"Where were you today?" Maurice demanded as soon as Narcissa had entered the common room.
Admittedly, Narcissa was surprised that she'd heard Maurice. The common room was teeming with life, more so than she had seen in quite a long time. Someone had obtained quite a lot of items which Narcissa could never guess how they did so, and also quite a lot of items which had to be banned.
A gramophone was in the corner of the room, where Severus usually sat, though the music playing was most certainly not the classical type that she had grown up with. She had no idea what the genre was, but it was an insult to her refined ears, and she physically cringed. The room was hazy with smoke which furled up from cigarettes in the hands of students, smelling of sweet pumpkin tobacco. Drinks were flying about everywhere, quite volatile-looking ones at that and some Narcissa recognised as firewhiskey, and forcing themselves into people's hands wherever possible. She had to bat one away as it cannoned towards her. The usual chairs and tables which littered the common room had been piled up against the wall - though, thankfully, the armchairs, sofa and coffee table around the fire remained – to make room for people dancing. If that was what it could be called. Dry-humping was more accurate, and it was most certainly not dignified.
However, the force of the dungeon party as it smacked her in the face was nothing compared to the full force of the accusing glares from every direction, which made her stop in her tracks and recoil slightly.
Maurice was staring with scrutiny at her over the top of the armchair on the opposite side of the coffee table to Nacissa's usual seat, and Bellatrix was glaring through heavily-lidded eyes, drink in hand. From over by the gramophone, Crowley watched her in a very indifferent way, though she could seem to infer hint of betrayal in his placid expression. Only Andromeda and Rodolphus seemed pleased to see her, Andy smiling from around the sofa on which Bellatrix sat, where she was habiting the floor cross-legged, and Rodolphus waving from the floor at Bella's feet, presumably to get as close to the fire as possible.
"Well, hello to you too," she grumbled, undoing her thick winter cloak as she made her way to her usual armchair. When she found there was a second-year girl in it with her incredibly small and skinny boyfriend, she threateningly took out her wand and glared at them. They very quickly ran off. "Who were they?" she huffed loudly to make herself heard over the hubbub and music, taking her seat and draping her cloak over the arm of it.
"Replacements," Maurice sniffed. Narcissa noticed how Maurice roamed her eyes over her clothes, as though she wasn't expecting the jumper and jeans that Narcissa was wearing from that morning. "In case you never came back," she added to Narcissa's raised eyebrow.
She let out an exasperated sigh. "I just felt ill. You know, after all that in the Entrance Hall this morning. Did anyone find out who that was?" She congratulated herself on being such a good actress as Maurice shook her head. "Yes, well, it made me feel sick, so I decided to come back to my dormitory."
"We came back and looked for you. You weren't here," Bellatrix cut in tersely.
"Because I went to the hospital wing," Narcissa sighed, pulling her feet up onto the armchair and reclining back into it. She put her hands in her lap, pulling her legs in tightly to muffle the quiet whistle of her bracelet. "Madam Hartford told me to not watch the quidditch match, to stay in and keep warm. So I did. I went to the library."
Her story was half-right. She had returned to her dormitory, and she had gone to the library. Even if it was to change into her dress and make sure she had an alibi, respectively. Madam Pince would have documented in that sly little brain of hers if Narcissa had been there or not if Maurice were to ask, and Narcissa wouldn't put it past her to do so. After her…time with Professor Malfoy she had returned to her dormitory, changed back into her original clothes and put the dress away. It was perfect, she wouldn't be discovered. It was brilliant, fool-proof.
Or so she thought, except when presented with a special kind of idiot; "I don't think Lucius was there either, y'know," Rodolphus said contemplatively, raising his palms to the flames and rubbing them together. "I didn't see him in the stands. Mind you, it was snowing so much that he might've been. Pale bastard."
Narcissa could feel Andromeda's stare bore into the side of her head, and resisted the over-whelming urge to look around at her sister very well. She also resisted the blush which prickled behind her cheeks, lowering her head in order to do so.
"I'll just see him tomorrow during lesson. Let him know who won," Rodolphus carried on to no one in particular, though the tone of pride and fact that he suddenly picked up a shot-glass of firewhiskey, raised it as though in toast and drained it in one suggested that he was just congratulating himself anyway.
"I suppose I don't have to ask," Narcissa shrugged, waving a hand to motion the common room and still ignoring her sister's gaze, "I suspect the Gryffindors won't be celebrating like this."
"They most certainly will not!" declared Rodolphus triumphantly, allowing a bottle to soar over to him and refill his glass. "We trounced them, Cissa, trounced them. Black was amazing – Regulus, obviously. He scored about six goals in the first few minutes. Bam bam bam!" He waved his fists as though demonstrating goals. Narcissa, quite used to Rodolphus getting quite drunk during these parties as he was usually the one to get his hands on the drink, waited patiently for him to continue. "At one point, Potter was going after the snitch, but I hit a bludger his way. Got him straight in the arm." He nodded dramatically, proudly, and rose to his feet, quite clearly lost in the memory of the match. "And then, and then, Flint went and scored another seven goals or somethin', and Nott was brilliant. He saved nearly all the goals that Gryffindor threw our way, though of course they have girls on the team." He snorted. "Girls can't play quidditch, girls are weak and don't listen and" – He looked down to see Bellatrix's face. – "are fantastic and amazing at everything and man would be nothing without them."
