The Pureblood Coup

Sheherazade: Thanks for your review. You should be nervous for Narcissa, it will be some of the weirdest sex.


Continuation and final installment of….


Chapter Twelve: Astronomy Domine


Narcissa shuffled away from Voldemort’s throne in the white feather slippers, trying to get herself as far as she could from him. She tried her best to slip into the dim shadows, but suddenly the lights were turned on. The twisted torches lit with Gabruthian fire came on to full intensity and everything was visible as if daytime.

Above the scene, the celestial map of the sky disappeared replaced by a new sight. In the center of the dome was Merlin, representing life and death fused into one, his hand outstretched above, light pouring from it. He represented a force to Wizards or the "source" a power equivalent to a human god, but something more. Merlin who was like the Wizards’ version of Jesus was complimented by the female Morgana behind him, kind of like the Wizard’s version of a Virgin Mary. The entire ceiling depicted a mythical tale of the afterlife, in which death is transcended. It was their version of something almost like a religion, yet the ones following Voldemort had forgotten long ago about their belief in “the source” replaced with belief in their master.

Narcissa for once in her life wanted to be a nameless nobody in the crowd for she had never known such humility as what the evening had brought her.

But then she noticed several imposing figures wearing black from several yards coming toward her. She sensed that they wanted to speak to her, and she tried to disappear within the crowd, but then she thought they were determined to confront her, and she would make it worse by going towards more people.

She ran over to the only way out, near the cathedral-sized hall, passing through the tunnel below the stage. Within moments all of the dark figures followed her like bees to honey. It was very difficult to hide in outrageously obscene dressrobes.

They came closer to her and she could now clearly make out each of them. She did not know whether to be relieved or not that Bellatrix was not a part of them.

Within seconds, they were surrounding her. Narcissa looked ill as she watched Pettigrew practically wet himself with laughter, a laughter quite out of touch with reality.

"You don’t know what your laughing at, do you?! Dirty, untrustworthy prat….Look at me and answer me, Wormtail!” And Narcissa tried hard to ignore the other Death Eaters, who were all looking at her as she spoke.

“He’s just living up to that image of you dancing with the whore slaves!,” said Alecto Carrow, beaming with merriment.

“Yes, I am going to fix that in my memory forever: Lucius Malfoy’s wife, forced to submit herself to the Dark Lord, protstrated at his throne…,” said Nott, the elderly widowed Death Eater, his voice nastier than ever.

Wormtail continued to nod and laugh stupidly, mindlessly going along with Narcissa being made the brunt of the jokes.

“Then again, you’re doing your husband the real service, are you not? Maybe once you’ve satisfied him enough, all of Lucius’s blunders will be forgotten?” said Yaxley.

Narcissa’s face went red with shame, at the fact that they all knew about it because of the incident with Greyback. But at least they stopped laughing at the idea of Narcissa having sex with the Dark Lord.

Yaxley looked around a little nervously, afraid he would find Voldemort. “You know…I wonder how you make up to Lucius? Perhaps that could give you some ideas on how you’ll handle him. Or probably he’ll make you beg for mercy!”

Narcissa whispered, “I do not stoop low to beg Lucius or anybody, not even-even…. Neither of them will be getting any of that from me!”

The Carrows started to chuckle again, and Thorfinn Rowle responded with a wide smile.

“What is going on here Cissy?,” suddenly said a high-pitched woman, emerging into the dark tunnel that was between the ballroom-theater and the hall.

“You know exactly what Bella! Mocking me about being forced to serve him sexually!,” said Naricissa outright in her temper.

“Nonsense. Nonsense 'Cissy! Surely they aren’t mocking you. They wouldn’t dare. It is an honor for him to want you. Everyone knows I want nothing more than for him to be served well.”

Everybody burst out laughing to Bellatrix’s quarrelsome attitude, while Narcissa remained without confidence thinking how they were all insulting her.

“You know I have to say,” said Rodolphus (Bellatrix’s husband), “That dance made the others desire you even less than Veela, Narcissa. And you Bellatrix - why the men desire you even less than the Veela as well. Wanted even less than the Half-breeds or the Veela creatures!”

“Shut-up, Rodolphus. You don’t know what you’re talking about!” said Bellatrix revulsion on her face. But suddenly she directed all the anger at her sister, as if blaming it to be her fault.

But before Bellatrix could turn on Narcissa, Narcissa ran away, brushing past the huge form of Rowle and Nott standing next to each other. She went bent doubled as if in pain, probably half-sobbing as she ran to find privacy before her inevitable liason with Voldemort.

