Husband Size
It was a divine night. The bath water was the perfect degree of scalding, the candles scattered around the tub and floating on the water gave a warm low light, and Pansy stood in a silk robe, her bare feet sinking into the lushness of the bathmat as she plucked the petals from a bouquet and scattered them across the steaming water, the soft aroma of roses filling the air.
She turned, unfastening the tie at her waist, letting the silk slip off her shoulders and along her bare skin as it made its way to the floor and she poured herself a glass of freshly decanted elf wine, cradling it in one palm as she lifted a leg and watched her foot slide into the warm, inviting depths of her bathtub.
She gave a hiss of pleasure as she sank down and the heat wrapped around her.
This was the life.
Anyone who did not know the profound pleasure of a long, candle lit bath before tucking one's self in between crisp, freshly pressed sheets for the night, had never lived.
She took a long sip of her wine as she reclined, immersed up to the neck in the water. A simple stasis charm and it would stay this temperature as long as she wanted, and Pansy intended to stay there a good long time. She had an entire bottle of wine, and the novel she was reading had finally begun to heat up.
She took one more sip of wine and with a practiced flick of her wand, her book floated up from its place and opened itself, suspended at eye level as she luxuriated. She skimmed the words, refreshing where she'd left off the night before.
Triselda, a princess whose kingdom had been recently overthrown by her evil uncle who wished to marry her, and Celerion, her bodyguard, trained by a sacred and celebate order of warrior monks sworn to protect her, had just fled the castle and arrived, undercover, at a crowded inn. The only available room had only one bed.
Celerion was insisting that they needed two beds but the innkeeper said there were no other rooms and no more inns for fifty miles.
Pansy's toes curled gleefully in the water as she sank down to her chin and her eyes raced across the pages.
Triselda's heartbeat quickened as she ascended the stairs, all too aware of Celerion behind her. His footsteps on the stairs were silent, despite his height and muscled body, hardened by years of sacred training and mortal combat. She could feel his glowering disapproval at their situation, that they would be forced to share quarters. Then again Celerion always disapproved of everything.
As they reached the door to the room, Tris and Celerion both reached for the doorknob, their hands brushing for the briefest moment before they snatched them back. Her pale skin felt almost branded by that momentary contact of Celerion's calloused fingers against hers. Tris' heart was hammering in her chest like a stampede of water stallions and heat rose across her bosom as she felt Celerion's eyes upon her. Reminding herself that she had the blood of a thousand kings in her veins, she forced herself to look up.
Celerion's dark gaze was like the fire of a dragon...
"Pansy! Are you home?"
Theo's unwanted voice invaded Pansy's delightful evening like a bucket of ice water.
She started with a small scream, her concentration breaking. The epic romance of Triselda and Celerion dropped beneath the surface of the water like a stone.
Pansy dropped her wine as she dove and the water bloomed red around her before she managed to snatch the book up by the spine and pull it out of the tub, cursing and shaking it, trying to get the wine tinted water off. If the ink started running she was going to murder Theo.
It had only been released the weekend before and was already sold out in all the local shops.
"Theo," Pansy shook the book several more times as she clambered out of the tub, the resulting tidal wave upending several floating candles and covering the surface of the water with wax to add to the mess. She ignored it, snatching up a towel as she tried dabbing at her book.
"Ruin my fucking night," she said under her breath.
Fuck. She had no idea what spells to use to dry pages. A wine stain in any known fabrics? Pansy could recite the list backwards. Books. Not so much.
"Pansy.... Please if you're home. I need you." Theo's voice from the sitting room was plaintive.
"Just a minute, you idiot!" Pansy snarled out the open door as she closed the book, squeezed and watched a stream of water flow out from the pages. "Damnit."
"It's an emergency, Pans."
Pansy set the book down and clenched her hands into fist, suppressing a scream of frustration.
She wrapped the towel around herself and stalked out to the sitting room where Theodore Nott's head was floating in the fireplace.
"Someone had better be murdered or dying," she said in an ice cold voice.
He looked at her seriously. "It's Draco."
Pansy's heart stalled, lurching in sudden horror. "What happened?"
