Blood and Ambition #3 (Patreon)

If someone had walked into the Slytherin common room after the Champions’ selection, they would’ve thought Snape had died. The mood was foul, and that was when Draco Malfoy walked in, sneering.

“Potter,” he spat, dropping into the armchair closest to the fire like it had personally wronged him. “Of course it’s Potter. The bloody goblet couldn’t have picked literally anyone else in this school. It had to be that mudblood-loving little shit who already thinks the castle belongs to him.”

“We heard you the first nine times,” Flint said from where he’d sprawled himself across two armchairs, looking thoroughly unbothered by the whole affair. He’d failed again, and was well behind where he should’ve been, which put him in Malfoy and Harry’s year now, a fact he treated less like humiliation and more like an excuse to never take anything seriously again.

“Still can’t believe no one from Slytherin got chosen,” Nott said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Any of us would’ve deserved it more than Potter. I suspect foul play.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time Dumbledore bent the rules for him, would it?” Flint said. “Bastard’s got half the castle wiping his arse for him since he stepped foot here.”

“It’s an outrage!” Malfoy snapped, rounding on both of them like they’d personally offended him by not being outraged enough. “The school’s reputation is on the line and they let some upjumped half-blood prick represent us. Represent us! In front of the whole bloody continent!”

“I ain’t exactly thrilled about it either,” Flint said, unbothered. “Just saying I’ve got better things to sleep over than Potter’s cheekbones on a Chocolate Frog card by the end of the year.”

That got a snort out of Zabini who sat by the window who Malfoy tolerated mostly because his mother was notorious and was on friendly terms with his father. “You say that like he’s actually going to win something,” he said. “Krum’s been playing professional Quidditch for a while now. And there’s that girl from Beauxbatons too.”

“What about her?” Higgs asked, a bloke who Malfoy remembered properly only because he’d replaced him on the Quidditch team in his second year.

Zabini grinned. “Come on, Terrence. You saw her walk up there the same we all did. Bet you too saw the ass on that thing. Bet she’s got half the judges already lining up to give her top marks before she’s even cast a spell.” He made a crude gesture with both hands in front of his mouth that had both Flint and Higgs cackling.

“Veela,” Nott said like it explained everything, which to men like him it apparently did. “Ought to be illegal, letting one of them compete. It’s a tournament for witches and wizards, not half breeds. Gives her an unfair advantage over not only the judges but her fellow champions too.”

“Wouldn’t mind giving her a different kind of advantage myself,” Zabini grinned, making Nott smirk and roll his eyes. “I’d have that bitch on her knees in about ten minutes if I cared.”

Nott smirked at that. “You’d need way more than ten minutes, Zabini, you’re not that impressive.”

“Piss off, you nonce.”

Malfoy didn’t care much for that tangent. He cared exactly about one thing, and it was standing in the middle of the Great Hall an hour ago and soaking up all the applause he had no business getting.

“My point,” Malfoy cut in, “is that Potter will somehow come out of this looking like the hero of the story, because that’s what always happens with him. Something falls in his lap and everyone acts like he earned it.”

“So what?” Nott asked, “You want Hogwarts to lose? Because let’s face it. He is the Hogwarts champion. He loses, Hogwarts loses.”

“I want him to fail,” Malfoy said darkly. “Publicly. Badly. In front of the entire school and half of the world. He’s not winning. I won’t allow it.”

That got everyone’s attention properly.

“Won’t allow it?” Flint asked with a raised eyebrow. “Like you’ve got a say. What are you even going to do? Hex him in the corridor and hope no one notices?”

“Don’t be thick.” Malfoy leaned forward. “The tasks are dangerous enough without help. A miscast spell here, a bit of luck gone wrong there. Make sure the golden boy looks like the amateur he is. Slytherin pride demands it. We cannot let a Gryffindor walk out of this tournament with the glory, especially Scarhead.”

“Damn. You really think he’s got a shot,” Nott remarked, more curious than mocking. “Against Krum, I mean. The bloke’s basically already a professional. And Delacour’s not exactly going to be an easy out either, whatever anyone thinks about her heritage or anything. That’s gonna help her out instead, I reckon.”

