The housekeeper knocked just as Narcissa was finishing her morning correspondence. It had become less of a formality and more of a chore since Lucius had been imprisoned; letters to the solicitors, to the Ministry, to the warders of Azkaban, letters to creditors and letters to family. The owls were getting quite worn out, she supposed. Sighing, she put down her quill. "Yes, Mrs McGill?"
"The assessor from Gringotts is in the blue parlour, madam."
And there was another dreaded chore. "Tell him I'll be there in a moment, please."
"Her. I'll tell her," said Mrs McGill, as she closed the door behind her, her expression indecipherable as always.
Her? That piqued Narcissa's interest; she'd never seen a female goblin. That she knew of, anyway - from everything she knew about them, she wasn't sure that she would be able to tell the difference. Perhaps Mrs McGill's experience supervising house-elves had attuned her to other non-human creatures.
Sealing her letters and stacking them for the owls, she rose from her chair and left her study, heading for the blue parlour. In her head she rehearsed what she was going to say: it pains me but I must, I know we never expected, we appreciate your discretion. But as she entered the room where the Gringotts representative waited, the words died in her throat. Not a goblin. A woman.
A young and beautiful woman, she amended in her mind as she forced a bright smile and extended her hand. "I'm Narcissa Malfoy. How do you do."
The woman leapt gracefully to her feet like a dancer, blonde hair rippling and shining. "Madame Malfoy, 'ow do you do. I am Fleur Delacour, of ze Gringotts loan division. Weel you take me to ze items, please?"
"Yes, of course. If you'll follow me?"
The items, she thought savagely. As though they were just things. Rare gems, ancient and unique artefacts, jewellery that had been worn by generations of Malfoys and Blacks. To this elegant Frenchwoman they were mere trinkets, albeit valuable ones, to be exchanged for Galleons and then sold for even more Galleons. They'd disappear into the enchanted bag the woman carried, to reappear in some goblin's office - or perhaps they would go directly to a discreet shop in Diagon Alley, or on the Continent, or even in America. But she would not let her thoughts show on her face, or even in her stride, as she led Miss Delacour through Malfoy Manor.
Into the bedroom, the bedroom where she now slept alone, and through to her dressing-room. "Excuse me," she said over her shoulder. It would not do for a stranger to overhear the complex spells needed to get into her private vault. Even Lucius didn't know these spells. Miss Delacour nodded and stepped back; a few wand-touches and a few murmured spell-words, and the door sprang open. Narcissa gathered the things she had set aside, the things that would perhaps bring the most. The things she would have to give up.
She spread them on the bureau, wishing for a moment that she'd had the house-elves spread it with velvet so as to set off the gems more vividly. But the intake of breath behind her was all she needed to reassure her that no setting was necessary.
"Oh, but you 'ave such beautiful zings!" The awe was evident in Miss Delacour's voice; one slender hand reached out, to stop mere centimetres from a platinum ring set with sapphires.
"Go on." She strove to keep the bitterness from her voice; soon enough that ring would adorn a hand like the young Frenchwoman's. At least Gringotts was unlikely to pay the girl enough that she would be able to afford to wear the jewels she brokered for them.
"Ah! Zis is a Montmorency, is it not? And zis, zis can only be true dragon ivory! Ze charms on it are very strong. Très magnifique!"
Narcissa felt tears come unbidden and unwanted to the corners of her eyes. No. They were just things. She would not weep.
But it was too late. The woman had turned from her examination of the jewellery and seen her face.
"Non, non. Do not distress yourself, Madame." Narcissa felt herself being led away from the bureau to sit on the edge of the canopied bed, cool hands at her brow and shoulder. "It is very sad to have to sell zese, yes?"
She raised her chin. "It is necessary."
"I understand --"
"You understand nothing! Nothing at all!" A sudden rage flushed her. How dare this perfect French doll, this barely-grown child claim to understand?
But in the china-blue eyes was only compassion. "Your man, he is in ze prison. You do what is required." The woman knelt before her, taking Narcissa's hands gently in her own.
"Miss Delacour --"
"Fleur, please."
She twisted away. "Fleur. I appreciate your concern but it is not...is not..." To her own horror she burst into tears.
"Shh." The cool hands gathered her up, laid her on the fine coverlet of Irish linen, stroked her face until her shaking subsided. "It weel be all right, Madame. Ze jewels are only for ze security, you know. We keep zem in a vault until ze loan is repaid. You will get zem back."
