Chapter Text
When Harry ducked around the corner, coming out of the showers after the match, he found Pansy Parkinson lounging against his locker.
He stopped short. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”
She looked up, then raised an eyebrow. “You know, Potter,” she said. “I’d have thought the whole saviour of the wizarding world act would have been perfectly adequate to pull a truly astonishing number of women, I’m not sure you really needed to layer on the…” She gestured up and down. “V-cut situation.”
Harry was suddenly very glad he hadn’t skipped the towel. “The world thing was a team effort.”
“To think, I’d forgotten how remarkably intransigent you are on the topic.”
“Seriously,” he said, flatly. “Why are you here?”
“Shockingly, security seems to leave when all the fans do.” She was still looking at him in a way that felt vaguely… objectifying. “And then every single other player left, so I got bored with waiting and came down here. It seemed possible you’d drowned in the showers. I thought you might be in need of rescue.”
“Why were you waiting for me?”
“I wanted to ask if you’d come get a cup of coffee with me.”
He paused, but she didn’t seem particularly inclined to elaborate.
“Pansy,” he said, finally. “We can’t stand each other. I’m not getting coffee with you.”
“You’re very boring and sort of insufferable in a Gryffindor sort of way. But I’m not sure I’d go so far as to say I couldn’t stand you.”
“That means you want something.” Harry gestured. “And I want to get dressed, because it’s freezing in here, so could you…?”
“Absolutely.” She slid exactly one locker over, then opened the latch on his, holding it open. “By the way, probably inadvisable to make your combination 11-22-33-44.”
“There were at least four other locking spells on that.”
“Bad ones,” Pansy said.
“I want to get dressed.”
“And?”
“And you’re standing here.”
Pansy’s grin was, somehow, even more aggravating than the rest of it. “Shy, Potter? It’s cold in here, I won’t hold it against you.”
He hadn’t seen her in months. He’d vaguely forgotten the constant urge to strangle her every time they had a conversation.
“Oh, fine,” she said, with a put-upon sigh, and turned around. “Your virtue is safe with me.”
“I don’t think much of anything’s safe with you,” he muttered, but she’d pulled something out of her bag that looked remarkably like a… phone.
“Don’t tell me you’re embracing muggle technology.” He managed to get on his boxers without actually dropping the towel, then pulled on his jeans as quickly as possible.
“Blame Hermione. She claims texting is faster than owls.” Pansy glanced over her shoulder. “She’s not entirely wrong. And I like solitaire.”
“You were supposed to not be looking,” Harry said, pointedly.
“You’re more dressed than you were before.” She grinned again. “What’s the problem?”
Harry found himself wanting to smile back, which was both vaguely unexpected and somewhat annoying. He started to button his shirt instead. “What do you want, Pansy?”
“Maybe I just came to the match.”
“Except you didn’t,” Harry said. “Because I seem to recall you saying you’d rather remove your own internal organs while awake than attend anything that required cheering for the Falcons. And the only team you hate more than the Falcons is the Catapults, who we just beat spectacularly.”
“From a feminist perspective, I’m obligated to support the Harpies. From a perspective of annoying you, I’m obligated to have spent the last few years pretending to hate the Falcons.” She made a face. “I really can’t stand Caerphilly, though, they play dirty.”
“I’d have thought that’d improve your opinion.”
“There’s a time and a place, Potter.” She reached out, undoing a button on his shirt. “The Quidditch pitch isn’t it. Also, you’ve done all of these wrong.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Harry muttered, starting to redo them.
When he looked up, Pansy was studying him.
“I need a favour,” she admitted. “Would you be willing to hear me out?”
“Ordinarily, no,” Harry said, finally. “But we’ve just won 220 to 10, so I’m feeling charitable. And I’m starving.”
“I suppose I could be willing to throw in some sort of pastry.”
“You’re buying. And I’m picking the place.”
“Let me guess. Is it going to be run by muggles?”
“You try being followed around by reporters who write articles about what sort of muffin you like and what it means about your personality.”
“Have you considered ordering something different every time to throw them off?”
“Then it’s about how I’m indecisive. And anyway, I like blueberry.”
There was a tiny shop a few streets over from the stadium. He went there most mornings on the way in. They knew him, but here, they thought he managed sixth form football and no one gave a fuck what sort of muffins he ordered. And it was always deserted this time of day.
“Hey, Harry,” the woman behind the counter said. “The usual?”
“Hi, Sarah. That and whatever she wants,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Pansy?”
“I thought I was paying.”
“My best friend works in the same department,” Harry said, dryly. “I know exactly how much money you aren’t making.”
Pansy snorted. “We can’t all have endorsements and cup bonuses. What’s the usual?”
“Earl grey, steamed milk, and about six sugars,” Sarah said. She smiled at him, clearly teasing. “If this is a date, I ought to warn you, he’s got a sweet tooth.”
Pansy was studying the display case. “We went to school together. I’m already familiar with exactly how much treacle tart he can put away. I’ll have a latte, whole milk. And… how many varieties of muffins do you have?”
“Five, usually, but I think we’re out of lemon poppyseed.”
“Brilliant.” Pansy looked rather pleased with herself. “We’ll take one of each.”
“Oi, mate,” said a man, ducking out of the storeroom. “You catch the match?”
“Nah,” Harry said, with a grin. “You’re aware of my feelings on Aston Villa, Nate. I’d rather have my appendix out without anaesthesia.”
“Hey,” Pansy said, elbowing him. “That’s my line that you’ve just stolen.”
Harry elbowed her back. “Yes, except you used it about Man City.”
“Uh oh.” Nate laughed. “Now I’m sort of hoping this is a date, about time you found someone with decent taste.”
“Chelsea fan,” Harry said, shaking his head. “It’s not, but it’d never work out if it were. It’s tragic.”
Pansy snorted. “Sorry, did you or did you not lose fifty quid to me last week because your team is so bad that it probably couldn’t even manage to score even if the entire defence fell asleep on the pitch?”
“Oh, fuck off,” Harry said.
“Just for that, you’re carrying the muffins.”
Pansy somehow found her way to his favourite table, in the corner near a window.
