Work Text:
The space is stunning. Green everywhere. Trailing vines and leafy umbrellas frame the entrance, walls, and tables. Entering reminds Pansy of the smell and taste in the air following a bout of heavy rain. Of slippery skin and clothes splattered with mud. Her skin welcomes the moisture. Drinks it in, as if she doesn't follow a strict skincare regimen tailored to her specific needs.
"Isn't it gorgeous?" Granger gushes. Beside her, Draco remains coolly dispassionate, arm draped around Hermione's neck like the possessive git that he is.
"Bit muggy, though, isn't it?" Theo grimaces as he pats at his curls, which already look larger than usual. Hermione's hair is in a similar state, but she's too busy making eyes at her boyfriend to notice.
"What do you think, Pans?" Blaise wears a smirk as if he knows exactly what she's thinking.
Pansy takes her time answering. The others glance at one another as she turns one way, then the other. She only has to say the word, and they'll up and leave. They'll complain, but they won't actually fight her on it if she says she'd rather go somewhere else.
"We might as well try it out now that we're here," she says.
The hostess seats them without delay but doesn't take their cloaks. Pansy frowns.
"Don't make that face," Theo teases her, observant as usual. "That's what these hooks are for."
Pansy follows Theo's finger to the metal hooks at the end of the booth. He unceremoniously throws her cloak on top of his own, which means it, too, will reek of his cologne.
The table is made of a heavy wood grain full of whorls and rings that she can't help but run her hands over in appreciation. Rather than fill the holes with an eyesore like epoxy, they've opted to leave them as is.
The entire restaurant is a study in co-habitation, nothing at all like the sorts of establishments she grew up visiting. No formal dress. No starched table cloths. And, obviously, no cloak check.
She may have overdressed.
"So, Pansy, how have you been? It's been a while since we caught up." Granger's eyes are fixed on her in that wide, earnest way that never fails to put Pansy on edge.
Pansy sighs. Draco's brows draw together. Blaise doesn't even attempt to hide his smirk. Theo is in his own little world as he twists and turns to look around the dining room.
Pansy doesn't dislike Granger. At least, not anymore. She's just so insufferably concerned with the people around her, as if any sign of discontent is a personal attack. Draco has tried to tell his girlfriend that Pansy's aloofness is just part of who she is, but Hermione still continues to ask and chatter and accommodate … not unlike another friend of theirs who Pansy wishes was here to act as a buffer.
"Well enough."
"I adore Witch Weekly's spread on your work for the New Year's Gala."
"Yes, the photographers did a wonderful job." Pansy catches herself beginning to preen and returns to browsing the menu in front of her, effectively cutting off the line of interrogation.
It looks much the same as when she first checked before coming to the restaurant. Minor differences highlight the menu's seasonal focus. There isn't a single question in her mind of which dishes she'll be ordering.
"Remind me, again, why we're at a vegetarian restaurant? Last time I checked, we're all meat-eaters, aren't we?"
Theo's grousing isn't surprising. Despite his self-proclaimed ability to "eat anything," he doesn't actually do so. Case in point: Granger's attempt to endear them to fish finger sandwiches, a combination of words that horrified them until they were drunk enough to give the dubious dish a go.
"We're here in support of Longbottom," Draco reminds him.
They continue to argue about the limits of supporting one's friends, both Granger and Blaise jumping in to stack the odds against Theo. Rather than get drawn into the debate, Pansy chooses to instead inspect the list of cocktail drinks.
"You agree with me, don't you, Pans?"
She doesn't even bother to look at Theo when she answers. "I do not care either way."
She doesn't care. Their reasons for being here have absolutely no effect on her own decision to visit.
"See?" Draco's smugness is thick enough to slice. "Pansy knows better than to join the losing side."
"That is not what she said."
"It's called 'tact', you fool."
"Good evening!"
The perky voice snaps them out of their bubble. The witch standing before them fits the theme of the restaurant—a witch's robe spun from natural fibres, verdant green hair in a pixie cut framing fairy-fine features, and wide, earnest eyes that would put a mooncalf's to shame. They linger on Pansy before spanning the rest of the table.
"My name is Aisling, and I'll be your server for the evening. Have any of you dined with us before?"
