She makes breakfast the next morning, humming All you need is love by the Beatles. Muggle music is one of the many things she has a newfound fondness to, and this band in particular holds her attention. Something about the preppy, modern tune, something hopeful about their songs.

Harry comes into the kitchen with his hair wet and chapped from the shower. He kisses her on the cheek before sliding past to make coffee. In a minute the place is filled with the delicious smell. Pansy ravishes privately these soft moments of homeliness. When she looks back at him, he's smiling.

"What?" she says.

His smile turns into a suggestive smirk. He glances at the empty table and Pansy rolls her eyes.

"Quit gloating and set the table."

He doesn't move. Instead he picks up a pancake from the plate on the counter and, takes a bite. Even as she watches him chew her mind is on last night, at this very table, playing a very different scenario. Her cheeks go pink at the thought of his hand on her.

And obviously he'a thinking the same thing. After he swallows the bite he wiggles his eyebrows and says, "Well, if everything you serve here is as good then -"

She narrows her eyes. "Keep this up and that is never happening again, Potter."

His godforsaken smirk is printed on his entire face. "Yeah, I don't think you mean that."

Pansy blows at her coffee, trying not to smile.

"You know, I actually think we should try-"

The doorbell rings and he huffs in annoyance.

"Bugger." He glances at the door. "Who could that be?"

"The landlord? Probably about the rent."

He takes another bite of the pancake. "Or maybe a noise complaint. You were exceptionally loud last night, Pans."

She rolls her eyes, already walking towards the door. "You are too confident about yourself, aren't you?"

"You know I'm right!" he calls from behind.

She laughs, her mind is bubbly, light and happy despite the tiredness in her bones. She is thinking of having a quick nap after he leaves for his training, about half an hour, maybe she can -

Her thoughts come to an abrupt halt as she opens the door. She is snatched back to reality with a sharp jolt.

Her mother stands in front of her. Her wizarding robes contrast quite violently against the scene. Pansy blinks in surprise, but she's still there, stiff and very much real.

She opens her mouth to speak, she thinks, or just to close it again, but then Harry's voice floats into the scene.

"Babe?" He puts his arm around her shoulder and she instinctively leans back, even though there are neon signs in her head blinking red and bad idea. She turns to look at him and sees his eyes widening, no doubt registering their very similar faces. Pansy coughs awkwardly, there's no escape from this mess.

"Would you like to come in, mother?" her voice is formal, too formal, too awkward. She coughs again to get rid of the lubberly drawl. What's she doing here? How did she find her?

Her mother looks embarrassed as well, she looks at Pansy as if she doesn't recognize her, as if she somehow ended up in the wrong apartment. As if she is watching a ghost of herself from years ago. But she accepts the offer and steps in, lips pressed into a thin line. They stand like that for a moment, the three of them, in stiff quiet until Harry speaks again.

"Er… Do you want me to go?"

His looks at her quite flummoxed, but - a glaring warmth covers her chest as she realizes - with protectiveness. From all she's said about her mother, it's no doubt he wants to protect her. The independent, stoic Pansy she constructed inside her wants to swoon. She also wants to show him that it's alright.

So when he leans for a chase goodbye kiss on her cheek, she grabs the front of his t-shirt and pulls him to her. His eyes are wide open as she kisses him full on the mouth.

Her mother gasps, actually, audibly gasps. But Pansy hears ringing bells in her ear, she feels Harry smile against her mouth, feels his hand soft on her cheek.

When they part, his eyes are bright with mischief. He pecks her on the nose.

"I -" love you "I'll see you," Pansy breathes, her cheeks red.

He smiles as if he caught on to the slip, the tremble in her voice, the words she almost said. "I love you," he tells her.

" Ahem. " Her mother's interrupting cough breaks their bubble. They reluctantly turn back.

"Lovely to finally meet you, Mrs. Parkinson," Harry says as he outstretches his hand. He has his million galleons smile on. Pansy wonders if there might be any person in the world who is immune to its charm.

