An Unplanned Exchange [Harry Potter X Pansy Parkinson] - One-Shot

Synopsis: Auror Harry Potter, on an undercover assignment in Knockturn Alley, recognises a face he’d never expected to see again. Not in that state… in those clothes… doing that for money.

Written By: Lovely lady, Ms.Squirtle

[A/N: Adult Harry Potter and Pansy. Post Canon.]

___________

The air in Knockturn Alley reeked of damp stone, cheap whiskey, and the acrid scent of burning incense meant to mask something far worse. Harry moved through the shadowed streets with expert ease, his boots silent against the uneven cobblestones.

His face was different now; no round glasses perched on his nose, no lightning-bolt scar peeking through his untamed hair. He was taller, broader than the last time the Daily Prophet plastered his picture across their front page.

Years of Auror work had left their mark; his gaze was sharp, his demeanor hardened. Perhaps more rough now, a likely state of a man with a broken childhood and an unsuccessful marriage. All he had now was a job he was dedicated to… mostly.

For weeks now, he had made this place his temporary home, blending into the filth and vice of Knockturn Alley to track a smuggling ring suspected of dealing in cursed artifacts. He had spent nights listening in on whispers over drinks, hands curled around chipped glass, pretending to be just another jaded bastard looking to drown his sorrows in the underbelly of the wizarding world.

Then, he saw her.

The slit in her skirt rode high, teasing the soft expanse of her pale thigh. The black bodice she wore hugged her curves like a second skin, the supple fabric emphasizing every sinful dip and swell of her body. The candlelight from the grimy shop windows cast flickering shadows over her exposed shoulders, the sheen of her stockings, the gleam of her knee-high leather boots as she shifted her weight onto one leg, effortlessly drawing the attention of every passing man.

It wasn’t until she turned that the recognition hit him like a curse to the chest.

Pansy Parkinson.

Her dark hair was swept up into a messy, sensual bun, loose strands framing her sharp features. Red lips curved slightly as she leaned toward some drunken fool whispering in her ear, but Harry could see the calculation behind her heavily lidded gaze. She looked like she had walked straight out of a Muggle burlesque show, seductive and untouchable.

No fucking way.

His instincts screamed at him to keep walking, to ignore the way his pulse jumped at the sight of her. This wasn’t the same simpering girl who had once clung to Draco Malfoy’s arm at Hogwarts. That Pansy had been a spoiled, cruel little thing, sneering at those beneath her.

But this woman, this woman had sharp edges, a survivor’s resilience etched into the way she carried herself.

Her gaze landed on him.

Her smirk faltered.

“Wait—you!”

Harry didn’t slow down. His heart slammed against his ribs, but his feet carried him forward, quick and steady.

He couldn’t afford this.

Not now.

Not here.

Pansy’s high-heeled boots clicked against the cobblestones as she followed at a careful distance, her hesitation clear. If she was wrong, if he wasn’t who she thought he was, drawing attention to herself could be dangerous in a place like this.

Harry kept walking, cutting through the labyrinth of side streets until he reached the small, dingy inn where he had been staying. Without a glance behind, he went into his room and closed the door, but he knew she was behind him. He could feel her presence like a slow burn at his back.

She hesitated; only for a breath. Then, she knocked.

Harry opened the door just enough to see her.

Her brown eyes searched his face, scanning for something familiar, something undeniable. And then, in a heartbeat, he saw it. The exact moment she recognized him. Her lips parted slightly, eyes widened.

But before she could speak, movement at the far end of the hallway caught his attention.

A bald, rough-looking man had just stepped into his own room, but not before shooting them a brief, knowing glance.

Fuck.

Harry reacted on instinct, grabbing Pansy’s wrist and yanking her inside before she had time to protest. The door slammed shut behind her, plunging them into dim candlelight and thick tension.

She barely had a moment to regain her footing before he pushed her back against the door, his hand braced beside her head.

“What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was low, rough, and edged with frustration.

Pansy didn’t flinch.

Instead, she smirked. Slowly, her gaze roamed over him, deliberate and unhurried, like she was committing every detail to memory.

“Not such a do-gooder now, are you?” she murmured with amusement.

Before he could reply, three sharp knocks echoed against the wood behind her.

They both froze.

Harry reacted fast. He shoved Pansy behind him, his grip firm on her arm as he stepped toward the door. He cracked it open just enough to see who was on the other side, his free hand subtly hovering near his wand.

A large, bald man stood in the dimly lit hallway, his thick arms crossed over his chest, his beady eyes flickering with suspicion. He reeked of cheap ale and sweat, and his voice carried the slurred arrogance of someone used to getting what they wanted.

