Dear Sister for The Community
Title: Dear Sister (or, Vice and Virtue).
Author: a_shadow_there
Recipient: The Community
Pairing(s): Narcissa/Bellatrix, Lucius/Wormtail, implied Bellatrix/others.
Word Count: 1,970
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, incest (implied), infidelity, elements of non-con, oral sex.
Summary: Following Bellatrix's escape from Azkaban, the Dark Lord keeps her imprisoned. While Narcissa cannot comprehend why - and, frankly, doesn't want to - she is determined to free her sister; her dear sister
Author's Notes: Many thanks to the Mods for their patience with this submission.
Narcissa stares. Blank. She watches the reflection of her own eyes in the glass even as she looks beyond it; even as she gazes upon the sight of her sister strapped to a table, dishevelled and screaming.
"How long has she been like this?" she asks Walden Macnair, who is standing beside her.
"She was found about a week ago. We've been trying to -" Walden pauses and gestures with his hands, as if that is an explanation for Bellatrix's state; as if that is an explanation for why it's only just been decided that Narcissa should be called.
"And Lucius said -" Walden continues, before Narcissa cuts him off.
"Lucius - Lucius knew? Lucius knows?"
Walden nods. "Yeah, he didn't -?"
There it is again: the pause and the gestures: Walden's huge, flat hands slicing through the air like an axe-blade through tissue and tendon.
"No," Narcissa says, "he didn't."
*
Seething, Narcissa steps hurriedly out of the fireplace. Smoothing her robes as she walks, she mutters under her breath with such intensity and rapidity it almost sound like she is hissing. She ascends the stairs to Lucius' library; the ornately embroidered hem of her robes sweeping the floor as she moves.
*
Narcissa heaves the timber door open. Storming into the room to see Lucius she speaks: "Just what did you think you were doing?" The words tumble from her lips before the door has a chance to click shut behind her - and before she has a chance to take in the scene before her.
Lucius is standing, bare-arsed, in the middle of the room. His trousers are bunched around his ankles; his socks still visible above them, black cotton contrasting against pale white skin. His cock is hard; protruding from his body like an obelisk, the head pink and bulbous and pressed flush against Wormtail's pursed mouth.
"Merlin's sake," Narcissa spits. Wide-eyed, she advances on the men. She turns her gaze to Lucius, and then to Wormtail: to his greasy, matted hair and beady, black eyes; to the scratches and scars and caked, cracking blood that has dried on his forearms.
"Get out," she says, grabbing Wormtail by the collar and hoisting him to his scrabbling feet. "Get out."
Nodding, his head bobbing with such veracity it hardly appears to be attached to his neck at all, Wormtail shrinks away and he babbles something that may or may not be an apology, he transfigures into his animagus form and the last Narcissa hears from him is the scurrying of his claws on the floorboards.
"Is there something I can help you with, Narcissa?" Lucius asks. Pulling his trousers up over his thighs, he tucks himself back into his pants.
"You're pathetic," Narcissa hisses.
Lucius rolls his eyes. "And you ought to learn to knock," he counters.
Narcissa's mouth twitches. "You knew," she says, her voice stern.
"Knew what?"
"About Bella. You knew where she was. You know where she is."
Lucius shrugs. He says nothing.
"You knew," Narcissa says again; her eyes, a clear, sharp grey are obscured by rising tears. "Why didn't you tell me," she adds; it is both a question and yet not; it is a plea.
Lucius arches an eyebrow. He sighs, as if bored by the conversation of which he has found himself a part. "It wasn't my place to tell you," he says. "I assumed the Dark Lord would summon you when - if - it was necessary."
"Wasn't your place?! She's my sister, Lucius; my sister."
"I know all about you and your sister," Lucius says fiercely.
His voice cuts the air in his study, and Narcissa. Her lower lip quivers; it droops, laden with all the feeling that she cannot quite express to her husband, or that she doesn't yet dare to.
"She's my sister," is all Narcissa says. She turns rapidly on her heel and exits the study.
She will not let Lucius see her cry. Not now, and not over this.
In the hall, she exhales a great, shuddering breath and collapses to her knees. Narcissa allows herself a few heaving sobs and, composing herself, clambers to her feet and descends the stairs.
She is going to see her sister.
*
A clandestine meeting and a few flirtatious glances later, Narcissa has managed to wheedle the specifics of Bellatrix's location from Walden.
