Disclaimer: see part 1.

Beautiful Poison

By Random1377

Chapter 5 – Blood of the Heart

Life for a sixth year Hogwarts student, Pansy and Harry both discovered, left very little time for anything else. Everything went fine until the holidays, for which Pansy, Harry discovered, remained in Hogwarts – out of preference rather than need, a concept Harry could not wrap his mind around. Once the holidays were over, though, and the threat of impending finals (still months away, but looming all the same) set in, time seemed to disappear.

Both Harry and Pansy seemed deluged in homework, field trips, and lower-grade students asking for help, forcing them to cut their clandestine meetings back to one per week, though they always managed to find time for it. Pansy's Patronuswas still merely ghostly vapor, but it seemed to do much better in the Room of Requirement, and at least it was actually THERE. Harry's elixir was simmering nicely in the potions room, in spite of Crabbe 'accidentally' bumping into Harry's cauldron one afternoon.

The Elixir was not deadly yet, and it was not terribly volatile or touchy about being knocked… but Crabbe, being a large, ungainly git (as Ron had dubbed him) had nearly tipped the cauldron over. Only a quick dive by Justin Finch Fletchly – and a jaunt to the hospital wing to treat the resulting burn – had saved it.

Snape hadn't even taken any points for Crabbe's clumsiness.

At last it was time to add the Heartblood – a step Harry had been dreading since reading up on the ingredient. He was pacing the length of the Room of Requirement, worrying at his thumbnail, when Pansy came rushing in, slamming the door behind herself.

"What's wr-"

"Let's get this over with," Pansy muttered. "Chop, chop Potter, I haven't got all day."

Walking over to one of the benches, she sat down, pulling a pair of vials and a slim dagger out of her robes and setting them next to her.

"Wh-where'd you get that?" Harry wanted to know, eyeing the blade warily as Pansy impatiently gestured for him to join her.

"Birthday present," she said dismissively, "twelfth. Don't worry, it isn't cursed… never could get it to stick."

Harry looked mistrustfully at the girl. But you tried, he thought skeptically. What kind of curse would you put on a dagger? Wouldn't that, by definition, be a dark art? I mean, you're only using it to kill, so…

He let the thought trail off, walking slowly over to the bench as he realized he was stalling for time.

"I'll go first," Pansy said softly, looking into Harry's eyes as she shrugged off her robe.

"Wh-what are you doing?" he stammered, averting his eyes.

Pansy shrugged, her eyes gleaming as she replied, "I don't want to get it on my robes. Come on… it's cold in here."

Sure is, Harry thought guiltily, pulling his eyes away from where they had come to rest and picking up the knife, hefting it thoughtfully as he sat down at Pansy's side.

"Well, here we g-"

"Wait!"

Pansy grabbed his hand, her eyes fixed on the blade of the knife.

"I won't hurt you," Harry whispered, carefully pulling her fingers away. "Trust me."

But Pansy shook her head. "I… I can't," she said, sounding almost apologetic, "sorry, Potter… but I just can't." She wet her lips sliding over until she was next to him on the bench. "There," she muttered, "now… do it – carefully!"

Harry nodded, slowly inching the blade towards her pale, flawless skin. Almost seems like a crime, he thought ironically, she's actually kind of pretty – when she's not scowling.

Pansy hissed as the knife pressed against her breast. "Carefully…!"

Allowing her to keep her hand atop his, Harry slowly slid the blade across her chest, seeking the spot just over her heart where the blood must be drawn. He had not been able to find anything explaining why, exactly, Heartblood must be taken from directly over the heart. As far as he knew from his muggle biology lessons, blood was blood – unless it came from an artery or someplace deeper inside the body, and this would be a shallow cut at best.

Must be a magic thing…

He winced as the tip of the blade scraped her, not quite breaking the skin but leaving a long, angry welt. "You're… making me scratch you," he hissed, trying to pull back a bit. "Pansy… Pansy, let go of the knife!"

"It's almost there," Pansy breathed, her cheeks glowing with color as she continued to guide Harry's hand. "Almost… there – right there!"

Harry swallowed, staring at the end of the blade as it dimpled her flesh. Just a bit further and her skin breaks, he thought, slowly bringing his eyes up to her flushed face, and if I pushed as hard as I could…

He shivered at the dark thought, feeling his mouth dry up as Pansy's eyes slowly opened. "Whatever you're going to do," she whispered, staring at him openly as she slowly released his hand, "you'd better do it now…"

She arched her back, causing the knife to dig cruelly into the soft skin of her breast and making a drop of blood well up – brilliantly red in the soft light of the Room of Requirement. The way her body was situated, Harry realized suddenly, she was entirely defenseless. She could no more stop him than play all seven positions in Quidditch simultaneously, presenting her body to him as a willing sacrifice to anything he wanted to do to it.