“Thanks for, ah, playing along,” Harry said, when he followed her a few minutes later with the tray. “It’s just sort of nice to…”
Pansy took her mug. “Feel normal?”
“Something like that.”
Pansy spent the next few minutes carefully cutting all the muffins in half, then carefully rearranging the silverware and sugar packets. After a minute, Harry realised she was acting… nervous.
He sighed, stirring more sugar into his tea. “Exactly how bad is this going to be, Pansy?”
There was a very long pause. “Draco and I are engaged.”
“Er,” Harry said, slowly. “Congratulations? Except, um, you do know -”
Pansy glanced up, looking almost amused. “That he’s stupidly in love with Hermione?”
“I was more going to say that she was stupidly in love with him.”
“They signed the marriage contract when we were literally three years old.” Pansy ran a hand through her hair, something he’d never seen her do before. “And he won’t… end it. Because, I don’t know, he’s got it in his head that marrying me would be the honourable thing to do. And he thinks I still want it.”
“Have you tried, I don’t know, telling him you don’t?”
Pansy snorted. “I’ve been trying for the last eight years. I can’t make him understand that I’m not eighteen and infatuated any more. I love him, but I’m not in love with him. I’m never going to be. And I want… better for myself than that. And better for him than that.”
“I think,” Harry said, taking half of a chocolate chip muffin, “that as utterly obnoxious as I find Malfoy, he and Hermione would be better together than the two of you. She’ll push him. They’ll grow. You wouldn’t, you’re too similar, and you have the exact same history.”
Pansy laughed, unexpectedly, and Harry was surprised to discover it lit her entire face up. “Who knew you were this judgmental about other people’s love lives?”
“I’m not,” Harry said, ruefully. “I just recognize the dynamic. Hermione’s my favourite person. We’d also be absolutely fucking terrible together.”
“That’s problem two,” Pansy said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Draco doesn’t see that. He thinks there’s something between the two of you.”
“I’m starting to think he’s not great at believing people.”
“He’s not. But Hermione had an idea.”
“So what is it you want from me, exactly?”
He watched Pansy take a breath, staring into her coffee cup. “I want to pretend we’re together,” she said. “It’s so unlikely that it would never occur to him that it isn’t real. He’s never seen me be serious about anyone else, it’s part of why he thinks I’m still hung up on him. And it might convince him that Hermione legitimately doesn’t want to be with you. Just for a few months.”
“Right,” Harry said, finally. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but what am I supposed to be getting out of this?”
“There’s Hermione.” Pansy looked up, with a smile he recognized. In Harry’s experience, it usually meant he was going to be astonishingly sorry for trying to be polite to her at parties. “And rumour has it the reason you and Ginny Weasley broke up is that she cheated on you.”
“Yeah, thanks, really appreciate the reminder.”
Pansy leaned back in her chair. “I can make her want you back.”
“I don’t actually want that,” Harry admitted. “I don’t think I’d ever trust her again.”
“You might be smarter than I’ve given you credit for,” Pansy said, with that same, vicious smile. “But if you’d like to make her profoundly sorry she ever broke your heart… I can give you that.”
The idea was tempting enough that he suddenly felt vaguely guilty, because he’d tried hard not to be vindictive or awful about it. “How?”
“The best revenge is living well with an attractive woman who’s deeply in love with you and who very clearly is having incredible sex with you. And who makes you happier than she ever did.”
“I’m not the best actor.”
Pansy laughed again. “Oh, Potter, it’s as if you think I can’t carry the entire thing.”
“Can you?”
“Absolutely.” She reached over, picking up a piece of muffin off his plate, and popped it in her mouth. “I’m peerless at deceit in pursuit of the greater good.”
“I’m not entirely sure this counts as the greater good.”
“Rumour also has it she’s having some sort of garish family birthday get together in Cornwall.” Pansy stole another bite. “And that she didn’t see why it was problematic to have her mother invite you.”
“We’re still friends,” Harry protested.
“That,” Pansy said, pointedly, “is because you’re a fucking doormat.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s not acceptable behaviour, Potter. You ought to be furious. You ought to want bad things to happen to her. You don’t have to be nice.” She reached over, taking his tea, and took a sip, then pulled a face. “Although that’s appalling.”
“I didn’t get a lot of sweets when I was a kid. So that’s how I like it.” He raised an eyebrow. “And if you don’t, quit stealing my food.”
Pansy laughed. “I suppose, under the circumstances of your abusive upbringing, I could be willing to ignore the profligate use of sweetener.”
“I’m not sure I’d classify it as abusive, they -”
Pansy kicked him under the table. She wasn’t particularly gentle about it. “Quit defending people who’ve done terrible things to you. And maybe consider exploring therapy. Therapy with someone who isn’t your best friend.”
“I have,” Harry said, flushing. “I see him Thursdays. He went to school with Hermione.”
“I’m not confident it’s working. Seeing as how you continue defending people who’ve done terrible things to you.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, finally, because being the bigger person had never gotten him very far. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
“Leaky Cauldron, Thursday, two o’clock?”
“Um. Okay. If you want to be photographed about four thousand times.”
“Sort of the point, really.” She stood up. “Well?”
“Well?”
“How were the muffins?”
Harry gave in and laughed. “I hate to admit this, but I might have liked the cranberry orange.”
“Careful, I’ll turn out to be a good influence.”
“You? Never.”
Pansy waited for him, then wound her way through the tables, passing by the counter. She stopped by the bakery display case. “By the way,” she said, “it was absolutely a date. Even if he thinks there’s a hope in hell his overwhelmingly inferior team will win the title.”
Nate snorted. “Just end it now.”
“He’s got a few redeeming qualities.”
“Hey,” Harry protested. “I have many redeeming qualities.”
Pansy offered a smile that looked smug. “Let’s just say that you have the redeeming qualities that really count.”
“I like this one,” Sarah said, thoughtfully. “She’s better than the redhead.”
“Oh,” Pansy said, with a sudden grin, “I’m significantly better than the redhead. In every conceivable way. Wouldn’t you agree, Harry?”
