One Shot: Dust and Grime
Title: Dust and Grime
Characters: Harry/Pansy
For: HP Pairings
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Fluff and Angst
Warnings: A little hott. Don't get burned.
Word Count: 1025
Summary: Harry meets a lover in the dark.
Notes: It's not really that bad, I just can't/won't write too much naughtiness.
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me and I make no money off of them, etc.
It was no secret that Harry occasionally refused the advise of his friends and the counsel of common sense. Yet when he snuck of his bedroom one early Thursday morning, he had the vague feeling that he was being more mule-headed than usual. Beyond how strange and forbidden it was, there was just something so absolutely wrong about the idea.
As he gathered the edges of his invisibility cloak tightly around his shoulders, he strode down the darkened corridors. His excitement made stealthy walking impossible, so he was fortunate to not be caught up after curfew. Truthfully, the thought of being caught had not even entered his mind, only habit had made him grab the cloak. As he marched down the hall, he felt excitement growing from the tips of his toes to the top of his head.
Finally, breathless, he arrived. At the top of a very secluded stairway, where they had met before. This small room was shadowy with dust and darkness. The faintest light from the full moon shone through a grimy window and tattered curtain. No one, other than a certain pair, had been up here for a very long time. Harry looked around, agitated, for her.
Her. Slytherin. Cold, cruel, calculating. Demanding witch, dangerous wench, and a desperate woman. He could picture her where she had stood before. In dark cloak, not magic, but almost as good as his for stealthy foray in the night, she would stand. He would be able to see dark wisps of hair curling against her waxen face. Although she would be trying to stand motionless, the gentle raising of her chest and trembling in her fingers would give her away. Then he would move to her, he could never surprise her, she always saw him as soon as he tramped up the stairs, he would move to her and their ritual would begin.
It had started all at once, a few unusual looks gave new emotions, and new touches led to new sensations. She gave him a note and they had met in the shadowy recesses of this secluding wing of the castle. It had been awkward; she had been cold, he had been shy. Yet they did not leave until dawn began creeping into the grimy window that they were beginning to claim as their own. A week later, after he could no longer take her seductions, Harry slipped her the next note. In the dark they met again. This time the clumsiness lasted only a moment, only a few biting words and a embarrassed look. She had stepped up to him at the same instant he grabbed her arms. Their lips met in the middle, frenzied, heated, sharp. The night faded into dawn far too quickly. She sent him a note in half a week, he sent her one two days after that. Now it was their nightly ritual.
Now she was not here. Harry paced, aggravated, willing her to appear. Finally she did. Pansy Parkinson, heir to the Slytherin throne, rounded the corner as she stepped slowly up the stairs. His heart leaping into his throat, Harry raced to her as she came to the top. He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her to him. Violently, he smashed her lips with his own and he felt her gasp beneath him before she bit him keenly back. Struggling against each other, they staggered to their dusty corner beneath their grimy window.
Pansy’s arms looped around his neck as she pulled on his long hair. Groaning, he abandoned her lips and began kissing her neck forcefully. As his lips worked their way along her collarbone, he heard her swear, and he smiled against her cold skin. She pulled his hair harder as he pushed her against the wall, bearing down on her. One of her manicured, sharp hands scratched his chest, causing Harry to pause in the quick pain. Impassioned, he found the edge of her shirt and ripped it downward, revealing her black corset. His lips dared lower as she thrust her heaving chest toward him. Her body was trapped against the wall, and though she pushed hard against his, she was not trying to escape. Again she swore and he laughed inwardly, knowing how much she hating buying new clothes after he destroyed them.
He could hardly breathe as he felt her hands scraping lower and lower down his torso. She felt the same way as his hands encircling her waist climbed higher and higher on her chest. Somewhere above his right ear, he could hear her frantic gasps for air. His lips were brushing the rounded flesh above her black lace as he hands waited restlessly below, when the world changed.
Pansy froze. Her hands stilled, right above the waist of his trousers. Her breathing slowed, and she straightened up beneath him. This happened in a few moments, but Harry tried to ignore it, but the change was so dramatic it shocked him. He stopped, dropped his hands to her waist, and looked her in the eye.
Blazing green eyes met cold black ones. In that instant he knew. Normally, her eyes were a black-gold fire of lust, now they were lackluster. Her expression was stoic, instead of being open and free. She no longer trembled, he could no longer hear her breath. He found her hands. Her touch was cold. In horror, he dropped him.
Coldly, Pansy looked up at him. Her voice was calm as she stated, “we must end this.” He knew this, he felt the change in the weather, however unexpected, and nodded. Somehow, he knew this day would come. Secret meetings in the dark would only last so long before they were discovered. They would never be allowed to be together, ever. They both knew this, Harry just hadn’t expected it to all end so soon.
Purposefully, Pansy wrapped her black robe around herself and her tattered clothes and walked down the stairs. She left their dusty corner. The first, grey light of morning peered through their grimy window. Her footsteps echoed lightly as she reached the floor below.
