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Chapter Text

On the day that they first met, a brisk wind blustered across the open space outside Hogwarts’ doors where the thestral-drawn carriages had just dropped them off. Students waited in orderly lines to pass through the towering entrance and shivered beneath their wool cloaks. Antonin felt like he was the only one unbothered by the chill. To him, the wind felt as welcoming as the first kiss of spring. His cloak hung open down the front, revealing him for the outsider he was.

He could feel curious eyes scanning over him, taking in his height and the absence of colour to signal his house. Antonin already knew where he was expected to end up; his father and host family had impressed upon him the importance of making the right connections during what would be his first and only year at Hogwarts.

Still, he couldn’t help but pretend otherwise. Were he given a choice, he thought he’d fit in very well with the eagles high up in their towers of learning. In truth, he thought the four-house system a sham that damaged more than protected. This country’s magic users focused too much on their natural strengths rather than on improving their weaknesses. It left them unbalanced. Open to attack. Vulnerable.

“Aren’t you cold?” The melody disguised as a question was directed to him by a fair-haired witch whose skin was almost translucent in its clarity. She reminded him of a chamomile flower, all light and tenderness bending upward with eyes in the palest blue.

While she was tall for a young woman, she stood a full head lower than Antonin. She wore the collar of her cloak buttoned all the way to the top and wrapped by an emerald and silver scarf that matched that of the wizard standing next to them.

Antonin inclined his head to her, his lips twitching at the way her golden eyelashes fluttered in response. “I am perfectly comfortable, but thank you for asking.”

Her eyes widened at his accent and shot towards his companion before returning. The sweet pink petal of her lips parted in a brief pause. “You’re Antonin Dolohov.”

“I am,” he said simply.

“Let us continue this conversation where it’s warmer, Narcissa.” Finally, the third in their party spoke.

Lucius’ gentle reminder of their whereabouts alerted them to the fact that they were holding up the line with their little exchange. Rather than blush at what would normally be a social blunder as Antonin expected her to, Narcissa nodded and turned to make her way inside without any sense of hurry to her steps. She was a queen among commoners, wholly comfortable in her place in the world.

Antonin followed as if in a daze, any previous wishes for book-laden walls replaced by nothing but the desire to tread where she trod, be that the serpent’s nest or anywhere else. He ignored the amused look he received from his host-brother. There would be plenty of time for interrogation later.

He wanted to curse the foul spirits and head of families who determined Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black a favourable match. It was no wonder Antonin had been steered towards a more private conversation between the three of them given the other two’s history.

“And you two…approve of this union?” he asked, the words distasteful on the tongue.

Antonin stood before them now, a dark audience to their shared brilliance. He wanted to scoff at the similarity of their colouring and stature–they could be blood siblings with how they resembled one another.

“There is no one better suited to the Malfoy name,” Lucius stated with determination. He spoke with his gaze fixed on Narcissa, leaving no room for doubt about his loyalties.

Antonin’s heart sank at the affirmation. He would sooner gnaw his own leg off than break the trust of a man he now considered his brother.

“It is an honour.” Narcissa returned her betrothed’s regard with calm certainty.

Antonin, however, read something altogether different in her response. While Lucius’ had been predictably centric to his family’s interests, Narcissa’s revealed none of her own true feelings. Now that Antonin knew her surname, he recognised it outranked almost all others, including the Malfoys. Just who was honoured in this match?

How he longed to ruffle her cool collection, bring colour to those pallid cheeks that reminded him so much of the snow-covered hills of his childhood. He wanted to be the first to skate his fingers across that unblemished surface, his mind’s desire whispering of the marks he might leave in his passing.

Antonin said nothing of this, choosing instead to bow deeply in supplication. There was nothing untoward in the way he held his hand out, nor in the brush of his lips against the fingertips she laid across his own. But only the two of them knew of his tightened grip. Only two felt how his thumb played across her knuckles as he reluctantly pulled away. Narcissa’s eyes seemed curious at the subtle touches, but not enough for Lucius to take notice.

“I hope we, too, might be friends,” Antonin murmured, dropping his eyes in feigned humility.

Lucius’ approval rang out sharp and bright, the laugh of a confident man. A winning man.

An ignorant man.

Chapter Text

The first couple of days flew by. Through it all, Antonin continued to drift from one class to the next like one of the castle’s many ghosts.

He silently observed his peers, cataloguing their preferences, social circles or lack thereof, and the predictable divide between houses. While he didn’t regret his choice to follow Lucius and Narcissa into Slytherin, he looked longingly at the eagle’s nest every time he passed by on his way to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Speaking of, Hogwarts curriculum fell woefully short of the Durmstrang equivalents. Antonin didn’t feel the need to show off, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t perform when instructed. He simply couldn’t tell whether Professor Merrythought thought them incapable or was purposefully restricting their growth.

He suspected the latter, based on the way she had reacted to his duel with Lucius earlier in the class. Antonin had strung together what he considered to be an expected combination of one verbal and one nonverbal spell. Any of his former classmates would have recognised the extra wand movements after his knockback jinx, but Lucius left himself wide open to the ropes that sprang at him while he gloated over his initial block.

“Mr Dolohov!” Their professor stood by his side in an instant, eyes flashing.

He thought she might compliment him on the successful attack, perhaps reward his first house points. She did neither.

“You are to focus on using the spells in the manner we’ve taught thus far. That does not include nonverbal casting.” The thin line of her mouth brooked no argument.

While he was taken aback at the rebuke, Antonin only nodded. “My apologies. It won’t happen again.” He ignored the muttering of the other students, some of which were already beginning to accuse him of underhanded tactics.

It was just as his father had warned him. They were weak and would remain so until shown a different way. A better way.

“Well, I thought the double cast brilliant. Show me later?” Lucius had walked over to Antonin while he stood musing and clapped him on the shoulder.

It wouldn’t be the last time that Antonin was thankful for the other wizard’s companionship. It was families like his that would help lead the future into a more promising one. “Of course.”

“You must teach Cissa, too.”

Antonin’s response was delayed this time. He didn’t oppose teaching wizards or witches. In fact, many of the women he knew back home could hex him several times over before he’d even come up with a single countercurse. His hesitation stemmed from the fact that the witch in this case would be Narcissa.

His initial ardour had paled very little since the first time he’d laid eyes on her. It instead grew with each subsequent encounter. Always with others at their sides. Always with far more space between them than he’d like.

“It would be my pleasure.” Lucius met his agreement with another clap on the shoulder before striding off to resume their duelling.

As he stood at distance, the white blond-locks took a warmer tint closer to fields of shimmering summer wheat. Slate grey eyes lightened to blue ice reminiscent of the frozen lakes where Antonin skated as a boy. How he longed to take her hand and lead her through a series of loops and spirals, their breath as clouds around them and nose tips cherry red from the cold.

He threw a shield up just in time to deflect Lucius’ attack, then scoffed. “What, no bow?”

“I did, but you were daydreaming. You’re lucky you have fast reflexes.” Lucius leaned on his back foot and spun the tip of his wand in a familiar series of movements.

This time, Antonin stepped to the side, shooting off his own attack in the same motion. Lucius’ spell passed by harmlessly, while the force of his own shattered the other wizard’s shield and knocked him to the ground. Antonin was there in an instant with a hand extended.

Lucius’ laugh sounded bright and utterly without jealousy or reproach. “You’ll have to teach us how to move, too.”

“It’s all a dance, Lucius. I know you’re good at that.”

“That’s what they tell me.” His wink had Antonin immediately wondering whether that was before or after the betrothal.

From what he’d seen so far, Lucius had no shortage of admirers from all four houses. Even now, a witch with strikingly dark eyes and what was already an impressive figure pouted at them.

“Lucy, don’t you think you’re being too kind to the exchange student?” Her voice was all warm honey and might have been alluring if not for the foreboding feeling Antonin immediately felt at the sound.

Lucius shrugged. He looked uncaring, but Antonin caught the way his eyes swept over her and paused at the deep v of an unbuttoned collar. “I wasn’t being kind at all, Amara. Antonin is just that good.”

She turned her calculating gaze onto Antonin, blatantly taking her time to look from head to toe before licking her lips. “I’ll be the judge of that for myself.” She challenged him with her stare, like she expected him to duel her right then and there.

He nearly snorted at the posturing. His babushka would have purged the poisonous little spider from their home without even picking up her wand. “Maybe next time.”

Her cheeks flushed at the perceived rejection, and, for the briefest of moments, Antonin feared he might have made his first grave mistake.

She blinked, then the feeling was gone as quickly as it had arrived. Amara smiled, close-lipped, and hummed. “Next time.”

As she sauntered away, Antonin’s attention returned to his friend, who had remained suspiciously silent during the exchange. Lucius smirked from where he leaned against the wall.

Antonin frowned. “What’s so amusing?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m just counting the seconds until Amara Zabini has you just where she wants you.” The bulge Lucius made in his cheek left little room for misunderstanding.

“You’ll be counting a long time. She isn’t my type.”

Lips pursed and white brows bunched up in consideration. “What is your type?” Then his eyes narrowed. “Unless you’re a shirt lifter?”

Antonin snorted. “No.” He left unspoken that he thought nothing wrong with it if he had swung that way. There was too little love out there in the world to go around restricting the rare instances that did exist.

He was saved from answering the actual question by class ending and students immediately swarming towards the exit. Not that he could have told Lucius his true feelings, ones filled with white petals and golden faces under a clear sky. Those images were his and his alone.

Chapter Text

Antonin wished he was standing out on the training grounds rather than in a dusty classroom. From the looks of it, the room hadn’t been used in quite some time, the desks stacked atop one another and shoved against the wall. If only Hogwarts were more open about the sorts of spells they allowed their students to learn and practice, then all of this secrecy wouldn’t be required.

The door creaked, signalling the end to his waiting. Antonin stood, both hands in his pockets and ready to greet the happy couple.

There was one problem.

Only Narcissa stood in front of him now, having shut the door behind her. She fingered the hem of her sleeve as they looked at one another. Antonin thought she looked lovely, as usual. Narcissa had that natural windswept look to her, hair voluminous and brushed away from her face in a way others could only dream of recreating.

He waited for an explanation that did not come. She continued to stare, biting her lip in the most distracting way.

“Did Lucius get held up?” he finally asked.

“Oh!” Her chin lifted as she realised the reason for his earlier silence. “He didn’t tell you?”

Antonin shook his head.

“Lucius had some unexpected Prefect duties arise. It will just be me tonight.”

At that, his breath caught, tightness spreading outward from his chest. The moment he’d been waiting for had arrived, but the reality of it was too good to be true. What if this was a trap to test his loyalties?

He phrased his next question carefully, wanting to maintain the role of a trusted friend. “Does Lucius know you’re here?”

She nodded, a tiny smile appearing. She had no right being that effortlessly endearing. He wanted to weep at how easily she affected him. She didn’t even have to speak; all she had to do was look at him just like she was now.

“Yes,” she said, simple and clear. Now she stepped forward, closer, then closer still. All Antonin had to do was reach out his hand and he’d be able to wrap one of her loose strands around one finger. “Are you opposed to being alone with me, Mr Dolohov?”

The very idea that he would take issue with a one-on-one with the lovely Ms Black was preposterous, so much so that laughter bubbled up his throat and burst out in a sharp bark. She blinked at him, coral-pink lips parted in surprise. He hurried to reassure her.

“Please call me ‘Antonin’, and, no, I do not oppose you being my sole pupil tonight.” The next words were dangerous, but he couldn’t help himself. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Now it was her cheeks that warmed to the sort of ripe peach he loved to bite, juice squirting and running down his chin faster than his tongue could catch.

“If I’m to call you ‘Antonin’, then you must call me ‘Narcissa’, or ‘Cissa’, if you prefer. Anything, really, but ‘Cissy’.” She wrinkled her nose, prompting within Antonin a demanding need to kiss its elfen tip. He ignored the urge by clenching his fists tight enough that they cracked loudly.

“Apologies. It’s a bad habit of mine,” he explained, holding out his hands for her to inspect.

He held his breath as she reached to tentatively cup them with her own, the difference in sizes almost comical. She felt cool to the touch, and a pleasant perfume wafted up from her downturned head to wrap its tendrils around him more securely than the most persistent of vines.

His swift inhale had her looking up to him once more. She stood even closer now, having stepped into his frame. He let his gaze wander down from the windows that threatened to peel him apart piece by piece, trailing along her delicate profile and fixing on the beauty mark along her upper lip slightly to the left.

“Narcissa.” He tested the sound of her name, syllables slipping silk-like along his tongue.

“Good.”

Her approval buried itself deep, and Antonin knew he was one move away from ruining everything he’d spent his life preparing for–his family’s hopes, the Malfoy family’s expectations, his own idea of what his future would look like.

That realisation pushed him away, dropping his hands from her own. Antonin tried to play off the sudden movement by throwing out his arms and putting on a disarming smile. “Shall we begin?”

The way she continued to look at him–head tilted to the side, her eyes sharper than any of his father’s knives–sent his mind into a panic. Did she pick up how he’d reacted to her? If so, would she tell Lucius? He held his expression, praying to Merlin, Perun, and the spirit of his departed babushka to protect him.

“Where would you have me, Antonin?” She leaned into his name with intention, the pronunciation perfect.

He was going to die. If not by Lucius, then by her voice alone.

Chapter Text

“Well?”

Antonin looked across the table at Lucius. “Well, what?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

Lucius rolled his eyes. “How did Cissa do?”

Antonin had expected the inquiry, but hearing it still twisted his insides. He’d hoped to keep the shared moments between himself and Narcissa. Nothing untoward had happened–she was too reserved to act otherwise–but Antonin liked to think that the slant of her smile was special, different somehow than the one she shared with everyone else.

“She did very well. She has a knack for defence and learns quickly.” He thought the skills worthy of praise, but Lucius frowned, lines forming around his mouth that would only deepen over the years.

“You leaving unsaid any mention of her offensive capabilities implies otherwise.”

This time it was Antonin’s turn to frown. He hadn’t intentionally left out anything, even if the observation about her inclinations was true. Narcissa leaned towards support, from her nigh-impenetrable shield charms to her careful attention to healing.

Anxious to protect her, as a teacher ought, Antonin shook his head. “I suspect she only needs cause to unsheathe her claws. Narcissa is highly singular about where and when she chooses to attack.”

“I do believe that is the first time you’ve ever called her ‘Narcissa’,” Lucius said, tilting his head. Not a good sign.

Antonin’s jaw clenched, but he staved off the impulse to curl his fingers into fists. “Yes, she requested I use her given name after I invited her to do the same.” An itch began to build along the collar of his shirt. He ignored it.

“Is that so?” Lucius mused. The look he levelled on Antonin might have been unreadable to others, but he recognised it immediately for what it was–Lucius was concocting a plan.

“Whatever you’re thinking, I’d suggest you wait until we’ve had at least a few more sessions–”

“Pish posh, Antonin.” The way that he said the name made clear just what he thought of the recent development between Antonin and Narcissa. “If she’s made of sterner stuff like you say, then she will be just fine.”

“Who will be just fine?”

The two of them snapped to attention the moment the soft syllables poured over their simmering discussion. They’d been so intent on one another that her approach had gone completely unnoticed. Antonin’s father would have been appalled.

“I, uh–” he began.

Lucius stepped in, ever the smooth speaker. “Antonin’s mother. You should know that he is very protective of her. This distance has been difficult on both of them.”

Narcissa turned her eyes on Antonin then, a sweet smile gracing her features. “I’m sorry to hear that, Antonin. I think it’s wonderful that you and your mother are so close.” She turned back towards Lucius. “We agreed to refer to each other by our given names, if you think me too forward.”

White-blond strands bobbed as Lucius accepted her explanation, but Antonin knew none of the man’s earlier plotting had gone, but was merely delayed. “He’s as good as a brother of mine. It only makes sense that the two of you become fast friends. I trust him more than anyone outside of the family.”

Antonin could detect no lie in his words. Part of him hated that he’d thought to even listen for it, given how close he and Lucius had become since their first meeting.

“In that case,” seated at the end of Slytherin’s table as they were, Narcissa had only to walk a handful of steps before she stood on Antonin’s side, “what better place to start than now?”

And with that, she stepped over the bench, their elbows brushing one another as she settled into place.

For the life of him, Antonin could not tell what either of the other two were thinking. Lucius looked pleased, as if he couldn’t think of anything better than the two people he cared about most seated together. Narcissa, in turn, glanced at Antonin out of the corner of her eye.

Then she touched him.

The unexpected contact against his knee almost sent him flying out of his seat, but there was Lucius to consider and Antonin’s own reputation to uphold. As fast as he could, he trapped her hand against his thigh.

That’s when he felt it–a slip of paper pressed up between his fingers.

Then her hand was gone, the lingering coolness of it pulsing a straight line up his leg to–

Antonin coughed, then shoved the incriminating evidence into his pocket as discreetly as possible.

Lucius looked none the wiser to their strange exchange; he’d sprung up a conversation with what appeared to be a younger boy next to him. Antonin hurried through his meal as quickly as possible while Narcissa asked him harmless questions about his upcoming classes and plans for the following weekend. Whatever answers he gave spilled out and evaporated, gone from his memories the moment he spoke. Antonin’s mind was a mess, the bulk of which centred on one point: what was in the note?

The second he was finished and made an excuse to leave, he entered the first broom closet he could find.

His fingers trembled as he struggled to smooth out the wrinkles of the paper. How stupid would it be if he tore it? He stopped. Closed his eyes. Took one deep, steadying breath. Opened them.

Meet me in the third-floor corridor by the statue of Gunhilda tonight at 7.

Come alone.

Antonin shook his head, then read the message over three more times. The words remained the same.

What could she possibly want? His mind immediately turned to the worst-scenarios possible. Maybe she wanted his help to break free of her betrothal. Lucius trusted him, after all. What better person could distract than a best friend?

Or, what if she wanted to take back her offer of friendship? Return to formalities and maintain space? Maybe Antonin had overstepped during their lesson, and she’d used the time apart to reconsider making any further connection.

He wanted to find somewhere more comfortable to continue his self-flagellation, but his next class, Transfiguration, was one that he shared with Lucius. If Antonin didn’t show, he’d be asked about the absence later.

Antonin re-read the message a final time, then, with a snap of his fingers, vanished the note.

Chapter Text

He’d arrived too early.

Antonin showed up nearly a half hour ahead of the requested time, intent on securing their privacy for whatever it was that Narcissa had planned. So far, all he’d seen in that time was meddlesome Peeves–mentioning the Baron had sent him off–and a Hufflepuff firstie who’d blanched at Antonin’s green uniform and scurried off before he could say a word.

Now he leaned against the wall alongside Gunhilda, one foot up on the wall and his wand twirling in his fingertips. He studied the statue as he waited. While he knew of the witch’s accomplishments, he thought it a shame that they’d captured her the way they had–humped-backed, one eyed, and looking as if she would be struck down by contracting the same Dragon Pox she’d worked so hard, and ultimately failed, to eradicate. It was an odd place for Narcissa to ask to meet.

He smelled her perfume before he saw her.

It was the same combination of scents from before, sun-drenched earth and sweet florals that he recognised even if knew not the name. They reminded him of afternoons in his grandmother’s kitchen while she mixed together one of her many healing salves.

The perfume intensified, but still his eyes did not perceive Narcissa’s lovely form. Then, a ripple in the air. If he stared hard enough, he could just make out an outline against the castle rock.

“Narcissa?”

“Shh.”

Her hand clapped around his wrist. He felt her disillusionment spell wash over him. Not five seconds later, footsteps sounded on the stone. He peeked around the statue to see a small witch with mousy features looking down the corridor with a put-out expression. She huffed, then turned back the way she came.

Narcissa’s hold on him remained tight. He held his breath and counted the seconds to her explanation. She waited almost to the point of him passing out before she let go, ending the enchantment on them both.

She looked as carefully put together as always, and Antonin wouldn’t know her to feel any differently if not for the slight furrowing of her brow.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

“Violet means well, but she lacks as much common sense as she does secrecy. She reports everything to her fiance, who, in turn, reports anything about me to Lucius.”

Antonin’s wariness grew at the revelation. His suspicions for why Naricssa wanted to meet with him were beginning to sound more justified.

He drew himself up, crossing both arms over his chest. “What is it that you don’t want Lucius to know?”

Narcissa took in his stance and words and, to his disbelief, smirked. It was the first such expression he had ever seen on her face, and it completely disarmed him.

“Why, Antonin, are you imagining something inappropriate right now?”

He sputtered, instantly denying her accusation. “I am not. It’s a reasonable question given the note and cloaking spell. You’re hiding something and I want to know what it has to do with me.”

His outburst wasn’t so loud enough that they missed the sound of approaching voices. Still, he didn’t expect Narcissa to step into him, her feet standing between his own and their chests nearly flush against one another.

“What are you–”

A hand clapped over his mouth shut him up, and he watched, wide-eyed, as she leaned closer to the statue, tapped the hump with her wand, and murmured, “Dissendium.”

The statue moved, leaving an opening just wide enough for the two of them to squeeze through. The moment they had, the stone moved back into place. He could hear the voices get louder then fade, as they passed by unaware of the two students just on the other side of the wall.

This time, he was the one to cast, filling the black corridor with light. “Lumos.” The passageway went straight past the glow of his spell. “Where does this lead?”

“Honeydukes,” she said, “but that’s not why I asked you to meet me here. This was just the first place that came to mind where others wouldn’t think to look for me.”

“How do you even know of this place?” The existence of secret passageways wasn’t any surprise to Antonin. He expected it of a castle as ancient and storied as Hogwarts. He’d already found one of his own leading from the dungeon directly to the Quidditch pitch that he had yet to make proper use of.

“I’ll tell you another time.”

“You’ll tell me now.”

“No, there isn’t much time until–”

“I won’t ask you to elaborate much. Just tell me,” Antonin insisted. If he was lucky, her source would be someone he could befriend and use later.

She chewed on her lip, in obvious distress. Whoever it was, they obviously had her loyalty, which was already a mark in their favour in Antonin’s mind. “Fine. Gideon and Fabian showed me, but you have to promise to not tell Lucius–”

“The Prewett twins?” he said, shocked. He knew exactly who they were, as well as the way Lucius felt about the lions and anyone else who called them friends. “How is that even possible–”

“You said you wouldn’t push,” she said in a far sharper tone than he’d heard from her yet.

Those were not his exact words, but this entire encounter had shown Antonin just how little he knew of Narcissa Black. Rather than displease him, the knowledge of what he still had to learn only whet his appetite. He wanted to know what side the Prewetts saw–did it differ from what she put on in front of Lucius, her friends, in front of himself?

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m listening now.”

The apology seemed to have the desired effect. Her shoulders, which had started to tense, dropped, and she let out a breath. He continued to wait as she took a few more fortifying moments, before looking up at him with steel in her gaze.

“I want you to teach me how to fight.”

Antonin was confused. “Isn’t that what I’m already doing?”

She jerked her chin. “No. Not with Lucius. I want private sessions with you without the extra pressure. Just you and me.”

If Narcissa wasn’t looking at him with her big, beautiful eyes, Antonin might have clutched at his heart from the way that it seized in his chest just then. He, instead, clenched his jaw and willed himself to remain calm. Luckily for him, the poor lighting hid most of his reaction.

“I–” He coughed, spit catching in his throat. When he tried to speak again, coughs continued in an embarrassing series of eruptions. His eyes watered at the force of them, and he doubled over, attempting to cover his mouth with the crease of his arm.

A cool touch he was starting to find familiar fluttered into contact against his neck. A murmured word later, and the irritation in his throat disappeared.

“Are you alright?” She sounded close, and Antonin turned his cheek to answer, putting him face to face with her concern.

They froze, noses brushing against one another. All he had to do for their lips to touch was tilt his chin. Antonin waited for her to push him away, or perhaps put as much space between them as the narrow passage would allow.

She did neither, her lashes sweeping upward as she continued to breathe him in just as he did her.

“I swear this is where I last saw her. It’s like she vanished.”

The feminine-sounding voice came from just outside the statue. Their breathing stopped.

“You can’t apparate within school grounds. She has to be around here somewhere.”

Lucius.

Narcissa gasped, and Antonin acted on pure instinct to silence her by covering her mouth with his own.

At least, that’s what he told himself later.

Chapter Text

He half expected lips as refreshing as a cold drink of spring water, or like the snowflakes that caught and melted on his outstretched tongue. Narcissa always reminded him of home in that way with her cool hands and even cooler regard. His last warning thought was that she might evaporate at his touch, just like the snow maiden in the fairy tale.

She remained very much alive, and Antonin had been wrong.

Narcissa's lips warmed him, drawing Antonin closer into what was supposed to be a distraction from the danger outside. Rather than remain still like he’d originally intended, Antonin tilted his face for better access. She shifted like she, too, desired more, but her inexperience was clear from the way that her hands feathered along the edges of his robes and how her mouth moved hesitantly beneath his own.

That revelation put the reins on what would have been a spiral into the fantasies he’d kept firmly behind the curtains of his four-poster. Antonin indulged himself just a second longer to nibble at the plump flesh of her lower lip before he pulled back and pressed a finger to that same spot.

While she stared at him in silent obedience, her hands told a different tale. They seized hold of his open robes and tugged. When he didn’t move, she pulled harder.

Antonin jerked his head in clear denial. He wanted nothing more than to give in, to press her up against the stone wall with his thigh between hers and slide his tongue in a very different sort of lesson than she’d requested. But were he to lose his head now, there was no telling the consequences that would most assuredly strike. He shouldn’t have kissed her at all.

Perhaps some of that reget revealed itself in his gaze, because Narcissa returned the stare with fire. Winter was now summer, and Antonin felt the immediate scorch licking all along the surface of his skin.

“Search the next corridor. I’m going to get Antonin.” Lucius’ order cut through the tension, reminding them of why they were in this situation in the first place.

Antonin inwardly cursed. They needed to get out of here so that he could put himself somewhere that would make sense. He’d allow Lucius to find him, then, in turn, pretend to help him find Narcissa.

They waited until both sets of footsteps faded away before speaking.

“Will you teach me, or not?” Narcissa made no reference to what had just passed between them, but her eyes retained their earlier heat. She’d let go of his robes and now rested both palms against the solid wall behind her.

“Narcissa, forgive me for–” he began.

“Will you teach me, or not?” she repeated, one brow now arched at a steep angle. He slammed his mouth shut and nodded. “Good. Before you say anything more that you’ll regret, understand this, Antonin Dolohov.” He twitched at the sound of his name. “Nothing happened that I didn’t welcome. If I had wanted you to stop, you would know it.”

‘But–”

She growled, the uncharacteristic sound adorably feline–not that he’d dare say as such to her face–and, once again, he shut his mouth.

“You did what you had to do, and I let you. My request still stands.”

Time was running out, but Antonin took a few more breaths before responding. She still wanted to see him–to learn to fight, his conscience said in reminder–and hadn’t wanted him to stop. She was supposed to be Lucius’, but she’d welcomed Antonin into her embrace for one miraculous moment.

“I’ll teach you. This–” he gestured between them, “–won’t happen again, I promise.”

Her eyes lowered, shutting him out from reading them. Narcissa’s voice was steady as she spoke. “Go on, then. You leave first. I’ll walk in the opposite direction.”

Antonin tried not to feel rebuffed, even if he was the one who’d redrawn the line that needed to stay in place.

It wasn’t until he’d left the corridor far behind him that he reacted in any visible way at all. He fisted his robes precisely where she’d laid her hands. The scowl he wore had the added effect of steering others away from the path he cut towards the Astronomy Tower. No sooner had he made his way up to the open viewing platform, settling in and dangling both feet over the edge, then Lucius arrived.

“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

The guilt Antonin had been suppressing clawed forward, flooding his tongue with sourness. He feigned nonchalance and propped both of his arms against the railing as he looked over his shoulder to reply. “You found me, bratok. What’s going on?”

Perun forgive him.

“Would you help me look for Narcissa? I need her opinion on an assignment.”

If Antonin hadn’t overheard him earlier, he would have believed him without question. Did he know Lucius as well as he’d thought? He measured his response carefully.

“Sure, but maybe I can help. What is the assignment?”

Lucius smirked then, the deprecation of it instantly irritating Antonin. “No offence, but nobody is better than Cissa at Charms, even if she is a year younger than us.”

The rare praise wiped away his irritation. Narcissa? Skilled at Charms? The knowledge didn’t so much surprise Antonin as it did explain how she’d hidden her presence in the two instances that sprang to mind. True invisibility could only be gained by the most powerful casters or by cloaks. Even then, the effect was temporary at best. Narcissa’s disillusionment had been nearly perfect, something he’d overlooked until now. His already high esteem for her rose to even greater heights.

“No offence taken. I can see now why you’d want her to focus more on her duelling.”

Lucius snorted. “She is too soft. If she’d only apply herself, then she might even put you through your paces.”

Of that, Antonin had no doubt. She already had him questioning his resolve, and they weren’t even past their first month at Hogwarts. He didn’t like the way that Lucius phrased it, though. Antonin didn’t think her too soft, at all. She was exactly the right sort of soft, one he wanted to feel for himself–

He stood up and motioned for Lucius to lead them out of the tower. When he passed the now familiar perfume on his way to the greenhouses, he pretended ignorance.

Run away, Snegurochka.

Chapter Text

He should have been cold.

That was Narcissa’s first thought when she saw the dark-haired wizard standing alongside Lucius. They’d arrived at Hogwarts separately, she with her friends and he with his. Violet clung to her sleeve now, blathering on about her summer in the Cotswolds. Narcissa hummed and nodded at all the right times, but kept the men in her periphery.

Who was he?

She didn’t recognise him, but Lucius looked to know him well enough. Very few others earned a true smile out of her fiance, but this one did so with seemingly very little effort. However, the oddness of their intimacy was only part of the reason why she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Standing as he was, outside with the rest of the students and waiting for the doors to open, he looked completely unaffected by the chill in the air. Others huddled close together for warmth, noses tucked into upturned collars and gloved hands deep in their pockets. He, however, stood tall. His wool cloak hung open, revealing the pale column of his throat.

It was then that she noticed the black tie. He was far too tall to be a first-year student, yet he had no visible house. Meaning, he was new.

She’d moved forward without thought, leaving the neverending chatter of her friend to stand just behind him. Narcissa was tall for a witch, but he was taller yet with shoulders that seemed even broader with how he ignored the wind that threatened to tear off their cloaks.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Two sets of eyes turned her way, but she only had her sights on one pair.

All of her breath left at once, replaced instead by ultramarine pools that beckoned her into their depths. It was the sort of magnetic pull she’d only ever felt from certain magical creatures and ancient magic, a trap to ensnare and consume. She should have been afraid. Should have retreated to safety, if such a place existed.

“I am perfectly comfortable, but thank you for asking.” He inclined his head the barest amount in deference to her, the motion of it so preposterous that she nearly missed the obvious.

His voice. Deeply accented, but clearly enunciated and filled with nuances she longed to pick apart at her leisure. Another look at Lucius, and she realised the truth of this man’s identity.

“You’re Antonin Dolohov.”

His smile broke through like sunshine in an overcast sky, bathing Narcissa in its warmth and revealing dimples in his cheeks.

“I am.”

The more Narcissa learnt of Antonin Dolohov, the more he fascinated her.

He was leagues beyond any of their peers–that much was obvious just by watching him in their lessons. Nothing the professors taught seemed to surprise him, and she wondered just how far ahead all the students at Durmstrang were compared to their British cousins. Perhaps she should have gone along with her father’s initial idea of studying abroad, but, had she done so, she very well may have missed Antonin completely. She doubted it, though. She was certain that she would have noticed him no matter the setting.

Almost as curious was her betrothed and his surprising affection towards the transfer student. While she now knew of their families’ close affiliation and that Antonin had stayed at Malfoy Manor the previous summer while Narcissa was in France, that still didn’t explain the brotherly bond the two shared.

Lucius wasn’t the sort of person to allow others into his confidence. He had friends, yes. She might even consider a handful of them close. All others in his circle were pawns that he carefully handled and used at will. None of them brushed the level of intimacy he displayed with Antonin, and that special connection did not go unheeded.

