatrix is a…committed entity. It wouldn't do for your m-…blood to paint my floors. I'd rather avoid distraught house-elves who would be beside themselves at the mess."
The young witch couldn't decipher spoken truth from facetious sentiment. Hermione came to the peculiar conclusion that Narcissa played both. In the shadows, the face of her unlikely savior remained stone, jagged rocks, and offered nothing but winter. Finding language was a dilemma, especially when hush was easier. So back to the window, back to the stars Hermione flew.
Green silks regarded the witch thrust into her ironic protection. Since when did snakes protect lion cubs? Against her celestial audience, the young witch's facial features confused and longed for any explanation. Narcissa amused, as the child seemed to halt her legendary stinging tongue…for once. Without another word the hostess made to leave the room, leaving their strange moments behind, and allowing the witch to her originally sought solitude. Halfway to the door, muffled words halted her tracks, and pierced with unexpected blades.
"He never kissed me…like that." The voice was intimately contemplative; a sad that Narcissa should never have heard.
A harsh intake of breath pushed uncomfortably, but Cissa found intrigue, despite not wanting to. She turned in time to see the silvers roll down a youthful face. And then cursed her Blackblood. Another's vulnerability shouted through her veins…willing her to conquer. In the taut quiet, Narcissa found odd recognition in curling chestnuts.
'Andy…'
The girl had no idea that her dark sister's ire was directed by these…similar features. Bella misplaced amorous-hate via a hexing wand (later revelation had cursed Cissa's suspicions clearly). After the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, Bella had fiercely taken her in the drawing room, and fucked her anger, fucked her long elapsed hurt into the last willing sister. Coming, trying to forget the other who had deserted them. In Cissa, she had attempted to erase the images of Potter's mudblood that looked too sweet…too much like Andromeda. Cissa absorbed, but did not fall to rage as Bella. And so despite their opposing sides, despite the actual people involved, Narcissa found that she softened at the woman-child who seemed to have stolen part of Andy's essence.
"Then he's a fool." Narcissa moved closer to the window, and found that Andromeda left them, as unique shining eyes and a tortured face found hers.
Hermione whispered softly, "But you're not…"
All was lost. Perhaps the girl had meant other than innuendo. But words conveyed correctly or not, Narcissa did not stop the hand that rose, sweeping up a pulsing neck. Doe eyes widened back at her, delicious in innocence.
'Oh that ginger is most certainly a fool…'
The girl made not a sound, but the prodigious witch was aware of vocal folds that trembled under her touch. Bella, she knew would not have hesitated to bite them into screams. But Narcissa was a strange conqueror; she preferred honey to catch flies…rather than the swatter. Narcissa was careful, her hand gentle…coaxing trust upon the neck. The girl was an untrained filly and the blonde knew that she would bolt if mishandled. Hermione seemed caught between the frozen still and the vibration of welcomed happenstance. Cissa's face was absent of twitch, an ice pond, but the hand trailed unhurriedly to the curve of a jaw. Fingertips skated in the contours there. And breath hitched in the air, breaking the room into exhalation, parting lips.
Hermione wasn't real.