Theo shook his head. "I don't know. He showed up at Blaise's in bad shape and won't talk about it."
Pansy's mind was racing. Could it be Death Eaters again. After all these years. Or maybe vengeful muggle-borns? What happened?
"I'll be there. Five minutes. Where is he? St Mungos?"
"Not–" Theo started and then stopped.
Pansy looked at him.
"Not physically in bad shape. Emotionally."
Pansy's terror drained out of her faster than the water in her wax and rose petal ladened bathtub was going to.
"I think something happened with Granger," Theo added after a beat.
Pansy's mind returned to murder as she drew a deep breath, as she stood wearing nothing but a towel in the middle of her sitting room. "You firecalled me because Draco's had a fight with his girlfriend? Me?"
"He's in bad shape."
Pansy rolled her eyes. "I'm sure. He'll get over it. You're buying me a new book and possibly footing the bill if I have to have my plumbing replaced. Good night."
"Please, Pans." Theo's head poked further into the sitting room as if he were leaning halfway into the fire. "You know how he normally is when he's upset, he doesn't stop talking. But he's not saying anything. The last time he was this shut down was —"
He doesn't need to specify. Pansy remembered it all too well the consuming depression that Draco had nearly drowned in during Sixth Year.
She closed her eyes and released a deep breath. "Fine. I'll come. Where is he?"
Theo smiled lopsidedly. "Blaise's. He took him to a club, hoping that alcohol would get him talking. I think it's made it worse. They're back now."
Pansy pressed a hand against her forehead. People always pitied Granger for having to be the voice of reason for the scar-headed wonder boy and a Weasley spawn. Where was the pity for Pansy having to deal with the nonstop triadic idiocy of Blaise Zabini, Theo Nott, and Draco Malfoy? Nowhere. No one appreciated what she went through dealing with these idiots. A club?
"I'll be there in twenty minutes."
"You said five earlier."
Pansy shot him a scathing look. "That's when I thought he was on his deathbed in the hospital. I'll be there in twenty minutes and you'll both be grateful that I'm showing up at all."
—————
The door to Blaise's townhouse was unlocked and Pansy strode right in after apparating to the doorstep.
Theo looked up as soon as she pushed open the door of the drawing room. "You're here."
Pansy ignored him, her eyes going straight to Draco, who was sitting on one of the sofas, staring at the wall in front of him and cradling a bottle of imported Japanese Firewhisky as if it were a newborn.
Blaise sauntered over to her, not saying anything, but his eyes were relieved.
"Has he told you what happened yet?" she asked as she surveyed Draco.
He shook his head. "Not a word." He lowered his voice. "I tried tracking down Granger, but she wasn't home and she's not with Potter or Weasley either. I sent an owl that he's here. So maybe she'll show up. I haven't seen him this low in years."
Pansy tilted her head to the side, trying to put a finger on the aura of despondency hanging around Draco like a shroud. She knew most of his moods. He had almost as many varieties of depression as she had pairs of shoes. The major ones were the wanting attention sulk. The boredom sulk. The wanting to be babied sulk. And since the war, the self-loathing sulk. Everything else tended to fall somewhere under one of those umbrellas.
This state of malaise was new and she didn't recognize it.
She walked over and seated herself on the sofa beside him.
"Draco?"
He dragged his eyes away from the wall and stared at her like he didn't recognize her at first, his gaze blank and lifeless.
"Hey, Pans," he said. Then he lifted the firewhisky to his lips and swigged it, letting it drop down to rest on his lap for a moment before he lifted it again and practically chugged it.
When he didn't stop after several gulps, Pansy's eyes nearly popped out of her head.
"Draco..." she reached out and tried to wrestle the bottle out of his hands. "You're going to give yourself liver damage."
He tried to pull it back but she planted her feet and twisted, pulling harder.
"I don't care. Grow me a new one," Draco said, trying to pull it back to his mouth. Pansy yanked hard and managed to jerk the neck free from his grip.
A brief scowl of irritation washed across his face before he lifted his hand and summoned a new bottle of something else from Blaise's liquor collection. Blaise gave a plaintive bleat as he watched it go.
