Hydra

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at [Link]

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: F/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Additional Tags: idiots to lovers, Fake Dating
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2023-04-18 Words: 80,023 Chapters: 7/7
 Hydra
by setissma

Summary

He sighed, stirring more sugar into his tea. “Exactly how bad is this going to be, Pansy?”

There was a very long pause. “Look. 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.”

Notes

I didn't mean to write this. I just thought I'd tool around a bit with an idea, and then somehow
I tripped and fell and ended up with 80K of my side hustle pairing. I guess all five people
who share this ship with me will be delighted. (Or horrified...) This is probably on brand for
me in the sense that I can offer you (more) fake dating on a beach, weird arcane tattoo magic,
vocabulary you're going to have to look up, A Bunch of Science Nonsense, and too much
dialogue.

A note on this fic and all my others: I have wrestled over my willingness to stay in this
fandom given the fact that JKR is an absolute piece of fucking trash. Trans women are
women, full stop, and if you disagree with me on that point, show yourself the door. None of
my work is for you. But I finally came to this place: the lens through which the original
books present the world is a distorted one, with an utterly facile approach toward good and
evil. Honestly, they're a fucking horror show. I've spent my fandom career trying to shine a
light on the complexities that JKR utterly ignored. (If you're writing Slytherins without doing
that, you're writing Slytherins wrong.) I think there's benefit in that, and I also think there's
benefit in queering the canon, so to speak. I continue to hope that writing well, with complex
analysis of trauma and a diverse cast, is the best revenge. (And if I have any trans, non-
binary, or fellow queer readers who would like to discuss with me, I'm wide open. Message
me or comment any time.)

And a content warning: sections of this story take place in an emergency medicine setting. As
a consequence, there are some storylines involving patients that people could find triggering,
including physical trauma, mental health, patient death, and patient suicide. I hope it's clear
that I didn't write these things lightly. But it seemed dishonest to exclude them, because these
are very real things that take a very real toll on medical professionals. Please read (or don't!)
with your own health and well-being in mind.

And finally, a few notes:

1. I have taken TREMENDOUS fucking liberties with basically everything having to do with
emergency medicine in the interest of actually having a coherent story. I did my best to try to
keep the actual biology accurate, but... we can probably file this under: when you know
better, you definitely don't do better.

2. Still American. I just want any British readers to know that the bulk of the time writing this
monstrosity consisted of consulting the Cambridge dictionary and saying things like, "Okay,
there are TWO spellings of practice?" and "...but WHY does no one call it a dresser." Also,
literally none of the medical terminology translates. Furthermore, trying to google whether
British and American sexual slang overlap is harder than you'd think. Efforts were made. But
I've probably fucked up somewhere.

3. I've reached the conclusion that there is absolutely no way Harry Potter doesn't have a bit
of a praise kink, and I am here to die on that hill.
 Chapter 1

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.
 Chapter 2

Ron, these days, was easy, almost as laid back as Bill, the polar opposite of Hermione. Harry
was struck occasionally by how much he’d settled into his own skin in Scotland. He’d lost
the jealous streak somewhere along the way. Harry couldn’t remember the last time they’d
argued. Marriage and keeping hundreds of teenagers in line had eased out every sharp edge.
Some things, though, hadn’t changed: Ron was always in his corner, and being with him still
felt like coming home.

He’d turned it over in his head a hundred times, lying in the dark in Pansy’s bedroom. He
wanted to tell him, but the truth was that Ron was awful at keeping secrets. He was the worst
liar Harry knew. Harry loved him for it, but it meant that Ron couldn’t be in on the whole
thing.

“So,” Ron said, after they’d argued the entire fall draft and rehashed Harry’s last four games.
His grin was sudden. “Pansy, eh?”

“Fuck,” Harry muttered. “Hermione?”

He snorted. “The front page of The Prophet, mate. Owl me first next time.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, ruefully. “We didn’t really mean to…”

“Neville thinks it’s fucking hilarious,” Ron leaned back in his chair. He still looked amused.
“And neither of us are surprised.”

Harry turned his empty pint glass around, not thinking too hard about that. “Aren’t you?”

“Not in the slightest.” Ron laughed. “Fine line between love and hate and all that. But you’ve
got to tell me how it happened, we’ve got a bet going.”

“Don’t you, you know, share a Gringotts vault?”

Ron grinned again. “The terms were definitely not financial.”

“Um.” Harry lifted a hand to the back of his neck, a little sheepishly. “She came to a match,
and then she asked me for coffee. I think she just wanted to insult my flying skills repeatedly,
but I was starving, so I went, and then it just… I dunno, happened.”

“Does what happened involve you arguing so much it turned into sex?” Ron said, dryly.

“Not really. The coffee thing turned into lunch and then that turned into dinner and then she
was off and I didn’t have afternoon training last week so we sort of… got together a couple
more times, and then yesterday we were just meant to be getting lunch after her shift,
Diagon’s not that far from St. Mungo’s, it was just…” He paused. “You know. Lunch. Except
that turned into walking around and I forgot about all the fucking photographers and she
started flirting with me and then it got sort of late so we got dinner, and now…”
“Now?” Ron prompted, after a fairly long pause.

“And now I’ve seen her naked,” Harry finished. “And I’m pretty sure I’d like to do it again.”

Ron raised an eyebrow. “Just pretty sure?”

“Okay,” Harry said, finally giving in and starting to laugh. “If I said I was sure I liked
quidditch… it’s probably about the same degree of sure.”

“She’s not my type in one glaringly obvious way, but even I can see the objective appeal
there.”

Harry grinned. “That she’s a Slytherin, you mean?”

“Definitely. I’ll just leave that to you and Hermione.” Ron kicked him lightly under the table.
“Fucking traitors, the lot of you.”

“It’s not, um,” Harry started, because if Pansy knew exactly how to sell it to Draco, he knew
exactly how to convince Ron. “It’s not exactly about all that.”

“I know.” Ron nudged him again with his foot. “Because I know you, idiot.”

“I wasn’t looking for it.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “But it sort of turns out she’s
nice. I mean, exactly as terrible as always. But she’s nice to me.”

“I don’t have all that strong of an opinion.” Ron looked amused. “Mostly because I’ve barely
talked to her every time we’re all at the same thing, she’s usually busy arguing with you
about something. But Hermione likes her. And if the two of you like her, I’ll get on board.
I’m glad you -” Ron stopped abruptly, lifting his glass to take a swallow of ale, looking tired.
“I want you with someone who deserves you. Which absolutely isn’t my bloody sister.”

“Yeah.” Harry turned his glass again. “Are you going to this whole thing? Your mum invited
me. I think she might just be hoping we’ll get back together, but I was thinking about it.”

“I don’t think she’s hoping for that, mum’s exactly as disgusted with Ginny as the rest of us.
But she’s of the opinion that family’s family, and you know you’re family.”

“That’s why I was thinking about it,” Harry admitted. “I haven’t seen your parents since
Christmas.”

“I’m going. I wasn’t going to, I’m still fucking furious with her, but I want to see everyone
else.”

“Molly says Andromeda’s going to let Teddy come for a few days, and I haven’t seen enough
of him yet this summer.”

“You don’t want to,” Ron said, dryly. “He’s a fucking hellion. I’ve never taken more points
from a Hufflepuff. Obnoxiously good at Defence, though. Better than the rest of them by a
mile.”
“He’ll come around.” Harry laughed. “Probably.”

“You should come. I know it’ll be awkward. But don’t let her ruin the rest of it for you.”

“Do you think…” Harry took a breath. “If it’s still… working out later this summer, which it
probably won’t be, and I don’t know if she’d even want to go, but… do you think Bill and
Fleur would care if I ask Pansy if she wants to come along?”

Ron looked at him across the table. “If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I’d think you were
trying to wreck Ginny’s birthday. But that’s not it, is it?”

“No.” At the end of the day, no matter how angry he was at her, that wasn’t quite what he
wanted. “No, it’s… if I don’t find some courage somewhere, she’ll take all of it, I’ll let her
have it, and I’ll lose my entire family.” He managed a wry smile. “And Hermione can’t
manage an entire defence by herself.”

Ron leaned forward. “You don’t need it. You know that. No one thinks it was okay.”

“I think,” Harry said, softly, “I’d like just one person there who doesn’t have any divided
loyalties.”

There was a very long pause. Then Ron smiled. “I’ll talk to Bill and Fleur. They’ll say yes.
Did you know she delivered Dominique and Louis?”

“No,” Harry said, a little surprised. “Both of them?”

“I guess sometimes second babies are faster than first ones. You know, like forty eight hours
of labour versus forty minutes. Fleur nearly had Dom on the A&E triage desk.” He laughed.
“And you’d think they’d have learned from that whole experience, but I guess not, because
Pansy had to do Louis too.”

“In their defence,” Harry said, “I seem to recall that he was early and Fleur almost bled to
death.”

“Yeah.” Ron laughed again. “I guess Pansy gets credit for saving Fleur’s life and then
mocking them mercilessly for never getting to hospital on time. Bill seemed fond of the
combination.”

“Sounds about right for Pansy.”

“Anyway,” Ron said. “They won’t care. And I think it’s a brilliant idea. If she makes you
happy, everyone will love her.”

“I’d basically just settle for everyone not hating me,” Harry admitted, swallowing.

“Not bloody likely. And worst case scenario -” Ron reached across the table and squeezed his
shoulder, “I’ll just uninvite Ginny.”

“To her own birthday?”

“I’m willing to try. Neville will back me. He’s obligated.”

“Number one reason to get married, an automatic second.” Harry tried for a smile. “How’s he
doing?”

“Oh, you know. Losing his mind over the south greenhouses getting renovated.”

“Yeah?”

“Well,” Ron said, “apparently there’s some sort of shortage of enchanted glass…”
____

He’d made dinner reservations at The Witch’s Brew, which was upscale enough that he’d
seem like he was taking the whole thing seriously without being so pretentious that the gossip
columns would all claim he was trying too hard. Pansy had said she’d meet him out front of
St. Mungo’s after her shift, and he’d been early. He wasn’t actually expecting her to do the
same, but when fifteen minutes late turned into twenty five and yet another group of people
stared at him as they went inside, whispering about the fact that he was sitting on the front
steps, he decided that going inside was probably better than waiting around to see if he’d
been stood up for an imaginary date.

There were some benefits to having dropped off several hundred things for Hermione: he
knew how to slide through the side door to the main hallway, and from there, it was easy
enough to take a side hall to a door that opened directly across from the central desk for
A&E. There were a number of healers running around the curtain areas, none of whom were
Pansy, and the triage room was completely packed.

He finally saw Draco, who was trying to juggle a cup of coffee and four charts.

“Hi,” Harry said, catching one just as he dropped it. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Pansy?”

“Let me guess,” Draco said dryly. “She’s late for your date.”

Harry held out the chart. “Very.”

“Word of advice.” Draco took the proffered chart back. “If she’s coming from work, always
add half an hour to whatever she tells you, and if it’s important, add an hour. Don’t tell her
you’ve added the time. And if that’s going to annoy you, end it now, because she hasn’t
ended a shift on time in the last decade.”

“It’s not a problem,” Harry said. “I just, um, thought I’d better come make sure she actually
still wanted to go out.”

Draco glanced across at the curtain area. “She put on lipstick an hour ago, I think it’s safe to
conclude she’s looking forward to it.”

Harry followed his gaze, where Pansy was ducking around a curtain. When she saw him, she
looked a little confused, then glanced down at her watch and very clearly swore under her
breath before she crossed over to them, dodging a healing assistant with a witch in a
wheelchair. He didn’t miss the fact that most of the staff and a few of the patients were
watching her come over to him.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, breathlessly, then kissed his cheek. “I lost track of time. I’m on my
last patient, I promise. Then I can change in five minutes.”

“I can go wait out front again,” Harry offered. “I don’t mind.”

Draco snorted. “She’s going to be at least another twenty minutes.” He looked at his stack of
charts, then sighed. “Do you want me to take it?”

“It’s a seven year old with a broken leg, fell off his broomstick. He’s only just managed to
stop crying, I think switching healers would scare him -” She glanced at Harry. “But I - yes, I
probably should pass it over.”

He shook his head. “Listen, we’re already late. But it’s a Tuesday night, they told me I didn’t
even really need a reservation, so I don’t think it actually matters. I don’t mind waiting.”

“I don’t want you to think -”

“It’s okay. Really.” Harry offered a smile. “I don’t want some little kid to have an even worse
night than having to come to hospital.”

“Actually,” Pansy said, thoughtfully. “How would you feel about breaking a rule or two?”

“Depends on the rule.” Harry grinned. “But I’m generally in favour of lawlessness.”

“Great, come with me.” Pansy made sure he was following before she went back to the
curtain area she’d been in before. She gestured him forward, pulling back the curtain to
reveal a small blond boy in a bed. He was rather blotchy and looked as if he were on the
verge of starting to cry again, and his ankle was definitely not at quite the right angle. A
witch was holding his hand, obviously trying to cheer him up, and Pansy smiled at them with
a warmth Harry hadn’t quite been expecting. “Henry, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine.
He heard about your broomstick incident and wanted to come make sure you were on the
mend.”

“Hi,” Harry said.

Henry blinked at him, then tugged on his mother’s sleeve. “Mum,” he whispered. “I think
that’s Harry Potter.”

“Oh,” she said, looking startled, then recovered, holding out a hand. “Leah Alderson, it’s…
lovely to meet you.”

“Hi,” Harry said, shaking it. “Nice to meet you as well.”

“Is this… ah, publicity related?” Leah said, tentatively. “Because -”

“No. He’s my…” Pansy glanced at him.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I believe the word she’s looking for is boyfriend.”

“After four dates?” Pansy said, raising one back.

“Technically three,” Harry said, with a grin. “Four’s tonight. But did you want to argue with
me about it?”

Leah was definitely trying to hide a smile behind her hand.

“Anyway, I’m extraordinarily late for dinner with him,” Pansy said, to Leah. “But I wanted to
finish up with Henry before I left, and I thought he might enjoy meeting Harry.” She pulled
up a stool toward the foot of the bed. “Henry’s a Falcons fan. In fact, he told me earlier that
he was the biggest Falcons fan ever.”

Henry was still staring at him, and Harry went to sit on the end of the bed, blocking his view
of Pansy. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Henry said, wide-eyed. “Are you real? Or polyjuice?”

“Henry,” Leah hissed. “Don’t be rude.”

Harry smiled. “I don’t know, ask me something an imposter definitely wouldn’t know.”

Henry considered him for a minute. Pansy, over his shoulder, had started prodding at his
ankle.

“Best quidditch match of all time,” Henry said, sounding suspicious. “And your favourite ice
cream flavour.”

“Sweden versus Argentina, 1976 World Cup,” Harry said, without hesitation. “And I always
tell the press it’s vanilla, but my actual favourite is butter pecan. Sort of an American thing, I
had it on holiday a few times.”

Henry tugged on Leah’s sleeve again. “Mum. It’s actually him!”

Leah laughed, ruffling his hair. “I could have told you that.”

“Always good to check.” Harry made sure he couldn’t see Pansy. “I hear you had a bit of a
situation with your broomstick.”

Henry huffed. “It was Melanie’s fault. I was trying to keep the quaffle from going through,
but she ran into me, and then I fell off.”

Leah rolled her eyes. “Youth cup, and you’d think it was pro league, the way they go at each
other.”

“Keeper or chaser?”

“Keeper,” Henry said, proudly. “I’m going to get really good so I can start as soon as I’m a
second year, and then I want to come play for the Falcons. Or maybe the Magpies, but they
aren’t as good.”

“Definitely not,” Harry agreed. “You can tell because we beat them every time we play.”

“Modesty does so become you, Potter,” Pansy said, dryly, then wheeled herself back around
to the other side of the bed. “All done. Stay off it tomorrow, I’ll have one of the assistants
bring you in some crutches with the discharge orders. And no, riding a broomstick doesn’t
count as staying off it.”

“Whoa,” Henry said. “Really? I thought it was gonna hurt!”

Pansy smiled. “I try to be sure it doesn’t.” She turned towards Leah. “Don’t be surprised if it
bruises a bit, it was a rather nasty break and growth plates don’t hold healing quite as well as
the rest of the bone, but ice will help. Nothing to worry about unless it really starts to hurt
again, and if that happens, bring him back. I’m going to have another healer take a quick
peek before you head out, he specialises in bones, but I think I’ve gotten everything
shipshape.”

Henry suddenly looked unsure. “Another healer? Do I have to? What if it hurts?”

“It won’t,” Pansy reassured him. “He’s quite good, he’s another friend of mine. His name is
Draco. And Harry’s friends with him too.” She nudged him with a foot under the bed. “Right,
Harry?”

“Right,” Harry agreed. “He’s great. And he’s very busy, so you’re lucky to get to see him.”
He grinned at Pansy, mischievously. “Definitely the best healer here.”

“You’re going to pay for that later, you know,” Pansy said, mildly.

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Harry said, then held out a fist for Henry, who promptly bumped it.
“We’re going to go to dinner, but I’m glad I got to meet you.”

Henry leaned over and whispered something to Leah, who laughed. “Bet he would,” she said.
“But you should ask him yourself.”

“Can you sign something for me?” Henry said, suddenly looking a bit shy.

“And?” Leah said.

“Please,” Henry added. “And thank you.”

“Hmm,” Pansy said. “We’ve got about sixty packs of league trading cards at the front desk
that the company donated for children who were extremely brave about their procedures.
Let’s see if I can’t dig out one of Harry’s, he can sign that.”

“But he’s the rarest one,” Henry protested. “I don’t even have one.”

Pansy grinned. “I’m feeling lucky. I’ll send it back in with Draco, how’s that?”

“Thank you so much,” Leah said. “And thank you for stopping by, you’ve made his night.”
“No problem.” Harry winked. “I’ll see you at tryouts in, oh, twelve years or so.”

Harry followed her out, and Pansy leaned over the desk, rummaging on the other side.

“How are you so sure there’s one in there?”

“Because I opened them all to see if I could find Caitrin Baines for my collection.” She slid
back, holding out his card. “I couldn’t, but there are two of yours in here.”

“Stealing from sick children?” Harry said, amused.

“Basically, yes,” Pansy agreed. “But they’re no longer sick when I’m through with them, so
really, I’m stealing from healthy children.”

Harry took a pen from behind the desk, signed the card, and handed it back to her. Pansy
clipped it to the chart, which she handed off to one of the assistants with instructions to have
Draco follow up. She started signing a few other charts, paging through them.

“That wasn’t what I was expecting,” he said, finally. “In there, I mean.”

“How so?” Pansy said, a little absently.

“You were… really nice.”

She glanced up at that, with a slow smile that gave him pause. “I’m always nice, Potter.
You’ve just failed to notice for a number of years. Although I suppose that, in general, I do
try not to terrify children. Shocking, I know.”

“Sorry, I…” Harry flushed, because he realised how it had probably come across, but Pansy
just laughed.

“Detached and professional doesn’t work with children. I’m admittedly a bit less warm and
fuzzy with adults.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I like kids better, honestly.” He paused. “That’s why I… you asked why
I do quidditch. That’s why.”

“Hero worship from small boys?”

“To him, I’m just some bloke who’s good at catching a snitch,” Harry explained. “Not… any
of the rest of it. That’s kind of worth a lot.”

“For what it’s worth, I mostly just think of you as some bloke who’s exceedingly mediocre at
catching a snitch. And slightly less mediocre at several other pursuits that are relevant to my
interests.”

“Hold on, was that a compliment?” Harry teased. “I think that might have been a
compliment.”

Pansy slid the charts back into the rack. “No comment.”
“So,” Harry said. “Dinner?”

“Dinner,” Pansy agreed.

_____

Harry was halfway through a drill involving eight snitches and the reserve and third string
seekers when he caught a glimpse of someone sitting in the lowest row of seats. It only took
about five more seconds before he realised it was Pansy.

“Er, quick break,” he said to Ellis, the reserve seeker. “Lockhart, get some water.”

“You’ve literally never given us a break, ever.” Lockhart seemed sceptical. “You claim to not
believe in breaks. Last week you told me that seven hour games wouldn’t involve any breaks
if you and Ellis fell off your brooms and died, so training shouldn’t either.”

“Callum, mate, take the fucking win.” Ellis shook his head. “It’s never going to happen
again.”

“Be right back,” Harry said.

“Hi,” Pansy said, when he got up to her. “I brought you breakfast. I tried to go to your
muggle place on my own, you ought to be very proud. But they weren’t open yet, so I was
forced to choose a substandard alternative.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I mean - I can’t eat anything until after, but that was nice of you. I’ll save
it.”

“Well, there’s tea, at least.” Pansy held up a cup, looking amused, and passed it to him.
“You’re going to need to try a bit harder, Potter.”

“Er, at what? I really can’t eat, I’ll just be sick all over everything.”

“Listen.” Pansy stepped into his space, then slid a hand to the small of his back before he
could move back. She gestured up a privacy charm, although it was less obvious than the one
she’d used before. “I’m going to need you to pretend that you’re extremely enthusiastic about
the fact that I’ve come to visit. A level of enthusiasm that implies that you think I’m
charming and funny and that I let you have me twice last night and once before you left this
morning. People should be able to infer from all the way across the pitch that you’re
unimaginably into me.”

“They’ve probably inferred that based on the fact that I walked over here.” He had a feeling
he was turning bright red. “I never take breaks.”

“This isn’t that complicated. Your hands, my arse, your tongue, my mouth.”

“In front of people?” Harry managed. “And I’m - I mean, I can’t. I’m holding this. It’s hot.
What if it spills? And I’ve been flying, I’m sweaty, you wouldn’t want to -”

“If only there were a solution for the cup situation.” Pansy took it out of his hand to put it on
a bench. “If only I didn’t mind the rest of it. And yes, specifically, in front of the extremely
bored sports and games junior reporter who’s lurking about by the drinks table. Let’s improve
her morning, shall we?”

“How did you know there’d be a -”

“You’re here, and it’s a bit like sharks on a blood trail.” She stepped in, brushing his hair
back out of his face, and smiled. It was strangely genuine. “You could relax.”

“I don’t - I don’t do this. Because I get photographed every fucking time, and I hate it.”

“Sadly,” Pansy said, “you’re so into me that you make poor choices like forgetting about
photographers. Also, I can guarantee that if you wouldn’t do it with Ginny, but you’ll do it
with me, she’ll be very aggravated.”

“Hermione’s going to think you’ve got me under Imperius,” Harry muttered, but he put his
hands on her hips.

“Hermione’s going to think I’m persuasive.” Pansy was drawing him in, still smiling.
“Lower. I’m not going to get offended, Potter, I’ve asked you for it.”

“Can you just -” Harry let out a breath, and then finally laughed, because the entire situation
was fucking absurd. “Just give me one minute to ease into this?”

“Mm,” Pansy agreed. “What did you do to your neck? I just fixed all this. It’s only been three
days.”

“Er, I don’t know. I was on the ground staring up at everyone for a bit, I guess? I can’t watch
them that well from above, so I -”

“What,” Pansy said, sounding slightly exasperated, “am I going to do with you?”

“I thought you were angling for snogging me in front of everyone,” Harry muttered. “But, I
don’t know, fix it again, I guess.”

“I was suggesting it, because I’d like you to get something out of this, and I thought you were
interested in rubbing Ginny’s nose in it as much as possible.” Pansy eased back, looking up at
him. “But you don’t have to do anything. I’ll back off. There’s no pressure.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine.” He was surprised to realise it wasn’t even a lie. “Just a little…”

“Shy?” Pansy murmured. She sounded amused again.

“Private,” Harry corrected. “But fuck it. Might as well. I’m not touching you up, though.”

“Okay, but I’m extending carte blanche for the duration of this exercise.” Pansy grinned. “Do
your worst.”

“You’re fucking impossible,” Harry said, but he couldn’t help smiling back.
He’d had nearly a foot on Ginny, but Pansy was significantly taller - and in heels. He over
thought it, almost bumping noses. She made a soft, amused noise and readjusted, taking his
face in her hands, and kissed him. Someone wolf whistled, but he decided that responding
was just going to encourage them. It was sweet and almost affectionate, nothing all that
inappropriate, and she tasted like coffee and cinnamon. He felt his shoulders start to come
down, although after a minute, he drew back.

He laughed, softly. “What did you just do?”

“Your levator scapulae are beyond the pale, Potter.” She nudged him. “I’m going to assume
you have some sort of exceptionally excessive bath in your exceptionally excessive flat,
please soak them. Epsom salts. Then ice. I can’t even really get my magic to stick in there to
work on it. It’s why I’ve just had to redo all of it.”

“If I promise I will -” Harry let out a breath, because even if she was pushy and irreverent,
nothing with Pansy felt loaded. “Do you want me to come over and make dinner? I could
cook. And I don’t mind if you… want me to stay. Someone’ll probably see me leaving
tomorrow. And you can fix my very offensive shoulder muscles. If you wanted.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow. “You cook?”

“Yeah. I’m not too bad at it.”

“Damn,” she said, with a grin. “You’ve got to quit this, Potter, or I’m going to conclude that
you’re the perfect man, and then where will we be?”

“In a world where you have extremely low standards,” he said, dryly. “I’d better get back to it
before they start to think breaks are the new normal.”

Pansy kissed him again, fast, then handed him the drink and muffin. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He started back across the field, then almost stopped when he took a sip of the tea. She’d
somehow managed to get it exactly right.

“So,” Lockhart said, when he got back, “what’s the likelihood that we can talk her into
keeping you in bed so we can quit getting here two hours before everyone else?”

“I can and will make you run sprints,” Harry said, mildly. “Feel free to continue to try me.”

“I was so hoping that getting properly laid might make you less terrible,” Lockhart informed
him. “But it doesn’t seem to have worked.”

“Spiral dive drills it is. I’ll be down here enjoying breakfast and watching you suffer.”

“Just to be clear,” Ellis protested, “I have said absolutely nothing.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, pulling out his muffin, “but you’re absolute rubbish at spiral dives.”

“I’m not saying I seriously hate you.” Ellis made a face. “But maybe read between the lines.”
“That’s very sad,” Harry said, with a grin. “Get up there.”

_____

“I always used to want to come here when I was little,” Pansy said, leaning over the railing
toward the water. He caught her smile. “I was utterly obsessed with trying to feed the ducks. I
talked Draco into escaping with me from Diagon Alley at least twice. My mother was
horrified. She had to come fetch us near muggles.”

He’d offered to walk Pansy to work, and they’d decided to cut through the park.

Harry laughed. “I was around a lot of ducks. I never got to feed any either, they saved all the
bread for my cousin.”

“Yes, well,” Pansy said. “It was probably for the best. Now you don’t have duck genocide on
your conscience, bread is terrible for them.”

Harry considered her. “I wasn’t aware you were some sort of expert on ducks.”

“Everyone knows they can’t have bread. Honestly, Potter. I signed a muggle petition to get all
the little -” She gestured at what seemed to be a dispenser for small bags of cracked corn.
“Duck food muggle things put in. You have to give them biologically appropriate food or
they get malnourished.”

“I guess we don’t want to give the ducks any vitamin deficiencies,” Harry agreed. He had a
decent amount of change in his pocket from the bakery, so he crossed the path, got a bag of
corn, and tossed it at her. “Catch.”

Pansy looked startled, and then, abruptly, delighted, which somehow transformed her face.
He’d really never thought of Pansy as a singular beauty - or even as particularly pretty - but
happiness left something written there that he found impossible to look away from. By the
time he’d blinked, she’d turned away, and he tried to refocus.

“I come here after night shifts a lot if I don’t want to go home,” Pansy admitted. She’d
thrown out a bit of corn, and several ducks had run over and begun squabbling over it. “I like
muggle watching. It’s fun to make up stories.”

“To make up… stories?” Harry came to lean against the railing, and she offered him the bag
so he could throw some corn too.

“You know,” she said, gesturing at a couple jogging up the path. “He’s an investment banker,
she’s a solicitor. He’s having a torrid affair with the nanny, but she’s fucking her yoga
instructor, so it all comes out in the wash. They come here every Sunday in a futile attempt to
keep their marriage going through exercise.”

Harry made a face. “That’s incredibly depressing.”

“Not always,” Pansy said, looking over toward an elderly couple on a bench. They were
sharing a sandwich. “Their fiftieth wedding anniversary is tomorrow, and they’re about to go
pick up all their grandchildren from King’s Cross after lunch. He’s going to surprise her
tonight with her favourite flowers, which are obviously carnations. He secretly thinks they’re
rather boring, but they make her happy, so he gets them every time.”

“Hmm.” Harry studied two women who were feeding the ducks on the other side of the pond.
“They’re on a first date, her sister’s set them up. And they both think it’s going well, but she’s
about to propose dinner and then they’ll figure out that one’s a vegan and the other one’s a
butcher, and it’ll all go south.”

“Bit fatalistic, but I could like it,” Pansy said, thoughtfully.

“Yeah, well. They’re feeding the ducks bread, they obviously deserve a lifetime of
unhappiness.”

“I ought to go tell them off,” she muttered. “They’re going to cause an algal bloom.”

“Eh, their date’s already about to be terrible.” He looked at a couple who had just come
through the archway, swinging a little girl between their hands. “Those two are madly in
love, and they bring her to the park every weekend to feed the ducks, because they’re
excellent parents, and they always feed them corn because they’re ornithologists. And she
wants to grow up to be a veterinarian, and they’re all very happy.”

“Potter, that’s disgustingly saccharine and not even remotely realistic,” Pansy said, then
turned, looking at the family. “And she’s not going to grow up to be a veterinarian, she’s
going to grow up to be a witch.”

“What, really?” Harry said, startled.

“You can’t tell?”

“Er, no. I mean, I guess there’s sort of something…”

“Give me something metal,” Pansy said.

Harry, feeling sort of lost, handed her some more of his spare change, which she promptly
transfigured into two wedding rings.

“Put that on and play along,” she said, sliding one of them onto her finger.

He did it and followed her as she followed them up the path, then watched her very carefully
summon the woman’s wallet out of her purse. She thumbed through it, quickly, and then sped
up.

“Hi?” she called. “Sorry, excuse me, you’ve dropped this!”

“Oh -” the woman said, as they drew up next to them and Pansy held it out. “Damn, my bag’s
come unzipped. Thank you!”

“Marie, isn’t it? No, wait, Margot.”

“Do I know you?” Margot said, looking a bit startled.

“Our son’s in year three at St. Anne’s,” Pansy said, then smiled at the little girl. “His name’s
Jack.”

“Oh, Jack,” the girl said. “He’s got Mr. Bainbridge. He’s terrible, I’m very glad I’m with Mrs.
Price.”

“Olivia.” The woman’s husband sighed. “You can’t just go around saying things like that.”

“I mean,” Harry said, clearing his throat after Pansy had elbowed him. “She’s not really
wrong. There’s sort of an excessive love of reading assignments over the weekend there.”

Oliva looked vindicated. “See? I told you so.”

“I thought I recognized you from drop off,” Margot said. “Laura? And… Thomas?”

Pansy smiled. “Close, it’s Lauren.”

“Andrew, actually,” Harry said. “But I don’t think we’ve met.”

“He’s always at work.” Pansy gave him what Harry interpreted as a vaguely exasperated
look. “No one’s ever met him, really. Don’t ever marry a doctor.”

“Paul,” the man said, holding out a hand, which Harry shook. “Good to meet you.”

“Thanks ever so for grabbing my wallet,” Margot said. She looked at the bag of not-quite-
finished duck food that Harry was still holding. “Just feeding the ducks? That’s where we’re
headed.”

“We brought frozen peas,” Olivia said. “Dad says bread isn’t any good for them.”

“Thank you,” Pansy said. “He tried to bring rolls this morning.”

Harry made a face. “We’re just on our way to pick up Jack from his… piano lesson.”

“No, it’s karate on Sundays. We’ve been over this, Drew.”

Harry, very pointedly, rolled his eyes.

“I have to do piano too,” Olivia said. “It’s boring. Mum, can I do karate instead?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Margot said, firmly, which Harry thought was definitely a ‘no.’

“Anyway, we’d better be going. Although…” Pansy suddenly looked thoughtful. “Has Amy
talked to you yet about the cake sale?”

“Next month? I was going to do a sponge cake.”

“I think we’ve got about four of those.” Pansy reached into her pocket and pulled out her
phone. “Listen, can I get your number? I know Amy’s probably got it, but we could
coordinate a bit. Try to make sure we don’t have all one thing, you know.”
“Amy hasn’t got it,” Paul said, darkly. “And Amy’s never getting it.”

“Shh,” Margot said, elbowing him. “She’s just… enthusiastic.”

Harry shook his head. “Too late for us, mate, but definitely save yourselves.”

“Mum says Amy needs more hobbies,” Olivia added. “Maybe she should try karate.”

“Anyway,” Margot said. “Of course you can have it. Just… maybe, er, the contact could
delete itself if Amy ever asks if you’ve got it.”

Pansy grinned. “Deal.”

She passed over her phone, adding a new contact, and Margot put her number in.

“We’d better go,” Harry said. “Wouldn’t want to be late picking him up from karate.”

“Great seeing you,” Pansy offered. “I’ll be in touch.”

They waved back at them once they’d gotten halfway up the path.

“So,” Harry said, after a minute. “Is that, er, usually part of the muggle watching? Because it
seems a bit… in depth.”

“Hermione’s on this whole crusade,” Pansy said, sending a text. “She thinks it’s terrible for
the parents of muggleborns to not have any guidance, just a letter and a supply list, and
Hogwarts has addresses, but obviously not phone numbers. So now every time I find one, I
get their information for her, and she calls them once the letters start to go out so they aren’t
completely lost. She’s gotten me and Draco in on it because we’re pretty good at spotting
them. And sometimes I go with them to Diagon Alley. Just so they… know their kids will be
safe at Hogwarts.” She smiled, a little wryly. “Everyone trusts healers. Well, doctors for
muggles, I suppose.”

“But how did you know all that?” Harry said. “I mean - the school and their names and…”

“If they’re in this park, they go to St. Anne’s. And you just give the first ones the name of a
teacher that doesn’t actually exist, and then they’ll say they aren’t familiar with them, but
then you’ve got the name of theirs.” She grinned, looking pleased with herself. “I always say
I have a child the opposite gender of theirs, so they haven’t ever come over for birthdays, and
there’s always a Jack or an Emily in every class.”

“Okay,” Harry said. “But who’s Amy?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Pansy said, dryly. “But if you so much as mention any school
related activity, her name comes up, and they’ll all do just about anything to avoid her. She
sounds terrible, but I’m very willing to use her. She’s also got at least seven kids, so she’s
been useful for years.”

“Are there… that many? Kids, I mean.”

“We each usually get two or three a year,” Pansy said. “We sort of -” She shrugged. “It’s
important to Hermione. And it feels nice to help them. I imagine it’s a bit terrifying.”

“Final question. How the fuck do you know what karate is?”

Pansy laughed. “I don’t. Hermione said it once. Muggles are always very excited about it.”

“You’re -” Harry started, then laughed. “Completely not what I was expecting.”

“Better and not worse, I hope,” Pansy said, lifting a hand to the back of her neck. “Although
I’m not exactly waiting with bated breath for your verdict, you don’t have to like me for this
entire endeavour to succeed.”

She was lying, and he wasn’t entirely sure where along the line he’d developed the ability to
tell.

“Just… different.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “Maybe I like being on the same team.
You play to win.”

“That’s a serious underestimation, Potter,” she murmured. She’d turned toward him. “I don’t
play to win, I do win.”

“So,” Harry said, “do you want to get ice cream before work?”

“What, for breakfast?”

“Yeah.” Harry nudged her again, with a smile. “I didn’t get any as a kid, I’m making up for
lost time. No one’s allowed to judge me.”

Pansy snorted. “One, I’m always allowed to judge you. Two, you can’t continue to use your
infelicitous upbringing as an excuse for everything.”

Harry laughed. “If you get it with a cone, it’s about the same as cereal.”

“Fine. But only because there will be photographers and they’ll all assume we spent the night
together.”

“I’m even willing to come inside with you at work,” Harry offered. “Then Draco can assume
the same thing.”

“He’s not on until this afternoon,” Pansy said, then grinned. “But junior healer gossip is
insidious. Just kiss me goodbye in admitting, and if he hasn’t heard by rounds, I’m doing
something wrong.”

___

Pansy didn’t owl for several days, which was somewhat aggravating, mostly because he’d
gotten used to seeing her every day. They had a match and Luna was back from Scotland and
wanted to get lunch, so he wasn’t as if he didn’t have anything to do, but he found himself
very nearly missing the back and forth. Which didn’t really warrant thinking about, so he
went on too many runs and actually read one of the hundreds of books Hermione had given
him. He was debating just showing up at her flat to try to figure out what the fuck was going
on when he got a rather cryptic owl from Hermione telling him to bring everyone dinner at
work and a bag of clothes for Pansy. Surprisingly, the wards at her flat were willing to let him
in.

The wood nymph at triage waved him through, and he found Draco sitting at the central desk,
looking as if he wanted to die. The main area looked fairly deserted, and he’d only seen a few
people in triage.

“Er, hi,” Harry said. “I’ve brought an excessive amount of take away and two sorts of tea? I
didn’t know what you liked.”

“Marry me,” Draco said.

He heard Pansy before he saw her; she was lying on the floor behind the desk. “No, he’s
mine. You can’t have him.”

“Fuck it, he can marry both of us,” Draco said. “What are the odds you’ve got egg rolls in
there?”

“High. I knew you liked those.”

“Even if Pansy’s taking marriage off the table, I’ll still absolutely have sex with you in the
call room.”

Pansy hadn’t gotten up. “You haven’t got the energy for sex in the call room. Whereas I am a
paragon of vivacity. And he already knows he fancies sex with me.”

“You start sounding like a thesaurus when you’re tired.” Draco immediately started to
rummage in one of the bags. “Worse than usual. Anyway, I bet we could talk him into a
threeway.”

Harry heard a monitoring charm start to go off rather insistently behind the desk.

Pansy groaned. “That room’s yours. I’m not getting up.”

“Fuck. Is it unprofessional to take egg rolls to a code?”

Harry watched several healers go bolting past the desk.

“Probably. I promise not to eat all of them while you’re gone.”

“I’m going to go and hope he dies very quickly,” Draco said. “I’ll be back.”

“Actually, that one’s a hundred and eighty seven,” Pansy said, finally sitting up, after she’d
looked at the room diagram. “He’s got a DNACPR, we’ve just been waiting around.”

Harry opened a few cartons. “What do you want?”

“I’m desperately hoping for chicken lo mein.”

“Can’t help there. But I’ve got beef chow mein.”

“Good enough.” Pansy managed to drag herself into Draco’s chair. “Although I’m very
offended you know Draco’s favourite and not mine.”

“Yeah, well, Hermione literally never shuts up about him,” Harry said, dryly. “I know more
about Draco than I want to. And you and I have never gotten Chinese food together. Also, I
thought you got something different every time.”

“I foisted it off on Bennett,” Draco said, collapsing in another chair. “Do you know how
much you can get away with if you claim you’re trying to help them have independent
learning experiences?”

Harry took the beef and broccoli. “I know I’m usually upstairs with Hermione, but I don’t
remember this being quite so…” He considered. “Awful? You both look…”

Pansy had given up on chopsticks and dug out a fork. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

“All the fucking registrars got dragon flu and gave it to each other.” Draco was on his fourth
egg roll already. Harry was glad he’d gotten two orders. “So, in an effort to keep the
wizarding population of Britain from being killed by junior healers, we’ve been on for four
days straight. I think we’ve had about eight hours of sleep between us, and by the time I
manage to get down there, the cafeteria’s always out of everything except egg salad
sandwiches.”

“Mandy’s on maternity leave, Graham’s fucking around with his girlfriend in the south of
France, and I think Eva’s shagging what’s-his-face, that one we all hate, because she’s got it
too. And all the other consultants are asleep somewhere. I saw Telshore in curtain area seven
pretending to be a corpse. They’ve literally put a morgue tag on.”

Draco gestured at a carton. “I would, but I’m fairly confident I wouldn’t wake up if they took
me to the morgue. Potter, can you give me - I don’t know, whatever that is.”

“We’ve sort of given up in the past few hours,” Pansy said. “We cleared the board and there
hasn’t been much new, but it’s probably for the best. I’m not sure I can get up for anything
short of a spectacularly bloody trauma.”

Harry slid the carton across the desk, then caught the look on Draco’s face before he actually
saw Hermione crossing the room from the lifts.

“Hi, Harry,” she said, leaning over the desk to try to take an egg roll. It was probably a mark
of how smitten Draco was with her that he just pulled the carton away instead of stabbing her.
“I hear you need a psychiatry consult?”

“Oh, good,” Draco said. “It’s you. I’m happy to see you.”

Pansy made a gagging gesture behind his back.

“You’re just glad it’s not Avery,” Hermione said, sounding a bit amused.

Draco, extremely grudgingly, held out the egg rolls. “I’m always glad it’s not Avery. I hate
Avery.”

Hermione looked at him for a minute and then gestured the carton back at him without taking
one.

Pansy snorted. “You hate the entire department except Hermione.”

“That might be true,” Draco conceded. “Curtain one seems fairly convinced he’s a kettle, and
if you don’t stop the whole whistling situation, Pansy’s going to be thrown in Azkaban for
murder. And room six is -” He gestured. “Teenager. Miserably low serotonin. Very unhappy.
I’m too tired to fuck around with neurochemistry. And you’re better at it anyway.”

“I’d give you the lecture on depression being a multifaceted illness that isn’t caused
exclusively or even primarily by neurochemical imbalances,” Hermione said, “but I think
you’d fall asleep halfway through.”

“I’m too tired to fuck around with neurochemistry and, as someone who sees patients for
several hours, woefully unequipped to provide any sort of long term therapy,” Draco said,
dryly. “Hence the need for your assistance.”

“Charts,” Hermione said, holding out a hand. “And Pansy, you’ve got blood in your hair.”

“Ugh,” Pansy muttered, but mostly continued shovelling food into her mouth.

Harry considered her. “Do you, I don’t know, want to maybe… take a shower?”

Pansy shook her head. “I’ll just be putting dirty knickers back on, and they’ve run out of my
size of scrubs in the vending machine. The last pair of robes died on day two to a small child
with gastrointestinal upset. I couldn’t magic it out. It’s a lost cause.”

“Luckily,” Harry said, gesturing at the bag she’d apparently missed, “I’ve brought you
clothes.”

“Maybe you can quit telling people their loved ones have died while in vomit-covered
scrubs,” Draco offered. “Could be a step in the right direction.”

“I might be too tired,” Pansy said, glumly. “I’ll probably fall asleep in there and drown.”

Harry snorted. “Nope. I absolutely did not brave the horror that is your chest of drawers for
nothing. I tried to… choose the ones with minimal…” He gestured. “Stuff.”

Draco was looking sort of sadly at the empty carton of egg rolls. “Oh, yes. Truly stupid
amounts of lace, and don’t ever agree to do laundry, it’s all very complicated.” He paused.
“Sorry, is that awkward? I’m not awake enough to decide if I’m violating social
conventions.”
“Hey, Harry,” Pansy said, dryly. “Draco’s seen me in knickers. He’s also seen me out of
them, because we were dating for a number of years, which I’m sure it will shock you to
know involved shagging, although I will say that I’m fairly confident he utterly fucking
ruined more pairs with drying charms than he ever took off me.”

“She has absolutely no boundaries.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Might as well get used to it.”

“As long as you’re not currently shagging, I really don’t care,” Harry said, then stood up,
taking the empty carton away from Pansy. He slid his hands to her shoulders, then pressed his
thumbs in against her neck.

“If you keep doing that,” she managed, “I will have so much sex with you. And if you
thought the other night was good, I’m very willing to demonstrate how much better I can
make it.”

He pressed in a little harder, stroking up. “Stop talking, or I’ll quit.”

She sighed and leaned back against him, and when he looked up, he caught a strange look on
Draco’s face.

When he got to the top of her neck, she made a noise that definitely shouldn’t have been quite
so appealing, given the context. “Go on. I promise I’ll get you if anything terrible happens
that Draco’s not awake enough to handle. And if you’re gone for too long, I’ll come wake
you up.”

