Disclaimer: I... Oh, forget it. I don't own Harry Potter!
A/N: Sorry about the obscenely long wait. There were finals, moving, and other substantial drama. It's all good now, though!
Chapter 8: But I'm Sure It's Too Far
Just like that and he's talking about pancakes.
It's sort of funny, in a completely worrisome sort of way, how just being in Harry's presence makes me sort of forget about my problems.
I mean, that's exactly what happened last night.
I was completely content to lie on his couch and mope over my truly messed up relationship with Draco, and worry about whether Millie had been telling the truth or not...
Then he came home.
And he actually tried to get me to talk about what was on my mind. Like, actually tried because he cares.
Well, at least because I think he cares, anyway.
And because of that (him caring), I didn't tell him what was going on. I mean, what could he possibly do? And it isn't like he doesn't have enough other things to worry about; I really don't need to add to it.
But none of my issues even crossed my mind after he stopped bugging me about them. Well, much anyway.
It's the weirdest thing, but he's just so easy to be around and joke with.
I know. I'm sure I just committed about a dozen pure-blooded rules by saying that. But who cares what any of them think anyway?
Well, any of them except Draco. And that's only about half of the time anyway.
So yeah, when I'm with Harry I'm okay. And I was yesterday too. Okay, I mean. Until I went to sleep.
And then I had that dream... And, like, I'm not even going to go into details because it was just ...horrible.
So instead I'll focus on Harry and how weird the guy is. I mean, remember the random mentioning of pancakes?
The guy wakes up with a questionably neurotic girl drooling on his chest and he just accepts it and wants to move on (to pancakes).
Wow. Seriously.
If only I could shift gears in my head like that.
I mean, I'm still totally not over that phone call from Millie yesterday, you know? And so I agonize over that, dreaming up What-Ifs in my head: What If I hadn't answered the phone, what if Millie just hadn't been such a bitch, what if I'd stayed with Draco?
And I'll tell you what, having those sorts of things rolling around in my head does not promote an exactly restful night's sleep... well, at least not until Harry stayed with me.
WHICH, is something else I'm going to blame Draco for... you know, getting me all used to sharing a bed. -- Oh god, what if he's ruined me for life? I mean, yeah, I'm engaged to him and he'll pretty much be stuck with me forever... but what if I decide that after all of this we can't be together? AGH, it's another attack of the what-ifs! -- But of course I'd end up doing so with someone who is so entirely good-hearted he can't even torture me with the fact I drooled all over him.
...Okay, so maybe Potter doesn't exactly make me forget all of my problems. But he helps.
And while I'm pondering all of this, he must've left because soon I hear a slight 'pop' coming from the kitchen, a pop I know only comes from apparation. Then there he is holding a plate full of the afore promised pancakes.
I blink at him, "You apparated?"
He gives me a small smile, "For pancakes like these, you gotta apparate."
I give him a skeptical look, "I don't want to know where these came from, do I?"
He laughs, "Probably not, but they're gonna be the best pancakes you've ever had. Swear."
I roll my eyes, "Well, if you swear."
And so we move to the living room, turning on the morning cartoons. After all, who can be bothered to watch the news anyway? Especially with pancakes like these.
So that's what I do, watching TV, eating my pancakes and definitely not thinking about how they more than likely came from the kitchen of a Weasley.
And after we've finished eating, Harry takes my plate from me and heads into the kitchen. I, of course, stay in front of the TV and simply wait for him to return.
When he finally does he's all dressed for work, though I momentarily wonder if he even bothers to run a comb through that hair of his. If I had to bet, I'd say no.
But I don't say any of that to him. Because what kind of crazy person sits around thinking about other people's hair?
I realize I've sort of been staring at him when he waves his hand slightly in front of my eyes.
I look at him expectantly.
"Well, I'm gonna head off to work. So, you, uh, keep out of trouble."
I, rather maturely, stick my tongue out at him.
He starts toward the door, stopping to turn slightly, reminding me, "And don't open the door to any strangers."
