Part Second: The Hart Rampant: Chapter 20, Part 2

Chapter 20, Part 2:

"My betrothed?" Emily stared at Professor Snape in mystification. "I'm betrothed to someone?"

"I've been told that you're to become Mrs. Black sometime in the near future," he said, still refusing to look at her.

"Mrs. Black?" Emily made a face. "Oh no, you're not talking about Menzentius, are you?"

Snape finally turned to face her. "Yes, I was," he replied, now looking a bit suspicious. "I have to admit this comes as quite a surprise."

"I'm not going to marry him," she said, with a laugh. "That drunken Neanderthal? Come off it – I don't even like him."

"Well, yes, that's always been my impression, so it did seem rather unlikely to me when I heard," Snape said – was he actually looking a bit sheepish? "But Lucius seemed certain that you and he were about to make a match of it when I last spoke to him."

"Oh, that's... that's just a big misunderstanding," she said, shaking her head emphatically. "It's really just stupid."

Snape was still looking at her, one eyebrow arched at an inquisitive angle, clearly expecting rather more of an explanation than that. Emily blushed furiously.

"All right – what happened was, I ran into Menzentius in a hotel lounge one evening last week. He decided to invite himself to have a drink with me, and ended by asking me to marry him, after making a lot of rather inappropriate... comments as well. You can probably imagine what his blood alcohol content was like at the time."

"All too easily," Snape muttered.

"So then Lucius asked me to have dinner with him this weekend – I thought he was going to apologise for his brother-in-law, but instead he actually wanted me to take him up on the marriage offer. Really, I could scarcely believe it. 'It would be such fun to have you for a sister-in-law,' he tells me. He was just so excited about the whole thing that I suppose I played along with him a bit, but he is an old family friend and I couldn't exactly tell him, 'Your brother-in-law is a drunken idiot and I'd make an honest go at being a lesbian before I'd marry him.'"

"I think you should have told him that," Snape said bluntly. "Really, Professor, you'll soon want to make your absolute refusal known before one or the other of the Malfoys sets a date and starts announcing banns. You should also be prepared for a bit of, er, displeasure on Lucius's part when you do."

Emily thought he was taking himself just a tiny fraction too seriously. "I'm not worried. I know he thinks he's terribly impressive now, but so much of that is an act. You should have seen him the day I first introduced him to a spider pooka – he almost climbed the fecking wall," Emily said, laughing. "Poor old Lucius has heard an emphatic no from me before, and somehow survived and got over it."

"Really." Snape studied her face for a long moment – and that gaze could make even a Fianna knight feel a little unsure of herself.

"Please, Professor, I do thank you for your concern, but don't worry. I am not about to make a bad marriage, and I don't think I'll lose any friends over it. One thing you can be sure of with Lucius, he doesn't stay angry at me for very long," Emily told him, smiling. She was, truth be told, indulging in a bit of smugness, but the previous weekend, and the thousands of Galleons' worth of diamonds upstairs on her dressing table, made her feel quite confident of Lucius's abiding, forgiving affection for her. "He never can."

Despite her airy assurances, Snape looked unconvinced. "Well, inclined to forgive you or not, once he gets it into his head that two people should marry each other, Lucius doesn't tend to stop pressuring them in that direction, you see. He and Narcissa love to marry suitable people off to each other, they're both frightfully classical that way," he said, with a dire expression. He seemed to think that being married off by Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy was a fate slightly less desirable than death.

"Really." Emily raised her own inquisitive eyebrow in Snape's direction. "So tell me, who does he keep trying to pair you up with?"

Snape grimaced unusually expressively. "Felina Rosier," he said, through gritted teeth, as though he could barely stand to say her name.

Emily stared at him, again in horror. "That's terrible. You poor thing – I'm so sorry."

His eyebrow took a turn for the sinister. "Oh? At one time, I remember you thought she and I were quite well suited to each other."

She recalled her unkind remark at the New Year's Eve Ball and blushed even more furiously. "I was annoyed then, that was... "

"That was before you got aggravated with her yourself and bludgeoned her about the head with an etiquette book?"

"Oh, bloody hell, not you too," she snapped. "I did not bludgeon her – I just put the bloody thing in her hand and walked away... "

The sinister eyebrow didn't let up for a second.

"All right." She took a deep breath, and faced him as simply and humbly as she could. "Please do allow me to apologise, sir, I'm truly sorry about that," she said.

"Pardon me? Did Professor Swain actually admit that perhaps she did something unkind? Well, I suppose there really is a first time for everything," Snape said, in his most unendurably silky tones.

Emily turned away from him in acute embarrassment. "Fine, it was rude. You've got every right to not want to have Deceivre thrown at you at the dinner table, and believe me, I will never do it to you again. It was just that... I had no idea you already knew the second form of Deceivre somehow, and I was embarrassed at being caught out like that."

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"What? Say that again?" Snape sounded amazed by what she had just said.

Emily stared at the floor, now blushing to the roots of her hair. "Really, sir, I have apologised to people before, there's no need to act as though it's some momentous occasion that needs to be commemorated for posterity or whatever – "

"No, no, that's not it – although I am pleasantly surprised to hear that you're capable of apologising properly, for once," he said, with a moment's severe look. "But, that part about already knowing the second form of Deceivre, if you please, could you repeat that."

"Well, you know. I had no idea you had picked it up from somewhere, and I was embarrassed to have been caught using a Deceivre effect like that," Emily replied. "It's all very well if you can manage it without the other bloke knowing you're doing it, but getting caught is... somewhat embarrassing."

