Shattering Silver
By: Lauthica Green Clinkenbeard
Chapter Four: Bloody Hell
Lucius crossed the study to his desk, another ancestral heirloom like his bed. He sat down in his chair and opened a drawer pulling out his reading glasses. He hated the fact that he needed them now. They only made him feel older. He put it off for a long while until the constant strain of his eyes was causing terrible migraines, and he finally broke down and got a pair. He adjusted them on his nose reaching into another drawer and pulled out two thick ledgers. He opened one and started to go over the numbers when Draco entered the study carrying his own ledger.
"Leave the door open," Lucius commanded as Draco started to close it. Draco paused for a moment, but then he left the door halfway ajar. He pulled up a chair across from his father and sat down.
"It's doing well so far," Draco said opening the ledger, "I have been continuing to put twenty percent of my paycheck into it over the last two years."
"I still don't know why you refused my offer of one hundred thousand galleons as your capital," Lucius said reaching out for the ledger.
"Father we have already discussed this," Draco said giving him a look.
"I was just saying," Lucius said as he looked down at the numbers.
"I shouldn't even be asking for your advice all the time," Draco said, "I wanted to do it on my own."
"I'm your father," Lucius said, "Giving you advice is my job. Whether or not you take it is up to your own digressions."
"Yes, Father," Draco said. Lucius jotted down a few numbers on a blank piece of parchment adding and subtracting them. He glanced over at his own ledgers a few times. Then he opened a drawer and pulled out another blank piece of parchment. He jotted down a few notes.
"You are doing a wonderful job, so far," Lucius said, "But I have it on good authority that these stocks are getting ready to take a dive. You should trade them," he said pointing to the notes at the top of the page.
"Have you traded yours?" Draco asked.
"Yes," Lucius said as he started to jot down more numbers in his own ledger. He took out another piece of blank parchment and jotted down some more notes. He handed the parchment to Draco. "You should look into these companies," he said. Draco took the parchment and looked over the notes. Lucius closed Draco's ledger and handed it back to him.
"Do you have any other questions?" he asked.
"No, Father," Draco said taking the ledger, "I appreciate your help."
"I still have some numbers to calculate," Lucius said returning his focus to his own ledgers, "Go and enjoy the company of your wife and mother."
Draco nodded toward Lucius. He stood up moving the chair back to its proper place. Lucius watched Draco leave out of the corner of his eye. Draco opened the door and then made sure it was halfway open again, before he walked off down the corridor. Lucius sighed. Finally, he thought. He shut the ledgers and put them back into his desk drawer. His finances were more than fine. He took off his glasses and put them back in their case in the top drawer. He stood smoothing out the front of his red and black silk over shirt. He crossed the study, opening the door and peeked out into the hall to make sure Draco was out of sight. He stepped out of the study closing the door. Taking eager strides he turned to head toward the door of Samantha's bedroom. He panicked when the door opened and quickly racked his brain for an excuse as to why he was walking down this corridor, but it was only Lizzy.
"Lizzy?" Lucius asked.
"Yes, Master?" she asked.
"Has Miss Samantha been settled in and unpacked?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," Lizzy said bowing, "Miss Samantha was in the bath when Lizzy finished unpacking."
Lucius eyes went wide and he gulped nervously focusing on retaining his composer.
"Very good, Lizzy, carry on," he said. Lizzy bowed to him again continuing down the hall. Lucius turned on his heels and hurried to his own bedroom door. Once inside he slammed the door shut behind him and leaned his back against it.
Bloody hell! He brought his hand up to cover his eyes as he desperately tried to purge the image his imagination was creating. He saw those steel grey eyes staring into his own as she stood from the bath. Steam rising from her naked flesh as water trickled down the skin of her breasts and abdomen trickling its way through the wisps of hair concealing her womanhood. He banged the back of his head against the door, hard. For Merlin's sake, he hadn't even seen her figure properly yet! She probably didn't look anything like the twisted fantasy that was playing in his head. Cissa and Draco had said she was muscular. She probably didn't have the curvy, slender body he was imagining. She was probably very boyish with tiny breasts, a flat arse, and barely any other curves. He forced himself to think of her in that way trying to calm himself down and stop the rushing of blood that was gathering in his pants. This was ridiculous! He was forty-eight years old, not fourteen!
