FIC: "sans foi;" Severus/Narcissa, Bellatrix/Narcissa; R
Everything old is, in fact, new again! ♥ kethlenda
Title: sans foi (mais non infidèle)
Author: stephanometra
Pairings: Severus/Narcissa, Bellatrix/Narcissa
Rating: R
Warnings: Incest
Notes: For vanitymachine, slashfest Second Wave (y'know, back when they still allowed femmeslash *shakes fist angrily*). Thanks to sioniann, theamazingtish, shop1442 and danithesquirrel.
Feedback: Cherished.
“I will,” said Snape.
The tendrils of fire twine about her arm, arcing through her body, and a stab of panic runs through her as the burn reaches her Mark. But the heat subsides, and when she pulls away from Severus she cradles her left arm, staring at the quiescent brand and daring to hope that perhaps everything will be alright.
Bellatrix extends a hand to help her up, astonishment still plain on her face, but Narcissa rises gracefully on her own, dusting off her skirts and inspecting the carpet to keep from looking at Snape.
“We’ll just be going, Snape,” Bellatrix says, putting a protective arm around Narcissa’s waist to steer her towards the door and inclining her head towards Snape in a mockery of politeness.
Severus smiles thinly. “I think not, Bellatrix. The Aurors who patrol this area will be along shortly, and since I should hate to explain your capture to the Dark Lord,” - Bella bristles and opens her mouth to speak - “I must insist that you stay the night.”
Narcissa cringes at Bella’s scoff and says, “Thank you, Severus, we would be honored.”
He flicks his wand lazily at the door hidden among the bookcases, once again revealing a cringing Wormtail. “See to it that the guest rooms on the second floor are habitable,” Severus says, and Wormtail scurries to obey after throwing him a dark look. “I would not have it said that I am…inhospitable in any way. Now if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to.”
His eyes are fathomless as he looks at Narcissa before taking his leave, and she shivers, suddenly cold.
- - -
The small bedchamber Wormtail shows her to after dinner looks out over the murky river. Narcissa strips to her chemise and goes to the window with the hairbrush she’d found on the dressing-table and spelled clean. Faint light from the half-moon paints everything silver-grey, and she feels very alone as she stares out into the mist.
The chill roughens her skin and seeps into her blood, and she knows how frail she must look, how old. Though far too fair to grey, there is white creeping into her blond, and the moonlight steals what color she has left.
She feels his eyes on her before she hears him breathe, before his body heats the air at her back, but Narcissa says nothing, only continues to run the brush through her hair.
Severus is likewise silent.
He stops the repetitive motion of her hand with his own, and the shock of magic from his fingers on hers is scorching, electric. The brush falls to the floor, hitting the threadbare carpet with a dull thud, and she winces at the sound.
When he raises her hand to his lips, Narcissa bows her head. “There are no Auror patrols, are there?”
“Does it matter?”
She can’t tell whether she is imagining the edge of amusement in his voice.
She trembles, takes a shaky breath. “No, I don’t suppose it does,” she says, and lets him push her down onto the narrow bed without further prelude. She hasn’t the energy to play the virtuous wife, not when she’d known what he’d wanted from the moment he asked them to stay.
Severus doesn’t seem to mind when she turns her head against his kisses, or that she is silent except for a sharp cry of pain when he sheathes himself inside her. She is pliant and warm against him, her arms willing and open because she knows that he expects it, but all the same she is grateful that it isn’t long before he shudders and then stills, resting his head in the curve where her neck meets her shoulder.
Narcissa is sure that he whispers a name against the tender skin of her throat when he comes. She doesn’t catch it, but she knows that it isn’t her own, and for some strange reason that comforts her.
He pulls away after a long moment, then casts about for his robe, suddenly too shy to look at her. Narcissa, suddenly too drained even to clean the stickiness from her thighs, gathers the rumpled sheet to cover her nakedness and watches him for a moment before speaking. “Severus.”
“Narcissa.”
“Do you think me faithless?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
He peers at her from beneath his lashes and laughs, quietly and mirthlessly. “Faith has nothing to do with any of this.”
“How can that be?”
Severus buttons his robe and does not answer, getting up and going to the window to stare out into the mists for a time. Abruptly, he turns and crosses the room towards the door, but he hesitates before opening it.
“Narcissa.”
She looks at him and raises a platinum brow.
“You will find, I believe, that faith is a luxury some of us can no longer afford.”
And then she is alone again, and before long the room darkens from silver to shadow as the moon sets. She lies on her side facing the window, though she is sure she will not sleep, and waits for the dawn she supposes will still come.