He’d always found Pansy infuriating, and he’d always loved Ginny more than anything. So he was surprised to find that something had changed. Pansy, as maddening as she was, had never been cruel. And Ginny had, over and over, until there’d been nothing left of their relationship and nothing left of him.
“Yeah,” he said, swallowing. “Yeah, I really would.”
“We’ll be back,” Pansy said. “Fair warning, I’m less predictable than he is.”
“I might switch muffins next time,” Harry offered.
Pansy laughed. “Ooh, living dangerously. See you Thursday?”
“Thursday,” Harry agreed, and wondered what the fuck he’d just gotten himself into.
___
He’d been planning on going straight from training, but the shirt he’d brought with him somehow didn’t feel right. Of course, the next four shirts he put on didn’t feel any better.
He had to laugh, though, when he saw Pansy sitting on a bench outside of the pub. “Seriously? You’re supposed to be going on a date with me, and you’re wearing a Harpies shirt?”
“I’m not going to be any less inclined to annoy you if we’re dating. I’m just spectacular in bed, so you put up with my generally irreverent attitude.”
Harry felt his face heat. “Are you?” he managed.
“That,” Pansy said, with a rather self-satisfied grin, “was significantly less flip than you thought it was.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Are we getting something to eat or not?”
“We’d better. I think I’ve had maybe a cup of coffee and an energy bar since lunch yesterday.”
“Were you, um, on? Last night?”
“And this morning. Everything ran over, there were so many patients that morning rounds took an hour.” Pansy held open the door. “Booth or table? There’s a correct answer.”
“Booth. If you’re a person who voluntarily picks tables, I’m calling it now.”
“Good choice.” Pansy located one - further toward the front than he usually sat, but the point was probably for people to actually see them - and slid in. “Do you always order exactly the same thing here too?”
“I mean,” Harry said, lifting a hand to the back of his neck. “I know I like it?”
Pansy looked amused. “I suppose it’s going to be necessary to stage an intervention again.”
The waitress came by with menus, and Harry caught the double take.
“Can I… get you started with something to drink?”
“I’ll take a glass of merlot, thanks,” Pansy said. “Harry?”
“Water’s fine - um, with lemon?”
“Sure,” the waitress said. “I’ll be by to get your orders in a few minutes.”
He watched her walk toward the back; she leaned over to say something to the bartender, who glanced back over her shoulder at them.
“Um,” Harry said, clearing his throat. “You look… nice?”
Pansy actually laughed, then gestured and a vague shimmer settled over the table - he recognized the privacy spell Hermione always cast.
“Not an actual date,” she reminded him. “You don’t have to try quite so painfully hard. Also, I dug this shirt out of the bottom of my work locker because the one I was planning on wearing got blood on it, so if anyone wants to do a fashion profile, they’re going to be sadly disappointed.”
“They’ve given up on me. They kept asking me where I got my jeans, and they were very disappointed when I said I couldn’t remember and that it had probably been a muggle store, anyway.”
“Trying to avoid women throwing themselves at you in the fitting rooms?”
“Better hours,” Harry said, dryly. “Nothing in Diagon manages to stay open past six.”
She slid a menu across the table to him. “As someone who works an utterly ludicrous schedule at the best of times, I have strong opinions about store hours that don’t work for literally anyone with a job.”
“I’m fine, I know what I’m having.”
Pansy made a face. “Right. You’re going to pick three things that aren’t the thing you always get. And then I’ll pick one of the three things.”
“How are you going to know I’m not picking my thing?”
“Honour system.” She grinned. “Also, it’s cottage pie, because we got lunch here to celebrate Hermione’s promotion about two years ago, and that’s what you got then.”
“Why do you remember my order from two years ago?”
“Because it’s very unimaginative. And I remember thinking that it was sort of on brand.”
“I’m not -”
“You know, I love baiting you,” Pansy interrupted, “because you take it every single fucking time.”
“Yeah,” he said, ruefully. “I do seem to. But you know what, just order for me. Anything that’s not fish or a salad. That’s more than three things.”
“Done.” Pansy put the menus aside. “I don’t suppose you caught the match yesterday? I was working, and the Prophet’s sports and games columnist writes like Wimbourne’s manager killed his dog.”
“Not too far off, except it was the keeper and cheating on his sister,” Harry said, dryly. “It was about seven hours, they went through reserves and into third string, and the rest of us would have been utterly fucked on points standings except it turns out Portree’s reserve keeper is actually much better than McDougal.”
The waitress came back with their drinks, and Pansy pulled down the spell. “I’ll do the fish and chips, and he’ll have the steak and kidney pie.” She offered what even Harry had to admit was a fairly charming smile. “And if you can find a way to get them to add extra chips, I promise he’ll tip well.”
“Oh, will I?” Harry said. “Who says we’re not splitting this? Maybe we’ll both tip well.”
Pansy laughed. “You haven’t let me pay for a single thing so far.”
“I asked you. I’m paying.”
“So if I propose getting ice cream after this, will you let me cover it?”
“Nah.” Harry grinned. “It’s an extension of the first part of the date, which I asked you on, so I’ll get that too.”
“I’ll see what they can do in the kitchen,” the waitress said, eyes wide. She practically bolted for the bartender.
“So,” Pansy said. “Tell me more about this reserve keeper.”
___
A few hours later, Pansy carefully studied the entire patio before she sat at a small table near the end. It was, Harry realised after they’d sat down, the only place with a perfect line of sight to the Daily Prophet’s front windows.
“Potter,” she said, with an easy smile, after she’d gestured up the same privacy charm that she’d used in the pub, “I’m going to need you to look significantly less uptight and significantly more like this is a third date that’s going well enough that you’re starting to think you might pull tonight.”
“Or,” Harry countered, taking the chair across from her, “I could look as if the relationship I was in since age seventeen went down in flames six months ago, and I’m understandably anxious about this entire endeavor, and also, that I fucking hate journalists writing about my love life, which I really do.”
Pansy laughed, then slid her foot up his leg under the table. He jumped.
She took a bite of ice cream. “We’re going to have to work on that.”
Harry let out a breath. “I did warn you that this was a terrible idea.”
