Pansy never stayed.

The action irked Harry to his very core.

Pansy had never been affectionate women or sensitive or romantic.

She was raw, broken, and real.

If Harry was being honest, he was still broken on the inside too.

Harry knew that about Pansy, but he still allowed himself to get caught up in her even if she didn't feel the same about him.

That's why Harry accepted, cherished, and devoured her while she was underneath him withering away in passion and ecstasy because when they were done - she was always gone.

So quick, so fast - like lightening, almost as if she wasn't there.

"Pansy, wait - "

Harry had broken their unspoken rountine despite knowing he was pushing his boundaries with the dark haired witch.

"Whatever it is can wait, Potter," Pansy said sharply, clasping her black bra, refusing to making eye contact with the The Chosen One - she always teased him about his various nicknames - everyone else could gravel and flustered themselves with Harry Potter, but Pansy refused.

Before Harry was the Wizarding World's savior, he was a geeky, awkward, gentle soul with infinite of possibilities

(Until Harry didn't have a choice in his life. No say or argument.

Just a pawn in a Wizarding War too toxic and evil and ahead of their time to even begin to comprehend.

Did he know that fact? Pansy sometimes wondered.

Did he curse and resent the fact that they were kids?

Pansy hated how alike they truly were)

and Pansy didn't let Harry forget that fact.

"Why don't you stay?" Harry asked, propping himself up on his elbows as he watches Pansy pull on her dress. Harry knew he had work in the morning, but he didn't care. He just wanted more... more time with Pansy. If she would allow him.

Pansy finished dressing herself, putting her soft hair up in an elegant bun, her eyes on Harry with a stare of indifference.

Harry frowned.

Why did Pansy always have to be so cold?

A few moments passed before Pansy answered him, her pretty long eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. "Because I rather not spend the night with you."

A lie, of course.

Harry didn't need to know that.

Harry sighed, he had already known the answer before he even asked so why was he so disappointed? Why should he even care so much when Pansy clearly didn't care at all?

"Okay, forget I asked," He muttered, running a hand through his messy after sex hair.

Pansy rolled her eyes, not liking the disappointment in Harry's beautiful emerald eyes.

She always made someone disappointed.

"You're too soft, Potter. It's just sex."

Why did she always have to be so harsh?

Why did she always have to lie?

To herself, to everyone including Draco and Blaise, to Harry.

Harry hated how he never knew what side of Pansy he would have when they were together.

How could she act like this when moments ago they were in pure bliss?

"It doesn't have to be just sex, Pansy," Harry said honesty.

Pansy hated the way Harry made her feel.

"I'll see you later, Potter."

She was gone before he could blink.

Harry groaned, frustrated, throwing himself back onto his pillows.

Pansy was a hard woman to love.

.

.

.

When Pansy arrived back to her hotel, she quickly went to her counter, her steps echoing as she reached her destination. She unscrewed the cap, taking a long gulp of Firewhiskey, enjoying the burn creeping down her throat.

Her heart was still beating against her ribcage with force she was foreign too.

Harry had never asked her to stay with him before. She had assumed he knew and respected their unspoken agreement.

Pansy didn't care about Harry Potter. She didn't. He was a warm body when there was no one else. Harry had been her fuck buddy - more or less - for the past four months and that was it. She wasn't going to stay the night or cuddle or kiss after sex. That wasn't her.

That wasn't them.

Pansy refused to allow that to happen.

Pushing Harry far from her thoughts and blaming their encounter on a moment of intense weakness on her part, Pansy took another large gulp of whiskey.

Pansy felt so fucking lost.

Looking around the room, her chest tightened.

She was so lonely, isolated, and abandoned.

She didn't have anyone.

(Why couldn't she

disappear?

Seize to

exist)

Her heart started to ache again and she refused to give that fucking letter another glance.

Allowing her perfect facade to fade, she struggled not to break. Her eyes stung with unleashed tears as she tried to swallow the thick knot in her dry throat. She clenched her fists at her sides, her long manicure nails digging into her palms as she blinked her eyes harshly.

Pansy would not break. She would not crumble and fall into a million pieces. She was not broken.

'I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay.'

Pansy snapped her eyes open, biting her lip in misery before locating a small bag on her coffee table.

She walked closer, curious, and smirked when she realized the contents.

Daphne had left her drugs behind.

Pansy shrugged, picking up the drugs. 'How bad can it be? I survived last night.'

Before Pansy even had time to question her behavior, she was walking over to her kitchen counter and pouring out the white drug with indifference. Remembering the razor blade in her bathroom Daphne had used to seperate the lines, she went to retrieve it and a straw from her kitchen drawer. It wasn't rolled up money, but it would do.

Pansy seperated two long lines, closing her left nostril as she leaned down to snort the white power through her right nostril with a straw.

It was instant.

A rush of adrenaline, heart thumping, eyes dilated.

A wave of raw distraught came over Pansy.

She was alone, doing muggle drugs her friend left behind in a hotel that wasn't her home, feeling heartbroken and lost and sad.

Pansy did two more lines.

