A/N: Thank you for all of the interest and support for this story! This chapter is the first half of Pansy and Harry's back story. There will be one additional chapter of backstory and an epilogue posted soon!

I

Pansy stepped out of the pub with an unlit cigarette in her hand. Her week had been trying, aggravating, unnecessary, even. She didn't mean to attract so much negative attention, but it really seemed she always did. Sure, she probably could have held her tongue in Madam Malkin's shop and not gotten into that hair-pulling argument in Diagon Alley with those former Ravenclaws on Tuesday, but she was tired of having to defend herself for something she yelled out of fear and stress during the chaos of the moments before the final battle.

She also could have stood to avoid drinking so much at the gala on Thursday, so Draco wouldn't have needed to drag her arse home, in front of Witch Weekly's society cameras. And now, on Friday, she was relatively sure she didn't need to start on the second bottle of Firewhiskey waiting for her back at Theo's table, but she was also relatively sure nothing was going to stop her.

It was a cool night, but Pansy's buzz kept her from thinking too much about the wind brushing the skin between the tops of her boots and the bottom of her dress. She put the cigarette to her lips, lit it, and inhaled as she leaned back against the brick wall of the pub.

"Aaaahhh, Pansy Parkinson. Witch Weekly's number one post-war trainwreck. Out celebrating your cover? You must be quite proud." Harry Potter had joined her against the pub wall. She wasn't sure where he'd come from.

"You're just jealous you only made number three. And I quote, 'Yes, he's the savior of the wizarding world, but he's certainly the saddest sad-sack we've seen in decades, rotting away in Grimmauld Place.'" She exhaled smoke in his direction. "At least I looked hot on the cover."

"Because that's what matters, hotness," he said. "And I didn't know you gave a shit about me, Pansy. Look at you memorizing my article." He took the cigarette out of her hand and inhaled. She couldn't help but notice her red lipstick on the butt as it touched his lips.

She turned toward him, shoulder against the brick. "I don't. Just keeping my eye on the competition. Wouldn't want to be overtaken by an arsehole with stupid hair and a beard," she said, before taking back her cigarette.

Harry stepped closer. "Speaking of stupid hair," he said as he twisted the ends of her shoulder length locks around his fingers.

"Nothing stupid about my hair," she retorted. "This cut cost more than you've spent on your hair in your entire life, not that that would be hard. At least I'm entertaining the public instead of being a sad fucking waste of space. Where were you last night while I was literally swinging on a chandelier at the ministry ball? Pouting about dead people at your mausoleum? Watching Granger and Weasley argue? Crying?"

"You're a fucking bitch, Parkinson," Harry said, flicking the cigarette from her fingers and throwing it into the street behind him. He stepped closer still, chancing placing his hands at her waist. "Up for making another bad decision?" he whispered in her ear. Time stilled while dark eyes sized up green.

"Always," she told him, and pressed her lips to his. Hate and anger and passion and understanding passed between them as they kissed. Pansy ignored the voice inside telling her to go back into the pub, to drink Theo's firewhiskey and leave well enough alone. She didn't know what she was getting into. Just another vice, a louder voice thought.

"My place is close. Wanna go?" she asked, hands on Harry's arse.

"Fuck yes," he replied, his hands mirroring hers. "If only Witch Weekly could see us now, the list would be ours for sure."

"I really fucking hope they can't," Pansy said, as she pulled him down the sidewalk towards her flat.

II

Pansy apparated home to find Harry sitting on the stoop of her building.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him. "Bringing down my neighborhood with your sad cloud?"

"Where have you been?" he demanded as he stood up. "I've been waiting here for you for hours!"

"Well, that was a fucking waste of your time," she told him, using her wand to unlock the building's door. "Get inside, before someone else sees or hears you," she said, exasperated. Harry followed her docilely up the stairs, his intensity vibrating around him.

Once they were in her flat, Harry began to pace through her living room. Pansy sighed, and removed her coat, hanging it from the coat rack next to the door.

"Where were you?" Harry demanded again as he paced.

"Now I'm getting some fucking wine so I can fucking get through a fucking conversation with you without avada-ing your arse," she said, heading into her kitchen to grab the open bottle of elf-made wine in her cooling cabinet.