"But, Professor, to my knowledge I haven't picked up the second form of Deceivre. From anywhere," Snape said.

Emily looked at him uncomprehendingly. "Sir... you used it. During dinner on New Year's Eve. You knew I had used a magical effect, but you weren't affected by it. You were quite memorably furious about it – don't you remember?"

"Yes, I remember, but I wasn't aware of using any kind of magical ability to see through it. Could you have used the spell improperly, or incompletely?" he asked.

"No, that was a successful Deceivre effect – everyone else at the table was influenced by it. Believe me, I've used that spell on much larger groups than that before."

"Well... " There was a sharp tang of agitation rising off of his skin as he faced her. "If you could at least tell me what this second form exactly is, I would appreciate that."

"All right – the first form of Deceivre is the ability to say whatever a person needs to hear, in order to provoke a certain reaction. In order to use it, you concentrate on the effect you want to have – to make them ignore you, or make them hear you saying just the right words to prompt a certain response – "

"So that's how you knew the Slytherin passwords that evening. It's a form of verbal deception, in other words," Snape said, narrowing his eyes.

"Not always," she interjected, seeing his look. "It's just a very elemental form of communication. It can be extremely helpful if one wants to communicate with someone who doesn't or can't speak any of the same languages. I could use it to talk to a hippogriff or an Aleutian Islander, and sound perfectly understandable to both of them. The second form is the ability to see through active Deceivre effects – to be aware of when they're being used, and to cast off their effect at will. Think of it as having an infallible sixth sense for when someone's blowing smoke up your arse, to use the vernacular."

"And... I used this second form of this effect. You're convinced that I successfully used it," Snape said.

"I don't doubt the evidence of my own eyes and ears, sir. And I don't doubt the sincerity of what you said afterward, after you caught me using it."

Snape was pacing a bit now, anxiety permeating the air around him. Emily took a step closer to him, watching him curiously. Something about her assertion that he had learned Deceivre, that he had demonstrated facility with its use, was clearly setting off some kind of urgent disquiet in him.

"Professor... it is my understanding that one has to spend a significant amount of time learning and practicing the Faery arts, just like human magic. All the sources I've read speak of the process of acquiring such ability. I've heard students in my House complain incessantly of how the intense visualisation involved in Obscurantis and Glamour gives them headaches. And as far as I know, the art of Deceivre is part of the classified Faery magical canon. You aren't even permitted to formally instruct anyone at Hogwarts in its use, are you?"

"No, I'm not. But... I figured Dumbledore must have taught it to you... ?"

"No, he hasn't," Snape insisted. "If I used it, it must have occurred spontaneously, somehow. I have never studied Deceivre, or been instructed in it, in my life. I swear it. It just happened."

Emily stopped dead, staring at him. She must have been staring very hard, she realised later, because Snape actually looked away. When she found her voice, it was a tone of hesitant wonder.

"Sir... if you don't mind, I'll like to know something. Since you created your True Name, has anything else... like this... been happening? I know you studied Obscurantis on your own – about how long did it take you to pick up the first form?"

"From the time I started studying it to successfully demonstrating it, I would say about ten days," he said. "It really is a relatively simple art, all told."

"Ten days," she repeated. "And it seemed relatively simple to you. Really. And I know you can manage the second form of Obscurantis now, from the night we went to the hospital. How did you pick that up?"

"The descriptions in Swain's Encyclopaedia made it seem.... very clear," he said, shrugging. "Picture yourself fading from view, having no effect on anyone around you, stepping out of and disconnecting from the rest of the world. It wasn't that difficult to imagine – I do spend thirty hours a week in a room full of children doing their best not to listen to me, after all."

"Perhaps you've noticed other sorts of strange magic just spontaneously occurring... ?" Emily asked quietly.

Snape stared at the floor for a second, then turned back to face her. "Do you have a few minutes?" he asked.

"Of course I do," she answered. "Here, why don't you sit down."

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Half past the hour later, Emily was still leaning her chin on her hand on the table, staring at him in silent fascination.

"I was walking along near the forest and saw a Demiguise grazing. Most of the time they're invisible, as you know, because of the properties of their fur. But I could see it. And then I was seeing things in other places as well. And like I said earlier, suddenly I've seen the occasional Faerie in crowds and in public places, when I never used to notice them before. I must have walked past that fellow in front of the Main Library for most of the last eighteen months, without ever really noticing him."

"That would be because we usually go about Glamoured in the Second World, so we can pass for human," Emily said.

"Yes, I've noticed."

She saw his look and averted her eyes. "At any rate, you're exactly describing the third form of Obscurantis, Professor. Congratulations on mastering it – it's a difficult art to learn."

"I didn't work at it at all, to tell the truth – " Snape began. He sounded distressed – as though he thought he had been caught unwittingly taking something that didn't belong to him.

"Sir, I believe you," she said mildly, silencing his protests with a gentle gesture of her hand. "Tell me... in your reading, have you ever come across the term natural adept before?"

"No, never," he said, shaking his head. "What does it mean?"

"Most of the time... Faery magic is something that has to be worked at, studied, practiced...the knowledge has to be pursued, just like it is here. But for a few people... our kind of magic seems to go looking for them. Natural adepts will have the kind of experiences you've described – just waking up and suddenly discovering that they've mastered a new magical art, or displaying tremendous leaps in magical power in a very short time."

"Well, I'm relieved to hear there's some precedent for this sort of thing," he said, still sounding uncomfortable. "How common is it?"

