Archive of Our Own

If starting over was an art, Pansy Parkinson was a fucking master of the craft.

Sent to Hong Kong, after becoming an outcast for trying to give up Potter, she got bored, finished her education, made amends—and annoying new friends—and used her interest in image consulting to make moves in her father's private firm.

Only, he had another plan: marriage.

Her refusal led to disinheritance and another reinvention, this time with the support of friends.

Pansy never looked back.

Freedom was liberating and addictive.

It was easy to leave whenever the mood struck or an opportunity arose.

Granger—or whatever she called herself after marrying Draco last year—said Pansy's tendency to run from her problems could be attributed to unhealthy defence mechanisms and unresolved abandonment issues. Which was an ironic observation, considering Granger's nagging was the first unavoidable presence in her life. Each talk devolved into diatribes of psychoanalysis Pansy only suffered through so she could daydream about smothering the witch with her own hair.

But the truth was—well, while aggravating as fuck, Granger wasn't wrong.

Pansy knew one thing: it was far easier to leave than to be left.

If she kept moving, she could avoid dealing with her problems. Not with her parents or the life she willingly walked away from, but the others were fair game.

The defining moments she'd fled from.

Opportunities missed.

But Granger rudely failed to inform her that problems often resurfaced when least expected.

The first time hers reared its floppy head was half a world away in her favourite Manhattan coffee shop.

Well, calling Neville Longbottom her past was dramatic, even for Pansy's taste.

He was just a series of memories she'd buried last year and refused to revisit.

But that didn't stop Pansy from looking once.

Okay, twice.

It was a normal response to seeing a familiar face in a city of millions crammed on a small island like bloody sardines.

He didn't look up until a barista interrupted his reading with what looked like an apple turnover. Neville smiled his thanks, gentle and sincere, which made the blonde flush. As the line moved, Pansy watched the way he politely responded as she chatted him up. After boldly writing her number on his napkin, she excused herself, tucked her hair behind her ears, and walked away.

She looked back once.

Pansy's scowl didn't evaporate until she was standing in front of the redhead taking orders.

"Morning, Sarah." Instead of glaring at the blonde, who was frothing milk while still stealing shy looks at Neville, Pansy fixed a smile on the girl taking her order. No sense being a bitch to the people caffeinating her. "How was your Botany test yesterday?"

Pansy despised small talk, but understood its benefit in certain situations.

"Hardest test of my life, but I think I did okay." The girl gave her a tired smile. "Your Tuesday usual?"

Medium Colombian with two extra shots of espresso, a dollop of milk, and three sugars.

"You know me."

Once Pansy had her beverage in hand, she left Neville where she'd first seen him: reading by the window.

Alone.

Not for the first time, she didn't look back.

Life in New York City left her breathless. Days and nights coalesced into an amalgamation of every scrap of her time and energy, leaving nothing left for residuals.

It was a perfect place to blend in or disappear. Or, in Pansy's case, reinvent herself—again.

No one knew about the war, her role in it, her family, or the reason she never spoke of any of it. Here she had a group of friends who travelled, dragged her to parties and brunch, and wanted her to say things like garage and rubbish. She had a flat in Manhattan overlooking Central Park and a routine that never left her bored.

Here, in New York, she was simply Pansy.

Nothing more or less.

Neville's presence threatened to disrupt the balance.

The next time they crossed paths was weeks later at the start of a new season.

Autumn.

The days grew shorter, the nights colder, and nature went from green to an array of reds and oranges that painted the streets in falling leaves. There was never any warning. One day the summer heat would just leave and not return. Autumn was Pansy's favourite time of year simply because the change was so significant it made her actually notice all the picturesque tripe.

Oh, and the weather was a plus not only for the fashion, but also because it was the only time of year she veered from her Wednesday drink of choice to her secret love.

"Medium Salted Caramel Latte, please."

It was cool outside that morning. She'd dressed early and made the walk over with nothing to do for hours except sit in her favourite coffee shop and enjoy the view of the park as she watched the sun rise. Decompressing was important before she had to spend the day dealing with people who severely lacked skills of any sort—critical thinking, social, and the like.

But there was one problem.

Neville.

Pansy thought about turning and leaving in search of a different location, but she stopped.

This was her spot.

She had no reason to run and nothing to hide.

