When Rome Burned

“See the wild Waste of all-devouring years! How Rome her own sad Sepulchre appears, With nodding arches, broken temples spread! The very Tombs now vanish'd like their dead!” —Alexander Pope, Rome

Lucius Malfoy stood at the window, drink in hand, a smile twisting his features as he watched the fire burning outside. There was a slight sound on the air that could have been screaming, but he wasn't entirely certain. Perhaps it was an echo. There had been quite a lot of screaming since the Boy Who Lived became the Boy Who Died.

The fire looked beautiful in the May light, flames leaping up to kiss the air in a joyful dance of victory. The Dark Mark burned bright and vibrant in the sky—it almost looked like the flames were caressing the skull from where he stood.

The Ministry of Magic was burning.

Lucius raised his glass in a mock salute, tossing the rest of his celebratory firewhiskey down in one quick motion. There was a semi-circle of Death Eaters, robed and masked, standing silently with their backs to the building as it burned down. The occasional brave soul would walk up to watch then hurry off with arms wrapped around their bodies. Sporadically a cheer would rise from the crowd, but Lucius privately thought those individuals were desperately seeking favor from those now in charge. Probably supporters of the now-vanquished Order of the Phoenix. He smiled coldly at the thought, setting his drink on the table next to where he stood.

“What are you doing in here, in the dark?”

He turned and looked over his shoulder at the woman who had entered, golden hair caught up in an elegant twist on her head. Even in the midst of destruction that she willingly helped cause Narcissa looked bright and beautiful, untouched by war or death.

Until you looked into her eyes, and then you saw the truth of it glimmering in the cerulean depths; the color of the night sky before blue lost the battle for black. Narcissa's beauty was undeniable, but what had drawn him to her so many years ago was that darkness hinted at in her cool, elegant beauty.

She moved up to him dressed in her expensive silks of blue and silver, and slid hands covered in satin around his waist to press her face against his back.

“I'm watching the harvest of the fruit of all of our labor, my dear.”

She laughed softly, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. His wife had a sinister laugh when it was motivated by malicious intent and not guile. “And you are keeping an eye on our son and heir,” she said, rubbing her face cat-like on his back.

“Indeed I am,” he said, a touch of annoyance in his voice. He did not like to be so easily read by anyone. Even her.

She nipped him playfully. “There is no shame in admitting to that,” she said, amused. He looked down at her hands, white silk splayed over the inky blackness of his clothing. He looked outside at the figure of his son, robed like the others but unmistakable in his bearing and height.

“Why are you here?” He asked her, that slight irritation growing even as he relaxed slightly into the press of her body, the warmth of her behind him. “I thought I told you to stay at the Manor.”

She made an indelicate noise and laughed softly. “Ah, Lucius, you did, but did you really think I'd listen?”

He sighed, mouth quirking up slightly at her words. “I thought you were a clever woman,” he said without looking at her. “Perhaps I was wrong. It is a good thing you are so beautiful else I would have no use for you.”

“Lucius,” she said, amused, “really. I was an asset to the cause, and you know it.” A slight twinge in her voice spoke of what she had lost—one sister to the opposing side, the other to the great, yawning pit of madness in her mind.

“Then you should have spoken to the Dark Lord. Perhaps he would have allowed you to lay the torch.”

“What is the matter with you?” she asked crossly, pulling back to stand next to him. “You should be in a better mood, husband. The sacrifices we've made, the risks we've taken…” she waved one silk-clad hand to indicate the scene outside the window. “We prevailed. Our son stands favored in the Dark Lord's ranks. The sun will rise on a new era and you are exalted above many. Why are you so vexed?”

He stared down at her, eyes cold, face impassive. “You disobeyed me.”

Narcissa stared at him for a moment, a thoroughly mischievous look on her face. “Did I?” She purred, stepping up to him, her breathing shallow. “You shouldn't allow that.” Her hands crept up his chest, slowly, her tongue coming out to lick at her top lip.

Lucius shook his head back and forth, slowly. “No,” he said, voice soft. “I shouldn't. That is insubordinate, and I will not tolerate that from you, wife.”

She moved in closer, body pressing against him. She shook her head and lowered her eyes modestly. “I have been awful, haven't I?”

He felt his blood stir at the sight of her, head bowed. His wife was never demure with him like this when they were alone, so when her head was bowed to him and her voice soft in that sweetly submissive way, there was a reason behind it.

He pushed her against the glass so that she was in front of him, his black-gloved hands moving over her throat. “Oh, yes, Narcissa,” he said in the voice he used with those whom he perceived as inferior. She liked the way he talked down to those he had no use for; she had told him once that watching him cut a man down was as erotic to her as hours of foreplay.

