Chapter 4
The market of the central square was alive with color and sound, the stalls draped in art, baskets overflowing with a grand variety of products, and the air thick with the scent of ripe citrus, flowers, and fresh bread. The bartering voices mixed with the laughter and excitement of the tourists and locals that filled the narrow streets through which Harry walked absently.
He wasn’t sure why he was even here, everything felt so alienated to him, but once again Sirius had dragged him along, claiming that some fresh air and actual tasty food would do them good. But Harry suspected his godfather just wanted an excuse to wander around these streets and lose himself between the tourists, pretending for a few hours that he wasn't a man who had spent 12 years in Azkaban, surrounded by dementors trying to suck his soul.
Harry had let his godfather go ahead, preferring the illusion of solitude, pretending to be interested in some leather bound journals. But as he distractedly ran his fingers over the spines of some, he realized that his mind was somewhere else entirely, drifting to things he didn't want to think about but that had been clouding his head the past few days.
Bloody hell, he cursed himself, he was thinking about it again.
And then without even a warning he heard it, that unmistakable and melodic voice behind him.
- Buying a diary, Potter? Bit sentimental even for you, don’t you think?- His fingers curled tightly against the journal’s spine before he turned around to face her.
Pansy was standing a few feet away, watching him with an expression that showed amusement and curiosity. He couldn't prevent his eyes from roaming up and down through her petite figure. She looked different today, in a good and soft way, the detail of a silk scarf wrapped around her wrist, standing out like a premeditated choice, caught his attention. It was deep emerald green. A slytherin thing probably, but he couldn't help but think that it was almost the same shade of green as his eyes.
-Actually...I was thinking about hexing it to bite people who follow me around- he said, placing the journal back in its place - you know, something like the monster book of monsters.
She tilted her head, green eyes sharp as they skimmed over him and a little sarcastic smirk on her lips - I think it is impressive that you're finally improving your spellwork -
Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes, exhaling through his nose as he turned back to the journals.
It should have ended there. A short encounter, a few sharp words exchanged, then moving on with their separate lives. The usual.
But Pansy just stood there, she lingered a few steps away from him, brushing her fingers over a stall of silk scarves, looking more like she was waiting for something rather than shopping.
The seller behind the journals' stall interrupted his line of thoughts by asking something in a very thick french accent. By the way the man was looking straight at him, Harry assumed he should have been saying something in reply, but nothing came out.
- Merlin you are clueless- sighed Pansy before giving an answer to the man in perfect French after Harry just stood there in an awkward silence.
- What did he say? - Asked Harry, taking a few steps closer to her.
- He only wanted to know if you were actually going to buy something - She replied unbothered, while she picked up a bottle of perfume, turning it idly in her fingers before spritzing a little onto her wrist.
Harry didn’t know why he was watching her. Didn’t know why the simple act felt like it was something more than what it actually was.
Pansy lifted her wrist to her nose, inhaling lightly, then wrinkled her nose - Too sweet- she murmured to herself.
Then, before he could even prepare himself for it or react, she turned slightly.
- Here - she said, offering him her wrist - What do you think?
Harry went still. Suddenly, the air around them felt thicker. She wasn’t thinking about it, not the way he clearly was. Her body language was too casual, it was the kind of interaction that probably happened a thousand times between other people, in other places. But not to them, not to him and certainly not with her.
It would have been easy, too easy, to lean in, to breathe her in, to close his eyes and try to match the scent to the one that lingered in his memory from some nights ago.
But instead, he looked down at her, straight into her eyes - I think it smells like someone who is trying too hard - his voice almost bored, it quite reminded him of Snape.
Pansy blinked before she laughed, a real, honest and genuine laugh. A laugh that Harry had never heard before and it caught him by surprise, one that threw him off balance.
Harry barely had time to process the sound before she shook her head, an amused expression on her face before she turned back to the stall, brushing her fingers over a dark red scarf.
He forced himself to focus on that instead. The movement of the silk over her fingertips. The way she touched things so delicately, as if everything deserved to be treated like something precious. And he couldn't help his mind wandering to the way that her soft hand had felt when she had touched his face that night.
He huffed. This was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous and it was irritating him.
- Are you always this dramatic, Potter?- Pansy asked, looking at him.
He stood tall, straightening his back and pretending to look around to avoid her eyes - I’m not being dramatic-
- I can hear the gears of your brain from here - she pointed out.
