ABV: (2) Asshole By Verbiage

ABV: 

 (1) abbreviation for Alcohol By Volume

 (2) abbreviation for Asshole By Verbiage

Harry shuffled form foot to foot while Ron tied and retied his tie. It was a cheap thing that Luna had purchased and hand painted for Ron. The two of them were shoeless, in the little room that had been sequestrated for the groom and his mates to get ready despite the fact that the Burrow was large enough for them to have had access to at least a slightly larger room. 

But that was Molly for you. Every wedding would be a new daughter to welcome to the fold after years and years with just the one - and one who more often than not shunned the more stereotypical girlish things that Molly had wanted to indulge in. Fleur, though now as loved and integral to the Weasley family as any of the original seven, had had a rough go of it being the first to marry in. Molly had been resistant to the idea of letting go of her first baby. It was monumental. 

Years later with no other weddings in sight, Molly had been starting to get nervous that the rest of her kids weren’t going to get married at all. Her shock when Ron was the next to bring ‘round someone he was serious about was quickly set aside in favor of elation. The Lovegood girl had always been a sweetie even if she was a tad odd, and Molly had taken pains to welcome her to the family the right way. 

That right way just so happened to include sequestering the men so that the women could roam the house without fear of any surprises being foiled. When a knock sounded at the door, every head in the room whipped around. It was starting to get stuffy in there, and they were ready to get out. Ron practically jumped with anticipation. He’d been hoping Luna would come find him before the wedding for a minute alone together before they had to stand in front of all of their friends for the sake of his mum. He’d much rather have just registered at the ministry and Luna had said much the same.

It wasn’t Luna’s blond head that poked around the door, but Malfoy’s.

“Oy there! Is it time?” Ron asked. He’d gotten far to buddy buddy with Draco in far to short a time, if you asked Harry. 

Malfoy nodded. “Once you’re in place, the music plays.”

It was one of the traditions Molly had absolutely insisted upon - the bride walking toward the groom for the big reveal. Molly’d even held the dress hostage so Luna couldn’t show him when they were at home. Hermione’s muggle communicator thing had a camera, though, so he’d seen it anyways. Not that Mum had to know, of course. 

The men filed out of the door and headed towards their designated marks. Harry hung back in hopes of avoiding Malfoy. They’d become civil in the last few months but they were in no way friends. Malfoy however seemed intent on torturing him and leaned on the door jamb to wait for Harry. 

Seeing no other option but to pass him, Harry squared his shoulders and moved towards the door. When he got close, Draco stood up and blocked his path. Harry felt his adrenaline spike. He hated being in a room without an exist. He hated being trapped. He reached for his wand holster- 

“That won’t be necessary Potter. Just here to tell you that if you can’t act like an adult, keep to yourself.” Malfoy finished the statement with a repressed look of disgust and turned to head to the ceremony area.

Prick. Who did Malfoy think he was to tell Harry how to behave on his best friend’s wedding? Harry grit his teeth and made his way to the ceremony as well. Rather than the standard seating one would expect at a wedding, everyone milled around one point in the center where Ron and a Ministry official stood. Family and close friends were towards the center of circle while other friends and distant relatives stood further from the center. 

It was a small group of people. Only the people they wanted most to witness their feelings. Only those they loved. Even if that included a select few slytherin that had infiltrated their tightly woven friend group. Even if that included Pansy.

Harry thought he might be choking on his own tongue. Pansy stood just a circle behind Malfoy who was in the circle just behind close family and friends. Pansy who hadn’t spoken to him since he’d basically called her and all her friends unredeemable scum of the Earth, even if that hadn’t been his intention. Pansy who he was pretty sure hired a shop assistant solely to avoid dealing with him whenever he came in under the pretense of needing some new robe for some event or another. Pansy who still hung out with his friends because they hadn’t fucked up as badly as he had.

He tried to steady himself. Inhale and then exhale. That’s what the therapist said. Hermione’s therapist, not his. He still refused to see one, but he was trying to mimic whatever Hermione was doing that had kept her from absolutely losing her shit and calling all of their former Death Eater peers unlovable. 

Inhale and then exhale.

Harry walked to take his place just behind Ron and tried to pretend like Pansy wasn’t just a few feet behind him. A few moments later everyone settled into their places and quieted. The music changed to a pretty, sort of fairytale like orchestral song, and Luna opened the back door of the Burrow and stepped outside. She took a moment to flex her toes in the grass before looking to the gathering just a little ways away from her.