The others shake their heads, to which Aisling launches into a description of the menu and her recommendations. Throughout the entire spiel, Theo stares at her with Crup-like fascination.
"Can I get you water and any other drinks while you decide?" she asks.
"Uh…" Theo flounders, for once at a loss for words.
"I'll have a glass of still water and the wine pairing to go with the Chef's Tasting," Pansy says.
"Excellent choice." The server looks expectantly at Blaise next.
"I'll have the same."
Granger glances around the table in seeming confusion. "Wait, are we already ordering dinner? I haven't had a chance to look at the menu yet."
"There's no need to rush," Aisling assures her. "I can take your order when I come back, if you prefer."
"Oh, okay…"
Aisling slips away after taking Draco's drink order, leaving both Granger and Theo the only ones still undecided. Rather than take the opportunity to go over her choices, Granger turns her attention to Pansy, a curious look on her face.
"Have you been here before?"
"Why do you ask that?" Heat crawls up the back of Pansy's neck.
"That server … she seemed to recognise you."
"She did?" Theo sits up, his interest caught.
Granger nods, brow furrowing in concentration as she visibly picks apart every memorable detail of the past quarter of an hour. "She noticed Pansy first, and Pansy knew what she wanted with hardly any time to look at the menu. I thought this was a first for all of us."
"To be fair," Blaise breaks in, "we almost always go with the Chef's Course, if one is available."
"I suppose that makes sense. Still …"
"Why does it matter?" Pansy asks, a tad sharper than she means to.
The tone earns her a pointed look from Draco, which she ignores. Long gone are the days where his disappointment can control her. He's Granger's problem now.
"It doesn't," the other witch says slowly. "I just—"
"You should probably decide on what you want before she returns. I'll be right back." Pansy leaves them to their speculation and heads towards the washrooms.
She spots their server along the way, exchanging nods.
The truth is that she does know her, and this is not Pansy's first time at the restaurant.
When Pansy returns, it's to find their drinks delivered and the others having finally ordered. The discussion has moved on from Pansy, Hermione now peppering Theo with questions about his plans for the summer. Pansy sips at her sake and hums in approval. Fruity and floral. She'll have to hold back from finishing it before the first course arrives.
"What's wrong with yachting?" Theo asks. "Sunshine, blue water as far as the eye can see, bottomless champagne, bikinis—"
"It's what you always did before! Aren't you even the least bit curious about trying something new? Something more exciting?"
"Like what? Spending the entire day in some stuffy library? Please." He rolls his eyes. "I'd rather not. Thanks."
"That is not what I had in mind," Granger retorts. Is it Pansy's imagination, or has Granger's hair doubled in size?
Then, Pansy sees him.
Neville Longbottom stands at the restaurant's entrance, chatting with the hostess and laughing at something she's said. The young woman glows at his attention.
Pansy drains her glass.
Before she can open her mouth, Granger's squeal cuts through the air. "Neville!"
He visibly brightens as he spots them and, with a parting word to the hostess, makes his way to their table.
"Hey, guys! Imagine seeing you here."
"Join us!" Granger shoves at Theo's shoulder to push him closer to Blaise, who sits on one end of the curved booth, across from Pansy.
They all scoot unceremoniously sideways, and Neville settles in beside Pansy. It's a bit of a tight fit, the full length of his body settling against hers, the firmness of it a comforting warmth.
"Am I overcrowding you?" Neville asks.
Beneath the table, a familiar weight settles on her knee. Squeezes, gently.
"I'm good."
Long fingers slip between her thighs, and she tightens around them, her breaths quickening.
Is he really doing this here? Now?
"You alright, Pans?" Blaise doesn't miss a thing. He's always been the most perceptive of them, for better or worse. She both loves and hates how easily he reads her.
"Perfectly alright."
She gets a stroke of approval at the response, and it takes all of her self control to not whimper in anticipation. This is not the place for such things.
"So, Neville," Granger begins, and for once Pansy is grateful for the intrusive witch, "tell us all about Secret Garden. Everyone's talking about it, but I feel like we haven't had the opportunity to catch up in ages."
Well, of course not, Pansy thinks to herself. She knows exactly where all of his time has recently been spent.
Before he can answer her, Aisling returns to take his order.
"On the house, of course," she assures him with a wink.
