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“I cannot believe you made me come camping.”
Pansy stomps her foot. A terrible idea, really. Her foot goes further than expected; the heel of her designer pump squelches into the soft ground.
Draco, looking equally out of place in a full suit in the middle of a forest, swats at an insect and grumbles. “You owed me.”
“Yes,” Pansy bites back while trying to extricate her pump from the mud, “but I thought you were going to request a week at my parents’ estate in the Aegean. Or a blowjob.” She wipes her heel on Draco’s jacket sleeve. “One of those options is still on the table if we leave now.”
“I’m not leaving.” Draco rolls his eyes and peels off his jacket, draping it over his forearm. “Hermione said this is a bonding trip and it’s important to her.”
Pansy sighs and slips her shoe back on. “Oh, it’s Hermione now, is it? If this is all about her, why did you bring a date?”
“You’re not my date, you’re a distraction," he corrects. "You distract all of her idiot mates and they'll be too busy to fight me.”
“And how precisely am I meant to distract them?”
Draco raises an eyebrow.
Pansy nearly stamps her heel into the mud again. “I am not blowing a Gryffindor.”
Draco smirks. “All I’m asking is for you to be your normal, charming self. They’re bound to realise you’re a more interesting fight than I am.”
Pansy sighs overdramatically. “And it had to be camping? I’ll put the estate in the Aegean back on the table.”
That earns her a scowl.
“What? I would let the whole Gryffindor gang come, too.”
The whole Gryffindor gang turns out to be more than just Gryffindors, actually. The usual suspects are the first to show (Granger, Potter, a pair of Weasleys), and the others start to pop in shortly after. Neville Longbottom appears alongside Looney Lovegood, a Patil twin follows, then a blonde girl who Pansy vaguely recognises as Hufflepuff from her year, the other Patil twin, and some more bloody Gryffindors.
Granger takes charge immediately, of course. “Let’s set up camp first, over here.” And, of course, everyone hops to work as if she’d compelled them by Imperio. Even Draco, who’d ventured into the wilderness in formalwear, rolls up his sleeves and joins in. Pansy watches her former lover pitch a literal tent for Hermione Granger, and she groans.
She isn’t jealous. Truly.
Pansy had gotten over her obsession with the moody prick years ago. Her innuendo-laced banter is simply habit at this point, one she has no intention of stopping on the golden girl’s account.
“Hey, Pansy. You didn’t tell me you were coming out this weekend.”
Pansy turns toward the voice to discover Neville on his knees, securing the last stake for his tent. She’s seen a lot of him lately since he supplies her magical parfumerie with ingredients from his plant shop, but she hasn’t seen this much of him. Usually, he’s fully covered and professional in his shop robes. Today he’s in a sleeveless shirt and canvas shorts, his arms and lower legs exposed to the August heat. Pansy can’t help but stare— who knew Neville Longbottom was this fit? Wielding a garden hoe has certainly worked to his credit.
“I didn’t know I would be here,” she says casually, like she hadn’t just been ogling the most exquisite shoulder muscles ever to grace her view.
“That would explain why you don’t have a tent.”
“It would, indeed.”
Neville grins and rises. “You can sleep in mine. If you’d like.”
All her blunt bravado is gone as she’s momentarily struck dumb. “Share... yours?”
“Uh, no,” Neville’s cheeks flush red and he reaches one hand up to rub the back of his neck. Pansy does her very best, and mostly succeeds, to ignore the flex of his bicep. “I only have the one bedroll, so… you can take my tent. I don’t mind sleeping under the stars.”
Unexpectedly, Pansy feels herself deflate. “Oh. Right.”
“What the fuck is a trust fall?”
Granger bristles at Pansy’s word choice. “It’s a bonding exercise, and it’s exactly what it sounds like.”
“You want me to fall, on purpose, and trust one of these wankers to catch me?” Pansy pins Draco with a glare that clearly translates to: “You are so going to owe me by the end of this.” He’s too busy to care, though, having turned his attention to the hat in Granger's hands. Trying to come up with a nonverbal spell to guarantee he gets the paper marked with her name before anyone else can, no doubt.
Then, in a move that encompasses the only half-agreeable thing he’s ever done in his life, Ron Weasley tilts a bottle of off-brand firewhisky in Pansy’s direction and says, “I brought four of these.”
Pansy purses her lips. “I suppose that will do, then.”
“Hey again, partner.” Neville waves a slip of paper bearing Pansy’s name. “Ready to fall for me?”
Pansy’s first shot of whisky burns on the way down but does wonders to bring back her usual, charming self.
“I think you should fall first,” she says while turning up her nose.
Instead of fighting her, as Draco predicted, Neville smiles wider. “Maybe I will,” he says. The answer elicits Pansy’s first genuine smile of the day. She takes a step forward and holds her arms wide.
