#cyrille lestrange

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Light and Dark | Part 30 (Apx. Pt. 2)

Summary: Your sweetheart boyfriend, James Potter, can’t seem to hide his feelings for a certain beautiful redhead - who’s not you. Meanwhile, there’s a strange Slytherin boy, Cyrille Lestrange, famed even among purebloods for his lineage and inheritance, whose silver eyes somehow seem to always find you. [Multi-Post Story] [James Potter x Reader] [Cyrille Lestrange x Reader] [Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.]  [Warning: Rough Sex: Bondage.] [Warning: Dom-Sub Dynamic.] [Warning: Humiliation.] [Warning: Nonconsent.] I want to say explicitly that this is fantasy. Any harassing and/or non-consensual behavior is totally unacceptable in reality. And of course, in reality, loving someone should not translate into taking unpleasurable/unwanted pain from that person, or anyone else. *Finally, please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!

Note: Timing-wise, this chapter occurs between Parts 19 and 20 of the original Cyrille Lestrange story. I took this chapter out originally because I thought it took away from the impact of certain aspects of Part 20, including the establishment of clear consent before all sub-dom play, and also because the writing here leans a bit too into the 'needy' emotions of the characters in a borderline unhealthy way when combined with smut, in my opinion, but in any case, I'm happy to dig it up and finish it. I really hope you enjoy the extra Cyrille Lestrange content. Also, if you are new to Light and Dark and care about spoilers, this chapter does reference what was revealed in Parts 18 and 19, so please be careful if you care about spoilers.

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Cyrille stayed by your side as you slowly fell asleep in your bed.  Still holding your hand in his, he gazed at your face.  Finally, when the moonlight crept up his feet to his knees, he softly kissed the back of your hand and then rose from the bed.  He quietly left the room, but not before pausing to look back at you once more.  Angel must be exhausted, after getting her memories back.  Sleep well, my love.  I wish I could stay, but I know already that Yaxley and the others are waiting for me.  I ran after you without a second thought when I heard what happened, and I don’t regret that one bit.  However, now, I have to head off Yaxley and the others to ensure they won’t come after you.

Cyrille walked down into the Gryffindor common room.  Ignoring the confused whispers and pointed stares, he strode straight across the room.  As he approached the door, however, he caught sight of Emmeline and James sitting at the far table.  Both of them were staring at Cyrille with intense, questioning gazes.  Cyrille’s eyes briefly met James’s, and for the smallest moment, a sliver of a smirk crossed Cyrille’s face.  His expression said – “Checkmate, Potter.”  James’s jaw tightened and he started to stand up, but Cyrille was already gone, slithering out of the door faster than a serpent.  

Cyrille had not gotten very far, however, when he heard someone running after him, panting and sprinting.  Cyrille discretely grasped his wand inside his robe.  Then, he abruptly turned around when –

“Cyrille!”  You barreled into him, catching him in a hug.

“Angel?” Cyrille said, caught off guard.  He quickly let go of his wand.

“How could you leave without saying anything?” you said breathlessly.

Cyrille steadied both of you, clutching you by your shoulders and drawing you into him, as he explained, “I thought you were sleeping.  I only just left, and you seemed to be asleep.”

“I woke up right as you were slipping out the door,” you told him.  “I called for you, but you didn’t hear me.”

“I’m sorry.” Cyrille gently smoothed back your hair, as strands of it had come tumbling forward when you ran straight into him.  That was when he noticed that you were dressed rather messily.  You were wearing a tank top, but no shirt or jacket on top, and one strap of the tank top had fallen off your shoulder.  You’d clearly tried to pull on your school skirt at the last minute; one side of the skirt was higher on your hip than the other.  Your socks were mismatched and one sock was barely on.  Moreover, your shoelaces were untied as you’d simply stuffed your feet into your shoes before taking off after Cyrille.

Cyrille sighed.  He twirled a strand of your hair around his index finger as he murmured, “Oh, angel, what a mess you are.”

“Hm?”

Cyrille pulled your shoulder strap up.  You shivered when you felt his cold fingers slip across your skin. Cyrille answered your little shiver by taking his uniform jacket and placed it on your shoulders. 

“Oh,” you realized. “It’s okay.  It’s only because I went after you in such a hurry.  Um…” You cut off as Cyrille knelt before you.  He made you step out of your shoes, and he pulled your sock on properly for you.  Wrapping his fingers softly around your ankles, he guided your feet, one after the other, into your shoes, and laced them up for you.  You stared down at him, noticing how, as he bent down, a strand of his long silver hair slipped forward to graze his cheek, catching against his sharp cheekbone.  Your eyes then naturally fell to his hands, and you admired how swiftly and gracefully his fingers moved as he tied your shoelaces. 

He takes such good care of me, you realized.  He always has.  I know that now. Your heart thumped soundly in your heart.  I want to stay with him, you thought.  No more distance between us.  As soon as Cyrille straightened up, you wrapped your arms around him and buried your face against his chest.  You prayed, to no one in particular, but with all your heart, please, no more distance. 

Cyrille held you against him tenderly, folding his arms in to tuck you into his chest.  My love, seeing you come after me and hold onto me like this, I can see that you trust me fully now.  You’re no longer holding back, and I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.  I desired your trust as much as I desired your love, but I didn’t dare to hope for it.  Unable to express in words the sudden emotions blooming within him, Cyrille instead caught your lips in a sweet, loving kiss. 

“Mm,” you breathed out a tight little sigh of relief.  Your hands slid up and you gripped the back of his shirt tightly.

I see now that I underestimated you, Cyrille thought. Of course you’d decide to get your memories back, my brave, brave girl.  He hugged you harder, lifting you a little in his arms to kiss you deeper.  And now you’ve come back to me.  His lips softly pushed yours apart – “ah,” you panted out – and then your lips slotted together, and you melted into him entirely.

Feeling you soften all over for him, with even your sweet little tongue starting to slip into the kisses, cutely swiping at his tongue to taste him, Cyrille groaned, with his mouth still pressed hotly against yours.  If I had my way, she’d never spend a second away from me, he thought rather possessively.  I’d find ways to keep this little mouth of hers busy with me all the time.  I’d kiss her like this all morning long to make her all soft for me physically, then make her take me in her mouth all day long to make her go all hazy and soft for me mentally – crying a little perhaps, with tears gathering in those beautiful eyes of hers, fuck, wouldn’t that be beautiful?  – and then, as I’m taking her as my girl, feeling her soft pussy fill up with taking my cock, I’d shove my fingers in her mouth and make her sob messily all night long, until she's completely soft all over - body, mind, and soul - for me.  Yes, if she allowed it, Angel would never have a single breath free from me ever again.  Every moment of hers, I’d fill it, I wouldn't leave a single part of her untouched, I'd claim every part of me she'd willingly show me – especially this sweet little mouth of hers at every possible moment.  

The kiss started to get quite heated as Cyrille found his mind spinning into all sorts of fantasies involving you.  You gasped out into his mouth, as he pushed you up against the hallway wall behind you, and he held you there.  You squirmed a little, but he didn’t even seem to notice – well, perhaps he did a little because he suddenly grabbed your neck and held you up tight against the wall – as he made an absolute mess out of your little mouth, kissing you hotly and pushing your mouth open hungrily with his, and then sliding his tongue into your mouth and tangling it with yours in a way that made your thighs shiver and tummy buckle –

At that moment, the sound of footsteps rang out loudly from around the corner.  You froze.  For a second, the only sounds were of the two of you panting – and the footsteps coming closer.

Cyrille cursed lowly.  Grasping your hand tightly in his, he led you to a nearby storage cupboard.  He ripped the door open, you dashed in, and he came in after you, having to duck his head to avoid hitting the top of the doorway given his height.  You reached around him and hurriedly closed the door behind him.

The two of you stood in the darkness, breathing heavily.  You could feel Cyrille’s chest pressing into yours slightly with every breath he took. 

A long moment passed – and finally, the footsteps faded away.  You slumped forward, leaning into Cyrille.  Cyrille put his arm around your waist and he kissed the top of your head.  He murmured, “You’re a bit warmer now, thankfully.”

“Well,” you murmured back, nestling into him, “you warmed me all up, kissing me like that.”

It was true.  You glanced up at Cyrille as you spoke, and he saw how flushed your cheeks were now.  He touched your face lovingly.  He wanted to smile at you, adoring how soft you looked for him now, a bit disheveled and all the lovelier for it, but he couldn’t quite manage it, because he had to tell you, “When I go back tonight…”

You said knowingly, “Yaxley and the others will be waiting for you, won’t they?” 

Cyrille said, “They’re going to question me about why I went up to find you today.  I have to – I have to – keep them from coming after you somehow.”

“Before that,” you pushed back, “you have to keep yourself out of danger.  You can’t give them an excuse to hurt you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about - ”

“I know, but I am.”  You stared up at him with a fierce look in your eyes.  “No more wounds, no more scars, no more threats.  I can’t stand what they’ve done to you already.  If they do anything more, then it’s me who’s going to get involved in - ”

“All right, all right,” Cyrille said hastily.  “But they already suspect my feelings for you, and I’m afraid my rushing over to you tonight – not that I regret it in the slightest – but I’m certain it cemented those suspicions.”

“Lie, then,” you said shamelessly.  “Tell them you heard I was planning to release an article to the student newspaper about my heritage, about how my mother was a ‘false’ pureblood and how my father has therefore broken the sacred lineage and should no longer be counted among the Sacred Twenty-Eight - ”

“None of that’s true - ”

“It doesn’t matter,” you insisted, “as long as it keeps your safe.  I’ll forge a couple of papers, as if I did research on this and drafted a letter to the newspaper.  You can take those and say that you took them from me and made me swear not to publish anything of the sort.”

“But if it comes back to you - ”

“It won’t,” you said confidently.  “As long as it doesn’t actually get published, they won’t come after me.  Because they don’t care about me.  I’m a lost cause.  What they’re really worried about is that your loyalty might be swayed because of my bad influence.”

Cyrille considered this for a moment.  “Bad influence, huh?”

You waggled your finger playfully at him.

Cyrille couldn’t help but chuckle.  Finally, he compromised, “All right.  That’s the story I’ll tell – but no documents.  They can’t have anything tangible on you.”

“But what if it’s not enough?” you said worriedly.  “Having my actual letter would seal the - ”

“No physical documents,” Cyrille replied sternly.  “That’s giving them too much in case they decide to blackmail you later.  I don’t want them to have that option.”

It was your turn to ponder.  But seeing Cyrille’s hard gaze, you nodded, accepting this middle ground. 

Cyrille looked away from you, turning his head slightly to the side.  Your eyes had adjusted somewhat to this dark cupboard, where the only light was a soft pillar of moonlight coming down from a window near the ceiling.  The moonlight struck Cyrille’s face at a sharp angle, and your eyes followed the line tracing his jaw down to his neck…

But then, Cyrille spoke, bringing you back to reality. “I’m sure you know this already, but I may have to keep my distance until I can be sure of your safety.”  His eyes flickered back to you. The silver of his eyes seemed to glimmer slightly in sadness, as he murmured regretfully, “I can’t be seen with you for some time.”

Your mind and heart split in two, as you thought, but I want to be with him. Getting my memories back and realizing that he’s been watching over me all this time– it finally gave me permission to openly care for him.  I’ve wanted to this whole time, but I’ve held back because I was afraid that he wasn’t trustworthy, after all.  However, I can’t risk his safety.  He has to stand in front of all of those dangerous people—and not only Yaxley and the other Slytherins, we could deal with that—but Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Lucius.  They could really hurt him, if they wanted. 

You murmured, a bit tiredly, “Okay, as long as it keeps you safe. That’s really all that matters.”

Cyrille didn’t reply out loud, but you felt his hands slip over your waist and he hugged you tightly.  You rested your head against him again and snuck in little kisses over his chest.  The two of you stayed together in that dim, moonlit cupboard, for a little while longer… before you finally had to separate, with you heading back to Gryffindor Tower and Cyrille to the Slytherin common room in the dungeons. 

Just as the two of you reached the opposite ends of the hallway, however, you realized that you were still wearing his jacket. You hurriedly checked that no one was around before you called out, “Cy!”

Cyrille turned around.

“Your jacket!”

A soft smile spread across Cyrille’s face.  He looked quite handsome, standing there at the end of the hallway, with that sly smirk on his face and his hands in his pockets.  “You keep it,” he replied.  “You wear it better.”  Then, he jerked his head at you, telling you to go.

You turned around and this time, you booked it all the way up to Gryffindor Tower.  There wasn’t any real reason to run, except it made it easier to tear yourself away from Cyrille.  Otherwise, you feared you might stay in that one spot and call out to him forever, just so you could look at him and hear his voice a bit longer.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Pausing before the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, you slipped off Cyrille’s jacket and tucked it carefully under your arm.  Once you entered the common room, you hastily made your way up to your bedroom - only to find Emmeline sitting on your bed, clearly waiting for you.  You quickly shifted the jacket so that you were holding it behind you. 

“Hi, Em,” you said, trying to sound reassuring.

“What’s going on?” Emmeline’s voice was somehow both soft and stern at the same time.  “You were sobbing your heart out, and then Lestrange, of all people, came up here.  Why?  What did that bastard do to you?”

“He didn’t do anything to me.”

Emmeline’s eyes hardened.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you said quickly – too quickly. 

Emmeline stood up and came over to you.  You stepped back, pressing your back against the door to keep Cyrille’s blazer hidden from view.

Frowning at you, Emmeline asked again, “Then what’s going on?”

A wave of regret washed over you.  Em’s my best friend.  She deserves to know.  But the truth is… the wounds are too fresh.  I’ve only just gotten back my memories.  Besides, Cyrille’s secret is intertwined with mine.  I can’t tell anyone the truth of our relationship, in case someone figures out that Cyrille is merely masquerading as one of the Slytherin purebloods who believes in pureblood supremacy. 

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to Emmeline, either.  She’d been nothing but your closest friend since you’d started at Hogwarts.  Besides, you knew that Emmeline had already seen glimpses of your involvement with Cyrille – that was why she had stolen Cyrille’s Transfiguration textbook before, after all. 

You tried to say as much as you could while still keeping Cyrille’s secret.  You confessed, “Em, I know this will be hard to hear and even harder to believe, but… the truth is that I have a crush on Cyrille Lestrange.”

Emmeline’s eyes flashed. 

Your eyes dropped to the floor. “I know it’s insane.  Trust me, I know. But I can’t help myself. I find him… Well…” Your words trailed off a bit lamely.

Emmeline repeated, deeply confused, “You like Lestrange?”

You nodded. 

“Where the hell did this come from?”

What can I say without giving too much away?  You told her, “He’s kinder than I imagined.”

Emmeline said thinly, “I don’t know what you imagined, but if it’s anything like what I imagined, that’s not much.”

“He’s gentle.  Really.  Around him, I can… I think I can find my way home again.” That was the best you could do, without lying and without giving everything away.

But Emmeline’s frown deepened.  “Find your way home? What do you mean? Why were you feeling lost - Wait, you’re not falling for Lestrange because of what happened between you and James - ?”

Suddenly, your eyes flickered up to Emmeline’s.

Emmeline quieted at once.  She stepped back a little and shook her head. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I shouldn’t have said that.  But I’m worried about you, and I don’t know how else to ask you about this.  I mean, Lestrange?”  She bit her lower lip and chewed on it for a second.  Then, she pointed out,  “I don’t even know anything about Lestrange, other than that he’s the leader of that group of Slytherins who think purebloods deserve more than others.”

“Not all of them think that,” you replied. “Do you really think I’d fall for him if they were all like that? If Lestrange were like that?”  Behind your back, you clutched the blazer tightly.  We’re getting too close to Cyrille’s secret.  Please, Em, just trust me on this one. 

“Well, no, I suppose not, but…”  Emmeline’s voice died out.  Finally, she asked point-blank, “Are you and Lestrange together?”

Oh, Em, you thought sadly.  I’m so sorry.  But this is where I have to draw the line.

“No,” you replied, “we’re not.”

Emmeline looked as though she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried about your response.  All she said was, “Okay.  Well, as long as you’re all right.”

“I am. I promise.”

Emmeline nodded, though she still didn’t look convinced.  “Anyways, I’ll go ahead and take the bathroom first, then.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Emmeline went over to her bed, where she picked up the towel and pajamas she had laid out there. She was waiting for me, you realized.  She wanted to speak with me before she went to bed tonight. 

Emmeline walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. You stashed Cyrille’s jacket in your closet, out of sight.  Closing the closet door, you leaned back against it and let out a sigh.  As I thought, every step towards Cyrille is a step away from Emmeline, Hestia, and Amelia, and I’m sure a step away from people like James and his friends, too.  Even if Cyrille is ultimately on the same side as me, it’s a treacherous path for us both, though especially Cyrille.   

You lay down on your bed. You put your hands out on either side of you. Your left hand landed where Cyrille had been sitting beside you tonight, watching over you as you drifted off to sleep, and your right hand landed where Emmeline had been sitting tonight, waiting for you to come back safely. 

Though, I suppose it’s as Cyrille once said, you mused.  For people like him and me, we can’t be fully on one side of the other.  We were born inheriting a certain darkness within us, and so, for us, we cannot simply live in the light.  We have to claw our way towards it, earning it with bloodied hands. People like James and Emmeline will likely never understand that.  No matter how much they might emphasize, protect, or forgive me – they still wouldn’t truly understand.  It’s not their fault, nor is it mine.  It simply is, no matter how painful that truth might be.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Two weeks passed, and slowly, things returned to normal – at least, so it appeared.  You were at dinner with Emmeline, Hestia, and Amelia.  The four of you had always been close friends, but ever since they were dared to kiss each other at the Yule Ball, Hestia and Amelia were dating as well.  Emmeline had been going steady with her boyfriend, Jonathan, for a long time now, of course, but they kept it cool around other people.  As you and Emmeline fast discovered, Hestia and Amelia were decidedly not the type to keep it to themselves.  One minute they were talking to you and Emmeline as usual, the next they were kissing each other furiously, looking as though they were fused together.

You and Emmeline didn’t mind at all because you both knew their personalities so well and were happy to see them together.  Sure, the two of you might subtly roll your eyes at each other if it happened to be the fifth time that day, but it was all in good fun.  It did, unfortunately, bother other people, though.  Even now, as Dirk Cresswell passed by, he scoffed loudly, “Keep it in your pants, Merlin,” to which his friend, Reginald Cattermole, replied humbly, “I s’pse they can’t help themselves.”

Hestia lifted her head (with some effort, as she had to pry her lips away from Amelia) and shouted, “It’s not that I can’t help myself, it’s that I choose to kiss my hot girlfriend!  Take that, you blue-balled twat!”

A little ways down the table, James and the rest of Marauders were sitting together.  When Hestia yelled out, “It’s not that I can’t help myself, it’s that I choose…!”, James turned around to see who was shouting and his eyes happened to meet yours.  His brow furrowed, and his gaze turned strangely intense, as if he was studying you to make sure that you were all right. You quickly reached for your glass of pumpkin juice, giving you an excuse to look down at the table.   

Emmeline chortled and pointed out wisely, “You got angry at the one who tried to defend you, and not the one who told you to keep it in your pants?” 

Hestia paused.  Then, she yelled, even more loudly (for Dirk and Reginald were further down the Great Hall now, having scampered away), “I’m not gonna keep it in my pants, either!  It’s all gonna hang loose as I like, so deal with it!” 

You suddenly spat out your pumpkin juice, for McGonagall suddenly appeared, from seemingly out of nowhere, behind Hestia.  She barked out, “Ms. Jones! What in Merlin’s name are you shouting about?”

Hestia turned pink, but to her credit, she stood her ground.  “Um, sorry you had to hear that, Professor – but not that sorry, because I’m not the one that needs to shut up.”

“Ms. Jones.”

Emmeline shook her head, though you could spot the smile she was holding back by the slight quirk of her lips.  A few seats down, the Marauders were dying of laughter at the spectacle.  Meanwhile, Amelia merely sipped her water, looking as dignified as ever. 

Hestia tried to justify herself.  “Well, y’know, Professor, you can’t let the stuck-ups say whatever they want and have them get away with it, or else they’ll keep going on and on and on and on - !”

“I quite understand,” McGonagall interjected.   

Emmeline had to fake a cough to hide her laugh. 

“Shush,” you hissed under your breath at her, “you’ll get her in trouble.”

Emmeline leaned forward and buried her face against your shoulder.

McGonagall continued sternly, “Be that as it may, you cannot make a racket in the Great Hall.  Please restrain yourself, or I will have to assign some punishment.”

“Yes, Professor,” Hestia said brightly. “I’ll yell at them faster next time, so I won't have to be as loud."

McGonagall opened her mouth to respond.  But, thinking better of it, she simply walked away. 

“Well done, standing up for our love like that.” Amelia playfully reached up and ran her finger along Hestia’s jaw.  “When I see you all fired up for us, it’s… well, I find it rather…”

“Mmpfh!” Amelia’s sentence was never finished, as Hestia grabbed her and kissed her hard on the lips.

“And there she is, letting it all hang loose,” you remarked. 

Emmeline finally laughed out loud again, as she lifted her head from your shoulder and shifted back to her seat. 

You reached over and scooped some fresh strawberries onto your plate.  As you put the first strawberry in your mouth, you found yourself thinking of what Hestia had said – it’s a choice. 

Is it…? you mused.  You thought briefly of James, but you quickly pushed him out of your mind.  A part of you wanted to go speak with him, especially because the last time the two of you talked, you'd sensed how hurt he was that you'd kept your relationship with Cyrille a secret from him, only for him to see the two of you together, all wrapped up in each other. What was more, you knew James had been genuinely concerned for your well-being, to the point that he'd pushed all of the awkwardness between you aside to come talk to you, and you also knew that James had been so confused and worried at your sudden talk about being a pureblood and your memories, when you'd never mentioned those things even once when you had been dating James. But what would I say? It's even riskier talking to James than to Emmeline because James saw more of my and Cyrille's relationship. Besides, James still reads me so easily. No, I can't go speak with him. I wish I could reassure him, the same as I wish I could Emmeline, but there's nothing I can say that wouldn't implicate Cyrille, and protecting Cyrille is the most important thing to me right now. Yes, Cyrille... You slowly peeked over your shoulder, back at the Slytherin table. You scanned the long benches down the row until… You let out a breath.  Cyrille Lestrange. 

Did I choose to love him? you mused vaguely.  And then, your heart swelled with both pain and pride as you realized, Yes, in a way I did, when I chose to get my memories back.  But how far will that choice go?  How far can it go?  We can’t even be together now, at Hogwarts, in case one of us gets hurt.

You squinted a little, trying to catch any subtle signs that Cyrille wasn’t feeling well.  Thankfully, he seems to be all right, at least from what I can tell.  A bit subdued, certainly, but not as tense as I’ve usually seen him after he’s had a difficult time with Bellatrix or the like.

You meant to look away after your quick assessment, but at that moment, Cyrille turned his head to speak to Regulus Black.  You watched as the candlelight danced on Cyrille's silver hair, flashing gently between light and shadow.  He reached out to pick up his glass, and you noticed how his long fingers wrapped around the stem of his glass and how he brought it to his pale, almost bloodless, thin lips.  Then, he swallowed. Without realizing it, you swallowed along with him, even though your strawberry was still caught between your lips.  Just then, Alecto Carrow leaned forward and made a remark.  His sister, Amycus, Yaxley, and a few other Slytherins at the table burst into crude laughter.  The next moment, Cyrille put his glass down. It was a simple move, and yet, everyone quieted at once.  Cyrille kept his gaze on his glass, but somehow, it was as though his entire appearance and energy shifted to a far darker demeanor, one that warned those around him not to cross the line.

You shivered.  His energy flickers so quickly.  In a way, it’s frightening.  But in another way, perhaps because I trust him completely, I find it so very… I don’t know how to say it, exactly, but I feel like it's human instinct to want to grasp at what is transient, to understand that which is ephemeral, and to decipher what appears indecipherable. Even if it’s riskier, or even dangerous, it’s something I want to explore.  And even moreso because it’s Cyrille. As I told him before, I would sink down willingly – with him, and for him.

Emmeline’s voice jolted you back to reality.  “Uh, are you gonna eat that or what?”

Huh? You looked up at her with wide eyes.

Emmeline giggled at your expression.  “Here, I’ll help you.”  She reached out with one finger and pushed the rest of the strawberry into your mouth.  Then, smiling at all of you, she got up from the table, slinging her bookbag over her shoulder.  “I’ve going to go find Jonathan.  I’ll see you all later, okay?”

“Sure,” you said.  “Bye, Em.”

Hestia and Amelia waved Emily off, and then they took off, too, heading to the library.   “We’re going,” Hestia said.  You nodded, and then Hestia paused to clarify to you, “to study.”  Amelia smirked from beside her, and you knew there would be absolutely no studying done between them that evening.  Laughing, you shooed them off.

At the table by yourself now, you pulled out your weekly planner to check what homework you had to do tonight.  As you did, you bit into another strawberry.  Right, Potions essay on Amortentia. It’s not due until next week, but it’ll be a tricky one. Best to start on it a bit early… Your eyes slowly slipped away from the planner, and before you knew it, you were looking over your shoulder again. 

This time, Cyrille was reaching up and adjusting his tie.  It was such a small, normal action, and yet – You breathed out softly.  Mm… All of a sudden, silver eyes flashed across the room and met yours.  You blinked.  Oh, shit.  I didn’t realize I was staring like that.  You hastily put your head down and ate your second strawberry.  As you chewed, you berated yourself.  Get it together.  Of course, it’s been overwhelming to realize, now that I have my memories restored, how Cyrille was watching over me, loving me in secret, this whole time.  And of course it makes me want to run to him and love him right back. 

But I can’t right now, you reminded yourself firmly.  Cyrille has his part to play in whatever chaos is waiting for us outside of Hogwarts. That means he has to keep his disguise up here, within these castle walls, too.  It’s like he said – we can’t be seen together.  And in truth, given the path I’ve chosen and the path he’s chosen and how different they are, we might not even be able to be together after Hogwarts.  I have to come to terms with that reality, and act accordingly.  Having finished your strawberry, you fell forward onto the table, resting your cheek on the weekly planner pages. 

But that’s precisely why this is so difficult, you finally recognized.  Even though we’ve only just come together again , I might have to let him go again soon, very soon.  You shut your eyes tightly. That’s why, despite everything, I want to be with him now.  The past is already gone, and the future is so uncertain.  Your young, naïve heart pleaded, So, can’t it be that while we’re here, in the sanctuary of school, let ourselves be in love again, at least a little? The way we were when we first met, the way we would have been all this time if only I’d remembered it all… Oh, Cy, I’m sorry for all the time I took from us.  I’m sorry, too, that I ever doubted you.  And now I’m scared that it’s me who won’t be able to love you fully.  I’m terrified that it’s my turn to have to watch you from afar.

You opened your eyes, though you kept your head down.  I want to be with him.  I want to love him, and I want… I want to feel loved by him.  Is that such a terrible desire for me to have? Is it really that greedy? That unacceptable? A soft breath fluttered out of your mouth, making the corner of the planner page also flutter.  I want to kiss him, and I want to be kissed by him.  And I want his hands on me, oh yes, please, I want his hands all over me, tracing my cheeks, my lips, my jaw, until maybe they land on my throat and give it a little squeeze… And I want – I want – I – You suddenly sat up, confused as you felt a soft, barely-there warmth starting to pool fuzzily between your thighs.  Oh Godric… You brought your hands up and buried your face in them, as an irrepressible blush spread over your cheeks.  What is wrong with me?  Imagining Cyrille during dinner in the Great Hall!  Springing up, you grabbed your bookbag and planner and hurried out of the Great Hall, going as fast as you possibly could without breaking into a jog.  I’m worse than Hestia and Amelia – way, way worse. 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The castle was never completely quiet, but you’d long since grown accustomed to the nightly noises here.  However, tonight, the quiet hum of the late night in the Gryffindor dormitory room seemed louder than usual, and you couldn’t seem to fall asleep.  Besides, every time you closed your eyes, a pair of silver eyes flashed open in your mind’s eye, haunting you such that you felt restless.  

You heard Emmeline’s blankets rustle as she turned over in her bed.  You looked over and watched her sleeping peacefully for a moment.  With a quiet sigh, you tossed your covers off and slipped out of bed.  Pulling on your sneakers and your favorite oversized cardigan (with one pocket still all lopsided from when Remus had put too many jam jars in it), you made your way out of the room. 

You didn’t quite have a plan in mind, but anything was better than staying in bed and trying to fall asleep when your mind was resisting sleep.  Maybe I’ll sneak down to the kitchens for a spot of tea, you thought.  However, when you came down to the common room, you realized that you were not the only one up at this hour. 

Four boys were gathered before the fireplace, whispering excitedly.  For a moment, you watched all of their different bedheads clashing against one another.  Of course, even amongst this group of messy hair, someone’s hair stood out as the messiest, someone with jet black, messy hair that stuck up in the back…

“Yeah, yeah, and then we can—Merlin’s beard!”  Peter noticed you standing silently at the bottom of the staircase, quietly observing them like a ghost.  He clutched at his chest and blanched.  “I – I thought – No, actually, I don’t even know what I thought.  But you startled me!  Why are you standing there so quietly?  I mean, say ‘hi’ or something!  Announce yourself!”

“Worm, calm down.” Remus shot Peter a soft smile, amused at how much his friend was panicking. 

“She does look kind-of gloomy, though,” Sirius remarked, looking over at you.  “Almost sickly.”

“Sirius, I can hear you,” you sighed.

“Oops, guess it’s not really a ghost,” Sirius fired back, smirking at you now.

You shook your head at him.  Then, looking over at Remus, you considered your options.  Well, I suppose it is a bit of a risk, but… You walked over to the boys and stood in front of Remus.

Since all four boys were kneeling on the rug, poring over some strange-looking map together, Remus had to crane his head back to look up at you.  He swallowed slightly as he found you staring down at him.  “Um, yes…?  Can I help you?”

“Do you know who’s on prefect patrol tonight?”

“Uh, yeah, the Slytherin and Ravenclaw prefects…”

“Okay,” you said softly, “thanks.”  With that, you turned away.

You didn’t look back as you walked over to the door, but somehow, you could feel someone’s gaze lingering on your back.  Your heart tightened a little  - Only then, you heard Peter whisper, “Hey, isn’t that her cardigan that you ruined?”

“What?”

“Yeah, look at the pocket, it’s gone all wonky!  From when Prongs sent you over to do some recon on her - ”

“Worm, will you shut up?” 

As you slipped out the door, Peter and James got into a scuffle. 

“What?  I’m only saying what happen – Ow!  Don’t thump my shoes, Prongs! You know I have weak ankles!”

"Weak ankles, my ass!"

"It's true! Madam Pomfrey - Madam Pomfrey said so - aargh!"

“Then shut your yapper, Worm, for Merlin’s sake - ”

“- Only my granny says ‘yapper’” anymore - ”

Meanwhile, Sirius and Remus were having their own conversation.

“She still wears that thing? Even though it looks like that?”

Remus said, a bit meekly, “I did offer to fix it for her.”  He paused to swipe the map off of the floor right before James and Peter started rolling around on the carpet.  Still feeling guilty, Remus clarified, “Free of charge, of course.”

Sirius snorted.  “Of course it’s free of charge, you idiot.  If you did that to her and then you made money off of her, that’d make you a goddamn swindler, Moony.”

The conversations got all mixed up and the next second, James was yelling at Peter, “Did you just call my granny a swindler?”

“No!” Peter protested, but it was too late. He cried out as James toppled him over onto the carpet for another round of vague tussling. A moment later, Peter's shoe flew through the air, as James finally managed to yank it off of his foot.

By now, you were far away from the warm fires of the Gryffindor common room.  You were shivering slightly from the cold, but you kept going, focused on finding the owner of those haunting silvery eyes that wouldn’t let you sleep tonight. 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

As you neared the Slytherin common room, you found yourself getting nervous.  This is a really terrible idea.  Turn back.  You can still turn back. 

You went a few more steps forward, but then your feet stuttered to a stop.  Oh Merlin, what am I doing?  I can’t do this.  It’ll put Cyrille at risk, and nothing is worth that.  Your hands slowly curled up into fists.  We can’t be seen together.  That’s what we decided. 

Turning around, you trudged your way back up to Gryffindor Tower.  By the time you got back, even the Marauders had gone to bed.  You sat in front of the fireplace, watching the wisps of smoke curl up into the air.  The way the smoke curls up into itself, it reminds of the shape of Cyrille’s serpent tattoo, the one on his back… You sighed and fell back on the couch, pressing your fingers against your eyelids.  Why does everything lately remind me of him?

A strange, shallow sort-of hurt rose up in your heart. I thought I'd be stronger once I got my memories back. But the opposite's happened. I feel more fragile than ever. About my identity. About my own courage. About how much I need Cyrille by my side. It's all... so much. Too much.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Another two weeks passed.  You were starting to develop permanent dark circles under your eyes.  Besides, you swore you were getting a crick in your neck from trying to steal one too many looks at Cyrille during classes and meals.  Meanwhile, Cyrille was, as ever, the master of playing it cool.  Throughout this whole month, he never glanced at you once, in comparison to the hundreds of looks you must’ve thrown his way.

It would all be fine, really it would, if only you could control your own imagination enough to stop fantasizing about him.  That was the part that really drove you mad.  It was those late nights where you swore you could actually feel his strong, if not a bit cold, hands running up and down your sides and then pushing your sweet thighs apart, making you spread your legs for him.  He always knew just how to handle you. A jolt of anticipation would run through you and you would start to get so, so wet.  You’d shift your hips, eager to take him.  You swore he was looking down at you, and while, even in your dream, his eyes remained impossible to read, you would be able to catch, momentarily, that light that hinted at his desire for you.  And by Godric, you’d give all of yourself to him, if only he would finally enter you and give you that rough, fervent pounding you were positively aching for.  You’d swallow hard as you waited, heart bursting with impatience, to feel him start to bully his cock inside of you… Only, it never came. 

Eyes flashing open, you found yourself sweating and all wet between your thighs, but completely alone in bed.  Thankfully, you were quiet throughout all this, other than tossing or turning once or twice in bed, so it didn’t wake up Emmeline. However, you couldn’t get back to sleep after such a dream, and these dreams visited you frequently now.

Still, morning would come, and despite feeling exhausted from lack of sleep, reason would find you with the morning light and help you sort out your thoughts.  You’re going to risk it all just because you feel a little frisky?  Pft, don’t be ridiculous.  You took a shower and got dressed. By then, you were back to feeling like yourself, minus the tiredness.  But come night again, when your mind was too spent to hold onto reason quite as tightly, you’d lapse back into that world of sensations, of falling, of sinking, where pleasure and darkness mixed together in a sinfully sweet manner, and Cyrille was waiting for you there once more. And, despite your best efforts to restrain yourself, you'd doubtlessly find yourself reaching for him in your dreams, and pleading with him, "Please, come drown me. Come sink with me, Cy, my love..."

Fuck, you groaned to yourself as you woke up yet again with your panties soaked and panting hard into your pillow.  Even worse, you’d dreamt of Cyrille kissing you right as he’d whispered in your ear about how he was going to make your tight little pussy take his hard, thick cock as deep as you could possibly take it—and you’d bruised your own lip by accidentally biting on it.

Of all the idiots…! you chided yourself, as you saw your reflection in the mirror that morning.  Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me?  Pull it together.  Frustrated, you slapped water on your face.

Despite everything, though, you were ultimately keeping your distance from Cyrille, not exchanging a single word with him during this time and only ever glancing at him from a distance to make sure that he appeared healthy and safe.  You slowly gained confidence that you were going to be able to control your desires and maintain your distance – until the Potions incident happened.

This past month, Slughorn had been teaching the class about Potions that induced illusions of infatuation or obsession.  Some of these Potions caused drowsiness that made it hard to think clearly until the obsession was cleared, while others caused a sharp focus on only that person, thing, or goal until some action was taken to satisfy that need.  Today, Slughorn was giving his final lesson on this topic and, as a practical guide, he had brewed Amortentia, which he presented before the class.  You happened to be standing nearest to the cauldron when Slughorn unveiled it.  All of a sudden, Cyrille’s scent hit you so hard that you swore you were with him in bed, with your nose buried against the sweet hollow between his shoulder and neck.  Your hand whipped to your nose and you sputtered out a cough as you covered your nose as quickly as you could.  Surprised, Slughorn chortled and bellowed heartily, “First time I’ve ever seen a negative reaction.  Perhaps we’ve finally found someone immune to Amortentia!”  The class twittered, as everyone picked up on the fact that you had cupped your hand over your nose and mouth.

“What?  Does your crush not shower?” someone yelled out jokingly – and the class burst into laughter.

You dropped your hand away from your nose and you rolled your eyes at the class, trying to play it off. 

However, once class ended and lunch break began, you raced up to your room and, pulling Cyrille’s jacket (which you still had from when he’d draped it around your shoulders last time) out of your closet, you buried your face in it.  Toppling over onto your bed, you rubbed your pussy furiously and then fucked yourself hard with your fingers, filling your pussy as much as you could with your own fingers, imagining that it was Cyrille doing this for you, though you knew you could never copy how wonderfully he touched you.  Still, you came within minutes.  Hair plastered to your forehead with sweat and huffing heavily, you bleated out pitifully, “Cy…” as you clutched onto the jacket.  I’ve lost it, you thought to yourself.  I’ve lost it entirely. 

Just then, you heard footsteps coming up the stairs.  You hurriedly got up and ran into the bathroom right as Emmeline came in. 

Hearing the door close, Emmeline called your name.

“Here!  In the bathroom,” you called back, trying to hide the fact that you were out-of-breath.

“Want to head down to lunch together?”

“Mhm!” you replied, while you hurriedly splashed water on your face. “Sounds good!  Just give me a moment, and I’ll be ready.”  You clutched the sides of the basin and stared at the water swirling down the sink.  This is unbearable, you realized.  I thought I was managing it, and I know how silly I’m being, but I’m barely hanging on here.  Cy, I need you… Don’t you need me?  It’s not that I want you to slip up or risk anything, but… Why don’t you ever look at me? Not even once… Don’t you ever dream of me, too?

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

At the Great Hall entrance, you and Emmeline waited for a group of Slytherin girls to enter before you.  You recognized Selene Selwyn among them.   Your gaze landed on her.  The same Slytherin jacket as Cyrille’s.  Well, obviously.  Hm…  An altogether foolish idea began to brew in your mind.

As soon as you and Emmeline sat down with Hestia and Amelia, you turned to Amelia.  “You’re good at Human Transfiguration, aren’t you?”

Amelia answered in her trademark, measured tone, “Only the witches and witches most accomplished in Transfiguration are comfortable with Human Transfiguration - ”

“Yes, but you were one of the only ones who could do it in class, remember?”

“I mean, yes, simple stuff: hair color, eyebrow shape - ”

“Perfect!” you said excitedly.  “Could you help me out, then?  Just to tweak a few things - ”

Amelia gave you a confused smile. “If you want a free haircut, you’ve got the wrong woman.”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” you replied.  “I just wasn’t able to cast any of those spells successfully that day in class and I’ve been practicing, but it isn’t clicking.  I reckon if I can see you do it on me, it might help me figure it out.”

Hestia and Emmeline gave you highly skeptical expressions, but they remained silent.  Amelia shrugged and said coolly,  “All right, I’ll do what I can.”

“Thanks." You beamed at her. “This will be great.  Really.  Yeah.  Really, really great.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

After lunch, you had Charms class with the Slytherins.  You risked sitting closer to Cyrille than usual, taking the seat in the row right behind him and one seat down to the right.  You angled yourself so you could look at Cyrille while appearing to pay attention. 

You wondered if Cyrille might spare you a quick glance now, but he still didn’t seem to notice you.  On the other hand, it was hard to tell for certain, as his silver hair cascaded down his shoulder, hiding his face from you.

Everything about him is always so elusive, you thought.  Remembering my past means I can fully trust him, but it hasn’t helped me one bit in reading him in the present.  I suppose he will always remain a mystery to me in that sense, my serpent prince… But that’s all right.  I wouldn’t mind spending my time trying to decipher him – his moods, his thoughts, his heart… No, I don’t suppose I’d mind that at all.

Just then, McGonagall called your name.  You jolted, surprised.  “Um… What was that, Professor?”

McGonagall looked at you beadily. “This is the basis for the exceptions of what law?”

“Right, uh, that would be…” You took a wild guess.  “Gamp’s?”

There was a pause.  Judging from the surprised looks on everyone’s faces, you were either correct or wildly wrong.

“Well,” McGonagall said thinly, “you had a one in five chance of picking the right name and you picked correctly, so I suppose I will award Gryffindor five House Points for sheer dumb luck.  But pay attention now.  I mean it.  I’ll be asking you a question you can’t merely guess at next.”

“Yes, Professor,” you said meekly.  You started to put your head down in shame—and at that moment, you swore you heard a soft chuckle, disguised as a cough, coming from Cyrille.  You glanced over at him hopefully.  He still wasn’t looking at you and was instead dutifully reading his textbook – or so it appeared.  As he turned a page, his hair fluttered softly, and for a moment, you caught sight of his lips, and you realized that he was smirking ever so slightly.  You smiled. That moment, for you, sealed your resolve for your scheme tonight. 

Clunk. Someone behind you kicked the leg of your chair.  You looked over your shoulder to see Emmeline lifting her eyebrow at you.  You blushed and looked back down at your textbook.  I guess I wasn’t as discrete as I thought.  That, or… You thought wryly to yourself, as you felt Emmeline’s stare bore into the back of your head, my best friend is eagle-eyed and really protective over me…

At the end of class, Emmeline got up quickly. 

“Em - ?”

When she walked right past you, you hesitated, confused.  Then, your eyes widened as you saw her screech to a stop right before Cyrille.

Emmeline tossed out coolly, “Lestrange.”

Cyrille slowly looked up at her.  He chose not to respond for a long, stretched-out moment. 

Then, just as Emmeline started to get irritated and speak again, Cyrille cut her off. In a calm, quiet voice, he said, “Yes?  How can I help you – Who are you again?” 

“It’s Vance,” Emmeline snapped.

Cyrille smirked softly.  He’d successfully torn away Emmeline’s attempt at playing it cool with one, simple tactic of controlling the silence.  He stood up, then, and he was suddenly towering over her.  Staring down at her, he repeated in the same, quiet tone, “How can I help you, Vance?”

Emmeline stared back at him resolutely, not deterred by him at all – or at least, she was doing an excellent job of hiding it if she was.  It would have worked on anyone—or rather, anyone other than Cyrille.

By now, you’d grabbed your bookbag and ran over to them both.  Cyrille barely, almost imperceptibly, flinched, but he managed to keep from looking at you and instead continued to stare down Emmeline.

“Em!” you called breathlessly.  “What are you doing?” You grabbed her arm and started to tug her away at once, while continuing to babble, “We should head down to - !”

Emmeline grabbed your arm back, stopping you.  Holding you in place, she looked Cyrille up and down once and then asked, “On a scale of one to ten, how much of an asshole would you say you are?  And be careful with your answer.  If it’s anything over two, I’ll have to blow your head off.”

Students around the three of you began to twitter.  But all Cyrille did was murmur, in a rather amused voice, “Did you practice that one in the mirror, Vance?”

Ignoring his condescending tone, Emmeline continued, “Oh, but if it’s less than two, I’ll assume you have no humility and also have to blow your head off.” 

Cyrille said wryly, “That doesn’t leave me much of a choice, does it?”

Emmeline’s eyes narrowed as she retorted impressively, “No, it really doesn’t, you know.”  She glanced down at her hand, and all three of you saw that she had her wand out.

“Em!”  You managed to yank your arm out of her grasp and this time, you grabbed her hand, clasping your palm tightly over hers to sandwich her wand between your hands.  You yanked her right out of the room, muttering furiously to her, “Merlin, this is so unnecessary!”

You didn’t let go of Emmeline until you were both far down the hallway.  You grumbled the whole way, saying, “What’s gotten into you?  Are you sick?  Or have you joined a gang in your spare time, to come up with a line like that?  For Godric’s sake!  I could have died from secondhand embarrassment, watching the two of you in that strange-as-all-hell stand-off.  And anyways, what in the world made you go after him like that in the first place?”

Emmeline hadn’t said anything this whole time, but finally, she said, “Because.”

You stopped and turned to her, letting go of her at last.  “Because what?”

After stowing her wand away in her robe, Emmeline crossed her arms over her chest.  “Listen, two things are obvious to me here,” she stated firmly. “First, it’s obvious to me that you don’t want me to pry about whatever is going on with you and Lestrange.”  You started to speak, but Emmeline held up her hand to stop you.  She continued, “Fine, I’ll leave it be, even though it bothers me, since I’m supposed to be your best friend - ”

“You – You are, of course you are,” you said, suddenly feeling ashamed of yourself.

“Second, it’s obvious to me that this isn’t just some simple crush.”

“What?” You stared at her with a furrowed brow.  How does she know that?

“I’ve caught you staring at him for a while now.  That’s why I took his Transfiguration book from him, remember?”

“That was ages ago,” you said, trying to distract her.

But Emmeline was not easily distracted.  “It’s more than that.  That day when Yaxley caught us going into the Great Hall and stopped us to tell you that Lestrange was betrothed to Selwyn…”

“That – That was nothing.”

“And the way you looked when you told me you liked him. You said it was a crush, but it's more than that.” She looked at you knowingly. “You really like Lestrange.” 

Rather hoarsely, you mumbled, “Um…”

“I don’t need to hear you say it or justify it to me.  It just is.  I can tell.”

“How can you just ‘tell’ with these things…?” you began, but you sighed and gave up, falling silent instead.  She’s right, on all accounts.  Merlin, she knows me really well.  And she notices what I notice.  She’s really such an amazing friend.

Emmeline continued, “And Lestrange isn’t exactly staying away from you, is he?”

You tried to let your anxiety or confusion show at these words, but you thought, What do you mean?  That’s exactly what he’s doing.

Emmeline recalled, “That handprint I saw on you…”

You flushed.  Oh…

“And the way he ran up to you the other night.  I mean, Lestrange running through the Gryffindor common room like that shocked everyone.” 

You remained silent, still trying to control your expression. 

Emmeline sighed.  “But like I said, you don’t want to talk about it with me.  So, the only option is for me to go to him, right?  I can’t pressure you, and I can’t tell you not to care about him.  So, all I can do is make sure he cares about you – or cares about his safety enough to care about you.”  She shrugged.  “That’s all there is to it.”

You stared at Emmeline, as a wave of realization crashed over you.  Oh, I get it. This is your way of protecting me.  You hugged Emmeline quite suddenly.  I wish I could tell you everything.  You’d know then that you don’t have to worry about him hurting me, ever. 

You said to her, “All right.  I understand, I do.  Thank you.”

Emmeline sighed.  “If you really mean that, will you tell me about all this someday?  I really hate being kept in the dark, you know.”

“Yeah, I will someday,” you replied. “I promise.”  It was a heavier promise than Emmeline knew, but it was the least you could do.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Your last class that day was Herbology, down at the greenhouses.  After class, you pretended to have to double back to grab your textbook.  In fact, you ran over to the Quidditch shed (which you were quite familiar with given how many times you’d been in there with James).  Opening the cabinet housing all of emergency clothing, you stuffed an extra Slytherin skirt into your bookbag. 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

That evening, Amelia helped to transform some of your features.  She first turned your unruly curls into a sleek, blonde mane.  Once your hair was straightened, it fell to your waist.  She made your eyebrows match in color.  Then, she performed a tricky bit of magic that slightly changed the shape of your cheeks and the space between your forehead.  She even tried to change your eye color, but that proved to be too complex, even for Amelia, so your eye color ended up a somewhat strange, muddy hazel-brown instead of the green you were originally going for. 

It doesn’t matter, you thought, as long as I can blend in with the other Slytherins and I don’t look too much like myself. 

“You want a beard, too?” Amelia lifted her wand again. “I know I can do that.”

“No thanks,” you said hastily.

Amelia shook her head.  “This is so strange.  I don’t even feel like I’m talking to you.”

Oh, perfect, you thought.  “Well, thanks.  This was really helpful.”

“And you know how to undo it all, right? It's just a single, simple Vanishing spell. But if you need me to teach it to you, I can.”

"I know it. Thanks."

“Okay, well, I’m off,” Amelia said.  “Call me when you want that beard.”

You laughed.  “All right, then, I owe you one.”

Amelia left, as Hestia was waiting for her.  Emmeline was already gone; she was out with Jonathan tonight.  It’s like the stars have aligned, you thought to yourself, feeling giddy now. 

You pulled on the Slytherin skirt and Cyrille’s jacket.  There, a Slytherin student disguise.  You stood in front of the mirror, both fascinated and unsettled by what you were seeing.  All right.  Here goes nothing.  Only remember, any risk of being recognized, especially by Yaxley or any of his group – and you’re out.  It’s not worth risking Cyrille’s safety for this. 

You draped your cloak around yourself and grabbed your Transfiguration textbook off your desk.  As you stepped out of your room, McGonagall’s words rang out in your mind: “Sheer dumb luck.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

After leaving your cloak stashed in the same storage cupboard that you and Cyrille had hidden in before, you headed for the Great Hall. From there, you tailed a group of Slytherin second years back to their common room.  You thought nervously, I hope Cyrille is in the common room.  If not, I don’t have much time to look around. 

Keeping your head down, you swept your gaze over the room.  Your heart sank when you realized Cyrille wasn’t there.  You backed away into a far corner and quietly took up residence on a solitary chair.  Hiding your face behind your long hair, you pretended to read your textbook. 

The minutes ticked by.  You started to get a bit antsy, as you noticed a few of the older students look at you confusedly, for you seemed to be their year and yet they couldn’t recognize you.

That’s it.  With a sigh, you closed the book and got up from the chair.  You strode towards the entrance as quickly as you could.  You kept your head down the entire time and therefore, you didn’t realize that a group of people were coming through the doorway just then –

“Oof!”  You ran smack into someone’s chest.  Your textbook fell out of your hand and onto the floor.

“Apologies.” 

As soon as that sleek, silvery voice hit your ears, you looked up in amazement.  You hardly dared to hope, and yet, sure enough, your gaze fell onto the one person you wanted to see most. 

Cyrille glanced down disinterestedly at you.  However, he paused in puzzlement when he realized he didn’t know who you were, despite your Slytherin student uniform.  And then, his brow creased in utter confusion, even wariness, when he noticed that your blazer was far too big for you.  Finally, he saw the way your eyes lit up upon seeing him.

No, Cyrille thought, as he inhaled sharply.  I’ve gone insane.  I’m certain I’ve gone mad. 

“Lestrange, get out of the fucking way,” Yaxley muttered behind him.  “We’re trying to get in.”

Cyrille stepped aside, and six other Slytherins came into the common room.  None of them shot you a second look, thankfully.  You quickly stepped aside as well, hiding a bit behind Cyrille as the other Slytherins came in.  As you stepped away, your foot nudged against the textbook you’d dropped.  You started to bend down, to pick it up, only Cyrille beat you to it.  Kneeling down, he picked up the book and started to hand it back to you when he noticed the title - Transfiguration… Still kneeling, he paused.  It can’t be, he thought to himself. She wouldn’t. 

You put your hand out and Cyrille saw that you were wearing a silver chain bracelet, looped around your wrist several times.  Then, you discretely turned your hand over and Cyrille saw, nestled in your palm, his family crest in the raven pendant, which he had given to you to wear for the Yule Ball.  That’s my necklace, he realized, wrapped around her wrist.

Cyrille’s mind went completely blank.  And then—the nail in the coffin—Cyrille heard you whisper, in your lovely, sweet voice, “Thank you very much.”

Astonished, Cyrille jerked his head up to see your face again.  He literally felt as if you’d punched all the air out of his chest as he saw your lips form the words, “Long time, no…Cy?”

Cyrille would have thought your play on words was cute - if he wasn't too busy thinking that you were absolutely crazy. Heart pounding furiously against his chest, he quickly looked to see where his fellow Slytherins had gone.  They were all disappearing up the staircase, heading to their rooms.  Trying very hard to sound completely calm, he said to you, “If you would follow me, please.” 

You didn’t dare speak as Cyrille led you out of the common room and down the long hallway.  After a few minutes of hasty walking, he stopped and abruptly pulled away a hanging tapestry to reveal a secret door.  He yanked the door open, and you stepped inside of it.  He followed you and, once inside, he pulled out his wand and tapped it twice on the doorknob, muttering in quick succession, “Collorportus.  Muffliato.”

The dungeons were below the surface water level of the Great Lake and as this room faced the Great Lake and had one wall comprised entirely of glass, it gave a spectacular view of the underwater world of the Great Lake. Since it was late into the evening, the water was a dark, muddy green, and the light barely filtered through.  As the long seaweed swayed in the current, the silhouettes in the room swayed too, like trees in the wind or synchronized dancers clothed in dark silk.

For a moment, you stood in awe at the sight. You’d always loved being underwater.  You often went down to the Great Lake for a swim when the weather was warm enough.  But it wasn’t really that you enjoyed swimming – rather, you simply liked to float in the water, suspended in a space that took your weight away for you, even if it came at the cost of also taking away your breath…

“Angel, what on earth are you thinking? And why do you look like that?”

“It takes my breath away,” you murmured, still entranced with the play of light and shadows dancing all across this strange room.

Cyrille paused, confused.   “What?”

“Being in this room.  Being underwater like this.”  You turned back to look at Cyrille.  “You as well, Lestrange.  You take my breath away, too.”  You reached your hand out to him, even though he was standing too far away for you to touch.  The necklace was still wrapped around your wrist, and the Lestrange crest pendant dangled below your wrist. “I’m so glad to see you’re not hurt.  At least, I think you’re not hurt.  Tell me if I’m wrong.  Tell me everything that’s happened to you since we’ve started pretending to be strangers again - ” Your voice caught, and you fell silent.

“Are you hurt?” Cyrille asked you urgently.  “Or has something with your memories - ?”

“No,” you said quickly.  “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then…?”

You were quiet for a beat.  Then, you repeated, “Then…" and finished in a soft, wanting voice, "I suppose I’m here… by choice.”

You paused. Why did I sound so sad there? I meant to sound strong, affirmative. I meant to sound like I came because I was strong enough to take the risk, but it just sounded like... I need him. You opened your mouth, trying to think of what to say to make it better, but... You slowly bit down on your lower lip, remaining silent, shamefully silent.

For a moment, that long, haunting silence stretched out between you.  Cyrille didn’t react to you at all, only gazed at you, despite the fact that you were stretching your hand out to him so far that your fingers were trembling. 

Always masterful at appearing detached (and therefore in control), Cyrille appeared so now. But in truth, as he stared at you, Cyrille was remembering that day he’d run into you under the willow tree by the Great Lake.  You’d left behind your Transfiguration textbook in class, so Cyrille followed you to return your book to you.  It had taken him some time, as he’d had to slip away from his Slytherin classmates and then locate you, but he’d managed.  Only, while Cyrille found your book bag under the tree, he couldn't seem to find you.  He slipped your textbook in your bag, and then, he waited, nervous about whether something had happened to you.  And then – Splash!  You burst out of the Great Lake, gasping for breath, with lake water streaming down your entire body.  Your eyes flashed open, glimmering brightly in the daylight and so full of life… Cyrille's heart thrummed furiously in his chest. Only, you’d taken your book bag and left at once, clearly wanting nothing to do with him.  And Cyrille had held back, watching you go silently.  What did you expect? he’d told himself harshly.  You fool. She’s with Potter now.  And even if she wasn’t, she doesn’t even remember you.  And she's happier that way. So, leave it be.  He’d slumped down against the tree for a moment, and then, unable to help himself, he slowly walked over to the edge of the lake and stretching his hand out, he let his fingers just graze over the water, barely touching it… She was… so beautiful.  It’s so cruel that she doesn’t remember me, and yet, she’s as beautiful as ever. 

That night, Cyrille found himself dreaming of how he might meet you again in that very moment, right as you came out of the water, and how, if you agreed to it, he’d whisk you away, so that you’d find yourself underneath him, still wet, in his bed.  He’d rip your soaked clothes off of you and then touch your slick, shapely body all over, until his hands had memorized you completely.  And then he’d waste no time at all in taking you, thrusting his cock deep inside you, making the water droplets still clinging to your thighs fly off, as he gave himself to you in the only way he knew how - this sinful, carnal way, but he'd do his best for you, yes, he would. You’d gasp for him, the same way you’d gasped coming out of the water... Now, Cyrille swallowed thickly as he realized, Here’s Angel, standing before me. Remembering me. Asking for me. And she’s even more beautiful now, somehow.

Of course, you didn’t have a clue what Cyrille was thinking about.  But you, too, took this moment to gaze at him and watch the strange, underwater light play across his cold, beautiful face.  Standing at a distance from him, he seems almost inhuman.  As if he were a siren. You shivered a little as your mind whispered warningly to you, don’t you see?  Cyrille Lestrange is always masquerading before you – serpent, devil, guardian angel, and now, siren.  He can’t help it.  It’s not in his nature to be comprehended as human.  No, the last thing he is, the last thing he can be – is a man.

Still, you tried again.  If I can't read him, I'll try to reach him. “Cyrille,” you whispered in a tight, almost scared voice, “you are okay, aren’t you?”  You finally brought your hands together and clutched the raven pendant tightly in your hands.  “I stayed away from you, as you asked, to keep you safe.  I hope it worked.  Because I’ve been slowly losing my mind by myself, worrying about you, missing you – Oh Godric, I know how stupid it is to come find you like this, I do, I swear, but I miss you, even if you didn’t miss me - ”

Cyrille, who was still standing at the door, suddenly crossed the distance between you in hurried steps. The next second, his lips crashed into yours, and all at once, you were able to breathe again.  But it was only for a sliver of a second, because Cyrille kissed you so hungrily that he pushed the breath right back out of you.  You stumbled backwards. Cyrille followed you, not letting you part one inch from him.  You sensed in him a strong, furious intention to devour you.  Something in you sparked alive, responding to his intense energy, and you trembled.

Cyrille drew away from you, panting as he did.  Your eyes flashed open in surprise as you felt him leave you.  The intense, thrumming energy disappeared as quickly as you came.  And you needed it back.  You panted, “Is – Is something wrong?”

