Work Text:
May 1998
"That wand is more trouble than it's worth," said Harry. "And quite honestly," he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the four-poster bed lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower, and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there, "I've had enough trouble for a lifetime."
**
When Harry woke he expected the first thought in his head to be something related to breakfast. Scrambled eggs, toast and jam, orange juice. Kreacher was good at breakfast. Well, the elf was good at just about everything once he'd stopped being so awful. But the first thought when Harry opened his eyes was how he was going to get through another day without strangling a journalist.
The first year had been alright. He'd expected the endless interviews. He'd expected the photographers. He'd expected the job offers. Except he hadn't actually expected to be offered a full-time auror position, bypassing such things as all the required NEWT level classes and most of the training. But the offer had come and Harry had figured it was some sort of duty to accept. Catching dark wizards that had fled after the final battle sounded glamorous in theory. Reality was that it was long hours, nearly thankless work and endless interruptions by reporters to talk to him about where he was headed. What were his big plans? When were he and Ginny going to tie the knot?
Later it was why he and Ginny had split. Was it her quidditch career? Was it his work?
No Comment had become his most used words.
"Kreacher has Master's breakfast."
Harry rolled over and stared at the distorted reflection of his own face in the curved silver lid of a covered tray. The tray wobbled a bit as Kreacher held it higher. He sighed. No matter how many times he told the house elf, Harry couldn't quite convince Kreacher to just leave breakfast down in the kitchen and he'd help himself. He didn't like to bark orders at the elf, so he chose to just put up with the daily breakfast in bed. At least whatever it was, smelled good.
Sitting up, Harry scratched his side then took the tray from the elf, shoving it onto the dresser next to his bed.
"Master will want to take the Floo today," Kreacher said, shuffling over to the window. He peered through the curtains with a scowl. "Kreacher saw two nasty reporters in the shrubbery across the street, he did."
Ever since the war ended, Harry saw no need to keep 12 Grimmauld under a Fidelius Charm. Not to mention trying to get it all set back up again when the house had been compromised after they got the locket, was too complicated. Hermione had offered, but Harry'd politely declined. It wasn't as though he was hiding from the world or holding a big secret for the safety of others. In retrospect, it would have been smart. At least he'd have some peace and quiet while at home.
Harry didn't have that peace and quiet. The constant stream of letters from Witch Weekly and The Prophet that arrived either on his desk or in his mail basket at home was endless. And irritating. Harry didn't see himself as that interesting. He didn't see himself as the one person who won the war. Because it hadn't been just him. Ron and Hermione had been at his side. Neville killed the bloody snake. Other people, greater than him, had lost their lives because of that last battle, but everyone seemed to focus on him. The Boy Who Lived. The Boy Who Saved the World.
He avoided it for the most part. Or he tried to.
But taking the Floo to and from work, apparating everywhere and not taking the time to walk, slow down, enjoy his surroundings, was taking its toll. Harry felt like he was becoming a recluse. Crazy old man Potter who never came out of his house. Crazy old man Potter at twenty years old.
It, to put it very bluntly, sucked.
**
Harry moved the paperwork to the side and shook his head. "Kreacher sent me something to eat and I hate the canteen. The last time I was there, we were bombarded by photographers. It was ridiculous."
Ron chuckled and tossed a crumpled ball of parchment in the air. "You were the one avoiding that Prophet reporter for a fortnight. No wonder she sicced the hounds on you." He looked back at Harry. "When was the last time you said yes to them?"
Harry thought for a moment and then rubbed the twitchy spot right above his eyebrow. "Dunno... month or so, I'll wager."
"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron said, bursting out laughing. He got up from the chair, grabbing his robe off the desk beside Harry's "You know that only makes them worse. Reporters are like howlers."
It was true. But after avoiding them for so long, he couldn't just make an appearance somewhere without expecting to be swarmed. It had sort of snowballed and he didn't know how to get himself out of the situation. He hated that Ron was right. Harry glared at his friend for laughing and reached for another file. Death Eaters spotted in Northern Finland was scrawled across the front of it. He waved the folder at Ron and mumbled something about catching up, working through lunch so he could go home early.
Not more than ten minutes after Ron had left did things get worse.
"Mister Potter, a moment of your time," a brusque voice spoke out, startling Harry out of following the transcript translation. He looked up and into the pinched face of Rita Skeeter.
"Gossip reporters aren't allowed in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Skeeter. You know that." Harry casually glanced around the office, but everyone else was on lunch, including the head of the department.
"You forget Mister Potter," Rita tapped the bronze badge pinned to the lapel of her robes, "that I'm an official liaison to the Ministry. I have full access to all departments, which--"
"Doesn't explain why you're sitting at my desk in hopes of writing an article for Witch Weekly," Harry interrupted, his patience thin. He'd not even gotten around to eating the sandwich that Kreacher had made for him and his stomach was protesting this very fact quite loudly.
Rita sat up, her pinched face looking even more pinched. "That is an assumption."
"No it's a deduction," Harry said. He pointed to the quill and pad hovering behind her. "All official ministry liaisons are forbidden to use Quick-Quotes Quills as they have the unfortunate habit of misrepresenting and elaborating on actual events. If you were on an official visit with regards to one of my cases, then you'd be using a standard issue quill and handwriting. As you're not... and as that quill is quoting me while I talk, I'm going to deduce that this has to do with the thirteen letters from Witch Weekly sitting in my bin."
Rita puffed up a bit, looking like a chicken whose feed had been suddenly taken away. Or an ostrich. He wasn't quite sure which comparison he liked more. Had Harry not been so irritated by the whole situation, he would have laughed. He stood up, pushing back his chair with a scrape across the floor. His robe tangled briefly with the legs of the chair and he heard it rip as he yanked it free. With a scowl, he pushed himself past Skeeter's chair. It wasn't until he felt her fingers grab his robe that he rounded on her, wand drawn.