Narcissa smirked very slightly and rolled her eyes. "And here's me thinking all of this was for my birthday. So Crowley got the snitch?"
"O'course," Rodolphus shouted, raising his glass in Tobias' direction. "Bloody brilliant, it was."
"He seemed distracted though. Tobias, I mean," Maurice continued for Rodolphus, as Bella, seemingly having not forgiven him for his comment, used her wand to sweep his feet beneath him, causing him to land in a heap on the floor. "Looked like he was expecting someone to be in the stands." The pointed look which Maurice set on Narcissa left her insinuation under no uncertain terms.
Narcissa rolled her eyes again, not looking so amused now. "It wasn't my fault I was ill," she muttered, watching Rodolphus as, under Bella's guidance, a bottle of firewhiskey was pouring into his mouth while he was bound by invisible ropes on the floor. On the contrary to Bella's intentions, he seemed to rather enjoy being nearly drowned by the strong alcohol.
"Well, maybe you should ask him to dance as an apology," Maurice suggested loftily.
Narcissa looked to the mass of grinding bodies, alcohol spilt on most of them from their frantic, uncoordinated movements. She noticed that at least two boys had their hands beneath some garment on Margarethe's body, which was some feat since she wasn't wearing much to start with. Narcissa scowled. "Not my kind of dancing," she muttered tonelessly. To imagine Crowley's hands on her in such a way made her feel sick.
Professor Malfoy, though-
No no no, shut up.
"Not everyone does the waltz, Cissa," Maurice sniffed, in that way which suggested she thought herself superior to anyone and everyone.
"Is Walden in there with some other girl then?" Narcissa inquired politely, a faux smile of mild interest plastered on her lips.
Maurice glowered at her. "We had an argument," she muttered dejectedly.
"Oh, to fight with your one true love," Narcissa sighed heavily, mockingly. Bella's features twisted with a proud smirk. She flicked her wand and the bottle of firewhiskey, having spilt its contents all into Rodolphus' mouth, fell onto his head with a dull thunk.
"Just because you've never known it," Maurice snapped.
Narcissa felt as though she had been slapped. She'd rather she had been, for a moment, for then she would have known how to respond (with a very twisted hex or a very hard slap back). As it was, she had no idea what to say to that. Was it true? Had she never known it? Narcissa, again, felt Andy's furtive eyes on her from over her astronomy book, which distracted her from her thoughts, making her all the more confused.
She supposed it was true. She had never been with anyone, except Professor Malfoy and, well, that was never affection. It couldn't be. It was just a fuck. He fucked her. That was all. There was no endearment from either party, none at all.
But then why did she hate the thought of it being nothing but sex? And why, afterwards, did he hold her to him? Maybe he was just humouring her, just pretending so that she kept crawling back to him. But the little letter which resided in her bedside table drawer… Was that a lie too? Another way to get between her legs? Or was it genuine?
She stared into the fire, ignoring the gagging and spluttering of Rodolphus as he writhed around on the floor. Maurice was clearly expecting a retort, but when none came she huffed and reclined back in the chair, staring at the throng of gyrating bodies, seemingly in search for McNair. Narcissa was too lost in thought to care.
They sat in near silence for quite some time. Rodolphus, having regained the ability to move and breathe, stared longingly at the crowd beyond the sofa, clearly wanting to join in but knowing that his testicles would be detached from his body quicker than he could say diffindo. Narcissa had taken to watching Godwin Keyes with interest, since he was wandering around the common room trying to convince the first-years stupid enough to have not retired to bed to drink shots of firewhiskey or try a cigarette which he lit with a bright blue flame on the tip of his wand. He appeared to be quite persuasive.
As the night wore on, a lot of empty bottles were being piled up here and there around the room, and there were a lot of discarded cigarette butts lingering around. A very tipsy Walden had finally started talking to Maurice again, and he had dragged her from her chair to 'dance' with him, at which point Andy, who had been checking her watch every few minutes, decided she was going for a midnight stroll. There was no doubt in Narcissa's mind that she would be going considerably north and would end up in a bed with red sheets. Severus had sidled from his dormitory and sat beside Bellatrix at some point, murmuring something about people 'being busy' up there and he didn't want to disturb them, though how Severus could disturb anyone was a mystery to Narcissa, for he merely buried his face in the pages of 'Potions Through Time by Archibald M. W. Brewer'. Rodolphus, at some other point, had gotten so drunk that he had passed out with a cigarette perched precariously between his lips, sitting on the floor with his head on Bellatrix's lap, and she was proceeding to pull the stubble on his chin out, hair by hair.
