She regretted it. She regretted a lot of things, but nothing more than she regretted opening her big fat mouth in the Great Hall and suggesting turning Harry Potter over to Voldemort. It wasn't like she had anything against Potter, it was just that she'd been so scared. So scared and so tired of being scared and she'd only wanted for it to be over.
Now she was an outcast. Eight months after the Final Battle and she was a social pariah because she'd made a mistake. She was so tired of making mistakes. And that's how Pansy Parkinson had found herself walking down the street in a peaceful looking muggle neighborhood, more drunk than she'd ever been in her life, freezing her arse off because she'd somehow managed to lose her coat between the Leaky Cauldron and the door to Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
Before she could give herself time to think about it and change her mind, not that she was sober enough to make any sort of decisions anyway, Pansy knocked on the door. The thirty seconds it took between her knuckles rapping sharply against the wood and the door being pulled open by an ancient looking house elf were probably the longest she'd ever lived through.
“Can Kreacher help you miss?” the house else asked, looking up at her with large, tired eyes. Pansy hesitated, unsure if she should actually go through with what she'd come here to do.
“Kreacher, who's tha' a' the door?” a familiar, male voice slurred. Pansy watched as a very inebriated Harry Potter stumbled down the hallway to get a look at whoever had come to visit him. When he saw who she was he froze. “Wha'er you doing 'ere?” he demanded.
Pansy bit her lip and tried to think of something to say. She'd know she would need to be drunk in order to get up the courage to talk to him, but she'd never thought that he'd be drunk when she showed up.
“I-” She took a deep breath. “I'm sorry. For trying to hand you over to the Dar- to Voldemort,” she said, trying to sound as eloquent as possible, praying that he wasn't close enough to smell the firewhiskey she'd been putting away all night. “I just, I wanted-”
“You're pissed,” Potter observed, frowning. “Kreacher-”
“Kreacher will get Master and his guest some Sober Up potion right away sir,” the elf croaked. He popped away and Pansy felt a swell of panic rise up inside of her.
“I should go,” she said, spinning on her heel to run as fast as possible in any direction that would take her as far away from Potter as possible.
A strong arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her backwards into the house. Potter, being as intoxicated as he was, stumbled and fell backwards, pulling her down on top of him. Pansy laughed at the loud 'oof' he made when they hit the floor.
“That's what you get for grabbing people Potter,” she giggled. He gave a small snort and rolled his eyes at her.
“That's wha' you get fer tryna run 'way,” he retorted.
“You can't talk for shit when you're drunk,” she informed him smugly. He scowled at her.
“Bloody showoff.” He pushed at her. “Geroff me, you're heavy,” he complained. She opened her mouth to say something that probably would have been rude when the elf popped back into the room.
“There is only one Sober Up potion left Master,” he said warily, passing a single vial of the vile, amber potion over. Potter took the potion with a sigh and offered it to Pansy who shook her head.
“I can't have this conversation sober,” she admitted. “It took almost an entire bottle of firewhiskey to get me to your front door.” Potter nodded and uncorked the potion before downing it.
She watched in fascination as his eyes went from being unfocused to confused to sharp as a whip and wide with surprise.
“Fuck, you smell like you bathed in a bottle of firewhiskey instead of just drinking one,” he observed. His sudden eloquence compared to the slurred rambling he'd been doing only a few moments before was so comical that Pansy dissolved into a fit of giggles. “Why are you here? How did you get here? Did you walk? Damn it Pansy where is your fucking coat? You're going to get sick, your hair is soaked from all the snow.”
“I had to apologize,” she told him, ignoring the rest of his questions for a moment in favor of the intense desire she felt for him to know how sorry she was. “I was... I never wanted him to kill you Potter, I wasn't on his side, I just wanted it to be over-”
“You were scared, I never thought any less of you for it,” he interrupted. “I was scared too, I wanted it to be over too. Did you really come all the way here in a blizzard just to tell me you were sorry for something stupid like that?” Pansy stared at him in surprise. He never thought any less of her? She'd wanted to hand him over to an evil maniac and he'd never thought any less of her? Her heart sank at the thought of how low his opinion of her must have been to start with if that was the case.
“Wait, what blizzard?” she asked. Potter groaned before slipping his arms around her and picking her up and carrying her to the nearest window.
“That blizzard,” he hissed, shoving aside the curtains so that she could see out into the street.
It was, indeed, snowing quite heavily outside. So heavily, in fact, that the footprints that she had left in the snow during her walk had already been covered up. Pansy pit her lip.
“I didn't even realize it was snowing,” she told him honestly. “I'm a little drunk.” He snorted at that.
“'I'm a little drunk,' she says. How far did you walk to get here Pansy?”
“From the Leaky,” she answered.
“Without a coat?!” He let out a stream of very colorful language as he carried her with determined strides up the stairs and into a bedroom and deposited her roughly on the bed.
“What are you doing?” she asked, feeling slightly alarmed when he removed her shoes and chucked them over his shoulder carelessly.
“Getting you ready for bed,” he said, as if it should be obvious. He stood and walked to his dresser and began riffling through the drawers. “Your clothes are soaked, you're bloody freezing, and you're so pissed you didn't even realize that it's snowing outside during a blizzard. I'm going to get you a change of clothes and you're going to take a hot shower before I put you to bed to sleep off all the firewhiskey you've drank tonight. And then in the morning, when you're sober, we're going to discuss a quality called common sense, because apparently you have none.” It was Pansy's turn to snort.
“Says the Gryffindor,” she drawled. He turned and thrust a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt into her hands, glaring at her.
“Go get in the shower,” he commanded, pointing her in the direction of the bathroom. “Do it now, or I'll strip you down and drag you in there myself.” She climbed to her feet and stumbled towards the bathroom, ignoring the rush of desire his threat sent rocketing through her.
