The Right by Parks and Fiction, Chapter 11.
Well, let's get the unpleasant business out of the way first.
Augusta said in a way of greeting.
Since the wedding, they'd only seen her at their weekly
afternoon teas with Frank and Alice.
She levelled A stern glare at Pansy across the too bright
hallway at Saint Mungo's. She braced herself, preparing
for a lecture on how she'd shamed the Longbottom name.
The Daily Prophet certainly believed so.
Vengeance in Diagon Alley, Pansy Parkinson Longbottom store
vandalised front page. A number of pictures of the
store. The warning in red paint
flashing above the store, Potter waving off the journalists, her
standing stoically staring at the mass.
The article was even less complimentary than the headline.
I've sent an owl to the editor. Augustus said.
None of this hyphenated nonsense.
They just earned my business back.
I will not hesitate to cancel my subscription again if necessary.
She. Blinked.
That's what bothered her, that the editor had hyphenated her
name. August attacked her cane on the
ground. A Longbottom was attacked and it
will be answered. For she glanced up at the fierce
look in the witch's eyes. Robards can look to my weekly
owls until this shameful oversight is corrected.
She. Rounded on her grandson.
You have Potter on it. Don't think I've ever been one
to tell Harry Potter what to do, he said with a rueful grin.
But yeah, he promised he'd work the case until it's solved.
She nodded once, brusquely, before turning back to Pansy.
And you open tomorrow? Yes, ma'am.
The auras had done their work all day on Friday.
By evening, the usual Slytherin crew had descended upon it to
place the finishing touches. The auras missed.
Theo and Hermione argued over wards.
Blaise adjusted everything in the store, even if it was by
less than half an inch, until he deemed it perfect.
Neville brought in a number of plants, only two of which he
warned her not to touch. He also promised to care for
each of them, as she had barely gotten an acceptable on her
Herbology Owls and was likely to kill them all, even if she'd
never admitted to him. They added a lively brightness
to the space that helped it feel completed in a way it hadn't
before. Trusting Theo and Hermione's
wards, she spent all of Saturday organising the various robes and
accessories so they were ready for opening day on Monday.
Good. Augusta said Long Bottoms daunt
back down. With a quick pivot, she marched
off toward the lifts. I think Gran's starting to like
you. Neville said with a small smirk.
She wasn't sure if that made her feel flattered or more terrified
of the elderly witch. You were wrong.
He glanced at her and arched an eyebrow.
About not telling Harry Potter what to do.
She said. I specifically remember that
being the cause of the few final points that lost Slither in the
House Cup first year. He grinned.
Six hours in a full body bind and all I get is 10 measly
points? Almost as horrible as being told
we won the cup only to have it ripped from us last minute.
If Draco hadn't tattled on Harry, Hermione and I, you
shouldn't have been out of bed in the 1st place, and that only
lost you 150 points, so we still would have beat you by 20.
He rolled his eyes. I hope you aren't as arbitrary
with awarding points. I don't dock house points just
because I don't like the way someone answers a question when
it's correct. A clear dig several Snape.
Which, while she would never admit it out loud, was true.
But come here. I do award points every time a
Gryffindor picks up pruning cheers for me.
Absolutely. A smirk tugged her lips.
How very Slytherin of you, Professor Longbottom.
The visit was the same as any other.
Augusta and Neville talked to Frank and Alice like they could
hear them. Neville told them all about the
store but didn't say a word about the destruction early
Friday morning when Frank started to fidget.
About 20 minutes into the visit, their conversation stopped and
the healers were summoned to put Alice and Frank back to bed.
I'm afraid we're going to have to cut Alice's hair again, the
healer told Augusta. She's getting too agitated to
brush it, and washing never goes well.
Augusta nodded once. Whatever you think is.
Best Staring at the silent witch with mattered limp hair, all
Pansy could think of was the smiling, laughing woman in the
photos spread out on Neville's dresser.
Even the candid shots showed a smartly dressed woman with long,
elegantly styled hair. As Alice brought Neville a gum
wrapper and Augusta checked in on Frank's healer, Pansy turned
to Alice's. Could I, could I try to help
with her hair? She gave her a slightly pitying
look. There's nothing left to do but
cut it if I could try. It wasn't going to make a
difference. This Alice probably wouldn't
care, but the witch in the photographs would.