Her friends. Her imperfect and belove family. Everyone smiled at her with genuine happiness. Molly was crying and when Luna looked to Ron, she though he might start crying as well. Without thinking, Luna tossed her bouqet aside, picked up the long skirts of the wedding dress that had once been her mother’s, and ran towards the circle. A path had already been left clear for her, so she ran straight to Ron nearly knocking him on his ass. 

“Hello there, Lovely,” Ron said, steadying her. 

She smiled up at him and thee open path behind her closed as attendees spread out a bit. She stepped on top of his toes, a silly thing they did when she wanted to be so closed that they even moved together. Ron walked them so they were a bit more centered in the circle, but they never broke eye contact. The ministry official, who had been party to many marriages in his decades of service, knew when an expedited one was of necessity and quickly delved into a short, romanticized version of his legal spiel. 

A horrible wave of jealousy turned his stomach as Draco scooted just a bit out of his line to wrap his arm around Hermione’s midsection and rest his chin on her head. Hermione placed her hands on top of Draco’s and two slightly rocked from side to side without exchanging a word. They were so at peace with one another. 

Despite everything. Peace. Could Harry ever be like that with someone? All signs pointed to no. 

He turned his eyes back to Ron and Luna. Today was about them even if they were pretty adamant that it was just about making their friends and family happy. The way they looked at each other was undoubtedly a mirror of how they would look back on this day. Was the ceremony more for others than themselves? Yeah. But they understood th levity of the promise they were making to one another, and it was clear what that meant to them - the way they looked at each other…

Harry tried to subtly look over his shoulder to find Pansy. Part of him was afraid she might be glaring at him. Part of him hoped she was if for no other reason than to ensure she still thought of him.

She was watching the the minister place the final charms family and fidelity. They were just ribbons charmed to tie the couple’s hand together, both representative of the promises being made without going so far as placing charms that might actual affect their free will to keep or break those promises. Those had fallen out of fashion in the last few decades, thankfully, and Padma Patil was heading the movement to have it outlawed across all of Britain. 

But what those ribbons said was really I trust you. 

Trust. 

Harry knew that. He he had plenty of people he trusted; Hermione, the Weasleys, Luna, and Dean to name a few. People he’d trusted for years. People who trusted that people like Malfoy - that people like Pansy - had changed. He could to. He had to, right?

He thought about the first set of clothing Pansy had made for him, and how he’d asked for wand holsters to be added each arm and leg. It’d been an embarrassing request, and he hated to ask it. He didn’t want to admit to the woman his recurring nightmare - reaching for his wand during that final battle only to find that it wasn’t there. Scrambling for something, anything to fight back with and finding nothing. He was never sure if the suffocating feeling when he woke up was from the suffocation, the panic, or his very real screams. 

But he didn’t have to admit. She didn’t ask. She didn’t bat an eye. She’d simply put them in that garment and every subsequent order he’d made without his needing to remind her. Once, he’d even found a sugar quill in one of the holsters, something she’d seem rather upset to discover. 

“I was convinced I’d eaten the whole of it!” She’d said with a grumble.

Harry was pretty sure she couldn’t be that bad at that point. She was using candy to size wand holsters after all. What evil could hide under that? He started chatting with her during fittings and got around to forcing her to a gathering with his group of friends. 

And then she was just sort of a fixture. She was always there - Harry would make sure of it. He almost didn’t feel comfortable without her there beside him making snide remarks about the food or drinks or entertainment, and she knew how to navigate all the social stuff that made him feel like he was nothing but an animal in a zoo to be paraded around for the amusement of others. When Harry wanted rip his hair out or thought he might rather be back in that tiny cupboard under the Dursleys’ stairs, Pansy stepped closer to him and inserted herself in the conversation, steering the topic far away from him when she could.

Everyone started cheering and Harry blinked, bringing himself back to the present. He joined the cheering, working rather hard to muster the cheer that the rest of the group was rousing. Soon, everyone was ushered back into the Burrow, save the couple of the hour who didn’t seem to be coming up for air anytime soon. 

Inside, Harry found Malfoy and Hermione and hovered awkwardly around them as they moved about the room to chat with the other guests. His eyes were glued to where Pansy stood with Neville, Ginny, and Greengrass (the older one). 