"I only want to see her," she reassures him. Cupping his pronounced jaw between her thumb and forefinger, she leans in and whispers: "But you mustn't tell anyone regardless."
He nods his agreement, and she departs.
I am coming, Bella, she thinks. I am coming.
*
Narcissa's footsteps echo off of the ancient stone walls. Water trickles in tiny rivulets over the contours and cracks. It pools at her feet. Passing the viewing room from which she first saw her sister, Narcissa allows herself a quick glance through the glass once more.
"She's still here," Narcissa says to herself. She is breathless with fear and trepidation.
But she moves on. Following the directions Walden has given her, she traipses through the labyrinthine pathways that will lead her to Bellatrix (to be able to get to her easily from the viewing room is too simple for the Dark Lord, she knows that; and if she needs to earn this reunion with her sister, her dear sister, then earn it she shall).
An hour passes, maybe more, before Narcissa reaches the place. Coming to a gentle slope in the earth, Narcissa cannot suppress the smile that splits her lips as she realises what is just beyond the rise. Hitching her robes, Narcissa accelerates: her brisk walking pace becomes a stilting, harried jog becomes a skidding run as she heads for the large, ornately carved stone door. She slows as she approaches and casting a furtive glance about her, Narcissa takes out her wand. Taking a few moments to catch her breath, Narcissa steadies herself and utters the incantation just as Walden instructed her.
A loud shriek pierces the silence of the caverns as the door eases itself open. The unholy sound reverberates off of the sculpted walls and ceilings of the tunnel; its echo a ghastly, ghostly reminder of things Narcissa dare not contemplate.
"Bella," Narcissa says, venturing beyond the archway; "Bella."
*
Padding into the room, Narcissa marks the smell: the air is simmering with a shocking rancidity. It causes Narcissa to retch with each step that she takes.
Her eyes water, but it is not in response to the vile air: it is the sight before her that unleashes the flow of tears from her eyes.
Bellatrix is, as Narcissa expected, strapped to a rough, timber table in the centre of the room. Her hair is greasy and matted: at once frizzy and lacklustre. Great sections of it are plastered to her forehead: by what, Narcissa isn't sure, but she hopes it is only sweat and dirt (she fears much worse - blood, and semen perhaps, she thinks momentarily, before determinedly dismissing those thoughts). Bella writhes on the table, struggling against her bindings. Wild-eyed, she tries to look about her but the way she is restrained does not allow her much movement. Terrified - for she is clearly terrified - the limited scope of motion incenses Bella further and, frustrated, she thrashes on the table, crying out, sporadically uttered, garbled words filling the empty space that surrounds her and crashing to the floor in an agonising cacophony.
Standing with mouth agape, Narcissa gasps: the sight of her sister suffering so has stolen all the breath from her lungs, and she thinks for a moment that she will never be able to gain a proper purchase on those elemental faculties again. On trembling legs, Narcissa finally composes herself to a degree that she is able to move again. She shuffles into the centre of the room and, standing at the head of the table, she tentatively places the palm of her hand on Bella's forehead. Bella shirks from the touch. Her mouth twists in - what? an expression of fear and incomprehension? Narcissa isn't even sure how to begin describing it.
"Ssh," she soothes, smoothing Bella's hair from her forehead. "Ssh."
Narcissa, whispering her sister's name over and over again - "Bella, Bella, Bella," she says - examines her sister's face. Small scars from old wounds catch the dim light of the room and, for an instant, they almost seemed to shimmer. Intermittent scratches run over Bella's dirty, tear-streaked cheeks: the pale alabaster of her natural complexion burnishing beneath layers of grime.
"Oh, Bella," Narcissa shudders. "Oh, my dear, beautiful Bella. What has he done to you?" Her body wracked with sobs, Narcissa climbs up onto the table. Bella reacts violently, struggling desperately as Narcissa positions her body so that she is lying beside her sister, recreating, as best she can, the way they used to lay together when they were young: when they were adolescents, and then adults; before the horrors of Azkaban tore them from one another.
Wrapping her arms around Bella even as she winces beneath her touch, Narcissa clings to her sister: holding her, holding her. She is gripping Bella so tightly it is as if Narcissa is trying to bring her into herself: to meld them together so that they may be one and, as she graces her sister's filthy skin with her lips; kisses and kisses and kisses as she makes her a promise.
