It had been a month.

One month.

Four weeks.

35 days, actually. More than a month. Not that she'd been counting or anything. But it had been good sex – fantastic sex, who was she kidding – and she was desperate for it. She could admit that much.

To herself at least.

They'd started out their month apart the same way they'd started their – relationship? time together? – by owling. But something had changed two weeks ago when he was supposed to have a few days free in between trips. She couldn't explain what it was or how she knew, but something had changed.

"So he stopped owling?" Daphne asked over drinks when Pansy foolishly had too many glasses of wine and let it slip that things were different.

"Well," she twirled her glass slightly. "It's not that exactly."

"So he is owling?" Blaise's deep voice muttered from where he lounged on the chaise.

"It's just different," Pansy snapped. "I can always tell -"

"Yes, love, we know," Daphne said soothingly.

"Just a change in the winds," Blaise said at the same time with a roll of his eyes.

"Sorry," Pansy sat up straighter. "Have I been wrong?"

"Well, we've never met any of the blokes, to be fair," Daphne met Blaise's gaze.

"That Muggle, you remember, the one who said he'd like to bend me over his sofa," Pansy continued on haughtily, ignoring them. "Whatever his bloody name was. We had sex only once the last time I saw him and I told you, I bloody knew -"

"He did ask to see you again –"

"Weeks later," Pansy laughed cruelly. "Was I supposed to wait around?"

"Peter," Blaise muttered.

"Sorry?" Pansy's dark eyes cut to him.

"His name was Peter," Blaise shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Was it?" Pansy leaned back on the couch, uncrossing her legs and dusting off invisible lint from her lap. "Well."

Daphne glared at Blaise before clearing her throat, "Well, maybe this will be the single time you're wrong, Pansy."

Pansy knew Daphne was only trying to be helpful and optimistic like she always was, but Pansy knew. Pansy always knew. "Hmm, yes. Maybe."

Pansy was never wrong.

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"And why does this bother you so much?"

Pansy crossed her feet together under her chair to keep from tapping her foot impatiently on the floor. "Because I finally found a man I didn't hate," Pansy's gaze was directed to the left of her Muggle therapist's head. Avoiding eye contact made it easier to stay angry. Anger was safe.

"Last week you admitted you liked him," the woman raised an eyebrow.

"Well last week we still had plans to see each other," Pansy snapped. "Last week I still thought we'd fuck again."

"Pansy," the therapist sighed. "You've done such tremendous work –"

Pansy's eyes snapped to the woman, "And what has that vulnerability gotten me? Hurt. Embarrassed. Sad. Over what? A bloody man. A man I don't want, a man I don't need –"

"A man who understood you," the therapist interrupted gently and Pansy tore her eyes away again to keep from tearing up. "A man who made you feel safe –"

"A lot of good that did," Pansy chuckled darkly. "I would have fucked him anyway. He didn't need to," she trailed off, blinking rapidly.

"Being vulnerable is hard."

"Being vulnerable is stupid," Pansy corrected her.

"Can you reframe that?" The therapist sighed, exasperated.

"People are stupid for being vulnerable," Pansy said icily. "Just gets them hurt."

"I know you don't like being hurt –"

"I'm not hurt," Pansy scoffed. "I'm angry."

"But I'd like to think that being vulnerable can lead to some pretty wonderful things."

Pansy rolled her eyes, but she knew she wasn't doing a good job of convincing her therapist. The woman knew her too well. "Doesn't seem worth it," Pansy shrugged and uncharacteristically slouched into her chair.

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"He didn't fuck me," Pansy pushed her way through the door, a blustery wind behind her. "That bloody, bumbling, bastard took me for drinks and didn't fuck me," she seethed and walked straight to the drinks cart.

"Pansy," Blaise muttered, his mouth agape as he shut his front door. "We have –"

"Guests," Theo finished and waved at her with his tumbler of what Pansy could only assume was incredibly expensive scotch. She raised her own glass back at him and threw back the finger of whisky she had poured for herself.

"Who, um," Pansy turned to see Draco clearing his throat from a couch. "Who wouldn't fuck you, Pans?"

