"Is that what you are wearing to get on the tube?" Harry scowled.
Pansy shot him a glare that was two degrees short of a killing curse.
"It's not my choice to go on an underground muggle contraption on the hottest fucking day of the year, Potter. I'm sure we could have found an alley to apparate. So if we are going to lock ourselves in a tuna can with no cooling charms, then yes, this is what I'm wearing."
Harry rubbed his eyes, surrendering. He didn't really have anything against Pansy Parkinson's outfit. It was a pair of creamy boat shorts, a white oxford shirt, and camisole underneath, no bra. She completed the ensemble with matching wedge shoes. The truth was, she was a walking appetizer, and that's why he was now worried about taking her to the tube.
The two former (current?) rivals were now a team of sorts, thanks to their best friends, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, who against all odds had decided to go and fall in love and were now getting married. Granger was allergic to wedding planning, so Pansy had offered to take care of everything; the downside was that Hermione had happily assured her that she could have her bridesman, Harry Potter, to provide the necessary brawn/company.
Of course, there was a hidden motive behind the hole absurd plan: the soon-to-be Malfoys were concerned about their best friends' chronic singlehood, and they decided it was worth a shot putting them together in a project. Stubborn as they both were, it was likely neither of them would have enough acidity to kill the other, and they both could survive a few hexes here and there. It may be worth trying.
That's how Harry found himself on the hottest day of the year squeezing against Pansy in the tube, his head moving frantically, hands floating behind her buttocks to keep the creepers at bay.
"This is fucking ridiculous. Don't you have a car, Potter?"
"I do, but we would never make it through muggle London traffic." At that moment, a guy sneaked a hand between the people around them and grabbed Pansy's boob. She screamed, but before she closed her mouth again, Harry had squeezed his fist in the opposite direction and broke the guy's nose with outstanding precision. People around cheered, but Harry didn't respond. He pulled Pansy out of the tube at the next stop and dragged her to a semi-secluded corner, where he side apparated them. They landed inside his garage, sitting inside his car.
Pansy looked around, confused but relieved.
"What is this?" she asked.
"My Porsche," he mumbled as an answer, already pulling out of the garage.
"It's beautiful," she said, relishing in the soft leather seats. Harry looked at her, hit the brakes, and, reaching over her, put the seat belt on her. The sudden movement made him brush his hand over her breasts. She blushed but thanked him. He grunted a response, then turn on the air conditioner. She sighed, back leaning on the seat. "Oh, Merlin, a cooling charm, thank you."
He chuckled
"It's the air conditioner. Muggle technology."
"Wonderful Muggle technology," she said, unbuttoning her oxford shirt and leaning forward to let the cool air run through her camisole. Harry was lucky the car had an anticollision charm because he could swear he had seen the edge of a nipple, and now he had a lot of trouble concentrating on the road. They soon hit the heavy traffic.
"Oh, I see why you didn't want to drive," she admitted. I'm sorry, it seems like there are not many good options to move around muggle London."
"Did you just said sorry?" he smirked.
She rolled her eyes.
"I'm feeling vulnerable and indebted to you after that disgusting incident on the tube." then her hand involuntarily found his thigh. "Thank you, Potter. No one has ever stood out for me like that." She chuckled. "A bit primitive on your part, but sexy," she covered her mouth, horrified of what had escaped her tongue.
He looked at the hand, then at her boobs, and finally at her blushing face.
"I'll take sexy. You're welcome."
Pansy moved in her seat, the heat now concentrating between her thighs. She gave him a furtive glance to see if he was now watching the road and spread her legs a bit to allow the cool air to soothe her burning thighs. She didn't count on the Head of Magical Law Enforcement and best Auror in a century to have an incredibly acute peripheral vision that gave him a nice front row to the movement. His jeans felt too tight right now.
They finally made it to a luxurious store in Bond Street, where Harry gave the keys to a valet and escorted Pansy out. She asked for a personal shopper and a private room, and Harry decided that sitting on the plush couch with a glass of iced Scotch was not a bad way to do the shopping. Pansy ordered everything, including the wedding dress (Hermione was so detached to the process she assured her whatever Pansy picked would be fine and they would tailor it magically. The last thing she selected was a few sets of undergarments for the honeymoon, but she stared at a beautiful emerald green lingerie. She was about to put it aside when Potter said:
"You should try it on."
"What?" she asked, surprised but encouraged by the two glasses of champagne she had so far.
"Try it on. Let me see you," Harry repeated, in a very out of character, Scotch-fueled way.
She obliged. When she walked out of the dressing room, he gaped in a very un-Slytherin way. She smirked.
"I think we are done here," she called to the personal shopper. Then she sat and spoke in Harry's ear: "I don't think you should drive. They should be able to provide us with transportation."
"With the tally we just rang, they better do. I'll pick up the car in the morning," he chuckled, moving a lock of her bob cut behind her ear.
It took a monumental effort for Pansy to finish wrapping up this shopping session. A limo provided by the store would drive them to the muggle entrance to her place. She hoped maybe Harry would like to come upstairs for a bit.