If it were Pansy, she'd want someone to do it for her.
I could come Tuesday at lunchtime.
She needed Monday to shop for supplies, and Thursday as well.
If it's not better by the end of the week, then you can cut it.
The healer considered her, then nodded.
All right. She watched as Neville pocketed
the gum wrapper from his mother, yet another one for his box in
his closet. Maybe in the scheme of things,
doing Alice's hair didn't mean anything.
Maybe it was vain, and Neville wouldn't think she'd had any
right. But it wasn't about her or him.
It was for the witch in the photos, the adoring mother who
risked everything to make a better world for her son.
Alice deserved better, and if she could help her, she would.
I lied. The slight tensing of Neville's
shoulders was the only indication he'd heard her speak.
He hadn't said much since they'd returned from Saint Mungo's.
He simply sat on the couch and continued reading what was
doubtless some fascinating treaties on plant life in a
country she'd never visit. Maybe the evening after visiting
his parents wasn't the time to bring this up, but she was
nervous about the next day and what she would or wouldn't find
in the morning when she went to the shop.
And when she got restless, she got reckless.
Which was exactly what bringing this up to Neville was.
Reckless and stupid and 100 other bad ideas.
And yet the other day when you came for lunch and I made all
the drawers explode ribbons and you called me a brat.
As if there was any other day that she could have been talking
about. I lied.
Finally, he shut the book and sat back.
He stretched his arm over the back of the couch, the muscles
of his arms and shoulders flexing even under the hideous
jumper he wore. What do you want me to do about
it? If it wasn't for the predatory
gleam in his eyes, she would have thought him completely
unaffected by the conversation. What do you want to do about it?
The corner of his mouth curled into a smile that would have put
a sphinx to shame. You know exactly what I want to
do about it. You didn't do anything last
time. He rose from the couch and
strode towards her. Each step was slow but with
purpose, sending thrills down her spine and heat building in
her core. By the time he was towering over
her, her pulse was thundering. She was frozen to the spot,
unable to move, unable to look away from the blue gaze locked
on hers. I did.
She found up at him, trying to think through his overwhelming
presence. He showered before tea, so the
smell of the greenhouse was faint, but the smell of fresh
dirt clung to him, the way it lingered outside after a
rainstorm. It blended with the scent of the
soap she smelt every morning during her shower to combine
into an intoxicating scent that was all him.
You said there would be consequences if I lied, and then
you didn't touch me for two weeks.
Merlin, when had she ever sounded that desperate, that
needy? 16 days, he corrected, so he had
been paying attention. The corner of his mouth lifted
in 1/2 smirk. Did you ever stop to think that
was your consequence? She swore his voice had dropped
an entire octave. She squeezed her thighs
together, trying to ignore the growing warmth, the growing
need. He leaned down and her breath
caught as his lips grazed her ear.
Brats don't get rewards until they earn them, Princess.
Her toes curled inside her shoes as she tried not to shiver.
What sort of fucked up reality had she entered that she was
actually engaging in this conversation instead of hexing
his balls off? She poured all her derision into
her tone, trying to keep him from seeing what he was doing to
her. Getting spanked is supposed to
be a reward? Oh no, he said.
The reward is what you get after taking your punishment like a
good girl. A thrill shot down her spine as
heat pulled in her core. Fucking hell, this was not
supposed to be turning her on, was not supposed to make her
want Neville fucking Longbottom. But the confidence pouring off
of him now, the smoke smirk filled with promises, it was
doing things to her, things he couldn't know.
You think awfully high of yourself that anything you could
do to me would be considered a reward.
His smirk turned condescending. I am not the boy I was in
school, Pansy. He said.
You're not going to gourd me into proving you wrong.
Nothing about the man in front of her was like the boy at
school, sometime between losing his toad on the train the very
first day and pulling the Sword of Gryffindor out of the Sorting
Hat. She blinked, and he'd changed.
He leaned towards her, his breath tickling her ear.
You want something, you're going to have to ask for it.
She stepped back and his smirk spread, relishing that he'd had
her on the defence. She straightened, pride making
her cling to her desperate and increasingly ineffective
attempts to pretend that she was unaffected by his presence.
You think I'm going to ask you to punish me?
