Walking the Edge of a Very High Cliff

Walking the Edge of a Very High Cliff

By Juliane.

Viviane Chance (real name, Devereaux):  romantic partner of Snape.  From an aristocratic
French family, she saw the destruction of her school and family by Death Eaters and spent
much of her early adulthood tracking them down and killing them.  She is now teaching at
Hogwarts, and is cultivating Draco for information.

Cordelia de Winters:  Sister of Narcissa and best friend of Snape, she and Lucius were lovers
during school/after, but parted when he decided to marry her older sister for inheritance and
prestige’s sake.  She and Sev leave the Death Eaters and work together as spies, but, years
ago, Viviane killed Cordelia when she recognized her as a Death Eater.  Severus found the
body, but no one ever knew who killed her. 

Years later, when he and Viv are lovers, he finds out she did this and it nearly wrecks their
relationship.  They reconcile, but it is a sore point between them.

Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape  belong to J.K. Rowling.  Cordelia and Viviane are my
creations.

She was betrayed by my fool of a son. For some time I\'d thought that he was finally showing
the stuff of which he was made - my intelligence, Narcissa\'s drive, our ambition. His
schoolwork, usually dismal, drastically improved, and he even betrayed a spark of interest in
something besides stupid adventure books and torturing small animals.

It happened at breakfast. Narcissa, doting mother that she is, had Draco home for a few days
as the result of a spurious complaint about sniffles. We were all sitting around the table, and
I\'d just buttered my toast when my owl dropped a letter from Professor McGonagall next to
my plate. I gave Draco an initial glare of irritation and he quailed - great Merlin, how he
makes me want to, well, never mind, but a Malfoy should never quail - as I opened the
envelope.

To my profound surprise, it was full of praise for the boy, noting an especially well-written
Transfiguration essay, and evidence of much practice in the practical classroom work. I
glanced back up at Draco, whose fear had morphed into surliness as he scowled down at his
plate, the corner of one eye fixed warily on me. I gave him a rare - how I hated the fact he
gave me so little reason to do so - smile. \"So, Draco, Professor McGonagall tells me you\'re
doing well. A pity it is such a singular occurrence that it warrants a letter, but
nonetheless….congratulations.\" I paused, waiting for his demand for a new toy or a sum of
money, as his mother raced around the table to smother him with an embrace, but he
remained silent, blushing slightly, still staring at his plate. \"Draco?\" I queried, interested at his
failure to claim reward.

\"I- I- thanks,\" he stuttered, and got up to leave the table. It was then I knew that something
else was going on, and the chill down my spine told me it wasn\'t good.

\"Sit,\" I barked at him, causing him to drop back down into his chair. I moved to my Potions
cupboard, unlocked it, and took out my vial of Veratiserum. I caught the eye of my wife, who
nodded slightly and left the room. For all her doting ways, Narcissa is, at heart, a practical
woman. Adding the potion to a glass of milk, I thrust it towards my son. \"Drink.\"

He did, without protest. I still don\'t know whether I would prefer it if he made at least a
pretense of defying me. \"Who has been doing your lessons for you?\"

\"No one,\" he said, his voice dull but his eyes radiating terror

.

No one, I thought. It can\'t be true. I\'ll blast Severus for palming off a useless… Then another
possibility occurred to me, and I whirled back around to face him.

\"Who has been tutoring you? Flitwick? McGonagall? That werewolf? That damnable wizard
Dumbledore?\" I was shouting by this time, each possibility worse than the last. He shook his
head and whispered \"No.\"  

\"Who? Who was it then?\" I was prepared for just about anyone. Vector, Sinistra, Trelawney,
even that idiot Hagrid, anyone but-

\"P-Professor Chance.\"  

I felt behind me to grasp the edge of the table. \"Professor Chance? Viviane Chance? Viviane
Devereaux? That…that-?\" I was nearly gasping in shock.

\"Yes,\" mumbled my stupid, gullible, impressionable, and, knowing what he knew, very
dangerous son.

~*~*~

I let him go to his room without many more words. What could one say, in a situation like
this? Only that it had been going on for some time, and Draco was smart enough, or scared
enough, not to tell anyone. I knew I\'d never get the entire - damn it, even the beginning of,
the story out of my son, because he didn\'t have the perceptiveness or the judgment to begin
to figure out what was really going on. I paced the dining room, a good place for pacing. A
long room, its dark paneling now flooded with sunlight, with heavy sideboards convenient for
the trailing fingers of those lost in thought. My very unpleasant thoughts were interrupted
when Narcissa quietly glided back into the room and up to me. \"Lucius?\" was all she said, her
gray eyes scanning mine.

