Title: Ars Magica: First Night
Rating: NC-17 for language, violence, and sexual situations
Pairings: Various
Characters: Draco, Pansy Parkinson, Narcissa Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Voldemort, OCs
Warnings: Dark Magic, Dubious consent/Non-con, General Mayhem, and Major Assholes
Disclaimer: I wish I owned the characters. Harry would have relatives who cared for him and Snape would have some closure. Alas, Harry and Snape belong to J. K. Rowling, primarily, as well as Scholasitc and Warner Brothers.
Feedback: Feedback is good. Constructive Criticism is excellent. Adoration is always welcomed.
Coming of age can have it’s own special ceremonies and circumstances. Pansy Parkinson has been looking forward to turing seventeen for as long as she can remember.
Ars Magica
First Night
“Dearling,” her mother said airily on the morning of her seventeenth birthday, “It is time that you joined the ranks of true ladies.”
Pansy, who had been peering into the fast depths of her armoire trying to determine if she had anything suitable for a woman and not a child, turned and frowned at the softly complacent woman standing in her doorway. “I was under the impression that I was a lady, mother dearest.”
“And you are, my darling girl, but today is a very special day for you, that you might be presented to those your father and I esteem most, and join the highest echelons of society.”
Pansy released a delighted sound, one much too refined to call a squeal, and laughed. “I had not thought to have such an opportunity until I had finished my schooling, mother.”
“Pish, my dearest. On this day you join the ranks of true-born witches, and we welcome you with pleasure.” With this her mother gave a gentle wave of her wand and silken robes of purest white appeared on her bedspread.
“Mother, it’s beautiful.” On closer inspection she could see that shimmering traceries in silver and green picked out subtle designs on the under-dress, while the over-robe fair glistened with silver embroidery and tiny emeralds. “You must have spent a fortune!”
Her mother laughed indulgently. “For our only daughter, our pride and joy? I did it myself! Indeed I have been working on it since the day you were born!”
Pansy dropped the over-robe upon the bed and turned to her mother, running childlike into her arms. “It’s the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen!”
Her mother placed a fond kiss upon her forehead. “Daughter, dress! We have much to do today, but I would like a moment to admire my handiwork as it adorns my beloved child’s frame.”
Pansy laughed. “Mother, by your own admission, today I am a woman.”
She did not see the calculating look her mother gave her as she slipped off her night-rail and put on the sensuous undergarments laid out with her dress and robes. Nor did she see the satisfaction reflected in the woman’s eyes as the cloud-soft silk floated over her body in a shroud of white and green. All she saw was her mother’s genuine delight at how her coming-of-age clothes caressed her in all the right places.
“You, my dearling, are a sight to behold! Your father will be so pleased when he sees you, a witch instead of a child.”
Pansy controlled her expression by dint of looking into the mirror. She did not much like thinking of her father, who was distant and often casually cruel. Her mother’s love made up for many things, but her father rarely spoke to her, except in reprimand.
“Dearest, do not worry! Your father is proud of you even though he rarely says so. He has little patience for the ramblings of children, but today you come of age and become a worthy companion instead of a burden.”
“Perhaps that is so,” Pansy conceded. “Father is a busy man, without time to waste upon a child’s nothings.”
“You understand!” Her mother’s relief was evident. “I know you spend little time with him, but he does care for you, dearest.”
“And I for him,” Pansy replied, studying her reflection. The silk of her gown was blindingly white, enough so that she would have thought that it would wash out her pale complexion, but the subtle traceries somehow brought an arrogant elegance to her posture and expression instead. She found her shoulders straightening slightly and her chin lifting regally. Instead of a fussy schoolgirl, her mirror reflected a self-possessed witch with a mysterious smile upon her lips. “Oh, mother! It is truly the most wonderful dress! Now there’s only one question to be asked!”
“And what is that, daughter?”
Pansy raised a hand to her ash-blond locks. “Whatever shall I do with my hair?”
