“I suppose you can borrow my clutch,” Astoria said as she tasted the air, gravitating towards Pansy’s open arms of invitation.

“What are best friends for?” Their skin had barely met and yet with only a split second of contortion they stood side by side at the door to Nesium. The bouncer nodded his familiarity and stood aside to let them pass through the concealment charm, allowing them to see the club’s true marvels unlike any Muggle who swayed inside. The music pulsed through the floor, rattling away the resolve for sobriety in all of its inhabitants. Pansy dropped Astoria’s arm and it cascaded  like discarded  silk until their hands met and they were leading one another through the crowd.

“Pansy!” a familiar voice shouted, demanding attention as per usual, a beacon to stray course. Their friends were in a VIP booth, draped over one another like a contemporary sculpture. Draco had stood, his arm up high to signal his presence, and he only sat once they’d joined his table.

“You look good,” Blaise said, his eyes surveying the absence of clothing around Pansy’s shoulders, his boyfriend’s hand on his inner thigh. Astoria leaned in, perched on the edge of the bench, and passed it off as getting comfortable. Pansy had yet to let go of her hand. “Both of you,” Blaise added, his eyes finally swaying to Astoria with a familiar hunger that caught his boyfriend’s attention.

“Stop flirting,” Draco scolded, lounging opposite with a dishevelled shirt and loosened tie; a noose to hang himself with once Potter arrived with another stray on his arm as was the ritual. It concluded in Draco becoming abysmally drunk in as little time as possible and causing whatever conflict he could for unrewarded attention. “You’ve already got someone to take home and fuck.” Blaise looked at Draco with disinterest.

“Come now, Draco,” he said, “you know you need only ask.” His boyfriend, Klaus, smirked in response when Draco’s eyes flashed to him. Pansy leaned across the table to take Theo’s whiskey glass, barely touched, and took a swig before handing it to Astoria. Theo was in the corner, his head leaning against the wall, his mind caught up in whatever shit show drug he’d taken.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Astoria announced, letting go of Pansy’s hand, her fingers flexing in time with her nerves as she stood and leaned on Pansy’s shoulder. “Anyone else fancy one?”

“I fancy you,” Blaise chuckled, unashamedly. Pansy turned to him with a fierce glare, unnerving Klaus enough to shift and look away, but alas only adding incentive to Blaise’s game.

“Anyone?” Astoria asked, pretending she hadn’t heard. Pansy was about to ask when Astoria moved away, leaving her shoulder cold. “I know what you’re drinking, Pans,” she said simply as she made her way back through the crowd towards the bar. Blaise moved as soon as her form disappeared from sight, draping his arm around Pansy’s shoulders; his other hand remained in Klaus’.

“Someone is more touchy than usual,” Blaise murmured, his nose nuzzling in her hair. “I’m not surprised, not when she looks fuckable enough to bend over on the dance floor.” Pansy’s shoulders hunched as he spread further into her personal space. “I wonder if she’s even wearing underwear, hm? Maybe a thong delicate enough to bite through—”

“Enough,” Pansy snapped, shoving him away and getting to her feet. “You go anywhere near her and I’ll use the darkest spell I know to snap your cock off.” Blaise chuckled, his grin smug, as he got the reaction he was hoping for.

“Just finger her already so we can move on with our lives,” Draco huffed and downed the last of his martini with a drunken elegancy no one else could match. Even Blaise looked offended at his statement.

“One does not just finger Astoria Greengrass, Draco,” he said, his back straightening. “She is a goddess, her body a temple; there will only be worship and unadulterated, unconditional, unimaginable passion penetrating the magnificence that is—”

“I said enough,” Pansy shouted. “Merlin’s tits, what the fuck is wrong with you?” she asked, her glower trained on Blaise with enough fury to kill. “You will never, and I mean never, touch her that way. In fact, just don’t touch her at all. Don’t even look at her.”

