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Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire	By : CMW Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 11952 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Anti-Litigation Charm: 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, though wish I did. The only money I have goes toward good wine and chocolate. You can't

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Chapter 56
White Peacocks

The gates of the Malfoy estate were gleaming steel; the wards on them shimmered in the sunlight. They showed the outside world that whatever was inside was both important and extraordinarily expensive. Lush grounds were home to peacocks and fanciful topiaries. The great house stood tall and proud beyond expansive lawns, a testament to generations of wealth and breeding. Inside, however, inside, terror reigned.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Lucius, I heard screaming. Is all well?” The high pitched voice and sibilance in the name warmed her scales.
She watched from the soft patch of grass the scared woman made for her. Always warm and soft, she could move easily through it. It was far preferable to the scratchy rugs and cold, slick floors in the house.
“My apologies for disturbing you, my lord,” said the man with long yellow hair. “Narcissa does get so carried away in her… passion.”
Nagini could smell the fear and sex on him. She could also smell the lies. The man usually reeked of oil and fear, like a rabbit but the lie was rank and acrid like a hyena’s laugh.
She whispered the truth to her beloved. Only a flick of his finger told her that he’d heard. She clenched her muscles, ready to strike on his command, then waited.
He didn’t always give her the ones that smelled wrong but she had hope. It was long past time to eat this one.
“I’m so very fond of your lovely Narcissa,” he said. “She’s so very clever, don’t you agree, Lucius?”
She felt rather than saw the man’s body tighten. His muscles clenched. The taste of fear and anger in the air grew pungent. It smelled of sweat, iron, and sulphur.
“As you say, of course, my lord.”
“I just can’t imagine the Manor without her. Of course, you would suffer greatly without her, wouldn’t you, Lucius?” He took a sip from the chalice that the Rat-Man brought every day. The one that always made him want to pet and mate with her even more.
Nagini flicked her tail in amusement. Her beloved toyed with his prey merely by saying their names, over and over again. For some reason, it made these humans nervous. It made every one of them quail.
“Absolutely, my lord. She is an excellent household manager, especially with so many guests.”
“Oh dear, Lucius,” he said, his eyes unblinking. “Are we overstaying our welcome?”
The man hastened to say, “Never, my lord! I was simply thinking of my wife’s attributes.”
“Indeed, Lucius. Do go on. The sacred bond between husband and wife enhances and enlivens those attributes, don’t you think?”
The man was silent.
“Family, a wife - a helpmeet - and children, Lucius, they are vital to a man. As you know, I was raised in an orphanage without the privilege of a loving family. I have never been blessed with a wife’s tenderness. Instead, I much fetch and woo my lady in more untraditional ways because my destiny lies in other directions.” He continued expansively, “You, Lucius, have a gem - a generous hostess and loving partner with a gifted financial mind, wrapped in the very embodiment of feminine beauty.”
The man’s fear grew. Nagini could sense his knees trembling.
He croaked, “You are too kind.”
Voldemort pointed his finger. Lucius shrunk in on himself. “Lucius, cherish that lady as your beloved wife and the mother of your son and heir.”
He mustered a smile, a vague shadow of the oily countenance he usually wore. “As you always know the hearts of your servants, you must know that Narcissa is my greatest treasure.”
“Indeed,” he said. “Have you told her so recently, Lucius?”
The man stopped breathing while his ran the gamut from arrogance to scoffing. A moment later, he said, “No, my lord.” His ingratiating expression prevailed even as one foot crept back toward the sitting room door. “As always, you are so wise. If you would please excuse me, my Lord, I would like to assure my lovely lady of my affections, lax as they may be.”
Her beloved waved his hand, dismissing the man who dashed through the door.
Far more was the movement that beckoned her closer. In the language they shared, he invited her to rest on his feet.
Nagini wound around the chair, trapping his legs as only she could. The part of him that was inside her rejoiced at being so close to the soul where it truly belonged. The heat of his body warmed her belly and she lifted her head high to rest on his shoulder. Long fingers caressed her spine, slow enough to count her scales.