Draco met her eyes, gaze flat as he pulled the stopper from the new bottle and brought it to his lips. "Better yet, let me die."
Pansy sighed and set the bottle she'd taken down on the ornate side table before giving him another once over. "What happened? Did you and Granger fight?"
Draco seemed to shrivel at the name, sinking deeper into despondency.
"I don't want to talk about it," he said, his eyes returning to the wall.
There was a long pause as she sat weighing her options.
Pansy did not regard herself to be a generous person, and while she regarded Draco as a friend, he was also an ex, and as a general rule, Pansy stayed out of his business when it came to relationships and he was required to do the same when it came to hers.
Being asked to help him deal with whatever had happened with Granger, whom Pansy did not particularly like, was stretching her very limited bounds of generosity. Pansy had always said that Draco and Granger were doomed, from the very beginning when he'd started pining and trying to come up with ways to charm the wizarding world's most infamous Muggle-born, ignoring Pansy's snippy remarks that he could at least date someone who appeared to own both a comb and a nail file.
She'd warned him and it was sorely tempting to say 'I told you so' as she sat there watching Draco attempting to drink himself into an early grave over an unappreciative Muggle-born.
The two had only been officially dating for a few months, and Draco was already more in love with Granger than he'd even been in love with anyone in his life, even his own reflection.
Granger didn't even have to work for it.
She just existed and Draco proceeded practically to worship the ground she walked on.
It was disgusting to watch. He just mooned over Granger. It was Granger this and Granger that to the point that Theo and Blaise had come up with a game where they'd try to bring up the most un-Granger relevant topic imaginable just to see how long it took Draco to still somehow connect it to a detail about her.
Just the type of revoltingly saccharine relationship that couldn't possibly last. Pansy had always known it. However, she hadn't been prepared for just how devastated Draco would be when that inevitable ruin arrived. It was unexpectedly painful to witness.
"Pans," Draco said, breaking the silence, his voice low and hesitant, as if he were half afraid of what he was about to say.
"Yeah?"
He swallowed and gripped the bottle. "When we were together..." he swallowed again, "was it — good for you?"
Pansy groaned internally. She'd been expecting to either be forced to sing Granger's praises and reassure him that swot-faced bookworm did indeed somehow adore him, or have the opportunity to finally cut the woman into bite sized pieces for being the bitch that Pansy was certain Granger secretly was.
She had not expected to be questioned about their past. What on earth had Granger said to resurrect the subject of their long dead relationship?
"Well —" she started awkwardly, adjusting her skirt and wishing she was still in her bathtub finding out exactly how warm the heat of Celerion's dark gaze was. "We were fifteen, Draco."
"I know... but," he swallowed again, "was I satisfying for you?"
Satisfying was a very odd word choice. There's a heavy silence and Pansy was about to point out once again that they were fifteen, and fifteen year olds quite simply weren't very good at —
He added even more quietly, "Dimensionally."
Pansy blinked twice as she stared at Draco Malfoy, pureblood heir to billions, esteemed member of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Himself all of twenty-eight and currently clutching a bottle of imported firewhiskey as if the last remaining drops of his self-worth were somewhere in the bottom of it since he apparently didn't believe it resided within his trousers.
"What?" she started.
"What did you say?" Blaise's dark features were written over with horrified amusement as he gaped from across the room.
Draco seemed to suddenly remember that he wasn't alone with Pansy and recoiled into himself like an insecure clam.
For god's sake.
"Get out!" Pansy said, waving Blaise back. "Get out and stay out."
Blaise pouted, folding his arms. "It's my house. He came to me. I deserve to at least know why. I always did think his nose was rather small and pointy, and you know what they say about noses being —"
"Blaise," Pansy's voice was icy. "I will castrate you if you try to stay here another minute. Theo, get him out and go find Granger. Drag her here by the hair if you have to."
"Don't bother her. She didn't do anything but be honest. It's not her fault." Draco's voice was dejected and he sank back deeper into the sofa as if he wanted it to eat him. He scoffed. "I don't know why any of you are pretending to care. It's not like you ever thought it was going to work out anyway."