Narcissa knew, in the early hours of Wednesday, that she should have gone to bed as soon as she'd entered the common room. By the looks of the thinning crowd of people, most couples in Slytherin house had disappeared to bed, meaning that she was very reluctant to do so, especially since the Glisseo Charm Marianne had cast on the girl's dormitory stairs had been somehow surpassed and quite a few males had disappeared up them. Narcissa could see her scowling each time someone did. She guessed that, if she left it an hour or so, they'd have fallen into their drunken, spent slumbers and she'd be fine to sleep. Alone.
She sighed at the thought. To be able to sleep with someone would be nice. She enjoyed the shape her body made when she fit it to Professor Malfoy's side. She liked how she could rest her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, and be held like she was.
So I want to be held by Professor Malfoy?
No. No, I don't.
Yes, I do. This is why I think about him so much. I want affection from him.
Even if I did he'd never give it.
Well, I'm sure someone else would. Crowley, maybe.
Why yes, as a matter of fact, he had been looking at Narcissa for most of the night. Quite intently. Even when talking to William Nott or Margarethe, his eyes had been flicking to Narcissa, and she didn't like the intensity in his eyes one bit. She felt like he was planning something against her.
She glanced up furtively from her usual hobby of staring into the fire, in order to see if Tobias was staring at her at that moment, only to find that he wasn't there. A quick sweep of the common room informed her he wasn't among the passed out bodies or the few people still standing, so she guessed he had gone to bed. Maybe with Zabini and three or so other boys.
Rolling her eyes, Narcissa sighed and, rubbing her eyelids with the backs of her fingers, rose from her chair. She yawned and stretched out her aching limbs, having been sat with her knees pulled up to her chest for quite a few hours. "I'm going to bed," she informed Bellatrix, who was still wide awake and fixed her a very conscious stare.
"Good night, Cissy," she simpered, the sudden voice making Severus, who had dozed off with his book still somehow held up in front of his face, jolt awake. "Don't let the doxies bite."
Narcissa was careful to kick Rodolphus as she passed him to get to the girl's dormitory stairs, causing him to jerk into consciousness, inhale suddenly and nearly swallow his cigarette.
"G'night," he spluttered when Narcissa waved at him, before realising that his chin was smarting and, upon feeling the hairless, inflamed skin, set to beginning an obnoxiously loud row with Bella which could end only in either him being a pulverised mess or a few rounds of very energetic, adrenaline-filled and hate-induced sex. Or both, Narcissa would guess.
She weaved her way through the mass of unconscious bodies which littered the floor of the common room, most of which, she noticed, who looked very young. Keyes must feel very proud of himself, she pondered amusedly at the sight of a first year underneath a table at the side of the room, curled protectively around a near-empty firewhiskey bottle, dead to the world.
Having forced her tired, cramped legs into ascending the dormitory stairs, Narcissa sighed softly as she entered and closed the door behind her. The torches in brackets around the room were extinguished, the only light being from her bedside lamp and another, each glowing with only a single flame to penetrate the pitch-darkness. As far as she could tell, there were no activities beyond sleep happening behind the drapes which were all pulled securely around the beds, for the entire room was still and all she could hear was the soft breathing of the inhabitants, though there seemed to be a lot more than normal. For this, she was grateful.
Yawning behind her hand demurely, she slipped her wand out of her sleeve and placed it on the bedside table, falling into her ritual. Kicking off her shoes and sitting on the edge of her bed, she pulled her jumper up and over her head before unbuttoning and shedding herself of her jeans, throwing them into a pile on the floor. She stretched her aching muscles and moved her hips, testing how much it hurt between them. She had already showered quickly that day, when she got changed, so the uncomfortable feeling of dried fluids wasn't present, thank Merlin. There was a dull ache, but it was hurting less and less with each time, just as the pleasure was growing more and more intense. Soon she would grow a tolerance to Professor Malfoy's administrations, and he would have to work harder to please her. She smiled softly at the thought.
She paid no heed to the rhythmic breathing of the people in the dormitory, though if she did she may have found something amiss; there was no bed to the right of hers, yet there was someone in the darkness, breathing so softly it was barely audible. It was only when she had shed herself of her outer layer of clothing, and had her arms behind her back to unclasp her bra, that she heard it.
There was the sound of shifting clothing, somewhere in the darkness in front of her. She froze, listening hard and glancing over to her wand which suddenly seemed miles away. She swallowed hard for her heart was pounding in her throat somewhere. Her every nerve was suddenly on edge, innate instincts telling her that she was in some sort of danger. She eyed the darkness in front of her suspiciously, eyes flicking over to her wand as though judging the distance and how long, consequently, it would take to snatch it up and declare some sort of hex; Narcissa was poised, tensed to thrust her arm out, grab her wand and curse every inch in front of her to oblivion.
The creator of the sound, however, did not give her chance to do so. A mere shape, a shadow in the darkness, suddenly lunged forwards and descended on top of her. Narcissa tried to scream, but a hand was over her mouth before she could do so. She was pushed onto the bed, her arms trapped between her back and the sheets, with the assailant's superior weight pressing down upon her.
