A Discerning Palate

Pansy was nervous. She was, in fact, so nervous that she was shaking and giggly. And Pansy Parkinson did not giggle. Unless of course it was an orchestrated move, designed by herself, to attain whatever it was that she wanted. But there was no one to hear her now, and Merlin help her, she giggled again.

“Shut your gab, Parkinson.” She muttered to herself, before tittering again.

The sound grated on her own ears. But she decided to cut herself some slack. This was Harry Potter. Saint Potter, as Draco so loved to refer to him.

Pansy had never been nervous before. Not even when she’d lost her virginity to Blaise Zabini in fourth year. She knew that the mass populous of Hogwarts would be shocked to learn that it hadn’t been Draco. She also knew the names they called her, and she didn’t care. She knew that she wasn’t the most beautiful girl, she knew that she wasn’t the smartest, or even the richest, but she knew how to get what she wanted.

And she’d wanted Harry Potter for some time now.

She was startled from her thoughts when the door slid open, allowing a sliver of light to fall into the room, but Pansy kept to the darkness.

“Hello?” Harry spoke into the seeming abyss of darkness.

“Close the door.” Pansy demanded in a voice that was much more confident than she felt.

The door closed almost instantly.

“Who are you?” Harry asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it does.” His tone was serious.

“You really are Saint Potter, aren’t you?” Pansy couldn’t stop the mocking retort.

“No. I’m just a man. No better, no worse.”

“But you are better. In your heart. Even I can see that.”

“Is that why you’re here? Did you want to touch the saint? Or did you want to see if you could break the Golden Boy? Did you work it out with Pansy to get in here with me?”

“Yes.” The confession was so honest, it almost broke her.

“Then touch me.” His voice was low.

Pansy was the aggressor, but yet she was the submissive as well, as she closed the distance between them. She slid into his arms, resting her head in the curve between his neck and shoulder.

For her, it was all that she could ever want, when his arms closed around her. She inhaled the scent of him, clean, crisp- home.

Harry’s hands came to rest on her hips and he pulled her closer to fit against him and buried his face in her cornsilk hair.

“Gods, you feel good.” His hands were bold as they slid across her wanting body.

She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers.

She was kissing Harry Potter. And it was anything but chaste. It was hot, slick and it burned her. It seared her, made her feel things that no touch had ever made her feel before.

Her hands found their way under his sweater, roaming over surprisingly taut muscles, but when her fingers traveled to the waistband of his slacks, his hands closed over hers.

“No.”

“Don’t you want me?” she asked softly.

In that moment, that unguarded second, Harry realized who was in the dark with him.

“Pansy?” He was surprised.

Pansy felt trapped and the humiliation was staining her cheeks. There was no way her plan could work if he knew who she was. “Just go.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“What do you want?” She whirled away from him. “I’ve offered all I have to give you and you don’t want it, but you won’t go. Harry, I don’t know what else…”

He grabbed her hair this time and bent her head back, all the softness in him gone, but yet the violence was restrained. Pansy wondered what would happen if she ever got past that Gryffindor goodness. She wanted to take what was inside of him, she wanted to taste the power that he held, that he’d mastered in his sainthood.

She felt her back pressing into the cold wall and he supported the rest of her weight with his knee as it slid between her thighs.

“This, this is what I want. But I won’t fuck you like a whore.”

“Why not? Use me. No strings, Potter. Give me something to remember.”

He grit his teeth and his groin tightened at her offer. “I want to know you, Pansy.”

She laughed a hard, bitter sound as her hands continued to roam his body. “You think you do, but I’m the bad girl, Harry. I don’t want to be good.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Not now, but you would. C’mon. Give the Slut of Slytherin the ride of her life. No one would blame you.”

Harry disentangled himself from her grasp. “Damn you, Parkinson.”

“Damn me for offering, or damn you for wanting it?” she returned.

“Both.” Harry stormed out the door.