“You tell me.”  Cyrille frowned as he pushed his thumb down against your lower lip.  “You don’t look like you, angel, except for this mouth of yours.”  He dragged his thumb side-to-side over your mouth.  “Yes, these are your lips, all right, asking to be kissed and claimed – fuck,” he growled, and he kissed you again.

But this time, after another heated minute of kissing, Cyrille whispered furiously, “You damn near killed me, you know.  I tell you to stay away from me and you plant yourself in the fucking Slytherin common room, of all places.  I swear my heart stopped in that moment, stopped cold.  How could you?” Not even waiting for an answer, he kissed you once more, feverishly claiming your mouth - the only thing that still looked completely like you - as his. He slid his hand across the back of your neck.

“But I had a p-plan and a – a disguise - ” you bleated out pitifully between kisses.

“You think that’s enough, do you? You foolish, troublesome little thing,” Cyrille growled, gripping the back of your neck quite tightly now.  “You think it wasn’t evident within two seconds that it wasn’t some Slytherin pureblood after all, but a headstrong Gryffindor – No, worse – a stupid, soft, little angel, trembling all over and looking at me like she’d finally found her paradise – I told you to keep your halo hidden, angel, and you let it form right over your head in the middle of the goddamn Slytherin common room - ”

“I was only – only h-happy to see you,” you huffed out – and then, “Mmmmm,” you moaned lowly as Cyrille took your sweet little mouth as his again.

Another minute flew by, where all the two of you were doing were pressing yourselves up against each other as much as you could and kissing, kissing, kissing – mouths pressed hotly, sweetly, feverishly, wetly against each other – Your mind blurred so sweetly into one, beautiful hum.  You were floating.  You were in heaven.  You were underwater.  It didn’t matter, really.  You were with Cyrille, and even being in heaven or underwater were poor substitutes for how he made you feel.

Still, Cyrille seemed to have some point he was determined to make, as he berated you, while biting harshly on your lower lip, “Don’t you see?  That’s how you rendered this entire disguise utterly useless.”

“Nngh,” you panted, feeling his teeth sink into your soft lip.

“You think anyone in that miserable room is happy to see me?" Cyrille questioned you. "You think anyone in this entire castle would be happy to see me?"

“Yes,” you mumbled back, still pressing your lips against his while you ran your hands happily all over his chest and shoulders and then ran your fingers through his long, silky hair. “So… happy – mm – to see you, Cy.”

Cyrille scoffed.  “You can throw on a thousand disguises, angel, but you have to realize that you are the exception.  Don’t you understand yet?  You are my one and only.  And you have always stood out – a rose among throngs, an angel among devils, a belligerent little brat among submissives.  So, why on earth would you think any disguise, let alone a flimsy one like this, would succeed?”

Cyrille was scolding you in no uncertain terms, and yet, you were so utterly thrilled to be back in his arms that you barely took it in.  You were already completely lost in him.  You felt a tremendous wave of relief crash into you at being with him again, after an entire month of his haunting you, but never actually being there – never touching you, never speaking to you, never even meeting your eyes.   That he was here now, that you could feel him against you and take in his scent and warmth and hear the pleasant buzzing of his voice sink into your ears, even if they were rather harsh words –Oh, Cy, I’ve missed you so.  I know it was risky and foolish to come see you, but all I can think right now is – How did I even last so long without you?

“Angel,” Cyrille growled, his lips still pressed hard against yours, “I’ll ask you again – what the hell were you thinking?”  He paused to rain a flurry of kisses all over your sweet, blushing face before he scolded you again, “If something had happened to you, you should have called for me in other ways – sending a letter, asking the Gryffindor prefect to come find me – you know I’d be by your side in a heartbeat.  Why did you risk coming into territory where you could have been hurt if you were found out?”

“Don’t you know by now? Didn’t I answer this question when I got back my memories?” you murmured, as you wrapped your arms around Cyrille’s shoulders tightly.  “I’m not complete without you, and I will always find my way back to you. There’s no other way for me to be.  If you don’t get that, then I think you’re the – what did you call me? – the foolish, troublesome little thing here.”  Then, you drew him to you at the same time that you leaned forward, and you kissed him desperately.  The way you kissed him now, your kiss was nothing short of the act of baring your soul for him.  And Cyrille could feel it, try as he might to hold onto logic and make you see sense.  He could feel your shivering little body against him, trembling like the first newborn lonely leaf of spring, still exposed to the last of harsh winter winds. 

Cyrille knew he had to stay grounded, that he had to steady you and shield you and yet - “Uhn, fuck,” he gasped into your mouth.  “Angel, you’re going to drive me – drive me absolutely insane like this - ”

“Mm, yes,” you breathed out.  “Join me.”  You got onto tiptoe to kiss him even deeper, and you whispered, “Fall into madness with me.  It’s all I’ve been feeling this past month, anyways.”

Cyrille attempted to hold onto the last shred of sanity in his mind, and he gripped your waist quite tightly, as he reminded you, “But I told you – quite clearly, I thought - that I couldn’t be seen with you if I wanted to protect you.  You don’t still doubt, do you, that I’m yours?”  He cut off, however, as you collapsed into him entirely. 

Hugging him tightly, you both fell back against the door.  “I know you’re mine,” you replied sweetly.  “I will never doubt that again.  But don’t you understand that that’s only half of the equation?  I also need to be made yours, need to be reminded that I’m yours.  And I want to feel it.  I want to feel it from you, until our physical bodies can be as sure as our hearts that we are each other’s.” 

Still pressed against him, with you holding him against the door, you grasped Cyrille’s hands and guided him so that he was touching you all over, running his beautiful hands all over your figure—your hips, your waist, your breasts, your chest—making you feel beautiful too. 

Cyrille let out a hard breath.  Fuck, feeling Angel again, right under my hands.  Her sweet little figure, all to myself.  Oh Merlin, I’m going to lose it.  I can’t – when she’s like this – I can’t seem to – to –

Looking up at him with that same adoring gaze you’d given him in the common room, you whispered, “Do you see now?  Yes, you protected me, my love, and I hope I protected you, too.  But still, you made me ache.  You made me ache all over, Lestrange.”

“Don’t call me that - ”

But you kept going, telling him with your smart little mouth, “You have to take responsibility for that too, you know, Lestrange.”

Cyrille gripped the front of your blazer tightly and yanked you around, switching places with you.  All at once, you were the one pressed up against the door.  He said in a low, harsh voice, “So, this is how you play it? You must think I’m so easy, angel. You think that if you come waltzing over to my domain, treating my jacket as a silly little costume, dangling that pendant bearing my family crest before me like a toy, I’d drop everything and give you what you want, is that it?”

“I didn’t think that,” you said honestly.  “But…” You reached down and took his hand in yours.  You lifted his hand up to your mouth and kissed it, all along his fingertips and then, bending your head a little, you kissed all the way down to his palm. As you carried on this small act of worshipping him, you confessed, “I hoped.”

Cyrille’s eyes widened.  He let out a soft hiss.  Fuck.  If this is her playing me, I’m afraid she’s got me wrapped around her little finger.  I did drop everything to follow her, and I’d let everything go to flames as long as it meant staying with her a little longer now… And if it’s not her playing me, if she really means that, then – then in some ways it’s even worse.  She’ll break my fucking heart, loving me like this, asking for me like this.  No matter how much my submissives may have begged for me, it doesn’t even compare.  Not even close.  No one could ever, ever come close to the woman standing before me now.

Cyrille gripped your waist so tightly his nails dug into you a little.  Surprised, you let go of his hand and dropped back against the door, letting out a soft lilting, “ah…” as you felt his fingers imprint on you.

Cyrille traced your body, from your hips all the way up, sliding his hand between your breasts and over your chest, to your throat… His fingers flexed for a second, just a second – you stilled at once, and, lifting your head back up, you looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, already rendered helpless from want of him.

The shifting water outside cast dancing shadows on your disguised face… Cyrille frowned a little.  But then your voice, your voice, sounded out again, all sweet and raspy – “Do you want to go ahead and choke me? Because you can if you want," you assured him. "I promise you, this throat is all yours.”

Cyrille tried to calm his breathing.  You were supposed to pant, yes, but not him.  However, he was barely controlling himself.  Seeing your lovely little throat, already under his hand, and seeing your pretty lips parting to give him that sweet, sweet permission that he desperately craved from you, an intense thrum ran all throughout his body, spreading even to his fingertips, already poised around your neck and itching to squeeze.  Cyrille swallowed thickly, and, though neither of you noticed at that precise moment, his cock began to stiffen quickly in his pants. 

But, as always, Cyrille forced himself to find some semblance of restraint – because, even as his blood pulsed heavily at the thought of claiming you, still, he was terrified that he might do something you wouldn’t like or—his worst fear—that might hurt you.  Ignoring your sweet little words telling him that it was okay to choke you, which mingled with the devilish, serpentine voices in his head whispering that he should take you now and possess you, bully you, make you cry a little, Cyrille whispered hoarsely, “Angel, what do you really want from me tonight?  Tell me clearly and tell me quickly.”  He let out a harsh breath as he confessed, “If you’re still recovering from your memories, if you need time, I can give you that.  I can be gentle, if that’s what you want. But I must admit, I’m…”  Cyrille suddenly blurted out, in a voice that was strange even to his own ears, in a voice that almost needy, “I’m – I’m falling apart at your hands.  You coming to me like this, saying such things… You’re actually driving me insane.  So, you have to be clear what you want from me or else I just – I might take it all from you tonight.” 

Inside his mind, Cyrille wondered desperately – If Angel knew how many times I’ve hallucinated her, dreamt of her, prayed to dream of her… How I’ve spent every moment where I’m not masking to beg the world to bring us together again… If she knew, then she might have a glimpse into how intense this all is for me right now.  It’s as if I’ve lived my entire life behind the strongest castle walls and then, all of a sudden, one day, an angel barrels through them all and asks me if I’d like to be freed.  Of course I would say yes, but isn’t it only natural, only human, to be afraid of such sudden, pure happiness?  I’m afraid now that I might respond poorly to you and disappoint you somehow, and you’ll disappear just as suddenly and unexpectedly as you’ve appeared before me… Tell me how to love you without losing you, I beg you.   

You reached out and grasped his tie in your trembling hands.  Tugging at it, you said, “Everything you want to do, I want to take. Just look at me. Please. Look… at me.”  Your tone started off reassuring, but somehow fell into pleading, and then, fell even further into pure, bleeding, blossoming vulnerability. A strong sense of sorrow wove into your words. To your own surprise, your eyes began to blur with tears.

Cyrille’s eyes flashed fiercely between shadow and light, possessiveness and protectiveness, and love and sorrow as he watched you.  A part of him ached deeply to see you cry before him like this – not from overwhelming pleasure, but from the absence of it.  And yet, seeing you cry for him while asking him for the simplest little thing as though you were daring to ask him to bring you the sun, it made Cyrille realize that you were in the same state of desperate need that he was.  Yes, here’s my angel, standing before me, dripping all over with the need to be adored, cherished, loved… and taken.  Saying such a simple request to me as though it’s costing her everything, I see so plainly that she needs to be with me tonight and reminded that she belongs to me.   His entire body throbbed hotly for you, as he decided, with a great sense of relief, I can give her that. But your words confused him a little, so he asked you, “Why is that what you ask of me? I am looking at you. I am always looking at you, angel.  Don’t you know that by now?”

Tears glimmered softly in your eyes, as you murmured back, “I… don’t think so…” 

Cyrille’s heart panged again.  A confusing, but deepening, hurt was slowly growing within him.  His duty to protect you, which he had been adhering to strictly and in secret, had been a difficult, but stable thing all these years.  It was hard for him to recognize, let alone know how to respond to, the idea that his way of protecting you might also be causing you some type of pain.  As it was, he couldn’t recognize it now, but it made him feel shakier than usual.  What was more, it hurt his pride to see you this way.  Because Cyrille desired to give you everything you wished for—after all, your wish was his command.  To see you reaching for him and begging for him just to look at you, even as it made him taut all over with desire for you, it also made him feel deeply guilty.  How much have I neglected my beloved, that this is all she asks me for? 

Trying to center himself, to hold onto his dominant persona, which seemed to fly out the window so easily when he was with you, Cyrille reached up and adjusted his tie, though it had been resting perfectly fine this entire time.  In a rather raspy voice, he murmured, “Very well.  Then be still.  Until you can feel how I’m looking at you.  Until all you can feel is me looking at you. Only then will I let you go tonight.” 

You saw, even through your tears, those cold silver eyes that haunted your dreams slowly coming to life for you – at long last.  You breathed out slowly, and then, whispered, a bit pathetically, “Yes, please…”

Cyrille brushed his fingers softly across your cheeks for a moment, adoring you openly and softly, before he let his fingertips graze tantalizingly over your throat.  “Do I have your permission to grasp at this little throat of yours tonight?  To, as you say, take your breath away?”

“Yes,” you said at once, nodding your head.  Your chin bumped up against his hand, as his fingers were curled around your throat rather possessively already.  “Put your hand on my neck, please.  I feel so cold without your hand around my throat.”

My God, is she trying to kill me tonight?  Cyrille thought, quite taken by you like this.  Playing so prettily at being submissive?  He gripped your little throat then and slowly but surely pinned you against the wall.  He held you up against the wall a bit higher than your standing height, barely enough to make you strain –

“Ah,” you panted out, and your hands flew to his wrist.  You instinctively went onto your tiptoes, but after a few seconds, you fell back unstably onto your feet.  “Cy… Um…”

Cyrille pretended not to notice.  

“Nngh,” you mumbled, as you tried to figure out how to stand comfortably – only, you couldn’t.  Of course you couldn’t, Cyrille had made it so that you couldn’t. 

As you struggled in his grasp, Cyrille calmly took off his tie with his other hand, murmuring, “You know, seeing how nicely you’re asking for me tonight, I’m inclined to simply give you what you want.”

You blinked, distracted by the sight of Cyrille’s emerald and silver tie coming off of his neck and chest and slipping lithely through his fingers. 

You only half-heard Cyrille’s next words, as he said, “But then, no matter how much I think about it, I have to tell you – you’re a fucking brat for risking it all like this.  I really thought I made it very clear, princess - ”  His tie came off and he snapped it in the air hard, straightening it right out – “that we can’t be seen together. “ 

Cyrille shifted forward, pressing his hand harder to your throat.  Your breath cut off slightly, and you squirmed, startled.  Cyrille leaned into you, pinning your whole body hard against the wall.  He whispered lowly in your ear, “Your friend who stupidly tried to protect you – what was her name? Vance? Does she know that, despite her concerns for you, you’ve ventured all the way over here, in this dumb little Slytherin schoolgirl get-up that I know you wouldn’t otherwise be caught dead in, just to be fucked by me?” 

“Vance – I mean, Em – was only being nice,” you mumbled back.  At the same time, you felt your thighs and tummy start to flare up a little, due to the effort it was costing you to try to lift yourself up to match the height at which Cyrille was pinning you against the wall by your throat.

“And since when were threats counted as niceties, I wonder? Or are all your friends uncivilized brutes? Potter certainly was.” Cyrille mused in a voice that dripped with sarcasm, “What was it that Vance asked me?  Oh yes, she demanded I rank how much of an ass I was on a scale of one to ten. And she didn’t really leave me much to work with.”  He muttered, annoyed, “I’m beginning to realize that you have very bad taste in people, princess.”

By now, you had to focus on your breathing in order to speak because the way Cyrille had his hand slotted right up against your throat and pushing you up a little on the wall, made you have to use your breath quite conservatively.  Still, you managed to retort, “You could’ve just said two, you know. You give her a hard time, too. And don’t you think you sort-of proved her point that you might be an ass by refusing to pick a number? Or did you not understand the question? I could – could explain it again if you – you like - um…”  You paused. You felt a strange pressure slither around your wrists, as though a snake was wrapping its cold scales around your wrists.  In fact, Cyrille had reached behind you and expertly bound your wrists together with his tie.

You blinked at the strange sensation. “What are you doing to me, Cy?”

All Cyrille responded with was, “I’m still waiting for your answer.  Does Vance know? That while she threatens me, you come straight to me and plead for me to pay attention to you?” Just then, Cyrille's hand dropped to his belt buckle. 

“No,” you said honestly.  “I wouldn’t risk it.  For your sake.”  It was important to you that Cyrille realize you had kept your promises to him, even keeping secrets from Emmeline to protect him and his mission.  You were so concentrated on making sure Cyrille knew that he was safe with you that you didn’t quite notice the clink that sounded out as Cyrille opened the silver buckle on his belt.

Seeing that he had successfully distracted you with this line of questioning, Cyrille continued to mislead you and tease you.  “For my sake?" he repeated, and laughed scornfully.  "What lies you tell, princess. I almost pity Vance now.”

You frowned.  “What do you mean?  It’s not a lie.” 

“It most certainly is," Cyrille hissed at you, and his voice slithered through your ears, straight into the deepest parts of your mind. Even though you knew you were safe with him, it made you shiver to hear him speak to you so, as he whispered warningly, "You had best control yourself and watch that naughty little mouth of yours, before I find another way to tame it and hush it. If you keep carrying on the way you do, it might just make me believe that you want me to shut you up by filling up that smart mouth of yours, filling it all up until you can't talk anymore.” 

One part of you felt you ought to protest, but another part of you jolted in excitement at the thought of taking Cyrille in your mouth.  Before you knew it, you were mumbling out in a rush, “Um, um – what way?”  Without realizing it, standing there before him, still pinned against the wall, your thighs twitched excitedly.

Cyrille certainly noticed, however, and a pleased, sly smirk crossed his lips.  “Oh, princess, you’re so adorable when you’re like this,” he murmured.  “Thinking about taking me in pretty, sweet mouth and getting all excited.  Yes, I can see in your eyes, despite this disguise, that you’ve reached a point where you simply can’t go on, can’t function like an angel should, if you have to go even one more night without being taken and tamed by the devil, hm?”  He yanked the belt out of the waistband.  As it flew out, he purposefully let the leather edge of one end land lightly on your tummy.  You instinctively tried to bring your hands up to catch the end of the belt, but as your hands were tied behind you, you were only able to twitch your hands against your binds.  Cyrille smirked at you, then, and he taunted you further, “After all, you have to know hell to recognize heaven. Isn't that right, my fallen little angel? You've lost your way home, with your silly little rescue attempts, and now you're making a right mess of this earth. You think you know what's best, but all you're doing is getting yourself into trouble with every stupid scheme you dream up. And I suppose it's fallen onto me to set you straight, to deal out the punishment you deserve, in the hopes of making you straighten out again."

You stared up at him breathlessly. 

“In fact…” Cyrille drawled, with a terrible mischief glistening in his silver eyes now, “if I had known what a brat you were from the beginning, I’d have done the right thing and taken responsibility for you from the very beginning, by tying you up and hiding you away from the world, so that you wouldn’t run off and get tangled up in bad situations, like the one you’ve run into now. I’m only doing you and even your annoying friend a favor – yes, a favor – by taking you as mine now.”  He leaned forward again, and this time, you felt the thick, cold leather sliding across the upper half of your arms.  You gasped as Cyrille gave the belt a sharp yank, tightening it quite hard, and then heard another clink as Cyrille re-did the buckle, tying you into place.

“What…?” You tried to move your arms, to test how much movement you had, but your attempt only sent you off kilter so that you stumbled sideways.

Cyrille was right there to catch you.  But once you were in his arms, he whispered meanly, in a silky voice that made your mind spin and your thighs twitch, “Yes, this is what you needed, you oblivious little kitten.  I should have done this ages ago, tied you all up like this, and there’d be no Vance and certainly no Potter.  Having you this way, I’d know that you were safe and you would never, ever doubt again that you were mine.” 

“Nngh,” you mumbled aloud, as you struggled a little against your binds.  Having both the belt and tie pulling your arms together quite tight forced you to arch your back, pushing your breasts out and making your stomach strain.

Cyrille’s eyes glistened as he took in the sight of you arching for him so beautifully, and so early on, for the night had barely begun.  Feeling a hot flush of desire run through him, making his cock throb heavily in his pants, he whispered in your ear, “Kneel, princess.”

O-Oh… Before you knew it, you were slipping right out of his embrace, kneeling down and landing in a soft pile at his feet. 

Cyrille laughed softly.  “That’s right.  You know how to present for me now.  Finally learnt a little something, at long last.”  He knelt down in front of you.  He grabbed your chin and made you look up at him, causing your breath to hitch.  “Mm, you look so pretty like this, my love.”  His tone suddenly became quite a bit darker, however, as he murmured, displeased, “Of course, you’d look a thousand times prettier if you looked like you, but I suppose that can’t be helped right now.  Although, I must admit I feel a strong desire to punish you for thinking you could approach me in this sort-of disguise.  Wearing my blazer is one thing; I gave it to you, after all. Even stealing that Slytherin skirt from who-knows-where and wearing it as though you truly belong to my House might be forgiven.  I'll consider it an apology for wearing that dress that screamed Gryffindor at the Yule Ball, when I went out of my way to find a neutral color for us. But to change yourself…” His eyes tightened. “You should have known that I’d find this unacceptable.”

You tried to defend yourself.  “You say that, but I knew where to draw the line. See, Amelia offered to give me a beard, but I said no.”

Cyrille’s lips twitched as he nearly laughed, and he barely managed to hold onto his cold, scolding demeanor.  A chuckle nearly slipped in as he replied to you, “That’s not the point, you naughty little thing.”

“Wasn’t it?” you said politely, teasing him a little.  You knew he was close to breaking, and you decided to push him to see if you could break him.

“No,” Cyrille said adamantly. He lifted his eyebrow at you, warning you that you were pushing your luck.  “You should have known that I’d deny anyone who didn’t come with your untamable curls, your fiery eyes, your sweet, heart-shaped face… It upsets me, princess, to see you not as yourself.  Even now, I feel so very tempted to deny you or, at the very least, to punish you for relying on such a naughty, foolish attempt to approach me.”  He pressed his thumb against your mouth once more.  Your lips were slightly wetter, puffier, and pinker because of how intensely you’d been kissing each other tonight.  “At least these are your lips,” he murmured.  “That’s what makes this all… acceptable.”   

“But aren’t you already punishing me – ? Ah, mm - ” you moaned as Cyrille pushed his thumb into your mouth.  You sucked on it rather dizzily, by instinct.

Cyrille’s eyes lit up, seeing you so ready to take him tonight.  But he held onto his disinterested act for a little while longer, wanting to tease you a bit more.  “Already punishing you? Oh, my love, you’re so adorable.” He lazily thrust his thumb between your lips. 

"Mmpfh, mm, mm..." Soft moans started to spill from your lips.

Cyrille's eyes glittered as he carried on teasing you, “You know, it’s exactly when you say foolish things like that I’ve realized I’ve neglected you.” 

You whimpered, with your lips still wrapped around his thumb. 

He continued, “I haven’t even started to show you what it means to be punished, princess, and yet, you dare to say ‘already?’” He pulled his thumb out and a soft pop! sounded out from your wet lips.  “But I can’t be too angry with you, can I? When you’ve done all this, willingly drowning yourself in your own recklessness, simply to come here and ask me to look at you.” 

Grasping your face with both his hands, Cyrille planted a tender, loving kiss on your lips. You moaned softly as you received his kiss. His palms were so warm against your cheeks, and he kissed you so deeply that it made you tilt your head back a little. 

Angel, Cyrille whispered in his mind, I’m sorry.  You bravely got your memories back and I should be by your side right now, as you slowly work your way through those memories and try to heal from that.  Yet, that first night and then this one night, this one night that you’ve messily and recklessly cobbled together for us, is all that I’ve been able to give you. I’m so sorry, my love.  I’m afraid I’ve made you more alone than ever. He resolved, but I will give you what you asked for tonight.  I will make you feel—deeply and entirely—what it means to be looked at by me. You will never doubt that I’m looking for you again. I swear it.

“Tell me...” Cyrille pulled away from you, but he kept holding your face warmly in his hands and he kept his gaze on your lovely lips. “Do I have your permission to take this sweet little mouth of yours tonight?” 

“Yes,” you breathed out eagerly. 

Cyrille nodded and got to his feet.  Standing in front of you, he murmured softly, “Open your mouth, princess. Let’s see exactly how desperate you are for me.”  He started to undo the front of his pants, when his shirt got in the way.  He quickly discarded his shirt as well, unbuttoning it and letting it fall to the ground. He took his cock out and stroked it a few times, readying himself for you.  With his other hand, he reached down and gently made you tip your head back, to look up at him.  Staring down at you, Cyrille again felt a mixture of adoration and dissatisfaction.  Because of course, he could spot the parts of you that you’d kept of your physical appearance, and more importantly, your spirit was there, and the love you held for him was clear in your eyes.  But it irked him to no end that you’d changed some of your features as part of your disguise.

Interestingly enough, however, Cyrille found he somewhat liked seeing you dressed in Slytherin colors.  Or perhaps it’s simply because I rather enjoy seeing her in my blazer?  He mused for a second longer, no, I think it’s a little more than that.  I think that seeing her in Slytherin uniform, it’s almost like it brings her closer to me, as if I could imagine a version of our life where we were both still Slytherin purebloods, but the pureblood regime wasn't so despicable and corrupted. In other words, a world where we could be born Slytherin purebloods together without issue. In such a world, she could have been by my side, and I by hers, all of our lives – our summers together, our school years together, marrying each other right out of school to join together the Lestrange and Rosier lines, and we’d get our chance to play at being rich aristocrats in a falling world… He whispered rather tautly, “You know what’s ironic, angel?”

“Hm?” you said softly, sweetly, waiting to hear his words and enjoying how his lovely, sad voice fell upon your ears like cold, silver rain.

“I object to your disguise entirely, but I have to tell you, Slytherin colors suit you better.”

You suddenly wrinkled your nose, and Cyrille chuckled lowly, for now you definitely looked like yourself, despite your transformed features.

“Oh, please,” you scoffed.  “Gryffindor is the only House I could have ever been Sorted into.”

“I beg to differ,” Cyrille said quickly, reaching down and running his fingers lithely under the blazer collar to straighten it out for you.  “Take, for instance, this jacket on you - ”

“But this is yours,” you reminded him, your voice softening again.  “It’s not just any old Slytherin jacket.”

“I know,” Cyrille said.  “And you look gorgeous in it.  In fact, I think it’s all you’re meant to wear.”

You paused.  All…?

Cyrille continued, in the same, easy tone, “Just this, nothing else, all tied up in my bed, so that I can see you wrapped in my blazer, with my cum streaming down your legs at all hours of the day.”

You blinked.  Oh, my.

Cyrille asked you lightly, “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Tied up in his bed… Only wearing his jacket... His cum streaming down my legs… Oh… Your pussy suddenly thumped between your legs.

“Princess,” Cyrille repeated, “wouldn’t that be nice?”  His tone edged ever so slightly towards a warning.  At the same time, his hand slipped out from the jacket collar and grasped your throat.  “Answer me.”

“N-Nice?”

Cyrille nodded.  He squeezed his hand ever so slightly around your neck. 

“Um, y-yes, I s’pse so,” you mumbled out, rather humbly.

His fingers tightened around your neck even more.  Your heart quickened, and you started to have to pant for air.

Cyrille’s lips quirked up into a small, devious smile.  “It would?”

You hurriedly gasped out, “Y-Yes!”

“Tsk.”  Pretending to be disappointed in you, Cyrille let you go.  “My God, princess, you agreed so quickly.  What else could I get you to agree to, I wonder, once you’re all fucked out?”

You frowned. “I didn’t agree to your point, though.  I never said that Slytherin was a better fit for me than Gryffindor.  I only agreed to - ”

“Let me bind you to my bed and use your pussy until you’re overflowing with my cum, and the entire time, all you’d have on is my blazer,” Cyrille reeled off wryly.  “Right, that’s much less of a concession than simply saying Slytherin is an acceptable House.” 

“But I – You’re – You’re tricking me,” you pushed back.

Cyrille smirked at you.  “I was merely having a conversation with you, princess.  It’s not my fault if you can’t keep up, so don’t you dare pout at me like that. Or, if you insist on continuing to make that face at me, I’ll fix your pout another way…” He reached down and stroked his cock again, and he breathed out audibly.  

Your eyes glittered with want. You suddenly found your mouth watering slightly, and your lips all too ready to part.  Still, you wanted to make your point known, so you abruptly blurted out, while hardly aware of the words spilling out of your mouth, “All I was saying was that I liked your jacket because it’s yours, Cy.  I’ve made myself cum while kissing it.”

Cyrille paused.  “What?” 

You froze.  “What?” you repeated back to him dumbly.

Cyrille laughed scornfully, carefully hiding his delight at your confession.  “You darling little thing.”  He reached down and gave your cheek a little slap!, making you blink in surprise.  “Doing something so ridiculous, so pitiful – I don’t even know whether to punish or reward you for it.”

“Then do both,” you said softly, even as you blushed at your own straightforwardness tonight. “I’m right here, all tied up for you, and you could do both to me.”  You tried to kiss his hand, but Cyrille drew it away from you.  With your arms tied behind you, you nearly fell forward while trying to chase his fingers.

Cyrille gazed down at you, almost coldly, watching as you wobbled about trying to find your balance again.  He said to you, almost a reminder to himself, “You said you wished for me to look at you...”

Looking up at him, you affirmed sweetly, “Yes. I really want that.”

Cyrille agreed, “Fine.  I’ll watch you, my love, as you take me in…” He kept his hand under your chin, but he reached up and slowly ran his thumb all along your bottom lip. “…Here.”

Your mouth fell open.  And it wasn’t even in response to his words.  Rather, from your viewpoint, Cyrille looked captivating.  His long, slender frame, with his cut muscles, caught the dim, fluctuating light in a strange, almost ghostly, way that was so striking.  You wondered for a moment if he’d grown taller, before realizing that it wasn’t that; rather, in such instances, Cyrille’s aura draped around him almost royally, making him appear untouchable, and it was Cyrille’s instinctive ability to create such an illusion that the moment when he did touch you, the moment he shattered that illusion, so very satisfying. You wished he’d take his pants and briefs off properly, so you could admire his bare hips and rest your cheek on his strong thighs for a moment, but it was already too late - Cyrille reached out and grabbed the back of your head with one hand, and with the other, he guided his cock to you.  The last words you heard before he fucked your mouth with his cock was Cyrille promising you, “Your punishment, and your reward, angel – take it.”

“Mmpfh!”  His wet, thick cock slid right into your mouth.  Your lips were already quite wet from kissing so much, and as his cock slid right over your soft tongue and hit up against the back of your throat, your eyes, already slightly misty with tears, welled up.  You started crying almost immediately.

Cyrille paused, looking down at you to make sure you weren’t hurting in any way.  You blinked, and tears streaked down your cheeks.  But then, you looked up at Cyrille, clearly waiting for him and wondering why he’d paused.  Realizing you were all right and wanting more, Cyrille grasped your head with both of his hands and began thrusting his cock roughly into you, making good use of your warm little mouth –

“Mmm!  Mm – mm, mm, mmm!  Mmm!"  Garbled moans, much more intense than when it had just been his thumb, tumbled from your lips as Cyrille used your mouth to make himself harder and bigger for you.

Cyrille groaned and he tried to fist your hair tightly to make you take him deeper, only to find that he despised how your hair had been turned sleeker.  “Fuck,” he cursed, annoyed, “I can’t grab your hair when it’s like this.”

“Mm mm!” was your only response.

Cyrille muttered, half to himself, “Fine. I don’t really want to hear it from you, anyways, princess.  Not on this point.  Make it up to me and just take my fucking cock, take it – oh, fuck, yes…”  He huffed heavily as he praised you, “Such a sweet mouth – yes, take it all, shove it down that pretty little throat.  You thought I’d only choke you with my hand, hm?  But there are other ways, many ways, to take your breath away.  Just wait, uhn, wait for me to show you every” - thrust – “single” – thrust  - “way.”

You were drooling now, and, despite the fact that you were simply kneeling and taking it while he fucked your mouth, with your arms bound back like that, it cost you a lot of effort, constantly shifting to stay on balance while taking him.  You were forced to rock back and forth every time Cyrille moved his hips, with his thick cock pulling and pushing at your lips.  Also, his fucking his cock repeatedly into your throat meant that you could only breathe shallowly, and having your arms pulled back so tightly made it even harder to breathe.  Your soft breasts and chest heaved up and down as you tried to gulp air, despite the fact that you logically knew you couldn’t, since your throat was stuffed so deliciously with your lover’s cock. 

"Breathe through your nose, angel," Cyrille reminded you.

You stared up at him with teary eyes, but you nodded and focusing, you remembered to breathe properly.

"Good girl," Cyrille said softly. Then, knowing that you could take him now without struggling too much to breathe, Cyrille's hips tightened and his abs rippled as he fucked your mouth much harder and faster. He groaned heavily as he enjoyed such an intense pleasure at feeling your warm, wet mouth wrapped around him like this. You moaned with him, letting out a needy, strangled moan that rang out in that dark, underwater room.

Cyrille knew that if he pushed himself (and you) a little further, he could absolutely cum in your mouth right now.  But no, he had far too many other things he wanted to do to you tonight, things that he thought you’d enjoy more, and so he forced himself to stop and pull his cock out of your greedy little mouth.

“Ah!” A hard, heavy gasp left you as Cyrille stepped away from you.  Saliva and pre-cum dripped from your lips onto your neck and chest, even your thighs a little… You keeled forward for a second and nearly lost balance, unable to put your hands out to catch yourself.  But then, you fell backwards onto the wall.  With your arms bound behind you, there was no other way to fall back but to let your thighs spread open messily as you sank onto the floor.

Cyrille was there at once, sliding his hand over your back to pull you up a little.  “Are you all right?”

You nodded, blinking rapidly to clear your eyes of tears.  Cyrille gently wiped your eyes for you.  "I've got you," he murmured soothingly.

You blinked again and then, you looked up at him and smiled.

“There you are." Cyrille lovingly kissed your forehead.  “You did so well for me.  That mouth of yours is…”  He groaned lowly, as his cock throbbed at the mere mention of your mouth.  But Cyrille first had to take care of you.  His hand fell to your neck again.  Noticing the drops of saliva and pre-cum, he used his thumb to rub it slowly into your soft skin.  He started at your chest, but then, he reached lower, his wrist pushing at the opening of your button-up and making the buttons strain, until he slipped his hand into your bra, cupped your breast and, still using his thumb, rubbed his pre-cum into your nipple.

“Ah…” you moaned out softly, letting your head loll back against the wall behind you.

“Feels good?”

“Y-Yeah,” you mumbled out.

“Yeah, you like that?  Rubbing my cum on your breasts?” Cyrille murmured softly. 

“Mhm,” you said, nodding agreeably. 

Cyrille bit back a smile, softening as he saw how you melted under his touch like this, clearly enjoying having his cum rubbed all over your body.  Fuck, she’s so cute when she’s like this.  However… Cyrille reached up and abruptly yanked the front of your shirt wide open – Pop, pop, pop!  Startled, your eyes flashed open as your buttons went flying into the air and scattered loudly across the floor.  Your blazer and shirt still stayed on your arms because of the way the belt was wrapped across the upper halves of your arms, but your clothes were hanging wide open now, and your lovely little figure – your breasts, tummy, and waist - were totally exposed.

“Yes, here’s the angel I know,” Cyrille breathed out, taking in the sight of you.  “All soft and like, mm… My love, have you gotten softer since we’ve been apart?” He paused to kiss your breasts and, for a moment, he caught your nipple between his teeth and tugged lightly, making you mewl a little.  “I swear you have.  Sweeter, too,” he whispered adoringly to you. “Perhaps it was all those strawberries you ate, hm?  I saw you, you know, sucking on those strawberries while you snuck glances at me.  It made me wonder how they tasted - ” He clamped his mouth down on your breast and sucked hard.

“Ah, Cy!” You shivered, and your arms strained against your binds.  However, the binds stayed resolutely, frustratingly tight, and all you could do was arch your back further. Cyrille took full advantage of that to take even more of you soft, warm breast in his mouth.  Snaking his arm in-between your elbows and your back, Cyrille forced you to keep that arch in your back tight as he devoured your breasts, sucking on them ravenously.  He bit at your sensitive nipples, and then, when they were all pink and pert for him, he pushed his tongue against them, roughly tonguing and tasting you.

Usually, you’d have your hands buried in his silky hair and you’d tug at him as he kissed you like this, but you couldn’t, you couldn’t, you couldn’t – oh, why couldn’t you?  Tension streamed through your entire body, as you were unable to grab onto anything while Cyrille let loose all of his need and stress onto you.

“Cy - !” you gasped out.  You didn’t realize it, but your wrists were slowly turning pink as you strained repeatedly against Cyrille’s tie and belt.  Your tummy rippled, too, when Cyrille pressed the tip of his tongue directly down against your nipple – “Nngh!”

Cyrille moaned out hotly.  While he was still holding you up a little, with his arm around your waist, with his other hand, he reached down and traced your curves, admiring them.  “Yes, look at you, princess.  You’ve definitely become softer for me.  Mm, what a good girl you’ve become.  I fucking love you like this. I think I could almost, almost, forgive you for disguising your face tonight.”

“Now,” he drawled, “let’s see your pussy, hm?  Let’s see if you’ve gotten any softer there for me, too.  I’ll reward you if you have, I promise you that.”  The next second, Cyrille made short work of your skirt, and even shorter work getting to you. Your skirt had barely fluttered to the ground when you found Cyrille's hand slotted firmly between your thighs, and he wasted no time in rubbing you through your panties.

“Wait,” you said, “you should take – take my panties off, so I can – ah – wear them a-afterwards!”

Cyrille pushed his fingers right over your pussy hole, fucking your panties inside of you as he blatantly teased you by ignoring your request.  “I could,” he acknowledged, “but, now, where would be the fun in that?” 

"You - You bully!" you gasped out.

"Call me whatever you want, princess. I have you right where I want you." Yanking your now-wet panties to the side, Cyrille thrust his index finger inside of you.

“Nngh!” Your thighs trembled and then tightened, clamping around his hand. 

Cyrille warmed you up quickly, adding a second finger only a couple of minutes later, and then adding a third, and then curling them a little inside of you and fucking you furiously with all three fingers deep inside of you.  He was trying to appear controlled and in charge for you, but in truth, he was as far gone as you were, and he was absolutely desperate to have you fully, to be inside of you.

You gasped loudly, and your legs began to shake.  Meanwhile, your hands grasped furiously at nothing behind you, utterly useless, and now your wrists and arms both sported bright pink lines from straining and rubbing up against your binds so much.  Strangely enough, having your arms bound also affected your abs far more than you'd guessed.  The sheer effort it took you to continuously balance yourself without the use of your hands to catch yourself or hold onto something was significant.  Then, taking Cyrille’s fingers and feeling the heat start to simmer within you – while you could do nothing to release it.  You couldn’t clutch onto Cyrille’s shoulders and dig your nails into him; you couldn’t rake your nails helplessly against the wall; you couldn’t even grab onto your own thighs to steady yourself as Cyrille fucked you harder and harder with his fingers; you couldn’t do anything but take it.  And you were only taking his fingers; a warning bell went off in your mind, making you tremble with anticipation at what would happen when Cyrille made you take his cock. 

Just then – “Ah!” you moaned loudly, and your feet lifted off the floor for a second as your thighs and tummy trembled.  “Mm, yes, good girl,” Cyrille praised you, feeling you soak his hand.  He thrust his fingers into you one last time, and then, yanking his fingers out, he wasted no time in spanking your wet, flushed pussy.  You yelped, and you instinctively began to draw your thighs together – but Cyrille caught your thighs and held them open.  “Where do you think you’re going?” he whispered hungrily.  “You’ve got to keep your legs open for what’s about to come next.”

You stared up at Cyrille with wide eyes as he guided you down onto the ground. Despite his taunting words that promised the ruin to come, he made sure to put his hand gently on the back of your head as he lowered you down slowly and carefully. With your hands bound behind you, you had to tuck your head down more than usual to keep your eyes on him, and even then, all you could see for a moment was the serpent tattoo writhing on his back, as he leaned down to plant kisses all down your thighs. He kissed your pussy wetly, too, and tongued your sweet pussy, lavishing it with licks all over your clit and hole. You cried out and blinked hard and for a moment, you swore the serpent was slithering right off of Cyrille's wide back and was coming for you - You shut your eyes tightly as you tensed. Cyrille buried his head against you at that moment, shaking his head furiously back and forth while his tongue delved inside of you. Your toes curled and - "Nngh!" you gasped out. At that moment, Cyrille felt your pussy get very, very wet for him.

Now that he was sure you were wet enough to start taking him, Cyrille pushed his hands against your soft, plush thighs, making you spread your legs wider for him.  You blearily opened your eyes, just in time to see Cyrille come back up, fully in your view, as he planted one hand beside your head and then straddled you, so that his knees were pushing softly into your inner thighs on either side.  With his other hand, he reached down and guided himself to you, and then, with his cock pushing right over your pussyhole, Cyrille murmured lowly, "Fuck, you were right, angel, it's been far too long" and with that, he pushed his cock inside of you.

O-Oh… At once, you fell apart.  Feeling him stretch you out like that, without any hesitation, without any remorse, and pushing your walls apart so fast, so well – your head fell back against the floor and lolled, and your eyes rolled back.  Oh Godric… Oh Godric… Yes, this is what I’ve been needing.  This is where my dreams fail, but here he is now, giving to me what no fantasy ever could…

But then, the tension caught up to you, rushing in all at once – because Cyrille’s long, hard cock hit up just then against where you still needed to relax and open up.  You shivered and let out a flustered breath, “A-Ah…” 

Cyrille hissed.  His hands clamped into fists on either side of you.  “Come on, princess, didn’t you come here begging me for this?  Didn’t you risk it all for this?  I’m giving it to you now, so play nice and take it now”

You moaned lowly, arching your back off the floor.  Cyrille’s gaze naturally fell to your breasts for a moment, and when he saw the indents from his teeth surrounding your cute, pert nipples, he bit his lower lip hard, feeling a raging rush of heat rise up within him.   Yes, I can leave my love marks on her now, without needing to hold back, he thought, satisfied.  I couldn’t before.  I didn’t want to leave any marks on her before because I was afraid she would be disgusted by me, or if those scars might remind her of something other than pleasure.  But now, I can openly… He thrust into you hard.  …Love you, angel.

“Uhn!” Your cry pierced the room as you felt his cock delve deep in your pussy, pushing past your tight walls and making you open up deep for him.

Cyrille’s brow furrowed as he barely managed to fit his cock inside of your tight little hole.  Fuck, she’s tight, he growled in his head.  His thighs quivered for a moment, too, as he forced himself to hold back and brace himself.  Because seeing you, his beautiful angel, pant for him like this, and feeling your pussy taking him in, little by little, and hearing your beautiful little cries, it challenged Cyrille not to fall headfirst into lust for you, and he had to control and push back hard against his impulses to fuck you hard and fast at once, to chase that pleasure that tempted him so right from the start, and not stop until your pussy was overflowing with his cum – Stop it, he warned himself.  You’re already rushing tonight.  You have to take it slower – for her, for Angel.  But it was so damn difficult.  And the thing was, it usually wasn't this difficult for Cyrille. Usually, he was perfectly able to keep in control, even as he chased pleasure. There was only one person where, when Cyrille saw that person coming undone for him, it also made Cyrille lose control – and that was you.  Only you felt this good to him, but it pushed him to try to assert his dominance over you because, without knowing it, you were challenging him, making him lose his control, because of how intensely you affected him.

As though you could read his thoughts, in that moment, your pussy throbbed hotly all over his cock, as your walls were trying desperately to take in his thickness and his length because he was stretch-ing you out. 

“O-Oh my God,” you stuttered out.  “Ah, Cy, w-wait, j-just a l-little… Ah, God, please...!”

Cyrille did wait, and he reached down and pressed his fingers against your clit softly, rubbing you in tight little circles to help you relax for him.  But though he was making sure to take care of you, he also teased you a little, trying to take out some of his tension by murmuring to you, “I wonder, what use is there in asking for a god?  There are no gods here. They all disappear when you come to me, and I wager you should know that by now.  There’s only me here, and I have you all to myself, little angel.  And I’m going to keep it that way until I’ve had my fill of you tonight.”

Feeling your pussy relax a bit more for him, Cyrille ventured another thrust, a bit deeper now, stretching you out even more –

“Ah,” you sobbed softly, “ah, ah, ah!” His cock is already so deep inside of me, and because I’ve been dreaming of this for a whole month, the anticipation is choking me and making my body freeze up, and I’m so, so tight – Nngh, he’s pushing in – Ah…! You felt his cock delve inside of you, reaching where you were all hot and tight and plush inside.

Cyrille groaned.  “Your pussy’s so fucking soft for me, princess.  Now I’m sure that it is you, after all. No one else feels this good, not even close.”

You whimpered, ever so pleased by his words, even while you were going out of your mind trying to take him all in.

Cyrille smiled softly, knowing that you were happy to hear him praising you like that.  That's right, feels so good, uhn, yeah, feels so fucking good for me, my girl, he thought, a bit drunk on your pussy himself, just as you were clearly drunk on his cock. He steadily fucked his cock deeper and deeper into you, thrusting slow but forcefully, sinking himself into your tight little hole.  He was so tender and patient with you, but he was also very possessive with you, and with every thrust, he pushed your limits a little, fucking his cock into you until your pussy squeezed around him – and still pushing a little more, making you squirm and moan hotly until him – and then he backed off, but you were already fast becoming a moaning little mess.  Because it felt to you that every thrust he gave you, with him pressing it you like that, was him telling you, in no uncertain terms, that you were his. 

And then his voice – that sleek, soft voice of his that seemed so heavenly, only to promise you the most sinful things, slithered right into your ear, and it made your mind spin right round, when he said things like, “Mm, yes, I can feel you taking me in, angel.  You feel so good, and you take me so well.  So well, that it makes me think you’re in love with me.” 

“Y-Yes – nngh - l-love you,” you stuttered out, huffing hard with the effort it was taking for you to take his swollen cock inside of you. 

“Mm, yeah, I can tell,” Cyrille breathed out, now panting with you.  “I can tell with how soft - ” he pushed himself inside of you again – “and warm” – he pushed again, deeper, harder – “and wet you are that you were waiting for this. But we can make you even wetter, can’t we?”

You whimpered, knowing what those words promised – and sure enough, the next moment, Cyrille finally lowered his hips and then slammed into you hard enough that he bottomed out in you.

You gasped loudly, as stars popped out in your vision.  Nngh!  Ah, so deep, so deep, ah, I can’t – ah - ! Even your thoughts cut off, and for a moment, you completely forgot how to breathe.  Your hands clenched into tight, shaking fists behind your back.  Meanwhile, unable to lift your hands, you resorted to lifting your legs and locking them tightly around Cyrille’s hips. 

Cyrille let out a soft, breathless chuckle at your cute little antic, knowing it was a desperate attempt to substitute for your tied-up arms and hands.  He murmured, “You’ve gotten cuter for me in the time we’ve been apart, it seems.” But the next moment, he couldn't help but let out his own, soft moan - "uhnn," as an almost unbearable pleasure coursed through him as he finally bottomed out in you. Without realizing it, he suddenly grinded his hips into you, making you feel every inch of his cock in the deepest part of your tight pussy.

You choked out then, “All I could – nngh – think about this past month was – ah – you.  So f-forgive me if I’m a little – ah! – n-needy tonight.”

“Oh, princess, you shouldn’t have told me that,” Cyrille murmured lowly.  “You’re tempting me to…” He cut off, biting his lower lip harshly.  Because Cyrille was surely losing the battle of control within himself, and he knew it, too.  He was slowly but unquestionably losing all sense of himself, until the only identity he was cognizant of was of whoever he was in this moment that allowed him to be with you.  And your cute little confessions strangled his attempt at reason so expertly it made him feel ashamed – only the prize for feeling such a shame was so satisfying that he didn’t care anymore.  All he could think about or feel was you – his love, his princess, his angel. 

I know I want to heal people and save people, but in truth, I was born too close to violence to ever really succeed in that mission, Cyrille thought.  But you, my angel, I was born close to you, too, wasn’t I?  So the truth is that, in my heart of hearts, I want the world to burn down, to fall apart, to sink into the depths of hell, while I protect you and only you, and I could crack open my heart once and for all and show you, completely, how much I love you.  If the whole world fell apart and only we remained, we could finally be free to love each other, right? These deep, almost painful emotions that Cyrille felt drove him to make love to you tenderly, but also desperately.  He made love to you as if it was all he was made to do, and in return, he swore that you were made for him, and only him.  She must be, he thought desperately, to feel so good to me.  Fuck, she’s all softness inside this pretty cunt of hers.  And tight, yes, but when I know just how to make her take me, and when she does, she does it so well.  Opening up for me so good. He groaned lowly as he fucked you, thinking to himself possessively, Yes, this pussy is mine, and her sweet mouth is mine, and her heart is mine – mine, all mine. 

“Ah!” you moaned, completely abandoning all sense of decency as you felt Cyrille thrusting his cock repeatedly inside of you, pushing you to your limit.  It’s far too early to be so undone, your mind whispered to you, but you didn’t care—you couldn’t.  All there was in this strange, half-lit, underwater world was you and Cyrille.  And as he took you desperately, you reached that point where your body didn’t feel like yours anymore.  So, there was nothing for your thoughts to attach to.  You were pure sensation – and it felt electrifying, overwhelming, chaotic, intense – but also so free.  In some sense, it wasn’t that different from being underwater.  Being with Cyrille like this, it was as though he were sinking you in deep waters, but his mouth was on yours, warm and passing you just enough breath to keep you alive, but above you both, there was endless sea and sky, and the only thing that delineated them was a thin layer of rose petals floating gently on the surface of what seemed like calm waters. 

Raspy, arching cries left your sweet lips as Cyrille sexed you rough and hard, using every muscle in his abs and hips to fuck you deep, claiming, on no uncertain terms, the tenderest part of you as his.  Slowly, your feet slipped apart and off of his hips, and you didn’t even notice. 

In fact, you hardly noticed even when Cyrille flipped you over.  Your feet naturally kicked up a little when the front of your body slumped onto the ground. Cyrille caught your ankles and he ran his hands down your legs, letting himself feel how soft and smooth you were… His hands came to your sweet, plush things, and then up, to your beautiful, pert little ass… Cyrille slowly pushed his palms into your ass and then, he spread you open, until he could see your little pussy peeking out. 

As soon as he saw this enchanting, enticing vision of you from the back – Cyrille cursed softly to himself.  Because damn it all to hell if you weren’t the prettiest thing he ever had the pleasure of seeing.  Seeing you like that - restrained by his belt and his tie, back and shoulders straining gorgeously as you panted, with your ass and thighs trembling while your blushing pink pussy already dripped for him a little, Cyrille’s cock became so stiff that it was almost painful for him.

What was more, the dim light that was barely coming in through the hatched windowpane made a crisscross pattern of light and dark all across your back, including your bare ass and legs.  For a moment, Cyrille wondered if this might be what you looked like if you someday allowed him to take a belt to you, if seeing welts striped across your ass and thighs like this might – might – Stop it, he told himself sternly.  You haven’t even approached the topic with Angel, let alone get her consent.  But, fuck… He swallowed, and his cock twitched.  She would look lovely with my marks all over her.  Mm, yes, she would… Tied to my bed, just waiting to be fucked silly, and striped pink all over from all the loving little spanks and whips I’d give her, making her desperate with sharp touches, while I relentlessly fuck her soft little pussy to orgasm – I’d make her lose her mind, and I’d keep her entirely safe with me while she came completely undone, crying and panting and trembling in my arms, with my cock filling her up through every orgasm – Oh my love, the things I would do to you… You can't even begin to imagine how I'd have you fall apart before me, all so I can catch you, over and over and over again.

But clearly, it would be too much for Angel tonight, Cyrille could tell.  Already, you seemed to have forgotten yourself entirely, as you were panting as though you’d run a mile and hardly even seemed to notice that you were lying on the floor face-down now. 

Still, there are things I can do to her to bring her pleasure, and I’ll make sure to treat her to them all tonight, Cyrille promised to himself.  Gripping your waist tightly in his one hand, while pressing his other hand firmly atop your hands, which were resting on your lower back to effectively pin you down to the ground, Cyrille started to push his cock back into your pussy once more.

“Mm-!” A labored moan was pushed out of you, as Cyrille fucked himself back inside of you. A soft little squelch sounded out as your tight, wet pussy took him back in.

“Good girl,” Cyrille breathed out lowly.  He gazed down and, with half-lidded eyes, watched as his cock sank, inch by inch, back into your cunt.  He saw exactly how much he was spreading you open. As he took in the sight of your pink pussy lips wrapping around his cock, he gritted his teeth, and his abs, thighs, and hips tightened as a fierce desire to pound your pussy until he fucking ruined you suddenly became quite overwhelming. 

“Are you wet enough to take me, angel?” Cyrille checked with you.  He tried to sound calm, but he was begging fervently in his head that your answer would be yes.

Instead, you choked out rather indignantly, “H-Haven’t I been - ?”

Cyrille let out a breathless, harsh laugh.  “Hardly, princess.  Have you already forgotten what it’s like to make love with me?”

You kept up your belligerent, smart-mouth streak as you retorted, “Maybe I have. It’s been a whole month that you’ve neglected me, you know.”

“Well,” Cyrille said silkily, “let me remind you.”  Grabbing your tied-up hands with both of his hands, he yanked you up a little, pulling your hands down towards the ground, making you thrust out your shoulders and breasts and making your tummy go all tight – and then he thrust violently into you from behind.

“Aahhh!” A long, drawn-out gasp burst out of you as you felt his cock absolutely slam into your pussy, pushing all the way down your velvety walls until it hit up against your very core. 

"S-So d-deep!" you choked out. "Ah!"

“Yes,” Cyrille growled, “I’ll make up for all that lost time tonight – uhn – yes, angel.”  He grabbed both of your shoulders and, anchored like that, he roughly moved his hips, back and forth, back and forth, with his cock delving into your pussy deep before pulling out, tugging at your tight little hole every time.

You gasped out with each thrust, warbling out, “Uh, uh, uh, uhnnn…!” Accompanying your gasps were the cute, wet little sounds sounding out as your pussy was starting to drip from taking so much cock, so deep and hard.

“Mm, there you go,” Cyrille said, his own voice strained now. “You hear how soft and wet you are for me now?  This is how it should always be, don’t you think?”

Despite how overwhelmed you felt, you couldn’t help but nod your head at this.  Yes, you moaned in your head, and though you were too breathless to say it aloud, you agreed in your mind, this is how it should always be. So where were you this whole past month?  Why weren’t we like this every day, every night for the past month?  Oh, Cy, yes, give it to me, make it up to me, like you said you would. I want it, I need it, please, please, please... I'll be good for you, I swear. Just take me as much as you please, until I can't take it anymore, oh God, yes!

Cyrille groaned, feeling your pussy milking him so good with how tight you were.  “I know I shouldn’t cum in you tonight but – Uhn, you know, you’re not so angelic yourself, with the way you tempt me, and the way this pussy grips onto me.  I’m trying to hold back but, fuck, I rather think this pussy wants to be cummed in.”

“I – ah – I d-do!” you managed to say.

“Shush,” Cyrille growled at you at once.  “No more of that.  I wasn’t actually offering, princess.”

“But - ”

“No.  You shouldn’t even be talking at all, you brat,” he replied, more harshly than he meant to.  “If you’re put-together enough to think and talk back to me like that, you clearly need to be taken harder.”

You panted out, whip-quick, “Y-Yeah, if it’ll m-make you c-cum in m-me – Ah!”

A gasp ripped out of your throat as Cyrille, to quiet your sinful little mouth, slammed his cock in you so hard a loud slap! rang out in the room as his hips and thighs slammed into you, too.  Lights burst out fuzzily before your eyes and all of the thoughts in your mind went racing off on your own, right out of your brain, just as Cyrille intended.  

Intent on keeping you in your fucked-out, woozy state before your quick little mouth would drive him mad, Cyrille built up a steady rhythm within seconds. Still holding onto your shoulders, he pounded into you hard from behind, making both your pussy and mind a right mess.  You began to lose all sense of your own body, except for how hard you were being fucked and how overwhelming it was for you.  Even the raven pendant, which you had been squeezing in your right hand all this time, slipped from your grasp as your whole body became loose, losing focus on everything else except taking Cyrille.  Since the necklace was still wrapped around your wrist like a bracelet, the pendant caught in the air, hanging just above your ass, and it bounced and flew in the air as you got fucked.

Cyrille noticed and he muttered, between hard breaths, “I can’t fucking believe you had that on you, princess, when you were in the Slytherin common room of all places. Taking such a risk – you were asking to get caught, you foolish little thing.”  And yet, despite himself, seeing his family crest wrapped around your wrists and flashing brightly in the air, bouncing off of your lower back, as he took you, unlocked a deep sense of pride in Cyrille.  He would never fully admit the extent of his obsession with marking you, but he did crave it very much – whether by leaving love marks on your throat, or having you wear his blazer or bear his pendant—it satisfied an intense hunger that Cyrille had always felt for you, though he did his best to keep it tucked away so as not to pressure you or expose you to his darker, more possessive side. 

Even now, Cyrille's voice was so low as he remarked on you holding his pendant that you didn’t hear him.  But you did feel him suddenly pick up the pace, and the muscles in Cyrille’s abs and thighs suddenly rippled as he brutally (but pleasurably) ripped his cock into your tight little cunt over and over again from behind.  Your eyes turned blurry with tears as the heat and the pressure between your legs kept building and building and building.  Letting out a desperate moan, you closed your eyes, clenched your teeth tight, and pitifully tried to bury you face against the floor.  Cyrille, however, quickly yanked you by your shoulders.  A gasp ripped from your throat, as you suddenly had to arch your back quite a bit. 

“Don’t,” Cyrille berated you.  “It’s dirty.”  He paused for just a moment to lay down his shirt under your face.  You gratefully buried your face against his shirt, panting heavily, as Cyrille resumed his driving pace, and this time, he put his hands on your pretty thighs and yanked you flush to him, making sure that with every stroke, you would take him all the way in.    

