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The bouquet in her hands tumbled to the floor in a wilted heap while she stared dauntingly at her own reflection. Her heaving sigh pushed the delicate limits of the bone-crushing corset she’d been laced into that morning. It constricted her lungs and pushed her modest breasts further up on her chest. No one cared that she couldn’t breathe, as long as Draco Malfoy could put his newly acquired asset on display. This room felt too small, the walls warping and constricting around her like a tightly clenched fist.
Her freedom fled further out of reach with every passing second. The antique clock on the wall ticked louder and louder, reverberating loudly in her skull like a bombarda blast. White patent leather pumps with bright red soles clung to her feet like cuffs, threatening to drag her body to the bottom of the Black Lake. Her wedding gown, pristine and shining like a rippling sea, draped over her body like liquid pearl. The silk flowed over her skin, bringing out the flush in her chest and cheeks. She looked perfect, refined, almost angelic. Just like she always imagined, it was everything she had ever wanted.
Marrying Draco Malfoy was everything she had ever wanted. Once. Until it had become apparent what kind of man Draco Malfoy was. They had all made mistakes–Pansy and her family, her friends. They’d all been on the wrong side of the war at one time or another. During Seventh Year, Pansy had finally seen the truth–what everything her parents had raised her to believe actually meant … what it looked like. It was easy to fall back on her fear, her desire for self-preservation, her desperation to protect her sister, her parents.
It did not take long to see how narrow-minded she had been. Eighth Year had been about finding herself and her place in a new, still-forming, society. She’d worked hard to leave the school behind her in a better place than Voldemort had left it. She’d repented.
Draco had not. Where Pansy had initially leaned on her fear, Draco had leaned on his privilege. He let money do the repenting for him, without making any real change within himself. He hadn’t even gone back to finish school, hadn’t even considered it. Lucius had gone to Azkaban for his role in the war and Draco had eagerly taken on the mantle of the head of Malfoy house. Draco proved himself to be just as arrogant and self-serving as his father. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the extent of their similarities. Whereas Lucius was a devoutly loyal husband, Draco appeared to have no interest in following suit. It was often that Pansy appeared through the Malfoy floo to find discarded knickers, tacky pairs of abandoned high heels and other distasteful accoutrements scattered throughout the manor for her to find. Like a fucked up little scavenger hunt.
Pansy swiped at an errant tear that tracked its way down her exquisitely made up face. She wasn’t going to be a wife at all. She was a figurehead, a trophy bride to show off and neglect. All of Pansy’s lofty dreams of marriage, of family, of finally belonging to a home that treasured and valued her, were disappearing. She stroked a hand idly over her stomach, ghosting her fingers over the boning of her bodice. Children could still be part of that dream, she hoped. She’d been instructed to stop taking any contraceptive potions. Narcissa was hopeful for heirs as soon as possible. Pansy could still be a mother, any children would still be hers.
Her stomach rolled. They would still be his too.
Images flashed in her mind that made her nearly collapse to the floor in grief. Fast visions of a future she had wistfully imagined once upon a time, when she’d briefly thought she might have some semblance of control over her life. Before she had learned that her betrothal to Draco was not merely paper and ink. Who forced an infant into an unbreakable vow? What kind of parents sealed their child’s fate like that? Her life was now tied to this marriage, for better or for worse.
But for the past several, blissful months, someone else had been her life, her entire world. The floo roared to life and a broad, solid body collided with her with a hungry kind of violence that stole all the breath from her lungs. Strong arms curled tightly around her as a deep, choked sob against her neck sent shivers down her spine.
“I couldn’t let this happen without seeing you,” Neville whispered, pressing his lips to her shoulder as he held her.
“You’re just making it harder, Neville,” Pansy tried to sound stern but the break in her voice just made him wrap himself more firmly around her, like he was holding her together. He probably was. Hearing his voice, being surrounded by the rich, earthy, floral scent of his skin, had heavy tears carving a path down her cheeks.
“I don’t know what to do. I hate feeling so helpless, sweetheart. Tell me what to do,” he was begging, kissing paths over her neck to her cheeks, licking her tears from her skin and leaving behind his own.
“Just be with me, I only have a little bit of freedom left. I want to spend it with you, Neville, be with me, one more time.”
An agonized groan tore through his chest and vibrated against her chest as he kissed the heaving tops of her breasts. “This is not how I thought I would see you in white.”
A wet laugh burst from her as she panted in his arms, her breaths coming harder and sharper. “I-I can’t, I need this off,” she stammered and he began pulling at the fabric of her bodice in a panic. “Off! Nev, please! Take it off, I need it off!” He tore the silk to shreds with his hands, yanking it from her shivering body and growling at the sight of her rigid corset. Sobs wracked her as he pulled his wand from his pocket and sliced it through the air, wordlessly cracking through the boning. Cries of relief fell from her lips as the corset hit the floor with a thud. He gathered her nearly naked form in his arms, kissing desperately at her face as he strode across the room to the velvet chaise in the corner.
Pansy briefly thought of locking the floo or the door. But she’d been alone in this room for hours already and no one expected her in the garden of the manor for another few hours still. She was being stashed away until her presence was required, as she imagined would be what was expected of her now, as the new Lady Malfoy.
Neville cradled her delicately against his chest like she was precious, as he always did. His touch was always gentle, full of devotion, full of love. Pansy had been grieving the inevitable loss of his touch for weeks now. She pushed the heartache aside, she would no doubt wallow in it for years to come, forever. For now, she could experience what her wedding night might have looked like, if things had been different. If the people in her life had loved her implicitly and unconditionally, like parents were meant to. Like she would love her children, no matter how much like her betrothed they might turn out to be.
