The subway train moves through the night like a snake slithering across a vast land. The quivering, mechanic buzz of the engine sounds like a hum from some distant edge. Sitting inside a mostly empty compartment, Pansy Parkinson feels as if she's being swallowed whole by the replitilan nightmare. Her thoughts crumble around like biscuits until she only feels its low, soothing hum.
She feels calm enough to almost fall asleep.
But tiredness keeps her awake. Her hands ache, from the shoulder joint up to her fingers she can feel the dull pain of Doxie venom. The pain working in rhythm with slow bouts suddenly at a high.
She shivers a little and coils in her seat. It's colder than she predicted before walking out of St. Mungo's. Out of the corner of her eyes, she can see the muggle couple dozing silently. She wonders if they are asleep enough so she could take out her wand and put a warming charm on her clothes.
The train moves swiftly, impassive to her trouble. After a few moments of careful contemplation, Pansy watches the train coming to a stop. She huffs in relief when the sleeping couple stir up. They giggle between themselves as they get up, giving an embarrassed smile in Pansy's direction when they find her looking. She smiles in return.
She's almost certain they're newly in love, smiling privately at the awkwardness of their holding hands, at the unsteady, uncertain rhythm they have as they walk to the door.
Pansy has her hand on the back of her wand, nestled in one of the many pockets of her jumper, as the door slides open, subconsciously repeating the words of the charm. She takes it out halfway as the boy and the girl fumble out of the door.
But then. Then someone else comes in, eyeing the couple as well. Pansy is so shocked to see this face, this very familiar face that her hand instinctively relaxes from the handle. Her wand falls from under her jacket, making a piercing, clattering sound in the silent compartment.
His eyes dart away from the couple at once and now he notices her. His eyes are wide with wonder for a second before Pansy looks away, her cheeks blazing, and hastily picks up her wand. She hears the soft sound of the doors sliding to close. Sees him taking the seat where the couple sat before from the corner of her eye.
Harry Potter.
Not that she doesn't see him usually. Even if she counts out the times his shiny, victorious face peers out from the Daily Prophet; as an auror trainee, he certainly has his share of visits to St. Mungo's. More than his share, she could say. And even though she doesn't work in the general ward, she sees him, coming and going.
But he isn't supposed to be here. At midnight. In the subway. At muggle London wearing muggle clothes.
So isn't she.
She wishes she wore better clothes.
It is a silly thought, but it's true. She doesn't care, not really, what her old classmate would think of her, she just wishes she would look a little more put together. Just because.
Maybe it's part of the old Pansy Parkinson ghosting in her head, but she doesn't let that train of thoughts to run. She straightens her green, woolen jumper, casts a warming charm over her clothes - the leather skirt and her top, and sits more straight.
The train has begun to move swiftly again.
The soothing hum sounds foreboding now. She can't help the beads of sweat forming on her hairline. She feels an uneasy pull at the back of her neck, she wonders if she is being paranoid for no reason or is he really staring? She wants to glance back and see if he is… but if he wasn't then she would just make this awkward.
More than it already is.
On paper Harry Potter seems victorious, like he'd just defeated the dark lord and had spare time in his hands to do his hair. He looks attractive and not just as a view. He radiates confidence. Surety, a sense of belonging. A mocking parade of everything Pansy lacks. Outside of paper, she can picture him brilliant still, like he did a year ago, on the terrace of the hotel the ministry booked for the annual celebration of the battle of Hogwarts. His eyes like a bright green rebellion on all things normal. Pansy remembers smiling at the unruliness of his jet-black hair.
But now.
Pansy wants to glance back and see if he really looked as worn out as she thought in the first place. Granted, she only had one look. And also granted that Rita Skeeter didn't care much for the realistic approach of events and/or people. Pansy should know. Rita wrote a book after the war on all the death eaters and their families. The Parkinsons had a small but damningly salacious section in that book.
So of course Harry Potter didn't look like he'd been to a salon recently. But still, when she'd notice him coming and going from St.Mungo's, there was this charm about him, around him, he just looked so good. And easy. But Pansy thought he looked ill, when she saw him eyeing the couple, then her. His eyes seemed hollowed out of sleep, and the way he jumped from the sound her wand made, it was agitation beyond normalcy. Probably anxiety. Or maybe something akin to the aftereffect of a sleeping draught. Or maybe -
Pansy drops her head in her palms and breathes deeply. It doesn't matter. At all. It can be a million things and none of them should concern her.
She hears an awkward cough from the back. Not really a cough. Maybe the sound of an actual word lodged too long in someone's throat. She wants to look back. She doesn't look back.
It's funny how time seems to forget her pace when all it has to do is pass. It takes eons, she thinks, to get to her stop. The train goes on and on and -
Finally.
She almost jumps when the train slows down. She tries to move as quietly as she could, not to stir at any undue conversation. It's gotten colder again since she put on her warming charm. Her breaths form shaky, white prints before her. She remembers how his glasses stayed fogged up from the cold that night.
Pansy doesn't want to let that train of thoughts to run either.
She's walking out of the door and out of the corner of her eyes she sees him standing up. She turns, quizzical, could the gods really be that mad at her? Could he be getting off here too?
But no. Even as she stops, he's just standing there, skinner than she remembers, tall and sombre. But not calm. Not really. There's always some rigidity to him. Something impetuous. Pansy waits for him to say something, do something, or fuck off. But he seems so unsure what to do now. He has his hand in his pocket, another one smoothing down his hair. His skin looks waxy, almost ill. Pansy tries to glue her eyes to his face and not make it obvious that she desperately, desperately wants to look all over. See all the changes.
The train's almost stopping.
"Hey," he says finally, his voice chafed and awkward.
She was right. His eyes beneath his glasses are sunken into two identical crests. Eclipsed.
"Hey," she replies.
"I didn't - well, I didn't expect to find you here."
"Neither did I."
The train stops. Pansy takes a short breath as the door slides open and she gets out. He's still glued to his spot, watching her. Just before the door shuts close, she hears him say, "I guess I'll be seeing you."
Pansy narrows her eyes in confusion. No you won't, she wants to say, but the door is already closed. She stays on her spot and watches the giant mechanical leviathan slide away from her, feeling suddenly embarrassingly empty.
She tells herself that it is absolutely, empirically none of her business to know what is up with him, if he was just being chivalrous or was there a hint of sincerity in his voice, but she wants to know what is up with him. She wants to prick at her memory and listen to that sticky longing in his voice. Wants to be sure if something from that night still remains outside her head.
The train is out of her vision, and all that remains of him is a blurry polaroid in her head, focusing on his eyes, bright and lonely green eyes. Now sunken. Tired.
Pansy should not let that train of thoughts loose, but they're already running wild.
She tells herself that she should not care how he is, but she does.
She tells herself not to wonder where he's going, but she wonders.
this is my first hansy fic... i honestly think they have so much potential and there just aren't enough fics out here to satisfy my angst need so.
hope you like it!!