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Serendipity and the fallen seraphim	By : Gemma Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1373 -:- 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
- 5
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- 7
"Forth-reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she eat;
Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat,
Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe
That all was lost."

The sky was growing dark, night pushing impatiently at the day, the moon beginning to peep sleepily around the bunched clouds, which crowded together like weary sheep.
The sun knew when he was defeated, and his brash, happy yellow was fading to a burnt orange.

I glanced out of one of the large arched windows idly as I made my way down one of Hogwart's long third floor corridors. I expected my heart to pound and my breathing to speed up in trepidation and an excitement tainted with a fear I could not shake; yet I felt eerily calm; detached. As if at this moment, now the decision had been made, there was no turning back. I had sold my soul to the devil and now he was coming to collect his fee.

I turned wide eyes up to the ceiling, watching as it raced over me in a blur, my feet carrying me forwards mercilessly. Remembering the letter that had tempted me to this, I glanced at each door as I passed, looking for any sign that Lucius might be inside.

Finally my eyes fell upon something in the distance, and once it came into view clearly, I smiled. I had almost forgotten about that statue, I mused as I took in the beautiful marble statue of the Archangel Uriel, his arm thrust out, one strong hand wrapped around the fiery sword of God which he wields to smite those in vengeance who have displeased the divine creator.
The statue's eyes gazed out angrily, though the smooth face was serene, the whole image of passion and indifference seeming so apt at that moment, that I paused to run a hand along the angel's limbs, slowing my exploration in awed reverence as I trailed fingertips over the detailed wings.

Smoothing my hands over the angel's face, I gazed briefly into the unseeing eyes which appeared to look beyond me and out endlessly to the night, and to battles where he could be safe in the knowledge that he was performing the will of God.

How easy slaughter is when one has a divine cause. If only all actions could have such noble convictions, but oh how ignorant we all are, how incapable of being unmoved by our own selfish wants and desires.

I moved my eyes to the dark door at the right side of the angel, and on silent feet I moved to it, pulled as I was by an aching curiosity and the need to see this through and not turn back, though a voice whispered in my head that still I had a choice. I did not believe it, and brushed it back with an idle thought of fate, destiny and human's folly of indisputable weakness.

I did not knock, I did not even pause, I simple turned the heavy iron door handle and stepped into the warm room, lit as it was with the burning death of the setting sun, still fighting valiantly against the black mantel of the night.

And of course, there he stood. Back to me, straight and regal. Shoulders wide, tapering to what seemed like a narrow waist beneath the elegant drape of his robes which hung long, though I could just see the black hem of tailored trousers.

His long platinum hair which had always so fascinated me with it's texture and incredible colour, hung loose down his back, some of it falling softly over his shoulders, as straight and silken as it had ever been.

My breath caught briefly in my throat, as the sun lit upon his magnificent hair, painting it with it's last dieing breath, so that Lucius seemed to glow and shimmer. For one moment I truly believed that Lucifer, the Morning Star, stood before me, and I fought an overwhelming need to cry at the beauty of this moment. Only an immortal could seem so breathtakingly splendid and perfect. How could we mortals with our flaws, both physical and mental, ever compare to such divinity?

Lucius turned, his blue eyes lighting on my face, and the glow in them, though obscured by heavy, hooded lids, made my heart pick up its pace.
"Serendipity." His voice was the gentlest caress, yet still I shivered slightly, an icy finger seeming to trail down my spine.
"People call me Sera." I spoke, fighting to keep my voice as light and neutral as possible.

Lucius tilted his head exactly as he had all those years ago, and when faced with such similarity I was, for a second, overcome with the memory, all the sights and sensations assaulting me in a startling rush.

"Serendipity is far too lovely to bastardise. Too right for you for me to even consider changing it in any way. You do not mind?"

I shook my head, momentarily struck dumb. Part of me was mortified by how pleased I was to discover he loved the name that I had always held such disdain for.

Serendipity; 'the faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident.'
As a child I had pondered over the choice of my name, knowing that yes, it was beautiful, but was there some deeper significance to my parents naming their only child with such a unique title? Had I been a truly fortunate discovery, an accident, a child they did not want but could not help but preen over once alive and beautiful?

For a time I spent many nights pondering such thoughts, and then one day years ago, when my bored mind had led me once more to the splendid delights of the large family library, the heavy leather bound books and dusty tomes grasping my interest and holding me fast to their smooth cream pages, and their thrilling tales, I had stumbled across a lovingly battered old book, the pages fading with wear and the spine uncharacteristically broken and creased.

It was titled 'The Three Princes of Serendip', and as my curious eyes lit over the pages, I discovered that it was a Persian fairytale, wherein the heroes possessed the gift of serendipity. 'Horace Walpole' was inscribed on the battered cover in cracked and flaked gold, and as I ran my small fingers over this, I remember thinking the mystery solved.

