THE TOWER AND THE STAR - Pansy & Neville (HP)

TW: Torture 

The words hit her like a punch to the chest, a brutal jolt that rendered her momentarily frozen in place. Pansy felt as if the air had been knocked from her lungs, leaving her gasping in the thick silence that enveloped her. It was as if the world around her had come to a standstill, the vibrant colors of her life draining away, leaving only a muted gray. Draco had been attacked. The gravity of the news settled heavily upon her, wrapping around her like an oppressive fog, and she struggled to process the reality of it.

Her mind raced, swirling with disbelief and a rising tide of panic. How could this have happened? Their family was meant to be untouchable, a bastion of strength in a world filled with chaos and uncertainty. But now, that pillar of their family had been shaken, and she felt as if the ground beneath her was crumbling away. Images of Draco—his smirk, his laughter, the way he held himself with such confidence—flashed through her mind, each one a painful reminder of what was at stake.

Hermione had saved him. The thought was both a relief and a source of irritation. She couldn't deny that Hermione had acted heroically, but a small part of her couldn't shake the bitter taste that lingered. How many times had she felt overshadowed by Hermione's quick thinking and bravery? Now, in this moment of crisis, that jealousy flared anew. This wasn't the time for such thoughts, yet they bubbled to the surface unbidden. Pansy wanted to be the one who protected Draco, to be the one at his side when danger struck.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she tried to rein in her spiraling emotions. She thought of the last time she had seen him, the light in his eyes and the playful banter they shared. How could someone dare to threaten that? The very idea sent a shiver down her spine. This was the first time their family had faced such a direct attack, and the implications of it were terrifying. If they could come for Draco, then who was next? Would they come for her? For their future? The thought twisted in her gut, fueling her anxiety.

She opened her eyes, staring blankly at the wall as if willing it to provide answers. It never happened before. They had been through so much together, faced countless challenges and enemies, but this—this felt different. This was an assault on their very existence, a wake-up call that rang louder than any battle cry. Her heart raced as she realized that the world they had built was not as secure as they believed. There were cracks beneath the surface, and they were threatening to widen into chasms.

With a determined set to her jaw, she pushed aside her fears. Draco needed her now more than ever. He needed her strength, her support, and her unwavering belief in their family. She felt a fierce protective instinct swell within her, igniting a fire that had lain dormant for too long. She would not allow fear to dictate her actions. She would not let this moment break her. Instead, she would rise to the occasion, for Draco, for their family, and for herself.

She straightened her back, squaring her shoulders as she prepared to face whatever came next. The world outside might have been chaotic and dangerous, but within her burned a fierce resolve. She would stand by Draco's side, whatever it took. No more shadows, no more second-guessing. It was time to fight back, to reclaim their narrative and protect what was rightfully theirs. With that thought, she stepped forward, ready to confront the turmoil head-on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pansy was enjoying her usual afternoon tea, the fragrant steam rising from her delicate cup, when the tranquility of the moment was abruptly shattered by the unexpected appearance of Granger in her living room. The stark contrast of Hermione's disheveled appearance against the elegance of her carefully curated surroundings only heightened her intrigue.

With a raised eyebrow, Pansy regarded Hermione, her curiosity piqued. "Granger, what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" she inquired, her tone a carefully crafted mix of amusement and wariness, her mind racing through potential scenarios that could have prompted this sudden visit.

Hermione, however, was not in the mood for pleasantries. The urgency etched across her face was palpable, a stark departure from her usual composed demeanor. "Pansy, I need your help. More specifically, I need your potions," she said, her voice taut with tension.

Her initial amusement faded, replaced by a sense of foreboding. She could sense that whatever Hermione was entangled in, it was serious. Without waiting for a formal reply, she stood, the faint clinking of her teacup against the saucer breaking the silence. She motioned for Hermione to follow her, turning on her heel and striding purposefully through the elegantly decorated rooms of her mansion. Each step echoed with a sense of purpose, the plush carpets muffling their hurried movements.

"This is where I keep my most delicate and powerful concoctions," she announced, stepping aside to allow Hermione to enter the dimly lit room. The walls were lined with dark wood shelves, overflowing with meticulously labeled vials, each containing shimmering liquids that caught the light in mesmerizing ways. The air was thick with the mingled scents of various herbs and alchemical ingredients, creating a heady atmosphere that was both invigorating and slightly overwhelming.

