a/n: Pansy is depressed... again and surprising enough Potter does the most Potter-like thing he could do and comes to the recuse. But honestly, alcohol is the real hero here.

October 20th, 1996 (evening)

It was no surprise that Slytherin looked to take advantage of any opportunity to host a party of some sort or another and Quidditch season typically offered more than enough to satisfy their needs, in addition to a host of other fabricated annual celebrations. The first party of the year was one that Pansy almost always looked forward to it, but this time around she felt suffocated in the common room. Since her first year, and for years before that, the Slytherin Quidditch team celebrated their first win of the season with a debaucherous party for all their house mates - though those below the fourth year were only allowed to stay until 9 pm. It was a highlight to the first half of the semester, something that got students through the difficult mid-semester slump.

Particularly after Draco joined the team (and in her second year he still seemed like her knight in shining armor) Pansy used the Quidditch party of the year to shine her grace to the House and quickly established herself as a cornerstone of the Slytherin elite. It all seemed so ridiculous in hindsight.

This year she felt an intense need to escape. They were all looking at her, meanwhile they continued to whisper and avoid her. The music, the laughter, the drinking, everything about the party made her feel sick. Draco also seemed tired and quiet, but as team captain he was flanked on each side by admirers. Meanwhile, Pansy was alone. Though she was sitting in the middle of a group of overly excited talkative sixth year girls - including Daphne, though she frequently shot her apologetic glances whenever she noticed her friends' silence - she still felt far, far away.

And she needed to get far, far away.

Ignoring the curious glances and the odd shout or two, Pansy quickly lifted herself from her seat and set her gaze to the common room entrance. If she went to her bed, she wouldn't be left alone and she would never live it down.

Instead, Pansy blindly wandered out of the dungeons and climbed up the moving stairs that nearly killed her.

The halls were silent after hours, but with her Prefect badge she was able to travel the empty halls with no worries. She was free to worry about other things instead and it all felt like too much. She didn't have Daphne to distract her; not that she blamed the blonde for staying behind, however without her voice Pansy was reminded of her own mounting issues. She didn't have Draco or Blaise, and she forced herself away from Theo. She also couldn't blame Blaise; he was right, after all. Draco wasn't well, she wasn't much better, and Theo has never been like them in their stubborn need to suffer alone. Stoic, sure. A self-preservationist, obviously. But otherwise, he had always looked towards them to lead rather than trail-blaze. He was intelligent but quietly caring, and if she, Draco, and Blaise hadn't enveloped him into their group after he received an especially bad hazing from Marcus Flint then the Slyterin House wouldn't have treated him kindly.

And they needed Theo, so they were careful never to abuse him. Whether they realized it consciously or not, they coddled Theo's sensitivities over the years because they needed him to gravitate them away from cruelty, particularly against those within their own house. He gave them logical reasons, naturally. He put things into perspective and vocalized the obvious priorities. And with him, they rose to the top. His worries at the start of the year were legitimate. Draco seemed like a lost cause and Pansy-

Well…

She sighed slowly and only then realized she had reached the Astronomy Tower with tears streaming down her face. Though these days crying wasn't entirely surprising, she looked around at her surroundings with mild amusement. Other during than her nighttime N.E.W.T classes, Pansy rarely looked at the stars.

Pansy cautiously approached the balcony and wrapped her thin arms around her midsection to attempt to shield herself from the increasingly frigid October winds. Once Halloween passed, wandering the castle and grounds with just a jumper, her school skirt, and knee high socks would be deadly. Still, for now the cold air gave Pansy some release from the heat on her flushed cheeks. She leaned against the railing and looked over the grounds and the Forbidden Forest while unashamedly sobbing. At this rate her tears were so common that she would almost find them boring if their frequency wasn't also confusing. Most of the time she had no good excuse for her depression. All she could do was cry, fight through her sadness, and go on with her life. She needed to fight through whatever this was just to live with herself on a daily basis. The only distractions she had were her classes, Daphne, and oddly enough-

"Who's there?"

It took all of her strength not to jump directly out of her skin when she heard a familiar voice behind her. Leave it to Potter to introduce a perfectly timed interruption to her tear-filled pity party.

"Potter?" she called back.

"Parkinson?"

"No," she rolled her bloodshot eyes and sniffed, "It's the Minister of Magic."

"Ha. Ha."

Potter came forward from the shadows and the look for joking annoyance on his face was obvious. He looked tired, however, and in his hand he was gripping a nearly full bottle of alcohol.

"Got a fun night planned?" she said, nodding towards the bottle.

Potter sighed and leaned against the wall in front of her as he twisted the cap and took a long swig. He grimaced slightly and Pansy chuckled at his inexperience as she wiped the tears on her face before turning fully to Potter. To her dismay, he had his signature Potter pitying face on.

