Summary: Narcissa, due to be wed on the morrow, has one more item to tick off before finally becoming leg-shackled blindly to wintry, unfamiliar Lucius, the young Lord Malfoy.
Disclaimer: I gain nothing but satisfaction, and all recognisable features, ideas, etc. belong to their respective owners. This is merely a work of fanfiction.
"animal"
a little bird
told me that you loved me
- - Narcissa B./Remus L. - -
Muggle bookshops aren't meant for magical rendezvous, and Narcissa Black should not be in a bookshop this side of The Leaky. For some reason Remus is strangely fixated on the thought.
He'd frozen like a deer in the headlights the moment his customer's identity was revealed, but rather inexplicably his only real awareness hovers around the fact that Narcissa Black is standing, quite unperturbed, in the middle of a muggle bookshop – the same muggle bookshop in which Remus is employed as a casual. It doesn't exactly feel real.
"I used to watch you at school – you, Potter and my cousin," she says idly, her blue eyes half-lidded as she gazes at him. "You were all inseparable – still are, I presume."
"Is there something in particular I can help you with?" Remus offers a little timidly.
She has always rather terrified him with her ice cool exterior and proud Black heritage but, in spite of this, he has also carried with him, ever since he first glimpsed her on the Hogwarts Express, an indefatigable tendre for her – and, really, what boy could look at her without developing an attachment to this porcelain angel?
She gives no indication of having heard him, merely continuing along the same strain: "I always thought that you and Sirius would eventually appear as an item – for all the girls he paraded in and out of his bedroom! The two of you seemed so close."
"I should say that this establishment only sells muggle books."
Remus tries to hint her away, struggling to push aside the un-genteel thoughts bombarding him with increasing strength the more he gazes upon her pretty, determined countenance.
"It wasn't the same closeness as he and Potter shared, of course, but it was very obvious to anybody who really looked at the pair of you."
Distinctly uncomfortable, Remus looks around for anything else to talk about; anything but his strictly platonic relationship with Sirius (or how he'd quite like to kiss her pink lips until they were swollen from his particular attention).
Like something heaven-sent, he suddenly recalls a snippet of information and grasps at it wildly. "Isn't your wedding tomorrow?"
Narcissa stills instantly.
Recovering her equilibrium she says, "Actually, it's over the entire long weekend. It's to be an Event, I believe."
She approaches, standing far closer than her Society upbringing would normally allow, but she is a woman on a mission and etiquette has no place here. "I have twenty-four hours left," she murmurs, far, far too close for Remus to be in any way comfortable. After all, he has more reason than most to feel the cornered sensations of a wild animal. "I intend to make them count."
She coaxes gently at first, when her lips touch his, but within a handful of breaths something inside him snaps and Moony takes over, body and soul – because this is what he has always wanted – morals be damned.
He slams her back against the closest stack of shelves, the sheer force enough to knock a number of books to the floor. Around their feet are sprawled Of Mice and Men, This Side of Paradise and Catch-22; Remus accidentally steps on To Kill a Mockingbird and for a brief moment Moony's supremacy flickers.
Her spine is pressing uncomfortably into the shelves, almost hard enough to bruise, but she doesn't care: this is exactly why she came here. She's damn well going to see it through. Snatching the opportunity to draw her nails down his chest, the moment of hesitation passes and Remus finds himself sharing the hot-blooded assault with Moony.
Considering her parentage, and bearing in mind exactly who she's engaged to, the fact that she's currently being ravaged by Remus Lupin is something in the way of an extraordinary – it is all a little unlikely, really, but war lingers, nipping at their heels, and she thinks, 'Stranger things have happened,' as she arches into his lean body, her body tingling where his hands steady her with a crushing grip.
Still, she admits privately, it is hard to reconcile this animalistic man with the shy prefect she remembers from Hogwarts.
He draws out of her a refreshing rawness, a reveal which she has never before allowed, always remaining the perfect ice princess. When she marries Lucius Malfoy she may be lucky, or she may find her good fortune has run out, as it stands she has as of yet no clue. Perhaps he will bring out the best in her, whether it is simple fondness or the spine-tingling rawness that Remus has ignited in her today; perhaps it will fall on the other side of the fence and she will feel nothing but hatred, despair and loathing – who knows?
With this, she lets her thoughts tumble away, declining into the realms of pleasure.
At the end of their encounter Remus asks softly, curiously, "Why me?"
She looks up from straightening her robes, her blue eyes sharp. "Because tomorrow I marry a lord."
"And what – you wished first for a taste of the peasant?" he replies, the coldness in his words betraying his hurt.
She matches his iciness with great composure. "Have a care, Lupin. I wished only for someone who cared more for me than for my ability to breed. A marriage of convenience is not unheard of in my circles, you know, and love plays no part there." Fully dressed once more, she adds, "I fear I will never love, not properly, but being loved is something to cherish and I will not refuse it because of whence it came."
"And you suppose it comes from me?"
"Oh, I have always known it came from you. A little bird told me." It is said with a small smile and she is speaking, he knows, of unclaimed Valentines; poems, words, simple flowers – none of the glamour that was attached to her other suitors at school. Merlin knew the Lupins were not wealthy.
While her answer doesn't satisfy him, he doesn't argue, or demand anything more. And when she walks out fifteen minutes later (he, in the meantime, having responded to all her 'nothing' comments which followed), still looking as perfect as porcelain, he carefully does not watch her exit, but busies himself with the shop, diligently returning the fallen books to their places.
He will take this deviation from the norm to the grave, recounting it only in his own company – because some things desire secrecy.
End.
Ha - random, random, random! Where this came from I have no idea, but it was different to write – I never even considered the pair before, really!
It's a bit nonsensical, which I blame on their youth and my weirdness. I hope you enjoy it, though, so please read and review responsibly to let me know your opinions. Cheers!