Sticks & Stones

Pansy’s footsteps echoed in the huge, empty foyer of the Parkinson mansion. The sculpted patterns of light and dark wood that made up the floor were old, dating back tens of generations. Pansy knew them well; she’d spent her entire life—until very recently—passing over them. She’d learned to crawl and then to walk in this place, scraped her knees and elbows on those floors Merlin only knew how many times.

The enormous throw rug that her father had placed in the foyer was gone now; he’d had it put down to spare his only child from the frequent injuries that seemed to happen while playing there. But the Aurors who had arrived to scour the mansion for Dark objects had discovered—fatally—the rug’s extra properties intended to protect the mansion from intruders, and had confiscated it along with half the furniture and possessions the Parkinsons had accumulated over the centuries. It was just four days after the death of her parents, and the Ministry had almost completely undone what Pansy’s family had built up since Merlin’s time.

Someone—presumably the house-elves, they were probably still alive and bound to the house and the family—had polished the floor, hidden for almost a decade, until it gleamed. From what Pansy could tell the elves had made a valiant effort to maintain the house even in the face of the Ministry’s invasion, but there was only so much they could do with chaos—especially since elves bound to the Parkinson family were under strict orders never to show themselves to humans unless called for or there was no other choice. It would take some time before the mansion returned to its pristine state.

Pansy stopped in the center of the foyer, and glanced around. There was no one to be seen, not through any of the four open doors leading to the rest of the house. The Aurors had finally been run out by Pansy’s new solicitor after picking the place clean. Pansy knew that the magical protections were still up, barring anyone from entering by Apparition or Portkey, and as the head of the Parkinson family she would know the instant anyone attempted to enter the grounds. Other than the House-elves, there was no one in the entire mansion except for Pansy and—

“Um, Pansy?” Neville said hesitantly, walking softly toward her from the front door. “We probably shouldn’t stay long, remember… it’s probably not safe.”

“It’s safe enough for now,” Pansy replied, staunching the shivers that she seemed to get every time Neville spoke to her. It was absurd, really, the way she was reacting like a foolish Hufflepuff with a crush. But she found it hard to deny how happy she found herself since she and Neville had successfully negotiated a relationship. “No one can get here except by foot—even the Floo’s been disconnected. I’ll know if anyone tries to enter, and we’ll have plenty of time to use the Galleons that Potter gave us to Portkey away.”

“Oh” Neville considered that for a moment. “All right. Er, then what do you want to do?”

‘I—” Pansy stopped. What did she want? “A part of me really wants to set fire to the place and let it all go,” she said bitterly. “This mansion… it represents a part of me that I despise, the part that still stubbornly refuses to let go of everything I was taught, everything my parents indoctrinated me with!” She took a deep breath. “But regardless of what the Parkinsons have become, my family still has a long and proud tradition, and Parkinson Manor is a part of that. This place—it’s my home, it’s always going to be my home.”

She swallowed, feeling the weight of her family’s history and heritage more heavily than ever. “I’m the last Parkinson, Neville. My father was an only child, and so am I. And any child of mine won’t be a Parkinson.”

“What? Why not?” Neville asked, wrinkling his forehead.

“Because if I’m having a child, I’ll be married, and I’d take the name of my husband,” Pansy said as if it were obvious. It was, to her. “And our child would have his name as well.”

“But… does it have to be that way?” Neville asked.

“Of course it does!”

“Why?”

“Because that’s the way it’s done!”

“According to who?” Neville countered. “The rest of your family? I thought you didn’t care what they think anymore. And anyway, they’re… um…”

“Dead,” Pansy finished sharply, spinning to face him. “But the other pureblood families—”

“Does their opinion matter that much to you?” Neville interrupted. “You said you don’t care about pureblood and Muggleborn any longer.”

“I said that I’ve grudgingly accepted that there’s not a significant difference,” Pansy corrected brusquely. “It matters to me, Neville! I can’t uphold the heritage of my family by ignoring our traditions of marriage—it defeats the purpose!”

Neville reached out and gently took Pansy’s hand. She wanted both to flinch away and squeeze his hand, but did neither. “I’m a pureblood myself, Pansy,” Neville pointed out calmly. “And even though I wasn’t raised to care about all that, I do still know a little bit about pureblood traditions. One of the few things my gran taught me was that the so-called ‘traditions’ had to start somewhere. There’s good evidence that most pureblood traditions were created by the head of a powerful pureblooded family, based on their own opinions or desires. And that’s you now.

