Disclaimer: JKR owns 'em, and would never make her characters be as weird as they are in this fic.

A/N: I've just been in a writing mood lately, and somehow that doesn't include "Hogwarts: A History" ...like, it will soon, but it didn't the past week. -- Annnd I got my idea of a Harry/Pansy interaction from a few of bk's fics. -- So, here it is, slightly different than anything else I've really posted, I think. I'm semi-dedicating this chapter to my friend Nick, 'cause he, like, totally inspired me for the Pansy rant. :)

Chapter One: Today Is The First Day Of The Rest Of Your Life

It starts something like this.

I'm standing in the middle of this overly elaborate room, fists clenched at my sides, screaming my lungs out. At a guy, no less.

It's practically your cliché girly hey-I'm-having-a-fit-and-dammit-you're-gonna-be-sorry-soon moment. I'm really not proud of it, but, hey, there it is. Fuck.

"And who the hell do you think you are anyway?"

I don't pause long enough to give him a chance to respond. I don't want a response. I need to get this out there into the ether or whatever the hell. Because then we can move on and be better people . . . and shit like that. You know, maybe. I probably wouldn't count on it, though.

"You can't just go around blaming me for the things you do! It doesn't work that way. There's this little thing called free fucking will. And you know what? You have it. Right along with the millions of sickles I just know you've got stashed somewhere in this crypt you call home. So don't you ever dare try to convince me I'm somehow responsible for the stupid things you do. Ever."

And, oh god, I'm a bitch.

But the thing is, once you've gone so far into bitch-dom, you start not caring what other people think of you. My mom used to tell me it was called becoming empowered.

And men don't like empowered women, I guess. Those kinds of women are harder to cut down and reshape into some preconceived notion of what a girl should be. Cookie cutter, baby. And me? I'm one of those 'drop cookies' that you never know exactly what sort of shape they're gonna turn out to be after they're all baked. They're all individual, like snowflakes or something. Special!

Anyway, my eyes haven't left his gray ones throughout my entire spiel and his haven't changed their hardness for even one second. No remorse, no understanding. And I know then -- really know -- that it's over between us. It's probably been over for ages. Or maybe even over before it began, if I wanted to be all dramatic about it.

He blinks a few times and I expect his next move to be for the door. I mean, he has to have realized that he doesn't want to put up with my shit, right? He's gotta know I'm not worth it at the end of the day.

When he moves, he starts towards me. I summon up all my courage and try not to back away. He wouldn't hit a girl, would he? Fuck, he totally would.

He gets within arms reach of me and I still can't really figure out why he's still in the room. His eyes still haven't left mine for a second, and for some reason it's really starting to unnerve me.

Then he suddenly drops to his knees, and I swear to god I almost faint. And I am not the girly type who faints, like ever.

For a half of a second I think he's planning on making a move for the hem of my skirt, but I notice him digging around in his coat pocket for something. A small wave of relief washes over me, but it's gone sooner than it comes when I finally realize what he's truly truly doing.

He pulls out this light teal box, and holy shit, no. No. Seriously, no.

"Pansy Parkinson, will you marry me?"

Inside the box is one of the most gaudy rings I have ever seen.

My heart is yelling 'No!"

My head is screaming 'No fucking way, you asshole!'

And I just can't understand how we got to this point. Especially when I was so sure we were breaking up. Again. For the second time this month. And it's February, too. That's like once every two weeks. Don't say we don't thrive on drama.

I want to verbalize the things I'm feeling inside, but something gets lost in translation because I hear myself whispering, "Yes."

I'm crying and Draco's has gotten up from the floor and is kissing me. And it's sort of like the last half-hour leading up to this point didn't ever really happen.

So I let myself forget. And it works for a few hours.

But it all comes rushing back when I find myself sitting in my cubicle behind my desk at work.

The only way to describe the way I feel at that moment in time is ashamed. And I never, ever feel ashamed.

I sit there, staring at absolutely nothing, ignoring the ringing phone on my desk.

It isn't until Jake from Accounting enters my cubicle that I come out of my trance.

"Pans, what the hell have you been doing for the last half hour? I've been trying to get a hold of you."

I blink up at him, not really comprehending whatever the hell it is that he's saying.

He hits me lightly on my shoulder and continues, "Snap out of it, kid. The big, bad boss man wants to talk to you."

The only thing I wonder at is why the hell he sent someone from Accounting to get me. I mean, come on, don't they have better things to do, like crunching numbers, than running around stupid messages for the boss?