She showered quickly, enjoying the sensation of the hot water against her freezing skin. When she was finished she stepped out of the shower, and used her wand to dry her hair before slipping into the clothes Potter had provided for her. She left her clothes in a pile on the floor for the elf to wash before stepping out of the bathroom and back into Potter's bedroom. He was sitting on the bed, waiting for her.
“Do you want to sleep in here with me or do you want to sleep in one of the other rooms?” he asked. Pansy frowned.
“Aren't you supposed to be awkward and uncomfortable?” she blurted. “In school you never seemed this confident. I used to watch you, you hated people paying any kind of attention to you, you used to get so adorably flustered whenever Chang or the Weaslette looked at you.” He smirked at her.
“Interesting, we can discuss why exactly you were watching me in the morning,” he said. “Either get into the bed and go to sleep or pick a different room, but either way it's time for bed.”
Pansy took a deep breath and, summoning every bit of courage she had, which admittedly wasn't very much, she walked around the bed and climbed in beside him. She thought she might have seen him smile as she set her wand down on the bedside table and slipped between the sheets, but she couldn't be sure because her eyes were already sliding shut even as she lowered her head down onto the pillow.
“Goodnight Potter,” she murmured. He chuckled and slid down in the bed beside her. The lights were extinguished with a nonverbal 'nox' and then she felt him wrap an arm around her waist as they both drifted off to sleep.
When she woke up she had a massive headache and a bad case of cotton mouth, which she was pretty sure meant that she'd gotten drunk the night before. It wasn't exactly a new thing for her, so she wasn't overly concerned about it. What she was concerned about was the very firm, very male chest she had her face buried in.
Slowly, as to not wake the man who was wrapped around her, Pansy pulled back until she could see his face. Her eyes shot wide and she couldn't stop the gasp that left her mouth at the sight of messy, raven hair and a lightning bolt scar. Harry Potter. She was snuggling with Harry fucking Potter. In his bed. What the hell was she doing in his bed? How had she gotten there?
“Pansy stop freaking out,” Potter muttered without opening his eyes. “I can hear you thinking, your brain is almost as loud as Hermione's.”
“How-” She bit her lip, unsure which question she should ask him first.
“You walked here, from the Leaky, in a blizzard, without a fucking coat, drunk,” he answered without waiting for her to sort out the question. “When you arrived I was drunk as well, however I only had one sober up potion in the house, which you insisted that I take because apparently you can't apologize to someone like a normal person unless you're pissed out of your mind.” Pansy frowned.
“We didn't-” she began.
“You were drunk,” he reminded her, “you're very pretty and I'm not opposed to shagging you but I'd like for you to be sober enough to consent to being shagged,” he said seriously. His eyes opened and he eyed her astonished expression with amusement. “What's the matter Pansy? Are you still surprised that I got over being awkward? I'm sorry that I'm not being 'adorably flustered', but there's a certain kind of confidence that comes with being the savior of the wizarding world and quite frankly I've fancied you for a while now.”
“I- You- I... What?” she squeaked. What had she said to him last night? He laughed at her.
“You told me last night that you used to watch me when I would get 'adorably flustered' around Cho and Ginny,” he explained. “It's on our list of things we have to talk about today actually. So tell me, Pansy, why were you watching me?”
“We have a list?” she asked, dodging his question. He narrowed his eyes at her.
“Yes, we have a list. First thing on it is what has Pansy Parkinson been watching me since fourth year? Second thing on it is scolding you for lack of common sense and the third thing is another conversation about why your apology is ridiculous and unnecessary. Now, why have you been watching me?” Pansy felt her face heat up and she fought back the urge to hide against his chest.
“I- Maybe I- How long have you fancied me?” she demanded. Potter smirked at her and she decided that she'd never met a man so irritatingly handsome in her entire life.
“Since the Final Battle,” he admitted. “Stop avoiding the question.” Pansy gaped at him.
“Since the- I- Potter I-”
“You tried to hand me over to Voldemort, yes I know, I was there, I remember,” he chuckled. “You were picking on my for my lack of verbal skills when I was drunk but honestly you're eloquent and poised when you're so drunk you can't see straight and you can't string a full sentence together sober?”
“Why the hell would you start to fancy me after I tried to hand you over to your bloody executioner?!” she screeched, ignoring his rambling about her inability to speak. Harry – no, Potter, not Harry – sighed.
“I guess we'll have to get back to items one and two on the list and go straight for number three,” he said. “Yes, I fancy you. Yes, it started the day you tried to hand me over. You sat in the Great Hall and you listened to Voldemort's little speech and when it was over you stood up and you took action. It was the wrong action, but you were the only one in that room that moved, that spoke up, that was willing to do something.”
He rolled so that he was hovering over her, his elbows on either side of her body, propping him up so that she could see his face more clearly. “It was very brave.” The intensity in his expression when he said it made icy hot tendrils of desire race across her skin and settle in the pit of her stomach.
“I fancied you,” Pansy admitted. “In fourth year, after the thing with the dragon, I fancied you.”
“Fancied?” Potter asked, pouting a little. “I've defeated a Dark Lord since then, if that doesn't do it for you I could tell you about the time I broke into Gringotts and had to ride out on the back of a dragon to escape. Would that turn your fancied into fancy?” Pansy swallowed and nodded.
“Good, that's two things off our list,” he murmured.
“What was the other one again?” Pansy breathed.
“Don't ever let me catch you outside in weather like that without a coat again Pansy or I'll take you over my knee,” he threatened. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he kissed her, hot and heavy and so unbelievably good that Pansy could hardly believe her luck.
She didn't regret it. She regretted a lot of things, but kissing Harry Potter was not one of them.