Devotion (to Duty)Authors: leela_cat
and eeyore9990Based On/Inspired By: This Evening’s Entertainment
Pansy Parkinson/Luna Lovegood, Mr Ollivander, Lord VoldemortRating:
Implied Physical Abuse (off-screen and not perpetrated by one main character on another)Word Count:
The Dark Lord may have an eye for new talent, but Pansy has plans of her own.Author's Notes:
We have no notes left. (What she means is, we have no brains
inferi ate them.)
Luna sat with her back to the outer wall, feeling the damp pressing against her jumper. The sound of footfalls echoed from the stone stairwell, and she glanced up, her finger going still in the dirt floor. A half-formed face smiled up at her, unfinished.
She got to her feet, straightening as much as possible without hitting her head, and walked slowly toward the centre of the room, putting herself in view of the barred door and anyone coming down the stairs towards it. She’d learned her lesson about hiding; her cheek was still tender to the touch.
The door creaked open, and a shadowy figure stumbled through it. Luna ignored the clang as the door was shut and locked again, her attention fully focused on the fact that she was no longer alone.
"Hello?" Her hand went to her throat, massaging it. She'd not realized how long it had been since she'd last used her voice until it nearly failed her.
Walking towards the crumpled figure, Luna was relieved to see that her new cellmate was none other than Mr Ollivander. Who was, oddly enough, her old
cellmate. They’d taken him long before they’d snatched her from school. She reached out, wanting to feel his head for injuries when she noticed the condition of her hands. The nail-beds were blackened with dirt from the floor and the thin skin along the backs was dotted with irregular bruises and scratch marks.
Mr Ollivander's eyelids flinched a few times before slowly lifting to show rheumy eyes. "Miss Lovegood," he wheezed. "Look what they’ve done to you, child. I would say that I cannot believe they’ve stooped so low, but my current appearance would suggest otherwise."
Luna smiled softly and brushed his wiry hair back from his forehead. “Your glasses are gone. Did they take them?”
Ollivander raised a shaking hand and patted at the bulging pocket of his shirt. “Ah. No worries. There they are.” He shifted on the ground, grimacing as he pushed himself to a sitting position. “I took them off as soon as I heard one of those goons on the stairs.”
Luna pulled the thick-lensed glasses from Ollivander’s pocket and opened them before sliding them carefully atop his nose, taking a moment to affix the earpieces properly. “Better?” she asked, ignoring the thin crack that nearly bisected the left lens. There wasn’t anything they could do about it, so no use crying over botched potions.
“Infinitely. Thank you, dear.” He sounded distracted and was no longer paying her any attention, his gaze straying to the farthest, darkest corner of the cellar. Luna glanced over as well, a small smile curving her lips.
“The Nargles have taken good care of your … pet.”
His shoulders lifted a bit, as if a weight had been taken from them. “They
didn’t find it?”
Luna crawled over to a small mound of dirt and dug through it until her fingers wrapped around several small lengths of wood--roots from one of the trees planted too close to the foundations of the house they were in. “They didn’t even look for it,” she said, her voice hushed. “Have you found anything suitable for a core?”
“Not yet. But You-Know-Who hasn’t found what he’s looking for either, so they’ll be letting me out again soon. I’m sure of it.”
Going back to his side, Luna pressed the wood into his hands and began speaking in low tones, telling him of everything she’d done and heard while he was gone.
It wasn’t much more than rambling, but it passed the time.
She’s blonde and pretty and clearly one of the purest of purebloods. That’s almost enough for me to forgive her for the way her ugly Muggle clothes hide her beautiful body in the most unfortunate of ways, and that she professes to support Potty. She’s also everything I love in a woman, and everything the Dark Lord desires in his followers.
It’s my job to bring her to his side. Mine too, if I have anything to say about it.
The heavy footsteps were accompanied by a series of thuds. Each one made Luna wince, because she knew what was coming. She moved into the centre of the room and waited.
A figure in blood-flecked robes and mask commanded, “Fix him,” and then threw Ollivander into the cell.
Ollivander sprawled on the floor and didn’t move. His glasses cracked on impact again; the left lens finally shattered and tiny fragments of glass went flying across the floor. They gleamed in the flickering light from the single candle. Luna was distracted by them for a moment, by the story they were trying to tell, but then Ollivander groaned, and she rushed to his side.
