#narcissa x hermione | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jingabitch · 1 year ago

Text

Collared - Harry Potter

SUMMARY: The war ends with a complete victory by Voldemort. Hermione is captured as a prisoner of war, and gifted to the Black sisters who were on the right side.

PAIRING: Narcissa x Hermione; Bellatrix x Hermione

GENRE: dark erotica

WARNINGS: dubcon; mind control; D/s dynamics; gratuitous use of the term mudblood; rimming; whipping

WORD COUNT: 7.4k

A/N: This is not a nice fic, please heed the tags. The Black sisters do not suddenly grow tender feelings towards Hermione, and to the extent that she consents, it's due to magical mind control.

I see this more as a verse where more exploration can be done, rather than a fixed narrative. I'll update as and when, but each part can stand alone. Kinks explored in every chapter will be listed in the chapter notes.

This is cross-posted on ao3 under the same pen name.

Hermione knelt on the cold marble floor of the drawing room in Malfoy Manor, her eyes blank and glazed over, a dead giveaway that she was under the Imperius curse. She was fully naked, her hair a mess of riotous curls that spilled over her shoulders and down her back, her arms hanging limply by her sides.

Voldemort stood next to her, his hand resting lightly on her head. He wasn’t hurting her, just… demonstrating his ownership, Hermione thought to herself in the small corner of her mind where her consciousness was tucked. She wasn’t able to control her body and actions, but enough of her remained that she could follow what was happening.

High-ranking Death Eaters were crowded into the drawing room, surrounding Voldemort and Hermione. If she were still in control, she would have shivered, drawing in on herself. But she wasn’t.

“It has been a trying year,” Voldemort crooned in that unsettling, high-pitched voice. “Yet all of you are still here, my friends. Triumphant.”

He paused, and the room filled with dutiful applause.

“All of you will be rewarded handsomely for your efforts, of course. I am a generous master.” The tension in the room could cut a knife, everyone in attendance straining to hear every word, on edge waiting for the next announcement.

“The spoils of war will be distributed, not to worry,” Voldemort continued, waving his wand hand - the hand that wasn’t currently on Hermione’s head - carelessly. “But for the fairest of trophies, Potter’s mudblood whore…” His hand tightened in her hair. Pain, flaring through the nerves in her scalp.

Hermione remained utterly still, no trace of the discomfort she felt anywhere in her body language. The Imperius curse wouldn’t allow it.

“Narcissa!” Voldemort called. She was standing near the back of the crowd, but as he said her name, the Death Eaters obscuring her from vision stepped aside and looked at her.

“Ah, sweet Narcissa. Our gracious hostess,” he purred. “You have sacrificed much to the cause.” Including her husband, who had survived the war, but was clearly not the same. Not her Lucius anymore. A shadow moved across the clear cerulean of Narcissa’s eyes, before her neutral expression returned.

“Perhaps this will provide some comfort for you.” Voldemort’s hand in Hermione’s hair loosened, and he patted her on the head. “Use her as you please, but do share her with your sister.”

Bellatrix. If it were possible, Hermione retreated even further into the tiny corner of her mind that she currently inhabited. No, God, no…

She could still hear the sound of Bellatrix’s laughter ringing in her ears, the awful, hot feeling of her body on top of her as she Crucio’d her relentlessly, writhing against the cold marble floor - this floor - and trying hopelessly to buck her off.

Even as terror rose inside her, Hermione tilted her head to observe the Black sisters, holding hands as they stepped forward into the circle. Under Voldemort’s control, her face rearranged itself into a sultry little smile, directed at her two new mistresses.

“Lovely,” Bellatrix said in a lilting tone, grinning at Hermione in a way that had Narcissa tightening her grip on her older sister’s hand. It wouldn’t do to have her sister breaking their new pet too early, after all. With Lucius gone, she needed someone to warm her bed.

“My Lord, we humbly thank you for this gift,” Narcissa said, bowing her head slightly in deference. She tugged gently on Bellatrix’s hand until her sister followed suit. Bellatrix, despite her slavish devotion to Voldemort, seemed to have forgotten the basic manners that the Black sisters had been taught as girls long ago.

“I trust you will ensure she behaves appropriately,” Voldemort said as he lifted his Imperius curse, handing her over to the sisters.

“Of course, my Lord. We have just the thing.” Bellatrix actually winked at Voldemort, the demented bitch, Hermione thought a little hysterically.

Before she could do so much as take a breath by herself, Narcissa had placed a silencing charm on Hermione. It didn’t stop her from screaming, hurling abuses at the pair, at Voldemort, and everyone in the room, but thankfully, no one had to be bothered by the silly outburst.

With a nod, Voldemort dismissed them, and the sisters left the room with Hermione levitating behind them, still under the silencing charm. As she felt herself floating, the stream of empty threats and curses changed to a small scream, and then hysterical begging. God, she hated flying, and this was somehow even worse.

---------

The item that Narcissa was holding in her hands was a Black family heirloom, fished out of the depths of the Gringotts vault for this very purpose. It looked like a plain leather strap, but fairly hummed with powerful magic as she brought it closer to Hermione.

She’d been released from her Imperius curse but was still in a full body bind - Bellatrix’s idea, as the older woman had been keen to see the terror in her eyes, fully aware of what was going to happen to her.

“Dirty little mudblood,” Bellatrix cooed. “We’re giving you the most precious gift you’ve ever gotten.”

Narcissa smirked as she walked up to Hermione, standing next to her sister, and didn’t make any move to disagree. “A Black family heirloom,” she explained, dangling the strap in front of Hermione. “Really, we’re sullying it by putting it around your filthy neck.”

Anger at the insult flashed across Hermione’s eyes, but she wasn’t able to say anything in protest. In truth, she was slightly intimidated by the magic that emanated from the piece of leather, so powerful it seemed almost sentient. Having it so close to her made her recall those terrible months of spending hours on end with the Horcrux around her neck.

“In days long past, before house elves,” Narcissa took on an almost scholarly tone, sounding for all the world like she was a professor delivering a History of Magic lecture at Hogwarts, “it was common for lowly-born wizards and muggles to take on jobs as servants to wealthy, Pureblood families. The Black family prized ourselves on having the best, most loyal servants.”

Of course they did, Hermione thought almost hysterically. Only the best for the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, and that extended to magically bound servants. She was sure now that the collar contained black magic, intended to turn its wearer into a mindless supplicant. Don’t put that on me, she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t.

“I’m sure you’ll be interested to know how it works,” Narcissa continued, as if she were totally unaware of Hermione’s inner turmoil.

“You little swot,” Bellatrix interjected, smiling cruelly, as she took one end of the strap. Narcissa continued to hold the other. “What an opportunity this is, for you to experience firsthand what real magic, from those with pure blood, can do.”

Narcissa picked up immediately where her sister had left off, continuing her explanation. “You see, the Imperius curse is almost impossible to hold long-term, and it requires the caster to consciously nudge the person the spell is cast on to do everything. Not ideal for a servant. This collar binds the wearer to the will of the person who put it there, making them totally in tune to their master’s needs, and unable to control the urge to meet every. Need.”

For the first time in her life, Hermione wished she didn’t know something. Feeling her mind, her individuality, seep out of her soul while she was fully aware of what was happening, but utterly helpless to stop it… the alternative, she was sure, was better.

The sisters smirked, totally in sync as they reached around Hermione, wrapping the collar around her neck. The moment the ends of the leather strap touched behind the back of her neck, they fused together, and the leather got hot. Hermione would have cried out or struggled if she could have, feeling like the collar was branding the delicate skin. She was going to blister, there would be scars forever, she thought desperately, as she gritted her teeth against the pain.

And then, just as abruptly as it began, it ended, and the sisters stepped back. Instead of a plain black strap of leather, an intricately braided collar now adorned Hermione’s neck, with a pendant of the Black family crest engraved on one side, and an N and a B on the back. The pendant was comfortable against her skin, the same temperature as her body, but she could almost feel it vibrate as the spell worked to bind her to the witches who’d put the collar on her.

Already, she could feel her sense of self slipping away, as Bellatrix waved her hand in her direction, releasing the body bind spell. Even though there was nothing physically preventing her from moving anymore, she found herself totally uninterested in getting up, or even shifting to alleviate the pressure on her knees and let the blood rush back to her toes, which were completely numb by now.

Instead, as she blinked up at them, she couldn’t help but bite her lower lip as arousal curled, warm and tight, in her lower belly.

“Good night, Bellatrix, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Narcissa breathed, never once taking her eyes off Hermione.

“What? I wanted her first. I’m older,” Bellatrix whined.

“Need I remind you why the Dark Lord thought I was in need of a new companion, Bella?”

Sulking, Bellatrix exited the room, slamming it with a wordless flick of her wand to demonstrate her displeasure. Hermione flinched at the loud noise that echoed throughout the room, before returning her gaze to Narcissa.

They were alone. Seeing the heat in Narcissa’s cerulean eyes, Hermione swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry, understanding in a flash that the desire she felt coiling in her body was merely mirroring what her new mistress felt. What she wanted from her.

She wished she could say no, scream in horror and beg for mercy. But the collar was working its magic, and she found herself wanting to please Narcissa just as much as Narcissa wanted to be pleased.

“Come here,” Narcissa instructed, her voice calm and cool, and Hermione hated how affected she was. Instinctively, she shuffled over, still on her knees, not bothering to question why she didn’t get up. Of course Narcissa wanted her on her knees.

“You’re filth,” Narcissa informed her, so matter-of-factly it was like she were telling her what the weather was like right now. “Do you think you deserve to touch me?”

“No, mistress,” Hermione forced out, hanging her head in shame. It was true, she knew, what her mistress was saying. How could she, low-born with dirty blood, ever think herself worthy?

With her wand tip under Hermione’s chin, Narcissa forced her new pet to look up at her. “I’ll give you a chance to earn it,” she purred. Hope and joy sparked incandescently in Hermione, and she strained towards Narcissa almost imperceptibly.

“Yes, I will, I’ll do anything,” the words spilled from Hermione’s mouth.

“We’ll see about that.” The cruel tilt to Narcissa’s lips made Hermione’s pussy clench in on itself, slick already starting to seep out. Was that the magic collar, or was that her? The difference was already blurring.

With her empty hand, Narcissa raised her robe ever so slightly, and looked down meaningfully. Hermione’s gaze followed, landing on her beautiful ankle boots. They were impossibly expensive, Hermione was sure, probably a custom order. Dragonhide leather, the upper was Slytherin green, with a black square toe and low heel. The scalloped edge lent the boots a feminine flair, while the shiny onyx buttons added a touch of luxury.

“Kiss my boots,” she ordered, her voice low and sultry, and Hermione immediately bent to do just that, pressing light, delicate kisses along the side of her foot, and up towards her anklebone, trembling slightly.

Narcissa smirked down at Hermione. After the years spent in constant fear and worry - for herself, for her family, and for the world that she knew - the relief of knowing that the good and just had won, and that her son was safe, was heady. And here was one of the key perpetrators of the war that had wreaked such havoc on her life, a mudblood, finally acknowledging her rightful place in this world. At Narcissa’s feet, worshiping her boots.

Her elation and her arousal fed into each other, twisting into a ball of tension in her core. Her toes curled in the boots that Hermione was currently dragging her lips against.

“Enough.” Narcissa’s voice cracked like a whip in the room. She stepped away from Hermione, and went to sit on the armchair by the fireplace. “I’m ready for bed.” She reclined in the armchair, her hand pulling on her robe slightly, exposing her boots again.

She looked at Hermione expectantly, and that was all the cue Hermione needed to start moving again. The brunette crept to Narcissa’s feet again, and started undoing the many buttons on her boots, as Narcissa watched on, satisfied. There were spells she could use to instantaneously undress, she knew, or even house elves she could call on, but watching Hermione slowly, painstakingly, undo the buttons on her boots sent a shiver down her spine.

Finally done, Hermione pulled the second boot off and set it to the side, next to its sister. Without being prompted, she knew what to do next, picking up first one, then the other foot, and giving Narcissa a brief foot massage, working out the tension in her feet and the discomfort from being in the heeled boots all day.

