Chapter 7
Pansy stood in front of her mirror, frowning at her reflection. The tiny apartment’s soft lighting casted a warm glow over her vanity, where half a dozen outfit options lay discarded…. silk, lace, dark colors, light colors, all wrong.
She never had trouble choosing what to wear.
Fashion had always been her armor. A carefully crafted illusion of confidence and poise. She knew how to dress for power, how to make people look at her and see what she wanted them to see.
But tonight, for some reason, nothing felt right.
Because this wasn’t just about looking good. It was about something else. Something she didn’t want to name.
This was ridiculous. It wasn’t like this meant anything.
It was just Harry Potter.
Pansy scowled at herself. Merlin, what a joke. She was standing there, acting like some stupid, nervous girl over him, the boy who had every reason to hate her. The boy who should hate her.
Because no matter how much she wanted to pretend otherwise, she wasn’t worthy of his attention.
She knew what people said about her. She had earned the looks, the whispers. Maybe she wasn’t a Death Eater, maybe she never bore the dark mark, but she was a coward. She stood up in the Great Hall and made her choice. And choices had consequences.
She had spent her whole life trying to be the girl people expected her to be. It had never mattered before. But now…
Now she wanted to be seen as something else. Something more. Worst of all, she wanted Harry's eyes sparkling for her again. And that was dangerous.
The door creaked open behind her. Of course.
- Mon dieu, are you ill?- asked Juliette, sneaking her head through the door.
Pansy let out a sharp sigh - Go away -
Juliette ignored her, stepping inside with a dramatic flourish. She glanced at the mess of clothes, then at Pansy, who stood in nothing but a silk slip, arms crossed.
- You’ve changed outfits three times- Juliette noted, lips twitching. - Are you going on a date?-
- It’s not a date - Pansy snapped.
Juliette hummed, leaning against the vanity. - So, you’re just spending the evening with a boy who makes you fidget with your hair? Sounds perfectly casual -
Pansy glared. - I’m not nervous-
Juliette smirked, sauntering closer. - Let’s see… you tried black, white, green… Now you’re just staring at yourself in lingerie, hoping for divine intervention. Hate to break it to you, ma belle, but that’s called nerves -
Pansy ignored her, snatching a light blue dress off the chair.
- Ah, the light blue - Juliette grinned - Going for the ‘I didn’t even try, I just woke up effortlessly stunning’ look?-
- That’s just my usual vibe - replied Pansy putting the dress on.
Juliette snorted. - Of course - Then, with a knowing look, she added - You know, he already likes you -
Pansy’s fingers froze on the fabric. A sharp, involuntary breath hitched in her throat before she forced herself to smooth out the dress.
- I don’t care if he does, but he definitely doesn't - she said, but it didn’t come out as sharp as she wanted.
- Mmm - Juliette’s smirk didn’t fade - Then why are you wearing the one that makes your eyes look like emeralds?-
Pansy scowled. - Get out -
Juliette laughed, hands up in surrender. - Fine, fine. Just promise me one thing?-
Pansy raised an eyebrow.
- Don’t overthink it. Both of you look like you could use some fun - said Juliette mischievous.
Pansy didn’t answer. Instead, she turned back to the mirror, giving her reflection one last critical look.
He’s too good for you, a voice whispered in her head. You don’t deserve this.
Her fingers hovered over the lipstick on her vanity. A part of her wanted to wipe the makeup from her face, throw on something plain, remind herself that none of this mattered.
But another part of her, one she barely recognized, wanted to see what would happen if she let herself take this moment.
Just for tonight.
Slowly, she picked up the lipstick, applying just enough to make her lips look effortlessly kissable.
Not that she cared, of course.
- Now hurry up. We don't want Harry to think you actually put effort into this- Juliette winked at her in the mirror.
Pansy huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes. - God forbid -
Juliette stepped back as she strolled to the door. - Oh, and Pans?-
Pansy raised a brow.
Juliette smirked. - Try not to fall for him-
Pansy threw a pillow at her.
