"What the actual FUCK is this?"
Hilariously, Harry Potter leaped out of bed, fully dressed, and whipped out his wand, disarming Daphne Greengrass on pure instinct.
Daphne screeched in surprise, her wand torn from her dress pocket.
By the time Pansy had even caught up to the facts of: morning, Harry Potter in her bed, fully dressed as he may be, and Daphne Greengrass apparently using her floo privileges without warning, Harry was already apologizing for his troublingly trauma-based reaction to being startled and returning Daphne's wand to her, remarking on the very chic hidden wand pocket in her dress.
When she did catch up to the realities around her, Pansy immediately wished she hadn't done so. Daphne and Potter were chatting with upsetting ease not two feet from her, but she wondered if she could effectively feign sleep or possibly death.
Perhaps if it had been anyone but her best friend since before either of them even understood what tits were, never mind possessed them.
"Pansy, my darling, no one believes you have slept through sweet Harry's early morning act of heroism, so you'll need to sit up now," Daphne instructed, and then because the world was obviously ending, she returned to her casual discussion with the savior of the wizarding world, who was asking to see pictures of her twins.
Pansy sat up, seeing no practical alternative, running a tired hand over hair as if smoothing down the frizz from sleep would resolve the situation.
Looking between the two people staring stupidly at her, she (mostly arbitrarily) chose one to address first. "Greengrass."
Daphne's head quirked, a smile blooming on her objectively pretty face, visibly surprised Pansy had chosen her.
"What the hell are you doing here so early?"
Daphne even looked concerned prettily, her eyebrows coming together while her lips stayed tilted up at the corners. "I just came to see you, have a nice breakfast with my friend. I miss you!" She exaggerated a pouty frown, which was frankly unnatural on her features.
"Liar."
At this, Harry seemed to remember that he was in the room and began protesting that fact, stammering something about going back to his apartment and/or fetching tea.
"Don't move, Potter." Pansy pointed at him to clarify that she was quite serious.
"Can I sit down?" If they were any younger his voice would have cracked.
Pansy considered it for a good minute before conceding, pointing to the foot of the bed. A single auburn brow rose above Daphne's lined eye, so quickly only Pansy could have caught it.
"You" she pointed at Daphne accusingly. "Tell me."
"You know, actually, and in the realm of unbelievable things happening this morning this is actually nothing, but I'm with Potter. I think tea, first, yes?" She turned towards the door.
Unfortunately, Daphne, having much more experience with Pansy and therefore being slightly less afraid of her, did not stop when she was demanded to do so.
As a matter of necessary precaution, Pansy glared at Harry. "Don't get any ideas."
They could hear Daphne rattling around in the kitchen, collecting cups and saucers, lemons and sugar, sweetly asking Circe if an elf could bring up cream and perhaps some scones or biscuits. She always had been the better hostess.
She stood, reaching in her closet for the oversized cardigan he had seen her in once before. She watched as he adjusted his glasses, his eyes traveling from her purple-painted toes up to the hem of the sweater and her silk pajama shorts.
"You're terrible."
His grin was pure mischief and not a drop of shame as he stood, walking towards her cautiously, as though she were a feral and unpredictable cat.
"Did I blow my chance last night, Parkinson? I know yesterday didn't turn out exactly how we -well, I - wanted it to but waking up next to you I-"
Pansy interrupted him with a kiss. A sweet, simple, closed-mouth way of saying "shut up you stupid boy, I wouldn't have tucked you in on the couch and let you sleep over if I didn't like you."
Potter seemed to get the message.
"Don't make me come in there!" Daphne yelled in an impressively maternal tone.
The professors filed into the sitting room like chastised teenagers.
Daphne daintily set the steeped tea and cups on the counter in front of them, wordlessly insisting they sit on the stools and sipping her own cup with intimidating perfection.
When they had obeyed, she gestured between them. "Explain."
"Potter's got a giant crush on me. Been mad about me for ages, pining really. It's embarrassing."
Harry rolled his eyes.
Daphne just frowned. "Your turn." She pointed at Potter, who was far less experienced with the demanding brutality of entitled women and therefore told the truth, shaking slightly.
"I passed out on Parkinson's couch?"
The new mother, evidently a natural, remained unsatisfied.