“Nngh, ah!” you moaned, as he pushed back inside of you.  You panted, open-mouthed against Cyrille's shirt until, without thinking about it, you bit at his shirt, taking the fabric of the pocket into your mouth. Muffled moans spilled from your lips and filled the air – “Mm, mm, mmm…!” How strange, you thought blearily.  Cumming with my face pressed to his blazer because I missed him so, and now, here I am, getting fucked by him, but still with my face pressed in his shirt…

As for you, you still had your blazer and shirt hanging loosely off your shoulders and arms, since they were caught in the belt wrapped around your upper arms. Cyrille now reached forward and, grasping the back of the collar of both the blazer and jacket in his grasp, he yanked the cloth down, until the fabric pooled just below your upper back, and Cyrille was able to see your soft, delicate shoulders, trembling all over now, and a little of your beautiful, lovely back, extending that gorgeous line that started at the back of your neck and which he knew went all the way down your back.

With his cock still buried inside of you and moving his hips roughly and desperately into you, Cyrille leaned forward.  Pushing aside any strands of hair, he kissed the back of your neck and shoulders all over before he finally clamped his mouth hard on your shoulder.  Letting his teeth dig in a little to your soft skin, he sucked hard.  The blazer, the pendant, now this.  Yes, please allow me one more mark tonight. Hearing your soft cry puncture the air as his teeth sank into you, Cyrille thought to himself, I’m sorry, angel, but I have to make you mine tonight, in all ways – except for cumming in you.  It’s too risky now, so I’ll hold back.  But you can let me have everything else, can’t you? 

When Cyrille bit you, a sharp sensation ran through your shoulder and neck, causing you to instinctively lift your head up.  The room was entirely dark now, as night had fallen and the view of the lake through the window was only of a strange, eerie, wavering black.  This meant that you could now, just barely, see your reflection.  You paused, surprised to see how all you could make out of yourself was your blushing face, with your mouth open as you panted with the effort of taking your lover.  Meanwhile, Cyrille was leaning over you completely, his shoulders and back wide and strong. He was hugging you so possessively, with his mouth latched hotly onto your shoulder, and his long hair draped over your back and slipped down your other shoulder.  You could also see the sides of his hips flashing in the glass, and his abs straining, as he worked furiously to make you his, pounding your tight pussy for all he was worth. 

Cyrille, having successfully made an intense love mark blossom to life on your shoulder, also looked up for a moment – and he caught you looking at the reflection of the two of you in the glass.  “What are you doing, princess?’ he whispered, his lips right at your ear.  You shivered as he murmured softly, as if he wasn’t having you pressed hard against the floor and fucking your pussy raw from behind while having his hands and mouth all over you, marking you here, there, and everywhere, “Where are you looking, hm?  See something you like?”  

You whimpered, unable to form a coherent reply.

“Or should I put a third bind on you?” Cyrille suggested lowly.  “A cloth over your eyes, maybe, to keep you from seeing how pitiful you look when you’re getting fucked by your dominant. Because I can feel you starting to tighten on me, princess, and I would guess that there’s a part of you that thinks, adorably, that this is too much, that you look too submissive when I have you like this – and that, my love, is the part of your brain that you need to learn to turn off if you want to stop being such a fucking brat to me.”

Your lower lip trembled, and the only reply you found yourself capable of giving was a haggard, barely audible pant. 

“Mm, yes, that’s more like it, princess,” Cyrille teased meanly.  “Now you’re finding your proper place.  Just focus on taking me, my love, and leave the rest to me.  Nothing matters, after all, when I have you like this.  Uhn, princess, you feel so good.  Yes, you’re such a good girl when you’re all fucked-out like this, a mindless little fuckdoll for me, yes. There's nothing more I want, and there's nothing more you want either, right? Except to be used by me and made mine. And don't worry, princess, I swear to you that I can give you that for as long as you need.”

Your eyes started to blur with tears again.  It was somewhat humiliating, being fucked on the floor like this, your hips being repeatedly pushed into the hard, unforgiving floor beneath you, your nipples all pink and a little sore from you shifting on the floor every time Cyrille made you take his cock, and that purple-pink bruise already appearing on your shoulder from where Cyrille had marked you, and all while your hands were tied firmly behind your back, as you were utterly devoured by your cruel, taunting lover.  And the sounds - the wet sounds of your pussy being ruined by Cyrille, and the raspy, strangled gasps leaving your lips that barely even sounded like you - Your lip quivered, and you whimpered lowly.  I can’t – I can’t take this anymore, you thought pitifully – and just then, the neediest, most lovely whimper escaped your lips – and at the same time, you squirted.

You weren’t even aware that you squirted.  Everything was so warm and wet already – with sweat, with saliva, with cum, with mean, mean praise and promises, and even meaner touches, and besides, you were barely cognizant of anything but that mounting, merciless pressure deep in your tummy and in the stretch of your poor little pussy, threating to overwhelm you entirely as Cyrille fucked you like you were truly just meant to be his – his lover, his girl, yes, but also his fuckdoll, his cumdump, his whore to be bred and used and fucked into a delicious submission you’d never come out of again. 

But Cyrille’s eyes widened when he felt your ass quivering against him, your pussy tightening all of a sudden like a fucking vice on his cock, and then he heard those soft splashing noises as you drenched him.  “Oh, fuck,” he breathed out, as he realized what had happened. "Oh, angel..." Your head drooped down and Cyrille heard you sob softly into his shirt, and he took in the gorgeous sight of your shoulders heaving and your neck craning over softly, almost as if in defeat, as you cried for him.

Cyrille lost himself entirely.  He ripped off your binds at once – your arms sprang loose, but you didn’t even seem to notice that.  Besides, Cyrille moved so quickly that it didn’t matter.  Within three seconds, he’d carelessly tossed aside both his belt and tie.  However, before you could even think that your hands might be free, he gripped both of your hands tightly in his and stretched both of your arms out on either side of you, pinning you down harshly against the ground and making you strain another way.  Holding you down like that, he impatiently used his knees to push apart your shaking, glistening thighs, and he swiftly fucked his cock right back into your pussy, taking you in missionary now, and making the most of this position, slamming into you hard and fast and rough.

You were crying - it was only pleasure, nothing hurt, and yet, it was so much pleasure that everything was blurring together and you weren't even sure if a human body could take so much pleasure, take so much love, take so much sex - and yet, you were, but you didn't know how to take it, you just were and it was - it was - You were gasping furiously, and your whole body was limp as you gave in entirely to however Cyrille was holding you and taking and yet, somehow, you were so fucking tight in your pussy, still. 

Sobbing out loud, your head lolled on the floor as you could hardly handle the relentless waves of orgasmic pleasure slamming into you, thrust after thrust. As you tossed and turned your head, Cyrille noticed your hair spread out messily all over his chest and, with a deep flicker of irritation, he noticed that it was still blonde.

Fuck, I hate it. I really hate not being able to see and touch my angel, Cyrille thought. Before he even realized what he was saying, he demanded, in a low, breathless voice, "Switch back. I need to see you.”  

“I- I c-can-t – ah!” you gasped, as Cyrille cut you off by slamming his cock in your already overstimulated pussy.

“Switch back,” he growled.  “Now.”

“Cy…” you whimpered in a tiny, desperate voice. “Y-You’ll - ah - b-be in trouble if – if someone sees…”

“If anyone else but me sees you like this, I’ll kill them on the spot,” Cyrille hissed.  “It’s not even about your disguise, at that point.”

“D-Don’t s-say that,” you said, still panting hard and feeling quite fuzzy in your mind. "You s-said you're a H-Healer. You shouldn't - uhn - You shouldn't ever h-hurt p-people."

“Then switch for me,” Cyrille growled, squeezing your hands so tightly in his that it made your arms tense and twitch a little.

All you could was let out a low moan, and your head fell back to the side again, while your cum-drenched thighs twitched uncontrollably against Cyrille's thighs.

But Cyrille needed you to stay with him for a moment longer - or however long it took for you to agree to switch back to the real you. Cyrille, with his cock still sheathed inside of you, leaned forward, until he was pressing his forehead against yours.  You moaned brokenly again, as you felt his still-stiff cock shift inside of your poor, used pussy. 

“Please,” Cyrille said softly, earnestly pleading to you now, “I have to see you, angel.  Unless you show me yourself, I can’t – I can’t - ” He swallowed, trying to find a better, more gentlemanly way to say it, but he couldn’t and he ended up blurting out, “I can’t even think of letting you leave unless I get to watch you, as you, lose yourself to me. I know - I know that's wrong of me, I know I shouldn't ask this of you, but please - Angel, I have to see you. Switch back for me, please."

Hearing all this, you slowly opened your eyes.  You were barely there, to be honest, as you were completely fucked-out at this point, and all you could really comprehend was the intense thrumming of near-unbearable heat coursing through your body, only to coil up all tight and spark hotly in your pussy.  But you saw Cyrille’s pleading face and most of all, you saw his beautiful, shifting silver eyes, framed in his long silver lashes, and for the first time in a long while, you could read him a little – and you saw that he truly needed this from you.  Your right hand twitched tiredly in Cyrille’s. 

Just from that tiny movement, Cyrille knew what you meant.  He reached into your blazer pocket with one hand, and he pulled out your wand.  He helped you to grasp it, and, with your wand pressed to your chest, you exhaustedly murmured out the simple spell to switch your appearance back to your true physical self.

Cyrille breathed out in relief when he saw the disguise melt away to reveal you. 

Clatter. Your wand slipped from your hand, rolled off of your tummy, and fell onto the floor, as Cyrille greedily snaked his hand back into yours again.  Pinning you right back down, he growled, “Yes, there’s my girl.  Fuck, yes, you can take me now.”

“Ahhhh….! Ah, ah, ah! U-Uhn, C-Cy, ah, f-fuck, ah, ah, ah!” You couldn't believe that Cyrille could take you any more possessively than he already had been - clearly, you were wrong. He was thrusting into you so hard now that your thighs were lifting off the floor with every thrust you took, and your tummy was buckling in on itself, and you could even feel your shoulders and neck bending a little as he nearly folded you in half as he completely lost himself to fucking you senseless. And the heat - the fucking heat between your legs was unbelievable. This, you realized, is what it means to be utterly devoured, entirely ruined.

“Can’t – uhn – can’t believe you hid your – nngh -yourself from me,” Cyrille berated you, now holding you down by your shoulders as he pressed himself into you feverishly, needily.  “When all I wanted was this, was you – and I know you knew that, you fucking brat.” His breaths were coming out in harsh, furious pants now, as he worked himself furiously, almost too eagerly, for you – rewarding and punishing your pussy at the same time with his long, heavy, relentless thrusts. 

You gasped and moaned desperately, “Cy - ! I-I c-can’t – t-too -m-much – ah, ah, ah, p-please - ! CY - ! AH!”

With a loud groan mingling in with his raspy breaths, Cyrille slammed himself into you with everything he had –

“AHHH!” You broke.  Suddenly, while gripping Cyrille's shirt tightly on either side of you, you lifted your hips clean off the floor, arching your back, and with your legs shaking and pussy spasming all over Cyrille’s cock, you squirted yet again. 

“Angel – nngh - !” Cyrille cut off, when he felt your pussy squeeze him so tight it almost hurt.  Feeling you clamp on him, Cyrille instinctively responded and - Fuck! His heart leapt into his throat as he barely pulled out of you in time.  His cum spurted messily all over your thighs and tummy, and Cyrille groaned lowly as he felt himself release.  Ropes and ropes of his white, hot cum painted your thighs and tummy. Shit, I didn’t even – Fuck, I’ve never lost control like that – Cyrille thought dazedly to himself.  But to his shock, you also kept cumming, drenching the floor beneath you entirely with your sweet cum, while your tummy rippled and thighs shook and dripped with Cyrille’s cum. Cyrille's mouth fell open as he saw this incredible, stunning, vulnerable sight of you completely losing yourself, your tummy heaving, thighs shaking, pussy spasming and squirting - and then, your legs collapsed, and your hips dropped back down onto the floor.

“Hah… Ah… Hah….!” You panted breathlessly.  Oh… my… God… It took a moment for it to hit, for you to realize what you’d done.  But when it did – Oh my God, you thought again.  You brought your hands up and instantly covered your face, feeling completely humiliated at how you'd unraveled entirely before Cyrille. 

"Angel," Cyrille called to you softly.

You whimpered, and you shook your head, while keeping your face covered.

"Angel, let me see you." Cyrille grabbed your wrists gently, but he was firm as he pried your hands away from your face.  “Don’t hide from me. I need to make sure you're all right. Besides, you said you wanted me to look at you.”

But not… when I’m like this… You swallowed hard and turned your face away from Cyrille. As well, though it took you great effort in your current state, you shakily drew your legs together to try to hide how completely drenched your pussy was.

With a low hiss, Cyrille thrust his knee between yours, stopping you from closing your legs.  When you blinked up at him with a pitiful look on your face, and your face wet with tears, he shook his head at you.  Grasping your face tightly in his hand, with his fingers pressing into your blushing, tear-stained cheeks, he whispered, “You can’t scamper away like that, princess.  Not when it was your wish to have me look at you.  You have to let me take you in now, for me to fulfill that wish.”

You tried to shake your head, but you couldn’t with how tightly Cyrille was holding your face.  Finally, you bleated out, “P-Please… It’s – This is…”

“What?”

“…Humiliating,” you whispered, and tears escaped your eyes while your cheeks went beet red. 

Cyrille’s eyes turned cold as ice all of a sudden, as he realized more clearly what was going on with you. He murmured, almost detachedly, “It can feel that way, I suppose.  To be laid out so openly before someone else… But that’s the cost of being looked at. It's a small price to pay when it's between us, don't you think?”

“But not when it's like this,” you protested. “Because I’m a… a mess.” Even saying the words aloud, you felt more tears well up inside of you.

“And whose fault is that?” Cyrille replied immediately.  His eyes flickered up to you, and his gaze was such that you felt you had to look back, the way you felt you had to keep your eyes on a serpent, lest it strike the second you take your eyes off it. But then, once you locked eyes with him, Cyrille held your gaze almost dispassionately, as if he knew that giving you such a look would break you – and it did.

Completely overwhelmed by how he was not letting you slip by him, even a little, you started to openly cry. “Cy…” Your chest heaved as you sobbed.  To be clear, it wasn’t that you felt sad or hurt.  Not at all.  Rather, it was too much to have the person you loved seeing you at your most vulnerable state and even moreso when it was because of him. And it was one thing to turn a bit mindless because of sex, but you knew (and worse, you knew he knew) that it wasn't just because of the sex, but because, in his month-long absence, you'd grown so hungry for Cyrille that having sex with him triggered not just the usual mindlessness of intoxicating sex, but also triggered your deep, underlying desire to be loved by him. To let Cyrille see that he could affect you so much, it was scary and overwhelming, especially when you had tried so hard to act as if you weren’t affected at all this entire month and also because after you'd gotten your memories back, you felt such a deep guilt at forgetting Cyrille that subconsciously you had decided to only ever appear strong in front of him going forward, to never ask for his protection or help again to make up for those difficult years, and yet here you were, already needing him so badly that it turned you into a sobbing mess to be touched by him after being deprived of his touch for a mere month. That was what was truly humiliating - and Cyrille understood that now.

Realizing this, Cyrille knew that it was essential that he show you tonight that he wouldn’t judge you at all for needing him like this.  In fact, he loved you for it, and he was trying to show you that you didn’t need to hide this part of you for him.  I knew that Angel might do this, he thought, especially because after she got her memories back, she felt she needed to apologize to me.  I knew she’d try to act completely strong afterwards and to try to hide her misplaced guilt towards me for forgetting me for these past years.  She really is foolish in that way, because she has nothing to apologize to me for, and she certainly doesn’t need to act strong in front of me.  She is strong, stronger than anyone can ever understand, stronger than I could ever be, and I know that already.  I’ve never doubted that.  But if she still needs me, in her own way – that’s what I want her to feel and to show me.  That’s why she needs to know, in this moment, that I am looking at her. And I need her to know this absolutely, so I can't let her hide or slip away from me now. Or else she'll think I didn't judge her only because she managed to hide some part of her now, and I can't have that. I don't want her to doubt, even a little, my love for her. After all, our situation already requires us to keep so much distance from each other that, if left unresolved, these doubts will gnaw away at us relentlessly. I can't let it be that I am the reason for Angel's pain or loneliness. I can't let that happen, even if I'm not allowed to give her all the happiness and love I so desperately want to.

Cyrille kept looking at you, not letting you escape him even a little, as tears continued to slip down your face. But Cyrille waited for you - his gaze still cold, almost snake-like, and yet, as time passed, you realized that there was no irritation or impatience or disregard for you, either. He truly was... simply watching you. Waiting for you. Regarding you - without any judgment. Slowly, your tears began to stop, and you began to get your breath back. Finally, you calmed down enough to let out a real, long breath, and you shut your eyes tightly as you came back to yourself.

There. Now, I can tell her, and I think she'll hear me. A note of tenderness entered his voice, finally, and his strict, almost cold demeanor melted away entirely as Cyrille told you, “Now, my love, brand this moment in your mind.  Feel it, feel how I’m looking at you, how I’ve fallen so deeply for you that nothing you do could ever change the fact that I'm in love with you, how I’m claiming you as mine because I am the only one who will ever get to see you like this.  Ever.”  He reached down and slid his hand gently under your neck.  With his other hand, he caressed your face gently as he whispered, “I’m looking at you, my love.  Same way I’ve been looking at you all these years.”

At this, you finally opened your eyes - and you met his gaze and held it, no longer feeling embarassed or ashamed. 

Cyrille smiled softly at you.  “You understand now, don’t you?  There’s nothing to be ashamed of before me.  I love you, angel, and there is nothing as enticing to me as seeing you open your heart before me.”

You stared up at him, slowly feeling his words sink into your ears and your heart.

“You started to trust me more once you got your memories back," he murmured.  "And I know that trust has withdrawn a little this past month, in my absence.”

“No, Cy, it's not your fault. That's not what I mean, not at all,” you whispered.

But Cyrille said gently, “Not in your mind, maybe.  But in your body, instinctively, it might have.  It’s only natural, angel.  I should have been there for you.  I know that.  I’ve thought it every day since we’ve had to stay apart again.”

Though you still felt a little fuzzy and weak, you managed to reach up and press your fingers against Cyrille’s cheek, too.  “But I couldn’t keep away from you, Cy… I’m sorry. I was so foolish, risking your safety to come find you this way.”

Cyrille shook his head.  “No, don’t you see?  I’m glad, beyond belief, that you came to me tonight.  The fact that you did it in such a bold way is what makes me nervous.  But… by needing me, by coming to see me – don’t you see you’ve saved me too?  I need you too.  Couldn't you feel that when I begged you to transform back to yourself? I begged you, my love, because I needed to see you. I couldn't go without seeing my angel. And I nearly - At the end, I almost lost control - Anyways, that’s what I’m trying to tell you right now: I look at you as much, as deeply, as wantingly as you look at me.  It might not be in the same way, but…” His voice trailed off.

“But…” you whispered back. And then you realized it, and you said it aloud - "You love me, too."

Cyrille kissed you, and it was the sweetest confirmation and reassurance you could have asked for.  With his hand tucked under your neck, he lifted your head a little, just enough for you to breathe out – and then his lips met yours, and you sank yet again into another mindless, warm sensation– but this time, instead of sending you higher and higher, it let you land softly, let you come home. 

Cyrille shifted, lying down beside of you. Then, wrapping his arms gently around you, he brought you in to him, so that you were lying half on top of him, and half tucked into his side. For a moment, the two of you simply lay there, breathing together, in this unearthly, dark, secret room.

“Where are we?” you murmured softly, staring up at the ceiling, which you now recognized was made of stone.

“The old trophy room, I think,” Cyrille answered.  He reached out and grabbed your wand, which was on the floor beside him.  He murmured, “Incendio” and four torches, in each corner of the room, blazed to life.

"It's a perfect space for us," you said.

"Mm, I suppose so," Cyrille agreed.

You snuggled into him again, with your face pressed against his shoulder.  You closed your eyes and drifted off for a little while, sinking into a sweet, calm sleep that had evaded you for so long now.

Without disturbing you, Cyrille managed to grab his shirt, which was beside you, off of the floor and drape it over you.  Gazing down at you, his heart swelled with happiness as he took in the sight of you – the real you.  So beautiful, he thought.  Even more beautiful than before, and I didn’t think that was possible.  I wasn’t lying when I said that she got softer and sweeter in the month we’ve been apart. 

After a few minutes, you stirred, opening your eyes.  You smiled softly when you caught Cyrille looking at you.

But Cyrille frowned.  He touched your face, running his thumb gently over the dark circles under your eyes. “I wondered if these dark circles were simply because of how dark it was in here or some strange effect of your disguise, but it wasn’t.  Are you not sleeping well, angel?”

Your insomnia was such a fact of life for you right now that you replied easily, in a calm, factual tone, “I’m not sleeping at all these days.”

“What...?” 

“I’m too busy dreaming of you every night.”

Cyrille paused.  You wondered for a minute if he’d be pleased to hear this, and you waited for his arrogant smirk to appear – but no, he merely sighed and said, “Honestly, where do you come up with these lines?  Did you pick up another Muggle book with more sappy romanticisms?”

You giggled at this.  No, you thought fondly, it turns out I don’t need to read any love stories to come up with such sappy lines for you, because I’m already living my own love story with you - the good and the bad, the light and the dark. It's not easy to be together, I realize, and it'll only get harder as time goes on, but I can't help it - you're my heart.  

Cyrille’s eyes softened when he saw you laugh.  He lifted his head a little to kiss you on the forehead.  “Angel,” he breathed out, “how I’ve missed you so…” But then, his voice became a tad stonier, as he told you, “But we’ll have to work out a system to communicate for next time, all right?  No more marching into the Slytherin common room with my family crest dangling from your wrist, all right?”

“All right,” you promised him easily.  

Cyrille shot you a slightly skeptical look, not trusting the light, breezy way in which you’d answered him and trusting even less the bright smile appearing on your face now.

Grinning, you took Cyrille's face in both of your hands and peppered his cheeks with light, gentle kisses. 

Despite himself, Cyrille melted for you. Shit, he realized, if we ever do get to live together properly, I can already see that angel's going to win every single argument we ever have. He let out a soft breath, but at the same time, he couldn't help but smile, loving your kisses and loving being with you again.

Meanwhile, as you pressed your lips against his cheek, you whispered fervently in your mind, Thank you, Cy.  Thank you for letting me admit that I need you, and loving me for it, instead of making me regret it.  You always know just how to love me, even when I'm not sure of it myself.  I love you.  I love you so very much.  And I'll be there for you, too. I promise I will.  

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

After that night, you and Cyrille returned to keeping your distance from each other.  However, the two of you managed to sneak in little moments to love and tease each other now and then - to remind each other that you were both always looking at each other, as it were, even when you had to feign otherwise. 

For example, the very next morning, you went to Amelia before breakfast and announced, “I want that beard now!” Hestia threw her pillow at you, annoyed that you'd woken her up before her usual time, but as it was, Amelia was already up and ready for the day and she was more than happy to comply with your request.

Sporting a fantastic beard that rivaled Dumbledore’s, you marched down to breakfast and strutted right in front of the Slytherin table, where Cyrille was sitting with his usual Slytherin crew.  Spotting you, Cyrille accidentally spat his pumpkin juice right onto Yaxley.

Three days later, while you were waiting in front of the Herbology greenhouse, waiting for the door to open, you felt someone swipe their fingers lightly over your shoulder.  Surprised, you looked over your shoulder to see Cyrille right behind you.  “Oh, sorry, I thought you had a raven on your shoulder,” he murmured lowly – and then he was gone, already back with his Slytherin group, who were all heading down to Care of Magical Creatures.  You were left there, blushing, as you knew immediately that he was referring to the intense love mark he’d left on your shoulder.

Another two days after that, you spotted Cyrille studying by himself at the back of the library.  You knew he did this so that he could study Healing Magic by himself.  After telling your friends that you needed to pick up a book, you crept over to him, ducking behind bookshelves as you made your way, row by row, to him.  Finally, when you were close enough, you pretended to walk right past him, only you dropped your quill in front of him.  “Oops,” you murmured, and you bent down to pick up your quill – only, right before you came up, you pressed your shoulder into his knee.

Cyrille stared down at you with a puzzled look, but then you looked up at him, and he realized that you’d opened your button-up shirt just enough that it showed your shoulder and the love mark he’d left there, still going strong.  As you got up, you purposefully pressed your hand into his thigh meaningfully - He stiffened at once, but you were already gone, having picked up your quill and dashed away. But Cyrille heard the little laugh that left you, and while it warmed his heart, it also riled him up as well.

Sure enough, Cyrille made you pay for this little tease – a week later, Cyrille managed (and you had no idea how he did this) to catch you right after you finished Potions down in the dungeons, and he somehow managed to smuggle you away without anyone noticing, back into that secret underwater room, where he pinned you up against the cold window, stuffed a strawberry in your mouth, and warned you that if you let it fall before he'd finished with you, you'd be punished - right before he ripped open your button-up and began kissing you all over, giving you matching love marks on not only your other shoulder, but also your breasts, tummy, and thighs – and then, once he had you gasping and covered in his love marks – he left you there, all undone and with quivering thighs, while he smoothed back his silver hair, slung his book bag easily over his shoulder, and then strolled right out.  As the door started to shut behind him, you heard him say tauntingly, “Just a little something for you to dream about, princess.”  Your mouth fell open in disbelief, and the strawberry hit the ground. Cyrille chuckled lowly - and then the door swung shut.

As you knelt down to pick the strawberry back up to throw it away, you ended up sitting on the ground for a moment as you tried to get your breath and heartrate back under control.  Sitting there, you found yourself blinking up at the window, and you watched the strange underwater world floating on by for a second, before you realized that somehow, in less than five minutes, Cyrille had managed to sink you down into a world of fantasies yet again.  That smug bastard, you thought furiously.  But then, as you slowly buttoned your shirt back up, you sighed, knowing full well that he was only able to sink you so easily because you were, after all, completely and entirely in love with him - and, you were certain now, both from your memories and from the present, he in love with you.

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

hiiii its the same anon from like two years ago lol - i’ve been wanting to ask if you have any more one shots/anything in general planned to publish about cyrille and the reader? i still reread light and dark at least a few times a year and it will always be my favorite thing I’ve read on tumblr :)

Oh my gosh - hello, hello! Yes, I will publish more Cyrille stories, of course. ♥︎ And I'm so happy that you still like Light & Dark! I honestly have really been struggling with how little I've been able to write these days because of work and general life stuff, and this was just the push I needed to get some more writing out. Thank you so, so much for your kind comment and for this message in general. I'll rummage through my Cyrille drafts and try to whip one into publish-able shape soon.

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Tag Yourself - Slytherins and Halloween - Cyrille Lestrange

Which Reader are you? 

a/n: I meant to post this last Halloween... Anyhow, please enjoy this Halloween x Cyrille Lestrange smut story (especially if you were the anon that messaged me asking for more Cyrille stories - I hope you enjoy.)

[Cyrille Lestrange x Reader] [Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.]  [Warning: Rough Sex.] [Warning: Dom-Sub Dynamic.] [Warning: Bondage.]  [Warning: Humiliation.] I want to say explicitly that this is fantasy. Any harassing and/or non-consensual behavior is totally unacceptable in reality. And of course, in reality, loving someone should not translate into taking unpleasurable/unwanted pain from that person, or anyone else. *Finally, please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!

Auror duty ended quite late. It was your own fault, for volunteering for a double shift. By the time you went home, Cyrille was already asleep. The lights were still on, and there was food on the table. He was waiting up for me, you realized, noticing how Cyrille was lying on top of the covers.

You knelt down beside Cyrille. Your eyes traced his handsome, sharp face. Cy, I know we live together and all, and we’re both doing our utmost to achieve our ambitions. But, do you know, during the day, I miss you. You went and pulled out some spare blankets and made to drape them over Cyrille.

Cyrille, ever the light sleeper, woke up when he felt the blanket being draped over him. “Mm… Angel…?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“It’s… late…”

“I know. I’m sorry.” You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Go back to sleep, love.” You made to quietly shift off of the bed, when Cyrille lifted his hand and patted around the sheets. You stilled, and you let him find your hand. He grasped it softly in his, and you smiled.

“Angel…” Cyrille breathed out softly, still half-asleep. “How come you were out so late?”

“I was on-call.”

“You were?” He finally opened his eyes, blinking awake. “I thought you were already on-call two nights ago.”

“Yes, I was. But I volunteered for tonight, too.”

“Aren’t you tired? I’m proud of you, but I think you may be working yourself too hard.”

You shook your head. “I have to prove myself. Mad-Eye and Shacklebolt still think I’m not cut out for the job. But I’ll show them.” You paused. “Tomorrow’s Halloween. Maybe I’ll go in dressed as a devil and blow their heads off. That oughta do it.”

Cyrille’s lips curved up into an amused smirk. “That would certainly prove how tough you are. But seeing as the goal is to impress your superiors, that might not quite be the way to go about it.”

After a moment, you admitted, “All right. Fair point.”

Amused that you even had to think about it, Cyrille reached out and wrapped his arm around your waist. Blinking up at you, he murmured softly, “Besides, you’re an angel. A devil costume wouldn’t fit you.”

You looked down at Cyrille. “You’re the only one who thinks of me that way. I’m a devil to everyone else, I promise you.”

“Atta girl. That’s the right way to live life…” Cyrille’s eyes fluttered shut again.

You laughed lightly. “Are you always so philosophical when you’re sleepy?”

“I’m always philosophical, period,” Cyrille mumbled, now nestling his face against your thigh. “You just don’t catch it because you’re too busy being a brat.”

“Thought you said I was an angel.”

“You’re both, princess. Always both.”

You gently rested your hand on Cyrille’s head and softly stroked his hair until he was asleep again.

Feeling his warmth curled up around you, you finally felt your long day of work wear off of you. Yeah, you thought, as you watched Cyrille sleeping peacefully beside you, I reckon I’m home.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

When Halloween came around, a silly thought clunked into your head. Thinking of your conversation with Cyrille, you decided you wanted to try being an angel. It’ll be a good laugh, you thought. So, you trotted off and found an outfit that you could throw together.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

As it turned out, on Halloween, the roles ended up reversed. Cyrille was the one who had a late shift, and you were home early. You put your outfit on, laughing at yourself as you fitted on your white satin dress, your wings, and your halo. You would rather die than go outside like this, but for Cyrille… You imagined how he would laugh when he saw you. Smiling to yourself, you sat on the bed. Hugging the pillow, you waited for your husband to come home. Nine o’clock became ten o’clock became eleven… Your eyes slowly slipped shut and you fell over onto the bed.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“I didn’t know angels snore.”

Hm…?

“And how foolish would an angel have to be to crash onto earth and then decide to take a nap instead of using her wings to fly home?”

What’s…? Who’s talking to me? What’s he… saying?

A strange sensation came over you. As Cyrille leaned over and touched your wing curiously with one finger, the base of the wing dug into your shoulder ever-so-slightly. You frowned at the unfamiliar feeling, for you were still asleep and you had forgotten all about the fact that you were in a costume.

Cyrille watched you shudder slightly on the bed. “Wake up,” he whispered. “I’m home.”

You started to turn over, but finding that you couldn’t, you tiredly snuggled up next to something that was slightly higher on the bed, allowing you to rest your head comfortably.

Cyrille sighed, staring down at you sleeping on his lap. “What could my silly little angel be dreaming so deeply about, I wonder? It couldn’t be her husband, whom she has clearly forgotten all about, even though she’s drooling all over his lap…”

“Husband…?”

Cyrille swore that for a moment, your halo perked up. For a moment, he had to check the smile that threatened to overtake his lips. “Yes,” he replied, making his voice quite stern. “Now, wake up, angel, circle back to your previous life, where you have a husband waiting for you.”

You blinked open your eyes. Turning your head atop his thigh, you murmured, “Cyrille?”

“Yes, love. I’m sorry I’m so late.”

“It’s all right. It’s usually me, anyways,” you mumbled. You wrapped your arms around Cyrille’s waist and tried to pull yourself closer to him, but you abruptly rammed your halo into his stomach.

“Oof.”

“Ah, sorry! I forgot.” You quickly let go of him and rolled away.

“What’s with your outfit, anyways?” Cyrille asked. “Is this your Halloween costume?”

You sat up and pushed your halo back into place. “Um, yeah. You’re always calling me, ‘Angel, Angel,’ so I was curious what it’d actually feel like to be one.”

Cyrille lifted his eyebrow. “You want to know what it feels like? Come here.” He beckoned to you.

You started to go towards him, but then you stopped. Oh? While you were still trying to shake off the fog of sleep, you could nevertheless pick up on the fact that Cyrille’s invitation, which seemed so gentle, might be offering more than your sleepy little mind could take at the moment.

“Why are you so hesitant?” Cyrille wondered aloud.

You shuddered ever so slightly, causing your wings to twitch.

Cyrille’s eyes gleamed with a silvery, serpentine fire. “Well, maybe you can sense… how I feel about you.”

“You should - ” Your voice, still layered slightly with sleep, caught. You swallowed and tried again. “You should tell me.”

“Yes, well, it’s engraved in my mind already, so I might as well engrave it in yours…” Cyrille walked around to the side of the bed where you were sitting. “Deep in yours.”  Looking down at you with a rather cold gaze, he murmured, “This strong feeling of mine telling me…” He stood completely still, with his ever-perfect posture, except to reach out with one finger and gently trace your chin. He whispered, “…That angels like you deserve a proper fucking.”

Your mouth fell open.  Staring up at Cyrille, your eyes glittered hungrily, as the light twinkled through the halo on your head and reflected in your eyes. It had been such a long time since the two of you had played this little game. With the long hours lately, there had been time for some sweet cuddles, perhaps a bit of kissing here and there, but this… this feeling that you were slowly being seduced – to be dominated – you hadn’t felt it for so long.

“Oh…” you breathed out softly.  For a moment, you felt quite young again; the feeling was akin to when you first met Cyrille at the top of the Astronomy Tower. You remembered wondering why his very glance made you shiver all over and his light touch made your heart spark furiously.

Cyrille’s eyes tightened slightly, as you failed to give him a response. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” He slid his fingers up your throat, forcing your head back ever so slightly, and then he slipped his fingers into your mouth.

“Mmpfh,” you mumbled softly.

“No, nothing there…” Cyrille's eyes flashed rather dangerously. “So what could it be that’s made my angel so dumb?”

“I – I - ” you mumbled, trying to speak around his fingers.

Cyrille teased you. “You – You - ?”

You tried to form a proper, coherent sentence - only for Cyrille to cut you off by shoving his fingers harder in your mouth.

“Mmphf!” You let out a muffled gasp.

“Suck,” Cyrille ordered you.

You listened to him, softly sucking on his fingers.  As you did, you let your eyes roam all over him. His intense, mysterious energy drew you in so quickly.  Every movement and word of his flickered so quickly between sharp and smooth, dark and light.  Yes, you could feel Cyrille’s energy shivering between the two realms, and even after all of these years together, he was still half-hidden to you, for he always masked his aura and his intentions… except when the two of you were wholly and undoubtedly together.  And then – well, then the serpent within him came alive and set out to devour you. 

Yes, this is Cyrille Lestrange, you thought. And this bold, enchanting man is mine. All at once, your eyes glittered with happy victory and your entire energy lit up. “Cy…” You opened your arms and leaned forward – and he caught you, just as you knew he would. You hummed happily as you buried your face against his shoulder and breathed in his cool, icy scent. You closed your eyes and sank into him, taking in slow breaths, one by one, loving that you got to hold him and to take in his scent and warmth.

“Are you still waking up?” Cyrille murmured softly. His comforting voice took on a slightly sharper edge, as he then whispered, “Are you still keeping me waiting, you naïve little angel?”

“Mm…” was your only reply.

Cyrille sighed. He hugged you tighter to him and, leaning down until his chin bumped lightly against your shoulder, he whispered in your ear, “Come back. You’re leaving me behind. You’re going to a heaven I can’t reach.”

At this, you sleepily replied, “No… Never…” and clutched at him tighter. “With you… I’ll be with you, always.”  

Cyrille whispered back, “Then, you have to choose between your heavenly dreams or your earthly pleasures, love.”

“Want them both,” you answered, still mumbling into his shoulder. Then, you nudged your face up until you could softly press your lips against his. “Have ‘em both… right here…” you whispered lovingly, as you kissed him.

Cyrille laughed lightly, almost pityingly, at you. “Me? You must still be fast asleep. Or else you’re truly being a terrible, terrible flirt.”

Smiling at his playful accusation, you put your hands on his thighs to push yourself up. Staring dreamily into his silver eyes, you whispered, “Guess which one I am,” and then you kissed him again.  

It was Cyrille’s turn to murmur out softly, “Mm…” as he kissed you back. His hands slipped up the small of your back and the arches of your wings. He warned you, “It’s bad to flirt, angel, especially with the devil.”

You smirked. “I hate to disappoint you, Lestrange, but I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

Cyrille’s voice became quite light and airy as he whispered back, “Oh, is that so?”

You nodded, smiling up at him, still a tad sleepy.

“Well, then, it seems you’ve grown brave while we’ve been apart,” Cyrille murmured, tracing your nose and cheeks with his lips. “Or perhaps you going off on all your Auror missions have planted a false idea in your head – the false idea that you’re all-powerful now, compared to your boring Healer husband, and you can go running off to save the world any time you like, and leave me behind.”

“Strictly speaking, I can’t go running off to save the world without a Healer on notice." You gently slid your hands up Cyrille’s shoulders and onto his chest. “So it’s very convenient that I have you, really, because I can always say that you knew.” You thoughtlessly fixed the collar of his shirt for him, not realizing it wouldn’t be on him for much longer.

“You’re using me like that, are you?” Cyrille said, trying to tamper down his amused expression.  Nevertheless, his silver eyes still glinted with a soft warning.

You nodded. “I’m very lucky, aren’t I? To have such a kind, forgiving hus – Mmpfh!”  

Cyrille cut you off, catching you in another kiss, one that was rather sudden. His fingers slid into your hair and he grasped at your locks tightly, making your halo slip down.

“Ah,” you gasped softly. “My halo - !”

Without pausing at all in kissing you, Cyrille grasped your throat and squeezed gently, cutting you off. You gasped more loudly and even let out a little moan. But all Cyrille did was growl, “Shush. Your halo should fall off, you little liar. Using me like that – now it’s my turn to have you as I please.”  

Your eyes widened. That growl of his… Oh… I’ve missed him like this!

Cyrille half-guided and half-pushed you down onto the bed. Your face met the pillow and for a moment, all you could see was blue silk.  You instantly started to push yourself up, when Cyrille yanked up the back of your dress and slipped his hand between your thighs.

“Oh…” you breathed into your pillow. Pleased, you wiggled your hips, loving the feeling of Cyrille’s hand slotted so nicely between your legs.

Only, Cyrille suddenly grabbed your thighs. “No squirming tonight, little one. No using me to get what you want as quickly as your impatient little heart desires, and then falling asleep on me.  It’s been far too long since we’ve had any time together, and I intend to take full advantage of it.”

Yes, I’ve missed him like this very, very much, you thought. Mm, I love how he touches me, how he devours me, how he reminds me that I’m his both through his soft and rough touches… You lifted your head and shifted yourself a little to look at him. You wanted to see Cyrille and appreciate him in all his fine state – but Cyrille growled, “What did I just say?”

You blinked up at him dreamily, and you offered him a small smile. You weren’t actually sure what he’d just said. Something about being squirmy, I think? I don’t know, I was too busy enjoying the sound of his voice and the feeling of his hand between my legs.

But Cyrille was staring at you rather seriously, so you made up, “Um, I need my halo back.”

“What?”

You gestured vaguely at the halo piece, which had fallen onto the bed. “Want it back…” As you spoke whatever utter nonsense was falling carelessly from your lips, you took another opportunity to admire your husband. I love these little moments, you thought happily, where I get to fall in love with him all over again.

“That’s important to you, is it?” Cyrille wondered. “You’re a strange one.” He picked your halo up off the bed, sliding one finger through the hoop to gracefully bring it up.  Then, he gently placed it back on your head.  As he tucked the headband in, he softly brushed your hair to the side of your neck. It seemed to be a sweet, innocent gesture – but then, Cyrille placed the tip of his finger on the top of your spine and then, he slowly dragged his finger down. 

You shivered, and Cyrille watched with pleasure as he saw the satin of your dress ripple. He lightly traced the base piece of your wings, pressing it against your back, which caused your wings to lift slightly. You arched your back a little, too, as you murmured, “What are you doing? It’s ticklish.”

“Is that so? I’m not touching you… except by your wings. But you can feel that, hm?” Cyrille mused. “Maybe these really are your wings.”

You scoffed. “Really enjoying yourself there, aren’t you?”

“Well, why shouldn’t I?” Cyrille murmured quietly, still slowly dragging his finger down. “When I have you right where I want you.” At that moment, it slipped off of your wings and onto your lower back.

You stiffened as soon as you felt his finger touch you, even with that thin layer of satin between you and him. I’d wish he’d touch me.  I wouldn’t mind if he simply ripped the satin away, if that’s what’s needed. You put your hands on your pillow, pushed yourself up slightly, and turned to look at Cyrille.

“What is it?” Cyrille asked you softly, meeting your gaze.

I need you to touch me all over. You couldn’t bring yourself to say the words, however. Something about Cyrille’s gaze struck you, deep down, and you felt almost afraid, almost paralyzed… He emanated the cold, silvery energy of ice, and it seemed like the longer you looked at him, the more you became frozen, caught in his spell. The cold was spreading all over you, radiating out waves from the single point where he was touching you on the small of your back with his finger. Soon, the unbearable cold would wholly encase you.

You searched his eyes, trying to pierce something beyond his crystalline demeanor – his veil. But all you saw were shifting colors – light playing on frost. Even after all of these years together, I genuinely can’t read him, you realized. He’s so far away in moments like these, and yet, he’s all around me. He’s all there is. That’s why – I need him inside me. I need that heat between us. I want it, and it has to be him. No one else can give me that satisfaction, because no one else can create this situation, this suffocating tension.

You swallowed, trembling from feeling so intensely vulnerable. And yet, you couldn’t look away from Cyrille. To look away from him would be akin to turning away from a serpent; it would strike at once, and that would be the end. He could do anything to me, you thought, and that idea filled you with an intense sense of thrill. You found yourself aching all over to feel him, to be touched by him, to be dominated by him – to be his. You wanted that, and you knew that you would never stop aching until Cyrille took you as his.

All this time, Cyrille was watching you. You were still lying down before him, and you were pressing your hips slightly onto the mat, while holding yourself up just enough to turn and look at him. You were stretching slightly, as though you meant to put some distance between the two of you, and you were staring at him with wide eyes.

So, you can’t be still after all, Cyrille thought. Look at you, shifting all like.  You don’t even know what you want, do you?

In your head, you moaned back, rather pitifully, Cy, what are you doing to me?  You make me feel so vulnerable.  It’s embarrassing.  You have me right where you want me, and yet you purposefully choose to do nothing, just to make me feel, to the depths of my soul, exactly how vulnerable I am before you.

Cyrille gazed back at you unflinchingly, for he recognized perfectly the hunger in your eyes, and he knew perfectly well that that was his influence on you.  And yet… He paused, for there was a strange wonder in your gaze, which he didn’t understand. It was almost as though you were looking for something within him – and he would give it to you in a heartbeat, only he didn’t know what it was.

“Angel?” he questioned, and he traced a little question mark on your back with his finger. He wondered if you were aware that you were shivering – very slightly, but all over. His voice broke the spell – you tore your eyes away from him. You shivered more violently, however, as you came back to yourself, until you had to put your head down into your pillow, where you begged, in a muffled voice, “Take me, please.”

Cyrille paused. That must have been more for her than I thought. I didn’t realize how far I’d pushed her just then.  He tried to calm the intense tension that had suddenly sprung up between you two by saying, “I will, but as I said, I intend to take my time with you - ”

“No,” you stressed, not having it. “Now. Make love to me now.” With your face still buried in your pillow, you murmured, “Please.”

As Cyrille watched you press your face into your pillow, he felt that while he wanted to take care of you, he also couldn’t deny that there was a part of him that delighted in seeing you so affected by him. Look at her, shivering away, he thought, and he smirked lightly to himself. She’s needy tonight, and that matches me perfectly, for I need to give tonight. I’ll have her taking me all night long, until she’s panting and crying and babbling… Yes, I need to rip away her sanity and make her lose her mind for me entirely – if only she wants it, too. That was the most important part – that you want it, too.  However, seeing the state of you, Cyrille was quite hopeful that you did want it as much as he did.

As if in answer to the question in his mind, you suddenly blurted out, “Cyrille, I’m aching.” You reached back with one hand and hurriedly pushed up the back of your dress, revealing your panties.

Cyrille’s eyes flashed when he saw how pretty you looked in your soft little panties.  However, all he did was continue dragging his finger down your back.

“Come on,” you protested, “I – I can’t -”

“Wait? I know,” Cyrille said calmly. “You never can.” He watched with fascination as the tips of your angel wings shuddered in the lowlight. That’s right, he thought, staring down at you with half-lidded eyes, shiver for me.  Show me just how much you want me, and I’ll give you everything you desire.  But first, you must show me.  Be needy – show me how you’ll moan for me, show me how desperate you are to be filled by me, show me how wet this pretty pussy of yours can get before I’ve even touched you.  I want those panties soaked and these wings trembling all over before I’m inside you.  For, then, when I finally take you, you’ll be mine, mine, mine…

Whilst Cyrille was taking his time, being ‘philosophical,’ as he might put it, you were going absolutely mad. With a loud moan, you buried your head into the pillow and let out a choked sob.  Unbearable, you groaned in your mind.  This is unbearable.  Finally, you bleated out, quite pathetically (for you were breathing quite hard for having done nothing so far), “Do you not want me tonight? Is that it? Are you looking just to tease me and to drive me mad and that’s all?”

Cyrille paused, and his hand stilled on your dress. You instantly knew that you had made a mistake. Your head snapped sideways as you hurriedly looked back at Cyrille.

Cyrille waited for his gaze to catch yours and only then did he speak. “Angel.”

“Y-Yes?” you stuttered out.

“Why do you ask questions you plainly know the answer to?”

“Because you’re confusing me. You aren’t inside me, and you’re hardly touching me - ” You suddenly broke off and swallowed hard as Cyrille abruptly gripped your dress in his hand.

However, Cyrille’s response was quite cool and detached, in contrast to the extremely tight grip he suddenly had on your dress. “As I said,” he informed you, almost matter-of-factly, “I intend to take my time with you tonight. I’d rather it be enjoyable for both of us, and while I wouldn’t mind if you cried a little for me tonight, I must hold back from ruining you completely.  Don’t you agree, princess?”

It was the perfect thing to say because it refused to deny you, and simultaneously, it tricked you into thinking that it was in your interest to beg.  “Well…” you said, thinking you had a bright idea for persuading him now. You forced yourself up onto your hands again as you began to plead your case. “If you’re going to take me, you don’t have to take your time so much,” you suggested, trying not to sound too eager, but failing. “I won’t tell anyone if you take me a little faster, a little harder. And I’ll still enjoy it, you know – even if you ruin me a little.” You gave him a small smile as you reminded him, “I always do.”

Cyrille breathed in rather sharply at your last words, but he merely said, “Then shush. Lie down and let me enjoy you, and you do your part by getting ready to take me. You talk impressively now, but must I remind you, little one, of how very quickly you sink down to being a dumb little slut once I’m inside you?”

You flushed, embarrassed. I thought I’ve always done rather well in taking him.  I mean, I’ve found pleasure in being tied up and edged and all, right? You paused. Do I really get all dumb once he’s inside me? Well… I suppose when he truly doesn’t hold back, I do go a bit hazy-minded.  But who could help that?  He’s a fucking animal when he’s chasing pleasure. He’s cruel and mean and he whispers all kinds of confusing things in my ear as he’s punishing my pussy.  So what if I get a little dazed?  It’s only fair, I think.

Cyrille hesitated, unsure of what you were ruminating over.  He watched as you began to frown – and then, that frown slipped into a stupid little pout, and Cyrille nearly burst out laughing.  To hide his amusement, Cyrille leaned down and kissed your shoulder.  Only, you gasped and jerked away at his touch. For some unearthly reason, his lips felt like fire on your skin, as if the Devil himself had marked you with his touch.

“Why are you pulling away?” Cyrille murmured.  “I thought you said you wanted me.”

“I – I do - ” you choked out.

“But you can’t handle a simple little kiss."

“It felt like fire,” you choked out. “So warm…”

Cyrille sighed. “You see, this is why, despite your complete inability to wait, I have to go slow. It’s for you. Because you’re absurdly sensitive to my touch.”

“I wouldn’t be if you weren’t so stingy about touching me!” you said indignantly. You made to get up onto your knees, but Cyrille leaned forward. Easily ignoring your efforts to get up, Cyrille slowly pressed his hands down atop yours, on either side of you, effectively caging you in.  When you made to turn around, too, he instantly stopped you, shoving his knees on either side of yours, to keep you under him.  Leaning down, he breathed out cruelly, “It’s for your own good. Else that little heart of yours might not be able to take it. Don’t you understand, you foolish little angel? The devil is trying to save you. Only, you won’t fucking take it.”  As he growled “take it,” Cyrille aggressively grinded himself against you, pushing his cock, clearly hard and aching in his pants, against your soft, wet panties and against your aching little pussyhole.

“Uh…” You breathed out harshly. In fact, you nearly let out a sob, but you managed to bite down on your lower lip just in time. You were such a mess, with such desperate, needy energy coursing through your body.  You were feeling so tense and achy, especially there, between your legs.  Trying once more to tempt him into hurrying along, you slid your hands out from under Cyrille’s.  Reaching down, you grasped your panties at the sides and hurriedly pulled them down to your thighs. But just then – “Ah!” you gasped, as Cyrille grabbed both of your wrists and squeezed them unforgivingly.

In a low, warning voice, Cyrille hissed, “Look at your pretty little wrists, my love. They look like they want to be tied together. Otherwise, why would they go running off like that? When I explicitly told you that I wanted to take my time enjoying you tonight.”

You fought him for a second, struggling to take your panties down, but Cyrille held you resolutely in place. 

You groaned out in protest, “But - ”

“No. Shut that pretty mouth of yours, princess," he said coolly. "I won’t have you making excuses tonight. Not when it’s our first chance to be together like this in such a long time.”

“But this is unbearable,” you huffed out.  “And it’s entirely unnecessary. When you could be having me right now.” You added indignantly, “And I will not shut my mouth.  I’ll talk at you however much I want, especially when you’re giving me nothing!”

With Cyrille leaning over you like this - with his knees caging yours in, his chest pressing lightly on your back, and his hand gripping your wrists tightly - you could only lift your head up from the pillow in ten-second bouts.  Even now, right after you’d announced your position on this situation, you feel forward again.  An annoyed, but muffled, “nngh,” left your lips as Cyrille refused to budge.

Cyrille smiled at seeing you in such a state.  But you never saw his smile.  Instead, all you felt was Cyrille gripping your wrists tighter and whispering meanly, “If you’re preoccupied with what’s necessary, I suggest you think hard about why you’re all dressed up in this foolish get-up before you go criticizing my choices, Angel.”

“I – mmpfh – Halloween...!"

“But you wore it to bed.  Or did I miss you going out to collect your absurd little candy? Perhaps you missed some houses, angel.  It looks like you’ll have to go out again tonight.  Here, let me help you.” Cyrille reached down and slipped your panties back up, making you wear them again. He laughed softly at you, and the laughter was cruel specifically because it was soft. 

“Never again,” you swore, feeling quite embarrassed. “I’ll never dress up for you again."

“You will dress up for me again,” Cyrille said at once, and his tone was so matter-of-fact that you paused, confused as to why he was so certain about something that was your decision. With a slight smirk playing around his lips, he assured you, “And every time, I will tease you about how silly you look, and every time, I will make sure I take every moment of pleasure I can from - ” He slid his finger under the strap of your shoulder and he ran his finger lightly along the inside of the strap, so that his finger grazed your shoulder and then down your back, too – “this treat you’ve given me so willingly.”

“I don’t wear it so you’ll tease me,” you said stubbornly, even while you were clutching onto your pillow to try to keep yourself from shuddering at his touch. “I wear it because – o-oh.” You fell silent and went absolutely still as Cyrille slid his hand between your thighs again and pushed his fingers up against your pussy.

“I know why you wear it,” Cyrille said. “It’s because you want power over me.”

You started to protest, but Cyrille pushed his fingers against you harder, and you suddenly bit down hard on your lower lip.

“It starts with getting my attention." Cyrille's tone was maddeningly slow, as were his fingers as they pushed lazily against your pussy through your panties. “You want me to look at you and nobody else. You wish for me to fall in love with you and to want you, so you can play your little tricks and lure me into bed – so you can get fucked.”

“It was only - only supposed to be a joke,” you managed to stutter out. But then, "ah!" A sharp gasp ripped from your lungs as Cyrille abruptly pressed his hand down on your lower back, anchoring you to the bed, and at the same time, he spanked your little pussy hard.

“Don’t lie to me, you brat,” Cyrille hissed meanly. “I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

“It wasn’t like that at all!” you protested, and you were so busy assuring Cyrille that it was all just a joke that you didn’t realize that with that one little slap on your pussy, you had gotten very, very wet.

Cyrille smirked when he felt your panties suddenly get soaked through. There we go. Mm, you are an angel, aren’t you? One harsh little touch and you’re fucking soaked through.

It took Cyrille quite a bit of effort to draw his hand away from you.  He managed to mutter, as though disinterested in you, “Very well. If it was simply a joke, we’ll end it here tonight.”

You stared at Cyrille with wide eyes, feeling absolutely betrayed. “Sadist.”

Cyrille's smirk only deepened. “You knew that already, princess.” The silver light dancing in his eyes told you all too clearly that he was not impressed by your attempted insult.

Still in disbelief, you kept staring at him. Honestly, it was quite funny, the way you were staring at him with such wide eyes – when you suddenly realized that you were quite wet between your thighs. You hesitated, as you couldn’t even remember when you had cum. Confused, you opened your mouth to reply to Cyrille, but then, realizing that you weren’t even sure of yourself, you closed your mouth and fell silent.  And that was the moment that you realized that, no matter what, you needed Cyrille tonight.  You needed him badly, more than anything.  It was no longer a matter of pride, as much as it was a matter of pure desperation.

At that moment, Cyrille began to move away. You hastily reached out for him. Grabbing his arm, you cried, “No! No, don’t go! Please! Wait, I – I…”

Cyrille stilled, letting you hold onto him, but not coming any closer to you. Looking down at you with his ever-elusive gaze, he murmured, “What is it?”

You gripped his arm harder. What is it? I- I don’t know. Only… I wish you would… “Stay with me,” you blurted out. You were unsure of everything else but that you wanted him to be with you tonight. “Cy, please, don’t go.” Your eyes watered slightly as you said fiercely, yet softly, “Don’t you dare go.”

It struck Cyrille then that you could never fully appreciate the effect you had on him.  Staring down at you, he took in how your face was slightly flushed, your eyes glistening a little, and the light reflected off of your wings and your satin white dress.  There you were, with that strange little costume you’d put on for him, and even though you’d started this silly game, you were suddenly all confused about it, only you were thinking hard about how to get him to stay with you – and that was obvious to Cyrille, as you reached for him and looked up at him with such a focused expression.  It took everything Cyrille had not to give into you right then and there, for he wanted nothing more than to gather you up in his arms and cover you with kisses.  However, Cyrille managed to stay still and he simply reveled in admiring you, while you decided what you wanted.

Finally, you said, “Just – Just come back.” You pulled his arm over you and then you turned around and laid back down on the bed.  With your other hand, you tugged at Cyrille’s shirt, so that he would come back down on the bed with you.

Cyrille acquiesced, resuming his place above you, caging you down on the bed once more.  “What is it that you want, angel?” He leaned down and placed a warm kiss on the back of your neck. "This isn't all, is it? Despite your soft, humble little plea that I simply come back, I think you're lying. I think you want something... a bit more. Isn't that right?"

“Ah…” you breathed out. You bent your head forward, wanting to give Cyrille as much access to your neck as possible, so he could cover you with kisses.

“What could you possibly want from me tonight, hm?” Cyrille continued, delighting in teasing you while you lost yourself to his touch.  Meanwhile, he grasped your hands and slyly – so slyly that you hardly noticed – guided them back, until he had your hands joined together, resting on your lower back.

“Something like this, my love?” Cyrille suggested lightly, and then he sucked hotly on your neck.

You moaned, “Ah… Yes…!” Your head fell forward onto the pillow completely, and your halo began to slip off again. 

Cyrille groaned with pleasure, and he sucked at yet another spot on your tender, warm neck. He watched with satisfaction as your halo slipped down completely onto your pillow.

You blinked awake at this and you made to reach for the halo, only to realize that Cyrille had your wrists in his grasp.

“Cy,” you called softly. “My halo…”

Cyrille kept one hand on your wrists, holding you in place.  With his other hand, he picked up your halo.  You lifted your head and waited expectantly, but Cyrille merely tossed the halo away.  Your mouth dropped open as you saw it sail away in the air and then disappear beyond the edge of the bed. 

“But, Cy - !” you began.

“No." With his free hand, Cyrille grabbed your neck. You shuddered at how cold his fingers felt after his warm mouth.  He squeezed your neck as he told you, “I already said that I won’t let you get away with those soft little pleas of yours tonight. You say ‘But, Cy,’ and expect to get everything you want, always.  But I won’t allow that. Not when you’re being such a fucking brat tonight.”

You felt your mouth slip into a pout, and your eyes became slightly watery.  It wasn’t hard to breathe, but it wasn’t a comfortable position, either, as you had to rely on your core to keep your head lifted while the rest of you was resolutely pinned down on the bed, even if Cyrille was propping you up by grasping your neck in his cold fingers.

