Chapter Text
Pansy stared at her reflection in the mirror, shifting her eyes to glare at Draco through it as he lounged on the bed behind her in the hotel room. She stepped forward with her right foot and watched as the slit – could it even be called a slit with how wide it was? – stretched tight over her leg, rose higher to settle just below her panty line.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“What?” Draco returned her glare. “I’ll have you know I Portkeyed to the damn States for that dress. For you. And it fits like a damn glove, thank you very much.”
“It’s indecent!”
“For you?” he sneered the two words this time before he relaxed his face into a smirk. “Since when?”
“Since I asked for a dress to wear to Potter’s wedding to our best friend,” she argued. “Not a dress to work the streets of Paris.”
Draco lifted a finger. “One, that dress should never be worn to work the streets. Perhaps a premier event for one of Zabini’s new ventures.” A middle finger joined his index. “Two, what you requested me to find was a dress that would have the Weasel regretting he ever cheated on you. I’m positive that little number fits the bill.” He switched his fingers so that his last three fingers were up, his thumb and index formed into a circle. “And three, you look bloody fantastic, and you know it.”
“But –”
He dropped his hand. “And honestly, woman, do you even know me? Go to the closet and look at the last bag.” He shook his head. “Like I wouldn’t think of everything,” he muttered before raising his voice again. “You’ll turn heads after the ceremony.”
Just then, a glowing otter bounded into the room, leaving trails of light in its wake. It swirled around his shoulders, frolicking about for a few seconds before it settled on his lap. Draco stared at it patiently. There was an odd scuffling sound that came from it before –
“Daddy! Mummy needs help with her jul-joooo- her neck -lace.” A soft giggle. “My hands are too small!”
With a grin at his son’s voice – he could hear the frustration at not being able to say jewelry – Draco stood from the bed and followed the patronus toward the door where it disappeared in wisps of smoke.
“Pansy, I’m heading back to my room. We’ll meet you by the lift in about 20?”
“Sure,” Pansy replied as she walked back into the room, this time holding a light charcoal-colored robe, its trim the thinnest line of red fur, the color matching the dress. “Was that Scorp?” she asked distractedly. She slid her arms into the sleeves of the room, and drew the light fabric together above her chest, where she hooked it closed with an enamel red rose. The outer dress robe flowed down her body like a waterfall. “Oh ,” she breathed. She twisted her hips from side to side but even her movements didn’t shift the robe and her bare leg remained covered. “This is perfect.”
“Of course it is,” Draco scoffed. “Like I’d give Potter a reason to complain about one of us. And yes, that was Scorp. I’ll see you in 20,” he said again. Before ducking out of the room, he winked at his closest friend over his shoulder. “By the way, Hermione’s showing just as much leg, if not more, so you’re fine.”
When the door snicked shut behind Draco, Pansy turned her attention back to her reflection. She pushed the outer robe back and decided that Draco was right – she did look fantastic and she felt powerful in the dress. A wave of her wand settled her hair and cushioned the sky-high stilettos Draco had thrown – literally thrown – into her hands earlier. The last thing she did was swipe the deep red lipstick over her lips, a color Granger had given her on her last birthday.
“You’ll wish you still had me,” she spat into the mirror. Her lips curved up into a smirk at the thought of Ronald Weasley falling over himself when he saw her. “Fucker.”
She met Draco and company in the hallway, cooing over her godson in his adorable dress robes and whistled at Hermione who blushed but nudged Pansy. “You okay?”
Pansy nodded and let out a breath of nervous air. “Yes. Let’s go.”
In a show of female solidarity, Hermione transferred Scorpius into Draco’s arms and looped her own arm through Pansy’s. “You look beautiful, by the way,” she said before her face twisted into a look of annoyance. “I hope he chokes when he sees you.”
As they stepped onto the lift, Pansy raised an eyebrow. “It’s still a shock to see you so angry about your best friend.”
“Former,” Hermione corrected with a roll of her eyes. “He lost that title when he refused to acknowledge my relationship with Draco. And after what he did to you,” her voice trailed off and Pansy was impressed by the red flush that came over Hermione’s face. Pansy almost expected steam to come out of her friend’s ears. “He could have, well, he didn’t have to be an arse about it.”
“Bad word, Mummy!” Scorpius said gleefully. “Knut, please!”
“Daddy will give you one for me, sweetheart,” Hermione said after taking a deep, calming breath. Draco rolled his eyes but quietly promised Scorpius he’d give him three Knuts later since Mummy would probably repeat herself later. “It just drives me mad! He drives me mad! I can’t believe I ever thought he’d be perfect for you! You deserve better,” Hermione huffed. She continued to mumble under her breath, stopping only when Pansy giggled loudly.
“I don’t even know what you’re saying anymore, Granger.” Hermione glared. “I’m never going to call you Malfoy – you know that.”
“It’s been years,” she complained. “You could call me Hermione, you know.”
“I could, but what’s the fun in that when I know how much it bothers you?” Pansy teased good-heartedly. “Besides, your husband still calls you Granger half the time.”
