fic: an invention of darkness
Jan. 12th, 2021 07:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
human_veilhogwartstoalexandria ! an invention of darkness (hp / ~2k / mature)
severus/lucius/narcissa, marauders era
Love blooms in quiet places.
You could say it starts like this: Cold, concrete halls, with little light and no portraits. Never leave a witness, they’ve both been taught, and so it’s no wonder, really, that things happen the way they do.
Lucius waits until the Manor is all but empty, and then he takes Severus by the wrist and pulls him toward the West Wing and its barren corridors, their lengths unused since the days of Septimus Malfoy’s reign, but not dusty. Not with the Help the Malfoy’s had on hand.
No one is without their secrets, Lucius had told him, once. He’d smiled the same way he smiles now, as he stands with his shoulder against the frame of a guest room’s door, his hand sliding from Severus’ hand to his hip: slow, small, secretive. An invitation to the things Severus has always craved but could never get his hands on.
He swallows around heady desire, his face flushing hot as Lucius’ arms link around his waist like a snake circling in on its prey. When he pulls, Severus can do little else but follow.
His back hits the mattress not long after, neither Severus nor Lucius taking the time to stop and set the candle chandelier alight. For Lucius, it’s selfish impatience that stops him. For Severus, it’s something more.
There are certain things that should only happen in the dark, he thinks. This is one of them.
Maybe, it starts before that. Maybe, it starts like this: A busy, bustling room, and a hand on his thigh to calm him.
Eighteen, newly Marked, and bordering on overwhelmed, Severus leans against Lucius’ touch as subtly as he can. His left forearm is stinging, the scratchy wool of his robe irritating already wounded skin. He breathes through his nose and tries to hide his pain.
The Dark Lord had left them long ago, the initiation-turned-celebration finally quieting down. Beside him, Lucius sits with his head tilted, almost entirely turned away as he speaks softly with his sister-in-law. Around him, a dozen other conversations take place, the indiscernible chatter hard to keep track of as his body runs hot, both the fresh burn and Lucius’ touch making fire prickle beneath his skin.
“Let me look at that,” a voice says in his ear, its cold, soothing tone stirring him from thought.
Severus turns to find Narcissa watching him, a vial held in hand as her mouth twitches, lips caught between a smirk and something neutral. She reaches for his left arm before he can object and makes sure to keep it hidden beneath the table as she rolls the sleeve, the vial uncorked and quickly poured over bright-red flesh.
She scoots closer, her shoulder pressing into his as she rubs the potion over the Mark. Severus merely watches, mesmerised as Narcissa gently massages his forearm, her touch firm but soft, almost tender. His breath hitches as her nail catches on the worst of it, the suppressed groan and Narcissa’s quiet apology stirring the interest of the man beside them.
Lucius spares a glance, the heat of it lasting a few prolonged seconds. It vanishes as quick as it comes, though, his attention returning to Bellatrix as the sharp pain subsides.
“You should have done this sooner,” Narcissa chastises, her free hand curling around the back of his wrist to hold his arm in place.
Severus’ response dies on his lips as the hand on the leg slides upward, long, slender fingers splaying over his inner thigh and rubbing softly. Narcissa looks up and catches his eye, eyebrow arched in question as she adjusts her grip, her thumb stroking over his inner wrist, touch almost in tune with her husband’s.
It’s only through sheer force of will that Severus is able to suppress his shiver of desire.
Or maybe it starts after that. Maybe, it starts like this: A summer shower, and adrenaline’s familiar prick.
“She knows.”
Severus stands on the edge of Malfoy Manor’s gardens, Lucius’ old cloak wrapped tight around his shoulders to ward off the July drizzle as he waits, watching. Lucius doesn’t bother to look up from where he crouches, leather-clad hand pulling flowers off a shrub of aconite, the hum he gives in response distracted at best.
“Hm?”
“Narcissa,” Severus explains. A nervous energy simmers in his veins; it’s been there since he’d heard her voice, the cool timbre calling him in for tea. He tries his best to hide it. “She knows.”
Knows what, he doesn’t think he needs to say. There are few secrets Lucius keeps from his wife, but the ones he does… Guilt settles low in Severus’ stomach, foreign but full of force. He fidgets where he stands.
Thank you, Narcissa had said, for keeping Lucius company. You know how he abhors feeling neglected. Her mouth had twitched, her eyes alight with something Severus couldn’t place. She didn’t look at him for long; instead, her gaze had drifted to her sleeping son, the baby tucked away in an all-white bassinet. I find Draco demands most of my time, these days.
He’d sat through the rest of their conversation on high alert, fingers circling the porcelain edge of his teacup as he waited for it to be over. There had been no out-right accusation, but Severus knew there never would be. None of them were the type.
Lucius looks up, eyebrow arched as grey eyes meet black. “And?” he says, the lazy drawl something Severus has tried to imitate more than once. “Why wouldn’t she?”
