We definitely seemed to have passed some sort of barrier after she first moaned my name. We both apparently realized that, whatever the complicated emotional underpinning, what we were doing was extremely pleasurable, and didn't seem to be harming either of us. When we worked, we were as we always had been – polite and professional. When I was between her legs, she now voiced her pleasure, if with restraint, moaning and whimpering, occasionally squealing when I did something she especially liked. Her moans of my name were still rare and precious when I earned them.
Much of the time, Narcissa would lie back in her chair with her free leg over my shoulder and her other leg up on her desk, and I would take my time pleasuring her while slowly running my hands over her legs and her hips as much as I liked – which was a lot. She loved when I massaged her feet with my hands while I massaged her clit with my tongue. She squealed the first time I cupped her ass and let her thrust herself to orgasm on my tongue entirely on her own.
She definitely was giving in to the entire process in other ways, too. More and more often I would arrive for one of our sessions only to find her panties already gone, or would feel her press her leg against my hand or arch her hips to my touch without my having to guide her. She would signal me with her sounds when she wanted something – if I was teasing her too much, or she wanted contact somewhere else, she would guide me with whimpers or movements of her body.
On one rare occasion when she needed me to work on a Saturday because of a meeting she was having at an annual benefit luncheon for some cause or another deemed important to the pureblood high society, she actually wore a dress to the office – the first time I had seen her in anything but a skirt and blouse or long, tailored robes. The dress was up to her usual standards in regards to fashion, but this, of course, provided me an incredible opportunity. With her dress up around her waist, her creamy hips and thighs totally bare to my hands and her body laid back comfortably, I took the opportunity to explore not only the flat plains of her smooth stomach – and much enjoyed feeling the quivers and tension in the muscles there – but slid my hands up higher, and for the first time, touched her breasts. They were soft and silky, and their weight felt perfect in my hands.
The first time I touched them, she gasped, arching against my hands, but her hips pulled back with a hint of nervousness. I almost laughed at the idea of a woman who had my tongue buried inside her being nervous about me touching her breasts. I drew my hands back, exploring her torso, and my tongue soon encouraged her to writhe against my hands. I returned to her breasts, gently massaging them, and, already close, she arched, whimpering loudly. When I tugged softly at her nipples, it was enough to push her over the edge, and I luxuriated in the feel of her nearly bare body bucking under my hands.
Now, we had found entirely new territory to explore. Within a few more sessions, even in her usual blouse and skirt, Narcissa would be laying with her blouse open, her bra and panties gone, and her body exposed to my ceaseless caresses, giving her body entirely over to me to drive to higher and higher pleasure.
All along this path we were treading, though, I never once suggested or at all hinted that I wished her to return the favor – indeed, we both seemed to shy away from any possibility of that ever happening. I dressed conservatively to work, and she made sure that her body did not brush mine in any way that might be taken as a returned caress. Both of us seemed fearful to cross that boundary, knowing that if she ever returned the pleasure I had given her, it would break the careful boundaries we had erected and let the reality of our situation crash around us.
Even now, I remember why I feared that so much–the threat of losing my job, my other relationships with family and friends, and maybe both of our reputations was enough. Perhaps it was something else. I tried not to think about it.
It was inevitable, I suppose, that despite our mutual appreciation of our new "working" relationship, something would interfere and finally give our emotions a real change to complicate things.
I was at my desk, dictating a series of memos and letters to all the different people on my daily contact sheet. Narcissa's last meeting had been several days ago. I liked to think of us as a great team – there was serious talk of her being promoted when the current Department Head retired later in the year. She had been dominating in court and in meetings even more than usual lately, and the overall numbers for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been at an all-time high. Narcissa had been working more than usual – she even came in every Saturday for the last three months. As her assistant, when she was here, I was here. I didn't mind the extra hours; it wasn't like I had a life outside of the Ministry anyway.
As I finished up one of the memos, and prepared to do the charm to send the purple parchment on its way, I heard Narcissa's voice from the conference room down the hall. This wasn't unusual, my desk happened to sit in the perfect spot for the sounds to echo from that particular room. Eavesdropping on meetings had come in handy in the past, but most of the time I tuned it out. I was about to send the memo again when I heard the deeper register of the current Department Head's voice say my name. I paused listening.
"Yes, I think that would be a good fit. Can you also get me the list of potential new hires before Thursday?" That was Narcissa.
He answered immediately, "Easily. I already gathered the information for the Improper Use Office last week. There were several names on their list you need to consider when picking your new staff – especially for clerical work. They come from the right backgrounds, unlike the help you've had in the past. All of them come highly recommended.
I stopped in surprise, eyes widening in disbelief. What did he mean, "right background"? I thought the Ministry had evolved from discriminating based on blood purity. I was excellent at my job, not even Narcissa Black – notorious for her impossibly high standards – had ever found a reason to complain. Far from it, I though with a tiny smirk.
Their voices drifted back to me, "…nice to have decent help for a change. The last two assistants I had were awful. I thought as much before I hired them, but we all had pressure from above…" That was Narcissa again.