The door shut behind Juliette’s laughter, and Pansy turned back to the mirror, exhaling deeply.
She smoothed down her hair, grabbed her bag. Then, finally, she stepped out the door, and left before she could change her mind.
The stone steps were uneven beneath Harry’s feet as they climbed higher through the winding path, the sounds of the city fading into the background with every step. The air was cooler there, tinged with salt and the lingering warmth of the day, but Harry barely felt it.
His mind was still tangled in the memory of her, of the way she moved, the way she danced, the way she walked ahead of him, her silhouette sharp against the deep night sky. He wasn’t sure why he followed her so willingly. Maybe it was the promise of quiet, of being away from people, or maybe it was just her.
She glanced over her shoulder, the moon catching in her green eyes. A smirk, just barely there - Don’t tell me you’re already tired, Potter.-
Harry exhaled a quiet laugh - Just didn’t take you for the type to enjoy walking this much -
They reached the top, the overlook opening before them, and Harry felt something in his chest loosen.
The port stretched below in a constellation of warm golden lights, the water dark and endless beyond it. Further in the distance, across the bay, a lighthouse stood solitary against the night, its beam sweeping across the waves like a slow, steady heartbeat.
The world felt vast and quiet up here, like it had pulled away from them just enough to leave them on their own. Alone. Again.
Pansy rested her hands on the weathered stone banister, the fabric of her short dress catching the wind, molding to the curve of her form like it, too, was drawn to her.
For a moment, she didn’t acknowledge his presence, but she knew he was there. He could tell by the way her shoulders stiffened, then eased, like she was deciding whether to let him stay.
Harry stepped closer, hesitating before resting his hands on the banister, just beside her. Their arms brushed. It wasn’t intentional, but neither of them moved away.
Silence settled between them, the night wrapping around them like something fragile. The distant hum of traffic blended with the faint the hush of waves against the harbor, the rhythm of the world continuing below them as if unaware of the quiet war inside him.
- Do you come here often?- Harry asked at last, his voice low.
Pansy let out a soft laugh - That’s terribly unoriginal, Potter -
He didn't look at her - I wasn’t trying to be original.-
She glanced at him then, something amused in her expression. - Yes, I come often -
His fingers curled slightly against the stone. - Why?-
Pansy didn’t answer right away. Instead, she lifted her chin toward the city, her gaze traced the horizon as if it might hold the words she was searching for.
- It’s quiet - she said finally - Up here, it doesn’t matter who I am. Or who I was -
A beat passed, and then she added, more softly - It’s strange… being somewhere completely new, where no one looks at you and sees everything you’ve done. Everything you’ve been.
Harry let that sit between them. He understood it more than he wanted to admit.
- Isn’t that what you wanted?- he glanced at her.
She hesitated. - I thought it was… -
- That's why you still try to escape from something? - His voice was quiet, almost careful.
Pansy hummed, tilting her head slightly. - Tell me, Potter. What exactly are you trying to forget when you get wasted? -
His chest tightened. She was good at this. At slipping beneath his defenses like she belonged there. He had spent a long time trying to forget. Trying to push it all away, the weight of expectations, the war, the ghosts. But forgetting had never worked. Not really.
Harry exhaled, his gaze fixed on the city. - It’s not so much about forgetting- The words felt raw, torn from something deeper than what he usually let surface - It’s about feeling something. Even if it’s just for a little while-
Pansy’s breath hitched, barely audible, but Harry caught it. When he glanced at her, her expression had shifted, something softer now, something open in a way he wasn’t sure she meant to show.
- Yeah - she murmured. - I know how that feels, that's one of the reasons why I dance -
The wind stirred again, catching the loose strands of her hair, teasing them free. She reached up to fix them, fingers brushing against her temple, but the breeze was relentless.
Harry didn’t think. He just moved. His hand lifted, fingers grazing the silk of her hair as he tucked a strand behind her ear.
