Chapter Two
One-Upmanship
"So—"
Pansy started at the voice behind her, spinning on her heel to face the speaker. Had she a wand on her just now, that speaker—one Thorfinn Rowle—might've found himself minus his bits for the fright he'd given her.
She'd stepped out here as the guests were taking their leave, watching their departures from the balcony that overlooked the manor's front doors. Of course, Mother had thought it terribly rude of her to vanish whilst farewells were bid, but Pansy had graciously implored the older woman for a few minutes to get some air. In a strange and entirely all too uncommon display of sympathy—after all, she could not know what this unique situation was like—Calla Parkinson had permitted her daughter a moment's reprieve.
Besides, the Dark Lord had already left, so keeping up appearances wasn't as murderously important as they'd been, oh, five minutes ago.
The massive blond wizard grinned, his charming expression that of a man mildly inebriated, she noticed. He went on, "Not the only one less than pleased with our Lord's decision, I see."
She felt her brows pinch upward as she gaped at him. She'd never been remotely close with any of the Death Eaters—aside from Draco who only sort of counted, as it was common knowledge among the ranks how the Dark Lord had played the Malfoys in order to lure to his side the young man who was heir to not one, but two powerful Ancient and Noble Houses—but Thorfinn Rowle, who'd been in his final year at Durmstrang when visiting Hogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament was by far nearer someone to whom she could relate than any of the others.
"Would you be, I dunno, giddy perhaps, in my place?"
Thorfinn chuckled, casting his gaze toward the night sky as he idly stroked his bearded chin. "Hmm, three pretty witches and just me? Ooh, you are right! Sounds like absolute torture."
Pansy didn't want to be amused, she didn't want to feel anything that might give rise to flirtatiousness—this was all still too new and odd and ... well, it was new and odd, and she didn't much care for either. Yet, somehow, she felt her mouth tugging upward at one corner as her hazel eyes narrowed in speculation. "That to say you think Dolohov and the new Avery 'pretty'?"
"I ..." The Viking of a wizard paused, his jaw squaring as he gave that consideration. Settling for a thoughtful frown, he shrugged. "Well, they're not bad looking. I s'pose Avery's eyes are a bit dreamy."
The witch before him held very still suddenly, as though she wasn't quite certain what to except next. And then, she burst out laughing a good, tension-releasing chuckle. "Oh my God, you're ridiculous." Sobering, she shook her head. "Okay, fine. Three pretty witches and just you. Now, subtract all the nice physical interactions you're imagining out of the equation ... or, rather, add to it all the other things. You know, the things that actually make a relationship. The arguments, the emotional nonsense, the potential vulnerabilities, the unpleasantness of discovering that perhaps I'm not quite so 'pretty' when I first roll out of bed in the morning?"
He smirked, oh, and it was positively devilish the way his blue eyes glittered in the moonlight. "Could always skip to the end and find out about that one first," he suggested, his already deep voice pitched low, almost a soft purring sound.
This one was dangerous! Here she'd thought Elias Avery might be, on account of the dreamy eyes Thorfinn'd pointed out, or Dolohov, as she imagined simply being more experienced in general since he was older, and his occupation as the Dark Lord's favored master torturer having taught him much about all the nerves and sensitive places in the human body—which could be used for more than pain, certainly. But Thorfinn Rowle seemed perfectly aware of himself. Of what he looked like, of how his voice hit a woman's ear ... Of all the things an eager witch might want to do to, or expect of, a man of his stature.
And she couldn't say she wasn't tempted. But she didn't want him thinking she could be won so easily. Perhaps when she was certain he wouldn't think shagging her meant he was somehow ahead of her other suitors, she'd let it happen.
"Not even trying to give Avery and Dolohov a chance here, are you?"
Thorfinn laughed—a rich, hearty rumbling, and Pansy was loathe to admit she quite liked the sound of it. "You think either of them would be giving me a chance if they'd been the ones to catch you out here alone?"
"I suppose you've a point," she said, shrugging as she dared a step closer to him—as predicted, that charming smirk of his returned. "But why on earth should I give you any sort of advantage over them simply because you're the one who 'caught me out here'?"
"An advantage?" Again that rich, hearty laugh, but he followed her cue, taking a step himself, putting her near enough to touch. "Oh, no. I know it won't be that simple. Any Dark witch worth her salt would be happy to sit back and watch her suitors' constant attempts to one-up each other in hopes of gaining her favor."
Pansy could feel her breathing shallow, a flush filling her cheeks as she stared up at him. "So, what is this, then, Thorfinn Rowle? Merely the first bout of said one-upmanship?"