Pansy ignored him
"Find her," she said, waving an imperious hand. "And leave us."
Theo and Blaise left grumbling and as she heard the door close, Pansy turned back to Draco, who was nursing his firewhisky like it was a milk bottle.
Good lord, what had Granger done? Of all the cruel things to say to a man, especially one as secretly insecure as Draco.
But this was low, even for Granger. Had it all been a ploy? To let Draco court her and then once he was as vulnerable as he could be, to destroy him? That conniving bitch.
If Draco didn't want to see Granger, Pansy would go see her, and make sure she knew what an absolute cunt she was.
She picked up the bottle she'd taken from Draco a minute before and brought it to her own lips, gulping a mouthful.
Sweet fuck. It burned. How on earth did Draco keep drinking it? She spluttered and set it down.
She drew a deep breath, tapping a neatly manicured fingernail that Draco had never appreciated. "Tell me exactly what happened."
Draco was silent for a long moment. "Well... we'd just –" he tilted his head indicatively, and looked at Pansy as if to make sure she was following.
Pansy indicated that yes, she did know what he was alluding to.
He raised his eyebrows. "I thought it was good. It seemed like she'd enjoyed it. Anyway — I went to make her tea afterwards. The water was about hot when she came into the kitchen."
He lapsed into silence, slumping further, and then drew a deep breath. "And then she stood there and told me how nice it is that I am so small compared to Weasley."
There was a stunned silence.
"What?" Pansy blurted out, her voice incredulous. "She said that? Just — out of the blue?"
Draco nodded and then gulped more firewhisky. "So I gave her the tea and I left. Message received. Here I am." He closed his eyes. "You can go home. I'm not going to throw myself off a bridge tonight. Probably tomorrow though."
Pansy scrunched her eyebrows together and then nibbled on a fingernail. A detestable habit, but it sometimes helped her think.
Draco was not — small. Admitted it had been twelve years, give or take, since Pansy had last seen him nude, but she had an excellent memory for such things. He was pleasantly good sized by her recollection. A nice handful and a comfortable stretch.
He hadn't been exactly knowledgable when it came to female anatomy, but he had been a fifteen year old boy, and even in retrospect with a number of years of adult sex under her belt, Pansy had no complaints about him — dimensionally.
It was an absurd thing for Granger to even say — unless Weasley was just ungodly. She'd heard rumours but she'd always assumed that was all they were. Rumours.
Was it possible that Draco had somehow misunderstood her? He was prone to taking things in the worst ways when his insecurities came into play, and considering how besotted he was with Granger, he was probably constantly worried that she didn't love him as much as he loved her.
"What —" she couldn't believe she was trying to work out Granger's perspective on all this. "What were her exact words? The exact words she used when she said this to you."
Draco was silent as if trying to recall. "She said, 'you know, you're the perfect size, Ron was so big he was hard to take a lot of the time."
Pansy was silent for a moment, staring at Draco with incredulity at the revelation that he'd heard the words 'perfect' and somehow translated it to 'small'.
"That is not the same thing," she finally said. "Draco — what she said and what you heard were completely different things."
Granger was going to owe her so much for this. She'd always known the witch was blunt and tone deaf, but this assuredly took the cake.
"She just meant you're average. And you are."
"Gee, thanks, Pans," he said, his tone so flat it was practically void of emotion.
She rolled her eyes and gave her head an impatient shake. "The good kind of average," she said, her voice pointed. "Trust me, I've seen a lot of cocks since I was fifteen and handled yours. When you're a woman, not too big is the sweet spot. Yes, there is such a thing as too small, I've definitely tried out a few that didn't cut it, but too big is really not nearly as wonderful as you men like to think it is."
Draco gave her a look. Now he was paying attention, although he still looked as if he'd been mortally wounded by the revelation that Ron Weasley was bigger than he was. His gaze remained listless and his expression melancholy.
Pansy still couldn't believe she'd somehow gotten called in to hype up her ex about his size. "If Weasley was so big he was 'hard to take' what she probably meant is that it hurt. Unless a woman's really in the mood for it, sex with someone who's too big is — pretty awful. It's work. And, yes," she raised her eyebrows, "it can be fun, some witches are into big, but — it's an experience. A summer fling or something temporary. Big, is sex you have to work for. Every time. It's never quick or convenient."
