Fic: Edge of the Razor

[unwilling2admit.livejournal.com]

Title: Edge of the Razor
Author: NotWillingToAdmit
Prompt Number: 92 submitted by selmak
Kink Showcased: Hair, shaving with a straight edge, bathtub
Rating:  R; just to be safe - mainly based on my Head Cannon, not so much on the story material.
Pairing(s): Yaxley/Wife (OFC)

Summary: Only his wife is permitted to groom him.

Warnings/Content Notes: rumors of patricide, Oedipus complex which may or may not have been acted upon (you read between the lines as Yaxley won’t admit to incest), mental illness, mentions of a previous miscarriage/stillborn, health issues. Yaxley would also like to apologize if you don't find this particularly kinky, but he prides himself on his Slytherin subtlety.

Word Count:  ~ 7,000

Author's Notes: 

“The sharp edge of a razor is difficult to pass over; thus the wise say the path to Salvation is hard."  -- Katha-Upanishad

My personal head cannon for Yaxley. Raibert was a wee bit too close to his mother; he had an arranged marriage with his much younger first cousin, Elizabeth aka Lilabet when she turned seventeen. Originally arranged, their marriage developed into one of deep affection and love over their years together. Had a truly hateful relationship with his father. The Yaxleys were Pure Bloods, they were the 'All Robes, No Knickers' set.

Yaxley is the short Scottish Death Eater with the blond braid that chases The Golden Trio through the Ministry of Magic and growls a great deal.

http://bloghogwarts.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/Harry-Potter-BlogHogwarts-HP7-Yaxley.jpg

Many thanks to super betas K, R, T

-=

Kinks: Hair, Age differences, Baths and water, stubble, touch, depilation, food, Temperamental personalities. (Plus the author has a bizarre fascination with Peter Mullan’s growl of a voice.)

-=-

It was fortunate that Father had been an absolute bastard, I decided.  And lovely that I've developed a high tolerance for being Stunned, thanks to Father.   Otherwise I’d still be lying on the floor of this frigid courtroom. As it is, I fear that I’m permanently scared impotent by the horrifying sight of Dolores Umbridge flat on her back with her legs spread wide. Good Lord, my mind is blistering.  Fat, dimpled thighs.

And she’s wearing pink scanties. With little kitties! I fear I may hurl from that horrid sight.

My ears are ringing, my head is pounding and at seventy three years old, I’m far too damn old to chase after Undesirable No. 1. But the bastard just had to infiltrate the Ministry, attack Dolores for her necklace ... her necklace. On MY watch.

And now he is scampering merrily through the Hallowed Halls of the Ministry.  It must be nice to be young.  To have a cause you believe in. To be able to … scamper…  Me?   I need to get the bastard because I must retain the Dark Lord’s favour. I must, as my wife, Elizabeth, is dying and she will be dead by the end of the year.

Unless the Dark Lord decides to intervene.

He did, once, a long time ago.

Once upon a time, when I had been asked what I desired most in my life, my heartfelt response had been: to merely dance once more with my wife.

Malfoy and Crabbe had cruelly laughed, disbelieving the depths of true affection I held for Elizabeth. Rowle had made a dry quip about, “Oh, that’s what it’s called these days?”

I hadn’t given them the pleasure of a response; instead I had remembered who said what and how, so I could avenge Elizabeth’s reputation later.

They were a crowd that I had never run with, as they were the top of Pure Blood society. The Yaxleys were just the ‘down-market Yaxleys’, not a family who was wished for as company in proper society. You see, the genteel folk were made uncomfortable as the rumors of Patricide, mother-son incest and other assorted deadly sins had enough truth to upset their delicate sensibilities.

I plead guilty to Patricide, with extenuating circumstances. He had thrown Mother down a flight of steps during a drunken fit of pique. Therefore, once I was seventeen, and legally a wizard, I had thrown him down the very same steps. Just to see if he had learned how to fly. He hadn’t mastered how to fly or how to successfully bounce, I’m afraid.  As for Mother and I being familiar in the Biblical sense, I again must plead mitigating circumstances. Father was a drunken, abusive bastard, Mother and I drew strength and comfort from each other. If you insist on turning my treasured relationship with Mother tawdry, then shame on you. And be quiet about it, as I will hear and handle it.

No one talks rubbish about Mother and brags.

Oh where, was I? Busy disparaging the upper echelons of the Pure Bloods who could not be bothered to hide their contempt of me. They viewed me as an overheated copper cauldron about to melt down.