The loan would not be repaid, Narcissa knew. She turned her face to bury it in the pillow by her head. It would not be repaid until the Malfoys had money coming in again, and that would not be until Lucius was released. She knew how deeply he was involved, how committed he was to the Dark Lord; and the Ministry knew as well. He'd be Kissed, not released. And she'd be bereft.
Gradually she became aware of fingers in her hair, stroking through it soothingly. She turned to Fleur, aware her face had been reddened by her tears, and with effort controlled her voice. "No. I won't see them again. I know it's ridiculous of me to care."
A faint smile curved Fleur's perfect lips. "Zen you must wear zem one more time." She crossed to the bureau, returned with sparkling hands, jewelled strands dripping from her fingers. "Beautiful zings for a beautiful woman."
"Beautiful," snorted Narcissa. "My dear, you are too kind. Perhaps when I was your age, I was beautiful."
"Age matters not a bit," said Fleur airily. Her fingers were busy dressing Narcissa with the jewels; fastening earrings in their places, sliding diamond bracelets over her slender wrists, draping necklace after shining necklace around her neck. "In my country a wine is not considered even for cooking until it is properly aged. And look, zis jewel." She held up an intricately carved pearl on a slender golden chain. "Centuries old. But it is still beautiful. And worth more because of its age, not in spite of it, non?"
"Worth a great deal, I daresay." She let Fleur guide her to her feet, then stopped her as she moved forward with the pendant pearl. "That one should be worn against the skin. Pearls are always to be worn against the skin," she added, as she undid the ties of her robe and allowed it to fall to the floor. "I imagine it will still fit around my waist."
Fleur stepped forward and Narcissa turned as the chain was draped across her hipbones. Deft fingers closed the clasp at the small of her back; was it her imagination, or did the fingers trail down her spine to linger briefly at the waistband of her underwear?
"Let me show you 'ow beautiful you are, Madame." The full-length mirror was a Malfoy heirloom, its bronze frame rich with curlicues, and it made an approving noise as Narcissa allowed herself to be led to face it.
Golden skin, still unwrinkled. Blonde hair with no touch of grey, and features that had only become more defined and patrician as she'd grown. A perfectly flat stomach between the silk of her brassiere and of her pants, a smooth canvas for the pearl charm.
"You see," murmured the girl into her ear, "you are beautiful. And you do not need jewels to make you beautiful." A hand lifted the diamond tiara from her hair, then smoothed the strands back into place. Lips and fingertips prised an emerald from her ear. "You seemply are."
"I...you..." The words caught in her throat - perhaps lodged in the strands of gold and platinum that tangled in Fleur's fingers as they brushed across Narcissa's pale chest, parting the clasp of her brassiere and sliding it off. The feel of the silk and lace across her nipple broke her concentration on her own reflection, and she frowned, shifting her eyes to lock with the other woman's eyes in the mirror as she pushed her hands away.
"I'm sure I don't understand what you're doing," she said, putting as much ice into her voice as she could. She'd report the girl's bizarre behaviour to Gringotts as soon as she left, no question about it. But then Miss Delacour reached out again for her shoulders and pulled Narcissa toward her. And kissed her.
There was no time to protest, to object. Her lips tingled, opened of their own volition, admitted Fleur's teasing tongue as though it had every right to explore Narcissa's mouth. For one moment a part of her mind wondered why she was melting under this strange kiss; then, even that scrap of self-awareness dissolved in the sudden languor that spread throughout her body. It was as though some potion had entered her bloodstream through her lips, a potion which caused her eyelids to flutter and her knees to buckle.
"Yes, zat is it, Madame..." The words seemed to come from a great distance despite the lips moving against her skin, so close against her cheekbone, her neck, and then back to her mouth. She found herself moving, being steered by invisible hands back to the bed, and gratefully lay back when she felt the softness of the counterpane against her bare legs. The soft brush of hair, like a unicorn's mane, tickled her belly as her legs were lifted and her undergarments gently slid away.
The cold weight of the necklaces she wore abruptly seemed unbearable. But her hands would not obey her, would not move from her sides, and she opened her eyes in a sudden panic. But Fleur bent over her, a reassuring smile on her face: "Do not worry, Madame. I weel take care of you."
Fingers flickered across her neck and the strands of diamonds, sapphires, rubies lifted themselves away from her body. "Better, yes?"
