Hello everyone! It's been almost six months since I finished Complex Desire. It feels, though, as if no time has passed, because Narcissa and Hermione never left me. Their story continued almost seemlessly in my mind and eventually on paper. I did write the sequal I was thinking about.
If you have not read Complex Desire there are going to be a thing or two that you don't understand, but you should still be able to follow the story.
As far as updates are concerned, they will hopefully come every two weeks (don't hold me to it). I have planned the entire plot and I have only about two or three chapters left to write, so I am positive that updates will be more regular than they used to be.
Now, enough said. I present to you:
Complex Destiny
The manor stands as bold and uninviting as it has for centuries. It shouldn't feel uninviting to Narcissa. She grew up here after all, but alas, there are many different kinds of upbringing, not all of them happy, are they? Rain is pouring down heavy, so she pulls the hood more into her face as she makes her way down the muddy path. At the grand doors, she moves her fingers along the snake carved into the heavy mahogany. Still recognizing her it twists, slythers and gives entrance. Her boots echo on the stone floor, the leather coat crunches while she unbuttons it. She smirks as she hears the gasp.
"Narcissa Malfoy, what on earth are you wearing?"
She looks down at herself; she's wearing a sweater, jeans and leather boots, all in black. Then, she turns, smirk still on her face, and looks at her mother, or rather the portrait of her. "It'll be Black again soon," she says, ignoring the question. "I'm divorcing Lucius." Granted soon is optimistic, but she just has been dying to let her mother know. The expression on her face right now is definitely as priceless as she hoped it would be.
"What do you mean? What have you done to make him dump you, you stupid useless brat?" Druella screamed that last part.
Narcissa chuckles. "Oh no, you misunderstood. I have left him."
"What? Why would you leave a man like him?"
"I fell in love." She shrugs nonchalantly.
The image of her mother coughs. Love is a notion neither the Blacks nor the Rosiers ever thought much of. „Salazar, you're dumber than I thought. To leave a man like Lucius for something as silly as love. What's his name? Who is this filthy man?"
"Hermione, maman. Her name is Hermione Granger." She turns away and heads upstairs.
"NARCISSA ORFELIA MALFOY, come right back here!"
She laughs too loud to hear the rest of maman's outrage. On the second floor she finds the reason she came here for: the Black library. The smell of old parchment hits her immediately as she enters. As ambiguous as her feelings towards this house might be, she has always loved the library. One would hardly find one as extensive anywhere else in wizarding Britain, except for Hogwarts, of course. She wanders through the shelves aimlessly, simply enjoying the atmosphere, the smell of old parchment. Libraries have always had a calming effect on her. Walking further down the aisles into the depths of the library, her eyes travel across the spines until they stop at a certain assembly of books. Something's off here. Magic radiates from the section. She lifts her wand, "Finite Incantatem", and bursts out laughing. My my, what do we have here? It's a little assembly of ancient erotic spell books. That's something she definitely didn't expect to find here. She smirks at the thought of her parents going on a hunt for these rare books, sneaking them into the library at night and placing charms on them, so she and her sisters wouldn't find them. She flicks through the pages of some of these books, stopping at one particular spell that seems rather fascinating. She skims the paragraph briefly and memorizes the incantation. Hermione certainly inflamed her experimental side and this seems like a good source for inspiration. To find what she originally came here for, without a doubt she has to look at the section dedicated to the Dark Arts, which is admittedly the largest section. Thankfully the sections are ordered alphabetically, so it doesn't take her long to find the book in question. Carefully she takes The Power of Dark Curses and Blood Magic by Vinda Rosier out of the shelf. The knowledge that one of her ancestors wrote this book makes her sick. She sits down in one of the arm chairs at the center of the library and carefully begins turning the fragile pages until she reaches the chapter on cursed wounds and scars. She reads, Knives, daggers and blades can be enchanted to leave a permanent scar via the Sanguis curse. The enchantment requires a fair amount of skill in the Dark Arts and the shedding of blood of the witch or wizard who does the enchantment. Once the wound inflicted upon the victim has closed the remaining scar will not be altered by any of the common healing spells. For the scar to vanish the witch or wizard who inflicted the wound has to inflict the same wound at the same place on themselves … She closes the book. Damn it. Angrily she heads back downstairs, book still in hand.