Settled at her normal table, she took her first sip. There was a bit too much caramel, but other than that, it was a perfect reflection of the start of the season. She wanted to keep her eyes trained outside, but between sips of coffee and the ascent of the sun, her mind wandered—as did her eyes.

But Neville never noticed.

Neville was there the next day.

And the next.

On the third, he grinned at whatever he'd been reading before licking his thumb and flipping the page. Pansy instantly left and was half a block away before she realised she'd forgotten her coffee.

She didn't go back.

Pansy was known for her dramatic tendencies.

True to form, she didn't return the next day.

Or the next.

But there was one glaring problem.

Okay, there were several, but the biggest was Pansy's addiction to high quality caffeine.

The coffee at work was basically coloured water, her assistant never ever got her order right, and Pansy had yet to successfully brew an acceptable cup at home.

Embarrassing, really.

The first and last attempt ended with burnt coffee that looked like mud. That coupled with the immediate disenchantment with the cleaning process made Pansy bin the entire apparatus.

Stubborn to the bitter end, withdrawal hit her like a brick in the chest.

There were thousands of coffee shops in Manhattan, but Pansy was a brat with good taste and not even desperation could make her compromise her standards.

Besides, the shop was three blocks from her apartment and she'd been frequenting the place since it opened two years ago. She was a loyal patron who knew everyone, and they knew her order. She wasn't about to give up her territory to Neville fucking Longbottom who didn't even drink coffee.

The way she saw it, there was no option but to return.

Pansy marched in two hours before her ten o'clock meeting with her head high, ready to stake her claim, but Neville wasn't there.

Oh.

Even better.

She greeted the barista, laughing off her absence as she accepted her drink before sitting at her favourite spot by the window.

Things were finally back to normal. Pleased with the development, she enjoyed her Monday Cuban Espresso in a perfect peace that ended abruptly when a tall figure passed her and sat at the empty table two down from hers.

Neville.

With his book.

That time, their eyes met and recognition dawned.

Kindness and forgiveness weren't expectations Pansy carried. She never wanted either from him—or anyone. She'd done little to earn it. There were mistakes she'd spent years being crucified for, trying to live with, and eventually escape from. And a decision made on impulse after one weekend of abandon.

Pansy was unapologetic in everything she did. It was a hard road to walk, but she did so each day in stilettos, and looked bloody fantastic while doing it. She'd expected several reactions, most of which ended with his immediate departure.

But she hadn't expected his slow, crooked smile.

Or the way her hand clenched around her drink when he approached.

"Small world, huh?"

It suddenly felt far too small.

Neville was only a month into a four month long adjunct position in the Magical Department of New York University. The professor he was stepping in for was a friend of his who was on sabbatical in Nepal, on the hunt for a rare plant found only in the Himalayas.

Pansy found this out without asking.

He spoke to her… willingly.

Daily.

She also knew Neville wasn't fond of the same crowds Pansy liked to disappear in, liked New York style pizza, and lived in a sublet apartment above the coffee shop.

"This is the only place around that isn't crowded."

True, but that was only because he came after the morning rush.

Today, he sat with her like it was planned—it wasn't—and he talked like there wasn't an year-old cavern stretched wide between them. They hadn't even hinted about it.

Pansy wasn't trying to.

She wasn't.

But if she glanced down at his left hand one morning only to find it blank before squinting harder in search of tan lines—well, that was just another thing to add to the list of all the things she wasn't going to discuss.

"How's your week been?"

Pansy just glared, but instead of acting offended, he chuckled. It was just as bashful and deep as she remembered. She bore witness to the exact moment those bloody smile lines made their first appearance.

"You hate small talk, I remember."

Another thing Pansy hated?

The way her stomach clenched at six words that awakened suppressed memories.

The end result of Neville awkwardly running fingers through his slightly ruffled fringe was Pansy sitting on her hands to avoid doing something completely asinine. Like stroking it back off his forehead.

Not that it stopped her from zeroing in on his hands anyway.

Large and calloused, dry and cracked, they still looked the same. She remembered he never wore gloves unless he absolutely had to.

"I haven't forgotten anything."

Well, that made two of them.

Silence followed his comment. Pansy ignored the tension in favour of finishing her coffee. She despised cold coffee just as much as she despised the fact that she noticed little things about Neville.

All the ways he'd changed over time. All the ways he hadn't.