Yet, they had no problem coming to me when their coffers ran short.

At the best of times, I found Malfoy a princox, Crabbe barely sentient and Rowle an oaf, but the other man with them… he was different. He had merely nodded his head that night. My truthful answer to that particular question, a lifetime ago it seems, but really only twenty some years before, saved my much younger wife’s life and found me a branded devotee of the Dark Lord. Truth demands that I admit that they desired me to join their pure blooded cult of supremacy as I was one of the few that could easily pay their extravagant dues. The more money one possesses, the more popular you become, especially when one is attempting to overthrow the world order.

However that night, I had danced with my wife.

And that night, after we had stopped dancing, I had made love to my dearest Lilabet like I was a young buck.

And the next night also.

Now, I was lying on the floor of the courtroom, struggling to even stand. Albert Runcorn had been compromised, as had Mafalda Hopkirk, but that meant nothing, for the Dark Lord would be furious and we would all be punished. And having admitted that Lilabet was my lone weakness, I feared for her.

Stupidly, I had permitted myself to relax as Reginald Cattermole’s Mudblood of a wife was on trial. Dolores was having literal orgasms of sheer delight in torturing Reg’s wife while the Dementors circled overhead. Really, it wasn’t worth the effort to pay attention as Reg was a bloody moron.  He couldn’t stop the rain from falling in my office so it was no wonder he could only land a Mudblood for a wife.

I could have stopped the rain, if I had time. No, instead I was being pulled here and there, overseeing the Snatchers who were grabbing anyone that breathed too loudly, regardless of blood purity, editing “The Daily Prophet” and controlling Pius.  Generally, just busy keeping everything running smoothly for the Dark Lord. I am quite the able administrator.

Really, I had only myself to blame as I was concentrating on what would make a suitable fortieth anniversary present for my wife, instead of focusing on the trial. Malfada seemed off, but the witch was a tad touched at the best of times. So a gift for my wife… should it be rubies? Diamonds? Platinum?  It would be something wondrous and utterly extravagant for the love of my life. Then all hell broke loose.  Someone shouted, “One mustn’t tell lies, Dolores”, I snapped my head around and there he was… POTTER…. Nicking a necklace!

I caught up with the blasted trio by the Statue of Magical Might, and I attempted to capture them. My aim was off, so I missed them by the very whisker of Babbity Rabbity. I managed to grab hold of one of them, the ginger… a Weasley no doubt as Arthur Weasley and his wife bred like rabbits in their warren.  I landed with them when they Apparated to Orion Black’s residence.

Then the Mudblood witch did a neat bit of witchcraft, a side-along apparition, so I was left holding bits and pieces of Weasley’s arm.

It wasn’t enough to save me from being Crucio’d.  But the Dark Lord paid special attention to dear Dolores Umbridge, especially regarding the necklace. I remembered seeing it, a gaudy bauble I had dismissed as a crass display of wealth, but the Dark Lord’s fury made locating that thing a priority.

For me.

For Lilabet.

-=-

I concentrated on scaring and intimidating everyone in my path while I staggered back to my rainy office. That way they wouldn’t bother talking to me. Fortunately, the monsoon had stopped.  It seemed the Weasley Chit was far more competent at Reg’s job than Reg. When he was captured, I’d make bloody sure he was sentenced to a lifetime of servitude in the Maintenance Department of the Ministry.

I was greeted by Mother’s portrait when I arrived in my office with a worried, “Rabbie! Lilabet is beside herself because we heard that you were involved with the incident at the Ministry. I’ll let her know that you’re in need of a hot bath."

“Mother,” I protested, even though I had long learned the effectiveness of dissenting against Mother. It mattered not that she had died in the horrible incident that had crippled Elizabeth those many years ago. Mother was Mother. An unstoppable force of nature, whether she was alive or was a portrait.   And at least today she wasn’t waving her brolly at me, insisting that I demand the respect I was entitled to as the Head of the Department of the Magical Law Enforcement.

A true tragedy that her life had been cut short by those damn Mudbloods and their peaceful protests regarding the supposed inequality of Magical Society and their ilk.   Peaceful protests had turned into a full scale riot where my mother and daughter had died and my wife had been severely injured.

Their only crime? To go shopping one afternoon.

And I had not been there, to protect Elizabeth, the babe-to-be and Mother.

No, I had been delayed at the Ministry...

By Pius Thicknesse.