When Narcissa decided that she’d had enough of this, she used her foot to nudge Hermione away then stood. “Undress me,” she said, and Hermione rose to her feet for the first time since all of this had started.

Because a pureblooded witch like Narcissa wouldn’t dream of putting something as Muggle as a zipper so close to her body, Hermione found herself working to unfasten what seemed like an endless row of tiny concealed buttons all down the back of her long dress.

As she worked diligently, she chewed the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her wits about her as each unfastened button revealed a little more of Narcissa’s soft, snowy white skin. She wanted to touch it, she thought, put her mouth on it and…

Catching her wandering train of thought with horror, she gritted her teeth. The magic in the collar was truly something, winding itself deep into her psyche. Soon, she knew, she wouldn’t be able to distinguish between her own thoughts and the magic.

Finally undoing the last button, she reached up and slid the robes off Narcissa’s shoulders. The rich black fabric pooled around her feet, and she stepped out of it. Hermione went to pick up the robe, but Narcissa stopped her. “Leave it,” she said, her voice commanding. “The house elves will get it later.”

Swallowing hard, Hermione nodded silently. She knew there was something there that she should object to about the elves, but the thought slid away from her stubbornly, eluding her the harder she tried to grasp it in her mind.

Despite now standing in front of Hermione in nothing but her underwear, Narcissa continued standing before her, the picture of confidence and relaxation. She was dressed in white lace lingerie that was probably from the wizarding version of La Perla, a longline bra, skimpy thong, and a garter belt that held up her sheer stockings.

Hermione slowly undid the hook fastenings on the back of Narcissa’s bra, counting at least ten, before reaching down to unfasten the garter from the stockings. The entire outfit was totally impractical, practically impossible to get in and out of by oneself. She probably needed assistance with her clothes every day - assistance that Hermione would be providing from now on, she realised.

Kneeling in front of the blonde woman, she slid the stockings off Narcissa’s legs, the feel of her knuckles sliding against bare skin sending a shiver down her spine. There was no reason why she should be feeling like this, why every bit of physical contact, no matter how unerotic, felt like foreplay. Except for, she knew, the collar, priming her to be everything her new mistresses wanted and needed. And based on how she was feeling, she was to be a sexual plaything for them.

The stockings off, Hermione reached up and hooked her fingers in the waistband of the delicate lace panties. Narcissa’s facial expression didn’t change, but she shuffled her feet slightly further apart to give her more room. Agonisingly slowly, her heart pounding so hard she was almost dizzy, Hermione drew the panties down her legs.

As the gusset was pulled away from her crotch, sticky tendrils of arousal stretched between Narcissa and the fabric, leaving Hermione staring helplessly as she forced back a whimper. When the last strand snapped, Hermione looked up at Narcissa hesitantly, only to see a completely neutral, relaxed expression on Narcissa’s face.

If she were a lover, Narcissa might have looked slightly embarrassed to be caught in this state, or might even have given her a flirtatious wink. But she wasn’t - she was barely even a person to this woman - so there was no need for any sort of response or acknowledgment that this was affecting her more than she let on.

Holding the scrap of lace in her hand, Hermione couldn’t help but stare at the thick white liquid pooling in the crotch. Her mouth watered helplessly.

Narcissa must have known, because she laughed condescendingly, staring down her nose at the brunette kneeling at her feet. “Go ahead,” she encouraged, as if she were speaking to a small child. “Have a taste. It’s as close as you’ll get.”

Even as the hurt and disappointment flooded her mind, her body couldn’t help but react, clenching on itself. “Wh- what?” she stammered. There was no reason for her to feel this way, she screamed internally. She didn’t want this. But Narcissa did, and so her mind and body leaped to obey.

“You don’t really think I’ll let you put your filthy little mouth here, do you?” Narcissa’s fingers swept through the neatly trimmed white-blonde curls at the apex of her legs, before spreading her nether lips for Hemione to take a good look. When she withdrew her fingers, they were shining with a thick layer of her arousal. The scent of her pussy filled the room, heady and strong.

Her hands trembling, Hermione brought the panties to her face, inhaling deeply as her eyes sought Narcissa’s, needing some validation or approval. A slight arch to Narcissa’s brow was all she found, but somehow it was enough.

Emboldened, she stuck her tongue out and took an exploratory swipe along the crotch of Narcissa’s ridiculously luxurious panties. The flavour burst onto her tongue, sharp, tangy, and salty, and Hermione was instantly addicted. It was the best thing she’d ever tasted, and she needed more.

All semblance of dignity abruptly vanished as she fell on the underwear like a ravenous maniac, sucking the slick out of the fabric, her tongue pressed against the spot where Narcissa’s pussy had been less than a minute ago. It was still warm, and Hermione’s eyelids fluttered shut as she moaned.

“Liked that, did you.” Narcissa’s tone was filled with cruel amusement. Having the mudblood on her knees in front of her debasing herself filled her with power. Her certainty that this was how the world should be sank into her bones.

She leaned forward and wiped her dirty fingers on Hermione’s hair, as if it were a rag, then went to stand behind the armchair, leaning forward and bracing her arms against the back of it. “I can’t stand the thought of your filthy, mudblood mouth on my cunt, but maybe we can find another use for it.”

The collar wouldn’t allow Hermione to be anything but the most dutiful servant, and it burned against her skin until she refocused her attention on Narcissa, looking regal and aristocratic despite being utterly naked, her hair pulled back into a sleek twist. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Narcissa clicked her tongue impatiently. “I’m sure you can figure it out, mudblood. Didn’t they call you the brightest witch of her age?” Her tone was derisive, and Hermione flinched.

She stared up at Narcissa from where she was crouched on the floor, the picture of round-eyed confusion, until the older woman raised a brow as she leaned forward just a tiny bit more, and realisation flooded Hermione.

“O- oh,” she said, as she scuttled behind Narcissa, sinking back down on her knees behind her pale arse. “You mean - ”

“Obviously, yes,” Narcissa snapped, sounding for all the world like she was irritated that Hermione had taken so long to grasp something so elementary. In reality, her heart was thudding in her chest, and she could barely keep her breathing steady. One of her darkest fantasies, this was something she’d never even breathed a word of to Lucius. She’d expected to go to her grave without realising this dream, and the Dark Lord had, in all his wisdom, had granted her this.

In the dimly lit room with its dark decor, Narcissa’s entire body seemed to glow like a beacon, and Hermione was entranced as she leaned forward. She placed her hands somewhat hesitantly on the globes of her mistress’ arse, spreading them slightly. She wasn’t sure if she was allowed to touch Narcissa like that, but hearing what sounded like a choked off moan instead of angry exclamations to get her mudblood hands off her, she figured she was doing okay.

The sensitive area between her arse cheeks was darker and redder than the rest of her skin, with a few sparse hairs near the rosebud. Hermione’s mouth opened against her will, and filthy words poured out that she barely registered as coming from her. “Oh, Mistress, your arse is so pretty, can I please lick it, I want to taste your perfect pureblood arsehole.”

Narcissa smirked into the darkness of the room. The magic in the collar really was something, she thought. As a teen she’d read about the effects of the collar in her ancestors’ journals, but experiencing it in person was totally different. “Well, if you insist,” she drawled, as if she was doing Hermione a favour.

With permission granted, Hermione dove in, licking a stripe between the older woman’s arse cheeks. She knew she should be revolted and appalled at what was happening, but arousal was making it difficult to think straight. Before her eyes, the rosebud clenched and then relaxed, and Narcissa leaned forward just a tad more, spreading her legs slightly wider.

She laved her tongue over her captor’s arsehole, getting it wet and shiny with her spit, before using the point of her tongue to go in little circles around the wrinkled skin. With Narcissa’s small sigh of approval, she alternated between using the flat of her tongue and the point, until she wriggled her arse just a little in her face, and the tip of her tongue dipped slightly into the furrow.

“Yes, that’s good,” Narcissa breathed, pushing her arse further back into Hermione’s face.

Catching the hint, Hermione worked her tongue into the blonde’s arsehole, just a little, and feeling it clench around the intrusion. “Yesss,” Narcissa moaned, throwing her head back as her hands tightened on the cushioned backrest of the chair. This was it, she thought a little wildly, as sweat prickled on her hairline. Her deepest, darkest, most depraved urges being fulfilled - and by a Mudblood, no less, so filthy she could barely stand it.

Overcome, she let go of the chair with one hand and reached downwards mindlessly, dipping her fingers into her dripping quim before circling her clit. Softly, gently, almost sweetly, a stark juxtaposition from the lewd, vulgar act happening just inches away.

Realising that Narcissa was touching herself, Hermione redoubled her efforts, pushing further into her arse, almost seeing stars at how tightly it clenched around her tongue, and at the bitter flavour that burst on her tongue.

“Fuck, yes,” Narcissa hissed, rubbing her clit harder. “Fuck my arse with your tongue,” she encouraged, and Hermione pulled her arse cheeks apart further, leaning up slightly to get deeper. Her own pussy dripped with arousal, but she barely registered it, so caught up in her task.

Narcissa had commanded it, and the collar made sure she delivered. She didn’t think she’d ever done anything as diligently, as devotedly as she was currently eating the pureblood witch’s arse, so deep that her nose was jammed against the crevice between the cheeks. Her tongue drilled deep, rejoicing in every breathy moan and tremble, the slick sounds of her tongue combining with the squelching noises of Narcissa frigging herself.

It didn’t take long for the pureblood witch to reach orgasm with the double stimulation to her pussy and arse, and she cried out loudly, shuddering as she clenched down on her fingers in her pussy, her thumb continuing to rub her clit, working herself through the most intense pleasure of her life.

In its wake, she slowly removed her hand from her pussy, but Hermione continued to lick her ass. Even though she’d already cum, it felt nice, so she allowed her to continue for a few more seconds before pulling away.

“You did well,” Narcissa allowed, inclining her head slightly. Even with her hair slightly messy, her face and breasts flushed, she looked like a queen. “You may have a treat, my pet.” With that, she dangled her hand in front of Hermione’s face. “Lick my hand clean.”

Obediently, Hermione did just that, sucking the two fingers she’d used to frig herself into her mouth, her eyelids fluttering closed again as she moaned, her tongue laving the soft skin and gathering the slick. When she couldn’t taste it anymore, she moved on to her thumb, pulling it into her mouth and gently sucking.

Finally, there was no more, and Hermione released Narcissa’s hand, a look of slight disappointment written all over her face.

They walked into the palatial bathroom, Hermione one step behind Narcissa, head bowed, to find that the house elves had already prepared Narcissa’s bath. Large enough to rival the one in the prefects’ bath, it was filled with warm water, steam gently rising off the top, and covered in a mountain of bubbles.

Already nude, Narcissa stepped into the bath easily, and sat down, leaning back with a blissful sigh. Slightly awkwardly, Hermione knelt beside the bath.

“What are you doing? Get in. You have to wash me,” Narcissa said with her eyes still closed, and Hermione did so, flustered. She carefully undid the twist and washed Narcissa’s hair, then her body, running her soapy hands all over. Her arms, her neck and collarbones, then her perky, pink-tipped breasts. The pureblood witch didn’t move a muscle to make things easier for her new servant, continuing to recline comfortably in the luxurious bath. As Hermione’s hands slid down her belly, Narcissa allowed her legs to fall open, giving her access between them.

Kneeling in front of the older witch and gently cleaning her quim was decidedly not what Hermione had thought would happen today, but Hermione didn’t question it.

Finally, Narcissa was clean, and she stood up and got out of the water, waiting for Hermione to dry her with large, fluffy towels that were warmed just so and placed on a stool right by the bath.

“Clean yourself,” Narcissa instructed as she left the bathroom, and Hermione hurried to do so, hopping back into the bathwater which was now slightly cooler.

When Hermione left the bathroom, she found Narcissa already sitting in the massive four-poster bed, leaning against a stack of pillows. “Come here. I don’t like sleeping alone.”