It was the briefest touch, his fingertips brushing against her skin, warm even in the cool night air, but it left something tickling. She didn’t pull away. But she didn’t look at him either.
- You know - she said after a moment, her voice almost thoughtful- People think I had this perfect, easy life. That I never had to try for anything, never had to worry. But I've spent years being exactly what I was supposed to be, saying exactly what I was supposed to say, just playing my part... And it didn’t matter in the end -
- Do you regret it?- His throat felt tight. He wasn’t sure why. Or maybe it was because it was exactly how he felt.
They weren’t touching anymore, but their hands rested on the same strip of stone, fingers so close it would take nothing, less than a breath, for them to touch.
- Sometimes… - Pansy said suddenly - Sometimes I just wonder if this is it, if this is all that we get from life-
Then, quieter, like something she wasn’t sure she wanted to say out loud. - Don’t you?
He knew what she meant. It was beyond the war. It was about the choices they had or hadn’t made. The ways they had survived.
Harry swallowed, his fingers flexed against the stone- Yeah, sometimes I don't know what I’m doing here, why do I bother, I was supposed to die - he admitted, his voice was quieter now, like saying it too loudly might make it real.
Pansy let out a breath, barely more than a sigh. Then, almost absently, she traced a fingertip along the edge of the wall. - Maybe that’s the point -
Harry frowned. - What is?-
- Not knowing- She turned then, facing him fully. Her hips against the stone, close enough that he felt the warmth of her. - You spend so much time trying to have an answer for everything, Potter. Maybe you should let yourself just… be-
Harry huffed a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. - That easy, huh?-
- Of course not- Pansy smiled, but there was something tired behind it - But nothing ever is -
The city lights flickered below, the occasional gust of wind carrying distant laughter from the streets.
Then, softer, almost like she was testing the words, Pansy asked - Do you regret coming to France?-
Harry didn’t answer right away. He should. He should regret how he abandoned his friends. He should regret all of this, the way his pulse picked up every time she looked at him like that, like she saw straight through him. He should regret how easy it was to stand here with her, how she made him talk, how natural it felt despite everything.
- No - he admitted softly - Do you?
Pansy’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t answer. She turned back to the view, her shoulder a lingering warmth against his, like a silent question neither of them dared to answer.
The first raindrops were light, almost hesitant, tapping softly against the stone, barely noticeable over the hum of the city below. Pansy tilted her face toward the sky, letting them kiss her skin, her dark lashes fluttering as she blinked away the droplets.
Harry felt one drop land on his cheek, cool against the warmth lingering from their conversation. Then another. And another.
- Shit - he muttered as the rain suddenly picked up, turning from a drizzle into something heavier, drumming around them.
Pansy laughed, really laughed, and grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward the nearest cover. A narrow alcove nestled under what seemed to be the remnants of an old balcony, half-sheltered by overgrown ivy.
It was small. Too small. The rain still reached them in some places, but it wasn’t as relentless.
- Merlin - she sighed, pressing a hand over her heart as if that had been something exhilarating - I forgot how much I hate the rain.-
Harry huffed a laugh, running a hand through his own soaked hair. - Didn’t seem like it back there-
She smirked, but it softened as she looked at him, really looked. Harry had the sudden, ridiculous thought that he must look the way he felt, caught between the cold press of rain and the quiet heat smoldering in the space between them.
Pansy leaned back against the wall, exhaling slowly, the rain tracing delicate silver paths down her throat, pooling in the hollow of her collarbone. Her dress, damp and clinging, outlined the curve of her body. Harry swallowed, the weight in his chest shifted, pressed, and he forced himself to look away, resisting the pull of those raindrops, the temptation to follow their descent.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Pansy smoked a cigarette and they simply watched the rain. The city blurred beyond it, golden lights winking against the slick streets below. It felt oddly distant, like another world entirely, one where they weren’t who they were. Where none of it mattered.
