Harry Potter 1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: JK and Co. own everything Potte related, but I own this plot and this character.   
  
  
  
  
The carriage rumbled over the cobblestones, crushing the occasional flower in a spectacular embrace of wilting petals against steel spoked wheels. My husband had always been fond of dominance, and it had surfaced everywhere; even the taps in our bathrooms were silver, and the water gushed out cold.   
  
I rose from reading my book, eyes screaming for mercy because the light was so dim, and glanced out the majestically paned window that afforded our home a very underappreciated view of the gardens and estate.   
  
But something was amiss, and I frowned. I was searching for the silver glint of his hair and the cold, blue abyss of his eyes, but I found none. In fact, I could only discern a raven haired companion with equally black eyes which regarded me in utter disgust and fascination.   
  
My husband's gloved hand (he was very particular about his fingernails) rose briefly to the small portal in the side of the carriage and made a swift, swiping motion. I took this as a wave, and immediately set to straightening my hair and chair rumpled clothing. My dress, of course, was far to ostentatious to lounge about the house in, but I had relented and allowed Lucius to dress me today. He loved to play about my clothes, cinching my corsets and buttoning up the infitisemal seams that adorned me. I was his doll, his plaything which he toyed with so gleefully, though it was never my intention to grow up and become another's source of amusment.   
  
The hallway door opened, and I had to run quickly from the vast library (which housed mostly dark arts books) to the massive, marble entryway. The pillars still hid the infuriatingly mysterious guest, and I tried to both give a warm welcome to my husband, and to discover the identity of this man (or woman?).  
  
, Lucius said, enfolding me stiffly within his patchouli scented arms. I gave him a smile, and a slight kiss on the cheek, which was cold. He hadn't shaved that morning either, though it had taken months of practice for me to tell. The stranger gave a suspiciously repulsed cough, and Lucius turned, giving him a warning smile.   
  
Severus, my wife, Lourdes, he said, ushering me to the man with a painful prod of his crystal globed wand. I nodded my head slightly, and gave a tiny curtsy, as is custom. The man nodded in the same manner, though he did not take my hand when offered. I gave him a small frown, and stepped backwards, heart awkwardly stumbling within my chest. My frown deepened, for I had found very few things could cause my heart to race.   
  
While they were talking, I gave him only the very lightest brushing over with my eyes. I had mastered this at endless gatherings, regarding people with what appeared to be minimal interest. In a normal place, it would be considered aloof and unpleasant, but here, it it considered excellent manners. One was never supposed to show more than a bored curiosity.   
  
He was tall, quite tall in fact, for he towered over Lucius. Swathed in black, literally from head to toe, he flowed in sable river of finely made cloth and well spun robes. He was shockingly pale, transluscent almost, skin tightly over face and well chiseled cheek bones embedded beneath. His nose, though some would try and call it aristocratic or even aquiline, was crooked, slightly off center and almost hooked. His eyes flickered towards me, and it was clear that he was far more entuned to other's observations than Lucius. His eyes were jetty, positively fuming with brilliance and anger. His hooded gaze was almost sullen, but far more alert than any commonplace human. I had the incredibly humiliating urge to attempt to locate where his pupils and irises were in his eyes.   
  
While Lucius was still chatting, making off hand gestures with exquisitely ringed fingers (I had purchased most of his jewelry, for he tended to favour over abundance), the stranger inclined his head again, and gave me the most bantam of nods. To my embarassment, I found myself blushing in return.   
  
Come, Lourdes, join us for tea in the library, Lucius said, entwining his arm with my own. I nodded in assent, and gave another brief curtsy to the man. He almost smiled, but it seemed as though he were trying to retain it by the weay his lips tugged downwards.   
  
We were seated, the three of us, an oddly concise triangle of bodies. The books and old smell of parchment wafted pleasantly over the refreshments, and I ate my scone in a quiet haste. Lucius was smiling plentifully, something that I learned later in life which meant the hatching of a malevolent plan or the some subversive thought. He was obviously gloating upon having this man here, the way he petted my arm, and ran his finger down the length of my face. I was used to my husband's cold caresses, though by no means did I enjoy them.   
  
Darling, did you know that Severus is the Slytherin head of house at Hogwarts?, Lucius asked, trying to ignor the syllabic symmetry of his question. I raised my eyebrows in actual surprise, and the man was looking out the window, obviously irate.   
  
Really? So you are indeed Professor Snape. My suspicions are confirmed, then, for I had thought that you looked familiar, I said conversationally. He raised his own sable brow, a movement well rehearsed.   
  
Indeed, Ms. Malloy, for I clearly remember you causing an extraordinary amount of house points for someone of your age, he responded stiffly. I stifled a grin, wishing that my husband's presence was not such a damper on an otherwise amusing situation.  
  
Yes, well, as charming as it is to reminisce about brighter times, I'm afraid I must ask you to leave us, darling, for Severus and I have many things to discuss, Lucius said, his grip tightening ever so slightly on my arm.   
  
Oh, of course, Lucius. Excuse me, gentleman, for I fear I have detained you for too long, I apologised, and rose. They both rose, but the professor less gallantly. Lucius nodded and the professor bowed.   
  
I offered my hand, and he took it swiftly, pressing his lips against it, then rising again, a cloud of of clove-ish scent. I inhaled sharply, suddenly feeling my heart plummet again and a bright flush of blood trudge to my face.   
  
Good day, was all I could muster, before gathering my skirts and collapsing outside the door.   
  
  
  
A/N: I realise that Lucius was previously married to a Narcissa, and I am going to explicate that in other chappies. Lourdes is not meant to be instantly likeable or affable, in fact, I kind of wanted to start her off kind of snooty and repellent, almost a very unhappy diva. So, hope you like that one. 


	2. Dagger Hilt

  
The servants gave me quizzical looks as they passed by my almost prostrate form. In return, I gave them weak smiles, wishing the whole world would disappear, save for myself and for the professor.   
  
The door was humming with low, masculine voices; I considered implications briefly, before resting my head upon the cool, varnished wood. Lucius was standing, I could tell, for he was pacing. The professor must have remained seated, for there was no indication of another presence.   
  
Well, where did you find this one, Lucius? She's quite young, the professor's baritone pierced something in me, and my mouth slackened. Lucius laughed, and it was to my surprise that my stomach turned at the sound. Though love is hardly the word one would use to describe our relationship, I contained somewhat of a soft spot for him.   
  
Ah, my Lourdes. She's beautiful, ne c'est pas, Severus?, Lucius said, and I could imagine him running his hands over the crystal wand again. The professor said nothing, and it felt as though he were carefully contemplating a response.   
  
Don't speak French, Lucius, you merely butcher the language. She must be half your age. Is she serving as some kind of replacement for Narcissa til you tire of her also?, the professor asked coldly. I cringed, for I knew this was true. I had met Narcissa Malfoy once more before this, when she was starting to age and her legendary beauty was beginning to fail her.   
  
Severus, I must tell you that your tongue is besting you once more. It will one day precede you, Lucius replied cooly. His voice was beginning to grow colder as the conversation continued.   
  
Your wife was only a few years ahead of your own son, Lucius. She needn't be included in all this, the professor responded, almost pleadingly. I wondered at what he was alluding to.   
  
Professor, that's all been attended to, Lourdes has received the mark early on in our marriage, Lucius said. I glanced at my arm, indifferent to something that was once such an enormous difficulty for me. Though the Mark was something I would have rather done without, it bothered me no longer. Of course, I understood fully that if I wished to retain this most comfortable existance, the Mark would inevietably be branded.   
  
Ah. And what did our Lord say?, the professor sounded as though the words were coming out with great difficulty.   
  
I could picture Lucius smiling in a malevolently serene way.   
  
He was very pleased with her.  
  
The professor rose up from his seat, and crossed to the fire, for it was near the door. I could hear his black footfalls patter against the wood.   
  
Why am I here, Lucius? You have no need of me. I'm a professor, not some enormously powerful wizard. Did you simply bring me here to brew potions for amusment, or are there other devious forces at work?, the professor sounded weary and almost desolate. The mother in me wanted to put my arms around him and hug him to my breast.   
  
Always to the point, are we not, Severus? Yes, I have a reason for bringing you here, but we must discuss it later. I fear that the servants have most indiscreet tongues when it comes to the manorside gossip, Lucius said, almost laughingly.   
  
I rose from my spot, and silently fled down the hall, into my own sitting room. I sat in the chair, opposite the fire, pretending to be resting, but shivering beneath the down coverlet that was spread out over me. There was a rapping at the door, someone dragging their knuckles across it.   
  
, I called out, struggling to make my voice both level and sleepy. There was no answer; I kicked off the blanket and rose up, instinctively patting my hair to make sure that it was presentable.   
  
It opened slowly, the china knob deliberately turned in a way that made it squeak agains the metal. I pulled itopen, thinking it was one of the servants sent to deliver tea or something.   
  
Instead, I found the professor standing on the other side, his arm propped up against one of the frames, giving me a very scrutinizing look. I waved my hands behind me, and bade him to come in.   
  
I shut the door, firmly locking it, even though I knew that Lucius possesed the master key. Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist and bore his face down to mine, his malicious eyes straight into my own.   
  
What the hell do you think you're doing?, I asked raggedly, trying to wriggle from beneath his tightened grip. For a man of little else but skin and bone, he was immensley strong. He gave a laugh, a snort almost, and I was humiliatingly reminded of myself as a child, struggling to understand his classes.   
  
, he asked, almost causally, save a for a bitter lilt of tone at the end of his question. I hesistated, not knowing whether it was fright or shock. I nodded my head slowly, eyes never unlocking from his. His fingers were still laced around my wrist, and I felt my whole hand pulsate, desperately attempting to circulate.   
  
I don't like it when others listen in upon conversations, he whispered into my ear, bringing his face closer to mine. I swallowed, but this time not out of fright.   
  
He loosened his hand from mine, very slowly, each finger slowly relaxing, one by one. I wrenched away from him, his face still very amused. His hair seemed to swallow the firelight, and his presence made my otherwise pleasant room very dark. I liked it.   
  
He pulled his robes about him, and sat in a chair, throwing his feet upon my ottoman, indifferently kicking away both my book and teaset. I glanced at the mess on the floor, the brown liquid being swallowed by the rug, pages of my book ruined, and gave him a hard stare of my own.   
  
I wasn't listening, I said, glaring at his boots. He laughed, and threw one foot off the ottoman, inviting me to sit. I did, carefully perching myself so I did not touch him.   
  
I could hear you rustling about. Very fortunate, Miss Bavarde, that I did not tell your husband, he remarked. I wondered why he was using my schoolname, for it bore unpleasant memories.   
  
My name is Malfoy, not Bavarde, professor, and if you would be so kind as to not thrash about these rooms. I was particularly fond of that tea kettle, I said calmly. He pulled the other foot off, and sat up straight, staring pointetdly into my eyes.   
  
You don't belong here, he said urgently, still looking at me, you're not one of them. His head was swaying slightly, the fire making lazy circles about his face. He looked very much like a vexed cobra, and I felt like I was doing some odd, ritualistic dance of death.   
  
You have nothing to compare it to, I answered firmly, trying to retain dignity and wits. He said nothing, only reached for my hand. I thought he would softly take it, but later foolishly cursed myself for forgetting the man that my former potions master really was. He tore away the stiff materal that encased my forearm. He twisted it to a painfully visible angle, the dormant mark still ugly and white fleshed. I flinched at him and closed my eyes.   
  
You cannot even look upon it, he snarled, you never wanted it, you were coerced into recieving it. You were never a true Slytherin. I snatched my arm back from his limpid fingers, his eyes watching me with oblique fascination.   
  