I felt my lips tighten. \"It appears our son has been spending hours on end, being tutored by
that bitch Viviane Devereaux,\" I snapped. She fell back, and I could see how I must have
looked to Draco upon hearine nee news.

\"What was he thinking?\" she gasped. \"He knows full well who she- what she-\"

\"Yes, I know,\" I said. \"He\'s finally found someone who scares him more than we do.\" My wife
took my arm as I began to pace again, and she measured her steps to mine. I tried to calm
myself by watching how the sunlight caught the gold of her hair, but nothing so banal was
going to steady my humming nerves.

\"Your plan is?\" she asked.

\"Find out what that woman wants from our son, assess the damage - what there is of it - and
take the appropriate steps to prevent it from happening again.\"

Narcissa turned sharply to face me, and captured my other arm. \"Lucius, don\'t be too hard on
him. He\'s a good boy, he only needs-\"

I saw her indestructible love for Draco shining in her eyes, despite her knowledge of what he
was, and I realized with a sinking heart that the one person who could carry the House of
Malfoy into the next generation could also be the person who tore the entire structure of the
building apart.

\"I know what he needs. And I will take care of this little problem in my own way. Now, go to
him and see if he\'ll sob out any useful information. I need time to think.\" Dismissed, she left
me to my thoughts and my plans.

~*~*~

I had to talk to her in order to find out anything, that much was obvious. And our meeting
needed to take place here, on my territory, not surrounded by that group of pestilent
nonentities at Hogwarts. I allowed myself a brief smile as I considered inviting Severus to
dinner, and surprising him by extending the invitation to his mistress. Severus, Merlin help
him, thought he had us fooled, but anyone could see she had him chained firmly to her sword
belt.

What he saw in her I could not imagine. Overgrown, hatchet-faced, messy-haired woman who
would just as soon take off your head as give you some. Well, I thought, perhaps she was
equally good at both.

I forced myself to stop speculating on the unattractive pair and began to coer her how best to
lure her to my home. From everything I’d heard, good wine and some sort of challenge would
do it. I wrote her a note.

Dear Professor Chance,

My son Draco has informed me of the extra pains you have taken in helping him with his
schoolwork. I would love to discuss his continuing progress over a bottle of the most exquisite
Burgundy that is crying to be released from my wine cellar. Will tomorrow evening suit,
around eight o’clock?

Lucius Malfoy

Not an hour later I got a reply, discourtesy of that falcon she harbors. The wretched bird
nearly flung the letter at me, and defecated on my favorite carpet before disappearing out the
window. I tapped her letter thoughtfully, amusing myself by speculating on how she had taken
up my gauntlet. Being who she was, I knew she couldn’t resist doing so; it was her method
that held the possibility of intrigue. I stared at the golden snake, glowing faintly amidst a
splatter of dark green wax. “Devereaux,” I snarled, as I cracked the seal and read the
following:

Dear Lucius Malfoy,

Conscientious Profr thr that I am, I would be most pleased to discuss the academic
performance of your son. And I would hate to deprive the Burgundy of its chance at freedom.
I’ll see you at eight-thirty.

Professor Chance

Gauntlet caught in mid-air. I laughed in anticipation, tucked her note into the farthest
recesses of my desk, and went to send my wife and son to some relatives for a few days.
Transactions with Devereaux tended towards the bloody, and I didn’t need my family to be
called up as witnesses in a Ministry investigation.

~*~*~

I adjusted my robe so that the folds fell more gracefully from my shoulders, and smoothed the
shimmering gray velvet over my chest. The color reflected my eyes and brought out the glints
of silver in my hair, by calculation; I decided it might be wise to remind her she was no longer
dealing with an easily impressionable child. One would think she would have the intelligence to
remember that, but from what I’d seen and heard of her, she was entirely capable of
forgetting such things. Stepping back and gazing critically at myself, I had to admit I was an
exceptionally handsome man. Mind you, I know this sounds vain, but it’s merely an objective
statement, an assessment of one of my strengths. I acquired the trick of ruthless self-assessment through years of dealing with Riddle and the idiots with whom he surrounded
himself. Riddle. Damn him and his overweening ambition and his foolhardy stupidity in moving
too soon. Even unvoiced, such thoughts were dangerous, and I swept them from my mind.