“Hi guys,” a voice interrupted. The girls looked up to see Neville. “Thought I’d get to you before,” he stopped talking but nodded his head to the other side of the room where Ron was helping greet arriving guests as part of his duty as Harry’s best man.
“Thanks, Neville,” Pansy said softly. Seeing Ron’s red hair almost made her curl in on herself but Hermione leaned over and whispered words of encouragement. “Right,” she said. “Where do we stand?”
“This way.” Neville led them to a section near a raised altar, making sure to steer them away from Ron’s view - it wouldn’t do to have a giant argument occur before the ceremony even started. Neville indicated a single silver unlit candle floating by the altar. “Hermione, this one is for you and Draco to start the candle lighting. Harry said he told you when.”
Hermione was distracted, so it was Draco who answered, “Yes, we know when. Thanks, Longbottom.” After Neville left, Draco nudged his wife with an elbow. “Granger.”
“Granger,” Scorpius repeated. “That’s Mummy!”
“He brought her,” Hermione whispered angrily. She pulled Pansy closer and tried to turn her away. “She’s actually here.”
Draco looked off to the side and followed his wife’s line of sight. When he saw two blonde women - one vaguely familiar from the year the Triwizard Tournament occurred, and the other familiar because of front page news in The Prophet - he promptly deposited Scorpius into his mother’s flailing arm. Instinctively, Hermione let go of Pansy and curled both of her arms around Scorpius, who immediately found the wayward strands of her hair.
“Draco.”
He leaned down, placing a hand at the back of Hermione’s neck. “Do not cause a scene. The ceremony is about to start and Potter will never forgive you if you slap his Best Man before he can officially claim Daph.” When she didn’t relax, he continued in a softer plea. “Don’t embarrass Pansy, love.”
Pansy’s jaw was tense, her teeth clenched as she stared across the room, where Ron walked up to the Delacour sisters, leaning down to buss a kiss onto the shorter one’s cheek. “Four months,” she said lowly. “Barely four months and she’s here with him. He brought her,” she repeated Hermione’s words.
“Ignore it,” Draco said to them. He shifted and pressed his own kiss onto the side of Pansy’s head. “He’s not worth your attention.”
“Easy for you to say,” Pansy muttered but diverted her attention to the main door until the lights dimmed, signaling the start of the ceremony.
For the next half-hour, she watched as Daphne Greengrass married Potter, of all men. She plucked Scorpius from Hermione’s arms right before the curly-haired witch smiled at Harry as she brandished her wand to begin the candle lighting. Next to her, Draco took out his wand and joined it to Hermione’s, the two of them muttering under their breath until a small flame emerged from the tips. Together, they lit the silver candle. In front of them, Harry and Daphne’s faces glowed in the candlelight.
“May this candle light your new path together,” Hermione said to them. Harry’s eyes gleamed with happiness and he mouthed Thank you, I love you to Hermione before the newly married couple continued to walk a path in front of the crowd, pausing at each hand-picked couple who lit another candle for them. Pansy would have rolled her eyes at the completely Muggle tradition - how did they even learn about it - but instead, her chest tightened.
Almost a year prior, Daphne had sat down with her and asked her if she would light a candle with Ron during the ceremony, telling her she was the sister who had helped her heal when Astoria had left London after a falling out with their parents. Pansy had said yes, had looked forward to it when she learned all of the couples asked were ones Potter and Daphne believed were ones they trusted inexplicably and who had strong relationships.
And then Ron had cheated. And gotten caught. The photos of Ron and Gabrielle Delacour were splashed across the front pages of every news and gossip papers -
Engaged War Hero Caught With French Debutante, one had proclaimed even though Pansy had never received a ring.
The Prophet’s headline had been blunt and hurtful: Youngest Weasley Son Trades Death Eater’s Daughter for Younger Beauty.
The End of a Fairy Tale for Parkinson Heiress was one that made Hermione roll her eyes who asked if anything could be a fairy tale with Ron - which then made her apologize to Pansy for an entire dinner.
Parkinson Tossed for Blonde Upgrade: Good Riddance! That was the one Draco had ripped into shreds and thrown into a fire.
Now, Pansy watched as her ex-boyfriend and bloody Gabrielle Dela-fucking-cour lit a candle together, Ron’s arm around the girl in the glowing room. Pansy ducked her face into Scorpius’ hair, breathing in his sweet toddler scent mixed with the caramel apple candy in his mouth. His hand came up and patted Pansy’s cheek. “Love you, Zizi,” he said quietly, using his nickname for her like he knew she needed to hear those words. She squeezed the little boy in a hug.
By the time the entire ceremony ended and Daphne and Potter were snogging at the center of the room guests be damned, Scorpius was squirming in her arms to escape her tight hold, and she was ready to lose herself in as much alcohol as she could handle, as much liquor it would take to make her heart stop hurting. When the main lights turned back on, she let Scorpius down, waiting until Hermione had hold of his tiny hand again, before she spun and stalked through the crowd. She briefly stopped at a table that had her name floating above one of the seats and threw her outer robe over her chair. She noted Draco, Hermione, and Scorpius’ names but didn’t bother looking at the rest of the table.