“Crying already?” Cyrille teased you.  “Is it because you’ve lost your halo, angel?  Do you feel vulnerable without that silly thing dangling over your head, hm? Now that you’re vulnerable to the truths I’ll tell you tonight, like how you’re mine – mine to love, and mine to completely fucking ruin, are you feeling all vulnerable?  Finally thinking a little, aren’t you, now that that foolish halo’s gone?” 

“I – I don’t know what you’re t-talking about,” you managed to choke out, and when Cyrille squeezed your neck harder, you inadvertently let out a soft sob. 

Cyrille laughed.  “Playing innocent, are we? Well, fine. You’re rather cute like this.” 

You blinked blearily. Cute like what?

“I want…” Cyrille’s fingers squeezed your throat quite hard for a moment, and you felt yourself float dizzily, so that you weren’t entirely sure what he said next, but it sounded something like “…to see you cry…”

You breathed out harshly, and then you gulped loudly.

Cyrille stopped at once. Loosening his grip on your neck, he whispered solemnly, “Safe word?”

“R-Raven,” you choked out.

“Do you want to use it?” Cyrille asked gently. “I’m not hurting you, am I? Or scaring you? Tell me if I am, at once.” He let go of your wrists, in case you wished to be freed.  

“You’re being mean tonight,” you complained. True enough, you felt like your mind was spinning as you tried to keep up with your husband tonight. “Mean and confusing. Where did you learn to be so mean?”

Cyrille chuckled lowly. “You should know the answer to that one, princess.”  

“Is it because we haven’t been together in so long?” you wondered.

“Perhaps,” Cyrille replied, and he stroked your hair softly. “Or perhaps I always feel like this about you, and I’d have you this way every single night if I could, regardless of how often we are together.”

“See? That’s confusing,” you pointed out.

Cyrille smirked at you, as he patiently waited for you to make your decision

You paused, thinking to yourself for a moment.  Then, with a soft grunt of effort, you lifted your hands again, and Cyrille felt your fingers patting away lightly on his stomach, almost knocking to ask politely if he might restrain them again.

Cyrille’s eyes flashed brightly at your affirmation. He murmured lovingly, “Good girl.” 

“Yes, be mean to me,” you whispered. “I can take it – No, I want to take it. I want you, Cy."

“All right,” Cyrille said, taking your consent to heart. “But now, give me your safe word, one more time.”

“Raven.”

“Very well.  You hold onto that word, now. Else you might sink all the way down to hell with me. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” 

Sitting up now, Cyrille grasped your wrists in one hand and slipped his other arm under your tummy. Supporting you, he yanked you to him.  Then, Cyrille whispered a spell, so that pink silk ribbons appeared out of thin air and wound themselves around your wrists, tying their ends together in a pretty bow atop your hands. 

You let out a slow breath, as you felt your hands being bound together.  Your thighs twitched, and you felt a soft, pleasant sensation of anticipation rise in-between your legs. Oh yes... Oh, yes, yes, yes, it's been far too long since we did this.

Cyrille’s eyes traced down your back, which was taut with the effort of holding your hands behind you, and then down your shapely little ass, and your plush little thighs, sitting so properly and cutely on the edge of the bed… All tied up and nowhere to go, huh?  You soft, pathetic, little thing, all bent over like that. Mm… He bit down on his lower lip hard, as his cock throbbed heavily.  He knew he had to tease you further, for you weren’t even close to being as desperate as he intended to make you, but he couldn’t help himself. 

Instead, Cyrille shifted forward, pressing his bulge flush against your panties. He moaned slightly, feeling your pussy through your panties, all hot and soft, against him.

At the same time, a labored little groan left your mouth. “Nngh…”  

“Angel - ” Cyrille began, but just then, you lifted your hips and pushed back against him, spreading that pink little pussy of yours right up against his cock.

“Fuck,” Cyrille spat suddenly. His hands flew to your shoulders, and he gripped you so tightly you felt his nails press into your skin.

Good, you thought. That’s the tightness I want to feel  - but all over, and inside – especially inside.  My love, please get inside me. I need that cock to clench onto.  Working your abs quite hard (as your hands were humbly tied up behind you), you squirmed roughly against Cyrille, dragging yourself all over the front of his pants.

Cyrille groaned out loud, and he stuttered out, in a voice most unlike him, “A-Angel, you’ve – you’ve got to hold yourself together - ” but you kept going.  You were desperate for friction.  You used every bit of strength you had in your core to grind yourself against him.

Mm! you moaned in your head, pressing your pussy all over him. Mm, mm, mmm!

Cyrille noticed that, little by little, the back of your dress was coming up as it caught repeatedly against his belt buckle.  Slowly, your plush thighs appeared from under the dress, and then, Cyrille caught sight of your panties, which were absolutely soaked through, and he could just see your pussy glistening underneath the wet silky fabric.

Fuck, Cyrille cursed in his head, I knew she was wet, but Godric, she’s soaked through. He growled wantingly.  He ran his hands appreciatively over your thighs, hips, and ass, as he praised you. “I would scold you for stepping out of line, and trying to use me as your fucktoy before I’ve even touched you.  But I’ll let it go for now.  Because you know what you’re doing for me?”

“Hmm?” you said pleasantly, as you kept grinding against him. You were obviously pleased with yourself, as you unapologetically made the most out of being able to rub your warm, wet pussy against his bulge.

Cyrille whispered softly, “You’re presenting. Look at you, all bent over and tied up, and pushing up against me like this.”

“Ah, yeah,” you breathed out, and you nodded your head.

“Yes, you’re saying to me that you’re a needy little slut and that you won’t be able to think properly again unless I fuck this sweet little pussy - ” Cyrille suddenly slapped your pussy hard and you yelped, “ah!” – “and claim you as mine. Isn’t that right, angel?”

“Y-Yes, Cy!" you moaned. "Mm, yes!" Despite your burning abs, the energy running through your body was absolutely electric. 

Cyrille reached down and finally unbuckled his belt.  “Do the other angels know how utterly sinful you are?” he teased you, as he impatiently tossed his belt away.

“Mhm,” you said, no longer hearing him.  Your eyes were closed and you were already panting in anticipation of taking his cock.  Clearly, you were merely waiting for Cyrille to quickly get rid of his annoying clothing, so he could finally love you to your heart’s content.

“Yes?” Cyrille said, amused at how obvious you were being tonight.

“Yes,” you breathed out, almost drooling, as Cyrille tossed aside his pants and briefs.  You followed it up quickly with a, “Hurry, please.”

“All right, all right. So needy.” Cyrille pretended to sigh.  But as he stepped back to you, he noticed that even though your hands were resolutely tied up by that silk pink bow, you had opened your hands anyways and reached them out as much as you could towards Cyrille, indicating how much you wanted him, how much you simply couldn’t wait for what was to come next.

Quite pleased with you, Cyrille said to you, “See?  When you’re all tied up like this, you suddenly remember your manners.  It’s good for you to be bound up for me, I think." He reached down and gave your wet pussy a soft, little pat.  "Yes, it’s good for you to just be a hole for me, after all.”

“Yes!” you moaned pitifully.  Now all he has to do is lean forward and put himself inside me.  Please, please, please!  Don’t keep me waiting, my love.

“Yes, you’re just a hole for me?” Cyrille confirmed, loving how you were acquiescing to absolutely everything while your precious little cunt was right there, all wet and waiting for him.  He positioned himself behind you and reaching down, he purposefully slid his finger in-between your panties and pussy.

“Oh…!” You pushed your face back into the pillow, trembling with anticipation. You felt Cyrille drag your panties to the side, and you shivered, so relieved that you were finally going to feel his cock push inside of your now very tight and very wet pussy.

Only, Cyrille chose that moment to murmur to you, in a voice that completely illustrated how calm he was, in contrast to your feverish neediness, “Well, since you’re playing along so nicely, I’d say that it’s time for a little confessional from you.”

When you moaned out frustratedly, “Nooo…” in a muffled voice, Cyrille barely bit back a laugh.

But Cyrille merely continued, in his silky, silvery voice, “Now, tell me, in all the days that we spend apart – which has been quite a lot lately – do you miss me?  Or have you forgotten me completely? Be honest now.  I’ll know if you’re simply lying to get yours.”

“Think of you,” you murmured, and you lifted your hips eagerly right after your answer, expecting Cyrille to reward you.

Only, Cyrille tauntingly ran his fingertip down your sweet little figure, all the way down to your waiting pussy, and he teased your pussyhole by running his finger in small circles round and round your pussyhole. “Mm, that was borderline a lie, princess.”

“It wasn’t!” you said, completely frustrated with him.

Cyrille had to check another laugh, but he managed to snap, “It was, and you fucking know it. But I’ll give you another chance, because I’m feeling gracious tonight. Tell me this - ”

“What?” you bleated out. “What could you possibly want to know right now?”

“I simply want to hear, from your own lips, who you think you belong to,” Cyrille said softly.  He ran his hand up your soft, sweet thigh, but as he came near to your pussy, he suddenly paused. You groaned into your pillow. 

Cyrille watched with great pleasure as your hands flexed into tight fists, but as you were bound up very tightly and by magic, you had no chance of breaking out of those ribbons.  Watching you struggle, Cyrille murmured, ever so gently, “Just tell me who you belong to, tell me who gets to fuck this sweet little cunt of yours, and I’ll give you what you want. Only remember, you better mean it.”

“You,” you moaned at once. “You, Cy, and only you. I swear.”

“Hmpfh.” Cyrille let out a pleased breath of satisfaction. “Spoken like a true submissive. Well, fine.”  With that, Cyrille gripped your hips and then, leaning forward slightly, he pushed himself into you, at long last.

“Y-Yes, ah…!” An indescribably freeing surge of electricity ran through you as you felt his cock finally split open your warm, velvety walls.  You sank into the mattress, but as you thought triumphantly, finally!, your head came up and you let out an unholy moan to express your intense pleasure and relief at finally having your husband inside of you.  

“My God, look at you,” Cyrille said, reveling in your reaction. “Look at the arch in your back. Sinful. Utterly sinful. No wonder your halo fell off. You’re a naughty little thing, aren’t you?”

“No, you t-tore it o-off,” you protested, though rather pitifully.

“And?” Cyrille challenged you, all the while pushing his cock deeper inside of you. “Do you regret that? Would you rather fly off to your own paradise, than stay here on earth with me?”

“Hah… Ah…” you breathed out.  Cyrille was coaxing your tight pussy walls open so well already; your mind was spinning with complete and utter pleasure.  Without realizing it, you started to lean forward into the pillow again.  

Cyrille abruptly grabbed your ribbons and yanked you back up. His silky voice slithered into your ear, “Answer.” 

It took everything you had to form a coherent thought while you felt Cyrille’s long, stiff cock delving into your pussy for the first time in weeks, setting you aflame in all the right ways, and making you positively tingle all over, but you managed to choke out, “Stay… with you… uhn…”

“Mm, yes, good girl,” Cyrille breathed out, and he finally began to move his hips a little, pushing himself into your tight, hot little cunt deeper and deeper with every stroke.   

Uhnnnn, yes, feels so good, you thought. Ohhhh, getting so deep inside me! Ah, yes! Take me, take me, take me - please! Without realizing it, you were whimpering into your pillow quite mindlessly, "Take me, t-take me... take me, uhn!"

Cyrille groaned as he felt your tight pussy wrap around his cock. “Fuck, princess, I will have to take you with me. I could never leave such a sweet little thing behind. I’ll have to keep you right by my side, even if it means bringing you all the way down to hell.”

“Don’t care,” you whined out at once, your voice warbling.

“That’s terrible, angel,” Cyrille whispered lowly. “You should care.” But, despite his scolding, he was evidently quite pleased with your answer, because he began to build up a steady pace. Thump, thump, thump went the bedframe against the wall.

“Ah, yes!” you gasped. “Feels so good, Cy!”

Cyrille took his time with you, letting you enjoy your little victory. He didn’t push in all the way, nor did he take you quickly, but he kept up a soft, steady pounding.

“Uhn, uhn, uhn,” you moaned out softly.  Only a moment later, you tucked your head nicely into your pillow and you slowly settled down on the bed, so that Cyrille had to lean over more to continue making love to you.

Cyrille watched you, and he saw that you looked ever so pleased with yourself and were clearly content on having Cyrille do all the work, while you laid there and let yourself be pleasured.  Sure, your hands were tied up in ribbons and restrained behind your back, but it could not be clearer that you were in charge here.  You kept letting out soft, happy moans every time Cyrille pushed himself inside of you, but you gave no movement yourself and you didn’t look up at him or offer any kind-of verbal affirmation to Cyrille.

Cyrille tsked at you, but you didn’t notice. Then, all at once, he stopped moving his hips. You finally seemed to wake up, twitching suddenly, and Cyrille watched your wings flutter in the low lamplight for a moment. Blinking your eyes open, you suddenly blurted out, “Wha – What?” You tried to turn your head, to read Cyrille’s face.

However, Cyrille kept himself back, out of sight.  He was merely a voice in the night, murmuring silkily, “I’ll tell you what, I’ll cut you a little deal. I keep pleasing you for as long as you can keep your little pussy propped up for me. Deal?”

You were a bit confused as to why he was suddenly striking a deal with you, but you couldn’t see any downside to it, especially if it meant he would continue where he left off, so you nodded eagerly.

“You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?” Cyrille said. “You have to keep yourself up. You have to keep your wet little cunt at my disposal, right here for me to fuck.”

You should have heard the warning in Cyrille’s voice, but you didn’t. All you could comprehend, all you cared about, was that he was going to fuck his handsome cock back inside your aching little hole.

“Yes,” you agreed at once. “I’ll do that. Now, come back to me. Please, my love.”  

“All right,” Cyrille murmured soothingly. “I’ll give you what you want. Just remember your promise now.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“Ah! C-Cy! Uhn! Uh, uh, uh!”

Immediately after you’d agreed to his ‘deal,’ the energy and pace of your love-making shifted entirely. Cyrille was being vicious with you, rutting into you at a punishing pace.  The back of your thighs flushed a bright pink, and your wrists blushed a matching pink, for you were squirming quite a bit in your ribbons.  It was only a matter of minutes before you were pink everywhere, for not only was Cyrille making the most of having your perfect little pussy right where he wanted, but he had his hands all over you.

Yanking your dress off of you and pulling his shirt off of himself, Cyrille leaned over to grasp roughly at your breasts until they were tender and sore. When your nipples were flushing pink and his handprints were clear on your soft breasts, Cyrille then grasped at your waist as hard as he could until you felt you could barely breathe, and he held you in place as he fucked you mercilessly, making you cry out loudly, “Ah, ah, ahhh!” And then, right as he pushed your head down roughly on the pillow (but reminded you, in no uncertain terms, that you were to keep your hips up so that your pussy was right where he needed you), he suddenly and savagely ripped your wings off. 

“You’re not going to need these, are you?” he said fiercely.  A bead of sweat rolled down his face and landed on your now bare back. Feeling that tiny drop of coolness on your otherwise feverish body, you shivered all over. 

Meanwhile, your shoulders strained beautifully, accentuating the lines down your back, as you were suddenly deprived entirely of your costume.  You barely even registered what had happened, however, as Cyrille continued to push his cock unrelentingly into your cunt.  He growled, in a raspy voice, “After all, you’re going to stay on earth with me. Isn’t that right?”  His hands fumbled up to grip your hair, and he yanked your head back into the air, even as he thrust into you from behind. “I said, isn’t that right?”

“Ahhh!” you sobbed. “Mm, mm, mm! Yes!”

“Yes, you’ll stay with me?” Cyrille pressed, fisting your hair tightly in his hand.

“Y-Yes!” you breathed out, your voice strained with the effort of taking Cyrille like this and also from arching your back into a difficult position, especially when you couldn’t use your hands.

“Promise me,” he demanded, and he thrust into you so hard that he forced the breath out of you.

“Hhn – a-ah!” was all that left your lips, however.

“Swear to me,” Cyrille hissed insistently.  

You started to answer, but he thrust his hips forward again, driving his cock so deep inside of you that you swore you felt him in your tummy. “A-Ahhh!” A loud, strangled sob wrenched out of your throat.

Cyrille was merciless, growling at you, “Come on, princess, I’m running out of patience.”  

You wanted to point out that it was his fault that you couldn’t answer properly, but deciding it was best to simply tell him the truth, you hastily choked out, in a strained, breathy gasp, “I would n-never leave you, Cy!”

Cyrille’s eyes softened for a brief moment, and he bent down to give your shoulder a little kiss. He whispered lightly, “You're lovely, angel. And you're such a good girl for me, after all."

You managed to smile an exhausted, little smile before – “Nngh!” – Cyrille went back to ravaging you, dominating you, devouring you alive. Ah, fuck, he’s wrecking me so, so good, you moaned in your head, which was being jerked back slightly with every single thrust he gave you, since he was still very much gripping your hair in his hand. 

“N-Nngh, hah, ah, ah!” you groaned.  For a moment, your hands floundered in the air, as you forgot that you were all tied up, like a cute little Christmas present for Cyrille.

Cyrille smirked as he saw you all helpless in your pretty little ribbons, and he thrust his hips forward again, slamming his cock deep inside of you.

“Ahhh!” you gasped.  All you could feel was heat, heat all over, but especially between your legs and in your tummy.  You could hardly breathe, and there were definitely tears in your eyes, but you had never felt more satisfied in your life.

In the midst of all that fever, you heard Cyrille’s slow, masterful voice slither into your ear, and you heard him demand that you: “Cum.” You inhaled sharply – which was a mistake, because that was the precise moment at which Cyrille thrust into you. Your breath got all mixed up, and a terrible little whimper tripped out of your pretty little mouth. You whimpered, then let out a sob as your soft, feverish body shivered all over – and then you came.

“U-Uhnn…” you moaned fervently, as you finally gave into that overwhelming feeling of intense release. Your pussy was so hot and so wet, and since Cyrille was still buried inside of you, you had the pleasure of cumming right on his cock. Yes, you milked his thick, long cock as your pussy walls pulsed heavily with your cumming.   

Uhn, Cyrille moaned in his head. For a moment, he nearly lost it and came inside of you.  Because the way your pussy gripped and squeezed all down his length, and the way you trembled all over while he was still buried inside of you, and the way your pussy got so fucking hot while he was still inside you - Gods, he groaned to himself. Angel's so fucking perfect, cumming on me like such a good girl, with everything she has, uhn... Cyrille kept control of himself by letting himself tease you.  Reaching down, he rubbed your clit, even as you were still cumming while he was buried inside of you.

Overstimulated, you gasped in surprise and made to crawl forward, but Cyrille simply tipped you over, and because your hands were tied behind your back, you fell straight over and your face disappeared into the pillow once more.

“Cy-rille!” Your muffled cry sprang out from the soft pillow.

Cyrille replied by slapping your ass with a firm, sharp smack!

“Ow!” You immediately rocked back, and you sat up for a second, huffing and puffing loudly, before you fell right back over.

Cyrille allowed himself a chuckle. “You silly little thing, can’t even keep yourself upright.”

“Well, I could,” you protested, despite your hidden face and muffled voice, “if someone didn’t have a weird thing for tying me up.”

"Well, how could I not?" Cyrille replied smoothly, as he watched the way you struggled to look back at him. Meanwhile, you had your knees folded on the edge of the bed, meaning your hips were up in the air, and your tight little cunt was simply waiting in the perfect position for him to take you in. Your thighs were shivering slightly as you finally finished cumming, and Cyrille watched as your pussy steadily became wetter.

You blushed a little, as you muttered, "What d'you think you're looking at, Cyrille?"

Loving your little challenge, even though it was not at all what a submissive ought to be saying to her master, Cyrille felt a sense of pride flare up within him. He answered, "I'm looking at your wet little cunt, princess, and thinking of all the ways I'll cum in it."

Your blush brightened to a full-on pink, and you hid your face in the pillow.

Cyrille let out a soft, amused breath. He loved that you were always displaying your equal measures of silliness and righteousness before him. It made him so proud that you were his woman - his to hold, tease, and pleasure… Yes, you are mine, angel… Mine to love… Cyrille breathed out harshly, and, with a low growl, he suddenly thrust once more inside of you. 

You cried aloud and jolted forward, with your soft breasts bouncing as you were pushed forward for that moment.  “Cy, I  - I just came…” you bleated out pitifully, feeling very sensitive in your still-throbbing pussy.

“Mm, yes, you did,” Cyrille agreed lightly. “I can fucking feel you that just did, my love.”  And he could, for your pussy felt unbearably tight and warm, and you were pulsing on his cock, and it felt heavenly for him.  Cyrille began to rut into you for a second time that night, letting out a low, raspy groan as he did so.

Your mouth fell open as you found yourself getting swept away yet again, until you were completely lost to your senses. You gloated in the pleasure of feeling how Cyrille took you in such a way that he left no question that you were absolutely his, and no one else’s. T-Take it, you told yourself, while gritting your teeth (not because it hurt, but because all of your nerves felt awakened, and you were in that sweet spot between being just relaxed enough to be able to take him even more deeply and sensitive enough that it felt that much more intense).

"All wet," Cyrille groaned lowly. "Fuck, you feel so good."

You let out a long, arching moan in reply.

In his mind, Cyrille whispered to you, You play so willingly into my hands.  Offering yourself to me so sweetly, when you know – you must know – that what I want is to devour you, ruin you, push you to your limits…  Deep down, you know, don’t you, that even though I’ve changed my essence from violence to healing, with your help, that deep inside of me, there’s that ever-waiting lair of lust, and it craves you, angel, it fucking wants to drag you all the way into the depths of hell with me…

Lost in his desire for you, Cyrille began ramming his cock ruthlessly against your sweet spot over and over and over again, and, sensitive as you were, you could hardly take it, despite how wet you were. He’s p-pounding my pussy, you stuttered out in your mind. Mm, so hard, so hard, so much – ah! Yes, but I love it. God, I love it so much – uhhhnnnn!

You didn’t realize it, but you were leaning forward quite a bit, and your hips were beginning to fall as your thighs began to cave in. That coil in your lower tummy was beginning to tighten, and you were – you couldn’t – it was – “Feels s-so good! T-too much…!” you gasped aloud.

A hand roughly grabbed at your hair and yanked your head back. A cruel, cold voice whispered in your ear, “No, it’s not ‘too much’ for you, princess.  It can’t be, not when you asked for it, not when your tight little cunt was made for me, to take me like this, not when this is all you’re good for.”

“Uhnnn…!” Your whole body was shaking, and he was being so mean to you, but God damn it if it didn’t feel so fucking good for you.

Cyrille slammed his hips forward yet again, making you take his cock, just like you asked for, and you trembled furiously.  Cyrille hugged you to him, forcing you to sit up. Anchoring you against him, Cyrille pushed down on you, making you sit right on his cock, until his entire length was sheathed inside of you.  You felt your throbbing, hot pussy being spread open so much – too much, you bleated out again in your head.  Your eyes rolled back in your head - and you blanked out.

“N-nngh, nngh, h-hah, ahhh!” you gasped loudly.  You started to reach for Cyrille, to grab onto his arm so that you would have something to hold as you lost all control over yourself - only to find your hands still bound.  You whimpered out a nonsensical, desperate plea, but it was already too late. Your thighs began collapsing as your pussy clenched yet again on his cock, and your head bowed forward as you didn’t know what to do – and before you knew it, you were crying, sobbing loudly.

Cyrille still holding you tightly in his arms, whispered tauntingly, “How can you tell me it’s too much, when you’re cumming all over me like a little slut?”

“U-Uh, uhn, mmm, uhhhh…!” Mangled, soft cries spilled out as you released yet again.

Cyrille breathed out heavily when he felt a warm rush of sweet cum gush out of your pussy, drenching his cock.  Is she trying to drive me mad, cumming on my cock like that twice? he wondered. He shuddered. Damn, I'm so close myself - Mm, shit. I have to - have to do something to control myself. Cyrille suddenly grabbed your face, and he forced you to look at him.  He looked down at you with an almost cold gaze.  What are you doing to me, angel? Do you even know - how you drive me absolutely crazy for you? You stared up blearily at his half-lidded eyes and you caught a flash of something quite secretive rise up inside of his silvery eyes... before it disappeared entirely, like the flash of light on a fish's scales underwater.

"Cy..." you whispered, still breathing quite heavily.

But Cyrille only replied, "Remember your promise, now," before he let you go.

Promise? you wondered, even as you collapsed forward and fell down flat onto the bed. What promise...? Ah, I can't think right now. No, not when - Godric, I feel like I’m on fire… Ah… My entire body is… tingling… You felt your pussy clench tightly as you slowly finished cumming, only to find – Wait, where’s he gone?  Where is Cyrille?  You couldn’t quite lift your head (not with your hands still bound behind you), but you managed to turn your head sideways. You saw that Cyrille had gotten off the bed and was reaching down to pick up his briefs and pants.

Wait, what? But we’re not done, are we?  I mean, he’s still… You swallowed as you saw that Cyrille was still hard.  Mm, want him back inside me, right now.

But I’m tired, a small voice in your head pointed out. Exhausted. Spent. Take your pick of vocabulary.

Don’t care, you decided at once.  I can’t be finished until he’s cum inside me. There’s nothing I want more. Nothing can even come close to satisfying me. You meant to reach out to Cyrille, but those blasted ribbons were still keeping your hands pinned to your back.  Grr, I kept forgetting. Annoying, these ribbons. Hmpfh.

“Cyrille?” you called.

“What is it?” Cyrille asked you calmly.

“Um, where are you going?”

“What sort-of question is that? I’m right here, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but...”

Cyrille looked over at you and lifted his eyebrow. “Something you’d like to say?”

“Um..." Doing your best to ignore your achy, trembling limbs, you slowly pushed yourself back onto your knees, while keeping your head against your pillow.  At the same time, you kept eye contact with Cyrille.  Clearly, you meant for it to be an alluring move – only a strand of hair fell in front of your face. You had to purse your lips and blow it away, since you couldn’t reach up with your hand. “P-P-Pfttt…”

Cyrille burst into laughter. “Oh, angel, I wish you could see yourself.” His eyes continued to gleam with laughter as he pointed out, "And you still haven't made your point clear yet, you know."

Your face scrunched up, as you were displeased with the situation.  “Come on, you know what I mean."

“I'm willing to take a guess," Cyrille said coolly. "You want me back inside you, deep inside that perfect little cunt of yours."

You nodded eagerly, and you smiled, waiting for him to come back to you.

“Words, angel,” Cyrille reminded you.

“Yes, please.  I don’t understand why you’re so far away from me now.”

“Is that so?” Cyrille came over to you and he patted your pussy softly before suddenly plunging his fingers inside of you.

You whimpered. Ah… I’ve cummed twice already… Feels so tender, uhn…

“So fucking hot,” Cyrille murmured, pumping his fingers in and out of you.  “You have such a pretty pussy, my love.” At the same time, he was stroking his cock, which was throbbing angrily and aching for release.  He took his tension out on you, asking you - no, taunting you, by saying, “Tell me. Is my angel’s pussy aching so very badly now that it hasn’t got a cock to grip on?”

You nodded fervently. Feeling Cyrille’s fingers sinking into you – but not deep enough, you groaned, “Nnnghhh, Cyrille… Please.”

“You want to cum again?” Cyrille said. “You’re quite greedy, aren’t you? No manners, but you demand all the pleasure in the world.”

Soft, wet sounds rang out as Cyrille pushed his fingers inside of you. You nodded again, to whatever Cyrille had said, as you tried to fuck yourself on his fingers. But Cyrille swiftly put his hand down on your back and forced you to sink down onto the mattress. Your eyes filled with tears and you shook your hips a little, trying to get Cyrille’s hand off of you, so you could move on his cock. But he wouldn’t move.

Instead, Cyrille kept you pinned there as he whispered meanly, “You want to cum all over my cock for a third time, like a little slut, is that it? You’ve gotten used to cumming on my cock, and you can’t be satisfied any other way, can you, you brat? No manners, just begging to be stuffed full again. All thoughtless except for your want of pleasure - you think I can't see that? When obviously, all you want is a hard cock filling up your greedy little cunt.”

Feeling betrayed, you looked up at him with a soft pout. “What's so wrong with that?” you demanded. “Why won’t you let me – ? When I..." You forced yourself to pull together your thoughts, and you managed to say, "I love you, so yes I want you. That is obvious. I would never deny that I crave you - my husband, my love, my lord. So why is it so bad that I need you inside me? When I do need you to cum in me. I do need it, I admit, Cy. I need you to make love to me and not stop until you've filled my pussy up with so much cum that it's your pussy." You bit down softly on your lower lip as you murmured, "Is that really something I need to be punished for, hm?"

Fuck, Cyrille thought, how can I hold out when she’s saying such sinfully sweet things? His heart was pounding feverishly in his chest, but he tried to keep his demeanor calm and tried not to show how he was falling in love with you all over again, as he repeated, “Oh, you need me, do you?”

You nodded fervently. “Please, I want you back inside me. There's nothing I want more.” You slowly and tantalizingly moved your hips from side to side, trying to make Cyrille see how badly you needed him.

“Well, but that can’t be true,” Cyrille said thoughtfully, and he stepped away from the bed altogether.  

You groaned in frustration.  “What are you doing?”

“None of this is my doing.” Cyrille sounded quite bored, but in fact, he was so pleased that you were finally beginning to realize what had happened.  Undeniable satisfaction bled into his voice as he revealed, “Because if I recall, I explicitly told you that if you let your hips fall, you’d be telling me that you were done.  I told you, didn’t I, that if you didn’t keep that pretty pussy of yours flush to me, that you wouldn’t be getting me tonight. And you promised that you would, like a good girl. Only I see now that you were using that sweet little mouth of yours to lie to me.”

“I didn’t lie!” you said, surprised. “I didn’t realize you meant that so literally, that’s all.  If I knew, I wouldn’t have – I would never have - ”

“But you did, princess,” Cyrille said. “You did.”

“But I – I - ” Flustered, you suddenly found yourself gaping at him like a fish, mouth opening and closing as you tried to think of what to say. Finally, you groaned, “What’s going on in that head of yours tonight?”

At this, Cyrille finally came back to you. He turned you over, so that you were lying on your back. He leaned forward, pressing himself in-between your thighs and pinning you down.  However, when he caught sight of your messy hair, teary eyes, bright pink face, and pouting mouth, he couldn’t help but reach forward to smooth your hair back for you.  With a little sigh to hide how pleased he was at what a mess you were, Cyrille couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“But really, what are you doing?” you whispered again.

Cyrille shook his head at you. “No, that’s my question for you, my love. Cumming twice on my cock like that – where did you learn that from, princess?”

At this, you blushed and started to turn your head away, but Cyrille instantly caught your chin in his hand. “Ah, ah, ah. Don’t turn away from me.”

You mumbled, “You’re not taking me seriously, are you?”

“Look at me,” Cyrille hissed softly.

You swallowed, and with some effort, you lifted your eyes and met his gaze. Oh… The way he looked at you, with eyes full of love and adoration, but also with an intense desire to fulfill every bit of you, left no doubt in your mind that he took you very seriously indeed. He loves me, you realized, for the thousandth time in your life.  Such an overwhelming feeling of being loved and loving overcame you that you suddenly wanted to cry.  Dazed, you stared up at him rather blankly.

Knowing that you felt safe and secure with him, Cyrille gave you a kiss on your forehead before he said softly (and quite manipulatively, mind you), "Now, are you sorry for forgetting your promise?"

You nodded.

"And despite you forgetting your promise, you do still want me to carry on making love to you - yes?"

You nodded again, even more eagerly.

"Good. But you'll permit me to be a little rough with you, to make up for the fact that you cut us off?"

You hesitated. Well, that's not entirely my fault, you thought, but you simply nodded again, because you were well aware that Cyrille was only teasing you.

Sure enough, Cyrille smiled when you saw you nod while plainly not accepting a word he said. However, tucking away his amusement, Cyrille said, "Now, remember, you can use your safe word, if need be…” He hesitated, and his hand snaked around your pretty neck again before he confessed, in a low, raspy whisper, “Though I’d much prefer if you didn’t tonight.”

You paused at this. For, feeling Cyrille's hand slotted quite tightly around your throat and seeing the way he was gazing so wantingly at you, and also realizing that he intended to make love to you for the third time that night, you suddenly realized that Cyrille, in his own way, was quite desperate for you tonight.

Cyrille was still speaking softly, saying, "Now, if you please, we'll continue with this once you - "

In a hushed, awed voice, you cut off Cyrille, murmuring, “Oh, Cy, I didn’t realize you liked my angel outfit so much. But you are a little different tonight, aren't you? All wanting and needy, too, just like me.”

Cyrille stilled. In that moment, he nearly gave up.  What the fuck kind-of answer is that from a supposed submissive? Letting out an audible sigh, he reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Oh,” you said apologetically. “Is that not it?” You tacked on thoughtfully, “If it is, though, you don’t have to be embarrassed.  I've already made all my confessions about how badly I need you tonight. It's not silly at all that you should want me just as much. In fact, that's what I hope for. Oh, and you really should let me know if you do like this costume because the costume shop only had one more pair of wings.  Perhaps tomorrow, I can trot out and go get them - ”

“I swear to Merlin,” Cyrille cursed. “You will not trot out anywhere, much less for another pair of silly wings.”

“Ah, just as well,” you said, giving him a sheepish smile. “Halloween’s not for another year.”

“Are you quite finished?” Cyrille sighed.

“Oh,” you said pleasantly, “were you waiting on me? I’m sorry.”

“Where in the world did all that come from? Spouting all that nonsense out of nowhere, you’re such a foolish little thing,” Cyrille admonished you, even as he stroked your face softly. 

“And why is that?” you said, gently biting at his fingers in a little challenge. “So, you like this costume – what’s so bad about that?”

With a soft growl, Cyrille leaned forward, and burying his face against your neck, he clamped his mouth onto your throat. Even without words, you could feel his berating you through his energy and through the way he sucked hard at your neck.

“Ah…” you moaned.  "Oh, but w-wait, have I said s-something bad?" You meant to bring your hands up to grasp at his shoulders, only to remember that they were still tied behind your back. "Cyrille," you pushed, not letting him get away without answering you. "Mm..."

As Cyrille sucked hotly at your neck, you squirmed under him, but Cyrille kept you under him lovingly as he covered your neck with kisses and bites. After some time, he murmured in a deceptively soft voice, “You've gone terribly astray in your thoughts, angel."

"How so?" In the next breath, you whispered, "Mm, Cy, harder," for he had found that spot just under your jaw, where you loved to be kissed.

Cyrille acquiesced to your plea, but as he did, he began to explain his grievances towards you. "Somehow, you’ve come to think that it’s this ridiculous angel costume of yours that made me this way - ”

“Well, y-yes,” you breathed out. "That is my theory."

Cyrille continued, “ – while you’re completely ignorant of the fact that I miss you every night, and that if you weren’t so busy saving the world every day, I’d already have locked you up so that I could love you to my heart’s content every single night. And you thinking that my desire for you is based on this nonsensical costume shows me, so plainly that you're a...”  He lifted his face and looked straight into your eyes as he said, in a low, silky, but nonetheless accusing voice: “Brat.”

Heart thumping quite quickly, you stared back at him.  You started to swallow, when Cyrille’s hand slipped up to your throat. He murmured, “How long will you continue to doubt me?” and squeezed your throat.

You gasped soundlessly, and your eyes began to blur with tears.  Your head was spinning, and your heart pounding, but through it all, you swore you heard Cyrille whisper, “Princess.”

You shut your eyes tightly, and you focused all your willpower to choke out, “I – I m-miss you too, Cy.”

Cyrille hesitated. “Do you?”

You nodded as much as you could, feeling your chin bounce lightly against the top of his fist.

Cyrille cocked his head down at you, studying you. You stared back up at him rather pitifully, but in truth, you were feeling such a strong sense of love from Cyrille telling you how much he missed you, though your heart ached because you'd been feeling the same way for too long now. Correspondingly, your body was burning with your desire to have him.  For when you felt his hand on your neck like that, and when he whispered to you like that, and when he gazed down at you like that… Oh… you shuddered, and before you knew it, you were choking out, “Please… My- My lord...”

“What, my queen?"

“…I-Inside me,” you whispered.

“You're begging for more?” Cyrille said, matching your low, soft whisper.  He loved, absolutely loved that you were not letting up tonight, and how you were begging shamelessly for him. “You’ve already cum twice, but you still want more?”

“Y-Yes,” you whimpered. “I n-need it.”

“Oh, angel, you’re so fucking pathetic,” Cyrille breathed out, but his silver eyes were alight with pleasure, and he had hardly said those cold, mean words when, before he himself fully realized what he was doing, he was pushing himself back inside you.

“Ahhh,” you moaned long and loud, feeling your pussy having to accommodate for your lover's cock for a third time that night. It felt so good being stretched out like this, and each time, because you were wetter and more relaxed, Cyrille was able to slip inside you more easily and fuck you deeper, and it just felt so incredibly satisfying.

“Oh, princess,” Cyrille growled lowly, as he pushed himself all the way in. “Gods, you were made to be fucked, weren’t you? All that cumming and I can tell, you’re not even close to being done, are you?  Your pussy’s begging for me to cum in it, and you won't be satisfied until I've made you my woman tonight– isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you replied at once, even stressing the word. "Yes, I won't let you stop until then. Tie me up, fuck me harder, whatever you want - just cum in me, please. I need it so bad."

Cyrille smirked. “Mm, good girl.  I believe you’re beginning to know your place.” 

“Yes, m-my place – ah!” you gasped, as Cyrille began to take you once more. 

“Hm, you’re just a cumdump tonight, aren’t you, angel?” Cyrille whispered lowly. “All you’re made for tonight is to be taken and cummed in by your lord, that’s all you’re fit for.”

“Yes!” you sobbed. “Yes, please!”

Cyrille was pounding into you quite roughly now, and the wet slap, slap, slap sounds of his thighs pushing into your wet thighs made you blush – or it would have, anyways, if your face wasn’t already bright red from the effort and pleasure of taking your husband’s cock yet again that night.  

“Tell me what it is you want, angel,” Cyrille growled roughly, now thrusting heavily inside of your tight pussy. “Fucking tell me.”

You blurted out, in-between taking cock, “C-Cum in m-me, nngh! Hah, a-ah, ahhh!”

“Oh, angel, you cry so pretty,” Cyrille said, almost mockingly. But his breaths were also coming out quite short and fast, as he kept pounding his hard, throbbing deep into your pussy. 

“I – ah! – Just – nngh – c-cum in me, please!” A high, tight moan, followed by a wrenching gasp, escaped your throat, before you finally burst out, “I n-need it! I – uhn - need it! Ah – Cy, please, c-cum in my p-pussy!”

“Good girl, yes, good fucking girl,” Cyrille praised you, and that praise came with one of the roughest, most pleasurable, and most intense fucking you’d ever experienced, even from Cyrille. It literally felt like your body wasn’t yours, as Cyrille fucked you so hard into the mattress that your body left a soft little imprint, particularly your hips and your ass.  All you could see, smell, feel, hear, and taste was Cyrille because, truly, he was all there was.  His hips were slamming into your hips, his cock was filling up your pussy so fucking relentlessly and so fucking well, and his fingers were in your mouth, making you gag, and his mouth was kissing you all up and down your fevered body – And you were crying and shaking and so mindless with utter pleasure and tension until you finally warbled out, “Cy…!”

With a loud, explosive growl, Cyrille wrapped his arms around you and picked you up, hugging you to him. He kissed you hard, stealing your breath away entirely, as he thrust up and into your pussy one more time – you meant to moan, but all you did was huff straight into Cyrille’s mouth – and then – “Nngh!” Cyrille growled, as he bounced you down on his cock at the same time he thrust his hips up – You let out an ecstatic, breathless reply of, “Ahhhh!”  And then, finally, Cyrille was cumming in you, and you had to sit in his arms and take it, take all that hot, white cum spurting deliciously inside of you. Yes, he held you on his cock, and you tried to be a good girl and be still to take it – but fuck, there was so much of it, and even as you shivered away in his arms, you could feel it fill you all the way up and then drip out of you a little. 

“O-Oh, G-Gods… Hah… Ah…” you breathed out, seeing pink cloud your vision. 

After a long moment where the two of you could only desperately pant away and hold each other as the most intense release overwhelmed you both, Cyrille gently laid you back down on the bed.  You felt a soft brush of his fingers against your wrists and he murmured, “Evanesco,” and your binds finally disappeared. 

Despite the fact that your arms felt slightly tingly, the first thing that you did was reach for your husband. Cyrille came at once, lying down beside you.  You tiredly wrapped your arms around his neck, and you smiled when you felt his hands gently caress the back of your neck.

Yes, this is happiness, you thought, letting out a long, soft sigh. However, as you began to return to yourself, you realized how much Cyrille was sweating.  You blinked your eyes open in surprise, realizing that despite his calm, dominant demeanor all night, Cyrille, too, was aching and desperate for you.  You stared at him, marveling at your husband.  He really did work himself so hard to have me tonight. He made me feel so much tonight, and the way he came in me - Yes, he really did miss me. I understand now, why he was teasing me so much tonight. He needed me to understand that he's been missing me for these past months, and, in his heart of hearts, he must have wanted to hear that I missed him, too. Of course I did. You always miss your heart, from the second you're apart.

Cyrille murmured, “What, angel?”

“I really, really missed you,” you whispered, exhausted, but glowing with happiness.  “And I must admit that I forgot how well you make love to me. I mean, not forgot, but well - You make me feel so good, and I forget sometimes that you’re just a man, too. But I – I remember now. Yes, my husband… Yes…”

Cyrille chuckled. “You’re speaking nonsense, angel. You’re the only who’s more than human, not me. Though…” He hesitated, as he caught sight of your halo, wings, and pieces of your dress now strewn all over the floor. “I think I may have made you human tonight, my love.”

“Good,” you said instantly. “That’s what I want, Cy. To be with you.”

Cyrille melted against you for a moment, but then, with a slight smirk on his face, he murmured, “You say such sweet things, you know, when you’re not too busy being a brat.”

You scowled, but after only a moment, you laughed. “Well, I maintain that I’m not a brat. You just have an odd habit of asking increasingly complex questions in bed, and for some reason, you like to ask them right as you deprive me of the pleasure you know I'm expecting.  Why would that be, hm?  Explain yourself, Cyrille Lestrange.”

Cyrille chuckled. “Well, fine, I like to see you struggle a little to make sense of things from time to time. It’s cute.”

“Cute?” you repeated. “To have me cumming all helplessly on your cock, trying to answer all these questions that are very poorly timed?”

Cyrille laughed again. “You should see your face, when I push into you right after I’ve asked you a question.  You have enough sense to be indignant for about two seconds and then you completely let it go and fall into pleasure.  It’s very funny.”

“You are so strange, Cyrille,” you said, shaking your head at him.

Cyrille had a comeback, of course, but he saw you starting to fade. Yes, angel’s tired.  That’s quite enough for tonight. Now I simply wish to hold her and be her place of safety... Come, my love. He reached out for you, and he guided you so that you could rest your head on his arm. Yes, all that intense sex with you means nothing if it isn't followed by all this softness... Melt into me, angel. I was born to hold you to me, now and forever, and keep you safe while you dream.

Just then, in an exhausted, soft voice, you whispered, “Cyrille?”

You felt his warm hand press lovingly against your face, as he murmured back, “Yes, my love?”

“Really, though - How was I tonight?”

“You were perfect."

You smiled, and you snuggled your face against Cyrille's arm as you replied sleepily, “Good, good... Then, just give me a little warning for next time, will you?" You yawned, and then you mumbled, "So I have enough time to go get those last pair of wings…”

Cyrille gazed at you fondly, even as he wondered how in the world your mind had made the connection between him saying he loved to have you to him saying he wanted you to wear that costume again. But he didn't mind. Of course, you were all cuteness and loveliness in whatever costume you wore, and you choosing to dress up as an angel meant that you treasured his name for you.  So, naturally, Cyrille adored you in an angel costume, and his being able to tease you about it until you were pink in the face was also a very satisfying game.

Just then, you rolled over to be closer to Cyrille, and you snuggled up against his chest and began to snore lightly. Cyrille chuckled lightly as he ran his fingers gently through your hair. Who would have guessed Halloween would be such an event for us? But I’m glad you got to collect your absurd little candy tonight, angel. Even if it was me.

The lamp next to your shared bed was still on, and as you sank further and further into your sleep and into his arms, the light caught your hair in just such a way that Cyrille swore that there was a halo slowly taking shape above your head. He smiled at you, and he admired that light shining gently against your hair for a long time, before his own eyes finally fluttered shut. 

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Tag Yourself - Part 2. Slytherin Leading Men (Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy, Cyrille Lestrange, and Tom Riddle) & How They Finger You

In loving you, these men, who adore you, love when they get to hold you - maybe by gently hugging you and letting you rest on their chest, or perhaps by casually holding your hand and kissing the back of your small hand in theirs. However, in making love with you, their strong, broad hands will tend to wander elsewhere, and while all of them prefer to keep you all filled up with them until you simply can’t think about anything else, they each touch you in their own fitting manner - some with lithe and graceful fingers, others with thick and dominating fingers -  so that they each prefer to keep you occupied just a little differently…

[Warning: Please note that these are significantly darker than the Marauder’s ones.] [Warning: Rough Sex.] [Warning: Strong Dom/Sub Dynamics.] [Warning: DDLG Dynamics.] [Warning: Nonconsent.] [Warning: Bondage.] [Warning: Mentions of Bruises.] [Warning: Possessive Behavior.] 

Please heed the warnings above before continuing. Keep yourself safe and well. Thank you for taking care of yourself. 

Finally, please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Cyrille Lestrange is an OC. Thank You!

Severus Snape:

Severus loves hates when you squirm under him, so his hands are usually wrapped tightly around your wrists and pinning you down - against the bookcase, table, wall, bed, rug, doesn’t matter - you’re his. He uses his hips to firmly pin you down, and often uses his knees to spread your thighs as far as possible, because, he claims, it’s the only way to keep you still enough to take my cock, you naughty little thing. 

When Severus takes you like that, pushing into you roughly while your legs are splayed wide open for him, thighs flush against his hips, and your arms pinned above your head, and feeling his strong fingers curling tightly around your wrists, you feel all stretched-out and so very vulnerable. The rough burn building up between your legs makes you all breathless, and before long, you feel like your heart is going to burst. Your cries become high and raspy as Severus continues to take you. In fact, Severus loves the way you cry out for him and beg for him when you’re like that. But even though he eventually lets you wrap your legs around him tightly, for you to release some of that intense tension you feel in your body by holding onto him and squeezing his hips with your legs, Severus keeps your wrists pinned down. 

Keeping you in such a position lets him bend down and suck hard at your neck, multiplying your soft little moans until they become nonsensical, lilting whimpers of “ah... ah... ahh...” Severus merely groans softly in reply, but inside of his head, he’s dying for adoration and want of you. How can she sound so very beautiful? he wonders, surprising himself with his own sentimentality. Does she know what she’s doing, moaning like that? I mean, does she know what she’s doing to me? Does she know that I find her soft moans perfectly unbearable, and that, consequently, I’m already slipping, already losing control, so that it’s only a matter of minutes before I - 

Severus doesn’t realize he’s fucking you harder and harder. His attempt at restraint in keeping back his moans and growls - and dare he admit, his whimpers, means that the unbearable tension rising inside of him has to release another way, and it does - by his pounding into your little pussy until his hips are snapping hard against yours. 

“S-Sev! Ah!” Your soft cry rises and falls in longing and desperation. You want more, and yet, you can’t even take this. 

“M-mmm-mmm,” you mumble out a soft string of incoherent moans, half in pleasure and half nearly begging - for what? You don’t even know. But you trust Severus to give it to you. So, you babble out, “Give it to m-me, Sev, p-please. W-Want it - ah! - Mmm, please, want you s-so bad, S-Sev,- ah, ah, a-ah...!”

Severus growls, and he pounds you even harder. You can’t believe it. You just can’t - take - it - “Ah! Ah, ah, ah! S-Sev! Ah!” 

Driving me fucking insane, Severus growls in his head, and he feels his cock throb in absolute need of you, knows he’s very, very close. And when he’s close, Severus grips your wrists even tighter, and his fingers squeeze hard, almost creating yet another soft burn on your body, lighting up gently around your wrists. By this point, however, you love the feeling of Severus holding onto you like this; it’s the only thing reminding you that you’re still here, in this world, safe with him, and not floating off into some dark paradise all by your lonesome, which is what you’re apt to believe when you’ve been reduced to a moaning, breathless, trembling little mess underneath Severus as he uses your sweet cunt unapologetically for his pleasure. 

When he finally cums in you, Severus returns to himself a little, and he soothingly strokes your face before pressing his hand warmly against your flushed, pretty cheek. You moan weakly, and finally, Severus lets go of your wrists. Your arms fall down, and you immediately try to find Severus. Lightheaded and dizzy as you are, your hands still manage to pat gently over Severus’ chest until you find your spot - your spot, on his broad, sturdy chest, where you always rest your hands when you’re with Severus, whether it’s after Severus has made love to you or when you’ve fallen asleep on top of him after a long night of waiting up for him to come back from his office. 

It isn’t until a few hours later that impressions of Severus’ thick, strong fingers appear as soft blushing decorations on your wrists. Horrified, Severus ignores your protests that you’re fine. He wraps his arm around your waist and gently but very firmly drags you into his office. There, he quickly applies a soothing balm over each and every bruise with the utmost care, and then he wraps each of your wrists tenderly in bandages. 

Kissing your hands softly, he promises he’ll be more careful next time. You marvel at how very soft and tender he’s being with you. When Severus notices your bright eyes studying him most lovingly, he frowns says curtly, “What?” Instead of answering right away, you first sit in his lap and wrap your arms around his shoulders. 

After a few moments of sweet silence, where the two of you simply hold each other, you whisper mischievously that you rather like the way he holds you down when he fucks your little cunt. Severus tenses at first, not quite believing you. In fact, he pries you away from him and studies your face. He hates to be pitied and doesn’t ever want you hiding your true feelings for his sake. However, you mean it and when you keep reassuring him that you love it because his holding you so tightly makes you feel so connected to him, in a contrasting, yet equally wonderfully way from the way he ravishes the rest of your body, Severus finally calms down. 

Speaking a bit gruffly to hide both how embarrassed and pleased he is by your genuine liking the way he grips your little wrists in his, Severus still promises that he’ll be gentler with you next time. You agree, but you give him a little smirk, taking that as a bit of a challenge for yourself, and leaning forward, you playfully bite Severus’ neck, causing him to immediately grip your waist far tighter than he means to. When Severus scowls at you and takes his hands away, you laugh softly and hug him all the tighter, burying yourself against his warm chest. 

Lucius Malfoy:

You love to suck on Lucius’ fingers. You don’t know exactly why, but feeling your small fingers wrap around his wrist, drawing his elegant hand towards you, and then bending your head just a little to let his smooth, beautiful fingers slip between your lips... You exhale in pleasure as soon you feel his fingertips grazing your soft little tongue. You love the taste of Lucius - whether it be his fingers, his neck, or his cock. It’s just that when you’re busy kissing his neck or sucking his cock, you can’t really observe him at the same time, and you like to see him slowly but surely give into you. He’s a cold, stern, and unforgiving man, but when you can heat him up softly by running your warm mouth all over him, you find that he melts a little for you - however much he tries to deny it, you know. 

Often Lucius is busy writing letters - what he’s so upset about that he has to go dashing off letters to the Ministry all the time, you can’t comprehend, but you do know that his hands can be put to better use - namely, by pleasing you. So, you meander your way over to him.

“What?” Lucius asks coldly, not even sparing you a glance.

“Nothing,” you reply, sounding equally disinterested. But you lean over his shoulder and pointing, you murmur softly, “Oh, look, a spelling mistake...” 

When Lucius pauses and drops his quill for just a moment, you very quickly and slyly take your chance to slide your way in-between the table and his chair, ending up right in his lap. You immediately make yourself at home, rubbing your plush ass against his thighs until you’re quite happy with your lot. Then, beaming up at Lucius, you draw his hand up to your mouth and take your fingers into your mouth, and you suck on them, all the while staring up at Lucius with a most pleased smile on your face, eyes and cheeks glowing at your petty victory.

At once, Lucius draws his hand away, pretending to be disgusted by you, but you just smirk knowingly and slid off of his lap. Sliding onto the floor in a soft heap of lace and silk until you’re sitting between Lucius’ feet, you lean up a little, until your head is poking out from under the desk and beneath his thighs, and you slide your hands up the inside of his broad, strong thighs. Then, for the quickest second, you lean forward, bury your face between his strong thighs, and place your soft, pretty mouth against the evident bulge in his pants.

Lucius’ brow furrows, and his hands fall to either of the chair armrests at his sides. He exhales sharply; his proud chest unexpectedly deflating as he breathes out in a sharp, almost pained huff of breath. Quick as a snake, you yank his hand off the chair arm and once again suck on his fingers. This time, you give him a vicious grin, and your eyes glint at your tactic. You disarmed him by teasing him, by giving him false hope for just that second that you might possibly start to take his cock in your mouth, but no, you won't. 

Feeling both ashamed and angry by your false taunts and the fact that he even let himself get his hopes up for a second, after being tricked by you so many times now, Lucius growls furiously, “You think you’re funny, kitten?”

With a sincere look and his fingers still in your mouth, you blink at him and shake your head emphatically. No, not funny. Not funny at all. But then, you smile the tiniest sliver. 

With an even deeper growl, clearly indicating how displeased he is with your antics, for Lucius demands to be taken seriously, Lucius stands up suddenly. In one swift motion, he yanks you up by your neck and pins you down roughly against his desk. You gasp, but your mouth has barely fallen open in a hushed gasp, when Lucius is already groping your body, taking special care to massage your soft breasts all over with his greedy, rough hands. He touches you passionately enough to make you cry out, as his fingers thumb rather meanly at your nipples through your lace dress. 

“No bra, you naughty little thing,” he whispers to you in a near hiss. “Can’t even properly dress yourself.” 

You mewl somewhat indignantly as your cute, expensive dress, made entirely of silk and lace, falls apart so quickly under Lucius’ hands. He doesn’t care, that piece of fabric is utterly worthless to him - at least, compared to what’s underneath. His broad hands roam very possessively over your sweet little body, pushing your breasts together before running up and down your curves and then passing softly over your soft tummy. 

Then, cradling you in his arms, he kisses you. With you all gathered up underneath him and in his arms, the dress straps slip down your shoulders. At the same time, you feel Lucius’ hand hurriedly hiking the hem of your dress all the way up to your waist. But the time Lucius lays you back down, your dress has essentially pooled to your middle, all bunched up over your tummy and just barely clinging onto your hips.

Lucius doesn’t care, so long as it’s out of his way as he jerks his trousers down and takes his position to fuck you. Your eyes widen and you gasp in both pleasure and surprise as Lucius takes you as his. Thankfully, your sucking his fingers and his touching you all over has made you wetter than you’d like to admit, so it’s easy for Lucius to slip in. But as soon as he’s inside of you, a soft burn lights up between your thighs and you moan, feeling Lucius lean forward to press himself deeper inside of you, taking your tight, sweet cunt for himself. 

“You think you can get away with being so naughty all the time, distracting me with your silly antics, not even having the decency to be properly dressed?” Lucius half-purrs and half-scolds you. “What have I told you about disobeying my rules, kitten?” 

“I... I...” But before you can get any coherent words out, Lucius is fucking you, making love to you roughly and passionately, and it’s all a blur. You’re completely blanked out on his cock, on his gorgeous, thick cock stuffing your precious little cunt all full. 

Overwhelmed by how deep inside of you he is, your eyes sparkle with tears as you reach for his hand again and put his fingers back in his mouth. Lucius gives you a dark, warning look, but damn it all if his cock isn’t twitching inside of you at the sight of you reaching for even more of him, to want his fingers even when he’s giving you his cock so very deep inside of your tight little body. 

She should be pushing me away, but she’s wanting more of me. What a devious, dumb little kitten she is, he thinks, frowning at you. For a moment, he takes in the way you’re lying back on his desk, and he sighs as he realizes that you’ve messed up his desk entirely again. But clearly, you don’t care one bit that you’ve messed up all of his letters by how much you’re thrashing about as you take his cock, arching your back, shaking your head, and trembling your little legs. 

No, little one, you don’t care about anything as long as you get what you want, don’t you? Lucius thinks to himself, staring down at you. But he can’t hold the thought for very long. You’re so tender and sweet as you lay there, his fingers shoved in your mouth and his cock stuffing your pussy, and you’re still diligently holding up your little legs, with your hands tucked just beneath the back of your knees, as you present yourself so beautifully for him.

Oh fine, Lucius groans, and with a long groan of relief and release, he cums inside of you. Lucius isn’t one for cuddling, and he falls back into his chair as soon as he’s certain that you’ve taken every last bit of his cum inside of you. But you tiredly push yourself up and then flop over onto him, forcing him to catch you. Lucius lets out a disgruntled noise, but all the same, he pulls you up into his lap and gathers you up in his arms. 

You lean forward and kiss his lips sweetly. When Lucius pulls away, you laugh, and then your little hand sneaks down to your waist and before Lucius knows it, you’ve pulled his hand back up to your mouth and are sucking on his fingers yet again. 

Always getting what you want, Lucius thinks, with a sigh. He stares at you, reluctant to betray the deep fondness he feels for you as he watches you humming in pleasure and with your eyes sweetly closed as you suck on his fingers hungrily. 

But a moment later, when your eyes open, you pause from sucking on his fingers to smile at him, clearly letting him know that you’ve won this round, that you’ve successfully distracted him from his letter and enticed him to spend time with you, to make love to you, and Lucius finally (though silently) gives in to you. This time, he lifts his hand and slips his fingers into your pretty mouth himself, giving you, his sweet little kitten, exactly what wants from him. 

Cyrille Lestrange:

Well, you’ve noticed by now that Cyrille’s long, elegant fingers love to wrap around your throat. He whispers in his silvery voice all of these endearing nicknames like, “Princess,” “Sweetheart,” and “Angel” - but all the while he’s absolutely punishing your pussy. 