"I don't like your fucking tone, Parkinson," Harry called from the living room.

"I don't fucking like yours, either, Potter. And for your fucking information I was in Muggle fucking London for fashion week," and she downed her glass in a swift swig. She refilled her glass, and poured one for Harry, and carried them both back to her living room.

She thrust the wine glass into Harry's hand. "Drink this before you say another word."

He eyed the glass, and then her, before taking it and sipping slightly. "You're not trying to poison me, are you?"

"Oh my fucking Merlin, I cannot believe you!" Pansy yelled. "Drink the fucking wine and then tell me what has your knickers in such a wad so you can get out of here." She collapsed onto her sofa, covering her eyes with the back of her hand. "What. Do. You. Want."

Harry paused his pacing in front of her. "Did I knock you up?"

"Excuse me?" Pansy screamed, jumping off the couch. "What do you take me for, some brainless slag? Trying to trap you by making the next Potter heir? Are you kidding me? I have money! I have more money than I fucking know what to do with, thanks to my fucking father, and his fucking father and his fucking father, which is why I'm going to be taking home about half of Alexander McQueen's new collection when it's available for sale, for fuck's sake." She punctuated her points by jabbing a scarlet nail into Harry's chest.

"I don't fucking need you! I fucked you and I am on the fucking potion because I am not an idiot, unlike you, you arse. I cannot believe you. I cannot believe I was stupid enough to fuck you!" Pansy took up pacing as Harry collapsed onto her sofa.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm really fucking sorry. I don't usually do stuff like that and I panicked. I'm sorry." He covered his face with one of Pansy's decorative pillows. "Ugh...I really am a fucking sad sack."

"Just...do something. Get a fucking job. Start a fucking charity. Do anything and I'm sure you'll turn your life right around. You're the golden boy," she said, joining him on the couch. "Anyone would be happy to hand you whatever you wanted," she said into her wine glass. "You're not the one with a black mark."

He shifted toward her and took the wine glass from her hand and set it on the table. "I don't see a fucking dark mark on your arm. You didn't do anything, Pansy. You were scared and you said what made sense to you in that moment. I get it. I don't hold it against you."

"Yeah, well, tell that to the rest of this miserable world," she said, as Harry reached out to touch her hand resting against the cushions. "Don't pity me."

He threaded his fingers through hers. "I'm not, I promise."

Pansy nodded, "I am sorry, Harry."

"I know," he said softly, shifting to rest against the back of the sofa. "This really took a turn."

"That's what you get with us, the fucking number one and number three trainwrecks of the post-war wizarding world," she said while untangling her fingers from Harry's. "I think you should go," she told him, rising to walk toward the door.

"Okay," Harry said, hesitantly following Pansy. He reached out his hand towards her. "Friends?" he asked.

"Well," she considered. "I'm not sure about that. But if you get lonely sometime, you know where to find me."

"Yeah?" he asked, his eyes tracing her face.

"Yeah. See you around, Potter," she said as he walked out her door. She pressed it closed before resting her forehead on the panel. "Fuck," she said to no one. "Fuck. Just fuck. More wine," and she went to grab the next bottle from her kitchen.

III

Pansy and Daphne walked hurriedly through Diagon Alley on their way to meet Theo and Draco for tea. Pansy lost herself in Daphne's hushed description of the romantic dinner she and Theo had had the night before, watching Daphne's smile grow even prettier with the blush of new love.

They turned the corner in front of the ice cream parlor that had recently opened in Fortescue's old shop and Pansy swore as she crashed into a hard body exiting the shop with a bag in hand.

"Watch where you are fucking going," she spat. Stepping back, she noticed. "Oh, it's you. Potter."

"Parkinson," Harry replied. "How are things?"

"Fine. How are you?" she asked, trying to bluster through the awkwardness she desperately hoped Daphne didn't notice.

"Taking ice cream to my godson. I start Auror training soon," he added.

"Good for you," Pansy replied, hoping her reply was vague enough to escape Daphne's suspicion. "We're late, aren't we, Daphne?"

