Videl
The Doctor
Messages : 7633
Date d'inscription : 27/02/2010
Localisation : Belgique
 |  Sujet: The Lady of the Lake {Harry Potter} Jeu 4 Nov - 2:45 | |
| Auteur : HP_Springsmut
Sujet de la fanfic : Harry Potter
Résumé : Rowena Ravenclaw is a reasonable, intellectual, and pragmatic woman – until one Salazar Slytherin comes along.
Langue : Anglais "I can't believe he's left! Just because of – honestly, what a pighead he is!"
Godric Gryffindor thumped his fist on the solid oak table, causing the silver goblets to clank against each other. Rowena twitched a bit at the sound, and extended her hand to steady her cup.
She took a delicate sip of the heavily scented wine – had Helga mixed some rosewater into it again, the stupid bint? – letting it slide down her throat. Godric raged on and on, prattling about what a twit Salazar was and that they could've talked about everything, and really, since when was that a reason to just sneak off without giving one's mates a chance to set things right again? Helga interspersed his jabberings with soft outcries of 'oh, no!' and 'oh, Godric!' in that particularly feminine voice of hers that never failed to set Rowena's teeth on edge.
She leaned back against her chair, closed her eyes and tried to tune out the ongoing discussion – that is if the roaring of an enraged bull, who only once in a blue moon switched on his brains before talking, and the cackling of a silly goose could be called discussion, or even conversation at all.
Merlin, gone for only one day, and she already missed him like hell. She tilted her head back, and a wistful smile ghosted across her face. One day and one night, she reminded herself; the last night was definitely worth remembering – and thankfully so, since she'd have to make do with the memories.
His thin but sensuous lips are nibbling at her earlobe and kissing their way down her neck, and she sighs with pleasure when the tip of his tongue swirls in tiny circles in the dip of her throat. Her arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him closer, and he consents with a coarse moan, sliding down the wall with her, their limbs entangled. His fingers are busy fumbling with the tiny buttons of her chemise, she hears him swear under his breath, and her heart swells with tenderness at his clumsiness, so untypical of him, and so clearly a sign of his love.
She shoves his hands away and undoes the buttons herself, slowly shrugging the thin linen off her shoulders. His eyes widen at the sight of her lithe body, the firm flesh of her small breasts with their rose-coloured nipples. He loves to look at her, take in her beauty; he embraces her whole being in a way like no one has before – it's as if he makes love to her with his eyes, and only later lets his hands, and eventually his body follow. His fingers gently trace gentle circles on her abdomen, and the lump of warmth that has formed itself there at his first touch starts to uncoil. She gives a tiny whimper at the back of her throat, and –
– and if Helga once more fluted "I'm sure he'll come back," she'll jump up and wring her neck.
"Rowena! Rowena, what do you think?" Godric hollered. Rowena pressed the tips of her fingers against her right temple. Did his voice, his – well, just everything about that man have to be so loud, so impatient? Storming into every adventure, every danger head over heels, pushing further and further without thinking, without reflecting? Though, admittedly, she had once felt the appeal of so unrestrained a passion.
And all things considered, she mused, maybe it would have been better if she'd she given in to Godric's slightly country-bumpkin-ish wooing. Yet – she cast a glance at his partly bare chest down which beads of sweat were dripping, and shuddered. At the end of the day, Godric had only made her realise how much she preferred Salazar's refined ways, his shrewd mind and scintillating wit. And his imagination when it came to pleasures of the night (and dusk, and dawn, and day).
"Ro-wena!"
"What?" she snapped with ill grace, barely raising her eyes from her cup.
"What do you think, where has Salazar gone to? Where to look for him? Will he – you do think he will come back, don't you?"
The eagerness in his voice struck a chord within her. As sudden and tempestuous as the storms were that seized Godric and carried him away, they were gone again just as quickly, leaving behind a huge, broad-shouldered child with big fists who never had mustered enough stamina to grow up. He gazed at her with eyes that were begging for a hopeful answer, and she sighed.
"I'm afraid I don't think so."
His face fell, like that of a boy deprived of his favourite toy. "Oh."