Pansy ignored him and took off her coat and scarf, wandlessly sending them to the front hall closet. "Is there wine or must I suffer through more whisky?"

"Won't tell us who her mystery man is –"

"He's not mine," Pansy's eyes flashed and she poured herself more whisky. "Not after that display today –"

"Didn't fuck you, you said?" Harry Potter's voice was easily recognizable and Pansy's gaze was drawn to him.

"Sorry, Potter, if my foul language –"

"Just trying to get my facts straight," he shrugged, but his cheeks were dusted pink.

"Really, Pans," Blaise led her to an empty chair. "Not fucking you –"

"It's been a month," she seethed, her teeth clamped together. "He hasn't seen me in a month and didn't so much as kiss me."

She was met with silence.

"Well, it's only one time, surely –"

"We really don't need to know your private –"

"We've fucked every time we've seen each other," Pansy replied cooly, crossing her legs and sitting impossibly straight, in her chair. "Multiple times."

"He's a wizard?" Theo asked.

"Yes," Blaise answered for her. "That's about all we know."

"How many is multiple?" Theo asked, leaning forward in his seat.

"Three or more every time," Blaise answered again as Pansy raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her whisky.

Theo let out a low whistle, "So he's using Potions?"

"No," Pansy said simply, her red lips turned up in a smirk when she saw Potter's mouth fall open.

"No wonder you're angry," Draco shook his head. "Sounds bloody perfect for you."

"Well he's royally fucked it up," Pansy shot back. "Why bother taking me for drinks if he didn't want to fuck?"

"Because he likes you?" Harry shrugged, chuckling slightly. When no one made a sound he glanced around the room. "What?"

"Potter," Pansy over-enunciated her words. "I said he didn't fuck me."

"Yes," Harry nodded, confused.

"So he clearly doesn't like me," Pansy tilted her head to stare at the lone lion in a den of vipers.

"Did he say that?" Harry asked. "How did he leave it?"

"Not having fucked me," Pansy scoffed. "What don't you understand?" She looked at Draco, "You're married to a Gryffindor. Do you understand what he's saying?"

Draco cleared his throat and Pansy was surprised to see that he looked nervous. "What Potter means is that maybe this mystery man likes you. Beyond just sex."

A laugh burst from Pansy's lips, "Well of course he does, Potter. Or did, rather." She glared at Blaise, "I told you something changed."

"But not having sex one time –"

"Why would we bother meeting up if we weren't going to, oh, that's it," Pansy threw back the rest of her whisky and stood up. "You straight men are impossible." She pointed at Blaise, "Next time tell me when you have these dunces over. No offense, Potter." And without another word Pansy gathered her things and left.

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"He's still owling me," Pansy scoffed when Daphne sat down across the table from her. "Can you believe it?"

Daphne tilted her head slightly but chose (wisely) not to say anything and instead took a sip of her wine.

"Won't fuck me, but will continue to owl me," Pansy shook her head slightly and brushed her hair away from her face. "The bloody audacity."

"Have you owled back?" Daphne asked gently.

"That's besides the point," Pansy said quickly and sipped her wine again. "He's made no plans to meet up, won't fuck me, but owls me."

"What about?" Daphne asked. "Is he not away traveling again?"

"Up north," Pansy rolled her eyes. "He's treating me like I'm a bloody thera – mind Healer. They always do now, since," Pansy pressed her lips together tightly and stared at the tabletop.

Daphne placed a hand over top of Pansy's, "You've grown so much since, you know."

"I know," Pansy agreed. "I bloody know."

"Your progress is impressive and soon enough they'll be someone –"

"I thought this was the someone, Daph. I thought," she trailed off again and shook her head. "Doesn't matter what I thought. None of it matters. We were together a month. Only a bloody month." She took a longer sip of wine.

"You're allowed to be sad," Daphne offered. "We've all been sad over –"

"No," Pansy said firmly. "And no more talk of this," she sat up straighter and waved at someone over Daphne's head.

"No more talk of what?" Hermione asked with a smile as she sat down.

"Wasn't Ginevra coming with you?" Pansy asked, ignoring Hermione's question.

"She'll be by later," Hermione replied before turning to Daphne. "Is this about our Pansy's mystery man?"