“Only if you come keep me warm in the call room after I’m done. Literally, they’ve fucked
up all the environmental magic and it’s freezing. I’m too tired for anything else.”

“Go,” Harry said, firmly.

Draco waited until she’d disappeared around the corner before he looked over, leaning back
in his chair. Harry got the impression he was being evaluated - and, with Draco, it was never
a particularly comfortable experience.

“She’s over the top with it because she wants to be sure you don’t care,” Draco said, finally.
“We’ve both tried to be with people who saw something that wasn’t there in every single
interaction between us. It never works. And we can’t be anything other than what we are,
we’ve tried. And with you, in particular, given your last relationship, it seems pertinent.”

“I’m going to ask exactly once,” Harry said, thoughtfully, because he thought, maybe, that
there might be an opportunity. “Is there anything there?”

“No,” Draco said, firmly. “There isn’t. More than what you see, anyway.”

“So,” Harry said, “there’s absolutely no chance you’ll ever want to be together again?”

He saw the exact moment Draco realised he’d backed himself into a corner in his own mind.

“No, I don’t… think so. I don’t think she wants it.”

“And do you?”

“No.” Harry watched Draco look towards Hermione, who had stopped to chat with one of the
junior healers in the hall. “She’s perfect. But no.”

“So,” he said, thoughtfully, “when are you going to get around to asking her out? Actually,
honestly, you wouldn’t even have to buy her dinner first, I can guarantee she’ll be game for
any kind of sex you can come up with, just ask.”

“What?” Draco said.

Harry heard someone clear their throat behind them, and Draco finished choking and turned
around to consider a junior healer in blue robes who was holding a paper. He couldn’t quite
remember, but he thought the robes meant she hadn’t been there particularly long. Pansy and
Draco’s were bright green.

Draco sighed. “Yes?”

“Hi, Healer Malfoy,” she said, “I’m very sorry to… interrupt, but I’m not very sure what to
think of these numbers on my patient.”

“For fuck’s sake, Lilibet, it’s been an entire year, it’s going to be several more, you’re
choosing between ‘Draco’ and ‘Malfoy.’ Those are the options. What’s wrong with the
bloodwork?”

“I can’t get his blood pressure up, and the lab work’s all - ”

Draco cut her off. “Presenting complaint?”

“Cancer of the magic, sir,” Lilibet said, looking at her shoes. “He’s just gone through another
round of magical excision treatment last week.”

“Sir’s even worse,” Draco muttered, then gestured for the paper. “What’s off?”

“Er, all of it.” She looked as if she were trying to gather some courage. “But the… the serum
lactate is particularly bad. I’ve run it twice, it’s not an error.”

“It’s sepsis.” Draco hadn’t even looked at the results. “And what do we do for sepsis,
Lilibet?”

“I’ve never seen it,” she admitted. “I don’t… actually…”

“In that case, we take an H&P and run labs and find the consultant to ask for guidance, which
you’ve managed admirably, decent work, although quit calling me sir,” Draco said, then
leaned around the desk, gesturing at the junior healer Hermione was talking to. “Dahlia,
sepsis protocol, go.”

“Microbiology and pharmacy,” she said. “Unless it’s two in the morning, in which case,
microbiology and send a howler to the head of pharmacy for failure to adequately staff in the
middle of the night, they’re never there.”
“Well, it’s half eight, so we’ll skip that last bit. Take blood from two separate sites,” Draco
said. “Take it down to microbiology. Physically stand there until they’ve used a growth spell
on the culture and told you what you’ve got. Don’t let them lose the samples. Write it down.
Take it to pharmacy. Tell them you’re treating sepsis. Hand them whatever you’ve written
down. Come back up here and give your patient all seven or eight of the potions they give
you in the order they tell you to give them. You’ll have to do another round in about four
hours. And call magical oncology, it’ll take them that long to get down here, anyway. They’ll
need to admit. Find me once you’ve given the first set and give me an update.”

“By myself?” Lilibet said.

“I do, in fact, trust you to do this,” Draco said. He’d actually smiled at her. “But come back if
you need help. I’ll be around.”

“Thanks, Hea -” she paused. “Thanks, Draco.”

“Great, progress, now go,” he said, making a shooing motion toward the lifts. “And don’t let
microbiology fuck you around or tell you it’ll take two hours.”

“You’re unexpectedly not that bad at that,” Harry said, thoughtfully, once she’d left.

“Turns out they’re all completely terrified of me, they’re used to going to the registrars.”
Draco yawned. “I’d say I’ll try harder with the next group, but I probably won’t.”

“Anyway,” Harry said, pointedly. “When are you doing something about that?”

“About… what?” Draco had actually gone a little pink.

Harry snorted. “Healer Malfoy. You can’t possibly be that much of a fucking idiot. Sir.”

“It’s complicated.” Draco looked at him. “And anyway, I know it’s…” He gestured. “You
know. Complicated. With… you and her.”

Harry burst out laughing. “Oh my god,” he managed. “What?”

“You can’t possibly be interested in making me spell this out.”

Harry tried to get control of himself, because Pansy had warned him. “Did she say that?”

“No.” Draco was slowly leaning toward the counter. “She says it’s not, but…”

“Okay, well.” Harry threw a fortune cookie at him. “You know how you and Pansy have had
sex a few thousand times, and I’m over it? Hermione and I have had sex zero times. Get over
it.” He grinned. “We tried once, we were about seventeen and there was the whole ‘hiding
from the forces of evil in a tent’ situation. Ginny and I were on a break. We were drunk and
very bored. Except we just ended up laughing too hard to go through with anything. So, no, I
wouldn’t say it’s complicated. It’s the opposite of complicated. She’s my favourite person. I
completely and totally don’t want to sleep with her. Ever.”

“I mean,” Draco said, clearing his throat. “It might be. For her.”
“The only thing that’s complicated for Hermione is why you won’t get it together and -”

“I heard my name,” Hermione said, over his shoulder. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Harry grinned again. “What are the odds you secretly want to fuck me?”

Hermione laughed. “About ten million to one. And in the one, someone’s got a wand to my
head and the world is going to end if I don’t. Do I even want to know?”

“Nope. Have I made my point, Draco?”

Draco finally put his head in his hands. “I’m considering the evidence.”

“So, Hermione,” Harry continued, “would you say I’m about the absolute last person on earth
you’re interested in shagging?”

“Second to last, Ron’s both gay and married. But yeah, about.”

“Fuck off,” Draco muttered.

“Well, anyway,” Hermione said, “you can discharge those two. She’s got a referral to clinic, a
prescription, and some encouragement to end things with her useless Hufflepuff boyfriend.
He’s perfectly happy to continue being a kettle, and there’s no accounting for taste. I’d better
head back upstairs.”

“Come by later, I’m sure we’ll have something else for you,” Draco said.

Harry waited until she’d gone toward the lifts before he said, “I’m going to be so
disappointed in you if the something else isn’t you offering to have sex with her in a call
room.”

“Fuck off,” Draco said, again.

“I’m sort of human again,” Pansy said. Her hair was still wet, and she’d put on the leggings
and one of his flannel shirts, which was big on her and kept sliding off her shoulder. “Potter, I
don’t think you’ve understood the assignment. You were meant to bring my clothes. Instead
we’ve got half and half.”

“Oh, haven’t I,” he said, with a grin.

“Everyone, look away, I’m about to be unprofessional,” Pansy said, then pushed him back
against the counter and stepped in to kiss him.

“I go to sleep for three hours and everything’s gone to hell up here,” someone said. They
sounded amused. “Pansy’s snogging someone on top of confidential charts, and you’ve
spilled soy sauce on your shirt.”

“Did I?” Draco said, looking down. “Oh well. It’s not the worst thing that’s ended up on me
today.”
“Harry, Telshore,” Pansy said. “Telshore, Harry. Harry’s my boyfriend. Please pretend you
don’t know who he is, otherwise he’ll get awkward. Telshore got a nap, and now they’re here
to save us so we can sleep. They’d rather be referred to as they. Nice of you to join the living,
Telshore.”

They held out a hand. “Non-Slytherins call me Adrian. Nice to meet you, Harry.”

“Um, hi,” Harry said, shaking it. “I promise I wasn’t looking at the confidential charts.”

Adrian looked vaguely amused. “Well, obviously. Be a bit difficult given that you’re sitting
on them.”

“There’s chinese,” Draco said. “Lilibet’s got the sepsis in six. Dahlia’s gone with her to make
sure microbiology doesn’t take advantage like a seventh year with a sixth year date at the
Yule Ball. Bennett’s, I don’t know, alive somewhere. Probably fucking something up.”

“And the patients?”

Draco tried to cover a yawn. “Psych discharges on chief complaint: kettle and the depressed
teenager, reconfiguration’s coming down for the cauldron spill, new ghoul bite’s waiting on
imaging, I sent the broom accident home, and twelve’s dead. I suppose the morgue will show
up eventually. I don’t think anything else has changed. It hasn’t been terrible so far. Not like
last night.”

“I sent someone straight from triage to obs and gynae with Bennett an hour ago, heavy
bleeding in early pregnancy,” Pansy added. “Might want to make sure they got up there, he’s
liable to have gotten lost.”

“No, he was back after that,” Draco said. “On the other hand, feel free to check he hasn’t left
her in a corridor somewhere.”

Harry reached, taking Pansy’s wrist. “Were you serious about me staying?”

“Environmental services has utterly fucked up again,” Draco said. “Are we willing to look
the other way on visitor policy in the interest of Pansy not freezing to death?”

“At this point in the proceedings, I’d look the other way on literally anything,” Adrian said.
“But, as insider information, someone’s restocked the blanket warmer in critical care. Try to
be discreet with the theft.”

“I know you’re with Daniel and Mirabelle and everything,” Pansy said, “I’m very respectful
of your life choices. But I’d just like to share that I’m now madly in love with you. Run away
with me.”

“Hmm.” They had picked up a stack of charts. “Tempting, but no. Danny would probably
track me down and stab me to death. Mostly for failing to invite him, admittedly.”

“Quit making them look the other way on sexual harassment,” Harry said, dryly. “And point
me at this call room.”
Pansy came in a few minutes later, with a number of blankets that all seemed to have
industrial strength warming charms. She juggled them, with her hand on the door. “Do you
need this open? I can sleep through just about anything.”

“If anyone manages to sneak up on me in the middle of casualty, I’ve got bigger problems,”
Harry said, moving over. He’d stretched out on the too small bed, which seemed stubbornly
resistant to expansion spells. “But I’m guessing Draco will come by eventually, so yeah,
might as well leave it.”

He moved over while she put the blankets down and crawled underneath them. He did his
best to make room, but she ended up mostly on top of him. It seemed rather deliberate.

“I haven’t been this tired since I was a junior healer. I haven’t got the muscle for it anymore.
At least with thirty-sixes, the registrars let me sleep unless something complicated comes in.”

“Shh,” Harry said, stroking a hand up her back. He ran his fingers through her hair,
murmuring a drying charm, and she sighed against his shoulder.

“Thanks for… coming. And staying. You didn’t have to.”

“If you’d owled me,” Harry murmured, “I could’ve brought take away and clothes and kept
you warm all week. Maybe try that next time.”

“Ugh,” Pansy muttered. “You’re disgustingly nice, and I hate it because I like it. It just makes
me want to do indecent things to you literally all the time. And now I just want to be around
you because you’re stupid and nice, so I think I want that, and I can’t, because I might get
used to it, and I can’t do that either.”

“Pansy,” Harry said, amused, “go to sleep.”

“Mm,” Pansy agreed, and a few minutes later, he felt her relax against him.

A few hours later, Draco stuck his head in.

“Hey,” he said, looking drowsy. “Bennett’s talked Mandy into coming in to save us all, she’s
left the baby with her husband, and Lincoln says he’s stopped sneezing fire and isn’t running
a fever anymore, so he’s coming in too. So we can go home. And sleep for a week.”

“I’ll try to get her up,” Harry said. “If she stabs me, I’d like to request Telshore over any of
the junior ones.”

He saw Draco turn back toward the hallway, then hesitate, backlit by the faint fluorescent
glow of the hospital lights. “Your new flat. It’s close, isn’t it?”

“It’s not that new. But yeah, about three blocks. I walked over.”

“I know this is… presumptuous. But would you take her home with you? She’s too tired to
apparate, and I wouldn’t let her on a broomstick if you paid me.”

“Of course I will. One condition, though.”

“Which is?”

Harry sat up. “I’ve got a guest bedroom I never use. I think you ought to come with us,
because you’re not any less tired than she is. I’d feel sort of badly if you splinched yourself.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“I can’t come over there and hit you upside the head because she’d end up on the floor,”
Harry said, pointedly. “But please know that I really, really want to.”

Draco, surprisingly, laughed. It felt strangely like a victory. “Okay. I’ll make breakfast.”

“Yeah, I can really see you being awake for that.”

“I’ll make dinner.”

“Debatable, but okay,” Harry said, then ran a hand up Pansy’s side. “Hey. Time to wake up.”

“No,” Pansy muttered. “I don’t want to save any more lives. I don’t care. I quit.”

“You’re off,” Harry said. “We can leave.”

“I can sleep here. Then I don’t have to move.”

He leaned to kiss her temple. “Do you know how many duvets I have at home? At least four.
I’ll pile them all on my bed and get under them with you so all my body heat stays in one
place.”

“Oh, no.” Pansy tried to pull the blankets over her head. “That’s deeply unfair, Potter. Knock
it off.”

“Have I mentioned there’s a fireplace? There’s a fireplace. I’m willing to use it in July.”

“Fuck,” Pansy said, sitting up. “Fine. Only because that sounds like the single best idea
anyone has ever had.”

He thought, briefly, that he was going to lose Draco to a bench halfway home, but he finally
got them off the lift and through the front door.

“Potter,” Pansy said, slowly, stopping in the middle of the foyer. She was staring at the entire
wall of windows overlooking the city. “This is obscene. And it sort of looks as if you’ve
taken the stock furniture and just left it that way. Do you even live here? Have we just broken
into some stranger’s penthouse?”

Draco couldn’t seem to quit yawning. “What, you haven’t been here?”

“No, we’ve just been at my place.” Pansy still hadn’t moved. “Apparently because Potter
lives in some sort of architectural digest centrefold.”
“I mean…” Harry suddenly felt awkward. “I just got the league estate agent to find
something when I moved out. It came with furniture. She got a good deal because no one else
wanted a muggle flat.”

“We’ll fix it later.” Pansy was staring somewhat longingly at the hallway. “Just point me at
the bed. I’m going to hope the mattress is exceedingly expensive and not at all terrible.”

Harry snorted. “It’s the only thing I replaced. So as long as you’re fine with it being a little
firm, you won’t hate it.”

“I can’t even bring myself to make the obvious joke,” Pansy said, sounding sort of sad about
it.

Harry pointed at the hallway. “Guest room’s on the right, Draco. We’re not exactly the same
size, but if you want something, just come get it and transfigure it.”

“I’ll find something for you while Harry gets my duvets,” Pansy said. “There’s probably a
wardrobe with hundreds of things someone else has bought that he never wears.”

“Oh, so you do occasionally call him by his actual name,” Draco said, dryly. “I was starting
to wonder.”

Harry summoned out the contents of the linen cupboard, then brought them into the bedroom.

“Night,” Draco said, leaving. “I’ll see you in a year or so.”

He shut the door behind him, and Pansy went over and opened it, then started unbuttoning
her shirt.

Harry started unfolding things on the bed. “Do you want something to change into?”

“I suppose.” Pansy went and dug around in his chest of drawers, pulling out one of his oldest
shirts. It had several holes around the cuffs, and he focused hard on the quilts when she let his
borrowed button down fall off before she pulled it over her head.

She climbed under the rather excessive pile of blankets.

“Coming?” she said. She was asleep by the time he’d put his clothes in the laundry basket.

When the alarm went off the next morning, he reached for it fast, but not, apparently, quickly
enough to keep Pansy from rolling over and blinking at him sleepily.

“Sorry,” he said, ruefully. “I was hoping you’d sleep through that. I want to get a run in
before training.”

He wasn’t entirely expecting it when she rolled further and pressed completely against him.

“It’s so warm,” she murmured. “This is the single best bed of all time. I’ve never liked
anything more than I like this bed. Except it’s possible I was having very explicit dreams
about you being very nice, and so there might be a way to improve it.” She pushed on his
shoulders. “Don’t move any of the duvets and go down on me while I get to stay warm and I
promise I’ll come so unbelievably hard for you, I bet you like that sort of thing.”

Harry laughed, running a hand down her side. “There is absolutely no way Draco’s awake.
You don’t have to try this hard.”

“But I want it,” Pansy said, drowsily, and arched into him, which had fairly predictable
consequences.

“Do you?” It probably wasn’t the best idea, but the flat didn’t have particularly thick walls
and she’d left the door open and it was, conceivably, possible that his alarm had been enough
to wake up Draco.

“Yes.” Pansy buried a hand in his hair and pushed on his shoulder again. She was, he
concluded, not entirely awake. “I haven’t had your mouth yet, I want it, this is my favourite,
and I’m sure you’re very good at it. I keep thinking about it. You could take it very slow. I
would be extraordinarily into that.”

“I could do that,” he agreed, reaching a hand up to rub the back of her neck. She made a very
soft noise that he really wanted to pin down and elicit again. “Or this. Or both. You can tell
me what you like.”

Pansy pushed, again. In a universe where they were actually doing this, he knew he’d have
taken the hint, so he let her do it. He reached, pulling her shirt over her head, and - mostly
because he knew the reaction he’d get, and realism was valuable under the circumstances -
pulled all the blankets back up and murmured a warming charm against the curve of her
shoulder. She actually moaned.

“I’m starting,” he said, amused, “to get the impression you like heat.”

“I like being relaxed.” Her breath caught. “You try being relaxed when you’re cold.”

He kissed down further, then considered her. She’d let her head fall back, her breathing
picking up, and she was flushed all the way down her chest. It wasn’t exactly hard to figure
out that she was turned on. That should have felt complicated, but it didn’t, mostly because
he just wanted more of it. In the interest, obviously, of having an open door, and the fact that
Draco would absolutely know if it wasn’t real.

“You know,” he said, thoughtfully, “this place has a very large bath. With very hot water. I
could, in theory, touch you in it. I’m not exactly bad with my hands.”

“Nevermind,” Pansy managed. “I might not even need any help.”

“I mean -” Harry stroked a hand up the outside of her thigh. “There’s no rule that says I can’t
make you come and then keep going. You’re already making me miss my run. I’ve absolutely
got time. At least an hour. I can do whatever you’d like.”

“Fuck.” Pansy was starting to shift around underneath him. “You are so nice, and I hate it so
fucking much.”
“Yeah?” Pinning her with his hips was probably an exceptionally bad idea. He did it anyway.
“If I get my mouth on you, am I going to be able to tell that you can’t stand it?”

“What, you can’t tell already?” She made another soft noise. “That’s your own fault for being
stupid enough to wear pyjamas. You’d know if you didn’t have them on. You’d also know if I
hadn’t tried to be polite and worn knickers to bed. That wasn’t a good idea.”

“Pansy,” Harry said, amused. “If neither of us had any clothes on and we were doing this,
we’d be actually having sex.”

“Like I said. I didn’t make very good choices.”

Her breath caught when he let her move again, sliding down her body. And okay, he was
probably carried away, but he’d been curious, before, because she’d been so responsive. He
nuzzled over her rib cage, then up along the curve of her breast. When she inhaled sharply, he
licked over her nipple a few times, and then bit, just a little, very carefully. She jerked up
against him.

“Okay,” she said, breathlessly. “Okay, you can absolutely shut the door and fuck me right
now. Go for it. We can figure out the details later.”

Harry laughed. “No. I don’t want to get involved. I just want to make sure you enjoy yourself
so you can go back to bed after I leave.”

“No, I meant - ” Pansy said. “I’ll let you. I want to. We can.”

“Still no, I’m absolutely using my mouth,” Harry murmured, and was kissing down her
stomach when he heard the shower turn on opposite the wall on the other side. He tried not to
jump.

“It’s fine,” Pansy said, quickly. “He probably can’t hear us. And even if he can, he won’t
care.”

“Well, hopefully he caught that part,” Harry said, dryly, and sat up. He wasn’t exactly glad
Draco was up. But he also wasn’t entirely sure he’d actually have known where to stop or
where the line was, which would probably have annoyed Pansy. “I think I have coffee
somewhere. Do you want some or are you staying in here?”

Pansy was staring at him, which probably meant it had been too much, but she really could
have said something. He felt himself flush.

“I guess I’m going back to sleep.” She definitely sounded annoyed.

“Right,” he said, slowly. “I’ll… see you this afternoon? Maybe?”

Pansy pulled the blankets over her head without responding.

“Sorry. Should I not have -”

“Potter,” she interrupted, muffled. “Go for your stupid run. I’ll see you when you get back.”
“Because if you’re mad, I’m sorry, I -”

She kicked at him through the blankets, which seemed sort of ineffectual.

“And shut the door when you leave.”

The small upside to the total confusion was that he wasn’t exactly turned on anymore. He
changed and, by the time he got into the kitchen, Draco was rummaging around in the pantry.

“Sorry about the alarm.” He was trying not to feel conflicted about the rest of it; on the one
hand, there was a point to it. On the other, the least realistic part of the entire endeavour was
the idea that he’d willingly have sex with the door open where someone else could hear.
“Pansy went back to sleep. You could too.”

“I’m frankly shocked she regained consciousness at all.” Draco was starting to pull things
onto the counter. “I’ve tried summoning coffee three times. It’s not working. I thought you
couldn’t possibly be stupid enough to expect Pansy to wake up somewhere without it, but
then I realised, you’ve just been at her place, so it’s possible there isn’t any.”

“Top shelf behind the canned fruit,” Harry said, lacing up his running shoes. “There’s a
french press somewhere. I’ve never used it, so I don’t actually know where, because I’m a
normal person who drinks tea.”

“You try getting through night shifts on just tea.”

“Based on this whole situation,” Harry said, with a grin, “I think I’m going to pass. I’d rather
get up early, it’s cool enough to run.”

“Fuck that for a game of soliders. I’m starting to wonder if there’s something profoundly
wrong with you, Potter.”

“Oh, there definitely is,” Harry agreed. “Probably more than one thing. But I’ll be back in an
hour.”

“Strong chance I’m back in bed.” Draco pulled down the coffee. “Potter?”

Harry turned back from where he’d reached for the door. “Yeah?”

“Thanks,” Draco said, quietly. “Sincerely. Even if it’s just for her.”

“Nah,” Harry said. “I was thinking we’ll sort of be stuck with each other if you ever fucking
manage to tell Hermione that you’re madly in love with her and want to get married and have
a bunch of kids who just read constantly. Might as well try to be friends.”

Draco paused with his hand halfway toward the drawer of cutlery. “Neither of us wants kids.”

“You know,” Harry said, thoughtfully, “out of all the parts of that sentence to object to,
you’ve picked that one. Sort of telling, really.”

“Hang on. You absolutely know that about her. Did you just -”
“Bye,” Harry said, with a grin, and let himself out the door.
 Chapter 3

Harry had sort of gotten used to making dinner on nights when Pansy was on days and he
didn’t have evening training, largely because the alternative seemed to be her living off
protein bars and coffee. He’d done a Sunday roast, which was very nearly perfect, but it was
currently benefiting from the fact that he’d been forced to learn the exact parameters of the
‘warm’ function on his oven. Pansy was always late. Still, two hours was excessive even for
her, and he was starting to consider taking a plate down to St. Mungo’s when she finally let
herself in.

“Fuck,” she said, sounding sort of breathless, as if she’d run over. “I am so, so sorry. I hope
you didn’t wait.”

He looked up from his book with a smile. “Hi. I’d ask how work was, but it seems a little
obvious.”

“Fucking five traumas in a row, is how work was. I’ve been up to my elbows in viscera since
five minutes before I was supposed to leave. But I really apologise.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Famished. But it’s half nine, I know you’ve got to be up early. I can head home.”

“Nah, it got switched to chasers only yesterday, I forgot to update it.” They’d put two
enormous calendars in his kitchen and duplicated them onto a wall in her office - one with
her work schedule, and one with his. “And anyway, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“I absolutely know I’m forever getting stuck there,” she said, sounding defensive. “You
aren’t under any obligation to - you know, keep doing this, it’s not as if we’re actually
dating.” She looked tired. “Actually, honestly, you wouldn’t be under any obligation to do
this if we were dating, I’m sure it’s getting tiresome. I don’t need to come over.”

Harry got up, pulling the roast out of the oven. “You don’t have to eat any of the parsnips,
don’t panic. But I’m going to need you to use your excellent knife skills on this, come here.”

“It’s really more that I have excellent scalpel skills, but all right.” She put her bag down,
coming into the kitchen. “Where’s the carving knife?”

Harry grinned. “I realise I’m slightly uncivilised, but I do keep all the knives in the knife
block.”

“Have I mentioned that I’ve spent the past two hours running back to back traumas?” Pansy
said, dryly. “I’m a bit tired.”

Harry reached to hand her the knife. “You might have done, yeah.”

“Just so we’re clear,” Pansy said, summoning a cutting board and transferring it over.
“Hey, I’m about to grab you,” Harry said, because he’d made that mistake exactly once.

He stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her, and felt her laugh.

“You’re getting in the way.”

“I’m a complete pest,” Harry agreed.

They hadn’t exactly talked about the whole thing, but it had felt fucking impossible to try to
decide on two completely separate standards of behaviour in public and private. He’d spent a
stupid amount of time worrying about whether she’d be annoyed every time he ended up on
the wrong side of the exceptionally blurry line. But he’d finally noticed that Pansy genuinely
didn’t seem to mind when he slipped up, and eventually, he’d decided to quit thinking about
it.

“This looks fucking brilliant,” Pansy said. He felt her lean back against him. “Thank you
again for waiting.”

“I’ve been thinking,” he murmured, “that if you’re working late, you could just stay here. It’s
stupid to go all the way across town. Half the time, you’re too tired to apparate safely. The
Knight bus takes forever. Flying isn’t safe when you’re that tired. It’s literally walking two
blocks versus all of that. Draco’s welcome too if he wants to. I mean - there’s the guest room
if he’s not here. Or just stay in with me, it’s been fine when we’ve shared so far.”

Pansy turned around, putting the knife aside, and considered him. “I hope you know that this
situation where you’re sweet and generous to a fault is exceptionally problematic. I’m meant
to be a cold, unfeeling Slytherin. And yet, I’m about to say yes. As long as you’re sure I
wouldn’t be putting you out.”

“Definitely not.” Harry smiled. “And then you won’t be so worried about being late, because
I’m going to be honest, you keep apologising, but I’ve literally never cared less about
something in my life. It’s not as if you’re fucking around. You’re off saving people who make
terrible choices by, um…”

Pansy laughed. “Getting run over by a muggle car, being savaged by a grootslang, and falling
out a five storey window while too drunk to perform any sort of self-preserving magic. To
name a few of tonight’s winners.”

“Come eat,” Harry offered. “Then you could probably take advantage of my inordinately
large bath, it has jets. I’ll put the duvets on whatever bed you want.”

Pansy had a look on her face that he couldn’t quite read. “Yours,” she said, after a minute. “If
Draco comes over, which he will because Hermione’s going to make him as soon as she
realises it’s an option, we’d better not be in separate bedrooms.”

“Sure.” Harry grinned. “As long as you wear socks. I’ve never met someone as committed to
having freezing cold feet in July.”
“It’s not my fault your environmental magic is nearly as bad as at work.” She made a face.
“And I can’t figure out what you’ve done so I can make it warmer, the spells aren’t obvious.”

“That would be central air, I told you it was a posh muggle flat,” Harry said, dryly. “There’s a
dial on the wall.”

“I don’t know what that is, but I hate it.”

“If I turn it off, you only get one duvet. Otherwise I’m going to die of heat stroke.”

Pansy considered, looking serious. “Leave it, but I get all four of my duvets, and I make no
promises about stealing your body heat. And you made the poor choice of not bringing me
lunch, so I need to eat, I’m fairly confident I’m on the verge of running out of ATP.”

Harry laughed. “I’m about as good with that as you are with muggle air conditioning, but get
a plate.”

“Hey,” Pansy said, after she’d pushed him back and started taking all the carrots. He’d put in
double, and he had a feeling she was still going to take them all. “Thank you. Sincerely. I’m
enthusiastic about no bus.”

“Not a problem,” Harry said, with a smile.

_______

“Thanks for the sandwich.” A few days later at lunch, Pansy grabbed a chart out of the rack.
“We’re getting killed, I’ve got to go deal with…” She glanced down. “Ooh, vanishing
sickness, that’s fun. Might make up for the uncontrollable vomiting I handled before lunch.
But I’m off at seven, we could do dinner at yours.”

“If you’re okay with take away. I’ve got to figure out a strategy for Appleby. We’ve got them
this weekend.” He sighed. “And they’ve got a new seeker I can’t seem to figure out.”

“Wolverton?” Pansy said. “There’s nothing to figure. He’s inexperienced. Appleby’s starters
are all physical. He’ll stay by the chasers. If you just stay clear of it, you’ll be fine.”

“How do you mean?”

“I want Italian.” She grinned. “I’ll walk you through the finer points of quidditch after work,
clearly you need the help.”

After dinner - wherein Pansy put away a truly astonishing number of meatballs - she
carefully considered all the play diagrams he’d been working on all afternoon and shoved
them aside.

“Look, it’s easy,” she said, taking one of his maps and drawing a line through it. “Wiltshire
and Sweetwater play close. There’s no distance there, ever, and they’ll pull your chasers into
it. They play like they’re only allowed into a quarter of the field. The whole game’s going to
be in here, right by the hoops. And it’s going to probably be a four, five hundred point game
on both sides, because if you’re not fucking around flying everywhere, you’ve got more time
to score. But it’s always a bit of a mess, because everyone flies into each other, and I’ve
never seen an Appleby game where someone didn’t get utterly wrecked by a bludger.”

“Yeah. I absolutely hate playing them. There’s never any room.”

“That’s where you’re thinking about it wrong.” Pansy drew an expansive scribble on the rest
of the diagram. “They won’t play backfield, they won’t play high, so there’s all that blank
space. Wolverton is going to stay in it. I know because absolutely everyone usually stays in it,
and I think it’s fucking stupid every time. Especially when you do it, I’ve wanted to strangle
you about it for years. Because you’re good enough to keep out of it.”

Harry shook his head. “The snitch stays where the people are. Number one rule. It isn’t going
to be anywhere else. So with them, I have to.”

“The snitch is going to spend eighty percent of its time in there,” Pansy conceded. “But if
you stay with everyone else, you’ve got to see it ten times to even get one chance to grab it,
because there’s always a player in your way. You’re having to watch for bludgers. And
Sweetwater bullies you every time. You just let him push you around, you always give
ground, which, by the way, is fucking stupid of you. So you’ve got your attention split in
eighteen directions, you’re blocked in, and everyone’s going to get in your way. But if you
stay out of it, you can ignore literally everything except finding the snitch. The bludgers
aren’t going to fuck off across the pitch for one player. But the snitch will come out
occasionally. Not often, maybe, but when it does, you won’t have anything in your way. And
you’re good enough and fast enough to get there if you see it. You’ve got the experience to
find it when it’s clear. Wolverton doesn’t. He won’t take the risk. But you should.”

“Huh,” Harry said, thoughtfully. “I hadn’t really considered it that way.”

“Yes, because you’re terrible at thinking outside of the box.” Pansy nudged her foot against
his under the table. “And I expect you to take notes before you play the Cannons again,
because the way you deal with Jameson makes me quite literally want to throw myself out of
the stands to my death. Or, more accurately, the way you completely fail to deal with him.”

“So,” Harry said, with a grin, “have you just secretly been coming to all my matches for
years?”

Pansy snorted. “Puddlemere’s owner had an MI and somehow we didn’t kill him, so now all
the healers get free tickets to all the London stadium matches. I mean, they aren’t particularly
good seats, but I usually go if I’m not working. Which means I’m subjected to your poor
strategic choices on a fairly regular basis.”

“On the bright side, now you’re in a position to berate me about all of them.”

“I’ll help you against anyone except the Harpies.” Pansy grinned. “But you’re on your own
there.”

“You’ve just missed a fantastic opportunity to give me rubbish advice to help out Caitrin.”

“She doesn’t need the help.”

“Doesn’t she?” Harry said, thoughtfully. “Because we’ve beaten them the last five times
we’ve played.”

“I’m not arguing that the Falcons on the whole are probably superior to the Harpies given the
current roster. I just think that she’s better than you. There’s no point in catching the snitch if
you’re down by more than 150.”

Harry laughed. “If she were that good, she’d catch it before they ended up 150 behind.”

“Spoken like a man with one of the longer catch time averages in the league.”

“Spoken like a man whose team has come out on top on point totals five years running
because he gives them time to score,” Harry countered, then grinned. “You can be quick out
the gate or you can be good. Lowest catch time average is Smythe, what does that tell you.”

“That’s presumably skewed by the match where he fell off his broom in the first three
minutes and managed to land on the snitch.”

“He’s bloody awful. I almost feel badly for Caerphilly, except I hate them, so I don’t.”

“Maybe they could attract better players if they weren’t so insistent on being filthy cheats.”
Pansy got up from the table. “Were you smart enough to get dessert?”

“What sort of fake boyfriend do you think I am?” Harry said, amused. “There’s tiramisu in
there somewhere. And an order of chicken parmigiana so you’ve got lunch tomorrow.”

“Hmm.” Pansy got the carton out of the bag. “Do you want to share? We could watch a
movie. But I’m going to insist on explosions, we aren’t wasting your excessively large
television and… weird muggle audio thing.”

“Surround sound.” Harry got up, too, stretching. There was probably no point in getting
aggravated over the fact that Pansy had invalidated an entire afternoon of work in five
minutes. He also decided to let go of the fact that she was right. “Sure. Although, full
disclosure, I got two pieces, and I was going to pretend I didn’t want mine so you could have
that for lunch too.”

“For the record -” Pansy summoned two spoons out of the drawer and went to fall on the
couch. “You’re definitely getting fake lucky tonight.” She took a bite, looking vaguely
speculative. “Probably right here, honestly, I’d put out on the sofa for that level of desert
subterfuge.”

Harry snorted, coming over to stretch out beside her, taking a spoon. “Sorry,” he said, taking
a bite. “I’m fake withholding sex because you were extremely insulting about my quidditch
skills. I’m deeply offended.”

“Potter, I’m a Slytherin. Insults are basically foreplay.”

“Say I’m better than Caitrin Baines,” he said, “and you can absolutely have your way with
me.”
“No.” Pansy elbowed him. “I refuse. I’m not selling out to the patriarchy for sex.”

“Hmm,” Harry said, grinning. “Come up with three things I’m better at than her, and I’ll
absolutely fake go down on you. You can keep pretending she’s better overall.”

He licked his spoon off pointedly, trying not to laugh.

“Faster spiral dive, more reach, and you are in fact better about knowing when you’ve got
room to run the clock for points,” Pansy said, with no hesitation. “I’ll even concede that
you’re better overall in rain and snow.”

Harry settled in against her side and gave up, starting to laugh. “What? One whole extra
complimentary thing more than I asked for? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were
enthusiastic about the idea.”

Pansy grinned at him. “Extraordinarily.”

“Hang on. Have I just figured out how to motivate you to be nicer to me? Is that all it takes?”

“Mm,” Pansy agreed, around another bite. “Shame you didn’t figure it out years ago, I
could’ve had so much more fun at all those stupid holiday parties.”

“That would probably have been a pretty marked improvement for me too.”

“Next year, I’m voting for all sorts of fake indecency in the coatroom.”

“Deal,” Harry said. “Have you seen the remote?”

“The word you’re looking for, since you refuse to use nonverbal magic, is ‘accio.’”

“Oh, shut it,” Harry said, but he summoned the remote anyway.

_____

The pre-match warm up was supposed to be off limits to the press and the public, and
security never let anyone through. So Harry had to laugh when he spotted someone lounging
in the stands and realised it was Pansy.

“Back in a minute,” he said, to Simmons, before he flew over to her.

“Hi,” he said, sliding off his broom. “What are you doing over here?”

“Oh, you know.” Pansy grinned. “I desperately needed to check your collarbone before the
game after an incident last week. They’ll let healers in. And Telshore needed off for their
girlfriend’s birthday, so I traded them shifts. Tell Lake his broom’s pulling to the right and
that he needs to get it looked at before you start.”

“No, I mean -” He gestured. They were standing in the single worst section. “What are you
doing over here?”
“They do check tickets, you know.”

“Well,” Harry said, thoughtfully, “it’s possible I’m a fucking idiot who didn’t remember to
tell you that you’re meant to be sitting in the friends and family section, and I might’ve
forgotten to mention there’s a pass for you at the box office. We get two every match.”

“Those are the best seats,” Pansy protested. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“I hate to break it to you,” Harry said, dryly, “but you actually sort of have to, because you’re
meant to be my girlfriend, and everyone else’s girlfriends sit up there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very. I never have anyone come unless Ron and Bill are around, they owe me a few hundred
of them.” He lifted a hand to the back of his neck. “Honestly, if I’d known you were actually
coming to matches, I’d have been giving them to you for the last few years. And people
trade, so it’d be easy for me to get some others.” He grinned. “It’s possible Caitrin owes me
for covering her when her entire ludicrous Welsh family came at Christmas. Pretty sure I can
get you up there for Harpies matches. And, um, I can keep getting you up there even after we
- you know. After. Plenty of people have friends come.”

Pansy stared at him for a good thirty seconds before she nearly tripped over a seat and flung
her arms around him. Harry laughed, wrapping his arms around her. “Just go up, nobody’s
going to stop you. And I’ll tell Lake. Thanks. He never pays attention to that sort of thing.”

She’d buried her face in his practice robes, and he paused. “Pansy, are you actually -”

“Fuck off, no,” Pansy said, muffled. She was definitely sniffling. “I’m just overcome with
feelings about Caitrin Baines.”

“So,” Harry said, dryly, “invest in industrial amounts of chocolate?”

“Men,” Pansy muttered. She sounded vaguely derisive. “You always make stupid
assumptions.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, grinning. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “But I’m, you know,
also pretty sure I’m not wrong.”

“I hate you,” Pansy said. “You’re just so fucking…”

“...right?”

“Nice to me.” Pansy pulled back, glaring at him. “And the fact that you’d have been nice to
me before, when I didn’t actually have anything to offer in exchange, is somehow even more
utterly infuriating.”

Harry reached, pulling on the end of her braid with another grin. “Not everything has to be
transactional.”

“Spoken like a Gryffindor.”

“Mm,” Harry agreed, pulling her closer, and kissed her until he felt her start to smile against
his mouth. “I’d better get back over there.”

“I’m too picky about chocolate to let anyone else buy it, don’t bother. But I probably
wouldn’t throw away crisps if you bought them.”

“So what you’re trying to say,” Harry teased, letting her go, “is that I’m right.”

“No, although I’m willing to concede that there’s a non-zero chance that you’re not wrong.”

“I’ll take it.” Harry got a leg over on his broom, which had been hovering. “See you after.”

He’d hoped to keep the match short, largely because points weren’t worth it in the face of
injuries, but five hours in, he finally tapped out in favour of letting Ellis take a stab at it. He’d
only seen the snitch twice, and it was clear Appleby’s seeker wasn’t having a much better
time of it.

“Stay the fuck away from the rest of them,” he said. “I don’t care if you catch the snitch, but I
don’t want you getting hit by a bludger. Come back in a few minutes, I just need water.”

“Got it,” Ellis said, grinning. “Although honestly, I wouldn’t mind being patched up, your
girlfriend’s fit.”

Harry turned, a little surprised to find Pansy in the players’ section. She was arguing with the
team healer. “Don’t push it.”

When he went down, going for the chest of bottled water, he could hear her talking to the
team healer. Simmons was watching the back and forth, his arm at an odd angle. He and one
of Appleby’s players had run into each other on the turn.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Pansy was saying, loudly. “It’s a simple fucking
fix, a fucking first week student could manage it, and you’ve just completely fucked it up. I
could’ve had him back out in three minutes, but now I’m going to have to undo all that. No
wonder Harry constantly requires putting back together. You’re just attempting to fake
medicine with store-bought potions, charlatanical showmanship, and complete fucking
ineptitude.”

“Um,” Harry said. “Should I -”

“No, don’t stop her,” Lake said. He was leaning back on a bench, a bag of ice against an
enormous bruise around his eye. Someone had elbowed him in the face. “It’s glorious.”

“On the one hand,” their manager said, thoughtfully, from where she was sitting next to Lake,
“I think I’m about to need a new healer. On the other, it seems possible that it might be an
improvement. Think she wants a job?”

“Not a chance.” Harry poured a cup of water over his head and shrugged out of his sweat-
soaked robes. “But she can probably recommend someone she hates less than him.”
“What the fuck did you even do here, this nerve block borders on barbaric -” Pansy was
saying, in the background, crouching by Simmons.

“I was trying to -” the team healer said.

“That was a rhetorical question,” Pansy said, coldly. “If I want to hear your amateurish and
utterly deficient opinions, I can assure you, you’ll be aware.” She touched Simmons’ wrist.
“Can you squeeze my hand, Declan?”

He shook his head. “I can’t move it, but it still hurts like bloody hell.” He looked a bit
worried. “That’s bad, right? Is it bad?”

“It’s not ideal, but I think that in this case, the cure has been markedly worse than the
poison.” Pansy turned to look at the healer. “I’ll take the rest of the match. Your inutile
services, if they could even be described as such, are no longer required. Unless you’d like to
stay and continue recklessly endangering professional athletes.”

The other healer threw his hands up and stomped off.

“So,” Lake said, thoughtfully, “does she talk like that in bed? If yes, does she have a
brother?”

“Watch it or I won’t fix your zygomatic arch,” Pansy said, archly, then glanced up at him
with a smile. “Hi, Harry.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Having fun?”

“Something like that.” She’d turned Simmons’ arm over, and she put her left hand up,
holding up a finger. “How many fingers am I holding up? I’ll ask a few times, we’ve got to
keep checking, so keep your eyes over here. Then tell me when it stops hurting.”

Harry watched Simmons turn his head, looking at her hand. All the tension bled out of his
face a moment later. “One. I think it’s better -”

Pansy yanked hard, and Harry watched all the bones in his forearm suddenly slide back into
place.

“Urgh.” Lake pulled a face. “I’m definitely not into that bit.”

Jordanna, the manager, looked up at him. “Anything new I need to know that doesn’t involve
horrifying revelations about Lake’s sexual proclivities?”

Lake snorted. “Appleby is rubbish and their beaters are utter wankers, as per usual.”

Harry shook his head, grabbing for a towel and another bottle of water. “Nothing new. I could
try getting in there, but -”

“No, you can’t,” Pansy said, absently. He watched the bruising on Simmons’ arm disappear
under her hand. She switched to three fingers. “Quit trying to abandon my perfectly good
strategy just because you’re impatient. How many now?”
“Er, three.”

“She’s right,” Jordanna said. “Stick with the original plan. At least training all week with
extra bludgers helped, no one’s gotten hit yet.”

“Just battered by fucking Barrowton,” Lake muttered.

“Squeeze my hand. How many now?”

“Four -” Simmons squeezed, then looked down, startled. “Oh. It’s back to normal.”

“Are you worried about a head injury?” Jordanna said.

“Not in the slightest.” Pansy smiled at Simmons. “Just distracting you. You can get back out
there.”

Simmons shook his hand out. “Thanks. That’s loads better.”

Pansy stood up, then came over to drop a kiss on Harry’s cheek. She held up a vial. “Not just
water, you’ll mess up your electrolytes. Take this.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Harry downed it - it went down like straight salt, and he coughed. Rebalancing
potions were universally awful.

“Doing okay?” she murmured.

“Tired,” he admitted, with a smile. “But happy to see you.”

“Hi,” Lake said, loudly. “Excuse me, not to interrupt, but I’m dying over here. My brain
could be bleeding. I might be on the verge of collapse.”

“You’re just trying to get yelled at,” Pansy said, mildly. “Unfortunately, I’m not falling for
your usual tricks.”

“Ellis has seen it four times.” Jordanna had been watching the match. “He hasn’t gone for it,
but I think it’s down around the stands on the south side.”