She had clenched her eyes shut as she was pushed down, so she couldn't see who the attacker was, but that voice of vile self-assurance, tainted with the stench of stale cigarette smoke and alcohol, was enough indication. "I've tried to be nice, Narcissa," the voice growled, very close to her face.
Narcissa cringed and tried to move away, writhing underneath what she was sure was the muscular form of Crowley, but his body was pressed onto hers and he was not relenting. She tried to speak, to cry for help, but her voice was muffled entirely by his hand.
"Yet you still have the audacity or stupidity to deny – nay, reject – my advances. Silly little bitch," Crowley continued in a hushed, harsh whisper. Narcissa opened her eyes a fraction and could see, through the terrified tears, that his teeth were gritted. He looked positively livid. His hair was dishevelled, his eyes wide and his jaw was set in a snarl which retained not even a hint of that usually so captivating smile. She suddenly felt very naked indeed, with just her underwear and socks on, with her wand so very far away. She sobbed behind his fingers.
He leant into her face as tears leaked from her eyes, brushing them away with his lips. The somewhat tender gesture contrasted vividly with the strong alcohol on his hot breath, his angry, laboured panting on her cheek. It confused her. "If you were not so fucking virginal, I would have you right here and now," Crowley snarled, and he pushed his hips forward. Narcissa quietly whimpered at the feeling of his erection, constrained by his trousers, pressing into her thigh. She ignored thoughts that he was not as large in any way as Professor Malfoy, for she was petrified and that was highly inappropriate for the situation. "As it is, I will have to wait. But I will have you one day, Cissa. Mark my words. I. Will. Have. You."
He kissed her cheek, to which Narcissa cringed and leant away from him desperately, just wanting him gone. There was a moment in which he stared down at her, scrutinizing her, before he rose and, as swiftly as he'd pounced upon her, left the dormitory.
Narcissa waited until she was sure she heard the door close, and was sure she was alone, before she rolled off her back onto her side. She pulled her legs up and hugged them in a foetal position, crying into her knees. She shock had struck quickly, and her tears were falling fast, more out of the surprise than real fear.
See Maurice, she snarled in the confines of her head, that's who you think I should be with. You know nothing. And to think, he had gotten some kind of kick out of being on top of her like that, some kind of sexual gratification for Narcissa to be trapped and beneath him, at his mercy. His arousal had not been from some extraneous factor, oh no, it had been because she was powerless to stop him. She could tell it in the way he breathed, the husky way in which he spoke in undertones behind his calculated coldness. She could tell his excitement, for it was not unlike Professor Malfoy's voice when he spoke before entering Narcissa. Only Professor Malfoy's did not sound so threatening, so disgusting.
That bastard, was the thought which repeated around her mind until she managed to regain enough control of her body, shuddering and wracking with silent sobs, to rise from her bed and practically throw herself into the dormitory shower, despite the time.
She couldn't scrub herself hard enough. She had never felt dirtier, not even after such forbidden acts with her professor. She could feel Crowley's body on hers no matter how hard she scoured herself. The smell of his body, sweaty from dancing that night, and his breath lingered on her no matter how much soap she used. The feeling of his arousal pressing into her inner thigh would not leave no matter how much she tried. She ended up sitting on the floor of the shower in her foetal position, embracing her legs tightly for security, the water falling upon her soaking hair.
When she eventually returned to her dormitory, Narcissa was exhausted in every way. She was jumpy, and held her towel tightly around her, in case Crowley had stalked back in at some point. Stepping tentatively back to her bed, she flicked her wand and whispered an incantation to dry her hair, and another to calm her skin where she had scrubbed it red raw. She then ripped the drapes around her bed shut, and, with her wand still in her hand, crawled under the sheets. She was naked, too exhausted to change into any form of clothing, so she clutched her wand protectively for security.
She soon realised, when she began to doze off but kept waking up with that feeling of missing a stair in the dark, her stomach plummeting beneath her unpleasantly, that it was not enough. She didn't feel safe, and her body was keeping her awake for fear of another onslaught from Crowley. Tears of frustration stung her eyes now, and Narcissa buried her face into her pillow to hide them. The bastard.
She gripped her pillow and pulled it close to her as she curled up into her rigid ball, holding tight and allowing her tears to quietly fall. She very slowly began to feel herself not so wracked by fear anymore, however, with her pillow grasped between her slender fingers. She began to feel some sort of comfort from it, some tiny flicker of protection within the plush material. She breathed in deeply, but did not get the scent she wanted, though she knew how to get it. She opened her eyes, bit her lip slightly and slowly pulled back the drapes of her four-poster.
After a quick, sweeping check of the dormitory and deciding all was still, she tapped her wand once against her bedside table drawer and pulled it slowly open. With a pang her eyes set on the vile orange potion, and she hurriedly grabbed it, uncorked it and took a gulp. She had almost forgotten it. She held the phial up to the flame of her paraffin lamp, seeing that she was in dire need of buying more, and soon. Narcissa then replaced it and took out what she was searching for in the first place.