She looked at him with surprise, reaching up to push her glasses further up her nose. "Witch Weekly only wants a brief interview," she said, her eyes dropping down to the tip of his wand and then back up to his face. Harry could see the wheels turning behind her eyes and already imagined some manner of newspaper spread on how unhinged he was. "To let the public know how you're getting on."
"I'm fine," Harry gritted out. "Just bloody well fine." A mug on the desk next to him rattled in annoyance and Harry could feel his temper getting the better of him.
He wrenched his arm from her grip and shoved his wand back into its holster. Rita looked at him for a moment, her brassy curls barely even moving as she tilted her head. Harry wondered what sort of potion she used to keep them in place. Turning slightly, she plucked the acid green quill out of the air along with its notebook. Harry, if he'd been thinking about it and not thinking about how hungry he was, should have left her right then and there. But he didn't.
"Really, Mister Potter. I fail to see how making yourself available to the good people of the wizarding world is such a hard thing to do," she said, her voice cloyingly sweet and almost patronising. Like a mother trying to explain a concept to her child. Not that Harry really had much experience in that regard, but he'd heard enough of Aunt Petunia doing that with Dudley. "Would it really be so terribly trying to let the readers know about the day to day life of their hero? Perhaps it could be beneficial for the department. It isn't often that a reporter of my calibre gets to work closely with you... think of how it would look if you said yes..."
Harry didn't get a chance to answer yes. He didn't get a chance to answer no. Instead the mug that had rattled earlier exploded into shards. Rita yelped in surprise and her hand, complete with long green fingernails, flew to her face. A dribble of blood leaked between her fingers. Harry had never known Rita Skeeter to be at a loss for words, but it seemed like this was the time. He had no explanation. He'd lost control.
But to a passer-by it might look as though he'd performed wandless and wordless magic as an attack on a reporter.
Unhinged.
**
Harry lifted his head from the cool surface of her desk, holding down a paper that had stuck to his skin. He'd gone there after the healers had taken Rita off to St Mungo's. The Prophet was going to have a field day with this, he'd thought grouchily. And here was Hermione, acting as though this was just going to blow over. Since when had anything ever blown over for him? People refused to let him fade into obscurity as much as he tried to be a normal person.
"She's going to publish the incident," he said. "How is that not a big deal?"
"Because it's only a big deal if you care," Hermione answered, plunking herself down on the chair opposite him.
"The last time the papers got wind of something in my life, I had to work from home so that they'd stop lurking about the department. " He paused and kicked his foot lightly against the bottom of her desk, thinking about the weeks following when he and Ginny parted ways. "For three weeks."
Hermione gave him a pitying sort of look and shuffled about the research in front of her. Laws and bi-laws and rewrites of everything. Harry wasn't sure if she'd seen the surface of her desk in the entire time she'd been working with the Ministry. In a way he envied Hermione. He'd taken such a public job and here she was in the bowels of the Wizengamot, easily hidden away from all prying eyes. And with her living her off hours in Muggle London, she never had to really deal with the press.
"Go on holiday," she said suddenly.
"What?"
"For goodness sake, Harry. You've not had time off since you killed Voldemort," she said, not flinching at the name. Harry admired her for that. "It's not like life will implode without you." She smiled broadly and then reached for a piece of parchment, scribbling a note before folding it up into an aeroplane and sending it off. "A holiday would be perfect. Leave tonight. Before the Prophet publishes."
Harry laughed incredulously and pushed his hair out of his face with one hand. "They'll find out where I'm going the moment I put in the request for a portkey."
"Then don't."
Harry's brow furrowed. Not using a portkey limited where he could go. Sure he could apparate, but he wasn't proficient enough for long distances. His mouth opened to ask Hermione what she'd meant but she was already up and sending off different notes and memos. Her quill zipped over parchments and he wondered if anyone was going to be able to read her writing when whatever note she was sending arrived to its destination. Suddenly she rounded on Harry.
"Look, you've got more than enough money to easily travel somewhere at the drop of a hat. And we were going to go on that long holiday after the war. Remember we all went and got our passports for it... so... oh Harry, this is brilliant." She held out her hand, not pausing to breathe. "Here. Give us your vault key. I'll take care of everything. My dad's cousin is a travel agent. It's not that hard. I'll book you a trip. Just go home and pack clothes and I'll owl you accommodation reservations and your tickets. Plane tickets, Harry. We won't even try to go the wizard route. This will work perfectly. You'll see."
Harry was speechless. He was also a bit afraid because Hermione had that look in her eyes that if he even tried to shoot her down, she might beat him over the head with a handbag. So all he could do was nod, pass her the key to his vault at Gringotts along with a note stating his express permission for her to have access to his money.
Then he let her take care of everything.
**
It was dark when he arrived in Galway. And yet it was not so dark that he couldn't see his way around. Snow had begun to fall earlier in the afternoon and soon the Irish countryside was blanketed with white, the homes dusted as though they were part of some elaborate baked confection. The air had a fresh quality about it that Harry couldn't pin to any direct source. It was different than London which had its own odour. Taxis and sweat and sometimes curry. This was different. This was ocean and snow and clean.
Harry took a deep breath.
He'd not expected Ireland when the tickets arrived. He'd expected something a little more far away. Perhaps Australia or China. Miles away where he could get lost in a sea of people or wide empty space. The outback had its appeal.
But Ireland it had been. Hermione's explanation was that no one would expect to look for him so close. Plus nearly everything else was booked solid so this was a matter of last resort and she was quite sorry, but she had set charms so that all his owls would be directed to his workspace and none to where he was on holiday.
Harry folded the paper with the name of the cottage written across it, walking up to the door. It opened before he even had a chance to knock. Warmth from the house tumbled out into the cold December night only just barely blocked by a plush sort of woman with steel grey hair and rosy cheeks. The way she had it pulled back reminded him of Professor McGonagall, but the resemblance stopped at the hair.
