Pumpkin Pie

It was not at all unheard of for Narcissa Malfoy to bake. The witch had a knack for producing pastries, candies, cakes, tarts, pies, puddings and nearly any sort of dessert a person could name. Furthermore, she enjoyed baking. The elves handled the majority of the meals in Malfoy Manor, but often it was the matron who crafted the sweet meats.

She lost herself in the baking, it seemed; hummed while she dusted, mixed, blended, whipped, folded, rolled or merengued. When she was nervous, she baked. When she was angry, she baked. When she was sad, she baked. When she was lonely, she baked.

Needless to say in the days after the Dark Lord's demise, Malfoy Manor was brimming with baked goods.

It was strange that the evening before her trial, the witch was crafting rich cream-filled cupcakes. It was nearly madness that she built a three-tiered brandy and apricot cake after her son's trial. It was odd, perhaps, to find elaborate rum and raspberry tarts cooling on a marble kitchen counter the day Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to 10 years in Azkaban.

So strange, mad and odd these occurrences may have seemed, they were in fact her ways of coping. And Draco Malfoy was hardly going to complain. Because aside from being finally free of the Dark Lord's unsavory expectations and his father's vulturous watch, the Malfoy heir had an infamous sweet tooth.

The days of trials, questionings, interviews and interrogations were hell. The weeks of paparazzi, name-calling, blackballing and finger pointing were also abysmal. But the resulting bounty of delicious sugary treats made the war's aftermath somewhat bearable.

Day after day, Draco would lean on the kitchen's lowest counter watching his mother bake. She held her chin high despite her family's current social standing, and her every move spoke of confidence and comfort. When she baked, she was in complete control. And perhaps it was the slightly twisted, possibly inbred pureblood gene that lurked in his DNA, but Draco had to admit his mother was dead fucking sexy when she was in complete control.

So he stared, unashamed, as she moved about with a mixing bowl perched on one hip, whisk whirling with her wrist. Her heels clicked on the kitchen's shining tile, and he watched her pretty ankles, too. It was perfectly normal (right?) to find one's mother attractive. It wasn't as if he'd ever really gotten to know her as a mother, anyway. He pursed his lips and passed her two eggs. She was really just the witch who lived with him, bowing out gracefully whenever his father had made a boneheaded decision.

And ultimately she was the witch who'd won out of boneheaded decisions.

Draco liked reading the headlines that called her 'The Witch Who Lied,' or asked the question 'Who Truly Knew Narcissa Malfoy?' He smirked. Even he didn't know her, really.

But he knew she loved him dearly. Had proven it by lying to the Dark Lord. And witches who lied to Dark Lords to save their sons were few and far between. So his chest swelled with pride in her. And if a few other body parts swelled over her occasionally, too… Well, what was the harm in it? Not as if anything would ever happen, anyway.

"Draco, would you get me the allspice, please?"

He nodded and licked his lips. It was the day before Samhain, and she'd been working on these pies all day. Apple, pear and cherry cooled on a rack before the window, but the pumpkin was the one Draco awaited most eagerly.

Mmmmm. He nearly moaned aloud. Her pumpkin pies. Such a salacious concoction of gourd, spice, sugar, lust and downright dark witchery no one could understand but him; how the hot, airy meat of the pie mingled so perfectly with the flaky, buttery crust; how the spices bit just teasingly at each part of the tongue in a different fashion – sharp, sweet, earthy; how it took him home somehow. And not even in memory!

It was as if her pie controlled the very veil itself, lifted the thin sheath between the living and the dead, the present and the past, to let Draco rock again in the cradle of her womb.

It was just a really fucking good pie.

"So." Draco smacked his lips. "Pumpkin pie tonight, mum? After dinner?"

She shook her head absently, focused on pouring pie filling into the crust. "No. The pies are for Samhain dinner tomorrow. For our guests."

He scowled deeply. "What guests?"

"The Flints, Parkinsons, Zabinis and Greengrasses. They're coming to celebrate with us."

"You're joking!" He gave a petulant eyeroll. Pureblood families were fanatical when it came to celebrating the old religion. His mother had a repertoire of pies from Beltane to Yule. But Samhain was the only one when she made his pie. Pumpkin pie. The only pie that mattered.

All other pies were basically useless shite or muggle bait so far as Draco was concerned. "Those Greengrass girls eat like mares!" He protested. "There'll be no pie for me!"