~0~They were, Belladonna Parkinson thought, most fortunate that Mimsy was a genius at coiffure. Without the house elf’s help, it would have been impossible to make her husband’s deadline for bringing their daughter down to breakfast with the Malfoys. Seeing her daughter’s genuine delight with the dress had wasted precious time, but it had been worth waiting for the moment of truth. The spelled threads had traced out the initial bindings that would finally take the petulant child off of their hands so that they might try for another that might be more satisfying, and that was certainly worth a couple of minutes of her time.
The silly chit all but floated down the stairs from the family wing, stopping abruptly enough that her skirts swung in gentle profusion around her ankles.
“Draco!” the child’s startlement was clear in her voice. “I had not expected to see you… Oh, do forgive me, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy” she dropped a graceful curtsey, something to be grateful for, Belladonna thought, “I had not thought that we would be having company so soon.”
“Nonsense, child.” Lucius Malfoy’s charming smile very nearly hid the calculation in his eyes, but the girl was hardly paying attention to him, focused as she was on the son. “Draco expressed a desire to wish you a happy birthday. After all, it is not every day that a girl comes of age.”
“Indeed, father.” Draco held out a hand, manifesting a single, perfect white rose. “Happy birthday, Pansy.”
Her daughter took it, her smile delighted. Lucius Malfoy smiled as well as the shining white blossom was lifted to her daughter’s nose. She inhaled deeply and with utter contentment.
“Thank you, Draco, I will treasure this.”
“You are most welcome, Pansy.” Grey eyes flashed slightly, Belladonna noted, but the boy said nothing further.
“Mimsy wishes to announce that breakfast is served,” said a soft, alto voice with only a hint of squeak. It had taken her years to train the house elves to speak more mellifluously. Seeing Lucius Malfoy’s sardonically raised brows, Belladonna was glad she had, not to mention the effort that had gone into ensuring that the creatures adhered to a dress code. It seemed that they were perfectly content to wear clothing that they themselves had made, so all one really had to do was provide them a pattern.
Her husband appeared at the doorway, ready to escort her in just as Lucius Malfoy offered his arm to her daughter. His son glowed like the sun as he took his mother’s arm, and Narcissa’s smile was sweetly affectionate as he led her into the breakfast room.
Once seated, breakfast appeared, including all of her daughter’s favorites.
“My compliments,” said Narcissa, the icy blond smiling faintly. “Your elf certainly has a way with pastries.”
“Indeed she does,” said her husband, spooning eggs liberally onto his plate to join the sausages already there. “Has a bit of a soft spot for my daughter.”
“I can see why,” said Lucius, and the girl blushed a fiery red. “Blushing becomes you, child.”
“She does it often,” remarked Draco, a bit snide, but Belladonna let it pass. “Our Housemates often tease her to bring it about, it suits her so.”
“Is this true, daughter?” her husband asked.
“It’s all in good fun,” the chit replied, spooning honey upon a piece of croissant. “Professor Snape says it is wise to rid oneself of a thin skin, and better to do so among one’s peers instead of allowing the Mudbloods and blood traitors humiliate you outside of your House.” She frowned, ever so slightly. “Normally I am better at controlling my expression, father, but it is such a delight to have esteemed company I must have let down my defenses.”
“No need for such barricades among us, child.” Narcissa’s voice poured forth like warm honey. “We are all family, in a kind of way.”
“Narcissa, my dearest, you have ruined our surprise!”
Her daughter’s hand stopped halfway to her mouth before setting down her bit of pastry. “Surprise?”
“I have signed a marriage contract for you, daughter, if you will accept it. Mr. Malfoy believes you to be the only girl in all of the Wizarding World worthy of his son.”
“Me? With Draco?” she squeaked.
Narcissa laughed, not entirely unkindly. “You are the most perfect choice for my son, and, if you will but allow it, when you are presented this evening, you will also be bound into our family. I would welcome a daughter.”