I stopped – this time in shocked dismay. I couldn't believe the snobby pureblood still put that much stock in blood. It was especially disheartening to see that kind of prejudice so high up in the Ministry. These people were supposed to be leaders. After the war, the Minister Kingsley and his people worked tirelessly to ferret out Voldemort's sympathizers from the high positions. Narcissa Black survived the cuts; the Wizengamot had ruled that she was basically held in duress during the war by her husband in her own trial. I should have known – she's an excellent manipulator as seen in her career since then. How would those skills not have transferred to her own defense? However, after working together for over a year – not to mention our more recent "arrangement" – I thought I might have changed her views on the sanctity of purity. Perhaps I was wrong.
I silenced them wordlessly with a flick of my wand – I felt sick; I didn't want to hear anymore. I shivered, staring dejectedly at the faint scars on my arm.
Mudblood.
How could she think...why would she fake all that? Why?
Some part of me – the logical part I was so proud of – thought that it could just be a misunderstanding. Maybe she meant the assistants she had before me. I heard they didn't last long.
Of course, I couldn't deny that I had feared this since coming back into the wizarding world. I never wanted to be held back based on my heritage, and despite winning the war, the prejudices still existed. That's why I went to university after Hogwarts. I had a back-up plan.
I slumped down in my chair. Maybe Madam Black had meant she needed someone new when she was promoted? The current Head had a whole team of assistants on staff. I had thought he might just be lazy, but maybe it was a common place for the Ministry bigwigs? Surely she wouldn't replace me, the muggleborn member of the Golden Trio? How would that look in the current political climate?
I worked for the rest of the day in a dream like trance, mechanically going through the motions of my regular duties, barely paying attention to what I was doing. I had to make sure to leave before Madam Black was finished for the night, so I wouldn't have to interact with her. I wasn't sure what I would do. The way I felt the time I sent that flock of birds after Ron paled in comparison to this.
Half of me felt as though what was happening was only inevitable – good things usually came to an abrupt end before they should, in my experience. The other half felt angry. I found myself questioning everything that had happened. I wondered whether Narcissa had ever even really liked me, or if had just tolerated me. Whether she truly enjoyed what I had been doing to her, or whether she had just used me.
That night, though, as I climbed into bed, I could not stop the fantasies returning to me. As my fingers began to tease along my slit, I could not help but imagine the heaven I had found again and again with her, with the taste of her, the sound of her ecstasy and the feel of her skin on my face and mouth while I savored her. I writhed under my hand, and reached my first climax quickly, gasping and shaking. I lay still, eyes closed, Narcissa's cold, regal beauty in my eyes and her moans in my ears.
Then I recalled the way she had sounded when I had overheard her with her boss, and my anger returned. The memory of her soft, pleasured moans returned – but now the sounds were harsh, cynical, somehow soured. That delicious surrender in her body as she relaxed each time beneath my questing tongue turned into something else – something accompanied by a smug laugh, the sense of getting something that one wants, not a true desirous surrender.
I bit my lip, my anger increasing until I was nearly in tears – and I found my fingers moving again, this time fast and hard, almost grinding into my sensitive skin. The pleasure came in waves, harsh jolts up my spine and through my stomach, tightening it until it nearly burned. I grimaced, digging two fingers into myself. Instead of savoring the memories, I cursed at them now, glowering at the image of my boss that floated before my confused mind.
For a few brief moments, I hated her again like I had that night at Malfoy Manor. Hated this confusion, this sick fear that was choking me.
"Damn you, Narcissa!" I gasped, growling as I arched up off my bed with my second orgasm, this one hard and sharp, wrenching my spine and causing my legs to spasm so hard that they immediately began to cramp. I curled up immediately on my bed in a fetal position, the pain mingling with my still-fading pleasure.
Finally, I relaxed, the cramps dying out and my breathing returning to normal.
It was so frustrating – I wanted to be angry. I wanted to be furious, to storm into her office and quit – or even go running back to the muggle world. Maybe trap her in some kind of situation where I could expose her real way of thinking despite her "reform" since the war ended, and make her pay for this pain I was feeling.
I wanted so badly just to give over to that fear and anger.
But I couldn't. I couldn't hate her. I know now, of course, why I couldn't hate her – some people can hate someone they're in love with, but I'm just not built that way. I didn't realize that at the time, though. The bizarre arrangement, the strange story of our relationship had walled my feelings off deep inside myself and hidden them under layers of fear, self-delusion – and an honest wish not to hurt Narcissa, or make our lives as complex or difficult as they would be if our relationship were to be made public. It wasn't so much that we were women, but all the other factors we had stacked against us – the age difference, the blood status, the boss/employee relationship, and not to mention that she was the straight, ex-wife and mother of Death Eaters. That's not even going near the issue of me being nearly tortured to death by her sister in her drawing room while her family watched. After serious therapy after the war, I was over what I went through as much as I could be. I realized that she couldn't have done anything without endangering Draco and herself, but I saw all their faces in my nightmares and flashbacks for a long time.
At this time in my life, I could have probably just quit my job and drained my Gringotts account on more therapy trying to figure out how I had botched things so badly. This time, though, I couldn't just walk away. I was a Gryffindor after all– courageous and all that. I'd stick around long enough to find out what Narcissa had meant. If she didn't want me around, then so be it.