Chapter 8
Since that night under the rain, he had told himself he needed space. That he was better off keeping his distance. That whatever had happened, whatever heat he had felt flowing between them, was a momentary lapse, a flicker in the dark, nothing more.
It didn’t mean anything. Pansy Parkinson didn’t mean anything.
Not in the way that mattered. It was nothing more than a distraction, an oddity, like a dream that clung too tightly to his waking mind but would eventually fade.
But still Harry had been avoiding her.
Not in an obvious way. Or maybe he had, because Sirius kept throwing him questioning glances every time he refused to leave the villa, every time he found an excuse to stay within the safety of its walls…
It had been days since he had last heard her voice, since she had been pressed too close to him, since he had gone home soaked and restless, unable to sleep because she had gotten under his skin in a way he couldn't shake. Days without feeling that spark that her presence ignited, the one that made all the emptiness in him disappear.
And now, as he stood in the doorway of the villa, looking at her holding his jacket, he felt something flickering inside him, impossible to ignore.
- Figured you might want this back- she said, shifting her weight slightly.
Harry forced himself to meet her gaze, to keep his expression blank. - You could’ve just kept it -
Pansy tilted her head. - Wouldn’t want you thinking I’m sentimental for your things Potter -
The way she said it was playful, teasing, but beneath it, there was something else. Something that made his pulse shift, unsure.
He reached for the jacket, fingers brushing against the soft fabric, but she didn’t let go immediately. For the briefest second, her grip lingered, and that flicker inside him caught like a spark in dry air, flaring hot and unwelcome.
Harry swallowed, tightening his jaw. It didn’t mean anything.
- You came all the way here just for that?- he asked, voice steady, detached. As if she was just another person, just another conversation.
Pansy’s lips curved, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. - What can I say? People may label me of a lot of things, but thief is not one of them -
Something about the way she said it unsettled him. She wasn’t talking about the jacket, not really.
A gust of wind curled through the doorway, carrying the scent of the sea, salt and lavender. Pansy shifted, crossing her arms loosely over her chest.
But Harry noticed it. He noticed everything about her. The way she shifted her weight too carefully. The faint tension in her jaw when she stood still for too long. The slight uncomfortable expression in her eyes, as if standing up straight was an effort.
- You look like you're in pain- he observed before he could stop himself.
Pansy blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise before she scoffed. - Don’t be ridiculous -
But then she took a step back, and the way she tried to mask the wince was all the confirmation he needed.
Harry frowned. - Are you hurt?-
She rolled her eyes, as if he was being dramatic. - I may have had a minor incident while dancing -
His gaze dropped to her feet. She was wearing delicate sneakers, but now that he was looking for it, he could see how her right foot rested differently, how she kept the weight off it.
- How bad?- he asked, trying not to sound concerned.
She sighed - Twisted my ankle, might’ve broken a toe- She shrugged - It’ll heal -
- Not properly if you don’t fix it - he pointed out.
- Well, it doesn't matter. I’m not exactly keen on going to a muggle hospital, and… - She hesitated for the first time, as if debating whether to admit something. - I don’t trust myself to fix it with magic on my own -
Something about the way she said it made his breath catch. It wasn't that she couldn’t or that she didn’t want to. There was certain vulnerability in her words.
She must have felt the weight of his silence because she let out a breath, tilting her head back. - Failed with a spell once - she said, like she was talking about the weather. - Made it worse, I haven’t tried again since.-
Harry exhaled sharply, his grip tightening around the fabric of his jacket. - Come inside -
Pansy raised a brow. - Ordering me around now, are we?-
He didn’t have the patience for her theatrics, not when she was standing there, shifting her weight too carefully, masking the pain with that same careless arrogance she always wore like an armor.
- You heard me - he said, low and firm. - If you’re too stubborn to get help, then I can fix it for you-
She hesitated. For a moment, it seemed like she might refuse out of sheer principle. But then she sighed and walked in.
Inside, the air was warm but fresh, carrying the scent of the sea through open terrace doors. Pansy settled onto the couch with slow, deliberate movements, her hands resting lightly on either side of her as if to brace herself.
- Show me - he said, standing in front of her, wand already in hand.
She tilted her head, feigning nonchalance as she slipped off her shoe. The movement was graceful, practiced, but he didn’t miss the slight tremor in her fingers.
Harry crouched in front of her, pressing his palm lightly to her ankle, feeling the unnatural heat where the swelling had set in. His fingers skimmed her skin, tracing the fine structure of her foot, and he told himself it was just habit, just assessing the damage, just muscle memory.
