Rearranging the Furniture


The drawing room of Malfoy Manor was quiet. Still. Dim in the rainy dusk's grey light. The dark hardwoods reflected the sky's thick clouds. The house was…almost asleep. Sighing in peace. Only the scratching of peacocks settling outside the ceiling-high windows offered a stirring sound.


Lucius Malfoy entered in a blur of blonde and black velvet. His polished dragonhide boots banged the floorboards like a drum. His breath was a too-fast tide.

SLAM! "How dare you walk away from me!"

He spun, cape swirling like a liquid night around his calves. His witch wife wore a wondrous fury. He thrust a finger in her face. "It is you who dares, Narcissa!" Her name fell from his trembling lips like rough Parseltongue. "To challenge my authority before my son –"

"Your authority?" Her hand slapped his from her face like a spell fired, quickening the air in the room with a resounding smack. Lucius visibly started. "He's our son, if you've forgotten. And he's hardly a child for us to control any longer!"

"You've forgotten!" Lucius shot back. Spittle dotted his chin and he wiped it away impatiently. "To tell me he's not a child when you yourself coo at and cosset him like a piglet. If he's a man now it's time for him to see facts."

"And facts are what?" She stepped toward him around the divan. Silver silk sussed about her legs. "That he has no future now? That he should abandon any hope for a normal future? That he should run from his name like a coward?" Her red varnished nails scraped slowly across the divan's thick brocade. In her husband's space, she nearly pressed against him, tipped her chin up to purr in his face. "Like you?"

She shrieked when he took her by the arms, spun her. The divan skidded across the floor several inches when he pressed her against it and they stumbled with its progress. "You frozen fucking cunt," he growled. His narrowed eyes took in her wide ones, traveled down her straining neck and over her panting breasts. "He's at risk back there. At Hogwarts. Yes, it's about reputation. How are we to know he won't be torn to shreds? You heard what they shouted at our trials!"

"They shouted at you." Narcissa reminded him boldly. "Draco was pardoned…husband. As was I. And now you would keep us prisoners here in this tomb of a house?"

"I'm trying to protect you!" His fingers tightened on her arms and he shook her, restraint tensing his being. "To protect him! As you of all people should understand."

She violently shrugged out of his grip. "I understand. I understand you served him to the Dark Lord on a silver platter." Her shove was surprisingly forceful given her petite frame and Lucius stumbled backward. But he'd caught hold of her skirt, bringing her reeling over an ottoman with him. There was a sharp RIP and a muffled bang as the heavy footrest overturned. "Ah!" Narcissa cried out as she sprawled across the floor, clutched her torn skirt closed as her husband scrambled to his feet.

"I wanted to give him everything!" Lucius snapped as he lunged over her. Again she cried out, showing genuine fear for the first time since their fracas began.

"Ow!" She reached for her hair where he pulled at it.

"I wanted to give you everything!" But he wasn't pulling her hair. He'd simply landed on it, palm sliding over the floor on her slick strands. He caught himself and rose above her. "I wanted a perfect world for you, Narcissa. For our family!" His nostrils flared, and his stony veneer began to crack. "If I'd known then…"

Narcissa blinked up at him, the tears in her eyes more from her hotly burning head than from any emotion – but not completely. She swatted his hand away from her head where he tried impotently to soothe the pull. "If you'd know then, what?" She asked.

He stared down at her, seemed to collect himself. "If I'd known then, I could have made better choices."

"You mean more self-serving choices," she muttered. Again, she pushed at him, this time employing her knee to displace him.

He watched her stand, eyes raking guiltily over the creamy expanse of thigh her torn skirt revealed. "How many times must I apologize?"

She laughed as she righted the ottoman. "Have you apologized, Lucius? Forgive me. I must have missed it somewhere between the self-righteous posturing and practiced apathy."

"Dammit, Narcissa!" He lurched to his feet, grabbed for her arm again. "Listen to me!"

