... which Pansy doesn't.
The reason she is here on the Quidditch pitch irritably casting an umbrella charm against the drizzle is because the Official Quidditch Photographs are being taken and Draco is therefore running unforgiveably late for their tennis game.
Pictures of the four captains she can understand, but the four Seekers posing together is an embarrassing sort of vanity. Made even more embarassing because she suspects she knows whose suggestion it would have been.
Pansy folds her arms and frowns at Draco, who is flicking a bit of hair out of his eyes and quite blatantly assessing Jane Deacon's--Hufflepuff--tits. Honestly. Two minutes ago he was tightening up his bootlaces as a pretext for checking out Potter's arse. Which body part Pansy thinks Draco might have memorised by this time, but he is a boy.
Cho Chang, drumming her fingers on her broom, glances at Pansy and rolls her eyes.
"Everyone say kneazle!"
Everyone says sex.
The reason Pansy doesn't play Quidditch is not lack of skill. Her reflexes are enviable, even considering the baseline defence the first two months in Slytherin House instills in an eleven year old. She can throw any item across the common room and have it hit the target in the face nine times out of ten. The rather laughable degree of physical fitness required for the actual game of Quidditch would be no problem. It's the team thing.
There's no Parkinson in team.
Also, the weather.
"If you wouldn't mind?" Draco, irritated.
Pansy sniffs and widens the umbrella charm as it begins to rain properly. "This would be why I prefer indoor sports, Draco--good lord if you splash mud on my skirt I'll make you wear it to Potions."
Potter and Jane D-Cup snigger and snort, respectively, but Cho Chang just smiles in a very slight way and says, "Hardly a punishment, that." Pansy tilts her head approvingly and decides those lace-up boots she's wearing are quite de rigeur.
Pansy thrashes Draco.
Clearly his mind his elsewhere, and Pansy would rather not dwell on that. Her own thoughts are slightly distracted by the glossy swish that Cho Chang's ponytail made when she turned her head to the photographer and demanded, "Are we finished?"
Which was exactly what Pansy had been about to say.
Back in the present:
"Are you cheating, Parks," Draco says (rather breathless, to Pansy's delight) when the score is forty-love, "or has Theodore--"
"--spare me the innuendo, please. It's called practice." She tosses the ball up and nails it, whistling past Draco to the far corner. "Point, game, I win. Perhaps you might try some real exercise instead of sitting on a broom?"
"Did you have something in mind?" Normally Draco's blatant leering is fun to encourage for the smackdown, but the Patil sisters are lurking at the far end of the court with a Ravenclaw entourage, and Pansy is nothing if not diligent in her follow-through.
Morag something-or-other gives Cho Chang a puzzled look when Pansy stops at the bench they're sitting at and perches next to Cho.
"There is some skill involved in Quidditch," Cho says, as if they've been having a conversation for hours. When she crosses her ankles Pansy can see she's still wearing the lace-ups underneath a pair of denim jeans.
"I'm sure," says Pansy, "but taunting Malfoy is my third favourite sport." She smiles and wrinkles her nose, and Cho bites her lip and grins back conspiratorially. Pansy considers the fine line between certain kinds of Ravenclaws and Slytherins and decides that someone who doesn't have to ask about the first two sports is definitely on the right side of the line.
Cho puts her hand on the face of Pansy's racquet, which is resting across Pansy's lap, which is only half-covered by her skirt. Absolutely the right side.
"You're not as good as the twins," Cho says, like she's mulling it over, and, "thank god, because it's just dull knowing you'll be humiliated in straight sets, but then Morag and Lisa really are pretty average."
Pansy wets her lips. "Tomorrow before dinner, then?"
The racquet bounces a little when Cho takes her hand away to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "After," she says, "the court is free for longer."
"I'm at a disadvantage," Pansy says, contemplating a best-of-three where she'll be distracted by a ponytail and short skirt and wondering if she can practice for a few more hours tonight. "Because you've seen me play."
Cho blinks, and she has short eyelashes which is nice because people who are too perfect make Pansy twitchy. She also has unbearably incongruous freckles high on her cheeks, and Pansy tries very hard not to stare. "I'll give you a demonstration," Cho says, "it's only fair," and she stretches so that clothing and ... everything ... rearranges and Pansy thinks that fair is possibly the least accurate description of the situation.
Theodore corners her on the way back from the bathroom, which is inconvenient because (a) she's been sitting in a hot bath for long enough to feel slightly light-headed and (b) slightly light-headed is nothing compared to the buttery glow of getting off while fantasising about Cho Chang on her knees in the Slytherin common room; and consequently, (c) Pansy doesn't stop Theo straight away, because, well, in the mood.
"There's someone else," she says, hands on his hips to push him away, because if he keeps doing that against her like that Pansy thinks she'll start making encouraging noises.
"Um. Your point?" Theo doesn't quite take his hand out of her robe. He looks down the hallway. "Are you expecting them presently?"
