AN: This story was written by my lovely friend Tori who is unable to have a fanfiction account, but has asked me to post this story for her. I love it a lot, and Iím sure you guys will too. Try and guess the characters.

Glasses of Wine that Wouldnít Be Drank


She still trembled when he looked at her that way. Others said she was crazy, that he was a Death Eater and an evil tyrant of her child. But she couldnít help that she had fallen for the tall, wispy haired man that was her husband. He had eyes like the sky before a storm, grey and passionate, and they had a glow to them that had haunted her since they first met, the first day she loved him. That day, he had told her underneath the stars that they would be forever, and she believed him.

Now, the proof of his evilness is imprinted on her body in the shape of his hands, fists, teeth, and fingers, but she doesnít care. She knows his love for her is still in him. She saw it. She knows him. They all say she is crazy for not leaving him, that she is getting paler, sicker, thinner. But she nods them away. She canít leave the touch she needs to get through every day.

He would come home from ìwork,î with blood stains of crimson on his handsome, tailored robes and would have a hungry look in his eyes. She always knew what to do next. She would sit him down and slowly peel off his robes as he fingered lightly with the buttons on hers. He would go take a shower and she would set up their bedroom with glasses of wine that she knew wouldnít be drank, with candles that wouldnít be smelled, with music that didnít need to be heard. She put on lingerie that would be ripped away and would go unnoticed. She would put on makeup, knowing it was to be smeared and she charmed her straight locks curly, knowing they would end up frumped. However, she never regretted the work; the result was well worth it for her.

He would come in, his body glimmering as water droplets slid down his sleek, pale skin. He would glide elegantly to her, searching at her as though he had never looked at her before. Her lingerie would find its way off her, or be torn. He would run his fingers over her hard, tight stomach and end up to her chest, then swiftly down, making her body quiver with anticipation.

He would press his lips on her skin, bite her, dig his fingernails to her skin as she moaned softly with pain and pleasure gnawing through her. Then he would tease her body with his, making her groan and whimper until she couldnít take it, she needed him. When their bodies connected, a surge ran through her, a surge of passion, fire, love, fear, and other emotions, consumed her body as sexual bliss ran up and down her body like a tingling sensation. Her body would arch itself, wanting more of him by the second, never wanting to let go or to lose his touch.

When they both were finished, they would lay there for a while, he would look at her differently, then shut his beautiful eyes and sleep. She would watch him for a while, wondering at his beauty, then would clean off the blood from her new wounds and would clean their room. When he awoke, he would leave and not return for days. She knew on those days he would have many women and once she even tried to have affairs herself. But no man could ever make her tremble with a single glance the way he could. So she resigned herself to waiting for him until he wanted her again. Until then, she was a prisoner to his eyes.