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Growing up in the Black household had been a formative experience. The training clung to Narcissa like a second skin even long after it outlived pureblood mania. 

Narcissa found that she was most likely to call upon the outward appearance of being unaffected when Hermione Granger’s mouth was involved. The excessive irony of this fact was not lost on her. But there was a gleam in the witch’s eyes when she wanted to feel Narcissa’s body beneath her own that was kin to a siren’s call. It didn’t frequently happen that she allowed Hermione to be in control, but when she did, the witch made sure to take full advantage. From whispering positively filthy things in her ear, to relentlessly roaming hands, to the mouth… oh the mouth that was currently doing wicked things to her neck. She already knew she would need a particularly strong glamor charm to be work-appropriate in the morning. 

“You know, babe. I think I like you best like this.”

Hermione kissed up her neck to make sure Narcissa didn’t miss a syllable of what was sure to be a carefully crafted soliloquy. The blonde tilted her head to allow her lover better access to her neck anyways. 

“I love when you try to control every sound you make. I like dissuading you of the notion that you are capable of being calm and collected when my hands are on you,” Hermione continued. 

She had been idling, playing with an already hard nipple. Narcissa sucked in a breath at a sharp tug. Hermione hummed into her ear, clearly pleased. 

“You look so like the proper housewife I met all those years ago.” 

Hermione’s wandering hand moved to the other nipple, giving Narcissa no respite from the pleasurable torture. 

“Hidden behind a glass wall where nothing can touch you. A beautiful survival tactic, my love. But the first time you looked at me, really looked at me, I could see that you were placid like a riptide.”

Narcissa gasped at the declaration and the teeth that closed around her earlobe. 

“The world may see you as prim and proper, but we know better, don’t we?”

Narcissa shuddered at just the tone. Oh, yes. They certainly did know. She didn’t interrupt Hermione. She knew this tone of voice. The Gryffindor was on a mission to make her unravel. She wanted to force Narcissa to push beyond the facade that kept her safe for so many years. She wanted Narcissa to unravel for her.

“Both you and I know that if I were to push my fingers between your legs that you would be soaked.” 

Narcissa trembled at the hand already drifting lower. She attempted to keep her breathing steady even as Hermione cupped her hand over her center. The younger witch had the audacity to groan in her ear, which nearly caused her to loose one of her own. One gentle finger pushed between her folds. It was the contact she wanted but simultaneously not nearly enough. She lifted her hips, chasing the sensation she knew from experience that Hermione could hold at bay nearly indefinitely. Hermione shifted her wrist lower. 

Narcissa knew what came next. This was a well-loved game between them. Hermione knew Narcissa wouldn’t hold out. Not any more. Not with so much life and love between them now. 

Hermione pushed herself up so she could look into Narcissa’s eyes. She had never been shy about watching her pleasure. She smirked a perfectly Slytherin smirk that Narcissa had vague regret over having taught her. She nudged Narcissa’s legs wider. The blonde felt her own breathing get shallower in anticipation. Ever so slowly, Hermione pushed into her with two fingers. Her younger lover drew out the moment making sure that Narcissa’s nerve endings had the opportunity to register each and every feeling fully. 

“Fuck me, Hermione,” Narcissa pleaded, eyes wide. 

And just like that, the ghosts of Narcissa’s past vanished in the haze of desire and love that marked her new life. Narcissa wasn't Lucius Malfoy’s timid housewitch. No. She was a witch in touch with the ancient magicks. No one who really knew her thought her calm at all.