A/N - After some delay, here is the first instalment of Heart Shaped Bruises. From here on out, the chapters won't be in complete chronological order - though most of them shall be, some will jump forward or background, before returning to the timeline. I've tried to make this as accurate as possible when it comes to dates, but please, if I get a few things off, forgive me? Anyway, please enjoy, reviews and critique are always welcome!
December, 1971
The frost of nineteen seventy one had settled like a blanket over the grounds of Hogwarts. A brisk winter wind found its way through the cracks in the stone walls, blowing through the halls, up to the Gryffindor tower, and right down into the dungeons at the very pit of the castle. No one could escape it, and the students stood huddled outside classrooms, wrapped in coats and scarves, very few venturing out. From the distance, the sound of screaming Quidditch players could be heard, the only ones brave enough (or, perhaps, stupid enough) to be out in the cold by choice, wind rushing passed them as they swooped down on their broomsticks.
It was almost Christmas, the suits of armour, polished within an inch of their metallic lives by the caretaker, already spluttering out Christmas carols, and the Great Hall ready with tinsel , green, red and gold candles replacing the usual white ones.
"Rabastan, please!"
The Slytherin Common Room, sitting in the dungeons, was a large chamber, green rugs covering the otherwise stone floor, the wallpaper covered in huge snakes that stared out at the only two students who occupied the room. A young woman, blonde hair cut short to her shoulders, got up from the sofa, creating space between herself and the boy, Rabastan, a year or two older than herself, who had been sitting next to her.
"Narcis --"
"He could be back at any moment," she continued, taking steps towards the fireplace, that sat unlit despite the weather outside.
Rabastan grinned.
"I know," he said, getting up too. "That's what makes it so exciting!"
He ran his fingers through his hair, fringe falling back over his eyes almost immediately, and wrapped his hands around her waist, which was covered in her loose school robes. He leaned into the her neck, lips lightly brushing against her cold skin before she stepped away, scowling at the portrait of Salazar Slytherin that stood above the fireplace. Taking her wand from her pocket, she lit the logs that had been sitting solemnly in the grate before they sparked into life. The glow lit Narcissa's pale face, making her look almost sickly.
"Don't pretend you don't --"
Rabastan stopped, hearing familiar words, the Slytherin Common Room Password, be called from outside. He stepped away from the girl, retaking his position on the sofa, and winked at her as she turned, eyes wide in panic.
"Shit," she whispered, straightening out her robes, and glancing at Rabastan. What would he think of them alone in the Common Room together? He hated her even speaking to the other males, let alone spending time with one on her own…the portrait that covered the entrance to the Common Room opened, and Narcissa bit her lip, trying to remain calm as Lucius Malfoy entered.
***
"You look beautiful," Lucius told her, standing behind her in the mirror, his hands resting on her hips. Although she allowed Rabastan to do this, Lucius hands were much larger, held a tighter grip as if he wished to possess her. She fidgeted, hoping he would let go. When he didn't, she turned as if to leave the room, but in his grip around her, he held her in front of him, inches from his face.
"Beautiful…" he repeated, this time only a whisper, before he leaned in to press his lips against hers. They were warm, but he did not kiss her with any urgency. She had noticed that about the Slytherin; he never allowed himself to want for anything, on principle. If he wanted something, he would have it, but he would not show gratitude upon receiving it. She kissed back, slowly, reluctant lips parting to make way for his tongue.
She counted the seconds until he pulled away (thirteen), and then pulled her lips into a soft smile, one he did not return. He looked concerned for a moment, studying her face (something she would learn he always did after kissing or making love to her), looking for something Narcissa couldn't work out. Finally, seemingly satisfied, he let his grip on her hips loosen, and watched her as she exited the Slytherin Common Room.
With her neck heavy with the set of pearls her mother bought her, she held up the bottom of her ivory silk dress to stop it catching as she stepped from the entrance into the halls of the dungeons, waiting for her date to emerge. The Yule ball was not something she had been looking forward too, unlike the other girls in her year. She had, of course, spent hours picking her dress, her friends assuming it was all for Lucius. But nothing Narcissa ever did was for that Slytherin…it was for another, who was already up in the ball, probably dancing with his partner.
