There is nothing quite so annoying as uninvited guests, particularly when you wouldn't have chosen to have them in your home to begin with.

Nevertheless, Narcissa thought, scoring another careful line onto the parchment, one must be gracious, if not necessarily hospitable.

To that end, she remained seated as the Ministry searched the room, examining various objects and all but upending pieces more valuable than any man in the room could conceive of.

"Mrs Malfoy," Arthur Weasley said at least, "wouldn't you be more comfortable sitting somewhere else?"

"I am perfectly situated, precisely where I am, Mr Weasley," she replied, quill pausing not at all; graciousness extended only as far as reciprocation demanded, and her patience with unanswered politesse was drawing quickly to a close.

"Mrs Malfoy..."

"Honestly, Mr Weasley, my chaise was not designed for men; you wouldn't look half as elegant against brocade as I."

"I - Well, I didn't mean - I hadn't intended to..." She'd reduced the man to stammering, she reflected.  A woman never lost certain talents.

"I must ask you to keep your intentions to yourself. I am a married woman, and such intimates should be a private matter... don't you agree?

"Er, yes. Which is not to say that I... because I didn't, you understand." He drew in another breath, then said, quickly, "Where *is* your husband, Mrs Malfoy?"

"My husband," Narcissa punctuated each word with a slash of the quill, "has other matters to attend to this morning." Unspoken were the words 'more' and 'important'.

Arthur Weasley flushed, not entirely certain whether or not he'd just been insulted. He soldiered on, regardless. "Please listen to me, Mrs Malfoy. You could... help us, and we could in return, help you, as well. It isn't *you* we want," he finished weakly.

"No? How disappointing. I've always rather fancied men with red hair and tattered robes."

Her ire faded as his colour rose, and she said, with cool aplomb, "Are you *quite* done, Mr Weasley?"

He nodded stiffly, then motioned for the rest of the Ministry to clear out. "I believe so, Mrs Malfoy. For the time being."

She smiled and arched an eyebrow. "Well then."

As he removed himself from the property, she felt the wards snap back into place, and stabbed two words into the parchment. He's gone.

Lucius appeared with a crack. "Well done, my dear. I believe that was the briefest Ministry visit yet."

Narcissa dipped her head ever so slightly in acknowledgement, toying with the quill as he moved towards her.

"Ingenious of you to have thought of the enchanted parchment. Still, it was rather a painful message," he said, fingers running along his forearm.

"You oughtn't have told me about it if you hadn't wanted me to use it," she remarked, moving the parchment to her lap when he sat down beside her.

"Ingenious," he murmured, leaning in close and pressing his lips to hers. He licked at the seam of her mouth, then bit her lower lip when she refused him entrance.

She tasted blood, her own, and felt a shimmer of heat travel unbidden down her body to settle wetly between her thighs. "Danger is quite the aphrodisiac," she gasped, and Lucius smirked and began to raise her robes.

"As," she said, pushing the tip of the quill into the parchment and dragging it along, "is pain."

He lifted his sleeve to reveal a fresh line scored into his arm and already welling blood before it disappeared. His snarl was ferocious, her laughter predatory, as he slid his hand into her panties, his fingers into *her*.

His motions were unpredictable: thrusting, retreating, teasing, and something inside of her began to twist, tight, tighter. She was wet, hot, in need, and all he would give her was his tormenting fingers. She bowed her hips in supplication, and let the parchment rest on his back; she scrawled, More and Now onto the enchanted paper, and was gratified when he groaned and closed his eyes briefly.

When he removed his hand from her heated flesh, she wanted to moan a complaint, scream, yell, curse - but that was not her way. Instead, she sent him a challenging half-smile, and spread her legs wider.

His eyes were filled with passion, with a desire so intense it made his eyes almost glow and arousal thrum through her veins; she knew that look, she knew that *man*, and she wrapped one slim leg around his waist as he plunged into her.

"Ohh," she breathed and gripped the quill, and Harder appeared like a sigil on his arm.

Lucius surged into her, rough, almost brutal, and she reveled in the almost-pain every bit as much as the overwhelming pleasure.

Harder, harder, harder.

It virtually became a chant, one she couldn't vocalize but could write out, and so she did. Over and over and over again, in time with the savage rhythm of his thrusts: Harder.

She moved against him, restless, wanting, and as though he could read her mind, he lowered his head to the crook of her neck and bit down, so hard that the pain wasn't almost, and the pleasure very nearly was. She tingled, throbbed, felt swollen and needy and...

*Explosive*.

"Mmm," she said, when her breathing had leveled. "That was certainly... climactic."

"Indeed." Lucius smiled and kissed her lightly, then helped her to her feet.

"Scourgify," he commanded with a wave of his wand, and her chaise was once again as it had been.

"And what of me?" she asked, not altogether serious about his needing to perform a cleaning charm on her.

He eyed her warmly, lingering on her breasts and thighs long enough to make her blush. Well, nearly blush, at any rate.

"Ah, Narcissa," he said. "I find I quite like the thought of you being so clearly marked as mine."

But I am, she thought, restricting her response to a delicate hum that was neither agreement, nor disagreement. Marital politics wasn't really all that difficult, it was merely a matter of knowing your... spouse. Mentioning to Lucius, for example, that she belonged to him even without his mark upon her, would've led to his assuming he had the upper hand, and that wouldn't have done at all.

Still, she couldn't deny - to herself, if no-one else - the frisson of excitement that had shot through her at such blatant proof of his possessiveness.

"What a pity," she said, as they strolled companionably from the sitting room, "that the Ministry wasn't able to find a secret dark arts chamber in the manor."

"The pity, my dear, is that they weren't able to gain access to the dungeons."

"Yes. I suppose I should've allowed them to move my chaise from atop the dungeon entrance. Only..."

"Only?" Lucius prompted, once it had become apparent that Narcissa wouldn't say another word without his urging her to do so.

She smiled at him, and smoothed a wayward strand of hair back into place.

"... I *do* look very good against brocade."

"That you do," he allowed, with a gleam in his eye that could only be described as wicked. "That you do."
 

~end~