Chapter Text
“Blink once if you’ve been imperio’d.”
She grinned at Theo over the tops of her cards. “I couldn’t, that’s sort of the point.”
Theo rocked back in his chair. It balanced precariously on one leg, obviously stabilized by magic in one way or another. “Oh, Chosen One?” he called.
Behind them, Potter’s shoulders stiffened but he didn’t turn around.
Overall, her friends had taken the news of her and Longbottom’s upcoming nuptials rather well, all things considered.
Theo had been rendered speechless when she and Longbottom dropped by Monday evening with hand-calligraphed invitations to the garden wedding at his family home on Saturday. Blaise’s gobsmacked expression and the rare crack in his flawless composure, however, had been the true highlight of the experience so far.
Draco and Hermione had taken the news with a suspicious sort of acceptance the moment Pansy pointed out the hypocrisy of the two of them of all people not believing love could be found in the most unexpected of places.
Neville’s set, however, was another story.
Weasel hadn’t said a word when they’d dropped by his flat, though Padma pretended to be happy for them. Potter had gotten the same squinty-eyed look of suspicion he’d used on Draco all of sixth year. Weaselette was another manner entirely, immediately questioning him about Hannah. Even after Longbottom pointed out they’d broken up six months ago, it took Potter to get her to cease demanding answers so they could leave.
Pansy knew better than to believe that any part of Harry Potter suddenly accepted her, of all people, marrying one of his best friends.
Sure enough, Neville owled her on Tuesday evening to inform her that the four of them broke into his home and attempted to stage an intervention.
Despite his reassurances that he'd handled it and they’d left convinced the upcoming wedding was real, Pansy never left things to chance.
She also never fought her own battles if she could help it, so she dropped by the ministry on Wednesday. After five terse minutes in the ministry cafeteria of Pansy barely saying a word, Granger demanded to know if she was dying and Pansy finally brought up the intervention the lesser two-thirds of the Golden Trio and their partners tried to stage. It wasn’t difficult to figure out why Hermione was left out of that gathering.
A touch of holding back tears as she asked Hermione how long it took for her friends to accept Draco brought on Hermione Granger’s full righteous indignation.
There was a reason she was put in Gryffindor over Ravenclaw.
“You were the one to reintroduce Neville and I, you know,” she’d told her. “I know what Potter and Weasel and the rest of them think when they see me, but I thought they’d at least trust Neville.”
Hermione excused herself from tea that moment. According to Pansy’s sources at the ministry, she, Potter, and Weasel had been in a silenced conference room for nearly an hour before the other two came out looking like dogs with their tails between their legs.
Unfortunately, however, that wasn’t quite enough for the Golden Girl. Between her and Draco and Neville and Pansy, Granger decided it was time to merge their two groups. She’d used some sort of traditional muggle pre-wedding celebration as an excuse to get them all together. It had something to do with farm or woodland creatures but the details on how that was related were vague.
Theo took any excuse he could find to throw a party, but he might have bitten off more than he could chew by inviting a pack of Gryffindors, including two aurors, into his home.
Said aurors were conversing by the food with Weaselette and Padma. Hermione and Neville had decided to attempt holding their own in a card game against a bunch of Slytherins.
Sad, really. They should have just handed over their purses to save them all some time.
“I have a very important question for an auror,” Theo called in a sing-song voice.
“I’m also an auror,” Weasel said around a mouthful of food.
Theo looked him up and down and cringed.
“What?” Weasel asked.
Potter sighed and turned around. “Yes, Nott?”
“The imperius curse,” he said. “There are signs, right?”
He crossed his arms and leaned against the back of the wingback chair. “Just an individual acting in a manner inconsistent with their usual personality.” He glanced between Pansy and Longbottom with the slightest smirk. “Not sure who you’re implying it applies to, though.”
Weasel gave Draco the side eye. “I can think of someone.”
Hermione rounded on her two friends. “I warned you two—”
Draco cut her off with a grin. “Yes, neither you or Potter would know anything about using that curse firsthand, would you?”
Potter made a show of selecting a nut from a bowl. He chewed it before shrugging. “Wasn’t illegal any of the times I cast it.”
“There’s the upstanding moral fiber our world has come to expect from Harry Potter,” Draco drawled.
Potter smirked.
On the outside, little seemed to change between how Draco, Potter, and Weasel interacted. However, the layer of animosity was gone and now it almost seemed…playful.
Which was disturbing enough all on its own.
Theo won the hand and passed her his cards before collecting his winnings. “Your deal, Parks.” He paused and glanced at her. “What are we supposed to call you now? Longs? Bottom?” His eyes danced with mirth and she nearly hexed him.
“You’re taking his last name?”
Her gaze flicked over to where Padma was struggling to control her smirk. Weaselette didn’t bother to show the same restraint as she sniggered silently next to her.