Except it wasn’t. It felt too intimate. Because suddenly, her skin wasn’t just warm, it was burning.
And suddenly, the space between them felt too small, too charged, and he was hyper-aware of every little thing: the way her breath hitched almost imperceptibly, the way her knee brushed against his sleeve, the way the air seemed heavier, thick with something unsaid.
Harry swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus. It didn’t mean anything. He had patched up worse injuries. He had touched people before. This was nothing. Except that none of them had ever made his hands unsteady. None of them had ever made him forget what he was supposed to be doing.
- If you wanted an excuse to touch me, Potter, you could’ve just asked - Pansy murmured, and he could hear it, the amusement in her voice.
Harry shot her a sharp look, but she was watching him with that infuriating smirk, like she knew, like she could feel the tension too and was enjoying every second of making him squirm.
He scowled - Don't move -
But Pansy wasn’t one to let things go. She shifted, just slightly, testing him. - Do you always get so flustered while healing people? -
His jaw tightened, pressing his fingers more firmly against her skin, forcing himself to focus on the spell. - I’m concentrating -
Her lips curled, wicked and pleased. - Of course you are -
Harry could feel the heat creeping up his neck, traitorous and undeniable. He hated that she was right. Hated that she could bring out something from him so effortlessly.
With a quiet murmur, he casted the spell. Soft, golden light pulsed from the tip of his wand, seeping into her skin, smoothing over the damage with practiced ease. Pansy inhaled sharply, but whether it was relief or something else entirely, he didn’t know.
- Did that hurt?- His voice was lower than before.
- No - she said, softer now. - Just… felt it -
The words lodged themselves deep inside him.
She was still watching him, her gaze heavy, unreadable.
And Harry realized, too late, that he hadn’t moved his hands. That he was still touching her, that his fingers were still resting against her smooth skin, that something between them had shifted into something else.
She noticed. Of course, she noticed.
Pansy’s gaze flickered to his face, and her smirk deepened. - You’re blushing -
- I am not - he denied too fast, looking away - I'm just trying not to screw this up.-
He focused on his wand, casting the last spell into her bones. Carefully. Gentle.
Then Pansy exhaled in relief, not pain, and he couldn’t help but watch her. The way her lashes fluttered, the way her shoulders loosened ever so slightly.
- Better?- He stood too quickly, stepping back, like he needed the distance to breathe - You should try walking.
Pansy flexed her foot, testing the weight. Then, slowly, she stood and pressed it to the floor.
- Feels normal - she murmured, almost to herself. Then, lifted her gaze to him - Didn’t know you had it in you, Potter-
He huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. - Yeah, well, life kinda forced me to learn some basic healing magic-
- Still...thanks- she said with a slow, unreadable smile.
It was a small thing, that word. But it settled in his chest, hugging him in a way he didn’t expect.
He thought, this was it. She was going to leave and he could go back to pretend that he hadn't missed the way she made him feel, like he wasn’t just existing, like he wasn’t just a ghost.
But then she tilted her head, watching him in a way that made him feel unsteady - You don't have anything to do right now, do you?-
Harry frowned confused -What?-
- I owe you one. And since it's too early to be drinking yourself numb, we’re getting ice cream - she explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
His stomach tightened. It was such a simple thing. Ice cream. An invitation that meant nothing. But it did mean something to him, because it was her asking. Because the idea of walking through the warm streets with her, of sitting down together in public, felt like too much, too easy. Because he wanted to say yes, But wanting was dangerous territory.
He hesitated, gripping the back of a chair, grounding himself. The logical thing was to refuse. To put space between them again before it turned into something he couldn’t control.
Pansy caught it, that shadow of doubt, of retreat, and she smiled, sharp and knowing. - C'mon no one ever says no to ice cream, Potter, you fixed me up, the least I can do is make sure you don’t lock yourself in this villa all day.
He exhaled slowly, glancing toward the open terrace, the sunlight shining on the surface of the distant sea.
This was a mistake. But it was already too late.
- Fine -he muttered, passing a hand through his hair.
Pansy grinned like she had won something, and probably she had. - Good, let’s go before you change your mind -
She turned toward the door, and after a beat, Harry followed.
Harry didn’t know when he stopped avoiding her.
Maybe it was that same day she showed up at the villa, holding his jacket like an excuse. Or maybe it was when she had dropped her armor, allowing him to heal her foot. Maybe it was just that annoying smirk, the one that made him roll his eyes while secretly enjoying the way she looked at him.