The second she walks away, Theo leans over the table, intrigue written all over his face. "Please tell me that is why you've not been around."
"Theo!"
He yelps as Granger reaches across Draco to pinch his arm.
Neville is laughing, the action vibrating through his body and into Pansy's, and she pinches her knees together again.
"No, no. Even if I were Aisling's type, which I'm not, I'm already spoken for." He smiles. Slides his hand up higher.
The table's reaction is delayed. Silence, as they process what he's said, then gasp.
"What?"
"Neville! Really?"
"Who's the lucky witch?"
Blaise says nothing at all, but Pansy can feel his eyes on her as she picks up her empty glass, then puts it back down again.
"I'd love to tell you, but…"
She wants to tug at her collar. It really is too warm in here.
"…we're not quite at that stage yet."
A sympathetic noise—Granger. "I'm sure she'll come around eventually. She'd be barmy to let you slip away."
Neville hums appreciatively, but moves past the comment without adding to it. "To answer your earlier question, working on Secret Garden has been great. If you can't already tell, I worked with Chef Thales on the menu, and much of the supply comes from my own crops."
Here is where Pansy can watch him without looking out of place. His entire face comes alive as he describes the process of farm to table, seasonal dishes, and the restaurant's theme and decor. He's never more confident than when speaking about what he knows and loves most. It is that enthusiasm that drew Pansy to him in the first place several months ago.
It doesn't hurt that he's pleasing to the eye, either.
Taller, now, rivalling even Blaise. Broad shoulders that can easily carry several bags of soil, clay pots, and a screaming and kicking witch. Arms strong enough to wrestle a Venomous Tentacula or, if required, Pansy at her most rebellious. The stubble lining his cheeks emphasises the cut jaw and expressive lips that she dreams about regularly. She knows exactly how they feel, the devastation they can cause.
Gone is the chubby, uncertain boy she grew up with. Neville Longbottom is all man, and, unbeknownst to anyone else, he's all hers.
And, she is not, as some might misinterpret from his phrasing, reluctant to make that knowledge known to the public. What she is reluctant to lose is the intimacy of a shared secret. Glances across a room that nobody else sees. A hidden smile, the reason for which is unknown to any but him. The fingers teasing her beneath the table.
"You have my compliments on the interior design, Longbottom," Draco says and taps his knuckles on the table. "Feels like I've stepped right into an enchanted rain forest, it does."
"Well, I can't claim all the credit. I only supply and maintain the flora. All of the rest was recommended by—"
Pansy clears her throat, and he pauses.
Dinner has arrived, saving her from explaining the awkward interruption.
"For your first course, we have chilled Gillyweed noodles in a Périgord truffle-yakitori sauce. Don't worry, bringing the Gillyweed to a boil counteracts its transformative properties. The sake pairing is a Junmai Daiginjo from Tamano Hikari Brewery in Okayama, Japan. Enjoy."
As one, those who ordered the tasting lean over their plates and breathe in the salty-sweet aroma.
The first bite is pure ecstasy. Creamy, decadent, and perfectly balanced. It is so easy to overdo truffle, but that is not the case here. It lends depth to what might otherwise seem a simple noodle dish.
"That is bloody good," Theo exclaims.
"I thought you ordered something else."
"Well, you see—Hermione, darling—Blaise and I have an understanding…"
The aforementioned wizard rolls his eyes, because there is no understanding. Theo is simply a thief.
"You should try it with the sake," Neville murmurs. He's shifted his glass over just far enough for it to be difficult at a glance to tell whose it is.
She takes a restrained sip, and her toes curl at the marriage of sweet and savoury that perfectly compliment the sauce.
As much as Neville has changed on the outside, he has always been thoughtful. Considerate, when it is too easy to be otherwise. Perhaps that integrity is another reason why he was sorted into Gryffindor.
The rest of the dinner passes far too quickly for her liking. While she would have preferred to dine alone with the wizard beside her, there is something undeniably thrilling about gorging herself on multiple sources of sustenance.
The maple-ginger caramel from her nougat glacé continues to linger as they gather their belongings and prepare to leave.
"You go on ahead of me. I'm going to freshen up," she says, waving the others on.