“Well? I’m waiting.”
If nothing else, they learn that Neville is deceptively heavy. His tall frame is packed with hidden (and not-so-hidden) muscles, and by the time they’re called back to the group, Pansy has accidentally (okay, not-so-accidentally) grazed them all.
By nightfall, two of the four bottles of whisky (and Granger’s carefully-planned bonding itinerary) have been discarded next to the campfire.
“Never have I ever... fantasized about Madame Hooch.”
“That was one bloody time,” Ron punches Seamus Finnegan on the arm. “I was going mad over Quidditch tryouts and… argh! I never shoulda told you!”
The circle goes wild. Seamus starts making a noise best described as ‘howling’, Potter is convulsing, and Ginny has tears streaming down her face. It may be the alcohol, but the giddy energy is contagious. Pansy finds herself not only smiling again, but laughing along.
“The subconscious mind is fascinating,” Luna purrs dreamily. “In order to properly decipher it, we'd have to know if you were with her in the fantasy, or were you just picturing her bod—?”
“SHUT! IT!”
“C’mon, Ron,” Dean Thomas manages to cough out around girlish giggles, “you have to drink if you’ve done it!”
Ron opens the third bottle and takes a healthy chug while the crowd cheers. “Are you happy, you great knobs?!”
Surprisingly, Pansy realises she is happy. Truly.
Until she spots that blonde Hufflepuff across the campfire. The twit has positioned herself so close to Neville that she’s practically on his lap. Pansy’s stomach clenches. Somehow that sight sobers her faster than any potion could. She slips away from the group when Seamus confesses to burning off his pubes once and a new round of raucous laughter explodes.
Alone in her borrowed bed, she tries to breathe deep to release the tension in her gut. Why is she so worked up over Neville Longbottom, anyway?
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.
The whole tent smells like him.
It takes another hour for the party to wind down and it’s not a moment too soon. Pansy bursts from the tent, gulping like the fish out of water that she is, drinking the fresh night air. It does nothing to rid her of Neville’s delicious earthy scent.
“Pansy?”
The campfire’s out, but the moonlight’s brighter here than in the tent so she has to blink to adjust her eyes. Not that it matters; she knows that voice.
“Neville? What are you still doing out here?”
She squints and starts to make him out clearly. He’s reclined on a small natural hill, one ankle over the other, elbows cocked out to the sides and his head cradled in both hands. Sadly, she’s deprived of seeing his biceps this time as they’re now hidden under the knit sleeves of a plain zip-up cardigan. It’s hideous, like something a grandfather would wear, and all she wants to do is tear it off him.
Neville’s brow furrows deeper in confusion. “Is there somewhere else I’m supposed to be?”
Pansy scans the clearing awkwardly, double-checking that she hasn’t missed anyone else’s presence. “I figured you’d get an invite into someone else’s tent. The Hufflepuff.”
“Wha— oh, Hannah? Why would she…?”
Pansy can tell the exact moment he understands her implication. He pauses and then laughs.
Neville Longbottom laughing at Pansy Parkinson. Back in their school days, she would've retaliated with some emasculating insult, but recently she’s felt like a domesticated cat around him. Declawed.
“Is it really that funny?” she asks when he doesn't stop, thankful for the relative darkness of the night to shield her blush.
“Yeah, kind of. She and I aren’t like that… we're just friends.” He lifts his back off the ground and props himself up with his palms splayed behind him. His shoulders strain against the fabric of his jumper. Pansy balls her fingers into fists to stop herself from reaching out to touch them.
“Mhm,” Pansy agrees sarcastically, “do all your friends drool watching you chop wood?”
“Maybe she just really likes wood,” he jokes back.
“Yes, I’m sure she does.”
Neville shakes his head. He’s still laughing.
“Longbottom, do you really not know how you look?” she blurts out.
That stops him from laughing.
“How do I look?”
Pansy opens her mouth but struggles for an answer that wouldn’t cause her further mortification. “You know, your uh…” She gestures in the general direction of his shoulders. “And you have, um…” She lets her eyes follow the long lines of his legs. “I mean, you obviously grew into it all, didn’t you?”
He’s silent for a little too long. The eye contact is devastating. A shiver runs down Pansy’s spine.
“You’re cold,” he says and stands.
The summer heat had in fact given way to a shockingly cold night. She wraps herself in a hug to ward off the crisp air.
“Here.” Neville unzips that damn sweater, revealing his naked chest, and strips it completely off.
Pansy takes a step back. Or, she tries to, at least. One of her heels (which she refuses to Transfigure into something more environment-appropriate, they’re designer, thankyouverymuch) is lodged in a gnarly tree root and her body starts to go down. Fortunately, she doesn’t hit the ground. Neville catches her and his arms tighten around her waist.
“I thought we were done with trust falls,” he whispers.