“Shame about that blood. A veela. A half-breed. Probably spreads her legs for anyone who looks at her twice. Those creatures always do. All that allure nonsense is just an excuse to act like whores and call it magic.”

Zabini rolled his eyes at Flint’s ignorance but didn’t bother correcting him. It was useless. Meanwhile, Malfoy didn’t bother replying to what Nott zaid.

The fire popped in the grate, and for a moment nobody said anything.

“You know,” Flint said eventually, leaning back until the sofa creaked under him, “If you’re serious about Potter, you’ll need more than just talk.”

“I know. A Slytherin isn’t going to clap like a good boy while that half-blood prick makes fools of every one of us. This house has standards, Flint. Or it used to.”

That landed the way he meant it to.

“You want us in on it,” Flint said.

“I can’t do everything on my own,” Malfoy nodded. “The more, the better. Whatever it takes to make sure Potter has the worst three tasks of his miserable life.”

There was no mistaking the greed in Flint’s eyes. “You’re asking us to stick our necks out for something that gets you all the satisfaction and gets us expelled if it goes sideways.”

“I know.”

“Slytherin’s not a charity, Malfoy. You know that better than anyone.”

“I said I know, Flint.” Malfoy’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t planning on asking for free labor. I’ll pay for it, same as always.”

Zabini barked out a short laugh. “Pay us with what, exactly? None of us are exactly hurting for gold.”

“Speak for yourself,” Higgs muttered, though nobody paid him any mind.

“No,” Malfoy agreed, “but none of you have my kind of gold either.”

“True enough,” Nott said, “but that’s not really the kind of shit we’re short on, is it?”

“Fine. I’ll put in a word with my father. Whatever it is you’re after, a recommendation, a placement, something smoothed over that shouldn’t be smoothed over, he’ll handle it. He’s good at handling things.”

Flint’s lips twitched. “You already did that. When you got on the Quidditch team without so much as a tryout that year, at the expense of poor Terrence here.”

“That was a completely different situation.”

“Was it? Because I distinctly remember seven brand new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones showing up in the changing room right around the time your father decided the team needed better equipment.”

“That was Malfoy generosity,” Malfoy said curtly. “Nothing to do with tryouts.”

“Sure it wasn’t. And I also remember your father putting in a good word for me when I agreed to vacate the spot, regardless of everything, so it’s not like this would even be anything new.” Higgs shrugged, unbothered. “I’m not saying no. I’m just saying it’s not exactly a novel offer at this point.”

Flint held up a hand before it could turn into an actual argument. “What he means is that it’s not money or references we’re after this time.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Then what are you after?”

Flint didn’t answer straight away. He glanced past Malfoy’s shoulder instead, toward the little cluster of girls sitting near the fire with their heads bent together over something, laughing at whatever one of them had just said. Malfoy followed the look without meaning to, and it landed exactly where Flint wanted it to land.

Pansy Parkinson sat with her legs tucked under her, her dark hair falling loose over one shoulder, and she laughed at something Millicent Bulstrode said with her head tipped back just enough to catch the firelight. The years had been kind to her in ways the earlier ones hadn’t. The features that used to earn her the old insults like pug-face had developed finely, with higher cheekbones, a fuller mouth, and a figure that filled out her robes rather enticingly.

“What are you getting at?” Malfoy asked slowly.

Flint smirked. “Do I really need to spell it out for you?”

Malfoy leaned back further into the chair, his arms resting along the sides. “If you want something from me, ask properly. I might consider it.”

Flint exchanged a glance with Nott and Higgs, before looking at Zabini who smirked.

“None of us have missed what Parkinson’s turned into,” Flint said, his voice low enough to stay inside the circle. “Used to be the pug-faced little cow everyone ignored. Well, everyone but you, but we all know why. Now she’s sitting there looking like she walked out of a pureblood marriage brochure. Tits, arse, face, the whole package. You’ve been keeping her close. Fair enough. We’re not looking to stake any claim on your property, Malfoy. Wouldn’t dream of it. But a few of us have been looking, and we just want a taste of the pie, so to speak. Shared. No strings after. Just once, or a few times, whatever keeps the deal clean.”

