Literatti: Fiction By Deslea
Night Give Way To Light
Deslea R. Judd
Pairing: Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Malfoy
Word Count: 1800
Summary: On Yule in 1997, Lucius and Narcissa pay homage to ancient traditions. The seasons are not the only things reborn. One artwork.
More Fic: On AO3 or my fic site.
Feedback: Love the stuff. On AO3 or at deslea at deslea dot com.
The problem with the Winter Solstice was that it was bloody cold.
That was the least of Narcissa's problems this Christmas. (Yule, she corrected. The wizarding world had used the terms fairly interchangeably after centuries of Muggle influence, at least until the Dark Lord had outlawed it, and she was as susceptible to culture lag as anyone else). But the cold was a problem she could manage.
Lucius looked happier, though; that was something. Building the bonfire was physical work, something Lucius rarely did anymore. Before Azkaban, he had ridden horses and played Quidditch with Draco. But now the good horses had been sold along with everything else to finance the war effort, and the nags had been used for target practice. And neither Lucius nor Draco had the heart for Quidditch anymore.
Draco didn't look at Lucius anymore; he looked past him, as though the spectre of Albus Dumbledore hovered just a few feet further back. Draco had chosen to spend Yule at Hogwart's, and that had hurt, but Narcissa hadn't tried to stop him. All she could offer him was a house full of fear and blood. There was fear and blood at Hogwart's too, but not his own.
Lucius didn't have heart for much at all since Azkaban, and that included her. The love was there, but not the vigour and passion and fire. It was a watercolour love drawn in thin, washed-out pastels, and it had beauty of a sort. But Narcissa was used to love lavished on in rich, decadent swirls, luxurious strokes of oil streaked with gold.
He had vigour now, though, and it was a glorious thing to watch.
At first it had been heartwarming, watching him stack the bonfire. Heartwarming to watch him build something, to move smoothly and pick up pace. He'd been slow and frail since coming home; the physical wounds of Azkaban had faded but the mental ones had not. Sitting there on a log, watching him, she had felt a smile form on her face.
Gradually, though, her simple pleasure had turned deeper and darker. He shrugged off his robe, working in just thin trousers, and in the light of the flares they had scattered around, she saw his muscles working. Leaner now, but still strong. A drop of sweat trickled down his tricep and the scent of salty maleness was in the air. She watched him intently as he worked, her breaths growing deep and slow and heavy as her breasts ached against the thin silk of her robe. It dawned on her, with curious pleasure, that she wanted him. She had forgotten the ways that could bring her undone.
They'd been right to dress lightly, despite the cold; heat was pouring off the bonfire now. Lucius knelt back on his heels, etching runes into the ground around it. His face was illuminated with warmth and light, and his eyes gleamed with concentration. Perspiration flowed freely down his shoulders and dried just as quickly, masculine scents whirling around them in the wind.
Narcissa wanted to slide her body against him and sink her mouth into the curve of his shoulder, tasting salt and firm muscular curves. Once upon a time she would have done it, but it had been so long since they had touched each other in anything but grief and fear that she didn't know how anymore.
At last, he rose. Came to where she was sitting and retrieved his thin silk robe from the branch on which it hung. He leaned past her to do it, and his scent washed over her and the lines of his abdomen were tantalisingly near. He straightened, pulling on the robe, and impulsively, she reached out. Stroked his belly with her fingertips.
He stiffened, and she looked up at him. He was staring down at her. Breaths suddenly heavy. Holding his gaze, she undulated forward, pressing her breasts into his hips and sucking on the skin near his navel. He tasted of salt and of Lucius and she felt the flesh between her thighs grow heavy and warm and wet. He shivered, then moaned, sinking his head back, tendons of his neck outlined against the sky. He ground his hips into her; his cock through silk was hard between her breasts.
"Lucius," she said, a needy undertone in her voice.
Lucius sank his hand into her hair and tugged on it gently, curling it between his fingers. "Narcissa," he groaned, and that rough, gravelly voice was like dragging something hard over her nipples, over her clit. It was a voice that had aroused her from her earliest days as a woman. It was from the first time she had been touched like this, and the day she wed, and the day she conceived. From a thousand moments between then and now. He had made her a woman and he'd been the making of her. They'd been the making of each other.
He sank down on his knees before her and tugged her down against him. They stared at one another for a long, long moment.
"The solstice," he whispered in a ragged voice, even as his arm around her waist tugged her closer still. "We have to-"
She nodded. The solstice, indeed. It mattered this year as it had never mattered before.
Holy night, give way to holy light," she murmured with him. Her fingers gripped tight on his shoulders, and she twined fingers though his hair.
Lucius took the lead, dipping his head, ready to kiss her. "Darkness, have no dominion here. Your season is past.
Narcissa settled into him. "Light, shine forth with life and rebirth. Light, defeat our every darkness."
Lucius wavered then, just a little. Eyes too blue and too bright. "Our every darkness," he agreed. Their lips were almost touching now.
"Be it so," she whispered, and as his lips closed on hers, she felt a moment of overwhelming grief and hopelessness, but it evaporated as he opened her lips with his, as he overwhelmed her, his mouth warm and deep and slow. Her mouth fell open and her head sank back, and she gave a long, low sigh as he ground leisurely against her.