"Ah, you must be Harry," said the woman with a smile that made her cheeks seem even rosier. Harry had expected an Irish brogue that he couldn't understand, but her accent was light and very cheerful. "I'm Mrs Goodwin. Your friend said you'd be here about this time when she rang us to ask if the cottage was still available for the month." She reached behind the door for something as she spoke and when she pulled her hand back it revealed a large knitted shawl, which she draped about her shoulders, stepping out into the cold with him and closing the door behind her. "Afraid Mr Goodwin isn't here at the moment, so you'd best be carrying your own bags. I'll take you out to the cottage."
Harry paused and glanced back at the warm and inviting little home. "Oh so this isn't it?"
She chuckled. "Oh no. We have a small second building just beyond the vegetable garden. You're lucky though. We'd almost given up hope at keeping it open for the winter, nearly everywhere else is closed. But your friend, Helen was it? Well she made a very convincing argument so I put your name down in my red ledger. Might as well keep it open if someone is interested."
"Hermione," Harry said after a moment, correcting the name belatedly.
"Yes, that's right," Mrs Goodwin replied, switching on the large black torch she was carrying and leading Harry through the snow. "Is she a barrister? Presents herself very well, she does."
Harry shook his head. "No, that's just her personality."
"Good girl."
They rounded a hedge and the light from the torch shone on a small building. It couldn't have been more than a couple of rooms, Harry'd thought, judging by the size of it. But it was hidden away and it looked cosy. He had to hand it to Hermione. She'd found the perfect place for him to get away and relax out of the public eye. Mrs Goodwin made some sort of comment under her breath about her husband not mentioning he'd set up the fire, but Harry shrugged off the remark as it wasn't his place. He thanked the woman and took the key from her.
"We'll provide a full breakfast at the main house at eight. Otherwise there's cold cereal in the cupboard and I'll have Jimmy leave a bottle of milk on the step." She paused, looking as though she was waiting for him to ask her for help.
"Thank you, Mrs Goodwin. I really appreciate all of this," he said. "I'll let you know if I need anything, yeah?"
She answered him with another warm smile, saying that she'd send Mr Goodwin around with another crate of firewood before the night was out. Then her and the bright torch headed back toward the main house. Harry was left alone. Perfect. Just what he wanted and needed. Turning the handle, he let himself in, lightly kicking the door closed behind him and dumping his bag on the nearest armchair. His thick jacket followed shortly afterward.
As he'd suspected, the room was small. The whole cottage was small. But small never actually bothered him. He wandered the length of the main room, a tiny kitchenette along one side, sofa and telly on the other. A small fire crackled in the fireplace and there were a few pieces of wood still left in the brass holder. Harry crouched down and tucked a piece into the flames, letting them lick and catch until everything brightened just a little bit more.
Tugging off his shirt, Harry tossed it in the direction of the sofa. It half draped over one arm.
He gave his stomach a bit of a scratch and then poked his head into the bedroom. The quilt looked inviting and he considered having a sleep right then and there, but opted for a shower to rid himself of travel grime first.
What surprised him most about the bathroom wasn't the modern fixtures or the large tub. It wasn't even that the bathroom, for a cottage this small, was as large as it was. It wasn't that the bathmat and all the other linens were shockingly white. What surprised him the most about the bathroom was that it wasn't empty. A cloud of steam fogged up his glasses and when he swiped at them, Harry saw the pale curve of a very feminine back as well as the smooth rise of an equally feminine backside.
His mouth gaped open and at his "oh" of surprise, she turned.
They stood there, frozen, staring at each other for what was possibly the longest three seconds in the history of time and space. Glaciers moved faster than the time did. Mountains sprung up faster. Ron learned potions faster.
Harry blinked.
And Pansy Parkinson screamed.
**
"You didn't tell me that you changed colours for the season, Noreen. The girl showed up and I put her name down. Like I always do. "
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry glanced at Pansy. Her hands were folded tightly on her lap, fingers clenched so hard that her knuckles were white. The ends of her hair were still damp from the shower, curling slightly in the heat of the Goodwins' sitting room. Her lips were pursed and she stared intently at the floor. After things had calmed down, meaning after Pansy had stopped screaming and Harry had fled to the main room of the cottage to hastily put his shirt back on, just in time for the Goodwins to burst into the room.
Now his head hurt.
Harry had offered to go find someplace else to stay, only to learn that this little area of the county was basically closed for the winter season. The properties that were still open were fully booked until after the holidays. It was either here at the Goodwins or it was home to England. It wasn't as if he was trapped in Ireland. It was close enough to England to apparate, or he could use the other half of his open-ended ticket and spend an hour by himself until he had to face the reporters that were no doubt surrounding his house.
So much for relaxing.
"I'll go," Pansy said stiffly. "If you'll be so kind as to ring a taxi for me?"
"No it's fine," Harry protested. "I should be the one to go. I'm sure you got here before I did."
"We're out of school, Potter," Pansy said with a frown, finally looking at him for the first time since she'd screamed in the bathroom. "There's no need to keep playing the decent boy hero."
Mrs Goodwin stopped her pacing and Mr Goodwin set down the pipe he'd been tapping against his palm. The two of them exchanged looks. Harry sighed and reached for the cup of tea that had gone cold sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He drank it down with a bit of a grimace and then returned the cup to its saucer. All he'd had to do was leave. He could have just apparated away quick as you please and been on the first flight back to London instead of sitting, gobsmacked, on the sofa until the Goodwins came out to investigate the commotion.
"Well." Colm Goodwin stuck the pipe into his mouth, his teeth clenching down on the bit. He spoke out of the side of his mouth. "Small world, it is. In any case, young lady, no taxicabs will be making their rounds this late in the evening. Especially now that the snow's picked up. Noreen and I are truly sorry for the mix up... one of you certainly can use our sofa. Bit short, but it'll do in a pinch. We can get everything sorted in the morning."
This time it was Pansy's turn to sigh. She folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. "The sofa in the guest cottage is big enough to stretch out. If Potter doesn't mind."
"I don't," Harry said hastily. The last thing he wanted was to put anyone out.
