The knocks pull her out of her sleep like a hand pulling her from the destructive gravity of the deep ocean. When she wakes up with a start, for a few seconds she can't move at all. She feels the perpetual gravity, weighing her down as if her insides were solidified with lead. She tries to breathe steadily while the knocks continue. Anxiety grips her until a familiar voice calls her name.
"Pansy!"
She knows this voice, though the urgency in it is rare. She moves her tongue inside her parched mouth. She looks sideways at her bedside table and finds a glass of water. She's almost ecstatic when she is able to move her hand to grab it. She downs the liquid, sloshes its contents in her mouth.
"Pansy, it's me!"
He shouldn't be here, but nonetheless, Blaise Zabini's voice manages to calm her enough to allow a few languid breaths.
"Coming!" she answers as she carefully gets out of the duvet, afraid she might fall with any misstep. Out of her bedroom, all the lights are on. She never does this, and in her clouded state it doesn't occur to her that Harry might have done that so she wouldn't fall over, or feel trapped if she gets out of the room in a daze.
She opens the door and keeps her hold tightened on the handle to retain her gravity.
"Blaise?"
"Blaise," he answers smugly, before pushing the door wider and then pulling her in a tight, inescapable embrace. She returns her pressure, grateful, but still his presence feels a little too unnatural, even though it might be argued since the day has gone undoubtedly unnatural for her. When he pulls back, she narrows her eyes.
"He told you?"
He stares at her in confusion. "Who told me what?"
By this time she's acclimatized to the surroundings slightly better, and recoils a little. She hasn't told him about Harry as she'd promised. She dodges the question. "Why and how are you here?"
" Why? because I know you had a visiting appointment today. And how? - well, I followed you."
"Zabini -"
"Once. Just to know you're safe wherever you are. And also to hide my stash of cocaine in an unsuspecting place."
Pansy stares at him in suspicion.
He laughs. "I'm joking. Merlin. Where's your humor?"
She rolls her eyes, closing the door with a swish of her hands. "I nearly kissed a dementor today… bit low on humor. Apologies."
"Oh. Fuck. C'mere." He offers his hand again. With a sigh, she takes it. He pulls her in for another of his infamous hugs. Blaise Zabini was a cold, savvy bastard who could milk a wizard out of his inheritance with a smile on his face, but Merlin, he knew how to show affection better than any of them. Pansy is smeared with his metallic smell when he lets go. He kisses her head before ushering her to sit down on her couch and moving to the kitchen.
"Do you know how my mother is?" she asks.
The sight of Blaise Zabini in her kitchen, with his hands around his waist as if he was preparing to duel in riddles with a Sphinx was unnerving as much as it was endearing. He doesn't look up as he answers, "I checked up on her before coming here. She's alright. She asked me to give her thanks to you."
"Oh. Thanks received."
He snorts. "I'll let her know when I see her in another year. Gosh, she's such a handful."
She watches him fumbling around her shelves before pulling out his wand and swishing it in three precise movements. A minute later, he comes back with a mug of steaming hot chocolate.
She takes the glass without a word, but her cheeks are blazing red. It takes her a few seconds before she can speak.
"You didn't know today was a visiting day. I didn't know today was a visiting day."
He's sitting beside her now. "No. I didn't."
"Did you know my address or did he tell you?"
"I knew your address." He puts an arm around her shoulder. "Just didn't want to shock you."
She takes a sip. It's a little bitter than what Harry had made for her, but thinking about that makes her throat constrict painfully. She screws her eyes shut and takes another sip.
"I won't interrogate you," he says softly.
"Good. I don't think I can handle one right now."
"But I have to ask this. Because I know how particular you're about these stuffs - and I don't want to put it cruedly but… are you two fucking?"
"That's crude, Zabini."
"I said I don't want to." He rolls his eyes. "Are you?"
"No."
"But you want to."
A pause. Then scoff. "Of course not."
"Of course not," he mocks her. The smile in his voice makes her calmer.
"So you're not mad at me?"
"Not really. I didn't believe you in the first place when you promised me."
"Ugh. That's very comforting."
He laughs. "Not like that, you big moron. It's just that you can't help yourself. You were always secretive about these stuffs. And possessive, too. Thank fuck you didn't end up dating Draco permanently. Our trio couldn't have handled that much."
"That's not very comforting either." She sighs. "But you're right, I guess. I'm pathological in romantic relationships."
"Aha! So you are having a romance with Golden Boy."
"You said you won't interrogate."
"I can't help myself either."
She puts the mug down on the table rather forcefully. "Whatever. It's over. I made him hate me. Congratulations to me."
He asks in a voice that makes her think he's going to unhear anything she says. "What did you do?" he asks.