"What's the situation?" she asked, concern etched into her features. "Why the rush?"

Hermione took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the shelves as if searching for answers hidden within the colorful potions. "There's something going on that I need to address urgently," she said, her voice taut with urgency. "I don't have time to explain everything now, but I need the most potent restorative and concealment potions you have."

She nodded, her expression shifting from curiosity to determination. "Consider it done. Let's see what we can do to help." She stepped further into the room, reaching for her collection of vials and ingredients, her mind racing to formulate the right potions that could aid Hermione in whatever crisis loomed.

Hermione's gaze narrowed slightly as she surveyed the space, taking in the array of ingredients that could be considered more than a little questionable by Ministry standards. "So, this is your idea of a workstation? Filled with illegal things?" she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm.

She shot her a look, a mix of annoyance and amusement dancing in her eyes. "Why? Are you planning to snitch on me?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest, her posture radiating urgency. "I'm not about to snitch on you, but I need these potions, and I need them now." The tension in her voice was palpable, signaling that whatever crisis was unfolding outside was far more pressing than Pansy had anticipated.

Her expression softened just a fraction as she recognized the gravity in Hermione's tone. "Alright, let's get to work then," she replied, moving purposefully toward her shelves. Her fingers brushed against the meticulously organized vials and ingredients, each one a testament to her skill and expertise. "I'll help you, but I expect a full explanation later."

As she gathered what she needed, Hermione hesitated, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the changes in Pansy. "What happened to you, Pansy? I miss the girl you used to be—the one I knew."

Her eyes hardened at the unexpected vulnerability in Hermione's words. A rush of memories flooded her mind, both bitter and sweet, and she met Hermione's gaze with unyielding intensity. "The girl you knew?" she retorted sharply, her voice laced with an edge of defiance. "I gutted that bitch from the inside out."

Her voice was cold and unyielding, revealing the depth of her transformation. "I'm not her anymore. Life has a way of changing us, sometimes in ways we never anticipated." Her words hung in the air like a heavy fog, thick with the weight of unspoken truths and buried pain.

Her face was a mask of cold resolve as she continued, "On my 18th birthday, my whore of a mother taught me all she knew, and I inherited this hell." She gestured broadly to the room, her hand sweeping over the meticulously organized shelves filled with vials and cauldrons, a mixture of pride and disdain swirling in her expression. The room, once a sanctuary of comfort and elegance, now felt more like a fortress of secrets and shadows.

Hermione's eyes softened with sympathy, her heart aching for her friend. "I'm so sorry, Pans."

She scoffed, brushing off the pity with a wave of her hand. "I don't need your sympathy. It is what it is. I've come to enjoy it, in fact. Although, I must admit, I'm still perfecting my blue meth. The potions, though? I've mastered them."

Hermione was taken aback, her mouth slightly agape as she struggled to process her candidness and the stark contrast to the person she once knew. The rawness of her words struck a chord deep within her, stirring up a mixture of concern and disbelief.

"Gosh," Hermione managed, still stunned. "I never imagined—"

Hermione glanced at her, surprised by her lack of inquiry, by the way she seemed almost unconcerned about the implications of her lifestyle. "You're not asking any questions?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, her indifference almost chilling. "Why would I? I know what Draco does, what all the boys do. If it were Neville, I'd do anything for him." Her voice held a fierce loyalty that resonated through the air, cutting through the tension like a knife.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. "So you actually love him?"

Her gaze softened, the steely façade giving way to a flicker of something more vulnerable. "Of course I do. I married him of my own free will. He's the only man in this universe who truly understands me." Her voice was imbued with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the coldness she had projected moments before. "We are like stars, Granger—two celestial bodies that align perfectly, even if the rest of the world doesn't see it."

She paused, allowing the metaphor to sink in. "It's a cosmic connection, one that transcends the noise and chaos around us. In a world where everything seems so dark and uncertain, he is my light." her expression shifted, revealing a flicker of hope amidst the shadows that had long clouded her heart.

Hermione searched her eyes, looking for the girl she once knew, but what she found was a woman forged in the fires of adversity—strong, resilient, and fiercely protective of her own. "But does he know everything about you?" Hermione asked cautiously, genuinely wanting to understand the depth of their bond.