"And since when are you comfortable enough to do so?"
Pansy sat back and enjoyed the show, goading Potter and offering no support or sympathy for his plight.
"Erm, since last night?"
Daphne groaned in frustration, turning her attention back to Pansy. "Do better than he did."
Pansy sighed in defeat. "Let him go home, we'll talk."
After making him wait in a long moment of torment, Daphne nodded her permission.
Harry jumped up, conjuring his shoes and tying them on his feet with astonishing speed. He stood, staring at Pansy for a second, as if deciding how to say goodbye and finally opting for a simple head tilt to both of them.
As soon as the door shut solidly behind him, Daphne turned to Pansy. "Well, if he wasn't terrified of you before, he certainly is now."
"Thanks for that," Pansy replied drily.
"Pansy."
Pansy poured herself a refill, avoiding eye contact.
"We're friends. Or something. I don't know, he feeds me occasionally and-"
"Feeds you?"
"Makes sure I eat?"
"Odd, but okay."
"And he's not bothered by the whole…."
"Not bothered enough, clearly"
"Have you…"
"No. Well. Not yet."
"Just slept in the same bed."
"He passed out, and I-"
"Miss sleeping with a man."
Pansy blanched. "Shit, Daph. Feeling brutally honest this morning?"
Daphne looked down at the counter, gracefully stirring more sugar into her cup without making a sound.
"You're a terrible liar, Daphne Greengrass. Out with it."
"Draco asked Blaise to help him go to a muggle jewelry store."
All at once, Pansy was dizzy, nauseous, and could feel the blood draining from her face. She bit her tongue to keep her face calm. Daphne was watching her closely, and this reaction fucking mattered. She had exactly two more seconds of silence to look thoughtful, to pull herself together, to hold it all in.
"I know." She lied. "He told me a few weeks ago. It's okay." She put a hand on Daphne's, covering the ring shining on Daphne's ring finger. "I'm okay. I promise."
Daphne exhaled a stream of air, relief visible in the way her eyes shut briefly. "Merlin, I hoped he had, but you know, I just wasn't sure and I didn't want you to hear about…anything from the fucking Prophet."
Pansy swallowed. She just had to make it through this conversation, she told herself, just act normal (but not too normal, which wouldn't be convincing) until Daphne left and then she could lock her door and fall apart. Just one day, she had one day to fall apart and then she'd be fine.
"Pansy," Daphne interrupted her steadily accelerating panic attack, "you have no food. At all. Is Potter feeding you EVERY meal?"
She dismissed Daphne's concern with a wave of her hand. "I go to the great hall a lot."
If Daphne didn't believe her, she at least did Pansy the dignity of hiding it. Like a real friend, unlike some obnoxious Gryffindors.
"And you're really not leaving anything out with Potter? Or perhaps a handsome Pakistani gentleman who tolerated your embarrassingly drunk friend? Because I'm an old married woman and I expect details if things get even remotely interesting."
Pansy forced a clear, easy laugh. "You'll be the first to know, I promise."
Daphne scrutinized her face carefully. "You're really okay with this?"
"I promise. Go back to your babies."
Daphne started walking towards the fireplace, opening the glass jewelry box and taking out a handful of floo powder. As soon as the flames died down, Pansy locked the door, and at seven in the morning on a Sunday, she laid down on the hardwood floor in the middle of her living room.
…
emAugust 1999The face she had always adored was gaunt and exhausted. Paler than ever, Draco looked like a monochromatic photograph, all shades of white and gray, dark shadows under his eyes and cheekbones.
Pansy rested her palm against his cheek, willing the warmth and health from her own body to flow into his.
"Please, Pansy."
It wasn't that she had ever expected romance; pre-arranged marriages were rarely proposed with roses and speeches. But this, the man she loved barely able to kneel in front of her, begging her to help him, save him, be there for him unconditionally. Asking her for sickness and health and praying this would be the worst of it.
"Yes, Draco. Of course."
It felt like donning a heavy jumper- warm and safe and suffocating all at once./em
…
Twenty minutes later, Pansy had to pee. Which was incredibly irritating, as it interrupted her moping. Damn Daphne and her tea.
