3rd January, 1895 — Timoleon Maxime’s Residence, London

She had gone to bed early, claiming a headache in spite of it being her birthday – which Estelle usually milked for all it was worth. As the years passed, of course, it became a bitterer and bitterer day to her, no matter how she tried to combat it; and this year she had more weighing on her mind than ever before.

If it had only been the flowers, those alone still would have been the last straw. But it was much, much worse than that – she was going to kill Timoleon Maxime for all he had done to her, and kill him twice if he didn’t fix things now.

He had ruined her – ruined everything. She had locked her bedroom door, put out her bedside lamp, and then, her hair down but still fully dressed, lit up the Floo. For a moment, Estelle hoped she wouldn’t bump into any of his staff or worse, some other slut in bed with him (no: she might be deluded, but she held with her idea that if he had been fortunate enough to be with her, he would not have wasted his energy on seducing anyone else) – but then she remembered that if she was already ruined, what did it matter if she were seen?

But she hadn’t come across anyone else, just searched from room to room until she found him, her expression stormy. “You think you can just do whatever you want, and get away with it?!” she hissed, already fuming. “Well, I won’t let you. Don’t you dare send flowers to the house –” (it didn’t matter that she had, that was different, and there was no one who would remark on his; and that had been before her monthlies hadn’t come, and she had started to feel strange in herself, and now suspected she was carrying his blasted child) “when I’m – I’m –” She couldn’t seem to say it now that she was actually looking at him, so she just gestured angrily at her midriff, presuming he would understand the consequences of his actions better than she did.

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Timoleon Maxime/Gus Lissington

  

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Today was just another day and would forever just be another day as far as Leo was concerned. He was well aware it was Estelle’s birthday and if he could have been a fly on the wall for when both bouquets were delivered – one to Estelle and one to her boring little sister that he gave two shits about – Leo would have spent the entire day there, waiting to see their reactions. But since he couldn’t, he decided to ignore the day altogether, throwing himself into work until it was time to head home.

He’d retired to his sitting room with a nightcap, his head leaning back against the couch as he imagined the blonde’s reaction – she’d get red in the face, from both shame and embarrassment, although she’d have to lie to those around her and say she didn’t know who they were from. The staff would whisper about her behind her back, citing how the bouquet was underwhelming in color, especially in comparison to Miss Victoire’s. Who in society would want her anyway, now that she was ruined?

It must have been his thoughts that summoned this banshee out of whatever hell she resided in when she wasn’t with him, because a moment later she was storming into the room. He tipped his head and let her finish speaking, his lips curling into a smirk. “Of course I can do whatever I want.” Only Murdock and the Minister himself were above Leo, but he wasn’t afraid of either of them. It was cute (amusing, annoying) that Estelle Malfoy thought she could stop Leo from doing anything, and if he wanted to send her flowers on her birthday, he damn well will.

But he didn’t interject because she was all up in arms about something, although as words failed her, he couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow, waiting for her to spit it out so he could throw her out of his home. She gestured and he just laughed. Leaned his head back against the couch and let out an unabashed amused laugh that he hadn’t done in a long time. When he stopped, his chest hurt from laughing so loudly. “Did you think this wouldn’t happen eventually?” He mocked her. (It didn’t dawn on Leo that she didn’t know what the purpose of sex was for most people.) They hadn’t been very careful over the last few months, so it wasn’t shocking that this had happened. It was just a nuisance.

Leo let his gaze settle on her. "You look it. Who else knows?" How big of a mess was thing to be was the only thing he was worried about.

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Estelle Malfoy / Elias Grimstone

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   Estelle Malfoy

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MJ made this masterpiece<3

She had been expecting his counter about doing what he liked. She had not been expecting him to laugh.

They had always been on the same page before, or so Estelle had thought, in spite of all the jibes and taunts and bickering. If they had hated each other, at least they had been on a par, both of them getting as good as they gave. There had been a kind of balance beneath it all: that, whether or not they had been playing with fire, they were equals.

But now she knew she had been a fool all along, because she had come to him on the brink of utter desperation, and he was sitting there laughing at her. The consequences were to be all hers. For the moment, though, the humiliation of this realisation only fed her anger. “No, I don’t,” Estelle snapped, at you look it: she was paranoid that her body had already changed, but she still fit in all her clothes, and she could not see a difference in the mirror, so nor could anyone else. Which meant – “And no one else knows,” she spat. She wasn’t stupid. She could solve this on her own, without her parents disowning her.