Pansy shuffled and then flicked her wand to deal the next hand. “Yes,” she admitted.
Next to her, Neville was as smug as a kneazle who’d caught a diricawl.
With traditional pureblood contracts, there was no way for her to keep her maiden name in any form.
At least she’d still have her magic and her autonomy. As far as trade-offs went, it was worth it.
Barely.
“Have you considered hyphenating?” Hermione asked. “I think I’m going to go with Granger-Malfoy.”
Draco’s nose scrunched but he didn’t outwardly say anything against it. She wondered how difficult it was for him to suppress his possessiveness and not fight her on that.
Potter patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay, mate,” he said. “I wouldn’t read too much into it.”
He jerked his shoulder to dislodge Potter’s hand. “Piss off.”
“You lot are no better than neanderthals,” Hermione said. “Honestly.”
“There’s just something about having a woman love you so much that she wants to take your name and fully and officially join your family in every way,” Potter said with a smirk.
Neville beamed at Pansy. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Gag her.
A muscle in Draco’s jaw twitched. “There’s also something to be said for respecting the woman you love’s autonomy and independence and being secure in your relationship to not, as Hermione said, be a neanderthal about it all.”
What a load of sanctimonious hypocrisy. Weaselette looked about to call him on it, but Pansy needed to wipe the irritatingly smug smirk off Longbottom’s face. “Yes, yes, you can all take out your wands and measure them later.” She leaned towards Theo. “I’ll tell you a secret, though.”
He propped his chin on his hand with an eager look.
“Me marrying Longbottom has nothing to do with curses.”
“Oh?”
Neville lifted his glass for a sip and she almost laughed at the perfect timing. “He gives amazing head.”
As she predicted, Neville choked on his drink and nearly spit it out over the table.
Theo’s eyes danced with delight.
“Merlin, Pansy,” Neville said, still coughing, his face bright red.
She tossed a galleon onto the pile in the middle of the table, smirking brightly at his mortification. Now this was starting to become a party.
“How would you know, though?” Theo asked. “We all know how little you have to compare him to.” He threw a pointed look across the table at Draco.
Weaselette started laughing. “Bit of a late bloomer, Ferret?”
“Gave up after the first try fifth year,” Pansy said, enjoying the growing irritation on his face and Granger’s frustration. “Even with dozens of chances sixth year to reciprocate even one—”
Hermione transferred her glare to her. “Sixth year is off limits, Pans.”
Granger was so fun to rile up, and nothing raised her protective instincts higher than Draco Malfoy.
Once, even the mention of sixth year sent Draco deep into the depths of his occlumency. Thanks to years of appointments with mind healers and something sappy like Hermione’s love and forgiveness, he was finally starting to forgive himself.
The look he sent her now was one of exhausted exacerbation, not horror or guilt. She beamed at his progress.
Padma glanced at Hermione. “Does the fact they used to…date come up often?”
Hermione sighed. “Every few months,” she said. “Pansy gets extra feisty whenever she drinks and likes to make everyone else uncomfortable.”
Only when she drank? She was starting to lose her touch.
“Our Friday night tradition.” Theo beamed at Padma. “You’re welcome to join us anytime.” He shot Potter and Weasel a fake apologetic pout. “Sorry, Longbottom maxed me out on my Gryffindor allowances, though.”
Neither of them looked particularly put out by that fact.
Theo turned to the Weaselette. “Of course, I do make exceptions for particularly famous or talented individuals, so win the Harpies the Cup this year and you can come too.”
Ignoring the implied insult to her husband and brother, she tapped her chin with a thoughtful expression. “On the one hand, I’d have to spend more time with the Ferret but on the other hand, more time to make fun of the Ferret so…”
“Why is everyone taking the piss at me?” Draco demanded. “Shouldn’t we be doing that to Longbottom?”
“That would be like kicking a three legged puppy,” Theo said.
Pansy almost spit out her drink as she half-laughed, half-coughed at his words.
“Plus, you make it easy, and it’s one of the few activities everyone in this group enjoys,” Theo said. “Hermione said crass behavior and teasing people about their exes are customary parts of these events. I’m just trying to uphold the noble muggle tradition of cock days.”
Potter choked on his drink.
“What did you just call this?” Hermione sputtered.
Theo smirked. “Cock day, right?”
She dropped her head into her hands. “Theo!” she groaned.
Draco’s shoulders shook in silent laughter.
“It’s a hen-do and stag night,” Potter said.
Weasel turned to him. “Wait, they’re all called that?” he asked. “I thought Dean came up with that after your patronus.”
He started laughing. “No,” he said. “Is that why you joked about yours being a terrier night?”
Hermione sniggered. “I thought you were being clever.”
He rolled his eyes. “Made sense to me.”
“So that makes tonight lemur night?” Ginny asked.