A silver and sapphire belt set off my narrow waist, and I added a matching ring to the pinky
next to the finger bearing the Malfoy signet. I looked what I was; a powerful, wealthy, well-born and dangerous wizard. Not one to be trifled with, especially by a half-wild French
aristocrat-cum-professor-ex-smuggler. I thrust my wand firmly into my belt, but my fingers
lingered on the smooth wood, anticipating a need to use it, longing for the excuse to release
that beautiful green light – light aimed at her. The clock began to chime eight, disturbing my
stimulating train of thought, so I walked towards my study. She had set her own time one-half
hour later – a silly play in the game,erlyerly meaningless – but I thought it best to be ready,
just in case she was merely trying me.

Entering my study, I began to walk about the room, and I noted all of the objects that were
precious to me, that displayed my itanctance, my power, my place in the world. For in spite
of Lord Voldemort’s defeat, I still retained these attributes, to the fury of that pompous fool,
Dumbledore. The Malfoy crest, carved hundreds of years ago, hung over the fireplace. My
racing broom, on which I won so many Quidditch matches for Slytherin, was propped carefully
in the corner behind my desk. The testimonial books, heavy with calfskin and gilt lettering,
that lined the bookshelves, received with thanks from grateful organizations ranging from elite
Dark Arts societies to St. Mungo’s charity board.

I paced about until I heard her knock at the door – a civilized knock, that surprised me – and I
heard a house elf admit her. The echoes of long strides rang up to me as she crossed the
marble foyer. The hair rose on my arms.

Moving to the fireplace, I rested on elbow against the mahogany, then considered receiving
her as I sat in my favorite armchair. She was taller than me. But no, she would see through
that instantly and no doubt favor me with one of her irritating smirks, so I remained where I
was.

The door to my study opened silently, and she was there. Her haughty, repellent features
wore, as always, a combination of smugness and surprise. Every time I saw her I evinced a
nearly uncontrollable longing to wipe that expression off her face, and once I did succeed. One
of my favorite memories, that, telling her the details about her parents’ sorry deaths.

On her way across the room, she had paused underneath the chandelier, no doubt to let the
light play upon her coiled hair and the sinuous folds of her green robe. It was narrowly cut and
superbly tailored to enhance her admittedly fine figure, but I knew what lay beneath the
material. Scars. Disgusting, disfiguring scars, thin lines of raised flesh that she’d dared to
show off the last time I had invited her to a gathering at my home. Scars acquired in her war
against me and mine.

Viviane Devereaux, my ancient and current enemy and enemy of my house. Enemy of my
son. Rage shook out the last of the anticipation I’d been feeling, and I could barely address
her in polite terms. “Professor Chance.” I indicated a chair next to the fire and sat down in the
one opposite. “Do be seated,” I said, the soul of courtesy, merely a concerned father having a
chat with one of his son’s professors. She moved from beneath the chandelier and sank into
the chair opposite me, her nondescript green eyes searching mine with a mockery that fury
made me unable to address.

“Cornelius,” I called into the fireplace. “The burgundy.” My venerable house-elf appeared with
the tray, and, tapping out the cork, poured the wine. The old dolt spilled a drop on my antique
Afghanistani carpet and, setting down the bottle, dutifully gave himself several good smacks
on the head. “Bad Cornelius,” he intoned. I caught the Devereaux woman’s sniff of
disapproval. The hypocrite. Her father had often used house elves that displeased him for
sword practice, but the official hagiographies omitted that fact as a matter of course.

~*~*~

We both sipped the perfect wine, eyeing each other warily over the rims of the Venetian
crystal goblets as the complex bouquet swirled around our nostrils. The perfect balance of the
glass was most welcome, because it helped disguise the effort I was making just to keep my
hands from trembling. Neither of us spoke, and the tension between us built into a miasma
that I began to fancy would ignite from the heat of the fire. She broke the silence by an
appreciative murmur from the back of her throat, wordlessly praising the wine. I finally put
down my goblet. “Professor Devereaux, I appreciate your attempts to tutor my son, but I
demand that you leave him alone once class is over. I-“

She dared to interrupt. “He needs it.” Rising from her chair, she began to walk about the
room, rolling her glass between her hands. I watched her, wondering what part of her agenda
she would reveal, and whether there would be a particle of truth in it.