He’d been tortured. What she could see of his skin was mottled with partly-healed cuts and deep bruises. The bones in his hands and fingers were broken beyond her ability to cure without potions and her wand. She had to try, though. She couldn’t leave him like that.
Half-dragging, half-carrying him, she got him to the corner of the cell, where he could be seen but was safe from anything their captors tossed through the bars.
After that first groan, Ollivander hadn’t made a sound, which worried her more than if he’d complained as usual. She tore another tiny strip off the remnants of her cloak, spat on it, and began to clean the smears of blood, vomit, and other substances off his face.
“People think Nargles don’t exist,” she said, talking only because she knew how much Ollivander hated silence. “They’d rather believe I’m mad than that there are creatures they can’t see and don’t understand.” She rambled on, repeating nonsense, hoping to ease his fears. She’d been reduced to making up odd habits for the Umgubular Slashkilter when a pop
startled her into falling back on her bum.
A tiny house-elf with wide eyes and constantly flapping ears stood in the middle of the cell, holding a tray in its trembling hands. “Little Mistress sends Tatsy with tray for the lady prisoner.”
“Hullo, Tatsy.” Luna kept her voice as low and calm as she could after seeing what looked like potion phials. “Those are for me?”
Nodding so hard that the phials and bowls bounced on the tray, Tatsy said, “Tatsy is to stay until you is done with tray. Tatsy is to leave nothing behind.”
“I understand.” Luna crawled slowly over to the house-elf and almost cried when she recognised blood replenishing potion, Skele-gro, and a general healing potion.
“Tatsy brings water for washing. And soup.”
At the sound, Luna moved back to Ollivander, beckoning Tatsy to follow. For a brief moment, just after she uncapped the first phial, she thought that she should be suspicious. But that seemed ungrateful, and her mother had always insisted that Luna should not repay generosity with ingratitude.
I spend far too much time watching the cellar through my spy globe. More often than not, Lovegood sits next to that creepy old man who cannot seem to stop defying the Dark Lord, no matter how bad for his health that is. She talks and hums and sings, giving him the attention that is rightfully mine. Several times I send Tatsy back down to her with food that won’t make Lovegood ill after eating so little. I always make sure the tray holds a bowl of water charmed to stay warm and a flannel, so that I can follow her behind a pillar and see her undress and wash herself.
This is far more satisfying than watching her at school ever was.
The creaking of the cell door jolted Luna awake. She sat up and gently nudged Ollivander before crawling to the centre of the room.
“You there!” The Death Eater who’d woken them shouted, pointing at Luna.
Ollivander came forward, putting a hand on her shoulder in a restraining motion. “Stay here,” he whispered into her ear. Raising his voice, he said, “You’ve come for me, then?”
“Not you, old man. The girl.”
“No, no,” Ollivander said, nearly shoving Luna behind him. “You must be mistaken. It’s me You-Know-Who wants, not her. She’s only here to keep her father in line. I’m the one you want.”
Luna placed her hand on Ollivander’s arm, stopping his flow of words. “It’s all right, Mr Ollivander. They aren’t going to hurt me. Are you, sir?” she asked, directing her question at the man now standing stoop-shouldered in the room with them.
With a low sound of frustration, he rushed toward them, knocking Ollivander back and grabbing Luna by the upper arm. “Stay there, old man,” he said, then dragged Luna out of the cell.
Eyes blinking against the brighter light of the stairwell, Luna scrambled to keep up with the Death Eater pulling her roughly through the large house. They were moving so fast that she was only able to memorize two routes for possible escape should the opportunity arise.
The Death Eater pushed open a door mid-way down the second corridor they entered--two lefts, one right, a slight jog to the left again, up a half-set of stairs and this was the third door on the right--and tossed her into the room with a barked instruction to “wash up.”
Luna stared around the sumptuously decorated bedroom and looked back toward the door. “You’ve brought me up here to bathe
?” The thought that her father might have been able to negotiate her release filled her at once with joy and dread. Joy that he was still alive and that she would be going home soon, dread that she might be forced to leave Ollivander behind.
But she couldn’t allow her thoughts to linger on that scenario. She might have chosen a different set of circumstances for her first bath in weeks, but she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity.
There were only two doors besides the one she’d entered through; one led to a closet, the other to a spacious bathroom. The air was warm and humid, steam rising from the tub where a bath had already been drawn. Scented bubbles formed a thick layer on the surface.