“B-but. Me?” She stared at them. “A Malfoy?”
“Do you think yourself somehow inferior?”
“Our line is honorable, Mr. Malfoy, but I had not thought to aspire so high. Your family is the pinnacle of our world and I had thought that you might wait for Boudaicca Zabini to come of marriageable age, or accept one of the Alexandrov daughters.”
“Well said,” remarked Narcissa, a smile twitching about her lips. “It is a humbling thing to be accepted by the Malfoys, as I have reason to know. But, as you say, your line is honorable; indeed, it is more so than others. It is our honor to ask you to join our family. Isn’t that right, Draco?”
“Of course,” the boy nodded, turning grey eyes upon his intended. “It will be my pleasure to take you to wife, Pansy.”
“And it will be mine to take you to husband.” The girl’s eyes glowed as she spoke the ritual phrase and magic whispered faintly through the room.
“Very well, child. I accept you into my household and under my protection,” said Lucius. “So that today may be spent in pleasant things, your father and I thought that you might enjoy shopping with my wife and your mother.”
The girl laughed. “Shopping is possibly my favorite pastime, Mr. Malfoy.”
“Peace, child! Call me ‘Papa’ if you will, for I am to be your second father.”
“You may, if you wish, call me ‘Maman,’ though I would be pleased if you would call me Narcissa.”
“I shall be pleased to do so, Maman, Papa.”
Her husband smiled slightly. “Don’t you worry about a thing, child. Why don’t you go upstairs and change? I believe that that would make a beautiful wedding gown.”
The girl blushed. “Oh! Father, you read my very thoughts! You will not mind seeing me again in this gown? Mother made it and it is more beautiful than any wedding gown I have dreamed of.”
“Of course not, my child,” said Lucius. “I knew when I saw you coming down the stairs that you would make my son a beautiful bride. Why don’t you run along now?”
“Oh, this is quite the best birthday I have ever had!”
“Oh, I assure you, daughter, it will be one that you never forget.”
~0~There was, Narcissa noted to herself, no torture that the Dark Lord could think up that compared to the horror of shopping with a newly chosen bride high on life. The lazy child had spent next to no time in the previous years on her trousseau, and it had been necessary to follow the dizzy chit to every fashionable establishment from Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions to Favelle Fussibudge’s Fine Footwear. By all indications, Belladonna Parkinson’s patience had been frayed almost to the breaking point as her daughter flitted about spending galleons as though they rained from the sky.
This, Belladonna’s eyes said, this is what you will have to put up with.
Narcissa shuddered as the excited girl threw her arms around her father and then around Lucius. That a Slytherin pureblood would behave in such a manner, like unto those vulgar Muggles! That she had agreed to tie her son to such an inauspicious creature at all! But Durance Parkinson had sworn that he and his wife had taken great pains with their daughter, ensuring her wit and her purity in a way that few did, even in the most traditional families, and the results were clear from her childish enthusiasm to the pristine white of her spelled gown and rose.
Pansy Parkinson was the most rare of creatures, a virginal Slytherin girl of seventeen who had never so much as masturbated, much less considered sex seriously. Most Slytherin women had at least lain with their dorm-mates, fumbling towards an ecstasy they might not find with the husbands their fathers chose, but Pansy was somehow unstained by even the knowledge of orgasm.
As such, she was perfect for all of their plans, and it truly was a small price to pay when all was said and done. Soon she would be bound to the Malfoy family and all it stood for, and the marriage spells the Dark Lord preferred would ensure the girl’s proper behavior in the end.
“Dearest,” said Belladonna in a gentle tone. “We’ve been shopping much of the day. You must be tired. Why don’t you have a nice lie down so that you will be ready for all of the excitement tonight?”
“Yes, Mother.” The girl swung her purchases up into her arms before setting them down again and taking out her wand. “Why in the world am I doing this the Muggle way? I’m of age! Wingardium Leviosa! ”
At least she’d finally figured that out, Narcissa thought uncharitably. “We’ll wake you in a few hours so you may prepare properly for the rituals.”