She nodded, her resolve unwavering. "He knows enough. We share our truths, the good and the bad. It's part of what makes us strong together." Her voice dropped to a whisper, almost as if she feared the weight of her confession. "He sees me for who I am now, not who I used to be."

The two women stood in the dim light of her private quarters, the air thick with unsaid words and unshared memories. Hermione felt a rush of emotions—a mix of admiration, sadness, and a desperate hope for her to find peace in her choices. "I just wish you didn't have to carry all this weight alone," Hermione said softly.

Her lips curled into a faint smile, a hint of warmth returning to her gaze. "I'm not alone, Hermione. I have Nevie, and even if our paths have diverged, I know you're still here, lurking in the shadows." Her voice was teasing but carried an underlying sincerity that made Hermione's heart swell.

Two people in love can build a universe of their own, where understanding and connection bind them like the stars.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now, it was time to put the plan into motion. She stood in front of the mirror, her heart pounding with excitement. The weight of the moment pressed down on her, and she just hoped that everything would go as smoothly as they had planned. Each detail mattered; failure was not an option. They had rehearsed every step, anticipated every obstacle, and now it was time to turn their plans into reality.

Together, Hermione and Pansy prepared meticulously, leaving nothing to chance. The atmosphere in her lavish mansion crackled with energy as they moved through the process with a fierce determination. Hermione bustled around, gathering the final ingredients and tools they needed for their mission, her focus sharp and unwavering. She had always been the more analytical of the two, and tonight was no exception. 

Meanwhile, she stood in front of her vanity, carefully applying her makeup with practiced precision. She selected deep, sultry shades that accentuated her striking features—smoky eyes that hinted at mischief, and a bold red lip that demanded attention. As she layered on the makeup, she felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins, heightening her senses. 

Hermione joined her, a flurry of movement and purpose. Together, they transformed the room into a chaotic whirlwind of preparations. Pansy watched Hermione's hands as they deftly sorted through their supplies, arranging potions and tools with an expert's touch. The sight was oddly reassuring. Hermione's meticulousness countered her more impulsive nature, creating a balance that was crucial for the success of their plan.

As they moved through the evening's preparations, every moment felt charged with a heady mixture of anticipation and possibility. Hermione even took the time to shave everywhere, knowing that every detail counted for the mission. She moved with an elegance that was both practical and enchanting, the flick of her wrist and the glimmer of her skin a testament to the care they were putting into their appearance. Pansy admired Hermione's dedication; it was a reminder of the lengths they were willing to go to achieve their goals.

Finally, as they stood back to assess their efforts, both women looked stunning—strikingly sexy and confident, ready to play their parts flawlessly. Their outfits clung to their curves in all the right places, enhancing their natural allure while still exuding an air of sophistication. The fabric shimmered under the soft glow of the chandelier, reflecting their resolve to seize the night.

Her heart raced as she admired their reflections in the mirror, a wave of empowerment washing over her. In that moment, she felt unbreakable, a force to be reckoned with. Hermione stood beside her, radiating a quiet strength, and together they looked like a pair of warriors ready for battle.

As they slipped into their heels, the sound echoed through the room, marking the transition from preparation to action. They exchanged knowing glances, a silent agreement passing between them that they were in this together, no matter the outcome. The stakes were high, but so was their determination. 

With one final glance in the mirror, she adjusted a stray strand of hair and squared her shoulders. It was time to embrace their plan, to step out into the night and make it theirs. The world beyond the walls of her mansion awaited, a canvas for their ambitions. As they took a deep breath, the scent of jasmine and ambition filled the air, and they knew they were ready to make their mark.

Draco was waiting in the living room, his sharp gaze cutting through the dim light as he watched they enter. His expression tightened, and he felt a flash of irritation shoot through him. "You can't go out like that," he said, his voice tense, each word laced with concern. "You're barely wearing anything."

She glanced at him, her lips curling into a smirk that radiated defiance. "Draco dear, mind your own business," she retorted, her tone light and unbothered. She was well aware of the effect she had on him and reveled in it, a subtle power play that only intensified his frustration. 