"Oh, Bella," Narcissa whispers against her sister's neck, "I'll bring you home. I promise."
*
Over the course of the next week, Narcissa takes every opportunity to see her sister. Where she is being kept, she now knows, but as to the reasons for the Dark Lord's imprisonment of his most devoted servant, Narcissa can only guess (and would prefer not to).
Eight days after her reunion with Bellatrix, Narcissa leaves Malfoy Manor to tread the familiar paths of the caverns. When she arrives in the viewing room, however, she cannot believe what she is seeing: Bella is gone. The table which has, for weeks, been the only reality she knew, is bare.
"Bella!" Narcissa cries, rushing toward the glass. "Bella!"
"The Dark Lord saw fit to remove her," Lucius' says in his familiar drawl.
Narcissa pivots. "You," she spits at her husband, "where have you put her?"
She rounds on him and, flinging herself forward, beats his chest with her small fists as she cries out in desperation.
"What have you done with her?" she says, hurling the words at Lucius.
"I told you," he says, fending off her blows, "the Dark Lord moved her. It had nothing to do with me."
Narcissa looks up into his eyes.
"In fact," Lucius adds, "it was all to do with you."
Sniffing, and catching her breath, Narcissa steps back. "What are you talking about?"
"He knew you had been seeing her," Lucius says.
"But how did he -?"
Lucius rolls his eyes.
"Walden," Narcissa says, her face falling. How could she have been so foolish? How could she?
She takes a deep breath, and a minute to compose herself. She smoothes the front of her robes and, tilting her at a haughty angle, Narcissa turns away from Lucius.
She turns to leave.
As she does, Lucius grabs her by the wrist.
"We all have our vices, Narcissa," he says in a withering tone. "Just remember that I know yours." Lucius releases his grip, and Narcissa withdraws her hand with a sharp, jerking motion. Shooting Lucius a vitriolic glare, Narcissa sweeps out of the room without another word.
She will return to the Manor, and she will get her sister back, and Lucius, nor Walden Macnair, nor the Dark Lord will stop her, because though they know her vices, not one of them - not one - knows of her virtues.
Narcissa saves those for Bellatrix; her dear, dear sister.
Author: a_shadow_there
Recipient: The Community
Pairing(s): Narcissa/Bellatrix, Lucius/Wormtail, implied Bellatrix/others.
Word Count: 1,970
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, incest (implied), infidelity, elements of non-con, oral sex.
Summary: Following Bellatrix's escape from Azkaban, the Dark Lord keeps her imprisoned. While Narcissa cannot comprehend why - and, frankly, doesn't want to - she is determined to free her sister; her dear sister
Author's Notes: Many thanks to the Mods for their patience with this submission.
Narcissa stares. Blank. She watches the reflection of her own eyes in the glass even as she looks beyond it; even as she gazes upon the sight of her sister strapped to a table, dishevelled and screaming.
"How long has she been like this?" she asks Walden Macnair, who is standing beside her.
"She was found about a week ago. We've been trying to -" Walden pauses and gestures with his hands, as if that is an explanation for Bellatrix's state; as if that is an explanation for why it's only just been decided that Narcissa should be called.
"And Lucius said -" Walden continues, before Narcissa cuts him off.
"Lucius - Lucius knew? Lucius knows?"
Walden nods. "Yeah, he didn't -?"
There it is again: the pause and the gestures: Walden's huge, flat hands slicing through the air like an axe-blade through tissue and tendon.
"No," Narcissa says, "he didn't."
*
Seething, Narcissa steps hurriedly out of the fireplace. Smoothing her robes as she walks, she mutters under her breath with such intensity and rapidity it almost sound like she is hissing. She ascends the stairs to Lucius' library; the ornately embroidered hem of her robes sweeping the floor as she moves.
*
Narcissa heaves the timber door open. Storming into the room to see Lucius she speaks: "Just what did you think you were doing?" The words tumble from her lips before the door has a chance to click shut behind her - and before she has a chance to take in the scene before her.
Lucius is standing, bare-arsed, in the middle of the room. His trousers are bunched around his ankles; his socks still visible above them, black cotton contrasting against pale white skin. His cock is hard; protruding from his body like an obelisk, the head pink and bulbous and pressed flush against Wormtail's pursed mouth.
