AN: If you want more fics from me then go to my Tumblr, I am way more active on there and take requests. The reason this one has a weird format for is because I write in bullets on Tumblr, which is where this is from. I'm not sure if this one is done yet, so there may or may not be a part two to this. (I really needed to update this story, I apologize for the wait.)

Pansy's dialogue is in bold, Harry's is in italic, the creepy drunk guy is normal.


For the Greater Good


Her hands were rough, the way they should be.

The way he liked them.

Moonlight beamed through cotton drapes and filled the room with a certain aura he couldn't describe. He felt steady breaths on his neck, his legs entangled with hers. Harry's hand softly played with her hair whilst the other kept Pansy's head propped on his shoulder.

They weren't supposed to happen this way.

They weren't supposed to happen at all, and they were ignorant to think they're late nights and subtle looks would go unnoticed. He had a fiancé, and the whole wizarding world was waiting for the moment where Harry Potter promised himself to someone for life, but she had him.

She had him hooked.

He was hooked on the smell of cigarette smoke in her hair and the way she smirked when they saw each other in public. He loved how easily the skin of her neck bruised and the scratches she carved into his back when she'd had a rough day. Everything about her made him feel like fire, and no matter how many times he tried to leave, to go home and marry the woman he's expected to be with. Regardless of the fights they'd had, he couldn't stay away.

"Go back to your girlfriend, Potter. I bet she misses you."

"What if I don't want to go back."

"Sometimes we do things we don't like."

"Why would you do something you don't like?"

"Why do purebloods marry purebloods?"

"For the greater good."


It was the day.

Not a good one, in his opinion.

In four hours he would have a Mrs. Potter.

She was shy and quiet. She wore plain light colors and believed swearing wasn't ladylike. Her breath always smelled like mint and her skin was perfectly tanned without blemishes.

This bothered Harry like it never had before.

He wanted pale, marked skin, hips that had been bruised by his hands, lips tainted by nicotine and whiskey…

Harry wanted a woman his friends and family would never accept. He wanted someone he wasn't supposed to accept.

She'd tried to turn him over to Tom during the battle. It all seemed so trivial, now.

What's the point in hating someone who said things out of fear. Who screamed words of hatred against others because they were tired of watching people die. She was someone who shouldn't have to remember what a corpse looks like. To him, Pansy was the strongest woman he's ever met.

She's fierce and unapologetically bad. She'll say "I love you" and laugh in your face when you find her with another man. She's cynical and cold to the touch. For fuck's sake, her name is a flower. A flower Shakespeare stated could be used in a love potion. Harry knew he was right.

Every time he saw her, his vision became cloudy and he heard nothing but the clicking of her heels against the ministry's concrete floors. Her laugh resembled that of innocence and joy, but he knew she was full of arrogance and hatred.

"You're a right bitch, you know that right."

"And you're too much of a pussy to leave your fiancé."

"You're the one who told me to stay."

"I told you she might be missing you. I never said I didn't want to see you again."

"Is that why I'm fucking you in the closet of a chapel the morning of my wedding?"

"Exactly. You need me."

He hated how right she was.


She rocked her hips from side to side, letting her arms wrap around his neck.

A strange man she didn't know, in a strange place she didn't care for, with a strange drink that tasted of cough syrup and whiskey.

"Oi, what happened to you, love?"

"I'm not in the mood, go back to the bar."

"What if I don't want to go back-"

Pansy stopped breathing for a moment.

"What if I don't want to go back?"

His voice was quiet yet fierce as it bounced through her head, repeating itself. Mocking her.

She would never forget his face.

His messy hair fell in front of the scar he so desperately tried to hide, head turned to look at her as she went to get back into bed. His expression... she'd never seen someone so vulnerable before.

Pansy never wanted him to leave, she only knew he should.

She wasn't a good person, she wasn't perfect. She could never be the platinum blonde trophy wife Harry now had, she refused to be that. She refused to be the woman who stayed silent, the woman whose job was her children, she refused to let her parents decide whom she married because of the money, she refused to let a marriage destroy her life. She never knew who she would become as an impressionable adolescent blood purist, mocking those less fortunate souls who dared to speak to her.

She only knew this, Pansy Parkinson would never be an obedient housewife, and Harry wouldn't dare treat her that way. It's why she lo-

It's why she lov-

No.

This was not supposed to happen.

The whole time she'd been grinding on another man, thinking about all the reasons she cared so dearly for the one she drove away, he was off being married. It bothered her. So much so that she might just love him.

She might love the way his sweats always seemed to sit too low on his hips, the way his skin always smelled vaguely of her lavender body wash when they showered together, how he'd zip the back of her dress when they snuck out to muggle London, when he would never let her open her own door, and hell, even the light kiss they'd share after a night of unforgettable sin was something she ached for.

"Get your shit together. Have a drink. Apologize to that nice man. Let him take you home." She'd escaped to the bathroom through a crowd of drunk muggles to flee from the creep at the bar.

The music was blasting, Pansy could feel it in her feet. Her hair bounced wildly as she danced around with the same guy from earlier, he'd barely pulled her body closer to his as a once familiar voice send chills up her spine. "Oi, Parkinson!"

"You've got a wife now, Potter! Go home!"

"I'm tired of being told how to feel, Pansy!"

She'd pushed the drunken blonde aside and shoved her outrageous lover into the parking lot.

"I haven't been telling you how to feel, Potter!"

"Then why are you trying to drive me away?"

"Because I'm not good for you!"

"You're perfect for me!"

"Then why the hell did you stay with her? Why the hell would you marry her? If I'm so perfect for you then why the actual fuck did you not leave her?" Pansy was shouting at him, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

Harry didn't move, he only had one answer. "I would never have become her husband if I knew I could've been yours."