Pansy/Harry
She gets to the prefect's meeting and of course he’s the only other one there.
“Why are you even here?” She sneers. “You’re a horrible prefect. It’s so clear you hate any type of responsibility. Couldn’t you just get one of your minions, Granger or the Weasel or someone?”
“Mione’s at the library and Ron’s at practice.”
“So what, being the boy who lived, who died, who lived gets you excused from Quidditch?”
He stands up and invades her space. “I’m here against my will actually. Order from the Headmistresses.”
Pansy looks around. The room is still empty past their 3:00 PM meeting time.
“Wait, where is everyone?”
It’s not long before McGonogall arrives at their “exclusive” meeting with a preposterous proposition.
“Absolutely not.” Potter shakes his head.
“Professor, I can’t-”
She’s abruptly cut off. “Your incessant bickering is doing nothing for the well-being of your fellow classmates. I expected more from you, Potter. Ms. Parkinson, you will find a way to work together.”
What starts as fighting moves to fixations to flirting to fumbling and Pansy knows it’s only a matter of time before she is going to stun herself to keep from jumping him.
It's their third week of working on the Headmistress’s project and she’s overheated. To be near him is to feel the flame of a lifetime of passion radiating off his skin. It’s disarming.
She reaches to take her jumper off but it catches on her neck. In the struggle to free herself from the fabric she has no choice but to seek help.
“For Salazar’s sake Potter, use your wand and help me.” She demands.
“Here, I’ve got it.”
He’s impossibly close. She can’t see him, but she can smell him. She can feel the curvature of his hips up against her as he works to free the jumper from her head.
She isn’t wearing a bra, and when he yanks the jumper her undershirt comes up with it. She regains her sight to find him fixated on the serpent tattoo under her breast.
His observation of her body leaves her feeling heady and impulsive.
“What about Weasley?”
“What about Malfoy?”
“He’s obsessed with Granger.” She huffs her hair from her face.
“We’re on a break,” He stammers, “She said we should experiment.”
He dips down lower to be eye level with the tattoo.
“I speak parseltongue, you know.” He looks up at her.
“I must’ve heard that.” She shifts her body ever so slightly and it’s all the confirmation he needs to place a kiss on her skin, right atop the serpent.
Limbs are tangled. The kissing turns rough and Pansy bites Harry’s lip.
“You’re such a brat.” He sighs, leaning down to lick the skin between her breasts.
“And you love that, don’t you? It’s just what you’ve been missing.”