I do Nott, actually.

It was extraordinary what a piece of white gold curled into a ring and slid upon the fourth finger of one’s left hand could mean. It was extraordinary that on their own they were of no consequence but upon combination became the most crucial of life’s points. The exchanging of rings was something that happened no matter where and in what circumstance you found yourself married. Always you would take one ring while your spouse the other and you’d place it on their hand, they yours and at once you would be bound for life and in love. In the case of Isadora Malfoy Nott, she was bound for life but not in love.

After a day’s worth of pleasantries, once alone the couple newly wedded could unhinge their smiles, try and liberate the bride from some of the clinging fabric that she had been stuffed into that morning, and set about making their way to their honeymoon destination, one of the only things that they had chance to agree upon amidst the groom’s heavy work schedule. Upon agreeing to that, Isadora found herself eagerly anticipating a few weeks closer to the place she called home. Granted, a life of villas and yachts couldn’t quite prepare her for the beach resort but given as it was allegedly the best place for both exposure and privacy, the young couple weren’t really at liberty to elect for another destination.

When they arrived at the resort it was early evening but in truth the sun had already set on the horizon. They disposed of their bags, were shown to their suite by an obliging steward and at once, transferred from the hubbub of the reception to the idyllic quiet of their room with the balcony doors thrown open to the ebbing of the tide, they were alone. Isadora suddenly felt rather exposed upon that realisation. Without their relatives between them, they were at liberty to do as they pleased with the implication in mind that they, yes, consummate the marriage. The thought made Isadora’s stomach, full of seafood, turn a little.

Electing to not linger any longer than she needed to, her countenance rapidly evaporating into thin air, Isadora knelt down and removed her feet from her shoes. Once freed from them she wriggled her toes in the carpet before lifting up her dress and gliding from the seating area, bobbing out on the balls of her feet to the balcony where at once the warmth of the night enveloped her, soothing her aching muscles and making her feel rather more like herself. In France she was in her element. In France she was home. She didn’t understand that in relation to her new husband, however, and thus though she was in far more comfort out on the balcony she still felt ill at ease knowing he was there as her next of kin rather than her parents. She was not a Malfoy anymore.

Rubbing her fingers across her eyes, Isadora smeared away the eye shadow that coated her upper lids. She then exhaled a bout of air she didn’t realise she’d been holding and tugged the gloves from her hands, tossing them wilfully over the side of the balcony, watching as they floated down to the pavement below. Swallowing then, she reached up and slid her earrings from her lobes, understanding that duty as much as custom dictated that she must at least try to be civil to her husband. She could do that, of course, but it would not prevent her from feeling so dashed awkward.

Isadora set the earrings down on one of the tables pushed up against the wall by the door, sliding them onto the top next to the plant pot bursting with peonies. She then carefully repaired further into the room and found herself wringing her hands together, looking furtively between her own feet, the floor and her husband who, to his credit and to that of his family’s, had been nothing but the gentleman he’d promised to be. She didn’t doubt him on that front. What she truly held her reservations about was whether the marriage would be adhered to in its entirety. The last thing Isadora wanted was a marriage like that of her parents’.

“Would you like something to drink?” She asked hesitantly, feeling for a fleeting moment like an obliging house maid rather than a woman of standing – the future Lady Nott, and all the rest of it.

In an effort, regardless, to make herself feel upright and useful, Isadora shuffled as fast as the heavy dress would allow into the small kitchen area that was technically redundant in light of the dining hall, the room service and all of the taverns in the area. Nevertheless inside the fridge she found more than their fair share of complimentary alcohols. She removed a bottle of wine, a fine white that was just right in temperature, and from the cupboard above she took out two glasses before moving back into the sitting area that was large and expansive but still intimate enough, electing to set the things down on the coffee table before sitting herself down into the cushions of the sofa which greedily seemed to want to eat her up if the way she sank was indicative of anything.

Twisting the cap off, Isadora picked up the wine. She sloshed the pale, fruity liquid into the glasses and set the bottle down once more, dropping the cap onto the glass with the accompanying metallic clack. She picked up her glass and sat herself back against the cushions, hanging all propriety and custom which forbade a teenager from drinking prior to her eighteenth year. She despaired, finding nothing wrong with such an action in light of the fact that she was married long before being able to drink with the full support of the law. The ludicrous hypocrisy of the law that had forced them to this mess of a marriage to come would accept a little indiscretion such as this. If not, to hang with the law entirely for without it she wasn’t sure what she’d do.

“I don’t know what to do now,” she admitted after a much needed sip of wine. “Aside from the obvious,” her eyes glanced furtively in the direction of the bedroom, finding no desire in her to go through with that yet, not unless she was to be convinced suitably, of course. She would have rather not, however. She had determined that she would only suffice to give up that right to someone she loved. As she did not love Alexander, in theory she would be not consummating the marriage any time soon. Alas, however, time was of the very essence. The wine was Dutch courage. The bedroom was inevitable.

