There he is. The Chosen Prat. He just walked into the Great Hall for breakfast, prancing in his Quidditch Captain uniform. Just because he is not a scrawny kid anymore and fills that stupid uniform beautifully doesn't mean he can walk around like he owns the castle. Merlin, his arse is very, very round. And firm. Shit. Why does he have to look so good? Prick.

Pansy Parkinson sat at the Slytherin table, moving her food around aimlessly, staring at the boy that she is supposed to hate. The Chosen One. The Savior of the Wizarding World, they call him. Because of some stunt he pulled as a baby, probably accidental magic. Although later there was that thing about the defense professor that went nuts first-year and tried to kill him to avenge Voldemort, and the monster killing snake second year, and then the weird story about Sirius Black that turned out to be his godfather or something, and then the Triwizard tournament that he won at age fourteen, and how he was the one that got rid of that bitch Umbridge fifth year…

Pansy sighed. She was running out of reasons to hate Harry Potter. He was Gryffindor, so he was supposed to be a bitter rival of the Slytherin house. He had dismissed Draco very rudely first-year, and back then Draco was the love of her life (she rolled her eyes), so she hated him by proxy. But now, it was getting harder to find reasons to despise him.

She shifted in her seat. Lately, thinking about Harry Potter made her hot under the collar, and that was both infuriating and delicious. He was the forbidden fruit. And she was getting hungrier by the day.

There was a game that morning, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. Maybe she will go. Maybe she can talk Daphne into going with her. She had a feeling that her friend stole one too many glances towards Potter's sidekick, the red weasel, who by the way was now very tall and muscular, and had grown his hair and wore it now in a sleek ponytail. She heard rumors that he was imitating his older brother, the one that married the half veela French girl. Anyways, the red weasel was the goalkeeper for Gryffindor, so maybe Daphne will feel like coming along.

Sure enough, it didn't take too much to convince Daphne to go. They both pretended that there was nothing else to be done, and to their surprise, Draco and Blaise just walked with them. Then Draco casually suggested that they sit on the Gryffindor bleachers, you know, to see if anyone dared to say anything. The girls got kind of concerned about that, but it was not like anyone was going to start a fight right under the Professor's noses, and McGonagall was sure to be sitting right there. So to the Gryffindor bleachers they went.

They sat on the third row, a group of first years panicked when they saw them and moved, leaving that spot open. Draco smirked. It was perfect. Because in the front row was Hermione Granger, sitting with her friends Longbottom and Looney Lovegood, who was a Ravenclaw but always hang out with the Gryffindorks. Granger turned around like she had felt their presence, and he held her gaze, lifting a challenging brow. She rolled her eyes and looked back to the pitch.

When the Gryffindor team was announced, the noise on the bleachers was deafening, but Draco noticed that at the announcement of Ginny Weasley's name Blaise spilled some stuff in Italian

"Ah, la bella con I capelli rossi," he said. Draco was pretty sure that meant something about Weasley's red hair.

Surprisingly, they got into the game and were actually cheering and applauding when Gryffindor scored. Pansy, who knew every bit of school gossip, was aware of the fling that had happened between Potter and the seeker from Ravenclaw, Cho Chang. So she wanted Chang to go down. She didn't have the guts to cheer for Harry but she did boo Chang every chance she had. At one point, Ronald Weasley went for a dangerous catch and almost fell off his broom. Daphne snapped to stand, gasped loudly and covered her mouth with her hands in a panic. But Ron immediately pulled himself back up, in an impressive pull-up move, and Daphne cheered and applauded while the other three exchanged curious looks.

So it was getting harder for Pansy to deny that she was attracted to Potter. But she was quite settled in her mean girl ways, so their interactions didn't ever go well. A couple of days later they had advanced potions with the Gryffindors, and when she went to the cupboard to get her ingredients Potter was standing there, taking his sweet time. After a minute or so she tapped her foot impatiently. He turned around and glared at her. She got defensive.

"Can you move, Potter? Why do you have to be such a hindrance all the time?"