As if on cue, the atmosphere shifted with the arrival of Theo, Blaise, and Neville. The door swung open, and they stepped into the room, exuding an air of camaraderie that immediately lightened the mood. Neville's eyes immediately sought out Pansy, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face as he took in her striking appearance. "You look delicious, my bloom," he said, pulling her into his arms with an ease that spoke volumes about their connection.

Draco, still agitated and unable to shake his protective instincts, gestured toward the two women. "Are you not outraged by how good they look?!" His frustration hung in the air, the tension palpable as he struggled with his feelings of possessiveness.

He shook his head, unfazed by Draco's distress. "I am not. My love always looks amazing," he replied, his calm certainty cutting through the tension like a soothing balm. His eyes sparkled with admiration, making it clear he had no qualms about the outfit that had sparked Draco's ire.

Hermione, feeling the impatience building within her, stepped forward to take charge of the situation. "Enough of this. Everyone knows what to do." Her voice was firm, commanding attention as she sought to refocus the group's energy on the task at hand. 

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the impending mission settling in. The seriousness of their purpose hung in the air like a thick fog, and they all understood the gravity of the moment. 

"We do," they answered in unison, their voices echoing with a sense of unity. Each of them was acutely aware of the stakes, their bond forged through shared experiences and the knowledge that they were stronger together. 

Shefelt a surge of adrenaline course through her as they prepared to embark on their plan. She exchanged a quick glance with him, who gave her a reassuring nod, and she felt her confidence swell. They were ready to face whatever challenges awaited them, and as the anticipation hung thick in the air, she knew they would not back down. 

With the tension slowly dissipating, they began to strategize, the playful banter that usually accompanied their gatherings replaced by focused determination. Draco's earlier agitation melted away, replaced by a resolute sense of purpose as they set their sights on the task ahead. 

As they gathered in a tight circle, Hermione took the lead, her voice steady and clear as she outlined their plan. The camaraderie amongst them deepened, and in that moment, she felt a flicker of hope that they would not only succeed but also emerge stronger than before. 

The evening's energy shifted once more as they prepared to step into the unknown, their hearts pounding in unison with the rhythm of their collective resolve. With one last glance at each other, they took a deep breath, knowing that together they could conquer whatever lay ahead. 

They took a cab, which fascinated Pansy, who was more accustomed to the convenience of magical means of transportation. The rhythmic hum of the city outside the window and the sensation of wheels on asphalt brought a thrill she hadn't anticipated. It was a refreshing change, and the novelty of it brought a brief smile to her usually composed face, a rare glimpse of her excitement bubbling beneath her otherwise polished exterior.

As they arrived at the luxurious five-star hotel, the building loomed ahead like a grand castle, its facade glistening under the evening lights. The opulent lobby greeted them with marble floors, chandeliers that sparkled like stars, and a symphony of soft chatter from well-dressed patrons. The lavish decor was a stark contrast to the tension simmering beneath their poised exteriors. Despite the grandeur surrounding them, Pansy could feel the undercurrents of anxiety and anticipation that tinged the air, each woman aware of the stakes that lay ahead.

Viktor and a strikingly handsome man were already waiting for them near the entrance. The moment Viktor spotted Hermione, his face lit up, illuminating the seriousness of the evening. She watched as Hermione moved forward with confidence, her steps measured yet eager, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. She lingered just a moment too long, placing a soft kiss on his cheek that spoke volumes about their connection. "It's so good to see you," she said, her voice soft yet calculated, every word imbued with warmth that felt practiced, as if rehearsed in front of a mirror.

"It is always a pleasure to see you, Hermione," Viktor replied, his eyes warm with familiarity, a glimmer of something deeper evident in his gaze. She noted the way Hermione's smile seemed to brighten, how she practically glowed under Viktor's attention.

Viktor then gestured to the man beside him, a striking figure who radiated charm and confidence. "This is my teammate, Dimitar," he introduced, and the man nodded, his dark eyes glinting with curiosity. There was an undeniable magnetism about him that made her heart quicken.

Hermione turned slightly, introducing her with a wave of her hand, her own excitement palpable. "And this is my best friend, Pansy Longbottom." The way she spoke her name carried an undertone of pride, as though she were presenting an exquisite trophy.