That's because I was no Slytherin, you fool, I hissed, I was a Gryiffindor.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Thanks to those who responded so quickly! And yes, Draco's dubious fate will be further explained!   
  



	3. The Noble Savage

  
He gave a rough laugh of disbelief, his normally polished voice echoing strangely within the room. He shook his head, Impossible, Miss Bavarde. Lucius Malfoy does not consort with those outside strictly Slytherin parameters.   
  
My family, if you have bothered to listen to tiring gossip, Professor, are infamous dark wizards. I was the only Gryffindor in the history of my household, I answered. I still could not comprehend why I was telling this to my most hated teacher. Besides, Professor, you said yourself that I lost an extraordinary number of points for a girl my age. I hardly remember you deducting from Slytherin, I replied snappishly before he could.   
  
And I take it that your husband has no knowledge of this?, he asked, raising an eyebrow. I shook my head, and folded my hands in front of my lap, usually a sign of ushering another person to exit one's presence. He pointedly ignored my gesture.   
  
What do you think your Lucius Malfoy would do to you, once discovered?, he asked, each syllable coming lazily off his tongue. I stared, aghast at his implications.   
  
I have no idea.........the thought never occurred.., I began, but he cut me off with a wave.   
  
Yes, yes. You never thought that you would be telling probably the most distrustful person you could imagine. Have faith in me, Miss Bavarde. I am no gossip, he finished firmly, and I sighed. Perhaps my formerly wicked Professor was more of a man than I had believed. Besides, I wish to see no more blood spilt because of a stupidly minute difference, he said at length.   
  
You actually think Lucius would kill me just because I was made to go to Slytherin in my second year?, I whispered, fingers and toes growing cold with trepidation. He smiled at me, looking like a complacent cobra.   
  
The Malfoys are not known for their forgiveness of deceptions, was all he replied, and I was mouthing something in return when a noise distracted me.  
  
The door knob turned again, china grating against metal and we both jumped. The Professor went to swiftly unlock it; I stood there shivering, feeling that none of the warmth from the fire would ever un-chill me.   
  
Lucius strode in, completely unpreturbed by the fact his wife was alone in a locked room with a notoriously vicious ally. He walked over and placed his arm meaninglessly on my own.   
  
Ah. I see that you have both been able to become more acquainted, he said, and I looked frantically at the Professor, whose eyes did not even flicker towards my own.   
  
Lucius, we have other things to discuss, he said curtly, nodding at me. I gave a flurried bow and Lucius an inattentive caress upon his face. He pulled my hands close and pressed his lips to them, his cold mouth colliding with his cold rings.   
  
Good bye, Lourdes, we shall see you at dinner. Go for a walk in the gardens or in the library, he said amiably, and quickly followed the Professor's lead.   
  
I sank into my chair,putting my face in my hands, nudging the mess of cake and tea on the carpet with my foot. Never had I believed such a compromising truth would be revealed to so perverse a man. I had made a pact with my father, one that I had actually intended to keep, that this truth would never resurface.   
  
I wandered up to my room, the vast marble staircase sinuously winding to unfurl its stone tongue along the green carpet that adorned much of our house. I sat in front of the vanity and tugged at my hair, watching the whole mass of pins come undone in a perfumed flurry. I undid my dress, with the help of the mute house elf that always stayed the corner of my room solely for this purpose. As it uncinched the corset, it gasped and I turned round, wondering what the matter was.   
  
What's wrong?, I asked, more sharply than intended, for I annoyed to be stirred from my reverie. It said nothings, its giant, ugly eyes regarding the hideous purple bruise forming fissures upon my wrist. I clasped my fingers around, it smiling warningly and the elf resumed its business, still staring rather wretchedly at the mark.   
  
I slid into trousers, velvet trousers, and a loose black top. My hair I left free to the drafts and breezes that sailed around our house, as well as the many ghosts the wandered aimlessly.   
  
The carpet was quite cushioning beneath my toes, and for irony's sake, I had painted them black. There were vast rooms in the house, many of which I was either forbidden to go into, or because there wafted an odd feeling of foreboding.   
  
In the dining room, I had once noticed part of the carpet becoming undone, and when I had lifted it, I noticed a trap door. Not thinking that Lucius would become angry, or that he even knew the thing existed, I lifted it.   
  
What I had found, however, I will not say, for those things I had seen used only in the most vile texts that Lucius owned. When he had discovered that I had gone into the secret room, he gave me a very warm smile before going into his study and retrieving something that looked like a hair brush.   
  
Have you ever been properly groomed?, he asked me, extending his hands lovingly. I shook my head, and stupidly took hold of his hands, thinking that my dear husband would certainly never harm me just because I had unwittingly perused his dark arts relics.   
  
Suddenly, his fingers clamped down my shoulders, and his eyes grew steely. I struggled to rise, wanting to scold him for this game that I was not amused with, but he still kept me down. He slowly brought the brush up to my face, passing it over me, watching my eyes became glazed at what I registered. That was no brush, it was covered in tiny, glass wires. I couldn't scream because his hand was suddenly at my throat, and I couldn't move because I was afraid I would collapse and vomit. He brought it to the side of my face, and I gurgled, for there was no other vocalization I could muster.   
  
The pain was unbearable, and I still have wispy scars alongside my face. He dragged it slowly down, pressing harder as he reached my jawbone. Suddenly, he let go of my throat and I screamed, more loudly and more frightened than I ever had in my life.   
  
, it became a monosyllabic string of words, because I was too distracted staring at his eyes. For a moment, I thought he would slowly carve my whole face out, leaving me an empty, fleshy mask.   
  
Why did you go into the chamber?, he growled, wiping my blood onto his trousers, why did you go and look at things you weren't supposed to? Did I not tell you I would allow to wander where you pleased, as long as I designated first?.   
  
I nodded, closing my eyes because I had no wish for him to see me falter and cry. I'm sorry, Lucius, I'll never do it again, I promise, please, please don't hurt me, I was begging now, clasping my hands together, some mockery of muggle prayer. He laughed, amused, and pressed down harder upon my shoulder. I heard the bone snap, but only vaguely registered that my arm had been broken; I was too afraid that I would bleed to death first.   
  
Now go. The house elves will take care of you. If I catch you in there again, I assure you there are far worse things that await, he whispered, his whiteblonde hair become dotted with my own sanguine secretions. He closed his gray eyes and took me by my broken arm, gently lowering me into the arms of a standing servant.   
  
It was the first time my husband's cruelty had ever been used upon me.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Yeck. Slightly sadistic, and definite hints of a S&M freaky Malfoy, but whatever. I would immensely appreciate some reviews, and for people to tell me whether or not I'm just making an ass of myself. Thanks. 


	4. I Am Not What I Am

  
  
I shivered, though the house was magically warmed, it never seemed to retain any kind of heat. I stayed mostly in my room, too bored and too cold to stray elsewhere. I could hear Lucius' voice rumbling through the floorboards, but more importantly, I could feel the Professor's velvety replies. I could sense him, his foreboding, formiddable presence, the black linen trousers swishing over polished wood.   
  
I could not help but feel a twinge of guilty fear, for my secret was in the unlikliest of hands. Never had I thought that my once hated Professor would ever be asked to take upon a potentially life endangering scandal. It was almost humorous, in retrospect.   
  
I flopped unceremoniously, and in a very unladylike manner, upon my bed. I groaned and rolled over, throwing the stupid, trashy novel I had been reading against the wall, and heard a minute curse from the miroor which it had grazed. I was aware of slight patter of feet, and I rolled on my back, seeing the visitor at an oddly reticent manner. It was the house elf, and she was sniffling through her enormous nostrils.   
  
Missy, the master woud likes you to come for dinner, it squeaked, grabbing onto a pair of unimaginably filthy knickers that it wore. I nodded, and let my eyes roll, seeing my hair brush the floor. It reminded me how Lucius liked me to make love to him, draping my hair across his chest, his cold skin warmed by a heart he could never contain.  
  
He says that he would likes you to wear the red dress, the one he brung back from London, missy, it said further, so quietly I strained to hear. I gave an annoyed shrug, tiring of my husband's game of dressing me. It padded over to the closet and slowly removed it from the hanger. Although at one point I had actually felt some sort of pity for these things, I could not help but feel annoyed as it struggled to stand tall enough to reach a dress sleeve.   
  
I rose, stripping my shirt and pants off, and settling myself in the chair so the elf could lace me. I took a breath, accustomed to the constricting stays, and lifted my hair so that it could see what it was doing.   
  
The dress fit perfectly, by magic of course, for there was no other way in which I could possibly be poured into such a tiny garment. Lucius, as decadent as he was, had good taste, and the color suited me perfectly. I didn't like the dress, for it reminded me too much of what Narcissa Malfoy had been wearing when I had first met her.   
  
  
I powdered my face, and allowed the elf's nimble and appropriate fingers brush some vile smelling cosmetic on me. My hair was pulled back into a chignon, and heavy, bejeweled earrings clipped to me.  
  
A giant ruby sat nestled in the hollow of my throat, a baby's fist of blood upon my white skin, and I shuddered. It was enchanted to grow warm and beat, and although I had always detested this remarkably grotesque bijou, I wore it anyway. The effect was luminous, and I was pleased. I had no inkling as to why I should go to such lengths to appease only my husband and bastardly teacher, but I excused it as silly excitment to have such an alarmingly dangerous guest in the house. For some unknown reason, I could remember not my husband' s face and gaze, only the penetratingly vicious half hoods that sheltered the Professor's menacing eyes.   
  
  
  
A/N: Thanks for reviews. I know that this is probably too dismal and somber for everyone's taste, but I'm immensely grateful for those that this has sparked an interest in. Anyways, Much lurve to all readers. Title from Iago's speech in Othello. 


	5. Justine

  
Stairs were a big to-do in our household, and descending down from them was a much celebrated way to show far reaching dominance. My most unclouded visions of Lucius was him walking slowly down, resplendent in his white hair and theatrical robes. He was incredibly, unnervingly beautiful, though equally venomous.   
  
I walked slowly down the stairs, gripping the bannister with all my might, hands slick with perspiration. The familiar, flutteringly frightened feeling resettled in my stomach, and the emotion was much identified with Professor Snape. Whenever he would enter a room, or swoop down upon us, the same, sick fear would crawl into me, miserable wretch it was, and transplant itself everywhere. A brief twenty minutes in his class was torture, my hair matted with sweat, and clothing soaked. Although others assured me that he would not trouble me because I was a Slytherin, I still felt the trepidation that gripped me as a Gryffindor. Everytime he gazed at me, even in a bored, disinterested way, I would feel that he knew, that he could read what things flitted shamefully about my head, and what thoughts could cause blushes to rise to my cheeks.   
  
Lucius came up, eyes glittering in satisfaction and pride, the Professor upon his heel. My husband took my hands, and kissed them, and for a second, as my stomach did another acrobatic assault, I saw the Professor's eyes flit wanderingly elsewhere besides my face. I nodded to them both, as aristocrats are expected, and tucked my arm inside my husband's; he smelled of patchouli again, and I suspect that it was a seduction device for one of my prettier maids.   
  
Although I am his wife, and the jewel upon his crown, his masculinity must never be denied nor rested,and he settles for quick dalliances with my women that I employ. Because I have long since learned to turn the other cheek, I am vindictive when turning them out. Few have come to me, pregnant as the full and bloated moon, begging for a permanent placement, and it has given me no other joy than to refuse their pleas and turn them out of my house, swollen with illegitimate child and a wrathful wife's vengeance.   
  
Although he had never come forthright and granted me the same pastime (I suspect his pride had choked him), I had, in the past, sought pleasure in another's company. I am not fond of sexual preversion, and this has often prevented me from taking pleasure up when the opportunity presents itself.   
  