After a few minutes Pansy shifted beside him, arms wrapping around herself as she exhaled. She tried to be subtle about it, but Harry noticed. The way she tucked her hands beneath her elbows, the way her shoulders trembled so slightly, the way goosebumps ghosted over the damp skin of her arms.
He squeezed the soft fabric of the jacket he was holding. It wasn't completely drenched. And without thinking, he moved closer, just a little, before reaching around to settle it over her shoulders.
Pansy startled at the weight of it, glancing at him with a mix of curiosity and something he couldn’t quite place.
- You’ll freeze - he observed, as if that was enough explanation.
Pansy huffed a soft breath, almost offended, like she might argue, but then she just pulled the fabric tighter around herself. It swallowed her whole, sleeves hanging past her hands, collar brushing her jaw.
And Harry… Harry shouldn't have found that interesting. The sight of her in his jacket shouldn't have made something curl in his stomach. But it did.
She smelled like rain and smoke and something faintly sweet, expensive perfume dulled by the night air. Something that made his head feel heavier than it should.
It was distracting.Too distracting.
Pansy tilted her head, watching him in that way she did when she was about to say something sharp, something teasing.
- You’re different than I expected- she said, surprising him.
Harry frowned. - What’s that supposed to mean?-
She smirked, but there was no real bite to it. - Still a chivalrous Gryffindor, but not as insufferable as I remember.-
He scratched the back of his neck, looking away. - Yeah, well… I could say the same about you.-
Pansy lifted a brow. - How so?-
Harry met her gaze then, leveling her with the intensity of the moment - You’re not exactly who I thought you were either.-
Something flickered across her expression. Quick. Fleeting. But then she just hummed, plucking the cigarette from between her lips and held it out to him.
Harry hesitated. He didn’t even like smoking. But his fingers brushed against hers as he took it, the lingering warmth of her touch barely there, yet impossible to ignore.
He raised it to his lips, the first inhale burnt, sharp and strong, but the taste was unmistakable. Not just tobacco, something faintly sweeter, something familiar. Her. The taste lingered on his tongue. He shouldn't have recognized it. Shouldn't have let it settle in his mind like a memory waiting to be repeated.
It was absurd, the way his mind latched onto it, the way it felt like a trace of her had been left behind.
And maybe it was the rain, or the cold, or the way the city blurred behind the downpour, isolating them in this tiny alcove. But for a second, a single, fleeting second, Harry wondered.
If he just leaned in. If he tilted his head the smallest fraction closer. If he let himself follow the taste back to its source.
His eyes followed, the way her lips curled around the cigarette when she took it back. The slow drag, the deliberate exhale, the way the smoke curled between them like a secret.
He swallowed. He shouldn’t be thinking about how close her lips were. How soft they looked. How easy it would be to…
Pansy glanced at him then, catching his gaze before he could look away. She was close. Too close. Close enough that if he did it, if he just reached out, if he let himself fall again, he wouldn’t have far to go.
What if?...Just once. Just to see what would happen. The question circled inside his mind.
It was too easy, the way she made him forget himself. The way she made him feel like he was standing at the edge of something dangerous, something intoxicating, something that could unravel him entirely if he wasn’t careful.
But then she huffed a soft laugh. - Merlin, what would my friends say if they saw me like this?-
Harry blinked at her, his grip tightened around the damp fabric of his shirt, feeling caught. -Like what?-
Pansy turned to him with a teasing glint in her eyes. - Trapped in the rain with Harry Potter, looking like a common muggle.- She gestured vaguely to her dress, completely damp, and then to his jacket drowning her frame. - It’s practically tragic.-
Harry rolled his eyes but couldn't quite bite back the twitch at the corner of his mouth. - You know, we could just apparate.-
Pansy hummed, taking another drag of the cigarette before passing it back to him, holding his gaze a fraction too long, lips curling as if she could read the thoughts he was trying so hard to suppress.
Then she slowly exhaled smoke and murmured - You could go, If you want…
And that was it, wasn’t it? The unspoken question. Why was he still there? He knew the answer, but didn't say it.