But being a Yaxley male, I had avenged the three ladies in my life.  I had made those Mudblood sewer rats pay and pay well for Mother’s death, crippling Elizabeth and for the murder of our stillborn daughter.

And no one could prove a thing.

Everyone knew that a shattered Raibert Yaxley had been sitting next to his comatose wife’s side, refusing to be driven from the room either by wizard or Auror.  Those days are a blur to me, but I vaguely recall that I put Alastor Moody through the wall when he attempted to remove me from Elizabeth's room. I did apologize later as he and my mother had been close, and for that reason only, as he should never have laid his hands upon me. I do know the lily white Pure Bloods still snidely commented about how the unraveling Raibert Yaxley had left his wife's side only for the funeral for his mother and his daughter, where in his frenzied grief he had keened like a warlock gone utterly undone.

And well, if those Mudblood’s suicides seemed more like cold, deliberate executions, well, guilt drives men to do things.

I know that from personal experience.

And I know that Pius Thicknesse felt true remorse over what happened.  He and I discussed his guilt every single day.

However, Mother had already gone to report back to Lilabet and after being Crucio’d, I truly could use a hot bath.

-=-

My wife met me when I Apparated into our house. I hurt in places that I didn’t know existed as the Dark Lord had thrown quite the eppie.  I had been allowed to crawl away early on, due to my supreme good fortune in becoming a Secret Keeper for the Order’s no longer secret location while Hopkirk, Umbridge and Rancorn had been busy puking up their guts.  Even now the Black residence was being torn apart by the Dark Lord’s eager followers.  I should be there, as it was my find, my victory, but I hurt.

Better to appear arrogant and uncaring, rather than weak.  For the wolves would go for my throat.

“Rab…” Elizabeth whispered.

I must look very bad, as she wasn’t chastising me.

“You should be resting,” I protested in my thick Glaswegian. Now that I was home, I didn’t have to bother smoothing my native dialect into London’s rarefied tongue.  I didn’t like the dark hollows under her eyes, how thin she was….  “The Healers have said that you need to rest, Lilabet. You must listen to them.”

I should have known that since Elizabeth was trained as a Master Healer my caring comment would ruffle her very pretty feathers. Her blue eyes darkened as her temper flared.  Then her face softened, which meant I must look truly terrible indeed.

“No,” she insisted as she trailed her fingers across my cheek.  “How can I rest when my husband is in need? Let me do this, for you have always taken care of me. Come, come, come."

Whenever her condition flared, I would nurse her through the worst of it.  Our House Elves might wish to assist me, but I was the one to feed her, to clean her, because she was my life. I was not a Malfoy, unable to get their lily white hands dirty, what with their pretty peacocks and the rarefied air of their beautiful world. I was a Yaxley male, raised by a MacDougal female. Mother had been a beautiful butterfly, who had struggled to survive her hellish marriage.

Temptatio est vita es dignus tu qui pugnavit.  Life is a struggle; you deserve only for that which you fought.

I took care of Lilabet like I had taken care of Mother. Tonight, however, my role with Lilabet was reversed, and she wished… she wished for once, not to be the recipient in our relationship.  How could I refuse her that? Though she was in need herself.

My wife undressed me like I was a child. Warm, gentle hands stripped me, tugging at my clothes, and I felt a strong stirring of desire. How long had it been for us?  How very long indeed and I knew I had to stop this before it went any further.

“Lilabet,” I whispered. “Stop this at once, I beg you."

“I know… I know… you’ve got quite the problem with your trousers. It’s rather flattering, Rab.”

“The Healers said….” I stopped then, as I couldn’t voice her death sentence.

The attack on your wife has adversely affected her physical health. Yes, I know, it’s been almost thirty years. However, the scar tissue is both internal and external. With your wife being such a powerful witch, the amount of scar tissue has adversely affected her magical humours. It’s not a matter of if, Mr. Yaxley, it’s only a matter of when.

We’ve done what we’ve can for her. Take her home, and if she rests, doesn’t exert herself, perhaps she’ll live another twenty, thirty years.  Your wife is a literal candle, Mr. Yaxley. If she burns too brightly…

It had been two lonely years since we had last attempted to make love. The minx that she was, she had waited until my resistance was low. I had been beside myself with worry as her condition had flared anew with an unholy vengeance. And she had succeeded in seducing me with a few tears and a whispered plea for physical affection.

That night had not found us enthralled in passion.

Not at all.