"Narcissa! Come to me right this second!"
She completely ignores her mother's portrait and heads right on, down, deep into the catacombs of Black Manor. The staircase leading down is small and narrow, the air gets heavier and damper the further she descends. The stairs open up into a small circular room, barely lit with a few torches enchanted to burn on forever. It's the first tomb on the left, the newest addition. Dust has already created a thin layer. She brushes it off, a tad too affectionately.
"You were really clever with that knife, sister." It's a statement that contains both admiration and disgust. What a remarkable witch Bellatrix was; how horribly misguided and wasted her talent. She sits on top of the tomb and opens the book once more on the same page. For the scar to vanish the witch or wizard who inflicted the wound has to inflict the same wound at the same place on themselves or, due to the similar magical make up, a close relative can undo the curse in the same way. That would technically be the solution, though she doubts Hermione would ever let her do that. Narcissa has wished so many times she could heal the physical scar. It would not erase what happened, of course, but it would be a symbolic gesture and at least erase the daily reminder of the trauma. Hermione says the scar doesn't bother her, but Narcissa knows that's not true. It really only hit her a couple of days ago as they were dress shopping. It was a nightmare. Nothing seemed to please Hermione until she noticed that her girlfriend notoriously refused the dresses with short or no sleeves at all. She immediately agreed to the first long-sleeved dress Narcissa suggested. It pains her and she would willingly slice her own flesh to elevate some of Hermione's pain. Though she highly doubts it, it's worth asking and so she puts the book in her bag to take it home. She takes the stairs back up when – "Ah!" – a sharp pain pierces through her head. She falls forward, eyes screwed up, bracing herself on her trembling arms she waits for the pain to subside. It just takes a few seconds, but the pain is so intense they feel like hours. When it's over she opens her eyes to see drops of sweat hitting the stone stairs. She gets up and leans against the wall, a cold shiver rushing over her, and waits a few minutes to recover. She hopes it's truly over because she really needs to go. She's late for her appointment already.
…
Nervously she twists her hands as she sits alone in the room, waiting for her soul mender. She's not as nervous as she used to be before her first sessions. They weren't easy in the slightest, neither for her nor her soul mender. It took the woman a lot of work to gain Narcissa's trust, several weeks passed before they started to truly work together. Now, she has come to enjoy these sessions. Well, enjoy might be a strange word for it, not quite fitting, but these sessions help her and no matter how difficult they are, she always feels lighter after she has opened up. And so this time she is not ashamed that her eyes are already glistening when the witch enters and takes a seat opposite her.
"What is it, Mrs. Malfoy? Why are you crying?"
No small talk, cutting right to the chase. That's one of the things she appreciates about her soul mender. She follows suit. "I love her. My sister. Bellatrix. Despite everything she's done. She's tortured so many people, the very ones I love the most, Andy, my girlfriend …"
"Do not forget yourself," the witch reminds her casually.
"Yes, and myself," she acknowledges.
"We've spoken a lot about negative things in regards to your eldest sister , but you never told me what her good qualities were."
"Excuse me?" She's startled. Never ever has someone asked, not even thought for a second, that Bellatrix could have possessed good qualities.
"Well, if you love her so much, there must have been good sides to her, otherwise your feelings towards her wouldn't be so complex."
Her heart aches, because yes, there were good sides to her and she misses them so much. Inhaling deeply she starts, "She was funny. Believe it or not, but she could be a total dork. She was smart and so strong and fierce. Merlin, I admired her; I envied her. She was so free, at least until she met him. Things changed, then."
"How so?"
"She grew … darker. I know that sounds strange, but it's the only way I can describe it. She was so dedicated to the cause, to him; everything else came second … or third. She was easily irritated, lost all patience for mistakes, vulnerability. She was so angry all the time."