What she finally said shocked me, for its blunt honesty could not be mistaken. “I rather like
Draco – he’s at a disadvantage at Hogwarts. It’s a good school for those with the bold
intelligence of a lion, like Granger, or the plodders, like Cedric Diggory. But Draco has the
intelligence of a cornered ferret, and it isn’t nurtured like it should be.” She grinned at my
snarl of disagreement. “Ferrets are highly intelligent, and when cornered, can be dangerous –
most dangerous.”  

I stood up. Clever, I thought, but too transparent. She was underestimating me, thinking that
showing an honest interest in Draco would deflect my rage at her manipulation of him. “Do
not compare my son to a rodent,” I snapped. “You’re wasting your time trying to cultivate
Draco for information he does not have. I know the lot of you think Dumbledore wields more
power than Merlin himself, but I still have much influence amongst the Hogwarts board
members, most of whom are scandalized by your behavior. I can get you removed-“

“Dumbledore?” Standing at a window by this time, she threw her head back and laughed, a
deep, throaty sound with more than a hint of cynicism. “He’d probably thank you – I’m not his
favorite witch by any means.” She turned to me. “Why should I waste my time with Draco for
any reason beyond pity, when it’s quite obvious Voldemort, and you, and your kind will be
defeated in short order?” Her smile disappeared into another sip of wine, and the moonlight
caught the rubies in the eyes of the serpent dangling from her ear, making them sparkle.

That is when it happened. I’d seen it before, many times. Almost every girl in Slytherin House
used Glamours from third year on. Their ambitions did not stop with being Head Girl and first
in their classes – they also wanted to marry as well as possible. Glamours smoothed
complexions, thickened hair, brightened eyes, involving hours of practice and maintenance in
order to snare the best possible mate. I learned, though, how to see through them. It was a
turn of the head and a look out of the corner of the eye – in that moment you could see the
real person behind the Charms. You could glimpse the splotched skin and the limp hair and
the duyes.yes. It was the reason I fell in love with Cordelia and married her elder sister,
Narcissa. They disdained Glamours – in their gorgeous arrogance they knew they didn’t need
them.

Looking at Viviane Devereaux in that moment, the process was reversed. Inexplicably, I saw
beyond the awful manners, the gaucheries, the scars, the mistakes, her scattered, thoughtless
violence, and recognized the clear-sighted, confident, steadfast, magnificent woman at her
core, the woman who had stayed the course with her head high and her spirit somehow
unbroken despite all we had done to break her. The ugly Glamour she’d thrown around
herself, on purpose or not, was one I that no longer regarded. I was dazzled by her effortless
pride, the result of centuries combining the best blood France had to offer.

It was terrifying, this sight of my enemy who was suddenly revealed to be more powerful and
simply more than I’d ever dreamed. All the plans I’d drawn up for this meeting and its
outcome drained away, and I couldn’t remember a single detail of them. I was undone. I
blinked, and another feeling slammed into me. To my utmost distress, I recognized it as
desire. I wanted her, wanted her badly. I wanted to test this new person in the most intimate
way.

“Lucius?” Viviane was looking at me quizzically, her hand dropping to her sword hilt. This is
what I had wanted at the beginning of this meeting, to provoke her to attack. I knew her
temper, and attacking the parent of a Hogwarts student in his own home would involve her in
endless complications, if I didn’t have to kill her in self-defense first. Oh yes, the Avada
Kedavra was one of the Unforgivables, but she’d given the Ministry plenty of trouble, and I’d
bought enough justices that my trial would have been short and the outcome certain. I’d
laughed, planning this out, thinking about myself and that insane old wizard, Moody, on the
same side for the first and probably the last time.

That option no longer appealed to me, but no other plan suggested itself. In a panic, I pointed
my wand at her and shouted, “Stupefy!”

~*~*~ 

The echoes of my shout died away, and I stared, appalled, at the crumpled form on my
carpet. The confusion didn\'t last long, though, and I began to laugh, partly at the absurdity of
the situation and partly from pleasure at the myriad options, one more pleasurable than the
next, now open to me.

I circled her, my arms crossed, delaying the moment when I would touch her. Most men in
this situation would merely tie her to the bed, Ennervate her and have their way, but plunging
about in a woman merely to hear her scream always was too crude a method to give me much
pleasure. During our rise to power, it had sometimes been necessary to make a point, but
seduction of the unwilling is a far more elegant sport, and one at which I excelled.  

