Pansy isn’t like the other girls.
She stalks the corridors long after dark, prefect badge shining dully on her chest in the moonlight that spills through high windows. No cloak covers the crisp white shirt of her uniform; she refuses to admit vulnerability, even to the chilly night air. Her skirt dances around pale thighs as she moves, lithe, catlike.
Dark eyes glisten as she spots her prey. She follows the gangly redhead in silence until she gets close enough to push Ginny’s back against the wall.
“Out after dark, Weasley?” she hisses, wand pressed against unblemished freckled neck. She has to look up to meet the honey-brown eyes. Pansy is tiny, but her gaze is enough to make Ginny feel twelve years old again, helpless, awkward, out of place.
Ginny stiffens and looks directly back at Pansy, trying desperately to imitate the poise she had in such abundance mere hours ago. “Leave me alone, Parkinson.”
“Why would I do that?”
Ginny’s palms are sweating and she doesn’t know why. She can feel Pansy’s hot breath on her neck, the cold stone against her back. The smaller girl’s feral grin makes her feel a little dizzy and she desperately longs for the warmth and safety of her bed.
“If you’re going to punish me,” she fights to keep her voice from quivering, though she doesn’t know just what she fears, “go ahead and get it over with.”
Pansy’s eyes flick over Ginny’s body, savoring the slender, muscular form with such delicate little curves. She’s always had a weakness for long legs, and she can almost see the outline of Ginny’s thighs through that thin nightgown. Almost.
“I’m going to punish you,” Pansy whispers, making the back of Ginny’s neck prickle exquisitely, “but I plan on taking my time.”
Pansy takes a moment to savor the widening of amber eyes and the explosion of a fiery blush.
Ginny swallows thickly. “You can’t- you can’t do that.”
“Oh, I disagree.” Pansy’s lips are grazing the skin beneath Ginny’s ear, flooding the younger girl’s body with the heat of her toxic whispers.
Pansy smirks. Under normal circumstances, Ginny could never be so daft.
“I’ll do whatever I want, for as long as I want, and you’re not going to stop me.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” It almost sounds like a question. Ginny is feeling more unsure by the minute, and Pansy’s body is moving closer.
“Oh,” Pansy says, eliciting a shudder as her icy fingertips press against the bare skin above Ginny’s heart, “I think you are.”
Pale fingers wrap in bright red hair, pulling so hard Ginny cries out.
“That hurts.” She whines.
“Tell me to stop.” Pansy hisses.
Ginny can’t force her mouth to form that one simple word. Pansy chuckles.
“That’s what I thought.” She has to stretch a little to kiss Ginny, but that does nothing to diminish the power behind her thin lips.
Pansy’s tongue pushes into Ginny’s mouth, and Ginny moans, not even sure herself whether in protest or pleasure. The kiss is rough, demanding, possessive. When Pansy finally pulls back, Ginny is gasping for breath.
“Why did you do that?” Ginny pants, unable to wrap her wildly spinning mind around what’s happening.
“Shut up, Weasley.” Her hands slide down Ginny’s sides, pressing thin fabric against hot skin, moving lower and lower until she catches the nightgown’s hem near Ginny’s ankles. She relishes the startled gasp as she jerks it up, the way Ginny’s arms wrap around her body and cling to the material. Pansy’s voice is dangerous. “Take it off.”
Fuck, she loves the way Ginny blushes.
“What? We’re in the middle of the hall! Someone could see me!”
“You should have thought of that before sneaking out of bed, little girl.”
“I’m only a year younger than you are!”
“Then stop being a whiny little twat and take it off!”
Ginny grows even redder and her hoarse voice is barely audible, “But I’m not wearing anything underneath.”
“Good.” Pansy jerks the nightgown over her head and throws it on the floor. She’ll never admit to anyone how many times she’s imagined what Ginny Weasley looked like under those robes. It’s even better than she expected. The girl is slender, but well defined from years of Quidditch. Her small breasts are perfectly round and pink nipples stand at attention, begging to be teased. Every inch of her is dusted with tiny freckles, and the soft auburn curls between her legs glisten, slightly damp. Pansy explores every inch, savoring the moans and desperate cries her touch creates. Ginny reaches down to return her caresses, but Pansy slaps her hand away.
“Did I say you could touch me, Weasley?”
“No,” Ginny breathes, “but I never said you could- ohhh!”
Pansy drinks in the intoxicating nectar, nuzzling the silky hair between Ginny’s legs, enjoying the way the other girl trembles against her face, pinning Ginny’s hips against the wall with surprisingly strong hands as the younger girl bucks and writhes beneath her.
Ginny never thought she even liked girls this way, but everything inside her is spinning and colliding. She feels like she might faint, and the pleasure is almost more than she can bear. Suddenly, sharp nails rake down her stomach, leaving angry red marks, and she cries out, shuddering hard against pleasure like nothing she’s felt before.
Pansy stands up, licking her lips lewdly and smirks. Ginny falls to her knees and looks up pleadingly into cold dark eyes. Her hand finds Pansy’s knee, starts sliding upward.
“No.” Pansy sneers at her. “Get back to bed, Weasley.”
“But don’t you want-“
She smirks. “Maybe another time, if you’re good enough.”
And without another word she stalks away, leaving Ginny naked on the stone floor, foggy, confused, and so utterly content she can barely manage to pull the nightgown back over her body and wander back to Gryffindor tower.
Pansy isn’t like the other girls. Then again, Ginny isn’t either.