Probably mum, she thinks immediately.

Cynthia Parkinson looks at his hand in vague suspicion, as if it were a transfigured snake. She takes it after a while, barely shakes it once before letting go. Her lips are pursed in a formal smile that only a few can ascertain as fake.

"Charmed," her mother says.

He puts his arm around her shoulder. Pansy tries not to slouch. "Pansy's told me so much about you."

"Lovely things, I hope."

His smile is all saccharin. "A few."

Her mother raises an eyebrow. "Well, that is splendid. It's a shame I haven't heard anything about you, Mr. Potter."

"Call me Harry, please, and -"

"Harry, your training starts in five minutes," Pansy interrupts, giving him a slight shove.

He gets the message, of course, and rolls his eyes ever so slightly. "Uhm, yes, you're right." He looks at her mother. "Anyways, lovely to meet you."

Cynthia purses her lips in an odd substitute for a smile.

He kisses her on the forehead - Pansy thinks getting used to these endearments will take about a hundred year, still each time she feels a rush of warmth to her chest as if it was the first - and apparates.

His absence at once creates a vacuum in the room. A leviathan shaped hole. Pansy knows she is just in the middle of it. She asks her mum if she would like tea and her mum says -

"Yes, very much. Thank you."

They sit in uncomfortable silence in her kitchen. Her mum has her elbow resting on the counter and Pansy feels a morbid laugh creeping on her throat. Something is hilariously disturbing about this, she thinks. She mothers breaks the ice - or rather, reshapes it. There isn't going to be much warmth in any exchange they'll have, Pansy is sure of that.

"So. Harry Potter."

"Yes."

"I have to say I'm impressed."

"I'm glad. How did you find my house?" She doesn't want to sound so defensive, but the words are out and her mother narrows her eyes at the sharp edge of her tone.

"Your house." Her eyes dart back and forth across the entire room. It's smaller than her old playroom. "Charming. You think you've nested in this place. Quite… charming. "

"How did you find this house?"

"I hired a personal detective. It took him about a day."

"You could have just asked me."

She raises an eyebrow. "You would have answered no."

"Correct. That means I didn't want you to have this address."

Her mother dismisses her with a flick of her hand. "Little girls don't always know what they want."

Little girl.

"I'm not -"

"So. Harry Potter."

"I've already answered once, mum. And I am sure you knew. That's why you're here."

"I've heard rumors. I had to see with my own eyes to be sure."

" Why? " Her hands involuntarily form fists. There's a whistle at her ears quite similar to King's Cross, and her own voice sounds so chippy that she cringes. "Is it such an unimaginable thing to happen? Is it so hard for you to believe that someone nice, and kind and absolutely without a history of bigotry and prejudice would want to be with me?"

Her mother stays silent. It solidifies her insides.

"You never thought I could make a place for me out from our world, did you? You never thought I'd… last here as long as I did."

"Well… if you put it like that -"

"Actually, don't. Just don't answer, mum. I don't care what you think."

Her mother purses her lips. "Well, I wish I could say that didn't hurt."

Pansy stays silent.

"Perhaps I hoped you wouldn't make it. Perhaps I wanted you at home. With me. You are my only child. Is it a sin to want you close?"

Silence prevails. Like a slap on her cheek.

"I didn't think that you felt that you don't deserve him. It hadn't occurred to me that you might think that way."

"I doubt that. You always claim to know me so well."

"No - I thought, well, I thought that he's not a match for you." She takes a sip of the coffee. "He is… just not what I expected, or wanted for you."

"Well, he's what I want." The whistle of the train is louder. She can feel her heart beat, loud and angry. Why should she come here and ask questions about Harry after all she did in the last few months is write her letters through Ditty. Why should Pansy explain her relationship all on a sudden?

"I want the best for you, Pinky," Cynthia says calmly, watching Pansy as if she were a curious species of bird. "I know we don't always stay… in the same line of thought, but I love you, and I want you to stay well."

The words float in the space between them. Pansy weighs them in her mind. When she speaks again, her voice is less pitchy, less childish.

