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In the low light outside Asphodel’s I can just see my reflection in my drink, the cerulean swirls framing my face as if it’s a pensieve and not the cheapest drink special they have here. As if I have any memories worth remembering.
“You’re pissing me off, Lav.”
Lav looks at me, her doe eyes, red and vacant staring into mine, my words barely making it inside her ears only to bounce around in a jumbled mess. She takes another hit, shallow and stuttering, coughing it out only moments later.
“Fuckin’ waste,” I mutter. “Pass it here.”
“Chill out,” Hermione says, as if she’s not the least chill person on earth. Though damned if I’m not the runner up. She’s barely audible over the thump of the club spilling out of the cracked door next to us. “If you had anywhere else to be, you wouldn’t be here.” But she motions to Lavender to hurry up and Lavender obediently complies, finally passing me the joint. I could say something about how obvious their ”secret” relationship is, but instead I press the joint to my lips. It’s soggy.
“Sweet Merlin, Lav, did you deep throat this? It’s a joint, not a dick.”
“Christ, Pansy, leave her alone.” Hermione pulls Lav close and they begin to whisper.
I inhale. It’s not enough to relax, but it’s nice.
When I finally exhale, the smoke mingles with the fog in the alley way. The tendrils interweave together into a tapestry of haze before dissipating into the dark.
Hermione looks up from Lavender expectantly as I finish my second toke. I look her straight in the eye as I take a third. She scowls at me and I laugh. “Now who’s the serious one?”
Our fingers brush against each other as I pass it to her and I remember what it was like to have them inside me – pressed onto my hot tongue or beckoning until I cried out.
I suppress a shiver, of desire or the cold or a sudden unshakable dread, and stare again into the fog. Something’s out there.
I hear it first, the howl of wind, though tonight the wind is still. Like a “hoo hoooooooo,” too long for an owl. Hermione puts down the joint and looks at me. “You hear it, too.”
Uneven footsteps and the fog stirs. Hermione clutches Lavender, and we both draw our wands. Lavender fumbles hers to the ground.
“Oh, Lav…” Hermione crouches to the ground to retrieve the wand.
He’s only meters away now, feet tip tapping to music I cannot hear. His chest is heaving. The beaded sweat there catches the light, glittering like precious stones.
“Draco?” I ask, wand at the ready. His eyes swing to me, wide and hungry. He throws his head back and calls into the night, “Hooootie hooooooooooo!”
Hermione doesn’t waste time. When her first hex is blocked by his pendulous cock, she fires another.
“Run,” she whispers, but I’m frozen in place, staring at Draco’s pelvic undulations and his magic cock-blocker.
“Run!” Hermione yells this time. “Run for cover!” She grabs my shirt and Lavender’s hand and pulls us inside, overturning furniture in front of the door. She slumps against a table onto the sticky floor, clutching her wand in one hand, head resting in the other. The music is so loud inside, it’s felt more than heard. The patrons dance on. Tweaked out stoners are hardly rare at Asphodel’s.
“What the fuck,” Lavender says, dazed.
I don’t need to look at Hermione to know how she’s looking at me. “Pansy, I know you’re desperate for ass these days, but do you have any common sense?”
I bite back a retort about how Hermione prefers to have all the brains between her partners.
“I’m going for another drink,” I say instead. “You spilled mine outside.”
Hermione’s eyes are wary and her breathing still ragged. “We should stick together. I’ve got a bad feeling. I don’t know what that was…” She grabs my hand. It feels warm in a way that would be comforting, but burns with history. Her other hand is holding Lavender’s, so I withdraw and smile at her with all the venom of a snake.
“What could go wrong?” There’s that strange keen from the other side of the door, punctuated with the pounding of fists on hard wood.
I can feel Hermione’s incredulous gaze on my back as the crowd swallows me. My drink turns sour in my stomach as I push through to the bar. “Another special, if you would.” It’s oversweet and acrid. Maybe that’s why I like it. I’ve been told the same.
I watch the crowd. Arms are popping. Breasts jiggling. Bodies grind together with the desperation of first year potions students powdering ingredients. What a zoo.
A betty on the dance floor catches my eye. She’s so pale under the lights that if she weren’t pressing into me as she slides up to the bar, I’d think she was a ghost. She orders a drink like she can’t see me. Maybe in her world, I’m the specter.
“Do you want to dance?” she asks, still without looking.
The scent of her perfume’s electric through me; it goes straight to my head and I push against the solid weight of the bar to keep from falling. She takes my hand, guiding me out to the dance floor. I glance at the back door. The barricade’s shifted, maybe enough for a chicken of a man to slip through. I’m hoping at this point that it’s someone else’s problem. Hermione and Lav are gone. Pity that they’re missing the party.
The other dancers crush us together and my heart quickens. I down my drink and throw the cup to be trampled into the floor. I sure don’t remember how to live, but I’d like to. A little. Now that I can see her face it looks familiar, but unplaceable. Fragments of my past swim up to remind me, but I would banish them back to the depths. I come to Asphodel’s not to remember, but to forget.
