Narcissa and Narcissus

For a few days, he saw very little of his mother. They'd returned to the manor and she seemed to go into hiding. They met at meals, and occasionally, read together in the library. One such evening, he studied her.

The manor was ensconced in fluffy snow. A fire roared in the floo, casting flickering shadows about the room and filling it with the smell of hot stone and cedar aflame. Narcissa's face was intense. She read very close to her text, pale face a cast of perfect, and occasionally jotted notes on a parchment roll. The paper rolled onto the floor and Draco could see her elegant script disappearing beneath the lounge.

He set aside his own book - a barely readable adventure which had taken an unfortunate turn for the romantic - and finally cleared his throat. "Mother." Nothing. "Mother!"

"Hm?" She spared him not even a glance.

He scowled. "What the devil has you so fascinated?"

"Nothing, darling."

Draco grunted. Eyes narrowed. He watched her toes wriggle back beneath her cashmere throw. He hated being left in the dark.

When he came into the solarium for breakfast the next morning, she was already pacing there. He stopped short at the vision she created; hair a mess, satin kimono hastily tied, eyes dark with manic circles. "Mum?"

"Draco! Good." She rushed to him and he noticed her feet were bare, the bottoms dirty. "Smell this." And before he could blink concern, she thrust her wrist into his face. In fact, she bumped his nose.

"Ow!" He pulled her delicate arm back just a bit and caught his first whiff of...magic. "Ah…"

Fertile forest dirt. Moss on towering oaks and the sun flickering through a dense canopy. A cold, crisp stream strickling around his feet and those fluted white flowers dancing. Mint crumbling in warm fingers. Spice. Spring. Sweat? And somehow... Sex. "What…" He'd gone monosyllabic. Hadn't opened his eyes. Didn't realise they were closed.

"Is it good?"

She was a blurry nymph when he finally met her face, but the smell of the witch. "It's… amazing." He felt lax. Torn and desirous of something innately wrong yet brilliantly right that he couldn't quite name.

Had to be dark magic.

He was still holding her wrist. Still inhaling the bastard aroma. "I don't…" He couldn't seem to think, let alone form words.

She smiled. The satisfaction split her face in twain. "It is good! I worked on it all night! Went through several formulas before this one but this one!" She sighed and pulled her arm back from his slightly stubborn grasp. "This one is right."

With the mind-altering magic removed Draco began to process. "What is it?"

She sat to the little teak breakfast table as if she'd only been waiting for his approval and could now move on with life. As she buttered her scone and sliced her grapefruit, she explained. "The top note is violet, actually. There's a hint of white patchouli and pink pepper just to spice it up. Vervain. A heaping helping of narcissus right in the middle - " She rolled her eyes self-deprecatingly. " - because I could, really, and all piled on top of a civet musk. Also sea salt because it was just too bloody moist aaaaaaand…" She paused, searching her brain. "Oh, yes! Water lily." She commenced eating hungrily.

The scent lingered. A ghost clad in lust and accusation.

Draco sank into the cushioned seat across from her, regarding her as a bit of a stranger. "You made it last night?"

"Mmhm. Pass the cream, please."

His mouth worked wonder. "With the things we found in that vault?" The puzzle pieces fell into place with a loud crash.

"Mmhm."

"So…" He considered. Knew now what she'd been up to. What had held her obsession. Something like envy bubbled in his belly. "Let me smell it again." One hand holding scone to mouth, she passed her wrist back to him. This time, he smelled with purpose. Slowed the process. Instinctively, he held the scent in his sinus cavity. Let it roll over the back of this tongue into his throat.

It was heavier further up her arm and he followed the trail into the sensitive crook of her elbow. Suddenly she giggled, pulled her arm out of his grap. It was a bit of a struggle. "Tickles!"

But something in those warm earthen scents emanating from her skin had lit a fire in his groin. Unexplainable. She was mother. He couldn't reconcile that part of her with the part that smelled like something he wanted to rut in. Wanted to fuck.

He blushed hot. Felt dirty.

And she'd giggled. "Show me," he said. Decision.

"Show you what?" Uncertain. Her blue eyes were caution.

"Show me how you do it."

Another smile. The brightest one he'd seen in...ever. "Alright. After breakfast. We'll dress and I'll show you the lab."

This was most certainly become her space. Narci-space. She drew her wand as they descended the stone stairs and the wall's torches lit. Draco had always admired such magic. It spoke of command and a certain strength. These he knew his mother possessed.

In the belly of the cellar was the static tingle of fresh magic everywhere. And a lab. A proper laboratory. More fit to a potions master than to his petite and elegant mother. But undeniably impressive.

"Mum, this is incredible." Long tables that she'd collected from all over the manor were arranged pentagonally. No coincidence they aligned with the ancient pentagram chiseled into the floor. Atop the tables; cauldrons, flasks, beakers, burners, coils and baubles of all sizes. Crucibles sat like white frogs waiting for flies

There was pride in every inch of her bearing. She hopped to a seat upon a table. "Thank you."

He circled the room. Heavy oaken shelves were arranged to display scent vials in her own precise orders and a grid on the ceiling sported fresh ingredients. He fingered a hanging bouquet of verbena. "You've been in the greenhouses."

"Yes. My green thumb may finally prove useful." She gestured to the end of one table. "These were the prototypes."

He lifted one of the many vials there and sniffed. Not bad, but not nearly as insanely addictive as the brew was on her skin. "You worked all night." There were eight dismissed formulas. "Gods, mum."

Behind her, a glass orb bubbled away over a charmed burner. From the corked lid, a viscous grey fluid traveled corkscrew tube into a waiting beaker. "What's that?" He walked toward it, but her arm stopped him.

"That's a secret. For now."

He heeded her wishes. Took hold of the arm across his chest. The room was dim save for morning light filtering through the slender windows high on the walls. "Understood," he whispered. She'd donned a soft, cotton frock. Blue. Made her eyes into claxons. He pushed up the long sleeve until he exposed the skin of her inner arm. Raised it to his nose. Just one more sniff…

"Draco?"

Her voice was so quiet. A tickle in his ear. It was the sound of a white narcissus opening, in tune with the fragrance. "Yes." It was an acknowledgement of her acknowledgement, but also a loudspoken thought.

If there was more she wanted to say - to ask - she did not. She simply sat in the quiet, soft lids drooping. Accepting. The bubbling of her brew in the background. The warmth of her son's baby breath furrowing the barely hairs in her arm.

The perfume's spell was weaving its web. The dragonfly flirted with the silken strands.

AN: The scent Narcissa wears in this piece is indeed her own, but based on one of my current favorites - Jour d'Hermes. While, Hermes has not officially released the notes in this masterpiece, I have some pretty good ideas as to what I find in it. Next chapter we get into the more manly fragrance. Yes, Stevie - there will be bergamot.