She did not know the girl he had gone with; she had only seen her briefly before they had left. She was, as far as Narcissa could tell, a lumpy young black-haired witch in the same year as he was, a year above Narcissa herself. She stood, the cold breeze in the dungeons causing her to shiver as she fingered the short sleeves of the dress. She was didn't like dressing up like this, although she preferred it to itchy school robes; she felt as if she were on show and knew Lucius' eyes would be particularly interested in the low-cut neck of it. Finally, she heard a rattling coming from inside, and he appeared beside her, the finishing touches added to his dress robes, a void-like black.
"Shall we go?" he asked, holding out his elbow for her to take, which she did, tucking a stray wisp of blonde hair back behind her ear. The walked in silence up to the Great Hall, Lucius always one stride ahead, so she was struggling to keep a grip on his elbow and not trip over her own dress.
The ball being only for sixth and seventh years, and so she had not attended it properly herself before. She was nervous, the first time she had properly dressed up, surrounded by seventh years she didn't know, as well as people from her year, who would be sure to tell her if she was not looking as beautiful as Lucius had said.
Lucius slowed, smiling as they reached the top of the staircase, just outside the Great Hall, where many students were still ambling about, with or without dates and drinks, all clad in dress robes and dresses. Just entering the Hall she could see many people she knew - Evan Rosier standing with Hanson Avery, both dateless, Devlin Wilkes leading a young, thin woman passed everyone else in the entrance hall. Narcissa swallowed; so many people were there, looking stunning, and there was she, in the plain dress, her hair pinned to her head. Maybe she should have dressed up more.
Breaking her from her self-conscious worries, Lucius led her straight through the heavy doors without hesitation, or even if she wished to go in yet, ready to escort her to the dance floor.
***
His hands were hot and searching, but even as they moved across her body, they seemed to be calculating each motion, calm and collected. She felt his left hand, rough against her smooth leg, hitching her dress up, the other hand locked in her hair, holding her as he kissed her, tongue exploring her mouth as he never had done before; she wondered if there had been something more in the punch that wasn't just fruit juice.
"N -- no," she whispered, breath catching as he tried to push her dress over her lips. "No."
Lucius pulled away, grey eyes coming to hold her gaze. He looked for a moment as if he was to say something, but instead remained silent.
"Not here," Narcissa continued, suddenly unsure, her face flushing. "Not here, Lucius."
He paused, not breaking their eye contact, before he nodded, his hands moving from her to rest by his waist. She watched him, as he pushed his hair back, forehead beaded with sweat. He looked perturbed, his lips pursed as he looked each way down the hidden corridor that lay on the third floor. Tentatively, Naricssa leant forward, kissing him lightly, her lips picking up the moisture.
"Sorry," she gave him a weak smile.
Again, Lucius did nothing but nod; she supposed he had not dealt with much rejection before, but she couldn't do it yet -- she was not ready for this, especially not in the middle of a hallway. She studied Lucius, as he straightened up his tie and smoothed his white shirt. Maybe he was not sentimental about sex - but to expect her to do this where anyone who knew this passage could walk in on them was ludicrous. She swallowed.
It was odd - she had not expected this so soon from him. Though he was not a good boy, by any means, she had thought he was the traditional kind -- the kind to wait until marriage. She would have preferred that. Not because it was her belief they should wait, but because…well. She could hardly stomach the thought of him inside of her. Not when…when another black-haired gentlemen wanted her so eagerly, a want that she reciprocated. She felt a sudden twang of guilt, turning her attention back to Lucius, who was clearing his throat.
As his breathing, previously shallow and excited, calmed, he looked up at her. She felt naked suddenly, licking her dry lips - most of her lipstick was now on the boy's mouth, but she said nothing about it. She waited, to see if he had anything to say, but instead he turned and began to walk away from her. Was he just going to leave her, flustered and sweaty? She supposed so - he wouldn't wait around to see if he could change her mind, certainly. He was not the begging kind.
Huffing in exasperation at the boy, she pulled down her dress before marching after him, briefly wondering - whose body had Rabastan's hands been exploring tonight?