Gazing at her, I wondered just what Severus felt for this woman. Had he, also, seen beyond
the façade, or were they merely amusing themselves with the only person who would put up
with the other? Did Viviane have him in her toils, trying to manipulate him as she tried to
manipulate my son, and had it worked? That possibility, one that I hadn\'t considered yet,
jolted me back to something like sanity. Riddle would be unhappy if I lost Snape completely to
Dumbledore. I flung myself upon my knees next to her and grasped her jaw, but her staring
eyes and her set, unlovely features told me nothing. Desire shook me again, as I thought of
taking that which Severus thought he had. I hated him, the way he looked down his
considerable nose at myself and my family, while he played on Dumbledore\'s penchant for
lofty forgiveness condcondescending protection with a performance of snarling abasement.

Desire tenfold shot through me as I imagined myself letting him know, in public and at the
worst possible moment, just where some of Viviane\'s scars ended. Should I seduce her and
Obliviate the memory, then let Severus realize, through the most oblique of comments, that I
had intimate knowledge of places I should not have been? And let Viviane, in all innocence,
deny everything, breaching their trust that much more? Or should I let her keep the memory -
and it would be an unforgettable one, I would see to that - and let her conceal it until I made
it far too clear to Severus that I…..

I sat back on my heels, and picked up her hand, one of her best features. It was unscarred,
and the line from her narrow wrist to her long, slender fingers was exquisite. I traced my
tongue down one of the delicate bones at the back of her hand, the one that had slain friends,
family, lovers. I thought back on the vision of her I\'d caught, the one that had momentarily
blinded me to what she had done, and the rage came back to blend into the desire, but I was
no longer sure just what it was that I wanted.

~*~*~

Whatever I decided to do in the end, the first business at hand was disarming her. I unbuckled
her worn leather swordbelt – one would think the Devereaux had more pride than to keep
wearing that ratty thing – and, along with her wand, locked them in a trunk. Picking up my
goblet, I toasted the unconscious, unarmed woman on my floor. “To you, Viviane Devereaux.
You’ve never looked lovelier.” Exhilarated enough to laugh at my own feeble joke, I knelt back
down beside her, then after a moments’ hesitation, swung one leg over to straddle her thighs.

This shouldn’t be difficult, I thought. After all, she’s been bedding Severus Snape. The woman
will probably be grateful for a man with decent breath and a few sweet words at his disposal. I
ran my hands over her breasts and down the long line of her waist. Not bad, not bad at all – a
pity she looks better clothed. It will be an effort to try and disregard those revolting scars.

I looked over at the wine, and was relieved to see more than half the bottle left. It would help
to soften what resistance she might have, and perhaps help me perform my task with more
enthusiasm than the object warranted. Getting up, I poured us both a full goblet of the
Burgundy, then Levitated her onto the sofa. I sat down next to her and bent forward,
whispered, “Ennervate,” then pressed my lips to hers.

Not surprisingly, she responded to my kiss for the space of a breath before she remembered
who I was. She pulled away from me in shock and tried reaching for her wand, gasping in
dismay when she found her swordbelt missing. Before she could say a word, I gently placed
my fingers on her lips and assumed a puzzled expression. “Isn’t that the proper way to wake a
sleeping princess?” I whispered, and replaced my fingers with my lips, digging my fingers into
her hair and slowly becoming more insistent with her.

She resisted me. I finally gave up and moved away from her, allowing her to struggle to a
sitting position; she never took her eyes from my wand. “Here,” I said, handing her her full
goblet. “Still unadulterated.” She managed a slight giggle before she took a sip. “Touché,” she
commented. “And why, Monsieur Malfoy, did you insist on dropping me with a Stunning spell?”

I sighed and shifted, allowing my robes to reveal my excitement, then looked away from her
as if overwhelmed by some strong emotion. “I – you are – you are – not the woman you
seem, and I- “ I let myself fumble to a stop, and suppressed a smile, knowing how potent the
combination of truth and deception could be. “I still want you to stay away from my son, but-“
I took her hand and, turning it over, let my lips brush the underside of her wrist. “-I was quite
unprepared to discover that I do not want you to stay away from me. Quite the opposite, in
fact. Do you think two old enemies could declare a truce in one part of their lives, while
keeping their daggers drawn in another?” I laid her hand against my cheek and closed my
eyes - or seemed to. I have extraordinarily long lashes, for a man.

I watched her glance first at the wand in my belt, give up on trying to get it from me, eye my
crotch with a suppressed grin, then survey my face for any hint of the game being played.
Turning my head a fraction, I could almost watch the woman I’d seen for those brief moments
morph into the tough, lawless bitch I knew, and back again. It was most unnerving.  