Draco remained unmoved. Still. As if there was no greater shame in life than there being wizards with larger cocks than him.
Men.
She stabbed him with her wand. "Do you want to hurt Granger?
He yelped, straightening at that. "No."
"Then what's wrong with not being too big for her? You should be grateful you don't have whatever unholy dimensions Weasley has. If she thinks you're perfect sized, that means you're something she wants every day, instead of being something she has to dread trying to accommodate anytime she isn't in the right mood to work for it."
She drew a deep breath. "It means you're not something she's going to want to move on from. She'll want to keep you. It means you're—"
She paused. Was she really going to say this to a romantic like Draco about someone as dull and unappreciative as Granger?
Pansy took hold of the bottle of firewhisky and brought it to her lips, taking a long gulp. "It means you're — husband size."
There was pause.
"Husband size?" Draco said slowly, as if he was trying out the phrase.
"Yes," Pansy said in a tight voice, trying not to let herself grimace. "A size she'd want to keep. That she can enjoy every day. Do you want to have a cock she only wants to deal with on special occasions?"
Draco was silent. "Husband size," he said again and the light came back into his eyes and he straightened. The despondency falling away.
Pansy watched him pull himself back together as his sense of confidence reassembled itself with astonishing rapidity.
She wanted to go scream into a cushion.
Draco was going to marry Granger. She just knew it. Now they were never going to break up. They were going to get married and have an entire legion of self-righteous, know it all, bushy haired spawn and it was going to be all Pansy's fault.
She had done this.
She plastered a smile on her face. "Yes. That's what she meant."
She'd better be the maid of honour. And a godmother before she-Weasel.
"Husband size," Draco said once more and Pansy thought she might bludgeon herself if she had to hear him say it again.
Thankfully the door flew open and Granger burst into the room, looking frantic, followed by Theo and Blaise. Her expression flooded with relief as her eyes landed on Draco.
"Draco!" Granger flew across the room and launched herself into his arms.
He'd stood the moment she'd entered and caught her, folding himself around her, his arms enveloping her shoulders.
It was revolting. Pansy looked away, ignoring the tightening in her chest. Scenes like this were exactly why she stayed in on Friday nights and took baths.
"I was looking everywhere for you," Granger was saying tearfully, her voice half-muffled in his chest. "I went to your parents and everything. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I realized after you left, how you'd taken it. I just — with Ron, he used to get upset that I didn't always want to — And I was trying to tell you how much better it is — but it came out wrong and then —"
"Hey, hey, hey," Draco pried her out of his robes, tilting her face up to cradle in his hands, and running his thumbs across her cheeks to wipe away the tears.
Granger looked frightful in Pansy's opinion, her curls frizzing and her face blotchy, but Draco was beaming down at her as if the sun shone from her soul. "You were fine," he said, pecking a kiss on the tip of her nose, and Pansy barely refrained from making a retching sound. "I took it wrong, but that's on me. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just left. I should have stayed and talked or at least told you where I was going. Come on," he hugged her again, "let's go home."
Granger nodded, and Draco turned, taking her hand in his as he said something to Blaise about paying him back for all the firewhisky and thanking him for putting up with him for half the day.
Pansy glanced at her watch and then sidled over inconspicuously, intending to inquire about ideal spells for restoring precious books that had been baptized in wine and bath water, but as she neared, it occurred to her that there's a better way for Granger to compensate for Pansy's ruined evening.
"Granger," she said in a low voice.
Granger glanced over at her, still gripping Draco's hand. Her chest was still stuttering from tears and oh god, maybe she was as besotted as Draco was if she'd actually been running around crying about it.
"Just — out of idle curiosity," Pansy said, her voice low and coy. "Exactly how big is Weasley?"
Granger gave her a long look, her eyes narrowing. "Why?" she asked carefully
Pansy simply raised an eyebrow, looking innocent, and shrugged her shoulder. "Well, I'm not looking for a husband, just experiences."
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