A/N: One night with Potter. What could possibly go wrong? At least Pansy finally gets a chance to showcase what she knows best. Boys are boys are boys.

September 10th, 1996 (evening)

They met the following night in the dungeons and silently collected their materials before setting off to find a private room with ample moonlight. During their entirely silent walk to the room, Pansy let herself think freely about Potter and the upcoming night-long project ahead of them. Most of what she thought of him was shaped by Draco and his petty vendettas and she assumed the same was true vice-versa. Appearing by Draco's side - and sometimes hanging off of his arm - for so many years likely cemented an image of her in Potters' imagination. Then again, even without Draco's help, she hadn't exactly been the easiest pre-teen to deal with.

And that attitude may or may not have persisted into her late adolescence as well.

Still, it wasn't as if the so-called Golden Trio were angels to wrestle with. Biases existed on both sides, Pansy decided a long time ago. The thought of a Malfoy and a Weasley holding hands and singing peacefully was frankly beyond unimaginable.

And for her own accord, Pansy was well aware that both mudbloods and purebloods had their faults, and most people are generally pricks regardless of blood.

"Are you sure we have the ingredients we need?"

Potters' voice dragged her from her thoughts, which was likely for the best. For the past month, it seemed no matter what she was thinking about, all lines were drawn back to Draco and ultimately she wouldn't be able to ignore the pangs in her chest and the desperate feeling in her bones. It was all pathetic, really; even thinking about not thinking about him made her hurt.

"It's essence of dittany," she replied, her voice suddenly breathless - a change that even Potter seemed to have noticed.

"There's only three ingredients," she explained after clearing her throat, "If you start preparing the cauldrons, I'll grab start dicing. You just have to add water and start heating-"

"Yes, I've taken a potions class before," he interrupted her impatiently in a tone that sounded uncharacteristically icy sharp. He could be mean, in words and in tone, and cruel even though the thought seemed unbefitting for him.

"Congratulations," she bit back sarcastically, though not as strongly as she would have wished. Pansy tutted her tongue loudly and said over her shoulder, "You could have fooled me."

While Pansy began organizing the dittany, the required oil extracts, copper, and pickled shrake spines on the table in front of them, she forced herself to ignore Potter's foul mood. While Pansy had fully expected to brag about stealing some of the rare dittany and oils from some idiot Hufflepuffs, now she didn't even bother. Instead of making him delightfully annoyed, she would only cause another argument and that was something that she was not up for.

"So I've got enough for us for a bit if we get two cauldrons going on at once," she said without preamble as she unloaded her full arms onto the table an purposefully ignored Potter's stare.

"Great."

"Alright."

"Let just-"

"Right, get started."

And with that awkwardness out of the way, the pair fell silent and got to work slicing and dicing the ingredients in front of them. It was easy for Pansy to get lost in her movements now, her mind void of all thought - almost like a meditative state. She had just enough focus to avoid accidentally cutting off a digit, but that was it.

"That shrake needs to be diced smaller."

"Fuck off," she replied simply and instinctively.

"Fine," he snapped, then paused for a moment, his face visibly looking as if he was trying to throw a similar insult at her, "Minger."

Pansy looked up at Potter fuming and tilted her head to the side curiously. "You don't insult many women," she noted, "Do you?"

"I'd hardly call you a woman, Parkinson," he laughed.

Pansy made a sound that crossed between a snort and a humph. Who needed his approval anyway?

But then again...

It has been a while since she had fucked with someone who was as testy and emotive as Potter. After only a week working side by side, she knew more or less how to get him to tick.

Wiping the sweat from her brow, that was a result of working over two simmering cauldrons, then she made a show of sighing, taking off her cardigan, and rolling up her sleeves. Potter, who lived his life in a constant state of dishevelment, had long since abandoned his tie and shoved his sleeves up. He barely noticed her small actions and continued to to ignore her as she discreetly rolled up her skirt slightly, until the hem was just below her bum.

Clearly her throat, Pansy quietly excused herself as she moved around the table. When she reached Potter on the other side, she squeezed between him and the able, her bum shimmying across his front, and she felt Potter freeze against her. The room was just small enough to make it difficult for him to move out of the way but he didn't even make an attempt.

"Don't mind me," she muttered brightly as she reached for a dulled knife for crushing. "Pardon-" she said as she repeated the action, albeit just slightly slower, wiggling against him.

Potter, for his part, said nothing but Pansy knew he wasn't stupid. It was a game of chicken now, and Gryffindor's Golden Boy has never been the losing type.

When she was back on her side of the table, Pansy sighed dramatically again and Potter kept his eyes steeled on the potent ion in front of him, just watching it as it bubbled into essence of dittany.

Now, that was no good.

"Damn, where did I put those notes?" she wondered aloud in a stage-whisper, which was enough to cause Potters' eyes to flick upward briefly at the exact moment Pansy bent down and shifted through her bag.

With her shortened skirt and bum in the air, Pansy knew at least the bottom of her behind was a perfectly visible. She stayed in the position for a moment, pretending to look through her bag, then snapped back into an up-right position with a random parchment in her hand.

"Ah! There we are!" she exclaimed, feigning excitement. When she glanced back at Potter, he was looking down again though his face was as red as a Weasleys and she knew he had taken advantage of his chance to get an eyeful.

"Now..." Pansy began to scan the parchment in her hands as she seemingly absent-mindedly began to move around the table again. She excused herself again as she squeezed past Potter once more to reach something beside him. She delighted in the feeling of him tensing up behind her then-

Ah. Fourth time the charm.

"Pard- oh-" Pansy paused in front of Potter, her arse directly against him and she felt his cock stir against her. Simultaneously, he placed a hand on her hip to hold her still against him.

"Those are Charms notes," he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Oh, are they?" Pansy looked up and pretended to be surprised, though her smirk gave it away. "I hadn't noticed."

She circled her hips once and she could feel his jaw tighten just before his hand dropped from her hip.

"I've got practice," he announced abruptly though it took him an extended moment to actually move.

"Bring back a bit more shrake, if you can!" she called after him gleefully before humming to herself and continuing the potion. Finally, she had bested Potter and this was a game she knew best.

A/N:

Sneak peak for next chapter:

"You don't have to explain, really."

"-holding some kind of torch-"

"I get it."

"-friends, always just friends, and I've appreciated that-"

"Theo!" she exclaimed, holding up her hands. "I wasn't thinking anything of it. Just trying to make conversation."