"The Greengrass girls are very nice." Narcissa settled her pie in the charmed oven and turned to lean against it. "I think Astoria is rather taken with you. And four pies is more than enough." Her arched brow told him there would be no more argument.

But he pressed on. "Astoria is most possibly deaf, evidently mute and hopefully blind given her style of dress. And I'm your son! I get my own pie!" He gestured to the oven.

"I'll make you little pumpkin tarts later this week, then." She sent her apron flying into the pantry and tucked her wand into the patent leather belt round her waist. "I'm out of pumpkin for now. The elf will have to get more."

"Pumpkin tarts!" He stuttered, following her petulantly from the kitchen. "Bugger tarts! They're not the same! Mum, those dispossessed dinner guests will never even know there was a pumpkin pie. Come on!"

In the corridor, she stopped and turned briskly to face him. The black folds of her black velvet dress swirled about her knees. "You are acting like a child, Draco." Her eyes traveled over him head to toe. "And I was under the impression you had grown into a man." He hushed his moratorium and blushed, couldn't answer to her low, intense tone. "I expect you to share with our guests at tomorrow's dinner, and be on your best behavior before the Greengrass sisters. Am I clear?"

He nodded, dropped his eyes over the swell of her cleavage and the creamy skin revealed by her off-shoulder neckline. "Yes," he muttered.

Her hands smoothed over her shapely hips. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good." She took a deep breath. "Now. I'm going to tend my roses. Can I trust you to remove that pie in 35 minutes?"

He nodded again. "Yes, ma'am."

"Thank you." She turned to leave, then paused once more. "Draco?"


She stared at him over one shoulder, bowed lips shaped into a promising smirk. "If that pie is in any way…molested…I promise you will reap what you have sewn. Understood?"

And that felt almost like a challenge. He narrowed his eyes at the witch. "Well understood, ma'am." She hmphed satisfaction, and Draco watched her arse sway down the corridor and around the corner and out of sight. He took a deep breath.

The pie smelled fantastic…

He paced the kitchen for 35 minutes. Tossed his trim suit jacket onto an empty counter and yanked open the oven. He reveled in the aroma of pie and the wave of heat that assaulted his face as he leaned in and nestled the precious pastry betwixt his oven-mitted hands. "Hello, there," he murmured to it. "You're beautiful."

Bubbling just slightly around the edges, dark brown fading to russet orange, the pie glistened. The heat of it penetrated the gloves' padding and Draco placed it gently upon a cooling rack. He cast the gloves casually over his shoulders, heard them slap onto the floor. His mouth watered and he wiped it with his thumb.

It's just a pie, his shoulder devil piped up. She can easily bake another. Besides, they'll have those three lesser pies over there. Go on. Eat it. Tell her you dropped it.

Stop that! His shoulder angel was a bloody nuisance. She told you that you would reap what you sew. Do you want to sew seeds of evil and deceit? The pie will taste better when shared amongst friends!

What friends? The shoulder devil always made more sense. The pie won't even be warm tomorrow. Imagine it now… In just a few minutes it'll be cool enough to eat. And she's got that whipped cream in the cooler.

Reap what you sew! The shoulder angel was incredibly sententious and prone to repeating morality sound bites.

What the fuck does that mean, anyway? The devil asked. Reap what you sew… Might not be so bad, really. You've got a real looker for a mum, mate. I wouldn't mind reaping –

"Oh, hell." Draco didn't really need shoulder angels or devils. He was perfectly capable of letting his evil side win internal struggles of consciousness with no advocacy whatsoever. Plus, he'd never been much for believing in angels or devils. "What's the worst thing that could happen?"

He opened up the icebox and produced the copper bowl of whipped cream. He used a quick cooling charm on the pie. Slytherin to the core, he wasn't above cheating in every way possible to achieve his end. Then, arms full of warm pie and cold whip, he made his way down the corridor to the stairs. He'd already considered the place of consumption. His room was too obvious – she might find him there. Ditto the library, drawing room, parlour or solarium. And obviously the dining room was right out.

Grinning, he dodged into a little used guestroom on the second floor. He didn't ward the doors in order to avoid revealing any sign the room was occupied. He was no fool…

The room was dim inside, gauzy green hangings muting the sunlight outside. It had a rather Greek feel to it with statuary here and there and bright gilding about. Draco felt like a reveler at a Bacchanal as he sat to the empty vanity between the high windows.