Pansy was the first to stand, still hugging her arms around her torso. She walked with purpose toward the door and Harry gave the older couple a weak smile before following her. Noreen Goodwin hurried over and pressed the torch into his hand before letting him go. Harry thanked her, but didn't bother with it as he went out into the gently falling snow. Taking out his wand, he cast a quiet Lumos before catching up to Pansy.
"I'll get my things out of the bedroom and call for a taxi in the morning," Pansy said staring straight ahead and then stepping aside so that Harry could unlock the cottage door.
"That's ridiculous, Parkinson," Harry said, holding the door open. "I haven't even unpacked anything. I'll take the sofa. I've slept on worse things."
"I'll wake you up when I go to leave," she said with a frown. "It makes sense for me to sleep out here."
"No you won't," Harry plopped himself down on the sofa next to his things. "Just appara--"
Suddenly he stopped talking as the realisation hit him. She kept bringing up the taxicab not because she didn't want to apparate, but because she couldn't. Harry's face went hot as he remembered how most of the Slytherins in his year, due to the things that their families had done, had been stripped of their wands and banned from purchasing replacements for anywhere from two to five years.
Without a wand, she was stuck.
"Yes, not all of us have that luxury right now," she said with a flat tone, combing her hair with her fingers. The snow that had accumulated on it had melted already making her hair more damp. How had he not noticed that she'd forgone a drying charm? "Good of you to remember, Potter."
Harry rubbed the back of his neck and winced. He'd put his foot in his mouth on countless occasions. Somehow this felt worse. Maybe it was because he'd walked in on her the way he had, but he couldn't be sure. In any case, he shifted uncomfortably and looked at her standing there. He waved his hand toward the bedroom and told her to take it. He wasn't tired just yet and wanted to see what was on the telly.
Truth was that he was actually quite exhausted, but he figured this was the best way to get her to just take the damn room. It was the least he could do.
"I'm sorry," he said suddenly as she began to close the bedroom door. "For earlier... I didn't mean to... you know... stare like that."
One of her small shoulders raised up in a delicate shrug and she looked away, head down, her damp hair making a dark curtain around her face. She didn't answer him, merely gave him that one shoulder shrug. He watched as the door closed and he was left on his own.
Well this was a fine kettle of fish, he thought sourly and got up to find a blanket.
**
Harry wasn't sure what woke him up first, his bare foot sliding off the sofa and hitting the cold floor or the sound of plates jangling in the kitchenette behind him. He sat up suddenly, reaching clumsily for his wand, not remembering where exactly he was for a few heartbeats. Then it all came sliding back into the forefront of his mind. Rita, the flight to Dublin, the apparition to Galway, the unexpected snow, the cottage, the Goodwins, Pansy in the shower, all of it. He rubbed his face and glanced over his shoulder.
And froze.
Pansy stood in front of the cupboards with one arm stretched up to reach one of the mugs on the top shelf. Her other hand was tightly gripping the oversized t-shirt she had obviously worn to bed, but that didn't quite stop it from riding dangerously higher. Even with everything sort of blurred around him, he could still make that out. Harry swallowed thickly. If she stretched any further, he was certain that the t-shirt would pop right up over her backside. Harry ducked his head back down behind the sofa. Seeing her bum again, even unintentionally, was just improper, wasn't it? The only problem was that he dropped himself down a little too quickly and the back of his skull connected with one of the sofa arms hard enough to make a loud thunk. Stars burst behind his eyelids. Behind him Pansy yelped in surprise.
Harry groaned and cupped the back of his head, sitting up again. At least she hadn't screamed.
This time he turned to face the fireplace. It hadn't been banked properly and had gone cold. Harry flapped his hand around for a moment until it connected with his specs sitting on the coffee table. He put them on and blinked a couple of times, letting the world fall into focus.
"Are you always this much of a disaster in the morning?" Pansy asked. Harry heard the water running as a kettle was filled.
"Only on Wednesdays," Harry said flatly, rubbing the lump that had started to grow. "And always before morning tea."
"Well there'll be tea shortly." She came around the sofa and crossed in front of him. "I can't make it not be Wednesday."
Harry caught a glimpse of the front of her shirt then and his eyebrows raised slightly. "The Cure?"
"What?" She paused and then looked down at what she was wearing. Her shoulder did that delicate shrug again and she shook her head dismissively. "Oh. I was in Hamburg last year. It was something to do."
"Do you travel a lot?"
"Must we?" she said, sounding annoyed. Her right foot lifted slightly and she rubbed the top of it against the back of her left calf. "I get that you feel badly, but there's really no reason we have to do the small talk thing." She hooked a thumb over her shoulder toward the bedroom. "I'm going to get dressed." She then waved her hand at him, sort of indicating his entire person. "You might want to put some clothes on as well. Unless this whole sitting about in your shorts was your way of evening things out."
Harry looked down at himself then hastily grabbed the blanket he'd been using and covered himself. When he looked up, she was gone and his face was white hot with embarrassment. He grabbed his bag and took it and the blanket to the bathroom. He'd still not cleaned off the grime of travel from the day before and he was feeling a bit ripe. After a quick shower, he dressed, giving his hair a good rub with one of the towels before stepping back out into the main room.
"Time?" he asked, shuffling over to the kitchen counter.
"Quarter to eight," Pansy answered, holding out her arm as if it didn't even occur to her to ignore him just as it hadn't occurred to him to not ask. A small watch sat on her wrist. She'd dressed while he was in the shower and packed her things, apparently. A small valise sat next to the door.
"C'mon," he said after a moment. Though the tea smelled good, the idea of a cold breakfast wasn't appealing. Especially when there was the promise of a hot one only yards away. He reached up and pushed closed the cupboard door she'd opened.
**
"'Fraid not. Snowed all night, obviously." Colm sat next to Harry at the large table. He was still chewing on the end of the same pipe he'd had between his teeth the night before. "Jimmy was barely able to get up the drive with the milk. More's expected today and tomorrow. "
"Of course we'll let you both stay at half the cost," Noreen scooped a large spoonful of scrambled eggs onto Harry's plate before he could protest that it wasn't necessary that she do anything because he could leave easily.
