Devil in the Details

So many fucking details. Draco leaned his head on his raised fist. Bored to fucking tears. He stared sullenly at the goblin solicitor who droned on like a...like a drone. "So shall we begin to enumerate the estates in England, Wales and France, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco straightened. Wiped a sliver of drool from the corner of his mouth. His leather chair creaked. "Let me guess: They're mine now?"

"Yes. As well the further Malfoy holdings," the solicitor explained slowly. "All that belonged to your father and is now yours." He unrolled yet another parchment. "Now. Shall we list the individual assessments for evaluation?"

"No!" Draco held up a hand, then rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Please. No more bloody assessments. Just...can I just ask a question."

The goblin spread its gnarled hands in a gesture that said 'please do.'

"I'm the sole heir to the Malfoy properties, am I not?"

"Yes, young master."

Draco cocked a brow. He rather liked being called 'master...' "And is there anything I need to...do with those properties?"

"Do, sir?"

"I mean...am I to sell anything or -"

The goblin bristled and interrupted quickly. "I advise highly against selling any holdings, Mr. Malfoy. These are...choice properties. Many of the vaulted belongings - and unvaulted belongings - are beyond any true calculable value. It would be highly unwise to -"

"So it's not like we need money?" Draco asked. He knew there had been reparations after the war. That the Malfoys had shelled out vast amounts of galleons to try and make their names worth shite again.

It hadn't really worked. And Lucius - the cowardly skiver - had decided to take the easy way out and murdered himself in the main study. It'd been a messy affair as the stupid plonker had managed to cock up death as well as he'd cocked up life. Slitting his own throat over the rubbish bin - while dreadfully romantic and almost polite in theory - had not exactly worked out. Instead, he'd flailed about quite a bit and made a terrible mess.

Narcissa had been understandably distraught as the draperies and rug had been quite beyond salvation.

And now, Draco was here. Sweltering in a tiny office back of Gringott's before a cutthroat old goblin who seemed to take every amount of pleasure in seeing a Malfoy suffer. No surprise, really...

"No, Mr. Malfoy. You hardly need money. Your father's - now your - various investments shall serve yourself and any heirs well into your seniority, if you tend them properly."

Draco nodded. That was good news. He'd been worried he was going to have to tell his mother there would be no more shoes for the duration of her life. Not that she would suffer for the lack. She had at least a thousand pairs to last. But still. It was good to know they wouldn't starve in the time it took him to decipher his father's 'investments.' Though as for heirs... Well, Draco didn't hold out much hope in that department.

"So." Draco clapped his hands together. "Are we...done here?"

"Mr. Malfoy, there are several pages of holdings yet to be discussed in -"

"Can I just review the holdings on my own and owl you any questions?" He'd quite breached tolerance and stood, all body language pointing to 'finished.'

The goblin looked helpless. He shrugged and gathered the various parchments into a black dragonhide valise. "I - I suppose that's fine, young master." But his claws lingered over one aged document roll. "Oh! There is one matter that requires...sensitive attentions."

"What's that?" Draco took up the valise.

"The matter of your mother, sir."

Draco froze in drawing the flap closed on the briefcase. "My mother?"

"Yes, sir." The goblin slipped a dusty ribbon from the scroll. "Her dowry and upkeep now fall to your responsibility. Unless of course you should like to re-market her."

"Re-market?" Draco approached the desk. Snatched the scroll from the goblin. He scanned the page. "What the devil is this? It makes no sense?"

"Your mother's marriage contract, young master. Her bonding details." The goblin sighed, seeing more explanation was warranted. "Pureblood arrangements have changed little these last hundred years. Your mother was appropriated by the Malfoy clan at age...was it 19, I believe? Anyway, as your father's sole heir -"

"You're saying I've...inherited my own mother." That throbbing had emerged in his forehead again.

"Well." The goblin coughed. "More or less, sir."

"But..." Draco seemed to splutter. "She's - she's my mum! Not some...possession."

"According to the details of her contract, Master Malfoy...she is a possession." The goblin folded its hands in finality. "Now. If you wish to keep her yourself, that's of course fine. However you should know there is a Malfoy cousin by marriage who could be considered as a suitable governor. He's married, but Narcissa's contract does allow a concubine stipulation should the need arise so long as she's kept within a manner to which she is -"

"Concubine?!" Draco couldn't control the exclamation. He flourished the contract at the goblin. "You're talking about my mother, damn it all!" He stuffed the scroll into the valise with the others. "And I'm going home to her now." He hoped his angry shaking wasn't evident.

"Master Malfoy!" Draco paused at the door, turned back toward the goblin who looked a demon in the dim lamp over its desk. Its voice was gravel and sand. "The Malfoys and Blacks are very old wizarding families. Their wishes deserve respect. Even your mother would agree. She's hardly reached the end of her usefulness. And I shall warn you: given the opportunity, a witch of her age and...urges...will stray."