He tried to think of when his last physical encounter was with Narcissa. Five month ago? No, six months ago. He guessed it had been far too long. He inhaled and exhaled slowly as he palmed the growing bulge in his slacks. It didn't help and only managed to further arouse him. He crossed the bedroom to the bathroom and started the water in his shower; cold water. He undressed quickly tossing his clothes into the hamper. He stepped into the flow of the frigid water and let it cascade down his body. He tried to think of anything but her. He thought about his own mother. That didn't help. He thought about his grandmother. That didn't help. He thought about Voldemort. Even that didn't help. This was a losing battle.
He reached out and turned on the hot water adjusting the dials until it was a comfortable temperature. He grabbed his vial of body potion and lathered himself up. He gently grasped the shaft of his now fully erect penis using the suds to aid his movement as he began to move his hand up and down, gently at first and then he slowly picked up his pace rubbing his thumb over the sensitive, uncircumcised tip every few strokes. He felt his face and chest flush and let out a silent groan. He started to buck his hips, panting, thrusting into his hand as he slightly squeezing his fingers to create more friction. The pleasure irradiated from his core and spread slowly from his testicles to the rest of his body. He was getting close.
He closed his eyes and he saw hers. That was her only feature that he knew for sure. Those big, grey eyes staring up at him from the snow. He pictured those eyes staring up at him now from the shower floor. Those eyes filled with desire, her soft lips around his shaft sucking and licking at his engorged flesh. His hand gripped hard into her golden hair at the top of her head, as he guiding her to bring him over the edge. "That's it, be a good girl," he would say to her. He was fully, and loudly groaning now, but he didn't care if anyone could hear. He hadn't felt pleasure like this for a long time, and the tension in his body begged for the crescendo.
"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed. "Urgh!" He grunted and with another few thrusts he felt his abdomen tighten as the orgasm radiated through him. He felt his hot semen explode out onto his hand and the tile. He loosened the grip on his penis sighing in relief as he slowly came down from the high, his knees shaking in the bliss of pleasure, milking the cum from his tip with the last of his thrusts. His heart was racing and his face and chest were on fire. He removed his hand from his penis and used it to brace himself on the wall of the shower, resting his burning forehead against the cool tile. That takes care of that, he thought. Now it's time to be done with it.
Samantha exited the bathroom wrapped in the soft robe she found in the cabinet. Lizzy had finished unpacking and left to attend other duties. Sam sat down at the vanity and started to brush out her long hair. Once it was completely detangled and smooth she used a drying charm, and used a big plastic clip to hold it out of her face. She walked over to the wardrobe and opened it. It was enchanted and inside it stretched out into a walk-in closet.
Narsissa said this was a formal dinner so she rummaged around until she found all the eveningwear she brought with her. Judging by the décor of the house and the colours that Narsissa and Astoria were wearing she pulled out one of her older evening dresses. It was a vintage Channel, black with intricate green embroidery. It was a knee length pencil design, the neck was wide, as the sleeves rested just off the shoulder, and it showed tasteful cleavage. After all, she wasn't trying to impress any eligible men while she was here. She untied the robe and let it pool on the floor of the wardrobe. She slipped into some clean panties and then pulled on the dress. Zipping up the side she adjusted the front so she had the necessary support for her ample bosom. She chose a pair of strappy black stilettoes that went all the way up the calf of her leg and quickly buckled them. She checked herself out in the mirror, satisfied she returned to the vanity.