He was still tall, broad, and completely unassuming, with his jumpers and gentle nature, but a familiar undercurrent of alertness made him sit straighter. It reminded her of all the things they'd seen and the lingering effects of war. Neville's expressions were subtly animated the same way she remembered, and his eyes were as warm as ever.

When they were on her, Pansy flushed.

"Have you forgotten?"

The last thing Pansy hated?

The way Neville always managed to drag the truth out of her without even trying.

"No."

In order to avoid a certain someone, Pansy tried to make yet another fresh start.

A new coffee place in a completely different part of the city.

She hated the first place, and the other four she frequented in the following days.

By the end of the week, she was back like a prodigal child. Neville was at her table with his apple turnover like he'd expected her.

The cup of coffee that was waiting in her spot confirmed it.

Although viscerally irritable from a long week without palatable coffee, there was another layer of annoyance at the tiny piece of her that wasn't upset at all by his presence.

Or the fact that he'd bought her drink.

That he seemed to care enough to notice.

Fuck.

"I think I got your Thursday order right. Americano with three espressos, no milk, and two sugars."

Neville's smile, combined with the fact that he'd gotten it right, made Pansy's temper snap like a band that had reached its limit.

"Stop. Stop being so bloody nice. Stop coming here. I'm certain you have something better to do than sit here and read your book." The coffee shop was noticeably quieter, but Pansy couldn't stop herself. "Just because I'm the only person you know doesn't mean anything is different between us."

Regret instantly deflated her ire, and the evaporation of Neville's smile left her feeling hollow.

"I'll go."

He stood.

Her heels did nothing to offset the way he towered over her.

Or the way she noticed.

"Enjoy your coffee, Pansy." Neville stepped closer, looking down at his hands as they twisted together. A sign of the hint of nerves he hadn't grown out of. "It's been nice seeing you again."

Neville's arm brushed hers as he passed, and all Pansy could do was scoff at the torrential rise of multiple feelings in her stomach—feelings that went to battle with the effect a brush of skin had on her.

Shite. Shite. Shite.

The war was over in time for her to catch him on the other side of the window from where her drink and his turnover still sit.

"Wait."

Pansy didn't have to grab his hand to pull him off the beaten path, but she did.

He hadn't done anything wrong. It had always been her, right from the beginning.

"Come back inside." She lifted her eyes to his, sick with vulnerability. "As it turns out, I'm no different from before. I'm still a bratty bitch."

It wasn't quite an apology, but it was all she could muster, and even then, Pansy knew it wasn't enough. Neville should have stepped out of her reach and continued on his way; he should have vanished from her life once again.

But he didn't.

His lips quirked into the faintest of smiles as he turned his hand to swallow hers.

"I know you better than that."

They fell into a routine of coffee and conversation before Pansy could stop herself.

She found the familiar ease unfathomable.

Not that it was surprising.

Whether discussing the state of their morning, or complaining about work, conversation was always fluid. She found herself recalling old memories, laughing at his stories involving his students, and rambling about anything and everything under the sun. Topics the other knew nothing about, things they wanted to know, and even the deeper thoughts she always stifled.

Her New York friends couldn't pick the lock of the room in her mind that contained her secrets, and international Floo calls with everyone else were filled with gaps and holes of things she never said.

Draco knew her cues and had stayed quiet when Granger told her that Neville was in town a few days after the start of their routine.

A month later and Pansy still hadn't uttered a single word about seeing him.

But neither had Neville.

It was an unspoken secret, but the discovery was as imminent as the first snow. Pansy didn't know how she felt about the bubble surrounding them or the fact that it had extended outside the coffee shop, up three blocks, and into the alley they used to Apparate.

"Why are you working today?" Neville asked on a particularly cold November morning while he walked her to the Apparition point. "It's the weekend."

"I need a quiet space to work." Pansy kept her eyes ahead. The wind was picking up, but she remained warm under a charm. "And the element of surprise."

"That's not ominous at all."

Her move to New York City was prompted by Draco, who was in need of her services. Under the influence of the witch at his side, he'd purchased a potions company in desperate need of image restoration due to widely known practices involving unethical ingredient outsourcing.

Pansy had turned up with her team and strict directions to scrub the place clean.

From top to bottom.

"There's a disaster I've got to get ahead of. Rumour has it one of the board members is using company funds to acquire a domesticated phoenix to harvest its tears."

"What?" Neville's eyes widened. "One phoenix would need to cry constantly in order to produce the amount of tears necessary for even an adequate yield."

