Herein a nod to my favorite Japanese film director - Miike Takashi-san. If you've seen his gorgeous film Audition, you will understand. If not, do yourself a favor and watch it immediately.
It must have looked terribly strange – Narcissa Malfoy lugging a brown, stained laundry bag up the many stone steps of Malfoy Manor. Lucius would have scoffed, considered the act beneath her and insisted she call on the elf. Draco would have stared in that contemptuous way all spoiled children have, curled lip and narrowed eyes.
Of course, Lucius was away on business. And Draco was recently married and touring magical Europe with his wife. So the witch had run of the house. And she had a hankering to do some laundry. She heaved the heavy lump behind her with no grace at all, nearly enjoying the strain on her back and arms, definitely enjoying the slap of the contents on the stairs. The only witnesses to the weirdness were the silver glowing sconces, and the silent shadows they cast seemed to promise they would keep a secret.
On the third floor landing at last, she stopped to catch her breath. Her bangs, moist with sweat, slipped into her eyes. She blew them away impatiently. "Alright." A wave of her wand sent the double doors to her room slamming open. The force of the blow made the bag pitch suddenly. Narcissa gave it a sharp kick before taking hold of the ropey tie with both hands. Another wand wave lit her own sconces, Turkish in design. They emitted a far warmer ambient glow. Coupled with her luxe Moroccan bedclothes and the plush Persian rug, the lighting sensualized even the most mundane activities.
She lugged the sack over the threshold, then toed it harshly into the center of the room. Satisfied with placement, she entered her opulent bath chamber. The hard work had chuffed her. Her little satin slippers padded across mother-of-pearl tile. Her hair was a bit stringy. She brushed it, looking into the gilded mirror over the marble sink. Better. Her stomach churned a little, and she steadied herself against the sink's cool surface. Some deep breaths slowed the results of the emetic potion long enough for her to retrieve the little silver bowl from its hiding place behind the ornate garden tub.
The nausea was quick, and by now she was so practiced, the vomiting itself was smooth and nearly quiet. Two neat gags produced a full bowl of relatively soupy sick slightly brown in color. She wiped her mouth primly with her thumb, then licked her finger when the substance sloshed over the edge of the bowl. The tart acids made her cringe. Perfect.
Carefully, almost ceremoniously, Narcissa took the bowl into her bedroom. Catching sight of her reflection in her tall wardrobe mirror as she passed, she looked like a Vestial Virgin, offering up the entrails of a dove to the oracle. Her long white shift whisked about her ankles when she halted. She kicked off her slippers before setting the bowl on the thick Persian rug. Sighing, she straddled the bag, hiked her skirt up in a most unladylike fashion. Her red-manicured fingers worked free the tie and she opened its maw wide, slapped the bundle caustically. "Out," she said.
The bag shuffled. "I said out!" She shouted and spilled the contents onto the hardwood.
The creature that tumbled out was…almost human. Almost female. It was caucasian – filthy and bruised with purple bleeding into yellow and green. It had a massive mat of dark blonde hair, showed a few stark patches of balding cranium. Its ribs jutted dangerously, hip and pelvic bones sharp. It's right hand boasted two missing fingers; the left, three. The angles of its knees suggested it had been hobbled, and as it jerked desperately across the carpet, the suggestion became even more obvious.
Narcissa watched its progress. "Hungry?" She asked sweetly.
The creature whined in response. The swollen nub that was once a tongue made speech impossible. It hunkered painfully over the little silver bowl and began to slurp. There was an occasional cough. It had to look up to swallow, much like a helpless baby bird at a pool. Its fragile neck moved acrobatically.
The temptation to snap that neck, to slice it clean open and watch the glug of the gush... The witch shuddered. These were the images in her mind when she touched herself, when her husband fucked her. These fantasies kept her sensate. "So much as a drop on the carpet," Narcissa breathed, "and you shall have the lash again."
It grunted in response. It had reached the bottom of the bowl and was snuffling desperately. Seeing there would be no more meal, it paused. The bushy head lowered. The jurassic spine bowed with its heavy breath. It turned to Narcissa.
"Nguh." A thick line of saliva dropped from its slack jaw. Many of its teeth were missing.
The Malfoy witch sneered. "What?"
The sound was guttural, desperate and choked with tears. "Nguuuh…puh…payyy…eeee." The last supplication was little more than an extended croak. It sobbed pitifully.
"Was that a 'please?'" Narcissa asked. She bent to look at the thing. It nodded, whole body swaying with the effort. "Well, that's a start."
The creature flinched when Narcissa came to stand over it. She grabbed a snarled shank of squalid hair and pulled the being's head back til it met her eyes. Its own eyes were wide and wild, one a bit clouded over. "Unfortunately there will be no more dinner this evening." The thing trembled. The eyes watered. Tears spilled over, left clean tracks on grubby cheeks.
Narcissa shoved its head to the floor, hearing it thud heavily against the carpeting. The thing groaned and toppled over. It had precarious balance, and gave up easily. "Don't look to me for pity," Cissa said. "You'll find the crop instead." She stepped over it, meandered to her wardrobe. "Get back in your bag."
When the thing made no move save for breathing, the witch's pretty features contorted. The Vestial Virgin turned Gorgon. She stormed back to the cowering creature. "I said get up!" Her strong hands took its brittle elbows and pulled it to its knees. It howled in pain. Narcissa gripped its hair and delivered a brutal backhand. The gripping hand was left holding yet another shank of putrid hair. Narcissa dropped the tangle disgustedly to rub her wrist.
The creature at least supported itself on shaking arms now. "Good." Cissa's nostrils flared. "Now. Get. Back. In. Your. Bag."
Defeated, the thing belly-crawled toward the crumpled sack on the dark polished hardwood. Its disfigured hands worked to adjust the canvas over its head. It was practiced at this. Narcissa sat at the foot of her massive bed and watched the slow, arduous activity. "Lovely," she chirped. The creature had finally resettled itself in its habitat.
Narcissa approached it, squatted to cinch its tie. In the warm, muted glow shining through the bag, the creature's face took on a softness. The witch paused in her actions to look on the pleading features, the hope that sprang in the watery eyes. On a whim, she reached into the bag, but didn't quite touch the face there.
She smiled. "I bet you wish you had that time-turner now, girl." A sniffle sounded. "Or your two boyfriends. Do you miss them?" She stood and cinched the bag purposefully. "I'm doing our world a favor, you know, Hermione. Saving it from listening to your whinging, arrogant, swotty little mudblood mouth."
The bag moaned. Narcissa began the task of hauling it back down the three flights of stone stairs to the cellars. Easier than lugging the thing up, but still strenuous for a witch of such delicate sensibilities such as hers. A kick. She watched the sack roll to the second floor landing. Narcissa swiped a hand across her brow. Such thankless labor...
It was a burden she would simply have to bear.