She sneered. Naw.
He stepped into her space, crowding her.
He used his height like a weapon, leaning down and making
her breath catch as his lips almost grazed hers.
Ah, think you're going to beg? She was not desperate,
especially not for Neville fucking Longbottom, no matter
how disturbingly attractive he'd gotten.
Neville's gaze roamed over her face, drinking in the details.
Her dilated eyes, flushed cheeks, near panting breaths.
Her entire body betrayed her and they both knew it.
Don't tell me you're scared of what Neville Longbottom can do
to you. Her spine hardened.
Nothing about you scares me. He smiled.
Then prove it. He was goading her, laying down
a challenge after just telling her she wouldn't be able to do
the same to him. The only difference was that his
was working. Or you could Stew about it for
another 16 days, he said. I'm a patient man, I don't mind
drawing this out. This, whatever it was between
them, was just physical proximity combined with how long
it had been since she'd last dated.
Once she got it out of her system, no Longbottom could go
back into his little box and she wouldn't have to deal with all
this simmering tension between them.
Fine, she said. Punish me.
Theo was right. She'd been imperioed, Confunded,
obviously manipulated by some level of dark magic, because
there was no other reason to account for the thrill that sent
through her body, the desperate heat spreading through her core.
Neville's nostrils flared. Try again.
Frustration warred with need. She had never felt this
desperate for someone in her life.
And the fact that it was Neville fucking Longbottom.
You've gotten this far, Princess, he said.
Don't chicken out now. Merlin, she was already a mess.
Now if he made her wait another two weeks, it might kill her.
She gritted her teeth. Punish me, please.
He smiled, his expression condescending and patronising
and everything she hated, and yet her body was nearly
quivering with desperation from the promise in his eyes.
I know you're a clever witch, he said.
So I'm going to give you one last chance to get it right.
Fuck this. She'd take care of herself.
She didn't need a damned thing from Neville fucking Longbottom.
He leaned down, his voice soft. Be a good girl and ask for what
you want, Princess. The velvet promise in his voice
crumbled. The last of her will.
Because what she wanted more than anything else was to see if
he actually lived up to the promise in his gaze.
If he could command her body the way she so desperately craved.
Holding his gaze, she slowly lowered herself to her knees
before him. Neville's nostrils flared again.
He was holding himself steady, but his body betrayed him,
tension in every line of his frame, from the tightness in his
shoulders to the white knuckles in his hands.
Every part of him coiled like a cobra, ready to strike.
A thrill of power ran through her that he couldn't hide how
much this was affecting him, how much she affected him.
Punish me. He cocked an eyebrow.
Please. As if he'd just been freed from
a full body bind, the tight tension in his body melted away
like a predator released from his cage.
Before she had the chance to rethink this thing she so
desperately wanted, needed, but never should have admitted, he
had her off her feet, into his bedroom and over his knees.
A strong hand pinned her down between her shoulder blades as
the other hand slowly dragged up her robes.
She bit her lip to hold back her desperate moan.
How many times in the last two weeks had she imagined him
dragging up her robes again, this time to finish the job?
You want this to stop immediately for any reason?
Say mercy, Neville said. The world where she begged
Neville Longbottom for mercy. The sharp slap of skin on her
newly exposed calf made her Yelp.
It hadn't hurt, just surprised her.
Do you understand? He demanded.
This was humiliating, So, so humiliating and so fucking hot.
He smacked her again, higher this time.
Answer me. She had never been more turned
on, more desperate for another person in her entire life.
His hand ran over her calf. The gentleness a sharp contrast
with the two smacks he'd just given her, making her melt into
his body. Good girl.
Fuck, how she hated how much she loved that.
Her mind, her body, was a desperate jumble of humiliation
and want and need, and her robes pooled around her waist.
Neville's low growl of approval made her whimper.
Can I touch you? How he was supposed to punish
her without touching her made no sense until she realized what he
meant. Merlin, the thought of those
fingers on her. Yes.
She said, fighting against herself to make it sound like a
statement and not a plea. She was Pansy Parkinson, she
refused to beg for anything and earlier didn't count, because it
didn't. He pulled off her panties,
dragging the scrap of lace down her legs in a slow torment.