Narcissa saw how they took notice, not only within Slytherin, but among the other houses, as well. Wariness seemed to be the reigning emotion–fitting, given Antonin’s unquestionable skill. It was the sort of capability that put both classmates and teachers on edge. He never gave them reason for discipline, but the thin lines of their lips and narrowed eyes never quite went away when looking at him.

Then there was Amara Zabini. She looked at Antonin Dolohov with calculation. Narcissa knew that look, too. It wouldn’t be long, now, before the other witch made her move. It bothered Narcissa how much that anticipation clawed at her; she wanted nothing more than to hex the Italian tart’s eyes and mouth shut. That the impulse came in reaction towards how Amara looked at Antonin–not from her past actions with Lucius–was a truth that Narcissa handily ignored.

She didn’t hesitate to continue towards her one-on-one with Antonin after Lucius’ Prefect duties got in the way.

Expectation simmered, filling her veins and branching outward. Narcissa felt more alive than she’d felt during those long-lost summers with her sisters.

What would it be like to cross wands with him? Would he hold back? She hoped he wouldn’t. She wanted to feel the full force of his magnificence and prove herself able. She wanted to see the whites of his eyes as he bore down on her with physicality when magic proved fruitless.

“Where would you have me, Antonin?”

He’d kissed her.

He’d kissed her, then retreated in some damnable show of chivalry she loathed with every fibre of her being.

Her first kiss.

She could still taste the hint of apricots and cherries that had lingered on his tongue. The combination was familiar and foreign. Addicting, just like him.

Narcissa planned to wring every bit of magical knowledge out of him that she could over the course of the year.

As for his promise–well, they’d see about that.

Chapter Text

Antonin never witnessed Lucius directly confront Narcissa about her disappearance, but the consequences were made clear by the following day.

If he thought Narcissa surrounded before, she most assuredly was now. There was never a moment where she wasn’t flanked by friends, followers, or Lucius, himself, who presided over his fianceé with a hand along the curve of her back or with hers tucked firmly into his elbow. She sat next to him at every meal without a voice of complaint.

As for how she treated Antonin following their little interlude, well, it was like they’d never made an agreement at all.

She spoke to him at the appropriate times, but he noticed a distinct shift in temperature. Where once he’d delighted in the refreshing tingle of her gaze, he now felt himself separated by a thick wall of ice. A strange detachment settled in her eyes each time she looked at him.

Occlumency. The art wasn’t one he practised much aside from ensuring that his thoughts remained locked within his own mental vault. Antonin had found early on that he did not much enjoy the blunted feelings that frequented heavy use of the mind magic.

Why she felt the need to do so in his presence was a question that plagued him from the moment he noticed the flattened blues of her regard. Was she afraid that he’d impose himself upon her once more? Was that why she willingly accepted her fate without giving him any sign about when or where they’d next meet?

Antonin kept waiting for another note, but days continued to pass without any further word from her. The brief elation he’d felt from their kiss and anticipation for their private lessons dimmed. Confusion turned to hurt, which, in turn, became embarrassment.

He was a fool to think she’d want anything to do with him after the way he’d thrown himself at her, no matter what she’d said afterward. She must have changed her mind once reason settled in. He was an interloper. A shapeshifter. A false friend.

“Antonin.”

He should apologise. Yes. That might chip at the ice just enough to at least return things to where they’d been before his foolishness.

“Antonin.”

He looked up, startled, at the sharpened tone. Lucius stared at him, brows raised.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Lucius huffed, looking both exasperated and affectionate as he nudged his arm against Antonin’s. “Where is your head? I was asking whether or not you’d be interested in coming to Quidditch practise with me. Maybe show off some of those flying skills for the lads.”

Antonin perked up. He had, in fact, meant to get around to the pitch earlier in the term; he’d just been so distracted by Narcissa, settling into Hogwarts, and taking note of potential allies that the thought had repeatedly slipped his mind.

“Say no more.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “When?”

Lucius’ grin was infectious as he leapt up. “Now, of course. Let’s go!”

Antonin stepped lightly, his arm slung over Lucius’ shoulders in a mirrored pose of camaraderie. Broom flight had been exactly what he’d needed to unravel his tension. When he was up in the sky, all of his concerns seemed as insignificant as the specks of students scurrying along the ground. He could pretend, just for a while, that there were no expectations. No code to obey. No ties to bind.

The other Quidditch players had been impressed with him, and none more so than Slytherin’s Captain and fellow 7th year, Flavius Flint. They’d urged Antonin to demonstrate each position before agreeing unanimously on his role as Beater.

His spot wasn’t official just yet with tryouts still to come the following week, but both Flavius and Lucius had been confident that Antonin would soon find himself wearing their team kit.

“You boys certainly look pleased with yourselves.” Narcissa’s cheek twitched as she looks at them with amusement, like she was holding back a laugh.

Lucius manoeuvred them around to her side of the table before dropping his arm and nudging Antonin towards the open seat next to her while he took the other, placing Narcissa between the two of them. This was the closest Antonin had been to her since she’d pushed him out of the secret passageway, and he found himself holding his breath as he stepped over the bench.

The instant he let it out and inhaled, he wished he hadn’t.

His vision blurred and he was, for the briefest moment, in that enclosed space once more–her body trembling before him, eyes shut and lips lifted upward in offering.

He slapped a hand down on the table hard enough to knock over the water goblet a younger student had just poured him.

“Blyat!” he spat, water already soaking into his clothing. He fumbled for his wand, but a staying hand dropped on his forearm.

“Allow me.”

Narcissa made short work of the mess while her other hand remained in place, burning into him all the while.

Lucius chuckled as he shook his head. “What did you do that for? You could have said you wanted something else. You frightened poor Reggie half to death.”

One look at the unfortunate boy proved his friend right. He clutched the pitcher in his skinny arms like he thought it might shield him from Antonin’s wrath.

“No,” Antonin shook his head, “it was my fault. I just remembered I still haven’t finished an assignment for tomorrow.” He tried to catch the other student’s eyes, which kept sliding away from him.

“Look at him properly, Regulus,” Narcissa said in rebuke.

“It’s alright. I should have asked first,” Regulus replied, meekly, but this time he held eye contact. When Antonin nodded at him, the boy flushed and applied himself once more to his meal.

“I’m sorry about my cousin–he’s always been shy,” Narcissa murmured.

All Antonin could do was grunt, all of his focus on the fingers tracing circles against his outer thigh. She’d slid her hand down onto the bench between them and maintained contact all the while. He couldn’t make sense of her actions–now, recently, before.

“It’s a good thing it was just water and not your usual fare.” Lucius continued to speak from her opposite side.

Their robes were situated in such a way that Lucius had no way of knowing what it was that Narcissa was doing, how she was torturing Antonin with the littlest finger of her hand and smiling all the while.

“Yes, what is that drink you’re so fond of, anyway?” she asked, tilting her head and batting her eyelashes. If only he could wrap her hair around one fist and tilt her face back further. Make her gasp, mouth wide open.

His cock stirred, prompting him to widen his legs. Her smile widened.

“It’s a popular drink where I come from called ‘kompot’. There’s no one recipe–the ingredients are seasonal and vary from family to family.” Was it him, or did he sound as strained as he felt?

“Like apricot and cherries,” she said, softly, almost contemplative.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Cissa, here, is quite adept in the kitchen.” Lucius looked over at her fondly. “The house-elves adore you, don’t they, love?”

“What is it that you like to make?” Antonin asked, curiosity freeing his tongue and distracting him from her light touch.

He almost regretted asking because, once he did, she retrieved that same hand to briefly touch her chin before placing it lightly on the table in front of her. “I enjoy making sweets for the girls,” she said in reference to their housemates, “and I make many of my own tinctures and salves.”

The latter, Antonin had already deduced for himself. The former, however–

“Why don’t you learn how to make this kompot of Antonin’s? You can treat it as a prize for him making the Quidditch team.”

Antonin couldn’t help but laugh at the unshakable confidence. “You praise me too highly. I haven’t made the team yet.”

“The praise is due. You earned it.” Slate grey eyes slanted towards him with a similarly angled smirk, filling Antonin with warmth. It felt good to have his flying skills acknowledged, especially for a sport he’d often been told was a waste of his time.

“I’ll make it as long as you provide detailed feedback.” Narcissa, too, looked pleased with them. For once, Antonin felt like they were all on the same team, a trio devoid of deception.

He did not feel that way when he stood in front of the mirror later that evening, alone in the dorm room, and saw the vivid green stitching along his outer trouser.

Seven o’clock. Seventh-floor, left corridor.

The stitching vanished as his fingers traced the letters.

Chapter Text

He studied the tapestry’s scene and deduced the wizard depicted within was, frankly, an idiot.

Antonin didn’t recognise the man, nor did he want to. Anyone who thought it worth their time to try and dance, of all things, with trolls was mad. The beasts obviously agreed with him, despite the monstrously pink skirts they wore, as they took turns leaping up to drop their clubs atop the unfortunate wizard’s head.

His mind wandered as he watched the scene replay itself. He’d briefly considered not showing up tonight. As much as he’d missed Narcissa’s attention, Antonin still smarted at the cold shoulder she’d presented ever since their last meeting.

He had, of course, changed his mind in the very next instant. He couldn’t bear the thought of her waiting alone in this corridor, disillusioned or not. Narcissa Black wasn’t the sort of witch you left hanging.

This time, he’d had the presence of mind to cast a net of detection magic on either end of the hallway. The threads jostled each time a student passed through, many of them on their way to Gryffindor Tower just up the next flight of stairs. His presence here might have looked odd, but another staircase on the opposite end led directly to the dungeon and, in turn, Slytherin House.

Narcissa’s cool signature vibrated up the strands and signalled her arrival, but when he turned to look, he struggled again to spot her.

“You really are quite good at that,” he said to the otherwise empty corridor.

The air rippled, then Narcissa appeared. She looked vaguely disapproving. “You could exercise similar caution yourself, you know.”

Antonin shrugged, taking perverse pleasure in the way the motion prompted her lips to form a line. “I see no reason to hide my presence.”

Pink dotted the apples of her cheeks. “You agreed to keep this a secret.”

“I did, and I will.”

That didn’t mean that he wouldn’t protest every step of the way. If Antonin had any choice in the matter, he would have told Lucius about the private lessons in a heartbeat. Surely, his friend would understand Narcissa’s need for freedom outside of judgement, especially given his earlier statements. Nonetheless, Antonin knew a losing battle when he saw one. The set of Narcissa’s jaw made clear just what it was she thought of anyone finding out about them.

“Come, tell me why you wanted to meet here. I assume it wasn’t to show me–” and here is where he grimaced and motioned towards the tapestry, “–whatever this is.”

As he’d hoped, her armour thinned to reveal a glimmer of her humour. She tossed her head, sending the mane of spun gold over her shoulder. “What? You don’t appreciate Barnabas’ efforts to teach trolls ballet?”

“It’s completely barmy.”

The last of Narcissa’s defences crumbled into a series of giggles. She clutched at her stomach as she did so, like her sides might split from her laughter.

He hadn’t thought what he had said was that funny. He had to have missed something. “What?”

She shook her head. One hand covered her mouth, the graceful curves of her fingers wrapping over her cheek.

He grumbled, then turned away to study the tapestry for any clue of the reason for her hysterics. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

There was no visible plaque naming the work, and he endeavoured to see if there was a list somewhere that noted all of the pieces within Hogwarts. Perhaps the library would have one. He felt a light tug to the back of his uniform and returned his attention to the daft witch he was starting to fear had the power to unravel him bit by bit.

Her giggling had subsided, but evidence of its passing remained in the relaxed contours of her face and the way she tilted her head in that playful way he liked so much. “I asked you here to show you something. One of my ‘secrets’, if you will.”

Given what she’d shown him last time, Antonin was intrigued. His initial scan of this corridor had yielded nothing of note. What had he missed?

“Watch.” She proceeded to walk to one side of the tapestry, close her eyes, then march forward. “I need a secure room to practise duelling.”

He looked around, puzzled as to why she spoke aloud with nobody and nothing but himself as witness.

She retraced her steps three more times, then stopped and looked expectantly towards the blank wall opposite the tapestry. Antonin moved to her side and followed her line of sight.

His breath caught at the shimmering line that appeared and created the outline of a door. When he met Narcissa’s triumphant smile, he was compelled to meet it with one of his own.

“Welcome to the Come and Go Room.”

Chapter Text

The large doors swung open silently.

The room was just as she’d requested. While the immediate entrance was left open as a buffer zone, practice dummies lined both ends at the back. Mirrors lined all of the walls, while plush mats cushioned their steps as they moved forward. There were even a few small shelves filled with books on duelling techniques and history, as well as another section of cubbies where they could store their things. Between stood a table should they choose to sit down and study.

Narcissa led him to the back before turning to face him, her previous smile lost in the unreadable expression that she now wore. “You have only to pace three times right where I did and envision whatever it is that you need, and the room will supply it. Promise me that you will tell no one about this place.”

He opened his mouth to assure her of his loyalties.

“Not even Lucius,” she added.

His mouth shut, and he swallowed hard. He did not like keeping secrets from Lucius. Doing so now would be the second time that he had done so on Narcissa’s behalf. He spoke cautiously, prepared to defend himself if necessary. “May I at least ask why?”

Emotion flickered in the twitch of an eyelid. She took a moment to reply. “Because this is one of the few places he will never find me.”

“Narcissa.” Antonin continued his slow approach, wary of spooking her. “I love Lucius. I think of him as family. But…if there’s something you’re not telling me that he’s done or said–”

“No!” She softened her voice when he flinched. “No. He would never do anything to me without my express permission. It’s just…” She chewed on her lip, visibly struggling. “You’ve seen how controlling he can be. Once he claims something, it’s his forever. Once he lets you in, there’s no going back.”

This Antonin already knew about his friend. He’d witnessed it often enough with material things–gold and other rare items–as well as immaterial things. Lucius thought of him as a brother, and, as such, trusted him. That did not mean, however, that Lucius did not in turn track Antonin’s whereabouts or actions. Lucius made it his business to remember every little detail about Antonin’s life, which, so far, had been nothing but a blessing.

Based on what he’d seen at Hogwarts, he knew Lucius to do the same for Narcissa. His name warned all others to stay away. To ignore the warnings meant you were either very brave, or in possession of a death wish.

“I swear that I will tell no one of this place.”

The stern mask she’d worn slid away at his promise. She beamed up at him now, almost convincing Antonin that he wouldn’t regret this later.

“Where should we start?”

He looked around before plopping down right where they were. “Let’s do some stretches and talk about what it is you want out of this arrangement.”

She joined him on the ground and they went through a series of exercises as they worked on identifying goals and routines. While their group sessions with Lucius would continue as planned, Narcissa’s private lessons would cater towards her own skillset.

“I have to admit that I’m not particularly strong in Legilimency. I know the basics, but lack the subtlety,” Antonin admitted.

“And your Occlumency?”

“Good enough.” The way Narcissa looked at him gave him the distinct feeling that she didn’t believe him. “What about you?”

“Would you like to find out?” She held his gaze, waiting for his permission.

At his nod, she scooted forward until she sat directly in front of him, their crossed legs mirror images of one another.

“Tell me if you notice anything.”

He nodded, then took a breath and waited. They continued to look at one another, and, if he didn’t know any better, he’d have mistaken this as a different sort of moment altogether. She appeared completely relaxed, each breath slow and steady as she blinked at him, lips curved slightly upward at the edges.

There was no telltale prodding to Antonin’s mental barrier, which he’d built up with thick castle walls like those of Durmstrang’s. Others might think Hogwarts a formidable structure, but they had clearly never been to his alma mater. He kept waiting for a sign, but felt nothing but the prickling of his own skin.

“Are you going to start?” he asked, hesitant to interrupt whatever focus she might have been gathering.

“I’m already in,” she replied softly, at complete odds with the shock he felt at her answer.

“You are?”

“Mhm.”

A shiver ran up his spine. “When?”

“From the beginning.”

Antonin frowned, then concentrated once more on the stone walls. They were still intact. No holes. No cracks. No sign that anyone had slipped through undetected. Doubt pushed him to question her further.

She beat him to it. “I can prove it.”

“I wasn’t, I mean, I didn’t–”

“You miss your mother dearly, but you worry about your brother more–”

“Narcissa–”

“You don’t want Nikolai to follow in your footsteps–”

Nobody knew about his little brother. Not even the Malfoys. “I believe you. Please, just–”

“You want him to stay home where it’s safe, where he doesn’t have to change into someone else. Do the things you will have to do–”

“Stop.” His shout shocked even him, the force of it launching him up to his feet and away from where Narcissa looked up at him, her expression turned distraught. “Stop,” he whispered, eyes now trained on the floor.

Rather than let him further increase the space between them, she jumped up to wrap her hands around his own. “Forgive me. I went too far.”

He shook his head, embarrassed now at his reaction. “No. I gave you permission. I shouldn’t have yelled the way that I did.”

“Antonin. Antonin, look at me.”

Ice blue eyes–eyes that could pierce, eyes that saw everything. What if she’s in my head right now?

He half expected her to speak directly into his mind, like his former teachers used to do. Instead, she squeezed his hands even harder. “I will never look into your mind without permission. I will never use what I saw today against you. Do you trust me?”

Do I have a choice?

“Yes.”

She patted his hand, then let go and took a large step back. “For what it’s worth, your walls will block most people. I just happen to be particularly gifted in the art. My family always has been.”

Each subsequent breath came a little easier now. Antonin regained a modicum of his previous self-assurance and managed a chuckle. “Perhaps I should be the one learning from you in that regard.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but she answered him seriously. “I can do that, if you’ll let me.”

He mused over the idea. As repelled as he was by the notion of allowing anyone, even Narcissa, into his mind, there was still a chance that what awaited him in the future would require far more than capability what he’d demonstrated today. Narcissa’s undetectable entrance proved her to be more than gifted. She was a natural. There’d be no one better to teach him. Test him.

And he might one day get the added benefit of seeing into her mind.

“Okay.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Chapter Text

He half expected her to suggest they leap into mind magic right then and there, but she surprised him once more.

Backing up several steps, she took a duelling stance. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Just like that, hm?” He chuckled as he took his place across from her. “Remember what I said about your back foot. You lean on it too much.”

“I remember.”

He waited for her to attack first–his weight evenly distributed, knees slightly bent. Standing like this with his wand in hand, he felt lighter than air. He always had, even before schooling and his father’s training. Antonin knew he wasn’t untouchable–he’d faced his fair share of pain for that to be true–but the magic waiting to be released like a whip told him otherwise.

Just as they’d discussed earlier, she made her first move without speaking a word.

The disarming spell missed by a ward margin, the flash of red striking harmlessly to his left. He hadn’t even moved, much less put up a shield charm. Antonin responded with a stinging hex, the proof of its strike evident in the sharp hiss that escaped her clenched teeth.

Were she any other opponent, he wouldn’t have been surprised to encounter embarrassment, maybe even resentment. Looking at her now, however, all he saw was an almost clinical detachment in the way she eyed his form.

Her next attack was subtle–a mere dip in her wand that would have been easily overlooked by a less-practised opponent. He was forced to side step, the banishing charm landing harmlessly where he’d just stood seconds prior.

“Good!” His chest warmed with pride at her quick learning. Silent casting would give her the edge she needed over others.

Instead of acknowledging his praise, Naricissa raised her wand once more in preparation. Also good. It was too easy to fall prey to the intoxicating feeling of accomplishment. Antonin had taken advantage of just such a celebration more times than he could count.

His knockback jinx bounced harmlessly off her shield. They continued on in this manner until she looked seconds away from collapsing on the ground. Only then did he call an end to their duel and lead her through a series of cool down stretches.

Narcissa’s skirt rode up to the middle of her thighs as she strained to reach her toes. Tights maintained her decency, but there was nothing decent about the loosened collar of her shirt, which gaped open to reveal lightly flushed skin, damp from exertion.

“If you continue to stare, I might have to hex you a bit more.”

He jerked his gaze back up, but if he thought making eye contact would put an end to his traitorous thoughts, he was woefully mistaken.

Her cheeks, too, were flushed, and several strands of spun gold had come loose from the neat braid. The hair at her temples looked damp. The sight of Narcissa Black dishevelled from duelling him–her sweat, the less-than-perfect braid, the drop in the mask she showed all others–made him want nothing more but to see her even more unravelled. What would she look like, for example, underneath him with his fingers against her, or, better yet, his fingers and tongue working to bring her to completion?

“Antonin.” She stretched his name in a warning, but playful, tone.

“I like seeing you like this.”

She didn’t have to ask him what he meant. She shook her head, smiling as she did so, before tucking her legs back into a more proper position, pulling the ribbon from her hair loose, and shaking out the fine curtain. “Don’t get too used to it. I plan on getting into much better shape. Then we’ll see who’s out of breath.”

He knew what she meant, but he couldn’t help the thrill that rushed through him at her words. He’d consider himself blessed the day she had him out of breath, because he would most assuredly steal it right back from her in an endless loop that involved nothing but them and a bed large enough for every one of his many fantasies.

He mentally slapped himself over the head.

Her braid redone and a refreshing charm cast, Narcissa looked just as perfectly put together as before. He stood and helped her to her feet. Now that they were at the end of the session, the question of how they should leave begged answering.

Now that he thought of it, how had she even arrived?

“How were you able to manage tonight? Won’t Lucius notice your absence?” Frankly, he was annoyed at himself for not asking earlier. Lucius wouldn’t think it a coincidence that his best friend and Narcissa kept disappearing at the same time.

“You needn’t worry about that.” Narcissa sauntered over to the study table and took a seat. She settled her hands in her lap, ankles crossed and angled to one side.

“And why is that?”

“I told him I’d be spending the evening with a friend.”

Antonin frowned. As far as he knew, all of her friends were well within reach of Lucius’ network. There wasn’t a single person in Slytherin who escaped his notice. Not unless…

“Which friend?” he asked.

“Molly Prewett.”

He knew about the Prewetts. Like the Malfoys and the Blacks, they were an old Pureblood family. Unlike them, they seemed happy to befriend lesser houses, even Muggleborns. He’d known of the twins, both of whom had been sorted into Gryffindor, as well as the fact that they had a sister.

“I take it she, too, is in Gryffindor?”

“You assume correctly. Gideon and Fabian are her older brothers, and I’ve been close friends with her since we were girls. Lucius wouldn’t question me staying with her since I’ve done so plenty of times in the past.”

“Does he not have any eyes in that house?” All it would take was one witness to ruin her entire plan.

“Even if he could get over his prejudice enough to do so, I already made my appearance there earlier and will be returning as soon as we’re done.”

He had to admit that she had thoroughly thought out her strategy. She knew, as well as Antonin, that Lucius had a tendency to overlook anything he thought beneath him–Muggleborns, Gryffindors, and, evidently, his own fianceè. That pride would no doubt punish him some day, perhaps at Narcissa’s own hand.

“I suppose that explains your friendship with her brothers.”

Or was there more than friendship there? The thought sprang upon him, compelling him to distract her from leaving.

That she’d learned of the castle’s secrets from them implied a relationship far closer than just that of a friend of a little sister. They had to have spent a significant amount of time around one another growing up.

Narcissa didn’t seem to notice his internal distress. “Much to Lucius’ continued annoyance, not that he would say so explicitly.”

It took everything within him to not come up with some reason for her to stay. The sooner she returned to Gryffindor Tower, the better. He waited until she’d slipped out the doors before collapsing onto the seat that she’d just vacated.

Only one lesson in, and he was already considering breaking his first promise to her.

He could do better. He would do better.

Chapter Text

Antonin sprawled out on the grass beside the Black Lake. An unseasonable warmth blessed them that day, and he’d wanted to take advantage of the sun while it lasted before winter arrived in all its glory. Moisture soaked into him from the damp earth, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t anything that a bit of magic wouldn’t fix when they were done.

“You look like a dead fish.”

He tilted his head back to smirk up at Lucius, who’d chosen to transfigure a chair rather than sit on the ground alongside him.

“When’s the last time you pulled that wand out of your arse?” Antonin joked, earning himself a glare.

“Why? Fancy a ride?” Lucius said snarkily.

“Please. I have standards.”

“I happen to be the one who sets the standard, my friend,” the other wizard drawled. Lucius proceeded to lift a strand of his platinum-blond hair in inspection.

Antonin rolled his eyes. “If I’m looking for disappointment, I’ll let you know.”

That earned him a faceful of autumn leaves. He jumped up and responded in turn, sending a small tornado of red and gold Lucius’ way.

“Not the hair!”

Antonin cackled as his opponent leaned away from the onslaught, shield charm in place. “You should’ve thought of that before you attacked me.”

“You have no idea the pains I take to create this,” Lucius said, tossing his hair in emphasis.

“I thought you were born with it, mate,” Antonin replied. He already knew the man spent far too much time on his appearance. “But I’ve seen you enough times in the morning to know that is not the case.”

“You’re so mangy, it’s no wonder your father sent you here to try and clean you up.” Lucius’ nose wrinkled as he spoke like he’d smelled something particularly distasteful.

“At least he cares for me enough to do so. Your father knows you’re hopeless.”

“Prick.”

“Muppet.”

“Whatever that is. Tosser.”

“Twat.”

“Boys.”

They snapped to attention, wands dropping and leaves returning to the ground. Narcissa still stood a good distance away, her lips pinched. The reason made itself clear when an unladylike snort escaped, which she promptly stifled with the palm of her hand.

“My sweet, what are you doing out here? You’ll catch a chill.” Lucius abandoned their quarrel to approach her, his fingers working to undo the clasp of his cloak. The moment he reached Narcissa’s side, he draped the thick wool over her shoulders.

Antonin was keenly aware of the damp patches of his uniform. He didn’t even want to know what his back looked like. He surreptitiously cast a drying charm on himself.

“There’s no need to worry. It’s plenty warm out. Isn’t that why you two are out here?” She patted Lucius’ hand that remained on her shoulder, prompting Antonin to cast his attention out towards the lake.

“This one insisted we enjoy the sun while it lasts,” Lucius explained.

Still looking away from them, but smiling at the other man’s feigned disinterest, Antonin tousled his hair to dislodge any stray twigs and leaves that might remain.

“Well, he’s right. It’s the perfect day for a stroll, hence why I’m out here.”

“Would you like us to join you?” Lucius asked.

“I don’t dare disrupt your alone time any more than I already have.” He could hear the suggestive teasing in her tone. “I’m meeting up with Violet and Beatrice, and I highly doubt either of you are interested in that type of discussion.”

On the contrary, Antonin quite enjoyed listening to witches when they thought themselves free to express themselves. More often than not, they noticed what wizards ignored. He also enjoyed seeing the ways in which Narcissa applied her dominance over the other women. She had only to make a suggestion for others to scurry about to try and please her.

“You would be correct as always.” Lucius sounded dismissive already, repelled by the mere idea of womanly talk.

“That’s what I thought. But before I go…”

Crunching footsteps turned Antonin’s head. Narcissa approached, one corner of her lips upturned and a twinkle in her eye. She stopped at an appropriate distance and beckoned with a graceful wave of her hand for him to bend his head.

He held his breath as she reached up to card through his hair in just the way he’d dreamt of, only in those scenarios they lay on the ground, his head in her lap. Crimson flashed in his periphery–as expected, he’d missed some leaves. He exhaled harshly out his nose when a stray pinky caressed the curve of one ear.

“All better now.”

He stood back to his full height to find her twirling a leaf in a pretty sunset orange. She then proceeded to pull a small book out of her pocket, into which she placed the evidence of his and Lucius’ warfare.

“Thank you.” While he wanted to do nothing more than find out what manner of reading she’d brought with her, he kept his interaction short.

She met his eyes as she slipped the volume back into her pocket, but turned away from him without another word. He wished it was his cloak that she wore on her shoulders. He wanted her surrounded in his warmth–reminded of him even when he was nowhere in sight.

Antonin watched her bid Lucius farewell, and, the moment that the wizard faced Antonin once more, hit him with a surge of wind that knocked him on his arse.

“You–”

Antonin took off in a sprint before Lucius could finish whatever boring insult he’d been about to spit. While Antonin knew his friend was willing to put in the legwork for Quidditch and duelling, he’d never seen the man sweat anywhere else.

Looking over his shoulder, he threw out an offer Lucius would struggle to refuse. “If you can land a single hit, I’ll teach you a new curse.” Antonin weaved around a boulder and laughed as the spell thrown his way hit solid stone instead.

Just to piss off the wizard even more, he kicked up a stick and lobbed it over his shoulder. The telltale expletive let him know he’d succeeded.

“You fight dirty!” Lucius screeched.

“I fight to win,” he insisted. He feinted to the side and back, causing Lucius to miss again.

It was a lesson that he needed to learn sooner rather than later. Antonin’s methods were playful now, but there was no telling how long they’d be able to enjoy themselves in this way. The rest of the school year, if they were lucky.

If not…well. At least they had this spot of sunshine.

Chapter Text

Antonin had known they’d receive a summons sooner or later, but he still found himself reluctant to leave the castle walls.

As superior as he thought the Durmstrang curriculum was to that of Hogwarts, there was an undeniable charm in the latter’s wide spaces. He still thought his former school impenetrable, but he now considered his new setting one worth his full attention. There were many secrets waiting to be discovered, not the least of which those Narcissa had already shown him.

And that’s how Lucius found him, staring down blankly at the letter he’d received earlier that morning.

“Try not to look so excited.” Lucius sounded amused, like he had no concern at all about what it was their fathers wanted.

“It’s a bother. I don’t see why they can’t be satisfied with letters and the usual school breaks.”

“Well,” Lucius started, his tone indulgent, “my father always prefers in-person reports. I’m sure yours does, too.”

Antonin hummed. Yes, his own papa was the same, though in the past he’d only demonstrated as such with those who worked for him, not with his own son. The change was yet another of many that signalled the end of Antonin’s childhood.

He vanished the letter and grabbed his cloak. The sooner they left, the sooner they could return.

They’d chosen to apparate, a privilege that Antonin still enjoyed since passing his test. Malfoy Manor looked much like it had when he’d last seen it just before the start of term. The large doors looked even more forbidding under the overcast skies that threatened to pour any second.

Lucius pushed the doors open, but only took a couple of steps before he was forced to halt.

“Young Master Lucius, young Mr Antonin! Let Robbie take your cloaks and announce your arrival.” The head house-elf held out his spindly arms, which were covered in both new and old bandages.

“There’s no need, Robbie. They’re expecting us.” Lucius tried to walk around him, only to stop once more.

“Yes, yes, they are, Master Lucius; however, Master Malfoy insisted Robbie make sure to receive you both properly.” His small figure quailed at the disgusted sound of exasperation that Lucius made, but he continued to block their path.

“Lucius, let’s not make this any more difficult than it has to be.” Antonin shucked off his cloak and handed it over, nodding his head in gratitude as Robbie plucked the covering up with his spindly fingers.

Lucius grumbled, but did as suggested. “There. Are you happy now?”

Robbie beamed up at them, then snapped his fingers–the cloaks vanished, no doubt sent to a nearby closet. “Robbie is pleased, yes.” He spun on his heel and led the way towards the Smoking Room.

At the house-elf’s announcement, the double doors swung open, revealing both of their fathers lounging in their preferred chairs.

“Ah, Lucius, Antonin. You’re earlier than expected.” Lord Abraxus Malfoy stretched his arm out towards the sofa. “Take a seat.”

Antonin would have followed his friend, but his steps instead took him towards his father. The older man stood as he approached. Even though Antonin had grown a significant amount in the past year alone, he was still forced to look up to meet his papa’s eyes.

Dark blue, the same as his own. A full beard and moustache, carefully brushed. His dark hair would have been curly like Antonin’s had he not chosen to clip it short as was the current fashion.

Rough hands that had weathered many winters and felled countless trees settled on his cheeks. His father spoke to him in their native tongue, not caring what their hosts might think.

“How are you, my boy?”

“I am good. I’m settling in well.”

He grunted in approval. “Are you still keeping up with your exercises? Don’t let yourself fall into their relaxed lifestyle.”

“I am, and I won’t. I’m stronger than ever.”