Predictably, Granger can't leave anyone behind. Not even Pansy. "Are you sure? I don't mind waiting." She starts to place her purse back down, prepared to do just that.
"I'm sure." What else can she say to convince the do-gooder to move on?
"But—"
"Best not to make Pansy repeat herself, love." Draco wraps an arm around his girlfriend's shoulders and steers her towards the door. Her protests fade as the door shuts with a gentle ringing that reminds Pansy of trilling birds.
"Well, that was fun."
She turns slowly.
Neville leans against their booth, arms crossed over his chest and wearing a wide smile that makes her want to do terrible, indecent acts that would get them banned from the premises were this anybody's restaurant but his.
"I can think of several activities I would find infinitely more fun," she says wryly.
Which is how they end up, not five minutes later, behind the closed door of his office.
The wooden surface is hard against her back, but she relishes the discomfort. It keeps her on edge and present. Neville knows that. Knows her.
They stand at an arm's length. Behind him is his desk, large and sturdy. Is that where they will relieve the tension that's built up over the evening? Or, maybe he'll choose to sit, so that Pansy has to do all the work—on her knees on the ground or perched in his lap while her thighs burn from her efforts.
The answer is neither.
One step is all it takes for him to crowd her against the door. She has nowhere to go, not that she would even if she could. Pansy is warm both inside and out, a pleasant buzz elevating his proximity. Those large hands of his come up to cradle her face, one thumb pressing down on her lips until she parts them. He pushes in, breathing heavily.
"I don't know how any of them can resist you," he mutters. "This smart mouth…fuck."
Pansy sucks greedily, and he groans, moving in and out.
"They have no idea, do they, how good you can be? How well you listen to instructions."
Removing his thumb, Neville traces a wet path down her throat.
"And this dress…"
"Do you like it?" she asks, knowing full well the answer.
"I love it almost as much as I love the idea of you without it."
"Nev—" Her plea ends with a gasp as he shoves the hem of her dress up to her hips and lifts her against the door.
"Put your legs around me. There you go."
She can feel him, hot and heavy, pressing against her where she aches the most. Another happy surprise was finding out how generous his growth has been over the years. There is nothing quite as satisfying as the initial stretch of him entering her, and she wiggles against him in hopes that he'll move things along and give her exactly that.
"Careful, sweetheart, we don't want a repeat of our first time, do we?" His laughter is warm, inviting her to join in on the memory.
"We both know your recovery is quick enough even if that happens," she teases. Regardless, she falls still and waits for his lead.
Neville sinks to his knees, pushing her higher until both thighs rest across his shoulders and her cunt lies directly against his mouth. Trade out the office for his greenhouse and the door for a work table, and they're playing out the moment they first gave in, step by step.
Just like back then, she blushes at his blatant inhale. It's mortifying. It's thrilling.
"Nev, please—" Her begging again cuts off, this time with a moan as he flattens his tongue and runs it up the length of her opening. When he pauses to peer up at her, she can see her arousal on his lips and chin.
"Shhh. You don't want anyone to hear you, do you?"
Pansy doesn't get the chance to respond as his hands tighten and spread her even further, opening her up to his enthusiastic exploration of her most intimate of places. All she can do is hang on for dear life, one palm flattened on the door behind her, the other fisted against her cries in a pathetic attempt to keep quiet.
How is it that he can read her so well? Take every twitch and tremor and transform them into a torrent of sensations that Pansy is wholly unprepared to withstand. Like an ill-built home on the edge of the sea, she loses ground every time they meet. Soon, there will be no ground at all. Only water. Only Neville.
When she shatters, it is with an overarching relief that suffuses throughout her body and to the tips of each trembling finger and toe. She is boneless. She is vulnerable. Nothing terrifies her more or exhilarates her to such heights.
She barely registers being lifted and laid out across his desk. Rustling clothes, then those broad hands she adores so much pulling her to the edge. Spreading her thighs. Hooking beneath her knees and pushing them upward.
"You bloom so prettily for me. Let's see if we can coax another from you."
He sheathes himself in one, agonising glide. It's a tight fit made all the tighter by her release, and she pants at the glorious friction. He doesn't stop until he has buried all of himself inside of her. Doesn't stop to let her catch her breath or adjust to the stretch. He pulls out slowly, nearly to the tip, then plunges deep once more. It's the kind of slow and hard fuck that turns her mind to mulch, his for the shaping.
