DISCLAIMER: In this fic, Pansy is half Korean and Half White. I have also written her as pale and before you attack me, here'res why. I wrote her that way because in Korea a recent beauty standard is to be pale, and because of her being, well, h e r, she would want to be updated on the latest trends. So yes, she is pale in this story. Please don't be mean to me I try to act tough but I will cry.
Anyways, OH MY GOD THIS TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE I AM SORRY! It's longer than normal so I hope you like it!
Prompt: Both Harry and Pansy are Aurors who have just been assigned a drug case. Long hours of stake outs and and little to do but watch the flat across the street for evidence gives them plenty of time to talk.
"Stop hogging my side of the alley!" Harry whispered intensely as he glared across at his new partner, Pansy Parkinson.
Her hair, short like her, was a messy black bob that contrasted against the paleness of her skin and matched the color of her eyeliner. They'd been sent on a mission to watch the headquarters of one of the most elusive drug lords in the country, yet she still wore an inappropriate pair of heeled boots and so much cakeup, sorry, makeup, that Harry wondered if she even had a face. Because what does she care about protocol? So what if she's seen by an extremely dangerous member of the drug cartel? As long as she looks pretty in her casket, he didn't think she cared. Oh, wait. He knew she didn't care.
"Listen, Potter. Just 'cause you wanna die lookin' gross and old with wrinkles, doesn't mean we all do." Pansy continued reapplying her wine colored lipstick as she rolled her eyes at his statement. Why the hell would anyone want to look like a raisin with eye-holes on their death bed?
Harry stared in disbelief. "I don't want to die old. I want to die knowing I've lived a full life."
They'd moved into a dingy London flat across the street from the old "shoe store" aka "Venemum" headquarters.
It was cheap and the grimy carpet had spots that made the apartment smell of cat pee. There weren't many windows, leaving the living room, kitchen, and bedroom dark at most times of the day. The walls were bare and a dull white; the only furnishings within the flat were those of necessity. A large bed in the bedroom, a single cotton couch and table with equipment in the living room, and food in the kitchen cupboards with a table and two chairs off to the side.
Pansy lay on the floor, whining out of boredom. "Are stakeouts usually this lackluster?"
"No, normally they're worse than this," Harry replied with a bit of sarcasm in his voice, eyes rolling as he heard a loud groaning noise from her side of the room. "Stop bitching, you're the one who got the couch."
She shot up from her spot on the carpet. He made her so angry. His voice, his face, his hideous fashion sense, and Merlin save her, his fucking cough WAS infuriating. It was all scraggly and soft, and he would always try to be quiet so he would spend ten minutes getting rid of that tickle in his throat. Half the time, she was sure he only did it to annoy her.
"Maybe I wouldn't be so bitchy if you would've bought two beds!" Pansy's tone became fierce and snappy.
"Maybe I would've bought two beds if you didn't declare the couch yours!" He huffed; fuck, she pissed him off.
Her makeup was perfect, her outfits were, her walk was perfect, the ratio between bitchiness and playful sarcasm was perfect - everything about her was perfect. The way snorted when she laughed too hard at his failures, oblivious to anyone else's opinion. When she smiled at herself in the mirror, old vanity from their school days peaking through, as usual. Even her name sounded perfect. Pansy Parkinson. Everything she did, was perfection.
And it made him furious.
"Don't act like you don't like it! Two nights ago you were practically getting off in your sleep - on my ass! Honestly, never thought Harry "I lost my girlfriend to Neville Longbottom and now I never get laid" Potter would ever try and snag a Parkinson." Pansy shouted in annoyance and began chipping off the nail polish on her nails.
He jumped up from his spot at the table, knocking a few files off the edge. "You're such an entitled bitch!"
"Stop acting like it's not true." Pansy traced the old carpet with her nails, nonchalant as ever.
"It's not true! God, you're the most ignorant person I've ever met! Do you think of anyone but yourself? Or is it all about Pansy fucking Parkinson? And do you realize how much of a safety hazard those bloody nails are? We're on a mission for fuck's sake! So stop dressing like it's ladies' night down at the pub! Merlin, I can't fucking stand you!" Harry put his hands on his head and paced around the room.
Pansy didn't flinch as his fist slammed into the wall. She sighed and walked into the bedroom, keeping her composure.
