Narcissa Malfoy By The Eyes of Severus Snape | ✓

Single Chapter

He had a very strange dream many nights before.

There was a woman on top of him, riding him. With her face lifted to the ceiling and moaning splendidly, Snape couldn't see her face. When the orgasm hit her, and she shuddered beautifully, she turned her eyes to him as whispered his name. It was a huge surprise, both in dream and reality, to find the gray iris of Narcissa.

Yes, he had a sex dream with Narcissa Malfoy, his long-friend's wife. I mean, Lucius's friendship was a farce, and even Malfoy himself could recognize this. But, anyway, it was a friendship.

Aware of how inappropriate was the dream, he forced himself to push it into a dark and hidden corner of his bright mind. It seemed to have worked out, the image of Narcissa naked, riding him, did not haunt him anymore. With the passing of several weeks, he'd forgotten completely. He would even dare to say that never had that dream.

However, like a trigger that can bring up traumas forgotten for decades, something unlocked the memory of the dream from Snape's mental drawer.

It was June 1991, and Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were celebrating seventeen years of marriage. There were about twenty guests scattered through the mansion's kilometric dining table, and the variety of food and beverage got Snape dizzy for a moment.

They all had scandalous smiles on their faces. Lucius, Narcissa, little Draco, family and friends; with the exception, of course, of a certain Potions Master. He wasn't used to smiles and kindness, so the apathy in his posture wasn't strange for anyone. However, that austerity and the evident wrinkle between his eyebrows were caused by a thought that, until then, it had not occurred to him.

It was seventeen years of marriage celebrated by a woman with only thirty-six years old. Almost twenty years of marriage, and that made Snape realized how young she got married. He got sad, because he knew Narcissa's sharp mind, and couldn't help but think how great and prestigious she could have become if she hadn't followed the archaic lessons that were taught to the women of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

It was the vision of Narcissa, dressed in black satin, with embroidery around her neck, that reminded him of that very forgotten dream. This made him turn his eyes to the wine glass and squeeze his hand on his own leg when felt his pelve pulse.

With the passing of the evening, he was doing a good job at getting distracted. Draco was a young boy full of wit and gained everyone's attention, but that wouldn't last the whole night. The sound of the knife against the glass caused a slight pang of pain in Snape's head, and he was forced to look at the head of the table.

Lucius spoke for what seemed a lifetime. He was a very rich and elegant man, but his oratory was a nightmare. Snape noticed that everyone else smiled politely and he thanked his self control, 'cause, if he was anyone else, could have laughed.

The speech finally ended, and it was almost possible to hear sighs of relief. Snape, however, couldn't relax, because Narcissa was standing up to also speak.

She talked about the marriage, her role as a wife and perfect mother and blah, blah, blah. But Snape didn't pay attention. Your attention was focused on Narcissa's voice, but not in what she was saying, but in the melody, the way the words were perfectly fitted and well articulated. In the name of Merlin, what that woman was doing there? She could be following a brilliant political career.

Her lips were painted with a very beautiful burnt pink color, and this seemed to highlight her gray eyes. And those eyes... Were so gray that they seemed to shine silver, like two pyrites at the place of iris. So stormy that they could cause a tornado, so nebulous that they got Snape lost. He remembered the dream and how her eyes captured his, seconds after the orgasm.

He lamented the fact that the collar of the dress was so high, because he appreciated Narcissa's slender neck. He was so absorbed in the splendorous vision of the woman that he wasn't scared with the realization that her neck was one of his favorite parts of her body. He appreciated how the white skin stretched when she turned her face and left her neck at the mercy. At the mercy of who? He wished that was of him. At that moment, Narcissa shuddered almost unnoticed and placed her hand on her nape.

Her hand came down through her breasts and stopped beside her body. Snape asked himself if her shape was as he dreamed. He could notice behind the tight tissue of the dress that she had gained some pounds, and this just made her even more perfect. She looked healthier than ever, and also more beautiful and sensual than she has ever been. Narcissa's curves could have been sculpted at the hellenistic period, like the Winged Victory of Samothrace. Only the wings were missing, or perhaps she hid them from the eyes of others, mere mortals.

Even more fascinating was what was hidden behind the image. She was a person with a great heart, although preferred to keep a cold and unattainable posture. A very strong woman was deep down there, with an intelligence that would make great sages look like ordinary idiots.

Snape desired her to him, only him. Moaning his name to the air, just like the dream, and offering, in secret, her confidential look.

"Well", she said at last, "he is the man of my dreams, that tuck me every night and make me wake up smiling. To the both of us." She raised her glass.

"To the both of us", Lucius smiled, although his wife wasn't looking at him.

While everyone toasted, Snape noticed Narcissa winked at him over the glass and he looked back at her. Gray on black, exactly as in the dream, and he understood the real meaning of her words.