It only takes a few minutes of this for her inner walls to clench and shudder around him. Neville groans, deep and guttural. Even in her haze, Pansy marvels at the picture he presents as he pushes her to another climax. The sun-burnished hair, sweaty at the temples and falling into his darkened eyes. The taut muscles in his neck as he holds himself over her. She wants to bite at the tendons and lick the salt off his skin.
"N-Nev—right there—ah!"
"I can feel how close you are," he pants. "Don't hold back, love. Let go whenever you're ready. I've got you."
His permission is all she needs to give herself over to the tidal wave already dragging her under. A single thrust, and she's there.
He curses, which is something he hardly ever does. Grips her hard—she hopes she bruises.
"Fuuuck—there you go. So beautiful, love, taking all of me."
There he goes again, calling her that, still working her through every second of her pleasure, prolonging it, deepening the wrenching satisfaction. Pansy keens, no longer caring about whether or not anyone will hear. Secret. Not secret. It doesn't matter, either way. She'll bloom for him anywhere and at any time.
"Don't stop, please, don't stop—"
"I won't—unnn—I can't—"
His pace quickens, but he does not relax his hold on her. Still as deep, every powerful thrust threatening to push her across the table if not for the way he pulls her back onto him. Pansy wants more, and she says as such.
A bright laugh, Circe, she lives for his laughter, and he's out of her and flipping her onto her stomach before she can even blink. He coaxes her knee up onto the table and wraps an arm around her torso, yanking her up flush against his chest as he slides his swollen cock right back in.
She's babbling now, the driving pressure even deeper in this position, and his next laugh is a far darker one than before.
"You did ask for more."
"I did, I did, I did, oh, Merlin—"
He forces her to bend over, his much larger body pressing her against the unforgiving surface of the table. Hot breath of her neck, the perfume of their efforts all around them, and a hand in her hair, keeping her immobile as he rides her with increasing abandon. Rather than feel trapped, helpless, Pansy has never felt safer. It's only with Neville that she can give over complete control of her pleasure. He's free to do with it as he pleases—tease, withhold, overpower. He is, in fact, the only wizard she has ever given permission to do as such.
At this moment, that means chasing his own release. He's too good of a man to do so without giving first and giving repeatedly. Even now, he shifts to hit that spot deep inside of her that sends her over, a spot that she once thought was a myth. The awareness that he refuses to finish without her is what ultimately unravels her and, in turn, him.
Her body seizes, clamping tight around him. He groans, thrusts as hard as he can a handful more times, then whimpers as she wrings him dry of every last drop.
They collapse with moans of relief, automatically rolling onto their sides so that he stays inside, his body curling around her own.
Just like the first time. But also … not.
Because what she feels in this moment is nothing at all like the disbelief she felt back then. She hadn't even given him the chance to catch his breath before she'd darted away like the coward she could be.
She breathes in deeply. Brings his hands up to kiss the scuffed knuckles. "I don't want to hide anymore."
"Then let's not."
"You make it sound so easy."
His hands—strong hands, working hands—force her to look around at him, gripping her heart and holding it tight.
"That's because it is easy. Much easier than hiding the way that I feel about you, Pansy. About us."
"… and how is that?"
"You are my sun and rain and soil. You are everything I desire. Everything that I need. Without you, my life is dark. Colourless. Without you, I can't breathe."
He's taking the words right out of her mouth, as if he isn't the one who gives Pansy everything. She's the one named after a plant, for Circe's sake.
"That sounds dire."
His lips curl upward. She nearly giggles.
"It is. So, what do you say? Care to save a life?"
It's a funny thought: her, saving someone's life.
"I'll save you if you save me."
This time, when he laughs, she doesn't hold back from joining in. They continue to giggle like naughty teenagers as they fumble for their clothing and, for the first time, leave together through the front door. He doesn't let go of her hand, and she doesn't care about people on the street recognising them. Their opinions aren't the ones that matter; they never were.
Only Neville's.
Accepting that truth wholly and openly is more freeing than anything Pansy has felt before. She could spread her arms and fly with joy for it. Instead, she snuggles close as he wraps himself around her and whisks them away into the night … and a new day.