He hadn't grabbed a knife or fork, but his wand made lovely, even and generous wedges in the pie. And he certainly wasn't above eating with his fingers. So he settled for dipping the warm slice into the bowl of cream before bringing it to his trembling lips.


He groaned aloud, knew that no drug, no heaven, no pleasure conceived by mortals could equal or surpass the perfect sinful experience of this pie. He catalogued quickly the faces and bodies of beautiful witches he'd seen. They didn't compare. He recalled his forays into firewhiskeys and elven wines – the finest vintages available! They didn't hold a candle to this pie. He ticked off the few potions he'd taken, the various herbs he'd smoked to attain ecstasies or heightened consciousness. But no, none of those things came close to the Nirvana sliding down his throat at this moment.

The first slice was like a fast fuck – a 'welcome home' from a long trip. It was good, but barely whetted his appetite. He slowed down on the second slice, relished every texture and every nuance of flavor. Before the third slice, he cleaned up a bit. Used his finger to trap crumbs on the table surface and fished broken bits out of the cream. He licked each finger clean. Not a midge of this delicacy would be wasted.

He grew bolder, too. Leaned back in the little vanity chair and unbuttoned his trousers to make room for his soon-to-be expanding belly. Taking up slice number three, his eyes darted to the bed beside him. It looked cool and inviting, perfect for an after-pie lie-down. And maybe a wank. The pie seemed to be putting him in a rather randy mood. He sighed and settled in to enjoy slice number three.


"Fuck a shite!" He upset the chair when he leapt from it, dropped the pie slice down his front, and nearly climbed onto the vanity in his startlement. "Mum!" How in the seven hells had she found him?

She stood in the opened door, framed by the black-stained wood. One hand rested on the doorframe, the other held her wand to her midsection. The little diamonds on her pearl choker glinted in time with her eyes as she narrowed them. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing!" His voice was too high and incriminating. He grabbed his own wand from the table, uncertain what she might do.

"Is that my pie?"

"Your pie?"

She was approaching slowly, straining her neck to peer around his body. "You are unbelievable," she breathed. "Draco! I told you to…" She growled loudly. "You are so incredibly selfish! How could you disobey me so blatantly? You are no longer a child!"

"Mum, you can't even understand how I feel about this pie!" It was a lame defense, but he couldn't deny he was eating the pie, so honesty would have to do. "Once!" He thrust an index finger up in her face, illustrating his point. "Once a bloody year I get this pie and you're telling me I can't have it to myself?! Well, that's not fair!"

She slapped his finger from her line of sight and he jumped at the maneuver. "Fair?" Her volume matched his. "Fair to think of the work I put into that pie just to see you destroy it like this?" She grabbed his tie and yanked hard. "Look at this mess!"

Draco stumbled onto the bed. "You're mad, witch! You would physically abuse your son over a pie?"

She froze, glaring at him. Her chest rose and fell quickly. Draco tried not to focus on it. "Physically abuse?" She hissed. "How dare you…" Her nostrils flared and she bit her lip.

Draco watched her nervously, recognized the signs of her calming and considering. He didn't know which action was more frightening at the moment. He swallowed. "What?" He asked softly.

She chuffed and smiled ruefully, set her wand beside the devastated pie. "You know. I don't believe this is really about pie, son."

"You don't?"

"No." He wasn't very comfortable with the way she veritably slinked toward the bed where he propped. "I think this is the same form of devilment you got up to as a child when your father and I didn't pay you enough attention." He gulped when she stood fully over him and arched a perfectly sculpted brow. "What sort of attention are you craving, son?"

He stammered. "I'm…I'm not. I just…"

A long fingered hand came to rest on his slightly shaking knee. "You just what?"

"I just wanted pie, mum." His voice was so impossibly small and tremulous, and he jerked like a first year when her hand started slowly traveling up his thigh.

"I'm flattered you like my pie so much, darling." When her palm cupped his suddenly over-tumescent erection, he convulsed and grabbed her wrist.

"Mother!" Panic sharpened his tone.

"I don't believe this is a product of pie, Draco." She stroked upward, tugged at his already opened trouser placket.