“Would you be?” Pansy sounded almost thoughtful. “Anxious, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Harry admitted. “I’ve never really… done this sort of thing.”
“I wouldn’t hold it against you.” Pansy reached over, stealing some of his ice cream. “You know, in this hypothetical world wherein I’m ridiculously interested in you.” She licked it off the spoon, making eye contact, and laughed when he went red again. “It’s cute.”
“I’m not really…”
“Smooth? Charming? Great with women? I’d never have guessed. You’ve also just ordered plain vanilla with absolutely nothing on it, that might say something.”
“Oh, shut it,” Harry said, then, carefully, took a spoonful of ice cream and held it out. “If you’re just going to eat all of it anyway…”
Pansy raised an eyebrow, then grinned before she leaned in. “Rather good at manipulating the press, though, aren’t you?”
“Lifetime of practice.”
“So,” Pansy said, when she’d finished it. “Why professional quidditch, if you’re so interested in avoiding the spotlight?”
“I dunno.” Harry finally took some of his own ice cream. “Why medicine?”
“Excellent prevarication, but I did ask first.”
“I guess,” he admitted, “I just wanted to do something that was fun and uncomplicated and never life or death.”
“I had six ‘outstanding’ NEWTs, and McGonagall was fairly insistent that I do something meaningful with my life.” Pansy, somewhat surprisingly, had actually started eating her own ice cream. “And I didn’t trust the Ministry, so the Aurors were out. Plus, I sort of like the adrenaline rush.”
“Six?” Harry said, incredulously. “That’s the same as Hermione.”
“She’s technically got me beat, she got an ‘exceeds expectations’ in arithmancy. Which is an utterly worthless subject, so I have no regrets about not taking it.” Pansy looked across at him, then raised an eyebrow. “Don’t look so surprised, Hermione hasn’t cornered the market on academic success.”
“No, I just…” He shook his head, ruefully. “I should have realised. The way you talk.”
“What, the impeccable posh accent brought about by years of elocution lessons and a very nearly genetic propensity for snobbery?
“The fact that you use words like ‘propensity,’” Harry said, dryly.
Pansy suddenly looked down, studying her ice cream, which was the ever changing variety that switched after every bite. “I read a lot as a child. Escapism, I suppose. My parents were…”
“...were?” Harry prompted, after a moment of silence.
“Complicated,” Pansy decided. She mostly just looked… sad.
“Well,” Harry offered. He nudged her with a smile. “I’m an orphan who got raised in a cupboard, you might say I know a bit about bloody awful parents. Or - bloody awful guardians, I guess.”
Pansy looked up, startled, then started to smile back. “I’m starting to think that’s a rather versatile card that you might almost enjoy playing.”
“Yeah, really useful,” Harry agreed. “I love making people feel sorry for me.” On impulse, he reached over and took a spoonful of her ice cream, then pulled a face after he’d eaten it. He tapped his wand under the table, dropping her privacy charm slowly, almost as if it had faded and they’d failed to notice.
“Well?”
“Urgh,” he managed. “Mustard.”
She took another bite, then grinned, leaning closer, until it seemed like they were sharing a secret over the table. “Raspberry.”
“I fucking hate you,” he said, but, somehow, he found himself glancing down at her mouth, darker from the red of the sorbet.
“Mm,” Pansy agreed, with a slow smile. “But you’re absolutely not going to hate fucking me. I think we’re about done here, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yeah,” Harry managed. At least the blush would help the act. “Let’s go.”
“Well done, Potter,” she murmured, right against his ear. “You might be a natural.”
He decided not to point out that he hadn’t actually been trying to do anything at all.
____
Pansy’s flat wasn’t really what he’d been expecting. For one thing, it wasn’t particularly big. For another, it was imperfect. He’d been anticipating staged decor and cold sterility, but instead, none of the furniture really matched. There were books lying on every flat surface, which reminded him of Hermione, and a few dishes in the sink. An enormous green sectional took up half of the sitting room, and she’d crowded plants into every window. It felt like someone lived here. He exhaled, feeling his shoulders start to come down. Somehow, this version of Pansy’s life required less armour than he’d anticipated.
Pansy locked the door behind them, then turned toward him. “Red or white?”
“I should really go,” Harry said. “But, um, thanks for… for today. It was actually fun.”
“Potter,” she said, as if she knew something he didn’t. “You’re meant to be spending the night.”
“I mean,” he said, feeling awkward, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “No one’s going to know if I apparate home from here.”
“Draco’s coming by before work. We’re getting breakfast. I’m going to conveniently forget about having invited him. But that carefully crafted plan’s only going to work if you’re naked in my bed when he gets here.”
Harry had been stepping backwards toward the door, but he froze. “Um.”
“If you look like you’re naked in my bed when he gets here,” Pansy amended.
“I could come back. You know, in the morning.”
“If I’m going with you on this whole ridiculous holiday, we’re going to have to share a bed.” She held out a wine glass. “You might as well get used to it on your terms beforehand. Red or white?”
“It just feels sort of…” He took it, mostly because the look she was giving him suggested that she was going to start using dark magic if he didn’t. “Fast?”
“Doesn’t sleep over after one night stands.” Pansy finally pulled a bottle of red out of the wine rack, uncorked it with a spell, and came over to fill his glass. “Noted. I’ll add it to the dossier.”
He drank the whole thing, ignoring the look she gave him, then held it out for more, because he had a feeling dealing with Pansy for the rest of the evening was going to require alcohol. “Doesn’t have one night stands.”
Pansy actually looked startled. “What, never?”
“Nope,” Harry admitted. “I mean, I dated the same person for thirteen years, it wasn’t really…”
“You broke up six months ago. And you could quite literally have anyone you wanted these days.”
“What, and have them sell every detail to the Prophet once they got tired of it? Yeah. Really sounds like a great time.”
“So, just to clarify,” Pansy said, refilling his glass. “You’re the sort of Gryffindor that’s slept with exactly one person?”
“Two.” Harry lifted a hand to the back of his neck, then laughed, ruefully. “You know, as long as we’re counting all the fake sex we’re supposedly having tonight.”
“The fake sex where I show Ginny Weasley up in every conceivable way.”