"Maybe," he said, his eyes dropping from hers to trace over her lips.
"Seems to me it would've been wiser to wait for them to make their moves, first, then."
Grinning, he lifted a hand—so large and rough beside such a delicate creature—and dragged the tips of her fingers along her jaw. "It might've, but I promise you, Pansy Parkinson, I can keep one-uping them as many times as it takes."
"Rather confident." She made the observation with a snide curling of her lip, but she admired the trait, really. The feel of his skin trailing over hers, down the side of her throat to dance along her collar bones was ... intriguing, she'd give him that.
"Think you mispronounced 'truthful'." A sudden movement in the darkness of the grounds below snagged his attention and he frowned as he dropped his hand back to his side. "What is that?"
Pansy would've thought it some daft game—getting her to turn her head so he could steal a kiss at her throat, or sneak his hands around her to pull her closer still—except that he turned away, more fully facing the balcony. Curious, she turned with him.
Just beyond the stone ledge, two figures were wandering the grounds, their movements cautious. Like ... like two people who didn't want to be caught.
Later Pansy would find it amusing how she and Thorfinn had nearly moved as one while they drifted toward the balustrade. She was acutely aware of how close he stood at her back as she braced her palms on the cool stone and peered out. He was practically pressed against her as he used the advantage of their height difference to simply follow her gaze from right over the top of her head.
The anxious pair down below was skirting the shadowed boundary of the gardens and Pansy opened her mouth to ask who that was, but then an unfortunate misstep had one of them stumbling into an unhindered shaft of moonlight. Their partner snuck to their side, righting them and leading them back into the half-shadows, but now that she'd seen them, she couldn't unsee them, the darkness no longer having as much of a shielding effect as mere moments ago.
"Merlin's beard," Pansy whispered, though they were far from being overheard. "That's Granger and Lucius Malfoy!"
"Huh." Thorfinn breathed the sound with a snicker. "Wonder what they've got to be so secretive about," he said, though from his tone she felt it obvious they both had suspicions.
The near-silhouettes drew close together, their movements a bit frantic ... hungry. Pansy felt her pulse in her throat as she watched how Lucius pinned Hermione against the wall. The Gryffindor witch wasn't fighting, but that doll-like demeanor from the dinner party was far gone as she writhed against him.
"Oh, my," she managed, the words popping out in a breathless murmur.
"Been wondering how those two have been managing."
Pansy was aware of Thorfinn's chest pressing to her back, of his breath ghosting along her throat. "Managing?" she echoed, perfectly content to act as though they were doing nothing more than having a conversation. This was a game, yes, but not the daft one she'd imagined moments ago.
Thorfinn swept her long, dark hair away from her neck and lowered his head, his gaze on the unwitting exhibitionists in the garden. He braced one hand beside hers on the balustrade and wound his other arm loosely around her waist. Granger had tangled her fingers in her husband's hair as he lowered before her, dragging his mouth down her body, nipping and kissing over her clothes.
"Well, they're in this ... horribly tense and awkward situation," he said, pausing to catch her earlobe between his teeth and suckling. After a moment—after she shivered ever so slightly in his embrace and uttered a soft little moan—he opened his mouth, exhaling warm air against the damp skin as he continued, "And I wondered how they could possibly be making it through each day without at least attempting to murder one another. Now it makes sense. They turned their frustration at their own mutual helplessness into frustration of another sort, one they're able to vent."
Pansy was aware of every inch of her skin. Aware of how warm his body was against hers, of how his mouth at her throat had her nipples tightening, straining against the smooth seafoam fabric. Lucius was on his knees, hiking up the length of his wife's dress robes. He lifted one of her legs, holding it to the wall at her side.
"You think that actually works for them?" She leaned into him a bit, enjoying how he let out a rough sigh at the press of her arse against him.
Hermione threw back her head, covering her mouth with her hand as Lucius buried his face between her thighs.
"All right, Malfoy," Thorfinn said, his tone congratulatory. He lowered the hand at Pansy's waist, trailing along her hip. Across her upper thigh. "I don't know that it actually works; pretty sure they're still at a 'hating each other in the morning' stage."
Pansy couldn't take her eyes off them. The way Lucius' head moved, how Hermione shivered and rocked beneath his mouth. She almost screamed in relief when she felt Thorfinn's fingers cup roughly between her legs through the pale green-blue silk.
"Brings up a lot of questions, doesn't it?" she asked, her nearly inaudible voice trembling a little as Thorfinn's fingertips pressed hard, rubbing against her.
Thorfinn grazed his teeth along the side of her throat, tickling along her pulse with the tip of his tongue. "Like?"
