Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1463
Characters: Madeleine Yaxley (OC), Rabastan Lestrange

Maybe it was only that the conversation with her mother was still fresh in Madeleine's mind when she returned to Hogwarts in September, but it seemed to her that more boys were looking at her than ever before, and not just her fellow Slytherins, either. Madeleine found she enjoyed the attention, even the poisonous glares other girls sent her way. It made her feel beautiful -- powerful -- and she wanted more of it.

She enjoyed seeing what would happen if she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, or magically shortened her skirts, or touched a boy casually on the arm while speaking to him. She would watch them out of the corner of her eye, or under her long lashes, drinking in their longing looks. When they noticed her watching them, they would blush, or stammer an apology, or drop what they were carrying.

All, that is, except for Rabastan Lestrange. Rabastan was a big, dark-haired Slytherin boy in her own year, with a slow smile and a wicked glint in his dark eyes. Madeleine supposed he was good-looking enough, but when he turned that smile on her, she felt a thrill of fearful excitement in the pit of her stomach, and her knees went a bit wobbly.

She was intrigued by the fact that he didn't react like the other boys when she caught his eye. Oh, all right, it didn't intrigue her; it drove her mad! She decided she had to find out what it would take to raise a blush to Rabastan Lestrange's cheeks.

Madeleine stuck her head into the library and looked around. It was fairly empty, but as she had hoped, Rabastan was there, sitting at his usual table in the back corner, lazily flipping through the pages of a large, leatherbound book, without appearing to be reading from it at all.

Perfect, she thought. It was time to set her plan in motion.

Hips swaying slightly, she sauntered through the library, heels clicking against the stone floor, passing close enough to touch him, but not quite doing so. She did not look to see if he was watching. She knew he was. She had chosen her shortest skirt and tightest school blouse, leaving the top two buttons undone to display a tantalising swell of creamy, smooth flesh.

Madeleine reached the shelves she had scouted out earlier in the week -- the ones visible only from Rabastan's usual table -- and ran a finger along the dusty spines of the books, as if thoroughly absorbed by the Wizarding History section. Carefully positioning her bottom to point directly at her quarry, she bent forward, hands on her knees, to examine a lower shelf. Then she dropped her quill. With a well-practiced sound of annoyance, she bent further still to pluck it from the floor, briefly flashing him her best knickers in the process.

That should do it, she thought smugly. Straightening up, she risked a quick glance at Rabastan, expecting to catch him round-eyed, mouth hanging open, like any normal boy. But to her consternation, he just sat there watching her, eyes hooded, with that maddening smile still firmly in place.

She would have to up the ante.

Standing on her toes and reaching as if for a book on the highest shelf, she ran her other hand casually up under the back of her skirt, raising it still higher as she adjusted her knickers. She tugged her skirt back into place, wiggling her bottom as she did so, and looked around, feigning wide-eyed helplessness to retrieve a book beyond her reach.

Her eyes fell upon Rabastan's empty chair. Where -- ?

A hand gripped her thigh from behind, and another came to rest lightly on the back of her neck. When she jumped and squeaked in surprise, he only chuckled.

Madeleine held perfectly still, in a heartbeat gone from predator to prey. His fingers dug into her thigh, just below the drape of her skirt, then slowly began to slide upwards. She gasped, heart hammering, as his thumbnail lightly grazed her knickers right between her legs.

"You are such a tease, Yaxley," he whispered, lips brushing her ear. The hand on her neck slid around to squeeze her breast as his thumb traced lazy circles in her most secret place. And then his touch was gone.

She broke and ran.

Madeleine couldn't sleep. Lying upon her curtained bed in the Slytherin dormitory, staring up into the darkness, she felt Rabastan's touch on her again, as surely as she had in the library.

At the time, it had startled her; the way he had moved, silent as a cat, to lay hands on her like that -- maybe even frightened her a little. But in the darkness and safety of her own bed, she examined the experience again, and found it not a little thrilling.

Experimentally, she bunched her nightgown up around her waist and drew her fingers up her own inner thigh, letting her thumb brush lightly between her legs, as his had done. It felt nice, but not the same as when he had done it. It was more exciting, somehow, when it was not her own fingers touching her in her secret, forbidden places.

Noticing that her knickers were slightly damp, she pulled them off before experimenting with the touching some more. The skin of her thigh felt smooth and firm, and broke out in gooseflesh in the wake of her lightly-trailing fingers.

Her hand reached the downy hair that had begun to grow between her legs a year or so ago, and she let her fingers brush over it, barely touching. That felt good, too. The hair was slightly damp, like her knickers, and she could feel heat coming from between her legs.

Parting her thighs a little further, Madeleine let her fingers probe between them. She gasped as she found a hot, slippery place, and clapped her other hand over her mouth to prevent any sound from escaping. So that was where the dampness in her knickers had come from!

She had explored down there before, out of curiosity, but she couldn't remember it ever feeling so wet and exciting and good. Madeleine tried to imagine what it would feel like to have Rabastan's big hands touching her like this. She shivered. Somehow, it felt even better when she thought about him doing it.

Somewhere in all that warm wetness, she found an opening and slid a finger slowly into it. She knew what it was; her mother called it her "sacred passage", and she knew that it was where a man was supposed to put his staff during sex. The thought made her shiver again. She had never thought about sex feeling good before -- at least, not for the woman. She had always thought that it was just a woman's duty to endure her husband's attention in bed and bear his children.

She wondered what it would feel like if Rabastan put his -- No! She mustn't think about that. Only mudblood sluts spread their legs without a promise of marriage.

But just touching down there felt so good. That couldn't be wrong, could it? Maybe it would be all right if he only used his fingers on her. She could touch him, too, if he liked that sort of thing.

Sliding her finger back out of the hot, slippery passageway, she continued exploring. She almost cried out when she found the tiny nub not far from her entrance. The feeling was so intense that, at first, she mistook it for pain. But almost at once she knew that wasn't right. Biting her lip, she touched herself there again, very gently.

Madeleine had never known anything could feel so good. Slowly, and then faster, she moved her finger back and forth across the magical spot. She could feel a pressure building inside her as her own hot, slick flesh slid beneath her fingers. She didn't know what it was, or what would happen if she kept on touching herself, but it felt too good to stop. She bit down hard on her lip, tasting blood, to keep the cries she felt rising in her throat from escaping.

A wave of sensation broke over her, and she struggled to keep still -- to remain silent -- as the world shattered into a million shards of sensation around her.

Afterward, she lay perfectly still, feeling her heart pounding in her chest and between her legs, drifting on a tide of well-being.

"Wow!" she breathed.

It was a revelation to her. If Madeleine had known her body could do that, she would certainly have done it sooner. She wanted to ponder what had happened and what it meant, but already she could feel her eyelids drooping. In another moment, she was asleep.

The Education of Madeleine Yaxley © 2007 Skjaere