“Sssasathaa.”
He looked into her eyes. His lips curved into what he assured her were not a baring of his fangs but an expression of his pleasure. “Because,” he hissed, “if he kills her, Aurors will come to investigate. We would lose our financial support and these very comfortable lodgings.”
She hissed her opinion.
“No, I don’t like the mongoose either. Better that the woman is kept happy – or at least tame for now,” he said in their language. He tickled her belly.
Nagini flicked her tongue questioningly against his jaw, tasting his desire. She wasn’t ready to lay eggs, but wrapped more of herself around him, seeking his warmth and more of his touch. She adored this one. He wasn’t like a male of her kind, always demanding that she yield and show her belly. This one charmed her, stroked her. He showed her that mating was more than threats and insistent nudges and poking hemipenes. It was long strokes along her scales and spine. It was her tail along his smooth skin, her belly rippling along his legs.
Behind her, the fire roared higher and the air warmed. Her beloved’s human coverings came off like an old skin.
Knowing just what he wanted, she stoked her belly against his and rose high before sliding to the floor and stretching out. He followed, stretching out next to her, stroking her spine, one leg slid over her back, warming her muscles.
She gazed into his human eyes, light blue and just as cold as her own. Snakes didn’t show what they thought. These humans with their every emotion written in their eyes and faces, they made her nervous. But never him. His face was so similar to hers. She supposed that was because, like a part of him was inside her, a part of her was inside him. Her venom helped keep him alive when they were in the cold places, before he shed skin and grew this one. She could still taste her venom in his skin and smell it coursing through her veins. It was sweet and hot. He’d been so small then, so helpless. Nagini was still stronger. She could crush him with a hard squeeze but now he was bigger and he liked it when she coiled her body around him.
They warmed each other, skin to skin in front of the fire. The grass, warm and soft, cushioned them as he aligned their bodies and thrust into her. The tip of her tail fluttered along the backs of his legs.
Long hands caressed her, wrapping around her body, squeezing her just as she squeezed his body, gentle and tender. Rippling her coils, she stroked him. Hands moved over her, petting as she moved. He thickened inside her cloaca, the twin hemipenes throbbed even though they had not completely split as a male of her kind had. Flicking her tongue along his shoulders, she tasted salt and the desire to breed with her.
“Hesshathhhaaaa.” Her mate.
Around her, inside her, he tensed just before he filled her with liquid warmth. As he melted into the floor and her, she wished, once again, that he could fertilize her eggs.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
She lifted her feet as she rocked on the swing in the gazebo. Her toes spread in the cool air. Narcissa would fuss about warming charms or the shoes and stockings she’d strewn on the gazebo floor. When in doubt, though, Wiltshire in early spring was still warmer than Azkaban in high summer. Narcissa kept the house stifling hot – it was for the snake, she claimed, since the thing had free reign of the Manor.
Her head twitched. She hated the twitching. It made her look crazy. Even Rodolphus looked at her with a combination of fear, loathing, and pity when she twitched. It didn’t happen much anymore since she could go outside and kill those undeserving of a wand whenever she felt the urge. It was just when she felt trapped or sad or angry or when that damned snake was around the Dark Lord. Bellatrix hated that snake. She hated that.....
Her attention jerked to the window of the house in front of her. Movement inside the master’s sitting room. Lucius was there, being a toad, as usual. Why wasn’t he dead yet? Why hadn’t her stupid sister killed him? He richly deserved it even if it meant another Pureblood had to die. He’d already bred; he’d done his duty at least. Bellatrix let herself drift into sweet imaginings of her beautiful Dark Lord honouring her with the instruction to kill the pitiful blond weasel that made her sister cry. She’d snarl, “Avada Kedavra,” slowly so he’d felt every letter of the words. No - she’d use the Cruciatus first. Drive him insane like she’d done the Longbottom idiots. They’d defied her Lord. Inconceivable! How dare they and their stupid Mudblood friends fight her Lord and Master? They were Purebloods. They should have been on the Dark Lord’s side! Blood Traitors; she should have killed them.