"He's good for me."

"Is he?" Her mother smiles sympathetically. "He might as well be from another side of the universe, all things considered. He has his place fixed in a world that will never accept you."

Pansy has never cursed the gods so hard as she is cursing now, for making her so like her mother. In her kitchen, she feels her fingers shaking from the surreal attack. Her mother looks like an aged, wizened version of herself. In another life she aspired to become just like her. Cynthia speaks and speaks of all the doubts she had, and still has, in a voice too similar to her. It feels as if she's talking to herself.

"Stop," she breathes. Begs. "Mum, I - I have something good with him. This is just us. Two people. The world won't tip over because two people wanted to be together." Would it? She looks at her mother. Her hands grasp the coffee cup instead of clutching Cynthia. Please don't ruin this, she begs.

"It's going to be just fine," she says aloud.

Her mother sighs. there are newer lines on her face, she looks distinctly older. "Pansy, what happened last night isn't -"

"What happened last night?" The only thing she can think of is not something her mother should know. Pansy blushes, amidst the perplexity, the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

Cynthia narrows her eyes. "You don't know?"

Pansy shakes her head cautiously.

Her mother stares at her with careful consideration before she starts speaking.

Pansy feels her already solidified insides dragging her down with each sentence her mother finishes.

In the quiet of her workplace, Pansy twirls the quill in her hand, her mind is buzzing. She isn't sure if it's an impending headache or just the disgruntled fraction of the conversation with her mother. She purses her lips. She forgets what she's supposed to write.

The crunch of boots breaks her fragile concentration. For a split second her heart stops and she thinks - Harry. But then another, very familiar, voice calls her name. She looks up in surprise.

Draco Malfoy in a dark suit is standing in front of her. She doesn't blink this time of ward his image off if it was a bad dream, because it isn't. The day is already going bollocks on her. He might as well come uninvited to mess it up even worse.

Draco raises his eyebrows at her. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

She shakes her head. "Why are you here?"

"To take you out on lunch." He offers his hand. "Come on."

She doesn't argue, doesn't say anything, she already knows this is about what her mother told her this morning. She takes her coat and informs Peony that she's leaving. Draco roams around quietly, looking inquisitively at her chamber. She's grateful that he doesn't ask any questions.

He speaks only after they've sat at a quiet, homely cafe. She hears a few soft hushes as they pass through the tables to sir at one beside the window. It's a chilly day with hints of early snow. It's a pretty day, if anything else. She thinks of disapparating into her apartment to avoid ruining this pretty day with unwarranted questioning.

Draco puts his hand on the table and Pansy thinks of folding cards. His hair is slicked back and shiny, his smile is mischievous. "So," he says, calm, suggestive. "I met Potter last night. Entirely by chance. But we ended up having drinks together."

"How fun," she replies flatly.

"It was. Until this one guy… well. You know Pucey? He was a slytherin too. A couple of years younger than us." When Pansy shook her head no, Draco gave a non-judgmental flick of his hand. "Doesn't matter. He wasn't important. He was just unlucky to have said that you are pretty, it's a shame though, since you were a -" He made a cursive gesture with his index and middle finger "- prissy death-eater cunt at school."

Pansy felt her neck growing warm. "Well," she says nonchalantly, "he wasn't wrong."

Draco shoots her a mock glare. "Apparently, a certain Chosen One didn't think so. It took me a moment to stand up… defend your honor and all, but Potter had already jumped on Pucey. After I and some other people finally pulled him off of the guy… well, he looked like a fucking Geoff Dunanrt painting." He looks at her sharply. "When were you going to tell me?"

"There's nothing to tell."

Draco scoffs. "Don't be a bitch… Why didn't you tell me?"

Someone drops something at a table close to them. Pansy lets out a shaky breath as the shutter of the glass makes a jarring, cutting sound into the picture.

