When he is a young child, Lucius associates beauty with the sparkling jewels in his mother’s accessories and the smooth curves of his father’s precious furniture. He likes the glitter and shine, and it tempts him, but he knows the rules. He has heard them many times after giving in and breaking them. He can look, but he can’t touch. Beauty is unattainable, something he longs for but can never have. Not until he’s older, his father tells him.
When he enters his teens, his ideas of beauty have changed. It is now found in the shining eyes of witches with pale skin and flirty smiles. He can look and touch and take them as his, but he soon becomes bored. Their beauty is only on the surface, and he finds that he wants more, needs more, and it leaves him unsatisfied. He is looking for perfection, which doesn’t exist, or so his mother tells him.
When he is on the brink of adulthood, beauty is Narcissa. She is smooth curves and sparkling eyes, and he claims her as his because he does not want to risk losing her. He can look and touch yet he never becomes bored. It is new to him, yet he still isn’t completely satisfied. Neither is she, though he does not know what she needs. They are happy, yes, but not content. There is no such thing as perfection, she whispers before kissing him so that he cannot argue.
When he is an adult, he learns a new definition for beauty. It has tiny hands and tiny feet and a wrinkled pink face that he finds mesmerizing. His son is beauty, innocent and untouched by the reality of life. The world is changing, and his days are spent in secret meetings that seduce him closer and closer towards a path that promises perfection in their world. His nights are spent with his Narcissa, with their son, and he finds comfort in the familiar beauty of his wife. It is enough, he tells himself.
When a second war is over and the world is rebuilding, he has forgotten beauty. It is not as important as he once believed, not when compared to being alive, to being free, to loving his wife and respecting his son. It is a new world, in many ways; one that he finds odd and foreign. He doesn’t belong in it, has no place amongst the heroes and traitors who want to change everything that is familiar to him. Narcissa is intrigued by it and Draco fights to belong, but he prefers to avoid it. He is restless and feels like something is missing. He is merely existing, no longer living, his wife murmurs before leading him out of his study so that he can learn how to live again.
When he is older, Lucius associates beauty with the shining light in his wife’s eyes and the smooth curves of their lover’s body. Narcissa practically glows when Hermione licks her pale skin, and Hermione begs sweetly when his wife adds a third finger inside her, preparing her. They forget he is there sometimes, but he feels no jealousy. In a way, it’s familiar to him. He can look, but he can’t touch. Not yet.
Soon, he will be with them. They will remember him then they will scold him for thinking that they forgot, even though they do sometimes. It doesn’t matter, really, because they are his, or perhaps he is theirs. Lines have been blurred so much in the past months that he no longer knows anymore. He strokes himself as he watches, waiting for the signal that they are ready. When Hermione looks at him and beckons with wet fingers that taste of his wife and Narcissa reaches for him, moving his hand and replacing it with her mouth, he feels content.
He watches them kiss as he slides into Hermione, watches his wife squeeze Hermione’s breasts, and he moves faster, deeper, until their hands are in his hair pulling his head down towards them. He kisses them, each one so different; passionate and rough for Hermione, yet gentle and intense for Narcissa. They touch him and surround him and he knows this is where he belongs. This is beauty, they are beauty, and he knows that he has finally found what he’s always been looking for.
With them, he’s found perfection.
End
Beauty
Story Notes:
5/11/09