I throw my arms around her shoulders and laugh, drawing her in close and the memories fade, the swirling thoughts, until all there is is her. She’s taller than me. Her nipples stare out through her thin shirt. I hope they’re admiring the view; I know certainly am. Her hands travel: a holy pilgrimage from my shoulders to my ass. I lean into her cleavage and purr. She gives my ass a little smack so I turn around to give her a show. I shake it, all the way down, until my hands are on my laces and my gyrating booty is all the way in the air. She smacks it again and presses up against me, into me, my cheeks hugging her like they want her to be there. A little rock of her hips and I can feel her growing against me. Time slows and we hang there for a moment separated only by layers of sweaty cloth. She steps back and I kick up onto my hands and give a little spin. I waggle my ass enticingly.
“Zut putain! You are incroyable.”
The other dancers make room for me. For us. Hermione never liked this sort of attention, preferring to cling to the shadows like some sort of glumbumble, but my current partner doesn’t seem to mind. I dance until my clothes are drenched through.
There’s a commotion at the door.
She lifts me into the air to see. She’s panting and swaying. It’s the aurors. My heart skips and I know they’re here for me. Someone is committing high crimes and misdemeanors on the dance floor. It’s me. I’m killing it tonight and stealing the show.
“Listen up everyone,” one of the aurors booms with a Sonorus. “We’ve just been informed that there’s an unknown curse affecting all clubs.”
My new friend grabs my chin, and the rest of what they’re saying fades to the background.
“Do you want to get out of ‘ere?” she asks. Her smile is so gorgeous it’s almost leering.
I lick the shell of her ear and breathe, “Yes.”
The others in the club are rushing for the exit, but she takes my hand and pulls me along, up on stage, into the wings. There’s a couch back there, worn brown leather and a sagging expression that says, “I’ve seen a lot of shit, kid. Take it easy.” But we won’t. I push her down on the couch and strip off my tights.
Father got me a pony once, a docile, sweet thing that did whatever I said. I was so bored. This is different, but not entirely. She squirms under me as I straddle her, like she can’t stop moving. I rest a hand over her heart. Her eyes are wild. Her chest heaves and she gasps, a fish out of water. She grabs my hand and sucks my fingers into her mouth. I sit back, leaning onto her legs to spread myself wide, my spit-sucked fingers slithering beneath my skirt to circle my clit. I stare at her in challenge. She’s easy, this one; it takes almost no time for her to sit up and flip me, her tongue in my mouth, her fingers flying south like birds for the winter.
“You taste like–”
But I know already and I don’t want to hear it. Cloying tropical fruits still coat my tongue. I cut her off, pressing our mouths desperately together, then pushing her head down, down, down. I hold her there, my fingers tangled in the softest hair I’ve ever felt. If fairies made webs, it would be made out of this shit. The tip of her nose bumps against my clit as her tongue darts inside of me.
I kick out into the air and cry someone else’s name.
She doesn’t notice, busy as she is drinking me in. You’d think she just found a desert oasis how she does it, sloppy and desperate and so long I’m on the verge of pain. But it’s nice, in a way, to hold someone’s attention like this, all the way through the tension and release. I flop back onto that poor couch, the impervious leather making me feel warm to the point of feverish, then I pull her back.
“Hey,” I call to her, motioning to switch. I’m not so selfish I won’t return a favor. Especially if it’s a fun one. She’s bigger than I felt on the dance floor and I wonder if I can even fit her into my mouth. A mouth more for clever fingers than dangerous weapons, Draco once said. Maybe that’s why I left him, the prick. But I’ve learned that a bit of theater is just as good as skill any day, and I throw myself into this new role with gusto, sucking and slurping until she stands red and wet and upright before me. Her breath comes now like the soft hoot of an owl. “‘Ooo, ‘ooo.” It’s cute, if a little weird. She asks, her once pale face flushed with desire, to put it in me.
I swing up onto her and I’m grinning so wide my cheeks hurt as I tease over her. “Insufferable,” my lovers have said. But I’ve been told it’s my best quality, and I’m in a very giving mood tonight. I place her hands on my hips to steady myself so I can reach back without falling. I drag my fingers through my slick lips and use it to work myself loose. She clutches at herself, staring at me through soft lidded eyes as she rolls her rosey nips between her fingers. It usually feels like a chore, the sort of vamping that goes on too long to hold the audience’s attention, but tonight, my audience is rapt and it’s been a while so I take my time. Satisfied at my handiwork, I push her against my entrance and bid myself to open.
I part slowly and the stretch hurts at first, an itchy sort of burn that settles into a blooming pleasure with time. Still she moves under me, as if to be motionless is to die, and soon I meet her, matching her rhythm as we meet then come apart just as we had on the dance floor. Waves of heat travel through me, rapid and accelerating. They begin to overlap together and crest just as I–
“‘Ootie ‘ooooooooo,” she cries from below, bucking hot and liquid into me.
“Fuck yes,” I cry to match, but though her body still responds to mine, I can see in her face that she’s now very far away. I am once more an unseen ghost tethered to the living by fading desire. Wherever she went, she finally reaches her destination and her limbs still, her eyes shut, and she’s soft inside me.