Just when you’re begging to cum, Cyrille pretends to pity you, purring in your ear, “Aw, is Angel feeling all trapped in her little ribbons?” You nod, tears in your eyes, and Cyrille’s fingers slip away from your neck. Thinking that he’s going to let go of you, you start to exhale, but that’s right when Cyrille sneakily and suddenly tightens the ribbons around your body and throat to up the tension that you’re feeling all throughout your body. You gasp; Cyrille doesn’t always choke you, but how deftly he keeps you trapped in his arms and in these seemingly innocent silk ribbons always catches you off guard and leaves you breathless. 

But then Cyrille’s fingers, after pushing into your pussy a few times, making a few wet squelches ring out into the air because of how wet you’ve become for him, slip right back around your neck and tighten, and your eyes roll back softly. For you’ve learned that when Cyrille does choke you, it’s precisely when you’re most desperate for air - not one beat sooner or one beat later. 

However, Cyrille is careful. He never leaves marks on your neck, nor does he ever choke you for too long. All he wants to do is to heighten your pleasure to a dizzying, almost incomprehensible height: to add that extra bit of buzzing, high-heaven sensation throb through your already pulsing body, all feverish with lust (and love, Cyrille hopes) - in short, to make those angel’s wings on your back flutter uncontrollably with sinful pleasure - and then to be there to hold you and kiss you when you come back down to earth. 

And Cyrille does all this with you, guiding his angel high up until she’s losing her mind in his arms, and then he brings you right back down, softly, from your spiraling high, covering your face with soft kisses. He keeps his fingers wrapped around your neck, still - but gently now, and more to help you keep your head up so he can kiss your face than to actually apply any pressure. 

Breathing shallowly, you blearily open your eyes, body completely limp against your lover’s, and Cyrille is there, as sturdy as you could wish for, despite his long, thin, and cut frame. Because your Serpent Prince is a master of control, one who teaches you simultaneously about heaven and hell. 

Truthfully, you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’ve fallen deeply in love with this man of a thousand disguises - the man who turned his own devilish powers against those who corrupted him to Heal countless victims, and more personally, the man who first made love to you under the brilliant canopy of a glittering night sky atop the Astronomy Tower and has since proved his love to you a thousand times over since... 

“Cy?” you whisper exhaustedly. 

“Yes, angel?”

“Was I a good submissive today?”

Cyrille chuckles lightly at you. “Are you ever?” 

You frown a little at this. “But I did my very best.”

“Oh, angel, I know you did. I know,” Cyrille says reassuringly. 

“I let you wrap me up in these ridiculous silk ribbons again,” you say, now almost scowling at him. 

Cyrille laughs inside of his head at how quickly you’re slipping back into your normal demeanor. And with that scowl plastered across your face, he knows exactly what you want - you want to be held and rewarded for your efforts. “Come here, princess.” 

You feel the silk ribbons fall away from your body, and you find yourself nestled most comfortably against Cyrille. You smile wanly up at him, and he rewards you with a long, soft kiss that steals your breath away in yet another way. Cyrille lightly runs a finger over your nose and lips, tracing his precious angel’s beautiful face. 

“You can’t help but be a brat,” Cyrille lets you know, but he’s smiling softly down at you as he continues on, in his lovely, soft, silvery voice, “But I love you for that, princess.”

A moment later, your lips move under his fingertip, and you tell him earnestly, “Love you, too, Cy.”

Tom Riddle:

Tom’s hands are always, always deathly cold. He knows that, because he can feel how warm you are, this soft, warm, whispering little cloud in his lap, telling him (taunting him, it seems) with promises of love and heaven that he can never believe in, no matter how much he wants to. 

“Tom, when I’m with you, I feel so safe,” you confess, burrowing your face sweetly against his neck. “My friends tell me to be careful around you, but I don’t understand them. You aren’t dangerous, are you?”

Tom pauses. A pleased smile appears on his face, as he tells you softly, “No, of course not. What a ridiculous thing to say.”

“Right,” you say, almost sharing in his smugness (or so you believe) as you smile in satisfaction at his answer and go back to laying little kisses up and down his neck and sharp jawline. 

“Why do you care what they say about me?” Tom lifts an eyebrow thoughtfully. He knows he could shut them all up if he wanted to.

“Oh, just because, I feel like people go out of their way to misjudge you,” you reply earnestly. “And it makes me sad to think they can’t see you the way I see you.”

Oh, that’s why? Well, that’s no concern of mine. Who cares how anyone else sees me, so long as she still graces my nights with her silly little thoughts and soft little shape? Tom thinks to himself, and he instantly reverts back to his careless, arrogant demeanor, knowing that his relationship with you isn’t threatened at all by these so-called ‘rumor-mongers.’

“Well, why should they see me as you do?” Tom returns haughtily. “I take no delight in pleasing anyone but you. You ought to know this by now. Or shall I remind you of what it means to be mine?” This is when his fingers begin to travel lightly on the outside of your arm, and the chilliness of his hand makes you shiver in his lap. 

“Hm, little one?” Tom asks, barely holding back a smirk as he watches your brow furrow, for you’re trying not to turn away from his cold hand. But a moment later, you give up entirely. Instead, you burrow further against his neck and chest, now pressing yourself up against him.

Tom lets you press yourself up against him, and he remains silent. However, he then knowingly traces his fingertips up your shoulder, then slipping into your hair, before grazing the back of your warm, bare neck. 

You jolt slightly, twitching against him, and Tom smirks. It pleases Tom to no end that he’s the man you’re sharing these lovely, otherworldly moments of romance with.

But then, you draw back a little and you gaze at Tom with such sincerity as you whisper, “Are you cold, my love? I can bring you a blanket or a cup of tea. Just tell me what you want.”

At this simple gesture of kindness, Tom’s eyes flash coldly at you, losing the slight kindling of warmth that had barely begun to spark in his locked-away soul. Because, truth be told, while Tom enjoys entertaining what he thinks of as ‘your delusions of love,’ sometimes, as in this moment, it annoys him how sure of yourself you seem to be in loving Tom. 

You’re obviously wrong, little one, Tom thinks scathingly while gazing at you. There is no such thing as true love in the world. So, why are you so exasperatingly foolish, as to keep forcing this illusory idea of love upon me, when it doesn’t exist? But the very thought that it might exist and that it might be sitting in his lap right at this very moment, gazing concernedly at him, terrifies Tom - terrifies him more than all the stages of Dante’s Inferno combined. Therefore, it’s in a very cold and unforgiving voice that he murmurs back to you, “Well, if you truly mean for me to tell you what I desire, then might I remind you that there are other ways for you to warm me up tonight?”

That’s why, when Tom has you undress yourself and present to him in only your panties, lying down on the bed and waiting for him, Tom decides to teach you a little lesson. He first runs his cold fingers lightly up and down your body, barely touching you. He wants you to feel as vulnerable before him as you make him feel before you. Sure enough, you shiver and stare up at Tom with wide eyes. 

With a gratified smirk, Tom rips your panties off with one easy yank, and then plunges two of his cold fingers into the warmth wetness of your pussy, making you gasp in surprise. Your heartbeat jumps up to a racing speed in a matter of seconds, and your pretty eyes go wide with shock. Tom feels such a thrill when he notices how your warm little cunt clenches so very tightly around his cold fingers. He pushes his fingers in even deeper, until his cold rings push at your little pussyhole - you both clench your teeth together - and then when his rings slip in, too, you both moan, you because of the sensation of being finger-fucked by Tom Riddle, and Tom because of the gratification he gets from watching you moan and shiver for him like this.  

“So c-cold, Tom,” you bleat out pitifully, clutching at the sheets.

“Mm, I know,” Tom says, and his voice lacks even a drop of empathy. He loves seeing you like this, using you like this. 

Before long, his fingers are cruelly and mercilessly pumping away at your pussy, and when your pussy gets all wet and flushed, he reaches over with his other hand and slaps your pussy hard, making you cry out. 

And you’re getting all dizzy, as the ceiling spins above you, and you have to hold onto the sheets as hard as you can to keep any semblance of reality, but Tom is pushing and pushing and pushing at your little hole - and - and “Ah!” you gasp loudly. “Tom!” 

“Yes. Keep going. Keep cumming. Keep saying my name,” Tom growls at you. 

“C-Can’t!” you stutter out. “Can’t anymore, p-please!” 

Tom smirks, and he whispers to you in his most silky and deep voice, “Of course you can. You don’t need to hide how desperate you are in front of me. I know what you want, my love, and I’ll give it to you - on the one condition that you never hold back from me. So. Let me hear you moan. Cry out for me. Don’t hold back any longer.”

His permission unlocks a realm in your mind that you didn’t even know you wanted, but it turns out that it was all you were waiting for. You cry out mindlessly, with the sweetest voice, “A-Ah! Ah, ah, ah!”

Tom’s in love with you. He knows it, even if some part of him wants to deny it. He loves the way you give yourself to him - which is acceptable. But worse, he desires to be there for you when it’s all over. He doesn’t want just this, as gratifying and incredible as it all is. He wants you.

Meanwhile, your entire body trembles and you fall into that subconscious realm of sex, passion, possession, darkness, and domination - where you know your Tom will be waiting for you, waiting to meet you and make you his, just as your little heart desires. 

And at the very, very end, when you ignore Tom’s irritated remarks that he doesn’t want you to lie on his chest and you cuddle up against him anyways, it’s you that has the satisfied smile as you whisper to him adoringly, “Guess what, Tom?”

“What?” he asks, annoyed. 

You place a kiss on his chest before reaching over and dragging his arm around your waist. Then, comfortable with where you are, with your love, you tell him, “Now you’re warm, too. I win.” 

And before Tom can even berate you, you’ve fallen asleep with the most peaceful smile gracing your lovely face. 

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Tag Yourself - Things You Can’t Help But Do When Your Lover Makes Love To You - Part 5 – Cyrille Lestrange

You just can’t help yourself when he’s touching you like that, can you?

[Warning: Dominant-Submissive Dynamics.] [Warning: BDSM Dynamics - Spanking, Bondage.] [Warning: Use of Derogatory Phrases.] [Warning: Nonconsent.]

*Cyrille Lestrange is an OC.

*Please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!   

When Cyrille Lestrange makes love to you, you can’t help but be a brat.

It’s never intentional.

No, no, you shake your head with utmost genuineness. I would never, Cy. Only good girl for you.

You can’t help it. It’s instinct to lean over and stick out your ass for Cyrille to spank you, and then, when Cyrille lifts his hand - to quickly jolt your hips forward, making Cyrille miss your little rump.

“Angel,” he growls.

“Sorry, sorry.” You center yourself again. You grit your teeth and – whoosh – Cyrille’s hand flies by you again as you just turn your hips to the side.

“That’s it.” Cyrille gets up and ties another ribbon around your thighs, looping it around you so that his fingers just barely graze against your pussy as he passes the rope between your legs.

“Ah…” you breathe out. You wiggle your hips a little, indicating that you want Cyrille to forget about this silly tying-you-up thing and just touch you already.

But he growls at you, “Be still” in a voice that not only makes your pussy wet, but also makes you obey him.

Finally, tied to your proper place by silk ribbons, Cyrille spanks you – smack! – “OW!”

It’s only when your ass is blushing a bright pink and you have tears in your eyes that Cyrille finally touches you between your legs. But when he does – it’s heavenly, and the ribbons wrapped around your throat and body and the tingling all over your ass heightens the feeling of his touching you. Your entire body is singing aloud, alive and stinging and humming with the knowledge that you’re his.

And when Cyrille means to punish you by making you sit on his lap and warm his cock without moving for over an hour, it’s only natural for you to start to squirm – isn’t it?

“Angel,” Cyrille warns you. “Cock sleeves don’t squirm.” He arches his eyebrow at you as he whispers darkly in your ear, “You want to be a cock sleeve or a cumslut?”

What’s the difference? You wonder to yourself as you put your hands in your lap and try to stay still.

Only, you swear Cyrille is growing bigger inside of you and you simply can’t resist it anymore. Abandoning all pretense, you put your hands on the desk in front of you and you start bouncing away on him.

“Princess, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Um, you said to s-stay in your lap, ‘member? And uh, I just – ah – am thinking of ways to entertain m-myself…”

Cyrille sighs. He reaches over you and grasps your chin and makes you look over your shoulder at him. With his other hand, he gently pushes your hair away from your face so he can look up at you and see your cute expression, the way your eyes have already gone all dreamy as you make use of Cyrille, make good use of his cock inside of you…

“I believe I told you to be still,” Cyrille reminds you.

“I – I am. I’m not walking away or anything,” you mumble back. Then, closing your eyes, you moan out rather lewdly, without holding back at all.

“Don’t even have the decency to try to hide your pleasure,” Cyrille mutters. “I guess you’re choosing cumslut then.”

You’re not really hearing him anymore, but you nod pleasantly, agreeing with him out of instinct.

It shocks you, then, when Cyrille suddenly picks you up and drops you onto the table.

“W-What?” you breath out, heart thundering as you look up at him.

Cyrille smirks at you. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to fucking ruin you.” He quickly coaxes your legs apart. He asks you, ”What’s your safe word?”

“Um. Raven – but why - ? Ah!” you gasp out, as Cyrille proceeds to push your panties to the side, and then slam his cock inside your tight pussy.

When you cry out loudly, Cyrille reminds you, “You asked to be my cumslut.”

“I – I did? When?” you bleat out, grasping desperately at the edge of the table as Cyrille makes you take his cock in your pretty little pussy.

“Just now.” Cyrille pauses, letting you adjust to him and giving you a quick kiss on the cheek to remind you that his priority is still to keep you safe and happy. “Am I hurting you?”

“No!”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, Cy, p-please keep going!”

“Then tell me you’re my cumslut.”

You blink furiously. “I’m a – a what?”

“A cumslut, Angel. Is it hard for you to learn new words when my cock is inside you?”

You can only whimper. But you have enough sense in you to reach down and grab Cyrille’s hips, and you try to tug him back-and-forth, needing him to move inside you.

Cyrille laughs lightly. “What are you doing, Angel?” Reaching down, he grasps both of your wrists in his hands and then, leaning over you, he pins your hands hard against the tabletop. “Tell me you’re my cumslut, and I’ll give you what you want.”

Your eyes get all misty, and your pussy’s all aching and wet, and so you bleat out pitifully, “I – I’m your, um… cumslut.”

“Good girl,” Cyrille praises you. Then, standing up straight again, he proceeds to pound your little pussy to your heart’s desire, making you cry out all night and limp tomorrow morning.    

And oh yes, when Cyrille tries to choke you lightly when he kisses you, you do him the favor of biting his lip back. It’s just a favor.

“Fuck,” Cyrille growls lowly when he feels your little teeth sinking into his lower lip. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Huh?” You pull away, startled by the mere thought that you might have done anything wrong.

“You’re biting me.”

You snort at this. “You do all sorts of stuff to me. Why shouldn’t I bite you? I’m still the tame one, between the two of us.”

Cyrille sighs. “You’re not supposed to be the tame one. You’re supposed to be the tamed one. Do I have to teach you the difference?”

You eye him suspiciously. “Are you going to bring me a dictionary?”

Cyrille reaches up and grasps your face in his hand. “What a smart mouth you have, princess.”

Stubbornly, you reply, “It comes from a smart brain.”

“Then,” Cyrille responds silkily, “you should be able to learn without a dictionary.”

Five minutes later, Cyrille has tied you all up in ribbons – at your request, mind you – only, you somehow end up remarking (providing a kind-of social commentary, if you will) on the quirkiness of the kink.

“So you like this, Cyrille? You like seeing me all wrapped up in ribbons?”

Cyrille nods once.

You muse, “Oh… So what is it about it? Is it because I look like a present now? Or… is it because the ribbons are all shiny, in contrast to my body? What does that mean, d’you think, if you like seeing me all tied up in something shiny?”

At this, Cyrille remarks wryly, “I didn’t realize you were so interested in psychology.”

“Oh.” You frown. But then, you cheer yourself up by saying, “Well, my strong point has always been my curiosity. It makes me smart.”

Cyrille’s eyes narrow. “It makes you a brat.”

When you look offended, Cyrille sighs. “I’m supposed to be enjoying you in those ribbons, and we’re simply sitting here talking about it.”

“Well, then, why aren’t you enjoying me?” you fire back. “Aren’t you the dominant? Seems like that’s your shortcoming, not mine.”

And with that, Cyrille proceeds to prove to you exactly how he is the dominant: yanking at the ribbons and making them tighter the closer you get to cumming, until your toes are curled up so tight because of the electricity running all over your body, but you can’t even feel your toes anymore; gripping at your hair and tugging your head back while he bites your neck and chest all over, making you moan and squirm, and then, when he has you looking up far enough that you can’t see what he’s doing, he slaps your pussy hard, and you cry out loudly, as your little cunt turns all pink and wet from his harsh touch; and then, you finally cum for him, he stuffs the silky ribbon into your mouth and then kisses you and chokes you so that you can’t breathe – you can’t – you can’t - !

“There you go,” you hear Cyrille whisper softly amidst your intense daze. “Now you’ve found your proper place.”

Your entire body is drooping, kept up only by the silk ribbons crisscrossing your entire body, and cum is streaming down your thighs – both his and yours.

“You make it very difficult to tame you, but once I do, you’re a perfect submissive,” Cyrille tells you in his lovely, silvery voice. “And I know, deep inside, you want to be tamed. You want to be made into a good girl, an angel, my Angel, don’t you?”

You nodded tearily. His words make both your heart and your pussy ache, but in such a good way. Because you love being his, you love being taken like this. And the reciprocal side is that he’s yours, too. You know he is.

“That’s right,” Cyrille continues. His voice becomes softer, falling from a dominant praising his submissive to just him praising you. “That’s why I forgive you for being such a brat. Because I know you’re my angel inside.”

“Yes,” you whisper. “A-Always, Cy.”

With that, Cyrille’s mouth captures yours in the softest, gentlest kiss imaginable, as he begins the slow, loving process of bringing you back down to earth.

And when you softly bite him back – biting down on his lower lip, Cyrille realizes that you have learned absolutely nothing about being a submissive from this encounter, and he sighs and smiles to himself, giving into and actually quite pleased with the fact that you will never actually be tamed – by him or by anyone else.

She’s the real dominant, he thinks, and I’m completely in love with her. Bite my lip all you want, Angel. I reckon that’s what it’s there for.

Tagged User(s): @saltstacks

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Light and Dark | Part 18

Summary: Your sweetheart boyfriend, James Potter, can’t seem to hide his feelings for a certain beautiful redhead - who’s not you. Meanwhile, there’s a strange Slytherin boy, Cyrille Lestrange, famed even among purebloods for his lineage and inheritance, whose silver eyes somehow seem to always find you. [Multi-Post Story] [James Potter x Reader] [Cyrille Lestrange x Reader] [Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.] [Warning: Explicit Domestic Abuse.] [Warning: PTSD.] I want to say explicitly that this is fantasy. Any harassing and/or non-consensual behavior is totally unacceptable in reality. And of course, in reality, loving someone should not translate into taking unpleasurable/unwanted pain from that person, or anyone else. *Finally, please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!

❦ Click Here for Light and Dark Home Page (All Chapter Links) ❦

Chapter-Specific Note: Extended Italicized Font indicates past events/memories. Regular font indicates current (in-present-time) events. 

Cyrille woke up to the sounds of water beginning to splash down against tile, and the gentle scent of pear blossoms and light citrus wafted over to him. He opened his eyes to see your beautiful silhouette from the back, with your curls brushed over your shoulder, which you were busy untangling with your hands as best as you could. Your garter set had been stripped off and lay next to his cloak on the hanging rack. 

When the water and bubbles were waist-deep in the prefects’ tub (which was honestly as large as a pool), you waded over slowly and turned off the jeweled faucets. Cyrille saw you put your arms down over the edge of the tile and crossing your arms, you rested your head on your arms and hummed lightly. 

Cyrille got up and stripping off his clothes, he joined you in the water. You heard the shifts and light splashes in the water as he came in, but you simply waited for him. When he joined you at the edge and wrapped his arms around you just as you predicted, you smiled.

“Good morning,” you mumbled pleasantly.

“Good morning, angel,” he returned, resting his head lightly on top of yours. 

“Did you sleep well?” you asked him. “I tried to move you off the floor, but you started to stir before I even touched you. I figured it was best to let you be.” 

Cyrille chuckled softly. “I was fine. I’m a light sleeper, but I can sleep anywhere.”  

The foaming bubbles were gradually releasing more of the lovely pear blossoms and citrus scent, and the water was so warm that the two of you lightly dozed off like that, with him draped over you at the pool’s edge, and you all cozy in his arms. 

But forcing yourself awake, you nudged Cyrille with your shoulder and said, “Cyrille, we can’t fall asleep here. It’s dangerous. And we’ll get all wrinkly in the water.” 

Cyrille smiled at your words. "All right, angel.”

Reluctantly releasing you from his embrace, Cyrille stepped back a little. 

You began to lather yourself with the bubbles, as they were enchanted to magically fit your needs as either soap or shampoo. (Amelia had been your year’s Gryffindor prefect, so you’d been in here a few times before.) 

Cyrille helped you, running his hands over your body to soap you up. You meant to start to massage the bubbles into your curls, but you had to admit that you were getting a little distracted by Cyrille’s hands passing over your skin, slowly caressing your hips, your tummy, and your breasts. Your hands slowly stopped, as Cyrille lovingly took over taking care of your body for you. 

“Lean up on the edge for me, princess,” he said. 

You did as he asked, propping yourself up on the edge of the tub and pulling your lower body out of the water. 

Cyrille lathered your thighs, your ass, and your pussy. 

As you felt his hand slip between your thighs, you involuntarily let out a soft sigh. He held you gently with one hand by your tummy, and his other fingers wetly pushed up and down over your puffy pussy lips to make sure you were thoroughly clean. A little moan escaped you. 

Cyrille paused. Lifting his eyebrow at you, he said, “Angel, you can’t possibly want more sex already, can you? I used you until you were drunk on cum last night.”

Embarrassed, you splashed back into the water immediately. “Don’t say it like that,” you told him half-heartedly.

“All right, I’m sorry,” Cyrille apologized at once, reaching for you.

You made to escape him, but he pinned you against the tub wall with his hips. “Angel, I wasn’t serious.” 

“Don’t be mad, please,” he said to you. Sighing, he admitted, “If anything, it’s me who’s wanting.” 

And you felt what he meant because as Cyrille’s hips pressed into yours, his cock, semi-hard, also pressed into you.

You looked up at him in surprise. But Cyrille’s eyes sparkled down at you as he returned your gaze. His lips quirked into a playful smirk as he said teasingly, “I suppose you could say that... I’m wet for you.” 

You rolled your eyes, knowing that he was referring to how you were always wet for him. However, you couldn’t help except laugh, genuinely amused. When Cyrille was playful, he was surprisingly soft and adorable.

Wrapping your arms around his waist and drawing yourself closer to him, you asked, “Do you need me?”

“No, angel. If we’re going to fuck every time I get even a little bit hard around you, we wouldn’t be doing much else,” Cyrille told you wryly. 

“Come on,” he told you. “Turn around. I’ll lather your hair for you.”

You turned around, but as you felt his fingers begin to massage your scalp, you couldn’t help except to press your ass up against him. 

“All right, well, if you do that...” Cyrille said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“I don’t care if it’s indecent,” you blurted out. “I want you again.” 

Since you were facing the other way, you missed the pleased and self-satisfied smirk that slipped onto Cyrille’s face at your words.

“And you?” you asked him softly, a bit tense at his silence. 

“Oh, angel, I always want you. I’m just waiting for you to come to me,” Cyrille assured you affectionately. 

You reached back with your arm to slip your finger under Cyrille’s chin and pull his head forward. Cyrille’s breathing hitched slightly. Then, your hand slid up his handsome face. Holding his cheek in your palm, you leaned back and kissed him. Cyrille found that your morning kisses felt different from your other kisses - they were lazier, and very tender. 

As the two of you traded deep kisses that lingered on each other’s lips, your back slowly pressed into his firm chest. Cyrille also felt your plush ass, all soft in the water, press up against him in such a lovely way, seemingly pleading with Cyrille (it seemed to him, anyways) to run his hands all over your ass before touching you between your legs. 

But right now, Cyrille wanted to satisfy you romantically, and he willingly gave your pretty little mouth all of the attention you wanted. He kept kissing you, enjoying the way the two of you kept your mouths lightly pressed together and softly traded warm breaths when you were too tired to keep up the kissing. 

However, as time passed, Cyrille could no longer help himself, and his needy hands had wandered up to gently grasp at your breasts. 

You moaned out an appreciative little sigh against his warm mouth when you felt his large hands softly kneading your breasts. To be honest, you had never really thought much of your breasts. They seemed perfectly average to you. You couldn’t quite cup them entirely in your small hands, but they certainly weren’t as shapely as some of your friends’. But Cyrille could cup them in his larger hands, so long as he made the most of his long, graceful fingers. And he seemed to get quite a bit of pleasure from pressing your breasts together, containing your softness entirely in his hands and massaging them so that your nipples slipped between his keen fingers. 

Since Cyrille paid more attention to your breasts than you expected, you had begun to also consider them a bit more. Perhaps they were small - after all, he could fit them in his hands, and yet, maybe there was something nice about them, if he loved them so much. You sort-of regretted not buying the bralette that came with the lingerie seat you’d worn for him yesterday. 

You were loathe to let go of Cyrille’s gorgeous face, very much appreciating his loving kisses against your mouth, so you kept your hand pressed against his cheek to have him keep kissing you even as he touched you. But, wanting to touch him too, with your other hand, you reached down into the water and reached behind you. Finding his cock easily, you wrapped your hand around him and gently pumped his cock in the water. You heard Cyrille groan softly, and the next moment, he returned the favor by softly sliding his fingers against you, rubbing you between your thighs.

“Mmm...” Pleasant moans and hums sounded out from the both of you as you traded soft kisses and touched each other in all the right places.

Cyrille’s other hand (the one not between your thighs) slipped up from your breasts to your throat.

He gripped your neck lightly as you kissed. Then, he squeezed softly, his palm putting gentle pressure against the front of your throat, and his fingers sliding around the sides of your pretty neck. Your breath caught.

You opened your eyes and looked up at Cyrille. “Okay, it may be a little too early for that,” you told him.

Cyrille merely smiled and murmured, “Pity.” He let go of your throat and pressed his hand across your chest, pressing you back against him again. Closing his eyes, he bent down to push his soft mouth against yours once more. The very air around the two of you seemed to hum softly, shimmering as the early morning sunlight danced on the bubbly and warm bathwater surrounding you both. The sunlight came in through the large colored windows of the ceiling of the prefects’ bathroom, throwing small rainbows here and there on the tiles. Time seemed to lengthen, allowing the two of you to enjoy each other in this sweet suspension of life. 

And then, it happened so naturally and gracefully, one minute he was pressing up against you and and you were stroking his cock, and the next, after only a couple seconds of guiding him to your waiting pussy, and he was slipping inside you.

You both breathed out in deep sighs of pleasure. Cyrille wasn’t completely hard, and he slipped inside of you easily. And your pussy was quite soft and warm in the morning, and even more so because you were very relaxed from soaking in the water. 

“Mm...” Leaning back against Cyrille and arching your back into a beautiful curve that would have made Aphrodite jealous, you draped both of your arms behind you, resting them on his shoulders. Your arms crossed just behind his head, and reached up towards the ceiling beyond him. 

Cyrille took a moment to just gaze at and appreciate your body. After all, he hadn’t had much chance to savor and cherish you the way he wanted to. Yes, he wanted to push you, devour you - but slowly, dragging out every bit of the experience, so that he could lavish your body with his tongue and lips. To Cyrille, nothing tasted sweeter than you. 

Now, seeing the way your wet, freshly washed body glinted in the subdued morning sunlight coming down through the colored glass windows, Cyrille realized that despite how very soft you were all over - from your puffy pussy lips to your soft nipples to your little tummy to your creamy thighs to your heart-shaped face - you had quite a tight set of abs running down your sides, just inside of your softer curves. It made your body look absolutely amazing to him, and especially in this soft lighting, with the water glimmering over all of your curves, including even the smaller dimples of your body like the soft dip in your hips, your shoulder blades lined out softly in your back, and your abs appearing in a gentle outline when you stretched back like this over him. 

Cyrille ran his hands all over you, very slowly, taking his sweet time to touch your every curve, and making you feel so warm in his hands. You melted against him in a lovely haze of pleasure. Oh, you thought to yourself, so he has this side to him, too - all soft and like. He’s always been quite tender, but never like this. 

“Cy...” you called out to him.

“Yes, my love?”

You smiled at the new nickname. You knew you’d been the one to call him that first last night.

“I love the way you... touch me...” you confessed, feeling his palms gliding smoothly over your waist and hips.

“Angel, you’re stunning,” Cyrille murmured. “I mean, I always knew you were, but I feel a little regretful knowing I was fucking you all this time without knowing just how stunning you are.”

“Stop,” you told him, blushing. “You don’t have to say things like that, Cyrille. You’re already in my good graces for, you know, agreeing to love me in the bath first thing in the morning.”

“I’m not trying to flatter you right now,” Cyrille told you. He whispered seductively in your ear, “There are other ways to get in your graces, and I know them all like the back of my hand...”

“Do you?” you pushed back, lifting your eyebrow.

“Yes,” Cyrille said, without any hesitation whatsoever. 

“You like punishment, princess,” Cyrille told you knowingly. “You can’t deny it anymore, and I will explore that quite deeply with you, for your gratification, but also for my pleasure, too...” 

“But calling you ‘stunning,’ that’s just the simple truth,” he said, and his voice dropped into a husky and sweet tone, “You’re gorgeous through and through, my love.” 

“You’re soft in the mornings,” you teased him, giggling a little. “Washing me, telling me I’m beautiful, giving in to having a morning round in the bath... What’s next? Going to ask me to marry you?” you said, laughing.

But as Cyrille suddenly paused in his hands roaming all over you, you also found yourself abruptly falling silent.

“Erm...” You shifted a bit uncomfortably against him.

Unexpectedly scrambling to recover from the sudden disjunction in your light-hearted and tender morning, Cyrille cleared his throat and asked you softly, “Should I fuck you now, my angel?” 

“Yes,” you said immediately.

“Yeah? You want to feel me inside you?” Cyrille whispered, pulling you closer to him by lazily wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you back towards him, so that your back was once again snug against his chest. 

“Yeah, I wanna feel you,” you whined softly. “But, can - can you be a little gentle? I’m still a little sore from being stretched out last night...”

“Of course,” he reassured you. “And I apologize for last night. I was too rough. I was painfully hard. It was almost torturous for me, though the release made it all worth it. But the point is, if it was rough for me, I can’t imagine what it felt like to you.” 

“You were really thick last night,” you told him. “I mean, compared to how you took me in the forest, last night’s pace was fairly calm, but you just pushing your cock inside me filled me up and spread me open so much. I almost couldn’t take it.”

You felt Cyrille shift against you a little, and his cock hardened inside of you.

“Oh,” you said, and you smiled a little. “You like seeing me all filled up with your cock?”

“Yes,” Cyrille said quietly. 

“Tell me the truth,” you said, half-teasing and half-serious. “You like seeing me struggle to take your cock, don’t you?”

Cyrille paused. 

You waited expectantly.

“...Yes,” he admitted. “But not if it hurts you, or causes you any discomfort, angel. I truly want you to feel pleasure from it.”

“I did feel pleasure,” you admitted. 

“What?” Cyrille said, surprised. He had taken you as someone who only liked gentle or blissful pleasure (perhaps called “vanilla”), not pleasure derivative of pain or restraint. 

“Yeah,” you told him. “But it takes me a long time to get there. It’s not immediate. But I think it’s because I’m not fully relaxed at the beginning. Because, you know, it feels so intense between us...”

You both paused, feeling the truth of that statement a little too strongly. 

You tried to carry on, “Um, but once my body is relaxed, it does feel nice to just be so... completely filled up...” 

You sighed happily as you remembered the feeling. Thinking about that lovely, full feeling, you pushed yourself back gently on his cock, and the water splashed up between the both of you, cresting gently on your hips. 

Cyrille paused. Then, wishing very much that he would not scare you away with this next question, he asked you carefully, “Angel, would you ever... consent to being spanked?”

You thought about it. “You mean with you, right?” you clarified.

“Of course.” His hold on you tightened. “No one else, angel. I can promise you that.” 

“Then... yes, I would try it,” you replied.

“Really? You would?” 

“Now, don’t get carried away, Cyrille Lestrange,” you warned him, laughing a little. “Right now, I need you to treat me gently.”

“Yes, my queen,” Cyrille acquiesced. Cyrille reached down and grasped your hips, admiring how perfectly they fit in his hands, and how smooth your hips looked glimmering in the bubbles. Your tummy, too, still stretched out a little, glistened beautifully with water droplets. 

In love with your body and in love with you, Cyrille began to softly move his hips against you.

“Mmm, yes,” you sighed out. “Feels so good. Just like that...”

But as the initial flash of pleasure subsided into a more consistent and gentler stream of ongoing pleasure, sending rippling currents of pleasure between your thighs from taking his cock, you suddenly picked up on what he had called you. 

“My queen?” you repeated skeptically. “We’re, uhn, we’re coming up with nicknames rather fast, a-aren’t we?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Cyrille countered. “Angel because that’s what are you are. Princess because - mmm- ” He paused for a few seconds to just fuck you slowly and gently in the water. Then, he continued, “Princess, because you’re so fucking tight it makes me think your previous lovers all spoiled you silly because you struggle so much to take cock in that tight little pussy of yours. Seriously, fucking you is almost like taking a virgin every time. And also, you whine and squirm under me sometimes...like a brat.” 

Cyrille paused, not wanting to give away how much he liked that. He quickly carried on, “I figure you prefer ‘princess’ to ‘brat,’ though. And now, uhn, we h-have my love -” he pushed his cock a little harder into you, making you moan softly - “and my queen.” 

“‘S lot,” you mumbled, trying to maintain the proper neutral tone in presenting your point, but some of your blissful mood bled into your voice anyways. “H-How’d we get so many s-so fast?” 

“Well, we have ‘my love,’ because we confessed to each other that we do love each other last night,” Cyrille explained patiently, smiling in victory as he recounted that fact. Meanwhile you blushed, still embarrassed about not only your confession per se, but also how you’d confessed to him last night. So, while Cyrille was holding on very tightly to that memory of you struggling to confess through your beautiful moaning that you loved him, you were desperately trying to erase that same, subjectively cringey memory from your mind. 

“And ‘my queen,’ because that’s what it felt like last night,” he finished.

“What do you - ah - What do you mean?” 

Cyrille gently pinned you against the edge of the tub as he took you just a bit harder, causing the warm bath water to slosh up against the wall of the tub in time to his gently fucking you.

“Mm, uhn...” you breathed out softly, feeling your thighs gently bounce against the tile wall as he took you from behind. 

“You wearing my family crest pendant, and in that gorgeous dress and lingerie, and having you all to myself in that tiny carriage. It’s like stealing you away, isn’t it? And when I spread you out on the seat and held you down and ate you out, with that lingerie on, you did truly look like a queen...”

“You’re v-very romantic,” you accused Cyrille, more than a little amused. “Do the other Slytherins k-known you’re - mm - like this?” 

“No, angel, of course not.”

You smiled to yourself, but Cyrille, always so aware of his partner’s moods, noticed your mood shift into arrogant pleasure. 

“And why are you suddenly so pleased, princess, hm?” Cyrille’s hands slipped up your back. As they had been grasping your hips in the warm water, they were now wet and dripping with warm bath water. He ran both his hands up your back, making you shiver from the sensation of warmth traveling up your back. But, only a few seconds later, the remaining trails of water left on your back brought the first sense of chilliness into your pleasant morning, and you suddenly felt very exposed. 

Cyrille  gripped your shoulders, and he began to gently but firmly push you back on his cock.

“Mmm, mm - !” You moaned a little louder, feeling his cock pushing in a bit deeper than before and the water slapping up between the two of you at waist-level. Bending forward from the hip, you slowly sank down until you were leaning over the edge of the tub, breasts slightly pressed up against the cold tile floor outside the border of the tub. 

You had one arm stretched out in front of you to keep yourself from falling completely onto the floor above the tub. With your other hand, you reached back to press your hand against Cyrille’s waist, wanting to touch him and wanting him deeper inside of you.

You felt his sharp, cut body tensing even as he taking you so gently, just as you’d asked him to. You wondered if he was holding back. Both wanting him deeper yourself and hoping to please him, you jutted your hips out against him, playing into his hands that were guiding you back to him, so that you were displaying your efforts to have him deeper inside of you, too. 

His cock was now deep enough inside you, and stiff enough, that his tip grazed up against your sensitive spot inside of yours. As his cock began to press against your soft spot more and more frequently, your thighs began to quiver slightly in the water.

Cyrille let out a soft groan, watching the water splash over your tight ass, with a soft line of bubbles clinging to your beautiful waistline just above the water as he fucked you gently over the edge of the tub.

“- ‘M close,” you whispered in a tight voice, and your hand curled into a fist against the floor of the prefects’ bathroom.

“Me, too,” Cyrille breathed out. He shut his eyes and softly yanking you back so that you were upright again, he wrapped his arms around your front and pressed you to him. Holding you in that position, he hit up against you deeper, pushing his cock far enough into you that your ass was being slammed into a little. Your back arched as you gasped out softly. 

“Uhn, fuck, feels so good, angel,” Cyrille groaned into your ear. He bit your ear gently, and then quickly kissed your cheek before moaning softly over how good you felt around his cock. 

“Uhn, uhn...!” You moaned out. Reaching up, you grasped his forearms in your hands and squeezed them tightly in your grip as you felt yourself nearing your climax. 

Both of your bodies jerked back and forth together, bending at the hips as one, almost like a flower in the wind. 

Then, Cyrille suddenly groaned louder than before. Leaning down, he hugged you softly by the waist and collapsed against your back, accidentally pushing you back down over the edge of the tub. You felt your breath get pushed out of you and your tummy softly folded over the edge. His cheek pressed against the back of your neck as he breathed out heavily as he came inside of you.

“Mmm,” you moaned out, your lips pressed together to hum blissfully before you bit your lower lip as you felt warm, tight waves of pleasure wash over you. 

For a long moment, the two of you stayed like that. In some strange, poetic way, you had both returned to your first position of being together at the edge of the tub, with Cyrille draped lovingly on top of you. The two of you were poised almost as living sculptures, as the still muted morning light filtered down over you both, casting a subtle yet beautiful glow over your intertwined forms. 

As your warm release of cum mixed with Cyrille’s cum deep inside of your sex, you turned your head over your shoulder, and his head slipped forward onto your shoulder.

Your cheeks hinting at the loveliest tinge of pink, you smiled at him while still biting your lower lip.

Cyrille brought his hand up to touch your lips, pressing his thumb softly against your mouth. Having pressed your lower lip open, he gave you an open-mouthed kiss, tasting you deep in that morning. 

You felt so incredibly happy, all wrapped up in his arms, filled with his cum again, only hours after having had sex with him before, and now to be so affectionately and lovingly kissed... You exhaled sweetly against his mouth, giving him a little moan that told him how you were absolutely melting for him.

Cyrille’s lips pushed up into a soft smile, too, when he heard your sweet moan. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

Finally, you finished washing up and the two of you got out of the water. You took slightly longer, mostly to finish washing your curls. 

By the time you came out, Cyrille had already dressed and pulled his long hair back in a low ponytail. 

You grabbed your towel and dried yourself off, quickly running your towel through your hair. You felt your airy curls dry rather fast, as they always did. 

Cyrille was sitting back on the lounge chair. As he gazed at you drying off, he discovered a new kind of loveliness in you, one he’d never had the opportunity to see before. He’d never seen your hair like this before - not done up at all, in any way. You never tamed it, but you did still try to brush it or add something to it to give a bit of shine most days. But now, freshly washed and quickly dried, your hair was in such soft curls, shaped in little ringlets that he could swear were halos. You’d also wrapped yourself in a fluffy ‘prefect’ robe. On top of that, Cyrille had never seen your bare face before. He found you very graceful-looking and surprisingly adorable without any makeup on. Your eyes appeared softer and sweeter, and your cheeks seemed to be a bit fuller so that when you smiled, your whole face lit up with a pretty glow. And there was a tiredness to you, too, a sigh in your demeanor suggesting that life had not always been kind to you, but Cyrille loved that too, more than even you knew.  

Merlin, I don’t want to let her go, Cyrille thought. He suddenly imagined a life with you - waking up with you like this every day. If you had children someday, Cyrille already knew you would make an amazing mother. The thought of having children someday made Cyrille incredibly nervous, to the point that his throat literally dried up. Cyrille didn’t trust himself to be a father just yet, and he wanted to be your equal in taking care of the kids. Still, the idea of you as the mother of his kids made Cyrille’s chest tight, both with fear and with a lovely sort-of hope. 

After you’d pulled on a robe, you reached for your wand to cast spells on yourself to prevent pregnancy. Just before you did, your tummy tensed slightly, though you didn’t know why. You simply figured that you were hungry. You couldn’t see Cyrille’s thoughts and his wishes to have a future with you. Oblivious, you cast the spells on yourself successfully. 

Then, you looked up at the clock in the far corner of the bathroom. 

“We should probably head back,” you said, sighing a little. “It’s nearly breakfast time.” 

“Yes,” Cyrille agreed. He came over to you and handed you your dress. “I did fix it, but... I tore it a bit more intensely than I thought. It may not be the exact same... I’m sorry. I’ll buy you another dress, angel.”

You shook your head and laughed lightly as you took it back. “It was for you, anyways,” you told him. “So, I guess it was yours to rip, too.”

“You’re welcome!” you joked brightly, as you wrapped up your lingerie in the dress in a makeshift bundle. 

Standing up on tip-toe, you kissed Cyrille briefly and said, “Thank you for everything.”

Not quite ready to let you go just yet, Cyrille hugged you tightly, squeezing you in his arms. You smiled and pressed yourself to him, snuggling up in his embrace. You felt his arms cross over your back and his hands slipped into your soft, if not messy, hair.

You giggled and said, “You probably don’t want to do that. My hair’s a right mess when it’s just dried.”

But Cyrille shook his head and said softly, “I love you this way.”

He paused, and then, tangling his fingers gently in your ringlets, he whispered to you, “Well, I love you in all ways.” 

He let you go, though he kept holding your hand. You both held hands tightly for the short walk over to the door. Then, he cast you a bittersweet look as he saw you off first. 

Above you both, on one of the large painted glass windows of the prefects’ bathroom, the painting of the mermaid was blushing profusely at what she had just witnessed. She hid her eyes behind her auburn hair and closing her blue eyes, she hummed a song of a tale long forgotten amongst humans, except when, on the rare occasion, it was re-discovered by star-crossed lovers. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

At long last, you crept up to Gryffindor Tower, ready to sleep in the comfort of your own, fluffy bed.

But life had other plans. Because James Potter was waiting to have a word with you. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

At one in the morning on the night of the Yule Ball, James would have traded in his proficiency at Transfiguration for Charms in a heartbeat, just to master the Memory Erasure Charm ”Obliviate”. Because he could not get this damned image out of his mind. It was like someone had seared the vision to the insides of his eyelids. The more he tried not to see it, the more visceral it all became. 

I asked her, he thought to himself. I asked her if she was seeing him and she said no. Then... 

He growled in frustration. 

Last night, after midnight (which was when curfew had been pushed back to to account for the Yule Ball), James and Lily had been asked to do rounds. Since it was cold outside, James offered to do the grounds search, while Lily would take the castle. They weren’t expected to be too diligent about their rounds that night. It was really a preliminary search before the Professors and Filch conducted a more thorough search prior to closing up the castle once and for all.

James went down to Hagrid’s first to ask if everything had gone all right with the thestrals. James rather liked Hagrid. He didn’t have a particular reason why. He just liked something about Hagrid’s gruffness. If there were to be a special reason to like reason, James supposed it was because he had asked for Hagrid’s help on caring for “animals” on more than one occasion. In fact, Hagrid’s advice had been essential for James, Sirius, and Peter to care for Remus immediately before and after the full moon. All in all, James had warmed up to Hagrid considerably, so it was with a friendly tone that James asked him, “How’d the thestrals go, Hagrid?”

“Think they were all right. They dun’ always like being around people for too long, but they handled it well,” Hagrid answered sagely.

“I meant from the students’ perspective, Hagrid,” James said, amused.

“Ah, righ’, righ’. Well, I’m sure everyone liked the thestrals. What’s not to like?” Hagrid asked seriously.

Right... What’s not to like about winged skeletal horses that apparently only people who have witnessed death can see? James shook his head, grinning. “All right. Cheers, Hagrid.”

With that, he went off across the grounds. Everything seemed quiet. 

But then, as James made his way back towards the castle, zigzagging through the parked carriages, gleaming in the cold winter moonlight, he suddenly picked up on a series of soft sounds...

He hesitated. What is that sound? Is someone hurt somewhere?

James began to head towards the sound. He drew out his wand just in case. 

As he approached the last line of carriages, he could hear the sound a bit more clearly. 

“...ah! ...ah....ah...!” 

He frowned. What the hell is going on? 

Then, James realized that one of the last carriages was subtly shifting, rocking back and forth on its wheels. 

James blew out a short, terse breath. He did not need this right now. Merlin’s beard. Who in their right mind is fucking in a carriage at one in the morning? he wondered. 

“Ah, ah, ah!” Closer now, James could hear the moans much more clearly. The moans were gasping slightly, and almost wailing. Whoever that is is really taking it hard and rough, James thought to himself. Damn it, do I have to interrupt this? Aargh, all right, James. Just be professional about it. Get them back to the castle. Then, you can go back to Lily’s room and cuddle with her until you fall asleep... 

“Ah, ah, ah!”  The moans were becoming even more desperate and high-pitched. The carriage was definitely shifting now and James could hear a slight thudding sound as someone was being rammed roughly against the carriage door. 

Rolling his eyes, James headed towards the rocking carriage, ready to yank the door open and tell the students to get lost. 

But as he neared the carriage, he hesitated as a fuzzy realization began to enter his mind. 

Those moans... I think I might know those moans... No way. His stomach lurched uncomfortably. It can’t be...

Suddenly, a girl’s delicate, but desperate hand slammed against the glass window, grasping in vain at the glass.

It must have been very heated and humid in the carriage, because the windows were completely fogged up. But as the woman’s hand slowly began to draw back in as she subconsciously realized she could not hold onto the glass, that it would not support her as she was being ruined by whoever was inside there with her, her fingers left long streaks in the fog. Water droplets appeared in the left-behind finger tracks, and began to streak down the window, providing a clear crosshatch design that erased the fog, allowing James to see through the window if he got close enough. 

Frowning deeply, James forced himself to look inside of the carriage. 

It took him a long moment to figure out what the hell was going on.

At first glance, all he could see was a man’s large back, stretched out possessively as he leaned over someone, with his back muscles straining as his hips and thighs jerked back and forth roughly. He was definitely fucking some poor girl relentlessly. James wasn’t sure who the man was at first, as he had a large dark blue, almost black, tattoo snaking across his back that James had never seen before. However, the man’s long silvery hair did give James a vague idea of who it might be. 

Damn it, James thought. If that’s who I think it is, he’s the last person I want to see in any situation, let alone this situation. I hope he doesn’t give me trouble. 

James could also see the lower half of the woman’s figure. As James peered in through the window, he saw the girl’s hips being forcefully jerked up and down by the man’s rough pounding. The girl, whoever she was, was struggling to find any semblance of support. One of her legs was trying vainly to press up against the carriage seat, but was slipping down thrust by thrust, and her other leg was high in the air, over the man’s shoulder, and her heel was hanging on only by her tiptoes.

In the short seconds that James watched, her lover thrust into her so intensely that her heel finally fell off and clattered loudly onto the floor.

James tried to make out the woman’s face, but he couldn’t see anything of her from the waist-up. Although, speaking of her waist... James paused. That soft little tummy, and those pretty thighs jerking back and forth - But no, James stopped himself from finishing that thought, because the girl in the carriage was wearing quite an elegant lingerie set that was very fitting and very sexy. Even through that blurry window, James could see that the lingerie had a little slit in it, so that, in all of the lace and whatnot that came with it, the woman wearing the lingerie could also be enjoyed without having to take it off. 

When James saw that lingerie set, he let out a deep sigh of relief. Because he knew that you would never wear anything like that, let alone to be fucked in a carriage by some strange man with a huge tattoo snaking across his back. In fact, James had once caught you trying on a pair of his briefs because “you wanted to see if they were more comfortable than your own boyshorts,” which had traumatized him for a good few days. Strangely, he was the one embarrassed and you were the one laughing at him all week. Then, you had made a joke of it and showed up to his room wearing only his briefs. 

Sirius had whooped and applauded. Remus had turned beet red and muttering furiously about a book he had to return, he left, with no book at all. And Peter died on the spot. Just died. Right there. 

James gave you all of ten seconds to explain yourself before he forced Sirius and Peter out of the room, grabbed you, pushed you down on the nearest bed (unfortunately, poor Remus’), ripped down his briefs on you to your thighs, and fucked the daylights out of you, making you cry out and grab Remus’ pillow tightly in your little hands, squeezing it so hard that the downy feathers started to peek through the cotton covering. 

Anyways, all that to say that the woman in the carriage was definitely not you... 

More moans spilled out. Well, more accurately, they had never stopped, but they were becoming more and more intense. “Ah, ah, ah!” 

But that sound... James bit down on his lower lip, and his brow furrowed. Yeah, that’s not her, but... She used to moan that way. Well, I mean, she used to moan that way for me. I’m sure she still moans that way, just not for me anymore... 

But no, she doesn’t wear lingerie like that. She’s not into it. And she told me she’s not with Lestrange. So, that can’t be her.

Right? 

But what if it is...? 

Fuck.

Losing to his doubt after his internal bout with himself, James decided to go for it. At the risk of embarrassing himself, he tried to look closer, peering more intensely into the window.

But exactly at that moment, the man’s hand slammed down on the girl’s hand in the window, pinning it down and covering it in his large, tight grasp. The girl cried out loudly, still taking a pounding from the man leaning above her, who was clearly enjoying her like this, under him and all stretched out - in more ways than one. James jumped back in surprise, but he caught a glimpse of the man’s rings pressed up against the hard glass, making a soft rattling sound, for his rings knocked up against the window as he held the girl’s hand tightly in his, not letting her slip down or move her hand away. 

Wait, I know that insignia. All the purebloods know that sign, if not all witches and wizards... That’s the Lestrange insignia, James recognized. He let out a short, impatient sigh. Then, that’s Cyrille Lestrange for sure. God damn it. 

Just then, James heard a desperate cry wring out, and suddenly, the girl’s hips buckled and she abruptly came hard, squirting hard all over the man’s cock and herself, her cum drenching her pretty lingerie. 

But Lestrange didn’t let up one bit, fucking the girl anyways, using the girl’s wetness to his advantage to ram his cock into her even harder, making her slide up and down on the slick seat as she took his cock.

“A-Ah, ah, a- uhn! Uh, uh, uh, uhn....”‘ The girl’s strangled half-whimpers and half-moans sounded out so pitifully, but even James had to admit that there was something quite lovely about the way her moans lilted. Because James now heard what Yaxley had heard up on the Astronomy Tower - that whoever the girl was, she must be so in love with this man as to give him such vulnerable, soft, and amazing whimpers and moans... And the way that she was letting him use her body suggested a deep devotion to her lover. Maybe she was enjoying it, too, but it was clearly putting her under quite a bit of strain, so she either trusted or loved the man she was with very much. 

Just then, Lestrange’s head dipped low and he growled something to the girl.

At that moment in which Lestrange bent over his lover to growl his demands into her ear, the woman’s face - your face - appeared over Lestrange’s shoulder.

James’ jaw dropped. No. No. It can’t be.

His mind tried to go straight to denial. No way. No fucking way. 

But it was impossible to deny that it was you. Of all people, you. 

How could it be? She said... She said she’s not seeing him. A heavy stone dropped straight through James’ stomach. He found himself clutching his wand so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. 

Fuck, that’s her. That’s really her. My baby. Wait, no - not my baby anymore. But someone who once was... my baby, and my sweetheart. Mine, under any name. And now...

James could not tear himself away from this horrible and gut-wrenching sight of you being held in the arms of another man - no, not even being held, but being cruelly held up by his hands pinning yours down, and even then, not by holding your hands sweetly, but by pinning them down through brute strength against the cold glass of the window.

James still could not believe the truth staring him straight in the face. You were being fucked by Lestrange, of all people and like this - ! Fuck, just look at her - Look at Baby, James thought numbly. Your face was flushed red. You were sweating, with your pretty face glistening in the dim light that entered the carriage. Your legs were splayed out. You obviously could not take Lestrange’s cock all the way in your tight pussy, but you were certainly trying your damned best for him. 

And then - if all of this was not enough to torment James, the most unbelievable and insufferable thing happened - you begged for him. You fucking begged for him. Not just once, or twice, but repeatedly. And from the sweetness and total desire seeping through your pleas, it was very clear to James that you were doing it of your own free will.

You whimpered to Lestrange, in your perfect, lovely, half-sobbing little voice, “Please, please, please, please.”

Only half a beat later, and you were at it again, crying out weakly, “Cy...! Oh, p-please!” 

James shut his eyes and held his breath, unable to take it. 

But the sounds alone were enough to tell him what was going on. 

“Good fucking girl,” Lestrange growled at you. “Yes, you are.” 

“Yes.” -Thrust - The carriage rocked. - “Ah!” you cried out so sweetly and so needily. 

“You.” - Thrust. - The carriage rocked again, loud enough to creak.  -“Uhn!”

“- Are.” - Thrust. The carriage door literally shivered and nearly fell open, as you were slammed up against it. - “A-Ah, f-fuck!” you whimpered, your voice breaking.

James’ mind was numb. Lestrange was clearly fucking you hard enough to, at least on some level, make you ache. And yet, your want for him was so evident, not just in your moans, but in your words- specifically, your unrestrained pleas, which was something you never gave James. You never let James have that, not once, in two years of dating. Sure, you’d let a plea slip into your moans sometimes, but it was nothing close to the fucking spectacle you were giving now - to Cyrille Lestrange. 

What is Baby doing, giving herself to this bastard, letting him fuck her until she’s sore and aching and hurting from his cock, wearing fancy lingerie for him, and pleading for him like he’s the best thing she ever had? James wondered, and his thoughts were shot through with hurt, disbelief, and anger. 

More whimpers spilled out of you as Cyrille tried to kiss you, but you pushed him away and whined, “I- I can’t - ah, ah, ah! - C-Cy, I can’t b-breathe!” 

But he must have kissed you anyways, because the next moment, a series of muffled cries and moans spilled out from your captured lips, trailing into, “Mm, Mm, Mm! Mmm...!” 

This bastard is using her. He’s fucking smothering her with kisses when she needs to breathe. James nearly wrenched the carriage door open in that very moment to get to you, but just then, he heard you gasp loudly, gulping air into your lungs.

Then, you cried out, “U-Uhn, ah, ah, ah!” 

Is it just me, or are her moans starting to sound hoarse? James wondered. Maybe I’m losing my mind... 

And then, cruelly compounding the torture you were putting James through, your fervent desire for Lestrange was evident yet again as you burst out, “Please! Oh, please! Cy!” 

She really... wants him, James thought. He swallowed hard, finding it difficult to face the fact that you might genuinely... like him. 

“Fuck,” Lestrange cursed loudly enough for James to finally hear his growling voice. James opened his eyes again just in time to see Lestrange’s hand squeeze yours even harder against the window. 

I should leave. Yeah, let me get the hell out of here, please, James thought, finally coming to his senses. 

James began to turn away, when suddenly, he noticed that Lestrange was starting to pull away from you, and pull out of you, but you locked your legs tightly around him and gasped out, “Wait, n-no, don’t! Stay inside me. C-Cum inside me!”

Cyrille groaned in response to you. The beginning of his reply was hard to hear through the window, but James overheard the last bit of “Uhn... It’s not... We’re too- ”

James began to feel one tiny bit of relief at knowing that Lestrange was not going to cum inside of you, but then you shattered that one ray of hope when you begged Cyrille fervently, “Please. Please. Cum inside me. Please.” 

James knew then that Lestrange would give you what you wanted. No man could resist you when you were asking for him to cum in you in such a wanting little voice, James recognized. Even all disheveled, you looked so lovely, and you sounded so sweet. What man wouldn’t want to fill you with his cum? 

Just as James thought that, Cyrille moaned, and the sound was softer than James expected. “I can’t - can’t hold it. Angel...”

Angel? James nearly scoffed in disbelief. He called you ‘angel’? 

Your voice rose up again, as though you knew James was standing outside having to listen to all this, unable to run away, transfixed to the ground in the middle of a cold winter’s night, shivering with cold and anger, only a few steps away from the carriage that you and Lestrange had heated up with your overwhelming lust for each other. 

And as though you were determined to never let James forget that, you moaned for Lestrange, “Please, I need you to cum inside me. It’s what I need. For me. Please. Please. Please.” 

Your moans were so unbelievably soft, and yet, they were just desperate enough to carry through and reach James’ ears. 

“Angel!” Cyrille suddenly growled your name in a rough voice that tore at his throat. Then, he thrust into you hard one last time - 

“Uhn!” 

“Ah!”

Cyrille’s moan tangled in the air with your own strangled, wrenching, and utterly exhausted cry.

I can’t do this, James thought, heart-broken. I cannot do this.

Before he knew it, he was running as fast as he could back towards the castle, trying to force his mind to erase what he’d just seen. But of course, the harder he tried to forget everything he had seen and heard, the deeper it planted itself into its memory and into his heart. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *   

James had managed to pull himself together long enough to be there for Lily, to hold her against his chest until she fell asleep. He gently tucked her into bed, and lovingly kissed her forehead before he slipped away.

But instead of going back to his Head Boy dormitory, James went back to Gryffindor Tower. It was nearly four in the morning. James wasn’t sure whether you had come back or not yet, but it didn’t matter. He would either catch you coming in, or he would find you going down to breakfast or lunch. It truly did not matter. He just had to see you.

