Oh gosh, I am just terrible at updating, I know. But I made this one longer than I usually write to make up for it, hah. A few notes on this before I shut up haha.

This is my first time writing any sort of fan fic in first person, as opposed to third person as I am used to. I do hope I captured who Draco became during his time after the death of Dumbledore, and before the War. I'm not 100% satisifed with how I wrote him, but eh, I never will be haha

And most importantly: this is a (late) birthday present to my friend Jo. :D I would probably have taken even longer to write it if I hadn't wanted to finish it for her. And the little "suprise" in here is something I normally wouldn't do, but I wrote it just for her. ;) Happy belated birthday, Randy !hahah I love you, and I do hope you enjoy this lmao.

Oh, and to everyone else: just a warning, there are some rather unethical/odd forms of sex in here so...you are warned haha.

There is a sudden moment of uncertainty, as I stand in my bedroom doorway, which in itself is an allegory between this pristine moment of innocence and the impending time of heedless curiosity, where I feel guilt smothering me to the point of suffocation. But the feeling annihilates itself quickly enough, and I slink out of the door, through the arcane hallways of Malfoy Manor.

My stomach feels hot and full, yet also strangely empty, as if a balloon has recently been inflated inside of me. My steps are careful and timed, but I feel like a man urged into his first classical waltz, inadequate and foolish, a dunce. The walk to my destination is an excruciatingly long one, and I am somewhat thankful for this. It gives me time to ponder what this great, grandiose box of a house has supplemented me with for the seventeen years of my life.

And I come to the conclusion that it is not much. Empty, trivial words planted within me by the Lord and his Lady, my dear parents, the wooden occupants of this gilded doll house. Pretty boxes brimming with insubstantial playthings; a child's life, a cloud of golden cauldrons and shiny mahogany brooms that rained upon me. It blinded me.

I have swept all of those childish occupancies into the rubbish bin; I no longer have the desire to dwell upon such vapid possessions. They are meaningless to me. My father does not understand this at all. He still collects his pretty objects and trinkets, hoping, in delusive thinking, that he can create the facade of a greater man than he truly is. The Dark Lord is not won by crystal goblets or caviar on toast points, though. She knows this, as she has so pompously reminded me.

Her. Bellatrix Lestrange. The smirking, slinking panther that is my Aunt. She who I go to now like a suicide being sowed in by the reaper.

She, who disgusts me with her outright bawdiness, yet reels me in to the point of adulation at her loyalty, her charm, her aura. She is the only hope this family has. I sniffed that out long ago, and have since been slowly simmering in the stew of her aphrodisiac bait.

Her desire to devour me has been no secret since her arrival here two years ago. I have watched her, just as she watches me like a jungle cat circling a sizable meal. Her eyes feel like acid rain on me sometimes. I cower in her presence. Yet she fascinates me in inexplicable ways:

She presented me last Christmas with the hollowed out skull of a former house elf. It was painted red, and reeked of foulness. It now sits upon the mantel of the fireplace in my bedroom, empty eye sockets reminding me nightly of what an abysmal yet exquisite creature my Aunt is.

And when I came of age, she found it most appropriate, most amusing to give me a vial of inky black potion, wrapped in animal skins and tied off with the tail of a Manticore (I don't even want to know how she came about that) which she only told me I should take for the time when "your sweet cock is ready." I shoved it under my bed, but I am thinking maybe now a swallow would have done me good for what I am about to do.

All too soon, all too late, I am in front of her bedroom door, my hand clenched around the doorknob like a large, shaky insect. I push it open in a sudden rush of courage. She does not believe in knocking nor in privacy; she keeps her door shut to please my mother, to shield her from the abstruse acts committed within her room, acts my mother deafens herself to.

The room feels heavy, cold, a great corpulence of premonitions. I am suddenly aware of the fact that my Aunt's bedroom is the only room in the house I have never set foot inside of. It is not a pretty room; bones of small animals are scattered about one side of the floor, and there is a sickeningly cloying scent of cauldron smoke and wine.

She is sprawled upon the bed, the only adequate item in the room. She is reading a yellowed book, and as I creep closer, I catch the word vivisection etched onto the cover in gaudy gold script. Leave it to my Aunt, to immerse herself in sweet bedtimes tales of spliced animals.

I clear my throat, feeling like a great statue in a barren field. Her book drops, and her face awakens with delight.