He collapsed flat on his back as his hands fired over his naked groin in a last ditch effort to protect his modesty and deny incestuous shame. "Mother, please," he whispered desperately.

"Please what?" She stepped between his spread legs, straddled his left knee. "Please stop? Or please don't stop?" Her wicked elegant fingers wiggled underneath his until they encountered hot, taut flesh.

He groaned, felt his balls contract in threat. Was this really happening? Only one way to find out… He looked up at her with eye slits and answered. "Please…don't stop."

The smile that spread across her face could be considered predatory. "As you wish, darling." She took hold of his aching cock and set an expert rhythm of squeezing, loosening, stroking and flicking.

Draco surrendered completely. "Oh, mother…This might be better than your pie."

She chuckled deep in her throat. "This is only the beginning, Draco. Sit up, please. I'd like you naked if I'm to seduce you properly."

"Naked?" He was bleary and a little dizzy. She pulled him again by his tie till he sat eye-level with her breasts. She smelled like spice and cooked sugar.

"Mm-hm." She was sliding his tie from his collar and unbuttoning his oxford. "Touch me, Draco. I know you've wanted to."

He moaned helplessly and pressed his face into her cleavage, kissing and biting, loving her breathy laughter. His hands busied at her full skirt, rucking it up and groping underneath it. "Oh, this is…so wrong." He felt warm garters and hot silk stocking. "So good."

His shirt was stuck on his shoulders. He withdrew one hand at a time to help her slough the article of clothing. "You too, mum. Naked."

"As you wish, Draco." She stepped away and turned.

Quickly, her belt fell away. He watched her fingers smoothly pull down the zip at her back while he scrambled out of his trousers, socks and shoes. He nearly lost his balance once he stood to drop his trousers, and grabbed her bared hips for support. The flesh beneath his fingertips was as soft as he'd imagined it and he rubbed his hands over her satin-clad buttocks. "You feel so good, mum. So soft." He nuzzled her neck and she tilted her head to give him better access. She liked his kisses on the column of her throat, but his bite at her collar made her groan.

"Thank you, son. Here." Her hand guided his from her arse to her abdomen and down, past the thin, satin garter belt and underneath the elastic of her knickers. They both whimpered when his fingers rifled through the soft down of her wet cleft and pinched at the shy organ peeking out. "Yes, Draco," she hissed.

His long arms gave him access to all of her. Stroking her cunt uncertainly, he palmed at her breast within her bra, pulled one up and over the lacy cup. The coral nipple was hard and he bent awkwardly to lick it. It was a strange texture and he sucked it to hear her gasp again. She bucked against his hand when his finger slipped lower, into her pooling slickness. "Oh!"

He couldn't take much more of her pleasure-sounds and the little quivers in her body were making him most definitely mad. So he released her breast from a rough hand to tilt her head back and kiss her mouth. "Are we going to fuck, mum?"

She reached behind her to flick her bra open. "Yes, son." The lingerie slipped down her pale cool arms to rest atop her pile of dress.

His knees were weak. He tugged her backward and sat on the bed. She kicked out of her shoes and turned to him just in time to catch him licking her wetness off his fingers. "Still better than my pie?"

He reached for her. "I'm beginning to think you're one in the same." He stretched his body out touching hers, kissing her hungry mouth as he snapped open garters, tugged at knickers and collected the variances of her skin versus her stockings.

She moved restlessly against him, eager for his cock inside her but just as eager for his curious tongue touching hers. His fingertips dipped into her heat and she encouraged his exploration with spread legs and inviting words. "Go on, baby. Give me your fingers."

He pulled back to watch her face as he slid one long finger into her cunt to the knuckle. She grinned like a cat and curled upward. "Your mouth tastes like pie," she murmured.

Draco inserted a second finger, fucked her with them. "Yours tastes like chocolate."

She arched suddenly. "Oh, Draco!" Fingers curled in his hair, the nails biting his scalp deliciously. "Taste the rest of me!" She pushed his head down and he complied.

It was a thrill, kissing and nipping his way down his mother's svelte body to the molten part of her. She thrust into his mouth like a wanton and he found it – the true rival of his mother's pie: his mother's cunt. She was the taste of lust mixed with taboo. It was addicting.

And marvelous watching her – feeling her – come. How her thighs tightened alongside his head, the hitching of her breath, the clutch of her fingers in his hair and how she milked his fingers. "Incredible," he whispered, staring up at her.

