Rule 34T

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It had been weeks without word from anyone.

There were no owls received at this ramshackle cabin in the mountains of Switzerland. The floo didn’t work and the nearest village, if you could call the few houses and shops a village, was many miles away. There were wards around the cabin to keep her safe but she was far less stupid than they all seemed to think. Narcissa knew the wards were meant to keep her from leaving.

Their distrust amused her. In the quiet days with only the wind and a silent escort for company, she found delight in things that would have once infuriated her. They believed her to be some brainless ornament that did nothing except blindly support her husband. At one time, such a description would have been reasonably accurate, though Narcissa Black Malfoy had never been brainless. Now, though, she had made her choice. Her son was safe so her own life was relatively inconsequential.

From the moment Albus Dumbledore fell, she had known there really was only one choice. For years she had managed to keep herself out of such political affairs. She listened, observed, and knew far more than even Lucius gave her credit but she never became entangled in such webs herself. Her arms were free of any marks, her conscious reasonably clean, and she maintained her own reputation despite the foolish antics of her husband.

She had manipulated Severus into protecting Draco because she’d had little doubt that her son was not truly a killer despite his ridiculous interest in emulating his father. As soon as she’d done that, she begun making preparations. Galleons had discreetly been placed into a vault at a secure bank in Switzerland. She’d arranged a small house for her and her son that was well-hidden and protected from even Voldemort himself. Charms had always been her best subject, after all. Files from Lucius’ office were copied and secured against the day when she might need information to trade for her and Draco’s safety. During it all, she’d maintained the façade of a loyal supporter to the creature her husband and sister were foolish enough to humble themselves before.

When word had arrived of Dumbledore’s death at the hands of Severus, she’d known it was time. A few words to her most trusted House Elf had gathered her necessary belongings and she’d Apparated from the manor before anyone was the wiser. Draco had been scared when she met with him and Severus. There had been little doubt that her son was not strong enough to run, to keep himself hidden from enemies all around, and that knowledge had made her decision obvious. She had left Severus to fend for himself, knowing he could survive more easily on his own anyway, and taken Draco with her to meet with someone who might be willing to make a trade.

She had never expected for Moody to separate her from her son. Draco was sent somewhere safe, guaranteed by the Auror and confirmed by her son, who was not at all thrilled at his hidden location but seemed to be adjusting somewhat. And she was given a babysitter and sent away to Switzerland to hide in the mountains until word was received that it was safe to return.

Months had gone by and she had grown increasingly restless and bored. Her Auror, as she knew it irritated him to be referred to as her anything, was far too silent and temperamental to keep her entertained and the cabin seemed to grow smaller with every passing day. Very little word had been received from the outside world; her Auror had received a few owls in town, but he rarely passed along the information and she refused to ask so she was often kept in the dark. It had been weeks since he'd told her any news.

She knew that Potter still hadn’t defeated Voldemort. She knew that Draco was still alive and safe. She knew that Lucius had attempted to escape, the foolish man, and hadn’t survived the attempt. She knew that there had been more attacks, but that was more an informed guess made simply because her Auror’s hands had clenched until his dark fingers were nearly white from anger and there was a nerve in his cheek that twitched when he was annoyed. He didn’t want to be stuck in this cabin any more than she did, of course, but at least he had the benefit of her company, whereas she was stuck with him.

Narcissa watched him pace by the fire as she snuggled under her new blanket. She had received it from him last week with a gruff ‘Happy Christmas’ before he’d glared and stalked back to his little corner. The gift had been a surprise but she’d recovered quickly and pretended that it had been expected. After all, she was Narcissa Malfoy and was accustomed to receiving gifts.

The blanket was old, scratchy, and torn, with a hole near the hem. There had been a time as recent as the summer when she’d have refused to let such an item touch her skin, much less feel grateful to have received it. Things had changed, however. Nothing was the same nor would it ever be again.

It was New Year’s Eve and she was stuck in a small cabin in the middle of nowhere with a man that fascinated her a bit too much. It couldn’t possibly get worse unless Voldemort finally located her or she received word that Draco had asked to be adopted by the loathsome Weasleys.

******

He hated when she stared.

Kingsley could feel her gaze on him as he looked at the flames. He shouldn’t be here. He should be off fighting, using his training to save people and not to babysit some pampered Pureblood who’d got in over her head. He received reports weekly, telling him of attacks and battles, of lives lost on both sides, and he cursed Moody and everyone else he’d ever met that had supported this insane assignment. He’d have rather been filing for the fucking Muggle Prime Minister than forced to stay here with her another day.

