WRITTEN FOR QLFC SEASON 9, ROUND 10
TEAM: Holyhead Harpies, Chaser 2
PROMPT: Oh(TP) No!: One half of your OTP doesn't support their partner's dreams and goals
2. [word] romance
3. [word] irreversible
8. [dialogue] "It's for the best."/"Yeah? Best for who?"
WORD COUNT: 1697
Title source: Marry You by Bruno Mars
AN: Beta'd by gingerdream. Pots & Pans FTW 3
We're Looking For Something Dumb to Do
Pansy was of the opinion that she knew Harry Potter better than anyone else in the entire world. She knew his most guarded secrets and the darkest facets of his character. She knew how his whole life had been nothing but loss and sacrifice for the good of others. Most importantly, though, she knew how much he hated it.
Pansy had never considered herself to be a compassionate person. Never before had she cared about the feelings of another person beyond making sure they were in the best possible mood to give her what she wanted. But when she saw the pain in Harry's eyes as he smiled too brightly for the public, somehow unnoticed by all of his adoring fans, she felt a foreign pang of sympathy. So, she'd taught him to do what she knew best: how to be selfish. And that was, perhaps, her first mistake.
It had all started innocently enough. She'd approached him at a Ministry event that he'd gone stag to, his globe-trotting wife off playing for the Holyhead Harpies. He'd eyed her warily as she walked up to him, his body taut and ready to spring into action. So, naturally, she proceeded to insult his dress robes.
He blinked in shock for a moment, then seemed to gather his thoughts and returned fire by insulting her make-up, which, admittedly, was a pleasant change to the usual repertoire of vitriol directed her way.
It was not the cleanest of introductions, especially given that she had not spoken a word to him since she'd suggested offering him up to the Dark Lord, but it seemed to break the ice well enough.
They'd stuck to each other for the rest of the night, his posture slowly relaxing as he opened up and began gesturing more freely as he talked. She could understand his appreciation for normality, though such a thing meant quite the opposite to him than it did to her. He would viscerally close in on himself whenever they were approached by a simpering fan, looking to kiss his arse. Just the same, Pansy clammed up whenever the same people shot her barely-disguised, dirty, disgusted looks.
She may have been forgiven on paper for her actions at the Battle of Hogwarts, having been deemed a scared child who spoke out of turn, but that had done nothing to engender public favor toward her. Harry gave her a taste of normality, for he treated her as if she was just another woman, one who had not suggested the Chosen One's murder. It tasted glorious.
By the end of the night, she and Harry had been more than a little tipsy, leaning on each other far more intimately than their barely-acquaintances relationship should have allowed for.
"Come home with me," she remembered saying.
Harry's expression darkened as he frowned, yet he did not pull away from her. "I'm married, Parkinson, remember?"
"So?" she had replied. "Don't you want to do something for yourself for once? Do you want to come home with me?"
Harry visibly faltered. "I… Look, Pansy. I've had a surprisingly good time tonight. It's been nice to hang out with someone who doesn't fall over themselves at my feet for a change. But–"
"But nothing, Potter," Pansy cut in aggressively. "If your best argument is that you shouldn't for someone else's sake, your absent wife's sake – who, by the way, seems to care more about a stupid sport than she does you – then you have no argument at all. For Merlin's sake, Potter! For once in your life, do something you want!"
She could still remember clearly how his eyes had darkened as he pulled her into a side alley and violently Disapparated with her, and how she woke up beside him the next morning, warm and satisfied, for what would be the first of countless times thereafter.
From that point on, Harry came to visit her often. They were never seen leaving a public event together after that first time, but whenever they crossed paths at a function at which he was alone, they inevitably ended the night at her place in each other's arms.
After a while, he began sporadically dropping by when his wife was away, unannounced but never unwelcome, seeming to no longer need an excuse to spend time with her. It was strange; they gradually settled into an odd form of domesticity, sprinkled liberally with stimulating verbal spars and passionate nighttime trysts. For the first time in her life, Pansy was happy and, dare she say it, hopeful for her future.