His green eyes, intelligent and alert, and always glittering with a malicious, witty thought, had attracted her at first sight. "Rowena, this is Salazar. Salazar Slytherin, the most terrific wizard that ever lived," Godric had said off-handedly; and he had surprised her by taking her hand into his long, elegant fingers – so different from Godric's paws – and bending over it, just stopping short before his lips touched her skin. "Enchanté," he had whispered, and his coarse and husky voice had sent shivers of pleasure down her spine. She'd replied with a perfunctory smile and a noncommittal nod, and had turned around, letting him stew in his own juice.
He had – the only expression that did him full justice – he had courted her in the weeks that followed, never resorting to any of the clichéd gifts. No flowers, no jewellery, no candlelight dinner for her, but a rare manuscript, beautifully illuminated, or a bale of silk, light yet strong, shimmering in the shades of her eyes and lugged into her room by a tailor elf, an incredibly beautiful and delicately crafted set of jewellery, or a surprise visit to the venerable wizarding school at Isfahan where he had given lessons for some time and was greeted with enthusiasm. Their first kiss, down by the lakeshore, was a miracle to her – passion and tenderness, lust and caress blending into a perfect balance. He didn't press her to anything, though, and it was as if he were enjoying the weeks of careful courting as much as she was.
After all this extraordinary fancies, she should've been disappointed by the considerable normalcy of their first night: a stroll by the lakeshore, laughing and teasing and gentle kissing there and on the way back, some more, and more ardent kissing at the door to her room, a look, half demanding, half begging, a nod and an opened door. They stumbled across the room, adorning the floor with hastily tugged-off clothes, and sank down on her bed. Hours later, she woke up with his underarm lying across her throat and his knee digging into her thigh, and waited for the usual rush of indifference that had so far always been her reaction whenever she allowed a new man to enter her life.
Of all feelings, disappointment never came, not then, not now.
"See," she said with a somewhat constrained smile, "you know him – I mean, you know him way better than the two of us." Another smile in Helga's direction, and the dumb goose nodded eagerly. "He di- does take these things very, very seriously."
"Oh, please," Godric growled. "Are we talking about the same bloke? Salazar? You must be kidding! He'd never fall out with me just because of – "
"But he told you so frequently, didn't he?" she asked, all innocence and compassion. "There was no mistaking his opinion on that issue, was it? He made it quite clear that he would leave –" she could feel her eyes blaze at this word, and took a deep breath. "That he would leave Hogwarts if you insisted on carrying out your ideas without considering any sort of compromise."
"That is ridic-"
"But it's about our students, our children," Helga peeped up. "How can we make compromises with their future?"
Rowena and Godric turned their heads in puzzlement. Although torn between annoyance and the mad urge to laugh out loud, Rowena sent Helga a faint smile, barely succeeding in keeping the corners of her mouth from curling downwards in contempt. Now, the point of controversy had finally introduced itself to Helga's brains, after becoming moot?
"The issue's dead and buried," Godric bellowed, and Rowena flinched at the noise and the choice of words. "For your information, we did talk about it more than once –"
"There's no need to yell at me," Helga replied, huffily and slightly tearful. Rowena, whose palms began to itch at that particular tone as a matter of routine, interrupted, and finally allowed a tinge of reproach creep into her voice, "And you've never realised how much it mattered to him?"
She knows that falling for him is stupid, but, being a level-headed, self-controlled, and intelligent young woman, she's thought herself above such things, things of emotion and gut feeling and fluttering nerves – until it is too late. Until her world, which used to be the world of intellect and reason, of exploring and researching, has narrowed down to a dimple on his cheek that flashes when he smiles, to a glint in his eyes and that small sound at the back of his throat he makes when he is about to come deep inside her.
Sometimes, it unnerves her, and she, all rational being, tries to take a step back and examine their relationship with an unbiased eye. Granted, he gives her pleasures she's not even dreamed about before, he seems to know by instinct where and when and how to touch her, seems to know all the little tricks that enhance her lust, a kiss, a lick, a tilt of the hip; and she dares not wonder where his vast knowledge stems from.
