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July 2000
“Absolutely not,” Pansy sniffed and pulled away from her fireplace.
She had had a truly terrible day. They’d left Hogwarts less than 72 hours ago and Draco Malfoy’s face was already in her fireplace asking for favours.
It turned out that Draco and Pansy were both invited back to retake their seventh school year. It seemed that because they weren’t criminals, they now weren’t anything particularly special either - so much so that in the September of 1999 they, along with every other student that hadn’t attempted to murder one of their peers, had been invited to re-do their final year. It seemed - at least to the Board of Governors, that the disaster of the ‘97-’98 school year had never happened.
Pansy had been in two minds about the whole thing, dithering for the whole of the summer break; but, she had eventually reasoned, going back to school and taking her NEWTs was an excellent way to avoid him as he was a grown man who, blessedly, no longer worked there. The problem was that on the first Full Moon of term she hadn’t slept at all, and instead laid awake in her bed thinking about Remus-fucking-Lupin the whole night.
Was he alright? That was the first Full Moon since April that she hadn’t been there to help burn off the adrenalin he experienced at night, it was the first Full Moon since she had broken up with him and refused to ever come back.
Not that there was anything to break up, of course. They had been a sexual outlet for each other and nothing more.
Nothing.
Draco burst through the floo and she made a mental note to take him off her wards. Still, he looked awful , like he was going out of his mind. Had living without Granger within arm’s reach done this to him already?
He leaned against her fireplace in a pathetic performance of nonchalance. “You have to come with me; it’ll be hideous without you.”
“Draco, flattery is for those with low self-esteem,” Pansy admonished him as she picked up some books from her coffee table and started to find a place for them around the room. “All you’ll be doing is engaging in foreplay with Granger and I will have to sit and be the person no-one likes.”
“Granger likes you!” He countered, the desperation finally coming out in his tone. He really was losing his touch, she thought with a mild grimace; he had spent too much of the school year hanging off the leg of that Gryffindor swot.
“She doesn’t acknowledge anyone else is in the room when you’re there, anyway; the only one who will be there is Weasley and she-”
“What?” Draco interrupted, looking plainly manic now. It was like she didn’t even know him anymore. “What did you say about Granger?”
“Oh, you’re both awful. Just take her home and fuck her already - I am getting, frankly, bored of both of you.”
Hermione Granger had not been the world’s worst school-roommate that Pansy could have thought of. She was clever and her messiness seemed to be limited to her person, so their room remained neat and smart for the year. In the end, she had become a kind, bright, overwhelmingly irritating friend.
That was, however, when Granger wasn’t talking about Draco.
Pansy was certain that they hadn’t had sex yet, but now they were outside of school it was only a matter of time. Pansy had walked into her room to find the pair rutting away at each other several times in those last months, and Granger had become persistent in wanting to know every last thing Pansy knew about him.
“I will not engage in vulgarities with you, Pansy.” Draco smirked from the hearth, doing a better impression of his mother that Pansy could ever attempt herself. “Potter has invited you to his birthday party, and it would be rude not to come.”
“Potter,” neither of them said his name with any real venom anymore, and Pansy found that she missed it, “has not invited me to anything. He hasn’t sent an invitation with a reasonable amount of time to RSVP. He is rude, and I will not be rewarding his behaviour with my attendance.”
Pansy was attending Harry Potter’s twentieth birthday party. Draco had essentially dressed her where she had stood. He had done a remarkable job, really: a flared mini skirt and a wide slash-necked, tightly fitting cotton top - all in black. The black heels he had chosen for her were her favourites and he knew it, and it was that sort of manipulation that led her to believe that his crazed panic regarding her attending this party might not have been as genuine as she had believed. He had actually just wanted her there, which was oddly sentimental of him. She forgave him a little just for being able to fool her.
