Pansy Parkinson had a date for the second time in as many days. And as far as she knew, hell had not frozen over.



She sat at a secluded table at the most exclusive restaurant in Diagon Alley waiting on the man that she'd woken up next to this morning. And then showered with, and then proceeded to have sex with on every available surface with until he had to go to work and she was too exhausted to keep her eyes open.

Water sluices over the hollow of her throat, his lips touch the sensitive place underneath her ear, her leg wraps around his hip

Pansy fiddled with base of her wine glass, unaccountably nervous. I cannot believe I'm letting this one get to me. He's just a man. Just a man. Just a man. She pulled a compact from her bag and checked her reflection. That's it, old girl. Keep telling yourself that. She snapped the compact closed and took a sip of wine, irritated with herself. She would not fall for Cormac McLaggen. It was just a bad idea. He was not interested in that; she really didn't think he was interested in her, save what had happened this morning (several times) and what she could do for his career.

He pushes her up against a wall, she attacks his lips with her own, he bites her shoulder, they both moan

If she had been any other girl, she would have allowed her forehead to hit the table in frustration. Because she was Pansy Parkinson, poised and composed ice bitch, she sat with a bored look plastered on her face, and forced herself to look disinterested, a skill honed with years of rehearsal. The fact was, on the inside, she was dying for him to show up.

Damp sheets underneath them, bodies entwine, her fist in his hair, his mouth on her breast

Dangerous. Not for you. You'll be hurt, her father's voice echoed in her head. "Nonsense," she murmured. I'm not attached. You can't get hurt if you don't care, and I absolutely do not care. Even a little."

Her back arches, soft, panting moans escape her mouth, he kisses her forcefully, biting her lip

Pansy saw him from across the room and immediately her heart began to race. Dear Merlin, he's pretty, she thought. Involuntarily, her hand flew to her mouth, and she frowned slightly. He might be prettier than I am. Her eyebrow formed a perfect arch. Oh, that will never do.

Striding towards the table where Pansy was waiting for him, Cormac couldn't help but grin as he recollected the morning's activities. Worth the wait-and then some, he thought.

Watching her watch him, he smiled larger and winked at her. Keep your head, Cormac. She's just another woman-a beautiful, insanely wealthy woman, but still, just a woman.

Sunlight streams through the windows and he slowly follows the trail of light up her leg with his lips

"Pansy, good evening, love," he said, as he reached the table. He reached for her hand and placed a soft kiss on the back of it, holding her hand for a moment longer than necessary. He seated himself in the chair across from her and shot her a lascivious grin. "I trust the rest of your day was enjoyable?" And hopefully involved a lot less screaming.

Unable to stop the smile that slipped onto her lips, she nodded. "Yes. I actually didn't wake up until two." She shrugged. "It's one of the perks of being me."

Rough fingers splay on a taut stomach, eyes open and soften, she fists the sheets in her hand, he whispers her name

Seeing her drink on the table, Cormac said, "I hope you weren't waiting long, love. Last night's events sent my department into an uproar. Today was insane. And coming in a little late..." he broke off.

"No, I haven't been waiting long. In fact, I'm chronically early. Forever sitting with a glass of wine longer than I have to," she replied. What did you find out about the Mark? And the peacock? Does the MLE know anything?"

Cormac tensed slightly. "I'm afraid we don't know much. Apparently Potter's been given charge of the investigation. I'll keep you informed of what I learn."

Pansy nodded her approval then giggled involuntarily. At Cormac's inquisitive look, she explained, "Every time I hear Harry Potter's name I remember this recurring dream I have about him."

He raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. Dear Merlin, not her too.

"Not like that. Oh, dear, no. No, I don't think so, anyway. Unless I'm a little more twisted than I'd previously thought. No. In my dream, I'm in my sitting room, I ring for tea, and in comes Potter dressed as a house elf, complete with ears and tea towel, tray in hand. I swear, it's the funniest thing ever. I'll show you a Pensieve of it sometime," she continued, laughing. "The glasses... and he even squeaks, 'Yes, miss.'" She laughed again, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, looking at the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Pansy cleared her throat, stifling her giggles. "Do you remember your dreams?"

Cold tile up against her back, hot spray hits them both, she cries out, there is a shuddering release

Chuckling, Cormac said, "Well, I'm afraid my dreams aren't nearly as amusing as yours. I'd like to see yours sometime, though." I'd like to star in your dreams-minus the elf suit. Pausing and remembering something, he said, "You slept fitfully last night. Are you usually such a light sleeper?"

"Oh. No, I don't think so," she replied carefully. "Last night, the festival, the Mark, brought back... difficult memories." I had nightmares. Nightmare after nightmare. "Well, that, and I'm used to sleeping alone. I do hope you were able to get enough rest."

Cormac reached across the table and held Pansy's hand in his. "I slept fine, but thank you for worrying about me," he said, smiling. "I usually only need about four hours a night, so I was afraid I was keeping you up." A somber expression fell over his face. "Why the bad memories? I mean, other than the obvious?"