Forget the shoes. Pansy can’t be bothered with taking even a second to dislodge them. She pushes Neville out of the clearing and into the trees, only stopping when his back is pressed to a sturdy trunk. She experiments with a trust leap then, and he doesn't disappoint. He catches her again, this time under her thighs. Her hands find the back of his neck and she pulls herself up so she can reach his lips.
The kiss is desperate. A cautious first kiss is another thing she can’t be bothered with at the moment, apparently. Her tongue is demanding and he provides, but it isn’t enough. She needs so much more. Her hands begin wandering over his skin and her mouth follows suit. She moves her kiss to his cheek, his jaw, his neck. He likes that one, if the moan she can feel buzzing under her lips is any indication.
She pulls her legs back and he releases her just enough to stand. That’s better. Once she’s lower, she can reach more of his skin. She bites one of those tempting shoulders that have been teasing her all day and then uses her tongue to slither down past his chest to his well-defined abs. She really should stop being so surprised by his physique, she’s both seen it and touched it now, yet there’s something about using her mouth that makes it feel like a brand new discovery. She drops to her knees, hungry for some real unfamiliar territory.
“Pansy,” he breathes when she undoes the button on his shorts.
“Yes?” she asks innocently. She already has his hard cock in her hand.
“You don’t—”
“It’s okay, I like it.” She licks him from his base to his tip and his hips jerk forward reflexively.
“I don’t want—” he tries again.
She laughs. “Seems like you do.”
He groans and grabs her arms. “Pansy, no.”
She freezes and stares up at him. He stuffs himself back into his shorts.
“Oh, god!” Tears of embarrassment well in her eyes. She does the only logical thing she can think of.
She flees.
“Pansy, may I come in?”
“It’s your tent, Longbottom. Do what you want.”
The tent door opens and Neville crawls in. He sits hunched right at the entrance like he doesn’t know if he should stay. “Are you alright?”
Pansy scoffs. “I’m fine. You don’t have to console me, you know. You told me you don't want me and I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.
Neville’s look of concern melts into confusion. “I didn’t say that.”
“You tried to,” Pansy shrugs. “And then you were very clear to say no.”
“Not clear enough, I guess,” Neville sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “So let me try again: I want you, pretty damn bad. I just didn’t want it to be like that. I don’t want it to be quick and dirty, one and done.”
Pansy’s stomach clenches again, but this time it’s not jealousy. This time it feels like hope. “Why?”
Neville smiles wryly at his hands. “You really don’t know yet?”
She shakes her head to urge him to go on.
“Every week, you come into my shop to order flower petals for your perfumes. And every week I tell you to come back the next day to pick up your order, even though I already have it all waiting for you. Just so I can see you again.”
A tentative smile starts to form on one corner of her mouth. “That’s terrible customer service.” She crosses the tent and climbs gently into his lap.
“Horrendous,” he agrees, returning her smile. “It’s amazing that I’m still in business.”
This time when they kiss, Pansy allows Neville to take control. He tastes her mouth slowly, savoring her. She lets his hands roam her body at his own pace. He massages down her back to her arse. She rolls her hips in response, brushing against him and finding him harder than the first time. She gasps.
“Not yet,” he growls. “You have to show me you can make it last.”
It’s a night of the sweetest torture. He starts with his fingers, leisurely stroking and circling, then it’s his mouth. His tongue finds her favourite spots easily. He licks her neck, her nipple, her clit, until she’s panting. Over and over he builds her up, bringing her right to the edge, then pulling back.
She whines and arches toward him when he pulls back once more. “Please, Neville. Please. I’ve been patient.”
“You have.” He kisses a line from her hip up to her ear. “You’ve been so good for me, love. Are you ready to come?”
Pansy bites her lip and nods. She doesn’t trust herself not to scream and wake the rest of the camp up.
Finally, with two of his fingers pumping inside her and his mouth at her apex, she falls over the edge.
“Yes!” Her voice comes out quiet and hoarse. She couldn’t have screamed even if she wanted to.
Neville holds her until her shaking subsides. She snakes her hand down his body and wraps her fingers around his cock, giving him a pulsing squeeze.
“Your turn.” She smiles wickedly. “And you’d better believe I’m going to make you beg for it.”
"Good morning," Draco says as Pansy emerges from her tent the next morning. He looks exactly as disheveled as she feels. “How was your night?”
“I barely slept a wink,” she replies, “but as it turns out, you don’t owe me for coming here.”
He hands her a mug of hangover potion and pours one for himself.
Pansy swirls the potion around her mug while looking him over, noticing his swollen lips.
“Never have I ever fucked Hermione Granger.”
He gives her a smug smirk. “Well, never have I ever blown Neville bleeding Longbottom.”
Pansy smiles back and clinks her mug against Draco’s. “Cheers.”
They both down their mugs in one sip.