Disclaimer: Dude, Harry Potter is freakin' over, yet I continue. It's so obvious that I am not JKR, it hurts. Honestly, there's pain. So, yeah, don't own 'em.
Chapter 12: The Night Starts Here
"Woof, woof, Potter. So, where's my food then?"
"What, Hermione didn't make you breakfast?"
"Uh, yeah. But that was like three hours ago."
"Ah, an eternity."
"I'm so glad you understand this."
"Well," he shrugs. "I didn't bring anything home with me."
"And why not?"
"I didn't know I was supposed to. I thought maybe you wanted to make more boiled carrots or something."
And I wonder for a second if Harry Potter, prince of all that is potentially good in this world, is actually being mean to me. I feel a little insecure about it, actually. Well, that is until I look up into his face and see a playful grin.
The whole insecurity thing must've somehow shown through to my face, though. His smile fades a little and he says, "Oh, hey, Pans... Honest--"
I shake my head quickly and give him a small smile before wrapping my arms around him. He returns the hug and holds me a little closer to himself. I notice his suede jacket still smells like exhaust from the street. I find this oddly comforting for some reason.
And because we honestly can never have a moment of silence, I open my mouth.
"So, seriously? No breadsticks from the holy Italian place?"
I feel him laugh more than I hear it and he squeezes me just a bit tighter before lifting me up off the floor a few inches.
"Is that what you need to make you happy?"
He lets my feet come back to the ground and loosens his grip slightly.
I pull back just enough so I can see his face. "You know it."
He lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Well, if I get food, you know I'm going to have to get enough for Ron and Hermione too. And then I'll also have to ask the restaurant not to put the food in those nifty little Styrofoam boxes, 'cause Hermione flips out whenever she sees one, you know the whole thing about them not being biodegradable and whatever. Which I think is actually a little shortsighted on her part, you know? I mean, there's a war going on and she's worried about the world's fate hundreds of years from now? Maybe that just means she's got a ton of faith in me and that we'll all survive or something. But personally? Styrofoam boxes just don't even rank."
I stare at him, my mouth slightly open. 'Cause, wow, it's so obvious that Styrofoam boxes totally do rank as far as he's concerned. You don't have a speech like that all ready to go at a moment's notice if the Styrofoam doesn't rank. You just don't. At least that's what I always say, anyway.
He doesn't really get a chance notice my expression, though, 'cause I choose to bury my head in the crook of his shoulder. I mean, the guy doesn't really need to know that he's totally neurotic, right? Instead I say, "You're cute, Potter. You know that, right?"
He scoffs. "Sure, Pansy. You'll just say anything to get into my pants."
I laugh. "It is painfully obvious you've been hanging around Ron too long."
"And why do you say that?"
"Like I need any one specific reason?"
"True."
He lets me go and moves to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. I stare at him the whole time, but he doesn't notice right away. When he finally glances at me, I widen my eyes and raise my eyebrows.
"What?" he wants to know.
I shrug. "Nothing." I pause. "I mean, if dying of starvation is nothing."
"You," he points at me, "are so melodramatic."
"Someone's gotta be."
"Yeah, I know. But I've got so many people in my life filling that very role right now!"
"Well, obviously they weren't doing a very good job, or else you wouldn't've felt it necessary to add me into your special little world too!"
"I...uh, have no idea how to respond to that."
"'Cause it's true, baby."
"It isn't."
"Is."
"Isn't."
"Is. And get me some food!"
"Fine! What do you want?"
And it really is just almost too easy to get what I want out of him. Almost.
o o o
Fifteen minutes later I'm standing in the take-away line at the Holy Italian Place. Because apparently that's it's official title now.
And, yeah, I totally have to have the "Oh, hey, yeah, can I take the food home in something that isn't Styrofoam?" conversation with the girl behind the counter.
I end up with Styrofoam anyway. I guess I can't blame her, I'd think I was crazy too. But whatever, food is food, right? And maybe Hermione won't notice?
o o o
"You know I'm not eating any of that, right?"