"It's profoundly rare, even with us – er, even among Faeries. For a human to manifest this kind of – " She broke off, took a deep breath, trying to calm herself – this was the most surprised she had been since the day a certain fellow with glorious brooding black eyes, whom she had regretfully had to leave behind at King's Cross, had turned out to be her new colleague at Hogwarts.

"Sir, you have to realise that most humans can't even create a True Name. Of the three hundred-some-odd students in my classes, only twenty-three of that number to date have created True Names powerful enough to Obscure a fecking earring – that's less than ten percent. Of those who can – most of them haven't gotten any farther than maybe the first form of Obscurantis and some simple Glamours. Only eleven or twelve of my students can produce more than one kind of sensory Glamours at once, even with their wands. Hermione Granger and George Weasley are the only ones who have even come close to Obscuring themselves. Miss Granger can't sustain the illusion for very long just yet – she keeps getting rattled and breaking the illusion by talking. And George needs obstacles to blend in with still – he could Obscure himself in a forest, but not in an empty room. And that's with me doing my damnedest to teach it to them for three hours a week.

"And here I've got a bloody natural adept sneaking around studying out of books and not telling anyone what's going on, doing Faery magic right under my bloody nose at parties and I didn't pick up on it. And I call myself a teacher. Some fecking sentry I am. Bloody hell." She got up from her chair, stalked up and down the floor, her brows knitted together. "I know why this happened, you know. It's my biggest fault – I can pick up on all the little subtle things, but I ignore the obvious every damn time." She whirled back to face him. "How long has this been going on? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Since... about February of this year," Snape said, now looking extremely uncomfortable. "Really, there's no need to go on about it like this. If this sort of thing is as rare as you say, you probably just aren't experienced in recognising it."

"No, I should be experienced at recognising it. I'm very close to someone with exactly the same ability, you see. The only other human natural adept I have ever met – is my father." She shook her head. "I should have known. I should have noticed."

"Perhaps... I should have told you," Snape said, very quietly, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"No, no – the fault here isn't yours, there's no way you could have known what was going on." Emily sank into her chair again. "Well then, there's only one thing to do, now. Dumbledore asked me to teach you how to defend yourself using my sort of defensive arts – and my sort of defensive arts include magic. So... I think we'll be expanding your curriculum at these training sessions of ours."

"You wouldn't object to working with me at this?" he asked, sounding a bit unsure and un-Snape-like for the space of about one second.

"Not in the least," she said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. "No, I absolutely insist on it. In my line of work, you never waste talent."

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Professor Snape's Friday night supper had been unremarkable, as usual; his last session of double Potions had left him with his inevitable Friday afternoon headache, but the dose of willow bark infusion he had taken was finally beginning to kick in.

Down at the other end of the table, Irma, Pomona, and Professor Swain were engaged in their usual girlish coffeeklatsch sort of chatter, my student said something funny, we got new books in, what are you doing this weekend, blah blah et cetera. Irma asked Professor Swain if she felt like getting high tea in Hogsmeade with her this weekend, and Professor Swain said she would love to, but she had already promised to spend the weekend with a friend – which made Snape's headache return with a vengeance. He excused himself from the table with a few curt good-evenings to his colleagues, and headed down to the blissful solitude of his own rooms.

The question was now a constant low itch in the back of his mind – Who was she going to see? What was going on? Was she, or wasn't she Lucius's lover? Just after Lucius's remark at the Second Task, and now after this talk of a marriage into his family, Snape had forced himself to bite down on a demand of: What is it between you two? Are you spending all these weekends with him? Emily – are you?

He had thought it quite likely after the Second Task, but after the night at St. George's, and after their conversation the previous night, he was no longer sure. Lucius had said she was distracting him lately, but then Emily had said that poor old Lucius had heard an honest no from her before and somehow survived. Had Lucius tried to seduce her sometime after the Second Task, been certain of his success, and then suddenly discovered to his chagrin that this very self-willed Fae knight wanted none of what he had to offer? It did seem like a particularly Lucius-like mistake to make, really. She was certainly the type he went for, and he definitely paid court to her every chance he got. Could he now be so frustrated by that lack of success that he had offered her the security of marriage within his family in an effort to secure her compliance? Financial security in exchange for sex – Snape knew for a fact that Lucius was no stranger to that kind of transaction.

But was Lucius the sort of lover she would favour? Lucius, after all, was... Lucius. (Snape shuddered when he thought of all that was the sum total of Lucius.) Truthfully, Snape had no idea what sort of man appealed to Professor Swain herself, other than a certain daring sluagh archer from the Sixth Kingdom of the Faerielands, now deceased. Well, there had been that night back in September, but who knew if that meant anything other than she had gotten spectacularly bored while waiting for a train.

One thing was certain – she didn't act like your typical Malfoy mistress, and Snape had been introduced to quite a few of his cousin's past amusements, and those of his relatives and friends. Malfoy mistresses were grasping, aggressively seductive, managing creatures – they didn't saunter around in Faery armour, looking like a figure out of a Spenserian epic romance. They certainly didn't smuggle Healing Potion to burned house-elves. He couldn't have pictured any of those women personally overseeing the medical treatment of sick little Fae from who knew where, with that kind of almost familial concern, either.

When he imagined Professor Swain teaching fencing class out on the green, or remembered the way she had treated Liria, the image of her with Lucius simply wouldn't come. Had Lucius tried to marry one of his past mistresses to his brother-in-law, tried to install them within his very home – that would have been the pinnacle of achievement to which most of them could have aspired. But Professor Swain had, in his presence, unconcernedly laughed a refusal to the marriage offer as though the entire idea was the most appalling joke she had ever heard.