Stupid bloody fucker, she shouted in her mind as she stalked toward one of the bars set around the perimeter of the room. Fucking child tart. Who cared if she was actually of age? She was still six stupid years younger than Pansy which, according to all of the gossip rags, made her an old decrepit woman. Idiot people. Stupid child. Arsehole of a Weasley.
No one was at the bar yet - they were all mingling, trying to congratulate the newlyweds. “Whatever drink you can make with the most alcohol,” she bit out. “Please.”
With raised eyebrows, the man behind the bar gave her a nod before turning to grab a few bottles. “Champagne’s set if you want something right now,” he said with a tilt of his head to the side.
“Thanks,” Pansy murmured, grabbing two champagne glasses from a nearby floating tray. She sipped the first glass of bubbly - it was good, clearly expensive - but didn’t bother savoring the second. She was placing the empty flutes onto the bar and reaching for a third when a tall tumbler of light brown liquid appeared before her. “Do I want to know what this is?”
The bartender shrugged. “Some tea concoction from Muggles, is what they told me, Miss. Has all sorts of alcohol in it, stronger than the wines and whiskey we usually have on hand.”
“Whatever works.” Pansy shrugged and sampled the drink. She could taste the various liquors in it and rattled them off in her head until her eyes widened. “Oh,” she breathed out. “Keep these coming,” she ordered. She forgot the drink’s name but a memory niggled at her brain, one where Draco had regaled her about a trip he and Granger had taken to MACUSA and the iced tea concoction that had cause Granger to say fuck-all, agreeing to anything Draco wanted that night. Supposedly, their hotel room had cost Draco a pretty penny when even their combined magic couldn’t put it back together again.
“What’s that?” Hermione’s voice was closer than Pansy expected, causing her to jump. A hand reached out and took the glass from her. Hermione delicately sniffed the drink and raised her eyebrows. “Is that a Long Island?”
“I think it’s that drink you had with Draco in New York,” Pansy replied, swallowing down half of the tumbler’s contents. “The one that made you –”
“Made me what?” Hermione asked suspiciously. Her eyes narrowed. “What do you know about New York?”
“Enough, Granger,” Pansy laughed.
“I hate that he tells you everything.” Despite the words, Hermione was smiling. “If that’s the same drink, you might want to slow down.” She turned to the bartender, who was finishing up another cocktail, and waited until he turned his attention to her. “Dragon Barrel, neat, and water, please. And another for this one,” she requested, waving a hand at Pansy.
“Water?” Pansy questioned. Her eyebrows drew together for a moment before her eyes shot down to Hermione’s stomach. “Are you –”
“No one knows yet,” Hermione said quickly and quietly. “Except Draco.” Her water appeared before her. After glancing around quickly, she waved a hand above the glass and the clear liquid tinted light yellow, making it look more like wine. She watched as the bartender handed Pansy another glass – even larger again – of her drink. “Calm down with those, maybe? Don’t lose your wits just because he’s an inconsiderable pile of owl dung.”
“I’ll be fine.” Pansy paused and stared at her drink for a moment. She picked the glass up, a bit more slowly this time, and swished the liquid in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. “How long does it take, Granger?” She moved her gaze to her friend, who had a questioning look on her face. “How long does it take until you don’t care anymore?”
Hermione flinched. “Pansy,” she said softly.
“I’ll be fine,” she repeated, rapidly finishing off the drink, making Hermione grimace even as she thanked the bartender when he handed her Draco’s drink order. “We’re at the same table,” Pansy said. “I’ll be right there.” Though Hermione hesitated, both women heard Scorpius screech her name. “Your boys are calling.” Pansy nodded to the brandy tumbler in Hermione’s hand. “Go. I promise, I’ll be right there.”
Pansy finished her drink and turned back around to see a line forming in front of the bar. With a twist of a grimace on her lips, she wondered why bars were even set up – they were wizards and witches, for crying out loud. Shouldn’t drinks just appear at the tables?
“Damn Muggle ways,” she muttered without malice. She leaned back over the bar and caught the bartender’s attention. “Can I get one more to bring back to my table? Maybe two?”
He nodded and reached for the bottles he never actually put away. “Is he here?” he asked casually. “The man who hurt you – is he here?”
Pansy stayed silent for a few beats, opted to watch this stranger’s hands turn bottles and stir concoctions with ice. “Yes,” she finally said.
“Well, that won’t do,” he replied. He handed her two more tall glasses, each with less ice. “Name’s Dev, Miss. There’s a piece of parchment by your plate, meant to take drink orders throughout dinner. You write my name down and I’ll have another one of these sent over right away. Alright?”
She blinked at him. “That would... That would actually be fantastic. Thanks Dev.”