Draco’s eyebrows arched as he glanced at Neville. “Your patronus is a lemur?”
“Yep,” he said.
The corner of his mouth rose in a smirk. “The creatures with the giant eyes who constantly look terrified?”
“The black and white ruffed lemur is known as the gardener of the forest because it is the world’s largest pollinator,” Hermione said. “They are essential to germination and survival of trees in the rainforest of Madagascar. It’s very fitting.”
Pansy almost snorted. Of course his patronus would be something that ridiculous.
“Just like Draco’s will be when he has his ferret night,” Weasel said with a smirk.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “For the last time, his patronus is not a ferret.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Weasel said. “And since no one has…”
Hermione had taught Draco how to cast the charm when he was her intern at the ministry, although what that had to do with house elf rights neither of them could explain. It took a few months but he was now apparently capable of a fully corporeal patronus.
One he had never let anyone except Hermione see.
“Well, lovely as each of those options sound, I still say cock day sounds like the most fun.” Theo glanced up at Potter. “Wouldn’t you agree?” He winked.
“Not personally, no,” he deadpanned.
He made a point to slowly check him out. “Let me know if you ever change your mind.” A moment later he flinched and grabbed his leg. “Ow!”
Blaise settled back into his seat with an innocent expression.
Theo flashed him a bright smirk. “Oh, don’t be jealous, you’ll be there too,” he said. “Someone has to show Potter the ropes.”
The man turned bright red as his wife cackled next to him. “Can we talk about literally anything else?”
Oh, this was delightful. Embarrassing Longbottom, Draco, and Hermione, and now making Harry Potter blush.
It almost tempted her to ask Theo to lift the Gryffindor restrictions for their usual Friday nights, but they were best in small doses.
“I have a question,” Padma said with a small smirk. “If you all talk about Draco’s exes, do Hermione’s—”
“No!” Draco and Potter snapped at the same time.
Weaselette rounded on her sister-in-law. “Why ?” she demanded. “Why was that necessary?”
She just laughed.
Theo beamed. “Oh? You’re talking about the relationship-that-can-never-be-named?”
“Ginny and Neville dated too!” Hermione half-yelled.
Pansy hadn’t known that tidbit but all she could do was laugh at Hermione’s desperation to talk about anything other than the disaster that was her relationship with Ron Weasley.
Granted, if she’d ever made the same mistake, she wouldn’t want it ever mentioned again either.
Oh, Merlin. That was going to be her in thirteen months but with Longbottom. Only involving marriage instead of just dating. Damn it. What was that thing Hermione said some muggles believed in? Karma? Perhaps she should stop teasing her so much. But if the damage was already done…
“What?” Theo demanded. “How is this the first I’m hearing about this?” He turned to Weaselette. “Care to validate Pansy’s assessment?”
Weasel gagged.
“We went to the Yule Ball together,” Weaselette said. “Nothing else happened.”
“No, nothing is what happened between Ron and I at the Yule Ball,” Padma said. “At least Neville danced with you instead of spending the entire night staring at Hermione Granger.”
At least Weasel had done one thing right by choosing the fun Patil twin. Pansy was starting to like her more and more as the night went on.
“That had nothing to do with—” Ron broke off. “She was there with the enemy, Padma.”
“Ron, you had a Victor Krum action figure,” Weaselette said.
“Why does everyone always bring that up?” He rolled his eyes. “We’ve gone years without this coming up again and after one night of hanging out with a bunch of Slytherins…”
Padma just laughed harder.
Theo gave Pansy a knowing smirk. “You know, Padma,” he said, “as far as obsessions with Hermione Granger go, it could have been much, much worse.”
“Theodore Nott, I will hex you,” Hermione snapped.
“Why?” he asked. “I’m not the one who mistakenly called out your name in the heat of the moment with someone else.”
It took them a moment, but Weaselette and Padma caught on at the exact same time in huge gasps. It was hard to tell who was blushing harder, Draco or Hermione. Potter and Weasel were staring at Draco like they were seeing him for the first time.
Pansy cleared her throat and held up two fingers. “Twice.”
Padma looked horrified. “And you stayed with him?”
She sighed. “Best of a bad lot, I’m afraid.” Plus, knowing the true extent of Draco’s obsession with muggleborn Hermione Granger was excellent leverage to have against him just in case he ever decided to leave her. “I just pretended not to hear.”
“Could have continued pretending the rest of our lives just fine,” Draco muttered.
“Awh,” Weaselette said with a teasing pout. “Unrequited love is so romantic, though, Ferret.”
“You would certainly think so,” he said. “Exactly how many of Potter’s roommates did you date before he finally noticed you? I shudder to think of what you would have done once it was just your brother left.”
She only smirked. “I don’t think a Malfoy is in a position to make jokes about incest.”
“We never married first cousins,” Draco said.
