You will very likely hate this story. If you think Harry can do no wrong, this story is not for you. And if angst in general is not for you, stop reading now...you've been warned. Please, no Howlers.
“What are you waiting for? Someone grab him!”
Pansy’s screech echoed through the Great Hall, slicing the chilly silence in two. Several students gasped. Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow, regarding her with disdain. She didn’t care.
At that moment, it felt…perfect.
October 1996 (Eighteen Months Prior)
Pansy Parkinson hated flying.
No, not hated, precisely. More like despised. Abhorred. Detested.
She could never quite handle a broom with the ease the others in Hooch’s class had. Besides, no self-respecting Pure-blood witch would ever—ever—allow herself to fly when there were far more superior ways to travel. Hell, even Flooing was more dignified. But until she had her Apparition license, she’d just have to deal with it.
Now wizards, on the other hand…they were a completely different matter. They could arc, dive, and flip as much as they wanted and not only was it perfectly acceptable within Pure-blood society, it was considered to be…sexy. Very sexy. Especially if the right wizard was on said broom. Say, a certain Pure-blood with perfect blonde hair, brooding demeanor, and steel grey eyes.
Pansy looked up and scanned the cloudless sky above the Quidditch Pitch. She spotted the wizard in question, his green cape wild behind him as he rolled into another absurd dive to retrieve the snitch. Gods, Draco Malfoy was nearly as fun to watch during practice as he was during a game. During practice, however, it was easier for her to spot him. And easier for him to spot her.
At least she hoped.
Pansy fiddled with her green and silver scarf, drawing it tighter around her. The evening had gotten chilly. Quidditch practice was nearly over, so it was time for her to make her way back to the castle. Before he landed. Before etiquette required that he talk to her. And before propriety required that she respond.
She could never get a coherent word out when he was nearby, anyway.
“Hey Pans.” Daphne said as she sat down across from her at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. “Just saw Draco,” she said, reaching for the pumpkin juice.
“Outside the Potions classroom. Standing a little too close to the Weasel’s sister.” Daphne drained her glass. Pansy cast a glance at the Gryffindor table to see if the girl was there. She wasn’t.
Ginny Weasley. She had everything Pansy didn’t: athletic prowess, easy camaraderie with guys, self-confidence. Where Pansy could be pretty with makeup on, Ginny was flawless without. Where Ginny was popular even outside her house, Pansy had few close friends. Where Ginny exuded self-confidence, Pansy came across as pinch-nosed and bitchy.
“But she’s not in Potions with us. What was she doing down there?”
“Who knows?” Daphne set her glass down to refill it. “I just wanted to make sure you knew. You have to make a move soon, Pans. You can’t lose a morsel like him to that slut.”
The morsel in question chose that moment to saunter into the Great Hall.
Pansy lowered her voice to a whisper. “He’d never. I mean, she’s a Gryff. He’d never stoop so low.”
“Yeah, except guys seem to dig her. She’s never without a snog-mate.”
“Hello, ladies,” Draco drawled, settling down next to Pansy. She froze. Her tongue had somehow gotten stuck to the roof of her mouth.
“Hey, Draco,” Daphne said. Her eyes flicked to Pansy. “Pans and I were just talking about going to Hogsmeade next weekend.” Pansy tried to catch Daphne’s eye as he reached for the rolls, shaking her head and mouthing the word NO. What in the name of Salazar was she doing?
“Want to hang with us? Maybe walk over together Saturday morning?” Daphne asked.
“Interesting proposition, ladies. I just might be able to do that.” Draco looked up from his plate and winked at Pansy. She felt her face flush. Shite.
She was going to fucking kill Daphne.
The next evening, Pansy was back at the Quidditch pitch watching Slytherin prepare for the upcoming game against Ravenclaw. Draco darted around, oblivious to her presence. Daphne saddled up beside her, rubbing her hands together and casting a warming charm over her boots.
“Pans, you gotta talk to him. Before Saturday.”
“I’ll try.” Pansy bit her lip as Draco looped around the stands. She turned to her best friend. “Thanks for sitting with me.”
“You got it,” Daphne responded, settling into her studies and ignoring the acrobatics above her.
As a hint of the coming twilight stained the sky, the teammates began to peel off one by one to return to the castle. Pansy began gathering their books; she glanced up to find the slender form of Ginny Weasley making her way onto the pitch.
“What’s she doing here?” Pansy whispered.