“Better get in there before Wolverton notices,” Harry said, with a sigh. He reached for a clean
set of robes. Pansy reached over, squeezing his hand. Some of the muscle ache and
exhaustion disappeared.

“Right.” She’d started focusing on Lake. “Tilt your head back, and let me see.”

“Don’t be too mean, he might like it.” Harry grinned. “See you soon. Hopefully after I’ve
ended this mess.”

“Quit squirming,” Pansy said. “Honestly, I can’t fix anything unless you hold still.”

“It’s very hard,” Lake said, straight-faced. “I might need you to hold me down.”

Harry snorted. “Try not to have too much fun without me.”
“I’ll do my best to keep him in line,” Jordanna said, dryly. She mimed hitting him on the back
of the head. “Mostly by pointing out that women do absolutely nothing for him, so he really
ought to quit flirting before he gets another black eye.”

It took another two hours - trading the lead back and forth by ten or twenty points - before he
finally got a real glance at the snitch. It was hovering low, darting around the opposite end of
the pitch to the hoops. Pansy had been right. Because everyone else was clustered, he had all
the room in the world for a clean dive down onto it. For a few seconds, it was his favourite
sort of quidditch, the perfect combination of luck and execution, with thousands of hours of
hard-won skill behind it. Even exhausted, he was always grateful for the privilege of
succeeding at the thing he’d always loved best in the world. When he came up with the
snitch, pulling out sharply, he found himself smiling.

“Thank fucking god,” Lake said. He’d been the closest, and he very nearly fell off his broom
next to him, throwing himself onto the grass. “I was starting to think that would never end.”

He got swarmed by the team a minute later, and after he’d ducked out of the exhausted
celebration, he nearly got hit in the face by a dictoquill that was hovering in front of him.

He groaned. “Dennis, come on. I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear after a shower.”

“Sorry, Harry,” Dennis said. “You know I have to -”

Harry suddenly felt someone run into him, and only barely managed to catch Pansy when she
jumped into his arms. He spun her, laughing, and she grinned.

“That play, Potter,” she said, sounding breathless. “I will absolutely let you have me here and
now. That full stop was fucking exquisite. I’ve never been more wound up in my life.”

“Pansy, you remember Dennis,” Harry said, dryly. “You know, my friend with The Prophet.
Whose recording equipment absolutely just caught that, thanks.” He laughed, setting her
down, and tried not to blush. “What’s it going to take to keep you from printing that?”

“Hmm,” Dennis said. He looked as if he were trying not to laugh. “An on the record quote
from each of you about your relationship and a signed copy of the scoresheet for Cameron.
Had to send him home a few hours ago, this one was too long for a six year old.”

Harry made sure the snitch was deactivated, then held it out with a smile. “I’ll do you one
better. He can have it.”

“Thanks, Harry.” Dennis leaned over the railing, taking it. “Now, on the record…”

Pansy grinned up at him. “I’m really only in this because he’s exceedingly fit and rather
famous, I’m absolutely using him for media attention, and my long game is to marry him for
the money. You may quote me.”

Dennis grinned. “Tell me more.”

Harry elbowed her. “Don’t start.”

Pansy turned, considering him, and slid her hand into his. “On the record, he’s a brilliant
quidditch player, but I’m actually with him because he’s a fundamentally decent person
who’s always been kind to me. I like spending time with him, no matter what we’re doing,
and he’s good for me. I suppose I’d be willing to let you say that I’m rather smitten.”

“Oh,” Harry said, startled. He hadn’t expected…

“Harry?” Dennis said, still sounding a bit amused.

“Um,” he said. “Yeah, I - yeah. Me too.”

Pansy laughed, brushing his hair out of his face. She tilted her face up toward him with a
smile. “That’s a terrible quote. Just tell them you’re with me because I’m phenomenal in
bed.”

“I’m with you because I like you,” Harry said, quietly. “I like… that you don’t expect me to
be anything I’m not. And that you’re funny. And incredible at your job, you’re so fucking
smart. And nice. I just… I just like all of it. I like you. A lot.”

Pansy’s cheeks went faintly pink, but she just laughed again. “And good in bed. Don’t forget.
I want the readers to know.”

“Yeah, that too,” Harry said, dryly. “Dennis, can the rest of it wait until I’ve showered?”

Dennis was grinning. “I’ve got everything I need. Don’t be shocked if it’s above the fold
tomorrow, though.”

Harry sighed. “I don’t suppose that’ll be because of the win?”

Dennis shook his head, still looking amused. “Not so much. Sorry.”

“Look on the bright side,” Pansy offered, squeezing his hand with a grin. “Think about how
deeply it’s going to annoy my parents.”

“There’s a thought.” Harry squeezed back. “I suppose we might as well weaponise

everyone’s obsession with my love life.”

“There’s the spirit,” Dennis said, cheerfully. “Thanks for the snitch. Cam’ll be over the
moon.”

“Come on,” Pansy said, grinning. “The sooner you shower, the sooner I can take you home
and shag you.”

“Don’t print that either,” Harry warned, over his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dennis said, waving.

____

A few days later, when Harry got back to his flat after training, Pansy was sitting at the
kitchen table with a cup of coffee, poking at her phone. She didn’t look particularly happy.
“Something wrong at work?” he said, putting his things down.

“No, Draco says it’s… fine,” she said. “In fact, it’s so fine that he actually used a word that
begins with a ‘q’ and ends in ‘t’ that we only use if we’re so desperately bored that a mass
casualty incident has started to seem appealing.”

“...quiet?”

Pansy made a face. “When the entire Ministry explodes, you two only have yourselves to
blame. And don’t leave your shoes there, I’m only going to trip over them.”

“Sorry.” He kicked them vaguely in the direction of the shoe rack, then caught her look and
decided to actually put them away. “So what’s wrong?”

She shoved her phone across the table. “It’s the stupid muggle library. I’ve been on the
waitlist for this book for two months, but you only get a day to confirm that you want it once
it’s your turn. And my shift yesterday wasn’t fucking quiet, so I missed the alert about it. So
now I’m back at the end of the line behind twenty one other people for two copies.”

“You could… buy it?” Harry offered. “There’s a muggle bookshop a few blocks north of
here.”

Pansy snorted. “I really enjoy that you think that my budget includes brand new hardcover
muggle novels, Potter.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to -”

“It’s fine.” She sighed. “I’ll just wait.”

“I could watch it for you while you’re at work,” he offered. “Your alert thing. If you want.”

Pansy laughed, getting up. “That’s sweet, but I’ve made the mistake of putting my calendar in
here, so I can’t do without it.”

“I guess you couldn’t send eight hundred thousand texts a day to Draco either,” Harry said,
dryly.

“That too.”

“Have you eaten? I’m starving.”

“Just coffee. I hear that doesn’t count.”

“Definitely not,” Harry agreed. “We could do the muggle place with the porridge with about
eighteen kinds of fruit in it that you somehow like. And the eggs for people with actual
taste.”

“Okay.” Pansy slid her phone into her bag, still looking vaguely put out.
She was uncharacteristically quiet through the walk and breakfast, and when he nudged her,
she finally looked up at him.

“Everything okay?” He pushed the plate of coffee cake toward her with a smile. “I’ve
insulted your breakfast three times and you haven’t taken the bait.”

“Sorry,” Pansy said. “It’s just a bit frustrating, sometimes. The things I give up for my job.
Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t want to do anything else, but sometimes it’s just sort of… I
don’t know, isolating. The pay isn’t great, the hours are ridiculous, it’s impossible to meet
anyone because I’m always busy, all my friends are asleep when I’m free, and I can’t even
manage to get a stupid fucking library book.”

Harry decided not to examine the fact that he wasn’t entirely unhappy that Pansy was too
busy to date.

“Hey.” He nudged her again. “I’m perfectly happy with our fake relationship.”

Pansy laughed, softly. “You’d hate it in reality.”

“Nah. I sort of like it, honestly. My schedule’s fucked too. It’s nice to not feel guilty about it.”

“That’s something, anyway,” Pansy said. “Do you want to go by the park?”

“Sure.” Harry got up. “As long as we can run an errand first, I’ve got to do something.”

He’d gotten used to tangling his fingers with hers while they walked - she never seemed to
mind, and Draco stared every time they did it. He led her a few blocks north and across an
alley, then considered the store fronts and pushed open the door to a muggle bookshop.

“Potter -” Pansy started.

“Go get your book,” he said, firmly. “I’ll very happily pay for it.”

Pansy was shaking her head. “I couldn’t possibly -”

“Look,” he said. “You hate flowers. You’re too particular about chocolate for me to get it for
you. You can’t wear jewellery at work. So go pick out some books. I’ll be very annoyed if
you come back with fewer than five. You can tell Draco I got them for you, if that makes you
feel better.”

“Potter.” She’d folded her arms. “I’m not letting you treat me like a charity case.”

“I’m not,” Harry said, mildly. “I’m treating you like my girlfriend. Feel free to see it as an
attempt to remedy the truly ludicrous income differential between professional athletes and
healthcare workers. I’m sticking it to society’s fucked priorities. You aren’t allowed to argue
with me about it, you’ll be contributing to oppression or something. You gave me a whole
lecture on it last week.”

Pansy, to his surprise, actually laughed. “I hate it when you use things I’ve said against me.”
“It’s a shame for you I’m so good at it.” He turned her around, then put a hand between her
shoulders, pushing her toward the shelves. “At least five. Then we’re going to Flourish and
Blotts after the park so you can get another five there. And I’m going to carry all of them so
that when we inevitably get photographed, I’ll look chivalrous, and you aren’t going to argue
with me about any of it.”

Pansy seemed to be considering him. “I’m absolutely going to get you back later for being
bossy.”

Harry grinned. “This friend of mine says that’s a sexist word that we should all replace with
‘decisive’ or ‘assertive.’”

“You should know,” Pansy said, with a look over her shoulder, “that Slytherins find being
outmanoeuvred to be something of a turn on. My revenge might involve handcuffs and a
blindfold.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Harry laughed. “You can have your fake way with me once you’ve finished
your book. I’m going to go look at football magazines so I can keep up with everyone at the
coffee shop.”

“Hey,” Pansy said, quietly. “Thanks, Harry.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, smiling. “Thanks for letting me have the win.”

“Mm,” Pansy said, before she disappeared around a row of bookshelves. “We’ll see about
that.”

____

Harry had spent the entire weekend at back to back away games, and Pansy’s schedule had
clearly been wrong when he’d gotten home. She hadn’t responded to an owl, but it seemed
like a fair guess that she’d gotten called in. When he walked in, Draco was at the central desk
with a sea of paper spread out in front of him. “Hey,” Harry said. “I’ve got dinner, Hermione
said you were slammed. Your entire order is spring rolls, don’t worry. Is Pansy around?”

“Thanks. She’s in with a patient. And fair warning, she’s in an abysmal mood, made worse by
having to fake nice because you can’t be mean to sick people, so you might want to leave that
and run.”

“She was fine Friday night. What happened?”

“She got a letter from her mother.” Draco didn’t look particularly impressed. “You know, the
usual ‘recant everything you’ve said in the last decade, come back to hating muggleborns,
admit Voldemort had the right idea, marry a nice pureblood boy, ideally Malfoy because that
won’t require any additional contract work for our solicitors, and we’ll forgive you and put
you back in the will and restore your trust fund’ rubbish.”

Pansy had never mentioned her parents, and although there were a few photos in her flat,
he’d just assumed they weren’t particularly close.
“We haven’t talked that much about her family. So I don’t know the story.”

“That about covers it.” Draco shook his head. “Unlike mine, they kept their hands just clean
enough to avoid being prosecuted, they’re fucking terrible to her, and it destroys her every
time because she’s never stopped loving them.”

Harry had always been grateful for the extensive, unconditional acceptance of the Weasleys,
but he’d never thought about what it might be like to be on a different side from the people he
loved. It had been bad enough, with Ginny, but even though he’d been afraid that it might
change things for everyone else, it hadn’t. Molly still sent him care packages every few
weeks. Bill asked him to dinner and came over every time he was in London.

“Any advice on how to help?”

“Accept that you can’t possibly understand it.” Draco reached in for the carton of spring rolls.
“Put up with it if she decides to use you as a punching bag, she probably will. Never come in
empty handed, which you haven’t, as long as there’s red curry in there.”

“Of course there’s -”

He saw Pansy come out of an exam room.

“I think I need you to take that one,” she said to Draco, after she’d walked over. “I’m not as
good with bones, and he’s got about ten broken ribs. I fixed the pulmonary contusions.
Advice has been given about not getting between a hippocampus and her foal.”

Draco held out a hand. “Got it. Can you take a look at these labs? I can’t figure out what
toxin it is for the life of me, and she’s unconscious. Harry brought dinner.”

“Hi,” Pansy said. “Thanks. I didn’t really feel like lunch. But I guess I should eat something.
And sure, I’ll go over them.”

She looked terrible. It was obvious she’d been crying.

“Hey. Draco told me. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Pansy passed Draco the chart. “Nothing new. I ought to be used to it by now.”

He had absolutely no idea how to handle it, but he knew what he’d do if it were Hermione.

He held out a hand. “Come here.”

She looked conflicted for a few seconds, then, to his surprise, actually came. He pulled her
into a hug and kept her there.

“Hey,” he murmured, stroking a hand through her hair when she buried her face against his
chest. “It’s not okay, it’s awful, but I’m here if you need me.”

“Fuck,” Pansy said, thickly. “I only just managed to quit crying, now you’ve wrecked it.”
Harry smiled. “I had to wash this shirt anyway.”

She actually laughed, muffled. “Don’t forget all my work robes if you’re doing laundry.”

“I’m starting to think you’re just in this for my washing machine,” he teased.

“Oh, absolutely.” Pansy drew back to look up at him. “And I suppose the sex isn’t entirely
terrible.”

“I don’t completely hate it,” Harry agreed, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It’s their
fucking loss, Pansy.”

“I know.” She took a breath. “It still hurts like hell, though.”

“Yeah.” He met her eyes. “I know it does. But you’ve got me and Draco and Hermione. And
I’m pretty sure that guy whose pulmonary something or another you just fixed is grateful you
exist. That last one’s just a guess, though.”

Pansy laughed again, wiping her eyes. “Hey,” she said, softly. “I kind of love you.”

“Hmm.” Harry grinned, brushing her hair out of her face. “That’s nice. Thanks.”

“Don’t make me reconsider.”

“I’m not sure that’s how that works.”

Pansy was still smiling at him. “Try me.”

“Don’t you have lives to go save?”

“One more, then I’ll come and eat curry.” She glanced over at Draco. “I’m taking the case I
want, and you’re not going to stop me.”

Draco cleared his throat and looked at the very full rack. “Kranokoloptes sting is probably the
fastest, just order the antidote from pharmacy. But I can also offer you a stabbing by a cursed
knife. Or pharyngitis if you’d like boredom.”

“Cursed knife, definitely. Give it here.”

Harry finally let her go. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

“Depends on how fast rounds go. I think the board’s going to be a complete mess, Telshore’s
probably fucked tomorrow.”

“Well, I’ll maybe see you in the morning.”

Pansy took the chart and started down the hall.

“Hey, Pansy,” he called, waiting until she’d turned around. “Me too.”

She laughed, shaking her head, and disappeared into an exam room.
Harry turned back to find Draco studying him. His face was inscrutable.

“I have no fucking idea how you managed that,” Draco said, finally. “I mean absolutely
fucking none, she’d have punched me if I’d tried any of it. But well done, you.”

“It’s the Gryffindor thing,” Harry said, dryly. “Everyone just tolerates displays of emotion
from us because they know we can’t help it.”

“I’d better go get this patient.” He paused, after taking a few steps, and then turned halfway
back toward him. “I didn’t think it was going to work. You and her. But maybe I was wrong.”

“You know what?” Harry said, finally. “I didn’t either. But it’s good, somehow. Really
unexpected. But… good.”

If he was honest with himself, it was the truth: even if they were pretending, there were
pieces that weren’t lies. He was pretty sure they were friends. And he’d barely thought about
Ginny for weeks. Pansy somehow wasn’t leaving any room in his head.

“I’ll make sure she actually eats dinner,” Draco said. “Be safe getting home.”

___

Thursday, Harry woke up in the middle of the night to find that Pansy wasn’t beside him.
She’d worked a thirty-six, so he’d brought dinner to her flat and let her fall asleep in the
middle of a movie, slowly sliding down into his lap. He’d been too tired to apparate home,
although he had to admit that it was probably time to concede that he was making excuses to
sleep in the same place on nights when she wasn’t working, because somehow, sleeping was
so much easier with her there. He’d spent thirteen years sleeping next to someone else, and
being alone had taken more getting used to than he’d expected. At least, that seemed like the
logical explanation, although part of him didn’t want to examine the point too closely or to
think about the fact that sleeping next to Ginny had never helped his tendency towards
insomnia. It was disorienting to find the other half of the bed cold when he reached out, and
he thought for a moment that she’d been called in before he realised she was on mandatory
leave.

He found her in the sitting room, standing by an open window, staring up at the crescent
moon. She was holding a glass of wine, wearing one of his shirts, and her hair was wet, as if
she’d just gotten out of the shower.

“Hey,” he said, softly. “Couldn’t sleep?”

She turned toward him. “Sorry, did I wake you? I was trying to be quiet.”

“Nah,” he said, coming to stand beside her. “Something interesting out there?”

She was turning the wine glass absently, a slow revolution that didn’t give much away. “No. I
was just thinking.”

“Yeah?”
“Last night was my parents’ anniversary,” she said, finally. “They always had these parties.
They’d go until all hours. I was so excited the first year they told me I could stay up.” She
smiled, looking rueful. “Of course, I fell asleep on the sofa before ten o’clock.”

Harry studied her. “I’m guessing that’s hard.”

“Somewhere out there,” she said, quietly, “there’s a universe where I cared less, and I’m at a
dinner party right now.”

“And in that universe,” Harry said, coming to wrap an arm around her, drawing her back
against his chest, “do you think you’re happy?”

“I don’t know.” Pansy leaned into him, still looking up at the moon. “I’m probably married to
Draco, with two perfect blond children, a heir and a spare, and I probably never changed
enough to realise that we didn’t work. I bet everything feels uncomplicated. I suppose I’m
enjoying getting drunk on wine that costs more than what I make in a year as a healer.”

“Would you rather have that? The whole… perfect pureblood life?”

“No, Potter,” Pansy murmured, after a moment. She turned towards him, her face dark in
profile. “If you offered me the choice a thousand times, I’d always choose the life where I’m
standing here with you tonight.”

“For what it’s worth,” Harry said, softly, “I’d pick this one every single time too.”

Pansy closed her eyes. “I’m glad.”

“Come back to bed,” he offered, pressing his nose against her neck. “I’ll keep you warm.”

He was vaguely expecting a smart remark, but she just sighed, letting him take her weight.
“Let me finish this wine. But I’ll be in soon.”

“Don’t take too long.” Harry offered a small smile. “The bed’s too big without you.”

Pansy smiled back. “I promise.”

 Chapter 4

When Harry woke up that Sunday, there was sunlight streaming in through the windows
across from his bed, and he blinked a few times, disoriented. Pansy was sitting cross-legged
at the foot of the bed, playing Slytherin solitaire, and there were a truly excessive number of
wrapped gifts on the bed, on the floor next to the bed, and all over both bedside tables.

“Um,” he said. “What time is it?”

“Half ten. I turned off your stupid muggle alarm. No one should wake up at five in the
morning on their birthday. It’s obscene.”

“I was going to go running.” Harry yawned. “You know, that thing I try to do before it gets
too hot out.”

Pansy snorted. “For the record, I categorically refused to let you out of bed, because birthday
sex is much better than athletic self-flagellation.”

Harry laughed. “I’d probably have caved on that one.”

“Probably?” Pansy said, dryly. “It’s like you have no idea how good I am with my mouth.”

Harry shifted and promptly knocked several presents on the floor.

“They usually hold the presents from fans at the office,” Harry said. “Did they send them
over instead?”

“No.” Pansy picked up the cards, flicking a cobra when it hissed at her and tried to wriggle
out of the deck. It curled into a rather sulky ball. “They’re from me. Well, mostly.” She
gestured. “There’s some from Hermione and Ron over there. Draco got you something. And
Molly Weasley’s sent a tin of biscuits and something sort of… squishy. It’s there on the floor.
My money’s on a jumper.”

“Um.” Harry sat up. “All of these?”

“Hermione claims you hate your birthday,” Pansy said, with a grin. “Which I can understand,
because none of your previous birthdays involved me. So I thought I’d do my best to make
up for it. Pick one. You don’t have to open them in order, but you have to save the thirty-first
for last.”

“In… order?”

Pansy picked up a box near her foot, then passed it over. When he turned it over, it had a tag
with the number ‘2’ taped to the bottom.

“You do have to actually open them,” Pansy said, dryly. “Unless you’d rather just have a lot
of perfectly wrapped boxes, but that’s less fun.”
“So impatient,” Harry teased, but he sat up further and unwrapped it.

When he opened the box, he found a stacking ring toy. Each ring was a hand-carved sleeping
dragon, and when he lifted the smallest one off the top, it woke up and blinked at him,
breathing out a puff of smoke.

“Oh,” he said, startled. “It’s…”

Pansy laughed. “Not a particularly age-appropriate present? It’s for your second birthday.
Because I missed it.” She nudged another present at him. “Admittedly, I was also two, so I
probably wouldn’t have been able to find toys and wrap them myself, but I’m assuming
you’ll let me have artistic licence.”

“It’s… perfect,” Harry managed.

“You’ve got thirty more, and I’d like breakfast at some point,” Pansy said. “So get to it,
Potter.”

He worked his way through the presents. There were a number of children’s toys, including a
stuffed lethifold that slunk off under his pillow and a miniature broomstick. Twenty-five was
a first edition of Quidditch Through The Ages. Sixteen was a stack of incredibly inappropriate
magazines. There was a music box, a block model of Hogwarts, an incredibly soft scarf, and
a photo of his dad and Sirius he’d somehow never seen before. Thirty, which was apparently
from Draco, was a muggle phone.

Harry could remember all the birthdays he’d spent alone as a kid, when his birthday had felt
like the single most lonely and terrible day of the year. He’d hated it for decades, because
even with cakes and parties and gifts and people who loved him, it had felt impossible to let
go of the past. His family always tried too hard, trying to make up for all of it, but somehow,
what Pansy had done didn’t feel like that.

When he’d finished unwrapping the second to last gift - fourteen, a snitch - he stopped to
look at Pansy, who was leaning against the headboard of the bed, holding his tea, which
hadn’t fit on the bedside table. She looked pleased with herself.

He reached out, touching her arm. “I think this might be the nicest gift anyone’s ever gotten
me.”

“It’s a snitch.” Pansy laughed. “I mean, it was the best snitch you could get sixteen years ago,
but they’ve sort of improved since then.”

“Not this. I mean, yes, this, but all of it.” He held it in the palm of his hand, letting it flutter.
“I can’t believe you went to so much trouble.”

“I didn’t,” Pansy said. “I mean…” She lifted a hand to the back of her neck. She’d gone
faintly pink. “It’s nothing expensive. I got almost everything second hand, I’ve just been
going to shops on my way to work.” She laughed. “Although, honestly, the snitch was the
hardest, I’ve been trying to find that model for weeks. They were sort of rubbish, it’s the
absolute opposite of a collector’s item.”
“Pansy,” he said, softly, “this whole thing is absolutely the best birthday present I’ve ever
had.”

“You’re not quite finished.” She leaned, pulling a box out from under the bed. “Here’s your
real present.”

When he opened the box, fabric spilled out. It was smooth and cold, silky under his hands,
and it felt a bit like the invisibility cloak. As he lifted it free, one side shimmered in the
sunlight, nacreous and faintly glowing. The reverse side felt like exceptionally sleek fur.

“It’s a quilt,” Pansy said, reaching out to touch it. “With acromantula silk and selkie fur, one
of my patients gave me a shed a few years ago. It holds healing magic better than anything
else.” She considered him. “I’ve been pouring magic into it for weeks, it ought to have
plenty. I just thought…” She wasn’t quite looking at him. “It won’t be incredibly fast, but if
you sleep under it, it ought to fix most things. It seemed like a good idea if you maimed
yourself at a travel match. Or when I’m not around all the time.”

“It’s…” Harry said, and then, without really meaning to, leaned over and kissed her.

She let him, smiling against his mouth, and when he pulled back, she lifted a hand, stroking it
over his cheekbone.

“Sorry,” he said, flushing. “It’s just sort of perfect.”

“I’ll give you a pass,” Pansy said, with a grin. “But only because it’s your birthday.”

Harry laughed. “I guess I’d better feed you. And call the team manager about confirming
times with the caterers for the fucking team party that I’m completely unenthused about.”

“You could say no to it,” Pansy pointed out. “Have more of an introvert level party with a
few people and a cake I’ve utterly fucked up because I can’t bake to save my life.”

“And yet, you’ve got a potion that takes a month and thirty-three finicky steps brewing in the
kitchen.”

Pansy hadn’t quite let her hand fall from his face. “Final offer, Draco makes the cake.”

Harry made a face. “Too late. Everyone’s already been invited. But maybe next year.”

Pansy finally shifted, climbing out of bed with a grin. “I’ve sorted out all the muggle places
that do free coffee and pastries on your birthday. So let’s go clean up.”

“You’re terrible,” Harry informed her.

“And brilliant,” Pansy agreed. “So get dressed. I want croissants.”

_____
“Potter,” Pansy said, that night, sounding startled. “Did Caitrin Baines just walk in your front
door?”

“She’s usually about an hour late.” Harry leaned around her to summon another beer from the
cooler, opening it on the countertop. The spell to get the top off was eluding him, which
probably had something to do with the fact that it was the fifth one. There were a truly stupid
number of people in his flat, and the music was too loud. “So yeah, that tracks.”

“If you don’t introduce me, I’m never having sex with you again.”

“You know,” Harry said, thoughtfully, “you’re very mean to me. It’s my birthday. You could
just ask. I’d do it.”

“Fine. If you introduce me, I’ll fulfil every female stereotype about women and blow jobs on
birthdays.”

“I’d like to point out that there’s a Prophet reporter around here somewhere.”

“Hey, media,” Pansy said. “Harry Potter and I have had a lot of sex. We’re planning on
having more. I’d like to give an interview about the size of his -”

He pushed her up against the counter and kissed her, mostly to shut her up but a little because
even after all the time they’d spent kissing, he was still trying to get used to it. He could
never quite wrap his head around the way her mouth opened under his every single time he
went for it, around how hard she always kissed him back.

“Seriously, though.” Pansy actually, shockingly, almost looked shy. “Will you?”

“Oi, Cat,” Harry said, perhaps more loudly than was strictly necessary. “Come over here.”

She broke away from the Cannons player she’d started talking with.

“Oi, Harry, don’t be a demanding prick,” she said, but she was grinning. He realised, slightly
belatedly, that Pansy still had a hand in the back pocket of his jeans. “What’s all this now?”

“This is Pansy,” he said. “We’re dating. She promised to do vaguely indecent things with her
tongue if I introduced you.”

“What do you mean vaguely, I’m much better than that,” Pansy said, then paused and
actually went sort of pink in the cheeks. “I mean -”

“If you’re into quidditch players, he’s definitely the wrong one.”

“Quit trying to steal my girlfriend.” Harry laughed. “And anyway, she doesn’t play for your
team.”

“Historically, that’s been true, but I can assure you, I’m a very quick study,” Pansy said.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Caitrin said, with another grin. “I don’t need you to do anything except
enjoy yourself. And I can assure you, you would.”
“Hey,” Harry protested. “You’re flirting with her in front of me. On my birthday.”

Pansy elbowed him. “Shut it, Harry. This might be the single greatest moment of my life to
date. The best seeker in the past fifty years is trying to talk me into bed.”

“That,” Harry said, “is definitely not what you said last night.”

“Hang on,” Pansy said, turning toward him. “Since when are you willing to engage in
innuendo in front of other people?” She paused, suddenly looking slightly gleeful. “Are you
drunk?”

“Possibly,” Harry said, considering his mysteriously empty beer bottle. “I fucking hate
parties.”

“Only fifty?” Caitrin said.

“You could argue me out of Lilith Davies,” Pansy said. “You’ve got more career catches. But
Saoirse Parry made it a fucking art form, and I’m very willing to die on that hill.”

Harry paused. “Who the fuck is Saoirse Parry?”

“Most underrated seeker of all time, played for Wimbourne in the 60s,” Caitrin said.
“Alternatively, the reason I’m about to spend the rest of the night trying to convince your
girlfriend to leave you for me.”

Pansy looked sort of thrilled. “Let me just get my coat.”

Harry paused. “You aren’t actually -”

“No,” Pansy said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “But I’m absolutely about to abandon you to
go talk about quidditch with Caitrin fucking Baines.”

“You can call me Cat,” Caitrin offered. “And what are the odds you know where they’ve
hidden the decent alcohol?”

“Excellent, because I’m the one that hid it.”

“Fantastic, take me,” Caitrin said. “Happy birthday, Potter.”

____

An hour later, Pansy found him talking with a few Tornadoes players.

“Hi,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “We’re nearly out of ice and I’m too tipsy to
make any, can you come help?”

“I’m drunk, so no,” he said, amused. “Maybe ask Draco.”

“You can provide moral support,” Pansy suggested. “Just come with me.”

Harry laughed. “I don’t think you actually need me for that.”

“I… might,” Pansy said, vaguely.

“Potter,” their keeper said, looking as if she were trying not to laugh, “quit being fucking
oblivious, it’s absolutely an excuse so she can snog you in some dark corner.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Um, is it?”

Pansy grinned and took him by the hand. “Excuse us.”

“So, ah,” Harry managed, once she’d drawn him away. “What were you thinking?”

“That I’ve never seen you drunk.” Pansy seemed amused. “And that I like your mouth. Want
to sneak off? No one’s going to notice.”

“They might.” Harry considered. “But I also really don’t fucking care.”

Pansy grinned. “I could like this side of you. I’ll meet you in the bedroom, I’ve got to ask
Hermione something first.”

Waiting felt a little stupid, but when she let herself in, he was absolutely drunk enough to do
exactly what he wanted, which was shoving her up against the door and kissing her until
they’d both run out of air.

“Hermione’s going to get Draco in here in a bit,” she said. “So we can just…”

“Uh huh,” Harry said, then kissed her again, harder.

The room was spinning a little, and Pansy’s mouth was hot under his. He’d mostly tried to
keep everything under control, the other times they’d done this, but he honestly couldn’t
remember why he’d bothered, because all her curves were fucking perfect under his touch.
He caught the noise she made when he moved his hands down from her hips, pulling her in
against him.

She put a hand against his chest. “Harry,” she said. “Is this okay? Because you’re drunk, and
I don’t want to -”

“Remember before everyone got here and when I’d had exactly one beer,” he said, “when I
said I was absolutely drinking but that you could do whatever you wanted with me in the
interest of trying to make Draco less… Draco? And you explicitly asked if I was all right
with this, and I said nothing more than snogging in front of everyone but that whatever else
was fine?”

“Yes. It’s just…”

“This is kind of the ‘whatever else’ I was envisioning,” Harry said, dryly. “So yeah, you’re
fine. It’s just what?”

Pansy laughed. “It’s just that you’re not usually this handsy.”

“Problem?”
“Fuck no,” Pansy said. “But I don’t know how long she’s going to take, so…”

“Right, I’ll make sure I’m convincing.”

“That wasn’t what I -”

Harry decided he wasn’t interested in the rest of the sentence. After he’d kissed her again,
Pansy wound her arms around his neck. The singularly perfect thing about her was that he
never had to think about any of it, because she always did exactly what she wanted. If he did
something she didn’t like, he knew she’d just tell him, and she wouldn’t hold anything
against him. It was easy. She was always easy. And he was starting to seriously fucking love
easy.

“I love this dress,” he said, against her mouth. “But you have no idea how much I’ve been
looking forward to taking it off you.”

“I bet,” she said, breathless, while he started to kiss his way down her neck, “you wouldn’t
have to take it off. I bet you could take me right here.”

“Oh, yeah, absolutely,” Harry murmured. “Easy lift. Was that a challenge?”

He watched her swallow. “Fuck. Maybe not the… door.”

“We’ve got all this furniture and a number of walls,” he said, with a low grin. “Pick
something.”

“That dressing table.”

She obviously wasn’t expecting it when he picked her up, but he got the feeling she didn’t
hate it based on how quickly she started kissing him again. He let her down onto the top,
stepping in against her, and she kicked off her heels.

“Back up for a minute.” She laughed. “I can’t get my knickers off with you in the way.”

“Want some help?” he said, before he could stop himself.

“No, you’ll inevitably just rip them, and I’m going for artful staging,” Pansy said. She pushed
him back with a foot, then wriggled. He watched her toss something black and very lacy
toward the middle of the room. “Come here, Potter. You’re too dressed.”

“Fuck,” he managed, as she undid his belt and unbuttoned his jeans. “You are so incredibly
fucking fit.”

Pansy grinned again. “I know. And I can tell you think so, which is sort of impressive given
how much you’ve had to drink.”

“You’ve basically got your hands on my cock. I’d seriously have to be dead, Pansy.”

“Want to know a secret?” Pansy murmured.

He was trying not to focus on the fact that getting his zip down was definitely not a non-
contact sport. “Maybe.”

“I’m very much in the same boat.” She pulled him in, then wrapped her legs around him.

“Yeah?” Harry managed, voice low.

“Yeah,” Pansy murmured. “Want to feel?”

He had a feeling that if he’d had exactly one more beer, he’d probably have just gone for it.

“Um. Yes, but I…”

“You’re at least going to have to put a hand up my dress,” Pansy said, very quietly, with a
grin. “There’s not a chance that someone I’ve been seeing for a month would be stupid
enough not to know that eighty-two percent of women can’t orgasm from penetration alone.”

“One, it’s like you’ve forgotten the hundreds of thousands of hours of my life I’ve spent with
Hermione. Two - ” He pushed her dress up, then got his hands on her hips, easing her closer
to the edge of the desk. “I really only care which part of that applies to you.”

“Very firmly in the eighty-two percent.” Pansy buried a hand in his hair. “And foreplay’s
normally a must, but I’m going to be honest, I’ve been thinking about doing this for about
forty-five minutes, so you can get away with taking some shortcuts.”

“I’m very against shortcuts.” Harry laughed. “Tell me what you like, Pansy, not what I can
get away with.”

“Let’s just say,” Pansy murmured, “that I wouldn’t complain about you on your knees.”

“Bad news. I’m way too drunk to manage that kind of temptation if we try to fake it, we’d
just end up with my mouth actually on you,” He tugged her dress down over one shoulder so
he could kiss over her collarbone. “Pretty sure Hermione would notice if she walked in on
that.” He paused, feeling his face heat. “Sorry, I’m very drunk, it’s just that I - you know.
Like doing that. I didn’t mean that I’d do anything you didn’t -”

“Potter, stop talking before I decide to take you up on that.”

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed, and kissed her again, because it definitely seemed safer than
continuing to talk.

He was so caught up in it that he very nearly missed the voices in the hallway.

“Damn, that’s locked,” Draco said. There was a long pause. “And given that no one’s
responded to me knocking, I’m just going to assume there are professional athletes making
very poor sexual decisions in there.”

“Just use Harry’s,” Hermione offered. “It’s off his bedroom. He won’t care.”

“I have no idea how long that’s going to be, so I should probably -”

Harry heard the door.

“Fuck,” Draco said, faintly, after a few seconds. “I have seriously got to stop doing this.”

Pansy hadn’t taken her hands off him. “Hi. Fuck off, Draco.”

“What -” Hermione paused. “Oh. Sorry, we were just…”

“Um, sorry,” Harry said. “I didn’t think anyone would come in here, I -”

“If you embarrass him so much he stops, I will figure out where I’ve left my fucking wand
and experiment with casting Avada kedavra on two people at once,” Pansy warned. “Go
away.”

“I’ll just, ah, lock this, then,” Hermione said, pulling the door shut.

“I’m going to get another drink,” Draco said, from the hall.

“Maybe we should -” Harry started.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Potter.”

She lowered her hand between them, pressing her palm against his erection through his
boxers, and he couldn’t help the noise he made, which was… absolutely why she’d done it.

“Yeah, okay,” he managed. “Just keep doing that.”

Pansy waited a very, very long moment before she pulled her hand away. She leaned back on
the dressing table, glancing at the door. “I think we’re all right.”

“Um,” Harry said, swallowing. “Seems - good, yeah.”

“Unless you’d like some help with that.” She grinned. “It’s your birthday. You could say
yes.”

He was almost positive he’d never wanted to agree to something more in his life, but it was
absolutely a terrible idea.

He took a breath, stepping back. “I’m good. I just, um, need a few minutes.”

“Mm,” Pansy said, sounding thoughtful. “Would you be less obstinate about letting me touch
you if I let you get me off first?”

“Um,” Harry said, again. “I’m pretty sure Draco and Hermione left.”

Pansy sighed. “Well, I’m going to go into the bathroom, and for the record, I’d really prefer
your hands to mine, so I’m not going to shut the door all the way. Come in if you change
your mind.”

“You’re just going to…” Harry said. He felt himself blush. “Seriously?”
Pansy hopped down off the table, then laughed. “I’m a bit less obsessed with self-control than
you, and I can only manage so much proximity to -” She gestured up and down. “All of that
without needing to do something about it.”

The worst part was how he couldn’t quite stop thinking about the fact that it probably meant
she’d liked it.

“I’m not obsessed with self-control,” he protested.

“Feel free to keep telling yourself that.” Pansy leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you
out there.”

____

“I still think it’s fucking ridiculous,” Simmons said, an hour later. “Who benches Corwen to
put up Jones midseason?”

Harry snorted. “I don’t know, but now their offence is absolute rubbish, so I’m not going to
complain about it. We’ll clean up on that one.”

“Like we ever don’t clean up with Portree.”

“Fucking useless, the lot of them,” Cat agreed. She sat down next to Simmons. “Not that we
don’t clean up with you.”

Harry laughed. “Not last year.”

Cat made a face. “Yeah, well, Gemma’s back. Bit easier to win when your strongest chaser
isn’t off having fucking twins.”

Simmons elbowed her. “Better not let Astoria hear you.”

Cat rolled her eyes. “Astoria’s very good at several things I’m sure as fuck not complaining
about, but being aggressive enough to beat you to the quaffle isn’t one of them.”

Harry was sort of expecting Pansy to come to her defence, but after a minute, he realised she
was tucked in against his side on the sofa, her head on his shoulder, looking increasingly
sleepy.

“Hey,” he murmured. “You want to go to bed?”

“No,” Pansy said, drowsily. “I’m listening. I promise.”

Harry laughed, shifting to tug her down towards his lap. “At least stretch out.”

“Then I’m just going to fall asleep,” she protested, yawning, but after a minute, she tipped
over toward him. He got a pillow under her, guiding her head down. “Don’t let me.”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry said, stroking her hair, which hadn’t entirely recovered from earlier. He
was pretty confident she was asleep in under a minute.
“She’s sweet.” Cat glanced over, after she’d finished arguing with Simmons about the virtues
of the latest Nimbus model and he’d left to find his wife. “I quite like her.”

“Don’t say that where she can hear you. She’ll leave me for you in under ten seconds.”

“Oh, I tried that already.” Cat grinned. “Trust me. But she’s utterly smitten with you. No
luck.”

“I’m sure you’re now at the absolute top of her list if we ever end things,” Harry said, dryly.

“I was sorry to hear about you and Ginny. Never easy, is it? But it always comes out right in
the end.”

“I guess it does,” Harry agreed. “Although, speaking of, you might want to collect Astoria
before she goes home with Havard.”

Cat sighed, sounding put upon. “On the one hand, I really don’t care who else she shags. On
the other, what the fuck is wrong with her? Havard’s terrible. She’s meant to have standards,
we don’t fuck beaters. Better go stage a rescue.”

Harry briefly considered getting up, but he had a feeling Pansy would wake up, so he said
most of his goodbyes from the sofa. He saw Draco and Hermione, who were talking to
Gemma’s wife, and caught the exact moment when Draco saw Pansy. He actually looked
startled. Harry gestured, and Draco stepped away from them and came over.

“Hey,” Harry said. “Can you remind Hermione I’m meant to be coming by for dinner
tomorrow?”

Draco’s expression when he glanced down at Pansy wasn’t particularly readable. “Stuck?”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted. “Although I think I’m going to have to wake her up eventually to get
her to bed.”

“No, don’t,” Draco said, quietly. “We had about eight emergencies last night, she didn’t get
any sleep. I can… do you want some help? I don’t mind carrying her.”

“Absolutely.” He laughed, softly. “I’d just wake her up if I tried it. I’ll yield to experience.”

“It helps that she sleeps like the dead.” Draco came over, considering the angle, and then got
an arm under her shoulders and one under her knees, lifting.

Draco let Harry go ahead down the hallway, so he could get the door and turn on the light on
the bedside table. Pansy had turned into Draco, still very asleep, and he got her down onto the
bed without waking her up. Harry pulled the duvet up; she’d lost her heels at some point in
the evening, and there was definitely no getting her out of her dress without waking her.
“Any idea what time she’s starting tomorrow? I completely forgot to ask, I don’t think it’s on
our calendar.”

“She’s off,” Draco said. “If she does a thirty-six, it’s a mandatory two days.” He laughed.
“Not that it seems to stop her from coming in. But you can let her sleep.”
“Thanks,” Harry said. “I’ll figure it out eventually.” He laughed. “Probably just in time for
you all to rotate onto some completely different schedule, admittedly.”

“That’s usually about how it goes,” Draco agreed.

Harry realised, after a minute, that Draco was still looking down at Pansy. He watched him
reach out, readjusting the blankets and smoothing her hair out of her face.

“She’s slept with people,” Draco said, after another minute. “Even dated a few. And I know
it’s serious with you, I keep seeing it, she keeps telling me, but…” He laughed, softly. “I’ve
never seen her fall asleep at a party with anyone except…” He stopped.

“Except you?”

“Yes,” Draco said, then looked up at him. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to…”

“Don’t apologise. I know it’s…” He wasn’t entirely sure whether it was the fact that it was
three in the morning or the alcohol, but he couldn’t quite figure out the right thing. “Probably
kind of weird.”

“A little,” Draco admitted. “But I really wouldn’t want you to think -”

“Hey.” He stepped forward, putting a hand on Draco’s arm. “I’ve told you before, but I’m
really not jealous. I don’t care that you’ve got history. I’m not actually interested in
pretending you don’t, that’d be stupid. You do. If she wanted to be with you, she’d be with
you. It wasn’t right, so she isn’t. And if you think I’d ever ask you to give up the rest of it…”
He laughed. “If you don’t ask me to compromise with Hermione, I’ll never ask you to
compromise with Pansy.”

He’d never seen Draco at quite as much of a loss for words.

“I’d understand if you felt that it wasn’t… comparable. It’s not entirely the same.”

“You’re friends. You know her better than anyone else. I’m glad she has that. She’s not in
love with you or secretly pining or something. So I’d say it’s exactly the same. Minus the part
where you won’t fucking ask Hermione out already.” He laughed. “I’ll take pointers on how
to get her from the sofa to the bed, though. I’ve fucked it up the last few times I’ve tried it.
She always wakes up.”

“Thank you for being gracious about it,” Draco said. “And it’s very simple, the trick is to
wait until she’s worked two days straight on next to no sleep, had at least three glasses of
wine, and used up all her energy on flirting with her quidditch idol and shagging you in the
middle of the fucking party.”

“Again,” Harry said, mildly. “Knocking is such a simple skill.”

“Again,” Draco said. “We learned locking spells in first year.”

“Honestly? I was kind of busy trying not to, you know, die.”
“Is that your excuse for everything?”

“Basically, yeah.” Harry grinned. “It’s a pretty great one, though, you’ve got to admit.”

“I suppose I’m trying to say,” Draco said, still looking at Pansy, “that I think you’re good for
her. If we’re honest, much better than I ever was, she needs… I don’t know. You’re wide
open, all the time, and she’s always needed to know exactly where she stood. I was never any
good at it. And I’m not sure I quite understood why she ended it with me until I saw her with
you.”