“Good.” This time, his father spoke in English, letting one hand drop as the other yanked Antonin close for a brief hug before he shoved him towards the sofa where Lucius waited, his mercurial eyes fixed on a random wall.

He looked up at Antonin’s presence. “Lord Dolohov seems pleased.”

To anyone else, Lucius’ words and tone might have sounded merely observant, perhaps even curious. Antonin, however, heard the yearning in each syllable.

“Yes. For now.”

Lucius seemed to accept that explanation, the implications of which he, too, understood.

As the first sons–in Lucius’ case, the only son–of their families, they had expectations to exceed and responsibilities to assume even before coming of age. Any approval they received was temporary at best. Their good standings would crumble at the slightest hint of failure, no matter how seemingly inconsequential.

“You are now a month into your studies at Hogwarts.” Lord Malfoy’s fingers drummed along the sides of his armchair. “What is your current standing within Slytherin?”

There were no congratulations to Antonin on his sorting. As expected, they were jumping straight into politics.

Lucius chose to speak first, as usual. “I’ve maintained the loyalties of all of the noble families and have also secured sensitive information on several more students from lesser households. They will not pose any problems for the Malfoys in the future.”

“And are there any new sympathisers?” Lord Malfoy inquired further. His voice twisted on the last word–now Antonin knew where Lucius had gotten the habit. He wondered whether or not Lucius would mention his fiancèe’s inter-house friendships, particularly with families whose loyalties were less than pure.

“None. Slytherins keep to their own.”

“As they should.”

Three sets of eyes turned now to Antonin. He’d prepared for this moment. Rehearsed the lines. Yet, his tongue sat heavy in his mouth–what he would give for a drink of water.

Almost like he’d read Antonin’s mind, Robbie appeared at his elbow holding a tea tray.

“Would Mr Antonin like some tea?”

He took the respite, breaking eye contact with the room and assuring Robbie that, no, he did not require milk or sugar. Yes, he liked his tea as is, without anything to dilute the bitterness.

His first sip seeped across the tongue like the flickerings of a fire on a cold day, fortifying him.

He looked up to find the others still waiting.

“There is much room for improvement if you are to make the most out of these witches and wizards.”

Lord Malfoy leaned forward, his elbows coming to rest atop his knees. Antonin felt Lucius shift next to him. “How so?” the older man asked.

“They are feeble, their charms more appropriate for playful sport than for combat. They do not teach nonverbal casting, much less practise it. They view mind magic almost on the same level as they view Unforgivables.”

Bushy brows furrowed as the wizard listened to Antonin list out several more weaknesses.

“I told you, Abraxas. The boys would have been better schooled at Durmstrang.”

“Yes, well, that won’t suit Riddle’s plans, now, will it?” Lord Malfoy snapped.

Again, the leather creaked as Lucius reshuffled his legs.

He really ought to control his body language, Antonin thought.

He spoke up to steer them towards calmer waters. “I’ve taken it upon myself to begin private lessons with Lucius and Narcissa. Should all go well, we will extend the offer to others.”

“Narcissa…Lucius’ betrothed?” his father asked. His tone was curious, unlike that of the response from Lord Malfoy.

“Yes, though I don’t see why Antonin bothers with her.” He turned his disapproving gaze on his son. “Better you bring in Rookwood’s boy. Or, better yet, the Lestranges. Their father tells me they’re quite clever.”

Lucius nodded, the motion jerky and the muscles along his jaw clenched tight. Antonin, in turn, kept his face pleasant as he agreed with the horrid man.

“Understood, sir.”

Understood, but not accepted.

Chapter Text

The moment the castle came within sight, an invisible weight lifted off of his shoulders. Somehow, in the short time that he’d called this place home, Hogwarts had become a comfort to Antonin.

Strict apparition rules made it so that he and Lucius were forced to trek from the borderline up to the gate. He didn’t mind. If anything, the extra distance allowed Antonin to unwind from the tension of their visit at Malfoy Manor. They’d stayed for dinner after giving their reports. Lucius would never say so, but both of them were more than happy to make their exit as darkness fell.

Their farewells mimicked their initial greetings. Lucius and Lord Malfoy did not touch one another, trading only reminders of responsibilities and expectations. In contrast, Antonin and his father had embraced one another, murmuring wishes for good health and spirits. Take care of wolves in sheep’s wool, the older man had warned, but wasn’t Antonin the wolf? What then?

They walked through the castle doors and down to the dungeons without any scrutiny other than the usual side-eyes from students in other houses. The late hour contributed to the emptier than usual corridors.

When they walked into the Slytherin Common Room, Antonin had expected only a handful of students to remain. Some of the older boys had a habit of congregating by the large central fireplace and pretending to be grown-ups with their firewhiskey. To his surprise, it was Narcissa, instead, who occupied the space. She was accompanied by a few other girls–Violet Avery, Beatrice Davis, and, surprisingly, Amara Zabini. Narcissa stood as Lucius and Antonin approached, prompting the rest to follow etiquette.

“Welcome back.”

To Antonin’s continued surprise–tonight was just full of them–Lucius took her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. The wizard wasn’t usually one for public displays of affection. Antonin wondered at the reasoning, until he noticed the way those silver eyes darted towards Amara.

If Lucius was hoping for an outburst of jealousy, he was sorely mistaken. The spider’s face remained impassive; he might as well have been a dog slobbering at its master’s hand, for all that she seemed to care.

Antonin knew Narcissa had to have noticed the exchange, but she didn’t give any indication either way other than to turn a warm smile Antonin’s way. “We were just about to head to bed. You’re welcome to take our seats when we leave.”

Truthfully, he, too, had been hoping to fall into his bed and forget about the day entirely. Standing in front of Narcissa now, however, all Antonin wanted to do was rest his head in her lap, feel her fingers brushing through his hair, and inhale her calming scent. He bit down on his lip, considering how best to convince her to stay.

“Actually, I just remembered that I need to talk to the two of you. Girls, go on without me.” She maintained eye contact with Antonin, then she bit down on her lip in a mirror of his own actions.

What he would give to be the one nibbling that tender flesh. She’d tasted so sweet last time, the moment too short for him to take full appreciation of all the delights her mouth had to offer. Given enough time, Antonin would have mapped its every crevice, suckled the succulent muscle, swallowed each sigh.

She settled into the centre of a leather sofa the moment the three of them were alone.

Antonin could have taken the sofa across from her, the obvious option, but he chose to walk around and sit at her side beside the fire. Lucius had no choice but to settle onto the only remaining cushion alongside her. If he had an issue with his friend’s decision, his face didn’t show it.

Just as Antonin was wondering what to do with his hands, Narcissa slid out the tip of her wand and muttered the incantation for the Imperturbable Charm.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Lucius said with a sigh. Contrary to his words, he visibly relaxed, his arm pressing against hers.

“I can tell that you need it. Both of you.” She reached up to encourage Lucius’ head to rest atop her shoulder. He didn’t put up much of a fight, even humming in contentment once he settled into place.

Their exchange piqued Antonin’s interest. He hadn't been sure how much Narcissa knew of the Malfoy family dynamics. Lucius wasn’t one for sharing private matters, particularly if it cast his family in a negative light. That Narcissa was aware of how it drained her fiancè and that he, in turn, accepted whatever comfort she might offer, implied a closer relationship than Antonin had observed thus far.

“You, too.”

It took him a moment to realise she was speaking to him, her face tilted in his direction with eyes that were far too discerning for her own good.

“I don’t want to impose–” he started to protest.

Before he could get all the words out, Lucius reached across her lap to grip Antonin’s cloak and yanked him closer to them. “Don’t refuse.”

Antonin was too startled to say no and, like Lucius, allowed himself to be guided by Narcissa’s cool hand against his cheek. He thought they probably looked ridiculous, two wizards curled into the same witch who hummed a familiar lullaby, each of her hands threaded with one of theirs in her lap.

They stayed to watch the dancing flames in silence until a house-elf found them fast asleep. Rather than usher them to their respective rooms, he covered them with a blanket and cast a subtle alarm to wake them long before the first students ventured back into the shared space the next morning.

Chapter Text

He watched as they bickered among themselves, these peers of his with their seemingly secure legacies and soft upbringing, wearing attitudes born from always winning and never losing where it truly mattered. Like tea overly doctored with milk, they drowned themselves in sweet assurances until not even a hint of true essence remained.

Antonin had made many mistakes. Mistakes made you stronger.

Still, the burden of showing them how wrong they were weighed heavily on him. To do so would further expose him as an outsider. Either he revealed his hand just enough to earn their respect, or he relied on the loyalties Lucius’ friendship afforded him. One involved far less work on his part. He simply wished to enjoy his temporary sanctuary just a little while longer, orders be damned.

He sat where he always did in the Great Hall, the claim invisible, yet fixed–three seats down from the end of the table closest to the doors. The final spot was reserved for Lucius, who insisted Narcissa sit between them. The placements across from them rotated depending on Lucius’ moods. Most of the time, they were occupied by his closest followers. Occasionally, relatives–like Regulus Black or the Lestrange brothers, the eldest of which was betrothed to one of Narcissa’s sisters–took priority.

Today was an example of the latter, except in place of Regulus sat Augustus Rookwood.

Rodolphus and Rabastan shared a closeness that was readily apparent, and Antonin had already deemed them pliable tools. Augustus, however, spoke very little unless directly addressed. There was no question as to his intelligence; he regularly scored high marks and spent much of his time alone in the library, nose buried in a book.

But his steady eyes and the line of his mouth…they reminded Antonin of himself.

He wasn’t ready, yet, to widen his circle of students. The day that he was…

“Are you looking forward to tryouts?”

He turned his attention to Narcissa, who looked up at him expectantly.

“You mean for Quidditch?”

“Of course she means Quidditch,” Lucius said with a laugh. “What else would she mean? The Frog Choir?”

“I’m a bit nervous,” Antonin admitted.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You?”

“Even I get nervous sometimes.”

She seemed to understand that it was not only Quidditch to which he referred, cheeks pinkening prettily before she took a slightly hastier than usual sip of her breakfast tea.

“It’s like I said before–you’re as good as part of the team already.” Lucius spoke more loudly than Antonin would have liked.

There were plenty of hopefuls at the table who would not take kindly to the thought of decisions already made before they’d even gotten a chance to prove themselves. The last thing Antonin needed was yet another reason to watch his back, especially within his own house.

“Is he truly that good?” Rabastan asked. He was the only one to show interest in their conversation, the other boys wholly absorbed in their own thoughts.

“You’ll see for yourself,” Lucius taunted, a mean little smirk on his face.

Narcissa set down her tea before speaking and turned once more in Antonin’s direction. “Well, I’ll be there. Let me know if there’s anything I can bring you–a drink, perhaps something to eat.”

Her care warmed his heart, even if he knew she was there as was expected of Lucius’ betrothed. It was to Antonin that she spoke, not her fiancè.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

What he really wanted was to hear his name on her lips, but that was never going to happen in the way he wished most. She was bound to wear Lucius’ name on her back and his victory kiss at the end of each match. The best Antonin could hope for was a congratulatory hug, if she would be so bold.

“Narcissa leads Slytherin’s cheer team,” Lucius went on to explain, which was news to Antonin.

He looked at her with a renewed imagination that included a shorter hemline twirling in time to the chants of fans. She returned his raised brow with one of her own.

“Is that so,” he murmured.

What had promised to be an entertaining-enough distraction was now additional motivation for how Antonin might earn her esteem. With Narcissa cheering, there was no way he could allow anyone else to win. He’d pull out every trick, master any technique, and apply his analytical skills to each one of his opponents.

In fact, wasn’t Quidditch another, more playful, way to strengthen allies and identify threats–the very same mission he was meant to undertake? Some of his closest friends back home had been made with nothing but an open field and a single ball. Those were some of his happiest memories, only instead of Nikolai yelling from the sidelines, there’d be Narcissa…possibly in a short skirt.

“I’d like to hear you cheer for me.” He said the words for her ears alone.

She promptly took another sip of tea.

Chapter Text

This time, he was the one to message her.

He’d gotten the idea from the leaf she’d pressed into her little book that day at the lake. Antonin had faith that she would figure out how to undo the special bit of transfiguration that he’d used to create the flower that was her namesake. Once she did so, she’d find a note with a time for their next lesson.

He was particularly proud of the charm because once the message was received, it would become a flower once more and wither away much like any other, nobody else the wiser.

Now that he thought on it, he wished he could sit in on that explanation–how would she rationalise the occasional offering to her roommates other than to pin the gesture on Lucius or reference some secret admirer? Lucius certainly had the romantic inclinations for just such a sentimental act, but Antonin doubted she’d take that route in case her betrothed caught wind of the lie.

No, better to attribute the gift to a stranger, or perhaps a younger, admiring student. Narcissa was a bit of a celebrity from what Antonin had seen. He had only to watch her walk down a corridor and count the number of heads that turned to follow in her wake.

The doors opened silently as they always did. He might have missed her had he applied himself to the training dummies, but he’d chosen to wait at the study table instead.

Her cheek twitched, then smoothed out to practised passivity. Antonin wanted to poke at the soft expanse, feel the warmth he knew rested beneath the surface.

“Did you wait long?” she asked, coming to join him at the table.

“Nyet. I wouldn’t have minded, either way.”

Her eyes flickered; another tell, the motions of which Antonin catalogued meticulously along with every one of her sounds and scents. Others wouldn’t notice, but they were blind as humans all too frequently tended to be.

“Thank you for the flower.”

He didn’t hide his smile, letting it unfurl in that way that always resulted in a caught breath. She did not disappoint him.

“You’re welcome. You will receive more.”

She nodded, like him doing so was only natural, but he didn’t miss the tinge of colour rising up her neck, nor the heavy swallow jerking along its graceful bend.

“Where do you plan to start today?” Her change of subject came abruptly, but he let the moment slip by–after all, this was why they were here in the first place.

He stood, holding out a hand in invitation, which she readily took, and led her towards the back of the room. Just like in their first lesson, they began a series of stretches to warm up.

“I thought we’d continue strengthening your nonverbal casting, then discuss applying mind magic to combat.”

His words had their intended effect.

Narcissa’s eyes widened, but she did not recoil like others might have at the suggestion. Mind magic in itself was already a rare art, and one that often garnered disapproval.

Unless it suited the disapproving, that is.

Antonin recalled with bitterness how quick Ministry officials were to suggest Obliviation whenever Muggles were involved. Mention the same for witches and wizards? Suddenly, the spell was taboo, not to be used by anyone not wearing a convenient badge.

That same hypocrisy followed Legilimency and Occlumency, despite Law Enforcement’s infamous use of both when deemed appropriate. Antonin and Lucius’ fathers had shared stories of how their allies were subjected to mind reading and memory extraction, all in the name of justice. The methods used were long and drawn out, Aurors seeming to prefer the pain that came from force despite there being gentler ways of obtaining the desired outcome.

Antonin planned for anyone he taught and stood beside to be equipped with the proper tools to defend themselves–starting with Narcissa.

Given what she’d already shown him, he suspected she already outstripped his mental abilities. Still, he wanted, no, needed, to see the proof of that for himself.

“Is such a thing possible?” Her question came out nearly a whisper, like she feared lending voice to idea would bring it to fruition.

“Yes.”

How could he have forgotten about the witch who had delved into the deepest recesses of his mind quieter than a whisper, as unseen as a shadow? She looked up at him now with unmistakable voracity, lips parted and pupils dilated. If not for the promise she’d made him on this very subject, he might have suspected her of sliding right past his shocked regard to bathe in his internal ramblings, each of which demanded reciprocation.

“Teach me.”

Chapter Text

He probably didn’t need to stand so close for their demonstration, but Antonin did so anyway. Eye contact and a distraction were excellent excuses, not that he needed them. He could see she was just as affected as he.

They stood facing one another, wands held loosely at their sides. Antonin could clearly see the halo of frost around her enlarged pupils and the slight flare of her nostrils the longer he waited to speak.

He luxuriated in the stillness a few heartbeats longer.

“I have no doubt you’ll notice when I attempt to enter your mind, but humour me.” He’d be lucky if he could even find a crack in her defences this first time.

Narcissa nodded, then took a moment to shake out her shoulders before looking him square in the eye once more. That was his queue.

He went with an exploratory approach, brushing his mind against hers to check that her Occlumency shields were in place. As expected, he met with firm resistance. He wanted to laugh in appreciation, but held the sound in check. It wouldn’t do to praise too early before the true lesson had even begun.

He pushed harder, but she remained strong. Her barrier refused to bend, which could be a good or bad thing as Inflexibility lent to shattering when enough force was used. Antonin didn’t like to go that far, but they had spoken about this beforehand and she knew to expect it.

His assault took on the image of his father’s axe–carefully honed and swung at a perfect arc, there was no tree it could not fell. Antonin focused on one point and issued a series of sharp downswings meant to weaken and split even the most formidable.

Narcissa’s breaths remained even and unbothered. Rather than cower under the barrage, she blinked, the motion languid and lacking any concern.

Antonin had mentioned a distraction, but hadn’t gone into specifics.

If she was surprised at the lull in his magic, she didn’t show it. She almost seemed curious as she watched him lean even closer, her eyelashes fluttering just the once as Antonin’s breath ghosted over the curve of her cheek. He passed by her lips. They were not his goal.

The graceful curve of her neck called to him, one he answered with a warm exhale that left goosebumps in its wake. The temptation to bite down just so, to suck her life’s essence to the surface, to bruise and claim, nearly won out. Antonin seized hold of the urge.

Instead, he breathed in deep, revelling in the natural sweetness of flesh. Then he brought his eyes back up to meet hers.

“Antonin–”

“Shhh.”

It was cute the way her eyes almost crossed as he pressed a finger to her lips. They snapped back up the moment his free hand settled against the hollow of her back. He pulled her hips flush against his so she could feel the hardened ridge of his arousal. A small sound escaped her, part gasp, part whimper, and hands landed against his side as if to brace herself.

Then, he was in.

The nigh impenetrable barrier parted like velvet curtains to reveal a stage to her inner thoughts. He was startled to find himself prominently displayed, only a version of himself he hadn’t expected to see. This Antonin appeared unburdened by the weight of expectations. This was the Antonin who ran along the lake tossing leaves back at Lucius. The Antonin who trembled before a witch who’d seen too much. This Antonin was shrouded with warmth and, yes, the thrum of desire he felt everyday at Narcissa’s side.

“You see,” he closed his eyes, severing the connection, to rest his forehead to her own, “no defence is without weakness.”

She let him hold her like that without protest. The hand he’d held to her lips now threaded through the twists of her braid. It wasn’t until he began to pull away that she resisted, nails digging into his sides so hard he chuckled.

“Your claws hurt.”

“You deserve it.” Her reply sounded muffled, the reasoning becoming clear once he realised she’d buried her face in his chest.

“Why do I deserve it?” he teased. He stopped trying to pull away and let his hands settle at her hips.

“You saw.”

He didn’t bother disputing her. “Isn’t that the point?”

She answered him with a release and push. Only the tingle of her body heat remained to remind him of the perfect way in which they’d fitted together. Other than her mussed hair, there was nothing else to hint at his success.

But her eyes snapped like crackling ice.

“Let’s not be hasty–” His warning choked tight at the slender hand that gripped him between the legs.

Somehow, he had failed to expect this.

She literally held his life in her hands, and he could do nothing but swallow at the thought of how tiny she felt against the beast that fought to free itself from his cage. Only, the cage was his mind, and she was already past the bars, circling him with whip in hand.

This, too, had been discussed. He’d assured her that she had his permission to enter his thoughts just so long as she did not go searching for any more information about his family. With that promise in mind, he still could not help the unease from how easily she’d entered his mind. His Occlumency might as well have been nonexistent.

A flick of her wrist, then a crack. The tail of her whip lashed the ground by his feet. He did not move. He might be helpless against her Legilimency, but he refused to give any further ground. He did what he had been trained to do in instances like these–he offered her memories of likely interest.

Lucius’ head resting on his shoulder after a particularly long day.

The rush of wind as Antonin fell in a freefall, his broom clutched between his thighs.

Soft, eager lips against his own tasting of the tea Narcissa drank at the end of her meals.

Heads tilting for deeper access. Fingers clutching robes. Murmurs beyond a stone wall. And a promise. A promise that he had made.

The tendrils that had worked their way around him hesitated, then reluctantly pulled back.

When Antonin opened his eyes, it was to find Narcissa’s back to him and a handful of paces between them.

He glared down at his still hardened cock. Read the room, you bastard. It twitched, stubborn thing.

“I–” he coughed, then started again, “I think that went well.”

Chapter Text

Narcissa’s snort was delicate in a way that only she could pull off. “If by ‘well’ you mean my understanding that distraction leaves the mind vulnerable, then, yes, you are correct.”

She’d turned back around with her chin lifted, eyes snagging as they worked down his figure on his persistent protrusion. Antonin fought the urge to rearrange himself.

If she wanted to look, who was he to stop her?

“Good. That’s...good.” He sounded hoarse. How much more of his body was going to betray him? The ache between his legs was beginning to seriously cramp the facade he’d worked so hard to perfect.

That pale, delicate hand that had gripped him with surprising strength hovered between them now as Narcissa curled and flexed the fingers. Then she dropped it to meet his stare, defiance daunting.

“I doubt I’m meant to seduce every one of my opponents, am I?”

Just one.

“No.”

“Was that the only example you could come up with?” Her voice was leading, the tip of her shoe tracing along the ground as she waited for his answer.

He swallowed. He could do with a drink of water. “It was the first one.”

She hummed. Antonin wondered whether or not she expected him to apologise. His actions had been incredibly forward, not that he regretted any of them. Her hips had folded around him just like he’d imagined they would. Well, he did regret that he didn’t get the chance to pin her to the wall just like that night in the passageway, to press upward and satisfy them both like he knew he could.

And her hand…fuck.

She was strong, not that he’d held any doubt, her grip unyielding. She could have led him around just like that and he’d have died a happy man.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time anybody gets too close.” Her eyes danced for reasons unknown.

Antonin frowned, mind following the thread to a scenario he could not, would not, allow. “I would kill anyone who even tried to–”

It was his turn to stumble into baffled silence when she moved forward, one hand clutching the front of his shirt for balance, the other covering his mouth. She jerked her head, mirth now dissipated.

“That’s not what I meant, and I don’t want anyone, especially you, killing anybody on my behalf. Don’t ever say that.”

She stared intently at him as if expecting his agreement, but he refused to give it. She must have realised the futility of her efforts, sighing as she dropped her hand. He caught it before she could pull away.

“Antonin–”

“I mean it. If they ever,” he paused to swallow away the anger that bubbled over at the very idea of anyone forcing themselves on her, “if they ever dared touch you, or Lucius, my mother, my brother, I would kill them.”

She closed her eyes as he spoke, her acceptance a shudder that ran the course of her body. When she opened them and smiled, he wasn’t quite sure how to read her expression. There was a twist to her lips that reminded him of the way his mother looked at his papa. Was it sadness? Wistfulness? Why did she look at him like that?

Narcissa spoke gently now, again, so much like Antonin’s mother that it spooked him, “I only meant that Legilimency in combat seems like it’d be limited to extremely rare instances. Distance, eye contact, the environment–they’re all negative influences.”

The hand against his chest had flattened out and shifted to rest above his heart. He liked the idea of her feeling the blood pumping into him. Could she feel it stutter at her closeness? Did she know it beat like that because of her?

He tightened his hold on her. He knew he should let go and step back, but his body refused to obey.

“You can learn to adjust to all of that. With practice, you’ll be able to dive into your enemy’s mind over a great distance while maintaining awareness of your surroundings.”

There. Her eyes glinted. Her interest had been re-ignited.

“And you know this because?”

“Because I’ve experienced it firsthand.”

“Who?”

“My father.”

Her regard softened. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He didn’t even have to tell her how painful those lessons had been. She knew because he’d demonstrated as such. His father was not a natural like her; there was a reason Antonin’s form of Occlumency had taken on the shape of an axe.

Still, he was grateful. Without the training, he would not be the wizard he was now.

He cleared his throat and finally let go, breaking the spell of closeness.

“We go again. Only, this time, more space and a different form of distraction.”

Chapter Text

They’d continued their combined mental and physical combat until it was Antonin who begged relief, and they parted ways. Despite Narcissa’s gentle approach, a debilitating headache had steadily bloomed. His father would have been ashamed of Antonin’s concession, but, then again, Ilya Dolohov had never encountered a witch like Narcissa.

While the Dark Lord assuredly used his own methods of Legilimency, Antonin doubted there was much subtlety involved. Why hide your entrance when you could break the door down completely? If Antonin and his father’s weapon was an axe, then he imagined the Dark Lord’s to be a morning star–devastation in a single strike.

He nursed the persistent throbbing until Lucius later found his company so obnoxious that he threatened to drown Antonin in the Black Lake if he didn’t take a pain potion. The relief had been immediate. Lucius didn’t press for the why of Antonin’s headache; he was too busy hyping up anyone who would listen for the upcoming Quidditch tryouts.

The next day opened to perfect conditions–clear, blue skies with a smattering of clouds and the sort of breeze that Antonin longed to dive into headfirst. He’d get his chance, just like everyone else, as well as whatever gruelling drills the captain demanded.

Flavius Flint looked as if he’d gotten all of five minutes of sleep the previous night. Bad news for him. Bad news for aspiring players.

He scowled at the lot of them, and, if Antonin hadn’t already met him earlier, he would’ve thought the 7th year incapable of smiling.

“Welcome to Slytherin tryouts.” The sneer on his face said otherwise. “That you’re here today means you think yourself good enough to join the team, which I promise, for most of you, is far from the truth.”

Antonin held back his snort at the way some of the others shifted on their brooms. If they were unsettled by this, then Flavius was spot on.

They’d already warmed up earlier with stretches led by Thorfinn Rowle, one of the team’s more intimidating members. While he was a couple of years younger than Antonin, he looked like he should’ve already graduated and played for a professional team. Antonin recognised the family name and had kept an eye on the wizard for several weeks now. He was…promising.

Rabastan Lestrange also stood in attendance this time around, grinning and chatting like he didn’t have a care in the world. He didn’t quite live up to Lord Malfoy’s endorsement, but Antonin had to admit that there was a certain charm about him that could be useful.

He picked over the rest of the current team members in turn, weighing what he knew about their families with what he’d learned since enrolling at Hogwarts and saw before him now. Most of them would be loyal soldiers. Stupid, but loyal. A decent number with middling intelligence would fill the roles needed within the Ministry, as well as outside of it. There were lucrative businesses to control behind the scenes.

Then there were the select few, those hand chosen by the Dark Lord himself. Antonin supposed he was one such example, even if he’d never met the man face to face. He had only his father’s word and reputation to go by–how else could they have found backing from one of the most influential Pureblood families in Europe? The Malfoys did not bother with anything or anyone less than the best.

“On your brooms!” This time it was Lucius barking the order. Flavius already hovered in the air behind him, arms crossed and maintaining balance.

Antonin joined the other recruits as they mounted up and took to the sky. Speed, agility, dives, loops–they did them all. Flavius and Lucius showed no pity, pushing them until some of the weaker fliers nearly fell off of their brooms in exhaustion. They were immediately removed from the running. A whistle sounded, signalling a long-awaited break. While some collapsed on the ground and whatever benches they could find, Antonin chose to remain standing as he carefully measured each mouthful of water.

Despite the slough of competition, several hopefuls still remained. Antonin wondered what other methods Flavius would use to separate them. Were he the captain, he knew what he would do.

“Alright, break’s over! We’re going to hold a mock match–listen for your name to be called and separate accordingly.”

Antonin nodded approvingly at Flavius’ choice. Lucius caught his eye and winked.

They were evenly split into two groups. Antonin found himself paired up with Thorfinn as their team’s Beaters. Unsurprisingly, Lucius ended up his Seeker. The rest of the available positions.were rounded out by Vaughn Avery, Harland Mulciber, and Evan Rosier as Chasers and Wyatt Wilkes as Keeper.

The opposition included the team captain himself as Keeper, the Lestrange brothers and a scrawny Severus Snape as Chasers, Augustus and Malcom Snyde as Beaters, and, somewhat surprisingly, young Regulus as Seeker.

There were a good handful more players on the sidelines who would swap in as ordered until everyone had a chance to show what they were made of. Antonin frowned when he noticed only a couple of girls remained. He’d been certain there were more at the start, many of them quite skilled. Amara and Beatrice scowled like they, too, smelled something rank.

“Dolohov, get your arse over here!” Thorfinn called, teeth gleaming white against sun-tanned skin.

It was time to play.

Chapter Text

The results came as no surprise–Antonin not only made the Slytherin Quidditch team, but he’d bumped Augustus off first string. The other boy said nothing. Still, every one of Antonin’s instincts warned him to watch his back; there’d been darkness lurking behind that blank expression.

Both Amara and Beatrice had also made the team, albeit as reserves. Antonin thought they absolutely deserved better given what he’d seen during tryouts. Being the outsider that he was, though, he wasn’t going to make a fuss about it. Yet.

Narcissa congratulated him with a peck on the cheek while Lucius looked on with a proud grin. The three of them were alone again for another duelling session. Lucius had insisted they try to come together at least once a week. For reasons unknown, he had yet to suggest bringing in any of the other boys.

Antonin had his suspicions. Outwardly, Lucius was the epitome of graciousness towards the people he deemed worthy. He had a gift for making someone feel like the centre of the world.

Inwardly, however?

Lucius craved privacy. He sought out Antonin when social games became too much. They’d drink their respective poisons, muse about the shortcomings of the status quo, and make grand plans for a better, less restrictive, future.

“You’re looking better, Cissa. Have you been practising on your own?” Lucius asked, his eyes appraising his betrothed after she’d easily sidestepped one of his attacks.

“I have. Flipendo!”

Lucius threw a shield up just in time. The force wasn’t so much that it could push the wizard back, but he still looked surprised at the suddenness of the jinx. If he only knew how much Narcissa had improved; Antonin would have immediately parried with a combination of hexes since single attacks hardly phased the witch anymore.

He watched as the two traded spells, giving advice and demonstrating as needed. Antonin wished for the conveniences the Come and Go Room provided. The school’s duelling room served its purpose well enough, but it wasn’t often that they could reserve the space like they had today. They more commonly ended up back in one of the unused classrooms, or, if the weather was good, outside on the training grounds.

He occasionally swapped places with one of them so they could each take a break and observe. This was something he wished they did more in class–much of what Antonin learned growing up had come from watching others, picking up what didn’t work, and trying to improve upon what did.

Lucius was good with a wand; there was no doubt about that. He did still have a bad tendency to gloat at every success, and Narcissa noticed.

He slipped a jelly-legs curse past her defences and turned triumphantly towards Antonin as she began to sink downward. Without hesitating, Narcissa shot a full-body bind that hit Lucius dead on. She followed the spell with a cushioning charm, before turning her wand on herself to cast a counter-curse.

Antonin was the first to stroll over to the defeated opponent, crouching to gently roll him over. He couldn’t help his grin at the man’s look of utter shock. “What did I tell you about celebrating too early?”

Lucius could only blink in response.

“Antonin, stop teasing him.” Narcissa joined them and released Lucius from the bind. “You’re not wrong, though.”

Both Antonin and Narcissa stiffened at a snort that came from an unexpected source. One snort turned into two, then from two into a sustained laugh that had Lucius rolling onto his side and clutching his stomach. They looked at one another, baffled.

“Did you sneak in a laughing curse, too?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I didn’t. This is all him.”

“Lucius!” Antonin thumped him on the arm for emphasis. “What is this madness?”

“I apologise, I’m just–” Lucius snorted once more, then finally sat up to lean against the wall. “I just imagined the look on my father’s face were he here to witness this. I can’t tell if he’d throw me in the dungeon as punishment, or break off the engagement from embarrassment.”

Antonin sneaked a look up and caught the way Narcissa’s lips twitched. She didn’t say anything.

“Well, if he did the latter, Papa would strongly encourage me to propose before Lord Malfoy realised his mistake.”

He couldn’t tell if her sharp intake of breath was for or against the idea. Lucius, however, threw his head back to laugh again. “Now that would be an upset. I wouldn’t even begrudge you for doing so.”