She tried to lay in bed, but found it too soft. Sitting up and hugging a pillow to her chest, she waited for tears, though none came. She silenced the apartment and screamed until her throat was raw. She threw all of the jewelry Draco had ever given her into the rubbish bin, then dug it all out and washed them in the sink.
Pansy tried to fall apart. But every instinct drilled into her wouldn't allow it.
She ran to the small box of kitchen things she still hadn't bothered to unpack. Tearing open the cardboard, she dug out a whisk, spatula, small copper pot, and bags of rice and noodles. Finally, she pulled out her flask and filled it with her best gin, pouring carefully over the sink.
Hidden at the bottom of her lingerie drawer, she smiled as she dug out her emergency pack of cigarettes. Memories of her and Draco, young newlyweds refusing to leave their bed, splitting a cigarette after an especially enthusiastic fuck, flashed through her mind.
Pulling on her leggings and trainers, she buttoned the oversized cardigan over the soft, silk camisole she had slept in.
Checking behind her as she went, Pansy crushed the first of the dry autumn leaves under her feet as she stumbled down the hill. She hesitated for a second at the edge of the forest, but a single swig from the flask was enough to keep her walking.
Winding her way through the trees, Pansy walked until she couldn't see the castle. Clearing a space at the bottom of a large tree, she sat down, took a long drink from the flask, and pulled out a cigarette. Lighting the end with her wand, she inhaled the familiar taste. This, she thought, was more like it: falling apart.
Shutting her eyes and leaning back against the tree, Pansy focused on the physical routine of inhaling and exhaling the smoke.
"You know, those toxins soak into the soil here. It makes the plants sick."
Pansy jolted upright, opening her eyes and holding out her wand defensively with one hand while the other held the cigarette loosely.
This deep into the forest, where light was dappled in between the thick trees, Neville's eyes were darker, warmer. They were all she could see as she looked over her right shoulder, the rest of his expression hidden by the glare of the sun above him.
"You're back." The gin still burned in her throat and it was all she could think to say, remembering the morning before and his absence in the greenhouse.
"I didn't go anywhere." His voice was so careful and calm as if he chose every word with intention. It was in complete contrast to the reckless, intense stare she had been on the other end of in the pub.
"You weren't in the greenhouse yesterday," She desperately tried to keep any hint of the petulance that she felt out of her voice and tried to sound as distant as possible.
It wasn't a question, and he didn't answer.
She forced her voice not to shake. "I thought you were dating Lovegood."
"I'm not," he shrugged.
Using the trunk of the tree to help, Pansy pushed herself up to standing and jerked around, facing him under the shade of the maple. They hadn't been this close since the hose incident, and she could smell him now, an earthy, spicy male scent she wanted to breathe deep into her lungs.
Pansy couldn't keep the sharpness out of her response. "She said…you were in bed together last week-"
He cut her off, closing his eyes with a soft exhale of frustration. "The flower bed. Luna helps me in the garden."
Pansy covered her relief with another drag, forcing her expression and tone back into sharpness. "But you're sleeping with Abbott?" She searched his eyes, looking for the answer there if he couldn't force it through his lips.
Neville stepped forward, and the shrinking of the space between them raised goosebumps on her arms. Pansy watched as his fingers reached out towards her. For a moment, she thought he might curve his long fingers around the curve of her chin, lift her head up towards his, blind her with the sun and his gaze, bend himself to her. Instead, he took the cigarette where she had held it loosely between two fingers and vanished it with a wandless spell.
"Why do you care if I date Hannah?" he asked gently.
The sun found a crack in the ceiling of leaves, a flood of light falling on them, turning Neville's question into a golden, precious moment when he looked down at her as if he couldn't look at her enough. She nearly gasped at the intimacy of it. "I don't know" she whispered, and he seemed genuinely lost, lost in her, without direction or purpose or sense.
Suddenly Pansy felt exhausted, fragile, and weak. She could taste hisrejection on her lips, bitter and rotten. Worse for who he was, had been, would always be. The vulnerability she felt around him, this thing that had pushed its way into her being, pained her physically now. Her mind was still reeling from Daphne's news. She wanted to collapse. She needed to be alone, in the dark, where nothing and no one had access to her tired heart.
She was having trouble breathing, feeling claustrophobic and anxious despite the open space around them. "I have to go." she barely got the words out.
He didn't stop her when she ran.