Draco's lip curled and bile rose into his throat. Usefulness. Urges. His mother. A concubine to some fucking stranger. Disgusting!

But even as he flew in self-righteous indignation down the steps of Gringott's, he felt the contract burning through the valise against his thigh. He felt a little devil lurking in those details, its pitchfork poking at an ember in his brain...

He was distracted that evening over dinner. The witch noticed.

"Draco, darling. Is everything all right?"

"Of course, mother." He drank his wine. She'd picked a lovely, crisp chard to accompany their pasta dish. She truly had excellent taste...and breasts. He looked away from them guiltily. Usefulness, indeed...

"How was your visit with the goblin?" She offered him bread.

He took a chunk of the warm French loaf. "Abysmal, as expected."

"I'm sorry, love." She touched his hand on the table, curled her fingers over his and squeezed for a moment. Such very soft hands.

"Not your fault, mum." He sat back. Sighed as though burdened.

"Was there bad news?" Her eyes - milky blue in the candlelight - searched his.

"No. Not particularly." After a moment's hesitation, he reached into his jacket. Best to broach the subject now. He extracted the aged parchment and tossed it to the table. "Do you recognize that?"

She blinked at the scroll. Reached for it, but paused. Looked to him as if for permission to hold it. Draco nodded, nostrils flaring. There'd been a moment...a brief flash of striking thrill when she'd looked at him that way. He'd felt power. "Go on."

He watched her face as she unrolled it, being careful of the cracked edging. Her eyes widened. They were impossibly wide. Her mouth tightened at first, then began to open. Her lips - very pink this evening - parted and trembled just slightly. "This is..."

"Yes." He nodded.

"Why do you have this?" She asked quietly.

"I received it today. From Gemlock."

She shook her head, expression turning from concern to confusion. "But I thought you were meeting today to discuss -"

"My inheritance, yes." He plucked the contract from her fingers. Felt her watching him as he briefly scanned it. There was no need. He'd read it at least six times since that afternoon. "You are part of my inheritance, mother."

Her hands slipped from the table to her lap. Folded there neatly. She stared at her empty wine glass. "I don't understand."

"Yes, you do." And he suspected she did. He imagined she understood implicitly the implications in their exchange. He leaned forward, placed elbows on the table - a gesture he knew she despised. "I'm told I have options."

"Options?"

"As to what I can do with you. Should I wish to unburden myself of the responsibility."

"Draco!" For the first time in years, he saw true emotion crack her fortified face and it was terror. "I've tried to be a good mother to you! I've made so many sacrifices! If you only knew -"

He raised a pinky finger and she silenced. Another thrill ribboned up his spine. "I've no intentions of 're-marketing' you, mother." He smirked. "Or shipping you off to be concubine to the closest Malfoy cousin."

She paled and looked rather wan, clutched the edge of the table and wavered. "Concubine..." He let the image soak in, recognized the moment it settled with a thunk in her stomach. "I suppose I should...thank you." She whispered.

"You're most welcome." He watched the light flicker across her high cheekbones. "It's a rather provocative feeling, you know."

She glanced up at last. "What's that?"

"Owning someone." Shadows revealed her emotions: sorrow and resentment. "Father did own you, didn't he? I mean...more or less." And resignation.

"Yes." She stared at her plate. "Most marriage contracts among pureblood families contain such language." Her eyes fired up to his, suddenly steely. "But he never treated me like chattel. He wouldn't have dared."

"I didn't imply such a thing." Draco sat back again. Relaxed in his chair. "Seemed quite the opposite, really. As if he spoiled you."

"He did." Her chin raised. "For the most part. He had every reason to be proud of what he had. Me. His family. I gave him you."

Draco let his eyes wander slowly over her form. Let her feel the gaze. "Surely you pleased him in other ways?"

She studied him quietly for a moment, gauging his meaning. "What..."

"Oh, come mother. You're a worldly witch. Were you a dutiful wife? Or should I say slave? Did you tend your owner...properly?"

Her face burned. The flush spreading across her face and chest was promising. "Don't be cruel, Draco. You've never spoken to me like this. I don't know what's come over you."

"I'm rather liberated, mum." He stretched his arms above his head, groaned with the pleasure of his muscles tensing. "All those years spent in father's shadow or under your wing. Suddenly - " He spread his arms and gestured to their surroundings " - this is all mine."

She jumped slightly when he pushed away from the table and stood. He circled her. Knelt at her side. "All those years spent protecting me. Controlling me." Delicately, his fingers brushed her jaw. Her flinch was inspiring. "Now your work is done, it would seem. Eh, mother? No more the little boy to coddle. To henpeck."