It had found the two of us at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries in the Cardiac Ward as her heart had begun to uncontrollably race during the midst of our passion. I had nearly come undone, at the realization that my base need for physical affection had all but killed my Lilabet. I should have been content with our long conversations where we cuddled and held hands, perhaps stolen a kiss to treasure. No, instead I had let my libido overrule my good senses.  I had sat in the Ward, all the while holding her hand, refusing to leave her, knowing that if she died due to me, I would go insane.

Madness had always dogged my heels over the years, but Mother and Lilabet had always helped me maintain my mental stability. But if anything happened to Elizabeth, I would be but mad north-north-west.

“The Healers can go to hell. Tonight, I’m putting you into a tub where I will let you soak for a bit. I will feed you. I’ll wash and then braid your hair. Rab, I’ve got the silver brush and the comb ready. I even brought out the straight edge razor as I will give you a proper shave."

“Lilabet….” I whispered once again.  A futile protest against the physical intimacy and affection she knew I desperately craved.

“And yes, I know you’ll wish to make love. And we will, the Healers be damned. Because I cannot live like this, I cannot survive another night without physical affection from my beloved husband."

My voice was husky, “I remember all too well what happened last time. I feared you were dying. That I was responsible for… I nearly came utterly undone, Lilabet.”

She put her hand over my mouth to silence me.

“Rab, I am on new potions.  It will not happen again. Do not protest, as after all I am the expert on my condition,” said Elizabeth. My wife then caressed my face with her thumbs. “I spoke with one of the female Healers I trained. She empathized with my overwhelming need for affection from you.  Kokila understands your fears over intimacy considering what happened last time.  After examining me thoroughly, she said that I should be fine as I have been on the new potion regime for three months now. However, since it has been two long, lonely years due to your fears over my condition, she said that you must be quite meticulous in your affection. I assured her that you are very focused, that I was fortunate to have such a skilled and considerate husband. That you have always made my pleasure your paramount concern when we make love. Do not blush, but I told her how gentle you are when you touch me.”

Really, I should chastise her for sharing intimate carnal confidences.However, part of me was quite pleased that she was boasting about her husband. While we have been married near forty years, I am a warlock. Don't blame me if I privately crow that my wife still brags about my sexual prowess.

“Any issues…Any discomfort....” My accent was so thick you could have cut it with a potion knife. "Any pain... you tell me and we stop. Immediately. Promise me, Lilabet. You must promise me."

The last time,  Lilabet hadn't confessed when she began to first feel unwell.

“The only pain I have is that I miss you. However, yes, I promise.  You won’t even let me pleasure you because you insist on reciprocating. If you weren't so pig-headed..”

“Yaxley pride demands that I satisfy my wife,” I retorted. "That our lovemaking be mutually pleasurable for us both."

Actually Yaxley pride demanded that I go absolutely off my broom and beat her until she didn’t know up from down, right from left. Fortunately for Lilabet, our interactions found my native Yaxley arrogance tempered by McDougal humility. Mother had expended a great deal of effort training me to be a proper husband.  And yes, I often considered what Father’s course of action would be in a given situation and do the exact opposite.

“The male Healers think I’m made of spun glass and liable to shatter at any moment. They’ve indoctrinated my loving husband with that shite, so at most he’ll kiss me.”  She shook her head at my mock displeasure at her coarse language and then she smiled a touch for me.  “Rab, I fear you need more nocturnal exercise as you’ve developed a bit of a tummy. Is that why you insist on wearing a waist coat? To fool the eye?"

She rested her hand on my soft belly that, sad to admit, was not as flat and trim as it had been when we had gotten married.

With a feigned frown, I growled, “Are you implying that I’m getting fat?"

“No, it’s rather endearing actually. Much like that little bald spot on your crown. I mean, everything sags on me, and I have those…"

She was about to mention those blasted scars, so I gave her a proper kiss. Perhaps too much of a proper kiss, as she needed to lean on me to stay upright after we stopped snogging like Hogwarts sweethearts.

“I will always see you as the seventeen year old girl that came to our marriage bed,” I protested. “Though you have only gotten more beautiful through the years. I still fondly remember that girl, so frightened over what she feared might happen between us that I almost turned her away."

“I’m glad you didn’t. You were so compassionate regarding my naïveté and my unwarranted fear of my older, reticent husband who struggled to be perfect for me. You were so long-suffering and patient, Rab.”

“Because I desired to be worthy of you,” I reminded her. “Your kind regard meant everything to me. And it still does. If I should ever lose your esteem, it would destroy me.”

