There was the sound of giggling. And a rather odd, undignified snort. Draco followed the unlikely sounds down the first floor corridor to the sunny conservatory. He paused in the doorway and shook his head at the scene before him.

Tea laid out in the finest china on the ornately carved tea table. His mother, barely clad in a sinful scarlet dressing gown, was feeding fresh green grapes to an equally barely clad young woman.

Hermione Granger.

It still shocked him - still shocked everyone in the wizarding world, really - that the girl had shown up in the foyer of Malfoy Manor and simply...stayed. In typical Gryffindor fashion, she'd assumed there was more to be known - more to understand about the Malfoys. More than the witch who'd lied to save her son, more than a man who'd turned coat and run to avoid justice, more than a boy who bowed to the will of his mother with pleasure, more than the family who'd sipped their wine while she was tortured in their drawing room. She'd assumed she'd find some sort of closure, he supposed.

How wrong the stupid girl had been.

But it didn't change the fact she'd sparked some fascination in Narcissa. Fueled some need to care for or to mother the woman-child. Not that what transpired between the witches in the privacy of Narcissa's bedchamber could be considered motherly. But hell, even Draco could hardly cast thoseaspersions.

"Now, you've made a mess!" Narcissa admonished her breakfast company. "Here, take this serviette." Hermione made to giggle again, but instead coughed. "Well, if you've choked on a seed it's your own fault, silly thing!" But there was a smile on the Malfoy matron's face.

"Good morning, mother."

She turned to him with shameless joy. "Draco!"

And he embraced her with equal shamelessness, rubbing her silk clad back almost possessively and staring over her shoulder at Granger. "Good morning, mudblood," he murmured.

Narcissa tisked, held him at arm's length. "Stop it," she admonished gently.

Hermione spat a grape seed at him, laughed with excessive vitriol. Draco growled, his arm curling into a threat as he stepped past his mother. "You fucking -"

Narcissa was quick, practiced - arms flashing. "I said stop it." The voice brooked no argument, nor did the firm, feminine hand pressed halting against his hard belly. Her other hand mashed closed Granger's mouth, arm easily spanning the small table.

Eyes blue blazes, she took in the two youths. "Apologize," she said briskly. "Both of you."

Draco's nostrils flared. His lip curled reluctance. But when Narcissa's hand slid lower, cupped his cock through his trousers, he melted. "Forgive me...Granger." He growled.

She was a study - the muggle-born witch; hair tangled and spilling carelessly over thin shoulders, eyes drooping drunk with lust, lips swollen by kisses he'd no doubt just missed. Perhaps she knew she was a favorite, but she had no idea she was a passing fancy. And he supposed he could be comforted by that fact. "Sorry...Draco." Her voice was watery, weak as tepid tea. A trickle of grape juice shimmered on her chin.

One last stroke from his mother's hand and he stepped back. "Much better," Narcissa breathed. Hungrily, she gazed at her son. "Did you come to join us for breakfast, darling?"

"Hardly." He tilted her chin upward. "I'm off to the Ministry with father."

Her pretty lips pouted. He wanted to lick them. "Oh. Will you be staying with him? Or coming back home?"

"Would it...please you...if I returned, mother?" His face inched closer to hers.

"Quite." She bridged the last distance and kissed him. He tasted promise there and knew she would be sweet and yielding beneath him later, wrapped in sticky sheets with her toy tucked away in its bed down the hall.

But the toy was most definitely present now. A grape seed flicked sharply just beside his right eye, reminding him. He stepped patiently away from his mother who hid a smile behind her fingers. "Well," he said slowly, extracting a handkerchief from his trouser pocket. "I bid the two of you a lovely day." He wiped a dot of spittle and juice away from his eye. "And I shall see you this evening, mother."

"I look forward to it." Her voice was laced with humor.

From the doorway, he cast a glance back to Granger. "I'd work on developing better manners if you're to continue on being an amusement in this house, mudblood. We eat the rude, you know." And he was gone.

Narcissa sighed, neatened the serviette in her lap. "You really must behave, my poppet," she murmured. "This is Draco's home. It's hardly respectful to spit and curse at him."

"Mmmm. Yes, ma'am."

Narcissa bristled at the moan. It was her own fault. She'd spoiled the girl, ruined her to a lazy slurring machine of sensuality. She reached across the table and stroked a soft hand suggestively. "A bath, I think." Hermione nodded eagerly, and arm in arm, they made their way down the many corridors and up the many stairs of the manor to well appointed guest chambers - Hermione's own bright rooms.

The tile of her lush en suite echoed their snickers and sighs and moans. The wet sounds of waves lapping betwixt moving bodies and lips meeting and parting. The sizzling of thick, charmed bubbles piling and popping. The sounds of lust being polished.

"What a good girl," Narcissa whispered.

Wet chestnut curls spilled over the tub's edge, brushing the slickened floor. A long, creamy leg curled over as well, toes curling in pleasure. Cissa knelt between the thighs, watching the face intently while her fingers worked the still sticky hot and quivering cunt.

The girl would come. She couldn't resist. Reduced this way to the most base of human-animal responses. And she was really no better than that, anyway, Narcissa mused. Born of lesser creatures, this was the mudblood's purpose.