The room their parents had arranged was luxurious. It was a place that Alexander could easily see himself living, then again wasn't that the objective of any hotel resort? Provide such a glorious service that their guests would return? Absorb more gold from their Gringotts Vault and make a fortune. Not that Alexander, nor Isadora, had paid for the honeymoon suite. Pansy and Astoria, like most of the wedding, had planned that they would have the largest, comfiest bed in the resort.

Alexander and Isadora weren't marriage via the marriage law, their marriage had been arranged on their own backs as far as the ministry was concerned. Pansy, and the rest of the Nott-Malfoy clan, were still a little unsure whether the law regarding offspring would apply to them seeing as they'd technically married outside of the law. None the less it seemed foolish to believe that Alexander and Isadora would be blessed not to have children in the next year and the Mothers wanted to provide any opportunity for that to happen. As a result the comfiest bed had been provided for the newly weds.

'That'd be nice, Isadora.' Alexander replied as he pulled off his robes, draped them over the back of a chaise lounge by the balcony doors. With his fingers he then unfastened his top two buttons, slipped the dickey bow out of it's knot so that it draped loosely around his neck. The mirror opposite had to agree, in spite of a more casual style Alexander had quickly transformed into, he did look handsome. Isadora was a lucky girl - if appearances were her thing that is.

Alexander moved to sit besides the Ravenclaw and took a glass of the white wine she'd poured. Personally he held a taste for red, something he'd inherited from his Mother, but it was Isadora's day too and he was willing to drink the white. Besides, what did it really matter? Both contained alcohol, both would get them drunk and both could lead to something more than a kiss following the words 'I do.'

I do. It was amazing how powerful those words had felt when Alexander had spoken them. Two simply words had bound the pure bloods in marriage. All money Alexander earned would be half Isadora's, when it came time to adopt the Nott Manor as his own that would become half Isadora's too and they were now set to raise children together. Hopefully the latter would be later rather than sooner.

Was Alexander ready for Fatherhood? No. He hadn't desired children until beyond his thirties. Firstly Alexander intended to establish his career, work his way up in the Being Division, perhaps become a senior official in the Goblin Liaison Office before advancing to head of the department of magical law. That, however, didn't seem like the future he'd be having. Isadora was required by law to fall pregnant, give birth and provide the ministry of magic with an extra magical being within a year, then Alexander would soon be a Father of two the year after. Pansy was hoping this law wouldn't apply to him because they matched themselves, unfortunately Alexander didn't have the heart to argue, not when she had worked so hard to ensure he maintain the pureblood family name.

Isadora didn't know what to do, aside from the obvious. Her eyes had flickered to the bedroom door. Alexander did intend to travel with her their tonight, he didn't just desire sex - of course that was expected - but he wanted to cuddle her too. Surprisingly since those powerful words 'I do' Alexander had suddenly felt protective over Isadora. He didn't want her to leave him, he wanted the marriage to work (it had to work, he had to prove his support for the ministry if he intended to progress through the ranks) and one way would be to win Isadora's love. Love that was currently absent.

Alexander edged closer to Isadora. His fingers let go of the wine glass, allowing it to sit pleasantly besides the bottle on the table. The dark eyes fell upon her face taking in her pale hair, light eyebrows, the flutter of an eyelash that shaped her mysterious eyes.

For a minute or two he simply admired his wife's beauty. In all honesty he wasn't too sure what they were supposed to do either, it seemed the obvious was the only thing Alexander could think to do. Would it be such a shame if their marriage was merely physical? The ministry would be happy, he would be happy, he'd make Isadora happy. The Slytherin didn't feel love for Isadora, in the moment he only felt lust. His love would forever be saved for another love but this was his life now and if he had to trick himself into loving Isadora then he would, even if that mean't waiting until she was ready to give it to him. He'd wait. He wouldn't cheat like his Mother - at least that was what he was telling himself.

'The obvious seems appealing.' Alexander finally replied, his eyes resting on her lips. 'But if you'd rather wait?' He moved away. 'I wouldn't want to rush you until you're ready.'

In the wedding there had been nothing to report that was dissatisfying for the new bride. In truth, everything upon everything had been perfect. It had been like a dream. Only, for the young woman who had trodden shyly up the aisle, eyeing all of the exits, clinging onto her father’s arm for dear life, her nails digging into his skin through his shirt and outer robes, it was something of a nightmare. There had been nothing worth whining about in the ceremony. Throughout the entire day, her new husband had been nothing but courteous, nothing but kind and genial. The food had been sublime, the dancing infectious. There had been nothing to get upset over. Everything had been done for them. Yet, why did Isadora Nott feel so darned unhappy?