"I… don't know, Draco." She sighs, covering her face with her palms. "I wanted to, in many ways I needed to. But at first it was… too irrelevant to tell. Then almost at once it became too important. I didn't know - I wasn't sure how to articulate what I felt. It felt too juvenile and intense and like -"

"Love," Draco finishes her sentence, she can hear the beginning of a soft smile in his voice. "You're describing love."

"Yes," she breathes into her palm.

"I would've understood, you know."

"I know. That just made it more difficult."

"He didn't tell anyone either. Not even Weasley or Granger."

"I know."

He is smiling now, she can tell. She looks up to find the familiar happy crinkles at the edge of his eyes. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised. I knew you were seeing someone. And Granger suspected Potter was. So. I guess it makes sense. Cynthia must be ecstatic."

"She most certainly is not. And… it makes sense ?" She groans. "Draco, I know it's very hard for you, but don't be an asshole right now. It's the last thing on earth that makes sense."

He chuckles. "Well, he wouldn't be my first choice… but I guess Witch Weekly puts some facts on the paper."

"I'm not with him because of all that."

"No, of course not. You are with him because he is daring and nice and just a little bit scarred so you'd have something common with him."

She purses her lips. She always disliked when he read her cold, when every intense emotion she felt was put together with some silly words in ordinary disdain. Draco knows how to do that well.

She does too.

"Is that what happened with Granger? You flashed your death eater mark and she showed her mudblood one?"

His eyes tensed for a moment. "She didn't need to. I was there when she got it."

Fuck. "Draco, I -"

"You're right about the other part." He shrugs. She recoils a little, surprised. She wanted to annoy him, and half expected him to play along, but the honesty in his voice disarms her. She knew, of course. It's just that his prudence never let him agree to it.

But he says now, "Yes, why not. It's not all rainbows and butterflies that bring people together, you know. Sometimes people bond over wounds. Sometimes that's the best thing that's ever happened to them." He smiles. "I'm sure you understand. Last night, after beating up Pucey, Potter apparated without a word… did he go to your place?"

She doesn't answer. That's answer enough.

"Merlin, Pans. He's whipped."

He's whipped. She's whipped. It's a collosal mess.

"My mum came to see me today… somehow she got the word on it. And… God. I don't know, Draco. I don't know if it's worth anything."

He purses his lips. "Aren't we allowed to have nice things?"

Pansy plays with the ring on her finger, a hundred year old heirloom. "We've had nice things."

"We've had expensive things." He points his finger to his wrist. Pansy can't know for sure if he's showing his watch or his mark. "It doesn't always equate."

She still looks at his wrist, at the dark mark, thinking how close she was to getting an identical one. She shivers. "I know."

Draco eyes her carefully before letting out a sigh. "On a less serious note, my mother wants me to marry you. She continues to refuse that Granger and I are, in fact, in a relationship."

"I thought she had cooled down from all the pureblood shit."

"She doesn't have any issues with Granger being the Minister of Magic, for all she cares." He chuckles. "She just doesn't want her to be a Malfoy."

"I doubt Hermione wants to be a Malfoy." Pansy notices him stiffening.

"Merlin, Draco." She chuckles. "Not like that - I meant that she'd probably won't take the name… even when you're married."

He dwindles with his watch. "She's agreed to hyphenate." He purses his lips. "Granger-Malfoy."

Granger-Malfoy. It sounds nice, Pansy has to agree, even though it doesn't sound like something that could be real. Like unicorns. Or happy endings.

"So you've talked about it?" She rolls her eyes. "Merlin's sake, we're only twenty two… and our mum's are having us talking about marriage. "

"Not because of mother," he says quietly. "Just… anyway."

Pansy doesn't probe. "What about me, then?" she asks jokingly. "The day you marry Granger is the day my mother writes me up to spinsterhood."

He chuckles. "Oh, you. We're the perfect match, mum believes. We're both pureblood, from the same house, we obviously get along without cursing each other -"

"You're forgetting our fourth year at -"

He flicks his hand dismissively. "That year was fucking cursed."

She snorts. There was no arguing that. "She certainly has some great points. I've seen marriages work with less."