She finally reclaimed her hand, but gently, and leaned back against the arm of the sofa,
sipping her wine, with a grave, thoughtful look upon her face. “You are bartering the return of swo sword and wand, against the use of my body, is that it?Rshe she said slowly, lifting her eyes
to mine. “As a Malfoy, I’d hope you would find that a poor bargain.”

I must admit, she seemed forever capable of surprising me, and I laughed in genuine
amusement. “I would have thought so, an hour ago, but” - I moved closer to her &#;
&;
“something has changed, and I’ve been taken by as much surprise as you seem to be.
Surprised and, yes, I’ll admit it, dismayed I may be by my reaction to you, I recognize the
truth of how close hate and desire can be. Does it take being a Death Eater to understand 
that?”  

In her eyes sparked the first hint of erotic fascination, and she did not protest when I slid my
arms around her waist, drawing her to me. She sighed as my lips met the junction of her neck
and shoulder, the tension draining away as my hands traveled luxurianup aup and down her
back, my fingers lightly brushing just below her waist before rising again. Her skin smelt
marvelously of fragrant grasses, and I began to hope that this might end in pleasure for both
of us.

~*~*~

Viviane’s head was thrown back, resting on the arm of the sofa, and her eyes were half shut
as her body stretched beneath mine. She was humming softly in her throat while her tongue
worked its way from my neck to my ear, and her languorous immersion in the moment, so
different from Narcissa’s frantic need, made me forget everything but the desire to take her
further into erotic trance. Her hands explored the muscles of my back through the velvet,
fingers gliding over my spine, making me arch against her with increased urgency. “My sweet
Devereaux,” I murmured, my voice muffled against the swell of her breasts, “truly worthy to
be the mother of kings.”

What had I said? Only the kind of thing any woman would thrill to hear. But the effect on her
was astonishing.

Her body stiffened, her head jerked up and before I could soothe her back into her former
sensuous mood she fought out from beneath me. She lunged for my wand on the table where
I’d placed it, well out of her reach, but I lashed out with my foot and knocked it even further
away, and, rolling off of the sofa after her, tried to trap her against the floor. She fought like a
nundu to get free of me, and began to rage as I pinioned her arms and sat on her knees,
rendering her immobile.

“You bastard, let go of me,” she hissed. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, get your hands off
of me,” her voice rising to a shriek.

She’d gone mad. Her eyes glowed like the ends of wands just after releasing the Mosmordre
and she spit out her words with venom that even Riddle couldn’t match. “You stupid,
blundering man, you and your petty, mindless hangen han had best enjoy your days, because
they’re numbered. I’ll trample you in the dust before you even lift one foot off the ground,
impotent, useless, plebian nouveaux, already defeated once, telling each other desperate lies-“

I slapped her, slapped her with all my strength, and the impact of skin against skin echoed
through the room. Unfortunately, I’d let go of her arm, and she clawed at my face, one of her
unkempt nails nicking my eye, partially blinding me, the others slicing skin. I felt blood begin
to trickle down my face and total blindness possessed me, composed not of blood but of rage.
I felt a fool, an idiot, like everything she’d just called me, and I lusted to prove to her I was
master.

Stunned by the blood and the pain in my eye, I’d sat there, blinking, while she got free of me
and ran towards the door. Snapping out of my shock, I retrieved my wand and pointed it at
her. “Avada-“ I began. She stopped and turned to face me. My fingers tightened on my wand
as I wiped the blood from my face, thinking of the beautiful green light and that satisfaction I
would feel as it collided with her wretched body. Walking towards her, I smiled. “Ah yes, a
Devereaux never wants to die with her back to the enemy.” Her face remained impassive.

“Your sword will be a pretty trinket for Lord Voldemort.” That got a reaction – she began to
breath faster, but still stood, straight and proud, yet negligently, as if being threatened by the
Killing Curse was a daily event. Damn her, I thought, hesitating. Perhaps I can get more out of
her some other way. Her arrogance reminded me of that other arrogant fool, and suddenly the
game I could not fail to win came to me, all steps mapped out in glorious clarity. I needed
only to set up the board.

Dragging her to a chair, I took my wand and bound her to it by wrists and waist. I smiled at
her as she sat there, writhing in fury and spitting language fit for trolls, while I made an
elaborate show of sitting at my desk and pulling out paper and a quill. Plan one had changed
into plan two that slid into plan three and now here I wt plt plan four. Well, this one would
make up for all. I penned a pleasant little note to my dear friend at Hogwarts:  

Severus,

I need you at my house, now. I don’t care what Potion you’re brewing, I don’t care what class
you’re teaching, I don’t care what meal you’re eating. Now.