- You're insufferable Parkison- Harry said, forcing himself to sound normal.
Then she took a step closer, and another one, until she was too close, the scarf trailing between her fingers until it brushed against his arm.
- And yet… - a faint smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth - you're still here, wasting your time with me.
Fuck. For the first time, he didn’t have an immediate answer. And Pansy knew it. He could see it in the way her smirk softened at the edges, in the moment of quiet triumph behind her eyes .
But before either of them could say something else, before they could acknowledge the electricity in the air between them, Harry caught a glimpse of something in his periphery. Or rather, someone.
Across the square, Sirius was watching. Or, at least, pretending not to watch as he checked some vinyls in a vintage stall with a neutral expression, too neutral for Harry's liking. Because Sirius knew him too well and it was obvious that he had noticed with whom he was talking to.
Harry exhaled sharply, passing a hand through his hair.
- Something wrong, Potter?- she asked, slightly frowning.
Harry hesitated.Yes? No? Maybe?. He wasn't sure anymore.
Instead, he glanced at the scarves beside them - Are you actually going to buy that, or just hold onto it all day?-
Pansy's eyes flickered over him in that way she did, like she was analysing, dissecting, before letting the silk slip through her fingers and kept walking, moving on to the next stalls.
Harry didn’t know why that simple action made something flick in his stomach. Didn’t know why it felt like something was developing between them. But it was too evident that there was something there. And the worst part was that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stop it. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to chase her, or let her keep running just to see where she’d lead him next.
It was her.
Sirius had recognized Pansy Parkinson the moment he spotted her a few days ago at the beach. That sharp, poised confidence. That Slytherin air of control, the kind that was mostly real, but just a little performative.
He remembered her from Hogwarts. The girl who had yelled in the middle of the Great Hall. The girl who not so long ago had wanted Harry to be handed over to Voldemort. He had read the reports. Heard the stories.
He wasn’t watching. Not really. He had told himself he wasn’t keeping an eye on Harry, that he was simply enjoying the beautiful day, letting the world move around him, soaking in the kind of freedom he had once believed he would never taste again. But he couldn't help drifting his eyes, over and over again back to his godson, careful not to let his expression betray anything as Harry and Pansy stood too close, talking with a tension that neither of them had quite noticed yet.
He didn’t have to hear the conversation to see it. He hadn't missed it. The way Harry’s posture had changed when she spoke, the way he had blushed when she stood too close, and yet he seemed relaxed, just slightly. It was subtle, something small, but it was something.
Pansy Parkinson.
Was she dangerous? Probably not.
But was she dangerous for Harry? That was the real question.
Because Harry was damaged. He had lost too much, seen too much, been through hell and back and barely came out alive. Sirius had spent too many nights watching him drink himself numb, too many mornings trying to talk with a lost soul that didn't want to be found.
Sirius exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to look away. He wanted to pretend he hadn’t noticed. Because he had seen this kind of connection before, the push and pull, the sharp edges, the fragility and inevitability.
Was this girl just another way for him to hurt himself?
Harry had stayed, that was what all that mattered. Harry had stayed talking with her, in the sun, surrounded by people. Not escaping, not closing himself off, not drowning himself in alcohol to kill his ghosts. It had to mean something.
So for now, Sirius could pretend that Pansy Parkinson wasn't bad news.
It was easy to feel out of time, sitting on a wrought iron chair outside a café, a cup of espresso resting in front of her as Pansy watched life unfold in a slow, choreographed rhythm at the market. Across the cobbled street a young man was buying bouquets of wildflowers wrapped in brown paper to his fiancée, while on the other corner a little boy was tugging at his mother's sleeve as they walked in front of sugared pastries.
She hadn’t meant to linger, but there was a certain pleasure in taking her time before a dance rehearsal. And she needed that, to stop thinking about the way Harry had disappeared into the crowd, shoulders tense beneath his loose shirt, hands shoved deep in his pockets, the way his reactions had left an unsettling feeling in her.
- I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced - Pansy sighed the moment she sensed someone settling beside her. She was tired of the stupid lines muggle men used to catch her attention. But when she barely turned her head, expecting the usual dull flirtation, she was surprised to find that he wasn’t a muggle at all.
- No, but I know who you are - said Pansy scanning the man beside her. He no longer was the sack of bones and filth that escaped Azkaban, he looked different, healthier, his muscles actually filling out the tattoos decorating his skin, his jet black hair shining with the sun. He was handsome, even for his age.