“Hell if I know,” Daphne answered, rooting around in her rucksack.
Apparently, the girls weren’t the only ones who noticed Ginny.
“Hey, Red,” Draco called, bringing his broom around and hovering close enough to the stands for Pansy to hear. “Taking me up on my challenge, then?”
“You know it. Sure you’re ready, Blondie?”
Draco just smiled. “Bring it.”
Ginny vaulted onto her broom and leapt into the air; Draco followed furiously, his smile only widening. Pansy lost them almost immediately in the deepening blue vault of sky.
“Pans, it’s cold. We should go.”
“I’d like to stay.”
“You don’t need to watch this.”
“Yes, I do.”
Daphne set her jaw, lit her wand, and reopened her Potions book. Daphne could be difficult, but she was too good of a friend to leave Pansy there by herself. After another twenty minutes of dizzying flying, Draco and Ginny landed.
“Tomorrow?” Draco asked, stepping off his broom.
“Monday. I’ve got an essay for Flitwick.”
“Ladies,” Draco said as he unhooked his cape, nodding to the Slytherin girls still in the stands.
Daphne smiled back. “Draco.”
He turned towards the castle. Ginny stood there, making a show of watching Draco’s arse as he slowly walked away.
“Good looking housemate ya got there. Maybe I’ll have to see what else he’s good at catching besides a snitch. Maybe I’ll let him catch me.” And with a wink, Ginny turned and sauntered toward the castle.
“She didn’t just do that!” Pansy said.
“Yeah, she sure did.”
“Hey, Pansy.” Somehow Draco had appeared next to Pansy in the chaos between classes, and she hadn’t even noticed. “Are you and Daphne still up for Hogsmeade next Saturday? I believe Theo and Blaise are planning on coming, too.”
She forced her tongue to move. “Eh…sounds…eh…great. When…I mean…what time—”
She noticed Draco’s eyes focus over her shoulder, down the corridor.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?” he said, cutting across her. “Red!” he called, running down the hall and bending down to whisper something in the slut’s ear. He pulled back and they both laughed. He jogged back to Pansy.
“I’m sorry,” Draco said. “What were you saying, Pansy?”
She swallowed. “Nothing important.”
After seeing Draco with the slut—twice now in two days—Pansy decided to avoid the Slytherin common room for a while. The last thing she needed to hear was Draco expounding on the slut’s…athletic prowess. Or, Salazar help her, another one of her talents.
Pansy made her way to the library, found a table in the farthest section from the door, and put her head down, giving into the tears that had threatened all day. Draco’s never going to want me. He never has and he never will.
A few minutes later, she looked up at the sound of rustling robes. A flustered Harry Potter stood at the table, peering down at her. “Do you mind if I sit…? All the other tables are crowded with Fifth Years studying for O.W.L.s.”
She turned away, rubbing off the dried tears on her cheeks with the sleeve of her robe.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s just some guy.” She hadn’t meant for her words to sound so bitter.
“I bet I know who,” Potter said, reaching into his rucksack. “Guys can be pricks.”
“Trust me, they can.” He pulled out a parchment to read and smiled. “I know. I am one.”
“A guy or a prick?” Pansy asked with her own soft smile.
He laughed. “Both.”
“You know, he’s not really a prick.” She sighed, not exactly sure why she was talking to Harry Potter about Draco. “He’s just not interested.”
“Ah. So he’s not just any prick. He’s a blind prick.”
She laughed at the compliment. “Right.”
“Right.” He locked his green eyes on hers. “I’m sorry about your prick,” he said. “His loss.”
“It’s okay. There are other pricks out there,” Pansy quipped, suddenly feeling a lot better than she had before Potter—Harry—arrived. “One of them might even like me back.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I could see that.”
The next morning, Pansy made an extra effort to look nice—a bit of mascara, a touch of lip gloss—and made her way to the Great Hall. As Daphne chatted away about what she was going to wear to Astoria’s birthday party, Pansy peeked over her head to the long table farthest away. Potter—Harry, she reminded herself—was deep in conversation with Granger and the Weasel.
That afternoon, Pansy loitered in the hall outside Potions. Where was Harry? Granger and Weasel had already passed her to enter the classroom, looking grim. If she didn’t go in soon, she’d get detention from Snape, Head of House or not.
She could hear someone was sprinting down the now-empty hall toward her. She swung around to see Harry desperately trying to get to the classroom, his rucksack thumping his back, his robes flying in a wide arc.