“The other strong pureblood families—the Malfoys, the Blacks, the Crouches—they’ve all fallen from grace for one reason or another. But your choice to defy Voldemort, and stand proud and strong against the Ministry even when your parents were found out as Death Eaters, probably makes you the most powerful head of a pureblooded family in the entire kingdom. You have strong ties now to Harry, and that’s going to matter a lot when Voldemort is dead. If you play your cards right you may find yourself in a position to influence the direction of wizard society significantly once the war is over. With that kind of power, do you honestly think anyone would challenge you if you chose to let your name pass to your children?”

Pansy was staring openmouthed at Neville. He was right—the other pureblooded families would acknowledge her, and the Parkinson name, as a force to be reckoned with if the war played out the way the D.A. was hoping it would. But she’d never believed that Neville, of all people, would be so politically savvy. “How—how did you—?”

“I thought this might come up,” Neville said with a shrug that completely betrayed his nervousness. He was on edge, but Pansy didn’t understand why. “Once you found out you might get the Parkinson estate back, it seemed likely. And every pureblood understands the way power works, Pansy—sometimes those of us who don’t have it understand it better than the ones who do.” He let go of her hand and shoved his into his pockets morosely. “Just remember when it happens that that kind of power can be misused. Look at what Lucius Malfoy did with it.”

Pansy licked her lips. The Malfoys have been groomed to the use of power for centuries, and the result was that they abused it. I’ve been raised to covet power and do anything to acquire it. I may do worse than the Malfoys ever have. Well then,” she said, swallowing uncomfortably, “I’m sure you’ll be around to keep me in line.”

Neville’s eyes widened in shock. “Will I?”

“Well unless you have more pressing matters!” Pansy shot back, her heart thumping wildly. “Or aren’t you planning on sticking around?”

“I—uh, no, I’m not going anywhere,” Neville stammered, looking completely flustered.

What in Merlin’s name…? Pansy thought, not understanding any of Neville’s reactions. If he didn’t mean that he’s leaving—Then it hit her. “You think I’m leaving?” she asked furiously.

Neville went completely white, confirming Pansy’s accusation. “I—I don’t believe it,” she muttered, unable to keep the hurt from her voice. “I finally started to think better of you than that, that you believed in me! And—and you just assume once I get back my fortune I’ll revert to form, start touting pureblood ideals? Do you expect me to join The Dark L—Voldemort as well?”

“No!” Neville said quickly, looking horrified. “I wasn’t thinking that at all, Pansy, I swear!”

“Why else would you think I’d b-break off with you, you bastard?” Pansy demanded, hating herself for the way her voice caught, for the tightness in her throat and her heart. She’d been trying so hard, and the one person she was certain believed in her—

“I—I’ve never had a g-girlfriend before,” said Neville wretchedly. “And I still can’t understand why someone like you, who’s beautiful and smart, would date me. You got your fortune and your name back, and—and I thought of the times you told me you only p-picked me because I’m a pureblood, and I was available. And I realized that now, you’re looking toward a future full of power and respect from the other pureblood families, and you’ll have better p-prospects than me.”

Guilt and shame were feelings Pansy had become rapidly acquainted with since she first accepted that Neville was more than a good shag to her. Not that it was his fault that he brought out those feelings—she’d earned them ten times over. “I told you that even though I first went to you because you were a pureblood, that wasn’t true any more,” she said quietly. “And I’ve had my fill of pureblood fanatics like Draco Malfoy coveting my lineage and not giving a damn about me, thank you. I may have different prospects once the war is over, but not better ones than you. You’re the most worthy person I’ve ever met, pureblood or no, and I’m not such a fool that I’d let go of someone like you.”

Neville went red all the way to his ears. “I’m sorry that I—that I’ve been thinking you could be that shallow.”

“I have been that shallow,” Pansy protested. “I guess I haven’t done enough to convince you that I’m not any more.”

“No, you have!” Neville insisted. “It’s just that—”

“—that once you get an idea in your head, it’s hard to get it out,” Pansy finished for him, stepping closer. “Of all the people you know, I understand that better than anyone.”

“Yeah, that’s probably true,” Neville agreed.

“This is as new to me as it is to you, Neville,” Pansy said. “Just for different reasons. Everything is new to me right now: if you’d told me six months ago that my parents were dead, I’d have been heartbroken—now I’m relieved. And I feel guilty about feeling relieved. Part of me feels guilty that I… l-like you so much, because my upbringing says I shouldn’t. And I still want to castrate Draco. It would mean the end of the Malfoy line, but I could care less—he deserves that shame.” She shook her head. “I’m completely out of sorts—hah, that’s an understatement—and that makes me… irritable. Actually, you haven’t seen me truly infuriated yet. But I wouldn’t be surprised if you do fairly soon, and I’m worried that you—that you won’t like what you see.”