All four of us are actually sitting at the dining table. And I so knew this was all coming. And, yeah, you guessed it, it's because of the Styrofoam.
Ron puts up a single hand to me, silently telling me that he'll handle it. "Hermione, come on--"
"Ugh, Ron. Seriously? Don't even start. You know it's wrong."
Well, that could've probably gone better.
But Ron's not about to give up that quickly. "It's not wrong, per se..."
"It is!"
"Sweetie--" He gives her one of his best understanding smiles. I mean, it really is one of the better ones I've seen him use. Ever.
"Oh, no." She shakes her head. "No, don't you 'sweetie' me."
And that just seems to piss Ron off. His voice gets a little harder, "Hermione."
"No, I know you don't get it. I don't even expect you to get it--"
He interrupts. "What? 'Cause I'm stupid? Fuck, Hermione, are we really at that again?"
She raises her voice to meet his. "That's not what I said."
"Might as well've."
"Ronald, don't be ridiculous."
"Me? Ridiculous? Honestly? Miss I-Won't-Eat-Something-That-Came-In-A-Styrofoam-Box?"
"I told you that I don't expect you to understand!"
And this really is all very ridiculous. It's painfully obvious that the two of them have been having way too much alone time together. So I do what a hero's gotta do: bust up the fight.
"Okay, guys. Enough."
They both turn their heads to me, neither surprised in the slightest that I'm still in the room, or that I'm the one to tell them to cut it out.
Hermione silently gets up from the table, going into the kitchen. I know she's probably digging through the cupboard for a box of cereal. Cereal's acceptable because it comes in a world-friendly recyclable cardboard box.
Ron sighs and pulls a box of fettuccine alfredo towards himself and starts eating right from it instead of dishing a portion out onto his plate. This, I know, wouldn't happen if Hermione were still in the room. Actually, she probably just would've dished it up for him and everything. Not that she mothers him at all or anything.
I look to Pansy and see that she's halfway through a container of spaghetti, apparently not having been fazed in the slightest by the argument. She shoves half of a breadstick into her mouth before she realizes I'm watching her. She chews for a good thirty seconds before swallowing. "So, show's over, huh?"
I'm not sure if she's talking about Ron and Hermione's argument or my watching her eat, so I don't respond at all. Instead, I pull the carton of breadsticks away from her side, select one and shove it in my mouth before smiling at her.
She raises an eyebrow. "Wow, someone could've ever used some finishing school."
"Nah," I say around the mouthful of bread, "it's all about being heathenistic, baby."
She, of course, has no idea what I've just said. "Of course, Pot-Pot." She nods. "Whatever you say." She throws a look to Ron, but he misses it, now being more involved in his noodles than the conversation.
o o o
After dinner we all go into the living room to watch some quality television. But everyone knows that quality TV doesn't really exist anymore, so we settle on watching some show about brides and how they become crazy bitches before their weddings. For real, even. As if I needed another reason to be afraid of getting married.
About ten minutes into the show, Ron turns to Harry. "You know, these girls aren't that bad. I mean, don't you think they're getting a bad rap? They just want things to be perfect for their wedding day."
Harry looks at him, utterly shocked. "Ron, say you don't honestly believe that. These women? They're fucking crazy. And nasty, too. I mean, I know you like the whole dominant female thing, but they're taking it to a whole new level."
Ron's face turns a little red and he gets really quiet. I can practically hear him mulling over what Harry's just said. And then I start thinking about it too. At least as far as Ron's concerned.
I mean, the guy's got the looks, he's got enough of a personality. It's quite possible that he could have any girl he wants. But it's becoming more and more obvious to me that he only wants the one girl that isn't willing to give in that easily. Over good looks and personality, I mean.
And I would think about the whole thing more, but then the commercial break is over and the bride is back, screaming about how the bubble machine isn't putting out big enough bubbles. Seriously. You can't make this shit up.