And he was talking like this had been inevitable! That didn’t make any sense! Estelle rounded on him, trembling in anger and wishing that he would get up from the couch expressly so she could shove him. “How could it have happened?! We never – but I never went to bed with you!” She exclaimed, because even if they had done some intimate things in that observatory; and occasionally up against a door; and once on a chaise-longue, it shouldn’t have led to pregnancy: however that happened, Estelle had been certain that the bed part of the marriage bed was a necessary part of the equation.

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   Philomena Sprout

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She didn’t actually look pregnant, her clothes still fit and she didn’t have the swell that came with pregnancy, although it was possible that she wasn’t too far along, if she was, at all. Leo wouldn’t put it past her to use this scheme to force his hand into marriage, given that she wasn’t getting any younger. Well, it certainly wasn’t going to be him that she trapped! He tore his gaze away from her as she snapped at him, and he felt himself relax when Estelle confirmed no one else knew. That made it easier, then.

She got closer, and Leo just leaned back against the couch, smirking at her. “It doesn’t need to be a bed, darling,” he mocked her with the nickname, spitting it out like it tasted like shit in his mouth. He’d never call her anything sweet like that. “Sex is what leads to children. What do you think the bed does to aid that?” Leo was more curious than anything to hear her rationale behind it. He wanted to hear about stupid she sounded so he could throw back in her face, laugh at her. At least Estelle Malfoy was a pretty girl - she had absolutely nothing else going for her.

(And yet there was something that made Leo keep coming back.)

Leo silently cast muffliato, lest his nosy staff come around to try to hear what the ruckus was about. He stood then, taking a few steps forward so he could rest his hands against her hips, even if just for a moment. “What do you expect me to do about this… problem?” And how did she expect him to trust that she was telling the truth? Not that it mattered – this only ended in one way, and it wasn’t him becoming a father.

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“I – I –” The marriage bed, the birthing bed, one leading to the other – it had all made sense in her head, and she had never reckoned with unpicking her assumptions, even doing what they had done. And she had not thought Timoleon Maxime would have let it come to this – she had supposed it more his choice than anything, and had not thought he had any interest in begetting children. But perhaps it made sense, that a man of such giant ego would want to populate the world with miniature versions of himself.

Her horror at the thought of more than one Maxime in the world was impeded only by her horror at his spiteful darling, or her outrage when he thought to put his hands on her. Her eyes blazed, a silent how dare you. How dare he touch her, and use her, and send her flowers and stand here and laugh in her face? She grasped a fistful of his shirt in her hand, still fighting the temptation to shove him bodily. “Do something,” she hissed. “Fix it. Marry me, if you must,” Estelle spat, because he might have as about as much interest in marriage as she had supposed he had in having children, but surely – surely he would to help her now? They didn’t need to like each other, or care about each other, but surely he respected her more than he did some ugly streetwalker? Surely he knew that ruining her would only cause him more problems?

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For the first time in her life, or at least what Leo assumed was for the first time, Estelle Malfoy seemed to be at a loss for words. It was a silence he reveled in. It wasn’t like her voice was ghastly, (or too high pitched, or low enough that she sounded like a man) but sometimes she was annoying – always so certain, so sharp with her words, like every sentence was a carefully aimed dagger. At least the silence gave Leo a chance to move to stand in front of her, to touch her.

He didn’t do much outside of wrinkling his nose once she fisted his shirt, knowing damn well that whatever marks she left (not that there would be any outside of a few wrinkles on his first) wouldn’t be seen by anyone else. Leo glanced down at her, amusement flickering in his own gaze at how angry she was over this, when in reality she had been the one to start the game. Surely she couldn’t be mad that she had lost it.

“Marry you?” Leo laughed, malice wrapping around each word when he spoke again. “What makes you think I want to marry you, Estelle?” Granted the Malfoy name is one of the better names he could attach himself too, and as much as he found he didn’t care about Estelle in any way, Leo also loathed the idea of another man having her. He could easily just lock her away. “However, I can offer you a solution.”

Leo let go of her so he could dig into his pocket, pulling out a little satchel. He dangled it in front of her face. “Get rid of it.” He ordered. “Somewhere less people might know you. Do you need me to accompany you so I ensure that you’ve actually done it?” He couldn’t allow her to keep it and bring him down with her, but at the same time Leo couldn’t marry her. Estelle wasn’t worth that kind of investment – she was a ruined woman, after all.