Pansy stood out in contrast to the rest of the guests. She was all grace and lines. She was wearing ones of those dresses that wasn’t actually a dress but pants attached to the top that looked like a dress when she stood still. He couldn’t remember what it was called, but he thought she’d probably be proud that he’d noticed at all. The fabric was a shiny green - not Slytherin green but something softer. Did that make sense?

She tossed her short bob as if it would somehow defy gravity and settle behind her without the support of her shoulders, and then she laughed. For just a second, Harry thought he might be able to walk over there and apologize. Then Ron and Luna finally entered the Burrow and everyone went wild, cheering and throwing rice in such large quantities that would be pain for Molly to magic away later.

Harry was drawn into the festivities of his best friend’s wedding immediately. Muggle cameras went off from every direction. Later, as guests departed, they would be left in a woven basket beside the door for Hermione to develop at a shop near her and Malfoy’s flat. 

He thumbed the curve of the wheel on the camera. It didn’t move, which made sense since he hadn’t actually taken any photos yet. As everyone began to dance and eat and to whatever sort of entertainment the Weasleys had no doubt organized, Harry let himself slump further into his seat.

Pansy was chatting with Hannah, each sipping drinks Harry acknowledged with disappointment but not disapproval must be one of Malfoy’s. An acrid something crept up his throat and he swallowed in an attempt to force it down. 

It wasn’t Malfoy’s fault. 

Seven months. It had been seven months since Hermione had announced she was dating Malfoy. Only seven months. An excruciatingly long seven months. 

Harry held the camera up to his right eye, closing his left and his heart sank. Pansy seemed even further than she had without the barrier of the camera. He took the picture anyway. 

This time the wheel gave way when he thumbed it. And again, and again. 

“Harry?” he let his hands drop to his side, the camera pulling them down like an anchor. Hermione was looking at him with a nervous smile. Harry smiled back, equally nervous. The two had been walking on eggshells around one another for a while. Their friendships was unbreakable but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be stressed and pulled taught. 

“Hermione! You look great. I don’t think I got a chance to say before,” Harry said, words stilted and awkward but sincere.

Hermione smiled in an almost manically wide sort of way. Her eyes sparkled, and she rocked onto the balls of her feet, bouncing just a little in the way she always did when she had something she was excited to share. 

“Thanks, Harry,” She glanced over her shoulder then back to him, “Listen, come with me for a minute, yeah. Draco and I wanted to chat with you about something really quick. Do you have the time?”

“Uh,” Harry mumbled, glancing back to where Pansy had been moments ago. Gone. The camera felt light it’d gained some kilos. He looked back to Hermione, nervous but hopeful, cheeks pink and glowing with her own happiness. Happiness Malfoy’d played a part in. Harry smiled again, sad even though he couldn’t name the reason. “Yeah, of course. Always have time for you, Hermione.”

Hermione grabbed his wrist and began walking back towards the Burrow. They walked in through the kitchen door and then up several floors until they landed in one of the cozy sitting areas scattered throughout the house - it was the one that Hermione, Harry, and Ron would gather in to discuss all their feelings and secrets and news. Even Ron’s proposal plans had been shared in this room despite the tension between Hermione and Harry at the time. 

It was a room that held years of confidences, and snakes were invading it. 

Pansy sat on a plush purple wingback. Her heels were off, kicked haphazardly beside the legs of her chair. Malfoy was leaning against the wall but stood up straight when Hermione and Harry entered, rocking onto the balls of his feet and bouncing. Harry wondered if he’d adopted the habit from Hermione or if they’d always been so similar and no one had bothered noticing. 

Pansy barely glanced at Harry before focusing her attention on Hermione. “Well, I hope you’ll tell me what’s so important I had to be pulled away from a party. It’s really rude to the hosts, you know, to pull their guests away.”

“Actually, it was Lovegood who suggested we pull you away now,” Draco said, inching closer to Hermione. 

Harry took a few steps back, feeling displaced. His place wasn’t with Ron or Hermione anymore. They had people they’d go to before him. People they’d rely on before him. People they’d call family before him.

“And Ron agreed!” Hermione said, excitedly. “Although, I think he’d just about agree with anything Luna said these past few months. Anyways, we’re here, and we’d like to talk to you.”

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. Hermione was, despite her love of confrontation, one to ignore emotional issues when she could. Harry couldn’t imagine why she’d force a confrontation between him and Pansy. Was it Malfoy’s idea of a joke?