"Draco! What a pleasant surprise. I've been wondering when you would come to me."

Her voice feels like a peal of flames licking my spine. My knees quiver. I am aware that my hands are shaking, as she crawls across the bed on her knees. She is wearing a black robe of silk that brings to mind spiders and ardent fingers. It doesn't do a very good job of what it was intended for; I can spy the heavy slope of a breast, topped off with a flushed cerise nipple. She makes no attempt to conceal this faux pas.

She slides off of the bed, feet slapping the floor, and advances on me. I notice her lips are painted the color of mulberries, and I find this unsettling for some inexplicable reason. It doesn't look quite right.

"Not a child anymore, are we, my dear one?" She cuts into my thoughts like a butter knife, dull and ineffectively. She has my attention the next second though, when her hand latches between my legs, yanking and prodding.

"Such a shame I could not be here to watch you become a man. Or to...teach you." She laughs erotically, suggestively at this.

"But those are, of course, the sacrifices I proudly gave up for our Master. And you, sweet one, must be prepared to do the same. But that is all talk for an allocated night. Tonight, we play. As we both know we have wanted to for quite some time."

I watch that red tongue slither over her top lip briefly, and feel a bout of anger when it disappears into the recesses of her mouth. I want that tongue, I suddenly realize, I want it licking every crevice of my body; I want it to stamp and lick me in a way that I become her possession.

Her eyes are breaking me; my outer covering is starting to crack in rapid speed, and a new entity is emerging. I can label it as desire.

Unconsciously, my hand drifts to the opening of her robe, sliding over velvety skin, probing the gaunt flatness of her belly, down to meet the slippery folds of her cunt. My nail scrapes inside fleetingly, but she hisses and throws my hand back like wind.

"Not so quickly, precious. You will never learn to be a man, if you let childish wants come first. Tell me, Draco, do you like to stand on the edge of a knife? Sometimes...letting your foot teeter ever so slightly? And does the feel of the serrated metal on your flesh arouse you? Do you...hunger for tainted, rotten indulgences?" Laughter, like stones in a glass. Her eyes are ripping me. They have turned as thin as needles.

I tremble, instinctively, as she advances on me, but doesn't pounce, instead ruffling my hair, addling my mind: am I a toy, to be thrashed upon playtime, and disposed of when I can no longer provide adequate titillation? Or am I simply a pliable lump of clay, to be shaped into a hollow figure that will sit upon a pedestal for her to smirk at? I don't want to find out.

"You want to have a woman, sweet one? You want to play with pretty objects and see what lust can bring you? Very well. You are a big man after all, aren't you precious?" She spits words at me. I can't fathom what changed her mood from lust to scorn in so short time.

She backs onto the bed, playfully, like a child catching daddy long legs. I only hope she does not start to pull my legs off. Because I know she could.

"Sit, precious."

I don't move. I want her, oh dearest God in the skies, most wretched demons in the earth beneath, I want my own Aunt. It's what I came for though, isn't it, I keep repeating in my mind, as I watch the pallid flash of her hand slip under the robe, fingers wiggling at me, childish giggles like a rusty bell pealing from her throat.

Yes, I want her. But she can wait; I can wait. What is ten minutes, an hour, when we have been waiting months to destroy each other? Besides, she seems so eager to show me things, teach me, before I can devour her.

"Did I not tell you to sit, precious?" There is a minute flash, and her wand is projected at my face. I sit down hard, spitefully, in the mahogany chair across from her bed.

"Callow child you are. Weren't you ever taught to respect your elders? It isn't very respectful, dear one, to indulge yourself first, now is it? You want to fuck me, Draco? You want to shove that pretty cock of yours down my throat, in my cunt, or even up my arse? Oh, don't be so inane as to deny it, precious, for what else would you have come to me for in the night? You desire me. That is obvious enough. But before you can spurt your cum in my face, you need a lesson in how a woman pleases herself. I'm sure the little girls you frolic and caper with at school have taught you nothing. You are no virgin, Draco, in the scientific sense; it would be incredulous to even ponder on that thought. But to me you are a little boy who dipped his prick in a vat of milk and honey; you know nothing but safety, comfort. Coming to your Auntie Bella to quench your desires may destroy you...or, if you keep your cock to yourself until Auntie says so, you might very well discover the acme of titillation."