He saluted her with an easy grin and Pansy spun on her heels – what seemed like dangerously high heels now. She frowned and counted the number of drinks she’d already hand in her head. Two glasses of champagne , she thought. One iced tea, two, three... four? She looked down at her hands as she wound around tables with chairs pulled from beneath. Is this my fourth and fifth? Or fifth and sixth? She was still pondering numbers when she arrived at the table, confused when she saw Scorpius standing on the chair holding her robe. At least, the chair she thought her robe had been on when she dumped it earlier.
“See, Granger?” she asked though confusion laced her words a bit. “Here and safe! Except –”
“Pansy,” a voice called out to her, one that was vaguely familiar. “Hope you don’t mind that Draco and I shifted your seat.”
Pansy turned to face a man smiling at her from across the table. Her head tilted to one side as she studied him closely. She tried to place him but her mind was blurry though she wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or long-forgotten memories.
His hair was cut short close to his scalp. A trimmed moustache and beard graced his face, framing full lips that tugged a Hogwarts memory to the front of her mind. His white shirt was stretched taut over broad shoulders and muscled arms, sleeves already rolled up to show off swirls and blocks of blacks and greys. Her eyes focused on his left forearm where Pansy could just make out a greyed-out snake and skull trapped inside a wire cage, escaping birds beating their wings across skin.
Pansy’s breath hitched. She averted her eyes back to her perusal of the man, following the red tie from a wide chest down past its edge, back to the white shirt that disappeared into the waistband of grey pants, pressed tight enough around firm thighs and –
It hit her.
“Goyle?” she asked in disbelief. “Gregory Goyle?”
“Just Greg is fine,” he said with a wink. “Hey Pans,” he greeted her again, using her old nickname. “Long time,” he began but paused.
His eyes followed the line of her dress, from the sharp point at the neckline – is it a neckline if it’s nowhere near the neck – down to where her waist nipped in before blooming out in a delicious curve of red roses and gold leaves giving way to tanned skin.
A smirk curled onto one side of his mouth. “No see,” he finished with darkened eyes focused at the line of muscle defined down the side of her thigh.
Heat raced up her body at his words, at the look on his face. She lifted one of the glasses to her lips, gulping down its contents to try to cool the flush spreading in her. “Why are you here?” she blurted out before she shook her head, realizing how rude she sounded. “I mean –”
“Last minute invitation,” he answered with a chuckle in his voice. His eyes moved over her shoulder briefly, but when Pansy looked behind her, she only saw Daphne and Harry surrounded by a group of redheads. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“What?”
He indicated the chair next to him. “Don’t really know the others at the table. Thought it would be better to talk to you than,” he squinted at the names still floating, “Luna and Rolf Scamandar?”
Pansy didn’t even register the names. The way Greg had said talk, the way he had leaned into it, made the blush rise into the apples of her cheeks.
“I don’t mind,” she finally responded. With a quick glance at Hermione, whose head was against Draco’s shoulder as she snickered Pansy shrugged and made her way to the chair next to Greg. Her hands were still full with her two drinks so she paused by the seat. Greg snapped to attention, lessons from a pureblood childhood entering his brain, and pulled the seat out just enough so she could slide in. He didn’t move his hands after she set the glasses down and leaned back in the chair, and Pansy shivered at cool fingers on her bare back.
He sat to her left, shifting his chair closer to hers. He nodded at the drinks she had just set down. “Rough go tonight?”
Pansy shrugged, staring intently at the empty plate in front of her.
“Gran-Hermione mentioned you might need a... distraction tonight?”
Pansy lifted her gaze and met Greg’s hazel-green eyes, the pupils dilating the longer he stared her at her. “She said that, did she?” She went to turn her body toward Hermione to ask what she might be playing at, but a heavy weight landed on her exposed thigh, fingers gripping tight. Her body immediately stopped all movement except that she dropped her chin to look at Greg’s hand - large, strong - on her leg.
His thumb rested on top, his fingers curled around the inner curve of her thigh. She watched, mesmerized, as he slid his palm up against smooth skin. “Is she right?” Greg dropped his tone to an icy burn, an even, steady question that dipped into the pit of her stomach. “Do you need a distraction?”
Pansy swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. Her eyes stayed on his hand, gripping tight and releasing in pulsing intervals. “What if I did?”
Vaguely, she heard Luna and Rolf arrive at the table with their two boys who squealed when they saw Scorpius. She heard Hermione’s laugh and she heard her name being called repeatedly. “Pansy. Pans! Merlin, she’s a goner. Pansy!”
“What?” She felt like she was breaking the surface of the Black Lake back at school, like there had been a fog over her and she only just managed to escape. She turned her head to see Hermione laughing into the palm of her hand and Draco pursing his lips at her with raised eyebrows. “Yes?”
“Dinner?” Draco drawled. He nodded to the plates in front of everyone that were currently filling with salads. “Thought you might want to fill up some.” He snickered into a closed fist.
“Thanks,” Pansy said dryly.