Swallowing some of her wine, she observed the glass, reaching up to pull at the necklace around her throat. The strain on her neck was unpleasant but enough to keep her mind from wandering too far. It kept her in the moment. It allowed her to perceive Alexander as he inched closer to her and she felt herself sneaking away. Yet, as the warmth of his body drew closer she found herself swallowing, her teeth coming to bite at the inside of her cheek. She closed her eyes briefly, consoling herself with another mouthful of her wine, and she looked at him, her eyes flicking across his features, trying to ascertain whether or not that the man before her was aesthetically as in order as she had been led to believe.

The base of her glass found the coffee table and she took in his every feature, from his high, square hairline to the gentle formation of his chin, darkened with five o’clock shadow. His cheeks were broad, heightened by the faintness of the arching bones beneath the softly sun-warmed skin. The smooth planes were interrupted by a strong nose, matched either side by soft, deeply set eyes of rich sienna. His mouth was soft, full with two, thick pieces of scarlet skin that, turned up at the sides, looked almost feminine in a way – such was the delicacy of his features. In the room, in that moment, his hair was slightly askew from norm, indicative of a day of frenzied activity and with his shirt unbuttoned a little, the bowtie hanging freely, he seemed finally human to her. Outside of the put together Alexander Nott, when he was undone Alexander Nott he was just as attractive as her friends had always gushed.

And still, endlessly accommodating to her. For no good reason, too, she cynically reflected. She had been nothing but trouble from the very outset and she owed him a lot, she knew.

Looking down at her hands, Isadora lifted her right and twisted at the ring that was now permanently a part of her. Just as he was part of her and now, she him. Licking her lips, Isadora looked up and bit the inside of her cheek again. Stomaching her fear, storing it way for later, Isadora brought her hand up, the bones in her elbow clicking a little, alarmed at the sudden movement. Her fingers reached out, index and thumb catching the next button down on Alexander’s shirt. She paused then, all of her bravery evaporating from her as she realised what it would mean for her to finish the action she had intended to check and employ. She wasn’t entirely sure if she could do it, as easy as it would have been to pop the little bit of plastic through the hole and then take the other and do the same until there were no buttons left and the shirt would have to be abandoned, useless.

Taking in a shaky breath, Isadora’s eyes flicked up back to Alexander’s, looking for some sort of sign that what she was doing was right, even if she had stilled so abruptly after being bold. But what was bold, really, when this man was her husband? A terrifying prospect, to be sure, especially given as she didn’t love him. Could she though, she wondered? She exhaled carefully and pulled the button, sliding it out of the hole, opening up the shirt further. She blinked, coming to terms with the fact that she’d made her bed now. She looked up at Alexander and supposed that it was time she had better lie in it. She slid her hand down, her fingertips trailing across his warm skin and took the other buttons out of themselves until the shirt was merely material shrouding his arms and shoulders – barely a shirt at all.

Isadora sat up a little and brought up her other hand. Hesitantly she laid her hands over his chest and slid up underneath the shirt, curling her fingers over his shoulders, easing the material off of his skin, gliding it down his arms carefully until it slid from his hands and dropped around him, sliding off of the sofa onto the floor. She bit her lip and her eyes flicked over him, quickly at first, embarrassment setting her cheeks alight with a scarlet colouring. She opened her mouth but no words sprang into the air so she closed both that and her eyes, her lips curling into a bashful smile. Pealing back her lids from her gaze, she gathered up her bravery and looked at him fully for a moment or two before taking off her eyes once more, the shame and embarrassment now leaking down her neck, disappearing underneath the ivory dress she wore and, no doubt, went all the way to her toes.

“Now I’m stuck,” she whispered.

In truth, the young woman was probably not at all ready for all of the facets of marriage. Yet, it had always been instilled in her that there was a certain expectation and a number of details that needed to be followed. However, what her informative tutors had neglected to let her in on in the midst of those lectures was how exactly to conduct the consummation. She had no illusions. She knew it wouldn’t necessarily be pleasant at first yet it was implied, of course, that it would be pleasant. Ever the analytical little Ravenclaw, it only seemed to make sense for her to try and skip to the pleasant bits, surely? But then, the issue was – how on earth did she get to that and what on earth did that mean? Was it different for them? Was there an individual pleasantness which would make the whole experience rather more complicated than she had considered?

“I read some books,” she admitted, her skin reddening all the more impossibly. “But, I, um…” Lost her nerve. Slammed them all shut and put them away again. Three children later, the Malfoys were certainly no prudes. It was a pity, however, that they had left their eldest daughter to employ her house traits to discover the best way to approach one of the most natural of human acts. If it wasn’t so pitiful, you could almost call it endearing.

“Can you teach me?” She asked innocently, the flame coloured skin impossible to abate now as she added layer upon layer of embarrassment. She was out of her depth entirely. Treading water with no idea at all where to go next.

A slight smile curled its way onto Alexander's lips, a glint in his eye as he watched Isadora edge closer, her fingers releasing the buttons of his shirt from their tight hold. One by one he felt his shirt loosen, her fingertips lightly dancing along his chest and abdomen as she finished her job at taking off his shirt.