So I get a little indignant on Jake's behalf and tell him to tell 'the boss' that if he wants me he can take a whole two seconds to call me, or better yet, come and get me himself.

It isn't until Jake leaves that I realize I've done the same thing to him that our boss had done. And I feel a little bad, but then I remember about the ring adorning my left hand and start my self-pitying party again.

That is, until a very stern man shows up inside my cubicle. And let me tell you right now it isn't Jake from Accounting. Or anyone from accounting, for that matter.

Ah, my boss. With his stupid black messy hair and those hideous glasses. And you can't forget that scar on his head. Mr. Harry James Potter himself. In the flesh.

Aw, shouldn't I feel honored.

But I can't be bothered. Instead I groan and let my head hit the back of my shiny leather swivel chair, my eyes rolling into the back of my head.

I hear him sigh and I make an effort to focus on his face. Yep. Still there. God, I wonder what he wants.

He's standing with pretty-near perfect posture, waiting for me to acknowledge his presence. I hate it when he does shit like this. I mean, just because he saved the world, the guy thinks he's owed loads of respect or something.

Usually I'd be more than content to let this little scene play out for another good ten minutes. But I figure the sooner I can get rid of him, the sooner I can go back into self-pity mode. And the sooner I go back to self-pity mode, the sooner I can get out of it and figure out what the hell to do about Draco.

I clear my throat and begin, "So, Potter, fancy meeting you here."

He crosses his arms. Not a good enough greeting, I guess.

I decide to continue on with my repertoire anyway, "I mean, honestly, what's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?"

He finally realizes I could probably go on for hours, maybe even take my show on the road if I was inclined to (which I'm not, but that's beside the point), and states plainly, "I need to talk to you in my office, Parkinson."

Then he notices my ring. And I swear to god it's probably the first thing he's ever noticed about me ever. Like, he probably wouldn't be able to tell you what color my hair was if you asked him and I wasn't in the room.

A small frown graces his features and he knows he's found something juicy to bother me about, "Orrrr, maybe not 'Parkinson', eh? Wow. Who's the lucky guy?"

I slouch down in my chair and glare up at him, feeling like I'm twelve years old again or something. And I don't like it. Or him.

I'd really like to say "Fuck you, Potter." But I sort of can't, what with him being my boss and all. And the thing is, I really kind of need this job. 'Sort of' meaning, really really need this job.

So I suck it up and not-so-gracefully rise from my chair, saying, "Alright, boss-o, let's go to your office."

I reach his office before he does and briefly consider taking his chair and propping my feet up on his maplewood desk. But he shows up before I have time to execute the plan. Maybe next time.

I don't wait for him to sit before I pick the chair closest to his desk and take a seat. When he reaches his own chair, he looks to me and seems a bit surprised to find me already sitting. Which is kinda funny because the guy really should be used to me by now. After all, we've worked together for almost seven months now.

He glances out one of his windows facing the western parking lot before he sits, looking as if he'd rather be somewhere else.

What the hell is this? Let's get on with the show! I've got things to sort out in my life, and I can't do that while I'm at work if I'm in the boss' office.

I'm pulled from my thoughts when I realize I'm toying with the rock on my finger. It feels weird to have a ring there. That alone has to be a sign, right? I hold my hand out a bit, tilt my head to the side and give it a scrutinizing look. It honestly looks pretty enough. Not that I know much about diamonds, though. Only that this one's bigger than most I've seen and really sparkly. Oddly enough it's not super heavy though. And I think, "So, this sparkly, relatively lightweight thing represents the promise of marriage." I kind of think I would've preferred a car more. But that's not Draco's style; he's all about the pure-blooded tradition... and that really doesn't include muggle artifacts that move around on four wheels. But still, a shiny new sports car would've been nice. And useful.

"Are you quite done staring at your hand yet?"

I jump, and for a moment I forget why the hell I'm in Potter's office. And then I remember I don't really know.

I purse my lips, ignoring his question and ask, "Are you going to tell me why I'm here or not?"

He looks as if he's wondering the same thing, and when he finally begins to talk, he does it all in a rush, "Look, when I hired you here I didn't have any ulterior motives. It was just this simple business relationship, but things have gotten a bit more complicated, and now I need to ask something of you."

Huh. Weird. "Oookay...?"

"Listen, Parkinson, this is serious. I don't think you realize the gravity this situation holds--"

I cut him off, "Of course I don't. Do you know why? 'Cause you're too busy spouting off vague things to get to the facts. C'mon, Potter, it can't be that bad."

