January 1995
"They're so beautiful" Pansy whispered under her breath.
Daphne nodded, notably less enthralled. "Totally. I'd kill to have hair like that."
"Daphne!" Pansy nudged her hard for not taking it seriously.
Daphne turned to look at her, her eyes always more shrewd than people expected. "You should volunteer," she whispered to Pansy, who couldn't take her eyes off of the statuesque horses. "The giant said they need fourth years to feed them in the morning, while it's still dark. You're up before the effing sun most days anyway."
Pansy rolled her eyes at Daphne's mannered inability to curse, but considered it.
"With all the games goin' on these pretty things are a little nervous, and they're not eatin' enough…" the enormous groundskeeper explained.
Pansy just looked at the tied up unicorn in front of the class. She could faintly see its ribs, and the bones in her legs. Looking into the mare's eyes, she found a hunger she recognized. She shook her shining mane, straightening her neck proudly. "Oh yes," Pansy thought to herself, "I know how you feel."
…
Pansy woke up to her wand buzzing insistently beside her, Stewart licking her hand. Which only meant one thing, her mind slowly came around to realize: he hadn't gotten his breakfast. It was past six.
Jolting out of bed, she ran to the dresser where her delicate watch lay next to her diamond studs and her rings. 7:49. Fuck.
Pansy rushed through a shower, waving her wand at her hair to dry and brushing it straight, praying for a light humidity day that wouldn't punish her for doing things the lazy way.
Throwing on wide-leg trousers and a men's Oxford button-up that had been tailored to her slight curves, she ran to her classroom, charming the tea kettle she kept there to life. While the tea steeped, she set up for her second years, thanking her obsessive control issues for planning ahead. The little crates with pre-measured ingredients were set up on the tables, cauldrons magically cleaned and prepared. By the time the Slytherins and Gryffindors filed in, notably more belligerent with each other than any of her classes yesterday had been, she was sipping her second cup of tea.
She made it through the first period, notes on relationship and skill sets abound. They were perhaps her least competent- and least interested class thus far, but there were two or three Slytherins with potential, the smallest spark of interest visible in the way they read the instructions carefully, one finger dragging along the lines, or counted their stirs with determined focus. There was also one she would need to keep an eye on; Harry Kosman had gleefully exploded both of his neighbors' potions.
The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws weren't much improved. The constant competition between them- a few of whom had read ahead (not actually helpful to the shape of a lesson, Pansy learned with a thought to poor Snape) and a handful of others were obsessed with perfecting the simple brew she had assigned.
By lunch, she was actually hungry for once, her brain drained of calories necessary to put up with third and fourth years that afternoon. Walking into the Great Hall, she wished the staff didn't sit at the very far end of the room. Whispers followed behind her, a trail of questions and "did you knows?". She chose a seat towards the end, empty seats on either side of her, deciding not to interrupt the few professors who came to the hall for lunch in their reading, grading, or conversations.
Just as she was about to eat, Elspeth MacGillony asked if she could take the seat beside her. Pansy nodded, gesturing to the seat, wishing she had been left alone to eat her little salad in peace.
"How's your first week?" the Deputy Headmistress asked gently after carefully selecting a small sandwich from a platter in front of them.
Pansy grinned. "Someone should have warned me."
Elspeth's laugh was lovely, a deep chuckle that conveyed an almost masculine confidence. "They're wild, aren't they?"
"In a great way… I think."
"Haven't decided yet?"
"It's a bit…overwhelming, isn't it?"
"Ooh yes, absolutely. You're going to be exhausted by the end of the week. And surprisingly sore from standing so much."
Pansy could already feel that in her feet. She wondered how long she could insist on wearing her modest heels.
"It gets better though; the first year is the hardest."
Pansy wondered if the Deputy knew about her probationary status as Elspeth took a large bite of her sandwich. If she knew she might only have one year.
"Harry says you're a natural."
Pansy shrugged, only slightly too arrogant to dissuade someone offering her a compliment. "I've barely started. I feel like there's a lot to learn."
Elspeth grinned. "Well sure. But isn't that part of the fun?" She winked, and her eyes briefly glanced over Pansy's body. "Speaking of- I've got my seventh years next."
The other teacher stood before leaning her hand back onto the table and looking intently at Pansy. "You should go out with all of us. End of the week, we usually head to the Broomsticks for a drink. Unwind a bit before a weekend of grading." Her deep laugh bounced off of the walls in the hall.
Pansy swallowed. "Um, sure. Sounds fun, thanks."
"Anytime. Don't be a stranger."