She glared at the window – at Lucius as he bowed and scraped his way out of the room. A quick spell had her stockings and shoes on her feet and she rose to dash through the door of the gazebo to be with her one true love. She glanced at the window again and stopped, almost falling down her stairs.
He was nude. So tall and slender, standing in that room. Aching for him, she descended the steps but froze. The snake. Always the snake. It touched him. It stroked him. It wrapped around him like a woman in the deepest throes of passion.
Bellatrix stared, enraged and entranced. She sat on the stair with an arse-aching thud. Her skirts lifted as she watched. Her fingers and the tip of her wand slid between her parted thighs. A cool rush of a spring breeze only heated her core more.
Minutes or hours ticked by in her head, marked by the twitching in her head as she stared at her love and his... lover. They writhed. They rolled. They thrusted. Her fingers danced inside her. Her wand sparked on her clit. She panted her lust, though her mind never stopped spinning.
It wasn’t the first time he’d fucked the snake. She knew, she always knew, because it was supposed to be her. It was supposed to be Bellatrix Black. The most loyal. The one who’d searched for him. The one who had been imprisoned for him. The one who loved him the most. She, Bellatrix Black, was his perfect mate. Not some stupid snake that was probably blackmailing her beloved because its venom had been used to save him. Not because of the stupid Aphrodite’s Satisfaction potion. He should be taking his satisfaction with her. Not even the stupid Dumbledore bitch her Lord wanted to breed off of like a Krup. Her! Bellatrix Black! He was hers. Hers.
Her Lord pointed to the door. Ratface Pettigrew entered immediately like the flunky he was. A few words later, Pettigrew disappeared.
As she dried her fingers on the cold grass, Rodolphus Apparated right in front of her. His dick hung out of his pants.
“The Dark Lord said you needed your husband,” he said, his face as beefy and blank as usual.
Bellatrix Lestrange curled her lip and did her duty as a Pureblood wife.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“What was that?”
Setting her wand on the vanity, Narcissa tried to make the motion look normal despite the just-healed break. The bruises were gone with a spell but the muscles had been stretched in ways they’d never been meant to. Though her hair was still a disaster, her tears dried an hour ago and the red blotches had been rubbed away with Myrtle’s Patented Flawless Complexion Serum. It left her pale and slightly wan but that would have been easily fixed with a dram of Pepper-Up potion – if she’d had the time to take it. She swallowed heavily. “What was what, my beloved?”
“Are you hurt?” Lucius asked, his face a mask of husbandly concern, as though he didn’t remember twisting her wrist until she fell to her knees in tears. He took her wrist between tender hands, cradling it.
She froze. Skin that he’d once compared to a Tahitian pearl crawled. Her mind raced while she kept a serene expression on her face. What was the right answer? A lie? A denial of pain to soothe the worried look might end up getting her killed. Lucius was sadistic enough to do it again just so she admitted that he’d hurt her – just because he could. Should she say he’d broken it? Would he deny it or buy her a bauble to make up for it or would he collapse into tears begging for forgiveness? She bit the inside of her cheek in a spot that was already raw. Practice kept a wince off her face.
“Narcissa?” he prompted.
She searched his eyes, looking for signs of malice. The green eyes that she used to compare to new spring grass as a young girl seemed guileless. She licked her lips and swallowed again before smiling deliberately and carefully tugging her hand away. He didn’t tighten his grip.
Picking up her hairbrush and hoping that he wouldn’t touch her again, she attempted to sound besotted. Her husband broke her wrist and raped her; the Dark Lord, his snake and half a dozen minions, including her insane sister, were living downstairs; her son was supposed to kill Dumbledore; and that she was supposed to pay for it all – sounding anything other than terrified was… difficult.
She answered, deliberately soothing, “Just a small bruise, my love. You get so very,” enraged, wrathful, deranged, rabid, “passionate.”
He plucked the brush from her hand, stroking it through her hair. He looked mournful. “I’m so sorry, mon ange. My love for you knows no bounds. I’m so very sorry for marring your perfect skin.” He knelt next to her, gazing into her eyes through the mirror. He lifted her wrist again, healing the ache with a kiss and a murmured spell.