"Merlin's sake," Narcissa spits. Wide-eyed, she advances on the men. She turns her gaze to Lucius, and then to Wormtail: to his greasy, matted hair and beady, black eyes; to the scratches and scars and caked, cracking blood that has dried on his forearms.
"Get out," she says, grabbing Wormtail by the collar and hoisting him to his scrabbling feet. "Get out."
Nodding, his head bobbing with such veracity it hardly appears to be attached to his neck at all, Wormtail shrinks away and he babbles something that may or may not be an apology, he transfigures into his animagus form and the last Narcissa hears from him is the scurrying of his claws on the floorboards.
"Is there something I can help you with, Narcissa?" Lucius asks. Pulling his trousers up over his thighs, he tucks himself back into his pants.
"You're pathetic," Narcissa hisses.
Lucius rolls his eyes. "And you ought to learn to knock," he counters.
Narcissa's mouth twitches. "You knew," she says, her voice stern.
"Knew what?"
"About Bella. You knew where she was. You know where she is."
Lucius shrugs. He says nothing.
"You knew," Narcissa says again; her eyes, a clear, sharp grey are obscured by rising tears. "Why didn't you tell me," she adds; it is both a question and yet not; it is a plea.
Lucius arches an eyebrow. He sighs, as if bored by the conversation of which he has found himself a part. "It wasn't my place to tell you," he says. "I assumed the Dark Lord would summon you when - if - it was necessary."
"Wasn't your place?! She's my sister, Lucius; my sister."
"I know all about you and your sister," Lucius says fiercely.
His voice cuts the air in his study, and Narcissa. Her lower lip quivers; it droops, laden with all the feeling that she cannot quite express to her husband, or that she doesn't yet dare to.
"She's my sister," is all Narcissa says. She turns rapidly on her heel and exits the study.
She will not let Lucius see her cry. Not now, and not over this.
In the hall, she exhales a great, shuddering breath and collapses to her knees. Narcissa allows herself a few heaving sobs and, composing herself, clambers to her feet and descends the stairs.
She is going to see her sister.
*
A clandestine meeting and a few flirtatious glances later, Narcissa has managed to wheedle the specifics of Bellatrix's location from Walden.
"I only want to see her," she reassures him. Cupping his pronounced jaw between her thumb and forefinger, she leans in and whispers: "But you mustn't tell anyone regardless."
He nods his agreement, and she departs.
I am coming, Bella, she thinks. I am coming.
*
Narcissa's footsteps echo off of the ancient stone walls. Water trickles in tiny rivulets over the contours and cracks. It pools at her feet. Passing the viewing room from which she first saw her sister, Narcissa allows herself a quick glance through the glass once more.
"She's still here," Narcissa says to herself. She is breathless with fear and trepidation.
But she moves on. Following the directions Walden has given her, she traipses through the labyrinthine pathways that will lead her to Bellatrix (to be able to get to her easily from the viewing room is too simple for the Dark Lord, she knows that; and if she needs to earn this reunion with her sister, her dear sister, then earn it she shall).
An hour passes, maybe more, before Narcissa reaches the place. Coming to a gentle slope in the earth, Narcissa cannot suppress the smile that splits her lips as she realises what is just beyond the rise. Hitching her robes, Narcissa accelerates: her brisk walking pace becomes a stilting, harried jog becomes a skidding run as she heads for the large, ornately carved stone door. She slows as she approaches and casting a furtive glance about her, Narcissa takes out her wand. Taking a few moments to catch her breath, Narcissa steadies herself and utters the incantation just as Walden instructed her.
A loud shriek pierces the silence of the caverns as the door eases itself open. The unholy sound reverberates off of the sculpted walls and ceilings of the tunnel; its echo a ghastly, ghostly reminder of things Narcissa dare not contemplate.
"Bella," Narcissa says, venturing beyond the archway; "Bella."
*
Padding into the room, Narcissa marks the smell: the air is simmering with a shocking rancidity. It causes Narcissa to retch with each step that she takes.
Her eyes water, but it is not in response to the vile air: it is the sight before her that unleashes the flow of tears from her eyes.