He kisses his way down her belly, nuzzling her sensitised skin with his lips and tongue. She pants and whimpers, her fingers digging into his dark, thick hair, and the vision before her eyes blurs when he reaches the region between her legs. She feels awkward for a moment, no man has ever touched her there like that, has caressed her moist, hot entrance with his lips and tongue and even teeth. He laughs and steadies her twitching hips with his deft hands, gently stroking her waist. "Relax," he all but breathes, and resumes doing these incredibly heavenly things with his tongue, letting it dart in and out. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Rowena," he sighs a few minutes later, placing wet, tender kisses on the junction of her hip and thigh. "Relax! Just switch off that brilliant brain of yours and let me take care of you, will you?"
And she does, and within a few seconds, her climax hits her with a force hitherto unknown to her; her world explodes in dots and swirls of all colours, cymbals and lutes and timbals resound around and inside her, and a blazing, searing fire surges through her body. She cries out loud, once, twice, three, four times, and sobs and shivers for long minutes.
When later that night, he comes with hissing and sibilant sounds, she intuitively wraps her legs around him even firmer, and tenses up her muscles as if to keep him inside her forever.
She wishes she could really do that.
"Ah, that's ridiculous!" Godric insisted, and Rowena caught herself scanning the table for something sufficiently heavy to hit him with. "We've been at variance before. Often. Innumerable times. Come on, Rowena, you know how he is – he enjoys a good dispute!"
"It seems that this meant more to him than just disagreeing with you for the sake of matching his wits with yours," she said haughtily, her voice dripping with irony on the last words. "After all, he got around a lot more than the three of us, he's seen so much and knows so much, don't you think his opinion was well-founded?"
He's –" Godric's voice wavered a bit. "He's my best friend. He won't just go like that."
"Obviously, that's exactly what he did. See, I'm not blaming you," she said, letting just enough cruelty slip into her voice to make him flinch. "You did what you deemed best, and it's not as if Helga – " she took a deep breath, "and I didn't agree with you, basically."
"But it's me whom he's had this dispute with, it's me who made the decision, that's what you mean to say, don't you?"
"I love you," she breathes into his ear, and he hums with pleasure as her hands wander down the length of his body to rest at the base of his already swelling cock. "Lo – oh dear, Rowena! – love you too. Oh. Oh yes please do that!" She smiles against his cheek and continues to run her fingertips along his shaft, careful to graze him with her fingernails just as hard as he likes it. He groans, and yelps with surprise and excitement when her hands stop at the end of his cock to gently tease the delicate, and already sticky, skin there.
"Whose letter is that?" she mumbles, and nods towards his writing desk which is overflowing with manuscripts, drafts of longer essays, scribbled-down notes, students' exams, phials with liquids in all kinds of colours and many things more, yet a single letter has caught her eye, deep-black ink on an almost white parchment, and definitely a woman's hand.
"What?" She senses his chuckle more than she hears it, and her body goes rigid. "Hell of a time to ask me something like that!" He places feathery kisses on her face, and she can feel his mouth curve into a smile. "To ask me anything, actually." His lips nibble at hers, and his tongue darts back and forth, demanding entrance into her mouth, and she obliges.
"It's not – " she presses on. "It's not as if I were spying after you. It's just the fine quality of the parchment that attracted my attention. You don't see parchment like that around here, it's like the one you showed me at Salerno, and I was wondering whether –"
"Rowena!" He places his hands right and left of her head and pushes his upper body up, his face hovering above hers, and her heart tightens with tenderness and anxiety. "Rowena, what is this all about?"
"Nothing," she says lightly, trying to ignore the gnawing pain in her belly. "I was just wondering whether I know – the person who wrote the letter, you know, when we visited – ah, it doesn't matter! Come here!"
She drags him down again, squirming and rubbing her body against his, and moans and cries out his name when he enters her, but her mind is preoccupied with the south, the land of warmth and sun and balmy air, and a beautiful woman, and her body feels like ice.
Helga reached across the table to pat Godric's hand. "There, there. Aren't you being a bit harsh on Rowena? She said nothing of the sort. Neither of us is blaming you, believe me."
Godric rubbed his hands across his face. "But – but what if it is my fault? If it is true and he really left because of – no, I just don't buy it!"
"Maybe he was just bored here? What if he just needed a new challenge?" Helga said, her palms turned upwards in a wondering gesture, and a hesitant smile on her face that indicated clearly that she was getting tired of discussing so dispiriting a matter.
"What do you mean, bored?" Rowena snapped, and pondered whether the huge silver pitcher was solid enough to be used on both Godric and Helga. Maybe if she hit Helga first?