The idea of her in bed with Lucius Malfoy – the image was too repulsive to contemplate. Snape pressed his hand to his throbbing temple and shuddered.

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Friday night had arrived almost too soon for Emily's comfort.

After supper, she went upstairs and packed a small bag for her weekend with Lucius, but truth be told, the idea of perhaps hunting Professor Snape up and continuing their conversation from the previous night about his amazing aptitude for Faery magic seemed like a rather more pleasant way to spend her evening than listening to Lucius go on and on about how she should marry his idiotic brother-in-law again. What with his apparent interest in his new ability, perhaps the Professor would let her talk him into going down to the Three Broomsticks for a pint and some more Arcadian-magic shoptalk, and then it really might be nice to have tea with Irma on Saturday. (It had occurred to Emily that perhaps she was neglecting Irma of late.) That sounded much better than an argument with Lucius about how she wasn't going to obediently allow him to arrange her life for her.

In the end, however, she got bathed, perfumed, powdered, and made up, and slipped into a little silk cocktail dress. She wasn't looking forward to Lucius's displeasure when she made it absolutely clear that she was not going to become his sister-in-law, but even if he did decide to ignore her refusal, she would be leaving in four months at the absolute most, and she didn't think he would send anyone after her to bodily drag her back to the altar.

Down at the Hogwarts boundary gate, she took out the diamond collar, and clasped it around her neck. A moment later, she found herself just outside the French doors of Malfeasant.

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Lucius had been waiting for her on one of the garden benches, in elegant at-home robes of charcoal-grey silk. He came forward and greeted her with a long, sweet kiss. "Good evening, my love." He smiled like a satisfied cat when he saw her wearing the sparkling collar. "Lovely. That neck of yours was made to be draped in diamonds."

"Funny, I thought the same thing the moment I opened the box."

"In this family, you may as well get used to it," Lucius assured her.

She thought about broaching the topic of the engagement-that-wasn't at that moment... but who wanted to start an argument when he was in such a good mood, and smelled so nice, and seemed completely content to take a nice leisurely time of kissing her in the evening garden. And truth be told, there was something attractive about the way he said In this family with such pride. It was almost enough to make her regret that she wasn't ever going to be a member of his family.

Lucius escorted her into a drawing room that opened onto the garden, graciously taking her small overnight bag. Emily smiled – the way some Second World men always expected to do the lifting and carrying and opening of doors for her was very poignant and charming, especially given the fact that she could probably have bench-pressed more than most of them. He settled her on a sofa, helped her out of her cloak, and brought her a tiny glass of brandy, as though he expected her to be much fatigued by her journey and required much petting and catering to her wishes. She played along with it just because it was such fun to have Lucius make much of her.

But then, something odd caught her attention. She sniffed, frowning, then sniffed again. "What's that?"

"What's what?" Lucius asked.

Sniff. "You know, that." There was an odd trace scent in that drawing room, a smell of oleander... wormwood... hellebore... and perhaps bitter almond, even though they were now quite a ways from the greenhouses. "Did someone put down some rat poison in here, love?"

Lucius turned hard toward her, his brow creasing. "Why do you say that?"

"It just smells a bit like that is all."

His frown smoothed almost immediately. "Not that I know of, but that's more something Narcissa would know about. I'll have to ask Goliath about it."

She sniffed again, concentrating on the source of the scent now. "It's under this rug, I think," she said, peering over the edge of the sofa. Now that she was really paying attention, there were other smells coming from beneath that rug as well – stale air, musty parchment, old leather and bone and... was that blood of some kind? Perhaps a poisoned rat had died amidst some old rubbish under the floor?

"Hmm, I've really no idea, I can't smell it myself." He smiled, gently pulling her back from the sofa's edge. "It must get annoying at times, being able to smell so much more than everyone else here. I've gotten horribly self-conscious about eating garlic and onions when you're with me. But it'll never do to entertain you in a room that smells bad to you, will it." He got to his feet, and held out his hand to her. "Come on, I know just where to take you."

"Of course, dear," Emily said, very agreeably. It had just occurred to her that perhaps drawing undue attention to odd smells under rugs in one's lover's drawing room was probably not the height of painstakingly correct behaviour, and she now wanted to get past this unmannerly little gaffe as soon as possible.

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Lucius led her upstairs to a very pretty, luxurious, immensely fussy bedroom, done in pale blue and snow white – but what struck Emily immediately was the proliferation of mirrors, mirrors everywhere. The walls were of tall panes of gilded, etched mirror, reflecting a vast bed covered in pale blue silk with a large pile of lacy ornamental pillows, and partially covered with a throw of what looked like white mink. An elaborately carved and gilded dressing table with a large hinged mirror took up much of one wall, with an elegant row of crystal perfume bottles, silver brushes, combs, and hand mirrors on its marble top. One windowed corner was dominated by a vast chaise covered in powder blue velvet, behind which was a hinged screen made of panels of blush-tinted mirror, framed in silver filigree. An oval oil portrait of a slightly younger Draco Malfoy hung above an antique writing desk that held an ornate silver inkwell and ridiculously ostentatious ostrich feather quill.

Lucius wasted no time in sprawling Emily over the blue silk and white fur bedclothes. "Darling... whose room is this?" she asked, as his lips moved down her neck to the swell of her breasts.

"Narcissa's," he said blandly. He reached for her foot and began to knead it between both hands.