Bellatrix is, as Narcissa expected, strapped to a rough, timber table in the centre of the room. Her hair is greasy and matted: at once frizzy and lacklustre. Great sections of it are plastered to her forehead: by what, Narcissa isn't sure, but she hopes it is only sweat and dirt (she fears much worse - blood, and semen perhaps, she thinks momentarily, before determinedly dismissing those thoughts). Bella writhes on the table, struggling against her bindings. Wild-eyed, she tries to look about her but the way she is restrained does not allow her much movement. Terrified - for she is clearly terrified - the limited scope of motion incenses Bella further and, frustrated, she thrashes on the table, crying out, sporadically uttered, garbled words filling the empty space that surrounds her and crashing to the floor in an agonising cacophony.
Standing with mouth agape, Narcissa gasps: the sight of her sister suffering so has stolen all the breath from her lungs, and she thinks for a moment that she will never be able to gain a proper purchase on those elemental faculties again. On trembling legs, Narcissa finally composes herself to a degree that she is able to move again. She shuffles into the centre of the room and, standing at the head of the table, she tentatively places the palm of her hand on Bella's forehead. Bella shirks from the touch. Her mouth twists in - what? an expression of fear and incomprehension? Narcissa isn't even sure how to begin describing it.
"Ssh," she soothes, smoothing Bella's hair from her forehead. "Ssh."
Narcissa, whispering her sister's name over and over again - "Bella, Bella, Bella," she says - examines her sister's face. Small scars from old wounds catch the dim light of the room and, for an instant, they almost seemed to shimmer. Intermittent scratches run over Bella's dirty, tear-streaked cheeks: the pale alabaster of her natural complexion burnishing beneath layers of grime.
"Oh, Bella," Narcissa shudders. "Oh, my dear, beautiful Bella. What has he done to you?" Her body wracked with sobs, Narcissa climbs up onto the table. Bella reacts violently, struggling desperately as Narcissa positions her body so that she is lying beside her sister, recreating, as best she can, the way they used to lay together when they were young: when they were adolescents, and then adults; before the horrors of Azkaban tore them from one another.
Wrapping her arms around Bella even as she winces beneath her touch, Narcissa clings to her sister: holding her, holding her. She is gripping Bella so tightly it is as if Narcissa is trying to bring her into herself: to meld them together so that they may be one and, as she graces her sister's filthy skin with her lips; kisses and kisses and kisses as she makes her a promise.
"Oh, Bella," Narcissa whispers against her sister's neck, "I'll bring you home. I promise."
*
Over the course of the next week, Narcissa takes every opportunity to see her sister. Where she is being kept, she now knows, but as to the reasons for the Dark Lord's imprisonment of his most devoted servant, Narcissa can only guess (and would prefer not to).
Eight days after her reunion with Bellatrix, Narcissa leaves Malfoy Manor to tread the familiar paths of the caverns. When she arrives in the viewing room, however, she cannot believe what she is seeing: Bella is gone. The table which has, for weeks, been the only reality she knew, is bare.
"Bella!" Narcissa cries, rushing toward the glass. "Bella!"
"The Dark Lord saw fit to remove her," Lucius' says in his familiar drawl.
Narcissa pivots. "You," she spits at her husband, "where have you put her?"
She rounds on him and, flinging herself forward, beats his chest with her small fists as she cries out in desperation.
"What have you done with her?" she says, hurling the words at Lucius.
"I told you," he says, fending off her blows, "the Dark Lord moved her. It had nothing to do with me."
Narcissa looks up into his eyes.
"In fact," Lucius adds, "it was all to do with you."
Sniffing, and catching her breath, Narcissa steps back. "What are you talking about?"
"He knew you had been seeing her," Lucius says.
"But how did he -?"
Lucius rolls his eyes.
"Walden," Narcissa says, her face falling. How could she have been so foolish? How could she?
She takes a deep breath, and a minute to compose herself. She smoothes the front of her robes and, tilting her at a haughty angle, Narcissa turns away from Lucius.
She turns to leave.
As she does, Lucius grabs her by the wrist.
"We all have our vices, Narcissa," he says in a withering tone. "Just remember that I know yours." Lucius releases his grip, and Narcissa withdraws her hand with a sharp, jerking motion. Shooting Lucius a vitriolic glare, Narcissa sweeps out of the room without another word.
She will return to the Manor, and she will get her sister back, and Lucius, nor Walden Macnair, nor the Dark Lord will stop her, because though they know her vices, not one of them - not one - knows of her virtues.
Narcissa saves those for Bellatrix; her dear, dear sister.