"Don't worry. You're not the first witch I've seen crying tonight."

"You just have that effect on girls, do you?"

Potter laughed and slid down to the floor then stretched his legs out in front of him.

"Well," he cleared his throat and held the bottle up for her, "I suppose it wouldn't be a shame if you joined me."

"Potter," she said slowly as she crossed her arms over her chest and began to slaunter over to him, "I have a feeling that the courteous and cordial doesn't really work for us."

"And is that..." he trailed off for a moment as he took another gulp from his bottle, "a new feeling...or?"

Pansy stared at him for a long, silent minute, trapped between wanting to laugh and wanting to slink back to the dungeons to continue her wallowing, before making up her mind and plopping herself down next to him. Her teeth clenched slightly as her arse hit the cold, stone floor, but she quickly ignored it as she snatched the firewhisky from him.

She lifted the bottle and before taking a long gulp she said sarcastically, "To the Boy Who Lived."

October 21, 1996 (early, early morning)

"Draco, obviously. After the Yule Ball."

Potter clicked his tongue and nodded, though he didn't look surprised. He took a swig from the bottle, already expecting Pansy's follow-up question. They moved on from silently and sadly drinking to asking each other increasingly personal questions, as these things typically go. It started with simple things like where they had grown up, favorite foods, least class professors but then the questions escalated in intensity with each subsequent gulp from the bottle. Pansy now knew about Potter's childhood crush, and he knew which room in her house she had first masturbated, and she knew the first person he wished death upon, and he knew where she was when her father died.

However the story of how Pansy lost her virginity was hardly a surprising one, and that was clear by the look on Potter's face, though he did look a bit disappointed.

"My first time was around Christmas too," he admitted, "Cho Chang. Last year."

"Ah. You've got a thing for overly emotional Asian girls, then?" she teased, snatching the bottle from him and stealing a quick gulp. It was probably a mistake, as she was becoming much more intoxicated than Potter due to the nature of her size.

Potter laughed - and he didn't stop. He held his side and tilted towards the ground as he uncontrollably let out his laughter. Pansy rolled her eyes and giggled - and hiccupped - as she took another sip from the firewhisky and watched him with amusement. Potter, drunk or sober, had no control over his emotions. When he was upset, he was angry . When he was regretful, he wallowed . And when he was happy, he was giddy.

Now, with a stomach full of firewhisky and after spending more than two hours with her, he was giddy to a ridiculous degree.

Potter clearly needed to get drunk more often.

"It wasn't that bloody funny," she grumbled, though she couldn't stop giggling either. "Oh, come on, Potter. Stop it. Good Merlin..."

"I refuse," he answered, taking several deep breaths to calm himself though he was still chuckling. "I've had a shit of a day and I want to have a laugh, even if it's with Pansy Parkinson."

"Thanks," she rolled her eyes.

"Christ, just take the compliment," Potter sighed with a grin on his face, and took the the bottle from her. "Once I've got a couple drinks in me you're far easier to like, you know."

"Am I now?" she raised an eyebrow and watched and Potter took a large swig from the bottle. "Why exactly are you getting drunk with a Slytherin instead of grieving Hufflepuff's loss with the rest of the Gryffindors?"

Just as Potter lifted the bottle again to take another he stopped in his tracked and gave Pansy a humorless expression. It hit her that had he been alone, he would have sadly drunk from his bottle, instead of distracting himself with her.

"I think my best friend is in love with my other best friend," he sighed, looking straight ahead at the wall instead of at her, "but he's off with another girl. And I think I have feelings for his sister. But she's off with another bloke. Last Spring the last of my family died and I couldn't do anything about it. Everyone expected so much from me and I just... "

Pansy watched Potter carefully as he spoke, his eyes becoming increasingly sadder with each word before he trailed off, gripping the whiskey bottle. It was a far cry from the laughing drunk boy she had rolled her eyes at before. While it was heartening to know that the Golden Trio could suffer just as much as her miserable group of cold-hearted companions, it was depressing to see a drunken Potter in this position.

"Oh, don't be pathetic," she scoffed, stealing the bottle from him and taking a deep swig. "If you start crying, I'll get up and walk away, Potter. And you don't want that because I have been known to take off my shirt after I've had a few."

Potter stared at her for a moment incredulously, and she briefly wondered if he had expected a prize for opening himself up to her. The thought made her laugh but before she could comment he chuckled again and shook his head, apparently realizing whatever retort he had in store for her wasn't worth it.

"God, I hate you," he laughed and took the bottle back from her to take a drink.