But at some point, Pansy Parkinson had become a fixture in his days. And worse, he had let her.
At first, he told himself it was a coincidence. That she just happened to be around. That he wasn’t looking for her when he walked through the winding streets of town, or when he lingered in places where he’d seen her before.
But then it kept happening, and now his life was full of moments where she convinced him to do things he never would’ve done on his own.
Lazy mornings at the beach, where she stretched out under the sun with a book in hand, flipping through the pages with slow, absentminded ease. Harry had meant to go for a swim, but instead, he found himself watching her, wondering what could hold her attention so effortlessly. Sometimes, she'd read aloud to him, something dramatic and ridiculous, some sweeping romance where lovers destroyed each other and called it fate.
It should have annoyed him. Instead, he let his eyes drift shut, listening to the melody of her voice, the warmth of the sun making everything feel hazy and unreal.
Trips to the market, where she hummed along to the songs playing from old radios, the kind of soft, thoughtless thing that people did when they were comfortable, like she had forgotten he was even there. And somehow, that felt more intimate than anything else.
Quiet nights in isolated places, where they watched the stars and let the silence stretch between them. Pansy had talked about Hogwarts, about what it had really been like for the Slytherins. About how some of them had been just as scared as everyone else but had no room to show it.
- You think Gryffindors had it rough, Potter? Try being a Slytherin after the war.-
And Harry had listened. Because the truth was, he had never asked himself how it was to be in the middle of both sides. Not back then. Not even now.
Some days, she dragged him through art museums, leading him through quiet halls lined with paintings he barely understood but found himself staring at anyway. Pansy liked the dramatic ones, the kind with storm-lit seas and tragic figures.
She stood in front of a dark, violent seascape once and said - That’s what it felt like, you know. Being at Hogwarts last year -
And Harry got it. Because he remembered last year too. He remembered the rain against the tent, the hunger, the bone-deep exhaustion. And maybe, just maybe, they had been in different storms, but they had both been drowning.
Except that he no longer felt like drowning when he was with her. Like every time she kept convincing him to jump into the sea at midnight with no one else but the moon as a witness.
- Come on, Potter, it’s not that deep -
- You mean the water or the trouble you’re dragging me into? -
- Both -
She had grinned before slipping into the waves like she belonged there, and maybe she did. Maybe he was the one out of place. But he still jumped after her every single time.
And that was the problem. He just kept jumping.
At first, he thought it was just her tenacity. Pansy didn’t ask, she dared. Every invitation had an edge, a challenge, a smirk that curled like a hook in his ribs.
- Afraid of a little fun, Potter?- She had said when he doubted.
He should’ve been immune to that kind of thing. But there was something different about the way she did it. It wasn’t just about pushing him, it was about watching him react.
And that… that was what unsettled him the most.
Because the way she looked at him sometimes, like she was waiting for him to slip, waiting to catch it, made something twist deep in his stomach.
And worse, he started looking at her too. Noticing things he shouldn’t. Letting the familiarity creep in.
Like the way she curled her toes in the sand when she read at the beach. The way she smelled like salt and something faintly floral, something that lingered in the spaces between them. The way she touched his arm when she laughed, something casual, something easy, something that set every nerve in his body on fire.
And Pansy…Pansy fucking knew.
Because sometimes, she leaned in just a little too close, with her red lips and laughed at him when he flinched away, just to do it all over again. Sometimes, she had let her fingers brush his, when she handed him something. Sometimes, she said his name like it was the most precious secret she kept hidden between her lips, like she was waiting for him to react.
And sometimes, he almost did.
Like the night they sat on the shore long after everyone else had gone, a small fire burning down to embers. The air was thick with salt, with heat, and Pansy had leaned back on her elbows, her skirt hitched up a little too high.
- It’s weird, isn’t it?- she commented, looking at the waves. - That we’re here. You and me. If someone had told me back at Hogwarts that one day I’d be sitting on a beach in France with Harry Potter…-
- You would have hexed them- he said smiling.
She smiled back - Obviously -
She turned her head to look at him then, and something in her gaze made his pulse spike, his throat go dry. It was the way she was watching him, like she was seeing something he wasn’t ready to let her see.
- But it’s not so bad, is it? - she added, voice softer now.
And Harry, he didn’t know what to say.
It should have been bad. It should have been complicated and impossible and all sorts of wrong. But it wasn’t. It was easy. Too easy.