“I bitterly regret that wasted time,” Lilabet whispered. She stroked my face and gave me a tremulous smile.  “If I had only known…”

I hated this conversation where Lilabet brooded on how little time we had together when she was hale and hearty. When our lives had been full of love and dance, instead of Healers, potions and experimental procedures. When my focus had only been on making Lilabet happy. Now, the nexus of my life was finding a cure for Elizabeth. While intellectually, I knew she was dying, my heart refused to accept that bitter truth. And the less mentioned about my fragile sanity and its mind-set, the better. But on many a sleepness nights, my mind raced and raced in circles, struggling to find a cure that I might have overlooked.

“Temptatio est vita es dignus tu qui pugnavit,” I reminded her. Life is a struggle; you deserve only for that which you fought.

“Don’t quote the bloody Yaxley slogan at me, Rab. And don’t tell me how our initial difficulties made our happiness still sweeter.”

“It did,” I tenderly assured her. “You know what my happiest memory for my patronus is.”

A softly whispered, I love you, Rab, when she had been lying in my arms. It had been eight months into our marriage and I still remember how I thought I would explode from happiness.

“I so miss dancing with you. I do lament those first few months that we lost due to my timidity. Now, to the tub with you."

“I’m still clothed, Lilabet.” I reminded her. "I can't really wear my trousers into the tub. My wife will be quite vexed with me."

“Well, I don't want that to happen. Regarding your trousers, I’ll have to remedy that issue."

-=-=-

She had obviously spent some time preparing the bath. There were lit candles and assorted grooming utensils. And yes, there was the straight edge razor next to the silvertip badger brush. With a royal command, I was ordered into the tub, so I did as My Majesty decreed as I am her most humble servant.

I was drifting in the oversized, sunken bathtub when Nettie the House Elf arrived with a meal. She placed it next to the bath and then left.

“Budge over, Rab,” my wife insisted.  “If I am bathing you, I’m getting into the tub."

I moved, making sure to keep my eyes half closed, so it would appear that I was drowsy. After the damn Mudbloods had injured her, Lilabet didn’t like to undress in front of me.  She believed her scars hideous; I believe them medals of valour. When we had first been married, it had taken far too long for Lilabet to get comfortable with undressing in front of me; I never told her that I found her undressing unbelievably erotic.  The unbelting of her gown, the sliding of the gown from her shoulders, the silken pool of her gown at her feet.

Oh yes, far more erotic than when I undressed her.

And for those damn Mudbloods to traumatize my wife so badly, to forever deny me that simple joy of watching my wife undress. Sewer rats in dire need of extermination before they overpopulate the world; that is what they are.

“Minister Yaxley, are you watching me?”  she asked

When my wife asks me a question, directly, I never lie to her.  I know some would find that surprising, but a man needs at least one person in his life to trust.  It had always been Mother and then Elizabeth.

No one else and there would never be anything else.

“Don’t be ashamed, but... I am admiring you,” I confessed.

“You’d probably have a better view if you weren’t pretending you were asleep,” she said with an alluring smirk.

“I know you are uncomfortable undressing in front of me,” I admitted. “But it is such an exquisite view that I cannot bear to miss it."

“You were so enraged when you first saw the scars.  So very, very furious that you frightened me, Rab. I know the Healers were terrified."

“Never at you, I swear. Never at you.” My voice broke when I said that. “And not at the Healers, they did the best they could. I was enraged at those animals, ... how they hurt you, ...about Mother.... " In a far softer voice, I regretfully added, "About our daughter."

I rarely mentioned our daughter to Lilabet, instead letting Lilabet take the lead in those conversations. It didn't mean that I never thought of Sophia. Fortunately, my wife knew that I thought of our daughter daily, but that I simply could never voice my overwhelming heartbreak. I dare not let that emotional dam weaken. But I remember how perfect Sophia looked as I placed her in Mother's arms for all eternity. Both of them, not a mark on them and I could not comprehend why neither drew breath. Not a mark to be found.... not a single mark.

Sophia had been perfectly formed. Perfectly. She had Lilabet's black hair. Ten toes and ten fingers.... and.... and...  she had fit in my arms perfectly.... and... as her Father, I had failed her.

Everything I did, I did for Sophia. I did for Mother and I did for Elizabeth, because Mudbloods are sewer rats.

They needed to be exterminated.

I wiped the unshed tears from my eyes, trying to hide them from Lilabet. Naturally, it didn't work as she stroked my cheek with her fingers. She softly ordered, “Open your eyes, and look, Rab."