Antonin felt bad they were discussing her like she wasn’t right there, standing beside them. That feeling didn’t stop him from wishing things played out just like that, though. He stood up and helped Lucius get to his feet. When he finally turned to look at her, Narcissa appeared…

…not against the idea.

Her cheeks were pink and both hands gripped her wand in a way that Antonin now recognised as a way of centring herself. Lucius, however, read her expression as one of anxiety.

“Don’t worry, my love. There’s no one else for me.” He brushed his lips across the knuckles of her hand.

Antonin met her eyes atop Lucius’ bent head. Does she wonder if I feel the same?

Chapter Text

Everything was in its right place.

They were now two months into the school year, Lucius had his best friend and fiancée at his side, and the future was laid out before him like a veritable banquet. There was only one problem.

He wanted what he could not have.

Oh, he bathed in the status that was his birthright. Life as a Malfoy brought unparalleled privilege that was only second to the Blacks now that the older families had died out from their ridiculous inbreeding. When it came to wealth, however, the Malfoys truly had no equal within magical Britain.

Their connections extended into Europe and the Americas, even so far as Asia. Anyone who didn’t bother with the outside world, magical and Muggle, was a fool. Britain was small, both literally and geopolitically. The Malfoys knew better than to isolate themselves with no means of escape. They had survived the persecution, plagues, and wars of the past. They would do so again.

Much of that success undoubtedly came from marriages just like the one proposed between himself and Narcissa. They’d known of their future almost from the beginning—they were only infants when Lords Malfoy and Black had begun their plotting while the ladies took tea in parlours and gardens.

He’d always liked Narcissa the most of the Black sisters. She noticed him when others did not, lent a soft hand to scraped knees, covered for him whenever he tracked mud across the rug or broke a priceless heirloom. He could tell her things he couldn’t tell anybody else—not his mother, not his father, not Thaddeus, nor Rodolphus. He loved her.

He loved her, but he did not crave her.

He knew it. She knew it. She did not begrudge him for it.

Lucius dreamt of crimson spirals and eyes the colour of a clear summer sky. He yearned for dimpled cheeks flushed because of him with rage, or excitement, or a combination of both.

He could not have what he craved, not in this lifetime or the next, so he indulged elsewhere as was his privilege and duty. He should arrive on his wedding night having already mastered the skills to satisfy his understanding bride.

The bed shifted as the witch he’d just spent the last hour shagging reached for her clothing. What little light shone through the drawn curtains attested to the early hour.

”Leaving without even saying goodbye?” Lucius smirked at the look thrown at him over one shoulder.

”I thought I already did,” she replied just as saucily, running dark eyes down his naked body. His cock stirred in interest.

He snagged hold of her wrist before she could slip away, tugging hard.

”Lucy!”

“Give me one more.”

Tight black curls spread across his pillow, thick as the forest floor. If he closed his eyes, they brightened and loosened until they looked just like hers. He could pretend the flesh filling each hand was milky white and sprinkled with freckles more numerous than stars in the sky.

“Ah! Mmmm, Lucius—“ When he squeezed just so, her too-sultry moans turned into choked whimpers.

He didn’t want to hear Amara’s voice, not when he was balls deep and envisioning a different witch entirely squirming beneath him. He wouldn’t say her name. But he could imagine.

There was no harm in that.

The door to their dormitory room slid shut without a sound.

Lucius had not only convinced her to stay, he’d even gotten her to swallow him down at the end. He felt sated.

“Use silencio next time, Lucy.” The nickname sounded patronising as Antonin glared at him from his own four-poster, hair mussed like he’d been tossing and turning the entire night. He probably had given the complaint.

Lucius couldn’t help grinning at his misfortune. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did we keep you awake?”

”As if I could fall asleep with all that grunting and groaning like a man on the verge of dying.”

Lucius tossed his pillow across the room, straight into the disgruntled face. “Smell that? That’s the scent of a satisfied witch.”

The pillow came flying back at him with enough force to knock Lucius onto his mattress.

”If it were me, that pillow would be drenched,” Antonin taunted.

Lucius scoffed, then flattened his palm to the cushion. It was damp, but not soaked. Humming thoughtfully, he hit it with a scourgify. He rolled over to look once more towards Antonin’s bed where the other wizard still sat looking at him. “It could be you if you weren’t so particular.”

Antonin shrugged. “I told you I’m not interested.”

While Lucius could understand not feeling drawn to just anyone, he was still a wizard. He still had urges.

Almost like he could read Lucius’ mind, Antonin rolled his eyes. “Go to sleep and stop worrying your pretty head about my cock.”

”I am not worried about your cock!” Lucius spat.

”Good night, Lucius.” Antonin’s curtain snapped shut with finality.

Lucius was tempted to vanish the barrier out of spite, but he held back. He knew Antonin. Lucius very much wanted to enjoy the coming week, especially with their first Quidditch game on the horizon. He had been a bit of an arse earlier, and it wasn’t like this was the first time he’d brought a witch into their shared room, nor would it be the last.

Stretching out onto his bed, he let himself drift into sleep, mind blissfully blank.

Chapter Text

Antonin still felt a bit groggy from lack of sleep thanks to Lucius’ irritating habit of forgetting basic silencing charms. Antonin would have cast them himself if he’d known ahead of time, but that was like expecting snow in July or blooming flowers in February. It would probably be smarter to just cast them every night.

If he were the one betrothed to Narcissa, there’d be no other lovers.

That wasn’t to say that he lacked experience. He’d learned and practised, just like Lucius was presumably doing now.

Antonin felt trapped between his guilt as a friend and relief as a man who wanted what he could not have. There was zero chance of the engagement breaking off. Still, Antonin dreamt of a future where he somehow kept both by his side, one as his lover, the other as his brother.

“Are you unwell?”

He looked up from his plate. Narcissa bit her lip, her usually smooth features bunched up out of apparent concern for him.

“I’m fine. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said sympathetically.

The cause of his unrest angled his head around Narcissa, a twinkle in his eye. “I slept fantastic last night. Maybe you haven’t been exerting yourself enough.”

Narcissa nodded before Antonin could retort. “I also usually sleep better after a busy day. Lucius might be onto something.”

He wanted nothing more than to reach across her plate and punch Lucius in the face.

He settled for the next best thing.

“Thank you, Narcissa. Maybe you can help. After all, it takes a lot to…exhaust…me.” Antonin reached up to brush a loose hair behind her ear, letting his fingers trail across the soft skin of her jaw before pulling away. Pleasure unfurled at the way her breath caught.

When he turned his attention back towards Lucius, he expected, at the minimum, annoyance, or maybe even jealousy. He was surprised to find neither. In fact, Lucius didn’t look bothered at all. He rolled his eyes like their actions were all an act.

“Very funny. There are plenty of other witches who’d be more than happy to take some of your time if you’d only pull your head out of your arse.”

Narcissa stilled. Antonin held himself back from touching her again in reassurance. It wasn’t like she was his to do so, anyway. He was more concerned that she was upset after Lucius had basically stated his own indiscretions for everyone to hear. Was she not as aware of her fiance’s affairs as Antonin had thought?

Lucius continued to look at him in expectation.

“It’s like I said before: none of them interest me,” Antonin answered.

The wizard opened his mouth to speak, but Narcissa stepped in before he could do so. “If you’re looking to keep yourself busy, why don’t you join me tonight while Lucius has his Prefect duties?”

The responding laugh was swift and made perfectly clear how Lucius felt about that idea. “Do you really think he wants to spend time with a bunch of insufferable Gryffindors? You were planning to visit that Prewett girl, weren’t you?”

Antonin didn’t like his tone of voice, nor the sneer gracing his friend’s face. Narcissa, however, held firm.

“I think Antonin is more than capable of making up his own mind rather than letting others decide for him.”

Now they both looked at him, and, once again, Antonin was trapped between opposing forces.

He could agree with Lucius and cement his loyalty, or he could agree with Narcissa and learn more about these Prewetts. Maybe if he phrased this right, he could convince Lucius to see this as an opportunity rather than a punishment.

“You have friends in the other houses, don’t you, Lucius?” He adjusted his voice to sound appropriately contemplative.

“Yes. Why?” The other man still sounded irritated, but it was tempered now with curiosity.

He ignored the question to pose another. “What about Gryffindor?”

Another scoff, like Lucius couldn’t be bothered. “What about Gryffindor? The whole lot of them are Muggle sympathisers and utterly without taste or manners.”

“This could be our chance to see if there’s anyone or anything of note. That way, if asked, we can speak from experience.”

He could tell his words were taking root in the way that Lucius paused before replying. Antonin took a sip of his tea and waited.

“Say I agree with you–”

Success.

“–will you promise to stay by Narcissa’s side?”

His immediate instinct was to answer, “Yes, of course!”, but Narcissa cut in, her reaction even more scathing than Lucius’ earlier.

“Why does that matter? I’ve visited with Molly plenty of times before unchaperoned.”

“That’s because, darling, I didn’t have anyone self-sacrificing enough to keep you company.” Lucius smirked at Antonin. “No offence.”

“None taken.”

“This is ridiculous,” Narcissa snapped. Her tone softened when she turned towards Antonin. “You can go ahead of us. I’ll see you tonight.”

He would have rather stayed at her side throughout the argument, but Lucius, too, had already waved at him in dismissal. Antonin took his leave as quietly as he could, though he did notice with interest that he was not the only one paying the couple special attention.

The moment Amara realised she’d been caught staring from where she lingered in the doorway, she lifted her chin and spun around to stalk away. Antonin chose to walk in the opposite direction, his pace slow, his mind and heart still sitting in the Great Hall.

Chapter Text

None of the students exiting Gryffindor Tower seemed to find it surprising to see Narcissa there. They did, however, look twice once they noticed Antonin. He glowered back, even smirking when a particularly flustered-looking witch dropped her books in front of him. He helped her pick them up, of course, under Narcissa’s amused watch.

“You came!” Molly Prewett swept Narcissa into a hug. She was unmistakable with her vibrant curls, which spiralled outward in great loops and twirls. Two wizards who were mirror images of one another stood just behind, their eyes pinned on Antonin.

He stared back, his face blank.

Narcissa kept her arm linked with the other witch’s as she shifted to introduce him.

“This is my…friend. Antonin Dolohov.” Narcissa then gestured to each of the students in turn as she continued her introductions. “Antonin, this is Molly Prewett and her two older brothers, Gideon and Fabian.”

To his surprise, none of them displayed the wariness or outright distrust he’d come to expect from other students. On the contrary, they seemed curious in their perusal of him.

Molly made as if to approach first, but, the moment she did so, one of her brothers–Gideon, he believed–smoothly intercepted with an outstretched hand.

“We’ve heard a lot about you, Antonin. I’m Gideon. It’s nice to meet you.” The handshake was brief, but firm. There was no posturing like Antonin had experienced when Lucius had introduced him to his friends.

The moment Gideon stepped back, Fabian took his place. “Fabian Prewett. Don’t feel too bad if you mix us up; not even our parents can tell us apart.”

Antonin immediately liked this one with his open smile and handshake that he paired with a pat on the shoulder. Fabian’s gesture felt a bit like a reunion with one of his countrymen.

Both brothers dropped back behind their sister, though they remained close. He respected that. They were open to meeting him, but not so unprepared should he prove himself untrustworthy.

The short witch beamed up at him without any restraint and took his hand with both of her own in a gentle squeeze. “I’m Molly. Rest assured that Narcissa told us nothing but good things about you.”

He grinned. “I somehow doubt that.”

“It’s true!” Molly insisted.

“Are you calling my dear friend a liar?” Narcissa arched her brow at him.

“Not at all.”

At their expectant looks, he elaborated.

“Narcissa can transform even the foulest of insults into words sweeter than honey. She’ll smile at you while, at the same time, readying her wand.”

Molly burst into giggles, ducking her face into her sleeve, while Gideon and Fabian burst into loud guffaws. His own cheeks almost hurt from how widely they stretched at the corners.

“Antonin.”

He snapped to attention at the tone of voice.

“Yes, Narcissa?”

Coral lips curved upward. “Do you want to duel me in the middle of Gryffindor Tower?”

The twins ooh’d at her question. Molly, too, looked delighted, like the two of them were putting on a play for her entertainment.

“You’re only proving me right.”

Narcissa’s eyes narrowed. His body tensed in preparation. If she wanted a duel here, then so be it. They had an appreciative audience and a free afternoon thanks to Lucius’ Prefect duties.

“I’m normally all for a good old fashioned fight, but being as you two are technically guests–” said one of the twins.

“–it’s probably best we move to a more appropriate location,” the other finished.

They had a point. The Gryffindor Common Room wasn’t exactly the best place for a duel, even if Antonin thought Narcissa would probably enjoy fixing up whatever damage they would undoubtedly do. She had an eye for style that had already resulted in their own Common Room being redecorated by the castle house-elves under her strict guidance.

“Where do you suggest we go?” Molly asked, to which her brothers traded a conspiratorial look.

They glanced towards Narcissa, as if seeking her permission. She raised her brows.

“Seventh Floor?” The twins spoke in unison.

Of course they would know of the secret room; they’d probably been the ones to show Narcissa in the first place. Antonin had yet to go back there on his own, but he suspected the space would look different with the twins leading the way.

“What’s on the Seventh Floor?” Their sister looked confused, much like Antonin had been the first time Narcissa asked him to meet her there.

Antonin thought it curious that she was unaware of the space given that Narcissa knew of it. Maybe there was more to her relationship with the twins, and Lucius had a right to be suspicious. That, or they were more perceptive to her need for privacy than he gave them credit for.

Either way, he’d stay close.

Antonin stepped aside to wave a hand towards the portrait door. “After you.”

Chapter Text

The room looked both familiar and completely different with the Prewett twins in command.

Practice dummies still lined the edges, and the same plush mat covered the ground. The mirrors on the wall, too, remained the same.

That was where the similarities ended.

The boys dropped their belongings on the ground near the entrance like they’d done so hundreds of times before. Antonin huffed in amusement at the way Narcissa moved to the corner, where she demurely placed her belongings out of the way.

He followed suit, as did Molly after him. The smaller woman’s smile looked bashful when he caught her eye, like she could feel his lingering amusement.

Instead of a study table and organised bookshelves, there were stuffed sacks littering the room that looked well used. One of the twins plopped into one, his limbs splaying outward and the grin he wore proud. Fabian, most likely, given the relaxed attitude.

“Wicked, isn’t it?” he asked.

Confirming Antonin’s suspicions, Narcissa rolled her eyes and replied, “Yes, well done, Fabian.”

Already at the far end of the room, wand in hand, Gideon raised his voice to catch their attention. “Who wants to go first? Ladies? Antonin?”

He would rather watch the brothers duel each other at the start, so he could pick out their strengths and weaknesses. They likely felt the same, hence Fabian’s quick move to the sidelines.

Antonin shared a look with the girls. “Narcissa? Molly?”

“We’ll sit this one out,” Narcissa declared, walking up to her friend and winding their arms together. “Do try and entertain us, though.”

Molly looked appalled at the cheeky comment, but Antonin took the challenge for what it was: a command to win.

He took his place across from Gideon, taking note of the wizard’s relaxed stance and grip. Antonin saw none of the usual tension his own classmates typically wore every time they crossed wands. If anything, his opponent looked eager. Light on his toes.

“Ready?” Gideon called.

Antonin answered with a low bow, which the other boy returned with equal depth.

Then, he struck.

Antonin’s spell had been silent, intended to throw his opponent off balance and open to another attack. By this point in the school year, Narcissa and Lucius knew to expect the tactic and no longer fell victim so quickly. Other classmates hadn’t learned, even after several weeks.

To his surprise and pleasure, a flash of yellow revealed Gideon’s well-timed shield, the incantation just loud enough for Antonin to pick up.

Fabian let out a cheer from the side, prompting both combatants to grin.

Perhaps this won’t be so predictable, after all, Antonin thought.

They both relaxed their postures, taking extra time to size one another up. Both of the brothers were similar in stature to Antonin–tall and lean with broad shoulders. He wouldn’t have been surprised if they were Beaters like him.

Gideon slowly drew his arm back, giving Antonin plenty of time to counter what he expected to be a strong knockback. Then the other wizard dropped his arm into a completely different position. “Expelliarmus!”

Tricky bugger.

Antonin spun to the side out of the spell’s path and sent out two charms in succession. Gideon didn’t expect the combination and hollered in surprise as he was wrenched forward by accio, then thrown back by depulso before he could formulate a response. He landed in a heap on the ground just short of the mirrors.

“Gid!” Molly leapt to her feet and scurried towards him, but stopped when he threw a palm out.

“I’m good,” Gideon rasped. “Just winded.”

She turned snapping eyes on Antonin. “You didn’t say you could cast silently!”

“You never asked.”

She gaped at his response. Behind her, both Gideon and Fabian broke into laughter.

“B-b-but, that isn’t fair! It’s unsportsman-like–” she sputtered.

“Molls, please! You’re embarrassing me,” Gideon pleaded, though he appeared more delighted than ashamed.

She looked between them, taking in the dancing mirth in their eyes, the continued looseness in their limbs. “Well, if you really don’t mind–”

“I don’t.” Gideon insisted. “What about you, Fab?”

His twin met Molly’s reproachful look with the same good-mannered cheer. “I think it’s brilliant.” He leaned over to look around her figure towards Antonin. “You’ll teach us, won’t you?”

Antonin was inclined to agree. Had he been any other student without the burdens he carried, spending free time goofing off and duelling like this would have been a dream come true.

Agreeing to do so now and knowing what he did of the future, however, felt tainted by the fact that anything he did here would be reported back to his father–a tool to be used at the right time. He resented the ulterior motive. It was like spitting in the face of a comrade. But, that was the reality of the role he played.

If Antonin laid down his cards right, maybe he could convince the Prewetts to join their side. Perhaps that was why Narcissa had been so dedicated to introducing Antonin to them in the first place, though her placid expression neither supported nor disagreed with that sentiment.

“Isn’t that why we’re here?” He put on the confident grin of a young man without any concerns other than his next Quidditch game.

There was no place for guilt. Even if it did make itself known, it would be ignored.

Chapter Text

“So?”

Antonin quirked his brow. Narcissa’s gaze might have pinned him in place with its intensity if he wasn’t already amused at the vague question.

“So, what?” he asked.

She frowned. “Antonin.”

He maintained his silence, fighting off the urge to smile.

She prodded him again. “What do you think?”

“I think that essay won’t write itself.” He bumped his chin toward her still empty parchment. Narcissa’s eyes widened in disbelief.

They’d agreed to work on their homework in the library, as they often did during their free period. Sometimes Lucius would join them; sometimes he’d disappear on an unknown errand. Today, it was just the two of them.

Slender fingers snatched at his own parchment, yanking it out of reach.

“Narcissa,” he growled.

Her cheeks took on a lovely glow, but she remained steadfast in her mission. “You went along with them, but do you really mean to teach them, too?”

He shook his head at her in warning, then sighed. It didn’t look like he’d get much work done if he didn’t satisfy her curiosity. He checked around for witnesses, then cast an Imperturbable Charm around their table.

“You’re an impatient witch. Has anyone ever told you that?”

She didn’t look offended in the slightest. If anything, she looked pleased. “I know what I want.”

He had no reason to lie, not that he would have wanted to. Narcissa prompted within him an openness few others did. The only others to hold that esteem were his parents, Nikolai, and, until recently, Lucius.

“I like the twins a lot,” he admitted. “It’s hard not to.”

Her smile this time was a sweet one, eyes crinkling at the corners and an overall softness creeping in. “We’ve always been close, ever since we were children. I think of them as family.”

Interesting, given the opposing stances of their families.

Her confession answered his unspoken question about her feelings about the brothers. Antonin wasn’t ashamed to acknowledge the relief he felt at knowing she didn’t see either of them in a romantic light. He then recalled Narcissa had two older sisters who had already graduated from Hogwarts.

“What about your sisters? Are they close to the Prewetts, as well?”

Narcissa shook her head. Her expression took on a contemplative quality as she elaborated. “Bella is firmly against interaction with anyone whose loyalties are as transparent as the Prewett family. Andy, though…she’s always been kind to them. That’s just how she is. She sees the best in others no matter who they are.”

While disagreements amidst family wasn’t anything new to Antonin, the conflict in Narcissa’s explanation was immediately apparent. She obviously loved her sisters, as well as maintained her closeness to the Prewetts. Where would she fall were she pushed to choose between the two?

“Are you very close with your sisters, being the youngest?” He was honestly curious. There was a huge gap in years between himself and Nikolai, but that only served to increase Antonin’s protective instincts. He saw that same dedication reflected in Narcissa’s account of her sisters.

“If you had asked me when I was younger, I would’ve told you ‘no.’ Andy, who’s four years older, always seemed so grown up. She was the eldest, the first to be trusted by our parents, the first to get her wand. I was jealous of her. Wanted to be her. In a way, I still envy her, though not for the same reasons.”

She paused, then, caught in her thoughts. Antonin would have pressed for more, but felt the silence just as important as what was spoken. Oftentimes, meaning could be found within those gaps.

“Bella’s…complicated.” Her laugh was short, a wealth of history in its brevity. “We’re only a couple of years apart, but she never let me forget it. She was older, smarter, faster. I could never keep up with her back when she still played with Gideon and Fabian; they’d be out of sight in no time at all while I was still trying to catch up. Her decision to stop spending time with us was just as quick as all her other choices. She doesn’t hesitate.”

Narcissa took a deep breath. The outflux of memories seemed to have exhausted her. Before he could second guess the motion, Antonin’s hand reached across to cover her own. He forgot their surroundings. All of his attention angled towards her and his need to show his support in any way she’d accept.

She flipped her hand, threading their fingers together.

“Now, however, I wouldn’t trade them for all the world. We look out for each other. Andy’s still the big sister, the one who listens to our complaints and always knows exactly what to say. I owe so much to her.” Narcissa’s eyes looked faraway now, the blues of her eyes fixed on some unseen memory. “And Bella…”

Again the snort. What was it about the middle sister that always prompted such a reaction?

“Bella’s just as fierce, just as unforgiving. There’s no one I’d trust more to watch my back. She would kill for me. She reminds me of you, in that regard.”

Her tone turned teasing as she squeezed his hand. Antonin tried not to take offence at being compared to this unknown witch with her unforgiving heart, one who’d run ahead, leaving Narcissa behind. They’d been kids, then, but still. Antonin would have rather cut Gideon and Fabian’s legs out from under them to give Narcissa a chance to catch up.

“Do you hear from them very often?” he asked.

The playful tone persisted. “I do.”

She looked around, reminding him that they were still in the library in plain sight of anyone passing by. Satisfied they remained unnoticed, she beckoned him closer with her free hand. He leaned in, trying to not be obvious in the way he breathed in her natural perfume.

“We talk everyday,” she whispered.

“How?”

He’d never noticed her receiving regular mail–only The Daily Prophet and the occasional basket of treats from her family. For security reasons, none of the fireplaces allowed Floo calls. Those had to be scheduled in advance through a Professor at a specific location. Even then, Antonin would never make such a call himself. There was no telling who was monitoring their communication.

She searched his eyes. For what he didn’t know. She must’ve found what she was looking for, because she reached into her bag, once again leaving their clasped hands be, and pulled out the same journal he’d noticed before.

She tapped the gently worn leather, pride apparent in her straightened shoulders. “I charmed these to work three ways. We each have our own journal. Anything we write reflects in the others.”

Narcissa guided his hand towards the cover, flipping it open and showing him lines of handwritten text. His heart gave a little stutter at the sight of a familiar leaf pressed between the pages.

Each of the girls’ penmanship was distinct–Narcissa’s tight and neat, another barely legible as if its owner was short on time, and the final loose and elegant with trailing ends.

He pointed at them in turn to voice his suspicions. “This one,” he said, pointing at the messy handwriting, “must be Bella’s, while this is Andy’s?”

Narcissa grinned as she nodded. “I’d ask you how you could tell, but it’s obvious you figured that out from my descriptions of them.”

“I did.”

She bit her lip, then slowly began pulling away from him. “You are right to point out our assignments. We should probably start before it gets too late.”

He tightened his grip on her, halting her retreat. She looked startled, but not frightened.

He wasn’t ready to let go.

“What have you told your sisters about me?” He kept his voice deliberately soft. Suggestive. A thumb traced the silken skin beneath his own. “Hm?”

Chapter Text

It was endearing how she looked at that moment. Narcissa reminded him of a startled deer, only instead of deep brown eyes, her pale irises were more reminiscent of the frozen lakes on which he’d skated as a child. All of her focus fixed on him and the hand on hers.

His thumb continued its ministration in time with their synced heartbeats.

“Or am I a shadow? A secret of yours to keep?” he went on.

She spoke then, quick and cutting. “You’re not mine.”

He nodded, his smile forlorn. “Not in the way you think, no.”

Antonin left the comment at that. Let her chew on the unspoken. He might not be hers by contract or in the public eye, but he was as good as hers in the way that mattered most.

An addendum: he was theirs. He would not forget his loyalty to Lucius. He was theirs, and they were his. When all the old wizards to whom they pledged their futures one day croaked, as all living beings eventually do, there would be nobody left to stand in their way.

He tutted, then let go of her to sit back in his chair. Narcissa remained in place, eyes stuck to the spot he’d vacated.

“My sisters know of you,” she said slowly, as if measuring how much to share. When she looked back up at him, she mimicked his posture and drew her hand back into her lap.

“Good things, I hope.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Come, come, Narcissa. What else could you say, if not good?” He pursed his lips playfully, prompting her to pinch her chin in contemplation.

“Your pride, perhaps.”

He scoffed. He was not proud. He was confident.

“You fight dirty.”

The truth of that statement earned her a laugh and nod. He did play dirty, if by “dirty” she meant he won, no matter the cost.

“And, worst of all–”

He couldn’t help leaning in once more.

“–a lady killer. An ignorant one.”

If it was not for the Imperturbable Charm, his retort would have had Pince on them in a second.

“A what?”

There was the Narcissa he knew underneath the demure exterior. A mischievous demon peeked out from her aquamarine gaze. Antonin was helpless to her designs. Smiling as much as baring her teeth, she explained.

“Lethally charming.”

“I know what it means–”

She continued on without acknowledgment, “Unknowing, or uncaring, of the hearts broken by just one look. How witches look at me when you’re nearby. How they want and plot and pretend. Little do they know…”

Silence descended, waiting just like Antonin on Narcissa’s words.

“There’s cruelty in your kindness.” She spoke softly then, almost a whisper.

“What cruelty?” As far as he could recall, he had never been cruel to her. Unknowing, echoed in his ears.

“How soon you forget.”

His breath hitched as he took in the way she looked at him, or, rather, his mouth. She pressed her lips together, a sharp inhale audible in the still air. Stagnation burned beneath his skin. The urge to move, act, do something clawed its way to the surface. It begged him to remind and reclaim.

“I haven’t forgotten. I could never forget.”

She met his eyes, her own still sharp. Seeking. “Do you regret it?”

Perun, strike him down–he could not lie to her.

“No. You know why I stopped.” He maintained eye contact. “Why I continue to stop.”

The shift in her expression was fleeting, so much so that he could have mistaken it for his imagination. Putting a name to the softening of tension, warmth cracking the ice, would shake an already unsteady resolve.

“I know.”

“Were we somewhere else, another time, perhaps, I wouldn’t hesitate.”

The words sounded just as useless voiced as they had been in his head. He winced as he awaited her response, which he expected to reflect disappointment. Scorn.

He cancelled the charm around their table and stood, intent on that being the final word on the matter. He didn’t want to think of it as running away, or dismissing her. In Antonin’s mind, they were in agreement, as much as they might chafe against their present reality.

A gentle hand caught the sleeve of his robe. Narcissa’s look was just as delicate, almost apologetic. “You’re right. I was wrong to tease.”

Remorse curdled in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t meant for her to take the blame for the turn in their conversation. He was just as guilty as she in these lingering thoughts. More so, even. As long as they continued to meet one-on-one like this, that feeling would never fade.

He opened his mouth, prepared to offer her a reprieve by suggesting they forego meeting up any further. He would continue group lessons, of course, both with Lucius, as well as with the Prewetts. They’d still eat together at meals, study in groups. Perhaps they could go back to private lessons once their ardour had cooled.

“Don’t.”

The single word cut him. He could see the muscles along her jaw clenching, how her shoulders stiffened with determination.

How had she…?

“I don’t need legilimency to read you. I won’t push you again, and I refuse whatever ridiculous, self-sacrificing proposal you were about to make.”

She sent her chair back with enough force to screech throughout the library. In the very next second, Madam Pince rounded the corner in sight of their table.

“Quiet!” she hissed.

Mad bat.

“My apologies, Madam Pince,” Narcissa said with her usual grace, successfully mollifying the other witch.

“Narcissa–”

“I’ll see you at dinner, Antonin,” she smoothly cut in. Her departure was just as swift.

Antonin was left alone under the disapproving eye of the still-lingering librarian, an unfinished assignment, and his own self-conscience.

Chapter Text

Their first Quidditch match of the season was against Gryffindor.

Just as he’d suspected, the Prewett twins were Beaters. They grinned over to where he sat straddling his broom, an acknowledgement he returned with a nod.

“That’s a surprise.”

Antonin glanced over at his fellow Beater, Thorfinn Rowle. Antonin hadn’t heard any accusation in the other wizard’s observation, but still…

“What is?” he asked, pretending ignorance.

“You being friendly with Gid and Fab.”

“Are you friends of theirs?” He hadn’t expected to hear the nicknames from a fellow Slytherin, particularly one as intimidating as Rowle, because as exuberant and generally easygoing as the wizard seemed to be with others in their house, he still hailed from a noble house known for its loyalty to tradition and purity. They aligned themselves with the Malfoys, Blacks, and Notts, not with borderline households like the Prewetts, Potters, and Longbottoms.

“I can appreciate skill. They’re always a riot.” Rowle accompanied the surprising statement with a wink.

That was definitely true. Gideon and Fabian never went so far as to openly break rules, but no matter where they were–the Great Hall, class, corridors–raucous laughter was sure to follow. Now that Antonin was familiar with their duelling, he was excited to see how those skills translated to flight.

He’d have to commend them later, because the twins gave as good as they got. For every Bludger Antonin and Rowle lobbed at Potter, the Gryffindor Seeker, so, too, did they at Lucius. Chances were extremely low that the game would end anytime soon with the way each side kept distracting the other team from catching the Snitch.

In the meanwhile, points climbed as the Chasers traded goals as quickly as they did insults.

“You watch your fuckin’ mouth, Lestrange,” sneered one of Gryffindor’s Chasers who had just gotten caught in a pincer by the two brothers.

Rabastan leered back at him, dripping with disdain. “Go back to your pussies, Black.”

Black. Antonin frowned as he noted the familiar curls, the aquiline nose. It was as if he was looking at an older Regulus. So this was Sirius, the estranged brother who’d disgraced the family by getting sorted in with the lions.

He wondered if Narcissa was close to him, as well.

Sirius moved to knock Rabastan’s broom handle, but Rodolphus quickly flew between them.

“Go.” He glared at his brother, wholly ignoring the older boy.

Antonin would have thought Black would have been grateful for the intervention, but, to his surprise, he only seemed to get angrier.

“This has nothing to do with you, Roddy.”

The Blacks and Lestranges might share similar colourings with their dark hair and oddly grey eyes, but Sirius brimmed over with a fire that was molten crimson, a son of Dazhbog himself. In comparison, Rodolphus’ heavy-lidded regard was often mistaken for a slothful disinterest that belied his position as a Chaser.

Antonin thought the latter’s eyes dead, devoid of any lust for life. Rodolphus turned those eyes on his cousin.

The younger boy made a sound of disgust and spat in the air between them before rejoining his teammates across the pitch. Rodolphus didn’t look bothered in the slightest. He met Antonin’s gaze, expression as blank as always, then spun away.

That brief interlude preceded a lull in the game. Either the Chasers had all lost their focus, or their Keepers had woken up and realised the open hoops were theirs to protect. Either way, Antonin was ready for the game to be over. They’d already been here for hours, and now they didn’t even have the reprieve that a goal gave them.