As he sat there in front of the fireplace, he remembered how Cyrille Lestrange had always seemed to have his eye on you. Lestrange had been the first one to call him out for having feelings for Lily while dating you. James still remembered that terrible day where he had accidentally marked you up all over your chest and neck because he’d been so fired up by Lestrange’s taunts. And there was that other time, when James thought you might have accidentally seen him and Lily hold hands for the first time outside the Great Hall... Lestrange had been the one who stopped James from going after you, and even though he hadn’t been able to see it with his own eyes, James had always suspected that Lestrange had gone after you himself, and that thought had always bothered him.

If that thought had bothered him, imagine what this was doing to him. James took off his glasses and tiredly pressed his palms against his eyes for the hundredth time, praying to forget what he’d seen.

Maybe I should just pretend like it never happened. I never saw it. Yeah. Who am I to ask about Baby’s love life, anyways? 

Shit, James berated himself, I need to stop thinking about her as Baby. She’s not that to me anymore. 

James sighed. He had never been able to call Lily any of the nicknames that he had had for you. Not that he needed to, the name ‘Lily’ offered a plethora of sickly sweet nicknames on its own - ‘Lils,’ ‘Flower of my Heart,’ ‘The Only Flower I am Not Allergic to.’ Though factually true, Lily had nonetheless slapped James in the face for that last one. 

Behind them, Sirius had grumbled and slipped a sickle to Remus for losing the ‘Lily will slap James for the 86th time today’ bet. Peter opened his Potions textbook and make a scratch, as he was keeping count. 

Lily had once asked James to call her ‘sweetheart,’ and James had tried, but it just didn’t sit right with him. It didn’t flow off the tongue like it did with you, and James had no idea if it was because it was always weird to use an ex’s nickname for someone else, or if it was because it had been particularly fitting for you to be his sweetheart. 

Stop it, James growled at himself. This is wrong.

He blew out a long breath. I should go. So what if she is seeing Lestrange? I have no right to stop her. Hell, I don’t even have a right to ask her about it. After I hurt her, she - 

Suddenly, James paused. He jolted up in his seat. What if it’s because I hurt her that Lestrange was able to sink his venomous fangs into her? Everyone knows he’s the master of manipulation. Even Sirius has heard from other women how charming Lestrange can be. He’s famous for his ability to seduce people into believing what he wants them to believe. And if... if after I broke up with her, she felt vulnerable, what if it was my stupidity that let Lestrange have his way with her? 

James sank back into the couch, horrified by the thought that this could somehow, at least in part, be his fault. But the realization of that possibility renewed his determination to stay up here and wait for you. Yes, he was angry with you, but he also just needed to make sure that you were all right. And that was genuinely the main thing for James. He was worried about you. 

Even now, in his heart of hearts, James knew that he could eventually get over what he had seen today. His own pride wasn’t that important when it came to you. Feeling betrayed was his problem, and James knew that. Above all, James just needed you to be safe, healthy, and genuinely happy. To him, you would always be the woman that he so respected and loved, no matter what label you’d put on that love. 

So, James settled in and tried his best to stay up for you. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

“James...? What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be up in the Head Boy dormitory?” 

“James? Earth to James?”

A shadow passed over James’ soundly closed eyes. He slowly blinked awake to find that you were waving your hand over his face. 

He heard you sigh and murmur, “Maybe I should go get Sirius...” 

James’ eyes finally took in his surroundings, and took in you, just as you began to turn away to go back.

Baby...? he thought tiredly. What’s...? Oh!

Suddenly, he sprung up from the seat and quickly grasped your wrist.

“Wait!”

You turned back and looked at him. 

“Wait,” James repeated again. His voice was slightly husky from having just woken up, not to mention the sleepless night he’d spent waiting for you - well, until he fell asleep. 

He cleared his throat. “I need to speak with...you.”

But then, he paused. His eyes went up and down, and then he asked you, “What on earth are you wearing?”

“Er... a bathrobe?” you replied, confused. Isn’t it pretty obvious what this is? I’m sure he’s seen a bathrobe before. “You sure you’re awake?”

“That’s a prefect’s bathrobe,” James recognized. “I forced Remus to wear one in the Great Hall once.”

You did, in fact, recall James’ pulling one of these embroidered ‘prefect’ bathrobes over Remus’ head at breakfast, shouting down Remus’ half-hearted insults and pleas of resistance. Remus had always tried to hide the fact that he was a prefect, but James, Sirius, and Pete had determined among themselves that Remus’ prefect status was should be something to be celebrated and flaunted in front of everyone. Literally, everyone. 

You still had disturbing memories of Sirius shouting out loudly, “Prefect Moons!” and pouncing on him in the hallway. Being James’ girlfriend came with a certain level of risk, you’d found out. In fact, you swore your reflexes had developed tenfold in the two years that you’d been with James. 

James pulled you out of your memories by asking you, “Well, you weren’t with Amelia, were you? I saw her come through last night, and it’s still early in the morning...”

He paused. Then, his brow furrowed as he realized slowly, “Wasn’t Lestrange the Slytherin prefect for our year?” 

Shit, why did James have to remember that? You tried very hard to keep your expression neutral, but it was all for naught, as James muttered bitterly, “Never mind. As if I need further proof. I’ve seen it all already.”

You frowned. “What are you talking about? Proof of what?”

James wasn’t looking at you anymore. Instead, he was glaring down at the rug between the two of you.

“James? you said, concerned.

James took a deep breath. Then, he asked, in a pained voice, “Why did you lie to me?”

“Lie...?” You were starting to realize what James had come to know, but you hadn’t quite put all of the pieces together.

However, James left no room for misunderstanding as his eyes slowly traced up to you. In a quiet voice that was most unlike him, he said knowingly, “You’re with him, aren’t you? Cyrille Lestrange.” 

Your eyes fell to James’ feet, and you clutched your dress quite tightly in your hand. “I told you,” you replied, in a similarly muted voice. “We’re acquaintances. Classmates.”

“No, you’re not,” James retorted, nearly cutting you off. “If you were just acquaintances, you wouldn’t beg so sweetly for him.” 

Your mouth fell open as your eyes flashed back up to James’ face in complete shock. “How did you- ?”

“I saw you with him.” James swallowed hard. “You were begging for him to... to finish inside of you.” 

Your eyes widened and your cheeks tinged quickly with embarrassment. “How - W-What?” you stuttered. 

But before you could find a coherent way to formulate your astonishment, James stepped closer to you. Gripping your shoulders in his hands and looking down at you, he pleaded with you fervently, “Listen to me. You have to wake up.” 

His warm brown eyes, which you still knew so well, bled with worry for you. 

But you knew that his worry for you was misplaced. 

“Wake up from what?” you pushed back. “Cyrille isn’t going to hurt me.”

Hearing you call Lestrange by his first name made strange and unfamiliar emotions tangle up in James’ heart. 

Why does it affect me so badly to hear her call Lestrange by his first name? James wondered. Is it because I heard her moaning it the entire time he was inside of her last night? His name coming from her lips, in the midst of her needy moans, intense whimpers, and breathless little pleas...? 

Damn it, no. Don’t think about that! Stopping himself, James told himself sternly, It’s just a name. Pull it together.  

Steeling himself, James tried to be calm and rational. He inquired, “Why do you trust him so much? What makes you think he’s on your side?” 

“Because... I’ve - I’ve spent time with him,” you finally admitted.

But instead of being appeased, James pressed you harder for answers. 

“You know what everyone calls him, what he’s known for,” James reminded you. “He’s the ‘Serpent Prince.’”

Gazing at you with deeply skeptical eyes, James asked you seriously, “How can you allow yourself to be with someone like that?”

“Cyrille isn’t like that,” you told James firmly. “He doesn’t believe in the whole ‘pureblood’ and ‘prejudice’ nonsense.”

“How do you know that?” James asked insistently.

“Because he told me so himself,” you answered, starting to get a bit heated. Why is James being so stubborn about this? I get his concern, but he’s pushing me so hard. 

“Well, of course he would say that,” James said, also starting to get frustrated with you. “He knows that that’s what you want to hear!”  

“It’s not,” you argued back. “James, I trust him.”

“Look at what he does,” James urged you. “Have you seen who he hangs out with?” 

“Well... I’ve spoken to him about it,” you said, finally giving a little ground. 

“Oh, you’ve spoken to him about it,” James repeated. The frustration in his heart was paving the way for his skepticism to win out over his intent to be calm. “And after your conversation, has he actually changed who he spends time with? No, he’s still one of those damned Slytherin purebloods.”

“They’re not all bad!” you said, your voice rising. 

“You can’t trust him,” James said, becoming more and more confident now that Cyrille was tricking you to get what he wanted - well, namely, you. But the way James saw it, Cyrille was telling you sweet nothings to bed you, to use you as his plaything, and not because he cared at all for you. In James’ mind, because James knew for certain that you did not condone prejudice, it followed that if Cyrille cared for you one whit, he could not continue to be a part of the group that was set to be Death Eaters. 

As for you, you were currently stuck between a rock and hard place. You didn’t feel like you could reveal Cyrille’s intentions and mission to James. It wasn’t your place. You didn’t have the right to tell that secret. At the same time, you realized that you couldn’t otherwise convince James that Cyrille was a good person.

But wait, why do I have to convince James anyways? you suddenly found yourself wondering. 

“James,” you said firmly, “this is not your problem. In fact, this has nothing to do with you!” 

James’ face flushed a little as he replied clumsily, “I know that! I’m not - I’m not trying to - I mean, it’s not that I want to steal you away from him and be with you myself! It’s just that- ”

You blinked, taken aback by James’ honesty. Unexpectedly, a wave of hurt washed over you, as though you had only broken up with him yesterday. Before you could help yourself, you murmured aloud, “No, of course not. You never wanted to be with me. Why should you feel differently now?”

James paused. Suddenly realizing how his words must have sounded to you, he quickly backtracked and said loudly, “No! That’s not what I meant. I’m just - Aargh, I’m just saying that you can’t trust everything he says!”

“Well, at least he says the things that I need him to say!” you shot back. 

“Because he’s lying to you! I was being honest with you! And you never gave me time before you single-handedly decided I wasn’t worth it for you, even though I was working up to lov- !” James abruptly cut him off.

Both of you were shouting at each other, arms crossed defiantly over your chests, and faces only inches apart. 

As James suddenly shut up, you both fell silent, breathing hard as pent-up emotions started to pour out of the cracks in your hearts. 

A fair number of students had overheard the commotion that the two of you were making, and they had sleepily come down to see what was going on. 

Seeing people start to gather, James reached out and grasped your hand. He pulled you away from the crowd, taking you out of Gryffindor Tower. 

He led you further down the hallway before suddenly turning and catching you in his arms, shoving you gently up against the wall behind you. Startled, you brought your hands up to your chest, shrinking away from James a little. You’d forgotten how his physique made you feel. With his broad shoulders and chest, his boxing you in like this suddenly made you feel at very close quarters with him. And his body just radiated warmth and energy like no other.

Staring down at you with a hard look in his eyes, James spoke in as serious a voice as you’d ever heard him use. “Tell me the truth. Do you really know that Lestrange is someone you can trust?”

Calming your heart now, you returned James’ hard gaze with your own, fierce stare.

“Yes,” you said firmly, determined to resolve any doubts on this score. “James, listen to me. Cyrille Lestrange is a good man, as deserving of honor and love as anyone else!”

When James heard you answer, speaking so assertively on behalf of another man who was your new lover, James’ anger slowly faded into pure hurt. His arms dropped back down to his sides, and his eyes also fell to the floor. 

Your heart ached when you saw his wounded expression.

“James...” You tried to find a way to explain yourself without giving away Cyrille’s secret. “Not all Slytherin purebloods are bad. You trust Sirius. You trusted me...” 

James looked up at you, confused. He frowned as he said to you, “What are you talking about? You’re a half-blood. And you’re in Gryffindor.”

You let out a deep breath that even James’ heard. He looked at you with concern etched deep into his warm brown eyes. 

“James,” you said quietly. “I’m not a half-blood. I’m a pureblood.”

“What in Merlin’s name are you talking about?” James asked, seriously worried now. 

“My last name is not the one I go by every day.” You looked up at James. Swallowing hard, you finally confessed to him, “I’m a Rosier.” 

James’ jaw dropped. His eyes flashed in alarm behind his glasses. 

You shut your eyes tightly and waited for his response. He’s going to be angry at me for not telling him, you predicted. 

Instead, James growled thunderously, “What kind of utter bullshit did Cyrille Lestrange put into your head?” 

Your eyes snapped back open. “What?” you said, in total disbelief. “You think Cyrille planted this into my head?”

“Well, where else would you get it from, huh?” James pushed back. He was panicking. 

“James!” you shouted loudly. But you didn’t know what to say next because you were panicking, too.

Both of your emotions were bleeding out all over the place, but especially onto each other. 

For a moment, you both shouted over each other.

“He’s telling you lies to bring you onto his side -!”

“If you’re going to go so far as to insult my own self-proclaimed identity -!”

You suddenly cut off, biting on your tongue on accident. 

“Ow!” you shouted out.  

James immediately shut up, concerned. “Shit, did you hurt yourself?” 

James instinctively put his warm, broad hand on your cheek and pushed up your face to make sure that you weren’t hurt.

To his surprise, he found you furiously blinking back tears - not because you were in any physical pain, but because of James’ reaction to you telling him your true identity. 

“B-Baby?” James said weakly, forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to call you that anymore.

For a moment, hearing James call you by your old nickname disarmed you. I used to love hearing him call me that. Maybe I took it for granted back then... 

But then, you pushed his hand away and glared up at him, furious. “If you’re not going to believe anything I say, then why bother having this conversation with me?” you said coldly. 

You crossed your arms over yourself, both to appear intimidating to him and to hold yourself together. 

James was silent, his jaw clenched tightly, as his mind raced at a hundred thoughts a second. 

You started to step away, but James gently grabbed your shoulder and pleaded with you.

“No, wait! Please don’t go,” James begged you. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, all right? I’m so sorry.” 

You let him gently pull you back in front of him. But you just shook your head at him, showing him that you were done with this conversation.  

“It’s just that... I’ve never heard you mention this before,” James told you quietly, trying to explain his disbelief to you without offending you or questioning your integrity. “I mean - do you actually remember your parents, then? Or... Or growing up in the Rosier household? Because then, I mean, wouldn’t the other Slytherins know you better, or make a big deal out of you the way they did Sirius?” 

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. I just don’t understand where this is coming from all of a sudden,” James said, purposefully keeping his voice very gentle as he spoke to you, even though he was actually struggling quite a bit to keep his emotions at bay. “And even you have to admit, this sounds like exactly the kind of thing Lestrange or some other pureblood would plant in your brain to garner loyalty or sympathy...” 

You were completely silent throughout all of this. Because the truth was - no, you did not remember your parents very well. They had been absent for most of your childhood, as you had been raised by a nanny. Then, when you were old enough to start to take on the family mantle, you finally began to receive training directly from your parents. You knew from flashes in your memory that it had not gone well, mainly because of your difference in ideology, paired with your utterly impatient and unresponsive attitude towards their way of thinking.

But then, right before the summer of fourth year, your memories cut off. For the summers of your fourth and fifth years, your mind was totally blank. 

Your memories picked back up in full detail at the beginning of fifth year, which was when you developed a serious crush on James and decided to give it a try. 

James’ anxiety had risen to an all-time high as you stood there before him, looking upset, but also with blank eyes.

“I’m sorry...” he repeated hesitantly. “I didn’t mean to blow up at you. I didn’t mean to question you like that. I’m just really worried for you - Hey, wait, where are you going?”

You ran back to Gryffindor Tower. Ignoring Emmeline’s sleepy inquiries as to what you were up to, you quickly changed into your blouse and skirt. You shoved your dress, still wrapped up around the garter set, into the trash can.

Then, you ran back down the dormitory stairs.

James had followed you in and was worriedly waiting for you in the common room. He tried to step in front of you, but you pushed him away from you. James didn’t dare try to physically hold you back, but he trailed after you as you stepped back into the hallway. 

“What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” James asked you, almost begging with you to answer him. 

After muttering aloud, “My memories,” you abruptly took off down the hallway, running as fast as you could towards the stairs at the end of the hall.

“Wait! Where are you running to?” James shouted at you. 

You didn’t respond as you raced off towards Dumbledore’s office - to get your memories back, once and for all. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *  

You stood uncertainly in front of the golden eagle guarding the Headmaster’s office. 

“Password?” the golden eagle cawed.

“Um, I don’t know. I’m - I’m just a student. I need to see the Headmaster.”

The golden eagle remained still for a few seconds longer. Then, to your amazement, it spread out its magnificent golden wings before it began to turn sideways and up. Stairs appeared, rising out of the ground, climbing up its wings. You stepped quickly onto the rotating steps, and let them bring you up to the door of the Headmaster’s office.

When the stairs stopped and you were facing the door, you knocked twice.

You heard Dumbledore’s cheerful voice say, “Come in.”

You pushed open the door and walked in.

When Albus Dumbledore saw you striding into his office, his bright blue eyes flashed down at you from behind his half-moon glasses. 

“Ah, and how may I be of service to you?” he greeted you. “It must be very important, seeing how early you’ve come to my office. I must confess, I barely just got up myself.” 

He chuckled lightly, but you could not bring yourself to do the same.

Instead, standing before him, you said nervously, “Headmaster, I’ve been told that I once came to you and asked you to take away some of my memories. Is that true?”

Dumbledore paused. Bringing together his long fingers, he rested his chin at the tip of his fingers as he looked up at the ceiling. The ceiling was covered with moving models of the planets, stars, and other celestial bodies.

Finally, he replied in a quiet voice, “Yes, that is true.” 

You took a deep breath to steady yourself. Then, you asserted boldly, “I would like those memories back.”

But Dumbledore met your grand proclamation with the lightest of voices, telling you in a politely interested tone, “Well, of course, the paradox of making an informed choice in your case is clear. You cannot remember the effect of the memories on you, which would, and perhaps should, function as the main deterrent in regaining your memories. To remember the effect, you must regain the memories themselves, which, in turn, defeats the purpose of having a choice at all.”

Looking back down at you, Dumbledore asked you, “May I ask why you’ve decided to ask for your memories back?”

You hesitated. How do I explain this complicated situation...? In various ways, your relationships with Cyrille, James, and even your mother, all hinged on what had happened in the past. Thinking hard for a long moment, you ended up saying honestly, “I need to know myself.”

Dumbledore slowly nodded at your answer. “Well, if you put it that way, the answer does seem clear. And, of course, only you have the right to decide. They are, after all, your memories. But I must warn you, it may be very painful to regain them.” 

“I still want them back.” 

“Very well.” Dumbledore sighed. “Come to me, child, and we shall retrieve your memories from the Pensieve.” 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *  

James stood there in the hallway for a long time after you left, pacing and holding his head in his hands, pulling at different tufts of his hair. He groaned every few seconds.

Shit, what did I do? Did I hurt her? But I wasn’t trying to - Ugh, I let it get out of hand. Why did I let it get to me so badly?

His heart whispered the real answer: Because you’re jealous. 

No, he told himself. I just care for her. As a person. I’d kill anyone who dared to lay a finger on her.

True, his heart whispered back, but doesn’t it make it a million times worse that the one who could hurt her is her new lover? The man she tried to hide from you, said that they were just acquaintances, and that same night, you discovered her begging for him to cum in her as she’s never begged for you before. You really think that’s not part of all this? You really think that’s not why you’re overreacting to this?

James growled. Fuck. I don’t know. I don’t know anymore. All I know is that I have to protect her. Even if everything she said is true - and I don’t care if she is a Rosier - if Lestrange has that information and is using it to his advantage, I’m going to make him pay. I’m going to fucking make him pay.

James suddenly bolted down the hallway, heading down to the Slytherin common room. He followed two Slytherin students in, ignoring them when they yelled at him. 

“Hey, you’re not supposed to come in here!”

“Lestrange!” James shouted out, ignoring the other students’ indignant cries.

“What in hell- ? Why is James Potter in here?” 

Recognizing Sirius’ little brother, James called out to him. “Regulus! Where’s Lestrange?”

Regulus looked startled at being called out by his brother’s best friend. But slowly, Regulus lifted his hand, pointing James down the hallway.

James took off.

Without warning, he burst into Lestrange’s dormitory. Not only was Lestrange there, but so was Yaxley, Crabbe, and Goyle.

But James made a beeline for Cyrille.

Roughly grabbing the front of his shirt, James immediately shoved Cyrille against the bedpost.

“What did you do to her?” James snarled at Cyrille.

“Is it so hard to act remotely civilized?” Cyrille asked in a very quiet voice, staring at James without a speck of fear in his eyes. 

Cyrille merely looked lazily inconvenienced, as if James were a fly on his hand. “Learn to say ‘hello’ sometime, would you?” he told James coldly. “It’s a useful word to learn, I promise you.” 

Behind them, Crabbe grunted out, “What the hell is going on?” 

“Stay back for now,” Yaxley drawled, amused at the thought of Cyrille being taken to task, and secure in the knowledge that James was well outnumbered, if things did get out of hand.  

“Answer me,” James growled, shoving Cyrille back hard against the bedpost. “What did you do to Baby?”

“Baby?” Cyrille’s eyes flashed. In a low voice that only James could hear, Cyrille challenged James by saying, “Surely not your ‘baby’? Last time I checked, she was mine.”

“Yours?” James scoffed in disbelief. “You’re using her, you son of a bitch! That does not make her yours.” 

“I have never used her,” Cyrille said calmly. “I’m not like you, Potter. I only love one woman.”

Then, noticing Goyle pointing his wand at James’ back, Cyrille said harshly, “Put down your wand, Goyle. We don’t need magic to deal with the likes of him.” 

“Listen!” James demanded through gritted teeth at Cyrille. “Because of your lies, she’s lost her mind, running off all of a sudden, muttering about ‘her memories’! What the hell did you do to her? Huh?” 

Cyrille’s eyes flashed open. “What? What did you just say?” 

“I don’t know!” James said, anguished. “She said something about ‘her memories,’ and then she took off like a mad hare!” 

Cyrille shoved James aside. Her memories! Cyrille’s mind had gone hazy. His heart was suddenly thundering in his chest. Did Angel -? No, she couldn’t have gone to Dumbledore...

Cyrille was out of the dormitory before anyone could even blink. But then, James leapt into action, too, sprinting off after Cyrille to try to catch him.

Goyle tried to take this chance to curse James, but James was able to pull his wand out quickly and bellow, “Impedimenta!” 

Goyle went flying back and hit the wall with a loud thud! 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

“Ah!” You cried out and fell to your hands and knees as months’ worth of memories began to crowd into your mind all at once.

You were fourteen, and your parents had coldly declared that you were completely unfit to “take on the Rosier mantle.” They were furious to find that you weren’t just Gryffindor. No, your pathetic mind had been “wrongfully indoctrinated” with “Mudblood-loving ideology.” You were immediately sent to the Lestranges, with a letter asking them to train you “out of your mistaken beliefs.” 

On your second day at the Lestranges’ cold and expensive estate, you wandered into one of the large ballrooms. A lilting voice behind you rang out, “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting my parents? They’re waiting for you in the drawing room.”

You turned to see Cyrille Lestrange, also fourteen years old, standing at the entrance of the ballroom, leaning easily against the doorway. You recognized him from school, of course, but you had never spoken directly with him.

Cyrille continued, in a voice that merely suggested observation, “So, it’s true what they say. You have no manners.”

His silver eyes disarmingly flickered all over you as he read your countenance. Smirking a little, Cyrille said casually, “See, guests usually don’t wander around all over the estate behind their host’s back.” 

 Your upper lip curled in distaste at him. 

“Not a very friendly greeting,” Cyrille said, smiling thinly as he clearly identified your displeasure towards him. 

“Why should I give you a friendly greeting?” you asked him, watching him warily as he entered the ballroom and stepped towards you now. “You’re like your brothers - worse than the devil himself. In fact, I’d say you are literally the spawn of Satan.”

To your surprise, Cyrille burst out laughing at your comment. He stopped right in front of you and looked at you with amused eyes. He tilted his head at you as he said lightly, “Then, does that make you an angel?”

You blinked. Then, you began to blush. Trying to hide it, you said, highly irritated, “Don’t tease me.” 

Cyrille smirked at you.

Hating that look on his face, you walked out of the ballroom first, leaving him behind. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

But the two of you were the only children at the vast estate (as Cyrille’s brothers were both quite a bit older than he was), and you were getting quite lonely. Still, you thought to yourself, better no company than Cyrille Lestrange. 

You had brought your favorite book along, called “Princess Bride.” It had been featured as “Recently Published” in the “Muggle” section of Flourish and Blotts last year. You’d quite taken to it, though you hid it from your parents, afraid that they’d take it away from you if they ever found out that it was written by a Muggle author.

You sat down before a piano and began to read your book. 

“Here you are. My parents are asking where you’ve - What’s that you’re reading?” 

You snapped shut the book at once when you heard Cyrille’s voice. 

You stood up and hid your book behind your back as Cyrille came in. 

Cyrille hesitated. “Are you all right? I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Um, no, you didn’t,” you replied, a bit flustered.

“Were you reading?”

You paused. If you said yes, he would be sure to ask to see your book. You resolutely shook your head.

“Oh, really?” Cyrille said wryly, barely keeping from rolling his eyes. “All right, then what do you call it when you draw your eyes across the words of a page, hm?” 

You flushed with embarrassment.

But then, Cyrille suggested teasingly, “Do angels call it something different? Prayer, perhaps?”

Surprised at his warm, teasing tone, you found yourself looking up at him curiously.

“Anyways, my parents are furious that you’ve missed lunch again, so be on your guard,” Cyrille told you, nodding at you over his shoulder before he stepped out and left you there, alone. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

Sure enough, when Cyrille’s mother, Alexine Lestrange, found you later in your hallway, making your way back to your room, she was furious. 

“Girl, we have brought you under our tutelage under your parents’ request, and this is how you treat us? By forgetting to appear on time for meals and skipping out on lessons?” Alexine berated you. 

Seeing the book in your hand, she snatched it from you. “What is this?”

“Give it back!” you cried out. 

Just then, Cyrille and his father, Thadeus Lestrange, appeared around the corner. 

They both stopped when they saw the confrontation going on between you and Alexine. Cyrille’s eyes immediately snapped to the book in his mother’s eyes.

“Mother,” he said quickly, “what are you doing with my book?”

Alexine hesitated. “Your book?”

“Yes. Madam Pince gave it to me to read. I have to return it to her.”

“Then why does she -” Alexine jerked her head at you “- have it?”

“I gave it to her to borrow,” Cyrille replied straightforwardly. Seeing his mother’s skeptical look, he copied his parents’ oft-used language and said, “I thought you would approve of my... educating her. See, that book is about pureblood traditions. Proper traditions.” 

Alexine slowly began to believe her son’s story. Finally, she handed it back to you. You snatched it right out of her hand, hugging it to your chest. Then, you dashed away to your bedroom. 

“I told you to stop running in the hallways!” Thadeus’ furious voice boomed after you. “There will be no supper for you today, girl!” 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

Later that evening, you were lying in your bed. Your stomach was growling non-stop. You were so hungry. You curled up in your bed, trying to hug your stomach. You tried to think of a way to get food, but you were sure that the Lestranges would have told their house elves not to give you any. You sighed. 

Then, a soft sliding sound interrupted the quiet of the night. You sat up. Turning your head towards your door, where the sound had come from, you noticed that a thin bundle of napkins had been shoved under your door.

You walked over and carefully opened it. Two pieces of toasted bread, cheese slices, and somewhat flattened but not-yet-burst grapes had been wrapped up in the napkins. You ate it all at once, savoring how delicious it tasted.

Then, as you licked your fingers clean, you suddenly realized that you’d never thanked the person who gave the food to you.

Creeping over to the door, you pressed your ear to it, and whispered uncertainly, “... Cyrille? Is that you?” 

“Yes.”

You were quiet for a moment, not sure what to say. Finally, you murmured, “Thank you.” 

“I can’t really hear you,” he replied, whispering back. 

“Oh...” You reached up and very quietly opened your door. 

Cyrille slipped in, and you closed it behind him, being careful not to make any noise. 

Cyrille pulled out his wand. Pointing it at your door, he murmured, “Muffliato.”

“Makes it so that anyone trying to listen in just hears a buzzing noise,” Cyrille explained to you. “Severus taught me that one.”

“Oh.” You shifted uneasily on your feet, not sure how to talk to him. 

“So, now that I’ve covered up for you, would you be willing to tell me what the book’s really about?” Cyrille asked you, smirking a little. 

You frowned a little, not wanting to. But, you figured that you did owe him for covering up for you today and for bringing you food. So, you began to offer a brief explanation of the story, “It’s about this woman called Buttercup, and she falls in love with a man named Westley. Westley decides to go and seek out a fortune so that they can marry, but Buttercup hears bad news about him being attacked, and thinks that he’s dead. So, she agrees to marry this prince. However, she’s kidnapped by a trio of outlaws. And anyways, Westley comes back and saves her. But it’s filled with a lot of adventure, like there’s a swordfight between Westley and Inigo- ”

“Swordfight?” Cyrille interrupted you. “What’s the point of a sword when you’ve got a wand?” 

“Oh... Right. Well, this is a Muggle book. I mean, it’s written by a Muggle author,” you explained. 

"Ah, I see,” Cyrille said. 

You waited for him to say something mean or degrading about the book, but instead, Cyrille asked you, “Can I read it? I promise I’ll return it back in good condition.”

“Or... should I say, same condition?” Cyrille amended, looking at the copy to find it already with a drooping spine and dog-eared pages from your repeated reading. 

“You want to borrow it?” you asked him, surprised.

“If it’s all right with you,” Cyrille responded.

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

A week later, two nights before you were both set to go back to Hogwarts, Cyrille returned your book to you.

“Did you like you?” you asked him excitedly.

“Sure, except... It was a bit over-the-top with the romance,” Cyrille told you, handing it back to you a bit carelessly.

Disappointment bloomed in your stomach. “What do you mean?” you said indignantly, feeling insulted. 

“As you wish?” Cyrille repeated, raising his eyebrow at you distastefully. “What a ridiculous phrase. That’s even worse than when I tried to call you ‘angel.’”

“Well, maybe some of us like being called angel!” you said hotly, meaning to defend the book. 

Cyrille paused. 

You did, too. And then, you blushed crimson. 

You hurriedly began to turn away from Cyrille, but he reached out and gently grasped your arm. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said quickly. “You’re really going to shun me for that? It’s just my opinion.”

“Maybe... But it’s my favorite book,” you told him, not meeting his eyes. “You could be a little bit nicer, you know.” 

“I’m sorry,” he told you sincerely. 

You stayed there, letting him hold your arm. The two of you had ended up quite close to each other, as your face was level with his chest now. 

“I’m sorry,” Cyrille repeated. “How can I make it up to you?” 

You looked up at him with soft, shy eyes. In truth, you wanted him to hug you, or... kiss you? Your tummy gave a soft lurch as you thought about him kissing you. You hadn’t had your first kiss yet, and you wanted to know what it would feel like... 

Cyrille’s brow furrowed for a moment as he read you, just like he was trained to do. Looking into your soft, curious eyes, he murmured, “Do you want me to kiss you?” 

A soft tinge of pink appeared across your cheeks, like a cloud kissed with sunshine floating across your face.

“You do?” Cyrille said, surprised.

Finally, you nodded.

“Well,” Cyrille told you quietly, “your wish is my command.”

He leaned down and softly pressed his lips against your waiting ones. You shut your eyes and waited for the lightning to strike you and send you straight to heaven. But nothing like that happened.

Nonetheless, it felt quite pleasant to have his warm mouth pressed up against yours. 

But it was over very quickly. 

And then the embarrassment hit.

You immediately hid your face from him, putting your head down towards his chest, though not actually resting your head against him. 

“What?” Cyrille said, laughing a little. “Don’t tell me that was your first kiss.”

He reached down and hugged you against him. He tried to peer down into your face, but you were doing a good job of evading him. 

But after a moment, you said hopefully, “Now that we’ve kissed, do you think maybe - maybe you could call me ‘angel’?” 

“Um, sometimes?” you amended hastily, trying not to show how much you liked that nickname. 

But you could not be more obvious about it in Cyrille’s eyes. 

“Sure, angel,” he told you, squeezing you a little in his arms before he let you go. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

But the night before you both went back to Hogwarts, Cyrille came to you and said, “You know, you might not want to be close to me at Hogwarts... You’ve done a pretty good job of just avoiding all of this pureblood stuff up to this point. Best to keep it that way.”

“Why does that mean I should avoid you?” you asked him.

“Well, I’m someone different at school,” Cyrille replied, a bit depressed. 

“Oh,” you said, and that was that. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     * 

But as your fourth year played out, news of your behavior at school reached the other pureblood parents through their students. You became known as ‘a Mudblood-lover.’ 

Your father, Evan Rosier, was beginning to feel his legitimacy among the rising Death Eater group as one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight Purebloods crumble. He consulted with your grandfather, Marcus Rosier, and the two of them secretly put out a story that falsely said that your mother, Irina Rosier (nee Nott), a pureblood and also a daughter of one of Sacred Twenty-Eight families, was actually a Muggle-born, and that she had lied about her pureblood status before she married your father. Your father planned to divorce your mother if his reputation suffered any further. “Muggle-born” was equated to “crazy” within the Death Eater circles, and so it became known that you were a “Mudblood-lover” because you had inherited the insane gene from your mother. 

Your father had deeply underestimated your mother, however. Your mother was a deeply clever, calculating, and selfish woman, and when she heard the rumors of herself circulating throughout the pureblood community. Your mother immediately put two and two together and realized exactly what was going on, though she was powerless to quash it directly, since the source of the information was secretly your father (and she knew that it would be detrimental, if not fatal, to challenge him directly).

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

When your fourth year ended, you stopped briefly at your home to greet your parents. Your mother was surprisingly sweet, telling your father off for berating you and presenting you with a pair of her expensive earrings. 

“Amethyst and ancient gold. Perfect for you, darling,” she said, slipping them onto your ears for you. But then, she noticed how your wild curls covered up the earrings almost immediately. 

“Oh, you need to tame your hair, child. It’s unruly and ugly. I can’t even see the earrings because of your hair,” your mother told you, frowning. “That won’t do. Learn how to sleek down your hair, please. Alexine will be able to teach you.” 

Then, you were sent back to the Lestranges to ‘continue your education.’

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

“What are you wearing?” were Cyrille’s first words to you.

You quickly took off your mother’s earrings and put them away. “They were my mother’s earrings, and she wanted me to wear them,” you explained quickly, not really wanting to talk about it. 

“Is that... bad?” Cyrille asked, picking up at once on your mood (once again, as he had been trained to do in all situations.) 

“Well, no,” you replied, “but she made a comment about my hair. She hates it. She said that it’s ugly, and that I need to tame it.” 

“Well, all of the aristocrats in our circle do comb back their hair, I guess,” Cyrille said, shrugging. “Is that such a big deal?”

“It’s just that I like my hair. I know it’s not pretty, but I like the personality it has. It fits me, somehow,” you confessed.

Just then, there was a knock on your bedroom door. Alexine’s voice rang out, “I’ve received instructions from your mother to teach you how to do your hair. Are you ready for me?”

Cyrille looked over at you. “Follow me,” he whispered. To your utter surprise, he opened your window and jumped lithely out of it. You peered out of your window, and gulped. Though you were only on the second floor, it still seemed quite high up.

Cyrille beckoned to you to hurry up, and put out his hands to indicate that he would catch you.

“You insolent girl, I know you’re in there!” Alexine’s voice rang out on the other side of the door. “I’m coming in!” 

You jumped, holding back a scream. Cyrille caught you, and gently set you on your feet. Then, grabbing your hand, the two of you ran off together into the extensive gardens of the Lestrange estate. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

When the two of you were far enough away, you burst out laughing and fell into the soft grass behind the rose gardens. Stretching out on the grass, you stared up into the wide sky breathlessly. 

“That was a rush,” you told Cyrille. He sat down next to you, stretching one leg out and bending his other leg at the knee. He casually rested his elbow on his knee. He gazed down at you and smiled when he saw a few scattered rose petals caught among your curls already. 

“Well, you said you didn’t want to change your hair, and - what’s the phrase? Oh, right. ‘Your wish is my command,’” Cyrille told you, and his smile deepened into a mischievous smirk. 

You shook your head at him, though you couldn’t help except to smile back. “That was last year,” you told him. “I’m not obsessed with that book anymore.” 

“Oh, really?” Cyrille said, shifting back to lie back on his elbows. “That’s a pity. That phrase was really beginning to grow on me.”

“What about ‘angel’?” he asked you. “Do you still like that?”

“Oh...” You pretended to think about it, although you already knew the answer quite clearly in your heart. “Um, yes, please.” 

Cyrille looked over at you, amused at how much you seemed to like that name. 

But it really fit you, he found himself thinking. He had just picked it out as a way to disarm you and by disarming you, to turn the tables on you so that you wouldn’t call him names anymore. Unexpectedly, though, the disarming may have worked the other way, Cyrille thought.

“What?” you asked him, as you noticed him gazing at you. 

You felt a bit self-conscious. “Is there something on my face?” 

You reached up to touch your face to check. But Cyrille turned over slightly so that he was leaning on his side and reaching over to you, he grasped your wrist and said, “No, angel, there’s nothing on your face.”

“But,” he whispered softly, “there are rose petals in your hair.”

Suddenly, he pinned you down by holding you by the wrist and pushing your arm down. In a flash, he was sitting on top of you. 

“C-Cyrille?” you said, startled.

Cyrille leaned over you and slid his other hand into your hair, feeling the rogue rose petals among your curls slip under his fingertips. 

He leaned down until his lips were hovering centimeters away from yours. You had already squeezed your eyes shut and were busy holding your breath in anticipation. Cyrille smiled softly. Then, he asked you in a low murmur, “May I kiss you, angel?”

You paused. Still with your eyes tightly shut, you nodded.

And then Cyrille Lestrange pressed his lips to yours, kissing you for a second time in that beautiful garden filled with the first bloom of summer flowers. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

The two of you could not escape all lessons though (and actually, Cyrille was quite diligent about taking lessons from his parents, as long as he wasn’t helping you to escape them). So it was that the two of you found yourselves sitting in the Lestrange library, poring over the names of the old pureblood aristocrats and famous wizards and witches. 

You were disinterestedly skimming through the book, when suddenly, you happened upon Cyrille’s name.

“Look,” you told him. “Your name means ‘my lord’.”

“Yes,” Cyrille confirmed, not looking up from his own studies.

“You already knew that?”

“Yes.” 

“Oh. So, if I call you ‘Lord Cyrille,’ is that ‘Lord Lord’?” you teased him. “Maybe I should call you that.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Cyrille replied lightly, still not looking up from his book. 

“Then, what about ‘my lord’?” you asked, absent-mindedly.

Cyrille paused and looked up at you. 

Just then, Alexine’s irritated voice slithered over from two bookcases over. “Who’s talking?” she snapped. “Focus on your studies!” 

You sighed and looked back down at your book ago. 

Twenty minutes later, you were woken up by Alexine’s shriek.

“You drooled all over the page with our family name! ‘Cyrille’ is on this page, you despicable girl!” Alexine yelled at you. 

Cyrille coughed, barely biting back a laugh. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *  

Later that evening, you both had to take ballroom lessons. The Lestranges had hired an actual instructor named Felicity, who was very hands-off. She was a good teacher and an excellent dancer herself, but she left early almost every lesson. 

Still, you and Cyrille had gotten into the habit of practicing with each other for the full two hours, dancing quietly with each other even without a teacher there.

As you danced together that evening, Cyrille said to you, “You really hate studying, don’t you? I’ve never seen someone sleep so deeply on top of a book.” 

“I don’t hate studying,” you told him honestly. “I study really hard at school. I just don’t want to study the stuff your parents want to make me study.”

“You study hard at school?” Cyrille picked up. “Why?” 

“I... I want to be an Auror,” you confessed to him. “You know, a Dark Wizard-catcher. And you need top marks, for that.”

Cyrille suddenly stopped dancing with you. “An Auror?” he repeated. 

You nodded. “Yeah...”

“So, you’d be coming after people like our parents,” Cyrille said quietly. 

You nodded again.

“People like me...” Cyrille murmured. 

“No, not you.” Bringing your hand down from his shoulder, you reached out and touched his chest gently. “You’re not one of them, Cyrille. I can see it in you. You don’t believe in our parents’ ideology any more than I do.”

“But the thing is, you don’t need to believe something to act on it,” Cyrille said. His voice was barely above a whisper, as though he were afraid of his own words. 

“You won’t,” you assured him, now pressing your hand more firmly against his chest. “I know you won’t.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Cyrille pushed back, and his voice was resigned and depressed. “There’s nothing else that I can do, angel. I was born and trained for my life to take one pathway alone. I’m not good at anything else.”

“You’ll find your calling,” you told him gently. “When you do, you’ll know. And it’s not going to be to follow in your parents’ footsteps - or your brothers’, for that matter.”

Cyrille let out a deep breath, comforted by your soothing reassurances. 

He bent his head down to kiss you, but suddenly, the clock chimed. Knowing that his parents might decide to come in to check on the two of you, Cyrille let you to the dress closet in the corner of the ballroom. It was a separate room, but it was tight and cramped. There were all kinds of fancy dresses crammed in there, and barely any room to stand. 

But it didn’t matter. Cyrille was already kissing you, and you were on tip-toe, with your arms around his shoulders, and kissing him back. 

You felt Cyrille’s hands grasp your waist tightly, pulling you to him. The two of you stayed together that way for a long time. 

As you were on your tip-toes the whole time (though Cyrille was supporting much of your weight by holding you so tightly in his hands), your legs were beginning to get tired. You kept shifting, putting your weight first on one foot, then on the other. 

But as you shifted, you became aware of a distinct wetness between your thighs.

Cyrille didn’t quite know what was going on, but he could feel your breathing getting shallower and shallower and he could feel your tummy squirming slightly in his hands. 

“Angel?” he murmured against you lips. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah...” you said back sweetly, still kissing him. 

But then, Cyrille felt your tongue flick out and swipe across his lower lip.

It happened so quickly that Cyrille was immediately sure that you didn’t mean to do it.

Cyrille looked down at you. Your face was flushed, with a beautiful and heavier-than-usual blush flaring up in your cheeks. Your eyes were half-lidded and as you had your arms wrapped around his shoulder and your back arched slightly, your head was tilted back a little, and you were gazing up at Cyrille with unexpectedly and clearly unintentionally sultry eyes.

Cyrille asked you, “Angel, are you turned on right now?” 

Cyrille had been with a few more people than you at this point (well, you had only kissed Cyrille and tried out one kiss with Emmeline), and he was starting to recognize the signs of when exactly people were becoming more wanting. 

“U-Um,” you said softly. “I think so? I’m kind-of...  wet... between my legs.” 

At your words, Cyrille gripped your waist harder. “Angel,” he said to you, “do you ever touch yourself?”

You hesitated. 

“You can tell me,” Cyrille said, noticing your pause.

“Well, yeah,” you finally admitted. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Most likely,” Cyrille replied easily. “But some people do it a little differently. People like different things.” 

You paused. “Have you... been with other girls already? Or boys?”

Cyrille glanced up at your eyes. He meant to be flippant about it and just say yes, but the sudden look of incredible vulnerability in your sweet eyes stopped him short. 

“Uh, yes, I have, I can’t lie,” Cyrille confessed. “But I...” 

His voice faded away. He’d been taught to use sex to further relationships as he wanted. His father always told him that people like to use and be used.

But that was not what your eyes were signaling at all.

“Oh,” you said softly. You turned his head away from him a little. “I guess that’s no surprise. I hear the other girls talk about you sometimes...” 

“Wait, angel,” Cyrille said, feeling his heart jolt a little. “Don’t turn away from me.” 

“It’s just people. It’s just bodies,” he said quietly, repeating what his father often said to him.

But you shook your head. “Maybe it is for you, but it’s not for me. I only - I only do this with you because it’s you, and not anyone else. You were my first kiss, and I wanted you to be my first...” Your voice trailed off. “But I’m not your first, so...”

“Angel, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to,” Cyrille promised you. “I didn’t realize...” He bit his lower lip, feeling incredibly conflicted. He knew that his charisma and his disguise depended largely on sex. It was a way of getting close to people - or at least pretending to.

But with you, it couldn’t be that. You wouldn’t let him. You demanded something real, and you would promise all of yourself to him, only in return for the same. 

For the first time, Cyrille was the one who was flustered, who was being pulled in, as opposed to him always being the one who was in control of the situation. The problem was that Cyrille was slowly becoming completely smitten with you. Your soft, yet cheeky charm was irresistible to him. 

“Show me,” Cyrille whispered to you, and his voice was tender. “Show me how you touch yourself. And I’ll only think of you. That way, even if I’m with someone else, I’ll be thinking of you.”

“Couldn’t you - Couldn’t you just be mine?” you asked him shyly, blinking up at him. 

When Cyrille paused, you whispered, “No? You don’t want that?”

 “I do, but I’m not - I’m not sure that that’s something you can have right now, angel,” Cyrille said, regretting his words as soon as he spoke them. “I’m a Lestrange.”

“But you’re Cyrille,” you reminded him. “Before you’re a Lestrange, you’re you.”

“Yeah, but no one cares about Cyrille,” he replied.

“That’s not true,” you fought back. “You know I do.” 

Your voice faded into a murmur as you reminded him, “To me, just Cyrille is ‘lord’ enough.”

“And would you be mine, angel?” Cyrille asked you, his voice falling into a low pitch to match yours. “Would you let yourself become mine?” 

“Yes...” you said softly. 

Cyrille was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by you. He didn’t know how to respond to you, how to - as his father would say - “deal” with you. 

Cyrille, feeling too vulnerable and out of his comfort zone, reverted back to what he knew best: to giving and asking for favors. He commanded, all of a sudden, “Then touch yourself for me. Show me that you can be mine, that you can be a good girl for me.” 

“What?” you said, blushing hotly at the mere thought of showing him how you touched yourself.

“Just a little bit. I just want to see what you do,” Cyrille replied soothingly. 

“I... I just, um...” Still holding onto his shoulder with one hand, you reached down with your other hand and slowly slipped it between your thighs. You didn’t bother lifting up the skirt of your elegant velvet ballroom dress. You simply slid your hand between yourself, pushing the fabric between your thighs, too. 

“Like this...” You slowly began to move your hand against yourself. The soft rustling of the fabric slipping over your thighs sounded out. 

Cyrille watched your hand moving between your thighs, but when your other hand gripped his shoulder, his eyes flickered up to your face to see your lips pressed together tightly, trembling as you strove not to make any noise. 

But even then, Cyrille instinctively knew what to do to make you moan out loud. He suddenly kissed you, more roughly than he ever had before, pushing your lips open with his own.

“A-Ah!” Soft, sudden gasps escaped you as you moaned into his mouth. You both fell back against the soft fabrics of the many dresses stored in the closet. Falling through the dresses and onto the floor together, the two of you were suddenly surrounded by tulle, silk, and velvet, all dripping with sparkling jewels. In that tiny and unexpected glittering world, the two of you held each other tightly. 

Cyrille leaned into you, and your hand, which had been gripping his shoulder, abruptly slipped over and around his shoulders. Suddenly, your head was snug against his shoulders, with your curls pressed up against the floor and his arm. Cyrille gazed down at you. 

“Do you still want to show me how you touch yourself?” Cyrille murmured softly to you. “Or... do you want me to touch you, angel?” 

You swallowed hard, blinking up at him. The light coming down reflected off of the beautiful fabrics and jewels hanging just above Cyrille’s head, casting softer light over his silver hair and giving his silver eyes a beautiful dimensional effect. 

“Angel? You’re staring...” Cyrille told you. He meant to sound arrogant about it, but he was so lost in looking at you, too, that he forgot to smirk or do anything of the sort. 

Finally, you nodded and you sweetly spread out your thighs underneath your dress.

“Yes, please,” you breathed out. 

As Cyrille reached down and began to push up the heavy folds of your dress, you told him a bit breathlessly, “You know, you’ll be my first...”

“First?” Cyrille repeated. 

“First... love,” you told him.

Cyrille paused. His eyes softened at you as he replied, “Good.”

Then, he gently pushed his hand between your thighs so that the side of his hand grazed your panties. 

“Oh...” You breathed in, in a soft whimper, as you felt his hand brush up against you.

Just then, you both heard the ballroom doors clatter open.

The two of you froze. 

“Where’d they go?” Alexine clucked her tongue loudly. “That teacher. Always leaving early. We should find someone new.”

Thadeus responded in his booming voice, “Yes, but where are the kids?” He sighed loudly before saying, “You know, I think Rosier’s a bad influence on Cyrille.”

“Yes,” Alexine replied in a clipped tone. “In fact, I’ve already asked Irina to come and fetch her troublesome daughter...” 

Her voice drifted away as she and Thadeus left the room. 

“No...” you heard yourself whisper. “I don’t want to go back home.”

“Won’t it be better than here?” Cyrille asked you, withdrawing his hand and gently smoothing down your dress for you.

“No,” you replied. You buried your head against Cyrille’s shoulder. “Not without you.”

Cyrille didn’t know what to say to that, but his heart was suddenly racing at a much faster pace, even compared to just a couple of minutes ago, when he’d been about to touch you between your legs. 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Only two days later, your mother really did arrive. She came with another pureblood aristocrat, Eva Marie Avery. Eva Marie brought her six-year-old daughter, Jean, along. 

Your mother told you and Cyrille to play with Jean while she spoke with Eva Marie, Alexine, and Thadeus. 

You, Cyrille, and Jean went outside to the front yard. 

Jean took an immediate dislike to Cyrille, which flustered him, but Jean got along quite well with you. The two of you played ‘Glacius,’ where you would both run around and dance like crazy until someone pointed at the other and yelled, “Glacius!” and that person would have to freeze. If they failed to do so and stumbled over, the other person would win a point. At some point, Jean got caught standing on one leg. She nearly fell over, but you ran over and caught her before she could hurt herself. In catching her, you fell over yourself, but you swept up Jean in your arms and the two of you rolled down the grass together, hugging each other and shrieking with laughter and happiness. Cyrille watched the two of you from the front porch, marveling at how good you were with kids. 

At that moment, however, the three women stepped out. Your mother, Irina, was horrified to witness how you were behaving - and with Eva Marie’s child no less. Her face became hard with anger as she barked out sternly, “Stop that at once!” 

You immediately got to your feet. Your hair was a complete mess, with twigs and leaves in it. Jean, too, was a bit scuffed up, though far from being hurt in any manner whatsoever.

“Get up here right now!” your mother yelled at you.

“Merlin’s beard. How did you raise your child, that she behaves that way?” Eva Marie said to your mother, horrified. “Oh my God, look what she did to my child!”

“Jeannie!” Eva Marie called out sharply. “You come here! Get away from her!”

Jean shot you a sad look as she left you and went over to her mother.

Only pausing to shoot your mother a dirty look, Eva Marie took her child home at once.

Alexine, who was watching this all unfold with a grim satisfaction (since Cyrille was clearly the only one who had behaved properly throughout all of this), said in a low, amused voice, “Well, it’s exactly how I would expect a dirty Half-blood child to play around. It must be the Muggle in her.”

Your mother flushed, completely mortified by the comment. In fact, just yesterday, your mother had received a letter from her birth family, the Notts, explicitly stating that if the rumor spread anymore about her being a Muggle-born, or if Evan Rosier decided to disown her, the Notts would take no part in helping her, as they had their own pureblood reputation to uphold. 

Now, your mother had given up everything to live up to the pureblood image of decorum, and in her mind, because of your reckless behavior, she had lost every bit of benefit due to her. A slow, simmering rage began to bubble up deep in your mother’s heart, and her upper lip curled when she looked at you. You were a completely filthy mess, your mother thought to herself. You came into her life with your grubby hands and smart mouth and messed up everything. 

And deep in her heart, your mother knew that you were growing up to be even more beautiful than her, for you had taken on your father’s softer eyes. Worse still, you undeniably had your own singular and radiant spirit, which made you glow in a way that was quite absent in your mother’s hard and sharp beauty. 

Your mother suddenly grabbed you by the hair and dragged you back into the house.

“Ow!” you cried out. “Ow, mother!” 

You thrashed out at her. You managed to hit her arm hard enough that she let you go. You fell down onto the cold marble floor of the entrance hall of the Lestranges’ house.

Behind you, Alexine and Cyrille were standing in the doorway, and able to see what was unfolding in front of them. 

Unfortunately, your nail had accidentally scratched your mother across the face, leaving a long, ugly red line across her cheek. Your mother, with a trembling hand, reached up and touched her cheek. When she saw blood, something in her snapped.

“You animal!” she screamed at you. She grabbed you by the hair again and yanked you to your feet.

“Ow, mother, please!” you gasped. “You’re hurting me! Please let go of my hair!”

“No, this is punishment for you, you selfish, ignorant child!” your mother yelled at you, furious out of her mind. “This is what you get for never listening to what I say! How many times did I tell you to fix your hair, hm? How many times did I tell you to tame your disgusting, out-of-control hair?”

“Mother!” you shouted. “Let go of me!”

“No! I have had enough. Because of you, my name has gone to shit. Do you know what people call me these days - ‘Mudblood Madwoman’! That’s what they call me! And it’s all because of you, child! All because you have to be a dirty Mudblood-lover and flaunt your ridiculous Gryffindor colors! I tried to give you a chance because you were my daughter! I gave you my best earrings - you don’t wear them! I brought you over here and asked favors from the Lestranges to give you a chance to be a better daughter, even while my reputation was suffering - and now look! Even the Lestranges and Averys think I’m a good-for-nothing now- a fucking Muggle-born, of all things, when I’m a Nott, a daughter of one of the sacred Twenty-Eight! You have done all this to do me, and yet you still have not TAMED YOUR FUCKING HAIR!”

Both of your faces were beet red - your mother’s from screaming, and yours from crying. Your hands were gathered above your head as you grasped at your mother’s hand in your hair and tried to push her off. But she wasn’t having any of it. 

She drew out her aand and screamed, “CUT IT! CUT IT ALL OFF, YOU SELFISH CHILD!”

“MOTHER!” you screamed. 

But your mother ignored your cry and yelled, “SECTIS!” Her face glittering with a frightening fury, she brought her wand down in a sharp and aggressive slash.

Cyrille’s eyes widened. The way that she had thrown that curse, straight at the back of your neck, was so incredibly dangerous. That curse with that aggression... It could kill her! Cyrille realized with horror. NO! 

Cyrille raced forward, throwing himself between you and your mother. Alexine screamed and reached for him, but it was too late. 

Blood spurted in the air, and then splattered on the cold marble floor.

“CYRILLE!” Alexine cried out. 

Cyrille was kneeling on the floor. He had pulled you away and was now holding you against his body, tucked inside his left arm. With his right hand, Cyrille had grabbed your mother’s wand hand and yanked it away towards the ceiling. But he had grabbed her wrist a little too late, and the spell had not only made it to your neck, but it also had slashed into his eye. Luckily, he’d only gotten the tail end of the spell, and he’d reflexively closed his eye in time to save it.

But you - your hair was chopped off on the floor. However, what was far, far worse was that the back of your neck was spurting out a fountain of blood.

At that moment, Thadeus, hearing his wife’s screams, had come sprinting in. Completely aghast, his eyes widened in horror as he took in the gruesome scene.

“Father! Help, please!” Cyrille begged him desperately. Letting go of your mother’s hand, he pressed his hand against the back of your neck to try to stop the blood as you lay there in his arms, unconscious. But the blood was flowing out of your neck so fast that Cyrille couldn’t stem the flow, and he didn’t know what else to do. 

Cyrille also only had one eye open, so he couldn’t see very well. “Help!” he cried out again. “Help me save her, please!” 

Cyrille wished, more than anything, that he knew how to stop the blood. He would have given up anything in that moment in order to know how to save you. He had never felt so helpless in his life. 

Only last night, the two of you had snuck out together to look up at the stars. Cyrille was fascinated with Astronomy, and you loved to hear him tell you stories about the constellations. And now, now, everything that made up you, his beautiful girl, the one who demanded and gave the purest version of love he’d ever known, was slipping away before his very eyes - and he still did not know how to save you. 

Alexine was busy subduing your mother, who, upon seeing you and thinking that she might have killed her own child, had dissolved into wailing her regret. 

“NO! No, my child...! How could I have - ? ” she sobbed. “No, I didn’t mean to - ! No!” 

Thadeus rushed forward and taking you in his arms, he instructed Cyrille in a fierce voice, “Grab my arm tight now. We’re going to Apparate.”

Cyrille nodded.

With a loud crack!, the three of you Apparated to St. Mungo’s Hospital Ward.

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

You woke up in the hospital ward three days later. The nurses informed you that you were going to make a full recovery, except for the scar on your neck. But that had been the least of your worries, they told you. 

You asked them what happened. They recounted the narrative to you - about how your mother, in trying to cut your hair off, had nearly slit your throat.

And as simple as that, the light went out from your eyes.

Nurses put food in your mouth. They dressed you. They made sure you went to the bathroom. They checked your blood pressure. You were fine, they said.

You were released. You did not go home. 

You went to a nearby orphanage and told them you were an orphan. 

The orphanage was so over-run that all they could do was to take you in. Good, you thought numbly, for that was all you wanted. 

You sat in a blank gray room for three weeks straight. 

When you didn’t show up at Hogwarts, Cyrille raced over to Dumbledore to tell him what happened and to beg him to look for you. Cyrille himself had been repeatedly rebuked by his own parents for searching for you on his own. Being underage and trapped in his house, there was little that Cyrille could do. 

However, Dumbledore, upon hearing Cyrille’s story, immediately came looking for you.

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

Cyrille waited for you in the Headmaster’s office. He needed to make sure that you were all right with his own eyes.

And when he saw you, he immediately knew that you weren’t. 

He broke down and crying, he asked you what you wanted.

Numbly, you spoke the first words you had in over a month. You said simply, “Make me forget.”

Dumbledore and Cyrille took it metaphorically at first.

But as the days dragged on, and you did not move to go to class or anything and just stayed sitting in the Hospital Wing under Madam Pomfrey’s case, Madam Pomfrey finally told Dumbledore that you were physically fine now. That you had been physically fine for a while, if not a bit under-nourished. 