Bewildered, Hermione slid under the covers on the other side of the bed, and with a wave of her hand, Narcissa extinguished the lights.

---------

When Hermione woke up the next morning, she was alone in the bed. Feeling almost like herself, she sat up, pushed back the covers, and went to the bathroom.

After she was done, she walked around Narcissa’s huge room slightly nervously, not sure what she was supposed to do when she was alone. She didn’t have that much time to think about it, however, as the collar started to feel warm again, radiating heat insistently against her skin.

Still naked, and coming to a realisation that this would likely be a permanent state for her moving foward, Hermione peeped out the bedroom door to check if the corridor was clear. As she did so, there was a pop sound, and an elf apparated in front of her.

“Mipsy is to take the mudblood to Mistress Bellatrix,” the elf said in a squeaky voice. When Hermione nodded, Mipsy wrapped her fingers around her wrist and apparated them both to Bellatrix’s quarters.

“Mipsy has brought the mudblood,” the elf announced, before she disappeared yet again, leaving Hermione alone with the witch. Bellatrix was sitting at her desk, feet propped on it as she leaned back into the chair, holding the parchment she was reading up.

Tossing the documents she was reading carelessly back onto the desk, Bellatrix swung her feet onto the ground and stood. “Mudblood, so nice of you to join me today,” she cooed with a mocking lilt to her voice, her wand in hand.

As Bellatrix rounded the table and came closer to her, fear screamed through Hermione’s veins. The slight tilt of her head, that deranged grin, the way she held her wand up, the tip almost touching her temple. All of it brought back terrifying memories of the last time she’d been at the Manor, when Bellatrix had tortured her until she wished for death.

“I did so miss the sound of your screams,” the dark witch leaned in and whispered in her ear once she was close enough. Hermione blinked hard and swallowed dryly, trying to force back the hysteria. The collar wasn’t doing anything to adjust her mental state like it had last night. Bellatrix was enjoying her terror, feeding off it.

“And now…” the tip of her wand trailed gently along the curve of her ribs, making her grit her teeth, bracing herself for what was to come. Suddenly, Bellatrix dug her wand sharply between her ribs, and pain flared as Hermione choked on air. Panicked, her knees gave out and she collapsed on the ground, gasping.

“Not quite a scream, was it, darling,” Bellatrix sneered, and Hermione was back in that drawing room, back on the floor, crying in fear and agony. She hugged her knees, tucking her chin in and rocking back and forth.

“Ah, that’s no fun,” Bellatrix griped, reaching down and grabbing a fistful of brown curls. “Look at me while I’m talking to you, mudblood.”

Her vision blurred by tears, Hermione looked up at the witch currently pulling her head back painfully. “Filthy thing,” the older witch muttered, before drawing back and spitting on Hermione’s face. It splattered on her cheek and she flinched, but made no move to wipe it away.

“You’re mine now, mudblood. The Dark Lord gave you to me for doing such a good job crushing your kind.” She traced along Hermione’s jawline with her wand, the younger witch’s eyes trying her best to follow the wand tip.

“Now I think I want to enjoy my reward. Crucio!” Bellatrix snarled, and red and white light jetted forth from her wand.

Hermione screamed and cried, writhing on the floor as the pain seared through her body, feeling like her tendons were being pulled apart, muscle peeling from bone, and skin from muscle. This was it, she thought feebly, she’d survived the final battle only to die like this, on the floor of the Manor, where she probably should have the first time…

There was the telltale pop of apparition, and then abruptly, the pain stopped, leaving Hermione crumpled in a heap, her face turned towards the floor.

“Sister,” Bellatrix said snippily. “I don’t believe I interrupted your time with our pet.”

“Bella, are you utterly daft? You can’t Crucio her like that!” Narcissa snapped back, stalking towards Hermione, who was still lying prone, tears leaking from her eyes, which were open but unseeing.

“She is my pet, and the Dark Lord said - ”

“She is our pet, and she won’t be for much longer if you torture her until she’s a mindless vegetable like you did the Longbottoms!” Narcissa turned Hermione over with her foot, looking her over critically.

“You never could take care of your toys, Bella,” Narcissa continued reproachfully. “If you ruin this one - ”

“The Dark Lord will give me another,” Bellatrix insisted, her chin tilting up obstinately.

“He will, will he? Are there many mudbloods left to give out?” Narcissa asked drolly, and Bellatrix subsided, sulkily. As the new Director for Magical Law Enforcement, she knew very well that the number of Muggleborn witches and wizards was dwindling every day. A positive outcome, to be sure, but it did mean Hermione would be rather difficult to replace.

“No one he could give us as a replacement will be as valuable as Potter’s mudblood, and you know it,” Narcissa hissed. “For heaven’s sake, don’t do anything to incapacitate her. I always hated sharing my toys with you.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do with her, then?” Bellatrix demanded petulantly.

Narcissa raised a brow. “I’m sure you’ll manage just fine. I did, and not one Unforgivable was used.”

“Did you?” That sly tone was back in Bellatrix’s voice as she found something new to capture her interest. “You don’t mind if I have a tiny little peep at what you were up to last night, then, do you? Just to learn from the best, of course.” Before Narcissa could react, the brunette witch bent down and dragged Hermione up into a sitting position by her hair. “Legilimens,” she said, her hand tightening around her wand as she stared into Hermione’s eyes.

Hermione screamed in agony again at the intrusion into her mind. She knew that Bellatrix was a skilled legilimens, but the way she’d forced herself in betrayed none of the finesse that she should have. Bellatrix was tearing into her mind like it was so much tissue paper, and she could feel the enjoyment as she made her suffer.

It wasn’t difficult to find her memories of what happened last night - Bellatrix watched them on replay, making her relive them, the shame and embarrassment bubbling inside her anew as she watched how debased she’d been, begging on her knees and doing such depraved things. Of course, the older witch saw how she was feeling now, too, and laughed.

“My sweet, sweet, Cissy,” she breathed, when she finally left Hermione’s mind. “Who would have thought? Perfect, beautiful, ice queen Cissy.” She was clearly mocking her sister, but Narcissa just tilted her head haughtily, unwilling to be shamed, uncaring that her older sister had access to her secret kinks through their shared pet’s mind.

“Did you learn something useful, Bella?” After a lifetime of dealing with her oldest sister, Narcissa could give as good as she got.

Bellatrix sneered. “I think not. I would hardly let the mudblood put her mouth on my body.”

Narcissa wouldn’t do anything so pedestrian as shrug, but her dismissive expression demonstrated how little she cared about her sister’s criticism. “Why don’t you try something physical, rather than using your magic?” she suggested. “You might find it… quiets that mind of yours.”

With a wave of her wand, the empty wall by Bellatrix’s desk was abruptly filled with racks and shelves filled with BDSM equipment, the likes of which Hermione had only seen a few times, during her summers home when she got a little too far down the Internet rabbit hole.

A collection of floggers and whips were hung up inside an oak cabinet with a glass window in the door. Ropes and chains coiled on new shelves. Cuffs, various types of gags, dildos, and butt plugs. Intrigued, Bellatrix wandered over to the new addition to her room, while Hermione wondered how on earth someone like Narcissa had such knowledge of muggle kinks.

“Cissy,” Bellatrix said in a singsong voice, her brow raising as she opened the cabinet and took out the whip closest to her, examining it in her hands. Holding the handle in her right hand, she gave a little experimental swat on the palm of her left. The sound made Hermione jump.

As she examined the various types of equipment on display, her expression grew more and more gleeful, until she reached the dildos, vibrators and butt plugs. “I won’t need these.” She frowned at the offending toys.

Narcissa didn’t bat an eyelash, apparently anticipating such a response. “Just in case,” she explained nonchalantly, before her eyes seemed to soften. “It’s not always like that, you know,” she said in a more gentle tone. “Not- like how it was with Rodolphus.”

Bellatrix’s hand tightened on the whip, her shoulders tensing, before she forced herself to relax. “Mudblood, are you ready?” she asked in a tone of forced casualness, the languid grace with which she prowled towards Hermione slightly unnatural. It appeared that what her sister had said unnerved her. “Cissy has given us so many new toys to play with together; aren’t you going to thank her? They don’t teach mudbloods manners, do they?” she laughed.

With the collar on, Hermione was helpless to disobey a direct command like that. On cue, gratefulness immediately flooded her psyche. “Mistress Narcissa,” she said, her eyes shining soulfully, “Thank you for the gifts.”

“You’re ever so welcome, pet,” Narcissa replied condescendingly, and with a final meaningful look at Bellatrix, she apparated away with a pop, and Hermione was alone again with Bellatrix.

She eyed the whip in her hands warily. Bellatrix, seeing her expression, chuckled. “Come now, mudblood. This can’t be anything new to you. Don’t muggles adore physical violence?”

Hermione wanted to stand up and object, to explain that modern muggles did not, that society had come such a long way, and that whatever had been taught to her in the past was grossly outdated, if not plain wrong. But that wasn’t what Bellatrix was interested to hear, so the words wouldn’t form in her mouth.

Instead, Hermione whimpered and cowered. “Please,” she whispered pathetically, and watched as a deranged grin split the older witch’s face. She was really quite beautiful, she noted mechanically, with her fair skin and dark features.

“Now, now, I’m not like my sister,” Bellatrix tutted. “I have no interest in listening to you beg. I just want - ” she drew her hand back, the whip whistling through the air. “To hear you - ” she brought it down on Hermione’s back, as hard as she could. “Scream.”

As the pain of the impact flared across her skin, Hermione couldn’t help but give Bellatrix what she’d asked for. Hearing the first scream ring out throughout the room, Bellatrix tightened her grip on the whip excitedly, then drew it back again, this time for a backhanded swing.

“Yess,” Bellatrix hissed. “Filthy mudblood, how could you ever have thought you belonged among us?” She rained blows down on Hermione to punctuate her words, experimenting with her new weapon, trying different angles, holding the whip in various ways, and testing out which part of Hermione’s body was the most sensitive, made her cry out in the most satisfying way when hit.

Red, angry welts rose on Hermione’s pale skin, glowing in a way that Bellatrix found somehow entrancing. The thing about magical torture was it often didn’t leave visible marks on the skin. All that was left was the memory of the beautiful sounds that they made.

By the time Bellatrix had exhausted herself, breathless with a sore arm, Hermione had been reduced to whimpering, curled up into a ball. There were red lines cris-crossing through her whole body, on her shoulders, her breasts, her tender belly, even her thighs. On some of them, thin bright red lines of blood were welling up through the torn skin. The effect was hauntingly beautiful, Bellatrix thought. Something she’d done that was so visible, leaving a tangible mark. For the first time in her life, she thought the muggles might be on to something.

Bellatrix tossed the whip down next to Hermione, enjoying the way the sound of the handle clattering against the marble made her flinch. “Put it back in the cabinet, mudblood,” Bellatrix sneered. “Just because you’re filthy, it doesn’t mean that my quarters should be.”

Getting up was agony, the inflamed skin stretching and compressing in new ways, pain flaring all over again. Hermione picked up the whip and walked slowly to the cabinet Narcissa had earlier Transfigured, placing it back where it came from.

“Good girl,” Bellatrix said, and somehow the approval was even worse than when she was overtly cruel. It left Hermione feeling off-kilter, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When she turned back towards the room, she noticed that Bellatrix was now lounging on the sofa.

“Come here,” she beckoned, and Hermione crept closer, unsure what she wanted now. Bellatrix was always in motion, and seeing her still and relaxed like this had her coiling in tension. She knelt by the leg of the sofa, next to where Bellatrix sat.

“You worthless thing. Get on your hands and knees in front of me.” Hermione rushed to obey, and then Bellatrix rested her boots on her back, looking totally at ease.

The younger witch gritted her teeth against the discomfort. Bellatrix’s boots weren’t as soft and delicate as Narcissa’s. The Death Eater went out, did things, and needed a sturdier pair to suit her lifestyle. The leather wasn’t nearly as soft, and it scraped uncomfortably against the whip marks on her back.