"Bloody Draco," Pansy muttered. "He's not mine."

"He's still owling her," Daphne said to Hermione. "She thinks he's changed his mind about her –"

"I know he's changed his mind," Pansy corrected her.

"But he's writing you. While he's traveling," Hermione said and Pansy could see the gears turning in her head.

"Men don't write you if they aren't interested," Daphne agreed.

"They do if they treat you like a mind Healer," Pansy grumbled.

"You are a very good listener, "Hermione agreed. "And you give out great advice –"

"Of course I do –"

"But I don't think that's all of it," Hermione continued.

"Well it doesn't matter," Pansy said firmly. "Because I'm done." She felt their eyes on her but ignored them.

"I don't think this is done," Hermione shook her head. "I don't think you've seen the last of him."

"Agree to disagree," Pansy sniffed.

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"You could be honest with him and tell him what you need," Margot said as she rifled through the coats on the rack.

"And be even more vulnerable?" Pansy raised an eyebrow at her business partner. "Because that worked out so well for me, did it?"

"What's the big deal? You can ask him to meet up and no one has to know. You could even forget about it yourself later on," Margot shrugged. "Being a Muggle is great. I love texting."

Pansy hummed in thought before admitting, "I have asked to meet up. I even asked if things had changed before, you know."

"And?" Margot tucked some of her honey-brown hair behind her ears.

"He said things hadn't changed," Pansy deflated slightly. "That he wanted to see me, but."

"But no fucking," Margot finished for her. "And he liked to fuck as much as you too."

"Finally," Pansy sighed. "Someone finally didn't make me feel terrible about it. Wanted to fuck as much as I do."

"I'm sorry, love," Margot put a hand gently on her arm. "What does your therapist say?"

"That I should reframe," Pansy rolled her eyes. "Bloody woman."

"You could always write to him and explain that you were disappointed that you didn't –"

Pansy squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment. "I did. He said he hadn't realized that was the first time we hadn't," Pansy sighed.

"And he's been traveling since?"

"Hmm," Pansy agreed. "Said he's been working through something. But won't go into much detail. But doesn't seem to understand why he's feeling off."

"And treating you a bit like a therapist," Margot added.

"I'm not his girlfriend. We never, you know, talked about what we are. We were together a month –"

"And apart for a month," Margot frowned. "Bloody wanker." Pansy let out a surprised laugh as Margot continued to disparage Neville Longbottom.

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"The bloody wanker has been back in town for weeks," Pansy threw her coat and bag on her therapist's couch and began to pace.

"You're a bit early," she started.

Pansy waved her hand, "Charge me double, add your lunch to the bill, I don't care. He's been back in town for weeks and hasn't asked to see me." She tapped her darkly-painted fingernails against her bright red lips as she continued to pace.

"You told him you wanted some boundaries after –"

"After we didn't fuck, yes," Pansy's hands moved to her hips. "To protect myself," she whipped her head around to stare directly at the woman. "To protect my growth. So what happened with," she trailed off and pulled her gaze away from her therapist.

"Do you want to talk –"

"No," Pansy's voice was controlled and icy. "We are done talking or thinking about him. The original prick is dead as far as I'm concerned and has no bearing on me or my future."

The therapist hummed in agreement and watched Pansy for a moment before saying, "Maybe he was just respecting your wishes while he was figuring things out. Like you asked him to."

Pansy sat down and closed her eyes for a moment. "He's mates with people I know," her voice was low. "He came to drinks. Someone mentioned the dinner they'd had with him."

The therapist tilted her head and frowned slightly, "Why didn't you mention you knew him before? I take it he knew you at school?"

"Yes," Pansy nodded, closing her eyes. "He was friends with the other group, not mine. I didn't tell anyone in case it inevitably failed."

"You can't assume all your romantic relationships will be a failure –"

"Don't call it a relationship," Pansy's voice was close to a whine. "I can't bear it."

"And this is why you feel you can't tell your friends the full details?" The therapist asked gently. "Because of the things that happened in the past?"

"Yes," Pansy agreed.

"Pansy," the therapist leaned frowned. "Why is this man different?"

