FIC: Snow White Wings, Narcissa/Tonks, chan, Hard R/NC-17
This was originally written as a gift for a friend, but I decided to submit it as a very belated entry to the Chilly Weather Challenge as what I originally tried to write for it didn't work out... hope this fic is OK instead. May disturb some individuals with strong religious faith.
Love & Serpents' Kisses,
Anath.
Title: Snow White Wings
Author: Anath de Malfoy
Pairing: Narcissa/Tonks, implied Lucius/Walden
Summary: It began as Narcissa wanting her own little girl… and became a blasphemous obsession
Rating: Hard R/NC-17
Warnings: Femmeslash, chan, incest (aunt/niece), mild bondage, religious imagery, possible blasphemy, insanity, some possible OOC-ness
Possible Spoilers: Books 1-5
Word Count: 1,571
Disclaimer: All characters and profits belong to J.K. Rowling. The femmeslash kink is all my own responsibility.
A/N: Written as a gift fic for playingthetart, and submitted for hp_literotica’s Chilly Weather Challenge. Many apologies for its lateness.
Year after year, the ice of winter became more bitter and unbearable; the snows fell, beautiful but sterile, upon the magnificent grounds of Malfoy Manor.
My marriage was happy enough on the surface; I was married to a wealthy, aristocratic pure-blood wizard who treated me with kindness and respect. We were true friends as well as being man and wife; Lucius gave me everything I wanted, and I never minded that he sought the arms of his lover, Walden Macnair, rather than mine after our child was born. Indeed, that was how I preferred it, the more intimate side of wifely duties never being very pleasurable to me.
That precious babe, my little Draco, was my joy, of course. Somewhat fragile in the first few months of his life, but becoming steadily more robust as he grew. An attractive child, blond, slender and poised, the very image of his father. I loved Draco beyond reason, but something still remained missing in the wasteland of bewilderment that was my inner life.
For Draco was the kind of child I could kiss on the cheek and give sweets to; I could watch him fly around the grounds of Malfoy Manor on his toy broomstick. We could make snowmen and snow angels together when the ground was thickly covered by fluffy white drifts. But I could never decorate his fine blond hair with ribbons, or clothe him in flowing gowns of silk, elaborate embroidery and lace. I could not place exquisitely dressed and wrapped porcelain dolls beneath the Christmas tree as gifts for Draco, nor could I gather him into my arms at night and carry him to my bed for secret kisses when he grew older, training him as my apprentice lover, my little paramour. For I could never conceive of feeling such desires for any boy, not even my darling son.
No, it was a daughter that I longed for in my heart of hearts, my own beloved girl who would be my most cherished companion and most devoted worshipper, existing to be adored by me and to obey my every sensual, lascivious whim. But the years were unkind, and Draco remained my one and only offspring. My inner thoughts and conscience nagged me to feel grateful to have him at least. Still my hidden sorrow grew and lingered; I wore a frozen smile upon my face, yet within I was a barren tundra of frost and sleet.
I tried to console myself with my lovely pure-bred cats, and countless pretty girl-forms in fine china. Every mantelpiece at Malfoy Manor was festooned with exquisite figurines; their dresses painted rose and turquoise and emerald, their hair all shades of blonde from golden to albino white. At first they were merely simulacra of human little girls, but as my desperation deepened into madness of obsession, and my wishes in the night turned into prayers cast out into the void, I began to collect only delicate porcelain angels. All female of course, with silver halos and alabaster wings. I believe in no deity, nor in divine intervention, but these frail little emblems of purity and perfection were the only symbols that could crack a fissure in the ice that threatened to claim my sanity.
The years continued to be cruel to me, and no winged celestial being from above brought me a tiny girl. Searches on earth were equally in vain, as newborn pure-blooded witches are scarcer than the rarest jewels.
In the end I swallowed my pride, and reached out to the only hope I had left, my disowned and disinherited sister, Andromeda. It was at great risk that I sought her, brought her back into my life with parchment letters sent to her by owl. She had been cast from our family circle because of the Mudblood she had married; many of my loved ones would have scorned me too had I made my intentions too obvious. But only Andromeda could help me. She possessed what I most desired, what I most envied, and only she could soothe a little of my madness and grant my dearest wish.