It was also heavy. Bellatrix was resting the whole weight of her feet on Hermione’s body, and she was starting to sweat with the effort that it was taking to maintain her current position.

“I liked that more than I thought I would,” Bellatrix remarked, and Hermione would have made a snarky comment in response if the collar would have allowed it. The pureblood witch must have seen the mutiny on Hermione’s face, because she laughed, reveling in the control she had over the younger witch.

“Tell me, mudblood, what other sick things do mudbloods do to each other?” and Hermione thought, but didn’t say, that Bellatrix calling BDSM kinks sick after thoroughly enjoying whipping the shit out of her was some top-notch irony.

Still, the influence of the collar was as potent as Veritaserum, because the words poured obligingly out of Hermione as she recited almost word-for-word the Wiki article she’d read a few summers back.

“BDSM is a variety of often erotic practices or roleplaying involving bondage, discipline, dominance and submission, sadomasochism, and other related interpersonal dynamics. Given the wide range of practices, some of which may be engaged in by people who do not consider themselves to be practising BDSM, inclusion in the BDSM community or subculture often is said to depend on self-identification and shared experience.”

Bellatrix hummed thoughtfully. “And what I just did to you is considered a part of that?”

“It would be considered impact play, or pain play. There are other areas like restraints - tying someone up - and there are many kinks that fall under the BDSM umbrella.”

“What else?”

Hermione hesitated awkwardly. “I- I don’t really know,” she confessed. “I didn’t spend that much time researching this.” Most of her time in the past few summers had been spent either at the Burrow or Grimmauld Place, where there was no Internet, and where she had been otherwise occupied with the war efforts.

Bellatrix’s expression, which had begun to open up as Hermione had been explaining about muggle sex kinks, giving Hermione a glimpse of the beautiful woman she had been, once upon a time, abruptly turned sulky again. “You disappoint me, mudblood. You’re totally worthless. Get out of my sight.”

Picking up her wand, she slashed it down, and Hermione felt the tug in her belly that meant she was being apparated to an unknown location until her mistresses had need of her again.

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #narcissa x hermione #bellatrix x hermione #bellamione #cissamione #hp wlw #hp femslash #cissamione fic #bellamione fic

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kind-hufflepuff · 2 years ago

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TWILLIGHT AU, NARCISSA BLACK AS A HALF VAMPIRE

#aesthetic #harry potter #harry potter ships #harry potter aesthetic #hogwarts house #ship #narcissa x hermione #narcissa black #twillight au #half vampire

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schmem14 · 2 years ago

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Footsteps

@sapphicmicrofics

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy Rating: T WC: 50

*****

Perhaps it's the second glass of champagne. Or the way the crystal chandelier casts prisms of colour on snow-pale skin Or the plunging cut of Narcissa’s dress. Or her conspicuously empty ring finger. Whatever reason, sure footsteps lead Hermione across the ballroom. “Dance with me?” “I thought you’d never ask.”

#hp wlw #hp femslash #hp sapphics #Narcissa x Hermione #Cissamione #Narcissa Black Malfoy #Hermione Granger #June 13 #Daily Prompt #Footsteps #sapphicmicrofics #femslash microfic #harry potter #50 words

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chaliceni · 2 years ago

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Cissamione - When a Man Loves a Woman

~800 words

There was no love lost between Narcissa and Lucius, not now. Maybe not ever. It's always hard to analyse what you felt at the time after the fact, without letting circumstances and experiences cloud whatever reality meant back then.

Even so, she firmly believed that she had not experienced this love, and its all-consuming warmth in all her years. Surely she would have remembered such a feeling and not let it slip away. Especially since nowadays it took an army to pry open the iron vice the sensation had clamped around her heart.

For too many years her mind provided the only sanctuary she had; and she worked tirelessly to keep the walls of her safe haven fortified against anything that posed a threat. Only, living as she did, that could have been almost anything at all.

Emotions were a weakness, didn't you know? Because Narcissa certainly did. A lesson for all pureblood brides-to-be, any kind of pleasant sensitivity was just another imperfection on an unblemished shield of resolve. The moment you allowed anyone to dig into that imperfection, it burrowed into your facade, festering away until your defences crumbled. No longer unblemished, but completely ruined.

A tarnished reputation was treated as a fate worse than death when she was growing up. The version of herself that stood thirty years later, catering to the Dark Lord could have laughed in the faces of Cygnus and Druella Black. She wished that was the most dreadful thing she had to fear. Oh, how times changed. For better or worse.

During the war, it was certainly the latter. What she should have known was that as cliché as it sounded, there was still time to make a change. That change might have come a lot sooner after the end of the war if she hadn't been the stubborn witch she always personified. Although she never claimed to be perfect, whatever her girlfriend might say as she stared at her all doe-eyed.

The resentment reserved for her past mistakes were only negated by the annoyingly sound logic said girlfriend imparted. If she re-entered society before she was ready, they likely wouldn't have found each other. It helped more than you can imagine. A life without her little persistent brunette isn't a thought she wanted to give the time of day.

The whole ordeal softened her to an embarrassing degree. At this point she emerged at the other side of her metamorphosis as a brand new woman, her wings no longer held back under the immovable thumb of a man.

Problem being that now Narcissa had no clue how to use her wings, heavy and stiff from disuse. In all actuality, they had never seen much use at all. Obedient and subservient since the very beginning. Her sisters both tasted freedom in a way she only dreamt of. Not courageous or outright crazy enough to brave the skies. Until now.

A young Narcissa Black was fed all manner of tall tales about handsome men that would have no trouble in providing her with anything she could ever want for. In return, she would bear him with perfect heirs, preferably sons of course. A princess story where she'd get the prince. She was fortunate, privileged even, to be in such a position. A scion to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, truly the closest thing to fairytale level royalty that Wizarding Britain had anymore. It should have been an honour. It was anything but.

Draco kept her grounded, kept her sane. Many times had she risked it all for him and she would do so again in a heartbeat if she needed to. Except, six years changed a woman. Her new life meant that she would never have to. Hermione made it so and she believed her.

Princes, handsome, rich men and their like failed to live up to their promises, didn't fulfill the fallacies of grandure and contentment.

The furthest thing from those tales did though. Her sweet muggleborn girlfriend, the sole woman to ever thaw out the Ice Queen. Who forwent showering her in diamonds in favour of massaging her aching shoulders after a strenuous day. A home-cooked dinner instead of a hollow house filled with meaningless luxuries. Someone who really listened, saw the woman behind the walls, who climbed higher than any other to scale their imposing height. They didn't frighten her off as they should and oh, she was so glad they didn't. The woman who should have been a peasant beneath her feet, according to all she'd ever known, had actually found her in disguise. Underneath it hid her princess. No knight in shining armour, just a young witch with a heart of gold.

And that held far more value than falsehoods that came along with any story that began with "when a man loves a woman".

#narcissa malfoy #narcissa black #cissamione #narcissa x hermione #my fics #ficlet

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cissamionelife · 2 years ago

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Obsessed with Blinding Light rn ❤️❤️ slow burn to the maxxxxx

Link here:

#narcissa x hermione #narcissa malfoy #narcissa black #cissamione #hermione granger #harry potter #hermione x narcissa

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theshkvyapotapok · 2 months ago

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Well I fell into

Cissamione.

I fkn love that shipp so much!!!

#harry potter #lesbian #lgbtq #hermione granger #narcissa black #narcissa malfoy #cissamione #narcissa x hermione

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btsbabe7 · 28 days ago

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Safe Haven

Word Count: 6.9k

Pairing: Lucius Malfoy x reader, Draco Malfoy x reader

Warnings!: 18+, unprotected, age gap, intoxication, infidelity

Synopsis: After a long night out with friends, things take a drastic turn when you show up unexpectedly at the Malfoy Manor and your best friend isn’t the one who lets you in.

You find yourself on the doorstep of the Malfoy manor, lightheaded and nauseous, clothes soaked in rain, liver swimming in poison, and entirely too nervous and embarrassed to knock. You curse yourself for not sending for Draco, your best friend of a solid decade, to come rescue you from your recklessness. You’d insisted to your other friends that you could make it safely, that you knew your way home. And while you did arrive safely, you can’t bring yourself to lift your fist to ask for permission to enter.

The Malfoy Manor has always been a safe place for you throughout your childhood and granted you the same safety as an adult. You’d practically grown up here under the care of the house elf, Dobby, and the companionship of Draco Malfoy. Narcissa saw to things like taking you shopping for clothes and catering to your other womanly needs as you grew older. On the other hand, Lucius Malfoy was hardly present. He remained the breadwinner of the home and that came with the sacrifice of working long days and nights at the Ministry, and in his spare time, he’d used it to meet with friends.

When he was at home, he could be quite demanding. He constantly lectured Draco about slipping grades and the importance of putting his best foot forward instead of indulging in useless shenanigans.

One night, after his wife and son had long trailed off to bed, Lucius had stayed in the entertainment room with you to finish a movie. The both of you remained long after the movie ended, speaking about school, work, and life. He confided in you just as you had with him. You’d always known Lucius Malfoy to lack nothing, not of confidence, not of power, and certainly not control. Yet, that night he’d told you that he didn’t want Draco stuck at the Ministry like himself. He wanted a powerful son that would be able to take his place if the situation ever arose, to be prepared for anything, and be able to step up when his family needed him the most. Most of all, he just wanted someone, something that came from him, to be proud of.

You’d spent several years listening to Draco’s complaints about his father over breaks and in the courtyard at Hogwarts when you two would sneak out to meet late in the night. Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to spill Lucius’ wishes. It felt as if you were overstepping every time his words echoed in your mind: someone to be proud of. When you were around, Lucius was a completely different man—tolerant, caring, even nice at times, and you knew Lucius needed to be the one to tell Draco himself.

Now, as an adult, you can recall the moments where he tried caring for Draco in the best way he knew how. You realized that being tough had become his default to shield himself from disappointment, to keep Draco on track. He’d tried to raise him to become a man of power with nothing but confidence and control in his arsenal. He hadn’t failed, but he also hadn’t let his guard down, never liberated himself from the need of being in control.

And part of being in control meant Lucius always remained aware of anything going on inside of and around the Malfoy property, so it’s no surprise that he’s the one that opens the door to your shivering body without you lifting a single finger.

“Look what the storm washed in,” he muses and motions you inside to take shelter from the pouring rain and lightening rolling in through distant black clouds. “You’ve been drinking.”

He doesn’t ask, just states it matter-of-factly.

Anyone with a nose can smell the bitterness seeping off your clothes, your body, your mouth. You smell of whisky and sweat and body odor that isn’t yours. You aren’t sure what you were attempting to drink away, but perhaps it was the searing that burns in your chest when his eyes meet yours.

The look is one you’ve seen him give many, but never to you, and it’s now spread over his hardened features. Disappointment is what lingers in those angry pale grey eyes.

“I… I came to s— I came to see D-drac—“ You let out a scoff, now utterly disappointed in yourself as you slur and stumble over the raised threshold. It’s truly a miracle that you’d made it here at all.

Had you truly allowed yourself to get this wasted?

That answer comes when Lucius uses his own body to shield you from tumbling onto the frigid tiles of the foyer. You cling to the silky sleeve of his robe as he hisses something vulgar under his breath.

“You can’t possibly be this drunk,” he snorts and locks the front door behind you both in a fury. “Who’ve you been with? You graduated years ago and this is how you choose to life? The life of a—a drunk? I expected more from a brilliant witch like yourself. I thought you incapable of falling this low. Does your father know you’re here?”

You rub into the sultry velvet and focus on the way it clings to his body. It’s a black so deep against his pale skin that it makes your eyes feel as if you’re staring into a void.

You hiccup and a soft smile plays at the corners of your mouth as you take in the tart apple and spicy woodsy scent that only the Malfoy men have. It reminds you of all the nights you’d sneak into Draco’s room as a kid and cuddle against his side when you couldn’t sleep, and in your current drunken state, it’s completely intoxicating.

“What’re you doing, Y/n?” Lucius demands as your hand travels up the length of his arm.