I give him a dubious look before replying, "Yes, mum."
He shrugs, "I'm just saying--"
I cut him off, "Saying that you're going to be late. Scoot!"
He gives me a weird look, reminding me, "Hey, I'm the boss. I can show up whenever I want."
I deflate slightly. Because he's right. Oh, well.
He laughs, "I'll see you later, Pans."
"Bye, Pot-Pot," I call.
Three hours later I'm sitting up against the couch thinking "You know, this sort of existence isn't too horrible."
I mean, yeah, all I get for intellectual conversation is Potter, but, like, I can deal. 'Cause you can't forget the TV... and the seemingly never ending stash of take-out menus.
Modern society (and being on the run from the "law") might just turn me into a hermit yet.
Well, until I need something that can't be delivered to the front door; like a haircut or something.
Okay, now, what I'm about to say? Yeah, don't think less of me as a person for it. I'm weak, you know?
Ready?
Okay.
I've started watching daytime television. In defense I must explain about how it sorta gets lonely in the flat without Harry around. And his TV screen's so big, and with the surround sound, it's sort of just like I have guests over or something. Well, guests who have highly dramatic and just slightly unbelievable lives.
I mean, really. I've only been watching for a few days and already the same blonde girl already had a baby, lost her memory, and starred in a fashion show. -- If that's real life, then I'm severely missing out. For real.
And so here I am, just minding my own business watching my stories when I hear what's become the dreaded key-in-the-lock sound.
And weirdly enough, the first thing I think of is, "Shit, Potter told me not to let strangers in!"
But then I realize what a stupid train of thought that is and go right into panic mode, quickly grabbing the remote and turning the TV off.
For a moment I wonder if I'd fit underneath the couch. But before I can consider it for much longer, I hear an almost-familiar male voice call out, "Pansy?"
I stay frozen for a moment, trying to figure out if it's Dean or some other possibly deranged Order member.
He tries again, "Parkinson? -It's Ron."
"...and Hermione," a female voice adds irritably.
Oh, well. . . okay, I guess?
I hear Ron mutter, "Fuck! Be my shadow, why don't you?"
To which Hermione evenly replies, "Honestly, Ron. How could you've already forgotten I was two steps behind you?"
He huffs, "Shit, maybe because I told -- I mean, asked you to stay outside in the car."
"And when," she wants to know, " is the last time I did something just because you wanted me to?"
He sounds pretty disgusted (and disgruntled) when he answers, "Fuck, probably never."
She, on the other hand, sounds pretty pleased with herself, "Right. So here we are."
He deadpans, "Super."
Oh, even I know he should know he won't get away with that.
And he doesn't. Get away with it, I mean.
"Don't take that tone," she warns.
He takes the incredulous approach, "What tone?"
"You know what I mean."
Ooh, she doesn't sound amused. Weasley is so in over his head.
"No, Hermione, if I did, I wouldn't be asking."
She raises her voice a bit, "THAT tone, Ronald."
I hear him sigh, "Can we just forget it?"
She states simply, "No. But we can put it off until later."
He replies sarcastically, "How gracious..."
Which she seemingly decides to ignore, "I know. You can repay me later."
I hear the grin in his voice as he questions, "...by participating in acts that will give my mother the grandchildren she so desperately wants from us?"
Now it's her turn to deadpan, "Ha. That's rich."
"I had to give it a shot."
She uses a falsely bright voice while saying, "Sure you did. And look! You did! Moving on!"
Wow, Granger is a prude.
"Fine, fine," he concedes.
And Weasley's a pushover. They're perfect for each other.
There's a moment or so of silence before:
"Pansy? Where are you at?"
Damn, they've remembered me after all.
I feebly call out, "Living room."
Ron's the first to pop his head in the doorway, asking, "Hey, where's Harry?"
I give him a questioning look before responding, "Um, at work?"
See? I knew the guy had nothing better to do during the day. I so don't feel badly about asking him to pick me up the hair dye.