Rodolphus did not even look at Bellatrix, but murmured, “Pierotom Locomotor.”

Suddenly the statue separating the ballroom-theater from the cathedral-sized hall was moving. The naked witch and wizard began to have vanilla sex, whilst standing. As the dick of the wizard penetrated the witch, it made a horrible grinding noise as unpleasant as chalk scraping a blackboard, but much, much louder.

Bellatrix looked over her shoulder to see her sister fleeing the scene, running. But Bellatrix just turned away and went back into the ballroom-theater. Immediately, she naturally gravitated over to Voldemort.

*

At almost the same time the Snatchers were getting what Scabior had promised them (their chance at “fun and amusing time” after the dance as Scabior had called it). Moments ago some of the Snatchers had ripped apart the Veela’s veils, thus removing the clothed wall that had made them unviewable. Now they were to say the least, sexually maiming the Veelas.

One of the Snatchers was Stan Shunpike. He was not taking part in it, but his smooth, mid-twenties face watched eagerly as Snatchers stripped the Veelas of their see-through silk-white costumes magically. Their beautifully sculupted, yet slightly emaciated bodies were fully on display now. What Stan remembered most of all was the first time he had seen a Veela woman at the Quidditch World Cup. He now tipped the chair he was lounging in back, his feet propped up, eyes sparkling and the pupils in them dilating, wanting to have one of the Veelas for himself. Despite his alive eyes, there was still a loss of awareness in him, Stan’s smooth wrinkle-less face as blank as slate, which was because of the Imperius Curse placed on him.

Stan was smoking a plain muggle cigarette, leisurely, taking in large puffs of the smoke. But suddenly he threw the cigarette butt on the ground. He stood up with a start, coming off his chair hard, and at the same time threw the cigarette onto the beautiful Unbreakable glass floor. He rose, and immediately stamped out the cigarette, but left the litter as if it was the most normal thing to do. He really did not know what to think of this place, hardly aware he was at a Pure-blood's manor house anyway, what with his below average intelligence and Imperiused mind.

“Hey, Stan come over and join us….,” another young Snatcher motioned to him up on the stage, where about a dozen of the Snatchers were horsing around, with many people watching.

Stan traipsed confidently down the room, and then went up the short flight of steps, and walked across the stage, his eyes watching the Veela all the time with an innocent sort of look.

“What happened to your friend Ernie Prang, Stan?,” asked one of the Snatchers who did not know much about him.

“Before I was in prison...a couple of years ago I ran the Knight bus. While I was in Azkaban Ernie was killed. Dunno where or how it happened,” said Stan and he shrugged his shoulders.

“But who cares I quit that job. This is much better!,” said Stan, and he clapped his hands together excitedly as he watched the five Veela.

He glanced and saw a most alarming sight. One of the Veelas was completely bound in ropes in the diaper position, with a Snatcher above, his black and yellow uniform unbelted, as he mercilessly penetrated the crying woman.

Another had her anus rammed through a pole on the side of the stage, it looked terribly painful and resembled the sex toy called a butt plug. A few of the Snatchers hovered shamelessly over the Veela, as they took turns shoving themselves into her raised up vaginal canal, at the top of the pole. The poor Veela slave was restrained like it was a stake, her head layed down against the pole with her arms jutting back, whilst her lower body was raised upward from being held by the ass in this position, her feet jutting outward.

The other three naked Veela meanwhile, were dancing, going up and down the larger poles, located in front of the Veela with her ass rammed in the broken pole. The crowd of mostly men, including Death Eaters who were too socially conscious to take part in this type of public sex watched below cheering and waving delightedly.

One of Stan’s apparent friends waved his wand, and conjured a rickety chair. “Hey, one of the ladies will give lap dances. How about it, Stan? You can have the first go!”

“Thanks,” said Stan, and he rapidly went to sit in the chair, smiling. One of the Veela, so used to all of it by now, saw her opportunity and ran over to Stan, and she whirled wildy just over Stan’s knees. Stan shoved her pussy into his lap, against his balls through the uniform, as she moved ceaselessly, and Stan ran his rough hands over her flowing silver blonde hair, which whirled like a fan again. “Oh, this is like heaven!,” Stan moaned appreciately as he squeezed the Veela’s practically fleshless thighs.

Someone from below the stage, ten feet below mumbled, “Where’s mine? I have rewards from the Dark Lord you know. I get my lap dance!”

All the men down below, who had been ogling the slaves glared at Fenrir Greyback at once. He was still in his red-feathered vulture form with feathers sticking out of the crown of his head, and the ceremonial robes completely ripped at the chest. The bottom of the robes were also opened, exposing his privates, for he had not worn undergarments.