She struggled from his hands. "Nothing useful comes from your mouth, Lucius!" She slapped him across the face. "And stop bloody touching me!" Suddenly she oophed into a plush velour settee.

He touched his stinging cheek gingerly. Tried to ignore the wave of red creeping into his peripheral vision as he encroached on her space. "I've the right of every pureblood wizard to touch you as I see fit." .He grabbed her about the waist when she turned to slip between him and the settee. "You…are my fucking wife," he hissed.

At those words, she stilled her wriggling. Her face darkened to match the rainy sky. "Your fucking wife?" A low, evil chuckle. "I don't recall the last time I was your fucking wife, husband." She blinked innocently. "Was it before your Dark Lord emasculated you so completely? He must have broken more than your wand."

The settee tilted backward when he rushed her, toppled both of them to the floor. But Lucius had the upper hand, so to speak, and wrestled Narcissa's arms above her head. She strained against the pain in her lower back. She was angled awkwardly across the upended seat yet beneath her now enraged husband. "I don't recall the last time you offered to warm my bed, witch," he drawled smoothly. "Not that you could. Rowle was right. You've an arctic heart, my darling. The most passion I've seen elicited from you these last years was over a pair of shoes."

"No matter." She quivered with anger. "I imagine you had little trouble finding such comforts, elsewhere…my only." And she spat in his face.

"Gah!" The moisture was a shock to say the least, and Lucius released her arms to wipe the bridge of his nose. "Disgusting chattel!"

Narcissa rose swiftly if unsteadily, prepared now to flee what would doubtless be his greatest retribution. And indeed he gave chase, caught her, spun her and slapped her. Hard. She saw black for a second, then spots of swirling, blotchy light. She pitched forward onto the little-used piano, her hip and hands making a dull parody of music as she steadied herself.

His footsteps softened when he stepped across the rug to lean over her yet again. "Terribly sorry, my sweet," he murmured, tilting her head to view his blackening damage. "You simply bring out the worst in me." She realized he was undressing when her eyes took in bare chest. A panic flitted into her chest. "I shall simply have to show you just how emasculated I truly am."

He looked down to unbutton his trousers. It was the opportunity she'd awaited. Still a little bleary from his blow, but still damned determined, she tilted her head backward. Viewed the beginnings of the part in his hair…

And rammed her forehead into his nose.

They both cringed at the contact and the CRUNCH that struck their ears. Blood was quick - spurting over his face and chest. He sputtered and the spray decorated her now ruined frock. "Bloody hell," he whispered.

They were frozen, it seemed. Narcissa tense like prey ready to flee. Lucius absorbing a pulsing pain. She shifted when he shifted, drew her wand when he drew his. Magically, the pair was evenly matched. A duel would be nothing short of epic, they knew.

But Lucius turned away from her, bent like an old man. "Put your wand away, witch. I think we've done enough damage to each other for one day." He made his way to a tall leather wingback and sat heavily. Touched his wand to his own nose, still pouring blood. He clenched his eyes closed. Took a deep breath. "Episkey," he enunciated.

Narcissa winced at the crackling sound of small bone fragments resettling. Her own face throbbed. She pressed fingers to the spreading bruise. Gave a small moan.

"Come here."

She looked at him warily.

Lucius gestured peaceably. "Don't be foolish. The fight's out of me. Let me fix your face."

"I'll do it myself," she said. Her words slurred from the swelling.

"Bollocks. You know you're shite at healing charms."

It was true - at least when it came to healing herself. She slowly approached him, her wand still ready at her hip. Lucius ignored it, gestured her to bend toward him. Eyes on his every movement, she knelt, an entire leg revealed by torn frock.

He leaned toward her, moved her face very gently with his fingers. His lips thinned. "I'm sorry, Cissa." Apologies were...difficult for him.

She swallowed. Didn't flinch when he raised his wand tip to her face. Ignored the feel of his hand on her bare knee where he steadied himself. "Coalescanos." He spoke clearly and his magic warmed her face. A slight twinge of pain made her whimper. "There may have been a little break," he explained. Then again, quietly, surprisingly: "I'm so sorry, Narcissa."

