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Fallen Angels	By : Runespoor Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 2216 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Fallen Angels
- 1
A/N: a little dark, a little hard to follow, a little written when I haven't had any sleep for 36 hours. But as you can see, I can still type. Oh yes, and I'd like also to state that as far as I'm concerned, given that we don't know a thing of Lily's character and that I can twist around Lucius' already quite twisted one, I won't apologise for any OC you might think you're reading. There's a mention of underage sex. That doesn't bother me as much as you, since in my country the consent age is fifteen.
Disclaimer: I own HP, I'm JKR, and I'm currently taken care of at St Mungo's.

Fallen Angels
Certainly they were beautiful. And certainly they were dangerous. It wasn't meant to be a secret that ensnaring and entrancing and mesmerising persons are mutually attractive, and that most of the time their beauty was only to be matched by the danger they were.
Even those that weren't consciously trying to be dangerous, they weren't asked a choice: they were. Perhaps it was part of the curse of beauty. Other people don't seem to realise that, when they envy beautiful people. But beauty, just like intelligence, can be a curse.
They, obviously, didn't have this problem. They were perfectly aware of pow power they held between their fingers.
When they had realised, they had laughed, both of them. A quiet, low, cold chuckle. Later, when he reflected about - it - and - her - he knew he should have paid more attention to the tiny little hairs that had prickled at the nape of his neck. But then the violent shiver that has gone through his spine had required the greatest part of it. It was a shiver of anticipation.
They had looked deeply into each other's eyes, more playful than any one had ever seen them. They were flirting in a good-minded way, since both of them knew where it would take them, where all would end and be born from its ashes, like a dark phoenix that refused to let go. Like the unhealthy pleasure that flowed through their veins, or outside them. The blood that would clean them both. The pain that would make her arch her back under her lover's vice-like grip.
She would moan and her back would arch and her eyes would close and her thighs would wrap themselves closer around him. And then she would plead and beg and weep and scream and whimper until she managed to make him lose all of his inhibitions and he would thrust in her, roughly, without love and without caring, until both of them came.
And then they would go back to their separate worlds, each of them, go their separate ways.
She had been in her fifth year when he had taken the Charms teacher job at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, right under the nose and taking complete advantage of the offer of one manipulative muggle-loving bastard, Albus Dumbledore. When he had made her a woman in the most intimate meaning of the phrase.
When had it started, anyway? Had it been when she had asked for private tutoring, in order to increase her chances of taking her NEWT in Charms at the end of the year? Had it been when he had taken to brush against her in the corridors? Had it been when she had licked her lips for the first time, at the end of the class, with half-closed emerald eyes? Had it been at the start of the term feast, when his gaze had somehow fixed itself on her presence, at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by people and laughing whole-heartedly?
His fists had clenched, then, as well as his teeth. He had picked on his napkin, and quite thoroughly tore the thing into fine threads. For anyone who saw him, he looked cool, composed, quite detached from what was going on, and not entirely unpleasant. Charisma had its benefits.
He had taken an immediate dislike of her. An instant hatred of her typical Gryffindor manners. She looked so much of the ordinary, popular schoolgirl. So pure, so sweet, so innocent. So disgustingly pretty.
He had wanted to shove her lithe and graceful body under him. He wanted to bruise her, to see blood running freely on her aquarelle skin. He wanted to rape her. He wanted to see her dirtied, broken, hopeless. To fuck her in such a way no-one, not even the most open-minded and well-meaning Gryffindor, would do something else that spit in her face, if ever they learned. To have fun with her and chains and blinfolds. To submit her to the delightful, if not admittedly traumatising, experience of magic and sex. Potions and Rites and Charms and a considerable amount of Dark Magic.
He wasn't aware of that at the time, of course but his task was already completed. By the time the girl had come to him, she was impure in every possible way but that of the flesh.
It had been as easy as carelessly picking up a common flower from the side of the road, twisting its stem when tearing it from the Earth, raising it to his face so that he could scent it, making it shiver under his breath, and, if he deemed her satisfactory enough, putting the end of the stem in his mouth and dreamily chewing upon it, before throwing it on the ground, and perhaps walking on her without so much as a second thought.
Or perhaps she was a fruit, which had grown during all its spring, and now offered its perfume and its taste to anyone who would bother hold out his arm. Perfected and ripe, begging to be bitten. When he dwelled on such thoughts, his mind pictured her as a peach or an apricot, the most perfect of fruits. When he broached the subject with her, she retorted she was an apple.
The Forbidden Fruit. Of course.
He had ravished her as soon as she had hinted him too, of course. Lucius didn't see why, when one requested some pleasure, one was to be rejected because of one's age. She had been exactly fifteen and it was her birthday. Halloween night, extremely late. Go figure. There had been knocking at his rooms'. portrait, he should say, so he had opened it. Already preparing himself to face anther interview with the Gryffindor Bitch From Hell also known as Minerva McGonagall.
Well, it had indeed been the Gryffindor Bitch From Hell, though not in the sense he first intended.
At first he had rejoiced in his own sadistic way, and had stated in sharp words that her having just lost the only fragment of honour she could have retained in her position of middle-class Mudblood to him most certainly did not change anything to their relationship. It would be stupid of her to trust him, especially after he had insured her future as a mere prostitute for willingly giving up her girlhood.
She had grown to be that, and to be also much more like that.
Sometimes Lucius would find himself a bit... awed before what she did.
She was a powerful mercenary and she was employed by the Ministry. In the loosest of ways, and they both knew it. Mercenaries were quite rare.
When the first Auror fell under Lily's Avada, he thought he saw her eyes flashing in pleasure. When his own boss at the Ministry fell on the ground, twitching and screaming in pain, only to be found raving mad by the Ministry Mediwizards after drinking his usual cup of coffee (Lucius sneered at the thought), he recognised her favourite poison. When she told him her reason, i.e. giving her most trusted follower a highest rank at the Ministry, he had bowed.
And he had begun to think that perhaps those rumours were true. Perhaps she was seeking Lord Voldemort's throne.
He wanted more and more of her presence, of her essence, craving for it in much the way he craved for his Lord's.
And often, under His stare, when he should have been the most devoted, Lucifer would muse about Lilith.
Please review! Even if to say it's silly, it's sick or it's incomprehensible!
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Fallen Angels