"Their tears are heavily regulated here, which is why I'm going to figure this out before the creature activists come for the company—again."

He gave a low whistle. "Good luck."

"I'm going to need it." They walked on in silence before a different question came to mind. "Are you staying for Thanksgiving?"

It was an American holiday Pansy never understood outside of the invitations to dine with the families of her friends and the fact that most everything—including the coffee shop—would be closed in observance.

"I'll be grading."

Neville said it like a curse, which made her laugh.

"Since you hate grading so much, the logical explanation would be to not assign so many essays." Pansy rolled her eyes as a small smirk curved her lips. "Have fun with that. I'm sure they're all going to be as dull as a houseplant."

"Trust me, houseplants are far more interesting." Brown eyes slid to her, and his mouth upturned as the smirk on his face grew into a smile.

"Yours might be." Pansy looked away in order not to stare. "They probably bite."

Neville's laugh rang out when they turned the corner to the Apparition point.

Snow started falling during their daily struggle to piece together final words and actions before going their separate ways. Neville looked up, opened his palms, and didn't bother to hide his child-like enchantment with the dirty, fat snowflakes that fell from the polluted sky.

The way Pansy's heart beat to the rhythm of his laughter was utterly ridiculous.

But worse than that?

A startling realisation that not once in his absence had it ever stopped.

—-

History was complicated.

But also not.

Over a year ago, their story began at Draco and Granger's wedding on an impulse fuelled by two glasses of wine and the fit way he looked in a Muggle suit.

Or maybe it started before.

Neville had quietly caught her eye repeatedly over a series of visits and conversations spanning the last seven years. Not that it mattered. Pansy hadn't had the time, capacity, or desire for anything meaningful. She was constantly abroad for work, busy not looking back, and only moving forward.

Running, a little voice muttered in her head.

It sounded like Granger.

Pansy never intended to do anything about the looks and small smiles. She never cared to know why Neville struck up conversation—about her travels, thoughts, and opinions—each time she turned up in London. And she most certainly didn't want to investigate the reason her stomach twisted in knots whenever they went their separate ways.

At least, not until she boldly led him out of the reception hall by the hand.

Pansy didn't expect anything except a fun night of mutual attraction, and a seven-year itch scratched before leaving again.

But what she got was so much more.

Neville was a quiet storm: despite being in her peripheral, she never saw him coming.

Passionate yet respectful, intuitive, and so eager to please.

What was supposed to end by morning lasted another three days.

Pansy hadn't spoken that much to a single person so naturally ever. They'd told each other secrets and truths when they weren't exploring one another with eager mouths and curious hands. Shared scars of a life without family were laid bare with the same ease as his name on her lips. Each and every fear of the future was confessed in the afterglow.

The intense intimacy of that weekend left her craving more.

For someone always disconnected from inconvenient emotions, the whisper of possibility wasn't in line with her plans.

But Neville never asked her to stay, not that he'd had the chance.

She'd left without a word and didn't look back.

Now, though, her past was her present.

He knew her daily coffee rotation, held open every door they passed through, apologised whenever any part of them touched, and had at least one chaotic greenhouse story per week that made her laugh openly about his students' attempts to care for combative plants.

It was absolute torture having him there, but worse when he wasn't.

She was getting used to him listening to her rants about everyone, including the ever-annoying Granger, who was poking hard now that she knew they were speaking.

Oh, and the worse bit of all:

She was losing her fucking mind over Neville—and her heart wasn't far behind.

Falling for a man wasn't in her plans, especially not one who wore bulky jumpers and jeans unironically, who smiled too much, and was so fucking well-intentioned he never recognised when women were flirting with him. A man she couldn't stop sharing herself with, even when she tried to hold back.

And she had.

Truly.

But each attempt to distance herself was thwarted by unintentionally kind gestures. Like the first time he had lunch delivered to her office, the impossible to kill houseplant he'd gifted her, and right now when he took her hand.

Snow blanketed the ground, his cheeks were flushed from the chill in the air, and there Pansy was, trying to take her hand back when he laced their fingers together.

Boldly.

"Fun fact: when someone leaves in the middle of the night after a three-day shag binge, you're not supposed to want to be around them, much less hold their hand."

"Why not?" Neville sounded genuinely confused.