But then how would he explain leaving? The roads were a mess. No taxis. Obviously he hadn't walked from Dublin to Galway. With a glance to Pansy, Harry reached for the marmalade and scooped some onto a triangle of toast. She was picking at the rasher of bacon on her plate and she looked like she wanted to be anywhere than at this table.
He considered her for a moment. She looked different than she had at school. Her clothing was certainly more muggle, something he'd never expected from her. He thought about the last time he'd seen Pansy Parkinson. It wasn't at Hogwarts, though he still heard her desperate voice But he's there! Potter's there. Someone grab him!, but at the inquiry shortly after he'd accepted the Auror position. She'd been in the lineup of seventh year Slytherins hearing the fate of their wands.
Three years. That's how long her suspension had been now that he'd thought about the whole thing and remembered about what had been done.
Part of him had this sick feeling that it hadn't been a fair punishment after all. She looked so defeated.
**
To say that the walk back to the cottage was awkward, would be putting it lightly. Pansy hadn't said much of anything and when they got back to the guest cottage, Harry pushing open the door for her and waiting until she went first before he closed it behind him, she left her boots on the rubber mat by the wall and walked over to the sofa. Harry kicked his own shoes off and instead of sitting beside her, he crouched by the fireplace and started stuffing it with bits of newspaper and kindling before thumping a bigger log down on top of it all.
There were long matches in a box beside the wood-basket, but Harry didn't feel like struggling with them, so he took the wand he'd stashed in his jacket pocket out and flicked it at the newspaper, setting the whole thing alight.
Behind him Pansy made some kind of noise.
He turned. "Alright?"
"Why would it matter to you?" she asked, her voice muffled. She'd pulled her legs up and hugged them to her chest, forehead against her knees.
"Well we're kind of stuck here for a few days at least. It's not going to kill us to be tolerable to one another." Harry pointed out.
"No. I'm stuck here for a few days." Her head popped up and she frowned at him. "You could easily pop yourself back to England quick as you please."
"Well no... It would raise too many questions and I don't actually have the inclination to fill out the paperwork for memory modifications to keep the Goodwins from wondering where I'd gone." Harry got up off his knees and moved to sit on the sofa, but when she tensed up, he changed his mind and dropped down into the spare armchair. "Look. I get that I'm the last person you would want to be snowbound with. I get that. We might as well make the best of it."
Pansy let out a rather sardonic chuckle. "Best of it? Sure thing... and then you can go home and tell all your friends how you saw Pansy, the girl who wanted you dead, at her lowest. Gee. Thanks."
"That's not what I meant," Harry said, feeling a little irritated, folding his arms over his chest. He stared at the fire for a few minutes before the need to fill the silence with more than the pop and fizzle of burning wood became too overwhelming. Puffing out his cheeks, he looked back to Pansy. "Why did you?" he asked after a moment. "Want me dead, I mean."
"I didn't," she said tiredly, rubbing the spot between her eyebrows. "Not really."
Harry opened his mouth to say something along the lines that it could have fooled him, but she gave him a look that made him hold his tongue.
"By the end, Potter, even Slytherins were desperate for the war to be over. It wasn't like we were having any fun at school anymore. The Carrows were torturing everyone, even Slytherin first years. Most of us were ready to have it done and if you dying would have ended it, I'm sure any number of us would have pitched you over the portcullis." She shook her head. "I just happened to be the first to speak. I wanted my old life back. I wanted my friends back."
She took a breath and looked toward the window, frowning at the snow outside. "I don't mind being thought of as the bad guy in all of this. I just wish that the punishment hadn't been so harsh." She turned back to him. "Did you ever hear of the Treaty of Versailles?"
Harry shook his head and then got up from the armchair with a quiet, 'I'm still listening' as he circled around the back of the sofa. It sounded French, what she was saying, and he didn't really have the best grasp on French history. But he was actually interested in what she had to say. All of the stories about what had happened during the year that would have been his seventh were told from the view of his friends, never the other side. Taking the bottle of milk left by Jimmy that morning, he poured some into a saucepan and placed it on the stove. To it he added cocoa from a tin he'd found, after a bit of rooting about in the cupboard, and then measured out some sugar into it.
"So there was this big Muggle war in the early 1900s, you probably know a little bit more about it than I do, but I did read a lot while I was on the continent. In any case... when it was all over, the good side decided to impose all these restrictions and penalties and reparations on Germany." Pansy turned on the sofa so she was kneeling, her arms resting on the back of it. Harry could feel her looking at his back. "The thing was... they tightened the leash on Germany so much it made them resentful and they went to war again. I feel like that's how it has been for us."
Harry looked at her. "I'm not sure that's why this was done..."
"But it was done. We were punished, all of us, for the things our parents did. In my case... maybe a lapse in judgement during a moment of panic. No one spoke up on our behalf."
"I'm sorry," Harry said after a moment, taking the hot cocoa off the stove and pouring it from the pot into cups. He slopped a little bit on the counter.
"Are you?"
"Yeah. I am actually." He held out a mug to her and once she'd taken it, her fingers brushing his, he moved to sit down again. "It's kind of been a whirlwind since the battle and I can't keep out of the spotlight long enough to get my head on straight... I remember the restrictions handed down and yet I don't remember half of it."
"It happened so fast."
To that Harry could only nod in agreement. He sipped his cocoa, letting the rich flavour roll over his tongue before swallowing. He didn't know what else to say. There wasn't much to say. He opened his mouth to offer to side-along apparate her to the nearest airport once the snow was under control, but hesitated because he figured she wouldn't want his help. Then there was the fact that he wasn't even sure why he was offering. They weren't friends. But after this small conversation, it didn't exactly feel like they were enemies.
Harry didn't like just sitting there in silence, so he got up and walked over to the telly, switching it on. Black and white images came onto the screen.