Draco smirks. "So what do you say?"

"Why not? We'll have an expensive wedding. Then an even more expensive divorce, before marrying again It'll be just like-"

"Trudy Sprout and her fourth husband?"

She laughs. "You remember that."

"Of course I do. That's all you talked about when we were twelve."

"It was a nice plan. I was going to marry you and live in the manor and never do a day's work in my life."

"What a shame that Potter ruined it all."

She loses track of what she wanted to reply for a moment. Hearing Draco say his name again finalized something. She remembers the conversation with her mother. It prickles her heart.

"I don't-"

"The marriage concept is swell, if we ignore the fact that we're both are erroneously in love with other people."

The silence sets in like the cold. Pansy thinks again about the cold spot in her chest. The doubt her mother set in, the fight she knows she will be having with Harry later. When Draco speaks quietly after a long time, the cold is spread all over her body, she can barely move. But still, she detects the hope in his voice, still it breaks her heart a little.

"You know, I wanted to meet you to tell you that we're traveling to Spain, for a while. Hermione -" his voice changes at her first name, grows softer, more careful. "Hermione wants to take a chance to fix her parents' memory again. She's been keeping tabs on them all this time… She thinks they might be spiralling out of control. They keep visiting places they had with her when she was a child. She fears - that the memories are rebounding. It was a very complex magic she did on them. She's an exceptionally bright witch… but it takes more than that. I've contacted two specialists in Norway. They said for a mother to forget her child - well, that was almost impossible. For the magic to work entirely she needed experience, time, a supervisor… Merlin. If we cannot retrieve their memory, at least we can do the charm correctly this time. But, you know how it is... she - we're hoping it would work. That the healer might be able to - to fix them," he says all this without stopping, as if the words were long stuck on this oesophagus. His shoulders relax, slightly, and he lets out a breath. His cheeks flush. "After everything… I hope she meets her parents. I hope I can give her this."

Pansy reaches out from her numbness to hold his hand. "You and Granger are two of the most stubborn people I know. I'm counting on your ridiculous tenacity."

The corner of his lips lift in a smirk.

"And," she adds, "it wouldn't be a stretch to say you are giving her something. She looks happy. More than that, she looked healthy."

Draco smiles, looking almost afraid. "You look good too. Maybe Cynthia's wrong, you know."

"I can't… it can't - it's just not possible, Draco. Whatever we have is… it's not supposed to last. I'm not even - mum talked to me today and I just - I'm not sure about anything."

He shrugs. "I don't mind disappointing my parents - in fact, I think I rejoice in it. But for her, I'm afraid, if something - something terrible happens it will be her last straw. That another roadblock in our life would finally make her retreat. Maybe she'll realize I'm not worth it. And even if she doesn't… I don't want her to fight for me. She already has so many demons, I don't want to be one of them.

It's as if someone put a mirror in front of her. It's as if she's peeping on herself. He notices her recognition. It's something they've always shared.

"Blaise never gets it, does he? That we have to hate ourselves every single minute just so we can feel that we deserve or even allowed the things we have. Even when we were kids we had to - be exactly perfect, beat ourselves up for every little thing to deserve any sort of appreciation. But now, you see with these Gryffindors." He chuckles. "Well, they are horribly messy. Too many things at once. So impetuous and real. Hermione doesn't just see this renewed, rejuvenated me. She saw the pompous asshole when we were kids and she sees the fucked up teen and now the equally fucked up, but trying to be better me. So. I dunno. I can be anything, for once. I can just… be. "

Pansy stares at him. "I see now why it wouldn't have worked between us. We're too similar. We hate ourselves enough to tire us out."

"That's why we're still friends, though."

She closes her eyes. "He likes me, Draco. He likes me so much… But I don't want to be the cause he fights in a bar. I just don't want to cause… any more damage."

"I know how you feel." He looks away, Pansy watches the crunch on the side of his eyes, like crows feet. Draco Malfoy was almost a perfect marble statue, with clear pale skin and sharp edges. But Pansy sees the creases in him. The cracks the trauma left. He looks tired ; but hopeful , she thinks. He looks heartbreakingly hopeful. Hermione Granger… who would have thought?

