"Serpent in the Garden," Harry Potter
Title: Serpent in the Garden
Author's Name: kethlenda
Recipient's Name: jaspreetpink
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Bellatrix/Pansy
Rating: PG
Warning: Pansy is fifteen. However, as there's nothing truly debauched in this fic, that may not be a big deal. ;)
Earlier in the evening Pansy had been complaining about the cold, but now it was a blessed relief. The ballroom of Malfoy Manor was little short of intolerable: close-pressed bodies in heavy velvets, thousands of candles, spiced wine to bring a flush to Pansy's cheeks. At first the heat had been comforting. Then it had become suffocating.
It was bad enough that she couldn't even stand the pressure of Draco's hand on the small of her back, sweaty even through the fabric of her dress robes. She wasn't sure what had got into her. Everything he did was annoying her tonight. She kept finding herself forgetting that he was handsome and rich and exactly what her parents wanted for her, and seeing instead the petulance in his lips. She was also heartily sick of his boasting about the Dark Lord and how he, Draco, was going to be the Dark Lord's right-hand man as soon as he came of age, and just you wait, Pansy.
It wasn't just vainglorious, it was stupid of him to bluster like that when it was still a secret that the Dark Lord was back in the first place. Even Pansy wasn't supposed to know this--she'd overheard her parents talking about it. Even here, in the Malfoys' inner sanctum, one never knew who might be about. This was a Christmas party, not a Death Eater meeting, and Draco risked the ruin of everyone in the room.
Though he's been running his mouth about the Dark Lord since he was in diapers, and it may be that no one'll take him seriously.
Rolling her eyes, ignoring the pout she was sure she'd see on his face if she turned around, Pansy swept out into the garden. The wind was chilly on her face, and she sighed in relief. She was reminded of hot summer days that shattered into cool downpours. Pansy smiled.
The music of the ball was muffled here, and the air was refreshingly devoid of old-lady perfume and firewhisky. Pansy ran her fingers along snow-dusted needles, savoring the cool, clean scent of pine.
"Better get back in there, little girl," said a voice, a woman's voice but low. "This'll be the last time."
"Who are you?" demanded Pansy, looking around for the woman, irritated that someone had interrupted her peace with dire pronouncements.
The woman stepped out from behind the white-frosted tangle of a climbing rose. She was tall, slender; her face was gaunt and lined, but her carriage was regal. Perhaps it was this posture that put Pansy in mind of Narcissa Malfoy, for this woman's hair was a shadowed sable that almost disappeared against the black sky. Whoever she was, there was something oddly familiar about her.
As Pansy watched, the woman's face contorted into a poisoned smile. "Why, if it isn't the little master's girl," she said, taking a languid step in Pansy's direction.
Pansy raised her nose high in what she hoped was a reasonable facsimile of Narcissa Malfoy's favorite expression. This woman must be a maid or something, and as such, she had no right to speak to Pansy in such a way. "Who do you think you are?" she demanded.
The woman let out a low, elegant laugh. "I'm the bogeywoman in the closet, little girl. The madwoman in the attic. The dirty little secret."
Pansy gasped as she realized why the woman looked familiar. Front page of the Prophet. Escape from Azkaban. Of course she bloody came here--where else?
Bellatrix Lestrange gave Pansy a knowing nod. "Is the little girl afraid of big bad Bella?"
"No," said Pansy, not sure whether or not it was a lie. She'd been reared on tales of Bellatrix Lestrange, though she'd never been quite sure if she was supposed to see her as heroine or villain. She was determined, though, that Bellatrix would have no excuse to claim Pansy was afraid of her. "I'm not afraid of you at all."
"Of course not," said Bellatrix. Her smile, Pansy fancied, dripped with mockery. "Have a seat, then, and Big Bad Bellatrix will tell you a little bedtime story."
Bellatrix lowered herself gracefully onto a white marble bench; Pansy was too proud not to follow. The stone was cold through the chiffon. She almost jumped when she realized Bellatrix was softly, almost absently, tracing circles on Pansy's leg with a long slim finger.
"Once upon a time," began Bellatrix. Her voice was low and soothing, lulling Pansy into a sort of childlike peace even as Bellatrix's hand grew bolder, even as she scratched at Pansy's skirts with long jagged nails. "Once upon a time there was a high and mighty wizard who thought he knew everything. He thought he could defy the greatest wizard of all time. He thought that, when the Dark Lord was away, it was his time to play. He was wrong, of course." Bellatrix paused, as if expecting a response.
"Of--of course," stammered Pansy.
"The Dark Lord could not abide such insubordination, naturally, and so he decided to teach the arrogant one a lesson. And he learned, oh how he learned. His hall fell into ruin; his powerful friends deserted him. He lived out the rest of his life in a jail cell, and his son and heir was reduced to a life of crime." She cupped Pansy's chin in her hand, and turned it so Pansy was forced to face the bright windows of the ballroom. "Next year, little flower, it'll be the rats who feast there."
"I don't believe you," said Pansy, whipping her head out of Bellatrix's grasp, moving to rise from the bench,
Bellatrix laughed. "Of course you don't," she said. She grabbed a handful of Pansy's hair and pulled her close, claiming her mouth with a brutal kiss.
Pansy wrenched away. Bellatrix's lips were cold and tasted of wormwood. "Get away from me, you--you--"
"As you wish," said Bellatrix. "But remember me, little girl, when the rats come for their Christmas ball."
Pansy muttered a few choice swear words under her breath and stormed back into the ballroom.
"Where have you been?" whined Draco, kissing her with limp, childlike lips.
"Out for some fresh air," she said in what she hoped was a nonchalant tone, trying not to think that she would really much rather be kissing Bellatrix Lestrange--dire pronouncements and all.