She stepped forward, her expression effortlessly seductive as she met their gaze. "It's a pleasure to be in the presence of such superstars," she said smoothly, her voice laced with a hint of flirtation. The words slipped from her lips like silk, enveloping the air in a light tension that drew a smile from Dimitar and a nod of approval from Viktor. In that moment, she felt empowered, embracing her role in this intricate game of allure and intrigue. The scene was set, and she could sense that the night held infinite possibilities.

They moved toward the hotel's bar, a sleek, modern space with dim lighting that made everything feel more intimate. The ambiance was electric, the low hum of conversation mingling with soft music, creating a cocoon of exclusivity. The bartender, clad in a crisp white shirt and a polished demeanor, mixed luxurious cocktails with flair, each drink a masterpiece served in elegant glasses that sparkled under the low lights.

Once settled, the group wasted no time in ordering a round of shots to loosen up, each shot a small leap into the unknown. She felt the warm burn of the alcohol, a friendly fire igniting her senses and stripping away the last remnants of hesitation. They clinked their glasses together, a symphony of laughter and camaraderie filling the space, sealing their intentions for the night. She could feel the thrill of the chase surging through her, a reminder that this was not merely a social gathering but a carefully orchestrated maneuver with the potential for far-reaching consequences.

As the evening progressed, the conversations flowed as freely as the drinks, each word woven with the threads of ambition and desire. She played her part to perfection, charming both Viktor and Dimitar with a mixture of wit and flirtation, all while keeping one eye on Hermione, who was navigating her own dance of intrigue with Viktor. The night was alive with possibilities, and she was ready to seize every opportunity that came her way.

After half an hour, the atmosphere in the bar had shifted dramatically. She had settled comfortably in Dimitar's lap, a vision of carefree charm as her fingers traced idle patterns on his chest. She giggled at something he whispered in her ear, her laughter light and melodic, drawing the attention of those around them. She played the role of the flirty socialite effortlessly, keeping Dimitar utterly captivated, her body language radiating confidence and allure as she leaned into him, their chemistry palpable.

Meanwhile, Hermione found herself ensnared in a tedious conversation with Viktor. He was animatedly droning on about Quidditch tactics and his relentless training regimen, his enthusiasm undeterred by the lack of spark in her eyes. Hermione tried her best to appear engaged, offering nods and polite smiles at what she hoped were the appropriate moments. She couldn't help but feel a wave of disappointment wash over her; she had forgotten just how dull he could be. A man who looked that good, she mused, should not be this insufferably boring. Still, she steeled her focus, aware that the success of their plan hinged on keeping him charmed and distracted, lest their intentions go awry.

The night took a lively turn when she stood up, a confident smirk adorning her lips. "We're heading up to the room to continue the party. Are you guys coming?" she asked, her voice playful and inviting, a siren's call that stirred the air with anticipation.

Hermione caught the gleam of mischief in her eyes and glanced at Viktor, a spark igniting within her. "Why not? We can join for some fun," she suggested, giving him a flirtatious wink that had him leaning forward, clearly intrigued.

With practiced ease, Hermione took Viktor's hand, guiding it around her waist. As she leaned in closer, she gently slid his hand down to her hips, offering him an encouraging smile that conveyed both warmth and invitation. The thrill of the moment mixed with the familiarity of the plan gave her a heady rush. As his fingers brushed against her skin, she felt the warmth of his touch and the intoxicating thrill of the night, reminding herself that this was all part of the game—a dance with potential consequences.

In the elevator, the atmosphere thickened with anticipation. Hermione leaned in close, placing both hands on Viktor's chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath her palm. Slowly, she slid her hands up to his neck, pulling him into a warm embrace that felt both exhilarating and dangerous.

"You know, Viktor," she murmured, her breath warm against his ear, "you've always looked handsome, but the man you've become is incredibly sexy. Honestly, it's quite a turn-on." Her words were soft yet deliberate, crafted to keep the atmosphere charged and enticing as they drew closer to their destination.

His eyes sparkled with appreciation, and he leaned in to kiss the side of her lips, his voice low and smooth. "I'm so glad, baby. You've always looked so delicious as well." The compliment rolled off his tongue, sending a shiver of delight through Hermione.