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   Estelle Malfoy

He was still amused, still mocking her – and more fool her, for thinking he would have anything good to say for a solution. Estelle may not know exactly what he meant by getting rid of it (she imagined being sent away to France to give birth to it, and giving it up; she did not know of any other way to be rid of it, whatever he said about accompanying her) but she was not about to ask him, so that he could laugh at her again. And she was not going to do it, to debase herself into taking his little bag of money like she was some grubby golddigger, as if she was so poor and so cheap to be paid off. No, she would rather make him pay than accept that.

So she batted the coinpurse out of her face, and clean out of his hand for that matter – she heard the clinking smack as it hit the floor. She rather wished she was strong enough to hear the bones in his body smack the same way, but nonetheless – with that same hand, she slapped him roughly across the face, with all the force and the rage she had.

“You think I need your money?” she hissed. “And you would be fortunate to marry the likes of me.” She was a Malfoy, after all, pure in name and in blood. And if he made her impure by this, well – she would still somehow find a way to soil him just as badly. “I could tell my parents what you’ve done.” She snarled. Though she thought that might be an empty threat, because she would almost rather die than tell her parents this, even if they could coerce him into something, even if there was a small chance she could make his life hell.

She just wished it was not at the cost of hers – her life, and her dignity.

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Estelle Malfoy knew how to push all his buttons, and it pissed Leo off to no end. She didn’t even blink, scream, fight back about getting rid of it, not that it occurred to him that she didn’t know what he meant. Estelle was sheltered and innocent, at least in the true definition of the word. The only way a pregnancy ended was with a baby; if she went through with it, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be attached to him.

Instead his course of action just made her angrier, the coin purse clattering to the ground before he could tighten his grip, loose coins spilling across the floor. Leo didn’t flinch, not as the sound of the coins seemed to linger around them nor when her palm collided with his cheek – sharp, vicious, almost satisfying. It stung, red blossoming already faintly across his cheek. He could only laugh, although it was dry and low in his throat like something had been caught there.

Leo tipped his head as he studied her for a moment, his gaze cold. He ignored the jab about marriage, as that was never going to be on the table. He wasn’t going to ruin his life and everything he had worked so hard to build just because some uppity class girl decided she wanted to spread her legs like a whore and winded up pregnant. There were a thousand other girls he could replace Estelle with –

(and yet somehow Leo hated the idea of it.)

He stepped closer to her. “Let’s go tell your parents then darling, and see how it goes.” Leo reached forward to take her hand if she would let him, although he had doubts that Estelle would let him touch her right now. “Because it’s not what I’ve done, it’s what you’ve done.” He lips curled into a predatory smile. “Do you think they’ll disown you to keep the Malfoy name pure or will you take a nice trip to France for a few months?”

He laughed, louder this time as a thought crossed his mind. “You could live with my mother.” They’d hate each other… or they’d conspire against him. Leo couldn’t have that, either.

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When she had thrown fits and tantrums as a child, it had taken commitment, certainly: some children did not have the determination she did, and gave in more easily. But Estelle had known how to wail and scream and throw things like the best of them, and eventually – finally – someone would give her what she wanted.

She wanted to keep fighting here, to scream and stamp and rage at him all night, to hit him again across the face, but the things he said kept burrowing into her. Her parents would blame her. Maybe they would disown her. Even if they tried to threatened him, Timoleon Maxime had money enough, and some influence in the Ministry – he didn’t need her or her family’s advantages. He had probably done this before, and would do this again, and the worst of it was that he had warned her what she was walking into, all along.

And he was laughing. Estelle had sworn, if she dug deep enough in him, there might be some guilt, or shame, or a seed of compassion or at least feeling for her. She had supposed, after the laughter, that he would present her with a way to fix this. Get rid of it, was all he had said. That was all.

Estelle was so caught up in the realisation that he wasn’t going to help her and that she didn’t know how she was supposed to save herself, that when he plucked up her hand with his she forgot to protest.

She felt, impossibly, that old childish urge to cry. Her bottom lip trembled, unbecomingly. “Please,” she said, in a pathetic tone she didn’t recognise. “Please, Timoleon. Leo. You have to help me.” Was this begging? She didn’t know. This was the sort of thing that happened to other girls, not her. She was better than them; she had thought things would be different, that Maxime would be different with her.

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   Timoleon Maxime

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Leo’s thumb brushed over the back of her hand, although it wasn’t kind but more absentmindedly, as it seemed to steady him more than to comfort her. In fact it was almost possessive. His expression didn’t change, the echo of his laughter still curled around the edges of his mouth. A slow breath left him and he straightened his back, just to seem like he was less interested in comforting her than before.