Looking about the room again, she pulled out the thick black ribbon which had been around the present from Professor Malfoy only yesterday, though it seemed so long ago. She lay back on her bed, twitched her drapes closed and closed her eyes. Her hand, holding the ribbon tightly, she brought up to her nose and breathed in deeply.
She effect was so instantaneous she thought that Professor Malfoy may have slipped some kind of calming draught into the material. The strange warmth which flooded Narcissa at overexposure to Professor Malfoy, or too many thoughts of him, did so then, and she felt immediately like she needed to sleep for a week. She wrapped the ribbon, which smelt so divinely of Professor Malfoy's hair and aftershave, tightly around her fingers and held her pillow at her side, moving impossibly close to it.
She kept the ribbon near her face, closing her eyes as she cuddled up to the pillow. She swore that, as she began to fall into slumber, she could feel Professor Malfoy's arm around her shoulders. She was so sure that, with her breathing, she could feel the rise and fall of his chest under her cheek as his breaths matched hers. She was sure, so very certain, that she could feel him stroke her bare shoulder, and murmur a goodnight as sleep threatened to consume them both.
"Goodnight, Lucius," she whispered into her pillow, already too lost in the bliss of darkness and the promise of sleep to realise her involuntary use of her professor's forename. It didn't matter, for in the morning she wouldn't remember anyway.
Lucius was not a careless man. If anything he was pain-stakingly particular, unless something else caught his attention to direct him from the minor details. As it was, Miss Black could easily be considered one of those things which never failed to catch his notice.
"You shouldn't be here," he protested, when she entered his office during the lunch hour. He had been writing rapidly, and to be interrupted by anyone during such concentration was undeniably annoying. She closed the door behind her. "It's too dangerous."
"Since when has that ailed you?" Miss Black chided, looking around his spacious office with interest. "If anything, it only seems to add to your entertainment."
He opened his mouth to protest again, but closed it again for two reasons: one, she was right; two, she was walking towards his desk in that way, hands on her hips which were swaying under her skirt. Her hair was straight today, with a headband of Slytherin colours keeping it back, exposing her face. She looked so radiant it was impossible for Lucius to keep writing, much as he wanted to.
Watching her intently, Lucius observed Miss Black gaze around his office with clear interest. Her stare swept across his desk and, clearly not finding much worthy of her attention on the dark wood, continued around the room. Her eyes lingered on his Pensieve in the right hand corner of the room behind him, and wandered across the assortment of items which littered the shelves on the back wall. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to recognise the oddly shaped things and whirring contraptions, but she seemed to fail for she just looked more and more confused as her eyes wandered along. The huge bookcase which took residence on the left wall of the room, from Miss Black's perspective, seemed to be of much more interest to her, for it was there that she made her way. Lucius furtively watched her hips as she moved over to it, took note of her slender forefinger as it ran up and over the spines of the books.
In an attempt to calm his libido, he returned to writing, leaving Miss Black to browse the letters etched onto the spines of the books.
There were a few minutes of near-silence, as Lucius scratched words with quill and ink, and Miss Black whispered the names of the books to herself. Some she clearly recognised, for she gave a small "Oh," of acknowledgment each time, which really didn't help him.
"You seem to be much more fresh-faced than the rest of the Slytherins," Lucius commented, in a blatant attempt to distract himself from Miss Black's soft noises by forming a conversation, still scribbling swiftly. "They all looked terrible in my lessons today."
"Well, there were celebrations late into the night, Professor," Miss Black responded distractedly, lingering over a book with no title on the side which she pulled out of its respective place on the bookcase to look over. "We did win the match, after all. Haven't you heard?"
"Yes, I did hear rumours," Lucius smirked, his eyes flicking up to set upon Miss Black only momentarily, "and Master Crowley appeared particularly-"
"Do not mention his name," Miss Black cut in stiffly, her back suddenly rigid. "I do not want to hear anything about him."
Lucius paused in his writing, looking up with something resembling concern. "Has he done something to offend you, Miss Black?" He saw her physically bristle, as though merely talking about him was causing offence.
"It doesn't matter," she replied coldly, and he knew better than to pursue the subject. If she wanted to tell him, she would. Besides, any hostility to Crowley was good, for he clearly had some interest in Miss Black and- no. No, he wasn't to care if Crowley wanted Miss Black. He wasn't to care if it was vice versa. She could be with whomever she wanted, and he would not be jealous, not one iota, simple as that.
Though, still, it still pleased Lucius to see that Miss Black clearly didn't like Master Crowley.
An awkward silence descended on the office. Lucius returned to his writing, listening to the gentle rustling of Miss Black's clothing, the soft taps her shoes made against the stone floor when she moved along the bookshelves. Then, after a few minutes; "The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri," Narcissa read aloud. Though her back was turned to Lucius, he could tell she was raising an eyebrow. "Sounds…interesting."
He looked up from his writing, sighing softly. "You've never heard of it, have you, Miss Black?"
Miss Black shook her head. "No, Sir. Should I have?"
"I doubt it is of little consequence. It is only one of the most monumental texts of literature, both Wizarding and Muggle, after all."
