Darker Days

Fleur's brush swished with a deft flick, smearing bright blue paint. She curved the motion, coloring the shingles of one last rampart, before stepping back from her easel and admiring her work.

A broad canvas faced her, filled all the way to the corners with a scene. A large, manor-like building rose above a garden of thick hedges, all trimmed to the last leaf. A sandy central path led to the front doors, which had marble pillars positioned either side of a large porch. In person, the building was enormous, which it needed to be in order to fit all of France's young magical population. Beauxbatons looked every inch as beautiful as she remembered it, which made sense, because Fleur was painting from memory.

There was only one person in the painting. She stood beside the door, barely large enough to make out her features. She was waving at the front door, inviting someone inside, her dark hair pulled back in a bun. Fleur almost didn't add this detail, but her heart swayed her hands in the end.

"Would you be disappointed if you saw me now, Madame? You always had such high hopes for your star pupil."

She shook her head. Talking to herself was a new habit, one she blamed on long hours spent alone. It was no wonder it was coming out now, on a rare morning when Harry was absent.

Fleur sighed and set about collecting her brushes. Her simple pants and shirt were unadorned, bar the splattered paint they had collected as she worked. Her hair was pinned back in a bun with loose strands escaping. As she brought her brushes to the sink, freshly installed in the previously-empty room she turned into an art studio, she caught her reflection in a mirror. She still looked beautiful, but in a natural way, not accentuated by glamor charms or fashion of any sort. In a vain way, that was one of the things that drew her to painting.

She'd heard it all when she was young. The 'suggestions' that friends of the family would offer for possible hobbies. Dancing was their favorite, poetry the runner up. Anything to keep her clean, to save her from any sort of messiness, because otherwise she would not look her best! And then what would she be good for?

Fleur considered one of her paintings a success if those she showed it to were looking at the canvas, not her, when they offered their compliments.

As she scraped off the last of the blue paint from her brush, someone passed by the door.

Fleur spun. Water flicked up as she thrust out her arm on reflex—

But of course the wood in her hand was nothing but a used brush, not a real wand. It would do nothing to protect her, except maybe poke out a single eye if she aimed very well.

Fortunately, it was not Peter Pettigrew standing at the entrance to her room. It was not Susan, who was somewhere else in the house, or even Harry returning early from his outing. It was a smallish girl, with blond hair a few shades dimmer than Fleur's own.

"You are that slave," said the stranger.

"Most likely," Fleur said. 

The stranger looked surprised for a moment. It was slight, but Fleur was growing adept at catching the minor mannerisms of inexpressive speakers. In this girl's case, the tell was a slight deepening of her natural frown.

"He lets you speak that way?" she asked.

"He lets me do many things. Even paint. Do you like my piece?"

The stranger's eyes flickered to the rendition of Beauxbatons, so fresh that the paint hadn't yet dried. Her eyes returned to Fleur.

"Beautiful," she said.

Fleur did not like this woman one bit.

"Did you know, the last person who slipped into this home uninvited, was nearly killed?" Fleur asked.

The woman was certainly looking at her now. "Are you threatening me, slave?"

"I have only a paintbrush. Do I look in a state to threaten you? I just thought you might like to be informed."

"I am not uninvited," she said.

"Did you speak with Harry?"

"I'm simply looking for my husband! Has he been here?"

Fleur turned back to the sink, dunking the brush she was holding, seeing no reason to put her work off any longer. "Ah, yes, your husband. Of course I would know exactly who that is."

"Do not take that tone with me."

There was a swish, and a spell was cast. A stinging sensation struck Fleur's neck, as painful as a full-grown pixie biting the flesh there. Fleur dropped her brush, planting a hand on her neck, and glared at the other blond.

"I am Astoria Malfoy," said the stranger, her wand raised with an imperius look nestled in her eyes. "My husband is Draco Malfoy, your master's oldest friend. You will answer me, and you will do it in the proper manner!"

Fleur rubbed where the stinging curse hit. Her temper flared, demanding that she burn this woman to a crisp. 

But if she did everything her temper demanded, she would never have made it through her first year at Beauxbatons, let alone reached graduation.

"Did your husband not tell you?" Fleur said. "He and Harry have gone on an excursion. They are reminiscing about old times. Oh, and there was one other with them. A certain… Pansy, I believe her name was?"

Astoria nodded. She turned sharply as she walked away. Fleur frowned, meandering to the door to watch her leave. Astoria was walking so quickly, it was nearly a jog.

By the time Fleur reached the hall she watched Astoria turn a corner into the living room. She left by Floo right after; Fleur could hear it. 

"Is she gone?" 

Fleur jumped. Susan was standing right beside her, having arrived completely silently. Did everyone in this house have to have a talent for something creepy?

