"I can't believe you didn't know that."

Pansy is swinging her feet over the bridge and watching the water go by. The sun is out but the last three days have been rain and the stream - almost a river now - rushes by. It's a torrent. It's uncrossable. She swings her feet and leans into the wooden rails and the sun is hot on the back of her neck.

"I guess I did," Harry says. He's next to her. They don't touch, not yet. Maybe tonight, after a few drinks, they will. Maybe then he'll work up the courage to brush against her hand. Her leg. Her mouth. Or maybe not. Gryffindor courage turns out to good at slaying monsters and not so good at facing down girls.

Or maybe she's more frightening than any monster. She rather likes that idea. She fancies the image of herself as fierce, as intimidating, as un-cowable. It's a lot nicer than the actual memories of herself as the girl who didn't fight back. History exists to be rewritten.

She swings her feet and thinks about the past and one shoe falls off. It hits the water with a splash. She lets out a gasp, then a laugh as the pink of her trainer tumbles away in the grey water. It's a dot of color moving further and further and neither of them think to grab their wands until it's almost out of sight.

"I could -" Harry starts to say.

"Carry me back?" she says. She stands up. "How positively chivalrous, Potter. How fucking quaint."

She waits for him to scoop her up.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N – Thank you to pansypparkinson for the prompt.