“Hey,” she said softly, as not to spook him as he nearly slid into her just outside the classroom.
“Hey,” he answered breathlessly, and reached out to hold the door open for her.
She smiled at him. Not bad for someone who was raised by Muggles.
Two days later, she happened to notice Harry by himself, leaning against the grey stone of the hall outside Charms.
“Hey,” Pansy said, tilting her chin up a fraction. “I saw that you missed some of Transfiguration the other day. Want to borrow my notes?”
“I know I’m not the best in Transfiguration, but I’m decent. I realize you can probably have Granger’s notes any time you want, but I thought you might enjoy another perspective.” She forced a chuckle and found that it didn’t sound false at all. “I know if the only notes I could borrow were ones from the most brilliant person in class, I might feel a bit…intimidated, if you know what I mean.”
He paused momentarily, considering. “Actually, I do.”
Pansy opened her book bag and pulled out the parchment. “Here.” She handed it to him. “Can I get them back by Tuesday?”
“Eh…sure. How about I meet you in the library tomorrow afternoon? Before Quidditch practice?”
“Sure. Maybe around 2?”
“Okay. You know that table way in the back…” He hesitated, as if he were unsure whether he was supposed to say the one we sat at last time?
“The one by the Divination section?”
Harry smiled in relief. “Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Okay,” she said, timidly smiling back.
“Okay.” He started to walk away, then suddenly pivoted around to her again. He was still smiling. “Thanks.”
The next afternoon, Pansy waited for Harry, textbooks open in a wide arc around her on the library table. She sighed again, swinging her leg in frustration, unable to concentrate. He was late. The fucker probably had never intended to return her notes. Now she going to have to borrow someone else’s notes to replace hers, dammit.
She looked up at the sound of someone jogging through the stacks.
“Hey,” Harry said, a bit breathless. He plopped down next to her and opened his rucksack. “Sorry I’m late. Here are your notes back.”
The-Boy-Who-Lived was apologizing? Pansy didn’t quite know how to respond.
“Did you get a chance to look at them?” It was all she could think of to say.
“Actually, they were really quite helpful,” he said. She wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or insulted that Harry Potter seemed surprised her class notes were useful.
“Really? I mean, great.”
“Brilliant.” He hesitated. “Listen. You want to get out of here? Ron’s nowhere to be found—probably snogging Lavender senseless again—and Hermione’s been swallowed up by another one of her…causes…” His face twisted as if he found this distasteful. So, he can hang out with me if his best mates are otherwise occupied? Fuck being third string. No thanks.
“I—” she began, gathering up her textbooks, parchment, and quill to leave.
He cut across her. “I could really use some company, to be honest.”
Pansy cocked an eyebrow. To be honest? Did Gryffindors toss around phrases like that just to be ironic? She hadn’t spent enough time with him to suss out whether he was teasing her or not.
“If you’re busy, it’s no problem. I’ll—“
She stood up. “No. I mean, sure. I hate sitting in the library. Pince scares the hell out of me, to be honest.”
He huffed a laugh, catching on to her echoing tease. “Me, too. It’s pretty nice out. Walk outside?”
“Sure.” She followed him out through the main corridor and down the steps.
“Towards the lake?” he asked.
They walked along in silence.
When they reached the lake, he said, “This is weird, right? I mean, you and me, walking outside…”
“Yeah. I guess so,” she said, pointedly not looking at him.
“Is it too weird?”
Pansy smiled, keeping her eyes on the curved grey stone path in front of them. “No. Not too weird at all.”
“Well, if it’s not too weird, maybe we could meet tomorrow, over there on that bench? Maybe go over those notes you lent me?”
By 2:15 p.m. the next day, Pansy was beginning to think Harry wasn’t going to show. Just as she had decided to head back to the castle, she saw him. Pansy watched, amused, as Harry jogged across the green towards to where she’d been waiting. Apparently, The-Boy-Who-Lived was always late.
“Hey. Shall we?” he said, indicating the path they took last time they met.
They settled into an amicable pace. She idly wondered what Granger would say if she knew he was here.
“Do you want to go over the Transfiguration notes?” he asked into the air between them.
“Not really,” she said with a small laugh.
“Me, either.” He smiled at her. “Do you follow Quidditch, Pansy?”