Leo, she said, and it was the first time she’d ever called him by his first name, at least outside of sex. Leo wasn’t sure if he liked the sound of it falling from her lips, nor did he like the pathetic tone she was using to ask him for help, but it stirred something inside of him.It meant she thought she had some claim on him — or worse, that she believed he had some claim on her. Maybe she wasn’t wrong. Leo didn’t like to share.

(Even if he didn’t want her, no one else was allowed to have her.)

“Do you want to keep it, or do you want to get rid of it?” He asked, the words clipped, businesslike, but there was a tension in his jaw that showed that there was a correct answer to the question. They weren’t going to keep it, and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do if that was the answer she gave him. Leo watched her for a moment.

“But we can’t marry and have this,” his hand waved at her stomach, “thing suddenly be born a few months later. I won’t ruin my reputation for a stupid child.” Leo pursed his lips together.

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MJ made this masterpiece<3

How could he be so – so impossible? Caressing her hand, as if he was here for her, as if they were in this together, even in the very moment he was letting her fall.

And what was she thinking? Of course sentiment would never work on him. No amount of supplication would change his selfishness, and Estelle supposed she didn’t even blame him – an out-of-wedlock bastard child, be it his or anyone’s, would drag her into the muck just the same. If she had to choose between her and the child that would inevitably ruin her life, there wasn’t even a choice. If her choice was keeping this reminder of her stupidity or being rid of it, she supposed he was right.

If he wouldn’t marry her, she couldn’t let a child ruin her life or her reputation. Nor was she going to endure it, giving birth to it, seeing it, hiding away and living with his mother or whatever nonsense he had the audacity to suggest. She didn’t know how she had the option, but she set her jaw and knew her choice.

(It had only sunk in properly when he had said we can’t marry, that she would have done it, married him without qualm if he had conceded to it. She hated herself for that moment of helplessness, the moment of weakness she had been stupid enough to let him see. Maxime would never forget it now.) “Fine. How do I get rid of it?” she said finally, toneless, trying to meet his gaze squarely.

(Unfortunately she was hardly going tell her parents and use their money, so if it took money, she was going to end up scraping his coins up from the floor.)

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Fine. How do I get rid of it? She said, and that was that.

Leo’s lips curled into a smirk and had he been the least bit affectionate he might have cupped her face, but he didn’t. Instead he let his gaze meet hers, pleased that she made the correct decision more than anything else; neither of them would have their reputation tarnished, and they wouldn’t have a little bastard running around. Marriage was never an option, not when there was a pregnancy beforehand that had occurred.

(His reputation was everything. Leo would burn every bridge before he let someone think less of him for something he could have in fact, controlled.)

“That’s my girl.” He said, because in a way, she was. Her virginity had been given to him, and well, maybe one day, once this little blip passed, her hand in marriage might be his too; but that would be his choice, and not her trying to force his hand for a stupid mistake. She was a fine enough bloodline and that was all that mattered to him.

Leo bent down to pick up the coin purse that Estelle had batted away, although he left the ones that had fallen out. He didn’t press it into her hands, merely held it out to her.

“Write a letter to suggest there is a situation that needs to be handled swiftly and quietly. Make it sound like you’re doing it for someone else. A friend, a sister, I don’t care who you pick as long as you do not give yourself away.” It wasn’t the first time Leo had dealt with this situation, although he hoped it would be the last; women either needed to learn to deal with this themselves, or learn how to live with the consequences of premarital sex. “My owl will deliver an envelope tonight, with the potioneer’s name already on it. You’ll put your letter inside. The owl will bring the potion back to you—then return to me.”

He glanced down at the bag. “If the price is higher than what you have, I will cover what is needed.” It was probably the kindest thing Leo had ever, and would ever say to Estelle, but it was important to him that she did this. “Write to me once you’ve taken the potion and know the effects have worked.”

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   Estelle Malfoy

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MJ made this masterpiece<3

That’s my girl. He looked so inordinately pleased with himself, as if this was just another argument he had won. Why could he not look at her with that pleasure and pride on some other night, when it had not just cost her all her dignity, lying in tatters at his feet?

There was no lower to descend, at least. She breathed in a deep breath, keeping the tonelessness and her emotions boxed away now, since her most desperate emotions had not stirred him in the least. He could at least respect her obedience, she supposed; she took the coin purse this time, and tucked it away into the pocket in the folds of her skirts.

He had certainly done this before, so she thought she could trust his instructions; he did not seem fazed in the least, now that she had agreed. She nodded at him in dull acceptance. She hated him. She hated how low he had brought her, and how terribly empty she felt. He would send her the owl – so by all rights she should go home and change for bed and try and sleep, try to pretend all this had been a bad dream. It was perhaps the worst birthday she had had.

