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Smiles like his should be outlawed.
The flash of perfectly white teeth, the slight crinkle around the eyes. Warmth and affection showing in the dark pools. Intricate threads decorate his robe, a strange affectation in the middle of a seaside town; you don't see many robes in the Muggle world.
The smile falters ever so slightly as her expression refuses to change; 'slapped arse' her ex used to call it, but her friend affectionately calls it 'resting bitch face'. She's not sure she cares much for either description. It takes a lot of effort for her, but it is worth it to make him squirm, just a little bit.
"Can I buy you a drink?"
His voice is as deep and rich as she remembers and she surreptitiously pinches the web of skin between her thumb and index finger, digging her nail into the flesh to focus her mind again. She can feel her body reacting to him already. Memories chase through her mind of dark skin against pale, firm muscles supporting her, tiled walls, brick walls… virtually any wall will do if she is being honest with herself.
Without a word she flicks her eyes to the full glass in front of her, drawing his gaze to it.
"Ah… maybe the next one then?" he says, as his smile drops a tiny touch more.
She notices, not many would, but she knows him better than most. Five years of her past is wrapped up in him, literally and figuratively. A dalliance for her, a secret for him. The king of a nation should not fraternise with a commoner like Pansy Parkinson, disowned daughter of a disgraced family of magic users.
The Snap, or the Vanishing, or whatever people were calling it this week… People had gone from the world, taken to another place with stations in life and location basically meaningless. Half the world all jumbled together, or stuck on the fringes of this strangely lit world. It had been terrifying. Until she had met him.
A bond formed in adversity seldom holds fast once the danger is past. Unless there is something to hold them together beyond lust that is. Do they have that? Pansy is the wrong person to ask; she barely knows what she wants in life anymore since her exile, wandless and friendless. T'Challa had told her of the danger, during their imprisonment, tried to explain about the madman trying to wipe out half the universe. Her own madman, trying to take over the wizarding world seemed like small fry compared to Thanos but there had been no Avengers in her world, and the students and old men that had stood against You Know Who were almost all dead.
Pansy couldn't stay in that world any longer, not under his rule. The Dark Lord has plans for the young and unwed, and Pansy is no one's slave.
Except maybe to him.
"That would be nice," she finally allows herself to say, breaking the strained silence between them.
His smile returns, confidence surging and he indicates the chair at her side, seating himself as she inclines her head. He still hasn't recognised her in the gloom of the pub. She has changed her hair drastically since those days in the Soul world, Muggle contact lens changing the colour of her eyes… She is on the run, after all. She is a bit disappointed he does not seem to recognise her scent, but then this pokey little dive is awash with all sorts of 'interesting' smells. Even his senses must be confused.
She turns to face him fully, and a frisson of excitement runs through her as his eyes widen, almost imperceptibly.
Yes, she thinks with a flush, smiles like his should be outlawed.