The Professor, however, was another matter entirely. I knew that Lucius would be twice as scorned had I even thought of touching him, and although he was his son's own teacher and mentor, Lucius would have not liked to hear that a hooked nosed son of a bitch had been able to bed his wife more than he.  
  
We took our respective seats at the table, Professor seated directly across from myself, and I was again gripped with the sudden, piping hot fear that terrorized my youth. I had noticed his eyes flickering more often towards me, shaded in some indiscernible expression that was akin to satisfaction or besmusment. The servants had seat wine in crystalline goblets, emeralds (Lucius was a loud supporter of Slytherin, as I once heard Draco call him) embedded within. I noticed the Professor eyeing his with distaste, before waiving a servant's offer of the liquid. I took a hesitant sip, only coordinating my own movement's with Lucius'.   
  
I had also noticed that the Professor downed his food less readily than my husband or myself. I suppose he had a standing distrust of Lucius, most likely equivalent to Lucius' distrust of him. I almost nothing, noticing with a lack of concern, that my apetite had been halved in recent weeks; also, anything I did consume was almost always heaved up in opposite direction the next morning.   
  
Suddenly, one of Lucius' undermen, who worked in his office, coordinating messages and organising for him, came in, an urgently pleading look scrawled upon his rather dumpy features. Lucius beckoned towards him with a ringed finger, and the man whispered something.   
  
Excuse me, Lourdes, Severus, I'm afraid something rather pressing had been dredged up, he said, and nodded towards the Professor and gave me a mirthless smirk. He shut the door behind him, lock clicking with well oiled ease.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Many thanks for reviews. And just because I'm a dork, the Marquis de Sade often wore patchouli oil himself, thinking it a pheromone(correct spelling?) Anyways, More reviews appreciated and more chappies coming along. 


	6. The Knell

  
We sat across from each other, candelabara emitting wavering, but vibrant light. I suddenly felt light headed and surreal, everything suspended in syrup,and only the Professor's eyes remained a steady focal point. We sat staring at something slightly past each other's heads for minutes, not knowing how to broach one another; personally, I felt that conversing with the Professor would be as pleasant as trying to down botuber pus. He must have felt similarly, for he had a distinctly displeased frown.   
  
Are we to sit as strangers?, he asked, voice almost hissing in impatience. I smiled patiently, as taught, and extended my hands upon the table. I cocked my head at him, knowing better than to practice pretty, aristocratic manners on him.   
  
Professor. It has been so long, I said, my voice and comment rehearsed. I could not help but feel today's earlier explosion was still taut beneath his skin, and if I dared poke to hard, he would come flying at me.   
  
He gave a pressed laugh, bloodless lips forming an oddly protrusive line. I believe it has been....oh...nearly eighteen years since graduation, has it not?, he asked, leering at me. I flushed; evidently, my age was not so hidden as I had hoped.   
  
Correct. Odd how you would remember things so precisely, I said in earnest interest. I looked down at my plate, my rich, creamy food overspilling its boundaries, mixing into one homogenous mess. I wrinkled my nose with distaste, foregoing my always impeccable manners and pushing my setting away from me.   
  
I remember each and every class that I have taught and that has graduated, he said, his soothingly dark voice sounding bored over the candlelight. I smiled at him absently, wondering if he had remembered any of my past indiscretions.   
  
Strange. Do you remember Draco's?, I asked, forgetting myself. It is never ladylike to become forward, but I knew the Professor would not care. His eyes jerked up, as if I had smarted him in a past wound; I suspected I rather had, considering his extensive hatred of Draco's classmate, Harry Potter.   
  
I apologize.That was prying of me, I said quickly, not wanting this rather interesting banter to be spoilt by my overhasty tongue. He propped his ricey coloured hand upon the table, and rested his chin in it. For a moment, he closed his eyes, and I could see the delicate, fluttery veins that pulsed beneath them. I wanted to feel his face, his sinuous looking skin, so aged, yet so supple.   
  
Yes, it was. I had noticed most children of your age seemed to have the same habit, he said wearily. I knew this was not argumentative, only observational, yet Icould not help but feel a prickle of offense. The fork slipped from my fingers, staining the material of my dress with its resin. I gave an angry hiss, and dabbed delicately with the napkin. As I looked up to him again, his eyes were open, and glinting with some somber amusment.   
  
I don't remember Draco being in Hogwarts with me, I said suddenly, all pretensions of being closed with this Professor vanishing. I suddenly wanted to pour my pain to him, sing it in a raw, untrained, wholly emotional scream. He fiddled with the utensil, giving a musing look, lips slightly curled up, though not in smile.   
  
He was...inconspicuous when he needed to be, he said thoughtfully, those his body language suddenly sharpened, as if Lucius' ears were somehow embedded into the table. I sympathised; I too had experienced the fatherly (though I suppose their rather incestuous relationship would not have qualified it as so) wrath that Lucius imposed upon his wives and servants.   
  
Draco was a minor terror in my life that I had outgrown. I remember the streak of fear that would course through my belly every time I saw his inescapable (I knew for a fact he Apparated illegally) patch of white blond hair. More handsome than his father, and certainly more intelligent, he was far more treacherous an enemy to broach than Lucius. His cold steel eyes made Lucius' only a mild, summer's day blue in comparison, and his skin was even more shivery.  
  
His animosity had only intensified over the months that his father and I had been married. He stalked around the house, making sure that every sembelance of a tender moment was promptly crushed, and that every kind word that was whispered of me was put down.   
  
Draco had tried to bed and woo me, purely for sport, I assume; though it had been said he had been unusually persistent. I was mortified and disgusted at the thought, and made every conceivable measure to be sure that he was well away from my location.   
  
, he had once whispered, gathering my hair up in his sickly fingers, dipping his head to my neck, cool, serpentine tongue flicking out experimentally. I felt the chilly tip of his nose upon my nape, and jolted forward. He laughed mechanically, no amusment to behold within him. His dexterous fingers gently traveled up the back of my dress, along the zippers and laces, trying to be sensual, but feeling as though he were dragging a sharp dagger slowly across my skin.   
  
I tried to block his explorations from a vantage point where I could not see him, but he caught my wrist, twisting it firmly, bordering on painful, but not quite. He laughed, a deep gurgle in his throat, and brough it to his lips, sharpened teeth closing down slowly on swollen flesh. I said nothing, only biting the insides of my lips into ragged strips as I saw my blood, bright, freshly magenta, drip slowly in the tense silence.   
  
I could have sworn he became vampiric then, the way his cobalt eyes gleamed so distracted at the sight of my more volatile humor*. His lips twitched reflexively, and I saw what he thirsted for. I pulled back with a shriek, toppling things over atop my vanity, knowing that my life was not endangered, but feeling as though my soul were. He pulled me back, towards him, towards his cheat and lifeless heart and though I struggled, I could not help but sense the power that steeped from him. I am disgusted at my own motivations.   
  
He drove his mouth into mine, his hand lifting the dress casually, brushing my thighs with hard, uncaring fingers. He had found what he had been looking for, and his other hand searched breathlessly for my breasts, twisting me into a painful, doubled over figurine.   
  
And yet I was periliously excited by this, his fingers delving with more precision than Lucius', and his movements far more ruthless. He broke apart, not quite letting go, fingers still woven through my hair.   
  
There. Now we shall have our secrets., he breathed harshly, and I felt his hardness prod me through my bodice. I nodded, wanting to scream, but wanting him to kiss me again, in that dismembering way.   
  
That was the last I had seen of Draco, for I had already forseen his complacence at achieving what he desired. He had left the house the next morning, elegant , white gloved fingers touching briefly at the carriage window, then his white hair appearing, flickering like a lone candle.   
A/N: Ooooooer. This is getting perverse. Thanks to my readers, and I promise I'll be uploading really soon. *Humor is not used like , it's used in the sense of the four humors of the body (blood, bile,choler, black choler). I was reading it and I got confuzzed, so I didn't want anyone else to. More Draco-isms in future chappies. 


	7. Husbandry in Heaven

  
Lucius did not return for several hours, and I took this as a good sign on the Professor's behalf. Admittedly, I was beginning to enjoy the limited amount of time I had spent with him, although I was still slightly afraid that he would one day jerk back the curtain that was containing my façade.   
  
  
I was drinking another glass of wine, sitting at my vanity, looking closely at my reflection. I was getting older, this was true, though not in an unflattering way. I still had the youthful flush of my skin, and there were no lines or weather carved into my face. My hair was lustrous yet, and gray did not fleck the surface. Only my eyes were different, older somehow. I always had large, darkish eyes, but now they seemed gigantic in contrast. There was a sadness that loomed in them, an unhappiness that was very tangible.   
  
  
I sighed, rather displeased with this discovery. I was still beautiful, no doubt, and still attractive to the opposite sex, judging from the Professor's reaction, but a spark was diminished.   
  
  
The door sounded behind me and I automatically rose and folded my hands. Lucius strode in slowly, admiring the tasteful decor of my room, and the canopy of deep red that adorned the center.   
  
  
  
I smiled at my husband, for even then I loved him. He came up to me, and placed his fingers on the back of my neck, rings sensually warm on my skin. He kissed my face, soft, scented lips moving down. I tilted my head up to the ceiling, not because I was offering myself to him, but because I suddenly found that tears were beginning to form rotund dewdrops in my eyes.   
  
  
His other hand gently lifted the hem of the robe, almost questioningly at first, but I nodded, almost imperceptibly in allowance. I liked that my husband and I shared a mysterious bond, that he knew which boundaries not to tread upon, and that there was a weird, synchronized rhythm between us.   
  
  
Suddenly, he pushed my back on the bed, hand still dangling a whisper above me. He loosed his hair, and it rained on me, a lavender curtain of masculine silk, I wrapped my fingers around the back of his own neck, and drew him in for an uncharacteristically intimate kiss. I felt him start back in surprise, and his eyes widened. His hand almost immediately found its way to my hip, where it rested.  
  
  
I raised my legs slightly, allowing him to rest between them, on top of me. He slithered up my shirt, gently finding a breast, and kneading it with a husbandly familiarity.   
  
  
Both his hands slithered up my shoulders, to find his leverage, and he entered swiftly, almost detachedly. I watched his face, and his eyes were closed in what would appear to be an inflection of prayer. He kissed my head, and drives harder; this is where I begin to enjoy it, this rutting like two dignified animals.   
  
  
I moaned softly, and he smiled at me, hands smoothing over my face. He kissed my forehead again, then found my mouth sloppily, planting kisses anywhere but. I want to know what he's thinking suddenly, to realise what is behind the steely curtain of his eyes and the shockingly pale pallour of his skin. I want to behold my husband, without pretenses or disguises, but as quickly as this desire enters me, so does fear. Perhaps I do not wish to know what business Lucius conducts in his studies, or wherefore he goes out in the long silent black cape. I know that to look upon him without these stiffly concealing guises would be terrifyingly real.   
  
  
And that is why my mind buds with the picture of Severus Snape, former nemesis and professor, arched above me, face joylessly composed as he drives into me, long, skeletal fingers twirling themselves in my hair and cold indifferent lips clamped wordlessly on my own. I gasp, for I was not expecting this rather startling, but vaguely erotic image.   
  
  
I wondered (discreetly, as my husband in still within me, and I am convinced of his seer like abilities) if my Professor kept his eyes shut during sex, or whether he let them bore holes into his paramour's skull. I want to feel him against me, the lean gaunt form of muscle and bone pressed unmercifully upon me, choking out every last breath.   
  
