Harry Potter - Lucius/Saphira - Innocence long gone
Title: Innocence long gone
Fandom: Harry Potter (AU)
Pairing: Lucius/Saphira
Wordcount: ~ 940
Rating: PG-13
Challenge: daswaisenhaus - [#_0960] She had been innonce once, a little girl. Playing with feathers on the floor of a devil's lair / She wasn´t innocent now, but she doesn't know what to do about it.
Challenge: 100_women - 006. Past
AN: Saphira is an OC of a very dear friend of mine, main character in her AU-470.000-words-and-not-even-close-to-be-finished-fanfiction ^^
Lucius drinks his second glass of firewhiskey, feels the heat burning down his throat. His grey eyes - already looking tired and old, so old - are fixed on the blonde figure sitting opposite to him. He takes in her blonde hair, her green eyes, the small form of her body. Her gaze is fixed on the plate in front of her, she’s nibbling on some vegetables, and he can see that she’s not tasting anything at all.
They don’t speak, the clock is ticking the seconds away, and Lucius feels his lip trembling.
“Saphira,” he whispers and sees how she stiffens, how her slender fingers grip the fork. And as she looks at him, hesitatingly, with these big green eyes, he can’t help but think of her as a child, when she had played with his son, careless laughter filling the rooms, the warm hand of his beloved wife on his shoulder, always giving him so much tenderness in her very own way.
Merlin, how he misses these days. It used to be so easy, life was good as it was, until he had to go and ruin it all. He remembers every little step he took to seal their fate, mixes the memory of the playing children on the marble floor with the ones of the Dark Lord, how he roamed these halls, how he used everything the pure-blood had for his goals, abusing, mistreating, mocking him and his family.
And there she is, that little blonde girl, singing softly to herself, brushing the hair of a doll right in front of Voldemort, unaware of his presence, just singing, singing, and the Dark Lord is laughing, laughing, just about to cover her with this black cloak, this nothingness, to erase her innocence once and for all-
“What is it, Lucius?”
Her voice is so different from the singsong-voice in his head, the cut into reality so rigorous he needs a moment to come back, squints his eyes until he sees the grown woman in front of him, without any song, without any laugh, without any smile or warmth.
“Nothing. Let’s go to bed.”
She presses her thin lips together and nods firmly, uses the napkin and gets up.
***
Saphira closes her eyes and tries to think of something pleasant.
“Draco …”
She doesn’t dare to speak the name out loud, is too afraid of the effect it would have on Lucius. But he’s always on her mind, always in her thoughts: the love of her life, long gone.
She thinks of the tongue that’s licking her neck as Draco’s, that these hands that roam her skinny body belong to him and not to his father. It takes a while until she can give in to the touches. She has always been someone who listened more to her head than to her body. And still she could do well without this … activity.
But it’s a little price to pay. She can endure his fingers on her nipples, pinching harder than Draco ever did; she can endure the mouth on her own, so very needy without any real emotion; she can endure the cock that rips her apart instead of completing her.
Just as long as he won’t send her away, so she doesn’t need to be alone.
Too often he calls her “Narcissa” when he’s close to his climax, moving ferociously in and out of her, but she is beyond the point of caring. And who would blame him? He’s not the only one who thinks of another person that looks too much like they do.
But tonight he is different. He doesn’t say Narcissa, but her very own name.
“Saphira,” he breathes as he comes, turns away from her and starts to weep.
The blonde is shocked, doesn’t know what to do …
So she reaches for her cigarettes that lie on the nightstand, lights one of them and smokes. The familiar taste is a comfort, helps her to calm her racing thoughts and the questions, helps to cope with the crying man next to her.
“Goodness, what am I doing?” he asks and shakes his head. “I destroyed your life, I destroyed everything … how can I do this?”
She puts the cigarette into the ashtray and faces him, reaches out to caress his hair, knowing all too well that it’s not helping, that she can’t put enough reassurance into her cold fingers to really soothe him. But it’s better than doing nothing.
“It’s okay,” she says, but does she mean it? Saphira can’t even tell.
“I knew you as a child … as a little girl, playing with dolls, so innocent, so innocent,” he stammers and doesn’t dare to look at her.
Innocence …
Saphira’s lip starts to tremble and she wipes an angry tear away. “Don’t worry. Innocence is long since gone,” she states, memories flooding her mind, all the while thinking of Draco, Draco, Draco …
“Is it my fault?” he sobs, now turning towards her, a broken man, defeated by fate.
Their eyes are locked and it takes a while until she finds her voice to answer: “What does it matter? We can’t go back. We’re all that’s left, and it’s better than nothing.”
He buries his face into her shoulder and keeps on crying, and for the first time in forever they cling to each other, giving in to despair in an equal measure.