“Hey girl, are you okay?” I snap my fingers a few times in front of her face. My heart stutters with worry when she doesn’t respond. I shake her shoulders and her breasts jiggle alluringly.
Her eyes flutter open and she looks at me as if I’m a stranger. Which I suppose I am.
“I’m…fine…” She pushes me off – gently, kindly – but I know a rejection when I see one. She falls out of me and I can feel the spend dribbling out to dry sticky on my skin. Now that she’s left me with a mess on my hands, she’s lost interest. Typical shit, but I feel sick to my stomach.
“I gotta go,” I say. “Have a nice night.”
“But–”
I wave with genial finality and retreat to the bathroom to clean up. I can’t go home like this. I look in the mirror and although my makeup is still perfectly in place, I look a mess. It was a wonder I could pull anyone looking like this. My breath catches shallowly in my chest, my legs fret restlessly. I sway back and forth, a macabre dance before the mirror. Though the sweat had begun to dry, it now beads again on my forehead. I can feel my heartbeat in my groin. It’s pounding down there, hammering, stretching, growing. I ache, my heart too empty, my tights too full. I step into a stall and pull them down, releasing a cock, one I most certainly did not have only moments ago on the brown couch.
“Fuck.” I stare at the thing that lies heavy between my legs. I try first a Reducio, then an Engorgio in turn, but whatever magic got me here is beyond me. I tense and it bobs up and down, waving hello to me. I don’t wave back. Rummaging through my pockets, I find my last joint. I don’t bother with my wand, lighting it with only a snap of my fingers. Only assholes smoke in the bathroom, but I never claimed to be a good person and it’s been quite a night. It’s hard to slow my breathing enough for a good hit. My hand shakes. I reach down again and it rises to greet me: moth to a flame. An old flame to a lover. I’ve felt many cocks over the long years, but never my own and I gotta say, the experience is superlative.
I don’t know how late it is when I get back. As I enter the flat, a shadow unfurls from the couch. “Hey, are you alright? I wasn’t sure you made it out of there.”
I stand there forever changed, unsure how to answer her.
“Give me five seconds to catch my breath, will you Hermione?” is what comes out. She frowns at me, the gears in her head whirring so loudly, I swear I can hear them.
Lav pokes her head up, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes. Hermione pets her head with an affection that leaves me ravenous and angry. “It’s okay. Go back to bed, baby.”
Lav rises and kisses Hermione on the cheek. Her eyes are clear now, a fire behind them that’s not there when she smokes. “I’m trusting you with this.” Hermione nods, but I know Lav’s words are meant for me. She yawns and stretches with a calculated theater then pads into the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her.
“Did you have a nice night?” Her tone is neutral, almost pleasant, but I’ve made a study of this woman for over a decade now and I can hear the judgement and anxiety threaded into the question. At least that’s well matched between us.
As a way of answering, I drop my skirt, my fresh bulge hugged close to me by soiled tights.
Hermione’s eyes flare with surprise.
“Do you like it?” I ask, stripping off my tights to fling into a corner of the room.
She comes close, studying it with the intensity she was famous for in school. Though to my knowledge, she never got a N.E.W.T in girl peen.
“It’s yours. How could I not like it?” Her voice is soft and curious and my chest tightens with something I’m not ready to feel. “Can I touch it?”
I bite my lip and nod, fully committed to every bad decision I’ve made tonight. She tickles along my shaft which jumps to respond. My legs grow restless again and begin to dance. She laughs as a fist closes over me and strokes, long and fluid.
“I should’ve listened to you,” I blurt out, learning too late that a handy is just as effective as Veritaserum.
Hermione pauses to laugh, deep from her belly. Her eyes crinkle with a mirth I haven’t been privy to in a long time. “Pansy you never listen to anyone, especially me. It’s what I like about you. Among other things.”
She kneels before me and takes me into her mouth. It’s so wet and so hot that I already feel ready to burst. I pant, clutching her head to steady myself. She’s good at this, of course she’s good at this. She hums around me as she works, always one to focus on the task at hand, always so quick.
She pulls off with a pop and I double over at the sensation. “I never know how it’s going to be with you. Keeps it interesting, I guess. Tonight was no exception.” She picks me up, tossing me over her shoulder and onto the couch. I glance at the closed bedroom door, a sobering chill down my spine.
Hermione sees.
“Pansy,” she says conversationally, as if she’s not jacking me off, “just because I want her doesn’t mean I want you any less.”
I can’t push them away anymore, these things I feel. Tears well in my eyes and I let go, my vision hazy with a white heat. “Hootie hoo!” I scream until I’m hoarse, until my voice is lost completely. But there’s nothing more I need to say. I hold her, finally at peace.
“Mmm,” Hermione replies, pillowing her head on my chest. She absently brushes the hair away from my face with another contented sigh and traces a light, looping pattern all the way down to my cock. She taps the head with a finger and it nods politely back, a true lady.
There’s magic, there’s getting lucky, then there's whatever this fragile, beautiful thing between us is. Hermione settles deep into my arms. “Hootie hoooooo to you, too, Pansy.”