  
I open my eyes again, and Lucius slides off, satisfied and pleased with my unusually forthcoming show of excitement. In an almost tender gesture, he takes my face between his hands and kisses me. But at the moment, it's anything but tender, because I can only picture him crushing my skull, a delicate, ruby red eggshell.   
  
  
He put his head on my stomach, and it felt like a deadweight. I rubbed him absently, still wondering why on earth I would dream of fucking an otherwise entirely repulsive man. Lucius stretches his neck to look at me, and I feel the coiled muscles of his throat against my belly.  
  
  
What do you think of him, Lourdes?, he asked, a bit sleepily. I take my time to answer, fanning his hair out so it covers my breasts. It doesn't do to have a civilised conversation whilst still naked.   
  
  
Professor? I honestly don't know. I hadn't really cared for him in school, I said thoughtfully. And it was true, though perhaps a morbid fixation would have been a more suitable phrase.   
  
  
Draco didn't like him either. Found him to be slightly dodgy. I must say, he is rather a stick in the mud, isn't he, darling? You both seemed terribly uncomfortable at dinner, he replied. I laughed, his head moving slightly up and down with the sudden motion.   
  
  
I haven't any idea about the stick in the mud part, though he is quite morose. I didn't know what to say, Lucius, I was sitting across from one of the most loathsome professors at school. I cannot honestly say that there would be a decent comment among us, I said. Lucius smiled fondly, and reached out to stroke my collarbone.   
  
  
So, in one word, my Lourdes, what would you describe him as?, he asked me, flipping over so that the silken sheets made a wheezy protest. I hesitated before answering him, for Lucius took one word replies very seriously. He had always believed that brevity earned more honesty than one thousand words, and I tended to agree with him.   
  
  
Interesting. Ambiguous. Brilliant. Slytherin, I said, staring down my husband's cooly interested gaze. I expected the last bit to humor him slightly, but he nodded in agreement.   
  
  
Even if I find that I care little for him, I must agree that he is the essence, the most refined and purest base of Slytherin, he said.   
  
  
With that he rose, a toweringly massive form. His muscles (he was still vain) rippled in the dark candlelight. I leant over the edge of the bed and flicked my tongue out, tasting him.   
  
  
He tasted like crystal snow. Tasteless, odorless, almost devoid of color, yet with a distinct flavour that cannot be defined.   
  
  
And suddenly, I was acutely aware of it.  
  
  
My husband tasted of death.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: I know its weird and sick, but I really cannot imagine Lucius tasting of anything lively or fresh. Many describe Snape as having a distinct Lavender or Sage flavour, but I think there has to be something darker. Maybe cyanide or belladonna spiked lavender or sage, but always something lurking. Lucius, on the other hand, is much like the famous Macbeth quote: Look th' innocent flower/ but be the serpent under't. 


	8. The Scarlet Letter

  
He left me in the night, as he often did, just as he thought I had fallen asleep. It was an uncharacteristically tender habit had developed over the years, and sometimes he would wrap himself around me, hair fanning over both of us, his bleached eyelashes fluttering in the nubs of my shoulders.   
  
  
I rose from the bed at length, almost sleepy, but not quite tired. My dressing gown was folded discreetly at the end of the bed, sleeves tucked softly away beneath the bundle. I had always wondered exactly how much watching our silent helpers did around the house, and whether or not these elves were just extremely helpful voyeurs.   
  
  
The fire was already burning in the hearth, and the room was pleasantly temperate. Yet I still could not shake the weird chill that had overtaken me when I had pictured the Professor, with such stunning clarity and perfect vividness, it was almost as if it had really happened.   
  
  
Because there was nothing else to do, and also because it was far too drafty to wander the house at night, I decided to open the stack of dull, but necessary correspondences that lay atop my scroll desk. It was a magnificent table that Lucius had bought my for our anniversary, and I was singularly delighted with the magically appearing pigeon holes and refilling inkwells.  
  
  
He had also bought me a smallish dagger, to be used to letter opening, a muggle artifact. It had the largest sapphire I had ever seen set in the center, and the blade was enchanted (by Lucius, of course) to keep itself perilously sharp at all times.   
  
  
I snapped my fingers and one of my table lamps went on (Lucius had grudgingly taught me some limited and petty wandless magic) .The first letter was from Desedemona Lafey, Hubert Lafey's wife, another rather prominent Deatheater. I had met him once, at one of our balls, he was a squashy man with a pointy goatee that was supposed to make him look dignified but only made him more goatish. Where he himself was rather stout, his wife was long and lean and horsey, often appearing in garish robes and over rouged face to try and chisel cheeks where she had none. She had an irritating laugh.   
  
  
The letter was another flimsily veiled, societally motivated invitation. I sighed, and set down to write. As I reached the end of the paper, I hadn't realised that I had placed the blade facing myself, and as I reached to blot the letter, my hands curled around the double edged blade.   
  
  
I took a high, hissing gasp of pain, for it had come as a shock. Unfortunately, I had not the sense to move my now copiously bleeding hand from hovering over the letter, and it was dotted scarlet as well.   
  
  
Damn it, I swore, and was surprised at myself. Normally, my composure is piqued at all times, even in the privacy of my own chambers. I took the edge of my robe and wrapped it round my hand, creating somewhat of a turquoinet, and hurriedly opened the door.   
  
  
I rushed down the hallway, wincing as my bare feet touched patches of naked marble. In my hurry, I had neglected slippers. At the end of the corridor, there is a bathroom, where medicinal supplies lay in a vast cupboard.   
  
  
I didn't see another cloaked figure hurrying towards me, gloved hands outstretched. I was too busy preventing drippings on the carpet. The sight of my own blood had fascinated me, so I was not too put off, but I knew Lucius would upset to see his handsome rugs stained.   
  
  
May I help, madam?, a startlingly baritone voice said into my ear, and I jumped. I turned around to find the Professor giving an indifferent overview to my cushioned hand.   
  
  
I'm fine, thank you, I replied curtly, not only being unseated by the fact that the fantasies which I had so firmly bolted from my mind were returning with rapid and distressing clarity. Wordlessly, he grasped my wrist in such a spot that it forced the tendons to become lax. I winced as my fingers splayed themselves, and the freshly gilded wound was revealed in a nefariously gaping manner.   
  
  
His black eyes seemed to be searching for something else, and I realised that my Mark was only several inches from the where the robe had been rolled up. I struggled to pull back, but it made no difference.   
  
  
This is not so bad. It appears to be only superficial, he said at length, and I gave an unseen eye roll. He looked back up at me, a wisp of hair obscuring the etch like quality of his eyes. What did you cut yourself with?, he asked again, tone more demanding, something roughly tugging at his voice.   
  
  
It was a letter opener Lucius gave to me, it had a sapphire in the center, I felt silly telling him these things, almost as if I was babbling. He was still holding my hand, and I could feel the heat from his skin through the gloves.   
  
  
Was it enchanted?, he asked me, and without my even realising it, had slipped on his hands up the sleeve of my robe, close to my elbow, eyes still locked with my own. I nodded, hypnotized by him; he was rolling the sleeve farther, pulling my closer to him.  
  
  
Perhaps not so easy to fix, he almost whispered. I nodded still, not being able to not look away. I felt his leathered fingers briefly caress my arm, almost tenderly, before his other hand had traveled and found what it was searching for.   
  
  
His index finger ran over the Mark, scraping the skin in an oddly ticklish way. I squirmed, but he managed to grip me so hard, I'm sure that my blood supply was abruptly cut off.   
  
  
Let me go, my voice quavered, and I was flushing. Why could he still make me feel so small? He smiled at my request, but in a very Chesire-esque way (I had done my fair share of muggle reading). His fingers were still rubbing me, but so slowly, and with such sensual depravity, that I was moving into him, rather than away.   
  
  
My Mark was starkly denuded without my robe, and I was well aware of my lack of clothing. I felt ashamed suddenly, as I beheld the ugly tattoo that sullied the rest of my otherwise porcelain skin.   
  
  
I pulled back, and he expected this, dropping my hand, only to my wrist, then bending slightly and kissing it.   
  
  
If I had not known better, or was not quite as shocked, I could have sworn he extended his tongue only briefly from his lips, and flicked it hotly over my skin.   
  
  
How dare you, I breathed quietly, his complete and total equanimity unnerving me. He smiled in return, raising his finger to his head, imitating the old fashioned habit of tipping one's hat.   
  
  
Be sure to bandage that, he said, nodding at my arm. But, I cannot tell whether he was gesticulating towards the Mark, which was still uncovered, or my hand, whose liquids had seeped through the flimsy silk bandage.   
  
  
Take this, he said, his voice cross all at once. He shoved balled up piece of material into my fist. I let it open and dangle from my fingertips; it was a silken handkerchief, black of course, but pungently aromatic of some blossom or bud that I can't describe.   
  
  
I stared at him blankly, still trying to recall the hot surge of memories that the silken square ushered into my head. He took it from me, and waved it in front of my eyes. I must have stared at him glassily, for he gently wound it round and round, stopping to tie it with a fantastically fast motion, that I didn't even feel how tightly he had done it up.   
  
  
I began to tug at it, nervous habit I suppose, but he shook his head. It will come off on it's own accord. It's specially designed to know when the wearer no longer has need of it. Then it will fall away and become clean and reusable. I find them quite useful, as I work with knives and hot liquids, he spoke monotonously.   
  
  
You shouldn't wander in the halls, I blurted, stirring myself out of my reverie. He looked surprised, and raised an eyebrow; he never seemed to find enough justification to voice his questions.   
  
  
This house can be dangerous after dark, I said quickly and my hand flew to my Mark, which began to burn. He didn't notice.   
  
  
Thank you, he said, no note of sarcasm or disparaging comment that diluted his sincerity. I gave a small, awkward curtsy, and he returned it with a nod. He walked off in the other direction, his footsteps purposeful, like he knew I was still watching him. I sank to the floor, still staring blankly, holding his tissue to my nose, inhaling the darkly sensual smell of him.   
  
  
Lavender. Tuberose. Cedar. Moonlight. Winter. Wind.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: I'm not too good with actual ingredients to perfumes, so this was hard. But I thought a while about what other things seem to express him, like when someone comes in from the cold and they have that icy, snowy smell on them? I always think that when I read or see him. I duno, just me being a freak. 


	9. Taskmaster

  
It seemed as if I had gotten no sleep that night, yet as I was awoken, rather roughly by the house elf, it felt like I had slept as the dead. The thing was positively bug eyed with terror, for each time it tried to shake me, it admonished itself for being too harsh with me, and would go banging its head about my vanity and chairs.   
  
  
  
Oh, missus, please wake up! Please wake up for Pippy! The missus must wake up now or else the master is going to be very angry!, the thing was screeching in my ear this time, and I rolled over and promptly ducked it over the head with my book from the nightstand. It let out a little trill of pain, but then slipped to the end of the bed and ripped the covers off my legs.   
  
  
  
I bolted up, the abnormally frigid air ceasing my present state of sleepiness. What in Hades' name is wrong with you?, I snapped grumpily, it being too early for much of a bite in my voice. I glanced at the ruby encrusted clock that ticked away on my bureau, and found that it wasn't even a quarter past nine.   
  
  
The elf visibly relaxed at seeing me conscious, and set about pulling clothes from my closet. It had assembled a more or less appropriate outfit, when it pulled another thing from behind its back.   
  
  
What is that?, I asked accusingly, and it cowered. I opened my hand, making a no nonsense face, and the elf reluctantly slid the switch into my hand. It was a leather whip, a riding crop, in fact, with a small silver snake enameled into the side. I turned it over, and it read: _The property of Ms. Lourdes Malfoy, Mistress of theMalfoy Manner. _  
  
  
I smiled, somewhat puzzled; it was an unusually sentimental gift, no to mention a surprising twist of title. This is a riding crop, yet I have no horse, I said, matter of factly, tipping the thing back into the elf's gnarled fingers.   
  
