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It's 1990 and Pansy rushes home from Malfoy Manor to steal her mother's lipstick. As she clumsily traces its sultry red across her ten-year-old mouth, she thinks of how perfectly painted Narcissa's lips were, how the subtle upturn of her smile seemed the most powerful magic she’s seen.
It’s 1994 and Pansy kisses her Yule Ball date. She wonders, after, if his mother’s lips would taste the same as his - if they’d be softer, more yielding, or exactly as powerful as she suspects.
It’s 2004 and Pansy returns to England after a long time away. Narcissa greets her with that old smile, the one that Pansy hadn’t seen in years even before she left, and Pansy can’t look away. It quickly becomes something else, something more.
Lucius is gone. Draco’s got some flat in London now. But Pansy lingers, her crimson-painted lips settling into a smile of her own.