She jumped when his hand found her arse, massaging and
squeezing. What do you say if you want to
stop, Princess? She grit her teeth and was
treated to another smart smack, this one more of a sting than
the first two. Mercy.
He rubbed the spotty tit. Good girl.
She pressed her face into the covers to hide the effect he had
on her. She wanted to scream at him to
get on with it, but he seemed to enjoy drawing this out as long
as he could in order to torment her further.
With one hand holding her down in the middle of her back, the
other continued its exploration of her body, sliding down the
swell of her arse to her upper thighs, then sweeping in
between. She gasped as his fingers found
her core. His slow, sweeping exploration
was enough to make her squirm, but nothing close to what she
needed. Neville made a sound of low
approval. Fucking drenched, just like I
thought. She gritted her teeth that he
could actually feel how much this turned her on, shamed and
excited her all at once. He leaned down, his body
covering hers. Do not lie to me again, Pansy.
When she didn't respond, he grabbed a fistful of her hair.
He'd taken enough so it didn't hurt so much as startle her, but
she was now completely immobilized in his hands.
She wanted to writhe, to move, to get his fingers currently
between her legs, to do something, anything, but she was
absolutely helpless. She fucking loved it.
Do you understand? Yes.
She gasped. He let go of her hair and she
sagged forward onto the bed. Before she had a moment to
breathe, his hand landed on her ass.
Fuck, this was nothing like the previous smacks he'd given.
This one hurt. Her skin burned where his hands
landed, but the heat went straight to her core.
The second one immediately followed on the other cheek.
On instinct, she tried to scramble off him, but his second
hand still held her pinned down. Do you need mercy?
She'd never beg for mercy from a man.
Not to mention that she might die if he didn't finish what
he'd started. No, Are you sure?
Yes. She hissed through gritted
teeth. You want me to keep going?
The reward is what you get after taking your punishment.
Like a good girl, yes. He waited.
Fuck, please. His hand moved over her ass,
squeezing in a dental need. You have no idea how hot it
makes me to hear you beg, He said.
Good girl, sweet Cersei. Why did she love that so much?
Let's talk about all the times you've lied to me.
His hand fell again, right next to where he'd slapped her the
first time. The sharp sting burned across
her skin, the answering echo from the place he'd hit before.
There was the ribbon, dear. His hand landed a fourth time,
and she almost screamed. Tears burned in her eyes, but
she swallowed them back. The conditions of our marriage.
He hit her lower on the arse this time, almost where it met
her thighs, and it was like a Direct Line to her clit.
Pressing her face into the bedspread, she tried to match
her moan, but as his hand hit the same spot on the other side,
she couldn't hold it back anymore.
And then there's every time you've been a brat.
Two more sharp slaps had him putting even more pressure on
her back, pinning her down with all the strength in those
shoulders. Moving my things, spilling tea
on my bed, Breaking the wine. Your stunt with the ribbons.
Each transgression he threw at her resulted in another slap.
Her arse was on fire, but every time his hand slipped lower and
lower, her tension rose higher and higher.
The need between her thighs was almost unbearable.
She'd long lost the battle of holding back her tears.
She was a trembling, weeping mess and all she cared about was
getting his fingers back between her thighs.
Please, please stop. Her words choked on a SOB.
His hand landed gently on her arse, but the skin was so
sensitive, even that soft touch made her cry out and her back
arch. Please what?
His voice was breathless. She bunched the red comforter
she'd never look at the same way again together in her hands.
Please, just please I. His fingers slid between her
thighs, each brush a tiny spark that nearly made us see stars.
She moaned so loud she almost missed the quiet.
Fuck. He muttered to himself.
Have you had enough? Neville asked, fingers grazing,
not giving her half of what she needed.
Sweet Merlin, if he was going to leave her like this, no.
He rewarded her with just a hint more pressure and she moaned
again. She could feel her orgasm
hovering so close but just out of reach if he didn't give her
more. You want to be punished more?
A SOB escaped her throat. No, fuck, just her.
Then use your words, Princess. He had her writhing, begging,
and she couldn't care less. Anything to get those fingers on
her, to give her what promised to be the best orgasm of her
life. Please make me come.
His fingers moved away and she almost screamed.
Ow with your fingers, shite. He hummed as if he was still
deciding. Please.
