The Female of the Species

Chapter 13

Lucius was sitting in his study at Malfoy Manor. An almost empty bottle of Glen Foy single malt stood at his elbow. In his hand, he held a crystal tumbler of the same, neat, full to the brim. He took a large swig, not tasting the fiery liquid. He looked up as he heard a knock on the door, which was followed by the entrance of a figure in untidy robes splashed with multicoloured flecks of paint.

"How are you getting on, Arcus?" Lucius asked the man.

"Quite well. I hope to have it finished by tomorrow."

"Has she said anything yet?"

"No, Mr Malfoy. I haven't done the mouth yet. I always do them last."

Lucius laughed, but he was not amused. "A very wise move, I should imagine," he observed.

"Quite. She's already glaring at me. I think she'd love to hex me!" Then he recollected the circumstances of his commission, and laughed nervously. "Er, I'm sorry, that just slipped out."

Lucius sneered at him. "Get out. And make sure you get here early tomorrow. I don't want to see you here after tomorrow evening. I'd sack you for insolence if you weren't so damned good at what you do!"

Arcus disappeared rapidly, gabbling more apologies. Lucius swallowed the contents of his glass, and poured the rest of the bottle into it. He tried to work up enough energy to get out of the armchair and ring the bell for a house elf. How badly did he want another bottle? He had already downed the complete contents of two bottles today, which might account for the difficulty he had in moving, and in seeing straight. He wondered, should he go and inspect the artist's work in progress? Perhaps not: one, he was too drunk, and two, a half finished portrait would probably be very disturbing.

While Lucius was attempting to decide on these two vital matters, his head began to droop, and he was soon snoring gently, the bottle he had just emptied slipping from his fingers to lie abandoned on the floor. When one of the house elves came in to draw the curtains and check that the fire was still burning brightly, he was fast asleep, his head thrown back so that his golden hair tumbled over the back of the chair, and his mouth open so that he certainly did not look his best. The elf looked at his Master for a while, considering, and then fetched a tartan rug, which he tucked around the sleeping form. He then turned down the lamps, and left the room quietly.

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Mid afternoon the following day, Arcus came to Lucius Malfoy's study, and announced that he had finished his task. Lucius grunted at him, "Well, I'll say this for you: you kept to your schedule." Earlier in the day, his head had been thumping badly, and he felt terrible. A glance in the mirror had told him that he looked as bad as he felt, in spite of getting Fingers to shave him and massage his aching shoulders. He had taken a potion Narcissa had brewed for such occasions, and the throbbing had lessened, but he still felt fragile, and could not eat. He had considered the possibility of "the hair of the dog" as a cure, but could not face more whisky either.

Now, he rose and accompanied Arcus to a room on the north side of the house where the artist had been working. Arcus led him to the easel, which was facing the window. Lucius walked around it, and looked at the portrait.

Narcissa Malfoy looked back at him. Arcus was very good, he deserved his reputation. Working from Narcissa's death mask, earlier portraits, and photos of her from Witch Weekly, he had created an oil painting of Lucius' late wife wearing the blue crushed velvet gown. The likeness was uncanny: every blonde hair was visible on her perfectly coiffeured head, her pale skin glowed as in life, her cleavage drew his eyes irresistibly to her breasts. One detail only indicated that this image was of the dead Narcissa: two fingers were missing from her right hand.

This breathtaking image formed a stark contrast to the Narcissa he had found in the dungeon after being summoned there by Hibou: Lucius had forced himself to leave his bed for the first time since the attack, and made his way to the dungeons on unsteady legs, resting frequently from necessity, even though the owl hooted at him to hurry. When he had finally reached the room with the sepulchre, he had found his wife, pale as a ghost, lying lifeless in a pool of her own blood, the lethal Knife that had been the cause of her demise still gripped firmly in her bloody hand.

Narcissa's blue, blue eyes now looked him up and down, and she raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, Lucius, you look terrible," she said.

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Alan arrived at Malfoy Manor, as invited, at eight in the evening. As instructed in case of foul weather, he apparated directly into the large entrance hall. A house elf showed him into Lucius' study, where the older wizard stood and shook his hand firmly, before indicating an armchair by the blazing fire.

"Thank you for coming. Please have a seat. I thought it would be more pleasant in here than just the two of us in one of the reception rooms. Whisky? I have a very fine malt here." Lucius placed a crystal tumbler of Glen Foy at Alan's elbow, along with a small jug of Malfoy spring water. He poured himself a generous measure, and diluted it from a larger jug. He then took his usual leather armchair, on the opposite side of the fireplace.

The two men eyed each other somewhat warily. Alan noticed how much Lucius had changed since he had first entered Cho's Chic in the summer. When Lucius had taken his leave of Cho after ending their affair, he had already looked careworn, and had been far more subdued than the old Malfoy. Now, there was something else different: the arrogance was still there, but an air of quiet desperation seemed to hang around him, and physically he was not the same. He was still handsome, and would still turn heads, both male and female, but there were more silver hairs among the gold, more shadows under the eyes, and when he moved it was not with his former fluid grace, but as if certain actions caused him pain. Throughout their ensuing conversation, Alan was to notice that now and again, Lucius seemed to be holding his breath, as if trying to conquer another pain that attacked him in spasms.