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment, his expression staying the same. After a little while, he shrugged his shoulder as if the request was no more complicated than borrowing a quill.

“And you couldn’t have led with that?”

“Wanted to see your face first,” Flint said, grinning.

“Fine,” he said. “But I want all of you fully in on this once it starts. Every time I need something done regarding Potter, you lot move. No half measures, no getting cold feet the second it’s actually happening. If any of you half-arse it and he still comes out looking like a hero, I’ll make sure my father hears exactly why.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Flint said with a grin.

Malfoy got to his feet, straightening his robes with a small, unnecessary tug. “Go make yourselves comfortable in the empty classroom on the sixth floor, the one past the tapestry with the hag trying to do a tap dance with a group of giants. I’ll be over shortly.”

Zabini’s face lit up like Christmas had come early. He couldn’t keep the eagerness out of his voice. “Right now?”

Malfoy sneered at him. “A Malfoy always settles his debts promptly. Get moving.”

The four of them exchanged a look and grinned, already halfway to the portrait hole before Malfoy had even finished the sentence, shoving at each other like a pack of overgrown children who’d just been told they could skip class. Malfoy rolled his eyes at their backs, straightened his robes a second time out of pure habit, and made his way over to where Pansy sat.

xXx

“Pansy.” He said her name gently, the way he only ever did when he wanted something from her, though she’d never once caught the pattern over the last five years of their schooling together. “Walk with me for a bit.”

Pansy looked up at him with a pleased smile. “Of course, Draco.”

He led her out of the common room and up through the dungeons, one hand resting on the small of her back the whole way, just saying enough about Potter and the tournament and how unfair the whole thing was to keep her curious about it while giving nothing away. By the time they reached the sixth floor, she was practically buzzing with it, sure that she was about to be let in on something important.

The old classroom hadn’t been used for actual lessons in years, and it showed in the dust that had settled over the desks and the cobwebs strung between the high windows, but it had plenty of space and nobody ever wandered up that particular corridor after curfew. Flint was perched on the edge of the teacher’s desk. Nott was leaning against the wall by the window with Zabini alongside him, and Higgs was pacing near the back like he couldn’t quite sit still with the anticipation of what was to come.

The moment the door opened and the pair entered, all eyes focused on the brunette who stopped in her tracks while Malfoy locked the door behind them.

“What’s going on?” Pansy asked, glancing between the four of them and then up at Draco, her brows furrowed. “Why are we meeting up here?”

Malfoy came up behind her, resting both hands on her shoulders with a warmth that, in hindsight, she’d remember as having been entirely performative. “Pansy. Tell me something. Are you a true Slytherin?”

“Obviously,” she said, a little offended he’d even asked.

“And you don’t support Potter, do you? As champion? Or as anything?”

Pansy’s lip curled immediately into an ugly sneer. “That half-blood shouldn’t have been allowed anywhere near that goblet. He’s been coasting on his name since first year, and now he gets a tournament handed to him on top of everything else? It’s an insult, and the whole school should be embarrassed he’s the one representing us.”

Malfoy’s smile widened, pleased, his hands moving in slow circles over her shoulders and down her upper arms. She leaned back into him without seeming to notice she was doing it. “Good girl. These fine gentlemen are going to help me make sure he doesn’t get to enjoy his little undeserved victory for long. I’ve got a plan, and I need every single one of you doing your part to see it through.”

He laid the plan out for her in broad strokes, the sabotage, the timing, the general essence of what he wanted done, careful not to name anything that could be traced back to a specific spell or a specific consequence. Pansy nodded along, approving and delighted, offering up suggestions here and there and playing the part she always played around him without much thought for whether she actually wanted to. She’d been doing it long enough that it came easy.

“Of course I’ll help,” she said, when he finished. “Anything you need.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Malfoy’s smirk widened. “You know how our house works, Pans. Nothing’s ever free. Not even between friends.”

“I know that,” she said, raising a curious eyebrow.

“Good. Because this is where I need you.”