A small sound escaped Luna as she stared in awe at the bath; it took her mere seconds to shed her clothing and step eagerly into the water. She hissed as she immersed herself in the too-warm water, wincing as her various scrapes and cuts were submerged, then healed.
Not knowing how much time she was being allotted for this bath, she immediately wet her hair and turned the tap at the side that dispensed shampoo. The blue gel smelled heavenly, and she couldn’t hold back a moan as she worked it through her hair, scrubbing almost viciously at her scalp.
Dunking, she rinsed the soap from her hair, staying under as long as possible before coming to the surface with an explosive exhale. Wiping the streaming water from her eyes, she poured more shampoo into her hands and spread it slowly through her hair. She took her time lathering, scratching her ragged fingernails over her scalp and twisting the sudsy mass atop her head. As soon as her hair felt somewhat secure, she reached for a flannel and loaded it with soap from another tap.
Washing herself was a luxury she wasn’t going to take for granted. She ran the flannel over her arms, around her neck and behind her ears, but didn’t neglect the backs of her knees, the undersides of her breasts or the spaces between her toes. The only part of her body that wasn’t lovingly caressed by the flannel was one small spot in the very middle of her back, and then only because--no matter how she twisted her arms--she simply couldn’t reach.
A rap at the door startled her into dropping the flannel into the water. She gathered the remaining bubbles closer around her body to preserve her modesty before she called out, “Just a minute.”
The door opened almost before the last syllable had left her mouth, and Luna stared wide-eyed as Pansy Parkinson peeked around it. Her stomach swooped with dismay at what the other girl’s appearance in this place signified.
“Have they captured you as well?”
Pansy came fully into the room, a small smile turning up the corners of her lips as she shut and locked the door behind her. “No, Luna. They haven’t captured me. But when I heard that they’d taken you... I had to come see you. It’s the least I could do, after you helped hide me from that werewolf in sixth year.”
Relaxing back into the tub, Luna shrugged lightly, though her mind was filled with questions. If Pansy was here, and not
a prisoner... then she was with them.
Shaking those thoughts from her head before they could spoil the first really good moment in weeks, Luna said, “You’ve always been nice to me. And I didn’t do anything for you that I wouldn’t have done for anyone else.”
“I know.” Pansy tilted her head, glancing quickly down at Luna’s partially-hidden body. “Would you like some assistance with your bath? I could scrub your back for you, if you like. Or help you rinse your hair. There’s such a lot of it, it must be difficult to do by yourself.”
Luna blinked, surprise bubbling up inside her at Pansy’s easy offer. Though they’d known one another at Hogwarts, they hadn’t been close
. “Yes, please. That would be lovely! I couldn’t quite reach by myself... my back, I mean.”
Stepping forward, Pansy held out her hand. “May I have the flannel?”
Luna searched through the water, unmindful of the fact that she was displacing the majority of the bubbles as she did so. Finally locating the flannel, she wrung it out handed it to Pansy before sliding forward in the tub and offering her back.
Lifting a strand of Luna’s shampoo-filled hair back to the clumsy bun atop her head, Pansy perched on the edge of the tub and began to run the flannel slowly up and down Luna’s back, covering the entire expanse and soaping up her sides as well, occasionally brushing the flannel against the outer curve of Luna’s breasts.
“There,” Pansy said, her voice a bit husky to Luna’s ear. “All done. Lay back so we can rinse your hair now.”
Luna ducked under the water and waited patiently while Pansy worked the suds from her hair, only coming up for breath once. When her hair was finally completely free of shampoo, she sat up and sighed. “I almost wish this could last forever. People simply don’t appreciate the joy to be found in a simple bath.”
Apparently taking Luna’s words as a cue, Pansy reached for a plush towel from a stack that rested on a small vanity set into the wall. When she handed it to Luna, she gasped in horror, drawing Luna’s hand further toward herself and clucking at it. “You need a manicure, darling. Come along now and dry off. The elves will have cleaned your clothing for you, but you’re not going anywhere until we’ve done something about your cuticles.”
Luna shook her head, bemused at the sorts of things other people thought important, but dutifully stood up and accepted the towel, waiting until most of the water had sluiced from her body before she began to dry herself.
“Just wrap the towel around yourself and come along. I’ll see to drying your hair before you leave. Can’t have you falling ill, after all.” Pansy reached for Luna’s hand and pulled her back into the bedroom where the two girls spent nearly an hour talking while Pansy fixed Luna’s hands before Luna’s Death Eater escort came back to retrieve her.