Severus stares. “What do you mean, why wouldn’t she—” He cuts himself off, fallen leaves crinkling beneath his feet as his weight shifts. “Need I remind you that we—”
“Oh, don’t tell me you thought it was a secret.” Lucius stands, gloved hands dusting off his trousers. He remains unbothered, completely composed, the only thing out of place the wisps of pale blond that’d fallen loose in the wind. “Severus, I’ve told you,” he starts, “I don’t often lie to my wife. Narcissa granted me permission before I ever pursued you.”
He steps closer, pocketing the plucked aconite as he crowds into Severus’ personal space. Severus has to tilt his head back to meet Lucius’ eye, mind racing as he plays catch-up, his brain linking Lucius’ words to the facts of their affair. It made sense, he supposed, only…
“Then why go to such lengths to hide it?” he asks, and tries to conceal the hint of bitterness. He isn’t sure he succeeds.
He knows he hasn’t when Lucius laughs. “Narcissa is one issue,” he says. “My father is another entirely.” He sighs, stepping around Severus to lead the way back toward the Manor, his arm draping over Severus’ shoulders to pull him along. “Triads are a highly contested subject in pure-blood circles,” Lucius explains. “Father’s stance is that they’re an insult to tradition.”
“And you disagree,” Severus infers. It was obvious in how Lucius waved the concerns away, in how his lips twitched at the side.
“Yes, well…” He trails off, voice dropping as he leans into Severus’ side, subtle, but still noticeable. “Narcissa and I prefer to share.”
The hand on Severus’ shoulder squeezes, the act Lucius’ way of punctuating the more than obvious implications. Severus’ step stutters at the words. His head whips around, looking at Lucius’ expression, seeking confirmation.
He’s not sure what to think when he finds it.
You could even say it starts like this: An old, abandoned classroom, and an eavesdropped conversation.
Severus stands outside the spot Narcissa had asked to meet him, a pile of books held tight to his chest as he hesitates, listening. Slughorn can’t say no to me, she’d told him the day before. They’d been sitting together in the Commons, an ancient book on plant-based poisons sat on both their laps. Meet me in the nook by Lazuli Serpen’s portrait after dinner tomorrow. I’ll get the ingredients. Not going had never crossed his mind, but now…
“…seem to have taken a liking to him,” Lucius is saying. Through the crack in the door, Severus can only just see him leaning over a bench, eyes following Narcissa as she sorts through the table’s contents. He can see a cauldron, already brought to a boil. A string of ingredients sit beside it.
“Jealous, are you?” Narcissa jokes. She straightens the last ingredient and leans across the bench to meet him, face only inches away from Lucius’ as she smiles, voice dropped to a teasing whisper. “Feeling neglected?”
Her gentle laugh gets cut off by Lucius leaning in for a kiss, his hand lifting to cup Narcissa’s jaw, slide his fingers over to the nape of her neck, into her hair. Severus watches, mesmerised, entirely still where he stands outside the door. The sight makes him hot beneath his collar, but he’s too young to fully understand why.
“He was my friend first,” Lucius says as they pull apart. “You’re taking him from me.”
He sounds so much like a disgruntled first year that Severus almost snorts. From what he can see, Narcissa struggles not to laugh, too.
“I never said you couldn’t stay,” she says. Severus can’t see it, but he can hear the roll of her eyes. “It’s not as if Severus will mind.”
Lucius hums, unconvinced. “I don’t like being an afterthought, you know,” he tells her, smirking when Narcissa shakes her head.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake—” She cuts herself off, reaches for a beetle eye, and throws it at him. It hits Lucius square in the chest. “Stop moping. Severus will be here any minute. You don’t want to shatter his hero worship of you, do you?”
Lucius’ smirk widens into a grin as he straightens up, shrugging off his Prefect robes before stepping around the bench to kiss Narcissa again.
Severus makes sure to wait another minute before making his presence known.
But officially, it starts like this: Soft, silk sheets, and the hot brush of breath against his ear.
“You haven’t done this with a woman before, have you?” Narcissa asks him, voice void of judgement even as Severus feels the itch of embarrassment.
It’s true, of course. He’d never had much luck with women, had never really tried. There’d been his dorm mates, easy and available, and then, later, there’d been Lucius. Or maybe there’d always been Lucius, his childhood infatuation festering over the years, morphing to what he still refuses to call love. But whether or not he spoke it out loud didn’t matter much when he was faced with the man; the feelings were there, inconvenient at best, sitting beneath his skin.
Similar feelings stirred when faced Narcissa, too. He couldn’t help it. She was beautiful—that much couldn’t be denied—but more than that, she was secretly wicked. And more, still, she’d always been unattainable. A distant object of desire, a forbidden fruit: dangled in front of him but not for him to pluck. Until.
“Don’t worry,” Narcissa tells him. She tilts his chin up, leaning in to kiss him as Lucius watches, his chest a solid warmth against Severus’ back. It doesn’t last long; her lips linger for a second, breath mixing with his, the touch more teasing than anything else. “We’ll teach you.”
It’s a promise, murmured against his mouth. Desire runs along Severus’ spine as Narcissa pulls back, blue eyes looking first to where Lucius is, over Severus’ shoulder, before returning to the man between them. When she smirks, Severus finds himself replicating it.
He’d always been a quick learner.