"My goodness," she shook her head, though she was glad her callousness hadn't ruined the mood entirely. "With a life like yours who knew Harry Potter was such a happy drunk?

"Small pleasures, Parkinson, it's about the small pleasures. Now, ah," he thought silently for a moment then leaned back against the wall. "Ah... a vice you wish you could quit."

"Gambling is quite popular in my house, and I admit I can get taken away with it as well," she shrugged, digging her index nail into her thumb. She had wanted to say Draco, but there was no way to sanely explain an addiction to someone you disliked so much. "Summer or winter?"

"Winter," he answered smoothly, "Favorite tea."

"Pu-erh tea; it's a fermented variety produced in the Yunnan province in China," she explained matter-of-factly.

"You're quite pretentious, you know that?" Potter quipped, shaking his head as he drank form the bottle then passed it to her.

"Yes," she responded, then pausing to hold back her smirk as she drank from the bottle. "Your favorite part of a woman. Physically."

"Her arse," he said immediately, and easily the fastest answer he gave all night. "What's your-"

"You answered that rather quickly," she joked, stealing another sip from the bottle before passing it off to him.

"There's nothing quite like a nice, soft, grippable, shapely-"

"For fuck's sake, Potter," Pansy laughed and tossed her head back. "I get it."

"There's nothing-" he stopped himself before giving her a once over and sharing his own smirk, "I think you have a nice arse."

"I think you're drunk," she retorted with a little snort, ignoring the way the room spun around her as she reached for the bottle once more. After a sloppy swig, she placed it on the ground and laid down with a grunt next to it.

"Maybe," he said, "But the girl I fancy is with someone else… and you have a nice arse."

Now Pansy allowed herself to smirk in satisfaction and turned her head to the side and looked at him.

"So, second best?" she asked sarcastically, while she told herself that she wouldn't care either way.

"Or third," he shrugged, then drunkenly chuckled, "or fourth, or fifth…"

Pansy scowled, "Potter, with your propensity towards malice I do believe you would have made a marvelous Slytherin."

"Isn't that our thing?" he laughed twisting his body around so he could lay against the cold stone floor with her. "Who can say the meanest, most hurtful comment after receiving a mean, hurtful comment?"

"We have a thing?" she asked curiously, trying to arch her eyebrow but instead she stared at the way Potter's face seemed to whirl in circles next to her.

"I guess we do, but it's largely because your refusal to be remotely polite for more than, oh, thirty seconds," his eyes looking equally unfocused as he spoke.

"I can be polite when I want to," she responded defensively, then paused to hiccup. Pansy tried to focus on his eyes for a moment but failed and instead looked at his dopey, croaked, drunken grin. "Like... you have really, very green eyes."

Potter didn't speak for what felt like ages, then he rolled his eyes. "Saying something that isn't an overt insult isn't the same thing as paying someone a compliment, Parkinson."

"Oh, fuck it, I tried," she scoffed, then with much difficultly she hauled herself to her feet. Pansy took uneasy steps back until she hit the wall to steady herself. "Bad... bad idea."

Below her Potter was grunting as he tried and failed to get on his feet as well. Eventually he settled on plopping back down and swaying slightly. Pansy giggled at the sight of him, and luckily she was too far gone to hate the sound like she usually did. Potter groaned in annoyance and slowly tried again to stand, this time making a feeble effort to use the wall as a support. "This is harder than I imagined it would be."

"Hurry up, C-chosen One," Pansy hiccuped as she made her way towards the exit. "You're making a mockery of the curfew."

"Who cares?" he slurred, grinning again as he successfully stood and began to follow her to the threshold. "I'm Harry Potter, you know."

Before Pansy could respond with another incredulous snicker, Potter continued. "Same time tomorrow?"

"What?" she held out her hand to step herself on the doorway, both taken aback by his suddenness and woefully drunk.

He didn't answer her and instead they shared a look for what seemed like an eternity in her drunken state, though in reality it was likely only a second or two, then she nodded curtly. He cleared his throat in response and grinned as he picked up the pitiful remainder of his firewhisky.

"But I won't be drinking that shit again," she gestured at the bottle. "Any bottle worth less than 25 galleons is like downing pure vinegar."

"Un-hic-believable," he shook he head as he dragged his feet past her, slowly taking a wrinkled parchment out of his pocket. He paused to give her an absurd half-grin before descending the staircase ahead of her. As she waited for him to disappear from her voice, she could hear him call out, "Pansy Parkinson, you're unbelievable."

Sneak peek for the next chapter:

"Your sister," she started slowly, though she hardly needed to finish her sentence once she noted the look on her friends' face. "Are you advising me or making sure your sister has no competition?"

"Neither," she answered in a nervous whisper. "Pansy... oh, stop that. Come here."