She opened several drawers trying to figure out where Lizzy put all of her jewelry until she found it and pulled out a large red velvet box. She opened it pulling out her favourite necklace. Since Narsissa seemed fond of diamonds, Sam didn't want to try to out bling her. The necklace she held in her hand was a tear shaped emerald surrounded by black diamonds, all flawless and set in platinum. She clasped it around her neck and then she threaded the matching earrings into her lobes. She took out her tube of water-proof, sweat-proof, and magic-proof eyeliner and traced it all around each eye extending out the upper corners to make her eyes catty. She chose a silver eyeshadow as the base colour and then added a darker grey to the outer sides of her lids. She went over both colours with a thin layer of silver glitter. She didn't like blush, and instead she used a light bronzer to add definition to her cheekbones and the shadows on the corners of her forehead and the sides of her nose. She took out a small compact. Inside was a shiny, red lip lacquer. Using a small brush she applied to her lips and casted a charm to make it food and drink proof. She didn't want to leave lip marks on the Malfoys fine china and crystal.
She took out a bottle of hair smoothing serum and applied it all over her golden locks. She casted a charm to make her natural curls more defined and to hold them in place. She decided she was going to leave it long but she wanted it to sweep to one side. She dug around until she found her enchanted hair pins and started to stick them in the back so that her hair would only cascade down her right shoulder. She looked everything over in the mirror and smiled to herself. This dinner was her opportunity to prove herself and to also represent all of American's upper class wizarding society. She had to be perfect, and she was confident that she looked it. She straightened up the vanity and went back to the wardrobe to hang up the bath robe. She thought about calling for Lizzy to lead her back to the family room but if she was going to be staying here for a while she needed to learn the floorplan for herself. She walked confidently into the corridor, the heels of her stilettoes clacking on the stone floor making her way back toward the main stair. She shuddered as she passed Mr. Malfoy's bedroom door. No doubt she would finally meet him at this dinner. She thought back to the picture she had seen in Wizarding USA and how terrible he had looked. He was probably worse now. She pictured a decrepit old man, hunched over a cane, disheveled and wrinkled; broken by the passing of time.
Lucius felt absolutely ashamed of himself as he buttoned up the front of his white silk shirt. He hadn't had a wank in years, and he felt like he had demoted himself as a gentleman. He searched around his wardrobe until he found his black over shirt that was embossed with silver snakes. He slid it on and buttoned it quickly. Why Narcissa suggested that this should be a formal dinner eluded him. The only person who would be there who wasn't family was that blasted American. So far she had only managed to torment and haunt him, and in truth she hadn't even really met him yet. He felt silly for the way he lost control earlier, both in the cemetery and then just twenty minutes ago out in the hall. He blamed himself for letting his own sexual desires get pent up for so long.
He had long come to terms with his aging and accepted that his drive and libido had diminished over the years. His last mistress was over ten years ago and only lasted for two weeks before he dismissed her. Still, he was thankful for his virility. In fact, maybe his body was playing a joke on him, telling him he wasn't as old as he thought he was. He pulled out a long formal cloak from his collection of dress robes and looked it over. He sighed. He didn't need to be in full dress robes for this. For god sakes, this was his house, it was his food they would be eating, and he was going to wear whatever the hell he wanted to. He hung the cloak back up and then he walked out of the wardrobe over to a dresser where his sigil broach sat. He pinned it quickly to his collar and then slipped into his Italian leather loafers.
He walked briskly back out into the corridor heading for the main stair. He held his head up proudly as he descended the stairs admiring the general splendor of his home. He was the master of this castle. This American was his guest, in his domain, nothing more than a leaf passing by in the wind. He would of course be polite and courteous toward her, but he would not let himself stoop to the level in which he had found himself in the shower. His pride would not allow that. He would rejoin his wife, son, and daughter-in-law in the family room as they waiting for the dinner bell, and he would mostly ignore the American. He would speak when spoken to, and dabble in polite, innocent banter. Other than that, absolutely not. He would keep to himself and leave it to her own manners to respect his space and privacy.