He was topless, his pale yet somewhat athletic body - probably so from all the Quidditch he played growing up and in the earlier years at Hogwarts - lightly glowing in the flickering light from the overhead chandelier. His breathing, unlike Isadora's, wasn't disjointed but smooth and relaxing. His eyes had examined Isadora as she'd quietly gone to work, coming closer and releasing his shirt from the shoulders so it dropped lightly to the floor. They didn't seem lustful, they seemed nervous, unsure. Perhaps she wasn't ready to do this but she was his wife and would be required to do so at some point. Why not now?

Alexander found his answer as to her uncertainty. She was a virgin. A virgin who was completely in and over her head. A virgin who would not be able to please him in the way he was hoping to be pleased. A virgin who had resorted to books to teach her. At the mention of that Alexander had refrain from rolling his eyes, she really was Bambi all alone in the forest.

Not that Alexander was experienced. He'd gone down that road a few times. Twice with another Slytherin in a broom cupboard, once in the prefects bathroom and even during a party in the room of requirement - that was such a clever room to provide the perfect props. Those girls hadn't mean't anything to them, it had been lust, pure lust. He had wanted the pleasure and they had wanted the excitement to touch his, Alexander Nott's body. Embrace his warmth, feel his lips decorate their skin with kisses. Isadora on the other hand was different. She didn't want this as the others had done.

'Teach you?' Alexander questioned, his eyes narrowing and an eyebrow quirked. Did she really expect for him to hold her hand and walk her through it? The sudden prospect of the idea he would be teaching her was a turn off. The movement he'd felt in his trousers had ceased and Alexander was desiring his shirt to be around him once more. Isadora was a virgin. A virgin who wanted a lesson on how to engage in passion.

The time Alexander had lost his virginity he hadn't required lessons although it had been beautifully horrific. Each year the Nott family stayed in a hotel in a wizarding town in the South of France. There had been a girl, Louisianna, working in the bakery. Nott wouldn't have usually gone for someone so peasant-like to have a summer job in a Bakery but she was different. Her eyes sparkled, her tongue was witty and her mind intelligent. She knew how to hold a conversation. Each day, the summer between the fifth and sixth year, Alexander would wait for her to finish her shift before the two went on a stroll. How civilized.

The two came across a cabin, nobody was around, nobody would hear them. That evening, the night before they left, Alexander and Louisianna got lost together. It was perfect, it was new, it was more than anything he'd every imagined. The climax was something that even Cupid would have a challenge conjuring. It was at this point everything turned dark and the shadows crept up on Alexander.

The pair cuddled. Alexander was in love and he wanted to marry Louisianna, he knew it would be a while before that happened but he could write to her when at Hogwarts. Next Summer they would resume their love affair and maybe he could persuade her to transfer to Hogwarts for her final year. Of course, that didn't happen. When talking about their families Alexander soon learnt Louisanna was a muggle born. A mudblood. Filth. Dirt. A common mule that had almost stolen his heart. He'd thrust on his clothes, left the cabin and never saw her again. The fact that he then caught his Mother having an affair didn't help enlighten the end to his holiday. It was beautifully horrific.

'When you're ready, you'll know what to do.' He told her, his eyes glassy as he thought about Lousianna for the first time since the Summer two years ago.

Standing up, Alexander picked up his shirt and began to fasten it back on, walking towards the balcony. His wife was a virgin. Great.

“When you’re ready, you’ll know what to do.”

The spindly, spider leg fingers of Isadora Malfoy Nott fell lamely against the beige sofa cushion. Her mouth, which had fallen agog in surprise, lowly came to and she brought her teeth together with a porcelain clink, her lips sealing overtop. The rejection which washed over her was in equal parts distressing and liberating. She suddenly felt horrified, totally exposed despite having divested herself of nothing barring her shoes, and yet at the same time completely relieved. Her skin alleviated itself of the heat it had taken on and she cooled against the lapping summer’s breeze lifting in through the balcony doors. One thought overrode all others and that was: I have to spend fourteen days in this room with this man.

Fourteen days would not be enough time to somehow inspire a sex drive in the young former Malfoy. In gross contrast to many of her peers and, indeed, in comparison to her best friend, she did not spend the majority of her time behind closed doors either wondering after or experiencing what, indeed, took place behind closed doors. In fact, it wasn’t something she felt comfortable considering at all and whilst it was no for lack of maturity she took this stance – she did not giggle nonsensically as she might have a few years before – but it was a combination of fear of failure, which she had just experience and had lived through despite the thrumming feeling of utter shame within her, and just plain fear, too. Moreover, she didn’t believe herself to possess a maternal streak and in lieu of pleasure – which she could not imagine for a start anyway – she wanted to avoid wanton and feckless reproduction.

She had succeeded thus far.