“Oi, mate,” the man muttered, peering past Harry’s shoulder. “That girl in there with ya… Could she be Charlotte from the pub downstairs?”

Harry kept his expression blank.

“I don’t know any Charlotte.” His voice was calm, steady, playing the part of a clueless, gruff bastard.

The man’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Ain’t no use lyin’ to me.”

The man growled, slamming his hand against the door and forcing it open a few more inches. But then… he froze.

His gaze locked onto the bed, where Pansy Parkinson sat, already stripped bare, her body half-draped in thin, crumpled sheets. The dim candlelight cast golden hues over her pale skin, illuminating the smooth curve of her shoulder, the gentle swell of her breasts, and the way the sheet barely clung to her, teasing at what lay beneath. Her legs were stretched out just enough for a tantalizing glimpse of creamy thigh, the soft dip of her waist leading into the darkness of the sheets that barely shielded her from view.

She tilted her head slightly, a wicked smirk curling her lips.

“Hello, love,” she purred, her voice low and sultry. “You know a ménage à trois costs extra, right?”

The bald man’s mouth hung open. His eyes devoured the sight before him, lingering hungrily on the shadowy valley between her breasts, the curve of her hip just barely covered. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly.

“Oh—oh, shit,” he stammered, stumbling back a step, his face now flushed under the dim corridor light. “You’re not Charlotte…”

Harry sighed annoyedly. As soon as the man stepped backward, his expression turning cold.

“Sod off,” he snapped, his voice dripping with irritation, before slamming the door shut in the man’s face.

The moment the door clicked shut, Harry turned, his sharp green eyes falling on Pansy’s relaxed, confident form sprawled across the bed. His jawline flexed as he gritted his teeth.

“Why are you naked?”

Pansy stretched languidly, her back arching slightly, the movement causing the sheet to slip lower, revealing just a bit more of her supple skin. Her lips curved into something smug, something teasing.

“A whore’s in your room. What else are you going to do? Ask me to sing you a lullaby?” She propped herself up on her elbow, cocking her head at him.

Harry exhaled through his nose, stepping closer to the bed. The way she lay there, half-covered, half-exposed, exuding sinful temptation, reminded him of a painting: The Sleeping Venus.

And he was standing close enough now to see the amusement glinting in her dark eyes.

Harry took a slow, measured step toward the bed. The candlelight flickered, casting long, shifting lines over the wooden floorboards. Pansy, still reclining, tilted her head slightly, watching him with the languid ease of a predator.

As he neared, she shifted onto her knees on the bed, the thin sheets pooling around her hips, revealing smooth, pale skin kissed by the warm glow of the candlelight. Her curves, soft yet sharply defined, cast teasing shadows that seemed to dance with every subtle movement. The dark strands of her hair were still twisted up in that effortlessly sensual bun, though a few rogue tendrils had escaped, framing her face like ink strokes on parchment.

Harry clenched his jaw when he finally focused on her supple, naked breast, more than a handful, but still shapely enough to drown a man between them. That lacy, string-like underwear was still clinging to her hips, covering very little.

"Tell me why you're here." His voice was edged with irritation, but even he could hear the underlying tension beneath it. He couldn’t afford distractions, his cover was too fragile, too important to risk.

Pansy smirked, slow and knowing, her lips parting just enough to hint at something wicked. "To see an old friend. And maybe…"

She reached out, placing her hands on his waist, fingers barely brushing the fabric of his shirt before trailing upward. "Just maybe, get something worthwhile."

Her touch was maddeningly light, teasing over the ridges of his abdomen, the thin material of his shirt doing nothing to dull the sensation. Harry exhaled sharply, resisting the instinct to grab her wrists and remove the space between them.

"You know I can't do this, Parkinson. I’m on a job, not a vacation," he ground out, forcing himself to focus on her eyes rather than the tantalizing press of her body so close to his.

"But you clearly want to." Her voice dipped, sultry and confident, as she glanced down; unmistakably aware of the growing tension in his stance, the way his muscles coiled beneath her touch. "And I want a job. A respectable one."

Her fingers moved with deliberate slowness, unfastening the top button of his shirt. Then another. Her delicate fingertips traced the defined lines of his torso as she worked her way down, her touch feather light.

Harry’s pulse pounded in his ears, his restraint fraying at the edges. He had seen Pansy flirt, manipulate, and taunt before; but this wasn’t some calculated seduction for power or social gain. This was something else. Something dangerous.

She unfastened the shirt with a single, practiced hand, her other palm pressing over the hardening bulge in his trousers. His breath caught as her fingers brushed over his waistband, lingering, teasing. His cock throbbed against the restraint of his pants.

Pansy smirked, knowing she had him exactly where she wanted him.