"As you said," Helga continued, clearly oblivious to the fury showing on Rowena's face. "He's so much more worldly-wise than us – no, no, Godric, no need to bristle, it's true!"
"Yes," Rowena drawled, pure venom in her voice. "What on earth he could find here of all places to enjoy is truly beyond me."
"Oh, oh," Helga stammered, her face flushing a deep crimson. "I'm sorry, dear, I didn't mean – I – oh my – do you want a slice of cake?"
"You're mine," she whispers, and wraps her arms around him from behind. He flinches, and it takes him a few seconds too long to reply to her touch, and her eyes narrow behind his back.
"Rowena, please, not tonight, I'm knackered. Honestly," he says with half a chuckle, and as if a quick peck on her cheek and a caressing hand through her hair can compensate for the rebuff, he untangles himself from her embrace and walks over to his armchair. "Godric's as obstinate as a mule, he insists on reasoning on these student issues over and over again!"
"You've been quarrelling over it?" she says, still standing immobilised, waiting for him to somehow indicate to her that he'd like her to come over and have sex with him in the armchair, as they have done so often in the past. He makes no move, and a lump of anger forms in the pit of her stomach.
"Good Lord, no!" He yawns and rubs his eyes. "He's bought this incredibly fantastic beer, Merlin knows how he got his hands on it, just to win me over, can you believe it?"
She shrugs, feigning indifference, and walks to the window to gaze down at the Lake. Evening mist is rising from its silvery surface in puffy clouds, the willows at its shore are glittering with moisture and bending so low that the tips of their branches dip into the water, and she feels tranquillity and peace permeate her, setting her racing mind at ease.
She smiles, lost in thoughts about their first kiss down by the lake, about how it all began. "Do you still remember our first kiss?"
"Hm? Of course I do," he says absent-mindedly, and the tone of his voice sets the lump in her stomach on fire like a stroke of lightning to a clod of tar.
"Good," she spits, and covers the distance to him with a few energetic strides. "And you're never allowed to forget!" Her hands grab his shoulders, and with a swift move, she straddles him and kisses him wildly. "You're mine," she hisses, her breath coming in ragged heaves, and she kisses and sucks and bites her way across his body.
While Helga was cooing over her, feeding her with morsels of cake and sips of that horrible rose-scented wine, Rowena peered at Godric who had lowered himself onto a chair, brooding.
"No, Helga. He wouldn't have left in the dark of the night if that were the case, and he must have done so since nobody has seen him leave the grounds! That's weird, isn't it, because –"
"What do you mean, 'nobody has seen him'?" Rowena's head jerked up, and she stared at him, aghast. "Pray tell me you didn't interrogate the students?"
Godric glared at her, defiance in his eyes yet a faint blush creeping up his cheeks that told her he'd once again been acting out of a gut reaction. Honestly, how predictable that man was! "Of course I didn't! I – I just asked a few of them when passing by, about when they'd last seen him. They won't suspect anything. Hell, Rowena, I'm not stupid."
"Be that as it may," she growled. "Do you really think this a good idea? They might start asking questions, and since we're bound to keep all of them now, it'd be to their and our benefit if they never knew about the controversy they've triggered. That we've driven one of the founders of this school away for their sake."
Godric drew a deep breath, and Rowena steeled herself against a stormy reply when, to her surprise, Helga intervened.
"She's right, you know," she said, her eyes shining with all-encompassing kindness. "For the students' sake."
"Okay, okay!" Godric raised his hand in surrender. "I won't mention it to the students. But I – I still want to find out what has happened. I mean," he frowned, a troubled look on his face. "Maybe something has happened to him, yes, I'm growing more certain the longer I think about it! Perhaps we should –"
"He's gone because of you, that's what's happened," Rowena said matter-of-factly, while her nails dug deep into her palms.
"Rowena!" Salazar jerks around when she dashes into his room. A tiny robe, shrunk this very moment to fit into his travel gear, falls from his hands, and she glares at it as if it were her deadly enemy.
"Didn't expect me here, at this time of the day, now did you?" Fury wells up inside her and suffocates her, bereaves her of her voice, and she swallows heavily. "Do you think I don't know what you're playing at, what you're planning? Do you think that I'm stupid, that you can outsmart me with all your cunning schemes?"