Pansy watched as the Ravenclaw walked out of the hall, waving to students and stopping to chastise a small Gryffindor with a Weasley product in hand.
…
Pansy's third and fourth years turned out to be terrors. She vaguely remembered the bullying and flirting and drama reaching its peak in those years, and privately was very grateful there was no Triwizard Tournament and subsequent Yule Ball to make things worse. The snipping and cruel words that were already being thrown around at each other were impossible to stay on top of, and instead she found herself sitting quietly at the head of the class, taking copious notes and attempting (pathetically) to draft up productive and friendly (but not too friendly) group assignments.
She was deeply relieved to reach the open office hours that filled the end of her day. Two sixth-year Slytherins showed up to work on their homework, telling her that they worked well in the dark, quiet dungeons rather than the busy great hall. Pansy made a note to herself to ask Wendy to provide some snacks she could keep handy for them in the long period before dinnertime.
The students were Cosima Flint, who wore her Quidditch Captain badge on her robe proudly, and Sandra Yagi, who informed her proudly that she had been Keeper for the team for the last three years. They were nice girls, and Pansy informed Cosima that she had known her brother in school. The girls' face (Pansy noticed that, unfortunately, Marcus' teeth must have been genetic) twisted. "He's a seeker for the Irish team now."
"Congratulations. Your parents must be proud."
Her friend spoke up for her as Cosima anxiously bit her lower lip. "He was disowned- last spring he married Oliver Wood, from the English team."
Pansy couldn't stop her jaw from dropping. That made…so much sense.
She gathered herself, blinking repeatedly. "Do you still speak to your brother?"
Cosima nodded. "We write sometimes."
Pansy smiled sweetly at her. "Well I think that's wonderful." Cosima looked relieved, and Pansy realized she might have more misconceptions about her reputation to unravel than she had originally thought. "I didn't know they were married- will you pass on my best wishes the next time you write?"
Cosima grinned wide, nodding in confirmation. "Professor?"
"Yes?"
"Is it okay if we work on quidditch strategies during study period?"
Pansy pretended to look very serious, considering it, then winked at the girl. "If it stays between us."
One student at a time, she thought. If anyone can win them over, it's me. She was, after all, Head of Slytherin House for a reason.
The women worked in silence, Pansy relishing the time to go over her notes, finalizing group assignments for the first years and fifth years, and drafting an entirely new lesson plan; their next assignment would revolve around building an efficient team. Her sixth years were a smaller class and she decided to divide them into pairs who would take turns brewing and giving feedback and answering her questions about the same potion.
As dinnertime approached, Cosima and Sandra packed up their bags. "Professor?" Cosima started. "Do you like quidditch?"
Pansy smiled. "I'm not the biggest fan, but I was married to one for awhile, so I know what I'm looking at, sure."
Both girls giggled, as if the idea of marrying someone was in itself blush-worthy. "Well if you'd like to come, Quidditch tryouts are Thursday night. Professor Slughorn would come down to them and give his opinion, if you'd like to."
"I would be honored," Pansy replied, completely sincere.
The next few days looked much the same. Pansy was amazed at how quickly she had to think on her feet to keep her students in line and engaged. She had never quite understood how much the meaningless point system kept them behaving- it was a small miracle. She started her seventh years on a potion from the half-blood prince, assigning an essay explaining the advanced concepts and giving them an entire class period to experiment with ways to improve the instructions themselves.
She tried to create a safe space for her sixth years to demonstrate their excitement for the topic, and used her allies in Cosima and Sandra to slowly work towards winning over the class.
It was growing cooler every day, and when she walked down to Quidditch tryouts on Thursday evening, she needed a leather jacket against the wind that blew through the stands. She tried to think of feedback to provide, paying more attention to anyone's flying than she had since she had been sixteen when she had watched through her hands as Draco had flown at the ground fearlessly.
Every morning, Pansy ran her new route, taking her along the lake, down to the edge of the forest, and up to the greenhouse. Neville was always there. Already dressed for the day, his sleeves rolled up, forearms flexed appealingly. It felt like their own private routine, never to be spoken of again. She ignored, only for those moments, the fact of Luna Lovegood and the stab to her pride that had been his New Years rejection, and she let his eyes roam over her, making shivers run down her arms and her core tighten powerfully.
On Friday morning, Pansy let herself sleep in. The small difference meant that when she reached it, Neville wasn't in the front of the greenhouse. She sped up, an unexpected frustration driving her legs forward. But as she turned around to the back of the structure where the tropical, heat-seeking plants were kept separate from the rest, she spotted him. He was perched high on a ladder and reaching, collecting a strange magenta fruit from a plant with miniscule palm leaves.
emFucking shirtless./em
She stopped in her tracks, her body involuntarily responding to the sight.