He was amused in spite of himself. “Oh, do you?”
“I’m not a complete and utter cunt,” Pansy said, mildly, taking her wine glass to the sofa. “It’s a very low bar.”
“You seem to have strong feelings on the subject.” He went to sit next to her. It was annoyingly comfortable. “You know, for someone who doesn’t know either of us all that well.”
Pansy turned toward him, studying his face. “You’re a decent person, Potter.” The corner of her mouth pulled up in the faintest smile. “We’re sometimes a bit… oil and water. But I’ve always known that. It’s the reason Draco will believe this whole thing.”
“Why, because I’m too nice?”
“No.” Pansy brought her wine glass to her mouth without looking away from him. “Because I respect you, and he knows it.”
“Ginny isn’t a bad person,” Harry said, feeling some sort of misplaced need to defend the whole thing. Pretending made him feel a little less stupid. “It was great for a while, when we were younger, but then we just grew up into different people. We wanted different things. I think sometimes you grow in the same direction, and sometimes you don’t. We didn’t. I wanted to get married and have kids, she didn’t. You can’t really get past that. And we were both too stubborn to call it. The last few years… it was just completely dead on arrival. At least she finally did something about it.”
“The thing is,” Pansy murmured, still watching him, “I feel somewhat strongly that the thing you do when you want out of a relationship is to end it. You don’t cheat on someone and fuck them up over it.”
“I’m not fucked up over it,” Harry said, then laughed when Pansy raised an eyebrow. “All right, maybe I’m a little fucked up over it.”
“We’re not even…” Pansy said, gesturing between them with her glass. She’d propped her elbow against the back of the sofa and had her face in her hand. “But you won’t disagree with me. You’ve spent all day being just a little too quiet and significantly too accommodating. This version of you is just so anodyne. You used to argue me into the ground, Potter. You always took it too far. And I really bloody loved it.” She was studying him again. “So, arguably, you might be a lot fucked up over it.”
“You really don’t believe in pulling punches, do you?”
“No,” Pansy agreed. “But I also think it might be very good for you to remember that there’s someone out here who’s all in on you showing the side of yourself that likes playing dirty pool.”
Harry finally laughed. “Remember Hermione’s Christmas party?”
“The one where you spiked the punch and I got exceptionally drunk and critiqued every play you made that season, or the one where Draco locked us on the fire escape because we were horrifying the hospital donors?”
“We might have deserved it.” Harry finished the second glass of wine. “Okay, we definitely deserved it, what the fuck were we arguing about?”
“If memory serves,” Pansy said, grinning, “the worst European league keeper.”
“Finland.” He laughed. “It’s the only reasonable answer.”
“Sorry, I think you mean Albania, since their entire defense is a fucking travesty. Finland is several orders of magnitude better than them. Although, admittedly, still terrible.”
“At least we’re not Hermione. Who the fuck doesn’t have an opinion?”
“I don’t know why I’m friends with her.”
“Same.” Harry took a breath, and finally let himself tip over against Pansy’s side. She was warm in a way that he hadn’t quite been expecting. “I can’t help but notice you have a television.”
“I liked Hermione’s so much that she gave me her old one when she replaced it,” Pansy said, shifting. He thought for a second that he’d misread the situation, but she was only stretching out. She settled back in against him. “Want to watch something?”
“We’re sort of terrible representations of the wizarding world,” Harry said, thoughtfully. “But yeah, you can pick.”
“I’m very excited about this.” Pansy nudged him. “Your job is to explain all the muggle things that I completely don’t understand. I mean, you grew up as a muggle, you’ll know more than me.”
“I grew up in a cupboard,” Harry said, dryly. “But I’ll try.”
Halfway through the movie, Pansy lifted her head off his shoulder. They’d been gradually easing into each other, and she’d wrapped an arm around him and slid a thigh over his. He’d been mostly succeeding at not thinking about the fact that, aside from Hermione, it was the most contact he’d had with a woman in well over a year.
“So,” she said, thoughtfully, “I think you ought to kiss me.”
There had been three or four glasses of wine along with the popcorn, so it seemed possible - even likely - that he was missing something. “I mean,” he said, clearing his throat. “At some point. Yeah. We’ll probably have to.”
There was wry amusement on her face, but it didn’t seem like it was at his expense. “I was thinking more like now.”
“But,” Harry said, after he’d turned it over several times and tried to make sense of it, “there’s no one here.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Rather the point, actually. You aren’t going to be able to get away with being awkward about it in front of other people. It isn’t supposed to be new.”
It was a bit mortifying that she thought he was going to be the problem. “I’ll be fine.”
She reached up, running her fingers through his hair. He tried not to jerk away and wasn’t entirely sure that he’d succeeded.
“I’m going to extrapolate from the earlier conversation,” she said, voice soft, “that you haven’t kissed all that many people for the first time.”
“I -” Harry started, but she pressed her fingers against his mouth.
“That wasn’t a criticism. Just an observation.”
“No,” he admitted. “And not for a very long time.” He’d have been embarrassed if it hadn’t been for the proximity and the look on her face, which almost seemed… warm. “Since - you know. Before.”
“You know,” she said, thoughtfully, “if we were really doing this, I’d want you to know that I find it…”
He tried not to feel incredibly awkward. “Sort of stupid and very misguided and like I should probably have spent some part of the last six months actually putting myself out there? I know. You don’t have to tell me.”
Pansy’s expression tipped over into something that he couldn’t quite pin down - amusement, maybe, or understanding. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “You have a very bad habit of putting words in my mouth.”
“Yeah.” Harry let out a breath. “Sorry.”
“I was going to say that, under those circumstances, I’d find the fact you need it to mean something rather sweet,” she murmured, “and very charming,” her voice had gotten lower, and she’d fisted a hand in his shirt, drawing him closer, “and that it would really, really do it for me.”
Harry hesitated, trying to draw away, because he was pretty sure he hadn’t heard her correctly. “What?”
“Come here, Harry,” Pansy said, and pulled him back in.