She picked up her fork with the rest of the table, finally acknowledging the Scamandars with a hello and a nod. Just as she went to take a bite, she froze at a finger tracing a circle on her inner thigh, moving higher with every loop. Letting out a cough to hide any other sound, Pansy snapped her legs together, groaning when she realized she stupidly trapped Greg’s hand between her legs. Greg’s hand that was currently moving against the silk of her panties, so close that she could feel the side of his finger finding her slit. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she felt herself getting wet with each stroke.
“You okay?” Hermione asked her. The look of concern on her face was real and all Pansy could do was nod. “You sure?”
“Fine,” she finally managed to croak out. She grabbed one of her glasses, drinking deeply from it until all that was left were small pieces of clinking ice. “Sorry, got distracted.” She cringed slightly at the word. “Did you ask something?”
Hermione launched into conversation but Pansy tuned her out as she concentrated on trying to eat her salad. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hermione lift Scorpius onto her lap so he could eat off of her plate. Draco was, surprisingly, having a light-hearted argument with Luna, while Rolf tried to keep his sons in their seats.
“Have I already lost your attention?” Greg’s voice caressed her ear, the breath from his words tickling her hair. “That would be a shame, don’t you think?”
Pansy shifted in her seat, scooting her butt toward the edge the slightest bit. Next to her, Hermione paused in lifting her own fork to her mouth and glanced over at the dark-haired woman next to her. Pansy tried to control her breathing.
She moved her left leg slightly, just enough that Greg’s hand could move a little more, could trace the seam of her knickers. He found a small patch - a triangle, he smirked to himself - of short curls and ran the pad of his index finger over it, scratching lightly until Pansy couldn’t stop the shiver from running through her body.
Hermione put her fork down and sipped her tan-tinted water while she stared at Pansy over the rim of the glass.
Ignoring the sharp gaze, Pansy lifted her hips beneath the table. Her lips parted when Greg’s finger slid down, down , until she could feel herself coating him with the slickness of her arousal. She let out a shuddering breath of air, reaching down to press sharp nails into the flesh of Greg’s exposed arm.
Greg didn’t stop the slow and shallow thrust of his finger inside her, but he did clear his throat before he began a conversation with Rolf fucking Scamandar, who Pansy had never hated until that very moment. While the two men chatted, Pansy gripped the edge of her chair, circling her hips as discreetly as she could, trying to move lower so Greg could push deeper inside, or give her a second finger.
He stopped moving. Pansy’s body tensed in confusion. She saw a glass slide closer to her plate and looked over to see Hermione pushing her drink over with a blank look on her face.
“You look flushed, Pansy,” she said lowly, angling Scorpius away from seeing Pansy. “Have a drink.”
With a curt nod, Pansy grabbed the glass, her fingers slipping against the condensation. She brought the glass to her mouth, parting her lips to sip.
And then Greg tapped against her clit. Pansy almost dropped the glass. She felt the tap ... tap ... before his finger pressed down. Hard. The only thing Pansy could do was drain her glass. Again.
“Why don’t I get you another drink?” Greg asked suddenly. Abruptly, he removed his hand from Pansy’s body, from beneath her dress. He leaned in. “You look like you could use another one. Maybe something lighter?” His eyes glinted. “I like my women relaxed but still coherent, after all.”
When he stood, Pansy tilted her head to watch him. He laid a hand on her shoulder and she could feel the wetness of herself press into her skin from his finger.
Jesus.
“Be good while I’m gone,” Greg told her, giving her a smile. The grin though disappeared when he looked down to see the rounded curves of her tits heaving as she tried to get her breathing under control. Greg licked his bottom lip. “Or don’t.” He brought his hand up and swiped his index finger at the corner of his mouth. “Definitely don’t.”
He disappeared from her view and Pansy sat back in her chair, letting out a deep breath, practically gasping for air. Hermione stared at her with wide eyes from her right side. She interrupted Draco’s argument with Luna, harshly whispered, “Draco Malfoy, if you don’t take your son right now , you will be at the reception desk asking for another room before the night is over.” As soon as Scorpius was out of her arms, she stood and pulled Pansy up. “I need the loo. Let’s go, Pansy.”
As soon as they were in the restroom near the lobby of the hotel, Hermione waved her wand and murmured a spell to let her know if anyone approached. She whirled around and pointed her wand in Pansy’s direction.
“Tell me I wasn’t dreaming!” she hissed excitedly, even though no one was in the room with them. “Tell me that Gregory Goyle - and who the bloody hell knew he’d become a mountain of hot man! - was, in fact, getting you off at our dinner table!”
Pansy blushed and looked down, suddenly feeling shy.
“PANSY! ”
“Yes! Yes, okay? That was happening but I... I don’t know what is actually happening,” Pansy moaned. She grabbed the back of one of the chaise lounges in the sitting room where they were. “This isn’t like me. What is happening?”
Hermione eyed her friend. “I would say what’s happening is an incredibly fit man wants you and it seems you want him too. Right?”
“I don’t know,” Pansy admitted. “It’s... It’s Goyle.”
“Thought he told you to call him Greg?” Hermione couldn’t help but tease. When Pansy shot her a dangerous look, Hermione held up her hands. “Sorry, sorry.” She paused again. “What’s going through your mind right now?”