“Thank you, Maman!” The girl’s smile flashed and she traipsed up the stairs much like an arthritic orangutan.
Narcissa watched after her. “Why you didn’t drown that girl at birth I will never understand.”
Belladonna sighed. “Her magic manifested early, though it is weaker than it should be in a pureblooded witch. Durance and I both studied our bloodlines intently, but can find no reason for her inadequacy. I can only hope that the Dark Lord will forgive her many shortcomings for the single gift that only she can give.”
“She is quite remarkable,” Lucius said, his eyes still trained on the stairs. “I have never seen so blinding an innocence in a Slytherin. Hufflepuffs manage it with fair frequency, but it is unheard of in most Slytherin women.”
“Hardly a woman, Lucius, no matter the child’s age.” Narcissa pressed a finger against her lips. “Still, she is precisely what we need. I presume you have agreed to a bride-price?”
“Indeed we have. If not for the necessity of ritual, I would have gladly given her for this purpose,” stated Durance. “We have been most disappointed in the child, but the bindings upon my own bloodline preclude another child until this one is wed or dead.”
“It is one of the wisest courses to purity,” Lucius nodded. “Indeed, we have only produced Draco for much the same reason, although once he has bedded his bride my own will be able to provide me with another, just to be on the safe side.”
Narcissa smiled, although she bristled internally. She had no desire to return to her husband’s bed, though she knew her duty to the Dark Lord and would submit to it gracefully. Would that he’d sired a bastard somewhere that she could adopt, but no, he counted the Malfoy seed too precious to waste in the wombs of impure whores. “It will be my delight.”
Lucius’ teeth shone in a wintry smile. “No doubt.”
Narcissa gave a tinkling laugh. “But for now, I too would like some rest. The night will be draining enough without sufficient reserves.”
“True enough. I have set aside rooms for each of you. Unless…?”
Lucius’ laughter cracked like ice. “Durance, my dear man, with Narcissa in my bed, I could hardly be expected to get rest.”
Parkinson’s lewd gaze traveled over her and she wondered if his daughter would have been so pure had he not desired her as a gift for the Dark Lord. She smiled pleasantly back at him before following the house elf up to the room she had been assigned.
It was a pleasantly appointed room, in pale green and burnished copper. The bed was clearly laid with silk bedding and rich, brocaded velvet hangings, but it was the pale blond figure splayed across the sheets, glistening with water from his recent bath and fisting a rapidly purpling erection that held her attention.
“Draco, darling, you’re not supposed to give gifts to other people on your wedding day. It’s just not done.”
Her son stared up at her, lazily pumping his fist and smiling wickedly. “If you don’t want me here…”
“Foolish boy,” she dropped onto the bed beside him, tracing lazy patterns through ever-thickening chest hair. Soon he would have a golden pelt that would be a delight to play in. “Have I ever denied you anything?”
“You won’t let me kill that officious bastard you’re married to.”
“Respect your father, Draco.” Her and joined his on that deliciously erect cock, playing tag with his fingers before swiping a fingerful of precome to bring to her lips. “Mmmmm. We had no time to stop for a treat.”
“Did you want one, Mother?” His free hand came up, slipping easily beneath the bodice of her gown and freeing one breast to play with.
“Did you have one for me?” she teased, freeing her hair from magical confinement so it slipped in warm, silky waves over the head of his penis. Draco groaned, spreading his legs slightly and she slipped between them as her hair caressed his cock. She batted his hand away, breathing gently over the head and liking daintily at it, like a cat. “Mmmmm. Yes. This might well do, for starters if it will also be ready for afters.”
