Written for QLFC Season 5, Round 10 - Music Through the Decades! I'm chaser 2 for Ballycastle Bats (Go Bats!). My decade was the 1980's and my song inspiration was Bette Davis Eyes - Kim Carnes.

My lovely betas were: brownlark42 and queen-sheep. All other mistakes are mine!

Optional prompts were: [object] ring; [dialogue] "How could you possibly think that was a good idea?"; [emotion] fear

Word Count: 1,166

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

"How could you possibly think that was a good idea?" Pansy Parkinson asked as she sipped her drink.

Another Friday night, another club, another man. It was Pansy's style.

"Well, it wasn't," Jack Sloper chuckled as he waved the bartender over. He'd already had too many drinks in Pansy's opinion. She reached out and grabbed his hand.

"Let's get out of here," she smiled at him and batted her eyes. It was enough. It was always enough.

Pansy left Sloper's flat late that night. She never spent the night, that was not Pansy's style. She sighed as she walked down the deserted Diagon Alley toward her own flat. Another night, another conquest.

Pansy didn't really understand how she got here, endlessly searching for the next man. She'd graduated Hogwarts with everyone else in her year. She'd taken a job at Witch Weekly, writing for their fashion section. It was a lucrative career. Despite all of this, she had been stuck in a rut for a while.

Her father had attempted to arrange a marriage for her with one of the boys in her year, but she refused everyone he suggested. The war was over, and there was no true cause for fear — and yet, Pansy had been afraid of settling down. Vince was gone. Maybe that's what set her on this path? She and Vince hadn't been serious, but it had barely begun before it was over. She hadn't been able to reconcile the combination of feeling freedom for the first time, being afraid of making the wrong choice, and dealing with her grief over her dead boyfriend.

A few weeks after Sloper, Pansy found herself in another club. She danced for a bit to loosen herself up before she went on the prowl. This time, though, the prowl came to her. Hands settled heavily on her hips and someone was behind her, dancing in time with her. She wound her arms behind the mystery person's neck and gave herself to the feeling of the song. It was from the eighties and one of her favorites. About a Muggle actress who played the sex-pot, the femme fatale — a role Pansy was pretty sure she had perfected.

As the song wound down, Pansy turned in the arms of her partner and found herself staring at Harry Potter.

"Potter?" she asked. She hadn't seen him in years.

"Parkinson," he smiled down at her softly. Pansy felt herself smile back involuntarily.

"Wanna get outta here?" Potter asked. Pansy's smile turned up as she nodded. Another night, another man, another conquest. This one even easier than most.

The next time Pansy was at the club, it happened again. Eighties music was making a big comeback on the club scene, and she was dancing once more to her favorite song when. A pair of hands settled on her hips, and Pansy was sure she recognized them this time. She turned around, and sure enough, Potter was there, dancing in time with her. She grinned at him. He grinned back.

They danced their way through the next few songs before Potter suggested, "Let's go."

Pansy grinned again and threaded her fingers through his as he led her out of the club. She liked Potter. He was funny, and sweet, and kind. His kisses made her shiver in anticipation. Of course, that wasn't enough to stop her from leaving Potter's flat in the middle of the night again.

It was several weeks before Pansy was able to make it back to the club. She had been traveling for work and she missed her weekly dancing ritual. As she got ready for the evening, she wondered if she would see Potter again. Two times in a row was kind of a fluke and not something Pansy normally did.

She didn't like attachments. In fact, she avoided them wherever possible.

She took a break from the dancing and went to the bar for a drink. It was a hot mid-summer night, and cooling charms could only accomplish so much in an overcrowded London dance club. She was digging into her wallet to pay when a hand covered hers.

"I've got this," Potter whispered into her ear as he dropped a few sickles on the bartop. Pansy gasped in surprise. She hadn't seen him, even though she'd been looking surreptitiously.

"Thank you, Potter," Pansy grinned up at the man. "This is becoming a habit."

"An addiction," Potter replied as he snaked a hand around Pansy's waist to pull her closer. They talked and giggled at the bar for a few songs, then Pansy led him back out to the dance floor. Potter was a good dancer — rather better than Pansy would have expected. She enjoyed dancing with him. She enjoyed the flirting that preluded other things.

Finally, Pansy asked, "Want to come back to mine?"

Potter grinned and leaned down to kiss her cheek, "Thought you'd never ask," he whispered in her ear. Pansy shivered when his breath tickled her ear. She led him to her flat. This was a first — she usually went back to the bloke's flat. It was easier for her to get away. But this felt right. With some surprise, Pansy realized wasn't afraid of whatever this was between her and Potter.

Pansy kept running into Potter at the club almost every week for six months. Pansy and Potter went home together every time. Pansy forgot to prowl and she let go of her flirting tactics. Potter didn't seem to notice if she batted her lashes. He just wanted her, and he didn't need to play the games.

Soon they began to spend more nights together, and Pansy found herself missing Potter whenever he was absent from her bed. When Potter asked her to move in, she was a little reluctant to agree, but it seemed a waste at this point for them both to have an apartment.

One night, Pansy found herself dancing alone at the club for the first time in two years. Potter was late — she remembered him something about working late that night. She felt an ache as she tried to lose herself in the song of the femme fatale. She closed her eyes, wondering what had happened to the woman in the song when she felt a familiar set of hands encircle her waist. She leaned back against Potter's chest and felt him press something small and delicate into her hand.

Pansy cried over the ring and turned to fling her arms around his neck. Yes was the only thing she could say.

Pansy's father couldn't have been happier, despite not getting to pick out her husband or arrange the marriage. Potter hadn't even asked his permission. When Pansy asked why, Potter told her it was because she was an adult, and she didn't need her father to speak for her. She was free to make her own choices.

Pansy grinned at him, and kissed him, and fell even more in love.