But she didn’t like to think he would see her leaving in such defeat, paid off and pitiful. She inclined her chin upwards, considering leaving with her head held high in defiance – but then she wondered. Would this be the last time she saw him? Surely she could not in good conscience keep seeing him now, now that she knew where this path led? Would he ever see her the same way?

Estelle hated him with a passion; more so, she hated herself for thinking, suddenly, that she would miss him. She was pathetic, and she knew it. But she wanted, more than anything, for him to end up missing her. Or maybe she just wanted to feel better; to be too distracted to feel like crying.

“If I am already – with child,” Estelle said, an odd, mercenary look coming over her, as she thought about this practically, “then there is no risk –?” She wanted to feel better; if she was not going to do this again after she took the potion, she wanted to remember the way she had made him want her, some small pretence of power over him. She met his eyes and pushed him back towards the couch, hitching up her skirts as they went. “This is the last time you’ll have me,” she warned him. “You should make it count.”

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   Timoleon Maxime

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Leo expected Estelle to leave in a huff, or at the very least to lift her chin and stomp out of the room like she sometimes tended to do when she wanted to seem… What, more mature? Less like she was throwing a temper tantrum? Leo hadn’t ever bothered to ask because he simply didn’t care. Estelle always had this way of wielding her own vulnerability like a weapon. Not that it mattered now as she turned toward him, his gaze meeting hers as he let Estelle push him, stepping backward until the back of his legs hit the couch.

“There’s no risk.” He confirmed, his hands finding the curve of her hips as she came with him. He didn’t pretend to be noble or a gentleman – no, that ship had sailed the first night he’d taken her. Leo had been raised to be one but of course that life was boring so he chose to ignore it when people couldn't see him. His hands roamed greedily – her thighs, her hips, the barest edge of skin where her bodice had ridden up. This wouldn’t be their last time together; Leo would decide that when he was good and ready, but right now there were no other debutantes who got under his skin like Estelle Malfoy did.

He loathed her and craved her at the same time. Wanted to kiss her and strangle her in the same breath.

Leo pressed his mouth to her neck, teeth grazing the curve of her neck as his hands slipped beneath her skirts. “You keep saying it’s the last time.” he murmured,“but you never quite mean it.”

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MJ made this masterpiece<3

No risk, and small reward, but – if she forgot all else about the current situation, she could pretend everything was still fine, and this way she could make him make her feel good. He was too easy that way: he already had his hands all over her, possessive, hungry, predictable. “I mean it this time,” Estelle said sincerely, digging her nails in where she had hooked her hand over his shoulder, half-wishing she could draw blood through the fabric of his shirt.

She arched her neck back with a stifled gasp of pleasure as she pressed herself onto his hand underneath her layers, rocking her hips forwards and trying to work on opening his trouser buttons at the same time. Her tone was firm, decided. “I will never speak to you again after tonight, Leo. I will never so much as look at you again.” (And she would never let anybody else have her in this way until she was married and had a husband, but she could not say this to him.)

And maybe he wouldn’t miss her, but – if they were in a room together, she would not give him the satisfaction of toying with her again.

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Leo could feel her nails through his shirt, but from the way she pressed into him, rocked into him, he already knew that she wasn’t going anywhere. His hands stayed where they were, greedy and familiar beneath her skirts, but his eyes dragged up her face, lingering on her mouth as she spoke words that he’d heard a thousand times over in some way or another – don’t speak to me again or we’ll never do this again, yet somehow Leo had taken her again and again without consequence. (Until now.)

“That so?” Leo replied, his mouth twisting into a smirk as he felt her struggle with the buttons on his trousers, as if undressing him was going to give her some kind of power. He let the question hang between them, just long enough for his fingers to find their way under her layers, to press deep and slow, stroking where he already knew she was her weakest.

He let her work at his buttons, didn’t help her, just watched her try to unmake him like she wasn’t the one who was going to come undone. “You better pay attention then, darling, because if this is the last time, you’d better remember it.” Tired of her fumbling, Leo’s hand finally moved. Not the one still working her over beneath her skirts, that stayed exactly where it was, but the other slid down and caught her wrist with ease.

He guided her fingers to the right button, then the next, working them open with the practiced ease. And then he let go of her wrist entirely. Let her take care of the rest. “All yours,” He mocked, his fingers sliding out of her.“For the last time, right?” Of course he didn’t believe her. Not for one second.

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MJ made this masterpiece<3