She bristled and turned, mouth open to deny. But his finger against her lips silenced her. "I'd say it was time to retire, mother. To...relinquish all that bothersome responsibility." The fingers pressed harder at her lip, pulled it down until she shrugged away. "Give me that control."

"Draco." Just a whisper.

He stood abruptly. Took a deep breath. His hands settled on her shoulders, stroked her black velvet frock. Smoothed the material down to bare more creamy skin. She tensed. He leaned to murmur in her ear. "I think...I like the idea of controlling you a bit."

"Son, please," she whimpered.

"In fact." He pushed away from her chair. "I'd like to get started tonight, mother." He headed to the dining room's open archway, giving her no time to respond. "I'm off to bed. I've taken father's old chambers. Nice view. I'd like you to prepare yourself for bed, and join me. And let's not wear anything complicated. In fact, if you can stand the chill...come naked."

He heard her spin from her chair. Heard the brash scrape of the furniture on the floor. "Draco! You can't be serious!"

He turned sharply on his heel, regarded the shocked and reeling witch from a shadowed alcove. "I assure you I'm most serious, Narcissa. Ten minutes. No wand. Don't make me come and find you." He turned to go again, then paused. "Or do. Could be fun." He left her clinging to her chair.

He felt quite generous, really. Set his wand to hum at twelve minutes. Seemed fair given this would be her first night adjusting to her new master. He cast his cuff links to the vanity. Tossed his tie. He whistled as he crossed to the lavatory, shedding clothes all the way. He brushed his teeth thoughtfully.

How long had it been since he'd had Pansy tied up in the Room of Requirement? Seemed so long now... How infinitely easier and more convenient this would be. A woman - and a real woman, at that - under his command at any given moment. No bribes or payments required. Absolutely brilliant. And there was that other tiny matter... He spat harshly into the porcelain sink and splashed his face. Should be about time.

His wand was humming away on the bedside table. His hand on the hilt calmed it and at the same moment - a timid knock on the door. "Enter," he called calmly. The door clicked open. Draco stroked his burgeoning erection through his trousers. Let her wait for a moment.

The door clicked shut. He turned and looked at her.

She pressed her back to the door, head turned away from him. She wore a gauzy cotton nightgown, pale grey. It was perhaps a rather drab thing, but her curves were luxurious shadows through its translucent drape. Her hair, long and thick now, hung over one shoulder, obscuring a breast from view. She was a splendid creature.

"Come here, mother." He spoke softly, as if to a frightened deer. But she did approach obediently - a tiny tremor in her step. Barefoot, with no heels to armor her, she was remarkably petite. Draco smiled a genuine smile down at her. Stroked her soft hair. "You are so fucking pretty, Narcissa." Her name caused a hitch in her breath. He took hold of both shoulders again. "So fragile and small and perfect." He tipped her chin up until she nervously met his eyes. "I am going to enjoy breaking you."

Her hands pressed to his chest. They were cool and clammy. "Draco." There was a plea in her moist eyes.

"Shhh." He slid a hand into her hair, gently tugged her head back. Kissed her. Her lips were unyielding. Her body seized up. He yanked. when she yelped, he smothered the exclamation with his lips.

This time she whimpered, but otherwise let him have his way. He swept her mouth with his tongue, tasted her cinnamon toothpaste. He sucked at her tongue, loved the shudder that rocked her body. He noted he hardened nipples in his ribs and smiled as he pulled back. "Better," he said. "When I want a kiss, I expect you to give it freely. Understood?"

She nodded. Her eyes were glazed, shocked. Perhaps she was still in denial of her new position? He decided to reinforce his claim, brushed a firm hand across her breast, flicking the pebble there before cupping the sensitive flesh. Again she turned her head. "Draco!"

"Look at me," he insisted. She did, tears threatening her visage. He grew impossibly hard. Ached to fuck her. "I think it's safe to drop any pretense of introductions. Perhaps I've been wrong to think I could...gentle you into this." He stepped away, dropped his trousers. "Take that silly gown off and get on the bed."

Her voice threatened to break. "Draco -"

He was quicker than an adder's strike; whirling her against the bed by her arms, tearing the thin gown with ease, shoving her into the thick down mattress. "You think this is a game?" He spat, crawling over her. "How fucking wrong you are." He grabbed her wrists - folded protectively across her chest - and wrenched them above her head. "Shall I restrain you?"

Panic in her face. "No! Please!"

"Then I suggest you learn to enjoy this." He caressed her thigh, cupped her knee and raised the leg. It felt sweet rubbing his hip and he closed his eyes. "I could make it...so much worse." He caressed her breasts with his face, rubbed and suckled, cautiously released her wrists and stroked down her arm.