"Look, Daddy. Teacher says, every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings." A little girl with light hair spoke from the arms of James Stewart. Soon the music was swelling and the credits were rolling.
Pansy shifted on the sofa, tucking her feet under her. "I've never seen that one," she said thoughtfully. "Shame it's over."
Harry looked at her with surprise and watched as she did that little half shrug with her shoulders. "Telly?"
"It was something to do. I rather like some of the shows. Muggle entertainment does have its merits."
He couldn't help but chuckle and this time he didn't stop himself from sitting down on the sofa beside her. It was easier for them both to see the screen from there anyhow. He stretched his legs out and the television filled with another film. This time Maureen O'Hara was desperately looking for a new Santa Claus for the big Christmas parade. He'd seen this only few times, and almost always from the door to the sitting room so the Dursleys wouldn't know he was watching. It was one of his favourite Christmas films. Especially the part with the bags and bags of letters.
Christmas miracles tended to always give him hope when he was small.
**
Harry first became aware of the music filling the small room. Fah who foraze! Dah who doraze! Welcome Christmas, come this way! He then became aware of the fact that his eyes were closed and he was leaning on his hand, propped up against the edge of a sofa. The last thing he became aware of was the warm spot along his side and the weight against his shoulder. Blinking groggily and straightening his glasses, he turned his head. It seemed they both had fallen asleep.
A slow smile spread across his face. A lock of dark hair had slipped down against her nose and with every breath out it fluttered. Harry, not trying to move too much, reached over and carefully pushed the lock of hair away from her nose and toward her ear. The silky strands stayed there for a moment before she shifted in her sleep and they fell back to the spot where they had been.
He would have tried to move it once more, but there was a sudden banging on the door and she startled awake. Harry snatched his hand back and felt his cheeks go warm. She looked at him for a moment and then scooted away from him.
**
"Oh yeah? When was the last time you put fairy lights on a tree?" Harry said holding up the strand of multi-coloured lights as they blinked in his hand.
An hour earlier they had been greeted by Colm at the door carrying a large pine into the cottage. The room had filled with the crisp scent and behind him Noreen had been carrying a box marked 'Julie and Steven' which had turned out to be Christmas decorations left behind when their daughter and husband had emigrated to South Africa. They'd said something about feeling bad that the pair of them were stuck and that they wanted to give him and Pansy something fun to do until the snow cleared up.
And now, apparently, he was doing it wrong.
"You always start from the bottom, Potter. I don't have to be muggle to know that if you don't start at the bottom you can't take into account the length of cord you'll need to reach that wall outlet."
"So easily she throws around the terminology," Harry said with a half-smile and had a look at the lights. He already had them plugged in to test out the strand, so reluctantly he had to admit she did have a point.
"Hermione Granger isn't the only girl in the world who can open a book," Pansy replied haughtily, thought there was a cheerful sort of quality to it. She gave him a bit of a shove to get him to move out of the way and then took the strand of lights out of his hand. "Here. Just go..." She flapped her hand at the box. "Unwrap the ornaments."
Harry did as he was told and sat down on the sofa, carefully taking out each ornament from its box and setting it on the coffee table. Every so often he'd look up to see her stringing the lights around the circumference of the tree and then pausing with a very intense look on her face before shaking her head and starting over again. If they hadn't been at each other's throats all through school, he thought that perhaps Hermione and Pansy might have developed a friendship of sorts. A bond over obsessive compulsive behaviours or something. Harry smiled and resumed work on unwrapping ornament after ornament.
"There," she said finally, her hands on her hips. "That, at least, is presentable. Heaven only knows what sort of dog's breakfast you would have made of the entire thing."
Though he wouldn't say so aloud, Harry had to admit that the tree looked good. With a wry sort of grin, he gestured to the array of things that he'd just set out and a 'well get on with it' sort of look on his face. She stared at him for a long moment and then pointed at the kitchenette. Harry looked over his shoulder and then back at her.
"If I'm doing all the work, you're making more cocoa."
"You're not doing all the work, Pansy," he said, but pushed himself up off the sofa. It didn't even occur to him that he'd just used her first name instead of her last. "I'll put the star on the top."
"No, you can't!" Pansy said quickly.
Harry hesitated. "Sorry?"
"I've never... the elves always decorated everything at the house," she said after a moment, then busied herself by selecting a few of the large red balls that he'd set down on the table.
"So this is your first tree?" Harry asked, pouring milk into the saucepan he'd used before.
"Sort of... but it would definitely be my first star."
"Alright then," Harry said, grabbing the tin of cocoa powder. Dusty, chocolate smell filled his nose as he spooned some into the milk.
It went that way for a good hour until they were out of milk and out of decorations. Pansy stood back from the tree and Harry had to admit it looked good. He reached into the box and took out the gold filigree star that had been tucked away at the bottom and passed it over to her. Then without asking or giving her warning, and because she was a good six inches shorter than he was, Harry put his hands around her waist and gave her a boost. Pansy yelped in surprise and the pair of them wobbled. Harry told her to hurry up, that this wouldn't last long and she stretched her arm out, carefully sliding the topmost branch through the hole at the bottom of the star.
Then she swatted his hands and demanded that he put her down.
He complied but where the brief hesitation came from, he didn't know.
"Now what?" she asked, looking up at him. There was an awkward sort of moment where her hand twitched to reach up, he thought maybe to touch his face or straighten his glasses. But she seemed to shake it off and moved to adjust one of the red bows tied to a the branches.
Harry found that he didn't quite know the answer to her question. But strangely hoped that it didn't involve the snow going away anytime soon.
**
The next few days had turned out to be surprisingly fun. They'd talked, ate with the Goodwins, spent time outdoors and watched a variety of Christmas shows on the telly. It didn't take long for him to admit that they were developing a friendship of sorts even after only a short time. The weather took a brief turn into the desperately chilly, wind coming from the north and blowing down over the country freezing everything in its way. Walking to the main house for meals was treacherous on the skating rink that was the path between it and the cottage. Then it began to warm. The snow was obviously on its way out, every so often a flurry of white would fall from a nearby tree.