"She doesn't share a bedroom with you?" She lay back amongst the pile of silk cushions, disarranging their just-so perfection and completely abandoning herself to the sensation of those hands working every ache out of her feet.

"No." Lucius shrugged. "Come off it, love, no one in England over a certain net worth ever actually sleeps with their spouses. Even the Queen and the Prince Consort had separate bedrooms."

Emily remembered Narcissa's spiteful words on New Year's Eve – your little pointy-eared friend, Menzentius can do much better than that long-eared provincial, I certainly don't want her in the family – and smirked to herself. For a moment, she imagined the look on that ever-so-respectable married woman's face if she had seen all that her husband liked to do with the so-called part-animal. "You're going to think I'm horrible, but the idea of doing a lot of very lewd things to you on Narcissa's bed, in front of all her mirrors, fills me with a strange perverse thrill."

"You're endlessly amusing when you're horrible, my dear."

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Lucius could apparently think of lots of lewd things he wanted to do in front of the mirrors as well – before long, his robe and Emily's dress were lying crumpled beside the bed, and his shirt was coming unbuttoned at an alarming rate. "But wait... there's something we need to talk about first," she said, firmly pulling away from him. "Professor Snape offered me his congratulations on my engagement to Menzentius last night."

"He did? How sporting of him," Lucius said pleasantly, running his lips over the swell of her breast. "Remind me to send him an invitation."

"Lucius... I never agreed to marry him," she said, even as his kisses brought goosebumps out on her skin. "I've no idea what you're doing telling my colleagues it's some sort of done deal, love."

"Oh, not this again," Lucius said with a pained look. "I thought this was settled."

"I'm not marrying him. I get the willies whenever he comes within ten feet of me – the idea of having to share his bed and his table for the rest of my life makes me ill," she protested.

"You wouldn't have to share the bed on a regular basis, dear. I think you'll find the family quite understands the idea of separate bedrooms," he said, indicating the room around them.

"It would still seem extremely odd to me to have a husband and never have a shag with him, don't you think?"

Lucius shrugged. "Narcissa very nearly manages it."

"Well, that's Narcissa. But marriage and shagging are rather closely related in my mind."

"If you actually feel that strongly about doing your wifely duty in a marriage, a few drops of the Carnalis potion in your wine could make you enjoy doing just about anything with any man. I could certainly keep you well supplied with it."

"I'm not marrying him," she said again, with finality. "I can't possibly marry a man I don't care for, and who I'd have to drug myself to have sex with – that's preposterous. Totally out of the question."

Lucius let out a fond, exasperated sigh, like a devoted lover much fatigued by the foibles of his capricious mistress. "I suppose you're probably right, he's wrong for you," he said, gathering her head onto his chest and stroking her hair. "So I've a much better idea. If you're willing to wait about six or seven years, Draco would probably be a much better choice."

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"Draco?" Emily gasped.

She recalled the last time she had spoken to Draco... he was tall and physically mature for almost fifteen. Thin, but not reedy – and his slim height only meant that anything he wore looked smashingly elegant. Nearly every other boy at Hogwarts looked gawky and unfinished next to him. Not a breath of adolescent awkwardness to him at fencing practice, or when he danced, or when he lounged in his classroom seat like a young, golden greyhound. Such an aristocratic hauteur to him... with fresh boyish cheeks, clear grey eyes, and lips with that tender violet sheen to them... certainly an attractive young man, but could a boy like that ever grow up to be her husband?

"Perhaps I just wanted you to marry Menzentius so I could have you right away, but if you would prefer Draco, I'd be willing to be patient," Lucius said, very generously indeed.

"Lucius, he's all of what – fourteen?"

"Fifteen this summer. And I thought you liked younger men," Lucius said delicately. "It didn't bother you with Dorien. He was what, ten years younger than you?"

"It was five and half years age difference, you know that. But Dorien wasn't... 'a younger man.' Dorien was... Dorien," she said quietly. Age had been irrelevant with him.

"Emily – you have to have noticed that Draco's got a helpless crush on you already, dear. I daresay we would be able to train him up to your liking easily enough."

"If Draco has a crush on me, I think it has more to do with the fact that I'm the only woman on campus between the ages of eighteen and fifty."

"Really? I would think the boy just knows a beautiful, desirable woman when he sees one. I certainly did when I was his age."

"Lucius, really. You don't need to offer me your son," she said with a look of delicate reproach.

"My dear, you do realise that if I offered you to him, he would think Christmas had come early. It makes sense, really, for you to marry a human twenty years younger – he'll most likely live as long as you will. You would never have to worry about him dying on you, and leaving you all alone." He trailed a delicate fingertip down her spine. "Don't you like him?"

Emily shivered. "Of course I like him, he's a very clever and handsome boy. Also one of my most diligent students."

"He's also turning out to have a mania for fencing and military history, just like you – it's not as though you have nothing in common. Just think of what they would think of him at Court. You'd be the envy of every woman there, with your gorgeous young husband all of half your age. Who were the great social lionesses when I was there... can't you just imagine the look on Ruth Rymer's and Lady Emma's faces?"

"Oh, come off it, dear, Ruth and Emma used to eat young men for breakfast. If one of them had married a teenage virgin it would have been the fashionable thing to do for the next hundred years. However, I don't fancy myself some great social lioness, just a knight."