“Wasn’t that a mutual decision?”

“I didn’t think it was the wrong decision. But at the time, I thought it was -” He let out a
breath. “A pause rather than an ending. I thought maybe we’d find our way back around to
each other. I thought I’d better leave the door open, in case she ever wanted to walk back
through it. But she’s smarter than I’ll ever be. I love her more than anything, I always will,
and I think we’d have made it work. We would have been happy. But it would never have
been… great. And she deserves great.”

“For the record,” Harry said, after a minute, “I think there’s someone else with a very wide
open door who’d desperately like for you to walk through it. And I think if you don’t do it
soon, she’s going to start to assume it’s because you don’t want to. So maybe don’t fuck that
up, because you deserve great too.”

“I’m not… entirely sure about that.”

Harry snorted. “Have you, I don’t know, thought about asking her? Just a suggestion.
Although, for the record, I’m completely sure. I’ve never been more sure about anything in
my life.”

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Draco said, dryly. “And speaking of Hermione, I’d better go
make sure she hasn’t left without me.”

“If anyone’s still out there, tell them I tripped and fell into bed and couldn’t get up,” he said.

When he’d finished undressing and climbed into bed, Pansy rolled over into him. “Excellent
work,” she whispered, without opening her eyes. “On a number of levels. A ten from the East
German judge.”

“Were you just faking being asleep?”

“Maybe,” Pansy said. “I’m cold. Warm me up.”

“So demanding.” Harry wrapped his arms around her.

“Was it all right?” Pansy murmured. “Your birthday, I mean.”

“Best one I’ve ever had,” Harry said, honestly.

“Good,” Pansy said, drowsily. “You won’t think so in the morning, though.”
“Eh,” Harry said. “My girlfriend’s a barely adequate healer. She can probably fix it.”

Pansy made a soft, amused noise against his neck. “I might let you suffer through the
hangover if you keep talking like that.”

“I’m shutting up, in that case,” Harry said. “Night.”

____

Harry woke once, in the cold, dim light just before dawn, not quite sober but not entirely
drunk either. It was quiet, the familiar silence of early morning, before traffic started to batter
at the dampening magic. Pansy was still asleep beside him. He couldn’t remember exactly
what he’d been dreaming about, but it had the lingering feel of a nightmare around the edges.
The vague sense of unease spiralled into something sharper when he glanced at the floor
beside the bed and saw that Pansy had pulled out his overnight bag. The liminal space
between the dreaming world and the waking one felt dangerous; he didn’t have quite enough
self control to stop himself from thinking how it might feel, seeing Ginny again.

The last time had been early spring. She’d stood in the doorway and watched him pack the
last box, wearing an old Falcons shirt that he’d gotten her for Christmas the year he’d been
signed. It should have been infuriating, the idea of a gift that had outlasted their relationship.
He remembered trying to be angry that she’d been there, that she hadn’t let him slink away to
lick his wounds in peace, but mostly, he’d felt exactly nothing. He’d left the key taped to the
bottom of a window box of crocuses that had barely begun to peek through. They hadn’t even
said goodbye.

He wasn’t afraid of the anger. But it was hard not to worry that the anaesthesia might come
creeping back in, that the clinical numbness that had felt as if his entire heart was being held
under the ice would become a permanent feature.

Something brushed against his nose, and he opened his eyes to Pansy’s face next to his on the
pillow, her finger tracing over his face.

“Your magic’s pulling on mine,” she said, drowsily.

“Sorry, I’ll -” he started, but she just pressed her hand to his mouth.

“Shh,” she whispered.

Pansy rolled over before he could move and settled in over him, a heavy weight against his
back, pressing him down into the mattress. He felt her press a kiss against the nape of his
neck, another to his shoulder. She sighed, very softly, and reached over to tangle her fingers
with his. He was caught tight, pinned where he couldn’t even really see her behind him, but
somehow, he didn’t feel trapped.

“You’re okay,” she murmured, between tiny, warm kisses. “It’s okay, Harry.”

“Yeah,” he said, because it was, and he was. He let her pull him back under.
And when he woke a few hours later, still captive underneath Pansy, he realised that there
were several things that felt significantly worse than not feeling anything at all. One of them
was the realisation that he was absolutely, undeniably in love with her.

He barely made it out of bed and to the sink before he was sick, let alone any further. The
alcohol was a good excuse, but the pressing nausea and the spin of the room really didn’t
have anything to do with how much he’d had to drink. He felt her hand against the small of
his back.

“Sorry,” he managed, because he’d definitely woken her when he’d shoved her off. He
couldn’t quite bring himself to look up. “Sorry, I…”

“I was sort of expecting it,” Pansy said. She ran a glass of water in the other sink - the one
that he’d started thinking of as hers, the one surrounded by jars and brushes and other
inconsequential personal items that he’d never really noticed. They suddenly felt impossibly
heavy.

She reached up, fingers warm against his temple. The headache faded, but the nausea didn’t.
She brushed his hair out of his face with a smile. “Better?”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t stop himself from leaning into her touch, closing his eyes, and the way
the room continued to spin had absolutely nothing to do with the hangover. He still couldn’t
quite wrap his head around it: all the ways she’d shoved her way into his life, the perfection
of the fit, and the fundamental knowledge that it would never, ever work. Because for him, it
never felt possible. There were so many ways to ruin it, and the absolute and incontrovertible
truth was that he would find one of them. “I think I’m going to take a shower. If you don’t
care.”

“I’ll finish packing for you, I thought I’d take your bag to work so you don’t have to come
back after training,” she said, letting her hand fall. “Anything you really want?”

“Maybe the blue button down. You know, the one with the -”

“I know, Harry.” He could hear the amusement in her voice. “You wear it all the time. And
presumably the seafoam cotton jumper, and the jeans that are too fucking long for you, with
the worn out cuffs.”

“They’re the most comfortable,” he protested.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve conceded that particular battle. Although I’m rather sanguine
about the prospect of finding an identical pair and hemming them before you can do any
damage. I don’t suppose you remember where you got them.”

“Um, Marks and Spencer. It’s a muggle -”

“The place with the lemon layer cake you’re incomprehensibly obsessed with,” Pansy said,
dryly. “I know which one that is. If you give me your card, I’ll go next week.”
“Thanks for -” He swallowed, because he had a feeling that if he tried to express it, every
single feeling might come spilling out. “For packing.”

“Someone has to make sure you don’t forget socks,” she offered. “Are you up for breakfast
after?”

“Maybe… toast,” he said, making a face. “And tea with nothing in it.”

She glanced over at the mirror, then laughed. “I’m going to wash all this -” She gestured at
her face, with smeared makeup from the night before. Her mascara had clumped, and the
lipstick was worse for wear. “- off. Then you can have the bathroom to yourself.”

Harry stepped back, going to turn on the water. “We might be kind of past that, honestly.”

“Does that mean you’re willing to share the shower?” Pansy grinned. “Because -”

“Not that far past it,” he said. “But I’ll leave you some hot water.”

___

Harry had stopped bothering to check in at the front, but when he got to the main desk, Pansy
was nowhere to be seen. Draco was in one of the curtain areas, talking to someone who kept
occasionally going invisible.

“Hi, Harry.” Adrian was leaning over the desk, reaching for paperwork. “Pansy’s over in
triage. We’re seeing who we can discharge straight from the waiting room. She said give her
one minute, which probably means thirty.”

“That bad?”

“Let’s put it this way,” Adrian said, finally grabbing a chart. “You’re lucky I like you, or I’d
be fairly annoyed you’re leaving us down a healer with this mess. And almost nothing’s
magical, which never makes for a fun night.”

“She can’t actually live here,” Harry said, dryly. “As much as you’d all like her to.”

“Apparently someone’s managed to hire not just one but two American consultants. On the
one hand, they’re married, which will probably be utterly obnoxious since they’ll want to
work the same schedule. On the other, I’ll take fucking anything at this point.”

“Agreed,” Draco said, coming up behind him. “Good to see that you’re alive after last night, I
had my doubts.”

“The lethal part was really this morning.”

“I’ll bet.” He leaned for the rack of charts, starting to flip through them, and Adrian made a
protesting noise.

“Absolutely not,” they said. “We had a deal, everyone takes the oldest chart first after they
discharge a patient.”
“Fuck you,” Draco said, but he pulled from the back of the pile. “Oh, lovely, an abscess.”

“Tough luck.” Adrian held up theirs. “Bounce back migraine.”

“I hope your next one is gastroenteritis,” Draco said, darkly. “I hope someone’s sick all over
you.”

He disappeared back into the curtain area, and Harry cleared his throat.

“So,” he said. “What are you offering in exchange for me not pointing out to him that you
absolutely pulled that from the middle?”

“Minimal argument that you’re stealing my best healer,” Adrian said, grinning. “But he’ll be
happy to know I’m snagging the nausea in pregnancy next. Although I’m just going to turf
her to obs and gynae, so she probably won’t have time to vomit anywhere near my person.”

He saw Pansy duck around the corner, juggling about seven charts and saying something to
Bennett, who had another stack of them. She’d managed to change, at least, into jeans and the
faded purple button down she’d stolen from him at some point, and her smile when she saw
him made his stomach flip. He’d spent weeks trying to ignore exactly how attractive she
really was, and now that he’d given in, he couldn’t stop seeing it.

“Hi.” She sounded slightly breathless. “Sorry, we got a bit behind.”

“And by ‘a bit’ she means we’re utterly fucked, and she’s abandoning us all,” Bennett
muttered.

“Right,” Pansy said, to Adrian. “Wart hex is following up with magical injuries tomorrow, the
bronchitis got a double dose of Pepperup, two strep throats are waiting on pharmacy, the
astonishingly drunk teenager has gone home to sleep it off. Draco should be able to put the
car accident right in about twenty seconds when he’s got a chance, it’s a stable tib-fib
fracture, and Artefact Accidents is sending someone down to deal with the wand backfire.
Bennett’s got everyone who’s going to need to come back here. I’m going to put in an order
for some ground bezoar for the sleeping draught poisoning before I go.”

Adrian made a face. “I’d thank you, but I wouldn’t mean it.”

Pansy went behind the desk, rummaging in her bag until she pulled out a set of keys. “I really
ought to know this by now,” she said, holding them up, “but do you drive?” She paused.
“More accurately, are you a competent enough driver to be trusted with the most perfect car
in existence?”

“Yeah. Bill taught me ages ago.” He made a face. “And I’m honestly the only one sober
enough to get Simmons’ car back after away matches.”

“Take the lift down to the lowest level, there’s a car park. It’s the car that looks as if I own it.
And if you so much as smudge it, it won’t matter how much I love you, you won’t survive.”

“I thought we were borrowing your friend’s.”

“I changed my mind.” Pansy handed him the keys. “Actually, I’ve got to go put that order in,
I’ll just go down with you. Pharmacy’s down two floors anyway.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t know you had a car.”

Pansy slipped her hand into his. “I don’t like driving it in the city. When you see it, you’ll
understand. And before you say I could just magic it back if some idiot knocked off a mirror,
I’d know in my soul, Potter. I’ve never let Draco drive it, so it’s going to ruin his entire life if
he sees that I’ve let you.” She looked over at him, a little amused. “It was a gift for my
seventeenth birthday from my parents, and for horrible racists, they had astonishingly good
taste in magically converted muggle cars. And they were stupid enough to put the whole
thing in my name, so I stole it when I left.”

“I don’t think you can steal your own car.”

“Just let me enjoy the victory.” She pulled him into the lift, turning toward him without
setting a floor on the dial. “You look awful.”

“Hangover charms never stick very well on me,” Harry admitted. “But mostly it’s that I’m
really fucking not looking forward to this.”

It was also, possibly, that being near her had suddenly become overwhelming in a way that he
hadn’t entirely managed to process, but it was easier to pretend it was Ginny.

“Mm,” Pansy said, letting go of his hand to press her hand against the base of his skull. The
pounding headache and dull nausea faded. “Want to ditch the whole thing and fuck off to the
Outer Hebrides? Telshore’s boyfriend’s got a cottage, Draco and I have borrowed it a few
times. Bit further, but the car’s a bit excessive when you get it up to flying height. There
aren’t any people, we can spend all week doing absolutely nothing.”

Harry laughed, then had to pull in a shaky breath, because crying in front of Pansy in a lift
wasn’t on the short list of things he was particularly interested in doing. “Fucking
desperately,” he managed. “But it’s my… home, it’s my family, I… I can’t ask them to
choose between us.”

“That isn’t actually true.” Pansy lifted a hand to cup his face. “You could. They’d choose
you. But you’re too kind of a person to ask them to do it.”

Harry leaned into her touch. “Would you? Ask, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” she said, honestly. “I’ve only had one real romantic relationship, and even
when it ended, he never stopped being the most important person in my life. I don’t think I’d
be as forgiving as you’ve been. But we’re different people, you’re fundamentally nicer than
me.”

“I’m not that forgiving.” He took another breath. “If I were that nice, I wouldn’t be taking
you. And I wouldn’t want to make her sorry. I really fucking want to make her sorry.”
“So let’s make her sorry,” Pansy murmured, brushing his hair out of his face. She dropped her
other hand to the lift dial, turning it. “Unlike you, Potter, I very much enjoy ensuring people
get what they deserve.”

“If we were really doing this,” he said, mostly to keep from saying something else entirely,
“it’s possible I’d really have changed my opinion on the whole… Slytherin thing.”

Pansy grinned. “You’re only saying that because we aren’t actually sleeping together. If we
were, there would be absolutely no ambivalence on the matter. You’d be forced to renounce
all your garish red and gold jumpers.”

Harry managed to grin back. “I hear I look good in green.”

“Pull around out front. Our bags are in the back.”

When he got downstairs, he’d thought it would take a few minutes to figure out what Pansy
had meant, but there was really only one car that looked remotely to her tastes: it was some
sort of black, classic convertible, lovely enough that it made him wish he knew a little more
about cars. Or a little less about Pansy.

Surprisingly, by the time he pulled around, Pansy was actually out front. Draco was next to
her, holding a cup of coffee.

“You can’t possibly be fucking serious, Pansy,” he said. “You let him drive it up from the car
park?”

Harry got out, going to open the door for her, then paused. “Oh, right. Did you want to drive?
It’s your car.”

“Not until I’ve had several cups of coffee and a sandwich,” Pansy said. “I brought dinner. We
can switch halfway.”

Draco made a slightly strangled noise, and Pansy looked as if she were trying not to laugh.

“Er,” Harry said. “Are you sure?”

“Potter,” Draco said, pointedly, “when offered the chance to drive a 1961 Jaguar E-Type, a
chance which has been denied to me repeatedly for the past fourteen years, you take it.”

Harry glanced at Pansy. “I mean, it does seem like… a very nice car?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Draco muttered, to Pansy. “I absolutely cannot fucking believe you, no
one’s that good in bed.”

“He kind of is,” Pansy said. “Also, I’m kind of in love with him.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Potter,” Draco said, “but I feel compelled to make the point
that you used to be very in love with me, and I don’t seem to remember you having any
complaints about the other part of that equation. I never got to drive the car.”
Pansy slid into the passenger side. “Maybe he’s better at sex.”

“Fuck you,” Draco said. “There’s not a chance in hell.”

She shut the door, turning to look at him. “Or maybe it’s that you’re a terrible driver.”

“I most assuredly am not.”

“Or maybe,” she said, grinning, “I knew this was going to annoy you, and I think your
unrequited love affair with my car is hilarious.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll make you a deal. You can absolutely borrow it when we get back, but only if the express
purpose is a holiday where you tell Hermione you’re madly in love with her.”

“And there has to be actual sex involved,” Harry added, getting back in. “A really excessive
amount of sex.”

“I’m going back inside,” Draco said, pointedly. “I won’t be particularly sad if Bill calls me
tomorrow to report you both missing.”

“Emotional confessions and shagging and you can use the car,” Pansy called, cheerfully.
“Think about it.”

As Harry pulled out - carefully - she reached down into her bag, pulling out a sandwich. “If
you’re taking advice,” she said, “activate the invisibility cloaking device, fly it out of the city,
and then land it. It’s significantly more fun to drive on an actual road.”

Pansy was right that the car was fast once you opened it up, and it didn’t take long to drive
west. He didn’t particularly feel like taking the motorway, but there were all the backroads
through the endless farmland. On a Sunday evening, there was absolutely no one around.
After she finished eating, Pansy fiddled with the radio a bit, then turned it down. She
considered, then gestured a spell up, and the wind died down a bit. Then she leaned closer,
putting a hand on his thigh.

“So,” she said, “do you want to talk about it more, do you want to talk about how ineffably
glorious the Wasps defence was last week, or do you want a break from talking altogether? I
brought a book.”

“I know you,” Harry said, dryly. “You’ve brought about fifteen books.”

Pansy laughed. “I went on holiday once and ran out, and it was the single worst weekend of
my life. And I include an entire war in that assessment.”

“Tell me -” Harry glanced over at her, quickly, feeling a little reckless. “Tell me your
favourite book. Or tell me - I don’t know, anything. Something you want me to know about
you. Something I don’t already know.”
“Virginia Woolf’s To The Lighthouse. It’s a muggle book. It’s sort of about…” She paused,
considering. “How nothing’s ever particularly simple, but how there’s a beauty in the
quotidian detail of it all. I like that.” When he glanced over again, she’d tipped her head back,
eyes closed. “The summer of sixth year, I dyed my hair purple just to annoy my mother and
Narcissa.” Her smile was self-satisfied. “It absolutely worked.” She stroked her thumb over
his knee. “You?”

“The Magpies made me a much better offer. But Falmouth’s close enough to Bill and Fleur’s
for me to Apparate, so I could go home after every local match. I needed that.”

“I like them.” She laughed. “Well, the little I’ve seen of them, and it’s never been under
stress-free circumstances, but they seem fundamentally decent and like they love each other.
The world could use more of that.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “It really could.”

“You keep calling it home,” Pansy observed. “Is it?”

“I couldn’t do the Burrow. Um - after all of it. Molly and Arthur offered, but I just… I
couldn’t. And Ron and Hermione did too, they were together back then, but I couldn’t do that
either. They worried too much. Bill’s approach to the nightmares was to pour me a glass of
whiskey and go back to bed. He cared, but he got that I needed space.”

“Not really Hermione’s strong suit.”

Harry snorted. “Ron’s either. And then I moved in with Ginny, but it was always… I don’t
know, way more to her taste than mine, I had about two trunks when I got there, it was all her
furniture.” He paused. “I’d have said it never bothered me, but I don’t know, maybe it did.
Except now I’ve just got the world’s most boring flat, which I haven’t bothered to do
anything with either. So I guess I like coming here. I feel like I belong.”

“I fucking love Malfoy Manor with absolutely everything in me,” Pansy said, abruptly. “I
should utterly despise it, I hate everything it stood for, I know everything that happened there,
but I grew up thinking it was going to be mine someday. I fell for it. It loves me back. The
magic is…” She ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know. I’ve just always felt as if I
belonged.”

Harry glanced over again. “I mean, I bet Draco would let you stay there. It can’t be that hard
to hook up to the floo network if it’s not already.”

“He keeps trying to give it to me,” Pansy admitted. “He hates it. He’ll never live there,
Hermione doesn’t like it. But it’s a fucking manor, Potter, and I’m exactly one person. It’d be
ludicrous. And there’s a whole trust with it for upkeep. I could never take that.”

“I dunno,” Harry said. “I’m not sure I’d ever say being happy’s ludicrous. And maybe -” He
reached down, tangling their fingers together. “Maybe it’d make him happy too. Sometimes
that’s worth a lot more than money.”

Pansy laughed. “Are you trying to imply I’m a bit too proud about that?”
“Never.” Harry grinned. “It’s not as if you routinely argue with me about who’s going to pay
for coffee.”

Pansy squeezed his hand. “Definitely not.”

“For the record,” Harry said, letting out a breath, “I didn’t actually think Wimbourne was all
that impressive, they were just coasting because the Arrows’ offence is awful with Lichfield
out on injury.”

“Were we watching the same game, Potter? That low save was fucking glorious.”

“Nah.” He grinned. “Passable at best.”

In spite of everything, her answering smile made the entire stupid trip worth it.
 Chapter 5

When he pushed open the front door, he was unhappy to discover that it felt complicated.
He’d put it off, mostly by panicking over Pansy, but at the sight of familiar high, white
ceilings and driftwood floors, it all came flooding back. He’d known he was going to have to
face Ginny eventually. But Shell Cottage, which really wasn’t much of a cottage anymore,
had been the first place where anything in his life had ever felt simple. It was the first place
he’d ever let his guard down. And, more than nearly anywhere else, it had always felt like
warmth and the security of knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was loved. He hated
that the joy of walking in the front door was yet another thing she’d taken from him.

“Harry,” Pansy said, from behind him, “you’ve just stopped cold in the doorway, so unless
there’s a dead body in the middle of the sitting room, kindly move.”

He opened the door for her, stepping through. “Sorry. No dead bodies.”

“Oh,” Pansy said, looking startled. “This is stunning.”

“Yeah, I kind of like it,” Harry said, with a grin.

“Hey, Harry,” Bill said. He and Fleur were lying on couches in the sitting room. “Welcome
home. Pansy, good to see you. I’d get up, but we’ve reached that stage of the evening where
we’re too tired to manage to go to bed. Everyone else is upstairs.”

“Oh, yes, leave all the hosting to me,” Fleur said, getting to her feet and coming over to hug
him. “Harry, hello. Pansy, welcome.”

“You have a beautiful home,” Pansy said. “I love the windows. And the ceilings. And… all of
it.”

Bill laughed. “I’ll tell Charlie you said so.”

Harry let Fleur pull him in, then ducked when she finished by ruffling his hair.

“Ignore Bill, he and Harry did most of it,” she said.

“Thank you for being so understanding about us arriving late,” Pansy said. “My work
schedule is utterly…”

Harry realised, abruptly, that this was Pansy on her very best behaviour. She was cultivating
warmth in a way that he’d see Draco do occasionally. And it was strange, somehow, to watch
her hide every sharp edge and descend into polite niceties. She wasn’t pretending to be
something she wasn’t. But it wasn’t all of her, either, and he suddenly wished they were alone
so she’d stop being quite so polished.

“Fucked?” Bill supplied.

“Oh, good.” She grinned. “I won’t have to be careful all weekend.”

“After the kids go to bed, anyway,” Bill said, dryly. “Don’t get Audrey started, she’ll never
stop.”

“Percy’s wife,” Harry said. “She’s a bit…”

“Proper,” Fleur suggested.

Bill snorted. “Uptight.” He waved at the kitchen. “Mum and Angelina did some sort of…
Mexican… thing, we made you plates.”

Harry dropped their bags near the stairs. “Thanks, I’m hungry. We missed dinner.”

“I assumed you would be,” Fleur said, dryly. “Given that you claim to be literally starving at
all times.”

“I’ve never met someone who eats as much as he does,” Pansy agreed. “I don’t know where
he puts it.”

Harry laughed. “Hey, no ganging up.”

Bill gestured when Pansy started to pull out a stool at the kitchen island. “You can eat over
here. We trust you not to spill anything.”

Fleur took a seat on the sofa opposite Bill. “That is untrue. We merely have every stain
protection charm known on the furniture. Although we do trust you more than the seven year
old. She continues to make very poor decisions with ice lollies.”

“We quit buying grape ones.” Bill finally sat up, considering Pansy. He cleared his throat.
“Look, I’m just going to say it once. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t very excited about Harry
bringing someone. It’s got nothing to do with my sister, I just don’t think anyone’s good
enough for him, but I decided that you deserved a chance. Please be good to him and don’t
fuck it up.”

“For the record,” Fleur said, mildly, “I was very enthusiastic about Harry bringing you. I
thought it was an excellent idea.”

“Bill,” Harry managed. “Can you not -”

“Noted.” Pansy took a bite of one of her tacos. She didn’t seem particularly bothered. “I’m
fully willing to acknowledge that he’s entirely out of my league, you don’t have to tell me
twice. He also absolutely deserves better, but he seems somewhat attached at this point. Can’t
think why.”

“Sex, probably,” Fleur said.

“I will turn around and leave,” Harry warned.

“No, you won’t.” Pansy looked up at him, then gestured at her plate. “Would you quit being
offended that they care and come eat some of this? There’s too much for me.”

“Bill cares,” Fleur corrected, with a sudden grin. “I just like to embarrass Harry. It is very
easy.”

“I fucking hate the lot of you,” Harry muttered, but he went to sit next to Pansy and took the
plate.

Based on the way Bill looked as if he were trying not to smile, Pansy had passed whatever
stupid test he’d come up with.

“Just so we’re abundantly clear,” Pansy said, summoning a glass of water, “I’m very willing
to be interrogated regarding my intentions towards Harry.” She grinned. “As long as I don’t
have to deliver any babies on this holiday, I’ll do anything.”

Bill yawned. “I think we can manage to avoid that.”

“Next time, maybe just go straight to labour and delivery.” Pansy grinned. She dipped a
tortilla chip into some of the leftover salsa. “They can page me. We’ve got a whole system
and everything.”

“Luckily, there’s not going to be one of those,” Bill said, dryly. “You can focus on other
people with terrible timing.”

He’d thought it was only because he’d spent so much time watching Pansy that he caught it -
just the tiniest pause as she lifted the chip to her mouth, and the quickest glance at Fleur. But
Fleur had noticed too.

Fleur sighed. “Oh, damn.”

“What?” Bill said.

“I’m five days late. I thought it was…” She waved a hand. “The stress of having your entire
family. But it seems I was not entirely correct.”

Bill sat up abruptly. “What?”

“So,” Harry said, “this seems like a really spectacular time to go up to bed. What do you
think, Pansy?”

“You’re sure?” Fleur said, ignoring him.

Pansy went back to the chips. “Very. It’s fairly obvious when you know what you’re looking
for. Sorry, I assumed you knew already.”

“But…” Bill managed. He was still staring at her. “How?”

“Oh, I do not know. Sometimes when two people love each other very much and they go to
her brother’s engagement party and one of them is not on any sort of potion because she is
breastfeeding and then the other one gets drunk and they have sex and he completely forgets
the contraceptive charms… there are predictable outcomes. But that is just a theory.”

“Oh,” Bill said, finally. “Yeah. That.”

“Not to wade in,” Pansy said, “but muggle contraceptives are significantly more effective,
and you can use them the entire time. I can get them for you. There are lots of options. Well
-” She laughed. “I suppose since now that I prescribe them, they aren’t strictly muggle
anymore. But you can talk to me after the baby gets here.”

“See?” Fleur said. “It is good that Harry is with her. She is very useful.”

“I mean,” Harry said. “I guess that’s one reason.”

Pansy laughed. “I try, anyway. Do you want to know what it is?”

“Another girl, I think,” Fleur said. “There are not many men down from veela, Louis and
Gabriel are the only ones.”

“And the second’s a bit complicated,” Bill said.

“No, it is not.” Fleur gave him a look. “It is not complicated in the slightest. He is who he is.”

“I just meant that sometimes magic fucks things up a bit. I know Gabe’s the same as Louis.
Or, well, in theory, who knows who he’s going to grow up to be.”

“Loved unconditionally,” Fleur said, “is what the baby is going to grow up to be. All of them.
No matter what.” She laughed. “Unless Dominique spills something else on the sofa
tomorrow.”

“So what you’re saying is that our love is conditional on not being complete rubbish with
keeping food off the furniture. I could get behind that.”

Pansy had finished off the chips and salsa. “Well, at the moment, yes, it’s a girl. And healthy
so far. Definitely a magical signature, so maybe you can try for one in every house.”

“Not happening,” Bill said, wryly. “Fleur’s wrecked them, we’re going to buck the Weasley
trend and have an excessive number of girls who all end up in Slytherin.”

“Excuse you.” Pansy grinned. “I take umbrage at that.”

“Sorry, no help here, you know which team I play for,” Harry said, yawning. “And I’m about
to fall asleep on the sofa, so I think we’d better go to bed. But, um, congratulations. I think.”

Fleur, who had been considering Bill rather closely, suddenly smiled. “Thank you. I think.”

“Not a bad surprise,” Bill said, reaching over to take her hand with an answering smile.
“Four’s a good number. But we’re not having seven.”
“I very much hope Pansy can help,” Fleur said, dryly, “because given the choice between
seven and never having sex again, I am going to have a clear preference.”

“Save me,” Bill said, to Pansy.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Pansy said, yawning. “But I can definitely make sure you’re done at
four.”

“Your room’s got clean sheets,” Bill said. “No promises about them actually being on the
bed, though.”

Pansy went to put her plate with the other dishes soaking in the sink. “I think we can manage
that.”

After Harry had followed her up the stairs and into the bedroom, setting their bags on the
chest of drawers, he took half of the top sheet. Pansy was attached to hospital corners, but
they’d gotten fast at doing it together.

“How do you… do that?” Harry said, curious. “Know things about people, I mean. I’d never
have been able to tell.”

“How do you know how to find a snitch?” Pansy said, amused, shaking out a pillow case
after they’d finished the sheet. “Natural talent. Four years of school. Tens of thousands of
hours of practice.”

“I’ve just never seen Hermione do that sort of thing.”

“Hermione’s much better than me at neurochemistry and at talking to people. But my magic
likes healing. I’ve got more raw power behind it than anyone else. It spills over a bit.” She
tossed the pillow on the bed, going for a second one. “If I’m around a lot of people, I’ve got
to put up about a hundred mental blocks, but I can’t keep that up all the time. So I drop them
when I’m in private. Sometimes I get information I shouldn’t, but it’s a trade off, I suppose. I
can heal people no one else could manage to save.”

Harry finished arranging the quilt and went to open the windows; he’d always loved the
smell of the ocean, the way you could taste just a hint of the salt in the air. It was the room he
always stayed in, one of the first ones Bill had added to the second floor. Harry had put in
hundreds of hours that first summer, needing something to do with his hands and his magic. It
had been uncomplicated, building up walls and laying tiles. It had kept him tired enough to
sleep at night. And he’d put enough of himself into it that the house’s magic still knew him.
Bill and Fleur had understood something he hadn’t, and they’d built him a room with what
sometimes felt like an endless amount of light. There was something about the wide open
view of the ocean through the windows that still felt like home.

There was a small, unfair part of him that felt viciously glad that someone had made Ginny
move next door into the other guest room. But the truth was that this had been his room a lot
longer than it had been hers; he could remember being seventeen and staring out at the waves
in the middle of the night, trying to figure out how to navigate a world that had suddenly
been tipped very conclusively back onto its axis.
“Thanks,” he said, finally. “For coming with me. And for… putting me back together.”

“You weren’t broken.” Pansy gestured, and the quilt turned into a very thick duvet. “Just a bit
bruised around the edges.”

She came over, wrapping her arms around him from behind, and rested her chin on his
shoulder.

“I’ll shut it in a minute,” he murmured. “I know it’s cold.”

“Leave it.” Pansy pressed a kiss just beneath his collar. “I don’t mind hearing the waves. And
I know how you feel about escape routes.”

Harry leaned back into her warmth. “That’s not it. I mean, it’s a bit of it, I guess. My therapist
claims being locked in a cupboard for years might have had consequences. Who’d have
thought?”

“I get it.” He felt Pansy’s hand slide under his shirt. “You just try to make every space you’re
in a little bigger. You like it open.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I’m sorry if it’s an inconvenience. I know it’s a bit…” He gestured.
“Childish.”

Pansy put a hand on his shoulder, turning him around, and then put a hand against the back of
his neck, guiding his mouth down to hers.

“Potter,” she murmured, “quit apologising for things that don’t cost me anything to give.”

He took a shaky breath and didn’t say any of the things he wanted to. “I know where they
keep all the quilts. I’m sure I can find a few more without waking anyone up.”

“And that,” Pansy said, “is why you’re tied with Draco for my second favourite person.”

“Who’s first?”

She sighed. “Why do you ask such stupid questions?”

It took a second, but then he realised and laughed. “Caitrin Baines?”

“I still think you ought to let me shag her. I realise it can’t be a threeway for obvious reasons,
but I could bring back explicit descriptions of lesbian sex acts, I hear men like that.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, grinning. “I’m a little too into you to share at the moment. Maybe it’ll be
old hat by Christmas, though.”

“My birthday’s in November. I’ll expect you to be over your antiquated notions of
monogamy by then.”

“I’ll do my best,” Harry said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And I’ll be back with blanket
provisions.”
“Just bring them all.” She kissed him one more time. “If you’re quick about it, you might be
able to get back before I finish changing.”

“You say that like I don’t see you in your knickers on a regular basis.”

“And yet, you still look at my arse every single time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry agreed, then grinned, conspiratorially. “Only because it’s kind of
spectacular, though.”

Pansy started undoing the buttons on her shirt. “I’m too tired for sex, but if you play your
cards right and bring an adequate number of blankets, I’ll absolutely let you touch me up a
bit.”

“In that case, I’ll be back in a minute, probably with about every blanket in the house. I’m
sure no one else needs any.”

“Absolutely. Just steal from the children. They won’t notice.”

“Great idea,” Harry said, and let himself out.

____

Harry woke up to a small child launching himself into their bed.

“Roxanne,” Dominique hissed, from the doorway. “Gran said to tell Uncle Harry breakfast
was nearly ready, not jump on him.”

“Oof,” Pansy said, faintly, from where she was buried under the blankets. Roxanne had
jumped right on top of her.

“Uh oh,” Roxanne said, after a second. She didn’t look particularly contrite, though, even
when Pansy stuck her head out. “Who are you?”

“Uncle Harry’s new girlfriend, duh,” Dom said. “My dad said she was coming, remember?”

Harry waited for a reaction, but Pansy didn’t seem particularly put out.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “They’re all terrorists.”

“I like terrorists,” Pansy said, with a grin. “My name’s Pansy. What about you?”

Roxanne was studying her, looking sort of sceptical. “Roxanne. Aunt Ginny usually sleeps in
here.”

“Sorry,” Harry said. “She’s only four, she doesn’t -”

Dom sighed. “Aunt Angelina explained like sixteen times. We’re not supposed to be rude
about it.”
“Sometimes grown ups decide to be with new people, so Harry’s dating me now, which is
why I’m sleeping in here,” Pansy said. “But he and Ginny are still friends. And I’m hoping
everyone here will be friends with me, too, even though I’m new. Is that okay with you?”

Roxanne considered. “Do you like fishing and hippogriffs?”

Pansy grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do like both those things.”

“Then you can stay,” Roxanne decided.

“Perfect.” Pansy nudged her. “Do you think you could let me up so I can get dressed and
come downstairs? I’m so hungry that I could actually eat a hippogriff, speaking of.”

“You’d better hurry up,” Dom said. “Fred and Teddy are going to eat all the waffles before
you get there.”

Roxanne climbed down off the bed and ran out about as fast as she’d come in.

Harry sat up. “We’ll be down in a minute. Tell the boys to leave some for the rest of us.”

“No promises,” Dom said, then followed Roxanne out.

“Fuck, sorry,” Harry said, rubbing a hand over his face. “I was going to try to ease you into
the chaos. The kids are… a lot. And I should’ve thought about the fact that it’s going to be
weird for them.”

Pansy laughed, pushing the blankets back. “I don’t have any siblings or cousins. I’ve always
been jealous of big families. Seems a bit less boring.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Harry said. “But seriously, you can set boundaries, they’ll
listen. I’ll back you up.”

Pansy pulled on a jumper, throwing a shirt at him. She looked amused. “Where’s the fun in
that?”

Harry tried not to stall on getting dressed, but when he had to open the door, he found he
couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.

Pansy put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry managed. “I just haven’t seen her since I moved out.”

“Harry,” she said, softly, “you’re not doing this alone. I’m in your corner. But if you don’t
want to do it, I’m perfectly happy to feign some sort of work emergency that requires we go
back to London immediately.”

Harry took a breath. “No. I want to see the kids. And I want… I want you to meet everyone.”

It was a bit hard to acknowledge that he wasn’t, in fact, bringing her home to meet his family
because they were actually dating, but they were still friends. And he still cared about her.
She took his hand, leading him down the stairs, and he had to sort of admire the fact that she
didn’t even pause at the sheer number of people in the kitchen, all of whom turned to look at
them.

“Good morning,” she said, brightly.

“Um,” Harry said. “This is…”

Ginny was cutting up fruit at the counter. He suddenly couldn’t breathe, but Pansy squeezed
his hand hard and he managed to take a breath.

“This is Pansy,” Bill supplied. “Harry seems to like her, so it’d be fabulous if the rest of you
could avoid driving her off with your heathen ways.” Fleur elbowed him. “And, er, Fleur and
I like her too, so you’d be doing us all a favour.”

“Good luck with that,” Angelina said, dryly. She was cutting up a waffle for Roxanne.
“Welcome to the circus.”

Harry suddenly found himself nearly knocked over by a teenager, who was hugging him -
and, somewhat to his surprise, Pansy.

“Hey, Ted,” he said, laughing. “I missed you too.”

“I happen to know your grandmother raised you with actual manners,” Pansy said, but she
was grinning at him. She ruffled his hair, which was bright red. “Trying to blend in?”

“Pansy’s my… cousin or something,” Teddy announced. His hair suddenly turned the exact
same dark brown shade as hers, which, for Teddy, was as good as declaring allegiance. “She’s
cool. She gives good Christmas presents.”

All the kids suddenly looked significantly more interested.

“Hi, I’m Audrey.” Percy’s wife waved from where she was sitting at the table. In spite of
Ron’s constant complaints about her attachment to rules, Harry had always sort of liked her.
“Nice to meet you. You get used to it.”

“I’m sure I will,” Pansy said. She’d turned toward Fleur, who was bouncing the baby, and
Molly, who was doing something involving a pan of eggs. “How can I help? Please, put me
to work.”

“Just, er, don’t let her near anything you’d like to remain edible,” Harry said. He was trying
very hard not to look at Ginny.

Pansy hit his shoulder, pretending to look offended. “Don’t start, I’m trying to make a decent
first impression.”

“You can take this,” Fleur said, holding out Louis. “And feed it, I suppose. There is milk in
the cooling pantry. A bottle is -” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the cabinets.
“Somewhere over there.”
“Fleur, you can’t just hand our child off to people without asking,” Bill said, dryly.

“Oh, but she can,” Pansy said, grinning, and held out her hands, going in slowly enough that
she didn’t startle the baby when she took him. Harry was startled to find she actually looked
thrilled. “Look how much bigger you are than the last time I saw you. I can see you’re taking
eating very seriously.”

“Harry, dear, can you take this?” Molly said, gesturing at a frying pan. She stepped around
Fleur to kiss his cheek. “I’ll show Pansy where the baby’s things are.”

“Excellent, thank you.” Pansy tickled Louis until he smiled at her, no longer looking
uncertain at having been passed off. “Should we get you breakfast? I think we definitely
should.”

“Nice going, she’s been trying to get rid of him for an hour,” Ron said. “He screamed at
everyone else.”

“Clearly, he’s got excellent taste,” Pansy said, with a grin, bouncing him. “Or he knows I’m
going to feed him.”

“Don’t let those burn,” Molly said, leaving him with the eggs, right next to Ginny.

“Um,” she said, after a very long silence. He had the feeling everyone was watching them.
“Hi, Harry.”

“Hey, Gin,” he replied, letting out a breath, because… it turned out the anticipation might
have been worse than reality.

She was cutting blueberries, and when she lifted a hand to brush her fringe out of her face
where it had come loose from her braid, she made a face. Her hand was covered in juice.
“Damn, I -”

Before he could think better of it, he did it for her.

“Better?” he said.

“Yeah.” She looked up at him, with a small smile that still felt familiar. “Thanks.”

“So,” he said, trying to smile back. “How’ve you been?”

“Busy with work. I’ve got this new account, you wouldn’t believe how…” She stopped,
looking a bit rueful. “Actually, never mind, it’s quite boring.”

“No, I’d like to hear,” Harry said, picking up a wooden spoon to shift the eggs. “If… if you’d
like to tell me.”

He thought just about everyone had quit paying attention to them, by the time he’d started on
a third pan of eggs and Ginny had moved on to bananas. But everyone looked back up when
Pansy, holding Louis and casually leaning against a counter, came over.
“Ginny,” she said, “could I borrow you for a moment? In the other room?”

“Oh,” Ginny said. “Ah, I…”

“Please,” Pansy said. It absolutely wasn’t a request, but Harry wasn’t entirely sure Ginny had
realised.

“You don’t need to -” he said, quietly, reaching for Pansy’s sleeve.

Pansy wasn’t smiling, but the look she gave him was somehow warm anyway. “I do, actually.
Ginny?”

“Sure,” Ginny said, finally. “Did you mean the hall?”

Luckily, Roxanne knocking over a glass of chocolate milk was a big enough distraction that
no one else really seemed to be paying attention when they came back in. Ginny was a bit
pale, and Pansy looked pleased with herself, which probably didn’t bode well.

“What did you do?” he whispered, when she came back over. Ginny had disappeared into the
pantry.

“Nothing.” Pansy reached around him, stealing a piece of banana. She quickly popped it in
her mouth when Louis tried to grab it from her. “Choking hazards are for adults,” she
informed him.

Harry elbowed her. “Pansy.”

“I told her I deeply appreciated how badly she’d fucked everything up with you, because
otherwise I wouldn’t have had the chance,” Pansy murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to his
temple. “But I also might have mentioned that if she hurt you again, we’d be having words,
and those words would probably be ‘avada’ and ‘kedavra’ on my part.” She grinned. “It’s
also possible I noted that I had absolutely no idea why anyone would ever bother shagging
someone else when you were on offer.”

“Oh my god,” Harry said, faintly.

“Best defence is a good offence,” Pansy said, cheerfully. “By the way, you’re burning the
eggs.”
_______

When he’d finished carrying the last of the bags from the car to their room, he came back
downstairs. Ron was leaning against the railing on the porch with a beer, looking down at the
beach. Neville was leaning next to him.

Neville gestured toward a basket. “Hey, Harry. There’s more over there if you want one.”

“Try not to completely fuck up my cooling charm,” Ron said. “That took real effort.”

Neville snorted. “He’s not wrong. Except he’s failed to mention that it took him almost no
effort because he didn’t actually manage it on anything but his own bottle. I had to do the
rest.”

“Try not to completely fuck up Neville’s cooling charm,” Ron offered. “How’s that?”

“Thanks, Nev,” Harry said, summoning a bottle. “What are you watching?”

Neville turned, with a smile over his shoulder. “George brought some of those new low
height snitches. The kids are chasing one.”

“Correction,” Ron said, looking amused. “The kids and Pansy are chasing one.”

Harry came up to the railing. Lucy was building a sandcastle, and Fred was helping her.
Victoire and Teddy were all out running towards something, with Molly and Roxanne right
behind. Pansy had Dom on her shoulders, chasing the rest of them, and when Teddy stopped
short and grabbed into the air, Molly ploughed into him. Harry watched everyone go down in
a tangled heap, hearing shrieks of laughter. Dom came up holding something.

“Pansy and I win!” she yelled, loudly enough to be heard all the way at the house. “Everyone
else loses!”

“Audrey wouldn’t let the girls go down without adult supervision,” Ron said, dryly.
“Demonstrating yet again that Percy somehow managed to find and marry the only human
being on earth who’s more of a stick in the mud than he is.”

Neville elbowed him. “Be nice. She’s just… protective.”

“She’s something,” Ron said. “Anyway, Pansy took them.”

Harry watched Pansy climb to her feet, trying to dust herself off, only to get tackled by Lucy,
who had sneaked up on the rest of them. She came up laughing, grabbing her to toss her in
the air.

“I think she likes kids.” Ron’s glance over at him wasn’t particularly subtle. “You like kids.”

“Yeah.” Harry held out his bottle to Ron. “Hold that.”

He left his shoes on the porch, rolling up the cuffs on his jeans, and went down toward the
beach.

“Oh, hi,” Pansy said, when she saw him. She looked flushed and windswept, happy in a way
that Harry had rarely seen her look before around other people. It was as if she’d suddenly
dropped her guard. “Want to join us?”

Harry stepped in, took her face in his hands, and kissed her. He could taste the salt on her
skin, feeling her pulse racing under his hands. She wound her arms around his waist and
smiled against his mouth, and he let himself have it for one single, ideal moment.

“Ew,” Lucy said, finally.