As they entered the suite, Pansy wasted no time; she grabbed Dimitar by the hand, her expression filled with playful mischief, and led him toward the ensuite bathroom. The look on her face was one of daring, as if she were about to unlock a world of excitement. Hermione watched them disappear, a mix of amusement and intrigue playing across her features. 

As they stepped into the bathroom, Pansy moved with an unsettling confidence. She seized Dimitar by the hand, her expression a dangerous cocktail of mischief and something far darker. There was a glint in her eyes that promised far more than he'd bargained for. Hermione, from the safety of the bedroom, watched them disappear, her lips quirking into a knowing smirk. Pansy always had a knack for making an impression.

Dimitar, sensing opportunity but entirely blind to the danger, wrapped his hands around Pansy's waist, pressing her back against the cold tile. His grin faltered when she turned the tables with a speed that left no room for resistance. Her hand shot up to his throat, fingers tightening in a vice grip as she shoved him hard against the wall.

The sharp clang of the bathroom door locking echoed like a death knell. Pansy's face hovered inches from his, her breath hot against his cheek. But her eyes were cold—icy shards of malice.

"Oh, sweet boy," she purred, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "I almost feel sorry for you. Almost."

She reached beneath her dress, producing a dagger with a wickedly curved blade that gleamed in the dim light. Dimitar's smirk turned into wide-eyed panic.

"You really should choose better friends," she murmured, her tone turning cruel.

Before he could plead or fight back, she drove the dagger into his stomach with ruthless precision. The wet sound of metal slicing through flesh filled the small space, followed by his agonized scream. Blood poured from the wound, staining the pristine white tiles beneath them.

But Pansy wasn't finished.

With slow, deliberate motions, she twisted the blade, savoring the way his screams grew ragged. His knees buckled, but she held him in place, her strength fueled by sheer malice.

"Shhh," she cooed mockingly, leaning in close as though comforting a frightened child. "It'll all be over soon. But we're not quite there yet, darling."

She withdrew the blade only to plunge it in again, this time dragging it upward. The jagged edge tore through skin and muscle, ripping a crimson line from his abdomen to his chest. Dimitar's gurgling cries grew weaker with each agonizing moment.

Ten excruciating minutes passed as she worked with surgical precision, gutting him like an animal. His insides spilled out in gruesome detail, painting the floor with carnage. Pansy tilted her head, admiring her handiwork with a detached sort of artistry.

"Oh, look at you," she murmured with a grin. "A masterpiece in the making."

With a flick of her wand, she summoned a heavy rope from the adjoining room. Whistling a jaunty tune, she looped the cord around Dimitar's ankles and hoisted his bloodied, lifeless body upside down from the ceiling. The sickening drip of blood onto the tiles created a macabre rhythm.

Pansy stepped back to admire the final tableau, her lips curling into a satisfied smirk.

"Perfect," she whispered, wiping her blade clean on his shirt before slipping it back into her dress. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before Hermione could respond, Viktor spun her around, capturing her lips in a demanding kiss. It was rough and aggressive, utterly unwanted. The taste of gin lingered in the air, but it was overshadowed by the bitter taste of her anxiety. She pushed against his chest, trying to break free, but he held her tight, his grip possessive.

Hermione's mind raced as her body reacted purely on instinct. Panic surged through her veins like wildfire, and in a desperate frenzy, she fumbled for the emergency button on her bracelet, pressing it repeatedly as if her life depended on it. The weight of the situation bore down on her, each second stretching into an eternity.

In an instant, three shadowy figures materialized in the room, their forms obscured by swirling black smoke that danced ominously around them. Without hesitation, one of the figures lunged at Viktor, gripping him with a force that left no room for resistance. Hermione could hardly breathe, her heart thundering in her chest as she stood frozen in stunned disbelief, trying to comprehend the chaotic turn of events that had unraveled in mere moments.

"That was the last time you ever touched someone, Krum," one of the figures hissed, their voice a chilling whisper that cut through the tension like a knife.

Viktor, his eyes wide with shock, struggled to regain his composure, but before he could react, he was thrown forcefully against the wall. The impact was jarring, and Hermione felt a surge of vindication mixed with fear. He attempted to fight back, to summon the strength that had once made him a formidable opponent, but the figure's spell rendered him immobile, leaving him suspended in mid-air, powerless.