  
The elf positively beamed, That is why the missus must come down to the stables after breakfast. Master would like to show you something. It hopped away, leaving the laces of the whip braided and neatly folded for use.   
  
  
I rose and got dressed, much more casually, in a tastefully expensive black top that required no corset. I put on a thick green skirt, with small lacing running up the sides; it was mildly erotic in the way it encased me, and I was pleased with flattering lines it drew. Although I had fervently denied this in my head, I knew I was dressing for the Professor and not my husband.   
  
  
I had already bathed the day before, and found no need to expose more skin to the cold air than necessary. My hair was loose about my shoulders, dark and twisted before brushing, but smooth and black afterwards. I ran my fingers lovingly through it, before twisting it up in a loosely held chignon.   
  
  
As I went to retrieve the riding crop, I noticed that the black handkerchief was still wound around my hand. I flexed my fingers, and winced slightly in pain, though it was noticeably better. The cloth seemed to retain the scent of its owner, and was effusively pleasant. I opened a corner and peeked; the scar would heal quickly into a white line, smooth, but livid.   
  
  
Both men were already seated at the table, the breakfast buffet laid out in resplendent display. I snatched a roll from one of the ornamental sculptures before greeting my husband. Good morning, Lucius, I said, running my hand over his shoulders, he nodded and kissed my hand, the food he had already eaten leaving a shiny stain on my skin. Good morning, Professor, I turned to him, feeling a weird heave in my stomach as I did so. He acknowledged my presence with the most miniscule of nods, and he quickly ushered a forkful of food into between his lips, I suppose as a way to avoid speaking to me.   
  
  
Lourdes, what is that?, Lucius asked, annoyed, as he caught sight of the crop in my hand. I showed it to him wordlessly, and he looked perplexed as I felt. I could not understand my husband's puzzlement, for whom else would have given me such an obviously suggestive gift? I turned to the Professor, who was still avoiding my eye.   
  
  
Where did you get this?, he asked me carefully, handing it to me. The house elf said this morning that you had something to show me, I said hesitantly, still trying to see if this was one of Lucius' jokes that he loved to finish by bestowing gifts on me. He turned it over in his hand, and ran his thumb briefly over the inscription.   
  
  
I don't remember it, he confessed earnestly, and looked at me oddly. I was feeling fairly hysteric. This is a rather intimating gift, is it not?, he asked, something askance in his tone. I looked at his expression, which he kept wisely hid. I knew that he probably suspected me of infidelity.   
  
  
Lucius, the elf told me that it was you who had something to show me. You know the elves, they cannot tell a lie, I said desperately, clutching the thing between my hands. I looked at the Professor again, who was staring at me in a very calculating way; I gave him a furious stare, at which he started upon his food once more.   
  
  
Perhaps this is an omen that a new horse is in order?, Lucius asked, and suddenly I realised his game. My old horse, Aries, some thoroughbred whom I had kept for many, many years, was lame and dying, yet I had I kept it magically remedied far longer than was humane. I loved Aries not because he was so magnificent, but because he and I were much alike, rudimentary beasts set in an overly cruel world. Aries understood the injustices which I had suffered, with this milky eyes, and in return I gave him the most comfortable life for which he could ever hope.   
  
  
You....you put Aries down?, I whispered, the riding crop beginning to vibrate between my taut hands. He patted my shoulder awkwardly, detesting any display of sentiment or weakness. His eyes, however, remained cool.   
  
  
The horse was nearly dead, Lourdes, it was the only human thing to do, his voice was gentle, but there was a threatening tow beneath. I knew if I furthered this argument, my safety could be grievously pursed. I glanced at the Professor who was watching my husband with remarkable dislike. It gave me courage.   
  
  
It was not the human thing to do. Aries was my horse, therefore my responsibility. You couldn't even wait for me to say goodbye, I said, tone sounding quivering besides his.   
  
  
Lourdes, I have purchased a magnificent Arabian stallion in return. It's a marvelous horse, a female this time, just what you expressed that you had wanted. Look, if you don't like this horse, you may buy another. Aries was old and blind, not to mention rheumatic. I've already made a decision, he said, the finality of his tone settling like lead in the air.   
  
  
It wasn't yours to make, I said, wretchedly miserable. The Professor rose, intending to leave a very tentative situation, but Lucius whirled around, Stay Severus, see how I discipline my beasts.   
  
  
I turned away from him, feet barely able to support me, the switch in my hand so temptingly coiled like a lovely, leather noose. Lucius could have used colour in his face, even if it was gained through strangulation.   
  
  
I didn't hear him come from behind me, but Lucius gripped my arm and forced me to stand in front of him. His blonde hair was blown in my direction. You will never disregard what I say, he whispered fiercely enough for the sound to echo in the dining hall. Peripherally, the Professor shifted in his seat, hands twisted around a knife.   
  
  
Let me go, I spat at him, and he raised his hand and slapped me. His rings collided with the skin of my face, and my eyes rolled back in my head. I slipped tot he floor, an ache beginning from the back of my head, then coursing towards my sight. I felt my nose start to bleed, and another blow was delivered to my other cheek. I heard Lucius' boots stride swiftly out the hall, the door slamming behind him.   
  
  
I remained on the floor, stiffly seated. I didn't open my eyes, and primly cupped my fingers to my nose. Pride would not permit me to ask the Professor for help. I heard chair feet being scraped against the floor, and the Professor rise in a charcoal blur.   
  
  
I opened my eyes, blinking away darts of pain and the hazy focus. The switch was still in my hand, and I threw it away, far as I could. I wanted to curl up into the woolen thickness of the rug and weep. I suddenly smelt a breeze of lavender and the musky scent of expensive shoe leather.   
  
  
A bone white hand was outstretched to me, a proffered support. I took it tentatively, my fingers briefly scraping against his palm. His face was impassive, though there seemed to be heightened color in his cadaverous cheeks. Our hands remained linked for seconds after I had stood up, and I felt a tug of need that forced me to cling to him.   
  
  
Does he always treat you like that?, the Professor sounded bored. I looked uneasily away.   
  
  
Forgive my husband, Professor, he's been rather busy and lack of sleep has forced him to act...., I couldn't quite pick an adjective that would be both appropriate and non damaging.   
  
  
As an aggravated beast?, the Professor's nostrils flared at he said this, and I could detect a glint of ire behind his normally hooded eyes. I flushed and looked at my feet, than at the crop.   
  
  
Was it you who sent this?, I asked, gesturing towards the leather tangle of tassels. He retrieved it, smoothing out each cord between his fingers.   
  
  
It was. Your husband forced me to attend the dreadful business of purchasing a horse. I thought it would be highly appropriate. I am sorry that it had reduced things to this, he said, and for a second, I almost believed him. There was an oddly muted pain as he said this. You're still bleeding, he pointed out. I raised a finger to my nose, and found freshly painted scarlet gild my hand.   
  
  
Am I? I didn't notice, I said absently, and reached for a napkin on the table. He grabbed my hand, and undid the black wrap that he had placed there only a few nights before. He brought it to my face, dabbing more gently than I ever would have dared believe.   
  
  
He knew what I was thinking, he must have, for his hand dropped stiffly to his side. Leave it under your nose. The bleeding will cease, he said in a formally clinical way. I nodded, and felt the black cloth grow warm with the heavy weight of my excretion. It stopped, as he had predicted, and I took a seat at the table.   
  
  
I'm sorry you had to see that, Professor, I said, half apologetically, half out of habit. Lucius must have cared little for the Professor, for he usually kept his anger tethered until all company was out of sight.   
  
  
Why should you apologise? Is it not your husband that's beating you?, he said snappishly, I tire of your incessant display of perfect manners. It's sickly and ridiculous, standing there, bowing and curtseying as your husband batters you senseless.   
  
  
I felt reduced to the bashful pupil I was, drab and mousy in her over large tunic.   
  
  
Why do you let your husband treat you as thus?, he asked me, eyes surveying my reaction critically. I blanched, for no one had dared openly criticise Lucius in his own domicile.   
  
  
I believe, Professor, you have overstepped your boundaries, I said cooly, picking up a knife and running my finger lightly over the sharp end. He frowned a bit, then smiled malevolently.   
  
  
I see. The very pious and very discreet wife who will keep her silence. A very wise investment, Lucius has made in you, Miss Bavarde, for I perceive a woman who keeps a very tight hold on her fortunes. Or am I mistaken, is this actually love that I have witnessed today?, he sneered. I shuddered, and rose stiffly, wishing I could take the knife and bury it in his throat.   
  
  
And now she runs, see her trot to her little room and dress up, an over grown plaything for an overgrown boy to toy with. See her dress in baubles that drown her and clothing that was made to restrict her. I see your husband chooses to dress you, not yourself, he mused. My mouth refused to unglue itself, for my ears strained for him to finish. I hated him so much, yet his burning enigma rooted me.   
  
  
He rose as well, robes hanging about him like limply ornamental banners. He crossed to me, arms enfolded in one another, a never ending knot of black linen. He leaned forwards, brushing my hair from my ear with a white finger. Go back to your room now, little princess, and play about your morbid castle. Soon you shall see the road to hell is paved in gold, he whispered, his hot breath warming the back of my neck. I felt him smell me, and I was drawn to him, inexorably extracting myself from his tentacular voice.   
  
  
He grabbed my wrist again, seeming to know exactly where Lucius had also bruised me. I winced as he dragged me to him, not wanting to know what he was going to do with me, but with a very poignant need for him. I didn't want to see his eyes lock upon mine, nor his mind feast upon my reaction to his truisms, but my eyes met his without hesitation.   
  
  
His convulsing, strangely two dimensional lips were nearly level with my own, his eyes closed in meditative arousal. I felt something hard prod me between my legs, and was disgusted with myself for mewing. He opened his own eyes, and I saw darkly laughter there, trickling out in cobalt tears of mirth.   
  
  
He shoved the whip into my hand, Learn some self discipline, girl.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Ok, ok, so this wasn't supposed to be humorous, but you didn't seriously think I would allow them to do the dirty so early on, do you? Honestly, people! Anyway, I seem to be getting no reviews whatsofuckingever, and I would truly appreciate them! 


	10. Paradise Lost

  
  
The stables were adjacent to the house, the long, narrow building a magnificent add-on to the already significant amount of land that Lucius owned. I was saddened by the loss of Aries, a true friend, and only wished to catch a glimpse of this newhorse, before I reauctioned it. The switch was warm and buttery between my hands, mostly because I had been clinging onto it all morning.   
  
  
The stalls smelled always of hay and never of dung, which can be a refreshingly organic and clean scent compared to the sometimes stiflingly perfumed odor of my home. I took a deep breath, watching my exhalation ensnare itself in the bitterly cold draft, and then twine upwards into the chalky sky. There was no sun out that day, and I frowned, thinking it was going to snow.  
  
  
One of the attendants whom all seemed faceless and nameless to me, immediately crept up to my side. Your new horse, madam?, he asked me, and I surprised myself by taking a long observation of his face.   
  
  
He was nothing but a boy,creamy freckled skin melting into the smooth, hay coloured hair. He had a smallish nose and bright, perceptive eyes; perhaps too watchful and observant for my liking. His teeth had a small gap in the front, lost in a fight, most likely. I put a gloved finger beneath his chin and tilted his face up to me, watching his nose flare and breath falter in dread and fear. I laughed.   
  
  
Yes. But only to look. I don't know yet if I wish to ride, I said firmly, gesturing towards my designated stall. He nodded and trotted over, a bit bandy legged.   
  