One of his hands stayed at her throat and the other slid up to ensnare in the thick honeyed wealth of her hair. He entwined his fingers with slow precision, pulling sharply to bring her head back. The black of her pupils drowned the indigo of her eyes and her breathing was rapid, fast like a frightened animal, but she was not afraid.

“Lucius, I- ”

He tightened his grip and smiled down at her—that coldly impersonal smile that he was so adept at. “I am not interested in hearing you speak,” he said, and saw the brief spark of anger in her blue eyes, chased closely by desire. A scowl marred her features for a moment and he leaned down, whispering in her ear, “I but play the game you began, wife.” His nipped her ear and she shuddered. “Now be quiet.”

He left bites up her neck, watching the blood rise to the teeth marks in her skin. “Put your hands on the glass.”

She did so, and he rewarded her with a light kiss on her neck. Her pulse jumped beneath his lips, racing and fast. She was always aroused by this, by his cruel dominance, though it was not often that they played at such games. She was too much his equal, Narcissa, to accept it on a regular basis.

He moved his fingers from her hair and her throat, and pressed his body up against hers. His hands covered hers briefly and then his fingers trailed down the satin of her gloves. She moaned lightly and he made a tsking sound. “I said quiet ,” he drawled, hands going to the laces at the back of her silk robes. In one wave of his wand the laces could have been undone, but he liked to take his time. She liked the anticipation. They had always been incredibly well-matched in ways other than lineage and money.

Her hands were curling towards the glass, leaving fingerprints from her satin gloves on the surface of the windowpane. The intricate ties and knots in the ribbons that made the up the back of her dress fell open easily under his fingers, exposing smooth white skin that shone invitingly in the muted light of the room.

Lucius leaned forward and pressed an open-mouthed kiss on her skin, which tasted faintly of herbs with an undertone of vanilla. “Your skin always did look beautiful in firelight,” he said, smiling slightly against her.

Her laugh was husky and amused. “Lucius,” she said, admonishingly, though he heard the undercurrent of excitement in her voice. “So many dead in that fire and you speak as if it is nothing more than a glow from the hearth in our bedroom.”

“Shh,” he said again, running his gloved hands up and down her back, capturing her arms. He pulled her back so he could divest her of the dress, pushing it off of her to pool in a puddle of elegant silk at her feet. His fingers pulled at the chemise she wore, to caress her breasts through the material.

“Do you think they can see me?” she whispered. She leaned back against him, moving sinuously against his erection, as one of his hands slid down inside her knickers.

“I told you to be quiet. Don't make me tell you again.” He bit her neck, his teeth sharp. Tomorrow she would be bruised from him, and he would see her across the table at breakfast, perfect and composed, wearing a high-necked gown to hide the evidence of his passion. It made him push his hips towards her demandingly, but her small, pleased exclamation made him narrow his eyes.

“It doesn't matter if they can see you or not,” he hissed, pulling sharply on her hair so that her neck was exposed, tilted to the side. His fingers were teasing her slippery wetness, moving with expert surety over her slick folds. She was shivering slightly in his grasp, and she turned her face to look at him.

“Surely you would kill them, Lucius, for looking at me, for gazing upon my naked body?”

His sinister laugh was meant as a caress, and she shivered again in his arms as it played over skin. He was kissing her neck now, lightly, though his touch was becoming harsher. “Would I? Since you are so disobedient, Narcissa, perhaps I would encourage them to watch.” He moved his hand at her breast to help her out of her knickers, then pulled the chemise off of her. She stood in front of him with her hair cascading down her back, wearing nothing but a pair of white satin gloves and stockings.

“You would never,” she said, lowering her head, moving a hand from the window to find his and pull it back to her breast. He indulged her and caught her nipple between his leather-encased fingers, but when she attempted to draw his other hand back to the aching flesh between her thighs, he resisted.

“You're right,” he said, the hand she had pulled at in vain going to her chin to tilt her up to him for a rough, possessive kiss. “I would kill them, dead where they stood, for thinking of watching you with me, for seeing you like this. You're mine,” he said, nipping her bottom lip.

“Yes, yours,” she said, his possessiveness always a thrill with her. But she wanted their game, wanted him angry, and so she said in a sulky, petulant tone, “but you don't share anything, Lucius. I am only another possession to you.”

His hand had been slowly sliding down her body, but how he caught her arms up again and slammed them back on the glass. “Yes, Narcissa, just a possession to me,” he said as he bent her over, his fingers working on the buttons of his trousers. “You overstep yourself, thinking you matter to me.” He freed his hard cock, rubbing his hand over its length, liking the feel of leather-on-flesh.

“I should not presume to think that,” Narcissa said, dropping her head so that she was bent before him in supplication, and a haze of lust descended over him.