She begged on a SOB. But at least I don't care how,
just make me come. The hand on her back slid up her
spine, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
Every brush of his hand, touch of his skin left burning flames
stocking the fire building in her core.
He turned her head so he could see her face instead of her
burying it in the covers. Good girl.
She nearly came at the praise alone.
Then his fingers started working between her legs in earnest.
Despite how close she was, he still made her earn it, teasing
and pulling back just as she started to feel it Crest until
she was begging again. His fingers circled her clit,
building that wave higher and higher this time.
Finally, he led her up and over it until she was screaming with
the force of how hard she was coming.
Wave after wave crested over her as her vision went black, and he
dragged every single ounce of pleasure out of her body until
she was a limp, sobbing, trembling mess on his lap.
Pansy wrapped her hands around a mug of tea as Neville settled
onto the bed. She could feel his eyes on her,
but she stared down into the warm brown liquid.
She winced as she shifted. He applied a healing balm that
took away the stinging and burning, but she could tell
she'd still be sore for a few days.
Apparently that was what was kept in the mysterious night
stand, along with a various assortment of toys she would
never have expected Neville Longbottom to be able to
recognise, let alone use. After the ointment, he just held
her for a few minutes, made her drink some water, whispered soft
things over and over as she came down from the high.
As reality started slowly creeping back in, she struggled
to compartmentalize what had just happened, so when he asked
what she needed, she'd said T in an effort to get some space and
her composure back. The moment he left the room,
she'd felt worse, as if she'd lost her anchor and was left
drifting without any frame of reference.
She'd done more than her share of experimenting while managing
to avoid the obvious, but nothing had ever come close to
that. In the moment, it had been so
easy to sink into the rolls and let go and just feel.
Now she waited for the burning shame of humiliation, for him to
laugh or mock or bring. Her low vulnerability did not
sit well with her, and Neville had just seeing her at her
lowest. How are you feeling?
She shifted, trying to find a comfortable way to sit.
Fine. Neville lounged on his side,
resting his elbow on the bed to prop up his chin with his hand.
I couldn't get a stronger ointment.
If you need it, I'm fine. Sore.
But now that the stinging was gone, only in the most delicious
of ways. He smirked.
I like the idea of your feeling the reminder for the next few
days any time you sit down. She glared at him over the tea,
but it wasn't like she could now demand a stronger ointment, not
without admitting it hurt from his triumphant grin.
He'd done it that way on purpose.
She took a careful sip of tea, uncertain of the dynamic after
what just happened between them. How you're really doing?
He asked. And be honest.
She glanced up at him through her lashes.
Or you'll spank me again. Or I want to do that again
regardless. He said.
But not until you've completely recovered, and only if you're
honest with me about how you felt about it This time.
She looked back at her mug. I am fine.
Turning the mug, she watched the few tea leaves he hadn't managed
to skim float back and forth. That was unexpected.
Good or bad, Her eyes snapped up to his.
Why am I the only one being questioned?
The corner of his mouth rose. All right, he said.
I'll go first. That was the hottest fucking
thing I've ever done. Underneath the covers, her toes
curled as warm pride spread through her.
She smiled down into her tea. It was good.
The sheer arrogance in his smirk made it clear he knew she was
vastly underselling what was the best orgasm of her life.
If the contents of his night stand were any indication, he'd
clearly had more than enough practice with kinky orgasms.
Well, I guess that explains the bloodlock, she said.
Not to mention the guardian cactus.
She wasn't quite sure how she felt about Bimby watching all of
that. Perhaps she'd have to find a new
home if this was going to continue.
Neville smirked. Tried to Snoop, did you?
Obviously. Isn't that why you put it on?
No, it was done years ago for Gran, he said.
Not to mention Ginny, Luna, Sheamus, or really, honestly,
any of my friends with no boundaries, which happens to be
most of them. So Hannah Abbott isn't quite as
chatty as everyone thinks. His cheeks pinked.
We never really. Hannah's not into any of this.
Her loss. It caused more than one of our
break UPS, actually. His eyes widened.
Not that I ever pressured or Even so much as asked her to,
you know, once I knew she wasn't interested, I never.
If he hadn't been so earnest, she would have laughed at him.
Darling, I knew what he meant. No need to hurt yourself.
He playfully swatted her thigh over the covers and she giggled.