Then Granger sort of shoves past him into the room. He glares at her, but she ignores him.
She gives me a tight smile, asking, "So, how are you?"
I raise a (colored!) eyebrow at her, "Fabulous, and you?"
She shrugs and smiles a bit more sincerely, "Same old, same old."
I really have no idea how to respond to her, so I opt for, "Fair enough."
Ron's watching the two of us, looking far more entertained than he should be. If he were Harry he'd say something to make this less awkward. Harry's special like that.
I mean, don't get me wrong, he's still ...you know, all hero-esque, which, in my book is a sort of a turnoff, but that doesn't mean he's not a decent guy.
I guess I'll have to dig myself out of this one on my own, though.
I make a conscious effort to lower my eyebrow before asking, "So, you were here to see Harry?"
Granger looks like she's considering the best way to answer my question, but before she can come up with something, Ron blurts, "Nah, we wanted to talk to you. Alone, you know?"
I can feel my eyes widen as I think "Oh, fuck."
Granger turns towards him, hands on her hips, chastising, "Honestly, Ronald, you are so tactless. You're the one that should be out sitting in the car."
"Well, no one's in the car, though, are they? Funny how that happens."
"Yeah, downright hilarious," she counters, "I don't know what ever gave you the idea you could tell me what to do in the first place."
"I already told you, Hermione," he sighs, as if super tired, "I didn't TELL you to stay in the car, I asked. Nicely, even."
"Oh, yes," she says, mocking him, "'Look, Herms. It'd be super if you could stay in the car. So, you know, you don't go in and fuck this thing up. Yeah, that'd be great.'"
"Exactly," he says, pleased, "Nowhere did I tell you to stay outside."
"You know?" she asks, "I don't like you very much right now."
And at this moment, I'm sort of waiting for them just to start making out already. Sexual tension, you know? Not that I'd really want to witness such an atrocity between the two of them, but it'd be better for everyone in the end. There are always sacrifices for mankind. Potter would understand this, I'm sure.
But I do have to admit, watching the exchange between these two so totally has daytime TV beat. By a long shot, even. I even feel the need to go make a bag of popcorn. I mean, this stuff is good.
Maybe I just need to get out more.
Or, you know, at all.
o o o
I unlock the door and trudge into my flat. Today at work, in short, was not good. And now to top it all off, I have to break the news to Pansy.
I find her, of course in the living room.
"Parkinson?" I ask quietly.
She distractedly acknowledges my presence, "Erh, Harry..."
Okay, so she's not going to make this any easier, "Look, I need to talk to you."
"But, I'm watching something," she whines pathetically.
"When," I want to know, "aren't you watching something? That does not qualify you as being busy."
"But I am busy," she insists.
"Watching TV," I affirm. Only I guess it's more of a question.
"You got it, babe," she smiles, finally looking at me, "Now, be a dear and bring me a glass of water?"
"Pans--" I sigh.
"Ooh, scratch that," she raises her eyebrows, "A diet Coke. Thanks."
"You do know that this is my place of residence? That I am the one paying to live here?"
She smiles again, "And hence, you will know exactly where the diet Coke is."
"What would you say if I told you I didn't have any? Coke, that is."
And yeah, I'm just messing with her. Mostly because I'm trying to avoid telling her what I know I'll eventually have to tell her.
She shakes her head, "I'd say you better go buy some. At least if you know what's good for you."
I sigh, stating, "I think I used to know. What's good for me, that is. But every day I spend with you it becomes just that much harder to remember."
"That's 'cause you've got me to tell you," she states matter-of-factly.
And then a thought dawns on me, "You know, if we were dating, my mates would say I was whipped."
"Good thing we're not then," she says seriously, "I mean, this way you're still a pushover, but no one knows about it. Well, except me." She pauses to grin at me, continuing, "And I can't tell anyone since I'm in hiding. ...Which, you know, isn't as much of a picnic as it might sound. I mean, yeah, I fucking LOVE your television, but, Potter, I'm soooo bored."
"Wow," I say slowly. "Whine much?"