His chest, lightly tanned as though he had spent the entire summer spent working outside, was visibly strong- not lithe and toned the way Draco's was, but slightly bulky, powerful, with muscles built not from sports and targeted training but naturally strong, from lifting and working physically all day. Before she could recover, he looked over, his eyes meeting hers.
His face was nearly as surprised as her own, caught unaware and vulnerable. His lips em-those lips- /em opened slightly, his tongue slipping out instinctively to wet them. Against her will, her gaze fell to them before immediately returning to the relative safety of his eyes. Something she refused to name throbbed with want, and she was glad he was unable to hear the heavy breathing she had been unable to cease even as she had stopped running. She let out the smallest whine- pure, hot desire turned to fog in the cold air.
She had to forcibly pull her body away from the sight, adamantly instructing her legs to GO.
And when she arrived back to the safety of her room, to the heat and the pressure and the hidden, secret, private space of the shower, she addressed the throbbing, her fingers providing weak but necessary relief as she bit her lip to quiet herself.
…
Thank Merlin teaching was an excessively demanding job. Pansy managed not to think about Neville Longbottom and his fucking chest throughout her classes, being sure to go to lunch and have a conversation with Elspeth and Anabel about strategies for disciplining the near-monstrous fourth years. They provided more empathy and comradery than advice, but Pansy found it valuable and temporarily consuming.
She learned the hard way how difficult teaching during the last period on a Friday was. Even her seventh years, increasingly convincing her of their brilliance, were restless and distracted. Pansy thought about the first week of school party that would take place in Slytherin house annually.
Problematically, the strategy of giving her seventh years time to work on their upcoming reports, left her with too much time to get ready for the teacher's outing, but not enough time or energy to begin grading the stack of papers that would surely make up most of her weekend. In an effort of self-control, she determined to fill the time, since her imagination could not be trusted to run free.
She walked Stewart briefly, though he expressed more interest in rolling around in the grass than exploring, so that failed to take up much time. She showered off the day, getting ready at a glacial pace. Taking her time picking out a cowlneck sweater, black sheer tights, and a knee-length leather skirt, she dressed with unnecessary care. She wrote to Daphne, a long letter describing her week, and to Draco- a short note thanking him for his gift and support.
Finally, given fifteen minutes of absolute freedom, she picked a vaguely interesting-looking book from the sitting room's filled shelves and sat on the couch anxiously checking her watch and trying to focus on the words in front of her. The minutes stretched, filled with flashes of tan skin and shadows dipping between muscles, sweat collecting along lines across a hard stomach, a hand wiping at the back of a neck, bright eyes the colors of a thousand plants.
Her wand buzzed with the alarm. Thank Salazar.
Checking her makeup and calming her breath, Pansy made herself wait a final minute before leaving, closing the door firmly behind her, unsure whether she wanted Longbottom to beg off for the evening- or if she wanted desperately to see him.
…
As she approached the doors, Pansy spotted him. Neville stood between Lovegood and Potter, the three talking casually. Anabel and Elspeth stood near them, chatting quietly, while Ram and Dean Thomas were walking towards the group just as she was, climbing downstairs rather than up from the dungeons.
"Oh, lovely! That's all of us, then!" Anabel announced in her eternally cheerful tone.
"Shall we?" Elspeth joined.
Ram had wandered her direction, both of them hovering towards the back as Thomas lept ahead to join the other Gryffindors. "This is it?" Pansy asked him.
Ram shrugged one shoulder. "I'm sure the rest were invited, though it does seem to just be the younger of us that get together each year."
Suddenly, they all seemed remarkably young in Pansy's eyes, even Ram. Anabel and Elspeth were maybe eight or nine years their senior, but the broad gap between the Headmistress and the group gathered together walking in the chilled fall night spanned forty years, easily. Pansy privately wondered if the "grown-ups" had fun of their own without the naive energy of young teachers around.
"I think they just don't want to ruin the fun, honestly." Ram added, interrupting her thoughts.
"Do you all go out often?"
Ram's eyes slid to the side, eyeing her with a grin. "Well the last time they went out, I was with you, if you recall."
Pansy laughed, feeling lighter and more relaxed with each step away from the castle.
"But in general, maybe once every few months? On average? It can get stuffy in there, locked up with all the kids, working constantly."
"I can imagine."
He elbowed her playfully. "You'll certainly find out!"