The minute, the very second, they had walked in through the door to 12 Grimmauld Place, Draco abandoned her. Granger had walked up to him, a glass of red wine in her hand, poking him in the chest with her forefinger for being an idiot or a rogue, or something equally ridiculous. Whenever Granger started talking around Draco it all became white noise, and Pansy felt overcome with a need for alcohol. She pushed her way through the milling people that all must have recognised her, because they parted like the Red Sea as soon as they glimpsed her.
She hoped, or perhaps dreamed, that going back to school would mean that people would have a chance to get used to her presence; instead, people seemed to just hate her silently instead of vocally. Granger’s influence could only do so much, but Pansy would gladly take the eerie silence over the Stinging Hexes she had received on the first day back at school. She found herself in the kitchen and gravitated to where several definitely-alcoholic-bottles of varying shape and size were being held cold under a stasis charm close to the back door.
She found the most expensive Muggle whiskey she could on sight; there was no way one of these degenerates had brought this with them. She poured herself a glass anyway. Maybe someone had dropped it off for the saviour of the wizarding world earlier that day - always the best for Potter. Maybe it had already been in the house; she hadn’t ever met Sirius Black but she knew the stories, and he had seemed the sort to keep very expensive liquor in his house. Maybe the-
“Pansy,” the worst and most gorgeous voice in the world rumbled her name from the kitchen door. She closed her eyes tight and wished very, very hard that when she turned around, Remus Lupin would not be standing there. Slowly, holding her drink tight enough to shatter the glass if she tried, Pansy turned to focus and saw the face that made her mouth run dry.
Shit.
Not only was he standing there, looking dilapidated and beautiful and staring at her like he was dying of thirst, but the semi-full kitchen she had walked into was now completely empty. They were alone in the kitchen; the buzz and chatter of the party could have been miles away instead of separated by a wall for all she knew.
“No,” she stated, slamming back the golden liquid in her glass and biting back on the burn it caused behind her sternum. She absolutely would not be dealing with this tonight. She had managed to avoid him at Christmas and over Easter, and she intended to do so for the rest of her life. Her body reacted immediately, the muscle memory of what he felt like on top of her, or under her, or pushing her up against a wall caused her knees to weaken and her mouth to water. Was it possible that in the 10 months since she had slammed his front door and disapparated back to her flat, he had become more handsome?
“Pansy, I haven’t said anything.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, exasperation etched on his face. That was unacceptable.
“You don’t need to, Lupin,” she turned back to pour herself another whiskey, now almost sure that he was the one that brought it with him. “Whatever you were going to say would have been utterly nonsensical.”
“You can’t be calling me by my last name already,” his voice raised a little and she found herself unable to turn back to him. He was moving towards her, it was like the blood in her veins could sense where he was and moved to accommodate him. Her body knew the pleasure that his could give her, and had no reason to listen to what her brain thought to be excellent arguments about propriety and age differences. “I haven’t done anything to deserve it yet.”
“I find your presence enough reason for punishment.” She knew her voice had wavered, that he would know that he was winning in a game only she was playing.
His hand traced her arm ever so gently, but it still made her flinch. She knew what he would say next: she could leave, he wasn’t keeping her there, and he didn’t want her to be there against her will. He was too noble, too good , so she turned on her heels and pulled him by the neck of his dark green jumper so that she could consume those words before she had to hear them.
Of course she wanted to be there - she didn’t want to leave. No one had ever made Pansy Parkinson do anything against her will, not even a fucking Dark Lord, so whatever hold this shabby werewolf thought he had over her was utterly idiotic. No; it was Pansy’s own mind that caused her to hate this as much as she loved it. She heard the door slam somewhere behind him and felt the silencing charm go up both wordlessly and wandlessly - something she found only added to the ache between her thighs.
Hiding from him had been a fool’s errand.
His hips trapped her between his body and the edge of the work surface in a biting hold that made her squirm against him. His teeth dug into her bottom lip and she gasped before the tip of his tongue traced the roof of her mouth. Everything he did was a practiced dance of what he knew would turn her into a puddle at his feet the fastest. He wrapped his hand around her throat and dragged his lips along her jaw.