Pansy kisses him and presses her teeth into his lower lip while she disentangles herself and her robe from Theo's small and lovely hands. "My heart wouldn't be in it," she says, and tugs at his collar to straighten it.
"You have a heart?" he frowns. "Is it new?"
She makes a rude gesture at him before closing the door behind her.
Over breakfast, Pansy spends six whole minutes contemplating the geography of Cho's half-untucked shirt before she realises her porridge is getting cold. Gregory is more than happy to exchange a lukewarm extra helping in return for discreet seat-switching, and Pansy has deliberated for quite some time imagining her fingertips slipping between skin and waistband before chairs scrape and people begin to leave.
Millicent looks across the table at Pansy and narrows her eyes. "Why are you--"
"She went with Potter," Pansy murmurs, pleased at her own prevarication. She taps her nose. "Information is everything."
6. Jeu de Paume
Cho wins the first match and Pansy wins the second, and they play the third right through, level-pegging. Pansy thinks she possibly has a better technique but that Cho is taller and stronger, and it's utterly distracting every time Cho serves because not only does her dress do the rearranging thing and flash a lot of skin and thigh and, frankly, great ass, but Cho makes loud noises of effort and Pansy's head spins a bit.
Cho wins but it's probably because on the last match point Pansy is looking at Cho rather than at the ball.
Pansy strips off without hesitation. Embarassment is a sign of weakness and it's been years since she cared who saw her naked. She drops her skirt, top, bra and knickers in a pile without thinking and when she looks up Cho is not staring at her breasts but rather looking interested.
"I wish I had bigger tits," Cho says thoughtfully, and for a tiresome moment Pansy thinks this is heading somewhere platonic, but then Cho bites down on her lip and colour appears in pretty spots on her cheeks. "Yours are," she says, and doesn't bother finishing the sentence, and she smiles, and Pansy smiles and watches Cho get undressed and wonders when her cue is.
"Um. Shower," Pansy hears herself say. The tiny cubicles are too small to fit two, which is probably just as well as there's something a bit pedestrian about snogging in the showers, and anyhow, Cho has observations on their mutual acquaintances that she's willing to share and at some point Pansy might need an alibi.
It's a quick shower.
"I'm not really one for dithering about," Pansy says, towel-wrapped but dripping.
"I'm not really one for changing-rooms," says Cho, but she doesn't complain too loudly when Pansy reaches up and twists her fingers in Cho's now-damp ponytail and steadies them both with a hand on the doorframe and kisses her.
"How annoyingly particular," Pansy says, punctuating the words with different approaches (mouth open, closed, soft, breathless) to the kiss, struck by how small Cho's mouth is and how it makes Pansy feel superbly in charge. She doesn't loosen her grip in Cho's hair but stands up on her tiptoes to get the right height and, ohh, yes; her knees go liquid when Cho's tongue sneaks along Pansy's teeth and licks at her lips, gentle to hurried, mutual coaxing until they're both messy with spit and openmouthed against each other.
"Ooops," they say because Pansy trip-steps back, which is not very co-ordinated but does mean that Cho ends up with her hand on the small of Pansy's back, and the towel, well, it was never staying anyhow; the point being that Cho doesn't keep her hand there but slides it over the curve of Pansy's ass, fingertips tracing the crease of thigh-meets-bottom and threatening all sorts of inquisitive touches.
Hogwarts being a school, this is when the two Hufflepuff third-years burst in and interrupt. In the time it takes one of them to stop gaping and elbow her friend with a not-whisper of "ooh, lezzies," Pansy hexes them both with laryngitis and pimples and gestures meaningfully at the door.
One of the girls doubles over, clutching at her stomach as they scamper away. Cho twirls her wand around in a satisfied manner when Pansy raises her eyebrows.
"Really bad cramps."
Pansy's admiration knows no bounds.
"I did mean what I said about changing-rooms," Cho says, and wriggles into a pair of pink knickers. "Context is important, and besides, I have a Charms essay."
"You're a perfectionist, it's absolutely fine," Pansy says, pleased with all the implications of that revelation. Instant gratification is for Gryffindors and certain boys of her acquaintance, anyhow, and Pansy rather likes the idea of anticipation.
Blaise Zabini, self-appointed moderator of inter-house fraternisation, is the first to comment.
"Parkinson," he says, sliding emphatically into the seat beside her just as Professor Sinistra walks in the room. "Chang is a Ravenclaw. Known partisan. What the fuck are you doing?"
Pansy considers explaining her elaborate scheme for espionage and infiltration, but Zabini is a boy, and well.
"Darling, you wish you were me."
As expected, he has nothing to say to that.
7. Snakes and Ladders
Pansy's eyes blur. "There's so much... stuff!"
Cho shrugs and holds open the door to the staircase. "Mental stimulation. Big brains, remember?" The Ravenclaw common room is a sensory assault, with floor-to-ceiling shelves full of books and games and instruments and objects, mechanical toys and astrological gadgets, boxes and boxes of parts and puzzles and things that Pansy has no idea about, all labelled, all in sections, colour-coded and neatly stacked.