She nudged him with her shoulder, casual, lightly, but the touch lingered just a second too long. - You’re not going to make a dramatic exit, then? Disappear into the night like the tragic hero you are?-
He took the last drag before throwing the cigarette into the rain. - Not really in the mood-
She nodded understanding - So what are you in the mood for, Potter?-
Pansy moved beside him, stretching her arms beneath the jacket. The movement made it slip just enough to expose her bare shoulders again. Without thinking, Harry reached out, tugged it back into place. His knuckles grazed her skin, and Pansy stilled.
Harry tensed before answering her question - I'm still figuring that out -
The air was tight between them. He was so close. Close enough to see the way her lips parted slightly, as if she was about to say something, but she didn't. Neither of them did. Because that fragile, unspoken thing between them was the edge of the cliff.
And Harry was dangerously close to stepping off.
The villa was quiet. Too quiet. The rain whispered against the leaves outside, traced restless fingers over stone, but inside the silence pressed in, thick, waiting.
Harry stepped through the door carefully, too carefully, like he could slip past unseen. His clothes clung to him, damp with the weight of the rain, the weight of the night, the weight of thoughts he hadn’t let settle yet. He exhaled, dragging a hand over his face, across the damp strands sticking to his forehead.
He just needed to get to his room. He needed…
- Where the hell have you been? - A voice cut through the hush, snapping like a branch underfoot.
Sirius stood across the dim room, half-shadowed, half-illuminated, tension coiled in his frame. Not easy going, not the usual casual drawl in his voice. No. He was too stiff, too taut, something inside him wound tight, like breath held too long.
Like he had been waiting.
Harry forced himself to breathe, to keep his face blank. - Out - The word was clipped, meant to cut.
Sirius never asked things like that. Not like this.
But something had unsettled him tonight. Something had worried him. And his godfather didn’t do well with worry.
The marauder let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through his hair. - Out - He repeated, his voice flat. Unimpressed.
Harry braced himself.
- Do you even know what time it is?- Sirius shook his head, like he could shake off the concern etched into the lines of his face - You’ve been ‘out’ most of the night, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s pissing rain, Harry -
Harry glanced down at his soaked clothes like it was obvious - Yeah, I’ve noticed -
Sirius was watching him. Waiting. But Harry gave nothing more.
He wasn’t in the mood for this. Not now. Not when his mind was still tangled in the ghost of her touch, the warmth of her body through the cold, the way her voice curled around him like smoke.
- Right - Sirius exhaled, slow. His tired grey eyes scanned over him, peeling him apart - You were with her, weren’t you?-
Something in Harry’s stomach twisted - What?-
Sirius arched a brow. - Pansy Parkinson. That’s where you were-
- I don’t know what you’re talking about - replied Harry, fighting the urge to shift under his gaze.
Sirius let out a dry, unimpressed sound. - Yeah, you do -
Harry’s breath pushed out hard through his nose. His jaw tensed. - I don’t have to explain myself to you -
- No, you don’t - Sirius nodded slowly. - But it doesn’t make you less of a shitty liar -
He hated the way Sirius could see him. Hated how he couldn’t just let it go. Couldn’t just leave him be.
- I’m not a fucking kid, Padfoot - He said turning towards the stairs. His voice came out rough, sharp as broken glass.
But Sirius wasn’t finished. He just watched him. Measured. Calculated.
And that calm, that knowing, that certainty, made something hot burn inside his chest, defensive, sharp-edged.
- And yet you're acting like one, I’m not stupid, Harry- Sirius said, quieter now. - I’ve done this before -
Harry hated how he said it.
Like he understood. Like he had been there before, like he could map out every inch of what Harry was feeling before he even understood it himself.
- I know what it looks like. I know what it feels like - Sirius’ gaze dragged over him, unflinching.
And Harry felt exposed. As if Sirius had reached in and tore something out of him before he even had the chance to name it.
His fists curled at his sides.