“A bit. I’m not much for the professional stuff. But I know the game and I like watching Dr—” She caught herself before saying his name. “I like watching Slytherin fly.”
She was certain he had noticed, but he didn’t call her out on it. Apparently good graces were not reserved for Pure-bloods.
“Do you like to? Fly, that is?” Harry asked, redirecting the conversation slightly.
“Eh…I’m not sure. I’m not supposed to like flying.”
“Pure-blood witch. Not respectable and all that.”
“You were raised by Muggles, right?”
“Probably why you didn’t know that.”
“It’s ridiculous, all of it. I mean, there are volumes and volumes on etiquette that you have to memorize before you even get to Hogwarts. And more during summer hols. You’re lucky you never had to suffer it. Probably an advantage of having been raised by Muggles.”
“I don’t feel particularly lucky. And I wouldn’t exactly say being raised by Muggles has advantages,” he said levelly. What made me say that? Losing your parents wouldn’t be considered lucky. He didn’t seem bothered by what she’d said, though; actually, he seemed relieved that she hadn’t expressed pity that he’d been orphaned.
“I suppose that’s true.” Gods, he was surprisingly easy to talk to. It was refreshing, actually. “Harry. Why did you ask me to walk with you?”
She laughed. “Honestly.”
“I thought you were nice.” He paused. “Is it alright to tell a Slytherin that they’re nice?” he joked.
“Depends on the Slytherin,” she shot back with a smirk.
“Are you that Slytherin?”
Harry Potter was not flirting with her. Certainly not. She felt herself flush. Or was he?
“I suppose you could always try it and see what happens.”
He took the bait. “You’re nice.”
“See? Nothing bad happened. So I must be the right Slytherin.”
“You must be.”
Saturday morning, Pansy had begged off the Hogsmeade trip, blaming an upcoming essay due Monday for McGonagall. She had no desire to fight for Draco’s attention all day long. It was simply too tiring.
“What about Draco?” Daphne huffed when Pansy had told her she wasn’t going.
“He won’t even notice I’m not there!”
Daphne sighed, shook her head, and walked out of the common room without another word.
Pansy packed up her books and made her way to the table in the library’s Divination section. Her favourite seat was already taken.
“What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” a familiar voice countered from behind piles of parchment.
“I do go to school here, you know.”
Harry huffed a laugh. “Yeah, me, too.” He appraised her for a second. “How come you’re not in Hogsmeade?”
“I just didn’t feel like going,” she said, sitting down across from him.
“You know, I get that.” He paused. “Do you really need to study?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I should, but I don’t want to.”
“If you’re willing to leave,” he said as he gathered his notes into his rucksack, “I’d like to show you something.”
“Okay. So the first thing you want to do is grip the broom firmly.”
“I’m not sure about this. I mean, you were in Hooch’s class with me. You’ve seen me fly. I’m just not good at this.”
“You just need a pointer or two, that’s all.”
“I don’t enjoy it, Pot—Harry. Not like you do.”
“Is it that you don’t enjoy it or that you’re not supposed to enjoy it?” He stared at her for a second, his green eyes sparkling. “Tell you what. I’ll take you up with me so I can show you how fun it really is.”
“I don’t know…”
“I promise I won’t do anything completely mad.”
“You mean like taking a terrified Slytherin girl up on your broom with you?”
He laughed. “Except for that.”
He got on his broom. Pansy threw her leg across it and settled in behind him.
“Hold on,” he said with a devious smile over his shoulder and they vaulted into the sky. She squeezed her eyes shut and held on to Harry. Tightly.
Only when she felt him slow down did she dare open her eyes. They hovered over the pitch, a little too high for her tastes, but from where they were, she could see the late afternoon sun reflect off the lake.
“Wow,” she said. “Beautiful.”
“Beautiful,” Harry echoed. But when she glanced at him, he wasn’t looking at the lake at all.
The sun was unusually warm the next day, luring Pansy to the stone bench in the courtyard near the student greenhouses. She closed her eyes and angled her face skyward. The sound of the Second Years leaving the atrium convinced her it was time to gather her belongings and make her way to Transfiguration.
Pansy opened her eyes to discover Granger on her way across the green towards her, thin-lipped and purposeful, curly hair bouncing with every stride. “Harry asked me to give this to you,” she said, stuffing a bit of wrinkled parchment into Pansy’s hand. She turned on her heel and stomped back to the walkway to Herbology without another word.
Pansy unfolded it.