And I swear the next thing he says was, "Bottom line: you're in danger."

I shoot him a disbelieving look before completely roaring with laughter. Oh, this guy, who knew he had a sense of humor? Wow, I have sooo underestimated him.

I finally get my laughter under a bit of control and manage to inform him, "You're about a month too early, man. April Fools day is in April."

And seriously? The look I get from him tells me he is so far from kidding that it's crazy I didn't know it from the beginning.

So I try to backtrack, "Nah, no way, Potter. Me? I'm entirely insignificant. I mean, I'd have to be to have a job like this. Ha ha, right?"

He's still got this grave expression on his face when he asks me, "How much do you really know about what's going on with the war?"

I frown because I know the war officially ended almost a year ago. I say, "Potter, you really need to stay on those meds, you know? The war is over."

An entirely surprised look splays across his features.

Oh shit. "Tell me the war is over."

His eyes focus seemingly on the stapler on his desk and he mumbles as if talking to himself, "Can't believe she doesn't know. Malfoy didn't say..."

He stops, as if remembering I'm in the room. He swallows hard as his eyes meet mine.

A small amount of panic is rising inside of me, "What does Draco have to do with any of this?"

He lets out a small half-laugh devoid of any humor as he replies, "Everything."

I'm getting angry, "Look, cut the shit and tell me what the fuck is going on."

He apparently decides thinking out loud will make the situation better, "This would've been so much easier if you would've at least had some clue of what's going on."

Oh, super.

"Okay, so you see, Draco was pulling this double agent stunt with the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix. And just this morning we, the Order, got some information that points to the suggestion he's playing for the Death Eater's team and feeding them highly sensitive information. And we've got to wring a confession out of him. While brainstorming over how to do this someone suggested we get a hold of his significant other and use her as collateral or some shit like that."

"Oh my god," is all I can say. After all, there really isn't much to say other than that.

He clears his throat and continues, "Which, of course is where you come in. The Order knows you work for me; they're planning on coming in sometime this afternoon..."

This was all leaning dangerously close to the cliché side of the spectrum, "I'm collateral? What the fuck is up with that? Did time slip back a millennia or something and I missed it?" And then the weight of what is really going on here strikes me, "Wait, Potter. Why did you tell me they're coming for me?"

He adjusts his glasses as he quietly explains, "Things aren't how they should be right now. We're all desperate for any information; some more than others. And I am not sure to what lengths the Order will be willing to go to in trying to get information out of you. I mean, think about it. You're his fiancée. Normally you'd know at least some of what's going on."

This is all more than just a little too much to take in at once. Not only is the war still going on, but Draco's double-agenting his way through it and is stupid enough to get caught.

And I swear I'm normally a fairly strong person, so there's really no reason for what I do next. Which is start crying like a pathetic girl.

Welcome to your new life, Pansy Parkinson, you're now officially a pathetic girl who's at the mercy of one dark haired guy you don't even know all that well.

Potter's reaction to my waterworks isn't one most men would take. I'm more than surprised to find him crouched in front of my chair, holding out a box of tissues toward me.

I begrudgingly take one and first dab underneath my eyes. A load of black comes off onto the white tissue. Great, so not only am I a simpering fool, I probably also look like a raccoon.

I swallow, try to clear my head and manage to ask, "So, what now?"

He just looks at me and I know he doesn't have an answer. He expected me to have the answer for myself, expected me to know more about my boyfriend than I do, expected me to have somewhere to go.

But that's the thing. There isn't a single place I can go. Draco's flat isn't safe, and that's where I am currently living. Anyone would think to look for me there. I can't go home, my parents don't deserve to get caught in the middle of this, especially since they've managed to keep out of the entire good wizard/bad wizard game that's been going on for ages thus far.

I feel a new rise of emotions coming up, wanting to find an outlet, I swallow them down the best I can again, yet I'm not able to keep my voice from cracking when I confess, "I don't have anywhere to go."

And somehow saying those words makes everything three times worse. This time I don't care as much when I break down crying.

Before I know it, I feel a pair of slender arms around me. I know it's Potter, but, honestly, I can't be bothered to care. I bury my head in his shoulder, undoubtedly getting eye makeup all over his clean pinstriped suit.

And I promise myself once I'm able to pull myself together, I'll explain to him that I'm not this sort of girl at all. I'm empowered, remember? This whole situation just caught me a bit off guard, is all.