Pansy sank to the ground and for the first time in many years, she wished she could cry. If anyone was worth her tears, it was Harry Potter. But she couldn’t help tracing the memory of his bruising kiss across her swollen lips, or reaching for the crumpled bit of scroll that was still warm from his hand.

“A kiss.” Was all it read.

Pansy was roused from her right proper bout of self-pity when it occurred to her that what was written on the paper, was not what she’d chosen.

She remembered her conversation with Draco earlier. Damn that sneaky git! He’d changed the charm.

Oh, sweet hell!

Ginny and Hermione had both gone with “a kiss”. Pansy had been the daring one. Hers had been something that the other person had not done before. She’d wanted to be the first of something for Harry. She wondered, exactly how far Ron had gone with Cho.


Hermione had been nervous before, but now as she stood in the darkness, she kept Pansy’s words in mind. A girl of her experience had to know what she was talking about.

Oh Gods, she was about to do a very un-Gryffindor thing. She was going to steal one her best friends from a girl that he…

Hermione cut herself off mid thought. For once, she wasn’t going to plan, she wasn’t going to analyze, she was just going to feel.

The door opened and a tall figure stood silhouetted against the blinding light. He leaned against the doorframe casually, as if debating.

Hermione stood still as death and waited for him to make his decision. It didn’t take him more than a few seconds, but there was an eternity of expectation.

The door latched itself behind him when he strode in.

“I should tell you now that I’m a complete shite.” Ron mumbled.

“Why is that?” Hermione asked, her voice lowering to a sultry whisper.

She almost giggled. She didn’t know she could sound like that.

“I have a girlfriend. I shouldn’t be here.”

“No, you shouldn’t. But you are.”

“What should we do?”

What would Pansy say? What would Pansy do? Scratch that, Pansy would already have him on the floor begging and calling her “Mistress”. Well, why not?

“What do you want to do?” she returned. Yes, that was good.

“The scroll said it had to be something I hadn’t done before.” Ron sounded slightly concerned.

“Well, what haven’t you done?” Hermione couldn’t believe she’d said that. It was pretty much an open invitation. And that wasn’t what she’d written for herself.

Ron made a strangled sound and that was when she panicked. By his lack of response, she’d guessed that he’d done, well, everything.

“Surely there is something?”

She could sense his acute discomfort and longed to ease him, though he didn’t deserve it. He was cheating on his…

Shut-up! Hermione mentally raged at herself.

The next words that came out of her mouth were so brazen that when she heard them, she was sure that it hadn’t been her mouth speaking them.

“Come here and get started. We’re bound to find something sooner or later.”

Ron made another choked sound. Then he spoke, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here.”

Hermione mustered her courage. “Yes you should,” she paused and sighed. “Ronald.”

“Hermione?” The choking sound was a bit louder.

“You’re going to choke to death if you keep doing that.”

“Cho’s going to kill me.”

“She doesn’t have to know.”

“Hermione? Are you feeling okay? You aren’t yourself.”

“Come here.”

“Uh, I can’t.”

“Why not? Do you find me unattractive?” she questioned.

“No. But you are my best friend.”

“What’s a kiss between friends? Don’t make me come get you…”

“Hermione, close your mouth.” Ron ordered.

But she didn’t, she couldn’t- it sort of gaped open like a large mouthed bass. Ron had never been so, commanding.

Oh Merlin’s ruddy toes! Commanding? She had to stop borrowing Ginny’s romance novels, they were starting to get to her.

“I suppose it’s about damn time.” Ron growled and Hermione found herself locked in a passionate kiss.

When suddenly, something went horribly wrong.

The kiss was no longer heated and delving. It was tasting.

But that was all. Ron was tasting her and moaning.

“Gods, woman. You taste like chocolate frogs.”

She tried to turn away, but Ron wouldn’t let her go. He just kept tasting, running his tongue across hers, seeking.

The chocolate had been a very bad idea.

To make matters worse, the door swung open.

Apparently, he’d never tried to eat a girl’s tongue because it tasted like chocolate frogs.