Her brow creased. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple enough.” Malfoy’s hands had stopped moving on her shoulders, gone still in a way that felt less affectionate than it had a moment ago. “Everyone contributes something. I’ve already told you what these four are getting out of this whole plan. Flint gets to settle a score he’s been carrying against Potter since our first year, Nott just likes watching things burn, Zabini has that Slytherin pride in spades, and Higgs’s here because Higgs goes wherever Flint goes. But despite it all, everything has a price, and that includes their help.”

“Given how it’s about Slytherin pride, I thought everyone would volunteer.”

“Come on, Parkinson,” Flint chuckled. “You can’t expect us to work for free, especially when Malfoy here is the one putting the plan together. It’s his endeavor. We just have a personal interest in it as well.”

“Obviously,” Pansy sneered.

“Flint and the others have a price for their help,” Draco said. “And I’ve already agreed to it, on your behalf.”

“On my behalf?” Pansy asked, her brows furrowing slightly. “What is it?”

“They want you,” he said, gesturing loosely at the four of them. “All of them. Tonight. You’re going to fuck them, or do whatever they want you to do. It’s all up to them, really. And when you’re done here, we can get started on Potter.”

Pansy stared at him. The words sat there between them for a long second before anything else in the room seemed to move. She felt her spine go stiff. Slowly she turned her head and found every pair of eyes already on her. Flint’s mouth had that half-smile he wore when something had already been decided. Nott’s gaze dragged over her without any attempt to hide what he was thinking. Zabini was the same, having already undressed her in his mind. And Higgs had stopped pacing and simply watched. None of them looked at her like she was a person standing in the same room. They looked at her the way they looked at something they had already been promised.

Draco pressed closer against her from behind and gave a quiet chuckle. His hands came up and cupped her tits over her robes, his fingers gently rubbing her nipples. The touch was familiar enough that her body almost leaned into it before her mind caught up.

“Fulfil your duty,” he said, still smiling a little. “Like a true Slytherin. It’s not complicated.”

“You’re not having me on.” The words stumbled out of her. She could feel the shake starting in her hands and hated that they could see it. “Draco. How could you even think I’d agree to something like that?”

Malfoy let out another soft laugh. He tilted her face to the side so she had to meet his eyes.

“Come now, Pansy. You’re all too happy to spread your legs when it’s a favour from me,” he said. “You’ve been doing it for so long without complaint, so eager to get on your knees for me if it gets you a new set of undergarments. What’s the problem if a few other blokes get in your knickers for once?” His thumb rubbed along her lower lip, almost affectionately, but Pansy didn’t see any affection in it at all. And then he said something that made it even worse. “You’re a whore, Pansy. Always have been for me. You might as well make yourself useful for the house, for something this important.”

Pansy’s heart clenched, and at that very moment, something fundamentally changed within her. The shock came first, sharp and disorienting, like the ground had tilted under her feet. Then it was as if a veil she had never noticed before simply lifted.

She saw him clearly in that moment, the casual cruelty, the way he measured her only by what she could give him, and the complete absence of anything that had ever looked like care.

Whatever face she’d spent years believing Draco actually had, whatever version of him she had built up in her head across every late night, every whispered compliment, and every scrap of attention he’d thrown her way, it was all gone now, and what she now found underneath it all was something she’d apparently never bothered to look at.

Her true value in his eyes was now laid out in front of a room full of men who were already calculating how long each of them would get.

Anger flooded in right on the heels of the realization, and it flooded in fast.

Pansy did not know when she moved. She did not know what force came over her. It was as if she had finally taken control of herself as she raised her hand and slapped him. Hard.

The crack of her palm against his cheek was sharp enough to echo off the stone walls, hard enough that Draco’s head actually turned with the force of it, and for a second every single person in that classroom simply stared, frozen, because nobody, not one of them, had expected that.

Pansy stood rigid, her chest heaving and her eyes locked on Malfoy’s face with pure, undiluted hatred.

Malfoy’s hand flew to his stinging cheek, his mouth opening in shock more than pain. “Pansy, what the fuck do you think you’re—”

She slapped him again before he could finish, and this one was harder than the first.

“Don’t.” He voice came out low and shaky, fury doing most of the work. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Don’t you dare stand there and act like I’m the one who’s done something wrong here.”