Time seemed to slow as Hermione watched in dazed disbelief. Her heart raced, not only from the adrenaline coursing through her but also from the relief that the immediate threat was being neutralized. It was happening. They were executing the plan, and she was finally free from Viktor's grasp.

With a swift motion, Draco levitated Viktor into the bedroom, his expression grim but focused. The door clicked shut behind them with an unsettling finality, ensuring their privacy as he removed the smoky mask that obscured his identity. Draco's eyes were fierce, a stark contrast to the turmoil of emotions swirling inside Hermione.

As silence enveloped the room, Neville glanced around, concern etched deep in his features. "Where's Pansy?" he asked, his voice low and tense, his eyes searching for any sign of her.

Hermione's heart sank momentarily as she realized they hadn't accounted for her whereabouts amidst the chaos. "She's in the bathroom," she replied quickly, urgency lacing her words.

Without another moment's hesitation, Neville moved silently toward the bathroom, his footsteps barely audible against the polished floor.

Dimitar hung upside down from the ceiling, his body a grotesque silhouette against the dim lighting of the room. Blood gushed from a deep gash that cut from his stomach to his neck, pooling ominously on the floor beneath him, where it mingled with the remnants of their chaotic night. His eyes, once filled with curiosity and charm, were now wide with shock and fear, struggling to comprehend the brutal turn of events.

The sight was horrific, a stark testament to the lengths they had gone to in order to execute their plan. His breaths came in shallow gasps, the weight of his situation evident as he swayed slightly, his limbs contorted in a way that defied all logic. Each drop of blood that escaped him painted a picture of desperation, a chilling reminder of the violent undercurrents that had driven them all to this moment.

Neville stood frozen in the doorway, his heart racing and mind reeling from the gruesome scene before him. "Parky, this is… intense," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, a mix of disbelief and admiration threading through his words. "But you've definitely outdone yourself."

Pansy gazed down at her dress with exaggerated dismay, her eyes widening dramatically as if she'd just discovered a shocking revelation. "Oh, FUCK! Look at my dress! Just look at it—utterly ruined!" With a flourish, she twirled around, showcasing the bloodstains splattered across the fabric like tragic art. "This was an exquisite piece, and now it's—well, it's a complete disaster!"

Neville, unable to contain his amusement, let out a chuckle. "Quite the opposite, bloom. I must say, I'm impressed."

Pansy threw her hands up in a theatrical gesture, her frustration spilling over. "Well, at least the job's done, but how could this happen? The color was perfect for tonight!" She let out an exaggerated sigh, her expression a melodramatic mix of frustration and mock grief. "I suppose I'll have to find a replacement. But you must admit, the stain adds a certain… character, doesn't it?"

Neville laughed, shaking his head at her flair for the dramatic. He stepped closer and took her hand gently, his touch warm and reassuring. "Let's get you cleaned up. The dress may be ruined, but you're still as radiant as ever."

Pansy looked at him, her expression softening slightly. "You really think so?" she asked, a hint of vulnerability breaking through her dramatic facade.

"Absolutely," he replied with sincerity. "No amount of blood can overshadow your shine."

Pansy rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "Alright then, lead the way. I may be a disaster, but at least I'm a glamorous one!"

What the actual fuck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once they had settled in, the group gathered around the fireplace, the warmth of the flames creating a stark contrast to the chilling events of the night. The crackling fire danced, casting flickering shadows across their faces, enveloping the room in a heavy silence as they grappled with the weight of their actions.

Draco broke the stillness first, his voice steady but laced with tension. "I still have no answers from Krum. We're actively searching for leads." 

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, her brow furrowed with concern, but Draco cut her off, his tone firm and unyielding. "Darling, you are not allowed to join us on any missions ever again."

"But Draco—" Hermione began, desperation creeping into her voice.

"I said not again," he interrupted, his piercing gaze locking onto hers, a silent promise embedded in his resolve.

As the evening wore on, each of them departed, burdened by the night's unsettling events. The house gradually fell into a quiet stillness, the crackle of the fire being the only sound punctuating the silence, a reminder of the chaos that had unfolded just hours before.

Draco turned to Hermione, his expression softening. "I owe you an apology for putting you in harm's way. That will certainly never happen again," he said earnestly.