All he had to do was decide – immediately – if she was to live or die.

Pansy cried out as the blade abruptly pierced her flesh, the most maddening combination of pleasure and pain she had ever felt ripping through her body as the Boy Who Lived… stabbed her.

Blood ran immediately from the cut, spilling down over the cup of her bra and soaking it in a second. Has he… stopped? Pansy thought, feeling hot and shivery as Harry's free hand lighted on her shoulder, squeezing briefly before pulling away.

In all honesty… she could not tell how deeply the knife had gone into her. For some reason her senses were all going haywire, reporting that the knife was a hair from her heart, but at the same time no more than a quarter inch inside her. She could smell her own blood, sharp and metallic to her nostrils, and hear the quick, shallow breathing of her 'studying companion' as he did God only knew what at her side.

And for some reason, all she could think about was putting her hands on him – of simply crushing his body to hers and doing all of the things her mother had insisted every man wants from a woman.

"Th-there…"

Pansy let out a small groan as she felt the knife leave her body… but for the life of her, she was not sure if it was relief or disappointment.

A shiver shot down her spine as Harry pressed a handkerchief to he wound, staunching the trickle of blood before it could saturate her bra any further. Opening her eyes, she stared at his pale, dazed looking face, her mouth opening as she unthinkingly spoke what was on her mind.

"Did you like that…?"

Harry flushed bright red, carefully setting aside the small vial of her blood he had gathered and shaking his head emphatically. "C-course not!" he stammered. "Why… why would I like… something like that?"

But Pansy noticed that he would not meet her eyes.

The two sat in silence for several minutes, shifting uncomfortably in the dry chill of the Room of Requirement until finally, Pansy reached into her robes and pulled out a small, bright green potion, handing it to Harry without a word.

"What's this for?" he asked, holding the bottle up to the light.

"It's a healing draught," Pansy said coolly, "put some on me… I'm still bleeding."

Harry paled once more. "You can't… put it on yourself?"

Pansy's eyes were bright as she replied, "Well, I can… but I want you to."

"What? Why!"

"Oh, you can stab me but you can't heal me!" Pansy shot back, straightening her back and looking down her nose at him. "Think of it as a lesson in potions – the proper application of a healing draught to an open wound." She pursed her lips. "Besides," she grumbled, holding up her callused palm, "your hands are softer than mine – now come on, I still need to get your blood."

Harry, who had forgotten this fact, quickly unstoppered the bottle. "Alright," he muttered, feeling oddly guilty as her work-worn palms came to rest on her thighs, "do I just pour it on or what?"

Pansy sighed. "No wonder you got such a low score on the last test. No, just cover the end of the bottle with your palm and tip it up so you get a little on your hand – yeah, just like that. Now just… spread it on…"

Reluctantly, Harry did as he was told, reaching out and tentatively laying his hand against her skin. "Hey!" he blurted, "It… it got warm!"

"It does that when blood hits it," Pansy explained, "wow you really don't pay attention in class, do you?"

Ignoring her – and trying not to notice where, exactly, he was touching – Harry carefully applied the potion to her body, gently rubbing it into the wound and watching in wonder as it began to close, the damaged tissue re-knitting itself as the potion seeped into it. After three handfuls of the Draught of Healing, the skin on Pansy's breast was whole and pink once more, glistening slightly in the mid-afternoon light.

Pansy murmured something that sounded suspiciously like 'need to get hurt more often' and reached out, picking the knife up off the bench and eyeing it critically. "Your turn," she said softly, tapping Harry's Gryffindor badge with the tip of the blade. "Robes off, Potter, and don't worry – I'll be gentle."

Somehow, the wolfish grin that accompanied this assurance did not comfort Harry very much. With great reluctance, he eased his robe off and set it on the floor, pulling his undershirt off and shivering – more from the exposure than the air, since it was not freezing in the room, just a bit cooler than he would have liked.

When Pansy leaned forward suddenly, however, Harry instinctively slapped the blade away, wincing as her smile grew. "S-sorry," he mumbled, trying to relax.

"You still don't trust me," Pansy whispered, "well, I don't really have time for this, Potter, I do have to be back to my dorm eventually… so…"

Harry gasped as the Slytherin girl suddenly swung her left leg over him, straddling him so fast he did not have a chance to resist and pinning his arms at his sides with her knees. He squirmed feebly as Pansy brought the knife into view, giving him another of her darkly chilling smiles.

"Best hold still," she whispered, "I wouldn't want to hit anything vital."

