Title: Hath No Fury
Author: thusspakekate
Characters/Pairings: Draco/Pansy
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: AU Elements - Succubus/Demon Possession
Other Warnings: Dubconnish elements, Character Death
Word Count: 3042
Summary/Description: Hell hath not fury like a woman scorned. But it can try.
Author's Notes: Uh, so...this is kinda dark? But it's October and dark is the reason for the season!
Happy Halloween, my fellow deviants!




A cool breeze caressed her naked body. The candles that circled her flickered and went out one by one. The fire in the hearth grew larger and larger, until the crackle and pop of burning logs was the only sound that could be heard echoing in the room.

Beneath her breath, Pansy was whispering.

The fire behind her was heatless. More than heatless, it was freezing. Pansy shivered as burning arms encircled her. Every nerve in her body was alight, set on fire by the cold. She had to fight the impulse to claw off her own skin. She had never experienced such pain. The Cruciatus curse targeted bone and muscle, the torment starting on the inside and radiating outward. This was the opposite sensation. A blinding agony enveloped Pansy, penetrating her skin, her muscles, her organs, creeping inside until it felt like there was nothing left inside but the burn of ice cold fire.

After what felt like countless, torturous hours, the pain finally began to ebb. Pansy could still feel it spidering at the edges of her consciousness, but it was a distant, numbed sensation. She felt detached from herself. She was still there, she knew, but she wasn't the only one inside her.

Her body didn't belong to her alone anymore. Her lips were still moving and her voice was still speaking, but someone else was finishing the spell. Something else.

The fire behind her roared to life, bursting from the hearth like a fireball. It ran across the floor and up the curtains. The antique furniture went up like so much tinder. This time, the fire was scorching hot. Pansy screamed as the flames licked her skin, but her screams rang foreign and shrill in her own ears.

And then, just as quickly as it had exploded to life, the fire receded and went out, leaving behind nothing but a smoldering pile of ashes and a thin trail of smoke.

Pansy’s legs were stiff and ungainly, as if she hadn’t used them in centuries. She felt like she was walking through a dream instead of her own bedroom. The bed, the wardrobe, the lace curtains: all in perfect condition except for the lingering stench of smoke and sulphur. Distantly, she knew these things belonged to her. She had picked them out and lived amongst them for years. But her memories of that time hazy. It seemed like another lifetime ago.

Pansy stood in front of the mirror and studied her reflection. Her hair was dark and short, her nose small and stubbed. The heat of the fire still radiated off her unmarred skin. This was her body, but she'd never seen it before. It was foreign. It was familiar. It was just one of the many forms she'd worn over the centuries. It as the only one she'd ever had. She turned her head, eyeing herself critically; she was pleased with what she saw.

Pansy smiled at herself. The spelled has worked.

**

Two Weeks Earlier

Pansy's fingers slid over the row of dusty spines, pausing only long enough for her to read each title. She knew that what she was looking for was here. She would have tracked this book all the way to New Zealand if she had had to, but she’d been lucky to learn that it was in London this whole time.

Her heart leapt in her throat when she recognized the title she'd been searching for. She pulled the book from the shelf, holding it to her chest like prized possession, and sighed in relief. Everything would be all right now.

It took every ounce of self-control Pansy had not to open it right there in the middle of the shop. She wanted to drop to the floor and devour its pages like an overeager swot the week before exams, but she composed herself and took the book to front, where she set it gingerly on the counter.

Pansy could feel Borgin's curious gaze on her as she dug through her purse. She tried not to let it bother her, though it made her skin itch. The book itself cost more than her entire fall wardrobe combined. But that didn't matter. There was no price too high for vengeance.

After paying, Pansy reached for her bag, but Borgin's snatched it out of her reach. "This is for research purposes only, I presume?" he asked in his spindly voice. "You're not thinking about doing something stupid, are you, little girl?"

"Do not presume anything about me," Pansy snapped. She grabbed the bag away from him and held it possessively against her chest. With a sneer, she added, "And I'm not a little girl."

"Of course, you are," Borgin replied with a weak laugh, but Pansy was already walking away. She didn't have to take this shit. "Only a child would think she could invoke such dark magic and survive."

Pansy stopped, hand on the door knob, and looked back over her shoulder. Borgin was just an old, weathered man. He looked frail and stupid behind the counter in his shopkeeper's apron and spectacles. He didn't know anything about her or why she was doing this. Why she had to do this.

She wasn't stupid, she knew the price. And besides, she didn't expect to survive. Not really.

Maybe she would take pity on him and pay another visit soon, Pansy mused. At his age, it'd be an act of benevolence.

Pansy slammed the door shut behind her. She'd never been interested in charity work.

**

Draco slept on a goose feather mattress, beneath a down comforter, and with a small mountain of pillows. Despite the luxury of his bedding, it still took half a bottle of Dreamless Sleep to get him through the night. Without it, his nightmares would jolt him awake at all hours, his night-clothes drenched in cold sweat and sometimes other, more embarrassing bodily fluids.