Blaise snorted. “Babe,” he said, with the mannerism of a sigh, “just because you’re too scared to touch, it doesn’t mean others are.” His head nodded in gesture towards the dancefloor and Pansy found herself turning against her will; her gaze sought out Astoria’s swaying silhouette, a headlight in the rainstorm, to see that she wasn’t dancing alone.

His hands were on her waist, her thighs, her bum. His mouth was on her neck, her shoulders, her cheek. The music continued in tune with their meshed figures, merging in coloured fog, the lights in motion like a carousel spinning much too fast. And it hurt everywhere. The current in her gut thrashed, pulling her under, suffocating her, draining her mouth of saliva, her lungs of air. The current in her chest buzzed, a sparked fuse setting alight every nerve, screaming: ‘This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.’ A thousand pins pressed up through the floor, demanding she to stay witness, but she couldn’t. Bile was already licking up the back of her throat, scorching what was left of her senses; she needed to breathe.

The beer garden swarmed with lads on a night out with bros; cigarettes and glass bottles loitered the spaces between them. Pansy had to duck through wolf whistles and vulgar comments in order to find sanctuary around the corner of the building, her back pressed against the wall, supporting the sob that rippled through her. She willed herself to stop, begged her composure to return, but the tears had already begun and nothing was stopping them now.

“Stupid,” she scolded herself, “you’re so stupid.” Her head beat back against the the wall of the club a few times before she sniffed, swallowing thickly, and wiped her nose across her arm. The sound of heels clapping against concrete spiked her heart rate and she turned to look down the tight alleyway, her hands instinctively wiping at the tears beneath her eyes. She cleared her throat again as she felt another body slide down the wall against her, drawing her in. A minute passed in silence.

“I’m sorry,” Astoria said, and her body caved into Pansy, securing her. Pansy felt her lips tremble as she turned her head into the scented locks of Astoria’s hair.

“What’re you apologising for?” Pansy asked, grimacing at the way her voice broke. Astoria lifted away, her gaze serious as she glanced between Pansy’s eyes, looking for clarity. “I—um. It’s just dancing,” she muttered, shifting her focus to the family pendant around Astoria’s neck. “We should head back inside.”

“How many times are we going to end up here, Pans? Why can’t you just talk to me?” Astoria waited, every swallow audible, her heart bleeding out onto her sleeves in exhausted hope. The shake of Pansy’s head signaled defeat despite the tears still spilling over her cheeks, and Astoria yearned for the permission to comfort her, to taste her lips, to brand passionate bites across her throat. “I can’t do this again,” she whispered, her chest tight. Whatever reserves Pansy was so desperately clinging to set sail as soon as Astoria pushed herself to her feet and walked away.

“Astoria, wait,” she called, “Tori!” Her knees wobbled as she followed, lurching forwards until she grasped Astoria’s arm. “Wait,” she breathed, pulling their rifting seams together. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Oi oi, girls.”

“Come sit with us, ladies!”

“Fuck, they’re well fit.”

“Can I buy you both a drink?”

“I don’t want your apologies, Pans,” Astoria replied, her lashes the only barricade as her eyes brimmed. “Tell me. Please, just tell me.”

“Dibs on the blonde one, mate.”

“I’d let them blow me something nice.”

“Hey, hey, come sit here with us.”

“I—I think,” she cleared her throat, “I think I might be hopelessly in love with you.” Astoria smiled, reflecting the purity of her soul through her  irises, dimming the rest of reality until there was nothing left but them. A teardrop graced the gentle curve of her cheek and all Pansy could hear was the intake of air they both so desperately craved.

“Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

Astoria pushed Pansy back further and further until her back collided with the wall, hands on each other’s waists; their lips collided at an impact, rupturing the crowd into whistles and other unnecessary cheers that fell on deaf ears. Synchronised pulses beat like a thriller across their bodies, and they gripped one another with possession, eyes closed and lipstick smudging.