Harry Potter, Private Eye (Harry Potter Post-Canon)

A/N: Harry Potter, Private Eye was a commission originally written back in October of 2021. Posting it up here and now for people to enjoy!

Themes: Big Dick, Rough Sex, Fucked Silly

-x-X-x-

After all was said and done, Harry found that even with him saving the Wizarding World from Voldemort, people still had all of these expectations on him. And he'd tried, truly he had. He'd tried to meet all of those expectations for a good solid year… before realizing how stupid he was being. All his life, he'd allowed others to control him. Perhaps not in a direct way, though there'd been plenty of that too… but in an indirect way, oh most assuredly.

He'd allowed others' feelings and opinions to lead him around by the nose for too damn long. He'd allowed others' expectations to drive him, rather than finding his own happiness. It took into his adult years to finally realize it… but Harry was happier as an independent man. Crazy to think, when he'd been so dependent on a handful of people all his life, but looking back, he was beginning to understand that said dependency… it might not have been entirely natural. It might not have been… organic.

And so, after a year of trying to make being an Auror work, after a year on the force… Harry had handed in his resignation and quit. He just wasn't made to be a cog in the machine. He never would be. Everyone thought that he would go on to become an Auror, and the Ministry of Magic certainly got a lot of good PR over him joining the force. The Man-Who-Won, the wizard who defeated Voldemort not once but twice (that they knew of).

Harry didn't begrudge Kingsley's use of him to help bolster the new regime, to help increase public trust. And in turn, Kingsley hadn't fought him too hard when Harry had told the man he just couldn't do it anymore. The Minister of Magic had helped keep things smooth and from getting ugly, as Harry had quietly left the Aurors… or at least, as quietly as he could.

From there, Harry had started up his own business. It was something that played to his strengths still, of course. He was still the Defense Prodigy, after all. The wizard who had been asked to teach half of the school DADA during his Fifth Year because the Ministry appointed Professor was such a shitty bitch.

So yeah, Harry had gone into the PI business. Becoming a sort of Freelance Investigator who also doubled as a Cursebreaker… it appealed to Harry greatly. Indeed, over the past few years, it had proven to workout for him very well. He got to do what he did best, while remaining independent from any systems or institutions that wanted yet another piece of him.

It helped, of course, that he kept his business anonymous. Secrecy spells kept any of his previous clients from actually exposing his identity but did NOT keep them from telling all of their friends about how his jobs for them had gone. Word of mouth, that was how Harry had spread his business and that was how he got new gigs like the one today.

Finding himself in front of a stately manor house wearing his usual, a high collar trench coat stacked with all sorts of enchantments and protection spells, Harry hums as he considers the place for a moment. With a shrug, he rings the doorbell and steps back to wait, arms crossed over his chest as he sees just who answers him. Admittedly, he didn't always know who his clients were either until the first meeting. Anonymity had to go both ways, after all.

Still, Harry is no less surprised by the familiar face that answers the door. Poking her head out, looking flushed and altogether fidgety, is none other than Pansy Parkinson herself. The Slytherin Witch who had hung around Draco Malfoy all those years, only to get rejected and traded in for a lesser model in Astoria Greengrass, looks at Harry blankly for a moment before a twinge goes through her and she rushes to open the door more fully, ushering him inside.

As Harry steps into the manor home, he barely pays any attention to the old, stuffy entrance hall. Instead, he only has eyes for Pansy… and maaaan, Pansy Parkinson grew up fine as fuck. A bombshell short stack with short black hair, she only came to midway up his chest… but that didn't stop her from being filled out in ALL the best ways, with huge tits, wide hips, and an itty bitty waist.

"Potter. What the fuck are you doing here? Are you… no, you can't possibly be the PI that I hired… my luck can't be THAT bad."

Chuckling, Harry lifts his gaze from her body to her eyes. Not that Pansy has been watching him. Instead, she's been looking around, visibly fretting, even nibbling at her nails as she speaks. Still, when he finally makes eye contact, she tenses up, caught in his emerald gaze. He's been told that his eyes are very… soulful. Hard to look away from. It's a good trait to have in a PI. Lets him see through client's lies.