"Of course not! Hell, Rowena, I –"
"It's because of her, isn't it?"
He leans against his desk, his chest heaving, his head bent as if in defeat, yet she knows that his mind is racing to find a way out of the labyrinth he's caught himself in. "Do we have to return to this over and over again? There is no 'she', can't you simply believe me for a change? Why don't you trust me, Rowena?"
She draws in a steadying breath, and a sweet smile is plastered on her face. "I do trust you," she says through only barely clenched teeth. "I do."
Stepping up to him, she nuzzles her cheek against his shoulder, kisses his neckline and licks his ear, while her mind registers that all the ingredients for the SunScreen Potion which had been scattered on his desk only yesterday night are gone.
"Oh, has he now?" Godric shouted, jumping up again and withdrawing a package of letters from the pocket of his vest he then waved furiously in front of her eyes. "Look here! You know what this is?"
Rowena shrugged. "Don't you think we're in some kind of time loop right now?" she sighed. "Arguing the same point over and over again won't bring him back. He didn't want to work here any longer, under these circumstances, are you really absolutely refusing to see it?"
"Then why did he write all these letters over the past weeks? Why has he made enquiries at more than ten different schools about how they handle these issues if he didn't want to solve our problems here?"
"I don't know," she snapped.
"And more importantly," Godric went on, clearly warming up to the topic. "He hasn't even received all the answers yet, those from Theben – they seem to have problems with their Long-Distance Delivery Egrets – and some Indian school he's told me about and, um, oh yes, of course, Salerno, well, no wonder they're not answering! Those replies are still due, don't you think he would at least have waited until he got them?"
"Salerno?" Helga interjected, and Rowena froze.
"What? Oh, yes, ugly affair, terrible – their Headmistress died all of a sudden, rumour has it she donned a poisoned dress somebody sent her. But whatever – Salazar would have waited! We were discussing these letters, by Merlin, we were having fun with these letters!" His ready grin appeared, lightening up his face; it seemed that they were done with the storm again, for now. "Did you know that this Brazilian school introduced a test on comprehension skills? They quickly back-pedalled when they realised that they'd keep most of their students but would have to dismiss a third of their staff!"
Helga giggled, and Rowena forced a smile onto her face. "Really?"
"U-hu. He split his sides laughing about that! We were having a really good time picking these letters to pieces – the ideas, I mean – it was such a terrific evening, what with the fun, and we got a bit drunk together, okay, dead drunk, so don't you tell me he'd have left – what?"
Godric stared at her questioningly, and Rowena narrowed her eyes at him. "And he told me that you were impudent enough to think he could be bribed with some shoddy beer."
He moans her name, the tip of his cock pressing against her entrance and the little sensitive nub above it. She arches back, tilting her hip to allow him better access, and releases a long-pent sigh when he eventually pushes into her. She cherishes his way of lovemaking, burying himself to the hilt with the first and rather forceful stroke, and then withdrawing himself slowly again, inch by inch, until only the head of his cock is inside her, moving and nudging and teasing, and causing her lust to mount up to inconceivable heights. He works her body masterfully, exploring and exploiting every sensitive spot, and hums with pleasure when she twitches and jerks under (or above, or next to) him.
Digging her nails into his back, she spurs him into action when the pressure inside her is becoming unbearable, and he picks up speed, thrusting and pushing deep and deeper into her. Her muscles clench around his cock; he groans and pants with desire, and with an outcry of pure lust, he comes. Hot waves of pleasure run through her like molten gold when she feels him spend himself inside her. Despite his exhausted face, he does not sag against her shoulder, satiated and content, but continues to take care of her needs, rubbing and stroking exactly the spots that do the trick, and her orgasm carries her away for what seems like an eternity.
More and more often, she wonders how many women it had taken to turn him into so expertly a lover, and how many will follow to enjoy his skills.