Point of fact, Hermione howled to the firmament, a victim of violent orgasm and Cissa's face portrayed its usual satisfied victory. "Lovely," she cooed. "Lovely. Now. Let's get you dried and into bed, hm?"

"Hmmm. Yes, ma'am." The girl was still catching her breath as Narcissa toweled her.

"Such a beautiful body." And it was, truly. Pale and pretty. Lithe and willowy. A wasted shame on such filthy blood. But that didn't stop perfectly manicured pureblood fingers from fucking it, from palming firm young breasts, tweaking pink nipples til bitten lips whimpered.

And the feral femme knew its design. It clambered to please in return. Bit roughly its lover's shoulders, suckled fuller breasts like a nursing kit. On the plush bed, it curled between Narcissa's thighs like a second home and feasted there like a second meal.

It was easy to abandon herself to such wanton pleasure. With no refinement or manner to guide them, Cissa ground against the girl's face, hummed with the vibrations her growls made. She tangled her fingers impossibly in the crazed curls, shoved the savage mouth closer to her cunt and gave taming instruction.

"There, now. Yes! Oh, just suck harder, my sweet little beast! Ah!" And lust unchecked so easily turns to hate. She tugged too harshly the girl's hair, heard and felt the rip of it loosing in her fingers. She hardly cared and still the creature strove to please her. "Fuck me with your fingers, Hermione. Now!"

Every order was followed with almost imperiused precision, making Narcissa momentarily no better than the creature she'd created.

But this was soooo much better, she'd decided. So much more unfettered and enthusiastic than the zombie-like control of the imperius curse. But no less control, no less the addictive act of owning.

She shuddered and dug her toes into the girl's ribs, grunting rough completion. "Stop. Stop!" Cuffed the girl sharply with a hand-heel to the temple.

"Ow!" It was less an exclamation and more a bark - the yelp of a pained animal. Hermione jerked away, cowed near the base of the bed.

"Oh, hush hush!" Narcissa cooed quickly and scrambled toward it. "Come now. Come here, poor thing." She gathered the girl to her, caressing and murmuring into still moist hair. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, little rabbit. You simply must learn when to stop! Then I won't have to hurt you. Yes?"

"Mm-hm." Hermione snuffled and burrowed into Narcissa's embrace. Already the girl was exhausted. it happened quickly, leaving her sleeping much of the time. The only disadvantage, Cissa supposed, sighing.

Stroking the girl's face, she felt the stickiness of her own juices, traces of tears...and the tell-tale sign of too much exertion. "Ugh." Always the disdainful moue and she pushed Hermione's head backward to view the damage. "Oh, dear."

It was clearly getting worse. Narcissa frowned deeply. "Not again," she groused. Tisked and pushed away the long fringe hanging over one amber eye.

Yes, the hole had widened again. The hole just there in the corner of the ocular cavity, distorting the tear duct. Unnoticeable until irritated. Obviously, they'd been too spirited today in their pursuits of pleasure.

Cissa sniffed. Her frown deepened. This time, the pink chunky fluid dotting her hand and the girl's face smelled infectious. Like cooked meat. The potions were losing their effect. "Or perhaps you need something stronger," Narcissa murmured. She tugged at the ring of inflamed skin surrounding the lobotomy, examined the deep wound.

A tiny pustule popped.

"Ah!" Cissa leapt away, disgusted by the pink/yellow puss splashed across her face. She wiped at it as she scurried off the bed. "Stay," she said firmly. Taking deep breaths, she wrapped her dressing gown around herself almost protectively. Thought a moment. "Lie down." She spoke more gently this time, smiled to ease the now nervous creature. Hermione complied, oblivious to the wound oozing sick down her visage. "Good girl," Cissa breathed. "You rest, my chick. I'll...I'll return later."

So easily the girl slipped into sleep. Not a care to trouble her. Cissa often envied it. She slipped the door closed behind her and leaned against it. The charms. The potions. A heavy sigh. Draco was right.

Obviously it couldn't last. No matter how magical a body, a brain - it was still a body, still a brain. And a limited muggle-born brain, well... She would discuss with her son how to go about disposing of her toy that evening. The girl had such irritating friends. They would doubtless miss her, doubtless come calling.


Narcissa's lips pursed. She whisked down the hallway to her own room. All that later. For now, another bath was in order.

In the history of awkward Malfoy dinner gatherings, it seemed the smallest to date was the most awkward of all. As gracious and welcoming as Narcissa and Draco were, there was no overcoming the coiled tension of Harry Potter or the sullen quiet of Lucius.

Narcissa was unnerved. And her nervousness bled through in her tone, making her further unnerved. When the soup was served, she spoke just to interrupt the prevalence of slurping. "Mr. Potter, we're so pleased to have you with us tonight." Beside her, Draco nodded his agreement.

"I came hoping to see Hermione," Potter said. His monotone was an obvious reflection of his thoughts on the Malfoys in general. "Yet I arrive to hear she has... disappeared? Surely you understand I'm suspicious."