However, more pressing was the fact that she had managed to alienate her husband from more or less the word go. A large part of her now wanted to run home, to flee to her father’s study and work her way through the decanter of rum or port or whatever he kept now and pore over books and maps and silly little things stuffed into his desk that had been there since the time of his great-grandfather. It was what she knew. It was what she understood. There was an even more fervent part of her that desired to retreat into the store room of the apothecary where she could catalogue and re-label all of the ingredients and place orders for what was missing. She wanted to return to her notes, to her cauldron – to all things she understood. Marriage? Sex? She would almost go as far as to say it was beyond her. She could almost say she’d never be ready. But she daren’t.

Thankfully, before dust had a chance to settle upon her shoulders a knock to the suite door shoved Isadora from her thoughts. Half tripping over the skirt of her dress she got to her feet and scooped up the heavy material so she could hurry to the door. Her hand curled around the glistening brass door knob and she wrenched it open, finding the bell boy stood in the hallway surrounded by bags and suitcases which had been packed for them just as the room had been picked without much of their consultation. He apologised for the inconvenience and she assured him that it was nothing to worry over at all. With great effort, soon all of the bags were set inside – the bell boy going one further to put Isadora’s cream suitcases into the bedroom. She disliked the implication but thanked him all the same and then at once he was gone and she was in her dress still, Alexander on the balcony.

Hurrying into the bedroom, Isadora sourced her pyjamas and couldn’t find the time to look at them despairingly as underneath the floaty lingerie she found something more palatable to her tastes. She ripped off the dress, unable to find it within herself to care about the material breaking under the force of her fingers and she tossed it into the lid of the suitcase, closing it after. Garter was torn off, stockings pulled from her legs and the fever did not cease until the rough material of the blue and white checked pyjamas were pulled over her. Only then could she breathe. Running her hands over her face, she took a breath before slipping out into the living area once more.

She picked her way towards the balcony and stuck her head around the doorframe, glancing forth towards Alexander. She pushed herself away and stepped out onto the cool, balcony tiles. She reached out, setting her hand hesitantly against his shoulder. Pressing her lips together, she released them and took a breath before glancing up at Alexander’s profile.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Alexander simply stared out at the view. Not surprisingly Astoria and Pansy had ensured it was South facing, that way they'd be able to watch the sun rise and set. How considerate of them. Alexander couldn't help but think they were doing all of this out of the goodness of their hearts but really he knew their real intentions. They wanted the perfect honeymoon, the perfect setting for Alexander and Isadora to begin their journey together. They needed the children to fall in love to ensure the marriage stayed that, a marriage. Alexander laughed to himself. They really were Slytherin's... And he loved it.

There was a knock at the door, turning around he rolled his eyes. It was the bell boy. For a moment he thought it would be Pansy deciding that she wanted to stay in the luxury hotel too and was just checking up on the pair of them. Thank the Lord it wasn't. H loved his Mother but there was a time and place for her and most of the time that was out of his sight. Besides, even if she were at the resort Pansy wouldn't be tottering upstairs to check on the newly-weds she'd be in a side room banging the bell boy.

He gulped. Isadora was a virgin. She had no experience, no achievements when it came to sex. Sure she could brew up a pretty perfect potion, tell you about different ingredients. She was smart and would no doubt, eventually, hold an intellectual conversation with Alexander. Isadora was his Father. He too was smart, he was a lawyer, once taught his Alexander and Allyson (he was too busy to teach Anastasia) the basics of magic before they set off to Hogwarts. He was a good man, maybe good isn't the right word, but he was decent. Decent in everyway but satisfying his Mother. Would Isadora be that to him? Would Alexander become his Mother, moving on from woman to woman to fulfill his sex drive his wife didn't understand?

Her hand was on his shoulder. She'd finally decided to join him on this clear evening. There were no clouds. The moon, not quiet full, was hanging mysteriously in the sky. Stars twinkled like diamonds in the sky, their ancestors congratulating the vows they'd taken earlier that day. Down on the ground was a fountain, a large fountain that was splashing lightly before running down an artificial stream to a pond by a set of stone steps that made their way down to the southern sands. The scene was something a mudblood would watch in their muggle rom-coms.

Alexander turned to face Isadora. He examined her eyes. They seemed tired, embarrassed, worried. That tone had been one he'd heard his Father say to Pansy when they believed him to be asleep. Theodore would refuse to give in to Pansy, then when he now wanted to provide Pansy with that climatic pleasure she declined. Alexander didn't want that to be their marriage. Sure he desired the manor, the children, the luxuries but he didn't want their sex life to turn stale before it had even begun.

'No.' He told her. 'I'm sorry.' Then, completing the scene one would watch in a muggle rom-com, Alexanders hands clamped lightly around her cheek bones and he kissed her. It was a long kiss, a kiss that could hopefully take her breath away. His eyes had been closed but Alexander didn't need to open them to see if Isadora was doing likewise.