You give his biceps a squeeze and chuckle in response. He has such a strong body and he’s adorned it in such a delicious feeling fabric. One you can’t seem to keep your hands off of and want to crawl into.

The truth is that you don’t know what you’re doing and with every blink of your weary eyes, you see Draco’s iced silver ones in waves. You see glimpses of blonde hair in your grasp, lush, silky and soft. You imagined it countless times in the past, pale white hips rutting against your backside while you both watch in the silver ornate mirror that hangs over his dresser just beside his bed. You’d wished it happened as it had in the privacy of your dreams and daydreams.

You see flashes of books in Lucius’ study. The two of you would sneak inside while his father and mother were out and the elves were busy. You’d make out there near the fireplace. Other times, you’d be propped up on the desk with Draco’s erection pressed hard against the delicate folds of your clothed, aching sex.

You lean back on the familiar desk, wet ass gliding against the smooth mahogany. Lucius led you here into the study, which means you’ve truly fucked up.

The study is just the way you remember it. The backside is filled from floor to ceiling with books and skulls and trinkets, all meaning something to Lucius, or simply nothing at all. Lucius’ desk remains in the center, facing the fireplace, and placed firmly on a fancy rug with a huge velvet chair behind it. He has other knickknacks here and there, but the study remains fairly simple and serves its purpose.

You turn to your right and see a family photo nestled in a silver gilded frame. Draco stands in the middle, posed with his chin up, his parent’s stand as far away as they possibly can with their hands resting on either side of his shoulders. No one smiled, save for the small tug at the corners of Narcissa’s lips, though it didn’t meet her dim eyes.

When you’d snuck down here with Draco, he’d turn it face down on the desk before delving into you. It sits upright now, yet piles of marked scrolls threaten to bury it. A box of limited edition quill inks sit in a box beside them and a semi-wet quill lies on an open scroll just beside you. You come to the conclusion that he must have been working when he sensed someone’s presence, your presence, outside.

Lucky for him.

It’s so late that you begin to wonder where Narcissa might be, where Draco might be since you’d come for him. Asleep upstairs maybe. Or perhaps somewhere else entirely. As for Narcissa, you’d noted her absence shortly after graduation and she only seemed to grow more distant now that you and Draco are of proper age. Draco himself had always remained distant and found solitude in being alone when you weren’t around to keep him company. Just like his mother, his interest in his father had diminished over the years while yours had grown.

Lucius huffs and the springs in the chair squeak lightly underneath his weight. The sound pulls you away from your memories and the weight of your own thoughts settle in the center of your core with a wave of nostalgia. The chair had made the same noise in all those times Draco plopped down there and it knocks you back to a time many years ago.

Draco’s mother had left with her sister, Bellatrix, and you both knew his father would be out later. Narcissa had left you both to the mercy of the house elves, who treated you with much more respect than you cared for.

When silence had fallen over the manor, Draco had waltzed down the hallway and placed a knock on your door. You’d been half asleep in the room given to you since the moment you’d decided this home suited you more than your own. The door had squeaked open, sending golden light cascading over the bright yellow walls they’d let you paint.

You’d hissed at Draco for interrupting your sleep, but somehow he’d managed to coax you out of bed and down into his father’s study. You remember the taste of his lips, so sweet and delicate against yours after the door had been closed. Somehow that had led to him splaying your legs wide and planting your feet firmly on the sturdy wooden surface of his father’s desk.

All you remember afterwards is the fire roaring to life and warming your entire being as Draco pumped you hard with his skilled fingers for the very first time.

You bite into your lip and let out a soft moan as your brain caresses and savors every inch of that memory.

“Y/n!” Lucius demands.

“Lucius,” you mewl softly in a taunting, singsong tone that sends his eyes rolling.

He groans as you kick your muddy heels off and clicks his tongue in disgust when they clatter on his rug.

He curses himself for not remembering to make you take them off at the door. Though, he reminds himself that you don’t usually show up in such a pathetic state where your manners are long forgotten. He also reminds himself that he’s not usually in a position underneath your taunting gaze. You sit there like a queen on her throne. Unfortunately for him, the throne just so happens to be his desk.

Lucius fights the urge to take control of the situation, though his body aches for him to do so. He wants you off his desk, off your ass, sobered up, and sinking down his cock. He caresses his chin and bites into his bottom lip before flinching away from that final realization, away from you and the way your nipples grow hard against the thin fabric of that skimpy dress you’d slipped on hours ago to meet with friends in. Had he been here, he wouldn’t have let you step a foot outside in such scandalous attire. He curses your father for being so absentminded and so uninvolved in your life.

Despite that truth, Lucius had watched you bloom into a brilliant witch and beautiful woman. Over the years, he’d listened to Narcissa’s comments on the way your body had practically become a woman’s overnight—large breasts and curves that had been flaunted too well in your robes and skirts. Lucius forked over more money for your new robes and uniform without hesitation. He couldn’t stand the idea of boys at Hogwarts gawking at you, targeting you with their useless, impure minds. And selfishly, he’d always seen you more fit for a Malfoy, even though you went against everything they stood for.

You have half-blood friends, you were sorted into a house other than Slytherin, you were curious about muggles. Lucius had pushed all those details to the back of his mind when he took you in. You were strong, opinionated even when he disagreed with you, and best of all, you never backed down from a challenge. You weren’t weak and he appreciated that quality about you.

Now, you appear stronger than ever, though your judgement is obviously skewed.

“I’m disappointed in you,” he begins. He knows he has to scold you like a child, but he also knows you’ll do it again if he doesn’t. He hates that he has to be the one to do it. “I think y—“

“Deserve to be punished, don’t I?” You whimper and pick at your nails with a firm pout of your pink lips.

Lucius rolls his eyes and ignores the ache daring to tear him apart at the seam if he allows you to open your mouth again. He comes off the chair and turns to face the endlessly shelving of books. He crosses his arms and stares mindlessly at the first row that meets his eyes, far away from you.

Sickness, much like bile, collects at the base of his throat and he swallows it down. He knows he cannot touch you, it’d be crossing the line on so many levels. Worst, it’d go against his morals. He’s married. His son is one of your better best friends. He’s friends with your useless excuse of a father, he’s looked your mother in the eyes over countless meetings decades ago where he vowed to take care of you to the best of his ability before he took you in for good. Yet, every civilized thought escapes his mind when he hears your breathing hitch behind him. A soft shuffling follows and he swallows dryly. He knows the sound all too well—wet clothes being removed, peeling away from damp skin, and plopping against the floor.

You’re a sopping mess in the neatness of his study. His rug will suffer, but so will he.

He clenches his teeth and sneers as be whips his wand out and sends a charm towards his study door. It closes and locks quietly, but the near silent sound echoes loudly in his eardrums.

You let out a soft whimper as you bristle against the cool rush of the closing door. You knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. The men of this manor never could, and with the close of his door, you’d just become Lucius Malfoy’s seductress.

You roll your head back and stare at the way the ceiling curves to a point above the desk. You’ve stared at it many times when Draco pleased you while he remained completely oblivious to your true desires. Thoughts of Lucius had plagued your mind while Draco’s fingers and mouth did all the work. His father’s name had clung to the edge of your tongue while you forced Draco’s out with careful skill. You knew it was wrong, but it’d almost become a game during those long nights. You’d always wondered if you’d slip up and what Draco would do if you did.

You splay your thighs wide and run your feet along the arms of the emerald green chair. With heavy eyes, you watch the fabric’s color distort slightly from light emerald to a darker shade of the same color with each stroke of your flesh. While you do this, you take notice that Lucius hasn’t turned around since he’s left the chair. Denying his own primal needs as a male, you’re sure. You’d just waltzed, well, stumbled right in and threatened all order, seized all his control with minimal effort, and he hates it. You know he does. Yet, your own need for warmth begins to overtake your own motives and you shiver against the cool air circulating in the darkened room.

“C-could you start up a fire?” You blurt through clenched teeth as you hug into your shivering body.

Lucius’ head snaps back as if he’s been in a trance the entire time. His senses slowly return and he follows the needy plead of your voice. He regrets it the very moment your nude body comes into view. Your lacy black underwear are all that remain of the clothes you’d stripped off and Lucius is suffering indeed.

Hardened grey eyes glaze over the length of your being. He takes in the way your dark hair is now chopped at your shoulders, the length of your short, delicate limbs, the perfect curvature of your breasts and hips. It’s all more proportional and more appealing than he cares to admit.

His eyes snap away from your shivering body and he forces himself to focus on the dead fireplace alongside the wall. The door is sealed shut behind you, beyond you. He should open it, the door. He should summon Draco or call for an elf to help you, cloth you. If you’re this comfortable around him, daring really, then he has no doubt that his son has seen you just the same and would have no qualms about helping.

Cunning as you are, you should have been sorted into during your school years. A true shame that the Slytherin house missed out on such brilliance due to a wrinkly old hat and a fool of a headmaster.

He thinks to himself.

Lucius kindles the firewood in the fireplace with a sharp snap of his fingers and watches the fire spark. As the wood crackles, the flame catches another piece and begins dancing to life as he attempts to choose his next words as carefully as he can.

“How long?”

You cannot admit that your liking for Lucius had begun at the ripe age of fifteen. You were young, impressionable, and Lucius had shown you how real men care for their families. While Draco complained about his father, you saw a hardworking man who needed to put food on the table for his family, a provider. You seen him as the man who’d step in when your real father chose not, and you admired that too.

You swallow and keep your eyes on your fingertips which are coming more and more into focus with each pick of your nails.

“It’s been awhile,” is all you manage.

Lucius continues staring into the fire, still upset with himself for closing the door while trying to work out how long a while consists of. His heart races with both fear and excitement, but he isn’t sure which one will win this battle.

After a while, Lucius brings a blanket over from the corner of the room. He dusts it off and wraps it around your warming body. He doesn’t dare look you over again. He can’t. Not when your eyes watch his every move, from his pacing to the way he strokes his chin across the room when he’s deep in thought. He hadn’t planned for you to show up like this and hadn’t planned for you to strip everything off and be so confidently naked in front of him.

He stares at another book on the shelf, hardly registering the title as he slips a delicate stripe down the spine. He needs something else to focus on, but he isn’t prepared for the sound that comes out of you next. A sound that ripples through his very being and has him on edge like a wild beast.

The fingertips of your right hand run down the plain of your belly, relishing the feeling of your warming body before slipping underneath the hem of your lace. The blanket shifts off your shoulders as you spread your legs wide and allow your fingertips to trickle just below the dampened folds. The thought of Lucius, as always, overtakes your senses, and you graze right between the folds with a low moan. You tease your arousal before bringing it back up to the little protrusion between your lips. You give your clitoris a generous rub and you melt right where you sit.

Lucius’ head whips in your direction and all color leaves his face. His body goes still like a statue.

“You… Y—“

His name finally slips off your tongue and it tastes absolutely delicious. You’re exhausted with holding back, holding it in. You’d spent years doing so and you weren’t going to give up this opportunity that’s presented itself. It was supposed to be Draco that let you in, that came to your rescue as always, but when the long, white-haired Malfoy, the patriarch of this manor opened that door, you knew the stars had aligned that very moment.

“I command you to stop,” Lucius orders, but you shake your head in protest and circle harder.

Lucius feels as if he’s the one that’s been drinking. The way your moans and soft pants make his head spin is intoxicating. He can’t help the way his cock twitches underneath his pajama pants. He’s glad the robe does the job of covering the sudden reaction. He doesn’t want you to have the satisfaction of knowing what you do to him.

He bites into his lip once more and shuts his eyes. No, he reopens them because the memory of you naked is now engrained behind his eyes and also right in front of him. You’re everywhere he looks, your moans are all he can hear. He cannot escape you. Perhaps if he just opened the damned door. But he’s sealed it shut with a charm not even his own son could get through on the other side. It sealed off all sound and no one would come bothering the two of you. He knows this, even with the sickness rising in his throat again.