Harry inhaled sharply, his control slipping just enough that his fingers found her hair, threading through the loose strands. The cool silk of it against his calloused hands sent a shiver down his spine.

A thrill licked at his senses; dark, reckless, and tempting.

And when her slender fingers curled around his waistband, her touch both firm and coaxing, he knew… He was already in too deep.

Her cool, slender fingers wrapped around his cock, fetching it from his pants.

Pansy lowered herself, willingly, seductively. Her lips parted, her breath warm against his skin as she dragged the tip of her tongue along the underside of his cock, slow and deliberate. She glanced up at him through dark lashes, her expression a mix of amusement and hunger, as if savoring the way his jaw tightened.

She wrapped her fingers around the base, stroking him with a teasing grip, her tongue flicking over the sensitive head before she took him into her mouth. 

Heat enveloped him, wet and slick, as she hollowed her cheeks and sucked, slow at first, drawing him deeper inch by inch.

Harry grimaced, hips twitching as her tongue coiled around the sensitive ridge of his crown, teasing every nerve-ending. She moved lower, inch by inch, swallowing him down, her throat flexing around his cock as she took him in completely. Wet, eager lips sealed around his base as she sucked, her rhythm deep and indulgent, her throat massaging every inch of him in slick, practiced strokes.

She knew what she was doing.

Pansy Parkinson had been in this line of work for a while, she understood exactly how to unravel a man. One hand cupped and massaged his balls, fingers rolling them gently as she bobbed her head, her tongue slithering over his cock, lips gliding with unholy expertise. She hollowed her cheeks, working him over, her pace slow but unrelenting, until she felt that telltale twitch; the familiar pulse of a man right on the edge.

Harry’s restraint slipped into nothingness with every slick glide of her lips. His fingers itched to grip her hair, to take control, to fuck that pretty mouth; but Pansy wasn’t the type to be tamed.

She was doing this on her terms.

And fuck, was she good at it.

Her nails lightly scraped along his thigh as she took him deeper, swallowing around him until he hit the back of her throat. A sharp exhale left him, his hips jerking involuntarily. She gagged slightly but didn’t stop, her throat tightening around him before she pulled back, gasping for air.

"Fuck," Harry muttered, his voice hoarse.

Pansy licked her lips as she grinned up at him. "Thought you didn't want me here?"

His response was a sharp growl, one hand finally tangling in her hair as he guided her back down. Pansy let him, moaning around his cock as she let him set the pace, let him thrust shallowly into her mouth.

But just when he was on the edge, just when his muscles tensed and pleasure coiled dangerously tight in his gut once again, she pulled away completely, her lips red and swollen, her breathing heavy

Harry let out a frustrated grunt. "What the—"

Pansy wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her other hand yanking him onto the bed.

Harry's whole body landed on the bed, its frame creaking beneath him as he sprawled out. He stared at her, anger brewing in his gaze. He almost wanted to kick her out as she was, naked in all her glory.

Pansy smirked devilishly as she climbed over him, "Relax, Potter."

She dragged her slick fingers down his chest, nails grazing over his skin. "I’m not done with you yet."

She reached for his pants, tugging them down the rest of the way, discarding them on the floor. Then, she swung a leg over his hips, straddling his waist, her heat pressing against him through the thin barrier of her underwear. She splayed her hands over his chest, pushing his shirt wider, drinking in the sight of his toned muscles.

"I never knew you had this much potential, Potter," she purred, fingers tracing his chest, nails dragging lightly over his skin. As she spoke, she rocked her hips, gliding her drenched panties along the length of his cock, rubbing against him without taking him in—just teasing, torturing, keeping him on edge.

Pansy’s breath was unsteady, her chest rising and falling as she moved against him, teasing herself on the thick length pressing against her core. Her panties soaked as she shamelessly ground down on him, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles.

At that moment, Harry was barely holding it back. His hands gripped her waist, his fingertips digging in as he fought the urge to flip her over and take what she was so obviously offering. But she was testing him, playing with him.

“Do you feel that?” she murmured, leaning down beside his head, lips brushing against his ear. She rolled her hips again, dragging her slick heat over the length of his straining cock. “You’ve been hard since the moment you saw me, haven’t you?”

Harry groaned, his grip tightening. “You really don’t shut up, do you?”

Pansy smirked, but before she could retort, he shifted beneath her, sitting up abruptly. The change in position forced her to tilt back slightly, pushing up her breasts to perk up even more.

She gasped, hands flying up as if to stop him, but he was faster. His mouth latched onto one peaked nipple, hot and wet, his tongue flicking over it before he sucked it into his mouth. Pansy’s sharp inhale turned into a breathless moan, her nails digging into his shoulders.