Her lashes fluttered. "Me, too," she said. Finally, she looked at him. All of the sorrow in his eyes, the regret. She realized suddenly that it was all she could recall seeing there for years, now. Tried to remember when there'd been light there, love and laughter.

It seemed easy to forget, surrounded by death and horror, that this man once loved her. Doted on her. Couldn't keep his bloody hands off of her. That they'd once worshiped each other like mortal gods. And now they stared at each other, waiting for something, blood drying on both of them and mended breaks beneath bruises.

His fingers lingered on her cheek like an afterthought. "Why are you still here?" He asked her.

"What do you mean?"

"Why not leave me, witch? Abandon this cursed name and...this broken, awful wizard. You could find happiness. You and Draco."

"You and I were happy once."

He nodded. "And now we're trying to kill each other. I know what happened. But how do I fix it?"

She sighed heavily. So tired... "I don't know, Lucius. And I can't talk about this tonight." She stood abruptly, his gaze following her. She intended to swirl away, to sulk in private and lick her wounds. Think on his words.

Her torn frock had other ideas.

She stepped on the now frayed hem, jolting herself sideways and into her seated husband. She steadied herself on the chairback even as he caught her about the waist, thinking to right her. They toppled unceremoniously, Narcissa's forehead THUNKING on the carpet behind them.

"Oomph!" Lucius exclaimed. His legs sprawled unattractively and flailed in the air. He was rolling backward, unable to stop the motion.

"Ouch!" Narcissa rubbed at her forehead, unaware her husband was fighting the embarrassing evils of gravity. When he gripped her suddenly, she gasped as they rolled over. "Lucius!"

They disheveled couple spilled from the chair. The chair completed its falling arc, landing on its side with an echoing FWOP. The Malfoys opened their eyes as they regained a semblance of balance. Narcissa looked up into the eyes of her husband, and Lucius looked down into the eyes of his wife. "Alright?" He asked.

She couldn't fight a small smile. "I am." Even with blood drying on most of his upper body, he was a damned good looking man.

Lucius swallowed. "Good." Even with a hideous bruise devouring most of her face, she was the most fucking beautiful witch he'd ever known.

"It's been a long time since we've been this naked together," she said very softly. Her fingers hesitantly stroked his forearms where they rested taut alongside her head.

He blinked at her. "Yes, it has been." His voice was rough when he agreed. Surely she wasn't suggesting...

Then her bared leg stroked up his, bent at his hip. Yes, she was definitely suggesting.

"Narcissa." Lightning fast and strong as a crucio, want for this woman sprang weed-like into his gut. He kissed her, hesitantly - until she dropped her wand and buried her fingers in his hair. Then all bets were off and they raced headlong into rekindled lust.

He groaned into her mouth, tasted blood. Didn't know if it was his own or hers. Didn't care. Her tongue scraped roughly against his and he let his body fall flush with hers and Oh, Merlin...those curves. He recalled a time in their marriage when those curves had stuck to him frequently with the glue of their sweat and other assorted bodily fluids, when he'd been inside her more than he'd been inside his own trousers, when extricating themselves from their bed called for life-threatening hunger or dire trips to the lavatory.

Yes, he'd destroyed all that - brought the darkness into their home. He'd bought the promises and the rhetoric and the pureblood dogma and sold the closest thing to perfection that had ever made him happy: his family. Yes, he'd been a bloody fool. But now this piece of perfection was curling against him, arching into the erection that made him lightheaded, sucking his tongue and keening down his throat and his hands couldn't touch enough of her.

And apparently she couldn't touch enough of him, either. Her fingers were scrambling at the waistband of his trousers, shoving at them. Her nails were scraping his skin at each attempt, enflaming him further. Finally he pushed away from her long enough to wedge a shaking hand between them and fumble with his trouser placket.

Their breaths came hot on their faces as she helped. A button popped off, squeaked between their bodies and PLINKED off of a distant window.