  
He pulled the reigns, and the horse emerged from the liquid darkness that it seemed to scatter. Lucius was right, it was a magnificent animal. The muscles were massive and rippled beneath the sheathe of its hide. They flexed with every single movment, one quivering mass of absolute jetty steel. I ran my finger over its flank, and it glared at me, eyes strangely onyx in a way that reminded me much of the Professor's. It's hair was braided, but it was thick and pooled in the dent on its neck. Lucius loved to brand his horses, and I suppose it was a way of reinforcing his masculine ego.   
  
  
The horse and I stared eye to eye for several seconds, though I knew it was wiser not to. This animal was skittish and dangerous, and I had forseen that it would never quite accustom to me. But it had its uses, for instance, where Aries was weak and aged, this horse was supple and strong. I would be able to train it into shape; I had noticed that some of Luicius' ruthlessness had seeped into me. I was not yet certain whether this was good or bad.   
  
  
Would the Professor like to ride as well, madam?, the boy asked me, still tethering the beast.   
  
  
I don't know. Why do you ask?, I demanded of him, afraid that the Professor's connotations with myself were beginning to spur household gossip .  
  
  
The master thought that the Professor would like to ride today is all. He _did_ request a horse, the boy replied, shrugging.   
  
  
I shall see. Wait with the animal, for even if he doesn't, I would still like to, I instructed, wondering whether or not the child would be strong enough to keep holding onto the leather strap like that. It looked as if he were leeching every atom of strength within him just to keep his heels dug into the ground.   
  
  
I entered the house recklessly, boots treading mud everywhere. At the moment, I could have cared less for Lucius and his precious rugs. The Professor was no longer seated in the dining hall, so I had surmised that he had instead skulked into the library. I was correct, his unmistakably black hair was turned to me, and one of our more virtuous books was in hand. He turned the pages in a langorously elegant manner that still reeked of the desire to learn. The man was absolutely erudite, and be trained in no other manner.   
  
  
, my voice rang clearly and loudly, and he dropped the book in surprise. He rose, his face a mixture of amusment and annoyance.   
  
  
, he said simply, inclining his head in what I took to be a gesture of respect. I gave him a brief smile, and vainly tried to see what he was reading, for he had wisely hid the book behind him.   
  
  
I was simply wondering if you would like to ride today. The stable boy said you had requested a horse, I said, almost surrepitiously. He looked bemused, then considerate.   
  
  
Actually, yes. I find my eyes tend to warp themselves after too much of reading, he said quietly.   
  
  
Much like John Milton, I replied thoughtlessly, and he gave me an intense, dissecting stare.   
  
  
The muggle who made himself blind from reading too much, his voice was bordering upon venemous, and I was wondering how to extract myself from this sticky situation.   
  
  
Only England's greatest poet, I said bravely, and knew not from which spring I had drawn this sudden courage. He surprised me, as he had always tended to do, by nodding very seriously.  
  
  
Then I am complimented, he said finally. His lips formed an almost rueful smile. How do you like your horse?, he asked again, placing the book down, face down so the ornamentally gilded letters glittered in the firelight. _Alice In Wonderland, _and I almost giggled. The wonders never ceased.   
  
  
It is grand. Too powerful, perhaps, one of those creatures that we can never seem to keep on. I suppose Lucius has purchased her for her beauty, but in the end, she'll prove to be far more intelligent than the lot of us, I said regretfully.   
  
  
Much like the woman who rides her, then, he added cryptically, eyes boring into mine with a frusturatingly opaque vehemence.   
  
  
I gestured towards the door in a shall-we? kind of way, and he followed. I wanted to test his mettle, and I coyly slipped my arm into the crook of his. I felt him stiffen, but not resist, and was pleased with the rather elegant pairing we made. He was thin, almost to the point of emaciation, but pure muscle rippled when I had touched him.   
  
  
We made our way slowly across the land, wordlessly observing the dense and chilly fog that cloaked us. The surrounding hills and valleys were all but hidden completely from us, and now and then a tree secretly outstretched its limbs, reminding us of their presence.   
  
  
This land has a striking resemblance to the Forbidden Forest, does it not?, he asked noncomittally. I looked around, and in an eerie way, the trees did spiral around the house in conspiritorial nests and there were beasts unseen, but heard that flocked there. Even the fog, and the way it swallowed everything, reminded me of my past days huddling around the window, trying to guess what lurked within the Forest. Everything grew hushed and chilly, and I felt like scolding the Professor.   
  
  
Please, Professor. If that was meant as some silly comment to frighten me..., I laughed. He held a (gloved) finger to his lips, then his eyes met my own.   
  
  
I believe we can do away with formalties. After all, I am no longer your professor, he said in a weary fashion. Personally, I found Professor perfectly suiting and perfectly appropriate. Anything else would have lessened my fantasy and my evil persona that I had conjured of him in my head.   
  
  
Perhaps Severus?, he suggested, cocking an eyebrow. The bitter chocolate in the way he said his name forced me to shudder underneath my thick cloak.   
  
  
Severus it is. And what would you insist upon calling me? Certainly not Miss Bavarde, and I will not permit you to go spouting off to me either, I said stoutly. He gave a curt, but appreciative nod.   
  
  
Lourdes has always been rather a favourite of mine, he responded at length. If my hopes were that this was some kind of compliment, they were soon dashed. And now I will become used to applying it to a disappointment, he added contemptuously.   
  
  
Actually, Professor does suit you, you dictorial bastard, I snarled, and hurried ahead of him, heat from my anger and from his bitterness flushing my face.   
  
  
The man knew how to thoroughly tangle me. Once my defenses were lowered, and I had already had him reconfigured for something resembling decency, he would charge at me again, and deliver a fatal blow.   
  
  
The stables were opened and being aired, and my horse was still there, though significantly subdued. TheProfessor approached it with a friendly, non threatening air, and gave it an impossibly sensual stroke along the neck with his finger. I imagine that if he ever petted me in a similar fashion, I would simply pur.   
  
  
I mounted my animal, and waited for the the Professor to follow suit. He was adept and quick as a spider, swinging one lean, black swathed leg over the ironically white horse, and pull the rest of himself up without losing his breath.   
  
  
I exited ahead of him, not caring whether or not he would follow my personal trail. I had never strayed from the hoof-beaten course, and never imagined that I would. The stable boy swung the gate open, and I nodded at him; the Professor followed me, obviously thinking that it was a public path.   
  
  
I'm sorry, Professor, but this is my own trail, I called out, tilting my head slightly so the words would not be completely engulfed by the wind and fog. He eased his horse next to mine, animal's eyes locked together in an oddly one sided stare.   
  
  
And I cannot ride upon it?, he challenged. I shrugged, urging my horse with a squeeze of my thighs, noting the crop was still between my hands. I was not physically cruel to my animals, as Lucius tended to be, and found that my own animals were tirelessly faithful to me.   
  
  
As you wish. But it is no fault of mine if you become lost, I shot back, as a way of meeting his defiance. He laughed.   
  
  
Ido believe I have roamed these lands for many years before you were ungracefully dropped here, he said quietly, still chuckling. A combination of a bellow of rage and anger, as well as a hiss of impatience escaped from me.   
  
  
He was a magnificent rider, visually arresting in his endlessly black garb. He looked aristocratic and imminently dangerous, but so gravitating. The animal knew better than to toy with him, and I found my own horse also seemed a bit cowed in his presence.   
  
  
A very worthy Arabian Mare, is she not?, he asked me, voice undisturbed by the dips and jerks of his horse.   
  
  
Quite. I still don't fancy her, I replied sullenly. Although I had long since stopped riding Aries for fear of immediate death, I had preferred his compainionable wheezes to the predatory sounds that were emitted from this one.   
  
  
What are you going to name her?, he asked, Out of maudlin curiosity.   
  
  
I haven't any idea. I think awhile before I make the decision, I admitted truthfully. This illicited another short laugh.   
  
  
A true Slytherin, he amended.   
  
  
How so?, I was afraid this was another barbed compliment.   
  
  
You take your time, are not rash like some. I am glad that Gryfindor big headedness has not inflated your own, he said.   
  
  
I thought you said that you didn't remember me, Iaccused.   
  
  
I don't. At least not well. But I glean from the woman before me, this was his time for truthtelling.   
  
  
And as for the statement you remember all your students?, I pursued.   
  
  
Oh, I suppose a few have been dropped from my memory. But, I do indeed recall distinct traits and personalities of most of the individuals placed in my care. Don't ask about Harry Potter, he must have read my mind, for the syllables of my next question were about to be poured from my lips. I looked dumbfounded, for he sneered, I am observant, not a mind reader.   
  
  
Why are you here?, my question caught him off guard, and his legs tensed so in the stirrups that the horse halted.   
  
  
I know better to discuss that with you, he said finally.   
  
  
Why? Because you honestly think I would go run tattling to my husband? For all your observation, you're a very near sighted man, Professor, I snapped. He really could be pig headed at times.   
  
  
I have full confidence in you, as you must have in me. There are reasons for your safety as well. I am not an entirely selfish fellow, Bavarde, he said, reaching for my arm. I pulled away from him, pushing my horse forward. I was uncomfortable with his implications, as well as his sudden movement of being my protector again.   
  
  
I think I shall go back in, I said simply, an overpowering fatigue filling me. The sky was marble grey, with lines of blackened, stormy sky.   
  
  
The Professor's hands had snaked towards my shouldes, and he roughly jerked me to face him; my eyes had widened, and he gave me a very grim smile. His head leaned in towards my own, and I closed my eyes, not stopping him, but not urging him.   
  
  
His cold lips met my own, and I felt a miserable stab of fear and craving in my belly. We sat there, lips in the most chaste of embraces. His hands did not stray, and his lips did not open.   
  
  
He pulled away, and pushed hair that had fallen into my eyes.   
  
  
You can't help me, I blurted out, and the horse pawed in boredom, and I suppose from nervousness, for a thunderclap echoed in the sonorous clearing.   
  
  
Let me, he said with such firmness, I almost believed that he could, and that we would go sweeping off gallantly into the sunset.   
  
  
But I did not love him, and I hardly under the impression that he loved me.   
  
  
You can't, I repeated, staring, for once, into his eyes. He looked angry, then hopeless, a giant man-child who had seen too much.   
  
  
His hands hadn't left my shoulders, but my horse was already trotting in the other direction, and they tore away from me, his fingers curled around my arms like dusty bones of a long dead embracer.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Thank you to the anonymous reviewer who has graciously informed me that the correct term of an Arabian female horse is Arabian Mare. And notes to any equine appreciators, it is quite evident from my avoidant writing that I know horseshit (pun intended) about the gallant and noble sport of horse riding. In my mind, its a balletic and acrobatic, and can be at times erotic. In simpler terms, for freaks like myself, horsebackriding can make for some very sexy foreplay. 


	11. Plaything Of The Gods

  
  
Ironic how despite the chill of the Professor's fingers and lips, his rather callous embrace had left me with some spark that ignited and was quickly fanning into an all engulfing fire. I kept raising my hand (rather stupidly) to my face to touch my mouth, reassuring myself that it had indeed occurred.   
  
  
He hadn't closed his eyes, or even blinked, for that matter. Neither did I, mostly out of shock and wariness; I was fascinated by the Professor, but I did not trust him.   
  
  
Here. Take her, my instructions were terse to the boy, and I must have looked distraught, for he shied away from me. Obviously, he knew not to tread upon the powerful's personal problems (excuse the alliteration).   
  
  
Wait, boy, I called to him, and he turned upon his heel, swiftly facing me, what is your name?. The reddish eyebrows met with the fringe of his hair, he was so surprised. But relief also shown there, for the freckles on his face eased themselves into a speckled, sun dappled smile.   
  