She is sure Blaise is wrong in whatever assumption he's holding on. Because she did make Harry loathe her, she doubts he will ever forgive or trust her. Which is good, brilliant even. Which means she never has to deal with anything regarding him again. And now she needs to sleep to get rid of the cold spot of her chest this realisation brings. She needs to forget. Yes. She would very much like to forget about Harry Potter and whatever the fuck she had with him. He was too different from her anyway. Hewas open, even with his facade - his eyes never had that sneaky, calculated expression she's long seen with people on her side of the line. She would never have known what to do with that, or his hands that always wanted to hold her. She wouldn't have known how to navigate her rationality with him. It's better to forget him altogether. She is very much capable of that. She can -
"What's going on inside your head?"
She looks up, sees the dark face of her friend heavy with such surprising concern that she does something stupid. She places her hand on his cheek and moves up to kiss him on the lips. He smells of the same brand of cigar her father used to smoke. She remembers him gifting a case of it to Blaise when he turned seventeen. Remembers the three of them smoking those cigarettes together. And that's the final string. She presses her lips to his more forcefully, trying to drown in the familiar bitter scent. Blaise is familiar. Blaise knows all her secrets, things she regrets, things she would do again if she had a chance. When he doesn't reciprocate, she puts another hand on his shoulder to bring him closer. His hands cup her cheeks and softly, carefully, pulls her apart.
"Pansy, no."
She tries to move closer, but his eyes are set sober. Determined.
"Why not?" she huffs. "We've done it before."
"Yeah. When we were eighteen. When I wanted to find out my sexuality."
"But -"
"We're not eighteen anymore. I know who I am and who I want. And, as much as I love you, you're not it."
She doesn't even have enough energy to get mad. She drops her hands. She says flatly, "I nearly kissed a dementor, hurt the guy I like and this is what you do to me today?"
" Yes . Because you don't want to do that."
"You don't know that."
He smiles and presses a kiss to her temple. "But I do. You want it to be Potter, and if you do this now, you'll just hate yourself harder tomorrow. You are pathological about that as well."
She contemplates on getting up to her room and closing the door on this irritating human. But he's telling the truth. But he's all she has left at the moment. She's already been handled like a helpless kneazle by two different guys today, it might as well be three at this point. So she swallows her pride and scoots down to rest her head on his knees. She pulls up her legs as he runs his fingers through his hair.
"It doesn't matter. He hates me."
Blaise chuckles. "He doesn't hate you. He wandered around half of London trying to find me and then fucking ordered me to come to you because you said you don't want him near. He has the violent opposite of hatred for you. I actually think he might be in lo-"
"Shut up, Blaise."
Thankfully, he does.
But the sentence he did not finish stirs something deep inside her. She feels the pull of gravity again. Deep and fearful ocean. She feels as if an angry kraken has trapped her inside it's stomach. She feels her heartbeat mingle with the monster's, loud and obnoxious.
"It's okay to want him, Pandora," Blaise says softly after a long while. She clutches him tighter.
"We're not all bad people. We just come from different places. Different places require different pieces of you. You chomp off some good parts, you make do with some bad ones. Everyone's like that. And I know you've done rotten things. So have I. But wasn't the whole point of living in this place, declining our offers of helping you is that you want to be different? That you wanted something other than what your place in our world offered you? I know he's different from all of us, but it's still okay. It's permissible."
Pansy turns his words over her head, she so desperately wants to believe them. "You said you didn't like that I was too invested."
"I don't. But that's my problem. I don't like to be invested in anything that isn't synonymous with assured financial prospects. And speaking of, I told the same thing to Draco, and now look at where he is."
"Utterly and completely terrified that Granger's going to leave him when their relationship hits the first roadblock?"
Blaise chuckles. "Oh you are in a good mood today. I was talking about how happy he looks."
"The happier he is now, the harder it's going to break him."
"Well, I don't think easy was the choice in either of their minds when they chose this." Blaise shrugs. "The rest - well, I don't know. We'll see."
We'll see. What a careless thing to say. We'll see if we destroy one another. We'll see if it can evolve into something worthwhile. We'll sit and watch while Rome burns.
"It's too much, Blaise. We drag too much with our names and the way we are. I have too much baggage for a real relationship with anyone, let alone him."
Blaise runs his fingers through her hair. "That's ridiculous. You also have great tits."
She snorts despite herself.
"Not kidding." He laughs. "Best I've seen. Better than Draco's."
She almost topples with laughter. When she stops, she says, "I don't know what's right and what's devastatingly wrong for me. Who let us grow up and make such decisions?"
"It's better making wrong decisions yourself than listening to your mom, " he says. "We never tell you, Pandora, but we are proud of you for breaking free of her."