He urged her other leg to bend. Took in her shut eyes and bitten lip as his fingers slipped up the inside of her thigh. She mewled and lurched when he slid his fingers into the cleft of her cunt. "Awfully wet for a witch who doesn't want it." She was clenched tight, but he thrust two fingers roughly past her resistance, relishing her sharp cry. "Relax, Narcissa!" He bit a nipple. "I mean, hell... Tight's great for me, but I don't want to hurt you."

She spared him a glare. Her eyes were seething anger. He had the audacity to laugh. "There you are," he said. "I was wondering if I would get to enjoy the fight in you. Perhaps we'll have time for more fun later. But for now..."

He adjusted his erection, prepared to take her.

But she pressed a bony elbow to his neck. "Think about this, son," she hissed. "Think hard."

"I assure you, mother." He shoved her restraining arm to her side and pushed his torso upward. She winced at the pressure. "I thinking very hard right now." And he impaled her mercilessly.

Odd, that they should each react so similarly to the intrusion... Narcissa curled her face into her son's neck, refusing to let him see pain, submission, humiliation or especially the burning shame of pleasure. She buried her teeth in the juncture of his neck and shoulder to muffle an embarrassing moan.

Draco pressed his face into his mother's neck, groaning his weakness, his solace, desire and addiction. The power he'd imbibed quickly evaporated, revealed itself for the deviant lackey it was. The revelation that they were both slaves to something greater was both a blessing and a curse and the man moved in the hot confines of his mother's hellish heat.

With little encouragement she gave up the begging whimpers he longed to hear. They rattled in her throat with his every punishing plunge. He watched her unravel and understood godhood. How convenient that she was his now. How perfect. His plan had borne fruit without his tending.

And she was folding gloriously, giving herself to his hand just as she had to his father all those years ago. She was a proper pureblood witch. Knew her place well. He resolved to enjoy her immensely.

So when her urgent voice reached his ear minutes later, he clamped her mouth closed. "Draco, don't -"

"Too late, witch." He growled through gnashed teeth. "Oh, you feel so fucking good. Mother?"

Her wide eyes tempted him closer to the precipice. "Mm?" Snot hit the edge of his hand as she panted.

"Can you still bear children?"

The wide eyes flew to panic. Still muzzled, she nodded as best she could, attempted muffled speech, her whole being begging him to not do what he suggested he would do.

But his whole hand spread instead, blocking her nostrils and making her thrash violently. Her free hand clawed at his back, slapped and pounded impotently.

Draco watched her struggle. A drop of sweat slid from his nose and into her eye. He wondered if she noticed the sting as he unloaded hot seed inside her.

Spent and finally sapped of the strength adrenaline embues, Draco collapsed. Narcissa was slick with sweat and Merlin knew what else. She easily squeaked from his spidery embrace, gasping for breath and retching over the edge of the bed.

"Oh, spare me the melodrama." Draco drawled. He flopped into the plush pillows and spread his arms wide. "And you can come back to bed once you've cleaned up. I've got at least another two rounds in me."

She perched on the corner. He watched warily as her hand touched the bedside table. His wand rolled toward the feminine fingers, but she didn't take it. "You didn't think," she murmured. "Even when I told you. When you asked! Draco, you can't...we can't..." She finally looked at him. "Until I'm back on the potion, you can't -"

"There'll be no potion."

She blinked at him. Silver moonlight deepened the tiny creases by her eyes. "What?"

"I can't be the last Malfoy, mother. It simply won't do. Someone has to be in that goblin's office like I was today. An heir. You gave my father one."

She was shaking her head, greening slightly. "No... No. You're insane."

"It's perfect!" He sat up and reached for her. She jerked her arm away from his fingers. "Look at us. We're ruined anyway. The Malfoy name will get me nowhere. And now why should it? I've everything I need right here. Money, a home for every season, a loving and dutiful mother...and now a convenient and captive incubator."

A tear slid down her cheek. She seemed frozen. "You aren't serious."

"Quite serious." His eyes darkened. He leaned over the bed and slid his wand past her hand. Played with it. "Although I suppose I could always alter the details of your contract. Just to be clear."

She gathered the torn, useless gown around her abused body and made for the open lavatory door. She stopped on the way, turned and cast a dark look at her son. "You're the devil," she muttered hoarsely.

Draco chuckled, balancing his wand playfully across his nose. "Not I, mother. Not I..."

But Draco knew the devil. Intimately. Knew the devil's usefulness - the innate Slytherin-ness of him. Knew where to find the devil when a deal was needed - lurking not within the man, but within the many daunting, tiny details.

AN: A late Yule gift for Narcissa Nerea, who wanted something a little darker and rougher. It should probably be disturbing to me that I find it difficult to write Draco and Narcissa this way... But, it isn't. Guess I've got a devil in my details, too. Listen to the musical details on my profile. ?gfvhlt4yy91zet8