"Astoria Malfoy just left," she said, watching the way Susan immediately relaxed. "Do you not like her either?"

"She's an old classmate," Susan said. "I won't give her the satisfaction of seeing me in this state." She leaned toward Fleur. "That was difficult, though."

"Why?"

"She wouldn't leave," Susan said. "She walked around the entire house. Just had to poke her nose into every single room…"

Fleur frowned. She invited Susan into her room to show off her latest painting, because the woman was rather agreeable unless Harry was mentioned. But even as Susan complimented her work, Fleur's mind was on Astoria Malfoy.

She couldn't help but wonder. What kind of man was Astoria's husband?

O-O-O

"You didn't tell me she would be here!"

Draco's voice came out as an urgent whisper. Harry stared at him, before glancing back at the picnic blanket spread across the grass with baskets of food. Pansy sat on the blanket, eating a small triangular sandwich of some kind.

"That was on purpose," Harry said to Draco.

"I bloody know it was on purpose! I'm asking why. And keep your voice down, she's looking!"

Pansy was, indeed, looking. Harry shook his head. "She's not a giant, you know. We don't need to avoid her notice for safety."

"Harry, what do I tell Astoria?"

"That you had lunch with old friends," Harry said. "Like you said you were going to."

Draco didn't have an answer to this, although he was trying hard to come up with one.

"Be an adult," Harry said, "and let's eat a damn lunch."

Harry had to give Draco his credit as a Slytherin. Despite all the panic he showed, by the time they reached the blanket again, he'd smoothed his face into a pleasant expression that revealed nothing.

"Done plotting?" Pansy asked.

"We're Slytherins," Draco said with a smile. "We're never done plotting."

"Technically, I'm not one," Harry said.

He took a seat right in the middle of the blanket they had lain out. Pansy was to his left, and Draco sat down on his right. Baskets of food and small stacks of plates were arrayed around their feet. At the base of the hill they were eating on were rows of leafy plants, extending all the way to a large glass greenhouse. Each of the leaves on the plants were striking large, at least three feet from stem to tip.

"Everyone considers you a Slytherin," Draco said. "You were on a first name basis with half of our year before you were eleven. The only reason you didn't come to Hogwarts was because you were getting a better education."

"You never know," Harry said. "Maybe I would've been a Hufflepuff."

Both Draco and Pansy laughed uproariously, clutching their stomachs.

"If that was true, you wouldn't be alive today!" Pansy said.

"I don't know," Draco said. "There are more Hufflepuffs running around after the war than any of the houses but Slytherin. You'd think it would be Ravenclaws smart enough to pick the right side, but no, it's Hufflepuffs that were too scared to fight."

"I guess it's true what they say," Pansy said, lifting a cup of what smelled suspiciously like wine. "Book smarts will get you first place in the classroom, cunning will get you first place in life."

"Look how well you two still get along," he said.

The comment earned him a glare from both directions, but Harry considered it worth it. He was tired. Tired in general over the last few days, but here he meant that he was tired of these two. They'd practically been raised together. Then they went and avoided each other for months, and now the moment they were back, they were slipping right into easy banter.

Maybe none of that was bad, but he'd had to listen to Pansy complain incessantly, and he knew Draco missed her too. Like he told the blond to, it was time for them to grow up. If they didn't mend their friendship, then he at least wanted it broken firmly enough that they wouldn't whine to him any longer.

Predictably, Pansy lost her will to glare first. She faced the crops beneath them.

"This spot has always been the best."

"No parents," Draco said, turning the same direction as Pansy. "No teachers. No plots— Well, only the plots we could hatch up ourselves."

"The best kind," Harry said.

The other two nodded decisively.

For a moment it felt like they were young again. All of them had been eleven when they came here for the first time, on the eve of Draco and Pansy taking their first trip on the Hogwarts Express. It had been a send-off then. But soon they were sneaking back every school holiday. Here, it was only the three of them.

"Father nearly killed us when he found out where we went to hang out," Draco said. "One wrong step, and we could've woken a Mandrake."

"That's what those are, right?" Pansy asked, staring at the huge leaves. "It's hard to imagine. That there's whole people looking things under there? And if they were disturbed, one scream would've offed us?"

"I suppose," said Draco. "But we've never had any problems. Not with the Mandrakes or anything else here."

"This place must make you a fortune," Pansy said, "producing as many rare potions ingredients as it does."

Draco stared out over the field for a long time before he answered.

"We never sold them," he said. "Father built it to supply Snape."

Pansy turned as quiet as Draco. Harry finished his first sandwich, marveling at the rich flavor, quickly reaching for a second one.

"I'm sorry that you lost him," Pansy said.

"So am I," Draco admitted.

"And it had to happen at a time when potions were already so hard to come by," Harry said.