"Maybe you should," Lucius purred, close to her ear, in that provocative, insinuating drawl of his. "I don't see any reason why you shouldn't set your sights as high as you like. For example, once you start working for me, there's no doubt in my mind that you'll be a smashing diplomat. Nothing looks more becoming on you than power." He glanced up at their reflection in the mirrored wall, seemed to relish the sight of himself lying over her. "Other than me, of course."

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Emily never thought she would see the day when her lover asked her to wait for his fifteen-year-old son to reach adulthood so that she could marry the boy. It had to be the strangest proposition ever made to her in her life.

She also never thought she would see the day when she dwelled on that proposition so thoughtfully.

But she was lying in Narcissa Malfoy's bed, in Narcissa's husband's arms, having satiated him into a spent sleep beside her, and if there was anywhere one could indulge one's (depraved and socially unacceptable) fancies, it was here. Certainly she would never really lay a hand on the boy, but... she could imagine that some lucky woman would have a lot of fun with Draco, when he came of age. Whomever had the pleasure of initiating him sexually would have herself a rare jewel indeed. And he was a very bright young man, and his constant questions really were rather cute – "How can I become a knight, Professor Swain?" What a silly, wide-eyed little puppy.

I am not going to go into a lecherous frenzy over a pretty fifteen-year-old boy, she ordered herself. He's a child.

Lucius, she had to admit, had been right about her fondness for young men... Dorien had been twenty-three and she twenty-nine when she married him. Although it had not been the only quality that attracted her to him, his youth and beauty had certainly been... alluring. A combination of his upbringing in an isolated part of the Sixth Kingdom, his dedication to his training, and young adulthood spent in active service had distracted him from romantic pursuits. Dorien had confided to her on their first night together that this was his first time in bed with a woman – he had come to her as a twenty-two-year-old virgin, in a battlefield camp just east of Rivendale. He had been as lusty and adoring as only a very young man in the first rush of a great love can be. Occasionally, in her darker moments of missing him, she had taken pride in the fact that she was the only woman he had ever slept with, and how ecstatically content he had always seemed with that state of affairs.

The thought came unbidden – would Draco feel the same way?

NO, she told herself. He's gone, and it's foolish to expect another young man to be some kind of second Dorien.

Foolish or not, though, she lay awake thinking about Lucius's proposal late into the night.

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The next morning, Lucius didn't introduce the topic of potential husbands for her again. Instead, he took her back to his own master suite and drew her a bath, and brought her a breakfast mimosa while still in the tub. Breakfast was ready on the table next to the window when she came out, her face scrubbed and wet hair combed, wrapped in one of Lucius's foulard silk robes. A light but persistent rain had began falling during the night, adding to the sense of cosiness and closeness between them.

After breakfast, he brought her back to bed and for a long time seemed content just to hold her. But then slowly, the embrace became more heated, the kisses longer and more voracious. The silk robe came open, slipped off her shoulders.

"Emily love, can I ask you something?" Lucius drawled lazily. "Would you... try something with me?"

"I'd try just about anything with you in bed," she breathed.

"Oh, good," he purred. "I'd like us to try another potion. I wanted to make a point of asking you, since you didn't seem to much like being surprised earlier."

Emily stiffened. "Darling, I was exhausted for days after that last one."

"This one is rather special – I've only used it once before. It's not just anyone you want to have this kind of experience with," he confided.

All right... that was intriguing. "What do you mean? What experience?"

"You see, it will allow you to feel what I'm feeling, and for me to feel what you do. There's a low-level telepathic bond that is established – "

"No," she said firmly, instantly. The idea of allowing someone else access to her mind met with instant rejection. Access to her body was fine if she allowed it – that didn't render her truly vulnerable. But her thoughts, her experiences, the sense memories that went into Glamouring, her True Name... those were completely off limits.

"Relax, love," Lucius said with a gently reproachful smile. "The bond is just enough for us to receive surface impressions from each other. I'll only be able to feel what you allow me to. It's not like reading your diary or taking a stroll through your Pensieve. You see... " He leaned close to her, as if he was about to confess a particularly shameful and delicious secret – "What I like most about it is... you lucky lucky women get to have your multiple orgasms, and physically, I just can't keep up. But this particular potion allows me to feel my lover coming as she experiences it, which is absolutely wonderful. I have to admit I'm rather eager to try it with you, because you make having an orgasm look like religious ecstasy."

She shrugged, smiling. "It is."

"Good lord, listen to yourself. Now do you know why I couldn't keep my hands off you?" he purred.

"Well... "

It was tempting. Wonderfully tempting. Like many women, Emily had wondered what sex felt like for men... and now he was offering her the chance to experience that. She could see absolutely why a man would want to experience sex from a woman's point of view as well... and a man like him would of course take a tremendous amount of pleasure in knowing firsthand how well he was satisfying her.

"Well... I suppose we could try it once."

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Lucius brought out a vial of black fluid from a drawer of the bedside table, unstoppered it, and then used his fingertip to put a single drop of it on his own tongue. He then handed the vial to Emily, and she gingerly did the same. The taste was surprisingly pleasant, somehow both honeyed and peppery.

There was no immediate effect – at first, she couldn't detect anything was different as she lay beside Lucius, close to him but not touching him, on the green velvet coverlet. But then Lucius bent to her and kissed her, and as always he kissed lusciously, exactly the way she enjoyed being kissed –

and at the same time, she felt his enjoyment of that kiss, the softness of her lips under his, the way that her tongue caressing his sent erotic tremors through him –

as though he must have felt it himself. Emily pulled sharply away from him, shivering and astonished, then launched herself at him and kissed him ravenously. Yes, it's lovely, isn't it, came a soft little whisper – she wasn't sure if he had spoken to her, or if she had heard him thinking.