Harry took this opportunity to convince Pansy that they needed to go sledding before it was gone.
Silently, that thought was followed by the phrase before you have to leave, which he found he didn't want her to do.
Tramping through the garden, they made their way toward the larger pasture that was part of the neighbouring property. Harry carried a large piece of wood from the stack behind the cottage and Pansy, much to her protests, was dragging a garden shovel. Once they were far enough away from both the cottage and the house, Harry set down the log and had Pansy lean the metal shovel up against it. Then he did something that she seemed to think was quite unexpected judging by the look on her face. He held out his wand to her.
"Think you can make that a sled?"
She faltered. "I... I can. Potter that's your wand. I'm not supposed..."
"Look, Pansy, I'm pants at transfiguration. Especially something that complex. You had higher marks than me. I'd rather not be racing down the hill over there on something that's likely to fall apart and stab me in the arse. Besides. I'll vouch for you and who are they going to side with if not the 'Great Harry Potter'? If my name isn't good for something, it should be good for that."
Reluctantly, Pansy took the wand from him and moved over to the things they'd brought with them. With the first flick of her hand, she flinched and looked over her shoulder, as though she half expected the Ministry to rain hellfire down upon her. Harry shook his head and told her to relax. That, of course, made her frown a little, though he'd noticed that the frowns had become less mean and more 'I am frustrated at you being an arse' which was a familiar expression he'd seen on girls he'd been around. Harry put up his hands in surrender and backed away.
Soon a very passable sled was sitting in front of them. Harry picked it up and took back the wand that she held out to him. There was something in her expression but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Appreciation, he supposed. After all he, an auror, had allowed her, magically restricted, to use a wand when she wasn't supposed to ever put her hands on one until her restriction was up.
But the light would have faded had they waited for him to get a proper sled out of the wood and shovel.
Stumbling and slipping, they made their way up the hill, which had already seen the neighbour children. Slick trails led down the slope and there were a few bumps and hilly bits. The snow squelched a bit under his feet and he slipped a couple of times, almost to the point of sliding down the path he'd just taken before righting himself. Soon they were both at the top of the small mound, which seemed smaller now that they were at the top than it had been when they were climbing.
Harry sat down the sled and perched himself on the back of it, patting the spot in front of him.
"You're joking," she said skeptically.
"I am not. Come on, let your hair down a bit. Promise I won't bite."
For a long moment she stood there and he wondered if she had decided to refuse. Then she sighed and stepped over to the sled, climbing on in front of him, her feet planted firmly on the curved runners sticking out the front. Harry reached back and started to push them forward.
"You've done this before, right?" he asked as the sled started to pitch forward over the edge. "Because I haven't."
Pansy let out a shriek and he was fairly certain some rather inappropriate words, grabbing onto his legs as they sped and bumped down the hill. At the bottom, the sled bottomed out and tilted to the side. Harry went with it, both of them rolling off the sled and tumbling a little. The next thing he knew, small hands were smacking him repeatedly and a very large handful of snow was being shoved down his jacket collar.
"You are an awful, terrible, no good person, Harry Potter. I can't believe you did that to me!" She tried shoving another handful of snow under his scarf, but Harry caught her hands and held her back. "This was your idea! You were supposed to have experience!"
"In the middle of Surrey?" Harry laughed. "I didn't even see snow until Hogwarts."
"Oh. You!"
He finally let her go and got to his feet, holding out a hand to her. With a scowl that seemed to be fearsome and yet not hold any malice whatsoever, Pansy took it and got to her feet. That's when Harry felt it. The icy cold and very wet drop against his head. He looked up and another drop hit him in the face.
"We'd better head back before this gets worse."
No sooner had the words left his mouth the rain started to come down heavier.
**
Outside the rain thrummed against the windows. The sort of rain that would make short work of the snow and dimly Harry realised that this meant a taxi service would have no trouble and that she'd be able to leave. A surge of disappointment at that very fact caught him off guard and his hands stopped, just resting on her shoulders. The sudden realisation that he didn't want her to go made him go very still.
"Potter..." Pansy's quiet voice drew his attention and Harry looked down at her. His fingers moved to tuck wet strands of her hair behind her ear. The towel had slipped down off her head and onto her shoulders
Harry was going to answer her. He was going to step back, apologise and grab a towel for himself. He was going to offer to put the kettle on. He was going to do something that would break the silence. Except he didn't. Not by any decision of his, but because Pansy had reached up and curled her fingers in the collar of his shirt, pulling him down toward her.
And he let her.
He let her press her lips against his, softly at first. Enough pressure to be more than just a peck, but a little less than a full out snog. He stood there, back hunched, for a long moment, just letting her stand there with her lips against his. Then her other arm came around his shoulder and suddenly the kiss changed. Pansy inhaled deeply and her mouth parted slightly under his. Harry was undone. He couldn't be passive in all of this.
His arms came about her waist and he lifted her slightly off the ground, just enough that her toes were almost dragging on the carpet. He felt her place them on top of his own feet just as his mouth slanted across hers. He hadn't known just how much he'd wanted to kiss her until that moment and like hell he was going to let the opportunity pass.
Pansy's hands slid into his hair and without any sort of pause, Harry cupped his hands under the curve of her bum and lifted her higher. Her legs curled around his waist and her arms tightened around his shoulders. It was all rain-damp clothes, heated mouths, tongues and the occasional icy drip of water down his neck from the ends of his hair. Harry shivered.
Her mouth slid from his and she began placing kisses along his jaw. "Still not forgiving you for the sled," she murmured against his skin. "That was a dirty trick."
Harry couldn't help but chuckle and let her down, reaching to unhook her arms from around his neck. He didn't let her hands go and started to back toward the bedroom, leading her along with him. "I think I might be able to change your mind," he said.