It slowly registers that not only am I in Potter's office, but he's got his arms around me, consoling me. And for some reason that's harder to wrap my head around than anything else.

He said they were coming this afternoon, right? Fuck. I have stuff I need to do.

I quickly push him away from me and I find I can't look him in the eye. He's still hovering within inches of my body, and all I really want is some space. You'd think the Wonder Boy would understand that. I mean, it had to have been in his training, right?

Through my peripheral vision, I see his hand slowly reaching out toward my hand. I quickly move it to itch my nose. I close my eyes and wish I had a different life. But, shit, that's exactly what's gonna happen, isn't it? I'm going to get a "new life." Ugh.

Apparently Potter became the touchy-feely type somewhere along the lines because his hand is under my chin, gently turning my head to face him.

And he picks up where we left our conversation off over five minutes ago, simply stating, "You can stay at my flat."

Even though I don't admit it, I'm incredibly grateful.

o o o

I hate being that guy. You know what I mean, the guy who always finds himself in the position where he knows something that someone else needs to know for their own well-being and survival. I am always that guy. I guess it comes along with being (I really hate to use this word, but) important like I am.

Not that I think I'm important. But other people do, and for some reason that means they're forever telling me about things. Whether it's about the broom shop that's planning on opening on Broadway sometime within the next year or it's about some branch of the Order's business I have nothing to do with. Like this morning, for example.

I was sitting at the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place (even though I simply detest being inside that house for any given amount of time), going over some paperwork. Who knew war had paperwork? It's ridiculous, really. Anyway, I was doing paperwork when Dean pops his head into the kitchen.

Dean's in charge of making sure all Order members stay on the straight-and-narrow, and he was having one hell of a week trailing after Malfoy, who wouldn't stop randomly disappearing from where he was scheduled to be.

And, honestly, I know it's important for me to be aware of those who are going astray, but I don't need every little detail about the proceedings behind it.

So, there's Dean, standing in the doorway, with that look on his face. The look that says, oh-shit-we're-in-trouble. I get that look from people a lot. Apparently I'm their go-to man when they're feeling that way. I'm a pretty lucky guy. He says, "Look, Harry, we were right about Malfoy."

And even though I'd much rather not know, I find myself asking, "You have evidence? Good, solid evidence?"

Dean nods, "Almost, we've just got to catch him at it one more time."

I sigh inwardly, "Do you think he knows you're on to him?"

His face contorts slightly, I know I've hit on something significant, and I'm pissed, "Fuck, Dean. How long have you had this job? You have to be stealth!"

He looks as if he wants to roll his eyes, but is holding himself back on my account. Maybe I was inadvertently a bit too harsh.

He crosses his arms as he says, "We'll just have to get a confession out of him some other way."

And this is the sort of thing I really don't like hearing about, he knows I don't want to hear it. But he continues anyway, "He's screwing Parkinson, right? So, we'll just get a hold of her and use her as bait. Easy as that, Harry. We'll have this straightened out by the end of the week."

I genuinely want to find a nice sturdy wall and bash my head in against it. What's it going to take for people to realize that you can't just go around and mess with other people?

I scratch the back of my neck as I ask, "Do you have more of a plan than that?"

He smiles a bit and says, "Well, she works with you, right? So, we know where she'll be tomorrow eight to five. We're gonna swing by sometime after lunch. And, hey, maybe she'll know what Malfoy's up to. I mean, she's gotta know something, right? She always was a nosy little bitch."

At that point, I'm too stunned to say much of anything, "Yeah, okay, Dean."

"All right. I swear we'll clean this up."

Funny how he thinks cleaning up somehow involves messing other things up.

And the thing is, I don't even like Pansy all that much. Dean was pretty much accurate in his assessment of her being a nosy bitch, well, at least when she's not busy being an entirely self-involved bitch.

But that's not really the point at the end of the day. The point is, as much as we need a confession out of Malfoy, it's not right to use her to get to him. I'm not even sure that it'd work. He's pretty self-involved, too. It's actually a wonder he can focus his attention long enough on someone else to even be in a relationship.

But I digress. If the Order had wanted to talk to Pansy, maybe work with her in trying to get Draco to talk, then that would've been another story. But war changes things, and people start to think the only way they'll get what they want is by simply taking it. And that's just not something I can abide by, no matter what the circumstance.

And somehow all of that ends me up with Pansy living in my flat. It's crazy how shit like that just happens.

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