Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.
A/N: This isn't properly British.
Ginny's a hard fly to trap, and when Pansy finally gets her away from the crowd, Pansy doesn't want to let her go.
Ginny says, "You're hurting me," and Pansy loosens the tight grip around her wrist. Pansy drags them through the deserted halls of the castle, lit orange with the fading sunlight. They both know they have to be quiet; if they're caught, it's detention, even though Pansy's in Slytherin. The Carrows have forgiven her one too many times—she knows she's on thin ice.
Ginny's a Gryffindor and a Weasley and a blood traitor, and she never gets away with anything. If she's caught, she'll be ripped away to the dungeons, and Pansy will lay awake at night knowing that someone else is drawing out her screams. They slip into the first classroom they find that's unlocked—Pansy shoving Ginny in by the shoulders. Ginny doesn't have any choice now—screaming for help isn't an option, and she's come too far to make it back to Gryffindor alone.
They'll have to slip back to Slytherin after, where all the curtains are gone and eyes are always watching. The classroom has one small window in the corner, curtained off with too-thin drapes. The pale starlight trickles through—the rest of the room is nothing but darkness. Pansy pushes Ginny's silhouette against the door, murmuring, "Why'd you do that?"
"What?" Ginny gasps. Pansy slips one leg between her thighs, lifting her up and flattening her into the wood. Pansy's fingers shift softly to Ginny's sides but get hungrier and hungrier with every second, until they're running all around Ginny's body, down the curve of her spine and up her full chest. Pansy tosses her own black hair over her shoulder and shifts Ginny's fire-red strands aside, exposing that pale neck. Pansy dips her head to run her tongue along the frail line of freckles—Ginny's head tilts to giver her more room. "I don't know what you mean..." But her lips are slightly smirking, eyelids fluttering closed. Of course she knows, Pansy knows, because she's a little minx that does it all on purpose...
But Pansy plays along anyway, whispering, "Taunting me like that in Arithmancy... you know how those sugar quills get me hot..." She nips lightly at Ginny's jaw, sliding her hands back down to Ginny's waist, rubbing it eagerly though her too-many-clothes. Their breasts are pressed tightly together, enough to make the air come thin, but the pressure to Pansy's lungs is lovely. She loves how she can feel every breath that Ginny takes, how she can feel every sigh and gasp. Pansy's pointed, pink-painted fingertips dip below the hem of Ginny's grey Gryffindor skirt, and it makes Ginny moan.
Ginny whimpers while Pansy caresses her, "You gave me those quills..." Her tongue darts out to wet her pouting lips—Pansy shivers with the memories. She knows all too well what Ginny's skilled tongue can do, and the thought of that lucky quill slowly disappearing into her warm mouth is maddening.
"Not for you to suck in front of everyone," Pansy hisses, and her trail of nips and kisses finds its way to Ginny's ear. She nibbles on the lobe as she grinds Ginny into the door, slipping a hand down the front of her panties. Ginny arches with a loud moan, and Pansy growls, "I didn't mean for you to be so naughty about it, Weasley..."
Ginny's arms wrap loosely around Pansy's shoulders. Pansy wants Ginny's legs around her waist—she wants to carry Ginny over to a desk and fuck her on top of it. Ginny's all long legs and luscious curves, soft skin and liquid fire. She's always hot as hell, in every sense of the word, and Pansy crushes their warm bodies together as she pulls Ginny away from the door by the waist. They're a tangle of too-close limbs and hair, kissing and touching, stumbling backwards into the dark outline of a worn-down couch against the wall. Pansy practically tackles Ginny onto it—Ginny goes with a quiet 'oomph.'
Then Pansy's crawling over Ginny's body, like the hungry predator she becomes so easily. Ginny's arms snake back around her and Pansy' dark hair falls around Ginny's perfect face like a halo, blocking out all the light. They're a mass of other sensations—Ginny smells like the strawberry shampoo she always uses, and her skin is the softest Pansy's ever felt. She sounds harried and exquisite all at once—the perfect mix of everything. Even if Pansy can't see anything clearly, she remembers the look of every centimeter, and Ginny's cheek tastes salty and addicting. Pansy trails her way to Ginny's lips, rouged and slightly swollen from being chewed. As soon as their mouths are together, Ginny parts hers, head tilting appropriately, small nose slipping against Pansy's. They find the right angle, and Pansy's tongue goes right in—right where it belongs. She remembers Ginny insides like the back of her hand, but she explores it like new anyway, every time. Ginny's own tongue presses against Pansy's, wet and probing. Ginny's never a wallflower—the innocence is half a mirage. She's intelligent and bold, and her legs part below Pansy, bending at either side of her.
Pansy's got her tongue down Ginny's throat and her fingers slipping down Ginny's skirt when she hears it—the distinct crick of the door behind them. Pansy doesn't want to pull away but does, of course, lips parting from Ginny's with a thin string of saliva between them. She doesn't move her fingers. They've dipped just beneath Ginny's panties, and she doesn't want to lose that feeling if she doesn't have to. She glances slowly over her shoulder, her long hair blocking half her vision.
Professor Snape stands in the doorway, with raised brows and something akin to shock. Professor Snape never truly looks shocked though, and he stands still as a statue while the pair of them stare at one another. Pansy's breath is ice in her throat; she's always respected her Head of House, and until now, she thought he respected her, too.
When a minute's passed, Professor Snape merely turns back through the door, closing it soundlessly behind him. He doesn't look at her while he leaves, and he doesn't say a word. Pansy stares at the spot where he was for a few moments, still breathing too heavy.
Ginny must've gotten up on her elbows to look. She collapses with a tremendous sigh of relief, drawing Pansy's attention back. Ginny releases a small giggle—Pansy still doesn't move her hand.
Ginny's next smirk is dripping with sex, and she puts her hand over Pansy's with a husky, "Shall we keep going, then?"
Pansy slips her hand down the last few centimeters to cup Ginny tight, and she presses her fingers into the moist warmth while Ginny moans. Pansy hisses, "Forever and ever," as she leans back down to re-meet Ginny's lips.