Andromeda, foolish forgiving soul, was more than happy to hear from me again, and willingly allowed my niece to visit when I sent for her. The child may be only a half-blood, I told myself, but at least she was family, and I could pretend to think her pure for a little while…
Nymphadora was seven years old when she first came to Malfoy Manor. She was a playful, roguish tomboy of a child, with awkward hands and skinned knees from many falls, unaccustomed to wearing female attire at home. Her mother put her in starched blouses and pleated skirts for visiting, which the girl seemed ill at ease in. My niece cared more for Quidditch and games of chase than dolls, and was already, I was told, making the children at the revolting Muggle day school her father insisted she attend address her as “Tonks”. Naturally, I was a little disappointed at first.
But by stealth and cunning, caresses and slyly sensuous doses of affection, I was gradually over the course of many visits and several years revealing to Nymphadora the benefits and considerable rewards of a more ladylike existence. The usual cakes and sweets that children so crave, of course. Presents galore, including curious magical toys in the shapes of unicorns, dragons and other fantastic beasts, and dolls far more gorgeous than the paltry Muggle ones she had at home, dolls clad as Veela and wood-nymphs and charmed so they could not be shattered by her clumsiness. Her first real broomstick, the latest model Nimbus racing broom… and of course fine clothes, to displace the ghastly blouses and skirts. Glorious dresses of lace, velvet and silk, in more bright shades than the rainbow possessed. Her Metamorphmagus abilities were an unexpected blessing, enabling her to make her appearance more aesthetically pleasing to my eyes. Nymphadora’s hair could now fall softly to her waist and shimmer like moonlight, her eyes could reflect the stars’ radiance in their delicate shade of palest blue-grey. And this, of course, endeared her to me more than ever before.
Nymphadora found her Uncle Lucius to be kind but rather distant, soon coming to realise that he would rather spend time in his own rooms with “that scary Mr Macnair” as she termed Walden, than with the rest of the family. Draco she thought of as cute, but rather spoiled; I was careful to bestow many gifts upon my son so that he did not become overly petulant and jealous of his cousin.
My time alone with my niece was most precious of all. Since Draco’s birth Lucius and I had kept separate rooms, and Nymphadora was a welcome companion in my vast four-poster bed. Here I could shower her with all the passion and affection I could never display in public. This began innocently enough in the early days, merely kisses on the cheek or forehead, and tender embraces while murmuring endearments and stroking each other’s hair. I learned many secrets from my dear child in those days, especially about how various little girls tugged at her heartstrings and how boys were merely good friends and playmates. All most encouraging for when she was old enough to attend boarding school; from then onwards, when she visited me during the holidays, our nightly caresses became slowly, inevitably more intimate.
From the start of her first year at Hogwarts, I crafted a ritual of my love for her and her complete submission to me; we would undress and lie down upon satin sheets, and I would guide her pretty little head to my hard nipples or between my spread thighs. Her warm, sweet-smelling hair would cascade across my skin, her perfect rosy mouth and slick little tongue making me tremulous and wanton. I would not touch her unless she let me bind her slim wrists to the bedposts with silk scarves, and then I would usually enter her anus with a lotion-slicked finger, tracing the outline of her dampened, pouting little slit with my other hand in motions of sinuous grace. She looked so helpless and desirable as she lay restrained, her pale lashes fluttering, salt tears forming as she begged for satisfaction and release.
In the day clothes that I gave her, Nymphadora resembled the figurines of little Victorian girls I once collected. Clad in the white lace nightgowns she wore to bed, she looked so like my porcelain angels it was breathtaking. Perhaps it was this that made my obsession grow, and demand more and more from my young beloved, my nightly captive.
It was during her third year at Hogwarts, the day after Christmas to be exact, that my fondest, wildest, darkest and most sacrilegious dream came true. As the dancing snowflakes fell outside the stained glass windows of my chamber, this lithe, pale girl of barely thirteen slid the straps of her silken gown from her frail shoulders and let it pool about her feet. Concentrating hard, Nymphadora furrowed her brow, aching to succeed where she had failed before. I gasped in rapt delight as I heard her whimper in pain, and saw the immaculate feathers of snow white wings burst forth from her tender skin. A gleaming halo crowned her blondeness, and for the first time ever I fell to my knees to worship at her feet.