Lovegood’s reaction to the bath was inspirational
. It was all I could do not to allow my hands to wander, and her little sighs had me as wet as the water. I shall have to place her in more situations where I can touch her, especially her hair. She’s so pliant when my fingers are buried in that thick mass.
The delightful part is, she has no idea she’s being seduced. Those wide eyes of hers are so trusting, they remind me of a Crup I had as a child.
Soon enough, I’ll have her eating out of my hand just as he did.
Luna watched as Pansy selected a piece of cheese and popped it in her mouth. Gesturing to the over-laden tray, she swallowed and said, "Come on. Eat!"
Back in the familiar room where Luna had spent several hours over the course of many weeks with Pansy, Luna looked down at the wealth of food and frowned. "I wouldn't feel right," she said, though her stomach gave a betraying growl.
Pansy cocked her head to the side, studying Luna. "Because of Mr Ollivander?"
"Yes, of course. Every time I come here, I'm showered in luxury while he languishes below. I just… I don't… it's wrong
." Frustration twisted inside Luna at her inability to fully articulate the fullness of the injustice being dealt upon herself and Ollivander. Just these little sessions with Pansy were enough to make Luna’s heart ache with all the comforts she was receiving that Ollivander wasn’t.
“Aren’t you eating? I’m sure I’ve seen food sent down to--”
Luna waved a hand, dismissing those paltry offerings. “Yes, of course. Cold broth. Sometimes small portions of better foods, but not enough to sustain him. He’s an old man. And... they’re abusing him. That’s the worst. I wish they’d take me instead.” She sat forward, grabbing up Pansy’s hand and trying to impress upon her the horror of Ollivander’s situation.
Drawing her legs up under her, Pansy leaned forward, peering deeply into Luna’s eyes. Luna held them open wide, pushing every emotion she felt into them. "You're serious. You'd rather go hungry yourself than to eat while others can't? Be beaten to avoid allowing others to be hurt? That's… rather amazing, really." Nodding slowly, Pansy sat back on her heels, lightly squeezing Luna’s hands, then dropping them as she called sharply, "Tatsy!"
When the elf appeared, eyes wide and wringing her hands, Pansy turned to her and said, "I want you to bring a tray of food and medical supplies to Mr Ollivander. And you are to add that to your daily chores. The prisoners are to receive three trays per day. Do you understand?"
"Yes, little mistress. Tatsy is understanding."
As the elf disappeared, Pansy lifted a strawberry from the tray, bit a tiny portion off the end and then brought the large berry to Luna's still-closed mouth. Rubbing the juice across Luna’s lips, Pansy said, "Come on, open up. He's being served as we speak."
Luna trembled, the feel of the strawberry brushing lightly against her mouth, the proximity of Pansy, the scent of the food all just a bit too much. She parted her lips to say thank you only to find her mouth filled with the crisply sweet taste of a ripe strawberry. Unable to do anything else, she bit down and chewed, a tiny moan escaping her at the headiness of it all.
"Thank you," she finally whispered around the bite of strawberry, shielding her mouth with her hand.
Pansy rapped Luna gently on the tip of her nose and winked, saying, "It's bad form to talk with your mouth full. Here, have some cheese."
Luna swallowed and laughed, fending off Pansy as the other girl attempted to stuff two cubes of cheese into her mouth. "I'm eating, I'm eating!" Shaking her head, Luna reached for a bunch of grapes and said, "You're pushier than a Snigglefwump."
"A Snigglefwump? Do I even want
to know what that is?"
Unable to believe that Pansy was ignorant of the Snigglefwump family of winged goats, Luna began to speak at length about them, stopping in her monologue only long enough to devour half of the food from the tray.
That blasted old man has set me back by weeks
. You’d think a wandmaker would know better than to use an untried wand on a heavily-armed Death Eater, but apparently not. And now he’s got Lovegood looking at me
as if it’s my
As if I could stop him from being an imbecile.
And so I’m forced to take care of him yet again, even though that will slow everything down. I have a plan, though, and Tatsy. Nothing can be allowed to stand in the way of what I want.
I am nothing if not patient. She will be mine.
Ollivander didn’t open his eyes when footsteps thudded down the stairs, nor did he move or his breathing change. Sighing, she ran a hand over his hair and silently asked the Nargles to watch over him while she was gone. It was all she could do as things stood, but it was far from enough. If they were both to survive, she had to do something.