Lucius’ eyes cower towards you, watching the way your hips rock softly against your circling fingers. You hadn’t slipped inside yourself, just gathered your arousal enough to keep the rubbing lubricated. His cock aches and he cannot remember the last time he had sex, let alone the last time a female had grazed him with such vulgar imagery. He turns way from you and wishes for the pulsing in his veins to stop. He wishes away the heat centering between his legs, but it remains. Your panting grows louder and he fears he will erupt right where he stands. So, what would be the harm if he were standing in front of you instead? What would be the harm if he simply gave in? Stopped fighting and resisting?

He lets out a shaky breath and faces you. You watch determination settle in his eyes and you let out a squeaky moan. Lucius makes his way towards the desk and kicks the chair to the right side. When he finally faces you, his face goes pale. He flinches at the sight of you spread open and so beautifully aroused. He’d missed the fact that you’d now removed the lace, which he’d hardly call underwear as they’d probably hid nothing from the skimpy look of them on his rug. But now, your sex is glistening at the folds, reddened and swollen with heat, and he almost collapses.

“Help me, Lucius,” you hum and trace your wet fingers upwards in a smooth motion.

His grey eyes follow the wet trail up to your navel, over the soft skin of your belly, over your sternum, and now the way you lazily circle around each of your nipples. His chest tightens, but he can no longer force himself to look away. This entire situation is scandalous and if he were to take this risk, how would anyone other than the two of you know? He knows you brilliant enough to keep your mouth shut about something like this. It would ruin you just as much as himself if word got around.

Lucius whips his robe open and your eyes go wide in amusement. Creamy white skin with dark hairs covering the expanse of his chest and navel before leading a trail underneath the hem of his velvet pajama pants. You cock your head and smile weakly at the protrusion in the center. He’d been hiding it, the way you turn him on, and a deep satisfaction steeps in your belly.

You place your palm on your sex. Excited by the sight of him hardened for you, you feel the need to release yourself; however, Lucius quickly throws a wrench in those plans. He takes your sopping fingers and tosses them away from your mound, and you watch as he kneels on the floor in front of you and pushes your legs further apart.

You can’t hide the amazement in your eyes as he pulls you to the very edge of the desk.

Lucius Malfoy kneeling.

Your mouth waters. So does his.

His eyes devour the glistening between your thighs and his heartbeat quickens with each passing breath. If he does this, there’s no going back. If he doesn’t do this, you’ll both be completely unsatisfied and the awkwardness would linger in the air much longer than the realization of your actions if he were to give in. With your eyes plastered on him, he can’t stop himself from licking his lips. Your body is so intriguing, so divine, and he wants to explore every inch. With quivering lips and unsure thoughts, Lucius’ breath shutters against your warmth before licking a stripe up the wet folds of your cunt. Your head falls back and a rumbling moan escapes your throat. You know this will be so much better than anything you’ve ever experienced in this room.

Your fingers caress his scalp and gingerly gather this long platinum hair into your fists. Your hips buck forward to meet each flip of his tongue. You feel hot all over. Your head, your cheeks, your throat, chest and belly, your thighs and ass pressed hard against the wood, and your very core. Lucius suckles at your clit and it almost sends you overboard. You attempt to pull him away, but he clamps hard enough to earn a yelp before settling back. He lets out a rough chuckle and toys his thumb over the reddened protrusion before slipping down and pressing through your entrance.

You fall back on your elbows and shut your eyes to the ceiling.

“Lucius…”

Remarkable. Is all that come to mind at the way your cunt squeezes around his thumb. With the sound of your ravenous moans in response to this little action, he can hardly imagine what you’d sound like with his cock buried inside of you.

“Fuck me,” you snarl. “Please fuck me, Lucius.”

He knows he can’t ignore your commands any longer. He would be mad if he did. He stands to attention, slipping right out of his garments as he does. His cock pulses as he sucks your juices off his thumb, then uses the same hand to stroke his own ache. He sighs in relief and you watch him align himself. He wastes no time thrusting through your folds and you howl in pain and pleasure.

Perhaps you should have warned him of the truth, but it’s much too late. His cock is tight inside of you, running along the fresh, untouched walls with so much precision. Your breasts ache and your chests burns. Your entrance burns, but you don’t care. You’ve needed this for years, craved it, and now you’ll relish every inch of him.

Something flickers in his eyes when they find yours, shame and lust reflect in them. He can’t believe he’s inside of you, can’t believe he gave in so easily. He hadn’t bothered asking of your prior experience. Truthfully, he didn’t want to know how many men had buried themselves inside this glorious, tight hole of yours. The ridges of your walls had swallowed him whole and he didn’t need to think of any competition because he was already determined to be your best.

Lucius watches you like a hawk, catching the way your hand finds your curls and massages into your scalp. He watches the way your breasts jiggle with each movement of your body against his. He closes his eyes, hoping it’s just a dream. When he opens them again and you’re still there like the delectable woman he now knows you to be.

It’s not long before your chest begins to tighten and the squeeze in your core contracts softly. You know this feeling all too well, Draco had taught you all you knew about the feelings of an orgasm, and you won’t last much longer. Not with Lucius hitting all the right spots and his rutting cock buried so deep inside your very core. Your head spins and the point on the ceiling distorts as you falter back onto your elbows. You feel as if you’re floating and he feels like perfection.

Lucius tries to avoid your eyes, your low and seductive features that have his mind reeling and tethering on the edge of reality. He knows he shouldn’t have given in and that he’ll pay for it every time he sees you going forward. He’ll think about it when his wife returns home, whenever she returns home. He’ll think about it when he sees his son and he’ll scowl at idea that he may have had you in this very position before but never had the balls to go any further. Or maybe he has and Lucius should’ve triple-guessed before delving balls deep into your tight little cunt.

He snarls at the thought and at the sight of your arousal glistening under the golden light along his full length with every pull of his hips. He’s growing sloppier in his thrusts, failing miserably in keeping his groans and grunts at bay as he wished. He can’t have you thinking he’s enjoying himself or that he will be allowing this to happen again. He can’t allow you to bring out this side of him again, messy and bending at your will. Yet, if this will be the last time, he plans to make it memorable for the both of you.

Lucius glides his hand over the plain of your stomach and watches the way your breasts bounce to the rhythm of his thrusting. He’d give anything to be properly buried there, right in the softness of your skin, but he knows this is wrong. But how can it be wrong when his name slipping off your lips sounds as if an angel is calling out for him?

He sneers and squeezes his eyes shut. He tries to imagine a time when his wife loved him enough for this, not from a place of dedication or duty, but just a desperate need to be touched by him. A need for hot, raging, glorious sex. And he almost goes limp at the thought of her.

He opens his eyes and yours are right there, hungry and focused solely on him. Whatever alcohol had dared to poison your liver, dared to overtake your senses has vanished very quickly. Though, he knows you’ve been aware from the moment you’d grasped his robe in the entryway. He knows from the way something like golden fire sparkled in your eyes in all the times you’ve glanced at him when no one was watching over the years.

Something flutters deep in Lucius’ core and he pants loudly at that realization. It drives himself to take a fistful of your hair without thinking it over, and he almost melts when you flash a bright smile that sends him swooning.

Fuck me, Lucius.

The line rings like an echo in his mind.

“Lucius… Kiss me.”

Lucius’ eyes blaze and he rushes his mouth against your plump pink lips on command. Your tongue sweeps over his and his eyes grow wide as yours flutter to a close. The bitterness of whisky and the sweetness of butterscotch that lingers after too many Butterbeers is heavy on your tongue, but you taste just as sweet against him like strawberries underneath. He imagines you downing goblets, tossing them back like a champ. Perhaps the sway of your hips if music were playing throughout the tavern. He knew you to be confident in that way, somehow always socially adept and always the center of attention, even though you denied it.

You sweep your arms around his neck and pull him closer, and just as his thrusts begin to falter, you bring your heels up to his muscled cheeks and drive him in further. A shakily groan floods into the cavern of your mouth and his eyes glow with something you’ve never seen before. Desire? Lust? You don’t know. All you know is that you don’t want him stopping until your orgasm is pulsing all around his long, slender length. You want to feel his warm seed coating your inner thighs and stomach. And as much as you wish to feel him spilling inside of you, his milky semen dripping out of you and growing sticky between your thighs as the night grows to day, you know you can’t allow that. Not now.

With your lips hot against his, Lucius can hardly contain himself. His grip in your curls tighten as he holds your lips to his, swallowing each of your pressing moans whole. He gives you the satisfaction of guiding him deeper until he’s had enough. When he does, he withdraws entirely.

He could explode from the way you appear in front of him, eyes blown, pussy swollen and glimmering at the folds, breasts supple and nipples harder than his cock. Your arousal is all over his length and groin and he can’t take it easy anymore. He grasps your arm and yanks you off the desk. You yelp as he twists you around in one quick motion and ropes one of your knees in his hands to press up against the desk.

A chill runs down your spine and your nipples ache against the coolness of the wood. They’re begging to be relieved, but neither of you can be bothered to do so when the pleasure of Lucius’ cock being buried inside you is much more vital.

He knows the fireplace had done nothing to warm the desk and he relished the sight of you shivering against the chill. He watches the way goosebumps prickle over your skin and the way your ass has become discolored from being pressed against his desk for so long. He gives it a firm smack, which earns yet another whimper from your lips.

He smirks while collecting himself and driving back into you.

With a deafening grunt, he takes your hair back into his fist and places the other on your hip. His own plow against your ass and you whine at the new depths of his cock.

Your cheeks burn at the thought of how wet you are in front of him, for him. Unbelievably pathetic.

Knowing this will end soon feels like absolutely torture and Lucius struggles with that reality with each contraction of your walls. His thrusts remain erratic, but he stopped caring. His hand loosens in your hair and squeezes harder against your hip when your back arches. He catches you taking glimpses of him over your shoulder and chuckles at your desperation. Though, his is just as bad. He’s never known how desperately he needed this from you.

“Perhaps I should’ve left you on your ass.”

“Maybe,” you pant nonchalantly. “At least I would’ve been granted the pleasure of seeing your face when you release.”

He tugs you closer and uses the chair to prop his own leg up before dropping his hand from your hair entirely and lowering it to your jawline. He grasps it hard and you groan against the touch.

“You want to see my face when I release?” He laughs coldly. “Well, here I am.”

He stares into your lidded eyes and smirks at how fucked out and beautiful you look taking his cock.

“You’re good at this, aren’t you?”

It’s a backhanded compliment, but he lets you let it out an exasperated giggle. It rumbles in your throat underneath his hand and drives him mad.

“How many cocks have you taken?”

You blink blankly, surprised by the question, the forwardness. You’re prepared to force out an answer, but his hand tightens around the base of your throat, squeezes just enough to cut off air.

“The truth,” he adds. “Only the truth.”

He loosens his grip a smidge and you gasp the words, “Only yours.”

Lucius’ eyes go grim and he squeezes your throat again. Your cheeks burn hot in embarrassment.

“The truth, Y/n!”

Your core aches at the sound of your name rolling off his tongue and you shiver against him.

“Just yours, Lucius.”

His heartbeat quickens and he draws your lips back to his, forcing himself deeper with the twist. You squirm under the pressure and grasp the edge of the desk for stability as your back arches with each thrust of his hips and his breathing draws shakily against your mouth.

“Y/n,” he grunts. “I… You—your first?”

His eyebrows twitch and his body shivers. A low hum leaves your mouth, completely in tune with the way his body quivers against yours. You focus on the way your own heart begins to race in your chest, a deep thrumming that has you gasping with the tightening inside your core. Your core burns as you hold back your orgasm. You know he’s earned it, but he isn’t there just yet.

Lucius squeezes tighter and you rock your hips back to meet his. His eyes go wide, then roll with a hiss slipping from him mouth simultaneously.

“Shit!”

“Lucius…”

He sneers and slips behind you again, completely withdrawing from your view. He can’t look you in the eyes right now or his load will be buried so deep inside of you that he’ll have a new set of problems on his plate. His wife, his son. He already feels that he isn’t a good enough husband or father. His job at the Ministry is demanding, and you… Merlin, you are going to be the absolute end of him.