Once inside the bedroom, he kissed her again. This time it was a slow kiss, gently teasing her mouth open against his. The frantic sort of kissing moments before had set his heart racing, but this kiss. This kiss went to the very depths of his soul. Rather than frightening him, Harry relished in the sensation, his hands letting go of hers and slowly tugging her blouse from the waistband of her trousers, making short work of the buttons. Pansy inhaled sharply through her nose as his fingertips brushed the exposed skin and she drew back, looking at him with a wry sort of grin.
"Your hands are freezing," she said, her voice low and her own fingertips dancing nimbly over the button and zip of his trousers, undoing them and pushing the fabric down over his hips.
Harry let out a rather strangled cry as her hand dipped below the waistband of his shorts. "So are yours," he said with a rather undignified crack to his voice.
"Hmmm..." Pansy said, pushing up the edge of his shirt.
She flattened a cold hand against his stomach and pushed him backwards toward the bed until he dropped down to sit on the edge. Harry used the moment to kick his trousers off his feet and toe off his socks while tugging his shirt up over his head. Her hand still stayed flattened against his stomach and then after a few moments she lifted it away. Harry didn't know exactly when his shorts had been removed. Somehow he wasn't exactly paying attention. It was difficult to pay attention to such trivial things as the location of ones underclothes when a cool, but not freezing, hand was curled around his erection, stroking the length of it.
Harry groaned. The sound was low at first but jumped a notch when he felt her warm, hot mouth engulf him. The sensation was amazing. Cool fingers at the base and a warm, clever tongue circling around the tip. Harry thought that if he died just then, there would be no regrets.
Then her head, and mouth, started to move and he quickly changed his mind on that. No dying. None whatsoever.
"Pansy," he whispered frantically, his throat feeling like it was nearly closed up and his hands gripping the bedspread tightly. "Oh god."
Slowly she lifted her head, eyes cast upwards at him and he thought he would come right then and there and everything would be over. But somehow he managed to hold onto a shred of control as his cock popped free of her lips with a little suction noise. Pansy got up, hands on his thighs and shrugged off her clothes while Harry tried to catch his breath, his whole lower body wound so tight, he thought he might come apart at the seams.
The last thing she removed was a small pair of knickers and when they were kicked to the side, Harry put his hands on her hips and tugged her closer.
But turnabout was fair play and he shifted so that he could pull her onto the bed with him, rolling her onto her back and leaning down to press a kiss against her neck. Harry kissed his way down her torso, stopping briefly at her breasts to nip playfully at her nipples, teasing them until they were hard peaks. The little gasp of surprise she uttered made him smile. Lower he went until his lips were pressed against the skin just below her navel. His hand moved down and he nudged apart her knees, trailing his fingertips along the soft skin of her inner thighs.
Above him she made a sound that was a mixture of a sigh and his name. He looked up at her, her breasts thrust upwards as she arched her back almost writhing.
"Again, Pansy," he said quietly. "Say it again." Then he dipped his head down, pressing his mouth against her slick flesh, his tongue darting out to flick over her clit.
"Harry!" Pansy's hand flew to the back of his head, her fingertips curling tightly in his hair. The sounds that came from her throat could never be mistaken for words. It was a keening sort of noise that went along with the undulation of her hips against his mouth.
She suddenly tugged sharply on his hair. Almost enough to make him wince and definitely enough to convince him not to fight it as he moved back up, capturing her mouth with his, the taste of her mingling between their lips. She nipped at his mouth and her hand still gripped his hair as she rolled her hips up against him. Harry slid his hand along the underside of her thigh, pulling her leg up over his.
Drawing back slightly, Harry propped himself on his elbow and pushed hair off her face. She met his gaze reaching up to take his smudged glasses off and tossing them toward the carpeted floor. Everything sort of went a bit blurry, but Harry wasn't quite sure if that had to do with his eyesight or the feel of her tight warmth as he slid into her.
Pansy gasped softly and her heel pressed against the back of his leg.
"Changed your mind yet?" he said, his teeth grazing the edge of her ear and his hips moving against hers.
"Give it time," she said, a sound caught between a laugh and a moan following the words.
They moved together like that, hips colliding and blood racing. Harry could feel the roar in his ears and he had to pinch his eyes closed. Suddenly he felt her hand slip between their bodies. His eyes flew open and he looked down at her, meeting her gaze. A devious sort of smile appeared on her face and as he surged forward with his hips, he could feel her hand moving about. Her lips parted and suddenly she arched her back with a soft cry, her whole body pulsing and shaking against and around him.
Harry couldn't hold himself back and his hips snapped against hers one last time. Something akin to a shout burst from his lips as he shuddered in his release, dropping briefly against her.
Once he'd caught his breath, Harry rolled off of her. Then he reached down and tugged up the throw at the end of the bed, covering their bodies. Pansy curled up against his side, her head tucked against his chest and it felt so natural that Harry didn't even hesitate to put his arm around her shoulder. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the soft natural scent of her. Uncomplicated and entirely unexpected. No flowery scents... just her.
"The snow'll be gone by tomorrow morning, I figure."
"Will it?" Pansy turned her head and looked up at him. "I can't imagine that the roads will be any less treacherous. All that rain and mud?"
Harry tucked a hand behind his head and thought for a long moment. "I've always wanted to try spending Christmas abroad. You have any plans for the next few weeks? I'm sure the Goodwins will be happy to let us stay."
Pansy laughed. "It's hardly abroad, Potter. You need to get out more."
Harry reached over and gave her a bit of a prod in her side, causing an explosive laugh to burst from her mouth. "I'd much rather try staying in more," he said, kissing her deep and long until they were both breathless. "You didn't answer my question." He nuzzled against her neck. "And call me Harry."
Pansy pushed at his shoulders until he was on his back and then climbed to straddle his hips, the throw blanket falling to her waist. A smile crept onto her face as she rocked against him, causing everything in him to stir once more, his pulse jumping.
"No plans, Harry. My schedule is quite clear."
Then she leaned down and pressed her mouth against his.