“I’ve missed you,” he breathed into her hair, a sentiment that was unwanted. She didn’t need to know how he felt when she could feel the curve of his incredible cock against her hip. The only reason her hand wasn’t already down his trousers was because she was in Potter’s kitchen.
Which was probably why Potter could get past Remus’ wards and spells, and tumble into his own kitchen to discover his only remaining father-figure mouthing nonsense into her neck.
October 2001
Theo had been sure that Remus wouldn’t be there that night. Pansy had known how close the chosen bar was to his house, but Theo had assured her that Remus would not be attending the drinks to celebrate the end of Draco’s Auror training.
“It’s too close to the moon and he knows not to go to things you’re attending - you have him very well trained, Pans.”
Granger had invited her to drinks a couple of weeks ago. It was meant to be a surprise, and Pansy had been sure that she’d convinced the other witch that she would be attending when she had absolutely no intention of doing so. She would have waited until they would all be there, and then Floo the bar to pay for a nice bottle of something to be delivered to their table.
Theo had seen through her.
He had walked straight into her wardrobe and found an outfit that worked for the casual but organised setting. She couldn't help but wonder, as clothes were rifled through and shoes considered, why men were constantly dressing her in her own home. Still, she put on the navy blue dress with a short hemline and a high neckline, and felt marvelous. Pansy knew she looked impeccable and that was the last straw because not a few minutes later she found herself walking into the bar on Theo’s arm laughing at something he had said... before seeing him.
Remus Lupin had his back to her at the bar when she had first walked in, but that sense she had meticulously trained to know when he was in a room was very accurate - and her nipples hardened the second he faced her. She had hit Theo’s arm with a wandless Stinging Hex then rushed over to say hello to Granger and make sure to slip in that she couldn’t stay long; but her hand brushed his when she had been walking to the loo and he had pulled her into the ladies’ toilets by her forearm.
“Take your knickers off, ” he rumbled into her hair before he claimed her lips so roughly she thought he might have drawn blood. Her lips worked hard to match his pace as she hooked her thumbs under the sides of her knickers and pulled them down her legs, unable to tear herself away from him. The second the lace was off her ankles he slapped his hand around her wrist and plucked them from her grasp.
Lifting them to his nose he inhaled them deeply, fixing his rapidly changing eyes on hers. He closed his eyes with a flutter and growled, “I could smell you from the street.”
Her knees buckled but his weight against hers, stopped her from melting to the tiles below. He hauled her up on top of the counter so fast that she had to grab the edge to keep herself from tipping backwards. Slamming to his knees like a man being saved from a shipwreck as his eyes shone a perfect gold, he stared at her cunt in awe.
“You,” her voice was breathy in a way that was completely beneath her. Inhaling through her nose she gritted her teeth, “You should be resting.”
He growled from between her thighs and pounced, the palms of his hands cupped the underneath of each leg as he spread her enough so he could drag the flat of his tongue over her slit and delve with the tip to find her throbbing clit. He didn’t waste time, he never did. His lips were rough and they were sharp against the soft, wet flesh he devoured. She knew she was in trouble when he started to bite the outside of her labia, his tongue swirling repeatedly in between bites.
Pushing her fingers into his hair, Pansy gripped it at the roots and felt his groan vibrate along her tender skin. She was so close ; he always got her so close, so fast, and he would never let her go without this pleasure. She would never let herself give in to him; instead, he simply took her pleasure when and how he wanted it. She could feel the thread inside her pull tightly, it was as if he was controlling her orgasm from the outside - every muscle in her abdomen would do as he commanded.
“Fuck,” she breathed as her limbs went completely lax, and the pleasure imploded so all she could feel was his tongue swiping backwards and forwards before he took his mouth away and proceeded to bite and lick the inside of her thigh. Still shaking a little, she whimpered, “You should be resting.”