She rolled her eyes. "Alighieri was a wizard though, yes?"
"What does Cuthbert – my apologies, Professor Binns – teach you in History of Magic for you not to know this?"
Miss Black shrugged. "I don't think I've ever listened in one of his lessons. If he ever mentioned an Alighieri I wouldn't know.
Lucius smirked. "You shouldn't really be saying that to a teacher. But yes, of course he was a wizard. Do you really think I would indulge in Muggle literature, Miss Black? He attended L'Istituto Fiorentino di Istruzione Magica in 1272. Or," he added as Miss Black turned to fix him an incredulous stare, "The Florentine Institution of Magical Instruction. Though, of course, Muggles don't know that, so to them not much is known about his education."
"What is it about?" Narcissa mused aloud, taking the tome from its place on the shelf and staring down at the intricately designed leather cover.
"In basic terms," Lucius began patiently, returning to scribbling upon his parchment as he spoke, "it is an epic poem, and the story of Dante's travels through hell, purgatory and paradise – or heaven – while being guided by Virgil. And, in heaven, by the woman he adored, Beatrice." He heard her heave the book open and flick through some of the aged parchment pages, coughing at the dust which rose. The smell of old book filled the room. "I translated it myself," he added nonchalantly, knowing she would soon be questioning about the neatly constructed lines of his writing under each of those in Italian, "before I became a teacher and thus had far too much free time."
"I did not know you know Italian, Sir," she murmured distractedly, flicking through the book. "I also didn't know you would take an interest in religious texts. Or poetry in general, for that matter."
"There is much you do not know about me, Miss Black," he nodded. He dipped his quill in the ink pot. "And one does not need to be religious to read religious poetry. The messages in poetry can always be interpreted in any number of different ways."
"Well, this is probably why I haven't heard of it, in any case. I doubt it is on my father's reading list."
"Hm, well you may borrow it, if you wish. As long as you promise to be careful. It is quite rare."
He heard her close the book as gently as possible. "I'd like that, Sir. Thank you." He looked up to watch her put the tome in her bag, which looked far too small to hold it, but it swallowed the book easily.
An Extension Charm? How clever.
He cleared his throat as she continued to browse the titles of the books, looking at the back of her head expectantly. "Much as I enjoy your company, I suspect you did not barge into my office to peruse my taste in literature. Is something troubling you, Miss Black?"
"Perhaps," she replied loftily, moving along the bookcase to instead inspect the objects on the shelves behind Lucius. "But then again, perhaps not."
Lucius gave her a sidelong glance as she began to move behind him, but returned to writing. "Perhaps, then, you would be kind enough to leave. You see, I am very busy and-" His words were cut dead when, after a soft thud as Miss Black lowered her bag from her shoulder to the floor, she moved behind him, her hands finding his shoulders, stroking through the thin layers of fabric. He found himself immediately succumbing to her, leaning back into her dextrous little fingers as they worked their way across his sinewy shoulders, finding just the right places to apply pressure which kept him firmly away from his work.
His eyes closed as her deft fingertips untied the knots which had formed over the past few months in his back, and he felt her move closer to him. Her hands so very slowly made their way upwards, one hand stroking and gathering his hair and the other trailing up the back of his neck, still red from the day before. He couldn't contain a soft noise of contentment as she leant down and kissed the marks she had made with her nails barely twenty-four hours ago, brushing her lips across the tender skin, moving around to kiss below his ear, then at his defined jaw, moving along his jawline so very slowly.
He turned his head and captured Miss Black's lips with his own, his hand lifting into her hair and preventing her from escape. Lucius felt her smile against his lips for, sure enough, she had won fair and square. All but protesting now, he pushed his chair away from his desk and broke the kiss in order to pull Miss Black into his lap. She sat side-saddled upon his legs and, momentarily, Lucius noted how she primly folded one foot behind the other as she did so before her arms were around his neck, her lips at his, and all other thoughts were lost.
In their haste, even Lucius' pain-staking particularity could not remind them to lock the door. Shirts were already being unbuttoned, heated embraces shared, hands roaming and teasing and already being far too busy to lift a wand and utter a single spell.
Lace underwear had fairly soon been case onto the floor, skirt hitched, trousers undone and shirts only partially unbuttoned in the desperation for their climax. Miss Black was facing away from Lucius, her back pressing into his chest, her head fallen back onto his shoulder. Their heads were turned in order for their lips to meet, one of Miss Black's hands gripping the arm of his leather office chair and the other twisted into Lucius' hair. Lucius' were lingering on her hips, guiding her to, as was becoming far too familiar, ease herself onto him. He let out a gasp as she, as always, clenched at his intrusion. She bit his lower lip.
It was not long before she was moving, rocking and jerking her hips in a frenzied rhythm, pushing harder and deeper with every thrust. Lucius' right hand crept up to her breasts, pulling her bra down to expose them, the other moving downwards to trace quick little circles against her clitoris with his fingertips. Miss Black moaned and broke the kiss, still leaning heavily on his shoulder, eyes closed. Her hand remained twisted in Lucius' hair, pulling his face against her neck. He was all too content to comply, breathing in the scent of her skin and vanilla, groaning softly against her neck each time she thrusted her hips forwards. He kissed her throat, bit gently, felt her racing pulse under his tongue.
