The Owl and the Pussycat

A/N: The argument between the portraits has been in my head for months! I’m sorry, it tried to run off with the plot! However, it was the most amusing plot device I could come up with to put a loophole in the chastity charm so I could get a bit of nookie into the plot! I also had to bring Narcissa and Lucius into the story, so for now we break with one of my favourite childhood rhymes for a little madness and sadness.



Its taken some rather expensive ice-cream to bribe Sarah to beta this so soon after the last. We’re still waiting for Blaise and Lucius to be delivered to us, so you can’t have Hermione and Draco back yet. (*blows raspberry*)



I would like to take this opportunity to (take a moment to behave seriously and) show appreciation every single person who has read, and the four (so far) whom have reviewed, I was as pleased as punch to receive such encouraging words for the first chapter of my first story on this site. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart.



…



Three Months Later, Malfoy Manor.



Narcissa Astraea Malfoy was rudely awoken by a portrait of one of her imprisoned Husband’s late relatives. She couldn’t remember which one, it was tradition for all Malfoy men to wear the same robes for their portrait sittings, so fashion didn’t hint at an era.



“My dear, it appears there is an intruder in the East wing.” Said the portrait, trying to move the sleeping occupant of the painting in the Master bedroom out of the way – the Grecian woman promptly screamed and began hitting whichever-Malfoy-ancestor-he-was over the head with a painted urn.



“What?!” Narcissa panicked, now fully awake, climbing from the bed, and leaving the room stealthily with her wand, not bothering to put either her dressing gown or slippers on. She left the ancestor to his beating at the hands of the complaining Grecian woman. Her nightgown trailed slightly behind her as she crept along the hallway to the other wing of the Manor, fully alert for any noise or movement.



“Petrificus Totalus!” she yelled, the intruder collapsing to the ground.



“A nice shot, my dear – could you please tell Hera that I meant her no harm? That vase was rather heavy!” said the ancestor, rubbing his blonde head in the gloom.



“You were where!” screeched the portrait opposite, the Ancestor’s wife.



“My dear, I was informing the current Lady of the house of our intruder! Hera does not hold my affection…”



“You have not visited my painting for twenty years! You scoundrel! Are you trying to violate your chastity charm now that you have been dead for six centuries?!”



“My love! The last time I visited your portrait you reminded me that now we were both dead that my marriage rights were no longer valid and threw me out!”



“I was pointing out that it was the middle of the day and that the Lord and Lady had guests for luncheon!” she retorted



“I did not see the issue? We would sneak away from our own functions to do such acts when we lived. If I recall correctly, our firstborn was conceived in my study while the minister of magic was sat in the next room!”



“I do not think I wanted to know about that, Father!” said the portrait next to the bruised ancestor.



“You don’t want to know where your younger sister was conceived.” His Mother retorted.



“If you are ever shagging in a hayloft, make sure you are the one on top*! I had hay in places I didn’t know I possessed!” Moaned the Father.



“I am glad she’s hanging in France! I don’t think she’d want to hear this!” moaned the son.



“Oh, pish! Her husband and she escaped their own wedding reception to… consummate their marriage in the greenhouse – it was the only area of the Manor without guests! Especially with all of his family staying over!” commented the Mother.



“No! You jest? My baby sister rolling around in the compost? No! She wouldn’t!” the son said, shocked



“I do not jest! She most certainly did!” sighed the Mother. “She ripped the train of the dress on the thorns.”



“No?”



“Yes.”



“Truly, Mother?”



“Yes.” She said, exasperated.



“I do not believe you.”



“Stop. Arguing. This. Minute!” Narcissa shouted, annoyed with the pair of portraits. “Lumos”.



Prone on the floor was her son’s… girlfriend? Narcissa had never managed to find an appropriate term to name their odd relationship.



“Oh my! Finite Incantatem!” Narcissa cried, remembering well the torture the young woman had suffered in her home at the hands of her sister. Her stunning her would have made matters worse.



“I’m s-sorry t-to wake y-you… I had a n-nightmare and w-wanted t-to…” Hermione began, tears running down her face.



Narcissa gathered the young woman to her, hugging her gently and rubbing her back in soothing circles. “Come, my dear, I think Draco will be better at this than I – you will be able to get this off your chest and sleep once he has helped you calm down.”



“What? You cannot share a bed before marriage!” Yelled another ancestor, the argument having woken up all the portraits in the wing – most taking sides in their argument over ‘marriage rights’ and lovemaking in unusual places… Narcissa had never realised that it was possible for the occupants of paintings to… she didn’t want to think about that.



“I made sure of such things!” Yelled the third Lord Malfoi’s wife, matriarch of the heir portrait wing.



“Not all of them, you missed a few… interesting loopholes in your spell.” Called Abraxas, winking at his daughter-in-law.



“What!” she screamed, barging through the other paintings to get to the most recently dead Malfoy heir.



“You neglected, much to our enjoyment, oral pleasure.” He chuckled, Lucius’s Mother cringing and throwing a death look at her husband from across the hall. Narcissa didn’t want to know that either.



“Pardon… what are you speaking of?” yelled the third Lord Malfoi’s wife, stopping half way along the hallway.



Abraxas proceeded to move through generation after generation of portraits to get to the matriarch; he whispered in her ear for a moment before making a hasty retreat back to his own frame.



“If only I had my wand! You amorous rogue! I would curse you until you would not know of your own name!” she screamed.



“Are they always like this?” Hermione asked, smiling at the antics of the portraits, now having a full bitch-fest with each other. She’d given as good as she received as she was introduced to them; especially as they didn’t recognise her surname from the pureblood trees… The insults had come thick and fast once they learnt she was muggleborn; in retaliation Hermione baffled them with three-syllable insults that they didn’t realise were insults until a day later – oddly enough, that ensured her respect. Malfoy wives had to be strong, and this one oozed confidence and strength of will; she’d keep young Draco on his toes!



“Usually, this is why they are over this side of the manor. It is why we normally give you a room in the South wing, but they were in desperate need of their fireplaces replacing. Goodness knows how Draco sleeps!”



“With ear plugs and silencing charms… why are you on the floor? Hermione? Are you alright?” He asked, moving to help his partner up.



“I was s-scared. I had a r-rather b-bad dream, I wanted t-to come and t-tell you about it and get a h-hug.” Hermione whispered into his chest.



“Can you handle this Draco?” Narcissa yawned.



“Yes, Mother. Good night.” He said, lifting Hermione and taking her to his room.



Hermione never slept in the guest room after that night, nightmares hardly ever frequented her sleep afterward. Infact, she only went home to pack her belongings and return her flat key back to George.



“My dear! What is your opinion of this oral pleasure?” Asked one of the ladies of Narcissa, scratching her head.



“You wouldn’t know! You wouldn’t do it for me!” moaned her opposite husband.



“It made me rather violently ill! I was not going to do that again!” she spat back, “Sorry dear, what were you saying?”



“Hmm… quite wonderful, actually… it, pardon the expression, works both ways. It is just as pleasurable for a woman as a man.” Narcissa began, but was broken off by an outraged wife.



“You said it was a hideous thing for a woman! You told me that someone’s wife at the country club said it was incredibly painful! If you had said you didn’t want to return the favour, all you had to do was say so! Our wedding oaths vowed that we would not lie to each other!” came the outraged cry of a painting further down the hall.



“Oh, dear – someone’s in trouble!” sing-sang another one of the men.



“Infact, Lucius managed to break into the Ravenclaw girls’ dormitory for such a reason when he was head boy at Hogwarts… that was an educational evening for us.” Narcissa smirked, enjoying putting bees in the portraits’ bonnets. Portrait baiting was one of her hobbies.



“That’s my boy!” laughed Abraxas.



“You’d encourage this monstrosity!?” yelled the third Lord Malfoy’s wife, back in her own frame at the end of the hall.



“I did rather enjoy him abusing his position as, pardon the expression, if you will – head boy.” Narcissa giggled, most of the paintings didn’t catch the innuendo, her Mother-in-Law looked sickened (she’d never be good enough for her son), Abraxas was grinning from ear to ear.



“Actually, how in Merlin’s name did he manage that!” Lucius’s Father yelled, “I couldn’t get into the Slytheri Girl’s dorms, never mind those of another house! We had to make do with a broom cupboard, do you remember Love?”



“Braxy! Shush, before you embarrass me!” screeched his wife from across the corridor, her head in her hands, disapproving looks from the third Lord Malfoi’s wife being shot in her direction.



“Good night… remind me to never let you lot see a copy of the Kama Sutra…” Narcissa smirked. She had to remember not to incriminate herself too much, she’d be hanging among them after she had departed her life.



“The Calm Sultana? What’s that?” questioned a new voice in the discussion.



“I don’t like sultanas. I used to pick them out of scones.”



And with that Narcissa walked to her own room, grinning all the way to the door. Her smile dropped as she climbed into the empty bed. How she missed Lucius, of course he had his faults, and his punishment was fitting to his crimes – but it would be a long decade without him! Despite what society thought, their match was one of love, not arranged by parents. She missed him terribly, unlike Hermione, she didn’t have her handsome blonde to comfort her as she confronted disturbing dreams.



Narcissa was restless, climbing out of bed she walked into their dressing room; returning to their marital bed hugging Lucius’s heavy cotton dressing gown to her body. She knew dropping a little of his aftershave onto the collar so it still smelt of him was rather tragic – but the deep scent of sandalwood, cedarwood and lime was the one he had used since he was seventeen – she had bought him the first bottle as a gift as he entered his adulthood, he’d never used a different aroma after that.



It was the scent that she had woken up to every morning for almost twenty-five years (with the exception of the Azkaban stints). The fragrance that she had inhaled as they danced their first dance at their wedding reception – and every waltz, tango, quickstep, foxtrot thereafter. The cologne she used to breathe as she snuggled into his body at night; the scent that enveloped them as they made love.



It was tragic, but it was the only comfort she had while he was gone.



She sighed as sleep began to drag her into troubled dreams: “Nox.”

…








* this line is a quote from a 'Sharpe' book by Bernard Cromwell - as far as I remember it was 'Sharpe's Trafalgar, but I can't rightly remember at the moment, and I don't have the book with me at university for reference. If anyone does know, feel free to tell me!