I hear the house-elf turning logs in the fire the floor below. The room has become a dungeon. What did I expect, really, coming to Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted murderess and Azkaban escapee? Coddling? Light cloying kisses along my neck? Of course not. She is naught but the human form of Ophiophagus hannah, the King Cobra, or Queen, in her case.

Oh, I know how she slithers around her prey, coiling around it's brain and squeezing, squeezing every last drip of rationality and propriety into a glass vial, which becomes her venom. I look at her and all I can see is a forked tongue, darting and tasting the ripeness of me, aware that I am ready, after months and months and years of preparation. I am prepared for complete consumption by her wicked, seething carnality.

She does not wait for any retort to her lightning cloud of speech; she has instead edged back onto her bed, her craggy fingernails making spidery movements around the opening of her robe. I watch, a foolish rodent frozen in the charms of it's predator, as she peels the fabric off completely.

There are funny thoughts and words drifting in and out of my mind, as my eyes fall in a line down her naked skin. Words like nefarious and dripping and swallow pound against my brain, and I keep thinking yesyesyesopenopenyourlegsauntie, let me SEE, let me IN. But I do not say anything, and sit, like a child, in blissful splendor. I think of Pansy Parkinson, and how soft she was, a bit like dough, really; she wasn't at all sharp and solid and full of angles like Bella is. Bella, the serpent, alert even when shed of her skin, keen on sniffing the fear right out of her prey.

She pulls a pillow towards her, lips curled like a coil tight around her mouth. I imagine her tongue again, red and wet, possibly even forked, hissing at me. But she is mounting the pillow now, spreading her cunt to me, wiggling her fingers in an impish little wave, and I forget how serpentine she can be.

I see a spectrum of wet pink colors, a strip of pubic hair as rampant and sooty colored as the hair on her head, and a ghostly finger, rubbing as fast as if she is erasing something, over her erect clit.

My eyes, those deceitful means of sight, they trail up her body and suck in what they see. I do not think it possible, even if I were Obliviated in a moment's time, to scrape away the image of this pulchritudinous woman, shed of every layer of metaphorical skins, raw and naked in front of me. Her blood runs through the veins in my hands, there are shadows and hints of her in my face, but we will never be the same, we are related yet there is nothing of her that is in me. She is not, cannot be mortal, and I am merely a sack of flesh and bones that pretends to be something human.

I want to watch her, to know what it is to see the world turn golden and unleash splendor I have never imagined, but what I am, merely a human boy, deceives my wishes. I am still flesh, and the most abominable, the most wickedly, brilliantly crafted flesh on me is growing hard beneath my hands.

She is grinning at me still, like a panther, and even as she is slamming her cunt furiously into the pillow, her clit larger and more cerise in color than I thought possible for a woman, she is noiseless. Yet I know she is close to coming, the way her eyes widen and hook onto my face, and her lips soundlessly open and close. She stops abruptly, though. Her hand is pulling something out from under her bedcovers, a scrap of material like liquid, something slinky and full of swirled lace. Her knickers.

She tosses them across to me, still unwavering in the chair. I haven't an inkling what she wants me to do with them. But, cunt still spread open to me, eyes like a snake ready to strike, she tells me to, 'Fuck them, precious. Rub your cock on your Auntie's knickers like a dutiful nephew, now." And I know she is getting off on this, the entire idea of something that is a part of her spurting a part of me into her underwear, so she can collect it, savor it.

And it is erotic to me as well; thinking her cunt was aligned with this piece of material in my hands, that this cloth touched her everywhere I want to invade.

My cock is out, and her knickers are bunched around it in a whir of seconds; I am watching, as she stands up suddenly, arse bent over as she leans to pull something from under the bed. Black lacquer and silver, a serpents head. My father's cane.

I am too full of heady, hot feelings of arousal to be revolted that an object of my father's is being used as means of sexual indulgence on my Aunt, who is my own means of fantasy.

She is laying back now, slithering across the bed, legs open, knees bent upwards. That shadow, that mold of wickedly grinning lips is still upon her face, as she shoves the metal snake head inside of herself. And now she is not so soundless, there are echoes of a moral being spilling out of her as she shrieks, and my hand is pumping and thrusting her knickers over the head of my cock all the while, and things are moving fast. She is watching me still, her nipples are cerise and like knives; I think they are hard enough to shatter glass. And she is still thrusting the snake head in and out of herself, the metal shiny and actually dripping from her own arousal.