She was too blonde, too pale, too intriguing. He hated everything she stood for and didn’t care what information she’d been able to trade to secure the safety of her and her cowardly son. Kingsley still didn’t understand what he’d done to deserve this punishment, for being sent to a tiny cabin with only Narcissa Malfoy for company was definitely punishment. The bloody woman stared constantly. He could often feel her gaze on him until he’d glance at her, in which case he’d find it concentrated elsewhere.

She seemed to think he was some sort of possession since he was assigned to protect her, constantly calling him ‘my auror’ and demanding that he entertain her when she grew bored. The woman was always bored, it seemed, and didn’t know the meaning of comfortable silence. She was so infuriating and too bloody beautiful, which made the entire situation even worse.

He was often torn between hexing her, ignoring her, and snogging her senseless. So far, he’d avoided the former and the latter and focused on ignoring her. Besides, she hated being ignored so it was entertaining to sit by the fire and watch her sulk like a girl thirty years younger.

Kingsley looked at her now, meeting her stare directly. The blanket he’d found in the village was old and used, a dark brown that by contrast made her seem even lighter with her pale hair and skin. The fire crackled beside him as he stared at her, as loath as she evidently was to look away first.

*******

“You’re a most disagreeable man, my auror,” Narcissa declared bluntly. She wished he’d look away. His gaze was far too intense and flustered her when it was focused solely on her. He was too big, taller than Lucius by several inches and far more muscular than was respectable. His hands were too large, rough from years of hard work she assumed, and he always gave her the impression that he was ready to strike at any given moment should the need arise. He scared her but for reasons she didn’t wish to explore.

“You’re not too wonderful, yourself, Princess,” he replied in a deep voice with a slightly husky timbre that caused her to shudder. No, it was simply the cold.

“Silly nicknames are so common. I shouldn’t expect any better from you, of course,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. It was the fire that caused her cheeks to flush, certainly not his ridiculously childish and rude name for her. “It’s nearly a new year, Auror. I don’t know how people of your class celebrate such an occasion, but I’d like a glass of wine and perhaps some sort of festive music.”

“My class?” he repeated slowly and she watched with some delight as the nerve in his cheek twitched. “Listen here, Princess, we don’t have wine and I’d rather kiss Voldemort’s robes than play some sort of ‘festive music’ so why don’t you shut up and go to sleep. It’s nearly midnight and you’re a cranky bitch when you don’t get enough sleep.”

“I am never cranky,” she denied coolly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of causing a reaction. “Perhaps if you’d actually sleep instead of pacing around and lurking in the shadows you’d be far less grumpy and more pleasant.”

“The only way I’m going to be pleasant is when I receive the owl telling me that this war is fucking over and I can go home.”

“Language, Mister Shacklebolt. I’ll not have you speaking like some vulgar Muggle street urchin while in my presence,” she said sharply, her cheeks turning a darker shade of pink as she dwelled on how the crude word sounded when spoken in his deep voice. She looked at the fire and frowned. “If there is no wine, I’ll be somewhat satisfied with a mug of cocoa then. Do make sure it’s hot and add six marshmallows.”

“You know where the kitchen is,” he pointed out as he stared at her. She could feel his gaze and shifted in her uncomfortable chair. “You need warmer robes. Last thing I need is you getting sick while I’m on duty.”

“My robes are perfectly suitable,” she informed him briskly. She stood up and gave him her best glare as she tossed the blanket on her chair. “They are the latest style from Rome and very comfortable.”

“They’re too thin and the front is so low-cut that I wonder if they meant it was the style for Knockturn Alley whores.”

He had the audacity to smirk after making such a slanderous statement and she wished for her wand so she could do something completely awful to him. Perhaps give him violet hair like that obnoxious niece of hers.

“I’m sure you’d be well acquainted with the style of such women, Auror.” She dismissed him with a curt nod and walked to the small open kitchen. She glanced down discreetly and decided he was simply trying to annoy her because her robes were classic and elegant with a modest bodice. Infuriating man.

“The only difference between those women in Knockturn Alley and you, Princess, is that they’re paid in galleons and you were paid with a last name.” His voice was low, deep, and far too close. “I’d say they were more respectable because they admit what they are while you play pretend.”

“You bastard.” She turned and raised her arm so she could slap him, shocked at his sheer nerve at calling her a whore. His hand wrapped around her wrist and she didn’t have time to gasp before he pulled her against him.

“That I am. Happy new years, Princess,” he murmured before his lips were suddenly on hers.