- And I know who you were - replied Sirius boring his eyes into her - you were the girl who tried to hand him over.
She held his gaze - That's what I did - she said. No excuses. No explanations. She wasn’t naive enough to think one would matter, at least not to him.
There was a glint in his silver eyes, one that uncomfortably reminded her of Draco, though where Draco's had been devious, Sirius's was something else entirely, something wild, unpredictable. Yet, to her surprise, there was no outright condemnation in them. Just scrutiny. A weighing of something unseen.
- I grew up surrounded by people like you- he said at last - Pureblood, slytherin, calculated, death eaters… that kind of people don’t do things without a reason-
- Is this the part where you try to scare me away? Warn me off to take all my evil far from the saviour of the wizarding world? -she asked, tilting her chin up- Because I'd appreciate if you made it quick, I have better things to do-
Sirius studied her for a moment before his lips curled, not quite a smile, not quite a smirk - If I had thought you were a threat or an actual death eater, you wouldn't be sitting here.
She braced herself, unconsciously caressing the skin of her soft forearm where there was no sign of a mark - So what, then? What do you have to say to me to even bother coming here?-
He chuckled at that, the sound rough, almost like a dog barking. - You're sharp, I’ll recognise that.
Sirius glanced toward the square, watching the people walking by - I don’t need to scare you away. I don’t think you’re going anywhere, on the contrary, if I'm not wrong I think you'll stick around… that’s why we’re talking.
Her guards snapped up instinctively - I don't see how that's any of your business-
- Oh, but it is- His silver gaze flicked back to hers, sharp as a blade - Because whether you realize it or not, you’ve gotten under Harry's skin and you're good at that-
Pansy arched a brow, lips pressing together in a show of disinterest -I have no idea what you’re talking about-
Sirius hummed - Don’t play dumb, I've heard you’re a smart girl, Parkinson-
- What's your point exactly?- she didn’t know what answer he wanted from her, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of squirming under his scrutiny.
He sighed, suddenly looking tired, considering his next words carefully - Harry’s drowning. He doesn’t talk to me, not really. Not to anyone, actually. He lets people hover around him, but he seems dead inside…-
Pansy remained silent, though she shifted on her seat.
- And then…- Sirius continued, voice softer now - I saw him with you. Orbiting around you. Fighting back. Looking like he actually gives a damn.- He smiled, slow and lazy, but the sharpness in his gaze remained.
- Harry needs something to hold on to. And for some gods forsaken reason, you make him react, look alive. That’s more than the rest of us have managed these days.
She blinked. What Sirius said caught her off guard. She had expected a warning, a thinly veiled threat. Not this. She hated how much his words had hit straight in the right point. Because the truth was, she had noticed. The way Harry’s eyes lit up in her presence, even in anger. The way he watched her, even when he wanted to pretend he didn’t.
A slow, quiet beat passed between them in which Pansy felt her pulse quicken - So what do you expect of me?...-
Sirius smiled, wolfish and knowing - I think it's interesting, isn’t it? -
He didn’t ask her for anything. Didn’t tell her to stay away, didn’t tell her to come closer. He just left it there hanging in the air, a discrete suggestion, a possibility, something to take or leave.
Then, just as casually, he stood up gracefully - It was nice meeting you, miss Parkinson-
And with that, he disappeared into the market, leaving her alone, with a cold cup of coffee and a thought she hadn’t quite meant to have.
The villa was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt unnatural inside his head, as the ocean stretched out beyond and the sky bled into the horizon in soft streaks of orange and pink, but Harry barely noticed the beauty around him.
He sat at the heavy stone table on the terrace, hunched over a sketchbook, the faint scratch of charcoal the only sound beyond the whisper of the sea. Beside him, a nearly half empty bottle of whiskey caught the last rays of sunlight.
His fingers were stained with graphite, his strokes precise yet restless, as though his mind couldn’t decide what it wanted to capture, but the truth was it already had.
He hadn’t meant to draw her. Not consciously, at least. But there she was, emerging from the lines as if she had always been there, waiting beneath the surface. The curve of her mouth, poised between a smirk and something softer. The tilt of her head, the sharpness of her eyes. He could almost hear her voice, melodic and taunting, could almost feel the weight of her stare, challenging him.