The Slytherin common room has paintings and mirrors and is usually a mess. It's very telling.
"Ravenclaws," Cho says as they climb up the staircase, and Pansy takes the opportunity to imagine licking the crease of Cho's knee, just above those socks, "have the highest suicide rate of the four houses. So the Headmaster makes sure we have--"
--Pansy likes that Cho calls him Headmaster rather than something chummy like his name. She also likes--
"--plenty of distractions." Cho turns around and Pansy stops short on the step below, very very close to Cho, and she feels her skin go all hot and the clenching little ache in her belly flutters harder, but by the time she's processed that Cho is close enough to, um, grope, she's gone again, all taut calf muscles and short skirt.
"Just so you know, I don't really trust you," Cho says, tipping her head back against the pillows and shifting under Pansy, who is kneeling over her and Vanishing their school uniforms, "but you just had--"
"I had a sort-of evil plan," Pansy blurts out, and then realises that the cup of tea was obviously a house special, "but mainly I just want to fuck you."
Cho half-giggles and hitches her knees up; Pansy grabs her ankles and scowls because the potion won't wear off for at least an hour and sincerity is not something she's very good at.
"Oh-kay," Cho says, turning her head to the side and making a little noise when Pansy traces up the undersides of her thighs and pushes down Cho's knees (flexible, nghh) so that she's all available. "Are you going to join You-Know-Who?"
"Maybe," says Pansy, automatic, bitch, but Cho just tugs at Pansy's shoulder, kissing her hard and grinding up into Pansy's hand, so it's not like she's totally put off by the whole idea. At all, because god, she's so wet, and Pansy's fingers just slide right in and Cho groans and squirms and pushes at Pansy's head, greedy cow, but, "No, I wanna watch you," Pansy says, and flattens her other thumb down on Cho's clit and, yeah. Inside her is slippery and hot and Pansy feels her own cunt clench hard when Cho tightens around her and screws her face up, gasping, "there, there, keep, there, like, oh," and goes taut all over, inside and out, little beads of sweat springing up between her breasts and trickling down her belly.
The only people in the common room at this time of night are Millicent and Theodore, who are playing snooker and obviously pretending they're not waiting up to ambush Pansy.
Pansy knows this because Millie is winning. And if it were a real game Theo would be playing left handed with the short cue.
"Well?" Millicent pots an off-mark shot that ricochets wildly off the baize and causes Theo to wince. "It's been two weeks. What have you found out?"
Pansy wonders how much discussion went into this little scene beforehand, and derives some pleasure thinking about how the other sixth-years would have had the misfortune to sit through another Zabini-brand pureblood hooray rant. "Well," she mimics Millicent's dull tenor, sitting down in an armchair, "nothing we hadn't guessed at."
Blah blah Room of Requirement (they'd only found the one) blah blah Potter (terrible kisser, tyrant in the making) blah blah secret defence classes (Longbottom still an idiot, dissent from the Hufflepuffs) blah blah prophecy (fifth year Lovegood with a big mouth) blah blah blah.
"Obviously I still need to work on her," Pansy says.
Theo scowls. "How self-sacrificing--"
"Yes, you wish you were me." Pansy bats her eyelashes at Theo and brushes at her sleeve. "Eight in the corner pocket."
"Oh, fuck," Pansy moans, on her back for once and marvelling at the ingenuity of smart girls. With no access to Tabitha's Toys owl-order catalogue Cho is proving to be deft and imaginative with her--ahh, yeah--wand, and Pansy wonders if all seventh-years learn this type of transfiguration, because she'll have to juggle--
"Pay attention and stop plotting," Cho says, a little muffled because Pansy has her legs wrapped around her shoulders, and just to make the point Cho twists her rather differently-shaped wand a lot more deliberately and Pansy shudders with tension and teasing until Cho gets back to the tongue-circles that she's bloody. fucking. brilliant at doing, and Pansy comes so rushingly quick that Cho looks up at her with a smirk and mouths no stamina, and of course Pansy finds that stupidly hot.
10. Quidditch, Redux
Draco's face looks apoplectic, especially when Pansy grabs a handful of Cho's Quidditch robe and kisses her demonstratively. Cho still has the Snitch in her hand, fluttering in fits, when Pansy pulls her down to murmur what they're going to do with the little feathery thing, and her cheeks are pinker than a Quidditch match could account for when Pansy lets her go.
Cho drops the Snitch in Pansy's pocket and winks at Draco, whose face contorts in rage even more when Cho heads off to the school buildings.
Pansy feels a warm rush of affection.
"She's." Draco splutters. "You're still. Whatevering. With her."
"Anytime you want to use sentences is fine by me."
Draco takes a deep breath. "It's because she was with Potter, isn't--"
Pansy has to steady herself on the hoop-pole, she's laughing so much. Draco crosses his arms like a four-year-old about to throw a tantrum, but Pansy just shakes her head. "Please. Get over it." She pats him on the shoulder, because she feels almost sorry for him. "Even you. Especially you, Draco, wish you were me."