- - -
She’s not surprised when Bellatrix slips into her room, wrapped in darkness and humming tunelessly to herself, nor when her sister pounces on the bed and grabs her shoulder, nails like claws digging into the soft flesh.
When Narcissa doesn’t turn to face her, Bellatrix laughs and slides her hand under the thin sheet and down Narcissa’s torso, splaying her fingers over the curve of a pale, perfect hip, whispering, “Look at me, Cissy,” into Narcissa’s ear.
“Leave me, Bella.”
“What kind of sister would I be if I left you alone with your shame?” Bellatrix asks, tongue curling sensually around the word and then flicking out to trace the shell of Narcissa’s ear.
Narcissa squirms and turns her head to glare at Bellatrix. “And why should I be ashamed?”
“Groveling before a halfblood, especially a skulking degenerate like him, shames all of us, Cissy,” she says, her voice hard. “Mother would grieve.”
“Mother would want me to protect my son!”
“And I am certain that Draco would not want to be thus protected!”
“How happy for him, then, that I am his mother and not you!” Narcissa stares for a moment before deliberately turning away and laying her head on the thin pillow once again. “Andromeda would have understood.”
“You dare speak of her!” Bellatrix tightens her grip.
Narcissa feels the skin of her hip start to bruise, but she refuses to cry out in pain. “Must everything merit such drama?” she asks through clenched teeth. “She was once your sister as well.”
“A truth I have tried to forget! She is nothing more than an apostate, a traitor to her blood and to her family!” Bellatrix lowers her voice and looks at her pointedly. “Now I fear that you have become as faithless as she.”
Narcissa goes white with fury and slaps her sister’s face with one hand, snatching her wand off the bedside table with the other; Bellatrix, wide-eyed and with a livid handprint blooming across her cheek, stares at the slender length of birch jabbing the hollow of her throat.
“You have no right, Bella,” Narcissa hisses, eyes flashing.
Bellatrix blinks and then looks just as angry. “Do you deny it, then?” She shifts, knocking Narcissa’s wand away and forcing her hand between Narcissa’s thighs. “You’re still filthy with his spend, and I’ve no right!” she says, sliding two fingers into Narcissa’s sticky heat, as if to prove her point.
“What affair is it of yours?” Narcissa cries, sitting up and struggling to pull away, but the fingers inside her twist cruelly, and she falls back against the pillow.
“Was it good for you, Cissy?” Bellatrix asks in a dark, dangerous tone. “Are you pleased with the bargain you’ve made?”
Narcissa shudders. “Leave me be!” she says, punctuating her words with a shove that dislodges both her sister and the worn sheet. “It’s nothing to do with you!”
“I have no wish to see my only sister acting like a half-Galleon whore!” Bellatrix says, almost shouting.
“Shut your eyes, then, if that is all you can see!”
Bellatrix looks wounded but says nothing, and Narcissa closes her eyes against the tears blurring her vision.
“Please, Bella. I cannot bear this.”
“Nor can I,” Bellatrix whispers, leaning close. “I will not see you lost, Narcissa.”
Her breath ghosts over Narcissa’s lips in the stillness before she seals their mouths together.
The kiss is soft, and Narcissa opens to it, starving for even that barest hint of tenderness. A hand strokes her belly before dipping lower, fingers teasing her clit and again slipping inside her. The caresses coax wetness from her, and Bellatrix quickens her pace after Narcissa’s hips start rising to meet them, after Narcissa is moaning quietly into her mouth.
Narcissa arches as she nears climax, and just before she crests, Bellatrix savagely bites her lower lip and pulls away, shoving her dripping fingers into her sister’s open mouth, leaving her gasping, wanting, the sweet flavor of her own incomplete pleasure and the alkaline bite of semen mixing with the coppery-bitter tang of blood on her tongue.
Bellatrix looks at her for a long moment, hooded eyes unreadable and blank.
She stares back, rage and frustration and shock and despair warring for dominance on her face. “You bitch, Bella.”
“He cannot protect you, Cissy,” Bellatrix says dully, looking down at her hands. “He cannot, and I shall not, not until you remember to whom you belong.”
Eyes filling with new tears, Narcissa covers her face with her hands, and when she looks up again, Bellatrix has slipped from the room as quickly as she’d come.
- - -
Dawn, when it comes, colors the mists lavender and gold and vermilion and brightens the gloomy room until it seems almost livable, decorated in pale blues and greens instead of smoke and shadow.
Narcissa goes to the window once more, robed and groomed and hugging herself tightly.