8 pm on the steps
She couldn’t help but smile.
Pansy found her way to the steps by the Great Hall that evening without bumping into Filch, or, miraculously, Peeves. She looked around; Harry was nowhere.
She jumped. The bastard’s disillusioned. He grabbed her, hauling her underneath a cloak.
“You could have warned me you had an invisibility cloak.”
“And spoil my fun?” he said with a sly grin. “No way.”
It was dark by the time they settled near a tree on the far side of the lake. Pansy cast warming spells; Harry conjured a blanket. He sat down next to her on the throw. Right next to her.
Harry put his arm around her. Pansy leaned her head on his chest and took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the scent of him. It reminded her of apples, broom polish, and something that was uniquely Harry.
Touching his fingertips to her chin, he guided it towards him; she closed her eyes as he pressed a kiss to her lips, gently, tentatively. She responded by putting her hand in his hair and drawing him in. She parted her lips and his tongue met hers, pressing, probing, deepening the kiss; he turned slightly and her nose bumped his glasses. He flung them off over his head. They landed somewhere across the blanket behind him.
They laid back, her head on his chest as he threaded his fingers through her hair.
After more than an hour of snuggling together under his invisibility cloak, they walked slowly back to the castle, fingers entwined.
When they reached the Slytherin dorm, Harry whispered, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then, for one blissful moment, his lips were on hers, his hands were in her hair, and she’d forgotten how to breathe.
Pansy floated into the common room. All in all, The-Boy-Who-Lived was not a bad kisser.
By December, Pansy and Harry had decided they could no longer meet every afternoon by their tree near the lake. Most days, it was simply too cold.
Today, she managed to bump into Harry in the jostle of the hallway before Potions. He pressed a note into her hand and proceeded to ignore her.
3:30 broom closet near Charms
He was already there when she arrived, looking up as she entered and smiling like an idiot. He cast a Colloportus and a Muffliato. “You’re late,” Harry said.
“That’s my line. You must be rubbing off on me.”
“I missed you today,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. Within a breath, he had unbuttoned her shirt and slid it down her arms; he felt around her back to her bra clasp. “How the hell do you…?”
“Like this,” she said, reaching around and unhooking it with one hand.
Harry pulled her bra off, tossing it across the closet with a smirk. He bent to take a nipple in his mouth. Pansy sighed, closed her eyes, and let the feel of Harry’s tongue block out all conscious thought.
Pansy sighed happily and pushed the sleeves of Harry’s jumper up once again. She loved wearing something of his. It was nice to be outside for once instead of surrounded by Filch’s mops and buckets in a stuffy broom closet. The weather was perfect for early March: warm enough to be comfortable yet chilly enough to guarantee they would be the only ones on the path by the lake.
“I want to tell Daphne about us,” Pansy said, her breath visible in the wan afternoon light.
“You know we can’t tell anyone.”
“Why not? She’s my best friend. She won’t say anything.” She paused. “I want us to have what everyone else has. You’re supposed to hold hands with me in the halls and take me to Madam Puddifoot’s on Valentine’s Day.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Are you embarrassed of me?”
“You know I’m not embarrassed of you.”
“You haven’t told any of your friends about us.”
“Hermione’s figured it out, I’m sure. But we can’t tell anyone else. It would put you in danger. You know this, Pans.” He stopped walking and turned to her, taking both her hands in his. “After Voldemort is defeated, we can tell everyone.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” He kissed her gently. “It won’t be long until everything is different. I can feel it. Trust me. Okay?”
“Promise me you won’t tell anyone about us. I couldn’t live with myself if he hurt you. Promise me.”
“Okay, I promise.” Pansy snuggled into his chest and breathed him in. “You’re mine, Harry Potter,” she said.
“And you’re mine, Pansy Parkinson.” He brought her right hand up to his lips and kissed it. “I’m never letting you go.”
She was his. It was as close as he’d ever gotten to assuring her that they had a future.
He even let her keep his jumper when they got back to the castle.
Pansy still had the day’s crumpled parchment tucked in her hand when she arrived at the broom closet. Even though the mid-spring weather was now consistently warm enough for adventures with Harry by the lake, they had decided to meet in closet by Charms each day. Pansy was glad of it. Disillusion charms and invisibility cloaks were fine for snogging. Once enough clothing was removed, it was far better to have a door.
Harry had greeted her with a hug and a soft kiss, laced his fingers in hers, and pulled her towards the chair he had conjured for them to sit on.