"Bitchy as ever, Pansy. Yes, I'm the Investigator you hired. Unless you'd rather back out of the contract now…"

"NO!"

Pansy immediately reddens at her own outburst, ringing her hands together in front of her. Bouncing from foot to foot with a nervous energy, her tits bounce with her, jiggling and making it very hard for Harry to focus on Pansy herself rather than her chest.

"I-I mean… n-no. You already have my retainer, r-right? You're hired… just… just don't leave!"

Sheesh, she sounded incredibly desperate. Frowning slightly, Harry enters Investigator Mode, ceasing ogling his client and instead focusing on the task at hand.

"I'm at your service, Ms. Parkinson. What seems to be the problem?"

Eyes darting to and fro, Pansy bites her lower lip… and whimpers.

"I-I… I don't fully know. I think there's a c-curse on this place… but I'm not sure."

Frowning, Harry soaks that in.

"A curse, huh? And what makes you think that?"

All of the sudden, Pansy straightens up (not that it helps her much, she's still over a foot shorter than him) and adopts a mulish expression as she glares at him heatedly.

"I'll show you, Potter. If you're not scared."

She's vacillating between just as bitchy as Harry remembers her being back in their Hogwarts days, and a squirming and fidgeting that he KNOWS isn't because she's embarrassed. No, something is very wrong and Harry, with his skillset, is quick to pick up on it.

That said, when she suddenly whips around and begins to saunter off, ostensibly to lead him further down the hall, Harry can't stop himself from admiring her thick, juicy ass. The pale short stack of a witch definitely has a whole lot of junk in her trunk, and it's some perfectly sculpted ass flesh too from what Harry can see, even as he follows behind her.

It may not be very professional to ogle the client like this, but it's not every day he works for a witch as fine as Pansy. And in Harry's more recent experience, seeking his own happiness sometimes means taking risks… and being distinctly unprofessional when need be.

-x-X-x-

An hour later, and Pansy has finally managed to retreat to her bedroom, leaving Potter to poke around a bit more. She still can't believe HE of all people was the one who answered the call. She'd heard about a mysterious, incredibly competent Private Investigator through the grapevine, of course. Her family might have been on the wrong side of the war, but a Parkinson always bounced back.

Pansy still had her contacts… and now that she was the Lady Parkinson, what with both of her parents being stripped of their titles and thrown in Azkaban, Pansy had inherited both this manor house and the entire Parkinson Estate.

Unfortunately, that was where her problems had begun. There was something… hinky, for lack of a better word, about the old manor house. Something she'd never noticed before, but upon entering it as the Lady of the House and having reached her majority, suddenly it was… there was something at play that Pansy didn't quite understand and unfortunately, she couldn't ask her parents for help.

Potter better be worth the gold she was paying him, that was ALL Pansy had to say on the matter. Of course, she had a LOT more to think on the matter. Fuck, it just wasn't fair. She remembered Harry fucking Potter, back at Hogwarts. The Boy Who Lived, who had eventually become the Man Who Won… he'd been a scrawny loser at best.

Even with his yearly achievements, even with the crazy shit he and those idiot friends of his got up to every year, he'd never LOOKED like anything special. Certainly, Pansy had never EVER been attracted to him before. Of course, she'd never been attracted to Malfoy either. Her parents had simply told her to attach herself to the young Malfoy Scion, and Pansy had been forced to simper and bat her eyelashes at Draco for seven LONG years as a result.

And for what? He'd married Greengrass, and not even the older one but the younger one. Meanwhile, she was left all alone in this stupid fucking house, having failed to get her parents out of Azkaban. Pansy had… she'd made peace with that fact, had finally accepted that she was the Lady Parkinson now… and that was when all of her problems had started.