She has never seen a morning so unlovely and grey.
Title: sans foi (mais non infidèle)
Author: stephanometra
Pairings: Severus/Narcissa, Bellatrix/Narcissa
Rating: R
Warnings: Incest
Notes: For vanitymachine, slashfest Second Wave (y'know, back when they still allowed femmeslash *shakes fist angrily*). Thanks to sioniann, theamazingtish, shop1442 and danithesquirrel.
Feedback: Cherished.
“I will,” said Snape.
The tendrils of fire twine about her arm, arcing through her body, and a stab of panic runs through her as the burn reaches her Mark. But the heat subsides, and when she pulls away from Severus she cradles her left arm, staring at the quiescent brand and daring to hope that perhaps everything will be alright.
Bellatrix extends a hand to help her up, astonishment still plain on her face, but Narcissa rises gracefully on her own, dusting off her skirts and inspecting the carpet to keep from looking at Snape.
“We’ll just be going, Snape,” Bellatrix says, putting a protective arm around Narcissa’s waist to steer her towards the door and inclining her head towards Snape in a mockery of politeness.
Severus smiles thinly. “I think not, Bellatrix. The Aurors who patrol this area will be along shortly, and since I should hate to explain your capture to the Dark Lord,” - Bella bristles and opens her mouth to speak - “I must insist that you stay the night.”
Narcissa cringes at Bella’s scoff and says, “Thank you, Severus, we would be honored.”
He flicks his wand lazily at the door hidden among the bookcases, once again revealing a cringing Wormtail. “See to it that the guest rooms on the second floor are habitable,” Severus says, and Wormtail scurries to obey after throwing him a dark look. “I would not have it said that I am…inhospitable in any way. Now if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to.”
His eyes are fathomless as he looks at Narcissa before taking his leave, and she shivers, suddenly cold.
- - -
The small bedchamber Wormtail shows her to after dinner looks out over the murky river. Narcissa strips to her chemise and goes to the window with the hairbrush she’d found on the dressing-table and spelled clean. Faint light from the half-moon paints everything silver-grey, and she feels very alone as she stares out into the mist.
The chill roughens her skin and seeps into her blood, and she knows how frail she must look, how old. Though far too fair to grey, there is white creeping into her blond, and the moonlight steals what color she has left.
She feels his eyes on her before she hears him breathe, before his body heats the air at her back, but Narcissa says nothing, only continues to run the brush through her hair.
Severus is likewise silent.
He stops the repetitive motion of her hand with his own, and the shock of magic from his fingers on hers is scorching, electric. The brush falls to the floor, hitting the threadbare carpet with a dull thud, and she winces at the sound.
When he raises her hand to his lips, Narcissa bows her head. “There are no Auror patrols, are there?”
“Does it matter?”
She can’t tell whether she is imagining the edge of amusement in his voice.
She trembles, takes a shaky breath. “No, I don’t suppose it does,” she says, and lets him push her down onto the narrow bed without further prelude. She hasn’t the energy to play the virtuous wife, not when she’d known what he’d wanted from the moment he asked them to stay.
Severus doesn’t seem to mind when she turns her head against his kisses, or that she is silent except for a sharp cry of pain when he sheathes himself inside her. She is pliant and warm against him, her arms willing and open because she knows that he expects it, but all the same she is grateful that it isn’t long before he shudders and then stills, resting his head in the curve where her neck meets her shoulder.
Narcissa is sure that he whispers a name against the tender skin of her throat when he comes. She doesn’t catch it, but she knows that it isn’t her own, and for some strange reason that comforts her.
He pulls away after a long moment, then casts about for his robe, suddenly too shy to look at her. Narcissa, suddenly too drained even to clean the stickiness from her thighs, gathers the rumpled sheet to cover her nakedness and watches him for a moment before speaking. “Severus.”
“Narcissa.”
“Do you think me faithless?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
He peers at her from beneath his lashes and laughs, quietly and mirthlessly. “Faith has nothing to do with any of this.”
“How can that be?”
Severus buttons his robe and does not answer, getting up and going to the window to stare out into the mists for a time. Abruptly, he turns and crosses the room towards the door, but he hesitates before opening it.
“Narcissa.”
She looks at him and raises a platinum brow.
“You will find, I believe, that faith is a luxury some of us can no longer afford.”
And then she is alone again, and before long the room darkens from silver to shadow as the moon sets. She lies on her side facing the window, though she is sure she will not sleep, and waits for the dawn she supposes will still come.