"Hi, Harry," Daphne interjected. "Nice to see you again. We really are in a rush, though!" she said, as she pulled Pansy down the sidewalk. Harry gave a little wave as they walked away.

Daphne grasped Pansy's arm, drawing her closer to deliver an exaggerated whisper. "What the hell was that, Pansy?" she asked as they rushed toward the tea room.

"Absolutely nothing, Daph. He bummed a smoke at the pub a while back and talked at me for a while, you know how he is. Ugh, I'm so glad I brought my flask," Pansy deflected, patting the bag hanging artfully from her wrist. "Think Draco will notice if I spike his tea, too?"

Daphne giggled, but continued watching her friend rush toward their destination with a wary eye.

IV

Quidditch season had begun and the pub was crowded, full of fans who had been to the first match. Pansy didn't care so much about quidditch, but she did care about having a good, drunken time, and had met up with her friends after the game. Blaise and Draco had bet on the outcome of the match and Blaise seemed as surprised as any of them that the Chudley Cannons had actually won a match. Draco was paying the price.

"More flaming firewhiskey shots!" Pansy yelled at the bartender. "We'll take a whole fucking tray of them," she said, casually flashing her cleavage toward him as she pushed the pile of galleons across the bar. While she waited for the drinks, she scanned the pub and saw Ron Weasley shit-faced and boisterously joyful, standing on a table. Granger looked bleary-eyed and adoring as she watched him, clapping, as Pansy caught Harry's eye.

He raised an eyebrow at her and Pansy winked saucily back at him. The bartender pushed the tray of shots across the bar toward her, and she carried the tray back to their table. "Drink up, Draco!" she called as he moaned at her. "Don't worry, I'll help," and quickly downed three shots in rapid succession.

"Go Pansy!" Blaise yelled. "Draco, you could learn from her!" he shouted. Pansy stepped away from the table again. "Washroom," she said, and started making her way towards the back of the pub. Nearing Harry, she motioned subtly with her head for him to follow her, avoiding any interactions with both Granger and Weasley. She heard him make excuses to his friends, louder than she really thought was necessary, but then again Weasley was dense and more than a little drunk. She waited for him.

She pulled him out of the employee entrance at the back of the pub by his hand, to the alley behind and into the shadows a building over. She pressed Harry's back to the brick and brought her hands to his neck to pull his lips toward hers. She tasted of fire and he tasted of ale and she thought the combination shouldn't work, but it almost did.

They were both quiet as she dropped to her knees in front of him, and she worked to release him from his jeans. When she did, she paused and looked up at him with hooded, sparkling eyes. He smirked down at her, before pressing his head back into the wall as her lips met his cock. She felt his quiet moan in her belly, wasting no time taking him in further. She liked this. Harry was so receptive and more responsive than she had expected.

Fun, she thought, as his hands wound into her hair. Fun, as he finished. And fun, as she stood up and kissed him, and felt his fingers drifting inside the waist of her leather trousers.

Huh, the sad sack is fun, she thought as the edges blurred. I was not expecting that.

V

Pansy's fist hit the black door of Grimmauld Place. She thrust out her hip and her bottom lip in the most overly seductive look she could manage before the door swung open in front of her.

"I still don't understand why you couldn't just come home with me from the pub," Harry said, shifting to let her pass through the door.

"Oh, you'll see," she told him. "It will be worth your wait." She started up the staircase toward the bedroom she'd been in twice before, swinging her hips the whole way.

Harry followed a few steps behind her, appreciating the view as they climbed. "You could take your coat off, you know," he told her.

"Nope," she said, with a seductive look over her shoulder. "Not yet." And she let herself into his bedroom. "Sit," she told him when he entered, gesturing toward the edge of his bed. When he did, she stepped between his legs and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

"So, I found out muggle aurors have this thing they use when they are trying to keep baddies from escaping. I was thinking, that since you're a real auror now, we could play a bit," she said, running her hands over every part of Harry she could reach.

"What are you…" Harry asked as Pansy reached into the pocket of her trench to pull out a pair of gold handcuffs, dangling them in front of him.

"Auror Potter, I think you should teach me a lesson about what happens when you're bad...naughty, even," she told him, dropping the cuffs into his hand before slipping the black coat from her shoulders.