Resolute, she got to her feet and went to stand before the door. Tiny shivers wracked her body. She murmured a chant her mother had taught her and rubbed her arms to try and smooth out the goosebumps. Her radish earrings were long-lost, and she desperately wished she had their protection.
The cellar door opened, and her escort entered. Cloaked and masked, as always. Before he could open his mouth -- she was convinced it was a he, given the large cloud of Wrackspurts that floated around his head -- she said, “I’m ready. Take me to her.”
Taken aback, or perhaps disappointed by her readiness, he prodded her with his wand and growled, “Up the stairs with you then.”
To further disconcert him, she inclined her head as she’d once been taught in the etiquette class in primary school, and said, “My thanks, good sir.”
He was silent as they walked through the manor. Luna led the way, and he trailed along behind her, seeming to be more of an escort than a guard. As they left the last flight of stairs, she felt as if she were floating.
Stifling a giggle, she resisted the urge to dance along the hallway. Somehow she didn’t think her guard would appreciate the destruction of his hulking and intimidating image, or being forced to face the fact that she wasn’t frightened of him.
She’s almost here. I can feel the pressure of her magic swirling against my own. One day, I’ll find out if she knows how powerful she is, how scintillating and irresistible it makes her. How much it makes me want to touch her, to kiss her, to have her.
The bedroom was empty when Luna emerged from her bath, wearing the dressing gown she’d found in the bathroom. She placed her own clothes on a nearby chair and glanced over at the bed. The curtains were pulled back, and the white duvet was folded to display dark purple cotton sheets, the pillows plumped. Yet she didn’t take the bed up on its invitation. She sat cross-legged on the floor in the centre of the room, with her hands resting on her knees, and waited.
“Beautiful,” Pansy whispered from behind Luna. Her perfume surrounded Luna, embraced her. Its scent was flowery and gentle, deceptive really, considering its wearer, but Luna couldn’t help relaxing and feeling safer in its presence.
Holding out her arms, Luna allowed herself to fall back. The floor was not quite too close when Pansy caught her -- in her arms and not with magic, a distinction that mattered more than Pansy would ever know.
“You caught me,” Luna said, breathless and smiling.
“I always will.”
Luna gazed at Pansy. “I don’t know who you are. Not at all.”
“Do you know who anyone is?”
Tilting her head and crossing her eyes to avoid looking up Pansy’s nostrils, Luna considered the question. “Bits and pieces of them. Odds and ends. The parts that no one thinks matters.”
Laughing, Pansy flicked a finger at the tip of Luna’s nose. “There you are then.”
She was, Luna thought, absolutely correct, which was as odd and unexpected as the fact that Pansy had fallen to her knees to catch her. Luna was still feeling her way through the connections, testing them for possibilities when Pansy kissed her. Upside-down the right way.
A soft mouth touched her own. Her bottom lip was sucked in and nibbled. Luna licked at Pansy’s lips, and they opened to her without hesitation. Their kisses were slow and warm and opened an ache inside Luna that she’d never experienced before.
“Oh,” she said, and then repeated the syllable after Pansy pulled back.
“You’re lovely.” Pansy stroked Luna’s arms. “Too lovely to be on the floor, no matter how clean it is.”
“And you’re silly.” Luna giggled. “Given my current accommodations.”
Pansy helped her to her feet. “I’m trying to do something about that, but it’s taking longer than I expected.”
Her amusement evaporating, Luna said, “He can’t be alone.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Pansy touched her thumb to Luna’s lower lip. “But it’s a difficult dance. The old man is being difficult and that makes the Dark Lord... unhappy.” She paused and then the left side of her mouth curved up. “Nothing’s impossible, though, if you want it badly enough.”
She took Luna’s hand and led her over to the bed. A wave of her wand sent the duvet and top sheet skimming downwards to fold themselves at the foot of the bed. “I want to undress you, see you laid out on these sheets. Very badly.”
“Undress me?” Luna pulled on the tie of the dressing gown and shrugged it off her shoulders, allowing the heavy silk to pool around her feet. “Such a simple desire.”
“Ahhhhh...” The sound seemed to radiate from Pansy. She stood there, her hands close enough to Luna’s skin that she could sense their warmth.
Giving her an impish smile, Luna got onto the bed and lay on her back.
“All that pale skin and blonde hair against the darkness,” Pansy said. “Perfect.”