A bauble it was, then. Narcissa knew that said wrist would be wrapped in diamonds by the time she woke. Chasing away the imprudent thought, she struggled not to jerk away.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against her wrist. “I’ll do better next time.”
She wondered if he meant that he wouldn’t hurt her again or if he’d just finish the job.
“Come, let me tend you, my love,” he said and stood. The bath started filling with a wave of his hand and he guided her to the tub. With another wave of his hand, her hair plaited itself.
His clothing came off with a spell and he ordered a House Elf to bring a glass of her favourite white wine. Smoothing the silk of her dressing gown off of her shoulders, he praised her beauty with tender words murmured against her neck.
She couldn’t hide a shiver of revulsion, though she knew he’d think it was passion. After he settled them both into the water, her back against his chest, he handed her the wine that had appeared on the side of the tub. He Summoned a book of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poetry that she hadn’t seen in close to twenty years – back when she actually believed in that drivel. Gulping wine from the EverFull Glass, she hoped that if he was going to drown her, she’d be too drunk to care.
Slowly, he ran a warm, soapy flannel over her shoulders and arms while he read aloud from the book as it floated at eye level. It had been bespelled, of course, not to get wet. She even remembered doing it, years ago. His voice was low and mellifluous as he murmured of love into her ear. She tried not to sob – or snort in derision.
Soapy hands caressed her breasts. Gentle strokes and teasing flicks of his fingertips, designed to entice. She allowed her spine to melt into him. He stroked the soap over her belly, tickling her navel as he used to do when they were newlyweds. She giggled obligingly, though the squirm she gave was involuntary. Feeling him harden against her lower back, she clenched her jaw then deliberately relaxed. It was easier that way.
Long fingers slid down and parted her thighs. Lifting her knees, she followed the silent request, resting them on the sides of the tub, just above his legs. She tucked her feet onto his calves as she’d done for years. It left her exposed in every way, but gritted teeth kept her from protesting. Again, she relaxed her jaw and deliberately laid her head on his shoulder, baring her throat. Narcissa wasn’t sure she’d care if his fingers left her clit and wrapped around her throat – again.
Sipping the wine, she closed her eyes, listening to Lucius read. She let the warm water relax her muscles. If she could forget who was holding her, it would feel like heaven. Slowly, she melted into the water as he nibbled his way down her shoulder, laving his way back up.
“You taste so good,” he murmured into her ear. “I want to taste more.”
Narcissa moaned dutifully, knowing Lucius would take it as consent - not that he'd ever needed her consent. It had be so long since his tongue had touched her like that...she shuddered. Another sip of wine, his voice seductive, his cock hard against her back as he gently bathed her with the scented cloth. He moved her, gently, his cock entering her...pulsing, his thrusts slow and deliberate. Narcissa moaned again, this time involuntarily as her need for release built. He wasn't fucking her like an animal intent on his own pleasure and she could almost believe the lie. Her pussy clenched around his cock and he groaned as he climaxed inside of her. She sighed softly, pretending she was satisfied. He was done so she would need to seek her release later, in private.
He murmured softly in her ear "Sorry, darling" and whispered a cleansing spell...then drained the tub and stepped out, surprising her by casting warning and drying spells before he lifted her and settled her against the edge of the tub. He gently stroked her thighs, parting them before settling on his knees before her.
“You are a true beauty, my love,” he said as he leaned forward into her, his nose nuzzling her thigh. She ran her fingers through his hair, forgetting for a moment that he was a monster, pretending he was the boy she used to love. His lips came in contact with her and she shivered as he pushed his tongue inside. She held fast to his head as he stroked her labia, pulling out and travelling up to her clit, circling it, suckling it, nipping it lightly causing her to gasp before diving back inside of her. His tongue firm and powerful, masterfully pulling her to the heights as his nose ground against her clit. Narcissa screamed her release, her orgasm rocketing through her as she held his head close.

Voldemort smiled.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~
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Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire