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

Chapter Twenty
Power Play

“…and so, Lucius, I am giving you that honor.” Red eyes watched Lucius Malfoy try to control his expression of revulsion, half hidden by the hood of his cloak.

“You honor me, my lord,” came the smooth answer. Silently, though, Lucius growled at Pettigrew for being a complete waste of flesh. “How may I assist you with your test, my lord? A woman from the village, perhaps? Or would you prefer something more exotic?” The questions were hopeful but pointless. Malfoy knew the answer.

“Lucius, would you have me take ill in this new body by befouling it with a prostitute?”

“Forgive even the thought, please, my lord. I would never wish that. I only wish for you to find your pleasure in the most skilled of hands,” purred Lucius.

“I know well enough that your hands and mouth are even more talented than a prostitute’s.”

“My lord, you flatter me…”

“Now, now, Lucius, your predilections are infamous. Sure you didn’t think that I wouldn’t hear of your exploits?” The voice was mocking, yet demanded action.

Malfoy knelt before the Dark Lord’s chair. “You hear everything. How may I bring you pleasure, my lord?”

“I don’t want you for pleasure. My Nagini sees to that. I know Pettigrew is incompetent, but I must know if this new body can force sons on the woman. You will service me to provide that knowledge. If this human body is still too weak, you will instruct my Potions Master to prepare a potion to correct it - immediately,” instructed Voldemort.

“My lord, surely you know by now, it has been a month and a half. After all, a man’s body normally…” Malfoy tried to get away from the task.

“Lucius, must I put you under the Imperious Curse to get you to do what I request?” The voice was bored. A skeletal hand gestured to the fastenings of the black velvet robes. Malfoy brushed back his long blonde hair and, without comment, removed the hidden wand from his walking stick. With a light touch of the black wand, he unfastened the frogs holding the outer robe closed, then the inner, exposing Voldemort’s emaciated, sickly pale body. His penis was flaccid over testicles that were tight to his body in the cool mountain air.

Voldemort’s legs parted to allow Malfoy to kneel between them. He lifted a leather-clad hand to massage his Lord and Master’s penis, hoping that it would end soon. Through his black gloves, Malfoy could feel the soft flesh move with his hand without stiffening. Long fingers caressed the testicles in front of him without a response. The slow, gentle massage should have made the Dark Wizard throb – it certainly had for every other of his male lovers. His blue eyes met the evil red ones of his Master. Lucius tried not to shudder.

“Try something else; that isn’t doing anything.”

Obediently, Malfoy rose and suckled at Voldemort’s nipples. There was no response. Voldemort watched his coldly. His tongue teased the hot, pale skin, drawing small circles and random patterns. He removed his gloves to draw his nails over his Dark Lord’s skin and then to continue the stroking massage. A long finger probed behind Voldemort’s testicles, pressing upwards, seeking. Still, there was no response. Malfoy took a deep breath and kissed Voldemort’s penis, gently drawing it between his lips. He sucked and licked for a full minute before he was interrupted.

Voldemort said in his high-pitched voice, “That is enough, Lucius. You have shown some skill. If I am ever interested in buggery for amusement, I shall indeed call you. However, it appears that Pettigrew wasn’t as skilled in recreating my body as I would have wished.”

Still kneeling, Malfoy kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robes and refastened them. He moved several feet back, trying not to retch. “I regret that I could not give you what you desire,” he began.

Voldemort interrupted, “Never mind that. I knew it would be so. It was mostly a test of your loyalty and willingness to do as you were told, Malfoy. You passed this test. Perhaps someday you will manage to work your way back into my good graces.” The Dark Lord’s snakelike nostrils flared as he considered the twelve long years that he waited for his Death Eaters.

“My life and service are yours, my lord,” said Malfoy smoothly. “Anything that I have do to bring your pleasure and power, is yours to command.”

“For now, inform Snape that I wish him to resolve this unfortunate problem. Tell him that I want him to use Jasmine Swan for it, as I will have use for her when this inconvenience is dealt with. They are divorced – I assume it is because she figured out just how unlikable he really is. I don’t foresee any problems concerning my soon-to-be connubial bliss with her, as soon as I am whole again.”

“As you command,” Malfoy stood, replacing his gloves.

“And do tell him that he will taste whatever he concocts before I do, won’t you? It is just a matter of preserving my health with one that may not be as loyal as you are.”


Wormtail crouched in the corner, where he’d allowed himself to be tossed by Voldemort. The shining silver hand stayed tucked inside his robes, just in case the desultory candlelight made it gleam, drawing unwanted attention. His watery eyes studied every movement before him. Ears that were too big for his head heard every word uttered. And his mind, which was more viscously agile than most people realized, wove information into a complex matrix. Once again, he slightly adjusted his behavior to stay alive – and indispensable.


An hour later, Lucius Malfoy swept through the halls of the manor, calling for his wife. Draco, his son, looked up from his book on hexes and curses to greet him, but was ignored. The rat that the boy had been using to practice on escaped behind a heavy cabinet. The younger Malfoy pouted and sought a house elf to experiment on.

Narcissa Malfoy listened as her husband slammed through the house, on his way back from meeting with the Dark Lord. She posed artfully, waiting on a chaise lounge. There was a magazine cradled in her hands so that it best displayed the color and length of her fingernails. Witch Weekly was not something she actually read, but she thought that her husband enjoyed the illusion that she was a posh, talented, empty-headed whore in their bedroom and an excellent accountant out of it. Aristotle, Machiavelli and Tsun Tsu were her preferred reading. It pleased him to pretend that he had certain illusions, and it pleased her to think that she fed his illusions. She indulged his illusion that he actually ran the household when it was she who approved every menu, paid every bill, directed house elves about their duties and generally kept Draco out of trouble. She fed his quasi- illusion that he actually controlled the ever-expanding Malfoy fortune. He never needed to know that a great deal of the “interest” gained from their “old pureblood fortune” came from Muggle tech stocks, grain futures and military contractors. The man actually believed that financing Gringott’s treasure hunters and the interest from loans to various businesses and individuals was as lucrative as she made it out to be. A public illusion that they both fed was that she allowed was that she had no idea of her husband’s peccadilloes. Truth-be-told, she arranged for most of them. Having sex with anything in robes kept Lucius out of her business ledgers. It wasn’t that she didn’t adore the man, but business was business and she would remain in complete control of it.

Lucius, no matter the apparent blindness, was savvy, intelligent, ruthless and quite unpleasant, though he normally tried not to show that to his wife. Sometimes, he was even amused by her little games with his finances and household. He knew exactly where his money went and where it came from. Now that the Dark Lord was back, it was time that Narcissa stop playing queen and concentrate on exactly what she’d been acquired for – his pleasure.

He was also infuriated at the power that Voldemort had over him. Hadn’t he been a faithful servant, waiting for a hint of the Dark Lord’s return? Hadn’t he tried to bring it about by giving that gormless Weasley child the diary, even if it had been meant for Potter? That he had wanted it out of his home for fear of discovery was conveniently forgotten. The diary would have restored the Dark Lord’s body and soul, but once again, Potter ruined it. Malfoy had even done everything in his power to wrest Dumbledore out of his Hogwarts stronghold and discredit him. That, too, had backfired, but it was certainly more than anyone else had done to aid the Dark Lord’s cause.

The blonde Narcissa uncurled from her couch as Lucius slammed into the room. “Disrobe,” he commanded and threw his walking stick - wand onto the bed.

Obediently, she waved her wand. Her clothing disappeared, exposing a body that was kept firm and attractive by the use of a Pounds Potion and a strict diet. Her smile was inviting, but Lucius ignored it.

“Bathe me.” It was a common instruction after he spent any time with the Dark Lord.

Narcissa ran the bath while she assisted Lucius out of his clothing. Once he was in the water, he sat still, and she bathed him quickly, including washing his hair and brushing his teeth. He lusted after the power that Voldemort could give him, but was disgusted at the sight of old wizard – being forced to service him was as revolting as it had been humiliating. Exercising the power that he had over Narcissa gave him a measure of his pride back. It gave him obvious pleasure to be waited upon, especially by a woman so intelligent and beautiful as his wife. She was a trophy – and his. He loved Narcissa, in a distant, civilized way, but he loved being in control of her even more.

Once he was clean, dry and robed in heavy designer velvet, Narcissa brushed his hair out by hand, instead of using an enchanted brush. It was simply one of the services that he required and she indulged. She stayed naked, he felt more dominant when he was clothed and she wasn’t. She was happy to indulge his lust for power. It gave her what she wanted – wealth, power of her own, and the knowledge that she was needed. He was nothing without her and any hold that he had over her – she gave him.

“Do you love me, Narcissa,” he asked, almost idly.

“You know that I love you, Lucius. I always have and I always will.”

“Do you fear me?”

The hairbrush didn’t falter but she thought for a moment, trying to gauge his mood. Finally, she answered as honestly as she could, “While others may fear you, I trust you with my life.” He hummed. She nuzzled his cheek, murmuring, “After all, you own my heart.” She artlessly giggled and said playfully, “And I own everything else.”

Swiftly, he reached around and caught her by the neck, dragging her to collapse in a heap on the floor. She landed with a soft scream and an expression of shock. His face was twisted in fury and he squeezed her throat.

“I own more than your heart, Narcissa. I own you - mind, body and soul,” he snarled, “you were bought and paid for, sold by the most noble House of Black.” He made the title sound like an insult. Then he continued with a sneer, “The house that breeds only, insane bastards, traitors and females they have to get rid of in exchange for fresh blood and a chip into the moldering family coffers.” Then his tone changed to something more detached and observant. It was almost scientific. “You know, I could kill you now - break your neck or choke the life out of you then make your body disappear. I could blame it on The Dark Lord and no one would be the wiser.”

She gaped at him.

He rested his thumbs on her windpipe. “What would it take for you to fear me?” he asked in a slow murmur. His eyes were hot but his face was set in stone.

Narcissa whimpered.

He pressed his thumbs into her skin, enjoying the terror blossoming in her eyes. He leaned forward to brush his lips over hers in a mockery of a kiss while he whispered, “This?” While his hands tightened, his tongue snaked into her open mouth, seeking the taste of fear.

She breathed a small, scared sound.

He pushed her back onto the floor. As he removed his wand from the walking stick, he took a moment to enjoy the sight of her pale, nude body sprawled on the black marble floor. Coldly, he watched as tears welled in her eyes. Confusion and fear were a mask over her beautiful face. She was incapable of speech. He murmured an Imperturbable Charm. The sounds of house elves and birds were instantly muted in the room – there would be no sound coming from there either.

“Do you fear me yet, my lovely, delicate Narcissa?” he asked in an idle tone, though the endearment was a mockery of affection. He looked down at her once again, a cruel smile playing over his mouth. She was frozen, watching him. “Or would it take something like this…” he raised his wand and thundered “Crucio!”

On a shriek of agony, she fell back, her body wracked with pain. Her fingers curved into claws and every muscle contracted. It felt as though someone had set fire to every muscle, bone and nerve in her body. Then the pain was instantly gone, leaving only the aftermath of sobbing and a frisson of icy flames running along her nerves. Curling into a ball, she dragged her leg through a hot puddle on the floor – she had voided. Humiliation only added to her terror.

There were easier ways – even more interesting ways to cause pain; he’d enjoyed practicing most of them on his toys. The Cruciatus Curse was quick, though. It also got the point across with a certain savage efficiency that Lucius enjoyed. He clicked the wand back into its sheath and watched her, his face twisted into careful blankness. “Get up and come here,” he commanded. Slowly, her body recovered and responded, uncurling and crawling to him, her muscles protesting. He caught her by her hair and directed her face into his lap. “Service me,” he commanded in the same bored tone that Dark Lord had used.

Narcissa unbuttoned his robe with trembling fingers, not daring to look up at him. His penis was half roused. She stroked him as he’d taught her to do when they were teenagers. It was practiced, though the fear gave a different dimension to it. Lucius enjoyed the sensation of her trembling hands and lack of flirting looks. It had always annoyed him that she felt that when his cock was in her mouth, she was actually in control – such things would no longer be tolerated. The skills that he taught had her stimulated him to a full erection and her lips closed around the head of his cock, though she was reluctant. Her pink tongue darted over the head in tiny licks rather than the leisurely stroking that she normally performed. It was fear and skill, not passion that drew her mouth down his shaft, her agile tongue massaging his flesh. Lucius fisted a hand in her hair, forcing her head to move according to his wishes. He knew she hated having her hair pulled or to have him guide her movements in any way, but this wasn’t about her convenience or comfort. Normally he kept pique out of their bedroom, preferring to spend it on the less worthy, though far more useable of his toys. Now, though, Lucius wanted to be sucked off by one of the most beautiful women in England and she was here and in tears – how lovely. The motion and heat of her mouth drew him deeper into the world where sex was a measure of power and only the winners topped.

He dragged her head from his cock and stood to slap it over her face several times. She looked devastated. The hand caught in her hair held her very still then the other opened her mouth by pressing on her cheeks. He slid his cock inside. She obediently sucked, but when he started thrusting into her mouth, she was forced to stop. He was hitting the back of her throat with each thrust and she had to concentrate on not gagging. Several times she failed but he continued. Tears fell unchecked and Lucius enjoyed every one of them. He sped up his fucking until his face was clenched with concentration. He tugged her head back and grabbed his throbbing cock. One quick stroke was all he needed to come. Thick white strands jetted onto her face and neck, a few drops landed in her still open mouth. He grunted several times, yanking on her hair; Narcissa Malfoy, beloved, spoiled, arrogant, beautiful, wealthy, intelligent Narcissa- moaned in pain and humiliation. He stood over her until his breath evened out. She did not stop crying or trembling. When he spoke, his tone was mild, but threatened her very existence.

“Qvae nocent docent, Narcissa. Do not try to play power games with me, Narcissa, they won’t work. I’ve learned from the best.”