He was frowning, just about ready to accuse Malfoy of another unsubstantiated act of cruelty when Hermione blurted out, “We want you to be godparents.”

“Pardon?” Pansy asked. It was much more articulate than the gurgled sound Harry had released. 

Draco opened his mouth to explain, but Hermione jumped in again, unable to restrain herself. “I’m pregnant. I’ve just passed my first trimester which is always trickiest, they say.” Hermione was nodding as she spoke and Harry found himself nodding along despite not totally understanding what she was saying.

“You’re going to have a sprog?” Pansy asked, astonished and slightly horrified at the idea of a wrinkly, needy infant. 

“But you guys haven’t even been together a year,” Harry said, confused. Then he held his hands up, “Not that I’m not - not happy for you. It’s just, um, rather fast don’t ya think?”

“Wasn’t really planned,” Hermione said, blushing at the admission that she was acquiescing to have not planned something so altering to her life. 

“But we’re happy,” Draco said, beaming, and Hermione smiled up at him for having the words she didn’t. 

“So um,” Harry mumbled, unsure of what to say.

Pansy glanced at him before asking, “Are you two getting married then?”

They both shook their heads and Draco looked at Hermione since she was the one uncomfortable with such a quick engagement. 

“We’ll live together and figure out how we’re feeling in a year or two. Then we might discuss marriage. We’ve got plenty of time to figure that out, so why rush?” 

Hermione’s words were definitive, but Harry saw the adoration in both of their eyes. Malfoy would marry her tomorrow if she wanted and, well, if Hermione wanted a year he’d give it to her.

“But the baby is coming, married or not,” Hermione said, making her voice serious. “And we want to have everything in order just in case, you know? Things happen that we can never anticipate. We trust you both, even if you’re at odds with one another. And we want your promise.”

“Promise of what?” Pansy asked, just as vocal as Harry wasn’t.

“Promise to care for our child, regardless of your differences,” Draco said. He was speaking to Harry. “I want Pansy to always be in my child’s life even if something were to happen to me-“

“Just like I always want Harry to be there. He’s like a brother to me, and I know he’ll always look out for this child,” Hermione said to Pansy, a hand hovering over her stomach affectionately. 

“Well duh,” Pansy said flipping her hair. “Your baby will the most spoiled thing this side of the equator between Potter and I, of course.”

Harry looked at her. Potter and I, she’d said. It wasn’t a romantic statementat all -not even a friendly one, really - but those words paired with the image of Pansy cooing over a little baby was too distracting for him to object. Hermione was grinning and Malfoy was doing his weird kind of smile that was meant just for Hermione. 

He pressed down the feeling that his friends were leaving him behind; Ron married and Hermione a mum. This was what they had fought for - prejudicial walls breaking down and the survivors putting in the work to keep them down and raise up the next generation make sure those walls stayed down. 

He gave a cheeky smile to Hermione. “You’re gonna be a great mum, Hermione. You’ve had enough practice raising me and Ron.”

“So you’ll do it?” Hermione asked, eyes wide and hopeful.

“Did you really think I’d say no?” Harry asked, pulling a face. 

Hermione launched herself at Harry, knocking his glasses askew as she forced him into one of her bone crushing hugs. He hugged her back for as long as he could bare it before attempting to tap out. 

“Aren’t pregenant women supposed to be really careful about conserving their energy for hibernation or something? God, when did you get so buff?” 

She slapped him hard on the back, forcing an oof out of him, and then squeezed him even tighter for five seconds before finally releasing him. 

“It’s just such a huge relief to know that we have so many people in our lives who love us and who will love on the baby, and that you two will be there for support… It just- it means so mu-uch.”

“Merlin, are you crying?” Pansy asked, wrinkling her nose. She knew they were happy tears, so she didn’t feel particularly bad for bitching about it. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, still glossed over with tears. “Yes, Pansy, I am crying. I am happy crying like a happy person because I am happy.”

Pansy frowned. “Because Draco got you up the duff? Well, you know, there really is someone for everyone. Even you Drake.”

It was Draco’s turn to frown, and Hermione couldn’t stop laughing even as she responded. “Technically, yes it is because I’m pregnant. They say the hormonal imbalance is most notable at the beginning and end of pregnancy.”

“Hormonal imbalance?” Pansy said, rolling the words around in her head. “The healers told my mother it was hysteria when she was pregnant with me.”

“Your mother set your father on fire in Fortesques,” Draco said, voice flat. 