"Did she take that anger out on you?"
"Yes", she whispers. It's something she hates to admit.
"How did that make you feel?"
"Worthless. I wondered what I had done wrong until, eventually, I felt I deserved it because … well, our father was a violent man. She took all of his violence for me – and I let her." She's crying now. How could she let that happen? "She was just a child."
"So were you."
"But I should have done something. I feel so guilty. These beatings were meant for me, not her."
"So you took your father's wrath years later through her to make up for it. What your father did to Bellatrix, what she did for you, it didn't give her the right to hurt you. You know that, don't you, Mrs. Malfoy?"
"In my head I do, but in here," she says and points towards her chest, "it's different."
Her soul mender nods, apparently understanding the disconnection between thoughts and feelings. "When did she start hurting you?"
"I was already seventeen, almost eighteen, I think. She had been part of the Death Eaters for four years at that point and Lucius and I had been married for six months. I think it was a combination of the both; her being with Riddle and me being with Lucius. It changed us individually and it changed our relationship. I closed myself off from everyone including her. She didn't like that. That's when it started."
"Do you remember the first time it happened?"
She scoffs. "Like it happened yesterday. It was after my first Occlumency lesson with him. I didn't do very well. I was so terrified of him and what he would see in my mind that I could barely focus. She was very displeased. I think she felt I embarrassed her in front of him. When the lesson was over and he'd left she …"
"We can go into the memory if you want," her soul mender suggests.
She nods and closes her eyes, feeling the tapping of Ms. Lovegood's hands on her knees.
…
"Stay like that."
She freezes momentarily, then closes the door. She turns her head slowly; looking over her shoulder she sees Hermione sitting in the old leather armchair. Dressed in a black suit, tailored to her feminine form, wine glass in hand, she looks too good to be true.
"Did I say you could turn your head?"
The dominant tone in her voice sends chills down Narcissa's spine and reduces her answer to a whispered "No."
"Then you shouldn't. Turn back around."
She closes her eyes as she moves her head back, breath hitching. Goddamn it she's been needing this. Excitedly she waits for the woman to make her next move, her command.
"Take your coat off."
She does; it pools around her feet.
For a while there is no sound but their breathing, slow and heavy, revealing the growing desire. "Show me what's underneath," Hermione says with a voice as low as Narcissa has ever heard it.
She pulls the sweater off over her head. It leaves her hair messy, but for once she couldn't care less. She bends down and undoes the shoelaces of her boots hastily. She steps out of them. If she had known this was going to happen, she would have worn a dress. She has yet to learn how to strip out of Muggle clothes gracefully. She pushes her jeans down in one go.
"Spin."
While she does she notices the fire in Hermione's eyes as she takes in her figure and hums appreciatively.
Hermione beckons her over. "Please me," she says.
Narcissa doesn't need to be told twice. Falling to her knees, she pulls Hermione's pants down to find nothing but sweet nakedness. Hermione's desire is clearly visible, laid out in front of her like a feast for a starving animal. The hand on her head pushes her right into that feast. She keeps her eyes locked with Hermione's while she tastes her, knowing that the pure devotion in her eyes alone can push Hermione over the edge. "Mmh, Cissa …" Her hips grind against her face. Narcissa knows she's getting close and just in that moment Hermione pulls her head away. Narcissa suppresses a chuckle. The woman doesn't like to lose control when she wants to be in control. Pulling her up by her hair, Hermione says, "Come with me. I have a surprise for you or rather us." She follows Hermione who heads toward a small room on the first floor, her study. Hermione opens the door and lets her enter first. She gasps at the sight. Where there used to be a desk and shelves of books and folders there are now chains, whips, leather furniture and a bed.
"You gave up your office for … this?" Her girlfriend absolutely loves her office, not as much as her library but it's a close second.
"I can work in my office in the Ministry." Hermione shrugs. "In fact I should only be working there and here I should be spending time with you, don't you think?" The suggestive smile on her lips makes Narcissa's skin tingle.