“Gross,” Roxanne agreed.

When he pulled back, Pansy laughed. “What was that for?”

“I just wanted to,” Harry said, suddenly feeling breathless. “So I did.”

“If you’re finished being completely disgusting,” Victoire said, sounding bored, “we have
enough for boys against girls now.”

Pansy tried to straighten her jumper. “That’s five on three. I’m not sure that’s quite even.”

“Done,” Teddy said, quickly.

“Smart lad,” Harry said, with a grin. “Want to show them how it’s done?”

___

After dinner, Audrey and Percy put most of the kids down - most of them had decided to
camp in Victoire’s room, although Teddy and Victoire had lobbied for a later bedtime and
won on the grounds of it being summer holidays. Some people had gone down to the local
pub, Ginny included, and Harry had felt an unsurprising amount of relief at the prospect of
not sharing a house for a few hours. Angelina’s mother had sent a package of muggle board
games for the cottage at Christmas. They’d been dragged into a rather vicious game of
Monopoly wherein Teddy and Victoire had formed some sort of unholy alliance.

“Park Lane with a hotel,” Victoire said, holding out a hand to Pansy. “Pay up.”

Pansy shook her head, then laughed. “I’m officially out.”

“Your mortgaged properties are forfeit,” Teddy pointed out. “Give them over to her.”

Pansy slid them across the table obligingly.

“D’you want to buy Piccadilly?” Victoire said, to Teddy. “You’ve got the other two yellow
ones.”

Teddy considered the board. “What are you asking?”

“Full price plus getting it unmortgaged, and free rent on all the yellows.”

“Done,” Teddy said, holding out a hand. She handed over the card in exchange for his money.

“Well,” Bill said, thoughtfully. “It’s good there’s not even an outside chance you’ll be in
Hufflepuff, Vic, because otherwise I think the entire school would be doomed next month.”

“It could happen,” Victoire said. She’d spent a not insignificant amount of time debating the
merits of all the houses.

“Yeah,” Teddy agreed. “Then we’d be the best house even more.”

“As the token Hufflepuff adrift in a sea of Gryffindors…” Audrey was knitting on the sofa.
“Sorry, darling, it’s absolutely not happening.”
“As the token Slytherin,” Pansy said, with a grin, “we’ll take her.”

“But I think I want Gryffindor like dad,” Victoire protested. “And everyone else.”

“You won’t know until you know.” Bill exchanged a long, amused glance with Fleur, then
added, sotto voce, “But let’s just say I think mum’s going to be knitting a lot of green
sweaters.”

It was a mark of just how far they’d come that the laughter was genuine. Harry caught the
fragile expression on Pansy’s face, half startled and half hopeful. A moment later, he noticed
that Molly was watching her too.

“There are lovely people in all the houses, dear,” she said, finally. “I’m sure you’ll make
plenty of new friends.”

Neville smiled. “We’ll look out for you, don’t worry.”

“Speak for yourself.” Ron reached over to ruffle her hair. “I for one intend to embarrass you
as much as possible.

“Ugh, Uncle Ron,” she muttered, ducking. “I’ll tell mum and dad on you.”

“Sadly for you,” Bill said, amused, “I’m very pro-embarrassment when it comes to my
children.”

“Me too,” Fleur agreed. “It is good for you.”

“It’s your turn, Uncle Harry,” Teddy said. “The rest of you should quit stalling.”

“Given my resounding defeat, I’m going to take this -” Pansy said, lifting her glass of wine.
“And go upstairs to read for a bit.”

“Just out of curiosity, how bad is she in comparison to Hermione?” Ron grinned at her. “I’ve
seen you with at least six different books so far.”

Harry laughed. “About the same. I’ve lost my entire bedside table, she’s got too many for her
side.”

He realised, belatedly, exactly what he’d admitted. It wasn’t that they were sleeping together
- he wasn’t stupid enough to think everyone hadn’t already drawn that conclusion - but that
she read in his bed, that she shared it often enough to have her own things there, that there
were nights that they didn’t have sex and still slept in the same place. It was an explicit
implication that they had the casual, domestic intimacy of people who really cared about each
other.

It wasn’t, strictly speaking, a lie: there were hundreds of her things at his place, he’d given up
three quarters of his sock drawer and most of the wardrobe. Her books were everywhere. But
it wasn’t real. And the half-truth hurt like hell, because he’d have to give it all up eventually.
Pansy laughed. “I left room for your glasses and your obnoxious muggle alarm clock.” She
leaned over him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Are you coming up now or staying down here
with these heathens?”

“Hey,” Victoire protested. “Just because you couldn’t take it doesn’t mean Uncle Harry
can’t.”

“Ouch,” Pansy said. “Bested by an eleven year old. I’m going to go lick my wounds in
peace.”

“I think the outcome’s probably a foregone conclusion,” Harry admitted. “But I’d rather go
out fighting.”

“Let’s team up and make some bad choices with stations,” Ron suggested. “Neville’s clearly
abandoned me for his strategy with the orange ones.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Neville said, dryly, “but you’re absolute rubbish at this
game.”

Ron snorted. “Think we can find a solicitor to draw up divorce papers at nine o’clock on a
Tuesday night?”

“Oh, yeah,” Bill said. “Absolutely. I’ll get right on that.”

Teddy held up the dice. “Someone roll.”

“Right,” Harry said, watching Pansy head up the stairs. “That’s me.”

When he finally got upstairs, she’d moved on to a different book than the one she’d been
reading at lunch. She’d also put their things away at some point - because apparently, Pansy
was the sort of person who unpacked on weekend trips. He went down the hall to change and
wash his face, then came back and climbed under the blankets with her. She immediately set
her book aside and pulled him in to kiss him hello.

“Next time I decide to compete against those two at literally anything whatsoever, just hit me
over the head with a heavy object,” he said, when she’d finally let him go.

“That bad?”

“Fucking bloodbath.” He pressed his head against her shoulder, and she reached up and took
off his glasses, very deliberately putting them on the bedside table next to her book.

“See?” She grinned. “I share.”

Harry wrapped his arms around her. “Yeah, except you literally have to, because my side’s
covered in all the books you brought that you haven’t gotten to yet.”

“That might be the most misguided position I’ve ever heard you take.”
“Mm,” Harry agreed, leaning in to kiss her, because he knew he could get away with it. She
pulled him closer, sliding a hand under his shirt.

“Sort of a shame no one’s back from the pub yet,” she remarked, too softly to be overheard.
“The likelihood of us staying awake long enough to take advantage of the fact that we’re
sharing a wall with Ginny so we can annoy her seems fairly low.”

“Just…” Harry cleared his throat. “You should just shut the door.”

“They aren’t going to wake me up coming back. And you hate it.”

He could hear someone on the stairs, so he kissed her again. “Close it,” he murmured.

Pansy gestured it shut from across the room a little more forcefully than was probably strictly
necessary.

“Everyone here knows I can’t fucking stand it.” Harry managed a wry smile. “They’re my
family. I lived here with Bill and Fleur for a year after the war, and I’ve been back hundreds
of times. This was my room. I’ve never left the door shut all night.”

“So you and Ginny…”

“By the time Bill gave up on making us sleep in separate rooms, we were sort of past the
whole… can’t keep-your-hands-off-each-other part.”

“Yes, about that. I’m hypothetically never getting over my love affair with your hip bones,
you’re never going to stop having to have truly ridiculous amounts of hypothetical sex with
me. It’s going to be very sad for you.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying, she’ll read into it.” He let himself fall back into the
pillows. “And so will everyone else, unfortunately.”

Pansy elbowed him. “I hate to break it to you, but I’m afraid they’ve already all drawn the
conclusion that we’re having sex.”

“Yeah.” Harry felt himself flush. “But I have, historically, not been very interested in trying
anything down the hall from…” He cleared his throat. “Everyone. And I hate being teased
about my sex life more than just about anything. So it’ll annoy Ginny to no end that you’ve
talked me into it, I always said no to her.” There was a very long pause, until he finally
elbowed her. “It’s not that weird.”

“Sorry. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you lived here for that long as an
eighteen year old and didn’t do a single inappropriate thing in here.”

He smiled, wryly. “I’m not sure I’d say I didn’t do any inappropriate things.”

Pansy laughed. “I assumed that part went without saying.”

“I was -” Harry started, then settled in against her side. “I don’t know, pretty fucked up for a
long time. Normalcy just felt like this enormous trap. I was always waiting for it to go to hell
again. So I wasn’t exactly great at intimacy with… well, anyone except Ron and Hermione.
Bill and Fleur had to fight for it. Getting closer to Ginny was just… I don’t know. I wasn’t
any good at letting people in.”

“Normality,” Pansy murmured.

“What?”

“Normality. Normalcy isn’t a word. Nouns that end in ‘cy’ come from adjectives that end in
‘t.’ Normal is an adjective that ends in an ‘l’, so its noun form requires an ‘ity’ suffix. Ergo,
normality.”

Harry found himself trying not to laugh. “So, just to clarify, we’re talking about my useless
response to overwhelming trauma, and you’re correcting my grammar.”

Pansy reached out, tangling her fingers with his. “I’m giving you an out if you want one.
Because I was being flip, and I’m a little worried I inadvertently cornered you.”

He would probably have taken it with literally anyone else, but with her… it was okay,
somehow. Before he’d really thought it through, he closed the distance between them and
kissed her. The door was shut, and it probably wasn’t, strictly speaking, allowed. But Pansy
didn’t push him away.

“Sorry,” he said, softly. “I know I shouldn’t. I just… I needed the shorthand. Thanks for… for
getting all of it.”

“You’re fine.” She laughed. “Although you’re lucky Ginny actually had some patience, I’d
just have shown up in your bed naked repeatedly until you got the idea and went for it.”

Harry snorted. “I’d probably have taken the hint eventually. Like the twentieth time or so.
And then you’d definitely have regretted it, because I kind of had no fucking clue what I was
doing for a while.”

Pansy laughed - that one, particular laugh she only ever used when she was thinking about
sex.

“I don’t think so.” She grinned. “I was about twice as demanding back then. And I like a
blank slate.”

“You’d either have been great for me or awful for me.” Harry laughed too. “Bit of a toss up,
really.”

“Well.” Pansy sounded thoughtful. “In the universe where I’m fucking you tonight, you
should probably have several pieces of information, the first of which is that my sex drive at
eighteen was ridiculous enough that even Draco couldn’t keep up, and the second of which is
that I’m nonpareil when it comes to roleplay.”

Harry laughed, because the alternative was probably… inadvisable. “And the coin toss has
absolutely come up on fucking terrible.”
“I’m just saying,” Pansy offered, “that you might want to look a bit dazed at breakfast.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You can absolutely count on Bill and Ron taking the piss. And you can also
count on me turning bright red over all the sex we haven’t actually had.”

“You’re such a rubbish liar that it makes its way around again to you being almost
convincing.” She ruffled his hair. “It’s quite impressive, really.”

“Thanks,” he said, dryly. “Are you going back to your book or are we actually going to
sleep?”

“Book. We’ve got to leave the light on long enough to be convincing.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re only saying that because you want to finish the whole thing tonight.”

“Maybe,” Pansy agreed. “But we’re having a lot of sex, so I’ve got time.”

“Where’d you put my magazine when you unpacked my entire suitcase?”

“On the shelf with all my books, obviously. Which you’d know if you summoned it.”

“Fuck off,” Harry said, with another grin, and took her advice.
___

The next morning hadn’t been going entirely badly, at least until after breakfast, when
everything suddenly went to hell.

Harry realised he’d shut the bathroom door too forcibly behind myself when Pansy jumped,
turning around fast. He could see her through the glass shower door, naked in the late
morning sunlight spilling in from the rooflights, and it was probably an indication that things
weren’t particularly great in his head that he didn’t even feel like staring.

“Potter,” she said, sounding amused. “That was locked. And if you wanted to join me, you
could have just asked.”

“I -” he tried. “Sorry, I was downstairs, and it was - I mean, I got used to having you around,
but everyone was there so it was fine, but then it turned out we ran out of something we
needed for lunch and so Angelina and Molly went to the store. And everyone else wanted to
go for ice cream, but I wanted to stay here so you weren’t alone in the house, so I came up to
read, but I heard the door to Ginny’s room, so I think she came back. And I thought she might
try to come into my room to say hi or something, and - the idea of - the idea of being alone
with her is the worst thing I can think of, so I couldn’t think of anything else so I came in
here, and also, I think I might be having a panic attack.”

“That seems like a reasonable supposition, yes.” Pansy took a step forward, then pushed open
the glass door halfway. “Come here.”

“I just want to go. And maybe - not come back, ever.”

“We can fix it. It’s okay. Come here, Harry.”

Harry gave up and closed his eyes and leaned against the back of the door because it was all
seriously too fucking much. When he opened them a minute later, Pansy was in front of him.

“Come in here with me.” She reached for his glasses, setting them on a shelf, and then went
for the hem of his shirt. He couldn’t even bring himself to argue with her about it being a bad
idea. “It’s warm. We can talk about it.” She started to pull it over his head, and he let her.

“Is it -” he started. “Is it weird if we… I think it’s weird if we -”

“I think there’s exactly one assumption to be made about why you’re in here.” When she
finally got his shirt off, he realised she was smiling. “And you’re absolutely going to have to
come into the shower if you’d like it to be remotely plausible.”

He managed a very shaky laugh. “I didn’t really… think about that. I will, just - you know.
Maybe don’t… look.”

“I won’t. And ordinarily -” Pansy went for his belt. “I think shower sex is stupid and just
leads to very embarrassing slip and fall injuries, but this particular shower is very excessive.
And I say that as a woman who grew up in a manor. There’s a built-in bench. Half the
ceiling’s a window. It’s even got some plants. Maybe I invited you in here to explain why
there are plants in the shower and was overcome with lust. Who’s to say, really?”

“Fleur’s really into orchids. They like the humidity or something.”

He took over before she could actually start in on the button and zip on his jeans, and
undressing in front of her should probably have been more embarrassing than it actually was.
She was very pointedly keeping her eyes on his face, and the truth was that he was too tired
and stressed to really bring himself to get worked up over it. He let her guide him into the hot
water.

“You’re okay,” she said, softly. “No one’s coming in here, and we’re not planning on going
back out there for a while. It’s safe. Just take a minute.”

“Sorry. It’s so fucking stupid -”

“You know, I’ve seen this several hundred times, professionally, and I’ve never once thought
it was stupid. Admittedly, the wall of exotic shower plants and the whole situation where I’m
naked are a bit new, but the rest of it?” She smiled. “Normal human behaviour.”

“This thing where you’re calm about literally everything -” Harry let out a breath. “It’s really
annoying.”

“I’m perfectly capable of histrionics.” She grinned. “It’s just a rarity.”

“I don’t know why it’s suddenly getting to me. It’s been fine. She’s been fine.”

“Because you’ve been very politely ignoring her,” Pansy pointed out. “If you’re the only two
people in the room, you can’t do that. I’d also guess the last few times you were alone
together weren’t great. And I’d further speculate that it feels awkward, and you completely
fucking hate anything that feels awkward.”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s just kind of a lot.”

“You’re also mad.” Pansy had reached up to readjust the second shower head. “And you
really don’t like being mad. It’s about control. You’re worried you’ll lose your temper and
start something, and you don’t want to do that because conflict makes you anxious.”

Harry made a face. “This whole psychoanalysis thing is very Hermione. I’d be annoyed,
except you probably aren’t wrong.”

“I’m definitely not wrong. I’m just also not entirely sure what’s going to help. So I’ll promise
not to leave you alone with her again if you’ll tell me what you need.”

“I’m not going to be able to hide behind you forever.”

“No,” Pansy agreed. “But you can do it for now. And this is the hardest part.”

She had a way of making things uncomplicated that he’d gotten used to, a way of lining
things up and turning them over until it all fit. He’d never been any good at untangling
emotions and assessing situations, but she was. And a part of him wanted to tell her all of it,
to confess everything, because she’d fixed everything else. But he wasn’t sure she’d be
interested in trying to clean up this particular mess. In fact, he was pretty sure she wouldn’t
be.

“Can you just -” he said. “I don’t know. Make it feel less completely fucking terrible? Is that
a healing magic thing?”

“I could.” Pansy put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back a step. The tile was cold
against his back. “But it’s not a long term fix, and in my experience, it’s a whole lot worse if I
take it away and then it suddenly comes back.”

“I just sort of feel like I’m letting her win,” he admitted. “And I really hate it.”

“That, I can help with.” Pansy stepped back. “Because she absolutely had her windows open
earlier, and ours are open too. Want to go into the bedroom and pretend we don’t think
anyone’s home and have annoyingly loud fake sex? ”

“I’m not that loud,” he admitted. “And she knows it.”

Pansy laughed. “I’m not either, but she absolutely doesn’t know that.”

“Oh,” Harry said, because he’d never been sure exactly what was for show and what wasn’t.
It was possible he’d spent too much time thinking about it.

“And not to admit that I’m getting good at fake winding you up,” Pansy said, looking
amused, “but I don’t think you’re quite as quiet as you think you are.”

It was exactly as terrible of an idea as every other time he’d agreed to it, and it was probably
approaching mean, which he wasn’t. But he just wanted the distraction, and he wanted Pansy
close, because it almost always made everything in his head go quiet.
“Yeah, okay,” Harry said, tiredly.

“I’m going to finish washing my hair,” Pansy said. “You can go ahead, I’ll come rescue you
if Ginny shows up.” She laughed. “And I guess put something on, since you persist in being
weird about being naked around me.”

“If I were that weird about it, I wouldn’t be in here,” Harry said, dryly. “I do think that having
fake sex while actually naked might be a bridge too far, though.”

“Just don’t put a shirt on. I’ll be devastated.”

“Tell you what,” he said, “I won’t if you won’t.”

He dried off and got dressed again, although when he got back into the bedroom, he tossed
his shirt somewhere in the vicinity of the chair and stretched out in bed. It was stupid, they
were just messing around and none of it ever actually went anywhere, but no matter how hard
he tried, it only ever took about thirty seconds of thinking about it before he ended up
incredibly, almost uncomfortably hard.

Pansy came back a few minutes later, shutting the door behind herself.

“Hey,” he said, with a grin, because she’d gotten dressed too. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“Yes, well.” She pushed her leggings down, stepping out of them, and then pulled her shirt
over her head. “I wasn’t entirely willing to be naked in the hallway even if no one’s here.”

“You’re the one who insisted that we couldn’t just stay naked in there.”

“Sorry for trying to avoid a multitude of slip and fall injuries.” Pansy crossed the room, then
grinned. “And you don’t seem to have minded the move.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Harry grabbed her wrist, pulling her over into his lap.

She adjusted, straddling him, and then reached over, shoving another pillow behind him.
“Move, that angle’s going to be terrible.”

“Mmhm,” Harry agreed, running his thumb under the clasp of her bra. “Can I take this off?”

Pansy actually looked startled. “You want to?”

“I’m only admitting this once,” he said, “but it’s possible my feelings on your breasts are sort
of the equivalent of yours about my hips, and I really fucking need the distraction.”

He shouldn’t have admitted it, it was way too close to the truth, but the pink across Pansy’s
cheeks and the pleased look on her face made it worth it.

“What?” he said, starting to kiss her neck, finding the spot that always made her gasp, as he
undid the catch.
“I’m never quite sure how you feel about this,” she murmured, so softly he almost couldn’t
hear her. “So I’m glad there’s something you like.”

Harry couldn’t help laughing. “Pansy,” he whispered back, “I sort of thought it was stupidly
fucking obvious how I felt about it. As in, you’re in my lap, you can tell every time.”

“That’s just -” She laughed. “I mean, fairly involuntary.”

Harry leaned back against the pillows, very deliberately studying her in the late afternoon
sunlight.

“You’re incredible,” he said, honestly. “And I think doing this with you is good for me on a
number of levels.”

Pansy’s smile was entirely worth having taken the risk. “It’s also good for me. But my levels
all involve the fact that I’m allowed to lick your stomach when no one else is, I feel very
smug about it.”

“Oh, do you?” Harry pushed up, tipping her backwards toward the foot of the bed. She fell,
laughing, and grabbed at him. He went after, stretching out over her, and she hit him on the
shoulder.

“Next time you want to be on top, just ask.”

“Nah,” he said, after pretending to consider it. “That way was more fun.”

“I suppose we’re lucky the mood doesn’t strike you very often,” Pansy said, dryly.
“Otherwise you’d probably knock me onto the floor.”

“Hey, it strikes me.” He laughed. “And then I think about how great it is with you on top, and
it usually goes away. But -” He propped himself up on one elbow and slid a hand into her
hair, still damp from the shower. “The light’s better this way, I can see you.”

“Don’t tell anyone, but if it involves you,” Pansy said, smiling up at him, “I’m really all in on
basically just about anything.”

He really couldn’t think about losing this, because it was probably going to kill him, so he
kissed her instead.

Every other time they’d done this, it had been a carefully orchestrated performance. But here,
in the place he loved best in the world, with her underneath him, he forgot about everything
else. With Draco, he’d let Pansy figure out how to make it believable, but with Ginny, it was
all him. And the easiest way to make it seem real was, for a little while, to let himself believe
that it was.

So he just kissed her, instead, watching her eyes go dark with desire every time he touched
somewhere new. She kept arching up against him like she liked the weight. He brushed the
back of his fingers just above her collarbone and got a soft noise, then a louder one when he
kissed down her sternum to her stomach.
“You know,” he said, “two can definitely play at this game,” and nipped at her hip.

Pansy’s laughter was genuine, and while he kissed his way back up, she buried her hands in
his hair. “You can be a little less polite about touching me up, Potter,” she murmured. “For
the purposes of this exercise, let’s just say you’re welcome to put your hands anywhere you’d
like.”

He grinned. “That’s a bit open ended.”

“Feel free to take liberties,” Pansy said, grinning back. “I’m sure I’ll like them.”

He let himself get lost in her. Caught between the curve of her spine and her laughter and the
sweet warmth of the coastal sun, he quit thinking about everything. It wasn’t complicated, his
hands and her mouth and the trust he couldn’t seem to keep himself from giving her.

“Hey,” she said, softly, a while later. “We should probably -” She laughed. “I don’t know,
actually go interact with the people downstairs. Ginny definitely left, I heard her slam the
door.”

Harry blinked. “What? When did -”

Pansy stretched, pushing him off her. “Five minutes, probably. But I know how you feel
about the prospect of anyone you’re related to thinking you’re up to no good in the privacy of
your own bedroom.”

“Damn.” He leaned back, then laughed. “I thought you said you couldn’t heal any of that,
what did you do to my back?”

Pansy snorted. “No neurochemicals were involved in that fix. Just my usual constant battle
with your recalcitrant musculoskeletal system.”

“Hey.” Harry reached out for her. “Thanks for - thanks.”

“There isn’t anything to thank me for.” Pansy considered him. “If I were to disappear for ten
minutes and lock the door behind me, would you take the hint? I’ll come back and knock you
out after. Don’t think I missed that you didn’t sleep much. Then I’ll go be charming
downstairs so no one misses you until lunch.”

“I -” Harry said, then laughed. “Seriously? Are you actually suggesting…”

“I mean, I’m very willing to help.” Pansy pulled her shirt on, sounding amused. “But you
never say yes. And I’ve found that it’s much easier to put you to sleep when there’s oxytocin
involved.”

“Do I want to know how you know that?” Harry said, then paused. “Hang on, I -”

Pansy grinned. “We sleep at the same place about seventy-five percent of the nights I’m not
working. And you’re really not subtle. Let’s just say that some nights it’s much easier to keep
you from kicking me at three in the morning than others.”
“Go away so I can die, please,” Harry said, but he was mostly trying not to laugh. “And if
this is something Draco knows how to figure out, I’m never going near him again.”

“Definitely not. He’s fucking terrible at endocrinology. And he isn’t trying to keep you from
dying of sleep deprivation.”

“I hate you a little.”

“Mm,” Pansy agreed, then leaned over and kissed him very thoroughly. “Not that much,
apparently.”

“Maybe make it fifteen. I have to recover from the trauma of this conversation first.”

“I’m really not seeing any evidence of that, but okay,” Pansy said, grinning. “I’ll be back. No
promises on when. And I’m definitely not knocking.”

He decided not to dignify that with a response.

_____

When Harry finally woke up and wandered downstairs, Ron was alone in the kitchen. It
seemed like no one had bothered to wake him for lunch.

He yawned. “Where is everyone?”

“Ginny and dad took some of the kids swimming, Fleur and mum are asleep, and everyone
else stayed in town. Pansy’s watching the baby.”

Harry went to get a glass of water and stopped halfway through filling it up at the sink,
looking out the glass door. Pansy was in one of the deck chairs, giving Louis a bottle. She’d
let her hair down, spilling over her shoulders, and the baby was grabbing a piece of it with
one tiny hand, staring up at her, and she was smiling back at him. She looked soft around the
edges, relaxed in a way Harry wasn’t used to seeing from her. He’d been expecting her to
hate the whole thing, the chaos that came with his stupidly large family, but she clearly
didn’t. In fact, she almost seemed to be enjoying herself.

“So,” Ron said, thoughtfully. “Exactly how far gone are you, on a scale of one to ten?”

She looked up, realised he was watching, and smiled at him. It was different than the smile
she’d been giving Louis. It was an expression he still wasn’t quite used to yet, a look that
usually meant they were on the same team and she was getting ready to back his play.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Harry let out a breath. “Hard to say. Maybe somewhere in the hundred
million range.”

The worst part was that it was completely, utterly true.

Ron came up behind him and reached around him to shut off the tap. “Yeah. That’s about
what I thought. You want some unsolicited advice?”
Harry kept watching her out the window. “Sure.”

Ron elbowed him. “Marry her and have a couple of those. Sooner rather than later.”

Harry swallowed. “It’s only been a month. It’s complicated. And she doesn’t…”

“Louis does this thing when he’s happy.” Ron was leaning against the counter, looking past
him out the window. “He puts people in a little veela trance every time someone gives him a
bottle. They can’t focus on anything else except him. Sort of obnoxious, really. He got
Charlie a couple weeks ago at the Burrow. Couldn’t put him down for hours.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Only he’s trying right now, and it’s totally not working on her.”

“She’s probably immune. You know, the healing thing.”

“Or it’s because veela magic doesn’t work on anyone who’s already stupidly in love with
someone else,” Ron suggested, lightly.

Harry took a breath. “I -”

Ron squeezed his shoulder. “Just a thought.”

“I’m kind of…” Harry couldn’t look away from her. “Completely terrified that I’ll fuck this
up.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “The thing is, though, when it’s good, you get to trust that when you
fuck it up, the other person will forgive you. And from here, it seems good.”

“I thought it was good,” Harry said, quietly. “With Ginny. And then it wasn’t.”

“Did you?” Ron said, just as quietly. “Because honestly, I always got the impression that it
was just you wanting to do the normal thing for once combined with some hero worship on
her part, and then it was inertia. There was never any solid ground there.”

It hurt, to have the whole of it laid bare, to know everyone else had seen something he’d
missed for over a decade. “You could have told me sooner.”

“Would you have listened?” Ron asked.

“No,” Harry admitted. “Probably not.”

“All I’m saying,” Ron said, squeezing his shoulder again, “is that I never once saw Ginny
look at you like that.”

Suddenly, a little desperately, he wanted to lay the whole secret at Ron’s feet. But he couldn’t
quite bring himself to face his disappointment. “She makes me happy,” he said, instead. At
least it was true.
“You deserve that.” Ron nudged him. “So maybe let yourself have it, for once.”

“Yeah.” Harry looked down at the glass in his hand, and finally started to fill it again. He
wished it were as simple as getting out of his own way.

___

That evening, after an entire afternoon of chasing the kids around the beach, he found himself
lying on the sofa with Pansy. Fleur and Angelina had caught on to the fact that she really was
exactly as terrible in the kitchen as he’d warned, so Fleur had passed off Louis again and put
them in charge of keeping the kids out from underfoot. She was reading a book, nudging
Louis’s baby rocker with her foot every so often, and he’d given up on his magazine and
slowly tipped over into her lap. He was warm and a little fuzzy, the sort of tired that always
came after he’d worked himself up about something, although it wasn’t quite as bad as it
usually was.

She’d buried a hand in his hair, stroking absently. In any other context, he’d probably have
been too focused on it. The casual domesticity of it would have been painful, just another
reminder of what he was going to lose, but he was too sleepy to fight the vague pleasure.

“I saw that,” Pansy said, glancing up at Roxanne, who had just stolen Molly’s dragon card.
They were playing menagerie. Pansy raised an eyebrow, and Roxanne grudgingly put it back.

Fred and Dom were doing a puzzle, and Victoire and Teddy were working on some sort of
potions experiment that was probably going to blow up at some point.

“Should I be…” Harry said, drowsily.

“I’ve got it,” Pansy murmured. She smiled down at him. “Do you know, you very nearly start
purring every time I do this? It’s rather sweet.”

“Mmmhm,” he agreed. “Wake me up when dinner’s done?”

“Of course,” Pansy said, soft and warm, and he could hear the affection in her voice. He fell
asleep thinking about absolutely nothing at all.

___

After dinner, when they’d finally gotten the kids to bed and everyone had found spots in the
sitting room, Pansy leaned in against his shoulder. “I did something,” she murmured. “You
might hate me for it, but I decided to take a calculated risk.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” he said, warily.

“Molly,” she said, leaning over the back of the sofa to where Molly and Arthur were playing
a rather argumentative game of chess, “do you think it might be time?”

“I think so,” Hermione agreed, with a smile that didn’t bode particularly well for him.

“I will get it,” Fleur offered. “George, the candles…?”

“Sure,” he agreed, nudging Angelina so he could get to his feet, heading into the pantry.

A minute later, Fleur followed him. They reappeared a moment later, holding a truly
enormous cake with a ludicrous number of sparkling candles. It took him a minute, because
they’d already done a cake for Ginny the night before, with everyone, but then he realised
that everyone was singing happy birthday to him.

“I know it’s Ginny’s birthday,” Pansy said, squeezing his hand. “But we thought it would be
good to celebrate yours too. Angelina and Molly did the cake, don’t worry. I haven’t gone
near it.”

“We thought you might like this a bit more than the team party,” Hermione offered.

“Oh,” Harry said, because somehow, he knew exactly who was behind all of it. “Thanks, I…”

“If you cry, I’m going to judge you forever,” Pansy murmured, with a grin. “Come on. There
are presents for after, too.”

Audrey was halfway through cutting the cake when the chime spell went off at the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Bill said, handing her a stack of plates. “The ward spells keep letting in muggle
kids selling things for school. Although it’s a bit late for that.”

“You are the one who decided to set them up to keep out anyone with ill intent,” Fleur said,
dryly. “We could have kept everyone away.”

Bill laughed. “Yeah, but then where would all the lost muggle tourists be?”

“Still lost,” she supplied. “Less annoying.”

Ron waved him back toward the table. “I’ve got it. Keep helping mum.”

Harry’s back was to the front hall, but halfway through reaching to take the fork he was
offering, Hermione’s entire face changed. She looked startled enough that Harry turned
around fast, reaching for his wand. But the person following Ron back was Draco, holding a
bottle of wine and a gift wrapped box.

Draco stopped short when he realised everyone was staring. “Ah,” he said. “Something tells
me you didn’t tell anyone I was coming.”

“Hermione,” Ginny said, her voice dangerously low, “I know you like him now, but I can’t
believe you’d -”

“She didn’t, actually,” Ron said. “I did.” He came back to the table, holding out a hand. “I’ll
take one of those, Harry.”

“You what?” Ginny said.

“I invited him. I thought Pansy might be sick of all the Gryffindors. And Hermione’s owl
could use a break from just constantly bringing letters back and forth, she’s got to be
exhausted.”

Hermione’s cheeks suddenly went very red. “It was about a patient, I -”

Ron snorted. “Yeah. I’ll bet.”

“This is, ah, for you,” Draco said, taking a step forward and holding out the wine to Fleur.
“I’m very sorry I’m late, I got stuck at work.”

“No,” Ginny said. “No, you aren’t coming in here. I’ve put up with you at all these stupid
work parties and benefits for Hermione’s sake, I’ve put up with fucking Pansy all week, but
this is our home. Everyone else might have forgotten what your family did to me and who
you are, but I haven’t. You aren’t welcome. Get out.”

The silence was deafening, until Fleur finally put her glass down.

“Actually,” she said, lightly. “It is my home. And Bill’s.”

“If he stays, I’m leaving,” Ginny said.

“So here’s the thing, Gin,” Ron said, almost casually, so calm that it took Harry a moment to
realise that he was absolutely furious. “There’s a little girl asleep upstairs. She’s eleven years
old. Her dad had to carry her to bed. She’s starting at Hogwarts this fall. And sometimes, I
think about the bad decisions she’s allowed to make. Sometimes she doesn’t clean her room.
She fights with her sister. She tried to help with the laundry yesterday and turned all my
socks pink.”

Ron was looking straight at Ginny. “But we’d never let her hurt anyone else. We’d never ask
her to hurt anyone else. We fought an entire fucking war to be sure these kids get to be kids.
Neville and I teach them, and I’ve got to tell you, they feel younger every year. So maybe
think about the fact that adults asked him to hurt other people in exchange for their love and
approval, and then maybe fuck completely off, because you don’t get to judge Malfoy. He
hurt people when he was a kid because he got told to do it. You, on the other hand, are a
grown fucking woman. And if we’re keeping score, he hasn’t done any terrible things lately.
Neither has Pansy. Nobody has to be ashamed of their behaviour like everyone here is
ashamed of yours.”

Ginny stared at him for a minute before she ran out of the room. Harry heard the back door
slam.

“Right,” Ron said, coolly. “Anyone here want to follow her and royally hack me off?”

“No,” Bill said, after a minute. “I think she had that coming.”

“She definitely had that coming,” George agreed.

“I should probably go,” Draco offered, still frozen in the doorway. “I didn’t mean to cause
any trouble.”

“No,” Neville said, finally. “I think you should stay. You did come all the way out here.”
“The wards wouldn’t have let him in,” Hermione said, firmly. “If… if he meant anyone here
harm, which he obviously doesn’t, he wouldn’t be here. So I want him to stay.”

“Me too,” Harry said, after a minute. “If he goes, I go, and that’d be sort of stupid since it’s
my birthday party.”

Pansy was studying Ron with a strange look on her face. Harry caught the moment when
Molly looked away from where Ginny had disappeared and towards Pansy, then over to him.
She seemed to make a decision.

“Angelina, dear,” she said. “Would you mind getting another plate?”
____

“Hey,” Harry said, an hour later, when Pansy stepped in off the balcony, shutting the door
carefully behind her. They’d been out there for a while. He put his book aside. “Everyone
else went to bed. Is he… you know, okay? Are you?”

“Surprisingly, more upset over Ron than Ginny. I think he doesn’t quite know what to do with
the Gryffindor offence when it’s on his behalf. But I thought I’d leave him to Hermione.”

Harry turned around and looked past Pansy, through the door, and watched Hermione step in
closer, touching Draco’s arm. He bent his head, so close they nearly blurred into each other in
the porch light, and when Hermione said something, Harry watched him start to smile.

“It’s funny,” Pansy murmured, coming to sit next to him on the sofa. “I thought it’d hurt
more.”

“What?” Harry said.

“We were…” Pansy was looking out the door. “When it was all completely horrible, we
didn’t really have anyone else. It was just us. And he was always…”

Harry slid an arm around her shoulders, drawing her in. “Yeah.”

“When you end up at A&E in the middle of the night,” Pansy said, “or things go brilliantly
and you have to tell someone, it’s…” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “You know. Who
do you want there most? Who’s your first call? Everyone’s got a person. And I was always
his. Except I don’t think I am, anymore.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, softly. “I don’t think I’m hers either. And I’m definitely not Ron’s.
Which means I’m not anybody’s. It’s a weird feeling.”

“I thought I’d be jealous.” Pansy turned toward him. “But I’m not, not really. He’s too
happy.”

“Be sort of great if they’d actually acknowledge it, though.” Harry laughed. “Think we could
lock them in a bedroom until they sort it out?”

“Tempting. I was thinking of slipping some veritaserum in his tea.”

“Just so long as I’m not around. I don’t think I want to know what he really thinks of me.”

“He likes you a lot, actually. He’s just never going to admit it to your face. He’s no good at
that.”

Harry realised that Pansy was studying him, her eyes dark and warm in the firelight, and he
couldn’t remember why he’d ever thought brown eyes were the least interesting colour.

“I’ll be yours,” he said, feeling impulsive and almost as if he were caught in an undertow. “If
you want. Your three in the morning person.”

Pansy looked at him for a moment longer, then, suddenly, twisted, getting a knee over him
and lowering herself into his lap. She buried her hands in his hair.

“That’s a terrible offer,” she murmured, so close her nose was almost touching his. “Three in
the morning is the middle of my day most of the time. I need availability around lunchtime.”

Harry settled his hands on her hips. “What if I promise to be available for any afternoon crisis
situations?”

“Done.” Pansy was starting to smile. “I hear you have a position open, mind if I fill it?”

“Dunno. Aren’t there usually interviews involved?”

“I can assure you,” Pansy said, bending her head to press a kiss to the curve of his jaw, so
unexpected that his breath caught, “that I’m much more qualified than any other candidate.”

“Oh, all right.” He let his head fall back, making room. “I’m guessing Draco’s watching?”

“Probably.” Pansy kissed down his neck. “And they’re going to have to come in eventually.”

“I think this might be a little obvious,” he managed.

“He knows I’m nice on birthdays.” Pansy grinned against his skin. “He also knows I’m
somewhat shameless. And that I don’t mind getting caught.”

Harry leaned up to catch her mouth with his, giving in. She made a soft, pleased noise, as if
she’d won something, and pressed in closer. After a minute, she took his face in her hands,
deepening the kiss, with a sort of warmth that he could feel everywhere. He untucked her
shirt, getting his hands on her skin, and when he brushed his fingers up her spine, her breath
went uneven in a way that made him exceptionally glad he’d given up on getting
embarrassed about being turned on a long time ago.

He reached up to undo a button, pressing kisses across her shoulder until he could lick over
the hollow of her throat. He could feel her pulse starting to pick up underneath his mouth. It
was, somehow, viciously satisfying to know every time that he wasn’t alone in liking it, that
he was making her like it too, that he could get a reaction out of her.

He undid another few and kissed lower, along the black lace of her bra, because she was
right, they had to come in eventually. “We’re not pretending to have sex on the sofa.”
“I don’t know.” Pansy sounded breathless. “Keep doing that, and I might have to insist.”

Harry laughed. “Guaranteed way to summon a five year old who’s looking for a glass of
water.”

“All those times I said I liked children,” Pansy muttered, “seem to have been superlative
lies.”

“Mm,” Harry agreed, suddenly distracted.

“Do you want to take this upstairs?” Pansy arched into his touch. “Because I would, in fact,
be willing to take this upstairs. I’m good at this, Potter, you’ll definitely enjoy it. And I’m
very nice on birthdays.”

Harry didn’t, particularly, mostly because taking it upstairs meant stopping, but he heard the
door open a minute later.

“Honestly, Harry,” Hermione said, although she sounded more amused than anything else.
“You’re in the middle of the sitting room.”

Harry laughed. “I have it on good authority that you’re allowed to get away with really bad
behaviour at your belated birthday party.”

Pansy laughed, leaning back to start doing up her shirt. “Don’t blame him, I started it.”

“She said, as if we weren’t discussing a fully grown man capable of making better choices.”

“You try telling her no,” Harry said. “It never ends well for me.”

“Shockingly,” Draco said, “I’m with Potter. She’s very good at getting into trouble and taking
everyone else with her.”

Pansy got to her feet. “Excellent, I’ve trained you both well.”

“Did you want to stay?” Harry offered. “I can transfigure the sofa if you don’t mind getting
woken up by screaming children at an obscenely early hour.”

“Or you could just share with Hermione,” Pansy suggested.

Harry had to fight back a laugh when they both went red.

“I’m in Dom’s room,” Hermione said, too quickly. “There are bunk beds. That’s what she
meant.”

Pansy snorted. “Are you really implying I’d suggest putting all of -” She gestured up and
down at Draco. “- that into the top bunk of a child’s bed?”

Harry tried for a straight face. “So, what, you’re suggesting he take the bottom bunk?”

She was actually smirking. “I’m suggesting they transfigure the fucking bed, Potter.”
Draco cleared his throat. “Thanks, but I’ve got an early shift. Someone’s got to keep the new
junior healers in line while you lot are on holiday. Ron did a portkey.”

Pansy made a face. “Try not to let them kill anyone.”

“No promises,” Draco said, dryly. “I really appreciate you both abandoning me on Black
Wednesday.”

“I took it last year while you two were fucking around in Majorca,” Pansy said. “I feel
absolutely no guilt.”

Draco considered. “Right. What do you say you and I go on holiday next year? I don’t care
where, so long as we get revenge on Hermione for skiving off two years in a row.”

Hermione laughed. “Oh, fuck you. I’m not even supposed to be on call for A&E this week,
it’s Hawkins.”

“The depths of my loathing for Hawkins are impossible to express,” Draco said, dryly.

“You owe Draco for putting up with him without me there to make withering remarks about
Hawkins’ overwhelming ineptitude. I could make some suggestions about how to make it up
to him.”

Draco gave her a look that Harry didn’t have too much trouble interpreting. “And I’m leaving
now.”

“I’ll walk you to the edge of the wards,” Hermione offered. “It’s dark, you might have trouble
finding where Ron left it.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” Draco said, too quickly. “It’s getting late. And then you’d
have to walk back alone.”

“I can go with you,” Harry offered. “If you want.”

Hermione smiled. “Thanks. Although I do feel sort of obligated to point out that I’m
perfectly capable of taking care of myself on a walk back down a beach.”

Pansy leaned in to kiss Draco’s cheek. “I’m going to bed. Try not to keep me waiting forever,
Harry.”

“I don’t know.” Harry got to his feet. “Patience is a virtue?”

“Let’s put it this way,” Pansy said. “If you take too long, I’ll start without you. And if you
really take too long, I’ll also finish without you.”

“Ouch.” Draco looked as if he were trying very hard not to laugh. “I think you lost that
round, Potter.”

“I lose every fucking round,” Harry said, dryly. “Have you met her?”
After they got back, Hermione went to bed. Harry thought it probably wasn’t a particularly
good idea to climb into bed with Pansy before she’d fallen asleep, so he went back to the
sofa. When he finally gave up on his book and went to get a glass of water, he noticed that
Fleur had left the dishes soaking in the sink. He added soap and cast a spell on the sponge; it
started scrubbing them on its own, but he carefully took the first clean wine glass and started
to dry it by hand. It was a habit he’d picked up from Ginny over the years. She’d always
insisted the dishes got spots if you dried them with a spell. It was stupid, he’d watched Fleur
magic them dry all week, but it was something to do with his hands that at least felt
constructive. It meant he didn’t have to think too hard about any of it.

He was halfway through the glasses when he heard the back door. Ginny looked as if she’d
been intending to sneak in, but she stopped when she saw him. She had very clearly been
crying. It looked familiar, because the truth was that she’d cried every time they fought. He’d
made it happen.

He could still remember the first time she’d cried because of a fight, when they’d been
nineteen and still in love with each other. He’d felt terrible. But somewhere, along the way,
he’d stopped feeling quite so much guilt and had started considering it a victory.

He couldn’t even bring himself to feel particularly anxious, because she looked utterly
destroyed.

“Hey,” he said, finally.

“Hey,” Ginny said, quietly. “Need some help?”

“Sure.” He handed her a second towel. “You want to do the plates?”

She reached over and took it. “Yeah, sure.”

They’d done it a hundred times, every holiday dinner and family party. He always started on
the glasses, she always started with the plates, and they met in the middle with the
dinnerware. Half the time, the last few years, they’d been furious with each other. Somehow,
though, the dishes had always gotten done.

“Do you hate me, Harry?” Ginny said, after a few minutes of silence. “Because I’m pretty
sure Ron hates me.”

“No,” he said, finally. “I don’t hate you. And I don’t think Ron does either.”

“He loves you more than me,” Ginny said, after another minute.

“That’s not true. You’re his sister.”

She let out a breath. “And you’re his brother.”