Harry felt his blood boil. He had it with this spoiled brat. He turned around to face her, his green eyes flashing with fury.

"Why do you hate me so much, Parkinson? What have I ever done to you?"

Pansy was utterly unprepared for this.

"What?"

He took a step and got on her face

"I said what have I ever done to you, Parkinson?" he tried to stare her down but her dark eyes were now showing fear and she looked vulnerable and…pretty? He lowered his gaze to her full lips, which were trembling a little while she tried to respond. His hormones told him that his anger would calm down if he shut her up by snogging her hard. He instinctively moved his face a bit closer and she gasped softly. At that moment a loud voice startled them

"Harry, m'boy, what's taking so long? are we low on inventory? Said professor Slughorn form the front of the room.

Harry stood back, shaken, and answered

"No, sir, I think we can manage just fine," then he gave his ingredients to Pansy, who muttered a 'thank you' and ran back to her cauldron.

The next three days were like a game of cat and mouse for Pansy Parkinson and Harry Potter. Harry took advantage of his friend's Ron constant hunger and went to each meal very early, so he could get a good seat facing the Hall entrance and the Slytherin table. Then he would watch her walk in with her friend Greengrass, and followed them shamelessly with his eyes. He figured he challenged Parkinson once, he should keep it up. She would stare back at him and he would hold her gaze. By the second day, he noticed that Ron seemed to be following Greengrass with his eyes.

A few nights later Harry was in the library, and he had noticed Parkinson sitting in an armchair, alone, reading. She seemed to not have seen him, she didn't glance at him once. For some reason, that really bothered him. unable to control himself, he pranced back and forward to the shelves by her, but she didn't lift from the book. The third time he did it he felt stupid and stayed by the shelves in the back, hiding there while he tried to regain his composure. After a couple of minutes, she walked into his hiding place. Harry felt like he was being cornered, but Parkinson was alone. No Malfoy or Zabini or Goyle around. Yet, her stance was defiant, and she was a Prefect, and she could pull some mean hexes. He motioned to his wand holster and challenged in a loud whisper since they were at the library

"Where's your wand, Parkinson?"

She felt anger at his dismissive tone, but then collected herself and smirked. She could turn this to her advantage. To Harry's astonishment, she tiptoed her right foot, so her leg was bent in a very suggestive way, and then held the hem of her uniform skirt and slowly pulled it up to reveal a wand holster that was a leather strip on her thigh. Harry's cock sprang to attention. She said, also in a loud whisper

"There you go, Potter. It will stay there unless you make a move for it."

He swallowed hard. She let him look at the perfectly shaped leg for half a minute, then slowly put the skirt back down, straightened herself up and walked around him to reach the ladder that he was standing next to, then climbed to get some book from the top shelf. She could have easily Accio the book, the ladders were meant for first and second years who had not perfected the spell yet. But she couldn't resist the temptation to toy with him. As she expected, he stayed glued on the spot, and followed her with his eyes up the ladder, until the hem of her skirt was at eye level. She gave herself a little push on her tiptoes and that made the skirt sinfully move, giving him a peek of what seemed to be emerald green lace knickers. He was now definitely hard. When she started to descend slowly, one hand occupied with a book, he offered his hand to help her down. She smiled and with the excuse of being in the library, she said in his ear.

"Such a gentleman. Thank you, Potter." Then she walked away, and he followed the rhythm of her hips.

He couldn't make it all the way back to the tower. He ran into one of the lavatories, got into a stall, set a privacy ward and let his aching cock free. He leaned against the stall wall, his eyes closed, his cock in one hand, his balls in the other, and images of Pansy Parkinson showing him her sinful wand holster on every possible way, by lifting the hem of her skirt all the way to her emerald knickers, by bending forward to pick up a book she dropped on purpose, by shamelessly sitting on one of the library tables and pulling up her skirt and spreading her legs for him. His cock pulsed and his whole body shivered and he came so hard he had to support himself on the wall of the stall for a while.