I did, and marveled at the wondrous sight of my wife undressing. I will admit to only myself, that I was quite glad that the tub was quite deep.

-=-

While the tub was deep, I am fortunate to have a wife who is taller than I am.  So I was blessed with flashes of sweet flesh as she fed me.  It was a wondrous experience that I savoured.

“I haven’t done this in far too long,” she teased me as she fed me with delicate fingertips.

“If you had, I wouldn’t have the belly you’re so enamored with,” I teased back. “Oh, you’d keep me in fighting form."

“It’s just an example of what a dichotomy you are, Rab. There’s the side you present to the world, the intimidating Raibert Yaxley, and then there’s my overly protective Rab who is so gentle with me. He’s quite charming, you know, with his dry wit and his intelligence. But I’m partial to the bald spot on his crown and his endearing little belly that he hides behind a waist coat."

“That’s not my endearing belly you’re stroking,” I dryly informed her. “You’re a bit south. I believe it is in fact my extremely appealing, er… "

“I know,” she interrupted with a saucy leer.

“Cheeky minx,” I growled.

Her merry laugh filled our bath and I couldn't help but smile like a loon. Really, Lilabet laughing was a sight worth savoring.

“It’s time for afters."

Really, with that mischievous smile, I knew she wasn’t talking about feeding me an Empire biscuit.

“Move closer,” I requested. “Let me hold you."

I embraced her with one arm, positioning her so we could kiss. I kept our kisses short and sweet, intent on teasing her. She continued to stroke me but she stopped once I slid my free hand down to the junction of her legs.

“Rab, please Later. After I brush your hair as I wish to enjoy tonight for as long as possible and fall asleep in your bed."

It was because she wasn’t sure if she had the physical reserves.

“If you let me towel-dry you,” I offered.

“Only if you promise me that you won’t get upset about my scars,” was her counter-offer. “Your eyes get so bleak when you look at them. You didn’t fail us, Rab.Your mother would never want you to blame yourself for her death. It's been so long, Rab. Let it go. Stop blaming yourself."

“I do, because I wasn’t there when those animals...” I protested.

“Shh.  Just hold me now, please,” my wife whispered. “Tonight, can’t we just pretend that tonight is when I was falling in love with you? When you were getting comfortable with letting me touch you? Remember, how I asked you to permit me to touch you, because you focused only on my pleasure."

I swallowed when I remembered the young girl she had been. How she had trembled when she asked me, why? Why wouldn’t I let her touch me when we were in bed? The truth had been simple; I had prayed that she would come to view our marriage favourably if I courted her, especially in the bed chamber.  During the start of our marriage, I had made love to her as though she was a goddess and I was her devotee. I had been completely focused on her pleasure, a desperate man’s attempt to convince his much younger wife that he adored her and he would treat her well.

Because back then, I could only frantically pray that a proper lady such as Elizabeth could grow to care for a warlock like me.

And by some miracle, she had grown to love me, Raibert Yaxley.

I sank back into the tub, and nodded my head. “Very well, you can have your wicked, wicked way with me for now, but later… in our bed… I assure you that unparalleled delights await you, although I demand a kiss for surety."

“Only if you promise to be inexcusably noisy,” Lilabet teased.

“I shall frighten the House Elves with my roar when I climax,” I assured her.

-=-=

Needless to say, I didn’t shake the roof with a mighty roar, but Lilabet was still pleased with my loud appreciation of her tender ministrations. I kissed her on the top of her head and then closed my eyes, content to drift off in a post-coital bliss. The truth of the matter was, I worried that Lilabet would detect my fear… that this would be the last time for us.  She was so thin…

She changed the water in the tub, humming while she did so, seemingly quite content with my exuberant response. There was soap and a flannel being gently utilized, and I continued to blissfully drift.

“You seem tired, love,” she whispered.

“You wore me out. I need to recover for my promised performance later this evening,” I assured her. For good measure, I opened my eyes and I gave her a wide smile.

“I don’t like…” she began.

Deliberately, I put my fingers over her lips to prevent her from saying anything that the Dark Lord might pull from my mind.  It was a survivor defence I had learned from Father, to never volunteer information. “I know; you don’t like the hours I’m working. But to be given such a position of authority, especially considering my history, my nervous collapse after what occurred to you and Mother, it is a honour. I must prove myself worthy of the faith that they have in me."