"What makes it even better is if you aren't distracted with anything outside the link... here." He reached into the bedside table again, came out with a soft black silk scarf, which he very gently tied over her eyes.

Ordinarily, Emily might have felt nervous and disoriented with the use of a blindfold in bed – but the sensations suddenly flooding her mind were so strong and vivid that she was glad of it. He laid her back against the pillows of the bed, draping himself over her, and she felt the tension in his straining cock as if it were her own, the moment of delicious, profane covetousness as he felt her lying under him, as he parted her thighs... all of his arousal and excitement as her inner muscles encompassed him, her warmth on the thin skin of his cock... Is that what it feels like to be inside a woman? No wonder men like us so much...

"I love you," he whispered, and she felt it... felt the way his pulse accelerated and his scrotum tensed when he saw her, felt his admiration... she crossed the ballroom all eyes on her so innocently arrogant didn't care or even notice... felt what she was to him; the martial power of a king, immortal beauty and exoticism, pagan sensuality. She could feel the male exhilaration of holding her down fucking her feeling her coming under me her lips on my cock... not my wife but still mine... and knew herself to be the object of all that desire. Lucius was very gently moving inside her... and her physical body strained closer to him. Then he slowly, slowly brought her to orgasm, quivering with the shared luxury of every stroke... and then felt her own climax exploding through his senses like a shower of stars.

There was no way she wanted to turn back now. Her body and mind craved more of what he was offering – wanted his cock filling her body and the seductive glamour of his point of view filling her mind.

But that was only the beginning. This was cunnilingus for the ego, fellatio for the id... he had a powerful erotic imagination, and to him, she was a formidable muse.

What would you like, love? came the dark little whisper; his voice was a soundless insinuation in her mind. Tell me whatever you want – I won't be shocked.

What do I want? Emily asked herself. It was a question that she, admittedly, hadn't asked herself in a long time. But the reaction it prompted from her was intense, immediate... dishevelled black hair, fathomless eyes, impossible heat transfixing her to a callbox ledge... but her thoughts were not entirely her own, so she buried that memory somewhere far down in her mind, lest it be seen.

I... I don't know, she said, or thought, or both. What would you like?

She heard a soft tenor chuckle, felt his delight at being asked that question. It might shock you...

Tell me, she entreated.

Then... images unfolded in her mind, communication direct from his imagination into hers. I'd like this...

Some future event at Malfeasant, she and Lucius and the usual company present... when Draco arrives. Draco, grown to a very young, very handsome man, tall and slender, the softness of his youthful features given way to sleek, confident adulthood. But he still gazes on his former teacher with boyish admiration. Emily would use her every charm and wile to woo Draco, who is already highly susceptible to her – while Lucius hints to the boy that she would make a highly respectable wife for some lucky man, if he was only bold enough to seek her hand. Of course, prompted by the woman's enticement and the father's influence, Draco proposes and counts himself the luckiest man on Earth or any other dimension when he is accepted.

Lucius showed her his vision of her, as Draco's bride... an unearthly beauty in white silk bridal robes and a queen's ransom in family diamonds... a lavish wedding full of envious pure-blood well-wishers on the groom's side and the legendary cachet of the Royal Family and the Shining Host on the bride's. The Lake District Swains would all be in attendance, their complexions a delicate shade of green, fawning on her and seeking her approval. After the wedding and before the reception, Lucius, now her father-in-law, asks to speak with her privately. Alone in the parlour, she slips a hand into his robes and finds him as upraised as a satyr. He helps her to mount him, still in her wedding robes, consummating the real marriage that has just taken place.

The shared image of that incestuous coupling was having its effect on their physical bodies... now she was somehow bent over him, his hands on her hips as he slowly lowered her into his lap... she was his son's wife, but he owned her. She was married to Lucius just as much as Draco, mated to the Malfoy name, everything it stood for.

Her lover showed her a tableau of life with her young, handsome husband, even as his physical body thrust at the core of her. The pliancy of youth, all hers... and Draco would be thrilled to have the formidable woman who shaped his boyish sexual ideals as his wife – he would love her extravagantly, without reserve. She lays her sleek, smooth-limbed, downy-cheeked twenty-year-old husband supine on their marriage bed and slides lusciously down onto him. Draco would be absolutely drunk with lust, unable to believe his good luck.

Lucius filled her senses with that encounter, groaning as she writhed on him, on the image of her young husband. Yes, take him, fuck him, you know you want it. When Draco is sleeping satisfied in their bed, beautiful as any rosy, flushed Adonis, she slips down the hall and into Lucius's bedroom, her heart pounding. Her husband is beautiful, but now she needs to slake her real lusts. She slips into bed with her father-in-law, finds him awake and ready for her. The warm spendings of both father and son filled her belly... but the sensations of sex and the seductive images he put before her were overwhelming enough to send her over the edge into breathlessly intense orgasm again. She collapsed on his chest, gasping.

The message could not have been clearer. Lucius could not have married her himself as a young man, family obligations made that impossible... but his son could. As Lucius's daughter-in-law, he could have both Emily and Narcissa with him, under his roof, his protection, in his bed on alternate nights – and have the dazzling, politically and financially advantageous match he wanted for his son. Yes, Lucius was a practical man, and make no mistake about it. And as this was a waking dream, a shared imagining – in this state she could imagine having sex with Draco, without abusing the boy in any way. She could have her wish, and nothing would come of it.