Pansy poked his thigh with her elbow, glaring to tell him that he wasn't matching the mood, but Draco only laughed.

"I didn't take you as someone who would follow the potions market!" he said.

"There's only a few that I care about," Harry said.

One, really. But when that one potion dominated your life as much as it dominated Harry's, you tended to get sensitive when your supply was running low and you were struggling to restock. Like Harry was now.

Still, the moment had passed. It no longer felt like the past, and they didn't feel like kids. Perhaps that was why Pansy left out the arm she poked Harry's leg with, laying her hand to rest on his knee. Draco didn't miss the gesture.

Shortly after, Pansy rose, excusing herself to go to the bathroom.

"There's one around the back of the greenhouse," Draco said.

"I have been here before," Pansy said, her tone mostly teasing.

She sauntered downhill, giving the mandrake field a significant berth.

"Are the two of you…?" Draco said.

"We're not dating," Harry said. "Not exactly."

"Ah," Draco said. "Sounds fun."

"It has its moments."

"She's great in bed," Draco said wistfully. "Quiet as hell, but that ass is worth it."

Harry stared at him. Pansy? Quiet? When he didn't answer, Draco began to fidget.

"I guess you wouldn't be used to this kind of talk," he said. "Sorry. I didn't… I should really go. Astoria will be worried."

He stood up. But rather than walk away, he paused.

"Before I go, there's something you really need to know," Draco said. "Peter Pettigrew approached me."

Harry's head shot up. "Why?"

"He said he had something he wanted. Was willing to pay for it, too. He offered me three more slaves, all free of charge, if I did something for him."

"And that was?"

"To get rid of your Wolfsbane stock by any means necessary."

Harry's jaw clenched.

"I turned him down," Draco said.

"Did you?"

Draco looked slightly sheepish. "I wasn't quite that polite. Who does he take me for? Does he think he can order me around like a minion? And he has the nerve to try and turn me on you of all people."

"I appreciate it," Harry said.

He'd had a slight headache for the last two days, but its throbbing seemed more intense now than at any point before. 

"Just watch out, Harry," Draco warned. "After Snape… I really don't want anything else to happen." He caught sight of Pansy returning. "I'll see you around."

Draco Disapparated just as Pansy got back.

"So he's run away in the end," she sighed.

Harry nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak. He was angry about what Draco had told him, and it was only making the niggling symptoms he'd been feeling get worse.

"I guess it's just the two of us."

Pansy dropped into his lap, straddling him. Harry unwittingly growled.

"I don't have the energy to spare right now, Pansy," he said.

"That's fine." Pansy eased him back. "Let me be the one working hard for a change."

Harry lay there, feeling the sun on his face, as Pansy began to move her body.

She rolled her hips back and forth. Without removing any of their clothes, she grinded on him. Harry sighed, relaxing into the feeling.

"I know you set this up for me," Pansy said. "Draco didn't know I would be here, did he?"

"I was sick of you complaining," Harry said.

"And that's sweet of you," Pansy insisted.

She grabbed his collar, bunching up the top part of his as their bodies scraped against each other.

"It's good that you want me to make up with Draco, but you don't have to worry," Pansy said. "I'm a big girl. You should know that. I can handle the things I need to."

She trailed off as Harry's cock hardened beneath his clothes. When she ground on it, Pansy groaned loudly, tucking her chin against her chest.

'Quiet as hell' repeated inside Harry's head. Were he and Draco even talking about the same woman?

Pansy had obviously wanted to start slow, but she couldn't hold back. She pulled Harry's robes open, and dragged his trousers down. It was what she did next that caught him off-guard.

Pansy had arrived for the picnic in a nice dress with a coat over it, the zipper undone. She slid the coat off now, one sleeve at a time. She kicked her heeled shoes off, making sure they landed beside Harry. Underneath were long, sheer black stockings. Pansy flipped her medium-length hair back, then ducked down, chewing her lip and holding eye contact as she dragged off each stocking as slowly as it would go.

The smooth flesh of her legs was nearly white as it caught the sun. Pansy bit the strap on her right shoulder, pulling it with her teeth until it came undone, sliding loose. She slid her other arm out of the second strap. She walked toward Harry, closing the distance she had created, and allowed her dress to slip away. Black lingerie lay underneath. The lacy bra was dispatched quickly. The thong it was paired with remained a bit longer as Pansy stood above Harry, her feet planted either side of his thighs. Her hands started on her hips, slowly sliding up her body and lifting her perky breasts as she said, "You love fucking this body, don't you?"

In better health Harry might've returned a taunt, or at least a comment of some kind, but his head still hurt, so he was content to lay there watching.

Pansy spun around. The great ass that Draco singled out as her best feature was barely covered by her skimpy thong… and then it wasn't covered at all, as Pansy bent forward and slid the fabric down, treating Harry to the best view possible. She kicked the thong off her ankle and sent it flying, dropping to her knees.