That was the real problem. Because it meant he didn’t have an excuse anymore. It meant he couldn’t pretend this was just some passing thing, something fleeting, something that didn’t matter. Because it did. Because somewhere between her dares and his reluctance, she had turned into something inevitable.
And Harry wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do about that.
Harry regretted coming the moment they arrived.
He should have known. He hated parties, hated the too-loud music that rattled inside his skull, the heat of the air thick with liquor and sweat. He hated the way it all blurred together, the way it made his head pound. But Pansy had insisted, dragged him along with a knowing smirk, promising good liquor.
Now, pressed against the bar, he rolled the glass in his hands, half-listening as Juliette talked beside him. He wasn’t sure what he was drinking anymore. All he knew was that he had followed Pansy through the crowd, let her push a drink into his hands, and somehow, he was on his fourth, or was it his fifth? by the time she slipped away.
He hadn’t noticed at first. Not until he saw her.
Pansy was on the dance floor, wrapped up in a man who looked like he owned half of France, tall, blond, too perfect in a way that reminded him of Malfoy. He touched her waist with easy confidence, his movements smooth, practiced. It made Harry’s teeth clench.
He wanted to look away. Tried to ignore it, but it wasn’t working. Because the man leaned in, whispered something against her ear, and Pansy laughed, bright, unguarded, like she belonged in his arms.
Something ugly twisted in Harry’s stomach. Something bitter creeping up his throat.
His fingers tightened around the glass, the sharp press of cold against his palm grounding him. He wasn’t supposed to care. He wasn’t supposed to care about her, about how easily she moved through the Muggle world, about how effortlessly she attracted the male attention. And yet he couldn't take it anymore.
He set his drink down harder than necessary, the sound cutting through the noise. Juliette called after him as he pushed through the crowd, but he didn’t turn back. He needed air. He needed space.
The cool night air brushed against his skin like a soft caress, but it did nothing to settle him. His pulse was erratic, his thoughts a tangled mess. He ran his fingers through his hair, exhaling sharply. It shouldn’t matter.
But the jealousy was still there, curling like smoke in his lungs, refusing to be exhaled.
The sound of footsteps approaching, alerted him. He tensed, knowing before he turned that it was her. She always seemed to appear just when he thought he could escape.
Pansy stood a few feet away, her silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of a street lamp. She was flushed, red lips parted slightly like she still hadn’t caught her breath from dancing. The night breeze caught the edges of her dress, the loose strands of her hair, making her look untouchable, unreal, beautiful.
Her eyes studied him carefully, searching, peeling him apart with natural grace. There was something different about her tonight. Something quieter, more contemplative. She didn’t say anything at first, but the look on her face told him she wasn’t following him out of pity.
- You look like the life and soul of the party - she teased, her voice softer than he expected.
Harry rubbed a hand across his face, trying to gather his thoughts. - Yeah, I just needed a break -
Pansy raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press. Instead, she leaned against the brick wall beside him, taking a slow drag from the cigarette in her hand. The smoke curled around her, disappearing into the air like it was nothing more than a passing thought.
Harry stared ahead, eyes fixed on the quiet street, but he could still feel her beside him, still smell the faint trace of smoke and perfume.
- Right - she said, a hint of humor lacing her words, but distant in a way that made Harry uncomfortable - It can get pretty heavy in there, especially if it doesn’t seem like your scene-
- No - he admitted quietly - Not really my kind of thing -
Silence settled between them, thick with something unspoken. The distant hum of music from the terrace pulsed faintly through the walls, but out there, in the night air, it felt like it was two thousand light-years away.
- Something's on your mind, Potter?- she asked, flicking the cigarette to the ground with a fluid motion. - I mean, you were in such a good mood the last time we spoke -
He let out a harsh laugh, unable to keep the frustration from his voice. - Forget it, you wouldn’t understand-
- Oh, I’m sure I wouldn’t- Her tone was sarcastic, but there was something real beneath it now, something that was unmistakable - Try me -
Harry looked at her then, really looked at her. He had spent so much time trying to ignore all this, trying to pretend that none of this mattered. But it did. She did matter. More than he cared to admit.
He exhaled, shaking his head, but the feeling didn’t leave. It only settled deeper, wrapping around his heart like something he couldn’t outrun.
- It’s nothing - he lied. A pathetic, terrible and obvious lie.
Pansy huffed, unimpressed. Her voice was low, knowing when she replied - Don’t insult me by pretending it’s nothing, Potter -
- I just…- He exhaled hard, clenching his fists - I don’t like…-
His throat closed around the words before he could say them. He couldn't tell her how seeing her with someone else made something mean and possessive coil inside him. That he didn’t like how much he wanted to grab her hand and pull her away from it all.