UGH! Why did Potter have to be such a fucking HUNK now?! He'd had on a trench coat when she'd first let him in, but that had lasted all of five minutes before he'd taken it off and draped it over a chair, setting it aside… and revealing a sight that had almost made Pansy DROOL with wanton need. It wasn't fair! He'd done it on purpose! That shirt he had on under the damn coat was so fucking tight, it defined his broad chest and muscular body and fuck she could fucking count his ABS if she wanted to!

Harry James Potter was a fucking stud now, there was no denying it. Pansy had never in a million years imagined that she would find herself attracted to the Gryffindor Golden Boy, but here they were. And all the while, he was making some weird comments about how the place had an aura of repression about it and mentioning how the stately looking portraits of past Parkinson Ladies lining the halls were looking down upon him.

That was sort of the point. Pansy had been the one to put all of those portraits up, as a matter of fact. She'd removed the Parkinson Lords and stuck them in the attic, and lined the entire manor with powerful Parkinson Witches, to remind herself that she wasn't alone in having control of the family, that it was perfectly legitimate for her to be in charge.

Of course, it was around that time that her issues had started. She'd been having these… these ultra-lewd reactions to the strangest form of stimuli ever since she'd finally admitted to herself that it was real and accepted her inheritance of the Parkinson name, fortune… and home. She'd been so proud of her body, once upon a time, but now she was stuck between two incredible extremes.

She found herself buying seriously unfashionable robes and gowns, and then ignoring them to strut about almost naked in the privacy of her own manor… which she didn't dare leave, not when the entire Wizarding World still hated her and her family for their role in the war.

Letting out a frustrated growl, the short stack suddenly makes a decision. She's going to go check on Potter, going to go see if he has any answers yet for her. There must be SOMETHING by this point, right? There must be some information he can give her. SHE'S in charge here, SHE'S the one paying him, and it feels like it's high time she remind him of that fact.

And so, completely forgetting the fact that she'd retreated to her bedroom in order to be AWAY from Harry from a time to collect her thoughts, the Lady Parkinson, with her thoughts most definitely NOT even remotely collected. In fact, her mind is so jumbled that as she stomps out of her rooms, she leaves behind a very critical piece of attire… her night robe.

Leaving Pansy wearing only her tiny, skimpy nightie that barely covers up anything whatsoever…

-x-X-x-

Having been running some tests since he got some alone time, Harry is beginning to get an idea of what might be going on in the Parkinson Mansion. He has some hypothesis he wants to test first, but before he can do so, Pansy suddenly shows up in front of him, arms crossed over her buxom, barely covered chest as she gives him a haughty, indignant huff.

"Well, Potter? What do you have for me?"

For a long moment, Harry just stares. If he thought Pansy looked damn fine before, when she'd been wearing casual but at least covering attire… fuck, now it's practically all on display. Her nightie is one of the low cut types, showing off plenty of cleavage as her tits seem to all but defy gravity, not help up by anything other than their own natural, magical perkiness. Heh, Pansy's perky pom-poms…

Ah, but at the end of the day, he's a gentleman at heart. And he has indeed picked up a few things for her since arriving. The aura of repression that he's caught onto… it's mostly concentrated on Pansy, and while she doesn't seem to have noticed, the portraits of severe, stately looking ladies lining the halls all seem to be focused on her.

When he'd mentioned them glaring earlier, Pansy had brushed it off, almost like she couldn't be bothered or actively couldn't comprehend and perceive their malice. They didn't like him, sure, but what they felt towards Pansy was so fucking complicated and complex that Harry was still struggling to wrap his mind around it. And Parkinson… she was completely oblivious, wasn't she?

Sighing, Harry shakes his head and pins Pansy with his gaze, once more locking eyes with her and causing her to stiffen in place, caught in his emerald gaze.

"… Do you trust me?"

Now, despite her bitchy attitude, Pansy looks at him and he can see it in her eyes. His reputation precedes him. Not just as a PI, but as the Golden Boy from back in their time at Hogwarts together. She DOES trust him, in spite of the enmity from their school days. Suddenly looking very small, very timid, and a fair bit scared, Pansy's lower lip wobbles before she eventually nods.