Neville’s careful fingers trailed over her body, his calluses rough against the sensitive skin of her thighs. She loved how his passion and work had carved his body. It was strong and able in such a raw manner that a simple flex of his hands made her shiver. He slipped a nimble finger beneath the lace of her knickers and tugged them delicately down her legs, leaving her completely bare for him. The soft scruff of his beard rubbed and scratched at her breasts as he leaned her back and made his way down her body, kissing and licking at her like he would never have her again.
Another sob broke through her lips at the reminder that he wouldn’t.
“Sweetheart, are you ok?”
“Please, just … just love me. Love me enough to last. Please?”
“Pansy, I am going to love you for the rest of my fucking life, can’t you feel it?”
She whimpered, threading her fingers through his soft golden curls as he pressed his lips to her stomach, his hands curled around her waist.
She could. She could feel how much he loved her through every touch of his hands to her body, through the unbridled affection she saw in his eyes when he listened to her, through the frenzied kisses he placed everywhere that he could reach. She could feel it. She closed her eyes as he explored her body, hoping that every impression of him on her skin could be memorized, mapped and recalled for the rest of her days.
“I love when you touch me,” Pansy said with a satisfied gasp. Neville’s hands were the only balm to her frayed nerves, his presence made her skin hum with a soothing calm that silenced the bitter rage that boiled in her blood. She spent so much time feeling a simmering fury just below the surface, constantly threatening to spill over and corrupt everything in her path. He was the antidote to her toxins and she was going to lose him.
He was between her thighs, worshipping at the altar of her flesh like she was his goddess. His lips, tongue and teeth were everywhere, whipping her up into a flurry of pleasure faster than she could contain it. He drank up her arousal, her gasps, her moans, basked in her body like he wouldn’t ever have enough. He pledged himself to her cunt, groaning his love for her into her skin, promising his devotion with his lips wrapped around her clit as she came with a strangled cry.
“I need to be inside you,” his voice wobbled as he crawled back up her body and tore at his own clothes. Finally naked and vulnerable as she was, he pressed his length against her and she shivered with anticipation, wrapping her limbs around him to ground herself lest she melt into a pathetic puddle beneath him.
“Please, Neville, please,” she nodded and wrenched her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, an anchor to keep his eyes on her face. He loved to burrow into her neck when they were together, but she wanted to see every emotion as he felt it. She wanted to see everything in him before she’d never have it again.
He gripped the base of his cock with one hand, slipping the head easily through the dripping lips of her pussy as he stared down at her. His eyes shone with a heartbreaking desperation she was sure was mirrored in her own. Slowly, she traced the planes of his face, wiping away any tears that slipped over his cheeks as she committed him to memory.
“I’m going to bottle this moment the second I get home,” he whispered, “I’m going to relive it every single day. I will not ever forget how it felt to be with you.”
Her chest felt like it was caving in, his words carving into her heart until all that was left was a hollow space for him to crawl in and nestle inside her ribcage. She pulled his face to hers and gasped, “I love you,” against his lips.
It was perfect, the way he pushed the air from her lungs as he slid inside her. Like her body was making room for him, where he belonged. He stiffened and froze, his forehead pressed to hers as he cursed and squeezed her hips tight.
“He will never have me this way, Neville, I promise you.”
“You can’t promise me that.”
“This,” she pressed her hand to his chest, “this is more than sex, Neville, you know that. I will never give him this.”
His nod was jerky and uncertain and it made Pansy’s heart ache and crack all over again. This was going to be torture for him just as it was for her. He pressed in deeper, relishing how perfectly they fit together with a groan before pulling back and driving back into her again.
“Oh gods, never this, never, Neville, no one else can give me this, yes, only you!”
“Only me,” he repeated, his face tight and tense as he stared down at where they were joined. “Mine.”
“Yours, I will always be yours!” Her body warmed and buzzed with pleasure as he filled her, claimed her and worshipped her. She remembered Narcissa’s instructions then; there was no potion in her veins, nothing stopping Neville from truly claiming her, forever.
Sweat shone on his brow, plastering his curls to his forehead as he gasped and moaned for her. He was so open this way, so raw and honest; his mouth open in perpetual awe and his eyes dark with hunger and adoration. He dropped down to his elbows, caging her in on either side as he stroked her face with his hands and worked his hips frenetically against her, plunging deep and firmly as she pulsed around him and clawed at his shoulders.
“Mine. Come for me, sweetheart,” he demanded, capturing her lips in a searing kiss she could feel in her toes. The possession in his kiss shoved her sharply over the edge and her body sang for him.
“Neville, I-I’m not on the potion, I-I want you to fill me, claim me, Nev, please.”
“Fuck, sweetheart.” The ache in his voice was the worst torment.
“I want a piece of you to keep with me forever, I want this to be yours, not his.”
“Oh gods, fuck, I-I’m gonna come, sweetheart, are you s–”
“Yes! Yes!” Tears streamed down her face as she clung to him, “I want it, I want you, please, please!”
He plunged deeply inside her with a rumbling groan, “Yes, fuuuuck, yes, I love you, Pansy.”
He covered her with his body as she fell apart beneath him, still inside her, both of them still shaking. He stroked her hair, her face, her stomach. He cupped her face and swallowed her cries as the grief of what they were about to lose hit them both like a train. “You know it would be us, right? You know that if we could break that vow, we would. If I could take you far enough away, I would do it, I would do anything, Pansy, anything.”
His eyes were wide, pleading and a little crazed. She had to look away and instead pressed her face against his chest. He looked anguished but wistful. Like he was asking for her permission to continue searching for a way out. For her permission to do whatever was necessary. But the only way out of the vow was…
“Pansy,” she flicked her eyes back to meet his, “I would do anything.”