Three episodes later, Harry finally stands up from his spot on the couch. "Well, I'm gonna go catch some z's." He looks to me, "Pans, you coming?"
"I, uh... Yeah, okay."
We both head down the short hallway and into his bedroom. He takes off his dress shirt and pulls on a t-shirt the same way he did last night. And then he pulls out another t-shirt for me, without even being asked.
The potential routine shines through so clearly that it makes me feel a little scared. Or maybe confused.
And I can't help but wonder if this could all somehow end up being the norm in my life. Or if I really should even let it become the norm in my life.
He moves into the bathroom, where I hear him brushing his teeth. While he's doing that, I change out of my clothes into the shirt and crawl into bed.
And it's a little cliche, but I feel very small in that moment.
After a few minutes he reemerges from the bathroom and joins me in the bed.
I prop myself up on my elbows. I can't help but just stare at him.
Which, of course, he notices right away. "What?"
I begin, "Harry..."
But then I just stop. Because it's ridiculous to spend all of my time thinking about all of these feelings when I've got this guy in bed with me, right?
I pull myself forward and move so my head is above his. And I press my lips to his. Initially, I feel him begin to pull back, but only for a moment. Soon, he's kissing me back, hard. His hands move to my back and begin lightly brushing up and down.
And even though it's the last thing I expected, all my thoughts come rushing back to me. I quickly pull away.
"Are you okay?"
How would I even begin to answer that question? Honestly.
I tear my eyes away from his and let myself sink into my pillow.
But he sits up in the bed and waits for me to explain myself.
After a few moments of silence, I finally find my voice.
"If we do this, it can't just be it... If it were anyone else in the world, Potter, I swear that'd be fine, but I couldn't stand it if it was that way with you."
For some reason he doesn't even attempt to open his mouth and reply. And it sort of unnerves me.
I try to amend. "...Not that this sort of thing happens often to me, I mean."
"Pansy?"
"Yeah?" My eyes scan across his face quickly.
"Just shut up."
And then he's kissing me. But all I can think about is how he didn't answer my question. So I pull away.
"Harry, I'm serious."
"I know. So am I." He pauses, looking away from me for a second. "This isn't going to be it. I couldn't let this be it, even if I tried. I mean, you mentioned everyone else in the world? Well, I have a handle on where I stand with them. Every last one of them. Except you."
He pulls me back towards him and kisses my forehead. "I won't let this be it."
And, no, the moment isn't filled with typical promises and proclamations of love. Maybe it's because we're not typical people.
Even though I don't want to be that kind of girl, I hear myself asking, "So you're in?"
He chuckles lowly, "I'm in."
And the his lips reclaim mine, softer this time than before. Slower, almost. Because somehow this became The Real Deal; somehow he and I ended up in a world where it's okay for there to be an "us."
If I had more time to think about it, I would realize that that kind of world surely couldn't have been made for lasting. But that's the thing about this world, there isn't time for thinking. Time is filled up with big-screen TVs, take-away, friends with insect infested flats, and the occasional owl that tries to bring the world crashing down.
But like I said, there's no time to think about any of that. My hands are buried in his hair and his lightly roam across my back.
I clear my throat slightly and he pulls away, a confused look splaying across his face.
I focus on his eyes. "So this is it."
The confusion leaves and all that's left is lust in his eyes. Or something akin to lust, anyway. And that's really all the reply I need.
o o o
"Are you okay?"
And it is just so Potter-esque for him to ask me something like that.
I open my eyes and look to the foot of the bed for a brief moment. I notice that the shirt he'd maybe-routinely handed me earlier that night is barely hanging off the edge.
A smile spreads across my face before I even think about it. I scan up towards his face and find him staring back at me, his black hair much more rumpled than usual and his eyes still overly dilated.
"I'm good." It comes out quieter than I intended.