Harry put the last wine glass to the side, then gestured them up into the cupboard. “We went
through a lot together.”

Ginny was focusing hard on a plate. “I don’t think he’s ever going to forgive me.”
“I think you’re going to have to give him some time.” Harry turned, leaning against the
counter, finally looking at her. “And I also think, if we’re talking about forgiveness, you’re
going to have to find a way to accept that people change. Draco’s… different than he used to
be. You should trust Hermione on that.”

Ginny looked up at him. “And Pansy?”

“Maybe,” Harry said, quietly, “you could try trusting me on her. She’s been decent to you all
week. She didn’t deserve that.”

“Is it serious?” Ginny was studying him, with focus that felt recognisable and unfamiliar all
at once. It was the way she’d looked at him once, what felt like a lifetime ago. “Because
sometimes I… sometimes I think I really made a mistake.”

It was what he’d thought he’d wanted. He’d wanted her to want him again, to realise how
badly she’d fucked up, and then he’d wanted to hurt her as badly as she’d hurt him. It was
why he’d agreed to all of it. But in the end, it turned out that revenge wasn’t the gift Pansy
had given him.

“Gin,” he said, softly. “I’m in love with her.”

“Oh,” Ginny said.

“You didn’t make a mistake. It hurt like hell, I wish you’d found another way, but at least one
of us had the courage to put the whole thing out of its misery.”

“It was good at one point.” Ginny had looked away again. “Wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “At one point.”

“It’s something, anyway.”

“I’m sorry.” He let out a breath. “Because I keep on letting you take the fall for it, but it was
me, too. You wanted me to be someone I wasn’t. I was never all that much of a hero. But I
should have just… let it go. I should have ended it years ago. I just kept hoping we could get
back to the beginning. I went on thinking maybe the truce was going to call itself and it
would be like it was.”

“Harry -” Ginny started.

He glanced toward the stairs, where Pansy was waiting upstairs, and he knew Ginny saw him
do it. “It took her for me to realise that the kind of love we had at seventeen wasn’t good
enough. We both deserved better than that. I wish we’d been it for each other, I really do, but
I was never enough for you. You should be with someone who loves the whole of you,
exactly as you are, now. Not who you were ten years ago. And I… I want that for myself,
too.”

Ginny was quiet for a very long moment, and then, unexpectedly, she laughed. “You could’ve
just said ‘no, thanks.’ Or maybe ‘go fuck yourself.’”
“No, thanks,” Harry said dryly, and then hit her with the tea towel. “Also, go fuck yourself.”

Ginny jumped, still laughing, and then reached down and threw the sponge at his face.

“That was really uncalled for,” he managed, dripping, trying for a straight face, and then gave
in to laughter.

“I miss you, sometimes,” she said, softly, after they’d finished splashing soap suds at one
another.

“Yeah,” Harry said, swallowing. “Yeah, me too.”

“I’ll try harder. I know maybe I don’t deserve the second chance, but we’re going to be
seeing each other at holidays for the rest of our lives, so maybe… maybe we could try to be
friends.”

“Friends sounds good,” he said, then pulled her into a hug.

“Well, fuck,” Ginny said, a minute later, wiping her eyes, still laughing a little. “You’re
wrecking my mascara. Not that it wasn’t already completely horrible.”

“Bet I can make it worse.” He grinned and sprayed her in the face with the tap.

“Oh, you’re dead,” Ginny said, reaching for the bottle of soap.

When he finally started to climb into bed, after carefully shutting the door behind him and
taking off his glasses, Pansy made a soft noise and rolled over, holding out a hand to pull him
in.

“Fucking finally,” she muttered. “I’ve been waiting forever. I almost froze to death. I left the
window open for you.”

Harry laughed. “What kind of witch are you, exactly?”

“The kind that’s never letting you come to bed late again,” Pansy grumbled. “It’s been at least
an hour.”

“I thought you’d be asleep.”

“No,” Pansy said, softly. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. I don’t think you like
people choosing sides any more than Draco does, even if they’re all on yours.”

“Something of a raging headache,” Harry admitted. “And I could’ve done without that whole
mess being brought up in front of absolutely everyone. I don’t think they all knew. But I
might’ve patched things up a bit with Ginny. That part’s not so awful.”

Pansy slid a hand up, lifting her fingertips to his temple. “Well, at least I can help with half of
that.”
Harry finally gave in, burying his face against her neck and wrapping his arms around her. “I
hate it. Everyone taking sides, I mean. I wasn’t much better than her. I was just better at
faking nice in front of them. But it wasn’t like she destroyed something perfect. I probably…
deserved it. I wasn’t great, behind closed doors.”

“If you were awful,” Pansy said, “then you deserved to be broken up with. You deserved for
her to tell you that she didn’t want to be with you anymore. If you backed her into a corner,
you probably deserved it if she hit below the belt. You didn’t deserve what she did.” She
touched down the back of his neck, then over his shoulders, until he felt the tension start to
disappear. “But for the record, you were fucking terrible at faking it in front of them,
everyone knew.” She sounded a little amused. “I know because I’ve been told at least ten
times this weekend that everyone hopes I’ll come at Christmas. If they’d thought the two of
you were any good together, they’d all be against me.”

Harry laughed, softly. “Our fake break up had better be amicable, because I think Fleur might
murder me if I don’t bring you. She seems very excited about the fact that she’s gotten to take
naps. I’m told pregnancy is exhausting.”

“I’ve been promised Christmas pudding and trifle. You’d better manage an invite for me.”

“Are we -” Harry hesitated. “Is there some sort of timeline on that?”

He thought Pansy went a little tense, just for a moment, but then he decided he’d probably
imagined it.

“Do you want there to be a timeline on it?”

“I mean, Draco still hasn’t gotten it together.”

“No,” Pansy agreed. “He hasn’t.”

Harry knew - intellectually, practically, and on every single fucking level - that the longer he
kept pretending, the worse it was going to be when she left.

“So we sort of might as well.” He cleared his throat. “Unless you want it to be done.”

“No,” Pansy said. “If you don’t mind, I think it’s better to keep at it until he’s actually
managed to get himself past the point of no return with Hermione. But I know you’ve gotten
what you wanted out of it, with Ginny, so if you don’t want to anymore, I’d understand.”

“Nah. I’ll just make Hermione owe me forever.”

He definitely didn’t imagine her pulling back at that.

“If you’re putting yourself through something just on her account, I don’t -”

He reached out and found her wrist in the dark, trying to guide her back in. “Pansy. Don’t be
fucking stupid.”

“If you hate it, I -”

“Pansy.”

“It’s just,” she said, taking a breath, getting even further away, “I know I’m getting more out
of it. I’m asking more, I know what you’re doing for me is more work than what I’m doing
for you. It’s my problem, with Draco, I know the entire situation with him is my fault. I’m
not particularly easy to tolerate. I don’t want you to -”

“Pansy,” he said again, and kissed her, because he couldn’t really think of a better way to get
her to stop talking. When he drew back, he kept their foreheads pressed together. “The entire
situation with Draco is Draco’s fault for never fucking listening. And you’re probably the
single easiest person in my life.” He took a breath. “You never make me guess. I’m - I’m
really hoping you’ll still want to be friends after, because I’ll be so bored and miserable if
you don’t.”

There was a very, very long silence, and then Pansy surprised him by laughing. “I’m willing,
but we might have to work on the thing where you start snogging me out of desperation
whenever you can’t figure out how to handle me.”

“Do I really have to, though?” Harry said, dryly. “It always works.”

“No one’s going to believe we’ve broken up.”

“Worth it,” Harry said, with a grin. “Unless you can come up with something else to stop you
from spiralling for long enough that I can get a word in edgewise.”

“You could always try telling me to stop spiralling. Just a thought.”

“Nah. Way too complicated. Why fix something that isn’t broken?”

“Boundaries?”

“Also,” Harry said, “it’s sort of way less fun.”

_____

Getting out the door on the morning they were supposed to head back to London proved next
to impossible. Fleur, looking rather green around the gills, had disappeared in the middle of
fixing breakfast, which meant that Harry got roped into pitching in before they could sneak
away early, like they’d planned. Every one of the kids demanded a hug from both of them,
Roxanne and Fred tried to stow away in the boot when he pulled the car around, and Pansy
had to run back into the house three times for things she’d forgotten. And then Teddy had
asked for another goodbye, which Harry hadn’t been able to refuse.

“I’ll see you next month when you come for your school things,” Harry reminded him. He’d
buried his face against Harry’s shirt and was trying valiantly, in the way of thirteen year old
boys everywhere, to pretend he wasn’t crying. “We’ll make a day of it, I promise. And you
can come stay with me anytime you want, you know that.” He smoothed a hand over Teddy’s
hair, which had gone black and rather wild. “Your gran’s always happy to bring you.”
“I came in June, though,” Teddy said, muffled. “For a whole week. And you have work and a
girlfriend and -”

“Ted,” Harry said, firmly, crouching down with a smile. “I have a number one priority. And
that’s you. I promise. Always. Okay?”

Teddy finally nodded, but he was still biting his lip. “Okay.”

“Not to interrupt,” Pansy said, leaning against the car door, “but I’ve got to go to some
extremely boring meetings in France at the end of the month. Harry’s probably going to be
very lonely. I bet he’d love it if you came to visit. You could go school shopping together
then.”

“Really?” Teddy said, tentatively.

“Yeah, that sounds perfect,” Harry said, with a smile. “I’ll talk to Andromeda. Let’s plan on
it.”

“I suppose it might be more convenient for Bill and Fleur to go with Victoire at the same
time,” Pansy suggested. “You could show her what she’ll need and help her with her list, I’m
sure they’d appreciate it. It’s been a long time since they had to do shopping for a first year.
I’ll be back by the weekend, I can come too.”

“I bet she’ll need loads of help.” Teddy brightened. “And Gran said I could have an owl this
year so I can write to her and you at school, Victoire can help me pick one.”

“I’ll owl you this week,” Harry promised, hugging him one last time. “I love you. Very
much.”

“I love you back,” Teddy said. “I’m going to go ask Uncle Bill if she can come!”

He ran off toward the house, waving, and Harry slid into the passenger side. “Quick, let’s go
before someone else decides they want something.”

They actually managed to get out of the drive, and Pansy swung out over the coast.

“I thought we’d go this way.” She nudged him. “It’s longer, but I get the impression you like
the ocean.”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted. “It’s nice to have absolutely nothing blocking you in. And… thanks.
For Teddy, I mean.” He let out a breath. “Ginny and I ending things hasn’t been very easy on
him, because he hasn’t been able to visit as much. If I’m travelling or training runs over,
there’s no one to stay with him. So I think it’s hard for him when I go. But you don’t exactly
need to subject yourself to Diagon Alley the week before everyone leaves for Hogwarts.”

“Draco and I have to be there anyway for Hermione’s muggle born assimilation project.”
Pansy pressed a kiss to his cheek as she opened the door. “Besides, I like getting to see him.”
She glanced over at him. “And there are now, in fact, two more adults who are perfectly
willing to pitch in. Draco and I can help any time.”
“Do you think…” Harry managed, finally, feeling awkward, but it suddenly seemed
important to be sure. “After all this, can we keep… I don’t know, spending time together?
Like we have been?”

“Did you mean it, last night? That you want to stay friends?” Pansy drummed her fingers on
the steering wheel, which was absolutely her nervous tell. “Or were you just saying it out of
obligation? Because you aren’t, you know. Obligated.”

It took him a minute to put it together, because he couldn’t quite figure out what she had to be
nervous over, but then it suddenly clicked into place.

“Pansy,” he said, reaching over to put a hand on her knee. “I’ve been…” He had to think
about how to phrase it, so she’d understand. “I think I’ve been very lonely for a very long
time, and I’m indescribably awful at actually believing that people like me for myself and not
the whole…” He gestured. “Thing.”

“What,” Pansy said, flashing a grin, “do you mean the whole chosen one situation, the
famous athlete bit, the v-cut, or your very sizable -”

“Yes, thank you.” Harry clamped a hand over her mouth. She promptly tried to bite him, and
he pulled back, vaguely glad that there was nothing to run the car into, since she’d definitely
jerked the steering wheel in the process.

“I’m trying to say that even though you’re fucking terrible about objectifying my stomach
muscles, you’ve never made me feel like that. Even before all this, you just treated me like a
regular person. So I like you, and I like this, and I… I’m not interested in giving it up.”

“Really, I was objectifying your cock,” Pansy said, mildly.

Harry flicked her shoulder. “One, I didn’t think I’d ever find someone who was actually
worse than me at serious conversations, but here we are. Two, I don’t think those are
mutually exclusive.”

“Yes, all right, Potter, I’ll wear your friendship bracelet.” She glanced over, just for a
moment, with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher. “But I suppose I appreciate that
you’ve never seemed to feel as if cool indifference and a tendency toward trenchant remarks
were qualities that made me less worthy of your affection.”

“I don’t think you’re cold,” he said, softly. “You’ve been stupidly patient with me. And
incredibly nice.”

“You’re good all the way through, Harry.” Pansy had actually turned toward him. “And that
merits kindness and to be treated as if your feelings matter. I’m not perfect, but I can promise
that I’ll always try to give you what you deserve. Which is, at bare minimum, decency from
the people in your life who purport to care about you.”

“I…” Harry started, then realised he wasn’t going to be able to finish the sentence. He’d
gotten too choked up.
After a minute, Pansy laughed. “Right,” she said. “If it breaks you this badly, I’ll have to try
to be direct with sentiment more often.”

“Sorry, I… sorry, it’s just… it’s been a long week. I’m kind of, fuck, I don’t know.” He
finally leaned his head on her shoulder. “Tired.”

“Harry,” Pansy said, voice full of fond affection, right before she reached up and stroked her
fingers through his hair, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. “You don’t have to think
every single piece of it through right now. I picked up the new Quidditch Monthly in town
yesterday, it’s in your bag. Read that. Take a nap. I’ll get us home.”

It should have been painful, the knowledge of all the things he wasn’t going to be able to
have, but her friendship wasn’t a consolation prize. It was a relief to know that she wasn’t
going anywhere. And it was enough to make him happy: a clear, effortless feeling in the
brilliant morning sunshine.
 Chapter 6

The week they got back felt unbearably long. Pansy was trying to keep the new class of
junior healers from killing patients, and he had three away matches, one of which ran sixteen
hours. There were a few mornings while she ate dinner while he had coffee, on her way to
bed just as he was getting up, and significantly more where he got texts from Draco with
photographs of her asleep in call rooms. She texted and wrote obscene things on the mirror
that appeared every time he tried to take a shower, and he dropped off lunch and kissed her
hello and goodbye all at once while she ran to traumas and obstetric emergencies.

He was grateful when she finally had something of a swing shift - one to nine was
significantly better than everything else she’d been working lately - and when he came to
pick her up, by some miracle, she was standing by the admitting desk with her bag. There
wasn’t a single patient in any of the curtain areas or rooms, and the white board that was
usually full of her handwriting was completely blank.

“Fuck, hello,” she said, grinning, and pulled him into a kiss that probably wasn’t entirely
workplace appropriate while Bennett tried not to laugh. “It’s a beautiful night to leave on
time.”

She was actually in a blouse and heels, with her hair pinned up, which probably meant she
was in the mood to actually go out.

“Hi,” he murmured. “I was thinking Indian. Maybe that place by Hermione’s flat? They’re
open late.”

“Mm, are you set on it?” She had a hand wrapped around the back of his neck. “They don’t
have drinks, and I could honestly go for about half a bottle of wine and a significant amount
of bread.” She kissed him again. “I skipped lunch.”

“Hmm,” he said, grinning back. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were angling for the
muggle Italian restaurant you’ve been trying to get me to take you to for two weeks.”

“Maybe. What if I said I’d make it worth your while later?”

“Done.” Harry glanced over. “But don’t sexually harass me in front of your students, you’ll
traumatise them.”

Bennett snorted. “I’ve always gotten the impression you rather like it. And I don’t care, I -”

Harry suddenly saw Draco come by at a run from triage. He had a girl in his arms, one who
definitely wasn’t conscious, and there was blood all over his robes.

“Pansy,” he said, tightly, in a tone Harry had never quite heard from him.

“Damn,” she said. She didn’t bother handing Harry her bag, just dropped it, and took off after
him, full tilt. Bennett set aside the charts and disappeared into the trauma room, wheeling
back one of the emergency carts full of equipment.

Draco managed to get her down onto a bed, and he started summoning out of the trauma
room almost immediately. Harry watched two people come up behind him at the desk - they
were both crying, and clutching at each other.

“What did she take?” he heard Pansy say, to Draco, pulling on gloves. “Of course it’s shift
change.”

“The entire contents of a muggle medicine cabinet,” he said, grimly. “And something caustic.
I’m thinking premade potion base, I can’t get magic to stick to it. We’re going to have to do a
stomach wash.”

Pansy was clearing the girl’s airway, casting monitoring charms. Harry didn’t know a lot, but
he’d spent enough time near patients to know what they usually looked like, and these
seemed different, which probably wasn’t a very good sign. One kept flashing insistently at
Pansy, who batted away the hovering glass ball of light, doing something with a tube.

“Damn,” she said, again. “I can’t see anything, the oesophagus is just -” She paused, looking
up at Bennett. “Cameron, I need all the liquid charcoal we have. And ground bezoar. A lot of
it.”

“Should I wake up Lili?” he said. “I think I’d better wake up Lili.”

“Yes,” Draco said. He was trying to get an IV. “Pansy, this is…”

“I know,” she said. Her voice was extraordinarily calm and perfectly level. “Harry, would
you go upstairs and get Hermione, please?” She hadn’t looked up. “Tell her there’s a suicide
attempt, that I need her to wait with the parents, and if you might convey…” She looked up,
just for a moment, and he took a breath, because he knew exactly what she wanted him to tell
Hermione: that this was very, very bad. “A sense of urgency.”

He took four flights of stairs three at a time, because it was faster than the lift, and by the
time he’d explained to Hermione and she’d followed him back down at top speed, there was
blood everywhere. There was vomit all over the floor, full of what looked like half-dissolved
pills. Bennett had a tube and funnel full of dark liquid, and Lilibet was running back and
forth to the trauma room, getting things Draco was asking for.

“I can’t seem to get ahead of it,” Pansy was saying. “The damage is just…” She’d dropped
her voice, so Harry couldn’t quite catch what she was saying. “Can you give me more…”

What she and Draco were doing was perfectly coordinated, the sort of carefully orchestrated
performance that only came from having worked side by side for well over a decade, and he
kept handing her instruments without being asked. Every so often, they’d glance at each
other, and Harry didn’t particularly like what he saw written across their faces.

“Hermione,” Pansy said, without looking up. “Would you please show her parents to the
waiting area?”
“No, we want to -” the mother started to protest, just as the tube Bennett had down the girl’s
throat started to fill with blood.

Pansy looked up. “Hermione, get them out of here. Now.”

Harry watched Hermione pull them down the hallway, back toward triage, talking softly, and
as soon as they rounded the corner, he realised Pansy had been tamping down the monitoring
alarms, all of which started to go off in unison.

“It’s not the drugs, although the tricyclics aren’t helping,” she said, voice low. “It’s this
potion, it’s eating through absolutely everything, I’m starting to lose her lungs, I… we’re just
putting charcoal into the abdominal cavity -”

“I can’t get on it at all,” Draco said. She started to thrash, so hard Bennett had to step to the
head of the bed to hold her down.

Lilibet was trying to keep the IV in, but it got caught on the railing and slid out. “IO?” she
said, and, when they didn’t respond: “Draco?”

“Could someone other than me cast a bloody restraining spell,” Pansy said, through gritted
teeth.

Bennett leaned into it. “I’m trying, something’s…”

Pansy shoved her hair out of her face with her forearm. “Damn. That means it’s in her
bloodstream.”

“Draco, do you want an IO?” Lilibet said, again.

“Good thought.” Draco looked up at her. “And ordinarily, yes, but I don’t think there’s much
point here. We’re down to Pansy.”

“Damn, damn, damn,” Pansy muttered. “I just can’t…”

They lapsed into a somewhat desperate silence, with Pansy shoving so much magic into her
that Harry could feel it from across the room. Bennett started chest compressions, at some
point, but he watched the small glass monitoring charms slowly flicker and fade, one by one.

“It’s done,” Draco said, quietly, finally. He reached for her. “Pansy, we’re done. It’s been half
an hour. There’s nothing else to try. She’s gone.”

“Fuck.” Pansy took a deep, shuddering breath, and then Harry watched as every piece of
equipment in the room raised off the counters and tables, all the charts coming up off the
admitting desk. Pansy paused, perfectly still for a few seconds, and then shoved over an
entire tray of instruments. Everything clattered back down, and he heard all the glass break.
“Fuck.”

Her shirt, jeans, and shoes were soaked in blood and liquid charcoal.

“I’m just -” Bennett said. He looked wrecked. “Do you want me to tell her parents?”
“I can go with you,” Lilibet offered, softly.

“No.” Pansy lifted a hand toward her face, going for her hair again, then stared at it. “I’ll do
it. Does anyone know her name?”

Draco cleared his throat. “Grace Keller.”

“How old?”

“Fifteen. She’s a muggleborn.”

“I thought I recognised her, but I found her chart, she’s never been here,” Lilibet said. She
sounded shaky. “Well, once, but that was for a broken arm two years ago. So I couldn’t
have...” She had started to cry. “I thought - I thought maybe I missed something.”

“I can never decide if it’s better or worse that way.” Draco was looking at the bed. “But I
think I’d take the guilt of a misdiagnosis every single time just for a chance to save them.”

Pansy closed her eyes, and Harry watched her gather herself. “Right. Lilibet, if you could
clean her up. Cameron, update the chart. Draco…”

“I’ll get a message to the morgue.”

“Everyone’s got to go through the neutralising shower,” Pansy said. “Fifteen minutes, don’t
skip the foam even if it burns, clothes go in the hazard bin. Draco first, he’s… covered.”

She stopped in front of him on the way toward triage. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I should
have thought to ask you to go. Are you okay?”

Harry swallowed. “It would be worse without having seen the effort. Are you?”

“It’s not the first time. And it won’t be the last.” She looked back, toward where Lilibet and
Bennett were trying to spell all the shards of broken glass back together. “They aren’t usually
quite this young, though.”

He knew better than to touch her, but he wished he could. “Can I do anything?”

“No. But thank you for offering.” She was looking toward triage. “I should go out there. But I
–” He saw her swallow. “It’s the single worst part of my job. I’m about to go change their
lives for the worse, forever, in about two minutes. I wish I could give them longer than that.”

He gave in and reached for her hand. “The waiting is the worst part. I’d… I’d take knowing,
every time.”

“I have a script,” she said, finally, letting out a breath. “I’ve done this so many times that I
have a script. ‘Your daughter’s injuries were extremely serious. We used all our capabilities
and did everything in our power, but despite our best efforts, we were unable to save her. I’m
so sorry, but she died.’” She glanced down at their hands. “I’m going to walk in there, and
I’m going to use those exact words. I think that might be profoundly fucked up, Harry.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, again. “I’ll be here.”

“I’ve got to sign charts and shower and deal with all this. You should go home.”

“I’ll wait. I can figure out something that’s still going to be open in an hour or two. Because
you’re going to need dinner. And I’ve got a feeling you’re still going to want a drink.”

“Thank you,” Pansy said, squeezing once before she dropped his hand. “I’m going to go do
this.”

“I’ll be here,” he said, again, and went to help clean up.

_____

When he came back from the bar, he slid her scotch across the table. She’d tangled her legs
around the bar stool, her head in her hands, and he was struck, suddenly, by the fact that
Pansy was only human. In the dim neon glow of the bar signs, in a pair of old jeans with a
hole in the knee, looking utterly exhausted and unpolished, she was completely imperfect. He
didn’t know what to think of the revelation.

“If you’re going to ask why I do it,” she said, taking the glass, “don’t. Because I don’t know
right now.”

“I wasn’t going to.” He sat across from her. “But I know why you do it. It’s because the ones
you save are something to put up against the darkness of the ones you can’t.”

“Sometimes I think it’s because I keep hoping that somehow I can wash the blood off my
hands.” She laughed, sounding hollow. “You know, if I do it enough, if I shove my hands and
my magic into all these broken people, I’ll somehow end up a little less broken myself. But
that’s not how it works, is it, Harry?”

“No,” Harry admitted. “Although it’d be easier if it were.”

It was a long few minutes. He watched as she visibly tried to pull her armour back on, more
than once, and saw when she finally gave up.

“I really,” she started. “I just…” She finally met his eyes. “If I tell you to get me profoundly,
stupidly drunk and then take me home, will you?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I can do that.”

She slid a hand into her purse, coming up with her phone, and handed it to him. “Don’t let me
text Draco, he’ll think he has to come save me from myself.”

“How many shots am I bringing back over here?”

“Five.”

“Three and a cheeseburger,” Harry countered.

“Four and a truly excessive plate of chips.”

“Vodka?”

“Tequila.”

He made her wait until the food came, but he didn’t say anything when she threw the drinks
back one after the other, until she had a perfect row of empty shot glasses and a plate of chips
she was ruining with a truly excessive amount of salt. She ate methodically, like it was an
effort, but by the time she’d finished most of it, some of the tension had left her shoulders.

“I didn’t know,” he said, breaking a silence that hadn’t been entirely uncomfortable, “that you
had a tattoo.”

“What?” She glanced down when he reached out to touch her forearm. “Oh. That.”

It was a basilisk skull, surrounded by stacked purple flowers that he finally placed as
wolfsbane. He reached out, thoughtfully, and brushed his thumb over a petal. “Is it new?”

“No.” She didn’t pull away, looking at him, and finally exhaled. “Old, actually. I just forgot
to cover it when I was getting dressed. I must have washed the glamour off in the neutralising
shower. Stupid of me, I never take it off.”

“It’s very…”

She snorted. “On the nose?”

“I was going to say very gothic horror,” Harry said, dryly.

Pansy was studying his fingers across her skin. “It took Draco six months to do it.”

Harry paused. “The… tattoo?”

“To transfigure it,” she said. “Turns out that with a significant amount of coaxing, you can
turn a skull and a snake into a snake’s skull. The flowers just happened, neither of us knows
where they came from.”

“Oh,” he said. He had to admit to himself that he hadn’t thought she’d been in so deeply. Or
maybe he’d thought that by now, she’d have told him. It felt like a secret she shouldn’t have
kept. The worst part, though, was the fact that none of it changed anything for him at all.
“You took the Mark?”

“You could say that.” Pansy spun one of the shot glasses with her free hand, idly. “You could
also say my mother came at me with Imperius and when that didn’t quite do it, my father
layered on a bit of Cruciatus to get the job done.”

“Fuck.” There really wasn’t anything else.

“And now they live in their perfect mansion with their perfect lives, and I’ve got a tiny flat
and a job that doesn’t pay all that well. They’ve never lost any sleep over any of it, but I -”
She took a breath. “I spend all my time trying to atone for their sins. Half the time, I feel like
a walking war crime.”
“Pansy,” Harry said, quietly.

She laughed, again, bitterly. “That’s my entire fucked up inheritance, Potter. It’s what they
left me. I got cut out of the will, but that’s still mine.”

“You’re good at what you do.” Harry reached, impulsively, and brushed her hair behind her
ear. “Excellent, even. You’re excellent. And I think you love being excellent.”

She leaned into his touch, until he was cupping her face in his hand. “Draco asked me a few
years ago if I’d picked medicine as some sort of penance. And that’s not it. It’s that I’m good
at it. I made myself good at it. I wanted to be good at this one - just this one pure, right thing.
I wanted to throw myself into it. Only it’s not pure and right, is it? It’s messy and impossible
and horrifying and it’s just fifteen year old girls not wanting to live anymore.”

“You’re in the black. I think it matters that you’re in the black.”

Her head was still against his hand. “Maybe. Draco made the same argument.”

“Then I’d say we have a point,” Harry murmured.

“Quit trying to save me. He’s already thrown himself at that particular locked door for thirty
years.” She sighed. “It’s why I’m doing all this with you. I think he’s the one good man that’s
ever really loved me. I want him to be happy.”

“Pansy.” He couldn’t seem to stop touching her, couldn’t quite look away. Her eyes were dark
and fixed on him. “You don’t need saving. And for the record… I like to think I’m a pretty
good man.”

“Do you,” she said, sounding more tired than he’d ever heard her, “want to get out of here?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, softly. “I really do.”

__

She was on him the minute he got the door open, before he’d even managed to get the key
back out of the lock or the lights on. They’d kissed hundreds of times, but somehow, without
the pretence, it felt new all over again. It was suddenly, abundantly clear that she’d been
holding back, playing nice, because when she shoved him through the doorway and up
against the wall, there was nothing soft or gentle in it, just hunger and no small measure of
desperation.

It felt as if she’d thrown down all her walls at once and was trying to drag him across the
threshold.

“Pansy -” he managed, against her mouth.

She pulled back, studying his face with a degree of focus that implied he was a problem she
was trying to solve. Her expression was inscrutable. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking,
and that felt disorienting. He’d gotten used to being able to read her.
Then she took his face in her hands, pulling his glasses off, and pressed a kiss to his forehead,
a little off centre, right over his scar.

“Do you want this?” she said. “I can give it to you.”

There was something in her tone that made him pause.

“Pansy -”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

“Yeah.” He swallowed. “Yeah, I…”

Pansy took a step back, holding eye contact, and then suddenly pulled her shirt over her head,
dropping it on the floor. Her jeans were next, kicked off quickly, and then she undid the clasp
on her bra and let it fall. She was holding perfectly still, silent in the moonlight spilling in
through the picture window. He’d spent a month trying not to look at her, and every time
she’d forced him into looking, he’d tried not to see. It still felt discomfiting, embarrassing,
like he’d been caught out. But he took a breath, then another, because she knew. She knew,
and she hadn’t told him to go to hell. She knew, and she was here with him. She knew, and
just maybe, she wanted all of it too.

She was, when he stopped to let himself feel it, staggering. He’d managed to
compartmentalise the pieces, because admitting that he liked her hands or her breasts or the
fullness of her mouth had felt safe enough. But in aggregate, when he wasn’t trying to water
it down with denial and a desperate sense of self-preservation, she took his breath away.
There was a tension in her, a predatory stillness that made his pulse pick up.

“Well, Potter?” she murmured, voice low. “Do you like what you see?”

“You’re beautiful,” he said, honestly, but as soon as he’d said it, he knew it was exactly the
wrong thing.

She laughed, sharper and colder than he’d heard from her in weeks. “You don’t have to say
things you don’t mean. It’s already a foregone conclusion.”

“I wasn’t -” He stepped closer, stopping just short of touching her, because the whole thing
felt as if it was spinning out of control, and he wasn’t sure how to get any of it back. “I - that
tattoo wasn’t there before, either.”

“Which one?”

“The, um -” he gestured. There was a large snake wrapping around part of her rib cage, the
bold, geometric pattern on its scales perfectly detailed. He could see the red and yellow of it
even in the low light, and he blinked when it flicked his tongue at him.

Pansy glanced down. “It’s a rhinoceros viper.” She turned halfway away from him, glancing
over her shoulder with her gesture. “Unless you mean this one, it’s foxglove.” There was a
long stem of flowers straight up and down her spine. Only a few of the bells were open. They
were such a deep, rich purple they almost looked black. “It’s all or nothing with the glamour,
and I’m too tired to recast it tonight. If they bother you -”

“They don’t,” Harry said, hurriedly. He stepped in, wrapping a hand around her ribs. When
he stroked his thumb over the snake’s head, it felt cool under his fingers. “Just wondering
whether I ought to read into the fact that all your tattoos are lethal.”

“‘Look but don’t touch’ is probably the most advisable approach with me,” she said, then
reached, pulling his shirt over his head. He let her. “Last chance to run.”

Harry laughed, softly, trying to draw her back in. “I don’t want to run. I -”

“Then come fuck me,” Pansy said.

“Pansy,” he murmured, stroking her hair out of her face, before he dropped his head, nosing
against her temple. “You’re drunk. I was sort of thinking we could limit this to snogging on
the couch. I mean -” He laughed again. “You’ve got me, it’s not as if there isn’t time.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” She’d gone stiff in his arms, although the tension made him realise that
she hadn’t been truly relaxed the entire time. “I can - if you tell me what you’d like, I can
make that happen. I’m good at this. I can be anything you’d like.”

There was something in the way she said it that made him stop cold. “Pansy, you aren’t -”

“For once,” Pansy said, “would you quit being such a fucking saint?”

“I -”

“People have sex when they’re drunk, Harry.”

“Hey,” Harry said, softly. “Come kiss me. We can figure out the rest of it tomorrow, okay?”

“Fuck.” Pansy jerked back, hard. “Why do you have to be so completely fucking good all the
fucking time?”

“Because I don’t want it like this,” he said, quietly. “I’ve had enough of the kind of sex that
feels like fighting for a lifetime. I don’t want to be a distraction. But we can…” He’d thought
it would be sweet, because it was always sweet with her, always safe and so very unguarded.
But he could feel the distress in every line of her body, and he knew the wounded animal
despair that made you want to break yourself just to feel as if pain was a thing that you could
control. “Let me help, Pansy. Come here.”

“I’m going to bed,” she said, finally. “You can come too, I suppose, and continue refusing to
fuck me because you’re too good for it. Or go home. I don’t think I care.”

“I’m not leaving you.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I can sleep on the couch if -”

“Oh, fuck you. I’m not letting you turn the entire evening into some sort of opportunity for
martyrdom.”
“Hey,” he said, sharply. “Knock it off. You don’t get to pick a fight with me just to keep from
thinking about the rest of it. And I’m not interested in sex if it’s just about this.”

“Fuck,” Pansy said, again, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I hate every time
you see right through me, it’s infuriating. I’m sorry.”

“Mm,” Harry agreed, drawing her back in against his chest. He felt her breathing, perfectly
even, too patterned to be anything but an attempt to control the uncontrollable. “What can I
actually do, here? Tell me what you need.”

“I should probably -” she started. “I should have some water.”

“I’ll get it.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “What else?”

“I just - I need to -” Pansy said, and he watched the fight go out of her completely. “Do you
think you could just hold me?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, softly. “I can do that.”

Pansy buried her face against his shoulder, tears hot against his skin.
___

He woke up the next morning to Pansy elbowing him. “Potter,” she mumbled. “Hangover
spell. Now.”

“Hang on. My wand’s… somewhere. I think maybe the sitting room.”

She moaned a little. “One,” she said, “I have no fucking idea how you’ve survived this long.
Two, just cast it wandless. If I have to wait for you to get it, I’m absolutely going to be sick
all over you. And you’ll deserve it for being completely unprepared for this eventuality.”

“Okay, okay.” She rolled over into him, and he slid a hand up into her hair, trying to focus.
“How do I -”

After a minute, she opened her eyes, looking up at him. They were still red from crying. “I’m
actively in the process of dying. Figure it the fuck out.”

“Alleviare,” Harry said, feeling cold spreading out from his fingertips. Pansy made a very
soft, satisfied noise, letting her head fall back, eyes closing.

“I like,” she murmured, “the feel of your magic.”

Harry desperately needed to get out of bed, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to move. He
couldn’t even untangle his hands from her hair. After a few minutes, she still hadn’t pulled
away.

“Um. How much of last night do you remember?”

Pansy opened her eyes, studying him. He saw the wry smile start to pull up at the corner of
her mouth. “Let’s see,” she said. “The part where you slipped up and said you loved me, the
part where I came on to you and you turned me down because you’re actually an exemplar of
virtue in the face of drunk women, the part where I weaponised your fundamental decency, or
the part where I had a complete breakdown?”

“You didn’t -”

“Oh, but I did. On all counts.”

“It seemed justifiable.”

“Not the part where I lashed out at you for actually respecting me. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry,” Harry said. “I’ve just sort of got this whole thing about not sleeping with people
without their consent. I think you’re going to have to make your peace with it.”

“Oh, people.” Pansy, sounding amused, slid a thigh over his, then reached up to bury a hand
in his hair, pulling him closer. “By which you mean me.”

Sometimes her ability to see through him was very aggravating.

“Yeah,” he admitted, feeling his face heat.

“Well,” she said, thoughtfully. “I think I can definitively say, yet again, that you were
absolutely fucking wasted on Ginny Weasley.”

Harry started to smile in spite of himself. “Oh, shut it.”

“I went to bed thinking you weren’t actually interested and that you hadn’t meant it before
when you said you liked the way I looked naked.” Her grin was self-satisfied, in a way that
made his stomach turn over. “But now we’re here, and you didn’t bolt the second I woke up.
And you’re very warm.” She laughed. “And very hard, which you weren’t five minutes ago,
so I’m going to assume you like something about this.”

“I mean, yeah, I -” Harry started, then his brain caught up. “What do you mean, you thought I
wasn’t interested?”

“You said no, fairly definitively. There’s a rather significant difference between ‘I don’t think
we should do this’ and ‘I’m really into the idea but let’s table it until you aren’t falling down
drunk and in a very fucked up and dark place.’ It felt like the former.”

It was suddenly clear something had gotten lost in translation. As much as he wanted to take
the out, to laugh it off as a stupid misunderstanding, he’d meant it. And he owed her more
than that.

“Pansy,” he said, quietly. “I said I loved you.”

“I know.” Pansy was studying him, looking confused. “I’m not misinterpreting that. I
understood the context. I just thought maybe…” She sat up. “Sorry, maybe I’ve got this
wrong. If you don’t want to, I understand completely. It’s no trouble. Thank you for being
here last night.”
“The… context?”

“Yes.” Pansy sounded as if she were trying to choose her words very carefully, and she was
moving toward the edge of the bed, pushing the blankets back. “Draco’s always cared.
Hermione cares. But not that many other people ever have, so I… I appreciate it. I care about
you too. It was nice of you to say it.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, swallowing, “so actually, you’re completely misinterpreting that, I was
trying to tell you that I’m in love with you. And I said no last night because you were drunk
and unhappy and I didn’t - I wasn’t sure if you wanted it, you’ve never shown the slightest
inclination sober, but if you did, I just didn’t want to… start anything on those terms. But of
course I want to.”

Pansy stopped halfway out of bed and turned back toward him, staring. “You’re… what?”

“I can sort of see, um, retrospectively, how you thought you were saying that Draco cared
about you, but I thought you were saying that he’d…”

“I -” Pansy started, then stopped. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her at such a loss for words.

“It’s fine,” he said, quietly. “I just don’t think I can separate that piece from the sex piece, and
I sort of thought you were offering because I’d said what I said, but then I wasn’t sure… and
I’m utterly fucking terrible at this, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to say that.” Pansy sounded small and very, very tired. “For me to sleep with
you. I don’t need that. I’m perfectly happy with you caring about me and sex. That’s more
than enough.”

“What?” Harry finally sat up. “Pansy, I said it because I meant it.”

“I just know -” she’d stopped again. She took a breath, and it seemed like she was trying to
steady herself. “If you want to keep seeing each other, or - start seeing each other, I suppose,
I’d be interested. But I don’t expect you to… to keep having to put so much in. I know that
wasn’t real. You don’t have to invite me to everything and bring lunch every day or stay over
so often.”

“Hey.” Harry reached across the bed and took her wrist, drawing her back in. “Hey.”

She didn’t fight him, exactly, but it didn’t feel like the hundreds of other times he’d done it.

“It’s okay,” she said, softly. “I don’t need that. I promise.”

“There’s sort of a problem with that,” Harry murmured, “which is that I’m going to be fuckall
no good at not doing all that, because I like doing those things and I like being around you
and because I can’t change how I am. And who puts more effort into a fake relationship than
a real one?”

“I just know it’s not -” Pansy reached toward him, then let her hand fall. “Potter, I know you
don’t mean it in some whole stupid fairytale way. I know we’re not talking about Christmases
with your family or moving in together or - or any of that. And I’m trying to make sure you
know I’m perfectly all right with that.”

“Pansy.” Out of the thousands of times he’d played this conversation out in his head, he’d
never imagined it going in quite this direction. “I know I’m really, excruciatingly bad at this.
But when I say I’m in love with you, yeah, that’s exactly how I mean it, and that’s exactly
what I’m talking about.”

“I -” Pansy started, then pulled back again. “I’m late for work. I’m supposed to be covering
for Mandy. So I have to go do that.”

“Um. Or you could be ten minutes late and we could talk about this.”

She was already pulling on her clothes faster than he’d ever seen her get dressed. “I’ve got
reports from last night. The Aurors will need those, I should’ve done them already. And it’s
always busy on Fridays. Draco’s off until this afternoon, I shouldn’t leave Adrian alone. And
you probably have training. So I’m just - I’ll see you soon, maybe, all right?”

“Pansy -”

But she was already out of the bedroom. He heard the front door shut a minute later.

“Well, fuck,” he said, finally, and resisted the urge to pull the blankets over his head and
never come out again.

_____

“Hi,” he said, when Hermione opened her door, then paused. She was in a dressing gown.
“It’s just occurred to me that the reason you didn’t answer the owl and the six texts was
probably that you weren’t… awake. But it’s sort of an emergency.”

“I am so, indescribably hungover.” Hermione stepped back, opening the door. “But you can
come in. I’ll help.” She made a face. “Okay, I’ll help as long as you describe the emergency
very quietly.”

“I think I might have fucked this entire thing up completely,” he said, miserably. “I -
accidentally told her I loved her, because I - I definitely do, and she offered to have sex, but
she was drunk, so I said we shouldn’t, and then this morning she thought I’d meant - I mean,
I don’t know who the fuck thinks that when someone else says they love them, it’s just as
friend, but then I -”

“Harry, shh,” Hermione interrupted, turning around to look back toward her bedroom.
“Draco’s -”

“Don’t worry,” Draco said, coming out of the bedroom. He was in a pair of pyjama bottoms
that Harry had been missing for three months, which probably meant he’d forgotten them at
Hermione’s. “He hasn’t given anything away. Pansy told me after you got back.”

Hermione made a face. “Were you going to mention that?”

Draco shot her a very pointed look. “I don’t know, I thought I’d bring it up when you did.”

Hermione looked startled. “But you still -”

Draco smiled, wryly. “It did occur to me that if all three of you thought that her pretending to
be madly in love with Harry was a solution to the problem, I had probably royally fucked up
somewhere along the line.”

“So,” Hermione said, “are we talking about…”

Draco crossed the room, looking almost thoughtful, and stopped in front of her. He tilted her
chin up, studying her face for a moment. Harry thought he’d probably done something,
because she quit wincing at the sunlight, but Draco didn’t let his hand fall. He watched her
bite her lower lip.

Draco smiled. “We were exceptionally drunk. So I’ll give you the out if you’d like one. No
harm done. But, in an effort to quit messing this whole thing up quite so badly, I should tell
you that I’m not interested in having an excuse. I don’t regret anything. I wanted it, I meant
all of it, and if you’re in, I’m in.”

Hermione didn’t say anything for a long moment, then stood on her toes and kissed him.

“Is that a yes?” Draco said, after a minute. “Because -”

“Quit talking before you ruin it,” Hermione murmured, against his mouth. “Of course it’s a
yes, Draco.”

“Um,” Harry said. “If you want me to go, I can just -”

Draco laughed. “I’ve got it. You can take the shower first, Hermione.”

“I think I’d better -” Hermione started.

Draco kissed her forehead, then let her go. “I know you’ve got a twenty year track record on
dealing with Harry’s unerring ability to create crisis situations by any means necessary. But
this one isn’t actually about Harry.”

Hermione stepped toward Harry, looking up at him. “Is that okay? Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” Harry reached for her hand, squeezing it. “You sort of deserve a break from
constantly having to solve my problems. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, looking amused. “I knew what I was signing up for. And it’s always
been worth it. Although you probably could have told me all this a little sooner.”

Harry managed a smile. “I was trying to be self-sufficient so I didn’t bother you. Don’t worry,
I’ve learned my lesson.”

Hermione kissed his cheek. “You’d better have.”

“Right,” Draco said, when she’d disappeared back down the hall. He went to the kitchen,
starting to do something with the french press and a bag of coffee. “Tell me what happened.
Do you want some of this?”