“Your mother and I were worried today because of the incident at the Ministry. I knew you were involved, and when Auntie couldn’t find you in your office. Rab, you went after Undesirable No. 1. By yourself. Was there no one to help you?"

“No one I trust,” I slowly admitted.

“I wish I wasn’t ill.  I would support you and help you, my love. Raibert, this position. Did you take it do to me?"

I swallowed once and faintly admitted in a soft growl, “Everything I do is for you. It always has been, and will always be for you."

She placed her hand against my cheek and overwhelmed with emotion, she said nothing. Then with a noticeable effort, she smirked.

“I fear that I have neglected my loving husband.  You are extremely stubbly tonight, Rab.  I fear to kiss you! I must resolve that first, then your hair,” Lilabet decided. “Let me put your hair in a binder. You just close your eyes and relax."

I felt her tug at my hair, and then she warned me before she placed the hot towel over my face.

“Relax, love,” she whispered.  “You’re so stressed that you need to unwind. Let me do this for you."

I could hear her breathing as she wet the silver-tipped badger brush. That done, she opened the container of shaving soap and began to stir.  She removed the towel and began apply the lather to my face and neck in a circular motion.

“I’m delighted Auntie taught me how to pamper you like this,” she whispered. “It relaxes you."

“I assure you, madam, that it won’t relax all of me,” I growled.

“No talking, I’m about to use the razor,” she joked. She pulled my skin taunt and placed the blade against the skin

Really, there is nothing as erotic as having your wife give you a straight razor shave while you’re bathing.  I’m sure Lucius Malfoy has never experienced, not even once, the sheer titillation of trusting your lover with a razor at your throat.  Knowing him, Prissy the peacock uses a depilatory charm.   Probably a wise decision; I’ve seen the way Narcissa’s eyes blaze when she glares at her husband.  And I think he’d welcome the blade right now…

However, I don’t wish to get distracted by other thoughts as I crave this. I need the feel of my Lilabet’s hand, the sliding sensation of the razor against my skin, a faint pressure of the razor’s edge, not too much but just enough to shave me. I need to memorize this, burn it to my soul, so I can savour this sensation, of trusting someone so much that I could leave myself completely vulnerable to her.

I must memorize every moment, for if she passes beyond the Veil, I will never permit myself this intimacy with another.

Father being too drunk to notice that I was a young lamb in dire need of a shear, Mother had been the one to introduce me to shaving.  Her father had used a blade, so I, in turn, used a blade. I always used a cut throat as I found the very ritualistic nature of the badger brush and blade reassuring and soothing.  Elizabeth, on the other hand, had been rather nervy with even the idea of watching me groom, and she had flatly refused to shave me when I first asked.  We were still newly married, and I believed her self-assurance would increase if she realized how much I trusted her.  You see, I had confidence in her shaving me with the straight edge razor long before she had.

I drifted in near sexual rapture where I just concentrated on the experience. To make myself so vulnerable to the woman I loved more than my life itself, to permit her to use a razor against my throat…

I heard the slight splash as Lilabet put the razor into the sterilization solution.  The ritual of shearing demanded that a cold towel be applied next; then her administration of the aftershave that she had selected for me and ending with her stringent Quality Control. My wife is very conscientious, as there were many kisses applied to confirm my skin was soft. I don’t remember her shaving my ear lobe, though she nipped it with her sharp teeth.

“Lovely,” I whispered in a voice that had gone quite rough.  I rubbed my chin and smiled, “It is so smooth now.”

I opened my eyes then, and she was smiling at me.

“I can tell you enjoyed it,” she teased.  “You’re quite keen at the moment, love. And so soon! Now, Rab, unbind your braid and I will rinse it."

I did as I was instructed and then knelt so I could rest my head against the rim of the tub. Elizabeth began shampooing my hair and she said not a word for the longest time.  She never did when she washed my hair, but tonight was the exception.

“I deeply fear for you, Rab. That’s all I will say on the matter."

I nodded.  Really, what could I say to that?  Instead, I focused on the sensations of my wife shampooing my hair. The brush of her breasts against my back, her hands in my hair as she lathered my hair, well, it made me realize that perhaps, even at my advanced age, I would be able to satisfy my wife tonight. My quips earlier this evening had been ones of utter audacity, because I hadn’t been sure if I could do so, sans potion. However, the gentle pull of my hair as Elizabeth shampooed it, the sound of her breathing in my ear… the penetrating sense of being touched…  of having been properly shaved, I was quite eager to please and sate my wife.