Harry huffed sharply and leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. His pulse still hadn’t settled, not since the market, not since that bloody kiss.
It should have been Ginny. That thought made his stomach twist. He had loved Ginny, hadn’t he? Then why did it feel like their story had happened a lifetime ago? Why was it Pansy who had managed to reach something in him, to stir something he thought had died with the war?
For weeks, months even, everything had been muted. Dulled. He had felt nothing with almost unnerving consistency.
But then she had smirked at him in that infuriatingly knowing way.
She had looked at him like she saw something no one else did. And then, like a complete fucking idiot, he had followed her into the abyss. And she had caught him before he drowned.
Harry groaned, glaring at the sky as if the universe itself was conspiring against him.
It had been one stupid encounter. Raw. Immediate. Undeniable. It didn’t mean anything he tried to convince himself. But why couldn’t he shake the feeling that something had shifted? That something had slipped past his defenses while he wasn’t paying attention?
A distant shuffle of footsteps echoed from below, followed by the creak of the terrace door swinging open. Harry tensed, his fingers instinctively moving to cover the sketchbook, but he was a second too late.
- Didn’t take you for the artistic type- Sirius mused from the doorway.
Harry ignored him, forcing his shoulders to relax as he grabbed the whiskey bottle and took a slow sip.
Sirius stepped fully onto the terrace, not taking the hint that he wanted to be alone and dropping a bag onto the table with a distinct thud.
- You'll never know the kind of things I've found today at the market…- said the marauder, plucking a bottle from the bag and inspecting the label. - It's pure gold let me tell you-
Harry glanced at him, finally noticing the stack of old vinyl sleeves peeking out from the bag. Sirius’s expression was smug, like a man who had just reclaimed a piece of his youth.
- Original pressings- he said proudly, pulling one out and turning it over in his hands.- No remasters, no digital tampering, just raw, glorious sound. I haven't heard some of these bands in years-
Harry hummed in acknowledgment, but Sirius wasn’t fooled. His gaze flicked from the whiskey bottle to the forgotten sketchbook.
- Did you find anything interesting at the market?- he asked, feigning casualness.
Harry didn’t answer, just took another sip, because his godfather wasn’t subtle, didn’t know how to be- You got something to say?-
Sirius leaned against the stone railing, looking out over the sea.- Not really, just enjoying the view. It's a lovely sunset-
Harry ignored him, tipping the bottle back.
- You know, I was thinking about something earlier - Sirius looked back at him, too careful, too measured.
- Brilliant, can’t wait to hear it.- replied Harry sarcastically.
Sirius ignored that - It's funny, you know? You’ve been here for weeks, and no matter how many times I dragged you to bars or beaches or hell, even wine tastings, you never looked remotely interested in anything…- he said smoothly sitting in front of his godson- not until I saw you today.
Harry’s grip tightened on the glass. - Saw me what?-
Sirius smirked - At the market, with that girl, Parkinson, right?-
There it was. The thing Harry had been trying to outrun all day.
He set the glass down with a dull clink and met Sirius’s gaze, impassive. - It was nothing.-
Sirius’s smirk widened - Sure -
Harry scowled. -It was nothing -
- Right. Nothing- Sirius nodded toward the sketchbook. -Funny, though. That "nothing" seems to have made its way onto paper.-
Harry froze.
Sirius was too fast and reached out before Harry could stop him, turning the sketchbook slightly. His eyes flicked over the unfinished drawing, the way the shadows curved around her face, the intensity in her expression. A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest.
-Huh- He looked up from the paper- You certainly got her printed in your memory-
Harry snatched the sketchbook away, slamming it shut. - It’s nothing - he snapped.
Sirius didn’t look convinced.
- If you say so- he mused, moving back to the bag of vinyls, as if the conversation didn’t matter. As if he hadn’t just exposed something Harry wasn’t ready to face.
The record player inside crackled to life, the scratchy, melancholic sound of an old song drifting through the open terrace doors. Sirius sank into a chair, swirling a glass of his own, watching Harry with quiet amusement.
Harry, on the other side, stared down at his sketchbook, hands curled into fists, his pulse still unsteady as the lyrics of the song hit like arrows directed straight at him.
"...It must've been some kind of kiss
I should've walked away"
The worst part wasn’t that Sirius had noticed.
The worst part was that he was right, and that was the problem. Because Pansy Parkinson wasn’t supposed to be the person who made him feel, but she was.
And that terrified him.