Just as he reached the bottom of the stairs and headed in the direction of the family room he heard another set of footsteps behind him. His heart skipped a beat as he turned swiftly and gazed up toward the sound. A few minutes later, Samantha turned the corner as she too descended the stairs and came into view.
"Bloody hell," Lucius said barely above a whisper. She had not yet noticed him at the base of the stairs. His eyes devoured her. Her hair was much longer than he had originally thought. It almost reached to her knees and was naturally curly. Her face was even more beautiful than it had been in the cemetery as she accented her features with sharp eyeliner and expertly applied shadows added contrasts to her soft, angular features. Her lips were blood red and glossy like a candied apple. The dress she wore tastefully showed off her large breasts as well as the defined muscles of her arms and legs. Tracing his eyes down the wicked curves of her hips almost pained him, and her stilettoes only added to the roundness and fullness of her wide hips and perfectly heart shaped buttocks. Her body was anything but boyish as he had guessed earlier, but was also quite different from the slender one he imagined in his fantasy. It was much, much more alluring. He was now very thankful and grateful that he broke down and gave himself a wank. If he hadn't, surely right now he would be apologizing to her and embarrassing himself. She was halfway down the last of the stairs when she finally looked up and her eyes locked onto his. Lucius thought that every ounce of breath in his body left him.
Sam inhaled as she met his eyes. It was the stranger that attacked her in the cemetery and he was standing as still as a statue gawking at her.
"What the hell are you doing here?" She asked standing frozen on the stairs, "Were you even invited?"
Lucius blinked a few times trying to comprehend what she had said and trying to find an answer to her question.
"I…" he began. All of the confidence he felt when he left his bedroom flew out the window the moment he saw her, "Well…I…"
"Speak or I shall call out for Mr. Malfoy," she said sternly. "What did you do? Sneak in through a window?" she asked.
Finally Lucius regain his composer, "I am Mr. Malfoy," he said adding extra accent to the latter of his sentence, "And I happen to live here,"
All the blood drained from Sam's face. Mr. Malfoy? What the hell? No wonder he attacked her in the cemetery, he was the damn Deatheater! He didn't look anything like the picture she had remembered. In fact, and she hated herself for admitting this, but he was actually very handsome. His hair was expertly groomed, pin straight, and hanging down to his hips. He had a very square face with a broad brow, the tiniest hint of a cleft chin, and a sharp, angular jaw line as if he was hewn from a block of marble. He was tall and slim, but his shoulders were very broad and masculine, and she could tell he had decent muscle definition under his clothes.
"Why didn't you tell me who you were in the cemetery?" She asked.
"I could ask the same of you," He said, "I did ask you for your name."
"That's not the same!" she exclaimed, "You were supposed to be picking me up from the pub. Thanks to you I had to walk the whole way."
"I already told you, I thought you were a man," he said, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest feeling his temper flare.
"What the hell? How could you mistake me for a man?!" she asked.
"I don't normally meet women as tall as you, nor could I see you properly. You were wearing a very heavy cloak and had your hood up. I could see neither your figure nor your face, so the blame is not entirely on myself," He said raising his voice slightly.
"That's no excuse to go off and cast at some random person taking an innocent stroll! It's no wonder you were a Deatheater," she said raising her own voice.
He was enraged. He moved at once, almost like a blur. Before Sam could register what was going on he took the stairs two by two and grabbed hold of her jaw roughly. She inhaled sharply as he tightened his grip on her. She stared at him absolutely petrified as her hands flew up to grab his wrists.