“Mother…” Draco’s hands buried themselves in her hair and his cock slid down her throat as though it belonged there. She sucked, laving the underside with her wicked tongue, delighting in the noises Draco made, unlike his father who was impassive during sex. Nothing she had ever done pleased Lucius as easily as swallowing Draco to the pubis. Lucius had never cared for his own pleasure, much less hers, and years of reading every Wizarding publication and even Muggle ones had done nothing to entice her husband to pleasure rather than efficient pain in the marriage bed.
It did not take long, as she had denied Draco her bed until he finished his summer homework, but today was a special day, and they had asked him to do something antithetical to his nature. He came in her mouth, a silent scream on his tongue, and she lapped up the dribbles that she missed fastidiously.
“Mother, that is the best wedding present you could have given me, short of killing father.”
She smiled slightly. “Respect, Draco.”
“Fuck respect,” he reached for her. “Right now, I want to fuck you.”
His fingers did away with her clothes quickly, and he demonstrated every skill he had learned in ten years under her tutelage.
His fingers brushed her hips and she sighed in pleasure. One day she really would have to kill Lucius, that she might have her own, personally trained incubus in her bed.
~0~”Dear child, it is time to get ready.” Narcissa Malfoy’s ebullient voice woke Pansy from the most wonderful dream. In it, Harry Potter and his little coterie had failed in their quest to defeat the Dark Lord, and she and her family had received their just reward.
“Coming, Maman.” She pushed herself upright, seeing Narcissa dressed in a simple ritual robe of pure-white linen. “Oh! I had not even thought! We will do the full purification rituals?”
“You are to become a Malfoy, my child. You shall do so purified and cleansed, baptized into the family of death and faith.” Narcissa smiled. “Is it your will that you do so?”
“It is my will,” said Pansy, recognizing the ritual phrase. “It is, indeed, my utmost desire.”
“Then come, daughter, and I will bathe thee.”
Pansy rose from her bed, not even looking back on her virgin’s bower. Tonight her maidenhead would be lost, and well lost, the bloody flag of it hung in the courtyard for all to see. Her power, constrained by her virgin blood, would blossom and she would be a woman by anyone’s definition, and a witch of greater power than she had ever been.
The bathing room had been transformed, oils scented of mint and jasmine floated over the steaming surface of the water, reflecting the light of a thousand candles floating above. Her mother waited, kneeling beside the bathing pool. “Oh, my.”
Narcissa handed her a vial of iridescent grey potion. “Drink, daughter.”
Pansy raised it to her lips, unquestioning.
“Is this your will?” asked her mother.
“It is my fervent desire.” Something odd was happening to her as warmth sped from her stomach through her belly, heat gathering strangely between her thighs. She stepped forward, toward the pool, puzzling a bit at the growing wetness between her thighs. Her courses were not due for another week! She glanced up at Narcissa, who smiled gently at her.
“There is nothing wrong, child. It’s perfectly normal.”
Tell that to the odd emptiness building inside me, Pansy thought, but did not say.
“Bathe, daughter, that you might be refreshed,” said Pansy’s mother.
“Bathe, daughter, that you might be cleansed,” echoed Narcissa.
“Bathe, daughter, that you might come to your groom as purely as he comes to you,” the two women incanted in unison, and Pansy allowed herself to be led to the edge of the pool.
Pansy knelt and touched the surface of the water. “Sano.”
She dropped the thin robe she wore and entered the water.
It was like nothing she’d ever felt before, infused as it was with power. She could feel it stripping away every layer of grime she might ever have come in contact with, and she floated happily beneath the ministration of the mothers’ hands. Time seemed to vanish as a strange lassitude gripped her, leaving her awash in sometimes strange sensations. Too soon, the hands urged her up and out of the warm water, and soft, thick towels caressed her body, soaking up every trace of moisture. She started to turn toward the mirror when hands firmly stopped her.
“Let us perform our magic, dear girl. You will be the envy of every woman tonight.”
Pansy closed her eyes. “Will there be many there?”
“Enough for even your ego, dearest,” her mother scolded. “Now stand still, there is one last thing we must do before we dress you.”