(Anything to

take the

pain away)

All she wanted to do was to escape her own reality.

.

.

.

Two hours later, Pansy found herself in downtown Muggle London in a infamous pub known for good drinks and even better music.

Or at least that's what some Muggle bartender told her. Pansy merely answered with, "Whiskey on ice, please."

The cocaine she had snorted earlier had given her a boost of energy. At least enough energy to take a shower, magically curl her dark hair, and put on a short black dress that showed off her long legs. She wore matching black high heels and a nice expensive black clutch that held her money, wand, and the rest of her Muggle drug.

Pansy had told herself to leave the cocaine at the hotel, but a little voice inside her head told her she would need it and she would be damned if her voice had hadn't been right.

Sitting her glass of whiskey on ice down, she hopped off the bar stool in search of the ladies room. Moving her way through a crowd of sweaty, dancing Muggles as the loud music thumped against her ears. She made her way into the restroom, anxiously searching for the largest stall as her heels clicked across the floor.

Cursing herself for not staying inside the comfort of her hotel, Pansy sat down on the toilet, digging into her clutch, and quickly poured out a little cocaine on her hotel keys before snorting it.

She could hear the sounds of giggles and cameras flashing from inside the restroom and she rolled her eyes. Pansy had chosen Muggle London because she didn't want to be bothered by anyone she knew, but she slowly but surely found herself growing more irritated by the minute.

Pansy thought drugs made you feel happy.

Pansy did three more bumps of cocaine, noticing her drug sack was almost nonexistent before washing her hands and exiting the woman's restroom.

She tried to ignore the little voice inside her head telling her she would need more drugs.

She made her way through the crowd of Muggles once more, unapologetically bumping shoulders with a few different women.

Typical Pansy.

Finally finding her seat along the bar, she sat down with grace only a Pureblood witch could do and picked up her glass of whiskey. She crossed her long legs as she sipped delicately, surveying her surroundings with smokey colored eyes.

It was around one thirty in the morning and she knew the pub had to close in a hour or so, but that didn't stop people from coming in with loud and obnoxious groups of friends - ready to party and forget.

Pansy swung her glass of whiskey back.

She would do anything to forget.

Turning herself back around to the bar, she called the bartender over, tipped him nicely and order another glass of whiskey on ice.

Pansy sat there, sipping her whiskey, listening to music and Muggles alike as she tried to drown out her intrusive thoughts.

(Worthless,

Disgusting,

Cold hearted bitch,

No one loves

Y O U)

She must have looked ridiculous and depressing sitting her drinking alcohol by herself, but as she glanced around the bar she noticed a few dark haired Muggles were alone as well.

Pansy didn't feel as pathetic.

Pansy finished up the second glass of whiskey with ease, feeling her cheeks flush hot. Her throat was dry and she felt a little disoriented. In fact, her whole body felt kind of warm. She had only two glasses.

She felt weird regardless.

Maybe Muggle liquor was stronger than she thought, Pansy didn't know and she decided not to dwell on it as she made her way outside for a cigarette.

The winter February air felt nice on her skin and the sounds of Muggle cars were more welcoming than the party noises from inside the pub.

Pansy reached into her clutch, blinking harshly a few times as her head started spinning and she felt dizzy and nauseous.

Damn. Those Muggles really didn't play around with their alcohol.

Pansy finally found her pack of cigarettes, pulling a cigarette out and lightening her fig with a shaky hand.

She bit her lip, trying to steady herself against the wall, her lip stained cigarette dangling between her thin fingers.

Everything started spinning.

Pansy breathe in and out a few times, her heart beating against her chest from the cocaine as her vision faded in and out.

Did the cocaine do this to her? She didn't remember feeling like this with Daphne.

Pansy tried to lift her cigarette to her lips, but her arm wouldn't work. Her muscles felt limp and clumsy.

"I -" Pansy tried to talk but nothing but incoherent gibberish was coming out.

Her dark eyes darted back and forth looking around for help, fear starting to creep up her spine as goosebumps spread out onto her pale skin from the chilly wind.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

How could she be so bloody fucking stupid?

What the fuck was wrong with her?

Pansy needed her wand. Now. She had to get her wand out of her clutch.

But Pansy couldn't move, she had no control of her body. Not even as her legs gave out underneath her and her knees hit the harsh gravel on the concrete, blood trickling down her legs. Her chest tightened with raw fear.

What was happening to her?

Pansy couldn't think straight she was so scared and frightened. She couldn't do anything without her wand.

(Didn't you

ask for this?

No, no - not this

w a y)

Her vision started to become more blurry, figures and shapes stretching and Pansy could barely make out the form in front her as she opened her mouth to scream Help but her lips stayed still and unmoving.

Her vision and consciousness was almost gone and Pansy tried to stay strong, tried to hold on - tried to fight the darkness.

(Don't close

your damn eyes!

Use your bloody wand

how pathetic are

YOU)

The figure creped closer and closer to Pansy.

Heavy, loud, fear inducing footsteps crunching against the concrete were the last sound Pansy heard before her entire world went black.