It was through her torrid affair with Harry that Pansy learned the meaning of true romance. There was more to love than the fairy tales she'd dreamed of as a child. There was no Prince Charming to sweep her off her feet, no castle to be whisked off to, and no grand gestures of love with red roses and white doves. And she found that, with Harry, she no longer desired those things anway.
Harry, underneath his deeply-ingrained hero complex, was a dark knight. There was something so alluring to Pansy about his personality. He had a naturally timid disposition, yet exuded a quiet strength, which occasionally came to bear in the forms of his vicious tongue and awe-inspiring shows of force.
It was the magnetism of danger without ever really being in danger that attracted her like nothing ever had before.
Still, he was sweet – sweeter than perhaps anyone she'd met. And this was where she'd learned of true romance. It was in the way he brought her groceries to make sure she was staying alive in her dingy, one-bedroom flat, the way that he cooked for her while she sat on her countertop, and the way that he just held her when she had a bad day. It was in the small gestures, which were, perhaps, far better than her juvenile dreams of roses and doves.
Some dreams, though, remained the same. She still longed for a splendorous wedding, for a happy life, and for children who she would love far more than her own mother had loved her. More importantly than that, she longed for a family she could call her own.
The only thing standing in her way was the lurking, ever-present awareness that she was the other woman when it came to the man of her desires.
"Leave your wife," Pansy said abruptly.
Harry's fork paused mid-way to his mouth. "Pardon?"
"Leave your wife," Pansy reiterated more confidently.
Harry set his fork down and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Pansy…"
"Harry, I love you." She truly did. And although Harry always avoided saying it outright, she knew he felt the same. "If you divorce Weasley, we can be together for real."
A pained look crossed his face. "Pansy, I can't."
Pansy slammed her hands down on the table, a furious scowl marring her face. Harry didn't react beyond looking away to avoid her piercing gaze. "The hell you can't! If we weren't a better match than you and Weasley, we wouldn't have started this in the first place, let alone kept it going for so long! Unlike her, I can regularly spend time with you. I actually know the first thing about what's going on in your life. I can – I want to – give you children, and we can be a family!"
It was a dirty trick. Harry wanted a family perhaps even more than Pansy herself did, yet this was the first time that a family between the two of them was explicitly discussed.
"I already have a family," Harry scowled. "What do you think the Weasleys would think if I divorced Ginny to go run off with another woman?"
Pansy raised a challenging eyebrow. "So that's it? Their family is more important than our family?"
"We don't have a family," Harry grunted.
"Yet."
Harry sighed tiredly. "Perhaps this was a mistake."
Pansy froze, her eyes growing wide. "What… was a mistake?"
Harry waved his hand, gesturing vaguely. "All of this. Everything. All the way back to that first night."
Pansy growled angrily. "No, Harry, you don't get to back out now. Once could be called a mistake. Twice could be argued for. Nearly a year is not some accident that you stumbled into. What we have is real, what we've done can't be taken back."
"Just because it was real doesn't mean it wasn't a mistake." Harry shook his head in frustration. "I always knew, in the back of my mind, that this would end in disaster and heartbreak. But since taking it back isn't an option, as you've pointed out, a clean break is the best alternative."
Pansy faltered. "You're… breaking up with me?"
Harry closed his eyes and sighed heavily. "I'm sorry Pansy. I can't let whatever we have destroy the rest of my life. It's for the best."
"Yeah? Best for who?" Pansy challenged.
"Best for me," Harry replied quietly. "That's what you taught me, isn't it? To take things for myself sometimes."
Pansy glared at him through teary eyes. "Get out."
That was the last time that Pansy ever spoke to Harry. Over the years, she ran into him often. It was unavoidable with him being as famous as he was and her still desperately clawing her way back into high society. She smiled falsely as she greeted him and his wife and watched as he pretended that he didn't know what she looked like naked. They were no longer Harry and Pansy. It was back to how it was before – the Chosen One and the barely-acquaintance.
He had changed; Pansy could tell that much when she observed him. He no longer pretended to smile at people he did not like, he no longer religiously attended events that he had no interest in, and he no longer tore himself apart to please the public.
Perhaps their story did not end happily for her, but Harry's eyes no longer carried the same pain that came from endless and boundless sacrifice. And that, Pansy thought, quite unselfishly, made some mistakes worth making.
