It was a thick lily-white and now it's fading and flecked with red; they bring bodies here (if they don't come in bodies, they end up that way). They. The guests, Narcissa thinks, wry, and presses a steady hand to the frame of the door.
Their house is being ransacked by ghosts in the making and there is nothing she can say about it. Nothing she has to say: every cause takes sacrifices, she thinks, watching the paper peel from the wall like skin from bone. The litany is old; it is less reassuring day by day.
An arm—bone-thin and wrapped in black—snakes around her waist and she nearly starts. Bellatrix presses up against her side.
"Your heart's racing, Cissy," she purrs. "Exhilarating times, aren't they?"
"Can't someone clean this mess up?" Narcissa replies, voice cold. "Wormtail ought to be up here."
"I'll fetch our vermin when next I see him." Bella laughs, sound cracking in the air, and presses a kiss to Narcissa's cheek, wet and too close to her mouth.
Narcissa does not move until her sister is gone.
-
"I can't take much more of this," she whispers cheek to cheek with her husband beneath the black canopy over their bed.
"Shh." He strokes her cheek, one finger stopping her polished mouth. His eyes are tired, face stark in its hollows, but he won't let on when he speaks, and his voice still carries the same surety, resonating through her bones where they line up with his. "You won't have to. It's just a matter of time."
"But the things they—"
A noise scrabbles through the halls outside and she checks her words as soon as she thinks them, killing them on her tongue. Scuttling dance of footsteps, snatches of hummed songs, near and then far—and then near once more. The doorknob twists and the door flies open, tracing Bellatrix in the frame.
"Hello, sister," she says with a smile stretching her dark lips. "Brother."
"Bella, what is it—"
"My lord dismissed me from the guard," she says and laughs, sound skittering high and sharp. Beneath the sheets, Lucius's fingers weave over Narcissa's, squeeze. "He sent me away."
She steps into the room, toward the bed, circling in and around it. "What are you doing here?" Narcissa asks sharply. "Go to bed, Bellatrix."
"How could anyone sleep on nights like this?" Bellatrix's eyes are lit as she moves in, kneeling over the sheets and sitting by Narcissa's side—too close, always too close, a hand sliding onto Narcissa's thigh. "Not when the Dark Lord is so close, so near dominion." Her back arches, throwing breasts and white throat into stark silhouetted relief. "The house is alive with it, Cissy, can't you feel it? You, Lucius," she says, leaning forward, "you must be so grateful—"
Her fingers lash out, wrap a lock of his silver-blonde hair around her hand, and Narcissa recoils as her husband tries to swallow his reaction. "Get out of here, Bella," she says, and Bellatrix laughs again—she is always laughing—her hand tightening and her body sliding snakelike across the sheets, face near Lucius's own.
"You're so lucky. You, Lucius—" Bellatrix darts a quick look at Narcissa and presses her lips—just briefly—to the column of Lucius's suddenly paralyzed throat. Narcissa's hand lashes forward and Bellatrix catches it. Fingers intertwining and grinding bone against bone. She pulls the hand toward her, kisses Narcissa's knuckles; Narcissa is breathing shallow and sharp in her throat and Bellatrix smiles at her almost brightly, teeth to her lips and love suffusing her eyes, bright and mad and dark and foreign; Narcissa feels no trace of her in her blood, for all that her heart is beating warm and fast and her fingers wear the wet print of her sister's lips.
"He brought in someone new, someone from the school—Muggle sympathizer," she says with a grotesque twist of her mouth, tongue between twisted lips, touching the column of Lucius's neck with the tip of it. "They put her in the spare room. For now."
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timeasmymeasure
paint's peeling - narcissa/bellatrix/lucius - pg-13
Date: 2010-11-28 12:41 am (UTC)It was a thick lily-white and now it's fading and flecked with red; they bring bodies here (if they don't come in bodies, they end up that way). They. The guests, Narcissa thinks, wry, and presses a steady hand to the frame of the door.
Their house is being ransacked by ghosts in the making and there is nothing she can say about it. Nothing she has to say: every cause takes sacrifices, she thinks, watching the paper peel from the wall like skin from bone. The litany is old; it is less reassuring day by day.
An arm—bone-thin and wrapped in black—snakes around her waist and she nearly starts. Bellatrix presses up against her side.
"Your heart's racing, Cissy," she purrs. "Exhilarating times, aren't they?"
"Can't someone clean this mess up?" Narcissa replies, voice cold. "Wormtail ought to be up here."
"I'll fetch our vermin when next I see him." Bella laughs, sound cracking in the air, and presses a kiss to Narcissa's cheek, wet and too close to her mouth.
Narcissa does not move until her sister is gone.
-
"I can't take much more of this," she whispers cheek to cheek with her husband beneath the black canopy over their bed.
"Shh." He strokes her cheek, one finger stopping her polished mouth. His eyes are tired, face stark in its hollows, but he won't let on when he speaks, and his voice still carries the same surety, resonating through her bones where they line up with his. "You won't have to. It's just a matter of time."
"But the things they—"
A noise scrabbles through the halls outside and she checks her words as soon as she thinks them, killing them on her tongue. Scuttling dance of footsteps, snatches of hummed songs, near and then far—and then near once more. The doorknob twists and the door flies open, tracing Bellatrix in the frame.
"Hello, sister," she says with a smile stretching her dark lips. "Brother."
"Bella, what is it—"
"My lord dismissed me from the guard," she says and laughs, sound skittering high and sharp. Beneath the sheets, Lucius's fingers weave over Narcissa's, squeeze. "He sent me away."
She steps into the room, toward the bed, circling in and around it. "What are you doing here?" Narcissa asks sharply. "Go to bed, Bellatrix."
"How could anyone sleep on nights like this?" Bellatrix's eyes are lit as she moves in, kneeling over the sheets and sitting by Narcissa's side—too close, always too close, a hand sliding onto Narcissa's thigh. "Not when the Dark Lord is so close, so near dominion." Her back arches, throwing breasts and white throat into stark silhouetted relief. "The house is alive with it, Cissy, can't you feel it? You, Lucius," she says, leaning forward, "you must be so grateful—"
Her fingers lash out, wrap a lock of his silver-blonde hair around her hand, and Narcissa recoils as her husband tries to swallow his reaction. "Get out of here, Bella," she says, and Bellatrix laughs again—she is always laughing—her hand tightening and her body sliding snakelike across the sheets, face near Lucius's own.
"You're so lucky. You, Lucius—" Bellatrix darts a quick look at Narcissa and presses her lips—just briefly—to the column of Lucius's suddenly paralyzed throat. Narcissa's hand lashes forward and Bellatrix catches it. Fingers intertwining and grinding bone against bone. She pulls the hand toward her, kisses Narcissa's knuckles; Narcissa is breathing shallow and sharp in her throat and Bellatrix smiles at her almost brightly, teeth to her lips and love suffusing her eyes, bright and mad and dark and foreign; Narcissa feels no trace of her in her blood, for all that her heart is beating warm and fast and her fingers wear the wet print of her sister's lips.
"He brought in someone new, someone from the school—Muggle sympathizer," she says with a grotesque twist of her mouth, tongue between twisted lips, touching the column of Lucius's neck with the tip of it. "They put her in the spare room. For now."