He rubbed his forehead. I guess me dating witches who
were into this any time we were broken up didn't help matters,
he said. I think sometimes she felt a
little guilty or insecure, even though I was fine, happy with
the way things were between us. There was a difference between
fine and happy. Perhaps Hannah was a bit more
realistic about their relationship than Neville, but
it wasn't her place to point it out.
The two of them could figure it out after she and Neville got
divorced and it didn't work out with any of the other witches
you dated. He sighed.
It's my fault, probably too difficult.
She arched an eyebrow. He sighed again.
I like to be in control in the bedroom.
He said. Tying up.
Edging in particular, sometimes spanking and other stuff.
His gaze flicked to the night stand and back to her.
She smirked as she sipped her tea.
Oh, I saw. His cheeks darkened.
It's hard to find the right balance between submissive and
bratty and spanking. It's the only impact play I'm
into. He said.
I don't like being dominant outside of the bedroom and for
most people it's all or nothing. So too kinky for someone like
Hannah, but not kinky enough for the witches who were into that.
It was the most Neville Longbottom response ever to
think that he was the problem and not that he just hadn't
found someone yet. He was perfectly compatible.
Clearly he needed to broaden his horizons because she couldn't
imagine a single witch experiencing what he'd just done
and not becoming desperate for more.
Not that she was desperate, obviously, but if she couldn't
date anyone but him for the next year and he was willing, she'd
take as many of those orgasms as she could get.
So your ideal witch is someone who is just a little bit bratty,
enough to give you an excuse to spank her whenever you're in the
mood, and who pushes you back but doesn't actually mind
getting tied up or edged. A smirk tugged at his lips.
Why? Know anyone who's interested?
I happen to be free between now and the middle of June.
His eyes narrowed. Pretty sure we already discussed
that you're not free at all between now and the middle of
June. That hint of possessiveness was
strangely hot. Maybe because it had an end
date? It didn't make her feel
smothered. Plus, I'd say you're quite more
than a little bit bratty. She smirked.
Working on it is half of the fun, isn't it?
His sharp, predatory grin took over his face.
You have no idea, Princess. Her toes curled underneath the
covers. Fucking Merlin, how did he keep
doing that to her? If this was going to be a thing
between them, though, he probably had expectations.
Do you need me to? She waved in his direction.
Take care of anything for you. No, this was just for you.
She frowned at him. What, He didn't want anything
from her. You're just going to wank to
that later? He shifted, his cheeks flushing
a hint of pink. The switch from completely
dominant to bashful schoolboy was a delight.
I mean, probably. He cleared his throat.
It's just as satisfying to me to watch you come undone.
Surely he wasn't serious. The Right requires you to be a
virgin, so we can't have sex until we figured that out.
She arched an eyebrow. Do you?
I need to be the one to inform you that there are things I can
do for you that don't involve losing my virginity.
Things she had gotten rather good at, if she did say so
herself. He gave her a smile that was
pure male arrogance. Well, you were a little too out
of it in the moment to be much of an active participant.
Fair. Not that she would give him the
satisfaction of verbally agreeing, however.
And I wasn't about to spaff all over you, since I didn't think
you'd be into that. Well, fuck, why was that so hot?
His eyes lit with predatory excitement, as if he could read
her thoughts. Or would you?
She cleared her throat. Sure.
Honestly, after that experience, there wasn't much she wasn't
willing to let him try, particularly with the limits he
had. Fuck.
He breathed. OK.
His excitement gave way to discomfort.
If we if we're going to start playing like this, we should
talk about us. She burst out laughing.
Long bottom, you gave me one decent orgasm.
That does not mean I'm certainly in love with you or want to stay
married to you. She didn't want that any more
than he did, but the relief on his face still stung a little.
OK, he said. So still work out to find a
right that will work to fulfil the blood oath and invoke the
succession clause after 13 months, but in the meantime we
can play all right. Also, if it almost makes you
pass out, I think you can use a description.
A little more flattering than decent.
Best of her entire life, but she wasn't about to admit it.
Guess you'll have to try harder next time.
Sitting up, he leaned closer, every inch the overwhelming,
domineering man from before. Then I guess you'll have to be
very, very good. Because if you liked your
punishment, Princess, wait until you earn a reward.