It was after one of his assists to protect Rosier from an incoming Bludger that he noticed the Seekers. Lucius and Potter had moved high above the action, remaining out of danger but well within sight of the telltale gold shimmer that was their target.

Potter angled his flight into a steep dive. Lucius moved a second too slow; his path lagged a full broom’s length behind. He was never going to make it before Potter.

Antonin cast a quick eye over the pitch. The second he saw the telltale iron ball arcing across the sky near his teammate, he yelled, “Rowle!”

The Beater moved quick as lightning to smack the Bludger towards Antonin, who was closer to the Seekers. The ball approached at a terrifying speed, one that threatened to tear off the arms of anyone who dared make contact. He’d have to time and angle his hit perfectly.

The crack of his bat was satisfying, and the result it brought about even more so.

Potter was forced to pull back as Antonin’s Bludger passed by right where his hand had been outstretched mere seconds earlier. The force of the redirected ball was enough to buffet his broom sideways, giving Lucius the break he needed to catch up.

“Aaaaaaand Slytherin wins!!! Lucius Malfoy catches the Snitch!” The announcer’s voice flooded the pitch alongside excited screams and shouts of dismay.

Lucius’ shock of platinum hair was buried beneath a mass of emerald robes as their teammates swarmed him. Seconds later, the Seeker was thrown into the air, one hand thrust upward holding tightly to the struggling Snitch.

“Malfoy! Malfoy! Malfoy!”

Even from where Antonin had landed down on the grass, he could clearly see the grin nearly splitting his best mate’s face in two.

“Nice one, Dolohov.”

He turned towards his fellow Beater, who’d alighted onto the ground beside him. Remembering how the other man had spoken favourably of the Prewetts even more than his perfect assist with the Bludger, Antonin made up his mind.

“Call me ‘Antonin’.”

The smile was just as wide as the wizard himself. “Alright, Antonin. You can call me ‘Thorfinn’, or ‘Thor’ if you like.”

They shared a mutual clap on the back, then Thorfinn joined the swarm of green, leaving Antonin alone once more. He didn’t mind. He rather enjoyed observing their victory from a distance.

Another flutter of gold moved in his periphery, and he turned to catch it.

Narcissa.

They hadn’t spoken much since that stilted conversation in the library. So, too, had they paused in their private lessons as his Quidditch practices ramped up in frequency with the looming game.

She looked lovely in their house colours, even if she wasn’t wearing the short skirt he’d hoped for. Their eyes caught as she looked his way.

He tilted his head at the curious expression she wore. Pleased at their win, of course. But there was something else…

Before he could figure it out, she turned and surged forward towards her fiance.

The wave parted without her having to speak a word, like the others sensed a goddess in their presence. Lucius landed on his feet as she reached him, their hands stretching for one another.

Then she was in his arms, the wings of the Snitch indistinguishable from the weave of her hair as he threaded his fingers through, the two locking lips in a kiss that kicked Antonin in the stomach with more force than a fully unloaded Bludger.

Teammates and supporters alike roared their approval, white and emerald streamers flying through the air. Antonin wanted to tear them into tatters so they littered the grass just as thoroughly as his own heart.

He spun on his heel and stalked towards the showers, a pair of pale blue eyes fixed on his back.

Chapter Text

The shower did little to cool his ire.

Eyes open or eyes closed, all he could see was the vision of Narcissa and Lucius’ combined joy suffusing outward like their very own sun–instead of enduring warmth, his flesh melted away until only bone remained. Betrayal, unfounded and misplaced, clawed at his insides like a rabid creature. What he would give to allow it free rein. Let it tear him open and leave him bleeding out on the locker room floor. Nobody would care.

He corrected himself: Kolya would care. So would his mama and papa.

Antonin ignored his teammates as they streamed in whooping and congratulating one another. Others might have slapped him on the back, not that he noticed.

She looked happy, he thought bitterly. Happier than she’d been with him as of late.

And what of Lucius? His love for Narcissa had always seemed more like that of a sibling. It lacked the all-consuming fervour of a lover. Antonin had never seen him embrace his fiancee in anything but a familial way until now, though he assumed this was not the first time Lucius and Narcissa had kissed.

They’d kissed before, hadn’t they?

He nearly fell forward at the force of the hand that landed on his shoulder.

“Antonin.”

No, no, no. Not now.

“Brilliant play, my friend. Tonight, we celebrate,” said Lucius, oblivious to the storm raging inside of him.

He grunted, head still bent beneath the spray of the shower. He couldn’t look at the other man. Not when all he wanted to do was grab Lucius by the neck and slam his face against the tile, turn the water to high heat.

Another laugh and clap to his back, and then Antonin was left alone to his thoughts.

First to shower and last to leave, Antonin took his time returning to the castle. He knew what awaited him the moment he entered the dungeon. His fellow snakes would be heady with victory, their common room no doubt crammed full of sickening laughter.

And at the centre, Lucius–Narcissa at his side.

They would expect Antonin to join them, to take Lucius’ right-hand side like he always did and would any other day.

But all he wanted to do was make his way to bed without anyone stopping him. Was that so impossible to ask?

The answer was, of course, and obviously.

He’d no sooner stepped past the entrance when an arm was thrown over his shoulders.

“The man of the hour! Here, at last!” Thorfinn roared the last bit for everyone to hear and received a resounding cheer in reply.

He was dragged towards the bar, the larger man talking the whole way. The only reason why Antonin didn’t hex him blind was because their trajectory took them away from the centre room and closer to the boy’s dorms. A drink before sleep might be just what he needed.

After receiving their drinks, Antonin was relieved when Thorfinn settled in against the wall, where they were tucked into a window alcove mostly out of sight of the main fireplace. The curved sofa was large, and it wasn’t long before others joined them.

“There’s the man of the hour.” Flavius stepped up with his glass raised, which Antonin met with his own. “What are you doing hiding back here? You should be up there with Lucius.”

He shrugged. “I seek no glory.”

“Spoken like a wizard who knows who he is and what he wants.” The additional voice had them all turning their heads in surprise.

While Flavius and Thorfinn sipped at their firewhiskey in joint appreciation of the figure Amara cut, he remained immune to her charms. Yes, he could admit the hint of cleavage pleasing in the draped neckline of her dress. So, too, could he appreciate the receptive flare of her hips where the fabric lay snug. Amara’s dark eyes glittered in acceptance of their perusal, tossing the loose waves of her hair over one shoulder in a practised motion.

“May I?’ She directed her question to Antonin, eyes pointedly moving to the empty space beside him.

“If you like.”

Logically, he knew she was up to something. Amara wasn’t the sort of witch to waste her time on just anyone. He simply didn’t care either way–he was troubled by other, more important, matters.

“Thank you,” she murmured, low and leading in a way that he knew would have had Lucius all over her within seconds.

She settled in close, leaving hardly a sliver between their bodies. Thorfinn grinned appreciatively from Antonin’s other side, while Flavius continued to stare blatantly at her tits. He wished he could trade places with the captain, because Amara’s perfume threatened to overtake him with its heavy cocktail of citrus and spices. He’d smelt it often enough on Lucius on mornings following one of her visits.

Antonin leaned back into the cushions to try and escape the distasteful reminder of his friend’s misplaced devotions, allowing Amara to chat with the others. She leaned forward over his lap, one hand occasionally dropping to his leg for leverage as she giggled and spun Flavius and Thorfinn into her orbit.

His eyes wandered across the room. It looked like quite a few Ravencalws and Hufflepuffs had joined in on the celebrations. The Lestrange brothers flanked a particularly flighty-looking blonde, her eyes wide and adoring as they took turns speaking. Antonin smirked. There’d be many an innocent educated tonight.

His skin prickled, gaze inevitably drawn against his command.

To her.

Chapter Text

It was like looking at a stranger–Narcissa’s face was a mask that revealed nothing of her inner thoughts or feelings. She simply stared from where she curled into Lucius’ side, his pale hand resting possessively around the delicate curve of her hip.

“What do you think, Antonin?”

He didn’t bother to break eye contact as he returned Amara’s question. “What do I think about what?”

“About joining us for a bit of fun.”

It wasn’t until he felt a feminine hand land much higher up than before on his thigh that he looked away. He came nose to nose with Amara, the heavy curtain of her hair falling forward and sending a wave of her blasted perfume over him.

She blinked slowly, the motion heavy, and exhaled. The soft heat caressed his lips like a kiss. “You. Me. Thor. Flavius.” Then she smiled, the curve wickedly inviting.

He tilted his head, and her smile widened.

Thorfinn’s chuckle from behind him sounded dark. Full of promise. Antonin had no doubt that the other two would take her offer without a second thought. Maybe they’d shared her before, maybe even with Lucius.

Antonin, however, did not share.

He also felt nothing. His cock lay disinterested despite the curl of her finger along his inner thigh.

“Why?” he asked.

She looked disappointed in him as her lips formed a pout. “Why do you think, Doll?”

“Don’t call me that.”

She giggled, then shifted closer to the wall to whisper for his hearing alone. “Look at Lucius and tell me what you see.”

He hated the way his body instantly reacted, eyes darting straight to the couple as if an invisible tether drew him straight to her.

Gone was Narcissa’s mask. In its place was an ice-cold fury that should have frozen the room several times over. Amara’s positioning–lips hidden against his ear, hand between his legs, one of her own now draped over his lap with Thorfinn’s hand sliding along the exposed skin, breasts pressed first against his arm–damned him beyond redemption.

Narcissa’s lips curled into a snarl, and she must have squeezed Lucius because the wizard stopped speaking long enough to look at her, startled, before following her line of sight straight to Antonin. His pale brows lept upward in surprise. Rather than look bothered, a delighted grin spread across his face.

Antonin felt sick.

“Tell me,” Amara murmured.

“Get off of me,” he growled, still holding Narcissa’s glare. “Lucius couldn’t give two fucks about what you’re doing.”

“Mmm, but what about her?”

Now he turned towards Amara, shocked and outraged. How did she know? What did she know?

Looking at the venomous witch was a mistake.

The moment his chin swung around, she hoisted herself onto his lap, knees spreading wide around his hips, and slotted her mouth against his.

Antonin was so caught off guard by her actions that it took his body far too long to react. By the time his brain caught up, her arms had wound around his neck and she rolled her hips against his nonexistent erection.

He twisted as he stood, roughly dropping her onto Thorfinn’s lap. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She had the audacity to smirk, knees spreading wantonly around the other man’s heavily muscled thighs as he wrapped both arms around her from behind, one hand coming up to loosely ring her neck. “You can thank me later,” she said with a wink.

And, just like that, her attention shifted to beckon Flavius forward with one, crimson-tipped fingernail. The Slytherin captain didn’t hesitate to lean in and capture her questing lips while Thorfinn continued to busy himself with anything he could reach.

Antonin backed away, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. The saccharine taste of Amara lingered, as did her words.

He chanced a glance towards the main fireplace.

Lucius still entertained a crowd of followers who probably would have liked nothing more than to think of themselves as his friends. There was a notable absence by his side. Narcissa had vanished.

No matter which way he turned, she was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he’d lucked out and she’d gone to the loo, missing Amara’s little show entirely. He desperately wished the thought true.

He moved back to the bar, then drained a second glass of firewhiskey in a single pull. Better to sleep and forget the day.

Antonin made his way up the stairs to the dormitory. There was a bed calling for him, and he planned to spell the curtains shut and silent so no amount of unsavoury visitors could wake him. He tugged his kit over his head as he walked through the room he shared with Lucius.

“Blyat!” he howled as a stabbing pain worked up from the toe he’d stubbed against the corner of his school trunk.

With a violent motion, he ripped his uniform the rest of the way off and launched it towards his desk. It stopped midair like it had struck an invisible post and fell to the ground. Only then did he notice the telltale shimmer of disillusionment.

“You shouldn’t be up here.”

A loud sigh, and the charm was dispelled.

Narcissa stood with both arms crossed as she stared at him.

Chapter Text

Seeing her before him now, Antonin felt as if the temperature in the room had dropped several degrees. The hairs along his arms stood up; he might as well have been entirely naked.

“Why? Are you expecting a visitor? Or, should I say ‘visitors’?”

There was that downward curl to her lip again, so unlike her usual poise that he stared, fascinated, at the sight of her mouth so transformed. Even in anger, she was beautiful.

Then he remembered that same mouth arching up to meet another pair of lips not his own.

“What does it matter to you?”

“It matters because she will take and take until there is nothing left of you but a quivering mass of flesh for which she no longer has any need or use. She only wants what she can’t have. It’s all a game to her.”

Is that why she keeps coming back to this room? To play? were the words he desperately wanted to say in retaliation. They could be interpreted multiple ways–one, revealing the depths of Lucius’ explorations, and two, suggesting Antonin’s own involvement.

But he couldn’t do that to her. Wound her with his words. Betray Lucius’ confidence. It wasn’t who he was.

“I do not want Amara, and I do not play those kinds of games,” he admitted.

The sharp edges of her countenance softened just enough for his breathing to ease. So, of course he had to go and poke at her yet again.

“Why are you here and not with him?” He knew he sounded petulant. Pathetic. It was no wonder she preferred the other man’s company.

Antonin bent to gather his jersey from the ground in an attempt to disguise his face. Cleaning up, readying himself for bed, anything to prevent her from seeing how easily she affected him.

“To explain myself.”

“There’s nothing to explain. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

He said it as much for her as for himself. A reminder. No matter how she’d acted or spoken in the past, he had always known she was not his. Not truly. Not ever.

“I said one thing, then acted in another.”

He shrugged, his back to her. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Antonin.”

The way she said his name, part sigh, part admonishment, gave rise to a choking frustration that bubbled upward like vomit. He whirled around to face her.

“What would you have me say? Thank you? I’m sorry? What must I say to make you leave so I can try and get some damned rest?”

Antonin’s tirade carried him towards her, unwittingly pressing them both towards his desk until she could go no further. She leaned with both hands propped behind her, but did not shy away from his spitting anger. Her head remained high, her crown undiminished. She was a queen no matter the setting or audience, and that would not change despite his disrespect.

“I wanted proof of your feelings. To see if you cared enough to get jealous.” She spoke the words without any hesitation, challenging him with clear, open eyes.

“And were you satisfied?” The ugly words continued to pour out of him.

She didn’t flinch when he dropped both hands onto his desk, penning her in. Didn’t pull away as he pressed forehead to forehead. Were Lucius to walk in now, how could he explain the half-stance he’d taken?

“No.”

“No?”

She moved then, pushing back against his forehead as she lifted her hands and forced him upward. He sucked in a sharp breath when she placed them, cool and featherlight, against his chest. Nipples pebbled to sharp points, and the part of him that had remained asleep all through Amara’s fondling hardened into a persistent ache.

“I was the jealous one. I wanted to march across the room and rip out her hair for daring to touch you. Daring to speak to you.”

Unbidden, his heart soared at her confession. She made it sound like she considered him hers, body and soul.

Their foreheads remained connected; their eyes, too. She continued to speak, voice thickening with emotion with each word that passed her lips.

“When she kissed you, I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t watch you return her embrace. Everything I’d done since the library felt shallow and meaningless.” The flattened palms against his body curled into fists. “I’d say let’s go back to how things were before, but I’d be lying to myself.”

He was afraid to speak, but he needed to know. “Then what do you want?”

Again, hands laid open against his chest, moving upward now until they hooked over his shoulders. Her body leaned against his like he was all that was holding her up; she had to have felt the urgency of his desire for her pressing against her belly. Her face tilted until their lips hovered with hardly any space between.

“What I’ve always wanted.”

He did not stop her. He did not want to stop her.

She moved; Antonin reciprocated–mouth to mouth, skin to skin, softness to hardness, frost to fire.

Chapter Text

The time between then and now melted away; they might as well still be in that hidden passageway–bodies cradled close, heartbeats deafening, Narcissa’s sweet tongue sliding against his own. This was simply a continuation of what they’d started and what never should have ended.

Headiness filled him as Antonin tasted alcohol on her tongue. He pulled back abruptly, ignoring her whine. “Wait, wait.”

“I’m done waiting,” she sighed, lips chasing him.

He continued to evade her, scanning her for any sign of intoxication. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Just the one.” Now she pulled back, eyes narrowing in realisation. “Why? Do you think me irrational? How much have you had to drink?”

“A couple,” he admitted.

“Should I be worried that this is the firewhiskey? Will you regret kissing me in the morning?” She persisted now that the thought was in her head.

Antonin could feel her drawing away from him, physically and emotionally, and he wanted to kick himself for his caution. But it would kill him if, come the following day, she thought this, him, all a mistake. He held her tighter to him, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of her arms. If it hurt, she didn’t show it. “No. I could never regret you.”

With the way her body flagged in relief, he almost wished he’d never partaken in any drink. He wanted to taste her without firewhiskey colouring the edges. He also knew there was a high chance that had he not, he would have never let out his feelings the way he had.

None of that mattered. She was here now, in his arms, willing and pliant.

One hand delved into the fine strands of her golden hair, and he tilted her for his kiss, drinking in her gasp and unconsciously drawing her ever closer towards the bed. Delicate hands roamed over the muscles of his torso, nails scoring him in near desperation.

Forget pliant; she was a needy thing, all claws and teeth as she nipped and panted.

The second he felt the give of the mattress behind him, he let gravity take hold and fell back, twisting to trap her beneath him. Pale blues widened, lips parted, and the golden drape of her hair spread like a halo across the very same place he laid down at night. Narcissa looked like one of his fantasies come to life. At any moment, Antonin half expected to wake up and find this all was nothing but a dream.

“Antonin,” she breathed, arms reaching, body arching.

If this was a dream, well, he might as well never wake up.

They moaned in mutual pleasure as he settled atop her, his weight pressing her down so that they slotted exactly into one another so not a single gap remained.

“I-I need–” she gasped, writhing against his hold.

“Shhh, I know what you need.”

She shuddered as he slid his lips down the curve of her neck, tugging at her neckline to slide his tongue along the fine line of her collarbone. His hands moved, longing to feel her naked flesh against his. The world outside of the bedroom faded away along with any and all concerns of friends, family, obligations, promises.

Bang.

They froze. Narcissa’s fingers curled into the waistband of his pants; his hands paused where they lifted at her hemline.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Antonin! You better be decent because I’m coming in!”

They stared wide-eyed at each other at the sound of Lucius’ slurred words. A loud laugh followed the announcement, and then the handle began to turn.

Antonin threw himself back and, with a snarl and cut of his hand, the curtains to his bed drew closed. He could do little else before they were no longer alone, and he hoped Lucius would be too far gone to notice anything amiss.

“There you are!” The wizard certainly looked plastered, the normally stiff posturing loosened and his mouth stretched into a goofy grin that normally had no place on Lucius Malfoy’s face.

Antonin was tempted to shove him in front of a mirror and watch that glee transform into horror.

“I knew you were in here.” Lucius swivelled around with narrowed eyes to look at the curtained bed. “Who’ve you got in there, brother?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Pfff,” the man scoffed. He took one look at Antonin’s frown and snickered. “Well, a bit. I’m sick of all those fools talking and talking without actually saying anything of value. Have you been up here a while?”

“I’m knackered. Wanted to turn in early.”

Lucius’ eyes turned suspicious once more, lips curling into a suggestive uptick. “Turn in early with a witch, maybe a couple wizards? I saw you with that minx.”

“Are you jealous?” Antonin was honestly curious.

The other wizard merely chuckled. “Why should I be? Of the fun you’ll have, maybe.” He winked. “She’s very skilled.”

Narcissa could likely hear every single word her fiance said.

His consternation must have shown on his face, because Lucius chuckled once more and backed away towards the door. “I’ll leave you to your ‘rest’. Tell me all about it tomorrow.”

Then he was gone, the door locking shut behind him.

In two long strides, Antonin pulled open the curtain. He wasn’t sure what to expect; tears, perhaps, maybe even anger. Narcissa now had vocal proof of Lucius’ infidelity.

He grunted as he was yanked forward. He caught himself on his hands so he wouldn’t smother her, and looked down in concern. She dodged his eyes, instead burying her head against his chest and hugging him close.

“Hold me?” She sounded muffled. Moisture seeped against his naked skin.

Antonin drew the curtains closed, making sure to spell them both shut and silent this time, and lay back against the pillows, pulling her body part way on top of him. Another muttered word, and they were underneath his blanket. He dropped a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Sleep.”

Chapter Text

He doesn’t want to wake up. Doesn’t want to peel the blinds of his eyelids back to let the light in, because doing so means an end to the bliss that is him and her and the cocoon they share.

So he indulges a little longer yet, lets himself sink like a weighted stone into sleep, water closing in around them both and blocking out sights and sounds and, most especially, any reason to leave this place. His chest rises slowly, measuring lungfuls of air perfumed with a signature that is all Narcissa–delicate florals, a faded earthiness that reminds him of moist soil. She smells like spring and new life. Funny, given how he so often equates her with ice and snow. His Snegurochka. There isn’t a hint of chill now, her body curved into his, their hearts beating as one.

Fine strands tickle his nose, but he only burrows his face further into her neck. Tightens his hold, one arm tucked under the pillow and curling around to thread his fingers with hers, the other snug beneath the gentle swell of her breasts. Hips flush, feet tangled, sinking further into uninterrupted dreams.

Except that she moves against him, mind and body on the precipice. He feels the shift in her breath, no longer in sync. Feels, too, her limbs stretch in anticipation of wakefulness. Doing so slides her pert bottom against his, and he twitches in response. That part of him has been awake, despite his attempts to pretend otherwise, the ache spreading now and impossible to ignore.

Her hips ruck upward, slotting the hardened length of him between her cheeks, and he grits his teeth at the inviting softness no amount of fabric can disguise. He’s trying not to rut into her the way he wants to, to flatten her belly to the mattress and thrust.

“Please.”

Now his eyes open. The interior of his curtained bed remains in shadows, the only light leaking in at the edges. Narcissa has twisted her head around enough for him to see her delicate profile, plush lip caught between teeth, hazy eyes fixed on him.

“Antonin,” she whispers, the hand holding his squeezing reflexively, bottom swivelling into his prominence. “I…” He can see the confusion in the shifting of her eyes, the way her breath quickens almost as if in panic. She doesn’t know what to ask for, what it is that her body wants.

He knows; he wants to be the one to give it to her.

But his voice seizes in his too dry throat. It’s morning now. The start of a new day brings with it a return to reality, one where obligation awaits them outside the four corners of his bed. He can see the realisation in her eyes, his hesitation an unintentional wound. Her fingers loosen; she begins to pull away.

His breath rushes out at once, guttural, desperate. “Wait.”

It’s without conscious thought that he finds himself hovering over her, hands splayed on either side, startled eyes to startled eyes, knees bracketing hips, nose to nose. They share one breath, pants warming the space between. He’s so damned hard that it hurts.

“Wait,” he repeats.

The voice that emerges her trembling lips sounds reedy and not at all like her usual confidence. “What are we waiting for?”

If he lets her go, Antonin is afraid they won’t get another chance like this. Logically, that doesn’t make sense. Their feelings are out in the open now. They’ve crossed the line by admitting as much. He knows what she tastes like, the sounds she makes as his tongue slides beside, the way her body fits perfectly against his own.

“We should probably talk.”

She arches her brow at him now, eyes scanning him from eyes down to the naked chest that traps her beneath him. He realises how ridiculous he sounds positioned as he is–a man about to ravish her.

He clears his throat and, the effort costing him greatly, pushes off the mattress to sit back on his heels. Narcissa, in turn, scoots up to lean against the headboard. The space that opens between them seems massive in comparison to the intimacy of their awakening.

“So talk.” Despite her short words, he senses amusement behind them.

“How do you feel?” The question is two-toned.

“I’m fine. How do you feel?” she counters.

Horny. Greedy.

He coughs politely to the side to disguise his snort, then answers as truthfully as he is able. “I don’t want us to leave just yet.”

She hums, but he knows that she’s pleased with his confession. The pull towards her is irresistible now, and he gives in to crawl across the mattress until he kneels between her bent knees.

“Pinch me.”

Chapter Text

Her adorable nose wrinkles. Then understanding lights her eyes, and the edges of her lips curl up. “This isn’t a dream.”

“It has to be.”

“Why?”

“I’ve imagined this so many times, this exact scenario. You, here, in my arms, wanting–”

She moves before he can finish, neck darting forward as she captures his lips with her own. They slide down, her arms around his neck, fingers curling into his hair and caressing the line of his jaw. He’d thought their earlier position the best he could hope for, but now delights in the way their bodies give way to one another. The only way this could be any better would be if they weren’t wearing any clothes at all. He wants to see her unravel at his hands, his mouth, for his words to finish her as he buries himself inside as deep as he can go.

He drinks in her moans and imagines what it might be like to share their combined essence in just such a kiss. He doesn’t even realise he’s grinding into her until she uses her greedy little claws to yank his head back.

“Antonin, please, I–I need–” She chokes as the hand he’d dropped to her hip moves up swiftly to trap her chin between knuckle and thumb. He times the move with a shift of one knee, settling inside her thighs and pressing directly into the source of her ache.

He stops then, leaving them both on the knife’s edge. She writhes against him, but he has her firm in hand.

Antonin wants to remember this moment for as long as he lives, which, in his case, might not be for much longer.

“No regrets?” he affirms. Their gazes lock. He can’t see an ounce of doubt in those limitless skies. There’s unmitigated want, yes, resolve, too, trust that he feels he does not deserve, and something weighty he dares not put a name to. Not yet.

“Never.”

He hums, a playful edge lingering in the sound. Keeping one hand at her collar, the other glides over the curves of her body, thumb brushing lightly over one stiffened nipple. Her breath catches at the brief contact.

“You’ve never been touched like this before, have you?” He knows the answer, her inexperience apparent in her widening eyes, her shuddering gasps. He just wants to hear her say it.

“Only with you.”

Blyat.

He is the only one to see her like this. To touch her in such a way. His palm continues downward until he pauses at a line of silk, the tip of his pinky teasing the scalloped edge.

He meets her gaze even as his lips lower to the peak of one breast. “May I?”

“Wh-what are you–” She can barely get the words out.

“I’m going to touch you. Here.” His pinky slips further, tickling at the fine hairs at the top of her mound. “And here.” He exhales a puff of air across her nipple.

Narcissa’s hold on his hair tightens, almost as if she means to yank him back from madness.

“Yes,” she chokes out instead, before biting at her lip like she can’t believe herself.

Victory roars within, and Antonin allows himself to be carried up in the heady rush of it. He doesn’t hold back now, the full weight of his hand pushing beneath her silk knickers and even silkier hair to cup her heated sex, while, at the same time, his tongue darts out to lap at the peak jutting out at him.

Her reaction is instantaneous. She arches, breast shoving upward, closer to his face, hips pressing deeper into the mattress. When Antonin sucks the entirety of her nipple over the fabric of her dress and rubs his middle finger along the dripping seam of her cunt, she groans, low and guttural.

The sound of her approval joins the flood rushing inside of him, demanding he hear more. He wants all of her noises. He needs to hear her scream–his name, most of all.

His switches to the other breast, the hand he’d rested atop her collar sliding down to take over kneading and tweaking at the abandoned nipple. His other hand continues to work between her legs, rotating so he can press the heel of it directly against the spot he knows will break her into a million tiny pieces.

“Oh, oh, ah. An-Anto–ah!” She’s yanking at his hair, digging her nails into his shoulders.

The pain spurs him on.

He doesn’t let up on the pressure at her clit as he pushes one finger inside. She’s impossibly tight, her walls seizing hold and squeezing like she can’t make up her mind whether she wants him inside or out.

Just imagining how that will feel on his cock, a strangling he’ll happily subject himself to and die for, nearly makes him forget his original plan. He nips at her, perhaps with a little too much bite, but, like the perfect witch that she is, she cries out for more.

So he gives it to her.

She wails as he pushes in a second finger, the stretch around his knuckles obscene. He can’t help rising up to swallow the sound, tongue mimicking fingers as he plunges and massages over and over again. He can feel her tightening, her nails scratching long lines across his back and shoulders.

She rips her face away as she convulses beneath his grinding palm. “Too much, it’s too much, I can’t, I–I’m–”

“It’s not too much,” he assures her, but she doesn’t seem to believe him, her head shaking in denial of the impending release her body desperately wants but doesn’t recognise.

“What–what’s happening?” Narcissa cries out, her eyes begging him for the answer.

“You.”

She’s gorgeous, confused and overwhelmed as she is. Antonin wants this for her. She needs to know what she’s been missing, and that he is the one who can give it to her.

Bringing his face up alongside her own–cheek to cheek, lips caressing the inner shell of her ear–he gives his command: “Let go. I’m right here.”

His fingers curl as he continues his push and pull, the scent of her arousal soaking the bed, the air, his entire being. He’s surrounded. He never wants to leave.

She’s. Right. There.

Narcissa seizes as the first wave of her pleasure crests, neck and each one of her limbs taut. He pulls back to watch. Memorising the shape of her lips as they part.

“Annnntonin!”

He doesn’t stop his motions. Doesn’t stop prolonging her ecstatic agony. His forehead dips to press against her own as the loveliest of moans erupt from her unbidden. It isn’t until she sags, drops a hand to squeeze at his wrist, that he slows. Her eyelids droop as her lips pull into a sleepy, satisfied smile.

It would be so easy to unsheathe himself. Slide inside of her readied core and push past the barrier of her innocence. He’s seen a hint of how she reacts to pain mixed with pleasure. She’s perfect for him, and he for her.

But.

He wants her first time to be perfect. Not rushed. This is good enough for now. More than good enough. They’re lucky Lucius hasn’t come looking for him already.

He moulds his body to hers, whispering praises that she drinks up as if she’s never been worshipped before. When she slips a hand in between to wrap around his cock, he shakes his head even as he indulges her with a smile.

“This was for you.”

She pouts prettily. “But Antonin–”

“Next time, my love.”

She still looks uncertain, but brightens at “next time.” With a sigh of acceptance, she ducks into the curve of neck.

This promise is one he intends to keep.

Chapter Text

“We need to talk.”

Lucius’ eyes were sharp, the silver nearly piercing through him. Antonin resisted the urge to look away.

“Go ahead.” He made to move towards their usual spot at the table, but stopped as the other man blocked him.

Lucius looked around the Great Hall and at the people trickling in for lunch. Antonin had missed breakfast, choosing instead to curl around the woman in his bed longer than was wise. Even now, the sweet perfume of her honeyed scent clung to his nostrils.

“Not here. Come with me,” Lucius said.

They walked out the way they’d come, and Antonin made sure to snag a few pasties on the way out; he had a feeling they wouldn’t be back before lunch ended. Curious eyes followed them. Antonin didn’t allow himself to look around for Narcissa. Whatever it was that Lucius wanted to talk with him about, it couldn’t be good. Not with the set of his shoulders and how tightly he held his wand.

Their walk led them to the courtyard. Some students mingled about, but there was enough privacy at the fountain where Antonin chose to sit. Lucius remained standing.

That wasn’t a good sign.

“Out with it, already,” Antonin prompted. He leaned back on his hands, affecting nonchalance.

“Who were you with last night?” Lucius demanded.

There it is.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked. He might have already damned himself, but he’d kill himself before throwing her into the fire, too.

Lucius’s jaw clenched just before he took a deep breath. “I know it wasn’t Amara. I saw her with Thorfinn and Flavius after I left.”

“I never said it was her.”

“Was it someone I know?”

He raised a brow. “Don’t you know everybody?”

Lucius huffed in annoyance. “Yes, but you know that’s not what I meant. She could be a Mudblood, or Professor McGonagall, for all I care. This is the time for us to have fun. Before we graduate.” He left unspoken the sort of life they’d lead after leaving the castle walls.

“Then what’s the problem?” Antonin asked.

“The problem,” Lucius stressed, “is that I know you. You don’t mess around. Whoever you’re shagging means something to you. She needs to be from the right house with the right goals.”

Antonin maintained eye contact despite his inner turmoil. He could lie, say he was drunk. He had a feeling, though, that Lucius wouldn’t buy that. He knew Antonin too much.

“How do you know it’s a witch?”

His friend snorted. “What, am I not pretty enough for you?”

They shared a look before Lucius rolled his eyes and spoke again.