She felt her back hit the wall, sliding into a comfortable sitting position on her bed; correction, their bed. It was a ludicrous idea to consider a Potter and a Parkinson sharing a bed, but there they were. Side by side, as far away from each other as possible, uttering snide remarks and degrading comments.
Harry held a muggle book in one hand, while the other grasped onto a dirty mug of reheated coffee. Moonlight filtered through cheap blinds and Pansy noticed the reflection on his glasses; he looked… peaceful. Normal. Ordinary. It was odd. Harry Potter was suddenly Harry, just Harry. The man he always wanted. The man she unexpectedly stopped ignoring.
He turned his head, raising an eyebrow as she gazed. "Is something interesting?" Harry inquired, quickly letting his eyes wander down to her chest, where the neckline of her shirt exposed the tops of her chest. He saw a light splattering of freckles on her breasts - they were obvious and contrasted with the paleness of her skin, he wasn't thinking about her in that way.
"Is something interesting about my tits, Potter?" She smirked, not bothering to look up from her wizarding fashion magazine. According to Korean beauty standards, her pale skin is all the rage. Guess she had her mother to thank, and possibly her addiction to reading up on skincare and guides to living wrinkle-free; maybe she's also a bit paranoid about her freckles as well.
"I-um, no. I just didn't know you had freckles is all." Harry stuttered, his cheeks flushing as he swiftly jumped off the bed and walked into the bathroom.
Standing in front of the mirror, he took a good look at himself. Why was he blushing? Why was he staring? Was it a quick glance? It was supposed to be a quick glance? He leaned down and splashed water on his face, deciding separate beds would've been a wonderful idea.
He was in the kitchen, preparing a meal for the two of them. A simple white bean soup with grilled chicken on the side. Easy. Harry'd been cooking since he was a child, and it'd become a pastime of his.
Pansy came in from the living room, rubbing her lower back in discomfort. "Fuck, that chair's broken, I felt wood digging into my back the whole time."
"Come here." Harry sighed, putting down the knife he'd used to chop onions with.
She made a face, "Um, why?" Her brows were furrowed and her hands landed on her hips.
He huffed loudly in frustration. "Just come here!"
Pansy shuffled over, dragging her feet along the once white linoleum that was now a dirty beige. Harry turned her body to where she wasn't facing him and placed his hands on her lower back. He moved in small circles, then moved lower towards her hips. She became rigid as his hands reached the hem of her shirt, and lifted it slightly. His fingertips were hot against Pansy's cold skin, and she quickly adjusted to the sensation.
This is odd. Harry knew it, but he liked how soft she felt against his calloused hands. He liked the sound of her light breathing and the way she leaned back into him as she calmed down, letting his hands wander farther down than they needed to.
Neither of them had been with anyone in a month. They knew they shouldn't. That it was wrong. He was Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world. Conqueror of the Dark Lord. She was the daughter of two well-respected former death eaters that served Voldemort during the war, and even in his death. She was the disowned daughter of two repulsive creatures that called themselves human. How could you leave your own child because of a fucking belief? It pissed him off more than it should have.
So, despite his better judgment, the angel on his shoulder screaming no, he gave in. He let his lips graze her shoulder.
Pansy shivered. Harry Potter placing light kisses on the back of her shoulders and she could feel him turning her forward. And so, against everything she was taught, against her conscience, she let him.
He tasted like chicken broth and sweat and she felt his lips leave hers to remove his shirt. Of course, she'd seen him shirtless before, they were partners on a stakeout that'd been living together for a month. They'd seen each other naked before. Although, never like this. He never looked at her the way he did now and it was startling, and fierce, and beautiful because she didn't care if it was too cold in their bedroom to sleep naked if they were together. Pansy was so lost in thought she never realized she was in her underwear and sat straddling him on that shitty mattress from some muggle kept hearing a phrase repeat in her head as Harry flipped them over and began his descent between her thighs. Let it happen, let it happen, let it happen...
Maybe it was an act of rebellion. To disobey everything she'd been told, to have control for once in her life. Maybe it was because she simply needed a good shag. Merlin knows she hadn't had one in a good while. Or maybe, it was because she saw him as Harry. A man with old, round glasses that could take a trip to St. Mungo's and be done with lenses forever. A man that pushed his godson on the swings and read to him every night he could. A man that she'd learned to trust with her secrets.
But who knows? They only cared about the now, never bothering to mention the future.