He continued to kiss the blonde, one hand leaving her face and tracing through her hair, snaking down her side before detouring to her buttocks. Isadora's bum was petite, not much to hold onto but perfectly shaped for Alexander's hands.

'I'll teach you.' He said taking a breath.

Inconsiderate cow though her mother was, Isadora had to concede that she had Pansy had worked wonders. It was wondrous enough that they’d managed to stuff her in a dress, get Draco to haul her down (or up) an aisle and married – let alone on honeymoon. Isadora was too young for this. That was partly the reason why she’d torn the dress off so forcefully. She needed to be free of it, to feel like she was in her own skin. She was sure that Draco had been the saving grace by sneaking in the pair of pyjamas she’d been forced to wear by the dismal choice elsewhere. She was not skimpy. She was certainly not sexy. She was Isadora. There wasn’t a lot to write home about and while a few lines could be gotten with demi bras and thongs, she didn’t want to be the one the lines were written about. No, she was potions-greased hair, glasses on the end of her nose which was buried in a book, her teeth crunching through a bowl of cereal. This didn’t equate with any measure of sex appeal. Unfortunately.

Dropping her hand down from Alexander, Isadora reached out and clawed her fingers around the railing. She inhaled deeply through her mouth and released the air out through her nose as she looked over the world below, at the couple trailing idly through the trees, swaying an laughing gently, clearly having had a little bit too much fun during their night. She leaned over a little, her hair falling from her shoulders, spindling down over the side in a rapunzelesque manner. She leaned back up, having seen the pair disappear beneath an awning, and turned to look at Alexander, her mouth opening to let a few aimless comments, an attempt to hold a conversation, beginning to bubble up into the air.

Her words were muffled with a squeak though when he kissed her, his words only just managing to register in the back of her head somewhat belatedly as her senses were invaded by him. She blinked a little bit, rapidly, and then began to relax, her shoulders lowering from where they’d risen reflexively up around her ears to try and deter his hands away from tickling at her neck and slowly her eyelids slid to their close, her eyelashes reaching up to connect with each other. Her arms remained by her sides, a lack of natural understanding of what kissing entailed making her a rather lame partner in the endeavour but slowly she began to move her lips a little bit, finding that there was a certain give and take to the show of affection. Her lips sort of fit, too, in a way which made it simple for her to follow what she was meant to do.

Dizzied and a little too struck dumb by the kiss to figure to breathe through her nose, it took her a moment to realise where Alexander’s hands were going and though the cynical part of her brain that took note of movements and all of the information her nerve endings were sending up to it, she didn’t realise until a second too late that Alexander’s hand was on her arse. Her hands lifted, her shoulders climbing up uncomfortably again as she wiggled involuntarily, unsure what she thought about being touched there of all places. Again, the cynic in her dryly recognised that her bum was the last place she had to worry about him touching her but she couldn’t help but feel a little bit odd. Kissing was one thing. Wandering hands were another.

She was released from the kiss and Dora blinked herself into awareness. She smudged her lips together, finding that a real kiss was better than her friends had claimed. That said, their experiences had been wet for all of the wrong reasons and with Hufflepuffs. Naïve or not, Isadora decided immediately that she would have rather been as foolishly ignorant as she was now than bitterly aware and disinterested because of a terrible moment in time. She wanted to get it right. She was a Ravenclaw, for heaven’s sake. Yet, she was also a desperate romantic in that she wanted it to be right all on its own, too. This, she wasn’t sure about but she was able to concede that there would never be a right time. The stage had been set for this. If she wasn’t ready now, when their parents had tried to make it most pleasant and comfortable, then anything and everything else would pale.

“I…” Dora swallowed, trying to sober herself a little bit, wishing she had oxymoronically had a bit more wine, “I just don’t want to cock it up.”

Somewhere, someone face palmed. She nipped her lips together again decided that if it could get any worse it would be by her own doing and she’d deserve it. She’d not wanted to go in blind. Yet, she wasn’t brave enough to figure the technicalities. But, she knew the science of it. The problem was that in knowing things in a Ravenclaw way you couldn’t ever really just lay back – as it were – and enjoy it. She understood that there was a carnal reason behind what was also necessary to have children. She understood fully that the glib remarks that bastards were born of passion, heirs of a moment in time, had merit. Somehow, in stressing out about everything upon everything, she’d completely turned herself off of the idea.

Perhaps Alexander would’ve been better off finding himself a mistress.

Just as he was getting into his swing, coming round about the idea of teaching Isadora the ropes when it came to sex she stopped. For a moment he'd felt her body relax, accept embrace what was happening but then he'd gone a step to far. A step towards her bum and her body became rigid again. Ironically, it should be the other way around.

Signing Alexander moved away from her and stood at the edge of the balcony. A sudden scream of pleasure from the grounds below. Well, at least somebody was getting somewhere even if it was on the sand, in a bush or wherever the couple's hiding place was. Why not him? He was the newly wed, he was the one promised a pure blood wife. Surely as a pure blooded wife she understood her place? Understood she was their to make heirs with? How on earth were they mean't to get to that point with timid Isadora over here?