Neville shrugged. “I can duck pretty fast.”

Pansy stared at Neville for a full ten seconds before breaking out in laughter. “Bloody hell, it’s not fair of you to crack a joke when I’m being so serious!” she chuckled.

Neville grinned sheepishly. “Why do I have to be fair?”

“Because you’re a Gryffindor, that’s why,” Pansy retorted with a smirk. “If I have to put up with your getting smart like a Ravenclaw, you’d better be prepared to deal with me acting besotted and gushing like a Hufflepuff!”

“Oh, is that who you’ve been pretending to be recently?” Neville teased.

Pansy smacked his arm, blushing furiously. “Oh, you noticed that, did you?” she grumbled. “Damn, I’ll have to try harder to be less obvious about it.”

Neville blushed as well. “I, um… I don’t mind,” he said.

Pansy’s heart did that odd thing it always seemed to do when Neville was being sweet. “Well, I mind,” she replied. “If other people notice, at least. Call it overly Slytherin, but I’d still rather be a little more subtle!”

Neville smiled amusedly. “That’s okay. I don’t think we need to start acting like Ron and Hermione.”

“Oh Merlin, I hope not,” Pansy said with a shudder. “Those two are just sick.”

Pansy looked at Neville’s upturned lips, at his warm, welcoming eyes, and felt a rush of heat. It was unbelievable, how horny he could make her with nothing more than a smile. She had never felt so randy in her entire life.

She grabbed the front of Neville’s robes and kissed him, teasing his lips with her tongue and sliding her body against his. He squeaked in surprise, grabbed her shoulders and pulled away. “What are you doing?”

“Making a statement,” Pansy answered, pulling his robes open and undoing his belt. “I want you; right now.”

“Here?” Neville exclaimed. “I—um, can’t we go to one of the bedrooms?”

“Can’t. Ministry confiscated all the beds,” Pansy said. Neville’s trousers fell to the floor and Pansy followed them, dropping to her knees and wrapping her hand around Neville’s cock. “And I want to do it here,” she added. “Right here in the foyer of Parkinson Manor, I want to shag you senseless. This mansion was the stage for centuries of rhetoric about pureblood superiority, ‘appropriate’ behavior and marriages that were little more than business contracts—I want to show my ancestors just what I think of their outdated beliefs.”

Pansy’s lips circled the head of Neville’s cock and he whimpered as she sucked hard, drawing him further in. As she’d learned (what seemed like ages ago), Pansy suppressed her gag reflex and continued to take Neville’s sizable cock in until she felt the tip touch the back of her throat. She drew back, tugging as she went, until Neville slid out with a pop. Pansy gave Neville just enough time to get down on his back before she attacked him again, and preened a bit when his hands clutched at her head and he groaned desperately. She tormented him a while longer, loving that despite her disconcertion in most aspects of their relationship she could still control this one, and decisively, when she wanted to.

Finally she took pity on him, pulling off his cock and standing long enough to lift up her skirt and slide her knickers down her legs. She didn’t bother with the rest of her clothes—she paused long enough to cast the Anti-Pregnancy Charm and crouched down with her knees on either side of Neville. His hands slid under her splayed skirt long enough to guide his cock inside her and she moaned at the new—but not completely new—feeling of being spread, stretched, opened, as delicious now as it had been painful the first time. She rocked her hips front to back, then side to side, and he entered her further until she bottomed out and Neville’s glans was teasing that spot inside her that utterly destroyed her.

“This is… weird,” Neville grunted, placing his hands on Pansy’s hips and bucking slightly, causing her lips to part slightly and her eyes to flutter closed. “It’s really—open.”

“So what?” Pansy answered breathily. She began rocking up and down, gasping slightly each time Neville was thrust back into her cunt. “No one here—but us—and a handful of—hiding house-elves!”

Pansy fell forward, grabbed Neville’s head and kissed him again, growling into his mouth as he began to thrust up, grinding into her. He clutched at her arse and pulled her down so their bodies slammed together, the muffled sound of skin against skin carrying across the enormous open foyer. The sensations seemed as magnified by the space as the sounds of their lovemaking, and in no more than a few minutes Pansy shoved herself erect, threw her head back and screamed her orgasm to the high, arched ceiling, as Neville’s own rumbled through him and shook the ancient hardwood floors.