He stared at her in shock, his mouth opening and closing like that of the injured merwoman she'd once found dying on the lakeshore. "I don't –" he pressed his clenched fist against his mouth, and exhaled with a gush, his eyes smouldering with bitter feelings and reproach. "You knew. You knew all along, you say, and you didn't – why didn't you – "
"I –" she made a choking sound and lowered her head, gazing at the chipped nail of her index finger, letting dead silence hang over them for some minutes. "Don't you think I didn't try to talk him out of it?" she cried out eventually, ending with a hiccupped sob. "Told him that he attached too much importance on a so negligible an issue? But –" her voice broke, and she ran the back of her hand over her eyes. "It seems that I underestimated how serious he was about the students he considered unfit for our school, and now – now he's gone, and I – "
"But why didn't you talk to me and – "
"Enough!" Helga shouted, and Rowena stared at her in surprise. Sweet and gentle, and ever-good-humoured Helga was trembling with rage, and poked her index finger at Godric's chest viciously. "Godric, stop it! Can't you see how much you're harrowing her with your endless questions and your pointless ranting and raving? For Merlin's sake, you can be such an egocentric bastard at times! It's all about you, you! May I remind you that you're not the only one who's lost a friend, that some of us," she nodded towards Rowena, "might have lost more than a just a friend?"
Within a split-second, a strong arm was wrapped around Rowena's shoulder, and she felt herself irresistibly pulled against a muscular chest. "Please forgive me, dear," Godric roared, and smacked a wet kiss on her temple. "What an insensitive blockhead I am! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you, you know that, don't you? You know how I am! Take heart, Rowena! He will come back! He won't abandon a women like you!"
She swallowed hard and sent Godric a shaky smile, dabbing her wrists against her eyes. "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have put the blame on you, it was so unfair of me. I'm just so – so –"
He pressed his cheek against her forehead and ran a caressing hand through her hair. "Sssh, Rowena, dear. Helga's right, you know? It's over, but we will live on here, together! We still have each other, don't we?"
"There's no need to apologise," Salazar says, and fails at smiling, his eyes remaining distant and watchful. "We've been having a, ah, difficult time, that's all. It wasn't your fault."
"You won't leave me?" she whispers, her head bent demurely.
"Of course not," he answers, and she thinks of the packed trunk she's found stashed away in the Groundkeeper's Hut; her ears are still ringing from the crackling of the flames which erupted out of it when her incinerating curse had hit it.
"I still want to make up for my bitching," she breathes, her fingers hooking into his belt and tugging him closer to the lakeshore. "Don't you want me to?" Her hands worm their way under his leather vest and into his trousers, and he sighs with pleasure.
"O-of course," he whispers, and she can see his eyes glaze over with lust and his mind close down. Nevertheless, he grabs her wrist and holds it firmly, preventing her from digging deeper into his pants, and she feels how desperate he is trying to protrude her mind, as forceful as he used to invade her physically. "I need to get going, though, I don't have the time to –"
She makes a sound that is half a chuckle, half a purr. "What a pity." Slowly, she unbuttons her robe, exposing her shoulders and breasts that shimmer and glow like pearls in the pale moonlight. His breathing hitches, and he casts a quick glance around.
"Don't worry," she purrs. "I've cast a Disillusionment Charm on us, we won't have any spectators unless," she cocks her head, "you want some?"
He laughs, yet it still sounds fake and does not reach his eyes. "I really should be off, Godric is –"
Her mouth closes over his, and she kisses him hard and passionate, enjoying the taste of him on her tongue, inhaling his scent. He stands still, tensed up and rigid, only his ragged breaths betraying his excitement. Rowena heaves a deep sigh and tilts her head back and smiles at him, losing herself in his dark green eyes, and with a swift move, she raises her hands up to his chest and pushes with all the force she can muster.
Ten, twenty greyish hands grab him and drag him under water, tips of spears protrude from under the surface and are brought onto him with force. For a split-second, the head of the merpeoples' chieftainess appears, and Rowena smiles wistfully at the beautiful necklace around the ugly creature's neck; her diadem will never look the same without it.
Salazar puts up quite a fight, his arms are flailing, thrashing about above the surface, his hands are fumbling desperately for his wand that is lying by her feet, his legs are kicking at the shades closing in on him, and she hears him gasp for breath and cough and spit out water; and then, there is silence.
She waits until the surface is calm again, until no bubbles are raising and bursting with a tiny plop, and then she picks up his wand, snaps it in pieces, and hurls it after him.
"Yes," she said, straightening her back and smiling at her two remaining friends. "Let's not talk about it, about him, shall we? Never again. What has happened, has happened and cannot be undone." |
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