Harry stared after her. And swore.
Characters: Harry/Pansy
For: HP Pairings
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Fluff and Angst
Warnings: A little hott. Don't get burned.
Word Count: 1025
Summary: Harry meets a lover in the dark.
Notes: It's not really that bad, I just can't/won't write too much naughtiness.
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me and I make no money off of them, etc.
It was no secret that Harry occasionally refused the advise of his friends and the counsel of common sense. Yet when he snuck of his bedroom one early Thursday morning, he had the vague feeling that he was being more mule-headed than usual. Beyond how strange and forbidden it was, there was just something so absolutely wrong about the idea.
As he gathered the edges of his invisibility cloak tightly around his shoulders, he strode down the darkened corridors. His excitement made stealthy walking impossible, so he was fortunate to not be caught up after curfew. Truthfully, the thought of being caught had not even entered his mind, only habit had made him grab the cloak. As he marched down the hall, he felt excitement growing from the tips of his toes to the top of his head.
Finally, breathless, he arrived. At the top of a very secluded stairway, where they had met before. This small room was shadowy with dust and darkness. The faintest light from the full moon shone through a grimy window and tattered curtain. No one, other than a certain pair, had been up here for a very long time. Harry looked around, agitated, for her.
Her. Slytherin. Cold, cruel, calculating. Demanding witch, dangerous wench, and a desperate woman. He could picture her where she had stood before. In dark cloak, not magic, but almost as good as his for stealthy foray in the night, she would stand. He would be able to see dark wisps of hair curling against her waxen face. Although she would be trying to stand motionless, the gentle raising of her chest and trembling in her fingers would give her away. Then he would move to her, he could never surprise her, she always saw him as soon as he tramped up the stairs, he would move to her and their ritual would begin.
It had started all at once, a few unusual looks gave new emotions, and new touches led to new sensations. She gave him a note and they had met in the shadowy recesses of this secluding wing of the castle. It had been awkward; she had been cold, he had been shy. Yet they did not leave until dawn began creeping into the grimy window that they were beginning to claim as their own. A week later, after he could no longer take her seductions, Harry slipped her the next note. In the dark they met again. This time the clumsiness lasted only a moment, only a few biting words and a embarrassed look. She had stepped up to him at the same instant he grabbed her arms. Their lips met in the middle, frenzied, heated, sharp. The night faded into dawn far too quickly. She sent him a note in half a week, he sent her one two days after that. Now it was their nightly ritual.
Now she was not here. Harry paced, aggravated, willing her to appear. Finally she did. Pansy Parkinson, heir to the Slytherin throne, rounded the corner as she stepped slowly up the stairs. His heart leaping into his throat, Harry raced to her as she came to the top. He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her to him. Violently, he smashed her lips with his own and he felt her gasp beneath him before she bit him keenly back. Struggling against each other, they staggered to their dusty corner beneath their grimy window.
Pansy’s arms looped around his neck as she pulled on his long hair. Groaning, he abandoned her lips and began kissing her neck forcefully. As his lips worked their way along her collarbone, he heard her swear, and he smiled against her cold skin. She pulled his hair harder as he pushed her against the wall, bearing down on her. One of her manicured, sharp hands scratched his chest, causing Harry to pause in the quick pain. Impassioned, he found the edge of her shirt and ripped it downward, revealing her black corset. His lips dared lower as she thrust her heaving chest toward him. Her body was trapped against the wall, and though she pushed hard against his, she was not trying to escape. Again she swore and he laughed inwardly, knowing how much she hating buying new clothes after he destroyed them.
He could hardly breathe as he felt her hands scraping lower and lower down his torso. She felt the same way as his hands encircling her waist climbed higher and higher on her chest. Somewhere above his right ear, he could hear her frantic gasps for air. His lips were brushing the rounded flesh above her black lace as he hands waited restlessly below, when the world changed.
Pansy froze. Her hands stilled, right above the waist of his trousers. Her breathing slowed, and she straightened up beneath him. This happened in a few moments, but Harry tried to ignore it, but the change was so dramatic it shocked him. He stopped, dropped his hands to her waist, and looked her in the eye.
Blazing green eyes met cold black ones. In that instant he knew. Normally, her eyes were a black-gold fire of lust, now they were lackluster. Her expression was stoic, instead of being open and free. She no longer trembled, he could no longer hear her breath. He found her hands. Her touch was cold. In horror, he dropped him.
Coldly, Pansy looked up at him. Her voice was calm as she stated, “we must end this.” He knew this, he felt the change in the weather, however unexpected, and nodded. Somehow, he knew this day would come. Secret meetings in the dark would only last so long before they were discovered. They would never be allowed to be together, ever. They both knew this, Harry just hadn’t expected it to all end so soon.
Purposefully, Pansy wrapped her black robe around herself and her tattered clothes and walked down the stairs. She left their dusty corner. The first, grey light of morning peered through their grimy window. Her footsteps echoed lightly as she reached the floor below.
Harry stared after her. And swore.