Draco sighs, before turning back at her, his mouth set on that prudish smirk again.

"Tell you what, if we can't have the good thing, we'll have the expensive one."

"What?" She narrows her eyes.

"Marriage. If we can't have it with someone we love… at least we like each other. we'll have a boisterous marriage and spawn off some little devils. Then we'll mess them up even worse than we are. It'll be glorious."

The smile comes naturally. She does love him. "I'm in."

She is pacing absentmindedly in her living room when he apparates, the sound of his appearance cutting her thoughts violently. She jumps in shock to see that he's there, smiling at her, and the gulf from her thoughts to his easy smile is so jarring that she doesn't move until he reaches her and kisses her on her surprised mouth.

Then it comes in. She pushes him away, her hand soft but firm. He narrows his eyes.

"Uhm… what?"

She looks up at him. His eyes behind his specs are befuddled. But still warm enough. But still him.

"Do you want to tell me something?"

He quirks his eyebrows. "This sounds like a trick question."

"It's not."

"Do you want me to tell you something?"

She swallows a dry fist of air. She doesn't want to play trick games right now. "About last night. Who did you fight with?"

He gets it. She sees the warm gaze shift to something sinister. He takes a step back.

"Well?" she asks hoarsely. "What was that?"

"Malfoy told you?"

The annoyance in his voice iinfuriates her beyond reason. "Yes. Draco told me," she says sharply.

"He shouldn't have." He sighs. "Pansy -"

"He shouldn't have?" She scoffs. "Well, tough luck. He's my friend, and he doesn't lie to me."

Harry backtracks from whatever he wants to say, confused. He actually takes another step back. "What do you- Pansy, I don't lie to you!"

"That's highly debatable right now."

"Look - I didn't tell you because I knew it would upset you… I'm right on that, aren't I?"

Pansy flexes her hand. If she had her wand, she would try to hex his stupid hair off. " No. I'm not mad because some guy called me names. I've heard worse."

His jaw tenses. "How much worse?"

Pansy blinks at him, she would swoon at his protectiveness if she weren't feeling so angry at him. "That doesn't matter."

"It does. "

" No. Harry, I don't care what anyone says about me."

He purses his lips. They both know it's a lie.

He runs his hands through his hair. "Then what are you upset about?" he asks finally.

Pansy opens her mouth, then closes it. She swears she knew what she was going to say. But suddenly she cannot find a single word to articulate what she felt.

Betrayal? Embarrassment? There was that. Maybe she can start there.

Pansy tries to count to ten, but the numbers coagulate in her head, but her hands are shaking. She hears the clatter of her teeth, she hears her desperate, silent, plea. "Why did you -" she says again, "why did you do that last night, Harry?"

When he doesn't reply, she says, "Do you know what that felt like to me? Do you know the entire memory is tainted now? You come here after beating up some guy who called me names and then you - you compliment me, fuck me and, for fuck's sake - you told me that you loved me. Was that true? Or some savior bullshit of yours?"

" Savior bullshit? "

"Did you think, here's this poor Slytherin girl with her death eater past and wouldn't it be wonderful if I save her from herself?"

"You know, for someone who keeps talking about how nonsensical the houses are - you sure talk a lot about them more than anyone I know."

"I say what's on everyone's minds. What can I -" Her voice breaks. "What else can I say?"

He doesn't reply, just looks at her with his sunset eyes. His hands flex by his sides as if he wants to touch her. But he stays where he is, and Pansy tries to ignore the sharp pang in her chest his quiet brings. She feels her heart fall down to her stomach, and when she talks her voice is crumbling.

"Maybe - maybe it's just not good for you. Harry, my name - it brings too many things. I don't want you to beat up people for me. I don't want you to have black eyes or… or any other scar. For me. I'm not worth it."

