Chapter Text
Parkinson Manor, September 2006
As the evening late-Summer breeze gently made its way through the dining hall of her childhood home Pansy couldn’t help but shiver, though that could’ve been down to the atmosphere just as much as the weather. She’d always found the dark mahogany table at which she now sat rather ridiculous to a degree, capable of seating twenty or more but typically only ever holding herself and her parents most days during her childhood. Still, it wasn’t all bad, there was the memory that still made her smile of when she was about four and her mother quite sternly told her father, “Thomas, there’s no point sitting at the head of the table if there’s no one to impress,” when he insisted on doing so out of tradition. From that point on they sat as they did now, Elder Parkinsons on one side while she sat on the other. What had once been a fairly standard set up now felt like more of an interrogation, though she guessed most interrogations didn’t come with semi-formal attire and three course meal with a main of crab linguine.
Clearly that was a trick the Ministry was missing.
“Enjoying your meal Pansy,” her mother asked, not looking up from her own plate, signalling they weren’t looking to judge her reactions just yet.
“Yes, it’s lovely Mother,” she replied.
“You say that like Tilley and Janby have ever served a bad meal,” her father stated matter of factly, reading over a work item she hadn’t yet managed to steal a glance at, “the pair of them are very good, though that is their job.”
“Which is why you regularly go talk to and commend them husband,” her mother stated with a clear humour. Both knew that Thomas Parkinson was rather fond of the pair of house-elves, having been in the family since long before he was born, and like the rest of the family treated them with kindness and a host of unofficial benefits that wouldn’t be accepted in wider society. Occasionally some did remark why it seemed both were dressed in clothing of a quality even many people would be envious of, “talking of work I thought we also agreed no work at the table,” her mother warned, causing her father to push the papers away to his side without a word. Like any good husband the Parkinson patriarch was well-trained in understanding that he was always wrong in any dispute with the better half.
Her parents didn’t take the opportunity of course to move onto the real substance of why they’d invited their daughter around for dinner, it was much too early to do that according to one of the various social rules that they were bound to adhere to lest they appear too modern. Instead they filled the time with rather quaint small talk about the weather and how lovely the brook was this time of year, before finally reaching that piece of information with well-practiced faux disinterest.
“So we hear you’ve been spending time with a new suitor of late,” her mother “inquired”, as though neither weren’t aware of exactly who that was, “you’ve been sighted together a few times around London, occasionally with those friends of yours.”
Pansy laid down her utensils, seeing that both parents had slowed down to a practical crawl and were staring at her now, “It’s true. I’ve been seeing Harry Potter for the last six months or so.”
“Do you plan for this to continue,” her father pressed, business-like as always.
“It’s not a short-term affair if that’s what you mean. Both of us are serious about this,” she defended, seeing his jaw ever so slightly twitch at that while her mother’s arm ever so slightly shifted closer to her husband.
“We understand that Sweetpea, we’re just concerned about possible complications from this,” her mother tried to explain diplomatically, only for her father to butt in.
“By that we mean we don’t think a divorced young man incapable of learning when to quit while he’s ahead with a child in tow is a suitable long-term partner.”
“He’s a good man, Father,” Pansy defended, arms now firmly drawn across her chest.
“I’ve known plenty of good men, child, many of them are now destitute men… or worse,” he bluntly remarked, “you may not want to hear it but you know it’s the truth. The Potter scion has already received a reputation for being impetuous and of poor judgement in the Ministry. With all his skills and history he should be a high-flyer already, like that Muggleborn friend of his, but instead he’s already stalled as a junior Auror in part due to ruffling the wrong feathers. And don’t forget, even though we might not be in the middle of yet another pointless conflict it’s still a job with notable risks.”
“I know he’s not the traditional match that you’d approve of Father, a politically secure and safe choice from a “Good Family” with no awkward stories for the papers to go over, but that’s in part what I like about him. He doesn’t pretend to be anyone else and I don’t have to pretend to be either. He may be uncouth at times and utterly useless when it comes to the political aspects, only interested in doing what he believes is right, but if that’s the price to pay it’s then compared to many others it’s a small one,” she spoke increasing outrage, “you know what. I don’t feel like eating all of a sudden,” she announced as she stood up and headed towards the entrance hall, managing to get to the coat stand just as her mother caught up to her.
“Please come back to dinner Sweetpea, you know your father is just…”
“Controlling?”
“… worried,” her Mother finished after interruption with a covering smile, “you know how he is with trusting people. I’m sure if he got to meet this paramour of yours he’d understand.”
