Unanswered

A/N: Thanks to the most fabulous stellahargrove for the beta.
Disclaimer for Journal: Stories on this sight are based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to
Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc.
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intended.

The mudblood is on his knees in front of her, and she is trembling violently. Lucius was her only lover, ever; purebred woman are married virgins or not at all.

He pushes up her finely tailored robes and licks the outside of her thighs, the outside, not the inside. It’s so different, so unexpectedly erotic that her legs part involuntarily. His technique has made stellar improvement since their first time together.
He must have taken a few lovers in the past two years, because he seems to know more than her husband did at the same age.

“Like that?”

He laps the top of her black silken panties and her fingers twist into his vile hair. She can tell she’s wet by the easy glide of the material around clitoris.

He moves the material aside, his hands still on her hips, and he licks hard in a spot that cause her knees to dig into his shoulders. In seconds, she’s coming in a torrent of pleasure.

He takes the hand still in his hair and, with a painful twist, she’s face to face with him. “I asked you a question.”

His eyes are a lethal shade of green, poisonous and impossible to look away from.

“Halfblood.” Her trenchant response comes out before she can stop it, and his fingers close around her wind pipe.


“Do you talk to Voldemort that way?” His other hand is pinching her left nipple. Every time she breaths out her throat pushes into his hand.

“Are you comparing yourself to Voldemort?” His hand constricts tighter, she likes it better, and he knows it.

The turpitude of the whole situation is enough to make her sick. Severus Snape is what Harry is, Dumbledore’s man, but he can’t risk helping the order or being seen in public for that matter. So they pass information to each other through her.

Voldemort is foolish enough to believe that because she spreads her thighs for Potter, that he is in love with her, and will give her information about how close he is to finding the Horcruxes.

What she knows, and Severus has told her not to reveal to Potter, is that not even Voldemort knows where all of them are anymore. That is why Voldemort lets Potter live, because he’s hunting down the Horcruxes with as much passion as Voldemort seeks them. The closer Potter is to finding a Horcrux, the closer Voldemort is to finding it too.

“Get on the bed,” he orders, releasing his hold on her neck.

She undresses, making sure to keep her back turned away from him. Not because she thinks Potter will care about the marks on her back, but because she doesn’t want him getting any ideas.

They are in a muggle hotel room. He always picks a different one, but they are always muggle. This one is cheaper than the last one; the window is open to allow in a breeze that carries on it the smell of exhaust fumes from muggle cars.

Still, she is grateful the chintzy sheets feel cool against her flesh. He divests of his clothing quickly enough. All he has on are ridiculous denim trousers and a white t-shirt. He takes his time hovering over her, holding himself up on both arms. His body is young and tight, his chest lithe. She notices a love bite on his pectoral and is slightly surprised to find herself jealous. The idea that only a few months separate her son and him in age doesn’t seem to bother her at all. When she looks at him, he’s smiling, smug and twisted.

“Ready for me?” She glances down at his penis; its dipping forward red and angry.

“Yes,” she answers in a hushed whisper. It isn’t a lie.

It takes a few strokes to find a rhythm. He balances himself on one arm and hooks her leg around his back. Only when she cries out does he put his head next to her ear on the pillow and begins talking.

“I almost got killed with that last little tip Severus gave you.” His voice is guttural between thrusts.

“It was the location of a Horcrux, did you think it would be easy?”

His bony pubic bones dig into her as he rotates his hips.

“You want me to get killed?” He hisses out hatefully.

Oh God, no she doesn’t. Narcissa is to report how close Potter is to the Horcruxes. Voldemort has a way of letting people live as long as they are useful to him.And that is why Severus insists Harry must win in the end, because he’ll let them live. Better still, he’ll let them go free.


She wants to tell him that she’s enervated and she just wants it to be over; every time she hears about a confrontation between Harry and the Death Eaters, she worries about her son’s safety and then his. Lucius is dead, but Draco is still alive, and that’s all she wants.

But, she heeds Severus’s warning about not giving away too much information, and so she says, “What use are you to me if you’re dead?”

He laughs next to her ear, as if her answer was expected and trite. “Right.”

He begins rutting into her too hard and too fast for it to be pleasurable anymore. Her breasts bounce painfully and she her legs vie for a better position around him so that he can’t plunge in so fast.

Her sweat bleeds into the half open wounds on her back and causes them to sting.

In lieu of asking him stop, she opts for revenge, reaching up and sinking her teeth into the side of his throat until she can taste the coppery tang of blood in her mouth. She hopes it hurts, hopes he won’t be able to spell the mark she knows it will leave on his flesh.


He slows his thrusts to a more pleasurable pace and manages hold himself off till she climaxes again. Then, his movements become sporadic, his body goes rigid then completely limp.

The breeze from the open window has turned cold, and when she looks out, she sees that a light rain has begun to darken the sky. It makes it seem later in the day than it really is, but she can see where the sun is breaking clear just beyond the storm clouds.

“Potter?” He’s been lying on her longer than normal. After they’re done he only stays in bed long enough to catch his breath.

No response. “Potter?”