Pansy hoped so. With every day that she enjoyed her new job, she grew increasingly fearful of it being taken away. As important as winning over the students was, being friendly with the other staff members wasn't fun, she reminded herself, it was crucial. She needed to make an effort with everyone…even those she had been avoiding.
When the group arrived at the Three Broomsticks Seamus Finnegan was at the bar where she had expected Madam Rosemerta. Hannah Abbott, the Hufflepuff who had lost her aunt so early in the war, was walking around waiting on tables.
To Pansy's complete and ill-hidden shock, Finnegan walked right up to them, giving Thomas a full kiss on the lips and rubbing his arms with tender and familiar affection. He then clapped Potter on the back and dropped a small kiss on Lovegood's pale cheek. "Well, you survived the week then! First round's on me, for the teachers!" His voice, lower and less accented than she remembered, boomed throughout the room.
Pansy carefully seated herself next to Potter as they all crowded around the table. He leaned close to her and gestured with his chin to Dean. "Didn't see that one coming, did you?"
"Was I that obvious?"
He shook his head, that hopelessly messy black hair falling into his eyes. "Not really. But also, I think they enjoy the shock of it. At least Seamus does." He chuckled, "Though if you had shared a dorm with them for six years, you'd be a lot less shocked."
"I know the feeling," she responded, a coy smile gracing her features. Slytherin had been no exception to the goings on that naturally happened when dorms were divided by gender.
Potter's eyes widened. "I would like some points for not asking about a thousand follow up questions to that."
"Points granted." She grinned at him, their eyes meeting with a brief intensity.
"Already giving out points, eh Parkinson?" Thomas' voice called across the crowd.
"Potter's just earned his first honest points, actually." Around the table, she heard laughter from those who had been in her year, which prompted Anabel to ask for an explanation.
The story of the great first year robbing of Slytherin's hard-earned House Cup was provided by many overlapping voices. These were Potter's and her own, mostly, in violent disagreement, supported respectively by Entwhistle and Lovegood, whose defense of Pansy's point was weak, but provoked thought ("It was certainly cheating, but isn't it all imaginary and philosophically meaningless?").
As she drank, Pansy capitalized on Lovegood's attention, building on any similarities and agreements they shared and ignoring Longbottom who sat on the blonde's right and stayed mostly quiet and neutral, having been guilty of the same undeserved awarding of points, though certainly to a less extreme degree.
Voices grew louder as Hannah and Seamus kept their glasses filled. Pansy tried not to notice that Hannah paid special attention to Neville, who spoke to her each time she came to the table.
More stories of both cheated and earned points were shared around the group. Anabel told a particularly violent story that involved someone's pet rat and an engorgement spell. Elspeth provided the most scandalous story by far, requiring the explanation of a muggle condom, which Ram provided with professionalism despite his audience breaking out into giggles. When Hannah came by a sixth time and Pansy saw her not so subtly touch Neville's shoulder, Pansy leaned close to Potter, whispering to him, as much disinterest and neutrality in her voice as she could muster. "I thought Longbottom was with Lovegood?" She tilted her head towards the flirty Hufflepuff.
When he lifted his head and looked at her, she could see in Potter's green eyes a spark of interest that sent a thrill down her spine. "Merlin, no." The corner of his mouth quirked in thought. "Probably slept together once or twice but no, they're just friends."
Pansy refused to let the light that knocked on the door of her heart in. "And he's not with Abbott?"
Harry's eyes hadn't left hers. "I'm not sure. I know they're close, but Nev's never really been serious with anyone, as far as I know."
Curious but desperate not to look like she had any reason to care (which she absolutely didn't, she reminded herself), Pansy squinted conspiratorially at Harry, hoping she played the judgmental gossip convincingly. "So he just sleeps with his friends?"
Harry laughed, too loudly, in her opinion, drawing a few eyes to their private conversation. "I guess so?" He counted off on his fingers, "Luna, Hannah, Ginny..."
Pansy raised an eyebrow as he listed his own ex.
Harry tilted his head as if to say what can you do?. "Seventh year." He tilted his glass to her, toasting her bitterly. "Don't break up with a girl if you don't want her to fuck other people." They drank simultaneously.
"So he's got a type too." Pansy was aware she was bordering on sounding bitter. "Longbottom likes nice girls."
"Is that really surprising, knowing him?"
Pansy shook her head, glancing over at the man in question. "I don't really. Know him."
Harry scrutinized her for a moment. "You should. Get to know him, I mean. You'd like him." Pansy raised an (understandably) skeptical eyebrow. Potter just shrugged. "Who he is now, I mean."
