∞ 33 ∞
One the third and final night of the inauguration, Justinia who was bored and had left the gala early, opened to the knock at her room door. She expected it to be her daughter Diana asking to borrow something else, as the awkward young Witch who was not yet 20 and on the lookout for a husband (and had unfortunately inherited her lankiness and looks from her father) had come back thrice earlier, moaning that one of the Constantine girls had on a similar dress to hers... and then that the mirror in her room wasn't long enough... and then half an hour later that her shoes weren't right.
To Justinia's pleasant surprise, it was Lucius. Smiling impudently, he held up a bottle of wine with a pink label decorated in flourishy burgundy and gold writing. It was the favourite wine from the family vineyard on a tiny, unplottable island they owned off the coast of France: Petite Île Au Milieu De Nulle Part. The wine was so favoured by those who tasted it, he often had more begging requests from friends and acquaintances than he could (or would) supply. It was a running joke how many promised and undelivered bottles he owed people from the tiny production that wasn't sold, but rather created for family consumption and in continuing with family tradition.
"I believe I owe you something," he said handing her the bottle and trying to keep a straight face.
Justinia took the bottle, reading the label: "I am sure this was promised years ago."
"Better late than never."
Justinia grabbed him by his robe lapels and pulled him into the room, giving his bottom lip a little bite, before she kissed him lustily.
"Wait," said Lucius pulling away from her. "...I thought it was my cousin you wanted," he said pretending to pretend offence that was in fact genuine.
"My tastes have improved with age," she whispered in his ear and with a flick of her wandhand the door shut.
Lucius opened his eyes. It was early – perhaps 6 am. He sat up in the bed and focused for a moment on the dark outline of the unopened bottle of Petite Île sitting on the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed in the shadowy room. He rubbed his eyes and felt a nagging pang of guilt. It was a different sort of bad spirited feeling than the usual anxiety inflicted by the old demons that harassed him and that had been even more fearsome than normal, since his arrival back at Hogwarts. He gathered together a little resolve and turned to look at Justinia asleep next to him.
He wished he hadn't given into the temptation. He had tried. He had just been feeling so overwhelmingly lonely and sorry for himself, seeing everyone else with their wives and girlfriends and equally overwhelmed by the haunting memories. Plus even with trying to remedy the matter himself (twice) he couldn't shake the persistent, sexually hungry feeling (ravenous actually) that Justinia had stirred in him. He hadn't had intercourse in ages, but it wasn't like he was normally lead by his groin.
When he was much younger Lucius had thought about sex, what seemed to him now to be quite a lot, but then with being married its supply became a regular, almost appointment like process. And then along with all the troubles of the wars and the addictions, it just became so much less of a priority – less of an interest in fact. More recently, even with the potions out of his system, with all the stress he had been under it was still by far the last thing on his mind. It wasn't that he didn't want it (clearly) it was just... such an effort. Lucius had had two very short lived encounters since Narcissa. Both were fixed up by Elliott: both "Squib" girls (as people from Magical families, who had unfortunately been born without Magical capabilities, were known) Elliott's specialty. But neither had been right, or the sort he really wanted, even for (or perhaps especially not for) casual sex, if he could have been bothered. Neither of them were bad really – perhaps if he had put some effort into either encounter, to be fair... but it just felt strange and forced. Uncomfortable. Lucius wasn't that old in Wizard terms, but after all that had happened, he was at the point where he felt past trying to impress anyone, past trying to get to know anyone new.
He looked at Justinia's peachy, milk coloured skin. Her back and shoulders had a sprinkling of orange freckles he could just make out in the low light. He never knew that she had freckles on her back. THIS WAS STRANGE. He had known this person in such a different way for the majority of his years and now they were naked together. They had shared fluids together! For sure he wanted her, but... ... ... Uggh! Perhaps he was analysing it too much. However, he found it impossible not to think about Thaddeus bursting in – the look of betrayal on his face... But no... he had to remind himself: this (for once) was not his fault. He was a bachelor, the woman laying next to him was a grown Witch, married yes, yet free to do as she wished in this matter. After all, Thaddeus agreed the Faidit; he had to expect what would happen. And it wasn't like he was whoring around, as it had been with the two Squibs. Justinia was the type of Witch he wanted and well matched to him. In any event, it was too late worrying about it now. It was done.
Justinia awoke and not knowing the trepidation in his mind, was gratified to see he had been watching her sleep. She got on top of him and Lucius forced out the bad feelings again.
YOU ARE READING
A Semi-Autobiographical Story About Belonging, True Kinship & Real Love... A different sort of Lucius Malfoy: eccentric, Swedish billionaire, Lucian Isholmborg (the ex Lord Malfoy) is handsome, elegant and famous. So why does he want to kill himsel...