“Honestly?” Pansy asked. “I’m trying to figure out when the hell Greg turned into, well, that.” She gestured toward the door. She walked around the chaise and sat. “I don’t even remember seeing him after the Battle. He was there, at Hogwarts, for all of 7th year, flaunting that Dark Mark to anyone who cared - and even people who didn’t care. Then that final day happened and he just... disappeared. I haven’t thought of him since.”
Hermione gave her an even look. “He’s kept in touch with Draco a bit - said he needed to get away and reevaluate his life or something. That’s what Draco says, anyway. He’s definitely changed.”
“Yeah,” Pansy said slowly. She brought a finger up to her shoulder where Greg had left remnants of her arousal on her skin. “I don’t know what came over me, honestly,” she confessed. “I’ve never done something like that but I just wanted him.” She patted her cheeks. “You don’t think my drinks have been laced with anything, do you?”
“Only the copious amounts of alcohol that are doing their job.” Hermione rolled her eyes before she grabbed Pansy’s wrists and pulled her back up. She gave her a once-over. “Take your knickers off.”
“What?” Pansy did a double-take.
“Take them off,” she repeated, slower this time, as though Pansy hadn’t understood her.
“Why in the world would I -”
“Was his hand not up you -”
“Granger!”
“Since when have you been such a prude?” Hermione argued. “Take them off already. We’ve been in here long enough. He’s probably back at the table.” She paused and placed a hand on her stomach. “Also, I’m hungry and it’s supposed to be lamb for the main dish, so please hurry up and take off your pretty little knickers - don’t give me that look, we both like pretty things - so we can get back.”
Pansy pulled her hands away from Hermione’s grip. “Give me a few minutes.”
“Just take them off! Hurry up. He’s probably back at the table.” She paused. “Pansy.”
“You go.” She held up a hand when Hermione opened her mouth to argue. “I’ll be right there. I just need to get myself together.”
This time, Hermione stopped to place a hand on Pansy’s arm gently. “You sure? You don’t have to actually -”
“Do you know how long it’s been, Granger?” Pansy blinked wide eyes at her. “I don’t have to but Merlin help me, I want to and if that man out there is offering, I’m not going to say no. It's just... Ron brought her, Granger, and they lit that stupid candle together when that should have been me next to him. So do I want a man as fit as Gregory Goyle to basically fuck me through the floor? Yes. I just need to get myself together and remind myself I wasn’t the reason Ron cheated.”
She took a giant breath after her rant, and made a strangled noise when Hermione pulled her into a tight hug. “Take your time. I’ll cover for you until you’re ready.”
Pansy disentangled herself. “You’re so emotional, Granger,” she said but she was grateful for Hermione’s understanding. She waited until Hermione left before she whispered, “Thanks.”
Now alone in the lounge, Pansy worked on calming her mind and body. She hadn’t lied when she said it had been a while. It may had been four months since Ron cheated on her but they had been arguing for months before then and Pansy had held sex from him during their more explosive fights. In retrospect, that was probably a bad idea. But she hadn’t been with anyone since then, couldn’t handle the emotions that usually came with sex for her. She cursed the fact that she was never into the idea of one-night stands.
Until now.
She could do it - let Gregory Goyle fuck her for a night and walk away satisfied. And she knew she’d be satisfied. He was large, foreboding, almost dangerous with the way his eyes dared her to defy him and that smirk that was possibly sexier than the Malfoy smirk. Just Greg’s hand on her thigh had sent spirals of heat through her and having a finger - one bloody finger - touching her had told her he was in charge and would bring her to heights of passion in a way that Ronald Weasley had never been able to do.
“Get it together, Parkinson,” she said to her reflection in the mirror across the lounge. “You are a sexy woman and can have a night of fun. You deserve this.” She thought about seeing Ron across the room, at the way he had the blonde bint tucked into his side, and her anger flared. She took a deep breath and reached under her dress, sliding the thin panty down her legs and tossing it into a garbage bin. A quick adjustment of the dress and she was once again completely covered by the red material of the dress.
With a renewed sense of confidence, Pansy practically stomped out of the restroom, flinging open the door and marching out, only to find herself slammed against the wall in the small hallway. Hands circled her wrists and held them at her side.
“What –”
“Weren’t running away, were you?” Greg’s voice was suddenly in her ear, a low growl laced with a hint of irritation. “Hermione said you needed a moment.” He tightened his grip on her, pressed his body onto hers so she could feel every inch of him. “Thought I’d take a moment as well.”
“I –”
Her voice broke off when Greg slid a knee between her legs, caging her bare thigh between his own. He trailed a hand up her arm, over her shoulder, and across her neck to cup the underside of her face. His fingers squeezed lightly, just enough that the pressure made Pansy’ breath hitch. “Do you know how fucking sexy you are?” he groaned. “Of course you do. Draco told me about getting this dress for you.” He leaned in and ran his nose up her jawline, inhaling her scent. “Was he telling me the truth about what you want tonight?”
