Prompt: Harry Potter and Pansy Parkinson
Theme: Broken Wings
"I hate you," she whispered, her nails digging into his back. The man above her busied himself with lavishing her neck with kisses and she hated it. She hated him. "You're stupid . . . and you—you have a stupid face."
He finally stopped and chuckled. His kisses became even softer than before and were closing in on her face. To her cheeks.
"Pansy," Harry said, "You're crying again."
She knew she was. She hated that too.
Harry stopped and rested his forehead against hers. "Do you want to talk about it?"
I don't deserve this, she thought. I don't deserve him.
"No," she said. She ignored his green eyes, not interested in letting him fully see, just how far she'd fallen. Though, truth be told, he'd already seen. The whole wizarding world had. And they hadn't forgiven her for it.
But somehow, he said he had.
"You were scared, I get it." Harry repeated the words she'd heard a million times. And Pansy hated that she needed them a million times again. "You were only a child about to enter a war. No one understands how hard that is better than me."
"It's not the same," Pansy muttered. Harry was no doubt pouting now and preparing to tell her again how he understood, but the thing was he didn't. He was the Chosen One. He was the Golden Boy. Pansy was just another spoiled Pure-blood who lived up to the Slytherin stereotype.
"You're not," Harry answered, making Pansy realise she'd said that last part aloud. "You're not, Pansy. You're so much more. And who's to say that being a Slytherin is a bad thing?"
Pansy arched a brow at him, which to her delight made him chuckle again, but she continued with a shake of her head. "You're too stubborn for your own good, Potter."
"I could say the same of you, Parkinson."
Pansy scoffed. "Prat."
"Princess."
She rolled her eyes. "Pervert."
Harry grinned. "Perfect."
Finally, Pansy grabbed hold of his collar. "Oh, shut up and kiss me."
"Gladly," responded Harry, already leaning in.