She didn't have to use her hands at all in order to line Harry's cock up with her entrance. She just rolled her hips — the same way she had while grinding on him — and Harry slipped straight inside.

She felt different today, and Harry didn't think that was just his poor mental condition. It might have been the position. For as long as he and Pansy had been hooking up, he had always been the one on top. That suited them both: it was clean, rough, and sexy.

But now… he was starting to wonder if that was really what both of them wanted. Pansy put on a show for him. She was desperate to get another taste of him, despite the state he was in, and even seemed to be truly enjoying this change of pace.

Perhaps the rough and quick sex they'd been doing was all Harry's idea. Perhaps Pansy had accepted that, but all the while…

Pansy's ass bounced and rippled. She rode Harry with her back to him, letting her athletic ass ripple in downright hypnotic ways. 

"I love this!" Pansy screamed, moaning loudly. "I love it so much!"

Harry was already breathing hard. Even without doing any of the work, this was a lot for him. Not that he was going to let it end easily. He was enjoying Pansy's ride as much as she was.

Pansy's moans and screams carried all the way down the hill. They likely carried across the entire farm. Harry had turned it over in his head, and the only conclusion he could come to was that in all the time they had been dating, Draco had never made Pansy feel this way.

He didn't want to be thinking about his best friend at a time like this. So in an effort to fix that, he watched Pansy.

He drank in the details. Her back was more muscular than he ever realized, slightly toned instead of just smooth. She had a mole above her right butt cheek. When she hurled her head back, her hair danced down past the base of her neck, bouncing each time she rose and fell.

Harry was certain now— this sex didn't feel the same. Pansy felt like a different girl inside. She didn't strike the same kind of inhuman pace Harry did when he was on top, but she moved fast. There was a rhythm to it, or at least a pattern. It felt good, and the feeling only got better when Pansy bent backwards.

She leaned back far further than Harry ever would've thought she could, far enough to plant her lips on his. Her kiss was sloppy, but it was a miracle she accomplished it at all with her hips still bouncing. She bit Harry's lower lip, tugging it up a half-inch before letting go, growling as she did.

Harry experienced a surge of strength the likes of which he hadn't felt in days.

His hands came up, getting a grip on Pansy's chin. He planted his feet on the blanket, beginning to thrust up. He went at the same speed Pansy first adopted, and their movements fitted together like pieces from a puzzle.

Harry kept his grip gentle enough that Pansy could have lurched up if she chose to. But she didn't. Her back remained contorted as their lower bodies clashed again and again. She wanted his touch. Harry grunted, the suction around his penis feeling twice as tight all of a sudden.

Pansy was moaning. He realized distantly that he was too, his voice rising out in uncharacteristic ways. They lost track of time, alone on that blanket, paying more attention to their bodies than their surroundings.

Harry lasted a long time, or at least he felt like he did. Neither of them really knew. The sun was warm, the breeze was cool, and both of them felt great. That pleasure built and built, until Harry pulled out at the last moment, scattering a thick load along Pansy's stomach.

Her legs straightened. So did his. They lay there, Pansy on his chest, both looking up at the blue sky.

"Is my nose the problem?" Pansy asked.

"I know about your many issues with your nose, but I assure you, I don't think a single thing about it," Harry said, his voice tired.

"Then what is it? Why are you ashamed of me?"

Harry tensed. "I don't—"

"Know what I'm talking about?" Pansy laughed. "Come on. You're perfectly fine fucking me. I swear, you love it! But when I send a marriage proposal…"

"Your father sent those," Harry said. "You had no control over that."

"Of course that's what I told you," Pansy said. "Would you have hung out with me if I admitted that I asked him to do it? If I said, 'Oh yeah, I'd marry you in a heartbeat.'"

Harry slid out from under her. His headache was back. The brief burst of energy had faded, his symptoms returning even stronger than when they left. He dragged up his pants and pulled his robes around his torso. "I should go."

Pansy pushed her upper body up. "This is why I didn't say anything! I knew you would run away."

Harry started to leave, but Pansy stopped him with a single sentence.

"What are you running away from?!"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He tried not to get stuck in memories. He failed. 

"It's none of your business," Harry grunted.

"I'm the closest friend you have left!" Pansy said. "If it's not my business, then whose is it?"

"Mine," Harry said. "And nobody else's."

He Disapparated just like Draco had earlier, assuring himself he would patch up the argument later when he could think more clearly. His headache was bad enough that he feared he would Splinch himself, but he arrived outside his home in one piece. He took a deep breath, propping himself with a hand on the banister of the porch, before forcing his face to clear and entering his home.

He really hoped, for once, Fleur would not be in the mood for questions.

He wasn't sure how many more of those he could handle right now.