He ruts his hips forward in long, hard motions until the only noises filling the study are the sounds of your ass clapping against his groin, the sloppiness of your arousal sticking to his shaft, and your moans drowning out his own. He thrusts and thrusts and thrusts, sinking you down to his balls with each sweep. And your cries…

“Fuck,” he whimpers and shakes at the knees.

He plants both hands on your hips and stares at anything else but your body leaned over his desk, obeying his every command, and rewarding him with its own sweetness.

“Cum for me,” he growls lowly.

Your moans are so loud that you can barely hear the order. You’ve been teetering on the edge for minutes now, barely able to hold your own release back any longer.

“Cum for me now,” he demands. “Or I.. I’ll….”

You rock your hips and Lucius lets out a deafening groan that sends you overboard. Your walls tense around him and your body flushes hot as you milk him dry. He sputters and grasps your ass, your hips, your waist, then with agonizing discipline, he slips out of your squelching warmth and explodes all over you with a roar. Warmth explodes all over your backside, your thighs, your ass, and you collapse on your arms against the desk. Your legs shake terribly and you aren’t sure you’ll be able to stand much longer.

Lucius’s groans stifle into breathy pants and the familiar squeaking of chair behind you fills your ears as he pulls you down into his lap. Your legs almost give out with the action and his eyes are full of nothing but hot rage. He splays your legs apart and clamps his hand over your cunt, feeling the stickiness of your own orgasm between your thighs. He watches you intently, studies you and the way your body shutters softly with his touch. Then, his own need for control returns, washes over him in a powerful wave.

He swirls his fingers just as he’d watched you do, just the way you like it. Your head snaps back, nipples peaking once more and your moan filling his ears with that sweet melody he’ll never forget. He hates how pretty you look when you cry, but he loves how responsive your body is to his every touch.

“Lucius… please…” you pant softly, eyes already rolling.

“I don’t recall saying we were done,” he muses.

His fingers run between your trembling folds and you jerk forward with a breathy howl.

You catch sight of his vile smile as you tremble in overstimulating pleasure and you bite back a demanding moan knowing this is now his own form of torture.

Lucius’ brows raise as he watches you struggle to regain your own control. Just when you think you have it, he lets out a soft sigh. Something along the lines of, “Happy Christmas,” fills your ears in a deep groan just before he plunges his fingers into your needy cunt and takes you all over again, completely reminding you who is always, truly in control.

Please be sure to check out my other latest fanfics:

⚡︎ Keep Me (In the Shadows) (m.) - Draco Malfoy x reader

⚡︎ Lost Love (m.) - Lucien Vanserra x Rhysand x reader

⚡︎ Rain Does Not Fall on One Roof Alone (m.) - Ominis Gaunt x Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ Perfect Storm (m.) - Ominis Gaunt x reader

⚡︎ Untitled (m.) - Sebastian Sallow x Ominis Gaunt x reader

⚡︎ Coffee (Love You a Latte) - Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ Golden - Sebastian Sallow x reader

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

December 2024

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thestralsandthunder · 5 months ago

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New chapter finally up and damn the power I feel at finally updating after so long is really going to my headdddd ⚡️

#ao3 #hp fanfic #cissamione #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #hermione granger #honeyed flowers #narcissa black #the black sisters #thestrals and thunder #hp saffics #hp wlw #hp fanfiction #fanfiction #narcissa x hermione #hermione granger x narcissa black #hermione granger x narcissa malfoy

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cuntrygirlcallista · 1 year ago

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☆ I had to let you know that I got a crush on you..

draco malfoy has a crush on you…

Draco is extremely arrogant so initially he would try and impress you.

Bragging about his home and the lavish, expensive possessions his parents can afford him. It’s not charming at all, it’s actually quite annoying.

He’d have Crabbe and Goyle help him play it up more. They would sing his praises incessantly anytime they saw you. One time you even let them convince you to go see him at Quidditch practice.

It was a nightmare.

While attempting a very daring feat on his broomstick that involved a midair roll, he fell. Luckily Madam Hooch was supervising and was able to save the poor wizard. Seeing you giggling at his misfortune definitely hurt his pride.

Eventually Blaise snitched, even though by then you’d already pieced it all together.

You decided one day at the end of one of his long bragging sessions to finally tell him you knew.

“and Draco” you say haltingly, before walking off making him turn to face you. “The bragging isn’t going to win me over, I prefer gentleman”

After that something finally clicked for the moron. From then on he was as charming as could be. Taking you out on dates, calling you “princess” and surprisingly treating you like one.

You were actually starting to like him

@cuntrygirlcallista

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wordsarelife · 5 months ago

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—the black dog

pairing: theo nott x fem!reader

summary: the war awakes something in theo you hadn't thought was even there. you battle with your feelings of heartbreak, while you try to forget his everlasting presence in your life

warnings: mentions of death, grief, pain and torture. canon typical violence. this is very much heartbreak through and through

note: this isn't exactly what you asked for but your request inspired me to write this. i feel like it was important to highlight the complicated relationship that theo and reader resulted in because of the war.

theo and draco are cousins in this.

"would you please just talk to me?" you screamed. he had been acting weird for a few days now.

at first you hadn't thought anything of it, not at the beginning. it had started with draco, who had been strange since the school year started, staying behind when the rest of you would go somewhere or disappearing in the middle of dinner.

you had tried talking to him, you had grown closer over the time you and theo were together. you had quickly realized that it was hard for draco to build relationships, partly because he wasn't sure how and partly because he was scared of being left.

you had done a pretty good job at showing him that you were going nowhere and that he, even if theo and you should break up one day, would still be your friend.

you had thought that it had something to do with his parents. he didn't mention them often and you had only met them once, during a visit to the manor for a festivity during the winter break of the fifth year. you admitted that you didn't know them well, but it was easy enough for you to judge narcissa malfoy and the connection she had to her son. the love that kept her from ever risking something happening to him.

whatever was going on with him, his mother was well informed and probably already searching for a solution.

but draco had made it clear to you that he wanted to be left alone and you didn't push him to tell you more, just comforted him whenever he would let you or pansy.

his weird behavior had been a constant throughout the entire year, until the point where it had influenced mattheo and enzo to act just as suspiciously and if you thought it couldn't get worse, you had been wrong.

"i can't" theo muttered between clenched teeth, and you tried to look at his face as he frantically turned away from you.

"is it about harry? is it about something he said to draco? did he say something to you?"

harry and the rest of your gryffindor friends were normally a topic you strictly avoided when in company of the slytherins and especially draco. you didn't agree on the childish rivalry they had going on and rather just kept out of that. but now that you thought about it, harry had been acting just as strange as draco had since the beginning of the year.

"potter doesn't matter, y/n" theo pressed his hands on both your shoulders, scaring you with the look on his face.

"let me help you, love" you tried to not let it affect you, to not let the fear shine through your voice and honestly, you weren't scared of him, but of what would happen to the boy you loved so desperately it felt like breathing.

"you can't" theo shook his head. "but you have to get ouf of the castle immediately, promise it to me"

"what? why should i--"

"you have to promise it" theo repeated louder, desperate and teary eyed as he stared at you like you had already died.

the threatening war had made it harder to overlook the differences between you and the slytherins. you were a pureblooded witch, but definitely didn't share the same views about blood purity your friends did.

"okay" you cooed, taking him into your arms. "i promise, i promise anything you want"

theo didn't leave much room for questions when he told you to get off the hogwarts grounds and apparate home to your parents a few minutes later. you were scared and confused, as you watched the fear in his eyes flame up at whatever was coming. there was something he was not telling you and it simply broke your heart, knowing that he had to go through it alone.

you weren't sure what took over you, when you heard a familar laugh, one that was so earth shattering and haunting, you couldn't help but dash back into the castle, despite what you had promised your boyfriend, his name repeating over and over again in your mind.

you took two stairs at once, sprinting up the tower, wand in hand and ready to jump to theo's defense.

"you made mummy so proud, boys" bellatrix said and you wanted to throw up at the tone in her voice. you could just imagine enzo and mattheo, or what was left of them, looking at their mother, not one bit of love or familiarity on their face. just fear.

before you could climb the rest of the stairs, a hand grabbed you, pulling you to the side, behind old school supplies. the persons other hand was pressed onto your mouth and your eyes grew big until you noticed harry, stoic expression, not amused at seeing you.

"harry" you muttered relieved.

"what are you doing here?" harry whispered, not caring for the fear in your voice or the intent you had had coming up here in the first place.

before you could answer, bellatrix spoke once again.

"your boy has surely made you proud too, nott" she giggled. "just like our draco will make his parents in just a few minutes"

your eyes went up to the floor above you like your own name had been called. it wasn't even theo she had called by the name and still you could just imagine his slumped down shoulders and sickly expression. the same he had been spotting these past few days.

harry watched you closely, as if to make sure you would keep quiet, before his eyes turned back up too.

“do it” bellaxtrix hissed at draco, who had raised his wand at dumbledore.

harry and you exchanged glances, before he too, raised his wand. you gripped on his arms tightly, shaking your head at him.

“we can’t” you mouthed.

“dumbledore” harry whispered. you shook your head again, tears spilling over your cheeks.

your eyes left harry and wandered back through the floorboards. you couldn’t see theo, enzo, and mattheo, but draco was clearly shaking in fear and you couldn’t help but be worried about him.

“draco” bellaxtrix encouraged once more “do it!”

“he’s not brave enough, bellatrix” notts voice rang out sounding as triumphantly as possible. you heard movement on the floor, a pair of dark shoes stepping forward and you wondered what nott was planning to do, when your heart suddenly stopped beating.

“avada kedavra” a voice muttered, wand raised and aimed at dumbledore, who fell backwards so slowly as if time had stopped.

harry gripped your arm, your body still frozen, as your eyes stayed focused on notts shoes. theodore notts shoes. not his father. theo, your theo.

theo had just killed dumbledore.

one part of you wanted to scream, jump into the open and scream at him or bellatrix or all the people a few steps above you, but the other part, the unstoppable dread, was aching to hide away from all of it, to just go and never come back.

how could you ever look at him again after what you had just witnessed? would he still be the same after he had done something like this? you couldn’t. he wouldn’t. your heart ripped open.

“y/n” harry whispered, pushing you back to hide the both of you behind some old astronomy maps. footsteps descended down the stairs and out of the tower and you felt like you could breathe again once he had left.

you sank to your knees immediately. harry still watched the space around you, not sure if you were entirely safe yet.

someone ran up the stairs. harry tried grabbing you to push you back behind the old things, to shield you from whoever was coming back and trying to finish the job.

it was snape and harry felt relieved for the first time upon seeing the teacher. he didn’t fully trust him, but dumbledore did. also, snape was a far better option than any of the death eaters.

snapes eyes jumped between harry and you on the ground, before they turned to look up the stairs.

“they’re gone” harry said, voice raised to drown out your sobbing, before he bent down once more and helped you back onto your feet. he pulled you close, to bring you comfort and shield your tear spilled face from snape's penetrating gaze.

harry wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but he could almost see a bit of pity in snape’s eyes, when the man watched you stand on your shivering legs, only held up by harry, as if your body was too heavy to stand on it’s own.

it was just suddenly that the meaning of snape's presence painted a clear picture in your mind. narcissa malfoy hadn't found a solution, no she had found something that was even better: a substitute, someone to step in, when draco would ultimately fail upon the task he had been given.

and tiberius nott had done the same, only that he had proudly sold out his son instead of sparing his life.

you threw off harry’s arms, walking across the room, step by step, until you were standing in front of the teacher, ready to bash his head in.

“you are too late” you cried, not caring if spit or tears or anything else fell onto his robes. you stabbed a finger to his chest. “it’s your job to help. why didn’t you help him?” you cried.

snape furrowed his brows in confusion. “draco?” he asked in his normal tone, but a little bit of surprise broke through. just like you had thought. not even snape had held draco for capable of fulfilling his task.

you shook your head. slowly, bitterly. It was unfair that you had to say his name, that you had to recapture the event like a missed quidditch game, that snape had been late enough to miss it, but perfectly on time to watch your life fall apart.

you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. couldn’t even mutter the name that had been the most beautiful thing to you these past years, there was nothing left. no meaning behind those letters and still you couldn’t do it. “nott” you said.

it was over.

“nott?” snape repeated, as if he was daring you to finally say what you had been dreading.

“junior” harry muttered. you turned your head at him and he looked down on his shoes, as if he was ashamed you had heard him.

“surprisingly unexpected” snape noted, like you had been discussing the weather.

“what?” you muttered, your voice strained.

“y/n” harry said softly and you could hear him coming closer. you broke apart from snape, slapping his hand away when he tried reaching for your arm in an unusual caring manner.

“you failed him” you spit at him, before you stormed out of the tower, harry hot on your heels.

bellaxtrix and the rest of the deatheaters, were jumping down the grass path to hagrids hut. following behind them were draco, enzo, mattheo and finally theo, who stepped out of the castle as last.

they had probably strolled through the halls, bringing their inevitable destruction into the home you had grown to love and cherish.

harry and you had watched them from the side of the entryway, dried tears on your cheeks and the anger taking over the pain that had tightened your chest. you loved him, but you couldn't believe that he had had no choice.

killing someone was not debatable.

you had watched in susprise when theo had not been there with them, but your surprise had been quickly taken over by even more anger, when he finally strolled through the door, hands in his pockets, like he was talking a late evening stroll.

your hand wept forward without so much as a thought, gripping the material of his tie and yanking him back.

theo made a gurgling sound, briefly breathless, and it was only his surprise that allowed you to measure up enough strength to effectively pull him back. that and your anger.

harry helped you as he pushed theo against the wall, wand at his throat.

theo took a big breath as soon as you let go of his tie, his eyes widened in surprise as he completely ignored harry and only looked at you, your face cast with shadows of the darkness in the creeping night and the regret that was so evident it only pained him further.

"didn't i tell you to go home?" it didn't surprise you that there was still a hint of superiority in his voice, even if it had faltered tremendously.

"you knew about all of it, didn't you?" you asked instead.

"y/n" theo sighed, in a tone as if he was inspecting a failed task for a homework you hadn't been able to finish. "i can explain"

"i don't think you should" you muttered and you were doing your best to not let the look of helplessness that now entered his face break your heart any further. "i just think i speak for the both of us, when i say that it's over"

"y/n" theo pleaded, pushing against harry's hold to try and reach for you. you stepped back and harry pushed the tip of his wand deeper into theo's neck.

you shook your head, not having it in you to look at him, before you turned around. "do what you have to do" you left the two of them alone, knowing that harry was just waiting to punish theo for killing one of the most important people to him.

you couldn't muster up the courage to even care about what would happen to him. your anger at snape had evaporated as fast as it had come. theo had it in him to kill and snape's late arrival changed nothing about that.

the person you had loved died together with the headmaster.

everything had been lost the moment he had muttered the curse, leaving behind a hurricane of feelings in your heart, but no one left to love in this world.

you did not waste another thought for him, pushing his name so far away from your mind, you almost forgot about him completely.

but a three-year relationship wasn't just consisting of memories, but of habits too and you found yourself thinking about possibilities in the dead of night.

possibilities that you had thought to be endless before, but of which was only one left now.

what if theo hadn't killed dumbledore?

your friends were clearly worried about you. hermione and ginny never left you alone during your stay in the burrow or during the nights, which had to have been the most haunting. the time were you most experienced his loss, as nightmares were plaguing your mind and fear was taking over your senses, feeling like you had made a mistake with theo. even if your friends and the weasleys said something different.

it was the same restlessness that lead to you following hermione, ron and harry on an adventure that was trying to fulfill an impossible task.

but there was no hope left if you didn't at least try what had been asked of you and you were smart enough to realize that.

even though you were always together, the time you were on the road seemed to be the most lonely you had ever felt and you found yourself thinking more about theo than you had wanted to.

none of your friends dared to say anything to you the next morning, when you would call out his name in your dream, always asking yourself what had happened, and if he was even still alive.

your question was answered in a different way than you had liked, when your group was discovered by deatheaters and brought back to malfoy manor, where not only draco and the malfoys, but theo was staying too.

you hadn't seen him at first, down in the dungeon. but surely they had come to get hermione, bringing her back a few hours later, scarred and crying for mercy as she fell into ron's arms.

it took another hour to call for the other female friend of harry potter.

"the other?" you could draco's voice ask when you were dragged up the stairs and through the halls.

"what other?" it was theo's voice that was now speaking, fear and dread overweighing the curiosity.

the door flew open and five people turned around to gain a look at you.

narcissa and lucius malfoy were sitting in obnoxious chairs, spotting similiar looks of surprise and interest.

bellatrix was hanging over the back of narcissa's chair. her hands pressing down on her younger sister's shoulders, squeezing them as if she was excited.

narcissa suddenly seemed less content, as she heard the similar gasps coming from her sons and nephew's mouths.

draco and theo were staring at you wide-eyed. their faces pale and painfully twisted as they recalled what had happened with harry potter's other friend just hours before.

"oh" bellatrix quirked up when the unknown death eater threw you to the floor and theo and draco dashed forward at the same time to try and catch you, before they were held back by the black haired witch. "do you happen to know her?"

your eyes were fixated on the doors behind you, which fell close with a loud thud as the deatheater who had brought you disappeared.

"no" draco and theo mustered up to stutter at the same time.

you send a glare across the room. it meant nothing, those two were only shells of the boys you had once known. but the innocence had been drained from them like a well run dry in a relentless drought.

"what are we going to do with you?" bellatrix smiled, stepping away from the chair and walking around your body on the floor.

narcissa reached for theo's arm, when he was about to drag bellatrix away from you.

you averted your eyes. not giving her the satisfaction to see the fear in them.

bellatrix looked through your act immediately. "she's a tough one" she noted and her expression of admiration changed to a malicious grin as she saw theo close his eyes.

"you do it" she laughed excitedly, stepping forward and pulling theo into the middle of the room.

"bellatrix, please" narcissa said, not even bothering to stand up and stop her sister from her attempt.

"what, cissy?" bellatrix asked. "you don't think she should be punished for stealing?"

"stealing what?" your voice made bellatrix turn around dramatically.

"would you look at that!" she gushed "the girl can speak!"

"yes" you nodded "and the girl can even tell you that she stole nothing"

"lie" bellatrix giggled and you had to admire her persistence, while the playful tone in her voice kept you on edge, always waiting for the moment she would break into an insanely loud scream.

you had heard not only hermione's cries, but bellatrix' screams from the dungeon. that gave a measure to how loud she was able to scream. and how she could torture until there was nothing left of the person you had once been.

"atta boy!" bellatrix encouraged theo, as she pushed him closer, until he was standing just a few feet from your body.

you wouldn't beg for their mercy. you would die without feigning any regret. if bellatrix really thought you stole something from her, you were glad she was torturing you instead of harry, who was much more important for everything coming after.

you could afford to die so early into the war. you were of no importance for the safety of the wizarding world.

you looked up at theo. the blue of his eyes mixed together with the tears that were already spilling over the edges.

"it shouldn't be hard" you said, voice hoarse and strained. you had been apart for almost ten months and he was still creating a lump in your throat, he was standing for everything that had been lost.

theo exchanged a glance with draco, almost as if begging him to take his place.

"bellatrix, this is madness" narcissa said, a bit stricter now, as if her simple words could really change the mind of someone who had already decided to embrace the madness her sould had been corrupted by.

"oh, cissy" bellatrix giggled "how will he learn? just another step on the path he must take to be granted the honour of the dark lord"

"do it" you said to theo, ignoring what bellatrix was babbling about.

"i can't—“ theo looked back at narcissa, talking to her rather than you.

"do it!" you repeated, louder this time.

"she even wants him to" bellatrix noted, clear amusement in her voice. she was almost excited to find out more about the conflict between you and her nephew.

"she's a pureblooded witch" theo turned to bellatrix, now trying to convince her himself. "she's one of us"

"i'm not" you protested, but bellatrix ignored you, stepping forward and touching theo's cheek softly with the pocket knife that she had taken from her robes, dripping in blood. hermione's blood probably.

"i thought you didn't know her" bellatrix mused "but the knowledge about her blood status suggests otherwise" theo gulped and before he was ready to say something, bellatrix has dragged the weapon across his cheek with one quick gesture, leaving a bleeding cut.

theo looked down quickly, as if to hide his injury from you, but he hadn't missed the gasp of air you had taken, scared that the woman had planned to kill him.

bellatrix stepped back next to her sister. "go on boy, don't make auntie bella angry" she threatened, playing with the knife in her hand.

not even narcissa dared to say something.

"just kill me" you told theo, when he raised his eyes to look at you once more, wand still losely hanging to the side. "you know how to"

"y/n" theo muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

"it doesn't matter" you shook your head. "just do it" you closed your eyes, ready for the stream of the green curse to take over your body and future.

theo did not raise his wand.

"kill me" you said loudly, unforgiving, almost screaming. you opened your eyes to look at your tormentors. apart from bellatrix none of them looked like they were particularly enjoying what was happening.

bellatrix’s eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction as if she was savoring the power she held over theo. narcissa’s face was a portrait of conflicted emotions, torn between her loyalty to her sister and her love for her son and nephew. lucius’s gaze darted nervously between the scene unfolding before him, as if hoping for some resolution to the madness. draco was crying and trying to swallow the breaths that were tempting him to throw up right on his aunt's feet.

and theo? theo was rather keen on killing himself than doing you any harm.

you were less forgiving. "kill me like you killed dumbledore!" you screamed, tears falling on the floor in front of you, as your voice echoed off the cold stone walls. the anger in your voice was raw, pure, and unfiltered. theo flinched at the words, his face paling further, if that was even possible. the weight of your demand seemed to crush him, making it even harder for him to act.

you were so indescribably angry. but not at what he had done to you, but rather what he had done to himself. and that in it alone was the reason you would never forgive him.

he had ruined what you had loved. he had killed the person you had loved the most and you had nothing left to care about what would happen to you.

maybe it was his punishment that he had to be the one to kill or torture you.

theo’s grip on his wand faltered as he looked at you with a mixture of horror and heartbreak. he seemed to be struggling not just with what he was being asked to do, but with the shattered remnants of the person he used to be.

bellatrix’s patience wore thin, her frustration evident as she waved her wand dismissively. “enough of this pathetic display,” she sneered, her voice dripping with venom. “the boy is clearly too weak for this task.”

“no!” theo shouted, his voice cracking. “i can’t— i won’t—” his wand dropped to the floor, clattering against the stone with a finality that seemed to reverberate through the room.

the room erupted into chaos as bellatrix’s fury reached its peak. she turned on theo with a rage that was almost as palpable as your own pain. narcissa tried to intervene, her voice pleading, but it was clear that the darkness had already taken hold.

but before she was able to mutter a curse, to torture or kill theo right in front of your eyes, harry, ron and hermione came running in the room, wands raised they started firing spells.

it took you a moment longer to get up. you and theo held eye contact, the boy just a crumpled mess on the floor in front of you. you reached out your hand and took his wand, disarming bellatrix, who began screaming.

the fight was short and unforgiving as the malfoys were throwing spells. draco was struggling to keep up with harry's quick movements and theo did not even make an attempt to stand up. instead he kept his eyes trained on you.

dobby appeared suddenly, calling you to him to bring you to safety, after he had let a chandelier fall onto bellatrix who had held a knife to hermione's throat.

you stepped forward once more, kneeling in front of theo, who looked up at you with curiosity, just hoping you would be taking him with you.

"i will never forgive you" you muttered instead and all hope left his face and heart. you healed the cut on his cheek with a move of his own wand. "you should've killed me and maybe i could've been able to"

you did not look back again as you ran across the room to your friends. you just left him there, on the ground in malfoy manor, as you took dobby's hand and followed your friends into the uncertain.

one heart shattering realisation left with you that day.

theo's gaze would haunt your nightmares. but the possibility of his death would haunt your dreams, as you could only forgive him if he didn't survive.

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