“Pansy.” He was still holding his cheek, disbelief written all over his face, like he genuinely could not process that this was happening, that Pansy Parkinson, his little plaything, was not only showing him spine but doing it in such a way.

“Five years.” She didn’t shout. “Five years I’ve spent thinking you genuinely cared about me. And this whole time you’ve just been keeping me around like a whore, like some kind of, of, currency for you to trade around whenever it suited you.”

For a long, drawn-out second he simply stared, as if the universe had just rewritten itself in a way he refused to accept. Then the shock burned off into a glare so cold it could have frozen the air between them. He opened his mouth to speak.

She slapped him again, and it was even harder this time, her anger rising even further the moment she saw that glare on his face. How dare he!

“You absolute fucking bastard,” she snarled, her voice rising and shaking with the sort of rage she’d never felt before. “Years. Years of being exactly what you wanted, pretty and useful and quiet when it suited you, and this is what I get? Handed over like a party favour to a pack of animals because you promised them a ride? You stood there and called me a whore in front of them like it was nothing. Like I was nothing. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to stand there with that smug little face and tell me my only value is between my legs and then expect me to thank you for the privilege.”

Malfoy’s jaw worked, the shock curdling fast into something uglier, his own temper rising to match hers now that the shock had worn off.

“Watch your tone with me.”

“Or what?” Pansy was breathing hard now, her chest heaving. “What exactly are you going to do, Draco?”

His hand twitched toward his robes, toward his wand holster, and Pansy saw it coming a full second before he did, her own hand shooting out to smack his wrist hard enough that his wand went clattering across the stone floor and skidded under one of the desks.

She had her own wand out and ready, leveled between his eyes before anyone else in the room could even reach for theirs, her hand surprisingly steady.

“Try that again,” she said, her voice quieter now and somehow more scary than the shouting had been. “And see what happens.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing.” Draco’s voice was tight, the fear underneath the anger starting to show despite his best attempts to keep it under control. “You know what will happen to your standing in Slytherin if you make an enemy of me tonight, Pansy.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about it,” Pansy said, and she realized she meant it, every single word, whatever cost might come later not even a thought in her mind right now. “I see exactly what you are now, Draco. I was such an idiot, wasn’t I? Thinking there was anything underneath the pretty manners and the expensive robes. Nothing you do is ever going to surprise me again, I don’t think, because there isn’t a floor to how low you’ll go.”

“Pansy—”

“Don’t!” She said sharply. “I don’t want to hear my name in your mouth.”

Her eyes swept the rest of the room, over Flint, Zabini, Nott, and Higgs still frozen in their places.

“And you lot can stay the hell away from me,” she said darkly. “All of you. And your other pals. Don’t even think about trying something like this ever again, not to me, not to anyone else either. Or I promise you’ll regret it.”

Flint’s hand slowly drifted to his own wand, Nott following suit half a second later, but Pansy’s wand didn’t waver from Draco’s face at all.

“I won’t hesitate to hurt him,” she said, not even looking at them, her eyes fixed on Malfoy the whole time. “So think very carefully if that’s what you really want to do.”

Zabini lifted one hand, slowly, gesturing for the other two to stand down. They did, reluctantly, their hands drifting away.

Pansy held Draco’s gaze a moment longer, her expression cold as some sort of finality settled into her chest, and then, carefully, she began to move, keeping him between herself and the rest of the room the entire way, slowly backing toward the door.

She never made it the whole way.

xXx

“Handled that rather well, you did. Color me impressed.”

Pansy whirled around, her wand raised, already halfway ready to cast a curse before she recognized the voice, and she found herself staring at none other than Harry Potter who stood leaning casually against the wall at the far end of the classroom as if he’d been standing there the entire time.

“What are you doing here?” She demanded, her wand staying steady. “How did you get in?”

“I’ve been here a while, actually,” Harry said calmly, pushing off the wall. He glanced around at the crumpled bodies scattered across the room like they were nothing more than furniture that had fallen over.

Pansy stared at him, once again replaying just what had happened in this room barely a minute ago. One moment she’d been carefully making her way toward the door, and the next, Draco had crumpled to the floor at her feet without warning. She’d actually jumped back with a startled yelp when barely a second later, the rest of them went down too, one by one.