- - -
She’s not surprised when Bellatrix slips into her room, wrapped in darkness and humming tunelessly to herself, nor when her sister pounces on the bed and grabs her shoulder, nails like claws digging into the soft flesh.
When Narcissa doesn’t turn to face her, Bellatrix laughs and slides her hand under the thin sheet and down Narcissa’s torso, splaying her fingers over the curve of a pale, perfect hip, whispering, “Look at me, Cissy,” into Narcissa’s ear.
“Leave me, Bella.”
“What kind of sister would I be if I left you alone with your shame?” Bellatrix asks, tongue curling sensually around the word and then flicking out to trace the shell of Narcissa’s ear.
Narcissa squirms and turns her head to glare at Bellatrix. “And why should I be ashamed?”
“Groveling before a halfblood, especially a skulking degenerate like him, shames all of us, Cissy,” she says, her voice hard. “Mother would grieve.”
“Mother would want me to protect my son!”
“And I am certain that Draco would not want to be thus protected!”
“How happy for him, then, that I am his mother and not you!” Narcissa stares for a moment before deliberately turning away and laying her head on the thin pillow once again. “Andromeda would have understood.”
“You dare speak of her!” Bellatrix tightens her grip.
Narcissa feels the skin of her hip start to bruise, but she refuses to cry out in pain. “Must everything merit such drama?” she asks through clenched teeth. “She was once your sister as well.”
“A truth I have tried to forget! She is nothing more than an apostate, a traitor to her blood and to her family!” Bellatrix lowers her voice and looks at her pointedly. “Now I fear that you have become as faithless as she.”
Narcissa goes white with fury and slaps her sister’s face with one hand, snatching her wand off the bedside table with the other; Bellatrix, wide-eyed and with a livid handprint blooming across her cheek, stares at the slender length of birch jabbing the hollow of her throat.
“You have no right, Bella,” Narcissa hisses, eyes flashing.
Bellatrix blinks and then looks just as angry. “Do you deny it, then?” She shifts, knocking Narcissa’s wand away and forcing her hand between Narcissa’s thighs. “You’re still filthy with his spend, and I’ve no right!” she says, sliding two fingers into Narcissa’s sticky heat, as if to prove her point.
“What affair is it of yours?” Narcissa cries, sitting up and struggling to pull away, but the fingers inside her twist cruelly, and she falls back against the pillow.
“Was it good for you, Cissy?” Bellatrix asks in a dark, dangerous tone. “Are you pleased with the bargain you’ve made?”
Narcissa shudders. “Leave me be!” she says, punctuating her words with a shove that dislodges both her sister and the worn sheet. “It’s nothing to do with you!”
“I have no wish to see my only sister acting like a half-Galleon whore!” Bellatrix says, almost shouting.
“Shut your eyes, then, if that is all you can see!”
Bellatrix looks wounded but says nothing, and Narcissa closes her eyes against the tears blurring her vision.
“Please, Bella. I cannot bear this.”
“Nor can I,” Bellatrix whispers, leaning close. “I will not see you lost, Narcissa.”
Her breath ghosts over Narcissa’s lips in the stillness before she seals their mouths together.
The kiss is soft, and Narcissa opens to it, starving for even that barest hint of tenderness. A hand strokes her belly before dipping lower, fingers teasing her clit and again slipping inside her. The caresses coax wetness from her, and Bellatrix quickens her pace after Narcissa’s hips start rising to meet them, after Narcissa is moaning quietly into her mouth.
Narcissa arches as she nears climax, and just before she crests, Bellatrix savagely bites her lower lip and pulls away, shoving her dripping fingers into her sister’s open mouth, leaving her gasping, wanting, the sweet flavor of her own incomplete pleasure and the alkaline bite of semen mixing with the coppery-bitter tang of blood on her tongue.
Bellatrix looks at her for a long moment, hooded eyes unreadable and blank.
She stares back, rage and frustration and shock and despair warring for dominance on her face. “You bitch, Bella.”
“He cannot protect you, Cissy,” Bellatrix says dully, looking down at her hands. “He cannot, and I shall not, not until you remember to whom you belong.”
Eyes filling with new tears, Narcissa covers her face with her hands, and when she looks up again, Bellatrix has slipped from the room as quickly as she’d come.
- - -
Dawn, when it comes, colors the mists lavender and gold and vermilion and brightens the gloomy room until it seems almost livable, decorated in pale blues and greens instead of smoke and shadow.
Narcissa goes to the window once more, robed and groomed and hugging herself tightly.
She has never seen a morning so unlovely and grey.