I think she is going to strike now; her eyes cannot be any more lustful, she smells like the grass and the earth, and the grooves of the ornamental snake head are scraping inside of her, and there is a quiver and a twisty, skating feeling in my belly, and I am spurting gobs of come into her knickers, she is shrieking like a banshee, I think I am part of her, I think we have twisted together and we are now gliding along the ground, devouring our prey and sinking venomous fangs into soft notions; we are poisoned.

Our breath is like a fog, it has clouded our hearing for the time being, and neither of us have heard silk slippers pad into the room; there is a shift of air in the room, and another form is in here with us.

Bella, a heap of limbs that are oddly blotchy and sticky with sweat, my father's cane resting between her legs, looks up. Her face breaks, then comes together again. That fiendish smile is sliding back in place, and I don't want to look, to know who could cause this caprice in attitude. I know though.

My father. Crumpled and poorly reconstructed since his escape from Azkaban. I see him now as a casing emptied and filled hurriedly back up with remnants of a soul, of humanity. He is the same on the outside, but he is ripped apart inside.

There is a predatory look in his eye that he is not bothering to conceal. I think it has always been there...he was just more skilled and apt to hide it. He is swallowing the picture of Bella looking like a black angel, wingless and amorous. I don't think he has noticed me yet. There are too many shadows.

"Dear, dear Bella; here I was, fast asleep, when I awoke and found myself fancying a spot of brandy. And the noises I heard! Well, I thought for a second we had an unaccounted , randy ghoul living with us! But I should have known, my dear, oversexed sister in law would be up at this hour...and with my cane, nonetheless!" He clicks his tongue. "Tsk, tsk, Bella. Fingers aren't providing for you these days? Oh, but you could have just said! I'd be more than pleased to extend a helping appendage of my own!"

I think I am going to choke; Bella's knickers fall from my hands like a tissue. They sound like an anvil hitting a block of cement when they touch the floor. I want to shove my cock back into my pants, but every noise, every movement, is a scream of exposure. I can't imagine my father being particularly pleased, when he himself has slunk in here with a head full of lust, to find his son getting off in front of his Aunt.

But it turns out I am wrong.

He spots me. Glass is breaking and my face feels red as blood. My hand is still limply latched onto my cock.

"Draco! Why, this is a rather eventful night, isn't it?" He sounds thrilled, almost amusingly so, like a child discovering a Galleon amongst their school things.

"She's gotten you too, then, has she?" His tone is mocking, but amused. I don't want to be equal with him. I don't want him looking at her with the same eyes as me. But God, I still want her, and she doesn't seem the least bit fazed to have an intruder on our little escapade.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Draco." My face must be portraying signs of confusion. "Azkaban has not blinded me. I've seen you two looking at each other, like the incestuous little snakes you are, coiling around and around tighter and tighter and now you are devouring each other. Tell me, my dear son, is she still tight, after Merlin knows how many cocks she's taken? Have you perhaps, found some spell to reshape how loose you have become, dear Bella?"

I want to strike him. He hasn't any right to suggest anything of the sort to his wife's sister. But Bella merely looks amused, and smirks like a child.

"Would it sate your curiosity if you were to have me, Lucius? Would my little affair with Draco here not reach the ears of my husband, of my sister, of the Dark Lord, if I let you fuck me?" His face is a rock, but it's starting to crack. He blinks.

"Twenty-five years of pretending you had only your wand in your pocket every time you looked upon me, dear brother-in-law. Yes, I can see how it might break a man."

She is dancing around him now, tip toeing and giggling, and I think that the sound might crack my skull. She keeps chanting, youwantit, youwantit, iknowyoudoiknow and her shrill knife like laughter is bleeding out my ears; I want to vomit.

"Oh, ickle Draco here wants daddy to make up his mind now. Can't keep the young cock waiting, now can we Lucius? Don't won't the poor boy to hurt himself, hmm?"

She has stopped her little parade, and stands firmly, breasts jutting out, pebble like nipples almost touching my father's arm. I want to draw her back, further, in a shadow, into a dark place. I want to hide her. I don't want him looking at her, I don't want him hardening for her. But his eyes are like hooks, and he is slowly pulling her towards him, hands on her arse, her shrieking, me shaking.

"Draco, don't just stand there precious! Come have your Auntie proper, and don't mind your father! He's not going to be here all the time, now!" I fear she might start up her chant again if I don't come to her, so I do. I want her anyways; it would be futile to deny that.

And I forget my father, and his hands, like flighty, mad spiders wriggling over her breasts, as I stand behind her, my hands touching her skin for the first time properly. I run a finger down the crevice of her buttocks, and she shivers, I feel her quake under my touch. I am thinking how I want to coil up inside of her, slither and poison her with my come, squeeze her in a death grip. I smell her hair, nose pressed against the frizzy nest, and it smells like a mixture of the garden outside, dirt and green things, but there is smoke, something red and sinful that I sniff out as well.

I kiss her shoulders, down her back, I don't even notice my father hardly, as my lips crawl down the backs of her legs. I bite her heel, and she shrieks like a stuck pig, but I can see the smile becoming part of her face again, and I bite the other heel.

I think how when I had first entered this room on this instantaneous evening, I wanted her tongue on me, in me, part of me. But I can't stop myself from making wet trails over all that bare skin, it seems such a waste not to. I am kissing under her arse now, licking her cunt from behind, and I wallow in the taste of her. She tastes like poison, sweetened with sugar. It's the most delicious thing I have ever tasted.

My father, still latched onto her breasts, is making noises I pray to forget, as Bella pulls him out of his pants, nails scratching like rusty forks.

My tongue is deep in her now, I feel as if I have cut it off and buried it inside of her. When my nose bumps into her clit, she makes noises that are for the most part, unintelligible. She is actually dripping onto my face, and I feel like a layer of glaze has been painted over it. I nudge harder at her, and she let's out a noise that I cannot name, something like a cross between a freight train and a cat being devoured by a rat. It frightens me. But my cock has thrust up even higher, I notice.

Standing up, feeling like everything inside of me is going to slowly drip out through every orifice, I brush my father aside. He makes no noise of protest, and simply stands behind her instead, like I knew he would.

I am face to face with her now, as close as I have ever been, scared, oh God so scared, but why? I have seen things, took part in ordeals that would shatter any sane soul, but when it comes to this exact second I have ran towards, I feel like drowning. Her eyes are not warm or inviting, but they are not turning me away, either. At this moment, she is just simply a woman. Not a murderess, not a serpent, not the devil's mistress. She is only a woman, wanting what is planted inside of every human being.

"Fuck me, Draco. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Do it now. Do it hard. Do it good." She is chanting at me again, and without regards to my father, I grab her around the hips, pulling her against me, into me like she's a fragment of myself.

My father, behind us. I try not to take notice of how he has entered her arse, how she doesn't scream at all, because she must have done this before, how he is slamming into her and slapping against her skin like he's flattening dough. Bellatrix and I, my Aunt and I, we are the only ones really here. I'm thinking I might be in love with her, as I pierce her over and over, and her eyes watch my face the entire time.

I think we might be the same person, we are so close right now, I can feel her heart hammering against me when she flattens her breasts on me. Her nipples slide against me like pink pellets of iron. I want to slide my hands over her arse, feel every bit of her at once, but I can't; my father is still behind her, and I don't dare even look at the expression on his face. The sounds he are making are enough to rattle my attention back to Bella. I find myself kissing her, and she is as shocked as I am, I think, at the way it feels. Like a waterfall of black, it's beautiful and ominous, to feel her lips like pillows against my own.

And her tongue is suddenly in my mouth, at the same time I feel heat like melted metal pour over my groin, rising slowly. She is watching me, and I go frantic, like a rabid animal, my hand reaching down and rubbing her clit, as I start to spurt into her, long, thick jets, and the force of my ejaculate makes her scratch her nails down my back, bite my tongue, and there is suddenly a stream of blood from our mouths. Our orgasms are so strong, we hadn't even felt the needly bite of each other's teeth on lips and tongues. Blood streaming down our fronts now, and I am still pulsing inside of her, she is still biting ever spot of flesh she can find on me. At the same time there is a loud grunt from my father, and she is whimpering again, yelping, as he shoots into her as well.

The blood has reached our groins, and as I soften and fall out of her, she smiles, reaching down, painting the mixture of come and ruby liquid across my lips. She kisses me, and I think she tastes like heaven. I think I am in love with a serpent.

I do hope I can update more than every month and a half, haha. Even though this is only a series of oneshots, and not an actual story, I still feel bad haha...Still got plenty of interesting, weird ideas for Dracotrix though, so no worries. ;) Until next time-Mel xxx