"Pansy," he says, taking a step now. "It's all wrong. Whatever that's going inside your head it's - not true."

She shakes her head. He takes another step.

"You don't need to take care of me . Well, you do. But for god's sake, not like that!"

"I only want what's best for you." She makes herself say the words that have been plauging her mind since forever. "Maybe I'mnotgood for you."

He scoffs.

"Harry, no matter how much you deny, I'm a death -"

" No. Stop that. Stop this stupid pity party you have going on. Stop punishing yourself! I know that's the only way you feel relevant, but enough is enough, Pansy. Grow up. Nobody else is here to see your self flagellation or - fucking immolation or whatever punishinshment you've cherry picked for yourself today to feel worthy for the tiniest bit of happiness. It's fucking exhausting."

She's abashed. "It's not a fucking pity-"

"Of course it is! And -" He takes a breath. "Look, I get it, OK? I fucking do. But this is reaching the limit. Of course I'll break someone's nose if he calls my girlfriend a - a-"

"Death eater cunt?"

His face is dead set with anger. "I wanted to break his jaw. "

"It's all your stupid rage and recklessness that gets you scars!" She all but screamed.

"Pansy -"

"Well," she cuts him off. Her voice is shaking, she is not sure about half of the words coming out of her mouth, and - none of them matter. They're just frustration and rage and embarrassment and not true at all. "Maybe it's not just you. You could be bad for me as well. Maybe - maybe I am distancing myself farther from my family because of you, maybe I will never be able to go back to my lifestyle... As horrible as it was, it was familiar. I had a place there. People who can look me in the eye without sneering. Maybe this uncertain territory I am prancing over with you is not good for me. Maybe it's not a good way for me to start over. Maybe I am thinking of going to the apprenticeship in Greece and maybe you're the one who is holding me back because I keep thinking that how can I leave you like this? Maybe I am putting my needs to stop. And then you are beating up people for me and we are both terribly unhappy in this. Have you thought about that?"

He stares at her, his jaw screwed so tight that she can see the muscles straining, can see the rage, the unbearable rage radiating from him like vapor. This is the first time it's directed at her. She shivers despite herself.

"It's about your mom, isn't it? She is the one who thinks we're bad for each other." his voice, though surprisingly calm, has a deathlike coolness in it. She doesn't look at him. That's answer enough.

"This is pathetic." He spits out the words, finally, like a dead fish. It slaps her face and she feels it's cold, clammy texture like a vice. Like snot, sodden and disgusting.

She tries not to flinch.

He takes a step to her. She wills herself to stand her ground. "This is pathetic. You try so hard to leave the fucking shell you built yourself, and then your mum comes inonceand you're back to square one. You're a fucking coward."

His hand shoots up to his scar. Her heart takes a backward flip and she involuntarily steps to touch him. He coils away as if she were poisonous.

" Don't. " His face contorts from the pain that isn't supposed to be there. His words are seething, angry with a poison she never expected to direct towards her, "Listen to me, Parkinson, you'll stay unhappy forever. And it's not because you're breaking up with me now or that you believed in some blood purity nonsense when you were younger. It's because you don't have the guts to fight for what you want."

She feels as if a cold, cold hand grasped her heart. She takes a shaky breath when the hand twists. It's true, it's all true and he knows that. He knew it would hurt her. Because she gave him a shovel and he dug her grave and found the skeletons she wanted to hide from the world. And now he's throwing them back to her.

It's raining in her head, his face is blurrier, angry and mean and so familiar.

She blinks and only then realizes that there are cold tears in her eyes. She takes a breath and the solid contempt doesn't go away. He lets the violence of his words sink in, and when she finally speaks, despite the tears, her voice has her well-practiced cold resignation.

"Get out," she says flatly. "We're done."

hiii, only four more chapters left!! i hope you like the progression of these characters and i hope it breaks your heart just a little :)

also, i've posted another hansy ficlet here, it's completed and only four chapters long. so check it out if you want to :) any reviews from general thoughts to constructive criticism are greatly appreciated. have a nice day!!