Inell's Fanfiction Archive

The music fills the ballroom and gently floats upstairs. Narcissa listens intently and lets the beautiful melody move her upper body where she sits high above. She wants to be downstairs dancing, dressed in her finest dress robes (the dark blue that makes her hair look vivid and shiny and brings out the color of her eyes), and the center of attention for everyone who matters. If she could be there instead of here, she knows the world just might be perfect.

She loves parties ever so much, but she’s too young for this one. Not until she’s seventeen, her father says firmly in a voice that gives no room for whining or arguments. That doesn’t stop her from lurking on the landing and peeking through the banister of the stairs to watch everyone arrive. The women look beautiful with their styled hair and lavish dress robes. The men look handsome with their formal robes and charming smiles.

Next year, she’ll be old enough to attend and she’ll dance with everyone except Lucius Malfoy. He’ll have to beg her to earn a dance, she decides with a mischievous smile. He is far too handsome and sure of himself, after all, and it’s a woman’s duty to remind a man such as Lucius Malfoy that the best things in life aren’t easily obtained with a charming smile and flirtatious caress. He is down there now, probably dancing with every beautiful witch in attendance, but she knows that none of them interest him. He’s to be hers, after all, even if he’s not realized it yet.

She closes her eyes and listens to the music, dancing with Lucius Malfoy in her mind until the sky is full of stars and there’s no one around but them. Her body warms in that delicious way that it always does when she thinks of him, and she can feel her nipples tighten as the music becomes louder and more frantic. Will he touch her while they dance? She can often feel his gaze on her when he and his family visit, and she knows that he wants her. Who wouldn’t? She’s a Black and certainly the most beautiful of her sisters, that merely a statement of fact and not arrogance at all.

“You should be in bed, Cissy.”

The voice is whispered against her ear, and Narcissa clenches her eyes tighter. If she opens them, it will be real so she continues to listen to the music and dance with her chosen. She feels Bellatrix’s hand caress her shoulder, just a fleeting touch that makes her shudder for reasons far different than the thought of Lucius. Please, Bella. Just go. Please don’t. The words whisper in her mind but she doesn’t dare say them aloud. One must not displease Bellatrix.

“Father would be unhappy if he caught you here, especially in your dressing gown. Just think, Cissy. Any of those wretched old men could look up here and see you. Is that what you’re hoping for? You like when they look at you and want you, don’t you? Such a common whore that I have for a baby sister.”

Her fingers drift down and caress the plump curve of Narcissa’s breast as she speaks, tightening when she hisses the word whore. There is no point in denying such ridiculous allegations. Bellatrix refuses to listen, no matter how often Narcissa says that she’s not common, that she’s not a whore, that she doesn’t want all those men watching her. She just wants one of them, but she never dare admit that to Bellatrix. Her sister is jealous and possessive, after all, and can never know who is in her mind when she touches herself late at night. It is her secret, just hers, and Bella can never know until there’s nothing she can do to stop it.

“Your nipples are tight, Cissy,” Bellatrix purrs against her neck. She pulls on one nipple, twisting it hard, and Narcissa bites her lip to keep from crying out. Bellatrix moves her other hand along Narcissa’s folded legs, higher and higher until it disappears beneath the thin fabric of her dressing gown.

The music changes to a haunting melody with a tempo that matches the beating of Narcissa’s heart. Bellatrix pulls her back against her, and she can feel her sister’s breasts against her back. It feels like Bellatrix is naked, which is possible as it would be shocking and even more dangerous if she were caught. Bellatrix takes the rules and bends them into a twisted mess that means nothing to her so she doesn’t have to follow them.

“You’re so beautiful, Cissy,” Bellatrix murmurs as she easily rips the bodice of Narcissa’s gown until the cool air caresses her breasts. It’s been like this for four years, since she was twelve and her older sister decided to play a game during the Christmas holidays. She was too young to know any better back then, and it had felt good when Bella eased the candy cane inside her and lapped at it until Narcissa had been writhing on the bed and pulling at the magic that bound her. Now, though, she hates it. She hates Bellatrix’s fascination with her, her obsession, and the fact that she’s too weak and too scared to ever protest.

Soon, Bellatrix won’t be able to do this. Narcissa had thought her marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange would stop it, but it hasn’t. If anything, it’s worse now because Bellatrix takes and doesn’t ask and just makes it hurt until Narcissa can’t forget or pretend it doesn’t happen. When Narcissa is married, though, it will stop. Her husband will protect her from this madness, especially if she does get her wish and marries Lucius. He hates Bellatrix and he‘ll keep her safe from her sister‘s obsessive desire. She’ll finally be safe again.

Until then, though, she can do nothing except give Bellatrix what she wants and hate herself for not being strong like Andromeda. When Bellatrix runs her fingers over Narcissa’s knickers, she listens to the music and thinks of dancing with Lucius. She thinks of his hand on her knickers and his fingers sliding beneath the silk fabric. He will be more gentle with her, she knows, and not thrust his fingers inside her roughly like Bellatrix. He will take his time and taste her, touch her, make her wild with desire before he slides into her and makes her his over and over again.

“You’re so wet for me, Cissy,” Bellatrix whispers against her neck as she adds a third finger inside Narcissa. It hurts as she shoves them in deep, twisting and turning them as she squeezes Narcissa’s breast hard and pulls on her nipple. The music seems to match her forceful thrusts perfectly, Narcissa realizes, and she whimpers as Bellatrix bites her neck hard. “Such a beautiful whore. My whore. No one else will ever see you like this, will ever touch your pretty cunt or feel your perfect breasts. I won’t let them. You’re mine. All mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.”

The word is repeated in a low murmur as she moves her fingers faster and harder, rubbing the heel of her hand against Nacissa’s clit. She keeps her eyes closed and listens to the rising tempo of the music. Her hips rock forward and she pants softly as her body moves to the music in a dance that is forbidden and unwanted. Her lips part and her head falls back against Bellatrix’s shoulder as she feels heat spread throughout her body. Her breasts feel heavy, her nipples are so tight, and she can’t stop the familiar tension from rising, rising, rising until it snaps as the music reaches its crescendo.

She trembles as waves of pleasure spread over her body. When Bellatrix finally pulls her hand back, Narcissa is sore and soaking wet. Her shoulder aches from the deep bites that mark her and her breasts will soon be covered in bruises. Shame and guilt bring a flush to her pale cheeks and her long hair falls around her face in a curtain of white-gold that does nothing to protect her from what is and what she fears will always be.

When Bellatrix urges her to lie back on the hard wooden landing, she doesn’t dare protest. Her eyes are still closed but she can no longer pretend that this isn’t happening. “Such a beautiful whore, my Cissy,” Bellatrix purrs before she laps at Narcissa’s wetness like a kitten drinking milk. When she feels Bellatrix straddle her face, she opens her mouth and begins to lick, moving her tongue in perfect rhythm with the rising tempo from the ballroom as she loses herself, once again, in the music of the night.

End