His hips lifted rhythmically to add to their quick, needy movements. He felt her trembling again, her hips shaking as she moved with him. She was moaning softly, repeatedly and breathily addressing him as "Professor," every time his cock, with practised ease, pushed into her g-spot. He felt the word forming as he kissed her neck, felt it rise up her throat and be coaxed from her parted lips by his administrations. All for him.
Her vociferations soon became incoherent, a tangle of sounds and syllables with no real meaning, just the intentions of keeping Lucius thrusting into her, her legs tensing on either side of his, cunt tightening around his cock as she came close, so close, to her release.
They both heard the voice before they even realised the door had opened. "So, Lucius, why were you-" It stopped.
Lucius heard Miss Black scream, as though from far away. A flicker of anger crossed Lucius' face at the interruption, before the panic took hold. It hammered his entire body with dread, like he had been slammed none too gently into a brick wall. His arm instinctively drew across Miss Black's breasts, his hand covering the entirety of her pubic bone. He would allow no one to see her. No one.
"Lestrange," Lucius growled. It was not as bad as Lucius' primary suspicions; at the use of his first name, he thought that a teacher had walked in on them, which would have made everything a whole lot worse than it was. If possible.
There were a few moments of Master Lestrange gaping at them, taking in Miss Black sitting in her professor's lap, their flushed bodies and heaving chests, before he, very swiftly, covered his eyes with his hand. "I'll wait outside," he said hurriedly, and slammed the door shut.
Lucius stared at the door in horror. An expletive raced across his mind. Of course, he had known that he had to be found out at some point, but not now, not so soon. They were usually careful, especially him, and to be caught out by the likes of Master Lestrange was a form of utmost irony. Somewhere, some higher being had decided it was time for Lucius to be smited, and smite him they did.
So preoccupied was Lucius with his mental cursing that it was only when he realised Miss Black was writhing and fighting against his strong hold that he even remembered she was there. "Let me go," she demanded, her tone one of absolute terror with the intentions only to get away.
With some reluctance, he did so, and she immediately removed herself from his lap, very swiftly buttoned up her shirt, retrieving her underwear and slipping them on over her shoes. Lucius pulled up his underwear and redid his trousers, sweeping his hair back off the perspiration on his face.
"Miss Black, I will sor-"
"Save it," she snapped, snatching up her bag and very quickly stalking from the room. Lucius noticed that, as she wrenched the door open, her gaze was set on the floor in order to completely ignore Master Lestrange's presence.
"Well, what was that then?" said student declared, arms folded and eyebrow raised, as he re-entered the room. He kicked the door closed behind him.
Lucius sighed exasperatedly, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. "Master Lestrange, I-"
"I've told you to call me Rodolphus, Lucius."
"Rodolphus, look, I have no excuse for what you just witnessed. It is quite obvious what you saw, therefore I shall not insult your" – He cleared his throat surreptitiously. – "intelligence by trying to tell you otherwise. Please, take a seat."
Master Lestrange considered this for a moment and finally did so, but not on the office chair on the other side of Lucius' desk which was proffered. Instead, he wandered forwards and made himself comfortable on the edge of Lucius' desk, pushing a stack of paper away in order to do so.
"So, you and Cissa, eh?" he questioned, eyebrow twitching upwards just a little more. "How long's this been going on then?"
"I think that is of little conseque-"
"Lucius, it's of quite a lot of consequence, and y'know it. I mean, if you've been doing this since she was, like, twelve or somethin'…" He trailed off, fixing Lucius the most serious gaze he had ever seen from Master Lestrange.
Lucius sneered at the barely disguised accusation. "Over the past four months."
"Oh, that's a relief!" he declared, pushing a spiral of dark hair out of his face.
For a moment, Lucius was speechless. "What in the name of-?"
"Well, y'see Luci, now I know you're not entirely some sort of paedophile I don't really have to worry. Cissa's an attractive gal, and you're only human after all. And I'm sure she knows what she's doing." He looked contemplative for a moment. "To be honest, I always thought you batted for the other team."
Another moment in which he couldn't find anything to say. "So you are not going to Professor Dumbledore, Mast- Rodolphus?"
"If I was going to, I would've by now. For one thing, I rather like you, Lucius, and I don't want you sacked, preferably. And for another thing, it would just land Cissa straight in the shit" – Lucius again sneered at the use of the expletive, but did not comment. – "which I don't want. Poor kid would never be able to live it down, especially in her family. Plus Bellatrix would hurt me quite a lot for being here talking to you instead of reporting back to her straight away." He shrugged, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and taking out a small box. "It's better for everyone if I just stay quiet, so I will." He flipped the lid up and offered the contents to Lucius. "Cigarette?"