She could only nod slightly, sigh in relief; moan into the mouth that covered hers again for a moment before trailing soft kisses down her jawline, her chin, her unadorned neck, her naked chest. Fleur's tongue traced patterns on her breasts, licked at each erect nipple as though decorating it, placed an imaginary jewel in her navel to replace the pearl charm as she removed it from around Narcissa's waist. "So beautiful."
No, Narcissa wanted to say, you are the beautiful one. But her mouth remained slack and silent and she could only watch ice-blonde hair spill across her thighs as Fleur moved lower. "You have zee scent of a flower," said Fleur, lifting her head for a moment and smiling. Then she lowered her lips to that most intimate place on a woman's body, and Narcissa's eyes fluttered closed once more as she arched into the touch of lips and tongue.
Lucius had never deigned to caress her with his mouth; her cunt was only good enough for his prick, and on occasion for his fingers, and although he encouraged her to take his erection in her mouth he had wrinkled his nose fastidiously when she had suggested, once, that he reciprocate. But Fleur was licking at her as though at a fine gourmet dish, tasting her juices delicately, sliding fingers through her folds, into her body, eliciting small noises that she could not control even had she wanted to, ohhs and ahhs and entirely voiceless moans. Fleur's movements were rhythmic, steady, a slowly building pace of fingers twisting and thrusting, of tongue dancing against her clit, and Narcissa found herself gasping in time with them, moving her hips to meet each caress, holding her breath as her orgasm gathered momentum, building, growing, lifting her up to shatter, finally, against the hard edge of desire and need.
A harsh, wordless cry rang out, startling her; she was accustomed to coming silently, coaxing quiet joy from her body with her own touch while Lucius drifted to sleep. Had she given voice to that wanton sound? Her eyes opened in astonishment as the cry was repeated.
From her position between Narcissa's legs, Fleur had risen to her knees. Her robes were parted, and she wore nothing beneath them but her own creamy skin. One hand still rested against Narcissa's thigh; with the other, Fleur pressed a handful of glittering jewellery against her own blonde pubic triangle. Sapphires and rubies, gold and platinum, rubbing between her legs, tangling with the fleecy hair. Eyes closed in ecstasy, Fleur opened her mouth, and for the third time that strange cry rent the air.
Odd, thought Narcissa, how the light played tricks on one. For in that moment it seemed that Fleur's face had melted and changed, that her doll-perfect features had elongated into the sharp beak of a bird of prey, that her lovely hands had become cruel claws; but then the cry faded, and the light shifted, and a beautiful woman again knelt between Narcissa's legs.
As she watched, Fleur's eyes opened again and locked with hers, gleaming blue like the sapphires wound around her wrist. "You see 'ow it is, Madame." A smile stole across Fleur's face as she lifted her hand, the strands of gemstones trailing in a sparkling fall across her bared stomach, across her small, pointed breasts. "Beautiful, yes, but ze beauty of ze body is greater yet."
Out of the corner of her eye Narcissa saw Fleur's hand open, saw the jewellery drop to vanish into the open bag at her side. She wanted to turn her head, to tear her eyes from the strange blue radiance of Fleur's eyes, to look at her precious necklaces and rings one more time, but her neck would not obey her and she remained transfixed as a mouse in an owl's gaze, staring at Fleur as the other woman gracefully uncoiled herself and rose smoothly to her feet by the side of the bed.
"Sleep now, Madame." With gentle hands Fleur stroked Narcissa's hair, then bent to press a kiss against her lips. She had a moment's taste of her juices in the other woman's mouth, the feel of an insistent tongue flickering against her own; then the lassitude enveloped her again, and she was dreaming of jewels, and birds, and silence.
When Narcissa awoke she felt oddly refreshed; had she slept the entire day? No, she decided as she sat up slowly, the sun was high. Still mid-day, then. As she swung herself to her feet, she discovered a parchment scroll next to her on the bed. It was tied with a gold ribbon - a Gringotts receipt, she realized, and with trepidation she unrolled it.
The sum written there made her gasp in surprise and relief. Enough to pay off the creditors and still see Malfoy Manor through many months - perhaps through more than a year, if she was prudent with her Galleons. More than she'd expected, she thought, pleased, and in exchange for the funds she'd only had to give up some old jewellery. Nothing she'd particularly miss. They were only things, after all.
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http://hieroglyfics.net/hp/beautiful | written August 2004 by Isis