Fandom: Harry Potter (AU)
Pairing: Lucius/Saphira
Wordcount: ~ 940
Rating: PG-13
Challenge: daswaisenhaus - [#_0960] She had been innonce once, a little girl. Playing with feathers on the floor of a devil's lair / She wasn´t innocent now, but she doesn't know what to do about it.
Challenge: 100_women - 006. Past
AN: Saphira is an OC of a very dear friend of mine, main character in her AU-470.000-words-and-not-even-close-to-be-finished-fanfiction ^^
Lucius drinks his second glass of firewhiskey, feels the heat burning down his throat. His grey eyes - already looking tired and old, so old - are fixed on the blonde figure sitting opposite to him. He takes in her blonde hair, her green eyes, the small form of her body. Her gaze is fixed on the plate in front of her, she’s nibbling on some vegetables, and he can see that she’s not tasting anything at all.
They don’t speak, the clock is ticking the seconds away, and Lucius feels his lip trembling.
“Saphira,” he whispers and sees how she stiffens, how her slender fingers grip the fork. And as she looks at him, hesitatingly, with these big green eyes, he can’t help but think of her as a child, when she had played with his son, careless laughter filling the rooms, the warm hand of his beloved wife on his shoulder, always giving him so much tenderness in her very own way.
Merlin, how he misses these days. It used to be so easy, life was good as it was, until he had to go and ruin it all. He remembers every little step he took to seal their fate, mixes the memory of the playing children on the marble floor with the ones of the Dark Lord, how he roamed these halls, how he used everything the pure-blood had for his goals, abusing, mistreating, mocking him and his family.
And there she is, that little blonde girl, singing softly to herself, brushing the hair of a doll right in front of Voldemort, unaware of his presence, just singing, singing, and the Dark Lord is laughing, laughing, just about to cover her with this black cloak, this nothingness, to erase her innocence once and for all-
“What is it, Lucius?”
Her voice is so different from the singsong-voice in his head, the cut into reality so rigorous he needs a moment to come back, squints his eyes until he sees the grown woman in front of him, without any song, without any laugh, without any smile or warmth.
“Nothing. Let’s go to bed.”
She presses her thin lips together and nods firmly, uses the napkin and gets up.
***
Saphira closes her eyes and tries to think of something pleasant.
“Draco …”
She doesn’t dare to speak the name out loud, is too afraid of the effect it would have on Lucius. But he’s always on her mind, always in her thoughts: the love of her life, long gone.
She thinks of the tongue that’s licking her neck as Draco’s, that these hands that roam her skinny body belong to him and not to his father. It takes a while until she can give in to the touches. She has always been someone who listened more to her head than to her body. And still she could do well without this … activity.
But it’s a little price to pay. She can endure his fingers on her nipples, pinching harder than Draco ever did; she can endure the mouth on her own, so very needy without any real emotion; she can endure the cock that rips her apart instead of completing her.
Just as long as he won’t send her away, so she doesn’t need to be alone.
Too often he calls her “Narcissa” when he’s close to his climax, moving ferociously in and out of her, but she is beyond the point of caring. And who would blame him? He’s not the only one who thinks of another person that looks too much like they do.
But tonight he is different. He doesn’t say Narcissa, but her very own name.
“Saphira,” he breathes as he comes, turns away from her and starts to weep.
The blonde is shocked, doesn’t know what to do …
So she reaches for her cigarettes that lie on the nightstand, lights one of them and smokes. The familiar taste is a comfort, helps her to calm her racing thoughts and the questions, helps to cope with the crying man next to her.
“Goodness, what am I doing?” he asks and shakes his head. “I destroyed your life, I destroyed everything … how can I do this?”
She puts the cigarette into the ashtray and faces him, reaches out to caress his hair, knowing all too well that it’s not helping, that she can’t put enough reassurance into her cold fingers to really soothe him. But it’s better than doing nothing.
“It’s okay,” she says, but does she mean it? Saphira can’t even tell.
“I knew you as a child … as a little girl, playing with dolls, so innocent, so innocent,” he stammers and doesn’t dare to look at her.
Innocence …
Saphira’s lip starts to tremble and she wipes an angry tear away. “Don’t worry. Innocence is long since gone,” she states, memories flooding her mind, all the while thinking of Draco, Draco, Draco …
“Is it my fault?” he sobs, now turning towards her, a broken man, defeated by fate.
Their eyes are locked and it takes a while until she finds her voice to answer: “What does it matter? We can’t go back. We’re all that’s left, and it’s better than nothing.”
He buries his face into her shoulder and keeps on crying, and for the first time in forever they cling to each other, giving in to despair in an equal measure.