The Pureblood Coup

Note: This is not quite the sex scene, it's the bedroom part.


Continuation of….


Chapter Thirteen: Don’t Leave Me Now


Narcissa who had been in the bathroom entered the master bedroom a few minutes later. Looking down she went straight for the bureau, not needing to look up as she knew every foot of the space by heart. She did not see Lucius in the enormous bedchamber, as he was about twenty feet away.

She sat down, as if exhausted on the upholstered chair. She did not look in the mirror in front of her, but immediately saw on the tabletop a dark purple liquid, which luckily had not dripped off the surface It was the spilled contents of the dreamless-sleep potion, with the stone goblet laying there.

“Tergio!,” Narcissa murmured and with her wand, she siphoned up the liquid.

She sighed and then felt a piercing pain in her middle. It was the bracelet nipple clamps. Narcissa's bejeweled hands went for them, and she started to unscrew each of the diamond bracelets from her breasts. As she did so, she saw to her horror that her B-Cup sized breasts now had large black bruises. They were shriveled up like two sundried grapefruits. Next, Narcissa took off the rest of the jewlery, the many identical diamond rings on her fingers.

Next, Narcissa grabbed the small bowl, in which water was left in a pitcher by a house-elf. She poured some of it into the bowl with runes etched on it, and then splashed the water on her face several times. The ridiculous silver make-up, silver blush, eyeshadow and mascara disappeared, returning her to her normal appearance again.

Next, Narcissa siphoned away the dirty water and refilled the bowl. She soaked her hands in the bowl patiently, hoping to get rid of any dirt under her maniquered white nails.

“I feel so dirty,” she said intentionally, looking at her reflection in the mirror, as if she was talking to somebody else.

Indeed she was. A spirit spoke from the mirror saying placidly, “Beautiful lady of the house. You are immaculate. You look clean and healthy.”

Narcissa just shook her head, and removed her fingertips from the bowl. Then she took out a silver-plated brush. She began to brush her silver-blonde hair flecked with gray from stress, the bristles contracting against her hair, in which the bristles were made of fine unicorn hair.

As Narcissa did this, she tried to hum peacefully, imagining there was nothing to worry about with what she was ordered to do with Voldemort.

Suddenly her azure-blue eyes widened with dawning recognition. How could she have forgotten?

A figure dressed in black was standing behind her. It had a grey cloak and long fair hair, much like Narcissa’s hair and a shriveled face, green tinged.

Before Narcissa could do anything, the most horribly piercing wail issued. It had been a banshee. The legend goes that a banshee will wail around a house if someone in the house is about to die. Until recently, Narcissa had never seen a banshee in her home before. Actually, it did not start until Voldemort started to live there. Narcissa did not know it, but this was because of Voldemort’s fear of death and how death was now following all who were close to him.

The wailing went on for several seconds, and then the figure behind her was gone. Narcissa trembled with terror, wondering in her head that this may be a sign of her impending death. Perhaps the Dark Lord was going to kill her during his sexual domination of her body? She knew it was highly probable.

Narcissa did not scream, but she felt like it. She had been having a lot of nightmares lately, basically because she had been seeing a banshee near every night. Now she slumped in the chair in front of the bureau, inwardly screaming in her mind.

“You look radiant, dear,” said the mirror.

In response, Narcissa curled her small hands into fists, and pressed them against the glass of the mirror, an agonized, stricken look on her sharp features. She felt like a prisoner in her body, she wished she could disappear. She did not want him to use her for sex.

Narcissa rose from the seat, to go towards the dresser, to get out of her costume. She seemed to steel herself a little then, gaining a little bit more calmness. She thought how she must change into something ghastly. For she need not stimulate Voldemort’s sexual appetite any further, she was determined to be as defiant as possible.

But then the only entrance into the master bedchamber swung open with a soft thud. The Dark Lord was standing there, still clad in the kingly robes Lucius had leant him. Robes that came from the original founder of the Knights of Walpurgis hundreds of years ago (who was a Malfoy).