It was not a nightmare that woke him this night. Instead, he was lured out of his peaceful sleep by a pleasant voice calling to him. He woke, slow and dazed, to the comfortable weight of a soft body on top of his. He felt gentle lips on his neck, a nose nudging his ear. He heard his name being whispered, softly, lovingly. He must be having his first good dream in years, he thought.

There were teeth. It wasn’t a hard bite, just a sensual nip at the base of his neck. A wet tongue snaked out and lapped the wound. Draco groaned, slow pleasure winding its way down his body. Another nip. His toes curled.

"Draco," said a familiar voice, soft and distant. "Draco, darling. Wake up."

Draco had wound his arms around the body on top of him. When he opened his eyes, he half expected that he'd find himself squeezing one of his pillows. But it wasn’t a dream. Someone was actually there, on top of him, the black outline of their figure silhouetted in the dark. Startled, Draco tightened his grip. His fingers dug into soft flesh.

The woman above him laughed breathlessly and ground her hips against his. "You're hurting me," she said with throaty moan. "You like hurting me, don't you, Draco? You're always hurting me."

Draco knew that voice, that breathless laughed. "Pansy?" he asked, struggling to sit up. "How the bloody fuck did you get in here?"

She shoved him back down. "Does it matter?" she asked, lowering herself on top of him. "We're together now. That's all that matters."

Draco wanted to say that it mattered how she got in. It mattered very much. The manor had been disconnected from the Floo system since the end of the war; the house-elves knew better than to let people in unannounced in the middle of the night; his father was in Azkaban and his mother would never let a girl, especially not Pansy, into his room unsupervised. He wanted to say it mattered because it was impossible, but Pansy's hand was working its way between their bodies, her fingers sliding the worn elastic of his pajama pants. Her hand clasped around his shaft and Draco's mind emptied. Her grip was loose and teasing.

"I've missed this so much," she breathed into his ear. "Haven't you?"

"Yes," Draco said, responding almost automatically. She tightened her grip around him, squeezing the neck of his cock. "God, yes," he repeated, licking his dry lips.

Pansy's was no longer panting her hot, wet breath into Draco's ear. She was moving away, kissing her way down his body. She pushed up his shirt, swirling her tongue around his navel, biting a delicate trail down his abdomen. He lifted his hips enough for her to pull down his pajama bottoms.

Draco clenched his fingers in the bed sheets. He was trying to control himself. In the back of his mind, he knew something was off. It was impossible for her to be here, and yet here she was. He shouldn't be letting her do these things. If anyone found out--

Any weak protestations Draco may have been working himself up to make died on his lips when she wrapped hers around the leaking head of his cock. The inside of her mouth was a glorious heat, sucking him deeper and deeper. Gently, he rested on hand on the back of her head. He was still half worried it was a dream and she would disappear at any second.

"Shit, Pans," Draco groaned. She was speeding up, her tongue laving the sensitive underside of his cock, her lips tight around his shaft. He let his fingers card through her hair. It was just as heavy and silky as he remembered. "You're so good at that."

Pansy pulled off. Draco’s cock sprang from her mouth and slapped wetly against his belly. He craned his neck so he could see her crouched between his thighs. She was smiling at him queerly, her eyes glittering in the darkness.

"Better than Astoria?" she asked.

Draco let his head fall back with a groan. He knew there was a reason he should have been trying to stop her. Why did she have to remind him?

"Aw, don't be like that like that," Pansy cooed, slithering her way back up his body. "It's a simple question." She nipped at the hollow of his throat. "Do I suck your cock better than Astoria does?"

Weakly, Draco tried to push her away, but Pansy refused to budge. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders.

"Answer the question, Draco."

Draco hissed as pain blossomed beneath her sharp fingernails; a drop of blood seeped from the wound and trickled down his back. Draco had never been one to mix pain with his pleasure, but something about the sharp sting sent a thrill shooting down his spine.

There was something cruel in Pansy’s corresponding laugh. She ground her hips down and demanded,“Answer me.”

She kept going. Her movements were obscene: the liquid rolling of her hips dragged the soft heat of her cunt up and down the length of his aching prick. Draco reached blindly for Pansy’s waist; he felt like he was suddenly drowning.

“You do,” Draco panted. He’d play her game if she wanted. He’d do just about anything right now. She dragged her nails down his chest, and Draco pushed into her touch, his back arching of the bed. “Jesus, fuck,” he gasped. “You do.”

Pansy made a pleased humming noise and reached between their bodies. Draco felt her knuckles brush teasingly against the base of his cock as she pulled the crotch of her knickers to the side. He canted his hips, seeking her swollen skin.

Pansy leaned down and bit the soft skin of his neck until Draco cried out, disoriented by the pain and the pleasure blurring his vision. “Tell me that you want me,” she whispered, “and I’ll make you feel so good. No one can make you feel as good as I can, can they?”