Author's Name: kethlenda
Recipient's Name: jaspreetpink
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Bellatrix/Pansy
Rating: PG
Warning: Pansy is fifteen. However, as there's nothing truly debauched in this fic, that may not be a big deal. ;)
Earlier in the evening Pansy had been complaining about the cold, but now it was a blessed relief. The ballroom of Malfoy Manor was little short of intolerable: close-pressed bodies in heavy velvets, thousands of candles, spiced wine to bring a flush to Pansy's cheeks. At first the heat had been comforting. Then it had become suffocating.
It was bad enough that she couldn't even stand the pressure of Draco's hand on the small of her back, sweaty even through the fabric of her dress robes. She wasn't sure what had got into her. Everything he did was annoying her tonight. She kept finding herself forgetting that he was handsome and rich and exactly what her parents wanted for her, and seeing instead the petulance in his lips. She was also heartily sick of his boasting about the Dark Lord and how he, Draco, was going to be the Dark Lord's right-hand man as soon as he came of age, and just you wait, Pansy.
It wasn't just vainglorious, it was stupid of him to bluster like that when it was still a secret that the Dark Lord was back in the first place. Even Pansy wasn't supposed to know this--she'd overheard her parents talking about it. Even here, in the Malfoys' inner sanctum, one never knew who might be about. This was a Christmas party, not a Death Eater meeting, and Draco risked the ruin of everyone in the room.
Though he's been running his mouth about the Dark Lord since he was in diapers, and it may be that no one'll take him seriously.
Rolling her eyes, ignoring the pout she was sure she'd see on his face if she turned around, Pansy swept out into the garden. The wind was chilly on her face, and she sighed in relief. She was reminded of hot summer days that shattered into cool downpours. Pansy smiled.
The music of the ball was muffled here, and the air was refreshingly devoid of old-lady perfume and firewhisky. Pansy ran her fingers along snow-dusted needles, savoring the cool, clean scent of pine.
"Better get back in there, little girl," said a voice, a woman's voice but low. "This'll be the last time."
"Who are you?" demanded Pansy, looking around for the woman, irritated that someone had interrupted her peace with dire pronouncements.
The woman stepped out from behind the white-frosted tangle of a climbing rose. She was tall, slender; her face was gaunt and lined, but her carriage was regal. Perhaps it was this posture that put Pansy in mind of Narcissa Malfoy, for this woman's hair was a shadowed sable that almost disappeared against the black sky. Whoever she was, there was something oddly familiar about her.
As Pansy watched, the woman's face contorted into a poisoned smile. "Why, if it isn't the little master's girl," she said, taking a languid step in Pansy's direction.
Pansy raised her nose high in what she hoped was a reasonable facsimile of Narcissa Malfoy's favorite expression. This woman must be a maid or something, and as such, she had no right to speak to Pansy in such a way. "Who do you think you are?" she demanded.
The woman let out a low, elegant laugh. "I'm the bogeywoman in the closet, little girl. The madwoman in the attic. The dirty little secret."
Pansy gasped as she realized why the woman looked familiar. Front page of the Prophet. Escape from Azkaban. Of course she bloody came here--where else?
Bellatrix Lestrange gave Pansy a knowing nod. "Is the little girl afraid of big bad Bella?"
"No," said Pansy, not sure whether or not it was a lie. She'd been reared on tales of Bellatrix Lestrange, though she'd never been quite sure if she was supposed to see her as heroine or villain. She was determined, though, that Bellatrix would have no excuse to claim Pansy was afraid of her. "I'm not afraid of you at all."
"Of course not," said Bellatrix. Her smile, Pansy fancied, dripped with mockery. "Have a seat, then, and Big Bad Bellatrix will tell you a little bedtime story."
Bellatrix lowered herself gracefully onto a white marble bench; Pansy was too proud not to follow. The stone was cold through the chiffon. She almost jumped when she realized Bellatrix was softly, almost absently, tracing circles on Pansy's leg with a long slim finger.
"Once upon a time," began Bellatrix. Her voice was low and soothing, lulling Pansy into a sort of childlike peace even as Bellatrix's hand grew bolder, even as she scratched at Pansy's skirts with long jagged nails. "Once upon a time there was a high and mighty wizard who thought he knew everything. He thought he could defy the greatest wizard of all time. He thought that, when the Dark Lord was away, it was his time to play. He was wrong, of course." Bellatrix paused, as if expecting a response.
"Of--of course," stammered Pansy.
"The Dark Lord could not abide such insubordination, naturally, and so he decided to teach the arrogant one a lesson. And he learned, oh how he learned. His hall fell into ruin; his powerful friends deserted him. He lived out the rest of his life in a jail cell, and his son and heir was reduced to a life of crime." She cupped Pansy's chin in her hand, and turned it so Pansy was forced to face the bright windows of the ballroom. "Next year, little flower, it'll be the rats who feast there."
"I don't believe you," said Pansy, whipping her head out of Bellatrix's grasp, moving to rise from the bench,
Bellatrix laughed. "Of course you don't," she said. She grabbed a handful of Pansy's hair and pulled her close, claiming her mouth with a brutal kiss.
Pansy wrenched away. Bellatrix's lips were cold and tasted of wormwood. "Get away from me, you--you--"
"As you wish," said Bellatrix. "But remember me, little girl, when the rats come for their Christmas ball."
Pansy muttered a few choice swear words under her breath and stormed back into the ballroom.
"Where have you been?" whined Draco, kissing her with limp, childlike lips.
"Out for some fresh air," she said in what she hoped was a nonchalant tone, trying not to think that she would really much rather be kissing Bellatrix Lestrange--dire pronouncements and all.