She sits straight up and gets this hopeful look in her eyes, asking, "Play a board game with me?"
"A board game?" I really cannot believe her sometimes.
"Please?"
"What makes you think I even have board games?"
"You don't have board games?" she asks in a disbelieving monotone voice.
"No," I shake my head, "I never got into them."
"What kind of childhood did you have?"
I give a half laugh, "Believe me, you don't want to know."
"So, erm..." she begins, looking slightly uncomfortable, "was there something you wanted to talk to me about?"
"Oh," I say, cocking my head just to the left, "so now you want to talk?"
"Yeah!" she nods, "Don't you know, baby, I just live to talk to you when you come home from work?"
I roll my eyes.
"I mean, I want to hear all about your day! And then, I'll make you dinner; during which you'll ask about the kids and my day. And after that we'll have hot and dirty sex on the kitchen counter."
"Okay," I resign, "so you don't really want to talk."
"Quick on the uptake. And, no."
"Well, too bad." Because we have to. Talk I mean.
She furrows her eyebrows, asking, "Where's my diet Coke?"
And, wow, talk about changing the subject, "What? Pansy, come on. I need to talk to you."
She, of course, ignores me.
And I know it's time to pull out the big guns.
So I threaten her, "Don't make me pull the plug on the TV. I'll do it. You know I'll do it.
"Oh my god," she looks at me, completely horrified, barely whispering, "you wouldn't."
"I would," I say in a dangerous sort of voice.
Wide eyed, she whispers, getting slightly louder with every word, "You could blow the screen out by doing that. You could fucking kill your TV, Potter."
"I'll do it."
"Okay," she pouts, "Fine. Let's talk. But, I'll have you know, I'm only doing this for the sake of the TV."
I shake my head, "Whatever."
She glares at me, saying, "You're sick. You know that, right?"
I give her a small smile, "I'm going to ignore that. Now, seriously, we caught Malfoy."
"You--" she coughs, as if choking, "--you what?"
I grimace slightly at her reaction, explaining, "He went back to the Manor for some reason late last night. A few Order members have been camped out there all week waiting for him to show up."
And for a few moments neither of us say anything. I mean, I've delivered the message. It's up to her to do what she will with it. Whether that'll result in her leaving to find him or retreating into my bathroom to chop all her hair off, I have no idea.
Finally, she starts speaking, a bit hysterically, "But, that's so stupid. He should've known they would be there. It isn't like him to get caught."
"I--I think he was looking for you," I say slowly.
She laughs, "Me? Oh, that's rich. There is no way in hell he was looking for me."
"Think about it, you've been 'missing' for over four days."
And then she sort of looks like something has just dawned on her, "Fuck!"
My eyes widen a bit, and I question, "What?"
And she's rising to her feet, yelling, "Fuck you, Harry Potter!"
"Wha--I don't--"
I mean, wow. I am so confused. I expected a reaction. But I didn't expect any of this to be my fault.
She uses a mimicking tone, "Oh, Pansy, they're going to use you as bait to catch Draco. You have to hide... at my flat! That way I'll know what you're up to all of the time!"
"That is not how it was at all," I begin, a bit angry, "You said you didn't--"
"Oh, yeah?" she interrupts me, "Shit! I am so stupid. So, so stupid."
And now she's sort of pacing back and forth across the carpeted living room floor.
"You're not stupid," I tell her.
"He told me!" she says, starting towards me, "Told me not to trust anyone. Fuck, I forgot you counted as a someone."
"Pans--" I say, grabbing hold of her shoulders. The girl has to stop moving around so much, it's driving me insane.
She turns her head away from me, dark hair shielding her face from my view, asking, "Can you just leave?"
I loosen my grip slightly, stating, "No."
When she speaks again her voice is shaky, "Please leave? I'm going to cry in about, like, seven seconds, and I'd appreciate some privacy."
"I'm not leaving."
She moves her head, watering eyes catching mine, "For fuck's sake. Why not?"