“We can’t keep this up,” she said, hoping he would argue. He did.
“Bullshite. We can do whatever the hell we want.”
“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? Granger barely even looked at me when she delivered your note. Imagine what she would say if you actually told her that we’re together! Imagine what my housemates would say!”
“I don’t care.” Harry brushed her hair away from her face. “I…like you. A lot.”
“You like me? Is that all I’m gonna get?” she teased.
He stared at her, smirking, not saying a word.
“Oh, I can give you much more than that, Pans,” he finally whispered, pulling her closer and biting her neck.
She giggled. “Are you trying to seduce me, Harry Potter?”
“Trying? I think I already have.” He continued to nibble down her neck, pausing for a moment at her shoulder.
“It’s never going to work. You know it can’t work,” she said softly as she angled her neck upward, encouraging him upward again.
He changed tactics on her. “But don’t you want to try?” he asked around a bite.
She’d come to recognize the stubborn tone in Harry’s voice. She’d heard it before Quidditch matches...whenever he sparred with Draco in the halls...as he answered questions in Potions. Harry wasn’t letting this go. He wasn’t letting her go.
He abandoned her neck to kiss her deeply, parting her lips with his own and teasing her with his tongue.
“I love kissing you,” he murmured.
And suddenly her knees buckled, and she couldn’t remember a single reason why it couldn’t work out between them.
He was sitting across from her at a table for two in the center of a proper Muggle restaurant. It was nearly full with diners. White-gloved wait staff moved silently across the room, attending the tables with little or no comment. Harry smiled at her from behind his round glasses and rose from his seat, coming around to her and then descending to one knee. He took her hand. The entire restaurant turned to watch. “Pansy Parkinson, will you marry me?” Harry asked softly. She bent to kiss him and—
She cringed. “My apologies, Professor Snape. Would you please repeat the question?”
Snape raised an imperious eyebrow. He was clearly debating whether he would deduct house points or assign her detention. Instead, he surprised her.
“Why must one crush lacewing for this particular potion, rather than introducing it whole?”
That was close. She needed to stop daydreaming. Sweet Salazar, what would she have done if she couldn’t meet Harry tonight?
Pansy had barely gotten the Colloportus and Muffliato off when Harry had pulled her to the far wall, pressing her deliciously between the bits of cleaning supplies she had never bothered to catalogue. His left hand pinned both her arms up over her head, while his right hand ran up and down her torso, his splayed fingers pushing hard into the skin of her belly under her shirt.
Harry stepped back, pulling his shirt over his head and cocking an eyebrow, indicating he wanted her to remove hers. She obliged.
He moved towards her, pressing his warm chest into hers. She pushed him away to unbutton her shirt; she unfastened her skirt, too, allowing it to drop on the floor and stepping out of it. Wildly brazen in just her knickers and bra, she twisted, switching places with him. Suddenly Harry was against the wall, shirtless, his eyes wide as he watched her.
She reached down and unzipped his trousers, letting them fall to his ankles in a heap. His desire was obvious; she palmed it through his underwear. He groaned and threw his head back, hitting it against the wall behind him with a dull thud. She stifled a giggle and got down on her knees.
Hooking her finger in his underwear, she dragged it down and palmed him again, pushing into his hardness roughly then caressing the tip with her finger. Pansy looked up; Harry was staring at her again. She flicked her tongue out and began to lick the length of it, up and down, repeatedly, until he had squeezed his eyes shut.
She had never tasted a man before. She let her tongue play with the tip, surprised by the musky quality in the drop of salty wetness. Slowly, she wrapped her lips around him and took him in her mouth. Harry hitched his breath.
She moved, pulling him in and out until she felt him fist her hair. Pansy froze.
“Fuck!” he grunted raggedly.
She felt the hot pulse at the back of her throat and stilled herself until Harry was done.
Pansy didn’t even realize that they’d said almost nothing to each other until she was staggering back to her dorm with her shirt on inside out and the taste of him still on her lips.
As she waited for Daphne to arrive for breakfast the next morning, she scribbled on the side of her notebook.
Mr. and Mrs. Harry James Potter…Mrs. Harry Potter…Mrs. Pansy Potter…
Actually, Pansy Potter had a nice ring to it, didn’t it?