"I left the country without looking back, I never talked to you about it at all, and I didn't apologise. In fact, I refuse to because I'm not sorry."

He didn't say anything for several nerve-filled moments. "I didn't want you to stay."

Pansy cycled through every emotion imaginable over the next few seconds. His comment was a physical blow that left her trembling like a leaf in the wind.

"What?"

"I wasn't ready."

What the fuck did he mean?

A week had passed since the weird shift, and now Neville watching her was as common as the blonde barista's smiles whenever she brought his turnover. He hadn't pushed, hadn't said or done anything more, and he certainly hadn't taken her hand again. He still smiled, still talked, but Pansy barely heard him. Hours of idle conversation passed by when all she could think about was—

Gods, she was an fucking idiot.

Sentiment had turned her into a fool.

Not that she would ever admit it to Granger's face, but she was right.

Her complex history of running from the risk of facing abandonment head-on left her with a deep-seated anxiety over whether each moment was going to be their last.

At the beginning of autumn, during their first interactions, Pansy would have been elated to see Neville fade into the crowd. But now that it was closer to winter, now that he was there—always there—with the right cup of coffee to start each day, she wasn't sure she could run anymore.

"Why do you like coffee shops when you don't drink it?"

Neville looked confused, likely because she'd interrupted his story about something or other.

Pansy hadn't been listening.

"I like the smell, but not the taste."

"Blasphemy. Try it." She offered her cup. "You won't know until you do."

Neville slowly accepted the cup, and held her eyes as he brought it to his lips. She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed then gave it back. He seemed to contemplate the taste of her Friday latte.

"It's terrible." Neville's laugh at her aggrieved noise rang out. "Okay, I lied. It's not that bad."

"How does it feel to have been wrong your entire life?"

"I'm not wrong. That's just your caffeine addiction talking."

His eyes travelled to the window. There were more people than usual out and about ahead of an impending winter storm that threatened to dump a record amount of snow on the city for this time of year. School was out for the winter holiday, and Pansy had been forced to take the day off by her boss' meddling wife. But storm or not, she still had a need for coffee so here she was.

Watching.

Waiting.

Trying to figure him out.

"Do you like it here?" Neville asked.

"I do." Pansy frowned once again at her honesty. She couldn't seem to be anything but truthful around him. "There's more to the city than skyscrapers and overpopulation."

"Will you show me sometime?" Neville's eyes slid to hers, and he smiled a little when Pansy didn't look away. "If you want to."

"I can, but not today." Pansy pointed at the grey clouds. "The only place I want to be when the storm hits this afternoon is in my stocked apartment, where I'll be drinking wine until it passes."

"Will you—I want to—" Neville awkwardly rubbed his neck, looking everywhere before he finally glanced at her again. "Can I stay with you?"

Poor decision or not, Pansy had never been one to say no to anything she wanted.

It started snowing an hour later.

Earlier than expected.

The view of snowy Central Park was picturesque from Pansy's apartment. It was the perfect place to watch heavy, wet snowflakes coat everything that had only just thawed the day before.

But she didn't look. Didn't care.

She was too busy enthusiastically snogging Neville against the shut door to notice anything except the exhumation of buried feelings.

She was falling, and wanted nothing more than to slip into the shadows with him.

Clothing became an annoyance. They tugged, pushed, pulled, and shoved each layer out of the way in a flurry of excited hands and clumsy missteps on their way through her apartment. When Pansy dragged him into the bedroom and kicked the door shut, Neville lifted her with ease and placed her on the large bed.

She scooted back to the centre of the bed—naked and wanting.

"Come here."

She couldn't help but watch his approach. On his hands and knees, his cock hung heavy between his legs.

"Kiss me."

Neville kissed her so deeply it stole the air from her lungs.

It was easy to ask for more, easy to refresh her memory of him as their lips created new ones.

"Touch me."

Pansy was impatient, but she didn't care. She wasn't alone.

Neville wanted this, too, which only compounded the feeling when he finally brought them both vivid relief. His mouth trailed its way down her body, worshipping every inch of skin before settling between her open legs.

All she could do was breathe unintelligible requests, and he was eager to reply.

If touch was a memory, his mouth on her cunt unearthed them all.

"Oh god."

Pansy arched against his face, ready to instruct and guide, but Neville didn't give her the opportunity to do either as he worked her over like he remembered every little thing that made her body sing.

He ate her cunt like the experience was something to behold.