Lucius.

I summoned Ares, my fastest owl, and sent the note off with a sigh of deep contentment and
a feeling of anticipation so intense that I could barely refrain from bursting into a Quidditch
victory song.

~*~*~

Turning back to my charming prisoner, I mulled over the various states in which Severus
could find his doxy when he arrived. Dead would be preferable, but I had decided that that
would involve too many complications, and it was too fast to be much fun. A fine state of
dishabille would be delicious, I thought. No man wants to see his mistress just separated from
the body of his…friend? Enemy? I would find out which Severus was before this night was
over. I’d make sure his French madwoman would bear the signs of both a fight and a
surrender.

I released Viviane from her bonds and demanded that she rise, and step forward, keeping my
wand pointed at the base of her long neck. She did so, contempt for me in every movement,
and I circled around, finally standing behind her, a steadying hand on her shoulder. Petrificus
Totalis, my love, I whispered in her ear, and she went rigid. Exchanging my wand for a
dagger, I placed the tip at the base of her spine and slowly wriggled it about, making a hole in
the fabric of her gown. The dagger began to slide up her back, the fabric parting to show her
disfigured skin and finally falling away as the knife completed its journey. Shivering with
pleasure, I slid my hands around her naked waist and up to momentarily cup her breasts, my
arms pulling the edges of the rip yet farther a. Gr. Great Merlin, the sight was enough to
make any man’s desire run cold. I nerved myself to trace the scar that disappeared onto her
left hip, noticed another to the right of the crease in her proud back, ending in the curve of
her buttock. Laughing, I promised myself a Sunday afternoon of creative thinking about just
how and when I would impart my knowledge to Severus, in case he didn’t entirely believe the
scenario that would soon meet his unprepared eyes.

After I repaired the rip in her gown and released her from the Petrificus, I bound her again to
the chair, and considered the front of her. I no longer had any intention of taking her – who
but someone as twisted as Severus would want to - but I could easily convince him that I had.
It would be a source of unending satisfaction, to watch him burn with humiliation and anger
over something that had never taken place, something that I had planned and controlled from
start to finish. And she – she would spend the rest of her hopefully short life wondering….

She seemed to have run out of words and merely stared at me, her face showing nothing but
the livid marks of my slap. I walked over to her and traced them with my finger, then dropped
my hand to the clasps on the front of her gown, small golden serpents that I flicked open, one
by one, revealing her breasts. I shoved her gown further down her shoulders, noting the
length and placement of scars, then, kneeling, reached under the skirt of her gown to remove
her more intimate clothing.

I’d forgotten to bind her legs, and I didn’t even see the knee that connected full force with my
chin. My teeth crashed together with a sickening crunch, and I fell backwards, colors and
patterns careening around in my head as I tried to control my heaving stomach. In a few
moments I came to, her mad laughter sounding in my ears. Moving my jaw around to make
sure it still worked, I, in one stride, inserted myself between her knees. Jerking her head back
using a fistful of hair, I leaned over to whisper, “Bad move, Devereaux. Why antagonize the
man who holds your life in his hands?”

She continued to laugh, the harpy. “Because it was fun,\" she replied.

Exerting every bit of self-control I possessed, I tightened my grip on her hair, pulling slightly,
and said, “I am going to remove your underclothing. If you move a muscle, you are dead. Do
you understand me?” My voice sounded strange, beyond calm and certainly not matching the
emotions ricocheting crazily through my body. She actually stopped laughing and quailed a
little. Victory.

I knelt down once again, this time leisurely running my hands up her legs, making sure she
felt every touch, prodding her knees further apart with my arms, then trapping them against
me with my elbows. It gave me the leverage to slip my hands underneath her thighs, to
stroke the long muscles, and find my way to her hips, my left hand automatically searching for
the scar I had found earlier. My fingers met, not silk, like I had expected, but the finest linen,
softer than silk, subtler, far more erotic. It electrified me. I leaned forward and captured her
exposed nipple lightly with my teeth, then gave it my full attention with tongue and lips as my
fingers began to wander elsewhere. She shuddered, but I knew repulsion was not part of the
equation, as it probably was with…

Damnation. He’d be arriving any time now, and I still had work to do. Abandoning my
immediate pleasure, I began to prepare for the long term. Roughly, I removed her underwear
and tossed it into a drawer of the desk – it was quite evident that at some point this evening,
Viviane had enjoyed herself very much indeed, and the stiffened linen would make a nice gift
for Severus. Stepping back up to her, I began to pull her hair about, destroying the Staying
Spells and letting it tumble about in just-bedded confusion. By this time her haughty
expression had cracked, allowing her mouth to slacken and her eyes to droop with unwilling
fear and half-satisfied sexual craving.