“Ah, Narcissa. My snake, Nagini is going to join us….,” said Voldemort plaintively once the red eyes had roved over in her direction.

And after he spoke, the great snake came slithering soundlessly into the room, going over the splendid carpeting covering most of the polished wooden floor.

“Will that be an inconvenience, queen?,” said Voldemort, an attempt at geniality.

Narcissa did not answer, but shook her head stiffly, almost imperceptible.

Meanwhile Nagini had found herself a comfortable corner and curled up, sleepily. And Narcissa still had not taken off the ridiculous erotic costume.

Voldemort seemed to be in a surprisingly charming mood. He brushed over to Narcissa, the great cope still flowing behind him. Acting concerned for Narcissa’s welfare he said in a friendly rasp, “Can I arrange a house-elf to get you anything to eat or drink, my lady?” Although, very respectful, there was something mocking hidden underneath.

Narcissa pursed her lips with disgust, and she looked like she might vomit. Voldemort raised his head up a little higher and waited, until she answered in a low, but icy tone, “No….”

Voldemort’s nostrils flared an instant later. “Get that lily-ass on the bed!,” he commanded.

Narcissa did not answer, but complied. As she went towards the bed, and Voldemort moved to change out of his dressrobes, she spotted Lucius lying on his back, mouth opened slightly, with drool spilling out of it.

“Lucius! Lucius! Lucius!,” she screamed in terror. “Oh. He’s dead!,” she shrilled thinking of the banshee, convinced of the meaining of it’s appearance now. Narcissa remained rooted a few feet away from the bed, too scared to approach what she thought of as her husband’s corpse.

Voldemort was on one knee, rapidly unlacing his tall, dragon-hide black boots. He rose, irate, and lookedto see that Lucius’s frame was indeed on the bed.

Voldemort did not look concerned, but said lazily, “Go and feel if there’s a pulse…I said move!”

Narcissa jumped in fright, and landed on the plush black covers. “Lucius, Lucius,” she moaned in grief again.

She put her head to his heart, still acting in mourning.

Voldemort did not seem to register her emotional angst. He asked in a harsh factual query, “Well? Is he alive?”

“Yes, I can feel his heart beating into me,” Narcissa said with a tenderness and contentment. Narcissa raised her head to look at Voldemort, who immediately went back to unlacing his boots.

“But you wouldn’t have cared if he died. Lucius no longer matters to you,” she whimpered. Narcissa was surprised at her speaking of her mind, and she put a hand to her mouth.

“Do not play games with me, Narcissa. I knew Lucius was probably alive all along, if only because he was a drunken menace by the time the celebration of my coup ceased. It looks to me he’s past out from too much drink.” In fact, it was true that Lucius had gotten drunk. Yet Voldemort had a funny feeling this all had something to do with Bellatrix, and he was going to find out exactly what it was sooner or later.

“Don’t insult my husband,” said Narcissa crying in a tiny voice. And she layed down on top of Lucius in the fetal position, burying her head in his chest. And partially she mourned for herself, knowing any moment now, Voldemort would have his hands on her to do whatever he liked. She hugged Lucius against herself, clinging not wanting to let go. She was still clad in the long see-through white negligee robe.

Narcissa did not so much as glance around as Voldemort changed. Taking off the elaborate dressrobes and sailing them over to the dresser with his wand. Then, as he had been occupying the master bedroom, he accioed over his nightwear. He stepped into a velvet black robe with tassels resting on the shoulder tops and other trimmings on it. The wizard nightwear had a hood behind it to serve like a nightcap.

Voldemort turned over to climb on the bed. There was plenty of room on the bed for all three of them, as it was even bigger than a king-size bed. Lucius was resting at the foot of it, with Narcissa still on top. This bed was the very one in which Narcissa’s virginity had been taken.


Note: I promise it's nasty...I will have it up soon as I can.