- You came in here trying not to wake me- the marauder continued, voice maddeningly steady. - Thinking too hard about how you’re walking, about how you look, about what’s written all over your face-
Harry’s breath was shallow now. His heart, a constant hammering against his ribs.
He wanted to tell Sirius to shut up, to stop looking at him like that, to stop seeing through him in that annoying way.
But Sirius kept talking - You think I don’t know what it’s like to spend a night with someone you shouldn’t? To want them even when you don’t want to?.
Something sank inside Harry. A slow, twisting pull. His breath hitched. His pulse slammed in his ears and before he could stop it, before he could bite his tongue, he snapped.
- You’re not my father - The words cut immediately.
For a second something passed through Sirius’ face, something aching, something Harry couldn’t quite look at without feeling ashamed.
His stomach churned. He wanted to take it back. But he didn’t. Instead he looked away, throat too tight.
- No. I’m not - Sirius' voice was rough at the edges, almost disappointed..
The words sat there, unspoken things pressing against them both. Sirius didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just watched him, sharp-eyed and steady, the way he always did when he was figuring something out.
Then, finally, he let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw. And just when Harry thought he might let it go, his godfather tilted his head and said, almost offhandedly - Well… At least tell me it was worth it, that you had fun -
Harry stilled.
It was nothing. He knew. Just Sirius trying to ease whatever had happened, trying to take the edge off in that maddeningly effortless way of his.
And yet he bit his tongue. He wouldn’t answer. Wouldn’t give him that.
- Good night, Sirius - He was already moving up the stairs before Sirius could say anything else, before those steady grey eyes could pick him apart even further.
But just as he reached the landing, just as the silence threatened to settle again, Sirius muttered under his breath, barely loud enough to catch - Yeah, thought so -
Harry’s steps faltered for half a second. A fraction too long.
Then he disappeared down the hall, step by step. Slow. Controlled. Like he wasn’t unraveling.
He stripped off his damp shirt, tossing it carelessly over a chair before collapsing onto the bed, one arm draped over his forehead, the other resting on the sheets. His body felt heavy, like he had walked too far, stayed out too long, but his mind wouldn’t shut up, it kept circling back, tracing the same pattern over and over, like a song stuck on a loop.
The image was still there, printed into the backs of his eyelids. Her soaked dress clinging to her skin. The way the rain dripped down her throat. The way she had tipped her head back and smiled, eyes bright, something almost careless in the way she let the night have her. The way her fingers had wrapped around his wrist without thinking. The way he hadn’t pulled away.
The way he had wanted to touch her.
They had talked. Just talked. Nothing should have felt different. But it did.
It wasn’t just the way she laughed, the way she spoke, the way she played with him like it was effortless.
It was the way she made him feel. Alive. Present. Real. And nothing else had done that. Not for a very long time. Not since the dust had settled and the war had ended and he had been left with nothing but the wreckage of himself.
She had looked at him and seen him, past the name, past the history, past the person he had been and the one he was supposed to be. She had understood things he hadn’t even said. And instead of offering him pity, instead of telling him to be okay, she had pushed, and pushed, and pushed until he had snapped, until she had forced something out of him that wasn’t numbness. She had nested into him, like an ache beneath the ribs, like something he couldn’t shake loose.
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, fingers catching in the tangles left by the rain. Sirius was right. What the fuck was he doing? What was he supposed to do with the strange, creeping feeling in his chest? With the sharp awareness of her? He didn’t know where to put it.
He didn’t understand it. Or maybe he did, but that was the problem.
His hand curled against the sheets, fingers clenching and unclenching. He needed to stop this. Needed to shove it aside, let it dissolve into the storm, let it slip away like everything else had.
But he knew it wouldn’t.
Because he had spent so long trying to put himself back together, trying to find all the missing pieces, and somehow… Somehow she was the only thing that made him feel whole.
And maybe that was the cruelest part.
Harry let out a slow breath, turning his head to look out through the window. The lightning illuminated the restless and endless sea on the horizon, just like it had the first night he had arrived. But it looked different now. Or maybe he did.