“I’m not going to even favour that a real response. At least tell me one thing.”

Antonin stared at him, waiting for the follow-up. Lucius sighed.

“Is she going to be a distraction?”

“Absolutely.”

Lucius sat next to him, finally, and dropped his head into his hands. They didn’t say anything for several beats.

“I haven’t forgotten our mission, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Antonin assured him. Now that he knew his secret with Narcissa was still safe, he wanted to give whatever comfort he could without outright lying.

“You do know it’s going to be my arse they punish if they don’t get what they want, don’t you?”

“Well, since you’re so pretty,” he teased, “maybe they’ll take it easy on you.”

They shared a smirk. Antonin let the humour fade as he reached out to grab Lucius’ shoulder. They were in this life together, no matter how much Antonin wished otherwise. He was in love with Narcissa, but he would never abandon Lucius. She’d understand.

“Don’t worry, bratan. I won’t let it get to that. You have my word.”

Lucius nodded, then, to Antonin’s surprise, seized hold of the hand on his shoulder and pulled Antonin into a hug. It was brief. More of a side hug. But it was an embrace, nonetheless, the sort of touch Antonin hadn’t known the other man was capable of.

Yes, he took witches to bed. Made their eyes shine. But this?

He’d bared a part of himself to Antonin in an inexplicable moment of weakness so raw it almost made him flinch. It was the exact sort of emotion Lord Malfoy abhorred.

And he’d shown it to Antonin.

Lucius cleared his throat. “Mind sharing one of those?” He jerked his chin towards the pasties in Antonin’s lap.

“Just one. The other two are mine since you’re the one who dragged me out here.”

“Wanker.”

“Svolotsch.”

They munched on their baked pastries as they watched the courtyard, together in body even if their minds were not.

Chapter Text

He waited for his opportunity, one that didn’t arrive until later that same afternoon.

It wasn’t often that Narcissa walked unaccompanied; she almost always had an entourage surrounding her from class to class. That, or her arm would be tucked into her fiance’s arm in an appropriate display of affection.

If she was Antonin’s witch, he wouldn’t give a damn about etiquette. At no point would she be able to move without his hands on her body–an arm slung tight around her waist, a hand resting over the flat expanse of her stomach, or perhaps cupping the back of her neck, squeezing every now and then.

He wasn’t sure how she’d managed to give her little friends the slip, but he wasn’t going to question his luck. The second she drew even with the alcove where he waited, he hauled her into the darkness.

“Mmmmff!” Her shout came out muffled from beneath his hand, body wiggling against his tight embrace.

The plush curve of her bottom pressed into him, her natural perfume thick in his nostrils. The idea that they were hidden, yet easily discoverable should anyone bother to look, turned him on beyond reason.

“Shhhh, be quiet. Or do you want to be found?”

She stilled at his voice. Then, slowly, she turned her head, eyes seeking him out in the shadows. “Antonin?”

“Who else would it be? Do you meet other wizards in secret places?” he teased.

“Of course not,” she replied hotly. “Nobody would dare.”

“Never say never, Narcissa. Young men are known to be…stupid. One look at you, and see?” He moved against her so she could feel exactly how she’d affected him. “I couldn’t help myself from snatching you up.”

Rather than bite back with her usual banter, she relaxed into him even more. “What do you plan to do with me?”

Antonin was sorely tempted to save what he’d meant to say for another day. Surely it could wait until tomorrow, at least? He had her in his arms, their bodies flush with one another, and her lips tantalisingly close. He could bring her to completion right here with no one the wiser and send her on her way, porcelain skin glowing with the aftermath of her bloom.

His fingers slid down to do just that when the whisper of a voice slithered through his mind. You have my word.

He dropped his face into the crook of her neck, nose gliding along the curve as he breathed her in. She sighed in contentment, arching into him.

“Lucius and I spoke earlier.”

She stiffened instantly. He wished he could take the words back, but they needed to be said.

“What did you speak about?” she asked.

“You.” Before she could panic, he quickly explained. “Not that he knows it was you. He knew, at the very least, that it wasn’t Amara in my bed last night.”

Narcissa stepped away, and he let her, curious how she’d react. She moved only a few steps before spinning gracefully to face him. Even now, in the quiet dark, she captured his attention. There was nowhere she could go, no place far enough where he wouldn’t find her. The blood that sang in her presence was more assured than the most accurate of locator spells.

“Who does he think it was?”

“He didn’t say. He knows, whoever she is, that I wouldn’t choose just anyone.”

He moved closer, backing her up against the wall and planting both hands on either side, caging her in. She could easily duck underneath to escape him. They both knew she wouldn’t.

Narcissa’s hum sounded speculative, like she questioned his statement.

“What, you think he’s wrong?”

She shook her head, the silky tresses of her hair fluttering between them.

“Then why?”

“The thought of my fiance and my lover–” Fuck, he loved the sound of that, “–talking about me. Even when I’m not there in body, I still occupy your minds in one way or another.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you like the idea of two wizards falling over themselves for you.” Unbidden, suspicion stirred. “Does it? Do you want both of us, my little snow witch?”

She shook her head again, more vehemently this time, and brought her hands up to rest at his waist. “I only want you.”

Lucius was right; love was a distraction. Hearing those words fall from Narcissa’s lips nearly pushed all other thoughts from his mind. Antonin’s only desire at that moment was to possess her in the way he’d stopped himself from doing that very same morning.

Like she shared his thoughts, which, given her abilities, she very likely could, Narcissa sank down to her knees, her luminescent eyes fixed on his own.

“What are you doing?” Surely she wasn’t about to–

“Showing you just how much I mean what I said.”

“You don’t need to do that.” Mudak.

“I want to.”

He trembled at the want in those three little words. It would be so easy to give in and let her take him out. His cock certainly agreed with him, straining as it was against the placket of his trousers. But this wasn’t what he’d planned, not in the cold stone where someone could stumble across them. While there was a part of him that preened at a public claim, a louder, more persistent, side of him refused to let anyone see her so compromised. That was a sight only for his eyes.

She squeezed him, then, and he couldn’t help but moan at the gentle pressure. Maybe if they were quick enough–no.

Narcissa gasped as he pulled her up. “Antonin, let me–”

“Not like this.”

She bit her lip as she looked up at him. Using his thumb, he tugged it right back out, tutting softly. If anyone was going to bite that lip, it was going to be him.

“When, and I do mean when, you suck me with those perfect lips, I plan on reciprocating. Alcoves and closets are no place for you.”

“Others do it. How am I any different?” she insisted. He squeezed her arms as she attempted to lower herself once more.

“If you think I want our first time to be rushed, where someone could easily interrupt us, then you are not as intelligent as I know you to be.”

At that, she ceased her struggling. He sensed a subtle change in the air, like power surging into the space around them and looking for release. He breathed a sigh of relief when her hands moved away and came to rest against his chest.

“Our first time,” she repeated.

Her voice was low and leading. Were she to take him by the hand right then and lead him somewhere private, somewhere secure, say, the Come and Go Room, he would be powerless to resist. Her eyes, however, turned up and searching, gave away her true feelings.

Yes, there was desire. Curiosity, too. But he also picked up a slight panic in her rapid blinks and quickened breath.

He longed to reassure her that there was no rush. They still had time, despite the pressure he felt from day to day. He would make time.

“That’s what I said. This,” he pressed her up against the wall, soft curves moulding to hard edges, “will happen. Maybe not today, or even tomorrow, but happen it will.”

He indulged them both with one kiss, just enough to carry them throughout the day, then tore himself away and down the hall.

Chapter Text

Even though all Antonin wanted to think, dream, breathe, drink was Narcissa, he knew he needed to stay focused. There was only so much time before they were no longer students, before he couldn’t pretend he was a regular student like everyone else with their pampered, ignorant futures.

He’d gotten the ball rolling with his not-so-secret duelling classes. More and more students were starting to ask about them. How were some of them improving at a much more rapid pace than others? Where did they practise? Who did they practise with? Was there a leader?

Hogwarts already had a Duelling Club led by Charms Professor Flitwick. Antonin had to admit he wasn’t half bad, even without taking into consideration his competitive record. The man had a wicked mind for combat; however, he had something Antonin did not: a limit. Flitwick might hex and jinx and feint, but he would stop before crossing over into true darkness.

Antonin stalked within that darkness.

He’d been born along the border, given enough light and love to miss their warmth, then led directly into shadow by his own father. Those early memories tethered him to his sanity, which was probably the intention all along. He didn’t doubt Ilya Dolohov’s love for his family, for him, but Antonin was no fool. Every word and action taken worked towards a singular goal: freedom.

Freedom required power. Power to seize control. Power to change what needed to be changed. Power to unravel the binds holding them all in place.

Like his father, Antonin bided his time carefully. He’d observed. He’d pinpointed likely allies and foes. And, unlike Lucius, his list included all four houses. The Prewett twins were too promising to make their enemies; he was certain that, given the right motivation, they’d join in on the fight for wizardkind’s liberation.

There was one major obstacle to their conversion.

Their sister.

Antonin watched her approach from across the library. He liked Molly. She was a natural caretaker, like his mama. He suspected she shared a similar capacity for fire, especially when her brothers were involved. Gideon and Fabian were similarly protective of her. If she set her foot down against their eventual partnership there’d be no partnership to speak of.

Luckily for him, her close friendship with Narcissa afforded him an open door.

She smiled innocently as she drew abreast, then moved to pass him. He cleared his throat to hold her attention. She paused, tilted her head, then settled into place with one hand folded over the other in front of her.

“Can I help you with something, Antonin?”

He had to hand it to her. Molly exuded propriety, but there was no mistaking the mischievous lilt in her voice. No wonder she and Narcissa got along so well.

“Have a seat. There’s plenty of room at my table.” He waved towards the three empty chairs around him.

She gave his invitation the proper amount of consideration before accepting, gracefully slipping into the chair at the opposite corner to his own. Flicking the thick braid of hair over her shoulder, she commenced pulling out her coursework to spread across her side of the table. He watched her silently until she was finished. She met his stare without flinching, and he couldn’t help but admire the spirit. Plenty of their so-called followers could learn a thing or two from her.

“Alright, what did my brothers do this time?”

He blinked, then snorted. “What makes you think they did anything?”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Why else would you invite me to talk without them or Cissa? You obviously want something.”

She wasn’t wrong, but still. It bothered him that she was so assured in his disinterest unless one of the others were involved. He wasn’t sure where the belief stemmed from–his reputation? He hadn’t ever tried to avoid her during their duelling sessions. This wasn’t even the first time they’d shared a study table, though it was the first time they’d been alone at one.

“We’ll explore why you think I wouldn’t want to talk to you later, but you’re not completely wrong about me wanting something.”

If she was surprised at the first part of his sentence, she didn’t show it. One slender eyebrow lifted upward. “The boys, or Cissa?”

“Neither.”

He could see he’d stumped her with how her entire brow furrowed, her lips pursing. This time, she tugged her braid forward to tug at the curled end.

“Well, not directly.”

She was hooked. “Explain.”

“Is there anything you wish you could do, that you’ve always wanted to do, but can’t because Gideon and Fabian won’t let you?”

She looked at him like she thought he was stupid. “You don’t have any siblings, do you? Not any sisters, at least.”

He grinned. “That obvious, huh?” He was glad she’d tacked on the last part so he wouldn’t have to lie, not that doing so would’ve bothered him. Partial truths were easier to remember.

Molly glanced around as if to check for anyone who might be listening, but she needn’t have worried. He’d chosen to sit at this table for its relative privacy. Against a window and between a thick section of wall and a shelf of obscure history texts, someone would have to either stand directly beside him or just on the other side of the stack to eavesdrop.

Once she’d determined the same, she fixed her eyes on him once more. He thought she might put up more of a resistance to answering his question.

“Most wizards are too intimidated by them to even try asking me out,” she freely offered. “It’s…frustrating, to say the least.”

He could understand her annoyance, but, if he did have a little sister, he’d do more than intimidate. He’d put the fear of Veles into anyone who thought they’d make a pass without the proper introductions and vowing to keep their hands to themselves. He wasn’t going to admit as such to her, though.

“Is there someone you want to ask you out?” he asked.

Molly’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why? Don’t tell me you mean to. I’m not blind, Antonin. It’s not me you want.”

“No,” he admitted. He wasn’t insulted in the slightest when she sighed with relief. “But what if I told you I could get them to lighten up on you? After they probably try to kill me, that is.”

“I’d say you’re hitting potions, but why do I get the feeling that you know what you’re talking about?” She crossed her arms, leaning back against her chair.

“Because I do,” he said with confidence.

He’d been considering what he was about to say for some time after they’d first been introduced. Anyone Narcissa trusted, he did, too. Every moment he spent with the Prewetts since then had only cemented his decision.

One he hoped Narcissa would approve because he hadn’t consulted with her on any of it. Better to ask for forgiveness after the fact than permission that would not have been given.

“Would you like to be my date to the Autumn Dance?”

Chapter Text

Molly’s face contorted into a bafflement, head jerking back, hand fisting atop the table.

Was it him, or was her hair even redder than before? Curly wisps seemed to crackle around her like a swiftly growing fire. Her eyes, usually soft, narrowed into slits.

“What did you just ask me?”

“Would you like to be my date to the Autumn Dance?” he repeated, word for word, tone for tone.

He could hear the sharp hiss of air sucked between gritted teeth, how the quill she gripped in one fist creaked.

“I would not like that. No.”

“Let me rephrase. Please be my date to the Autumn Dance.”

Slits turned round in incredulity. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Now you’re asking the right question,” he said approvingly.

Molly didn’t appreciate the compliment, and she loosened her fists only so she could slap them down onto the table as she leaned forward. “Tell me what ridiculous plan is slithering through your sneaky little brain, Antonin Dolohov, or, Circe help me, I’ll–”

“I need a date, and Narcissa likes you, meaning that I like you,” he said, cutting her off, then, noticing her sharpened look, added, “but not like that. As a friend.”

“Friend,” she repeated flatly.

“The sort of friends who fake date each other to help one another out.”

Now he had her attention. There was no missing the spark of light in her blue eyes. Her stance softened as she sat back up, lips pursing.

“How does pretending to date help one another?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be anything more than for the dance. No trips to Hogsmeade. No clandestine broom closets. No after-game parties at each others’ common rooms. One friendly date to show the lions what an open-minded gentleman I am and your crush how desirable you are.”

Molly stewed on his explanation. “I can see how this might help me, but I don’t really understand why you need my help to get my housemates to like you. Aren’t you already friends with my brothers?”

He nodded. “You’re not wrong. There’s a kind of respect from the Quidditch pitch and duelling, but it’s not like we really associate closely anywhere else. We already have our own circles that aren’t at all interested in mixing together.”

“And showing interest in me does?” she asked, doubtful.

He’d picked Molly Prewett apart the moment they’d met, just like he did everyone else. While Antonin had already known her name and family history beforehand, there still remained a wealth of knowledge from seeing them in person–their reactions, the secrets in each sigh and glance.

Molly wasn’t any different.

He saw the way her eyes slid across Lucius to fix on Narcissa. He saw, too, how the moment Molly’s eyes moved elsewhere that Lucius’ would inevitably sneak a peek back too quickly for anyone less aware to notice.

That was a ship doomed to sink, namely because of the other person Molly pretended to ignore. Someone who sat at her own table wearing the same colours and sporting a not dissimilar shade of hair to her own.

“Everyone likes you. You could make a blind man smile and a deaf man laugh. You choosing to accept the mysterious exchange student makes me seem more approachable.”

She nodded along, not out of self-pride, but in understanding of how predictable human behaviour could be. “And this supposed crush you think I have?” Her brow jumped, daring him to continue.

“The heart wants what it cannot have. Doubly so if someone else also shows interest.”

She scoffed. “When I see a couple, I immediately write them off as possibilities.”

“You say that, and you might even believe it. But your heart…”

Molly frowned.

“...your heart’s a different matter entirely.”

He could see the warring conflict as she chewed at her lip. He was so close to convincing her; she just needed a tiny nudge.

“He likes you, too, you know.”

She looked as if she’d stopped breathing, her eyes wide open and staring at him in shock.

“I give you my word, Molly. We go through with this, and you’ll get your chance with him.”

She swallowed hard. He knew from the shift of her shoulders and tightening jaw that she was going to lie.

“Or don’t. I asked you because I actually want us to be friends, but I can always ask someone else if you’d prefer. I don’t want our time together with your brothers and Narcissa to be awkward.”

Like the youngest child he knew her to be, Molly craved attention. Needed it to thrive. Retracting his offer to give to another was tantamount to snatching away a chance at something to call her own. Something not handed down from the eldest, or guarded jealously, forever out of reach.

“I’ll do it.” She blanched, like she’d surprised even herself with her acceptance. But, she repeated herself, softer and with determination, “I’ll do it.”

He thrust out a hand.

She stared for a minute, huffed, then took it with her own. “It’s customary for the woman to offer her hand first.”

He grinned, unable to help himself. “You should know by now that I am no true gentleman.”

Her laughter rang out, and they shook, sealing the deal.

Let the next round begin.

Chapter Text

Antonin trusted Molly to keep their agreement between the two of them for the time being, but he still thought it prudent to inform Narcissa. The last thing he needed was for her to find out about the arrangement from another source and completely misunderstand his intentions.

He only saw her. He would only ever see her.

Luckily, they had one of their private sessions planned for that evening that coincided with Lucius’ Prefect duties.

But, first, he needed to get through the day.

Normally, Antonin had no problem with patience. How could he not be? The virtue had been drilled into him from a young age with his father’s sporadic attendance. He remembered more days waiting alongside his mama and brother for Ilya to return than not.

Perhaps that’s what made those early days where they all shared one roof all the more precious–his father’s laughter boisterous enough to ring throughout their cosy home, his mother glowing in that way she only did when her husband was near, and Kolya never far from Papa’s side, clinging to one leg like a bear cub.

So that was why his inability to set aside his own thoughts was most baffling. Despite his trust in Molly, he couldn’t help but fear their ruse somehow making it to Narcissa’s ears, as if the castle walls themselves would whisper.

His tongue sat thick and bitter in his mouth, prompting Antonin to make a detour to the washroom. He followed the first swig of water from the faucet with a splash over his whole face, then repeated the process.

Refreshed, he turned to leave only for the door to open straight into Thorfinn Rowle. The larger boy blinked as he took in Antonin’s dripping brow.

“What happened to you?”

Antonin stepped aside to let him in, shrugging nonchalantly. “Nothing. I just fancied a drink.”

Thorfinn hummed as he strode over to the toilet, leaving the door open as he proceeded to take a piss.

“I should thank you,” he tossed over his shoulder before Antonin could leave.

“‘Thank’?” He frowned. “What for?”

They’d duelled a handful of times, but surely he didn’t mean that. Thorfinn wasn’t exactly a beginner in combat; his brutish strength was an asset that, while volatile, was gloriously unpredictable and kept Antonin on his toes every time they went head to head.

The toilet flushed.

Thorfinn grinned as he walked over to clap a hand on Antonin’s shoulder.

“For dropping Amara in my lap.”

“Ah.”

He’d heard far more than he’d wished about that. Not only from Lucius, but in the locker room, too. Flavius hadn’t shut up about it for several practises until some Hufflepuff had caught his eye.

“Seriously, man. She’s a bloody dream. The things she can do with that mouth of hers…” He paused, shaking his head.

Antonin snorted in amusement. Oh, he had a very good idea of how talented Amara’s mouth was thanks to Lucius’ inability to cast a silencing spell.

“You’re welcome.”

Now that she was on his mind, he realised that he hadn’t seen her in their room for quite some time. There’d been a steady stream of other witches, but not Amara, not that Antonin thought Lucius even noticed her absence.

Which meant Thorfinn might be skilled in more than one type of wandwork.

“If you ever change your mind about her, let me know. She’d love some double Beater action.” Thorfinn guffawed and slapped him on the shoulder once more.

“Okay, priyatel.”

They parted ways, and Antonin had to admit feeling a little lighter following Thorfinn’s good cheer. There was no reality where Antonin would ever take up with another witch, especially Amara. Still, he was fond of Thorfinn.

Chances of a brotherhood like what he shared with Lucius were low, but he wouldn’t dismiss it outright. There were different sorts of bonds. Antonin would make use of the tools at hand for their appropriate circumstances, and time would tell what sort Thorfinn would become in the end.

If only everyone else was as predictable.

Unfortunately, his chat in the loo made him one of the last students to walk into Ancient Runes, one of his favourite courses. Many of his peers thought the knowledge outdated and limited in application, but he knew better. The art was integral to binding the past to the present, and he even applied runes to his own spells, not that anyone else knew much about that little hobby of his. Too much of what he created could never see the light of day in this bubble of peace.

There were only a couple of seats available to him. He chose the one closest to the wall for a better view of the room as was his habit.

“Rookwood,” he greeted the only other student at the table, receiving a single grunt in reply.

Now here was a wizard he wished had even a smidgen of Thorfinn’s disposition. But, no, Augustus Rookwood continued to be as surly and mistrusting as he had from their introduction. Antonin respected the dedication, but he needed loyalty more. Rookwood was just too valuable of a player to keep at a distance and risk losing.

Observing him up close like this in a classroom setting confirmed that thought.

It was clear from their notetaking that the recalcitrant wizard was far more advanced than the rest of their peers. Rather than jot the professor’s words down exactly, he added variations from texts that had never been assigned to them. Antonin recognised them all, obviously, but that was to be expected.

“Do you always peek over other people’s shoulders?” Rookwood snapped, surprising Antonin at the suddenness of the outburst.

“Most others aren’t worth noticing.”

He knew it wasn’t a clear answer, but one wasn’t needed. The other wizard understood a compliment when he heard it.

The prickliness didn’t soften, but no further complaints were voiced. Rookwood was susceptible to flattery, after all, as long as it wasn’t too direct. Annoying, but Antonin could still work with it.

He waited to address the young man again until after class when they were mostly packed up and nobody would bother eavesdropping.

“Are you as well read in duelling charms as you are in runes?”

Eyes glittered at him as Rookwood paused mid-motion. “Why do you ask?”

“Surely you’ve heard of the duelling sessions we’ve set up.”

“Yes.” His lip curled, like he took offense to Antonin assuming otherwise.

“We’d welcome such a challenge, if you are interested.” Antonin expected him to flat out refuse.

“Does that ‘we’ include you?” Rookwood’s stare intensified.

“Of course.”

“Consider me interested.”

The wizard resumed packing his bag, no longer paying Antonin any mind. He, in turn, took a few beats, shocked to realise that his offer had been accepted. Of all the tasks Antonin had expected to complete today, adding Augustus Rookwood to the roster this soon certainly hadn’t been one of them. Interest wasn’t complete acceptance, but it was a start.

He mentally shook himself. Project confidence.

“I’ll reach out again for the next session.”

Another grunt.

It would have to do.

Chapter Text

The sizzle of magic missed Antonin’s ear by a hair’s breadth, loudly cracking as it struck the wall behind him. He countered with a silent hex of his own, one that was easily routed and paid back in kind.

He was forced to move, the speed and dark energy clearly more powerful than his shield charm. Narcissa’s lips twitched.

“Don’t get too confident,” he called.

“I’m not.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Her answer was yet another offensive charm, not waiting for Antonin’s turn. He couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped. She’d been on fire ever since the start of the session, like energy had been coiling up all day just waiting for release.

Luckily for her, he’d been just as pent up.

Sweat rolled down his neck, trickling beneath the collar of his shirt. He felt lighter than air, the wand merely an extension of his body. How like Narcissa to bring out the best in him, to push Antonin to reach into the coffers of his spell knowledge.

She could duel-cast with the best of his Durmstrang peers, which meant she stood leagues above the majority of the Hogwarts student body, with himself, Lucius, and, if his suspicions proved correct, Rookwood as the exceptions. He wondered how she sized up next to her sister Bellatrix, who he’d heard was a demon with a wand. As it was now, Narcissa measured closer to the Prewett siblings. Her Legilimency gave her an edge.

He tested her with a combination of brute force attacks and a sharp prod to her mind. As expected, she only tightened down on both fronts.

A wicked thought had him lowering his own defenses and slowing down his reactions.

Narcissa noticed the gap and reacted quickly. They’d need to speak later about obvious traps.

His limbs seized as her immobilising charm hit, and he lost sight of her with the swift mental entry that followed. Antonin was ready for her, a series of memories already playing at the forefront that he knew she’d be unable to ignore.

Although they stood nowhere near one another, he felt the way she paused at the scene of him and Molly sitting together in the library. The prickles of unease were not his own.

“Would you like to be my date to the Autumn Dance?”

Seeing the scene once more like this, he could better appreciate the perplexity on Molly’s face, that eye tic that gave away her revulsion at the very idea of him. Antonin wasn’t insulted. He would have felt the same were their roles reversed.

The witch’s swift refusal didn’t ease Narcissa’s vexation. She continued to seethe as she watched Antonin’s repeated request. Past Antonin sounded rather impertinent, actually; he wasn’t surprised that Narcissa didn’t soften even as she heard the truth he’d told Molly.

Maybe he should have felt bad exposing the suppressed feelings between Narcissa’s best friend and betrothed. He might have been, had he felt any inkling of rage or betrayal on her part as his past self exposed that little tidbit. If anything, what he sensed from her was a sad acceptance.

By the time she finally retreated, leaving in him an ache that bloomed across both temples and down to his neck, Narcissa’s hold on him had vanished. He looked across to find her hands slack at her side and eyes huge as she stared at him.

“Am I meant to accept your plan just because you showed me exactly what you wanted me to see?”

He flinched at the chilly tone. “I’d hoped you would.”

“Did you think I didn’t already know about Lucius’ feelings? Or Molly’s?”

“Did you?” He kept his gaze fixed firmly on her stiffened features.

She laughed, then, not an inkling of mirth in the sound. “How could I not? I grew up with them both. I wish they could speak their minds–to each other, to me–but they are just as tied to responsibility as I. There isn’t anything any one of us can do to–”

He’d waited until a strand of golden hair spilled forward in her growing frustration to strike her with a summoning charm, and she broke off as her body flew forward. Narcissa tried to cancel the movement, but he’d anticipated that, too. Antonin surged forward as she slowed.

“Antonin, you can’t just–”

“I can, and I will.”

She was in his arms, soft, but struggling. Hands slapped weakly at his chest. He ignored them, pulling her against him, wrapping his arms around and hugging her close.

“I’m sorry, I truly am. I want nothing more than to be at your side, to guide you over that dance floor for everyone to see what a lucky mudak I am.”

Narcissa’s flailing faded as she switched to clinging. Moisture seeped through his robes to his collarbone. He couldn’t stop himself from fisting her silky tresses and bending her face back. The eyes that were usually so icy, so far removed from the reproach of others, swam with tears. Pink replaced the snowy skin of her nose and cheeks.

Beautiful, in her distress.

His cock stirred at the sight, and her eyes widened.

“What can I say, Snegurochka? How can I not be moved by your unravelling?”

Chapter Text

He’d meant for the telling to be gentle. Antonin would sit her down and calmly inform Narcissa of his plan, making certain to reassure her of his unfailing devotion. She deserved no less. She deserved everything.

His father had always reprimanded him for acting before thinking, a shortcoming Antonin thought he had overcome.

There was no holding back with Narcissa. Not emotionally. Not physically. The moment her magic flew at him swift as the winter wind, he’d given in to the impulse to draw her into his mind, have her feel the weight of each sentiment.

Antonin didn’t want Molly. Surely, she realised that.

Her wide eyes, those trembling lips, compelled him further into action. He needed to prove his fidelity with action while she remained pliant in his arms.

“Antonin–” She gasped at the suddenness of his movement as he spun her around, his desire unmistakable pressed against her backside as he was.

He continued to move them, rotating until they faced the wall of mirrors that served as their visual guide during each session. Countless times had he impressed upon her the importance of checking her form in its reflection. For a witch as beautiful as she, Narcissa had been surprisingly reluctant to stare at herself for too long. Even now, she twisted her face to look up at him.

“What are you doing?”

One arm slung around her waist, palm flattened atop her lower belly and keeping her pinned against him, he pinched her chin between the thumb and forefinger of the other and coaxed her toward the glass.

“Keep your eyes and both hands on the mirror and watch what you do to me.”

Startled, she could only stare at him.

“Nar-ci-ssa,” he said slowly, drawing out each syllable of her name, “don’t make me repeat myself.”

Her hands began to rise, then halted; she almost seemed surprised at her own obedience. Brow furrowing, she paused to question him yet again. “What do you mean by ‘watch what you do to me’?”

He let his body speak for him, pulling down with the arm still wrapped around her waist and pressing forward with a knee beneath her skirt at the same time with force.

Narcissa inhaled sharply as she dropped down directly onto his thigh with only the thin barrier of her knickers between them. Both of her hands flew forward to brace against the glass, delighting him as much as vexing herself.

“Antonin! That–nnnnnng.”

As much as he loved hearing his name issue from her lips, his goal right now was to render her speechless. Antonin’s hand slapped down on the mirror outside of hers as he bent to the task of grinding her heated centre against his tensed thigh. At the same time, he leaned in close, inhaling her perfume and nipping at the curve of one ear.

“Only you can make me do these things, Snegurochka. Only for you do I serve in this way. Only. You.”

Their gazes held in the reflection as he exerted exact pressure. Fine features twisted as she struggled to maintain the connection, but there was little she could do against the tide rising within her. He could feel her wetness seeping through the pathetic barriers of their clothing, an added tang in the air. He could bathe in the aroma every second of every day.

The moment his teeth scraped along the tender skin at the curve of her neck, she cried out, pink blush deepening and spreading as her pleasure crested.

“Eyes. Open,” he reminded her. Fuck, he ached.

She moaned, doing as she was bid, frosty regard darkened by the throes of her satisfaction.

“My turn. Don’t you dare look away.”

He pulled his arm down to free himself from his constraints. It only took a few tugs before Antonin too, groaned and came all over himself. Through it all, he kept his eyes locked on hers; Narcissa seemed entranced, teeth digging deep into her plush lip and breathing heavily. A downward glance revealed that a few strands of spend had landed on her skirt, oozing prettily as he worked out every last drop.

His arm loosened, and she immediately tried to twist around.

“Let me–”

“No, no, my sweet. We stop here, today.”

A wave of his hand was all it took to clean up the evidence. As much as he would have loved to keep the reminder of her to appreciate throughout the day, the urge to hoard that perfume to himself was stronger. He only let go of her once he’d tucked himself back in and smoothed the rumpled robes.

Narcissa pouted as she finally turned around and took him in. “I want to see you.”

“This isn’t the time for that,” he said firmly, though he couldn’t stop his mouth from curling to one side. He liked her desperation.

“But you thought you had enough time to try and make me forget about dating my friend?”

“Nyet. Forgive, yes. We are not dating. It will be only the one time; no more.”

“I don’t like it.”

“That is fine, as long as you don’t doubt my feelings and trust that I know what I am doing.”

The tinge of rose had abated, leaving her pristine once more as she should be, with anyone but him; he promised the same for her.

“I do trust you,” she murmured.

“But?” Greedy wizard that he was, Antonin wanted to hear her say it.

She obliged his selfishness. “But I wish it was me at your side.”

A different sort of ache threatened.

“I know. I feel the same.”

Chapter Text

With Narcissa’s forgiveness, came renewed vigour.

He hadn’t thought himself lacking, but the extra spring in Antonin’s step proved otherwise. She was the wind, and he, the falcon.

Antonin kept waiting for guilt to rise each morning as he sat up and looked across his dorm room. Some pervasive need to renew his loyalties to the man he called “brother,” but finding none. His fervour for Lucius had not faded in the slightest—Antonin loved him no less than before—yet, he could not muster any semblance of wrongdoing.

Because, how could he?

Everything about Narcissa rang true and good and right.

“I can feel you staring.” Lucius’ voice grated with need of water. Sluggish lids dragged open, the greys still hazy with sleep.

“I am simply wondering how you manage to be awake at all with how late you stumbled into bed last night,” Antonin remarked lightly.

He lounged in bed, as he liked to do on the weekends. Such mornings were best spent in the company of a good book. Usually, Antonin got in a good couple of hours of peaceful silence before anyone else awoke, or his stomach demanded sustenance.