"Because..." And I have never been very good with words, and that's why I do what I do next.
Which is kiss Pansy Parkinson; but that isn't to say it was a one sided kiss.
But that's almost neither here nor there since the kiss doesn't last longer than a few seconds, Pansy pushing me away, barely audibly asking, "What the fuck was that?"
And I'm not sure if her voice is lowered because she's about to commit murder and doesn't want to waste her voice screaming just yet, or if it's because she's actually one of those girls who get all shocked when a guy kisses her. Knowing her, it's neither; or better yet, both.
Because if it's both she can claim self-defense when she goes on trial for my murder.
And try as I might, I can't get my voice to work. Which pisses me off because a guy should have control over his own voice at times like these. I mean, it's the manly way, isn't it?
After a few moments of staring at her staring at me (vicious cycle, you see), I sit down carefully on the couch and finally manage to clear my throat and repeat myself, "You're not stupid."
She blinks just once, sitting down beside me, stating, "We are in so much trouble."
I furrow my brow; it's not the response I had been expecting. Well, not that I had been expecting anything in particular, just something that wasn't completely random. I should've known better anyhow.
"Trouble?" I ask, turning toward her.
But before I have any more time to wonder just what she's on about, her lips crash into mine.
Later I might've sworn the world had stopped in that very moment if it hadn't been for the TV's flashing screen and changing noises reminding me that, in fact, it had continued to move, not caring much for the happenings between two individuals on this random Thursday.
Well, all that and the cell phone in my pocket going off about two minutes later.
I mutter under my breath, "Fuck."
"Why," she asks, pulling slightly away, "is your pocket vibrating?"
"Cell phone," I explain quickly, moving my head forward to catch her lips again, "Ignore it."
She shifts uncomfortably, "It's vibrating. Who can ignore that?"
"Me," I murmur against her lips, "And you too. Concentrate."
She turns her head to the side, softly asking, "Answer it. Please?"
I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, groaning, "Ungh..."
To the bastard on the other end of the line, I say, "This had better be damn good."
To which the bastard replies, "Harry, we lost Malfoy."
And I've just got to wonder Why me? Seriously, I know there about a half-million other situations where it'd probably be a lot more justified to ask this, but at this moment I just have to wonder: why me?
"Shit, Dean, what?"
"I don't know how it happened. He was here one second and the next..."
Exasperated, I say, "Well, you've got to go find him!"
"I know."
"Why are you even calling me about this?"
"I... well, I guess I don't really know."
"Look, I'll talk to you tomorrow."
And then I snap my phone shut, taking time to turn it off. That'll stop them from getting a hold of me.
I can feel her breathing heavily next to me and I sort of expect her to be crying when I look at her. But she isn't. Crying, I mean.
Which is probably for the best, because no guy wants to have to deal with a girl who ends up crying when he kisses her. Well, much anyway.
She looks at me, the tears from earlier are still lingering in the corners of her eyes, "He's gone, isn't he?"
I nod slowly.
She pushes herself up off of the couch, standing with her back to me for a few moments, finally turning around, saying, "I'm sorry, Harry. I shouldn't have--"
I cut her off, "No, Pans--"
She shakes her head, "It won't happen again. I am sorry."
A/N: Okay, next chapter we'll get into: a) what Ron and Hermione had to say to Pansy; b) what Pansy's thinking; c) what Harry's thinking; annnnnd loads more!
To my reviewers!
harrison potter: I'm glad you like the dialogues, I threw a few in this one too. Oh, and I am sorry about the angst. You know, again. :)
abercrombie18: annnd you made my day by reviewing! yay!
greenlee: thanks for the interest and taking the time to review!
Hamster: yeah, I like the cuddly scene, too!
Delrious: thanks for reviewing!
EnlightenedKing: thanks so much... the hugging bit is one of my favorite parts thus far:)
blueeyedchibi: thanks for the nice review! I'm glad you like the story! I've just recently gotten into Harry/Pansy too... it's super addictive! yay!
Review?
(5/19/06)