  
, he replied, and I noticed he stuck out his chest a bit, and placed his fist on his hip.   
  
  
Well, Hayden, take Desdemona here, and brush her and feed her. You might water her as well, I see her provisions are getting low, I stood on toes as I said this, glancing into the otherwise perfectly kept stall.   
  
  
Oh, you named her, ma'am?, he asked me, taking the reigns from my hands. I nodded, rather pleased with the name and its tragic implications. Lucius had never approved of my voracious appetite for muggle literature, but he allowed me to designate the portion of the library to my needs and whims.   
  
  
Yes. After a character in a very famous play, I replied at length, well, good bye, Hayden. Tomorrow, perhaps?. He nodded, in an agreeable, nine year old fashion and led the horse gently to her stall.   
  
  
The house was looming and ominous in the fog, gray stones sticking out in patches. On the whole, first glance would have rendered it a decaying masoleoum, but second inspection would have seen the glorified torture hall it really was. Odd, how the Professor had suddenly sown rather rebellious seeds in my heart that forced me to abhor my formerly respected and admired (note: love does not apply, dear reader) husband, and my once equally adored home.   
  
  
I wandered into the library, kicking off my boots only to turn and find them gone: courtesy of the house elves. I sank into the cushion of my chair, my rear end not quite used to the forceful strides that my new horse made with dainty vigor. I propped my feet up onto the ottoman, and frowned. The wood must have worn through the cushion of the seat, for something hard and uncomfortable was nipping at my back. I reached behind me and pulled out the culprit: the book the Professor was reading.   
  
  
I laughed still, at his eccentric choice of book, though he had probably never encountered it as a muggle fairy tale. I opened the book to his page, and something fluttered out.   
  
  
I picked the piece of parchment, so miniscule I would have missed it had it not flown directly in my line of vision. It had the Professor's smooth, elegant, yet still scrawled writing upon it: _ I suppose there are many rabbit holes in this house. Perhaps you would join me for tea. Midnight, shall we? It makes for a very atmospheric touch. S. _  
  
  
I smiled. How appropriately cryptic of him. I folded it and placed it in one of my pockets. I heard Lucius' smooth stride enter the library and stand behind me, thinking he had entered unnoticed. I kept reading, mostly for his pleasure, but also because I was nervous that he had seen the note.   
  
  
He leaned down and grasped the book. _Alice in Wonderland_? Aren't we digressing a bit?, he said, rather arrogantly. He gave me a coldly affectionate kiss on my head.   
  
  
Why, Lucius, you sound as if you've read it, I replied, innocently as I could muster. I was still smarting from his anger.   
  
  
Lourdes, don't be so childish. I apologise about this morning, and realise that I was entirely in the wrong. Still, I was thinking only of your pleasure when I bought the horse. I assure you that Aries was quite content to die; he had the kindest mistress in all of England, Lucius sounded rather imploring. I smiled secretly to myself; perhaps I had more power than I had estimated.   
  
  
Why is the Professor here?, I asked suddenly, turning around to face my husband' s eyes. It was no surprise when they immediately lowered.   
  
  
Why do you ask? Has he upset you?, his voice had a threatening growl to it.   
  
  
Don't be silly, Lucius, I scoffed, and immediately saw that it was a mistake. His eyes held that distinct zeal, and I could practically see his bloodhound's nose sniffing the air with a twisted excitement.   
  
  
I can always see to it that he never bothers you again, he whispered into my ear, hands wrapped around my throat in a more vulnerable way then I would have liked. I knew Lucius' morals and priorities were wholly misplaced, and that if I had given the indication, the Professor would certainly be a grievous position. For some reason, I felt inclined to protect him, to shelter him from Lucuis, despite the fact he had been none too pleasant to me.   
  
  
He hasn't bothered me. In fact, we've been rather pleasantly reminiscing, I said shortly, mostly because I was panicking. I heard Lucius snicker, and his hands dropped themselves from my throat, and traveled down towards my breasts. He began to nuzzle me, the cold tip of his nose digging into me neck, and I moved forward a little. The thought of physical contact with my husband was nauseating me, but I did not want to arouse further suspiscion. He bit me gently, as a lover might, but there was always a baleful force underneath his impossibly glistening teeth. His hands slid down to my waist, attempting to pull up the bottom of my shirt.   
  
  
I felt something rise in my throat, and I closed my eyes, willing it back down. To vomit on one's husband is never a good sign.   
  
  
Gods, you're beautiful, you know that?, he whispered to me, breathing and voice heavy with lust. From the minute I saw you at Hogwarts, I knew you were my match.   
  
  
Really, Lucius? How old was I? 15? 16?, I asked, rather perturbed that my adolescent self was being ogled by a much older, and much more notorious Malfoy.   
  
  
14 and 1/2, actually. I saw your eyes and I wanted to do this (he leaned over and slid one of his dexterous fingers up my leg, lifting my skirt as he went along) and this (he tilted my chin up gently, closing his mouth over mine, flicking his tongue in and out), he was whispering even more gently now, something I found more unsettling than if he were to merely purr it.   
  
  
The click of wood against wood alerted me that another had entered, but Lucius was undeterred. He continued to draw circles lazily on the inside of my mouth with his tongue, hands traveling farther than I could bear. In that great instant, I wanted my husband, the man whom I had wed and agreed to be coerced into this ridiculous life, I wanted him to die the most wretched of deaths.   
  
  
I opened my eyes, praying that tears of shame and revulsion would not trickle. The Professor stood there, an expression of extreme distaste and disgust. I caught his eye, but saw something else: a profound jealousy, almost a possessive spark. I broke the kiss, and Lucius pulled away hesitantly. I noticed that he slid the skirt back down, but made sure the Professor saw this contemptuous motion. I wanted t retch.   
  
  
, the Professor asked the question with a lazy spite, arms crossed and himself looking equally so. Lucius gave another laugh, but it was fueled by something else.  
  
  
Not at all, Severus. I've been imploring Lourdes to forgive me for acting so beastly, he answered, hands placed on my shoulders. I had a dreadful feeling that if I even tried to inch forward merely to stretch my legs, he would reel me back in with a bone snapping forcefulness.   
  
  
I see, the Professor looked distinctly uncomfortable at my unwittingly beseeching look. He almost appeared like he wanted to help me.   
  
  
Is there something you require?, Lucius asked him, fingers tightening slightly. My breaths were coming in shorter spurts, and my heart was stretching every sinew in an attempt to race with my fear.   
  
  
My wand, actually. I had it this morning during breakfast, but it seems that it has gone missing. It's very important, the last note was almost spat out, injuring his pride somehow to admit this.   
  
  
I'm sorry, old friend, but I've seen none such thing around here. Have you, Lourdes?, his hands turned me to face him, blue eyes gazing disinterestedly into my own.   
  
  
Perhaps you dropped it when riding, Professor?, I offered, and winced. I had forgotten what had elapsed. The Professor's stoic face gave away nothing, except the slightest twitch of an eyebrow; he looked deeply annoyed.   
  
  
Perhaps. It might be as much help to search the robes that I've gone through a thousand times. What very poor deductive skills., he snapped, forgetting himself.   
  
  
Lucius left my side immediately, and nearly swooped down upon the Professor. The two men were almost stony reliefs, their carve faces handsome, wholly dangerous, lethally angry and ethereally beautiful in the firelight.   
  
  
You shall never speak to my wife like that again, Severus, he said softly, sounding very serpentine when uttering the Professor's name. The Professor looked almost amused.   
  
  
Then perhaps you should begin to treat her as thus, he lowered his own voice into a tone that seemed far more deadly than my husband's poor attempt. I almost smiled; I was not used to other's trying to challenge the icy fire that it my husband.   
  
  
Lucius' jaw dropped, and he reached into his robes, eyes furious. He fumbled a bit, searching frantically, trying to maintain pride and respect in his rather embarrassingly awkward situation. He jerked his head up, cool hair loosing itself from it's usually untroubled river that flowed down his back.   
  
  
Perhaps this would be of some assistance?, the Professor asked coolly, outstretching a colorless, yet indescribably erotic hand that grasped only the tip of the wand. Lucius snatched it, an eerily indignant child with ashenly angry features.   
  
  
How dare you, he snarled, and pointed it at the Professor, whose arms remained cross and eyes untroubled. He ceased to raise even an eyebrow. I had taken it that he had witnessed some of Lucius' more vicious rages.   
  
  
Then perhaps next time you would not be so careless as to drop it when unwelcomingly fondling your wife, he said calmly. He turned away from my husband, an otherwise deadly mistake. I believe he was testing him, to see whether or not Lucuis was so amoral, unloyal and utterly cowardly as to curse him when his back was turned. I also think that the Professor was entirely aware of my husband's wrenching need of his services.   
  
  
I closed my eyes as he walked past. I knew perfectly well that Lucius had most likely stolen the wand this morning, when we were otherwise engaged. The door shut behind him, and Lucius was still standing there, breathing raggedly in his suddenly ridiculous dress robes.   
  
  
The next time he challenges me, he will have never known a pain such as this. I swear to you; don't worry, my darling, I shall be sure to summon you so that you may see it too, my husband was rambling at this point, never a good sign. His anger was trapped and gnawing wildly at itself to get out. He was nearly as dangerous as a damaged wand, if not more.   
  
  
I nodded, and rose silently. Lucius did not notice me, he only paced, up and down, up and down. I walked towards the door, feeling the hot patches of skin that he had so humiliatingly grasped, and wished to take either a dangerously cold or dangerously hot bath.   
  
  
I closed the library door, the form of the door knob in a coiled serpent. It hissed at me quietly, and I swore at it. It immediately went dormant, withering itself into its former, polished state.   
  
  
My back was turned too long, for I felt someone's long, angular arms slip   
around my neck, and skeletal hands stifle my mouth. I moved to scream, but they had anticipated my entirely predictable action, and stifled my mouth with a thankfully clean and soft cloth. It tasted familiar,and I could have sworn, had I not been in such a panic, that I had smelt it or tasted it before.   
  
  
They pulled me along the length of the corridor, and then ducked into one of the rooms which was so little and dull, that I had never bothered to explore. I doubted even Lucius knew of its existence. The door was magically locked, I could hear the incantation whispered in a familiar, velvet voice.   
  
The Professor.   
  
Alone.   
  
And with a familiar, furious expression scrawled on his aristocratic features.   
  
  
His hands dropped from my neck, only for a second, and he trusted me enough to ungag me. However, he cupped his hand over my lips in a rather intimate fashion, and his arm lingered at my waist too long. There was a palpable silence in the air that hung suggestively between us. The temptation was unlikely, still, but it had begun to clamor for attention of its existence.   
  
  
Where is my wand, it was a demand, not a question, and he was speaking into my ear.   
  
  
I don't know. I swear. Lucius probably took it during breakfast, I was struggling to breathe and speak in the same instant; the result was a not so attractive hacking and gurgling noise emitted from me.   
  
  
You know perfectly well where it is. Don't force me to administer this, his voice was smooth again, and he tinkled something in my ear. I craned my neck, lips nearly colliding with his own, though they were ironed into an almost indiscernable line. It was a vial, very well warded at that, filled with a harmless looking liquid that was nearly clearer than water. Veritaserum.   
  
  
I don't know where it is. And put that away. Lucius will kill you if he knows you have it on your person, I hissed, trying to pull his arm from my neck.   
  
  
I am aware of what your husband's intentions with myself are.   
However, if you do not help me find my wand, I cannot escape their consequences, he said, very slowly, trying to belittle me by speaking as if I were a child.   
  
