Pansy Parkinson (POV)

Yes, it's just Parkinson now; no more double-barreled surname for me. Draco and I finally got divorced, but he's changed; he's a lot less arrogant and a lot more kind and considerate. But there is no way I'm getting back with him.

On a day when Draco had Rhiannon and Draco Jr, I went to see Neville, hoping to have one of our usual conversations. Even after the divorce, I kept a good acquaintance with him – although that has more to do with the fact that I think I love him.

On this particular day, I was in such a good mood; and why not? I may not have been married but I was happier than I ever have been before. I thought nothing of any particular importance as I went to Neville's; my thoughts just an ordinary jumble of everyday things.

I knocked on his door and waited for it to open.

Neville appeared, but for once he didn't seem pleased to see me. I was a little hurt at that; usually he has this adorable smile on his face when he sees me.

"Pansy" he said, his voice quiet and strained. "What are you doing here?"

It wasn't just a regular question; he really meant it.

"Just came to see you" I said uncertainly, wondering what was up with Neville.

"Oh," he said, "Well, can you come back later? I'm a bit busy right now"

"What are you doing?" I asked, suspicion creeping into my voice.

"Nothing … um … I just …"

He pulled the door closed even further and I knew at once he was hiding something.

When he scratched his head absent-mindedly, I pushed the door wide open.

I could see all the way through to his living room, and sitting on his sofa, almost exactly where I'd sat last time I'd been here, was a beautiful brunette and ...

... And her lipstick was smudged.

I backed away in horror from Neville; how could he have done this? Okay, so we weren't engaged or anything, but I thought we had some sort of connection.

"Pansy, it's not what you think!" Neville said urgently.

"So you weren't making out with her, then?" I asked, in a deceptively calm voice.

He was silent. I turned, that was all I needed to hear.

I turned on my heel and stormed away, back to my own home. I truly believed that Neville and I could have had a relationship. Maybe a long-lasting one. But no; some bloody brown haired slut comes along and he forgets about me. Well, fine, I don't need him. I'm on the rebound, which is probably why I found him attractive in the first place. I should have known; he was completely different from me. He'd been a Gryffindor for heaven's sake! How could I have thought I was even in love with him?

That week was a nightmare; every day I received an owl from him, but I didn't want read them so I tore them up and threw them away. He came to my house and knocked incessantly on the door, but I refused to answer it. I didn't want to know what he had to say for himself; I didn't care anymore.

Draco noticed something was wrong when he came to pick the kids up on Saturdays. But he tactfully refrained from asking what was wrong. He really had changed, but I was in no mood to acknowledge it. There was my ex-husband, previously making a mess of his life, now making the most of it. And yet, I seemed to be going backwards. How could it have happened? Why was I in such a mess yet he was back to normal?

Strangely, I was much more miserable about this than I was about the divorce. If only I had asked him out those times I got the opportunity. If I hadn't been so engrossed with the divorce then I might have had a chance.

But actually, now that I think about it, why should I sit here and blame myself when he wasn't exactly a saint? I never did anything wrong; yet I'm the one who's sitting around full of misery, and he's living it up with that woman. It's just typical of me to do this to myself; why don't I go out every night, come home with a different man and live a fulfilled few weeks for a change? But of course, I have two children to think about. I can't just dump them on Draco whenever I feel like it; the way his life is going at the moment, I might not be able to. After all, he seems just as busy as I used to be.

Still, I need some fun in my life. I can't sit here night after night, wallowing in self-pity and bursting into tears every five minutes. In fact I refuse to sit and do that. Tonight, my life would change, I decided resolutely.

So I hopped in a nice, hot shower, felt refreshed when I got out and used that wonderful Muggle invention: the telephone, to call a few of my old friends.

Blaise is first on my list, but the phone rings for ages. They must already have been out. Or just ignoring the phone.

I started to feel defeat settling in, but I straightened up and called a few of my other friends. After ringing five of them and having no luck whatsoever, I gritted my teeth and went upstairs to get dressed. I pulled on my best pair of black trousers and my favourite pink halter-neck top, and Apparated to Diagon Alley.

The place was more crowded than I have ever seen, people milling around everywhere, music spilling from numerous bars and high-pitched laughter from a group near me.

I looked around, trying to spot someone – anyone – I might know. No such luck, unfortunately, but I went into the first bar I came across, hoping I wasn't going to be on my own all night.

At last, something went right. I was standing at the bar, waiting for my drink, when I saw, out the corner of my eyes, someone stand next to me and order a glass of Firewhisky.

I turned my head and looked; he was tall, with black hair and deep dark eyes. Very attractive.

He saw me looking and I felt myself blushing. But I didn't look away.

He introduced himself as Damien Whyte; the name sounded familiar but I couldn't place it. Eventually, we were so acquainted that we moved from bar to bar together; he was so charming, funny and kind. Exactly what I needed.

We spent that night together; it was filled with a passion that I hadn't felt in a long time.

So it went on; most nights I spent with a different guy. And while it was fun when it happened, afterwards, I just felt cheap. But I refused to stop, because I didn't want to stay at home with only my thoughts for company.

It soon became a problem; I had two children to look after. I couldn't let them see me like this, and so I resolved only to go out every other night, when Draco had them. For a while it worked; now that I had something else to do, something which made me feel better, I actually felt good about myself and found that I didn't need to go out every night to feel fulfilled.

The letters from Neville had long since stopped, thank goodness, and I almost forgot about everything that had happened. Then he came to my house one day and it all came flooding back with painful intensity.

"What do you want?" I asked, trying not to slam to door in his face.

He looked dreadful; there were dark shadows under his eyes and his face was pale, from lack of sleep he told me later.

"Just to talk" he said, his voice so quiet I had to strain to hear it.

"Talk?" I asked, taking a deep breath. "Well, you forfeited the right to talk to me when you failed to mention her. I don't really want to talk to you, I'm afraid. Goodbye"

And I did close the door in his face then. He made no move to stop me, and after a while I saw him slowly walk back the way he'd come. I felt bad then; I shouldn't have been so horrid, but I couldn't help it. Did he really expect me to talk to him after everything that had happened? Still, I felt a bit guilty about being so unpleasant to him.

Draco and I are getting on better than we had when we were married. It's strange to see him so … nice. But then, Voldemort being dead must have knocked some sense in him. I could never love him again though; trust is very important to me, and he broke my trust. I can't forget about that. I know it seems stupid to say something like that, but it's true; I can't forgive him for betraying my trust.

Whenever I think about trust and betrayal and – dare I say it? – love, it gets me thinking about Neville. Why? I'm not sure; all I know is that for a while, I had something good going on. And it was ruined, completely, by something that wouldn't have mattered if I hadn't thought I had a chance with Neville. Occasionally, I wonder how we could have just let it go like that, and why I still refuse to talk about it.

But if I dwell on it, I may end up just like I was before; depressed and full of fury. I don't want to go back to that; I can't go back to that.