Pansy felt cold.
Bone chilling, goosebumps, to the core shivering cold.
Blinking tiredly, she raised herself up on her elbows, eyeing the source.
She had left her balcony door open all night, allowing the chilly air to breeze by all evening.
The sun was setting, hues of orange, pink, and blue set across the horizon. The temperature dropping every hour and the hum of the night life started to set in.
Pansy had slept the entire day away, curled up naked in her bed, hungover and sluggish from the night of partying before.
She had woken up a few times during the day, but she didn't have the energy in her to get out of bed so she closed her pretty eyes, drifting in and out of consciousness, trying to ignore her pestering thoughts.
Pansy swallowed down the thick knot in her throat, pulling on her black dress she had discarded the night before. She pulled her messy bedhead black hair into an elegant bun and eyed the Firewhiskey she left on the counter.
Bloody hell.
Pansy walked over, unscrewed the cap, and gulped down a large shot.
Her throat stung, chest burning, but at least it was something.
Pansy felt a sudden painful stinging behind her eyes. She blinked harshly for a few moments, long dark eyes lashes fluttering against her cheeks and it was soon gone.
Today had officially been a week.
A week since she had got that awful letter that reopened emotions she had buried away in her consciousness a long time ago.
She didn't care.
She shouldn't care.
Margaret Parkinson had been found hanging (graceful and beautiful like a porcelain fucking doll, Pansy assumed) from her chandelier, body swinging for over three hours before they discovered her with a fucking letter attached to her neck, a week ago today.
Of course, the letter was addressed to Pansy.
But why?! Why, after all these years, leave a pathetic good-bye letter, when Margaret couldn't even be bothered with Pansy at any point in her life.
Pansy's mother had never cared about anyone but herself. She had never wanted to be a mother, merely staying with her family because of society standards and blood purity. So when times became dark and Pansy's father dabbled more into dark magic and Lord Voldemort, finally recieving the Dark Mark, Margaret left.
She fucking left.
Margaret told Clifford that the Dark Mark had been the breaking point. That she would've stayed through his affairs, stoic attitude and manipulative behavior, but she would not surround herself with evil, as she called it.
For a cold hearted bitch like Margaret to realize the Dark Lord was evil spoke volumes.
Pansy was never told her mother left either. She came home for the holidays during her fifth year and her mother was gone.
"Father?" Pansy asked politely, walking into his study.
He barely spared her a glance
"Where's mother?"
Clifford looked up, dark eyes cold and emotionless.
"She's gone, Pansy. She's a weak witch and even more pathetic mind. She's a disgrace. Now, run off. I'm busy."
Why wasn't she ever good enough for her parents?
Pansy never saw or heard from her mother again.
Until a week ago.
With that pitiful, disgusting, bloody fucking letter.
It took everything in Pansy not to light it on fire and watch the flames consumed whatever the fuck her mother had to say to her.
"Crucio!"
Pansy felt hot tears prickle the back of her eyes.
The screams of torture from the Cruciatus curse were heard throughout the Manor.
The sounds bounced off the walls, vibrating and intensifying with each second, hitting Pansy right in her core.
She felt their pain with them.
"You pathetic blood traitor, hiding filthy, dirty Mudbloods! How dare you cross our Dark Lord!"
That would be her father.
"Crucio!"
She could smell the iron from blood that hung high in the air, lingering and sticking to the walls of her childhood home.
Home.
She bitterly laughed inwardly.
She didn't have a home anymore, if she ever did.
Pansy's heart and brain and body and spirit couldn't handle everything anymore.
She grabbed a pillow from her bed, barely having time to catch herself before her knees collapsed underneath her as she sunk to the floor beside her bed, her long legs sprawled out under her as she shoved her face against the soft satin green pillowcase. She wrapped both her arms around the pillow tightly, clutching so hard her knuckles turned ghost white as her chest throbbed and ached with painful, heartbreaking hurt.
She sobbed like she had never cried before, screaming until her lungs were raw and dry. She opened her mouth; a piercing helpless, agonizing, guilty cry for help as drool and snot and tears of a broken sixteen year old seeped into her pillow. Her shoulders shaking violently as she clenched the pillow tighter to silence her cries.
Two more weeks. Two more weeks. Two more weeks.
She kept chanting that to herself over and over as she cried harder with each second, the tortured screams still heard from downstairs.
Only two more weeks and she would finally be back at Hogwarts.
Away from blood and dark magic and torture and screams and destruction and evil and Voldemort.
She would be safe.
"Help me," Pansy cried out to no one, "Someone, please, help me."
Pansy shook her head as to rid her bothersome memories, tossing the letter off to the side with disgust. She grabbed her black coat before walking outside for a cigarette, ignoring her irritating hunger pains.
How is it her mother beat her to it? She couldn't help but think bitterly.
She didn't want to think the word though much less say it or confront or even be aware she felt that way.
She tried to push the thought into the back of her mind, inhaling her cigarette, watching the grey color smoke drift away.
Before she even knew what she was doing, she was going inside to get dress and leaving the safe haven of her temporary home.
.
.
.
"Potter?" She called out once she regained her whereabouts.
'Good.' She thought, looking around at his familiar room, thankful he hadn't changed his privacy wards.
His room still looked the same as she remembered. Simple, clean, and a few personal items and photographs. The air smelled exactly like Harry... clean laundry, pine, and magic.
She barely heard his trained Auror steps as he opened the door to his room, face bemused before turning into a small smile.
"Pansy," he said, relieved, emerald eyes piercing into her soul as he walked foward to hug her, his tall frame towering over her.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I was upset and angry. I regretted it the second I left. I've been worried about you and if anything happened to you..."
Pansy cut Harry off with a rough kiss, silencing him before he could continue.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers into his messy black hair. His glasses bumped into her face and she giggled as he took them off before returning back to her.
Harry grabbed her face, kissing her eagerly and passionately.
She made him feel so bloody fucking invincible and fearless and breathless and amazing. Harry felt like he could conquer the world, his senses heightened, and heart about to burst out of his chest.
Harry couldn't stay angry at Pansy if he tried.
Pansy heart was thumping through her chest, adrenaline coursing through mind and body, her mind going blank except for the one person in front of her.
Harry.
The best part about being with Harry, nothing had to make sense. Nothing had to matter or be question or thought about... they just were.
She could forget about the entire world in his arms.
No matter how desperately she didn't want it to be true and how she would deny it until the end of time, Harry made her want to be alive.
Pansy could not remember the last time she wanted to be alive.
Harry's hands trailed down her body, grabbing her bottom, lifting her up, and wrapping her legs around his waist. He trailed kisses down her neck, biting and sucking, backing her roughly into his bedroom wall.
Pansy moaned, grabbing his face, and bringing his lips back up to hers.
Everything else seemed so diminutive and insignificant in that moment between the two of them.