A much loved book had inspired my parents to name me with such passion for individuality, and despite the irony of their attempt to paint me as an individual, only to spend my growing years training me to follow, I felt comforted to know that my parents could be gentle and human like the rest of us. Like myself.

Clearing my throat, and finding my voice once again, I smiled tremulously at Lucius, my heart desperate for me to step forwards so that I could be closer to this angelic man who even now could make my skin burn and itch for his touch, his very essence, but my feet refused to obey.

"I assume all is well with Draco, Mr Malfoy?"
"Lucius, please." His voice like liquid satin oozed across my skin, and I fought the need to shiver once more, pushing down the tide of imagined sensation as my eyes watched him step closer to me.
"Indeed. Draco's progress is most gratifying. I believe yours is too, if Professor Snape's enthusiasm can be trusted." Here he paused, the silence pregnant with my trembling tension and his satin calm, the contrast between us crackling in the stillness of that moment.
"And I believe it can."

I swallowed, my throat suddenly feeling so dry and small, the airway tight and taut. I took a breath, attempting to steady the fluttering of my heart, which threatened to rise into my throat like a phoenix bursting forth in flame as it is reborn once more.
"Thank you. Lucius."

I could not help but savour the feel of his name in my mouth, and I longed to flick out my tongue and snake it over my full bottom lip, as if to catch the remaining flavour of his title.

He nodded, a smile curving up his thin, surprisingly pink lips, my eyes following this simple movement, noticing the fine lines that creased his marble smooth skin as his amusement lit his face.

He moved towards me, his body faintly swaying in a stalk which screamed of seduction and a predatory nature, which when accompanied with his blazing eyes made him appear like a giant feline hungry for the thrill of the chase, the rush of hot burning blood, and the need to plunged sharp canines into the throat of his victim.

I was rooted to the spot, unable to take my eyes away from his beautiful face, my mind torn between the present moment and the memory of the first time I gazed upon my beloved picture of Lucifer, which had fuelled such obsession, which had caused so many events to come into being.

I was prey now, and Lucius, with his burning eyes, shining hair and countenance of a fierce defiant angel, was the predator who would pull me down and consume me without any trace if remorse. This was how life is; this was how life is supposed to be. We all have our parts, and we play them as best we can.

When he stood within an inch of me, his hand reached up to touch my cheek, not hesitating, not fraught with indecision, he just took what he wanted, his long pale fingers caressing my heated skin.

Once more he set me on fire, but this time it was no dream. His fingers played across my face, claiming my soft lids, the hollow of my eyes, the sensitive swell of my lips, and the long line of my jaw. He took it all, and I would not deny him.

My eyes had closed at his caress, and when I opened them his eyes were so close to my own, that I was lost in a world of brilliant blue which burned. Oh how it burned me, and oh how I relished the scorch of his passion.

When his lips came down on my own, his arms snaking around my back, pulling me to him so that my whole body ached with the presence and heat of him, I was lost. Completely and utterly. Never before had I felt anything so achingly perfect and pure until that moment.

His lips took their turn to claim me, and I held on to him, my hands roving almost desperately down the hard planes of his back. He had blown softly on the flame that I had carried within me always, and despite the ice in that breath of wind, I had blazed, and now we were trapped in the consequence of that action. Though how glorious it was to be swept away so completely.

I did not hear him mutter the incantation, but I felt the edge of a bed pressing against my knees, and at his gentle guidance, I fell back onto its softness, his body following mine so that he was pinning me down, and the pleasure I felt at that moment will always be indescribable.

He removed my clothes almost reverently, and I gazed upon his face, watching as his eyes roamed hungrily over each part of my body that he uncovered, his lips moving down to claim me as his own.

I suppose the moment didn't last so long, but it still feels like we spent an eternity in that classroom, away from Hogwarts and indeed our usual lives, lost as we were in a new world of fire and divinity that we had created.

I remember that the actual act was painful, and that nothing anyone will tell you gives you any idea of how you will feel and respond in that moment. But the gentleness with which we took me, and the passionate rhythm which I invoked in him, swept me away to my own rapture and happiness.

We lay together for a long time after, silently enjoying the stillness and the feeling of a storm discharged which filled the room, my raven hair splayed against his pale chest, his platinum length falling onto my shoulder, to brush against the sensitive skin there and the line of my collarbone.

Black against white we lay there, his face holding an expression that I wanted to remember forever, and which I knew I would have to see again. And again. How could I ever turn away and never gaze upon such beauty that invoked so much within me?

I wondered as I lay there, safe in his embrace and soothed by the comforting, steady rhythm of his relaxed breathing. Was I fated to melt under his touch? Was every glance and meeting that had come to pass between us divinely inspired to lead me to his dark embrace? Was the decision even mine, or was I but a pawn in an immortal's calculating grip?

I cannot say.
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Serendipity and the fallen seraphim