“Yeah.” Harry sunk into one of the kitchen chairs. “She was… upset. About what happened.
So we went to dinner, and she had a lot to drink, and I kind of…” He rubbed a hand over his
face. “I said I loved her. I meant it. She asked me to take her home, and then she, um, came
on to me pretty hard. I said no, because she was drunk. I stayed, I didn’t think it was a good
idea for her to be alone.”

“Well,” Draco said, ruefully, looking at the mug he was holding, “you might be a better man
than me. I definitely did not say no.”

Harry laughed, softly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never been so
glad to hear that two people got drunk and slept together. At least there’s something good
about this morning. And if you need to talk about that -”

“I’m fairly confident it hasn’t actually hit me yet.” Draco glanced over at him. “So keep
going.”

“She took it the wrong way,” Harry said, finally. “I think she thought I just meant I cared
about her. Um, as a friend. Except she still thought we should have sex. And I told her that
wasn’t it, I tried to explain, and then she just…” He finally gave in and put his head in his
hands. “She kept trying to insist that it was fine if all I wanted was sex. Then she ran out. I’m
trying not to be wildly offended that she seems to have thought I’d just use her for that and - I
don’t fucking know, keep her as some sort of dirty little secret and put absolutely no effort
whatsoever into a relationship, but… I’m honestly pretty mad about that part.”

He heard Draco sigh.

“Potter,” he murmured, coming over to pull the other chair out. “You have to understand
something. She isn’t you.”

“I know, but that doesn’t make it okay,” Harry said, frustrated. “I’m sorry, I just…”

“No, but you go all in from the start line,” Draco said. “Once you’ve made a decision, it’s
made, and you never doubt that it’s the right choice. Hermione’s the same way, I think it
might just be Gryffindors. You don’t mind uncertainty. You told her you loved her without
knowing what she thought about the idea. And that doesn’t make sense to her, because she
and I never ask unless we’re absolutely certain of the outcome.”

“It’s not like I love putting myself out there.”

“You’re only worried about the consequences,” Draco countered. “You didn’t worry about
what it might cost her to say no if she didn’t feel the same way, because if she’d said no,
you’d take it at face value and move on.” He got up, going to pour the coffee. “And there’s
nothing wrong with that, but it’s not how she works.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Harry said, “but I’m pretty sure I’m never going to
understand Slytherins.”

“She made a stupid mistake and got in over her head.” Draco put a mug down in front of him.
Harry was vaguely annoyed to realise that, somewhere along the line, Draco had learned how
he took his coffee. “And I know the mistake, because I’ve made it a thousand times with
Hermione. She thought you’d only ask for the things you’re sure she wants. So she played
exceptionally small, because she thought it was safe to assume that you knew she wanted to
sleep with you.”

“I told her that wasn’t all of it, though.”

“Yes,” Draco agreed. “And then she panicked, because you terrify her. The way she feels
about you, the fact that she can’t control it, the situation where you’re the forces of good
incarnate and she hasn’t always been particularly good -” Harry saw him glance toward the
hall. “I know that mistake too.”

Harry let out a breath. “I don’t know what to do. And if she doesn’t want it, I’ll understand,
but I absolutely can’t lose her entirely.”

Draco didn’t say anything for a minute. He went over to a stack of papers on Hermione’s
counter, thumbing through, and pulled something out. Harry looked, when he slid it across
the table. He could barely remember Hermione having her camera on the trip, but she
obviously had, because it was a photograph of him and Pansy. They were sitting around the
fire pit, one evening when someone had dragged all the beach chairs up, and Pansy was
sideways in his lap. He watched her tuck a piece of his hair off his face, whispering
something in his ear. Hermione had caught the moment when she smiled at his response.

“Harry,” Draco murmured. “She’s head over heels for you. She’s just scared.”

It was written on their faces, more obvious on every replay. It was in the way she touched
him, full of casual, sweet affection. And it was in the way he was looking back at her, as if he
couldn’t believe she was there with him.

“Okay,” he said, softly. The uncertainty had been the hardest piece. “How do I fix it?”

“Be patient.” Harry saw him look at the hall again. “Try not to hold it against her. And let me
go to work and tell her to actually have some faith in you. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks. For this, too. I should probably go, I’ve got training. But would you take some
advice? Even if we’re not talking about it?”

“Sure.” Draco was starting to sound distracted.

“Go find Hermione,” Harry suggested. “And maybe suggest you’re willing to be
astonishingly late for work. She’ll go for it. I promise.”

Draco went pink. “I feel like we should probably talk about it. Before we…”
“Draco, you’ve already built the entire fucking framework,” Harry said, patiently. “You’ve
negotiated all of it. There is quite literally nothing for you two left to talk about, because
you’ve had every conversation. She loves you. Tell her you want to be with her, then go
enjoy the fun part before she has a chance to worry that it was just the alcohol. And if you’re
tempted to start discussing things you’re both already really sure of, do something better with
your mouth.”

“I -” Draco said, then cut himself off and laughed, softly. “All right. Point taken. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m going to go get completely fucking soaked. Should I… I don’t know,
text Pansy?”

“Let me talk to her first. But it’ll work out.” He smiled. “I have absolutely no intention of
letting her continue to get in her own way.”

“I appreciate the help. Now go take your own advice.”

Draco laughed again. “I’ll do my best.”

_____

The visibility was utterly stupid, and he was pretty sure he’d never wanted to be somewhere
less. At least trying to find a snitch in the middle of a downpour was a distraction, although
he’d nearly gotten knocked off by bludgers more times than he’d managed to even see it. It
was miserable, which was why he was surprised to see someone in the stands when he started
to check the south side of the pitch. But when he swung closer, he recognized the familiar,
lurid purple of Pansy’s raincoat. He banked towards where Ellis was sitting under an awning,
then waved at him, landing.

“Swap in. I’ve had it. It was around the east hoop ten minutes ago. And I think Geoff’s
shoulder is bothering him again, so stay clear of the bludgers, he’s not getting them.”

“Damn,” Ellis said. “I was really hoping you’d want to do the entire thing.”

“I’ve got to do something, and I’m freezing.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ellis grabbed his broom. “Let’s hope I can end this sooner rather than later.”

“Good luck.”

The stands had anti-flyover wards, presumably because some player had gotten knocked off
into a crowd of innocent bystanders, and it was a long walk up. She met him halfway and
stopped a few rows above him.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi.” She was holding a piece of paper, and she looked miserable. “I wrote down what I
wanted to say, only I forgot to put on a water proofing charm, and now it’s just…”

“You could just say it.”

“I got scared,” Pansy said, finally. “So I ran off instead of telling you that, which was quite
possibly the worst strategy I could have come up with. I’m very bad at feelings. I know it was
completely unacceptable. I apologise. I’ll understand if you’re mad.” She took a deep breath.
“Sorry, the written version was… better.”

“I’m not mad.” Harry paused. “Okay, I’m a little mad, but not about that part. Just about the
part where you assumed I’d quit showing up for you if it was real. Actually, about the part
where you think I’ll quit showing up for you, ever.”

“Yes, well.” Pansy wasn’t meeting his eyes. “Draco’s already rather thoroughly dressed me
down over that. But you can as well, if you’d like.”

“I need you to tell me what you want.” Harry took a breath. “And if it’s not the same thing I
want, that’s okay. We’ll sort it. But I need you to tell me. I don’t want to keep trying to
guess.”

There was a particular set to her mouth that he only saw occasionally, an stubborn expression
that meant that she was steeling herself to do something she didn’t think was going to go
particularly well. He’d seen it when she’d had to give patients bad news and every time she’d
sent a return owl to her mother.

“I want you,” she said.

“I appreciate that,” Harry said, gently. “Only I think I might need some specifics.”

“I want all the things we’ve done to be real.” She shoved the sodden paper in her pocket.
“And I know they weren’t, but I was thinking maybe I’d like to see what it would be like if
we were actually doing it instead of pretending. I want to keep having a third of my clothes at
your flat and knowing your breakfast order and seeing you every day and having you be nice
to me.” She pushed her hood back, finally meeting his eyes. “And I’d really like you to fuck
me on every surface in your flat. Repeatedly.”

“Well,” Harry said, thoughtfully. “Maybe not the windows.”

“Oh, no. Absolutely the fucking windows. I have an inordinate number of fantasies about
those. I mean it. Every surface, Potter.”

“Yeah, okay.” Harry held out a hand with a smile. “I think I can probably make all that
happen. I’m kind of used to it already. Might as well.”

“Is that what you want?” Pansy said, softly.

“I mean,” Harry said, thoughtfully. “I think I’m going to have to veto the shower. I hear there
are concerns about slip and fall injuries.”

“Harry,” Pansy said, pointedly, but the corner of her mouth had started to pull up.

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing. “Yeah, it’s exactly what I want.”

She finally closed the distance between them, coming around the stadium seats to take his
hand, and she didn’t pull away when he drew her in.

“For the record,” he said, “don’t feel too badly, I’d probably have panicked and run off if you
hadn’t beaten me to it.”

Pansy stepped in, burying her face against his shirt. “I’m willing to try to sort out the fact that
we both seem to be terrible about this later. But I’m requesting five minutes to table that in
favour of being happy that I haven’t completely fucked the entire thing up.”

“Nah.” He tilted her face up, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You couldn’t, honestly. I like
you too much.”

Pansy’s slow smile was enough to make the rest else fade away. He forgot the cold rain and
the players across the stadium, because the way she was looking up at him, wide open and
full of affection, felt like everything he’d ever wanted. He’d never felt quite so known.

“I have to get back,” she said, biting her lower lip. “I really am covering Mandy’s shift. But
I’m off at seven. If you wanted to… come over.”

“Which probably means eight. I know how it goes.”

“Half eight?” she offered. “My place?”

“Yeah.” He squeezed her hands. “Go get dry. You’ve got to be freezing.”

“By the way,” she said, stepping back, “it’s hiding underneath the pile of kit bags. And Ellis
definitely hasn’t seen it, so feel free to go show him up.”

“Thanks. See you tonight?”

“Half eight,” she agreed.

He realised when she was fifteen rows up that he hadn’t kissed her.

“Fuck,” he said, because it absolutely meant he was going to spend the entire afternoon
thinking about it, and went to catch the snitch.

___

When he got to Pansy’s flat, it was still pouring rain, and it seemed odd that all the lights in
her windows were off, at least until he noticed that there wasn’t a single light on in the entire
building. She met him at the door, taking his umbrella. There were candles everywhere, and
she had obviously just gotten home, because her hair was damp, gone wild with curls. Her
sundress was wet too, clinging a bit to her curves in a way that made him want to drop the
pizza he was carrying just to get his hands on her.

“Sorry,” she said, “the electric’s always complete rubbish when it storms like this.”

“Not a problem,” he managed. “I have, um, dinner.”

He couldn’t quite move out of the entryway, staring at her, and she started back for a full
minute before she finally broke the silence with a laugh. She took the pizza and the bottle of
wine he was carrying and put them on the kitchen table, then came back.

“I, um,” he started.

“Potter,” she said, sounding both amused and affectionate, then wound her arms around his
neck, “am I making you nervous?”

“No,” he said, then: “All right, maybe, I -”

She took his face in her hands and kissed him, slow and sweet, until he felt his shoulders start
to come down. It was too familiar to be panic-inducing, although the way she’d pressed up
against him was -

“I’m very happy to see you,” she murmured, right against his mouth, and he felt her trying
not to laugh. “And I think you might be happy to -”

“Don’t start with me,” he grumbled. “You’re all…” He gestured.

“Wet?” Pansy said, innocently.

“Honestly,” Harry said, well aware he’d probably turned scarlet, “it’s good to know you’re
going to be exactly as fucking terrible as always.”

“I’m glad to hear you think so,” Pansy said, “because I’m probably going to be much worse.”

They made their way through most of the pizza and half the bottle of wine, talking about
exactly the same stupid things they did every night, but eventually, he looked up halfway
through a story about Lockhart to find Pansy studying him intently from across the table, her
eyes dark. He couldn’t help getting distracted by the way the candlelight traced the lines of
her face, leaving warmth behind it.

“We could…” he started, suddenly feeling awkward again. “I mean, if you wanted to…”

“Draco and I have this game,” she said, finally. “And he says I’d better play it with you.” She
managed a smile. “He also said I have to do it before I sleep with you, and as obnoxious as I
find him, he’s probably not wrong.”

Harry paused, pushing his plate away. “What sort of game?”

“It’s very Slytherin. And less painful if you’re drunk.”

“I seem to remember something about a bottle of tequila you got from a patient last week.”

“Right.” Pansy flicked her wrist, summoning two glasses and the bottle. “Are you in?”

“I mean,” Harry said. “On the alcohol? Yes. On the rest of it? I might have to hear the rules.”

“It’s not complicated. I tell you things I don’t want you to know. You do the same thing.”
“I’m not sure that counts as a game,” Harry said, dryly.

“Ah, but there’s a rule.” Pansy filled a glass with a fairly significant amount of alcohol, then
slid it across the table. “You can only respond with four things. And you’re not allowed to
lie.”

Harry took it. “What are they?”

“You’ve got ‘that’s not a problem for me,’ ‘I have a solution,’ ‘I’d like to discuss that
further,’ and ‘that’s a dealbreaker.’ Those are your choices.”

“Those are oddly specific options.”

“Oh, come on. We were in sixth year and trying to figure out how to have great sex while our
lives were falling apart, cut us some slack.”

Harry laughed. “Absolutely no one is having great sex at sixteen. I mean, as previously
noted, not that I’d know. I was busy trying not to die.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow. “I’d like to discuss that further.”

“You’re right,” Harry said. “This is a very Slytherin game.”

Pansy tilted her glass up, downing half of it, and then made a face. “It’s a game for people
who are fucking terrible at emotional intimacy and talking about their feelings. That’s me.
Also, in fairness, Draco. And basically every Slytherin that’s ever lived. And you.”

“Sort of like you all might have something in common that the Sorting Hat’s picking up on,”
Harry said, dryly. “But I don’t know, it could just be a coincidence.”

He watched her breathe in, then out, very deliberately. “Yes or no, Potter?”

“Yeah, okay.” He drank enough of his glass to keep them even, because being sober suddenly
seemed like a profoundly unappealing option. “But you have to go first.”

Pansy was silent for a very long moment, then she reached for the bottle to refill her glass.

“You’re the saviour of the wizarding world, and I’m a former Death Eater. I’m still worried
you’ll judge me for it.”

“You didn’t choose it. And even if you had, I mean -”

“Potter,” Pansy interrupted. “That’s not one of the options. Unless you’re choosing that you
want to discuss it further, and you can’t choose that for everything. It defeats the point of
trying to make this as painless as possible.”

“We could just… try talking about it,” Harry offered.

Pansy laughed, taking another drink. “I’m fucking terrible at that. This is just… saying it out
loud, because things are usually less terrifying outside of your head than in it. And I have to
find a way to do it, because if I don’t, I’m never going to get used to telling you hard things.
I’ll just run off every time. And we’ve seen how well that works out.”

Harry considered her, the tense set of her shoulders, the way she wasn’t quite looking at him,
and he thought about what Draco had said about being honest. “It’s not a problem for me.”

“Now you,” Pansy said, gesturing with her glass.

He grinned, nudging her with his foot under the table. “I used to find it infuriating every time
you called me ‘Potter,’ but now I’m starting to suspect it turns me on.”

“That’s definitely not a problem for me,” Pansy said, smiling back.

“Also, I might have sort of gotten off on all the fake sex. But I think you knew that.”

“I have a solution for that.” Pansy leaned to refill his glass. “You could get off on real sex.”

He had a feeling Pansy had done something to the alcohol to make it stronger, because,
mostly without meaning to, he said: “I might be sort of terrified of that.”

“Of what?”

“Look, I’ve slept with exactly one person. And I mean - I thought she liked it, but somewhere
along the line, we stopped having a lot of sex, and then further along the line, we quit having
sex altogether, and then at the end of the fucking line, she slept with someone else. So I’ve
probably talked a good game, but I can’t promise I’m any good at it. I might not be.”

Pansy had a look on her face that usually meant she was trying not to laugh, and he couldn’t
decide if it was reassuring or if it made the whole thing that much worse.

“I have a solution for that.”

“Okay.” Harry let out a breath. “What is it?”

“Nope,” Pansy said. “That isn’t how it works.”

“I’d like to discuss that further,” Harry countered. “Specifically, the part where you have a
solution for that.”

He saw the moment when she gave in to amusement, because the smile lit up her face.
“Trying to outplay me, Potter?”

“Let me guess. That’s against the extremely arbitrary rules?”

“No, you seem to have found a loophole,” Pansy said, then slid out of her chair, stepping
around the table next to him. She kept moving in until she was standing between his knees,
and then she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him until he couldn’t breathe.

When they finally broke apart, he let his head fall onto her shoulder, wrapping his arms
around her. She buried a hand in his hair, running her other hand down his back.
“So I’ll let you in on a secret,” she murmured. “And I’m going to have to give some credit to
Draco, he’s the one who came up with all these incredibly stupid ways to make me talk about
what I wanted. Because I thought I shouldn’t. I was raised to believe I shouldn’t.” She turned
her head to press a kiss to his temple. “I know how to communicate in bed. I ask for exactly
what I want, how I want it, and I don’t lie. I’ll tell you if something you’re doing isn’t
working. There are men who hate that, but…” She tilted his face up with a smile. “You don’t
strike me as one of them.”

“No,” he agreed, very softly. “I’d… I can’t tell you how much I’d like not having to guess.”

“There are only two ways to be bad at sex.” She kissed him again, warm and very slow. “The
first is to completely fail to communicate. I won’t let that happen. The second is to be
unteachable. You aren’t. And for the record, I give as good as I get, so we’ll learn together.”

“I’m really, stupidly, overwhelmingly into you,” Harry said, after a minute, closing his eyes.
“I keep hoping you won’t figure it out, but I’ve got this problem, which is that you’re
constantly doing things that make it worse.”

Pansy laughed, softly. “Completely a dealbreaker.”

“Sarcastic use of the options. Can I add a rule against that?”

“I’ll allow it.” Pansy leaned further into him. “I was thinking I might try to keep doing those
things.”

“That’s not a problem for me,” Harry murmured. “Only… I think I’d better be up front that…
I want something serious, something that goes somewhere, and someday, with the right
person, I want to get married. I want kids. I don’t think I can be with someone again who
views that as the worst imaginable future and who’d feel trapped. I never held it against her.
There’s nothing wrong with not wanting it. But I do, and I can’t be with someone who
doesn’t.”

“You know,” Pansy said. “The point of this game is that you say ‘I want to get married and
have kids’ and I say ‘that’s not a problem for me’ and then you don’t have to think about it
again and you’re saved having to go to the trouble of editorialising.”

“Okay. I want to get married and have kids.”

“That’s not a problem for me. But I do love my career. I’m a consummate workaholic. I’m
not giving it up, I’m too good at it. I’m not willing to begin and end my resume with
motherhood. So if that’s a problem for you, I’d rather know now.”

“I have a solution for that. I should probably quit falling off broomsticks and breaking ribs
eventually. I’m getting too old for it. So - you know, if…”

“Potter,” she said, pressing her fingers against his mouth. “Quit worrying about letting on that
you’d like this to have a future.”
“I…” He took a breath. “I would. But I’m not entirely sure yet if you feel the same way. You
play your cards pretty close to your chest.”

“That’s because you’re…” He watched her swallow. “You’re constantly incredible, Harry, in
a way I very much like, but you’re also astonishingly out of my league. And, all pretence
aside, I wouldn’t have thought you’d be…” For once, she looked less than perfectly certain,
as if he’d wrong-footed her. “All the ways you’re fucked up are good person ways of being
fucked up. It’s because bad people did bad things to you or because you loved someone more
than they deserved. It’s so black and white.” She laughed, again, but it was almost bitter.
“And I’m just one enormous grey area, and all the ways I’m fucked up are because I used to
be a bad person and no amount of trying to be a good one seems to be able to put it right
again. So I didn’t think you could possibly want me. And I’m still not sure I trust it, because I
don’t trust much of anything.”

“Motion to add an option to the list.” He reached up to brush her hair out of her face, meeting
her eyes. “Because I’d really like to choose ‘I’m fucking in love with you, you idiot.’”

“Are you?” Pansy said. “I just keep trying to wrap my head around it, and I can’t see why.”

“Pansy,” he said, firmly. “I’m in this because I like every single thing about you, including a
few that I probably shouldn’t, and because I can’t get enough of you. And you’re either
trusting me on that, or I’m walking out the front door and we’re calling it. We can fuck
around with all the rest of it, we’ve both got ghosts, but that’s bedrock. I won’t compromise.
So what’s it going to be?”

“I think -” Pansy swallowed. “I’m fairly confident I’d never get over it if you left. So I’m…
you should stay.”

He drew her in further. “That’s good, because I’m not entirely sure I’d have actually managed
to leave.”

Her expression when she started to smile was unfamiliar, clear and bright, and when he
realised it was because she wasn’t bothering to hide anything, it felt a little like all the air had
left the room.

“You’re surprisingly good at bluffing for a Gryffindor. I might like it.” She considered him.
“Sort of appealing, really.”

“Yeah?” Harry managed, his voice rough.

She put a hand against the back of his neck and leaned down until their foreheads were nearly
touching. “Yes,” she agreed, glancing toward the bedroom. “What do you think of the idea of
going in there and taking all our clothes off?”

“On the one hand,” Harry said, “there’s all that stuff I said before. On the other, I’m pretty
sure I’m going to literally die if we don’t.”

“I have a solution for that.” She lifted a hand to his glasses. “On or off?”
“Off, I’d rather not break them. They get a little worse every time I have to spell them back
together.” Harry laughed. “With the caveat that I can’t see anything that’s not basically in
front of my face.”

She set them on the table, and the rest of the room went blurry. “Damn. I was planning on
staying across the room. I suppose now I can’t.”

Harry studied her face: the familiar, stubborn set of her mouth, the sharp line of her nose, the
fearless way she always looked at him.

“Can I ask for something?”

“Of course,” Pansy said. “Although in the future, I’d like you to contemplate the possibility
of trying to get what you want without worrying that the act of asking is going to annoy me.”

“Drop the glamour. I want all of you.”

“Are you sure?” Pansy had gone still. “The viper’s a bit snippy.”

“Luckily, I’m good with snakes,” Harry said, dryly.

“Right,” Pansy said, face focusing for a moment, and when he pushed her sleeve up, he could
see the skull again.

“Better,” he said, then thought about the rest of them and paused, feeling himself flush.

Pansy lifted a hand into his hair, pulling his head back, and then leaned to put her mouth right
against the pulse point where his jaw met his neck. “If I didn’t know better,” she murmured,
“I’d say you don’t have the faintest idea what to do if I’m not bossing you around to convince
people we’re having sex when we actually aren’t.”

“I have several ideas.” Harry couldn’t help the noise he made when she used her teeth. “But,
one, I’m still nervous, and two…” He let his eyes close. “Two, I’m pretty sure the reason I
got hard in about half a second every time is that I’m into you telling me what to do.”

“You’re also very into the sarcastic irreverence.” Pansy sounded amused. “I can tell because
you start to blush every single time I make smart remarks.”

“Pansy,” Harry managed, because she’d slid a hand down to his belt. “I’m really fucking into
literally all of it.”

She pulled back, grinning. “Want to come have some sex that I can absolutely, categorically
promise that I won’t let you fuck up?”

“When you put it that way,” Harry said, starting to laugh, “yeah, I really would.”

Pansy took a step backwards, and reached behind herself to undo the zip on her dress. She let
it fall to the floor. Harry stopped, because it was suddenly very apparent that she hadn’t been
wearing anything underneath it.
“What?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I was about ninety percent sure we were doing this
tonight. Knickers seemed fairly pointless.”

“I was at - um, about five percent. I was pretty convinced I’d make a mess of it.”

“Potter.” Pansy sounded amused. She kept stepping backwards, until she’d gone out of focus,
which was definitely enough to get him to follow her. There was also the fact that all the
candles had moved themselves into the bedroom. “When it comes to you, I’m something of a
sure thing.”

“Before I get too distracted to make this point,” Harry managed, once she’d drawn him back
into her bedroom, “you’re absolutely fucking stunning.”

Pansy laughed, hooking a finger in his belt loop to pull him in. “So what you’re saying is that
you’re not unhappy I left my knickers in the drawer.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “And now I’m really going to need you to save me from myself.”

“I can do that.” Pansy reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head when he lifted
his arms. “What’s off limits?”

“Um. It’s all… fine?”

“Try again,” Pansy said, dryly. “I don’t do blank cheques.”

Harry reached for her. “Nothing that really hurts. And I’m not into… anything degrading.”

Pansy wrapped her arms around his neck. “Don’t pin me. I hate not having my hands free.”

“Um,” Harry said, again. He realised he’d taken a moment too long. “Yeah, I - that’s not a
problem, I…”

“I’m going to guess,” Pansy murmured, looking like she was trying to keep a straight face,
“that you’ve just thought about it, and it’s occurred to you that it works the other way around.
And I think my ‘definitely no’ might be your ‘fuck yes.’”

“Maybe.” Harry felt himself blush. “Okay, yeah, you could try that.”

“Now,” Pansy said, pressing in close enough that he could feel her skin up against his in a
way that made him feel reckless and in over his head all at once. “You’re going to tell me
what you really love.”

“I… It’s sex. I’m going to like all of it. I promise.”

Pansy was studying him, and it felt like maybe he’d said the wrong thing, except she was
getting closer instead of stepping away.

“I can take the edge off the nerves,” she said, finally. “It’s just dialling down your
sympathetic nervous system and dialling up the parasympathetic. A little less adrenaline, a
little more oxytocin. It won’t last, but I don’t think it needs to.”
He’d been trying not to think too hard about the whole thing. “It feels incredibly stupid to
need the help. I don’t want you to think I don’t want this.”

“I don’t think that.” She stroked a hand over his shoulders, down, to settle in the small of his
back. “I think sex is complicated. I think it’s a way of saying things. And in an ideal world,
the things we say with sex would always be good, nice things.” She’d started pressing small
kisses along his shoulder. “That we love each other or that we’re having fun with each other
or that we trust each other. But we don’t live in an ideal world.”

“No,” Harry agreed, burying his face against her neck.

“Sometimes it gets a little… I don’t know, weaponised,” Pansy said, softly. “And I think
that’s all it was for you for a long time. So you can and should let me make this easier.”

“I know that voice,” Harry said, after a minute, laughing softly. “That’s the voice you use on
patients when you’re trying not to spook them.”

“It’s my very nicest voice,” Pansy agreed. He felt her grin. “And I actually typically use it
when people are being intractable about taking my help.”

“Fuck it. I mean, I didn’t feel too guilty about letting you put all my broken bones back
together.”

Pansy started tracing her fingers up his spine, and it only took a few seconds before the
anxiety slid away. And underneath it, he found that mostly, he just wanted her. The sudden
rush of desire, when he wasn’t trying to dial it back, was like a hit to the solar plexus.

“There or a little more?” she murmured. “With the note that if I start fucking around with
endorphins, it’s sliding into sex magic.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Harry said, thoughtfully, “how much can you do with that? Because
I’m starting to think I might need to have concerns.”

“I can get you off, untouched. As fast as I want.” She laughed, against his skin. “Or as slowly
as I want. I hear it’s fun.”

“For the record, you terrify me a little.” He took a breath. “But you’re wrong about
something. That’s not all it’s been for me. I mean, I know we were just fucking around for
show. But it’s only ever been good with you.”

“Just so you know,” she said, sounding amused, “I’ve preferred fucking around with you for
show to a decent amount of the actual sex I’ve had.”

“Just so you know,” Harry murmured, “you’re sort of an idiot for thinking I was ambivalent
about it.”

Pansy laughed. “Things that really do it for you other than pretending to shag me in front of
other people. Go.”
Harry considered. “All the very weird things you keep doing with your magic. And… I -” He
took a breath, because it had never occurred to him that you could just put it all on the table.
“I’ll like you on top, I think you figured that out already. I think I’m… not going to mind if
you push me around a little. I hate having all the lights on at night, but I love morning sex. If
you…” He took another breath, because suddenly, it didn’t feel like a trap. “When you put
your hands on me, I like it really light.”

“Perfect,” Pansy murmured. “I’ve got it from here.”

Her voice felt like a promise in the dark.

“Yeah?” he said, softly.

Pansy had started kissing up his neck. “Just pretend we’re faking it. It’s worked so far.”

Harry managed a slightly breathless laugh. “Yeah, okay.”

“Harry,” she said, sounding amused, “that was your invitation to just go for it.”

“Right,” he said, and brought his mouth down on hers before he could think about it.

She made a soft, helpless noise, one that he’d been chasing down every single fucking time
they’d done this for weeks, and her skin was familiar underneath his hands. The unapologetic
hunger in the way she kissed him always felt like the shock of hitting cold water, like the
very first time he’d gotten in the air. It had been the first time in his life he’d ever felt truly,
perfectly happy. He could remember feeling like the sky was limitless. It had been
uncomplicated.

And suddenly, it was easy, because he knew exactly how to turn her on. He bit at the spot on
her neck that made her shiver every time, licking over it, and pulled her hips in against his.
She got a hand in his hair, keeping his mouth against her skin, and arched closer, pressing up
against him. There wasn’t any subtlety in the way she went for his belt.

“If I didn’t know better,” he said, with a grin, “I’d think you were getting off on this.”

“Pick me up. There’s a very convenient wall right there. You don’t have to fuck me yet, but
you do this thing with your hips that involves pressing your cock against a number of places I
rather like. I’ve almost come from it at least twice, I want more.”

Harry laughed. “What? When?”

“Oh, good. I was desperately hoping you hadn’t noticed. Pick me up.”

“The bed’s right there.”

“Potter,” Pansy said, mildly, “I’ve been thinking about you pushing me up against a door
again every time I’ve touched myself for the last two weeks, and now I’d like the real thing.
So take your fucking jeans off and come give me what I want.”
“Pushy,” Harry said, amused, but he let her finish with his belt and pushed down his jeans
and boxers.

Pansy glanced down, then grinned. “Yeah,” she said, thoughtfully. “About as great as I
thought.”

“Fuck off,” Harry said, grinning back.

He backed her against the wall, crowding in a little, then lifted her. Pansy wrapped her legs
around his waist almost immediately, then kissed him hard.

“No, but really,” he said. “When?”

“At the cottage.” Pansy sounded breathless. “I just couldn’t get quite enough pressure to get
there.”

He felt her shift, and then she put a hand down between them and guided him closer. “Step
in. I want you right -” When he moved, pressing his erection up against her, suddenly slick,
he felt her hips buck before she settled.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he managed, completely unable to think, and she laughed.

“Okay,” she managed, “definitely infinitely better without knickers, but I’m going to need
you to do the whole thing where you rub up against me.”

“This thing?” Harry said, thrusting up.

“Fuck, right there,” Pansy said, then kissed him hard.

He kept kissing her, letting her squirm, but after a few minutes, her breathing had gone
completely uneven.

“I’m going to put you down,” he said, and Pansy actually whined.

“Don’t you dare,” she protested. “I want to -”

“Uh huh,” Harry said, letting her down, and then slid to his knees. “It’s just that I have it on
reasonably good authority that you like something else better.”

“For the record,” Pansy said, “I’m now fairly certain you’re actually the perfect man.”

Harry laughed, feeling himself flush. “I’m definitely not. But I like this.”

“Do you want me to let you explore, or do you want feedback?”

He leaned in, kissing her stomach. She was flushed all the way down, still breathing fast, and
she put her fingers under his chin, tiling his face up. “I…” he started, then laughed again,
softly, because he thought he could probably trust the question. “I’ll take instructions with a
level of detail that implies I’ve never tried this before in my life. Be seriously explicit. And to
be honest, I’ll choose that over the alternative every single fucking time, no matter what
we’re doing.”

“So what I’m hearing,” Pansy said, looking amused, “is that you’ve noticed I’m very good at
breaking complex medical procedures down into component steps for the junior healers, and
now you’re a bit hot for teacher.”

“When you put it that way…” Harry grinned up at her again. “Yeah, definitely. But I take
direction well. I’d love to give you what you actually want.”

“Seriously, Potter,” she murmured, then brushed a thumb over his lower lip. “Fucking
perfect.” She considered him for a moment longer, and he was surprised to find that the eye
contact made it easier, somehow. He’d thought it would be the opposite, but she was looking
at him as if she wanted him. There was so much heat in her gaze that he swallowed,
involuntarily.

“Put my leg over my shoulder so you have room to work, and then put your fingers into me.
You’re going to touch me a little on the way in, but not too much. Just get your bearings.”

She slid a hand into his hair, letting her head fall back against the wall, and at the first press
of his fingers between her legs, she sucked in a breath.

“There?” he murmured.

“Mm,” she agreed. “Don’t take them out again. Just press up. Hard. About twice as hard as
you think you should.” She laughed. “That whole ‘come hither’ gesture isn’t quite right on
me.”

He let out a breath, because suddenly he realised the whole thing was going to be incredibly
fucking easy. She wasn’t going to make him guess. “Like that?”

“More. I mean seriously a lot of -” He felt her suddenly shudder, going tight around his
fingers. “Exactly like that. Fuck. Then - pull back toward yourself. A little. About a quarter
of a stroke.”

She grabbed hard at his hair when he did, and he had to bite back a moan.

“Keep doing that bit. Then get your mouth on me. Don’t go straight for my clit. Keep it
slow.” She was pressing up into his touch, shifting. “I’ll like it, I know how you kiss.”

He couldn’t help the noise he made at the first taste of her.

“Do you want -” Pansy sounded breathless. “I don’t think you’re going to need much help,
but I’m very willing to run my mouth if the hard part is not knowing whether it’s going well.”

“Please,” he whispered, although he felt significantly less worried about it than he had been,
because the way she was pushing up against his mouth felt like an indication that she
probably wasn’t too unhappy with what he was doing.
“Fuck,” Pansy said, shifting, until he had to grab the thigh she’d put over his shoulder to keep
her in place. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks, and I knew you’d be - you’re too good
at reading me not to be exceptional -”

He was pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against her, getting a feel for it, and when he
started to lick over her, he felt her shudder again.

“Like that. This is so good for me, it feels -” She was squirming, and when he pushed her
thighs open further so he could get to more of her, she shoved his face closer with the hand
she had tangled in his hair. “You’re doing so well.”

He shifted, licking around the fingers he had inside her, and he heard her moan.

“Perfect,” she murmured, again. “I was going to keep it simple, but I think I’m going to take
exactly what I want, because you’re not going to have any trouble giving it to me.”

“Mm,” Harry agreed, because he didn’t really want to take his mouth off of her.

“Go for my clit,” she said. “I mean really - just there, hard, nowhere else, don’t fuck around,
and - get another finger into me, I want you to pull toward you over my g-spot, and if you
give me enough pressure I will absolutely come all over your face -”

He pulled back, then thrust three fingers into her at once, sucking on her clit.

“Right fucking there,” Pansy said. “A little more, deeper, and I - oh - like that, fuck, Potter,
good boy -”

He felt her come, clamping down around his fingers, absolutely soaking his hand, and - on a
hunch - he didn’t back off, working her through it, and it just kept going. She’d gone quiet
above him, arching hard into his touch, and he only stopped when she finally shoved at his
shoulder. After he pulled back, she promptly slid down the door until she was on her knees in
front of him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes still closed, “but did you actually try to tell me earlier you
thought you might be bad in bed?”

Harry laughed. “You make it sort of hard to fuck up. Thanks for, um, not leaving me alone
there.”

Pansy opened her eyes and looked at him, then guided him in until her forehead was pressed
against his. “I’m never going to do that,” she said. “Ever. And if you feel alone when we’re
having sex, you’re going to tell me so I can fix it. That’s non-negotiable.”

He let out a breath, because he literally couldn’t think of a single thing to worry about.

“Can we actually get in bed? I kind of want to do that again. Maybe all night.”

“I’m probably not going to get off again tonight, that was…” She laughed, dropping her head
to kiss his shoulder. “Unexpected. I thought we were going to stay at ‘slow and exploratory.’
But I bet you’d like some help.”
“I wouldn’t say no,” Harry said, with a grin. “Although there’s no chance of me staying
upright, so I’d really like the bed.”

“Done.” Pansy got to her feet, pulling him up after her. “What do you want? You can fuck
me, if you give me a few minutes.”

“Maybe table that bit. I’m doing pretty well at not getting too in my head.” He tugged her
against him, wrapping his arms around her, easing into a kiss. “Let’s not ruin it.”

“Look at you, actually admitting what you need,” Pansy teased. She let him go, climbing into
the bed, shoving back the blankets, and held out a hand. “Come here.”

As soon as he stretched out beside her, she propped herself up on one elbow. She traced her
fingers over his ribs, a little absently, studying him. “I needed it fast, but I was thinking I
might take my time with you, if you’re interested.”

“Anything. But if it takes me a little bit to, um, get off, once you start touching me, don’t
think it’s because I don’t like it, it’s just…”

“Harry,” Pansy said, cupping his cheek for a moment, forcing him to make eye contact again.
“The only time I’m going to conclude you don’t like something is if you tell me you don’t
like it. But that wasn’t quite what I meant. Roll over onto your stomach and close your eyes.
Then don’t worry about any of it.”

He trusted her enough not to ask questions, and then he felt her start to kiss the back of his
neck. He realised after a few minutes that she was just learning, putting her mouth on him,
exploring with careful fingertips. It was harder than he expected to just take it, to let her map
out the spaces that made his breath catch while he couldn’t offer anything in return. He’d
never been particularly good at just feeling, because it had always felt selfish. But she just
kept going, cataloguing every response, and he eventually gave in and let himself start to
enjoy it.

He noticed the small, pleased noise she made when he finally settled, but then he stopped
thinking entirely. It felt like a cartographic analysis, the way she licked her way down his
spine, tracing every single vertebrae with her tongue, so slowly he didn’t have any choice but
to focus on the sensation. She spent what felt like hours on the inside of his forearms, his
wrists, his hands, and by the time she flipped him over, he was so turned on he was shaking.

The one time he reached for her, she guided his hand back down to the bed, pressing it in
place for a moment, and he got the hint. She lingered over his clavicles, the hollow of his
throat, and when she got to his nipples, he thought it was possible he might come just from
the warm heat of her mouth and the barest scrape of her teeth. For once, he wasn’t fighting
how good it felt: her careful survey of every muscle held everything that had been missing
the night before. There was so much affection in her touch that he couldn’t run from it.

She finally nudged him onto his side, settling in against his back. “I’m going to take this a
little further. Lube, yes or no?”

“Yeah,” he managed. “I don’t like a lot of friction. And - um, lighter is better than…”
“Got it.” He heard her opening a drawer in the bedside table, murmuring something that
sounded like a warming spell. He felt her ease back in behind him, and then she ran her
fingers up the underside of his cock, exactly as slowly as she’d touched him everywhere else.
When she finally wrapped her hand around him, it was hot and incredibly slick and good. He
couldn’t manage to breathe. She’d listened, and her grip wasn’t too hard. That was almost as
good as the rest of it, the idea that he could just ask for things and she wouldn’t hold any of it
against him.

“Easy,” she murmured, against his ear. “I’ve got you.”

It still took a while, because it always did, but she managed to find a way of dragging her
thumb over the head on every upstroke that was just on the right side of too much. She
stopped stroking a few times, just tracing her fingers over him, the slightest brush of her
fingertips, and her mouth was warm against his neck. His orgasm caught him by surprise, a
slow wave that just kept going for what felt like forever. He could feel it everywhere, every
place she’d touched him, warm and sweet. The second it started to fade, he felt her grin
against his neck, and he came again, even stronger than the first time.

“Again,” Pansy said, and he felt her magic push into him, shoving him over the edge again
into white-out, blinding pleasure.

“Fuck, fuck -” he said, whole body going tight again, and she laughed.

“Once more, sweetheart,” she murmured, and he couldn’t fucking think, couldn’t feel
anything except her and their magic tangling together and the intensity of it.

When it finally faded, he was gasping for air. There wasn’t any tension left in his body, and
when he opened his eyes to stare at Pansy, he saw that she was laughing.

“Um,” he managed. “What the hell? I’ve never…”

“I didn’t actually have to help all that much.” Pansy grabbed his shoulder, settling over him
for a kiss. “I can absolutely get you back there without magic with a little practice. And I
don’t think you’re done for tonight.”

“I just - I can’t -” He finally laughed too. “Jesus fucking christ, Pansy.”

“It’s not my fault you ignored me every time I told you I was good at this.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed. “But there’s good and then there’s… that.”

“Hold that thought,” Pansy said, then slid out of bed. She pulled on his shirt, which had
ended up somewhere on the floor, and disappeared before he could protest.

She reappeared a few minutes later with a glass of water and a bag of crisps. She tossed a
towel at him.

“What?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You need electrolytes. As a medical professional, I
have concerns about fluid loss. These have salt.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, ruefully. “Sorry, bit of a mess.”

“You know,” Pansy slid back into bed, reaching for the crisps, “there’s this thing, it’s called a
washing machine, brilliant muggle invention, it means no one ever has to apologise for
coming all over the duvet.” She leaned over, deliberately, studying his half of the bed. “And
the pillow. And himself.”

Harry laughed, trying to make use of the towel before he threw it at her. “Fuck off.”

“You’ve still got something -” Pansy reached to rub her thumb over his hip bone, and then
licked it off.

“Um,” Harry said.

She grinned. “I’ve hit on a solution, I’ll just swallow next time.”

“If I don’t survive this relationship, you only have yourself to blame.” He held out a hand.
“Share.”

Pansy held out the bag, studying him. “Scale of one to ten,” she said, thoughtfully. “How
hard is this hitting?”

He took a handful of crisps; they were the disgusting salt and vinegar ones she liked. “Which
side’s which?”

“One’s completely fine. Ten’s on the verge of a panic attack.”

Harry actually stopped and made himself think about it, a little surprised by the conclusion.
“Two. And I could maybe get down to one if you had better taste in crisps. You?”

“Three and a half.” Pansy elbowed him. “And it’d be three flat if I weren’t trying to process
the horror of dating someone who only likes barbecue and plain.”

He leaned over, dropping his head into her lap, looking up at her. “Do you need me to do
anything?”

“No,” Pansy said, holding out a crisp for him. “I’m too happy to bother worrying about it.”

He ate it, then made a face. She laughed. He reached up and ran his thumb over her cheek,
then grinned, when she leaned into his touch, turning her head to press a kiss to the inside of
his wrist. “I’m too happy too. Turns out that getting to touch you is significantly better than
all the times I couldn’t finish what I started.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t finish. I did offer. I’ve been offering for over a month.”

“What?” Harry said, startled. “When?”

“I don’t know,” Pansy said, dryly. “How about every single time we fooled around for
show?”
“I -” Harry started. “What?”

“Every single time,” Pansy repeated, looking down at him.

“I just thought -” Harry paused. “We were faking it. And you - I mean, I knew you did at the
end. You said that. But you offered the first time we did that. We didn’t even… you couldn’t
stand me.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’d say I found you vaguely infuriating and somewhat sanctimonious.
But I did rather enjoy the back and forth.”

“And you still would have…”

“Enthusiastically, yes.”

“But,” Harry said, a little bewildered, “why?”

Pansy set the crisps aside and leaned over him. A few of the candles that had burned down
relit themselves behind her. It was suddenly enough light that he could see her clearly. She
was looking at him intently, almost as if she was trying to find something in his face. Her
usually perfect makeup had smudged, her hair had fallen halfway out of where she’d pinned
it up, and at some point, she’d bitten her lower lip hard enough to leave a mark. It suddenly
seemed obvious that Draco had never looked all that closely, every time he’d walked in on
them playing pretend, because everything about her face gave away what they’d been doing.
She was dizzyingly, devastatingly beautiful.

Pansy kissed him, then, with enough warmth behind it that even he couldn’t miss the point.

“One,” she murmured. “You look stupidly good with your shirt off. Two, once you get your
feet under you, you’re transcendently good at kissing. Three, you’re nice and incredibly
generous with people you actually like. Nice is almost always good in bed. Four, you’re just
the faintest bit shy when pressed, and I thought that would probably be a good fit with how I
like to run the show in bed. All of which I was right about. And five, I was stupid enough to
start fucking around with healing magic when I was already attracted to you. Your body’s
astonishingly responsive to pleasure. It barely takes anything. It’s like you’re starving for it.
Earlier as a case in point.” She reached, tracing her fingers over the curve of his shoulder,
down to rest in the hollow of his throat. “And I absolutely, unequivocally wanted to give you
more of that. I still do. I’m never going to get enough of that.”