“Like I said,” Lucius grumbled, “I could feel you staring.”

“Only because you’ve such a pretty face when your mouth is shut,” Antonin jeered, making a rude gesture with his hand.

He ducked as a pillow hurdled through the air, only to smack into the headboard behind him.

“You wish witches thought you as pretty as me.”

“Please,” he scoffed, squinting at the other wizard as he shrugged off the blankets to sit up and stretch, “I’ve got that and so much more in my favour.”

Like Narcissa.

Lucius’ eyes rolled as he affected the haughty air he’d long turned into an art. “And, yet, your bed remains empty night after night.”

“Quality over quantity.”

“Why not both?”

They smirked at one another, then moved as if of one mind. The two pillows they launched collided midair and fell to the ground.

After a flurry of attacks that resulted in a mess of feathers and bed curtains hanging off their rails, the two agreed on a truce. Hunger waited for no wizard.

The Slytherin Common Room bustled with students who had already finished breakfast, many of whom immediately approached them before they could make it to the exit. Antonin leaned against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other, as he watched Lucius the Prefect patiently listen to each complaint and request. For all of his snobbery and preening, the man was the perfect choice for the role.

Movement at the back of the crowd caught Antonin’s attention, and he craned his neck to see Rabastan looking uncharacteristically nervous, shifting from one foot to another and wringing his hands. What could make the frivolous wizard act so unlike his usual self?

Seeing as Lucius wasn’t going to be done any time soon, Antonin pushed off the wall and approached. The other man paid him hardly any attention, too absorbed in whatever turmoil it was that tormented him.

“Dobroye utro, Rabastan Lestrange.”

He suppressed a snort at the way the wizard jolted in surprise.

“D-Dolohov! I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Antonin bobbed his head. “I should be the one to apologise. I greeted you “Good morning” in my own tongue.”

“Oh.” Slate grey eyes blinked dumbly for an additional second. “Good morning.”

“Do you need to speak with Lucius?”

Antonin noted the way Rabastan’s hands stilled, then shifted to clutch at his robes in an obvious display of indecision. While they were not particularly close, Antonin liked the man well enough. Whatever it was he wanted to say was clearly of great importance to him.

“He will likely be a while,” Antonin murmured. “If it’s a listening ear you need, I may be of assistance.”

Rabastan’s eyes widened, before darting back towards the crowd, as if he could will them away. “It’s a personal matter that should really remain between related parties.”

“In that case, shall I tell Lucius of your request for an audience?” Antonin offered.

The younger man sighed in relief. “Yes, that’d be perfect. Thank you, Dolohov.”

“Please, call me ‘Antonin’.”

“A-Antonin.” He looked awed, like he couldn’t believe he’d been granted the honour of being on a first-name basis, despite them having sparred together more than a handful of times.

And it was true; Antonin could count on one hand the number of students who used his given name, the bulk of them in his own year. He smiled and nodded, and Rabastan departed.

It took another half hour before the crowd around Lucius dissipated enough for Antonin to catch the wizard’s eye and tap his pocket in warning. They’d miss breakfast if they didn’t leave soon. There was always the option of requesting food directly from the house-elves, but he knew Lucius preferred to take his place at the table for his meals–not so much for the act of eating itself, but for the routine and image. A king of men presiding over his subjects.

If only they knew the childish antics he and Antonin got up to behind closed doors. If only such unfettered joy could last beyond the castle.

Chapter Text

Miraculously, Narcissa was still dining by the time they sat down for breakfast. The witches she’d been chatting with quickly bid their farewell and moved to make space, and she beamed up at them as they sat down on either side of her.

“I thought I might have missed you earlier,” she said lightly, beckoning at young Regulus for the kettle. “Tea?”

“Yes, thank you,” Lucius replied.

Leaning forward to instead reach for the carafe of coffee, Antonin received a perfect view of the kiss pressed to Narcissa’s cheek. He’d seen the same perfunctory scene countless times before, but still felt as if he’d been kicked in the nuts.

He sat back quickly, the motion sending a splash of scalding coffee across his hand.

“Antonin! Are you okay?”

Pain flipped to cooling relief as slim hands wrapped around his own, a healing charm already on Narcissa’s lips.

He was embarrassed to have been caught in uncommon clumsiness. It wasn’t like him to show any of his frustrations so openly. Had his father witnessed the scene, Antonin would have been immediately questioned, then put through several painful mental and physical exercises to refresh what he’d been taught from childhood.

In the short amount of time he’d come to know and fall for Narcissa, he’d let his guard slip to unacceptable lows. Not that he regretted it. Still, he needed to control himself better in the presence of others. Especially Lucius.

“I’m fine. I was stuck in my head and wasn’t paying attention.” Which wasn’t a lie.

At that, the other wizard eyed him curiously. “Must be pretty important to bother you to such lengths.”

Antonin grunted. “You have no idea.”

A gleam shone in Lucius’ eye. “Now I’m even more intrigued.”

Narcissa tutted and flapped her hand midair, signalling for her fiance to sit back. Lucius did so with a grumble.

“We all have a lot on our minds from time to time,” she went on to say.

“But, it’s Antonin.”

“I am human, Lucius.” Still, he couldn’t help the grin stealing across his face. If Lucius knew all that occupied his mind, he’d probably Avada Antonin right then and there.

“It’s about her, isn’t it?”

While he now had himself well under control once more, there was no missing the way Narcissa stiffened. Her white-knuckled grip looked like it might snap the fork she pressed against the table.

Lucius went on, prodding as he so often liked to do. “Cissa is well practiced in giving advice on matters of the heart.” This time, she didn’t swat at him as he bent forward to smirk at Antonin. “Maybe she can assist with whatever that plagues you.”

“Maybe she can.”

There was no missing the catch of her breath at Antonin’s nonchalant reply.

“What do you think, my love? Think you can help Antonin secure his date to the Autumn Dance?” Lucius asked.

Antonin tilted his head to peer down at Narcissa’s profile like he genuinely wanted to know the answer to that question. She turned to meet his gaze, the surprise from earlier now amusement. He very much looked forward to the next time he could get her alone.

“I doubt he needs my help. He can get any witch he wants; he has only to ask.” She arched a brow, and, fuck, how it made him harden. Imagining trapping her alone. Asking her to give herself over to him.

No.

Telling her.

Their stare off was cut short as Lucius’ arm wound around her waist to tug her gently into a hug, pressing yet another kiss to her temple.

“Except for you.” There was no suspicion in the other man’s voice. He remained playful and completely oblivious to the tension between his two closest friends.

“Except for me,” she repeated.

“Don’t be too sure of that, bratan.” Antonin knew he was tempting fate by poking at Lucius in the way that he was, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to know that he could not take anything for granted–most especially Narcissa.

Just as he did the last time Antonin had joked in such a manner, Lucius simply laughed without a hint of discomfort. His trust was absolute. This was yet another reason why Antonin would always love him, even as his heart and soul turned towards another to worship. Someday, all would come to light, and he would atone.

Someday, but not today.

Chapter Text

He waited until they’d parted ways with Narcissa to catch Lucius’ elbow.

“Rabastan requests a private word with you over a personal matter. It seems urgent.”

The other man hummed.in acknowledgement. “I have an idea what it’s about, but I appreciate you passing the word.”

“Should I be concerned?” Antonin asked.

They paused to step aside for a small group of younger Slytherins walking by, before resuming their conversation.

“No, but,” Lucius’ brow wrinkled in an uncharacteristic sign of worry, “I’d appreciate it if you stayed close to Narcissa over the following week. She may be in need of us more than ever.”

When he’d first listened to the younger Lestrange, Antonin hadn’t been particularly interested in whatever secret it was that Rabastan held. Now that Narcissa, too, seemed to be involved, his mind raced with possibilities for what could affect the witch to an extent that Lucius would make such an entreaty of him.

The Lestranges, Malfoys, Blacks, and a personal matter that affected all three families. Pure in their ambition and greed, which manifested in multiple marriage betrothals. Age didn’t matter when forging alliances; only power. Antonin still considered their obsession with purity foolishly short-sighted, but who was he to fight generations of prejudice?

A memory of Narcissa’s sweet smile as she described her sisters and the journal they shared flitted unbidden through his mind. He would guard such joy with his life, with or without Lucius’ request.

“Of course.”

Satisfied with the answer, Lucius continued on towards their next class, confident in Antonin’s steadfast loyalty.

Oblivious to the depths his right-hand man would go for another.

Later that evening, in the Common Room, Antonin watched with curiosity as Lucius drew Narcissa aside. She’d been helping the younger students with their homework, as she so often did in her free time. Antonin had settled into his favorite window seat to read. The spot afforded him an uninterrupted view of the space, allowing him to catch her eye repeatedly through the evening and share a secret smile.

They hadn’t been alone together since that evening in front of the mirrors. Too long, in his opinion.

He had just been coming up with more uses for the Duelling mirrors, occasionally repositioning himself where he sat to escape notice, when Lucius burst through the entrance and strode quickly over to her.

The two of them spoke softly, but the rising tension was clear to any who bothered to watch, which, by Antonin’s estimations, included himself and Narcissa’s gaggle of followers who were never far. Amara, in particular, appeared far too intent on the duo. She might not have appeared in their dorm room as of late, but he didn’t believe for a second that she no longer harboured any feelings for Lucius, no matter what Thorfinn claimed.

Thankfully, Narcissa didn’t seem too distraught as the discussion drew to a close, and they parted ways. Lucius took off towards the Boys’ Dormitories, while she lingered on the edge of the room until her eyes fell on Antonin.

He dropped the book over his lap and willed himself to think of anything other than how lovely of a figure she cut as she floated towards him.

Thorfinn made for a convenient distraction, since he’d just thought of the man. Thorfinn’s smelly kit after Quidditch practice. Thorfinn thumping him across the back with a tad too much force. Thorfinn ruffling his golden hair without washing his hands after the loo, again.

There. Not an erection in sight.

“Antonin, may I sit with you?”

She already knew the answer, but she waited, anyway, hands primly folded before her and coral pink lips tilted to one side.

He shifted over, legs dropping down to the ground. “Is everything alright?”

Over her shoulder, her followers continued to watch. She noticed his distraction and murmured, almost too quietly for him to pick out the words, “Muffliato.” There was no visible result of the magic that he could see, even if he sensed a shimmer of energy surrounding them.

“What is that spell?”

The curl of her lips was crafty as she answered him. “A convenient method for ensuring any eavesdroppers hear nothing but a muffled buzzing in their ears. One of Lucius’ little friends came up with it.”

“Oh?” Antonin hadn’t been aware of any other notable spell crafters at Hogwarts. Either he’d completely overlooked the obvious, or this little friend knew how to disguise themselves very well, indeed.

“He’s a young half-blood. Severus Snape.”

He remembered the name. Snape was a sallow-looking boy with a hooked nose who flew surprisingly well. Of course, Antonin already knew he was a half-blood, but hearing Narcissa state it so plainly made it obvious that such a pedigree worked strongly against the younger boy’s favour.

“It’s very clever, if it works.”

“It does.” She squinted her eyes teasingly at him, all too aware of Antonin’s high standards. He squinted back.

“Go on, then.” He nudged her shoulder playfully with his own. “What news did Lucius bear?”

Narcissa’s smile faded.

Perhaps she hadn’t taken the news as well as he’d initially thought. Tucked into the alcove as they were, only he could clearly see her face, for which he was glad. That she trusted him with all parts of her, physical and emotional, meant more to him than anything.

Anything.

Chapter Text

There was still enough light cast from the blue-green lake beyond and the several candles within the Common Room for Antonin to pick up the worry lining Narcissa’s face. Her eyes dropped down between them, clouding over like she was leagues away rather than right in front of him.

“Narcissa, what is it?” He couldn’t bear to see her like this. Uncertain. Doubtful.

Not because she was inhuman, or some nebulous creature incapable of emotion. No, what Antonin couldn’t stand was the thought of anything or anyone causing her distress when she deserved loyalty and trust and devotion. These things he would give her at the cost of his own life, should she ask.

“It’s–” she began, stuttering when he gripped her chin and lifted up.

“Let me look at you,” he murmured.

Breath caught in the slender column of her throat, and her eyes widened as she stared back at him. It was the sort of off-guard reaction he imagined she might make if he were to drop down to his knees before her. He chuckled as he let go. Soon.

“It’s my sister, Andromeda.”

“The eldest.”

She tipped her head, a slight tug at the corner of her mouth noting her approval that he’d remembered. “She has been betrothed to Rodolphus Lestrange since we were children, while Bella was, in turn, promised to Rabastan.”

He suppressed the urge to shudder at the thought of marrying siblings to siblings.

“They’ve never pushed back on the arrangements, or displayed any sign of dissatisfaction. While my sisters were at Hogwarts, they were free to explore other dalliances as long as they remained discreet and made no lasting attachments.”

Like her and Lucius.

Now that she had begun talking, it was as if a dam had burst. The words flowed out of her in increasing tempo and volume, and the hands that sat in her lip twisted into the pleats of her skirt.

“Roddy has never been one to speak much, but, according to Rab, he’s become even more withdrawn ever since his letters to my sister have returned unopened. They’ve maintained steady contact ever since she graduated from Hogwarts ahead of him, and the plan is for them to wed shortly after he finishes. The same goes for Rabastan and Bella.”

Also like her and Lucius.

“And he approached Lucius because–” She took a shuddering breath, but he had an idea of where she was going.

“Because it’s Lucius. Not only is he your fiance, he’s also a natural leader. It’s probably one of the many reasons why he was chosen to be a Prefect,” Antonin supplied.

Her nod was jerky and gave away how unsettled she still was.

But, why?

He didn’t think Narcissa was upset that the younger Lestrange had gone over her regarding family matters, and she would probably take her sisters’ sides were they to protest their engagements, no matter the reasons given. Their bonds were tight from what he’d seen.

“Was it just advice he sought from Lucius, or something else?” he asked.

“Advice, yes, but also assistance.” Her hands twisted with increased fervour. “Lucius wants me to reach out to Dromeda and find out why she’s rejecting Roddy’s letters.”

It all sounded so juvenile to Antonin. A friend of a friend of a friend asking a sister to check in with his brother’s intended. What were they, 14?

“Well, you do have your journal…”

She nodded again, though the motion still seemed miserable. “It is the fastest, but whatever is written in there will be seen by all three of us. If, for any reason, Dromeda doesn’t want Bella to know, then she won’t be able to respond honestly.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I’ll start with the journal. If I’m not satisfied with the answer she gives, then I’ll try owling her directly.”

“Do you already have an idea of why she’s rejecting Rodolphus’ letters?”

The bite she pressed into her lip was telling, even if she hesitated to answer. He reached out and tucked a stray bit of golden hair that had fallen out of her braid behind her ear and smiled reassuringly. That seemed to do the trick.

“She…had a sweetheart her last couple of years at Hogwarts.”

He arched a brow, intrigued. Narcissa huffed at the sight.

“I know. She knew, too, that whatever happened would never survive graduation.”

“But that didn’t stop her, did it?”

“No.” Narcissa’s eyes appeared darker as they roved across his face.

Did she see their present entanglement as similar to her sister’s? Did she also think their future doomed before it could even truly begin?

“Who was it?”

“His name is Edward Tonks.”

Antonin frowned as he failed to recognise the name. Then, he blinked, an impossibility growing stronger each second as she struggled to continue.

“He’s…Muggle-born.” She grimaced, but he didn’t think she did so out of distaste.

Loyal she might be to her family’s causes, Narcissa never treated any of the other students differently based on their blood status. He knew for a fact that at least one of her closest friends was a half-blood.

“They broke up amicably enough and went their separate ways…or so I always thought.”

“You think they might have stayed in touch,” he said.

Her sigh came out heavy, coloured with guilt. “I always thought their separation seemed too peaceful. They were so taken with one another.” When she smiled at him, there was no missing the wistfulness that seeped through. “The way they looked at each other…it was the sort of love that anyone would want for themselves. The kind written about in fairy tales.”

“If it was real, then how could they bear to let go?” He said it less like a question than in disbelief.

Facing each other as they were, their legs curled up on the cushions, nobody could see when he grasped her hand in his, squeezing tight.

“I would never. Once mine, no other path exists.”

Her body swayed toward him as she drank in his declaration. He knew that, if he kissed her now, she would let him. More than let him–she would welcome him with urgency born from their past actions and her present turmoil.

So, he let go, but not without first squeezing gently one more time to let her know that he was hers.

Still.

Always.

Chapter Text

Soon was now, and Antonin would wait no longer.

“Gather your things. It’s time to go.”

She cast a glance at the Grandfather clock, then cancelled the spell around them.

He missed nothing, pocketing the details of this Muffliato for further study. Severus Snape also merited his attention. But, right now, he had more pressing matters to attend to, or, more specifically, someone.

Tonight was one of the nights spent in the company of the Prewetts. Lucius wouldn’t expect to see either one of them for the rest of the evening. They hadn’t broken that trust once, nor did he plan to just yet. Not completely.

It wasn’t until he led her away from Gryffindor Tower that Narcissa noticed anything amiss.

“Where are we going? Did you forget something?” Her voice echoed in the otherwise abandoned corridor.

“No. We’re doing something a bit different today.”

He shot her a teasing wink, to which she responded with an appraising look of curiosity. That she continued walking alongside him without any hesitation, despite her usual need for details, revealed much about her feelings towards him.

The curiosity faded to acceptance as they took a familiar path towards the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Unbeknownst to Narcissa, what awaited them was not their usual setting.

The moment they stepped through the doors that appeared, she gasped.

Gone were the practice dummies, cushioned flooring, and bookshelves on Defense and Charms.

In their place sat a room not unlike the Slytherin Common Room…if it were warm, rather than pallid, the colours of the fabric and wood seemingly glowing from within with vibrant life. There was a sitting area, tables for dining and studying, should they wish, a large, plush rug in front of a crackling fireplace along the back wall.

And a bed.

The headboard of the four-poster rested against the wall, while at the end sat a curved bench with rungs along the sides. The curtains along the railings were pulled back to reveal dark indigo bedding with golden accents.

“Molly and the boys aren’t coming, are they?” She turned slowly towards him, teeth bearing down on her bottom lip as she waited for his answer.

He reached out to tug the tender flesh free, cupping her cheek and allowing the roughened pad of his thumb to brush what was his to bite. His to suck and lick.

“No. They are not.”

“What if Lucius–”

He hushed her, pressing down more firmly. “The twins assured me we will not be found. It is just you and me tonight, sweet witch.”

A grunt escaped him as her lips parted, taking him into the dizzying heat of her. She sucked quietly, eyes fixed on him. Smooth muscle twirled around the digit, letting him know exactly what she might do elsewhere.

It wasn’t until her lips loosened and eyes widened that he realised the low rumble he could hear came from him.

Antonin chuckled. “It seems we are both eager.”

“You better not tease me again, Antonin,” she warned, eyes icy with remembrance of his past actions.

“There will be teasing,” he argued, unable to smother the wickedness making its way onto his face, “and you will beg for more of it.”

“No!” She shook her head emphatically. “I won’t stand for you holding yourself back from me again. You always put me first, and this time I want–”

He reassured her with a kiss, tender, at first, then with increasing firmness. Narcissa reciprocated in kind, trembling, then gripping him tightly like he might vanish at any second. She was needy, pressing up against him without shame, every curve of her body conforming to his own. There was no disguising his want, thickened and prominent against her belly.

Reluctantly, he began to pull away. They still stood at the entrance, their book bags lying forgotten on the floor.

“Antonin,” she protested, tugging at his robes, lips delightfully swollen and begging for more.

“I’m here. I promise. Let’s get you more comfortable.”

He guided her towards the bench, next to which he dropped down onto one knee. Appropriate, given his complete and utter servitude to her pleasure. First one heeled shoe, then another, were removed and neatly set aside. She rested a hand atop his shoulder for balance, lip again caught between her teeth as she watched him.

“Stop biting your lip.”

She reacted immediately, and fuck if that submission didn’t make him even harder than he already was. Nobody told Narcissa Black what to do. She was above reproach.

Except for him. And only when she allowed it.

He wouldn’t have her any other way.

He craved Narcissa’s acquiescence almost as much as he did knowledge and power…perhaps more so, as much as he should perish the thought.

Standing, Antonin tilted her chin up. The motion would be slightly uncomfortable for her as close as they were. Still, she allowed it. Held his gaze without question, peach lips parted in anticipation.

“Now is the time to continue what you had started, my love.”

“What I started?” Confused, a slight wrinkle formed between her brows.

“In the alcove, when you wished to please me.”

The wrinkle smoothed as the memory dawned, her breath catching and wintry blue eyes widening.

“Show me now.”

Chapter Text

The pale blue of her eyes narrowed to slivers, the darkness within them gaining ground.

“Tell me what to do?”

Her plea for guidance had him twitching within his trousers. The way she held his stare, the slight part of her lips hinting at the bliss they would soon share, could have undone him right then and there–that was how gone for this witch he was.

“Take me out. Gently.”

She very nearly bit her lip, but halted the nervous gesture just as he’d requested earlier.

Good.

He mourned the loss of their connection as her eyes dropped to his waist. Taking pity on her obvious uncertainty, he parted his robes for easier access. Her hands trembled as they lifted towards his belt, fingertips ghosting across the leather before settling at the buckle. Almost as if the cool metal startled her into the gravity of this moment, she sucked in an audible breath, tremors ceasing and shoulders straightening.

Her next movements were more confident. A few deft moves to undo the belt, brief hesitation with furrowed brow, then pressure releasing. He could have groaned with relief, but remained silent. Watching.

One slender fingertip ran the length of his waistband, before she seized hold of his trousers and pushed them down his hips. All that remained were his underpants, though that did little to hide the evidence of his abundant arousal.

“Does…” She faltered.

“Go on.”

Eyes glued to his erection, her breathing quickened. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes and no,” he answered honestly.

Now she looked up at him, her concern in his pain bringing a smile to his lips. He rushed to assure her.

“It’s more of a discomfort than physical agony. If anything, the pain is mental, one I would bear unending if you so wished it.”

“Antonin, no! I could never–”

Cupping her cheek, he cut her off with a chaste kiss. She whimpered into him, hands curling into his robes.

“I know, my sweet. I know. And you’ll make it feel better now, won’t you?”

Narcissa’s frantic nod had him surging in anticipation, and he kissed her again, unable to help himself.

Then, he pulled back to shrug off his robes, dropping them to cushion the ground. He could have used magic to make this more comfortable for her.

He chose not to.

This time, he did not stop her from sinking gracefully to her knees, long skirt pooling around her, did not protest as she slid her fingers beneath the waistband and began to pull them downward. As she came face to face with the full length of him, one he’d brought to completion in her name more times than he could count, she froze.

If she had looked up, she would have caught his wicked amusement. Since she did not, he was free to examine the emotions flickering across her face.

Shock. Awe.

Concern.

Tensing, he made his cock jump.

She startled with an audible gasp.

“Go ahead,” he encouraged, schooling his smirk lest she take offense.

It was a good thing he did, because she chose that moment to meet his eyes as she leaned closer.

“You’ll tell me what you do and don’t like?” she asked, every exhale tickling his overly heated skin.

“I doubt there’s very little you could do to displease me, short of outright dismemberment,” he teased. Perhaps it was unwise to make light of the situation given her visible anxiety, but he couldn’t help himself. However, she proved herself equal to his humour, a giggle escaping and smoothing out the line of worry creasing her forehead.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“See that you do.”

Her concerns assuaged, she turned her attention back to the matter at hand. With intense concentration, she used cool fingertips to lift the weight of him. The difference in temperature caused it to twitch again, but this time she was better prepared. Her hand immediately curled around him to still the motion. He rewarded her with a slide of his thumb across her satin-soft cheek.

Antonin was no stranger to moments such as these from his time in Durmstrang and brief visits home. He no longer liked to think about them, preferring to separate the past from the present. Still, he couldn’t help but have certain expectations based on those previous experiences.

As usual, Narcissa surprised him.

Rather than stroke his length, or give in to curiosity for a taste, she pressed a chaste kiss to his throbbing shaft. Then another, higher up.

How was it that the sweet gesture threatened to undo him more than if she’d chosen to wrap her lips around him? It defied sense. His hand shifted into her silky hair, holding it back from her face as she continued to explore.

When she finally did open her pretty mouth, to swipe tip to tip, the startling wetness could have knocked him to his knees.

“Oh! You taste…” Her eyes flicked up. She rolled her tongue over him once more. “I’m not sure how to describe it.”

“Do you dislike it?” he asked.

Narcissa’s lashes fluttered, perhaps in response to the way his voice had dropped lower than usual. “Not at all. I think I like it very much.”

He groaned, the thought of her craving him outside of their private time together, perhaps when she was seated in class, or amongst her friends…with Lucius. Blyat.

Then, he thought nothing at all. She chose that moment to take him deep into the heat of her mouth. At the same time, the hand she kept at his base spasmed. With a cough, she pulled off of him, a strand of spit connecting them.

“Kak khorosho, da, detka…”

Seemingly emboldened by his praise, Narcissa stroked his spit-slick cock. “Is this the right amount of pressure?”

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Antonin…” She scoffed. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Then it is good that I am patient, is it not?” he said playfully.

That earned him a tightened fist, to which he moaned and bucked his hips. Her eyes lit up at the discovery. Maintaining the same amount of pressure, she slid down onto him once more. She proceeded to test various techniques, adding pressure, lightening it, swirling her tongue, then shifting patterns when he reacted positively. Ever the diligent study, she left no part of him untouched, her touch gentle as she rolled his sacs in the palm of her hand until they drew up tight to his body.

“I’m–nnn. Narcissa, I’m close. You should stop so I don’t get any on you–”

“I want you to,” she gasped out between strokes.

He nearly choked. “Y-You want me to–”

Closing her eyes, she moaned her assent. Who was he to deny her?

“Da. I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it all to you. Just know that it won’t hurt my feelings if you change your mind and pull away. You can spit it out, too–ah!” His assurances cut off at the sharp sensation of her nails digging into his hip, and she sucked harder than before. The increased pressure, together with her ceaseless motions, hurled him straight up a steep ascent, at the top of which he was flung off without further ceremony.

He exploded down her throat as she worked furiously to swallow. Even though he’d jerked off earlier that morning, his cock apparently still had plenty to give. It released several times before finally relaxing, after which Narcissa leaned back and smiled demurely at him. He laughed in euphoric disbelief as she used her finger to catch loose strands of his cum from her lips, sucking them down like she couldn’t get enough of him.

He dropped to his knees, both hands cupping her face, and kissed her hard. The combination of her usual sweetness coated with his essence was intoxicating. He could drink it every day and never tire of it.

“Was it–” She shuddered against him as he pulled her closer, struggling to speak between his fervent display of gratitude. “Was it good?”

“Can’t you tell for yourself?” he said, grinning. Her responding smile was wide enough to light the entire room.

“I wanted to make sure.” Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she continued to seek approval from him with wide eyes and swollen lips.

“Like I said: perfect.”

He allowed her a brief moment to bask in his praise, then pounced.

“Now, it’s my turn.”

Chapter Text

Her eyes, already darkened with want, widened even further at his words. There was no trepidation, no hesitation. She looked at him with the eyes of a believer, and he, the bearer of truth.

Blessings he was now ready to bestow.

She was ready and willing and so utterly perfect just as she was. He could hardly stand it, which was why he scooped her up into his arms, grinning at her squeals and kicks, and placed her gently on the bed.

Narcissa deserved nothing but the finest, a throne to her magnificence. This room, despite its cosiness, wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy his imaginings, but it would have to do. For now. One day, that would change. He would make sure of it.

“You will tell me if you dislike anything.”

“I doubt there’s very little you could do to displease me, short of outright dismemberment,” she echoed his earlier words, her smile sly.

“Cheeky witch.”

“Only for you.”

“Hmm.” He gently pushed her hair behind her shoulders, before snagging the knot of her tie and tugging it loose.

She reached up to assist, her fingers nimble as they undid one button after another. He tracked the progress, noting the fluttering pulse at her neck, the unblemished flesh exposed by her gaping uniform, the lace edges at her heaving breasts. The sight had his cock surging to life with a vengeance.

“Ah!” she cried out, as he lost hold of himself and grasped her shirt, yanking it open the rest of the way, fabric ripping and buttons flying.

She fell back against the bedspread, hands reflexively covering her chest and utterly failing to hide their magnificence from his discerning gaze. Then, her eyes dropped, snagging on his hand where it lazily stroked across his stiffened length.

“W-What—”

“This is how much I want this. Want you, and only you, my love.” He caught the moisture at the tip and crawled over her, pressing his wettened thumb to her lips.

There was no hesitation in her acceptance as she sucked him in, lapping at his bitterness, her lids growing heavy with drunkenness. Once he was satisfied that she’d cleaned him properly, he lowered his hand to her throat, pressing with just enough pressure to feel the frantic beat of her pulse.

“Hands up, Snegurochka. Never hide yourself from me.”

She complied, still licking at her lips. His cock twitched violently at her greediness. They were exact reflections of one another, she and he. Narcissa and Antonin.

“Kak khorosho,” he murmured, lips trailing down, fingers making quick work of her bra, and pausing in awe at the pale, peach-tipped globes that rapidly rose and fell with each breath. She filled his hands, pliable and begging for worship.

As he watched her nipples pebble, goose flesh spread across her skin.

“Are you cold?” he quietly asked, brushing a kiss to the inner curve.

“A little,” she breathed out.

“Let us fix that, then.” With that, his tongue darted out for a taste.

She arched into him, encouraging him closer to the peak, until he lathed the full expanse of his tongue across the tip. Her sharp inhale had him grinning wickedly against her. So responsive. So eager.

Suckling, he rolled and pinched her other breast, before trading places. Narcissa mewled and panted and writhed, but kept her hands up, just as he’d instructed. Only when she clamped both legs around him, attempting to pull his ache into hers, did he pull away to forcefully push her knees apart. He kept them pinned as he kissed down her stomach, delighting in the dip of her belly button. A swirl of his tongue had her squealing in ticklish glee.

His chuckle of amusement could have been mistaken for that of a dark creature, but, still, she opened to Antonin, just as desperate as he. Using his teeth, he slipped the button at her waist from its eyelet.

“Stay spread for me,” he demanded, before slowly dragging her skirt off, leaving only one more barrier between them.

Antonin thought he had himself back in control…until his eyes landed on the gusset of her matching lace knickers.

Blyat.

She was soaked, the lingerie doing nothing to hide the hopeless spread of her ardour. The darkened fabric looked obscene combined with the intricate floral lace pattern. Like her namesake. His head dropped, bringing his nose in direct contact, nudging slightly inward as he inhaled, shuddering at the tangy sweetness that filled his nostrils.

His next moves were in direct opposition to his earlier gentleness.

Palms pressing her thighs wide, he buried his face against her, his breathing ragged, muttering in his mother tongue and rubbing his aching cock against the mattress.

“A-Antonin?”

This must be what the ancients meant when they spoke of the nectar of the gods. It wasn’t some long-extinct or mythical fruit; it was this, the essence of a woman. His woman. Primed specifically to him and overflowing endlessly into his parched throat.

“Antonin, please—”

Her keening plea for his attention reminded him of his original plans, and he backed off, clutching at the base of his cock and scrambling for his usual calm.

“Izvini, my love. Your scent, taste—they make me forget myself.”

She blinked at him, cat-like, licking, then nibbling at her bottom lip.

Blyat. His grip turned into a stranglehold. He would not come before her like an untried fool. In fact, she deserved double, triple, as many as he could give her. With that reaffirmation, he reverently dragged his fingertips along where her upper thighs met her pelvis, lifting up the scalloped lace edges of her knickers.

“May I?” he asked, already knowing her answer. He simply liked hearing her voice. Required her passionate consent.

“Please.” She trembled, moving as prompted so he could drag the lace off and toss it to the side.

As before, he stilled. Stared. Drank in the sight of her glistening, pink opening. She kept herself neatly trimmed, only a slender strip of her golden hair leading to paradise. Her legs began to close, but then she spread them wider, yet.