Now Lucius said to Alan, "I expect you're wondering why I asked to see you. You can probably guess that it has to do with Cho. You see, you're the only person who knows why I really ended our relationship."

Alan looked at Lucius, and waited to see what he had to say for himself. He said nothing, merely inclining his head, indicating that Malfoy should proceed.

"I want to tell you how my wife died. What did Cho tell you? How much does she know?"

"She knew that there was something dangerous in your dungeons, that it tried to kill you. She knew that your wife was planning to investigate, and that she was afraid it might kill her."

"I told Narcissa what was in the dungeon. I had to tell her why I had bought so much jade. She had been desperately trying to raise enough money to pay for it while I was unconscious. I did not tell her why the Dark Lord attacked me with the Cruciatus curse, only that he did it."

"He attacked you because you rescued Cho."

"Yes. He was speechless with fury that I dared to cross him. He was waiting for me with Pettigrew's wand. The force of the spell threw me across the room. I managed to stand up, I got out of the room he was in, but the power of the curse hit me properly then, and the pains started in earnest. I think I fell over and hit my head on the ground. My wife found me there.

"Narcissa was a very sensible and practical woman. She took an owl with her when she went to seek out the Dark Lord. When he attacked her, the owl came for me with a note saying where she was. I managed to get out of bed, but I was so weak it took me some time to reach her. By the time I found her, it was too late. She was dead. But her death was not entirely in vain, for she in her turn had managed to slay the Dark Lord. The wizarding world now need never know that he was not already dead as almost all believed."

Alan digested this information. While he silently exulted in the knowledge that Voldemort was dead, it had not escaped his notice that Lucius had not explained how Narcissa Malfoy had managed to prevail against the strength and powerful magic of the Dark Lord. Lucius was holding something back. Alan decided that it was unimportant, his main concern was Cho.

"While I'm exceedingly relieved to learn that He Who Must Not Be Named is really, finally dead, I don't quite see how this relates to Cho."

"Alan, don't be a fool. I know you're a very intelligent young man who sees much and says little. You asked me once if I loved Cho. You asked because you saw that I did. I still do. I walked away from her to keep her safe from – from – damn it, we can say his name now he's dead – from Voldemort! Now he's dead, there's no more danger. But I'm not a fool either. I know I hurt her, not once but twice. You can't believe how difficult it was to send her away that second time, after having her back again for such a short while. I saw the look in her eyes.

"Do you think she would ever forgive me? When I can't possibly explain exactly why I sent her away?"

Alan looked thoughtfully at Lucius Malfoy. "May I speak candidly, without fear of reprisal? The Malfoy temper is legendary"

Lucius laughed bitterly. "Please do. Few people dare speak the truth in my presence, such is my reputation."

"Lucius, you know perfectly well that you can invent a story that will satisfy Cho. That isn't the problem at all. Cho doesn't trust you. Your wife told her that you were seeing other women at the same time as her. Cho naïvely assumed that you only had one mistress at a time. You told Cho you and your wife each went your own way because you were married in name only, and that Mrs Malfoy didn't care what you did. You lied to her about that. Mrs Malfoy loved you. I saw it for myself when she was trying to discover what had happened to you. You're just as observant as I am, you knew your wife loved you, yet you still treated her that way.

"What would Cho get from a relationship with you but more heartbreak? Why should I be your ambassador to her when I don't trust you either? I asked Cho about you. She said to me, 'He'd always be off shagging other women. I would never be enough for him.'

"If you really want Cho, you'll have to change your habits of a lifetime. Would you do that for Cho Chang, when you didn't do it for Narcissa Black, who loved you so much that she gave her life for you? She was strong, perhaps stronger than you. Cho isn't like her. Cho is sweet-natured, kind and far too trusting. She chooses to see the good in everyone, unlike you and Narcissa. Cho is easily hurt. Would she be enough for you? Only her, now and forever? How long would it be before you were tired of her, or you wanted some variety? Because she couldn't handle being treated the way you treated your wife. It would destroy her."

A slow cynical smile spread across Lucius' face. "You know," he said softly, "My wife said exactly the same thing to me this morning."

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Three weeks after Narcissa Malfoy's funeral, Lucinda Malfoy suddenly appeared in the drawing room at Malfoy Manor via the floo network. The room was chilly and dark, as the day was dull and no fire had been laid. A slight musty smell of disuse hung in the air. Lucinda shook herself a little to straighten her robes, and shivered slightly. She stepped out of the room, and made her way to Lucius' study, where she tapped on the door, and then strode confidently into the room. Here it was more comfortable, with bright lamps and a cheerful fire warming the atmosphere.

Lucius looked up from his usual chair to be greeted by the sight of his beautiful cousin, her flaming red hair catching the lamplight, standing with her hands on her hips looking at him disapprovingly, and sniffing the alcohol laden air.

"Lucius, you look awful. You've been ignoring all my owls, so I decided to come and see for myself why. I see you've decided to drown your sorrows in Glen Foy. I'm surprised at you, I didn't know you cared so much about Narcissa. I thought you'd be glad to be rid of the old witch."