Freezing immediately, Harry watched with wide eyes as the knife descended, the warm metal touching his bare skin and slowly tracing its way to the left side. "Higher," he blurted suddenly, flinching as the blade pushed against his chest. "Just a little… higher."

Pansy nodded, licking her lips as she repositioned the knife… but she did not move. Instead, she stared into his eyes, saying nothing and letting the silence spool out endlessly. Harry felt hypnotized, longing to squirm and twitch under her intense gaze, but not daring to move for fear of having the knife accidentally move to a different place, resulting in a second, unnecessary cut. He had to swallow, though, as the girl slowly drifted closer, wetting her lips as if in anticipation and keeping her eyes focused unblinkingly on his.

Harry found that his body was trembling as Pansy reached up and wrapped her free hand around the back of his neck, holding him firmly in place as her glistening lips moved closer and closer to his own. He tried to cry 'stop' or 'don't' or anything else that might halt her inexorable approach, but he found his throat frozen and immobile – and before he knew what was happening, Pansy's mouth was less than an inch from his.

"Uhh!"

Pansy's eyes gleamed as Harry's breath exploded into her mouth, the sudden pain of the knife's entry taking him totally off guard, and she greedily inhaled, imagining that she was somehow drinking in everything that made him unique. Confident that he was not going to pull away (he would have by now, she reasoned) Pansy released his neck, reaching blindly down onto the bench next to her and snatching up the empty vial that sat there. Pulling the knife free, she pressed the glass tube against his skin, keeping her eyes locked onto his as it filled with his blood.

Corking it without looking, Pansy set the vial on her robes, but instead of immediately pulling away and applying the Draught of Healing, she gave in to one, last, little indulgence…

( 0 0 0 )

"Hey, Harry!" Ron called, his voice heavy with concern. "You alright, mate?"

Harry stumbled slightly, blinking in confusion as his friend rushed to his side. "Ron?" he whispered, "Am I alright? Yeah… sure… why wouldn't I be?"

Ron glanced around the entry hall. "You were looking pretty out of it, mate," he pointed out, putting a steadying hand under Harry's elbow and leading him towards the portrait of the fat lady.

"I'm fine," Harry reiterated, shaking his head to clear it and straightening his back to show that he was ok, "just a little too hot, I guess."

"Eleanor Rigby," Ron called out, wondering just who came up with these passwords as the portrait of the fat lady swung open to reveal the opening to Gryffindor tower. "I've got some of that fudge my mum sent left over," he said, leading Harry to a seat next to Hermione, "you want some? You look like you got hit by a dementor, or something…"

Harry nodded, trying to pull himself together as Hermione lifted her eyes and regarded him carefully over the edge of her book.

"Sure."

Ron grinned. "Sit right here," he said brightly, clearly pleased that he was going to be able to help, "back in a jiff."

Before the redheaded boy was even out of the room, Hermione was closing her book and leaning over to whisper, "What happened?"

Harry simply stared at the far wall for a moment, forcing Hermione to repeat herself. Slowly, he shook himself, turning his wide eyes on the girl and breathing, "She… she kissed me."

Hermione's frown grew. "Did you spit when she was done?" she asked darkly. "She might've had poison on her lips."

Harry focused on the witch. "Wouldn't that have killed her, then?" he asked, refraining from asking why Hermione was so suspicious.

Everyone was suspicious of Slytherin house… usually with good reason.

"Most poisons don't work on the person who made them, especially if they contributed something to the mixture," Hermione sighed, "that's first year stuff, Harry!"

"I knew that," Harry grumbled, no longer looking so pleased with himself, "I just… I wasn't thinking."

Hermione sniffed. "That does seem to be one of your traits sometimes," she said coolly. Seeing that she was pushing too hard, Hermione's voice became gentler. "Listen, Harry," she said softly, "I'm your friend… I just don't want you to get hurt, alright? Pansy's in really good with Malfoy and his gang, so just… just be careful?"

Grudgingly, Harry nodded. "I know," he said stubbornly, "but she's… she's not the same as him – she's actually not that bad at all, once you get to know her."

Unable to stop herself, Hermione whispered, "Or else she's very good at making you think she's not that bad."

Silence fell as Harry found that he had no reply.

Continued…

Author's Notes: did anyone not see that kiss coming? I'm the king of unsubtle, so I'm sure I telegraphed it a couple chapters back. Oh well, nothing for it now, I suppose. Next chapter things get really interesting… or at least, I hope they do – I haven't even started writing it yet. Heh.

Had a little pre-reading assist on this chapter from SxStrngSamurai13, cuz he's cool like dat.

Feedback is always welcome on any site with reviewing capabilities or by e-mailing me directly at random1377(at-sign)yahoo(dot)com.