"Lucius." She pulled him back to her once they'd managed to expose his cock, ate his mouth. "I've fucking missed you," she whimpered.

"Me, too." He pushed up again for leverage, but the hand still resting on his wand slipped, sending him crashing back to his wife. His wand skated smoothly across the floor and PLACKED into a far wall. A small blast of magic erupted from its tip before it rested. "Sorry," he muttered again.

"Stop apologizing," Narcissa groused. Her hips arced up once his hands finally managed to grip her knickers and they awkwardly worked them down. She took a hold of the nearby overturned wingback to assist her angle, and tipped it yet again. It WHUMPED onto its side, perilously close to the galvanized lovers struggling for nudity.

Lucius tugged at the neckline of her dress, obviously expecting the v-neck to simply slide from her shoulders. But the strong satin was laced corset-style up the back. The resulting tear made him wince. "Sorry about your frock." But gods...those tits. He buried his face between them.

"Sorry about your furniture," Narcissa answered. She hissed when his mouth closed over a pink, excited nipple. "Oh, yessss..."


The lovers startled, huffed and struggled to obtain dignity. This was difficult as scattered clothing had their limbs akimbo whilst they attempted to discover the identity of the door-opener.

"What the bloody fucking hell is happening in here?!" It was most unmistakably the voice of their grown son.

The battered and tattered Malfoys peeked from behind the overturned wingback at the gobsmacked young man. He saw them and his face worked a myriad of expressions before settling on disbelief. "Mother? Father?" He watched them stand shakily.

"Draco!" Narcissa clutched her torn bodice over her chest with one hand, dusted at her skirt with the other.

"Son." Lucius was in even worse shape, holding closed his now buttonless trousers with one hand and holding closed his wife's torn skirt with the other.

Draco's lip curled. He stared at them for nearly ten seconds before his eyes scanned the room. "It sounded," he began slowly, "like centaurs were rioting in here." He straightened the piano bench. "And it looks like it, too!" He bent. Picked up two shanks of blonde hair. Held them up. "I don't even know whose fucking hair this is!"

His parents flushed and Draco approached them, his features growing further strain. "Father...are you – are you bleeding?" His eyes flashed to Narcissa. "Mum! Your - your face!" He dropped the hair, raised his arms placatingly. "Your clothes, your... Circe's sweet teats, what in the name of magic happened in here?"

"We were..." Lucius stammered. Looked to his wife. "Er..."

"Rearranging the furniture!" Narcissa finished quickly. Looked to her husband. Lucius' expression said, 'You could have done better,' but he nodded just the same.

But Draco was not placated. He shook his head disapprovingly. "You were fighting," he said. "This is about my going back to Hogwarts. You still feel the need to take your ridiculous arguments to another part of the house, don't you? You still think I'm a fucking child - both of you!" He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Well, I'm not. I'm grown. And I'm going to Hogwarts. And I'm going to help rebuild the school, and take my bloody NEWTS and take the stares, and take the gossip and take the sneering because it's the right thing to do. And if the two of you had just talked to me about it in the dining room rather than come in here and..." He gestured widely and helplessly to the destroyed room, then back to them. "And whatever you're doing now, I don't even want to know."

"Draco," Narcissa began.

"No!" The young wizard raised a hand to her. "I said I don't want to know." He turned. He navigated bunched rugs and overturned furniture as he made his way to the door. "I'm going to bed. I'll see you both at breakfast in the morning and I expect you to be cleaned up and presentable. Father, your wand is over here by the settee. Looks like it started a small fire on the drapes." He glanced back at them once with his hand on the door's latch. "I love you both, but Hell... Rearranging the furniture?" He scoffed and opened the door.


They were alone again.

Silence. Then Lucius took a sharp breath. "Well," he said. He glanced about. "I suppose we were rather... irrational." He looked down at his wife's pink face.

"Mm." She nodded, looked at her husband's chest. She flicked at the flaking dried blood there. "He is grown."

"Mm. And he is right."



"Let's go upstairs."