When Lucinda had started speaking, Lucius had looked vaguely amused, but at her last statement, a look of fury came over his face, and with eyes of flint, he said to her coldly, "If you dare to say anything like that ever again, you'll wish you'd never been born. What do you want?"

Lucinda immediately tried to sound more conciliatory, and apologised contritely, trying to hide her shock at this reaction to her jest. Then she stepped over to Lucius, stood behind his chair, and massaged his shoulders. In a wheedling tone, she said, "You haven't been to see me for so long Lucius. I thought you'd be lonely, all alone in this great house with only Draco and the house elves for company. So I came to see you. I've missed you, my darling. Haven't you missed me?"

"Lucinda, my dear, much as it pains me to say it, I haven't missed you at all. In fact I've barely given you a thought."

His cousin was not so easily deflated. She continued to massage Lucius' shoulders, and began to kiss his ear, her auburn tresses falling over Lucius' golden head. Lucius permitted this for a while, then turned his head towards her, and laid two fingers over her mouth. "Stop it, Lucinda," he said, more gently, "Now is not the time."

"When will be the time, Lucius? I'm sorry if it's too soon, but I really do miss you. There's no other man like you. You spoil a girl for anyone else."

Lucius took her hand. "Sit down, Lucinda." She sat at his feet on a footstool, and gazed up at him. She put a hand on his knee, and ran it lingeringly along his leg, stopping short when she reached the place where it joined his pelvis. She then began again, fractionally nearer his inside leg. Lucius looked as if he was about to remove her hand, but she could see that his body was responding. After a few moments' hesitation, instead of brushing it away, he lay back in the armchair, and closed his eyes, allowing his legs to fall further apart.

Lucinda moved the footstool forward, and allowed her hands to wander up and down Lucius' inner thigh. Eventually, she put one hand experimentally on his crotch, half expecting him to respond in anger. Lucius opened his eyes, and regarded her with an expression that was impossible to read. He could not deny his body's reaction: Lucinda could feel his warm, hard erection thrusting itself into her hand through the doeskin. She put her head on one side and smiled at him, while her hands, with the swiftness of practice, undid the buttons of his breeches. She slid one hand inside, and felt the contrast of the hard, smooth, silky skin and the soft hairs underneath. Lucinda pulled the fall-front of his breeches clear, then leant forwards, and took Lucius in her mouth. Looking up at him through her lashes, she saw him close his eyes again, and felt him pushing himself into her. She heard him gasp with pleasure as she flicked her tongue over the sensitive glans, tasting the slightly salt flavour of his essence. Lucinda would have smiled to herself if her mouth were not full. Lucius had been such a regular part of her life, she could not bear the idea that he no longer needed her. But she had known Lucius intimately for many years in the way that only a handful of women did, and counted on the fact that he was a very highly sexed male who had never lacked female company. She could not imagine him living the life of one of those strange Muggles called monks.

Lucinda worked hard to please Lucius, using all her skill and experience, taking as much of him as she could into her mouth. It was not long before her diligence was rewarded, and she gripped his buttocks tightly as she swallowed his fountaining seed, encouraging him to sustain his peak as long as possible. When she knew he was entirely spent, she lay with her head on Lucius' midriff, gently fingering his softening member. She felt his hand stroking her hair as he relaxed completely.

Lucius looked down on the copper coloured head in his lap, his feeling of drowsy pleasure battling with an unfamiliar feeling of unease. Damn Lucinda, she knew him far too well after all these years. Her sweet mouth knew its business, and she had guessed rightly that he had not had a woman recently, and he would respond eagerly in spite of himself to her advances. She turned her head up to him and smiled. The smile he gave her in response was more like a sneer. "You're such a good little tart, my dear," he said mockingly. "How much do I owe you for such a professional job?"

"You can eat me next time, Lucius darling. You owe me one," replied his cousin, leering at him. "You're a pretty good gigolo yourself. I like a man who knows what his tongue's for. Now, shall we make a definite date for your payment?"

"No, I don't think we will. I'd like you to leave now." Lucinda looked surprised at his tone. "But I just got here."

"I don't recall inviting you. You did what you came for. Now I want you to go."

Lucinda raised an eyebrow at him, but Lucius' expression made it clear he was not joking. In this mood he was not to be trifled with. She stood up, and leaned over him, looking into his eyes. He stared her down inscrutably.

"Fine. I'm leaving."

Lucinda took a handful of floo powder from the copper hod by the fireplace, threw it into the flames, and saying "Old Sarum Lodge" she disappeared into the blaze.

Lucius sat on in his armchair, his clothing still disarranged. He took a large swig of whisky, and laid his head back again, considering what had just taken place; considering what it said about him; considering his options.

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Note:

When Lucinda was first mentioned in Cho's Chic, one reviewer expressed surprise at her being Lucius' cousin. I would like to make it clear that, whatever the law is where you are, in the UK sexual relations between first cousins is not incest, and is perfectly legal. As an example, we need look no further than Queen Victoria, who married her first cousin Albert.