Dumbledore came and asked you what you wanted again.

You spoke the same words, numbly, with no emotion whatsoever: “Make me forget.” 

“Are you sure, child?”

“Yes.”

Dumbledore let out a long, exhausted sigh. Finally, he brought you up to the office and pulled out his Pensieve. 

“This is a Memory Storing object,” he told you kindly, knowing full well that you were not hearing the words. “We’ll store your memories in here until you decide that you want them back.”

At that moment, Cyrille burst into the office. He had gone to visit you in the Hospital Wing, and Madam Pomfrey had told him that Dumbledore had taken you up to his office. 

“What’s going on? Is she ill? Has she become worse?” he asked anxiously.

“No,” Dumbledore said. “But she and I have agreed, for the time being, to store her most harmful memories - the one that are preventing her from living her life - in this Pensieve for the time being.”

“Her- Her memories? You’re going to store them away?” Cyrille repeated. “Wait, you’re really going to make her forget?”

“...Make me forget,” you whispered, barely moving your lips.

“But...” Cyrille said. 

But finally, for the first time, you looked up at him. You repeated, “Make me forget.”

“Angel...” Cyrille said softly. He had tears in his eyes. 

Dumbledore began to speak aloud. “Let me be clear. If I erase everything leading up to that memory of her mother attacking her- ” You suddenly jolted a little, and Cyrille protectively stepped closer to you. “- I believe, from what the nurses at St. Mungo’s had told me, and what I could gather from your father, Cyrille, that I will have to remove two summers’ worth of memories. That is a substantial amount of memory that must be removed and as such, I must do so in larger cuts. I cannot carve my way around the details of every scene of two summers’ worth of memories to give her selective memory loss.”

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Dumbledore said, looking severely at Cyrille. “She will not remember any of the time the two of you have spent tonight these past two summers. And she may lose memories of things that she associates with those summers, too. Anything that would alert her mind to the fact that she has forgotten an important association to those two summers will be erased.”

“She won’t remember anything of me from the last two summers?” Cyrille whispered.

Dumbledore replied quietly, “That is correct.” 

But that’s all we have together. That’s the only time we’ve spent together, Cyrille thought to himself, desolate. Still... This isn’t about me. It’s about Angel. 

“Will it - will it help her?” Cyrille asked, shooting a very concerned look at you.

Dumbledore sighed. “That we cannot say, but it seems the best - no, the only - way to go forward at this point in time...” 

“If it helps her... then, of course I have to be all right with it,” Cyrille said, his voice choked with emotion. “That’s not a choice for me to make...” 

Dumbledore looked at Cyrille with empathy glittering in his wise eyes. 

Cyrille turned to you. He whispered, “Angel. Please heal. Please. I’ll do my best to become a Healer for you. So, until then. Please just find yourself again, as best as you can.” He pressed a warm kiss against your forehead and as he did so, a single tear streaked down his cheek.

At his kiss, you did not look up at him, but you did murmur softly, “Cyrille...” It was the only word you’d spoken outside of your repeated phrase of “Make me forget.”

“Now, lay back,” Dumbledore told you. “I will have to press my wand against your forehead. Relax. The calmer your mind, the more seamless the removal...” 

You laid back, as he said, and closed your eyes. 

The last thing you saw peering down at you, were the celestial spheres moving on the ceiling of Dumbledore’s office, and a pair of haunting silver eyes. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

Cyrille Lestrange burst into the Headmaster’s office.

“Headmaster!” he yelled.

Dumbledore, who was sitting at his desk again, with his eyes closed and in deep thought, looked up at Cyrille. In a quiet, thoughtful voice, Dumbledore said, “The password... is ‘crimson.’” 

Dumbledore watched as young Cyrille Lestrange dashed out of his office, and then he watched, too, as James Potter ran in. 

“Headmaster?” James said, breathing heavily. “Why was Cyrille Lestrange here?”

“To ask for permission to look after a friend of his,” Dumbledore answered quietly.

James’ brow furrowed. “And you let him go? Why? Why did you let him go?”

“Because, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said softly, “Mr. Lestrange has been the long-suffering guardian of Ms. Rosier.”

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

“Crimson!”

Cyrille burst into Gryffindor Tower, not caring who saw him. 

As with James barreling through Slytherin common room, Cyrille was likewise met with many confused and borderline insulting comments.

“What in God’s name is he doing here?”

“A Lestrange, stepping into Gryffindor Tower? Is he mad?”

Cyrille shouted out your name. 

At this, Emmeline came down from your room, where she had been helplessly watching you sob in your bed non-stop. You hadn’t told her anything. In fact, you couldn’t seem to get any words out at all as you cried, heartbroken over life.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Emmeline looked up at Cyrille and said protectively, “What the hell do you want right now?” 

“I need to see her,” Cyrille said urgently.

“Why should I let you do that?” 

“Because I know that she’s hurt, and she’s scared. I just - Please, move! Or I will move you myself,” Cyrille said, his voice dropping into a genuinely threatening growl.

Finally, Emmeline said menacingly, “If you hurt her, you’ll have to answer to me. I’m not fucking kidding.”

Cyrille nodded once. 

Emmeline sighed. “Third door on your left.”

Cyrille was gone, barreling up the steps. 

Meanwhile, James had just entered the Gryffindor common room. Seeing Cyrille’s robes flash around the corner, he made to go after him. But Emmeline grabbed his shoulder and said, “Wait, James. Wait. Let’s give him a chance.” 

When James gave her a disbelieving look, Emmeline sighed and acknowledged, “Yeah, I know. I wish it were you, too. But... it’s not. And she needs what’s best for her right now.” 

Arriving at the third landing, Cyrille threw open your door, his heart was pounding and in his mind, there was only one thought: I need to see my angel.  

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Light and Dark | Part 13

Summary: Your sweetheart boyfriend, James Potter, can’t seem to hide his feelings for a certain beautiful redhead - who’s not you. Meanwhile, there’s a strange Slytherin boy, Cyrille Lestrange, famed even among purebloods for his lineage and inheritance, whose silver eyes somehow seem to always find you. [Multi-Post Story] [James Potter x Reader] [Cyrille Lestrange x Reader] [Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.] [Warning: Dom-Sub Overtones and Mentions of Sadism.] I want to say explicitly that this is fantasy. Any harassing and/or non-consensual behavior is totally unacceptable in reality. *Finally, please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!

❦ Click Here for Light and Dark Home Page (All Chapter Links) ❦

How has it come to this? you wondered fuzzily, as you found yourself with your mouth open, the back of your head pushed hard against the line of books behind you as you were being roughly face-fucked by none other than Cyrille Lestrange - and on a mid-afternoon in the school library, no less. 

At least I had the sense to compromise before he pushed his cock into my mouth like this, you thought hazily. Although, maybe I should have negotiated more...

Because, some time ago, he’d had you with your knee up on the bookshelf, running his hand deftly over your thigh and ass, before he shifted closer to you. He’d given you his orders: “Except when you feel my cock enter you, you’re going to say ‘please,’ and when I cum in you, you’re going to say ‘thank you.’ Understood?”

Just as he guided his cock to your waiting pussy, you’d reached back and put your hand on his arm to stop him. “Wait,” you whispered, your voice already breathy.

He looked up at you, with confusion and want written across his face.

“Come here,” you said. “I need to tell you something...”

“What?” 

When he didn’t lean in, you grabbed the collar of his blazer and dragged him closer to you so that his face was level with yours, right over your shoulder. To keep from falling, Cyrille hastily put his other hand out, grabbing the bookshelf two rows above your head. His back pressed down into your chest.

“What?” he hissed at you. 

“I can’t be the only one to put something on the line here,” you told him. “So. If I moan, I become yours. Fine. But if you curse out loud or cum in me, you’re mine, too.” 

Cyrille hesitated. “That’s not how it works...”

“I don’t care how it works. I don’t care what deals you’ve made with other people or how you fucked them,” you said bluntly. “You’re with me now, Lestrange.”

Cyrille sighed. “Of course you don’t care... I can already tell you’re going to be a- Dare I say it? A brat.” 

Still reaching back, you gripped his shirt harder, your little hand folding into a demanding and tight fist. “Come on,” you coaxed, trying to adopt a playful tone. To be honest, you sounded terrible, even to yourself. But you pushed anyways,  “Lay something on the line with me.”

“Is this your attempt at seduction?” Cyrille asked you, highly amused. “Angel, you’re adorably out of practice.” 

“Fine,” you relented. “I’ll threaten you instead.”

Cyrille waited patiently for your “threat.”

“All right,” you finally said, going back to your more familiar territory of challenging him, “you said this was your domain. If you won’t even negotiate with me, then I’ll consider that a surrender. A true master knows how to counter every attack and isn’t afraid of taking risks.”

You paused, feeling foolish. “Right?” you said hopefully. 

Cyrille paused. He had to remind himself to be stern, but your hopeful face was making a mess of his brain. She doesn’t need seduction. Just look at her - all hopeful. Fuck, she’s going to make a fool of me. I can tell already. He mock-sighed and said in a quiet voice, “Fine.” 

“And remember,” you reminded him, “you said you’d be gentle with me.”

“Mm, I don’t think so,” Cyrille said lightly. “Well, I suppose I’ll always hold you gently...”

Cyrille brought his hand, which had been gripping the bookshelf above your head, down to gently stroke your cheek. Then, slipping his hand onto your neck, he pushed aside your hair to reveal your neck. Gripping the back of your neck rather tightly, he leaned down and whispered into your ear, “But I fuck. hard.” 

You felt yourself instinctively shiver at his words, and because the cold metal of his many rings were pressing into the back of your neck. Cyrille smirked, feeling you quiver against him. 

His hand slid down your neck onto your back and laid his hand flat between your shoulder blades, pressing your breasts up against the books a little.

“But if you beg and you follow all the rules like a good girl - then, I’m not opposed to giving you some soft kisses from time to time, angel,” Cyrille compromised. “Like this.” 

He replaced his hand with his soft, hot mouth as pressed an unexpectedly gentle kiss on your neck. just over your scar.

He murmured softly, “After all, your wish is my command...” 

You stiffened when he murmured those words. Why does he say that? you wondered. Is that some strange phrase to lure me into a false sense of security, into pretending to give me what I want? But if that’s true, then why do I feel a strange spark in my heart when he says it? Almost as though my mind is trying to remember something...

A strange mix of emotions rose within you, some tinge of memory, a dull sadness, and an overwhelming anticipation... anticipation of Cyrille actually touching you and being with you. Because even those the two of you were pressed together like this, in some strange universe of barely muted intensity with emotions and desire bleeding out all over the place, you still felt as though you couldn’t be sure as to who Cyrille really was and what he wanted from you. Any minute, he could pull out of this “game” we’re playing, and disappear. Vanish, you thought. Even if we showed up to the same classes, he could go right back to being a complete stranger to me - and I’d have nothing to say about it.  

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Cyrille whispered low in your ear. “If you’re trying to think of more ways to negotiate with me - well, I’m sorry, angel, but your time is up.” 

Just then, you gave a sudden start as he firmly yanked aside your panties. He tugged hard enough that you felt your hips being pulled along with the thin fabric. Cyrille had to catch you to make sure your hip wouldn’t run right into the bookshelf as you shifted sideways. 

“Merlin,” Cyrille said to you, “you can’t even stand properly.”

"Come on now,” he said impatiently. “Legs apart.” 

Ignoring his order, you began to retort, “It’s your fault for- “ but you were abruptly cut off when Cyrille reached down and slapped your ass - hard. 

A loud smack! rang out. You gasped loudly. “Ah!”

The sound pierced through the sleepy, mid-afternoon library air, sharp as shattering glass. 

Cyrille hurriedly covered your mouth with his other hand, and hissed in your ear, “Keep. Silent.” 

You reached up and pried his fingers off of your lips. You growled back, “You’re the one who made such a loud noise!”

Your ass was burning. You were pretty damn sure his handprint was going to be on your skin for a while. 

“Shush.” His single word, which slipped out so casually, seemed to sink into your mind. You felt yourself soften. Your voice was like velvet, even if his words were harsh as glass.

“But... But...” you said, suddenly finding yourself mumbling. I had something to say, I... Something about how he’s not playing fair. Oh, but... I just want him to take me. His cock is so close to being inside me. I want it. I want him. 

Wait, what? What are you telling yourself? Remember who this is. “No,” you insisted, almost to yourself. “You can’t just take me by surprise like that and expect me to be quiet.”

“I can, and you will,” he replied simply.

“Okay,” you said shortly, your ass still smarting from his hard slap. “Listen, mister, I don’t know what you did with your other ‘lovers,’  but you- ”  

Suddenly, Cyrille clamped his hand over your mouth. “You need to shut up,” he growled into your ear. “I think there’s someone around- ”

Then - a low cough rang out from somewhere. You froze. Oh Merlin, if someone were to catch us right now - I mean, it’s not as though we’ve done anything inappropriate, but still... It’s a bit obvious what we’re up to, I would think. The handprint on my ass is one indicator...

Suddenly, you were yanked away. Upon hearing the cough, Cyrille had quickly pulled down your skirt, and taking your hand, he led you away, further down the aisle. The two of you darted through the different bookshelves until you found yourself in the - 

“Restricted Section?” you whispered, your eyes taking in the unfriendly-looking books now stacked on the wall. “I don’t think we’re allowed in here.”

“We’re not allowed anywhere, for what we’re about to do,” Cyrille replied shortly. Turning around to face you, he said, “Now, present for me.”

“What?” you said, not sure what he meant.

“Down on your knees. Like this.” He put his hands on your shoulders and guiding you by pressing down on your shoulders, had you sit down in front of him.

“Oh...” A soft murmur of surprise left your lips as you felt your legs slowly fold under you. You blinked, suddenly finding yourself sitting in a quiet aisle of dusty-looking books, and looking directly at - 

“You know what to do,” Cyrille whispered. He remained standing. His gaze as he looked down on you was cold. Clearly, he was a man used to looking down on his lovers.

You frowned in distaste.

But just before you could pull away, Cyrille lifted his hand a little to trace a single finger down the side of your face. Then, his finger slid gracefully under your chin, and he pushed your face up, forcing you to look up at him.

“It’s your punishment,” he told you silkily, “for making such a naughty sound when I explicitly told you to be quiet.” 

“And...” His eyes tightened as his lips perked up in one corner. “Dare I say that that was a moan you let out?”

You shook your head, though your chin remained balanced on the tip of his finger. “No,” you told him. It was a bit difficult to speak with your head pushed back the way it was. “It wasn’t... a moan.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No...”

“Are you lying?” he questioned you, raising an eyebrow. 

“N-No...”

Suddenly, he leaned over and grabbed the back of your neck, so that your soft curls caught between his hand and your neck. Then, he yanked your head back even more, jerking the breath out of you. You felt yourself gasp a little as your head was forced back. 

You felt yourself gasp a little as the breath was jerked out of you as your head was forced back. 

“Don’t lie to me,” he hissed at you. “I know what I heard.”

Still, you held your ground. You glared up at him as much as you could and protested, “You must’ve heard wrong. I’ll never moan for you.”

Cyrille’s gaze became quite icy, with his silver eyes frosting over. But he merely let you go and scoffed. “Fine,” he said, straightening back up. “Have it your way. You won’t moan, angel?”

“Then.” He abruptly unzipped his pants and pushed them down, along with his briefs. “Let’s use that mouth another way.” 

You stared at his cock in front of you. It was long. There was no way you were ever going to be able to take all of that in your mouth. 

Seeing the look on your face, Cyrille tutted softly. “Should have been quiet, shouldn’t you have, angel?” 

Then, he reached down and gripped your curls and tilted your head up to take his cock. 

“Open your lips,” he commanded. “You’re going to take me now, angel. All of me. In that pretty little mouth of yours. It’s what you deserve. And whether you think that’s a gift or punishment - it’s up to you.”

You hesitated. Then, you managed to whisper, “Whimpers don’t count. I still won’t be yours... unless I moan, all right?” 

Cyrille began to sigh at your insistence for carve-out rules, but he stopped short when he saw that you, with your lips trembling slightly with anticipation, finally parted your lips for him. 

Mmm, Cyrille thought, admiring the perfect shape of your lips now open, just waiting for him to fill your pretty little mouth - first with cock, then with cum. 

“Good girl,” Cyrille whispered. 

Cyrille watched as the tip of his cock gently pushed open your lips wider, and then the length of his cock slowly began to disappear into your pretty mouth. He exhaled softly. He’d been imagining this ever since you’d sucked so fervently on his fingers last night. 

When he hit up against the back of your throat quicker than you expected, you whimpered slightly. 

“Sh,” he reminded you. “Do you want everyone to see you like this?”

You shook your head softly, with his cock still filling up your little mouth. His cock felt so warm and heavy on your soft tongue. Your little, hot, wet tongue flickered across his cock when you shook your head. 

Cyrille groaned internally when he felt your tongue against him. Oh Merlin, I just want to wreck that little mouth of hers... Have her tongue lolling prettily all over my cock. Yes... 

“Set your pace... while you have the chance,” Cyrille told you, and his silvery voice held the promise of wrecking you very, very soon. 

You knew, just by the tone of his voice, that he wasn’t joking around. So, you sat up a little, getting up onto your knees and putting your hands on your thighs to balance yourself. After taking a deep breath, you dutifully began to bob your head up and down along the length of his shaft.

Cyrille’s head tilted back and he breathed out a long sigh of relief. The pleasant feeling of your lips wrapped around his cock sent ripples of satisfaction through him. And when he gazed down at you, seeing you on your knees in front of him, hands in your lap, eyes wide and uncertain, mouth open for him... Fuck, he cursed in his head, but he remembered that he’d promised to be yours if he cursed aloud, and he wasn’t going to let you have what you wanted that easily.

You did your best for him, so focused on taking him in that you didn’t even notice yourself getting a little sloppy. Your own saliva started to wet your lips, making them glisten prettily, as you went up and down his length. 

Cyrille smirked and said approvingly, “Good girl. Working so hard for me, aren’t you?” 

“Mmpfh,” you replied incoherently, as you pushed your head forward on his cock. 

“Do I taste good, angel?” he asked you knowingly. You nodded up at him. He smiled and reached down for a moment to touch your cheek gently before he went back to pulling your hair back and encouraging you to take more of him.

If anybody were to come by the Restricted Section now, they would see you on your knees, your skirt flouncing up and down a little, your panties flashing, and the soles of your white sneakers lifting and falling a bit, as you rocked back and forth in your attempt to take as much of his cock as possible. They’d see your curls falling down your back in elegant waves. Although Cyrille was trying to hold back your hair as you sucked his cock, your hair was untamable and mostly spilling out of Cyrille’s hand. 

“Angel, you might have to get a bit messier than that,” Cyrille said, his voice sleek as a panther’s as he tried to coax you to let him into your throat. He didn’t want to cause you any discomfort, but he knew his cock was going to have to find its way into your throat, and you just weren’t quite there yet. 

You did your best to suck his cock obediently, to take as much of him as you could in his mouth. As it was, he did taste good, and you rather liked the feeling of the ridges of his cock sliding in and out between your lips, and the weight of the tip of his cock pressing down on your soft tongue. But as his cock began to respond, becoming thicker and longer, no matter how you tried, you gradually began to fit less and less of him in your little mouth.

You whined slightly at how hard it was to fit him in your mouth past a certain point, but a sharp glare from Cyrille, accompanied by a quick tug to your hair, silenced you. 

“More,” he demanded, pushing your head down a little. You glared up at him.

“Don’t give me that look,” he warned you. “I know you want more of me, too. Don’t you, angel?”

You ignored him, mostly because he was right. You did want more of him. It was just that his cock had already stuffed your mouth full, but you weren’t going to admit either of these things, so you found it best to stay quiet and continue to suck his cock.

Finally, panting a little, you sat back on the floor again and kissed the tip of his cock. 

Cyrille watched you for a moment as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. You were a little out of breath, but otherwise, not a hair on your head had been shifted. You were certainly a far cry away from “wrecked.”

“Maybe I should call you ‘princess’ instead,” he said thoughtfully. “You’ve clearly been treated as such.”

You looked up at Cyrille and frowned, not knowing what he meant.

“Your lower throat is virgin, isn’t it?” Cyrille said knowingly. His voice slipped into a deeper timbre as he growled softly, “Almost like you were waiting for my cock to pierce through to it first...” 

He muttered under his breath, mostly to himself, “I’m glad you left some firsts for me. After all, I was your first kiss. And I’d have been your first everything, if only things had gone a little differently... But I suppose that’s neither here nor there.” 

You cocked your head up at him curiously, not following him at all. 

“Listen,” he said suddenly, “and listen well. You’re going to open your mouth again, and you’re going to keep it open until I’ve fucked your little mouth hard enough and long enough to cum. Then, you’re going to swallow my cum like a good little girl. Am I clear?”

Don’t fall for it, you warned yourself. Don’t let him call all the shots.

But how do I respond? you mused, trying hard to think of something on the spot. What can I say to push back? 

“What... What about me?” you heard yourself say uncertainly. You paused. Instead of sounding commanding, you just sounded left-out. 

Predictably, Cyrille chuckled softly. 

“You can choose between my mouth and fingers, too, angel,” Cyrille promised you. “I’ve love to pleasure that sweet pussy of yours. I want to make you cum over and over, until you beg me to stop, and then I’ll make you cum again...”

“You’ll forget all of your limits,” Cyrille murmured, and his voice was so soothing despite his treacherous words. “You’ll forget you even had any. You’d be amazed at how well your body takes sex, and how it can cum and be filled with cum again and again and again...” 

The whole time that Cyrille was detailing how he was going to pleasure you until you came completely undone, you were watching him speak with mesmerized eyes. As he finally finished with his overly suggestive “again and again and again...” you suddenly shivered. Still sitting on the library floor, it took you a second to realize that you had cum. Your eyes widened as you realized that you’d just soaked your own panties to the sound of his voice promising you to ruin you... Embarrassed, you quickly looked away from him. 

Cyrille hesitated, wondering if he’d said something wrong, said something to frighten you. “Of course,” he reminded you quickly, “this is all subject to your permission, your consent. Sex is meaningless unless... you want it.” 

He tilted his head to the side as he looked down at you. “Do you?” he asked, his voice almost drawling. Speaking slowly to give you time to think, he asked you, “Do you want it, princess?” 

You stared up at him. The sunlight came down in shafts in the dusty depths of the Restrict Section, lying in stripes across Cyrille’s face and body. His long hair seemed to have a golden hue, and his eyes flickered between gold and silver, giving him a false veneer of mercy. 

No, you told yourself. He’s merciless. And he will be if you let him take your mouth...

But - his question: Do I want it? you pondered to yourself. You could feel your now-dripping pussy clench and your thighs tighten at the mere thought of swallowing his cum, tasting him, feeling his warmth inside your throat, and taking it into your tummy. 

I do, you thought. I want to know what he tastes like. I want him to cum in my mouth - hard. 

“Yes,” you breathed out. “Yes, please fuck my mouth. Please cum in my mouth.”

Cyrille’s eyes flashed. He stepped forward again. He let you clamber unsteadily back onto your knees (he didn’t realize you’d cum sitting there and had to sit up gingerly to keep your wet panties from touching your thighs) before he reached down with both hands to grasp your head. 

You opened your mouth again, and Cyrille slid his cock back in your mouth. He let you adjust for a moment before he thrust slightly. 

Surprised, you gagged slightly. You clutched at the hem of your skirt nervously as you felt your throat close up. 

“You’ll have to do better than that, princess,” Cyrille told you, his grasp on your head becoming tighter as he felt you instinctively starting to slide back already. 

But his voice was quite patient as he guided you and said, “Breathe through your nose. Relax your throat... I’m not going to hurt you. Trust me. Relax.” 

You listened to him, letting his words wash over you. Gradually, you relaxed. Cyrille thrust again, but slower and gentler this time. He rocked his hips back and forth rhythmically, feeling your lips running up and down his cock, catching slightly on the ridges. 

But as the minutes ticked by, he built back up to a rougher rhythm and faster speed. 

“M-mm, b-big,” you whimpered. “T-too big.” His cock was crammed into your mouth as far as you could take him without deep-throating him. 

“Relax,” he reminded you, trying to sound in control. 

But the next moment, Cyrille breathed out long and low and murmured, “Your mouth feels so good.” He thrust again into your mouth, rougher this time. 

Your eyes widened a little as you realized that despite his ever-cold and in-control demeanor, he was losing himself a little too as he pushed himself deeper into your mouth.

He’s affected by me as well, you thought. The thought relieved you, but there was something beyond that - you felt a sudden warmth spread through you body as you realized that you were happy that you affected him because you wanted to please him. 

You hesitated, surprised at yourself. Again, you wondered, while keeping your lips parted to let him fuck your mouth to his pleasure, what is Cyrille Lestrange to me? 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

As Cyrille watched you struggling adorably to take his cock in your mouth, he felt his desires split. A part of him wanted to melt, to fall to the ground with you, hug you tightly, and just kiss you all over until you both fell asleep. What did it matter if the two of you had sex or not? 

But the other half of him wanted you, and had wanted you this way for so long. After all, right after you’d promised yourself to him, you’d had your memory altered by none other than Albus Dumbledore himself. And straightaway, you’d gone and thrown yourself at James Potter, proclaiming your love for him. And maybe you did love him - that made it even worse.

Cyrille tried to forget you. He did. But, it never worked. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the number of nights Cyrille found himself panting and gasping against his bedsheets, hand running up and down his cock over and over again, imagining it was you - your mouth, your pussy, your ass - taking him in his all his demandingness and softness alike, letting him pound you like he loved you, and then - he’d shut his eyes as he pictured you just begging him for his cum, to fill you up because it was him that you were with - and he’d finally cum all over his sheets. 

He’d immediately feel ridiculous after doing so. There were so many women and men that he’d slept with. So why was it always you that found your way to him, you that delved into his fantasies and dreams every single night? When Cyrille learned of “incubus” and “succubus” in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class, he’d thought of you and wondered if “angel” was the wrong nickname for you, after all. 

With all of these thoughts crashing up against one another in his mind, Cyrille knew that he could never allow himself to hurt you, but he had to have you, to the extent that you’d let him, and he’d do everything in his power to widen that “extent” to infinity. He wanted every bit of you, and he wanted you to want him right back, to plead for him to touch you, to beg him to fuck you, to whine when he didn’t pound you hard enough, to thank him when he came in you, and to feel all of the feelings he had for you when he held you before, throughout, and after sex... 

But there was no language to show you this intense mix of feelings he had for you. And even if there was, your constantly doubting eyes made him realize that you wouldn’t believe him. You’d just think it was a trap.

So, what could Cyrille do, when the only way you allowed him to touch you, to come nearer to you physically and psychologically, to let him make you come all undone in his arms - was to sex you rough and hard until you broke?

There was only sex, Cyrille realized, as he watched you suck prettily on his cock. Sex seemed to be the only acceptable answer for any relationship between a villain and his princess. 

If only you knew what that mouth of yours does to me, just by being open and waiting to take me in... Cyrille thought. Who cares how good you are at taking cock in your mouth? Just the fact that you’re willing... The rest I can teach you, and I will. 

Overcome by his desire for you, Cyrille was experiencing a heady rush as he felt your mouth working desperately on his cock, but to no avail. He’d teach you exactly how to take him. After all, he thought, you’d always been a fast learner. 

Blood pounding in his ears, Cyrille abruptly and roughly dragged you by your upper arms over to the bookcase, your legs dragging over the rough carpet, and then he pushed you up against the bookshelf, all the while keeping his swollen cock in your mouth. 

A strange, soft, and high-pitched whimper escaped you as you felt your back hit the bookshelf. 

“You need to relax,” Cyrille told you, though his words were now coming out in a ragged whisper. “Unless you’d rather I pound the back of your throat... But that’ll hurt tomorrow.” 

You let out a choked gasp when you felt the tip of his cock ram into the back of your throat. Your hands flew out and scrabbled at his thighs for a moment.

“Come on, angel,” Cyrille whispered down to you, “you can do it. Right where I’m pressing you up against you - that’s where you should relax.” 

Knowing just how to get you to open your throat bit by bit, Cyrille reached down and tangling fistfuls of your hair in his fingers, he held your head down, forcing you to take the entire length of his cock in your mouth. 

A breathless and strangled whimper left you as you choked on his cock. So much... Uh... How can I - ? Uh, I can’t think straight...

“Sh...” Cyrille murmured to you, “just relax. Then you can take me, angel. I know you can.” 

Your thighs began to tremble as Cyrille held your head down. He backed off a little, to let you breathe, but you had finally learned to breathe through your nose. The wave of relief knowing that you weren’t choking anymore cause a cascade of sensations to go off in your body, to the point where your hips and thighs were quivering and moving side to side as Cyrille continued to cram his cock into your mouth. 

“Uh, yes, angel, you’re so close,” Cyrille breathed out. “You’re breathing properly now. And you’re almost there... Just about to let my cock push into your pretty little throat, aren’t you? Yes, angel.”

“Mm-mm!” You replied, proud of yourself for learning but still more than a bit trepid as to what Cyrille was planning to do to your throat. You squirmed a little bit, shifting around, though not enough to actually go anywhere - Cyrille made sure of that by keeping his hands firmly on your head, fingers quite possessively tangled in your hair, and anchoring you against the bookshelf behind you.

If someone were standing behind the two of you, they would see Cyrille’s hips pushing forward as he thrust his cock into you in a demanding but measured pace and his arms reaching forward to gently push your head against his cock to deep-throat him. Meanwhile, your chest rose and fell quickly in your attempt to breathe and not pass out, and your pretty hips and thighs squirmed under your skirt, needing to move somehow to counteract this intense tension building up in your throat and - though you were hardly aware of it - in your lower tummy. 

“There you go. Good girl. I feel that little throat opening up. Mmm... I think you can take me now. But angel, if it hurts at all, push against me with your hands hard,” Cyrille told you. “Don’t worry about hurting me. Just shove me away. I can’t do this unless I know you can do that for me. All right?”

He waited for you to give him one, dazed nod. 

Then, before you could comprehend what was happening, he was fucking your face quite roughly, and his cock pushing up against your throat forced you to start to open your throat up to him.

"That’s it,” Cyrille panted. “Good girl. Yes, just like that. Good girl. Mmm...” 

Your muffled, high-pitched whimpers filled the air. It was a good thing the two of you were in the abandoned Restricted Section, or else you’d have alerted the entire library by now with your desperate little whines escaping around Cyrille’s cock stuffed in your mouth. 

But no moans, you told yourself strictly, even as all kinds of little whimpers were coming out of your mouth, being squeezed out of your mouth by his hard cock pushing in and out of your mouth and against your lips. 

“Such a perfect little mouth,” Cyrille groaned, becoming rougher and rougher. “I could stay in this mouth, take you just like this all day. And even rougher, if you’d let me. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, princess?” 

Cyrille glanced down at you, waiting for a cheeky reply, but all that came out was a garbled, sloppy, almost pitiful whine. 

“Oh, right, you can’t talk,” Cyrille said. He smirked, and continued, “No matter. I already know that you would love it - me taking your little mouth like this for hours. You would love it. I know it, angel.” 

"See? There’s that little throat of yours all open for me now - just waiting - and uhn,” he exhaled, as he finally pushed his long, hard, waiting cock into your tight little throat. 

Cyrille jerked his hips back and forth, making good use of your mouth - and now, your throat, too. His cock pressing against your throat over and over again had taught you to relax your throat enough to take him. It was an entirely new sensation for you to feel a man’s thick, hard cock sliding in and out of your throat.

Your eyes widened in shock as his cock penetrated deep into your throat - much deeper than you’d ever taken anyone - and then shut tightly as you focused on breathing through your nose and letting him use your poor little throat however he wanted. 

Knowing that you were ready for him now, Cyrille was starting to slam his hips forward. You felt your head glancing off the bookshelf behind you, and your back was definitely hitting up against the shelf as Cyrille face-fucked you, slamming his cock down your throat over and over again.

Cyrille groaned blissfully. Fuck, she’s taking me so well. I knew she could do it. In his mind, he panted, good girl, good girl, good fucking girl...

“Uhn, ah, angel,” he finally breathed out. His soft, high moaning voice took you completely off guard.

Oh, you thought to yourself, as his cock rammed down your throat hard enough to rock your whole body against the shelf behind you, even as Cyrille attempted to kept your head anchored firmly between his large hands, both to keep you in place and to shield you from hurting your head. I never imagined he’d make sounds like that... you said, unexpectedly feeling little butterflies in your stomach. He must be close...

And he was. But “close” meant that his need for release was now overwhelming, and it translated into sloppy, rough thrusts into your still-open mouth. Your jaw was starting to get sore, but you obediently held your mouth open for him to use as he fucked your face to his orgasm.

“Uhn,” he gasped out softly in a tight, breathy voice. “Angel - ah, you’re taking me s-so well... Uh...”

He sounds like such a completely different person, you thought to yourself. All soft and like. Almost like... a little puppy? You wanted to giggle, but you couldn’t because your mouth was rather busy taking in every thrust of his swollen cock. 

Still, that soft noise he made... It’s so cute... The butterflies took off in a windstorm, and suddenly, you felt warm inside. And you wanted that warmth to become something real, something physical - you wanted him to cum in your mouth. In that moment, you wanted it so bad.

So when Cyrille roughly pushed your head down on his cock as he rode out his rising climax, making you deep throat him as he pushed his throbbing cock inside of your mouth, you held your breath for as long as you could. Finally, he moaned long and loud and your eyes shut tightly as you felt a hot spurt of warm, salty liquid explode in the back of your throat. You took as much of it as you could - it drenched your throat before filling up your mouth. And then - as it began to spill out of your mouth, you finally pushed at him slightly, your palms hitting up gently against his thighs. He immediately released you, staggering back a bit. 

You fell back against the bookshelf, sliding down entirely into a limp heap on the floor. Your face blushed a bright shade of pink all over, your cheeks warm and thoroughly flushed, and your mouth and lips were wet, warm, and quite red. Because of how much he’d cum and how it’d filled your mouth right up, a bit of his cum had spread out onto your pretty lips, so that as you breathed in and out, some of your hair caught on the cum on your lips and fluttered in and out as you tried to catch your breath. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you gasped for breath. The buttons on your school button-up were straining a little as you attempted to collect oxygen back into your system.

And actually, Cyrille wasn’t the only cumming. A slow, but steady stream of sweet, sticky cum was spilling out into your panties, too. Because the fact that his warm, salty cum was making its way down to your soft little tummy made you feel so happy and full, made your little pussy clench and throb hotly...

“Open... Open your mouth. Show me...” Cyrille demanded, his voice inconsistently switching between strict and soft as he was trying to find his persona again.

You slowly opened your mouth to show him that your mouth was absolutely filled with his hot, white, cum.

Groaning a little and falling forward, Cyrille put one hand out on the bookshelf to support himself and with the other, he reached over and grabbed you by the throat. Cyrille forced you back up on your feet, though you were so limp that you had to hold onto his arm with both hands as you tried to find your feet. When you did managed to get your feet upright, it was only to find that your thighs were already caving in again. 

Cyrille kissed you hard, even though your lips were tightly shut as you swallowed all of his cum. With his hand against your throat, he felt you swallowing. In a hoarse voice, he whispered, “Is that you swallowing my cum?”

You nodded tiredly. 

“Mmm....” Cyrille’s hand softly traced your throat down to your chest, as though imagining his cum being taken into your body.

It felt very warm as it passed down your throat, and left you feeling quite satisfied.

Cyrille caught the subtle joy in your expression. “Are you happy, angel? Are you happy that you took my cock like that and swallowed all of my cum?”

You nodded again.

He finally laughed a little, and it didn’t sound cold or distant in any way.

You smiled, thinking he was softening with you.

But just then, Cyrille suddenly reminded you, “Say ‘thank you’” like a good girl.”

What...? you found yourself thinking blurrily.

“I told you - you say ‘thank you’ when I cum in you,” Cyrille reminded you again. “It doesn’t matter if it’s in your mouth, your pussy, your ass, or even your hands. You take it, and you say ‘thank you.’ Go on.”

“T-thank you,” you choked out, barely able to get the words out. You'd only just swallowed the last of his cum, and now you needed to breathe through your mouth again. 

“You’re perfect,” Cyrille whispered, wanting very much to praise you. 

Before you could draw a long breath of air, he kissed you again, much softer this time. “Angel,” he murmured sweetly against your lips. “Angel, angel, angel...”

You wanted him to keep kissing you forever, but your breaths had returned to shallow gasps, and you felt like your chest was going to explode from want of air.

Cyrille knew it. He let you go. 

You fell backwards, and your back hit the bookshelf again. You sank to the ground, your head ringing with a high-pitched buzzing sound and with a repeated string of Cyrille’s voice moaning out, “angel, angel, angel...” 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“Angel? Are you all right?”

You suddenly felt yourself being lifted up. 

Your eyes opened blearily, as Cyrille led you to and draped you over one of the step ladders that students used to reach books on high shelves. The ladder was placed in front of a bookshelf, so you could reach out and steady yourself against the books as needed. 

But before he allowed you to fall forward tiredly over the step ladder, Cyrille reached over and hugged you to him with one arm so that your back was against his chest and your head was against his shoulder. With his other hand, Cyrille gently wiped your mouth with his sleeve. Some of your mascara had smudged just below your eyes, too, and he used his thumb to gently wipe off the errant marks. Closer to ‘wrecked,’ though not quite, Cyrille thought. But that’s all right. It’s you, after all. 

He then placed a warm kiss on your mouth, enveloping your lips in his and allowing you to pant softly into his. He loved catching all of your little, warm breaths in his own mouth, because it made him feel connected to you. 

For a moment, he closed his eyes and just held you in his arms, much like the way he had last night on the Astronomy Tower. You fit right inside his arms. You always had. He hoped more than anything, that you could feel it, too. 

“Now, angel, let me return the favor. Tell me what you want, and it can be anything,” Cyrille told you softly. “If you want to sleep, we can sleep. If you want me to pleasure you, I’ll do it until you tell me to stop. Just tell me.” 

He reached over and drawing your hand up, he kissed all of your fingertips gently before sliding his mouth down to your wrist, where the ribbon was. He smiled a little when he saw it and gave it a brief kiss, too, before finally pulling away. 

“Tell me,” he repeated. 

“Touch... me...” you mumbled, as you fell forward on the step ladder. Because you couldn’t help except remember that the last time he’d taken you back to sleep, he hadn’t wanted to be seen with you. He’d passed you off to Remus to take care of you. And you didn’t want that. 

You weren’t sure what you wanted more at the moment - whether you wanted to stay with Cyrille, or if you wanted Cyrille to want to stay with you. Both, you supposed, would be nice... 

Still, here he was with you now, and you wanted to keep it that way - at least for now. 

Am I going mad? you thought to yourself. How has this all spiraled so quickly? Only a few days ago, he was a complete stranger to me. Why, then, do I feel so familiar with him? As if... As if he was my home before I knew I had a home...

“Are you sure that’s what you want, angel?” he asked you softly, running his hand gently up and down your back. 

“Yes,” you breathed out. You’d fallen forward onto your stomach, but now you shifted up a little so that your ass was higher in the air, revealing your panties and your thighs to Cyrille. 

Cyrille put his hand on your thigh and slowly slid his hand up and towards the inside of your thigh. He kept his gaze on your face, though, to see whether this was what you wanted or whether you wanted to stop.

You nodded back at him and murmured, “I want to feel your fingers on me...” 

Cyrille nodded. “Your wish is my command.”

He lifted your skirt a little more, but when he saw your panties, he paused.

“Did you... already cum?” he asked you.

Oh God. I did. I came twice already. You shifted uncomfortably, hurriedly moving your hips down to hide how wet you were. I’d forgotten, but... I’m soaked through. Oh, no, this is so embarrassing...

But Cyrille quickly caught you by your hips and firmly pushed your ass back up in the air, so that he could make out the soft little fabric between your pretty thighs - and sure enough - “You’re wet,” Cyrille breathed out, and a victorious smirk passed over his face. “And when did this happen? I haven’t even touched you yet...”

You squirmed in his grasp, but it was too late. He’d seen it all.

“Did you cum when I was fucking your mouth?”

You paused. Actually, you’d cum twice - once when he was just talking to you, describing the things he wanted to do to you, and then, yes, for a second time, when he’d fucked your mouth to orgasm and came in you and made you swallow... You’d cum when you’d swallowed his cum. 

Your silence earned you another slap on the ass.

“Ow,” you hissed out at him.

“Answer me,” Cyrille demanded.

You sighed. “May...be...” you finally relented, breaking the word up into two shy and unwilling words.

Cyrille grinned at you. “Oh, you are an angel, aren’t you? Cumming without even being touched... Already so wet I bet I could fuck you right now and you could take it. It’d be tight, but you’re certainly wet enough. Mmm, this is a dream come true... You’re a dream come true.” 

He lifted his hand and for just a moment, you felt his fingertips graze your already soaked panties.

You shivered.

“So delicate, but as I said, you’d be surprised to learn just how much your body can take,” Cyrille said, watching a quiver run up your body.  “And right now, you still want to be touched, don’t you, angel? You want me to make you cum again...”

Eyes closed and breathing shallowly, you softly nodded at his words.

“You want my fingers in you, princess?” he asked you, his voice deceivingly gentle.

“Y-Yes,” you confessed, and clutched at the bookshelf in front of you. He makes me so nervous... Why? I’m usually not nervous around other people, even during sex. So what is this strange thrill inside of my tummy? I don’t... I don’t like it... It feels... too close to that feeling you get right before you cum... 

My nerves are already so stretched. If he stretches out my pussy, I might cum again. I don’t want to, not for him, not like this... But I don’t think I could help it. I just - I’ve got butterflies in my stomach. This is ridiculous... I’m a grown-ass woman. I’ve had plenty of sex. And yet, with him, I’m just so - 

At that second, Cyrille pressed a single finger against you, and he watched as your thighs immediately quivered and you leaned forward, almost as though away from him. But then you came right back, pushing your hips back out in the hopes that his fingers would be there again to touch you. 

But they weren’t. He’d pulled his hand away already. 

“You’re so sensitive,” Cyrille murmured, surprised but loving the way you were reacting to him. He’d pulled away his hand so that he could be much more deliberate as to exactly how he wanted to tease you. He’d fuck you with his fingers, sure - whenever you wanted, he’d love to - but if you were going to be so deliciously sensitive to him, he was also going to make sure to fuck up your mind... So that when you came, you would lose yourself entirely to him. Right now, some part of him wanted to stop everything and just run his fingertips down your bare back just to see how you would react.

But you were clearly not wanting him to test you this way. Because you were shouting at him, annoyed to all hell. Cyrille hid his smile as he watched you passionately whisper-yell at him. 

“I am not!” you protested indignantly, taking his words as a stab to indicate your supposed weakness. In a frustrated voice, you pushed back, “It’s only with you.”

Then, you paused. Wait, did I just admit...? 

“Oh, angel,” Cyrille exhaled suddenly, and his voice was far softer than you imagined it would be. Instead of taking advantage of your confession, he seemed to invite it in, to love it, because it freed his own restraints, made him able to love you right back. 

“I’ll reward you well for your confession,” he breathed out lovingly. “Only good girls confess. Isn’t that right, angel?” As he spoke, promising you heaven (or maybe it was sin - you couldn’t quite tell at this point), you felt his fingertips touch against your hips on either side, and then curl inwards to grasp your panties.

“Don’t yank at them,” you told him this time, referring to your panties, and the way he’d aggressively tried to pull them to the side to fuck you last time.

“All right, all right,” Cyrille conceded. “Merlin, you really such a princess, aren’t you?” he said, sighing a little. But, true to your command, he reached up and gently slid your panties off of you, and felt his cock throb when the thin cotton caught for a moment on the soft roundness of your ass. But he slowly pulled them down to your thighs. Then, he placed his large, warm hands on the insides of your thighs and spread you open as much as he could until your panties were stretched tight against your thighs.

He gazed for a moment at your pretty pussy, your puffy lips already all wet and glistening. 

“Angel,” he said quietly, and his voice was already all tight, “look at you.”

You hesitated, starting to feel a bit self-conscious. “Um, why?” you asked. Leaning your head against the books, you slowly reached behind yourself to touch yourself. Is there something wrong? Am I already creaming? Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if I were... 

Cyrille stopped you from touching yourself, grabbing your wrist. 

“No you don’t. Only I get to do that,” he whispered silkily. Then, grasping your other wrist as well, he used the ribbon you still had on to tie your hands together behind your back, restraining you so that your hands were stuck together and could only move level to your ass. You couldn’t raise them up or anything.

“Lestrange!” you whisper-shouted. “What the fuck -?” 

“Still calling me Lestrange?” Cyrille laughed softly. “Even though I have you all tied up like this? Even though I claimed your throat and came in that lovely little mouth of yours not five minutes ago?”

Without waiting for your reply, Cyrille’s voice suddenly switched to a cold demand. “Spread yourself open for me.”

“Like this.” Cyrille guided your hands so that your hands were on your ass and you were spreading open your ass for him, giving him a clear view of yourself, especially your waiting pussy.

Seeing you like that, panties stretched tight between your thighs, skirt pushed up practically to your midriff, curls running down your back, head pushed up against the books, hands back, wrists adorably tied together in a silk ribbon, and legs and ass spread to show those puffy pink lips of yours to him, it was all Cyrille could do not to pin you against the floor and fuck you silly until you cried with pleasure and relief. 

He tried to maintain his composure for you, even as he felt himself growing hard in his pants again. But he could feel himself slipping, and it came through his words, that were starting to slur together with want... 

“I can already tell, without even having been inside you yet, that your pussy just grips at cock, doesn’t it?” Cyrille murmured. “Mmm, yes, I bet it does. Just look at you - all tight and wet, and you’re bound to be so soft and pretty inside too, aren’t you, angel?”

You didn’t even notice him starting to lose his composure, though, because you were so far past him. It was taking everything you had not to moan. You were literally holding your breath and praying as you pressed your face against the books that you weren’t going to give away how badly you wanted Cyrille Lestrange by cumming for him before he’d even touched you. 

Because his voice, and - oh - the things that he said as he touched you - God, it made you so wet. You’d never, ever met anyone like him. Nobody else could make you cum with just their voice. 

And you were determined that he would never find out about the power he had over you. Never.

So, you softly clenched your teeth and held your breath until you felt light-headed. You prayed in your mind for him to touch you, to give you an excuse to react or make a noise - though no moans, you repeated to yourself quite sternly. There’s no way I’m losing to Cyrille Lestrange, no matter how many times he makes me cum - which, oh God, it might be a lot of times, judging from the fact that I’ve already cum twice and could cum a third time without even having taken any of his fingers, let alone his cock - his long, hard cock... Mmm... 

You bit down on your lower lip, trying desperately to still your imagination as your pussy throbbed hotly. 

Fuck, I want to moan. I need to moan! God, please...

“Touch me,” you breathed out, unable to take the anticipation any longer. You pushed your hips back and spread yourself out even more for him, your hands digging into your soft, round ass. “Please...” 

No, why am I already begging? I hate this, I hate this, I hate this...

But Cyrille didn’t move just yet. Because he was starting to notice.

His eyes narrowing ever so slightly, he said, “You’re dripping.” He enunciated the second word “drip-ping” to indicate that he was beginning to realize that you were already very, very close to cumming...

You shut your eyes tightly. Meanwhile, Cyrille’s gaze traveled up from the gorgeous sight directly in front of him (you, holding yourself open for him and your pussy becoming deliciously wetter and wetter without Cyrille having done anything) up to your face. Cyrille noticed that under your shirt, you seemed to be breathing rather hard already, stomach straining under your loose blouse, breasts rising up and down where the blouse was a little tighter, your Gryffindor pin barely hanging on as your breast pushed on it from the inside, nearly popping it open, and then your face- you’d let your curls fall in front of your face. 

And why would that be? Cyrille wondered. He slowly began to figure it all out - how your panties had already been soaked through right when you’d first draped yourself over the step ladder and lifted your skirt for him to why now, you seemed to be begging ever so reluctantly for him to touch you. 

You weren’t one to beg easily. Cyrille knew that. So, why, now, when he had you in such a vulnerable position, presenting yourself to him in the fucking Restricted Section of the library, in all places, with your hands tied behind your back, and pussy just waiting for him, did you suddenly beg for him? 

Then, the inevitable realization came - “Angel, tell me the truth. Does my voice make you cum?” 

The bastard was absolutely thrilled with himself.  You could just hear the smirk in his voice. Grr, you growled in your head. 

“Answer me, princess,” Cyrille said, his voice suddenly quite happy. “Does simply hearing me make you all wet and dripping for me? Hm?”

You gritted your teeth together and tried to duck your face under your hair even more, but Cyrille wouldn’t allow that. 

He leaned over you now, and gently tucked your hair back from your face. “Tell me,” he whispered, and you felt his sweet, warm breath across your face. 

“Oh, angel, you’re so flushed,” Cyrille realized, seeing your blushing face. “So, it must be true.”

He laughed lightly, right in your ear. “No wonder you kept trying to find loopholes - trying to put restrictions on me, trying to make whimpers allowed. I see it now. It’s because you are just so unable to control yourself, isn’t it, princess?” 

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. You fervently substituted the need to moan and cum and cry aloud with words, blurting out to Cyrille, “I hate you. I hate you.”

“Aw,” Cyrille said, his voice mocking, with only a thin veneer of clearly false sympathy, “has my poor little princess been found out? Is she suddenly feeling all shy and defensive?” 

“Y-You’re an ass,” you told him, stuttering slightly. 

Cyrille snickered. “You can call me anything you want, princess. Now that I know why...” 

No, no, no, you moaned. He can’t know. How did he find out so quickly? Am I really that wet already? God... 

“Well, it’s all right,” Cyrille reassured you, still smirking. “I’ll save you your pride, princess. Besides, as much as I’d love to taunt and torment you all day, we can’t be in the Restricted Section of the library all day, you know.”

“Some of us,” he said airily, clearly referring to himself, “have things to do.”

You bristled at the implication - that you would just be waiting for him to touch you, to relieve you.

“I- I need to study, too,” you panted out, not realizing how childish you sounded.

“I’m sure you do,” he said, still in that annoyingly self-effacing voice. “I bet I fucked everything you know right out of your head when I had you against the bookshelf, didn’t I? I saw you... You forgot how to speak. I asked you a question, and you just sat there, nodding, with my cock stuffed in your mouth. Oh, princess, you were so pretty...”

“And now,” Cyrille whispered into your ear, “as promised, I’ll return the favor. Just sit tight, angel, and let me take it from here.” 

Slowly, he reached down, letting his fingers play some nightmarish, yet sweet tune down your body until they fell over the curve of your ass, glancing off of your own fingers as you held yourself open for him. 

Then, he slowly ran his fingers over your clit.

You stiffened and lifting your head from the books you’d pressed yourself against, with your shoulders straining from the position you were in, leaning over with your arms pinned back, you bowed your head forward. Cyrille watched as your entire body trembled from the merest touch. He wanted to smirk at you again, but he couldn’t find it within himself to think of anything else beyond the marvel of you shuddering so beautifully under his touch. 

If she trembles so well for me, could I perhaps... make her mine someday? Cyrille wondered hesitantly, afraid even to hope. 

Cyrille sighed. No, remember who you are, and who she is. You chose your path, and she chose hers. She doesn’t even remember you anymore.

He pressed his fingers against you then.

When you felt his cold metal rings brush up against you, you found yourself gripping your own ass a little harder, leaving tiny crescents on yourself. 

“Getting all tense already?” Cyrille whispered.

“Please... I want your - your -” you stuttered out. But you bit down hard on your lower lip as a moan nearly escaped along with your trembling words.

Cyrille knew. “Yes,” he affirmed. “Remember, if you moan - even one little, barely there moan - you’re mine.” 

“As for what you want, I’ll give it you, angel. And when I give it to you, you’re going to cum for me. You won’t be able to stop until I say so. I imagine it’ll be new for you, princess, not being able to always have your way, but I promise you, you’ll enjoy it - even if you do have to beg for it.” 

With that, he plunged his long, punishing fingers into your wet, warm pussy.

For a moment, all you could perceive was a long string of exclamation marks ringing out in your mind. Your pussy flared up immediately, and clenched. He’s inside me. His fingers... They’re inside me... Oh Merlin, fuck, they feel so good. Why do they feel so good? And so long... Longer than James’, even. Oh, please don’t let me moan. Please don’t let me moan. I don’t - I don’t want to be ‘his’ before he becomes ‘mine’. I don’t - don’t want to lose to him. Pleas let me be quiet. Pleas- Uhnnn.... Your mind blanked out as you received pure pleasure from Cyrille working his fingers steadily into the warmth between your thighs.

“Mmm,” Cyrille sighed. “Oh, angel, you are so wet. I almost feel pity for you. How were you holding this in the whole time?”

“Well,” he said, almost flippantly, as he corrected himself, “I guess the whole point is that you didn’t.”

He shook his head a little and tutted at you, even as his fingers started to slowly and very deliberately pump in and out of you. 

“Cumming to my mere voice? God, it’s almost... pitiful.” 

“S-Shut up,” you told him, frustrated beyond belief. 

But Cyrille merely smirked. “You sounded so bold, demanding this and that from me. But as I said, I understand why now. You needed me to call your pathetic little bluffs to show this side of you. I’m glad I played into it. As I see it, this is not only an easy win, but a most pleasurable- ” he thrust his fingers deep, eliciting a delicious shudder from you - “win.” 

“Don’t call m-me pathetic,” you growled at him.

“Oh, angel knows how to growl, does she? So adorable,” Cyrille said, now clearly laughing. “But can she moan?”

He drew his fingers out to the very tip and then pushed them back in. You kept your lips together tightly, determined not to moan for this irritating son of a bitch. 

But the desire to fight back against him was difficult to sustain. You were having to resist and overcome quite a lot of thoughts and sensations currently running inside your head. In fact, it all looked a little something like this: 

Ah! Oh my God, ah... Hah... ah... Mmm, his fingers - They’re spreading me open so well. I didn’t - I didn’t even realize how tight I was until now. I must have been clenching my pussy all this time. I already feel... almost sore. And he’s pushing it all apart, forcing my walls open so that I have to take his fingers... Ah... Ah, fuck. Your internal monologue of moans and barely incoherent thoughts played out on your lovely face, eyes shut tight and lips trembling silently.

“You can moan, angel,” Cyrille whispered to you. “Let me hear your sweet little voice... Moan for me.” He could see you bucking slightly, with your tight little tummy and curvy hips shuddering against the rather unforgiving wooden surface of the crude step ladder you were lying on. He was well aware that everything about this situation - the demand to be as quiet as possible, the discomfort of being pressed up against hard wood (whether that was a bookshelf or a step ladder), and then of being under his touch and his control - was intensifying the experience for you, even if the influence was a touch subversive. 

But Cyrille trusted you. You were a bold one, and he loved that. It was the only way he could start to reveal himself to you, little by little - his need for you, and his conflicting desires to both overpower you and submit to you, all at once. 

But even now, you feverishly shook your head, rejecting his words. “N-No, not g-gonna moan. Not f-for you.”

“And why’s that, angel? Why not for me?” 

“I told you - I...” For a moment, you had to bit down on your lower lip yet again as you felt his fingers, now slick with your cum, pull out of you a little ways only to come thrusting back, sinking deep into your soft, hot, and dripping pussy.

“I hate you,” you managed to whisper, in a tightly controlled and tiny little voice.

Cyrille only smiled, knowing it was just a matter of time before you fell into his trap.

Even now, your hands slipped off of your ass (though they were still tied together by the ribbon) because your grip became too tight and your hands had involuntarily curled up into little fists.

In doing so, you had dragged unintentionally dragged your nails across your ass, and Cyrille looked down at you with a savage pride - he had made you leave your own marks on yourself. 

Fuck, if she isn’t an angel, I don’t know who is, Cyrille thought, his eyes glimmering with a possessive darkness as he watched you leave long, pink lines on your lovely, supple skin. 

You arched your back and threw your head back, abs straining with the effort it took to do so - as you couldn’t reach out and hold onto anything, you were literally just lifting the upper half of your body up in the air.

Cyrille watched your beautiful breasts straining, almost thrusting against your poor blouse. That Gryffindor pin’s taking a lot of abuse today, Cyrille thought mockingly, quite pleased with himself. I hope it falls right off. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to see it fall off right when she cums? Mmm, let’s try it. 

He began to thrust his fingers into you faster and harder, until his three fingers were stretching you out quite well and his knuckles were hitting up against your pussyhole. The rings that he wore contributed quite a bit to the sensation - the cold metal either forcing your pussyhole to open unexpectedly and unevenly and then sinking into you a little ways, or hitting up against you cold and brutal along with his knuckles. Sometimes, right when you thought they would only hit up against you and stay there, they just managed to stretch you open the tiniest bit further, but before you could comprehend it as more than just a pleasurable addition, they were gone again... You thought of your sticky, sweet cum soaking all of his family rings, and you wanted it... To defile that disgusting Lestrange emblem with your cum... Yes, you wanted to cover his hand in your cum - and fuck, you knew you could do it, too. Because - uhn, he was fingering you so good and you were- 

Your lips fell open wide in soundless gasps. You were close, you were close - Oh, you were so close - !

Abruptly, Cyrille pulled his fingers out of you. 

Wha-What? You found yourself totally confused and dazed. What happened? I was so close to cumming. Why did he stop?

You squirmed a little as you shifted yourself to be able to look at him. You frowned at him, your lower lip threatening to slip into a pout. 

There he was, Cyrille Lestrange, the old bastard, pausing to lick your cum off of his fingers. Fuck, she tastes... tantalizing, he thought to himself, groaning inside his head. I thought I’d be more satisfied, but I’m just hungrier. I want to bury my face between her legs...

“You’ll have to sit on my face some time, angel,” he commented lightly, as though he hadn’t just deprived you of your much-needed, heavily-chased-after orgasm. “You taste heavenly.” 

“Lestrange,” you growled at him. You managed to move your hips so that it knocked against his elbow, forcing him to stop sucking off the taste of you from his fingers.

That got his attention. “What?” he asked you, his voice severe. 