  
I'll help you look for it, but I have no idea where it is, I was practically wheezing now, and the world was painted in watery hues, his face spinning and the little bottle beginning to elongate itself in my vision.   
  
  
He released me, and I fell back in surprise. I grasped my neck, and was afraid that his misleadingly thin fingers would leave marks. He smiled at me, but so coldly that it nearly froze the room.   
  
  
I had already thought of that, he said simply, and poured a simple smelling, white potion into his hands and came at me again. I nearly shrieked, but I   
ducked to the other side of the room.   
  
  
He was very swift, and was immediately upon me. The lotion was warm, and tingly, and I could nearly feel the bruises evaporating.   
  
  
You have to trust me, he suddenly sounded desperate, and leaned in towards me. I backed away, more alarmed by his sudden revelation of weakness than   
his forceful gesture.   
  
  
I would have helped you this morning, he remarked, glancing at his hands. I knew he was referring to the moment in the clearing.   
  
  
I didn't ask for it, my voice was raw, as if ravaged by my silent screaming. He shrugged.   
  
  
Do you take tea at night?, he asked suddenly, eyes needling me again. I felt like one of Lucius' specimens in his study, splayed out and pinned to black velvet.   
  
  
Perhaps. In a more appropriate location, I answered non committally. He raised an eyebrow, inviting me to elaborate.   
  
  
The stables, then. Perhaps I can help you look for your wand, I offered. He nodded. He took my hand and kissed it lightly. I grasped my throat again, another surge of unfounded heat worming its way up to my head.   
  
  
I closed my eyes, only for a moment,but he was gone when I opened them, just as I had suspected.   
  
  
It was odd, to have a compulsion for the ghost you thought you had already vanquished.   
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: I need reviews! Please, people, I'm desperate here! Anyway, sorry about the rather explicit foreplay and disgusting implication of Lucius and his underaged fascination. Much love to reviewers. 


	12. r

Author's Warning: Some mention of potion-induced abortion.   
  
  
  
  
  
The air was breathless at night, nothing stirred. The surface of the bond was an unrippled as a mirror, the moon leering down upon me. I waited impatiently for the clock on my vanity to ease its hands towards midnight, knowing that Lucius was too sullen to visit me.   
  
  
At long last, the awaited hour came, and with bated breath, I slipped into a black velvet cape and silent shoes. My lantern was small, but enchanted to give only the user light. I believe that Lucius had purchased it for me at one of his less reputably frequented dealers.   
  
  
The house was still alight and alive, though the dining hall was silent and vast. I crept past the tables, ignoring the elves who gave me quizzical, yet indifferent glances. I put too much trust in my servants, I see that now.   
  
  
The walk to the stables was fraught with tiny sounds and movements that sent my whole nervous system skittering. I longed for nothing more than to be in the comfort of my Hogwarts bed, oddly enough.   
  
  
The trees curved round the house, drowning whomever happened to be walking in a deafening and engulfing roar of silence. My breath shot out in whispy clouds from my mouth and nose, and I stumbled several times, too distracted by the macabre shapes the branches made in the darkness.   
  
  
Midnight, as it was often told to me as a child, is the witching hour. When all things fearsome and dark come out to frolic and toy with those innocents haplessly wandering onto their playground. I used to sit at my window at night, chin in hand, waiting for the giant grandfather clock to strike midnight in the monotonous and somber chimes that would ring about the hallways, sound waves bouncing furiously around the stairs and tumbling happily into my rooms.   
  
  
There were no lights in the stables, to my relief and to my concern. Surely the Professor would have left some trace that he was awaiting me?  
  
  
I pushed open the gate silently, gloved fingers twitching above my wand, a terrible feeling in my stomach that this could have been one of Lucius' ruses. There was a dark movement to the left of me, and Almost shrieked in surprise.   
  
  
The Professor's sallow face appeared inches above my own, moonlight giving him an odd, shimmering look. His pale skin was exaggerated, and his eyes were more cloaked than usual. He smirked at my reaction.   
  
  
Amusing, how rarely students ever change, he remarked. His nervousness didn't escape me, however, for his voice was much lower than his usual baritone.   
  
  
Why? Do you not expect everyone to be frightened of large bat swooping down on them?, I asked teasingly. He gave an invisible shrug.   
  
  
I've been called worse, he replied cryptically. I gave a hiss of exasperation.   
  
  
Why am I down here? It's cold, I was sick to my stomach, and I fear that Lucius has probably sent some vile little wretch to spy on me, I snapped, rubbing my abdomen, which I had noticed had become slightly swollen. A thought, no, a dread had been lingering in my mind for a few weeks. I also noticed that I wasn't bleeding regularly. The Professor must have noticed my concern.  
  
  
You look even more distraught than usual. How often have you been sick?, he asked. It was his way of cajoling me. I swallowed, mouth drained, and the darkness seeming so much more appealing than beneath the black beacons of his gaze.   
  
  
Six weeks. Perhaps more. It's nothing, most likely nerves, Professor, I tried to laugh, but it caused such friction in my throat, my hand went to my neck. The Professor smirked, golden teeth flickering in the wan light.   
  
  
It is very simple to discern a hormonally charged woman. Particularly a pregnant one, his voice was resolute, all point of argument disbanded, his own conviction in his correctness was steadfast.  
  
  
But I still could not believe the truth.   
  
  
Professor, you jump to conclusions, just as you did in my childhood. I assure you, this is no pregnancy, my voice held its own bristled warning.   
  
  
, he had come behind me, whispering into my ear, placing his hand over my lower stomach and splaying his fingers. I felt an odd, soothing tingle, almost as if the sun's warmth had somehow trickled into my belly and nestled there. I could feel the rigid form of the Professor behind me, steadily gripping onto my arm, his chin almost in the hollow of my collarbones. He removed his fingers, prying them off my stomach.   
  
  
Thoroughly pregnant, he pronounced clinically.   
  
  
Next time you insist on testing me, warn me that you're about to grope my womb first, I said coldly.   
  
  
Now, now, Bavarde. You almost sound.....disappointed, he was taunting me, but with hardly the bite he had before.   
  
  
So. I am with child?, I felt as if I were going to be sick once more. Lucius had always expressed a baleful wish to replace his vampiric and disappeared heir, Draco, with another biological child of his own. Although I had the suspicion that he had sired several illegitimate children with other women, he would never be disgraced by bringing forth a whore's spawn and proclaiming it his own.   
  
  
His demeanor became serious. Quite, actually. I'm surprised a woman as perceptive as yourself hadn't noticed earlier. How keen is your husband to your health?.   
  
  
I held up a mangled wrist, Not keen enough, Professor.   
  
  
And is this situation good or bad for the lady?, his tone lilted, sounding like some bawdy lyric. I shrugged, mulling over the thought myself.   
  
  
I don't know. Lucius had confessed that he wanted a child, but I had always assumed that Draco would..., I didn't finish, not knowing myself what I was to say.   
  
  
Draco would automatically inherit his father's manor and power after his death, correct? Despite whatever lowly position he had sunk to?, he demanded, sounding bitter. I knew he was referring to the constant rumors of Draco's vampirism.   
  
  
Tell me, what do you know of Draco?, he asked, suddenly seizing my hands, and clasping them together in frenzied prayer. I backed away, upset and bewildered by the Professor's lapse of composure. He gripped my hands more tightly, I could feel the bones gnashing into the skin on the opposite hand.   
  
  
I....I haven't seen him for several years. There are rumors of his running to Romania, and the occasional whisper that he is a spy against Voldemort, working at Hogwarts for Dumbledore and his army, I whispered the last bit, secretly hoping it was true, hoping that Draco had finally gained some ground against his father.   
  
  
The Professor's face contorted as I mentioned Dumbledore, and I could only imagine the constant suffering of one who is forced to work as a traitor in his own community.   
  
  
I need my wand, Lourdes. My life and well being, even if you don't care, depend on this. Your husband has taken my wand, and although he has not the power to destroy it, he is able to keep it from me. You're a silly, foolish girl, easily swayed by privilege and riches, but I can see at once that you inherently know the difference between good and evil. You must find my wand for me, otherwise, I can't save you or your child, his eyes were frantic now, darting at every particle of noise that he happened to catch.   
  
  
I withdrew my hands. I'll find you your wand, Professor, but I require something as well.   
  
  
, he growled, not expecting more strenuous demands.   
  
  
A potion, I said simply, desiring provocation.   
  
  
Don't toy with me. I'll not be wrapped around your finger as your husband is, he said, using the mortally wounding voice of velvet.   
  
  
A potion to rid me of this burden, I gestured at my stomach. He gave me a very hard stare, trying to determine what clockwork ran about my head.   
  
  
You know what this would mean? You're killing an innocent, he spoke very slowly. I laughed harshly.   
  
I would hardly call any child of Lucius Malfoy's innocent.  
  
  
Why don't you want this child?, he asked, not trying to feign concern. It sounded like he was trying to interrogate me.   
  
  
My husband's one concern in this life is that the legacy of the Malfoy heirs be continued for generations. My purpose for Lucius is to bear him a boy. Afterwards, he can abuse or dispose of me any way he wishes. It was not my intention to serve solely as some imprisoned birth mother, I said wearily.   
  
  
I can't make the potion, he said finally.   
  
  
Why? Don't you understand that this is pertinent? That I need this potion? This isn't for some silly, irresponsible girl made pregnant by an unwitting boy, this is an aide that I truly require, I sank to my knees, ignoring the mud that clung to my cape and seeped into my shoes.   
  
  
I understand this, he was hissing in impatience, and what sounded like regret, but there are other loyalties at stake. You concern yourself only with the matters that lay in your hands. If I make this, I risk being branded a traitor of the worst breed.   
  
  
I shoved a corner of my cape into my mouth, releasing a cry of agony and despair. The end of the rope was approaching, and I could feel the distant tugs of the noose around my neck.   
  
  
If there were any other way, I would be able to assist. But as it is, I'm staying in the snake pit now. Your husband is already overly suspicious of me, and I am sure that I'm being watched at all hours of the day, he said, coming over to me, taking my hands and pulling me up.   
  
  
Not even a student of your own house? Not even a girl that you've known since childhood? You leave me with this child, and you leave me to die. One would think that you already have enough blood on your hands, I said, steel emerging in my voice from beneath the sobs.   
  
  
He stiffened at this, the memory of his days as my husband's cohort obviously still fresh.   
  
  
I killed because I had to. Out of survival. This is different; you were hardly a helpless child, Bavarde, he said dryly, his ironic and misplaced humor reentering his voice.   
  
  
If I found the wand and gave it back, would you help me then?, I knew it was futile, and it felt uncomfortably like begging my father for some coveted house pet.   
  
  
No. Not even then, he said, too firmly to be called gentle.   
  
  
But you said you would, in the clearing, I was scrambling.   
  
  
I said I would if I was able. And I never promised, foolish girl.   
  
  
He kissed my hand, not raising his eyes to meet my own.   
  
  
He straightened out, nearly a head and half taller than I. In some show of agitated affection, he leaned down and kissed my cheek, nose rubbing into my face. I inclined my head in surprise, and I found his mouth met mine in a line of equally tormented symmetry.   
  
  
This kiss was different. It wasn't piteous, nor awkward. He reached out to my elbows, holding me in place. He never opened his mouth, nor did I attempt to do so with mine. I reached around absently, my hands meeting his shoulders.   
  
  
He pulled away.   
  
.   
  
And suddenly the world was bleak again.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Argh. Snape being really frusturating, huh? But, in his position, he's a double edged sword, so he can't go about giving aid to Lucius Malfoy. Anyways, thanks for reviews, and hope I get some more. 


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Harry Potter, Angst, Romance