"She is my mother. I'm never going to be free of her, Blaise."
"Well. Free-er , then."
"What if that isn't a good thing?"
He doesn't answer for a moment. Pansy doesn't say anything else either. Draco and Blaise know better than anyone that snarky as she was, she had never been rebellious. None of them are, not truly. They always tiptoe around the edge of freedom, it's like freefall with ropes, not really a freefall, not really anything else.
"It seems none of us know what to do with life, then," her friend says, "but you're only twenty one. Take a chance."
"What if I ruin him too?"
"You have to let him make his own decisions, don't you? When he came to find me today… I don't know. I just don't think ignoring what you feel for him is going to be as fruitful as you want it to be. I don't think safe is a good option for either of you."
"So… we'll see? "
"Yeah, why not? I don't know shit about the right way of living, you of all people know this." He rests his palm on her hair. "But this isn't it."
She sighs. "While we are on the topic of shit way of living… you reek of cocaine."
He doesn't answer.
"We all need to grow up, Blaise. You need to find a real purpose."
"Bless my heart." He chuckles.
"You know, Tristan knows a -"
"Fuck no. I'd rather shoot unadulterated Doxie powder up my nose than be associated with that fucking prick."
Pansy snorts. "Do you know he tried to make Harry think that we dated?"
" God , what a prick. What a monumental waste of air."
After she stops laughing, she says earnestly, "Then I'll find someone else. Will you promise me you'll try?"
His voice is sincere enough to bring some sort of relief to her. "Alright."
She nods, even though she knows he won't. She promises herself she will bring it up again, when she herself isn't so drained. She still feels the empty in her heart where the dementors left their mark. A hollow dent, but it isn't as sharp as it was a few hours ago.
"Will you sleep with me tonight?" she asks quietly.
When she feels him lift his hand off of her, she hastily elucidates, "Not - not like that . When we were kids we used to have one night a month. Before you went off to Serbia for five years. We used to -"
"Build tents my mum used to enchante to make it a five bedroom apartment? I remember."
"We still slept on the same bed though."
"Yeah. Good times."
"I'm just really really cold. The dementors are - I don't even know the words to describe them. Maybe they are the creatures that torture souls for eternity down there in hell. It's so twisted but - but when one of them was so close to me, it even felt comforting, like, if I drowned in it, I wouldn't have to feel another thing. But now that I'm here - it's like being brought back from death. I can't - I feel disconcerted. I - maybe I need someone to just be around me so I can remind myself I'm alive."
She feels him squeeze her into his warmth. She breathes in the flowery, metallic smell of him and closes her eyes. She already knows his answer.
"Of course I will, Pansy."
"Sure Draco's not here?" Pansy straightens her perfectly ironed dress. She can't help it, her hands pull up and smooth her hair reflexively. She keeps biting her lower lip until Blaise snaps his thumb and snaps her out of her daze.
"Positive. He's with Granger at a mind healer's office. They have an appointment every month. It's their day off."
"Are you sure it's today or -"
"Shut up, Parkinson."
She does, and also does her best to ignore the small, invisible insect behind her neck. She received the letter two days ago, bidding to come to the office of Regulation of Muggleborn Welfare and pay her fine for uttering the unutterable, banned word four fifty-one - Mudblood. She slapped herself twice, literally, and then told Blaise to slap her as well. After all the visits her mother had to make for the same reason, she believed she knew better.
Apparently not.
So now they wait on the chairs before the office, feeling the smirkish gaze of everyone passing them. She kept apologizing to Blaise for dragging him into the scene as well, until he threatened her that he would leave if she utters another single word.
So they wait. She's sure Agatha Higgins is doing this purposely. They have been sitting for almost two hours and not a single soul has entered the room. Sitting and waiting in lukewarm embarrassment, she figures maybe they deserve it as well. The law took quite a few months to be acclimatized, but after a few very public fines from a few extremely powerful people, the banned words are rarely uttered. At least, they are never heard at the gatherings she was accustomed to hear them before.
The door opens, and the pointy face of the witch eyes them with an expression of general disdain that seems to have been perfected over a period of time.
"Come in," she says in a thin voice.
Pansy sits down in front of the table with Blaise. The office would be spacious if not for the thousand of files crammed at the shelves surrounding them. For the hundredth time, Pansy feels awe at the muggles and their computers. She sighs gratefully when he slides his hand under the table and holds hers.
"Pansy Claire Parkinson," the witch says, not looking at her.
"Yes."
Agatha eyes the file up and down, which should be an act. This is definitely Pansy's first offense, even though she has been in Blaise's position, promising on her mother's good nature. It occurs to her then that maybe all that is in her file as well, along with her father's offense.
She tries her best to look nonchalant.
