Sweetest Taboo

Pansy had been intrigued by it, ever since she caught a glimpse of the dusty display boxes being carted out of one of Hogwarts' many forgotten attics. Her fingertip traces along delicate curves and sharp edges, leaving a faint imprint of its shape on the thick dust covering the glass. A quick swipe of her sleeve reveals the story behind it:

Poisoned ivory dagger, circa 1450. Even the slightest scratch is enough--

"Parkinson, let's go!"

The voice barks at her from the doorway. Pansy lingers a second longer, silently daring Potter to come and get her. Finally, he marches in, grabs her sleeve and spins her around to face him.

"For God's sake, Parkinson, we've got more rooms to cover tonight and I'm sure you're just dying to get back to Malfoy." He practically spits out the last word, as if just the mere mention of his enemy's name is enough to leave bitterness on his tongue. A raised eyebrow greets his words, but she merely shakes off his arm and strides from the room, leaving him to follow in her wake.

They finish their rounds in silence, on the surface barely even paying attention to each other. But Pansy is acutely aware that her hand is swinging mere inches from Potter's; that if she stretches out her fingers just so, she can touch the black-blue bruise blossoming on his knuckle. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his eyes flick downward to the ring on her finger, the jewel visible even in the dim light.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," he says begrudgingly.

"Why thank you, Potter, for that absolutely delightful sentiment." The corner of her mouth lifts slightly in a smirk. He blushes slightly, properly chastised for his less-than-enthusiastic response. "I'm sure you'll understand why you won't be receiving a wedding invitation in the near future."

He rolls his eyes in disbelief. "I'm crushed. Anyway..."

He looks away for a moment, as if seeking inspiration from the walls, before turning back to her, earnest and serious.

"I think we should, you know, end this-" his hands wave weakly in the air "-thing."

"You mean, stop shagging each other?" she asks with studied casualness. A look of panic crosses his face and Pansy has to bite down on the giggle that threatens to escape her. Before she can give in to full-blown laughter, Potter grabs her arm and drags her into a deserted classroom, kicking the door closed behind them.

"Hey! This isn't 'Manhandle Pansy' day!" She shakes him off for a second time.

"Look, we have to stop. It's not doing anyone any good." Potter's hair is already a tangled mess, made worse when he rakes his hand through it once again. Pansy folds her arms across her chest and resists the urge to smooth down the untidy patches.

"Since when did you give two knuts about Draco?"

"Malfoy could get trampled by a herd of thestrals for all I care," he shoots back at her. "I...I can't do this anymore. I've been keeping secrets from my best mates, and I'm tired of that. And now that you're engaged, well..."

He shrugs his shoulder. "I'm sure you understand."

Pansy does, but she's not so sure about Potter. Despite the admirable display of typical Gryffindor bravado, she doubts that he can walk away that easily from their arrangement (affair is such a stodgy word). She only needs to show him how absolutely wrong he is.

"Of course." The smile she gives him is blindingly brilliant. Potter mistakes it for acquiescence and misses the fine cracks along its edges. He sighs in relief.

"You're not going to tell anyone about us, right?"

"And give this ring back to Draco? Not a chance," she scoffs at him. "But before I go..." Pansy draws nearer to him, slides her hand up his arm, and murmurs softly. "One last kiss?"

She doesn't even wait for his answer. While the kiss is chaste, just a light touch of lip upon lip, her hip is pressed intimately against his thigh, one hand delicately tracing the growing bulge in his trousers. Before he can even manage to push her away, she's already stepping back, an airy "Good-bye, Potter" tossed over her shoulder.

Pansy shuts the door behind her but waits for the satisfying crack of fist against wood before making her way to Slytherin.

*****

The Potions classroom is always cold, though not enough to make one's fingers too stiff to handle the delicate ingredients. So when the door to the classroom opens suddenly and the temperature drops even lower, Pansy doesn't need to look up from the parchment in front of her to realize that Potter is late to class once again.

"Potter, I realize that tending to your numerous fans is of utmost importance to you, but do remember that you are still required to attend classes."

"But Professor, it's not my fault--"

"Enough! Since you've decided to grace us with your presence, you're to take the last seat and start work on the potion." Snape is practically snarling at this point. "And I suggest that you work quickly, if you intend to submit something satisfactory for a change."

Potter slams his books down and seats himself next to her. It's obvious that he'd rather be somewhere else, that he's uncomfortable sitting so close to her and Pansy snickers at the thought.

"Shut up, Parkinson."

"Ooh, I'm simply frightened, Potter." This time she turns around to face him and doesn't bother to hide the smirk on her lips. "Make me."

It's a challenge that Potter doesn't want to take up. He gives her a murderous glare before ripping the parchment from her grasp and stubbornly ignoring her. It only lasts a short time.

Pansy begins with the smallest of gestures, a light brush of her fingers against his as she reaches for the pestle, a slide of pale, uncovered thigh against wool-clad knee as she twists around in her seat to reach for the jar of sliced caterpillars. She can tell that Potter's painfully aware of her movements, even as he tries his best to hide it. As she leans over to check the progress of the potion, her breasts press against his arm and she straddles his thigh briefly. There's a soft hiss of breath behind her, but Potter doesn't pull back, unwilling to draw attention to them. At the end of class, he snatches up his books and practically runs out of the classroom, the Mudblood and the Weasel hurrying after him.

When Pansy steps out into the dark hallway minutes later, a hand slams against the wall beside her head, making her blink in surprise, and she finds herself trapped under Potter, his green eyes glittering with anger and, much to her satisfaction, frustration.

"What the hell was that about?" he demands harshly. "Someone could've seen you!"

"Potter, I don't know what you're talking about--"

His mouth comes down on hers. The tantalizing taste of desperation and hunger, so very unlike Draco's deliberately sensual kisses, is on her tongue. One hand tangles painfully in her hair, and she feels the faint whisper of something snapping at the force. Potter roughly pushes his knee between her legs, and the slide-drag of the wool against her skin is unbearably stimulating.

Pansy tears her mouth from his. "I knew you'd see it my way," she laughs throatily, trailing small kisses along his jaw. "Meet me tonight," she whispers in his ear, a nip of his earlobe to emphasize her words. Potter groans thickly against her neck, but nods his head in agreement. There's another quick, hard kiss and then he's turning around the corner, tugging at his robes in order to make himself more presentable.

Pansy drops her head, waiting for her racing heart beat to slow down, and notices the flash of color on the stone floor. She pockets the pink ribbon, rubbing the frayed edges between her fingers, and decides to leave it the way it is.