Naked apart from sheer black stockings covering her legs up to her thighs, ridiculous heels, and strings of sparkling jewelry adorning her body, she climbed up onto his bed and grasped the ornate twisted black iron of the headboard.

"Pansy, I don't…" he started, uncertainly.

"It's just fun, Harry," she said, sitting up to pull the cuffs from his fingers. She clasped one around her wrist and the other to the bed, lying back to watch his reaction. "Your move, Auror Potter," she told him, moving her free hand down her body. Slowly, she watched him decide and he moved over her on the bed, stilling her free hand with his.

"What do you think you're doing, miss? That's awfully bad of you," he said, starting to play along. "I just might need to teach you a lesson."

VI

Pansy stood on the sticky top of the wooden bar in her bare feet, her shoes dropped and forgotten on the floor below. She held a bottle of champagne in her left hand, her second or maybe third of the night, and cupped her right around her mouth to amplify her raucous yelling. She wasn't sure why climbing up on the bar had seemed like a good idea, but she'd gone with it.

The music echoing around the bar was awful, some amatuer local band. It sounded better higher up, Pansy thought, or maybe it was the champagne or the altitude. The bubbles made her dance and she shimmied her away across the wood. She started to lose herself in the terrible music, forgetting she had an audience. One last hearty swig and the bottle was empty, so she set it by her feet and danced unencumbered.

Someone yelled, "Take it off!" from the back of the pub and Pansy was not one to shy away from a challenge, or a bad suggestion. She pulled up the hem of her lacy top and tossed it down. The change in temperature as well as the attention pebbled her nipples as she danced.

"Okay, that's enough now," the bartender told her. He held out a hand to help her down.

"Danny!" Pansy whined, "I'm not ready yet!" and she shimmied away from him rocking her hips to the beat.

"Don't make me call the MLE, Pansy," he said, more sternly.

"I'm an Auror," a voice rang out, and Harry appeared at the bar. "I'll take her home, Danny," he said.

"Oh, thanks Mr. Potter. If it's not too much trouble. I don't really want to have the MLE in here again tonight," Danny said, holding his hand out for Harry to shake.

"No trouble at all, unlike you," Harry aimed at Pansy. "You're nothing but," and he gestured for her to climb on his back. The bartender handed Harry her shoes and shirt, and he took them with one hand before bringing his hands around his back to support her. "Thanks again, Danny," and he carried a topless Pansy, tits pressed into his back, out of the bar.

"Interesting night," he began as he piggybacked her toward her flat. "I won't tell you that you didn't look amazing up there, but you should probably try to keep your clothes on in public from now on," Harry told her. "I mean, I know it's kind of your thing."

"Hey!" Pansy yelled. "You just said you enjoyed it, you arse. And what, are you following me now?"

"Nope. It was Johnson's birthday, so we went out for drinks after training," Harry told her. "You just didn't see me there."

"Easy without that glaring ginger head hanging around you, I suppose," she sighed. "I guess I should thank you for rescuing me before I did something completely ridiculous." She thought for a second. "Maybe in the morning."

"Ha," Harry laughed, as they approached her flat.

"You have to carry me up, you know," she said, and he could hear the innuendo in her voice. "Maybe I'll figure out how to say thank you between here and there."

"Maybe you will," he replied, shifting on the front step so Pansy could use her wand to unlock her building's door. "We'll just have to find out, now won't we."

VII

Daphne, Millie, and Tracey had ensured Pansy had not met her birthday sober. Drink after drink had blurred the night and made straight lines and verticalness complicated feats. Discarded rose gold heels swung loosely from the fingers of Pansy's left hand as Daphne grasped her right, attempting to lead Pansy up to her flat through fits of giggles and spinning and uncharacteristic levity.

"Up you get," Daphne directed as Pansy fumbled up the stairs. "Next time, I'm flooing you home."

"Flooooooo," Pansy exaggerated, leading to yet more giggles. "Flooooooo is such a funny word, don't you think so, Daph?"

"I'm starting to wonder if someone spiked your drinks. What's gotten into you?" Daphne asked as she navigated Pansy down the hallway to her door.