“Ah, yes,” said Narcissa, “I had almost forgotten.”
“Given my father, I’ve no doubt you’ve blocked it from your mind.”
Pansy’s eyes snapped open. “Mr. Malfoy!”
“Papa, child.” Lucius Malfoy, “For I am the patriarch of this family. There is one thing that I must do. I assume you know what it is?”
Pansy blushed, even harder than she had at the breakfast table. She nodded. “Do you wish me to lie on the bench?”
Malfoy came up close to her, causing her breathing to quicken oddly. He smelled good, like lemons and cinnamon and she could not seem to get a deep enough lungful of the scent. He smiled as his robes brushed the very tips of her breasts, causing them to harden painfully.
“I- I-”
“There is nothing to worry about, child,” he whispered, his hand rising to her collarbone and then drifting lightly down the center of her body. “It’s normal. Natural.”
His fingers brushed her pubic hair, urging her thighs to part slightly. Her hands came up involuntarily, clutching at his robes. Smooth fingers slipped wetly through folds she herself barely touched, and thrust gently up, as his thumb brushed something at the apex of her thighs.
“Oh!” Pleasure sparked as those fingers thrust lightly within her. “Papa?”
“And there it is, child.” His thumb brushed her again just as his fingers slipped out, and she moaned softly, eyes falling shut. “Virginem Sancti. Semper Fidelis Sanguinis Malfoy.”
Magic coalesced in her belly and lines of fire spread out from that molten core.
“Papa?”
Lucius smiled, his eyes glittering strangely. “There is a reason why the Malfoy bloodline is the purest in the world.”
Pain erupted from her belly and Pansy barely withheld a scream.
“Our wives are verified virgins when they wed, and when they acknowledge our claim upon them they are bound into our clan. Our wives can only desire for the touch of a Malfoy. Their wombs will only quicken for the seed of a Malfoy.” He grinned pleasantly. “And they only feel pleasure at the touch of a Malfoy. Anyone else brings unimaginable pain. Never in a thousand years has a Malfoy bride taken a lover, much less brought his child to bear. Never, in a thousand years, has a Malfoy bride polluted her body with lesser seed, marrying instead within the family, or remaining unwed to raise their children if there were no kin to be had.”
Pansy groaned and looked down, only to find a fine silvery tracery etched out across her womb and through the thatch of blonde curls that protected her chastity so poorly.
“You will receive pleasure from Draco if he desires it and pain if he does not. Your heart will beat for him and your body yearn for him,” Lucius leaned forward, “or for me, if I desire it.”
She could feel her own wetness and the empty yearning returned.
“Papa,” she breathed, and he laughed, stepping away.
“Now you understand,” Narcissa said quietly, “what it means to be a Malfoy bride. Come, child, you have still to dress.”
She let the two women manipulate her like a puppet, the silk of her corset rubbing maddeningly over her breasts. They slipped sheer white stockings up her legs but denied her anything to cover her sex, so she felt naked even as the gorgeous robes her mother had made for her slipped over her head. Mimsy came in, sweeping her hair up into a confection of curls and braids interspersed with incandescent white roses. Lucius Malfoy took her arm, leading her from the bathing room, and she realized that he had never left.
“You are quite lovely, child.” Lucius smiled. “The Dark Lord will be pleased to see such a beautiful bride and handsome groom.”
“He is here?”
“He insisted on performing the ceremony himself. I hope you do not mind if it is something of a two-in-one?”
Did it matter, Pansy wondered, if she minded?
“Of course not, I am pleased for myself and my intended.” This was not precisely how she had imagined her wedding.
He led her to the entrance to the garden. “Wait here, my dear. I will send Draco to get you.”
“Of course.” Traditionally the bride and groom would enter together, their magic melded to prove that they were a compatible match and worthy of being bound to one another.
“Dearest,” her mother said, appearing beside her, a black cloak thrown over her forearm. “I know that you were surprised –”
“Not now, mother.” Her new Papa had done something to her, she could barely concentrate around the odd, aching need that battled the residual pain of his spell.