"Y-Yes…"

Stepping forward, Harry wraps his arms around the gorgeous short stack of a noblewoman, pulling her into a hug. She immediately melts at how good it feels, her poor little nipples pressing through the sheer material of her nightie against his abs, and oooh, he's so tall and… and…

SMACK!

Without warning, Harry brings a hand down HARD on her ass. He spanks her bottom. It's not a playful little slap, not a tender love tap, but a big, strong, BEEFY crash that sends her cheeks a-jiggling like jelly from the impact.

"AIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEE!"

Pansy HOWLS, the spank sending a jolt straight through her body all the way to her poor little clit, which twinges as a small squirt of pussy juices leaves her cunt, clenching as it is on nothing but air. But that's not the end of it… because Harry is just getting started.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"You're such a slut, Pansy. Always have been."

SMACK!

"You know, everyone only ever tolerated Malfoy running his mouth because it meant we got to stare at your thicc ass in that tiny little schoolgirl skirt?"

SMACK!

"You always looked like you were made to be someone's little pocket pussy with milk dispensers, what with your short height and those fat jugs of yours."

SMACK!

"Even Hermione once confessed that she liked to fantasize about putting your pretty little mouth to work under her desk while Malfoy yapped and yapped and yapped."

SMACK!

"Fuck, you could wear a pair of short-shorts to Diagon Alley, and people would obey your every whim just so they could see those cheeks bounce…"

Harry is unrelenting and utterly merciless with both his savage treatment of her ass AND his savage treatment of her. At first, wide-eyed, Pansy can hardly believe the things he's saying to her. But then he keeps going and she gets redder and redder… and wetter and wetter. It's kind of hot, being treated so roughly, being manhandled and spoken to so crassly.

She's fucking sopping down there, and positively drooling as she clings to his shirt, finding that it's not quite painted on, since she's able to bunch her hands up in it and hold onto it for dear life as he paddles her bottom and holds her tightly. Her nipples have continued to ride up and down his abs, which she's pretty sure one could grate cheek on, they're that fucking solid.

"Nnngh~"

Pansy is pretty sure she's reaching some point of no return, some… moment of crystallizing realization that will let her reach the true heights of ecstasy and bliss. But all of the sudden Harry has stopped, his words falling away and his hunky, beefy hands no longer coming down so hard on her PAWG bubble butt.

"ENOUGH!"

The voice of an older woman, a stuffy-sounding uptight bitch Pansy's beleaguered and dazed mind fills in for her, covers the hallway, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. The witch whips around in shock. There shouldn't BE anyone else here! It's just her in this damn manor home, has been for far too fucking long now! How did anyone else get inside?!

The answer, as it turns out, is plain to see and Pansy's jaw drops open as she beholds a veritable army of ghosts in front of her and Harry. Crowding the hallway from a few feet away from them all the way to the end of the hall, the ghosts all share two things in common. They're all women, and they're all her ancestors. Gawking in disbelief, Pansy STARES at them all, completely flabbergasted and unsure what's happening.

They're all dressed in unfashionable stuffy robes, despite actually looking rather pretty and beautiful, one and all. And they all look equally appalled at the brutish treatment that Harry had just put her through. Speaking of which, Harry is still holding onto her, still caressing her as he hugs her comfortingly from behind. Leaning down, his hot breath ghosts across her earlobe in a way that has Pansy tingling, even as he casually explains his conclusions.

"The place is haunted, Pansy. These ghosts, your relatives and ancestors, have been having a negative effect on you, some sort of… communal haunting to try and manipulate you and turn you into one of them."

"O-One… one of them? B-But I'm already Lady Parkinson! I'm already one of them!"

"Not quite. Look at them, Pansy. And then look at yourself."

Pansy does so, blushing crimson as she looks down to see Harry's hands not quite on her tits, but instead caressing her stomach right before her breasts. Something inside of her thrums, longing for him to just… reach up and play with her big ole titties. But he doesn't, leading her to whimper in disappointment.