It was absolutely nothing like kissing Ginny. Pansy was warmer and a little wilder. And underneath her straightforward approach, there was so much heat that it felt like a hit straight to centre. She took it deep so quickly he could barely keep up, the exact take-no-prisoners kissing he’d expected, but somehow, it had never occurred to him that kissing Pansy Parkinson might feel something like a safe harbour, too. It was the sort of kiss that conclusively divided time into before and after it had happened. And he was sort of horrified to discover that he liked it.
She eased back, just barely, and watched him, eyes dark. “More practice?”
“More practice,” Harry agreed. Her smile as he brought his mouth down on hers was worth taking the risk.
—
“Potter,” Pansy said, finally, a few hours later, “I work nights in a casualty department. I’ve slept in cupboards.” He felt her roll over toward him, so they were facing each other in the dark, although he couldn’t see much of anything between the pitch black room and his lack of glasses. “But even I can’t sleep through you lying there being aggressively still and trying not to breathe.”
“Sorry,” Harry muttered. “I’m just - you know, I move around a lot, I can never get comfortable, and it annoyed Ginny to no end, so I was just trying not to - and I sort of don’t like having the door shut, but it’s fine -”
“What did I say earlier about apologising for extraordinarily stupid things?”
“Sorry,” Harry said, again, and then tried not to jump when Pansy put a hand over his mouth.
She gestured, and the door opened. “You just apologised for apologising too much. That’s a new low.”
Harry sighed. “I just didn’t want to bother you.”
There was a very long pause. Pansy dropped her hand down to his shoulder, then, after a moment, pressed her fingers against his collarbone, right where he’d broken it last spring.
“When you say you can never get comfortable,” she said, sounding thoughtful, “what does that mean?”
“Dunno. I just… never can.”
Her hands were cool, and she slid her fingers to the muscles at the curve of his neck. He tried not to think of the fact that she’d touched him there, earlier, when they’d…
“Is there any chance that what you in fact mean is that it hurts in every possible position?”
“Um,” he said, trying not to wince when she pressed in deeper. “Maybe?”
“When was the last time you saw a healer?”
“I got the flu last year. The team has someone. He gave me something. And he fixed it when I fell on my wrist.”
Pansy’s hand suddenly was sliding down, skimming over the inside of his forearm, and then she touched the part that ached every time it rained. He breathed in, suddenly, because it felt strangely intimate.
“Allow me to revise my question. When was the last time you saw a competent healer?”
“Um. No idea. A couple of years? I guess?”
He lost track of her hand, then felt her brush her thumb over the line of his jaw.
“You know,” she murmured. “I can fix all this. In fact, I’d really like to fix all this, because at the moment, you’re basically a walking affront to the healing arts.”
“You don’t have to. I mean, I know you already do this all day, I wouldn’t want to be an inconvenience.”
She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck again. “I’m offering. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to. But I typically do my best not to heal people without their consent.”
“It’s late.” He took a breath. “You’d just have to turn all the lights on and get your wand and -”
Pansy snorted. “Quite frankly, that’s an insulting underestimation of my abilities. I’m only forgiving it because you’ve never seen me work. Yes or no, Harry?”
“Yeah, okay, I guess.”
“Fair warning,” Pansy murmured, “you’re such a mess that this is probably going to involve a really excessive amount of endorphins, and you’re in bed with an attractive woman in the dark, so don’t panic if you like it.”
Harry finally laughed. “I don’t know, liking something in bed with an attractive woman in the dark might be novel, it’s been a while.”
“That’s not as funny as you think it is,” Pansy said, but she sounded like she was smiling. She tugged at the hem of his shirt until he took the hint and pulled it over his head.
“Do I have to - hold still or something?”
“No.” She made a slightly amused noise. “I’m much better than that. First, I’m going to fix all eight hundred of the bones you seem to have broken. Then I’ll handle the muscles.”
Harry took a breath. “Is this going to hurt?”
There was a reason he never went to healers. In his experience, it was a singularly unpleasant experience.
“Enough with the traduction, Potter.” She tilted his head back, then took his face in her hands, fingers spreading against his jaw again. He could suddenly feel her magic against his skin, then underneath. It was cold, but it almost felt good, like putting ice on something sore. And it sparked a little, in a way that felt familiar, because it was very… Pansy.
“Oh,” he said, after a minute, because apparently, he hadn’t noticed how much it had hurt until it suddenly didn’t.
Pansy laughed. “I know. I just single-handedly remade every surface in your temporomandibular joint. I may have missed my calling as an architect.”
“I was going to say something smart about your total lack of humility, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to manage.”
“It’s not arrogance when you’re actually that skilled.” She traced her fingers down the back of his neck. “This isn’t even supposed to be the part that feels good. This is just where I put all your fucked up cervical vertebrae back into place.”
Pansy pulled his shoulder forward, then lifted her other hand to his collarbone. That felt hot instead of cold, almost on the edge of too much, but it wasn’t as if it really hurt. And then it didn’t hurt at all, because the low, background ache that was always there had gone entirely away.
“Better?”
“Yeah,” he said, trying not to jump when she stroked a palm all the way down his spine.
“Really,” she said, the heel of her hand against his ribs, and everything just felt warm, “I’m sort of surprised you’ve been managing to sleep at all.”
“I don’t, much,” Harry admitted.
“If this doesn’t help, I’ll solve that problem too.”
Harry managed a slightly breathless laugh. “I’m starting to wonder if you might like solving problems.”
She’d wrapped her hand around his wrist. “If you’ve missed that point, you don’t know me nearly as well as you think you do.”
“I’m starting to think I don’t know you at all,” Harry said, then stopped, because she’d gotten closer. “You’re… nicer than I thought.”
“You have exceptionally low standards for people being nice to you.” She’d spread her hands out across his back, pressing in against the muscles. “But this is the part I’m very, very good at.”
“Oh,” Harry said, because all at once absolutely nothing hurt, and it was…
“Yes?” Pansy murmured.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he managed, “because I know you’re a professional and everything, but that is absolutely, one hundred percent better than sex.”
Pansy laughed. “You only think that because it hasn’t occurred to you yet that I’m perfectly capable of doing that during sex.”