Fantastic and lush. Generous and seeking.

Noises and praise poured from her lips in unhindered devotion.

Neville's large hands gripped her inner thighs, holding them open to stop her from crushing his head. She was lost in sensation—lost in him. Her thighs were shaking, and her body was tense.

It was a uniquely strange feeling when she was at her most desirous, when she was mere moments from letting go.

"Wait." Pansy nearly came from the sight alone of a flushed and wild-haired Neville with his mouth still locked on her cunt. "Not without you."

He drew her onto his aching cock. His entire body shook as he slid into her, then hers joined as she accepted him like no time had passed. The fullness when he bottomed out left them both desperate for the other to move.

He did, but only after crushing her mouth with his.

Pansy couldn't stop the sinuous sounds she made as Neville moved within her. He held her hips steady while his snapped frantically, mouthing words against her lips she was far too gone to understand.

Fucking Neville was so wrong, yet felt so right.

Did she care?

Yes?

No?

It was hard to think about anything when he was stretching her with his cock, when he was fucking her with brutal strokes that make her back arch and her toes curl. Even harder to think when he was looking at her like there was no place he'd rather be than buried in her cunt.

"You're right there." He moved a little faster, and fucked her harder. "Please."

Memories and feelings narrowed everything until there was only him, only her, only that sliver of time.

She broke like the tide against a rocky shore, twining her arms and legs around him like she wanted his devotion to fill every crack of space. Each clench of her cunt helped him find his own release, and he dug hard fingers into her arse as he emptied himself inside of her.

The rest of the day was lost to relearning him.

Recalling the way Neville liked to be touched and sucked and fucked in every position possible until they were both sated, sore, and hungry.

By the time they showered and dressed in the bare minimum—shirt for her, pants for him—it was nighttime, the storm was roaring outside, and snow was falling so hard they could barely see out the window.

Pansy was a terrible cook, but managed to make them decent sandwiches they enjoyed before he ventured to the window to take in what he could see of the city that only slept during storms like these.

"I didn't plan this, you know," Neville said when she leaned against his arm. "I knew you were here, but the odds were impossible. Yet there you were."

Pansy couldn't help but let her reserve lower the smallest bit.

Not for the first time, she was frightened by how much she cared about his thoughts and wants, what she would demand of him and how she saw herself needing him.

The last time she felt this fear she'd left with no explanation. But now there was nowhere to run.

"My colleague extended his sabbatical until May."

He turned when Pansy gasped and stepped back, folding her arms around her waist. He stepped closer and refused to let her retreat again.

"We don't have to figure this out tonight."

But she already had. "I know how this will go."

Combating emotions left Pansy tired and wired—on the precipice of screaming and laughing and sobbing all at once. She willed her stupid heart to fall back in line, and tried to bury everything enough to enjoy the next few days before it inevitably ended.

She wasn't this person. Not once had she cried about anything, but here she was in tears. Here she was wanting something so badly that the weight of it left her rooted to the floor.

Unable to move, hide, or run.

"I'm selfish and greedy and so bloody stupid. I want this and you and I hate it so fucking much. I kept trying to leave, kept wanting to start over, but I-I can't. I couldn't—"

"Pansy."

His concern cracked her last layer of composure, and she cursed each tear that escaped her tightly shut eyes.

"What's wrong?" Neville wouldn't let her back away. "Talk to me."

"You've been here twelve hours and I already don't want you to leave. I'll ask you to stay after the storm passes, I'll keep asking you to stay until May, and then what?"

Neville cupped her cheeks with gentle hands and wiped the bitter tears away.

"I'll stay past May." Lips grazed her forehead. "I'll stay as long as you'll have me."

"What?" Pansy recoiled. "Your entire life is in London. You-you can't."

"I can and I will." Determination was evident in the set of his jaw, but concern softened his eyes. "I wasn't ready for you before. I was nervous and a little scared. You make me—" He shook his head. "But I'm ready now."

They both took a shuddering breath, and soft lips ghosted hers as more tears painted her cheeks.

The storm raged for the rest of the night as the wind howled its fury. Neville started a fire, drew her to the sofa, and held her close. He kissed her over and over and over again, whispering two words with every brush of his lips until they were nothing more than broken syllables of a promise he intended to keep.

I'm staying.

For the first time in her life, Pansy was ready.

This would be her last fresh start.

-End-