“Very well,” her mother huffed. “Here comes young Mr. Malfoy. I suppose I should become used to calling him Draco should I not?”
“I suppose.” Pansy said. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”
Her mother smiled. “Of course. It’s not every day I see my child married.”
“Pansy.” Draco touched her hand and the emptiness within her calmed slightly. “Mother Parkinson, your husband has requested your presence.”
“Of course, Draco. We will see you in a moment.” The black cloak settled over her mother’s shoulders as she went through the door.
“This isn’t what I expected,” Pansy blurted and then blushed.
“You will be a Malfoy. Your children will be Malfoys. Father did what every patriarch has done since the beginning of time.”
“I would have liked to have been warned.”
Draco smirked at her. “Not to worry. I won’t lord it over you.”
“No?”
“Well, not often, anyway.” He held out a hand to her and she could feel his energy spiking in the air. “Join with me?”
“Yes.”
Their magic swirled and spun around them as the doors opened and they exited into the garden.
Black cloaks swirled in unison, featureless white masks staring at them.
Pansy’s breath hitched.
Slowly the crowd of masked Death Eaters parted, leaving an aisle straight to the Dark Lord.
“Come, children, and let me judge your worth.”
Pansy had not anticipated the oddly high pitch of the Dark Lord’s voice and fought not to giggle at his tone, so like a prissy tutor. She and Draco glided down the aisle, an image, she thought, of pureblooded elegance.
They knelt before the Dark Lord in unison, pressing their lips to the hem of his robes.
“Very good. I am told by those who should know that the two of you are my most faithful followers and that, indeed, you wish to join so that you might together serve me and raise your offspring to do the same.”
“Indeed this is so, my Lord,” Draco said firmly. “I declare before this company that you are indeed my liege lord, and that I and mine will serve you faithfully until the end of days.”
Pansy merely nodded.
An odd, scaly hand placed itself beneath her chin.
“Are you afraid of me, dear child?”
“Of course,” she said. “You are the Dark Lord and have dominion over all that lives. I would be foolish not to fear you, even as I love and serve you.”
The Dark Lord laughed, a chilling sound. “Good answer. Know that I rarely Mark women, so that they may move more freely about society, but through your husband you will obey me, without question, do you understand me?”
“I understand, my Lord.”
“And you, young Malfoy, do you understand that I demand complete and immediate obedience, no matter what order I might give you?”
“Indeed I do, my Lord.”
“Both of you swear, upon your wands and your magic, that you will be my most faithful servants?”
“We do, my Lord.”
“Very well.” The Dark Lord placed his hands above their heads and Pansy felt a surge of Dark, Dark power rip through her, tearing jagged strips somewhere within her soul and tying them to ragged bands of Draco’s. It was all she could do not to scream as she felt the echoes of the burning brand on Draco’s arm. She placed her hand on Draco’s shoulder, sending what comfort she could through the uneven bond that Voldemort’s magic had drawn between them.
Behind them, the Death Eaters roared their approval.
Pansy and Draco both knelt, panting, at the Dark Lord’s feet when his hands urged them to their feet.
“Welcome, Brother, Sister, to the Brethren of Death. May you serve it well.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“Even now, I have a task for you both.”
“My Lord?” Pansy asked, surprised.
“You acknowledge me as your liege, do you not?”
“Of course, my Lord.”
“Then you will grant me one of my most fervent desires, Mrs. Malfoy.”
“Whatever is in my power, my Lord.”
“You will grant me your first night.”
Pansy nearly fainted.
“Your wish is my command, my Lord.”
She could hear Lucius Malfoy’s voice in her head as she could feel Draco delicately removing her gown. Our wives can only desire for the touch of a Malfoy. Their wombs will only quicken for the seed of a Malfoy. And they only feel pleasure at the touch of a Malfoy. Anyone else brings unimaginable pain.