So instead, he said the worst possible thing.
- The Pansy Parkinson I knew, would have never let a Muggle touch her like that - he said, the words coming out before he could stop them. His voice was low, almost accusatory - You always despised them -
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Her expression didn’t change right away, but her eyes did, just for a second. Something dark, sharp, and wounded was reflected on them. He hated himself for saying those words, for making it sound like he still saw her as the same girl from Hogwarts. But more than that, he hated that she had changed and now was awakening all those feelings inside him.
Her lips parted, but when she spoke, her voice was steady - The Harry Potter I knew would have never given a fuck about it -
Damn her. The space between them was charged and dangerous like a live wire. The anger, the desire, everything was swirling inside him. He couldn’t think anymore.
- So tell me, Potter…- she said, tilting her chin defiantly - Why does it bother you so much now?-
Her eyes caught the moonlight for just a second, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire world had shifted. He wanted to pull away, to run, but there was nowhere to hide from this, from her, from whatever this thing between them was.
The rush of his blood was pulsing in his ears, loud enough to drown out the distant hum of music. He knew this was reckless, knew he should step back. But then her eyes flickered down to his lips, just for a second. And that was all it took. He let go of the fight, allowing himself to slip over the edge.
His hands found her waist before he could stop himself, pulling her in as his lips pressed to hers, hot, desperate, and something close to angry. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t romantic. It was weeks of tension, weeks of unsaid things, a release of everything he had been holding back.
Her lips were soft, but there was a fire behind them, an intensity that mirrored his own. Her hands slid into his hair, tugging him closer as she kissed him back, like she’d been waiting for this moment just as much as he had.
The heat of it shot through him like fire licking at dry wood. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but it had, and now he couldn’t stop.
He backed her against the wall, his grip tightening, as though he couldn’t get enough of the feel of her. She tilted her head just slightly, giving him the opening he hadn’t even known he was searching for. His tongue slid against hers, and the sound she made in response shot straight through him.
When they broke apart, they stood there, breathing heavily. The moment hung between them, thick with unspoken words, the silence amplified by the night air around them. Harry’s heart pounded in his chest, still racing from the kiss, his hands still resting lightly on Pansy’s waist. He needed to pull away, to distance himself, to pretend it didn’t matter. But every time he tried, his body seemed to betray him, pulling him closer to her as if they were magnets.
Her breath was uneven, her swollen lips slightly parted, and Harry couldn’t help but notice how her chest rose and fell with each shaky inhale. He was still lost in the feel of her, the taste of her, and he hated that he couldn’t make sense of it. Everything about this, the kiss, the pull, the hunger. It all felt too big, too fast. And yet, there was a part of him that didn’t want it to stop, a part of him that wanted to do it again and again and again.
- Well…- she smirked, voice deliciously lazy - that was unexpected-
That was what snapped him out of it. Harry exhaled sharply and stepped back, breaking the contact between them so fast it almost felt violent.
- I shouldn't have… - Harry whispered, his voice strained. He didn’t even believe the words as they left his mouth, but they felt like the only thing he could say. He didn’t know how to process what had just happened.
Pansy stilled. It was almost imperceptible, the way her shoulders went rigid, the way her fingers curled slightly at the hem of her dress. But he saw it.
A second passed, maybe two, before she smiled. But it didn’t reach her eyes - Don't do that.
He looked at her even more confused - Do what? -
- Act like you didn’t want it - she said quietly. She wasn’t smirking, wasn’t teasing. Just watched him, something quiet in her gaze. Like she’d expected this. Expected him to ruin it.
His stomach twisted in a thousand knots, he couldn't admit it, say it out loud - I'm going back to the Villa… Have fun with that copy of Malfoy.
He heard her exhale softly, almost like she was disappointed in him. It was quiet, barely there, but it cut through him sharper than any retort. For a second, he almost stayed. Instead, he forced himself to walk away, to disappear into the night.
He barely heard her voice when she said - See you tomorrow Potter - she wasn't demanding him to stay, not chasing after him. She just let it linger in the air between them, like something unfinished.
He didn’t look back. The street was quiet except for his footsteps. His breath was uneven. He rubbed a hand over his face, but the feeling didn't leave. The feeling of her. The taste of her still on his lips. He kept telling himself it didn’t matter. That it didn’t mean anything. That if he kept walking, it was going to disappear, just like the sound of music fading behind him.
But he knew, deep down, that he was lying.