“Whatever,” Pansy said. She turned to Hermione. “What’s the gender, potential names, nursery themes, and the overall aesthetic we’re going for?”

Hermione blinked, stunned by the quick topic change. “My baby is supposed to have an aesthetic?” she asked, incredulous. 

“Oh, Granger, you’re so lucky to have me.”

#

Harry hated being woken up by anyone at any time. He had trained his brain which times he could and could not sleep, and it complied. But he was a light sleeper, prone to waking up at the smallest sound or signal that something was wrong, something that the pounding at his door certainly qualified as. 

He lurched into a sitting position, quickly grabbing his wand and glasses and scanning his wards for anything concerning. He thought it must have been another of his dreams forcing the sensation when the pounding came again. 

Harry crept towards the front door. After a deep breath, he chanced a glance through the security hole and-

He swung the door open. “Pansy!”

She frowned at his boxers and tee shirt. 

“It’s eleven in the morning.”

“You used to be ready by nine!”

“Yes, whenever we had appointments for nine,” Harry said, glancing at the corner of the doorjamb and trying not to think about the fact that he was standing in front of fashion designer Pansy Parkinson - a woman he really, really liked and who really, really didn’t like him - in his boxers and a tee shirt with a Tron design on it. 

Pansy sighed. “Whatever. Get dressed. I’m starting to get baby stuff now, and I need you to help me navigate muggle London to some shops. Don’t care what you do while I shop, just get me there and back.” She dove under his arm and walked to the living room, perching on the arm of his couch and whipping a phone from her purse to play Tetris while she waited. 

Harry followed her into the house. “You know there’s, like, months before she’s gonna have the baby, right?” he asked, gruffly. He was tired and his heart was still racing from the pounding that woke him up. 

Pansy didn’t bother looking up from her phone. “Yes, and a nursery to be decorated and furniture to be built and a mobile to enchant and much more. Shall it all be left until the last possible minute?” At that, she snapped her phone shut and finally looked at him, one eyebrow raised in challenge. When Harry didn’t respond, she rolled her eyes and flipped her phone back open. “I read in a magazine last week that new mothers never buy enough onesies. They just think of the big things like cots and bottles and monitors. They never think of the onesies and then they just buy the solid neutrals in bulk.” She shuddered. “No godchild of mine. That’s all I’ll say.”

Harry frowned. “I grew up in hand me downs and used clothes.”

“Yes,” Pansy said, setting the phone aside again. “And it’d be one thing if you’d have chosen that for yourself or if your family was in financial straights and doing the best they could. But they weren’t and you hated it and now you pay ridiculous galleons to have clothing tailor made by me. So, l say you and I, both with a clearly superior taste in fashion,” she picked a piece of non-existent fluff from her shoulder, relishing privately in the fact that nearly every photograph taken of him in the last three years had been of him hugged in something she’d made, “should assume that our godchild will have much the same taste until it tells us other wise.”

Harry’s face twitched a bit and he wanted so badly to smile, but he wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t take that as a sign of mockery, so he made some uncomfortable expression to hide it. “Yeah, um… good point. I’ll just…” he pointed towards the stairs, but Pansy had already returned to her phone game.

He took the stairs two at a time.

And Pansy smiled even as the Tetris game over music jangled out of her phone’s speakers. 

#

“Gods, I need a drink,” Pansy groaned as she pulled her bag of purchases over her shoulder. She’d managed to shrink everything down to fit in her one bag by casting in a nearby alley while Harry kept watch for her, but she wasn’t a dab hand at featherlight charms, so her tote was still rather heavy on her shoulder. “The brewery is about a ten minute walk that way. Do you think you can manage being civil to Draco for thirty minutes, so I can have a drink and cool off? They have pub food, too.”

Without meaning to, Harry grimaced. “I have been, haven’t I?”

“Don’t snap at me, Harry. You don’t intimidate me, and there’s no point in trying to,” Pansy said, starting in the direction of the brewery.

“I’m not trying to intimidate you,” Harry said, scurrying to catch up to her. “I’m just saying, I’ve been trying! What do I need to do to get you to understand that I’m really seriously trying, here? Do you want me to get on my knees and kiss Malfoy’s feet?”

“Gods no, his ego can’t take any more inflating.”

“Then what?” Harry asked, voice cracking with his irritation.

“Can you just shut up and wait until I have a beer and some mozzarella sticks in front of me? We’re well past noon and haven’t eaten a thing.”