"You should have just waited at the damn pub!" he said forcefully causing her to flinch every time he heightened his dictation. "I am Lucius Malfoy. I wait for no one. I chase no one. I will cast whatever I want at whomever I want whenever I want for whatever reason I have. If I am running late I expect that person to wait. This is my house. You are my guest, and if you think I am going to tolerate your vulgar American rashness and indifference you are very mistaken. I can make your every waking moment a living hell if I wanted to. I am not asking for your respect, I am demanding it! Do you understand?" he asked. Sam said nothing. She only stared at him, digging her nails into his wrists trying to pry him off of her, those striking grey eyes brimming with tears. He gripped her jaw tighter causing her to whimper. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!" he roared.
"Yes!" She said finally, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Yes, I understand!"
"Yes I understand, Lucius Malfoy," He said, "Say it,"
"I'm sorry!" She said again, "Please! I'm sorry!"
"SAY IT!" He roared.
"Yes I understand, Lucius Malfoy!" she exclaimed, her whole body trembling in fear.
Lucius released her and she fell down to her knees on the stairs holding onto to her throbbing jaw. Lucius stood above her proud of himself once more. He looked down at her as a falcon would look at a little mouse. Until he heard her sob…His anger melted away; his pride. What had he done? He felt ashamed anew. How could he let himself lose his temper like that? He took a deep breath and turned to descend back down the stairs. She flinched again when he moved and looked up at him. He could not bring himself to look her in the eye. He continued into the corridor without looking back at her.
He didn't want to face his family knowing that Narcissa would sense something was wrong at once. He didn't want to openly admit his violent actions. Samantha had called him out as a Deatheater. No one had dared speak that word to his face in years, and hearing it again, especially from someone he barely knew, just made him snap. He knew he had a problem with his temper. He inherited that from his mother. She was a headstrong, impatient woman who was almost always angry. He entered the drawing room and when he shut the door he locked it. He wanted to be alone, and he made his way to his window to watch the setting sun.
He couldn't believe how quickly that whole situation escalated. Within the span of an hour Samantha had turned him into a pubescent boy that could barely function without an almost unbreaking desire for release. He had a wank picturing her servicing his member, and all without even knowing what she truly looked like. Then, she would appear as an angel on his staircase, stealing his breath away and outdoing every expectation of his imagination innocently asking completely legitimate questions with an appropriate tone of voice. She had every right to ask what she had asked. He knew her, but she did not know him. He lost control of himself and then he only hurt her again. Bloody hell, he hurt her twice in the same day. He slammed his hand against the window angry at himself and ignored the searing cold of the glass. He had to figure out a way to make it up to her. Show her that he wasn't the monster she thought he was.
Then another thought entered his head. She knew he used to be a Deatheater…Well, he was flattering himself with that one. Everyone knew he used to be a Deatheater. She must have been terrified to come here in the first place, and he had done nothing but prove to be everything of her darkest fears. He was a monster, and he wanted so badly to redeem himself to her. She had an effect on him that he didn't understand nor had ever felt the likes of before. He removed his hand from the window and looked down at his fingers. They tingled as he remembered the way her soft skin had felt when he grabbed her. His body automatically reacted around her; both good and bad, and his emotions ran wild. It was something he wasn't used to. He was always in complete control of almost everything. She was a wild card, and he had absolutely no idea how to handle this particular situation.
Samantha somehow managed to find her way to her feet. She was thankful she had made her make-up everything-proof. She didn't want Narsissa and Astoria to find out she was crying, and more so she didn't want them to know why, or more correctly, who gave her the reason for crying. Lucius Malfoy was ten times worse than she could have possibly imagined. So what if he didn't look as she had expected, it made no difference to his character. He was evil, pure evil. She made a mistake coming here, and as soon as the Ministry's Christmas ball was over she was going straight home, and would vow to never return. Damn the whole lot of them! She made her way down the rest of the stairs and sat on the cushions of a nearby bay window. She allowed herself a few quiet, peaceful moments to regain her composer before she stood adjusting her dress. She entered the corridor that led to the family room, or at least she hoped that it led to the family room. She decided that it would be best to stick close to Narcissa for the duration of her visit and avoid the Malfoy patriarch all together.