“There she is! The one woman I dreamed of!” and Greyback ran like a sprint and jumped up, and with his enormous strength managed to climb onto the stage.

Greyback at least did not bother the other Veela, who had been going on the poles, and were now returning to dance in their enchanted, blue lit cages with white stars etched on them.

He went, cutting in line at the Veela, who was rammed into the pole, and began to put his hands on the woman with crazy delight.

“My lover. Ah, the most beautiful woman, she is a queen, I heard.”

“These are slaves,” retorted one of the Snatchers who had been knocked out of the line waiting for his turn, “The so-called Queen was that Malfoy woman, Greyback!”

“Oh yeah…,” said Greyback, and suddenly remembering Narcissa, he laughed heartily to himself about her fate.

“It’s not your chance yet Greyback, but here,” another of the men said. He waved his wand and Greyback’s vulture form finally disappeared.

Greyback did not offer his thanks, but nodded to the one who had removed it for him.

*

And Voldemort was some distance away with a small group at his attendance, including Scabior, Lucius Malfoy, Draco, and Bellatrix.

Voldemort looked around the room, scanning it for two things. His red eyes drifted around the fully-lit room until he surmised Narcissa was not present, for he had already looked several times in the last few minutes. He hoped she was compliant enough to be waiting in his master bedchamber for him, eager to be an easy, obedient woman.

Voldemort finally spoke his thoughts aloud for the second thing, “This “Festival of the Pure-Bloods is over,” he said dryly. “Lucius, you are to tell the last of the guests to leave your home. Do it now.”

Lucius almost smiled. It was the best order he had heard from his master in awhile. “Yes, My lord,” said Lucius and he hurried away to start screaming at people that the party was over.

“Scabior, you must tell the Snatchers to get off the property now too,” said Voldemort calmly, without even so much as glancing at the wizard.

Scabior assented and went towards the stage where the Veelas were being floated back to hide behind the stage until they returned to their real prison, the tower.

A moment later, and the girl who had volunteered to dance with Narcissa and the Veelas was daring to approach Voldemort's group. It seemed she had some sort of agenda, in fact she had made a dare that she would speak to Voldemort before the party was over.

“Good evening, sir!,” she said loudly to Voldemort. It seemed he had not heard or actually he thought that the greeting was not addressed to him.

“Good evening, sir!,” Desiree Dolohov repeated loudly.

Bellatrix looked down, her spidery lashes curving and she simpered with newfound delight at Desiree, who looked much like herself had at eleven, “Oh, what a charming girl!” she said enthused, as she tried to bite back laughter at what Desiree had called Voldemort.

Voldemort finally realized there was a small person, who had dared to address him like that standing less them a yard away from him, just much further down, in the middle of his chest where he had not spotted her, for he had not looked. His nostrils flared as he looked down at the shirtless girl, with the short curly black hair and dark brown eyes, standing barefoot.

Nervously, Desiree curtsied again, trying to ignore her exposed chest, but she did not think that would bother Voldemort.

“What?! Did a child – that child address me as a 'sir'?!,” Voldemort almost shrieked and he looked down at the innocent eleven-year-old with fury.

Desiree looked up into Voldemort’s face, and then looked away suddenly frightened. She shot a glance at Bellatrix and beamed adoringly at her instead.

“Still a charming girl,” said Bellatrix, for once conveniently preventing a confrontation. “You must remember to address him as a lord, girl. The Dark Lord is never called 'sir'!,” she shrilled insanely repulsed at the thought.

“Indeed,” said Snape coolly, appearing out of nowhere a drink in hand, and he looked curiously at the child.

“S-sorry!,” and Desiree looked only more frightened. In her fear she could not catch her tongue, she stammered, “But “sir” means a man? You a-are a-a man?, right?” she stammered, craning her neck, her hands on the back of her elbow's which were jutting out, an unconscious nervous gesture.

Voldemort expelled a furious breath, and opened his mouth to speak. But Desiree seemed to realize her mistake and she tried to clear it up, speaking first, “Thank-you for the party…Lord,” and she curtsied again.

Voldemort seemed to forget about her and looked the other way. He was thinking in his head it was quite unnessary for him to make issue of a pathetic, silly girl anyway.

Desiree still gazed at Voldemort in mixtures of shock and shame, as she wondered what he was. For the first time she was confused at what made a man into a man, because clearly the Dark Lord was something different than a man, something more than human, alien to her. But what? She did not understand, he only mystified her.