Harry scoffed. “I’m being serious right now, Pansy.”

“As am I, Potter. Tell me, are you particularly perky when you’re starved?” Harry frowned, refusing to answer that. “Clearly not since you’re fussing so much. And I’m not either. So if you’d like for this conversation to end in anything other than blood and tears - yours, naturally - then perhaps you can manage to keep your mouth closed for ten more minutes.”

She stopped moving just long enough to give Harry an opportunity to argue, and when he kept his mouth firmly pressed into a frown, she started walking again. She kept her steps even and unhurried. She was in no rush to have this conversation. She’d offered this outing as an olive brand; it was her way of making peace. 

But of course Harry Potter just had to talk everything out. Was it because he just loved to hear himself talk, or was it some masochistic need for self-deprecation. 

Pansy’s friends knew that the best way to get over an argument was to pretend it had never happened. Not everything needed to be… talked about. She certainly wasn’t about to lay bare her feelings for him. To him. Whatever. Perhaps if she took her time getting there he’d end up as sweaty and tired and as absolutely uninterested in talking as she was. 

Of course, that wasn’t the case, though. The brewery was packed, as it usually was on weekends, but Jess, the hostess of the hour, was luckily at the podium when they entered and - after a sidelong glance a nearby couple loudly complaining about the wait and their lifestyle blog - smiled far too brightly at Pansy. 

“You two can come on back,” she said, casting another glance at the annoyed couple and then quickly looking away when their heads swiveled to look at the group. 

“We’ve been waiting for thirty minutes,” the man practically shouted. 

“Yes, well, they… um, they,” the color drained from Jess’s face. She had been imagining how to teach the two a lesson for the past twenty five minutes as those in customer services were oft wont to do, but her imagined snub escaped her and all that her mind would do for her was play the many ways in which Omar could gently but firmly let her go from her position here.

Pansy frowned. Jess was excellent at her job. Her ability to juggle reservations, walk ins, and special occasions was outstanding, and she always did her best to accommodate people who’d come in without realize just how busy the place was. 

“We’ve uh- we’ve got a reservation,” Harry said, his voice firm in spite of the awkward hunch of his shoulders. 

“Well, we’ve been waiting,” the woman spoke up, “for quite some time. Ridiculous! Honestly…”

“We’ve got a reservation,” Harry said, shoulders hunched and hands in his pocket. But his voice was firm and his face was scrunched up in that attractively unattractive expression that screamed I don’t want to be confrontational, but I will be if I really really have to be. Pansy particularly liked the look at the moment because it was an outright lie, something Harry tried to avoid in favor of half truths and cleverly phrased statements.

“So?” the man asked, and Harry sort of blanched. He figured it was sort of self explanatory. When you made appointments, you expected them to be honored, give or take some courtesy time. 

Pansy arched an eyebrow, and stepped closer to the couple, putting herself between them and Potter. “So we get to sit down because we had the forethought to call ahead. Glad we cleared that up. Jess, can you seat us now? My feet are throbbing.”

Jess needed no further prompting, and expertly snatched two small menus from her podium before booking it towards a mini booth that was still damp from being bussed. 

“Merlin, Potter, if you’re going to lie, you might as well be confident about it. This place doesn’t even accept reservations, much to my chagrin. I’ve been hounding Draco about it for years.”

“Well they didn’t seem to know that, so it’s fine. Besides, that lady was being nasty for no reason.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Just because you saw thirty seconds of a shitty situation and picked a side? Listen, Potter I know Jess. I hang out with Jess, I drink with Jess, and I know Jess. I know that if she bumps us in the queue, it’s because they’re real pieces of work.”

Harry threw his hands up. “Then why are you getting mad at me? I was just trying to help. You said it yourself that she wouldn’t do anything maliciously.”

“Because I knew that when I walked in here,” she said, dam bursting. “But you didn’t. You just guessed. You jumped to a conclusion based on what others have told you about Jess and about thirty seconds of a single situation. Again.”

It was like watching a switch flip or a shutter drop; his soft and confused expressions tensed into frustration and a flicker of fight behind his eyes. “Is this about Draco? Seriously? He’s let it go!”

Pansy wanted to roll her eyes, but she was afraid that if she dared to move her eyes at all that this would be just the time for an eyelash or fleck of dust to find its way to her eyes, and she would rather not have to rapid blink away whatever reaction those assumed intruders would bring.