“Draco, becoming a blood traitor has made you so uncouth,” Theo said. “One doesn’t bring such things up in polite company.”
“Bit sensitive about that, Nott?” Weaselette asked.
“Didn’t you write Potter a love poem your first year?” Theo asked. “With one of those dwarves Lockhart dressed up as cupids?”
Hermione started laughing. “How’d you start it off? ‘Eyes as green as a freshly pickled toad?’”
“Oh, you want to talk about embarrassing things that happened that year, Granger?” Weaselette demanded. “How about when you—”
Hermione’s eyes widened with horror. “Okay, no, I’m sorry, please don’t.”
Weaselette’s eyes narrowed as her mouth quirked in a half smirk. “Tell me you’ve told Draco.”
The man in question sniggered. “Oh, I know,” he said. “It’s Theo who doesn’t.”
He gasped. “I don’t know what?”
Weaslette put her arms around her husband and brother. “These three were convinced that Draco was the heir to Slytherin so they concocted the brilliant plan to brew polyjuice potion in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom and disguise themselves as Slytherins so they could get him to confess.”
Theo’s mouth dropped open. “You brewed polyjuice as a second year?!”
“But she accidentally used a cat hair and turned herself into a half cat for the next month.”
Theo practically howled with laughter.
Hermione folded, tossing her cards onto the table and burying her head in her arms. Shame. For what was probably the first time ever it looked like she actually might have had a winning hand.
Everyone else, even Draco, was laughing at her as well.
Draco patted her on the back. “Brewing a potion that advanced as a second year is quite impressive.”
She shrugged off his hand. “Don’t patronize me.”
“Oh, I wish you’d told me this years ago,” Theo said, wiping off his cheeks. “And to think I thought the most shocking revelation of the evening was that Longbottom is good in the sack.”
Weaselette and Padma traded smirks.
Theo noticed right away and rounded on Weaselette. “I thought you said nothing happened at the Yule Ball?”
Padma grinned. “We’ve just had drinks with Hannah Abbott before.”
Theo watched them, game entirely forgotten. “Longbottom’s ex?”
Weaselette grinned. “Bit of a chatty drunk.”
“Slightly prone to exaggeration at times,” Padma said.
“Not if what Pansy said was true…” Weaselette said suggestively.
Pansy glanced over at Longbottom.
He was fighting it, but there was something smug about his expression. He tossed down his cards—a winning hand—in front of her. As he gathered up the pile of coins, he shot her a smirk. “Your deal.”
Theo started complaining loudly about losing to a Gryffindor.
Pansy had far different things running through her mind.
Neville floo’d with her back to his grandmother’s house. Aside from the unpleasant trip back to her family’s ancestral home to gather her belongings—during the day when she knew Ivan and Petro were out drinking and with Granger to help—she’d spent the entire week there.
It had been quieter than she expected. Peaceful in a way her home wasn’t.
Augusta was busy organizing things for the wedding, and Pansy spent her time working on her dress. Even if it was small and fake, it was her wedding day and if she was going to be the center of attention, she was going to look spectacular.
Neville ruffled his hair, working out all of the cinders. “Well, that was an…experience.”
“Every Friday night,” she said.
“Can’t wait,” he drawled.
She smirked.
Something in his expression softened as he stared down at her.
Tension stretched between them, like a pull of unfamiliar magic, heightening her senses. Or just her awareness of him.
He towered over her, almost a full head taller. She had to tilt her head back to continue to meet his eyes. They were unreadable in the faint light from the dying fireplace, but she found she couldn’t look away.
The smell of damp earth clung to him, discernible underneath the sharp bite of the firewhiskey he’d had that night. Warmth and comfort layered with spice. Intoxicating in its own unexpected way.
He leaned forward ever so slightly. “Why don’t you like pansies?”
His question was like a cold bucket of water, breaking whatever spell he was weaving. “It’s just so cliche, you know?”
He slid his hands into his pockets, watching her.
She sighed. “You’re the herbologist,” she said. “What’s great about a flower that has no scent and dies every year?”
“Pansies are actually perennials.”
“Then why are they pulled up and replanted each year?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Easier maintenance, I suppose,” he said. “They’re really easy to plant but don’t bloom well consecutive years without a lot of effort.”
What girl wouldn’t want to be associated with a scent-less, useless flower used primarily as filler that was easier to rip up and replace than nurture?
She smirked. “Does anything about me scream easy maintenance?”
“Pretty much the exact opposite.”
Perhaps that was the problem. Easier to just rip her out and replace her. Especially for something that was just there to be pretty.
“You strike me as more of a rosa centifolia, actually.”
“Did you add those to my bouquet?”
He smirked. “Their thorns can cut through dragonhide and I assume you don’t want blood over your wedding dress so, no.”
Cute, Longbottom.
His smirk spread. “Sweet dreams, Pansy,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”