Just tell me what you want, my love... anything at all...

If she could have anything she wanted... anyone she wanted... what, or who, would it be...

Emily concentrated, turned her thoughts away from who she wanted to what she wanted, an experience she craved, rather than a person. She recalled the restless, pulsing physical desire that came with oestrus, remembered her occasional fantasy of somehow being able to satisfy that hunger and craving with a man, rather than just medicating herself and waiting for it to pass. She had no maternal inclinations... but having sex while in heat tempted her. The agonies of her last oestrus filled her mind; she felt Lucius experiencing it – and it only made him grow harder and more aroused.

But what if that could be satisfied...truly satisfied? came his insinuating whisper from some dark little corner of her mind. What if you had the safety, the security, the resources? Imagine this... he showed her the delicious first year of her new marriage passing, and her oestrus beginning, bringing with it all of the usual stresses and anxiety, the longing for sex with a strong, virile mate. His suggestion was so vivid that she could feel it just as strongly as if she had been in heat, the distraction and restlessness, the feverish lust. Yes... this was what she has fantasised about every time her oestrus occurs, just giving in to her body's pressures for the pure physical enjoyment of it. If she dared have the experience, he could give that to her.

She rebelled, with an effort – there was no maternal instinct in her, and she could not manufacture one, even for him. Then don't, love, came the dark whisper. Just let yourself imagine it, humour me... and at this point, she could deny him nothing.

Lucius showed her the scenario – he makes their airtight excuses to his wife and her husband, some work-related event that allows him to spirit her away to a private retreat. He brings her to bed, commanding her acquiescence as he lays her down and sinks deep into her achingly fertile body – and dimly, she is aware that her physical body is now lying under his, clutching him with the restless vulnerability of any female in season. The hormonal triggers clamour at her to accept this mating. Once she feels the first warm gushes of his potency inside her, it's all over – the atavistic, purely biological part of her that craves this, to be filled with his seed, his will, takes over. He keeps her there for her entire oestrus period, copulating with her every day and night. Her blue hormonal blood stains the white linens.

And then he showed her the end result he wanted – shortly afterward, she knows she is carrying his child.

I have no desire to raise a child, she resisted, half-pulling away from him. Then you wouldn't have to raise one... just carry them, he promised, soothing and caressing her. The reassurances came thick and fast – he can afford enough doctors, medicines, and potions make the gestation and delivery painless, no detriment to her health, almost negligible. She is young, healthy, and her soldier's training has left her in phenomenal physical condition – childbearing would be easy for her and the rewards beyond her imaginings. He could arrange for the demands of childrearing to be nonexistent, enough staff could be hired that she need only see her children at their most appealing: clean, well-rested, well-behaved, if she wanted to see them at all. Lucius would never allow for the time and energy of one of his women to be taken up with tiresome nursemaid duties.

Draco knows little of Faery biology... a little blood from a pricked finger on their bed sheets will be enough evidence of oestrus for him. Lucius conjured a scene of Draco adoringly caressing her belly in bed, believing his child to be growing inside her... and then she lies in Lucius's arms, as he gloats over his child inside her. The adoration and devotion of both her husband and her child's father, two powerful, wealthy men, would be hers – what could be more secure than that.

Impossibly... Emily considered that offer. His reassurances and confidence were such that she could feel nearly every misgiving she had soothed away. Of course he would make it easy for her, she knew that. He would love to make everything easy for her.

And their children would be strong, healthy, powerful with both wizard and Faery magic, as beautiful and dazzlingly fair as both their mother and father. When Lucius had the brood he wanted, he then wanted her to bear his son's children, his grandchildren. He and Draco resembled each other so closely no one would ever be able to tell the difference. His sons, his grandsons, his immortality. She would have the satisfaction of seeing Narcissa grow wrinkled and menopausal while she would remain fertile into her nineties. The Malfoy family would grow prolific and strong again, with the infusion of her blood, her magic, her vitality, her offspring. When Druella Black died, and Narcissa aged, and with the natural order of things, she would become the family matriarch, the dominant female to Lucius's alpha male.

And even those aren't the only pleasures he can offer her. Once she is some weeks' securely pregnant, he can introduce her to another of his favourite pursuits – the art of seduction. She sees herself in another lavish hotel suite, coiled in sex with the lovely, dissatisfied Beatrice Parkinson as Lucius savours the sight of their entwined bodies. He knows his turn will come – and she can feel his anticipation, his covetousness, the pleasure in shameless, glorious self-indulgence and lechery. It felt good, obscenely good, washing through her senses with the potency of a rush of heroin.

There, she knew him now, knew his most intimate heart... if she denied him nothing, he would give her everything in return. Just love me, stay with me... I've always been your slave, you know that...

By the time she falls away from Beatrice, the other woman is gasping, glowing with post-orgasmic bliss... Lucius lay with his head pillowed on Beatrice's breasts while Emily slithered into his lap, impaled herself on him like the deliciously obedient slut she is... being this man's possession was so glorious that she pitied any other poor woman who didn't merit his attentions. All I've ever wanted – is for you to be willing to give me anything I wanted.

Whatever he wanted. She would kill to bring him whatever he wanted... and what he wanted right now was to be exactly where he was, with her thighs tight around his hips, feeling the orgasm almost upon them, his consciousness so deep into hers that their minds felt like mingled waters. Every part of her being was sighing, Yes, darling, I'm yours. Do what you like with me.

Oh, Emily... you'll never know how much I love you, Lucius whispered.

Then he reached for her True Name.