“Come home with me,” he breathed as he kissed his way up one of her arms that were still braced on the counter. He left wet patches of her juices from her forearm to her shoulder before nuzzling her neck, leaving kisses and small bites around her jawline. He was awful, messy and beyond irritating but her skin hummed, alive with the knowledge of how good the sex would be if she went with him. She knew how good he would make her feel, how soft and calm she would feel afterward. The worst things, the things she looked forward to the most, were the kindness in his eyes, how delicately he would touch her afterwards - and how he would call her perfect and incredible as he pounded into her.
“I’ll be at your front door in twenty minutes,” she whispered and he kissed her forehead before walking out of the toilets, breaking his own silencing charms.
September 2002
Pansy was probably the worst Maid of Honour to have ever lived. She had known what that night would end with, she knew that he would be there, and she knew - as she had put the spare clothes and shoes shrunk into her tiny silver satin clutch - that she wouldn’t be returning to her flat that evening.
One of the conditions of letting Granger marry her best friend was that Pansy got to decide what she wore on the hen night, and she had outdone herself. They had both worn pink, but in two different shades. Granger, to go with her darker skin tone and overwhelming amount of hair, was wearing a fuscia thin-strapped mini dress that hugged every curve she posessed and would drive Draco wild at their ridiculous feminist joint Hen and Stag night. Pansy looked impeccable; she wore a soft pale pink silk mini dress that hung off her body in folds and created shadows that implied nudity without anyone ever getting to see anything.
The moment they had entered the club, Remus had gone fucking mad . He hadn’t moved, not even blinked. She had ensure beyond doubt that they were the very last to arrive. Telling Granger that they were meeting everyone an hour later than she had put on the invitations. Pansy wanted to make an entrance, and so she would. She wanted to drive the werewolf - who was four nights away from the Full Moon - to distraction in the club, so she would. She wanted to feel absolutely nothing because her best friend was marrying a War Hero and leaving her alone, so she would.
Walking over to the bar to kiss Draco on the cheek before she lost him to the masterpiece she’d turned his fiancee into, she resolutely ignored the presence of the man burning holes in her skin with his eyes. He hadn’t stopped talking to Harry, he’d even smiled at Ginny when she came back from the loos, but his eyes didn’t leave her and the sparking magic that skittered over her skin felt like victory.
He lasted twenty minutes, which was impressive considering at Draco and Hermione’s engagement party he’d only lasted fifteen. Yet as she walked towards the door with a determined sway to her hips, she caught a glimpse of him following her in her peripheral vision; and when she wandered into the rapidly cooling night air, her skin felt tight and her clothes felt wrong in a way that only he could make better.
Leaning against the outer wall of the club she saw Remus emerge and rather adorably look for her until one of the moving lights from the entrance flashed on her and he was staring, gaping at her. He really did scrub up remarkably well in his grey dress shirt and darker woolen trousers. He almost looked like a man who knew how to cast ironing charms, almost looked like a man who always remembered to brush his teeth every day, and she felt a smile lift at her lips at how well he was fooling the world.
“You look very pretty Pansy.” He murmured as he arrived in front of her, a boyish grin spread across his features. “I like your dress.”
“Do you know how irritating it is that they all think you’re this noble father figure and only I know how positively filthy you are?” She whispered against his lips before he grasped her forearm and they whipped out of existence.
They appeared in his bathroom; he must have been a bit drunk, because she was sure he had meant to drop them in his bedroom. “Do you know just how filthy I’d like to be with you Pansy? With only you?”
Merlin, he was dramatic.
She was used to intensity from him, but that took her breath away. She didn’t know what to say, but she wouldn’t have had time before he kissed her anyway, his hands splayed against her back to draw her closer. His mouth tasted like alcohol, but so did hers, so she couldn’t bring herself to care. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him closer still - or maybe she pulled herself closer, climbing her way up his body with an urgency so sudden it frightened her. She was a different person with Remus, far different from the young woman of privilege she led people to believe she was day-to-day.