“Nnngh what?” He asks sleepily

“Off.” She can’t afford sentimentalities at this stage in the game, but he rolls onto his side and wraps his arm around her.

“Wait.”

“I didn’t plan on leaving.” Her voice held in the perfect aristocratic authority she doesn’t feel. “You owe me information.” She can’t go back to Voldemort with nothing.


She turns her head to him in time to see his eyes open as he props himself up on his elbow, head resting in his hand.

“How silly of me to forget payment,” he says lazily, his lips curl in a smile that reminds her of Severus’s. She supposes Harry thinks himself clever for leaving the word ‘whore’ unspoken.

Self righteous anger heats her cheeks. As if he couldn’t understand; she is sure that if it were Potter’s mother in her situation, she would do the same thing that Narcissa is doing now.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows Draco would never help a mudblood like Evans. Potter has agreed to try to keep Draco safe in the event of a confrontation. Another example of Severus’s brilliant planning. Together they’ve managed to convince Potter the only reason Draco sided with Voldemort was for fear of his family’s safety. Being the Gryffindor that he is, Potter believed them.

“Turn over.”

“No.” She answers immediately, self conscious of the marks on her back, she thought she’d kept hidden.

“Do it Narcissa, or I won’t tell you anything at all and you’ll have to go back to Voldemort with nothing.

“You wouldn’t.” That’s not part of the arrangement.

“I wouldn’t?” He asks, and his eyes are so vapid that she believes he would.

He grabs her arm roughly and rolls her on to her stomach when she doesn’t do it herself.

“Stay this way.” He orders as gets up from the bed. A rustling of clothing, and she props herself up on her elbows and looks over her shoulder to see him looking though his jean pockets and pulling out a small vial with some form of clear liquid in it.

She feels the weight of him shift back on the bed, and then his knee pushing her thighs apart. Fear twists like a knife in her throat as his intentions couldn’t be clearer

His fingers touch lightly at her shoulders sweeping her long hair off her back and then they gently go skating down her back.

“Please don’t, Potter.” She isn’t sure how much more she can take.

His fingers are on her arse now teasing along the clef.

“Shh,” Potter whispers, and she hears the top of the bottle pop off. “I’ll be gentle.” He says soothingly and she buries her head in the pillow, willing the tears not to come.

“Don’t,” she begs one more time.

“Narcissa, those are nasty scars you don’t want them to be permanent.” He says, voice still soft, and then she feels the cool spread of whatever is in the vial being applied across the marks on her back instantly cooling the burning.


Tears of relief do run down her cheeks when she realizes that she’d misjudged his actions.

“Shh,” he whispers again when she gives a shudder. “I’m sorry.” His voice does sound remorseful. “I wouldn’t really make you go back to Voldermort with nothing.” He applies the last of the ointment his hand stilling on her hips. “As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t let you go back to Voldemort at all.

His words make her heart hammer in her chest. She wipes the tears from her eyes and turns to face him. He flops back down beside her.

“Come here.” He says extending his arm over his head as an invitation to lie back down on his chest. “Come here.” The room has become chilly and the warmth of his body is a hard lure to refuse. The promise at the edge of his words an even more magnetic pull and she finds herself curling against him.

A flick of his wrist and the window shuts itself and the covers come up around them.

“Severus is back at headquarters, Narcissa; it’s not safe for him anymore or you.”

“Draco?” She asks swallowing down the lump in her throat. If he only knew how long she’s yearned to hear these words.

“He’s in a house; I’m the secret keeper, so it’s safe.”

“I thought Professor Dumbledore was the secret keeper for your headquarters.”

“He is… was. I performed the Fidelius Charm for another location.” Potter says casually.

When Potter had learned to do a Fidelius Charm while hunting down Horcruxes is almost unfathomable to her, but he has no reason to lie.

She reaches up with tentative fingers and strokes the love bite on Harry’s pectoral

“And the girl who gave you this won’t mind you having me there?”

His body shakes with laughter

“Jealous are you?”

“No.”

Yes, her mind counters, but she curls in closer to him.

“I got attacked by a house elf when I called her master a inbred lunatic,” he says, moving the hair from around her face.

She raises a skeptical eyebrow, looking up at him, and he’s smiling wryly.

“A house elf?”

“Just a house elf,” he echoes, tracing a thumb across her jaw and then her lips. “So, are you coming back with me?”

She would go anywhere her son was, but she’s so grateful that he’s with Potter and she can finally leave Voldemort.

And then, a thought occurs to her that sends a shock of fear to her very core.

“You know where the last Horcrux is?”

He doesn’t answer.

“I think you’re better off not knowing that.”

“But-“

“But what if I’m killed and Voldemort finds you anyway?” Harry says, pulling her lips against his.

“Yes,” she confesses.

“If I die, I’m taking Voldemort with me.”

And, for the first time ever, they kiss. His tongue slides into her mouth and he rolls them back over till he’s on top and inside of her again.

She knows it’s wrong to feel safe in his arms and to trust him, but she does.

“Are you coming back with me?” He asks between the soughing sounds he makes

And really there’s no other answer but, “Yes.”

End

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