"You're actually PROUD of your body, Pansy. Meanwhile, all of them were raised in times where such a thing was anathema to them. They were taught to cover up, to be ashamed of their fat milk jugs, their thicc thighs, their hourglass waists. Whores, sluts, and harlots… these are just a few words I'm sure were thrust upon them until finally they covered themselves enough for men to turn their gazes away, to leave them alone."

"ENOUGH!"

Once again, that stern haughty voice rings out. This time Pansy can put a face to it, one of the stately lady-like ghosts stepping forward, seemingly speaking for all of them as she glares daggers at Harry.

"You know nothing of our ways! I sense a Lord's Magic in you, and therefore cannot expel you from this home myself… but you are NOT Lord Parkinson! Your words have no meaning here! The Lady Parkinson knows deep down inside that she is a proper witch! She is not… not some filthy skank, to be swayed by your words OR your actions!"

She hadn't gotten it at first, but as her ancestor speaks, it all becomes abundantly clear to her. As she once more takes in what all of the female ghosts are wearing and realizes they've been pushing her to buy the same, to cover up her amazing ass and amazing tits and become… become a PROPER witch… Pansy sees red.

As the ghost tries to make more excuses, Pansy whips around, grabs Harry's tight, form-fitting shirt with both hands… and rips it off of him with a shriek of rage and abject lust and arousal, pulling it away.

A dismayed gasp rises up from the ghosts, all of whom look shocked and appalled at her behavior. But Pansy doesn't give a shit. Now that she knows what's really her and what's these fucking ghosts and this fucking house, the hourglass short stack knows EXACTLY what she wants.

"F-Fuck all of you! How dare you try to make me something I'm not! I'm Pansy fucking Parkinson, and I'll do whatever the hell I like! If I want to drizzle chocolate syrup over Potter's pecs, I will! If I want to eat ice cream off his abs, I will! If I-eep!"

So focused on reading her ghosty ancestors the riot act, Pansy hadn't stopped to ponder what effect her words might have on Harry. Needless to say, he's been trying to hold himself back all this time… but no more. With a lustful growl, Harry suddenly grabs her by the waist and flips her over, easily spinning the short stack upside down and spreading her thighs wide.

As her already skimpy nightie fails completely at covering her crotch up while she's upside down like this, Pansy can only clutch at Harry's legs and HOWL as he begins to munch on her pretty peach pussy like a starving man. Eyes rolling around, all the blood in her body rushing down to her head, Pansy gurgles and moans and squeals under the onslaught of his tongue.

Heh, she's finally gotten confirmation for something Draco had dismissed out of hand as a silly rumor back in their Second Year. Because yeah, that's a fucking parsel-TONGUE if Pansy has ever felt one, Harry's mouth muscle elongating and slithering into the depths of her clenching quim like a fucking wriggling eel, driving her absolutely wild as he wiggles it back and forth, hitting all the best spots in her gushing cunt.

"M-My word!"

"So… so uncouth!"

"A-Appalling!"

Needless to say, the gaggle of ghosts filling one end of the hallway aren't happy. But Pansy doesn't give a fuck, clinging to Harry's waist and groaning into his crotch, rubbing her cheek against his bulge as he continues to eat her out.

"FUCK! Don't fucking stop, Potter! Don't you dare fucking stop for a single fucking moment! Yes! Eat my pussy! Tongue my cunt! Give it to me! FUCKING GIVE IT TO ME!"

"C-Child, you must calm yourself! A Lady Parkinson must always comport themselves with utmost aplomb and-!"

"FUCK OFF!"

Pansy couldn't give a shit what her family's ancestral ghosts think. Bunch of repressed bitches, the lot of them. How DARE they fuck with her head like that! How DARE they make her buy all those stuffy, shitty robes! Ugh, she was going to show them all! She wasn't going to let them win!

Of course, she wasn't about to let Harry win either. Even as her eyes threaten to roll back in her head, Harry's tongue bringing her to the first orgasm Pansy has had in months she belatedly realizes (damn ghosts had been ruining that for her too, the fucking prudish repressed cunts!) she pulls a little maneuver… and sends Harry down onto his back.