"I can't imagine he has changed all that much." Pansy stared down into her glass, the amber liquid reflecting a warped version of herself back at her.
Harry's reply was quiet but incisive. "Haven't you?"
Pansy sighed, suddenly exhausted by the topic. She let her hand drift to Harry's cheek, tipsy and friendly. "Sometimes it all feels like ancient history, doesn't it?"
Neville's eyes had drifted towards them. She could feel his gaze like fire on Draco's necklace that lay against her throat, on her burgundy lips when they wrapped around the rim of her glass, on her fingertips as she touched another man.
Harry bent his head towards her, the whiskey on his breath a warm, welcoming scent. "Ancient history, Parkinson," he echoed, voice low, his hand slipping to her knee, cautious but confident.
Before she could react, Harry turned away, letting his fingers linger just a moment longer on her skirt hem as he turned to Elspeth on his other side, starting up a lively discussion debating the ethics of (and quickly evolving to the actual practice of) betting on which sixth and seventh years would be caught in the hallways this year. Pansy tried to listen, catching names she recognized, eager to be as knowledgeable about her students as the rest of them.
But from the other end of the table, Neville's eyes had searched out hers, gripping onto her and not letting go. He glowered magnificently, and she wondered if it was possibly envy in his eyes that he was quieting with strict self-control, all of it playing out in his note-quite-green pupils just for her. His eyes flashed towards Harry, who wasn't paying any attention, and whose hand had left her leg what felt like hours ago now. She bit her lower lip, suddenly aware of how close she and Potter had been, what it must have looked like.
Hannah drifted into the background, a fuzzy figure somewhere behind Neville's flushed face. A necessary reminder. Pansy glanced at the waitress and back at Neville, her expression shifting into a dueling stare. emI didn't do anything he didn't do,/em she told herself in silence, emI'm not his. He is not mine. He is nothing./em As if he had heard her, Neville broke the contact, looking down at his glass and lifting it to his lips, em- his fucking lips- /em and draining the small remainder of the pint.
She watched his Adam's apple bob, the muscles in his throat swallowing the ale. His tongue darted out to lick the foam from the seam of his lips. She clenched her legs together underneath the table, livid at her own body for its powerful reaction.
With a final breathstopping glance at her, he was gone. He stood, saying his friendly goodbyes and gracing Luna with a kiss on her cheek before disappearing to the bar. She watched as he paid Seamus for his drinks while Hannah took off her apron and collected her purse. The honey-blonde woman met Neville at the door and they walked out together, his hand on her waist in a way that could almost be platonic, if only it hadn't sent a rush of acid into Pansy's veins.
Her hand found Potter's knee, an embarrassingly fraught silent plea for attention, for comfort. He answered her, scooting his chair back and pulling her closer to him. Smoother than she expected him to be, he included her in the discussion, his hand falling on the small of her back as she leaned forward to better hear everyone.
Thomas was the next to leave the group, moving behind the bar where he flirted indecently with his boyfriend as the Irishman cleaned the bar and began the slow process of shutting the bar down for the night.
Eventually Seamus kicked them out, locking the door behind them. Elspeth practically carried Anabel, whom Pansy was charmed to learn was the lightweight of the group. Then again, she had clearly exceeded her limit, and wasn't entirely sure how much of her own weight was being supported by Harry, whose arm was wrapped tightly around her waist.
Poorly attempting to stay quiet as they returned to the castle, they said overly heartfelt, drunken goodbyes at the entrance.
"Walk me home" Pansy whispered into Potter's neck, watching the little hairs on the back of his neck rise, his head tilting involuntarily closer to her.
When they reached her door, Circe hissed in judgment.
"Hush, you." Pansy loudly whispered at the snake.
His hands still supporting her, Harry backed Pansy into the hallway wall. Inclining his head to hers, his breath brushed against her ear, sending shivers through her body. "I'm not coming in tonight."
Her voice in reply was pure challenge, seductive in her recklessness. "Why not?"
He groaned the effort of his restraint against her neck, but removed his hands from her waist, brushing them lightly along her body down to her thighs, mesmerized. "You want to," she reminded him breathily.
Eventually, he pulled away, cool air rushing in between their bodies. His eyes bore into her and she resisted the urge to adjust his slightly crooked glasses. "I'll come in when you want me to." He whispered, his lips temptingly close to hers before he placed a teasing kiss on her cheek, so close to her mouth she could have turned it into a deep kiss with the slightest turn of her head.
And then he was gone, leaving her slouched against the wall and catching her breath.