She was covered in a glistening layer of sweat and looked down at him approvingly. "Indeed," she murmured.

He took hold of one of the hands that left his head, kissed and suckled at the fingers. "I pleased you, then?"

"Yes, Draco. You did." She propped on one elbow, looked on as he worshiped her fingers, and finally cocked her head. "How would you like to fuck me?"

Earnest desire clouded his features and he slowly crawled up her body. "Like this, I think." He settled his hardness over her softness. "I'd like to watch your face."

She settled back again, hooking lazy arms over his shoulder. "Very well, then." The pearls round her neck shimmered. "As you will, love."

Positioning wasn't awkward at all. He was hard as a rock in a velvet sheath and she was as wet as a summer morning. But they both held their breath, then groaned when his groin was finally flush against hers. Her eyes widened, surprised at the size of him, the incredible feeling of her son inside her this way.

"Merlin," she whined.

Draco grunted. Perhaps seeing her face had been a mistake. He closed his eyes and placed his forehead to hers. "Oh hell, mum. I don't know if I –"

"Just fuck me, baby," she cooed. "Nothing matters." Her sharp teeth scraped his bottom lip. "Just fuck me."

"Narcissa." He pressed his chest to hers, clutched her tight in his arms and let his hips snap as they would. Her breasts shook against him and she cried out at every jolting thrust. "Yes," he groaned. The coil of pleasure was damning, eating up his spine and brain. All he could focus on was the orgasm boiling his blood. "I'm so close. I can't help it," he gasped.

She clutched his head suddenly between her hands, forced him to meet her darkened eyes. "It's alright, Draco." Her words caught on his every savage lunge. "Come in me. It's alright."

"Fuck, witch!" He tore his head from her grip, clutched her shoulders upward to him and buried his face in her neck as he gave up the ghost. His very soul spilled into his mother, balls contracting painfully against her arse.

She kissed his ear and he pushed off of her, groaned and gasped as the last vestiges of bliss ribboned through his body. Her eyes devoured his abandoned expression. "That's it, son. Good." She stroked his back with loving hands. "Good, Draco."

He fell to her side with a soft oomph and pulled her to him. He stared at the pie on the vanity while he calmed. She patted his chest and kissed his jaw. "Alright, my dragon?"

"Am I?" He asked. He looked down at her sweet face, softened by satisfaction and sighed. "Yes, I'm fine. You?" He could ignore the veil of surreal settling over their sweaty bodies.

She nodded. "I'm well."

He smirked at the banality of their exchange. He'd just fucked his mother, for the Goddess' sake. What to say, really? "I'm sorry about the pie."

"I'm not so angry about the pie."

"Shall I help you make another tomorrow?"

She propped herself on his chest to better level herself with his eyes. "I believe our dispossessed guests can live without pumpkin pie."

He grimaced. "I'm sorry I'm ill-mannered towards guests."

She shrugged. The sweat had dried and her shoulders were soft again beneath his tracing fingers. "You've never been very fond of entertaining."



"I would gladly take you in lieu of pumpkin pie every Samhain. If you'll let me."

Her blue eyes misted and she kissed his lips very gently. "Darling. You may have me whenever you wish. From now on. So long as I please you, I'm yours."

"Even though you're my mum?"

She nodded. "Even though I'm your mum."

It was his turn to kiss her very gently. "How about now?"

She blinked. "Right now?"

He nodded and rolled the top of one of her stockings further down her thigh. She took the hint and removed them. "Now." He tugged at the pillows and blankets of the bed that had seemed so inviting earlier. "In the blankets," he said. "And slower."

She shivered at the thought and cast the last of her lingerie to the floor. "Sounds lovely, darling." She settled over the top of him. "And Draco?"


"Could I have a slice of that pie after this?"

He pulled her to him tight. "I'll think about it. It isn't Samhain yet, mum…" She chuckled as he kissed her deeply, and again their gasps and sighs mingled and lingered. A joining as sweet as trick or treat – as spicy as pumpkin pie…

AN: This piece also written for Samhain Smut on livejournal. I'm very in the mood for Samhain, myself, and a big slice of hot pumpkin pie sounds really good right now. Can't explain why Narcissa is dressed like June Cleaver here...maybe the baking...or maybe she's just in the spirit of Halloween? Whatever works, right?