Lucius stared up intently at Master Lestrange, as though wondering whether he was telling the truth or be running straight to Albus at the first opportunity. He seemed sincere, though, and his points were very valid. Perhaps I will have to start giving him more credit. He is more intelligent than he appears. "No, thank you," Lucius said as he shook his head, raising his palm. "I don't smoke."
"Bullshit," Master Lestrange chortled, "you just don't smoke Flintley's, huh? What do you smoke then?"
Lucius stared up into Master Lestrange's expectant eyes and sighed, reluctantly unsheathing his wand and leaning down to tap it against the bottom drawer of his desk. He pulled it out, from inside, retrieved a cigar and a Zippo lighter with his initials engraved into the solid silver.
"You pretentious twat," Master Lestrange smirked, taking the cigar and inspecting it, staring at the miniscule words imprinted on it.
"You shouldn't talk to a teacher in such a way," Lucius frowned sternly.
"You shouldn't be fucking a student," Master Lestrange retorted airily, and added, as he read from the cigar before Lucius could reply, "Havana? Where's that?"
Ah, yes. There's the ridiculously idiotic Master Lestrange I know. The world is once again in balance.
He plucked the cigar from Master Lestrange's fingers and, from force of habit, brought it under his nose, breathing in deeply, before putting it between his lips. He flipped the lid of his lighter, exposing a bright blue flame and glanced up to see Master Lestrange staring at it. He was not surprised. Since a cigar could be lit with the end of a wand very simply, it was an unnecessary luxury, an indication of utmost wealth and prosperity. It was not easy to create a lighter of such quality, and to own one was very rare and expensive. Master Lestrange's wonderment was a very natural reaction.
"Here," Lucius offered, holding up the lighter to Master Lestrange. He took it, placed a Flintley's cigarette between his lips, and easily lit it.
"Ta," the student muttered, flipping the lid closed and passing it back to Lucius.
Lucius placed the lighter on his desk distractedly, spending his attentions on breathing in deeply. It had been a long, long time since he had touched his cigar. Two, three, four years? Somewhere around there. The taste of it was bordering divine, and he could feel his nerves begin to settle themselves as he drew it in. He held it and closed his eyes as he slowly exhaled the smoke skywards.
For a long time the two sat in silence, repeating the process of breathing deeply in and out, until the room was fairly hazy with both high-class and not-so-high-class smoke mingling and curling together. They were perfectly content, not bothering to acknowledge what Master Lestrange had walked in on or the fact that Lucius shouldn't be letting him smoke. They were two men, acquaintances, sharing a quiet smoke, satisfied in each other's company with the comfortable silence.
"Just think," Master Lestrange suddenly pondered aloud after about half of his cigarette had burnt out, the pumpkin tobacco burning and shrivelling into nothingness. It was the meditative way in which Master Lestrange spoke which worried Lucius greatly, and he had good reason to be worried. "If you got with Cissa, and I with Bella, we'd be brothers-in-law."
Lucius lowered his head and rubbed his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger. "Must I think about that?" he muttered.
"Well don't sound too enthused, Luci," Rodolphus smirked, kicking the arm of his chair.
Lucius cleared his throat irritably. "What have I done to deserve the blessing of your presence anyway, Rodolphus? I'm sure you didn't come lumbering into my office with the sole intentions of interrupting Miss Black and myself."
For a moment Master Lestrange looked confused. Then, "Oh yeah, I was gonna tell you the results of the quidditch match yesterday, since you didn't seem to be there." He took a long drag of his cigarette and breathed it out. "How come you weren't there anyway?"
Lucius looked up, staring intensely at Master Lestrange and waiting for him to cotton on. He got just a blank look in return. "Was Miss Black missing from the stands, too, per chance?" he replied, quite mockingly.
Master Lestrange considered this for a moment. Then comprehension dawned on his face. It was like a candle being illuminated. "Oh. Well. I suppose that's a valid reason."
Lucius smirked. "You would have never made the connection there, hm?"
"Well, it's not every day you find out your head of house is nailing your girlfriend's little sister, is it?"
"Must you make it sound so crude?"
"Yes."
Lucius sighed. Maybe he should have not told Master Lestrange anything. Maybe he should have just encouraged him to go off to Albus, report him and allow him to be sacked. It would have saved him a lot of stress and trouble. He was sure facing the Dark Lord with his failure would be much more bearable than this. But, then, maybe they should have not dawdled. Had she not been browsing the titles of the books, they would most likely have been finished by the time Master Lestrange came barging into his office. "Bloody Italian literature," he muttered aloud.
There was a pause. "What?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing." He took a deep drag of his cigar, holding it in and breathing it out slowly. He then stubbed it out on the edge of his desk, leaving no indication that he had done so, and replaced it and his lighter back in his bottom drawer. Everything happened for a reason, after all. "So, what happened yesterday?"
An abrupt ending, maybe, but I had to end it here or it would've run on for far too long. I have exceeded my expectations in quantity again.
As always, thank you for reading thus far and I hope you enjoyed. I'm looking forward to writing the next chapter myself – it'll be a good'un. c: