Encounter

The plush carpet was thick and soft, deep enough to retain noticeable impressions of her delicate footprints as she stepped soundlessly into the silent, dusty room. Her toes dipped into the luxurious dark red fabric, and from her lips fell an impossibly soft sigh. Shutting the heavy wood door behind her, she stepped forward. Her feet were bare and her hair was loose, grazing her bodice in lovely golden movements.

Candles floated along the walls, illuminating lengths of shelves, glowing above the mantle of an admirable fireplace, and shedding light by the heavily-draped antiqued Mediterranean windows. The wax dripping in the magically contained space melted in abundance, indicating the amount of time it had been since someone last set foot in the highly acclaimed library of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. A ghost of a smile graced Narcissa's smooth, impassive face. Pale fingertips trailed the length of a dusty book spine, and an elegant hand pulled the leather-bound volume carefully from the shelf.

Sorcellerie de Sang…

One manicured fingernail touched her cheek in fascination, and she turned to the imposing velvet covered armchair by the fireplace. She drew her wand from within her robes and ignited a fire within by a definite flick of the cherry wood. An ornate grandfather clock showed time passing, but the youngest Black daughter sat quietly, eyes riveted on the words in front of her. The pages turned slowly as she pulled her rather small foot in perfect circles through the thick carpeting subconsciously.

The young girl was blissfully ignorant of the world around her for the next half hour. At least two full minutes had passed since he arrived, and it took another few moments before she registered that there was a man standing in front of her, watching her left foot draw circles upon the floor. She stood too quickly, and the book fell from her hand, rustling past the full skirts of her dress robes. Narcissa was eye-level with a black robed chest. The man was taller than her, and broader, as most men were. However, she was sure it was not his size that made him so intimidating.

"Narcissa... A pleasure."

Narcissa drew in a sharp gasp as the unmistakable figure of Lucius Malfoy lowered his lips to her hand. Her fingers looked unbearably thin and breakable in his grasp, but when she demurred and tugged gently at her hand, his grip tightened, refusing to let her go.

A little disconcerted, she swept a foot behind her and sunk into a half curtsy, hand still held firmly in his. She rose and gazed up at him, startled by the storm brewing in those normally cold grey eyes.

Narcissa attempted to withdraw her fingers with some grace, but succeeded instead in pulling Lucius a step closer. She could not draw breath for their proximity. She raised another hand to press against his chest and stared at the ground, then breathed her first words to him.

"Mr. Malfoy," Narcissa murmured against his robes, but the rest of her words were cut off.

"Why the formal dress?" he questioned, though there was nothing in his tone that suggested she should actually answer.

Shivers shot up Narcissa's spine as a cold white hand ran itself in an unequivocally possessive manner over her silk cream skirts. The hand against his chest curled reflexively.

Wide blue eyes followed the path of that hand as it found its way to her tiny waist, and she remembered to exhale as it came to a stop there.

"Mr. Mal—" she tried, but was interrupted again.

"Lucius," he intoned, voice low, and he bent to her level, a hungry gleam in his cold eyes.

Narcissa knew that look, and always took care to avoid it, along with any men who tended to develop that particular insatiable hunger in her presence. But as his lips lowered to hers, she did nothing. She did not kiss him back, but she did not flee. And that in itself shocked her into submission as he held her fragile body roughly against his. Lucius released her hand so as to enable himself to twirl his fingers through her long hair with one while securing her slender person against him with the other. The hand she had pressed against his chest was caught between them, and she removed it hastily, then, not quite sure what to do with it, placed it gingerly on his shoulder. She then drew back a little, and he left her mouth for a moment to admire as she flushed a rosy shade of pink, bringing warmth up to her winter complexion and setting a blush against her high cheekbones. She studied his aristocratic features as he leaned in halfway again, and this time she met him at that point, biting tenderly at his lower lip as her other hand came to his hair.

Shoved slightly against the wall by the fireplace, Narcissa wondered on it for a mere second – the idea that she had said barely two words to the man and he was ready to ravish her in her grandfather's study… but that, most of all, she had put up almost no resistance. She broke the kiss with a shudder and a slight moan. That horrified her and she pushed him off her with a few thin fingers. Disgraced.

He looked down at her near-disheveled state and pulled the heavy rope hanging on one of the heavy curtains, so beacons of light came shining through the very large old windows and dappled Narcissa, blushing scarlet from embarrassment and suppression, with ripe sunbeams that fell through her golden hair. Her formal dress was unusual without cosmetic charms or shoes, but her habit of dressing up on a whim made her all the more lovely on this bright winter evening. The snow outside was crisp and new, and Lucius too was luminous in the winter sun as he picked up his pointed wizard's hat from the table and then bent to retrieve Narcissa's forgotten book.

Storm clouds flew through his narrowed eyes again as Narcissa straightened and he read the title.

"Sorcellerie de Sang" he whispered, accent perfect and subtle.

Lucius glanced again at the woman he had thought to be near innocent, and almost smirked. His half-smile was deadly, reflecting the subtle fury in his flashing eyes as he towered above her once more.

He placed the book in her arms with something resembling reverence.

"Who would have thought?" He traced the line of her jaw with his forefinger, and her head turned to the side, half her face in shadow by the wall, moving in tandem with the pace of his deliberate torture. Her eyelids fluttered shut, luscious lashes sparkling in the light. Lucius moved closer.

"But it's dangerous, darling," his words sounding every inch a lethal threat. "Danger like you've never known." He sounded frighteningly aroused by the prospect of such adventure.

A pink tongue emerged to moisten her lips as her eyes opened unhurriedly. The sheer, perfect blue was frozen in their sparkling layer of ice beneath her gold-spun lashes. Lucius stared, rooted to the spot, transfixed.

"What are we wizards who do not explore the unknown?" She advanced, and he remained where he was, frigid and unmoving. Long white fingers grazed his collarbone, brushed his shoulder; seared the sculpted bone of his cheek with a touch of fire… sharp nails, delicate fingertips danced below his eyes, over his ear, through his hair, a passionate caress… and he was stationary, a chiseled statue through it all.

Narcissa's voice was a fine mist against his mind as he stood, still as death, "And who are we lovers that do not accept danger…" she allowed a moment's pause, his eyes closing to accept her scalding touch, "in all forms…"

Her nails pierced through the skin of his neck as she pulled him down to her one last time.