Narcissa pushed at his chest in an attempt to free herself from his unwelcome advances. Instead, her fingers curled around his shirt and pulled him closer. She felt the counter behind her as he pushed her against it, one large hand moving down her back and squeezing her arse. She moaned and he took advantage of her parted lips to deepen the kiss. When he released her wrist, she moved her arm over his shoulder, rubbed her palm on the back of his smooth head and pressed against him. Her thigh pressed against him, hard and ready, and she whimpered when he suddenly stepped back.

“I’m not a toy, Princess,” he muttered as his tongue swiped against his lip. His arousal was evident, pressed firmly against his trousers.

“Nor am I, Auror,” she said in a challenging voice that hinted at far more than she intended. They stared at each other and the air practically crackled as he moved a step closer. She’d only ever been with Lucius, a virgin on their wedding night and faithful even while he was at Azkaban, and she’d loved him, but it had never felt this electric. Her body was warm and there was an ache she’d felt for weeks that was desperate to be alleviated.

“Rule 14A, an Auror will remain professional in all circumstances,” he quoted as he raised his hand and brushed his thumb along the curve of her jaw. “Rule 29G, an Auror will not engage in inappropriate behavior with a suspect, witness, or victim.” His thumb moved over her parted lips and she watched him grit his teeth when her tongue darted out to lick his thumb. “Rule 34T, an Auror will never, under any circumstance, jeopardize a case by engaging in sexual activity with a suspect, witness, or victim regardless of consent.”

“Tell me, Mister Shacklebolt. Do you always follow the rules?” she asked as she calmly stepped past him and walked back to the fire. She took a few moments to breathe and calm herself so she’d not lose control before she turned and faced him. She met his stare and didn’t hesitate as she reached up, unbuttoned her robes and let them fall to the floor. She knew the firelight would cast an attractive glow on her body, and, to her irritation, she really wanted to appear appealing.

“The thing about rules, Princess,” he started as he crossed the room like a predator stalking prey, “is that they’re made to be broken.”

His lips were on hers instantly and she gripped his strong shoulders as she felt herself pressed against the wall beside the fire. His hands moved beneath her arse and raised her so her legs could wrap around his waist. When he pulled back from the kiss, she smirked. “Rule 14A seems to be broken,” she observed breathlessly as she rubbed against the front of his trousers.

“Let’s go for 29G now,” he growled against her neck as he bit down. She gasped at the unexpected sensation and heard him chuckle at her reaction. His hand squeezed her breast as the other kneaded her arse. It wasn’t long before she felt his finger against her wetness, rubbing back and forth until she was whining and moaning. “Is that inappropriate enough, Princess?”

“Y-y-yes,” she finally managed to stammer as he licked her throat and collarbone. “Very inappropriate, Auror. I may have to send an owl to your, oh God, your supervisor.”

Narcissa could hear the sound of his zip being lowered and closed her eyes as she waited to feel him inside her. He rubbed himself against her, sliding back and forth until she was ready to demand that he put it inside her. He felt thick when he finally pressed the head between her lips and she braced herself for his intrusion.

“Rule 34T,” he whispered against her ear. “Want me to break that rule, Princess?”

“I never thought you’d be a tease, Auror,” she accused petulantly as she reached down to try to force him inside her. He slapped her hand away and laughed as he nuzzled her neck. “Break the bloody rule, now!”

He didn’t say a word as he suddenly thrust up and buried himself inside her. His strokes were deep and fast, sending her against the wall hard each time he pushed forward. His mouth was on her breasts, biting and licking, and she scratched his back as she moved against him eagerly. It didn’t take either of them very long, which wasn’t much of a surprise considering the unintended foreplay that had been going on for weeks.

She reached between them and rubbed herself when she felt her orgasm approaching. Her body tensed and then she shattered, a soft cry of release muffled by his broad shoulder as she came. He soon followed, a handful of deep strokes and his hands gripped her hard enough to bruise her pale skin as he came. He spilled inside her and kept pushing against her until he was completely spent.

They remained against the wall as they panted and eventually caught their breath and stopped trembling. He pulled out of her and she could feel their release dripping from her as he held her and pushed his trousers down and kicked them away, his shirt open from where she’d ripped the buttons free to get to his bare skin. He looked at her a moment before he walked them away from the wall, his hands still holding her securely. He sat in her chair by the fire, her on his lap.

She rested her cheek against his chest and looked at the fire, uncertain, for once, what to say or do. He wrapped the scratchy blanket around their sweaty bodies and she moved her finger over his chest in lazy circles. The silence wasn’t awkward and uncomfortable as it had been before. Instead, it was rather nice.


The End