She had thought that her mother and Narcissa Malfoy had left her without underwear for Draco’s delectation, but as she heard the Dark Lord’s appreciative hiss as what undergarments she had on were revealed, it was clear that they had dressed her for the Dark Lord’s pleasure.
A scaly hand touched her breast, sparking immediate pain. She moaned. This could not be happening.
She felt Draco’s spell as it lifted her off her feet, laying her supine on empty air between him and the Dark Lord.
“You give your wife unto me, her magic and her life?”
“I do indeed, my Lord.” Draco’s magic forced her legs apart and his touch brought fourth the eager, oozing wetness she had felt when his father tested her virginity. “Pansy’s maidenhead and power are yours for the taking.”
“So rarely have I encountered so valuable a servant, who would sacrifice so much.” Voldemort’s hands teased up her legs, leaving burning agony in their wake. “A fine gift indeed.”
Something huge and rough prodded at her for a moment as Voldemort gripped her hips, and Draco’s hand on her neck promised as much bliss as the screaming pain of the Dark Lord’s touch raged through her.
Pansy stared up into Draco’s eyes, seeing his tiny, gleeful smile, and she did the only thing she could.
“I consent,” she whispered just as the shark-skinned thing ripped into her and Voldemort touched the magic of her core as it blossomed in the wake of the breaking of her maidenhead. She could smell blood and hear screaming above the approving roar of the crowd, but all she could see was Draco’s grey, triumphant eyes as the Dark Lord’s acid seed began to spill into her womb —
“Come. Now.”
His words triggered a tidalwave of pleasure beyond the pain and she could feel the streaming magic of a Gifting Bond flow out of her, with her blood and Voldemort’s black semen and her own slick wetness.
She passed out.
~0~”Pansy, it’s time to wake up,” came Draco’s voice from the doorway.
She didn’t look at him as she rose from her once-virginal bower. Outside there was a red-stained white sheet that announced to the neighborhood that she was no longer, in any possible way, a virgin. Once Voldemort had stripped her of her adult power, he had taken great pleasure in stripping her of any type of innocence.
Her new Papa had watched and laughed as the Dark Lord had risen from between her bloody thighs, human body restored and flush with her magic. She had heard him congratulating the Dark Lord before availing himself of her body, an indifferent violation for no more reason than to prove his power over her.
It was an act he had repeated in the following days, whenever he caught her alone. He enjoyed leaving her, wet with his seed, in her marriage bed.
Not that Draco cared. Draco spent his time with his mother, unconcerned about the fate of his wife.
Her parents simply smiled when they saw her, her mother having conceived a new Parkinson heir the night Voldemort had taken her daughter’s virginity.
Pansy spent the days avoiding Lucius and finishing her schoolwork, aching with an unanswered need that father and husband both delighted in invoking without relief. Writing essays had occupied her mind, distracting her from analyzing her life and recognizing what had been done to her.
Images of a thousand days and a thousand conversations slipped quietly through her consciousness. Her mother’s calculation and her father’s indifference warred with Narcissa’s veiled amusement and Lucius’ open viciousness. Only Draco’s profound pettishness had been in any way honest.
He had bedded her exactly once, to cement the bond, reeking of musk and his mother’s perfume. She watched the two of them interact, seeing Narcissa’s amusement and Draco’s obsession. Every night he crawled into her bed, satiated and laughing even as his father’s leavings stained the sheets beneath her.
Pansy said nothing about it.
“We’ll be leaving for the Hogwarts Express in half an hour,” Draco told her offhandedly. “Father says that we’ll be sharing a room in the Slytherin Dorms, which is fortunate because then we will not have to worry about Crabbe’s betrayal.”
Pansy nodded once, but did not look into his eyes.
Draco left and Pansy reached into her bedside table, pulling out her wand thoughtfully.
Her husband would be wise to be wary of Crabbe.
She smiled coldly and then began to dress.
He would be more wise to be wary of her.
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