“I wa--I want--” Draco panted. He was having trouble speaking. His mouth was dry, his tongue heavy and useless in his mouth. He couldn’t concentrate long enough to put together a coherent sentence. The only thing he could focus on was the devouring need threatning to overtake all his senses.

Pansy’s tongue swept over the bruised skin of his neck. “Come on, love,” she breathed into his ear. “You have to say it. I need to hear you say it.”

Draco’s heart was pounding in his ears; the harsh panting of his breath was deafeningly loud. “I want--fuck--” Pansy bit his earlobe. Draco’s eyes rolled back in his head as every nerve in his body shot to life.

Finally, after what seemed like a tortuous eternity, Pansy sat back. Draco was able to calm his shattered nerves and shaking body long enough to hoarsely whisper, “I want you. Fuck, Pansy. I want you so bad.”

Pansy’s kiss was uncharacteristically tender. “That’s all I needed to hear,” she said.

Sitting up, Pansy reached between them and took Draco’s cock in her hand. With a few firm strokes, she milked a glistening drop of precome from the slit and guided him inside. They each let out a cry: Draco’s a pitiful moan of relief; Pansy’s a deep groan of satisfaction. She began a series of sensuous undulations that had her body moving like liquid honey and Draco clawing desperately at the bedsheets beneath him. She reached behind herself and deftly unhooked her bra.

Draco sat up when she beckoned. The changing angle maked stars burst in the corners of his vision. A plaintive whine sounded his chest when she peeled away the cups of her bra, revealing breasts like ripened fruit, perfectly rounded and tender to the touch. He attacked one with his lips and kneaded the other in this palm. He coaxed her nipple to hardness and sucked it inside his mouth, scraping it lightly with the edge of his teeth. Above him, Pansy thrashed, encouraging him with throaty obscenities and sultry moans. She held him against her by the back of his head, her fingers curling in his hair, scraping softly against his scalp.

Without warning, Pansy yanked his head back. She was still moving, riding his cock with surprising control. Spit glistened on her breast, but it was her swollen lips that held Draco’s attention. “Kiss me,” she demanded.

Draco felt as though he had no control over his body as it surged forward. His mouth met Pansy's in a bruising twist of tongues and teeth. Her breasts squashed against his chest, their skin slick with perspiration. Her fingers dug into his scalp, holding him in place as she impaled herself on him. Her cunt was like a vice around his cock, smearing her wetness across his groin.

Draco felt like he was dying. His senses were overloading and his lungs ached for air. He tried to pull away to take a breath, but Pansy was unrelenting. She held onto the back of his skull. It felt like she was sucking what little air he had left in chest out through his mouth.

Panic broke through the pleasure. Draco's muscles were on fire. His skin felt like it was burning. His eyes flew open. He tried to shove Pansy away, but she strengthened her grip and sucked hard at his mouth. He tried to tell her to stop, but his pleas were muffled. Useless.

In his head, he heard Pansy's voice as crisp and clear as if she were speaking. "That's it, love. Just give yourself to me. You said you wanted it. Don't fight it, darling. Just let go."

Draco tried to scream. He tried to shake his head, to plead for her to stop whatever she was doing, but he could no longer move. He was frozen in place, a prisoner of his own body. He could still feel everything, the tight grip of her dripping cunt around his aching cock, the firm press of her soft body gliding against his own. He had never been so terrified or so aroused. He could feel his bollocks tightening, the tight coil of his orgasm winding itself up, ready to spring.

"Don't fight it," whispered Pansy's voice in his head. "Give yourself to me. Be mine, Draco. Be mine forever."

She was right, Draco thought. There was nothing he could do but give to his needs. His balls were aching, poised to explode if he didn't get relief. He closed his eyes as a bone-deep peace settled over him. He felt his cock twitch inside her. His eyes rolled back and fluttered as pleasure washed over him, sweeping him away on the tides of his orgasm. He heard himself groan his deep relief and then, with his last breath, sighed contendly.

Draco's body went limp. Pansy let him go and watched his dead weight bounce against the mattress. Gripping the base of his rapidly softening cock, Pansy slid him out of her and rolled onto the bed next to him. His eyes were still open, staring unseeingly at the ceiling above. A part of her felt sorry for him, but another part just felt full.

"Oh, darling," Pansy said, reaching out to stroke his face. His skin was still warm, but would be cool by morning. "You never should have left me." She kissed his cheek and close his eyelids.

Pansy knew she shouldn't dally. It wouldn't do to be caught in such a compromising position. There were many things the demon inside her could protect her from, but the law was not one of them. Idly, she wondered if she could even be prosecuted in Draco's death. You wouldn't send a Crup to jail for biting; it was just their nature. And this? This was her nature now.

Pansy let out an unladylike burp. More than a burp, it was nearly a belch. Quickly, she gathered her things, worried that she was having a spot of indigestion. Hopefully, her stomach would settle down. She didn't think she could show up at St Mungo's complaining of a tummy ache after eating the soul of her ex-boyfriend.

She cast one last, bittersweet glance at Draco and sighed. Inside her, the demon purred.