Lucius withdrew just as it seemed Hermione was giving into an orgasm. Reaching up to cover her mouth with his hand as hers fell away, she slipped her arms down, hurriedly working to open his robes.
Pansy could feel how hard Thorfinn had become, unable to help herself from grinding against him as his fingers worked her. She bit her lip, holding in a gasp as she watched the wizard on the grounds below push his hips forward. As she watched how his wife's limbs curled around him.
"How did it start? How often do they feel the need to vent? Is it only on occasions like tonight? When they've the stress of putting on a show in public?"
Thorfinn sank his teeth into the back of her neck particularly hard then and Pansy bit her lip to hold in an ecstatic whimper. God, he was good at this!
He couldn't help smiling at her response. So much for her being delicate. The magic was right, they were a good match. He lifted his attention back to the couple on the ground. Lucius Malfoy was lost in the act, his arm holding Hermione tight to him as he thrust into her hard and fast again and again. The witch appeared just as consumed by it, her head back and her mouth, now that Lucius' hand had fallen away to brace against the garden wall, open in a silent scream.
Pansy, divine little thing, was tensing in his arms. He could feel a fine tremor working through her muscles as she moved against him.
"I'd say not long after their wedding—likely very rough and angry at first, him feeling like he was betraying Narcissa, her like she was betraying everything—and probably often. Definitely on nights like tonight."
Pansy stilled, one hand clamping over Thorfinn's to press harder, faster as she came.
The couple in the garden leaned hard against one another, frozen for several heartbeats before they eased to the ground, holding each other.
"See that?" he asked, breathing against her ear again, nipping and licking at her skin, "They've mastered the simultaneous orgasm. That takes practice."
The sweet release washing through her had Pansy biting back a moan. She pushed her hips forward, pressed his fingers harder still, hanging onto the delicious sensation as long as she could.
She practically collapsed back against him as it ebbed, her hips rocking beneath his hand once more in jerking, uneven motions. "The ... " She caught her breath and tried again. "The sort of practice you hope we'll get up to, you mean?"
"Exactly."
They watched as the couple helped each other to their feet. Hard to believe they were the same pair who barely seemed to want to look at one another around anyone else as they now righted one another's clothing with careful, delicate movements.
But now, as Pansy's body finally stilled to no more than a few faint shivers, she thought the moment she'd witnessed inside made sense. They'd been physically connecting for months if Thorfinn's observations were true, but emotionally connecting was probably something they were still reluctant about. Something even more dangerous for others to know was happening.
As long as they were miserable together, the Dark Lord was happy. If he suspected they might be able to bring each other peace—for even a moment—he'd use that against them. How sad. Pansy wasn't the pitying sort, but those two? As she watched them move purposely away from one another before starting toward the gates, she understood she actually felt bad for them.
She brushed her hand back, between their bodies. Just as she cupped Thorfinn's hardened cock through his robes, however, he caught her hand.
Turning her head, she met his gaze over her shoulder.
"No. Going to let you make this up to me."
And then he relinquished his hold on her and backpedaled. "Until next time," he said, a smile in his voice as he disappeared back into the house to take his leave.
Letting out a weighted sigh as she thought he must be grateful robes were so forgiving and billowing, Pansy shook her head. She could scarcely believe that had just happened.
Leaning her forearms against the stone once more, she returned her attention to the gates. She would need to collect herself entirely before heading back into the house and the scrutiny of her parents.
Yet as she looked down, she no longer saw Lucius and Hermione anywhere. No, now she jumped a little to find Antonin Dolohov and Elias Avery staring up at her.
She could tell from their expressions that they'd spotted her and Thorfinn. They'd probably seen the whole thing—or at least enough to know what had gone on.
There was a burning in Dolohov's dark eyes. He was angry with his fellow Death Eater for getting the jump on them. She couldn't help a curiosity about what he would do to get even, or perhaps get ahead. Somehow, she thought, Antonin Dolohov recognized that curious glint even at a distance, because a thoughtful expression pinched his features before he granted her a parting nod and turned on his heel, stalking away.
Elias Avery, meanwhile, had been observing her, his expression openly amused. Pansy didn't know what possessed her—probably still a little heady from Thorfinn playing with her, probably just the flirtatious air this 'new Avery' seemed to emit with the merest of glances and gestures—but she lifted a hand, waving at him with a simple curl of her fingers.
Smiling widely, he winked and mouthed the words, "See you soon."
And then he, too, was gone.
Pansy darted her gaze around as she considered this turn of events. A wicked grin curving her lips, she thought this was about to turn into a very interesting game of One-Upmanship.
Well, for her, at least.