The manor was quiet and lit by moonlight. The Malfoys - who had resided in separate bedchambers for nearly five years - made their way swiftly to Narcissa's chambers by unspoken agreement. This was their marriage bed - the room they'd shared before the darkness came. And now the darkness was gone and neither of them wished to be alone.

Bathing had been foreplay once and it was again now. They washed each other carefully, aware of bumps and scratches, but they were bold in their embraces, in their kisses and utterances. They were barely dry when Cissa's back hit the sheets, but the lust revived in them evaporated any excess moisture. They practically sizzled.

Lucius pawed and laved his wife's breasts. "You're perfect," he murmured.

"You are too, Lu," she whispered. His hair was silk in her fingers, sluicing as if through a sieve.

He kissed his way over her stomach, rubbing his face and inhaling the scent of her skin, her very being. "I missed you so much, flower." A pet name he'd not used in years. "I thought of you..." He bit at her knee, held it bent to his face before gnawing up the inside of her thigh.

She bucked into his mouth, pressed him into her heat by the back of his head. "Oh, I missed this!" She cried. His tongue had not lost its skill, its knowledge of her needs. It made her wanton, woke the wild in her own tongue and she blathered pleasure-fueled nonsense. "I love you, husband! I tried so hard to hate you and sometimes I did, but fuck! Yes! There, Lucius! Fuck I never forgot that I couldn't forget! That I need you! I want you! I love you and godshelpmeLucius, I'm coming!"

And she ruptured so beautifully - pristinely - like a charmed porcelain vase that shatters and mends itself seamlessly. He watched her from the shorn tuft of flax he was loath to leave. But he wanted more than anything in life to be inside her at that moment, slithered up her body and into a welcoming embrace. Even her thighs embraced him, legs curling around his back as he slid into her enveloping essence. "Oh, my wife..."

His forehead hit hers. He groaned. On the first thrust, his head lolled. Eyes rolled back in his head. She devoured him with her whole body, shuddering and emitting the mewls and cries that always threatened his stamina. "You feel..." He groaned.

"Shut up and fuck me." She undulated beneath him, eager for a rhythm, as close to the precipice as he was. And he obeyed. Hips snapped. Grunts and hisses. A language they'd forgotten they spoke awoke - one that they alone had shared. The build was bliss. As always. The release? Perfection. Her body answered to his, demanded and drank his spillage.

Her head hung over the edge of the bed, hair brushing the floor. Lucius caught his breath, snorting into the junction of her neck and shoulder. Boneless, he rolled and brought her with him, settled them into the pillows. Naked and cooling in the moonlight.

Narcissa stroked his chest, traced the lovely ' v' of his abdomen, the downy blonde trail. "Merlin. How did I live without that for so long?"

He grunted. "Speaking for myself, I can say not willingly." He felt her smile on his breast. His fingers played at her hair - the black and the white of it. "I know that this is a start, Narcissa. That this is also...biology. Human beings being human beings. Magical beings being magical beings. But..." His hold on her tightened. "I hope you can forgive me one day. For making a total muck of us. Because I do love you. And our son. And I was wrong about what was best for us and I...regret so very much. And I've hurt you deeply and I deserve any hurt you've hurled at me. But I miss our marriage. Our love. And I wonder if it can ever be resurrected."

"Oh, Lucius..."


She nuzzled into his side, gathered the duvet up over them. "You always got philosophical after a good shag. I wonder if you can ever just fall asleep like a typical man."

He scowled into the silver light. "I think I'm offended by that."

She chuckled. "Sleep on it. You'll need your rest."

"Oh? Why is that?" He yawned. Her hand patted his opened mouth.

Then she patted her own yawn. "Because. I've some more furniture I want rearranged tomorrow..." And so the Malfoys slept.


AN: My Yuletide offering to iLuvJohnny, who has been naughty enough to make my list. She requested fluffy Lucissa. I hope she understands that this is as fluffy as I get. Hope you enjoy the playlist, too! ?2pphc70dxp0m7ms