"C'mere." He sighs and starts to pull me closer to him. He grabs me in a slightly ticklish spot, though, and I end up doing a bit of flailing.
He laughs as he finishes pulling me up against him, my back facing his chest.
I feel his chest rise and fall with each breath. I find it ridiculously comforting; it's the safest I've felt in weeks, maybe even months. And it isn't long before I feel myself drifting off to sleep.
o o o
Somehow I can sense that Pansy has fallen asleep and I silently wonder why it is that I'm still awake. But then I realize it's because my mind has been quietly reeling for the past hour. I mean, this is Pansy Parkingson, soon to be a Malfoy. What does that even mean?
I have to tell myself that she isn't --truly isn't-- the Pansy I thought I knew growing up. I haven't decided if that's fair or not yet.
And I really don't know what I'm going to do about her engagement to Draco. Or if there even is anything I could do about it. But for now she's mine. And somehow, after I realize that, it's all that seems to really matter.
I give her a light squeeze, careful not to wake her. After awhile I finally close my eyes and just listen to her breathing next to me.
o o o
Waking up the next morning, I roll over to find that Harry's already gotten up. The t-shirt is still hanging off the foot of the bed, I sit up and reach for it. Just as I'm pulling it over my head, the bedroom door opens.
It looks as if Harry's just gotten out of the shower, his hair wet and flat on his head, almost brushed directly back from his face. I can't help but smile.
He returns the smile. "Hey, you just wake up?"
I nod before frowning slightly. "Why are you still here?"
He laughs, obviously in a good mood. "I, uh, live here, Pans."
My smile returns and I roll my eyes. "No duh, Potter. But why aren't you at work?"
"Well, you see," he begins smartly, "it's Saturday. And Saturday means that everyone who is me doesn't have to go to work."
"I see, well, it's good of them to give you a day off. Come and join the rest of us who are unemployed."
"What? Be unemployed for the weekend?"
"Yeah, doesn't that sound like more fun than a normal weekend?"
"Uh, because the weekend needed some spicing up?"
"Exactly. That's what I like about you, you're very perceptive, Pot-Pot."
"You really should stop calling me that."
"On your Unemployed Weekend? Why would I do such a thing?"
"Because I'm a nice boy and you're a mean girl. And on unemployed weekends, the mean girls always let the nice boys have their way."
"That..." I pause for good measure. "Is completely ridiculous. I don't think you really know the first thing about unemployed weekends. Besides, I'm pretty sure I let you have your way last night."
"Oh-ho, Pans. Playing that card, huh? Well, okay. You're right."
"I know."
He moves towards the bed, leaning down over me and kisses me on the forehead. "Have I told you good morning yet?"
Tilting my head upwards, my eyes meet his line of vision. "No, and I've been waiting all morning."
"Well," he says, sitting down on the foot of the bed, "good morning, then."
I grin. "What now?"
He seems caught slightly offguard. "What do you mean, 'what now'?"
"It's the weekend. We're supposed to do super-fun stuff on weekends. So what super-fun stuff are we going to do? Hm?"
"I, uh..." He seems to be searching for an idea for a moment. "Well, I guess I have one idea."
And I can tell, just by the way he's looking at me, what he's thinking about.
Ignoring him, I let myself fall into the pillows behind me, laughing slightly.
I can feel him waiting for me to stop, but I can't.
After a few minutes, he finally speaks. "You sound positively mental. You know that, right?"
"Girls giggle, it's what they do," I tell him, my face buried in a pillow.
"Oh, of course." He replies. I have no idea how he actually deciphered what I said.
Apparently he has though, and he continues, "I wouldn't know, personally. I grew up with Hermione."
And that only contributes to my continuing giggle fit.
A/N: freakin-eh, it's finally an update! guys, I love you. seriously, LOVE. I'll be replying to the reviews from the last chapter via the site's messaging system.
Review? Who knows, it could inspire me to update more than once every 8 months!
8/23/07