She cast her eyes downward, disappointment etched across her features. "I'm sorry that I didn't do a better job," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Draco stepped closer, his demeanor gentle yet assertive. "You were never meant to do a perfect job, my love. This was your first time, and what you did was more than enough for both of us. I don't want to see you stressed or overwhelmed again." 

With that, he opened his arms wide, and she willingly nestled against him, finding solace in his embrace. In that moment, the warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat wrapped around her like a protective cocoon, banishing the remnants of fear and uncertainty. They stood together, the fire crackling softly, each of them drawing strength from the other, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With a quiet pop, Neville and Pansy apparated back home, the familiar surroundings offering a sense of safety after the night's harrowing events.

"Help me get out of this dress," Pansy said, her voice a mix of urgency and relief.

Neville stepped closer, carefully helping her peel the fabric away from her skin. As the last remnants of the dress fell to the floor, Pansy hurried into the bathroom, the soft sound of water cascading from the shower beckoning her.

Neville hesitated for only a moment before following her inside, the steamy air enveloping him as he leaned against the doorframe.

"It's incredible what you did today," he said, his admiration evident in his tone.

Pansy turned to face him, the water cascading over her, glistening on her skin. "Nevie, you should be disgusted with me," she replied, her brow furrowing with doubt.

"But I'm not," he countered, stepping into the shower with her, his presence warm and reassuring. "In fact, I'm quite turned on."

With a gentle smile, he leaned in, placing soft kisses along her neck and shoulders. Each kiss ignited a spark within her, dissolving the weight of the day's events. Pansy closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, feeling the heat between them rise like the steam in the air. In that moment, they found solace in each other, a tender connection that promised healing and intimacy.

"I love seeing you in those tiny outfits," he murmured, his voice low and filled with desire.

"Oh really? Aren't you just a little jealous?" she teased, a playful glint in her eyes.

"Jealous? Not in the slightest. Can anyone else do this to you?" He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her neck as he kissed her slowly, the warmth of his breath igniting a thrilling sensation that sent shivers racing down her spine. 

With a skilled motion, he lifted her leg onto his hip, drawing her in until their bodies were pressed tightly together, the heat between them palpable.

Pansy moaned softly in his ear, "Nevie…" Her voice was a breathy whisper, laced with desire.

He entered her slowly, the sensation igniting an all-consuming fire between them. She gasped, her breath hitching as she wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him for balance. With a smooth motion, he lifted her other leg, pinning her against the wall, their bodies locked together in a heated embrace. 

The intensity of their connection deepened with every movement, the rhythm of their bodies finding a perfect harmony that echoed the urgent pulse of their desires.

"Please… put me down," she pleaded, her voice a mix of urgency and longing.

With a playful smirk, he slid her down onto the floor, their eyes locking in a smoldering gaze that held promises of what was to come.

"Take me to bed, now!" she commanded, her voice firm yet tinged with eagerness, a spark of mischief in her eyes.

In a flash of magic, he apparated them to the bedroom. As soon as they landed, she wasted no time, pushing him back onto the bed.

With a determined glint in her eyes, she climbed onto him, taking control as she began to ride him, her movements bold and passionate. She lost herself in the moment, riding him until she felt the wave of pleasure crash over her, gasping as she came.

"Now it's my turn," he said, his voice low and commanding.

With a swift, practiced motion, he flipped her onto her side, his body hovering over hers, their skin brushing together. He lifted one of her legs, entering her again with deep, steady thrusts that sent shivers of pleasure coursing through her. As he moved, he deftly massaged her clit, his fingers working in perfect rhythm with his thrusts, determined to bring her to the brink of ecstasy.

Feeling bold, he slid a finger inside her bum, teasingly pushing her boundaries. She cried out, the sensation overwhelming her senses, her back arching as she surrendered to the pleasure.

"Nevie, please…," she pleaded, her voice a desperate whisper that ignited a primal fire within him.

With a smirk of satisfaction, he added a second finger, curling them expertly as he continued to work her clit. The tension within her built rapidly, her body responding eagerly to every movement, every thrust. He could feel her nearing the edge, her breaths quickening, heart racing.

In just a few moments, the pleasure reached its peak, and she came hard, her cries echoing through the room as waves of bliss washed over her, leaving her breathless and quivering beneath him.