Harry stepped over Higgs’s legs without much concern and walked past Zabini’s crumpled form, lightly kicking the wand lying near his open hand and sending it skidding away.

“This one’s a good manipulator, by the way. He was about ready to hex you the second you dropped your guard by the door. Figured you’d want him dealt with.”

Pansy’s wand still hadn’t lowered, her expression somewhere between suspicion and adrenaline that still hadn’t worked its way out of her system yet. She stared at him challengingly, waiting for him to give her a reason to actually use it.

Harry just looked mildly amused by that, not at all bothered with the wand pointed at him. He turned his gaze to where Malfoy lay crumpled on the floor and he crouched down in front of him, watching him with a cold look on his face.

“You know,” he said, to nobody in particular, or maybe to the unconscious boy in front of him, “I always figured he was just a spoiled little brat. A massive ego problem, too much money, and not enough sense. Annoying and mouthy, sure, thinking the world owes him something because of his name, but not really dangerous.” He straightened up, looking down at Malfoy with open disgust. “Turns out I was wrong about that.”

He glanced over at Pansy then, still rigid against the desk, and his expression softened a bit into understanding.

“And maybe I wasn’t the only one who had him wrong.”

Pansy didn’t respond right away, though her wand started to lower. She didn’t take it all the way down though, but the way she’d been looking at him until now changed, just slightly, no longer suspicious or hostile. Whatever she’d walked into this room believing about her life had come apart within minutes, and she looked like she had finally come to terms with how much her life had changed.

“You could’ve just let him try it,” she said finally. “Zabini. Let him hex me and then do whatever they wanted to do to me. Don’t think I need to tell you what it was, though. You clearly heard enough to know about that.”

“You’re right about that. I heard it all.”

“Still you saved me,” she remarked. “Me. Someone who’s been nothing but a bitch to you for the past five years. Someone who’s never wanted anything good for you. Someone who, up until ten minutes ago, was fully onboard with whatever plan Draco had to sabotage your tournament. Someone who thinks you’re dirt beneath her shoes because of who your mother was. Someone—”

“Alright, I get the picture. There’s no need to list them all out like that,” he rolled his eyes.

“The point stands. You saved me. Why?”

“What do you mean?”

Pansy merely shrugged, as if that explained everything, and Harry let out a sigh.

“Because despite whatever you might think about me, I’m not an asshole who’d just stand by and let a bunch of cunts sexually assault someone, no matter who it is. You needed me to spell that you for you?”

“You could’ve just let it happen,” she replied. “Plenty of people would’ve let that happen.”

“Really? Well, it’s good that I’m not among those ‘plenty of people’, then.”

She looked away, down at Malfoy on the floor, and her expression hardened all over again.

“Think there’s any need to report this?” Harry asked, tucking his wand away.

Pansy let out a short, humorless laugh. “Whatever they’d planned, nothing really happened, Potter. So nothing’s going to happen. They’ll get a slap on the wrist and a stern letter home, if that, and everyone will have moved on by Christmas.” She shook her head.

Harry frowned, and the annoying part was that he couldn’t come up with a way to argue with her. “It doesn’t sit right with me how right you probably are.”

“And the second word gets out about what almost happened here, it’s not going to be Draco’s name people whisper about in the corridors. It’s going to be mine.” Her jaw tightened. “I don’t need the whole school knowing the boy I used to fawn over only saw me as a whore to pass around. I’d rather deal with this quietly.”

Harry frowned, and however much he wanted to push back on it, he understood the essence of what she was saying well enough not to argue the point. “Fine. But they don’t get to walk away from this clean either. Not completely.”

“No,” Pansy agreed, looking down at Malfoy again with something considerably darker than dislike, “they don’t.”

She stepped forward before Harry could say anything else and drove her foot into the side of Malfoy’s face hard enough that something in his nose gave with an audible crunch, his unconscious head snapping sideways against the floor. She looked entirely satisfied with the sound it made.

“That’s for tonight,” she said, and kicked him again, this time between his legs, hard enough that Harry actually winced on Malfoy’s behalf despite everything.