“Let me wash your hair tonight,” I offered after she decided that she was done.

I loved washing Elizabeth’s hair, the feel of it in my hands.

“No,” she laughed. “We’ve tried that before, Rab.  We always end in your bed with the soap still in my hair. You leave me with nasty knots that are impossible to remove."

“I’ll get the towels as you said that I could dry you,” I reminded her.  “Now, don’t look."

Deliberately, I inhaled, so my stomach would not be the prominent attribute of my profile. No, I wished to display something farther south. With a minimum of splashing, I exited the tub, heated the towels for Elizabeth, and returned. I held out my hand to her, and she shook her head.

“You need to breathe, Rab."

Once again, I extended my hand, and she stood in the tub.  She exited the bath and I began to dry her hair. When it was dried to my satisfaction, I began to dry her breasts, deliberately rubbing the fabric against her nipples.

“Rab, seriously. If you don’t breathe, you will black out! I shouldn’t have mentioned your  tummy. You’re just so vain….” Her breathing had quickened, but I felt she needed a little more encouragement plus a reminder in respecting my aged but soft physique.  I knelt before her and began attending to the junction between her legs.  The barest touch of my fingers set her to trembling. With my mouth and tongue then, I lavished her with my affection and adoration until she was grasping my shoulders and calling my name.

I got her close to the brink, but not too close.  Daring greatly, I then kissed the length of the ugly jagged scar that ran from hip to her belly.

“Rab! Oh, you naughty, naughty lad. I need to fix your hair, so don’t get me distracted.  I don’t think they’d approve if the Minister of Magical Law Enforcement appeared at work looking like a haystack searching for a farm."

I bit back a moan while I suggested that we go to bed. Very well, I didn’t suggest. I pleaded.  I begged. After all, I am an old buck; I could not stay eager and keen all evening.

“Braid next,” she said, firmly.

“I can get one of the House Elves to do my hair tomorrow,” I suggested.

“No,” she laughed.

“I could cut it all off,” I offered. “I’ve been meaning to do so. Now would be a perfect time."

“Don’t you dare!”  She leaned down to have her lips at my ear, as if someone might overhear our secret.

“Everyone would see your bald spot then,” she protested.

=-=

I knew the ritual by heart, or at least I thought I did. The sacrament was almost as erotic as being shaved, but without the added eroticism of a razor’s edge. It always started the same way, a long head massage where she put a detangling cream in my hair. To give the solution time to work the knots out of my hair, she would give me a wondrous neck and shoulder massage. That was followed by a methodical combing of my hair using my mother’s silver comb to remove whatever tangles might remain.

Once that was completed, she would brush my hair, then braid it while I enjoyed the experience.   I had always found the slight tugging of my hair extremely enticing. Then she would once again knead my neck and shoulders.

Elizabeth stopped earlier than her norm, instead she touched my temples.  I opened my eyes, worried that she was exhausted; perhaps I should insist that she rest.  Instead, she was examining me closely.

“Your hair is graying,” she whispered. “I even see a strand of white.”

“I am close to seventy four, so it’s not a complete surprise,” I reminded her.  “Our next anniversary will be our fortieth."

"I hope I will be here,” she said quietly.

“You will,” I insisted even as I stood to face her.

“I fear what will happen to you if I am no longer here. You took your mother’s death so hard.” Her voice shook then and I kissed her, not wanting her to remember my nervous collapse. Lilabet had saved me from my dark depression over the death of Mother and our daughter, because I had to pull myself together to properly care for her.  I had given up everything and gone into seclusion, as Lilabet had needed me. And I hadn't returned to society, until that day the Dark Lord had asked me that simple question, "What do you want?"

“I will not let anything happen to you, Lilabet. You will long outlive me."

I kissed her again and again until she was leaning on me for support. Then with a dangerous bravado I feared might prove embarrassing to me and, well, possibly injurious to us both, I swooped her off her feet and carried her to our bed.  She was gently placed just so, in the middle of the mattress before I joined her.

“I didn’t finish your plait,” she protested between our hungry kisses.

“To Hell with my bloody hair, I wish to make love to my wife,” I informed her.

“Please,” she whispered. "Rab, I've missed you so."

Please God, let me find that blasted necklace.

Give me the strength to find Potter. I must capture him so the Dark Lord will aid Lilabet.

For when Lilabet dies, I shall go utterly off my broom, and I shall be far, far worse than Father ever dared to be.

I know it.

Unless I slash my jugulars with the straight edge.