He surged over Narcissa to steal her breath in a kiss, his hand trailing down between them and swiping at her drenched core. Together, they moaned. He traced every part of her, trailing and circling, and pressing with just the right amount of pressure to have her panting rhythmically against him in no time at all.

“Oh, Antonin! I—” She cut off as her climax struck, her eyes rolling back, neck arching.

“That’s it, love. Take your pleasure.” He continued his motions, only slowing when she shuddered and reopened her eyes.

Her smile was filled with satisfaction, slowly widening and suffusing her entire countenance with joy.

“Give me another one.”

“A-Another?”

He could have laughed aloud at her disbelieving blink. “Don’t you know? Witches have the blessing of back-to-back orgasms.”

She nearly went cross-eyed when he dropped a kiss to her nose, before returning to his original position between her thighs, bringing his face closer, then closer still.

“What are you—ohhhh!”

He was right. She tasted like nothing and everything, all at once. There was nothing else in existence that compared, and she was everything he could ever want. There wasn’t a single fold or dip left untouched as Antonin worshipped her. Devout believer. Protector. Wand, sheathed and ready to kill at her command.

When she came, for a second time, it was with his tongue running tireless circles around her bud, two fingers crooked inside of her, and Antonin’s name on a loop as she screamed into the canopy.

Chapter Text

She collapsed into the bed, spent from their exertions. All-encompassing pride coursed through Antonin—mostly for her, but also, partly, for himself.

He curled around her, burying his face in the silken hair. An undercurrent of saltiness permeated through from her sweat. Intoxicating. Proof of what they’d shared.

“You did so well.” He followed the praise with a soothing hand across her heaving breast. His arm wrapped around her from behind, pulling Narcissa flush against him. Another murmur, and the blanket settled atop them. “Rest now.”

“Please, Antonin…” She twisted around, eyes imploring. Swift and sure, her hand delved between them to palm at his length.

He throbbed in her hold, hot and ready. The body and mind were willing, but…

“It is enough, for now.”

He meant it. Antonin thought himself greedy, already. Asking for any more would be akin to plucking every spring snowbell, robbing both flower and field of their delight before season’s end.

She did not agree.

Her hand tightened, and he hissed a warning.

“You will not speak for me, Antonin Dolohov.” She spat the words, even as she massaged his arousal. “Have we not waited enough? Do you not desire me, as I do you?”

Before he could answer, she rolled on top of him, hands splayed to his chest, breasts glorious in their nakedness. She shrugged off what remained of her shirt, leaving her wholly bare before him.

“Narcissa,” he growled, “it is not a question of want.”

“What is the question, then?”

He grunted as she rolled her hips, sliding her wettened cunt across his cock. She had only to shift just so. With that act, all restraint would be lost; he’d bury himself so deep inside of her that there would be absolutely no chance of forgetting him. He’d take and take until every bit of hers was his and what was his would forever be hers.

“Once we do this, there will be no going back. I will take no other lover, or bow before any other, witch or wizard. I will be yours.”

The damning words were as true as they were inevitable.

Mama. Nikolai. Father. Lucius. The Dark Lord. Would they consider his decision a betrayal? Perhaps…perhaps. Not his family, surely. They would understand, even as retribution from his actions rained down upon them. Lucius, though…

He did not want to think about Lucius.

It only took a second to reverse their positions. She gasped at the sudden movement that placed Antonin above her once more, heavy cock teasing where she wanted him most.

“This is my last warning. I will not ask you for more than to remain at your side as I have until now, should you wish for it.”

She did not look away, her legs spreading, hips arching. “I am already yours, you ridiculous man.”

He no longer hesitated. One hand pushed her thigh outward as he muttered a contraception spell; the other fed his cock into her still-dripping cunt. He did not stop even as the thick head pressed fully inward, nor when her entrance threatened to push him right back out with how tightly she squeezed. Only when he bumped up against the last barrier did he pause, every muscle in him screaming for release. To plunge into her heat with fierce abandon.

Not once had she shut her eyes; they widened the further he pressed inward. Each exhale came out a moan, soft and rounded like winter berries.

“Antonin, Antonin, Antonin—”

“Yes, my love, you’re taking me so well.”

“It’s so…so…much. I don’t know if I can take it all.”

“You can. You will. You were made for me. Isn’t that right?”

She nodded, desperate to believe him. He brushed away the sweaty locks, pressed a reassuring kiss to her temple.

“I love you, Narcissa.”

“Oh, Antonin, I—ah!”

He surged forward, enveloping himself fully in one final glide that seated him completely against her. She pulsed around him, the compression nearly unbearable. Stilling was as much for her as it was for him. Antonin struggled to take charge of his swiftly-rising need; how was it that releasing twice hadn’t yet been enough? Every part of Narcissa threatened to undo him. Was already undoing him, from the inside-out.

She clung to him, nails biting into shoulders and down the skin of his back.

Good.

Mark him. Brand him, before anyone else.

Nuzzling, inhaling, he murmured praises until she relaxed, until the whimpers turned into moans. He tested with a shallow pump, then another. He was still close, but the pause was enough to seize back control.

“Oh!” Wonder glittered in that single word. Her hips chased as he retreated.

He thrust a little harder, a bit deeper.

“Uhhhhh,” she groaned, this time, scratching another glorious line across his back.

Before too long, both legs wrapped around his waist while Antonin maintained a steady rhythm that slid the full length of his abundance into her again and again and again. Her eyes, heavy-lidded and blown out, continued to gaze up at him, and he couldn’t help but seek to push her further.

“Do you trust me, love?”

Lashes fluttering, she nodded.

“Say it.”

“I-I trust you,” she managed, each word hard-earned.

He sat back on his heels, smirking at Narcissa’s cry of despair as he slipped out of her. Deftly lifting and rolling her onto her stomach, pausing to admire the dimples above the curve of her bottom, he slid a bolster pillow beneath her hips. She quivered, even as she relaxed atop the cushion.

“Let me hear you.” With that said, he buried his cock fully into her welcoming sheathe with a single, devastating thrust that belied his earlier gentleness.

“Antonin!” Her cry preceded another, then another, amidst the relentless pace as he plundered her pleasure for their mutual benefit.

“That’s it, Snegurochka. Feel how perfectly we fit together.”

“An-An-Anto—nnn—”

He needed to be closer to her, to wrap himself around her as tightly as she did him. One arm banding across her hips, the other curling upward between her breasts to grip her firmly by the throat, he brought their bodies flush against one another and inhaled the sweet scent of her hair as he drove them closer to the edge, his movements growing increasingly erratic.

She trembled. She gasped. She coughed as he pushed his fingers into her mouth, pressing down on her tongue.

“You are mine, and I”—he nearly choked when she clenched him particularly tight—“I am yours.”

She responded by wrapping her lips around his knuckles and swirling her tongue, sucking hard. His balls tightened, the end in sight.

Everything within Antonin screamed at him to spill into Narcissa’s womb. Fill her with his seed, the first and only man to ever do so. But, it was not his decision. It was hers.

He slipped his fingers free to take her hair in the spit-slick grip and turn her eyes to his. “Tell me where you want me, love. Your mouth? Massaged into your skin—”

“In me. I want you in me,” she gasped.

Blyat.

She must have mistaken his twisting face for dissent, because she hastily followed with, “U-Unless you don’t want—”

“I want. Fuck. That is everything that I want. To fill you so full that I drip out of you for days. Every step you take will make you worry that someone will notice how wet you are with me.”

“Then, please. Please, Antonin.”

He was so close. So fucking close. He needed her to come with him, to drench him as much as he was about to do to her.

The arm at her hips shifted, fingers reaching, unerring in their destination.

“Oh!” She jerked at the touch, her walls fluttering around him.

He surged deeper, already beginning to swell. Her cries were hoarse, the constriction around his cock strangling him with the force of her orgasm. With one final pump of his hips, he pushed himself as deep as he could possibly go.

The force of his release turned his sight blurry at the edges. Despite that, he could hear his name on her lips, feel her incredible heat, inhale the perfume still clinging to her skin, beneath the slick.

He had just enough thought to turn them to the side as they melted into the blankets, two souls now one, before sleep took him.

Chapter Text

The sensation was one he’d felt before. Dreamt of ever since their first night together.

Just like then, Antonin was reluctant to open his eyes and acknowledge the start of a new day after the evening that had transpired. He clung to the haziness begging he stay with her a little longer in the dark. He would have been glad to remain in that state for as long as possible, because waking meant getting up, which, in turn, meant letting go of her.

Of Narcissa.

His heart. His love. His.

Just as he was hers.

So, he turned his face into the cushions and her silken hair, breathing in the perfume as if it was a potion of Dreamless Sleep, only he wished for his dreams to be filled with her.

“Antonin?”

“Mmmm.”

A low laugh. “Antonin.”

“No. Let us sleep a little longer.”

His witch wriggled against him, jostling Antonin, and he tightened his grip.

“If you don’t let me go, I’ll have to pee on you,” she threatened, albeit playfully.

“Hm. Fine.” He loosened his hold, and she slipped from the bed with a frustrating immediacy that had his eyes flying open to see her smirking down at him.

“Don’t pout. I’ll be right back.” With that, she spun and flounced towards another door that the room had thoughtfully included.

It was a good thing he’d opened his eyes, because the view of Narcissa’s naked backside made the wretched wakefulness worth it. The expanse of her supple skin, cinching beautifully at the waist and flaring out at the hips, the high curve of her plump arse, the cascading golden hair, and her long, slender legs all served to remind him that with a new day came another opportunity for pleasure.

She returned, long hair parted and hiding her breasts, to find him sitting up against the headboard and stopped at the foot of the bed to stare.

“See something you like?” he asked, smirking at the hungriness in her gaze, which flit down his exposed torso to pause where the blanket maintained his modesty.

“What will you do if I say yes?” she challenged.

“Whatever you and I wish.”

He bet that if he could see her nipples, they’d be as hard as pebbles.

“Yes, then.”

She gasped as he tossed off the covers. Like her, he was still naked. Narcissa’s eyes snapped straight to the hardened cock that he stroked gently with one hand. He beckoned her with the other.

Instead of walking around to the side of the bed as expected, she crawled from the foot, finally freeing her breasts to his eyes. They swayed with her motions, and he felt himself grow even harder in anticipation.

He launched forward the second she got close enough and pulled her into his lap with a kiss. She squeaked in surprise, then smiled into his lips before he made her moan with a tweak to a nipple that was, indeed, stiffened.

“How sore are you?” he murmured.

“I’m not.” Her body arched into his caresses, and she attempted to position herself over him. He very nearly laughed at her grumble when he pinned her in place with both hands at her hips.

“Don’t try to hide the discomfort,” he scolded her, unable to keep himself from grinning in the face of her pout.

“But, Antonin—”

“No buts. I will not be happy with you in any amount of pain.”

“I’m a little sore,” she admitted, then bit her lip, pleading with her eyes. “We can go slow…”

He pretended to consider, already knowing his answer. “I wish to taste you again, then cover your lovely tits with my spend.”

Oh, he could tell she liked the idea of that, her eyes widening and breath catching.

“Does that excite you?”

She nodded eagerly, hands reaching up to cradle his face.

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

“And if I were to rub my release into your skin and have you wear it the rest of the day, how about that?”

Again, she gasped, and a delighted smile prompted him to give her one of his own.

“I would love it.”

They did not leave the bed until long past noon.

“You reek of witch.” Lucius’ greeting upon Antonin’s entrance paired with an amused scoff.

Tossing himself down, face first, onto the bed, he sighed.

“That good, huh? When are you going to tell me who she is?”

He flipped his hand noncommittally behind him.

“Fine, keep your secrets.” The mattress tilted as the other man sat down beside him. “Have you seen Cissa? She didn’t show up at breakfast.”

“She ate elsewhere.” Perun strike him down for tempting fate, but he couldn’t help a bit of gloating. Not when she still lingered on his tongue. Not when he could still feel the warmth of her breasts and mouth tightening around him with maddening perfection.

Lucius displayed no suspicion, however, and flopped down onto the bed beside him. “I need to talk to her.”

Rolling his neck to face Lucius, Antonin said nothing. He simply raised a brow when the man ran a hand down his face. Whatever it was bothering him could not be good. But, now that Antonin was lying down, he wanted nothing more than to leap right back up and do something. Fly. Fight.

Fuck.

Narcissa’s smile flashed before his eyes.

He needed a distraction.

“I’m sure she’ll be at dinner, if she doesn’t reappear before then. How about a duel?”

Silver eyes lit up. “I do have some spells I’ve been meaning to try out. Scared?”

Antonin scoffed and reached out to punch the other wizard on the shoulder. “Never.”

Chapter Text

If he thought that finally becoming one with Narcissa would slake his desire, he was greatly mistaken. No amount of broom flight or duelling could smother the Fiendfyre within his veins. He could think of little else aside from her and all the myriad of ways she made him feel.

Grateful. Lucky. Blessed by the spirits of earth and air.

“Where’s your mind at?” Lucius wiped a handkerchief across his brow, having worked up a sweat in their exercises. He’d obviously been practicing his duelling stance, his overall movements far smoother than they’d been at the start of the school year. “Wait, let me guess. Her?”

Antonin looked away, and his friend laughed.

“I don’t even know who she is, and I’m impressed. Capturing the body is one thing, but the mind, particularly yours?” Whistling, Lucius shook his head.

He needed to change the subject.

Looking around the Duelling Room, Antonin noted the names listed on the board. No surprise that he was right at the top, nor that Rookwood equalled his record, but there was one highly-ranked entry that caught him off guard. After Narcissa’s revelation about the same student, seeing the name so soon again piqued Antonin’s interest.

“What do you know of Severus Snape?”

“The 2nd Year?”

“Is there any other?” he parried. They shared a look.

“No, but why do you ask?”

He bumped his chin, and Lucius turned towards the list.

“Would you look at that!” he exclaimed.

“To be that high at his age indicates a significant amount of skill and dedication.”

“That’s true. You wouldn’t even know he’s a Half-blood.”

Antonin hummed noncommittally. It shouldn’t have surprised him to hear Lucius focus first on the boy’s blood status. Narcissa had, as well, though their tones came across as markedly different. “Is he?”

“His mother’s a Prince, the father a Muggle. Consistently good marks, above average in Flying, so might be a contender for Chaser some day, and, most importantly, eager to prove himself.”

“Useful.”

“Indeed.”

He pocketed the information for another day. While Antonin was always on the alert for promising students, he drew the line at anyone below Fourth Year. Let them enjoy their childhood while they could; it was the least he could offer, not having experienced much of one himself.

It was a shame about the lineage. While he didn’t personally adhere to blood prejudice, the cause he presently served demanded it. Perhaps with enough time and accolades, young Snape and others like him could prove themselves every bit as worthy as the most inbred of Purebloods.

“Are you hungry? I imagine dinner’s ready.”

“I am, but don’t mistake that for me bowing out of another duel. I’ll have you know I’m good to kick your arse ten times over.” Lucius grinned widely, wand pointed straight at him.

“Sure, bratok, and I’m Godric Gryffindor.”

The two shared a challenging look, then Lucius shot off a silent hex that Antonin promptly blocked. They bounded back from one another, the joy of the fight directing several more exchanges before there was no more denying his stomach. It was with a streak of childish fervour that had Antonin sneaking in a hidden Shoelace-tying Charm beneath the more visible Tongue-tying Jinx. While Lucius successfully negated the latter, he failed to notice the former and toppled forward with a surprised laugh.

“You scoundrel!”

“I think you mean ‘extremely talented and ready to eat.’”

His friend rolled his eyes. “Fine. I should know better than to try and get between a man and his food.”

There was an innuendo in there begging for a voice, but Antonin ignored the urge. The last thing he needed was to give himself away in a burst of overconfidence. Yes, he considered Narcissa his, but she meant so much more to him than satisfying his baser desires, and Antonin had never been the sort of wizard to show his hand unless absolutely necessary.

He’d say that Lucius was similar, though others would likely disagree with him. Lucius didn’t brag; he stated what he knew to be true, no matter how it might chafe. Not pride, nor bluster, but assurance cloaked in the package that was Lucius Malfoy—aquiline profile, platinum locks neatly tied at the nape, and a back straighter than a wizard’s staff.

“Come.” Lucius paired the word with an arm thrown over Antonin’s shoulders and steered them towards the door. “Let’s get some sustenance in that belly of yours.”

They went straight to the Great Hall, where dinner was already well under way. Despite the crowd, their usual spots at the Slytherin table remained empty.

As was Narcissa’s.

Their heads moved as one, seeking out the same destination. They didn’t have to look far.

She was where he’d expected, sitting alongside Molly and her brothers, the golden lustre of her hair tossed back as she laughed at something one of them had said.

He felt the grumble of Lucius’ discontent, whose arm still lay across his shoulders.

“She’s been spending far too much time with the Prewetts lately.”

“Haven’t they been friends since childhood?”

“You’ll be hard pressed to find any of us who haven’t known each other equally as long.” It was clear when he said “us” who it was that he meant. “She’d be wise to strengthen her friendships within our own house.”

Antonin snorted, unable to hide his disdain. “There’s a difference between friends and followers. You, of all people, should know that.”

To that, his friend had no retort.

They made their way to their seats, acknowledging those that welcomed them with approving nods and the occasional slap to the back. Lucius beckoned the Lestrange brothers over, both of whom began to settle in next to Antonin.

“Before you sit, Rabastan…” The younger brother paused mid-step. Lucius continued. “...fetch Cissa. She should be here.”

“Let me.” Antonin surged to his feet.

“They’ve eaten; you haven’t,” Lucius argued. Poor Rabastan remained in an awkward half-sit.

“No matter. The Gryffindors are used to me visiting by now. Nobody will fuss if I walk over there.”

Antonin nearly shoved the younger wizard into his seat, making it clear that he was already set on being the one to retrieve Narcissa, as if they were both dogs rather than the two halves of Lucius’ heart.

Who shrugged, though his expression had taken on a contemplative quality at Antonin’s insistence. “If you like.”

As he’d claimed, very few of the lions paid Antonin any heed as he passed by them, though many of their faces betrayed their hostility. They might have accepted the Prewett family’s assurances. That didn’t mean they trusted him.

“Dolohov!” Fabian offered him a high five, which he accepted. “You finally realise you’re in the wrong house?”

He scoffed. “Decidedly not.”

Both Narcissa and Molly turned as he approached, only one with warmth in her eyes.

“Your presence has been requested, my lady.” He bowed, partly in jest, but mostly in genuine supplication. She knew as well as he that Antonin would love nothing more than to kneel before her.

The other witch let out a disgusted snort. “Gross.”

“Molly!” Narcissa giggled. The two wizards across from them burst into loud guffaws.

Faster than any of them could react, Antonin darted towards the sister, pressing a kiss to her cheek then jerking his head back before her immediate fist could make contact.

Her blue eyes crackled, a markedly different outcome than what befell her brothers, both of whom slumped over with laughter.

“You—how dare you—” Molly sputtered. She might have leapt straight off the bench and towards him, one leg already out, if not for Narcissa wrapping both arms around her. “Cissa, let me go!”

“I will not,” Narcissa said. “Will this make it better?” Turning her head, she pressed her own kiss directly over the same spot. The ensuing wink that she threw at him let Antonin know that not only did she not mind the infidelity, but that she understood it for what it actually was.

An act, yes, but also a step towards what would inevitably follow.

The fire in Molly’s eyes cooled into affection as she shifted her attention to her friend. “You are so lucky that I adore you enough to not incinerate Dolohov right where he stands.”

“Cute to think that you stand a chance.” He danced back from the witch’s swift kick.

“Mate, stop,” Gideon wheezed. “She’s not one to forgive and forget.”

“I’m not asking her to,” he replied.

Several Gryffindors stared unabashedly at their group in curiosity.

“Shall I report back to my liege of your continued absence?” Antonin asked, reminded of his original task.

Letting go of the other witch and standing, shoulders pushed back, Narcissa joined him. “You shall not. I was finished with dinner, anyway.”

“Farewell, Princess!” Fabian and Gideon called out together, earning a flip of her hair in response.

Before they walked off, Antonin paid Molly one more look, which she met with a raised brow. He allowed his eyes to linger and for his head to tilt just so. Anyone still watching might think him intrigued.

Ever the quick study, Molly lifted her chin. A challenge that he accepted with narrowed eyes.

Turning away, he found more than a handful of witches and wizards watching them. One set, in particular, hastily looked away, blotchy, freckled skin flushing.

Antonin smirked. Good.

Chapter Text

Narcissa’s steps were unhurried and confident, and he followed behind in equal nonchalance. When they reached Lucius, she accepted his kiss to her knuckles with her usual welcoming smile. 

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, silver eyes appraising her.

“And I, you."

There wasn't a single hint of deceit in her response for a listener to suspect, and a quick glance at the Lestrange brothers showed disinterest in the exchange between the betrothed. All was as it had always been.

Antonin slid into his seat, Narcissa doing likewise.

"I trust that your time since we last spoke was well spent?" Lucius asked, his tone cordial. It was the sort of polite inquiry that he'd made countless times before. Appropriately curious. Easy to brush off with single-word assent or, should one wish it, a window to further conversation, the worth of which would be up to Lucius whether or not to pursue.

Narcissa did not often elaborate on her activities with the Prewetts. Given that her recent pursuits centred solely on Antonin…well, he could confidently say that she certainly had been well spent when they'd parted ways earlier that afternoon.

He pulled apart the roast on his plate, eyes cast downward as he listened.

"Well enough."

His fork screeched loudly, pulling everyone's attention. Antonin grimaced. "Apologies."

Coral lips pursed, brow lifting, Narcissa peered at him with a light in her eyes that let him know exactly what she thought about his involuntary reaction. The next time he got her alone, he planned to shatter that facade until she begged for him to let her come, which he'd only consider after pushing her to tears a few times or more.

"I am glad to hear it." Lucius returned them to conversation and his true concern. "Have you yet received word from either one of your sisters?"

Rabastan leaned in, brushing up against Antonin's side. Across the table, his brother's dark, unreadable gaze landed on Narcissa. She returned his look, dipping her chin in an apologetic gesture.

"I have not heard anything from Andy, but it has only been a day. I'm sure I'll hear from her soon."

"And Bellatrix?"

She huffed, delicately, of course, before answering. "I doubt I'll hear back from her for at least another week. Bella's always been horrid with letters."

Lucius' displeasure at the news was apparent in the slight tick of his jaw. The press against Antonin's arm increased as Rabastan leaned further, still, his palms now flat on top of the table.

"Perhaps your letters did not impart the level of my brother's concern. If you could write them again, allow us to look the words over before sending, then maybe—"

"Enough, Rabastan." Rodolphus' rebuke was quiet. Honed. Coming from a wizard whom Antonin had categorised as exceedingly passive…well, he carefully shuffled his esteem of the older brother accordingly.

Rabastan pulled back sharply, giving Antonin his space, once more.

"I apologise for my brother's rudeness," Rodolphus continued, dipping his head, first to Narcissa and Lucius and then, surprisingly, Antonin.

He seemed to have completely misread this Lestrange, entirely.

"No apologies necessary," Lucius assured him. "But, let us speak of something with a bit less weight with the understanding that we will return to this discussion soon. Isn't that right, my darling?"

"Of course." Narcissa dabbed a napkin to her lips.

"Are you looking forward to the Fall Dance?" he went on to ask.

"I am."

"And, what are to be my colours for the evening?" Before she could answer, Lucius turned a crooked smile on the rest of them. "I know better than to try and follow my own inclinations, not after the last ball."

It rankled Antonin that his friend could speak so casually of the relationship with his witch, one whose skin wore his scent and within whom he trusted still resided his legacy. Coordinating wardrobes was the sort of understanding between two individuals whose futures were set and looked upon with envy. Antonin wasn't personally one to care much for attire, other than to ensure that whatever he wore would sustain anything he expected of it. Magical. Physical. Sexual.

"Why don't you guess?" Narcissa teased, her lilting voice tickling Antonin's agitation. He stabbed a forkful of carrots with a bit more energy than was required.

"What will you give me if I guess correctly?"

She tilted her head, humming. "One wish of your choosing, which I will grant to the best of my abilities."

The candied carrots in Antonin's mouth abruptly lost their sweetness.

"And if I do not?" The bastard sounded intrigued.

"If you're wrong…"

As he waited for her to continue, Antonin's grip on his knife turned painful, bruising his palm with how tightly he clenched the handle.

"…then I have free reign for that evening, aside from appearing at your side and the first dance."

Her proposal wasn't anything that he would have suspected, a sentiment that was clearly shared by her fiance and the Lestrange brothers, all of whom blinked silently for a beat too long before Lucius let out an incredulous snort.

"Why, that's hardly a fair wager. Any wish in exchange for a single evening?"

Antonin wholeheartedly agreed. While he wasn't concerned with Lucius requesting something sexual in nature from his betrothed, that didn't mean that whatever else the man demanded wouldn't be just as costly, if not more. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys always collected payment. With interest.

"That is what I said." Her eyes were clear. Her carriage, unflagging.

"I wonder for whom it is you go to such lengths," Lucius said softly. "I might be concerned if I did not trust you as I do. Fine, then. I accept your wager."

Antonin wanted nothing more than to cause a commotion and disrupt this foolishness, whatever suspicions it might cast on his person secondary to Narcissa's well being. But, he also trusted her. She was a natural Legilimens and, as such, certainly knew what she was doing.

"Silver."

"No."

The answer and immediate rebuttal happened so quickly that Antonin wasn't sure whether he'd imagined it or not until Rabastan burst out laughing beside him.

Lucius, however, looked unperturbed, which struck Antonin as…odd.

"I concede my loss. What colour, then, shall I match for the evening?"

"Dark blue, like the night sky."

"How lovely."

Without further inquiry, Lucius returned to his meal and moved the discussion towards the upcoming Quidditch match against Ravenclaw, to which the other two wizards leapt eagerly.

Dark blue, like the night sky.

Looking down at his plate, Antonin smiled.

Chapter Text

If he had to listen to Lucius for another second, Antonin was going to transfigure the wizard into a horned slug and drop him into the Potions supply closet.

"I still can't see why Cissa insists on blue for her robes. Particularly that droll shade. We aren't Ravenclaws! Silver would be far more fitting with our colouring."

"You don't think that would be too much?" Antonin pointedly looked at his roommate's robes, which were, indeed, silver.

Lucius caught his eye in the mirror before scanning his own reflection and giving a terse shake of his head. "Not at all. Nobody could even hope to compare to the two of us. But, now…" He sighed. "…this will have to do."

While Antonin didn't consider himself fashion forward in the slightest, wearing the same colours event after event seemed like something of a faux pas. He would have thought the Malfoys, of all families, would have a designer on retainer to ensure a unique look for every occasion. But, he was willing to admit that there might be more to the art than matching formal robes to eye colours. Not even he was immune to the instinct. Most would assume his outfit to pair with that of his partner's own pair of vivid blues, a mistake Antonin would gladly reaffirm if asked.

Turning towards the mirror on his side of the room, Antonin eyed his chosen ensemble. He had aimed for Narcissa's signature arctic tint that had frozen her onlookers time and again. The pale drape of fabric was striking against his dark hair, within which he imagined himself wrapped in her soothing embrace.

"Are you sure you didn't transfer from Beauxbatons? Where are your usual robes?" This time it was Lucius peeking into the mirror, one brow raised imperiously.

There was a time when Antonin would have agreed; younger him wouldn't have even considered anything but black or red. In truth, he still leaned towards those colours. But, like the ever-creeping chill that seeped past countless layers and deep into aching bones, there was no turning away from his need to be close to her, even if in such a superficial way as attire.

"Buried in my trunk, where they will stay. This isn't Durmstrang, nor is it one of our fathers' obligatory parades." For which he'd perfected every aspect of his appearance so there wouldn't be a whisper of a doubt as to his loyalties.

"I half expect you to pull a frog out of your pocket for a quick snack," Lucius said with a snort, as if his own bloodline didn't trace back across the strait to those same shores.

"Maybe I have."

"Too right."

They shared expressions of mutual boredom only to dissolve into fits of merriment. How many times had they griped over the castle's meals? The complaints might differ between their preferences—Lucius, for lighter fare drizzled with delicate sauces and eye-pleasing adornments, Antonin, for sharper profiles featuring more acidity and depth—but they could always agree on at least that.

It wasn't until they'd sobered enough to put the final touches to their ensembles and head for the door that the question he'd been dreading was voiced.

"You never did tell me. Who is the lucky witch tonight?"

While the question sounded offhanded, Antonin knew better. Could read the falsity in the careless tone.

He gripped Lucius' shoulder briefly; for what reason, he did not know. The revelation would surely shock the man given the animosity between houses, but Molly was a Pureblood and Narcissa's dearest friend. The impulse to comfort moved him to act regardless.

"You will see. Come, let us not keep them waiting."

Hogwarts took the formal occasion far more seriously than Antonin had expected. He'd imagined floral arrangements, yes, perhaps an extension of the brilliant charm work that maintained the Great Hall's ceiling. He did not anticipate the level of transformation that met his eyes as he emerged from the dungeon and onto the ground floor.

It was as if Matushka herself had descended upon the stone walls with leaves in egg yolk yellow, sunset orange, fertile brown, and russet red. They lined the corridors and draped the walls like autumn curtains ushering students into a portal of abundance and celebration.

Here and there flit flutterbies and fairies, trailing shimmering gold in their wake. Those affected by the dust seemed to also glow from within, robes and carefully pinned curls taking on lights of their own.

Then, he saw her.

She stood alongside others, but he only had eyes for her.

Flesh, luminescent and begging for his hand, his mouth, his ceaseless devotion. Lips deepened with a winterberry hue, as if she'd just partaken of their sweet kiss. Pale golden tresses swept up and away from her face, save for a few strands that fluttered playfully along high cheekbones and eyes that sparkled with amusement.

And, of course, her gown—midnight blue, as promised. The neckline skimmed down below her shoulders, dipping slightly at the centre above where he'd rested his head before and now longed to return. The fabric draped artfully down her figure. Velvet, perhaps? Acromantula silk, assuredly. Befitting of a lady of Narcissa's grace and stature. He could imagine no other capable; the gown would wear them, rather than the other way around.

In truth, it did not matter what she wore; she could stand before him in tatters or nothing at all and, still, he'd consider her the most beautiful woman he knew, inside and out.

He watched as her head tilted then turned, sensing his presence as he always sensed hers. Eyes widened and lips parted as she took the sight of him in full, lashes fluttering prettily.

Antonin's weight shifted, ready to move him towards her as the tides to the moon, when Lucius brushed by, robbing him of the opportunity.

"Cissa, you are a vision! I can see, now, why you chose as you did. You are magnificent, though I dare say the gown would only be improved with a Colour Change Charm—"

He found his tongue and stepped up beside the other wizard."Don't you dare. She's perfect as she is."

Lucius looked at him oddly, and he inwardly cursed at himself for his show of hand. Thankfully, she knew exactly what to say to shift the attention elsewhere.

"There will be no charming of dresses or robes or anything other than dance partners," Narcissa announced.

"Ah, yes, where is your lucky date, Antonin?" Lucius looked around with exaggerated curiosity, hand above his brow.

"I'm right here."

The voice was soft but no less commanding for it. Stunned as Antonin had been in the vision that was Narcissa, he had completely missed the witch standing just behind her, hidden with her shorter height. She stepped out, now, looking first at Lucius then at Antonin with a challenging sort of rise to her chin.

Beside him, his brother stilled.

Antonin ignored him and offered his hand with a bowed head. "Molly."

Like both Narcissa and Antonin, she, too, had chosen blue; however, rather than ice or sky, she had chosen a shade of cornflower that matched another wizard's eyes entirely. The vibrant hue offset her pale skin and fiery curls beautifully. Unlike her best friend, Molly had gone with full-length sleeves of a fine, gauze-like material, the many layers of which swayed around her skirt as if blown by a gentle breeze.

"Antonin." She slipped her gloved hand into his own, to which he pressed a perfectly-chaste kiss.

A cough wracked Lucius. He hurriedly turned to clear his throat.

Narcissa laughed, the bright sound bringing a grin to Antonin's face. Molly simply rolled her eyes before speaking once again.

"Shall we?"