Coiled (Book 1 of 2)

Veela's Kiss

TW: Discussion of childhood trauma in the form of childhood sexual abuse; memories of the sexual grooming of a minor.

She looks completely beautiful, there's just no question of it.

And that's because, objectively speaking, she's an absolutely gorgeous young woman. Then again, she was always a beautiful little girl, too.

At least, that's what he used to tell her, on those occasions when he'd find an opportunity to pull her away during all those parties. The way he'd convince her to take a walk with him. And, quite stupidly, having agreed time and time again, they'd inevitably end up far, far away from the din. Away from the pure-blooded witches and wizards gathered in all their finery, her oblivious parents numbered among them, naturally.

Far, far away to a quiet private room, like one of the family libraries, for example. There, after he locked the door behind them, he'd lift her up to sit on his lap, and he'd whisper to her about all sorts of things.

But inevitably ...

... Inevitably it always ended up centering around how pretty she was.

And somehow, her dress always ended up far too high on her body.

But then again ...

Those are foggy memories, and from such a long time ago.

So ...

Perhaps she's just gone and imagined the entire thing, yes?

Suddenly, she recalls the way his breath felt when his whisper would hit her ear on those occasions, the way she'd feel his lips on the side of her face. And even now, in the late June afternoon sun, she shudders involuntarily at the memory.

Straightening up and shaking her head, she takes a moment to distract herself, to bring herself back to the safety of the here and now.

Turning her attention downward, she begins digging into her favourite handbag. And upon retrieving the small vial of her favourite parfum, she bites at her lip and smiles.

Veela's Kiss, an incredibly limited edition fragrance by famed wizarding parfumer Lyra Blackwood, in case you're wondering ...

But then again, don't bother, because you don't have the Galleons for it.

Even if you did, you're not on Lyra's limited list of clients like she is.

... So just forget it. You're just not on her level. And as such, you won't ever get to experience the delight, the sheer artistic perfection that is Veela's Kiss.

Ignoring her ever so slightly shaky hands, she pushes her bag further up her arm and uncorks the vial. There, in the heat of the day, she shifts her weight slowly back and forth on her heels as she brings the parfum up to her nose, shuts her eyes, and inhales deeply.

Immediately, a most delicious symphony of notes wash over her and caress her: ambergris, yuzu, and just the slightest bit - and listen carefully because herein lies the complete genius of Lyra - just the slightest bit of mallowsweet extract.

That's the trick, that right there.

The mallowsweet's the base note, and it's completely unexpected. When it hits, after the initial burst of fresh citrus and sweet fall away ...

When the mallowsweet hits, the whole fragrance is enough to completely take your breath away.

And, of course, because this is Lyra we're talking about, she customises each finished fragrance with a unique charm that's arrived at only after an extensive one-to-one client intake.

She remembers exactly her meeting with Lyra. Remembers it just like it was yesterday:

Together in Lyra's Parisian boutique, the two women sit across from one another giggling and gossiping over all the latest trends, fashions.

Then, pushing her designer spectacles up the bridge of her nose, the attractive full figured young witch tips her gaze upwards from her quill and parchment, "So tell me, Ms. Carrow. Tell me what personalised charm you'd like for me to enchant your fragrance with."

Crossing her legs, she shrugs. Then, in a completely uncharacteristic display of vulnerability, she leans forward to the edge of her seat and whispers quickly, so as not to lose the courage to be honest for once, "Something to calm me. Something really calming. Because sometimes I just get ... so angry."

Clearing her throat and immediately re-donning her armour, she waves one hand in the air and attempts to laugh breezily, "You know, the normal hotheaded stuff. Nothing odd or anything. Everyone gets angry, right?"

If she thinks anything of it, Lyra doesn't show it. Instead, she merely nods and makes a quick note on the extensive form, "... Something calming - something to temper the urge to see red. Of course, Ms. Carrow. You'll get exactly what you want."

That's what she loves to hear - lives to hear -

And so, Alecto smiles sharply, "I'd expect no less from the very best, Lyra."

... It goes without saying, Lyra delivered.

Cost a hippogriff's weight in Galleons, but that's just part of the appeal, isn't it now?

And so, standing there alone with the sun beating down upon her shoulders, Alecto Carrow feels her entire body relax just the slightest bit as she inhales the fragrance once more.

It's enough. It'll do.

She's back. She's impenetrable again.

Humming to herself, she dabs the end of the open vial against one wrist, then the other.

She's always had beautiful wrists, beautiful hands. Delicate, feminine, and above all, capable.

That's because I'm not weak.

I'm strong, and shrewd, and fierce.

I'll devour everyone and everything on my quest forever upwards.

And I'll build a tower no one can reach.

Carefully re-corking the vial, she slips it back in her bag and pulls at the hem of her tight, form fitting sundress, a brilliant shade of white, the sort of shade that looks amazing against her gorgeous dark brown skin.

And then, pushing one of her breathtaking black curls behind her ear, she nods to herself and begins walking slowly up the steps to the Rosier estate.