But suddenly Desiree jumped in terror, as she felt someone behind her, grab her bottom, cupping the end of it in one hand and sneer, “You naughty, naughty, girl!”

“Ah, but incredibly charming, I daresay, Antonin,” said Bellatrix, and she smiled faintly at Desiree.

“No. A naughty little thing she is. Fast turning into a seducing cunt.”

Desiree turned around at once, terror in her eyes. Her grandfather, Antonin Dolohov was towering over her. His long face was twisted with fury. Desiree knew all too well from that look, what was going to happen to her.

“And you, Bellatrix. You tell your sister she should have kept this little girl – my child out of that spectacle!”

Bellatrix opened her mouth, furious. “I don’t think Narcissa has any responsibility for it. You should have been watching where...Desiree went off.”

“I don’t need to hear anything from you stupid, full-grown slut, just like your sister but of the darker type of looker. We don’t want her treated like the scum of the earth, as Mrs. Malfoy gets, or worse made into another Veela slave.”

“Watch your mouth, Antonin Dolohov. Do you know whom you're talkingto?!”

Dolohov didn’t listen, but muttered something about the Malfoys being a race of whores that he didn’t want the Dolohovs to intermarry with anymore. He dragged Desiree away, to one of the rows of the rows of comfortable chairs, only about ten feet away.

What was obviously Desiree’s mother came over and said surprisingly serene, “I hope you understand the consequences of your actions, Desiree. Under the new order, you have made us look bad.”

“Yes, my little grandaughter…Junior Slut…,” said Dolohov, and with a hand he raised Desiree’s chin, getting her to look at him at eye-level. At the word, “slut” which she knew was sexual, she unconsciously licked her lips in response. It was too bad she did for it seemed to only anger Dolohov further, as he burst, “I shall whip your bum, until it’s raw meat.”

He grabbed her arm, and swaggered with Desiree's arm in his hand over to another chair nearby, with the mother following reluctantly, arms folded over her chest.

He turned Desiree over, until she was bent over the chair’s back. Her face was blank and calm because she was used to what she was getting. Dolohov pulled down the transparent tight skirt, exposing her rump, which already had small red marks on it, as well as on her backside.

Dolohov took a small whip from one of his pockets of his ceremonial uniform, his face still furious.

He began to apply the lashings to her small bottom and also her backside. The mother stood facing it, watching. Within a minute, Desiree was wailing with each snapping blow, “Mother!…Mother!...Mother!”

The mother just stood there, half her mind justifying what her father-in-law was doing to her daughter. She crossed her arms looking concerned but doing nothing. Desiree did not have a father anymore. Her father, who had also been a Death Eater had died before she was born.

As she continued to wail in agony, the mother began to cover her mouth in horror. Bellatrix got a glance at Desiree from a short distance, but merely shrugged like she was immune to the little girl’s suffering. She did not seem to care, and it was a mark of the reality that she didn’t have children.

And nobody else paid attention to it, as people walked swiftly by, distracted by their objective to leave the manor. Finally the Death Eater was finished whipping his grandaughter as mercilessly as he had ever done to her. Desiree Dolohov had slipped off the chair during the process and was huddling on the floor, her bottom and back gushing short streams of blood, as she tried to grasp for something, clutching her back.

She was already kneeling her head bowed to the floor, hiding her face. But Dolohov wasn’t finished imparting his cruel lesson. He turned himself around to face Desiree’s face, and he knelt on the floor, as he put away the whip he kept only to use on her back in his robes.

He tusseled at her the top of her curly head, and forced her face upward. “You see him – one of the important Death Eaters, better than me!….That man is going to be your headmaster…he’ll recognize you when he sees you again! You’ve disgraced the name of Dolohov!,” he seethed.

And Desiree screamed with ever greater terrror as Dolohov raised his wand at her. And suddenly her face was hexed so that it was impossible for anyone to easily recognize her for the rest of the night. With her backside gushing blood, naked, screaming, and her face hexed, Dolohov left his granddaughter, and forcing her mother to follow him out of the manor saying she’ll fend for herself tonight and that Desiree was not a Dolohov at the moment.

And meanwhile, Voldemort left the ballroom-theater for good, alone and looking dignified but clearly in an exasperated huff of irritation. As all this went on, people slowly leaving, the music of the organ pipes picked up for the final score of the night, and the crowd continued to roar their appreciation as they departed. The party had clearly been thoroughly enjoyed. Lucius Malfoy’s two Doberman dogs were running in circles around and around the oval-shaped room.


Note: We have one to three updates until the great sex scene between LV and Narcissa. I do feel sorry for Desiree, but my imagination just ran with it and I was planning that little event all along.