“I’d probably die.” Harry felt his face heat. “Not that I - I mean - I haven’t thought about - I wouldn’t -”
Pansy moved her hands up, pressing in hard with her thumbs at the base of his neck. “We’re pretending to have truly excessive amounts of sex.” She sounded amused. “You should probably think about it.”
“I take back what I said about you being nice.”
“I’m just saying,” Pansy said, “that every time I tell you to act like you’ve gotten really, spectacularly laid, you could consider how that would feel if you were inside me.” She grinned, close enough that he could see the white flash of her teeth in the dark. “And this isn’t even sex magic. Just healing. I’m also very good at sex magic, for the record.”
“I don’t think you like me enough to be coming onto me quite this hard.” Harry let his head fall back. “Which probably means you’re just fucking with me.”
“You’re extraordinarily bad at flirting. I thought I’d see if you’d flirt back given sufficient provocation.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re sort of terrible, and also -” Harry let out a breath. “That feels so good that I think I’m about to fall asleep.”
“That’s absolutely what every woman dreams about hearing in bed.”
“You’re going to take it as a compliment,” Harry said, drowsily. “You’re going to claim you won.”
“Because I did.” Pansy lifted her hand, fingertips against his temple. “Want me to make it stick? I can keep you under until tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah. That sounds… really good.”
“Look at you, letting me do something nice.” Pansy ran her fingers up, through his hair. “Goodnight, Harry.”
“Night,” he managed, before he slid completely under.
___
Harry woke up to someone’s hand on his shoulder. He sat up, abruptly, grabbing his wand off the bedside table, except nothing was in the right place. There was just Pansy, looking startled at having a wand drawn on her.
“Remind me never to surprise you again.”
“Sorry, I just -” he started, then ran a hand over his face. “I take it back. I’m not apologising. You’ll just yell at me. I’m not very good with waking up in new places.”
“Noted,” Pansy said. She didn’t seem particularly put out; sometimes people got offended. “Draco’s going to be here in about five minutes. He’s strangely into being on time.”
“Okay.” Harry put his wand back down. “Do you want me to answer the door?”
Pansy burst out laughing. “Not,” she said, “exactly,” and then pulled her shirt over her head. Just in time for him to realise that she absolutely wasn’t wearing much underneath it.
“Uh,” Harry said, staring at the ceiling resolutely. She got up - he really, really wasn’t looking - and opened the bedroom door the rest of the way.
“He’s got a key and he knows all the warding spells.” She slid back into bed. “And the goal is for you to be on top of me when he walks in, not looking everywhere but at me.”
“Sorry, you’re just sort of…”
“Topless?” Pansy supplied. “I don’t sleep in anything, and unfortunately for you, he knows it. So, in the interest of verisimilitude, you’re probably not going to be able to get away with snogging me fully clothed.”
“I -” Harry said. “I, um, definitely can’t. I… haven’t brushed my teeth.”
“There are at least twelve spells I can think of offhand to solve that problem.” Pansy had pulled back the quilt. “Use one and come here.”
Harry suddenly realised that if he quit making excuses and just said no, she’d come up with a different idea, because she wasn’t the sort of person that would push him, at least not like that. But she knew Draco better than anyone, and that meant she knew what would work on him. Which was, unfortunately, the entire point.
“Okay,” he said, finally, putting his wand aside after he’d managed to remember a spell. “What am I doing?”
Pansy took his hand, pulling him toward her, and he finally looked at her, which was definitely a mistake. It wasn’t as if he’d made a habit of looking at naked women, and she was…
“On the bright side, we’re not going to have any trouble selling the idea that I turn you on.”
“Oh, come on,” Harry managed, bright red. “You’re literally only wearing knickers, I haven’t had sex in… in a long time, and -”
She pulled, unexpectedly, until he’d nearly fallen on top of her, and he was a little surprised to find she was smiling. “I’m teasing. And for the record, you’re meant to be in on the joke.”
“I’m not great at this.”
“Improvisational fake flirting?” Pansy looked as if she were trying not to laugh again, so close he could see her clearly even without his glasses. There was a very faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose that he’d never noticed. “Lying on top of me? Subterfuge?”
“All of the above.”
“On the other hand,” Pansy said, stroking her palms down his back before she settled them on his hips and yanked him down, “you’re quite good at vanquishing evil, you catch snitches better than nearly anyone else in the league, and I don’t think there’s a woman alive who isn’t struck with an overwhelming desire to lick your hip bones every time you take your fucking shirt off. It’s slightly obscene.”
Harry huffed out a laugh. “Seriously?”
Pansy grinned, somehow brighter up close. “Probably a decent number of men too.”
“I’ll have to tell marketing to explore that angle.” Harry, tentatively, stroked a hand through her hair, because it seemed like the safest possible option. “Although that might explain why I’m forever being photographed with broomsticks.”
Pansy laughed, and he found, unexpectedly, that he really wanted to make it happen again, except there was a very faint chime.
“Predictably on time. I’m not going to answer the door, so we’ve got about two minutes before he just gets annoyed and lets himself in.”
“Great. I’ll just… ah, stay put.”
“You’re actually going to have to kiss me.” She slid a leg over his. “I have faith in your ability to make it as dirty as possible.”
“I don’t really,” Harry said, swallowing, “do that. I mean, I don’t think I know how to -”
“First,” Pansy said, mildly. “Kiss me. Second, make me like it enough to forget you’re an exceptionally boring Gryffindor. You managed perfectly well last night. Third, pretend like you’re going to follow it up by fucking me into the matress.”
“Are you just trying to get me to shut you up?”
“Pretty much,” Pansy agreed.
“Do me a favour?”
Pansy looked like she was having more fun than the situation strictly called for. “Maybe. Depends on the favour.”
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” Harry said, dryly, and brought his mouth down on hers.
Pansy, predictably, didn’t fuck around. She arched up against him, licking into his mouth, warm and deep without any lead up, more of the sort of fiercely hungry getting-to-know-you kissing he hadn’t really done since he was seventeen and completely in over his head. But he couldn’t even think about that, because Pansy had her hands all over him. She pulled him in, then, unexpectedly, drew back for a few seconds, looking focused. The muscles in his shoulders that had started to tighten up again went warm under her fingertips.