Fingernails scratch down his back, he kisses down the column of her throat, she gasps in pleasure

Pansy leaned back against the back of her chair and sipped her wine. Why the bad memories? she thought incredulously. How do I tell the man I slept with this morning that my father taught me the Cruciatus curse at age ten, and that I was good at it? "I don't suppose you're familiar with my family history?" she asked, looking faintly amused. "Of course you are. MLE," she muttered to herself. "Beyond the obvious," she began, nodding at him, "my father used to think it fun to involve me in his little hobby. Wanted me in the family business, as it were." Forced me to cast Morsmordre at the homes of Muggles he tortured. "He was an absolutely charming man," she finished, not quite able to meet his eyes.

Letting go of her hand, he touched her face, running his finger under her chin and lifting it so he could her eyes. "That wasn't your fault, Pansy." Gods, what has this woman been through? "I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sorry last night happened. I-" he broke off. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to take you out, treat you to a good time, maybe see you smile." Instead I send her into a fit of hysterics.

She gazed into his blue eyes and shrugged. "Bygones. And I did get to be nasty to that Spinnet girl. That always cheers me. But none of the rest of it had anything to do with you. You couldn't have known that would happen."

He grasps her hips and moans as he watches her rise up and down, slowly at first and then faster until she cries out in pleasure

The waiter made an appearance and they placed their orders. When he left, she asked, "How do you know Michael Corner?"

"Michael? Well, I suppose we ran into each other a few times at Hogwarts, but I don't remember. As we're both at the Ministry, we would usually take breaks at the same time. We kept bumping into each other and found out we both like to mock people and drink brandy in my office." He looked Pansy in the eyes. More importantly... "How do you know Michael Corner?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I don't. Not really." Jealous? Oh, I do like that. "His sister and I were close at school."

"Oh, you're friends with his sister? I didn't know he has a sister," he said, a bit relieved. Knew she didn't want him. Knew it.

She looked at the salad the waiter had placed in front of her, and picked up her fork without much enthusiasm. "He doesn't," she said tightly.

Rolling her eyes, she continued, "Look, I know it's not polite dinner conversation, but I don't want you to bring it up in front of him, either. She died. Long, sordid, Death Eaterish story." Pansy abandoned her fork and picked up her wine glass. "So. Do you have any brother or sisters?" she asked with forced brightness.

He blanched. "Gods, Pansy, I'm sorry," he said. "Um, no, no brothers or sisters. Mum said that they took one look at me and realized they had achieved perfection on the first try," he said, laughingly.

"Of course," she said with an amused smile. "And where does your mother live?"

I'm talking about my mother with a woman. Merlin's pants. "Aberdeen, the family home. Not quite as majestic as your Estate, but it's home." He paused. "She does like to 'pop in' on me every once in awhile though. She makes it down to London far too often for my taste, but it's mum, what's a bloke to do?"

She shook her head slightly. "I'm sure I don't know," she murmured. More loudly, she said, "Scotland, eh? I miss Scotland sometimes. In many ways, Scotland is more my home than Bath ever was or will be."

"Pansy?" he said, his forehead scrunched up slightly, "I hope you don't find me too intrusive, but what do you do? I mean, with your time? I was thinking of you today...wondering what you were doing." Shite. Did I just say that out loud?

Damn and blast, stupid stomach, stop with the fluttery feeling, she commanded mentally.

"What do I do?" she asked, repeating his question. "Oh, this and that. I lunch with friends every Tuesday, Tracey says I try to singlehandedly support the wizarding economy with my shopping trips, but she's one to talk. I manage the manor, which is a bloody thankless job..." her voice tapered off. She cocked her head to the side and said conspiratorially, "You know, I've been toying with the idea of actually doing something meaningful. I don't know what, though. There's not that much I'm good at, frankly."

A soft smile on kiss-swollen lips, gentle touches, sated feeling of exhaustion, he nuzzles her neck

"I'm sure there's plenty you're good at love." I'd certainly say so, if this morning is any indication. "Besides, you're quite the philanthropist lately. How's that working for you?" he said cheekily.

"Now, that is an excellent question, I must say. I guess you'd be the best person to answer it. How is that coming along? You're working hard, I suppose? Bribing the right people, cursing all those that get in your way, I trust?" she asked with a chuckle.

Cormac grinned broadly. "Everything is right on schedule, Miss Parkinson. I haven't had the opportunity yet to bribe anyone yet, per se, but I have arranged for a few people to be cursed or otherwise take care of."

He gazes at her face, unguarded in rapture, her hair brushes his face as she kisses him forcefully

"Excellent," she replied. I'm ever so glad that my Galleons are going to a good cause. I have very high expectations of you, you know." I can only hope the professional lives up to the level of the personal, she thought with a faint smile.

"I promise, you will be quite pleased with your investment. I always deliver; you have no cause for worry," he said in an assured tone. His voice dropped lower as he said, "I would think you would know that about me by now, love."

His last statement was met by a lazy smile. "Dessert?" she asked, looking in the direction of the waiter.

He shudders, almost violently, and groans as he falls over the edge taking her with him

"Why don't we get our dessert to go, love?" he asked as the waiter came closer. "I've a flat filled with multiple surfaces," he said with a hopeful expression on his face, "and I'm dying to use them all. With you."

She smirked and bit her lip, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. "Well, let's go then. I can't have you dying, now can I? You're absolutely no good to me dead." When the waiter appeared, her gaze never left Cormac as she ordered, "Two Chocolate Mousse, to go."

{Summary: Cormac and Pansy have their second date, though their minds are on what happened that morning. Sort of a 'get to know you,' in reverse.}