“Not bloody likely,” she muttered before seeing her mother’s almost pleading look, “alright, I’ll think about it. No promises though,” she finished as she put her coat on before briefly hugging the other woman.
“You will take care of yourself though?”
“I will,” she replied before letting herself out the door and headed down the driveway knowing without looking that her mother was still watching her, arms wrapped around herself in the wind, all the way until she apparated back to her London flat.
Still upset when she arrived she made the foolish error of too quickly leaning back against the nearest wall and hissing when her head hit it harder than she expected, rubbing it as she trudged her way into the kitchen that was still cluttered with empty takeaway boxes she’d failed to clear up from the nights she still stayed there and resigned to her now fairly shitty evening. Stepping over to the fridge she yanked open the door only to find it completely bare, remembering that it’d been days since she was due to stock it back up and cursing herself in the process. Closing it with a shunt she ripped one of the menus she’d pinned to the door and dropped it on the counter before running her finger down the list of meals.
It was after she’d made the first pass that she noticed something drop onto the shiny paper with a splatter that left a crude splodge shape on it followed by another… and another. It took her a few seconds to realise that she was crying, quickly holding her head back and wiping under her eyes, “get it together Pansy. It’s not the first time they complained about a man you’re shagging,” she warned herself. Clearly her subconscious wasn’t in the mood to listen as the tears kept running down her cheeks. If she was honest even her conscious mind knew this was different, this wasn’t just some guy she was having a momentary fling with or a relationship with a pre-determined termination date, this was Harry. And right now she knew where she wanted to be right now.
Soon enough a translucent silvery sly fox swept through the air on its way to her destination and within five minutes of departure a similar looking proud stag stood in front of her. Ten minutes after that, only taking the shortest amount of time necessary to hide the evidence of her emotional moment, she was letting herself into his home to be confronted by a small child-shaped missile, “hello Trouble,” she smiled down at him as she felt the small arms do their best to crush her waist.
“Hi Pany, we having Pi-za,” the small boy exclaimed excited before dragging her through the to dining room where she saw her boyfriend’s back in the kitchen.
“You stay there Trouble,” she faux-ordered as she ruffled his hair as he clambered into the full-size chair at the table before quickly manoeuvring herself into the kitchen, “thanks for letting me join you,” she spoke to her host almost shyly, unable to fully hide the mood from earlier.
“You’re always welcome,” Harry smiled still looking into the oven as he pulled their circular meal from it, noticing how he clearly hadn’t bothered shaving that day, only looking at her once it was on the side letting her watch his eyes go wide slightly at her current dress.
“It wasn’t for you I’m afraid to say, didn’t have time to change,” she explained, linking a hand with his. Now she thought about it maybe the little black dress with a slight dip between her breasts wasn’t the most appropriate for her new situation but she doubted Harry would complain, “need help with anything?”
“Hmm, yeah just sort out the drinks if you could,” he asked as he nodded at the relevant items on the countertop before he quickly stole a chaste kiss from her, “you look beautiful by the way,” he complimented, instantly lifting her mood. Shifting along the counter she smiled as she saw that her frequent reminders on decanting red wine had paid off as one of the various bottles she’d slowly built up in his cupboard lay out waiting for her, though his understanding of pairings could still use some work. Well, it was an achievement for a man who’d gone native in terms of cider consumption. Pouring their respective drinks the varied glasses forced her to make two trips before she was able to take up her customary seat in the dining room, her boyfriend following in quick succession to sit beside her as he placed their collective meal in front of them, “and here we are.”
Having to fight with two other hungry mouths she felt achievement that she was able to nab as much of the meal as she could. As she bit into a slice however, feeling the rather plastic-like taste of the cheese and clearly from concentrate sauce that was a far cry from crab linguine, she didn’t feel too cheapened out.
“Dinner and a film Mr Potter? You do spoil me,” she teased as she snuggled up against Harry on the sofa, feet tucked under a cushion for warmth as she held what was her… fourth glass of the evening.
“I’m always one to pull out the stops for you, even with absolutely no planning,” he joked, Pansy enjoying the rumble of his light laugh as the arm on her shoulder pulled her in closer, allowing her to listen to the gentle thrum of his heartbeat. Maybe it was the surprisingly good bottle she was enjoying, the emotions still bubbling over from her argument earlier, the fact a film about a married pair of spies killing people didn’t require much attention, or a combination of all three that saw her tilt her head up to face him.