There was no other man on earth she would allow to do the things she let him do to her, so she understood what he meant by ‘terrifying.’ A moment ago, she’d been questioning the prudence of leaving so early from a party she had organised and her absence would be noticed, the next she was clawing at the buttons of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, and hanging on to him so tightly she thought her nails might break his skin. His open mouth slid down her jaw to her throat in a careless, wet path. He pushed her back and lifted her onto the counter, her hands groping for his fly between them.
“Get your legs open,” he ordered, forcing her knees wide apart. She heard his zip slide and felt him whispering the contraceptive charm against her skin, then he pushed aside her knickers, slicked the tip of his cock over her slit and plunged deep.
“Oh!”
She had to hold onto his shoulders to keep from falling back into the sink. She wrapped one leg around his waist, the other he caught beneath the knee and lifted to perch her heel on the counter. It contorted her body, exposed her, made her utterly vulnerable to him. That was unacceptable .
She pushed her fingers into his hair and tugged hard. She would not be vulnerable to this man, this man that she used at her convenience, this man that made her feel things she couldn’t find anywhere else.
Her cunt gripped him, waves of muscle contractions rolling up and down his length as her body tried to decide whether she should lock him in or push her out. His hands cupped the back of her skull, fingers threading through her hair, and he tugged her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“You organised a lovely party Pansy,” he whispered above her, his lips a hair’s breadth away from her own. “But there's not a place on earth that I would rather be than right-” he slid his hands between them, his middle and rings fingers bracketing his cock, digging into her labia that stretched around him until his knuckles brushed over her clit. She gasped, and he swallowed it up with a kiss, groaning against her mouth, “-here.”
He moved his hand to rub her clit with the tips of his fingers and she came hard, listing her hips with what little constrained motion she could manage.
He clamped his free hand over her mouth to cover her wail of relief. There might not be a baby here but he had neighbours - Muggle neighbours who could easily mistake the way he made her scream for someone in enormous pain. He grinned down at her, grinding deeper, and when the last blissful tremor had passed, he withdrew.
Gripping her hair and forcing her off the counter with a non-too-gentle tug, he pulled her into the bedroom. The bed was unmade, but that was the last coherent thought she had before he forcefully pushed her down onto the sheets and entered her from behind. He could always get deeper from this angle, but she could never get all of him inside her. She knew what he could see, what he had used a mirror charm to make her watch on several occasions: his enormous length pistoning in and out of her. Her puffy and sensitive flesh protested at his rough treatment, but everything else inside her sang with praise.
She was still wearing the dress, she was still wearing her knickers, and she had inspired complete destruction of the kind and patient personality that she hated as much as she craved. He was the closest she would ever see to the animal he would become in less than a week; he was fire all over her.
Bending down to kiss the top knotch of her spine, Remus murmured praise into her skin that she could barely hear but that didn’t matter, she didn’t need it. The only praise she needed was when his eyes had flashed gold when he entered the pub and the feeling of hasty apparition so he could put his hands on her. The knot that built inside her was nearly there again and he must have felt it too because he sounded delighted.
“Yes Pansy,” he whined, slipping his hand into her hair before pulling her by it so they were both standing facing the bed. “Give it to me, please ; just one more.”
She broke - how couldn’t she? His arms came around her when she could no longer keep her own body upright. She could feel his come painting the sides of her, felt both of their juices sliding down her thighs, and she closed her eyes to try and come to terms with how much she loved it. If either of them could put as much effort into talking about why they were keeping this a secret as they did into fucking each other sideways, they might actually be alright.
But they weren’t alright. In these few days a month where they found every opportunity to be in or on top of one another, Pansy knew that they were both avoiding any semblance of something real. She would carry on doing so; she wanted to - she wanted him - but as he pulled her into the bed with him and whispered small affections about how good she felt and how much he loved fucking her, she heard it.
She heard everything he was saying, but she was deafened by how much he didn’t say. She knew he felt more, and as she closed her eyes and sleep overcame her she allowed herself to admit for half a second that she felt more too.