Turning back to face her he took her in again. Any sexual feelings the Slytherin had had moments ago had long evaporated. Before him now wasn't a hot, blond wife but a fifteen year old girl ready for a snuggle with her teddy bear. What had his parents been thinking? Sure it was nice but she was far too young for him, far too immature. The Malfoys were said to be mature, well developed. Perhaps intellectually but Isadora was clearly not growing in her interpersonal skills.

'You're a virgin, Isadora.' Alexander stated. 'I'm not expecting you to live up to my Mother.' He shivered. That had come out wrong, terribly wrong. In Alexander's head it made sense, he was aware of her ongoing affairs with every man in the wizarding world but to anybody else it would seem that he had been taking lessons from his Mother.

A stifled laugh escaped Alexander. A smirk. A chuckle. His hand left the rail and covered his mouth as he began to laugh to himself, his eyes glancing embarrassingly to the Ravenclaw. 'I swear that sounded a lot different in my head.' He told her before continuing to laugh.

As the sounds down below them flittered past Isadora’s ears, she lost all stomach she had for what should have come easy. Although, with her it was never going to be easy. Virgin in all realms of the form, Isadora wasn’t going to find it easy. She wasn’t her siblings who, both, had been blessed with a little more common sense. She had hoarded all of the academic grey matter for herself and it hadn’t emancipated her from her fate. No, in fact she was probably more stuck for it than anything else. She was a virgin. Though, never had it appeared to her as such a terrible thing to be. Teased for it by her best friends she had been, yes, but they’d never meant it. It had never sounded such a dirty word to her. Not until it left Alexander’s mouth that is.

Isadora licked her lips and lowered her gaze a little, her fingers absently pulling at her shorts which were riding a bit higher than comfort would have preferred. She still wanted to escape. She wanted to hide in her books. She wanted to get up in the morning at home and be taken out into the duelling hall with her grandfather where he’d work her down and vice versa, both sharpening their skills. She wanted to spend the afternoon brewing. The early evening curled up in her favourite arm chair in her rooms, a blanket around her knees and a book in her lap. She wanted that peace for herself. She wasn’t sure she was going to find it, though. Not with the pressing issues at hand.

Isadora had flinched. In fact, with the desire to leave playing on her mind, she’d almost had a mind to go. She didn’t know where she’d go. Trapped at a resort with no nearby Floo facilities she could utilise and with a wand she couldn’t use for fear of having it snapped by the irritable beast that was the Ministry, she didn’t have a choice but to stay. She could have retired to the bedroom and locked it and rifled through her bags in search of anything else her father had sent her out of pity. Yet, there was a Freudian slip. It wasn’t enough to lessen the offense that Isadora felt – that she started and balked at, albeit internally even though the assessment wasn’t inaccurate – but it did soften her desire to try and run home.

However, Isadora was in her element. In France, she was home. This wasn’t her ideal of the country, preferring the rustic elements that her grandparents elected to return to while there, but she could smell it in the air and she could hear the sea, imagine the coarse grains of the sand collectively endlessly soft on the pads of her feet. This she could work with. This was her expertise. It wouldn’t suddenly make her alluring but if nothing else she’d know how to have a good time. She yearned to lay about in the sea, letting the current guide her and desire was taking her further up along the shore to the marina where yachts could be found and out into the waters there would be crystalline blue depths to delve into, kaleidoscopic schools of fish to sea and adventure ahead.

This was her world. If everything else was a disaster, at least she knew how to carry herself in this setting.

“I’m sure,” Isadora replied finally, her voice wistful, betraying her to only be half listening. She was away with the fairies, after all.

This particular Malfoy had a little bit of the Gryffindor in her. The couple found their peak with a resounding exclamation of their satisfaction and Isadora shook her head, her gaze catching sight of them as they disappeared once more – this time for good. She then let her hands find the railing and Dutch courage this time took hold of her more fully as she leaned over to see what was beneath them. There was another balcony underneath, followed by a trellis which was prime for climbing up – or down, as per her intentions. Isadora moved her arms a little, attempting to rattle the railing but found it to be suitably sturdy.

The Gryffindor came through when she brought one foot up onto the metal decoration that made the barrier interesting to look at but also a decent foot hold. Bouncing on it a little, the railing remained sturdy – perhaps a testament to her slightness more than anything else – and Isadora then, only then, swung her other leg up over so that she was straddling the barrier. Then, her foot finding a bit of metal to stand on, the other went with it and she was on the other side. Bravery, again in this, seemed to be her strong hold and she smirked a little at Alexander before loosening her legs, holding on, her arms growing taught as she dangled herself down.

It was then that she slowly began to lower herself, inch by inch, until her feet found the railing of the balcony below them. She looked, found no one there, and then slid off onto the balcony underneath. She repeated what she’d done on the one above and brought herself down until the trellis and a gate that was also there which allowed her to descend safely until with a plop she found her feet on the sand flecked pavement.