She looked ravishing, and very much ravished. I retrieved my glass of Burgundy and sat in my
favorite armchair to savor the undoing of my lovely Devereaux. Oh yes, and to wait for the
arrival of Severus Snape.

~*~*~

She didn’t say a word, beyond an initial query: “What will Narcissa say about your new study
furniture?”

When I didn’t answer, she lounged back as best the ropes would let her, and transferred her
gaze inward. I could tell she was refighting some kind of battle, and I watched, fascinated,
sipping my wine as grief and triumph flickered alternately across her face, lending it a strange
beauty her features normally did not hold. It was then I saw what might attract Severus, that
emotionscetscetic – the privilege of watching this creature in her unguarded moments.
Isolated as he was, she must be an exotic form of new ingredient to study at length.

I was only halfway through my goblet when I heard it – Severus’ impatient knock. At the
sound, Viviane sat up and the color drained from her face, leaving the marks from my fingers
even more prominent on her cheek. “You didn’t-“

I smiled gently at her. “Yes, I did.” Her lovely hands gripped the arms of the chair, and I had a
fleeting regret that I hadn’t tamed them to my service. It is of no importance, I thought,
Weightier matters than the touch of a woman’s hand are at issue.

Severus’ whispery footsteps crossed the foyer and glided up the staircase. Once again I was
tense with anticipation, only this time it ran far deeper, fraught as the moment was with so
many possibilities. I turned to the door, wanting to impress on my mind his expression as he
saw his paramour, bound and disheveled, and quite obviously at my mercy.

A house-elf flung the door open and Severus stalked in, leaning forward in impatience, no
doubt feeling aggrieved at being interrupted by my paltry concerns. He caught sight of her,
and his steps slowed to a halt. “Professor Chance?” he queried, the soul of polite interest, but
I could sense his devouring concern.

~*~*~

\"Severus,\" I greeted him, pulling forward a chair, and offering him the still-full goblet of
Viviane\'s wine. \"Do try to enjoy it - one of my best vintages.\"

He ignored the chair, accepted the glass, and then put it aside. \"Why do you have a Hogwarts
professor bound, and, obviously, er…\" His eyes took in her gaping bodice, the marks of my
lips upon her breasts, her unbound hair, and their hard glitter dimmed just a little. She looked
up at him, straining forward against her bonds. \"Severus,\" she whispered, \"this isn\'t-\" Her silly
attempt to explain was cut short by a screech, as I blasted her shoulder with a Burning Spell.

\"Be quiet,\" I ordered. \"You are the object of this conversation, not a participant.\"

As he gazed at me incredulously, I watched Snape quiver between hard-won control and his
natural instinct to lose his temper. He controlled it.

\"She has been \'tutoring\' my son, attempting to gain information which he does not have. I\'ve
tried to teach her a lesson, but she\'s as obdurate in mind as she is pliant in body. But you
know that already, don\'t you?\"

She tried to interrupt. \"Severus, it isn\'t what-\"

I pointed my wand at her. \"Shut up, or it won\'t be a simple burn, next time.\" I gazed at Snape
through narrowed eyes, trying to gauge whether his subdued reaction was the shamed anger
of a cuckold, or the cold rage of a man seeing the woman he loves bound and ravaged, or
perhaps, wordless frustration at her stupidity. I couldn\'t tell.

He turned to me, looking down his nose with that expression that always made my fingers
move towards my wand. He\'d be getting a lovely gift of household linen tomorrow, I decided.
\"What were you thinking, Lucius, to…attack…a Hogwarts Professor? You\'ve gone too far this
time-\"

\"Too far?\" I bit my words off before they were barely out of my mouth. \"Too far? This
Hogwarts Professor is meddling with my son, trying to turn him against his father, his
upbringing, his birthright. You are supposed to protect him from this sort of interference.\"

He shifted his gaze from Viviane, taut with anxiety, to me. \"I think this conversn won would
best be held elsewhere-\"