"I absolutely agree." The mere thought of all things they could do in here makes her heart beat faster. She steps inside and takes it all in for a while until she hears clicking. Hermione walks toward her, chains in hand. With a rise of her eyebrow Hermione asks for permission and Narcissa nods. Hermione puts the hand cuffs on her wrists. With a flick of her wand they extend and connect themselves to the ceiling. Narcissa clearly feels the stretching in her arms, but it's not uncomfortable. The witch steps up behind her, breath ghosting across her skin she shivers in anticipation. The light touch of a feather travels up her thigh, goosebumps spread across her skin. She hisses when the feather brushes against her core. The movement stops.
"I did not give you permission to make a sound, did I?" Hermione's voice is cold and stern.
"No. I'm sorry, Mistress." She feels herself blushing. Mistress; she never said it before and didn't meant to now.
"Well, since you obviously have trouble controlling yourself today, I think I might have something to help you keep quiet," Hermione says, gracefully ignoring her slip-up. From the wall at the far end she gets a gag and holds it out in front of Narcissa's face. "Is that alright with you?" she asks.
Narcissa appreciates the question because the gag will mean that she won't be able to use their safeword if necessary, but it doesn't scare her, it exictes her. "Yes. I trust you." She opens her mouth and Hermione puts the gag on her, fastens it on the back of her head. She can now neither move nor speak. The feeling of helplessness and complete surrender to the woman she loves makes her core throb. The gag chokes her without really choking her, but still, there's something frightening about it. Her breathing fastens rapidly.
"Shh, easy now, love. Relax. You look so beautiful like this." Hermione's lips ghost across her neck. "I think you deserve a little treat. Let's test that gag." Hermione hooks her fingers behind her panties and slides them down slowly. When they're off her fingers brush her legs back up, once they reach her thighs they are joined by the witch's lips. She nibbles her skin, bites and Narcissa wishes she could speak right now so she could beg her to go higher. When Hermione fulfills her unspoken whish she does so with firm strokes of her tongue. It sets her on fire; her head falls back, needy sounds slip past the gag. Hermione digs her nails into her thighs painfully. "You're not being a good girl today, Cissa. I might have to come up with harder measures."
It's the one thing she can't do, to keeep quiet during sex and, of course, her girlfriend knows this all too well. Hermione releases the chains from the ceiling and uses them to lead her over to a leather-clad bunk. A hard tug on the chains and she's bent over the length of the bunk. Hermione fastens the chains and steps up behind her, smoothly entering her with two fingers. She takes deep breaths, doing her best to remain silent despite the wonderful attention her g-spot is receiving. A third finger joins the others … and a fourth … Just as she realizes what's about to happen, she feels the entire hand enter her. She whimpers, completely overwhelmed by the feeling of being filled so thoroughly. She holds onto the edge of the bunk, bites down hard on the gag because she just knows Hermione is about to – for Salazar's sake! – curl her hand into a fist. One, two flicks to her clit and she contracts hard around Hermione's hand. They stay like that for a while, ravishing in the after waves of her orgasm that barely wants to subside. Only very slowly, reluctantly it seems, Hermione withdraws from her. The feeling of sudden emptiness makes her cry. Hermione undoes the gag and chains and cradles her from behind. "I love you so much," Narcissa says.
"I love you, too." Hermione presses a soft kiss to her neck.
Narcissa quickly uses some cleaning spells on herself and Hermione accios her lounge wear and helps her put it on. "Thank you." She kisses her, nibbling on her bottom lip, she pulls her close. "Come and cuddle with me on the sofa?"
Hermione chuckles. "If the world knew what a cuddler you are."
"Don't you dare. It'll be the last thing you do," she threatens jokingly.
They get comfortable on the sofa. Hermione immerses herself in some book again. Narcissa quickly drifts off into sleep, her head rising and falling with Hermione's breathing.