The sound of the lapping tide found her ears and she could feel the warmth of the air on her skin. Unable to not indulge herself now she popped off of the pavement and sunk her feet into the sound, giving a little groan of happiness as she found she was closer to the water. She turned briefly, remembering Alexander, and her hands found her hips as she looked up at the balcony.

“Are you coming?” She called up to him.

Then, the young woman turned and began to wander down to the shore. The tide was out more or less, threatening to come back in, and underfoot the sand was sodden, inviting her into its pores. She smiled as the water came up around her ankles and she grinned, walking out further until the water lapped up around her knees and a few passing fish trickled by. It wasn’t entirely dark. The same amount of light that had allowed them to spot the exhibitionist couple lit her way and she was able to discern the area quite well, leaving her with little to no fear in sharp contrast to the way she felt in the room.

Stepping out further, the water moved up around her thighs and she revelled in the warmth of it. The water was like a bath, the air outside chilly by comparison but not unpleasant. She toyed with the hem of her top and looked over the water, wondering whether she was so brave as to swim without any modesty when she couldn’t even allow her husband to touch her in a less than platonic manner. She doubted it. Had she been alone, she supposed she would have but she was with Alexander and in turn with anyone else on their balconies so she instead hiked up the shorts a little more and began to walk through the water, content for the first time since they’d arrived.

Perhaps if Alexander hadn't been distracted by the words he'd just said he would have realised Isadora wasn't paying him the slightest attention much like himself. Instead flashes of his Mother's antics played through his mind like a film reel. Her naked body straddling a man young enough to be his older brother, a blonde haired Mr Malfoy running a hand through her dark locks, her arm around the neck of his uncle, lips locked together.

It stopped his laughing. It brought Alexander back to his senses. The first time he'd found his Mother having an affair he threatened to tell Father, that was until Pansy decided to pay Alexander to keep quiet - not that she was short of money. It seemed Pansy had managed to shift from being under her sons thumb to utilising him. She knew he wouldn't blab as long as he got a hefty sum of gold deposited each time into his Gringotts vault. However, it was starting to become a more common thing.

'Wow. What- what are you doing?' He asked suddenly as an image of his wife with her legs over the railing presented itself in the corner of his dark eyes. 'Isadora!' He demanded a little louder, but by that point she'd slid off of their balcony and vanished from sight.

His heart hammering, knees weak, palms sweaty Alexander rushed to the spot she'd disappeared. He hadn't heard a splatter of a body, nor a scream. She couldn't have jumped? But hadn't she just done that, the marriage was too much and she'd decided to top herself? It was a situation Alexander never thought he'd experience and truth be told his mind wasn't quite right (perhaps the wine) and this all seemed like one big dream. In reality Alexander would have been shouting, screaming, would have reached over to pull her back but not this evening.

Leaning his torso over the railing he caught sight of the blonde, this time swinging her leg over the railing of the balcony below and doing the same maneuver. Alexander watched furiously as she continued to make her way down, glancing nervously around to check that nobody was witnessing this. It wasn't fear of getting shouted at, fear of them being kicked out of the hotel but fear of being laughed at - mocked for not being able to keep a girl that she'd left via the balcony. The balcony! Was she mad, deranged, out of her mind?

'ISADORA!' Alexander hissed, although he was now too far from her for him to hear him and he hardly wanted to draw attention to this display of foolishness from the new Lady Nott.

Are you coming? Was he coming. Was he coming? It would have been nice for a little heads up, or perhaps for her to have taken a more civilised route to the sands just beyond the boundaries of the hotel grounds. Instead she'd acted like a peasant, a thief from the night scaling the walls. Whatever Mr and Mrs Malfoy had paid his parents he hoped it had been a lot, getting him involved with such a woman. Who knew Isadora Malfoy was as reckless as a Gryffindor?

Alexander didn't need to answer, nor did he need to think twice. He would be following her and he'd be taking the safe path. The path that wouldn't result in a trip back home to St Mungo's for a broken neck.

About five, maybe eight, minutes later Alexander was walking down the stone steps to the sands. By this time Isadora had already made her way a good distance along the beach, the sound of her feet treading in the calm waters that were advancing towards the horizon.

Kicking his shoes off and tugging the socks from his feet he rolled up his trousers and hurried on after her. It was harder than he remembered running in sand. Then again, perhaps if he hadn't had a wedding and traveled to a different country the man would have had more energy and caught up to Isadora much quicker than it took him.

'Isadora, Isadora!' He stood in front of her, water finding it's way through her toes. His hands clamped onto her arms tightly to refrain her from moving.

'What the hell did you think you were doing? You could have died! Did you know think? Didn't you remember you have a family that would be devastated if you'd died? Your Mother, Father, Brother, Sister, me?!'