“Fuck,” he said, staring at her, because it felt even better than it had the night before, and she was pressed against him, so it was probably obvious that he was getting hard, and -
“Potter,” she said, against his mouth, “it’s deeply unfair that you’re famous and good looking and, apparently, very well-hung. I’m starting to think you’re just showing off.”
“Parkinson,” he managed, “would you shut the fuck up?”
Pansy tipped her head back and laughed again, low, in a way that went directly to his cock.
“Make me,” she said, archly.
Harry kissed her again, deeper, and, mostly because they were supposed to be putting on a show, let his hands start to wander. She made a very soft noise when he cupped her breast and stroked his thumb over her nipple. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was faked or real, but he definitely wanted her to make it again. He shifted, kissing down her neck, stopping to nip at her earlobe, and the way she sucked in a breath definitely didn’t seem like acting.
“If you stop,” she murmured, turning her head to make room for him, burying a hand in his hair, “I’m going to kill you.”
“Wasn’t really planning on it,” he managed.
“Pansy?” Draco said, from the doorway. “Did you oversleep yet again, or -” Harry saw Pansy lift her head, looking over his shoulder.
“Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to -” When he turned to look, Draco was starting to back up, but then he stopped suddenly and said, incredulously, “...Potter?”
“Draco,” Pansy said, firmly, “go away. And shut the fucking door.”
“Sorry, I -” Draco said, again. He seemed frozen.
Pansy made a noise that was entirely annoyance. “Step one, step back, step two, put your hand on the door knob, step three, turn it, step four, pull toward you, step five, push the door forward until it clicks, step six, let go of the -”
Draco backed up and shut the door in a hurry.
“Fucking useless in the face of anything unexpected,” Pansy said, then considered him. “Are you interested in finishing this? I’m unexpectedly very willing.”
Harry suspected she thought Draco was listening at the door.
“No way,” he said, firmly, “I’m not having sex while Draco’s in the kitchen. He’d hear. It would be terrible for everyone involved.”
“It’s probably not the best idea, anyway.” She pushed at his shoulder and sat up, which was really, deeply unfair, since her breasts ended up exactly at his eye level. “I’ll get dressed.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, swallowing, “yeah, me too.”
He managed to get it together - largely by running really boring quidditch plays in his head - and, although he wanted to make Pansy go first, she was doing something fairly complicated that involved makeup and her hair.
Draco was standing in the kitchen holding a mug of coffee and still looking vaguely horrified.
“Um, hey.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “I’m really, really sorry about that.”
“No, I shouldn’t have let myself in, it was my fault. Although, in my defence, out of the last thousand times she hasn’t answered the door, nine hundred and ninety nine of them have been because she overslept.”
“Fair,” Harry said, and then, after an exceedingly awkward pause, “I don’t suppose you, um, know where the kettle is?”
Draco somehow looked slightly annoyed. “On the range. Apparently, she’s put it on for you. And I can only assume the sugar is out on your behalf, since neither of us take any.”
She had, in fact, put the kettle on, and there was even a mug with a tea bag in it waiting for the water. Harry knew it was only for show, but it was sort of nice. No one ever bothered to make breakfast for him.
“Milk’s in the fridge, Harry,” Pansy said, coming into the kitchen.
She and Draco exchanged a series of completely indecipherable glances.
“Really?” Draco said, finally.
Pansy came over, leaning around Harry with a hand against the small of his back to reach up for a mug. “Really.”
Draco looked a little annoyed. “I was going to ask why the front page of the paper is the two of you feeding each other ice cream. But it’s suddenly rather obvious.”
“Mm,” Pansy agreed, pouring herself coffee. “I was going to tell you, but you’ve gone and spoiled the surprise through a complete lack of respect for both boundaries and locked doors.”
Draco looked, if possible, even less amused. “You’re clinically incapable of responding to alarm spells and the door chime. This one is absolutely not on me. Shut the bedroom door next time.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “He’s got a thing about closed doors. Knock louder next time.”
“Sorry, um, again. Really sorry. Extremely sorry.” Harry said, staring rather resolutely at his mug while he waited for it to steep. They were sort of a lot of… Slytherin.
Pansy leaned against the counter, blowing on her coffee. “Don’t apologise, it’s his fault.”
Harry finally put the tea bag in the sink. “It might be, um, a little our fault. Or, possibly, a little your fault, since if you’d told me he was coming by, I wouldn’t have let you… um.”
“Thank you, Potter,” Draco said, rather pointedly. “I appreciate the acknowledgement that this deeply uncomfortable situation is not exclusively of my making.”
“I did forget we were getting breakfast.” Pansy gestured, summoning the milk. “Sorry about that one small, distinct, and explicitly defined piece.”
Draco very carefully examined something at the bottom of his coffee cup. “Does Hermione know?”
“Er, yeah,” Harry said.
Draco looked up at Pansy, and if Harry hadn’t known better, he’d have thought the expression on his face was hurt. “You told her first?”
“I wouldn’t,” Pansy said. “In fact, I thought you’d take it rather badly, so my plan was to tell you at work and ruin your entire shift. I told Harry to keep it to himself. But I can’t, apparently, convince Potter to keep his mouth shut.”
Draco visibly relaxed. “You can’t really blame the Gryffindors for…” He gestured, and Pansy laughed.
“No,” Pansy agreed. “I can’t.”
“Anyway, it wouldn’t ruin it. I’m -” Draco looked over at him. “Could we talk about it later?”
“Yeah, I’m going to be seriously late for training if I don’t go now,” Harry said. “I’ll, um. See you… soon?”
“I’ll owl you, I’m off tomorrow. We could get lunch. Or finish what we -”
“Right, yeah, great, um,” Harry interrupted, and ducked out of it when she stepped in to kiss him. “I’ll just… go. Now. Bye. Nice seeing you, Draco.”
“That,” he heard Draco saying, as he pulled the door shut, “was impressively awkward.”
“He’s shy,” Pansy murmured. “It’s charming.”
“I’m a little concerned you’re going to eat him alive.”
“Yeah, about that,” Pansy said, and Harry thought she could probably take it from there.