As he lands with a grunt on the hallway floor, Pansy wastes no time going for his trousers with her teeth. That bulge she sees in his pants excites the Lady Parkinson to no end, and the PAWG witch KNOWS she just has to have him inside of her, one way or another. Sure, his tongue is nice and all, but his cock… his cock… his… his c-cock…

Pansy's brain stutters to a stop as she manages to deftly unbutton and even unzip his pants with nothing but her teeth, before bringing her hands to his crotch to do the rest. And yet, as she slowly draws his dick out of its confines… Pansy can only gape at the sheer SIZE of the monster she's pulling out of Harry's jeans.

In this moment, she and her witch ancestors are actually in agreement, both the living Lady Parkinson and all of the dead in a state of mutual shock, their mouths all agape as they stare at his monstrous member. More than one ghost actually starts subconsciously touching themselves to the lewd, utterly appalling scene around that point.

Stuttering, blushing, Pansy comes to a sudden realization. N-No wonder the Weasley bint had broken up with him! She wasn't woman enough to tame a big thug with a big cock and a pair of big breeder balls like Harry! Leaning in close, Pansy breathes in deeply, groaning as she sniffs up his musk, her eyes fluttering and a fresh squirt of pussy juices landing on his tongue.

"F-Fuck, why do you smell so nice and manly and yummy, you dumb jerk?!"

His tongue slurps back out of her pussy, and Pansy looks back over her shoulder at Harry to complain, only to find him ready with a completely straight-faced answer.

"How else was I going to steal you from Malfoy, Pixie?"

Pansy blushes at the pet name, even as Harry grins at her, finding her looks pretty damn adorable with half her face blotted out by the shadow of his cock. Hell, he could legit club her or any witch into submission with his hulking bitch breaker, and they both know it. Turning back around, the short stack Pureblood witch STARES at Harry's cock… and then, unable to help herself, leans forward and plants her lips on his dick, right then and there.

SMOOCH!

What follows is the lewdest sight ever beheld, especially by the Parkinson Ladies of ages past. Neither Harry nor Pansy are willing to give any ground to the other, and so things rapidly take a turn for the obscene. Pansy begins to slurp and suck on Harry's massive womb-wrecking cock, while Harry goes back to tonguing out her gushing pussy, making her squealing moans reverberate up his length in the process.

Without skipping a beat, the short stack witch takes him down her throat, bobbing up and down with all of her might and speed, throating his shaft and gargling as her flared nostrils press up against his hefty balls, her drool and saliva slowly trickling down onto them.

"GAGKH! GAGKH! GAGKH!"

Not only is it the lewdest sight any of the Parkinson Ghosts have ever seen, but it's also the lewdest sounds they've ever heard too. When Harry finally cums in her belly, Pansy looks almost pregnant from just that, his seed filling her stomach… but not yet her womb.

As she's still in the process of recovering, Harry shows himself to have more stamina… more than enough to put Pansy's PAWG ass in its place, that's for sure. Rising from the floor, gripping her tightly by the hips, Harry proceeds to impale Pansy's cunt on his cock in full view of all of her ancestral spirits. He might not have any authority here, but so long as they're at odds with the current Lady of the House, none of the ghosts can stop him… though to be fair, most of them don't look like they WANT to anymore.

As Harry fucks Pansy's small but thicc body in a full nelson, her arms reaching up and behind to cling to him for dear life, the wizard looks over her head, out at the ghosts before them. More than a few are openly fisting themselves at this point, some are just staring, eyes wide and mouths agape. A few are still glaring, still trying to act horrified… but it's so damn obvious they're enjoying the view like all the rest. They just can't afford to admit it. Not to themselves, and certainly not to him or Pansy.

Feeling himself getting closer and closer to blowing another load as Pansy's pussy clenches down around his cock in orgasmic bliss again and again and again, Harry begins to walk. He walks forward, and the ghosts part for him and his precious cargo like the red sea. Moaning and glaring ethereal witches alike all let him pass, having no real choice in the matter, having absolutely no control over him or Pansy or what they're doing.