“I love you,” she admitted as much to herself as to him in a somewhat vulnerable voice, causing him to swiftly turn to look at her, smiling that lazy kind smile of his.
“I love you too,” came the reply before he leaned down and kissed her, sending warmth through her body as his tongue met hers. She awkwardly tried to both put the glass in her hand on the end table and shift into his lap at the same time, just about managing without pouring the liquid all over the carpet, and circled her arms around his neck as they deepened the kiss, forgetting her previous worries as his arms grabbed hold of her waist.
Soon she felt tugging at straps over her shoulders as Harry tried to push them down her arms as he moved to instead lap at her neck. She leaned back, breaking contact with him as he stared up at her as she gracefully pulled the straps the rest of the way over her arms and let the top of her dress crumple around her waist, gasping at the feel of the day old growth of hair around Harry’s jaw scratched at the sensitive skin of her breast before his mouth closed around one of her hardened nipples. His teeth twisted and tugged at it gently as a hand cupped and tenderly squeezed the other, his hand dwarfing its smaller size, causing heat to pool in her belly while the fingertips ghosting over her spine sent pleasant shivers climbing up it. She let her head fall back and her eyes close as she rocked her pelvis against his and lost herself in the moment, enjoying every wonderful caress her partner indulged her in.
“What you doing,” came a tired question that dropped her back to reality both figuratively as she saw a sleepy looking James rubbing one eye as he stared at them blearily and then a second later literally as Harry unceremoniously pushed her sideways onto the sofa with her head thankfully landing on a cushion.
“James, why aren’t you in bed,” he exclaimed in shock, breathing heavily as he turned to look at his young son.
“TV woke me up,” he explained, the item in question being substantially louder than previous as Pansy now noted as she spied the remote half buried under Harry’s arse, “what you doing?”
“Watching a film with Pansy, not that it’s any of your business mister,” he explained as he lifted himself from the sofa leaving Pansy by herself, lying on her back with hand in mouth and stuck somewhere between horny, embarrassed, and hilarity at the farcical situation.
“How can you do that with her bits in your face,” James asked innocently which caused her to practically cry in barely-muffled laughter while she heard Harry clear his throat, a typical sign of him trying to reassert control of a conversation.
“Never mind that. Off to bed, now,” he said firmly, clearly working as she heard James climb back up the stairs and eventually his bedroom door close.
Pansy lifted herself back up and peered over the back of the sofa to see Harry half red and scratching his head in embarrassment, “should I expect to have my bits played with further or do I need to put my dress back on properly,” she teased with a light shake, smirking as his eyes were drawn back to her breasts.
“I think the mood might’ve been killed somewhat, don’t you,” he joked as he moved back into the lounge and leaned over the sofa to kiss her as his hand lightly held her neck, “bed for us too you reckon,” he suggested getting a yawn from herself followed by a nod at that point.
“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed, making sure the TV was actually turned off this time and following him up the stairs and through to the bedroom. As he took off his shirt she couldn’t help but joke further, “I thought you declared the mood dead?”
“Not everything’s a come on, you know,” he threw back, along with a sleepshirt from the drawer already set aside for her so she could more easily spend the night, before going through to the adjoining ensuite. Rolling her eyes she shimmied out of the lower half of the still undone dress and pulled the shirt over her head unceremoniously to cause what was left of her styled look to become completely common, before joining him in the adjoining bathroom, pushing next to him at the sink and grabbing her own toothbrush.
“Pass the tooth...,” she began only to have an outstretched arm with tube in hand placed in front of her eyeline, “thank you,” she added as she quickly brushed a minty lather over her shining whites, unable to help herself from giving him a stupid grin in the mirror.
“You are such a child sometimes,” he teased before leaning down to smack a very minty open-mouth kiss to her cheek causing her to groan as she wiped it away.
“Says you, that’s disgusting Potter,” she chastised before spitting into the sink after he did and rinsing her brush. Leading the way this time, with an exaggerated sway to her hips that was met by a light smack to her knicker-clad arse she moved to the bed, drawing back the covers to snuggle under them as her partner shuffled up in front of her and placed a hand gently on her side, a stray finger on a patch of uncovered skin causing a slight shiver.
“This is nice,” he offered with a content sigh as he moved closer against her still as she hummed in agreement, “love you Pansy.”
“Love you too Harry,” she replied, seeing him smile again, “what?”
“I like hearing you say that,” he said before leaning in to kiss her.
“Maybe I’ll keep saying it if you keep treating me so well,” she replied when she could, feeling his arm move to tighten around her.
“Promises promises.”