“And that’s for every year before it.”

Harry couldn’t help the small, satisfied huff of laughter that escaped him watching it happen, and Pansy caught it immediately, straightening up with an eyebrow raised in his direction.

“Enjoying yourself, Potter?”

“A bit, yeah,” he admitted, not bothering to pretend otherwise. “Malfoy getting his nuts kicked by the girl he never respected. And that girl being you. Well, don’t mind me feeling more than a little satisfaction.”

“Hm.” She stared at him for a second longer than the moment strictly required, something calculating settling into her expression, and then she crossed the space between them until she was standing close enough that he had to actually look down to meet her eyes properly.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the sudden proximity, taking in her expression properly. “Parkinson.”

“Yes?”

“You’re looking at me like I’m something to eat. Bit of an odd look for someone who got her heart broken about five minutes ago.”

“Draco never had my heart. I just thought he valued me more than a tool, which in hindsight doesn’t amount to much,” Pansy said. “And thanks to you, nothing happened after that.”

“Well, can’t really argue with that.”

“Tell me, Potter. Do you think I’m pretty?”

The question caught him off guard enough that he actually paused, and Pansy let him, standing there with her chin tipped up and her arms loosely crossed, giving him the room to actually look at her instead of just answering out of politeness. He took his time with it, more out of surprise than intention, taking in dark hair that had come loose from whatever it had been pinned with earlier, and features that had sharpened into something genuinely striking over the last year or two in a way he’d apparently managed not to properly notice until just now. His eyes lingered on her curves that were usually hidden beneath the Hogwarts robes but were now on full display, and he couldn’t help but compare her assets to Cho who had a more athletic figure while Pansy was curvy, with an enviable pair both in front and at the rear.

She let him look, and something in her posture shifted under the attention, a small thrill she didn’t bother hiding from her face.

“Well,” she prompted. “What’s the verdict?”

“You know you’re sexy,” Harry said honestly. “You don’t need me to tell you that.”

Her smile went proud and a little smug at that, exactly the reaction he’d expected. “I’ve worked hard for it, for the record. There was a stretch a few years back where I genuinely worried I was going to grow up looking like a pug that lost a fight and Draco would discard me for some other pretty face, which sounds like a non-issue now that I’ve seen his true colors. Time has been kinder to me than I had any right to expect.”

“It has,” Harry agreed, taking her in once more. Pansy’s smirk widened when his eyes lingered. He cleared his throat and continued, “And what matters is that you finally see him for what he is.”

“Potter, you don’t need to feel quite so pleased with yourself just because you watched me kick Draco in the face,” Pansy cut in, smirking now. She stepped back just far enough to plant a solid kick between Malfoy’s legs for the second time, and Harry winced again, more emphatically this time. “Or somewhere else, apparently.”

“Right. Noted.”

“Maybe,” she said, stepping back into his space slowly in a way that made it very clear she’d planned exactly where this was heading, “you can find a different way to feel satisfied tonight.”

Harry stared at her for a long moment, something wary creeping into his expression. “This is not exactly normal, you know. After what you just went through.”

“Probably not,” Pansy agreed, entirely unbothered by the observation.

“You should head back to your dorm. Get some rest, talk to someone about tonight if you need to.”

He took a step back as he said it, and her hand shot out before he could get any further, fisting in the front of his robes and pulling him right back into the space he’d just tried to leave.

“I’ve been a silly little girl my entire life,” she said, her voice low and steady, close enough now that he could feel her hot breath against him, “And since arriving here, I haven’t had a single say in anything that happened to me. I’d like that to change, starting right now. And what I want, Potter, is to thank the one who saved me, someone who, if I had my head straight and not all clouded up over Malfoy and the false image I had of him in my mind, I probably should have noticed a long time before tonight.”

She didn’t give him a chance to answer. She tightened her hand in his collar, pulled him down the last few inches, and slapped her mouth against his, swallowing any objection or rational advice he would’ve surely given her before it ever made it out of his mouth.

She wanted control over her body after going through that ordeal, the right to choose who could lay a hand on it, and he was the one she’d chosen, consequences be damned.