"You're my light," he growled as he pushed forward, nudging her back onto the ground.
"Then choose me," she hissed, kissing him hungrily. Opening her robe and his, pressing her hot, aching flesh against his.
She didn't say more than that; didn't need to. She had been asking for months. One day, there will be an opening, Lucius. There will be a moment when escape is possible. Promise me you'll come with me.
"God damn it, Narcissa," he said roughly, but just then, his hand found slick warmth between folds of swollen flesh, and she arched and cried out as he sank long, curling fingers into her, again and again. Her body thrashed and his hips jerked against her, as though sharing the sudden, ferocious spasms inside her. He kissed her, deep and long and needy, as she came hard against his hand.
She gave a low, whining protest as he pulled his mouth away, but gasped in realisation as he lowered his head between her thighs. The scent of dank forest and charred wood and Lucius was heavy in her nostrils as he ran his tongue delicately over her flesh, opening and teasing, licking and sucking. Her robe was open and her breasts were exposed to the cool night air, gooseflesh and hard, aching nipples beneath her fingers. Her free hand closed over his, twining fingers on the ground beside her, and she braced against him, rocking hard against his worshipping mouth. He brought her to the brink, then maddeningly pulled away, lifting his head to grin at her, his eyes alight with mischief.
"Ple-e-ease," she choked out, half-giggling, and for a split-second they were young again.
He made his way up her body, leaning heavily on strong, rippling arms. Settled on top of her, kissing her as she stroked him up the planes of his back, over those fine shoulders. His hair fell across her vision, shadows criss-crossing with the glow of the bonfire, filling her world with all the pieces of him that they'd tried but failed to take away. His kisses were plundering, and sweet with her own taste and his, and demanding enough to leave her supplicant beneath him, moving however he wanted, intoxicated and reeling.
"Narcissa," he muttered as their hips settled together, as his cock sank into her. "Fuck, I've missed you."
It swept over her, crushing waves of grief and joy, and she cried out, opening for him, heat and chills warring in her flesh. He drove into her, hard and deep, grinding himself into her, leaving her helpless, her body too wracked with shivers for her to move by her own accord. All she could do was take him, seize on him, and cry out his name in half-words and sighs.
"That's it," he rasped, twining his fingers with hers beside her head, and she braced on him, driving her hips up to meet him. "Come for me."
His voice was low and molten, a slow, silken demand, and it raced through her like shooting stars. She gasped out his name and shuddered out her climax, crying out, felt him pulse within her too.
He collapsed beside her, spent, and drew her close with arms that still lightly trembled. He stroked back her hair with shivering fingers, then reached down and worked her softly, gently, drawing her final, slow climax from her aching, quaking heat.
He brought his fingers to her mouth, a little of them both there, and gently traced them over her lips. He drew a tiny rune, the Uruz. Night giving way to light.
"I'll come with you," he whispered, and he kissed her, slowly, deeply, taking the magic of them both and letting her take it in turn. "I'll come, Narcissa."
She broke into sudden tears then, tears of joy and of relief. He held her, soothing her until the tears were gone, and then slowly, he made love to her once more.
When finally, he slept, his head on her breast, and the bonfire was dying down, Narcissa watched the first rays of dawn as they slid through the darkened sky.
Night, give way to light, she thought. Please.
The earth beneath them drank hungrily, the sweat of their labour and the overflowing of their love and their tears of sadness too, and then, slowly, night gave way to light.
According to Ravenna Angelline, two of the main Winter Solstice beliefs both deal, broadly, with the idea of a season of darkness coming to an end and a season of light beginning. In one version of the lore, the Holly King (darkness, ending at Winter Solstice) and the Oak King (light, ending at Summer Solstice) kill their counterpart on their respective solstices, and then take ascendancy while the killed one is regenerated. In a Wiccan equivalent, the Goddess gives birth to the Divine Child of Promise, whose promise is to bring the sun. (Voldemort was killed towards the end of the season of light, about three weeks before the Summer Solstice on June 21, 1998).
According to wolfmoongrove, the rune Uruz refers to the original source of life and procreation, and signifies new beginnings, particularly in the context of sadness or loss leading to joy or opportunity.
The use of sexual fluids in ancient religions varies (and many have no record of using them at all), but two common uses relate to (1) taking or giving power over a person and (2) sharing power to strengthen them both. Sexual fluids were also used as a sacrifice.
I had a piece of head-canon here, which I edited out because it was a bit too jarring, but readers who like that sort of thing might find it illuminating. It was that a young Lucius and Narcissa had a running joke of poking fun at old wives tales about not letting your partner steal or ingest your sexual fluids, lest they take control of you (which is a magical belief in pagan circles). When they became sexually active, they deliberately sampled each other's fluids, more or less as a joke. However, what started as an in-joke became a statement that they willingly and equally submitted to one another and shared one another's power, and it became a very loving thing between them. I left in the sharing in the fluids as a more general "seal of a promise" idea, but it was just too clunky to shore-horn in the whole backstory. But now you know it anyway. :D