“Harry—”

He ignored her, moving to the other breast, teeth grazing just enough to make her jolt. His hands roamed freely now, one slipping beneath her, fingers dragging up the inside of her thigh, tracing the damp core.

“So fucking wet,” he muttered, rubbing his fingers against the soaked fabric before hooking two fingers under the edge and pulling it aside. His fingertips teased at her entrance, feeling the heat, the slickness.

Pansy let out a whimpering breath. “Stop teasing.”

Harry smirked against her skin, then in one swift move, he flipped them, pinning her beneath his tall frame. Liking the look of her panties, he left them on and pushed the bridge to the side. His fingers found her again, sliding between her folds, gathering the wetness before pressing against her clit in slow, torturous circles.

Her legs spread wider instinctively, her back arching. “Harry—”

He pressed his fingers inside, stretching her inch by inch, feeling her walls pulse around him. Her head fell back against the pillows, a gasp escaping her lips.

“More,” she demanded breathlessly.

He didn’t make her wait. His fingers moved deeper, curling, stroking that spot that made her legs tremble. She clenched around him, slick and needy, her hands pulling at his wrist, desperate to get more of that wondrous feeling.

But he wasn’t going to let her control him. He slowly pulled his wet, sticky fingers out of her, and stroked his cock, aiming his swollen cockhead right between her trembling, pale thighs. The bridge of her panties was pulled aside by her very own, delicate fingers, presenting him her sultry, hot flower.

Harry was thick and heavy, flushed deep with arousal, and when he dragged his cock through her folds, coating himself in her wetness, she let out a desperate little noise that made his restraint snap.

Then, with one firm thrust, he pushed inside.

“Aahhhh!” Pansy cried out in lustful surprise, her nails sinking into his back. He filled her completely, stretching her around his cock, her walls gripping him like she never wanted to let go, no protection.

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, pressing his forehead to hers as he stilled, letting her adjust. She was so tight, so fucking warm around him, that it took all his willpower not to start moving immediately.

Pansy’s legs wrapped around him, heels digging into his lower back.

“Move.” She begged, almost demanded.

He pulled back, almost all the way out, before thrusting in again, slow, deep, deliberate. Pansy moaned, her hips lifting to meet him. He set a steady rhythm, rolling his hips, making her feel every inch of him with each thrust.

It wasn’t enough. He turned her sideways and grabbed one of her legs as he knelt on the bed. He pushed her left leg up onto his shoulder while straddling her right, angling himself deeper as he jammed his cock in.

The next thrust made her cry out, her back arching.

“That’s it,” Harry muttered, his pace quickening. “Take it.”

Pansy moaned with every hard, deliberate thrust, her body writhing beneath him.

“Harder,” she gasped, nails dragging down on his thigh. “Fucking—harder.”

Harry slammed into her, his grip tightening on the thigh plastered to his chest, widening her completely as he fucked her deep and rough, exactly how she wanted. His other hand kneaded around her jolting breasts, teasing and pinching her hardened nipples. The room was filled with the sound of their bodies colliding, slick and desperate, every thrust pushing her closer to the edge.

Her walls clenched around him, her moans turning breathless and broken. “I’m—I’m..! Ahhh!!”

He didn’t let up. He fucked her through it, pushing her into her climax, feeling her tighten and pulse around him as she came with a shuddering cry. The way she squeezed him, so wet and tight, sent him spiraling right after her.

Harry fought that primal instinct, but it won in the end. He buried himself balls deep, his entire body tensing as he came, his cream spilling inside her in thick, hot pulses. His grip on her thighs eased, and he collapsed onto his forearms, panting against her neck.

Pansy was still trembling beneath him, her breathing uneven, her fingers lazily trailing up his back. “Fuck,” she muttered after a moment.

Harry let out a rough chuckle, pressing a consolation kiss to her collarbone. “You alright?”

She hummed, clearly satisfied but too spent to respond properly.

Harry smirked. “I’ll take that as a yes…”

Looking at her blushing, satisfied face, he couldn’t help adding, “Don’t forget to take the potion, and… I guess I can lend a hand in finding a job. I'm not Draco."

Pansy’s smile widened as she nodded with satisfaction, nestling into the bed to rest for the night. Hopeful that this was it. The moment she’d been waiting for. A chance to undo the damage Voldemort’s fall and further trials had done to the Parkinson family. 

A chance to live a normal, respectable life again. Not just a pricey whore in Knockturn Alley.

Harry also curled up behind her, pulling the sheets to cover their flushed, sweating bodies. 

He had no damn clue where this weird mess was headed, but at least he enjoyed himself after a long time.