Pansy looked up as the post owls flew in the open windows of the Great Hall. A brown owl—which looked like it might be a Hogwarts school owl—dropped a rolled up parchment in front of her and flew away without waiting for a bite of food. She opened the note.
can’t wait to see you tonight
She smiled, tucked the parchment in her robes, and poured herself another pumpkin juice.
Daphne sat down across from her and shot her a look. Pansy closed her notebook with a snap.
“Where have you been?” Daphne asked, her eyes both concerned and a bit angry. Giving Harry blow jobs in the broom closet near the Charms classroom. Why do you ask?
“What do you mean, where have I been? I’m the one that’s been waiting for you to get here.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I was studying.”
Daphne rolled her eyes but didn’t press her. “Well, if you ever want to tell me what you’re studying, or maybe who, I’d love to know.”
The girls went about eating their dinner in silence. Pansy could feel Harry’s eyes on her back, begging her to turn around. After a long moment, Daphne looked up from her plate. “Don’t you trust me, Pans?”
“I do. Trust me when I tell you that you don’t want to know.”
“Promise me something,” Daphne said after a minute, locking her eyes on Pansy’s.
“Promise that if you ever need to talk to me about it, that you will.”
“Okay.” She smiled at her best friend. “Thanks.”
“Come on, Pans. Please.”
“Harry, I—” Her words evaporated on her tongue in the dim light of the broom closet. For once, she had no idea what to say to him.
She was willing. Sweet Salazar, she was so willing. Couldn’t he say he loved her, just one time before she gave herself to him?
“Pans…please…” he begged again, his breath hot on her neck. “Please. Just this once. We’ve been together for months. God, I want to fuck you so bad…it’d be so good...you know it’d be so good...”
He bit her neck, his hands descending to her bra and unhooking it with a quick flick of his fingers. He was breathing hard; even in this light, she could see his face was flushed. He stopped nipping her and pinned her with a pleading look.
“Don’t you want to?”
Of course she did. She’d wanted to ever since he first kissed her on the blanket, ever since their first meeting in the broom closet. Her ache for him was a distraction, an ever present bow strung tight across her flesh. Their daily snog-fests only deepened her frustration and fed her imagination: wet, sticky desire pooled in her knickers whenever she pictured them together in the broom closet doing it, which was far too often for her to admit.
Harry didn’t wait for her reply. His lips were crashing into hers again, urgent and demanding. His hand was fisting her hair at the back of her head, dragging her into kiss after breathless kiss. She felt him snake a finger under waistband to tug at her knickers.
A moan sounding like her name escaped his throat.
She could feel her resolve cracking, evaporating at the heat of his touch. She wanted his hands pressed into her skin and his mouth on her nipples. What would it be like to have him inside her? Would it satisfy the ache she lived with every day when she saw him in the halls, but couldn’t talk to him? Couldn’t touch him?
She straddled him on the makeshift chair he had conjured from a cleaning bucket, feeling the press of his desire against her own. Sweet Salazar, he felt so good. He tasted so good. He smelled…so good.
She shifted off Harry’s lap and stood. She drew him up next to her and reached for the placket of his trousers; she released the hook and freed the zipper, sending his clothing to the broom closet floor. She pushed him back down on the chair, perhaps a bit too roughly.
He smirked at her.
She sat down on his lap facing him, pressing her breasts into his chest, rolling her hips. Her knickers, wet with desire, were still between them.
“I want you to be my first,” Harry groaned. “God, Pansy…please.”
She felt him slid his fingers inside her as she straddled him, and she let out a moan as he moved them inside her.
Standing and yanking off her last bit of clothing, Pansy smiled and settled back down on his lap, lining him up so that he slid partially inside her. Harry gasped. She descended slowly, her eyes locked on his, crying out as the length of him entered her fully.
She began to move, up and down and again, and within a moment he grunted and grabbed her hipbones hard, stopping her motion and closing his eyes.
When he opened them, Pansy smiled at him, and he kissed her gently, panting.
“I love you,” she murmured around the kiss.
She couldn’t be sure, but she might have felt him freeze for just a second.
“Yeah,” he said, still breathing hard. “Me, too.”
“Daph, I need to tell you something.”
They were in the Slytherin common room, alone for the moment. Daphne looked up from her Defense notes, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Is everything okay?” Daphne asked.
“I…I…” She swallowed. “I…” I’m what, exactly? What should she tell her best friend? I’m shagging a Gryff every chance I get? You know, the one that happens to be rather…famous? And, even though you’re my best friend, I’d rather be shagging him than sitting here with you or doing just about anything else I can think of.