“Only Heliopaths are perfect,” Luna said.
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen one. Only you.”
A murmured spell opened the fastenings on Pansy’s clothes, and she stepped out of them. Her wand made a click against the wood of the bedside table as she put it down, and then Pansy was on the bed, lying next to Luna.
“Tell me if you don’t want this,” Pansy said, trailing her fingertips down Luna’s throat. “So soft,” she said, as she mapped out a labyrinth around and over Luna’s breasts, circling the edges of her nipples, making them tighten.
Before Luna could arch her back, encourage her to repeat the pattern, Pansy moved downwards, outlining the curve of Luna’s rib cage, the circle of her navel, the lines of her hip bones.
There was a motif to the design Pansy was tracing, a trap in its twisted lines, and Luna could not resist its lure. She reached for Pansy, bending her elbow to place a hand on Pansy’s back and make her come closer; she raised her head and brought her mouth to Pansy’s.
As they kissed, Pansy recreated the labyrinth, again and again, until Luna was caught inside it, spreading her legs, curling her hips upwards, trying to persuade her fingers to move lower, to touch her. But Pansy’s fingers went to her throat instead, hovered over the pulse point that marked the beginning of the pattern.
Pansy looked at her, blinked, and repeated, “Tell me if you don’t want this.”Don’t want this... me... mine
. The echoes of Pansy’s question almost deafened Luna, raised images of her father all alone in their tower, of Mr Ollivander sleeping in the cellar, of Harry out in the world without protection. And she knew what she had to do to save them all.
“Please,” she said and turned onto her side, opening her thighs and bringing her knee to rest against the curve of Pansy's hip, and using her own hand to place Pansy’s where she wanted it. “I want this,” she added, because it was important that there be no doubt.
Pansy’s fingers curled and stroked. She changed positions and bent her head to suck Luna’s nipple into her mouth.
Sprite-fire sizzled through Luna. She dug her fingers into Pansy’s back to hold her in place and arched into her touch. “Oh. Oh.” She pushed against Pansy’s fingers, trying to get her to move faster, and moaned when Pansy stopped.
“Lie on your back,” Pansy said and licked her lips.
“My back?” Luna thought for a moment and then released Pansy. Turning over was difficult. Her clit felt swollen, and she had to keep her legs apart.
When she was settled, she dipped her hand between her thighs and touched herself, toying with her clit. Her hips juddered upwards, and she sighed.
Settling between Luna’s legs, spreading them further apart, Pansy lifted Luna’s hand. “Mine.”
“The devil is in the details.” Luna stretched her arms over her head to grip the headboard and smiled at how Pansy’s eyes dilated in response.
“You’re wet,” Pansy said, which seemed like an odd thing to say, until she wriggled down and licked Luna’s clit.
“Ahhhhh...” Luna’s legs twitched and jerked as Pansy’s tongue licked and circled, as she sucked on Luna’s clit. Need surged through Luna, and she released another wordless sigh when Pansy pushed two fingers inside her.
She began to undulate, pressing against Pansy, murmuring words and pleas that were drowned by the rush of blood through her ears, by the pressure that was spiralling inside of her, until orgasm crashed through her.
“Oh you,” Pansy said, crawling up her body and kissing her with a still damp mouth.
It took an effort, but Luna was finally able to get her stiff fingers to loosen their grasp on the headboard. She wrapped her arms around Pansy, holding her close. No one had ever taken care of her like Pansy had, and the realisation left her trembling.
She didn’t know how to let this go.
I am told that Parkinson’s girl has had the Lovegood chit in her rooms for several days. It’s past time that I visited them. It wouldn’t do, after all, to find a three day old corpse and a missing prisoner.
As I step into the bedroom, I can hear little but the sound of skin sliding against skin and breathless murmurs of appreciation. The sight of the two young women together stirs something inside of me that has lain dormant for longer than I care to admit.
My intrusion on their lovemaking is finally noticed by one of the girls and she stills, sitting up and smiling over the other’s shoulder at me, her expression filled with self-satisfaction. But she is not the one I am curious over; that distinction belongs to the naked girl sitting atop her thighs.
The Lovegood girl turns, her eyes widening at the sight of me, though I am pleased to note that only a trace of fear enters them. Parkinson’s daughter has done everything I asked and more. I shall have to think of a suitable reward for such devotion to duty.
Or perhaps she’s already found her reward.