"And no doubt concerned," Draco replied. He shook his head sympathetically. "Believe me when I say we are, as well. Mother?" He looked to Narcissa.

Lucius grunted over his empty soup bowl. "Roast."

"Soon, husband." Narcissa touched Lucius' arm, then produced a folded parchment from within her velvet frock coat. "She left this." She slid the parchment across the table to Harry, fingers pausing atop it when he attempted to lift it. "It's all she left, in fact."

Harry unfolded the parchment and read intently while Draco laid a comforting hand on his mother's shoulder. "We were hoping you knew where her parents were located in Australia. Hoping we might have some chance of finding her there."

"No one knew where they went," Harry muttered. "Not even Hermione. She apologizes for taking money from you?" He scoffed disbelief.

"The money is not an issue!" Narcissa exclaimed hotly. "I would have given it to her! I would have given her anything!"

At that moment, the elf popped in with an over-large silver platter. "Calm down, mother," Draco insisted.

"Roast!" Lucius nearly lunged over the table. Cissa grappled him back to his seat. Harry watched with some alarm.

"Potter." Draco re-acquired the Gryffindor's attention, smoothly slicing through tender loin. "We don't care about the bloody money." He served his obviously famished father. Lucius fell on the meat like a predator. "My mother became rather attached to Hermione during her weeks with us." He served Harry next. "Mushrooms? We simply want to know that she's safe."

The roast smelled delectable and Harry licked his lips despite his distraction. "I trust Hermione," he said calmly. "She's brilliant. If she wants to do this alone, then I have every faith in her." Ignoring Lucius Malfoy's abhorrent table manners, Harry took a bite of his own serving.

Narcissa stared at her meal, forehead creased by worry. "Do you think she'll return, Mr. Potter?"

Harry took a hearty gulp of wine. He pocketed the folded parchment before returning to his plate. "Hermione's very determined. But I've no doubt once she finds her parents, she'll come home."

"I hope so." As if she could no longer contain the emotion, Narcissa sobbed quietly into her serviette.

"Hush, mother." Draco rose to comfort his mother. "As you can see, Potter - Hermione is a rather...tender subject now."

"Roast!" Lucius reached for the serving platter.

"Even my father is upset!" Draco gestured to Lucius apologetically.

"I'd no idea she'd grown so close to you all." Potter regarded the Malfoys with a lingering skepticism. "But she did seem happy in her letters."

"And she was!" A tearful Narcissa snapped. "She was... She was like the daughter I never had." Fresh sobs.


"Father! Quiet!" Draco enfolded his mother in his arms. Kissed the top of her head and glanced at Harry. "I apologize for how out of sorts we must seem tonight, Potter. I hope you understand the state we're in."

"Not really." In fact, Potter regarded them as though they were barmy. He rose suddenly. "I um...I'm going to leave, actually. Let you all..." He gestured amorphously. "Yeah. Thank you for dinner?" He was backing towards the dining room archway.

"Roast!" Lucius barked. Potato bits fired from his lips.

Narcissa shot a hand around Potter's arm, stilling him. "Gah!" He cried, frightened.

"If you hear from her, you'll let me know." The fingers gouged through his oxford's sleeve. "Immediately?"

"Of course!" He jerked his arm away, obviously ready to flee this insanity.

Draco took hold of Narcissa's freed hand, brought it to his chest. "Thank you, Potter," he said sincerely. "And do visit again? I would see you to the door, but..."

"Not necessary!" Harry held up his hands in the shadowed arch. "Thank you for having me, and... Good night!" His footfalls were quick and heavy on the stone stairs. The slamming of the main door echoed.

Silence settled again in the dining room - for the most part. Narcissa sniffled against her son's chest. Lucius belched.

"Do you think he'll be back?" The question was muffled by Draco's mouth.

"Perhaps." Draco pulled Cissa to her feet, continued kissing her.

"Roast," Lucius whimpered. His head dropped forward and his wife and son paused their amorous activities to watch.

Draco pulled Lucius up by the hair, tugged down the corner of his eye. "Hm. No infection, but something's definitely off, mum." She was looking guiltily at the floor. "Mum?"

"The incarcerous wore off," she mumbled.


"The incarcerous wore off!" She enunciated quite clearly this time.

Draco laughed. "Sweet Merlin, witch! You scrambled his brains." He dropped Lucius' head. It plunked to the table gracelessly, launching a spoon across the room.

"He wriggled about too much." Narcissa explained, giggling when her son embraced her again.

"You're a danger to man and wizardkind alike, mother." His hands slipped inside her frock coat, fondling, then extracting a long, glinting silver awl. He tossed it to the table by Lucius' snoring head. "Let me know if I ever trip too close to your bad side."

She nipped his bottom lip playfully, backing him from the dining room. "Let's see if you can find my good side tonight."

"And dinner?" His hands lingered on her firm arse. She looked over her shoulder at the cooling meat upon the table.

"Let the elf take care of her." Darkness swallowed the pair.

There was the sound of giggling.

AN: Congratulations. You made it to the end. Thanks to Narcissa Nerea for the valued opinions and to The Rocky Horror Picture Show for the first inklings of inspiration and the 'tender' line. Priceless.