~ Fin.
Love & Serpents' Kisses,
Anath.
Title: Snow White Wings
Author: Anath de Malfoy
Pairing: Narcissa/Tonks, implied Lucius/Walden
Summary: It began as Narcissa wanting her own little girl… and became a blasphemous obsession
Rating: Hard R/NC-17
Warnings: Femmeslash, chan, incest (aunt/niece), mild bondage, religious imagery, possible blasphemy, insanity, some possible OOC-ness
Possible Spoilers: Books 1-5
Word Count: 1,571
Disclaimer: All characters and profits belong to J.K. Rowling. The femmeslash kink is all my own responsibility.
A/N: Written as a gift fic for playingthetart, and submitted for hp_literotica’s Chilly Weather Challenge. Many apologies for its lateness.
Year after year, the ice of winter became more bitter and unbearable; the snows fell, beautiful but sterile, upon the magnificent grounds of Malfoy Manor.
My marriage was happy enough on the surface; I was married to a wealthy, aristocratic pure-blood wizard who treated me with kindness and respect. We were true friends as well as being man and wife; Lucius gave me everything I wanted, and I never minded that he sought the arms of his lover, Walden Macnair, rather than mine after our child was born. Indeed, that was how I preferred it, the more intimate side of wifely duties never being very pleasurable to me.
That precious babe, my little Draco, was my joy, of course. Somewhat fragile in the first few months of his life, but becoming steadily more robust as he grew. An attractive child, blond, slender and poised, the very image of his father. I loved Draco beyond reason, but something still remained missing in the wasteland of bewilderment that was my inner life.
For Draco was the kind of child I could kiss on the cheek and give sweets to; I could watch him fly around the grounds of Malfoy Manor on his toy broomstick. We could make snowmen and snow angels together when the ground was thickly covered by fluffy white drifts. But I could never decorate his fine blond hair with ribbons, or clothe him in flowing gowns of silk, elaborate embroidery and lace. I could not place exquisitely dressed and wrapped porcelain dolls beneath the Christmas tree as gifts for Draco, nor could I gather him into my arms at night and carry him to my bed for secret kisses when he grew older, training him as my apprentice lover, my little paramour. For I could never conceive of feeling such desires for any boy, not even my darling son.
No, it was a daughter that I longed for in my heart of hearts, my own beloved girl who would be my most cherished companion and most devoted worshipper, existing to be adored by me and to obey my every sensual, lascivious whim. But the years were unkind, and Draco remained my one and only offspring. My inner thoughts and conscience nagged me to feel grateful to have him at least. Still my hidden sorrow grew and lingered; I wore a frozen smile upon my face, yet within I was a barren tundra of frost and sleet.
I tried to console myself with my lovely pure-bred cats, and countless pretty girl-forms in fine china. Every mantelpiece at Malfoy Manor was festooned with exquisite figurines; their dresses painted rose and turquoise and emerald, their hair all shades of blonde from golden to albino white. At first they were merely simulacra of human little girls, but as my desperation deepened into madness of obsession, and my wishes in the night turned into prayers cast out into the void, I began to collect only delicate porcelain angels. All female of course, with silver halos and alabaster wings. I believe in no deity, nor in divine intervention, but these frail little emblems of purity and perfection were the only symbols that could crack a fissure in the ice that threatened to claim my sanity.
The years continued to be cruel to me, and no winged celestial being from above brought me a tiny girl. Searches on earth were equally in vain, as newborn pure-blooded witches are scarcer than the rarest jewels.
In the end I swallowed my pride, and reached out to the only hope I had left, my disowned and disinherited sister, Andromeda. It was at great risk that I sought her, brought her back into my life with parchment letters sent to her by owl. She had been cast from our family circle because of the Mudblood she had married; many of my loved ones would have scorned me too had I made my intentions too obvious. But only Andromeda could help me. She possessed what I most desired, what I most envied, and only she could soothe a little of my madness and grant my dearest wish.