Daphne made it easy for her. “You’re hanging out with someone.”
Pansy swallowed. “Yeah, there’s someone. He’s not a Slytherin, though. Don’t hate me, okay?”
Her best friend was smart enough not to mention Draco. “I just want you to be happy, Pans. You know how much I love you.”
She gifted her a small smile. “Thanks, Daph.”
Daphne returned to the homework she had on her lap.
“Hey, did you hear?” she asked a couple minutes later, not looking up from her notes, her quill in hand. “Mister Chosen One got caught with the slut after the Quidditch game.” Daphne chuckled as Pansy felt all the blood drain from her face. “Serves him right. He thinks he can do anything he bloody well pleases.”
Daphne looked up from her Defense textbook. “Pans, are you alright? You look a little pale.”
Pansy stuffed the parchment Granger delivered into the pocket of her robes, unable to muster the courage to open the note. Even though she had nearly convinced herself that Daphne’s news was just an ugly rumor, she’d given herself until after lunch to read it. She couldn’t delay any longer.
She unrolled it with shaking hands.
Need to see you today. -H
Well, I guess he’ll explain everything once I get there. I’m sure nothing happened between him and the slut. He loves me. I know he does.
When Pansy arrived at the broom closet, Harry was already there. When she saw him, every worry vanished.
“Hey,” she said.
“I missed you,” Pansy whispered.
He hesitated. “I need to tell you something,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “I was with Ginny last night.”
“With Ginny? What...what does that mean?”
She heard herself speaking; the words echoed in the tiny space like they were coming from someone else. Harry turned away from her but didn’t respond.
“It’s true, then. The rumor.” Pansy was surprised her voice was steady.
“She wants me back. I promised her that if she ever wanted me back…”
“You promised?” she managed. “Are you breaking up with me? For her? Because you promised?”
“Yeah.” He was looking at his trainers.
“Please, Harry. Please don’t.” Begging wasn’t going to change his mind, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Please. I thought things were going so well between us. You can’t…you can’t break up with me. I love you.”
His brow furrowed. “What do you want me to say? Look, Ginny and I talked and I don’t want to…with you…anymore…”
“But you…but we…”
“We what?” he demanded, his voice rising a notch.
“I let you…I thought—”
“You thought what, Pans? If you let me in your knickers, I’d pledge my undying love to you? Honestly, you’re not that good of a fuck.”
The tears came then.
“How would you know that if I was your first?”
He smirked at her.
“Why?” she managed through her tears.
Harry hesitated for a second. “Because I’m a guy. And a prick. Remember?”
He turned and left without another word, the door shutting with a soft click behind him.
After their last rendezvous in the Salazar-forsaken broom closet, Harry never spoke to her again. He slipped in nearly-late for Potions and was the first to leave. He kept his back to her in the Great Hall during meals. He disappeared from the Divination section of the library.
She spent the next month of her life curled in a ball, fighting to stay focused on school, convincing herself to eat and not to cry. She wasn’t always successful.
As her best friend, Daphne never asked who had hurt her and Pansy never volunteered it. Instead, Daphne became rather good at spells to heal red, puffy eyes. Pansy cast Muffliatos around her four poster when she needed to weep.
And she tried not to think about why she had had so much practice with them.
Then Harry had left school entirely, never showing for seventh year.
She was glad, in a way. Glad she didn’t have to look at him anymore.
Nearly a year had passed before Pansy saw him again.
When Harry appeared in the Great Hall before the Battle of Hogwarts, a part of her sensed he was there even before he revealed himself.
As he emerged from the pack of Gryffindors, he scanned the crowd. Pansy caught his eye; he acted as if she were a stranger, not acknowledging that he even remembered her.
The time away from Hogwarts had changed him. He was more chiseled and more handsome than she remembered. Tanned. Taller. Stronger. It hit her in the gut; it made her ache. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to kiss him.
Both thoughts made her sick.
As his gaze passed over her, the wound he left ripped open again, leaving her as raw and angry as she was the day he left, closing the broom closet door on her that last time.
Her words tore from her throat without thought for consequence; all she wanted was someone, anyone, to take him away so she wouldn’t have to lay eyes on him ever again.
“What are you waiting for? Someone grab him!”
It wasn’t until many years later that Pansy realized she had kept her promise. Just like Harry had.