Title: Perdita, In Her Garden
Author: perries
Disclaimer: I own nothing, of course. All characters, etc. are property of J. K. Rowling and various publishers.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Maybe this is about drugs, or maybe about heaven, or maybe about the white room where Harry goes to feel her skin with his tongue. Harry/Draco/Pansy. WIP.
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Harry played with his bottle cap, twisting it between his fingers and tossing it up in the air. He frowned down at the solid grain of the table underneath him. This was- well, Ginny had wanted to go, and it was her birthday and all- but this was bloody boring. The dim lighting of the Muggle club made his eyes hurt, and he kept coughing on the cigarette smoke that filtered through the air.
Then again, Harry thought, looking over at Ron and Hermione on the dance floor, it certainly had brought out the best in his friends. Hermione was laughing desperately, clutching at Ron's shirt for balance, and Ron was wiping hysterical tears from his eyes with one hand and holding Hermione to him with the other. As she regained her breath, Hermione smiled up at her fiancé brilliantly and leaned into him gently.
He couldn't see Ginny from his table, which was probably a good thing. Harry couldn't reconcile the shy Ginny of first year with this- he searched for the right word- this vixen. He cringed. Vixen? God, he was practically ready for the nursing home, to stay with all the other old geezers and repeat boring war stories.
Harry rolled the bottle cap along the edge of the table with his fingers. He couldn't help it, really- you can't start fighting at eleven and be prepared to simply stop without any sort of notice. It was bloody unfair. Not that Voldemort's demise at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange had been unlucky! Of course not! But- it was just that-
"Oi, Potter, still sulking?" yelled Seamus, next to Harry's ear. Harry jumped, interrupted from his lurking, and turned to face the other man. Seamus was sweaty from dancing, his dark red shirt plastered to his body, and Harry could see the outline of every muscle.
"Gaaaah," said Harry, but covered up quickly with, "Er."
Seamus squinted at him. "You don't even look sloshed!" he said indignantly. "You won't dance and you aren't even drinking?" He looked a bit hurt, like Harry had betrayed him in a deep and personal way.
Harry held up his beer in protest. Seamus glanced at it for a moment, then looked down at Harry and sighed.
"Ummm," said Harry. "Well, I was planning to head out, actually." He scanned the club and sighed. "Hey, tell Ginny happy birthday for me, will you?"
Seamus nodded and grabbed the beer from Harry, resigned. "See you later, Potter." Harry stood, slipped his leather jacket over his shoulders and began to head towards the exit.
"Potter!" yelled Seamus, and Harry turned. Seamus looked suddenly quite tired. "Get laid or something, willya?"
Harry smiled tightly. "Right!" he yelled back, and left.
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It wasn't his fault, thought Harry bitterly. He kicked a pebble lying on the pavement. Fuck. He was getting maudlin again. Any minute now and he'd start weeping like a girl and moaning about how his parents were dead and how mean the Dursleys were and how Sirius was-
Harry cut off that line of thinking automatically, then stumbled. For all that he looked practically sober next to Seamus, Harry felt more than a bit tipsy. Drunk, actually. Quite thoroughly sloshed.
It really wasn't fair that Seamus was so fit. And got all those handsome blokes. Really, it was practically- practically- really bloody unfair. It wasn't like Harry wasn't a flash bloke himself. He was sort of tall, and he'd got contacts and everything, and Seamus was right, he really did need to get laid.
Girl, boy, Crumple-horned Snorack, Snape- anything would do. Anything, at this point. It'd been fucking ages- ages- almost two bloody months, now! That was like- Harry counted hastily- a whole lot of days! Which meant- even more hours! And he didn't even want to think about minutes or seconds.
Actually, what Harry did want to think about was sitting down. Being planted firmly on the ground sounded quite good right now.
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Harry opened his eyes to find two figures in formal evening robes looming over him. "Aaagh!" he said, with feeling.
When he squinted, they came into focus and Harry felt the urge to wipe his face and maybe grab his wand.
"Why, Potter! What are you doing here on this fine night? asked Pansy Parkinson. She paused to glare icily at Malfoy, who- it appeared- was attempting to pull her away by her elbow, right at the top of her silky white gloves.
"I'm sitting," he declared.
"Very nice!" said Pansy, enthusiastically.
"Yes, good for you, Potter. Always knew you had it in you," said Malfoy, who was beginning to look rather put out.
Harry peered at him. "Thank you," he said solemnly.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Potter," said Malfoy.
"Your pupils are rather abnormally large," Harry said to Pansy, and passed out again.
The other two stared down at him.
"Well, I've always wanted a Gryffindor," said Pansy.
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They brought him back to their flat.
Draco dumped the levitating man on the sofa with a quick Finite Incantatum, though Pansy insisted on covering him up with a tablecloth lying on the floor. She tucked it in around his neck and smoothed the wrinkles out of the rather gaudy flowered covering, though they remained when her hands rose away, rings twinkling.
Draco stood behind her and his hands moved restlessly on her belly, feeling the expensive silk gather under his wandering fingers.
Pansy smiled and leaned back against him, laying her head in the hollow of his collarbone. Draco licked his lips before placing them on her neck, tasting her with his tongue. She reached up to twine her fingers through his hair and yanked, biting her bottom lip in delight at how his body tensed.
"He's cute, isn't he?" Pansy said lazily, looking at Potter.
Draco frowned. "Let's not talk about him right now."
Pansy looked at Potter while Draco traced the bones of her neck with his tongue. Potter shifted in his sleep, unconscious but aware- of the broken springs in the sofa, of the tablecloth draped over him, of the low hum of her voice while Draco's fingers slid lower and began to slid up her inner thighs, as she keened in the back of her throat and began to grind back against Draco behind her.
Potter sighed in his sleep and suddenly Pansy's teeth hurt. She spun around quickly, dislodging Draco's hands, and pushed him down onto the hardwood floor of their living room. He fell back onto his palms, roughly, and Pansy knelt and reached over to unbutton his formal trousers.
Her rings scraped against him as she pulled out his hard cock and squatted over him, sliding down until she was full- full- Potter let out a deep breath behind her and maybe he was awake, maybe he was watching with those wide green eyes, still a little bloodshot from the drinking- maybe he had been drinking with his friends, maybe he had fucked some girl up against a toilet stall earlier- maybe he had moaned in that obscenely deep voice- Pansy felt his fingers on her, maybe he was hers, and came in a rush of pleasure spiked with a low ache inside her and a burn in her throat.
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