Title: Pity
Author: senjy
Characters: Bill/Narcissa
Rating: R
Warnings: I think it turned out more than a bit purple round the edges :(
Themes/kinks chosen: Adultery
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Bill thinks through his reasons.
Author's notes: I'm tired and once again I wrote this way too late in the day, but it's done. If anybody would be willing to retrospectively beta this or just comment with all the mistakes I've made I would love you to bits. Thanks to dungeons_master for providing me with at least a pairing.

Why had he done it?

Perhaps the better question was why had it happened, because he hadn't set out to do anything. He still loved Fleur, adored her, desired her... and yet, somehow... it had just happened.

He hadn't set out to have an affair, and based on his own experience he wondered if any man actually left his home and his wife with the intention of committing adultery. Unfortunately, he knew that his own lack of a motive did not mean that he was innocent of his crime. Nor was he naive enough to think that all men were as stupid as he was. Some of them were just bastards.

Considering it, Bill thought that his lack of intention probably made his adultery all that more cruel. His feelings for Fleur had never waned since they had been married; they had only grown stronger, especially after the birth of Victoire, who every day reminded him just how lucky he was to have them both.

There wasn't even the excuse that he had been looking for something different and more exciting. Narcissa was just as palely blond as Fleur was, and in her own way just as strong. Perhaps, it was their similarities which had drawn him to the aristocratic witch. The way that she stood: her posture as straight and proud as any heroine's, despite her role in the war being a tainted one.

***

When Bill had been offered a role within the team renovating Malfoy Manor, he had jumped at the chance to get inside the house of his father's enemy, to poke around for any evidence that would put Malfoy behind bars rather than leave him with his tenuous pardon. He had been eager for the confrontation which would undoubtedly errupt the moment Malfoy clapped eyes on him and dared to sneer, "Weasley".

However, Bill had never got the fight he had been looking for: Malfoy was at work during the hours that the team were there. There had only been the wreck of the manor, and Narcissa. She had waited in the library for their arrival and had been standing in the middle of a richly embroidered rug when the team had been led in to meet the mistress of the house. Her pose had been graceful, both upright and casual, exuding the nobility of her birth and the natural arrogance that heritage had bequeathed her.

Seeing her, Bill had at first felt as angry as he would have been had it been Malfoy greeting them. Angrier, because he had seen the woman broken and desperate for nothing more than the survival of her son and the freedom of her husband; she had saved Harry's life, but only for the sake of her own family.

It was then that Bill had met her condescending gaze and realised that the weeping wife and mother had been her reality, and that everything that had followed in the last few years of peace had been a distorted dream. There she was, standing in the grand library - not a speck of dust on the shelves, not a hair out of place on her head - and she was shaking hands with men and women who were about to poke into every corner of her home, searching out the last secrets of the psychopath who had driven the wizarding world to disaster.

Her cool smile had been a mask, the couture dress an exquisite front, and by lunchtime Bill had her pressed up against the dining room doors, tearing at her underwear in an attempt to rip away the lies she had been draped in since the war.

She hadn't resisted. Her fingers had pulled at his hair and shirt as if she had heard his thoughts and was in desperate agreement that all the cheerfully painted scenery should be dragged down. She had ripped off two of his buttons as she had tugged the cotton off his back, and when Bill had sufficiently loosened her dress, she had hunched her shoulders a little and let the robe drop, as though she were shrugging away all her cares.

Her skin had been pale against the grain of the dining table, her hair spreading out across the dark wood like the moonlit tributaries of a great delta. When Bill had slid his hands up her legs from her ankles to her thighs, her flesh had been cool to the touch and had formed goosebumps in reaction to the warmth he was offering her.

It was at her core that he had found her heat, and as he had thrust into her, the fire inside her had built, spreading through her veins and flushing her skin pink. Beads of sweat had rolled across her temples and into her hair, dampening it. Adding to the image Bill had of her belonging in some way to the ocean, and that he was now dragging her up from the depths so that she could breathe the air. It was true that when she had tensed, the only noise she had made had been a deep gasp, and a long sigh of relief.

They had lain in the dining room, on top of the grand table for the rest of the afternoon, undisturbed while the rest of Bill's team continued exploring the parts of the house which hadn't already been made safe. When Narcissa had eventually got to her feet and retrieved her clothing, it had been as if nothing had happened. The mask and the costume were back in place, and Bill had left the Manor to tender his resignation.

***

"Why, Bill?" Fleur repeated, distraught.

Bill finally removed his head from his hands, groggy, and unsure of just how long he had been sat on the edge of their bed thinking, while Fleur had watched him in mounting distress.

"Ze truth, Bill!" Fleur demanded when he lifted his eyes to meet hers.

Bill shook his head and spoke the awful truth: "Because I pitied her."



End