Harry reaches Pansy's room just as he nuts inside of her, this time filling her womb to the brim with his seed and then some. But he's still not fucking done, and neither is she. Even as her body unfolds from the full nelson, Harry drives her up against her bedroom mirror, pushing her face and tits into the silver-like surface as she moans wantonly.

"W-What, Potter? Going to make sure I remember this time? Going to make sure it's branded into my brain?! Gonna make me watch you empty those big bull balls of yours into my pussy for a second time?! TAKE MY ASS IF YOU'RE A REAL MAN, POTTER!"

Well, needless to say, Harry considers himself a real man. And with permission of all things… who was he to argue with the client, right? Pulling out of her creampied cunt, Harry drives his lubricated bitch breaker right into Pansy's ass next. The SHRIEK that leaves her throat as he does so is enough to cause a crack to appear in the corner of the mirror that he's fucking her against.

Meanwhile, the Parkinson ghosts have followed him and Pansy into her bedroom. More and more are succumbing to the living Lady Parkinson's HIGH emotions as she squeals and shrieks, taking his fat cock up her ass like the anal whore she's proving to be. Even the lewdest and crassest among the ghosts would never have thought of anal as an option, that's for sure. But they're getting a true crash course in eroticism and perversion now, whether they want it or not.

As Harry pounds into Pansy's ass with all his might, he makes eye contact with the lead ghost, the original spokesperson of the group. The stuffy, haughty bitch of a witch from ages long past is one of the few who hasn't succumbed, who isn't touching herself like a wanton ghostly bitch. Instead, she glares at him, her arms crossed over her chest… but there's a nervousness in her eyes, a blush to her blushless ethereal cheeks.

Harry grins a savage grin in that ghost's direction and then seizes upon Pansy's hair, gripping it tightly and yanking her away from the mirror as he twists her head around to force his tongue down her throat, making the living Lady Parkinson taste her own pussy juices in his mouth as he anally fucks her into sweet, sweet oblivion.

With his other hand wrapped around to grope one of Pansy's huge milk jugs, Harry settles in for the long haul, fully intent on not stopping until the job is fucking done and finished.

-x-X-x-

As dawn breaks, Pansy blinks, her eyes fluttering open ever so slowly as the daylight crosses her face. She wakes up sore in all the right places, and for a moment her only thoughts are 'Merlin, why didn't I get my itch scratched sooner? Fuuuuck, I needed that'. But then, of course, she remembers exactly what led to her finally breaking her dry streak… and WHY she had such a long dry streak in the first place.

The… the big dicked jerk who'd positively wrecked her body the night before is spread out over her bed with ALL his hunky, studly muscles on display, and that damnable smug little smirk on his face just because she'd passed out first. It was the last thing Pansy had seen before she'd completely conked out, her eyes rolling up in her head completely and refusing to come back down.

In fact, she's woken up drooling on that damn broad muscular chest of his, and oooh he's so fucking warm, and his thigh is so fucking solid and… and MERLIN his monster cock feels so good draped over her face. As Pansy wiggles down into place between his legs, letting Harry's womb-wrecking dick drape across her features, she moans and begins to lick at his member eagerly, unable to help herself.

"C-Child! What are you doing?! The brute is unconscious! Now is your chance! Activate the wards! Expel him from your home and call upon the Aurors to arrest him for his heinous act of sexual assault against you!"

Slowly pulling away, Pansy looks blearily to the end of the bed… where only the one final ghost, the one who had done all the talking the night before, is left. The others have all gone apparently, no one else in the room but her, Potter, and this damn bitch of an ancestor who won't get off her back.

"Did it look like he was fucking assaulting me last night?"

Trying so hard to be imperious and haughty and dominating, the ghost stiffens up, her lips thinning into a barely there line.

"Y-You… there were extenuating circumstances my dear! You weren't in control of yourself! He forced himself upon you and-!"