“What?” Pansy tried to unscramble the thoughts in her brain - what did Draco say, what was Greg expecting, what is happening - but she could only concentrate on the hand wrapped around her throat, the hand pinning her hand against the wall, the body undulating against hers.
“Weasley’s a fucking idiot,” Greg spat out harshly. The words exploded against her face, that spot right in front of her ear that was always so sensitive, and Pansy gave a full body shudder. “I’m not, though. Not anymore.”
He let go of her neck and trailed his large hand down to her breasts, filling his palm with the curves. His thumb and forefinger pinched her nipple through the fabric of her dress, making Pansy cry out at the slight pain. Greg continued his downward path, tugged playfully at the roses on her hip, before he once again met the smooth planes of her upper thigh. He rocked his left leg between her legs as his right hand drifted up beneath her dress. He stopped when he reached the crease of her leg, spanning his hand out, until he narrowed his eyes as his thumb met the damp skin of her pussy.
“What’s this?” he asked, sliding his thumb up and down. Pansy tried to shift, attempted to spread her legs wider, but Greg tsk ed at her and lifted his leg, lifting her up off the floor as he used the wall as leverage against his knee. Pansy found herself sitting on his knee, the toes of her heels barely skimming the floor. She gasped as the rough material of his pants pressed against her cunt and sent pinpricks of pleasure up her spine.
“I distinctly remember a pair of knickers here just a few minutes ago.” His thumb circled her clit, his fingers dipping inside her, shallow at first like before, until Pansy reached up to grab the back of his neck so she could lift her hips higher, giving him more access to her body. “Wanted this, did you?” Greg asked as she writhed against him, keening for him to deeper, please . He let out a dark chuckle at her pleas. “Dirty girl.”
“Ye-yes,” Pansy managed to cry out. Her hand pulled at his neck until he lowered it closer to her face. She buried her face in his neck, gasping out hot pants of air against his skin. She felt him sink his fingers deeper inside her and muffled a cry into the curve of his neck and shoulder.
“Were you so wet you needed to get rid of your knickers?” he growled out in question.
She didn’t answer.
He didn’t expect her to.
“Were you thinking of me like this - fucking you with my fingers? Because I’ll fuck you until you can’t move anymore. Is that what you want?”
This time, he wanted an answer.
She gave one.
“Yes. Please. ”
He finally let go of her wrist against the wall, placed it on her hip to push her harshly against the wall. He moved his leg to give his hand more room to thrust into her at a rapid pace. He smirked when her head fell backwards, hitting the wall with a soft thud.
The sound of laughter filtered into their hidden space and Pansy’s body tensed up. She had forgotten they were in a public space, right next to the main lift. Shit.
“Ignore them,” Greg demanded. “I’m the only one that matters right now.” He moved his hand, kept his fingers deep, cupped her in his palm. “Look at me. ”
Pansy’s eyes snapped open.
“Good girl.” Greg drew his fingers away from her body and back in slowly, almost excruciatingly slow, holding Pansy’s gaze with each stroke. “Is this what you want?” Pansy shook her head from left to right to left to right. Her eyes, shiny with need, begged him. “No?” He bared his teeth at her in a grin that made heat coil low in her belly. “Tell me what you want then.”
She said nothing, only tilted her hips up, leaning her shoulders back against the wall, feeling its rough texture scratch against her skin. With a raised eyebrow, Greg pulled his fingers out of her completely. She whimpered at how empty she suddenly felt - so fucking empty. Slick fingers - that’s me, she thought - grabbed her cheeks roughly, pushing her mouth into a pout.
“Don’t make me ask again,” he warned. When she still said nothing, only stared at him, his grip tightened and Pansy felt her eyes start to water. He tapped a finger on her cheek, just beneath her eye, in warning.
“Fuck me,” she said quietly.
Greg loosened his grip at the sound of her voice. Instead of the harsh hold, Pansy felt his fingers stroke her cheeks down to her chin. He let his fingers dance down the column of her neck, a silent praise.
“Louder.”
His hand was loose around her neck, but Pansy could imagine the pads of his fingers pressing down, could imagine how they might leave bruises that would stain her skin with pretty purple and blue blooms.
Yes, that’s what she wanted.
“Fuck me,” she said louder, clearer. She lifted her chin in a challenge and Greg’s grin widened at the strength in her voice. “I want you. To. Fuck. Me.”
“That’s a good girl,” he praised her again. His hand was moving again, this time to her mouth, where he pushed two fingers between her lips. She could taste herself on his skin and she sucked greedily until he pushed deeper, deeper , almost too deep, until she gagged. “That’s right, you can take it, can’t you? I can’t wait to fuck your pretty mouth, Pansy. Do you want that?” She moaned around his fingers, even as he put pressure on her bottom lip, forcing Pansy to open her mouth. His eyes flashed dangerously. “Gonna need to open wider to take me.”