You fucking ass, as if you don’t bloody well know “what,” you thought angrily to himself. As it was, you hissed at him, “You must be fucking joking!” 

“Keep you voice down, angel, unless you want Madam Pince running over here and catching us like this...”

“Why did you stop?” you demanded furiously. 

“Oh, that.” Cyrille finally drew his fingers away from his mouth. He reached down and ran a single fingertip up and down your clit, driving you mad with want. You had been so close, and it had left you so intensely sensitive... As if you hadn’t been sensitive before, this was now a thousand times worth. You would do just about anything - anything - including dragging your hips up and down the hard wooden edge you were lying on, to get release. 

“Right. Well,” Cyrille drawled, lazily running his finger up and down your needy little cunt, “have you ever heard of ‘edging’?” 

You paused. “What’s that?” you asked him, lifting your head to try to read his face. Is he just playing around right now or is he serious?

“Pleasure drawn out by deprivation,” he replied succinctly. He tauntingly ran his finger around your pussyhole and even pressed his fingertip against you for just a moment, threatening to push his finger back into you. But he didn’t. 

You slowly drew in a long, low breath, and let it out.

“So, I just wanted to try something,” Cyrille went on, purposefully ignoring your sopping cunt except to tease it with the lightest touches of his fingertips. “Test my theory, as it were- ”

“I have theories for you,” you interrupted, cutting across his bullshit. “Many of them. All on how to painfully murder you.”

“Goodness,” Cyrille chuckled. “You didn’t learn all your lessons in church properly, did you, angel?”

“Lestrange!” you hissed at him, fed-up.

Having had more than enough, you started to try to get up, but Cyrille was quick to put his other hand down on your back and push you right back down onto the ladder.

“We’ll have to work on your patience, angel,” he said sharply, the teasing lilt from his voice completely gone. “Haven’t I already told you that you’ll get all the pleasure you want? But if you can’t wait for it, if you’re going to be a fucking brat about it, then I’ll give it to you all at once.”

With that, he leaned down, spread you apart himself, with impatient and forceful hands, and put his mouth directly on your pussy.

Your feet shot up immediately. Knees folding, your heels dug into his back. 

He ignored you entirely and holding your ass apart hard enough to pin you down against that damn step ladder that was now digging into your tummy and hips, he ate you out furiously - tongue delving in and out of your folds, teeth clenching and tugging at your clit, lips kissing your pussy wetly, then pressing down against your pussyhole hard enough to make you dizzy... Finally, his tongue thrust inside of you.

When it did, it took everything you had not to moan. Your hands were opening and closing tightly. God, I need to hold onto something - to grip something... 

“Mmm,” Cyrille growled heavily, and the vibration of his lips against you sent your mind spiraling off altogether. He moved his tongue expertly, tongue-fucking you hard and fast, mixing your cum with his saliva to make you wet, wet, wet... 

Your mental restraints were starting to break loose. Without even realizing it, and though you were restrained by that fucking ribbon Cyrille had tied your hands back with, you were doing your best to move your hips against Cyrille, rubbing yourself on his mouth, so that his tongue was taking your clit and letting you rub yourself all over him. He reached out and wrapped his hands around your thighs, pulling you harder against his face, encouraging you to rub yourself hard on his tongue until you were openly rolling your hips against him, running circles on his tongue, loving how hot and wet it felt against your desperate little sex...

Oh, God, please, let me cum, let me cum, let me cum, you thought hazily, your head lolling slightly back on your neck as you’d arched your back quite nicely in your attempt to push your pussy harder against Cyrille’s wonderful mouth.

So much better when he’s eating me out and now trying to spin my mind, you told yourself, though, you already knew that that wasn’t entirely true. His voice did things to you, and as it turned out, his tongue was all that you had ever wanted, ever needed to make yourself cum - including now. 

Your breathing hitched. I’m - I’m gonna cum, you recognized. And what was worse - I’m gonna moan! Your body was quivering all over with the effort it took to hold in your moans. No! I c-can’t! Uhn... But I- I need - I need to - Uhn! Please! 

Your wrists were straining desperately against the dark red ribbon. You still couldn’t hold onto anything - your heart was going to burst with frustration. Why, oh why, isn’t there anything to hold onto? Your fingernails dug deeply into your palms, drawing little red crescents of blood on your skin. 

But you mistook that pain for the utter, overwhelming need to hold something and to cum. 

“H-Hands!” you cried out, babbling. “Oh, please, please, please!” 

Cyrille quickly rose to his knees and bending his body over yours, he hurriedly clapped his hand over your mouth.

But you were too far gone to care. You whimpered loudly through his suffocating grasp on your mouth.

“Fine, fine,” Cyrille breathed out. “Sh... Sh... Whose hands, princess? Yours or mine?”

“B-Both!” you managed, not even knowing what in the world you were talking about.

But Cyrille did as you asked. He quickly untied your hands, and immediately after, he pushed his fingers hard back inside your pussy, which - once again, had been deprived of release. 

Internally, Cyrille was gloating. Edging works so well on her, doesn’t it? He thought, smirking as he watched you, hands messily flailing as your arms had gone numb from being restrained for too long. He smirked when he saw you mindlessly scrabbling at the books for a second before your hands found the bookshelf.

All right, all right, he told himself, sighing a little. Let’s let her cum before angel loses her mind...

He went back to fingering you hard, working his fingers deep inside your hot, pulsing pussy. He felt your walls starting to tighten, squeezing hard even though it was just his slender fingers that you were taking. 

Cyrille couldn’t help but imagine how it’d feel to have his swollen cock buried inside such a tight, warm, wet pussy. Eyes closed and groaning softly as he pictured himself taking your perfect pussy all for himself, he rutted his fingers into you harder, making sure to spread his fingers apart deep inside you, nearly forcing his knuckles inside you. 

Your hands shot out and you gripped the bookshelf in front of you so hard that your knuckles turned white. You shut your eyes tightly as your entire body trembled. 

“You’re close, aren’t you, angel?” Cyrille whispered, his own voice labored even though he wasn’t the one who was about to burst with needing to cum. He was amazed that you could still be quiet and hold back your moans, though he thought wryly that if whimpers were allowed, you’d have lost from the first second.

You were clever, he thought, and he knew he’d have to watch out for you. However, so long as he had you like this, Cyrille was damn well going to take his time - and make you writhe.

Your hips began to buckle, and your hands slipped off of the bookshelf and onto the books. 

Cyrille reached down with his other hand, so that he was pressing his left hand against your clit roughly, while, with his right hand, he was still finger-fucking you hard, pushing you towards your climax more and more until - 

A strained, high-pitched whimper rose from the back of your throat somewhere. Your pussy clenched tightly around his fingers, and your thighs closed together, wrapping around Cyrille’s wrists, inadvertently keeping his fingers deep inside of you. 

A moment later, you fell forward and your hands pushed the books through to the other side. They fell onto the floor with thumps, though luckily, the sound was muffled by the thick, dusty carpet of the Restricted Section. 

You didn’t care because finally, you were cumming and cumming and cumming - 

The feeling of release was so long-awaited that when it finally came, it was very, very intense, wracking your body with unbelievable pleasure, as though a tightly wound spring had finally let loose inside of you - and still, Cyrille was pushing his fingers in and out of you right through your orgasm, forcing another pool of cum to build deep inside your pussy.

‘S too much! you gasped in your head. Too much cum inside me, I’m gonna - I’m gonna - ! 

Cyrille had slipped his other hand up from your clit to slide it between your tummy and the step ladder. He pressed his large hand up into your lower tummy, right where you felt your cum pooling -

“No!” you cried out desperately, legs kicking. “Don’t!” 

But it was too late. 

With another loud gasp, your eyes flew wide open as you felt yourself squirt everywhere. Cum spattered everywhere, drenching your pussy, thighs, Cyrille’s hand and wrist, and even getting some on your little socks and shoes, as well as the wooden stepladder.

“Oh, angel, fuck,” Cyrille moaned softly, as your cum drenched his fingers, covering his rings with cum. 

Cyrille immediately fell to his knees behind you and leaning forward, he held your quaking legs in place as he lapped between your thighs thoroughly, making sure his tongue lapped every bit of your sweet cum into his mouth. You tasted like honey to him, with the slightest bitterness in the aftertaste that told him that this was your cum. 

He panted a little too as he licked you all up. He had worked hard for your cum, your pleasure - and watching you like this, falling forward with your sweet cum dripping all down your thighs... God forbid he didn’t get to taste you to his heart’s content. Your pleasure and his melded together for Cyrille. To see you like this - lost in sensation with him, responding to his touch, cumming on his fingers, it was all he wanted. And if ever there was a definition of a true dominant - this is what it was. He was the embodiment of it. 

After he licked you clean, he pushed his fingers back inside of you. It was so unexpected that you gasped out loud as you felt his fingers demand more from you.

“N-No,” you protested weakly, drawing your legs together. You covered your face with your hands. “I c-can’t. Please, no more.”

Cyrille paused, and then he immediately drew his hand away from you. “Angel.” While his voice was severe, the underlying emotion was so wonderfully soft and protective as he told you, “You only need to say ‘no’ once. And you never need to give a reason. I will never touch you unless you want it - unless you ask for it.” 

“Now,” he asked you, “will you let me hold you?”

Slowly, you pushed yourself up from your position, though a bit gingerly, as your ass felt a little raw, your thighs strained, and your pussy was still throbbing a bit. You revealed your face to him, and Cyrille took in, with a soft gaze, how flushed your face was, and how some of your front curls were pressed against your sweaty forehead... You were still panting a little, completing your dreamlike envisionage with sound.

How can she be this way? Cyrille wondered vaguely. Look this way, sound this way... Does she have any idea what she does to me? 

You managed to turn around and put your arms around Cyrille’s shoulders. His arms came up to hold you, and the two of you sank down onto the library floor, with you naturally sitting in Cyrille’s lap.

He gently pressed his fingers against your lips, just as you done to yourself this morning in the library as you sat there remembering sucking on Cyrille’s fingers. You could never have imagined this morning that this bizarre series of events would have unfolded today, and all in the span of one afternoon. 

What am I doing here, like this, with him? you thought, almost disappointed with yourself.

But then, Cyrille’s soft voice cut into your thoughts. “Here,” he said, his fingers, glistening with cum from deep inside your pussy, were pushing against your lips. “Taste yourself on my fingers.”

You hesitatingly opened your mouth, only a little - just enough for his fingers to slip in. You watched Cyrille curiously as you obediently sucked on your fingers, tasting yourself.

He watched you intensely, his eyes never leaving your pretty lips, once again wrapped around his fingers - but this time, his fingers were soaked with your cum.

Why does it feel so intimate? you wondered. Have we done this before? It’s not my mind that’s feeling shy, as much as it is my body... Why? Why am I trembling?

Finally, having sucked his fingers clean, you pulled away, more than a little embarrassed.

“Now share it with me,” Cyrille instructed you. “Kiss me.”

Your face, which was supposed to be less flushed after having cum so hard - literally, squirted everywhere - blushed even brighter at this simple request. 

Cyrille reached down and gently grasped your chin in his hand. “You don’t want to kiss me?”

Still avoiding his gaze, you shook your head a little. But your little hands grasped gently at his collar, tugging at him shyly to come closer to you.

Cyrille’s eyes softened. He knew what you meant. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to kiss him. It was just that you were feeling quite vulnerable and would prefer to have him kiss you.

That’s fine. More than fine. I can do that, Cyrille thought pleasantly. 

He pulled you to him, pressing your mouths together quickly enough to save you from thinking about it any longer and feeling any more embarrassed than you already were.

First kiss, a voice in the back of your head whispered to you. 

What? First... kiss? your consciousness replied back to that strange, vague voice whispering to you from the back of your mind...

“Mmm,” Cyrille sighed as he kissed you. “Tastes even better in your mouth, angel.” 

As he kissed you, and you returned his kiss, though a bit shyly, you slowly began to realize something else - something wonderful.

When Cyrille finally pulled back, you felt your lips curve up into a joyful smirk. 

Cyrille paused, licking his lips to finish tasting you completely. Seeing your victorious smile, his eyes suddenly became defensive. “What?” he said, a bit uncertain for the first time.

“You cursed,” you told him.

Cyrille blinked. “Yes... And?”

“You said ‘fuck,’“ you told him, calling him out proudly. The triumphant way in which you announced the word made you sound like a heathen.

Cyrille barely held back his smile. Instead, he managed to lift his eyebrow and say coldly to you, “So?”

“I told you,” you reminded him, and you sounded more pleased and arrogant than you ever had in your life. “If you curse, you’re mine. We bargained for it, remember? Those were my terms, and you accepted them.”

“So,” you stressed, wrapping your arms around him, “that means you lost. You’re mine.”

Cyrille watched in astonishment as a gorgeous smile spread across your face. Your cheeks became rounder, showing the apples of your cheeks, and your eyes crinkled into half-moon crescents... Your whole face lit up in such a lovely manner. It was as though you’d suddenly sprouted wings and a halo.

You embraced him tightly, and Cyrille was grateful for the way you buried your head against his chest, because it meant that he could smile the way he wanted to. It meant that he didn’t have to hide how happy you were making him, though he found it perfectly absurd that you could ever think that him becoming “yours” was a “loss” for him in any way. 

She’s played right into my arms, Cyrille thought happily. Although, he was impressed and more than a little ticked off about your ability to hold in a moan. He had rather hoped you could reciprocate the promise - that he could call you “his” right back.

But that would have to wait another day.

However, almost as though you’d read his thoughts, you suddenly popped back up into his vision.

He blinked. “Angel...?” he said, confused. 

“You’re... really hard,” you realized. As you’d hugged him tightly, you had felt something hard press up against your lower stomach. 

“Yes,” Cyrille said simply, shrugging a little.

“Well, aren’t you going to fuck me properly?” you asked him, matching his candor and flipping the tables on him. “I mean, with your cock... Not just your fingers. After all, I’m already all wet for you... Really wet for you...”

Cyrille swallowed hard. He did want to. Oh, Merlin knew he wanted to. But it had been a long time since the two of you had disappeared together, and you’d both made a fair amount of noise, what with the rough face-fucking, and you pushing books down while squirting all over... Somebody was bound to notice soon, if they hadn’t already, that the two of you were gone. 

Finally, Cyrille managed to say, “Let’s just call it a truce for today, hm? I’ll let you get away with your little victory. For now.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? You’re fine with that?” 

“You know what they say,” Cyrille replied calmly. “Lose the battle, win the war. I’d say I’m right on track.” He smirked at you.

You looked at him skeptically. “I didn’t moan,” you reminded him. 

Cyrille had a witty comeback, but when he saw how proud you were of yourself, he simply exhaled softly. God, she’s so happy that I became hers first, Cyrille recognized. She doesn’t even realize she’s walked right into my little trap. Because I know. I can read people - her most of all, because I’m so in tune with her, because I can’t stop thinking about her, and because, once... we were in love, though she will never remember that. 

And I know, that just as my weakness is my possessiveness, hers is vulnerability and control. No doubt her insecurities were exacerbated by that total dimwit, Potter, who had the fucking audacity to have eyes for another girl, but... Cyrille hesitated. I always see the game at least two moves ahead. I know she won’t ever be vulnerable if I hold out on her. I need her vulnerable. I want her vulnerable. To heal her. Although, I do have a tendency of corrupting everything I touch... 

Unable to help himself, he reached out and touched your cheek gently, almost as though he were stroking the wings of a dove. 

Could I be better for you? Cyrille wondered, lost deep in thought. I certainly want to be.

You paused when you felt his fingers softly grazing your cheek. “Lestrange?” 

Cyrille frowned a little. He pulled his hand away. “Now that I’m yours, stop calling me by last name.”

“Hm...” You pretended to consider for a moment before saying happily, “Okay!” 

Cyrille scoffed a little. “You’re drunk again.”

“What?” you said, confused.

“You’re drunk,” he repeated. “On power.” 

You blinked, surprised. 

Meanwhile, Cyrille reached down and picked up the red ribbon that had fallen to the floor, all curled up.

“Here,” he said, holding it out to you.

As you took it back, Cyrille frowned when he noticed the small crimson crescents scarring your palms.

“When did this happen?”

“Oh,” you said uncertainly, “I’m not even sure...”

“Well,” Cyrille told you, “maybe I should heal you.”

“After all...” He reached down and pulled your wrist up. The small bruise from his sucking on your skin last night was still there. He pressed his mouth carefully to it, making you shiver but not hurting you at all. 

“I don’t think you’re in danger of forgetting me anymore,” he murmured. 

You weren’t sure what he meant by that. 

“Do scars bother you?” you asked him quietly.

Cyrille sighed. “You could say that. I don’t like to leave marks... The pain should end when the pleasure does, don’t you think?” he mused. 

His head fell back against the wall and he looked up for a moment at the now-dampened sunlight pouring in weakly through the high windows. 

“It must be nearly dinnertime,” he spoke softly. “I spent a very long time here with you, angel.”

Something about the way he said that reminded you that this was not, by any means, a real relationship - just some strange, sudden, and unnamed rush of things - tension, mostly, with bursts of passionate release.

Your arms fell away from him, and you slowly fell back onto the floor, slipping off of his lap.

Cyrille looked down at you. He saw the darkness shadow over in your eyes. 

She feels abandoned, like this is all just a game, he realized. Leaning forward, he asked you gently, “May I have one more kiss - for good luck?” 

He didn’t even know what he was saying, because he knew that it wasn’t important. All that mattered to Cyrille was that he made sure that you felt loved, and wanted. 

You cocked your head at him, frowning. “Good luck?” you repeated, not getting it. “For wha-?”

But his lips were already pressed softly against yours.

“Mm- ” You hurriedly cut yourself off. Merlin, I nearly moaned just then. After all that...

You felt Cyrille smirk. He’d caught that. His hand drew up your shoulder and onto your throat. You felt his fingers tighten around your neck for a moment as he whispered to you, “I heard that, you little brat.”

Then, shooting you a devious smirk, Cyrille let you go and walked away.

*     *     *      *     *     *      *     *     *    *

It was strange for Cyrille to see you sitting in the Great Hall, over at the Gryffindor table, chatting away with your friends, eating food and happily drinking a milkshake, as though you hadn’t just swallowed a mouthful of his cum. 

That damn Gryffindor pin stayed on, Cyrille thought distastefully. But he only mused on that for a moment, because he had you to look at. 

He hadn’t meant to stare at you, but your eyes caught his. He immediately smirked, trying to hide his surprise.

To his relief and amusement, it worked better than he could have hoped for. 

Your friend had just asked you something, and you’d completely missed it.

“Oh,” you mumbled, dazed. “Um, yes.”

Your friend looked at you, concerned. “Honey,” she said, “put the milkshake down and have some real food. I think the sugar rush is getting to you.”

“No, no, I feel fine. I just need to... Uh... I’m hungry!” you blurted out suddenly and far too loudly.

Cyrille had to cover his face as he snorted loudly into his hand at your poor cover-up. 

Still, he thought, as he saw you desperately trying to explain yourself to your friends, you really had been quite good at holding back your moan. 

Which, of course, had not gone Cyrille’s way. He didn’t not want you to moan. Certainly not. He just wanted you to be his.

You were a stubborn little shit, he thought, but he was determined to make you moan and if - no, when - you did, you’d be his. All his. 

*     *     *      *     *     *      *     *     *    *

After a highly energetic dinner where you’d had to stop your friends from shoving “hearty food” down your throat, you made your way back up to your dormitory room with Emmeline.

“I’m going straight to sleep,” you groaned, exhausted. You flopped over onto your bed as soon as you entered the room.

Unfortunately, that meant that your skirt flopped up, too, revealing a bright red handprint, complete in detail with an outline of all the rings that Cyrille Lestrange wore, plastered on your ass. 

Emmeline saw it, and she shrieked in a piercing vibrato that made you fall off your bed. 

Your legs flailed in the air for a moment as you simultaneously yanked down your skirt and got back up on your feet. When you managed to pull yourself back up, Emmeline screeched at you, “That’s a handprint! Oh my God! Is Remus rough in b-?”

“No! Shhhh!” you shouted back, contradicting your own plea of silence with your loud reply, “What are you even saying, Em?”

“I’M SAYING REMUS SLAPPED YOUR ASS, DIDN’T HE?”

“NO! FOR MERLIN’S SAKE, BE QUIET!”

Next door, Mary MacDonald rolled her eyes and muttered, “It’s a little too late for that, you dullard.” 

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Light and Dark | Part 12

Summary: Your sweetheart boyfriend, James Potter, can’t seem to hide his feelings for a certain beautiful redhead - who’s not you. Meanwhile, there’s a strange Slytherin boy, Cyrille Lestrange, famed even among purebloods for his lineage and inheritance, whose silver eyes somehow seem to always find you. [Multi-Post Story] [James Potter x Reader] [Cyrille Lestrange x Reader] [Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.] [Warning: Dom-Sub Overtones and Mentions of Sadism.] I want to say explicitly that this is fantasy. Any harassing and/or non-consensual behavior is totally unacceptable in reality. *Finally, please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!

❦ Click Here for Light and Dark Home Page (All Chapter Links) ❦

When you woke up, you lifted your hand to rub your eyes awake. But you paused when you felt something soft flutter against your face. You opened your eyes to partially see the sunlight streaming into your room, as your vision was half-obscured by a dark red ribbon tied neatly on your wrist.

Oh, right, Em put this on for me while we were getting ready together yesterday, you recalled. 

Then, you paused. Wait, but it definitely came loose when - 

“Morning,” Emmeline chirped tiredly from her bed. 

“Hi, Em,” you said softly.

Emmeline yawned as she got up from her bed. She came over and flopped over onto your bed instead. 

“And where were you last night, missy?”  Emmeline peeked up at you with one eye open. “You know I waited for you. And you never showed up.”

“Oh, Merlin,” you groaned. “Em, I’m so sorry. You’re right. I never made it to the Hufflepuff common room, did I?”

You tried to offer some sort-of explanation. “I just... I got caught up in the stupid Slytherin common room. I was trying to make sure Yaxley and the others had gone up ahead of me and that I wouldn’t bump into them by following after them too soon. And while I was waiting for the coast to clear, I definitely drank too much.”

“Drank too much, eh?” Emmeline said, somewhat mischievously. 

“Yes,” you sighed. “I should never have gone down there.”

“Although,” you continued, “surprisingly, I don’t have a hangover.” 

You looked down at Emmeline with a smile, proud of yourself. 

Emmeline smirked at you. “Well, missy, that would be because Remus tipped a Hangover Prevention Potion into your mouth before you fell back asleep.” 

“What?” you said, surprised. Wait, I don’t remember that... In fact, I don’t even remember seeing Remus at all last night. 

“What do you mean ‘Remus’?” you asked Emmeline. 

“Didn’t you spend the night with him?” Emmeline replied airily. “I have to say it’s a bold move, going after your ex-boyfriend’s best mate, but then, you’re a bold girl.”

“No, I would never,” you replied quickly. “Don’t be daft.” 

“Then, what were you doing with him?” 

“I wasn’t with him,” you repeated. 

“All right,” Emmeline grumbled. “Anyways, I might forgive you for bailing on me last night... if you bring me breakfast from the Great Hall to my bed...”

You sighed. “Fine.” 

You pushed yourself out of bed. Emmeline yelped a little when you purposefully threw your covers back in a way that hit her in the face.

As you pulled on your jumper, you noticed your ribbon getting caught at the cuff of your jumper. You gently pulled your wrist out and was about to pull it off, when you realized once again how neatly it was tied. 

“Em?” you called.

“What?” 

“Did you re-tie this ribbon for me thinking it might mean I’d end up with Remus?” you said, highly amused.

“Wait, what?” Emmeline’s head popped up out of your covers. 

“The ribbon.” You held up your arm. “Your good luck ribbon.”

“I didn’t re-tie anything for you,” Emmeline said impatiently. “But did you just admit that you might end up with Remus?”

Before you could say anything, Emmeline said wittily, “Okay, I’ll amend my original conditions. I will forgive you for skipping out on me last night if you bring up breakfast for me... and if you tell me about your hot, steamy night with Remus.”

You groaned, “Em, I didn’t have a hot, steamy night with Remus.” 

Emmeline sighed in disappointment and flopped back onto your bed. “Fine,” she grumbled, playing up the theatrics, as you were both apt to do around each other. “Then, just bring me up breakfast. Pronto.” 

“You’re so lazy,” you told her, grabbing her pillow off of her bed and chucking it lightly at her.

“Hey!” Emmeline shouted at you indignantly when the pillow made contact with her face.

With a happy shout of laughter, you left, barely avoiding your pillow, which Emmeline had just thrown straight at you. 

“Bring me lots of toast!” she yelled as you left. “And bacon!” 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *      

You trotted down to the Great Hall to fetch food. Picking up a napkin, you piled as much toast in it as you could manage.

“Erm, planning on breakfast in bed?” a lightly amused, but hesitant voice said.

You turned to see Remus standing next to you. He was looking down at the pile of toast in your hands with an expression that was equal parts confused and impressed. 

“Hi, Remus.”

“Hello.”

“Remus, I’m sorry about what happened last night,” you said sincerely. “Truth be told, I - er- can’t remember all of what happened at the end, but Emmeline told me you brought me back up to Gryffindor Tower. I’m sor- ”

“No, no, no,” Remus said quickly, shaking his head so that his light brown-blonde hair fell in front of his face. He awkwardly pushed it back as he said, “I didn’t bring you back to Gryffindor Tower. I only took you from, well, the common room door to your bed.”

“Oh.” You frowned. “Then who- ?”

“That’s actually what I was going to ask you about,” Remus said. He hesitated, and then, his face going a bit pink, he said, “I know it’s none of my business, but I was wondering... Why did Cyrille Lestrange bring you back to Gryffindor Tower last night?”

You paused. “What?”

“Lestrange. He carried you up to Gryffindor Tower. You were sleeping in his arms. He asked for the Head Boy or the prefect to come down. James was up in our dormitory room and when he heard it was you, he - well,” Remus broke off awkwardly. “Anyways, Cyrille said he didn’t want to be seen carrying you across the Gryffindor common room, so he passed you off to James - er, to me. So, I took you to bed.”

“So... So...” Remus said, trying to get the conversation back on track. “Why Cyrille Lestrange?” 

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Remus asked, and there was suddenly a slight edge to his voice.

“No, he didn’t,” you reassured him quickly. “Um, I think I must have just had one too many drinks and fallen asleep in the Slytherin common room. Lestrange probably got annoyed at my being there too late and just brought me up himself..."

“Oh.” As astute as ever, Remus clearly didn’t believe me. But he was too polite to pry, and yet, he also kept standing there in front of me, as though hoping I’d voluntarily say more on my own. 

“Anyways, thanks,” you said. You wrapped the napkin around the toast, though with some difficulty, because the pile was so high. Then, reaching over awkwardly, you started to grab some little jars of jam.

“Let me help.” Remus picked up a handful and dropped them all at once into your jumper pocket. The side of your wool-knit jumper immediately sagged down.

“Merlin!” Remus cursed. “I’m sorry! I didn’t expect it to - to give way like that. No, it’s gone all lopsided now. Um, I can fix it! I- I know how to knit.” 

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” you told him, laughing. “I was never going to wear this to a black-tie event.”

Remus offered you a weak smile. “Right. But, um, you know you never answered my question. Why Cyrille Lestrange?”

You gazed at Remus curiously for a split second before you got it. “Remus...”

Remus swallowed and quickly averted his eyes. “Yes?”

“Did James send you over here to ask questions?” 

“He wouldn’t... He would never...” Remus murmured half-heartedly.

You sighed and forcing yourself to laugh slightly, you said, “Go back and tell him you’re not his errand boy, all right?”

“S-Sure.”

“Bye, Remus. See you around.” 

As you left the Great Hall, Remus returned to the other Marauders with a defeated look on his face. 

“Merlin, Moony,” Peter quipped. “That was downright painful to watch.”

“Moons, you said you’d ask subtle questions, not outright ruin her favorite sweater,” James sighed. 

“Aw,” Sirius pitched in, mock-sympathetically. “Cut Moons some slack. He did his best. He even offered to knit for her and everything, didn’t you, Moony?”

“Pads,” Remus said tiredly, “shut it. I’m hungry. And hearing you talk is making me lose my appetite.”

“What? I was the only one to stand up for you, and this is how you repay me?” Sirius spluttered at the sudden savagery of Remus’ comment. 

James and Peter both laughed appreciatively. But despite the moment of levity, James couldn’t help but wonder again why Cyrille Lestrange had been the one to bring you up to Gryffindor Tower last night.

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *      

You made your way back up to the Gryffindor common room. It always impressed you how quiet the common room was on a weekend morning. You loved the silence. It felt warm, somehow. 

Of course, that silence was immediately broken by Emmeline’s piercing screech as soon as she saw you come through the door. “You forgot the bacon, you dimwit! How simple must I keep my instructions for you to be able to follow them?” 

One of your next-door neighbors, Mary MacDonald, screeched through the wall, “Stop with the McGonagall impression in there! It’s Saturday morning, you filthy animals!”

You and Emmeline looked at each other, shocked. Then, you both burst into hysterical laughter, eliciting angry mama-bear growls from poor Mary.

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *  

After your sad-but-comfortable breakfast, you and Emmeline made your way down to the library. It was N.E.W.T. year, and the pressure to do well was stifling - and with that pressure came tons of homework. 

Amelia was already there. She was determined to join the Wizengamot. Appropriately, she was studying the most out of everyone in your friend group. You really admired her grit and ambition. 

Spotting you and Emmeline, Amelia waved at the two of you. Emmeline sat across from Amelia, and you took the third seat towards the end of the table. 

“Hestia’s still recovering,” Amelia said, grinning a bit devilishly. 

Emmeline shook her head. “If the dares you gave her last night are any indication of how imposing of a judge you’ll be, I’m a bit scared.”

“You should be intimidated by the law,” Amelia said seriously. Then, she burst out into quiet laughter. “I’m only joking.”

The three of you settled into your respective work. The hours whiled away as you studied for your classes. The sun deepened into a strong mid-afternoon sun, slanting into the library in such a way that it spilled brilliantly onto the row of tables where you were sitting. 

Just when you reached over to uncap your ink bottle, a flash of bright light distracted you. Frowning a little, you instinctively looked up - only to see Cyrille Lestrange reading at a table just two tables down from yours. Since you were both sitting at the end seats of your respective tables, you could see him quite clearly. 

The events of last night suddenly came flooding back into your mind. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *      

Cyrille led the way up to the Astronomy Tower, but once he was there, he opened the door for you, and you led the way. 

He followed you to the balcony area. A brisk night breeze was blowing. You stared up at the stars for a moment before you turned around to see Cyrille standing a little ways behind you.

Under the pure moonlight and starlight, Cyrille looked almost ethereal. He wasn’t beautiful, exactly, but there was something illuminating in his very nature. Some might find it off-putting - frightening, even, but you found it mesmerizing. 

“Did you bring me up here just to look at me?” Cyrille asked you just then, with a soft but nonetheless devious smirk on his face.

"What?” you said, suddenly realizing that you were staring. 

Cyrille chuckled lightly. “Well, judging from that reaction, it seems that just looking at me does something to you.”

You scoffed at his arrogance. “Trust me, Lestrange. I’ve seen better.”

“Have you?” He stepped closer to you. 

“Get - hic - away,” you scowled.

You both paused. 

Cyrille’s eyes lit up, sparkling with subdued humor. “You know, my grandmother always used to tell me that people hiccupped when they felt guilty about something.”

“Were you thinking of something that made you feel guilty, by any chance?” he asked you. His voice matched his eyes, lilting with a subversive playfulness. “What would make you feel guilty, I wonder?” 

You remained silent. 

Cyrille walked past you towards the golden railing on the balcony.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said softly. “You’re trying to wage a war against me.”

He gently tilted his head back and looked up at the night sky as he murmured, “If you think manipulation is a skill you can learn once and pull out of your pocket whenever you want, you’re sadly mistaken.”

Then, turning around, his gaze suddenly snapped down back to you. “But don’t worry, angel,” he told you. “I can play that game for both of us.” 

“Which game? Manipulation comes in many forms,” you replied quietly.

Gazing straight into your untrusting eyes, Cyrille unexpectedly confessed, “Yes, I suppose so... You and me - we’re already living out a façade everyday, aren’t we? After all, I already know who you are...” 

“Don’t you find it exhausting?” he asked you gently. 

He quietly stepped close to you. You had to tilt your head back to look at him. 

Cyrille murmured, “Tell me, angel. Don’t you want to know... what it tastes like to be free?”

“And you can give me that?” you asked him, with utter skepticism written across your face. 

You meant to break his spell over you with your caustic tone of voice, but Cyrille merely smirked and said, in a voice of pure confidence, “I’ll turn you into a believer yet.” 

Your eyes tightened defensively as you stared up at him. A part of you wanted to push him away, but you felt that to make such an obvious move was to fall right into his trap. And you had learned that for you to lose control would allow him to gain control - and you couldn’t have that. 

“You do feel guilty about me. I see it in your eyes. You would insist that it’s because you hate me. But, perhaps it all comes down to the fact that... you can’t admit that you want me,” Cyrille whispered.

You paused, stunned. You heard yourself say in a disbelieving voice, “You’re... utterly mad.” 

“Am I?” he asked you, not missing a beat. 

He suddenly held up his hand. You blinked. He was holding Emmeline’s red ribbon between his fingers. 

When did he...? You made a snatch for it, but missed.

“Give it back,” you demanded. “That’s my friend’s.”

“If you want it back... turn around,” Cyrille replied. Though his voice was rather playful, his gaze was like ice.

You hesitated. “What are you going to do to me?” 

“And if I told you every time you asked so nicely, where would the fun be?” Cyrille asked, wrapping the ribbon around his finger before letting it fall loose again. The flutter of scarlet against his skin was mesmerizing. 

Oh, please, you scoffed at yourself. Mesmerized by what? By him? Don’t be ridiculous.

“Lestrange, stop wasting my time,” you said, crossing your arms. “What do you really want with me?” 

“That depends entirely on you,” he responded silkily. “On what you want.”

He looked down at you and smiled softly. “I’ve already played my hand...”

But you didn’t trust that smile. You gazed into his eyes - only to find them unreadable.

Resolutely, Cyrille whispered, “I’ve revealed my cards to you. Now, it’s all up to you, angel.” 

The two of you locked eyes for a moment longer. Revealed his cards? He must mean that he’s told me he knows I am. But I don’t understand. How does that reveal anything about him or his motivations? You wanted to demand further answers, but you knew that the only way to do so was to acquiesce to his request...

Without saying anything, you slowly and reluctantly turned around. 

“Look.” Cyrille’s voice slithered into your ear. “Look in front of you.” 

You found yourself staring into the large glass window that took up most of the wall demarcating the room from the balcony. 

You could see your reflection, as well as of Cyrille standing behind you. You quickly looked away. 

"Did Yaxley’s comment bother you?” Cyrille asked softly, watching you reject your own reflection. “That you look like your mother...”

Looking at your reflection, with your head turned like that, Cyrille saw your side profile. His eye traced a long, graceful line down the side of your face, your throat, and bare shoulders. You were his opposite - if his beauty was ethereal, yours was quite dark, almost as though growing from the earth. It was a difficult beauty, one that no heaven could tame - with those curls and bright eyes. And then there was that glimmering amethyst earring laying lightly against your cheek... 

He stepped closer to you and raised his hands to hover just above your shoulders. 

“You do have it, you know,” Cyrille murmured to you. “You try to hide it, but it’s clearly there if one knows where to look. The infamous Rosier beauty... Like a rose.” 

Hearing his words about your mother while standing cold and alone under a star-filled sky, you suddenly found yourself wanting to be touched - if only for a moment. 

Cyrille’s eyes were on you, and he saw your moment of vulnerability, of softness. There’s my angel, he thought. 

“Put your hands on the window,” Cyrille whispered in your ear. 

You slowly lifted your hands and pressed your trembling palms against the glass in front of you. You shivered slightly. The glass is so cold... 

Again, without touching you, Cyrille slowly wrapped the red ribbon from Emmeline around your neck, tying it gently. 

Then, sliding his hand under your hair, he tugged gently at the ribbon holding up the front of your halter top dress. Bit by bit, he pulled on the ribbon at the back of your neck until it fell apart.

When the front of your dress fell down, you quickly and instinctively covered yourself up by wrapping your arms in front of you.

Cyrille’s voice rang out thinly, “I said to put your hands on the window. I didn’t say to take them off.”

Trembling noticeably now from both the cold and the anticipation of what was about to happen, you put your hands back on the freezing cold window. 

Slowly, Cyrille started to push your hair to the side.

“Don’t,” you said suddenly.

He stopped. Then, he said knowingly, “Why? Because of your scar?”

Your eyes flashed up to the window, and met Cyrille’s through the reflection. 

“How... did you know?”

“Your beauty is not the only thing your mother gave you, is it?” Cyrille murmured. “She gave you a scar as well. For your disobedience.”

“Stop telling me things about myself,” you insisted weakly. 

“It’s not to hurt you,” Cyrille replied.

You shook his head slightly. “I don’t trust you...”

“You should. Don’t you see?” Cyrille said quietly. “You don’t need to hide from me. I know the darkness inside of you. In fact, it’s we’re old acquaintances - your darkness and mine. 

“I said I’m different from you,” you reiterated, but you sounded unconvinced, even to yourself.

“Do you really believe that we’re so different?” Cyrille pushed back.

You were silent. Are we...? We must be, right? 

“You know that we’re not,” Cyrille told you, holding your gaze through the window. “Aren’t you avoiding me because you know how alike we are? I would threaten your perfect façade if I came too close to you...”

“There are - There are parts of me that you don’t know,” you whispered back, still trying to defend your heart. But you could feel your old wounds starting to bleed again - ones that had never properly healed in the first place. 

“Show me,” Cyrille said softly. “I’d love to meet you in all your many forms... if you’d let me.” 

You were silent. Your eyes - wide and uncertain, almost pained - were still staring at Cyrille through the glass. What should I do? Why do I feel as though the way to go forward is with him? 

Finally, he asked, “May I... touch you?”

You swallowed, trying to be discrete about it. But Cyrille caught it, anyways. How could he not, when you were both hyperaware of each other’s every movement, and hypersensitive to each other’s mere presence? When Cyrille saw you swallow, and that lovely little throat of yours move slightly, his hand flexed for a moment as he imagined what it would be like to have his hand on your throat. But for now, he waited for your response. He tried to appear patient, but he was holding his breath. As it was, he appeared almost like his own reflection - a man of glass, filled with promise, but ultimately, hollow.

He’s not real, you realized. He’s not himself. He’s just as lost as I am. 

You slowly nodded. 

As soon as you granted him permission, Cyrille leaned forward and embraced you tightly from behind. His arms wrapped over your torso and draped down the front of your body, until his fingers rested right at your curves, where your waist met your hips.

You shivered as you felt his fingertips graze your skin, in one of the places where you were naturally most sensitive. 

Cyrille’s long, fine hair fell forward, falling over his face and down your shoulder. 

You couldn’t see his expression through the curtain of brilliant silver-white hair, but you heard and felt him breathe out slowly and say, “I’ve missed you, angel.”

His head was just above your shoulder as he had leaned forward to embrace you tightly.

You turned your head to try to see his face, exposing your throat and the side of your face once more.

Cyrille’s hand slowly traced up your chest to your throat. 

He felt the tension all over your body. Your shoulders and throat were perfectly still. 

“Breathe,” he reminded you again. 

Why do I keep holding my breath every time he’s with me? Oh, but, him holding me like this... I’m almost light-headed. Why? Why does he have this effect on me? Why do I feel as though I... I know this feeling? Has he truly held me before? It’s not a lie? 

Suddenly, between the curtain of white-silver hair fluttering lightly in the window, you saw a pair of beautiful, but patently cold silver eyes staring back at you. You suddenly realized that he had long eyelashes, longer than yours, and that they fluttered beautifully every time he blinked. 

“Your eyes... So curious,” Cyrille murmured to you. “I know that gaze. It hasn’t changed one bit.”

Your heart thumped. Who... is he to me? 

His eyes fell to your lips. 

When you realized where he was looking, what his gaze was asking for, you stiffened slightly.

“You’re not breathing again,” Cyrille told you. He sighed slightly. “ You must have horrible survival skills if your body is always telling you not to breathe...”

“You’re the same way,” you retorted, but your voice was unbearably soft. “You can’t breathe around me, either, can you?”

Cyrille’s eyes widened for a moment, but then his embrace on you tightened, squeezing you slightly, and in a warm voice, he replied, “Yes, I find it hard to breathe around you.” 

“I breathe best when my lips are on yours,” he told you. Before you could comprehend what he meant, he asked you, “Will you... have me?”

You hesitated. 

He waited patiently for you, though internally, he was praying that you couldn’t fell his heartbeat fluttering in his chest.

But you did feel it - and it was the first thing that made you trust him.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Kiss me.” 

You brushed his hair back. He moved forward at the same time, so that your hand slipped onto his cheek just as his lips found yours.

And suddenly, you found yourself holding Cyrille Lestrange’s face as he kissed you slowly, but fervently, his arms wrapped tightly around you and his hand on your throat. 

You felt his fingers flex every so slightly around your throat as you kissed. It startled you, but you didn’t necessarily mind the feeling... 

The two of you stayed together for a long time, unwilling to break the kiss first. Dimly, your mind recognized that this, too, was a power struggle. But deep down, you knew that you just wanted this. He tasted unexpectedly sweet and airy, and he felt so warm against your lips. He kissed you the way he did everything around you - in waves that oscillated from a pure and sweet lightness to a very seductive and disarming aggression. 

Finally, your lips slowly left each other, though not before he bit down softly on your lower lip, pulling on it gently before letting you fall back - but only a little. He still kept you wrapped in his arms, his embrace keeping your bare torso warm against the night wind.

You blinked softly as your mind registered the kiss. You looked up at him, this time, able to see his face.

“Sadist,” you murmured.

“You recognized that from one kiss?” Cyrille said. Then, he quipped, with a soft chuckle, “Is this an appropriate time to say ‘good girl’?”

“Don’t deny it, and don’t try to distract me,” you said, both accusingly and teasingly. “Not when I’ve finally figured something about your true nature.”

Cyrille lifted an eyebrow at you. Then, he relented, “Yes, it’s true. I have... something of a tendency to... mix pleasure with pain. It’s why permission is very important to me. Because I know that I tend to get very possessive in the way I love.”

You watched him laugh lightly. When his demeanor was lighter, you thought you could make out glimpses of who he really was as his sharp face softened and his focused silver eyes suddenly glimmered in a much livelier way. 

He reached up and his fingers passed softly over your cheek and lips. 

“You’re as lovely as ever,” he said, and sighed, as though the thought made him sad. 

As his fingers pressed against your lips, you held your breath for a brief moment. You caught yourself this time, and quickly forced yourself to part your lips slightly and take a deep breath.

Cyrille felt your lips open slightly under his fingers. He hesitated, as his entire body suddenly felt stiff with desire. What he wouldn’t give to ravage you in this very spot... If he bent you over the balcony, the whole castle could hear you moan... 

No. Focus. Cyrille warned himself. 

“Having trouble breathing again, angel?” Cyrille teased you, trying to distract you from noticing flashes of his own vulnerability. 

You closed your eyes and shook your head lightly, being careful not to shake your head hard enough let Cyrille’s fingers slip away because the truth was... the truth was... 

“I don’t want to breathe...” you heard yourself mumble softly. “I... want to taste your fingers...” 

Cyrille’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Careful,” he told you. “If you step too close to the edge, I’ll drag you right down with me.”

Drag you right down with me? Oh, Cyrille, don’t you know? you thought hazily. I’m already there. 

You slowly opened your mouth, obviously pleading for his fingers.

Cyrille watched you for a moment, and you could tell that he, too, was mesmerized by you.

Your heart gave a little jolt. It was just another reminder, another iteration of the fact that whatever strange energy linked the two of you together in this obscure, yet intense way - you both felt it. You both found each other utterly irresistible. How long has this gone on? you wondered. Was it only after I broke up with James? Or have there been flickers of it this whole time, only I never thought about it because I had given my heart to another...? You already knew your answer, and the answer was too painful, so you forced yourself to stop thinking about it.  

Cyrille sighed. “If this is part of your ‘game,’ I warn you, you’re pushing in the wrong direction. This is my domain. There’s no winning strategy for you.” 

Your tongue flicked out softly. You looked at him in his eyes and breathed out, “Try me.”

At this, Cyrille pushed two of his fingers into your mouth. 

You gasped softly. His fingers were long and cold, and he pushed them into your mouth so aggressively. 

“Suck on them,” he ordered you, not caring that his fingers were cold to you. He knew, of course. He could feel your hot little mouth and soft tongue against his fingers, and your warm lips starting to wrap around him.  

“Mmm, good girl,” he told you. “Keep going.” 

He pushed his fingers into you harder, causing your head to fall back against his shoulder. Your pretty curls were pushed up a little against him, and he loved that. 

He loved your hair. The rest of your family had always insisted that you tame it - and you never did. 

“Is this part of your plan to get me to cave to you? To tell you everything I know?” Cyrille asked you, as he watched you suck and kiss his fingers fervently. 

Your mouth still taking in his fingers, you looked up at him, a bit dazed, when you heard his words.

He smirked, amused. “I don’t even think you have a plan anymore. You became lost in your own little game, didn’t you, angel?”

Cyrille’s other hand drifted lower, so that his fingers grazed across the front of your upper thighs. “I bet if we lifted this little dress of yours, we’d find you all wet, wouldn’t we?”

“This dress... It’s a little short, you know,” he whispered to you.

You suddenly snapped, pulling your mouth away from his fingers. Before Cyrille could respond, you’d grabbed the front of his shirt and pressed your lips into his fiercely again.

It was a brief, but fiery kiss, where the two of you fought for dominance, with lips grasping at lips, and tongue pushing against tongue. 

Then, you abruptly pushed him back, your hands hitting hard against his chest, as you said crudely, “Shut up.”  

Cyrille staggered back slightly. For a moment, he looked at you with wide eyes, flustered. Then, as he brought up his sleeve and wiped his mouth, his eyes hardened. 

“You taste like Firewhiskey. Are you still drunk?” 

You stood your ground, glaring at him, despite the fact that you were feeling very... foggy at the moment. Though you’d taken shot after shot, Cyrille’s suddenly dragging you away had caused adrenaline to immediately pump through your veins. But that adrenaline could only last so long - and now, you were crashing, and you were not taking it so well.

Cyrille studied you with an incredibly unimpressed look. “You’re not going to remember any of this tomorrow morning, are you?”

“I’m really good at holding my alcohol,” you blurted out, trying to sound firm.

Cyrille rolled his eyes and said dryly, “Sure you are.”

“I just need to - to sit for a moment,” you told him, your eyes fluttering here and there to try to find a reasonable place to sit. 

There was none, of course. You were out in the balcony. You made your way back inside in what you thought was a straight line. 

Cyrille watched you, hands in his pockets, both annoyed and amused, as you staggered around. You tripped over something with a loud yelp, and he let out a long sigh. But a moment later, you were quiet.

Cyrille came back into the Astronomy room, too. He walked among the cabinets and lunarscopes to find that you had found a little makeshift sitting area, using a bean bag on top of a stack of books and you had positioned yourself to lean sideways to make use of the wardrobe besides you. You’d tiredly reached up and pulled off the ribbon around your neck, as you found it scratchy and irritating in your sleepy state. Your dress had slipped further up your thighs, and Cyrille could see a bruise already forming from whatever you’d tripped into, or over. 

Cyrille sighed exasperatedly. “What are you doing?” he asked you softly, too quietly to wake you up. Although, at this point, he wagered it would take a fair amount of noise to wake you up. 

He knelt in front of you and drawing out his wand, performed expert Healing magic on the bruises on your thigh and shoulder. 

After putting his wand back, he gently pulled the ribbon out of your hands. I don’t want to leave a visible mark on her... Cyrille thought. I’m not like that brainless oaf, James Potter.

But if she wakes up tomorrow, and she thinks this was all a dream... I don’t want her to forget me. Again. 

Cyrille gently pulled up your hand. He kissed your wrist - softly at first, and then sucked on your skin hard enough to leave a mark. You moaned in discomfort in your sleep. Cyrille paused, and pulled away. He looked down to see that underneath your skin, a lovely purple-red (almost amethyst) bruise was forming. Smiling softly, Cyrille neatly tied your ribbon back around your wrist - tying it loosely enough to be comfortable, but tightly enough not to slip easily. 

Then, he gently pulled you to him. You fell forward onto his shoulder. Mumbling incoherently, you turned your head to face him and buried your face softly against his neck. Cyrille froze for a moment. His heart stuttered. 

Oh, angel... he thought, internally letting out a soft moan. 

But he kept himself together and carefully picked you up. He tucked you away against his chest as he carried you up to Gryffindor Tower. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *      

“And what are you thinking so hard about?” Emmeline asked you, noticing that you’d pressed two of your fingers softly against your lips.

“Hm? Oh, nothing” you said, quickly putting your fingers down.

You breathed out softly. What am I doing? you asked yourself. Come on. Focus on your studying.

Don’t you want to be an Auror? you reminded yourself. You’ve made it so far already. You can’t lose focus now.

You forced yourself to finish writing a portion of your essay, but when you had to refer to the library book again for notes, you found your mind drifting off again as you half-consciously pored through the Table of Contents. 

Suddenly, silver eyes flashed up to meet yours. You started as Cyrille finally noticed and reciprocated your gaze.

Damn it, was I staring at him this whole time? I didn’t realize... Merlin, that’s embarrassing.

Strategically lifting your hand to hide your face with your quill, you dutifully bent your head over your notes and pretended as though you weren’t distracted by flashes of silver shooting through your mind like dangerous and tragic, but beautiful falling stars.

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *      

An hour later, you were fidgeting uncomfortably in your seat. I can’t... stop thinking about last night.

You abruptly slammed your book closed.

Both Emmeline and Amelia, as well as a few nearby students, looked up at you.

“Sorry,” you whispered meekly. You paused. “Um, I just need to - to return a book.”

You picked up the library book in front of you and made your way to the very back of the library. So much for looking at the Table of Contents... I guess I’ll have to suffice without the citation. Ugh. 

Sighing, you rested your forehead against the bookshelves as you muttered to yourself, “Pull it together, now.”

“That’s an interesting way to put back a book. By forehead, I mean.”

You jolted up to see Cyrille standing only a few feet away, turning into the row you were in.

Cyrille’s gaze dropped down to the book that you were clutching against your chest.

The corner of his mouth pulled up as he said lightly, “You missed.”

You glared up at him. “You have until three to get out of here. One, two- ”

“Still wearing the ribbon, I see,” Cyrille said, nodding at the ribbon wrapped around your wrist. In a perfectly casual voice, he suddenly said, “Does wearing the ribbon help you fantasize about getting fucked senseless by me?”

You blinked. “What in hell - ?”

“Wait,” you said, very nearly panicking, “but we didn’t...? I mean, I don’t remember us...”

Cyrille smirked, satisfied by your put-off and dazed reaction.

Seeing him smirk, you immediately knew that you were right.

“We didn’t fuck,” you growled at him.  You glared at him as you said dismissively, “As if I would let you.”

“Mm, perhaps not,” he said, totally unfazed. “But I’d say we were close last night.”

“We were not.”

“Yes, we were. And you wanted more,” Cyrille said, in that unbreakably light tone of voice. “I could tell. I can always tell.”

Seeing Cyrille standing in front of you, you were reminded of what Remus had told you this morning. He didn’t want to be seen with me. That’s what Remus said. He wanted to be saved from the embarrassment of being seen with me.

Right. Because even though he knows I’m a Rosier, to everyone else, I’m a Muggle-born.

“You’re a prick,” you told him straightforwardly. “You’re a classic example of a narcissist.”

Cyrille raised his eyebrow at you. “You should know from last night - I only use mirrors and the like so that my lovers can watch themselves get ruined by me.”

“You’re despicable,” you replied shortly.

“Oh, am I?” he said, highly amused.

“Yes, I despise you.”

“Oh, really? And why’s that?”

“You’re just... foul. A complete gargoyle.”

“Gargoyle...” he repeated. A pleased smile appeared on his face. “That’s a good one.”

Fed up with him, you made to walk past him, when he stepped in front of you and gently but inescapably cornered you against the bookcase.

“Look at me,” he murmured.

You turned your head, resolutely looking away from him.

Cyrille sighed, finally showing a little of his disappointment. But his voice was still light and pleasantly curious as he asked you, “What grudge do you have against me, angel? When I have ever hurt you?”

You remained silent, unable to come up with an immediate answer.

“I haven’t,” Cyrille told you, when you remained silent. In a knowing voice, he confessed, “I’ve made sure I haven’t.”

You clutched your book tighter to your chest. What does he mean by that...? 

“But you still think I’m foul?” Cyrille asked you.

“Yes,” you answered at once.

“A gargoyle?”

“Yes.”

“An old hag?”

“... Yes.”

Cyrille lifted an eyebrow at you. “You paused. I’ll take that as progress.” 

You snorted. “Take it however you want, Lestrange. I won’t be there to see how you receive it.”

You tried to push your way past him, but he blocked you again. This time, he put his hand on your upper chest and gently pushed you back.

Leaning down, he murmured, “Leaving me just like that? You’re so cruel.” 

“You’re the last person I want to hear it from,” you said, shoving him back with your shoulder.

He fell back willingly, and laughed a little. “All right,” he said. “But don’t deny it - you’re playing this game just as hard as I am. Sure, you may not be using your mother’s methods, but you’re still trying to defeat me.”

He sounded so amused. You didn’t understand what the hell was going on in his head. Why did he seem so amused when he should be angry, and why, at other times, did he seem so sad even though he was ‘winning’ in whatever twisted game the two of you were playing at? 

You stared up at him, wondering, What could he be thinking about?” 

The truth was that you could never guess, in a million years, what Cyrille was actually thinking about. 

Because as Cyrille returned your displeased gaze with soft eyes, he was actually remembering that moment last night when he’d brought you back to Gryffindor Tower.

He had asked the Fat Lady to go find the a Head or prefect. The portraits passed on the message until - the door opened, only for a somewhat disheveled James Potter to stand there in front of Cyrille, with his mouth open.

“Did you hurt -?” he began furiously. 

“Keep your voice down,” Cyrille warned him, cutting him off. “Here, take her from me.”

“Oh...” James’s anger suddenly evaporated as two incredibly conflicting feelings arose within him: He wanted and needed to make sure you were safe and all right, but he didn’t want to be seen carrying you across the common room when there were still people around, including Lily... 

Remus had come down behind James. The two of them began speaking, James in a pleading voice. 

However, at that moment, Cyrille didn’t focus on what they were saying, because you squirmed a little in his arms. Perhaps you had recognized James’ voice in your sleep, because you turned slightly towards Cyrille and pushing your face against his chest, you murmured so that only he could hear, “No, I don’t... don’t wanna... go back... to him.” Your fingers clutched weakly and unfocusedly at the front of his silk shirt.

Believe me, Cyrille thought, as he gazed down at you. I don’t want to give you back, either.

But, he reminded himself sternly, people can’t know about us. 

“All right. Remus will carry her to bed,” James said to Cyrille.

Cyrille nodded. “Fine. Take her.” 

Cyrille paused. Would they spread the news and say that he had brought her up to the Gryffindor common room? 

But one look at James’ face told Cyrille everything he needed to know. No, James won’t allow anyone to know about this. It would hurt his pride. Besides, he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to her, either... And nothing good would come out of people knowing about the two of you. 

Cyrille should have been satisfied with the night’s work as he turned away. He had, after all, beaten you at your own game. But he couldn’t help except feel a sinking feeling in his heart as he turned away and left you to return to the Slytherin common room. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *      

“What?”

Your voice jolted Cyrille back to the present. 

Here she is, in front of me again... he thought. And we don’t have long before this fragile world of Hogwarts ends, and we’ll be fighting against each other in a real war, not just one of our own making...

“What?” you repeated again. Seriously, what the hell is he thinking?”

“Turn around,” Cyrille whispered, and his voice was unexpectedly serious.

“And why would I do that?” you asked him, arching your eyebrow at him skeptically.

Almost hurriedly, Cyrille asked you, “Do I have permission to carry on from where we left last night?”

You paused. Your memory was a little blurry at the very end, after all. But you thought you remembered. After all, you’d correctly recalled that the two of you did not have sex.

“Fine,” you said bluntly.

“Good,” Cyrille replied. “Then, I don’t want to hear a word from you.”

He suddenly stepped forward, his chest pressing into you so that you abruptly fell backwards a couple steps until your back hit the bookcase behind you.

Cyrille reached down and grasping your face in his hands, he leaned down and whispered sharply in your ear, “Except when you feel my cock enter you, you’re going to say ‘please,’ and when I cum in you, you’re going to say ‘thank you.’ Understood?”

Your eyes shot open in shock. Your jaw would have fallen open, too, except he was holding your face in his large, broad hands, and the way his palms were pressing into your cheeks didn’t allow for that. 

“Now, lift your leg onto the bookshelf,” he ordered.

Dazed, you turned around and did as he said. He was there to help you, of course, sliding his hand under your thigh and folding your leg a little as you placed the side of your knee delicately on the bookshelf. “There’s my angel....” Cyrille murmured, his eyes taking in your perfect little form as you revealed yourself to him. Your long legs, tight thighs, and perky little ass were so very pretty - and all wrapped up in a skirt and lace pair of panties. It was an ideal present. The only thing missing was a ribbon to tie it all together. Oh, but she’s got one on her wrist, Cyrille remembered. She’s truly... “All ready to be fucked,” he praised you aloud in a low, breathy whisper. “Such a good girl.”

“Oh,” Cyrille suddenly tacked on, as an afterthought, “I should warn you now to keep silent. There’s the library policy, sure. But more importantly, I have a rule: Once you moan, you’re mine.” 

His hand moved up the underside of your thigh, past your ass, and yanked up your skirt rather roughly. He gripped your waist so that the hem of your skirt was pinned between his hand and your waist. As Cyrille leaned forward so that his body was curving above yours, putting him in the perfect position to pull down his pants and start to fuck you, he whispered to you, “And once you’re mine, I won’t be giving you back, angel.”