"Blaisey and Theo and silly Millie hit me with cheering charms as a birthday present as we were leaving! Aren't they just the sweetest arseholes?"

"They are something," Daphne replied as the wards gave way to let them enter. "Are you going to be okay? Cheering charms on top of all of the drinking…"

"My sweet, beautiful mother friend, I will be FINE. This room is so beautiful when it spins like this. I have amazing taste," Pansy said as she twirled around her living room.

"Uh huh. Do you need me to stay? I feel like I should stay…" Daphne said, skeptically watching Pansy narrowly miss bumping into her couch as she spun.

"Put some sober-up by my bed and go fuck your boyfriend for me, you beautiful witch. I'll be fine here spinning," Pansy insisted. "Unless you want me to join you and Theo…"

"No, not tonight, love, or probably ever. If you're sure you don't need me…just get some sleep. Owl me in the morning so I know you're okay." Daphne grasped Pansy in a strong hug. "Happy birthday, Pans! Sweet dreams."

Daphne let her go and disapparated, leaving her in the middle of her living room alone. Pansy shrugged, and started skipping toward the kitchen to find tea, or more alcohol, or both, enjoying the tipsy and completely out of the ordinary cheerful feeling coursing through her.

She grasped the handle of the black kettle and turned to fill it in the sink, when a gasp escaped her lips. The kettle loosened in her fingers and crashed to the floor, spilling the bit of water that had been inside. A corporeal patronus, in stag form, galloped out of her wall and through her kitchen. Agog at the sight of a patronus up close, Pansy reached out her hand toward the shape, pulling back as if it burned as soon as a voice spoke.

"It's me, it's Harry. I'm outside your flat and I have something to give you. Can I come up?"

Pansy followed the stag to her balcony, where she thrust open the doors and looked down. "HAAAAAARRRRRRRRRYYYYYYY!" she yelled. "Come up, come up! It's open!" and then rushed to open the door to her flat.

As soon as Harry appeared, she grasped his hand and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut with her bare foot. Wrestling him to the floor, Pansy pounced and kissed and groped as Harry struggled to keep up with her.

They both panted as he pulled his lips away from hers. His thumb traveled the bridge of her nose, over lips and down her neck. "Happy birthday, Pansy," he whispered.

"You pretty, pretty man. How did you know?" she asked, fingers deceptively nimble as they worked on the button of his jeans.

"Pretty?" he asked as his hands stilled hers on his zipper.

"Hmmm, pretty. With nice muscles. And hair that doesn't make sense," she giggled.

"Always cracks about my hair. Hands off, Pans. Tonight is about you," he said as he rolled her onto her back, surrounded by her laughter. "Why so ticklish?" he asked. "You're never this giggly. Or cheerful. That smile might break your face."

"I was attacked tonight. Attacked by arseholes with cheering charms! Can you arrest them?" she gasped, as lips followed hands under her dress.

Harry pulled up and pressed her hands on the rug on either side of her head. "Stop giggling or do I need to tie you down again?"

"Mmmmm," she moaned, as his lips grazed her throat. "M'not so ticklish now. Try me."

Harry traced his fingers down her torso until they came to the tasseled tie keeping her dress together and he teased her by making slow work of untying the knot and parting her dress, the rose gold of the sequins dancing in the lights of her flat.

"You never wear knickers," he said while moving down her body until lips and tongue met her core and Pansy's lingering giggles turned into moans. Pausing to nip the inside of her thigh with his teeth, "and I love being the reason you're not quiet," he said and found her again with his tongue.

Pansy gasped. "You're always a reason I'm not quiet. You're fucking infuriating but good with your tongue," and she giggled again before grabbing Harry's hair and losing conscious thought.

When he'd brought her over twice, he came up and kissed her, the taste of her on their lips. "Happy birthday, Pans," he said, as he broke the kiss. He rolled back on his heels and stood up. "I guess I'll…"

"Take me to bed, you arsehole. It's still my birthday and I'm not done with you yet," she said up at him from the floor.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied while pulling her up to her feet and hoisting her over his shoulder. "Seems like those cheering charms finally wore off."

"Thank fucking Merlin," Pansy said as he tossed her on her bed. "It's about fucking time."