"So, you are here to pay the fine for saying forbidden word four fifty-one, am I correct?"
"Correct."
"This is a routine questioning, so please do not take anything personally from this point."
"Alright."
"Were you not aware that the word you were speaking is forbidden under section three forty two of the newly revised Indecent Demeanor?"
"I was aware."
"Why did you speak it, then?"
"I was under a heavy mind easing potion. I must have -"
"Spoken what is truly in your heart?"
"Misspoke."
She purses her lips in a condescending smile. "Of course. And can someone attest to that?"
"I can," Blaise speaks for the first time. Pansy is again surprised at his cool tone that never seems to stutter. He always seems so articulate, it throws other people out of their balance.
Agatha Higgins seems to straighten up as she looks at him. "And you are?"
"Zabini, Blaise."
"How can you attest to what Miss Parkinson said?"
"I was there with her. She was very unstable and spoke gibberish. She must have said it in her confusion."
" Hmm. " She scratches something in her parchment. Pansy wills herself not to care.
"Can you guarantee, Miss Parkinson, that you bear no ill will for all the muggleborn witches and wizards among us?"
"I can guarantee that."
"Can anyone else guarantee?"
Blaise begins to speak up but the woman shrugs dismissively. "Someone else. You do understand our point of view, right? With your background we have to be... extra careful."
She squeezes Blaise's hand to warn him to not do anything brash. Then she takes out the recommendation letter from Harriet. She hands it without another word. Higgins reads it, once, twice, before pursing her lips in another sour smile.
"Harriet Antigone. I know her. Charming lady."
Pansy only nods.
She taps her fingers on the parchment. "Our charm picked up this... incident at an unusual place. Surrey."
Pansy's heart twists uncomfortably.
"What were you doing there?"
She takes a moment to consider, then says, "I don't have to tell you that, do I?"
Agatha Higgins looks as though she might bark, but at the last moment retains posture. "Alright. You are free to go, Miss Parkinson. You will be fined twenty galleons and this incident will be in your already interesting memo. I hope you know better to not repeat this… accident."
"Thank you." She gets up, pulls Blaise before he says anything else. But just as they are getting out of the door the woman speaks again.
"My grandfather was a muggleborn, you know."
Pansy sighs and turns back. She doesn't have any response to that. No one has any response to that.
"He used to say that they had separate compartments for them on the train to Hogwarts at that time. The school committee didn't want purebloods to be… bothered by their presence."
"We are sorry to hear that," Blaise answers. "We weren't there at that time."
"No." The woman smiles. "You are here now. Paying fines for the same word your ancestors said with impunity."
Pansy feels her cheeks go ablaze. Without another word, she pulls Blaise and herself away from the office. The woman is right. And Pansy isn't wrong. In the world they are born in, these affairs coexist quite distractingly.
They don't speak for a few minutes after they are out. With Blaise looking ahead in cold posture while Pansy tries to hide her embarrassment. After they are out of the corridor of Agatha Higgins office, he says, "So, you are going to talk to him?"
"Yeah." She looks up to find his eyes set on her with the careless softness specific to him. "I just don't know where I can find -"
" Pansy? "
She almost jumps with surprise. Almost laughs with cold relief. She doesn't know if the gods hate her or not, but they do have a sense of humor when it comes to playing tricks on her.
"I can't believe it." Blaise chuckles. "I guess some things are meant to be."
Meant to be. What a foolish string of words. Every encounter they have or will ever have are mere chances. One stacked upon another. If the road you were going to take is blocked because someone ran someone else over with a car. If you are late for an appointment because the person standing in front of you in takeaway is a goddamn idiot who can't choose what she wants.
If you miss your usual eight thirty appointment to your healer and take the nine thirty one because some idiot fellow trainee thinks it's a good idea to drink before training and makes a massacre of your seemingly uneventful day.
But as she turns back, reeling from the surprise and the relief, she can't help but believe a little in destiny, can't help the smile in her eyes, can't help the flex in her fingers that want to smooth that messy dark hair.
"Hi," she says.
He looks just as surprised as she. But his lips curve into a smile as well. And she doesn't know if that means he will forgive her or if it's just plain chivalry. It doesn't matter. It feels good to see him smiling.
"Hey," he replies.
"I'll be leaving," Blaise interrupts. He slides a hand around her waist to kiss the side of her head as Pansy rolls her eyes.
To Harry he says, "Always a pleasure to meet you, Potter."
"Likewise."
When he disapparates, and the air is just a little tinged with awkwardness, Pansy hesitates a moment before saying, "Can we talk?"
He eyes her with the look of a newly rejuvenated man. The rest of the universe is blurred as he steps closer and she can have a good look at his so familiar eyes. "Of course."