Then Harry was leaning across the table and thrusting his face forward in a way that left her no choice but to look up at him. 

His jaw was set, and she set her own despite her wanting to cry.

“Not everything is about Draco and Hermione.” 

He scoffed. “Don’t I know it…” 

Pansy frowned. “You don’t know anything,” she said, sadness coloring her expression despite her best efforts to remain impassive. 

Harry scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Welcome!” A chipper voice said, either oblivious to or purposely ignoring their bad mood. “We’re introducing our appetizer sampler this week,” he said, using his pen to indicate the option on Pansy’s menu. “Half price if one of you orders a flight, or free with the ￡40 purchase of other food and drink. Can I get you started with a drink while you think it over?” 

Pansy quickly ordered a Cheeky Cherry, before bowing her head over the menu and pretending she was studying the menu. Harry mumble his order, finding the drink that sounded the dullest and pegged it as the safest bet. 

“And bring the appetizer thing,” Pansy said, with a little wave. “If we don’t meet the forty pound, I’ll just buy it. I need the carbs desperately at the moment.”

“Can do!” the server said, punctuating his statement by tapping his pen to his order pad. 

He’d been enough of a dear to not request their menus back. Or maybe that was because he expected them to order entrees. Regardless, Pansy was grateful to keep her head bowed over the laminate, carefully reading the description of each menu item and nothing which had Hermione’s verbiage all over them. 

“Are we okay?”

Her eyes froze on the description of the Soup of the Day.

Who eats soup at a brewery? You? Well, if you’re even considering it, I don’t think you’ve really got to ask what it is then. Try it. You won’t be disappointed!

Harry was watching face closer than he’d probably watched anything ever, which was saying quite a lot as he had a tendency to fixate his attention at things one at a time. Quidditch. Voldemort. Malfoy being a Death Eater. Horcruxes. Auror training. Fixing up Grimmauld. 

But Pansy - he could forget pretty much anything when she came into the picture. Auror training wasn’t as important as making sure his auror robes were the perfect balance between regulation and flattering. What Sirius had left behind wasn’t so important as what he would have wanted Harry to make out of it. 

For a witch so outspoken, she was being awfully quiet. 

Are we okay? 

Ugh, why had he said that. Okay? They hadn’t been okay since he’d taken up issue with Malfoy and Hermione being together. Even after he’d had his heart to heart with Hermione and his awkward to awkward with Malfoy, he and Pansy had remained regressed to brittle acquaintances. 

“No,” Pansy said, finally lifting her head so she could meet his eyes with her own. “Merlin, no, we aren’t okay. We were never okay, Potter. Maybe we thought we were, but we clearly weren’t and aren’t and won’t be.” 

Harry thought he might have stopped breathing. Never? Won’t be? Of course, he’d bemoaned the same ideas in the awkward corners of his mind, but he’d gone and got attached to her anyways. 

Wanted her around anyways. 

Wanted to be around her anyways.

“But I love you,” he said, his voice not bothering to change it’s casual tone or volume. Like he hadn’t even realized he’d said it. 

Because he hadn’t realized. Pansy chuckled, bitter tears pulsing behind her eyes as if knocking to be let out. If she hadn’t been starving and if she hadn’t already ordered and if she hadn’t been a glutton for punishment, she’d have got up then and left. He hadn’t realized it. He didn’t mean it. They were the same. He was just running through the possible placating phrases he had, and his brain was struggling to keep up.

The server slid a drink in front of her and then Harry. Hands empty, he grabbed his order pad from his apron and gripped it with both hands, knuckles white. Ah, good. At least her irritation was palpable to anyone with any sort of social awareness. 

Pansy turned her head to thank the server, and once he’d left she noticed the nearby table that had been hidden just behind him staring at her and then bashfully looking away in sync when they realized she’d seen them, save one who was savoring the drama in much the same way Pansy would in any other situation. 

She wanted to cry. 

“I don’t love you, Harry. Not like you love me.”

Harry’s face gave no indication of having heard her. It was like he hadn’t heard her at all. 

She watched as he lifted his drink to his mouth and grimaced, noticing the way the muscles in his jaw twitched, trying to find something to find fault in. Even now, he was more concerned with Draco and his faults. Not her – not even her faults. Draco. 

She threw some quid down, familiar enough with the establishment now to know it’d be more than enough to cover the both of them, and pushed out of the booth, Cheeky Cherry untouched.