Harry paused. “Is that why you kept trying to send me to Draco every time I fucked
something else up?”

“I’m good. Actually, I’m the best there is. But even I didn’t have the self control to really
manage the balance once I started falling for you.”

“It’s possible,” Harry said, clearing his throat, “I completely ignored all the times you told me
to see him after the time I broke my wrist. I mean, he’s good, he fixed it. It just always hurts
like hell.”
“That’s because a normal dose of healing magic with you is like getting punched in the face.
So you fight it, and the healer doubles down because it feels like it’s not working. And I
forgot to tell him.”

“In his defence, I absolutely fucking hate having spells cast on me. Can’t imagine why.”

“Not stunningly obvious or anything,” Pansy agreed. She pushed him out of her lap, gently,
then pulled her shirt off again, following him down.

He lifted his hands to stroke down her back, over her ribs, exploring the curve of her spine. “I
like this,” he admitted. “The part where we like talking to each other. I mean, the sex was
great, but that’s my favourite thing.”

“Was?” Pansy raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m on top of you, and I’m really not getting the
impression you’re done.”

“Sorry.” Harry laughed, feeling his face heat. “I didn’t think I could, but you’re, you know,
naked and touching me. Can’t be helped.”

“Told you so,” Pansy said, and kissed him again, deeper, licking into his mouth. He arched up
against her with a soft noise, and when she fisted a hand in his hair and guided his head back
so she could nip at his neck, he made a much louder one.

“Any requests?”

“Yeah.” He got his hands on her hips, pulling her in closer. “I want your magic.” He decided
not to overthink it. “Because I don’t hate it with you, and it’s -” When she bit him again,
harder, he couldn’t keep back the gasp. “It always feels like you. And I’m curious. And -” He
laughed, lower than usual. “And you’re making it sound like you’ve wanted to for a while.
So it could be fun.”

“Full disclosure,” she murmured. “I’ve only been really willing to blur this line with Draco.
But it’s already rather mixed up in my head, with you. I didn’t think I could do much without
it sliding over into sex magic. So this might take a little calibration.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Harry said, thoughtfully, “how much does that have to do with the fact
that I haven’t had a headache that lasted longer than twenty minutes since we started this?”

“It’s possible that every time you were already turned on and I figured I couldn’t make it
worse, I shoved some magic at you, because you’re honestly such a constant disaster that I
couldn’t help myself. I’ve never met someone whose muscles are so committed to being
tense that they pull everything else out of alignment.” She laughed. “I’m also pretty sure I’ve
been trying to fix it in my sleep, sorry.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry said, dryly. “I thought the fact that I was waking up hard had
something to do with your complete and total hatred of wearing pyjamas.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if you’d actually listened to me and seen Draco.”

“There’s just sort of this problem, which is that I like this a whole lot better.”
“In that case, you can tell me what the fuck you did to your shoulder yesterday, because it’s
been bothering me every time I touch it.”

Harry winced. “Um. A bludger was involved.”

“And then?”

“And then I let the new team healer fix it because it hurt too badly to wait, and then I…
forgot to mention it?”

The look Pansy gave him made him want to retire from quidditch.

“If you’d like to continue having sex with me,” she said, “never do any of those things
again.”

“Oh, come on,” he protested. “Bludgers come with the -” He stopped, because she’d put a
hand on his shoulder. It felt familiar, and he realised that she’d been doing a little of it all
along. This, though, was Pansy’s entire focus, and she’d quit holding back. He felt her magic
settle over his. If it had been absolutely anyone else, he’d probably have fought it like hell.
But she’d spent so much time laying the groundwork that pushing her out wasn’t his first,
involuntary impulse, and it gave him room to try to let her in. She’d eased him into it earlier,
with all the touching, and it almost felt the same. Still, he wasn’t entirely sure he liked it.

“That feels really -”

Her eyes had gone distant. “You’re looking at it wrong, Potter. I’m not holding you in place,
quit trying to get free. This isn’t petrificus. More like -” She laughed, softly, low and a little
self-satisfied. “My hand, your wrists. It’s just a suggestion.”

“Oh,” Harry said, then: “Oh.”

“Good,” Pansy murmured. “Just like that. You can relax into it.”

He took a deep breath, then let it out. “And if I say stop, you’ll stop?”

“Yes, absolutely. But I don’t think you’re going to want me to stop once I start. Your magic’s
a complete fucking mess.”

“No,” he said, a minute later, swallowing. “I’m - keep doing that, it’s…”

“Mmmhm,” Pansy agreed, then kissed him.

It was, mostly, warm and deeply familiar, like having her hands absolutely everywhere again,
but he wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever let someone this far in. He couldn’t entirely tell what she
was doing, just that it felt stupidly, incredibly good.

“Hey,” he said, a few minutes later, coming up for air. “How serious were you about being
done on your end?”
“Well, I was at the time.” Pansy drew back with a grin. “But I might have failed to account
for how much I was going to get off on that noise you keep making. So I’m not entirely sure.
Why?”

“I’m over myself.” He laughed softly, a little breathless. “As in, I’m not nervous anymore.
And I was thinking it might be fun if you let me fuck you. But only if you’re… you know. In
the mood for it.”

“I’m incredibly into that idea.” Pansy propped herself up, considering him. “But I need you
to not worry about it if I don’t get off again.”

“Yeah, sure. But if it’s just going to take a while, we’ve got all fucking night.” He laughed.
“I’m very willing to cancel all my other plans. I can absolutely go down on you again. Or we
could probably use one of the ten sex toys in your bedside table, if that makes it easier.”

“You know,” Pansy said, mildly, “I keep that drawer locked, Potter.”

“Except for all the times you didn’t, and that time you forgot your birth control pills and
made me get them out of there and bring them to you at work. And that other time you
couldn’t find your watch and told me to check all the drawers. And the times you made me
trade sides of the bed because there was a draft, and I wasn’t awake and tried to grab my
glasses out of the drawer.”

She hit him on the shoulder, grinning. “Complete invasion of privacy. I’m outraged.”

“Uh huh.”

“Are you into that sort of thing?” Pansy said, after a minute. “Not everyone is.”

“I play team sports for a living,” Harry said, dryly. “I’m very into the assist. And also very
into literally anything that gets you off. It’s not impossible I’ve thought about you using
them. So, yes, very.”

“On myself? Or on you?”

He couldn’t quite tell if she was teasing him, but her tone was warm.

“Um, the former.” He felt his face heat. “I’ve never…”

She’d left their magic so intertwined that he felt her sudden shift in focus.

“But,” she murmured, thoughtfully, “you’d like to.”

It wasn’t a question, and he had the feeling that she could sense just as much of him as he
could of her.

“Sure,” he admitted, swallowing. “If you want.”

Pansy lowered her hand between them, and he almost jumped when she traced her fingertips
up the underside of his erection. There was something slightly electric in her touch.
“Potter,” she murmured, “if you want me to fuck you, I’m very much going to insist that you
ask for it.”

“Um,” he said, then laughed, because everything about her made him feel fearless. “If you’re
willing to start a ‘theoretically fuck yes’ list, we could add that.”

“Can I put it up next to the calendar?” Pansy said, grinning again, and wrapped her hand
around his cock.

“Absolutely fucking not.”

She heaved a very deliberate sigh. “You’re no fun.”

He rolled over on top of her, then kissed her until her breath caught and she pushed up into
his weight, smoothing her palms down his back.

“Your muggle birth control. Do we have to… do anything to make it work?”

Pansy nipped the curve of his neck, running her foot up the back of his calf as she wrapped a
thigh around him. “No. More like a contraceptive potion than a charm. And I’m not sure I
need more lube, but if you want it, no objections here.”

“Okay,” he said, and it was sort of novel to not feel badly about asking for any of it. “I
wouldn’t hate that, this isn’t going to be really fast, and I kind of like it…”

“I was, in fact, paying attention the first time you said you didn’t like that kind of friction,”
Pansy said, carding her fingers through his hair before she reached back into the drawer. “It’s
always on offer.” She reached between them, slicking him up, and he let out a breath, slowly.

He nudged his nose against hers. “So can I…”

“I don’t know,” Pansy said, archly, “can you?”

“Oh, fuck off,” he managed, kissing her hard.

She was laughing when he pushed into her, and the knowledge that she liked it, that she’d let
her guard down, was enough to kill the last of his nerves.

“Mm,” Pansy said, lifting her hips to meet him, and he felt her shiver when he bottomed out.
“Fuck, Potter.”

“Yeah?” he murmured. “Is this okay?”

“Fucking incredible, actually.”

He kept it slow, trading long kisses, and found an angle that made her push back against him,
thighs falling further open. She spread a palm against the small of his back, keeping him
there, so he kept up with the slow, easy rhythm. He let himself sink into it, this thing they’d
been spinning between themselves, the knowledge that she actually, somehow, loved him
back. She wasn’t saying much, but he didn’t need her to. Pansy very clearly wasn’t expecting
perfection, and he trusted her to tell him if something wasn’t working. So for the first time in
longer than he could remember - maybe the first time ever - he let himself stop thinking
through every single detail and just felt it.

“Hey,” she murmured, a few minutes later, tangling a hand in his hair. “If you aren’t close,
can we switch?” She kept her other hand against the back of his neck, holding him close. “I
want you deeper than I can get you like this, and I want your hands on me.” She smiled
against his mouth. “Don’t take that as an indication that I’m not loving this, though.”

“I’m not.” For once, he didn’t feel guilty about it. “What were you thinking?”

“Roll over and sit up,” Pansy suggested. “I’m just going to…”

He was expecting her on top of him, but he wasn’t entirely expecting it when she straddled
him backwards, sliding back down onto his cock in one easy motion before she leaned
against him, her back against his chest.

“Oh,” he said, startled.

“What?” She turned her head to kiss him, adjusting. “Better access to all the places I’d like
you to touch me, and I can take more of you.”

“Wasn’t complaining,” Harry said, spreading a palm out across her stomach. She tilted her
head, giving him better access to her neck. “Do you want me to…” He trailed off, distracted
when she started to move her hips, and she laughed, sounding a little breathless.

“Put your arm around my waist, and pull me back,” she murmured. “Then keep me there,
and…”

“Like this?” he said, although he was pretty sure he’d gotten it right when he thrust up and
she pushed back down onto him and suddenly gripped hard at the sheets.

“So good, Harry,” she said, against his mouth, then pulled his free hand around to her breast.
“You’re staying here. I’ll handle the rest of it.”

Pansy reached into the drawer, very clearly considering, which didn’t make a lot of sense.
When she took too long, Harry dragged a nail over her nipple, palming her hip to keep her in
place when she jumped.

“Don’t rush me, Potter.”

“Is there that much of a difference?” he managed. “I seriously need to move.”

Pansy turned to look at him, with a smug smile that made his stomach flip over. “Potter,” she
said, voice low, “I am going to have so much fun with you.”

“I thought it was - um, a… battery thing.”

She finally picked a vibrator and turned it on. “Definitely not.”

She tipped her head back against his shoulder, and he watched her bite her lip when she made
contact with herself, watching him.

“Oh,” he said, swallowing. “Fuck, I can… feel that, I -”

“That,” Pansy said, sounding satisfied, “was exactly the point.”

She was shifting her hips, breathing faster, and when he slid his arm around her waist again,
holding her in place so he could thrust up, she made a very soft, pleased noise that he’d never
heard from her before.

“Do that again.” She readjusted, spreading her knees further, and when he pushed in deeper,
she made it again. “Fuck, right there, that’s…”

He cupped her breast, using his nails again. “Good?”

“Yes. Just keep…”

He’d absolutely meant to let her come first, but a minute later, she lifted up a little, sliding the
vibrator up the underside of his cock, then kept it pressed against the base and took him deep
again. She dropped her other hand between her legs, touching herself. The sensation caught
him completely off guard, and when he started to come, she didn’t back off. He was panting
against her shoulder, trying to get enough air, and it was too much, too sensitive. It was
almost at the point when he wanted to push her away, but when he felt her come around him,
he got hit with another wave of pleasure, so intense he couldn’t think.

When he finally opened his eyes, she still had her head against his shoulder, smiling up at
him in a rather self-satisfied and lazy sort of way. He managed to kiss her, trying to catch his
breath, and she just grinned against his mouth.

“I think,” she whispered, “I’m going to keep you.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m fucking ruined for other people, so you’d better,” he said, after a minute,
when he could at least sort of think again. “Is that…” He laughed, softly. “I thought that
getting off more than once like that was really more… women. Is it just… I mean, it’s been a
while. Is that why?”

“No.” Pansy moved just enough so he could pull out, still looking pleased with herself. “I
can’t manage that, actually. You, on the other hand, just need someone to push you.”

“Hey,” he said, running his fingers up the tattoo on her spine before she could move away.
“This is different. It’s…”

“Actually blooming?” Pansy leaned into his touch. “It does that when I’m happy. Or,
apparently, when I’ve had a lot of really excellent sex. They don’t seem to be mutually
exclusive at the moment.”

She climbed off of him, then turned around, leaning in until she could judge her nose against
his. “You did an absolutely fucking fantastic job with that, Harry.”
“Yeah?” he said, softly.

“So exceptional.” She cupped his face in her hand, brushing her thumb over her cheekbone.
“I loved every minute of it.”

He let out a breath. “Me too.”

“You’ve got to stay awake long enough to let me clean you up,” Pansy said. “And maybe
some more water.”

He didn’t know exactly what she meant, at least until she ran her fingers through his hair and
he realised he wasn’t entirely sure he was going to keep his eyes open for all of that.

“I’d apologise, but it’s kind of your fault. And you won’t let me, anyway.”

The clean up wasn’t so bad, but by the time Pansy disappeared into the kitchen for a second
glass, he’d already slid down into the pillows. She got back into bed beside him, pulling the
blankets up, and let him settle in against her side. She’d fetched her phone from the kitchen,
but she buried her free hand in his hair, stroking it.

“I can’t sleep right after, too many endorphins,” she murmured. “But you absolutely should.”

“Good luck stopping me,” Harry mumbled, against her side, and fell asleep to her soft
laughter.
 Chapter 7

He woke up to Draco’s voice in the hall.

“If you’re having sex, I’m giving you the opportunity to tell me to fuck off before I get in
there,” he called.

“Fuck,” Pansy moaned, pulling a pillow over her head. “Tell him we are so he’ll go away. It’s
so early. Your stupid alarm clock hasn’t even gone off.”

“I didn’t set it. It’s half nine.”

Pansy removed the pillow and lifted her head to look at him. “Quick, tell me something only
you know so I can be sure you aren’t polyjuiced.”

He laughed, rolling over to press a kiss to her shoulder. “I didn’t because I was thinking
maybe I wanted to take you up on - um, that one time I completely fucking missed the point.
If the offer was still on the table.”

“I can hear you,” Draco said, from outside the door. “That doesn’t sound like sex.”

“Come tell us what the fuck you want so you can leave and Potter can spend the rest of the
morning going down on me,” Pansy said, loudly.

Harry heard Hermione’s choked off laugh.

“As devastating as I know this is about to be,” Draco said, sticking his head in, “I’m actually
going to need you to get dressed and come to the Ministry with me to dissolve our
engagement contract.”

Pansy made a face. “I thought we were going to have to get my parents involved in that.”

“My solicitor says we can do it ourselves. She owled back this morning.”

“Lovely,” Pansy said. “But given that you’ve fucked around on this for the last seven or eight
years, I’m not entirely clear on the urgency.”

“The urgency is that I can’t sign a marriage contract until we get rid of it. Which I’d like to
do.” He glanced at Hermione, who had pushed the door open. “Ideally, ah, today.”

Pansy groaned, finally throwing the pillow at him. “Fuck. Hand me some clothes. Potter’s
going to get annoyed if I try to get them myself.”

Harry sat up. “What?”

Hermione went for the wardrobe. “We were hoping you’d be witnesses.”

“Isn’t that kind of fast?” Harry managed. “Are you sure?”

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Draco, sort of thoughtfully. “Extraordinarily.”

Pansy took the shirt Hermione tossed at her. “The only bit they hadn’t sorted out was the sex,
and with him, I’d say it takes exactly twice. Once to know you like it, and once to be sure the
first time wasn’t a fluke.”

“Pansy,” Harry managed.

“Don’t worry.” She looked pleased with herself. “I really only needed once with you. You’re
quite good at the only thing I actually care about.”

“That wasn’t what I -”

Pansy made another face. “Fuck, now that we’re actually together, am I going to have to
pretend he and I haven’t had sex literally a few thousand times?”

Hermione looked amused. “Not on my account. Honestly, I probably ought to thank you, he
listens very -”

Draco cleared his throat. “If you’d really like to compare notes, which I’d prefer you didn’t, I
think Harry and I would appreciate it if you waited until we weren’t in the room.”

Pansy had somehow managed to get dressed under the sheets, and she slid out of bed,
crossing to Draco. She stopped close, studying him, and Harry watched them have an entire
conversation without saying a single thing. Pansy’s sudden smile was almost blinding, and
after a moment, Draco grinned back at her.

“Do you want the ring back?” she said.

Draco shook his head. “I don’t think she’d be interested in an exceptionally garish family
heirloom.”

“Maybe ask her,” Hermione said, dryly. “Since she’s standing right here.”

“Sorry,” Draco said, turning toward her. “I just can’t imagine… It was my mother’s. I thought
you’d want a clean break from all that.”

Pansy went to the wardrobe, reaching to the back of the very top shelf, and pulled down a
jewellery box. She undid the clasp with a murmured spell, then pulled out a ring, handing it
to Hermione. It was old-fashioned, and Harry could see the size of the diamond on the gold
band from across the room.

“It’s quite pretty, actually,” Hermione said, holding it up. She considered it for a moment
longer, then leaned in, whispering something to Pansy. Hermione tipped it back into her hand.

“Something simple?” Pansy said, quietly.

“Something… him,” Hermione replied.

Pansy held it up to the light, considering, then transfigured the metal portion. It still looked
vintage, but the lines were far cleaner and the ring was silver. “Yes?”

“Perfect.” Hermione slid it on. “Now it’s from his actual family.” She reached for Draco’s
hand, tangling their fingers together, then pressed a kiss to their joined hands. “I’d like you to
have a reminder that I don’t love you in spite of your past, it got us here. And besides -” She
smiled at him, looking rather pleased with herself. “There are probably generations of
Malfoys rolling over in their graves at the idea of a muggleborn wearing this. And at you
taking my name.”

Draco was looking at her as if he had no idea how he’d managed to get everything he’d ever
wanted, as if he couldn’t quite believe he wasn’t dreaming, and Harry realised that it wasn’t
all that fast after all.

“Are you?” Pansy said.

“I -” Draco said. “Yes. I don’t - mine’s got nothing good behind it. I thought I’d choose
dentists over psychopaths. I like Hermione’s parents.”

“Fucking over centuries of racist tradition and the patriarchy all at once.” Pansy grinned. “I
love it.”

“Hermione, can you…” Harry said.

She came over to the bed, sitting on the end. “Harry, you don’t have to ask if I’m sure again.
I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

“No, I know,” he said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “And I know you don’t want the
whole… dress and flowers and hundreds of people. I just…” He leaned in, until their
foreheads were touching. “I’m happy for you.”

“Me too,” Hermione murmured. She was smiling. “I’ll let you throw us a party, though. A
small party. Where I can wear jeans.”

“For the record,” Draco said, clearing his throat. “I’ve never been more certain I’m marrying
the right person.”

Pansy elbowed him, but she was grinning. “Excuse you.”

“You’re not going to be able to get away with it,” Draco remarked, to Harry. “She wants all
that. You’re going to have to invite everyone you both know, it’s going to have to be front
page on the society section, and she already owns the fucking dress. It’s exceedingly garish,
there’s so much lace.”

“It was my mother’s,” Pansy said. “And I’m going to thoroughly enjoy ruining her entire
existence by wearing it while I marry the person who exemplifies all the things she hates
most. It’s going to be glorious.”

“Um,” Harry managed. “I think -”

Pansy laughed. “You know when you know. Don’t worry, I’ll give you a few years to come
around to the idea.”

“I give it, oh, eight months,” Hermione said, thoughtfully.

“Five galleons on six,” Draco offered, with a grin.

“Hey,” Harry protested.

Hermione leaned in, kissing his cheek. “We’re kidding, Harry.”

“I wasn’t,” Pansy said, mildly.

“Me either,” Draco said.

Pansy laughed. “Come on, we ought to let Potter get dressed.”

“I was so hoping you’d start using his actual name,” Draco said. “What are you going to do
when you’ve got the same one?”

“On the one hand, it’s such a waste of perfectly good alliteration, and it’ll wreck all my
publications,” Pansy said, with an overly dramatic sigh. “On the other, Death Eaters.”

“I’ll buy everyone coffee if we can quit talking about this,” Harry said, a little desperately.
“Please.”

Pansy came over, taking his face in her hands, and then bent to kiss him. “In deference to the
fact that someone held wanting things against you for over a decade,” she murmured, against
his ear, too softly for anyone else to hear, “I’m going to tell you again that it’s okay to get
attached, because I already have.”

“Yeah?” Harry said, letting out a breath.

“Yes. As long as you buy me a latte,” Pansy said, hiding a smile against the curve of his jaw
before she pulled away.

“I guess you’re going to insist on one of the cinnamon ones from the bakery you like.”

“It’s on the way,” Pansy agreed.

“Ron and Neville are meeting us there,” Hermione said. “But Draco thought it would take
longer to get Pansy out of bed, so we’ve got time.”

Pansy went to hold the door open. “Should I be offended?”

Draco snorted. “You sent me a text at one in the morning that said I shouldn’t bother you
before noon because you were going to be busy having, and I quote, ‘exorbitant amounts of
phenomenal sex with Potter.’ I thought it was going to take more convincing.”

“So,” Harry said, thoughtfully, “should I just give up on having any boundaries right now?”
“You’re just going to be disappointed otherwise,” Hermione agreed.

“Oh, come on,” Pansy protested. “I was very complimentary.”

Hermione nudged him. “The fact that she thinks that’s the problem tells you everything you
need to know.”

“Point,” Harry said, dryly. “But I’m not getting dressed in front of everyone, so…”
__

Ron, Neville, and Draco’s solicitor were waiting on the front steps of the Ministry when they
got there. She was a rather petite blonde witch in formal robes, and to Harry’s surprise, Pansy
immediately hugged her.

“I’m going to need you to catch me up on absolutely everything once we’ve finished with
this mess,” Pansy said, beaming. “I thought you were still in Switzerland. Why didn’t you
owl?”

“I only just got back, and I spent all day yesterday going over obscure contract laws for this
idiot,” the woman said, with a smile at Draco. “But I’ve found a rather convenient loophole.”

“Nicolette shadowed us her sixth year,” Pansy explained. “Before she lost her mind and
abandoned medicine for law.”

“Too many bodily fluids.” Nicolette shuddered, then studied him, holding out a hand. “I see
that particular news story was true.”

“Hi,” Harry offered, shaking it. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Ron hugged Hermione, murmuring something, and as Harry watched, she laughed, wiping
her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Yeah,” Neville said, grinning beside them. “I’m pretty glad you broke it off with him too.”

“Shall we?” Nicolette said. “Fair warning, this is going to involve a truly excessive amount
of filing.”

“I suppose it might be worth it,” Pansy said, with a smile at Hermione.

“So, listen,” Draco said, clearing his throat. “About the engagement contract -”

“I can’t get you out of it,” Nicolette said, apologetically. “Unfortunately, the solicitor who
drew it up was worth his pay, and unless we’d like to take a collective trip to Azkaban and
then put Pansy’s parents under Imperius, I rather think we’ll have a bit of an impossible time
collecting the signatures. But we can absolutely fulfil the contract, render it discharged, and
then counter the new contract with a dissolution clause.”

“Oh, lovely,” Pansy said, making a face. “Well, I suppose the plan of marrying you has
always been a bit inexorable.”
“What?” Harry said.

“She’s going to have to marry them and then divorce them,” Hermione said, amused. “I
realised last night when I looked over Draco’s copy of the engagement agreement, it’s
annoyingly iron-clad.”

“How committed are you to medicine?” Nicolette said, thoughtfully. “It took me four hours
of reading legalese to work that solution out.”

“You might have mentioned,” Draco said, sounding vaguely disgruntled. “I’ve been trying to
work out how to tell you all morning. I thought you’d be mad.”

Hermione snorted. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m rather astounded by the fact that everyone
thought it was perfectly de rigeur to create unbreakable marriage contracts involving three
year olds. But it’s not as if either of you had a choice.”

“Bloody mental, the lot of them,” Ron agreed.

“I know you’re going to insist on reading all of it, and I’ll walk you through it,” Nicolette
said, leading the way down a hallway and into a room with hundreds of drawers along one
wall. She handed a folder with a number of pieces of parchment to Pansy, gesturing at a long
table. “I can’t eliminate the transfer of assets from the original contract, but the dowry was
never explicitly defined. You’ll get half of all Malfoy holdings, but you can sell them back to
him. Draco, I have copies for you as well. And the new marriage contract.”

“Give them to Hermione,” he suggested. “The two of them can go over it.”

Ron and Neville caught him up on the Hogwarts quidditch gossip while they went over the
paperwork.

“Draco,” Hermione said, after a few minutes. “Can you come look at this? I think there’s
been a mistake.”

“Nicolette doesn’t make those,” Ron said, dryly. “I had her in Defence for five years, I’d
know.”

“Yes, but these are functionally identical,” Hermione said. “The terms of the original with
Pansy and the terms of ours.”

“I thought it would be easier not to make her redo all the language,” Draco said, looking
slightly confused.

“But,” Hermione said, “I’m not entirely sure you understand how…” She was studying him.
“It makes me an equal decision maker in absolutely all of it. Every single asset.”

Draco made a face. “I suppose we’ll have to go to Gringotts after to transfer the accounts and
the land titles…? I’d like lunch first, a cup of coffee probably isn’t going to do it. Sorry, I
know it’s a lot of paperwork.”
“Hermione,” Pansy murmured, bending their heads together. “For context, Lucius’s parents
utterly fucked Narcissa in theirs. She had absolutely no power in the marriage. She couldn’t
even take money out of their accounts for herself. She was, effectively, decorative. And I’m
not saying I liked the woman, but this was her gift to me, to be sure it would be different. So
take it in the spirit it was intended, which was to ensure another woman never felt trapped or
beholden to her husband.”

“I don’t need half,” Hermione protested. “I don’t need any of it. And there’s absolutely no
way out of any of it, it stays mine even in the event of divorce.”

“Good thing I’m not planning on divorcing you, then,” Draco said, going over to crouch
beside her. He was smiling. “I trust you. And you’re better at accounts than me, I haven’t the
faintest idea what’s happening with any of the investments. Help me, please.”

Hermione started to laugh. “What am I going to do with you? That’s appalling.”

“Marry me, I guess,” Draco said, with a grin. “Would you two start signing all this?”

“Anyone have some pocket change?” Pansy said.

“Er, yeah,” Ron said, digging in his pocket until he’d pulled out a few coins. “A couple of
knuts and a sickle.”

Harry checked. “Two sickles, two quid and a few shillings, why?”

“Three galleons,” Draco added.

“Harry’s can be my dowry,” Pansy said. “I’ll sell the Malfoy assets back with Ron’s. And, I
don’t know, I think the galleons ought to work for Hermione, since you didn’t tell Nicolette
to take out that particular antiquated clause.”

“Damn,” Hermione said, with a smile. “I think I feel rather slighted about the fact that we’re
having to bribe Draco into marrying me.”

“Don’t start, he’ll think you mean it, and then we’ll never get out of here,” Ron warned.

“Come here,” Pansy said, to Draco. “This one first.”

Nicolette held out two bottles of ink and a pen knife, and they both cut their thumbs and
squeezed until they’d gotten a few drops into the bottle.

“What?” Pansy said, when she realised he was staring. “It’s easier than actually signing
everything in blood. I’d go lightheaded with this many signatures.”

“It’s much more practical,” Hermione agreed.

“Purebloods,” Ron said, making a face. “Always making everything way more horrifying
than it actually has to be.”
“Witnesses can use regular ink, since they aren’t named parties,” Nicolette said, amused.
Neville had gone slightly pale, and Harry heard his sigh of relief. “Shall we?”

He gave his change to Pansy, who promptly passed it to Draco, then signed. He signed, after,
and when Nicolette looked at them expectantly, Pansy leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“A copy of this and the dissolution of contract will be owled automatically to the original
signatories,” Nicolette said, pointedly. “So if you’d like to choose the witnesses with that in
mind…”

“Harry,” Draco said, immediately.

“And Ron, I think,” Pansy added. “His overall status as a blood traitor will annoy my father
significantly more than Hermione.”

“Brilliant, always happy to stick it to former Death Eaters,” Ron said, signing, then paused.
“No offence.”

“None taken.” Pansy held out a quill to Harry, along with a regular bottle of ink. “Although
you’re welcome to use ‘unrepentant’ and ‘racist’ as adjectives going forward, to eliminate
any confusion.”

Harry signed, then jerked when he felt the magic take hold.

“That’s done,” Nicolette said, taking the parchment and dropping it into one of the many
drawers. The one she slipped it in didn’t appear to have a bottom, and it disappeared as soon
as she’d set it in. “And the divorce.”

Draco took Ron’s change, which he passed to Pansy, and everyone signed again. Nicolette
filed it, and then smiled, giving Hermione another bottle of ink. “And now the contract
you’re actually happy to be signing.”

“Can we add a third witness?” Hermione said, while she was adding blood to her vial. “It’s
just…”

“I should have thought of that,” Draco said, ruefully, then took her hand after she’d healed
her thumb and passed over the galleons. “Pansy might be sick of signing things, you can have
Harry and Ron.”

Nicolette rolled her eyes in a way that gave Harry a distinct clue as to what house she’d been
in. “It’s a simple change.” She tapped the parchment with her wand, and a third space
appeared at the bottom. “Do you have vows?”

“Fuck, I completely forgot to -” Draco said, then paused, because Hermione had just finished
signing her name.

“Are you going to sign that and kiss me or not?” she said, with a smile.

“If I haven’t mentioned it,” Draco murmured, signing, “I really fucking love you.”
“I know,” Hermione said, and leaned in to kiss him.

It wasn’t, strictly speaking, a particularly wedding-appropriate kiss. Or, really, one kiss at all.

After a minute, Ron muffled a laugh, elbowing Hermione so he could lean past her to sign.
“Knock it off, I’m starving.”

“Save it for the wedding night,” Harry agreed, stepping in.

“Hey,” Draco said, pulling away slowly, and looked up at Pansy. “I - thank you.”

“It was nothing,” she said, with a smile, leaning over his shoulder to sign. “But you’re very
welcome.”

Harry laughed, wrapping an arm around her waist when she dropped the quill. “Hey, did you
just imply our whole long con was effortless?”

“Wasn’t it?” Pansy said, with a smile. “I rather enjoyed the experience.”

“I guess it wasn’t awful,” he said, grinning back.

“What long con?” Ron said, then swore when he tried to put the quill down and splashed ink
on himself.

“Honestly, Ron,” Hermione sighed, getting up to try to spell it out of his shirt.

Harry glanced at Pansy. “Tell you what. I’ll fill you in some other time.”

“Or not,” she murmured, too quietly for anyone else to hear.

Nicolette dropped the parchment into an entirely different drawer. “Congratulations,” she
said. “Everything ought to be on file with the bank when you go over.”

“So, where are we going for the celebratory lunch?” Neville said, beaming.

“Bet we can get free dessert,” Pansy suggested. “Given the whole ‘just married’ situation.”

“Let me guess,” Harry said, dryly, “you think you’re entitled to one too.”

“Absolutely,” she said, slipping her hand in his with another smile. “Except I’m celebrating
my divorce.”

Hermione laughed, standing up. “By that logic, Draco gets two desserts.”

“Are we sure the divorce specified about future assets? I might claim half.”

“Then I’m going to take half of your half,” Hermione countered.

Ron rolled his eyes. “This is getting too complicated for me. What if Harry just buys extra
desserts?”
“Done,” Harry agreed, and led them back down the Ministry hall.
__

If Harry was honest, the truly remarkable thing was how little everything changed. He’d
eased into the whole thing too slowly to panic about any of it, and Pansy wasn’t any different.
Telling people about the backstory seemed pointless, so they didn’t. He spent a few weeks
waiting for her to start arguing with him or for things to go wrong. But every time he thought
about keeping something to himself when he was annoyed, she pinned him to the couch and
made eye contact until he gave in and told her. Sex in exchange for telling her that she really
needed to empty the coffee grounds before they grew mould and that he wanted her to quit
trying to pay for half the groceries turned out to be motivating. She didn’t always agree with
him - he lost the grocery debate - but she never held any of it against him.

It didn’t mean he never got scared, and it didn’t mean she believed him every time he told her
he didn’t care about her past. But he didn’t have to doubt that she cared. And she wore him
down, slowly, because he realised one day that he’d asked for everything he’d needed for
three days without feeling guilty about any of it. His therapist had given him a rare smile
when Harry had told him. “Well done,” he’d said.

It was honest and easy. It was exactly what he’d wanted. And it made him want to give her
things, too.

He’d talked her into going away for the weekend, and Pansy had fallen asleep against his
shoulder twenty minutes into the drive. It at least eliminated any need for subterfuge.

“Hey, love,” he murmured, once he’d gone all the way up the truly excessive drive and
through the gates. He still couldn’t quite get used to the immensity of all of it. “Wake up.
We’re here.”

“Sorry,” Pansy said, rubbing her eyes. “I was going to -” She stopped, sitting up slowly,
staring at the manor. The front lights had come on. “Harry? What…”

“I might’ve done something.” He watched an enormous spill of white climbing roses slowly
unwind from one of the balconies, starting to stretch toward the car. “You’re either going to
break up with me or drag me upstairs and shag me in one of the four hundred bedrooms.”

“Ten,” Pansy said, absently, still staring. “And a study that keeps trying to revert back to one,
it’s very stubborn.”

Harry watched the front doors open themselves. “I think it’s happy to see you, it’s been
locking me and Hermione out all week.”

“...all week?” Pansy turned toward him. “Why have you and Hermione been at Malfoy
Manor all week?”

“We can’t call it that anymore. Since, you know, it’s yours now.”

“What?”
“Come on.” Harry opened the car door with a grin. “We can’t stay out here all night. Come
see your house.”

“I -” Pansy started. “I told you, I couldn’t possibly -”

“Pansy,” he said, quietly, going around to open her door. “Come see your house. I can counter
all of your objections inside.”

Pansy didn’t say anything, but she slid out of the car. Harry saw her close her eyes when she
took the first step up the stairs.

“I haven’t -” she said, very softly. “I haven’t been here in years. I missed it.”

When she stepped through the front door, every light in the house came on. All the ornate
carvings on the front door turned towards her, and a wooden snake attempted to curl itself
around her wrist. She brushed a finger over its nose, absently, then turned toward him.
“Harry, I can’t take this from him. It’s a manor. I’m one person.”

Harry smiled. “Well, it’s you. But you might have noticed that I fucking hate my flat and that
we sleep in the same place all the time anyway, so… it’s me, too, if you’ll have me. We can
have separate bedrooms or something if you think it’s too fast. And it’s Draco and Hermione.
So that’s four, which is one more than there were Malfoys, so I think that’s plenty.”

“Draco hates it here. Hermione probably hates it more, all things considered. And you…”

“I don’t think any of us are as madly in love with it as you are,” Harry admitted. “But Bill’s
friends with a magical architect, we thought we’d redo some of it. And we’ve gone through
every single piece of furniture. If it didn’t like Hermione or if Draco had some sort of
negative association with it, we burned it. We’re, um, going to need a lot of furniture. And
Hermione and I ripped out the cellar doors and put in a glass door to the gardens down
there.” He reached out, taking her hand. “But it solves a lot of problems. It’s got a standard
floo connection, so we can route it straight to Mungo’s so Hermione and I can quit worrying
about you getting home. That means Ron and Neville can come any time they want from
Hogwarts. And there isn’t a chance in hell Draco and Hermione could fit all their things into
one flat, Hermione’s got too many books. She’s going to need the entire fucking library.” He
squeezed her fingers. “Plus, it’d be sort of nice if my family didn’t have to impose on Bill
and Fleur for every single holiday. And Teddy could have a room here for when he comes to
visit, I bet he’d like that.”

“Harry…” Pansy murmured.

“And,” he said, “there’s kind of this thing where we all love the idea of making you happy
more than we hate the idea of living here. I’ve got… a few really bad memories. But I’m
betting I could make some good ones to outweigh them. Hermione feels the same way.”

Pansy wasn’t looking at him. “I have to talk to Draco. Because I - he can’t do this just for
me.”
“He said you’d say that.” Harry tugged her toward a rather ostentatious side table that had
survived the bonfire, pulling open a drawer. He took out a folded piece of paper. “I’m
supposed to give you this. It’s from him.”

Pansy took it, almost hesitantly, and unfolded it, scanning it. After a minute, she pressed her
hand to her mouth.

“Fuck,” she said, thickly. She wasn’t crying, but she wasn’t far off. “I hate when he outplays
me.”

Harry squeezed her hand again. “Can I know what it said?”

“It’s a list of furniture he didn’t burn.” She held it out. “It’s - we used to make play forts
under the east drawing room table, when we were kids. There’s a desk we always hid notes to
each other in. And a set of chairs I absolutely fucking hate, I used to tell him I was…” He
saw her laugh, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I used to tell him that I was
going to leave the reception after we got married and come straight here so I could chop them
up for firewood, since at that point his mother wouldn’t have been able to stop me.”

“And six beds?” Harry said, dryly.

Pansy laughed, again, finally wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “That’s just to annoy you, he
probably thought you’d read it. We only had sex in one of those.”

“I didn’t ask to burn anything.” Harry offered her a grin. “Maybe I should change my mind.”

“You’d be better off just setting fire to the entire orangerie.”

“Nah.” He pulled her in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ve always wanted one of those,
we’d better leave it intact. Admittedly, I don’t know what it is, but it sounds like it could be
fun.”

She leaned in against him, resting her head against his chest. “I suppose,” she murmured, “if I
try to argue about the expense of upkeep, you’ll tell me it doesn’t matter.”

“I’ve sort of tried not to make this point because I know you’re sensitive about it, but I’m the
seeker for the team that’s won the league cup five of the last six years and who took the Euro
cup last year.” Harry smoothed a hand through her hair, settling against the back of her head,
holding her close. “I make about two million galleons a year even without all the fucking cup
bonuses, and I just let Ron invest all of it for me, so let’s just say that I don’t think we need to
worry about the cost of hiring some gardeners and a housekeeper or two.”

“I just want you to know,” Pansy said, muffled, “that I really object to our salary differential.
On principle. I save lives.”

“Look at it this way,” Harry offered. “Every time you let me pay for something, you’re
fucking over patriarchal systems that value aggressive masculine competition over caretaking
careers that are perceived as feminine.”

“Damn,” Pansy muttered. “Hermione got to you first.”

“It’s possible I’ve heard this one before.” He tilted her chin up. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes.” Pansy leaned into him. “It’s a yes. But we don’t need an architect.”

“I think all three of us sort of hate this bloody hall,” he admitted. “But if you’re really
attached…”

“Give me a minute.” Pansy disappeared out the front door before Harry could stop her, and
he heard the car door shut. When she came back, she was holding her wand. He wasn’t
entirely sure he’d ever seen her use it before.

She caught him staring. “Acacia and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches. I only use it
about three or four times a year. I’m rather fond of it, though.”

“That’s not the one you used in school,” Harry said, thoughtfully.

“Oh,” Pansy said, with a low smile. “So you did notice me. I’d rather thought you wasted all
your Gryffindor outrage on Draco.”

“Honestly,” Harry said, dryly, “I wrote off the entirety of Slytherin house. Bit of a missed
opportunity. But your old one was pitch black.”

“Ebony and unicorn hair,” Pansy agreed. “A terrible fit, it was a family wand. I broke it in
half and threw it in the Thames after everything. Then I tried every single bloody wand at
Olivander’s. This one felt…” She considered it. “Clean.” She laughed. “He very nearly
wouldn’t let me have it, he said it was too much wand for a little girl, but in the end, I think
he was forced to concede the point. The first time I ever cast a patronus was in that shop.”

“What is it?” Harry realised he’d never asked. “Your patronus.”

She was spinning the wand around her fingers in a way that felt a bit dangerous. “A snow
leopard.”

There were still thousands of things he didn’t know about her, enough for a lifetime of
discovery, and the thought made his breath catch. “Mine’s a stag.”

“Potter,” she said, mildly, “you do realise I’ve seen you cast it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He glanced at the floor, which was trying to tip him over. “I don’t suppose you
could…”

“Mm,” Pansy agreed. “Do you have your pocket knife? And a pen?”

“Er, yeah,” Harry said. “In the car.” She’d left the door open. “Accio.”

Pansy took the pen and the knife, then took Draco’s note and sat cross-legged on the floor in
the middle of the room.

“The postscript on this says ‘it’s yours if you want it,’” Pansy said, then signed her name on
the bottom next to Draco’s scribbled initials. “Twenty something years of trying to teach him
about contractual magic, and he’s still learned absolutely nothing.” After she’d signed it and
tossed the pen back at him, he watched her slice open her palm, taking her wand in her other
hand.

“Er, what are you -”

“Shh,” she said, then pressed her palm straight down against the floor and closed her eyes.
He felt all the air go out of the room, then felt the sudden tidal wave of magic as it slammed
back in. The house seemed to settle, but after a moment, it started to change before his eyes.
The ceilings lifted, arching, and the windows crept up after them. The wood panels on the
walls retreated, flowing into a soft white, and the dated Grecian columns holding up the
second floor balcony turned into wooden pillars with clean, sharp lines. The marble floors
that he’d desperately hated sped over into chevrons of a glossy reddish wood that he thought
might be cherry. He saw the faded carpeting disappear on the stairs, replaced by more wood,
and the dark bannisters warmed to match.

When it finally stopped, he turned around and saw exactly what she’d done: every part of the
exterior walls had turned into paned glass windows, floor to ceiling. There was something
about the feel of it that seemed familiar around the edges, and after a moment it sunk in that
the colours she’d used - the white, the twisted details of the black iron on the balcony railing,
the shade of the floor - were exactly the same as the ones at Shell Cottage.

“I can’t do the bloody gallery.” She sounded annoyed. “There seems to be an infestation of
doxies in there, and between that and the three hundred year old metathesiophobic Malfoy
family portraits, it’s fighting me.” She stood up, brushing herself off, and gestured the bloody
handprint off the floor. “I’ll have to sort it tomorrow. But everything else ought to be about
right. Unless you want me to change it, I can -”

“Pansy,” he said, then took three steps forward to take her face in his hands and kiss her hard.

When he finally pulled back to breathe, he kept her forehead against hers.

She was smiling. “I’ll take that to mean you don’t entirely hate it. I’ve been wanting to get rid
of those bloody floors for decades. The marble was utterly ostentatious.”

“Don’t change anything,” he managed, voice thick. “Please. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

“You say that now, but wait until you see your bedroom. I’m about to get an ‘outstanding’
mark in windows, because it’s the corner room in the south wing.”

“Does it have a fireplace? We’re going to need it if you’re sleeping there every night.”

Pansy actually looked vaguely offended. “What do you take me for, an amateur? Would you
like to come upstairs and see it?”

“I really, really would.”

“Just to be perfectly clear,” she said, with a grin, “I’m fully intending to have my way with
you. I also feel you should know that I found the blindfold you were naive enough to leave in
the glove box.”

“That was meant to be for the surprise,” Harry protested, then paused, halfway to reaching
for her hand. “I…”

“Given that obfuscation proved unnecessary,” Pansy murmured, closing the distance and
winding their fingers together before she tugged him toward the stairs, “I’d like to suggest
repurposing it.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Yeah, yes, absolutely, okay, but I’m going first, or we’ll never make it
up there.”

Pansy’s laughter followed him up the stairs, and that was somehow exactly perfect, too.
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