He stepped back from her and delivered a stinging slap with his gloved hand to her bare arse. She sobbed out something that sounded like “no,” but it only made him hit her harder. “Never say no to me, Narcissa,” he hissed, and fit himself at her entrance, driving deep inside. She was hot and wet for him, and his hands gripped vice-like at her hips to pull her in closer. “Look at me,” he snarled.

She tossed her hair with a practiced gesture and gave him a knowing look. Part of the game, play along, make it good for me like you always do.

“Don't you look at me like that, you wanton little whore,” he snapped, eyes boring into hers.

“I'm so sorry, Lucius,” she whimpered, her hands bracing her against the glass.

“Are you? I do not believe you, Narcissa.” He tried not to smile at the look on her face, so perfectly contrite. Her mastery of subterfuge made his cock swell inside of her.

“I am disobedient, Lucius.” She moaned, hips thrusting back at him wantonly.

“I know,” he said, moving one hand to smack down hard on her back. The imprint of his gloved hand shone red on her pristine skin for a moment before fading, and he liked it so much he did it again.

She tossed her hair again and he grasped it, pulling sharply. “You will not disobey me,” he bit out, gasping a bit in pleasure. “You will do what I tell you.”

“Yes,” she gasped, moaning, face flushed and eyes squeezed shut. “I will, I promise, just…don't stop.”

He yanked harder on her hair with one hand, the other sliding between her legs. “You do not tell me what to do,” he said, fingers searching, rubbing, teasing her.

“No, I'm sorry, I won't…” She made a sobbing sound of pleasure, unable to speak.

“Don't bother looking outside, they can't see you, can't help you…” There was a flush on his pale face, sweat running into his eyes as he took her with harsh brutality. “Don't know what a bad whore you are, my Narcissa…”

“You'd…never…let them…watch,” she said again, voice breathy and strangled in her pleasure. She was close, he could tell, knew by the way she tensed against him, bit her lip and held her breath.

“Never,” he said, hands going back to her hips to hold her for him, “I'd kill them, kill them all, you're mine, mine…”

“Yours,” she said, and then came around him with a strangled gasp, her muscles clenching around his cock and triggering his own release.

He caught his breath for a moment before pulling out of her, fixing himself, then drawing her gently up and turning her towards him. She moved into his arms with the ease of long familiarity, head tucked under his chin. Her arms snaked around his waist and he held her to him.

“We won, Narcissa,” he said, eyes riveted to the destruction outside of the window and the Ministry which had burned down to nothing more than a pile of smoldering embers.

“I never doubted it, love,” she said in a pleased voice, and leaned up to kiss him. Her fingers smoothed his hair back, tucking platinum strands that had come lose from his queue behind his ears.

He held her a moment longer, then put her from him and watched her as she dressed. He had always found it erotic, these little intricacies of her and her femininity. She pulled on her knickers and her chemise, and he noticed the bruises, the bites, as she pulled her dress up. “Do my laces?” She presented him with her back, and he obligingly stepped forward to comply.

“To what did I owe the pleasure of your submission this evening, Narcissa?” He asked her curiously, tightening the ribbons.

“Silly man,” she said in a brisk voice, twisting her hair back into an elegant knot. “As if I do not allow you the pleasures of my body.”

He snorted. “That's not what I meant. You have not been too keen to play that game, wife, since the War began.”

She paused for a moment, going still, and there was a moment of tense silence between them. “I could not bear for it to be true,” she said softly.

“It's never been true and you know it,” he said gruffly, hands on her shoulders. “When have I ever treated you as nothing but a possession, besides when it was advantageous for us both that I do so? Never in the privacy of our home, Narcissa,” he said shaking her lightly.

She turned around in his grasp and stared up into his eyes with an air of seriousness. “If we had lost, if that brat had really killed our Lord…” she shuddered. “They would have treated me like that, nothing but the wife of an evil man.”

He leaned down and nipped her lip. “You are the wife of an evil man,” he told her, and she kissed him back briefly before pushing him away.

“You would have been sent to prison, to suffer the Dementor's Kiss,” she said, and her hands fussed over him for a moment, smoothing over imaginary wrinkles in his clothing. “I would have been reprimanded and a social outcast.” She scowled briefly. “You know I would hate that.”

He nodded. “I know.” She would, not because the Malfoy name would have been anathema in Wizarding society if the Dark Lord had fallen, but because her lack of harsh punishment would have marked her as less, as nothing more than a possession, nothing more than Lucius Malfoy's poor deluded wife.

Their talk turned to other things, and as they made to exit the room, Lucius caught her arm. “Narcissa, they couldn't see you,” he said softly. In the dark of the room he kissed her. “I would never allow that.”

“I know, love,” she said, her lips whispering over his chin. “I know.”

They left the room together to find Draco, walking hand-and-hand amid the destruction they had helped cause, a secret smile shared between them.

~Finis