Pansy scoffed, "Because the sex and –"

"No," the therapist put up a finger to stop her. "You block men and never remember their names or talk to them again once you decide you're done –"

"Or they decide they're –"

"Pansy," the therapist shook her head. "I agree that you are good at reading people. You know when things change, as you say, but you also never let things change again. You don't give them the opportunity."

"Out of sight, out of mind," Pansy shrugged and pretended to stare at her nails so as not to seem affected.

"But this man is different." The therapist said definitely. "Why?"

Pansy opened her mouth to deny that he was, but floundered for a moment. Why had she allowed herself to be so vulnerable with him? She told him things she only ever told Daphne or Blaise. Or things she'd never told anyone.

"He made me feel safe," Pansy whispered and blinked back tears.

"He saw you," the therapist agreed and Pansy swiped below her eyes quickly. "Even despite your past, he saw you. And that's why it hurts so much. You still have hope."

"Hope is futile," Pansy's voice was soft but firm.

"I'd ask you to reframe," the therapist sighed. "But I think you know what you need to do."

"And if I don't want to?" Pansy stared up at the ceiling.

"Then I think you'll have to let go of that hope," the therapist said gently.

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Pansy had no intention of being early, but she also refrained from being too fashionably late. She wanted him to suffer a little, to make him watch her walk in, but Neville Longbottom was not doing what Pansy wanted him to do lately –

She didn't see his tall frame sitting at the bar or any of the small high top tables and she frowned slightly, turning to walk out the front door when she nearly ran into him as he walked in, his eyes catching hers. He shot her a dazzling smile, "Perfect timing."

Pansy merely raised an eyebrow.

"I won't give him full ice queen," Pansy said to Margot earlier that day. "That's become too difficult a mask to maintain. But he's certainly not getting Pansy form a month ago."

"She's gone," Margot had agreed.

Pansy watched Neville as his smile faltered, his green eyes scanning her face before he put out a hand, "Lead the way."

She led him to a hightop and shrugged off her coat and scarf before he could even think about helping her. Pansy didn't even look at the menu before politely snagging a passing waiter and asking for a whisky. "Heavy on the pour, if you don't mind," she added as an afterthought.

Neville looked even more forlorn when he said, "Just a pint of lager, thanks." The waiter walked away and Pansy glanced around the dimly-lit, small bar, unable to even look at Neville less she say something she regretted. He'd asked her here after all.

"How've ya been?" Neville's voice was soft as though he was approaching a wild animal. That was how most men spoke to Pansy. That's not how Neville used to speak to her.

"Fine, yea," her voice was clipped. "You figured everything out then? Since you asked to meet me here?"

"I'm better yea," Neville nodded, his eyes glued to her face. "I wanted to," he flashed a strained smile at the waiter who set their drinks down. "Thanks. I wanted to explain, but I also wanted to respect your boundaries."

Pansy managed to keep her face composed, to not reveal her surprise. She took a sip of her whisky and gestured for him to continue.

Neville hesitated, his eyes searching hers before he cleared his throat and said, "I saw my ex when I was in Scotland –"

"We didn't have any sort of agreement," Pansy said hurriedly as she tried to remain composed.

"No, I," Neville looked horrified and put both his hands on the table as though reaching for her. "That's not what I —"

"It's okay if you did," Pansy leaned back in her seat, putting distance between them and took a sip of her whisky. "We hadn't –"

"Pansy," Neville cut in again. "Please let me finish? I didn't sleep with her or anyone. Please don't tell me it'd be okay if I had. I didn't want to."

Pansy swallowed.

"I was scared to tell you," Neville continued and watched as Pansy's face fell before she caught herself and snapped her unaffected, old-Pansy mask back in place: men were scared of Pansy but Neville never had been. "Hey," Neville leaned forward. "Don't hide behind there. Don't hide from me."

Pansy's gaze snapped to him and she tried not to relish in the way he sank away from her. "You don't know me, Longbottom. Stop acting like you do. We slept together for a month. We haven't in over a month now. Whatever we had is done."

"Pansy –"

She knocked back the rest of her whisky and stood up, not even bothering to say goodbye.

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A/N: This story will be four chapters. Please review!