…
The sound of soft whispering voices wakes her. She sighs in contempt at the feeling of Hermione's fingers running through her hair, gently massaging her scalp. Wait a moment. Voices? Slowly she opens her eyes and sees a man with messy black hair and another one with messy ginger hair. She jerks upwards.
One of them chuckles. "Good evening, Mrs. Malfoy."
"Good evening, Potter. Weasly." The latter nods at her. The Weaslys have been knowing about their relationship for a couple of months now. They had read Skeeter's article and Hermione had no choice but to tell Ginerva. Word travelled from the youngest through the entire family, then. Their reaction worries Hermione to this very day. They didn't react badly, in fact, they didn't really react at all. It was more of a silent acknowledgement, which is exactly what has her girlfriend worried. She is just waiting for the big outburst. Narcissa figures they don't like them being together, but realize that Hermione is a grown woman and they don't have any say anymore in her relationships. At least, that's what she hopes.
"We were just discussing our case," Hermione says.
Our case. She still doesn't like the sound of that. Kingsley allowed Hermione to join the Auror team that's working on Lucius' case a couple of weeks ago. She's only part of the research team – that was Narcissa's condition – but still she's not at all pleased about it. Although she knows that Hermione likes the work because she is dying to see Lucius in prison, Narcissa feels guilty. Her family has caused Hermione enough trouble and pain during the war. That should have been the end of it, but there was no talking her out of it. They don't talk much about it between the two of them. Just hearing Lucius' name makes her skin crawl at this point. Still, she can't deny she's not curious to know how it is going.
"And? Have you been able to gain any information about Lucius' whereabouts?" she asks.
"Not exactly. However …" Weasly shifts his gaze toward his friend and colleague.
"However," Potter jumps in, "we believe that something might be going on."
"Oh, something might be going on? I never would have guessed. Would you be so kind to be a tad bit more concrete, Mr. Potter?," she asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
He rolls his eyes at her, but answers, "Lucius isn't the only former Death Eater that's gone missing. As part of our investigation we talked to several old Pureblood families, most of whom used to support Voldemort. As you know some of them are not imprisoned, but under house arrest if at all." It had not been possible to charge every single Death Eater. Just like after the first war some claimed to have been under the Imperius Curse, which is impossible to disprove. In other cases the Ministry simply couldn't provide enough evidence. War times are chaotic times. "Every time we came into their homes for a search or interrogation," Harry says, "the man of the house wasn't there. Their wives would have an explanation for their absence, of course. We didn't think much of it until it became a pattern." He hesitates a moment before he asks, "Do you know anything about this?"
"Harry! You can't possibly be suggesting that she has anything to do with this!" Hermione says.
"It's fine." Narcissa puts her hand on Hermione's whose cheeks are already flushed from anger.
"No, it's not fine, Narcissa. She is my partner," she says directed toward Harry. "Do you think I would be with her, if I believed for one second she was involved in something like that? If you knew her the way I do, you wouldn't-"
"But he doesn't," Narcissa cuts her off. "To answer your question, Mr. Potter, I know absolutely nothing about this matter. I had started to withdraw from our old social circle after the war ended and I have had no contact at all with any of the families you have in mind since I broke up with Lucius. This is the first time I'm hearing about this."
He nods. "I'm sorry but I had to ask."
She understands; it's his job. If she were in his position she would be way more suspicious.
An awkward silence stretches. The discussion they came here for is over and yet they are not leaving. Potter side-eyes Weasly a little too overtly. Reluctantly the youngest Weasly son pulls out an envelope and hands it to Hermione. "Mum and Dad are having a private Yule celebration next weekend. Just a nice little gathering of friends and family. We'd be happy if you came; both of you."
"I'll sure be there," Hermione says, smiling like a child.
"Me too," she chimes in.
The boys leave and she does some laundry while Hermione starts to make dinner . They fell into a routine easily as they started living together. They never moved in with each other officially. She simply spent more and more time at Hermione's and one day she just stayed. Living with Lucius used to be a very lonely thing, but she and Hermione are basically glued at the hip and it turned out to be the most wonderful thing.