"Quiet. I'm trying to have breakfast."

And with a wave of her hand, Pansy dispels her ancestor's ghost, using the wards of the Parkinson Mansion not on Potter as the specter tried to order her to, but on the ghost herself, sending her back to her portrait for the time being. Tch, no wonder everyone thought of House Parkinson as a dark family if their portraits actually contained the ghosts of the once-living. It was only supposed to be a magical imprint in the average moving painting… but obviously, all of the portraits Pansy had taken out and put around the mansion were… special, eugh.

Shaking her head, Pansy focuses back on something much nicer, the task at hand. Slurping her tongue up and down Harry's cock, she eventually takes him back between her lips, bobbing up and down his member until he finally wakes up. And there's that smug little smile on his face as he gently tangles his fingers in her hair and begins to thrust.

After Pansy happily swallows what has to be at least a pint of hot spunk a few minutes later, she pops his cock out of her mouth and climbs him like a jungle gym, planting her fat tits in his face with a haughty, bitchy sniff.

"J-Just so you know, I don't let just anyone suck on my tiiii-eeep! Why is there miiiilk?!"

As Harry slurps from one nipple to the other, drinking breast milk that had NOT been there the night before from her teats, Pansy whimpers and moans, gasping and panting. And then she scowls, because he pulls away with a milky stache and gives her a wicked grin and a completely straight answer in that insufferable way of his.

"Because I'm thirsty, that's why."

Much later, they've reached the door and Pansy is still hugging him, standing on her utmost tiptoes just to wrap her arms around his neck as best she can, muttering something about depositing the galleons in his accounts and calling him stupid and demanding that he stop being so damn kissable.

Needless to say, they have another round right there against the door, the window, the expensive couches in the sitting room off the side of the foyer, and then on the dining table…

-x-X-x-

Much, MUCH later, Harry sits back in his office, well pleased with himself and another job well done. As he relaxes back in his chair, grinning in a satisfied sort of Cheshire Cat manner however, the floo suddenly flares up… ten minutes early. Harry blinks when Pansy suddenly appears instead of his next prospective client, his eyebrow raising as she stands before him in little more than a pair of short-shorts and a tight, tied off blouse.

Refraining from meeting his eyes, Pansy, with a light blush to her cheeks, instead plants her hands on her hips and looks around, sniffing haughtily as she looks at the dinging office, he's made his.

"I thought so. Honestly, Potter, when's the last time you had someone organize this place up."

He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can do so, she cuts him off, overriding him.

"It's clear you need an assistant… I suppose I'll have to step up to the plate and take the job."

Blinking, Harry can only watch in mute surprise as Pansy saunters forward, his eyes drawn to her sashaying and swaying hips… right up until she drops to her knees and slips under his desk. Pushing out his chair half a foot, Harry looks down as Pansy draws his cock from his jeans. Finally looking him in the eye, past the huge mammoth member now draped over her face, Pansy just huffs indignantly.

"I'm simply protecting your future poor female clients from this witch-ruining member, Potter. After all, you've completely destroyed ME… there's no hope for me anymore, no saving me at this point. This is just how it has to be; I suppose."

And so, she takes his cock in her mouth, and Harry, unsure how to respond to… well, ANY of this, kind of just lets her, staring down at her in confusion, but nevertheless GREATLY enjoying her tongue, mouth, AND throat all the same.

Of course, it's at that moment that his actual appointment for the hour suddenly floos in. A classily dressed, if somewhat fidgety Daphne Greengrass comes out of his fireplace, her lips pressed tightly together as she straightens up and sniffs delicately. The Slytherin Ice Queen, oblivious to what's going on beneath Harry's desk, locks eyes with him as she stares down her nose.

"Potter. I'm here to offer you a job."

As Pansy continues her… messy work beneath his desk, Harry swallows and leans forward, clasping his hands together on the desk in front of himself.

"Give me the details then, Greengrass."

A PI's work was never done, after all… even when one had suddenly acquired a self-appointed short stack assistant out of nowhere.

-x-X-x-

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