The words - the warning? - made her shiver, scattered any thoughts that were left in her head. She flinched a bit when Greg lifted his leg and pushed her hip down so she was, once again, flush against his thigh. The rough fabric rubbed against her and she felt herself rock against Greg, trying to find a release. She reached up with her free hand to grab his forearm. As she writhed on top of his thigh, her nails made crescent-shaped marks on the birdcage tattoo.
“Pansy? ”
The sound of her name shocked her into stillness. She gripped Greg harder - around his neck, on his arm - and slowly turned her head. Greg slid his fingers out of her mouth, moving them to rest above the swells of her breasts. He, too, looked over, irritation at the interruption evident on his face.
Ron Weasley, red hair mussed and dress robes open to reveal a tuxedo shirt, stood at the end of the short hallway, staring into the small alcove by the restrooms. His eyes were wide, shocked, but he also couldn’t help but let his gaze rove over his former girlfriend.
“What are you looking at, Weasley?” Greg asked in a flat tone.
Ron shook himself out of a trance and sputtered, “What the hell is going on?”
“Well, I’d think it was obvious, but then again, it’s possible you just don’t know what a woman looks like when she’s about to come.”
“That’s -”
“Actually come, Weasley. As in, not faking it.”
Ron’s face twisted into a sneer and Pansy could see the anger roll through him. He stepped closer and closer to them until he stopped mere feet away. He stared at Pansy, blue eyes filled with a mixture of hatred and lust. He let his gaze fall to where she sat on Greg, her feet still dangling above the floor, and Pansy knew he could see the way she had rubbed and made a wet spot on Greg’s pants.
“Is that what you’ve been saying?” Ron scoffed, eyes still focused on the space between her legs. “That you’ve always faked it? We both know what you were like, Pansy - a fucking slut for it.”
The air suddenly felt warm, like a fire was reaching out from the walls surrounding them.
“What did you just call her?” Greg asked, the words coming out low, dangerous.
“What she seems to be – a fucking slut,” he repeated.
Far more gently than she would have expected, considering the situation, Greg grabbed hold of Pansy’s waist and set her down as he stepped away from her. He flicked a wrist and the wand that had been holstered near his waist was suddenly in his hand and pointed at Ron. When Pansy tried to keep him back, he easily shrugged out of her grip and took measured steps to the redhead. He held his wand steady and though he hadn’t said a word, Pansy gasped when she saw Ron’s body stiffen as if he had frozen.
“ She’s the slut?” Greg narrowed his eyes as he stepped into Ron’s space. They were about the same height, but Greg was bulkier, more muscled than Ron’s lean figure, and it felt like he took up the whole room at the moment. “Last I heard, Weasley, you were the one who couldn’t keep your small dick in his pants.” He glanced down and smirked before looking over his shoulder at Pansy, who was watching them in trepidation. “You don’t have to lie for him. I’ve already heard it. From several women.”
“What?” Pansy blinked her eyes.
“Oh, yes,” Greg said. “It was more than just the Delacour girl.” He turned back to Ron, whose face was paling. “Isn’t that right? Does your latest lady know about the others?” Ron’s mouth was moving but no sound came out. Greg shrugged and flicked his wand again.
“-dare you! Who the hell do you think you are, Goyle? No one! You’re fuc-”
Greg reached forward and grabbed one side of Ron’s robes in his left fist, pulling his still-frozen body in. “Gabrielle Delacour. Anastasia Kurev. Ophelia Tanden. Astoria Greengrass.” Behind him, Pansy took in a shuddering breath. “I know all about them, Weasley. Do they know about each other, do you think? I know at least one does and it won’t take much for me to fill in the others.”
“Like they’ll believe someone like you.” Ron rolled his eyes, annoyance melting with fear at the names.
“Of course they will,” Greg promised with a hard look. He leaned in closer, his nose practically touching Ron’s angrily. “I’m a fucking Inquiry, Weasley.” When Ron paled even more, Greg let out a laugh that bordered on sinister. “Say another word about Pansy - a single word about her - and I will not hesitate to ruin your life.” He let go of Ron and muttered under his breath just as he shoved him so he stumbled backwards. Greg shook his head and slid his wand back into its holster. “You’re not even worth it.”
He turned to walk back to Pansy. Before he could take a step, he felt Ron attempt to grab his shoulder. Instinctively, Greg whipped around and let a closed fist fly towards Ron’s face. He saw the skin of Ron’s cheek split open, could hear the sound of bones cracking. A loud shout escaped Ron’s mouth as he fell to the ground, his words a bumbling of obscenities. He tried to stand.
“Stay the fuck down,” Greg ordered, shaking his hand out. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay the hell on that floor until we’re gone. And you won’t breathe a word about what you’ve seen or done tonight.”
Pansy walked to the two men, sliding a hand around Greg’s bicep. Her dress was too tight for a wand but she concentrated on Ron and held out her right hand. “Episkey.” Ron yelped as the bones in his nose fused back together. He glared up at Pansy but she kept her face blank. “Clean yourself up, Ronald, and don’t be a fool at your best friend’s wedding.”