Andromeda, foolish forgiving soul, was more than happy to hear from me again, and willingly allowed my niece to visit when I sent for her. The child may be only a half-blood, I told myself, but at least she was family, and I could pretend to think her pure for a little while…
Nymphadora was seven years old when she first came to Malfoy Manor. She was a playful, roguish tomboy of a child, with awkward hands and skinned knees from many falls, unaccustomed to wearing female attire at home. Her mother put her in starched blouses and pleated skirts for visiting, which the girl seemed ill at ease in. My niece cared more for Quidditch and games of chase than dolls, and was already, I was told, making the children at the revolting Muggle day school her father insisted she attend address her as “Tonks”. Naturally, I was a little disappointed at first.
But by stealth and cunning, caresses and slyly sensuous doses of affection, I was gradually over the course of many visits and several years revealing to Nymphadora the benefits and considerable rewards of a more ladylike existence. The usual cakes and sweets that children so crave, of course. Presents galore, including curious magical toys in the shapes of unicorns, dragons and other fantastic beasts, and dolls far more gorgeous than the paltry Muggle ones she had at home, dolls clad as Veela and wood-nymphs and charmed so they could not be shattered by her clumsiness. Her first real broomstick, the latest model Nimbus racing broom… and of course fine clothes, to displace the ghastly blouses and skirts. Glorious dresses of lace, velvet and silk, in more bright shades than the rainbow possessed. Her Metamorphmagus abilities were an unexpected blessing, enabling her to make her appearance more aesthetically pleasing to my eyes. Nymphadora’s hair could now fall softly to her waist and shimmer like moonlight, her eyes could reflect the stars’ radiance in their delicate shade of palest blue-grey. And this, of course, endeared her to me more than ever before.
Nymphadora found her Uncle Lucius to be kind but rather distant, soon coming to realise that he would rather spend time in his own rooms with “that scary Mr Macnair” as she termed Walden, than with the rest of the family. Draco she thought of as cute, but rather spoiled; I was careful to bestow many gifts upon my son so that he did not become overly petulant and jealous of his cousin.
My time alone with my niece was most precious of all. Since Draco’s birth Lucius and I had kept separate rooms, and Nymphadora was a welcome companion in my vast four-poster bed. Here I could shower her with all the passion and affection I could never display in public. This began innocently enough in the early days, merely kisses on the cheek or forehead, and tender embraces while murmuring endearments and stroking each other’s hair. I learned many secrets from my dear child in those days, especially about how various little girls tugged at her heartstrings and how boys were merely good friends and playmates. All most encouraging for when she was old enough to attend boarding school; from then onwards, when she visited me during the holidays, our nightly caresses became slowly, inevitably more intimate.
From the start of her first year at Hogwarts, I crafted a ritual of my love for her and her complete submission to me; we would undress and lie down upon satin sheets, and I would guide her pretty little head to my hard nipples or between my spread thighs. Her warm, sweet-smelling hair would cascade across my skin, her perfect rosy mouth and slick little tongue making me tremulous and wanton. I would not touch her unless she let me bind her slim wrists to the bedposts with silk scarves, and then I would usually enter her anus with a lotion-slicked finger, tracing the outline of her dampened, pouting little slit with my other hand in motions of sinuous grace. She looked so helpless and desirable as she lay restrained, her pale lashes fluttering, salt tears forming as she begged for satisfaction and release.
In the day clothes that I gave her, Nymphadora resembled the figurines of little Victorian girls I once collected. Clad in the white lace nightgowns she wore to bed, she looked so like my porcelain angels it was breathtaking. Perhaps it was this that made my obsession grow, and demand more and more from my young beloved, my nightly captive.
It was during her third year at Hogwarts, the day after Christmas to be exact, that my fondest, wildest, darkest and most sacrilegious dream came true. As the dancing snowflakes fell outside the stained glass windows of my chamber, this lithe, pale girl of barely thirteen slid the straps of her silken gown from her frail shoulders and let it pool about her feet. Concentrating hard, Nymphadora furrowed her brow, aching to succeed where she had failed before. I gasped in rapt delight as I heard her whimper in pain, and saw the immaculate feathers of snow white wings burst forth from her tender skin. A gleaming halo crowned her blondeness, and for the first time ever I fell to my knees to worship at her feet.
~ Fin.